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diff --git a/old/66344-0.txt b/old/66344-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 436f5b8..0000000 --- a/old/66344-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8262 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Old House, by Cécile Tormay - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Old House - A Novel - -Author: Cécile Tormay - -Translator: Emil Torday - -Release Date: September 19, 2021 [eBook #66344] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Paul Clark and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive/American - Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD HOUSE *** - - - - - - _THE OLD HOUSE_ - - _A Novel_ - - _By_ - CÉCILE TORMAY - - TRANSLATED FROM THE HUNGARIAN BY - E. TORDAY - - ROBERT M. McBRIDE & COMPANY - 1922 : : : : NEW YORK - - - - - Copyright, 1922, by - Robert M. McBride & Co. - - - _Printed in the - United States of America_ - - - Published, September, 1922 - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -1 - -It was evening. Winter hung white over the earth. Great snowflakes -crept over the snow towards the coach. They moved ghostlike over the -silent, treeless plain. Mountains rose behind them in the snow. Small -church towers and roofs crowded over each other. Here and there little -squares flared up in the darkness. - -Night fell as the coach reached the excise barrier. Beyond, two sentry -boxes buried in the snow faced each other. The coachman shouted between -his hands. A drowsy voice answered and white cockades began to move -in the dark recesses of the boxes. The light of a lamp emerged from -the guard’s cottage. Behind the gleam a man with a rifle over his arm -strolled towards the vehicle. - -The high-wheeled travelling coach was painted in two colours: the -upper part dark green, the lower, including the wheels, bright yellow. -From near the driver’s seat small oil lamps shed their light over the -horses’ backs. The animals steamed in the cold. - -The guard lifted his lantern. At the touch of the crude light, the -coach window rattled and descended. In its empty frame appeared a -powerful grey head. Two steady cold eyes looked into the guard’s face. -The man stepped back. He bowed respectfully. - -“The Ulwing coach!” He drew the barrier aside. The civil guards in the -sentry boxes presented arms. - -“You may pass!” - -The light of the coach’s lamps wandered over crooked palings, over -waste ground--a large deserted market--the wall of a church. Along the -winding lanes lightless houses, squatting above the ditches, sulked -with closed eyes in the dark. Further on the houses became higher. -Not a living thing was to be seen until near the palace of Prince -Grassalkovich a night-watchman waded through the snow. From the end -of a stick he held in his hand dangled a lantern. The shadow of his -halberd moved on the wall like some black beast rearing over his head. - -From the tower of the town hall a hoarse voice shouted into the -quiet night: “Praised be the Lord Jesus!” and higher up the watchman -announced that he was awake. - -Then the township relapsed into silence. Snow fell leisurely between -old gabled roofs. Under jutting eaves streets crept forth from all -sides, crooked, suspicious, like conspirators. Where they met they -formed a ramshackle square. In the middle of the square the Servites’ -Fountain played in front of the church; water murmured frigidly from -its spout like a voice from the dark that prayed slowly, haltingly. - -A solitary lamp at a corner house thrust out from an iron bracket -into the street. Whenever it rocked at the wind’s pleasure, the chain -creaked gently and the beam of its light shrunk on the wall till it -was no bigger than a child’s fist. Another lone lamp in the middle of -New Market Place. Its smoky light was absorbed by the falling snow and -never reached the ground. - -Christopher Ulwing drew his head into his fur-collared coat. The -almanac proclaimed full moon for to-night. Whenever this happened, the -civic authorities saved lamp-oil; could they accept responsibility -if the heavens failed to comply with the calendar and left the town -in darkness? In any case, at this time of night the only place for -peaceful citizens was by their own fireside. - -Two lamps alight.... And even these were superfluous. - -Pest, the old-fashioned little town had gone to rest and the fancy came -to Christopher Ulwing that it was asleep even in day time, and that he -was the only person in it who was ever quite awake. - -He raised his head; the Leopold suburb had been reached. The carriage -had come to the end of the rough, jerky cobbles. Under the wheels the -ruts became soft and deep. The breeze blowing from the direction of -the Danube ruffled the horses’ manes gently. - -All of a sudden, a clear, pleasant murmur broke the silence. The great -life-giving river pursued its mysterious course through the darkness, -invisible even as life itself. - -Beyond it were massed the white hills of Buda. On the Pest side an -uninterrupted plain stretched between the town and the river. In the -white waste the house of Christopher Ulwing stood alone. For well nigh -thirty years it had been called in town “the new house.” The building -of it had been a great event. The citizens of the Inner Town used to -make excursions on Sundays to see it. They looked at it, discussed it, -and shook their heads. They could not grasp why Ulwing the builder -should put his house there in the sand when plenty of building ground -could be got cheaply, in the lovely narrow streets of the Inner Town. -But he would have his own way and loved his house all the more. The -child of his mind, the product of his work, his bricks, it was entirely -his own. Though once upon a time.... - -While Christopher Ulwing listened unconsciously to the murmur of the -Danube, silent shades rose from afar and spoke to his soul. He thought -of the ancient Ulwings who had lived in the great dark German forest. -They were woodcutters on the shores of the Danube and they followed -their calling downstream. Some acquired citizenship in a small German -town. They became master carpenters and smiths. They worked oak and -iron, simple, rude materials, and were moulded in the image of the -stuff they worked in. Honest, strong men. Then one happened to wander -into Hungary; he settled down in Pozsony and became apprenticed to -a goldsmith. He wrought in gold and ivory. His hand became lighter, -his eye more sensitive than his ancestors’. He was an artist.... -Christopher Ulwing thought of him--his father. There were two boys, he -and his brother Sebastian, and when the parental house became empty, -they too like those before them, heard the call. They left Pozsony on -the banks of the Danube. They followed the river, orphans, poor. - -Many a year had passed since. Many a thing had changed. - -Christopher Ulwing drew out his snuff box. It was his father’s work and -his only inheritance. He tapped it lightly with two fingers. As it sank -back into his pocket, he bent towards the window. - -His house now became distinctly visible; the steep double roof, the -compact storied front, the mullioned windows in the yellow wall, the -door of solid oak with its semi-circular top like a pair of frowning -eyebrows. Two urns stood above the ends of the cornice and two caryatid -pillars flanked the door. Every recess, every protruding wall of the -house appeared soft and white. - -Indoors the coach had been noticed. The windows of the upper story -became first light and then dark again in quick succession. Someone was -running along the rooms with a candle. The big oak gate opened. The -wheels clattered, the travelling box was jerked against the back of the -coach and all of a sudden the caryatids--human pillars--looked into the -coach window. The noise of the hoofs and the wheels echoed like thunder -under the archway of the porch. - -The manservant lowered the steps of the coach. - -A young man stood on the landing of the staircase. He held a candle -high above his head. The light streamed over his thick fair hair. His -face was in the shade. - -“Good evening, John Hubert!” shouted Ulwing to his son. His voice -sounded deep and sharp, like a hammer dropping on steel. “How are the -children?” He turned quickly round. This sudden movement flung the many -capes of his coat over his shoulders. - -The servant’s good-natured face emerged from the darkness. - -“The book-keeper has been waiting for a long time....” - -“Is everybody asleep in this town?” - -“Of course I am not asleep, of course I am not----” and there was -Augustus Füger rushing down the stairs. He was always in a hurry, his -breath came short, he held his small bald head on one side as if he -were listening. - -Christopher Ulwing slapped him on the back. - -“Sorry, Füger. My day lasts as long as my work.” - -John Hubert came to meet his father. His coat was bottle green. His -waistcoat and nankin trousers were buff. On his exaggeratedly high -collar the necktie, twisted twice round, displayed itself in elegant -folds. He bowed respectfully and kissed his father’s hand. He resembled -him, but he was shorter, his eyes were paler and his face softer. - -A petticoat rustled on the square slabs of the dark corridor behind -them. - -Christopher Ulwing did not even turn round. “Good evening, Mamsell. I -am not hungry.” Throwing his overcoat on a chair, he went into his room. - -Mamsell Tini’s long, stiff face, flanked by two hair cushions covering -her ears, looked disappointedly after the builder; she had kept his -supper in vain. She threw her key-basket from one arm to the other and -sailed angrily back into the darkness of the corridor. - -The room of Christopher Ulwing was low and vaulted. White muslin -curtains hung at its two bay windows. On the round table, a candle was -burning; it was made of tallow but stood in a silver candle-stick. Its -light flickered slowly over the checked linen covers of the spacious -armchairs. - -“Sit down, Füger. You, too,” said Ulwing to his son, but remained -standing himself. - -“The Palatine has entrusted me with the repair of the castle. I -concluded the bargain about the forest.” He took a letter up from the -table. Whatever he wanted his hand seized, his fist grabbed, without -hesitation. Meanwhile he dictated short, precise instructions to the -book-keeper. - -Füger wrote hurriedly in his yellow-covered note book. He always -carried it about him; even when he went to Mass it peeped out of his -pocket. - -John Hubert sat uncomfortably in the bulging armchair. Above the -sofa hung the portraits of the architects Fischer von Erlach and -Mansard, fine old small engravings. He knew those two faces, but took -no interest in them. He began to look at the green wall paper. Small -squares, green wreaths. He looked at each of them separately. Meanwhile -he became drowsy. Several times he withdrew the big-headed pin which -fastened the tidy to the armchair and each time restuck it in the same -place. Then he coughed, though he really wanted to yawn. - -Füger was still taking notes. He only spoke when the builder had -stopped. - -“Mr. Münster called here. His creditors are driving him into -bankruptcy.” - -Christopher Ulwing’s look became stern. - -“Why didn’t you tell me that before?” - -Füger shrugged his shoulders. - -“I haven’t had a chance to put a word in....” - -The builder stood motionless in the middle of the room. He contracted -his brows as if he were peering into the far distance. - -Martin George Münster, the powerful contractor, the qualified -architect, was ruined. The last rival, the great enemy who had so many -times baulked him, counted no more. He thought of humiliations, of -breathless hard fights, and of the many men who had had to go down that -he might rise. He had vanquished them all. Now, at last, he was really -at the top. - -With his big fingers he gave a contented twist to the smart white curl -which he wore on the side of his head. - -Füger watched him attentively. Just then, the candle lit up the -builder’s bony, clean-shaven face, tanned by the cold wind. His hair -and eyebrows seemed whiter, his eyes bluer than usual. His chin, turned -slightly to one side and drawn tightly into an open white collar, gave -him a peculiar, obstinate expression. - -“There is no sign of old age about him!” thought the little book-keeper, -and waited to be addressed. - -“Mr. Münster lost three hundred thousand Rhenish guldens. He could not -stand that.” - -Christopher Ulwing nodded. Meanwhile he calculated, cool and unmoved. - -“I must see the books and balance sheet of Münster’s firm.” While he -spoke, he reflected that he was now rich enough to have a heart. A -heart is a great burden and hampers a man in his movements. As long -as he was rising, he had had to set it aside. That was over. He had -reached the summit. - -“I will help Martin George Münster,” he said quietly, “I will put him -on his legs again, but so that in future he shall stand by me, not -against me.” - -Füger, moved, blinked several times in quick succession under his -spectacles, as if applauding his master with his eyelids. - -This settled business for Christopher Ulwing. He snuffed the candle. -Turning to his son: - -“Have you been to the Town Hall?” - -John Hubert felt his father’s voice as if it had gripped him by the -shoulder and shaken him. - -“Are you not tired, sir?” As a last defence this question rose to his -lips. It might free him and leave the matter till to-morrow. But his -father did not even deem it deserving of an answer. - -“Did you make a speech?” - -“Yes....” John Hubert’s voice was soft and hesitating. He always spoke -his words in such a way as to make it easy to withdraw them. “I said -what you told me to, but I fear it did little good....” - -“You think so?” For a moment a cunning light flashed up in Christopher -Ulwing’s eye, then he smiled contemptuously. “True. Such as we must -act. We may think too, but only if we get a great gentleman to tell -our thoughts. Nevertheless, I want you to speak. I shall make of you a -gentleman great enough to get a hearing.” - -Füger bowed. John Hubert began to complain. “When I proposed to plant -trees along the streets of the town, a citizen asked me if I had become -a gardener. As to the lighting of the streets they said that drunkards -can cling to the walls of the houses. A lamp-post would serve no other -purpose.” - -“That will change!” The builder’s voice warmed with great strong -confidence. - -Young Ulwing continued without warmth. - -“I told them of our new brickfields and informed them that henceforth -we shall sell bricks by retail to the suburban people. This did not -please them. The councillors whispered together.” - -“What did they say?” asked Christopher Ulwing coldly. - -John Hubert cast his eyes down. - -“Well, they said that the great carpenter had always made gold out of -other people’s misery. The great carpenter! That is what they call you, -sir, among themselves, though they presented you last year with the -freedom of the city....” - -Ulwing waved his hand disparagingly. - -“Whatever honours I received from the Town Hall count for little. They -have laden me with them for their weight to hamper my movements, so -that I may let them sleep in peace.” - -“And steal in peace,” said Füger, making an ironical circular movement -with his hand towards his pocket. - -“Let them be,” growled the builder, “there is many an honest man among -them.” - -The book-keeper stretched his neck as if he were listening intently, -then bowed solemnly and left the room. - -Christopher Ulwing, left alone with his son, turned sharply to him. - -“What else did you say in the Town Hall?” - -“But you gave me no other instructions...?” - -“Surely you must have said something more? Something of your own?” - -There was silence. - -Young Ulwing had a feeling that he was treated with great injustice. -Was not his father responsible for everything? He had made him a man. -And now he was discontented with his achievement. In an instant, like -lightning, it all flashed across his mind. His childhood, his years -in the technical school, much timid fluttering, nameless bitterness, -cowardly compromise. And those times, when he still had a will to -will, when he wanted to love and choose: it was crushed by his father. -His father chose someone else. A poor sempstress was not what Ulwing -the builder wanted. He wanted the daughter of Ulrich Jörg. She was -all right. She was rich. It lasted a short time. Christina Jörg -died. But even then he was not allowed to think of another woman, a -new life. “The children!” his father said, and he resigned himself -because Christopher Ulwing was the stronger and could hold his own more -vehemently. Unwonted defiance mounted into his head. For a moment he -rose as if to accuse, his jaw turned slightly sideways. - -The old man saw his own image in him. He looked intently as if he -wanted to fix forever that beam of energy now flashing up in his -son’s eye. He had often longed for it vainly, and now it had come -unexpectedly, produced by causes he could not understand. - -But slowly it all died away in John Hubert’s eyes. Christopher Ulwing -bowed his head. - -“Go,” he said harshly, “now I am really tired.” In that moment he -looked like a weary old woodcutter. His eyelids fell, his big bony -hands hung heavily out of his sleeves. - -A door closed quietly in the corridor with a spasmodic creaking. Ulwing -the builder would have liked it better if it had been slammed. But -his son shut every door so carefully. He could not say why. “What is -going to happen when I don’t stand by his side?” he shuddered. His -vitality was so inexhaustible that the idea of death always struck him -as something strange, antagonistic. “What is going to happen?” The -question died away, he gave it no further thought. He stepped towards -the next room ... his grandchildren! They would continue what the -great carpenter began. They would be strong. He opened the door. He -crossed the dining room. He smelt apples and bread in the dark. One -more room, and beyond that the children. - -The air was warm. A night-light burned on the top of a chest of -drawers. Miss Tini had fallen asleep sitting beside it with her shabby -prayer book on her knees. The shadow of her nightcap rose like a black -trowel on the wall. In the deep recess of the earthen-ware stove water -was warming in a blue jug. From the little beds the soft breathing of -children was audible. - -Ulwing leaned carefully over one of the beds. The boy slept there. His -small body was curled up under the blankets as if seeking shelter in -his sleep from something that came with night and prowled around his -bed. - -The old man bent over him and kissed his forehead. The boy moaned, -stared for a second, frightened, into the air, then hid trembling in -his pillows. - -Mamsell Tini woke, but dared not move. The master builder stood so -humbly before the child, that it did not become a salaried person to -see such a thing. She turned her head away and listened thus to her -master’s voice. - -“I didn’t mean to. Now, don’t be afraid, little Christopher. It is I.” - -The child was already asleep. - -Ulwing the builder stepped to the other bed. He kissed Anne too. The -little girl was not startled. Her fair hair, like a silver spray, moved -around her head on the pillow. She thrust her tiny arms round her -grandfather’s neck and returned his kiss. - -When, on the tips of his toes, Christopher Ulwing left the room, Miss -Tini looked after him. She thought that, after all, the Ulwings were -kindly people. - - -2 - -A glaring white light streamed through the windows into the room. -Winter had come over the world during the night and the children put -their heads together to discuss it. They had forgotten since last year -what winter was like. - -Below, the great green water crawled cold between its white banks. The -castle hill opposite was white too. The top of the bastions, the ridges -of the roofs, the spires of the steeples, everything that was usually -sharp and pointed was now rounded and blunted by the snow. - -The church tower of Our Lady belonged to Anne. The Garrison Church -was little Christopher’s. A long time had passed since the children -had divided these from their windows, and, because Christopher grew -peevish, Anne had also given him the shingled roof of the Town Hall -of Buda and the observatory on Mount St. Gellert. She only kept the -Jesuits’ Stairs to herself. - -“And I’ll tell on you, how you spat into the clerk’s tumbler. No, no, -I won’t give it!” Anne shook her head so emphatically that her fair -hair got all tangled in front of her eyes. She would not have given the -Jesuits’ Stairs for anything in the world. That was the way up to the -castle, to Uncle Sebastian. And she often looked over to him from the -nursery window. In the morning, when she woke, she waved both hands -towards the other shore. In the evening she put a tallow candle on the -window-sill to let Uncle Sebastian see that she was thinking of him. - -Then Sebastian Ulwing would answer from the other shore. He lit a small -heap of straw on the castle wall and through the intense darkness the -tiny flames wished each other good night above the Danube. - -“The Jesuits’ Stairs are mine,” said Anne resolutely and went into the -other room. - -The little boy sulked for some time and then followed her on tiptoe. -In the doorway he looked round anxiously. He was afraid of this room -though it was brighter than any other and Anne called it the sunshine -room. The yellow-checked wall paper looked sparkling and even on a -cloudy day the cherry-wood furniture looked as if the sun shone on it. -The chairs’ legs stood stiffly on the floor of scrubbed boards and -their backs were like lyres. That room was mother’s. She did not live -in it because she had gone to heaven and had not yet returned home, but -everything was left as it had been when she went away. Her portrait -hung above the flowered couch, her sewing-machine stood in the recess -near the window. The piano had been hers too and the children were -forbidden to touch it. Yet, Christopher was quite sure that it was full -of piano-mice, who at night, when everybody is asleep, run about in -silver shoes and then the air rings with their patter. - -“Let us go from here,” he said trembling, “but you go first.” - -There was nobody in grandfather’s room. Only some crackling from the -stove. Only the ticking of the marble clock on the writing table. - -Suddenly little Christopher became braver. He ran to the stove. The -stove was a solid silver-grey earthenware column. On its top there was -an urn emitting white china flames, rigid white china flames. This was -beautiful and incomprehensible and Christopher liked to look at them. - -He pointed to the brass door. Through the ventilators one could see -what was going on inside the stove. - -“Now the stove fairies are dancing in there!” - -In vain Anne looked through the holes; she could not see any fairies. -Ordinary flames were bobbing up above the cinders. The smoke slowly -twisted itself up into the chimney. - -“Aren’t they lovely? They have red dresses and sing,” said the boy. The -little girl turned away bored. - -“I only hear the ticking of the clock.” Suddenly she stood on tiptoe. -When she did so, the corners of her eyes and of her mouth rose -slightly. She too wanted to invent something curious: - -“Tick-tack.... A little dwarf hobbles in the room. Do you hear? -Tick-tack....” - -Christopher’s eyes shone with delight. - -“I do hear.... And the dwarf never stops, does he?” - -“Never,” said Anne convincingly, though she was not quite sure herself, -“he never stops, but we must not talk about it to the grown-ups.” - -Christopher repeated religiously: - -“The grown-ups must never know. And this is truly true, isn’t it? -Grandpa has said it too, hasn’t he?” - -Anne remembered that grandpa never told stories about dwarfs and -fairies. - -“Yes, Grandpa has said it,” the boy confirmed himself. - -The whole thing got mixed up in Anne’s brain. And from that moment both -believed absolutely that their grandfather had said it and that it -was really a dwarf who walked in the room, hobbling with small steps, -without ever stopping. Tick-tack.... - -“Do you hear it?” - -The peaceful silence of the corridor echoed the ticking of the clock. -It could even be heard on the staircase which sank like a cave from the -corridor to the hall. And then the dwarf vanished out of the children’s -heads. - -The back garden was white and the roof looked like a hillside covered -with snow. Where the dragon-headed gargoyle protruded, the house turned -sharply and its inner wing extended into the deep back garden. Mr. -Augustus Füger lived there with his wife and his son Otto. - -Mrs. Augustus Füger, Henrietta, was for ever sitting in the window and -sewing. At this very moment, her big bonnet was visible, looking like a -white cat on the window sill. Fortunately, she did not look out of the -window. The garden belonged entirely to the children. Theirs was the -winged pump of the well, theirs the circular seat round the apple tree. -Their kingdom.... In winter the garden seemed small, but in summer when -the trees were covered with leaves and the lilac-bushes hid the secret -places, it became enormous. Through its high wall a gate led to the -world’s end; a grilled gate which grown-ups alone were privileged to -open. - -Sometimes Anne and Christopher would peep longingly for hours through -its rails. They could see the roof of the tool-shed, the tar boiler -and a motley of pieces of timber, beams, floorings, piles. What lovely -slides they would have made if only one could have got at them! The -old folks called this glorious, disorderly place, where rude big men -in leather aprons used to work, the timber yard. The children did not -approve of this name, they preferred “world’s end.” They liked it on -a summer Sunday best when all was quiet and the smell of the heated -timber penetrated the courtyard and even the house. Then one could -believe in the secret known to Christopher. It was not a timber yard at -all. The grown-ups had no business with it. It was beyond all manner -of doubt the playground of giant children who had strewn it with their -building bricks. - -“And when I sleep, they play with them,” the boy whispered. - -“One can’t believe that just now,” Anne answered seriously, “when -everything is so clear.” - -Crestfallen, Christopher walked behind her in the snow. They only -stopped under the porch in front of a door bearing a board with the -inscription “Canzelei.”[A] This word sounded like a sneeze. It tickled -the children’s lips. It made them laugh. - -Anne and Christopher knocked their shoulders together. - -“Canzelei.... Canzelei!” - -The door opened. The clerk appeared on the threshold. He was a thin -little man with a starved expression, wearing a long alpaca frock-coat; -when he walked, his knees knocked together. Anne knew something about -him. Grandpa had said it when he was in a temper: Feuerlein was stupid! -The only one among grown-ups of whom one knew such a thing beyond doubt. - -The children looked at each other and their small cheeks swelled with -suppressed laughter; then, like snakes, they slid through the open door -into the office. - -“He is stupid, though he is grown up,” Anne whispered into the boy’s -ear. - -“And I will spit into his tumbler!” Now they laughed freely, -triumphantly. - -Their laughter suddenly stopped. - -Mr. Gemming, the draughtsman, had banged his triangular ruler down and -began to growl. Augustus Füger tugged the sleeve-protector he wore on -his right arm during business hours. - -“Don’t grumble, Gemming. Don’t forget that one day he will be head of -the firm, won’t you, little Christopher? And you will sit in there -behind the great writing table?” - -Christopher looked fearfully towards the door that led to his -grandfather’s office. In there? Always? Quiet and serious--even when he -wanted to play with his tin soldiers? With a shudder, he rushed across -the room. No, he would rather not set his foot here again; nasty place -that smelt of ink. - -The door from which he had fled opened. Ulwing the builder showed a -strange gentleman through the room. - -The little book-keeper began to write suddenly. Gemming dipped his -pencil into the inkstand. In the neighbouring room the pens scratched -and the children shrank to the wall. The strange gentleman stopped. -Anne saw his face clearly; it was fat and pale. Under his heavy double -chin the sail-like collar looked crushed. - -“Thank you,” said the strange gentleman and cast his eyes down as -if he were ashamed of something. He held out a flabby white hand to -Christopher Ulwing. The hand trembled. His lips quivered too. - -“Don’t mention it, Mr. Münster. It is just business....” - -This was said by the builder under the porch, and they heard it in the -office. - -Gemming began to shake the point of the pencil he had dipped in the -ink. Füger blinked and blinked. Both felt that Martin George Münster -had fallen from his greatness to their own level. He too was in -Ulwing’s service. - -When the builder returned, his crooked chin settled snugly in his open -collar. - -Suddenly he perceived the children. - -“What are _you_ doing here?” He would have liked to sit down with them -on the heap of office books. Just for a minute, just long enough to let -their hands stroke his face. He took his repeater out of his pocket. - -“It can’t be done.” He still had to settle with many people. -Contractors, timber merchants, masons, carters--they were all waiting -behind the grating, in the big room opening into the garden. And John -Hubert had already twice thrust his head through the door as if he -wanted to call him. He went on. But on the threshold he had to turn -back. “This afternoon we will go to Uncle Sebastian. We will take leave -of him before the floating bridge is removed.” - -The children grinned with delight. - -“We shall go in a coach, shan’t we?” asked the boy. - -“We shall walk,” answered Ulwing drily; “the horses are needed to cart -wood!” And with that he slammed the door behind him. - -“Walk,” repeated Christopher, disappointed. “I don’t like it. And I -won’t go. And I have a pain in my foot.” - -He walked lamely, rubbing his shoulders against the wall. He moaned -pitiably. But Anne knew all the while that he was shamming. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -The old man and the little girl walked slowly down to the banks of the -river. The little squares of the windows and the two figures under the -porch gazed for a long time after them. A cold snowy wind was blowing -from the white hills. Water mills floated on the Danube. Horses, -harnessed one in front of the other, dragged a barge at the foot of the -castle hill, and small dark skiffs moved to and fro in the stream, as -if Pest and Buda were taking leave of each other before the advent of -winter. - -On the shore shipwrights were at work. When they perceived Christopher -Ulwing, they stopped and greeted him respectfully. A gentleman came in -the opposite direction; he too doffed his hat. Near the market place -ladies and gentlemen were walking. Everybody saluted Ulwing the builder. - -Anne was proud. Her face flushed. - -“Everybody salutes us, don’t they? Are there many people living here?” - -“Many,” said her grandfather, and thought of something else. - -“How many?” - -“We can’t know that; the gentry won’t submit to a census.” - -“And are there many children here?” - -The builder did not answer. - -“Say, Grandpa, you never were a child, were you?” - -“I was, but not here.” - -“Were you not always in our house, Grandpa?” asked the child, -indefatigable. - -Ulwing smiled. - -“We came from a great distance, far, far away, Uncle Sebastian and I. -By coach, as long as our money lasted, then on foot. In those days -the summers were warmer than they are now. At night we wandered by -moonlight....” - -He relapsed into silence. His mind looked elsewhere than his eyes. -The fortress of Pest! Then the bastions and walls of Pest were still -standing. And he entered the city through one of its old gates. - -“It was in the morning and the church bells were ringing,” he said deep -in thought. - -Suddenly it seemed to him that he saw the town of times gone by, not as -a reality, but as an old, old fading picture. White bewigged citizens -in three-cornered hats were walking the streets. Carts suspended on -chains. Soldiers in high shakos. And how young and free the Danube was! -Its waters shone more brightly and its shore swarmed with ship-folk. -Brother Sebastian went down to the bank. He himself stopped and looked -at a gaudy, pretty barge, into which men were carrying bags across two -boards. They went on one, returned by the other. A clerk was standing -on the shore, counting tallies on a piece of wood for every bag. The -half-naked dockers shone with sweat. They carried their loads on their -shoulders just as their fore-fathers had carried them here on the -Danube for hundreds of years. The boards bent and swayed under their -weight. The clerk swore. “There are too few men.” He looked invitingly -at Christopher Ulwing. But Christopher did not touch the bags. His -attention was attracted by something in the sand which entered his eyes -like a pinprick, the glittering blade of an axe. He remembered clearly -every word he said. “Knock those two boards together. In an hour we can -slide the whole cargo into the barge.” - -Down at the shore, brother Sebastian jumped into a boat. He pointed -with his staff towards Buda. He called his brother, waving his hand. - -“I remain here,” was the determined answer, and he picked the axe up -from the sand. - -The clerk watched him carefully and nodded approvingly. A few minutes -later, the bags slid speedily down the improvised slide, and the barge, -like a greedy monster, gulped them up into its maw. - -The boat and brother Sebastian left the shore. They were already in the -middle of the Danube. The stream and the oars, chance and will, carried -his life into the opposite town. Christopher Ulwing remained in Pest. -Next day, he worked in the office of the ship-broker. Then he went into -the timber yard. Then further. Advancing. Rising. And the town grew -with him as if their fate had been one. - -Vainly did Anne ask a thousand little questions; her grandfather did -not answer. He walked far behind his present self. - -They reached the boat-bridge. Here too the men saluted. The collector -asked for no toll. At the bridge-head, the sentry presented arms. - -“Why?” Anne had asked this question every time she had crossed the -bridge in her short life. - -“They know me,” the builder answered simply. - -What need was there for the children to know that he owned the bridge, -had contracted for the right of way over the river; that the many rafts -floating down the Danube were his as well as the land above them on the -banks. - -The bridge trembled rhythmically. The stream rocked the boats. It -foamed, splashed, as if thirsty giant animals were lapping at the hulls -of the many chained little boats. Lamps stood near the pillars. In the -middle, a coloured spot above the water: the guardian saint of the -river, the carved image of St. John Nepomuk. Beneath it, people passed -to and fro, raising their hats. - -Anne pointed to the saint: “People salute him too, even more than -Grandpa.” And she was a little envious. - -When they reached the castle on the hill, the little girl began to -complain: “I am hungry.” - -The stones of the narrow, snow-covered pavement clattered quietly under -the builder’s long, firm steps. - -Around them decaying houses. Yellow, grey, green. Gilt “bretzels,” -giant keys, boots and horse-shoes dangled into the street from over the -tiny shops, suspended from brackets which were ornamented with spirals -of forged steel. - -Above the shop of Uncle Sebastian, a big watch was hung. From far away -Anne recognised the immobile golden hands on its face. The tower of -Our Lady’s Church cast its shadow just up to it. It pointed into the -street like a black signpost. The house itself was probably older than -the others. Its upper storey protruded above the ground floor and was -supported by several beams above the pavement. On the bare wall, just -behind the clock-sign, an inscription, with curious flourishes, was -visible: - - SEBASTIAN ULWING - - CITY CLOCKMAKER - -The shop was crowded. Neighbours, burghers from the castle, came here -every afternoon to warm themselves. Uncle Sebastian sat before his -little clockmaker’s table. He was silent. His white hair, smoothed -back from his forehead, fell on the collar of his violet tail-coat. -His figure was tall and bent. According to old fashion he wore -knee-breeches. On his heavy shoes the buckles were a little rusty; the -thick white stockings formed creases. When he perceived Anne, he began -to laugh. He caught her up in his arms and raised her high into the air. - -“Where is little Christopher?” - -“He has a pain in his foot,” said the master builder, bowing to the -company. Anne turned up her nose significantly. The children did not -think Uncle Sebastian belonged quite among the grown-ups. He understood -many things grandfather could not grasp. They put their heads together, -secretively, affectionately. Anne began to dangle her little legs in -the air and ask for gingerbread. Then she proceeded to investigate the -shop. - -At the bottom of it a semi-circular window opened on a courtyard. A -deep leather armchair and a long table with curved legs stood in front -of the window. The table was covered with a lot of old rubbish. The -shelves too were laden with odds and ends. Watches and clocks covered -the grimy walls. - -Near the table, a lady tried to sell a _repoussé_, silver, dove-shaped -loving-cup. Perceiving Christopher Ulwing, she curtseyed deeply. - -“With your permission, I am Amalia Csik, from the Fisherman’s bastion.” - -She wore a hat like a hamper. Everything on her was faded and shabby. -Anne noticed that whenever she moved a musty odour spread from her -clothes. In the shop nobody took any notice of this. All these people -were dressed differently from her grandfather. - -“Even the little children are dressed in a modish way,” the lady said -disparagingly. “Of course, everything in Pest is different from what we -have in Buda.... We, here in the castle, are faithful to our own ways, -thank God. Are we not, your reverence?” - -The castle chaplain nodded several times his yellow, bird-like head. - -“I hear,” said the lady, “that they have started a fashion paper in -Pest.” - -“Yes, and they print it in the same type as the prayer books,” grumbled -the chaplain. - -The lady gave a deep sigh. - -“Notwithstanding that the devil himself is the editor of fashion -papers.” - -“Of all newspapers,” said the official censor of the Governor’s council -from beside the stove. - -Christopher Ulwing raised one eyebrow in sign of derision. “Is it the -censor who says that?” - -“It is I,” came the answer, emphatically, as if an incontrovertible -argument had been thrust into the discussion. - -“Literary people in Pest have a different opinion,” grumbled the -builder. - -“Perhaps it would be better not to drag them in. As censor, I am a -literary man myself....” - -The builder was getting more and more impatient. The censor turned to -the chaplain. - -“The written word must not serve the ideals of the individual but the -purposes of the State and Church.” - -Christopher Ulwing went to the door. He would have liked to let a -little fresh air into the place. Suddenly he turned back angrily: “I -suppose, gentlemen, you only approve of mediocrity?” - -“Well said, Mr. Builder. Nothing but the mediocre is useful to the -organization of the State. That which is above or below only causes -uncomfortable disorder.” - -He did not himself know why, but, all of a sudden, Christopher’s -thoughts went to the bookshop of Ulrich Jörg in Pest. He remembered -the young authors who frequented it; their plans, their manuscripts, -detained in the censor’s sieve. All those ambitious hopes, new dreams -and awakening thoughts, younger than he, a little beyond his ken, but -which he loved as he loved his grandchildren. - -He turned his back furiously on the censor and went to the bottom of -the room feeling that if he spoke he would say something rude. - -The chaplain said with indignation: - -“All those people from Pest are such rebels!” - -The lady exclaimed suddenly: “There comes the wife of the Councillor of -the Governor’s council! She is wearing her silver-wedding hat!” - -All thronged to the door. The shop became quite dark as the fat “Mrs. -Councillor” passed in front of it. The chaplain and the others took -their hats and followed her; let the people think they were in her -company. Quite a crowd for Buda, at least six people went down Tárnok -Street at the same time. Even the good lady with the big hat remembered -some urgent business. She quickly concluded the sale of the loving-cup, -bowed, and rushed after the others. - -Christopher Ulwing came forward. - -“What a bureaucratic air there is in Buda. I prefer your friends -who come after closing hours: the lame wood-carver and the old -spectacle-maker. Even if they do not carry the world forward, they -don’t attempt to push it back.” - -Sebastian laughed good-naturedly: - -“These too are good people, only different from you on the other side -of the river. We have time, you are in a hurry. You are for ever -wanting new-fashioned things. Somebody who reads newspapers told the -chaplain that your son spoke at the Town Hall. Now you want avenues, -lamps, brick-built houses.... What are we coming to?” - -The builder looked deeply and calmly into his brother’s eyes. - -“Brother Sebastian, we have to change or time will beat us.” - -The clockmaker became embarrassed. - -“Ah, but old things, old ways are so pleasant.” - -Christopher Ulwing pointed to the loving-cup. - -“This too is old, but this has a right to remain because it is -beautiful. Do you remember, our father too made some like this. The -time may come when you will get a lot of money for it. I should like to -buy it myself.” - -Sebastian looked anxiously at his brother. - -“Perhaps you won’t sell this either.” The builder again became -impatient. “You buy to do business, but when it comes to selling....” - -The clockmaker took the dove-shaped cup into his hand. He held it -gently, tenderly, as if it were a live bird. Then he shook his head. - -“No, not yet. I will sell it another day.” - -“Why not now?” - -“Because I want to look at it for some time,” said Sebastian gently, as -if he were ashamed of himself. - -“That’s the way to remain poor. To keep everything that is old, avoid -everything that is new. Do you know, Brother Sebastian, you are just -the same as Buda....” - -“And you are just like Pest,” retorted Sebastian modestly. - -They smiled at each other quietly. - -Anne meanwhile was playing at the tool table and dropping wheels and -watch-springs into the oil bottle. - -Uncle Sebastian did not want to spoil her pleasure but watched every -movement of hers anxiously. When the child noticed that she was -observed, she withdrew her hand suddenly. She stared innocently at the -walls. - -“I am bored,” she said sadly, “I don’t know what to do. Do tell me a -story.” - -“I don’t know any to-day,” said Uncle Sebastian. - -“You always know some for you read such a lot....” While saying this -she drew from the pocket of Uncle Sebastian’s coat a well-worn little -green book. - -“Demokritos, or the posthumous writings of a laughing philosopher.” -This was Sebastian Ulwing’s favorite book. - -“Here you are!” cried Anne, waving her prey triumphantly. “Now come -along, tell me a story.” - -The clockmaker shook his head. It still weighed on his mind that he -and the builder could never understand each other. He was proud of his -brother. He felt his will, his strength, but that was wellnigh all he -knew about him. Had he rejoiced, had he suffered in life? Had he ever -loved, or did he have no love for anybody?... He thought of Barbara, -his brother’s dead wife, whom Brother Christopher had snatched from him -and taken to the altar, because he did not know that he, Sebastian, -had loved her silently for a long time. His forehead went up in many -wrinkles.... We human beings trample our fellow creatures under our -feet because we don’t know them. - -Anne took his hand and wrung it slowly. “Do tell me a story, do!” - -Inside, in front of the courtyard window, the builder turned the pages -of an old book. - -Uncle Sebastian sat down and lifted Anne into his lap. Casting -occasional glances on his brother’s face, as if he were reading in it, -he began to tell his story. - -“It happened a long, long time ago, even before I was born, in the -time of the Turkish Pasha’s rule. A gay city it was then, was Buda. In -every street shops dealing in masks and fancy dresses were opened. When -Carnival time came, folk used to walk a-singing in the streets of the -castle; old ones, young ones, in gaudy fancy dress, with little iron -lamps--such a crazy procession! The fun only stopped at the dawn of -Ash-Wednesday. All fancy dress shops were closed and bolted. All were -locked, except one in Fortune’s Street which remained open even after -Ash-Wednesday--all the year round. - -“Singly, secretly, people went to visit it, at night, when the castle -gates had been closed and the fires at the street corners put out. -Among the buyers were some that had haughty faces. These bought -themselves humble-looking masks. The cruel men bought kind ones, -godless men pious ones, the stupid clever ones, the clever simple ones. -But the greatest number were those who suffered and they bought masks -which showed a laughing face. That is what happened. It is a true -story,” growled Uncle Sebastian, “and it is just as true that those who -once put a mask on never took it off again. Only on rare occasions did -it fall off their faces, on dark nights when they were quite alone, or -when they loved, or when they saw money....” - -Again he looked at his brother’s face and then continued in a whisper: - -“The business flourished. Kings, princes, beautiful princesses, -priests, soldiers, burghers, everybody, even the Town Councillors, went -to the shop. Its reputation had even spread down to the lower town. -People from the other side of the Danube came too. After a time, the -whole world wore masks. Nobody talked about it but all wore them and -the people forgot each other’s real faces. Nobody knows them any more. -Nobody....” - -Uncle Sebastian didn’t tell any more and in the great silence the -ticking of the clocks became loud. - -“I didn’t like that story,” said Anne, “tell me about naughty children -and fairies. That’s prettier....” - -The clockmaker probably did not hear the child’s voice. He sat in his -low chair as if listening for someone’s steps, the steps of one who had -passed away. He thought of his tale, of his brother, of Barbara, of -himself. - -The builder closed the book. He got up. - -“Let us go. It is late.” - -And the two Ulwings took leave of each other for the winter. - -On the bridge over the Danube the sixteen lamps were already alight. -Their light dropped at equal distances into the river. The water played -for a time with the beams, then left them behind. It continued its way -in darkness towards the rock of St. Gellert’s Mount. Only the chill of -its big wet mass was perceptible in the night. - -The snow began to fall anew. A light flared up here and there in the -window of a house near the shore. The sound of horns was audible on the -Danube. - -On the bridge, Anne suddenly perceived her father. Young Ulwing walked -under the lamps with a girl. They were close together. When they saw -the builder and the child they separated rapidly and the girl ran in -haste to the other side of the bridge. - -Christopher Ulwing called his son. - -Leaning against the railing, John Hubert waited for them; he was for -ever leaning on something. When they reached him, he took hold of the -little girl’s free hand as if he wanted to put her between himself and -his father. - -Anne was afraid. She felt that something was going on in the silence -over her head. She drew her shoulders up. The two men did not speak -for a long time to each other. They walked with unequal, apparently -antagonistic steps and dragged the trembling child between them. - -It was Christopher Ulwing who broke the silence. He shouted angrily: - -“You promised not to go to her while I was alive! Can’t I even trust -your word?” - -“But, sir, don’t forget the child is here!” - -“She won’t understand,” retorted the builder sharply. - -Anne understood the words quite clearly, but what she heard did not -interest her. Her thoughts were otherwise engaged. She felt keenly -that two hands opposed to each other were pressing her on either side -and that some community of feeling had arisen between her father and -herself. They both feared someone who was stronger than they. - -“I went to meet you, sir,” grumbled John Hubert, “and met her by chance -on the bridge.” - -Christopher Ulwing stopped dead. - -“Is that the truth?” - -“I never told lies.” Young Ulwing’s voice was honest and sad. It -sounded as if he laid great weight on what he said because it had cost -him so dear. - -The builder, still angry, drew out his snuff box. He tapped it sharply -and opened it. - -For ever so long there had lived in this box a quaint old tune. It -woke at the blow and the snuff box began to play. - -“Confound it,” exclaimed Christopher Ulwing, and tapped it again to -silence it, but the box continued to play. - -The two men, as though they had been interrupted by a comic interlude, -stopped talking. The builder returned the box into his pocket. Anne -bent her head close to her grandfather’s coat. There was now a sound -in it as if a band of little Christopher’s tin soldiers were playing -prettily, delicately, far, far away. - -Florian was waiting with a lantern at the bridgehead on the Pest side. -Many small lamps moved through the silence. Snow fell in the dark -streets. - -But now Anne was leaning her tired head fully on her grandfather’s -pocket. “More!” she said gently over and over again and inhaled the -music of the snuff box just as Mamsell Tini breathed in the lavender -perfume from her prayer book. - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -Winter came many times. Summer came many times. The children did not -count them. Meanwhile an iron chain bridge had grown together from the -two banks of the Danube. Even when the ice was drifting it was not -taken to pieces; it was beautiful and remained there all the year. -The Town Council had planted rows of trees along the streets. Oil -lamps burnt in the streets at nightfall and the Ulwing house no longer -stood alone on the shore. The value of the ground owned by the great -carpenter had soared. Walls grew up from the sand. Streets started on -the waste land, stopped, went on again. Work, life, houses, brick-built -houses, everywhere. - -Everything changed; only Ulwing the builder remained the same. -His clever eyes remained sharp and clear. He walked erect on the -scaffoldings, in the office, in the timber yard. He was a head taller -than anybody else. They feared him at the Town Hall and the contractors -hated him. He quietly went on buying and building and gradually the -belief became a common superstition that everything the great carpenter -touched turned into gold. - -Indoors, in the quiet safe well-being of the house, the marble clock -continued to tick monotonously, but the children had long ago lost the -belief that it was a lame dwarf who hobbled through the rooms. For a -long time Christopher had even realized that there were no fairies. -His grandfather had told him so. He shouted at him and took him by the -shoulders: - -“Do you hear, little one, there are no fairies to help us. Only -weaklings expect miracles, the strong perform miracles.” - -Little Christopher often remembered his grandfather killing his -fairies. What a terrible, superior being he seemed to be! He felt -like crying; if there were no fairies, he wondered, what filled the -darkness, the water of the well, the flames? What lived in them? And -while he searched in bewilderment his eyes seemed to snatch for support -like the hands of a drowning man. - -He grew resigned, however, and called the “world’s end” the timber -yard, just like any grown-up. Under his rarely moving eyelids his pale -eyes would look indifferently into the air. Only his voice showed signs -of disillusion whenever he imitated his seniors and spoke in their -language of doings once dear to him. - -The years passed by and the magic cave under the wall of the courtyard -became a ditch, the terrifying iron gate an attic door and the stove -fairies ordinary flames. The piano mice too came to an end. When a -string cracked now and then in the house, Christopher opened his eyes -widely and stared into the darkness which had become void to him. - -“Anne, are you asleep?” - -“Yes, long ago.” - -“I had such a funny dream ... of a girl. She raised her arms and leaned -back.” - -“Go to sleep.” - -Before Christopher’s eyes the darkness (forsaken by dwarfs and fairies -since he had given up believing in them) became incomprehensibly -populated. He saw the girl of whom he had dreamt, her face, her body -too. She was tall and slender, her bosom rigid, she lifted both her -arms and twisted her hair like a black mane round her head. Just like -the sister of Gabriel Hosszu before the looking-glass when he peeped at -her last Sunday through the keyhole. - -“Anne....” - -The boy listened with his mouth open. Everything was silent in the -house. Suddenly he pulled the blanket over his head. He began to tell -stories to himself. He told how the King wore a golden crown and lived -up on the hill in a white castle. It was never dark in the castle, -tallow candles burnt all the night. His bed was guarded by slaves, -slaves did his lessons for him, slaves brought a dark-eyed princess to -him. Chains rattled on the princess. “Take them off!” he commanded. -“You are free.” The princess knelt down at his feet and asked what she -should give him for his pardon. “Take your hair down and twist it up -again,” he said, said it quite simply and smiled. And the princess took -her hair down many times and many times twisted it up again.... He fell -asleep and still he smiled. - -He got into the way of dreaming stories. If, while day-dreaming, -somebody addressed him unexpectedly, it made him jump and blush, as -though caught in the act of doing wrong. Then he would run to his -school books and try hard to do some work. He learned with ease; once -read, his lesson was learnt, but he could not fix his attention for any -time. Instead of that, he drew fantastic castles, girls and long-eared -cats on the margins of his copy book. While he was thus engaged, his -conscience was painfully active and reminded him incessantly that he -was expected to study the reign of King Béla III or the course of the -tributaries of the Danube. Perspiration appeared upon his brow. In -his terror he could not do his work. Every boy up to the letter U had -already been called up in school and he was sure that his turn would -come next day. - -As he had expected, he was questioned and knew nothing. A fly buzzed -in the air. He felt as though it buzzed within his head. The boys -laughed. Gabriel Hosszu prompted aloud, Adam Walter held his book in -front of him, the master scolded. But, when the year came to an end, -nobody dared to plough the grandson of Ulwing the builder. Christopher -began to perceive that some invisible power protected him everywhere. -The master told him the questions of the coming examination. For a few -coloured marbles Gabriel Hosszu prompted him in Latin. For a half penny -little Gál, the hunchback, did his arithmetic homework. - -“Things end by coming all right,” thought Christopher, when the -terrifying thought of school intruded while he drew cats or modelled -clay men in the garden instead of doing his homework. - -“That boy can do anything he likes,” said old Ulwing, delighted with -Christopher’s drawings, and locked them carefully away in one of the -many drawers of his writing-table. - -This frightened Christopher. What did the grown-up people want to do -with him? He lost his pleasure in drawing and gave up modelling clay -men in the courtyard. He became envious of Anne. She had little to -learn and nobody expected great things from her. - -About this time Anne began to feel lonely. Her bewildered eyes seemed -in search of explanations. She grew fast and her silvery fair hair -became darker as if something had cast a shadow over it. - -Mrs. Füger pushed her spectacles up into the starched frills of her -bonnet and looked at her attentively. - -“Just now you held your head exactly as your mother used to. Dear good -Mrs. Christina!” - -Hearing this, Anne, who stood in the middle of the back garden, leaned -her head still more sideways. However, it puzzled her that a person -who was still a child could possibly resemble somebody who was so very -old as to have gone to heaven. Mrs. Füger smiled strangely. In her old -mind, Anne’s mother, who had died young, could not age and remained -for ever so; while this young girl, who had no memory of her mother, -thought of her as incredibly old. - -“Mrs. Christina was sixteen years old when young Mr. Ulwing asked -Ulrich Jörg for her hand. Sixteen years old. When she came here she -brought dolls with her too. She would have liked to play battledore and -shuttlecock with her husband in the garden. Every evening she would -slip in here and ask me to tell her stories.” - -As if she had been called, Anne ran across Mrs. Henrietta’s threshold. -The house smelt of freshly scrubbed boards. Many preserve bottles stood -in a row on the top of the wardrobe. Now and then, the cracking of a -dry parchment cover would interrupt the silence. Anne crouched down on -a footstool and surveyed the room. It was full of embroidery. “Keys” -was embroidered in German character on the keyboard, “Sleep well” on a -cushion and “Brushes” on a bag. - -“The Fügers must be very absent-minded people,” mused the little girl; -“it is obvious what all these things are meant for, and yet they have -to label them.” - -Mrs. Henrietta sighed. She could sigh most depressingly. When she did -so, her nostrils dilated and she shut her eyes. - -“Many a time did Mrs. Christina sit here and make me tell her ghost -stories. She loved to be frightened--like a child. She was afraid of -everything: of moths, of the cracking of the furniture, of the master’s -voice, of ghosts. At night she did not dare to cross the garden; -Leopoldine had to take her hand and go with her.” - -“Leopoldine? Who was she?” - -“My daughter.” Mrs. Füger’s eyes wandered over a picture hanging on the -wall of the bay window. It represented a grave with weeping willows, -made of hair, surrounded by an inscription in beads: “Love Eternal.” - -“Is she in heaven too?” - -“No. Never mention her. Füger has forbidden it.” - -“Why?” - -“Children must not ask questions.” - -“Mamsell always gives the same answer and says God will whisper to me -what I ought to know. But God never whispers to me.” - -“Mrs. Christina talked just like that. She too wanted to know -everything. When the maids cast fortunes with candle drippings she was -for ever listening to their talk. Then she blushed, laughed and sang -and played the piano. Then the men in the timber yard stopped work.” - -Anne drew her knees up to her chin. - -“Could she sing too?” - -Mrs. Füger made a sign of rapture. “Sing? That was her very life. She -entered this place like a song, and left it like one. It rang through -the house and before we could grasp it, it was gone.” - -The little girl did not hear the old lady’s last words. She was gone -and suddenly found herself in her mother’s room. She knelt down on the -small couch. There hung on the wall the portrait, which she had always -seen, but which she now examined for the first time. - -The delicate water-colour represented a girl who seemed a mere child. -She looked sweet and timid. Her auburn hair, parted by a shining line -in the middle, was gathered by a large comb on the top of her head like -a bow; ringlets fell on the side of her face. The childish outline -of her shoulders emerged from a low-cut dress. Her hand held a rose -gracefully in an uncomfortable position. - -Anne felt that if she came back she could talk to her about many things -of which Mamsell and all the others seemed ignorant. She thought of -the daughters of Müller the apothecary, of the Jörgs and the Hosszu -families, Gál the little