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diff --git a/5779-h/5779-h.htm b/5779-h/5779-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..376d059 --- /dev/null +++ b/5779-h/5779-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,13549 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Crushed Flower and Other Stories, by Leonid Andreyev + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +Project Gutenberg's The Crushed Flower and Other Stories, by Leonid Andreyev + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 + + +Title: The Crushed Flower and Other Stories + +Author: Leonid Andreyev + +Release Date: March 26, 2009 [EBook #5779] +Last Updated: October 31, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CRUSHED FLOWER AND OTHER *** + + + + +Produced by Jarrod Newton, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE CRUSHED FLOWER <br /><br />AND OTHER STORIES + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Leonid Andreyev + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h3> + Translated by Herman Bernstein + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>THE CRUSHED FLOWER</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> A STORY WHICH WILL NEVER BE FINISHED </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> ON THE DAY OF THE CRUCIFIXION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> THE SERPENT’S STORY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> LOVE, FAITH AND HOPE </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> <b>THE OCEAN</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> <b>JUDAS ISCARIOT AND OTHERS</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> <b>"THE MAN WHO FOUND THE TRUTH"</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XI </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + THE CRUSHED FLOWER + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + His name was Yura. + </p> + <p> + He was six years old, and the world was to him enormous, alive and + bewitchingly mysterious. He knew the sky quite well. He knew its deep + azure by day, and the white-breasted, half silvery, half golden clouds + slowly floating by. He often watched them as he lay on his back upon the + grass or upon the roof. But he did not know the stars so well, for he went + to bed early. He knew well and remembered only one star—the green, + bright and very attentive star that rises in the pale sky just before you + go to bed, and that seemed to be the only star so large in the whole sky. + </p> + <p> + But best of all, he knew the earth in the yard, in the street and in the + garden, with all its inexhaustible wealth of stones, of velvety grass, of + hot sand and of that wonderfully varied, mysterious and delightful dust + which grown people did not notice at all from the height of their enormous + size. And in falling asleep, as the last bright image of the passing day, + he took along to his dreams a bit of hot, rubbed off stone bathed in + sunshine or a thick layer of tenderly tickling, burning dust. + </p> + <p> + When he went with his mother to the centre of the city along the large + streets, he remembered best of all, upon his return, the wide, flat stones + upon which his steps and his feet seemed terribly small, like two little + boats. And even the multitude of revolving wheels and horses’ heads did + not impress themselves so clearly upon his memory as this new and + unusually interesting appearance of the ground. + </p> + <p> + Everything was enormous to him—the fences, the dogs and the people—but + that did not at all surprise or frighten him; that only made everything + particularly interesting; that transformed life into an uninterrupted + miracle. According to his measures, various objects seemed to him as + follows: + </p> + <p> + His father—ten yards tall. + </p> + <p> + His mother—three yards. + </p> + <p> + The neighbour’s angry dog—thirty yards. + </p> + <p> + Their own dog—ten yards, like papa. + </p> + <p> + Their house of one story was very, very tall—a mile. + </p> + <p> + The distance between one side of the street and the other—two miles. + </p> + <p> + Their garden and the trees in their garden seemed immense, infinitely + tall. + </p> + <p> + The city—a million—just how much he did not know. + </p> + <p> + And everything else appeared to him in the same way. He knew many people, + large and small, but he knew and appreciated better the little ones with + whom he could speak of everything. The grown people behaved so foolishly + and asked such absurd, dull questions about things that everybody knew, + that it was necessary for him also to make believe that he was foolish. He + had to lisp and give nonsensical answers; and, of course, he felt like + running away from them as soon as possible. But there were over him and + around him and within him two entirely extraordinary persons, at once big + and small, wise and foolish, at once his own and strangers—his + father and mother. + </p> + <p> + They must have been very good people, otherwise they could not have been + his father and mother; at any rate, they were charming and unlike other + people. He could say with certainty that his father was very great, + terribly wise, that he possessed immense power, which made him a person to + be feared somewhat, and it was interesting to talk with him about unusual + things, placing his hand in father’s large, strong, warm hand for safety’s + sake. + </p> + <p> + Mamma was not so large, and sometimes she was even very small; she was + very kind hearted, she kissed tenderly; she understood very well how he + felt when he had a pain in his little stomach, and only with her could he + relieve his heart when he grew tired of life, of his games or when he was + the victim of some cruel injustice. And if it was unpleasant to cry in + father’s presence, and even dangerous to be capricious, his tears had an + unusually pleasant taste in mother’s presence and filled his soul with a + peculiar serene sadness, which he could find neither in his games nor in + laughter, nor even in the reading of the most terrible fairy tales. + </p> + <p> + It should be added that mamma was a beautiful woman and that everybody was + in love with her. That was good, for he felt proud of it, but that was + also bad—for he feared that she might be taken away. And every time + one of the men, one of those enormous, invariably inimical men who were + busy with themselves, looked at mamma fixedly for a long time, Yura felt + bored and uneasy. He felt like stationing himself between him and mamma, + and no matter where he went to attend to his own affairs, something was + drawing him back. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes mamma would utter a bad, terrifying phrase: + </p> + <p> + “Why are you forever staying around here? Go and play in your own room.” + </p> + <p> + There was nothing left for him to do but to go away. He would take a book + along or he would sit down to draw, but that did not always help him. + Sometimes mamma would praise him for reading but sometimes she would say + again: + </p> + <p> + “You had better go to your own room, Yurochka. You see, you’ve spilt water + on the tablecloth again; you always do some mischief with your drawing.” + </p> + <p> + And then she would reproach him for being perverse. But he felt worst of + all when a dangerous and suspicious guest would come when Yura had to go + to bed. But when he lay down in his bed a sense of easiness came over him + and he felt as though all was ended; the lights went out, life stopped; + everything slept. + </p> + <p> + In all such cases with suspicious men Yura felt vaguely but very strongly + that he was replacing father in some way. And that made him somewhat like + a grown man—he was in a bad frame of mind, like a grown person, but, + therefore, he was unusually calculating, wise and serious. Of course, he + said nothing about this to any one, for no one would understand him; but, + by the manner in which he caressed father when he arrived and sat down on + his knees patronisingly, one could see in the boy a man who fulfilled his + duty to the end. At times father could not understand him and would simply + send him away to play or to sleep—Yura never felt offended and went + away with a feeling of great satisfaction. He did not feel the need of + being understood; he even feared it. At times he would not tell under any + circumstances why he was crying; at times he would make believe that he + was absent minded, that he heard nothing, that he was occupied with his + own affairs, but he heard and understood. + </p> + <p> + And he had a terrible secret. He had noticed that these extraordinary and + charming people, father and mother, were sometimes unhappy and were hiding + this from everybody. Therefore he was also concealing his discovery, and + gave everybody the impression that all was well. Many times he found mamma + crying somewhere in a corner in the drawing room, or in the bedroom—his + own room was next to her bedroom—and one night, very late, almost at + dawn, he heard the terribly loud and angry voice of father and the weeping + voice of mother. He lay a long time, holding his breath, but then he was + so terrified by that unusual conversation in the middle of the night that + he could not restrain himself and he asked his nurse in a soft voice: + </p> + <p> + “What are they saying?” + </p> + <p> + And the nurse answered quickly in a whisper: + </p> + <p> + “Sleep, sleep. They are not saying anything.” + </p> + <p> + “I am coming over to your bed.” + </p> + <p> + “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? Such a big boy!” + </p> + <p> + “I am coming over to your bed.” + </p> + <p> + Thus, terribly afraid lest they should be heard, they spoke in whispers + and argued in the dark; and the end was that Yura moved over to nurse’s + bed, upon her rough, but cosy and warm blanket. + </p> + <p> + In the morning papa and mamma were very cheerful and Yura pretended that + he believed them and it seemed that he really did believe them. But that + same evening, and perhaps it was another evening, he noticed his father + crying. It happened in the following way: He was passing his father’s + study, and the door was half open; he heard a noise and he looked in + quietly—father lay face downward upon his couch and cried aloud. + There was no one else in the room. Yura went away, turned about in his + room and came back—the door was still half open, no one but father + was in the room, and he was still sobbing. If he cried quietly, Yura could + understand it, but he sobbed loudly, he moaned in a heavy voice and his + teeth were gnashing terribly. He lay there, covering the entire couch, + hiding his head under his broad shoulders, sniffing heavily—and that + was beyond his understanding. And on the table, on the large table covered + with pencils, papers and a wealth of other things, stood the lamp burning + with a red flame, and smoking—a flat, greyish black strip of smoke + was coming out and bending in all directions. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly father heaved a loud sigh and stirred. Yura walked away quietly. + And then all was the same as ever. No one would have learned of this; but + the image of the enormous, mysterious and charming man who was his father + and who was crying remained in Yura’s memory as something dreadful and + extremely serious. And, if there were things of which he did not feel like + speaking, it was absolutely necessary to say nothing of this, as though it + were something sacred and terrible, and in that silence he must love + father all the more. But he must love so that father should not notice it, + and he must give the impression that it is very jolly to live on earth. + </p> + <p> + And Yura succeeded in accomplishing all this. Father did not notice that + he loved him in a special manner; and it was really jolly to live on + earth, so there was no need for him to make believe. The threads of his + soul stretched themselves to all—to the sun, to the knife and the + cane he was peeling; to the beautiful and enigmatic distance which he saw + from the top of the iron roof; and it was hard for him to separate himself + from all that was not himself. When the grass had a strong and fragrant + odour it seemed to him that it was he who had such a fragrant odour, and + when he lay down in his bed, however strange it may seem, together with + him in his little bed lay down the enormous yard, the street, the slant + threads of the rain and the muddy pools and the whole, enormous, live, + fascinating, mysterious world. Thus all fell asleep with him and thus all + awakened with him, and together with him they all opened their eyes. And + there was one striking fact, worthy of the profoundest reflection—if + he placed a stick somewhere in the garden in the evening it was there also + in the morning; and the knuckle-bones which he hid in a box in the barn + remained there, although it was dark and he went to his room for the + night. Because of this he felt a natural need for hiding under his pillow + all that was most valuable to him. Since things stood or lay there alone, + they might also disappear of their accord, he reasoned. And in general it + was so wonderful and pleasant that the nurse and the house and the sun + existed not only yesterday, but every day; he felt like laughing and + singing aloud when he awoke. + </p> + <p> + When people asked him what his name was he answered promptly: + </p> + <p> + “Yura.” + </p> + <p> + But some people were not satisfied with this alone, and they wanted to + know his full name—and then he replied with a certain effort: + </p> + <p> + “Yura Mikhailovich.” + </p> + <p> + And after a moment’s thought he added: + </p> + <p> + “Yura Mikhailovich Pushkarev.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + An unusual day arrived. It was mother’s birthday. Guests were expected in + the evening; military music was to play, and in the garden and upon the + terrace parti-coloured lanterns were to burn, and Yura need not go to bed + at 9 o’clock but could stay up as late as he liked. + </p> + <p> + Yura got up when all were still sleeping. He dressed himself and jumped + out quickly with the expectation of miracles. But he was unpleasantly + surprised—the rooms were in the same disorder as usual in the + morning; the cook and the chambermaid were still sleeping and the door was + closed with a hook—it was hard to believe that the people would stir + and commence to run about, and that the rooms would assume a holiday + appearance, and he feared for the fate of the festival. It was still worse + in the garden. The paths were not swept and there was not a single lantern + there. He grew very uneasy. Fortunately, Yevmen, the coachman, was washing + the carriage behind the barn in the back yard and though he had done this + frequently before, and though there was nothing unusual about his + appearance, Yura clearly felt something of the holiday in the decisive way + in which the coachman splashed the water from the bucket with his sinewy + arms, on which the sleeves of his red blouse were rolled up to his elbows. + Yevmen only glanced askance at Yura, and suddenly Yura seemed to have + noticed for the first time his broad, black, wavy beard and thought + respectfully that Yevmen was a very worthy man. He said: + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Yevmen.” + </p> + <p> + Then all moved very rapidly. Suddenly the janitor appeared and started to + sweep the paths, suddenly the window in the kitchen was thrown open and + women’s voices were heard chattering; suddenly the chambermaid rushed out + with a little rug and started to beat it with a stick, as though it were a + dog. All commenced to stir; and the events, starting simultaneously in + different places, rushed with such mad swiftness that it was impossible to + catch up with them. While the nurse was giving Yura his tea, people were + beginning to hang up the wires for the lanterns in the garden, and while + the wires were being stretched in the garden, the furniture was rearranged + completely in the drawing room, and while the furniture was rearranged in + the drawing room, Yevmen, the coachman, harnessed the horse and drove out + of the yard with a certain special, mysterious mission. + </p> + <p> + Yura succeeded in concentrating himself for some time with the greatest + difficulty. Together with father he was hanging up the lanterns. And + father was charming; he laughed, jested, put Yura on the ladder; he + himself climbed the thin, creaking rungs of the ladder, and finally both + fell down together with the ladder upon the grass, but they were not hurt. + Yura jumped up, while father remained lying on the grass, hands thrown + back under his head, looking with half-closed eyes at the shining, + infinite azure of the sky. Thus lying on the grass, with a serious + expression on his face, apparently not in the mood for play, father looked + very much like Gulliver longing for his land of giants. Yura recalled + something unpleasant; but to cheer his father up he sat down astride upon + his knees and said: + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember, father, when I was a little boy I used to sit down on + your knees and you used to shake me like a horse?” + </p> + <p> + But before he had time to finish he lay with his nose on the grass; he was + lifted in the air and thrown down with force—father had thrown him + high up with his knees, according to his old habit. Yura felt offended; + but father, entirely ignoring his anger, began to tickle him under his + armpits, so that Yura had to laugh against his will; and then father + picked him up like a little pig by the legs and carried him to the + terrace. And mamma was frightened. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing? The blood will rush to his head!” + </p> + <p> + After which Yura found himself standing on his legs, red faced, + dishevelled, feeling very miserable and terribly happy at the same time. + </p> + <p> + The day was rushing fast, like a cat that is chased by a dog. Like + forerunners of the coming great festival, certain messengers appeared with + notes, wonderfully tasty cakes were brought, the dressmaker came and + locked herself in with mamma in the bedroom; then two gentlemen arrived, + then another gentleman, then a lady—evidently the entire city was in + a state of agitation. Yura examined the messengers as though they were + strange people from another world, and walked before them with an air of + importance as the son of the lady whose birthday was to be celebrated; he + met the gentlemen, he escorted the cakes, and toward midday he was so + exhausted that he suddenly started to despise life. He quarrelled with the + nurse and lay down in his bed face downward in order to have his revenge + on her; but he fell asleep immediately. He awoke with the same feeling of + hatred for life and a desire for revenge, but after having looked at + things with his eyes, which he washed with cold water, he felt that both + the world and life were so fascinating that they were even funny. + </p> + <p> + When they dressed Yura in a red silk rustling blouse, and he thus clearly + became part of the festival, and he found on the terrace a long, snow + white table glittering with glass dishes, he again commenced to spin about + in the whirlpool of the onrushing events. + </p> + <p> + “The musicians have arrived! The musicians have arrived!” he cried, + looking for father or mother, or for any one who would treat the arrival + of the musicians with proper seriousness. Father and mother were sitting + in the garden—in the arbour which was thickly surrounded with wild + grapes—maintaining silence; the beautiful head of mother lay on + father’s shoulder; although father embraced her, he seemed very serious, + and he showed no enthusiasm when he was told of the arrival of the + musicians. Both treated their arrival with inexplicable indifference, + which called forth a feeling of sadness in Yura. But mamma stirred and + said: + </p> + <p> + “Let me go. I must go.” + </p> + <p> + “Remember,” said father, referring to something Yura did not understand + but which resounded in his heart with a light, gnawing alarm. + </p> + <p> + “Stop. Aren’t you ashamed?” mother laughed, and this laughter made Yura + feel still more alarmed, especially since father did not laugh but + maintained the same serious and mournful appearance of Gulliver pining for + his native land.... + </p> + <p> + But soon all this was forgotten, for the wonderful festival had begun in + all its glory, mystery and grandeur. The guests came fast, and there was + no longer any place at the white table, which had been deserted but a + while before. Voices resounded, and laughter and merry jests, and the + music began to play. And on the deserted paths of the garden where but a + while ago Yura had wandered alone, imagining himself a prince in quest of + the sleeping princess, now appeared people with cigarettes and with loud + free speech. Yura met the first guests at the front entrance; he looked at + each one carefully, and he made the acquaintance and even the friendship + of some of them on the way from the corridor to the table. + </p> + <p> + Thus he managed to become friendly with the officer, whose name was + Mitenka—a grown man whose name was Mitenka—he said so himself. + Mitenka had a heavy leather sword, which was as cold as a snake, which + could not be taken out—but Mitenka lied; the sword was only fastened + at the handle with a silver cord, but it could be taken out very nicely; + and Yura felt vexed because the stupid Mitenka instead of carrying his + sword, as he always did, placed it in a corner in the hallway as a cane. + But even in the corner the sword stood out alone—one could see at + once that it was a sword. Another thing that displeased Yura was that + another officer came with Mitenka, an officer whom Yura knew and whose + name was also Yura Mikhailovich. Yura thought that the officer must have + been named so for fun. That wrong Yura Mikhailovich had visited them + several times; he even came once on horseback; but most of the time he + came just before little Yura had to go to bed. And little Yura went to + bed, while the unreal Yura Mikhailovich remained with mamma, and that + caused him to feel alarmed and sad; he was afraid that mamma might be + deceived. He paid no attention to the real Yura Mikhailovich: and now, + walking beside Mitenka, he did not seem to realise his guilt; he adjusted + his moustaches and maintained silence. He kissed mamma’s hand, and that + seemed repulsive to little Yura; but the stupid Mitenka also kissed + mamma’s hand, and thereby set everything aright. + </p> + <p> + But soon the guests arrived in such numbers, and there was such a variety + of them, as if they had fallen straight from the sky. And some of them + seemed to have fallen near the table, while others seemed to have fallen + into the garden. Suddenly several students and ladies appeared in the + path. The ladies were ordinary, but the students had holes cut at the left + side of their white coats—for their swords. But they did not bring + their swords along, no doubt because of their pride—they were all + very proud. And the ladies rushed over to Yura and began to kiss him. Then + the most beautiful of the ladies, whose name was Ninochka, took Yura to + the swing and swung him until she threw him down. He hurt his left leg + near the knee very painfully and even stained his little white pants in + that spot, but of course he did not cry, and somehow his pain had quickly + disappeared somewhere. At this time father was leading an + important-looking bald-headed old man in the garden, and he asked + Yurochka, + </p> + <p> + “Did you get hurt?” + </p> + <p> + But as the old man also smiled and also spoke, Yurochka did not kiss + father and did not even answer him; but suddenly he seemed to have lost + his mind—he commenced to squeal for joy and to run around. If he had + a bell as large as the whole city he would have rung that bell; but as he + had no such bell he climbed the linden tree, which stood near the terrace, + and began to show off. The guests below were laughing and mamma was + shouting, and suddenly the music began to play, and Yura soon stood in + front of the orchestra, spreading his legs apart and, according to his old + but long forgotten habit, put his finger into his mouth. The sounds seemed + to strike at him all at once; they roared and thundered; they made his + legs tingle, and they shook his jaw. They played so loudly that there was + nothing but the orchestra on the whole earth—everything else had + vanished. The brass ends of some of the trumpets even spread apart and + opened wide from the great roaring; Yura thought that it would be + interesting to make a military helmet out of such a trumpet. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Yura grew sad. The music was still roaring, but now it was + somewhere far away, while within him all became quiet, and it was growing + ever more and more quiet. Heaving a deep sigh, Yura looked at the sky—it + was so high—and with slow footsteps he started out to make the + rounds of the holiday, of all its confused boundaries, possibilities and + distances. And everywhere he turned out to be too late; he wanted to see + how the tables for card playing would be arranged, but the tables were + ready and people had been playing cards for a long time when he came up. + He touched the chalk and the brush near his father and his father + immediately chased him away. What of that, what difference did that make + to him? He wanted to see how they would start to dance and he was sure + that they would dance in the parlour, but they had already commenced to + dance, not in the parlour, but under the linden trees. He wanted to see + how they would light the lanterns, but the lanterns had all been lit + already, every one of them, to the very last of the last. They lit up of + themselves like stars. + </p> + <p> + Mamma danced best of all. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + Night arrived in the form of red, green and yellow lanterns. While there + were no lanterns, there was no night. And now it lay everywhere. It + crawled into the bushes; it covered the entire garden with darkness, as + with water, and it covered the sky. Everything looked as beautiful as the + very best fairy tale with coloured pictures. At one place the house had + disappeared entirely; only the square window made of red light remained. + And the chimney of the house was visible and there a certain spark + glistened, looked down and seemed to think of its own affairs. What + affairs do chimneys have? Various affairs. + </p> + <p> + Of the people in the garden only their voices remained. As long as some + one walked near the lanterns he could be seen; but as soon as he walked + away all seemed to melt, melt, melt, and the voice above the ground + laughed, talked, floating fearlessly in the darkness. But the officers and + the students could be seen even in the dark—a white spot, and above + it a small light of a cigarette and a big voice. + </p> + <p> + And now the most joyous thing commenced for Yura—the fairy tale. The + people and the festival and the lanterns remained on earth, while he + soared away, transformed into air, melting in the night like a grain of + dust. The great mystery of the night became his mystery, and his little + heart yearned for still more mystery; in its solitude his heart yearned + for the fusion of life and death. That was Yura’s second madness that + evening—he became invisible. Although he could enter the kitchen as + others did, he climbed with difficulty upon the roof of the cellar over + which the kitchen window was flooded with light and he looked in; there + people were roasting something, busying themselves, and did not know that + he was looking at them—and yet he saw everything! Then he went away + and looked at papa’s and mamma’s bedroom; the room was empty; but the beds + had already been made for the night and a little image lamp was burning—he + saw that. Then he looked into his own room; his own bed was also ready, + waiting for him. He passed the room where they were playing cards, also as + an invisible being, holding his breath and stepping so lightly, as though + he were soaring in the air. Only when he reached the garden, in the dark, + he drew a proper breath. Then he resumed his quest. He came over to people + who were talking so near him that he could touch them with his hand, and + yet they did not know that he was there, and they continued to speak + undisturbed. He watched Ninochka for a long time until he learned all her + life—he was almost trapped. Ninochka even exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Yurochka, is that you?” + </p> + <p> + He lay down behind a bush and held his breath. Thus Ninochka was deceived. + And she had almost caught him! To make things more mysterious, he started + to crawl instead of walk—now the alleys seemed full of danger. Thus + a long time went by—according to his own calculations at the time, + ten years went by, and he was still hiding and going ever farther away + from the people. And thus he went so far that he was seized with dread—between + him and the past, when he was walking like everybody else, an abyss was + formed over which it seemed to him impossible to cross. Now he would have + come out into the light but he was afraid—it was impossible; all was + lost. And the music was still playing, and everybody had forgotten him, + even mamma. He was alone. There was a breath of cold from the dewy grass; + the gooseberry bush scratched him, the darkness could not be pierced with + his eyes, and there was no end to it. O Lord! + </p> + <p> + Without any definite plan, in a state of utter despair, Yura now crawled + toward a mysterious, faintly blinking light. Fortunately it turned out to + be the same arbour which was covered with wild grapes and in which father + and mother had sat that day. He did not recognise it at first! Yes, it was + the same arbour. The lights of the lanterns everywhere had gone out, and + only two were still burning; a yellow little lantern was still burning + brightly, and the other, a yellow one, too, was already beginning to + blink. And though there was no wind, that lantern quivered from its own + blinking, and everything seemed to quiver slightly. Yura was about to get + up to go into the arbour and there begin life anew, with an imperceptible + transition from the old, when suddenly he heard voices in the arbour. His + mother and the wrong Yura Mikhailovich, the officer, were talking. The + right Yura grew petrified in his place; his heart stood still; and his + breathing ceased. + </p> + <p> + Mamma said: + </p> + <p> + “Stop. You have lost your mind! Somebody may come in here.” + </p> + <p> + Yura Mikhailovich said: + </p> + <p> + “And you?” + </p> + <p> + Mamma said: + </p> + <p> + “I am twenty-six years old to-day. I am old!” + </p> + <p> + Yura Mikhailovich said: + </p> + <p> + “He does not know anything. Is it possible that he does not know anything? + He does not even suspect? Listen, does he shake everybody’s hand so + firmly?” + </p> + <p> + Mamma said: + </p> + <p> + “What a question! Of course he does! That is—no, not everybody.” + </p> + <p> + Yura Mikhailovich said: + </p> + <p> + “I feel sorry for him.” + </p> + <p> + Mamma said: + </p> + <p> + “For him?” + </p> + <p> + And she laughed strangely. Yurochka understood that they were talking of + him, of Yurochka—but what did it all mean, O Lord? And why did she + laugh? + </p> + <p> + Yura Mikhailovich said: + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going? I will not let you go.” + </p> + <p> + Mamma said: + </p> + <p> + “You offend me. Let me go! No, you have no right to kiss me. Let me go!” + </p> + <p> + They became silent. Now Yurochka looked through the leaves and saw that + the officer embraced and kissed mamma. Then they spoke of something, but + he understood nothing; he heard nothing; he suddenly forgot the meaning of + words. And he even forgot the words which he knew and used before. He + remembered but one word, “Mamma,” and he whispered it uninterruptedly with + his dry lips, but that word sounded so terrible, more terrible than + anything. And in order not to exclaim it against his will, Yura covered + his mouth with both hands, one upon the other, and thus remained until the + officer and mamma went out of the arbour. + </p> + <p> + When Yura came into the room where the people were playing cards, the + serious, bald-headed man was scolding papa for something, brandishing the + chalk, talking, shouting, saying that father did not act as he should have + acted, that what he had done was impossible, that only bad people did such + things, that the old man would never again play with father, and so on. + And father was smiling, waving his hands, attempting to say something, but + the old man would not let him, and he commenced to shout more loudly. And + the old man was a little fellow, while father was big, handsome and tall, + and his smile was sad, like that of Gulliver pining for his native land of + tall and handsome people. + </p> + <p> + Of course, he must conceal from him—of course, he must conceal from + him that which happened in the arbour, and he must love him, and he felt + that he loved him so much. And with a wild cry Yura rushed over to the + bald-headed old man and began to beat him with his fists with all his + strength. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you dare insult him! Don’t you dare insult him!” + </p> + <p> + O Lord, what has happened! Some one laughed; some one shouted. Father + caught Yura in his arms, pressed him closely, causing him pain, and cried: + </p> + <p> + “Where is mother? Call mother.” + </p> + <p> + Then Yura was seized with a whirlwind of frantic tears, of desperate sobs + and mortal anguish. But through his frantic tears he looked at his father + to see whether he had guessed it, and when mother came in he started to + shout louder in order to divert any suspicion. But he did not go to her + arms; he clung more closely to father, so that father had to carry him + into his room. But it seemed that he himself did not want to part with + Yura. As soon as he carried him out of the room where the guests were he + began to kiss him, and he repeated: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dearest! Oh, my dearest!” + </p> + <p> + And he said to mamma, who walked behind him: + </p> + <p> + “Just think of the boy!” + </p> + <p> + Mamma said: + </p> + <p> + “That is all due to your whist. You were scolding each other so, that the + child was frightened.” + </p> + <p> + Father began to laugh, and answered: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he does scold harshly. But Yura, oh, what a dear boy!” + </p> + <p> + In his room Yura demanded that father himself undress him. “Now, you are + getting cranky,” said father. “I don’t know how to do it; let mamma + undress you.” + </p> + <p> + “But you stay here.” + </p> + <p> + Mamma had deft fingers and she undressed him quickly, and while she was + removing his clothes Yura held father by the hand. He ordered the nurse + out of the room; but as father was beginning to grow angry, and he might + guess what had happened in the arbour, decided to let him go. But while + kissing him he said cunningly: + </p> + <p> + “He will not scold you any more, will he?” + </p> + <p> + Papa smiled. Then he laughed, kissed Yura once more and said: + </p> + <p> + “No, no. And if he does I will throw him across the fence.” + </p> + <p> + “Please, do,” said Yura. “You can do it. You are so strong.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am pretty strong. But you had better sleep! Mamma will stay here + with you a while.” + </p> + <p> + Mamma said: + </p> + <p> + “I will send the nurse in. I must attend to the supper.” + </p> + <p> + Father shouted: + </p> + <p> + “There is plenty of time for that! You can stay a while with the child.” + </p> + <p> + But mamma insisted: + </p> + <p> + “We have guests! We can’t leave them that way.” + </p> + <p> + But father looked at her steadfastly, and shrugged his shoulders. Mamma + decided to stay. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then, I’ll stay here. But see that Maria does not mix up the + wines.” + </p> + <p> + Usually it was thus: when mamma sat near Yura as he was falling asleep she + held his hand until the last moment—that is what she usually did. + But now she sat as though she were all alone, as though Yura, her son, who + was falling asleep, was not there at all—she folded her hands in her + lap and looked into the distance. To attract her attention Yura stirred, + but mamma said briefly: + </p> + <p> + “Sleep.” + </p> + <p> + And she continued to look. But when Yura’s eyes had grown heavy and he was + falling asleep with all his sorrow and his tears, mamma suddenly went down + on her knees before the little bed and kissed Yura firmly many, many + times. But her kisses were wet—hot and wet. + </p> + <p> + “Why are your kisses wet? Are you crying?” muttered Yura. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am crying.” + </p> + <p> + “You must not cry.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, I won’t,” answered mother submissively. + </p> + <p> + And again she kissed him firmly, firmly, frequently, frequently. Yura + lifted both hands with a heavy movement, clasped his mother around the + neck and pressed his burning cheek firmly to her wet and cold cheek. She + was his mother, after all; there was nothing to be done. But how painful; + how bitterly painful! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A STORY WHICH WILL NEVER BE FINISHED + </h2> + <p> + Exhausted with the painful uncertainty of the day, I fell asleep, dressed, + on my bed. Suddenly my wife aroused me. In her hand a candle was + flickering, which appeared to me in the middle of the night as bright as + the sun. And behind the candle her chin, too, was trembling, and enormous, + unfamiliar dark eyes stared motionlessly. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know,” she said, “do you know they are building barricades on our + street?” + </p> + <p> + It was quiet. We looked straight into each other’s eyes, and I felt my + face turning pale. Life vanished somewhere and then returned again with a + loud throbbing of the heart. It was quiet and the flame of the candle was + quivering, and it was small, dull, but sharp-pointed, like a crooked + sword. + </p> + <p> + “Are you afraid?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + The pale chin trembled, but her eyes remained motionless and looked at me, + without blinking, and only now I noticed what unfamiliar, what terrible + eyes they were. For ten years I had looked into them and had known them + better than my own eyes, and now there was something new in them which I + am unable to define. I would have called it pride, but there was something + different in them, something new, entirely new. I took her hand; it was + cold. She grasped my hand firmly and there was something new, something I + had not known before, in her handclasp. + </p> + <p> + She had never before clasped my hand as she did this time. + </p> + <p> + “How long?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “About an hour already. Your brother has gone away. He was apparently + afraid that you would not let him go, so he went away quietly. But I saw + it.” + </p> + <p> + It was true then; the time had arrived. I rose, and, for some reason, + spent a long time washing myself, as was my wont in the morning before + going to work, and my wife held the light. Then we put out the light and + walked over to the window overlooking the street. It was spring; it was + May, and the air that came in from the open window was such as we had + never before felt in that old, large city. For several days the factories + and the roads had been idle; and the air, free from smoke, was filled with + the fragrance of the fields and the flowering gardens, perhaps with that + of the dew. I do not know what it is that smells so wonderfully on spring + nights when I go out far beyond the outskirts of the city. Not a lantern, + not a carriage, not a single sound of the city over the unconcerned stony + surface; if you had closed your eyes you would really have thought that + you were in a village. There a dog was barking. I had never before heard a + dog barking in the city, and I laughed for happiness. + </p> + <p> + “Listen, a dog is barking.” + </p> + <p> + My wife embraced me, and said: + </p> + <p> + “It is there, on the corner.” + </p> + <p> + We bent over the window-sill, and there, in the transparent, dark depth, + we saw some movement—not people, but movement. Something was moving + about like a shadow. Suddenly the blows of a hatchet or a hammer + resounded. They sounded so cheerful, so resonant, as in a forest, as on a + river when you are mending a boat or building a dam. And in the + presentiment of cheerful, harmonious work, I firmly embraced my wife, + while she looked above the houses, above the roofs, looked at the young + crescent of the moon, which was already setting. The moon was so young, so + strange, even as a young girl who is dreaming and is afraid to tell her + dreams; and it was shining only for itself. + </p> + <p> + “When will we have a full moon?...” + </p> + <p> + “You must not! You must not!” my wife interrupted. “You must not speak of + that which will be. What for? IT is afraid of words. Come here.” + </p> + <p> + It was dark in the room, and we were silent for a long time, without + seeing each other, yet thinking of the same thing. And when I started to + speak, it seemed to me that some one else was speaking; I was not afraid, + yet the voice of the other one was hoarse, as though suffocating for + thirst. + </p> + <p> + “What shall it be?” + </p> + <p> + “And—they?” + </p> + <p> + “You will be with them. It will be enough for them to have a mother. I + cannot remain.” + </p> + <p> + “And I? Can I?” + </p> + <p> + I know that she did not stir from her place, but I felt distinctly that + she was going away, that she was far—far away. I began to feel so + cold, I stretched out my hands—but she pushed them aside. + </p> + <p> + “People have such a holiday once in a hundred years, and you want to + deprive me of it. Why?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “But they may kill you there. And our children will perish.” + </p> + <p> + “Life will be merciful to me. But even if they should perish—” + </p> + <p> + And this was said by her, my wife—a woman with whom I had lived for + ten years. But yesterday she had known nothing except our children, and + had been filled with fear for them; but yesterday she had caught with + terror the stern symptoms of the future. What had come over her? Yesterday—but + I, too, forgot everything that was yesterday. + </p> + <p> + “Do you want to go with me?” + </p> + <p> + “Do not be angry”—she thought that I was afraid, angry—“Don’t + be angry. To-night, when they began to knock here, and you were still + sleeping, I suddenly understood that my husband, my children—all + these were simply temporary... I love you, very much”—she found my + hand and shook it with the same new, unfamiliar grasp—“but do you + hear how they are knocking there? They are knocking, and something seems + to be falling, some kind of walls seem to be falling—and it is so + spacious, so wide, so free. It is night now, and yet it seems to me that + the sun is shining. I am thirty years of age, and I am old already, and + yet it seems to me that I am only seventeen, and that I love some one with + my first love—a great, boundless love.” + </p> + <p> + “What a night!” I said. “It is as if the city were no more. You are right, + I have also forgotten how old I am.” + </p> + <p> + “They are knocking, and it sounds to me like music, like singing of which + I have always dreamed—all my life. And I did not know whom it was + that I loved with such a boundless love, which made me feel like crying + and laughing and singing. There is freedom—do not take my happiness + away, let me die with those who are working there, who are calling the + future so bravely, and who are rousing the dead past from its grave.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no such thing as time.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you say?” + </p> + <p> + “There is no such thing as time. Who are you? I did not know you. Are you + a human being?” + </p> + <p> + She burst into such ringing laughter as though she were really only + seventeen years old. + </p> + <p> + “I did not know you, either. Are you, too, a human being? How strange and + how beautiful it is—a human being!” + </p> + <p> + That which I am writing happened long ago, and those who are sleeping now + in the sleep of grey life and who die without awakening—those will + not believe me: in those days there was no such thing as time. The sun was + rising and setting, and the hand was moving around the dial—but time + did not exist. And many other great and wonderful things happened in those + days.... And those who are sleeping now the sleep of this grey life and + who die without awakening, will not believe me. + </p> + <p> + “I must go,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Wait, I will give you something to eat. You haven’t eaten anything + to-day. See how sensible I am: I shall go to-morrow. I shall give the + children away and find you.” + </p> + <p> + “Comrade,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, comrade.” + </p> + <p> + Through the open windows came the breath of the fields, and silence, and + from time to time, the cheerful strokes of the axe, and I sat by the table + and looked and listened, and everything was so mysteriously new that I + felt like laughing. I looked at the walls and they seemed to me to be + transparent. As if embracing all eternity with one glance, I saw how all + these walls had been built, I saw how they were being destroyed, and I + alone always was and always will be. Everything will pass, but I shall + remain. And everything seemed to me strange and queer—so unnatural—the + table and the food upon it, and everything outside of me. It all seemed to + me transparent and light, existing only temporarily. + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you eat?” asked my wife. + </p> + <p> + I smiled: + </p> + <p> + “Bread—it is so strange.” + </p> + <p> + She glanced at the bread, at the stale, dry crust of bread, and for some + reason her face became sad. Still continuing to look at it, she silently + adjusted her apron with her hands and her head turned slightly, very + slightly, in the direction where the children were sleeping. + </p> + <p> + “Do you feel sorry for them?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + She shook her head without removing her eyes from the bread. + </p> + <p> + “No, but I was thinking of what happened in our life before.” + </p> + <p> + How incomprehensible! As one who awakens from a long sleep, she surveyed + the room with her eyes and all seemed to her so incomprehensible. Was this + the place where we had lived? + </p> + <p> + “You were my wife.” + </p> + <p> + “And there are our children.” + </p> + <p> + “Here, beyond the wall, your father died.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. He died. He died without awakening.” + </p> + <p> + The smallest child, frightened at something in her sleep, began to cry. + And this simple childish cry, apparently demanding something, sounded so + strange amid these phantom walls, while there, below, people were building + barricades. + </p> + <p> + She cried and demanded—caresses, certain queer words and promises to + soothe her. And she soon was soothed. + </p> + <p> + “Well, go!” said my wife in a whisper. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to kiss them.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid you will wake them up.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I will not.” + </p> + <p> + It turned out that the oldest child was awake—he had heard and + understood everything. He was but nine years old, but he understood + everything—he met me with a deep, stern look. + </p> + <p> + “Will you take your gun?” he asked thoughtfully and earnestly. + </p> + <p> + “I will.” + </p> + <p> + “It is behind the stove.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know? Well, kiss me. Will you remember me?” + </p> + <p> + He jumped up in his bed, in his short little shirt, hot from sleep, and + firmly clasped my neck. His arms were burning—they were so soft and + delicate. I lifted his hair on the back of his head and kissed his little + neck. + </p> + <p> + “Will they kill you?” he whispered right into my ear. + </p> + <p> + “No, I will come back.” + </p> + <p> + But why did he not cry? He had cried sometimes when I had simply left the + house for a while: Is it possible that IT had reached him, too? Who knows? + So many strange things happened during the great days. + </p> + <p> + I looked at the walls, at the bread, at the candle, at the flame which had + kept flickering, and took my wife by the hand. + </p> + <p> + “Well—‘till we meet again!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—‘till we meet again!” + </p> + <p> + That was all. I went out. It was dark on the stairway and there was the + odour of old filth. Surrounded on all sides by the stones and the + darkness, groping down the stairs, I was seized with a tremendous, + powerful and all-absorbing feeling of the new, unknown and joyous + something to which I was going. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON THE DAY OF THE CRUCIFIXION + </h2> + <p> + On that terrible day, when the universal injustice was committed and Jesus + Christ was crucified in Golgotha among robbers—on that day, from + early morning, Ben-Tovit, a tradesman of Jerusalem, suffered from an + unendurable toothache. His toothache had commenced on the day before, + toward evening; at first his right jaw started to pain him, and one tooth, + the one right next the wisdom tooth, seemed to have risen somewhat, and + when his tongue touched the tooth, he felt a slightly painful sensation. + After supper, however, his toothache had passed, and Ben-Tovit had + forgotten all about it—he had made a profitable deal on that day, + had bartered an old donkey for a young, strong one, so he was very + cheerful and paid no heed to any ominous signs. + </p> + <p> + And he slept very soundly. But just before daybreak something began to + disturb him, as if some one were calling him on a very important matter, + and when Ben-Tovit awoke angrily, his teeth were aching, aching openly and + maliciously, causing him an acute, drilling pain. And he could no longer + understand whether it was only the same tooth that had ached on the + previous day, or whether others had joined that tooth; Ben-Tovit’s entire + mouth and his head were filled with terrible sensations of pain, as though + he had been forced to chew thousands of sharp, red-hot nails, he took some + water into his mouth from an earthen jug—for a minute the acuteness + of the pain subsided, his teeth twitched and swayed like a wave, and this + sensation was even pleasant as compared with the other. + </p> + <p> + Ben-Tovit lay down again, recalled his new donkey, and thought how happy + he would have been if not for his toothache, and he wanted to fall asleep. + But the water was warm, and five minutes later his toothache began to rage + more severely than ever; Ben-Tovit sat up in his bed and swayed back and + forth like a pendulum. His face became wrinkled and seemed to have shrunk, + and a drop of cold perspiration was hanging on his nose, which had turned + pale from his sufferings. Thus, swaying back and forth and groaning for + pain, he met the first rays of the sun, which was destined to see Golgotha + and the three crosses, and grow dim from horror and sorrow. + </p> + <p> + Ben-Tovit was a good and kind man, who hated any injustice, but when his + wife awoke he said many unpleasant things to her, opening his mouth with + difficulty, and he complained that he was left alone, like a jackal, to + groan and writhe for pain. His wife met the undeserved reproaches + patiently, for she knew that they came not from an angry heart—and + she brought him numerous good remedies: rats’ litter to be applied to his + cheek, some strong liquid in which a scorpion was preserved, and a real + chip of the tablets that Moses had broken. He began to feel a little + better from the rats’ litter, but not for long, also from the liquid and + the stone, but the pain returned each time with renewed intensity. + </p> + <p> + During the moments of rest Ben-Tovit consoled himself with the thought of + the little donkey, and he dreamed of him, and when he felt worse he + moaned, scolded his wife, and threatened to dash his head against a rock + if the pain should not subside. He kept pacing back and forth on the flat + roof of his house from one corner to the other, feeling ashamed to come + close to the side facing the street, for his head was tied around with a + kerchief like that of a woman. Several times children came running to him + and told him hastily about Jesus of Nazareth. Ben-Tovit paused, listened + to them for a while, his face wrinkled, but then he stamped his foot + angrily and chased them away. He was a kind man and he loved children, but + now he was angry at them for bothering him with trifles. + </p> + <p> + It was disagreeable to him that a large crowd had gathered in the street + and on the neighbouring roofs, doing nothing and looking curiously at + Ben-Tovit, who had his head tied around with a kerchief like a woman. He + was about to go down, when his wife said to him: + </p> + <p> + “Look, they are leading robbers there. Perhaps that will divert you.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me alone. Don’t you see how I am suffering?” Ben-Tovit answered + angrily. + </p> + <p> + But there was a vague promise in his wife’s words that there might be a + relief for his toothache, so he walked over to the parapet unwillingly. + Bending his head on one side, closing one eye, and supporting his cheek + with his hand, his face assumed a squeamish, weeping expression, and he + looked down to the street. + </p> + <p> + On the narrow street, going uphill, an enormous crowd was moving forward + in disorder, covered with dust and shouting uninterruptedly. In the middle + of the crowd walked the criminals, bending down under the weight of their + crosses, and over them the scourges of the Roman soldiers were wriggling + about like black snakes. One of the men, he of the long light hair, in a + torn blood-stained cloak, stumbled over a stone which was thrown under his + feet, and he fell. The shouting grew louder, and the crowd, like coloured + sea water, closed in about the man on the ground. Ben-Tovit suddenly + shuddered for pain; he felt as though some one had pierced a red-hot + needle into his tooth and turned it there; he groaned and walked away from + the parapet, angry and squeamishly indifferent. + </p> + <p> + “How they are shouting!” he said enviously, picturing to himself their + wide-open mouths with strong, healthy teeth, and how he himself would have + shouted if he had been well. This intensified his toothache, and he shook + his muffled head frequently, and roared: “Moo-Moo....” + </p> + <p> + “They say that He restored sight to the blind,” said his wife, who + remained standing at the parapet, and she threw down a little cobblestone + near the place where Jesus, lifted by the whips, was moving slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, of course! He should have cured my toothache,” replied + Ben-Tovit ironically, and he added bitterly with irritation: “What dust + they have kicked up! Like a herd of cattle! They should all be driven away + with a stick! Take me down, Sarah!” + </p> + <p> + The wife proved to be right. The spectacle had diverted Ben-Tovit slightly—perhaps + it was the rats’ litter that had helped after all—he succeeded in + falling asleep. When he awoke, his toothache had passed almost entirely, + and only a little inflammation had formed over his right jaw. His wife + told him that it was not noticeable at all, but Ben-Tovit smiled cunningly—he + knew how kind-hearted his wife was and how fond she was of telling him + pleasant things. + </p> + <p> + Samuel, the tanner, a neighbour of Ben-Tovit’s, came in, and Ben-Tovit led + him to see the new little donkey and listened proudly to the warm praises + for himself and his animal. + </p> + <p> + Then, at the request of the curious Sarah, the three went to Golgotha to + see the people who had been crucified. On the way Ben-Tovit told Samuel in + detail how he had felt a pain in his right jaw on the day before, and how + he awoke at night with a terrible toothache. To illustrate it he made a + martyr’s face, closing his eyes, shook his head, and groaned while the + grey-bearded Samuel nodded his head compassionately and said: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, how painful it must have been!” + </p> + <p> + Ben-Tovit was pleased with Samuel’s attitude, and he repeated the story to + him, then went back to the past, when his first tooth was spoiled on the + left side. Thus, absorbed in a lively conversation, they reached Golgotha. + The sun, which was destined to shine upon the world on that terrible day, + had already set beyond the distant hills, and in the west a narrow, + purple-red strip was burning, like a stain of blood. The crosses stood out + darkly but vaguely against this background, and at the foot of the middle + cross white kneeling figures were seen indistinctly. + </p> + <p> + The crowd had long dispersed; it was growing chilly, and after a glance at + the crucified men, Ben-Tovit took Samuel by the arm and carefully turned + him in the direction toward his house. He felt that he was particularly + eloquent just then, and he was eager to finish the story of his toothache. + Thus they walked, and Ben-Tovit made a martyr’s face, shook his head and + groaned skilfully, while Samuel nodded compassionately and uttered + exclamations from time to time, and from the deep, narrow defiles, out of + the distant, burning plains, rose the black night. It seemed as though it + wished to hide from the view of heaven the great crime of the earth. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE SERPENT’S STORY + </h2> + <p> + Hush! Hush! Hush! Come closer to me. Look into my eyes! + </p> + <p> + I always was a fascinating creature, tender, sensitive, and grateful. I + was wise and I was noble. And I am so flexible in the writhing of my + graceful body that it will afford you joy to watch my easy dance. Now I + shall coil up into a ring, flash my scales dimly, wind myself around + tenderly and clasp my steel body in my gentle, cold embraces. One in many! + One in many! + </p> + <p> + Hush! Hush! Look into my eyes! + </p> + <p> + You do not like my writhing and my straight, open look? Oh, my head is + heavy—therefore I sway about so quietly. Oh, my head is heavy—therefore + I look so straight ahead, as I sway about. Come closer to me. Give me a + little warmth; stroke my wise forehead with your fingers; in its fine + outlines you will find the form of a cup into which flows wisdom, the dew + of the evening-flowers. When I draw the air by my writhing, a trace is + left in it—the design of the finest of webs, the web of + dream-charms, the enchantment of noiseless movements, the inaudible hiss + of gliding lines. I am silent and I sway myself. I look ahead and I sway + myself. What strange burden am I carrying on my neck? + </p> + <p> + I love you. + </p> + <p> + I always was a fascinating creature, and loved tenderly those I loved. + Come closer to me. Do you see my white, sharp, enchanting little teeth? + Kissing, I used to bite. Not painfully, no—just a trifle. Caressing + tenderly, I used to bite a little, until the first bright little drops + appeared, until a cry came forth which sounded like the laugh produced by + tickling. That was very pleasant—think not it was unpleasant; + otherwise they whom I kissed would not come back for more kisses. It is + now that I can kiss only once—how sad—only once! One kiss for + each—how little for a loving heart, for a sensitive soul, striving + for a great union! But it is only I, the sad one, who kiss but once, and + must seek love again—he knows no other love any more: to him my one, + tender, nuptial kiss is inviolable and eternal. I am speaking to you + frankly; and when my story is ended—I will kiss you. + </p> + <p> + I love you. + </p> + <p> + Look into my eyes. Is it not true that mine is a magnificent, a powerful + look? A firm look and a straight look? And it is steadfast, like steel + forced against your heart. I look ahead and sway myself, I look and I + enchant; in my green eyes I gather your fear, your loving, fatigued, + submissive longing. Come closer to me. Now I am a queen and you dare not + fail to see my beauty; but there was a strange time—Ah, what a + strange time! Ah, what a strange time! At the mere recollection I am + agitated—Ah, what a strange time! No one loved me. No one respected + me. I was persecuted with cruel ferocity, trampled in the mud and jeered—Ah, + what a strange time it was! One in many! One in many! + </p> + <p> + I say to you: Come closer to me. + </p> + <p> + Why did they not love me? At that time I was also a fascinating creature, + but without malice; I was gentle and I danced wonderfully. But they + tortured me. They burnt me with fire. Heavy and coarse beasts trampled + upon me with the dull steps of terribly heavy feet; cold tusks of bloody + mouths tore my tender body—and in my powerless sorrow I bit the + sand, I swallowed the dust of the ground—I was dying of despair. + Crushed, I was dying every day. Every day I was dying of despair. Oh, what + a terrible time that was! The stupid forest has forgotten everything—it + does not remember that time, but you have pity on me. Come closer to me. + Have pity on me, on the offended, on the sad one, on the loving one, on + the one who dances so beautifully. + </p> + <p> + I love you. + </p> + <p> + How could I defend myself? I had only my white, wonderful, sharp little + teeth—they were good only for kisses. How could I defend myself? It + is only now that I carry on my neck this terrible burden of a head, and my + look is commanding and straight, but then my head was light and my eyes + gazed meekly. Then I had no poison yet. Oh, my head is so heavy and it is + hard for me to hold it up! Oh, I have grown tired of my look—two + stones are in my forehead, and these are my eyes. Perhaps the glittering + stones are precious—but it is hard to carry them instead of gentle + eyes—they oppress my brain. It is so hard for my head! I look ahead + and sway myself; I see you in a green mist—you are so far away. Come + closer to me. + </p> + <p> + You see, even in sorrow I am beautiful, and my look is languid because of + my love. Look into my pupil; I will narrow and widen it, and give it a + peculiar glitter—the twinkling of a star at night, the playfulness + of all precious stones—of diamonds, of green emeralds, of yellowish + topaz, of blood-red rubies. Look into my eyes: It is I, the queen—I + am crowning myself, and that which is glittering, burning and glowing—that + robs you of your reason, your freedom and your life—it is poison. It + is a drop of my poison. + </p> + <p> + How has it happened? I do not know. I did not bear ill-will to the living. + </p> + <p> + I lived and suffered. I was silent. I languished. I hid myself hurriedly + when I could hide myself; I crawled away hastily. But they have never seen + me weep—I cannot weep; and my easy dance grew ever faster and ever + more beautiful. Alone in the stillness, alone in the thicket, I danced + with sorrow in my heart—they despised my swift dance and would have + been glad to kill me as I danced. Suddenly my head began to grow heavy—How + strange it is!