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diff --git a/5779.txt b/5779.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bcd6241 --- /dev/null +++ b/5779.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10891 @@ +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: May, 2004 [EBook #5779] +Posting Date: March 26, 2009 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CRUSHED FLOWER AND OTHER *** + + + + +Produced by Jarrod Newton + + + + + + + + +THE CRUSHED FLOWER AND OTHER STORIES + + +By Leonid Andreyev + +Translated by Herman Bernstein + + + + + +CONTENTS + + The Crushed Flower + A Story Which Will Never Be Finished + On the Day of the Crucifixion + The Serpent's Story + Love, Faith and Hope + The Ocean + Judas Iscariot and Others + "The Man Who Found the Truth" + + + + + +THE CRUSHED FLOWER + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +His name was Yura. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +His father--ten yards tall. + +His mother--three yards. + +The neighbour's angry dog--thirty yards. + +Their own dog--ten yards, like papa. + +Their house of one story was very, very tall--a mile. + +The distance between one side of the street and the other--two miles. + +Their garden and the trees in their garden seemed immense, infinitely +tall. + +The city--a million--just how much he did not know. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Sometimes mamma would utter a bad, terrifying phrase: + +"Why are you forever staying around here? Go and play in your own room." + +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: + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"What are they saying?" + +And the nurse answered quickly in a whisper: + +"Sleep, sleep. They are not saying anything." + +"I am coming over to your bed." + +"Aren't you ashamed of yourself? Such a big boy!" + +"I am coming over to your bed." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +When people asked him what his name was he answered promptly: + +"Yura." + +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: + +"Yura Mikhailovich." + +And after a moment's thought he added: + +"Yura Mikhailovich Pushkarev." + + + +CHAPTER II + + +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. + +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: + +"Good morning, Yevmen." + +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. + +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: + +"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?" + +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. + +"What are you doing? The blood will rush to his head!" + +After which Yura found himself standing on his legs, red faced, +dishevelled, feeling very miserable and terribly happy at the same time. + +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. + +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. + +"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: + +"Let me go. I must go." + +"Remember," said father, referring to something Yura did not understand +but which resounded in his heart with a light, gnawing alarm. + +"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.... + +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. + +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. + +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, + +"Did you get hurt?" + +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. + +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. + +Mamma danced best of all. + + + +CHAPTER III + + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"Yurochka, is that you?" + +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! + +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. + +Mamma said: + +"Stop. You have lost your mind! Somebody may come in here." + +Yura Mikhailovich said: + +"And you?" + +Mamma said: + +"I am twenty-six years old to-day. I am old!" + +Yura Mikhailovich said: + +"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?" + +Mamma said: + +"What a question! Of course he does! That is--no, not everybody." + +Yura Mikhailovich said: + +"I feel sorry for him." + +Mamma said: + +"For him?" + +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? + +Yura Mikhailovich said: + +"Where are you going? I will not let you go." + +Mamma said: + +"You offend me. Let me go! No, you have no right to kiss me. Let me go!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Don't you dare insult him! Don't you dare insult him!" + +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: + +"Where is mother? Call mother." + +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: + +"Oh, my dearest! Oh, my dearest!" + +And he said to mamma, who walked behind him: + +"Just think of the boy!" + +Mamma said: + +"That is all due to your whist. You were scolding each other so, that +the child was frightened." + +Father began to laugh, and answered: + +"Yes, he does scold harshly. But Yura, oh, what a dear boy!" + +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." + +"But you stay here." + +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: + +"He will not scold you any more, will he?" + +Papa smiled. Then he laughed, kissed Yura once more and said: + +"No, no. And if he does I will throw him across the fence." + +"Please, do," said Yura. "You can do it. You are so strong." + +"Yes, I am pretty strong. But you had better sleep! Mamma will stay here +with you a while." + +Mamma said: + +"I will send the nurse in. I must attend to the supper." + +Father shouted: + +"There is plenty of time for that! You can stay a while with the child." + +But mamma insisted: + +"We have guests! We can't leave them that way." + +But father looked at her steadfastly, and shrugged his shoulders. Mamma +decided to stay. + +"Very well, then, I'll stay here. But see that Maria does not mix up the +wines." + +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: + +"Sleep." + +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. + +"Why are your kisses wet? Are you crying?" muttered Yura. + +"Yes, I am crying." + +"You must not cry." + +"Very well, I won't," answered mother submissively. + +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! + + + + + +A STORY WHICH WILL NEVER BE FINISHED + + +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. + +"Do you know," she said, "do you know they are building barricades on +our street?" + +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. + +"Are you afraid?" I asked. + +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. + +She had never before clasped my hand as she did this time. + +"How long?" I asked. + +"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." + +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. + +"Listen, a dog is barking." + +My wife embraced me, and said: + +"It is there, on the corner." + +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. + +"When will we have a full moon?..." + +"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." + +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. + +"What shall it be?" + +"And--they?" + +"You will be with them. It will be enough for them to have a mother. I +cannot remain." + +"And I? Can I?" + +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. + +"People have such a holiday once in a hundred years, and you want to +deprive me of it. Why?" she said. + +"But they may kill you there. And our children will perish." + +"Life will be merciful to me. But even if they should perish--" + +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. + +"Do you want to go with me?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"There is no such thing as time." + +"What do you say?" + +"There is no such thing as time. Who are you? I did not know you. Are +you a human being?" + +She burst into such ringing laughter as though she were really only +seventeen years old. + +"I did not know you, either. Are you, too, a human being? How strange +and how beautiful it is--a human being!" + +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. + +"I must go," said I. + +"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." + +"Comrade," said I. + +"Yes, comrade." + +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. + +"Why don't you eat?" asked my wife. + +I smiled: + +"Bread--it is so strange." + +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. + +"Do you feel sorry for them?" I asked. + +She shook her head without removing her eyes from the bread. + +"No, but I was thinking of what happened in our life before." + +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? + +"You were my wife." + +"And there are our children." + +"Here, beyond the wall, your father died." + +"Yes. He died. He died without awakening." + +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. + +She cried and demanded--caresses, certain queer words and promises to +soothe her. And she soon was soothed. + +"Well, go!" said my wife in a whisper. + +"I should like to kiss them." + +"I am afraid you will wake them up." + +"No, I will not." + +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. + +"Will you take your gun?" he asked thoughtfully and earnestly. + +"I will." + +"It is behind the stove." + +"How do you know? Well, kiss me. Will you remember me?" + +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. + +"Will they kill you?" he whispered right into my ear. + +"No, I will come back." + +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. + +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. + +"Well--'till we meet again!" + +"Yes--'till we meet again!" + +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. + + + + + +ON THE DAY OF THE CRUCIFIXION + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"Look, they are leading robbers there. Perhaps that will divert you." + +"Let me alone. Don't you see how I am suffering?" Ben-Tovit answered +angrily. + +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. + +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. + +"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...." + +"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. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"Oh, how painful it must have been!" + +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. + +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. + + + + + +THE SERPENT'S STORY + + +Hush! Hush! Hush! Come closer to me. Look into my eyes! + +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! + +Hush! Hush! Look into my eyes! + +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? + +I love you. + +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. + +I love you. + +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! + +I say to you: Come closer to me. + +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. + +I love you. + +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. + +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. + +How has it happened? I do not know. I did not bear ill-will to the +living. + +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. + +And suddenly... Come closer to me. Look into my eyes. Hush! Hush! Hush! + +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. + +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. + +I love you. + +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! + +Oh! + +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! + +Oh! + +Do not fall. My story is not yet ended. Come closer to me. + +And then I crawled into the stupid forest, into my green dominion. + +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! + +Bend down to me. I love you. + +Die! + + + + + +LOVE, FAITH AND HOPE + + +He loved. + +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. + +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. + +The love of N+1 was as strong as death, as a certain writer put it; as +strong as life, he thought. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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." + + . . . . . . . . + +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. + +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. + +That was a new phase--he believed. + +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!" + +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. + +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.... + +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. + +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. + + . . . . . . . . + +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. + +But he was a man. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +He hoped. + + + + + +THE OCEAN + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +A cautious sound of women's voices is heard, softened by uneasiness and +by the approaching night. + +"We can sleep peacefully to-night. The sea is calm and the rollers are +breaking like the clock in the steeple of old Dan." + +"They will come back with the morning tide. My husband told me that they +will come back with the morning tide." + +"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. + +"But I must build a fire in the stove." + +"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." + +"And listen to the wind? No, that is terrible." + +"I love the fire. I should like to sleep near the fire, but my husband +does not allow it." + +"Why doesn't old Dan come here? It is time to strike the hour." + +"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." + +The women laugh softly. + +"He reproaches the sea." + +"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?" + +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. + +"Mariet, do you hear? Anna is asking you whether you have seen Dan +to-day." + +"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." + +"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." + +"He is simply afraid of the sea." + +"You may say what you like, but I believe we have the very best priest +in the world." + +"That's true. I fear him, but I love him as a father." + +"May God forgive me, but I would have been proud and always happy, if I +were his adopted daughter. Do you hear, Mariet?" + +The women laugh softly and tenderly. + +"Do you hear, Mariet?" + +"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?" + +The women commence to justify themselves confusedly. + +"But he laughs at it himself." + +"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.'" + +"I have never known my mother, but this laughter would have been +unpleasant to her. I feel it," says Mariet. + +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. + +"What were you going to say, Mariet?" + +"Didn't he pass here?" asks Mariet in a low voice. + +Another woman answers timidly: + +"Hush! Why do you speak of him? I fear him. No, he did not pass this +way." + +"He did. I saw from the window that he passed by." + +"You are mistaken; it was some one else." + +"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." + +"Naval officers, Englishmen, walk like that." + +"No. Haven't I seen naval officers in the city? They walk firmly, but +openly; even a girl could trust them." + +"Oh, look out!" + +Frightened and cautious laughter. + +"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." + +"But if there's a stone on the road? We have many stones here." + +"He does not bend down, nor does he hide his head when a strong wind +blows." + +"Of course not. Of course not. He does not hide his head." + +"Is it true that he is handsome? Who has seen him at close range?" + +"I," says Mariet. + +"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." + +"Well, not all of us are afraid." + +"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?" + +"They drink gin. The sailor comes every morning for gin." + +"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." + +"But is that their business--drinking gin? I fear them. Where is the +ship that brought them here? They came from the sea." + +"I saw the ship," says Mariet. + +The women begin to question her in amazement. + +"You? Why, then, didn't you say anything about it? Tell us what you +know." + +Mariet maintains silence. Suddenly one of the women exclaims: + +"Ah, look! They have lit a lamp. There is a light in the castle!" + +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. + +Turning their heads in that direction, the women look on with frightened +eyes. + +"Do you see," says one of them. "It is even worse than a light on a +cemetery. Who needs a light among the tombstones?" + +"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. + +"And I think that the abbot should have gone there with holy water long +ago." + +"Or with the gendarmes! If that isn't the devil himself, it is surely +one of his assistants." + +"It is impossible to live peacefully with such neighbours close by." + +"I am afraid for the children." + +"And for your soul?" + +Two elderly women rise silently and go away. Then a third, an old woman, +also rises. + +"We must ask the abbot whether it isn't a sin to look at such a light." + +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. + +Their heads turned, the women watch the departing old woman. Then they +turn again toward the light. + +Mariet, as though defending some one, says softly: + +"There can't be anything bad in light. For there is light in the candles +on God's altar." + +"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. + +"I am afraid," says one, pressing close to her companion. + +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. + +"Good night, Mariet," says the girl who sat alone, and then she goes +off. + +"Let us also go; it is getting cold," say the other two, rising. "Good +night, Mariet." + +"Good night." + +"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?" + +"Yes, I do. I love to think of Philipp." + +The girl laughs. + +"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?" + +"I love to think of Philipp." + +"Like a blind man he gropes among the houses, forever calling: 'Mariet! +Mariet! Have you not seen Mariet?'" + +They go off laughing and repeating: + +"Good night, Mariet. 