hunchback, of the son of Walter the wholesale -linen-draper, the Münster children. All had mothers. Everybody--only -she had none. - -And then, like a cry of distress, she spoke a word, but so gently that -she did not hear it, just felt it shape itself between her lips. Nearer -and nearer she bent to the picture and now she did hear in the silence -her own faint, veiled voice say the word which one cannot pronounce -without bestowing a repeated kiss on one’s lips in uttering it: “Mamma!” - -She turned suddenly round. Something like a feeling of shame came over -her for talking aloud when there was nobody in the room, nothing but a -ray of the sun on the piano. - -Anne slid down from the couch and opened the piano. It was dusty. She -stroked a key with her little finger. An unexpected sound rose from the -instrument, a warm clear sound like the flare of a tinder box. It died -down suddenly. She struck another key; another flare. She drew her hand -over many keys; many flares, quite a din. She put her head back and -stared upwards as if she saw the flaring little flames of the notes. - -Somebody stroked her face. Her father. - -“Would you like to learn to play the piano?” - -She did not answer. It was without learning that she would have liked -to play and to sing, so beautifully that even the men in the timber -yard would lay down their work. - -John Hubert became thoughtful. - -“All the Jörgs were fond of music. Music was the very life of your -mother.” - -Gently Anne opened her blue eyes with a green glitter in them. - -“Yes,” she said with determination, “I want to learn.” - -Next day, a gentleman of solemn appearance came to the house; his name -was Casimir Sztaviarsky. He was at that time the most fashionable -dancing and music master in town. He wore a coal-black wig, he walked -on the tip of his toes, he balanced his hips and received sixpence per -hour. He mentioned frequently that he was a descendant of Polish kings. -When he was angry he spoke Polish. - -After her lessons, Anne learned many things from him. Sztaviarsky spoke -to her about Chopin, the citizens’ choir in Pest, Mozart, grandfather -Jörg who played the ’cello well and played the organ on Sundays in the -church of the Franciscan friars. - -The little girl began to be interested in her grandfather Jörg to whom -she had not hitherto paid much attention. He was different from the -Ulwings. The children thought him funny and often looked at each other -knowingly behind his back while he was rubbing his hands and bowing -with short brisk nods to the customers of his bookshop. - -Anne blushed for him. She did not like to see him do this and her -glance fell on grandfather Ulwing. He did not bow to anybody. - -Ulrich Jörg’s bookshop was at the corner of Snake Street. A seat was -fixed in the wall near the entrance in front of which an apple tree -grew in the middle of the road. The passing carriages drove round it -with much noise. - -Anne thrust her head in at the door. Ulwing the builder removed his -wide-brimmed grey beaver. - -The perfume of the apple-blossom filled the shop. Grandfather Jörg -came smiling to meet them; he emerged with short steps from behind a -bookcase which, reaching up to the ceiling, divided the shop into two -from end to end. The front part was used by ordinary customers. Behind -the bookcase, shielded from the view of the street, some gentlemen sat, -mostly in Magyar costumes, on a sofa near a tallow candle and conversed -hurriedly, continuously. - -They were more numerous than usual. A young man, wearing a dolman, sat -in the middle on the edge of the writing table. His neck stretched bare -from his soft open shirt collar. His hair was uncombed, his eyes were -wonderfully large and aflame. - -For the first time in her life Anne realized how beautiful the human -eye could be. Then she noticed, however, that the young man’s worn-out -boots were battering the brass fittings of Grandfather Jörg’s writing -table while he was speaking and that his disorderly movements upset -everything within his reach. She thought him wanting in respect. So she -returned to the other side of the bookcase and resumed the reading of -the book her grandfather had chosen for her. It was about a Scotch boy -called Robinson Crusoe. - -More people came to the shop. Nobody bought a book. And even the old -men looked as if they were still young. - -The feverish, clumsy man behind the bookcase went on talking and at -times one could hear the heels of his boots knock against the brass -fittings. Anne did not pay any attention to what he said. The book -fascinated her. One word, however, did reach her ears several times -from behind. But the word did not penetrate her intellect. It just -remained a repeated sound. - -In the middle of the shop stood a gentleman. He had a bony face and -he wore a beard only under his chin. And from the pocket of his tight -breeches a beribboned tobacco pouch dangled. - -The man next to him urged him on. “You can speak out, we are among -ourselves.” - -The man with a bony face showed a manuscript. “I have searched in vain -since this morning. People are afraid for their skins. There is not a -printer in Pest who dares set up this proclamation.” - -Ulrich Jörg leaned over the paper. His bald head reflected the light -and the wreath of yellowish white hair round his ear moved in a funny -way. - -“This is not a proclamation,” somebody whispered. “This means -revolution!” - -Ulrich Jörg stretched out his hand. - -“My printing works will see this through.” He said this so quietly and -simply, that Anne could not understand why all these gentlemen should -throng suddenly round him. But when she cast her eyes on him, he no -longer looked funny. His small eyes glittered under the white eyelashes -and his face resembled that of St. Peter in her little Bible. - -Two boys rushed past the door. With shrill voices they shouted: -“Freedom!” - -Anne recognised the word she had heard from behind the bookcase. Mere -boys clamoured for it too. How simple! Everybody wanted the same thing. -Freedom! Somehow it seemed to her that there was some connection -between that word and another. Youth! And yet another. Whatever was it? -She thought of the awkward youth’s feverish eye. - -From the direction of the Town Hall people came running down the -street; artisans, women, students, servants. The actors of the German -theatre were among them too. Anne recognised the robber-knight and the -queen. The queen’s petticoat was torn. - -“Hurray for the freedom of the press. Down with the censor!” - -Ulwing the builder, who till then had seemed indifferent, nodded -emphatically. He thought of the censor at Buda, then he could not help -smiling to himself: from what a small angle does man contemplate the -world, the world that is so wide! - -The pavement resounded with many hurried steps. More people came. They -too were running, gesticulating wildly, colliding with each other. -All of a sudden, a voice became audible outside, a voice like that of -spring, penetrating the air irresistibly. - -Somebody spoke. - -The bookshop became silent. The men rose. The voice came to fetch -them. The windows of the houses on the other side of the street were -opened. The voice penetrated the dwellings of the German burghers. It -filled the stuffy rooms, the mouldy shops, the streets, and whatever it -touched caught fire. This voice was the music of a conflagration. - -Christopher Ulwing went to the door. He stopped at the threshold. -Behind him the whole shop began to move. Men thronged beside him into -the street. Ulrich Jörg hurried with short, fast steps side by side -with the big-headed shop assistant. All ran. The builder too, unable to -resist, began to run. - -From the street he shouted back to Anne: “You stay there!” - -The bookshop had become empty and the little girl looked anxiously -around; then, as if listening to music, she leaned her head against -the door-post. She could not see the speaker, he was far away. Only -the sound of his voice reached her ear, yet she felt that what now -happened was strangely new to her. A delightful shudder rippled down -her back. The voice made her feel giddy, it rocked her, called her, -carried her away. She did not resist but abandoned herself to it -and little Anne Ulwing was unconsciously carried away by the great -Hungarian spring which had now appealed to her for the first time. - -When the invisible voice died away, the crowd raised a shout. A student -began to sing at the top of his voice in front of the shop. All at -once, the song was taken up by the whole street, a song which Anne -was to hear often in days to come. The student climbed the apple tree -nimbly and waved his hat wildly. His face was aflame; the branches -swayed under his weight and the white blossoms covered the pavement. - -Anne would have liked to wave her handkerchief. She longed to sing -like the student. General, infinite happiness was floating in the air. -People embraced and ran. - -“Freedom!” - -A quaint figure approached down the street. He crawled along the walls -with careful, hesitating steps. He stopped every now and then and -looked anxiously around. His purple tail-coat fluttered ridiculously, -white stockings fell in thick folds over buckled shoes. - -Anne felt embarrassed, afraid. She had never yet seen Uncle Sebastian -like this in the street, in Pest. Involuntarily, she shrank behind -the door. “Perhaps he won’t see me. Perhaps he will walk on....” And -the thought of the feverish eyes, and the word she had connected with -youth.... And the voice.... Uncle Sebastian was so old and so far away. - -Anne cast her eyes down while the rusty buckles of a pair of clumsy -shoes came slowly nearer and nearer on the pavement. - -The student in the tree roared with laughter. - -“What sort of scarecrow is this? What olden times are a-walking?” - -Anne became sad and tears rose to her eyes. - -“He is mine!” She sobbed in despair and opened her arms towards the old -man. - -Uncle Sebastian had noticed nothing of all this. He sat down on the -bench in front of the bookshop, put his hat on the ground and wiped his -forehead for a long time with his enormous gaudy handkerchief. - -“I just came here in time. What an upheaval! What are we coming to! -What will be the end of this?” - -Again Anne felt a wide gulf between herself and the old man, and she -moved all the closer up to him so that people who laughed at Uncle -Sebastian might know that they belonged together. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -Wind had removed the vernal glory of the apple tree in front of the -bookshop in Snake Street. Summer passed away too. - -Anne leaned her forehead against the window pane. A sound came from -outside as if a drum were being beaten underground. The heavy steps of -the new national guard rang rhythmically along the ground. The house -heard it too and echoed it from its porch. - -In those times soldiers were frequently seen from the window, and -when Mamsell Tini took Anne to the school of the English nuns, the -walls were covered with posters. Crowds gathered before them. People -stretched their necks to get a glimpse. Anne too would have liked to -stop, but not for anything in the world would Mamsell Tini let her do -so. - -“A respectable person must never loiter in the streets.” - -A boy stood on the kerb of the pavement. - -“What is there on those posters?” Anne asked as she passed. - -“War news ...” and the boy began to whistle. An old woman passed on the -opposite corner. She was wiping her eyes on the corner of her apron. - -“War news....” Anne stared at the old lady and these words acquired a -sad significance in her mind. - -At dinner she watched her grandfather and father attentively. They -talked of business and in between they were perfectly calm and ate a -hearty meal. - -“Everybody is just the same as ever,” she reflected. “Perhaps the war -news is not true after all.” Suddenly all this was forgotten. Her -father just mentioned that the children would take dancing lessons -every Sunday afternoon in Geramb’s educational institute. - -“It is a smart place,” said John Hubert. “Baron Szepesy’s young ladies -go there and Bajmoczy the Septemvir’s daughters.” He pronounced the -name “Bajmoczy” slowly, respectfully, and looked round to see the -effect it produced on his audience. - -Next Sunday, Anne thought of nothing but the dancing school, even when -she was at Mass. She stood up, knelt down, but it meant nothing to her. -She traced with her finger the engraved inscription on the pew: “Ulwing -family.” And they alone were allowed to sit in this pew though it was -nearest the altar. - -Gál, the wine merchant, stood there under the pulpit, and Mr. Walter -the wholesale linen merchant of Idol Street had no pew. Even the -Hosszu family sat further back than they, though they owned water mills -and the millers of the Danube bowed to them. - -Anne classified the inhabitants of the parish according to their pews. -During the exhibition of the Host, while she smote her chest with her -little fist, she decided that her grandfather ranked before everybody -else. - -All this time, Christopher Ulwing inclined his head and prayed -devoutedly. - -When Anne looked up again, she saw something queer. Though turning -towards the altar, little Christopher was looking sideways. She -followed his eyes; her glance fell on Sophie Hosszu. Sophie leaned her -forehead on her clasped hands. Only the lovely outline of her face was -visible. Over her half-closed eyes her long black eyelashes lay in the -shade.... Christopher, however, now sat stiffly, with downcast eyes, in -the pew. Anne could scarcely refrain from laughing. - -Later the hours seemed to get longer and longer and it appeared as if -that afternoon would never come to an end. The children became fidgety. -The maid brought some leather shoes from the wardrobe; Anne addressed -her reproachfully: - -“Oh, Netti, don’t you know? To-day I am to wear my new prunella boots!” - -Her apple-green cashmere frock was hanging from the window bolts. The -black velvet coat was spread on the piano. Since last year Anne had -occupied her mother’s former room. The nursery had become the boy’s -sole property. Christopher too was standing in front of the mirror. -He was parting his fair, white-glimmering hair on one side; it was so -soft it looked as if the wind had blown it sideways. He was pleased -with himself and while he bent his soft shirt collar over his shoulders -he started whistling. He never forgot a melody he had once heard. He -whistled as sweetly as a bird. - -The rattle of wheels echoed under the porch. The two “pillar men” -glanced into the windows of the fast receding coach. - -In Sebastian Square, in front of Baroness Geramb’s educational -institute, three coaches were waiting. On one of them a liveried -footman sat beside the coachman. This filled Christopher with envy. He -thought that it would be a good idea to bring Florian, too, next Sunday. - -“Mind you don’t forget to kiss the ladies’ hands!” said John Hubert -while they crossed a murky corridor. Then a tall white-glazed door led -into a sombre dark room. Crooked tallow candles lit it up from the -top of the wardrobes. Their mild light showed Sztaviarsky, hopping on -tiptoe to and fro, and a row of little girls in crinolines and boys in -white collars. Between the wings of another door and in the adjoining -room ladies and gentlemen sat on uncomfortable chairs. Through -lorgnettes on long handles, they inspected each other’s children. - -Christopher at once perceived Sophie Hosszu among the grown-up people. -Though Gabriel had told him she would be there, it gave him a shock. - -“Go and kiss hands,” whispered John Hubert. The boy leant forward with -such zeal that he knocked his nose into the ivory hand of the Baroness -Geramb. He also kissed the other ladies’ hands. When he came to Sophie -he stared for a moment helplessly at the young girl. Sophie snatched -her hand away and laughed. - -“But, Sophie!” said Baroness Geramb in her expiring voice and the -ringlets dangled on the side of her face. She was not pleased with her -former pupil. Christopher tripped over a hooped petticoat, and in his -embarrassment felt as if he wanted to cry. - -In the other room, Sztaviarsky held the two tails of his alpaca evening -suit high up in his hands. He was showing one of the Bajmoczy girls how -to bow. - -“Demoiselle Bertha, pray, pray, attention,” and then he murmured -something in Polish. - -There was a commotion at the door. “Mrs. Septemvir” Bajmoczy went to -her daughter. Her silk dress rustled as it slid along the floor. She -was tall and corpulent; her head was bent backwards and she always -looked down on things. - -This irritated Sztaviarsky all the more. He sucked his cheek in and -looked round in search of a victim. “Demoiselle Ulwing, show us how to -make a bow!” - -“But I don’t know yet....” Anne said this very low, and had a feeling -as if the floor had caught hold of her heel. She could only advance -slowly on tiptoe. She bent her head sideways and her side ringlets -touched her shoulders. Her hand clung to her cashmere petticoat. - -The silence was interrupted by Sztaviarsky’s voice: - -“One.... Two ... complimentum.” - -Meanwhile John Hubert sat solemnly on a high, uncomfortable chair and, -contrary to his habit, kept himself erect and never leaned back once. -It seemed to Anne that he nodded contentedly. Everybody nodded. How -good everybody was to her ... and she started to go to Bertha Bajmoczy. -But the Pole stopped her with a sign. The lesson continued. - -Studies in school suffered seriously that week. Twice Christopher was -given impositions. - -The Sundays passed.... In the Geramb educational institute’s cold, -sombre drawing room the children were already learning the gavotte. - -It was towards the end of a lesson. The crooked tallow candles on -the top of the wardrobe had burnt nearly to the end. Sztaviarsky was -muttering Polish. Bertha Bajmoczy, wherever she stepped, tripped over -her own foot. All of a sudden, she began to weep. The young Baroness -Szepesy ran to her; Martha Illey stood in the middle of the room and -laughed wickedly; Anne had to laugh too. The boys roared. - -“Mes enfants.... Silence!” Baroness Geramb’s voice was more expiring -than ever and her face was stern. - -Silence was restored. Bertha wiped her eyes furiously. She happened to -look at Anne. - -“Since she came here everything has gone wrong.” - -Clemence Szepesy nodded and pinched her sharp nose. Anne paid no -attention to this. She looked at her father in surprise. He stood -beside Sophie Hosszu, leaning against the high, white panel of the -door. While he talked, he kept one of his hands stuck in his waistcoat, -which was adorned with many tiny flowers. With the other he now and -then smoothed his thick fair hair back from his brow which it bordered -in a graceful curve. He smiled. Until now Anne had never noticed that -her father was still a young man. - -The dancing lesson was over. Walking down the poorly lit staircase, she -heard more talk behind her. Just where the curving staircase turned, -she was hidden from those coming from above. - -“Her grandfather was an ordinary carpenter,” said Clemence Szepesy. - -“_Par exemple_, what is that, a carpenter?” - -“It’s the sort of fellow,” came the voice from above, “who worked last -spring on the beams of our attics.” - -“Really such people ought not to be admitted into gentlefolks’ -society.” It was Bertha’s voice. - -At first, Anne did not realise whom they were discussing--only later. -How dared they speak like that of her grandfather! Of Ulwing, the -master builder! Of him who sat in the first pew in church and before -whom even the aldermen stood bare-headed! - -She turned round sharply. Those behind found themselves suddenly face -to face with her. They slunk away to the balustrade. Anne gazed at -them bewildered, then her countenance became sad and scared. She had -just discovered something vile and dangerous that had been hitherto -concealed from her by those she loved. She was taught for the first -time in her short life that people could be wicked; she had always -thought that everybody was kind. Her soul had till then gone out with -open arms to all human beings without discrimination; now it felt -itself rebuffed. - -On the drive home she sat silently in the coach. Her father spoke -of the Septemvir Bajmoczy and his family. He pronounced the name -respectfully, with unction. This irritated Anne at first. But her -father’s and her brother’s content pained her only for an instant. -She set her teeth and decided that she would not tell them what had -happened on the staircase. She felt sorry for them, more so than for -herself, and for the sake of their happiness and peace of mind she -charitably burdened her maiden soul with the heavy weight of her first -secret. - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -Sunday had come round again. Christopher went alone with his father to -the dancing lesson. - -“I should like to stay at home,” said Anne, in her timid, veiled voice. -She looked so imploring that they let her have her way. - -At the usual hour in the afternoon the bell sounded at the gate. Uncle -Sebastian stood between its pillars. - -Anne ran to meet him. From his writing table the builder nodded his -head. - -“Sit down.” He continued to write close small numbers into a -linen-bound book. He did not put his pen down till Netti appeared with -coffee on the parrot-painted tray. The steam of the milkcan passed -yellow through the light of the candle. The smell of coffee penetrated -the room. The two old men now talked of days gone by. - -“Things were better then,” growled Uncle Sebastian every now and then, -without ever attempting to justify his statement. Meanwhile he dipped -big pieces of white bread into his coffee. He brushed the crumbs into -his hand and put them into his waistcoat pocket for the birds. - -It struck Anne that her grandfather never spoke to Uncle Sebastian -as he spoke to adults, but rather in the way he had with her and -Christopher. At first he seemed indulgent, later he became impatient. - -“So it was better then, was it?” And he told the tale of some noble -gentleman who had had one of his serfs thrashed half-dead because he -dared to pick flowers under the castle window for his bride. The girl -was beautiful. The gentleman looked at her and sent the serf to the -army against Buonaparte as a grenadier--for life. - -“Nowadays, the noble gentlemen go themselves to war, and in our parts -they even share their land with their former serfs. Do you understand, -Sebastian? Without compulsion, of their own free will.” - -“Are we noble too?” asked Anne from her corner of the check-covered -couch. - -The two old men looked at each other. They burst into a good-humoured -laugh. The builder rose and took a much-worn booklet out of the writing -desk. On the binding of the book a double-headed eagle held the arms of -Hungary between its claws. - -“This is my patent of nobility. I have sold neither myself nor anybody -else for it.” - -Anne opened the book and spelt out slowly the old-fashioned writing: - -“Pozsony. Anno Domini 1797.... Christopher Ulwing. Sixteen years old. -Stature: tall. Face: long. Hair: fair. Eyes: blue. Occupation: civil -carpenter.” - -Anne blushed. - -“That was I,” and the master builder put his hand on the passport. -Then, with quaint satisfaction, he looked round the room as if -exhibiting with his eyes the comfort he had earned by his labour. For -the first time Anne understood this look which she had observed on her -grandfather’s face on countless occasions. - -“I am a free citizen,” said Christopher Ulwing. The words embellished, -gave power to his sharp, metallic voice. Unconsciously, Anne imitated -with her small head the old man’s gesture. - -The thoughts of Sebastian Ulwing moved less quickly. They stuck at the -passport. - -“Do you remember?...” These words carried the old men beyond the years. -They talked of the mail-coach which had overturned at the gate of -Hatvan. Of the mounted courier from Vienna, how they made him drunk at -the Three Roses Inn. The gunsmith, the chirurgeon and other powerful -artisans held him down while the bell-founder cut his pig-tail off -though there was a wire inside to curl it up on his back. - -The builder got tired of this subject. He became serious. - -“It was all pig-tails then. People wore them in their very brains. -Withal, times are better now....” - -Sebastian Ulwing shook his head obstinately. Suddenly his face lit up, -as if he had found the reason for all his statements. - -“We were young then.” He uttered this modestly and smiled. “My head -turns when I remember your putting shingles on the roof of the parish -church. You sat on the crest-beam and dangled your feet towards the -Danube. Wouldn’t you get giddy now if you were sent there!” - -Anne, immobile, watched her grandfather’s hand lying near her on the -table. And as if she wanted to atone for the injury inflicted by the -strange girls, she bent over and kissed it. - -“What’s that?” Christopher Ulwing withdrew his hand absent-mindedly. - -Anne cast her eyes down, for she felt as if she had exhibited a feeling -the others could not understand.... Then she slipped unobserved out -of the room.... In the sunshine room a volume lay on the music chest. -On the green marbled cover were printed the words “Nursery Songs,” -surrounded by a wreath. On the first page a faded inscription, -Christina Jörg, Anno 1822. Anne sat down to the piano. Her small -fingers erred for some time hesitatingly over the keys. Then she began -to sing sweetly one of the songs: - - Two prentice lads once wandered - To strange lands, far away.... - -Shy, untrained, the little song rose. Her voice, veiled when she -talked, rang out clear when she was singing. She herself was struck by -this difference and it seemed to her that till this moment she had been -mute all her life. She felt elated by the discovery of the power to -express herself without risking the mocking derision of the others; now -her grandfather would not draw his hand away from her. - - Two prentice lads once wandered, - To strange lands, far away.... - -Uncle Sebastian rose from his armchair and carefully opened the -dining-room door. For a long time, the two old men listened.... - -Christopher came home from the dancing class. He rushed to Anne -noisily. His eyes gleamed with boyish delight. A faded flower was -stuck in his buttonhole. His hand went for ever up to the flower. He -talked and talked, leaning his elbows on the piano. Anne looked at -him surprised; she found him handsome. Half his face was hidden by -the curls of his girlish hair. His upper lip was drawn up slightly by -the upward bent of his small nose. This gave him a charming, startled -expression, not to be found in any other member of the Ulwing family. -Instinctively, Anne looked at her mother’s portrait.... - -In the evening when bedtime came, Christopher searched impatiently for -his prayer book. He could not find it. He hid the flower under his -pillow. - -For a long time, he lay with open eyes in the dark. Once he whispered -to himself: “Little Chris, I hope to see you again soon,” and in doing -so he tried to imitate Sophie’s intonation. Then he drew his hand over -his head slowly, gently, just as Sophie had done while speaking to his -father. - -He went into a peaceful rapture. He repeated the stroking, the words -“Little Chris....” He repeated it often, so often that its charm wore -off. It was his own voice he heard now, his own hand he felt. They -ceased to cause a pleasant tremor; tired out, he went to sleep over -Sophie’s flower. - -When Ulwing the builder went next morning into the dining-room it was -still practically dark. He always got up very early and liked to take -his breakfast alone. A candle burned in the middle of the table and the -flickering of its flame danced over the china and was reflected in the -mirror of the plate chest. The shadows of the chair-backs were cast -high up on the walls. - -Christopher Ulwing read the paper rapidly. - -“Nonsense,” he thought. “Send an Imperial Commissioner with full powers -from Vienna? Why should they?” There was no other news besides that in -the newspaper, crowded though it was with small print. As if the censor -were at work again. - -He carried the candle in his hand into the office. A big batch of -papers lay on the table. John Hubert’s regular, careful handwriting -was visible on all of them. The builder bent over his work, his pen -scratched spasmodically. - -Facing him, the coloured map of Pest-Buda in its gilt frame became -lighter and lighter. The whitewashed wall of the room was covered with -plans. A couch stood near the stove and this was all covered with -papers. - -Steps clattered outside in the silent morning. Occasionally the shadow -of a passing head fell on the low window and then small round clouds -ran over the paper under Christopher Ulwing’s pen. Others came and -went. Time passed. All of a sudden many furious steps began running -towards the Danube. The blades of straightened scythes sparkled in the -sun. - -The servants ran to the gate. - -“What has happened?” - -A voice answered back: - -“They have hanged the Imperial Commissioner on a lamp post!” - -“No--they have torn him to pieces....” - -“They stabbed him on the boat-bridge.” - -“Is he dead?” asked a late-comer. - -The builder put his pen down. He stared at the window as if an awful -face were grinning frightfully at him. “It has been coming for months. -Now it has happened....” Without any reason he picked up his writings -and laid them down again. He would have to get accustomed to this too. -His crooked chin disappeared stiffly in the fold of his open collar and -he resumed the addition of the numbers which aligned themselves in a -long column on the paper. - -Outside they sang somewhere the song Anne had heard for the first time -from Grandfather Jörg’s shop. In the kitchen Netti was beating cream to -its rhythm. And in the evening, just as on any other day, the lamps on -the boat-bridge were lit, not excepting the one on which a man had died -that day. Its light was just as calm as the other’s. The streets spoke -no more of what had happened. In the darkness the Danube washed the -city’s bloody hand. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -On Saturday a letter came from Baroness Geramb. There would be no more -dancing classes. - -All the light seemed to go from Christopher’s eyes. - -“But why?” said he, and hung his head sadly. - -“Dancing is unbecoming when there is a war on.” - -“So it is true? The war has come,” thought Anne, but still it seemed to -her unreal, distant. Just as if one had read about it in a book. A book -whose one-page chapters were stuck up every morning on the walls of the -houses. - -It was after Christmas. The Danube was invisible. A dense, sticky fog -moved on the window panes. Christopher ran out shivering into the dark -morning. As usual, he was late; he had to leave his breakfast and eat -his bread and butter in the street. He had no idea of his lesson. -Behind him Florian carried a lantern. On winter mornings he always lit -the boy’s way till he reached the paved streets. - -On the pavement of the inner town a bandy-legged old man got in front -of Christopher. On one arm he had a large bundle of grimy papers while -a pot of glue dangled from the other. People in silent crowds waited -at the corners of the streets for him; when they had read the fresh -posters they walked away silent, dejected. - -“What is happening? What do they want with us?” they asked. - -People began to understand the grim realities of war; what was -happening now roused their understanding. They thronged in front of -the money-changers’ shops. Soldiers’ swords rattled on the pavement. -Everybody hurried as if he had some urgent business to settle before -nightfall. - -Anne was at her music lesson when a huge black and yellow flag was -hoisted on a flagstaff on the bastions of Buda. In those times, flags -changed frequently. - -“Freedom is dead,” said Sztaviarsky and cursed in Polish. - -“Freedom!” Anne thought of the two feverish eyes. So it was for -freedom’s sake that there was a war? She now looked angrily on the -Croatian soldiers whom the Imperial officers had quartered on them. -The red-faced sergeant was eating a raw onion in the middle of the -courtyard. The soldiers, like clumsy big children, were throwing -snowballs. They trod on the shrubs, made havoc of everything. They -made a snow-man in front of the pump and covered the head with a red -cap like the one worn by Hungarian soldiers; then they riddled it with -bullets.... - -The snow-man had melted away. Slowly the lilac bushes in the garden -began to sprout. The Croatians were washing their dirty linen near the -pump. They stood half-naked near the troughs. The wind blew soapsuds -against their hairy chests. - -All of a sudden an unusual bugle call was heard; it sounded like a cry -of distress. Anne ran to the window. Soldiers were running in front of -the house. In the courtyard the Croatians were snatching their shirts -from the trough and putting them on, all soaking. They rode off after -the rest and did not come back again. - -A few days later, Anne dreamed at night that there was a thunderstorm. -Towards morning there was a sound in the room as if peas by the handful -were being thrown against the window panes--many, many peas. Later, -as if some invisible bodies were precipitated through the air, every -window of the house was set a-rattling. - -“Put up the wooden shutters!” shouted the builder from the porch. - -Christopher came breathlessly up the stairs. “School is closed!” His -pocket bulged with barley sugar and he was stuffing it into his mouth, -two pieces at a time. - -John Hubert, who had run to school for Christopher, arrived behind -him. His lovely, well-groomed hair was hanging over his forehead and -the correct necktie had slipped to one side of his collar. Gasping he -called Florian and had the big gate locked behind him. - -A candle was burning in the master builder’s room, deprived of daylight -by the shutters. Contrary to his habit, John Hubert, without waiting -this time to have a seat offered to him, sank limply into an armchair. - -“Thank goodness you are all here,” he said, making a caressing movement -with his hand in the air. “I came along the shores of the Danube,” he -continued hoarsely. “There were crowds of people and they said that -the shells could not reach across the river. People from the shore sat -about on stones. One was eating bacon. He ate quite calmly and suddenly -he was without a head. For a time the corpse remained seated, and -everything was covered with blood....” Horrified, he covered his eyes -with his hand. - -“So it was a shell that fell into the confectioner’s shop in Little -Bridge Street?” said Christopher, stuffing barley sugar into his mouth. -“The pavement was all covered with sweets as if the shop had been -turned inside out. The whole school filled its pockets for nothing.” - -The builder smiled. Behind the barred gates life continued. John Hubert -put his necktie straight and sometimes in the course of the day forgot -completely what he had seen. When he sat down to meals, however, he -became pale. He pushed his plate aside. - -From time to time, the window panes rattled. Woeful distant shrieks -flew over the roofs. They were followed by the anguish of numb -expectancy. People counted. The silence became crystalline and quivered -in the air. - -“The shell has not burst!” They counted again, in helpless animal fear. -Whose turn would it be next? On the banks of the Danube a stricken -house howled out. Clouds of dust burst high up into the air. The sky -became red, the colour of bleeding flesh. - -The wind blew a wave of hot air, heralding disaster, into the courtyard -of Ulwing the builder. Behind the locked gate nobody knew which -neighbouring house was expiring in a last hot breath. - -The Fügers hid in the cellar. John Hubert and the children had moved -into the office, situated in the inner courtyard. The first floor -became empty, except for Christopher Ulwing who remained in his -bedroom, the single window of which opened into the deserted timber -yard. - -“The house is strong,” said the builder to Mrs. Füger through the -cellar window. “I built the walls well.” - -A furious crack came from the gate as if it had been flicked by a wet -towel of gigantic dimensions. The windows broke in a clatter. The house -shook to its foundations. - -With frightened lamentations, people rushed out of the cellar. Little -Christopher’s snow-white lips became distorted. The builder frowned as -he used to do when contradicted by some fool. He went with long steps -to the gate. - -“No, no,” shrieked Christopher, and began to sob spasmodically. But -old Ulwing listened to no one. He kicked the side door open. One of -the caryatids was without an arm. Under him lay a heap of débris of -crumbled whitewash and a huge hole gaped from the wall. The shell had -not exploded; it had stuck in the brickwork. The builder buttoned his -coat up so as to be less of a target and went to the front of the -house. He cast his eyes upwards. He contemplated the wrecked windows. - -Foreign enemies had hurt his house in the name of their Emperor. He -turned quickly towards the Danube. The bridge of boats was aflame. -His bridge! He glanced at poor little Buda, from the heart of which -the sister town, defenceless Pest, was shot to death. The town and -Christopher Ulwing had been small and poor together; they had risen -together, they had become rich, and now they were wounded together. - -He began to curse as he used to do when he was a journeyman carpenter. - -Around him, there was no sign of life. Nothing moved in the streets. -Closed shops. Bolted doors. The town was a great execution ground. Like -men under sentence of death, the houses held their breath and were as -much abandoned in their misfortunes as human destinies. Now every -house lived only for itself, died only for itself. The glare of the -burning roofs was reflected in different windows. Sticky smoke crawled -along the walls. The bells of a church near the river tolled. - -Rage and pain brought tears to Christopher Ulwing’s eyes while he -glanced over the grimy, falling houses. How many were his work! He -loved them all. He pitied them, pitied himself.... - -But this lasted only for a second. He clenched his fist as if to -restrain his over-flowing energy. He would be in need of it! The -muscles of his arm became convulsed and he felt these convulsions -reflected in his brain. If necessary, he would start afresh from the -very beginning. There was still time. There was still a long life -before him. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -Days passed by. The bombardment ceased. Frightened shapes emerged -from the cellars. Shrinking against the walls, they stared at the -conflagration and when they had to cross a street they rushed to the -nearest shelter. - -The town waited with bated breath. In Ulwing’s house, anxiety became -oppressive. - -Young Christopher did not get out of bed for a whole week. Sickly -fright left its impression on his face. In daytime he lay speechless in -a corner of the office. Fear prevented him from sleeping at night; and -then he would slink to the windows. - -The black chestnut trees stood gravely in the back garden. Now and -then a distant flaring light would crown their summits with red. Their -leaves, like flattened bleeding fingers, moved towards the sky. Between -the bushes, something began to move. The pump handle creaked. A stable -lantern appeared on the ground; in its light stood men carrying water -to the attics. The builder was there too, working the pump handle in -his shirt sleeves; he was relieved occasionally by John Hubert, who, -however, wore a smart coat and white collar which shone in the dark. -Then all went away to rest. The courtyard became empty. - -Christopher was again afraid. He grasped his neck. He felt as if some -fine strings were quivering in it; this had happened frequently since -the great clap had dealt the house a blow. In his brain the vision of -that incident cropped up incessantly. He wanted to push it away but -something reached into his brain and pulled it back. - -He would have liked to go to Anne to tell her all about it. But would -she understand? He could not bear the idea of being laughed at. He -threw himself on his bed and pressed his head between his two hands. -Why could he not be like the others? Why had he to think forever of -things that the others could not understand? - -In the next room, Anne lay sleepless too. Uncle Sebastian, living up -there in the castle, was never out of her mind since she had had a -glimpse of the spire of Our Lady’s church through the side door, opened -during the bombardment. The stairs felt cold under her feet and the -door-handles creaked loudly through the silent house. Crossing the -dining-room, she sank into a chair. She thought with terror of her -grandfather. If he had heard it? He would never let her do it, yet, -however much she was afraid, however much she trembled, it had to be -done. - -She reached the piano. She listened again, lit the candle, but dared -not look round. Her teeth chattered pitifully while she opened the -shutter. The window was broken. What if the wind blew the candle out? -But the May night was deep and calm. - -Anne felt in her arm a reminiscence of the old movement with which as a -child she used to wave to Uncle Sebastian across the Danube. She waved -her hand and closed the shutter behind the illuminated window. - -Outside the window the light of the candle spread yellow into the night -as if attempting to go across the river on the errand on which it had -been sent. - -In the mellow, shapeless darkness the castle formed a rigid compact -shadow. No lamps burned in its steep streets. The houses were mute and -fearful. - - * * * * * - -For days Sebastian Ulwing had not emerged from his shop. He spoke -to no one, knew of nothing. He lived on bread and read Demokritos. -Occasionally the gleam of torches came through the cracks in his door. -Their rigid beam made the round of the shop and then ran out again. The -heavy steps of soldiers resounded in the street. Sometimes the guns -spoke and the house shook. - -On that evening everything was in expectant silence. It was about ten -o’clock. All of a sudden it seemed to Sebastian Ulwing that there had -been a knock at his door. - -What happened? His heart began to beat anxiously and he thought of the -Ulwing’s house. He could not endure the doubt, took his hat, but turned -back at the threshold and, as he had done every evening, he walked -again all over the shop. He wound up all the clocks, looking at them as -if he were giving them food. Then, with his shaky helpless steps, he -crawled out into the street. - -May was all over the deserted castle. The clockmaker began to hurry. He -raised his hat when he passed the church of Our Lady. He turned towards -the Fisherman’s bastion. - -Beyond the wall, down below, the shore of Pest was black. - -Sebastian Ulwing forced his eyes to find the direction of the Ulwing’s -house. He exclaimed softly. In the long row on the dark shore one -window was lit.... He knew it was for him. His old heart warmed with -gratitude. - -Thoughtlessly, he leaned down and swept the rubbish together that -lay about his feet. He piled it up on the wall of the bastion; then -tenderly, with great care, he tore the title page from his “Demokritos, -or a Laughing Philosopher.” He took a match. He wanted to thank Anne -for the signal. The paper flared up, the rubbish caught fire and the -flame jumped up with a shining light. - -Just then, the clockmaker felt himself kicked on the back. He heard a -shot and fell on his knees near the bastion. He grazed his chin against -the wall. Annoyed, he put his hand up to it. He felt sick. It occurred -then to him to look behind. Nobody was near. The window of one house -rattled. Under the church a light Austrian uniform disappeared in the -dark. - -When nothing more was audible, Sebastian Ulwing held on to the stones -and got up. In front of the church he raised his hat again. Somehow, -he could not put it back on his head: it dropped out of his hand. He -looked sadly after it but did not bend down for it. For an instant -he leaned against the monument of the Holy Trinity. As if it were a -nail which had pegged down the square in the middle, only the monument -remained steady; the rest turned round him slowly, heaving all the time. - -“I am giddy,” he thought and spat in disgust. He wanted to hurry, -because he had already taken many steps and was still in the square. He -felt like a man in a dream who wants to hurry on and remains painfully -on the same spot. - -In the shadow of Tárnok Street he saw light uniforms. This sight, -like a painful recollection, pushed him forward. His shoulder rubbed -against the houses and suddenly he stumbled into the shop. The match -in his hand evaded the wick of the candle with cunning undisciplined -movements. - -Sebastian Ulwing fell into the armchair. He closed his eyes. When he -opened them again, everything seemed to be in a haze. “They make worse -candles now than in olden times,” he reflected, then he felt suddenly -frightened. He was thirsty. Open the windows. Call somebody. He could -move his body but partially. He fell back into the armchair. The effort -covered his brow with sweat. - -He seemed to hear the guns somewhere. What did that matter to him. All -that concerned others seemed to him strange and distant now. - -To pray.... A child’s prayer came to his mind. He thought of the past -but it tired him as if it forced him to turn his head. Life was so good -and simple. That Barbara should have married Christopher was, after -all, the right thing. - -A painful confusion went on in his brain. Without the slightest -continuity in his thoughts, he remembered that he owed the baker a -half-penny. He began to worry; he had just ordered a pair of shoes -at the bootmaker’s. “With bright buckles.” He had said that. Who was -going to buy these now? Then, for the first time, it struck him that -nobody wore shoes like that nowadays. Tears came to his eyes. Against -his will, his body fell forward. How rusty those buckles on his shoes -were ... the one on the left foot was getting rustier every minute. -Rust seemed to flow on it, red, dense. It was spreading over the white -stocking ... it flowed over the floor. - -The candle burnt to the end. The flame flared up once more, looked -round, went out. The heavy smell of molten tallow filled the shop and -the head of Uncle Sebastian sank deeper and deeper between the leather -wings of the armchair.... - - * * * * * - -Outside, with the coming day, the firing increased every moment. -But this wild thunder was not speaking to Pest. From the heights -of the hills of Buda red-capped soldiers bombarded the castle. The -Imperialists retorted hopelessly. - - * * * * * - -The dawn was gray and trembling. - -No news penetrated the locked door of Ulwing’s house. - -In the cellar Mrs. Füger was making bandages, with depressing sighs. -The little book-keeper sat on the top of a barrel and held his head -sideways, as if listening. At every detonation he banged his heel -against the barrel. - -His son stared at him so rigidly that his short-sighted eyes became -contracted by the effort. He yawned with fatigue. Now, old Füger’s feet -struck the side of the barrel at longer and longer intervals. Only by -this did his son notice that the firing became less frequent; by and -by it stopped. Then once more the house shook. A last explosion rent -the frightful silence in twain and broken glass was hurled with loud -clatter from the windows. - -“That was somewhere near!” - -The builder could stand it no longer. He wanted to know what was -happening. He rushed up the stairs. In the green room he tore the -shutters deliberately open. - -Opposite, the royal castle burned with a smoky flame and on the -bastion, beside the small white flag of the Imperialists, a tri-colour -was unruffled in the wind. - -“Victory!” shouted Christopher Ulwing. His short ringing voice fell -like a blow from a hammer through the whole house. - -Anne began to laugh. - -“Do you hear, Christopher, we have won!” - -When in the brightness of May the flag was unfurled on the bastion -of the castle and opened out like a bountiful hand, it scattered joy -from its folds. Its colours were repeated in Pest and Buda. Tricolours -answered from the houses, the windows, the attics, the roofs. Singing, -the people rushed toward the chain-bridge which resounded with the -irregular trampling of human feet. The tide swept Ulwing the builder -with it. He went to his brother. So much to tell! So much to ask! - -From the other shore, the people of Buda came running. And on the -bridge over the Danube the two towns fell into each other’s arms. - -At the foot of the hill there was a crush. A heavy yellow cart turned -into the road. A thin, yellow-faced man was on the driver’s seat. His -moustaches hung in a black fringe on either side of his mouth. The -cart was covered with canvas. The canvas was bespattered with dirty -red spots. Human legs and arms protruded from it, swaying helplessly -according to the movements of the cart. - -The crowd had stopped singing. Men took their hats off. Those in front -shouted in horror at the driver. - -The jerks caused a corpse to slip slowly from under the canvas. -Indifferent, the yellow coachman whipped his horses and the cart went -on at a greater speed. The corpse’s head now reached the ground. It -struck the protruding stones of the roadway, jumped up with a jerk, and -with glaring open eyes fell back into the street. - -The crowd passed by in speechless horror. - -Springless carts brought the wounded. The courtyards of decaying houses -were full of red-caps, bayonets. On the pavement, shiny blue flies -swarmed over a dead horse. From the ditch of the canal, the soles -of two boots protruded. Carts covered with canvas everywhere. Their -lifeless load swayed slowly in the sun. - -Christopher Ulwing turned the corner of Holy Trinity Square. People -stood in front of the clockmaker’s shop. The first storey jutting over -the street cast a deep shadow in the glaring white sunshine. - -The builder recognised Brother Sebastian’s friends. The lame -wood-carver leaned against the wall and wiped his eyes. The censor -was there too. He pressed his hand against his face as if he had a -toothache. Those behind him stood on tiptoe and stretched their necks. -When they perceived him they all took their hats off. - -The chaplain’s pointed, bird-like face appeared in the open door. He -walked with important steps to meet the builder. He spoke at length, -with unction, pointed several times to the sky and shook his head -sideways. - -The big bony hands of Christopher Ulwing clasped each other over his -chest, like two twisted hooks. - -“How did it happen?” - -Now they all stood round him and all talked at once. A curious, -old-fashioned lady bowed suddenly in the middle of the road. - -“With your kind permission, I am Amalia Csik. I am entitled to speak. -They only heard it from me. You may remember I live on the Fisherman’s -bastion. Last night my husband felt unwell, because we hid in the -cellar. The air was bad. So I went up into our rooms for some medicine.” - -The builder turned painfully towards the door of the shop. The people -stood in his way. - -“Hurry up,” whispered the chaplain. The lady went on talking all the -faster. - -“Pray imagine, I saw the whole thing from my window. Someone lit a -fire on the bastion. I recognised him at once: the clockmaker. I saw -his face, the flame just lit it up. Then a shot rang out. And the -clockmaker fell to the ground near the wall.” - -Christopher’s heart contracted in anguish. His eyes reddened as if -smoke stung them. “Poor Brother Sebastian ...” and he could not help -thinking of Anne. - -The lady sighed deeply. - -“You may imagine I was frightened out of my wits. I flew back to the -cellar. There my husband explained everything. His reverence the -chaplain knows it too, so do the others; it is they who broke into the -shop after the siege.” - -The builder started again towards the shop. - -The chaplain made him a sign to stop. He again lifted his hand to -heaven. He spoke of the country. Of heroes. He turned his pointed -bird-face upward as if inspired. - -“And greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his -life....” - -“Why do you say that?” The builder thought he could not stand the voice -of the priest any longer. - -The chaplain became more and more enthusiastic. - -“The name of Sebastian Ulwing will live forever in our memory. Buda, -the grateful, will preserve the memory of its heroic martyrs.” - -The builder shuddered. He wanted to speak, but, with an apostolic -gesture, the priest opened his arms to the assembled people. - -“And do you who are brought here by your pious respect for a hero, -tell your children and your children’s children that it was a simple, -God-fearing clockmaker who with signals of fire called the relieving -Hungarian armies into the fortress, suffering death therefor by a -deadly bullet at the hands of the foe!” - -He had grown sentimental over his own eloquence. The builder, -embarrassed, looked around him. Big coloured handkerchiefs were drawn. -People blew their noses noisily. Mrs. Amalia Csik stood in the middle -of the circle. She felt very important. She reiterated her story to -every new-comer: - -“It happened like this....” - -“He is the real hero, the hero of our street,” affirmed the gingerbread -maker from the next house. The baker too nodded and thought of the two -loaves for which Sebastian Ulwing owed him. - -For a moment the builder stared helplessly into the priest’s bird-face. -He was frightened by what he had heard. He was agitated, as if by his -silence he had entered a fictitious credit dishonestly into his ledger. -He passed his hand over his forehead. - -“Reverend Mr. Chaplain, allow me.... My poor brother Sebastian was a -peaceful citizen. He never took any interest in the ideals of the war -of Liberation. He kept carefully out of revolutionary movements....” - -The priest pushed his open palm reprovingly into the air. - -“Master-builder Ulwing, even the _humilitas christiana_ leaves you free -to receive with raised head the pious praise bestowed on your famous -brother.” - -“Listen to me,” shouted Christopher Ulwing in despair. “It was an -accident. Believe me. You are mistaken....” - -The crowd became hostile in its interruptions. Those behind murmured. -Amalia Csik began to fear for her present importance. She incited -the people furiously, as if this stranger from Pest had attempted to -deprive them of an honour due to them. - -“He is so rich, and yet he left his brother poor. He never gave him -anything. Now he wants to deprive him of his memory.” - -“We won’t let him!” shouted the bootmaker from Gentleman Street and -resolved not to claim from the builder the price of Sebastian Ulwing’s -buckle shoes. - -The chaplain rebuked the builder severely: - -“Nobody must grudge us the respect we pay to our hero!” - -Christopher Ulwing’s honest face assumed a resigned expression. With a -sweeping movement of his hand he announced his submission. An entry had -been made in the books over which he had no control. After all, what -does it matter why a man is proclaimed a hero? To signal, at the risk -of one’s life, to a little girl, or to soldiers, what is the difference? - -“I thank you,” he said, scarcely audibly. He took his hat off and, -slightly stooping, entered the shop. Outside, on the clock-sign, -sparrows were waiting for Brother Sebastian’s crumbs. Indoors two -candles burned. The silence was broken only by the ticking of the -clocks; it sounded like the beating of many hearts. The heart of him -who wound the clocks beat no more. - -Night was falling when the builder descended from the castle. - -“I shall come back for the night,” he said to the spectacle-maker and -the wood-carver, who had decided to sit up near their old friend. Then -he stepped out smartly, making an effort to keep his head erect, but -his eyes looked dimly upon the people. He walked as if nobody else -existed, as if he were quite alone. It occurred to him that throughout -all his life he had been alone. He did not mind; it was the cause of -his strength. To expect nothing from anybody, to lean on no one. But -what he felt now was something quite different. It was not the solitude -of strength, but that of old age. The house in Pozsony with its dark -corners; his mother’s songs; his father’s workshop; his youth ... -there was nobody left with him to whom these were realities. When a man -remains alone with the past, it is more painful than present solitude. -It came home to him what it meant, now that everyone had gone to whom -he could say: “Do you remember?” - -Round him soldiers began to flow in. Rows of men, grimy with sweat and -smoke. The drums beat. The crowd followed on both flanks. The whole -road was singing. - -In the windows of the houses handkerchiefs flickered like white flames. - -Anne and Christopher had run to the window. Opposite, the sun had set -already behind the castle. The outline of Buda, spires, gables, showed -dark on the red sky. A black town on the top of the hill. On the bridge -over the Danube a dark stream of steel poured over to Pest ... soldiers -with fixed bayonets. They too received the sun on their backs and had -their faces in the shade. - -Anne leaned out from the window. - -At the head of the troops, the shape of a man dominated the floating -throng. The one in the red dolman. The leader.... His horse was -invisible. The living stream appeared to carry him over its head. - -From the bridge end on the Pest side he looked back to the castle. -The outline of his features shone up clear and strong, with Buda as -its background. The sun, reflected violently from the glasses of his -spectacles, sent a vivid flame into the darkness. - -“Do you see them?” shouted Anne and, looking at the leader she felt -as if in his face she saw all the faces that followed him in the -shade--the faces of the whole victorious army. - - * * * * * - -Ulwing the builder gently opened the front gate. - -When Christopher heard that Uncle Sebastian was dead he began to -weep. His sobbing was audible in the corridor. Anne gazed rigidly, -tearlessly, in front of her. - -“Shall I then see him never more?” - -“Never.” - -Her little face was convulsed. She shut her eyes for a moment. She -would have liked to be alone. - -In the corridor, the Fügers were waiting with a miserable expression -on their faces. The builder nodded silently to them. He went down the -stairs. He wanted to be alone. - -He stopped in the hall. A curious murmur was audible outside; it spread -through the air with a penetrating force as if it had risen from the -very foundation of things and beings, from between the roots of the -town. He recognised it. It was the outcry of joy and sorrow; the breath -of the town, and as Christopher Ulwing listened to it he felt keenly -that the breath of the town and his own were but one. He rejoiced with -the town. He wept with the town.... The hatred for those who had hurt -what was his own--his brother, his home, his bridge, so much of his -work--took definite shape in his heart. - -As if facing a foe, he raised his head aggressively. His eye struck -a little tablet hanging on the opposite door, it bore the German -inscription: - - CANZELEI. - -His jaw turned aside. His steady hand snatched at the tablet and tore -it from its hooks. He took a mason’s pencil from his waistcoat. He -reflected for a second. Was it spelled in Hungarian with a T or a D? -Then, with vigorous strokes he wrote on the door[B]: - - IRODA. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -When on quiet Sunday afternoons the bell sounded at the door of -Ulwing’s house, a sudden silence fell over all in the green room. -Nobody mentioned it, yet each of them knew what came to the others’ -minds. This hour was Uncle Sebastian’s hour. - -Summer passed away. One morning, the bandy-legged little old man -emerged again from the dawn and silently pasted on the walls the last -pages of the great book. - -Mamsell Tini protested in vain--Anne would stop. She read the poster. - -“It is all over.” - -She went on, saying never a word, and her imagination, restricted by -the walls of a town, ignorant of the free, limitless fields, showed her -a quaint picture. She saw in her mind a great square, something like -the Town Hall Market, but even larger than that. Around it, trees in -a row. Grass everywhere, red-capped soldiers lying motionless in the -grass. Her feverish eyes closed. - -“It is all over....” - -One evening, grandfather Jörg was arrested in his bookshop. He was -led, surrounded by bayonets, through the town. Many people were taken -like that in those times. Those who remained free spoke in whispers of -these things. Anne heard something about grandfather Jörg printing some -proclamation; that was why he had to go to prison. But nobody seemed -to know exactly what happened. The printing press was closed down by -the soldiers; the apple tree at the corner of Snake Street was cut down -and in the bookshop young Jörg had to place the bookshelf in such a way -that one could see from the street into the deepest recess of the shop. - -It was many months before Ulrich Jörg was released. Meanwhile he had -turned quite old and tiny. - -The town too looked as if it had aged. People got accustomed to that. -People will get accustomed to anything. The streets were full of -Imperial officers and quiet women in mourning.... Slowly the traces of -the bombardment disappeared. On Ulwing’s house, however, the mutilated -pillar-man remained untouched. - -John Hubert disliked this untidiness. - -“It has to stay like that!” growled the builder. He never told them why. - -One day two students passed under the open window of the office. One of -the boys said: “This old house has got a national guardsman; look at -him, he has been to the war.” - -The pen of Christopher Ulwing stopped abruptly. What? People had -already come to call his house old? - -Where were those who shook their heads when he began to build here on -the deserted shore, on the shifting sands? Since then a town had sprung -up around him. How many years ago was it? How old was he himself? He -did not reckon it up; the thought of his age was to him like an object -one picks up by chance and throws away without taking the trouble to -examine. Annihilation disgusted him. He rebelled against it. He avoided -everything that might remind him of it. To build! To build! One could -kill death with that. To build a house was like building up life. To -draw plans; homes for life. To work for posterity. That rejuvenates man. - -But the town had come to a standstill. - -Ulwing the builder called his grandchildren into his room, and--a thing -he had never done before--he listened to their talk attentively. He -was painfully impressed by the discovery that among themselves they -spoke a language differing from that which they used with him. So the -difference between generations was great enough to give the very words -a different meaning! Were all efforts to draw them together vain? - -He thought of those gone before him. They too must have known this. -They too must have kept it concealed. How many secrets there must be -between succeeding generations! And each generation takes its own -secrets with it to the grave, so that the following may live. - -These were Christopher Ulwing’s hardest days. He built ruined houses up -anew. He built himself up anew too. And while he seemed more powerful -than ever, business men around him failed and complained. - -“Building land will have to be sold; one can’t stick to things in these -times,” said the contractors and looked enquiringly at Christopher -Ulwing. “What was the great carpenter’s opinion?” But his expression -remained cold and immovable. Christopher Ulwing never opened the -conversation except when he had to give orders; otherwise he waited and -observed. - -In the evening the window of the green room remained long alight. John -Hubert and Augustus Füger sat there in the cosy armchairs in the corner -and now young Otto Füger was present too, always respectful, always -inquisitive. - -“These are bad times,” sighed the little book-keeper, “one hears of -nothing but bankruptcy.” - -“One goes down, the other up,” growled the builder, “never say die.” - -“During the revolution it was possible to expect better times,” said -John Hubert, “but at present....” - -His father interrupted him. - -“These things too will come to an end.” - -“The question is, won’t these things end us first?” - -“Not me and the town!” said the builder. “Do you hear Füger? Any -building land for sale by auction has to be bought up. The houses for -sale must be bought too. I have capital. I have credit. Everything must -be bought up. Within five years I will set the whole thing in order.” - -“Five years....” John Hubert looked at his father. Time left no mark on -him. - -Next day, Christopher Ulwing gave his grandson a book on architecture. -Woodcuts of churches and palaces were in the text. - -“We shall build some like that, you and I, when you are an architect.” - -“Write your name in it,” said John Hubert. “Where is the date? A -careful businessman never writes his name down without a date.” - -“Businessman!” This word sounded bleak in young Christopher’s ears. He -looked down crestfallen and drew his mouth to one side. He had retained -this movement since the shell had struck the house. - -As soon as he felt himself unobserved he put the book aside. He went to -Gál’s. It was still the little hunchback who did his mathematical work -for him. After that, he bent his steps to the Hosszu’s; he thought of -his Latin preparation. - -Christopher had some time since been transferred to a private school so -as to receive his education in Hungarian. This was his grandfather’s -choice. His father approved of the school because it admitted only -boys of the best families. Christopher had new schoolmates. All were -children of nobles. They were not the kind that would have envied young -Müller, the apothecary’s son, the possession of his jars and bottles, -as the boys in Christopher’s old school used to do. They would not -have taken the slightest interest in gaudy strings and crude-coloured -pictures like those Adam Walter used to produce from his pockets in -playtime. They talked of horses, saddles, dogs. Practically every one -of them was country-bred and had only come to town for school. - -Christopher continued none the less to go on Sundays to the Hosszu’s; -he saw Sophie rarely; but when the young lady happened to come -accidentally into Gabriel’s room, the boy would blush and dared not -look at her. But many were the times when he had gone a long way round -through Grenadier’s Street so that he might look up stealthily under -his hat to the windows of the Hosszu house. - -One afternoon, when he turned into the street he saw his father going -in the same direction. He wore an embroidered waistcoat and walked -ceremoniously. The boy stopped, stared at him, then ran away suddenly. - -Since the dancing lessons John Hubert had paid several visits to the -Hosszu’s. - -An accident revealed to him the cause of his attraction. One day, on -taking his departure, he left a new yellow glove behind him. He turned -back on the stairs, but Sophie was already running after him. When -she handed him the glove, her hand felt warm. John Hubert perceived -suddenly that Sophie had lovely eyes and that her figure was slender. - -After this, his visits to the Hosszu’s became still more frequent. Mrs. -Hosszu was knitting with two yard-long wooden needles near the window -and never looked up, but if Sophie spoke in whispers to John Hubert she -left the room hurriedly. Occasionally, she stayed out for a very long -time. Then she opened the door unexpectedly, quietly. And she would -look at the girl with a question in her eyes. - -“Why does she look like that?” thought John Hubert and felt ill at ease. - -That day it was Sophie’s father who came in instead of his wife. - -Simon Hosszu was a toothless, red-faced man. One of his eyes watered -constantly for which reason he wore a gold earring in his left ear. He -spoke of everything quickly, plausibly. He never gave time for thought. - -While John Hubert listened to him he quite forgot that the name of old -Hosszu had lately been mentioned with suspicion in business circles. - -Hosszu owned water mills. The great steam mill did him considerable -damage. None the less, he spoke as if the water mills had a great -future before them. He got enthusiastic. In confidence he mentioned -brilliant strokes of business to be done--timber, plans of lime kilns. -A brewery. A paper mill.... - -“If I had capital, I should become a rich man.” - -John Hubert was bewildered by his audacious plans. He loved money, and -the idea of presenting plans of his own to his father pleased him. He -raised his brows. He tried to retain it all in his memory. On leaving -he pressed the hand of Simon Hosszu warmly. - -The anteroom was saturated with the smell of cooking. A dirty towel lay -on the table. Sophie snatched it up and hid it behind her back. John -Hubert took shorter leave of her than usual. - -In the street he tried to think of Sophie’s pretty face, but the odour -of the kitchen and the dirty towel upset him unpleasantly. He began -to think of Simon Hosszu’s various plans. He could not understand -what they amounted to. Now that he presented Hosszu’s plans in his -own language they seemed less convincing. They became dim and risky. -He had to drop one after the other. The facts, no longer distorted by -eloquence, glared at him soberly in their real light. - -After supper he remained alone with his father in the green room; they -spoke of various firms and enterprises; he beat round the bush for a -long time. - -Christopher Ulwing watched his son attentively, with knitted brows. -When John Hubert mentioned the name of Simon Hosszu, the expectant -expression disappeared from the builder’s face. He leaned back in his -chair. - -“Simon Hosszu is in a pretty bad way; he has exhausted his credit -everywhere,” and then he added, indifferently, as if speaking casually: -“It is curious, up to now he has spared us. I can’t understand what he -has in mind.” - -John Hubert could not help thinking of Mrs. Hosszu, who knitted and -never looked up, who left the room and appeared unexpectedly in the -door. His father’s voice rang in his ear: what had they in mind?... And -Sophie? No, she was not in the conspiracy. He acquitted the girl in his -mind. He felt distinctly that she was very dear to him. - -His bedroom was beyond that of the children. Everything there was as -perfectly in its place as the necktie on his collar. On the dressing -table, brushes, combs, bottles, jars, all arranged in order. - -John Hubert counted the money in his purse. He thought how his most -cherished wishes had always been curbed. Now he burnt the natural -desire of a virile man, which in his case was mingled with the fear -of its imminent disappearance; the knowledge that the hours of his -manhood were already numbered sharpened his craving. He longed for -woman with an intensity of which youth is incapable. He wished for a -woman bending to his will, weaker than he, and the memory of a little -sempstress crossed his mind. How he had loved her, for his dominion -over her and.... Then Sophie’s image abruptly became confused with the -fading picture of the poor simple girl. - -Without any continuity he thought of his children. “Would Sophie be a -good mother to them?” He asked himself in vain. He could not answer the -question. Mrs. Hosszu, the dirty towel, Simon Hosszu’s bad reputation, -his shady propositions, his dangerous plausibility.... That influence -frightened him and it became clear to him that henceforth his desire -would be restrained by two hostile forces, the builder’s will and his -own sober brain. In his mind’s eye he saw Sophie’s lovely shaded eyes -looking at him. They reproached him gently, just as the eyes of the -other girl had done on the day they parted. John Hubert felt a bitter -pain rend him from head to foot. The old pain, the pain of thwarted -hopes so familiar to him since his youth. - -Past and present were all the same to him. He would not make a clean -cut between the two and he just had to continue to curb the aspirations -of his soul. The ray of light that had shone on him during the past few -months was now extinguished. - -He proceeded to turn the key in his watch. He went on just as before. -Gently ticking time was again meaningless to him: work and compromise, -that was all. And as he looked up into the mirror, his face stared at -him, tired and old. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -The Inner Town was preparing to celebrate the centenary of the -chemist’s shop at the sign of the Holy Trinity. The invitations were -extended to distinguished members of neighbouring parishes. - -A crowd gathered in front of the house of Müller, the chemist in -Servites’ Square, to get a glimpse of the arriving carriages. Through -the house a faint smell of drugs was noticeable. The stairs were -covered with a carpet. This put the guests into a festive mood. Under -the influence of the carpet Gál the wine merchant and his wife, who -lived on very bad terms with each other, went arm in arm up the stairs. - -Just then Ulwing’s carriage stopped at the entrance. At the door the -chemist received his guests with many bows. - -In the drawing-room new-fashioned paraffin lamps stood on the -mantelpiece in front of the mirror. The room was packed with many -crinolines. The guests’ faces were flushed. They spoke to each other in -low voices, solemnly. - -The wife of the mayor diffused a strong perfume of lavender round the -sofa. Sztaviarsky’s worn-out wig appeared green in the light of the -lamps. - -The Hosszu family arrived. Sophie had become thin and wore a dress -three years old. Christopher recognised the dress. He did not know why -but he became sad. With an effort he turned his head away. He did not -look at Sophie, he only felt her presence, and even that filled him -with delight. - -The three Miss Münsters walked in through the door in order of size. -They were fat and pale. Broad blue ribbons floated from the bonnet -of Mrs. George Martin Münster. The last to come were the family of -Walter the wholesale linen-merchant. Silence fell over the company. The -beautiful Mrs. Walter was usually not invited to anything but informal -parties because the linen-merchant had raised her from the stage to his -respectable middle-class home. She had once been a singer in the German -theatre and this was not yet forgotten. - -During dinner young Adam Walter was Anne’s neighbour. The crowded -dining-room was heavy with the smell of food. In the centre of the -table stood the traditional _croque-en-bouche_ cake. - -Anne’s eyes chanced to fall on Christopher. He seemed strikingly pale -among the heavy, flushed faces. At the end of the table sat Sophie, -mute, broken. Twice she raised her glass to her lips. She did not -notice it was empty. Ignace Holt, the first assistant of the “Holy -Trinity” Chemist’s shop, leaned towards her obtrusively. - -Adam Walter had watched Anne interestedly for some time without saying -a word. He thought her out of place in these surroundings. He found in -her narrow face a disquieting expression of youthful calm. It seemed -to the young man as if the warm colour of her hair, a shaded gold, -were spreading under her skin, invading her innocent neck. Her chin -impressed him as determined, a refined form of the chin of the Ulwings. -Her nose was straight and short. Her smile raised the corners of her -mouth charmingly. - -He looked at her forehead. Her fine eyebrows seemed rather hard. - -“What are you thinking of?” he asked involuntarily. - -The girl looked at him surprised. The eyes of Adam Walter were just as -brown and restless as those of his beautiful mother. His brow was low -and broad with bulging temples. Anne had known him since her childhood, -but till now she had never spoken to him. All she knew about him was -that he had once gone to the same school as Christopher, that he was a -poor scholar and an excellent fiddler. - -“Do you think that people confide their thoughts to strangers?” - -“The brave do,” said young Walter. “I want to say everything that -passes through my mind. For example, that all these people here are -unbearably tedious. Haven’t you noticed it? Not one among them dares -say a thing that has not been said before. Not one does a thing his -father and mother haven’t done before him.” - -Adam Walter felt that he had caught the girl’s attention and became -bolder. - -“They have no sense whatever. If one of them is taller than the others -he must go about the world stooping so that no one shall notice it; -otherwise, for the sake of order, they might cut his head or his legs -off. They have to tread the well-worn path of common-places. Greatness -depends on official recognition. Please, don’t laugh. It is so. Just -now old Münster told Sztaviarsky that ‘The Vampire’ and ‘Robert le -Diable’ are the finest music in the world. Marschner and Meyerbeer. -Rossini the greatest of all. Poor Schubert too. That is a comfortable -doctrine. These composers can be admired without risk. They bear the -hallmark on them. It is a pity it should all be music for the country -fair. Schubert is like a spring shower. Many small drops, warm soft -drops. Is it not so? Why do you shake your head? You love Schubert. I -am sorry, very sorry. I only said all this to prove....” - -He stopped. He stared into space. - -“He exaggerates,” thought Anne, and repressed what came to her lips. -She thought of her grandfather who had built so much. And this young -man?... His words demolished whatever they touched. - -“You exaggerate,” she said aloud. “I was taught that old age and those -who were before us ought to be respected.” - -“That is not true,” said Adam Walter with warmth. “I hate every former -age because it stands in the way of my own. The past is a millstone -round our necks. The future is a wing. I want to fly!” - -Anne followed his words bewildered. What she heard attracted and -repelled her. From her childhood, whenever anything came to her mind -which conflicted with her respect for men and things, she pushed it -aside as if she had seen something wicked. And this stranger bluntly -put into words what she too had felt, vaguely and timidly. - -Adam Walter spoke of his plans. He would go abroad, to Weimar. He would -write his sonatas, his grand opera. - -“What has been done up to now is nothing. What has been made is bad, -because it was made. One must create. Like God. Just like Him. Even the -clay has to be created anew.... Is it not so? The artist must become -God, otherwise let us become linen-merchants.” - -His restless eyes shone quaintly. Anne remembered suddenly two distant -feverish eyes and a word that recalled the word “Youth.” All at once -she felt herself freer. She turned to Adam Walter. But the young man’s -thoughts must have wandered to another subject, for he drew his low -forehead furiously into wrinkles. - -“Do you know that my father is ashamed of my mother’s art? And yet -how she sings when we are alone, she and I! When nobody hears her. My -father hides that lovely, imperishable voice behind his linens. And -this is your middle-class society. It only values what can be measured -by the yard and by the pound. These things hurt sorely.” - -He looked up anxiously. “Did you say anything? No? I beg of you to -imagine she simply hides her voice. But perhaps you may not know. My -mother was a singer.” - -Anne was embarrassed. Hitherto she had thought that was something to be -ashamed of. - -Walter asked her rapidly: - -“Of course, you sing too. Sztaviarsky told me. True. I remember. Of all -his pupils the most artistic. Are you going to be a singer?” - -In the girl’s heart an instinctive protest rose against the suggestion. - -“But why not?” Adam Walter’s voice became sad. - -Anne did not realise that she answered the question by looking at Mrs. -Walter, living forever isolated among the others. - -“I understand,” said the young man ironically, “your indulgence extends -only to the life of others, but is limited where your own is concerned.” - -Anne knew that he spoke the truth. Her thoughts alone had been freed -to-day. Her movements were dominated and kept captive by something. -Perhaps the invisible power of ancient things and ancient men. - -The room became suddenly silent. Somebody rose at the big table. It -was Gárdos, the wrinkled head-physician or “proto-medicus,” as he was -called. He knew of no other remedies for his patients but arnica, -emetics and nux vomica. Ferdinand Müller half-closed his eyes as if -expecting to be patted on the head. - -Anne paid no attention to the proto-medicus’ account of the hundred -years’ history of the Müller family and the “Holy Trinity” shop. -She was toying with her own thoughts like a child who has obtained -possession of the glass case containing the trinkets. - -Others spoke after Mr. Gárdos. The top of the _croque-en-bouche_ cake -inclined to one side. The dinner was over. - -In the next room two Chemist’s assistants had erected a veiled tablet. -Sztaviarsky played some kind of march on the piano. The guests stood -in a semi-circle. Ferdinand Müller unveiled the mysterious tablet. A -murmur of rapture rose: - -“What a charming, kind thought....” - -Tears came to the eyes of the chemist. The admirers of his family and -the employees of his shop had surprised him with a new sign-board. -There shone the two gilt dates. Between them a century. Underneath, -a big white head of Æsculapius, bearing the features of Ferdinand -Müller, the chemist. Nothing was wanting; there were his side whiskers -and the wart on his left cheek. Only his spectacles had been omitted. - -Anne and Adam Warner looked at each other. - -They felt an irresistible desire to laugh and in this sympathy they -became friends over the heads of the crowd. - -Sztaviarsky played his march at an ever-increasing speed. The -crinolines began to whirl round. Wheels of airy, frilly tarlatan, pink, -yellow, blue. Dancing had begun round the piano. - -For a brief moment Sophie found herself pressed against the wall near -John Hubert. She raised her big, soft eyes to his, as if to ask him a -question. But she found something cold, final, in John Hubert’s looks. -The girl turned away. Her eyes fell on Christopher. - -It seemed to the handsome tall boy that Sophie stroked his face across -the room. He looked at her sharply. The girl seemed again heartlessly -indifferent. Tired, Christopher went into the next room. There some old -gentlemen and bonnetted ladies were playing _l’hombre_ round a green -table. He went through Mr. Müller’s study. Then came a quiet little -room. Nobody was in it. The light of a white-shaded paraffin lamp was -reflected in a mirror. He threw himself into an easy chair and buried -his face in his hands. The sound of the piano knocked sharply against -his brain. At first this caused him pain. Then he remembered that the -sounds of this _valse_ reached Sophie too. They touched her hair, her -lips, her bosom. They had invaded her. It was from her that they came -still, a swaying, treble rhythm which mysteriously embraced the rhythm -of love. They came from her and brought something of her own self with -them. - -Christopher leaned his head forward as if attempting to touch the sound -with his lips to kiss it. Yes, it was swaying music like that he felt -in his endless dreams. Similar rhythmical pangs wrought in him when he -imagined that Sophie would come to him at night, offering her love. He -hears her steps. Her breath is warm. Her bosom heaves and whenever it -rises, it touches his face. - -“Little Chris....” Just like olden times. Just the same. “Now I -am dreaming. I must not breathe, or all will be over.” And in his -imagination she caressed him again. - -“Little Chris....” - -He started. This was reality. Sophie’s voice. Her breath.... And her -bosom heaved and touched his face. - -“Do you still love me?” the girl asked. - -In Christopher’s tired eyes despair was reflected. So she knows? So -she has always known what it has cost him such torture to hide? Then -why has she not been kinder to him? Why did she leave him to suffer so -much? - -“Do you love me?” - -“I always loved you,” said the boy and his voice came dangerously near -to a sob. - -Sophie stroked him like a child requiring consolation. - -“Poor little Chris.... And we are all just as poor.” - -Suddenly her hand stopped on the boy’s brow, where his hair, like his -father’s, curved boldly over his forehead. He leant his head back and -with a maidenly abandon gave himself up to Sophie’s will. The girl -leaned over him. She looked at him for a long while, sadly as if to -take leave, then ... kissed his lips. - -A kiss, long restrained, meant for another. And yet, the annihilation -of a childhood. - -The boy moaned as if he had been wounded and with the first virile -movements of his arms drew the girl to him. Sophie resisted and pushed -him away, but from the threshold looked back to him with her big, -shaded eyes. Then she was gone. A feeling rose in Christopher as if she -had carried the world with her. - -He went after her. When he passed the card players, he straightened -himself out so as to look all the taller, all the more manly. He could -not help smiling: they knew nothing. Nobody knew anything. He and -Sophie were alone in the secret and that felt just like holding her in -his arms among people who could not see. - -They were still dancing in the drawing-room. Sophie danced with Ignace -Hold. Christopher could not quite understand how she could do such a -thing now. And she looked as if she had forgotten everything. Nothing -showed on her features, nothing. Women are precious comedians. - -He looked at Hold. He turned with the girl in the usual little circle. -His short round nose shone. He breathed through his mouth. The points -of his boots turned up. On his waistcoat a big cornelian horse’s head -dangled, just on the spot where one of the buttons strained. “He is -sure to unbutton that one under the table.” Christopher felt inclined -to laugh. Then suddenly he thought of something else; he heard someone -talk behind his back. He began to listen. - -“I should not mind giving him my daughter,” said Ferdinand Müller; “he -is wealthy and a God-fearing man. Those Hosszu people are lucky. They -are completely ruined. Miss Sophie isn’t quite young neither.” - -Christopher smiled proudly, contemptuously. They knew nothing. He -sought for Sophie’s glance to find in it a sign of their union, their -mutual possession, from which all others were excluded. - -But the girl was no longer among the dancers. Her absence made -everything meaningless. He had to think of the quiet little room. -“Our room” ... and he went toward it. He stopped dead in the door. -Sophie was standing there now too, just as before, on the same spot. -In front of her Mr. Hold. Christopher saw it clearly. He saw even the -tight button, the carved horse’s head on his waistcoat. Yet it appeared -to him an awful hallucination. The horse’s head dangled and touched -Sophie. Ignace Hold raised himself to the tip of his toes. He kissed -the girl’s lips. - -Something went amiss in Christopher’s brain. He wanted to shriek, but -his voice remained a ridiculous groan. The floor sank a little and -then jumped up with a jerk. He felt sick as if he had been hit in the -stomach. With stiff jerky steps he re-crossed the rooms; he looked like -a drowning man seeking for something to cling to. In the drawing-room -he smiled with his lips drawn to one side. - -“I have a headache,” he said in the ante-room to Müller the chemist. - -When he reached the street, he began to run. He was in a hurry to get -to the Danube. He rushed unconsciously through a narrow lane. Under the -corner lamp he collided with something; he ran into a soft warm body. -His hat fell off. - -“Is it you?” screeched a female voice and began to scold. - -“For whom do you take me?” Christopher was painfully aware of the -proximity of the soft body. He stepped back and picked his hat up. - -The girl began to laugh shamelessly. For a time she scrutinized -Christopher curiously. The boy’s suit was made of costly cloth. His -collar was clean. His necktie white. She tried to appear genteel. - -“I was expecting my brother,” she whimpered. “I live here near the -fishmarket. Perhaps the young gentleman would see me home?” - -“And your brother?” - -The girl shrugged her shoulders. They were already walking side by -side through the narrow lane. They emerged under the rare lamps as if -ascending inclines of light. Then again they sank into darkness. Above -the roofs the narrow sky appeared like an inverted abyss with stars -at its bottom. Here and there a little light blinked indifferently, -strangely, from a window. Just like human beings gazing from stout, -safe walls on those excluded. - -Christopher felt hopelessly alone. Even the sound of the girl’s steps -seemed foreign. The darkness was empty. All was falsehood behind the -doors and windows: purity, grace, kisses.... Tears ran down his cheeks. - -The girl stopped in front of the door of a low house. Her expressionless -eyes looked into Christopher’s. She saw that he wept. It was a familiar -sight to her. At first they cry and are as docile as dogs. All that -alters later on. - -She began to balance her hips and pressed against him. - -“Come in....” Her voice was heavy and like a bird of prey. She -unexpectedly pressed her moist lips on the boy’s mouth. - -With disgust Christopher thrust her back. The girl fell against the -door and knocked her head. But the boy did not care. He gripped his -lips with his hands. There ... just there, where he had felt Sophie’s -kiss before! Now there remained nothing of it. It had faded from his -lips. Something else had taken its place.... He began to run towards -the Danube. In his flight, he rubbed his hands against the walls as if -to wipe off the moist warmth clinging to his palms. - -He pulled up sharply at the corner lamp. Again it all rushed to his -brain. He gave a cry and ran back. He wanted to strike the girl again, -strike her hard, to mete out vengeance for his disgust. Incredible -insults came to his mind, words which till then he did not know he -knew, dirty words like those used by the scum of the streets. Words! -They were blows too, blows meant for all womankind. - -The girl was still standing in the door. Her body was leaning back. Her -arms were raised and she lazily put up her hair dishevelled by the blow. - -Christopher stared at her with wide-open, maddening eyes. He looked at -her movements; she