—My head grew heavy. Just as small and beautiful, just + as wise and beautiful, it had suddenly grown terribly heavy; it bent my + neck to the ground, and caused me pain. Now I am somewhat used to it, but + at first it was dreadfully awkward and painful. I thought I was sick. + </p> + <p> + And suddenly... Come closer to me. Look into my eyes. Hush! Hush! Hush! + </p> + <p> + And suddenly my look became heavy—it became fixed and strange—I + was even frightened! I want to glance and turn away—but cannot. I + always look straight ahead, I pierce with my eyes ever more deeply, I am + as though petrified. Look into my eyes. It is as though I am petrified, as + though everything I look upon is petrified. Look into my eyes. + </p> + <p> + I love you. Do not laugh at my frank story, or I shall be angry. Every + hour I open my sensitive heart, for all my efforts are in vain—I am + alone. My one and last kiss is full of ringing sorrow—and the one I + love is not here, and I seek love again, and I tell my tale in vain—my + heart cannot bare itself, and the poison torments me and my head grows + heavier. Am I not beautiful in my despair? Come closer to me. + </p> + <p> + I love you. + </p> + <p> + Once I was bathing in a stagnant swamp in the forest—I love to be + clean—it is a sign of noble birth, and I bathe frequently. While + bathing, dancing in the water, I saw my reflection, and as always, fell in + love with myself. I am so fond of the beautiful and the wise! And suddenly + I saw—on my forehead, among my other inborn adornments, a new, + strange sign—Was it not this sign that has brought the heaviness, + the petrified look, and the sweet taste in my mouth? Here a cross is + darkly outlined on my forehead—right here—look. Come closer to + me. Is this not strange? But I did not understand it at that time, and I + liked it. Let there be no more adornment. And on the same day, on that + same terrible day, when the cross appeared, my first kiss became also my + last—my kiss became fatal. One in many! One in many! + </p> + <p> + Oh! + </p> + <p> + You love precious stones, but think, my beloved, how far more precious is + a little drop of my poison. It is such a little drop.—Have you ever + seen it? Never, never. But you shall find it out. Consider, my beloved, + how much suffering, painful humiliation, powerless rage devoured me: I had + to experience in order to bring forth this little drop. I am a queen! I am + a queen! In one drop, brought forth by myself, I carry death unto the + living, and my kingdom is limitless, even as grief is limitless, even as + death is limitless. I am queen! My look is inexorable. My dance is + terrible! I am beautiful! One in many! One in many! + </p> + <p> + Oh! + </p> + <p> + Do not fall. My story is not yet ended. Come closer to me. + </p> + <p> + And then I crawled into the stupid forest, into my green dominion. + </p> + <p> + Now it is a new way, a terrible way! I was kind like a queen; and like a + queen I bowed graciously to the right and to the left. And they—they + ran away! Like a queen I bowed benevolently to the right and to the left—and + they, queer people—they ran away. What do you think? Why did they + run away? What do you think? Look into my eyes. Do you see in them a + certain glimmer and a flash? The rays of my crown blind your eyes, you are + petrified, you are lost. I shall soon dance my last dance—-do not + fall. I shall coil into rings, I shall flash my scales dimly, and I shall + clasp my steel body in my gentle, cold embraces. Here I am! Accept my only + kiss, my nuptial kiss—in it is the deadly grief of all oppressed + lives. One in many! One in many! + </p> + <p> + Bend down to me. I love you. + </p> + <p> + Die! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LOVE, FAITH AND HOPE + </h2> + <p> + He loved. + </p> + <p> + According to his passport, he was called Max Z. But as it was stated in + the same passport that he had no special peculiarities about his features, + I prefer to call him Mr. N+1. He represented a long line of young men who + possess wavy, dishevelled locks, straight, bold, and open looks, + well-formed and strong bodies, and very large and powerful hearts. + </p> + <p> + All these youths have loved and perpetuated their love. Some of them have + succeeded in engraving it on the tablets of history, like Henry IV; + others, like Petrarch, have made literary preserves of it; some have + availed themselves for that purpose of the newspapers, wherein the + happenings of the day are recorded, and where they figured among those who + had strangled themselves, shot themselves, or who had been shot by others; + still others, the happiest and most modest of all, perpetuated their love + by entering it in the birth records—by creating posterity. + </p> + <p> + The love of N+1 was as strong as death, as a certain writer put it; as + strong as life, he thought. + </p> + <p> + Max was firmly convinced that he was the first to have discovered the + method of loving so intensely, so unrestrainedly, so passionately, and he + regarded with contempt all who had loved before him. Still more, he was + convinced that even after him no one would love as he did, and he felt + sorry that with his death the secret of true love would be lost to + mankind. But, being a modest young man, he attributed part of his + achievement to her—to his beloved. Not that she was perfection + itself, but she came very close to it, as close as an ideal can come to + reality. + </p> + <p> + There were prettier women than she, there were wiser women, but was there + ever a better woman? Did there ever exist a woman on whose face was so + clearly and distinctly written that she alone was worthy of love—of + infinite, pure, and devoted love? Max knew that there never were, and that + there never would be such women. In this respect, he had no special + peculiarities, just as Adam did not have them, just as you, my reader, do + not have them. Beginning with Grandmother Eve and ending with the woman + upon whom your eyes were directed—before you read these lines—the + same inscription is to be clearly and distinctly read on the face of every + woman at a certain time. The difference is only in the quality of the ink. + </p> + <p> + A very nasty day set in—it was Monday or Tuesday—when Max + noticed with a feeling of great terror that the inscription upon the dear + face was fading. Max rubbed his eyes, looked first from a distance, then + from all sides; but the fact was undeniable—the inscription was + fading. Soon the last letter also disappeared—the face was white + like the recently whitewashed wall of a new house. But he was convinced + that the inscription had disappeared not of itself, but that some one had + wiped it off. Who? + </p> + <p> + Max went to his friend, John N. He knew and he felt sure that such a true, + disinterested, and honest friend there never was and never would be. And + in this respect, too, as you see, Max had no special peculiarities. He + went to his friend for the purpose of taking his advice concerning the + mysterious disappearance of the inscription, and found John N. exactly at + the moment when he was wiping away that inscription by his kisses. It was + then that the records of the local occurrences were enriched by another + unfortunate incident, entitled “An Attempt at Suicide.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + It is said that death always comes in due time. Evidently, that time had + not yet arrived for Max, for he remained alive—that is, he ate, + drank, walked, borrowed money and did not return it, and altogether he + showed by a series of psycho-physiological acts that he was a living + being, possessing a stomach, a will, and a mind—but his soul was + dead, or, to be more exact, it was absorbed in lethargic sleep. The sound + of human speech reached his ears, his eyes saw tears and laughter, but all + that did not stir a single echo, a single emotion in his soul. I do not + know what space of time had elapsed. It may have been one year, and it may + have been ten years, for the length of such intermissions in life depends + on how quickly the actor succeeds in changing his costume. + </p> + <p> + One beautiful day—it was Wednesday or Thursday—Max awakened + completely. A careful and guarded liquidation of his spiritual property + made it clear that a fair piece of Max’s soul, the part which contained + his love for woman and for his friends, was dead, like a + paralysis-stricken hand or foot. But what remained was, nevertheless, + enough for life. That was love for and faith in mankind. Then Max, having + renounced personal happiness, started to work for the happiness of others. + </p> + <p> + That was a new phase—he believed. + </p> + <p> + All the evil that is tormenting the world seemed to him to be concentrated + in a “red flower,” in one red flower. It was but necessary to tear it + down, and the incessant, heart-rending cries and moans which rise to the + indifferent sky from all points of the earth, like its natural breathing, + would be silenced. The evil of the world, he believed, lay in the evil + will and in the madness of the people. They themselves were to blame for + being unhappy, and they could be happy if they wished. This seemed so + clear and simple that Max was dumfounded in his amazement at human + stupidity. Humanity reminded him of a crowd huddled together in a spacious + temple and panic-stricken at the cry of “Fire!” + </p> + <p> + Instead of passing calmly through the wide doors and saving themselves, + the maddened people, with the cruelty of frenzied beasts, cry and roar, + crush one another and perish—not from the fire (for it is only + imaginary), but from their own madness. It is enough sometimes when one + sensible, firm word is uttered to this crowd—the crowd calms down + and imminent death is thus averted. Let, then, a hundred calm, rational + voices be raised to mankind, showing them where to escape and where the + danger lies—and heaven will be established on earth, if not + immediately, then at least within a very brief time. + </p> + <p> + Max began to utter his word of wisdom. How he uttered it you will learn + later. The name of Max was mentioned in the newspapers, shouted in the + market places, blessed and cursed; whole books were written on what Max + N+1 had done, what he was doing, and what he intended to do. He appeared + here and there and everywhere. He was seen standing at the head of the + crowd, commanding it; he was seen in chains and under the knife of the + guillotine. In this respect Max did not have any special peculiarities, + either. A preacher of humility and peace, a stern bearer of fire and + sword, he was the same Max—Max the believer. But while he was doing + all this, time kept passing on. His nerves were shattered; his wavy locks + became thin and his head began to look like that of Elijah the Prophet; + here and there he felt a piercing pain.... + </p> + <p> + The earth continued to turn light-mindedly around the sun, now coming + nearer to it, now retreating coquettishly, and giving the impression that + it fixed all its attention upon its household friend, the moon; the days + were replaced by other days, and the dark nights by other dark nights, + with such pedantic German punctuality and correctness that all the + artistic natures were compelled to move over to the far north by degrees, + where the devil himself would break his head endeavouring to distinguish + between day and night—when suddenly something happened to Max. + </p> + <p> + Somehow it happened that Max became misunderstood. He had calmed the crowd + by his words of wisdom many a time before and had saved them from mutual + destruction but now he was not understood. They thought that it was he who + had shouted “Fire!” With all the eloquence of which he was capable he + assured them that he was exerting all his efforts for their sake alone; + that he himself needed absolutely nothing, for he was alone, childless; + that he was ready to forget the sad misunderstanding and serve them again + with faith and truth—but all in vain. They would not trust him. And + in this respect Max did not have any special peculiarities, either. The + sad incident ended for Max in a new intermission. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + Max was alive, as was positively established by medical experts, who had + made a series of simple tests. Thus, when they pricked a needle into his + foot, he shook his foot and tried to remove the needle. When they put food + before him, he ate it, but he did not walk and did not ask for any loans, + which clearly testified to the complete decline of his energy. His soul + was dead—as much as the soul can be dead while the body is alive. To + Max all that he had loved and believed in was dead. Impenetrable gloom + wrapped his soul. There were neither feelings in it, nor desires, nor + thoughts. And there was not a more unhappy man in the world than Max, if + he was a man at all. + </p> + <p> + But he was a man. + </p> + <p> + According to the calendar, it was Friday or Saturday, when Max awakened as + from a prolonged sleep. With the pleasant sensation of an owner to whom + his property has been restored which had wrongly been taken from him, Max + realised that he was once more in possession of all his five senses. + </p> + <p> + His sight reported to him that he was all alone, in a place which might in + justice be called either a room or a chimney. Each wall of the room was + about a metre and a half wide and about ten metres high. The walls were + straight, white, smooth, with no openings, except one through which food + was brought to Max. An electric lamp was burning brightly on the ceiling. + It was burning all the time, so that Max did not know now what darkness + was. There was no furniture in the room, and Max had to lie on the stone + floor. He lay curled together, as the narrowness of the room did not + permit him to stretch himself. + </p> + <p> + His sense of hearing reported to him that until the day of his death he + would not leave this room.... Having reported this, his hearing sank into + inactivity, for not the slightest sound came from without, except the + sounds which Max himself produced, tossing about, or shouting until he was + hoarse, until he lost his voice. + </p> + <p> + Max looked into himself. In contrast to the outward light which never went + out he saw within himself impenetrable, heavy, and motionless darkness. In + that darkness his love and faith were buried. + </p> + <p> + Max did not know whether time was moving or whether it stood motionless. + The same even, white light poured down on him—the same silence and + quiet. Only by the beating of his heart Max could judge that Chronos had + not left his chariot. His body was aching ever more from the unnatural + position in which it lay, and the constant light and silence were growing + ever more tormenting. How happy are they for whom night exists, near whom + people are shouting, making noise, beating drums; who may sit on a chair, + with their feet hanging down, or lie with their feet outstretched, placing + the head in a corner and covering it with the hands in order to create the + illusion of darkness. + </p> + <p> + Max made an effort to recall and to picture to himself what there is in + life; human faces, voices, the stars.... He knew that his eyes would never + in life see that again. He knew it, and yet he lived. He could have + destroyed himself, for there is no position in which a man can not do + that, but instead Max worried about his health, trying to eat, although he + had no appetite, solving mathematical problems to occupy his mind so as + not to lose his reason. He struggled against death as if it were not his + deliverer, but his enemy; and as if life were to him not the worst of + infernal tortures—but love, faith, and happiness. Gloom in the Past, + the grave in the Future, and infernal tortures in the Present—and + yet he lived. Tell me, John N., where did he get the strength for that? + </p> + <p> + He hoped. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE OCEAN + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + A misty February twilight is descending over the ocean. The newly fallen + snow has melted and the warm air is heavy and damp. The northwestern wind + from the sea is driving it silently toward the mainland, bringing in its + wake a sharply fragrant mixture of brine, of boundless space, of + undisturbed, free and mysterious distances. + </p> + <p> + In the sky, where the sun is setting, a noiseless destruction of an + unknown city, of an unknown land, is taking place; structures, magnificent + palaces with towers, are crumbling; mountains are silently splitting + asunder and, bending slowly, are tumbling down. But no cry, no moan, no + crash of the fall reaches the earth—the monstrous play of shadows is + noiseless; and the great surface of the ocean, as though ready for + something, as though waiting for something, reflecting it faintly, listens + to it in silence. + </p> + <p> + Silence reigns also in the fishermen’s settlement. The fishermen have gone + fishing; the children are sleeping and only the restless women, gathered + in front of the houses, are talking softly, lingering before going to + sleep, beyond which there is always the unknown. + </p> + <p> + The light of the sea and the sky behind the houses, and the houses and + their bark roofs are black and sharp, and there is no perspective: the + houses that are far and those that are near seem to stand side by side as + if attached to one another, the roofs and the walls embracing one another, + pressing close to one another, seized with the same uneasiness before the + eternal unknown. + </p> + <p> + Right here there is also a little church, its side wall formed crudely of + rough granite, with a deep window which seems to be concealing itself. + </p> + <p> + A cautious sound of women’s voices is heard, softened by uneasiness and by + the approaching night. + </p> + <p> + “We can sleep peacefully to-night. The sea is calm and the rollers are + breaking like the clock in the steeple of old Dan.” + </p> + <p> + “They will come back with the morning tide. My husband told me that they + will come back with the morning tide.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps they will come back with the evening tide. It is better for us to + think they will come back in the evening, so that our waiting will not be + in vain. + </p> + <p> + “But I must build a fire in the stove.” + </p> + <p> + “When the men are away from home, one does not feel like starting a fire. + I never build a fire, even when I am awake; it seems to me that fire + brings a storm. It is better to be quiet and silent.” + </p> + <p> + “And listen to the wind? No, that is terrible.” + </p> + <p> + “I love the fire. I should like to sleep near the fire, but my husband + does not allow it.” + </p> + <p> + “Why doesn’t old Dan come here? It is time to strike the hour.” + </p> + <p> + “Old Dan will play in the church to-night; he cannot bear such silence as + this. When the sea is roaring, old Dan hides himself and is silent—he + is afraid of the sea. But, as soon as the waves calm down, Dan crawls out + quietly and sits down to play his organ.” + </p> + <p> + The women laugh softly. + </p> + <p> + “He reproaches the sea.” + </p> + <p> + “He is complaining to God against it. He knows how to complain well. One + feels like crying when he tells God about those who have perished at sea. + Mariet, have you seen Dan to-day? Why are you silent, Mariet?” + </p> + <p> + Mariet is the adopted daughter of the abbot, in whose house old Dan, the + organist, lives. Absorbed in thought, she does not hear the question. + </p> + <p> + “Mariet, do you hear? Anna is asking you whether you have seen Dan + to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think I have. I don’t remember. He is in his room. He does not + like to leave his room when father goes fishing.” + </p> + <p> + “Dan is fond of the city priests. He cannot get used to the idea of a + priest who goes fishing, like an ordinary fisherman, and who goes to sea + with our husbands.” + </p> + <p> + “He is simply afraid of the sea.” + </p> + <p> + “You may say what you like, but I believe we have the very best priest in + the world.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s true. I fear him, but I love him as a father.” + </p> + <p> + “May God forgive me, but I would have been proud and always happy, if I + were his adopted daughter. Do you hear, Mariet?” + </p> + <p> + The women laugh softly and tenderly. + </p> + <p> + “Do you hear, Mariet?” + </p> + <p> + “I do. But aren’t you tired of always laughing at the same thing? Yes, I + am his daughter—Is it so funny that you will laugh all your life at + it?” + </p> + <p> + The women commence to justify themselves confusedly. + </p> + <p> + “But he laughs at it himself.” + </p> + <p> + “The abbot is fond of jesting. He says so comically: ‘My adopted + daughter,’ and then he strikes himself with his fist and shouts: ‘She’s my + real daughter, not my adopted daughter. She’s my real daughter.’” + </p> + <p> + “I have never known my mother, but this laughter would have been + unpleasant to her. I feel it,” says Mariet. + </p> + <p> + The women grow silent. The breakers strike against the shore dully with + the regularity of a great pendulum. The unknown city, wrapped with fire + and smoke, is still being destroyed in the sky; yet it does not fall down + completely; and the sea is waiting. Mariet lifts her lowered head. + </p> + <p> + “What were you going to say, Mariet?” + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t he pass here?” asks Mariet in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + Another woman answers timidly: + </p> + <p> + “Hush! Why do you speak of him? I fear him. No, he did not pass this way.” + </p> + <p> + “He did. I saw from the window that he passed by.” + </p> + <p> + “You are mistaken; it was some one else.” + </p> + <p> + “Who else could that be? Is it possible to make a mistake, if you have + once seen him walk? No one walks as he does.” + </p> + <p> + “Naval officers, Englishmen, walk like that.” + </p> + <p> + “No. Haven’t I seen naval officers in the city? They walk firmly, but + openly; even a girl could trust them.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, look out!” + </p> + <p> + Frightened and cautious laughter. + </p> + <p> + “No, don’t laugh. He walks without looking at the ground; he puts his feet + down as if the ground itself must take them cautiously and place them.” + </p> + <p> + “But if there’s a stone on the road? We have many stones here.” + </p> + <p> + “He does not bend down, nor does he hide his head when a strong wind + blows.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not. Of course not. He does not hide his head.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it true that he is handsome? Who has seen him at close range?” + </p> + <p> + “I,” says Mariet. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, don’t speak of him; I shall not be able to sleep all night. Since + they settled on that hill, in that accursed castle, I know no rest; I am + dying of fear. You are also afraid. Confess it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, not all of us are afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “What have they come here for? There are two of them. What is there for + them to do here in our poor land, where we have nothing but stones and the + sea?” + </p> + <p> + “They drink gin. The sailor comes every morning for gin.” + </p> + <p> + “They are simply drunkards who don’t want anybody to disturb their + drinking. When the sailor passes along the street he leaves behind him an + odour as of an open bottle of rum.” + </p> + <p> + “But is that their business—drinking gin? I fear them. Where is the + ship that brought them here? They came from the sea.” + </p> + <p> + “I saw the ship,” says Mariet. + </p> + <p> + The women begin to question her in amazement. + </p> + <p> + “You? Why, then, didn’t you say anything about it? Tell us what you know.” + </p> + <p> + Mariet maintains silence. Suddenly one of the women exclaims: + </p> + <p> + “Ah, look! They have lit a lamp. There is a light in the castle!” + </p> + <p> + On the left, about half a mile away from the village, a faint light flares + up, a red little coal in the dark blue of the twilight and the distance. + There upon a high rock, overhanging the sea, stands an ancient castle, a + grim heritage of grey and mysterious antiquity. Long destroyed, long + ruined, it blends with the rocks, continuing and delusively ending them by + the broken, dented line of its batteries, its shattered roofs, its + half-crumbled towers. Now the rocks and the castle are covered with a + smoky shroud of twilight. They seem airy, devoid of any weight, and almost + as fantastic as those monstrous heaps of structures which are piled up and + which are falling so noiselessly in the sky. But while the others are + falling this one stands, and a live light reddens against the deep blue—and + it is just as strange a sight as if a human hand were to kindle a light in + the clouds. + </p> + <p> + Turning their heads in that direction, the women look on with frightened + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Do you see,” says one of them. “It is even worse than a light on a + cemetery. Who needs a light among the tombstones?” + </p> + <p> + “It is getting cold toward night and the sailor must have thrown some + branches into the fireplace, that’s all. At least, I think so,” says + Mariet. + </p> + <p> + “And I think that the abbot should have gone there with holy water long + ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Or with the gendarmes! If that isn’t the devil himself, it is surely one + of his assistants.” + </p> + <p> + “It is impossible to live peacefully with such neighbours close by.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid for the children.” + </p> + <p> + “And for your soul?” + </p> + <p> + Two elderly women rise silently and go away. Then a third, an old woman, + also rises. + </p> + <p> + “We must ask the abbot whether it isn’t a sin to look at such a light.” + </p> + <p> + She goes off. The smoke in the sky is ever increasing and the fire is + subsiding, and the unknown city is already near its dark end. The sea + odour is growing ever sharper and stronger. Night is coming from the + shore. + </p> + <p> + Their heads turned, the women watch the departing old woman. Then they + turn again toward the light. + </p> + <p> + Mariet, as though defending some one, says softly: + </p> + <p> + “There can’t be anything bad in light. For there is light in the candles + on God’s altar.” + </p> + <p> + “But there is also fire for Satan in hell,” says another old woman, + heavily and angrily, and then goes off. Now four remain, all young girls. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid,” says one, pressing close to her companion. + </p> + <p> + The noiseless and cold conflagration in the sky is ended; the city is + destroyed; the unknown land is in ruins. There are no longer any walls or + falling towers; a heap of pale blue gigantic shapes have fallen silently + into the abyss of the ocean and the night. A young little star glances at + the earth with frightened eyes; it feels like coming out of the clouds + near the castle, and because of its inmost neighbourship the heavy castle + grows darker, and the light in its window seems redder and darker. + </p> + <p> + “Good night, Mariet,” says the girl who sat alone, and then she goes off. + </p> + <p> + “Let us also go; it is getting cold,” say the other two, rising. “Good + night, Mariet.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night.” + </p> + <p> + “Why are you alone, Mariet? Why are you alone, Mariet, in the daytime and + at night, on week days and on merry holidays? Do you love to think of your + betrothed?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do. I love to think of Philipp.” + </p> + <p> + The girl laughs. + </p> + <p> + “But you don’t want to see him. When he goes out to sea, you look at the + sea for hours; when he comes back—you are not there. Where are you + hiding yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “I love to think of Philipp.” + </p> + <p> + “Like a blind man he gropes among the houses, forever calling: ‘Mariet! + Mariet! Have you not seen Mariet?’” + </p> + <p> + They go off laughing and repeating: + </p> + <p> + “Good night, Mariet. ‘Have you not seen Mariet! Mariet!’” + </p> + <p> + The girl is left alone. She looks at the light in the castle. She hears + soft, irresolute footsteps. + </p> + <p> + Old Dan, of small stature, slim, a coughing old man with a clean-shaven + face, comes out from behind the church. Because of his irresoluteness, or + because of the weakness of his eyes, he steps uncertainly, touching the + ground cautiously and with a certain degree of fear. + </p> + <p> + “Oho! Oho!” + </p> + <p> + “Is that you, Dan?” + </p> + <p> + “The sea is calm, Dan. Are you going to play to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “Oho! I shall ring the bell seven times. Seven times I shall ring it and + send to God seven of His holy hours.” + </p> + <p> + He takes the rope of the bell and strikes the hour—seven ringing and + slow strokes. The wind plays with them, it drops them to the ground, but + before they touch it, it catches them tenderly, sways them softly and with + a light accompaniment of whistling carries them off to the dark coast. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” mutters Dan. “Bad hours, they fall to the ground. They are not + His holy hours and He will send them back. Oh, a storm is coming! O Lord, + have mercy on those who are perishing at sea!” + </p> + <p> + He mutters and coughs. + </p> + <p> + “Dan, I have seen the ship again to-day. Do you hear, Dan?” + </p> + <p> + “Many ships are going out to sea.” + </p> + <p> + “But this one had black sails. It was again going toward the sun.” + </p> + <p> + “Many ships are going out to sea. Listen, Mariet, there was once a wise + king—Oh, how wise he was!—and he commanded that the sea be + lashed with chains. Oho!” + </p> + <p> + “I know, Dan. You told me about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oho, with chains! But it did not occur to him to christen the sea. Why + did it not occur to him to do that, Mariet? Ah, why did he not think of + it? We have no such kings now.” + </p> + <p> + “What would have happened, Dan?” + </p> + <p> + “Oho!” + </p> + <p> + He whispers softly: + </p> + <p> + “All the rivers and the streams have already been christened, and the + cross of the Lord has touched even many stagnant swamps; only the sea + remained—that nasty, salty, deep pool.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you scold it? It does not like to be scolded,” Mariet reproaches + him. + </p> + <p> + “Oho! Let the sea not like it—I am not afraid of it. The sea thinks + it is also an organ and music for God. It is a nasty, hissing, furious + pool. A salty spit of satan. Fie! Fie! Fie!” + </p> + <p> + He goes to the doors at the entrance of the church muttering angrily, + threatening, as though celebrating some victory: + </p> + <p> + “Oho! Oho!” + </p> + <p> + “Dan!” + </p> + <p> + “Go home.” + </p> + <p> + “Dan! Why don’t you light candles when you play? Dan, I don’t love my + betrothed. Do you hear, Dan?” + </p> + <p> + Dan turns his head unwillingly. + </p> + <p> + “I have heard it long ago, Mariet. Tell it to your father.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is my mother, Dan?” + </p> + <p> + “Oho! You are mad again, Mariet? You are gazing too much at the sea—yes. + I am going to tell—I am going to tell your father, yes.” + </p> + <p> + He enters the church. Soon the sounds of the organ are heard. Faint in the + first, long-drawn, deeply pensive chords, they rapidly gain strength. And + with a passionate sadness, their human melodies now wrestle with the dull + and gloomy plaintiveness of the tireless surf. Like seagulls in a storm, + the sounds soar amidst the high waves, unable to rise higher on their + overburdened wings. The stern ocean holds them captive by its wild and + eternal charms. But when they have risen, the lowered ocean roars more + dully; now they rise still higher—and the heavy, almost voiceless + pile of water is shaking helplessly. Varied voices resound through the + expanse of the resplendent distances. Day has one sorrow, night has + another sorrow, and the proud, ever rebellious, black ocean suddenly seems + to become an eternal slave. + </p> + <p> + Her cheek pressed against the cold stone of the wall, Mariet is listening, + all alone. She is growing reconciled to something; she is grieving ever + more quietly. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, firm footsteps are heard on the road; the cobblestones are + creaking under the vigorous steps—and a man appears from behind the + church. He walks slowly and sternly, like those who do not roam in vain, + and who know the earth from end to end. He carries his hat in his hands; + he is thinking of something, looking ahead. On his broad shoulders is set + a round, strong head, with short hair; his dark profile is stern and + commandingly haughty, and, although the man is dressed in a partly + military uniform, he does not subject his body to the discipline of his + clothes, but masters it as a free man. The folds of his clothes fall + submissively. + </p> + <p> + Mariet greets him: + </p> + <p> + “Good evening.” + </p> + <p> + He walks on quite a distance, then stops and turns his head slowly. He + waits silently, as though regretting to part with his silence. + </p> + <p> + “Did you say ‘Good evening’ to me?” he asks at last. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, to you. Good evening.” + </p> + <p> + He looks at her silently. + </p> + <p> + “Well, good evening. This is the first time I have been greeted in this + land, and I was surprised when I heard your voice. Come nearer to me. Why + don’t you sleep when all are sleeping? Who are you?” + </p> + <p> + “I am the daughter of the abbot of this place.” + </p> + <p> + He laughs: + </p> + <p> + “Have priests children? Or are there special priests in your land?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the priests are different here.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, I recall, Khorre told me something about the priest of this place.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is Khorre?” + </p> + <p> + “My sailor. The one who buys gin in your settlement.” + </p> + <p> + He suddenly laughs again and continues: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he told me something. Was it your father who cursed the Pope and + declared his own church independent?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And he makes his own prayers? And goes to sea with the fishermen? And + punishes with his own hands those who disobey him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I am his daughter. My name is Mariet. And what is your name?” + </p> + <p> + “I have many names. Which one shall I tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “The one by which you were christened.” + </p> + <p> + “What makes you think that I was christened?” + </p> + <p> + “Then tell me the name by which your mother called you.” + </p> + <p> + “What makes you think that I had a mother? I do not know my mother.” + </p> + <p> + Mariet says softly: + </p> + <p> + “Neither do I know my mother.” + </p> + <p> + Both are silent. They look at each other kindly. + </p> + <p> + “Is that so?” he says. “You, too, don’t know your mother? Well, then, call + me Haggart.” + </p> + <p> + “Haggart?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Do you like the name? I have invented it myself—Haggart. It’s + a pity that you have been named already. I would have invented a fine name + for you.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he frowned. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, Mariet, why is your land so mournful? I walk along your paths + and only the cobblestones creak under my feet. And on both sides are huge + rocks.” + </p> + <p> + “That is on the road to the castle—none of us ever go there. Is it + true that these stones stop the passersby with the question: ‘Where are + you going?’” + </p> + <p> + “No, they are mute. Why is your land so mournful? It is almost a week + since I’ve seen my shadow. It is impossible! I don’t see my shadow.” + </p> + <p> + “Our land is very cheerful and full of joy. It is still winter now, but + soon spring will come, and sunshine will come back with it. You shall see + it, Haggart.” + </p> + <p> + He speaks with contempt: + </p> + <p> + “And you are sitting and waiting calmly for its return? You must be a fine + set of people! Ah, if I only had a ship!” + </p> + <p> + “What would you have done?” + </p> + <p> + He looks at her morosely and shakes his head suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “You are too inquisitive, little girl. Has any one sent you over to me?” + </p> + <p> + “No. What do you need a ship for?” + </p> + <p> + Haggart laughs good-naturedly and ironically: + </p> + <p> + “She asks what a man needs a ship for. You must be a fine set of people. + You don’t know what a man needs a ship for! And you speak seriously? If I + had a ship I would have rushed toward the sun. And it would not matter how + it sets its golden sails, I would overtake it with my black sails. And I + would force it to outline my shadow on the deck of my ship. And I would + put my foot upon it this way!” + </p> + <p> + He stamps his foot firmly. Then Mariet asks, cautiously: + </p> + <p> + “Did you say with black sails?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s what I said. Why do you always ask questions? I have no ship, you + know. Good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + He puts on his hat, but does not move. Mariet maintains silence. Then he + says, very angrily: + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you, too, like the music of your old Dan, that old fool?” + </p> + <p> + “You know his name?” + </p> + <p> + “Khorre told me it. I don’t like his music, no, no. Bring me a good, + honest dog, or beast, and he will howl. You will say that he knows no + music—he does, but he can’t bear falsehood. Here is music. Listen!” + </p> + <p> + He takes Mariet by the hand and turns her roughly, her face toward the + ocean. + </p> + <p> + “Do you hear? This is music. Your Dan has robbed the sea and the wind. No, + he is worse than a thief, he is a deceiver! He should be hanged on a + sailyard—your Dan! Good-bye!” + </p> + <p> + He goes, but after taking two steps he turns around. + </p> + <p> + “I said good-bye to you. Go home. Let this fool play alone. Well, go.” + </p> + <p> + Mariet is silent, motionless. Haggart laughs: + </p> + <p> + “Are you afraid perhaps that I have forgotten your name? I remember it. + Your name is Mariet. Go, Mariet.” + </p> + <p> + She says softly: + </p> + <p> + “I have seen your ship.” + </p> + <p> + Haggart advances to her quickly and bends down. His face is terrible. + </p> + <p> + “It is not true. When?” + </p> + <p> + “Last evening.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not true! Which way was it going?” + </p> + <p> + “Toward the sun.” + </p> + <p> + “Last evening I was drunk and I slept. But this is not true. I have never + seen it. You are testing me. Beware!” + </p> + <p> + “Shall I tell you if I see it again?” + </p> + <p> + “How can you tell me?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall come up your hill.” + </p> + <p> + Haggart looks at her attentively. + </p> + <p> + “If you are only telling me the truth. What sort of people are there in + your land—false or not? In the lands I know, all the people are + false. Has any one else seen that ship?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. I was alone on the shore. Now I see that it was not your + ship. You are not glad to hear of it.” + </p> + <p> + Haggart is silent, as though he has forgotten her presence. + </p> + <p> + “You have a pretty uniform. You are silent? I shall come up to you.” + </p> + <p> + Haggart is silent. His dark profile is stern and wildly gloomy; every + motion of his powerful body, every fold of his clothes, is full of the + dull silence of the taciturnity of long hours, or days, or perhaps of a + lifetime. + </p> + <p> + “Your sailor will not kill me? You are silent. I have a betrothed. His + name is Philipp, but I don’t love him. You are now like that rock which + lies on the road leading to the castle.” + </p> + <p> + Haggart turns around silently and starts. + </p> + <p> + “I also remember your name. Your name is Haggart.” + </p> + <p> + He goes away. + </p> + <p> + “Haggart!” calls Mariet, but he has already disappeared behind the house. + Only the creaking of the scattered cobblestones is heard, dying away in + the misty air. Dan, who has taken a rest, is playing again; he is telling + God about those who have perished at sea. + </p> + <p> + The night is growing darker. Neither the rock nor the castle is visible + now; only the light in the window is redder and brighter. + </p> + <p> + The dull thuds of the tireless breakers are telling the story of different + lives. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + A strong wind is tossing the fragment of a sail which is hanging over the + large, open window. The sail is too small to cover the entire window, and, + through the gaping hole, the dark night is breathing inclement weather. + There is no rain, but the warm wind, saturated with the sea, is heavy and + damp. + </p> + <p> + Here in the tower live Haggart and his sailor, Khorre. Both are sleeping + now a heavy, drunken sleep. On the table and in the corners of the room + there are empty bottles, and the remains of food; the only taburet is + overturned, lying on one side. Toward evening the sailor got up, lit a + large illumination lamp, and was about to do more, but he was overcome by + intoxication again and fell asleep upon his thin mattress of straw and + seagrass. Tossed by the wind, the flame of the illumination-lamp is + quivering in yellow, restless spots over the uneven, mutilated walls, + losing itself in the dark opening of the door, which leads to the other + rooms of the castle. + </p> + <p> + Haggart lies on his back, and the same quivering yellow shades run + noiselessly over his strong forehead, approach his closed eyes, his + straight, sharply outlined nose, and, tossing about in confusion, rush + back to the wall. The breathing of the sleeping man is deep and uneven; + from time to time his heavy, strange hand lifts itself, makes several + weak, unfinished movements, and falls down on his breast helplessly. + </p> + <p> + Outside the window the breakers are roaring and raging, beating against + the rocks—this is the second day a storm is raging in the ocean. The + ancient tower is quivering from the violent blows of the waves. It + responds to the storm with the rustling of the falling plaster, with the + rattling of the little cobblestones as they are torn down, with the + whisper and moans of the wind which has lost its way in the passages. It + whispers and mutters like an old woman. + </p> + <p> + The sailor begins to feel cold on the stone floor, on which the wind + spreads itself like water; he tosses about, folds his legs under himself, + draws his head into his shoulders, gropes for his imaginary clothes, but + is unable to wake up—his intoxication produced by a two days’ spree + is heavy and severe. But now the wind whines more powerfully than before; + something heaves a deep groan. Perhaps a part of a destroyed wall has sunk + into the sea. The quivering yellow spots commence to toss about upon the + crooked wall more desperately, and Khorre awakes. + </p> + <p> + He sits up on his mattress, looks around, but is unable to understand + anything. + </p> + <p> + The wind is hissing like a robber summoning other robbers, and filling the + night with disquieting phantoms. It seems as if the sea were full of + sinking vessels, of people who are drowning and desperately struggling + with death. Voices are heard. Somewhere near by people are shouting, + scolding each other, laughing and singing, like madmen, or talking + sensibly and rapidly—it seems that soon one will see a strange human + face distorted by horror or laughter, or fingers bent convulsively. But + there is a strong smell of the sea, and that, together with the cold, + brings Khorre to his senses. + </p> + <p> + “Noni!” he calls hoarsely, but Haggart does not hear him. After a moment’s + thought, he calls once more: + </p> + <p> + “Captain. Noni! Get up.” + </p> + <p> + But Haggart does not answer and the sailor mutters: + </p> + <p> + “Noni is drunk and he sleeps. Let him sleep. Oh, what a cold night it is. + There isn’t enough warmth in it even to warm your nose. I am cold. I feel + cold and lonesome, Noni. I can’t drink like that, although everybody knows + I am a drunkard. But it is one thing to drink, and another to drown in gin—that’s + an entirely different matter. Noni—you are like a drowned man, + simply like a corpse. I feel ashamed for your sake, Noni. I shall drink + now and—” + </p> + <p> + He rises, and staggering, finds an unopened bottle and drinks. + </p> + <p> + “A fine wind. They call this a storm—do you hear, Noni? They call + this a storm. What will they call a real storm?” + </p> + <p> + He drinks again. + </p> + <p> + “A fine wind!” + </p> + <p> + He goes over to the window and, pushing aside the corner of the sail, + looks out. + </p> + <p> + “Not a single light on the sea, or in the village. They have hidden + themselves and are sleeping—they are waiting for the storm to pass. + B-r-r, how cold! I would have driven them all out to sea; it is mean to go + to sea only when the weather is calm. That is cheating the sea. I am a + pirate, that’s true; my name is Khorre, and I should have been hanged long + ago on a yard, that’s true, too—but I shall never allow myself such + meanness as to cheat the sea. Why did you bring me to this hole, Noni?” + </p> + <p> + He picks up some brushwood, and throws it into the fireplace. + </p> + <p> + “I love you, Noni. I am now going to start a fire to warm your feet. I + used to be your nurse, Noni; but you have lost your reason—that’s + true. I am a wise man, but I don’t understand your conduct at all. Why did + you drop your ship? You will be hanged, Noni, you will be hanged, and I + will dangle by your side. You have lost your reason, that’s true!” + </p> + <p> + He starts a fire, then prepares food and drink. + </p> + <p> + “What will you say when you wake up? ‘Fire.’ And I will answer, ‘Here it + is.’ Then you will say, ‘Something to drink.’ And I will answer, ‘Here it + is.’ And then you will drink your fill again, and I will drink with you, + and you will prate nonsense. How long is this going to last? We have lived + this way two months now, or perhaps two years, or twenty years—I am + drowning in gin—I don’t understand your conduct at all, Noni.” + </p> + <p> + He drinks. + </p> + <p> + “Either I have lost my mind from this gin, or a ship is being wrecked near + by. How they are crying!” + </p> + <p> + He looks out of the window. + </p> + <p> + “No, no one is here. It is the wind. The wind feels weary, and it plays + all by itself. It has seen many shipwrecks, and now it is inventing. The + wind itself is crying; the wind itself is scolding and sobbing; and the + wind itself is laughing—the rogue! But if you think that this rag + with which I have covered the window is a sail, and that this ruin of a + castle is a three-masted brig, you are a fool! We are not going anywhere! + We are standing securely at our moorings, do you hear?” + </p> + <p> + He pushes the sleeping man cautiously. + </p> + <p> + “Get up, Noni. I feel lonesome. If we must drink, let’s drink together—I + feel lonesome. Noni!” + </p> + <p> + Haggart awakens, stretches himself and says, without opening his eyes: + </p> + <p> + “Fire.” + </p> + <p> + “Here it is.” + </p> + <p> + “Something to drink.” + </p> + <p> + “Here it is! A fine wind, Noni. I looked out of the window, and the sea + splashed into my eyes. It is high tide now and the water-dust flies up to + the tower. I feel lonesome, Noni. I want to speak to you. Don’t be angry!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s cold.” + </p> + <p> + “Soon the fire will burn better. I don’t understand your actions. Don’t be + angry, Noni, but I don’t understand your actions! I am afraid that you + have lost your mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you drink again?” + </p> + <p> + “I did.” + </p> + <p> + “Give me some.” + </p> + <p> + He drinks from the mouth of the bottle lying on the floor, his eyes + wandering over the crooked mutilated walls, whose every projection and + crack is now lighted by the bright flame in the fireplace. He is not quite + sure yet whether he is awake, or whether it is all a dream. With each + strong gust of wind the flame is hurled from the fireplace, and then the + entire tower seems to dance—the last shadows melt and rush off into + the open door. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t drink it all at once, Noni! Not all at once!” says the sailor and + gently takes the bottle away from him. Haggart seats himself and clasps + his head with both hands. + </p> + <p> + “I have a headache. What is that cry? Was there a shipwreck?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Noni. It is the wind playing roguishly.” + </p> + <p> + “Khorre!” + </p> + <p> + “Captain.” + </p> + <p> + “Give me the bottle.” + </p> + <p> + He drinks a little more and sets the bottle on the table. Then he paces + the room, straightening his shoulders and his chest, and looks out of the + window. Khorre looks over his shoulder and whispers: + </p> + <p> + “Not a single light. It is dark and deserted. Those who had to die have + died already, and the cautious cowards are sitting on the solid earth.” + </p> + <p> + Haggart turns around and says, wiping his face: + </p> + <p> + “When I am intoxicated, I hear voices and singing. Does that happen to + you, too, Khorre? Who is that singing now?” + </p> + <p> + “The wind is singing, Noni—only the wind.” + </p> + <p> + “No, but who else? It seems to me a human being is singing, a woman is + singing, and others are laughing and shouting something. Is that all + nothing but the wind?” + </p> + <p> + “Only the wind.” + </p> + <p> + “Why does the wind deceive me?” says Haggart haughtily. + </p> + <p> + “It feels lonesome, Noni, just as I do, and it laughs at the human beings. + Have you heard the wind lying like this and mocking in the open sea? There + it tells the truth, but here—it frightens the people on shore and + mocks them. The wind does not like cowards. You know it.” + </p> + <p> + Haggart says morosely: + </p> + <p> + “I heard their organist playing not long ago in church. He lies.” + </p> + <p> + “They are all liars.” + </p> + <p> + “No!” exclaims Haggart angrily. “Not all. There are some who tell the + truth there, too. I shall cut your ears off if you will slander honest + people. Do you hear?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + They are silent; they listen to the wild music of the sea. The wind has + evidently grown mad. Having taken into its embrace a multitude of + instruments with which human beings produce their music—harps, + reed-pipes, priceless violins, heavy drums and brass trumpets—it + breaks them all, together with a wave, against the sharp rocks. It dashes + them and bursts into laughter—only thus does the wind understand + music—each time in the death of an instrument, each time in the + breaking of strings, in the snapping of the clanging brass. Thus does the + mad musician understand music. Haggart heaves a deep sigh and with some + amazement, like a man just awakened from sleep, looks around on all sides. + Then he commands shortly: + </p> + <p> + “Give me my pipe.” + </p> + <p> + “Here it is.” + </p> + <p> + Both commence to smoke. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be angry, Noni,” says the sailor. “You have become so angry that + one can’t come near you at all. May I chat with you?” + </p> + <p> + “There are some who do tell the truth there, too,” says Haggart sternly, + emitting rings of smoke. + </p> + <p> + “How shall I say it you, Noni?” answers the sailor cautiously but + stubbornly. “There are no truthful people there. It has been so ever since + the deluge. At that time all the honest people went out to sea, and only + the cowards and liars remained upon the solid earth.” + </p> + <p> + Haggart is silent for a minute; then he takes the pipe from his mouth and + laughs gaily. + </p> + <p> + “Have you invented it yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “I think so,” says Khorre modestly. + </p> + <p> + “Clever! And it was worth teaching you sacred history for that! Were you + taught by a priest?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. In prison. At that time I was as innocent as a dove. That’s also + from sacred scriptures, Noni. That’s what they always say there.” + </p> + <p> + “He was a fool! It was not necessary to teach you, but to hang you,” says + Haggart, adding morosely: “Don’t talk nonsense, sailor. Hand me a bottle.” + </p> + <p> + They drink. Khorre stamps his foot against the stone floor and asks: + </p> + <p> + “Do you like this motionless floor?” + </p> + <p> + “I should have liked to have the deck of a ship dancing under my feet.” + </p> + <p> + “Noni!” exclaims the sailor enthusiastically. “Noni! Now I hear real + words! Let us go away from here. I cannot live like this. I am drowning in + gin. I don’t understand your actions at all, Noni! You have lost your + mind. Reveal yourself to me, my boy. I was your nurse. I nursed you, Noni, + when your father brought you on board ship. I remember how the city was + burning then and we were putting out to sea, and I didn’t know what to do + with you; you whined like a little pig in the cook’s room. I even wanted + to throw you overboard—you annoyed me so much. Ah, Noni, it is all + so touching that I can’t bear to recall it. I must have a drink. Take a + drink, too, my boy, but not all at once, not all at once!” + </p> + <p> + They drink. Haggart paces the room heavily and slowly, like a man who is + imprisoned in a dungeon but does not want to escape. + </p> + <p> + “I feel sad,” he says, without looking at Khorre. Khorre, as though + understanding, shakes his head in assent. + </p> + <p> + “Sad? I understand. Since then?” + </p> + <p> + “Ever since then.” + </p> + <p> + “Ever since we drowned those people? They cried so loudly.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not hear their cry. But this I heard—something snapped in my + heart, Khorre. Always sadness, everywhere sadness! Let me drink!” + </p> + <p> + He drinks. + </p> + <p> + “He who cried—am I perhaps afraid of him, Khorre? That would be + fine! Tears were trickling from his eyes; he wept like one who is + unfortunate. Why did he do that? Perhaps he came from a land where the + people had never heard of death—what do you think, sailor?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t remember him, Noni. You speak so much about him, while I don’t + remember him.” + </p> + <p> + “He was a fool,” says Haggart. “He spoilt his death for himself, and + spoilt me my life. I curse him, Khorre. May he be cursed. But that doesn’t + matter, Khorre—no!” + </p> + <p> + Silence. + </p> + <p> + “They have good gin on this coast,” says Khorre. “He’ll pass easily, Noni. + If you have cursed him there will be no delay; he’ll slip into hell like + an oyster.” + </p> + <p> + Haggart shakes his head: + </p> + <p> + “No, Khorre, no! I am sad. Ah, sailor, why have I stopped here, where I + hear the sea? I should go away, far away on land, where the people don’t + know the sea at all, where the people have never heard about the sea—a + thousand miles away, five thousand miles away!” + </p> + <p> + “There is no such land.” + </p> + <p> + “There is, Khorre. Let us drink and laugh, Khorre. That organist lies. + Sing something for me, Khorre—you sing well. In your hoarse voice I + hear the creaking of ropes. Your refrain is like a sail that is torn by + the storm. Sing, sailor!” + </p> + <p> + Khorre nods his head gloomily. + </p> + <p> + “No, I will not sing.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I shall force you to pray as they prayed!” + </p> + <p> + “You will not force me to pray, either. You are the Captain, and you may + kill me, and here is your revolver. It is loaded, Noni. And now I am going + to speak the truth, Captain! Khorre, the boatswain, speaks to you in the + name of the entire crew.” + </p> + <p> + Haggart says: + </p> + <p> + “Drop this performance, Khorre. There is no crew here. You’d better drink + something.” + </p> + <p> + He drinks. + </p> + <p> + “But the crew is waiting for you, you know it. Captain, is it your + intention to return to the ship and assume command again?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Captain, is it perhaps your intention to go to the people on the coast + and live with them?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t understand your actions, Noni. What do you intend to do, + Captain?” + </p> + <p> + Haggart drinks silently. + </p> + <p> + “Not all at once, Noni, not at once. Captain, do you intend to stay in + this hole and wait until the police dogs come from the city? Then they + will hang us, and not upon a mast, but simply on one of their foolish + trees.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. The wind is getting stronger. Do you hear, Khorre? The wind is + getting stronger!” + </p> + <p> + “And the gold which we have buried here?” He points below, with his + finger. + </p> + <p> + “The gold? Take it and go with it wherever you like.” + </p> + <p> + The sailor says angrily: + </p> + <p> + “You are a bad man, Noni. You have only set foot on earth a little while + ago, and you already have the thoughts of a traitor. That’s what the earth + is doing!” + </p> + <p> + “Be silent, Khorre. I am listening. Our sailors are singing. Do you hear? + No, that’s the wine rushing to my head. I’ll be drunk soon. Give me + another bottle.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you will go to the priest? He would absolve your sins.” + </p> + <p> + “Silence!” roars Haggart, clutching at his revolver. + </p> + <p> + Silence. The storm is increasing. Haggart paces the room in agitation, + striking against the walls. He mutters something abruptly. Suddenly he + seizes the sail and tears it down furiously, admitting the salty wind. The + illumination lamp is extinguished and the flame in the fireplace tosses + about wildly—like Haggart. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you lock out the wind? It’s better now. Come here.” + </p> + <p> + “You were the terror of the seas!” says the sailor. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I was the terror of the seas.” + </p> + <p> + “You were the terror of the coasts! Your famous name resounded like the + surf over all the coasts, wherever people live. They saw you in their + dreams. When they thought of the ocean, they thought of you. When they + heard the storm, they heard you, Noni!” + </p> + <p> + “I burnt their cities. The deck of my ship is shaking under my feet, + Khorre. The deck is shaking under me!” + </p> + <p> + He laughs wildly, as if losing his senses. + </p> + <p> + “You sank their ships. You sent to the bottom the Englishman who was + chasing you.” + </p> + <p> + “He had ten guns more than I.” + </p> + <p> + “And you burnt and drowned him. Do you remember, Noni, how the wind + laughed then? The night was as black as this night, but you made day of + it, Noni. We were rocked by a sea of fire.” + </p> + <p> + Haggart stands pale-faced, his eyes closed. Suddenly he shouts + commandingly: + </p> + <p> + “Boatswain!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Khorre jumps up. + </p> + <p> + “Whistle for everybody to go up on deck.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + The boatswain’s shrill whistle pierces sharply into the open body of the + storm. Everything comes to life, and it looks as though they were upon the + deck of a ship. The waves are crying with human voices. In semi-oblivion, + Haggart is commanding passionately and angrily: + </p> + <p> + “To the shrouds!—The studding sails! Be ready, forepart! Aim at the + ropes; I don’t want to sink them all at once. Starboard the helm, sail by + the wind. Be ready now. Ah, fire! Ah, you are already burning! Board it + now! Get the hooks ready.” + </p> + <p> + And Khorre tosses about violently, performing the mad instructions. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Be braver, boys. Don’t be afraid of tears! Eh, who is crying there? Don’t + dare cry when you are dying. I’ll dry your mean eyes upon the fire. Fire! + Fire everywhere! Khorre—sailor! I am dying. They have poured molten + tar into my chest. Oh, how it burns!” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t give way, Noni. Don’t give way. Recall your father. Strike them on + the head, Noni!” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t, Khorre. My strength is failing. Where is my power?” + </p> + <p> + “Strike them on the head, Noni. Strike them on the head!” + </p> + <p> + “Take a knife, Khorre, and cut out my heart. There is no ship, Khorre—there + is nothing. Cut out my heart, comrade—throw out the traitor from my + breast.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to play some more, Noni. Strike them on the head!” + </p> + <p> + “There is no ship, Khorre, there is nothing—it is all a lie. I want + to drink.” + </p> + <p> + He takes a bottle and laughs: + </p> + <p> + “Look, sailor—here the wind and the storm and you and I are locked. + It is all a deception, Khorre!” + </p> + <p> + “I want to play.” + </p> + <p> + “Here my sorrow is locked. Look! In the green glass it seems like water, + but it isn’t water. Let us drink, Khorre—there on the bottom I see + my laughter and your song. There is no ship—there is nothing! Who is + coming?” + </p> + <p> + He seizes his revolver. The fire in the fire-place is burning faintly; the + shadows are tossing about—but two of these shadows are darker than + the others and they are walking. Khorre shouts: + </p> + <p> + “Halt!” + </p> + <p> + A man’s voice, heavy and deep, answers: + </p> + <p> + “Hush! Put down your weapons. I am the abbot of this place.” + </p> + <p> + “Fire, Noni, fire! They have come for you.” + </p> + <p> + “I have come to help you. Put down your knife, fool, or I will break every + bone in your body without a knife. Coward, are you frightened by a woman + and a priest?” + </p> + <p> + Haggart puts down his revolver and says ironically: + </p> + <p> + “A woman and a priest! Is there anything still more terrible? Pardon my + sailor, Mr. abbot, he is drunk, and when he is drunk he is very reckless + and he may kill you. Khorre, don’t turn your knife.” + </p> + <p> + “He has come after you, Noni.” + </p> + <p> + “I have come to warn you; the tower may fall. Go away from here!” says the + abbot. + </p> + <p> + “Why are you hiding yourself, girl? I remember your name; your name is + Mariet,” says Haggart. + </p> + <p> + “I am not hiding. I also remember your name—it is Haggart,” replies + Mariet. + </p> + <p> + “Was it you who brought him here?” + </p> + <p> + “I.” + </p> + <p> + “I have told you that they are all traitors, Noni,” says Khorre. + </p> + <p> + “Silence!” + </p> + <p> + “It is very cold here. I will throw some wood into the fireplace. May I do + it?” asks Mariet. + </p> + <p> + “Do it,” answers Haggart. + </p> + <p> + “The tower will fall down before long,” says the abbot. “Part of the wall + has caved in already; it is all hollow underneath. Do you hear?” + </p> + <p> + He stamps his foot on the stone floor. + </p> + <p> + “Where will the tower fall?” + </p> + <p> + “Into the sea, I suppose! The castle is splitting the rocks.” + </p> + <p> + Haggart laughs: + </p> + <p> + “Do you hear, Khorre? This place is not as motionless as it seemed to you—while + it cannot move, it can fall. How many people have you brought along with + you, priest, and where have you hidden them?” + </p> + <p> + “Only two of us came, my father and I,” says Mariet. + </p> + <p> + “You are rude to a priest. I don’t like that,” says the abbot. + </p> + <p> + “You have come here uninvited. I don’t like that either,” says Haggart. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you lead me here, Mariet? Come,” says the abbot. + </p> + <p> + Haggart speaks ironically: + </p> + <p> + “And you leave us here to die? That is unChristian, Christian.” + </p> + <p> + “Although I am a priest, I am a poor Christian, and the Lord knows it,” + says the abbot angrily. “I have no desire to save such a rude scamp. Let + us go, Mariet.” + </p> + <p> + “Captain?” asks Khorre. + </p> + <p> + “Be silent, Khorre,” says Haggart. “So that’s the way you speak, abbot; so + you are not a liar?” + </p> + <p> + “Come with me and you shall see.” + </p> + <p> + “Where shall I go with you?” + </p> + <p> + “To my house.” + </p> + <p> + “To your house? Do you hear, Khorre? To the priest! But do you know whom + you are calling to your house?