'Have you not seen Mariet! Mariet!'" + +The girl is left alone. She looks at the light in the castle. She hears +soft, irresolute footsteps. + +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. + +"Oho! Oho!" + +"Is that you, Dan?" + +"The sea is calm, Dan. Are you going to play to-night?" + +"Oho! I shall ring the bell seven times. Seven times I shall ring it and +send to God seven of His holy hours." + +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. + +"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!" + +He mutters and coughs. + +"Dan, I have seen the ship again to-day. Do you hear, Dan?" + +"Many ships are going out to sea." + +"But this one had black sails. It was again going toward the sun." + +"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!" + +"I know, Dan. You told me about it." + +"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." + +"What would have happened, Dan?" + +"Oho!" + +He whispers softly: + +"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." + +"Why do you scold it? It does not like to be scolded," Mariet reproaches +him. + +"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!" + +He goes to the doors at the entrance of the church muttering angrily, +threatening, as though celebrating some victory: + +"Oho! Oho!" + +"Dan!" + +"Go home." + +"Dan! Why don't you light candles when you play? Dan, I don't love my +betrothed. Do you hear, Dan?" + +Dan turns his head unwillingly. + +"I have heard it long ago, Mariet. Tell it to your father." + +"Where is my mother, Dan?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Mariet greets him: + +"Good evening." + +He walks on quite a distance, then stops and turns his head slowly. He +waits silently, as though regretting to part with his silence. + +"Did you say 'Good evening' to me?" he asks at last. + +"Yes, to you. Good evening." + +He looks at her silently. + +"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?" + +"I am the daughter of the abbot of this place." + +He laughs: + +"Have priests children? Or are there special priests in your land?" + +"Yes, the priests are different here." + +"Now, I recall, Khorre told me something about the priest of this +place." + +"Who is Khorre?" + +"My sailor. The one who buys gin in your settlement." + +He suddenly laughs again and continues: + +"Yes, he told me something. Was it your father who cursed the Pope and +declared his own church independent?" + +"Yes." + +"And he makes his own prayers? And goes to sea with the fishermen? And +punishes with his own hands those who disobey him?" + +"Yes. I am his daughter. My name is Mariet. And what is your name?" + +"I have many names. Which one shall I tell you?" + +"The one by which you were christened." + +"What makes you think that I was christened?" + +"Then tell me the name by which your mother called you." + +"What makes you think that I had a mother? I do not know my mother." + +Mariet says softly: + +"Neither do I know my mother." + +Both are silent. They look at each other kindly. + +"Is that so?" he says. "You, too, don't know your mother? Well, then, +call me Haggart." + +"Haggart?" + +"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." + +Suddenly he frowned. + +"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." + +"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?'" + +"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." + +"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." + +He speaks with contempt: + +"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!" + +"What would you have done?" + +He looks at her morosely and shakes his head suspiciously. + +"You are too inquisitive, little girl. Has any one sent you over to me?" + +"No. What do you need a ship for?" + +Haggart laughs good-naturedly and ironically: + +"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!" + +He stamps his foot firmly. Then Mariet asks, cautiously: + +"Did you say with black sails?" + +"That's what I said. Why do you always ask questions? I have no ship, +you know. Good-bye." + +He puts on his hat, but does not move. Mariet maintains silence. Then he +says, very angrily: + +"Perhaps you, too, like the music of your old Dan, that old fool?" + +"You know his name?" + +"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!" + +He takes Mariet by the hand and turns her roughly, her face toward the +ocean. + +"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!" + +He goes, but after taking two steps he turns around. + +"I said good-bye to you. Go home. Let this fool play alone. Well, go." + +Mariet is silent, motionless. Haggart laughs: + +"Are you afraid perhaps that I have forgotten your name? I remember it. +Your name is Mariet. Go, Mariet." + +She says softly: + +"I have seen your ship." + +Haggart advances to her quickly and bends down. His face is terrible. + +"It is not true. When?" + +"Last evening." + +"It is not true! Which way was it going?" + +"Toward the sun." + +"Last evening I was drunk and I slept. But this is not true. I have +never seen it. You are testing me. Beware!" + +"Shall I tell you if I see it again?" + +"How can you tell me?" + +"I shall come up your hill." + +Haggart looks at her attentively. + +"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?" + +"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." + +Haggart is silent, as though he has forgotten her presence. + +"You have a pretty uniform. You are silent? I shall come up to you." + +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. + +"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." + +Haggart turns around silently and starts. + +"I also remember your name. Your name is Haggart." + +He goes away. + +"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. + +The night is growing darker. Neither the rock nor the castle is visible +now; only the light in the window is redder and brighter. + +The dull thuds of the tireless breakers are telling the story of +different lives. + + + +CHAPTER II + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He sits up on his mattress, looks around, but is unable to understand +anything. + +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. + +"Noni!" he calls hoarsely, but Haggart does not hear him. After a +moment's thought, he calls once more: + +"Captain. Noni! Get up." + +But Haggart does not answer and the sailor mutters: + +"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--" + +He rises, and staggering, finds an unopened bottle and drinks. + +"A fine wind. They call this a storm--do you hear, Noni? They call this +a storm. What will they call a real storm?" + +He drinks again. + +"A fine wind!" + +He goes over to the window and, pushing aside the corner of the sail, +looks out. + +"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?" + +He picks up some brushwood, and throws it into the fireplace. + +"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!" + +He starts a fire, then prepares food and drink. + +"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." + +He drinks. + +"Either I have lost my mind from this gin, or a ship is being wrecked +near by. How they are crying!" + +He looks out of the window. + +"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?" + +He pushes the sleeping man cautiously. + +"Get up, Noni. I feel lonesome. If we must drink, let's drink +together--I feel lonesome. Noni!" + +Haggart awakens, stretches himself and says, without opening his eyes: + +"Fire." + +"Here it is." + +"Something to drink." + +"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!" + +"It's cold." + +"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." + +"Did you drink again?" + +"I did." + +"Give me some." + +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. + +"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. + +"I have a headache. What is that cry? Was there a shipwreck?" + +"No, Noni. It is the wind playing roguishly." + +"Khorre!" + +"Captain." + +"Give me the bottle." + +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: + +"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." + +Haggart turns around and says, wiping his face: + +"When I am intoxicated, I hear voices and singing. Does that happen to +you, too, Khorre? Who is that singing now?" + +"The wind is singing, Noni--only the wind." + +"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?" + +"Only the wind." + +"Why does the wind deceive me?" says Haggart haughtily. + +"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." + +Haggart says morosely: + +"I heard their organist playing not long ago in church. He lies." + +"They are all liars." + +"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?" + +"Yes." + +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: + +"Give me my pipe." + +"Here it is." + +Both commence to smoke. + +"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?" + +"There are some who do tell the truth there, too," says Haggart sternly, +emitting rings of smoke. + +"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." + +Haggart is silent for a minute; then he takes the pipe from his mouth +and laughs gaily. + +"Have you invented it yourself?" + +"I think so," says Khorre modestly. + +"Clever! And it was worth teaching you sacred history for that! Were you +taught by a priest?" + +"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." + +"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." + +They drink. Khorre stamps his foot against the stone floor and asks: + +"Do you like this motionless floor?" + +"I should have liked to have the deck of a ship dancing under my feet." + +"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!" + +They drink. Haggart paces the room heavily and slowly, like a man who is +imprisoned in a dungeon but does not want to escape. + +"I feel sad," he says, without looking at Khorre. Khorre, as though +understanding, shakes his head in assent. + +"Sad? I understand. Since then?" + +"Ever since then." + +"Ever since we drowned those people? They cried so loudly." + +"I did not hear their cry. But this I heard--something snapped in my +heart, Khorre. Always sadness, everywhere sadness! Let me drink!" + +He drinks. + +"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?" + +"I don't remember him, Noni. You speak so much about him, while I don't +remember him." + +"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!" + +Silence. + +"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." + +Haggart shakes his head: + +"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!" + +"There is no such land." + +"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!" + +Khorre nods his head gloomily. + +"No, I will not sing." + +"Then I shall force you to pray as they prayed!" + +"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." + +Haggart says: + +"Drop this performance, Khorre. There is no crew here. You'd better +drink something." + +He drinks. + +"But the crew is waiting for you, you know it. Captain, is it your +intention to return to the ship and assume command again?" + +"No." + +"Captain, is it perhaps your intention to go to the people on the coast +and live with them?" + +"No." + +"I can't understand your actions, Noni. What do you intend to do, +Captain?" + +Haggart drinks silently. + +"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." + +"Yes. The wind is getting stronger. Do you hear, Khorre? The wind is +getting stronger!" + +"And the gold which we have buried here?" He points below, with his +finger. + +"The gold? Take it and go with it wherever you like." + +The sailor says angrily: + +"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!" + +"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." + +"Perhaps you will go to the priest? He would absolve your sins." + +"Silence!" roars Haggart, clutching at his revolver. + +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. + +"Why did you lock out the wind? It's better now. Come here." + +"You were the terror of the seas!" says the sailor. + +"Yes, I was the terror of the seas." + +"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!" + +"I burnt their cities. The deck of my ship is shaking under my feet, +Khorre. The deck is shaking under me!" + +He laughs wildly, as if losing his senses. + +"You sank their ships. You sent to the bottom the Englishman who was +chasing you." + +"He had ten guns more than I." + +"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." + +Haggart stands pale-faced, his eyes closed. Suddenly he shouts +commandingly: + +"Boatswain!" + +"Yes," Khorre jumps up. + +"Whistle for everybody to go up on deck." + +"Yes." + +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: + +"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." + +And Khorre tosses about violently, performing the mad instructions. + +"Yes, yes." + +"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!" + +"Don't give way, Noni. Don't give way. Recall your father. Strike them +on the head, Noni!" + +"I can't, Khorre. My strength is failing. Where is my power?" + +"Strike them on the head, Noni. Strike them on the head!" + +"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." + +"I want to play some more, Noni. Strike them on the head!" + +"There is no ship, Khorre, there is nothing--it is all a lie. I want to +drink." + +He takes a bottle and laughs: + +"Look, sailor--here the wind and the storm and you and I are locked. It +is all a deception, Khorre!" + +"I want to play." + +"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?" + +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: + +"Halt!" + +A man's voice, heavy and deep, answers: + +"Hush! Put down your weapons. I am the abbot of this place." + +"Fire, Noni, fire! They have come for you." + +"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?" + +Haggart puts down his revolver and says ironically: + +"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." + +"He has come after you, Noni." + +"I have come to warn you; the tower may fall. Go away from here!" says +the abbot. + +"Why are you hiding yourself, girl? I remember your name; your name is +Mariet," says Haggart. + +"I am not hiding. I also remember your name--it is Haggart," replies +Mariet. + +"Was it you who brought him here?" + +"I." + +"I have told you that they are all traitors, Noni," says Khorre. + +"Silence!" + +"It is very cold here. I will throw some wood into the fireplace. May I +do it?" asks Mariet. + +"Do it," answers Haggart. + +"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?" + +He stamps his foot on the stone floor. + +"Where will the tower fall?" + +"Into the sea, I suppose! The castle is splitting