seemed to him a corpse which had regained movement -and had come back to life. How her bosom swelled under her raised -arms.... He staggered and whined and stretched out a defending hand. - -The girl snatched at the proffered hand. She dragged Christopher in -through the door. The boy only felt that something had bereft him of -his free will. Something from which it was impossible to escape. - -Two rows of dark doors appeared at the sides of the filthy courtyard. -Fragmentary, hideous laughter was audible behind one of them. A reddish -gleam filtered through a crack. - -Christopher’s steps were insecure on the projecting cobbles. He stepped -into the open reeking gutter. He shuddered. He was full of awful -expectation, strained fear and tears of inexpressible pain. - -The girl did not release his hand. She dragged him like her prey. At -the bottom of the courtyard a door creaked. The darkness of a stuffy -room swallowed them. - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -In a city night is never fully asleep. Somehow, it is forever awake. -Here and there it opens its eye in a window and winks. A door opens -with a gaping mouth. Steps are about. Their echo strikes the walls of -the houses and resounds to the neighbouring lane though no one walks -there. - -The great river breathed heavily, coolly. The stars spent themselves in -the firmament. Christopher turned from the fishmarket to the embankment -of the Danube. Now and then he stopped, then he walked on wearily, -unsteadily under the slumbering houses. He went on, full of contempt. -Was that all? So the grown-ups’ great secret was no more than that? He -pulled his hat over his eyes. He was afraid of someone looking into -them. - -Florian just opened the gate. His broom swished with uniform, equal -sounds over the stones of the pavement. When the servant had finished -and had retired to the house, Christopher slunk in unobserved by the -side entrance. - -He looked anxiously for a minute towards the stairs. Candle-light -descended from above, step by step. He did not realize at once what it -meant. He only felt danger and hid in the wooden recess of the cellar -stairs. - -Heavy, firm steps came downward. They came irresistibly and their -sound seemed to tread on him. He crouched down trembling. He saw his -grandfather. He was going to work. He carried a candle in his hand. His -shadow was of superhuman height on the white wall. He himself looked -superhuman to the shrinking boy. Under the porch his shadow extended. -It reached the courtyard. It continued over the wall. It must have -dominated the houses too, the whole town. Christopher looked after -it; he could not see its end and in his dark recess he felt himself -infinitely small and miserable beside the great shadow. - -Staggering with exhaustion he stole upstairs. On tiptoe. Along the -corridor. One of the big stone steps was loose. He knew it well. He -avoided it like a traitor. - -He stopped for a moment before Anne’s door. In the clear tranquillity -he felt as if some dirt stuck to his face, his hand, his whole body; -degrading, shameful dirt. - -Later on, he lay for a long time with open eyes in the dark, as he used -to in olden times when he was still a child. The darkness was as empty -as his heart. What he had longed for was gone. All that remained in his -blood was disgust and fatigue. - -He was waked by the noise of the clatter of heavy carts under the -porch. The steps of workmen were going towards the timber yard. Ulwing -the builder was not contented to buy land and houses. Now everything -was cheap. He bought building material from the ruined contractors. -Enormous quantities of timber, so that his firm might be ready when -work started. - -Christopher took no interest in this. At this time nothing interested -him. Even when he heard that Sophie Hosszu had become the bride of -Ignace Hold he remained indifferent. He just thought of the cornelian -horse-head which dangled and touched Sophie. - -A week passed away. Christopher spoke practically to nobody in the -house, but whenever he addressed Anne, his expression was sarcastic, as -if he wanted to vent on her his contempt for all that was woman. He had -never felt so strong and independent as now. - -Then ... one night, like a re-opened wound, a soulless recollection -struck him. The recollection was all body. A female body. - -The gloom of the night became populated. Figures approached, more and -more. The darkness became gradually a huge cauldron, in which bare arms -swarmed, soft outlines, white shoulders, vulgar female faces. - -Next day, Christopher went towards the fishmarket. He recognised the -house. He knocked. And when he came away again from the girl he had -learned that for the future he would need money. - -He thought of his grandfather, his father. He saw them working forever -and ever and they never seemed to spend any money. What were they doing -with it? They must have a lot. Strangers had told him so. Even the girl -with the bestial eyes knew it, as well as the others, those with the -painted faces who winked in such a way that only he saw it. How did -they know him? What did they want? Why do they emerge from their dirty -houses when he passes by? Why do they lie in wait for him at the street -corners? Wait, offer themselves and follow him obstinately.... And at -night when he wants to sleep their image comes. The room gets crowded. -They sit on his bed. They press him to give them their pay. But whence -is he to procure the money? - -Suddenly he saw his grandfather before him, as he had seen him from the -cellar entrance. The great shadow at early dawn. He shrank. He blushed -for every one of his miserable thoughts. It was all dirt. He too was -going to work, hard, honestly, like the old ones. He would be kind to -everybody. Even to Anne he would be kind. And he would never again set -foot in the house of the girl with the bestial eyes. - -But when the hour struck, he again became restless. To restrain -himself, he called to his mind the image of his grandfather going to -work. The image faded, became powerless and the frightful, hideous -force attracted him anew. On the stairs he realised that it was useless -to struggle; the fishmarket called him irresistibly. - -Downstairs, in the porch, he found himself unexpectedly face to face -with Anne and his father. Anne had a bunch of fuchsias in her hand. - -“Come with us to the cemetery, to Uncle Sebastian,” said the girl, -getting into the carriage. - -Only when he was in the street did Christopher realise that he had -given no answer. He looked after them. - -The carriage was disappearing in the direction of the Danube. - -On the wooden pavement of the chain-bridge the sound of the wheels -became soft. The bridge swayed gently, in unison with the river as -if it had petrified over the Danube out of the elements of the water -and recalled its origin. Anne had the feeling that the bridge and the -river were but one and that the carriage was floating. Before her eyes -the sun played on the iron supports of the bridge as if they were the -strings of a giant harp. The sky looked ever so high and blue over the -castle hill. Beyond, on the old battlefield, dense grass had grown out -of the many deaths. Behind the acacia trees little double-windowed -middle-class houses were visible: arched green gates, steep roofs, -touching one another. - -“How small everything is here....” - -John Hubert looked up. - -“One day a city may rise here too. Pest was not even as big as this -when your grandfather settled in it.” - -In front of the carriage the geese fled with much gabbling in all -directions. Dogs barked. At the Devil’s ditch a shepherd played the -flute. - -Anne looked about bewildered, thinking of an old toy of hers. The toy -was a farm. The goodwife was taller than the stable and stood on a -round disc. Trees, geese and the gooseherd all had round foundations. -Instinctively she looked at the shepherd’s feet and then laughed aloud. -The whole place seemed unreal to her. - -Farther on in Christina-town the houses separated. They stood alone, -broad, gaudy, like peasant women, surrounded by kitchen gardens. - -At the communal farm, they left the carriage. They continued on foot -towards the military cemetery. The citizens of Buda had buried Uncle -Sebastian there. - -“Why?” asked Anne. “He was not a soldier.” - -“But he was a hero,” answered John Hubert, though he had never been -quite able to understand Uncle Sebastian’s death. His father kept -silence about the details. On the other hand, the citizens in the -castle told confused stories of great deeds. He liked to believe what -they said because it flattered him. And whenever the exploits of the -clockmaker were mentioned, he observed modestly, but with satisfaction, -that the hero was one of his close relations. He grew used to the -honour thrust on him. He bore it with erected head as he wore his high -collars. - -Anne remembered something. Three years ago, her grandfather had said -to her, looking fixedly into her eyes: “The citizens of the castle -consider Uncle Sebastian a hero. They may be mistaken. You are the only -person in the world who is sure not to be mistaken if you believe him -to be one.” She remembered it well. He said no more. But from that day -he, whom till then she had merely loved, became also the object of her -admiration and the hero of all around her. - -The trees grew between the graves like a wood, a wood where people were -buried. Here it was not the graves that decided the trees’ position; -they had to take their places as the wood decided. And life here drew -abundant strength from death’s rich harvest. In many places the stone -crosses had fallen or sunk into the moss. A weeping willow drooped over -a crypt. It bent over it like a sylvan woman, whose green loose hair -covered a face which was doubtless weeping in the shade. - -Anne prayed for a long time at Uncle Sebastian’s grave. Then they -went on in silence. Around some graves the gilt spearheads of low -railings sparkled in the grass. Railings, frontiers, even around the -dead, to separate those who loved each other, to isolate those whom -nobody loved. But Anne felt hopeful that in the ground, underneath the -obstructions erected by the living, the dead might stretch friendly -hands to each other. - -On the hillside the graves ceased. Death vanished from between the -trees, life alone continued. The wood was their only companion in the -summer’s quietude. - -On the edge of a small glen a straw hat lay on the grass. They looked -up surprised. A bare-headed young man stood in the glen turning towards -the sun. The approaching steps attracted his attention. His eyes were -brown. His gaze seemed darker than his eyes. He appeared vexed. Then -his eyes fell on Anne. Her small, girlish face tried hard to remain -serious, but her eyes were already laughing ironically and her lips -were on the verge of doing so. The stranger felt embarrassed. - -John Hubert Ulwing raised his beaver, ruffled by the boughs. He asked -for the footpath leading to the communal farm. - -The young man indicated the direction. His handsome, manly hand was -elegant and narrow. He wore an old seal ring with a green stone. He -walked a few steps with the Ulwings. When they reached the footpath, he -bowed in silence. - -Anne nodded. The waves of her soft shepherdess hat of Florentine straw -threw for an instant a shadow over her eyes. She was rather sorry the -footpath had been so near. The steps behind her were already receding. -She bent down and picked a flower. Only now did she notice how many -flowers there were in the wood. - -She hung her hat over her arm. One more, one more ... and the bunch -grew in her hand. A Canterbury bell gave itself up, root and all. The -roots, like infinitely small bird-claws, held on to the moist soil. -For the first time Anne smelt the perfume of the earth. And when the -carriage entered the porch between the two pillar men, it struck Anne -that this was the first occasion on which wild flowers had come into -the old house. - -She met Christopher on the staircase. Her brother held his head rigid -and seemed to be listening. She too heard her grandfather’s voice. It -came from far away, from the timber yard. - -Amidst heaps of dry chips a carpenter had lit a pipe. The builder was -just then inspecting the yard. He perceived the bluish little cloud of -smoke in the air at once. The blood rushed to his head. He threatened -the man with his fists. The carpenter, awestruck, knocked his pipe out -and stamped on the burning tobacco. Next to him, a journeyman began to -split a fine big oak beam; in his fright, he deviated from the right -angle. - -Old Ulwing’s face became dark red with anger. He pushed the man aside -and snatched the axe out of his hand. - -“Look here!” he shouted in a voice that made all the men surrounding -him stop work. Then, like a captive bird of steel, with a swing the axe -rose in his grip. The chips flew. The oak recognised its master and -split at his powerful will. - -Christopher Ulwing forgot everything. His chest panted and inhaled the -savour of the oak. The inherited ancestral instincts and movements -revived; though displaced for a long time by strenuous intellectual -work and rendered superfluous by long prosperity, the gigantic strength -of his youth awoke again. There was nothing in the whole world but the -timber of the oak and himself. For a moment the men got a glimpse of -the great carpenter whose former strength was the subject of endless -and ever increasing tales, told by the old masters of the craft to the -younger generation. - -They saw him for one moment, then something happened. The raised axe -fell out of his powerful hand and dropped helplessly through the air. -It fell to the ground. The builder grasped his forehead as if it had -been struck by the axe and he began to sway slowly, terribly, like an -old tower whose foundation gives way. Nobody dared touch him. Meanwhile -the workmen stared in amazement. - -Füger was the first to regain his presence of mind. He tendered his -shoulder to his chief. - -John Hubert ran as pale as death across the yard. - -Supported by two powerful journeymen carpenters the master builder -staggered along. His bent arms were round the men’s necks. His elbows -were higher than his shoulders. The face of the old man looked sallow -and masklike between the youthful faces of the men, crimson with their -effort. - -“Not there,” he said scarcely audibly when they tried to drag him to -his bed in his room. He pointed with his chin to the window. They -pushed an armchair in front of it. - -Soon the shrivelled face of Gárdos, the proto-medicus, appeared in -the door. When he left the room, he made the gesture of respectful -submission which is only known to priests and physicians. Priests make -it at the altar, in the presence of God, physicians when they face -death. - -“The children....” The builder made an effort to turn round. His -halting look went slowly round the room. - -Christopher clung trembling to the edge of the table. He had a feeling -that if this great searching glance were to find him, it would strike -upon his pupils and press his eyeballs inwards. Everything shrank in -him. His body wanted to vanish into space. - -So death was like this! He had never seen it yet, though he had guessed -that it hovered everywhere and whispered fear into men’s ears. It had -whispered to him too when he was a child and he had to hide under his -blankets or run out of the room when the candle went out. But then -he did not yet understand the sibilant voice and his fear went astray -among phantoms, deep silence and darkness. For all that, it had always -been death. - -He saw the others near him in a haze. His father, Füger, Gemming and -Feuerlein. The pointed long face of Tini was there too. It moved -correctly, with an appearance of unreality, between the washstand -and the armchair. It came and went. A wet towel in her hand. In the -corridor the workmen. Subdued, heavy steps. Changing, frightened faces -in the door. One pressed against the other, as if looking into a pit. - -Suddenly he perceived Anne. How pale she was. Yet she moved calmly. -Now she knelt down near the armchair and her face was clasped by two -waxy hands. A grey head bent over her and gave her a long look, a look -insufferably prolonged. If he were never to release her? If he were to -take her with him? - -Christopher sobbed. Someone pushed him forward. Now he too was kneeling -near the armchair. Now, now.... The fading eyes had found him. Two -hands of wax reached searchingly into the air, the fingers stretched, -tried to grasp something. - -The boy fell to the floor without a sound. He was not aware that he was -carried out of the room. - -Slowly the room became dark. The steps of the priest interrupted the -solemn silence of the corridor. Steps came and went. The smell of -incense pervaded the porch. The choir-boy’s bell rang along the street. -He rang as if he were playing ball with the sounds while one house was -telling another the news: - -“Ulwing, the master builder, is dying....” - -There was a throng on the staircase. The heavy, syncopated breathing of -the builder was audible in the corridor. Upstairs in the room, anxious, -tearful faces leant over the armchair. - -Since the priest had gone, Christopher Ulwing had opened his eyes no -more. He was speechless and in the silence his brain fought desperately -against annihilation. It was too early. He was not yet ready. He -rebelled against it. So many plans.... He wanted to say something. He -sought for words, but could find none.... The words leading to men -were lost.... Colours appeared suddenly between his eyes and the lids, -hard splints of colour, which seemed to drop into them, pressing on -his eyeballs. Yellow spots. Black rings. Red zigzags. Then he felt a -pleasant, restful weariness, just like long ago, when he was a child -and his mother carried him in her arms into his bed. And Brother -Sebastian ... they wandered together, quietly, without fatigue.... A -town becomes visible, church-towers, houses; much waste land, on which -he is going to build. It is morning and the church bells ring. - -John Hubert bent over his father. He was still breathing. It seemed -that his lips moved. - -“It is morning!” The builder said that so loud that they all looked to -the window. - -Above the further end of the timber yard a wonderful gleam appeared. -Füger looked at his watch: it was not yet midnight. - -The gleam spread every minute. Red dust and sparks; at first one or -two, then more and more. - -The little book-keeper began to perspire. He recalled all of a sudden -to his mind a man with a leather apron, knocking his pipe out and -trampling on the burning tobacco. Now he remembered clearly the -workman’s heavy boots in the sawdust. With desperate self-accusation he -remembered that after that he had thought no more of the matter.... - -A man ran through the courtyard. - -“Fire!” - -The cry was repeated, every corner of the house re-echoed it. Under -the steep roof the walls became orange. An unnatural red glow spread. -Through the window panes light streamed suddenly into the rooms. - -“Fire!” - -Now they were shouting it in the street, persistently, sharply. Carts -were thundering towards the Danube. - -John Hubert rushed to the door. At the threshold it looked as if -he were going to fall. He staggered and turned back. He began to -calculate, perspiring with fear. His brain added and multiplied -confusedly, intensely. The loss was gigantic. The quantity of timber -and building material was enormous. The firm might be shaken by it. -Helplessly he stared at his father. But in the armchair there sat but -the ghost of an old man, smiling like a mask into the light of the -conflagration. Nothing more could be expected from him. His knees began -to shake. - -Anne was worn out and looked wearily towards the window. She did not -dare to move her head. Something was giving way behind her brow. - -Black figures were starting up on the walls of the yard. They pumped -water on the fire. People were standing on the roofs of the opposite -houses too. - -Sooty horrors staggered in the air near the tar boiler. A suffocating -smell of burning poured through the windows. The conflagration spread -with awful speed. It raced towards the wall of the back garden. - -A burning pile collapsed in the timber yard. - -In the ominous light of the rooms Tini and the maidservants were -gesticulating madly before the open cupboards. - -Anne leaned against the wall. “They want to abandon the house, they -want to flee.” - -“Save it, save it!” she shrieked with a bloodless face. - -Augustus Füger dropped panting into the room. He brought news. Now he -was gone. Now he was back again. - -The fire had reached the roof of the toolshed. The air quivered with -heat. Hoarse crackling, spasmodic hissing, mingled with the cries of -many human voices. - -The half-closed eyes of the builder rarely moved. He heard, he saw -nothing that happened around him. He was mysteriously distant from all -that. - -Under the window the wasted leaves shrivelled up with a dry crackling -sound. The pump in the courtyard creaked uniformly. A fire engine -started to spray the hot walls. - -In that instant a heavy, clipped voice floated through the air, like a -round disc of metal.... - -Something passed over the face of Christopher Ulwing. - -“The church bells! It is morning and the church bells ring.” - -All looked at him awestricken. The hands of the builder gripped the -armchair. John Hubert and Florian supported him on either side. - -“Let me go!” That was the shadow of his old voice. He did not know that -nobody obeyed him any more. - -“To build ... to build....” His chin went all to one side and his body -straightened itself with a frightful effort. The dying Christopher -Ulwing towered by a whole head above the living.... - -Then, as if something inside him had given him a twist, he turned half -way round. John Hubert and the servant bent under his weight. In their -arms the builder was dead. He had died standing and the gleam of the -burning oak remained in his broken eyes. - -New water carts arrived below. Bugles shrieked along the streets. -Ladders climbed into the red air. - -Long, panting snakes began to work: the pumps spat flying water among -the flames. But the fire retreated reluctantly, slowly ... gradually it -collapsed with a hiss. - -The alarm bell of Leopold’s Town went on shouting its clamour, asking -for help, calling, complaining. All parishes responded. The whole of -Pest was alarmed. Sooty débris floated in the air rent by the tolling -of bells. Smoke covered the yellow walls. The water from the pumps flew -down the window panes. - -In that night the old house became really old. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -Ulwing the builder was carried out of the old house and the pillar-men -looked into the hearse. Following behind, the mitred abbot, lighted wax -candles, singing priests; the Mayor, the Town Councillors, the flags of -the guilds; a big dark mass moving slowly under the summer sky. - -The whole town followed Christopher Ulwing bare-headed and wherever he -passed on his journey, the bells of many churches tolled. Then the door -of the house was closed. The great master, the great silence, remained -within. - -It was on the day after the funeral that the new head of the Ulwing -business took his father’s seat for the first time at the writing-desk -in front of the barred ground-floor window. The house was still full -of the scent of incense, faded flowers and the cold smoke of the -conflagration. - -Nobody moved at that early hour. John Hubert was quite alone. Several -times he put his hands quite unnecessarily up to his necktie, then, as -if he had been pushed forward, he fell over the table and wept silently -for a long time. He sat up only when he heard steps in the neighbouring -room. While wiping his eyes, he noticed that the china inkstand was -not in its usual place. The sand had been put on the wrong side too. He -made a mental effort and replaced everything as he used to see it in -his father’s time. - -There was a knock at the door. He remembered that this little door, -through which people had come for decades, respectful, bowing, pale -and imploring to the powerful Christopher Ulwing, now led to him. He -raised his head with confidence, but only for an instant; then, as if -frightened by what life was going to demand from him, he lowered it -again. - -Augustus Füger stood in front of him. He had a parcel of papers under -his arm. - -John Hubert Ulwing hesitated. He would now have to make decisions, -unaided, all by himself. - -“These matters have all been settled according to the orders of the -late master,” said the little book-keeper, and in his crinkled face the -corners of his mouth went down like those of a child ready to cry. - -Absent-mindedly John Hubert signed his name. He wiped his pen and stuck -it into the glass full of shot, as his father was wont to do. - -And so it was thenceforth. The business went its old way with the old -movements though around it little by little the world changed. New -men, new businesses rose. The head of the Ulwing firm did not change -anything and externally his very life became the same as his father’s. -He seemed to age daily. When he rested, he closed his eyes. - -The damage caused by the fire and the last bad years of business -weighed heavily on his shoulders. He had to grapple with the -liquidation of grandiose purchases, various charges, old contracts, -and many other problems. These were all clear and simple to the old -builder; they remained mysterious to him. Their solution was lost for -ever with the cool, mathematical mind of the builder. With his bony, -large, ruthless hands the power of the house of Ulwing had departed. - -John Hubert tried to remedy all troubles by economy. That was all his -individuality contributed to the business. Cheap tools. Cheap methods. -He even restricted the household expenses and every Sunday afternoon -looked through Mamsell Tini’s books himself. This done, he called his -son into the green room and spoke of economy. - -Christopher sat with tired eyes, bored, in the armchair and paid no -attention. Absent-mindedly he extracted the big-headed pin from the -crocheted lace cover, and then, quite forgetting how it came into his -hand, threw it under the sofa. - -Netti brought the coffee on the tray with the parrot pattern, and lit -the paraffin lamp. All of a sudden Christopher was there no more. - -He did not care any more for Gabriel Hosszu, nor for little Gál. He -went to the technical high-school. He had an intrigue with an actress, -and the noble youths from the country estates, whose acquaintance he -had made in the private school, were his friends. He spoke with them -cynically about women. In a back room of the “Hunter’s Horn” Inn, he -watched them for hours playing cards. - -He tried it one day himself. He lost.... He wanted to win his money -back. His pocket was empty, his groping hand only touched his -tobacco-box. He snatched it away. His grandfather had kept snuff in it. -He was ashamed of the idea that had occurred to him, and he thrust the -box back into his pocket. - -A man with thin lips asked him from the other end of the table: - -“Well?” - -Christopher reached again into his pocket. “I shall win it all back and -never gamble again.” He drew out the box and banged it on the table. -The knock roused the box. In an old-fashioned, chirping way, it sang -the little song which it had learned about a hundred years ago from -Ulwing the goldsmith. It sang it just in the same way but nobody paid -any attention to it. When the music was over, Christopher had lost his -game. - -In the stifling cigar smoke his breath became heavy. Voices. Sickly, -wine-reeking heat. A long grey hand removed the snuff-box from the -table. - -Christopher rose. He just heard someone say behind his back: “He plays -like a gentleman.” He passed wearily beside the tables. He seemed -indifferent. Only in the street did he realise what had happened and -his heart shrank with the anguish of deep sorrow. Was he sorry for -himself or for the loss of the tobacco-box? He didn’t know. It had -belonged to his grandfather and now a stranger owned it.... How often -had he seen it in those bony old hands, which had been raised for a -blessing when they were stretched towards him in the hour of death. - -He shuddered with torture and fear. “I am a scoundrel”; he repeated -this several times so as to shame himself. Then he made a solemn vow -that he would never touch cards any more. Never, never, again.... This -calmed him to some extent. - -When he drew out his new leather case next day, he noticed that Anne -followed him with her eyes. He observed this several times. Impatient -anger rose in him. - -His father left the room. Anne turned to him. - -“Have you lost it?” - -“Of course I have!” Christopher was glad to be able to speak out. He -felt relieved, he felt as though the responsibility for the whole thing -were lifted from his shoulders. - -Anne hung her head. - -“Do you know where you lost it?... Yes?...” Her eyes shone. “What if -you promised a reward to the finder?” - -“That requires money,” said Christopher sadly. - -Anne ran to her cupboard. She took a small box from under her linen. - -“It is not much, just my presents. It has been accumulating slowly for -a long time. Little Chris, go quickly. It will be all right. Promise -the whole lot.” - -Christopher was pleased and ashamed at the same time. He reached out -for Anne’s hand. But the young girl snatched it back. She stretched -herself up to the big boy and tendered her cheek. Christopher kissed it -and ran away. - -Anne looked after him. How she loved her brother! Now, perhaps -Christopher understood all that she could not tell him. He lived for -ever among men and men are ashamed of feeling. To hide it they whistle -and look out of the window. She too had been brought up with these -ideas. She was taught that feeling is deep and great only so long as -it keeps mute and becomes at once petty and ridiculous when it raises -its voice; so pitiably petty that it makes one blush and run out of -the room. It must never be shown. Nor did the others in the house -ever display it, nobody but Uncle Sebastian, long, long ago. And yet -how intensely she longed now and then for somebody who would show her -affection. - -Her eyes wandered to her mother’s portrait. If only she would drop that -painted rose from her hand! If only for once she would caress her! Only -once, one single once, when she was alone in the room ... so lonely ... -always alone. Since Adam Walter had gone away, nobody remained with -whom she could talk. A new song, a new book came now and then from him -in distant Weimar. Then silence again for weeks. - -Aimlessly Anne went down the stairs, across the garden to the great -wall. Since the fire the timber yard had been removed to the end of -the town. Behind the fencing, where in olden times rude strong men in -leather aprons worked the timber, nothing was left but waste ground. - -The memories of her young life came slowly, dimly at first, then they -raced in vivid crowds. - -Sunday afternoons. Stories and Uncle Sebastian. The scent of newly-hewn -oak logs and her grandfather. Music, dreams, her mother’s portrait. -That was all. Years ... years of childhood. - -She sat down on the seat round the apple tree and leaned her head -against the tree’s trunk. - -The sky was green between the leaves. The apple tree was in blossom. -Her grandfather Jörg’s shop came to her mind. And a voice and a song. -How confused all this was. She thought suddenly of two feverish eyes, -but somehow saw them in Adam Walter’s face. Then Mrs. Walter.... The -voice of Bertha Bajmoczy and railings around men. Small iron railings -even in the cemetery. They ceased on a hill-side. A glen between the -trees. She might turn her face towards it. And from the foot-path why -should she not turn back, just simply look behind her without any -cause, when there was nobody left in the glen.... - -She looked up. She felt eyes resting on her: Otto Füger was standing -in the bushes. From her childhood she had known this shifty, obstinate -look. It was everywhere, over her father’s writing-table, in the porch, -sometimes even at night, outside, under the window. - -The expression of the short-sighted eyes became at once persistent and -obsequious. Anne would have liked to cast it from her. She nodded and -went into the house. - -In the evening, she sat up late for Christopher. He did not come. -This night seemed longer to her than any others, it whispered to her -anxious, fearful premonitions. - -Next day, Christopher confessed to his sister that he had gambled and -lost. And Anne also learned that she would never see her grandfather’s -snuff-box again. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -It was still spring, but summer had already touched the Danube and in -the middle of the river the Palatine Island sprang into bloom like a -floating forest. - -Anne had no presentiment that she went to meet her own summer when -one day she walked on the bank of the Danube towards the island. -Christopher, who accompanied her, had, as usual, been late. The party -they had arranged to join was nowhere to be found. They remained alone -on the shore, deliberating for a short time, and then made signs to the -ferryman. On the other shore a boat moved under the boughs which spread -over the water and was rowed slowly across the river. - -People from town came to the pier. Anne heard approaching voices. One -person pronounced her name; another repeated it in astonishment. - -“Anne Ulwing....” - -She turned round reluctantly. Christopher raised his hat. - -A boyish-looking slender girl came towards them along the grey pier. - -“Don’t you recognise me?” she asked Anne. “Of course it is a long time -since we met. Do you remember?” - -Now she remembered: it was Martha Illey. - -“The dancing lessons....” - -These words set Anne’s eyebrows rigid and hard. Martha Illey turned -quickly sideways: “Thomas!” and introduced her brother. - -Anne saw a refined manly hand in the sun. It wore an old-fashioned -seal ring with a green stone. She looked up, but the man’s face seemed -quite strange to her. Then the recollection of her solitary meditations -vibrated through her and scared her. She felt that she was blushing. -Confusion passed over her countenance like a cloud. It was already -gone. Her charming smile raised the corners of her mouth ironically. - -Thomas Illey laughed too but did not look quite sure of himself. The -sun, reflected from the water, trembled in his eyes. He turned to -Christopher. - -“Your sister and I are not strangers to each other. She caught me one -day when I went out of town in search of sunlight, sunshine, trees and -earth. Even then she made fun of me....” - -Underneath the pier the ferryman landed. Then the boat started with -them towards the island. Anne felt that all her troubles had remained -on shore and that she was light and free. The little craft floated in -molten gold and the oars stirred up gold too. And while the water -carried her, it also carried her thoughts away through its wonderful -glitter. - -“I like to hear the Danube,” said Martha Illey. “Do you remember, Tom? -We used to listen to it at home. It murmurs just like the woods of -Ille.” - -“I too love the Danube,” said Anne’s veiled voice. “My ancestors come -from somewhere near its sources. From the great forests....” - -Christopher thought uncomfortably of woodcutters and, embarrassed, -kicked his sister to stop her from saying any more. - -Anne smiled. - -“They came thence, down on the banks of the river, as if the Danube -had called them.” She reflected for an instant and then added quietly: -“I have never yet heard the murmur of forests. It seems to me that the -river sings something. Always the same thing and when it comes to the -end of its song nobody can remember the beginning.” - -Christopher looked attentively at the cut of Illey’s clothes. Where did -his tailor live? Then he observed his narrow shoes and hid his own feet -under the seat. He began to copy Illey’s gestures carefully. He also -imitated the modulation of his voice. He seemed so confident of himself -and so distinguished. - -Illey looked over the water while he spoke: - -“Who knows why this river is called the Blue Danube? It does not -carry the sky but the earth. How it turns up the soil and takes its -greenish-yellow colour from it....” He leant over the side of the -little boat; the water splashed up against the boat’s prow. “It reminds -you of the murmur of forests and of music,” he said smilingly, “to me -it sounds like cattle drinking.” - -“Cattle?” Anne could not help laughing. - -They reached the island. The ferryman caught hold of the bough of a -willow. The keel of the boat slid creaking into the gravelly shore. - -The drooping twigs brushed Anne’s face. She caught at them with her -mouth and a green leaf remained between her teeth. - -From the noisy, active brilliance of the river they entered moist green -quietude. The grass was high and soft, the trees drooped low; and under -them, in the dense shade, winged flakes of silver floated. Like a -small, buzzing bell of gold, a wild bee flew up into the air. - -“We shall have to look for the others,” said Anne to her brother. She -became suddenly dispirited. - -Christopher made a wry face. Martha insisted. - -“Let us remain together,” said Thomas Illey. His voice had nothing -unusual in it, yet it had an effect on Anne as if it caught hold of -her and held her back. Now nobody thought any more of separation. Moss -yielded softly under their feet. The boughs, like waves, opened and -shut up again behind them. - -“As if we walked at the bottom of a green lake....” - -“The shade, too, is as cool as water.” - -“This year summer was late. We had to wait a long time for it.” - -“Ever so long. But now it has come at last.” - -“It has come....” Anne said nothing more and looked suddenly sideways -at Illey. She felt uneasy. He seemed again quite strange to her. He -whom she had seen in the glen behind the cemetery had been handsomer -and more attractive. Thomas Illey’s sharp, lean face gave the lie to -her memory. - -The trees became sparser. They came to a meadow. Illey took his hat -off. The sun shone on his face. - -Anne stopped, her eyes became large and blue as if filled to the brim -with the sky and her memory melted for one instant into reality. Now -she could not understand how it had been possible for her to think that -Illey had been changed by her imagination. He was his own self ... -exactly like the one she had not forgotten. His dark hair shone. His -noble head curved in a fine line into his neck, like a thoroughbred’s. -Anne’s eyes caressed him timidly. That was not the broad muscular nape -of the Ulwings. The lords of Ille had never carried heavy loads. - -She saw what she had believed was lost. And as she passed by his side, -she felt as if a ripple of trembling, happy laughter pervaded her and -rose to her lips and filled her eyes. - -The restraint in her melted away. After all, they had known each other -for a long time. They had so much to tell each other. - -Thomas Illey also talked more freely. - -Anne learned that his parents were no longer living; that he was born -down south on the banks of the Danube, on the lands of Ille. Far -away, in a big country house where one’s footsteps echoed under old -portraits. The garden looked in through the windows. One could hear -the Danube and, in autumn mists, the horn of the chase. In the tillage -silver-white oxen with wide horns, behind them farmer serfs of Ille as -if all had risen from the furrow. - -All this was foreign and curious to Anne, but she liked to listen to -Illey’s voice. Only gradually did she begin to feel that what he talked -about absorbed him entirely as if it dragged him away from her side on -the shady path. If that were true! If he really happened to go away! -She asked him spontaneously; - -“But you will come back from there again?” - -“Come back?” The man stopped for an instant. The glitter died away in -his eyes. “I can go there no more. Ille has ceased to be ours.” - -Anne scarcely heard him. She knew only that he would not go away, that -he would stay here. Illey smiled again. He smiled in a queer, painful -way. The girl noticed this. - -“What is the matter? Nothing.... Why do I ask? I thought a twig had hit -you.” - -“Trees won’t hurt me.” - -He spoke of the oaks of Ille. They stood in front of the house. They -soughed in the wind. They told each other something that the children -could not understand, just like the grown-ups when they talked Latin in -the drawing-room. Beyond the gate of the courtyard, a row of poplars -swayed in the wind. The poplars moved like plumes. At the bottom of the -garden there was a cherry tree with a swing on it. The ropes had cut -into the bark of a branch and left their mark forever. - -The face of Thomas Illey became younger as he spoke. He looked at Anne. - -“In the glen where we first met, there is a cherry tree too and it -resembles the one with the swing. Here is another.” - -He pointed to a tree with his stick. - -Till then they had apparently been eager to speak, as if wanting to -keep in touch though their ways had been wide apart. Now, however, -their voices failed; they had reached the present. The dense bushes hid -the other two from their sight. They perceived that they were alone. - -The island was silent, as if spell-bound. And in the spell their looks -met timidly. - -Time rested for an instant, then continued its flight. - -The laughing face of Martha Illey peeped out of the dense leaves. She -waved a bunch of wild flowers over her head. Christopher had picked -them for her and she had arranged them so deftly that the very fields -could not have done better. - -Anne looked at the nosegay. Then she cast her eyes down on her bosom: -she would have liked to wear a nosegay there, to take it home ... but -Thomas Illey gave her no flowers. - -Around them the bushes entangled themselves into an impenetrable -wilderness. The path became mossy, reached some steps and disappeared. -Beneath, the worn-out centuries-old stairs; in the overgrown hollow, -gentle sacred ruins. Among the stones a gothic window. Green, cold -church walls; the ancient monastery of St. Margaret. - -A low-flying bird was startled out of the princess’s cell. From the -road along the water voices became audible. There were people beyond -the ruins. - -Anne recognised the chocolate-coloured umbrella of Mrs. Müller, the -chemist’s wife. It was an umbrella with a spring and was now tilted -to the side like a round fan. The old-fashioned beaver of Gárdos, the -proto-medicus, was visible too. So was Mrs. Gál’s chequered shawl and -the Miss Münsters’ forget-me-not hats. - -“There they are!” said Anne. Christopher caught hold of her arm and -pulled her back. - -On the road the excursionists walked in couples, panting, hot, as if -doing hard work. - -Next to Ignace Hold his wife walked tired and weary. Sophie had become -ugly. Only her eyes were like of old, those beautiful soft eyes. - -Christopher looked after her for a long time. - -The side whiskers of the chemist floated in the breeze from the river. -Mrs. Ferdinand Müller was holding forth on the prospects of the -camomile crops. Little hunchback Gál, the mercenary wine-merchant, -complained that less wine was consumed now in Pest than of old. - -“I want drunkards!” he shouted, and laughed at his sally. - -Behind them two shop assistants carried a basket. Long-necked bottles -protruded from it. - -Anne looked at Thomas Illey. She was struck by his height and -proportions. His face seemed elegant in its narrowness. She felt drawn -towards him. - -“Let us go after them,” she said in a whisper, as if to appease her -conscience. - -“Later on....” Christopher laughed and went in the opposite direction. -He began to talk of Art. He said he would like to be a painter. He -would paint a landscape, a wood. A fire would burn under the trees -and in the flames small, red-bodied fairies would sway. He would also -paint a high, white castle. On the top of a mountain, a high, solitary -mountain. On the bastion a white woman with shaded eyes would stand, -her hair alone would be black and float in the wind like a standard. He -changed his subject suddenly. He spoke of music: of Bach and Mozart. -Cleverly he managed to remain in his depth; then he started whistling -the tune of a _valse_, gently, sweetly. He casually mentioned that it -was his own composition. - -He also spoke of travels, though he had never made a journey, of -architecture, of books he had never read, laughing in between with -childish boisterous laughter. - -Anne looked upon him as if he were a conjurer. How amiable he could be -when he wanted to, and for the moment she saw in him the Christopher of -old, with his fair hair shining like silver, and his pale face. - -Then again Thomas Illey alone was near Anne. At the upper point of the -island it felt like standing on an anchored ship. In front of them -a narrow pebbly strip of land, cutting the stream in two. The river -split. It ran down gurgling on both sides. Suddenly the water stopped -and the island began to move. The island had weighed anchor ... the -ship started carrying them towards the shoreless Infinite. - -The sun sank behind the hills. Anne started and gazed after it. - -“It is going....” - -On the cool, glasslike sky the silver sickle of the new moon appeared. - -They turned back, but they searched in vain for the excursionists. -Near the farm scraps of paper and empty long-necked bottles lay on the -downtrodden lawn. - -The ferryman was waiting for them among the boughs. Christopher was -tired, weary of the rôle he had supported so long. He knew now that he -could do the trick if such were his pleasure. The magic of the ancient -name of Illey had worn off; he ceased to be impressed by the fact that -a bearer of it had once been Assistant Viceroy and talking to Illey -gave him no more satisfaction than talking to any of his usual club -friends. - -Since they had got into the boat, Anne too had become silent. It was -the evening of a holiday and to-morrow would be a workaday again.... -The bright smile died off her lips. She glanced back to the receding -island and, taking her gloves off, put a hand into the water as if to -caress the river. The ripple lapped at her hand. - -Illey sat on the prow and looked into the water. In the faint, silvery -moonlight the rings glittered on Anne’s bony, boyish little hands. A -sapphire: a blue spark; a ruby: a drop of blood. The river could not -wash them off the girl’s finger. - -“How the current draws,” said Anne. Half unconsciously Illey also -touched the water. And the Danube, the common master of the destinies -of remote German forests and great Hungarian plains, seemed for an -instant to try and sweep the hands of their children together. - -The boat reached the shore. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -The old house was in flower. Never before had so many roses blossomed -in the garden. Anne wanted it so. She carried the flowers into the -house and went, faintly smiling, from room to room. She looked at every -object curiously as if she were seeing it for the first time. The -furniture, the pictures, they all seemed different now; she looked at -them with different eyes, with the eyes of one for whom she waited. Had -not somebody said to her the other day, on the pier of the Danube, “Au -revoir....” - -Since then she had not met Thomas Illey. And yet she had never taken so -many walks with Mamsell Tini. Sometimes she was quite tired and still -she wanted to go on, towards the pier on the Danube, through the inner -town. A clean-cut profile behind the window of a carriage rumbling by: -her heart rose. But no, it was another mistake. A slender form near the -corner; when it came nearer it was a stranger. - -The days grew hot, the nights were close. - -A window of the Ulwing’s house opened softly in the moist early -morning. The shadows were still deep on the front. Opposite, sunlight -was streaming golden over the castle hill, as if it shone through a -window of amber. - -Anne leaned out into the clear sunrise. She looked towards the island. -When she turned back again the rays of the yellow morning sun had -reached the bottom of the hill and came floating across the Danube. - -Steps approached. Tramping boots, the slap-slap of naked feet. At the -corner a three-storied building was under construction. The name of an -unknown contractor hung from the scaffolding. Shouts, hammering.... -On the other side of the street another new house. That was built by -the Ulwings, but it made slow progress. Many houses.... Workmen poured -into the town from the countryside. The streets were loud with _patois_ -talk. The old, fair, German citizens seemed to have disappeared. - -A peasant girl in a bright-coloured petticoat passed under the window -beside a mason. The ample petticoat rustled pleasantly in unison with -the heavy footsteps of the man. Anne looked after them. “Lucky people, -they are together!” She thought of herself and remembered a dream. She -had dreamt it last night, though she had imagined that she had not -slept at all. - -In her dream she walked a strange street by herself. That was unusual -and frightened her. Only one person was visible in the deserted street, -at the far end of it. She recognised him by his elegant, careless gait. -She followed him, faster and faster, but the distance between them -remained the same. - -The street began to stretch and become longer and longer. - -And he looked quite small, far, far away. She could not reach him -though by now she was running breathlessly. She wanted to shout to him -to stop, stretching her arms out after him. - -She awoke. The dream had vanished, but in her heart there remained the -longing, urgent movement of her outstretched arms. - -She looked at the portrait of her mother. Her mother was no longer older -than she; they were now of the same age, she and the scared-looking -child-woman. She had outlived her mother’s years. If she were here.... -No, not even to her could she speak of this, to nobody, never. - -She threw herself on to the couch and covered her face with her hands. -With half-shut eyes, she stared at the flowered linen cover. It began -to spread round her. It was linen no longer; it became a meadow, a -meadow all covered with flowers and someone was coming towards her -from the other end. She did not turn in his direction, yet she knew -that he was coming. Her heart beat violently. She raised her head in -astonishment. Everything was new, she herself was new. All of a sudden -she felt a desire to sing, sing out to the sunshine of something that -was greater than she, too great to be retained in her bosom. - -To sing.... But the house was asleep. She alone was awake. That was -delightful ... to be alone. She felt an irrepressible smile on her -lips. “I love him ...” she whispered it softly, but she felt as though -in these words she had sung all her songs. - - * * * * * - -Downstairs the side entrance creaked gently. Christopher had just -come home. He looked round and then stole into the office, into the -room where his father used to work in the master-builder’s life time. -Since Christopher had somehow managed to pass through the technical -school, that was his place. Worn out, he leaned his elbows on the -writing-table. His shirt was crushed and his face looked crushed too. - -Otto Füger came in to him, but he was unable to alter his despairing -attitude. Helplessly his mouth went sideways. - -“What has happened?” asked the younger Füger. - -Christopher looked up wearily. It was all the same to him who -questioned him and what he answered. At this moment he would have -confessed his misery even to Florian. He had to speak to somebody ... -it is a relief to speak. - -The straight soft lips of Otto Füger’s mouth went wide apart. His eyes -became round. He had long suspected that Christopher gambled. But what -he had lost last night was more than he thought possible. Too much.... -He steadied his staring features. He wanted to know all there was to -know. - -“Is that all the trouble?” - -Christopher looked at him suspiciously. He expected reproaches. That -was what he wanted; that would have shamed him, appeased him. It would -have relieved him of the weight of responsibility. Otto Füger felt that -he had been tactless. He put on a serious, worried expression. - -“This is a misfortune. A great misfortune. If the late Mr. Ulwing -knew...!” - -Yet, he could have said nothing more crushing. Christopher bent his -head. - -“Don’t think ... I am not bad. I am only unlucky, damned unlucky.” - -Young Füger walked up and down the room and seemed deep in thought -though he knew full well what he was going to say. - -Christopher’s eyes followed his movements with painful attention. - -“Help me,” he said hoarsely when silence became insufferable. “Help me, -for God’s sake; give me some advice.” - -That was exactly what Otto Füger wanted. He looked round cautiously, -then stopped in front of his chief’s son. - -“The name of Ulwing is good,” he whispered, “in Paternoster Street they -will lend on it whatever you want. What are letters of exchange for? -Of course, it’s wrong,” he added hastily, “but for once....” - -“In Paternoster Street, at the money changer’s?” Christopher looked up -a little. “And my simple signature is sufficient? How is it I never -thought of it! Shall I go there?” - -When Otto Füger was left alone, he took his spectacles off, breathed -on them and while he wiped them kept them quite close to his eyes. He -sat down to the writing-table. Slowly he began to draw on the blotter. -First he drew flourishes which became by degrees the letter U ... -Ulwing & Co. These were the words he wrote finally and he thought that -he would be the Co. He would work, but no more in the dark, no more for -others, like Augustus Füger, for whom he felt an intimate contempt. His -father had the nature of an old-fashioned servant, who grows old in the -yoke, remains a beggar for ever and works for another man’s pocket. - -He effaced what he had written on the blotter and got up respectfully -from the table. John Hubert was crossing the room. The head of the firm -waved his hand amicably. Otto Füger wrinkled his eyebrows. “What an -old hand he has. The whole man is old. Won’t last long.” And he looked -after him with the slow, strangled hatred that is only felt by the poor -who have to sell their brains to enrich the rich. - -“He can’t last long. And the other?...” He started anew writing on the -pad. Ulwing & Co. He wrote it many times and erased it carefully. - -That afternoon Christopher brought Anne a small gold chain. He bought -Mamsell Tini a silver-plated statue of St. Anthony, gave Florian some -money and sent him to the circus. He was generous and whistled happily. - -At the money changers’ in Paternoster Street everybody bowed -respectfully when he mentioned that his name was Christopher Ulwing. -They never asked for any security, nor did they make any enquiries. The -pen trembled slightly between his fingers, but the owl-faced little -clerk who presented the bill of exchange never noticed it. - -Now he was going to pay all his debts. He began to count. How much -would there be left over? He owed money to two usurers in King Street. -He would take his watch out of pawn. He thought of the suspicious old -hag who waited for nightfall to open her door at the bottom of the -courtyard of a disreputable house. He had promised a bracelet to a -girl. Greater sums began to come to his mind. Many old debts he had -forgotten. He whistled no more. He tried to suppress the unpleasant -thoughts; they had no justification, for had he not plenty of money in -his pocket? Somehow he would manage to get his house in order. As for -cards, he would never touch them again. - -Then he stared wearily into space; he felt irritated. He had lost all -faith in his own pledges. He had broken as many promises as he had -made. He must pledge his word to somebody else. Where was Anne? - -Anne stood outside near the stairs and, leaning against the balustrade, -looked into the porch. She did not change her attitude when her brother -stepped beside her. - -“What are you doing here?” asked Christopher to attract her attention. -He needed her, he wanted to speak to her. Now, at once, because later -on he might not have the courage to do so. - -“Anne....” - -The young girl turned round, but her look strayed beyond him. - -“Somebody has come, the front door bell rang.” At this moment she lived -her own life so intently that her heart could not hear the silent cry -for help of the other life. - -Christopher stopped near her for a little while, then he gave a short -whistle. The moment when he had decided to open his heart had passed. -He was rather pleased that he had not tied himself with embarrassing -promises. He remained free. - -Anne scarcely noticed when he left her. She leaned again over the -balustrade. The corners of her eyes and lips rose imperceptibly. Her -small face took on a strange expectant expression. - -And on that day he for whom Anne had waited really came. - -They sat in the sunshine room, stiff, in a polite circle, as if a hoop -were on the ground between them. - -Thomas Illey had brought his sister with him. Christopher was also -there and Anne imagined that they must all necessarily notice her -panting breath, and the blood forever rising to her cheeks. - -She began to observe herself carefully, but found her voice natural, -her movements regular, as if someone else acted for her. She grew calm; -the confused sounds in her head turned into words. Thomas Illey’s voice -became distinct from the others and reached her like a touch. - -It gave her a tremor. It attracted her irresistibly, she had to turn -her face to him. Illey’s eyes were shining and deep. Only for an -instant did he look so, then he seemed to make an effort and a cloud of -haughty reserve fell over the radiant warmth of his look, concealing it -from the rest of the world. - -But Anne did not forget that look, when her father came up from his -office. Thomas Illey spoke to John Hubert only, who sat just as -solemnly on the thin-legged flowered chair as he did long ago besides -the Septemvir Bajmoczy in the drawing-room of Baroness Geramb. - -They spoke of the city. Of new railways. Steamers for the Danube. -Building. Politics. - -Anne did not understand much of this. In the Ulwing family national -politics only meant a good or bad business year. They were considered a -means or an obstruction, whereas to Illey they seemed interesting for -their own sake. - -His sparse, tense speech became voluble. - -“In vain they trample on us, in vain they throttle us,” he said and -his expression became hard. “The great freedom of the nomads is -the ancestral home of my race. We sprang from that. It cannot be -forgotten....” - -Anne looked at him intensely and while she listened distant memories -came slowly from the twilight of her mind. Grandfather Jörg’s -former shop, feverish men and the mysterious powerful voice which, -unintelligible, had once carried her soul for a cause she could not -understand. Now it seemed to her that Thomas Illey gave words to the -voice and that she began to understand events of her childhood. - -John Hubert too followed Illey’s word attentively and thought of his -father, Ulwing the builder. What he had done and felt for the town, -Illey felt for the country and would like to do for the whole country. -How was that possible? - -He smiled soberly. “They are all the same, the Hungarian gentry. -Every one of them wants to save the whole country, yet if each of -them grappled with a small part of it, they would achieve more.” He -criticised his guest quietly within himself, yet listened to him with -pleasure, because his words roused confidence and his thoughts could -find support in the power of words. - -“Do you really think it is possible that our economic life should ever -revive again?” John Hubert was now thinking of his business only. He -spoke of the price of timber, building material and labour conditions. - -Martha smiled absent-mindedly in the corner of the flowered couch. -Christopher interrupted nervously but his father did not heed him. - -Thomas Illey listened politely. Anne noticed that he glanced towards -the mantelpiece, at the clock under the glass globe. Frightened, she -followed his look. She had never yet seen the hand run so mischievously -fast. And she now had a foreboding of what the hours were to be