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t know. But I see that you are young and strong. I see that + although your face is gloomy, it is handsome, and I think that you could + be as good a workman as others.” + </p> + <p> + “A workman? Khorre, do you hear what the priest says?” + </p> + <p> + Both laugh. The abbot says angrily: + </p> + <p> + “You are both drunk.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, a little! But if I were sober I would have laughed still more,” + answers Haggart. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t laugh, Haggart,” says Mariet. + </p> + <p> + Haggart replies angrily: + </p> + <p> + “I don’t like the tongues of false priests, Mariet—they are coated + with truth on top, like a lure for flies. Take him away, and you, girl, go + away, too! I have forgotten your name!” + </p> + <p> + He sits down and stares ahead sternly. His eyebrows move close together, + and his hand is pressed down heavily by his lowered head, by his strong + chin. + </p> + <p> + “He does not know you, father! Tell him about yourself. You speak so well. + If you wish it, he will believe you, father. Haggart!” + </p> + <p> + Haggart maintains silence. + </p> + <p> + “Noni! Captain!” + </p> + <p> + Silence. Khorre whispers mysteriously: + </p> + <p> + “He feels sad. Girl, tell the priest that he feels sad.” + </p> + <p> + “Khorre,” begins Mariet. Haggart looks around quickly. + </p> + <p> + “What about Khorre? Why don’t you like him, Mariet? We are so much like + each other.” + </p> + <p> + “He is like you?” says the woman with contempt. “No, Haggart! But here is + what he did: He gave gin to little Noni again to-day. He moistened his + finger and gave it to him. He will kill him, father.” + </p> + <p> + Haggart laughs: + </p> + <p> + “Is that so bad? He did the same to me.” + </p> + <p> + “And he dipped him in cold water. The boy is very weak,” says Mariet + morosely. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t like to hear you speak of weakness. Our boy must be strong. + Khorre! Three days without gin.” + </p> + <p> + He shows him three fingers. + </p> + <p> + “Who should be without gin? The boy or I?” asks Khorre gloomily. + </p> + <p> + “You!” replies Haggart furiously. “Begone!” + </p> + <p> + The sailor sullenly gathers his belongings—the pouch, the pipe, and + the flask—and wabbling, goes off. But he does not go far—he + sits down upon a neighbouring rock. Haggart and his wife look at him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + The work is ended. Having lost its gloss, the last neglected fish lies on + the ground; even the children are too lazy to pick it up; and an + indifferent, satiated foot treads it into the mud. A quiet, fatigued + conversation goes on, mingled with gay and peaceful laughter. + </p> + <p> + “What kind of a prayer is our abbot going to say to-day? It is already + time for him to come.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you think it is so easy to compose a good prayer? He is thinking.” + </p> + <p> + “Selly’s basket broke and the fish were falling out. We laughed so much! + It seems so funny to me even now!” + </p> + <p> + Laughter. Two fishermen look at the sail in the distance. + </p> + <p> + “All my life I have seen large ships sailing past us. Where are they + going? They disappear beyond the horizon, and I go off to sleep; and I + sleep, while they are forever going, going. Where are they going? Do you + know?” + </p> + <p> + “To America.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to go with them. When they speak of America my heart begins + to ring. Did you say America on purpose, or is that the truth?” + </p> + <p> + Several old women are whispering: + </p> + <p> + “Wild Gart is angry again at his sailor. Have you noticed it?” + </p> + <p> + “The sailor is displeased. Look, how wan his face is.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he looks like the evil one when he is compelled to listen to a + psalm. But I don’t like Wild Gart, either. No. Where did he come from?” + </p> + <p> + They resume their whispers. Haggart complains softly: + </p> + <p> + “Why have you the same name, Mariet, for everybody? It should not be so in + a truthful land.” + </p> + <p> + Mariet speaks with restrained force, pressing both hands to her breast: + </p> + <p> + “I love you so dearly, Gart; when you go out to sea, I set my teeth + together and do not open them until you come back. When you are away, I + eat nothing and drink nothing; when you are away, I am silent, and the + women laugh: ‘Mute Mariet!’ But I would be insane if I spoke when I am + alone.” + </p> + <p> + HAGGART—Here you are again compelling me to smile. You must not, + Mariet—I am forever smiling. + </p> + <p> + MARIET—I love you so dearly, Gart. Every hour of the day and the + night I am thinking only of what I could still give to you, Gart. Have I + not given you everything? But that is so little—everything! There is + but one thing I want to do—to keep on giving to you, giving! When + the sun sets, I present you the sunset; when the sun rises, I present you + the sunrise—take it, Gart! And are not all the storms yours? Ah, + Haggart, how I love you! + </p> + <p> + HAGGART—I am going to toss little Noni so high to-day that I will + toss him up to the clouds. Do you want me to do it? Let us laugh, dear + little sister Mariet. You are exactly like myself. When you stand that + way, it seems to me that I am standing there—I have to rub my eyes. + Let us laugh! Some day I may suddenly mix things up—I may wake up + and say to you: “Good morning, Haggart!” + </p> + <p> + MARIET—Good morning, Mariet. + </p> + <p> + HAGGART—I will call you Haggart. Isn’t that a good idea? + </p> + <p> + MARIET—And I will call you Mariet. + </p> + <p> + HAGGART—Yes—no. You had better call me Haggart, too. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t want me to call you Mariet?” asks Mariet sadly. + </p> + <p> + The abbot and old Dan appear. The abbot says in a loud, deep voice: + </p> + <p> + “Here I am. Here I am bringing you a prayer, children. I have just + composed it; it has even made me feel hot. Dan, why doesn’t the boy ring + the bell? Oh, yes, he is ringing. The fool—he isn’t swinging the + right rope, but that doesn’t matter; that’s good enough, too. Isn’t it, + Mariet?” + </p> + <p> + Two thin but merry bells are ringing. + </p> + <p> + Mariet is silent and Haggart answers for her: + </p> + <p> + “That’s good enough. But what are the bells saying, abbot?” + </p> + <p> + The fishermen who have gathered about them are already prepared to laugh—the + same undying jest is always repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Will you tell no one about it?” says the abbot, in a deep voice, slily + winking his eye. “Pope’s a rogue! Pope’s a rogue!” + </p> + <p> + The fishermen laugh merrily. + </p> + <p> + “This man,” roars the abbot, pointing at Haggart, “is my favourite man! He + has given me a grandson, and I wrote the Pope about it in Latin. But that + wasn’t so hard; isn’t that true, Mariet? But he knows how to look at the + water. He foretells a storm as if he himself caused it. Gart, do you + produce the storm yourself? Where does the wind come from? You are the + wind yourself.” + </p> + <p> + All laugh approval. An old fisherman says: + </p> + <p> + “That’s true, father. Ever since he has been here, we have never been + caught in a storm.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course it is true, if I say it. ‘Pope’s a rogue! Pope’s a rogue!’” + </p> + <p> + Old Dan walks over to Khorre and says something to him. Khorre nods his + head negatively. The abbot, singing “Pope’s a rogue,” goes around the + crowd, throws out brief remarks, and claps some people on the shoulder in + a friendly manner. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Katerina, you are getting stout. Oho! Are you all ready? And + Thomas is missing again—this is the second time he has stayed away + from prayer. Anna, you are rather sad—that isn’t good. One must live + merrily, one must live merrily! I think that it is jolly even in hell, but + in a different way. It is two years since you have stopped growing, + Philipp. That isn’t good.” + </p> + <p> + Philipp answers gruffly: + </p> + <p> + “Grass also stops growing if a stone falls upon it.” + </p> + <p> + “What is still worse than that—worms begin to breed under the rock.” + </p> + <p> + Mariet says softly, sadly and entreatingly: + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you want me to call you Mariet?” + </p> + <p> + Haggart answers obstinately and sternly: + </p> + <p> + “I don’t. If my name will be Mariet, I shall never kill that man. He + disturbs my life. Make me a present of his life, Mariet. He kissed you.” + </p> + <p> + “How can I present you that which is not mine? His life belongs to God and + to himself.” + </p> + <p> + “That is not true. He kissed you; do I not see the burns upon your lips? + Let me kill him, and you will feel as joyful and care-free as a seagull. + Say ‘yes,’ Mariet.” + </p> + <p> + “No; you shouldn’t do it, Gart. It will be painful to you.” + </p> + <p> + Haggart looks at her and speaks with deep irony. + </p> + <p> + “Is that it? Well, then, it is not true that you give me anything. You + don’t know how to give, woman.” + </p> + <p> + “I am your wife.” + </p> + <p> + “No! A man has no wife when another man, and not his wife, grinds his + knife. My knife is dull, Mariet!” + </p> + <p> + Mariet looks at him with horror and sorrow. + </p> + <p> + “What did you say, Haggart? Wake up; it is a terrible dream, Haggart! It + is I—look at me. Open your eyes wider, wider, until you see me well. + Do you see me, Gart?” + </p> + <p> + Haggart slowly rubs his brow. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. It is true I love you, Mariet. But how incomprehensible + your land is—in your land a man sees dreams even when he is not + asleep. Perhaps I am smiling already. Look, Mariet.” + </p> + <p> + The abbot stops in front of Khorre. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, old friend, how do you do? You are smiling already. Look, Mariet.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to work,” ejaculates the sailor sternly. + </p> + <p> + “You want your own way? This man,” roars the abbot, pointing at Khorre, + “thinks that he is an atheist. But he is simply a fool; he does not + understand that he is also praying to God—but he is doing it the + wrong way, like a crab. Even a fish prays to God, my children; I have seen + it myself. When you will be in hell, old man, give my regards to the Pope. + Well, children, come closer, and don’t gnash your teeth. I am going to + start at once. Eh, you, Mathias—you needn’t put out the fire in your + pipe; isn’t it the same to God what smoke it is, incense or tobacco, if it + is only well meant. Why do you shake your head, woman?” + </p> + <p> + WOMAN—His tobacco is contraband. + </p> + <p> + YOUNG FISHERMAN—God wouldn’t bother with such trifles. The abbot + thinks a while: + </p> + <p> + “No; hold on. I think contraband tobacco is not quite so good. That’s an + inferior grade. Look here; you better drop your pipe meanwhile, Mathias; + I’ll think the matter over later. Now, silence, perfect silence. Let God + take a look at us first.” + </p> + <p> + All stand silent and serious. Only a few have lowered their heads. Most of + the people are looking ahead with wide-open, motionless eyes, as though + they really saw God in the blue of the sky, in the boundless, radiant, + distant surface of the sea. The sea is approaching with a caressing + murmur; high tide has set in. + </p> + <p> + “My God and the God of all these people! Don’t judge us for praying, not + in Latin but in our own language, which our mothers have taught us. Our + God! Save us from all kinds of terrors, from unknown sea monsters; protect + us against storms and hurricanes, against tempests and gales. Give us calm + weather and a kind wind, a clear sun and peaceful waves. And another + thing, O Lord! we ask You; don’t allow the devil, to come close to our + bedside when we are asleep. In our sleep we are defenceless, O Lord! and + the devil terrifies us, tortures us to convulsions, torments us to the + very blood of our heart. And there is another thing, O Lord! Old Rikke, + whom You know, is beginning to extinguish Your light in his eyes and he + can make nets no longer—” + </p> + <p> + Rikke frequently shakes his head in assent. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t, I can’t!” + </p> + <p> + “Prolong, then, O Lord! Your bright day and bid the night wait. Am I + right, Rikke?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And here is still another, the last request, O Lord. I shall not ask any + more: The tears do not dry up in the eyes of our old women crying for + those who have perished. Take their memory away, O Lord, and give them + strong forgetfulness. There are still other trifles, O Lord, but let the + others pray whose turn has come before You. Amen.” + </p> + <p> + Silence. Old Dan tugs the abbot by the sleeve, and whispers something in + his ear. + </p> + <p> + ABBOT—Dan is asking me to pray for those who perished at sea. + </p> + <p> + The women exclaim in plaintive chorus: + </p> + <p> + “For those who perished at sea! For those who died at sea!” + </p> + <p> + Some of them kneel. The abbot looks tenderly at their bowed heads, + exhausted with waiting and fear, and says: + </p> + <p> + “No priest should pray for those who died at sea—these women should + pray. Make it so, O Lord, that they should not weep so much!” + </p> + <p> + Silence. The incoming tide roars more loudly—the ocean is carrying + to the earth its noise, its secrets, its bitter, briny taste of unexplored + depths. + </p> + <p> + Soft voices say: + </p> + <p> + “The sea is coming.” + </p> + <p> + “High tide has started.” + </p> + <p> + “The sea is coming.” + </p> + <p> + Mariet kisses her father’s hand. + </p> + <p> + “Woman!” says the priest tenderly. “Listen, Gart, isn’t it strange that + this—a woman”—he strokes his daughter tenderly with his finger + on her pure forehead—“should be born of me, a man?” + </p> + <p> + Haggart smiles. + </p> + <p> + “And is it not strange that this should have become a wife to me, a man?” + He embraces Mariet, bending her frail shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Let us go to eat, Gart, my son. Whoever she may be, I know one thing + well. She has prepared for you and me an excellent dinner.” + </p> + <p> + The people disperse quickly. Mariet says confusedly and cheerfully: + </p> + <p> + “I’ll run first.” + </p> + <p> + “Run, run,” answers the abbot. “Gart, my son, call the atheist to dinner. + I’ll hit him with a spoon on the forehead; an atheist understands a sermon + best of all if you hit him with a spoon.” + </p> + <p> + He waits and mutters: + </p> + <p> + “The boy has commenced to ring the bells again. He does it for himself, + the rogue. If we did not lock the steeple, they would pray there from + morning until night.” + </p> + <p> + Haggart goes over to Khorre, near whom Dan is sitting. + </p> + <p> + “Khorre! Let us go to eat—the priest called you.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to go, Noni.” + </p> + <p> + “So? What are you going to do here on shore?” + </p> + <p> + “I will think, Noni, think. I have so much to think to be able to + understand at least something.” + </p> + <p> + Haggart turns around silently. The abbot calls from the distance: + </p> + <p> + “He is not coming? Well, then, let him stay there. And Dan—never + call Dan, my son”—says the priest in his deep whisper, “he eats at + night like a rat. Mariet purposely puts something away for him in the + closet for the night; when she looks for it in the morning, it is gone. + Just think of it, no one ever hears when he takes it. Does he fly?” + </p> + <p> + Both go off. Only the two old men, seated in a friendly manner on two + neighbouring rocks, remain on the deserted shore. And the old men resemble + each other so closely, and whatever they may say to each other, the + whiteness of their hair, the deep lines of their wrinkles, make them kin. + </p> + <p> + The tide is coming. + </p> + <p> + “They have all gone away,” mutters Khorre. “Thus will they cook hot soup + on the wrecks of our ship, too. Eh, Dan! Do you know he ordered me to + drink no gin for three days. Let the old dog croak! Isn’t that so, Noni?” + </p> + <p> + “Of those who died at sea... Those who died at sea,” mutters Dan. “A son + taken from his father, a son from his father. The father said go, and the + son perished in the sea. Oi, oi, oi!” + </p> + <p> + “What are you prating there, old man? I say, he ordered me to drink no + gin. Soon he will order, like that King of yours, that the sea be lashed + with chains.” + </p> + <p> + “Oho! With chains.” + </p> + <p> + “Your king was a fool. Was he married, your king?” + </p> + <p> + “The sea is coming, coming!” mutters Dan. “It brings along its noise, its + secret, its deception. Oh, how the sea deceives man. Those who died at sea—yes, + yes, yes. Those who died at sea.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the sea is coming. And you don’t like it?” asks Khorre, rejoicing + maliciously. “Well, don’t you like it? I don’t like your music. Do you + hear, Dan? I hate your music!” + </p> + <p> + “Oho! And why do you come to hear it? I know that you and Gart stood by + the wall and listened.” + </p> + <p> + Khorre says sternly: + </p> + <p> + “It was he who got me out of bed.” + </p> + <p> + “He will get you out of bed again.” + </p> + <p> + “No!” roars Khorre furiously. “I will get up myself at night. Do you hear, + Dan? I will get up at night and break your music.” + </p> + <p> + “And I will spit into your sea.” + </p> + <p> + “Try,” says the sailor distrustfully. “How will you spit?” + </p> + <p> + “This way,” and Dan, exasperated, spits in the direction of the sea. The + frightened Khorre, in confusion, says hoarsely: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what sort of man are you? You spat! Eh, Dan, look out; it will be bad + for you—you yourself are talking about those who died at sea.” + </p> + <p> + Dan shouts, frightened: + </p> + <p> + “Who speaks of those that perished at sea? You, you dog!” + </p> + <p> + He goes away, grumbling and coughing, swinging his hand and stooping. + Khorre is left alone before the entire vastness of the sea and the sky. + </p> + <p> + “He is gone. Then I am going to look at you, O sea, until my eyes will + burst of thirst!” + </p> + <p> + The ocean, approaching, is roaring. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + At the very edge of the water, upon a narrow landing on the rocky shore, + stands a man—a small, dark, motionless dot. Behind him is the cold, + almost vertical slope of granite, and before his eyes the ocean is rocking + heavily and dully in the impenetrable darkness. Its mighty approach is + felt in the open voice of the waves which are rising from the depths. Even + sniffing sounds are heard—it is as though a drove of monsters, + playing, were splashing, snorting, lying down on their backs, and panting + contentedly, deriving their monstrous pleasures. + </p> + <p> + The ocean smells of the strong odour of the depths, of decaying seaweeds, + of its grass. The sea is calm to-day and, as always, alone. + </p> + <p> + And there is but one little light in the black space of water and night—the + distant lighthouse of the Holy Cross. + </p> + <p> + The rattle of cobblestones is heard from under a cautious step: Haggart is + coming down to the sea along a steep path. He pauses, silent with + restraint, breathing deeply after the strain of passing the dangerous + slope, and goes forward. He is now at the edge—he straightens + himself and looks for a long time at him who had long before taken his + strange but customary place at the very edge of the deep. He makes a few + steps forward and greets him irresolutely and gently—Haggart greets + him even timidly: + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, stranger. Have you been here long?” + </p> + <p> + A sad, soft, and grave voice answers: + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, Haggart. Yes, I have been here long.” + </p> + <p> + “You are watching?” + </p> + <p> + “I am watching and listening.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you allow me to stand near you and look in the same direction you + are looking? I am afraid that I am disturbing you by my uninvited presence—for + when I came you were already here—but I am so fond of this spot. + This place is isolated, and the sea is near, and the earth behind is + silent; and here my eyes open. Like a night-owl, I see better in the dark; + the light of day dazzles me. You know, I have grown up on the sea, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you are not disturbing me, Haggart. But am I not disturbing you? Then + I shall go away.” + </p> + <p> + “You are so polite, sir,” mutters Haggart. + </p> + <p> + “But I also love this spot,” continues the sad, grave voice. “I, too, like + to feel that the cold and peaceful granite is behind me. You have grown up + on the sea, Haggart—tell me, what is that faint light on the right?” + </p> + <p> + “That is the lighthouse of the Holy Cross.” + </p> + <p> + “Aha! The lighthouse of the Holy Cross. I didn’t know that. But can such a + faint light help in time of a storm? I look and it always seems to me that + the light is going out. I suppose it isn’t so.” + </p> + <p> + Haggart, agitated but restrained, says: + </p> + <p> + “You frighten me, sir. Why do you ask me what you know better than I do? + You want to tempt me—you know everything.” + </p> + <p> + There is not a trace of a smile in the mournful voice—nothing but + sadness. + </p> + <p> + “No, I know little. I know even less than you do, for I know more. Pardon + my rather complicated phrase, Haggart, but the tongue responds with so + much difficulty not only to our feeling, but also to our thought.” + </p> + <p> + “You are polite,” mutters Haggart agitated. “You are polite and always + calm. You are always sad and you have a thin hand with rings upon it, and + you speak like a very important personage. Who are you, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “I am he whom you called—the one who is always sad.” + </p> + <p> + “When I come, you are already here; when I go away, you remain. Why do you + never want to go with me, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “There is one way for you, Haggart, and another for me.” + </p> + <p> + “I see you only at night. I know all the people around this settlement, + and there is no one who looks like you. Sometimes I think that you are the + owner of that old castle where I lived. If that is so I must tell you the + castle was destroyed by the storm.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know of whom you speak.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand how you know my name, Haggart. But I don’t want to + deceive you. Although my wife Mariet calls me so, I invented that name + myself. I have another name—my real name—of which no one has + ever heard here.” + </p> + <p> + “I know your other name also, Haggart. I know your third name, too, which + even you do not know. But it is hardly worth speaking of this. You had + better look into this dark sea and tell me about your life. Is it true + that it is so joyous? They say that you are forever smiling. They say that + you are the bravest and most handsome fisherman on the coast. And they + also say that you love your wife Mariet very dearly.” + </p> + <p> + “O sir!” exclaims Haggart with restraint, “my life is so sad that you + could not find an image like it in this dark deep. O sir! my sufferings + are so deep that you could not find a more terrible place in this dark + abyss.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the cause of your sorrow and your sufferings, Haggart?” + </p> + <p> + “Life, sir. Here your noble and sad eyes look in the same direction my + eyes look—into this terrible, dark distance. Tell me, then, what is + stirring there? What is resting and waiting there, what is silent there, + what is screaming and singing and complaining there in its own voices? + What are the voices that agitate me and fill my soul with phantoms of + sorrow, and yet say nothing? And whence comes this night? And whence comes + my sorrow? Are you sighing, sir, or is it the sigh of the ocean blending + with your voice? My hearing is beginning to fail me, my master, my dear + master.” + </p> + <p> + The sad voice replies: + </p> + <p> + “It is my sigh, Haggart. My great sorrow is responding to your sorrow. You + see at night like an owl, Haggart; then look at my thin hands and at my + rings. Are they not pale? And look at my face—is it not pale? Is it + not pale—is it not pale? Oh, Haggart, my dear Haggart.” + </p> + <p> + They grieve silently. The heavy ocean is splashing, tossing about, + spitting and snorting and sniffing peacefully. The sea is calm to-night + and alone, as always. + </p> + <p> + “Tell Haggart—” says the sad voice. + </p> + <p> + “Very well. I will tell Haggart.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell Haggart that I love him.” + </p> + <p> + Silence—and then a faint, plaintive reproach resounds softly: + </p> + <p> + “If your voice were not so grave, sir, I would have thought that you were + laughing at me. Am I not Haggart that I should tell something to Haggart? + But no—I sense a different meaning in your words, and you frighten + me again. And when Haggart is afraid, it is real terror. Very well, I will + tell Haggart everything you have said.” + </p> + <p> + “Adjust my cloak; my shoulder is cold. But it always seems to me that the + light over there is going out. You called it the lighthouse of the Holy + Cross, if I am not mistaken?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is called so here.” + </p> + <p> + “Aha! It is called so here.” + </p> + <p> + Silence. + </p> + <p> + “Must I go now?” asks Haggart. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, go.” + </p> + <p> + “And you will remain here?” + </p> + <p> + “I will remain here.” + </p> + <p> + Haggart retreats several steps. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, Haggart.” + </p> + <p> + Again the cobblestones rattle under his cautious steps; without looking + back, Haggart climbs the steep rocks. + </p> + <p> + Of what great sorrow speaks this night? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + “Your hands are in blood, Haggart. Whom have you killed, Haggart?” + </p> + <p> + “Silence, Khorre, I killed that man. Be silent and listen—he will + commence to play soon. I stood here and listened, but suddenly my heart + sank, and I cannot stay here alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t confuse my mind, Noni; don’t tempt me. I will run away from here. + At night, when I am already fast asleep, you swoop down on me like a + demon, grab me by the neck, and drag me over here—I can’t understand + anything. Tell me, my boy, is it necessary to hide the body?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Why didn’t you throw it into the sea?” + </p> + <p> + “Silence! What are you prating about? I have nothing to throw into the + sea.” + </p> + <p> + “But your hands are in blood.” + </p> + <p> + “Silence, Khorre! He will commence soon. Be silent and listen—I say + to you—Are you a friend to me or not, Khorre?” + </p> + <p> + He drags him closer to the dark window of the church. Khorre mutters: + </p> + <p> + “How dark it is. If you raised me out of bed for this accursed music—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes; for this accursed music.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you have disturbed my honest sleep in vain; I want no music, Noni.” + </p> + <p> + “So! Was I perhaps to run through the street, knock at the windows and + shout: ‘Eh, who is there; where’s a living soul? Come and help Haggart, + stand up with him against the cannons.’” + </p> + <p> + “You are confusing things, Noni. Drink some gin, my boy. What cannons?” + </p> + <p> + “Silence, sailor.” + </p> + <p> + He drags him away from the window. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you shake me like a squall!” + </p> + <p> + “Silence! I think he looked at us from the window; something white flashed + behind the window pane. You may laugh. Khorre—if he came out now I + would scream like a woman.” + </p> + <p> + He laughs softly. + </p> + <p> + “Are you speaking of Dan? I don’t understand anything, Noni.” + </p> + <p> + “But is that Dan? Of course it is not Dan—it is some one else. Give + me your hand, sailor.” + </p> + <p> + “I think that you simply drank too much, like that time—remember, in + the castle? And your hand is quivering. But then the game was different—” + </p> + <p> + “Tss!” + </p> + <p> + Khorre lowers his voice: + </p> + <p> + “But your hand is really in blood. Oh, you are breaking my fingers!” + </p> + <p> + Haggart threatens: + </p> + <p> + “If you don’t keep still, dog, I’ll break every bone of your body! I’ll + pull every vein out of your body, if you don’t keep still, you dog!” + </p> + <p> + Silence. The distant breakers are softly groaning, as if complaining—the + sea has gone far away from the black earth. And the night is silent. It + came no one knows whence and spread over the earth; it spread over the + earth and is silent; it is silent, waiting for something. And ferocious + mists have swung themselves to meet it—the sea breathed phantoms, + driving to the earth a herd of headless submissive giants. A heavy fog is + coming. + </p> + <p> + “Why doesn’t he light a lamp?” asks Khorre sternly but submissively. + </p> + <p> + “He needs no light.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps there is no one there any longer.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he’s there.” + </p> + <p> + “A fog is coming. How quiet it is! There’s something wrong in the air—what + do you think, Noni?” + </p> + <p> + “Tss!” + </p> + <p> + The first soft sounds of the organ resound. Some one is sitting alone in + the dark and is speaking to God in an incomprehensible language about the + most important things. And however faint the sounds—suddenly the + silence vanishes, the night trembles and stares into the dark church with + all its myriads of phantom eyes. An agitated voice whispers: + </p> + <p> + “Listen! He always begins that way. He gets a hold of your soul at once! + Where does he get the power? He gets a hold of your heart!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t like it.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen! Now he makes believe he is Haggart, Khorre! Little Haggart in his + mother’s lap. Look, all hands are filled with golden rays; little Haggart + is playing with golden rays. Look!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see it, Noni. Leave my hand alone, it hurts.” + </p> + <p> + “Now he makes believe he is Haggart! Listen!” + </p> + <p> + The oppressive chords resound faintly. Haggart moans softly. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Noni? Do you feel any pain?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Do you understand of what he speaks?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “He speaks of the most important—of the most vital, Khorre—if + we could only understand it—I want to understand it. Listen, Khorre, + listen! Why does he make believe that he is Haggart? It is not my soul. My + soul does not know this.” + </p> + <p> + “What, Noni?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. What terrible dreams there are in this land! Listen. There! + Now he will cry and he will say: ‘It is Haggart crying.’ He will call God + and will say: ‘Haggart is calling.’ He lies—Haggart did not call, + Haggart does not know God.” + </p> + <p> + He moans again, trying to restrain himself. + </p> + <p> + “Do you feel any pain?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—Be silent.” + </p> + <p> + Haggart exclaims in a muffled voice: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Khorre!” + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Noni?” + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you tell him that it isn’t Haggart? It is a lie!” whispers + Haggart rapidly. “He thinks that he knows, but he does not know anything. + He is a small, wretched old man with red eyes, like those of a rabbit, and + to-morrow death will mow him down. Ha! He is dealing in diamonds, he + throws them from one hand to the other like an old miser, and he himself + is dying of hunger. It is a fraud, Khorre, a fraud. Let us shout loudly, + Khorre, we are alone here.” + </p> + <p> + He shouts, turning to the thundering organ: + </p> + <p> + “Eh, musician! Even a fly cannot rise on your wings, even the smallest fly + cannot rise on your wings. Eh, musician! Let me have your torn hat and I + will throw a penny into it; your lie is worth no more. What are you + prating there about God, you rabbit’s eyes? Be silent, I am shamed to + listen to you. I swear, I am ashamed to listen to you! Don’t you believe + me? You are still calling? Whither?” + </p> + <p> + “Strike them on the head, Noni.” + </p> + <p> + “Be silent, you dog! But what a terrible land! What are they doing here + with the human heart? What terrible dreams there are in this land?” + </p> + <p> + He stops speaking. The organ sings solemnly. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you stop speaking, Noni?” asks the sailor with alarm. + </p> + <p> + “I am listening. It is good music, Khorre. Have I said anything?” + </p> + <p> + “You even shouted, Noni, and you forced me to shout with you.” + </p> + <p> + “That is not true. I have been silent all the time. Do you know, I haven’t + even opened my mouth once! You must have been dreaming, Khorre. Perhaps + you are thinking that you are near the church? You are simply sleeping in + your bed, sailor. It is a dream.” + </p> + <p> + Khorre is terrified. + </p> + <p> + “Drink some gin, Noni.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t need it. I drank something else already.” + </p> + <p> + “Your hands?” + </p> + <p> + “Be silent, Khorre. Don’t you see that everything is silent and is + listening, and you alone are talking? The musician may feel offended!” + </p> + <p> + He laughs quietly. Brass trumpets are roaring harmoniously about the + triumphant conciliation between man and God. The fog is growing thicker. + </p> + <p> + A loud stamping of feet—some one runs through the deserted street in + agitation. + </p> + <p> + “Noni!” whispers the sailor. “Who ran by?” + </p> + <p> + “I hear.” + </p> + <p> + “Noni! Another one is running. Something is wrong.” + </p> + <p> + Frightened people are running about in the middle of the night—the + echo of the night doubles the sound of their footsteps, increasing their + terror tenfold, and it seems as if the entire village, terror-stricken, is + running away somewhere. Rocking, dancing silently, as upon waves, a + lantern floats by. + </p> + <p> + “They have found him, Khorre. They have found the man I killed, sailor! I + did not throw him into the sea; I brought him and set his head up against + the door of his house. They have found him.” + </p> + <p> + Another lantern floats by, swinging from side to side. As if hearing the + alarm, the organ breaks off at a high chord. An instant of silence, + emptiness of dread waiting, and then a woman’s sob of despair fills it up + to the brim. + </p> + <p> + The mist is growing thicker. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + The flame in the oil-lamp is dying out, having a smell of burning. It is + near sunrise. A large, clean, fisherman’s hut. A skilfully made little + ship is fastened to the ceiling, and even the sails are set. Involuntarily + this little ship has somehow become the centre of attraction and all those + who speak, who are silent and who listen, look at it, study each familiar + sail. Behind the dark curtain lies the body of Philipp—this hut + belonged to him. + </p> + <p> + The people are waiting for Haggart—some have gone out to search for + him. On the benches along the walls, the old fishermen have seated + themselves, their hands folded on their knees; some of them seem to be + slumbering; others are smoking their pipes. They speak meditatively and + cautiously, as though eager to utter no unnecessary words. Whenever a + belated fisherman comes in, he looks first at the curtain, then he + silently squeezes himself into the crowd, and those who have no place on + the bench apparently feel embarrassed. + </p> + <p> + The abbot paces the room heavily, his hands folded on his back, his head + lowered; when any one is in his way, he quietly pushes him aside with his + hand. He is silent and knits his brows convulsively. Occasionally he + glances at the door or at the window and listens. + </p> + <p> + The only woman present there is Mariet. She is sitting by the table and + constantly watching her father with her burning eyes. She shudders + slightly at each loud word, at the sound of the door as it opens, at the + noise of distant footsteps. + </p> + <p> + At night a fog came from the sea and covered the earth. And such perfect + quiet reigns now that long-drawn tolling is heard in the distant + lighthouse of the Holy Cross. Warning is thus given to the ships that have + lost their way in the fog. + </p> + <p> + Some one in the corner says: + </p> + <p> + “Judging from the blow, it was not one of our people that killed him. Our + people can’t strike like that. He stuck the knife here, then slashed over + there, and almost cut his head off.” + </p> + <p> + “You can’t do that with a dull knife!” + </p> + <p> + “No. You can’t do it with a weak hand. I saw a murdered sailor on the + wharf one day—he was cut up just like this.” + </p> + <p> + Silence. + </p> + <p> + “And where is his mother?” asks some one, nodding at the curtain. + </p> + <p> + “Selly is taking care of her. Selly took her to her house.” + </p> + <p> + An old fisherman quietly asks his neighbour: + </p> + <p> + “Who told you?” + </p> + <p> + “Francina woke me. Who told you, Marle?” + </p> + <p> + “Some one knocked on my window.” + </p> + <p> + “Who knocked on your window?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know.” + </p> + <p> + Silence. + </p> + <p> + “How is it you don’t know? Who was the first to see?” + </p> + <p> + “Some one passed by and noticed him.” + </p> + <p> + “None of us passed by. There was nobody among us who passed by.” + </p> + <p> + A fisherman seated at the other end, says: + </p> + <p> + “There was nobody among us who passed by. Tell us, Thomas.” + </p> + <p> + Thomas takes out his pipe: + </p> + <p> + “I am a neighbour of Philipp’s, of that man there—” he points at the + curtain. “Yes, yes, you all know that I am his neighbour. And if anybody + does not know it—I’ll say it again, as in a court of justice: I am + his neighbour—I live right next to him—” he turns to the + window. + </p> + <p> + An elderly fisherman enters and forces himself silently into the line. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Tibo?” asks the abbot, stopping. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t you found Haggart?” + </p> + <p> + “No. It is so foggy that they are afraid of losing themselves. They walk + and call each other; some of them hold each other by the hand. Even a + lantern can’t be seen ten feet away.” + </p> + <p> + The abbot lowers his head and resumes his pacing. The old fisherman + speaks, without addressing any one in particular. + </p> + <p> + “There are many ships now staring helplessly in the sea.” + </p> + <p> + “I walked like a blind man,” says Tibo. “I heard the Holy Cross ringing. + But it seems as if it changed its place. The sound comes from the left + side.” + </p> + <p> + “The fog is deceitful.” + </p> + <p> + Old Desfoso says: + </p> + <p> + “This never happened here. Since Dugamel broke Jack’s head with a shaft. + That was thirty—forty years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you say, Desfoso?” the abbot stops. + </p> + <p> + “I say, since Dugamel broke Jack’s head—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes!” says the abbot, and resumes pacing the room. + </p> + <p> + “Then Dugamel threw himself into the sea from a rock and was dashed to + death—that’s how it happened. He threw himself down.” + </p> + <p> + Mariet shudders and looks at the speaker with hatred. Silence. + </p> + <p> + “What did you say, Thomas?” + </p> + <p> + Thomas takes his pipe out of his mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. I only said that some one knocked at my window.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know who?” + </p> + <p> + “No. And you will never know. I came out, I looked—and there Philipp + was sitting at his door. I wasn’t surprised—Philipp often roamed + about at night ever since—” + </p> + <p> + He stops irresolutely. Mariet asks harshly: + </p> + <p> + “Since when? You said ‘since.’” + </p> + <p> + Silence. Desfoso replies frankly and heavily: + </p> + <p> + “Since your Haggart came. Go ahead, Thomas, tell us about it.” + </p> + <p> + “So I said to him: ‘Why did you knock, Philipp? Do you want anything?’ But + he was silent.” + </p> + <p> + “And he was silent?” + </p> + <p> + “He was silent. ‘If you don’t want anything, you had better go to sleep, + my friend,’ said I. But he was silent. Then I looked at him—his + throat was cut open.” + </p> + <p> + Mariet shudders and looks at the speaker with aversion. Silence. Another + fisherman enters, looks at the curtain and silently forces his way into + the crowd. Women’s voices are heard behind the door; the abbot stops. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, Lebon! Chase the women away,” he says. “Tell them, there is nothing + for them to do here.” + </p> + <p> + Lebon goes out. + </p> + <p> + “Wait,” the abbot stops. “Ask how the mother is feeling; Selly is taking + care of her.” + </p> + <p> + Desfoso says: + </p> + <p> + “You say, chase away the women, abbot? And your daughter? She is here.” + </p> + <p> + The abbot looks at Mariet. She says: + </p> + <p> + “I am not going away from here.” + </p> + <p> + Silence. The abbot paces the room again; he looks at the little ship + fastened to the ceiling and asks: + </p> + <p> + “Who made it?” + </p> + <p> + All look at the little ship. + </p> + <p> + “He,” answers Desfoso. “He made it when he wanted to go to America as a + sailor. He was always asking me how a three-masted brig is fitted out.” + </p> + <p> + They look at the ship again, at its perfect little sails—at the + little rags. Lebon returns. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know how to tell you about it, abbot. The women say that Haggart + and his sailor are being led over here. The women are afraid.” + </p> + <p> + Mariet shudders and looks at the door; the abbot pauses. + </p> + <p> + “Oho, it is daybreak already, the fog is turning blue!” says one fisherman + to another, but his voice breaks off. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Low tide has started,” replies the other dully. + </p> + <p> + Silence. Then uneven footsteps resound. Several young fishermen with + excited faces bring in Haggart, who is bound, and push Khorre in after + him, also bound. Haggart is calm; as soon as the sailor was bound, + something wildly free appeared in his movements, in his manners, in the + sharpness of his swift glances. + </p> + <p> + One of the men who brought Haggart says to the abbot in a low voice: + </p> + <p> + “He was near the church. Ten times we passed by and saw no one, until he + called: ‘Aren’t you looking for me?’ It is so foggy, father.” + </p> + <p> + The abbot shakes his head silently and sits down. Mariet smiles to her + husband with her pale lips, but he does not look at her. Like all the + others, he has fixed his eyes in amazement on the toy ship. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Haggart,” says the abbot. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, father.” + </p> + <p> + “You call me father?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you.” + </p> + <p> + “You are mistaken, Haggart. I am not your father.” + </p> + <p> + The fishermen exchanged glances contentedly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then. Hello, abbot,” says Haggart with indifference, and resumes + examining the little ship. Khorre mutters: + </p> + <p> + “That’s the way, be firm, Noni.” + </p> + <p> + “Who made this toy?” asks Haggart, but no one replies. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Gart!” says Mariet, smiling. “It is I, your wife, Mariet. Let me + untie your hands.” + </p> + <p> + With a smile, pretending that she does not notice the stains of blood, she + unfastens the ropes. All look at her in silence. Haggart also looks at her + bent, alarmed head. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” he says, straightening his hands. + </p> + <p> + “It would be a good thing to untie my hands, too,” said Khorre, but there + is no answer. + </p> + <p> + ABBOT—Haggart, did you kill Philipp? + </p> + <p> + HAGGART—I. + </p> + <p> + ABBOT—Do you mean to say—eh, you, Haggart—that you + yourself killed him with your own hands? Perhaps you said to the sailor: + “Sailor, go and kill Philipp,” and he did it, for he loves you and + respects you as his superior? Perhaps it happened that way! Tell me, + Haggart. I called you my son, Haggart. + </p> + <p> + HAGGART—No, I did not order the sailor to do it. I killed Philipp + with my own hand. + </p> + <p> + Silence. + </p> + <p> + KHORRE—Noni! Tell them to unfasten my hands and give me back my + pipe. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be in a hurry,” roars the priest. “Be bound awhile, drunkard! You + had better be afraid of an untied rope—it may be formed into a + noose.” + </p> + <p> + But obeying a certain swift movement or glance of Haggart, Mariet walks + over to the sailor and opens the knots of the rope. And again all look in + silence upon her bent, alarmed head. Then they turn their eyes upon + Haggart. Just as they looked at the little ship before, so they now look + at him. And he, too, has forgotten about the toy. As if aroused from + sleep, he surveys the fishermen, and stares long at the dark curtain. + </p> + <p> + ABBOT—Haggart, I am asking you. Who carried Philipp’s body? + </p> + <p> + HAGGART—I. I brought it and put it near the door, his head against + the door, his face against the sea. It was hard to set him that way, he + was always falling down. But I did it. + </p> + <p> + ABBOT—Why did you do it? + </p> + <p> + HAGGART—I don’t know exactly. I heard that Philipp has a mother, an + old woman, and I thought this might please them better—both him and + his mother. + </p> + <p> + ABBOT—(With restraint.) You are laughing at us? + </p> + <p> + HAGGART—No. What makes you think I am laughing? I am just as serious + as you are. Did he—did Philipp make this little ship? + </p> + <p> + No one answers. Mariet, rising and bending over to Haggart across the + table, says: + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t you say this, Haggart: ‘My poor boy, I killed you because I had to + kill you, and now I am going to take you to your mother, my dear boy’?” + </p> + <p> + “These are very sad words. Who told them to you, Mariet?” asks Haggart, + surprised. + </p> + <p> + “I heard them. And didn’t you say further: ‘Mother, I have brought you + your son, and put him down at your door—take your boy, mother’?” + </p> + <p> + Haggart maintains silence. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” roars the abbot bitterly. “I don’t know; people don’t kill + here, and we don’t know how it is done. Perhaps that is as it should be—to + kill and then bring the murdered man to his mother’s threshold. What are + you gaping at, you scarecrow?” + </p> + <p> + Khorre replies rudely: + </p> + <p> + “According to my opinion, he should have thrown him into the sea. Your + Haggart is out of his mind; I have said it long ago.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly old Desfoso shouts amid the loud approval of the others: + </p> + <p> + “Hold your tongue! We will send him to the city, but we will hang you like + a cat ourselves, even if you did not kill him.” + </p> + <p> + “Silence, old man, silence!” the abbot stops him, while Khorre looks over + their heads with silent contempt. “Haggart, I am asking you, why did you + take Philipp’s life? He needed his life just as you need yours.” + </p> + <p> + “He was Mariet’s betrothed—and—” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “And—I don’t want to speak. Why didn’t you ask me before, when he + was alive? Now I have killed him.” + </p> + <p> + “But”—says the abbot, and there is a note of entreaty in his heavy + voice. “But it may be that you are already repenting, Haggart? You are a + splendid man, Gart. I know you; when you are sober you cannot hurt even a + fly. Perhaps you were intoxicated—that happens with young people—and + Philipp may have said something to you, and you—” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “No? Well, then, let it be no. Am I not right, children? But perhaps + something strange came over you—it happens with people—suddenly + a red mist will get into a man’s head, the beast will begin to howl in his + breast, and—In such cases one word is enough—” + </p> + <p> + “No, Philipp did not say anything to me. He passed along the road, when I + jumped out from behind a large rock and stuck a knife into his throat. He + had no time even to be scared. But if you like—” Haggart surveys the + fishermen with his eyes irresolutely—“I feel a little sorry for him. + That is, just a little. Did he make this toy?” + </p> + <p> + The abbot lowers his head sternly. And Desfoso shouts again, amidst sobs + of approval from the others: + </p> + <p> + “No! Abbot, you better ask him what he was doing at the church. Dan saw + them from the window. Wouldn’t you tell us what you and your accursed + sailor were doing at the church? What were you doing there? Speak.” + </p> + <p> + Haggart looks at the speaker steadfastly and says slowly: + </p> + <p> + “I talked with the devil.” + </p> + <p> + A muffled rumbling follows. The abbot jumps from his place and roars + furiously: + </p> + <p> + “Then let him sit on your neck! Eh, Pierre, Jules, tie him down as fast as + you can until morning. And the other one, too. And in the morning—in + the morning, take him away to the city, to the Judges. I don’t know their + accursed city laws”—cries the abbot in despair—“but they will + hang you, Haggart! You will dangle on a rope, Haggart!” + </p> + <p> + Khorre rudely pushes aside the young fisherman who comes over to him with + a rope, and says to Desfoso in a low voice: + </p> + <p> + “It’s an important matter, old man. Go away for a minute—he oughtn’t + to hear it,” he nods at Haggart. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t trust you.” + </p> + <p> + “You needn’t. That’s nothing. Noni, there is a little matter here. Come, + come, and don’t be afraid. I have no knife.” + </p> + <p> + The people step aside and whisper. Haggart is silently waiting to be + bound, but no one comes over to him. All shudder when Mariet suddenly + commences to speak: + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you think that all this is just, father? Why, then, don’t you ask + me about it? I am his wife. Don’t you believe that I am his wife? Then I + will bring little Noni here. Do you want me to bring little Noni? He is + sleeping, but I will wake him up. Once in his life he may wake up at night + in order to say that this man whom you want to hang in the city is his + father.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t!” says Haggart. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” replies Mariet obediently. “He commands and I must obey—he + is my husband. Let little Noni sleep. But I am not sleeping, I am here. + Why, then, didn’t you ask me: ‘Mariet, how was it possible that your + husband, Haggart, should kill Philipp’?” + </p> + <p> + Silence. Desfoso, who has returned and who is agitated, decides: + </p> + <p> + “Let her speak. She is his wife.” + </p> + <p> + “You will not believe, Desfoso,” says Mariet, turning to the old fisherman + with a tender and mournful smile. “Desfoso, you will not believe what + strange and peculiar creatures we women are!” + </p> + <p> + Turning to all the people with the same smile, she continues: + </p> + <p> + “You will not believe what queer desires, what cunning, malicious little + thoughts we women have. It was I who persuaded my husband to kill Philipp. + Yes, yes—he did not want to do it, but I urged him; I cried so much + and threatened him, so he consented. Men always give in—isn’t that + true, Desfoso?” + </p> + <p> + Haggart looks at his wife in a state of great perplexity, his eyebrows + brought close to each other. Mariet continues, without looking at him, + still smiling as before: + </p> + <p> + “You will ask me, why I wanted Philipp’s death? Yes, yes, you will ask + this question, I know it. He never did me any harm, that poor Philipp, + isn’t that true? Then I will tell you: He was my betrothed. I don’t know + whether you will be able to understand me. You, old Desfoso—you + would not kill the girl you kissed one day? Of course not. But we women + are such strange creatures—you can’t even imagine what strange, + suspicious, peculiar creatures we are. Philipp was my betrothed, and he + kissed me—” + </p> + <p> + She wipes her mouth and continues, laughing: + </p> + <p> + “Here I am wiping my mouth even now. You have all seen how I wiped my + mouth. I am wiping away Philipp’s kisses. You are laughing. But ask your + wife, Desfoso—does she want the life of the man who kissed her + before you? Ask all women who love—even the old women! We never grow + old in love. We are born so, we women.” + </p> + <p> + Haggart almost believes her. Advancing a step forward, he asks: + </p> + <p> + “You urged me? Perhaps it is true, Mariet—I don’t remember.” + </p> + <p> + Mariet laughs. + </p> + <p> + “Do you hear? He has forgotten. Go on, Gart. You may say that it was your + own idea? That’s the way you men are—you forget everything. Will you + say perhaps that I—” + </p> + <p> + “Mariet!” Haggart interrupts her threateningly. + </p> + <p> + Mariet, turning pale, looking sorrowfully at his terrible eyes which are + now steadfastly fixed upon her, continues, still smiling: + </p> + <p> + “Go on, Gart! Will you say perhaps that I—Will you say perhaps that + I dissuaded you? That would be funny—” + </p> + <p> + HAGGART—No, I will not say that. You lie, Mariet! Even I, Haggart—just + think of it, people—even I believed her, so cleverly does this woman + lie. + </p> + <p> + MARIET—Go—on—Haggart. + </p> + <p> + HAGGART—You are laughing? Abbot, I don’t want to be the husband of + your daughter—she lies. + </p> + <p> + ABBOT—You are worse than the devil, Gart! That’s what I say—You + are worse than the devil, Gart! + </p> + <p> + HAGGART—You are all foolish people! I don’t understand you; I don’t + know now what to do with you. Shall I laugh? Shall I be angry? Shall I + cry? You want to let me go—why, then, don’t you let me go? You are + sorry for Philipp. Well, then, kill me—I have told you that it was I + who killed the boy. Am I disputing? But you are making grimaces like + monkeys that have found bananas—or have you such a game in your + land? Then I don’t want to play it. And you, abbot, you are like a juggler + in the marketplace. In one hand you have truth and in the other hand you + have truth, and you are forever performing tricks. And now she is lying—she + lies so well that my heart contracts with belief. Oh, she is doing it + well! + </p> + <p> + And he laughs bitterly. + </p> + <p> + MARIET—Forgive me, Gart. + </p> + <p> + HAGGART—When I wanted to kill him, she hung on my hand like a rock, + and now she says that she killed him. She steals from me this murder; she + does not know that one has to earn that, too! Oh, there are queer people + in your land! + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to deceive them, not you, Gart. I wanted to save you,” says + Mariet. + </p> + <p> + Haggart replies: + </p> + <p> + “My father taught me: ‘Eh, Noni, beware! There is one truth and one law + for all—for the sun, for the wind, for the waves, for the beasts—and + only for man there is another truth. Beware of this truth of man, Noni!’ + so said my father. Perhaps this is your truth? Then I am not afraid of it, + but I feel very sad and very embittered. Mariet, if you sharpened my knife + and said: ‘Go and kill that man’—it may be that I would not have + cared to kill him. ‘What is the use of cutting down a withered tree?’—I + would have said. But now—farewell, Mariet! Well, bind me and take me + to the city.” + </p> + <p> + He waits haughtily, but no one approaches him. Mariet has lowered her head + upon her hands, her shoulders are twitching. The abbot is also absorbed in + thought, his large head lowered. Desfoso is carrying on a heated + conversation in whispers with the fishermen. Khorre steps forward and + speaks, glancing at Haggart askance: + </p> + <p> + “I had a little talk with them, Noni—they are all right, they are + good fellows, Noni. Only the priest—but he is a good man, too—am + I right, Noni? Don’t look so crossly at me, or I’ll mix up the whole + thing! You see, kind people, it’s this way: this man, Haggart, and I have + saved up a little sum of money, a little barrel of gold. We don’t need it, + Noni, do we? Perhaps you will take it for yourselves? What do you think? + Shall we give them the gold, Noni? You see, here I’ve entangled myself + already.” + </p> + <p> + He winks slyly at Mariet, who has now lifted her head. + </p> + <p> + “What are you prating there, you scarecrow?” asks the abbot. + </p> + <p> + Khorre continues: + </p> + <p> + “Here it goes, Noni; I am straightening it out little by little! But where + have we buried it, the barrel? Do you remember, Noni? I have forgotten. + They say it’s from the gin, kind people; they say that one’s memory fails + from too much gin. I am a drunkard, that’s true.” + </p> + <p> + “If you are not inventing—then you had better choke yourself with + your gold, you dog!” says the abbot. + </p> + <p> + HAGGART—Khorre! + </p> + <p> + KHORRE—Yes. + </p> + <p> + HAGGART—To-morrow you will get a hundred lashes. Abbot, order a + hundred lashes for him! + </p> + <p> + ABBOT—With pleasure, my son. With pleasure. + </p> + <p> + The movements of the fishermen are just as slow and languid, but there is + something new in their increased puffing and pulling at their pipes, in + the light quiver of their tanned hands. Some of them arise and look out of + the window with feigned indifference. + </p> + <p> + “The fog is rising!” says one, looking out of the window. “Do you hear + what I said about the fog?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s time to go to sleep. I say, it’s time to go to sleep!” + </p> + <p> + Desfoso comes forward and speaks cautiously: + </p> + <p> + “That isn’t quite so, abbot. It seems you didn’t say exactly what you + ought to say, abbot. They seem to think differently. I don’t say anything + for myself—I am simply talking about them. What do you say, Thomas?” + </p> + <p> + THOMAS—We ought to go to sleep, I say. Isn’t it true that it is time + to go to sleep? + </p> + <p> + MARIET (softly)—Sit down, Gart. You are tired to-night. You don’t + answer? + </p> + <p> + An old fisherman says: + </p> + <p> + “There used to be a custom in our land, I heard, that a murderer was to + pay a fine for the man he killed. Have you heard about it, Desfoso?” + </p> + <p> + Another voice is heard: + </p> + <p> + “Philipp is dead. Philipp is dead already, do you hear, neighbour? Who is + going to support his mother?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t enough even for my own! And the fog is rising, neighbour.” + </p> + <p> + “Abbot, did you hear us say: ‘Gart is a bad man; Gart is a + good-for-nothing, a city trickster?’ No, we said: ‘This thing has never + happened here before,’” says Desfoso. + </p> + <p> + Then a determined voice remarks: + </p> + <p> + “Gart is a good man! Wild Gart is a good man!” + </p> + <p> + DESFOSO—If you looked around, abbot, you couldn’t find a single, + strong boat here. I haven’t enough tar for mine. And the church—is + that the way a good church ought to look? I am not saying it myself, but + it comes out that way—it can’t be helped, abbot. + </p> + <p> + Haggart turns to Mariet and says: + </p> + <p> + “Do you hear, woman?” + </p> + <p> + “I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you spit into their faces?” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t. I love you, Haggart. Are there only ten Commandments of God? No, + there is still another: ‘I love you, Haggart.’” + </p> + <p> + “What sad dreams there are in your land.” + </p> + <p> + The abbot rises and walks over to the fishermen. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what did you say about the church, old man? You said something + interesting about the church, or was I mistaken?” + </p> + <p> + He casts a swift glance at Mariet and Haggart. + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t the church alone, abbot. There are four of us old men: Legran, + Stoffle, Puasar, Kornu, and seven old women. Do I say that we are not + going to feed them? Of course, we will, but don’t be angry, father—it + is hard! You know it yourself, abbot—old age is no fun.” + </p> + <p> + “I am an old man, too!” begins old Rikke, lisping, but suddenly he flings + his hat angrily to the ground. “Yes, I am an old man. I don’t want any + more, that’s all! I worked, and now I don’t want to work. That’s all! I + don’t want to work.” + </p> + <p> + He goes out, swinging his hand. All look sympathetically at his stooping + back, at his white tufts of hair. And then they look again at Desfoso, at + his mouth, from which their words come out. A voice says: + </p> + <p> + “There, Rikke doesn’t want to work any more.” + </p> + <p> + All laugh softly and forcedly. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose we send Gart to the city—what then?” Desfoso goes on, + without looking at Haggart. “Well, the city people will hang him—and + then what? The result will be that a man will be gone, a fisherman will be + gone—you will lose a son, and Mariet will lose her husband, and the + little boy his father. Is there any joy in that?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s right, that’s right!” nods the abbot, approvingly. “But what a + mind you have, Desfoso!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you pay attention to them, Abbot?” asked Haggart. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do, Haggart. And it wouldn’t do you any harm to pay attention to + them. The devil is prouder than you, and yet he is only the devil, and + nothing more.” + </p> + <p> + Desfoso affirms: + </p> + <p> + “What’s the use of pride? Pride isn’t necessary.” + </p> + <p> + He turns to Haggart, his eyes still lowered; then he lifts his eyes and + asks: + </p> + <p> + “Gart! But you don’t need to kill anybody else. Excepting Philipp, you + don’t feel like killing anybody else, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Only Philipp, and no more? Do you hear? Only Philipp, and no more. And + another question—Gart, don’t you want to send away this man, Khorre? + We would like you to do it. Who knows him? People say that all this + trouble comes through him.” + </p> + <p> + Several voices are heard: + </p> + <p> + “Through him. Send him away, Gart! It will be better for him!” + </p> + <p> + The abbot upholds them. + </p> + <p> + “True!” + </p> + <p> + “You, too, priest!” says Khorre, gruffly. Haggart looks with a faint smile + at his angry, bristled face, and says: + </p> + <p> + “I rather feel like sending him away. Let him go.