the rocks." + +Haggart laughs: + +"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?" + +"Only two of us came, my father and I," says Mariet. + +"You are rude to a priest. I don't like that," says the abbot. + +"You have come here uninvited. I don't like that either," says Haggart. + +"Why did you lead me here, Mariet? Come," says the abbot. + +Haggart speaks ironically: + +"And you leave us here to die? That is unChristian, Christian." + +"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." + +"Captain?" asks Khorre. + +"Be silent, Khorre," says Haggart. "So that's the way you speak, abbot; +so you are not a liar?" + +"Come with me and you shall see." + +"Where shall I go with you?" + +"To my house." + +"To your house? Do you hear, Khorre? To the priest! But do you know whom +you are calling to your house?" + +"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." + +"A workman? Khorre, do you hear what the priest says?" + +Both laugh. The abbot says angrily: + +"You are both drunk." + +"Yes, a little! But if I were sober I would have laughed still more," +answers Haggart. + +"Don't laugh, Haggart," says Mariet. + +Haggart replies angrily: + +"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!" + +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. + +"He does not know you, father! Tell him about yourself. You speak so +well. If you wish it, he will believe you, father. Haggart!" + +Haggart maintains silence. + +"Noni! Captain!" + +Silence. Khorre whispers mysteriously: + +"He feels sad. Girl, tell the priest that he feels sad." + +"Khorre," begins Mariet. Haggart looks around quickly. + +"What about Khorre? Why don't you like him, Mariet? We are so much like +each other." + +"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." + +Haggart laughs: + +"Is that so bad? He did the same to me." + +"And he dipped him in cold water. The boy is very weak," says Mariet +morosely. + +"I don't like to hear you speak of weakness. Our boy must be strong. +Khorre! Three days without gin." + +He shows him three fingers. + +"Who should be without gin? The boy or I?" asks Khorre gloomily. + +"You!" replies Haggart furiously. "Begone!" + +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. + + + +CHAPTER III + + +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. + +"What kind of a prayer is our abbot going to say to-day? It is already +time for him to come." + +"And do you think it is so easy to compose a good prayer? He is +thinking." + +"Selly's basket broke and the fish were falling out. We laughed so much! +It seems so funny to me even now!" + +Laughter. Two fishermen look at the sail in the distance. + +"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?" + +"To America." + +"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?" + +Several old women are whispering: + +"Wild Gart is angry again at his sailor. Have you noticed it?" + +"The sailor is displeased. Look, how wan his face is." + +"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?" + +They resume their whispers. Haggart complains softly: + +"Why have you the same name, Mariet, for everybody? It should not be so +in a truthful land." + +Mariet speaks with restrained force, pressing both hands to her breast: + +"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." + +HAGGART--Here you are again compelling me to smile. You must not, +Mariet--I am forever smiling. + +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! + +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!" + +MARIET--Good morning, Mariet. + +HAGGART--I will call you Haggart. Isn't that a good idea? + +MARIET--And I will call you Mariet. + +HAGGART--Yes--no. You had better call me Haggart, too. + +"You don't want me to call you Mariet?" asks Mariet sadly. + +The abbot and old Dan appear. The abbot says in a loud, deep voice: + +"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?" + +Two thin but merry bells are ringing. + +Mariet is silent and Haggart answers for her: + +"That's good enough. But what are the bells saying, abbot?" + +The fishermen who have gathered about them are already prepared to +laugh--the same undying jest is always repeated. + +"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!" + +The fishermen laugh merrily. + +"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." + +All laugh approval. An old fisherman says: + +"That's true, father. Ever since he has been here, we have never been +caught in a storm." + +"Of course it is true, if I say it. 'Pope's a rogue! Pope's a rogue!'" + +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. + +"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." + +Philipp answers gruffly: + +"Grass also stops growing if a stone falls upon it." + +"What is still worse than that--worms begin to breed under the rock." + +Mariet says softly, sadly and entreatingly: + +"Don't you want me to call you Mariet?" + +Haggart answers obstinately and sternly: + +"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." + +"How can I present you that which is not mine? His life belongs to God +and to himself." + +"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." + +"No; you shouldn't do it, Gart. It will be painful to you." + +Haggart looks at her and speaks with deep irony. + +"Is that it? Well, then, it is not true that you give me anything. You +don't know how to give, woman." + +"I am your wife." + +"No! A man has no wife when another man, and not his wife, grinds his +knife. My knife is dull, Mariet!" + +Mariet looks at him with horror and sorrow. + +"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?" + +Haggart slowly rubs his brow. + +"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." + +The abbot stops in front of Khorre. + +"Ah, old friend, how do you do? You are smiling already. Look, Mariet." + +"I don't want to work," ejaculates the sailor sternly. + +"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?" + +WOMAN--His tobacco is contraband. + +YOUNG FISHERMAN--God wouldn't bother with such trifles. The abbot thinks +a while: + +"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." + +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. + +"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--" + +Rikke frequently shakes his head in assent. + +"I can't, I can't!" + +"Prolong, then, O Lord! Your bright day and bid the night wait. Am I +right, Rikke?" + +"Yes." + +"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." + +Silence. Old Dan tugs the abbot by the sleeve, and whispers something in +his ear. + +ABBOT--Dan is asking me to pray for those who perished at sea. + +The women exclaim in plaintive chorus: + +"For those who perished at sea! For those who died at sea!" + +Some of them kneel. The abbot looks tenderly at their bowed heads, +exhausted with waiting and fear, and says: + +"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!" + +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. + +Soft voices say: + +"The sea is coming." + +"High tide has started." + +"The sea is coming." + +Mariet kisses her father's hand. + +"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?" + +Haggart smiles. + +"And is it not strange that this should have become a wife to me, a +man?" He embraces Mariet, bending her frail shoulders. + +"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." + +The people disperse quickly. Mariet says confusedly and cheerfully: + +"I'll run first." + +"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." + +He waits and mutters: + +"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." + +Haggart goes over to Khorre, near whom Dan is sitting. + +"Khorre! Let us go to eat--the priest called you." + +"I don't want to go, Noni." + +"So? What are you going to do here on shore?" + +"I will think, Noni, think. I have so much to think to be able to +understand at least something." + +Haggart turns around silently. The abbot calls from the distance: + +"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?" + +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. + +The tide is coming. + +"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?" + +"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!" + +"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." + +"Oho! With chains." + +"Your king was a fool. Was he married, your king?" + +"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." + +"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!" + +"Oho! And why do you come to hear it? I know that you and Gart stood by +the wall and listened." + +Khorre says sternly: + +"It was he who got me out of bed." + +"He will get you out of bed again." + +"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." + +"And I will spit into your sea." + +"Try," says the sailor distrustfully. "How will you spit?" + +"This way," and Dan, exasperated, spits in the direction of the sea. The +frightened Khorre, in confusion, says hoarsely: + +"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." + +Dan shouts, frightened: + +"Who speaks of those that perished at sea? You, you dog!" + +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. + +"He is gone. Then I am going to look at you, O sea, until my eyes will +burst of thirst!" + +The ocean, approaching, is roaring. + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +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. + +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. + +And there is but one little light in the black space of water and +night--the distant lighthouse of the Holy Cross. + +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: + +"Good evening, stranger. Have you been here long?" + +A sad, soft, and grave voice answers: + +"Good evening, Haggart. Yes, I have been here long." + +"You are watching?" + +"I am watching and listening." + +"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." + +"No, you are not disturbing me, Haggart. But am I not disturbing you? +Then I shall go away." + +"You are so polite, sir," mutters Haggart. + +"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?" + +"That is the lighthouse of the Holy Cross." + +"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." + +Haggart, agitated but restrained, says: + +"You frighten me, sir. Why do you ask me what you know better than I do? +You want to tempt me--you know everything." + +There is not a trace of a smile in the mournful voice--nothing but +sadness. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"I am he whom you called--the one who is always sad." + +"When I come, you are already here; when I go away, you remain. Why do +you never want to go with me, sir?" + +"There is one way for you, Haggart, and another for me." + +"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." + +"I don't know of whom you speak." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"What is the cause of your sorrow and your sufferings, Haggart?" + +"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." + +The sad voice replies: + +"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." + +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. + +"Tell Haggart--" says the sad voice. + +"Very well. I will tell Haggart." + +"Tell Haggart that I love him." + +Silence--and then a faint, plaintive reproach resounds softly: + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Yes, it is called so here." + +"Aha! It is called so here." + +Silence. + +"Must I go now?" asks Haggart. + +"Yes, go." + +"And you will remain here?" + +"I will remain here." + +Haggart retreats several steps. + +"Good-bye, sir." + +"Good-bye, Haggart." + +Again the cobblestones rattle under his cautious steps; without looking +back, Haggart climbs the steep rocks. + +Of what great sorrow speaks this night? + + + +CHAPTER V + + +"Your hands are in blood, Haggart. Whom have you killed, Haggart?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Yes, yes." + +"Why didn't you throw it into the sea?" + +"Silence! What are you prating about? I have nothing to throw into the +sea." + +"But your hands are in blood." + +"Silence, Khorre! He will commence soon. Be silent and listen--I say to +you--Are you a friend to me or not, Khorre?" + +He drags him closer to the dark window of the church. Khorre mutters: + +"How dark it is. If you raised me out of bed for this accursed music--" + +"Yes, yes; for this accursed music." + +"Then you have disturbed my honest sleep in vain; I want no music, +Noni." + +"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.'" + +"You are confusing things, Noni. Drink some gin, my boy. What cannons?" + +"Silence, sailor." + +He drags him away from the window. + +"Oh, you shake me like a squall!" + +"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." + +He laughs softly. + +"Are you speaking of Dan? I don't understand anything, Noni." + +"But is that Dan? Of course it is not Dan--it is some one else. Give me +your hand, sailor." + +"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--" + +"Tss!" + +Khorre lowers his voice: + +"But your hand is really in blood. Oh, you are breaking my fingers!" + +Haggart threatens: + +"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!" + +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. + +"Why doesn't he light a lamp?" asks Khorre sternly but submissively. + +"He needs no light." + +"Perhaps there is no one there any longer." + +"Yes, he's there." + +"A fog is coming. How quiet it is! There's something wrong in the +air--what do you think, Noni?" + +"Tss!" + +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: + +"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!" + +"I don't like it." + +"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!" + +"I don't see it, Noni. Leave my hand alone, it hurts." + +"Now he makes believe he is Haggart! Listen!" + +The oppressive chords resound faintly. Haggart moans softly. + +"What is it, Noni? Do you feel any pain?" + +"Yes. Do you understand of what he speaks?" + +"No." + +"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." + +"What, Noni?" + +"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." + +He moans again, trying to restrain himself. + +"Do you feel any pain?" + +"Yes--Be silent." + +Haggart exclaims in a muffled voice: + +"Oh, Khorre!" + +"What is it, Noni?" + +"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." + +He shouts, turning to the thundering organ: + +"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?" + +"Strike them on the head, Noni." + +"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?" + +He stops speaking. The organ sings solemnly. + +"Why did you stop speaking, Noni?" asks the sailor with alarm. + +"I am listening. It is good music, Khorre. Have I said anything?" + +"You even shouted, Noni, and you forced me to shout with you." + +"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." + +Khorre is terrified. + +"Drink some gin, Noni." + +"I don't need it. I drank something else already." + +"Your hands?" + +"Be silent, Khorre. Don't you see that everything is silent and is +listening, and you alone are talking? The musician may feel offended!" + +He laughs quietly. Brass trumpets are roaring harmoniously about the +triumphant conciliation between man and God. The fog is growing thicker. + +A loud stamping of feet--some one runs through the deserted street in +agitation. + +"Noni!" whispers the sailor. "Who ran by?" + +"I hear." + +"Noni! Another one is running. Something is wrong." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +The mist is growing thicker. + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Some one in the corner says: + +"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." + +"You can't do that with a dull knife!" + +"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." + +Silence. + +"And where is his mother?" asks some one, nodding at the curtain. + +"Selly is taking care of her. Selly took her to her house." + +An old fisherman quietly asks his neighbour: + +"Who told you?" + +"Francina woke me. Who told you, Marle?" + +"Some one knocked on my window." + +"Who knocked on your window?" + +"I don't know." + +Silence. + +"How is it you don't know? Who was the first to see?" + +"Some one passed by and noticed him." + +"None of us passed by. There was nobody among us who passed by." + +A fisherman seated at the other end, says: + +"There was nobody among us who passed by. Tell us, Thomas." + +Thomas takes out his pipe: + +"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. + +An elderly fisherman enters and forces himself silently into the line. + +"Well, Tibo?" asks the abbot, stopping. + +"Nothing." + +"Haven't you found Haggart?" + +"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." + +The abbot lowers his head and resumes his pacing. The old fisherman +speaks, without addressing any one in particular. + +"There are many ships now staring helplessly in the sea." + +"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." + +"The fog is deceitful." + +Old Desfoso says: + +"This never happened here. Since Dugamel broke Jack's head with a shaft. +That was thirty--forty years ago." + +"What did you say, Desfoso?" the abbot stops. + +"I say, since Dugamel broke Jack's head--" + +"Yes, yes!" says the abbot, and resumes pacing the room. + +"Then Dugamel threw himself into the sea from a rock and was dashed to +death--that's how it happened. He threw himself down." + +Mariet shudders and looks at the speaker with hatred. Silence. + +"What did you say, Thomas?" + +Thomas takes his pipe out of his mouth. + +"Nothing. I only said that some one knocked at my window." + +"You don't know who?" + +"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--" + +He stops irresolutely. Mariet asks harshly: + +"Since when? You said 'since.'" + +Silence. Desfoso replies frankly and heavily: + +"Since your Haggart came. Go ahead, Thomas, tell us about it." + +"So I said to him: 'Why did you knock, Philipp? Do you want anything?' +But he was silent." + +"And he was silent?" + +"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." + +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. + +"Eh, Lebon! Chase the women away," he says. "Tell them, there is nothing +for them to do here." + +Lebon goes out. + +"Wait," the abbot stops. "Ask how the mother is feeling; Selly is taking +care of her." + +Desfoso says: + +"You say, chase away the women, abbot? And your daughter? She is here." + +The abbot looks at Mariet. She says: + +"I am not going away from here." + +Silence. The abbot paces the room again; he looks at the little ship +fastened to the ceiling and asks: + +"Who made it?" + +All look at the little ship. + +"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." + +They look at the ship again, at its perfect little sails--at the little +rags. Lebon returns. + +"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." + +Mariet shudders and looks at the door; the abbot pauses. + +"Oho, it is daybreak already, the fog is turning blue!" says one +fisherman to another, but his voice breaks off. + +"Yes. Low tide has started," replies the other dully. + +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. + +One of the men who brought Haggart says to the abbot in a low voice: + +"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." + +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. + +"Hello, Haggart," says the abbot. + +"Hello, father." + +"You call me father?" + +"Yes, you." + +"You are mistaken, Haggart. I am not your father." + +The fishermen exchanged glances contentedly. + +"Well, then. Hello, abbot," says Haggart with indifference, and resumes +examining the little ship. Khorre mutters: + +"That's the way, be firm, Noni." + +"Who made this toy?" asks Haggart, but no one replies. + +"Hello, Gart!" says Mariet, smiling. "It is I, your wife, Mariet. Let me +untie your hands." + +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. + +"Thank you," he says, straightening his hands. + +"It would be a good thing to untie my hands, too," said Khorre, but +there is no answer. + +ABBOT--Haggart, did you kill Philipp? + +HAGGART--I. + +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. + +HAGGART--No, I did not order the sailor to do it. I killed Philipp with +my own hand. + +Silence. + +KHORRE--Noni! Tell them to unfasten my hands and give me back my pipe. + +"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." + +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. + +ABBOT--Haggart, I am asking you. Who carried Philipp's body? + +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. + +ABBOT--Why did you do it? + +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. + +ABBOT--(With restraint.) You are laughing at us? + +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? + +No one answers. Mariet, rising and bending over to Haggart across the +table, says: + +"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'?" + +"These are very sad words. Who told them to you, Mariet?" asks Haggart, +surprised. + +"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'?" + +Haggart maintains silence. + +"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?" + +Khorre replies rudely: + +"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." + +Suddenly old Desfoso shouts amid the loud approval of the others: + +"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." + +"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." + +"He was Mariet's betrothed--and--" + +"Well?" + +"And--I don't want to speak. Why didn't you ask me before, when he was +alive? Now I have killed him." + +"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--" + +"No." + +"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--" + +"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?" + +The abbot lowers his head sternly. And Desfoso shouts again, amidst sobs +of approval from the others: + +"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." + +Haggart looks at the speaker steadfastly and says slowly: + +"I talked with the devil." + +A muffled rumbling follows. The abbot jumps from his place and roars +furiously: + +"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!" + +Khorre rudely pushes aside the young fisherman who comes over to him +with a rope, and says to Desfoso in a low voice: + +"It's an important matter, old man. Go away for a minute--he oughtn't to +hear it," he nods at Haggart. + +"I don't trust you." + +"You needn't. That's nothing. Noni, there is a little matter here. Come, +come, and don't be afraid. I have no knife." + +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: + +"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." + +"Don't!" says Haggart. + +"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'?" + +Silence. Desfoso, who has returned and who is agitated, decides: + +"Let her speak. She is his wife." + +"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!" + +Turning to all the people with the same smile, she continues: + +"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?" + +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: + +"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--" + +She wipes her mouth and continues, laughing: + +"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." + +Haggart almost believes her. Advancing a step forward, he asks: + +"You urged me? Perhaps it is true, Mariet--I don't remember." + +Mariet laughs. + +"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--" + +"Mariet!" Haggart interrupts her threateningly. + +Mariet, turning pale, looking sorrowfully at his terrible eyes which are +now steadfastly fixed upon her, continues, still smiling: + +"Go on, Gart! Will you say perhaps that I--Will you say perhaps that I +dissuaded you? That would be funny--" + +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. + +MARIET--Go--on--Haggart. + +HAGGART--You are laughing? Abbot, I don't want to be the husband of your +daughter--she lies. + +ABBOT--You are worse than the devil, Gart! That's what I say--You are +worse than the devil, Gart! + +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! + +And he laughs bitterly. + +MARIET--Forgive me, Gart. + +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! + +"I wanted to deceive them, not you, Gart. I wanted to save you," says +Mariet. + +Haggart replies: + +"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." + +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: + +"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." + +He winks slyly at Mariet, who has now lifted her head. + +"What are you prating there, you scarecrow?" asks the abbot. + +Khorre continues: + +"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." + +"If you are not inventing--then you had better choke yourself with your +gold, you dog!" says the abbot. + +HAGGART--Khorre! + +KHORRE--Yes. + +HAGGART--To-morrow you will get a hundred lashes. Abbot, order a hundred +lashes for him! + +ABBOT--With pleasure, my son. With pleasure. + +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. + +"The fog is rising!" says one, looking out of the window. "Do you hear +what I said about the fog?" + +"It's time to go to sleep. I say, it's time to go to sleep!" + +Desfoso comes forward and speaks cautiously: + +"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?" + +THOMAS--We ought to go to sleep, I say. Isn't it true that it is time to +go to sleep? + +MARIET (softly)--Sit down, Gart. You are tired to-night. You don't +answer? + +An old fisherman says: + +"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?" + +Another voice is heard: + +"Philipp is dead. Philipp is dead already, do you hear, neighbour? Who +is going to support his mother?" + +"I haven't enough even for my own! And the fog is rising, neighbour." + +"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. + +Then a determined voice remarks: + +"Gart is a good man! Wild Gart is a good man!" + +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. + +Haggart turns to Mariet and says: + +"Do you hear, woman?" + +"I do." + +"Why don't you spit into their faces?" + +"I can't. I love you, Haggart. Are there only ten Commandments of God? +No, there is still another: 'I love you, Haggart.'" + +"What sad dreams there are in your land." + +The abbot rises and walks over to the fishermen. + +"Well, what did you say about the church, old man? You said something +interesting about the church, or was I mistaken?" + +He casts a swift glance at Mariet and Haggart. + +"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." + +"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." + +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: + +"There, Rikke doesn't want to work any more." + +All laugh softly and forcedly. + +"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?" + +"That's right, that's right!" nods the abbot, approvingly. "But what a +mind you have, Desfoso!" + +"Do you pay attention to them, Abbot?" asked Haggart. + +"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." + +Desfoso affirms: + +"What's the use of pride? Pride isn't necessary." + +He turns to Haggart, his eyes still lowered; then he lifts his eyes and +asks: + +"Gart! But you don't need to kill anybody else. Excepting Philipp, you +don't feel like killing anybody else, do you?" + +"No." + +"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." + +Several voices are heard: + +"Through him. Send him away, Gart! It will be better for him!" + +The abbot upholds them. + +"True!" + +"You, too, priest!" says Khorre, gruffly. Haggart looks with a faint +smile at his angry, bristled face, and says: + +"I rather feel like sending him away. Let him go." + +"Well, then, Abbot," says Desfoso, turning around, "we have decided, in +accordance with our conscience--to take the money. Do I speak properly?" + +One voice answers for all: + +"Yes." + +DESFOSO--Well, sailor, where is the money? + +KHORRE--Captain? + +HAGGART--Give it to them. + +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--" + +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: + +"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?" + +"I do, Haggart." + +"No, you are a woman." + +"Why do you torture me, Gart? What have I done that you should torture +me so? I love you." + +"You lied." + +"My tongue lied. I love you." + +"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!" + +Desfoso asks loudly: + +"Well, abbot? You are coming along with us, aren't you, father. +Otherwise something wrong might come out of it. Do I speak properly?" + +The abbot replies merrily: + +"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!" + +The fishermen go out very slowly--they are purposely lingering. + +"The sea is coming," says one. "I can hear it." + +"Yes, yes, the sea is coming! Did you understand what he said?" + +The few who remained are more hasty in their movements. Some of them +politely bid Haggart farewell. + +"Good-bye, Gart." + +"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?" + +"'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." + +There is some crowding in the doorway. The abbot follows the last man +with his eyes and roars angrily: + +"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?" + +"I hear, priest." + +The abbot exclaims, raising his arms: + +"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!" + +"To whom do you lie, priest?" asks Haggart, slowly. "To God or to the +devil? To yourself or to the people? Or to everybody?" + +He laughs bitterly. + +"Eh, Gart! You are drunk with blood." + +"And with what are you drunk?" + +They face each other. Mariet cries angrily, placing herself between +them: + +"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?" + +"Now, now," says the abbot, calming them. "Take him home, Mariet. Go +home, Gart, and sleep more." + +Mariet comes forward, goes to the door and pauses there. + +"Gart! I am going to little Noni." + +"Go." + +"Are you coming along with me?" + +"Yes--no--later." + +"I am going to little Noni. What shall I tell him about his father when +he wakes up?" + +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. + +"Khorre!" + +"Yes." + +"Gin!" + +"Here it is, Noni. Drink it, my boy, but not all at once, not all at +once, Noni." + +Haggart drinks; he examines the room with a smile. + +"Nobody. Did you see him, Khorre? He is there, behind the curtain. Just +think of it, sailor--here we are again with him alone." + +"Go home, Noni!" + +"Right away. Give me some gin." + +He drinks. + +"And they? They have gone?" + +"They ran, Noni. Go home, my boy! They ran off like goats. I was +laughing so much, Noni." + +Both laugh. + +"Take down that toy, Khorre. Yes, yes, a little ship. He made it, +Khorre." + +They examine the toy. + +"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?" + +He throws down the little ship and rises: + +"Khorre! Boatswain!" + +"Yes." + +"Call them! I assume command again, Khorre!" + +The sailor turns pale and shouts enthusiastically: + +"Noni! Captain! My knees are trembling. I will not be able to reach them +and I will fall on the way." + +"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?" + +He laughs. The sailor looks at him, his hands folded as in prayer, and +he weeps. + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +"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!" + +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. + +A noisy conversation and the splashing of the waters--and the dreadful +silence of kindred human lips that are sealed. + +"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." + +"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." + +"What do you want, Mariet? I did not call you here, and I am not pleased +that you have come." + +"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!" + +Haggart says sternly: + +"Step aside, Flerio, and you all--step aside with him." + +They all step aside. + +"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." + +Gently and submissively, seeking protection and kindness, the woman +presses close to his hand. + +"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!" + +"Don't kneel. Get up." + +"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!" + +Haggart retreats. + +"You say that, Mariet? You say that I should take you along? Perhaps you +are laughing, woman? Or am I dreaming again?