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diff --git a/old/cflow10.txt b/old/cflow10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d3a9f36 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/cflow10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11147 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Crushed Flower and Other Stories +by Leonid Andreyev + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Crushed Flower and Other Stories + +Author: Leonid Andreyev + +Release Date: May, 2004 [EBook #5779] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on September 1, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE CRUSHED FLOWER AND OTHER STORIES *** + + + + +This eBook was produced by Jarrod Newton <sardonicist@hotmail.com>. + + + + +THE CRUSHED FLOWER AND OTHER STORIES + + +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 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 sears. 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, east-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, THE CRUSHED FLOWER AND OTHER STORIES *** + +This file should be named cflow10.txt or cflow10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, cflow11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, cflow10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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