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, Abbot,” says Desfoso, turning around, “we have decided, in + accordance with our conscience—to take the money. Do I speak + properly?” + </p> + <p> + One voice answers for all: + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + DESFOSO—Well, sailor, where is the money? + </p> + <p> + KHORRE—Captain? + </p> + <p> + HAGGART—Give it to them. + </p> + <p> + KHORRE (rudely)—“Then give me back my knife and my pipe first! Who + is the eldest among you—you? Listen, then: Take crowbars and shovels + and go to the castle. Do you know the tower, the accursed tower that fell? + Go over there—” + </p> + <p> + He bends down and draws a map on the floor with his crooked finger. All + bend down and look attentively; only the abbot gazes sternly out of the + window, behind which the heavy fog is still grey. Haggart whispers in a + fit of rage: + </p> + <p> + “Mariet, it would have been better if you had killed me as I killed + Philipp. And now my father is calling me. Where will be the end of my + sorrow, Mariet? Where the end of the world is. And where is the end of the + world? Do you want to take my sorrow, Mariet?” + </p> + <p> + “I do, Haggart.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you are a woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you torture me, Gart? What have I done that you should torture me + so? I love you.” + </p> + <p> + “You lied.” + </p> + <p> + “My tongue lied. I love you.” + </p> + <p> + “A serpent has a double tongue, but ask the serpent what it wants—and + it will tell you the truth. It is your heart that lied. Was it not you, + girl, that I met that time on the road? And you said: ‘Good evening.’ How + you have deceived me!” + </p> + <p> + Desfoso asks loudly: + </p> + <p> + “Well, abbot? You are coming along with us, aren’t you, father. Otherwise + something wrong might come out of it. Do I speak properly?” + </p> + <p> + The abbot replies merrily: + </p> + <p> + “Of course, of course, children. I am going with you. Without me, you will + think of the church. I have just been thinking of the church—of the + kind of church you need. Oh, it’s hard to get along with you, people!” + </p> + <p> + The fishermen go out very slowly—they are purposely lingering. + </p> + <p> + “The sea is coming,” says one. “I can hear it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, the sea is coming! Did you understand what he said?” + </p> + <p> + The few who remained are more hasty in their movements. Some of them + politely bid Haggart farewell. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, Gart.” + </p> + <p> + “I am thinking, Haggart, what kind of a church we need. This one will not + do, it seems. They prayed here a hundred years; now it is no good, they + say. Well, then, it is necessary to have a new one, a better one. But what + shall it be?” + </p> + <p> + “‘Pope’s a rogue, Pope’s a rogue.’ But, then, I am a rogue, too. Don’t you + think, Gart, that I am also something of a rogue? One moment, children, I + am with you.” + </p> + <p> + There is some crowding in the doorway. The abbot follows the last man with + his eyes and roars angrily: + </p> + <p> + “Eh, you, Haggart, murderer! What are you smiling at? You have no right to + despise them like that. They are my children. They have worked—have + you seen their hands, their backs? If you haven’t noticed that, you are a + fool! They are tired. They want to rest. Let them rest, even at the cost + of the blood of the one you killed. I’ll give them each a little, and the + rest I will throw out into the sea. Do you hear, Haggart?” + </p> + <p> + “I hear, priest.” + </p> + <p> + The abbot exclaims, raising his arms: + </p> + <p> + “O Lord! Why have you made a heart that can have pity on both the murdered + and the murderer! Gart, go home. Take him home, Mariet, and wash his + hands!” + </p> + <p> + “To whom do you lie, priest?” asks Haggart, slowly. “To God or to the + devil? To yourself or to the people? Or to everybody?” + </p> + <p> + He laughs bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, Gart! You are drunk with blood.” + </p> + <p> + “And with what are you drunk?” + </p> + <p> + They face each other. Mariet cries angrily, placing herself between them: + </p> + <p> + “May a thunder strike you down, both of you, that’s what I am praying to + God. May a thunder strike you down! What are you doing with my heart? You + are tearing it with your teeth like greedy dogs. You didn’t drink enough + blood, Gart, drink mine, then! You will never have enough, Gart, isn’t + that true?” + </p> + <p> + “Now, now,” says the abbot, calming them. “Take him home, Mariet. Go home, + Gart, and sleep more.” + </p> + <p> + Mariet comes forward, goes to the door and pauses there. + </p> + <p> + “Gart! I am going to little Noni.” + </p> + <p> + “Go.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you coming along with me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—no—later.” + </p> + <p> + “I am going to little Noni. What shall I tell him about his father when he + wakes up?” + </p> + <p> + Haggart is silent. Khorre comes back and stops irresolutely at the + threshold. Mariet casts at him a glance full of contempt and then goes + out. Silence. + </p> + <p> + “Khorre!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Gin!” + </p> + <p> + “Here it is, Noni. Drink it, my boy, but not all at once, not all at once, + Noni.” + </p> + <p> + Haggart drinks; he examines the room with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Nobody. Did you see him, Khorre? He is there, behind the curtain. Just + think of it, sailor—here we are again with him alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Go home, Noni!” + </p> + <p> + “Right away. Give me some gin.” + </p> + <p> + He drinks. + </p> + <p> + “And they? They have gone?” + </p> + <p> + “They ran, Noni. Go home, my boy! They ran off like goats. I was laughing + so much, Noni.” + </p> + <p> + Both laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Take down that toy, Khorre. Yes, yes, a little ship. He made it, Khorre.” + </p> + <p> + They examine the toy. + </p> + <p> + “Look how skilfully the jib was made, Khorre. Good boy, Philipp! But the + halyards are bad, look. No, Philipp! You never saw how real ships are + fitted out—real ships which rove over the ocean, tearing its grey + waves. Was it with this toy that you wanted to quench your little thirst—fool?” + </p> + <p> + He throws down the little ship and rises: + </p> + <p> + “Khorre! Boatswain!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Call them! I assume command again, Khorre!” + </p> + <p> + The sailor turns pale and shouts enthusiastically: + </p> + <p> + “Noni! Captain! My knees are trembling. I will not be able to reach them + and I will fall on the way.” + </p> + <p> + “You will reach them! We must also take our money away from these people—what + do you think, Khorre? We have played a little, and now it is enough—what + do you think, Khorre?” + </p> + <p> + He laughs. The sailor looks at him, his hands folded as in prayer, and he + weeps. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + “These are your comrades, Haggart? I am so glad to see them. You said, + Gart, yes—you said that their faces were entirely different from the + faces of our people, and that is true. Oh, how true it is! Our people have + handsome faces, too—don’t think our fishermen are ugly, but they + haven’t these deep, terrible scars. I like them very much, I assure you, + Gart. I suppose you are a friend of Haggart’s—you have such stern, + fine eyes? But you are silent? Why are they silent, Haggart; did you + forbid them to speak? And why are you silent yourself, Haggart? Haggart!” + </p> + <p> + Illuminated by the light of torches, Haggart stands and listens to the + rapid, agitated speech. The metal of the guns and the uniforms vibrates + and flashes; the light is also playing on the faces of those who have + surrounded Haggart in a close circle—these are his nearest, his + friends. And in the distance there is a different game—there a large + ship is dancing silently, casting its light upon the black waves, and the + black water plays with them, pleating them like a braid, extinguishing + them and kindling them again. + </p> + <p> + A noisy conversation and the splashing of the waters—and the + dreadful silence of kindred human lips that are sealed. + </p> + <p> + “I am listening to you, Mariet,” says Haggart at last. “What do you want, + Mariet? It is impossible that some one should have offended you. I ordered + them not to touch your house.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, Haggart, no! No one has offended me!” exclaimed Mariet + cheerfully. “But don’t you like me to hold little Noni in my arms? Then I + will put him down here among the rocks. Here he will be warm and + comfortable as in his cradle. That’s the way! Don’t be afraid of waking + him, Gart; he sleeps soundly and will not hear anything. You may shout, + sing, fire a pistol—the boy sleeps soundly.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you want, Mariet? I did not call you here, and I am not pleased + that you have come.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, you did not call me here, Haggart; of course, you didn’t. But + when the fire was started, I thought: ‘Now it will light the way for me to + walk. Now I will not stumble.’ And I went. Your friends will not be + offended, Haggart, if I will ask them to step aside for awhile? I have + something to tell you, Gart. Of course, I should have done that before, I + understand, Gart; but I only just recalled it now. It was so light to + walk!” + </p> + <p> + Haggart says sternly: + </p> + <p> + “Step aside, Flerio, and you all—step aside with him.” + </p> + <p> + They all step aside. + </p> + <p> + “What is it that you have recalled, Mariet? Speak! I am going away forever + from your mournful land, where one dreams such painful dreams, where even + the rocks dream of sorrow. And I have forgotten everything.” + </p> + <p> + Gently and submissively, seeking protection and kindness, the woman + presses close to his hand. + </p> + <p> + “O, Haggart! O, my dear Haggart! They are not offended because I asked + them so rudely to step aside, are they? O, my dear Haggart! The galloons + of your uniform scratched my cheek, but it is so pleasant. Do you know, I + never liked it when you wore the clothes of our fishermen—it was not + becoming to you, Haggart. But I am talking nonsense, and you are getting + angry, Gart. Forgive me!” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t kneel. Get up.” + </p> + <p> + “It was only for a moment. Here, I got up. You ask me what I want? This is + what I want: Take me with you, Haggart! Me and little Noni, Haggart!” + </p> + <p> + Haggart retreats. + </p> + <p> + “You say that, Mariet? You say that I should take you along? Perhaps you + are laughing, woman? Or am I dreaming again?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I say that: Take me with you. Is this your ship? How large and + beautiful it is, and it has black sails, I know it. Take me on your ship, + Haggart. I know, you will say: ‘We have no women on the ship,’ but I will + be the woman: I will be your soul. Haggart, I will be your song, your + thoughts, Haggart! And if it must be so, let Khorre give gin to little + Noni—he is a strong boy.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh, Mariet?” says Haggart sternly. “Do you perhaps want me to believe you + again? Eh, Mariet? Don’t talk of that which you do not know, woman. Are + the rocks perhaps casting a spell over me and turning my head? Do you hear + the noise, and something like voices? That is the sea, waiting for me. + Don’t hold my soul. Let it go, Mariet.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t speak, Haggart! I know everything. It was not as though I came + along a fiery road, it was not as though I saw blood to-day. Be silent, + Haggart! I have seen something more terrible, Haggart! Oh, if you could + only understand me! I have seen cowardly people who ran without defending + themselves. I have seen clutching, greedy fingers, crooked like those of + birds, like those of birds, Haggart! And out of these fingers, which were + forced open, gold was taken. And suddenly I saw a man sobbing. Think of + it, Haggart! They were taking gold from him, and he was sobbing.” + </p> + <p> + She laughs bitterly. Haggart advances a step toward her and puts his heavy + hand upon her shoulder: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, Mariet. Speak on, girl, let the sea wait.” + </p> + <p> + Mariet removes his hand and continues: + </p> + <p> + “‘No,’ I thought. ‘These are not my brethren at all!’ I thought and + laughed. And father shouted to the cowards: ‘Take shafts and strike them.’ + But they were running. Father is such a splendid man.” + </p> + <p> + “Father is a splendid man,” Haggart affirms cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + “Such a splendid man! And then one sailor bent down close to Noni—perhaps + he did not want to do any harm to him, but he bent down to him too + closely, so, I fired at him from your pistol. Is it nothing that I fired + at our sailor?” + </p> + <p> + Haggart laughs: + </p> + <p> + “He had a comical face! You killed him, Mariet.” + </p> + <p> + “No. I don’t know how to shoot. And it was he who told me where you were. + O Haggart, O brother!” + </p> + <p> + She sobs, and then she speaks angrily with a shade of a serpentine hiss in + her voice: + </p> + <p> + “I hate them! They were not tortured enough; I would have tortured them + still more, still more. Oh, what cowardly rascals they are! Listen, + Haggart, I was always afraid of your power—to me there was always + something terrible and incomprehensible in your power. ‘Where is his God?’ + I wondered, and I was terrified. Even this morning I was afraid, but now + that this night came, this terror has fled, and I came running to you over + the fiery road: I am going with you, Haggart. Take me, Haggart, I will be + the soul of your ship!” + </p> + <p> + “I am the soul of my ship, Mariet. But you will be the song of my + liberated soul, Mariet. You shall be the song of my ship, Mariet! Do you + know where we are going? We are going to look for the end of the world, + for unknown lands, for unknown monsters. And at night Father Ocean will + sing to us, Mariet!” + </p> + <p> + “Embrace me, Haggart. Ah, Haggart, he is not a God who makes cowards of + human beings. We shall go to look for a new God.” + </p> + <p> + Haggart whispers stormily: + </p> + <p> + “I lied when I said that I have forgotten everything—I learned this + in your land. I love you, Mariet, as I love fire. Eh, Flerio, comrade!” He + shouts cheerfully: “Eh, Flerio, comrade! Have you prepared a salute?” + </p> + <p> + “I have, Captain. The shores will tremble when our cannons speak.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh, Flerio, comrade! Don’t gnash your teeth, without biting—no one + will believe you. Did you put in cannon balls—round, cast-iron, good + cannon balls? Give them wings, comrade—let them fly like blackbirds + on land and sea.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Captain.” + </p> + <p> + Haggart laughs: + </p> + <p> + “I love to think how the cannon ball flies, Mariet. I love to watch its + invisible flight. If some one comes in its way—let him! Fate itself + strikes down like that. What is an aim? Only fools need an aim, while the + devil, closing his eyes, throws stones—the wise game is merrier this + way. But you are silent! What are you thinking of, Mariet?” + </p> + <p> + “I am thinking of them. I am forever thinking of them.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sorry for them?” Haggart frowns. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am sorry for them. But my pity is my hatred, Haggart. I hate them, + and I would kill them, more and more!” + </p> + <p> + “I feel like flying faster—my soul is so free. Let us jest, Mariet! + Here is a riddle, guess it: For whom will the cannons roar soon? You + think, for me? No. For you? no, no, not for you, Mariet! For little Noni, + for him—for little Noni who is boarding the ship to-night. Let him + wake up from this thunder. How our little Noni will be surprised! And now + be quiet, quiet—don’t disturb his sleep—don’t spoil little + Noni’s awakening.” + </p> + <p> + The sound of voices is heard—a crowd is approaching. + </p> + <p> + “Where is the captain?” + </p> + <p> + “Here. Halt, the captain is here!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s all done. They can be crammed into a basket like herrings.” + </p> + <p> + “Our boatswain is a brave fellow! A jolly man.” + </p> + <p> + Khorre, intoxicated and jolly, shouts: + </p> + <p> + “Not so loud, devils! Don’t you see that the captain is here? They scream + like seagulls over a dead dolphin.” + </p> + <p> + Mariet steps aside a little distance, where little Noni is sleeping. + </p> + <p> + KHORRE—Here we are, Captain. No losses, Captain. And how we laughed, + Noni. + </p> + <p> + HAGGART—You got drunk rather early. Come to the point. + </p> + <p> + KHORRE—Very well. The thing is done, Captain. We’ve picked up all + our money—not worse than the imperial tax collectors. I could not + tell which was ours, so I picked up all the money. But if they have buried + some of the gold, forgive us, Captain—we are not peasants to plough + the ground. + </p> + <p> + Laughter. Haggart also laughs. + </p> + <p> + “Let them sow, we shall reap.” + </p> + <p> + “Golden words, Noni. Eh, Tommy, listen to what the Captain is saying. And + another thing: Whether you will be angry or not—I have broken the + music. I have scattered it in small pieces. Show your pipe, Tetyu! Do you + see, Noni, I didn’t do it at once, no. I told him to play a jig, and he + said that he couldn’t do it. Then he lost his mind and ran away. They all + lost their minds there, Captain. Eh, Tommy, show your beard. An old woman + tore half of his beard out, Captain—now he is a disgrace to look + upon. Eh, Tommy! He has hidden himself, he’s ashamed to show his face, + Captain. And there’s another thing: The priest is coming here.” + </p> + <p> + Mariet exclaims: + </p> + <p> + “Father!” + </p> + <p> + Khorre, astonished, asks: + </p> + <p> + “Are you here? If she came to complain, I must report to you, Captain—the + priest almost killed one of our sailors. And she, too. I ordered the men + to bind the priest—” + </p> + <p> + “Silence.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand your actions, Noni—” + </p> + <p> + Haggart, restraining his rage, exclaims: + </p> + <p> + “I shall have you put in irons! Silence!” + </p> + <p> + With ever-growing rage: + </p> + <p> + “You dare talk back to me, riff-raff! You—” + </p> + <p> + Mariet cautions him: + </p> + <p> + “Gart! They have brought father here.” + </p> + <p> + Several sailors bring in the abbot, bound. His clothes are in disorder, + his face is agitated and pale. He looks at Mariet with some amazement, and + lowers his eyes. Then he heaves a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Untie him!” says Mariet. Haggart corrects her restrainedly: + </p> + <p> + “Only I command here, Mariet. Khorre, untie him.” + </p> + <p> + Khorre unfastens the knots. Silence. + </p> + <p> + ABBOT—Hello, Haggart. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, abbot.” + </p> + <p> + “You have arranged a fine night, Haggart!” + </p> + <p> + Haggart speaks with restraint: + </p> + <p> + “It is unpleasant for me to see you. Why did you come here? Go home, + priest, no one will touch you. Keep on fishing—and what else were + you doing? Oh, yes—make your own prayers. We are going out to the + ocean; your daughter, you know, is also going with me. Do you see the + ship? That is mine. It’s a pity that you don’t know about ships—you + would have laughed for joy at the sight of such a beautiful ship! Why is + he silent, Mariet? You had better tell him.” + </p> + <p> + ABBOT—Prayers? In what language? Have you, perhaps, discovered a new + language in which prayers reach God? Oh, Haggart, Haggart! + </p> + <p> + He weeps, covering his face with his hands. Haggart, alarmed, asks: + </p> + <p> + “You are crying, abbot?” + </p> + <p> + “Look, Gart, he is crying. Father never cried. I am afraid, Gart.” + </p> + <p> + The abbot stops crying. Heaving a deep sigh, he says: + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know what they call you: Haggart or devil or something else—I + have come to you with a request. Do you hear, robber, with a request? Tell + your crew not to gnash their teeth like that—I don’t like it.” + </p> + <p> + Haggart replies morosely: + </p> + <p> + “Go home, priest! Mariet will stay with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Let her stay with you. I don’t need her, and if you need her, take her. + Take her, Haggart. But—” + </p> + <p> + He kneels before him. A murmur of astonishment. Mariet, frightened, + advances a step to her father. + </p> + <p> + “Father! You are kneeling?” + </p> + <p> + ABBOT—Robber! Give us back the money. You will rob more for + yourself, but give this money to us. You are young yet, you will rob some + more yet— + </p> + <p> + HAGGART—You are insane! There’s a man—he will drive the devil + himself to despair! Listen, priest, I am shouting to you: You have simply + lost your mind! + </p> + <p> + The abbot, still kneeling, continues: + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps, I have—by God, I don’t know. Robber, dearest, what is this + to you? Give us this money. I feel sorry for them, for the scoundrels! + They rejoiced so much, the scoundrels. They blossomed forth like an old + blackthorn which has nothing but thorns and a ragged bark. They are + sinners. But am I imploring God for their sake? I am imploring you. + Robber, dearest—” + </p> + <p> + Mariet looks now at Haggart, now at the priest. Haggart is hesitating. The + abbot keeps muttering: + </p> + <p> + “Robber, do you want me to call you son? Well, then—son—it + makes no difference now—I will never see you again. It’s all the + same! Like an old blackthorn, they bloomed—oh, Lord, those + scoundrels, those old scoundrels!” + </p> + <p> + “No,” Haggart replied sternly. + </p> + <p> + “Then you are the devil, that’s who you are. You are the devil,” mutters + the abbot, rising heavily from the ground. Haggart shows his teeth, + enraged. + </p> + <p> + “Do you wish to sell your soul to the devil? Yes? Eh, abbot—don’t + you know yet that the devil always pays with spurious money? Let me have a + torch, sailor!” + </p> + <p> + He seizes a torch and lifts it high over his head—he covers his + terrible face with fire and smoke. + </p> + <p> + “Look, here I am! Do you see? Now ask me, if you dare!” + </p> + <p> + He flings the torch away. What does the abbot dream in this land full of + monstrous dreams? Terrified, his heavy frame trembling, helplessly pushing + the people aside with his hands, he retreats. He turns around. Now he sees + the glitter of the metal, the dark and terrible faces; he hears the angry + splashing of the waters—and he covers his head with his hands and + walks off quickly. Then Khorre jumps up and strikes him with a knife in + his back. + </p> + <p> + “Why have you done it?”—the abbot clutches the hand that struck him + down. + </p> + <p> + “Just so—for nothing!” + </p> + <p> + The abbot falls to the ground and dies. + </p> + <p> + “Why have you done it?” cries Mariet. + </p> + <p> + “Why have you done it?” roars Haggart. + </p> + <p> + And a strange voice, coming from some unknown depths, answers with + Khorre’s lips: + </p> + <p> + “You commanded me to do it.” + </p> + <p> + Haggart looks around and sees the stern, dark faces, the quivering glitter + of the metal, the motionless body; he hears the mysterious, merry dashing + of the waves. And he clasps his head in a fit of terror. + </p> + <p> + “Who commanded? It was the roaring of the sea. I did not want to kill him—no, + no!” + </p> + <p> + Sombre voices answer: + </p> + <p> + “You commanded. We heard it. You commanded.” + </p> + <p> + Haggart listens, his head thrown back. Suddenly he bursts into loud + laughter: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, devils, devils! Do you think that I have two ears in order that you + may lie in each one? Go down on your knees, rascal!” + </p> + <p> + He hurls Khorre to the ground. + </p> + <p> + “String him up with a rope! I would have crushed your venomous head myself—but + let them do it. Oh, devils, devils! String him up with a rope.” + </p> + <p> + Khorre whines harshly: + </p> + <p> + “Me, Captain! I was your nurse, Noni.” + </p> + <p> + “Silence! Rascal!” + </p> + <p> + “I? Noni! Your nurse? You squealed like a little pig in the cook’s room. + Have you forgotten it, Noni?” mutters the sailor plaintively. + </p> + <p> + “Eh,” shouts Haggart to the stern crowd. “Take him!” + </p> + <p> + Several men advance to him. Khorre rises. + </p> + <p> + “If you do it to me, to your own nurse—then you have recovered, + Noni! Eh, obey the captain! Take me! I’ll make you cry enough, Tommy! You + are always the mischief-maker!” + </p> + <p> + Grim laughter. Several sailors surround Khorre as Haggart watches them + sternly. A dissatisfied voice says: + </p> + <p> + “There is no place where to hang him here. There isn’t a single tree + around.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us wait till we get aboard ship! Let him die honestly on the mast.” + </p> + <p> + “I know of a tree around here, but I won’t tell you,” roars Khorre + hoarsely. “Look for it yourself! Well, you have astonished me, Noni. How + you shouted, ‘String him up with a rope!’ Exactly like your father—he + almost hanged me, too. Good-bye, Noni, now I understand your actions. Eh, + gin! and then—on the rope!” + </p> + <p> + Khorre goes off. No one dares approach Haggart; still enraged, he paces + back and forth with long strides. He pauses, glances at the body and paces + again. Then he calls: + </p> + <p> + “Flerio! Did you hear me give orders to kill this man?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Captain.” + </p> + <p> + “You may go.” + </p> + <p> + He paces back and forth again, and then calls: + </p> + <p> + “Flerio! Have you ever heard the sea lying?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “If they can’t find a tree, order them to choke him with their hands.” + </p> + <p> + He paces back and forth again. Mariet is laughing quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Who is laughing?” asks Haggart in fury. + </p> + <p> + “I,” answers Mariet. “I am thinking of how they are hanging him and I am + laughing. O, Haggart, O, my noble Haggart! Your wrath is the wrath of God, + do you know it? No. You are strange, you are dear, you are terrible, + Haggart, but I am not afraid of you. Give me your hand, Haggart, press it + firmly, firmly. Here is a powerful hand!” + </p> + <p> + “Flerio, my friend, did you hear what he said? He says the sea never + lies.” + </p> + <p> + “You are powerful and you are just—I was insane when I feared your + power, Gart. May I shout to the sea: ‘Haggart, the Just’?” + </p> + <p> + “That is not true. Be silent, Mariet, you are intoxicated with blood. I + don’t know what justice is.” + </p> + <p> + “Who, then, knows it? You, you, Haggart! You are God’s justice, Haggart. + Is it true that he was your nurse? Oh, I know what it means to be a nurse; + a nurse feeds you, teaches you to walk—you love a nurse as your + mother. Isn’t that true, Gart—you love a nurse as a mother? And yet—‘string + him up with a rope, Khorre’!” + </p> + <p> + She laughs quietly. + </p> + <p> + A loud, ringing laughter resounds from the side where Khorre was led away. + Haggart stops, perplexed. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “The devil is meeting his soul there,” says Mariet. + </p> + <p> + “No. Let go of my hand! Eh, who’s there?” + </p> + <p> + A crowd is coming. They are laughing and grinning, showing their teeth. + But noticing the captain, they become serious. The people are repeating + one and the same name: + </p> + <p> + “Khorre! Khorre! Khorre!” + </p> + <p> + And then Khorre himself appears, dishevelled, crushed, but happy—the + rope has broken. Knitting his brow, Haggart is waiting in silence. + </p> + <p> + “The rope broke, Noni,” mutters Khorre hoarsely, modestly, yet with + dignity. “There are the ends! Eh, you there, keep quiet! There is nothing + to laugh at—they started to hang me, and the rope broke, Noni.” + </p> + <p> + Haggart looks at his old, drunken, frightened, and happy face, and he + laughs like a madman. And the sailors respond with roaring laughter. The + reflected lights are dancing more merrily upon the waves—as if they + are also laughing with the people. + </p> + <p> + “Just look at him, Mariet, what a face he has,” Haggart is almost choking + with laughter. “Are you happy? Speak—are you happy? Look, Mariet, + what a happy face he has! The rope broke—that’s very strong—it + is stronger even than what I said: ‘String him up with a rope.’ Who said + it? Don’t you know, Khorre? You are out of your wits, and you don’t know + anything—well, never mind, you needn’t know. Eh, give him gin! I am + glad, very glad that you are not altogether through with your gin. Drink, + Khorre!” + </p> + <p> + Voices shout: + </p> + <p> + “Gin!” + </p> + <p> + “Eh, the boatswain wants a drink! Gin!” + </p> + <p> + Khorre drinks it with dignity, amid laughter and shouts of approval. + Suddenly all the noise dies down and a sombre silence reigns—a + woman’s strange voice drowns the noise—so strange and unfamiliar, as + if it were not Mariet’s voice at all, but another voice speaking with her + lips: + </p> + <p> + “Haggart! You have pardoned him, Haggart?” + </p> + <p> + Some of the people look at the body; those standing near it step aside. + Haggart asks, surprised: + </p> + <p> + “Whose voice is that? Is that yours, Mariet? How strange! I did not + recognise your voice.” + </p> + <p> + “You have pardoned him, Haggart?” + </p> + <p> + “You have heard—the rope broke—” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, did you pardon the murderer? I want to hear your voice, + Haggart.” + </p> + <p> + A threatening voice is heard from among the crowd: + </p> + <p> + “The rope broke. Who is talking there? The rope broke.” + </p> + <p> + “Silence!” exclaims Haggart, but there is no longer the same commanding + tone in his voice. “Take them all away! Boatswain! Whistle for everybody + to go aboard. The time is up! Flerio! Get the boats ready.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes.” + </p> + <p> + Khorre whistles. The sailors disperse unwillingly, and the same + threatening voice sounds somewhere from the darkness: + </p> + <p> + “I thought at first it was the dead man who started to speak. But I would + have answered him too: ‘Lie there! The rope broke.’” + </p> + <p> + Another voice replies: + </p> + <p> + “Don’t grumble. Khorre has stronger defenders than you are.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you prating about, devils?” says Khorre. “Silence! Is that you, + Tommy? I know you, you are always the mischief-maker—” + </p> + <p> + “Come on, Mariet!” says Haggart. “Give me little Noni, I want to carry him + to the boat myself. Come on, Mariet.” + </p> + <p> + “Where, Haggart?” + </p> + <p> + “Eh, Mariet! The dreams are ended. I don’t like your voice, woman—when + did you find time to change it? What a land of jugglers! I have never seen + such a land before!” + </p> + <p> + “Eh, Haggart! The dreams are ended. I don’t like your voice, either—little + Haggart! But it may be that I am still sleeping—then wake me. + Haggart, swear that it was you who said it: ‘The rope broke.’ Swear that + my eyes have not grown blind and that they see Khorre alive. Swear that + this is your hand, Haggart!” + </p> + <p> + Silence. The voice of the sea is growing louder—there is the splash + and the call and the promise of a stern caress. + </p> + <p> + “I swear.” + </p> + <p> + Silence. Khorre and Flerio come up to Haggart. + </p> + <p> + “All’s ready, Captain,” says Flerio. + </p> + <p> + “They are waiting, Noni. Go quicker! They want to feast to-night, Noni! + But I must tell you, Noni, that they—” + </p> + <p> + HAGGART—Did you say something, Flerio? Yes, yes, everything is + ready. I am coming. I think I am not quite through yet with land. This is + such a remarkable land, Flerio; the dreams here drive their claws into a + man like thorns, and they hold him. One has to tear his clothing, and + perhaps his body as well. What did you say, Mariet? + </p> + <p> + MARIET—Don’t you want to kiss little Noni? You shall never kiss him + again. + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t want to.” + </p> + <p> + Silence. + </p> + <p> + “You will go alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I will go alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever cry, Haggart?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is crying now? I hear some one crying bitterly.” + </p> + <p> + “That is not true—it is the roaring of the sea.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Haggart! Of what great sorrow does that voice speak?” + </p> + <p> + “Be silent, Mariet. It is the roaring of the sea.” + </p> + <p> + Silence. + </p> + <p> + “Is everything ended now, Haggart?” + </p> + <p> + “Everything is ended, Mariet.” + </p> + <p> + Mariet, imploring, says: + </p> + <p> + “Gart! Only one motion of the hand! Right here—against the heart—Gart!” + </p> + <p> + “No. Leave me alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Only one motion of the hand! Here is your knife. Have pity on me, kill me + with your hand. Only one motion of your hand, Gart!” + </p> + <p> + “Let go. Give me my knife.” + </p> + <p> + “Gart, I bless you! One motion of your hand, Gart!” + </p> + <p> + Haggart tears himself away, pushing the woman aside: + </p> + <p> + “No! Don’t you know that it is just as hard to make one motion of the hand + as it is for the sun to come down from the sky? Good-bye, Mariet!” + </p> + <p> + “You are going away?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am going away. I am going away, Mariet. That’s how it sounds.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall curse you, Haggart. Do you know! I shall curse you, Haggart. And + little Noni will curse you, Haggart—Haggart!” + </p> + <p> + Haggart exclaims cheerfully and harshly: + </p> + <p> + “Eh, Khorre. You, Flerio, my old friend. Come here, give me your hand—Oh, + what a powerful hand it is! Why do you pull me by the sleeve, Khorre? You + have such a funny face. I can almost see how the rope snapped, and you + came down like a sack. Flerio, old friend, I feel like saying something + funny, but I have forgotten how to say it. How do they say it? Remind me, + Flerio. What do you want, sailor?” + </p> + <p> + Khorre whispers to him hoarsely: + </p> + <p> + “Noni, be on your guard. The rope broke because they used a rotten rope + intentionally. They are betraying you! Be on your guard, Noni. Strike them + on the head, Noni.” + </p> + <p> + Haggart bursts out laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Now you have said something funny. And I? Listen, Flerio, old friend. + This woman who stands and looks—No, that will not be funny!” + </p> + <p> + He advances a step. + </p> + <p> + “Khorre, do you remember how well this man prayed? Why was he killed? He + prayed so well. But there is one prayer he did not know—this one—‘To + you I bring my great eternal sorrow; I am going to you, Father Ocean!’” + </p> + <p> + And a distant voice, sad and grave, replies: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Haggart, my dear Haggart.” + </p> + <p> + But who knows—perhaps it was the roaring of the waves. Many sad and + strange dreams come to man on earth. + </p> + <p> + “All aboard!” exclaims Haggart cheerily, and goes off without looking + around. Below, a gay noise of voices and laughter resounds. The + cobblestones are rattling under the firm footsteps—Haggart is going + away. + </p> + <p> + “Haggart!” + </p> + <p> + He goes, without turning around. + </p> + <p> + “Haggart!” + </p> + <p> + He has gone away. + </p> + <p> + Loud shouting is heard—the sailors are greeting Haggart. They drink + and go off into the darkness. On the shore, the torches which were cast + aside are burning low, illumining the body, and a woman is rushing about. + She runs swiftly from one spot to another, bending down over the steep + rocks. Insane Dan comes crawling out. + </p> + <p> + “Is that you, Dan? Do you hear, they are singing, Dan? Haggart has gone + away.” + </p> + <p> + “I was waiting for them to go. Here is another one. I am gathering the + pipes of my organ. Here is another one.” + </p> + <p> + “Be accursed, Dan!” + </p> + <p> + “Oho? And you, too, Mariet, be accursed!” + </p> + <p> + Mariet clasps the child in her arms and lifts him high. Then she calls + wildly: + </p> + <p> + “Haggart, turn around! Turn around, Haggart! Noni is calling you. He wants + to curse you, Haggart. Turn around! Look, Noni, look—that is your + father. Remember him, Noni. And when you grow up, go out on every sea and + find him, Noni. And when you find him—hang your father high on a + mast, my little one.” + </p> + <p> + The thundering salute drowns her cry. Haggart has boarded his ship. The + night grows darker and the dashing of the waves fainter—the ocean is + moving away with the tide. The great desert of the sky is mute and the + night grows darker and the dashing of the waves ever fainter. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + JUDAS ISCARIOT AND OTHERS + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + Jesus Christ had often been warned that Judas Iscariot was a man of very + evil repute, and that He ought to beware of him. Some of the disciples, + who had been in Judaea, knew him well, while others had heard much about + him from various sources, and there was none who had a good word for him. + If good people in speaking of him blamed him, as covetous, cunning, and + inclined to hypocrisy and lying, the bad, when asked concerning him, + inveighed against him in the severest terms. + </p> + <p> + “He is always making mischief among us,” they would say, and spit in + contempt. “He always has some thought which he keeps to himself. He creeps + into a house quietly, like a scorpion, but goes out again with an + ostentatious noise. There are friends among thieves, and comrades among + robbers, and even liars have wives, to whom they speak the truth; but + Judas laughs at thieves and honest folk alike, although he is himself a + clever thief. Moreover, he is in appearance the ugliest person in Judaea. + No! he is no friend of ours, this foxy-haired Judas Iscariot,” the bad + would say, thereby surprising the good people, in whose opinion there was + not much difference between him and all other vicious people in Judaea. + They would recount further that he had long ago deserted his wife, who was + living in poverty and misery, striving to eke out a living from the + unfruitful patch of land which constituted his estate. He had wandered for + many years aimlessly among the people, and had even gone from one sea to + the other,—no mean distance,—and everywhere he lied and + grimaced, and would make some discovery with his thievish eye, and then + suddenly disappear, leaving behind him animosity and strife. Yes, he was + as inquisitive, artful and hateful as a one-eyed demon. Children he had + none, and this was an additional proof that Judas was a wicked man, that + God would not have from him any posterity. + </p> + <p> + None of the disciples had noticed when it was that this ugly, foxy-haired + Jew first appeared in the company of Christ: but he had for a long time + haunted their path, joined in their conversations, performed little acts + of service, bowing and smiling and currying favour. Sometimes they became + quite used to him, so that he escaped their weary eyes; then again he + would suddenly obtrude himself on eye and ear, irritating them as + something abnormally ugly, treacherous and disgusting. They would drive + him away with harsh words, and for a short time he would disappear, only + to reappear suddenly, officious, flattering and crafty as a one-eyed + demon. + </p> + <p> + There was no doubt in the minds of some of the disciples that under his + desire to draw near to Jesus was hidden some secret intention—some + malign and cunning scheme. + </p> + <p> + But Jesus did not listen to their advice; their prophetic voice did not + reach His ears. In that spirit of serene contradiction, which ever + irresistibly inclined Him to the reprobate and unlovable, He deliberately + accepted Judas, and included him in the circle of the chosen. The + disciples were disturbed and murmured under their breath, but He would sit + still, with His face towards the setting sun, and listen abstractedly, + perhaps to them, perhaps to something else. For ten days there had been no + wind, and the transparent atmosphere, wary and sensitive, continued ever + the same, motionless and unchanged. It seemed as though it preserved in + its transparent depths every cry and song made during those days by men + and beasts and birds—tears, laments and cheerful song, prayers and + curses—and that on account of these crystallised sounds the air was + so heavy, threatening, and saturated with invisible life. Once more the + sun was sinking. It rolled heavily downwards in a flaming ball, setting + the sky on fire. Everything upon the earth which was turned towards it: + the swarthy face of Jesus, the walls of the houses, and the leaves of the + trees—everything obediently reflected that distant, fearfully + pensive light. Now the white walls were no longer white, and the white + city upon the white hill was turned to red. + </p> + <p> + And lo! Judas arrived. He arrived bowing low, bending his back, cautiously + and timidly protruding his ugly, bumpy head—just exactly as his + acquaintances had described. He was spare and of good height, almost the + same as that of Jesus, who stooped a little through the habit of thinking + as He walked, and so appeared shorter than He was. Judas was to all + appearances fairly strong and well knit, though for some reason or other + he pretended to be weak and somewhat sickly. He had an uncertain voice. + Sometimes it was strong and manly, then again shrill as that of an old + woman scolding her husband, provokingly thin, and disagreeable to the ear, + so that ofttimes one felt inclined to tear out his words from the ear, + like rough, decaying splinters. His short red locks failed to hide the + curious form of his skull. It looked as if it had been split at the nape + of the neck by a double sword-cut, and then joined together again, so that + it was apparently divided into four parts, and inspired distrust, nay, + even alarm: for behind such a cranium there could be no quiet or concord, + but there must ever be heard the noise of sanguinary and merciless strife. + The face of Judas was similarly doubled. One side of it, with a black, + sharply watchful eye, was vivid and mobile, readily gathering into + innumerable tortuous wrinkles. On the other side were no wrinkles. It was + deadly flat, smooth, and set, and though of the same size as the other, it + seemed enormous on account of its wide-open blind eye. Covered with a + whitish film, closing neither night nor day, this eye met light and + darkness with the same indifference, but perhaps on account of the + proximity of its lively and crafty companion it never got full credit for + blindness. + </p> + <p> + When in a paroxysm of joy or excitement, Judas would close his sound eye + and shake his head. The other eye would always shake in unison and gaze in + silence. Even people quite devoid of penetration could clearly perceive, + when looking at Judas, that such a man could bring no good.... + </p> + <p> + And yet Jesus brought him near to Himself, and once even made him sit next + to Him. John, the beloved disciple, fastidiously moved away, and all the + others who loved their Teacher cast down their eyes in disapprobation. But + Judas sat on, and turning his head from side to side, began in a somewhat + thin voice to complain of ill-health, and said that his chest gave him + pain in the night, and that when ascending a hill he got out of breath, + and when he stood still on the edge of a precipice he would be seized with + a dizziness, and could scarcely restrain a foolish desire to throw himself + down. And many other impious things he invented, as though not + understanding that sicknesses do not come to a man by chance, but as a + consequence of conduct not corresponding with the laws of the Eternal. + Thus Judas Iscariot kept on rubbing his chest with his broad palm, and + even pretended to cough, midst a general silence and downcast eyes. + </p> + <p> + John, without looking at the Teacher, whispered to his friend Simon Peter— + </p> + <p> + “Aren’t you tired of that lie? I can’t stand it any longer. I am going + away.” + </p> + <p> + Peter glanced at Jesus, and meeting his eye, quickly arose. + </p> + <p> + “Wait a moment,” said he to his friend. + </p> + <p> + Once more he looked at Jesus; sharply as a stone torn from a mountain, he + moved towards Judas, and said to him in a loud voice, with expansive, + serene courtesy— + </p> + <p> + “You will come with us, Judas.” + </p> + <p> + He gave him a kindly slap on his bent back, and without looking at the + Teacher, though he felt His eye upon him, resolutely added in his loud + voice, which excluded all objection, just as water excludes air— + </p> + <p> + “It does not matter that you have such a nasty face. There fall into our + nets even worse monstrosities, and they sometimes turn out very tasty + food. It is not for us, our Lord’s fishermen, to throw away a catch, + merely because the fish have spines, or only one eye. I saw once at Tyre + an octopus, which had been caught by the local fishermen, and I was so + frightened that I wanted to run away. But they laughed at me. A fisherman + from Tiberias gave me some of it to eat, and I asked for more, it was so + tasty. You remember, Master, that I told you the story, and you laughed, + too. And you, Judas, are like an octopus—but only on one side.” + </p> + <p> + And he laughed loudly, content with his joke. When Peter spoke, his words + resounded so forcibly, that it seemed as though he were driving them in + with nails. When Peter moved, or did anything, he made a noise that could + be heard afar, and which called forth a response from the deafest of + things: the stone floor rumbled under his feet, the doors shook and + rattled, and the very air was convulsed with fear, and roared. In the + clefts of the mountains his voice awoke the inmost echo, and in the + morning-time, when they were fishing on the lake, he would roll about on + the sleepy, glittering water, and force the first shy sunbeams into + smiles. + </p> + <p> + For this apparently he was loved: when on all other faces there still lay + the shadow of night, his powerful head, and bare breast, and freely + extended arms were already aglow with the light of dawn. + </p> + <p> + The words of Peter, evidently approved as they were by the Master, + dispersed the oppressive atmosphere. But some of the disciples, who had + been to the seaside and had seen an octopus, were disturbed by the + monstrous image so lightly applied to the new disciple. They recalled the + immense eyes, the dozens of greedy tentacles, the feigned repose—and + how all at once: it embraced, clung, crushed and sucked, all without one + wink of its monstrous eyes. What did it mean? But Jesus remained silent, + He smiled with a frown of kindly raillery on Peter, who was still telling + glowing tales about the octopus. Then one by one the disciples + shame-facedly approached Judas, and began a friendly conversation, with + him, but—beat a hasty and awkward retreat. + </p> + <p> + Only John, the son of Zebedee, maintained an obstinate silence; and Thomas + had evidently not made up his mind to say anything, but was still weighing + the matter. He kept his gaze attentively fixed on Christ and Judas as they + sat together. And that strange proximity of divine beauty and monstrous + ugliness, of a man with a benign look, and of an octopus with immense, + motionless, dully greedy eyes, oppressed his mind like an insoluble + enigma. + </p> + <p> + He tensely wrinkled his smooth, upright forehead, and screwed up his eyes, + thinking that he would see better so, but only succeeded in imagining that + Judas really had eight incessantly moving feet. But that was not true. + Thomas understood that, and again gazed obstinately. + </p> + <p> + Judas gathered courage: he straightened out his arms, which had been bent + at the elbows, relaxed the muscles which held his jaws in tension, and + began cautiously to protrude his bumpy head into the light. It had been + the whole time in view of all, but Judas imagined that it had been + impenetrably hidden from sight by some invisible, but thick and cunning + veil. But lo! now, as though creeping out from a ditch, he felt his + strange skull, and then his eyes, in the light: he stopped and then + deliberately exposed his whole face. Nothing happened; Peter had gone away + somewhere or other. Jesus sat pensive, with His head leaning on His hand, + and gently swayed His sunburnt foot. The disciples were conversing + together, and only Thomas gazed at him attentively and seriously, like a + conscientious tailor taking measurement. Judas smiled; Thomas did not + reply to the smile; but evidently took it into account, as he did + everything else, and continued to gaze. But something unpleasant alarmed + the left side of Judas’ countenance as he looked round. John, handsome, + pure, without a single fleck upon his snow-white conscience, was looking + at him out of a dark corner, with cold but beautiful eyes. And though he + walked as others walk, yet Judas felt as if he were dragging himself along + the ground like a whipped cur, as he went up to John and said: “Why are + you silent, John? Your words are like golden apples in vessels of silver + filigree; bestow one of them on Judas, who is so poor.” + </p> + <p> + John looked steadfastly into his wide-open motionless eye, and said + nothing. And he looked on, while Judas crept out, hesitated a moment, and + then disappeared in the deep darkness of the open door. + </p> + <p> + Since the full moon was up, there were many people out walking. Jesus went + out too, and from the low roof on which Judas had spread his couch he saw + Him going out. In the light of the moon each white figure looked bright + and deliberate in its movements; and seemed not so much to walk as to + glide in front of its dark shadow. Then suddenly a man would be lost in + something black, and his voice became audible. And when people reappeared + in the moonlight, they seemed silent—like white walls, or black + shadows—as everything did in the transparent mist of night. Almost + every one was asleep when Judas heard the soft voice of Jesus returning. + All in and around about the house was still. A cock crew; somewhere an + ass, disturbed in his sleep, brayed aloud and insolently as in daytime, + then reluctantly and gradually relapsed into silence. Judas did not sleep + at all, but listened surreptitiously. The moon illumined one half of his + face, and was reflected strangely in his enormous open eye, as on the + frozen surface of a lake. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he remembered something, and hastily coughed, rubbing his + perfectly healthy chest with his hairy hand: maybe some one was not yet + asleep, and was listening to what Judas was thinking! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + They gradually became used to Judas, and ceased to notice his ugliness. + Jesus entrusted the common purse to him, and with it there fell on him all + household cares: he purchased the necessary food and clothing, distributed + alms, and when they were on the road, it was his duty to choose the place + where they were to stop, or to find a night’s lodging. + </p> + <p> + All this he did very cleverly, so that in a short time he had earned the + goodwill of some of the disciples, who had noticed his efforts. Judas was + an habitual liar, but they became used to this, when they found that his + lies were not followed by any evil conduct; nay, they added a special + piquancy to his conversation and tales, and made life seem like a comic, + and sometimes a tragic, tale. + </p> + <p> + According to his stories, he seemed to know every one, and each person + that he knew had some time in his life been guilty of evil conduct, or + even crime. Those, according to him, were called good, who knew how to + conceal their thoughts and acts; but if one only embraced, flattered, and + questioned such a man sufficiently, there would ooze out from him every + untruth, nastiness, and lie, like matter from a pricked wound. He freely + confessed that he sometimes lied himself; but affirmed with an oath that + others were still greater liars, and that if any one in this world was + ever deceived, it was Judas. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, according to his own account, he had been deceived, time upon + time, in one way or another. Thus, a certain guardian of the treasures of + a rich grandee once confessed to him, that he had for ten years been + continually on the point of stealing the property committed to him, but + that he was debarred by fear of the grandee, and of his own conscience. + And Judas believed him—and he suddenly committed the theft, and + deceived Judas. But even then Judas still trusted him—and then he + suddenly restored the stolen treasure to the grandee, and again deceived + Judas. Yes, everything deceived him, even animals. Whenever he pets a dog + it bites his fingers; but when he beats it with a stick it licks his feet, + and looks into his eyes like a daughter. He killed one such dog, and + buried it deep, laying a great stone on the top of it—but who knows? + Perhaps just because he killed it, it has come to life again, and instead + of lying in the trench, is running about cheerfully with other dogs. + </p> + <p> + All laughed merrily at Judas’ tale, and he smiled pleasantly himself, + winking his one lively, mocking eye—and by that very smile confessed + that he had lied somewhat; that he had not really killed the dog. But he + meant to find it and kill it, because he did not wish to be deceived. And + at these words of Judas they laughed all the more. + </p> + <p> + But sometimes in his tales he transgressed the bounds of probability, and + ascribed to people such proclivities as even the beasts do not possess, + accusing them of such crimes as are not, and never have been. And since he + named in this connection the most honoured people, some were indignant at + the calumny, while others jokingly asked: + </p> + <p> + “How about your own father and mother, Judas—were they not good + people?” + </p> + <p> + Judas winked his eye, and smiled with a gesture of his hands. And the + fixed, wide-open eye shook in unison with the shaking of his head, and + looked out in silence. + </p> + <p> + “But who was my father? Perhaps it was the man who used to beat me with a + rod, or may be—a devil, a goat or a cock.... How can Judas tell? How + can Judas tell with whom his mother shared her couch. Judas had many + fathers: to which of them do you refer?” + </p> + <p> + But at this they were all indignant, for they had a profound reverence for + parents; and Matthew, who was very learned in the scriptures, said + severely in the words of Solomon: + </p> + <p> + “‘Whoso slandereth his father and his mother, his lamp shall be + extinguished in deep darkness.’” + </p> + <p> + But John the son of Zebedee haughtily jerked out: “And what of us? What + evil have you to say of us, Judas Iscariot?” + </p> + <p> + But he waved his hands in simulated terror, whined, and bowed like a + beggar, who has in vain asked an alms of a passer-by: “Ah! they are + tempting poor Judas! They are laughing at him, they wish to take in the + poor, trusting Judas!” And while one side of his face was crinkled up in + buffooning grimaces, the other side wagged sternly and severely, and the + never-closing eye looked out in a broad stare. + </p> + <p> + More and louder than any laughed Simon Peter at the jokes of Judas + Iscariot. But once it happened that he suddenly frowned, and became silent + and sad, and hastily dragging Judas aside by the sleeve, he bent down, and + asked in a hoarse whisper— + </p> + <p> + “But Jesus? What do you think of Jesus? Speak seriously, I entreat you.” + </p> + <p> + Judas cast on him a malign glance. + </p> + <p> + “And what do you think?” + </p> + <p> + Peter whispered with awe and gladness— + </p> + <p> + “I think that He is the son of the living God.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why do you ask? What can Judas tell you, whose father was a goat?” + </p> + <p> + “But do you love Him? You do not seem to love any one, Judas.” + </p> + <p> + And with the same strange malignity, Iscariot blurted out abruptly and + sharply: “I do.” + </p> + <p> + Some two days after this conversation, Peter openly dubbed Judas “my + friend the octopus”; but Judas awkwardly, and ever with the same + malignity, endeavoured to creep away from him into some dark corner, and + would sit there morosely glaring with his white, never-closing eye. + </p> + <p> + Thomas alone took him quite seriously. He understood nothing of jokes, + hypocrisy or lies, nor of the play upon words and thoughts, but + investigated everything positively to the very bottom. He would often + interrupt Judas’ stories about wicked people and their conduct with short + practical remarks: + </p> + <p> + “You must prove that. Did you hear it yourself? Was there any one present + besides yourself? What was his name?” + </p> + <p> + At this Judas would get angry, and shrilly cry out, that he had seen and + heard everything himself; but the obstinate Thomas would go on + cross-examining quietly and persistently, until Judas confessed that he + had lied, or until he invented some new and more probable lie, which + provided the others for some time with food for thought. But when Thomas + discovered a discrepancy, he would immediately come and calmly expose the + liar. + </p> + <p> + Usually Judas excited in him a strong curiosity, which brought about + between them a sort of friendship, full of wrangling, jeering, and + invective on the one side, and of quiet insistence on the other. Sometimes + Judas felt an unbearable aversion to his strange friend, and, transfixing + him with a sharp glance, would say irritably, and almost with entreaty— + </p> + <p> + “What more do you want? I have told you all.” + </p> + <p> + “I want you to prove how it is possible that a he-goat should be your + father,” Thomas would reply with calm insistency, and wait for an answer. + </p> + <p> + It chanced once, that after such a question, Judas suddenly stopped + speaking and gazed at him with surprise from head to foot. What he saw was + a tall, upright figure, a grey face, honest eyes of transparent blue, two + fat folds beginning at the nose and losing themselves in a stiff, + evenly-trimmed beard. He said with conviction: + </p> + <p> + “What a stupid you are, Thomas! What do you dream about—a tree, a + wall, or a donkey?” + </p> + <p> + Thomas was in some way strangely perturbed, and made no reply. But at + night, when Judas was already closing his vivid, restless eye for sleep, + he suddenly said aloud from where he lay—the two now slept together + on the roof— + </p> + <p> + “You are wrong, Judas. I have very bad dreams. What think you? Are people + responsible for their dreams?” + </p> + <p> + “Does, then, any one but the dreamer see a dream?” Judas replied. + </p> + <p> + Thomas sighed gently, and became thoughtful. But Judas smiled + contemptuously, and firmly closed his roguish eye, and quickly gave + himself up to his mutinous dreams, monstrous ravings, mad phantoms, which + rent his bumpy skull to pieces. + </p> + <p> + When, during Jesus’ travels about Judaea, the disciples approached a + village, Iscariot would speak evil of the inhabitants and foretell + misfortune. But almost always it happened that the people, of whom he had + spoken evil, met Christ and His friends with gladness, and surrounded them + with attentions and love, and became believers, and Judas’ money-box + became so full that it was difficult to carry. And when they laughed at + his mistake, he would make a humble gesture with his hands, and say: + </p> + <p> + “Well, well! Judas thought that they were bad, and they turned out to be + good. They quickly believed, and gave money. That only means that Judas + has been deceived once more, the poor, confiding Judas Iscariot!” + </p> + <p> + But on one occasion, when they had already gone far from a village, which + had welcomed them kindly, Thomas and Judas began a hot dispute, to settle + which they turned back, and did not overtake Jesus and His disciples until + the next day. Thomas wore a perturbed and sorrowful appearance, while + Judas had such a proud look, that you would have thought that he expected + them to offer him their congratulations and thanks upon the spot. + Approaching the Master, Thomas declared with decision: “Judas was right, + Lord. They were ill-disposed, stupid people. And the seeds of your words + has fallen upon the rock.” And he related what had happened in the + village. + </p> + <p> + After Jesus and His disciples left it, an old woman had begun to cry out + that her little white kid had been stolen, and she laid the theft at the + door of the visitors who had just departed. At first the people had + disputed with her, but when she obstinately insisted that there was no one + else who could have done it except Jesus, many agreed with her, and even + were about to start in pursuit. And although they soon found the kid + straying in the underwood, they still decided that Jesus was a deceiver, + and possibly a thief. + </p> + <p> + “So that’s what they think of us, is it?” cried Peter, with a snort. + “Lord, wilt Thou that I return to those fools, and—” + </p> + <p> + But Jesus, saying not a word, gazed severely at him, and Peter in silence + retired behind the others. And no one ever referred to the incident again, + as though it had never occurred, and as though Judas had been proved + wrong. In vain did he show himself on all sides, endeavouring to give to + his double, crafty, hooknosed face an expression of modesty. They would + not look at him, and if by chance any one did glance at him, it was in a + very unfriendly, not to say contemptuous, manner. + </p> + <p> + From that day on Jesus’ treatment of him underwent a strange change. + Formerly, for some reason or other, Judas never used to speak directly + with Jesus, who never addressed Himself directly to him, but nevertheless + would often glance at him with kindly eyes, smile at his rallies, and if + He had not seen him for some time, would inquire: “Where is Judas?” + </p> + <p> + But now He looked at him as if He did not see him, although as before, and + indeed more determinedly than formerly, He sought him out with His eyes + every time that He began to speak to the disciples or to the people; but + He was either sitting with His back to him, so that He was obliged, as it + were, to cast His words over His head so as to reach Judas, or else He + made as though He did not notice him at all. And whatever He said, though + it was one thing one day, and then next day quite another, although it + might be the very thing that Judas was thinking, it always seemed as + though He were speaking against him. To all He was the tender, beautiful + flower, the sweet-smelling rose of Lebanon, but for Judas He left only + sharp thorns, as though Judas had neither heart, nor sight, nor smell, and + did not understand, even better than any, the beauty of tender, immaculate + petals. + </p> + <p> + “Thomas! Do you like the yellow rose of Lebanon, which has a swarthy + countenance and eyes like the roe?” he inquired once of his friend, who + replied indifferently— + </p> + <p> + “Rose? Yes, I like the smell. But I have never heard of a rose with a + swarthy countenance and eyes like a roe!” + </p> + <p> + “What? Do you not know that the polydactylous cactus, which tore your new + garment yesterday, has only one beautiful flower, and only one eye?” + </p> + <p> + But Thomas did not know this, although only yesterday a cactus had + actually caught in his garment and torn it into wretched rags. But then + Thomas never did know anything, though he asked questions about + everything, and looked so straight with his bright, transparent eyes, + through which, as through a pane of Phoenician glass, was visible a wall, + with a dismal ass tied to it. + </p> + <p> + Some time later another occurrence took place, in which Judas again proved + to be in the right. + </p> + <p> + At a certain village in Judaea, of which Judas had so bad an opinion, that + he had advised them to avoid it, the people received Christ with + hostility, and after His sermon and exposition of hypocrites they burst + into fury, and threatened to stone Jesus and His disciples. Enemies He had + many, and most likely they would have carried out their sinister + intention, but for Judas Iscariot. Seized with a mad fear for Jesus, as + though he already saw the drops of ruby blood upon His white garment, + Judas threw himself in blind fury upon the crowd, scolding, screeching, + beseeching, and lying, and thus gave time and opportunity to Jesus and His + disciples to escape. + </p> + <p> + Amazingly active, as though running upon a dozen feet, laughable and + terrible in his fury and entreaties, he threw himself madly in front of + the crowd and charmed it with a certain strange power. He shouted that the + Nazarene was not possessed of a devil, that He was simply an impostor, a + thief who loved money as did all His disciples, and even Judas himself: + and he rattled the money-box, grimaced, and beseeched, throwing himself on + the ground. And by degrees the anger of the crowd changed into laughter + and disgust, and they let fall the stones which they had picked up to + throw at them. + </p> + <p> + “They are not fit to die by the hands of an honest person,” said they, + while others thoughtfully followed the rapidly disappearing Judas with + their eyes. + </p> + <p> + Again Judas expected to receive congratulations, praise, and thanks, and + made a show of his torn garments, and pretended that he had been beaten; + but this time, too, he was greatly mistaken. The angry Jesus strode on in + silence, and even Peter and John did not venture to approach Him: and all + whose eyes fell on Judas in his torn garments, his face glowing with + happiness, but still somewhat frightened, repelled him with curt, angry + exclamations. + </p> + <p> + It was just as though he had not saved them all, just as though he had not + saved their Teacher, whom they loved so dearly. + </p> + <p> + “Do you want to see some fools?” said he to Thomas, who was thoughtfully + walking in the rear. “Look! There they go along the road in a crowd, like + a flock of sheep, kicking up the dust. But you are wise, Thomas, you creep + on behind, and I, the noble, magnificent Judas, creep on behind like a + dirty slave, who has no place by the side of his masters.