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +She laughs bitterly. Haggart advances a step toward her and puts his +heavy hand upon her shoulder: + +"Yes, yes, Mariet. Speak on, girl, let the sea wait." + +Mariet removes his hand and continues: + +"'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." + +"Father is a splendid man," Haggart affirms cheerfully. + +"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?" + +Haggart laughs: + +"He had a comical face! You killed him, Mariet." + +"No. I don't know how to shoot. And it was he who told me where you +were. O Haggart, O brother!" + +She sobs, and then she speaks angrily with a shade of a serpentine hiss +in her voice: + +"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!" + +"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!" + +"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." + +Haggart whispers stormily: + +"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?" + +"I have, Captain. The shores will tremble when our cannons speak." + +"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." + +"Yes, Captain." + +Haggart laughs: + +"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?" + +"I am thinking of them. I am forever thinking of them." + +"Are you sorry for them?" Haggart frowns. + +"Yes, I am sorry for them. But my pity is my hatred, Haggart. I hate +them, and I would kill them, more and more!" + +"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." + +The sound of voices is heard--a crowd is approaching. + +"Where is the captain?" + +"Here. Halt, the captain is here!" + +"It's all done. They can be crammed into a basket like herrings." + +"Our boatswain is a brave fellow! A jolly man." + +Khorre, intoxicated and jolly, shouts: + +"Not so loud, devils! Don't you see that the captain is here? They +scream like seagulls over a dead dolphin." + +Mariet steps aside a little distance, where little Noni is sleeping. + +KHORRE--Here we are, Captain. No losses, Captain. And how we laughed, +Noni. + +HAGGART--You got drunk rather early. Come to the point. + +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. + +Laughter. Haggart also laughs. + +"Let them sow, we shall reap." + +"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." + +Mariet exclaims: + +"Father!" + +Khorre, astonished, asks: + +"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--" + +"Silence." + +"I don't understand your actions, Noni--" + +Haggart, restraining his rage, exclaims: + +"I shall have you put in irons! Silence!" + +With ever-growing rage: + +"You dare talk back to me, riff-raff! You--" + +Mariet cautions him: + +"Gart! They have brought father here." + +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. + +"Untie him!" says Mariet. Haggart corrects her restrainedly: + +"Only I command here, Mariet. Khorre, untie him." + +Khorre unfastens the knots. Silence. + +ABBOT--Hello, Haggart. + +"Hello, abbot." + +"You have arranged a fine night, Haggart!" + +Haggart speaks with restraint: + +"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." + +ABBOT--Prayers? In what language? Have you, perhaps, discovered a new +language in which prayers reach God? Oh, Haggart, Haggart! + +He weeps, covering his face with his hands. Haggart, alarmed, asks: + +"You are crying, abbot?" + +"Look, Gart, he is crying. Father never cried. I am afraid, Gart." + +The abbot stops crying. Heaving a deep sigh, he says: + +"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." + +Haggart replies morosely: + +"Go home, priest! Mariet will stay with me." + +"Let her stay with you. I don't need her, and if you need her, take her. +Take her, Haggart. But--" + +He kneels before him. A murmur of astonishment. Mariet, frightened, +advances a step to her father. + +"Father! You are kneeling?" + +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-- + +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! + +The abbot, still kneeling, continues: + +"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--" + +Mariet looks now at Haggart, now at the priest. Haggart is hesitating. +The abbot keeps muttering: + +"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!" + +"No," Haggart replied sternly. + +"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. + +"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!" + +He seizes a torch and lifts it high over his head--he covers his +terrible face with fire and smoke. + +"Look, here I am! Do you see? Now ask me, if you dare!" + +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. + +"Why have you done it?"--the abbot clutches the hand that struck him +down. + +"Just so--for nothing!" + +The abbot falls to the ground and dies. + +"Why have you done it?" cries Mariet. + +"Why have you done it?" roars Haggart. + +And a strange voice, coming from some unknown depths, answers with +Khorre's lips: + +"You commanded me to do it." + +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. + +"Who commanded? It was the roaring of the sea. I did not want to kill +him--no, no!" + +Sombre voices answer: + +"You commanded. We heard it. You commanded." + +Haggart listens, his head thrown back. Suddenly he bursts into loud +laughter: + +"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!" + +He hurls Khorre to the ground. + +"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." + +Khorre whines harshly: + +"Me, Captain! I was your nurse, Noni." + +"Silence! Rascal!" + +"I? Noni! Your nurse? You squealed like a little pig in the cook's room. +Have you forgotten it, Noni?" mutters the sailor plaintively. + +"Eh," shouts Haggart to the stern crowd. "Take him!" + +Several men advance to him. Khorre rises. + +"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!" + +Grim laughter. Several sailors surround Khorre as Haggart watches them +sternly. A dissatisfied voice says: + +"There is no place where to hang him here. There isn't a single tree +around." + +"Let us wait till we get aboard ship! Let him die honestly on the mast." + +"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!" + +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: + +"Flerio! Did you hear me give orders to kill this man?" + +"No, Captain." + +"You may go." + +He paces back and forth again, and then calls: + +"Flerio! Have you ever heard the sea lying?" + +"No." + +"If they can't find a tree, order them to choke him with their hands." + +He paces back and forth again. Mariet is laughing quietly. + +"Who is laughing?" asks Haggart in fury. + +"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!" + +"Flerio, my friend, did you hear what he said? He says the sea never +lies." + +"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'?" + +"That is not true. Be silent, Mariet, you are intoxicated with blood. I +don't know what justice is." + +"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'!" + +She laughs quietly. + +A loud, ringing laughter resounds from the side where Khorre was led +away. Haggart stops, perplexed. + +"What is it?" + +"The devil is meeting his soul there," says Mariet. + +"No. Let go of my hand! Eh, who's there?" + +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: + +"Khorre! Khorre! Khorre!" + +And then Khorre himself appears, dishevelled, crushed, but happy--the +rope has broken. Knitting his brow, Haggart is waiting in silence. + +"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." + +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. + +"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!" + +Voices shout: + +"Gin!" + +"Eh, the boatswain wants a drink! Gin!" + +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: + +"Haggart! You have pardoned him, Haggart?" + +Some of the people look at the body; those standing near it step aside. +Haggart asks, surprised: + +"Whose voice is that? Is that yours, Mariet? How strange! I did not +recognise your voice." + +"You have pardoned him, Haggart?" + +"You have heard--the rope broke--" + +"Tell me, did you pardon the murderer? I want to hear your voice, +Haggart." + +A threatening voice is heard from among the crowd: + +"The rope broke. Who is talking there? The rope broke." + +"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." + +"Yes, yes." + +Khorre whistles. The sailors disperse unwillingly, and the same +threatening voice sounds somewhere from the darkness: + +"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.'" + +Another voice replies: + +"Don't grumble. Khorre has stronger defenders than you are." + +"What are you prating about, devils?" says Khorre. "Silence! Is that +you, Tommy? I know you, you are always the mischief-maker--" + +"Come on, Mariet!" says Haggart. "Give me little Noni, I want to carry +him to the boat myself. Come on, Mariet." + +"Where, Haggart?" + +"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!" + +"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!" + +Silence. The voice of the sea is growing louder--there is the splash and +the call and the promise of a stern caress. + +"I swear." + +Silence. Khorre and Flerio come up to Haggart. + +"All's ready, Captain," says Flerio. + +"They are waiting, Noni. Go quicker! They want to feast to-night, Noni! +But I must tell you, Noni, that they--" + +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? + +MARIET--Don't you want to kiss little Noni? You shall never kiss him +again. + +"No, I don't want to." + +Silence. + +"You will go alone." + +"Yes, I will go alone." + +"Did you ever cry, Haggart?" + +"No." + +"Who is crying now? I hear some one crying bitterly." + +"That is not true--it is the roaring of the sea." + +"Oh, Haggart! Of what great sorrow does that voice speak?" + +"Be silent, Mariet. It is the roaring of the sea." + +Silence. + +"Is everything ended now, Haggart?" + +"Everything is ended, Mariet." + +Mariet, imploring, says: + +"Gart! Only one motion of the hand! Right here--against the +heart--Gart!" + +"No. Leave me alone." + +"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!" + +"Let go. Give me my knife." + +"Gart, I bless you! One motion of your hand, Gart!" + +Haggart tears himself away, pushing the woman aside: + +"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!" + +"You are going away?" + +"Yes, I am going away. I am going away, Mariet. That's how it sounds." + +"I shall curse you, Haggart. Do you know! I shall curse you, Haggart. +And little Noni will curse you, Haggart--Haggart!" + +Haggart exclaims cheerfully and harshly: + +"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?" + +Khorre whispers to him hoarsely: + +"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." + +Haggart bursts out laughing. + +"Now you have said something funny. And I? Listen, Flerio, old friend. +This woman who stands and looks--No, that will not be funny!" + +He advances a step. + +"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!'" + +And a distant voice, sad and grave, replies: + +"Oh, Haggart, my dear Haggart." + +But who knows--perhaps it was the roaring of the waves. Many sad and +strange dreams come to man on earth. + +"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. + +"Haggart!" + +He goes, without turning around. + +"Haggart!" + +He has gone away. + +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. + +"Is that you, Dan? Do you hear, they are singing, Dan? Haggart has gone +away." + +"I was waiting for them to go. Here is another one. I am gathering the +pipes of my organ. Here is another one." + +"Be accursed, Dan!" + +"Oho? And you, too, Mariet, be accursed!" + +Mariet clasps the child in her arms and lifts him high. Then she calls +wildly: + +"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." + +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. + + + + + +JUDAS ISCARIOT AND OTHERS + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.... + +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. + +John, without looking at the Teacher, whispered to his friend Simon +Peter-- + +"Aren't you tired of that lie? I can't stand it any longer. I am going +away." + +Peter glanced at Jesus, and meeting his eye, quickly arose. + +"Wait a moment," said he to his friend. + +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-- + +"You will come with us, Judas." + +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-- + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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! + + + +CHAPTER II + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"How about your own father and mother, Judas--were they not good +people?" + +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. + +"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?" + +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: + +"'Whoso slandereth his father and his mother, his lamp shall be +extinguished in deep darkness.'" + +But John the son of Zebedee haughtily jerked out: "And what of us? What +evil have you to say of us, Judas Iscariot?" + +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. + +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-- + +"But Jesus? What do you think of Jesus? Speak seriously, I entreat you." + +Judas cast on him a malign glance. + +"And what do you think?" + +Peter whispered with awe and gladness-- + +"I think that He is the son of the living God." + +"Then why do you ask? What can Judas tell you, whose father was a goat?" + +"But do you love Him? You do not seem to love any one, Judas." + +And with the same strange malignity, Iscariot blurted out abruptly and +sharply: "I do." + +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. + +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: + +"You must prove that. Did you hear it yourself? Was there any one +present besides yourself? What was his name?" + +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. + +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-- + +"What more do you want? I have told you all." + +"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. + +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: + +"What a stupid you are, Thomas! What do you dream about--a tree, a wall, +or a donkey?" + +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-- + +"You are wrong, Judas. I have very bad dreams. What think you? Are +people responsible for their dreams?" + +"Does, then, any one but the dreamer see a dream?" Judas replied. + +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. + +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: + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +"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--" + +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. + +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?" + +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. + +"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-- + +"Rose? Yes, I like the smell. But I have never heard of a rose with a +swarthy countenance and eyes like a roe!" + +"What? Do you not know that the polydactylous cactus, which tore your +new garment yesterday, has only one beautiful flower, and only one eye?" + +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. + +Some time later another occurrence took place, in which Judas again +proved to be in the right. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Why do you call yourself magnificent?" asked Thomas in surprise. + +"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. + +"But you told lies," said Thomas. + +"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?" + +"You did not act rightly. Now I believe that a devil is your father. It +was he that taught you, Judas." + +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-- + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +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-- + +"You too, damn you!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER III + + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"I have a pain in my chest. Moreover, they have not invited me." + +"What need of invitation! At all events, I invite you; come! Look what +stones Peter throws!" + +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-- + +"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?" + +Smiling politely; and modestly wrapping his garment round his chest, +which was overgrown with red curly hairs, Judas stepped into the circle +of players. + +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. + +"No! you throw again!" said Peter in an offended tone. + +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-- + +"Lord! I do not wish to be beaten by Judas. Help me to throw this +stone." + +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-- + +"He says: 'But who will help Iscariot?'" + +Then glancing at Judas, who, panting with clenched teeth, was still +embracing the stubborn stone, he laughed cheerfully-- + +"Look what an invalid he is! See what our poor sick Judas is doing!" + +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. + +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-- + +"There's an invalid for you!" + +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. + +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. + +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! + +Judas went out, and then returned. Jesus was discoursing, and His +disciples were listening to Him in silence. + +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. + +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. + +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-- + +"Lord! to Thee are known the words of eternal life!" + +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-- + +"'He that looketh kindly shall be forgiven; but he that is met within +the gates will impede others.'" + +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. + +In the middle of the night the restless Thomas came to Judas' bed, and +sitting down on his heels, asked-- + +"Are you weeping, Judas?" + +"No! Go away, Thomas." + +"Why do you groan, and grind your teeth? Are you ill?" + +Judas was silent for a while, and then fretfully there fell from his +lips distressful words, fraught with grief and anger-- + +"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?" + +"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?" + +But Judas, stirring heavily in the darkness, continued as though he +heard him not-- + +"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." + +"You are speaking strangely, Judas!" + +"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?" + +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. + +"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!" + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +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. + +"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--" + +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. + +"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. + +"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: + +"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!" + +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. + +"We were all stupid, all blind, Judas. He alone sees, He alone is wise. +May I kiss you?" + +"Why not? Kiss away!" said Judas as in consent. + +Peter kissed him vigorously, and said aloud in his ear-- + +"But I almost choked you. The others kissed you in the usual way, but I +kissed you on the throat. Did it hurt you?" + +"A little." + +"I will go and tell Him all. I was angry even with Him," said Peter +sadly, trying noiselessly to open the door. + +"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. + +"I don't know yet. I must consider." + +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-- + +"Well, Thomas, and how does the matter progress?" + +Then Judas brought his money-box, and shaking the money and pretending +not to look at Thomas, began to count it-- + +"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...." + +Thomas approached him resolutely... for it was already towards evening, +and said-- + +"He is right, Judas. Let me kiss you." + +"Will you? Twenty-nine, thirty. It's no good. I shall steal again. +Thirty-one...." + +"But how can you steal, when it is neither yours nor another's? You will +simply take as much as you want, brother." + +"It has taken you a long time to repeat His words! Don't you value time, +you clever Thomas?" + +"You seem to be laughing at me, brother." + +"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?" + +"Certainly He is our Master. Why then should we not repeat the words of +our Master?" + +"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?" + +"We know now, Judas. We understand." + +"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?" + +Judas laughed, and lifting up the heavy rattling money-box with ease, +went on: + +"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." + +Judas obligingly pointed over the wall in illustration of his meaning, +and laughed again. + +"I am glad that you are merry," said Thomas, "but it is a great pity +that there is so much malice in your merriment." + +"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?" + +"I think that I had better be going." + +"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." + +"To a harlot!" exclaimed Thomas in surprise. "And did you tell the +Master of it?" + +"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." + +"Are you sure of that?" said Thomas in confusion. + +"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." + +Thereupon Thomas got up quickly, and, when he had gone a few steps away, +he flung out at Judas: + +"You seem to be possessed of Satan, Judas." + +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. + +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: + +"'He that is devoid of wisdom despiseth his neighbour: but a man of +understanding holdeth his peace.'" + +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. + +"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?" + +Judas meditated, and then answered-- + +"I suppose that you will." + +"But Peter thinks that he will," laughed John. + +"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?" + +"Yes, I will not leave Jesus," John agreed. + +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. + +"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." + +"You, of course," answered Iscariot without hesitation. And Peter +exclaimed with indignation, "I told him so!" + +"But, of course, he will try even there to oust you from the first +place." + +"Certainly!" + +"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?" + +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?" + +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: + +"The fool believeth every word: but the prudent taketh heed to his +paths." + +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: + +"'The righteous eateth to the satisfying of his soul: but the belly of +the wicked shall want.'" + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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. + +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. + +Peter called out, "Come now, Judas the wise, tell us who will be first, +nearest to Jesus, he or I?" + +But Judas remained silent, breathing heavily, his eyes eagerly +questioning the quiet, deep eyes of Jesus. + +"Yes," John condescendingly repeated, "tell us who will be first, +nearest to Jesus." + +Without taking his eyes off Christ, Judas slowly rose, and answered +quietly and gravely: + +"I." + +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: + +"So that is what he is always thinking about! See?" + + + +CHAPTER V + + +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. + +"But who is this Nazarene?" asked Annas contemptuously, making as though +he heard the name of Jesus for the first time. + +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." + +"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." + +Annas, with an approving nod, said-- + +"But He, apparently, has many disciples." + +"Yes, many." + +"And they, it seems probable, have a great love for Him?" + +"Yes, they say that they love Him, love Him much, more than themselves." + +"But if we try to take Him, will they not defend Him? Will they not +raise a tumult?" + +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!" + +"Are they really so bad?" asked Annas coldly. + +"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." + +"But surely they love Him? You yourself said so." + +"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!" + +Annas looked piercingly at the Traitor, and his lips puckered--which +indicated that he was smiling. + +"You have been insulted by them. I can see that." + +"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!" + +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. + +"I see that the most astute Annas is afraid of something," said Judas +when at last he obtained admission to the high priest. + +"I am strong enough not to fear anything," Annas answered haughtily. And +Iscariot stretched forth his hands and bowed abjectly. + +"What do you want?" + +"I wish to betray the Nazarene to you." + +"We do not want Him." + +Judas bowed and waited, humbly fixing his gaze on the high priest. + +"Go away." + +"But I am bound to return. Am I not, revered Annas?" + +"You will not be admitted. Go away!" + +But yet again and again Judas called on the aged Annas, and at last was +admitted. + +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. + +"What? you here again?" the irritated Annas haughtily jerked out, as +though spitting upon his head. + +"I wish to betray the Nazarene to you." + +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. + +"How much do you want for your Jesus?" + +"How much will you give?" + +Annas, with evident enjoyment, insultingly replied: "You are nothing but +a band of scoundrels. Thirty pieces--that's what we will give." + +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. + +"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!" + +With the same quiet pleasure, Annas remarked indifferently: + +"If you will not deal, go away. We shall find some one whose work is +cheaper." + +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. + +"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!" + +"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: + +"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?" + +"If you--" Annas tried to exclaim; but Judas' stormy speech bore away +his senile croak, like down upon the wind. + +"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. + +"Includes everything," said Annas in a choking voice. + +"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!'" + +Wearied, and grown quite dizzy, Annas wildly stamped about the floor in +his soft slippers, gesticulating: "Be off, be off!" + +But Judas on a sudden bowed down, stretching forth his hands +submissively: + +"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." + +"We shall find some one else. Be gone!" + +"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?" + +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. + +"There is now so much bad money about," Judas quickly explained. + +"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. + +"But can pious people distinguish between good and bad money! Only +rascals can do that." + +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. + +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. + +"Lord! Lord!" said he. + +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. + + . . . . . . . . + +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. + +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. + +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-- + +"What a narrator he is! Do you hear?" + +"Yes, certainly." + +"No, be more attentive. You women never make good listeners." + +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. + +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? + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +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: + +"We must look after Jesus. We must defend for Jesus, when the hour +comes." + +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: + +"Are we soldiers that we should be made to gird on swords? Is Jesus a +captain of the host, and not a prophet?" + +"But if they attempt to kill Him?" + +"They will not dare when they perceive how all the people follow Him." + +"But if they should dare! What then?" + +John replied disdainfully-- + +"One would think, Judas, that you were the only one who loved Jesus!" + +And eagerly seizing hold of these words, and not in the least offended, +Judas began to question impatiently and hotly, with stern insistency: + +"But you love Him, don't you?" + +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?" + +And all answered that they loved Him. + +He used often to converse with Thomas, and holding up his dry, hooked +forefinger, with its long, dirty nail, in warning, would mysteriously +say: + +"Look here, Thomas, the terrible hour is drawing near. Are you prepared +for it? Why did you not take the sword I brought you?" + +Thomas would reply with deliberation: + +"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?" + +"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. + +"Ah! Judas! Judas! But where did you get these? They are like Roman +swords." + +"I stole them. I could have stolen more, only some one gave the alarm, +and I fled." + +Thomas considered a little, then said sorrowfully-- + +"Again you acted ill, Judas. Why do you steal?" + +"There is no such thing as property." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +"But then you are always speaking ill of others," Mary objected. + +"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?" + +"It is so heavy, I could not lift it!" said Mary smilingly. + +"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?" + +"Yes, He was pleased. He said that its smell reminded Him of Galilee." + +"But surely, you did not tell Him that it was Judas--Judas Iscariot--who +got it for Him?" + +"Why, you asked me not to tell Him." + +"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?" + +"How should I know, when I have never seen your wife?" + +"True, true, Mary! But what think you, are thirty pieces of silver a +large sum? Is it not rather a small one?" + +"I should say a small one." + +"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?" + +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. + +"How bad you are, Judas; I want to forget about that, and you remind me +of it!" + +"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?" + +"But it was a sin!" + +"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." + +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. + +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!" + +So great was the exultation, so unrestrainedly did their loving cries +rend the skies, that Jesus wept, but His disciples proudly said: + +"Is not this the Son of God with us?" + +And they themselves cried out with enthusiasm: "Hosanna! Hosanna! He +that cometh in the name of the Lord!" + +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. + +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: + +"Thomas! But what if He is right? What if He be founded upon a rock, and +we upon sand? What then?" + +"Of whom are you speaking?" + +"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?" + +"I don't understand you, Judas. You speak very unintelligently. 'Who is +deceiving Jesus?' 'Who is right?'" + +And Judas nodded his head and repeated like an echo: + +"Who is deceiving Judas? Who?" + +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: + +"Who is deceiving Judas? Who is right?" + + +[1] Does our author refer to the Roman sign of disapprobation, vertere, +or convertere, pollicem?