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you call yourself magnificent?” asked Thomas in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Because I am so,” Judas replied with conviction, and he went on talking, + giving more details of how he had deceived the enemies of Jesus, and + laughed at them and their stupid stones. + </p> + <p> + “But you told lies,” said Thomas. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I did,” quickly assented Iscariot. “I gave them what they asked + for, and they gave me in return what I wanted. And what is a lie, my + clever Thomas? Would not the death of Jesus be the greatest lie of all?” + </p> + <p> + “You did not act rightly. Now I believe that a devil is your father. It + was he that taught you, Judas.” + </p> + <p> + The face of Judas grew pale, and something suddenly came over Thomas, and + as if it were a white cloud, passed over and concealed the road and Jesus. + With a gentle movement Judas just as suddenly drew Thomas to himself, + pressed him closely with a paralysing movement, and whispered in his ear— + </p> + <p> + “You mean, then, that a devil has instructed me, don’t you, Thomas? Well, + I saved Jesus. Therefore a devil loves Jesus and has need of Him, and of + the truth. Is it not so, Thomas? But then my father was not a devil, but a + he-goat. Can a he-goat want Jesus? Eh? And don’t you want Him yourselves, + and the truth also?” + </p> + <p> + Angry and slightly frightened, Thomas freed himself with difficulty from + the clinging embrace of Judas, and began to stride forward quickly. But he + soon slackened his pace as he endeavoured to understand what had taken + place. + </p> + <p> + But Judas crept on gently behind, and gradually came to a standstill. And + lo! in the distance the pedestrians became blended into a parti-coloured + mass, so that it was impossible any longer to distinguish which among + those little figures was Jesus. And lo! the little Thomas, too, changed + into a grey spot, and suddenly—all disappeared round a turn in the + road. + </p> + <p> + Looking round, Judas went down from the road and with immense leaps + descended into the depths of a rocky ravine. His clothes blew out with the + speed and abruptness of his course, and his hands were extended upwards as + though he would fly. Lo! now he crept along an abrupt declivity, and + suddenly rolled down in a grey ball, rubbing off his skin against the + stones; then he jumped up and angrily threatened the mountain with his + fist— + </p> + <p> + “You too, damn you!” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he changed his quick movements into a comfortable, concentrated + dawdling, chose a place by a big stone, and sat down without hurry. He + turned himself, as if seeking a comfortable position, laid his hands side + by side on the grey stone, and heavily sank his head upon them. And so for + an hour or two he sat on, as motionless and grey as the grey stone itself, + so still that he deceived even the birds. The walls of the ravine rose + before him, and behind, and on every side, cutting a sharp line all round + on the blue sky; while everywhere immense grey stones obtruded from the + ground, as though there had been at some time or other, a shower here, and + as though its heavy drops had become petrified in endless split, upturned + skull, and every stone in it was like a petrified thought; and there were + many of them, and they all kept thinking heavily, boundlessly, stubbornly. + </p> + <p> + A scorpion, deceived by his quietness, hobbled past, on its tottering + legs, close to Judas. He threw a glance at it, and, without lifting his + head from the stone, again let both his eyes rest fixedly on something—both + motionless, both veiled in a strange whitish turbidness, both as though + blind and yet terribly alert. And lo! from out of the ground, the stones, + and the clefts, the quiet darkness of night began to rise, enveloped the + motionless Judas, and crept swiftly up towards the pallid light of the + sky. Night was coming on with its thoughts and dreams. + </p> + <p> + That night Judas did not return to the halting-place. And the disciples, + forgetting their thoughts, busied themselves with preparations for their + meal, and grumbled at his negligence. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + Once, about mid-day, Jesus and His disciples were walking along a stony + and hilly road devoid of shade, and, since they had been more than five + hours afoot, Jesus began to complain of weariness. The disciples stopped, + and Peter and his friend John spread their cloaks and those of the other + disciples, on the ground, and fastened them above between two high rocks, + and so made a sort of tent for Jesus. He lay down in the tent, resting + from the heat of the sun, while they amused Him with pleasant conversation + and jokes. But seeing that even talking fatigued Him, and being themselves + but little affected by weariness and the heat, they went some distance off + and occupied themselves in various ways. One sought edible roots among the + stones on the slope of the mountain, and when he had found them brought + them to Jesus; another, climbing up higher and higher, searched musingly + for the limits of the blue distance, and failing, climbed up higher on to + new, sharp-pointed rocks. John found a beautiful little blue lizard among + the stones, and smiling brought it quickly with tender hands to Jesus. The + lizard looked with its protuberant, mysterious eyes into His, and then + crawled quickly with its cold body over His warm hand, and soon swiftly + disappeared with tender, quivering tail. + </p> + <p> + But Peter and Philip, not caring about such amusements, occupied + themselves in tearing up great stones from the mountain, and hurling them + down below, as a test of their strength. The others, attracted by their + loud laughter, by degrees gathered round them, and joined in their sport. + Exerting their strength, they would tear up from the ground an ancient + rock all overgrown, and lifting it high with both hands, hurl it down the + slope. Heavily it would strike with a dull thud, and hesitate for a + moment; then resolutely it would make a first leap, and each time it + touched the ground, gathering from it speed and strength, it would become + light, furious, all-subversive. Now it no longer leapt, but flew with + grinning teeth, and the whistling wind let its dull round mass pass by. + Lo! it is on the edge—with a last, floating motion the stone would + sweep high, and then quietly, with ponderous deliberation, fly downwards + in a curve to the invisible bottom of the precipice. + </p> + <p> + “Now then, another!” cried Peter. His white teeth shone between his black + beard and moustache, his mighty chest and arms were bare, and the sullen, + ancient rocks, dully wondering at the strength which lifted them, + obediently, one after another, precipitated themselves into the abyss. + Even the frail John threw some moderate-sized stones, and Jesus smiled + quietly as He looked at their sport. + </p> + <p> + “But what are you doing, Judas? Why do you not take part in the game? It + seems amusing enough?” asked Thomas, when he found his strange friend + motionless behind a great grey stone. + </p> + <p> + “I have a pain in my chest. Moreover, they have not invited me.” + </p> + <p> + “What need of invitation! At all events, I invite you; come! Look what + stones Peter throws!” + </p> + <p> + Judas somehow or other happened to glance sideward at him, and Thomas + became, for the first time, indistinctly aware that he had two faces. But + before he could thoroughly grasp the fact, Judas said in his ordinary + tone, at once fawning and mocking— + </p> + <p> + “There is surely none stronger than Peter? When he shouts, all the asses + in Jerusalem think that their Messiah has arrived, and lift up their + voices too. You have heard them before now, have you not, Thomas?” + </p> + <p> + Smiling politely; and modestly wrapping his garment round his chest, which + was overgrown with red curly hairs, Judas stepped into the circle of + players. + </p> + <p> + And since they were all in high good humour, they met him with mirth and + loud jokes, and even John condescended to vouchsafe a smile, when Judas, + pretending to groan with the exertion, laid hold of an immense stone. But + lo! he lifted it with ease, and threw it, and his blind, wide-open eye + gave a jerk, and then fixed itself immovably on Peter; while the other + eye, cunning and merry, was overflowing with quiet laughter. + </p> + <p> + “No! you throw again!” said Peter in an offended tone. + </p> + <p> + And lo! one after the other they kept lifting and throwing gigantic + stones, while the disciples looked on in amazement. Peter threw a great + stone, and then Judas a still bigger one. Peter, frowning and + concentrated, angrily wielded a fragment of rock, and struggling as he + lifted it, hurled it down; then Judas, without ceasing to smile, searched + for a still larger fragment, and digging his long fingers into it, grasped + it, and swinging himself together with it, and paling, sent it into the + gulf. When he had thrown his stone, Peter would recoil and so watch its + fall; but Judas always bent himself forward, stretched out his long + vibrant arms, as though he were going to fly after the stone. Eventually + both of them, first Peter, then Judas, seized hold of an old grey stone, + but neither one nor the other could move it. All red with his exertion, + Peter resolutely approached Jesus, and said aloud— + </p> + <p> + “Lord! I do not wish to be beaten by Judas. Help me to throw this stone.” + </p> + <p> + Jesus made answer in a low voice, and Peter, shrugging his broad shoulders + in dissatisfaction, but not daring to make any rejoinder, came back with + the words— + </p> + <p> + “He says: ‘But who will help Iscariot?’” + </p> + <p> + Then glancing at Judas, who, panting with clenched teeth, was still + embracing the stubborn stone, he laughed cheerfully— + </p> + <p> + “Look what an invalid he is! See what our poor sick Judas is doing!” + </p> + <p> + And even Judas laughed at being so unexpectedly exposed in his deception, + and all the others laughed too, and even Thomas allowed his pointed, grey, + overhanging moustache to relax into a smile. + </p> + <p> + And so in friendly chat and laughter, they all set out again on the way, + and Peter, quite reconciled to his victor, kept from time to time digging + him in the ribs, and loudly guffawed— + </p> + <p> + “There’s an invalid for you!” + </p> + <p> + All of them praised Judas, and acknowledged him victor, and all chatted + with him in a friendly manner; but Jesus once again had no word of praise + for Judas. He walked silently in front, nibbling the grasses, which He + plucked. And gradually, one by one, the disciples craved laughing, and + went over to Jesus. So that in a short time it came about, that they were + all walking ahead in a compact body, while Judas—the victor, the + strong man—crept on behind, choking with dust. + </p> + <p> + And lo! they stood still, and Jesus laid His hand on Peter’s shoulder, + while with His other He pointed into the distance, where Jerusalem had + just become visible in the smoke. And the broad, strong back of Peter + gently accepted that slight sunburnt hand. + </p> + <p> + For the night they stayed in Bethany, at the house of Lazarus. And when + all were gathered together for conversation, Judas thought that they would + now recall his victory over Peter, and sat down nearer. But the disciples + were silent and unusually pensive. Images of the road they had traversed, + of the sun, the rocks and the grass, of Christ lying down under the + shelter, quietly floated through their heads, breathing a soft + pensiveness, begetting confused but sweet reveries of an eternal movement + under the sun. The wearied body reposed sweetly, and thought was merged in + something mystically great and beautiful—and no one recalled Judas! + </p> + <p> + Judas went out, and then returned. Jesus was discoursing, and His + disciples were listening to Him in silence. + </p> + <p> + Mary sat at His feet, motionless as a statue, and gazed into His face with + upturned eyes. John had come quite close, and endeavoured to sit so that + his hand touched the garment of the Master, but without disturbing Him. He + touched Him and was still. Peter breathed loud and deeply, repeating under + his breath the words of Jesus. + </p> + <p> + Iscariot had stopped short on the threshold, and contemptuously letting + his gaze pass by the company, he concentrated all its fire on Jesus. And + the more he looked the more everything around Him seemed to fade, and to + become clothed with darkness and silence, while Jesus alone shone forth + with uplifted hand. And then, lo! He was, as it were, raised up into the + air, and melted away, as though He consisted of mist floating over a lake, + and penetrated by the light of the setting moon, and His soft speech began + to sound tenderly, somewhere far, far away. And gazing at the wavering + phantom, and drinking in the tender melody of the distant dream-like + words, Judas gathered his whole soul into his iron fingers, and in its + vast darkness silently began building up some colossal scheme. Slowly, in + the profound darkness, he kept lifting up masses, like mountains, and + quite easily heaping them one on another: and again he would lift up and + again heap them up; and something grew in the darkness, spread noiselessly + and burst its bounds. His head felt like a dome, in the impenetrable + darkness of which the colossal thing continued to grow, and some one, + working on in silence, kept lifting up masses like mountains, and piling + them one on another and again lifting up, and so on and on... whilst + somewhere in the distance the phantom-like words tenderly sounded. + </p> + <p> + Thus he stood blocking the doorway, huge and black, while Jesus went on + talking, and the strong, intermittent breathing of Peter repeated His + words aloud. But on a sudden Jesus broke off an unfinished sentence, and + Peter, as though waking from sleep, cried out exultingly— + </p> + <p> + “Lord! to Thee are known the words of eternal life!” + </p> + <p> + But Jesus held His peace, and kept gazing fixedly in one direction. And + when they followed His gaze they perceived in the doorway the petrified + Judas with gaping mouth and fixed eyes. And, not understanding what was + the matter, they laughed. But Matthew, who was learned in the Scriptures, + touched Judas on the shoulder, and said in the words of Solomon— + </p> + <p> + “‘He that looketh kindly shall be forgiven; but he that is met within the + gates will impede others.’” + </p> + <p> + Judas was silent for a while, and then fretfully and everything about him, + his eyes, hands and feet, seemed to start in different directions, as + those of an animal which suddenly perceives the eye of man upon him. Jesus + went straight to Judas, as though words trembled on His lips, but passed + by him through the open, and now unoccupied, door. + </p> + <p> + In the middle of the night the restless Thomas came to Judas’ bed, and + sitting down on his heels, asked— + </p> + <p> + “Are you weeping, Judas?” + </p> + <p> + “No! Go away, Thomas.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you groan, and grind your teeth? Are you ill?” + </p> + <p> + Judas was silent for a while, and then fretfully there fell from his lips + distressful words, fraught with grief and anger— + </p> + <p> + “Why does not He love me? Why does He love the others? Am I not handsomer, + better and stronger than they? Did not I save His life while they ran away + like cowardly dogs?” + </p> + <p> + “My poor friend, you are not quite right. You are not good-looking at all, + and your tongue is as disagreeable as your face. You lie and slander + continually; how then can you expect Jesus to love you?” + </p> + <p> + But Judas, stirring heavily in the darkness, continued as though he heard + him not— + </p> + <p> + “Why is He not on the side of Judas, instead of on the side of those who + do not love Him? John brought Him a lizard; I would bring him a poisonous + snake. Peter threw stones; I would overthrow a mountain for His sake. But + what is a poisonous snake? One has but to draw its fangs, and it will coil + round one’s neck like a necklace. What is a mountain, which it is possible + to dig down with the hands, and to trample with the feet? I would give to + Him Judas, the bold, magnificent Judas. But now He will perish, and + together with him will perish Judas.” + </p> + <p> + “You are speaking strangely, Judas!” + </p> + <p> + “A withered fig-tree, which must needs be cut down with the axe, such am + I: He said it of me. Why then does He not do it? He dare not, Thomas! I + know him. He fears Judas. He hides from the bold, strong, magnificent + Judas. He loves fools, traitors, liars. You are a liar, Thomas; have you + never been told so before?” + </p> + <p> + Thomas was much surprised, and wished to object, but he thought that Judas + was simply railing, and so only shook his head in the darkness. And Judas + lamented still more grievously, and groaned and ground his teeth, and his + whole huge body could be heard heaving under the coverlet. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter with Judas? Who has applied fire to his body? He will + give his son to the dogs. He will give his daughter to be betrayed by + robbers, his bride to harlotry. And yet has not Judas a tender heart? Go + away, Thomas; go away, stupid! Leave the strong, bold, magnificent Judas + alone!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + Judas had concealed some denarii, and the deception was discovered, thanks + to Thomas, who had seen by chance how much money had been given to them. + It was only too probable that this was not the first time that Judas had + committed a theft, and they all were enraged. The angry Peter seized Judas + by his collar and almost dragged him to Jesus, and the terrified Judas + paled but did not resist. + </p> + <p> + “Master, see! Here he is, the trickster! Here’s the thief. You trusted + him, and he steals our money. Thief! Scoundrel! If Thou wilt permit, I’ll—” + </p> + <p> + But Jesus held His peace. And attentively regarding him, Peter suddenly + turned red, and loosed the hand which held the collar, while Judas shyly + rearranged his garment, casting a sidelong glance on Peter, and assuming + the downcast look of a repentant criminal. + </p> + <p> + “So that’s how it’s to be,” angrily said Peter, as he went out, loudly + slamming the door. They were all dissatisfied, and declared that on no + account would they consort with Judas any longer; but John, after some + consideration, passed through the door, behind which might be heard the + quiet, almost caressing, voice of Jesus. And when in the course of time he + returned, he was pale, and his downcast eyes were red as though with + recent tears. + </p> + <p> + “The Master says that Judas may take as much money as he pleases.” Peter + laughed angrily. John gave him a quick reproachful glance, and suddenly + flushing, and mingling tears with anger, and delight with tears, loudly + exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “And no one must reckon how much money Judas receives. He is our brother, + and all the money is as much his as ours: if he wants much let him take + much, without telling any one, or taking counsel with any. Judas is our + brother, and you have grievously insulted him—so says the Master. + Shame on you, brother!” + </p> + <p> + In the doorway stood Judas, pale and with a distorted smile on his face. + With a light movement John went up to him and kissed him three times. + After him, glancing round at one another, James, Philip and the others + came up shamefacedly; and after each kiss Judas wiped his mouth, but gave + a loud smack as though the sound afforded him pleasure. Peter came up + last. + </p> + <p> + “We were all stupid, all blind, Judas. He alone sees, He alone is wise. + May I kiss you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? Kiss away!” said Judas as in consent. + </p> + <p> + Peter kissed him vigorously, and said aloud in his ear— + </p> + <p> + “But I almost choked you. The others kissed you in the usual way, but I + kissed you on the throat. Did it hurt you?” + </p> + <p> + “A little.” + </p> + <p> + “I will go and tell Him all. I was angry even with Him,” said Peter sadly, + trying noiselessly to open the door. + </p> + <p> + “And what are you going to do, Thomas?” asked John severely. He it was who + looked after the conduct and the conversation of the disciples. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know yet. I must consider.” + </p> + <p> + And Thomas thought long, almost the whole day. The disciples had dispersed + to their occupations, and somewhere on the other side of the wall, Peter + was shouting joyfully—but Thomas was still considering. He would + have come to a decision more quickly had not Judas hindered him somewhat + by continually following him about with a mocking glance, and now and + again asking him in a serious tone— + </p> + <p> + “Well, Thomas, and how does the matter progress?” + </p> + <p> + Then Judas brought his money-box, and shaking the money and pretending not + to look at Thomas, began to count it— + </p> + <p> + “Twenty-one, two, three.... Look, Thomas, a bad coin again. Oh! what + rascals people are; they even give bad money as offerings. Twenty-four... + and then they will say again that Judas has stolen it... twenty-five, + twenty-six....” + </p> + <p> + Thomas approached him resolutely... for it was already towards evening, + and said— + </p> + <p> + “He is right, Judas. Let me kiss you.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you? Twenty-nine, thirty. It’s no good. I shall steal again. + Thirty-one....” + </p> + <p> + “But how can you steal, when it is neither yours nor another’s? You will + simply take as much as you want, brother.” + </p> + <p> + “It has taken you a long time to repeat His words! Don’t you value time, + you clever Thomas?” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to be laughing at me, brother.” + </p> + <p> + “And consider, are you doing well, my virtuous Thomas, in repeating His + words? He said something of His own, but you do not. He really kissed me—you + only defiled my mouth. I can still feel your moist lips upon mine. It was + so disgusting, my good Thomas. Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty. Forty + denarii. Thomas, won’t you check the sum?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly He is our Master. Why then should we not repeat the words of + our Master?” + </p> + <p> + “Is Judas’ collar torn away? Is there now nothing to seize him by? The + Master will go out of the house, and Judas will unexpectedly steal three + more denarii. Won’t you seize him by the collar?” + </p> + <p> + “We know now, Judas. We understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Have not all pupils a bad memory? Have not all masters been deceived by + their pupils? But the master has only to lift the rod, and the pupils cry + out, ‘We know, Master!’ But the master goes to bed, and the pupils say: + ‘Did the Master teach us this?’ And so, in this case, this morning you + called me a thief, this evening you call me brother. What will you call me + to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + Judas laughed, and lifting up the heavy rattling money-box with ease, went + on: + </p> + <p> + “When a strong wind blows it raises the dust, and foolish people look at + the dust and say: ‘Look at the wind!’ But it is only dust, my good Thomas, + ass’s dung trodden underfoot. The dust meets a wall and lies down gently + at its foot, but the wind flies farther and farther, my good Thomas.” + </p> + <p> + Judas obligingly pointed over the wall in illustration of his meaning, and + laughed again. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad that you are merry,” said Thomas, “but it is a great pity that + there is so much malice in your merriment.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should not a man be cheerful, who has been kissed so much, and who is + so useful? If I had not stolen the three denarii would John have known the + meaning of delight? Is it not pleasant to be a hook, on which John may + hang his damp virtue out to dry, and Thomas his moth-eaten mind?” + </p> + <p> + “I think that I had better be going.” + </p> + <p> + “But I am only joking, my good Thomas. I merely wanted to know whether you + really wished to kiss the old obnoxious Judas—the thief who stole + the three denarii and gave them to a harlot.” + </p> + <p> + “To a harlot!” exclaimed Thomas in surprise. “And did you tell the Master + of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Again you doubt, Thomas. Yes, to a harlot. But if you only knew, Thomas, + what an unfortunate woman she was. For two days she had had nothing to + eat.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure of that?” said Thomas in confusion. + </p> + <p> + “Yes! Of course I am. I myself spent two days with her, and saw that she + ate and drank nothing except red wine. She tottered from exhaustion, and I + was always falling down with her.” + </p> + <p> + Thereupon Thomas got up quickly, and, when he had gone a few steps away, + he flung out at Judas: + </p> + <p> + “You seem to be possessed of Satan, Judas.” + </p> + <p> + And as he went away, he heard in the approaching twilight how dolefully + the heavy money-box rattled in Judas’ hands. And Judas seemed to laugh. + </p> + <p> + But the very next day Thomas was obliged to acknowledge that he had + misjudged Judas, so simple, so gentle, and at the same time so serious was + Iscariot. He neither grimaced nor made ill-natured jokes; he was neither + obsequious nor scurrilous, but quietly and unobtrusively went about his + work of catering. He was as active as formerly, as though he did not have + two feet like other people, but a whole dozen of them, and ran noiselessly + without that squeaking, sobbing, and laughter of a hyena, with which he + formerly accompanied his actions. And when Jesus began to speak, he would + seat himself quickly in a corner, fold his hands and feet, and look so + kindly with his great eyes, that many observed it. He ceased speaking evil + of people, but rather remained silent, so that even the severe Matthew + deemed it possible to praise him, saying in the words of Solomon: + </p> + <p> + “‘He that is devoid of wisdom despiseth his neighbour: but a man of + understanding holdeth his peace.’” + </p> + <p> + And he lifted up his hand, hinting thereby at Judas’ former evil-speaking. + In a short time all remarked this change in him, and rejoiced at it: only + Jesus looked on him still with the same detached look, although he gave no + direct indication of His dislike. And even John, for whom Judas now showed + a profound reverence, as the beloved disciple of Jesus, and as his own + champion in the matter of the three denarii, began to treat him somewhat + more kindly, and even sometimes entered into conversation with him. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think, Judas,” said he one day in a condescending manner, + “which of us, Peter or I, will be nearest to Christ in His heavenly + kingdom?” + </p> + <p> + Judas meditated, and then answered— + </p> + <p> + “I suppose that you will.” + </p> + <p> + “But Peter thinks that he will,” laughed John. + </p> + <p> + “No! Peter would scatter all the angels with his shout; you have heard him + shout. Of course, he will quarrel with you, and will endeavour to occupy + the first place, as he insists that he, too, loves Jesus. But he is + already advanced in years, and you are young; he is heavy on his feet, + while you run swiftly; you will enter there first with Christ? Will you + not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I will not leave Jesus,” John agreed. + </p> + <p> + On the same day Simon Peter referred the very same question to Judas. But + fearing that his loud voice would be heard by the others, he led Judas out + to the farthest corner behind the house. + </p> + <p> + “Well then, what is your opinion about it?” he asked anxiously. “You are + wise; even the Master praises you for your intellect. And you will speak + the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “You, of course,” answered Iscariot without hesitation. And Peter + exclaimed with indignation, “I told him so!” + </p> + <p> + “But, of course, he will try even there to oust you from the first place.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly!” + </p> + <p> + “But what can he do, when you already occupy the place? Won’t you be the + first to go there with Jesus? You will not leave Him alone? Has He not + named you the ROCK?” + </p> + <p> + Peter put his hand on Judas’ shoulder, and said with warmth: “I tell you, + Judas, you are the cleverest of us all. But why are you so sarcastic and + malignant? The Master does not like it. Otherwise you might become the + beloved disciple, equally with John. But to you neither,” and Peter lifted + his hand threateningly, “will I yield my place next to Jesus, neither on + earth, nor there! Do you hear?” + </p> + <p> + Thus Judas endeavoured to make himself agreeable to all, but, at the same + time, he cherished hidden thoughts in his mind. And while he remained ever + the same modest, restrained and unobtrusive person, he knew how to make + some especially pleasing remark to each. Thus to Thomas he said: + </p> + <p> + “The fool believeth every word: but the prudent taketh heed to his paths.” + </p> + <p> + While to Matthew, who suffered somewhat from excess in eating and + drinking, and was ashamed of his weakness, he quoted the words of Solomon, + the sage whom Matthew held in high estimation: + </p> + <p> + “‘The righteous eateth to the satisfying of his soul: but the belly of the + wicked shall want.’” + </p> + <p> + But his pleasant speeches were rare, which gave them the greater value. + For the most part he was silent, listening attentively to what was said, + and always meditating. + </p> + <p> + When reflecting, Judas had an unpleasant look, ridiculous and at the same + time awe-inspiring. As long as his quick, crafty eye was in motion, he + seemed simple and good-natured enough, but directly both eyes became fixed + in an immovable stare, and the skin on his protruding forehead gathered + into strange ridges and creases, a distressing surmise would force itself + on one, that under that skull some very peculiar thoughts were working. So + thoroughly apart, peculiar, and voiceless were the thoughts which + enveloped Iscariot in the deep silence of secrecy, when he was in one of + his reveries, that one would have preferred that he should begin to speak, + to move, nay, even, to tell lies. For a lie, spoken by a human tongue, had + been truth and light compared with that hopelessly deep and unresponsive + silence. + </p> + <p> + “In the dumps again, Judas?” Peter would cry with his clear voice and + bright smile, suddenly breaking in upon the sombre silence of Judas’ + thoughts, and banishing them to some dark corner. “What are you thinking + about?” + </p> + <p> + “Of many things,” Iscariot would reply with a quiet smile. And perceiving, + apparently, what a bad impression his silence made upon the others, he + began more frequently to shun the society of the disciples, and spent much + time in solitary walks, or would betake himself to the flat roof and there + sit still. And more than once he startled Thomas, who has unexpectedly + stumbled in the darkness against a grey heap, out of which the hands and + feet of Judas suddenly started, and his jeering voice was heard. + </p> + <p> + But one day, in a specially brusque and strange manner, Judas recalled his + former character. This happened on the occasion of the quarrel for the + first place in the kingdom of heaven. Peter and John were disputing + together, hotly contending each for his own place nearest to Jesus. They + reckoned up their services, they measured the degrees of their love for + Jesus, they became heated and noisy, and even reviled one another without + restraint. Peter roared, all red with anger. John was quiet and pale, with + trembling hands and biting speech. Their quarrel had already passed the + bounds of decency, and the Master had begun to frown, when Peter looked up + by chance on Judas, and laughed self-complacently: John, too, looked at + Judas, and also smiled. Each of them recalled what the cunning Judas had + said to him. And foretasting the joy of approaching triumph, they, with + silent consent, invited Judas to decide the matter. + </p> + <p> + Peter called out, “Come now, Judas the wise, tell us who will be first, + nearest to Jesus, he or I?” + </p> + <p> + But Judas remained silent, breathing heavily, his eyes eagerly questioning + the quiet, deep eyes of Jesus. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” John condescendingly repeated, “tell us who will be first, nearest + to Jesus.” + </p> + <p> + Without taking his eyes off Christ, Judas slowly rose, and answered + quietly and gravely: + </p> + <p> + “I.” + </p> + <p> + Jesus let His gaze fall slowly. And quietly striking himself on the breast + with a bony finger, Iscariot repeated solemnly and sternly: “I, I shall be + nearest to Jesus!” And he went out. Struck by his insolent freak, the + disciples remained silent; but Peter suddenly recalling something, + whispered to Thomas in an unexpectedly gentle voice: + </p> + <p> + “So that is what he is always thinking about! See?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + Just at this time Judas Iscariot took the first definite step towards the + Betrayal. He visited the chief priest Annas secretly. He was very roughly + received, but that did not disturb him in the least, and he demanded a + long private interview. When he found himself alone with the dry, harsh + old man, who looked at him with contempt from beneath his heavy + overhanging eyelids, he stated that he was an honourable man who had + become one of the disciples of Jesus of Nazareth with the sole purpose of + exposing the impostor, and handing Him over to the arm of the law. + </p> + <p> + “But who is this Nazarene?” asked Annas contemptuously, making as though + he heard the name of Jesus for the first time. + </p> + <p> + Judas on his part pretended to believe in the extraordinary ignorance of + the chief priest, and spoke in detail of the preaching of Jesus, of His + miracles, of His hatred for the Pharisees and the Temple, of His perpetual + infringement of the Law, and eventually of His wish to wrest the power out + of the hands of the priesthood, and to set up His own personal kingdom. + And so cleverly did he mingle truth with lies, that Annas looked at him + more attentively, and lazily remarked: “There are plenty of impostors and + madmen in Judah.” + </p> + <p> + “No! He is a dangerous person,” Judas hotly contradicted. “He breaks the + law. And it were better that one man should perish, rather than the whole + people.” + </p> + <p> + Annas, with an approving nod, said— + </p> + <p> + “But He, apparently, has many disciples.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, many.” + </p> + <p> + “And they, it seems probable, have a great love for Him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, they say that they love Him, love Him much, more than themselves.” + </p> + <p> + “But if we try to take Him, will they not defend Him? Will they not raise + a tumult?” + </p> + <p> + Judas laughed long and maliciously. “What, they? Those cowardly dogs, who + run if a man but stoop down to pick up a stone. They indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “Are they really so bad?” asked Annas coldly. + </p> + <p> + “But surely it is not the bad who flee from the good; is it not rather the + good who flee from the bad? Ha! ha! They are good, and therefore they + flee. They are good, and therefore they hide themselves. They are good, + and therefore they will appear only in time to bury Jesus. They will lay + Him in the tomb themselves; you have only to execute Him.” + </p> + <p> + “But surely they love Him? You yourself said so.” + </p> + <p> + “People always love their teacher, but better dead than alive. While a + teacher’s alive he may ask them questions which they will find difficult + to answer. But, when a teacher dies, they become teachers themselves, and + then others fare badly in turn. Ha! ha!” + </p> + <p> + Annas looked piercingly at the Traitor, and his lips puckered—which + indicated that he was smiling. + </p> + <p> + “You have been insulted by them. I can see that.” + </p> + <p> + “Can one hide anything from the perspicacity of the astute Annas? You have + pierced to the very heart of Judas. Yes, they insulted poor Judas. They + said he had stolen from them three denarii—as though Judas were not + the most honest man in Israel!” + </p> + <p> + They talked for some time longer about Jesus, and His disciples, and of + His pernicious influence on the people of Israel, but on this occasion the + crafty, cautious Annas gave no decisive answer. He had long had his eyes + on Jesus, and in secret conclave with his own relatives and friends, with + the authorities, and the Sadducees, had decided the fate of the Prophet of + Galilee. But he did not trust Judas, who he had heard was a bad, + untruthful man, and he had no confidence in his flippant faith in the + cowardice of the disciples, and of the people. Annas believed in his own + power, but he feared bloodshed, feared a serious riot, such as the + insubordinate, irascible people of Jerusalem lent itself to so easily; he + feared, in fact, the violent intervention of the Roman authorities. Fanned + by opposition, fertilised by the red blood of the people, which vivifies + everything on which it falls, the heresy would grow stronger, and stifle + in its folds Annas, the government, and all his friends. So, when Iscariot + knocked at his door a second time Annas was perturbed in spirit and would + not admit him. But yet a third and a fourth time Iscariot came to him, + persistent as the wind, which beats day and night against the closed door + and blows in through its crevices. + </p> + <p> + “I see that the most astute Annas is afraid of something,” said Judas when + at last he obtained admission to the high priest. + </p> + <p> + “I am strong enough not to fear anything,” Annas answered haughtily. And + Iscariot stretched forth his hands and bowed abjectly. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “I wish to betray the Nazarene to you.” + </p> + <p> + “We do not want Him.” + </p> + <p> + Judas bowed and waited, humbly fixing his gaze on the high priest. + </p> + <p> + “Go away.” + </p> + <p> + “But I am bound to return. Am I not, revered Annas?” + </p> + <p> + “You will not be admitted. Go away!” + </p> + <p> + But yet again and again Judas called on the aged Annas, and at last was + admitted. + </p> + <p> + Dry and malicious, worried with thought, and silent, he gazed on the + Traitor, and, as it were, counted the hairs on his knotted head. Judas + also said nothing, and seemed in his turn to be counting the somewhat + sparse grey hairs in the beard of the high priest. + </p> + <p> + “What? you here again?” the irritated Annas haughtily jerked out, as + though spitting upon his head. + </p> + <p> + “I wish to betray the Nazarene to you.” + </p> + <p> + Both held their peace, and continued to gaze attentively at each other. + Iscariot’s look was calm; but a quiet malice, dry and cold, began slightly + to prick Annas, like the early morning rime of winter. + </p> + <p> + “How much do you want for your Jesus?” + </p> + <p> + “How much will you give?” + </p> + <p> + Annas, with evident enjoyment, insultingly replied: “You are nothing but a + band of scoundrels. Thirty pieces—that’s what we will give.” + </p> + <p> + And he quietly rejoiced to see how Judas began to squirm and run about—agile + and swift as though he had a whole dozen feet, not two. + </p> + <p> + “Thirty pieces of silver for Jesus!” he cried in a voice of wild madness, + most pleasing to Annas. “For Jesus of Nazareth! You wish to buy Jesus for + thirty pieces of silver? And you think that Jesus can be betrayed to you + for thirty pieces of silver?” Judas turned quickly to the wall, and + laughed in its smooth, white fence, lifting up his long hands. “Do you + hear? Thirty pieces of silver! For Jesus!” + </p> + <p> + With the same quiet pleasure, Annas remarked indifferently: + </p> + <p> + “If you will not deal, go away. We shall find some one whose work is + cheaper.” + </p> + <p> + And like old-clothes men who throw useless rags from hand to hand in the + dirty market-place, and shout, and swear and abuse each other, so they + embarked on a rabid and fiery bargaining. Intoxicated with a strange + rapture, running and turning about, and shouting, Judas ticked off on his + fingers the merits of Him whom he was selling. + </p> + <p> + “And the fact that He is kind and heals the sick, is that worth nothing at + all in your opinion? Ah, yes! Tell me, like an honest man!” + </p> + <p> + “If you—” began Annas, who was turning red, as he tried to get in a + word, his cold malice quickly warming up under the burning words of Judas, + who, however, interrupted him shamelessly: + </p> + <p> + “That He is young and handsome—like the Narcissus of Sharon, and the + Lily of the Valley? What? Is that worth nothing? Perhaps you will say that + He is old and useless, and that Judas is trying to dispose of an old bird? + Eh?” + </p> + <p> + “If you—” Annas tried to exclaim; but Judas’ stormy speech bore away + his senile croak, like down upon the wind. + </p> + <p> + “Thirty pieces of silver! That will hardly work out to one obolus for each + drop of blood! Half an obolus will not go to a tear! A quarter to a groan. + And cries, and convulsions! And for the ceasing of His heartbeats? And the + closing of His eyes? Is all this to be thrown in gratis?” sobbed Iscariot, + advancing toward the high priest and enveloping him with an insane + movement of his hands and fingers, and with intervolved words. + </p> + <p> + “Includes everything,” said Annas in a choking voice. + </p> + <p> + “And how much will you make out of it yourself? Eh? You wish to rob Judas, + to snatch the bit of bread from his children. No, I can’t do it. I will go + on to the market-place, and shout out: ‘Annas has robbed poor Judas. + Help!’” + </p> + <p> + Wearied, and grown quite dizzy, Annas wildly stamped about the floor in + his soft slippers, gesticulating: “Be off, be off!” + </p> + <p> + But Judas on a sudden bowed down, stretching forth his hands submissively: + </p> + <p> + “But if you really.... But why be angry with poor Judas, who only desires + his children’s good. You also have children, young and handsome.” + </p> + <p> + “We shall find some one else. Be gone!” + </p> + <p> + “But I—I did not say that I was unwilling to make a reduction. Did I + ever say that I could not too yield? And do I not believe you, that + possibly another may come and sell Jesus to you for fifteen oboli—nay, + for two—for one?” + </p> + <p> + And bowing lower and lower, wriggling and flattering, Judas submissively + consented to the sum offered to him. Annas shamefacedly, with dry, + trembling hand, paid him the money, and silently looking round, as though + scorched, lifted his head again and again towards the ceiling, and moving + his lips rapidly, waited while Judas tested with his teeth all the silver + pieces, one after another. + </p> + <p> + “There is now so much bad money about,” Judas quickly explained. + </p> + <p> + “This money was devoted to the Temple by the pious,” said Annas, glancing + round quickly, and still more quickly turning the ruddy bald nape of his + neck to Judas’ view. + </p> + <p> + “But can pious people distinguish between good and bad money! Only rascals + can do that.” + </p> + <p> + Judas did not take the money home, but went beyond the city and hid it + under a stone. Then he came back again quietly with heavy, dragging steps, + as a wounded animal creeps slowly to its lair after a severe and deadly + fight. Only Judas had no lair; but there was a house, and in the house he + perceived Jesus. Weary and thin, exhausted with continual strife with the + Pharisees, who surrounded Him every day in the Temple with a wall of + white, shining, scholarly foreheads, He was sitting, leaning His cheek + against the rough wall, apparently fast asleep. Through the open window + drifted the restless noises of the city. On the other side of the wall + Peter was hammering, as he put together a new table for the meal, humming + the while a quiet Galilean song. But He heard nothing; he slept on + peacefully and soundly. And this was He, whom they had bought for thirty + pieces of silver. + </p> + <p> + Coming forward noiselessly, Judas, with the tender touch of a mother, who + fears to wake her sick child—with the wonderment of a wild beast as + it creeps from its lair suddenly, charmed by the sight of a white + flowerlet—he gently touched His soft locks, and then quickly + withdrew his hand. Once more he touched Him, and then silently crept out. + </p> + <p> + “Lord! Lord!” said he. + </p> + <p> + And going apart, he wept long, shrinking and wriggling and scratching his + bosom with his nails and gnawing his shoulders. Then suddenly he ceased + weeping and gnawing and gnashing his teeth, and fell into a sombre + reverie, inclining his tear-stained face to one side in the attitude of + one listening. And so he remained for a long time, doleful, determined, + from every one apart, like fate itself. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + Judas surrounded the unhappy Jesus, during those last days of His short + life, with quiet love and tender care and caresses. Bashful and timid like + a maid in her first love, strangely sensitive and discerning, he divined + the minutest unspoken wishes of Jesus, penetrating to the hidden depth of + His feelings, His passing fits of sorrow, and distressing moments of + weariness. And wherever Jesus stepped, His foot met something soft, and + whenever He turned His gaze, it encountered something pleasing. Formerly + Judas had not liked Mary Magdalene and the other women who were near + Jesus. He had made rude jests at their expense, and done them little + unkindnesses. But now he became their friend, their strange, awkward ally. + With deep interest he would talk with them of the charming little + idiosyncrasies of Jesus, and persistently asking the same questions, he + would thrust money into their hands, their very palms—and they + brought a box of very precious ointment, which Jesus liked so much, and + anointed His feet. He himself bought for Jesus, after desperate + bargaining, an expensive wine, and then was very angry when Peter drank + nearly all of it up, with the indifference of a person who looks only to + quantity; and in that rocky Jerusalem almost devoid of trees, flowers, and + greenery he somehow managed to obtain young spring flowers and green + grass, and through these same women to give them to Jesus. + </p> + <p> + For the first time in his life he would take up little children in his + arms, finding them somewhere about the courts and streets, and unwillingly + kiss them to prevent their crying; and often it would happen that some + swarthy urchin with curly hair and dirty little nose, would climb up on + the knees of the pensive Jesus, and imperiously demand to be petted. And + while they enjoyed themselves together, Judas would walk up and down at + one side like a severe jailor, who had himself, in springtime, let a + butterfly in to a prisoner, and pretends to grumble at the breach of + discipline. + </p> + <p> + On an evening, when together with the darkness, alarm took post as sentry + by the window, Iscariot would cleverly turn the conversation to Galilee, + strange to himself but dear to Jesus, with its still waters and green + banks. And he would jog the heavy Peter till his dulled memory awoke, and + in clear pictures in which everything was loud, distinct, full of colour, + and solid, there arose before his eyes and ears the dear Galilean life. + With eager attention, with half-open mouth in child-like fashion, and with + eyes laughing in anticipation, Jesus would listen to his gusty, resonant, + cheerful utterance, and sometimes laughed so at his jokes, that it was + necessary to interrupt the story for some minutes. But John told tales + even better than Peter. There was nothing ludicrous, nor startling, about + his stories, but everything seemed so pensive, unusual, and beautiful, + that tears would appear in Jesus’ eyes, and He would sigh softly, while + Judas nudged Mary Magdalene and excitedly whispered to her— + </p> + <p> + “What a narrator he is! Do you hear?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “No, be more attentive. You women never make good listeners.” + </p> + <p> + Then they would all quietly disperse to bed, and Jesus would kiss His + thanks to John, and stroke kindly the shoulder of the tall Peter. + </p> + <p> + And without envy, but with a condescending contempt, Judas would witness + these caresses. Of what importance were these tales and kisses and sighs + compared with what he, Judas Iscariot, the red-haired, misshapen Judas, + begotten among the rocks, could tell them if he chose? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + With one hand betraying Jesus, Judas tried hard with the other to + frustrate his own plans. He did not indeed endeavour to dissuade Jesus + from the last dangerous journey to Jerusalem, as did the women; he even + inclined rather to the side of the relatives of Jesus, and of those + amongst His disciples who looked for a victory over Jerusalem as + indispensable to the full triumph of His cause. But he kept continually + and obstinately warning them of the danger, and in lively colours depicted + the threatening hatred of the Pharisees for Jesus, and their readiness to + commit any crime if, either secretly or openly, they might make an end of + the Prophet of Galilee. Each day and every hour he kept talking of this, + and there was not one of the believers before whom Judas had not stood + with uplifted finger and uttered this serious warning: + </p> + <p> + “We must look after Jesus. We must defend for Jesus, when the hour comes.” + </p> + <p> + But whether it was the unlimited faith which the disciples had in the + miracle-working power of their Master, or the consciousness of their own + uprightness, or whether it was simply blindness, the alarming words of + Judas were met with a smile, and his continual advice provoked only a + grumble. When Judas procured, somewhere or other, two swords, and brought + them, only Peter approved of them, and gave Judas his meed of praise, + while the others complained: + </p> + <p> + “Are we soldiers that we should be made to gird on swords? Is Jesus a + captain of the host, and not a prophet?” + </p> + <p> + “But if they attempt to kill Him?” + </p> + <p> + “They will not dare when they perceive how all the people follow Him.” + </p> + <p> + “But if they should dare! What then?” + </p> + <p> + John replied disdainfully— + </p> + <p> + “One would think, Judas, that you were the only one who loved Jesus!” + </p> + <p> + And eagerly seizing hold of these words, and not in the least offended, + Judas began to question impatiently and hotly, with stern insistency: + </p> + <p> + “But you love Him, don’t you?” + </p> + <p> + And there was not one of the believers who came to Jesus whom he did not + ask more than once: “Do you love Him? Dearly love Him?” + </p> + <p> + And all answered that they loved Him. + </p> + <p> + He used often to converse with Thomas, and holding up his dry, hooked + forefinger, with its long, dirty nail, in warning, would mysteriously say: + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Thomas, the terrible hour is drawing near. Are you prepared + for it? Why did you not take the sword I brought you?” + </p> + <p> + Thomas would reply with deliberation: + </p> + <p> + “We are men unaccustomed to the use of arms. If we were to take issue with + the Roman soldiery, they would kill us all, one after the other. Besides, + you brought only two swords, and what could we do with only two?” + </p> + <p> + “We could get more. We could take them from the Roman soldiers,” Judas + impatiently objected, and even the serious Thomas smiled through his + overhanging moustache. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Judas! Judas! But where did you get these? They are like Roman + swords.” + </p> + <p> + “I stole them. I could have stolen more, only some one gave the alarm, and + I fled.” + </p> + <p> + Thomas considered a little, then said sorrowfully— + </p> + <p> + “Again you acted ill, Judas. Why do you steal?” + </p> + <p> + “There is no such thing as property.” + </p> + <p> + “No, but to-morrow they will ask the soldiers: ‘Where are your swords?’ + And when they cannot find them they will be punished though innocent.” + </p> + <p> + The consequence was, that after the death of Jesus the disciples recalled + these conversations of Judas, and determined that he had wished to destroy + them, together with the Master, by inveigling them into an unequal and + murderous conflict. And once again they cursed the hated name of Judas + Iscariot the Traitor. + </p> + <p> + But the angry Judas, after each conversation, would go to the women and + weep. They heard him gladly. The tender womanly element, that there was in + his love for Jesus, drew him near to them, and made him simple, + comprehensible, and even handsome in their eyes, although, as before, a + certain amount of disdain was perceptible in his attitude towards them. + </p> + <p> + “Are they men?” he would bitterly complain of the disciples, fixing his + blind, motionless eye confidingly on Mary Magdalene. “They are not men. + They have not an oboles’ worth of blood in their veins!” + </p> + <p> + “But then you are always speaking ill of others,” Mary objected. + </p> + <p> + “Have I ever?” said Judas in surprise. “Oh, yes, I have indeed spoken ill + of them; but is there not room for improvement in them? Ah! Mary, silly + Mary, why are you not a man, to carry a sword?” + </p> + <p> + “It is so heavy, I could not lift it!” said Mary smilingly. + </p> + <p> + “But you will lift it, when men are too worthless. Did you give Jesus the + lily that I found on the mountain? I got up early to find it, and this + morning the sun was so beautiful, Mary! Was He pleased with it? Did He + smile?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, He was pleased. He said that its smell reminded Him of Galilee.” + </p> + <p> + “But surely, you did not tell Him that it was Judas—Judas Iscariot—who + got it for Him?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you asked me not to tell Him.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, certainly, quite right,” said Judas, with a sigh. “You might have + let it out, though, women are such chatterers. But you did not let it out; + no, you were firm. You are a good woman, Mary. You know that I have a wife + somewhere. Now I should be glad to see her again; perhaps she is not a bad + woman either. I don’t know. She said, ‘Judas was a liar and malignant,’ so + I left her. But she may be a good woman. Do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “How should I know, when I have never seen your wife?” + </p> + <p> + “True, true, Mary! But what think you, are thirty pieces of silver a large + sum? Is it not rather a small one?” + </p> + <p> + “I should say a small one.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, certainly. How much did you get when you were a harlot, five + pieces of silver or ten? You were an expensive one, were you not?” + </p> + <p> + Mary Magdalene blushed, and dropped her head till her luxuriant, golden + hair completely covered her face, so that nothing but her round white chin + was visible. + </p> + <p> + “How bad you are, Judas; I want to forget about that, and you remind me of + it!” + </p> + <p> + “No, Mary, you must not forget that. Why should you? Let others forget + that you were a harlot, but you must remember. It is the others who should + forget as soon as possible, but you should not. Why should you?” + </p> + <p> + “But it was a sin!” + </p> + <p> + “He fears who never committed a sin, but he who has committed it, what has + he to fear? Do the dead fear death; is it not rather the living? No, the + dead laugh at the living and their fears.” + </p> + <p> + Thus by the hour would they sit and talk in friendly guise, he—already + old, dried-up and misshapen, with his bulbous head and monstrous + double-sided face; she—young, modest, tender, and charmed with life + as with a story or a dream. + </p> + <p> + But time rolled by unconcernedly, while the thirty pieces of silver lay + under the stone, and the terrible day of the Betrayal drew inevitably + near. Already Jesus had ridden into Jerusalem on the ass’s back, and the + people, strewing their garments in the way, had greeted Him with + enthusiastic cries of “Hosanna! Hosanna! He that cometh in the name of the + Lord!” + </p> + <p> + So great was the exultation, so unrestrainedly did their loving cries rend + the skies, that Jesus wept, but His disciples proudly said: + </p> + <p> + “Is not this the Son of God with us?” + </p> + <p> + And they themselves cried out with enthusiasm: “Hosanna! Hosanna! He that + cometh in the name of the Lord!” + </p> + <p> + That evening it was long before they went to bed, recalling the + enthusiastic and joyful reception. Peter was like a madman, as though + possessed by the demon of merriment and pride. He shouted, drowning all + voices with his leonine roar; he laughed, hurling his laughter at their + heads, like great round stones; he kept kissing John and James, and even + gave a kiss to Judas. He noisily confessed that he had had great fears for + Jesus, but that he feared nothing now, that he had seen the love of the + people for Him. + </p> + <p> + Swiftly moving his vivid, watchful eye, Judas glanced in surprise from + side to side. He meditated, and then again listened, and looked. Then he + took Thomas aside, and pinning him, as it were, to the wall with his keen + gaze, he asked in doubt and fear, but with a certain confused hopefulness: + </p> + <p> + “Thomas! But what if He is right? What if He be founded upon a rock, and + we upon sand? What then?” + </p> + <p> + “Of whom are you speaking?” + </p> + <p> + “How, then, would it be with Judas Iscariot? Then I should be obliged to + strangle Him in order to do right. Who is deceiving Judas? You or he + himself? Who is deceiving Judas? Who?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand you, Judas. You speak very unintelligently. ‘Who is + deceiving Jesus?’ ‘Who is right?’” + </p> + <p> + And Judas nodded his head and repeated like an echo: + </p> + <p> + “Who is deceiving Judas? Who?” + </p> + <p> + And the next day, in the way in which Judas raised his hand with thumb + bent back,[1] and by the way in which he looked at Thomas, the same + strange question was implied: + </p> + <p> + “Who is deceiving Judas? Who is right?” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [1] Does our author refer to the Roman sign of disapprobation, vertere, + or convertere, pollicem?—Tr. +</pre> + <p> + And still more surprised, and even alarmed, was Thomas, when suddenly in + the night he heard the loud, apparently glad voice of Judas: + </p> + <p> + “Then Judas Iscariot will be no more. Then Jesus will be no more. Then + there will be Thomas, the stupid Thomas! Did you ever wish to take the + earth and lift it? And then, possibly hurl it away?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s impossible. What are you talking about, Judas?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s quite possible,” said Iscariot with conviction, “and we will lift it + up some day when you are asleep, stupid Thomas. Go to sleep. I’m enjoying + myself. When you sleep your nose plays the Galilean pipe. Sleep!” + </p> + <p> + But now the believers were already dispersed about Jerusalem, hiding in + houses and behind walls, and the faces of those that met them looked + mysterious. The exultation had died down. Confused reports of danger found + their way in; Peter, with gloomy countenance, tested the sword given to + him by Judas, and the face of the Master became even more melancholy and + stern. So swiftly the time passed, and inevitably approached the terrible + day of the Betrayal. Lo! the Last Supper was over, full of grief and + confused dread, and already had the obscure words of Jesus sounded + concerning some one who should betray Him. + </p> + <p> + “You know who will betray Him?” asked Thomas, looking at Judas with his + straight-forward, clear, almost transparent eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” Judas replied harshly and decidedly. “You, Thomas, will + betray Him. But He Himself does not believe what He says! It is full time! + Why does He not call to Him the strong, magnificent Judas?” + </p> + <p> + No longer by days, but by short, fleeting hours, was the inevitable time + to be measured. It was evening; and evening stillness and long shadows lay + upon the ground—the first sharp darts of the coming night of mighty + contest—when a harsh, sorrowful voice was heard. It said: + </p> + <p> + “Dost Thou know whither I go, Lord? I go to betray Thee into the hands of + Thine enemies.” + </p> + <p> + And there was a long silence, evening stillness, and swift black shadows. + </p> + <p> + “Thou art silent, Lord? Thou commandest me to go?” + </p> + <p> + And again silence. + </p> + <p> + “Allow me to remain. But perhaps Thou canst not? Or darest not? Or wilt + not?” + </p> + <p> + And again silence, stupendous, like the eyes of eternity. + </p> + <p> + “But indeed Thou knowest that I love Thee. Thou knowest all things. Why + lookest Thou thus at Judas? Great is the mystery of Thy beautiful eyes, + but is mine less? Order me to remain! But Thou art silent. Thou art ever + silent. Lord, Lord, is it for this that in grief and pains have I sought + Thee all my life, sought and found! Free me! Remove the weight; it is + heavier than even mountains of lead. Dost Thou hear how the bosom of Judas + Iscariot is cracking under it?” + </p> + <p> + And the last silence was abysmal, like the last glance of eternity. + </p> + <p> + “I go.” + </p> + <p> + But the evening stillness woke not, neither uttered cry nor plaint, nor + did its subtle air vibrate with the slightest tinkle—so soft was the + fall of the retreating steps. They sounded for a time, and then were + silent. And the evening stillness became pensive, stretched itself out in + long shadows, and then grew dark;—and suddenly night, coming to meet + it, all atremble with the rustle of sadly brushed-up leaves, heaved a last + sigh and was still. + </p> + <p> + There was a bustle, a jostle, a rattle of other voices, as though some one + had untied a bag of lively resonant voices, and they were falling out on + the ground, by one and two, and whole heaps. It was the disciples talking. + And drowning them all, reverberating from the trees and walls, and + tripping up over itself, thundered the determined, powerful voice of Peter—he + was swearing that never would he desert his Master. + </p> + <p> + “Lord,” said he, half in anger, half in grief: “Lord! I am ready to go + with Thee to prison and to death.” + </p> + <p> + And quietly, like the soft echo of retiring footsteps, came the inexorable + answer: + </p> + <p> + “I tell thee, Peter, the cock will not crow this day before thou dost deny + Me thrice.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + The moon had already risen when Jesus prepared to go to the Mount of + Olives, where He had spent all His last nights. But He tarried, for some + inexplicable reason, and the disciples, ready to start, were hurrying Him. + Then He said suddenly: + </p> + <p> + “He that hath a purse, let him take it, and likewise his scrip; and he + that hath no sword, let him sell his garment and buy one. For I say unto + you that this that is written must yet be accomplished in me: ‘And he was + reckoned among the transgressors.’” + </p> + <p> + The disciples were surprised and looked at one another in confusion. Peter + replied: + </p> + <p> + “Lord, we have two swords here.” + </p> + <p> + He looked searchingly into their kind faces, lowered His head, and said + softly: + </p> + <p> + “It is enough.” + </p> + <p> + The steps of the disciples resounded loudly in the narrow streets, and + they were frightened by the sounds of their own footsteps; on the white + wall, illumined by the moon, their black shadows appeared—and they + were frightened by their own shadows. Thus they passed in silence through + Jerusalem, which was absorbed in sleep, and now they came out of the gates + of the city, and in the valley, full of fantastic, motionless shadows, the + stream of Kedron stretched before them. Now they were frightened by + everything. The soft murmuring and splashing of the water on the stones + sounded to them like voices of people approaching them stealthily; the + monstrous shades of the rocks and the trees, obstructing the road, + disturbed them, and their motionlessness seemed to them to stir. But as + they were ascending the mountain and approaching the garden, where they + had safely and quietly passed so many nights before, they were growing + ever bolder. From time to time they looked back at Jerusalem, all white in + the moonlight, and they spoke to one another about the fear that had + passed; and those who walked in the rear heard, in fragments, the soft + words of Jesus. He spoke about their forsaking Him. + </p> + <p> + In the garden they paused soon after they had entered it. The majority of + them remained there, and, speaking softly, began to make ready for their + sleep, outspreading their cloaks over the transparent embroidery of the + shadows and the moonlight. Jesus, tormented with uneasiness, and four of + His disciples went further into the depth of the garden. There they seated + themselves on the ground, which had not yet cooled off from the heat of + the day, and while Jesus was silent, Peter and John lazily exchanged words + almost devoid of any meaning. Yawning from fatigue, they spoke about the + coolness of the night; about the high price of meat in Jerusalem, and + about the fact that no fish was to be had in the city. They tried to + determine the exact number of pilgrims that had gathered in Jerusalem for + the festival, and Peter, drawling his words and yawning loudly, said that + they numbered 20,000, while John and his brother Jacob assured him just as + lazily that they did not number more than 10,000. Suddenly Jesus rose + quickly. + </p> + <p> + “My soul is exceedingly sorrowful, even unto death; tarry ye here and + watch with Me,” He said, and departed hastily to the grove and soon + disappeared amid its motionless shades and light. + </p> + <p> + “Where did He go?” said John, lifting himself on his elbow. Peter turned + his head in the direction of Jesus and answered fatiguedly: + </p> + <p> + “I do not know.” + </p> + <p> + And he yawned again loudly, then threw himself on his back and became + silent. The others also became silent, and their motionless bodies were + soon absorbed in the sound sleep of fatigue. Through his heavy slumber + Peter vaguely saw something white bending over him, some one’s voice + resounded and died away, leaving no trace in his dimmed consciousness. + </p> + <p> + “Simon, are you sleeping?” + </p> + <p> + And he slept again, and again some soft voice reached his ear and died + away without leaving any trace. + </p> + <p> + “You could not watch with me even one hour?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Master! if you only knew how sleepy I am,” he thought in his slumber, + but it seemed to him that he said it aloud. And he slept again. And a long + time seemed to have passed, when suddenly the figure of Jesus appeared + near him, and a loud, rousing voice instantly awakened him and the others: + </p> + <p> + “You are still sleeping and resting? It is ended, the hour has come—the + Son of Man is betrayed into the hands of the sinners.” + </p> + <p> + The disciples quickly sprang to their feet, confusedly seizing their + cloaks and trembling from the cold of the sudden awakening. Through the + thicket of the trees a multitude of warriors and temple servants was seen + approaching noisily, illumining their way with torches. And from the other + side the disciples came running, quivering from cold, their sleepy faces + frightened; and not yet understanding what was going on, they asked + hastily: + </p> + <p> + “What is it? Who are these people with torches?” + </p> + <p> + Thomas, pale faced, his moustaches in disorder, his teeth chattering from + chilliness, said to Peter: + </p> + <p> + “They have evidently come after us.” + </p> + <p> + Now a multitude of warriors surrounded them, and the smoky, quivering + light of the torches dispelled the soft light of the moon. In front of the + warriors walked Judas Iscariot quickly, and sharply turning his quick eye, + searched for Jesus. He found Him, rested his look for an instant upon His + tall, slender figure, and quickly whispered to the priests: + </p> + <p> + “Whomsoever I shall kiss, that same is He. Take Him and lead Him + cautiously. Lead Him cautiously, do you hear?” + </p> + <p> + Then he moved quickly to Jesus, who waited for him in silence, and he + directed his straight, sharp look, like a knife, into His calm, darkened + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Hail, Master!” he said loudly, charging his words of usual greeting with + a strange and stern meaning. + </p> + <p> + But Jesus was silent, and the disciples looked at the traitor with horror, + not understanding how the soul of a man could contain so much evil. + Iscariot threw a rapid glance at their confused ranks, noticed their + quiver, which was about to turn into a loud, trembling fear, noticed their + pallor, their senseless smiles, the drowsy movements of their hands, which + seemed as though fettered in iron at the shoulders—and a mortal + sorrow began to burn in his heart, akin to the sorrow Christ had + experienced before. Outstretching himself into a hundred ringing, sobbing + strings, he rushed over to Jesus and kissed His cold cheek tenderly. He + kissed it so softly, so tenderly, with such painful love and sorrow, that + if Jesus had been a flower upon a thin stalk it would not have shaken from + this kiss and would not have dropped the pearly dew from its pure petals. + </p> + <p> + “Judas,” said Jesus, and with the lightning of His look He illumined that + monstrous heap of shadows which was Iscariot’s soul, but he could not + penetrate into the bottomless depth. “Judas! Is it with a kiss you betray + the Son of Man?” + </p> + <p> + And He saw how that monstrous chaos trembled and stirred. Speechless and + stern, like death in its haughty majesty, stood Judas Iscariot, and within + him a thousand impetuous and fiery voices groaned and roared: + </p> + <p> + “Yes! We betray Thee with the kiss of love! With the kiss of love we + betray Thee to outrage, to torture, to death! With the voice of love we + call together the hangmen from their dark holes, and we place a cross—and + high over the top of the earth we lift love, crucified by love upon a + cross.” + </p> + <p> + Thus stood Judas, silent and cold, like death, and the shouting and the + noise about Jesus answered the cry of His soul. With the rude + irresoluteness of armed force, with the awkwardness of a vaguely + understood purpose, the soldiers seized Him and dragged Him off—mistaking + their irresoluteness for resistance, their fear for derision and mockery. + Like a flock of frightened lambs, the disciples stood huddled together, + not interfering, yet disturbing everybody, even themselves. Only a few of + them resolved to walk and act separately. Jostled from all sides, Peter + drew out the sword from its sheath with difficulty, as though he had lost + all his strength, and faintly lowered it upon the head of one of the + priests—without causing him any harm. Jesus, observing this, ordered + him to throw away the useless weapon, and it fell under foot with a dull + thud, and so evidently had it lost its sharpness and destructive power + that it did not occur to any one to pick it up. So it rolled about under + foot, until several days afterwards it was found on the same spot by some + children at play, who made a toy of it. + </p> + <p> + The soldiers kept dispersing the disciples, but they gathered together + again and stupidly got under the soldiers’ feet, and this went on so long + that at last a contemptuous rage mastered the soldiery. One of them with + frowning brow went up to the shouting John; another rudely pushed from his + shoulder the hand of Thomas, who was arguing with him about something or + other, and shook a big fist right in front of his straightforward, + transparent eyes. John fled, and Thomas and James fled, and all the + disciples, as many as were present, forsook Jesus and fled. Losing their + cloaks, knocking themselves against the trees, tripping up against stones + and falling, they fled to the hills terror-driven, while in the stillness + of the moonlight night the ground rumbled loudly beneath the tramp of many + feet. Some one, whose name did not transpire, just risen from his bed (for + he was covered only with a blanket), rushed excitedly into the crowd of + soldiers and servants. When they tried to stop him, and seized hold of his + blanket, he gave a cry of terror, and took to flight like the others, + leaving his garment in the hands of the soldiers. And so he ran + stark-naked, with desperate leaps, and his bare body glistened strangely + in the moonlight. + </p> + <p> + When Jesus was led away, Peter, who had hidden himself behind the trees, + came out and followed his Master at a distance. Noticing another man in + front of him, who walked silently, he thought that it was John, and he + called him softly: + </p> + <p> + “John, is that you?” + </p> + <p> + “And is that you, Peter?” answered the other, pausing, and by the voice + Peter recognised the traitor. “Peter, why did you not run away together + with the others?” + </p> + <p> + Peter stopped and said with contempt: + </p> + <p> + “Leave me, Satan!” + </p> + <p> + Judas began to laugh, and paying no further attention to Peter, he + advanced where the torches were flashing dimly and where the clanking of + the weapons mingled with the footsteps. Peter followed him cautiously, and + thus they entered the court of the high priest almost simultaneously and + mingled in the crowd of the priests who were warming themselves at the + bonfires. Judas warmed his bony hands morosely at the bonfire and heard + Peter saying loudly somewhere behind him: + </p> + <p> + “No, I do not know Him.” + </p> + <p> + But it was evident that they were insisting there that he was one of the + disciples of Jesus, for Peter repeated still louder: “But I do not + understand what you are saying.” + </p> + <p> + Without turning around, and smiling involuntarily, Judas shook his head + affirmatively and muttered: + </p> + <p> + “That’s right, Peter! Do not give up the place near Jesus to any one.” + </p> + <p> + And he did not see the frightened Peter walk away from the courtyard. And + from that night until the very death of Jesus, Judas did not see a single + one of the disciples of Jesus near Him; and amid all that multitude there + were only two, inseparable until death, strangely bound together by + sufferings—He who had been betrayed to abuse and torture and he who + had betrayed Him. Like brothers, they both, the Betrayed and the betrayer, + drank out of the same cup of sufferings, and the fiery liquid burned + equally the pure and the impure lips. + </p> + <p> + Gazing fixedly at the wood-fire, which imparted a feeling of warmth to his + eyes, stretching out his long, shaking hands to the flame, his hands and + feet forming a confused outline in the trembling light and shade, Iscariot + kept mumbling in hoarse complaint: + </p> + <p> + “How cold! My God, how cold it is!” + </p> + <p> + So, when the fishermen go away at night leaving an expiring fire of + drift-wood upon the shore, from the dark depth of the sea might something + creep forth, crawl up towards the fire, look at it with wild intentness, + and dragging all its limbs up to it, mutter in hoarse complaint: + </p> + <p> + “How cold! My God, how cold it is!” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Judas heard behind him a burst of loud voices, the cries and + laughter of the soldiers full of the usual sleepy, greedy malice; and + lashes, short frequent strokes upon a living body. He turned round, a + momentary anguish running through his whole frame—his very bones. + They were scourging Jesus. + </p> + <p> + Has it come to that? + </p> + <p> + He had seen the soldiers lead Jesus away with them to their guardroom. The + night was already nearly over, the fires had sunk down and were covered + with ashes, but from the guardroom was still borne the sound of muffled + cries, laughter, and invectives. They were scourging Jesus. + </p> + <p> + As one who has lost his way, Iscariot ran nimbly about the empty + courtyard, stopped in his course, lifted his head and ran on again, and + was surprised when he came into collision with heaps of embers, or with + the walls. + </p> + <p> + Then he clung to the wall of the guardroom, stretched himself out to his + full height, and glued himself to the window and the crevices of the door, + eagerly examining what they were doing. He saw a confined stuffy room, + dirty, like all guardrooms in the world, with bespitten floor, and walls + as greasy and stained as though they had been trodden and rolled upon. And + he saw the Man whom they were scourging. They struck Him on the face and + head, and tossed Him about like a soft bundle from one end of the room to + the other. And since He neither cried out nor resisted, after looking + intently, it actually appeared at moments as though it was not a living + human being, but a soft effigy without bones or blood. It bent itself + strangely like a doll, and in falling, knocking its head against the stone + floor it did not give the impression of a hard substance striking against + a hard substance, but of something soft and devoid of feeling. And when + one looked long, it became like some strange, endless game—and + sometimes it became almost a complete illusion. + </p> + <p> + After one hard kick, the man or effigy fell slowly on its knees before a + sitting soldier, he in turn flung it away, and turning over, it dropped + down before the next, and so on and on. A loud guffaw arose, and Judas + smiled too,—as though the strong hand of some one with iron fingers + had torn his mouth asunder. It was the mouth of Judas that was deceived. + </p> + <p> + Night dragged on, and the fires were still smouldering. Judas threw + himself from the wall, and crawled to one of the fires, poked up the + ashes, rekindled it, and although he no longer felt the cold, he stretched + his slightly trembling hands over the flames, and began to mutter + dolefully: + </p> + <p> + “Ah! how painful, my Son, my Son! How painful!” + </p> + <p> + Then he went again to the window, which was gleaming yellow with a dull + light between the thick grating, and once more began to watch them + scourging Jesus. Once before the very eyes of Judas appeared His swarthy + countenance, now marred out of human semblance, and covered with a forest + of dishevelled hair. Then some one’s hand plunged into those locks, threw + the Man down, and rhythmically turning His head from one side to the + other, began to wipe the filthy floor with His face. Right under the + window a soldier was sleeping, his open mouth revealing his glittering + white teeth; and some one’s broad back, with naked, brawny neck, barred + the window, so that nothing more could be seen. And suddenly the noise + ceased. + </p> + <p> + “What’s that? Why are they silent? Have they suddenly divined the truth?” + </p> + <p> + Momentarily the whole head of Judas, in all its parts, was filled with the + rumbling, shouting and roaring of a thousand maddened thoughts! Had they + divined? They understood that this was the very best of men—it was + so simple, so clear! Lo! He is coming out, and behind Him they are + abjectly crawling. Yes, He is coming here, to Judas, coming out a victor, + a hero, arbiter of the truth, a god.... + </p> + <p> + “Who is deceiving Judas? Who is right?” + </p> + <p> + But no. Once more noise and shouting. They are scourging Him again. They + do not understand, they have not guessed, they are beating Him harder, + more cruelly than ever. The fires burn out, covered with ashes, and the + smoke above them is as transparently blue as the air, and the sky as + bright as the moon. It is the day approaching. + </p> + <p> + “What is day?” asks Judas. + </p> + <p> + And lo! everything begins to glow, to scintillate, to grow young again, + and the smoke above is no longer blue, but rose-coloured. It is the sun + rising. + </p> + <p> + “What is the sun?” asks Judas. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <p> + They pointed the finger at Judas, and some in contempt, others with hatred + and fear, said: + </p> + <p> + “Look, that is Judas the Traitor!” + </p> + <p> + This already began to be the opprobrious title, to which he had doomed + himself throughout the ages. Thousands of years may pass, nation may + supplant nation, and still the air will resound with the words, uttered + with contempt and fear by good and bad alike: + </p> + <p> + “Judas the Traitor!” + </p> + <p> + But he listened imperturbably to what was said of him, dominated by a + feeling of burning, all-subduing curiosity. Ever since the morning when + they led forth Jesus from the guardroom, after scourging Him, Judas had + followed Him, strangely enough feeling neither grief nor pain nor joy—only + an unconquerable desire to see and hear everything. Though he had had no + sleep the whole night, his body felt light; when he was crushed and + prevented from advancing, he elbowed his way through the crowd and + adroitly wormed himself into the front place; and not for a moment did his + vivid quick eye remain at rest. At the examination of Jesus before + Caiaphas, in order not to lose a word, he hollowed his hand round his ear, + and nodded his head in affirmation, murmuring: + </p> + <p> + “Just so! Thou hearest, Jesus?” + </p> + <p> + But he was a prisoner, like a fly tied to a thread, which, buzzing, flies + hither and thither, but cannot for one moment free itself from the + tractable but unyielding thread. + </p> + <p> + Certain stony thoughts lay at the back of his head, and to these he was + firmly bound; he knew not, as it were, what these thoughts were; he did + not wish to stir them up, but he felt them continually. At times they + would come to him all of a sudden, oppress him more and more, and begin to + crush him with their unimaginable weight, as though the vault of a rocky + cavern were slowly and terribly descending upon his head. + </p> + <p> + Then he would grip his heart with his hand, and strive to set his whole + body in motion, as though he were perishing with cold, and hasten to shift + his eyes to a fresh place, and again to another. When they led Jesus away + from Caiaphas, he met His weary eyes quite close, and, somehow or other, + unconsciously he gave Him several friendly nods. + </p> + <p> + “I am here, my Son, I am here,” he muttered hurriedly, and maliciously + poked to some gaper in the back who stood in his way. + </p> + <p> + And now, in a huge shouting crowd, they all moved on to Pilate for the + last examination and trial, and with the same insupportable curiosity + Judas searched the faces of the ever swelling multitude. Many were quite + unknown to him; Judas had never seen them before, but some were there who + had cried, “Hosanna!” to Jesus, and at each step the number of them seemed + to increase. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well!” thought Judas, and his head spun round as if he were drunk, + “the worst is over. Directly they will be crying: ‘He is ours, He is + Jesus! What are you about?’ and all will understand, and—” + </p> + <p> + But the believers walked in silence. Some hypocritically smiled, as if to + say: “The affair is none of ours!” Others spoke with constraint, but their + low voices were drowned in the rumbling of movement, and the loud + delirious shouts of His enemies. + </p> + <p> + And Judas felt better again. Suddenly he noticed Thomas cautiously + slipping through the crowd not far off, and struck by a sudden thought, he + was about to go up to him. At the sight of the traitor, Thomas was + frightened, and tried to hide himself. But in a little narrow street, + between two walls, Judas overtook him. + </p> + <p> + “Thomas, wait a bit!” + </p> + <p> + Thomas stopped, and stretching both hands out in front of him solemnly + pronounced the words: + </p> + <p> + “Avaunt, Satan!” + </p> + <p> + Iscariot made an impatient movement of the hands. + </p> + <p> + “What a fool you are, Thomas! I thought that you had more sense than the + others. Satan indeed! That requires proof.” + </p> + <p> + Letting his hands fall, Thomas asked in surprise: + </p> + <p> + “But did not you betray the Master? I myself saw you bring the soldiers, + and point Him out to them. If this is not treachery, I should like to know + what is!” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind that,” hurriedly said Judas. “Listen, there are many of you + here. You must all gather together, and loudly demand: ‘Give up Jesus. He + is ours!’ They will not refuse you, they dare not. They themselves will + understand.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean! What are you thinking of!” said Thomas, with a decisive + wave of his hands. “Have you not seen what a number of armed soldiers and + servants of the Temple there are here? Moreover, the trial has not yet + taken place, and we must not interfere with the court. Surely he + understands that Jesus is innocent, and will order His release without + delay.” + </p> + <p> + “You, then, think so too,” said Judas thoughtfully. “Thomas, Thomas, what + if it be the truth? What then? Who is right? Who has deceived Judas?” + </p> + <p> + “We were all talking last night, and came to the conclusion that the court + cannot condemn the innocent. But if it does, why then—” + </p> + <p> + “What then!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, then it is no court. And it will be the worse for them when they + have to give an account before the real Judge.” + </p> + <p> + “Before the real! Is there any ‘real’ left?” sneered Judas. + </p> + <p> + “And all of our party cursed you; but since you say that you were not the + traitor, I think you ought to be tried.” + </p> + <p> + Judas did not want to hear him out; but turned right about, and hurried + down the street in the wake of the retreating crowd. He soon, however, + slackened his pace, mindful of the fact that a crowd always travels + slowly, and that a single pedestrian will inevitably overtake it. + </p> + <p> + When Pilate led Jesus out from his palace, and set Him before the people, + Judas, crushed against a column by the heavy backs of the soldiers, + furiously turning his head about to see something between two shining + helmets, suddenly felt clearly that the worst was over. He saw Jesus in + the sunshine, high above the heads of the crowd, blood-stained, pale with + a crown of thorns, the sharp spikes of which pressed into His forehead. + </p> + <p> + He stood on the edge of an elevation, visible from His head to His small, + sunburnt feet, and waited so calmly, was so serene in His immaculate + purity, that only a blind man, who perceived not the very sun, could fail + to see, only a madman would not understand. And the people held their + peace—it was so still, that Judas heard the breathing of the soldier + in front of him, and how, at each breath, a strap creaked somewhere about + his body. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it will soon be over! They will understand immediately,” thought + Judas, and suddenly something strange, like the dazzling joy of falling + from a giddy height into a blue sparkling abyss, arrested his heart-beats. + </p> + <p> + Contemptuously drawing his lips down to his rounded well-shaven chin, + Pilate flung to the crowd the dry, curt words—as one throws bones to + a pack of hungry hounds—thinking to cheat their longing for fresh + blood and living, palpitating flesh: + </p> + <p> + “You have brought this Man before me as a corrupter of the people, and + behold I have examined Him before you, and I find this Man guiltless of + that of which you accuse Him....” + </p> + <p> + Judas closed his eyes. He was waiting. + </p> + <p> + All the people began to shout, to sob, to howl with a thousand voices of + wild beasts and men: + </p> + <p> + “Put Him to death! Crucify Him! Crucify Him!” And as though in + self-mockery, as though wishing in one moment to plumb the very depths of + all possible degradation, madness and shame, the crowd cries out, sobs, + and demands with a thousand voices of wild beasts and men: + </p> + <p> + “Release unto us Barabbas! But crucify Him! Crucify Him!” + </p> + <p> + But the Roman had evidently not yet said his last word. Over his proud, + shaven countenance there passed convulsions of disgust and anger. He + understood! He has understood all along! He speaks quietly to his + attendants, but his voice is not heard in the roar of the crowd. What does + he say? Is he ordering them to bring swords, and to smite those maniacs? + </p> + <p> + “Bring water.” + </p> + <p> + “Water? What water? What for?” + </p> + <p> + Ah, lo! he washes his hands. Why does he wash his clean white hands all + adorned with rings? He lifts them and cries angrily to the people, whom + surprise holds in silence: + </p> + <p> + “I am innocent of the blood of this Just Person. See ye to it.” + </p> + <p> + While the water is still dripping from his fingers on to the marble + pavement, something soft prostrates itself at his feet, and sharp, burning + lips kiss his hand, which he is powerless to withdraw, glue themselves to + it like tentacles, almost bite and draw blood. He looks down in disgust + and fear, and sees a great squirming body, a strangely twofold face, and + two immense eyes so queerly diverse from one another that, as it were, not + one being but a number of them clung to his hands and feet. He heard a + broken, burning whisper: + </p> + <p> + “O wise and noble... wise and noble.” + </p> + <p> + And with such a truly satanic joy did that wild face blaze, that, with a + cry, Pilate kicked him away, and Judas fell backwards. And there he lay + upon the stone flags like an overthrown demon, still stretching out his + hand to the departing Pilate, and crying as one passionately enamoured: + </p> + <p> + “O wise, O wise and noble....” + </p> + <p> + Then he gathered himself up with agility, and ran away followed by the + laughter of the soldiery. Evidently there was yet hope. When they come to + see the cross, and the nails, then they will understand, and then.... What + then? He catches sight of the panic-stricken Thomas in passing, and for + some reason or other reassuringly nods to him; he overtakes Jesus being + led to execution. The walking is difficult, small stones roll under the + feet, and suddenly Judas feels that he is tired. He gives himself up + wholly to the trouble of deciding where best to plant his feet, he looks + dully around, and sees Mary Magdalene weeping, and a number of women + weeping—hair dishevelled, eyes red, lips distorted—all the + excessive grief of a tender woman’s soul when submitted to outrage. + Suddenly he revives, and seizing the moment, runs up to Jesus: + </p> + <p> + “I go with Thee,” he hurriedly whispers. + </p> + <p> + The soldiers drive him away with blows of their whips, and squirming so as + to avoid the blows, and showing his teeth at the soldiers, he explains + hurriedly: + </p> + <p> + “I go with Thee. Thither. Thou understandest whither.” + </p> + <p> + He wipes the blood from his face, shakes his fist at one of the soldiers, + who turns round and smiles, and points him out to the others. Then he + looks for Thomas, but neither he nor any of the disciples are in the crowd + that accompanies Jesus. Again he is conscious of fatigue, and drags one + foot with difficulty after the other, as he attentively looks out for the + sharp, white, scattered pebbles. + </p> + <p> + When the hammer was uplifted to nail Jesus’ left hand to the tree, Judas + closed his eyes, and for a whole age neither breathed, nor saw, nor lived, + but only listened. + </p> + <p> + But lo! with a grating sound, iron strikes against iron, time after time, + dull, short blows, and then the sharp nail penetrating the soft wood and + separating its particles is distinctly heard. + </p> + <p> + One hand. It is not yet too late! + </p> + <p> + The other hand. It is not yet too late! + </p> + <p> + A foot, the other foot! Is all lost? + </p> + <p> + He irresolutely opens his eyes, and sees how the cross is raised, and + rocks, and is set fast in the trench. He sees how the hands of Jesus are + convulsed by the tension, how painfully His arms stretch, how the wounds + grow wider, and how the exhausted abdomen disappears under the ribs. The + arms stretch more and more, grow thinner and whiter, and become dislocated + from the shoulders, and the wounds of the nails redden and lengthen + gradually—lo! in a moment they will be torn away. No. It stopped. + All stopped. Only the ribs move up and down with the short, deep + breathing. + </p> + <p> + On the very crown of the hill the cross is raised, and on it is the + crucified Jesus. The horror and the dreams of Judas are realised, he gets + up from his knees on which, for some reason, he has knelt, and gazes + around coldly. + </p> + <p> + Thus does a stern conqueror look, when he has already determined in his + heart to surrender everything to destruction and death, and for the last + time throws a glance over a rich foreign city, still alive with sound, but + already phantom-like under the cold hand of death. And suddenly, as + clearly as his terrible victory, Iscariot saw its ominous precariousness. + What if they should suddenly understand? It is not yet too late! Jesus + still lives. There He gazes with entreating, sorrowing eyes. + </p> + <p> + What can prevent the thin film which covers the eyes of mankind, so thin + that it hardly seems to exist at all, what can prevent it from rending? + What if they should understand? What if suddenly, in all their threatening + mass of men, women and children, they should advance, silently, without a + cry, and wipe out the soldiery, plunging them up to their ears in their + own blood, should tear from the ground the accursed cross, and by the + hands of all who remain alive should lift up the liberated Jesus above the + summit of the hill! Hosanna! Hosanna! + </p> + <p> + Hosanna? No! Better that Judas should lie on the ground. Better that he + should lie upon the ground, and gnashing his teeth like a dog, should + watch and wait until all these should rise up. + </p> + <p> + But what has come to Time? Now it almost stands still, so that one would + wish to push it with the hands, to kick it, beat it with a whip like a + lazy ass. Now it rushes madly down some mountain, and catches its breath, + and stretches out its hand in vain to stop itself. There weeps the mother + of Jesus. Let them weep. What avail her tears now? nay, the tears of all + the mothers in the world? + </p> + <p> + “What are tears?” asks Judas, and madly pushes unyielding Time, beats it + with his fists, curses it like a slave. It belongs to some one else, and + therefore is unamenable to discipline. Oh! if only it belonged to Judas! + But it belongs to all these people who are weeping, laughing, chattering + as in the market. It belongs to the sun; it belongs to the cross; to the + heart of Jesus, which is dying so slowly. + </p> + <p> + What an abject heart has Judas! He lays his hand upon it, but it cries + out: “Hosanna,” so loud that all may hear. He presses it to the ground, + but it cries, “Hosanna, Hosanna!” like a babbler who scatters holy + mysteries broadcast through the street. + </p> + <p> + “Be still! Be still!” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly a loud broken lamentation, dull cries, the last hurried movements + towards the cross. What is it? Have they understood at last? + </p> + <p> + No, Jesus is dying. But can this be? Yes, Jesus is dying. His pale hands + are motionless, but short convulsions run over His face, and breast, and + legs. But can this be? Yes, He is dying. His breathing becomes less + frequent. It ceases. No, there is yet one sigh, Jesus is still upon the + earth. But is there another? No, no, no. Jesus is dead. + </p> + <p> + It is finished. Hosanna! Hosanna! + </p> + <p> + His horror and his dreams are realised. Who will now snatch the victory + from the hands of Iscariot? + </p> + <p> + It is finished. Let all people on earth stream to Golgotha, and shout with + their million throats, “Hosanna! Hosanna!” And let a sea of blood and + tears be poured out at its foot, and they will find only the shameful + cross and a dead Jesus! + </p> + <p> + Calmly and coldly Iscariot surveys the dead, letting his gaze rest for a + moment on that neck, which he had kissed only yesterday with a farewell + kiss; and slowly goes away. Now all Time belongs to him, and he walks + without hurry; now all the World belongs to him, and he steps firmly, like + a ruler, like a king, like one who is infinitely and joyfully alone in the + world. He observes the mother of Jesus, and says to her sternly: + </p> + <p> + “Thou weepest, mother? Weep, weep, and long will all the mothers upon + earth weep with thee: until I come with Jesus and destroy death.” + </p> + <p> + What does he mean? Is he mad, or is he mocking—this Traitor? He is + serious, and his face is stern, and his eyes no longer dart about in mad + haste. Lo! he stands still, and with cold attention views a new, + diminished earth. + </p> + <p> + It has become small, and he feels the whole of it under his feet. He looks + at the little mountains, quietly reddening under the last rays of the sun, + and he feels the mountains under his feet. + </p> + <p> + He looks at the sky opening wide its azure mouth; he looks at the small + round disc of the sun, which vainly strives to singe and dazzle, and he + feels the sky and the sun under his feet. Infinitely and joyfully alone, + he proudly feels the impotence of all forces which operate in the world, + and has cast them all into the abyss. + </p> + <p> + He walks farther on, with quiet, masterful steps. And Time goes neither + forward nor back: obediently it marches in step with him in all its + invisible immensity. + </p> + <p> + It is the end. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <p> + As an old cheat, coughing, smiling fawningly, bowing incessantly, Judas + Iscariot the Traitor appeared before the Sanhedrin. It was the day after + the murder of Jesus, about mid-day. There they were all, His judges and + murderers: the aged Annas with his sons, exact and disgusting likenesses + of their father, and his son-in-law Caiaphas, devoured by ambition, and + all the other members of the Sanhedrin, whose names have been snatched + from the memory of mankind—rich and distinguished Sadducees, proud + in their power and knowledge of the Law. + </p> + <p> + In silence they received the Traitor, their haughty faces remaining + motionless, as though no one had entered. And even the very least, and + most insignificant among them, to whom the others paid no attention, + lifted up his bird-like face and looked as though no one had entered. + </p> + <p> + Judas bowed and bowed and bowed, and they looked on in silence: as though + it were not a human being that had entered, but only an unclean insect + that had crept in, and which they had not observed. But Judas Iscariot was + not the man to be perturbed: they kept silence, and he kept on bowing, and + thought that if it was necessary to go on bowing till evening, he could do + so. + </p> + <p> + At length Caiaphas inquired impatiently: + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” + </p> + <p> + Judas bowed once more, and said in a loud voice— + </p> + <p> + “It is I, Judas Iscariot, who betrayed to you Jesus of Nazareth.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what of that? You have received your due. Go away!” ordered Annas; + but Judas appeared unconscious of the command, and continued bowing. + Glancing at him, Caiaphas asked Annas: + </p> + <p> + “How much did you give?” + </p> + <p> + “Thirty pieces of silver.” + </p> + <p> + Caiaphas laughed, and even the grey-bearded Annas laughed, too, and over + all their proud faces there crept a smile of enjoyment; and even the one + with the bird-like face laughed. Judas, perceptibly blanching, hastily + interrupted with the words: + </p> + <p> + “That’s right! Certainly it was very little; but is Judas discontented, + does Judas call out that he has been robbed? He is satisfied. Has he not + contributed to a holy cause—yes, a holy? Do not the most sage people + now listen to Judas, and think: He is one of us, this Judas Iscariot; he + is our brother, our friend, this Judas Iscariot, the Traitor! Does not + Annas want to kneel down and kiss the hand of Judas? Only Judas will not + allow it; he is a coward, he is afraid they will bite him.” + </p> + <p> + Caiaphas said: + </p> + <p> + “Drive the dog out! What’s he barking about?” + </p> + <p> + “Get along with you. We have no time to listen to your babbling,” said + Annas imperturbably. + </p> + <p> + Judas drew himself up and closed his eyes. The hypocrisy, which he had + carried so lightly all his life, suddenly became an insupportable burden, + and with one movement of his eyelashes he cast it from him. And when he + looked at Annas again, his glance was simple, direct, and terrible in its + naked truthfulness. But they paid no attention to this either. + </p> + <p> + “You want to be driven out with sticks!” cried Caiaphas. + </p> + <p> + Panting under the weight of the terrible words, which he was lifting + higher and higher, in order to hurl them hence upon the heads of the + judges, Judas hoarsely asked: + </p> + <p> + “But you know... you know... who He was... He, whom you condemned + yesterday and crucified?” + </p> + <p> + “We know. Go away!” + </p> + <p> + With one word he would straightway rend that thin film which was spread + over their eyes, and all the earth would stagger beneath the weight of the + merciless truth! They had a soul, they should be deprived of it; they had + a life, they should lose their life; they had light before their eyes, + eternal darkness and horror should cover them. Hosanna! Hosanna! + </p> + <p> + And these words, these terrible words, were tearing his throat asunder— + </p> + <p> + “He was no deceiver. He was innocent and pure. Do you hear? Judas deceived + you. He betrayed to you an innocent man.” + </p> + <p> + He waits. He hears the aged, unconcerned voice of Annas, saying: + </p> + <p> + “And is that all you want to say?” + </p> + <p> + “You do not seem to have understood me,” says Judas, with dignity, turning + pale. “Judas deceived you. He was innocent. You have slain the innocent.” + </p> + <p> + He of the bird-like face smiles; but Annas is indifferent, Annas yawns. + And Caiaphas yawns, too, and says wearily: + </p> + <p> + “What did they mean by talking to me about the intellect of Judas + Iscariot? He is simply a fool, and a bore, too.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” cries Judas, all suffused with dark madness. “But who are you, the + clever ones! Judas deceived you—hear! It was not He that he betrayed—but + you—you wiseacres, you, the powerful, you he betrayed to a shameful + death, which will not end, throughout the ages. Thirty pieces of silver! + Well, well. But that is the price of YOUR blood—blood filthy as the + dish-water which the women throw out of the gates of their houses. Oh! + Annas, old, grey, stupid Annas, chock-full of the Law, why did you not + give one silver piece, just one obolus more? At this price you will go + down through the ages!” + </p> + <p> + “Be off!” cries Caiaphas, growing purple in the face. But Annas stops him + with a motion of the hand, and asks Judas as unconcernedly as ever: + </p> + <p> + “Is that all?” + </p> + <p> + “Verily, if I were to go into the desert, and cry to the wild beasts: + ‘Wild beasts, have ye heard the price at which men valued their Jesus?’—what + would the wild beasts do? They would creep out of the lairs, they would + howl with anger, they would forget their fear of mankind, and would all + come here to devour you! If I were to say to the sea: ‘Sea, knowest thou + the price at which men valued their Jesus?’ If I were to say to the + mountains: ‘Mountains, know ye the price at which men valued their Jesus?’ + Then the sea and the mountains would leave their places, assigned to them + for ages, and would come here and fall upon your heads!” + </p> + <p> + “Does Judas wish to become a prophet? He speaks so loud!” mockingly + remarks he of the bird-like face, with an ingratiating glance at Caiaphas. + </p> + <p> + “To-day I saw a pale sun. It was looking at the earth, and saying: ‘Where + is the Man?’ To-day I saw a scorpion. It was sitting upon a stone and + laughingly said: ‘Where is the Man?’ I went near and looked into its eyes. + And it laughed and said: ‘Where is the Man? I do not see Him!’ Where is + the Man? I ask you, I do not see Him—or is Judas become blind, poor + Judas Iscariot!” + </p> + <p> + And Iscariot begins to weep aloud. + </p> + <p> + He was, during those moments, like a man out of his mind, and Caiaphas + turned away, making a contemptuous gesture with his hand. But Annas + considered for a time, and then said: + </p> + <p> + “I perceive, Judas, that you really have received but little, and that + disturbs you. Here is some more money; take it and give it to your + children.” + </p> + <p> + He threw something, which rang shrilly. The sound had not died away, + before another, like it, strangely prolonged the clinking. + </p> + <p> + Judas had hastily flung the pieces of silver and the oboles into the faces + of the high priest and of the judges, returning the price paid for Jesus. + The pieces of money flew in a curved shower, falling on their faces, and + on the table, and rolling about the floor. + </p> + <p> + Some of the judges closed their hands with the palms outwards; others + leapt from their places, and shouted and scolded. Judas, trying to hit + Annas, threw the last coin, after which his trembling hand had long been + fumbling in his wallet, spat in anger, and went out. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well,” he mumbled, as he passed swiftly through the streets, + scaring the children. “It seems that thou didst weep, Judas? Was Caiaphas + really right when he said that Judas Iscariot was a fool? He who weeps in + the day of his great revenge is not worthy of it—know’st thou that, + Judas? Let not thine eyes deceive thee; let not thine heart lie to thee; + flood not the fire with tears, Judas Iscariot!” + </p> + <p> + The disciples were sitting in mournful silence, listening to what was + going on without. There was still danger that the vengeance of Jesus’ + enemies might not confine itself to Him, and so they were all expecting a + visit from the guard, and perhaps more executions. Near to John, to whom, + as the beloved disciple, the death of Jesus was especially grievous, sat + Mary Magdalene, and Matthew trying to comfort him in an undertone. Mary, + whose face was swollen with weeping, softly stroked his luxurious curling + hair with her hand, while Matthew said didactically, in the words of + Solomon: + </p> + <p> + “‘The long suffering is better than a hero; and he that ruleth his own + spirit than one who taketh a city.’” + </p> + <p> + At this moment Judas knocked loudly at the door, and entered. All started + up in terror, and at first were not sure who it was; but when they + recognised the hated countenance, the red-haired, bulbous head, they + uttered a simultaneous cry. + </p> + <p> + Peter raised both hands and shouted: + </p> + <p> + “Get out of here, Traitor! Get out, or I will kill you.” + </p> + <p> + But the others looked more carefully at the face and eyes of the Traitor, + and said nothing, merely whispering in terror: + </p> + <p> + “Leave him alone, leave him alone! He is possessed with a devil.” + </p> + <p> + Judas waited until they had quite done, and then cried out in a loud + voice: + </p> + <p> + “Hail, ye eyes of Judas Iscariot! Ye have just seen the cold-blooded + murderers. Lo! Where is Jesus? I ask you, where is Jesus?” + </p> + <p> + There was something compelling in the hoarse voice of Judas, and Thomas + replied obediently— + </p> + <p> + “You know yourself, Judas, that our Master was crucified yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “But how came you to permit it? Where was your love? Thou, Beloved + Disciple, and thou, Rock, where were you all when they were crucifying + your Friend on the tree?” + </p> + <p> + “What could we do, judge thou?” said Thomas, with a gesture of protest. + </p> + <p> + “Thou asketh that, Thomas? Very well!” and Judas threw his head back, and + fell upon him angrily. “He who loves does not ask what can be done—he + goes and does it—he weeps, he bites, he throttles the enemy, and + breaks his bones! He, that is, who loves! If your son were drowning would + you go into the city and inquire of the passers by: ‘What must I do? My + son is drowning!’ No, you would rather throw yourself into the water and + drown with him. One who loved would!” + </p> + <p> + Peter replied grimly to the violent speech of Judas: + </p> + <p> + “I drew a sword, but He Himself forbade.” + </p> + <p> + “Forbade? And you obeyed!” jeered Judas. “Peter, Peter, how could you + listen to Him? Does He know anything of men, and of fighting?” + </p> + <p> + “He who does not submit to Him goes to hell fire.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why did you not go, Peter? Hell fire! What’s that? Now, supposing + you had gone—what good’s your soul to you, if you dare not throw it + into the fire, if you want to?” + </p> + <p> + “Silence!” cried John, rising. “He Himself willed this sacrifice. His + sacrifice is beautiful!” + </p> + <p> + “Is a sacrifice ever beautiful, Beloved Disciple? Wherever there is a + sacrifice, then there is an executioner, and there traitors! Sacrifice—that + is suffering for one and disgrace for all the others! Traitors, traitors, + what have ye done with the world? Now they look at it from above and + below, and laugh and cry: ‘Look at that world, upon it they crucified + Jesus!’ And they spit on it—as I do!” + </p> + <p> + Judas angrily spat on the ground. + </p> + <p> + “He took upon Him the sin of all mankind. His sacrifice is beautiful,” + John insisted. + </p> + <p> + “No! you have taken all sin upon yourselves. You, Beloved Disciple, will + not a race of traitors take their beginning from you, a pusillanimous and + lying breed? O blind men, what have ye done with the earth? You have done + your best to destroy it, ye will soon be kissing the cross on which ye + crucified Jesus! Yes, yes, Judas gives ye his word that ye will kiss the + cross!” + </p> + <p> + “Judas, don’t revile!” roared Peter, pushing. “How could we slay all His + enemies? They are so many!” + </p> + <p> + “And thou, Peter!” exclaimed John in anger, “dost thou not perceive that + he is possessed of Satan? Leave us, Tempter! Thou’rt full of lies. The + Teacher forbade us to kill.” + </p> + <p> + “But did He forbid you to die? Why are you alive, when He is dead? Why do + your feet walk, why does your tongue talk trash, why do your eyes blink, + when He is dead, motionless, speechless? How do your cheeks dare to be + red, John, when His are pale? How can you dare to shout, Peter, when He is + silent? What could you do? You ask Judas? And Judas answers you, the + magnificent, bold Judas Iscariot replies: ‘Die!’ You ought to have fallen + on the road, to have seized the soldiers by the sword, by the hands, and + drowned them in a sea of your own blood—yes, die, die! Better had it + been, that His Father should have cause to cry out with horror, when you + all enter there!” + </p> + <p> + Judas ceased with raised head. Suddenly he noticed the remains of a meal + upon the table. With strange surprise, curiously, as though for the first + time in his life he looked on food, he examined it, and slowly asked: + </p> + <p> + “What is this? You have been eating? Perhaps you have also been sleeping?” + </p> + <p> + Peter, who had begun to feel Judas to be some one, who could command + obedience, drooping his head, tersely replied: “I slept, I slept and ate!” + </p> + <p> + Thomas said, resolutely and firmly: + </p> + <p> + “This is all untrue, Judas. Just consider: if we had all died, who would + have told the story of Jesus? Who would have conveyed His teaching to + mankind if we had all died, Peter and John and I?” + </p> + <p> + “But what is the truth itself in the mouths of traitors? Does it not + become a lie? Thomas, Thomas, dost thou not understand, that thou art now + only a sentinel at the grave of dead Truth? The sentinel falls asleep, and + the thief cometh and carries away the truth; say, where is the truth? + Cursed be thou, Thomas! Fruitless, and a beggar shalt thou be throughout + the ages, and all you with him, accursed ones!” + </p> + <p> + “Accursed be thou thyself, Satan!” cried John, and James and Matthew and + all the other disciples repeated his cry; only Peter held his peace. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to Him,” said Judas, stretching his powerful hand on high. + “Who will follow Iscariot to Jesus?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I also go with thee,” cried Peter, rising. + </p> + <p> + But John and the others stopped him in horror, saying: + </p> + <p> + “Madman! Thou hast forgotten, that he betrayed the Master into the hands + of His enemies.” + </p> + <p> + Peter began to lament bitterly, striking his breast with his fist: + </p> + <p> + “Whither, then, shall I go? O Lord! whither shall I go?” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . .. . . +</pre> + <p> + Judas had long ago, during his solitary walks, marked the place where he + intended to make an end of himself after the death of Jesus. + </p> + <p> + It was upon a hill high above Jerusalem. There stood but one tree, bent + and twisted by the wind, which had torn it on all sides, half withered. + One of its broken, crooked branches stretched out towards Jerusalem, as + though in blessing or in threat, and this one Judas had chosen on which to + hang a noose. + </p> + <p> + But the walk to the tree was long and tedious, and Judas Iscariot was very + weary. The small, sharp stones, scattered under his feet, seemed + continually to drag him backwards, and the hill was high, stern, and + malign, exposed to the wind. Judas was obliged to sit down several times + to rest, and panted heavily, while behind him, through the clefts of the + rock, the mountain breathed cold upon his back. + </p> + <p> + “Thou too art against me, accursed one!” said Judas contemptuously, as he + breathed with difficulty, and swayed his heavy head, in which all the + thoughts were now petrifying. + </p> + <p> + Then he raised it suddenly, and opening wide his now fixed eyes, angrily + muttered: + </p> + <p> + “No, they were too bad for Judas. Thou hearest Jesus? Wilt Thou trust me + now? I am coming to Thee. Meet me kindly, I am weary—very weary. + Then Thou and I, embracing like brothers, shall return to earth. Shall we + not?” + </p> + <p> + Again he swayed his petrifying head, and again he opened his eyes, + mumbling: + </p> + <p> + “But maybe Thou wilt be angry with Judas when he arrives? And Thou wilt + not trust him? And wilt send him to hell? Well! What then! I will go to + hell. And in Thy hell fire I will weld iron, and weld iron, and demolish + Thy heaven. Dost approve? Then Thou wilt believe in me. Then Thou wilt + come back with me to earth, wilt Thou not, Jesus?” + </p> + <p> + Eventually Judas reached the summit and the crooked tree, and there the + wind began to torment him. And when Judas rebuked it, it began to blow + soft and low, and took leave and flew away. + </p> + <p> + “Right! But as for them, they are curs!” said Judas, making a slip-knot. + And since the rope might fail him and break, he hung it over a precipice, + so that if it broke, he would be sure to meet his death upon the stones. + And before he shoved himself off the brink with his foot, and hanged + himself, Judas Iscariot once more anxiously prepared Jesus for his coming: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, meet me kindly, Jesus. I am very weary.” + </p> + <p> + He leapt. The rope strained, but held. His neck stretched, but his hands + and feet were crossed, and hung down as though damp. + </p> + <p> + He died. Thus, in the course of two days, one after another, Jesus of + Nazareth and Judas Iscariot, the Traitor, left the world. + </p> + <p> + All the night through, like some monstrous fruit, Judas swayed over + Jerusalem, and the wind kept turning his face now to the city, and now to + the desert—as though it wished to exhibit Judas to both city and + desert. But in whichever direction his face, distorted by death, was + turned, his red eyes suffused with blood, and now as like one another as + two brothers, incessantly looked towards the sky. In the morning some + sharp-sighted person perceived Judas hanging above the city, and cried out + in horror. + </p> + <p> + People came and took him down, and knowing who he was, threw him into a + deep ravine, into which they were in the habit of throwing dead horses and + cats and other carrion. + </p> + <p> + The same evening all the believers knew of the terrible death of the + Traitor, and the next day it was known to all Jerusalem. Stony Judaea knew + of it and green Galilee; and from one sea to the other, distant as it was, + the news flew of the death of the Traitor. + </p> + <p> + Neither faster nor slower, but with equal pace with Time itself, it went, + and as there is no end to Time so will there be no end to the stories + about the Traitor Judas and his terrible death. + </p> + <p> + And all—both good and bad—will equally anathematise his + shameful memory; and among all peoples, past and present, will he remain + alone in his cruel destiny—Judas Iscariot, the Traitor. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + “THE MAN WHO FOUND THE TRUTH” + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + I was twenty-seven years old and had just maintained my thesis for the + degree of Doctor of Mathematics with unusual success, when I was suddenly + seized in the middle of the night and thrown into this prison. I shall not + narrate to you the details of the monstrous crime of which I was accused—there + are events which people should neither remember nor even know, that they + may not acquire a feeling of aversion for themselves; but no doubt there + are many people among the living who remember that terrible case and “the + human brute,” as the newspapers called me at that time. They probably + remember how the entire civilised society of the land unanimously demanded + that the criminal be put to death, and it is due only to the inexplicable + kindness of the man at the head of the Government at the time that I am + alive, and I now write these lines for the edification of the weak and the + wavering. + </p> + <p> + I shall say briefly: My father, my elder brother, and my sister were + murdered brutally, and I was supposed to have committed the crime for the + purpose of securing a really enormous inheritance. + </p> + <p> + I am an old man now; I shall die soon, and you have not the slightest + ground for doubting when I say that I was entirely innocent of the + monstrous and horrible crime, for which twelve honest and conscientious + judges unanimously sentenced me to death. The death sentence was finally + commuted to imprisonment for life in solitary confinement. + </p> + <p> + It was merely a fatal linking of circumstances, of grave and insignificant + events, of vague silence and indefinite words, which gave me the + appearance and likeness of the criminal, innocent though I was. But he who + would suspect me of being ill-disposed toward my strict judges would be + profoundly mistaken. They were perfectly right, perfectly right. As people + who can judge things and events only by their appearance, and who are + deprived of the ability to penetrate their own mysterious being, they + could not act differently, nor should they have acted differently. + </p> + <p> + It so happened that in the game of circumstances, the truth concerning my + actions, which I alone knew, assumed all the features of an insolent and + shameless lie; and however strange it may seem to my kind and serious + reader, I could establish the truth of my innocence only by falsehood, and + not by the truth. + </p> + <p> + Later on, when I was already in prison, in going over in detail the story + of the crime and the trial, and picturing myself in the place of one of my + judges, I came to the inevitable conclusion each time that I was guilty. + Then I produced a very interesting and instructive work; having set aside + entirely the question of truth and falsehood on general principles, I + subjected the facts and the words to numerous combinations, erecting + structures, even as small children build various structures with their + wooden blocks; and after persistent efforts I finally succeeded in finding + a certain combination of facts which, though strong in principle, seemed + so plausible that my actual innocence became perfectly clear, exactly and + positively established. + </p> + <p> + To this day I remember the great feeling of astonishment, mingled with + fear, which I experienced at my strange and unexpected discovery; by + telling the truth I lead people into error and thus deceive them, while by + maintaining falsehood I lead them, on the contrary, to the truth and to + knowledge. + </p> + <p> + I did not yet understand at that time that, like Newton and his famous + apple, I discovered unexpectedly the great law upon which the entire + history of human thought rests, which seeks not the truth, but + verisimilitude, the appearance of truth—that is, the harmony between + that which is seen and that which is conceived, based on the strict laws + of logical reasoning. And instead of rejoicing, I exclaimed in an outburst + of naive, juvenile despair: “Where, then, is the truth? Where is the truth + in this world of phantoms and falsehood?” (See my “Diary of a Prisoner” of + June 29, 18—.) + </p> + <p> + I know that at the present time, when I have but five or six more years to + live, I could easily secure my pardon if I but asked for it. But aside + from my being accustomed to the prison and for several other important + reasons, of which I shall speak later, I simply have no right to ask for + pardon, and thus break the force and natural course of the lawful and + entirely justified verdict. Nor would I want to hear people apply to me + the words, “a victim of judicial error,” as some of my gentle visitors + expressed themselves, to my sorrow. I repeat, there was no error, nor + could there be any error in a case in which a combination of definite + circumstances inevitably lead a normally constructed and developed mind to + the one and only conclusion. + </p> + <p> + I was convicted justly, although I did not commit the crime—such is + the simple and clear truth, and I live joyously and peacefully my last few + years on earth with a sense of respect for this truth. + </p> + <p> + The only purpose by which I was guided in writing these modest notes is to + show to my indulgent reader that under the most painful conditions, where + it would seem that there remains no room for hope or life—a human + being, a being of the highest order, possessing a mind and a will, finds + both hope and life. I want to show how a human being, condemned to death, + looked with free eyes upon the world, through the grated window of his + prison, and discovered the great purpose, harmony, and beauty of the + universe—to the disgrace of those fools who, being free, living a + life of plenty and happiness, slander life disgustingly. + </p> + <p> + Some of my visitors reproach me for being “haughty”; they ask me where I + secured the right to teach and to preach; cruel in their reasoning, they + would like to drive away even the smile from the face of the man who has + been imprisoned for life as a murderer. + </p> + <p> + No. Just as the kind and bright smile will not leave my lips, as an + evidence of a clear and unstained conscience, so my soul will never be + darkened, my soul, which has passed firmly through the defiles of life, + which has been carried by a mighty will power across these terrible + abysses and bottomless pits, where so many daring people have found their + heroic, but, alas! fruitless, death. + </p> + <p> + And if the tone of my confessions may sometimes seem too positive to my + indulgent reader, it is not at all due to the absence of modesty in me, + but it is due to the fact that I firmly believe that I am right, and also + to my firm desire to be useful to my neighbour as far as my faint powers + permit. + </p> + <p> + Here I must apologise for my frequent references to my “Diary of a + Prisoner,” which is unknown to the reader; but the fact is that I consider + the complete publication of my “Diary” too premature and perhaps even + dangerous. Begun during the remote period of cruel disillusions, of the + shipwreck of all my beliefs and hopes, breathing boundless despair, my + note book bears evidence in places that its author was, if not in a state + of complete insanity, on the brink of insanity. And if we recall how + contagious that illness is, my caution in the use of my “Diary” will + become entirely clear. + </p> + <p> + O, blooming youth! With an involuntary tear in my eye I recall your + magnificent dreams, your daring visions and outbursts, your impetuous, + seething power—but I should not want your return, blooming youth! + Only with the greyness of the hair comes clear wisdom, and that great + aptitude for unprejudiced reflection which makes of all old men + philosophers and often even sages. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + Those of my kind visitors who honour me by expressing their delight and + even—may this little indiscretion be forgiven me!—even their + adoration of my spiritual clearness, can hardly imagine what I was when I + came to this prison. The tens of years which have passed over my head and + which have whitened my hair cannot muffle the slight agitation which I + experience at the recollection of the first moments when, with the + creaking of the rusty hinges, the fatal prison doors opened and then + closed behind me forever. + </p> + <p> + Not endowed with literary talent, which in reality is an indomitable + inclination to invent and to lie, I shall attempt to introduce myself to + my indulgent reader exactly as I was at that remote time. + </p> + <p> + I was a young man, twenty-seven years of age—as I had occasion to + mention before—unrestrained, impetuous, given to abrupt deviations. + A certain dreaminess, peculiar to my age; a self-respect which was easily + offended and which revolted at the slightest insignificant provocation; a + passionate impetuosity in solving world problems; fits of melancholy + alternated by equally wild fits of merriment—all this gave the young + mathematician a character of extreme unsteadiness, of sad and harsh + discord. + </p> + <p> + I must also mention the extreme pride, a family trait, which I inherited + from my mother, and which often hindered me from taking the advice of + riper and more experienced people than myself; also my extreme obstinacy + in carrying out my purposes, a good quality in itself, which becomes + dangerous, however, when the purpose in question is not sufficiently well + founded and considered. + </p> + <p> + Thus, during the first days of my confinement, I behaved like all other + fools who are thrown into prison. I shouted loudly and, of course, vainly + about my innocence; I demanded violently my immediate freedom and even + beat against the door and the walls with my fists. The door and the walls + naturally remained mute, while I caused myself a rather sharp pain. I + remember I even beat my head against the wall, and for hours I lay + unconscious on the stone floor of my cell; and for some time, when I had + grown desperate, I refused food, until the persistent demands of my + organism defeated my obstinacy. + </p> + <p> + I cursed my judges and threatened them with merciless vengeance. At last I + commenced to regard all human life, the whole world, even Heaven, as an + enormous injustice, a derision and a mockery. Forgetting that in my + position I could hardly be unprejudiced, I came with the self-confidence + of youth, with the sickly pain of a prisoner, gradually to the complete + negation of life and its great meaning. + </p> + <p> + Those were indeed terrible days and nights, when, crushed by the walls, + getting no answer to any of my questions, I paced my cell endlessly and + hurled one after another into the dark abyss all the great valuables which + life has bestowed upon us: friendship, love, reason and justice. + </p> + <p> + In some justification to myself I may mention the fact that during the + first and most painful years of my imprisonment a series of events + happened which reflected themselves rather painfully upon my psychic + nature. Thus I learned with the profoundest indignation that the girl, + whose name I shall not mention and who was to become my wife, married + another man. She was one of the few who believed in my innocence; at the + last parting she swore to me to remain faithful to me unto death, and + rather to die than betray her love for me—and within one year after + that she married a man I knew, who possessed certain good qualities, but + who was not at all a sensible man. I did not want to understand at that + time that such a marriage was natural on the part of a young, healthy, and + beautiful girl. But, alas! we all forget our natural science when we are + deceived by the woman we love—may this little jest be forgiven me! + At the present time Mme. N. is a happy and respected mother, and this + proves better than anything else how wise and entirely in accordance with + the demands of nature and life was her marriage at that time, which vexed + me so painfully. + </p> + <p> + I must confess, however, that at that time I was not at all calm. Her + exceedingly amiable and kind letter in which she notified me of her + marriage, expressing profound regret that changed circumstances and a + suddenly awakened love compelled her to break her promise to me—that + amiable, truthful letter, scented with perfume, bearing the traces of her + tender fingers, seemed to me a message from the devil himself. + </p> + <p> + The letters of fire burned my exhausted brains, and in a wild ecstasy I + shook the doors of my cell and called violently: + </p> + <p> + “Come! Let me look into your lying eyes! Let me hear your lying voice! Let + me but touch with my fingers your tender throat and pour into your death + rattle my last bitter laugh!” + </p> + <p> + From this quotation my indulgent reader will see how right were the judges + who convicted me for murder; they had really foreseen in me a murderer. + </p> + <p> + My gloomy view of life at the time was aggravated by several other events. + Two years after the marriage of my fiancee, consequently three years after + the first day of my imprisonment, my mother died—she died, as I + learned, of profound grief for me. However strange it may seem, she + remained firmly convinced to the end of her days that I had committed the + monstrous crime. Evidently this conviction was an inexhaustible source of + grief to her, the chief cause of the gloomy melancholy which fettered her + lips in silence and caused her death through paralysis of the heart. As I + was told, she never mentioned my name nor the names of those who died so + tragically, and she bequeathed the entire enormous fortune, which was + supposed to have served as the motive for the murder, to various + charitable organisations. It is characteristic that even under such + terrible conditions her motherly instinct did not forsake her altogether; + in a postscript to the will she left me a considerable sum, which secures + my existence whether I am in prison or at large. + </p> + <p> + Now I understand that, however great her grief may have been, that alone + was not enough to cause her death; the real cause was her advanced age and + a series of illnesses which had undermined her once strong and sound + organism. In the name of justice, I must say that my father, a + weak-charactered man, was not at all a model husband and family man; by + numerous betrayals, by falsehood and deception he had led my mother to + despair, constantly offending her pride and her strict, unbribable + truthfulness. But at that time I did not understand it; the death of my + mother seemed to me one of the most cruel manifestations of universal + injustice, and called forth a new stream of useless and sacrilegious + curses. + </p> + <p> + I do not know whether I ought to tire the attention of the reader with the + story of other events of a similar nature. I shall mention but briefly + that one after another my friends, who remained my friends from the time + when I was happy and free, stopped visiting me. According to their words, + they believed in my innocence, and at first warmly expressed to me their + sympathy. But our lives, mine in prison and theirs at liberty, were so + different that gradually under the pressure of perfectly natural causes, + such as forgetfulness, official and other duties, the absence of mutual + interests, they visited me ever more and more rarely, and finally ceased + to see me entirely. I cannot recall without a smile that even the death of + my mother, even the betrayal of the girl I loved did not arouse in me such + a hopelessly bitter feeling as these gentlemen, whose names I remember but + vaguely now, succeeded in wresting from my soul. + </p> + <p> + “What horror! What pain! My friends, you have left me alone! My friends, + do you understand what you have done? You have left me alone. Can you + conceive of leaving a human being alone? Even a serpent has its mate, even + a spider has its comrade—and you have left a human being alone! You + have given him a soul—and left him alone! You have given him a + heart, a mind, a hand for a handshake, lips for a kiss—and you have + left him alone! What shall he do now that you have left him alone?” + </p> + <p> + Thus I exclaimed in my “Diary of a Prisoner,” tormented by woeful + perplexities. In my juvenile blindness, in the pain of my young, senseless + heart, I still did not want to understand that the solitude, of which I + complained so bitterly, like the mind, was an advantage given to man over + other creatures, in order to fence around the sacred mysteries of his soul + from the stranger’s gaze. + </p> + <p> + Let my serious reader consider what would have become of life if man were + robbed of his right, of his duty to be alone. In the gathering of idle + chatterers, amid the dull collection of transparent glass dolls, that kill + each other with their sameness; in the wild city where all doors are open, + and all windows are open—passers-by look wearily through the glass + walls and observe the same evidences of the hearth and the alcove. Only + the creatures that can be alone possess a face; while those that know no + solitude—the great, blissful, sacred solitude of the soul—have + snouts instead of faces. + </p> + <p> + And in calling my friends “perfidious traitors” I, poor youth that I was, + could not understand the wise law of life, according to which neither + friendship, nor love, nor even the tenderest attachment of sister and + mother, is eternal. Deceived by the lies of the poets, who proclaimed + eternal friendship and love, I did not want to see that which my indulgent + reader observes from the windows of his dwelling—how friends, + relatives, mother and wife, in apparent despair and in tears, follow their + dead to the cemetery, and after a lapse of some time return from there. No + one buries himself together with the dead, no one asks the dead to make + room in the coffin, and if the grief-stricken wife exclaims, in an + outburst of tears, “Oh, bury me together with him!” she is merely + expressing symbolically the extreme degree of her despair—one could + easily convince himself of this by trying, in jest, to push her down into + the grave. And those who restrain her are merely expressing symbolically + their sympathy and understanding, thus lending the necessary aspect of + solemn grief to the funeral custom. + </p> + <p> + Man must subject himself to the laws of life, not of death, nor to the + fiction of the poets, however beautiful it may be. But can the fictitious + be beautiful? Is there no beauty in the stern truth of life, in the mighty + work of its wise laws, which subjects to itself with great + disinterestedness the movements of the heavenly luminaries, as well as the + restless linking of the tiny creatures called human beings? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + Thus I lived sadly in my prison for five or six years. + </p> + <p> + The first redeeming ray flashed upon me when I least expected it. + </p> + <p> + Endowed with the gift of imagination, I made my former fiancee the object + of all my thoughts. She became my love and my dream. + </p> + <p> + Another circumstance which suddenly revealed to me the ground under my + feet was, strange as it may seem, the conviction that it was impossible to + make my escape from prison. + </p> + <p> + During the first period of my imprisonment, I, as a youthful and + enthusiastic dreamer, made all kinds of plans for escape, and some of them + seemed to me entirely possible of realisation. Cherishing deceptive hopes, + this thought naturally kept me in a state of tense alarm and hindered my + attention from concentrating itself on more important and substantial + matters. As soon as I despaired of one plan I created another, but of + course I did not make any progress—I merely moved within a closed + circle. It is hardly necessary to mention that each transition from one + plan to another was accompanied by cruel sufferings, which tormented my + soul, just as the eagle tortured the body of Prometheus. + </p> + <p> + One day, while staring with a weary look at the walls of my cell, I + suddenly began to feel how irresistibly thick the stone was, how strong + the cement which kept it together, how skilfully and mathematically this + severe fortress was constructed. It is true, my first sensation was + extremely painful; it was, perhaps, a horror of hopelessness. + </p> + <p> + I cannot recall what I did and how I felt during the two or three months + that followed. The first note in my diary after a long period of silence + does not explain very much. Briefly I state only that they made new + clothes for me and that I had grown stout. + </p> + <p> + The fact is that, after all my hopes had been abandoned, the consciousness + of the impossibility of my escape once for all extinguished also my + painful alarm and liberated my mind, which was then already inclined to + lofty contemplation and the joys of mathematics. + </p> + <p> + But the following is the day I consider as the first real day of my + liberation. It was a beautiful spring morning (May 6) and the balmy, + invigourating air was pouring into the open window; while walking back and + forth in my cell I unconsciously glanced, at each turn, with a vague + interest, at the high window, where the iron grate outlined its form + sharply and distinctly against the background of the azure, cloudless sky. + </p> + <p> + “Why is the sky so beautiful through these bars?” I reflected as I walked. + “Is not this the effect of the aesthetic law of contrasts, according to + which azure stands out prominently beside black? Or is it not, perhaps, a + manifestation of some other, higher law, according to which the infinite + may be conceived by the human mind only when it is brought within certain + boundaries, for instance, when it is enclosed within a square?” + </p> + <p> + When I recalled that at the sight of a wide open window, which was not + protected by bars, or of the sky, I had usually experienced a desire to + fly, which was painful because of its uselessness and absurdity—I + suddenly began to experience a feeling of tenderness for the bars; tender + gratitude, even love. Forged by hand, by the weak human hand of some + ignorant blacksmith, who did not even give himself an account of the + profound meaning of his creation; placed in the wall by an equally + ignorant mason, it suddenly represented in itself a model of beauty, + nobility and power. Having seized the infinite within its iron squares, it + became congealed in cold and proud peace, frightening the ignorant, giving + food for thought to the intelligent and delighting the sage! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + In order to make the further narrative clearer to my indulgent reader, I + am compelled to say a few words about the exclusive, quite flattering, + and, I fear, not entirely deserved, position which I occupy in our prison. + On one hand, my spiritual clearness, my rare and perfect view of life, and + the nobility of my feelings, which impress all those who speak to me; and, + on the other hand, several rather unimportant favours which I have done to + the Warden, have given me a series of privileges, of which I avail myself, + rather moderately, of course, not desiring to upset the general plan and + system of our prison. + </p> + <p> + Thus, during the weekly visiting days, my visitors are not limited to any + special time for their interviews, and all those who wish to see me are + admitted, sometimes forming quite a large audience. Not daring to accept + altogether the assurances made somewhat ironically by the Warden, to the + effect that I would be “the pride of any prison,” I may say, nevertheless, + without any false modesty, that my words are treated with proper respect, + and that among my visitors I number quite a few warm and enthusiastic + admirers, both men and women. I shall mention that the Warden himself and + some of his assistants honour me by their visits, drawing from me strength + and courage for the purpose of continuing their hard work. Of course I use + the prison library freely, and even the archives of the prison; and if the + Warden politely refused to grant my request for an exact plan of the + prison, it is not at all because of his lack of confidence in me, but + because such a plan is a state secret.... + </p> + <p> + Our prison is a huge five-story building. Situated in the outskirts of the + city, at the edge of a deserted field, overgrown with high grass, it + attracts the attention of the wayfarer by its rigid outlines, promising + him peace and rest after his endless wanderings. Not being plastered, the + building has retained its natural dark red colour of old brick, and at + close view, I am told, it produces a gloomy, even threatening, impression, + especially on nervous people, to whom the red bricks recall blood and + bloody lumps of human flesh. The small, dark, flat windows with iron bars + naturally complete the impression and lend to the whole a character of + gloomy harmony, or stern beauty. Even during good weather, when the sun + shines upon our prison, it does not lose any of its dark and grim + importance, and is constantly reminding the people that there are laws in + existence and that punishment awaits those who break them. + </p> + <p> + My cell is on the fifth story, and my grated window commands a splendid + view of the distant city and a part of the deserted field to the right. On + the left, beyond the boundary of my vision, are the outskirts of the city, + and, as I am told, the church and the cemetery adjoining it. Of the + existence of the church and even the cemetery I had known before from the + mournful tolling of the bells, which custom requires during the burial of + the dead. + </p> + <p> + Quite in keeping with the external style of architecture, the interior + arrangement of our prison is also finished harmoniously and properly + constructed. For the purpose of conveying to the reader a clearer idea of + the prison, I will take the liberty of giving the example of a fool who + might make up his mind to run away from our prison. Admitting that the + brave fellow possessed supernatural, Herculean strength and broke the lock + of his room—what would he find? The corridor, with numerous grated + doors, which could withstand cannonading—and armed keepers. Let us + suppose that he kills all the keepers, breaks all the doors, and comes out + into the yard—perhaps he may think that he is already free. But what + of the walls? The walls which encircle our prison, with three rings of + stone? + </p> + <p> + I omitted the guard advisedly. The guard is indefatigable. Day and night I + hear behind my doors the footsteps of the guard; day and night his eye + watches me through the little window in my door, controlling my movements, + reading on my face my thoughts, my intentions and my dreams. In the + daytime I could deceive his attention with lies, assuming a cheerful and + carefree expression on my face, but I have rarely met the man who could + lie even in his sleep. No matter how much I would be on my guard during + the day, at night I would betray myself by an involuntary moan, by a + twitch of the face, by an expression of fatigue or grief, or by other + manifestations of a guilty and uneasy conscience. Only very few people of + unusual will power are able to lie even in their sleep, skilfully managing + the features of their faces, sometimes even preserving a courteous and + bright smile on their lips, when their souls, given over to dreams, are + quivering from the horrors of a monstrous nightmare—but, as + exceptions, these cannot be taken into consideration. I am profoundly + happy that I am not a criminal, that my conscience is clear and calm. + </p> + <p> + “Read, my friend, read,” I say to the watchful eye as I lay myself down to + sleep peacefully. “You will not be able to read anything on my face!” + </p> + <p> + And it was I who invented the window in the prison door. + </p> + <p> + I feel that my reader is astonished and smiles incredulously, mentally + calling me an old liar, but there are instances in which modesty is + superfluous and even dangerous. Yes, this simple and great invention + belongs to me, just as Newton’s system belongs to Newton, and as Kepler’s + laws of the revolution of the planets belong to Kepler. + </p> + <p> + Later on, encouraged by the success of my invention, I devised and + introduced in our prison a series of little innovations, which were + concerned only with details; thus the form of chains and locks used in our + prison has been changed. + </p> + <p> + The little window in the door was my invention, and, if any one should + dare deny this, I would call him a liar and a scoundrel. + </p> + <p> + I came upon this invention under the following circumstances: One day, + during the roll call, a certain prisoner killed with the iron leg of his + bed the Inspector who entered his cell. Of course the rascal was hanged in + the yard of our prison, and the administration light mindedly grew calm, + but I was in despair—the great purpose of the prison proved to be + wrong since such horrible deeds were possible. How is it that no one had + noticed that the prisoner had broken off the leg of his bed? How is it + that no one had noticed the state of agitation in which the prisoner must + have been before committing the murder? + </p> + <p> + By taking up the question so directly I thus approached considerably the + solution of the problem; and indeed, after two or three weeks had elapsed + I arrived simply and even unexpectedly at my great discovery. I confess + frankly that before telling my discovery to the Warden of the prison I + experienced moments of a certain hesitation, which was quite natural in my + position of prisoner. To the reader who may still be surprised at this + hesitation, knowing me to be a man of a clear, unstained conscience, I + will answer by a quotation from my “Diary of a Prisoner,” relating to that + period: + </p> + <p> + “How difficult is the position of the man who is convicted, though + innocent, as I am. If he is sad, if his lips are sealed in silence, and + his eyes are lowered, people say of him: ‘He is repenting; he is suffering + from pangs of conscience.’ + </p> + <p> + “If in the innocence of his heart he smiles brightly and kindly, the + keeper thinks: ‘There, by a false and feigned smile, he wishes to hide his + secret.’ + </p> + <p> + “No matter what he does, he seems guilty—such is the force of the + prejudice against which it is necessary to struggle. But I am innocent, + and I shall be myself, firmly confident that my spiritual clearness will + destroy the malicious magic of prejudice.” + </p> + <p> + And on the following day the Warden of the prison pressed my hand warmly, + expressing his gratitude to me, and a month later little holes were made + in all doors in every prison in the land, thus opening a field for wide + and fruitful observation. + </p> + <p> + The entire system of our prison life gives me deep satisfaction. The hours + for rising and going to bed, for meals and walks are arranged so + rationally, in accordance with the real requirements of nature, that soon + they lose the appearance of compulsion and become natural, even dear + habits. Only in this way can I explain the interesting fact that when I + was free I was a nervous and weak young man, susceptible to colds and + illness, whereas in prison I have grown considerably stronger and that for + my sixty years I am enjoying an enviable state of health. I am not stout, + but I am not thin, either; my lungs are in good condition and I have saved + almost all my teeth, with the exception of two on the left side of the + jaw; I am good natured, even tempered; my sleep is sound, almost without + any dreams. In figure, in which an expression of calm power and + self-confidence predominates, and in face, I resemble somewhat + Michaelangelo’s “Moses”—that is, at least what some of my friendly + visitors have told me. + </p> + <p> + But even more than by the regular and healthy regime, the strengthening of + my soul and body was helped by the wonderful, yet natural, peculiarity of + our prison, which eliminates entirely the accidental and the unexpected + from its life. Having neither a family nor friends, I am perfectly safe + from the shocks, so injurious to life, which are caused by treachery, by + the illness or death of relatives—let my indulgent reader recall how + many people have perished before his eyes not of their own fault, but + because capricious fate had linked them to people unworthy of them. + Without changing my feeling of love into trivial personal attachments, I + thus make it free for the broad and mighty love for all mankind; and as + mankind is immortal, not subjected to illness, and as a harmonious whole + it is undoubtedly progressing toward perfection, love for it becomes the + surest guarantee of spiritual and physical soundness. + </p> + <p> + My day is clear. So are also my days of the future, which are coming + toward me in radiant and even order. A murderer will not break into my + cell for the purpose of robbing me, a mad automobile will not crush me, + the illness of a child will not torture me, cruel treachery will not steal + its way to me from the darkness. My mind is free, my heart is calm, my + soul is clear and bright. + </p> + <p> + The clear and rigid rules of our prison define everything that I must not + do, thus freeing me from those unbearable hesitations, doubts, and errors + with which practical life is filled. True, sometimes there penetrates even + into our prison, through its high walls, something which ignorant people + call chance, or even Fate, and which is only an inevitable reflection of + the general laws; but the life of the prison, agitated for a moment, + quickly goes back to its habitual rut, like a river after an overflow. To + this category of accidents belong the above-mentioned murder of the + Inspector, the rare and always unsuccessful attempts at escape, and also + the executions, which take place in one of the remotest yards of our + prison. + </p> + <p> + There is still another peculiarity in the system of our prison, which I + consider most beneficial, and which gives to the whole thing a character + of stern and noble justice. Left to himself, and only to himself, the + prisoner cannot count upon support, or upon that spurious, wretched pity + which so often falls to the lot of weak people, disfiguring thereby the + fundamental purposes of nature. + </p> + <p> + I confess that I think, with a certain sense of pride, that if I am now + enjoying general respect and admiration, if my mind is strong, my will + powerful, my view of life clear and bright, I owe it only to myself, to my + power and my perseverance. How many weak people would have perished in my + place as victims of madness, despair, or grief? But I have conquered + everything! I have changed the world. I gave to my soul the form which my + mind desired. In the desert, working alone, exhausted with fatigue, I have + erected a stately structure in which I now live joyously and calmly, like + a king. Destroy it—and to-morrow I shall begin to build a new + structure, and in my bloody sweat I shall erect it! For I must live! + </p> + <p> + Forgive my involuntary pathos in the last lines, which is so unbecoming to + my balanced and calm nature. But it is hard to restrain myself when I + recall the road I have travelled. I hope, however, that in the future I + shall not darken the mood of my reader with any outbursts of agitated + feelings. Only he shouts who is not confident of the truth of his words; + calm firmness and cold simplicity are becoming to the truth. + </p> + <p> + P.S.—I do not remember whether I told you that the criminal who + murdered my father has not been found as yet. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + Deviating from time to time from the calm form of a historical narrative I + must pause on current events. Thus I will permit myself to acquaint my + readers in a few lines with a rather interesting specimen of the human + species which I have found accidentally in our prison. + </p> + <p> + One afternoon a few days ago the Warden came to me for the usual chat, and + among other things told me there was a very unfortunate man in prison at + the time upon whom I could exert a beneficent influence. I expressed my + willingness in the most cordial manner, and for several days in succession + I have had long discussions with the artist K., by permission of the + Warden. The spirit of hostility, even of obstinacy, with which, to my + regret, he met me at his first visit, has now disappeared entirely under + the influence of my discussion. Listening willingly and with interest to + my ever pacifying words he gradually told me his rather unusual story + after a series of persistent questions. + </p> + <p> + He is a man of about twenty-six or twenty-eight, of pleasant appearance, + and rather good manners, which show that he is a well-bred man. A certain + quite natural unrestraint in his speech, a passionate vehemence with which + he talks about himself, occasionally a bitter, even ironical laughter, + followed by painful pensiveness, from which it is difficult to arouse him + even by a touch of the hand—these complete the make-up of my new + acquaintance. Personally to me he is not particularly sympathetic, and + however strange it may seem I am especially annoyed by his disgusting + habit of constantly moving his thin, emaciated fingers and clutching + helplessly the hand of the person with whom he speaks. + </p> + <p> + K. told me very little of his past life. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what is there to tell? I was an artist, that’s all,” he repeated, + with a sorrowful grimace, and refused to talk about the “immoral act” for + which he was condemned to solitary confinement. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to corrupt you, grandpa—live honestly,” he would jest + in a somewhat unbecoming familiar tone, which I tolerated simply because I + wished to please the Warden of the prison, having learned from the + prisoner the real cause of his sufferings, which sometimes assumed an + acute form of violence and threats. During one of these painful minutes, + when K.‘s will power was weak, as a result of insomnia, from which he was + suffering, I seated myself on his bed and treated him in general with + fatherly kindness, and he blurted out everything to me right there and + then. + </p> + <p> + Not desiring to tire the reader with an exact reproduction of his + hysterical outbursts, his laughter and his tears, I shall give only the + facts of his story. + </p> + <p> + K.‘s grief, at first not quite clear to me, consists of the fact that + instead of paper or canvas for his drawings he was given a large slate and + a slate pencil. (By the way, the art with which he mastered the material, + which was new to him, is remarkable. I have seen some of his productions, + and it seems to me that they could satisfy the taste of the most + fastidious expert of graphic arts. Personally I am indifferent to the art + of painting, preferring live and truthful nature.) Thus, owing to the + nature of the material, before commencing a new picture, K. had to destroy + the previous one by wiping it off his slate, and this seemed to lead him + every time to the verge of madness. + </p> + <p> + “You cannot imagine what it means,” he would say, clutching my hands with + his thin, clinging fingers. “While I draw, you know, I forget entirely + that it is useless; I am usually very cheerful and I even whistle some + tune, and once I was even incarcerated for that, as it is forbidden to + whistle in this cursed prison. But that is a trifle—for I had at + least a good sleep there. But when I finish my picture—no, even when + I approach the end of the picture, I am seized with a sensation so + terrible that I feel like tearing the brain from my head and trampling it + with my feet. Do you understand me?” + </p> + <p> + “I understand you, my friend, I understand you perfectly, and I sympathise + with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Really? Well, then, listen, old man. I make the last strokes with so much + pain, with such a sense of sorrow and hopelessness, as though I were + bidding good-bye to the person I loved best of all. But here I have + finished it. Do you understand what it means? It means that it has assumed + life, that it lives, that there is a certain mysterious spirit in it. And + yet it is already doomed to death, it is dead already, dead like a + herring. Can you understand it at all? I do not understand it. And, now, + imagine, I—fool that I am—I nevertheless rejoice, I cry and + rejoice. No, I think, this picture I shall not destroy; it is so good that + I shall not destroy it. Let it live. And it is a fact that at such times I + do not feel like drawing anything new, I have not the slightest desire for + it. And yet it is dreadful. Do you understand me?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly, my friend. No doubt the drawing ceases to please you on the + following day—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what nonsense you are prating, old man! (That is exactly what he + said. ‘Nonsense.’) How can a dying child cease to please you? Of course, + if he lived, he might have become a scoundrel, but when he is dying—No, + old man, that isn’t it. For I am killing it myself. I do not sleep all + night long, I jump up, I look at it, and I love it so dearly that I feel + like stealing it. Stealing it from whom? What do I know? But when morning + sets in I feel that I cannot do without it, that I must take up that + cursed pencil again and create anew. What a mockery! To create! What am I, + a galley slave?” + </p> + <p> + “My friend, you are in a prison.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear old man! When I begin to steal over to the slate with the sponge + in my hand I feel like a murderer. It happens that I go around it for a + day or two. Do you know, one day I bit off a finger of my right hand so as + not to draw any more, but that, of course, was only a trifle, for I + started to learn drawing with my left hand. What is this necessity for + creating! To create by all means, create for suffering—create with + the knowledge that it will all perish! Do you understand it?” + </p> + <p> + “Finish it, my friend, don’t be agitated; then I will expound to you my + views.” + </p> + <p> + Unfortunately, my advice hardly reached the ears of K. In one of those + paroxysms of despair, which frighten the Warden of our prison, K. began to + throw himself about in his bed, tear his clothes, shout and sob, + manifesting in general all the symptoms of extreme mortification. I looked + at the sufferings of the unfortunate youth with deep emotion (compared + with me he was a youth), vainly endeavouring to hold his fingers which + were tearing his clothes. I knew that for this breach of discipline new + incarceration awaited him. + </p> + <p> + “O, impetuous youth,” I thought when he had grown somewhat calmer, and I + was tenderly unfolding his fine hair which had become entangled, “how + easily you fall into despair! A bit of drawing, which may in the end fall + into the hands of a dealer in old rags, or a dealer in old bronze and + cemented porcelain, can cause you so much suffering!” But, of course, I + did not tell this to my youthful friend, striving, as any one should under + similar circumstances, not to irritate him by unnecessary contradictions. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, old man,” said K., apparently calm now. “To tell the truth you + seemed very strange to me at first; your face is so venerable, but your + eyes. Have you murdered anybody, old man?” + </p> + <p> + I deliberately quote the malicious and careless phrase to show how in the + eyes of lightminded and shallow people the stamp of a terrible accusation + is transformed into the stamp of the crime itself. Controlling my feeling + of bitterness, I remarked calmly to the impertinent youth: + </p> + <p> + “You are an artist, my child; to you are known the mysteries of the human + face, that flexible, mobile and deceptive masque, which, like the sea, + reflects the hurrying clouds and the azure ether. Being green, the sea + turns blue under the clear sky and black when the sky is black, when the + heavy clouds are dark. What do you want of my face, over which hangs an + accusation of the most cruel crime?” + </p> + <p> + But, occupied with his own thoughts, the artist apparently paid no + particular attention to my words and continued in a broken voice: + </p> + <p> + “What am I to do? You saw my drawing. I destroyed it, and it is already a + whole week since I touched my pencil. Of course,” he resumed thoughtfully, + rubbing his brow, “it would be better to break the slate; to punish me + they would not give me another one—” + </p> + <p> + “You had better return it to the authorities.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, I may hold out another week, but what then? I know myself. + Even now that devil is pushing my hand: ‘Take the pencil, take the + pencil.’” + </p> + <p> + At that moment, as my eyes wandered distractedly over his cell, I suddenly + noticed that some of the artist’s clothes hanging on the wall were + unnaturally stretched, and one end was skilfully fastened by the back of + the cot. Assuming an air that I was tired and that I wanted to walk about + in the cell, I staggered as from a quiver of senility in my legs, and + pushed the clothes aside. The entire wall was covered with drawings! + </p> + <p> + The artist had already leaped from his cot, and thus we stood facing each + other in silence. I said in a tone of gentle reproach: + </p> + <p> + “How did you allow yourself to do this, my friend? You know the rules of + the prison, according to which no inscriptions or drawing on the walls are + permissible?” + </p> + <p> + “I know no rules,” said K. morosely. + </p> + <p> + “And then,” I continued, sternly this time, “you lied to me, my friend. + You said that you did not take the pencil into your hands for a whole + week.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I didn’t,” said the artist, with a strange smile, and even a + challenge. Even when caught red-handed, he did not betray any signs of + repentance, and looked rather sarcastic than guilty. Having examined more + closely the drawings on the wall, which represented human figures in + various positions, I became interested in the strange reddish-yellow + colour of an unknown pencil. + </p> + <p> + “Is this iodine? You told me that you had a pain and that you secured + iodine.” + </p> + <p> + “No. It is blood.” + </p> + <p> + “Blood?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + I must say frankly that I even liked him at that moment. + </p> + <p> + “How did you get it?” + </p> + <p> + “From my hand.” + </p> + <p> + “From your hand? But how did you manage to hide yourself from the eye that + is watching you?” + </p> + <p> + He smiled cunningly, and even winked. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you know that you can always deceive if only you want to do it?” + </p> + <p> + My sympathies for him were immediately dispersed. I saw before me a man + who was not particularly clever, but in all probability terribly spoiled + already, who did not even admit the thought that there are people who + simply cannot lie. Recalling, however, the promise I had made to the + Warden, I assumed a calm air of dignity and said to him tenderly, as only + a mother could speak to her child: + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be surprised and don’t condemn me for being so strict, my friend. I + am an old man. I have passed half of my life in this prison; I have formed + certain habits, like all old people, and submitting to all rules myself, I + am perhaps overdoing it somewhat in demanding the same of others. You will + of course wipe off these drawings yourself—although I feel sorry for + them, for I admire them sincerely—and I will not say anything to the + administration. We will forget all this, as if nothing had happened. Are + you satisfied?” + </p> + <p> + He answered drowsily: + </p> + <p> + “Very well.” + </p> + <p> + “In our prison, where we have the sad pleasure of being confined, + everything is arranged in accordance with a most purposeful plan and is + most strictly subjected to laws and rules. And the very strict order, on + account of which the existence of your creations is so short lived, and, I + may say, ephemeral, is full of the profoundest wisdom. Allowing you to + perfect yourself in your art, it wisely guards other people against the + perhaps injurious influence of your productions, and in any case it + completes logically, finishes, enforces, and makes clear the meaning of + your solitary confinement. What does solitary confinement in our prison + mean? It means that the prisoner should be alone. But would he be alone if + by his productions he would communicate in some way or other with other + people outside?” + </p> + <p> + By the expression of K.‘s face I noticed with a sense of profound joy that + my words had produced on him the proper impression, bringing him back from + the realm of poetic inventions to the land of stern but beautiful reality. + And, raising my voice, I continued: + </p> + <p> + “As for the rule you have broken, which forbids any inscription or drawing + on the walls of our prison, it is not less logical. Years will pass; in + your place there may be another prisoner like you—and he may see + that which you have drawn. Shall this be tolerated? Just think of it! And + what would become of the walls of our prison if every one who wished it + were to leave upon them his profane marks?” + </p> + <p> + “To the devil with it!” + </p> + <p> + This is exactly how K. expressed himself. He said it loudly, even with an + air of calmness. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean to say by this, my youthful friend?” + </p> + <p> + “I wish to say that you may perish here, my old friend, but I shall leave + this place.” + </p> + <p> + “You can’t escape from our prison,” I retorted, sternly. + </p> + <p> + “Have you tried?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have tried.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at me incredulously and smiled. He smiled! + </p> + <p> + “You are a coward, old man. You are simply a miserable coward.” + </p> + <p> + I—a coward! Oh, if that self-satisfied puppy knew what a tempest of + rage he had aroused in my soul he would have squealed for fright and would + have hidden himself on the bed. I—a coward! The world has crumbled + upon my head, but has not crushed me, and out of its terrible fragments I + have created a new world, according to my own design and plan; all the + evil forces of life—solitude, imprisonment, treachery, and falsehood—all + have taken up arms against me, but I have subjected them all to my will. + And I who have subjected to myself even my dreams—I am a coward? + </p> + <p> + But I shall not tire the attention of my indulgent reader with these + lyrical deviations, which have no bearing on the matter. I continue. + </p> + <p> + After a pause, broken only by K.‘s loud breathing, I said to him sadly: + </p> + <p> + “I—a coward! And you say this to the man who came with the sole aim + of helping you? Of helping you not only in word but also in deed?” + </p> + <p> + “You wish to help me? In what way?” + </p> + <p> + “I will get you paper and pencil.” + </p> + <p> + The artist was silent. And his voice was soft and timid when he asked, + hesitatingly: + </p> + <p> + “And—my drawings—will remain?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; they will remain.” + </p> + <p> + It is hard to describe the vehement delight into which the exalted young + man was thrown; naive and pure-hearted youth knows no bounds either in + grief or in joy. He pressed my hand warmly, shook me, disturbing my old + bones; he called me friend, father, even “dear old phiz” (!) and a + thousand other endearing and somewhat naive names. To my regret our + conversation lasted too long, and, notwithstanding the entreaties of the + young man, who would not part with me, I hurried away to my cell. + </p> + <p> + I did not go to the Warden of the prison, as I felt somewhat agitated. At + that remote time I paced my cell until late in the night, striving to + understand what means of escaping from our prison that rather foolish + young man could have discovered. Was it possible to run away from our + prison? No, I could not admit and I must not admit it. And gradually + conjuring up in my memory everything I knew about our prison, I understood + that K. must have hit upon an old plan, which I had long discarded, and + that he would convince himself of its impracticability even as I convinced + myself. It is impossible to escape from our prison. + </p> + <p> + But, tormented by doubts, I measured my lonely cell for a long time, + thinking of various plans that might relieve K.‘s position and thus divert + him from the idea of making his escape. He must not run away from our + prison under any circumstances. Then I gave myself to peaceful and sound + sleep, with which benevolent nature has rewarded those who have a clear + conscience and a pure soul. + </p> + <p> + By the way, lest I forget, I shall mention the fact that I destroyed my + “Diary of a Prisoner” that night. I had long wished to do it, but the + natural pity and faint-hearted love which we feel for our blunders and our + shortcomings restrained me; besides, there was nothing in my “Diary” that + could have compromised me in any way. And if I have destroyed it now it is + due solely to my desire to throw my past into oblivion and to save my + reader from the tediousness of long complaints and moans, from the horror + of sacrilegious cursings. May it rest in peace! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + Having conveyed to the Warden of our prison the contents of my + conversation with K., I asked him not to punish the young man for spoiling + the walls, which would thus betray me, and I, to save the youth, suggested + the following plan, which was accepted by the Warden after a few purely + formal objections. + </p> + <p> + “It is important for him,” I said, “that his drawings should be preserved, + but it is apparently immaterial to him in whose possession these drawings + are. Let him, then, avail himself of his art, paint your portrait, Mr. + Warden, and after that the portraits of the entire staff of your + officials. To say nothing of the honour you would show him by this + condescension—an honour which he will surely know how to appreciate—the + painting may be useful to you as a very original ornament in your drawing + room or study. Besides, nothing will prevent us from destroying the + drawings if we should not care for them, for the naive and somewhat + selfish young man apparently does not even admit the thought that + anybody’s hand would destroy his productions.” + </p> + <p> + Smiling, the Warden suggested, with a politeness that flattered me + extremely, that the series of portraits should commence with mine. I quote + word for word that which the Warden said to me: + </p> + <p> + “Your face actually calls for reproduction on canvas. We shall hang your + portrait in the office.” + </p> + <p> + The zeal of creativeness—these are the only words I can apply to the + passionate, silent agitation in which K. reproduced my features. Usually + talkative, he now maintained silence for hours, leaving unanswered my + jests and remarks. + </p> + <p> + “Be silent, old man, be silent—you are at your best when you are + silent,” he repeated persistently, calling forth an involuntary smile by + his zeal as a professional. + </p> + <p> + My portrait would remind you, my indulgent reader, of that mysterious + peculiarity of artists, according to which they very often transmit their + own feelings, even their external features, to the subject upon which they + are working. Thus, reproducing with remarkable likeness, the lower part of + my face, where kindness and the expression of authoritativeness and calm + dignity are so harmoniously blended, K. undoubtedly introduced into my + eyes his own suffering and even his horror. Their fixed, immobile gaze; + madness glimmering somewhere in their depth; the painful eloquence of a + deep and infinitely lonely soul—all that was not mine. + </p> + <p> + “Is this I?” I exclaimed, laughing, when from the canvas this terrible + face, full of wild contradictions, stared at me. “My friend, I do not + congratulate you on this portrait. I do not think it is successful.” + </p> + <p> + “It is you, old man, you! It is well drawn. You criticise it wrongly. + Where will you hang it?” + </p> + <p> + He grew talkative again like a magpie, that amiable young man, and all + because his wretched painting was to be preserved for some time. O + impetuous, O happy youth! Here I could not restrain myself from a little + jest for the purpose of teaching a lesson to the self-confident youngster, + so I asked him, with a smile: + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mr. Artist, what do you think? Am I murderer or not?” + </p> + <p> + The artist, closing one eye, examined me and the portrait critically. Then + whistling a polka, he answered recklessly: “The devil knows you, old man!” + </p> + <p> + I smiled. K. understood my jest at last, burst out laughing and then said + with sudden seriousness: + </p> + <p> + “You are speaking of the human face but do you know that there is nothing + worse in the world than the human face? Even when it tells the truth, when + it shouts about the truth, it lies, it lies, old man, for it speaks its + own language. Do you know, old man, a terrible incident happened to me? It + was in one of the picture galleries in Spain. I was examining a portrait + of Christ, when suddenly—Christ, you understand, Christ—great + eyes, dark, terrible suffering, sorrow, grief, love—well, in a word—Christ. + Suddenly I was struck with something; suddenly it seemed to me that it was + the face of the greatest wrongdoer, tormented by the greatest unheard-of + woes of repentance—Old man, why do you look at me so! Old man!” + </p> + <p> + Nearing my eyes to the very face of the artist, I asked him in a cautious + whisper, as the occasion required, dividing each word from the other: + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you think that when the devil tempted Him in the desert He did not + renounce him, as He said later, but consented, sold Himself—that He + did not renounce the devil, but sold Himself. Do you understand? Does not + that passage in the Gospels seem doubtful to you?” + </p> + <p> + Extreme fright was expressed on the face of my young friend. Forcing the + palms of his hands against my chest, as if to push me away, he ejaculated + in a voice so low that I could hardly hear his indistinct words: + </p> + <p> + “What? You say Jesus sold Himself? What for?” + </p> + <p> + I explained softly: + </p> + <p> + “That the people, my child, that the people should believe Him.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + I smiled. K.‘s eyes became round, as if a noose was strangling him. + Suddenly, with that lack of respect for old age which was one of his + characteristics, he threw me down on the bed with a sharp thrust and + jumped away into a corner. When I was slowly getting up from the awkward + position into which the unrestraint of that young man had forced me—I + fell backward, with my head between the pillow and the back of the bed—he + cried to me loudly: + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare get up, you Devil.” + </p> + <p> + But I did not think of rising to my feet. I simply sat down on the bed, + and, thus seated, with an involuntary smile at the passionate outburst of + the youth, I shook my head good naturedly and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, young man, young man! You yourself have drawn me into this + theological conversation.” + </p> + <p> + But he stared at me stubbornly, wide eyed, and kept repeating: + </p> + <p> + “Sit there, sit there! I did not say this. No, no!” + </p> + <p> + “You said it, you, young man—you. Do you remember Spain, the picture + gallery! You said it and now you deny it, mocking my clumsy old age. Oh!” + </p> + <p> + K. suddenly lowered his hands and admitted in a low voice: + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I said it. But you, old man—” + </p> + <p> + I do not remember what he said after that—it is so hard to recall + all the childish chatter of this kind, but unfortunately too light-minded + young man. I remember only that we parted as friends, and he pressed my + hand warmly, expressing to me his sincere gratitude, even calling me, so + far as I can remember, his “saviour.” + </p> + <p> + By the way, I succeeded in convincing the Warden that the portrait of even + such a man as I, after all a prisoner, was out of place in such a solemn + official room as the office of our prison. And now the portrait hangs on + the wall of my cell, pleasantly breaking the cold monotony of the pure + white walls. + </p> + <p> + Leaving for a time our artist, who is now carried away by the portrait of + the Warden, I shall continue my story. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + My spiritual clearness, as I had the pleasure of informing the reader + before, has built up for me a considerable circle of men and women + admirers. With self-evident emotion I shall tell of the pleasant hours of + our hearty conversations, which I modestly call “My talks.” + </p> + <p> + It is difficult for me to explain how I deserved it, but the majority of + those who come to me regard me with a feeling of the profoundest respect, + even adoration, and only a few come for the purpose of arguing with me, + but these arguments are usually of a moderate and proper character. I + usually seat myself in the middle of the room, in a soft and deep + armchair, which is furnished me for this occasion by the Warden; my + hearers surround me closely, and some of them, the more enthusiastic + youths and maidens, seat themselves at my feet. + </p> + <p> + Having before me an audience more than half of which is composed of women, + and entirely disposed in my favour, I always appeal not so much to the + mind as to the sensitive and truthful heart. Fortunately I possess a + certain oratorical power, and the customary effects of the oratorical art, + to which all preachers, beginning in all probability with Mohammed, have + resorted, and which I can handle rather cleverly, allow me to influence my + hearers in the desired direction. It is easily understood that to the dear + ladies in my audience I am not so much the sage, who has solved the + mystery of the iron grate, as a great martyr of a righteous cause, which + they do not quite understand. Shunning abstract discussions, they eagerly + hang on every word of compassion and kindness, and respond with the same. + Allowing them to love me and to believe in my immutable knowledge of life, + I afford them the happy opportunity to depart at least for a time from the + coldness of life, from its painful doubts and questions. + </p> + <p> + I say openly without any false modesty, which I despise even as I despise + hypocrisy, there were lectures at which I myself being in a state of + exaltation, called forth in my audience, especially in my nervous lady + visitors, a mood of intense agitation, which turned into hysterical + laughter and tears. Of course I am not a prophet; I am merely a modest + thinker, but no one would succeed in convincing my lady admirers that + there is no prophetic meaning and significance in my speeches. + </p> + <p> + I remember one such lecture which took place two months ago. The night + before I could not sleep as soundly as I usually slept; perhaps it was + simply because of the full moon, which affects sleep, disturbing and + interrupting it. I vaguely remember the strange sensation which I + experienced when the pale crescent of the moon appeared in my window and + the iron squares cut it with ominous black lines into small silver + squares.... + </p> + <p> + When I started for the lecture I felt exhausted and rather inclined to + silence than to conversation; the vision of the night before disturbed me. + But when I saw those dear faces, those eyes full of hope and ardent + entreaty for friendly advice; when I saw before me that rich field, + already ploughed, waiting only for the good seed to be sown, my heart + began to burn with delight, pity and love. Avoiding the customary + formalities which accompany the meetings of people, declining the hands + outstretched to greet me, I turned to the audience, which was agitated at + the very sight of me, and gave them my blessing with a gesture to which I + know how to lend a peculiar majesty. + </p> + <p> + “Come unto me,” I exclaimed; “come unto me; you who have gone away from + that life. Here, in this quiet abode, under the sacred protection of the + iron grate, at my heart overflowing with love, you will find rest and + comfort. My beloved children, give me your sad soul, exhausted from + suffering, and I shall clothe it with light. I shall carry it to those + blissful lands where the sun of eternal truth and love never sets.” + </p> + <p> + Many had begun to cry already, but, as it was too early for tears, I + interrupted them with a gesture of fatherly impatience, and continued: + </p> + <p> + “You, dear girl, who came from the world which calls itself free—what + gloomy shadows lie on your charming and beautiful face! And you, my daring + youth, why are you so pale? Why do I see, instead of the ecstasy of + victory, the fear of defeat in your lowered eyes? And you, honest mother, + tell me, what wind has made your eyes so red? What furious rain has lashed + your wizened face? What snow has whitened your hair, for it used to be + dark?” + </p> + <p> + But the weeping and the sobs drowned the end of my speech, and besides, I + admit it without feeling ashamed of it, I myself brushed away more than + one treacherous tear from my eyes. Without allowing the agitation to + subside completely, I called in a voice of stern and truthful reproach: + </p> + <p> + “Do not weep because your soul is dark, stricken with misfortunes, blinded + by chaos, clipped of its wings by doubts; give it to me and I shall direct + it toward the light, toward order and reason. I know the truth. I have + conceived the world! I have discovered the great principle of its purpose! + I have solved the sacred formula of the iron grate! I demand of you—swear + to me by the cold iron of its squares that henceforth you will confess to + me without shame or fear all your deeds, your errors and doubts, all the + secret thoughts of your soul and the dreams and desires of your body!” + </p> + <p> + “We swear! We swear! We swear! Save us! Reveal to us the truth! Take our + sins upon yourself! Save us! Save us!” numerous exclamations resounded. + </p> + <p> + I must mention the sad incident which occurred during that same lecture. + At the moment when the excitement reached its height and the hearts had + already opened, ready to unburden themselves, a certain youth, looking + morose and embittered, exclaimed loudly, evidently addressing himself to + me: + </p> + <p> + “Liar! Do not listen to him. He is lying!” + </p> + <p> + The indulgent reader will easily believe that it was only by a great + effort that I succeeded in saving the incautious youth from the fury of + the audience. Offended in that which is most precious to a human being, + his faith in goodness and the divine purpose of life, my women admirers + rushed upon the foolish youth in a mob and would have beaten him cruelly. + Remembering, however, that there was more joy to the pastor in one sinner + who repents than in ten righteous men, I took the young man aside where no + one could hear us, and entered into a brief conversation with him. + </p> + <p> + “Did you call me a liar, my child?” + </p> + <p> + Moved by my kindness, the poor young man became confused and answered + hesitatingly: + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me for my harshness, but it seems to me that you are not telling + the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand you, my friend. You must have been agitated by the intense + ecstasy of the women, and you, as a sensible man, not inclined to + mysticism, suspected me of fraud, of a hideous fraud. No, no, don’t excuse + yourself. I understand you. But I wish you would understand me. Out of the + mire of superstitions, out of the deep gulf of prejudices and unfounded + beliefs, I want to lead their strayed thoughts and place them upon the + solid foundation of strictly logical reasoning. The iron grate, which I + mentioned, is not a mystical sign; it is only a formula, a simple, sober, + honest, mathematical formula. To you, as a sensible man, I will willingly + explain this formula. The grate is the scheme in which are placed all the + laws guiding the universe, which do away with chaos, substituting in its + place strict, iron, inviolable order, forgotten by mankind. As a + brightminded man you will easily understand—” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me. I did not understand you, and if you will permit me I—But + why do you make them swear?” + </p> + <p> + “My friend, the soul of man, believing itself free and constantly + suffering from this spurious freedom, is demanding fetters for itself—to + some these fetters are an oath, to others a vow, to still others simply a + word of honour. You will give me your word of honour, will you not?” + </p> + <p> + “I will.” + </p> + <p> + “And by this you are simply striving to enter the harmony of the world, + where everything is subjected to a law. Is not the falling of a stone the + fulfilment of a vow, of the vow called the law of gravitation?” + </p> + <p> + I shall not go into detail about this conversation and the others that + followed. The obstinate and unrestrained youth, who had insulted me by + calling me liar, became one of my warmest adherents. + </p> + <p> + I must return to the others. During the time that I talked with the young + man, the desire for penitence among my charming proselytes reached its + height. Not patient enough to wait for me, they commenced in a state of + intense ecstasy to confess to one another, giving to the room an + appearance of a garden where dozens of birds of paradise were twittering + at the same time. When I returned, each of them separately unfolded her + agitated soul to me.... + </p> + <p> + I saw how, from day to day, from hour to hour, terrible chaos was + struggling in their souls with an eager inclination for harmony and order; + how in the bloody struggle between eternal falsehood and immortal truth, + falsehood, through inconceivable ways, passed into truth, and truth became + falsehood. I found in the human soul all the forces in the world, and none + of them was dormant, and in the mad whirlpool each soul became like a + fountain, whose source is the abyss of the sea and whose summit the sky. + And every human being, as I have learned and seen, is like the rich and + powerful master who gave a masquerade ball at his castle and illuminated + it with many lights; and strange masks came from everywhere and the master + greeted them, bowing courteously, and vainly asking them who they were; + and new, ever stranger, ever more terrible, masks were arriving, and the + master bowed to them ever more courteously, staggering from fatigue and + fear. And they were laughing and whispering strange words about the + eternal chaos, whence they came, obeying the call of the master. And + lights were burning in the castle—and in the distance lighted + windows were visible, reminding him of the festival, and the exhausted + master kept bowing ever lower, ever more courteously, ever more + cheerfully. My indulgent reader will easily understand that in addition to + a certain sense of fear which I experienced, the greatest delight and even + joyous emotion soon came upon me—for I saw that eternal chaos was + defeated and the triumphant hymn of bright harmony was rising to the + skies.... + </p> + <p> + Not without a sense of pride I shall mention the modest offerings by which + my kind admirers were striving to express to me their feelings of love and + adoration. I am not afraid of calling out a smile on the lips of my + readers, for I feel how comical it is—I will say that among the + offerings brought me at first were fruit, cakes, all kinds of sweet-meats. + But I am afraid, however, that no one will believe me when I say that I + have actually declined these offerings, preferring the observance of the + prison regime in all its rigidness. + </p> + <p> + At the last lecture, a kind and honourable lady brought me a basketful of + live flowers. To my regret, I was compelled to decline this present, too. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me, madam, but flowers do not enter into the system of our + prison. I appreciate very much your magnanimous attention—I kiss + your hands, madam—” I said, “but I am compelled to decline the + flowers. Travelling along the thorny road to self-renunciation, I must not + caress my eyes with the ephemeral and illusionary beauty of these charming + lilies and roses. All flowers perish in our prison, madam.” + </p> + <p> + Yesterday another lady brought me a very valuable crucifix of ivory, a + family heirloom, she said. Not afflicted with the sin of hypocrisy, I told + my generous lady frankly that I do not believe in miracles. + </p> + <p> + “But at the same time,” I said, “I regard with the profoundest respect Him + who is justly called the Saviour of the world, and I honour greatly His + services to mankind. + </p> + <p> + “If I should tell you, madam, that the Gospel has long been my favourite + book, that there is not a day in my life that I do not open this great + Book, drawing from it strength and courage to be able to continue my hard + course—you will understand that your liberal gift could not have + fallen into better hands. Henceforth, thanks to you, the sad solitude of + my cell will vanish; I am not alone. I bless you, my daughter.” + </p> + <p> + I cannot forego mentioning the strange thoughts brought out by the + crucifix as it hung there beside my portrait. It was twilight; outside the + wall the bell was tolling heavily in the invisible church, calling the + believers together; in the distance, over the deserted field, overgrown + with high grass, an unknown wanderer was plodding along, passing into the + unknown distance, like a little black dot. It was as quiet in our prison + as in a sepulchre. I looked long and attentively at the features of Jesus, + which were so calm, so joyous compared with him who looked silently and + dully from the wall beside Him. And with my habit, formed during the long + years of solitude, of addressing inanimate things aloud, I said to the + motionless crucifix: + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, Jesus. I am glad to welcome You in our prison. There are + three of us here: You, I, and the one who is looking from the wall, and I + hope that we three will manage to live in peace and in harmony. He is + looking silently, and You are silent, and Your eyes are closed—I + shall speak for the three of us, a sure sign that our peace will never be + broken.” + </p> + <p> + They were silent, and, continuing, I addressed my speech to the portrait: + </p> + <p> + “Where are you looking so intently and so strangely, my unknown friend and + roommate? In your eyes I see mystery and reproach. Is it possible that you + dare reproach Him? Answer!” + </p> + <p> + And, pretending that the portrait answered, I continued in a different + voice with an expression of extreme sternness and boundless grief: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do reproach Him. Jesus, Jesus! Why is Your face so pure, so + blissful? You have passed only over the brink of human sufferings, as over + the brink of an abyss, and only the foam of the bloody and miry waves have + touched You. Do You command me, a human being, to sink into the dark + depth? Great is Your Golgotha, Jesus, but too reverent and joyous, and one + small but interesting stroke is missing—the horror of aimlessness!” + </p> + <p> + Here I interrupted the speech of the Portrait, with an expression of + anger. + </p> + <p> + “How dare you,” I exclaimed; “how dare you speak of aimlessness in our + prison?” + </p> + <p> + They were silent; and suddenly Jesus, without opening His eyes—He + even seemed to close them more tightly—answered: + </p> + <p> + “Who knows the mysteries of the heart of Jesus?” + </p> + <p> + I burst into laughter, and my esteemed reader will easily understand this + laughter. It turned out that I, a cool and sober mathematician, possessed + a poetic talent and could compose very interesting comedies. + </p> + <p> + I do not know how all this would have ended, for I had already prepared a + thundering answer for my roommate when the appearance of the keeper, who + brought me food, suddenly interrupted me. But apparently my face bore + traces of excitement, for the man asked me with stern sympathy: + </p> + <p> + “Were you praying?” + </p> + <p> + I do not remember what I answered. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <p> + Last Sunday a great misfortune occurred in our prison: The artist K., whom + the reader knows already, ended his life in suicide by flinging himself + from the table with his head against the stone floor. The fall and the + force of the blow had been so skilfully calculated by the unfortunate + young man that his skull was split in two. The grief of the Warden was + indescribable. Having called me to the office, the Warden, without shaking + hands with me, reproached me in angry and harsh terms for having deceived + him, and he regained his calm, only after my hearty apologies and promises + that such accidents would not happen again. I promised to prepare a + project for watching the criminals which would render suicide impossible. + The esteemed wife of the Warden, whose portrait remained unfinished, was + also grieved by the death of the artist. + </p> + <p> + Of course, I had not expected this outcome, either, although a few days + before committing suicide, K. had provoked in me a feeling of uneasiness. + Upon entering his cell one morning, and greeting him, I noticed with + amazement that he was sitting before his slate once more drawing human + figures. + </p> + <p> + “What does this mean, my friend?” I inquired cautiously. “And how about + the portrait of the second assistant?” + </p> + <p> + “The devil take it!” + </p> + <p> + “But you—” + </p> + <p> + “The devil take it!” + </p> + <p> + After a pause I remarked distractedly: + </p> + <p> + “Your portrait of the Warden is meeting with great success. Although some + of the people who have seen it say that the right moustache is somewhat + shorter than the left—” + </p> + <p> + “Shorter?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, shorter. But in general they find that you caught the likeness very + successfully.” + </p> + <p> + K. had put aside his slate pencil and, perfectly calm, said: + </p> + <p> + “Tell your Warden that I am not going to paint that prison riffraff any + more.” + </p> + <p> + After these words there was nothing left for me to do but leave him, which + I decided to do. But the artist, who could not get along without giving + vent to his effusions, seized me by the hand and said with his usual + enthusiasm: + </p> + <p> + “Just think of it, old man, what a horror! Every day a new repulsive face + appears before me. They sit and stare at me with their froglike eyes. What + am I to do? At first I laughed—I even liked it—but when the + froglike eyes stared at me every day I was seized with horror. I was + afraid they might start to quack—qua-qua!” + </p> + <p> + Indeed there was a certain fear, even madness, in the eyes of the artist—the + madness which shortly led him to his untimely grave. + </p> + <p> + “Old man, it is necessary to have something beautiful. Do you understand + me?” + </p> + <p> + “And the wife of the Warden? Is she not—” + </p> + <p> + I shall pass in silence the unbecoming expressions with which he spoke of + the lady in his excitement. I must, however, admit that to a certain + extent the artist was right in his complaints. I had been present several + times at the sittings, and noticed that all who had posed for the artist + behaved rather unnaturally. Sincere and naive, conscious of the importance + of their position, convinced that the features of their faces perpetuated + upon the canvas would go down to posterity, they exaggerated somewhat the + qualities which are so characteristic of their high and responsible office + in our prison. A certain bombast of pose, an exaggerated expression of + stern authority, an obvious consciousness of their own importance, and a + noticeable contempt for those on whom their eyes were directed—all + this disfigured their kind and affable faces. But I cannot understand what + horrible features the artist found where there should have been a smile. I + was even indignant at the superficial attitude with which an artist, who + considered himself talented and sensible, passed the people without + noticing that a divine spark was glimmering in each one of them. In the + quest after some fantastic beauty he light-mindedly passed by the true + beauties with which the human soul is filled. I cannot help feeling sorry + for those unfortunate people who, like K., because of a peculiar + construction of their brains, always turn their eyes toward the dark side, + whereas there is so much joy and light in our prison! + </p> + <p> + When I said this to K. I heard, to my regret, the same stereotyped and + indecent answer: + </p> + <p> + “The devil take it!” + </p> + <p> + All I could do was to shrug my shoulders. Suddenly changing his tone and + bearing, the artist turned to me seriously with a question which, in my + opinion, was also indecent: + </p> + <p> + “Why do you lie, old man?” + </p> + <p> + I was astonished, of course. + </p> + <p> + “I lie?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, let it be the truth, if you like, but why? I am looking and + thinking. Why did you say that? Why?” + </p> + <p> + My indulgent reader, who knows well what the truth has cost me, will + readily understand my profound indignation. I deliberately mention this + audacious and other calumnious phrases to show in what an atmosphere of + malice, distrust, and disrespect I have to plod along the hard road of + suffering. He insisted rudely: + </p> + <p> + “I have had enough of your smiles. Tell me plainly, why do you speak so?” + </p> + <p> + Then, I admit, I flared up: + </p> + <p> + “You want to know why I speak the truth? Because I hate falsehood and I + commit it to eternal anathema! Because fate has made me a victim of + injustice, and as a victim, like Him who took upon Himself the great sin + of the world and its great sufferings, I wish to point out the way to + mankind. Wretched egoist, you know only yourself and your miserable art, + while I love mankind.” + </p> + <p> + My anger grew. I felt the veins on my forehead swelling. + </p> + <p> + “Fool, miserable dauber, unfortunate schoolboy, in love with colours! + Human beings pass before you, and you see only their froglike eyes. How + did your tongue turn to say such a thing? Oh, if you only looked even once + into the human soul! What treasures of tenderness, love, humble faith, + holy humility, you would have discovered there! And to you, bold man, it + would have seemed as if you entered a temple—a bright, illuminated + temple. But it is said of people like you—‘do not cast your pearls + before swine.’” + </p> + <p> + The artist was silent, crushed by my angry and unrestrained speech. + Finally he sighed and said: + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me, old man; I am talking nonsense, of course, but I am so + unfortunate and so lonely. Of course, my dear old man, it is all true + about the divine spark and about beauty, but a polished boot is also + beautiful. I cannot, I cannot! Just think of it! How can a man have such + moustaches as he has? And yet he is complaining that the left moustache is + shorter!” + </p> + <p> + He laughed like a child, and, heaving a sigh, added: + </p> + <p> + “I’ll make another attempt. I will paint the lady. There is really + something good in her. Although she is after all—a cow.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed again, and, fearing to brush away with his sleeve the drawing + on the slate, he cautiously placed it in the corner. + </p> + <p> + Here I did that which my duty compelled me to do. Seizing the slate, I + smashed it to pieces with a powerful blow. I thought that the artist would + rush upon me furiously, but he did not. To his weak mind my act seemed so + blasphemous, so supernaturally horrible, that his deathlike lips could not + utter a word. + </p> + <p> + “What have you done?” he asked at last in a low voice. “You have broken + it?” + </p> + <p> + And raising my hand I replied solemnly: + </p> + <p> + “Foolish youth, I have done that which I would have done to my heart if it + wanted to jest and mock me! Unfortunate youth, can you not see that your + art has long been mocking you, that from that slate of yours the devil + himself was making hideous faces at you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. The devil!” + </p> + <p> + “Being far from your wonderful art, I did not understand you at first, nor + your longing, your horror of aimlessness. But when I entered your cell + to-day and noticed you at your ruinous occupation, I said to myself: It is + better that he should not create at all than to create in this manner. + Listen to me.” + </p> + <p> + I then revealed for the first time to this youth the sacred formula of the + iron grate, which, dividing the infinite into squares, thereby subjects it + to itself. K. listened to my words with emotion, looking with the horror + of an ignorant man at the figures which must have seemed to him to be + cabalistic, but which were nothing else than the ordinary figures used in + mathematics. + </p> + <p> + “I am your slave, old man,” he said at last, kissing my hand with his cold + lips. + </p> + <p> + “No, you will be my favourite pupil, my son. I bless you.” + </p> + <p> + And it seemed to me that the artist was saved. True, he regarded me with + great joy, which could easily be explained by the extreme respect with + which I inspired him, and he painted the portrait of the Warden’s wife + with such zeal and enthusiasm that the esteemed lady was sincerely moved. + And, strange to say, the artist succeeded in making so strangely beautiful + the features of this woman, who was stout and no longer young, that the + Warden, long accustomed to the face of his wife, was greatly delighted by + its new expression. Thus everything went on smoothly, when suddenly this + catastrophe occurred, the entire horror of which I alone knew. + </p> + <p> + Not desiring to call forth any unnecessary disputes, I concealed from the + Warden the fact that on the eve of his death the artist had thrown a + letter into my cell, which I noticed only in the morning. I did not + preserve the note, nor do I remember all that the unfortunate youth told + me in his farewell message; I think it was a letter of thanks for my + effort to save him. He wrote that he regretted sincerely that his failing + strength did not permit him to avail himself of my instructions. But one + phrase impressed itself deeply in my memory, and you will understand the + reason for it when I repeat it in all its terrifying simplicity. + </p> + <p> + “I am going away from your prison,” thus read the phrase. + </p> + <p> + And he really did go away. Here are the walls, here is the little window + in the door, here is our prison, but he is not there; he has gone away. + Consequently I, too, could go away. Instead of having wasted dozens of + years on a titanic struggle, instead of being tormented by the throes of + despair, instead of growing enfeebled by horror in the face of unsolved + mysteries, of striving to subject the world to my mind and my will, I + could have climbed the table and—one instant of pain—I would + be free; I would be triumphant over the lock and the walls, over truth and + falsehood, over joys and sufferings. I will not say that I had not thought + of suicide before as a means of escaping from our prison, but now for the + first time it appeared before me in all its attractiveness. In a fit of + base faint-heartedness, which I shall not conceal from my reader, even as + I do not conceal from him my good qualities; perhaps even in a fit of + temporary insanity I momentarily forgot all I knew about our prison and + its great purpose. I forgot—I am ashamed to say—even the great + formula of the iron grate, which I conceived and mastered with such + difficulty, and I prepared a noose made of my towel for the purpose of + strangling myself. But at the last moment, when all was ready, and it was + but necessary to push away the taburet, I asked myself, with my habit of + reasoning which did not forsake me even at that time: But where am I + going? The answer was: I am going to death. But what is death? And the + answer was: I do not know. + </p> + <p> + These brief reflections were enough for me to come to myself, and with a + bitter laugh at my cowardice I removed the fatal noose from my neck. Just + as I had been ready to sob for grief a minute before, so now I laughed—I + laughed like a madman, realising that another trap, placed before me by + derisive fate, had so brilliantly been evaded by me. Oh, how many traps + there are in the life of man! Like a cunning fisherman, fate catches him + now with the alluring bait of some truth, now with the hairy little worm + of dark falsehood, now with the phantom of life, now with the phantom of + death. + </p> + <p> + My dear young man, my fascinating fool, my charming silly fellow—who + told you that our prison ends here, that from one prison you did not fall + into another prison, from which it will hardly be possible for you to run + away? You were too hasty, my friend, you forgot to ask me something else—I + would have told it to you. I would have told you that omnipotent law + reigns over that which you call non-existence and death just as it reigns + over that which you call life and existence. Only the fools, dying, + believe that they have made an end of themselves—they have ended but + one form of themselves, in order to assume another form immediately. + </p> + <p> + Thus I reflected, laughing at the foolish suicide, the ridiculous + destroyer of the fetters of eternity. And this is what I said addressing + myself to my two silent roommates hanging motionlessly on the white wall + of my cell: + </p> + <p> + “I believe and confess that our prison is immortal. What do you say to + this, my friends?” + </p> + <p> + But they were silent. And having burst into good-natured laughter—What + quiet roommates I have! I undressed slowly and gave myself to peaceful + sleep. In my dream I saw another majestic prison, and wonderful jailers + with white wings on their backs, and the Chief Warden of the prison + himself. I do not remember whether there were any little windows in the + doors or not, but I think there were. I recall that something like an + angel’s eye was fixed upon me with tender attention and love. My indulgent + reader will, of course, guess that I am jesting. I did not dream at all. I + am not in the habit of dreaming. + </p> + <p> + Without hoping that the Warden, occupied with pressing official affairs, + would understand me thoroughly and appreciate my idea concerning the + impossibility of escaping from our prison, I confined myself, in my + report, to an indication of several ways in which suicides could be + averted. With magnanimous shortsightedness peculiar to busy and trusting + people, the Warden failed to notice the weak points of my project and + clasped my hand warmly, expressing to me his gratitude in the name of our + entire prison. + </p> + <p> + On that day I had the honour, for the first time, to drink a glass of tea + at the home of the Warden, in the presence of his kind wife and charming + children, who called me “Grandpa.” Tears of emotion which gathered in my + eyes could but faintly express the feelings that came over me. + </p> + <p> + At the request of the Warden’s wife, who took a deep interest in me, I + related in detail the story of the tragic murders which led me so + unexpectedly and so terribly to the prison. I could not find expressions + strong enough—there are no expressions strong enough in the human + language—to brand adequately the unknown criminal, who not only + murdered three helpless people, but who mocked them brutally in a fit of + blind and savage rage. + </p> + <p> + As the investigation and the autopsy showed, the murderer dealt the last + blows after the people had been dead. It is very possible, however—even + murderers should be given their due—that the man, intoxicated by the + sight of blood, ceased to be a human being and became a beast, the son of + chaos, the child of dark and terrible desires. It was characteristic that + the murderer, after having committed the crime, drank wine and ate + biscuits—some of these were left on the table together with the + marks of his blood-stained fingers. But there was something so horrible + that my mind could neither understand nor explain: the murderer, after + lighting a cigar himself, apparently moved by a feeling of strange + kindness, put a lighted cigar between the closed teeth of my father. + </p> + <p> + I had not recalled these details in many years. They had almost been + erased by the hand of time, and now while relating them to my shocked + listeners, who would not believe that such horrors were possible, I felt + my face turning pale and my hair quivering on my head. In an outburst of + grief and anger I rose from my armchair, and straightening myself to my + full height, I exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Justice on earth is often powerless, but I implore heavenly justice, I + implore the justice of life which never forgives, I implore all the higher + laws under whose authority man lives. May the guilty one not escape his + deserved punishment! His punishment!” + </p> + <p> + Moved by my sobs, my listeners there and then expressed their zeal and + readiness to work for my liberation, and thus at least partly redeem the + injustice heaped upon me. I apologised and returned to my cell. + </p> + <p> + Evidently my old organism cannot bear such agitation any longer; besides, + it is hard even for a strong man to picture in his imagination certain + images without risking the loss of his reason. Only in this way can I + explain the strange hallucination which appeared before my fatigued eyes + in the solitude of my cell. As though benumbed I gazed aimlessly at the + tightly closed door, when suddenly it seemed to me that some one was + standing behind me. I had felt this deceptive sensation before, so I did + not turn around for some time. But when I turned around at last I saw—in + the distance, between the crucifix and my portrait, about a quarter of a + yard above the floor—the body of my father, as though hanging in the + air. It is hard for me to give the details, for twilight had long set in, + but I can say with certainty that it was the image of a corpse, and not of + a living being, although a cigar was smoking in its mouth. To be more + exact, there was no smoke from the cigar, but a faintly reddish light was + seen. It is characteristic that I did not sense the odour of tobacco + either at that time or later—I had long given up smoking. Here—I + must confess my weakness, but the illusion was striking—I commenced + to speak to the hallucination. Advancing as closely as possible—the + body did not retreat as I approached, but remained perfectly motionless—I + said to the ghost: + </p> + <p> + “I thank you, father. You know how your son is suffering, and you have + come—you have come to testify to my innocence. I thank you, father. + Give me your hand, and with a firm filial hand-clasp I will respond to + your unexpected visit. Don’t you want to? Let me have your hand. Give me + your hand, or I will call you a liar!” + </p> + <p> + I stretched out my hand, but of course the hallucination did not deem it + worth while to respond, and I was forever deprived of the opportunity of + feeling the touch of a ghost. The cry which I uttered and which so upset + my friend, the jailer, creating some confusion in the prison, was called + forth by the sudden disappearance of the phantom—it was so sudden + that the space in the place where the corpse had been seemed to me more + terrible than the corpse itself. + </p> + <p> + Such is the power of human imagination when, excited, it creates phantoms + and visions, peopling the bottomless and ever silent emptiness with them. + It is sad to admit that there are people, however, who believe in ghosts + and build upon this belief nonsensical theories about certain relations + between the world of the living and the enigmatic land inhabited by the + dead. I understand that the human ear and eye can be deceived—but + how can the great and lucid human mind fall into such coarse and + ridiculous deception? + </p> + <p> + I asked the jailer: + </p> + <p> + “I feel a strange sensation, as though there were the odour of cigar smoke + in my cell. Don’t you smell it?” + </p> + <p> + The jailer sniffed the air conscientiously and replied: + </p> + <p> + “No I don’t. You only imagined it.” + </p> + <p> + If you need any confirmation, here is a splendid proof that all I had + seen, if it existed at all, existed only in the net of my eye. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <p> + Something altogether unexpected has happened; the efforts of my friends, + the Warden and his wife, were crowned with success, and for two months I + have been free, out of prison. + </p> + <p> + I am happy to inform you that immediately upon my leaving the prison I + occupied a very honourable position, to which I could hardly have aspired, + conscious of my humble qualities. The entire press met me with unanimous + enthusiasm. Numerous journalists, photographers, even caricaturists (the + people of our time are so fond of laughter and clever witticisms), in + hundreds of articles and drawings reproduced the story of my remarkable + life. With striking unanimity the newspapers assigned to me the name of + “Master,” a highly flattering name, which I accepted, after some + hesitation, with deep gratitude. I do not know whether it is worth + mentioning the few hostile notices called forth by irritation and envy—a + vice which so frequently stains the human soul. In one of these notices, + which appeared, by the way, in a very filthy little newspaper, a certain + scamp, guided by wretched gossip and baseless rumours about my chats in + our prison, called me a “zealot and liar.” Enraged by the insolence of the + miserable scribbler, my friends wanted to prosecute him, but I persuaded + them not to do it. Vice is its own proper punishment. + </p> + <p> + The fortune which my kind mother had left me and which had grown + considerably during the time I was in prison has enabled me to settle down + to a life of luxury in one of the most aristocratic hotels. I have a large + retinue of servants at my command and an automobile—a splendid + invention with which I now became acquainted for the first time—and + I have skilfully arranged my financial affairs. Live flowers brought to me + in abundance by my charming lady visitors give to my nook the appearance + of a flower garden or even a bit of a tropical forest. My servant, a very + decent young man, is in a state of despair. He says that he had never seen + such a variety of flowers and had never smelled such a variety of odours + at the same time. If not for my advanced age and the strict and serious + propriety with which I treat my visitors, I do not know how far they would + have gone in the expression of their feelings. How many perfumed notes! + How many languid sighs and humbly imploring eyes! There was even a + fascinating stranger with a black veil—three times she appeared + mysteriously, and when she learned that I had visitors she disappeared + just as mysteriously. + </p> + <p> + I will add that at the present time I have had the honour of being elected + an honourary member of numerous humanitarian organisations such as “The + League of Peace,” “The League for Combating Juvenile Criminality,” “The + Society of the Friends of Man,” and others. Besides, at the request of the + editor of one of the most widely read newspapers, I am to begin next month + a series of public lectures, for which purpose I am going on a tour + together with my kind impresario. + </p> + <p> + I have already prepared my material for the first three lectures and, in + the hope that my reader may be interested, I shall give the synopsis of + these lectures. + </p> + <p> + FIRST LECTURE + </p> + <p> + Chaos or order? The eternal struggle between chaos and order. The eternal + revolt and the defeat of chaos, the rebel. The triumph of law and order. + </p> + <p> + SECOND LECTURE + </p> + <p> + What is the soul of man? The eternal conflict in the soul of man between + chaos, whence it came, and harmony, whither it strives irresistibly. + Falsehood, as the offspring of chaos, and Truth, as the child of harmony. + The triumph of truth and the downfall of falsehood. + </p> + <p> + THIRD LECTURE THE EXPLANATION OF THE SACRED FORMULA OF THE IRON GRATE + </p> + <p> + As my indulgent reader will see, justice is after all not an empty sound, + and I am getting a great reward for my sufferings. But not daring to + reproach fate which was so merciful to me, I nevertheless do not feel that + sense of contentment which, it would seem, I ought to feel. True, at first + I was positively happy, but soon my habit for strictly logical reasoning, + the clearness and honesty of my views, gained by contemplating the world + through a mathematically correct grate, have led me to a series of + disillusions. + </p> + <p> + I am afraid to say it now with full certainty, but it seems to me that all + their life of this so-called freedom is a continuous self-deception and + falsehood. The life of each of these people, whom I have seen during these + days, is moving in a strictly defined circle, which is just as solid as + the corridors of our prison, just as closed as the dial of the watches + which they, in the innocence of their mind, lift every minute to their + eyes, not understanding the fatal meaning of the eternally moving hand, + which is eternally returning to its place, and each of them feels this, + even as the circus horse probably feels it, but in a state of strange + blindness each one assures us that he is perfectly free and moving + forward. Like the stupid bird which is beating itself to exhaustion + against the transparent glass obstacle, without understanding what it is + that obstructs its way, these people are helplessly beating against the + walls of their glass prison. + </p> + <p> + I was greatly mistaken, it seems, also in the significance of the + greetings which fell to my lot when I left the prison. Of course I was + convinced that in me they greeted the representative of our prison, a + leader hardened by experience, a master, who came to them only for the + purpose of revealing to them the great mystery of purpose. And when they + congratulated me upon the freedom granted to me I responded with thanks, + not suspecting what an idiotic meaning they placed on the word. May I be + forgiven this coarse expression, but I am powerless now to restrain my + aversion for their stupid life, for their thoughts, for their feelings. + </p> + <p> + Foolish hypocrites, fearing to tell the truth even when it adorns them! My + hardened truthfulness was cruelly taxed in the midst of these false and + trivial people. Not a single person believed that I was never so happy as + in prison. Why, then, are they so surprised at me, and why do they print + my portraits? Are there so few idiots that are unhappy in prison? And the + most remarkable thing, which only my indulgent reader will be able to + appreciate, is this: Often distrusting me completely, they nevertheless + sincerely go into raptures over me, bowing before me, clasping my hands + and mumbling at every step, “Master! Master!” + </p> + <p> + If they only profited by their constant lying—but, no; they are + perfectly disinterested, and they lie as though by some one’s higher + order; they lie in the fanatical conviction that falsehood is in no way + different from the truth. Wretched actors, even incapable of a decent + makeup, they writhe from morning till night on the boards of the stage, + and, dying the most real death, suffering the most real sufferings, they + bring into their deathly convulsions the cheap art of the harlequin. Even + their crooks are not real; they only play the roles of crooks, while + remaining honest people; and the role of honest people is played by + rogues, and played poorly, and the public sees it, but in the name of the + same fatal falsehood it gives them wreaths and bouquets. And if there is + really a talented actor who can wipe away the boundary between truth and + deception, so that even they begin to believe, they go into raptures, call + him great, start a subscription for a monument, but do not give any money. + Desperate cowards, they fear themselves most of all, and admiring + delightedly the reflection of their spuriously made-up faces in the + mirror, they howl with fear and rage when some one incautiously holds up + the mirror to their soul. + </p> + <p> + My indulgent reader should accept all this relatively, not forgetting that + certain grumblings are natural in old age. Of course, I have met quite a + number of most worthy people, absolutely truthful, sincere, and + courageous; I am proud to admit that I found among them also a proper + estimate of my personality. With the support of these friends of mine I + hope to complete successfully my struggle for truth and justice. I am + sufficiently strong for my sixty years, and, it seems, there is no power + that could break my iron will. + </p> + <p> + At times I am seized with fatigue owing to their absurd mode of life. I + have not the proper rest even at night. + </p> + <p> + The consciousness that while going to bed I may absent-mindedly have + forgotten to lock my bedroom door compels me to jump from my bed dozens of + times and to feel the lock with a quiver of horror. + </p> + <p> + Not long ago it happened that I locked my door and hid the key under my + pillow, perfectly confident that my room was locked, when suddenly I heard + a knock, then the door opened, and my servant entered with a smile on his + face. You, dear reader, will easily understand the horror I experienced at + this unexpected visit—it seemed to me that some one had entered my + soul. And though I have absolutely nothing to conceal, this breaking into + my room seems to me indecent, to say the least. + </p> + <p> + I caught a cold a few days ago—there is a terrible draught in their + windows—and I asked my servant to watch me at night. In the morning + I asked him, in jest: + </p> + <p> + “Well, did I talk much in my sleep?” + </p> + <p> + “No, you didn’t talk at all.” + </p> + <p> + “I had a terrible dream, and I remember I even cried.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you smiled all the time, and I thought—what fine dreams our + Master must see!” + </p> + <p> + The dear youth must have been sincerely devoted to me, and I am deeply + moved by such devotion during these painful days. + </p> + <p> + To-morrow I shall sit down to prepare my lectures. It is high time! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <p> + My God! What has happened to me? I do not know how I shall tell my reader + about it. I was on the brink of the abyss, I almost perished. What cruel + temptations fate is sending me! Fools, we smile, without suspecting + anything, when some murderous hand is already lifted to attack us; we + smile, and the very next instant we open our eyes wide with horror. I—I + cried. I cried. Another moment and deceived, I would have hurled myself + down, thinking that I was flying toward the sky. + </p> + <p> + It turned out that “the charming stranger” who wore a dark veil, and who + came to me so mysteriously three times, was no one else than Mme. N., my + former fiancee, my love, my dream and my suffering. + </p> + <p> + But order! order! May my indulgent reader forgive the involuntary + incoherence of the preceding lines, but I am sixty years old, and my + strength is beginning to fail me, and I am alone. My unknown reader, be my + friend at this moment, for I am not of iron, and my strength is beginning + to fail me. Listen, my friend; I shall endeavour to tell you exactly and + in detail, as objectively as my cold and clear mind will be able to do it, + all that has happened. You must understand that which my tongue may omit. + </p> + <p> + I was sitting, engaged upon the preparation of my lecture, seriously + carried away by the absorbing work, when my servant announced that the + strange lady in the black veil was there again, and that she wished to see + me. I confess I was irritated, that I was ready to decline to see her, but + my curiosity, coupled with my desire not to offend her, led me to receive + the unexpected guest. Assuming the expression of majestic nobleness with + which I usually greet my visitors, and softening that expression somewhat + by a smile in view of the romantic character of the affair, I ordered my + servant to open the door. + </p> + <p> + “Please be seated, my dear guest,” I said politely to the stranger, who + stood as dazed before me, still keeping the veil on her face. + </p> + <p> + She sat down. + </p> + <p> + “Although I respect all secrecy,” I continued jestingly, “I would + nevertheless ask you to remove this gloomy cover which disfigures you. + Does the human face need a mask?” + </p> + <p> + The strange visitor declined, in a state of agitation. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, I’ll take it off, but not now—later. First I want to see + you well.” + </p> + <p> + The pleasant voice of the stranger did not call forth any recollections in + me. Deeply interested and even flattered, I submitted to my strange + visitor all the treasures of my mind, experience and talent. With + enthusiasm I related to her the edifying story of my life, constantly + illuminating every detail with a ray of the Great Purpose. (In this I + availed myself partly of the material on which I had just been working, + preparing my lectures.) The passionate attention with which the strange + lady listened to my words, the frequent, deep sighs, the nervous quiver of + her thin fingers in her black gloves, her agitated exclamations—inspired + me. + </p> + <p> + Carried away by my own narrative, I confess, I did not pay proper + attention to the queer behaviour of my strange visitor. Having lost all + restraint, she now clasped my hands, now pushed them away, she cried and + availing herself of each pause in my speech, she implored: + </p> + <p> + “Don’t, don’t, don’t! Stop speaking! I can’t listen to it!” + </p> + <p> + And at the moment when I least expected it she tore the veil from her + face, and before my eyes—before my eyes appeared her face, the face + of my love, of my dream, of my boundless and bitter sorrow. Perhaps + because I lived all my life dreaming of her alone, with her alone I was + young, with her I had developed and grown old, with her I was advancing to + the grave—her face seemed to me neither old nor faded—it was + exactly as I had pictured it in my dreams—it seemed endlessly dear + to me. + </p> + <p> + What has happened to me? For the first time in tens of years I forgot that + I had a face—for the first time in tens of years I looked + helplessly, like a youngster, like a criminal caught red-handed, waiting + for some deadly blow. + </p> + <p> + “You see! You see! It is I. It is I! My God, why are you silent? Don’t you + recognise me?” + </p> + <p> + Did I recognise her? It were better not to have known that face at all! It + were better for me to have grown blind rather than to see her again! + </p> + <p> + “Why are you silent? How terrible you are! You have forgotten me!” + </p> + <p> + “Madam—” + </p> + <p> + Of course, I should have continued in this manner; I saw how she + staggered. I saw how with trembling fingers, almost falling, she was + looking for her veil; I saw that another word of courageous truth, and the + terrible vision would vanish never to appear again. But some stranger + within me—not I—not I—uttered the following absurd, + ridiculous phrase, in which, despite its chilliness, rang so much jealousy + and hopeless sorrow: + </p> + <p> + “Madam, you have deceived me. I don’t know you. Perhaps you entered the + wrong door. I suppose your husband and your children are waiting for you. + Please, my servant will take you down to the carriage.” + </p> + <p> + Could I think that these words, uttered in the same stern and cold voice, + would have such a strange effect upon the woman’s heart? With a cry, all + the bitter passion of which I could not describe, she threw herself before + me on her knees, exclaiming: + </p> + <p> + “So you do love me!” + </p> + <p> + Forgetting that our life had already been lived, that we were old, that + all had been ruined and scattered like dust by Time, and that it can never + return again; forgetting that I was grey, that my shoulders were bent, + that the voice of passion sounds strangely when it comes from old lips—I + burst into impetuous reproaches and complaints. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I did deceive you!” her deathly pale lips uttered. “I knew that you + were innocent—” + </p> + <p> + “Be silent. Be silent.” + </p> + <p> + “Everybody laughed at me—even your friends, your mother whom I + despised for it—all betrayed you. Only I kept repeating: ‘He is + innocent!’” + </p> + <p> + Oh, if this woman knew what she was doing to me with her words! If the + trumpet of the angel, announcing the day of judgment, had resounded at my + very ear, I would not have been so frightened as now. What is the blaring + of a trumpet calling to battle and struggle to the ear of the brave? It + was as if an abyss had opened at my feet. It was as if an abyss had opened + before me, and as though blinded by lightning, as though dazed by a blow, + I shouted in an outburst of wild and strange ecstasy: + </p> + <p> + “Be silent! I—” + </p> + <p> + If that woman were sent by God, she would have become silent. If she were + sent by the devil, she would have become silent even then. But there was + neither God nor devil in her, and interrupting me, not permitting me to + finish the phrase, she went on: + </p> + <p> + “No, I will not be silent. I must tell you all. I have waited for you so + many years. Listen, listen!” + </p> + <p> + But suddenly she saw my face and she retreated, seized with horror. + </p> + <p> + “What is it? What is the matter with you? Why do you laugh? I am afraid of + your laughter! Stop laughing! Don’t! Don’t!” + </p> + <p> + But I was not laughing at all, I only smiled softly. And then I said very + seriously, without smiling: + </p> + <p> + “I am smiling because I am glad to see you. Tell me about yourself.” + </p> + <p> + And, as in a dream, I saw her face and I heard her soft terrible whisper: + </p> + <p> + “You know that I love you. You know that all my life I loved you alone. I + lived with another and was faithful to him. I have children, but you know + they are all strangers to me—he and the children and I myself. Yes, + I deceived you, I am a criminal, but I do not know how it happened. He was + so kind to me, he made me believe that he was convinced of your innocence—later + I learned that he did not tell the truth, and with this, just think of it, + with this he won me.” + </p> + <p> + “You lie!” + </p> + <p> + “I swear to you. For a whole year he followed me and spoke only of you. + One day he even cried when I told him about you, about your sufferings, + about your love.” + </p> + <p> + “But he was lying!” + </p> + <p> + “Of course he was lying. But at that time he seemed so dear to me, so kind + that I kissed him on the forehead. Then we used to bring you flowers to + the prison. One day as we were returning from you—listen—he + suddenly proposed that we should go out driving. The evening was so + beautiful—” + </p> + <p> + “And you went! How did you dare go out with him? You had just seen my + prison, you had just been near me, and yet you dared go with him. How + base!” + </p> + <p> + “Be silent. Be silent. I know I am a criminal. But I was so exhausted, so + tired, and you were so far away. Understand me.” + </p> + <p> + She began to cry, wringing her hands. + </p> + <p> + “Understand me. I was so exhausted. And he—he saw how I felt—and + yet he dared kiss me.” + </p> + <p> + “He kissed you! And you allowed him? On the lips?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no! Only on the cheek.” + </p> + <p> + “You lie!” + </p> + <p> + “No, no. I swear to you.” + </p> + <p> + I began to laugh. + </p> + <p> + “You responded? And you were driving in the forest—you, my fiancee, + my love, my dream! And all this for my sake? Tell me! Speak!” + </p> + <p> + In my rage I wrung her arms, and wriggling like a snake, vainly trying to + evade my look, she whispered: + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me; forgive me.” + </p> + <p> + “How many children have you?” + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me.” + </p> + <p> + But my reason forsook me, and in my growing rage I cried, stamping my + foot: + </p> + <p> + “How many children have you? Speak, or I will kill you!” + </p> + <p> + I actually said this. Evidently I was losing my reason completely if I + could threaten to kill a helpless woman. And she, surmising apparently + that my threats were mere words, answered with feigned readiness: + </p> + <p> + “Kill me! You have a right to do it! I am a criminal. I deceived you. You + are a martyr, a saint! When you told me—is it true that even in your + thoughts you never deceived me—even in your thoughts!” + </p> + <p> + And again an abyss opened before me. Everything trembled, everything fell, + everything became an absurd dream, and in the last effort to save my + extinguishing reason I shouted: + </p> + <p> + “But you are happy! You cannot be unhappy; you have no right to be + unhappy! Otherwise I shall lose my mind.” + </p> + <p> + But she did not understand. With a bitter laugh, with a senseless smile, + in which her suffering mingled with bright, heavenly joy, she said: + </p> + <p> + “I am happy! I—happy! Oh, my friend, only near you I can find + happiness. From the moment you left the prison I began to despise my home. + I am alone there; I am a stranger to all. If you only knew how I hate that + scoundrel! You are sensible; you must have felt that you were not alone in + prison, that I was always with you there—” + </p> + <p> + “And he?” + </p> + <p> + “Be silent! Be silent! If you only heard with what delight I called him + scoundrel!” + </p> + <p> + She burst into laughter, frightening me by the wild expression on her + face. + </p> + <p> + “Just think of it! All his life he embraced only a lie. And when, + deceived, happy, he fell asleep, I looked at him with wide-open eyes, I + gnashed my teeth softly, and I felt like pinching him, like sticking him + with a pin.” + </p> + <p> + She burst into laughter again. It seemed to me that she was driving wedges + into my brain. Clasping my head, I cried: + </p> + <p> + “You lie! You lie to me!” + </p> + <p> + Indeed, it was easier for me to speak to the ghost than to the woman. What + could I say to her? My mind was growing dim. And how could I repulse her + when she, full of love and passion, kissed my hands, my eyes, my face? It + was she, my love, my dream, my bitter sorrow! + </p> + <p> + “I love you! I love you!” + </p> + <p> + And I believed her—I believed her love. I believed everything. And + once more I felt that my locks were black, and I saw myself young again. + And I knelt before her and wept for a long time, and whispered to her + about my sufferings, about the pain of solitude, about a heart cruelly + broken, about offended, disfigured, mutilated thoughts. And, laughing and + crying, she stroked my hair. Suddenly she noticed that it was grey, and + she cried strangely: + </p> + <p> + “What is it? And life? I am an old woman already.” + </p> + <p> + On leaving me she demanded that I escort her to the threshold, like a + young man; and I did. Before going she said to me: + </p> + <p> + “I am coming back to-morrow. I know my children will deny me—my + daughter is to marry soon. You and I will go away. Do you love me?” + </p> + <p> + “I do.” + </p> + <p> + “We will go far, far away, my dear. You wanted to deliver some lectures. + You should not do it. I don’t like what you say about that iron grate. You + are exhausted, you need a rest. Shall it be so?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I forgot my veil. Keep it, keep it as a remembrance of this day. My + dear!” + </p> + <p> + In the vestibule, in the presence of the sleepy porter, she kissed me. + There was the odour of some new perfume, unlike the perfume with which her + letter was scented. And her coquettish laugh was like a sob as she + disappeared behind the glass door. + </p> + <p> + That night I aroused my servant, ordered him to pack our things, and we + went away. I shall not say where I am at present, but last night and + to-night trees were rustling over my head and the rain was beating against + my windows. Here the windows are small, and I feel much better. I wrote + her a rather long letter, the contents of which I shall not reproduce. I + shall never see her again. + </p> + <p> + But what am I to do? May the reader pardon these incoherent questions. + They are so natural in a man in my condition. Besides, I caught an acute + rheumatism while travelling, which is most painful and even dangerous for + a man of my age, and which does not permit me to reason calmly. For some + reason or another I think very often about my young friend K., who went to + an untimely grave. How does he feel in his new prison? + </p> + <p> + To-morrow morning, if my strength will permit me, I intend to pay a visit + to the Warden of our prison and to his esteemed wife. Our prison— + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <p> + I am profoundly happy to inform my dear reader that I have completely + recovered my physical as well as my spiritual powers. A long rest out in + the country, amid nature’s soothing beauties; the contemplation of village + life, which is so simple and bright; the absence of the noise of the city, + where hundreds of wind-mills are stupidly flapping their long arms before + your very nose, and finally the complete solitude, undisturbed by anything—all + these have restored to my unbalanced view of the world all its former + steadiness and its iron, irresistible firmness. I look upon my future + calmly and confidently, and although it promises me nothing but a lonely + grave and the last journey to an unknown distance, I am ready to meet + death just as courageously as I lived my life, drawing strength from my + solitude, from the consciousness of my innocence and my uprightness. + </p> + <p> + After long hesitations, which are not quite intelligible to me now, I + finally resolved to establish for myself the system of our prison in all + its rigidness. For that purpose, finding a small house in the outskirts of + the city, which was to be leased for a long term of years, I hired it. + Then with the kind assistance of the Warden of our prison, (I cannot + express my gratitude to him adequately enough in words,) I invited to the + new place one of the most experienced jailers, who is still a young man, + but already hardened in the strict principles of our prison. Availing + myself of his instruction, and also of the suggestions of the obliging + Warden, I have engaged workmen who transformed one of the rooms into a + cell. The measurements as well as the form and all the details of my new, + and, I hope, my last dwelling are strictly in accordance with my plan. My + cell is 8 by 4 yards, 4 yards high, the walls are painted grey at the + bottom, the upper part of the walls and the ceiling are white, and near + the ceiling there is a square window 1 1/2 by 1 1/2 yards, with a massive + iron grate, which has already become rusty with age. In the door, locked + with a heavy and strong lock, which issues a loud creak at each turn of + the key, there is a small hole for observation, and below it a little + window, through which the food is brought and received. The furnishing of + the cell: a table, a chair, and a cot fastened to the wall; on the wall a + crucifix, my portrait, and the rules concerning the conduct of the + prisoners, in a black frame; and in the corner a closet filled with books. + This last, being a violation of the strict harmony of my dwelling, I was + compelled to do by extreme and sad necessity; the jailer positively + refused to be my librarian and to bring the books according to my order, + and to engage a special librarian seemed to me to be an act of unnecessary + eccentricity. Aside from this, in elaborating my plans, I met with strong + opposition not only from the local population, which simply declared me to + be insane, but even from the enlightened people. Even the Warden + endeavoured for some time to dissuade me, but finally he clasped my hand + warmly, with an expression of sincere regret at not being in a position to + offer me a place in our prison. + </p> + <p> + I cannot recall the first day of my confinement without a bitter smile. A + mob of impertinent and ignorant idlers yelled from morning till night at + my window, with their heads lifted high (my cell is situated in the second + story), and they heaped upon me senseless abuse; there were even efforts—to + the disgrace of my townspeople—to storm my dwelling, and one heavy + stone almost crushed my head. Only the police, which arrived in time, + succeeded in averting the catastrophe. When, in the evening, I went out + for a walk, hundreds of fools, adults and children, followed me, shouting + and whistling, heaping abuse upon me, and even hurling mud at me. Thus, + like a persecuted prophet, I wended my way without fear amidst the + maddened crowd, answering their blows and curses with proud silence. + </p> + <p> + What has stirred these fools? In what way have I offended their empty + heads? When I lied to them, they kissed my hands; now, when I have + re-established the sacred truth of my life in all its strictness and + purity, they burst into curses, they branded me with contempt, they hurled + mud at me. They were disturbed because I dared to live alone, and because + I did not ask them for a place in the “common cell for rogues.” How + difficult it is to be truthful in this world! + </p> + <p> + True, my perseverance and firmness finally defeated them. With the naivete + of savages, who honour all they do not understand, they commenced, in the + second year, to bow to me, and they are making ever lower bows to me, + because their amazement is growing ever greater, their fear of the + inexplicable is growing ever deeper. And the fact that I never respond to + their greetings fills them with delight, and the fact that I never smile + in response to their flattering smiles, fills them with a firm assurance + that they are guilty before me for some grave wrong, and that I know their + guilt. Having lost confidence in their own and other people’s words, they + revere my silence, even as people revere every silence and every mystery. + If I were to start to speak suddenly, I would again become human to them + and would disillusion them bitterly, no matter what I would say; in my + silence I am to them like their eternally silent God. For these strange + people would cease believing their God as soon as their God would commence + to speak. Their women are already regarding me as a saint. And the + kneeling women and sick children that I often find at the threshold of my + dwelling undoubtedly expect of me a trifle—to heal them, to perform + a miracle. Well, another year or two will pass, and I shall commence to + perform miracles as well as those of whom they speak with such enthusiasm. + Strange people, at times I feel sorry for them, and I begin to feel really + angry at the devil who so skilfully mixed the cards in their game that + only the cheat knows the truth, his little cheating truth about the marked + queens and the marked kings. They bow too low, however, and this hinders + me from developing a sense of mercy, otherwise—smile at my jest, + indulgent reader—I would not restrain myself from the temptation of + performing two or three small, but effective miracles. + </p> + <p> + I must go back to the description of my prison. + </p> + <p> + Having constructed my cell completely, I offered my jailer the following + alternative: He must observe with regard to me the rules of the prison + regime in all its rigidness, and in that case he would inherit all my + fortune according to my will, or he would receive nothing if he failed to + do his duty. It seemed that in putting the matter before him so clearly I + would meet with no difficulties. Yet at the very first instance, when I + should have been incarcerated for violating some prison regulation, this + naive and timid man absolutely refused to do it; and only when I + threatened to get another man immediately, a more conscientious jailer, + was he compelled to perform his duty. Though he always locked the door + punctually, he at first neglected his duty of watching me through the + peephole; and when I tried to test his firmness by suggesting a change in + some rule or other to the detriment of common sense he yielded willingly + and quickly. One day, on trapping him in this way, I said to him: + </p> + <p> + “My friend, you are simply foolish. If you will not watch me and guard me + properly I shall run away to another prison, taking my legacy along with + me. What will you do then?” + </p> + <p> + I am happy to inform you that at the present time all these + misunderstandings have been removed, and if there is anything I can + complain of it is rather excessive strictness than mildness. Now that my + jailer has entered into the spirit of his position this honest man treats + me with extreme sternness, not for the sake of the profit but for the sake + of the principle. Thus, in the beginning of this week he incarcerated me + for twenty-four hours for violating some rule, of which, it seemed to me, + I was not guilty; and protesting against this seeming injustice I had the + unpardonable weakness to say to him: + </p> + <p> + “In the end I will drive you away from here. You must not forget that you + are my servant.” + </p> + <p> + “Before you drive me away I will incarcerate you,” replied this worthy + man. + </p> + <p> + “But how about the money?” I asked with astonishment. “Don’t you know that + you will be deprived of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Do I need your money? I would give up all my own money if I could stop + being what I am. But what can I do if you violate the rule and I must + punish you by incarcerating you?” + </p> + <p> + I am powerless to describe the joyous emotion which came over me at the + thought that the consciousness of duty had at last entered his dark mind, + and that now, even if in a moment of weakness I wanted to leave my prison, + my conscientious jailer would not permit me to do it. The spark of + firmness which glittered in his round eyes showed me clearly that no + matter where I might run away he would find me and bring me back; and that + the revolver which he often forgot to take before, and which he now cleans + every day, would do its work in the event I decided to run away. + </p> + <p> + And for the first time in all these years I fell asleep on the stone floor + of my dark cell with a happy smile, realising that my plan was crowned + with complete success, passing from the realm of eccentricity to the + domain of stern and austere reality. And the fear which I felt while + falling asleep in the presence of my jailer, my fear of his resolute look, + of his revolver; my timid desire to hear a word of praise from him, or to + call forth perhaps a smile on his lips, re-echoed in my soul as the + harmonious clanking of my eternal and last chains. + </p> + <p> + Thus I pass my last years. As before, my health is sound and my free + spirit is clear. Let some call me a fool and laugh at me; in their pitiful + blindness let others regard me as a saint and expect me to perform + miracles; an upright man to some people, to others—a liar and a + deceiver—I myself know who I am, and I do not ask them to understand + me. And if there are people who will accuse me of deception, of baseness, + even of the lack of simple honour—for there are scoundrels who are + convinced to this day that I committed murder—no one will dare + accuse me of cowardice, no one will dare say that I could not perform my + painful duty to the end. From the beginning till the end I remained firm + and unbribable; and though a bugbear, a fanatic, a dark horror to some + people, I may awaken in others a heroic dream of the infinite power of + man. + </p> + <p> + I have long discontinued to receive visitors, and with the death of the + Warden of our prison, my only true friend, whom I visited occasionally, my + last tie with this world was broken. Only I and my ferocious jailer, who + watches every movement of mine with mad suspicion, and the black grate + which has caught in its iron embrace and muzzled the infinite—this + is my life. Silently accepting the low bows, in my cold estrangement from + the people I am passing my last road. + </p> + <p> + I am thinking of death ever more frequently, but even before death I do + not bend my fearless look. Whether it brings me eternal rest or a new + unknown and terrible struggle, I am humbly prepared to accept it. + </p> + <p> + Farewell, my dear reader! Like a vague phantom you appeared before my eyes + and passed, leaving me alone before the face of life and death. Do not be + angry because at times I deceived you and lied—you, too, would have + lied perhaps in my place. Nevertheless I loved you sincerely, and + sincerely longed for your love; and the thought of your sympathy for me + was quite a support to me in my moments and days of hardship. I am sending + you my last farewell and my sincere advice. Forget about my existence, + even as I shall henceforth forget about yours forever. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + A deserted field, overgrown with high grass, devoid of an echo, extends + like a deep carpet to the very fence of our prison, whose majestic + outlines subdue my imagination and my mind. When the dying sun illumines + it with its last rays, and our prison, all in red, stands like a queen, + like a martyr, with the dark wounds of its grated windows, and the sun + rises silently and proudly over the plain—with sorrow, like a lover, + I send my complaints and my sighs and my tender reproach and vows to her, + to my love, to my dream, to my bitter and last sorrow. I wish I could + forever remain near her, but here I look back—and black against the + fiery frame of the sunset stands my jailer, stands and waits. + </p> + <p> + With a sigh I go back in silence, and he moves behind me noiselessly, + about two steps away, watching every move of mine. + </p> + <p> + Our prison is beautiful at sunset. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Crushed Flower and Other Stories, by +Leonid Andreyev + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CRUSHED FLOWER AND OTHER *** + +***** This file should be named 5779-h.htm or 5779-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/7/7/5779/ + +Produced by Jarrod Newton, and David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions 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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