--Tr. + + +And still more surprised, and even alarmed, was Thomas, when suddenly in +the night he heard the loud, apparently glad voice of Judas: + +"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?" + +"That's impossible. What are you talking about, Judas?" + +"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!" + +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. + +"You know who will betray Him?" asked Thomas, looking at Judas with his +straight-forward, clear, almost transparent eyes. + +"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?" + +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: + +"Dost Thou know whither I go, Lord? I go to betray Thee into the hands +of Thine enemies." + +And there was a long silence, evening stillness, and swift black +shadows. + +"Thou art silent, Lord? Thou commandest me to go?" + +And again silence. + +"Allow me to remain. But perhaps Thou canst not? Or darest not? Or wilt +not?" + +And again silence, stupendous, like the eyes of eternity. + +"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?" + +And the last silence was abysmal, like the last glance of eternity. + +"I go." + +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. + +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. + +"Lord," said he, half in anger, half in grief: "Lord! I am ready to go +with Thee to prison and to death." + +And quietly, like the soft echo of retiring footsteps, came the +inexorable answer: + +"I tell thee, Peter, the cock will not crow this day before thou dost +deny Me thrice." + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +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: + +"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.'" + +The disciples were surprised and looked at one another in confusion. +Peter replied: + +"Lord, we have two swords here." + +He looked searchingly into their kind faces, lowered His head, and said +softly: + +"It is enough." + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"Where did He go?" said John, lifting himself on his elbow. Peter turned +his head in the direction of Jesus and answered fatiguedly: + +"I do not know." + +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. + +"Simon, are you sleeping?" + +And he slept again, and again some soft voice reached his ear and died +away without leaving any trace. + +"You could not watch with me even one hour?" + +"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: + +"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." + +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: + +"What is it? Who are these people with torches?" + +Thomas, pale faced, his moustaches in disorder, his teeth chattering +from chilliness, said to Peter: + +"They have evidently come after us." + +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: + +"Whomsoever I shall kiss, that same is He. Take Him and lead Him +cautiously. Lead Him cautiously, do you hear?" + +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. + +"Hail, Master!" he said loudly, charging his words of usual greeting +with a strange and stern meaning. + +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. + +"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?" + +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: + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"John, is that you?" + +"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?" + +Peter stopped and said with contempt: + +"Leave me, Satan!" + +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: + +"No, I do not know Him." + +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." + +Without turning around, and smiling involuntarily, Judas shook his head +affirmatively and muttered: + +"That's right, Peter! Do not give up the place near Jesus to any one." + +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. + +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: + +"How cold! My God, how cold it is!" + +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: + +"How cold! My God, how cold it is!" + +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. + +Has it come to that? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"Ah! how painful, my Son, my Son! How painful!" + +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. + +"What's that? Why are they silent? Have they suddenly divined the +truth?" + +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.... + +"Who is deceiving Judas? Who is right?" + +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. + +"What is day?" asks Judas. + +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. + +"What is the sun?" asks Judas. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +They pointed the finger at Judas, and some in contempt, others with +hatred and fear, said: + +"Look, that is Judas the Traitor!" + +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: + +"Judas the Traitor!" + +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: + +"Just so! Thou hearest, Jesus?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"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--" + +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. + +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. + +"Thomas, wait a bit!" + +Thomas stopped, and stretching both hands out in front of him solemnly +pronounced the words: + +"Avaunt, Satan!" + +Iscariot made an impatient movement of the hands. + +"What a fool you are, Thomas! I thought that you had more sense than the +others. Satan indeed! That requires proof." + +Letting his hands fall, Thomas asked in surprise: + +"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!" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"We were all talking last night, and came to the conclusion that the +court cannot condemn the innocent. But if it does, why then--" + +"What then!" + +"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." + +"Before the real! Is there any 'real' left?" sneered Judas. + +"And all of our party cursed you; but since you say that you were not +the traitor, I think you ought to be tried." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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: + +"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...." + +Judas closed his eyes. He was waiting. + +All the people began to shout, to sob, to howl with a thousand voices of +wild beasts and men: + +"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: + +"Release unto us Barabbas! But crucify Him! Crucify Him!" + +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? + +"Bring water." + +"Water? What water? What for?" + +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: + +"I am innocent of the blood of this Just Person. See ye to it." + +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: + +"O wise and noble... wise and noble." + +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: + +"O wise, O wise and noble...." + +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: + +"I go with Thee," he hurriedly whispers. + +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: + +"I go with Thee. Thither. Thou understandest whither." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +One hand. It is not yet too late! + +The other hand. It is not yet too late! + +A foot, the other foot! Is all lost? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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? + +"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. + +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. + +"Be still! Be still!" + +Suddenly a loud broken lamentation, dull cries, the last hurried +movements towards the cross. What is it? Have they understood at last? + +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. + +It is finished. Hosanna! Hosanna! + +His horror and his dreams are realised. Who will now snatch the victory +from the hands of Iscariot? + +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! + +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: + +"Thou weepest, mother? Weep, weep, and long will all the mothers upon +earth weep with thee: until I come with Jesus and destroy death." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +It is the end. + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +At length Caiaphas inquired impatiently: + +"What do you want?" + +Judas bowed once more, and said in a loud voice-- + +"It is I, Judas Iscariot, who betrayed to you Jesus of Nazareth." + +"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: + +"How much did you give?" + +"Thirty pieces of silver." + +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: + +"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." + +Caiaphas said: + +"Drive the dog out! What's he barking about?" + +"Get along with you. We have no time to listen to your babbling," said +Annas imperturbably. + +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. + +"You want to be driven out with sticks!" cried Caiaphas. + +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: + +"But you know... you know... who He was... He, whom you condemned +yesterday and crucified?" + +"We know. Go away!" + +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! + +And these words, these terrible words, were tearing his throat asunder-- + +"He was no deceiver. He was innocent and pure. Do you hear? Judas +deceived you. He betrayed to you an innocent man." + +He waits. He hears the aged, unconcerned voice of Annas, saying: + +"And is that all you want to say?" + +"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." + +He of the bird-like face smiles; but Annas is indifferent, Annas yawns. +And Caiaphas yawns, too, and says wearily: + +"What did they mean by talking to me about the intellect of Judas +Iscariot? He is simply a fool, and a bore, too." + +"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!" + +"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: + +"Is that all?" + +"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!" + +"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. + +"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!" + +And Iscariot begins to weep aloud. + +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: + +"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." + +He threw something, which rang shrilly. The sound had not died away, +before another, like it, strangely prolonged the clinking. + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +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: + +"'The long suffering is better than a hero; and he that ruleth his own +spirit than one who taketh a city.'" + +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. + +Peter raised both hands and shouted: + +"Get out of here, Traitor! Get out, or I will kill you." + +But the others looked more carefully at the face and eyes of the +Traitor, and said nothing, merely whispering in terror: + +"Leave him alone, leave him alone! He is possessed with a devil." + +Judas waited until they had quite done, and then cried out in a loud +voice: + +"Hail, ye eyes of Judas Iscariot! Ye have just seen the cold-blooded +murderers. Lo! Where is Jesus? I ask you, where is Jesus?" + +There was something compelling in the hoarse voice of Judas, and Thomas +replied obediently-- + +"You know yourself, Judas, that our Master was crucified yesterday." + +"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?" + +"What could we do, judge thou?" said Thomas, with a gesture of protest. + +"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!" + +Peter replied grimly to the violent speech of Judas: + +"I drew a sword, but He Himself forbade." + +"Forbade? And you obeyed!" jeered Judas. "Peter, Peter, how could you +listen to Him? Does He know anything of men, and of fighting?" + +"He who does not submit to Him goes to hell fire." + +"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?" + +"Silence!" cried John, rising. "He Himself willed this sacrifice. His +sacrifice is beautiful!" + +"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!" + +Judas angrily spat on the ground. + +"He took upon Him the sin of all mankind. His sacrifice is beautiful," +John insisted. + +"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!" + +"Judas, don't revile!" roared Peter, pushing. "How could we slay all His +enemies? They are so many!" + +"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." + +"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!" + +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: + +"What is this? You have been eating? Perhaps you have also been +sleeping?" + +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!" + +Thomas said, resolutely and firmly: + +"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?" + +"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!" + +"Accursed be thou thyself, Satan!" cried John, and James and Matthew and +all the other disciples repeated his cry; only Peter held his peace. + +"I am going to Him," said Judas, stretching his powerful hand on high. +"Who will follow Iscariot to Jesus?" + +"I--I also go with thee," cried Peter, rising. + +But John and the others stopped him in horror, saying: + +"Madman! Thou hast forgotten, that he betrayed the Master into the hands +of His enemies." + +Peter began to lament bitterly, striking his breast with his fist: + +"Whither, then, shall I go? O Lord! whither shall I go?" + + . . . . .. . . + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +Then he raised it suddenly, and opening wide his now fixed eyes, angrily +muttered: + +"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?" + +Again he swayed his petrifying head, and again he opened his eyes, +mumbling: + +"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?" + +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. + +"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: + +"Yes, meet me kindly, Jesus. I am very weary." + +He leapt. The rope strained, but held. His neck stretched, but his hands +and feet were crossed, and hung down as though damp. + +He died. Thus, in the course of two days, one after another, Jesus of +Nazareth and Judas Iscariot, the Traitor, left the world. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + + +"THE MAN WHO FOUND THE TRUTH" + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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--.) + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER II + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The letters of fire burned my exhausted brains, and in a wild ecstasy I +shook the doors of my cell and called violently: + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + + + +CHAPTER III + + +Thus I lived sadly in my prison for five or six years. + +The first redeeming ray flashed upon me when I least expected it. + +Endowed with the gift of imagination, I made my former fiancee the +object of all my thoughts. She became my love and my dream. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +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! + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +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. + +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.... + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +"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!" + +And it was I who invented the window in the prison door. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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: + +"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.' + +"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.' + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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.S.--I do not remember whether I told you that the criminal who +murdered my father has not been found as yet. + + + +CHAPTER V + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +K. told me very little of his past life. + +"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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"I understand you, my friend, I understand you perfectly, and I +sympathise with you." + +"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?" + +"Perfectly, my friend. No doubt the drawing ceases to please you on the +following day--" + +"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?" + +"My friend, you are in a prison." + +"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?" + +"Finish it, my friend, don't be agitated; then I will expound to you my +views." + +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. + +"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. + +"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?" + +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: + +"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?" + +But, occupied with his own thoughts, the artist apparently paid no +particular attention to my words and continued in a broken voice: + +"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--" + +"You had better return it to the authorities." + +"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.'" + +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! + +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: + +"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?" + +"I know no rules," said K. morosely. + +"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." + +"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. + +"Is this iodine? You told me that you had a pain and that you secured +iodine." + +"No. It is blood." + +"Blood?" + +"Yes." + +I must say frankly that I even liked him at that moment. + +"How did you get it?" + +"From my hand." + +"From your hand? But how did you manage to hide yourself from the eye +that is watching you?" + +He smiled cunningly, and even winked. + +"Don't you know that you can always deceive if only you want to do it?" + +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: + +"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?" + +He answered drowsily: + +"Very well." + +"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?" + +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: + +"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?" + +"To the devil with it!" + +This is exactly how K. expressed himself. He said it loudly, even with +an air of calmness. + +"What do you mean to say by this, my youthful friend?" + +"I wish to say that you may perish here, my old friend, but I shall +leave this place." + +"You can't escape from our prison," I retorted, sternly. + +"Have you tried?" + +"Yes, I have tried." + +He looked at me incredulously and smiled. He smiled! + +"You are a coward, old man. You are simply a miserable coward." + +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? + +But I shall not tire the attention of my indulgent reader with these +lyrical deviations, which have no bearing on the matter. I continue. + +After a pause, broken only by K.'s loud breathing, I said to him sadly: + +"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?" + +"You wish to help me? In what way?" + +"I will get you paper and pencil." + +The artist was silent. And his voice was soft and timid when he asked, +hesitatingly: + +"And--my drawings--will remain?" + +"Yes; they will remain." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +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. + +"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." + +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: + +"Your face actually calls for reproduction on canvas. We shall hang your +portrait in the office." + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +"It is you, old man, you! It is well drawn. You criticise it wrongly. +Where will you hang it?" + +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: + +"Well, Mr. Artist, what do you think? Am I murderer or not?" + +The artist, closing one eye, examined me and the portrait critically. +Then whistling a polka, he answered recklessly: "The devil knows you, +old man!" + +I smiled. K. understood my jest at last, burst out laughing and then +said with sudden seriousness: + +"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!" + +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: + +"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?" + +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: + +"What? You say Jesus sold Himself? What for?" + +I explained softly: + +"That the people, my child, that the people should believe Him." + +"Well?" + +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: + +"Don't you dare! Don't you dare get up, you Devil." + +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. + +"Oh, young man, young man! You yourself have drawn me into this +theological conversation." + +But he stared at me stubbornly, wide eyed, and kept repeating: + +"Sit there, sit there! I did not say this. No, no!" + +"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!" + +K. suddenly lowered his hands and admitted in a low voice: + +"Yes. I said it. But you, old man--" + +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." + +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. + +Leaving for a time our artist, who is now carried away by the portrait +of the Warden, I shall continue my story. + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.... + +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. + +"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." + +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: + +"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?" + +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: + +"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!" + +"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. + +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: + +"Liar! Do not listen to him. He is lying!" + +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. + +"Did you call me a liar, my child?" + +Moved by my kindness, the poor young man became confused and answered +hesitatingly: + +"Pardon me for my harshness, but it seems to me that you are not telling +the truth." + +"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--" + +"Pardon me. I did not understand you, and if you will permit me I--But +why do you make them swear?" + +"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?" + +"I will." + +"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?" + +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. + +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.... + +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.... + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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: + +"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." + +They were silent, and, continuing, I addressed my speech to the +portrait: + +"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!" + +And, pretending that the portrait answered, I continued in a different +voice with an expression of extreme sternness and boundless grief: + +"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!" + +Here I interrupted the speech of the Portrait, with an expression of +anger. + +"How dare you," I exclaimed; "how dare you speak of aimlessness in our +prison?" + +They were silent; and suddenly Jesus, without opening His eyes--He even +seemed to close them more tightly--answered: + +"Who knows the mysteries of the heart of Jesus?" + +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. + +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: + +"Were you praying?" + +I do not remember what I answered. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +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. + +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. + +"What does this mean, my friend?" I inquired cautiously. "And how about +the portrait of the second assistant?" + +"The devil take it!" + +"But you--" + +"The devil take it!" + +After a pause I remarked distractedly: + +"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--" + +"Shorter?" + +"Yes, shorter. But in general they find that you caught the likeness +very successfully." + +K. had put aside his slate pencil and, perfectly calm, said: + +"Tell your Warden that I am not going to paint that prison riffraff any +more." + +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: + +"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!" + +Indeed there was a certain fear, even madness, in the eyes of the +artist--the madness which shortly led him to his untimely grave. + +"Old man, it is necessary to have something beautiful. Do you understand +me?" + +"And the wife of the Warden? Is she not--" + +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! + +When I said this to K. I heard, to my regret, the same stereotyped and +indecent answer: + +"The devil take it!" + +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: + +"Why do you lie, old man?" + +I was astonished, of course. + +"I lie?" + +"Well, let it be the truth, if you like, but why? I am looking and +thinking. Why did you say that? Why?" + +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: + +"I have had enough of your smiles. Tell me plainly, why do you speak +so?" + +Then, I admit, I flared up: + +"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." + +My anger grew. I felt the veins on my forehead swelling. + +"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.'" + +The artist was silent, crushed by my angry and unrestrained speech. +Finally he sighed and said: + +"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!" + +He laughed like a child, and, heaving a sigh, added: + +"I'll make another attempt. I will paint the lady. There is really +something good in her. Although she is after all--a cow." + +He laughed again, and, fearing to brush away with his sleeve the drawing +on the slate, he cautiously placed it in the corner. + +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. + +"What have you done?" he asked at last in a low voice. "You have broken +it?" + +And raising my hand I replied solemnly: + +"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?" + +"Yes. The devil!" + +"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." + +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. + +"I am your slave, old man," he said at last, kissing my hand with his +cold lips. + +"No, you will be my favourite pupil, my son. I bless you." + +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. + +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. + +"I am going away from your prison," thus read the phrase. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"I believe and confess that our prison is immortal. What do you say to +this, my friends?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"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!" + +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. + +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: + +"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!" + +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. + +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? + +I asked the jailer: + +"I feel a strange sensation, as though there were the odour of cigar +smoke in my cell. Don't you smell it?" + +The jailer sniffed the air conscientiously and replied: + +"No I don't. You only imagined it." + +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. + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +FIRST LECTURE + +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. + +SECOND LECTURE + +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. + +THIRD LECTURE + +THE EXPLANATION OF THE SACRED FORMULA OF THE IRON GRATE + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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!" + +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. + +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. + +At times I am seized with fatigue owing to their absurd mode of life. I +have not the proper rest even at night. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"Well, did I talk much in my sleep?" + +"No, you didn't talk at all." + +"I had a terrible dream, and I remember I even cried." + +"No, you smiled all the time, and I thought--what fine dreams our Master +must see!" + +The dear youth must have been sincerely devoted to me, and I am deeply +moved by such devotion during these painful days. + +To-morrow I shall sit down to prepare my lectures. It is high time! + + + +CHAPTER X + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +She sat down. + +"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?" + +The strange visitor declined, in a state of agitation. + +"Very well, I'll take it off, but not now--later. First I want to see +you well." + +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. + +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: + +"Don't, don't, don't! Stop speaking! I can't listen to it!" + +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. + +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. + +"You see! You see! It is I. It is I! My God, why are you silent? Don't +you recognise me?" + +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! + +"Why are you silent? How terrible you are! You have forgotten me!" + +"Madam--" + +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: + +"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." + +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: + +"So you do love me!" + +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. + +"Yes, I did deceive you!" her deathly pale lips uttered. "I knew that +you were innocent--" + +"Be silent. Be silent." + +"Everybody laughed at me--even your friends, your mother whom I despised +for it--all betrayed you. Only I kept repeating: 'He is innocent!'" + +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: + +"Be silent! I--" + +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: + +"No, I will not be silent. I must tell you all. I have waited for you so +many years. Listen, listen!" + +But suddenly she saw my face and she retreated, seized with horror. + +"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!" + +But I was not laughing at all, I only smiled softly. And then I said +very seriously, without smiling: + +"I am smiling because I am glad to see you. Tell me about yourself." + +And, as in a dream, I saw her face and I heard her soft terrible +whisper: + +"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." + +"You lie!" + +"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." + +"But he was lying!" + +"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--" + +"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!" + +"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." + +She began to cry, wringing her hands. + +"Understand me. I was so exhausted. And he--he saw how I felt--and yet +he dared kiss me." + +"He kissed you! And you allowed him? On the lips?" + +"No, no! Only on the cheek." + +"You lie!" + +"No, no. I swear to you." + +I began to laugh. + +"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!" + +In my rage I wrung her arms, and wriggling like a snake, vainly trying +to evade my look, she whispered: + +"Forgive me; forgive me." + +"How many children have you?" + +"Forgive me." + +But my reason forsook me, and in my growing rage I cried, stamping my +foot: + +"How many children have you? Speak, or I will kill you!" + +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: + +"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!" + +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: + +"But you are happy! You cannot be unhappy; you have no right to be +unhappy! Otherwise I shall lose my mind." + +But she did not understand. With a bitter laugh, with a senseless smile, +in which her suffering mingled with bright, heavenly joy, she said: + +"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--" + +"And he?" + +"Be silent! Be silent! If you only heard with what delight I called him +scoundrel!" + +She burst into laughter, frightening me by the wild expression on her +face. + +"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." + +She burst into laughter again. It seemed to me that she was driving +wedges into my brain. Clasping my head, I cried: + +"You lie! You lie to me!" + +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! + +"I love you! I love you!" + +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: + +"What is it? And life? I am an old woman already." + + +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: + +"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?" + +"I do." + +"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?" + +"Yes." + +"Oh, I forgot my veil. Keep it, keep it as a remembrance of this day. My +dear!" + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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-- + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +I must go back to the description of my prison. + +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: + +"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?" + +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: + +"In the end I will drive you away from here. You must not forget that +you are my servant." + +"Before you drive me away I will incarcerate you," replied this worthy +man. + +"But how about the money?" I asked with astonishment. "Don't you know +that you will be deprived of it?" + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + ***** + +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. + +With a sigh I go back in silence, and he moves behind me noiselessly, +about two steps away, watching every move of mine. + +Our prison is beautiful at sunset. + + + + + + + + + +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.txt or 5779.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 + +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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