to her -when she was without him. - -She must say something to Illey before he went, something that would -bring him back again. She did not know that she got up, she did not -know that she went to the piano. - -“Yes, sing something,” said Martha. - -“Do sing!” cried Christopher, delighted to interrupt his father. - -Anne glanced shyly at Illey. He looked imploringly. Their eyes met. -They were far from each other and yet the girl felt that she was -nearest to him and was going to say something to him, to him alone. -She did not know what. But under her hand Schubert’s music was already -rising from the piano. - -“Greetings to thee, greetings to thee....” - -Blood rose in a pale pink cloud to Anne’s temples. Her face became -radiantly beautiful, her pure youthful bosom rose and fell like a pair -of snowy, beating wings and her voice sounded clearly, rapturously, -like a deep, all-powerful passion. It expressed tears, triumphant -youth, the unconscious, glorious avowal of all her love. - -Christopher looked at her in amazement. He had never heard his sober, -serious sister sing like that. All looked at Anne. Not one of them -understood what had happened, yet they felt a strange warm light thrill -through them. - -“How beautiful she looks when she is singing!” thought Thomas Illey. - -People do not see each other always, only now and then for a moment. -Thomas Illey saw Anne in this moment. He turned a little pale and -felt as if a hot caressing hand fanned the air near his face. He lost -control over his eyes and passionately they took possession of the girl. - -Though Anne did not understand all that was in this look, it moved her -deeply. - -Then the song came to an end. The following silence cooled Anne’s -soul. Her greenish blue eyes looked frigidly into the air, her eyelids -became immobile. When she turned to Illey her face was reserved, -impenetrable. She wanted to screen what she had shown of herself, as if -she were ashamed of it. - -The others too assumed this ordinary expression. Everybody returned to -everyday soberness. Netti brought the lamp in. It was evening. - - * * * * * - -Before the week was over Thomas Illey called again at the old house. He -came alone, Martha had gone into the country. - -“To the mother of her fiancé,” said Illey. “It is an old engagement. -The wedding will be in autumn. Then that worry will be over too.” - -He said no more about it. On the whole he spoke little. Nor did Anne -say much, but the silence between them was bright and happy. - -Tini’s knitting needles clattered rapidly underneath the lamp-shade; -and the expression of her long, stiff face was that of an elderly -person contemplating spring through the window. - -Now and then Anne started, as if his look had called to her by name. -She smiled at Thomas over the embroidery screen, then bent her head -down again and the stones of her rings sparkled at regular intervals as -she drew the silk upwards. - -John Hubert came up from the office. Mamsell Tini stuck her knitting -needles into the ball of wool. She got up. Her steps died away in the -corridor and John Hubert spoke again about business, the town and -building. - -When this happened Anne began to hear the ticking of the clock. If only -once she could be alone with Thomas, she would go to the clock, push -its hand back and that would tell him all she dared not express in -words. But they were never alone. She could only speak to him when she -was singing. - -Did he understand it? Did he like to hear it? She did not know. Illey -was different from everyone she had known hitherto. When their eyes met -in silence she felt herself quite near to him. When they spoke to each -other it seemed to her that they were far, far apart and that their -voices had to travel a great distance, the words being dulled on the -way. - -Anne began to grow fond of silence which she could fill with the warmth -of her heart. - -Summer passed away. - -Thomas Illey came more and more frequently and stayed longer and -longer. John Hubert surrendered his evening stroll to remain in his -company. Tini produced the best china cups from the glass cupboard when -he was expected. Florian ran to open the door. - -The days became shorter. Now and then Netti lit a fire in the stove. - -One evening Illey was even more taciturn than usual. - -Tini dropped her ball of wool. While she bent down for it Thomas turned -suddenly to Anne and said in a very low whisper: - -“I shall soon leave Pest. Give me a word that I can carry with me.” - -Mamsell was now sitting up again, stiff and straight, on her chair and -her knitting needles knocked each other diligently. - -Anne’s hand had slid down from the embroidery frame and her eyes became -dull as if all their lustre had melted away. - -“You are going?” Her voice was very dim. - -“What did you say?” asked Miss Tini, absent-mindedly. She stuck one of -the knitting needles sideways into the knot of her hair and began to -count the stitches. - -Illey watched with silent despair the slow-moving lips of Mamsell as he -impatiently twirled the old seal ring round and round. - -“I am going to Martha’s wedding. I have some other business too, so who -knows when I can come back again.” - -Anne looked at the ring and then lifted her eyes to Thomas. She would -have liked to tell him, implore him, to take her with him too, to abide -faithfully by her as he clung to that ring and never leave her alone -again. - -“Come to-morrow with Christopher to the Palatine’s Island,” said Illey -suddenly. His voice became harsh and commanding. “We shall meet at the -pier.” Then he continued, more softly: “Do sing something....” He said -this as if to clear the air of the grating vibrations of his former -words. - -“You really want me to?” Anne’s eyes blazed up. The dominating voice -had made her feel as though Thomas had laid hands on her, as though he -had bent her wrist with tender force. That unconscious delight of women -in the humiliations of love flashed through her. She blushed and asked: - -“What do you like? Schubert, Mozart or Schumann?” - -“The voice of Anne Ulwing,” answered Illey simply, looking straight -into her eyes. - -When the song died away, Thomas rose. - -“Au revoir,” said Anne, and her hand, like a little bird snuggling up -in its nest, took refuge in his strong, warm grip. They remained like -that for an instant. Then Anne was again alone. She ran back to the -piano. - -Even now she was still singing for Thomas. She sent her voice after -him, to follow him down the stairs, to attend him part of the way. -Perhaps he would hear it and turn back. - -She drew aside the muslin curtains of the window. Lamps were already -burning in the streets. Someone on the other side. Anne leant eagerly -forward. - -It was Otto Füger. - -For a short time the younger Füger remained standing there, and turned -his head in the direction whither Thomas Illey had gone. - -From the office window a beam of light stretched to the street. In what -had once been the study of Ulwing the builder the green-shaded lamps -were lit up. - -This evening John Hubert remained exceptionally long at his writing -desk. He sat there in a state of collapse and his colourless skin -formed two empty folds under his chin. His hand lay inert on a bundle -of papers which had been presented to him for signature. - -He rose heavily. He was looking for the second time through the door -which led to the adjoining office. Once Augustus Füger used to work -there, but, since an attack of apoplexy had paralysed the little -book-keeper’s right arm, his son Otto occupied his place. - -“Where can he be?” mused John Hubert, looking through the door into the -empty office. - -He returned to his seat at the writing desk. His eyes gazed at the plan -of Pest-Buda, but he did not see anything of it. Every now and then -his head twitched, as if he sought to shake up behind his forehead the -dull, dense matter that refused to act. He sighed and desisted from the -effort. He shut his eyes. But now that he wanted to rest, his brain -became active and a whirling chaos moved about it. He thought suddenly -of Christopher. - -Otto Füger entered quietly through the door. Cold rage was in his eye -and his lips were compressed and straight. But as soon as he came -within the light of the lamps he was already smiling. - -John Hubert continued his reflections aloud: - -“Somebody mentioned Christopher’s name to-day at the money-changer’s. -The clerk spoke of him behind the counter. When I turned to them they -caught their breath. I can’t understand it.” He looked anxiously at -young Füger. “Do you know anything?” - -Otto Füger did not answer at once. At this moment he hated furiously -everybody living in that house. He hated the others because of Anne and -on account of that stuck-up Illey whose looks always passed above his -head. Now he had his chance to revenge himself on them for having been -born in the back-lodgings of an insignificant book-keeper, for being -poor and striving vainly. He looked humbly to the ground and feigned to -suffer from the painful necessity of his disclosures. - -“It is hard on me to have to betray Mr. Christopher. I have always -tried to restrain him, I have implored him....” - -“What is going on behind my back?” John Hubert’s voice bubbled out -heavily between his blanched lips. - -When the whole truth was revealed to him, he repeated painfully: - -“He gambles ... the whole town knows it.... He loses ... bills of -exchange?...” He asked terrified: “What is the amount?” - -“One hundred and eighty thousand florins....” - -For an instant, John Hubert straightened himself in the chair, then -his body collapsed slowly to one side. His high collar alone kept his -relaxed, waxy face in position. In a few minutes he had turned quite -old. - -Otto Füger watched his chief cunningly. He judged from his altered -attitude what was the right thing to say. - -“We must not despair, sir. At bottom Mr. Christopher is a good, -God-fearing young gentleman. It is all the fault of bad company. I -always told him so. Those young gentry fellows from the country preyed -on him. They have got rich Ulwing’s money. But don’t punish him, sir. I -beg of you, let me bear your anger, for have I not sinned more than he -for keeping it quiet?” - -He hung his head penitently, as if expecting judgment. - -“You are a good fellow, Otto,” said John Hubert, deeply touched. - -“We will save the reputation of the firm,” young Füger said solemnly. -“As for Mr. Christopher, if I may venture to give advice, we shall have -to tear him from the tempters. Perhaps abroad....” - -“Send him abroad? Yes,” John Hubert became suddenly determined. “That -was once the plan of my late father. You advise Frankfurt? All right, -let it be Frankfurt.” - -The book-keeper had not expected to get his way so easily. He became -more enterprising. - -“He had better go among unpretentious working-class people, till he -settles down. Meanwhile you might like to choose for Miss Anne some -level-headed business man as a husband; he might enter the firm as a -partner and relieve your mind, sir, of all the worries.” - -That was a new hope. John Hubert pulled his necktie up. “A serious man -of business to stand by Christopher. Somebody belonging to the family. -Anne’s husband....” Thomas Illey’s image intruded unpleasantly on his -memory. “We must prevent them from meeting again.” Life had been so -exacting to him that now he would insist on getting his own back. He -had always been merciless to himself, now he would show no mercy to -others. - -“Yes, that would free me from all care,” he murmured as if taking -counsel with himself. “Anne’s husband.... But who is it to be?” - -Otto Füger smiled modestly. He took his spectacles off, breathed on -them and wiped them while holding them up to his left eye. - -John Hubert, for reasons unknown to him, thought of the son of Martin -George Münster. Charles Münster would bring capital into the business, -he had brains.... - -He clapped Otto Füger on the shoulder. - -“Thank you!” - -Young Füger looked after him dejected. He had expected something else. - -Next day Christopher left the old house. And at the pier of the Danube -Thomas Illey waited in vain for Anne. - -White frost fell over the autumn roses in the garden. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -Rain had collected in the gargoyle and gave off a hopeless gurgle as if -someone were sobbing under the steep double roof. - -Out of doors the autumn evening fell sadly. On the window panes of the -sunshine room raindrops ran down like tears on a transparent grey face. - -Silence reigned in the deserted old nursery. Since Christopher’s -departure Anne had been very lonely. She would often rise from the -work table during the afternoon and go quietly to the door. She opened -it quickly, nobody was there. She looked down into the depths of the -staircase. The house was silent. She decided to count up to a hundred, -then wait no longer. Twice she counted up to a hundred, and even after -that she looked back from the threshold. - -At night when Netti lit the lamp and Florian bolted the front door, -Anne’s eyes more than once filled with tears. She felt a prisoner. Life -remained outside the walls of her prison. Again a useless day had drawn -to an end, that at its dawning had promised so generously. It tortured -her artfully while it lasted, and in the end achieved nothing. - -Thomas Illey came no more. - -Anne’s little face became quite pale and thin. She began to be afraid. -Perhaps Illey went to someone else now, perhaps he was angry? The last -time he saw her he asked her so earnestly to go the next day to the -Danube pier. And she could not go, could send no message, could not -write. Christopher had to leave and their father was very strict with -both of them. - -“Why does he not come? Where is he?” - -She pressed her face against the window pane. Whenever the front door -bell rang the blood rushed to her heart. She waited, then hung her head -wearily. - -In the sunshine room the furniture began to whisper. The walls too -remembered. The door handle was familiar with Thomas’s hand. The shaded -lamp, the clock under the glass globe, they all told her that they had -seen him many times. - -Anne turned her face away. The memories wounded her. She clasped her -hands in prayer for respite from her tortures. - -Hours passed. Tini came in and started to read her fortune with cards. -“All your sorrows will come to an end, my little dove,” she said when -she finished her game. - -“I have no sorrows,” answered the girl and tried to hold her head high. - -John Hubert’s voice said: - -“Anne, a visitor!” - -Of late Charles Münster had often come to the house. In the evening he -sat comfortably in the green room, approving everything John Hubert -said, and when he could think of nothing to say, he carelessly twirled -the thumbs of his big, red hands. - -Those hands annoyed Anne. They became embarrassed, blushed like human -faces, struggled, while Charles Münster remained placid and tedious in -his inordinately long Sunday coat. - -“Why does he come?” wondered Anne wearily, while sitting opposite him. - -One day she learned that too; Charles Münster had asked her father for -her hand. - -“It is a very honourable proposal and very advantageous,” said John -Hubert to his daughter. “The house of Münster has a good reputation and -is serious. The young man is intelligent and owns some capital.” - -Anne’s heart sank while she looked at him and then the blood rushed to -her face. All her life she had striven to repress her will; she had -always obeyed, but what she was now asked to do roused her to rebellion. - -“No, never!” And her voice rang out like a hammer dropping on steel. - -John Hubert was startled. That was the voice of Ulwing the builder. - -“I spoke too soon,” he thought, vexed. “I ought to have waited a little -longer.” - -Then he waited. Outside the snow was falling already. - -In the next few weeks Anne’s face became more and more transparent. -She did not sleep at night. She sang no longer, nor did she laugh and -during the long evenings she sat silent in the green room, while her -father worked at the writing table with the innumerable drawers. - -John Hubert had now to use spectacles for reading. He pushed them up -on his forehead and looked stealthily at Anne. Gradually he became -anxious. He thought of his own life. He had never been happy, had never -made anybody else happy. - -“Are you ill?” he asked suddenly. - -“No.” - -“Have you any pain?” - -Anne did not answer but her eyes asked him why he tortured her. John -Hubert bent down. He turned the pages of his ledger. Anne heard him -sigh anxiously. - -“Have you had bad news from Christopher?” she asked, going to the -writing table. “No? Is it the business?... Speak to me about it, for I -too am an Ulwing.” - -John Hubert closed the book in which he had been reckoning. - -“You would not understand it.” - -“But I could learn to....” - -“You just go on embroidering, singing. You have no need to know about -business. It is not suitable for women. God has created you for other -ends.” But this sentence aroused his conscience. He became embarrassed. - -“You have not yet forgotten Thomas Illey?” he whispered casting his -eyes down. - -“I have not forgotten him.” - -A few days later Grandfather Jörg came in the evening to take Anne to -a concert. In the carriage the old gentleman began to mention Charles -Münster. - -“Is he too like all the others?” the girl thought and looked sadly at -her grandfather. Once he had been to prison for sympathizing with the -freedom of others; and now he spoke against his grandchild’s freedom. - -In the concert hall the crowd was already large. Innumerable candles -burned in the gilt wooden chandelier. Their flames wove a peaceful -yellow light in the air. On the platform the piano stood open. The -orchestra was tuning up and this sounded like birds with sharp beaks -pecking at the stringed instruments. - -A few reporters stood near the wall. Anne heard them agree in advance -as to what they would say in next day’s papers. In the stalls -well-known merchants from the inner town, wives of rich citizens, -officers in uniform, and right in front bejeweled ladies in huge -crinolines, noble gentlemen in Hungarian national costume. - -The family of Müller the chemist nodded to them. The Münster daughters -were there too. In the back rows the newcomers moved their chairs. -Some laughed and cleared their throats, then suddenly, as if moved by -a common spring, all the heads turned towards the platform. Then all -became silent. - -Anne glanced over the faces. The crowd seemed to her like an empty -vessel gaping towards the piano in expectation of being filled with -sounds and emotions. Her heart was full of her young distress and she -felt afraid that at the first sound her sufferings would overflow -through her eyes. - -All of a sudden she became strangely restless, as if some one had -touched her from a distance. She turned her head quickly. The blood -throbbed in her veins as her look met the dark, sad eyes of Thomas -Illey. And the two glances united through space. - -Waves surged between them. A wild tumult of cheers broke out. The round -of applause echoed like a thunderstorm from the walls. - -The great artist stood on the platform, high above everybody. His long -white hair waved softly round his marble brow. He inclined his wiry -body before the homage. - -Then the piano burst out under his hands. And the sounds sang, crept, -stormed furiously, coaxed voluptuously, and dissolved in a smile. The -artist with the marble brow conjured up harmonies from the piano that -had not existed before him and were not to be after him. - -The crowd listened with bated breath, spellbound. And the music -continued like a swelling tide. Then it became tender like a dying -echo. It broke forth again with superb impetuosity. Sounds wrought -in fire rose and those who heard them lived the creative moments of -Beethoven, Sebastian Bach and Weber over again. These sublime moments -were resuscitated by the master whose playing was forever the begetting -of gods. - -Anne Ulwing’s soul was carried on glowing wings by Beethoven’s -Appassionata to Thomas over the heads of the crowd. She felt that the -waves of the music swept them together and that they became swallowed -up in some boundless glittering veil. - -The hall was delirious again. People stood up. Some rushed to the -platform and continued to applaud there. - -The artist began to play a composition of his own. And then, as if his -marble countenance had been set aflame, fire shone on his brow, fire -streamed from his eyes and the creative artist wandered and was alone -by himself. - -Anne turned towards the piano. This was different from anything she -had ever heard. Long-forgotten words recurred to her mind: “One has to -create like God. Even the clay has to be created anew.” - -Applause rose again, but the clapping seemed more restrained. It was -addressed to the virtuoso, not to the creator. - -“They don’t understand him,” said Anne disappointed. - -“It is not yet safe to admire this music. It came too early ...” and -again the words of Adam Walter came to her mind. - -Then everything was forgotten. Her eyes searched for Thomas in the -crowd thronging towards the exit. In the dust-laden heat of the -cloak-room people pushed each other. Under the porch the doors of the -carriages slammed. A hoarse voice shouted the names of the coachmen. - -Anne saw Florian and made a sign to him. Ulrich Jörg was already in the -carriage. - -“I should like to walk,” said the girl hurriedly. The old gentleman was -sleepy. The horses of the next carriage became restive in the cold. The -door banged. Anne felt herself free. - -“Let us go....” - -Florian’s broad, good-natured face turned to her for an instant in -wonder. Then he followed her obediently in the snow. - -A motionless figure stood at the street corner under a lamp peering -into the windows of the passing carriages. Suddenly he looked no longer -towards the carriages. His dark sad eyes rested on Anne. He held his -hat low in his hand and snow fell on his thin face. - -They clasped each other’s hands and the peace of their mind was like -the languid moment, still incredible, when a bodily pain has abruptly -ceased to torture. - -The sound of rolling carriages spread in all directions. Occasional -laughter flared up among the human voices, dying away at a distance. -After that, only the snow was falling in slow, shiny flakes. By tacit -agreement they started, side by side, into the great whiteness. - -Anne did not feel the cold. The furs slid down her bare shoulders and -her low shoes sank deep into the snow. Illey gazed at her in rapture, -then pulled himself together. He wanted to appear calm, but his voice -was strangely changed. - -“When I saw the posters of the concert, I began to hope that we might -meet. It all happened more wonderfully than my wildest hopes.” - -Anne too tried to control herself. - -“So you really did not go for the music’s sake?” she asked in a -whisper, smiling. - -“I never go to concerts,” said Illey candidly. “I don’t understand the -higher music.” - -Anne turned to him anxiously: - -“Then you did not understand what I sang to you?” - -“I did not understand the music, but I understood her who produced it.” - -Anne’s thought became confused. Till then she had thought that they -met, united in music.... And now Thomas told her that he did not -understand the only language which her soul, her blood could speak.... -It did not matter, nothing mattered so long as he was here, if only he -could be at her side. - -She drew her head back a little and with eyes half shut looked -longingly at Illey’s shoulders as though she would, by the intensity of -her regard, build a nest there for her little head. - -Thomas began to walk at a noticeably slow pace. Then Anne too noticed -the snow-covered lamp in front of the Ulwings’ house. - -“I have sought this moment for a long time,” said Illey quickly. “I was -seeking it on the island when I waited for you so long--till the stars -appeared and the ferryman lit a fire for the night. Next day I was -there too. I have pulled the bell at your door many times. I saw your -face through the window, I heard you play the piano, yet I was told you -were not in. Florian avoided my eyes when he said that. I understood. -It was not desired that I should come.” - -“And I was expecting you.” There was so much suffering in Anne’s veiled -voice that all became clear to Illey. - -At this moment they came in sight of the house. They stepped so slowly -that they remained practically on the same spot, yet the distance grew -smaller. The porch moved out of the wall and came to meet them rapidly, -dark through the glittering whiteness. The two pillar-men came with it -too. They leaned more and more from under the cornice and looked down -on them. - -The porch stopped with a jerk. They had reached the end of the street. -Anne’s heart stood still with anguish. One more moment and they would -be together no more. - -Florian dropped the latch key. He fumbled slowly, very slowly with his -hand in the snow and never looked up once while doing so. - -Thomas Illey bent to Anne: - -“We cannot live any more without each other,” and he kissed her hand. - -Snow was falling slowly and through the snow-white veil they looked -silently into each other’s eyes. - -When Anne walked up the stairs she took Thomas’s kiss with her lips -from her hand. - -Next day she told her father all that had happened and when in the -afternoon the front door bell rang Florian opened the door with a broad -beaming face to Thomas Illey. - -Anne heard his steps. The steps passed her door, along the corridor, -towards the green room. - -Thomas Illey spoke little. His voice was serious and firm. John Hubert -listened to him standing and only offered him a seat when he had -finished. - -“An honourable proposal....” This reminded him that he had used -the same words to Charles Münster. He laughed and then spoke out -conscientiously, as he had decided beforehand. He spoke of the loss -caused by the fire, of bad years of business. Of Anne’s dowry. His -voice became feeble: - -“I am very sorry but I cannot withdraw any capital from the business. -The estate must remain undivided. This was decided by my late father. I -cannot depart from this.” - -Illey waved his hand politely, disparagingly. - -“This is not my affair. It concerns Miss Anne alone.” - -John Hubert stared at him with undisguised astonishment. The charm -of the ancient name of Illey re-asserted itself on him: he no longer -leaned back in his armchair. He sat straight up solemnly and felt sorry -he had till now been so business-like. - -“But what about the property of Ille,” he chose his words carefully, “I -understand that it is, unfortunately, in strange hands....” - -Illey turned his head away. He realized that he had just been showing -off before the other and felt ashamed. This mild-eyed good old business -man reminded him of that which had attracted him at first to Anne. It -was no good denying it; in those times he thought that the Ulwings -were rich and that the ancestral property of Ille might again become -his own. He now tried to justify himself for those old thoughts by the -longing for the land of his forebears. There was one hope. He thrust it -aside. - -John Hubert looked at him expectantly. - -“Did Mr. Illey not think of buying the property back?” - -Many a proud, disinterested word came to Illey’s mind. To rise above -everything, even above himself. To ask for nothing, only for Anne whom -he loved. He turned his sharp gentlemanly face to John Hubert. He -looked him straight in the eyes, as if making a vow: - -“I think no longer of buying Ille back.” - -John Hubert enquired politely after his family. - -Thomas slowly turned the old seal ring on his finger. He began to speak -of his father. He died young of heart disease. His mother followed him. -Then the property got into the auctioneer’s hands. Only a swampy wood -remained. Nobody wanted that. And a little money. He wanted to learn -to work. This brought him to town. He wanted to regain possession of -the land through his own exertions. Had it not given them their name, -or had it not received its name from them? However it was, the land of -Ille and the Illeys had belonged to each other for nearly a thousand -years. - -Thomas looked down wearily. He thought that the fate of the -Lord-Lieutenant’s grandchildren had overtaken him too. - -“I studied law,” he said quietly, “like the rest of us; politics -absorbed me and I did not learn to work for money. That is in our -blood. It is only when work is done gratuitously that the Hungarian -nobility does not blush to work. Those of us who gave themselves for -money became bad men; the good ones were ruined.” - -John Hubert nodded absent-mindedly. He was quite reassured now that he -had ascertained that Thomas Illey did not intend to withdraw Anne’s -dowry from the business. He proffered his hand to him. - -“It is settled. You do not think of buying Ille back. You won’t meddle -with the business. Now we can look at the ledgers and the balance -sheet.” - -Thomas smiled. He wanted to see nothing but Anne, and John Hubert -opened the door of the sunshine room to him. There everything was -bright and warm. - -When the new spring made earth and sky bright and warm around the old -house, Mamsell Tini stuck a wreathed veil into Anne’s hair. Now, like a -white cloud, the veil floated through the old rooms, caressed the doors -and walls. Anne kissed her father. - -“Thank you, father,” said the girl. “I am so happy.” - -Tears came into the eyes of John Hubert. Life had no more joys in store -for him.... - -In the corridor stood old Füger, and Mrs. Henrietta in a starched -bonnet, and Mr. Gemming. Poor little Feuerlein, deeply stirred, wiped -his eyes. None bowed more respectfully to Thomas Illey than Otto Füger. - -Above, high above the roofs, the bells clanged loud from the church -steeple of Leopold’s town, bells that had so often spoken of the -destinies of the Ulwings. And under the porch the two pillar-men looked -down into the flower-laden carriage. - -The porch repeated once over the sound of the parting wheels, then the -house fell into silence. Anne carried her quiet laugh away with her on -her honeymoon. Everything became quiet, the men, the days. - - * * * * * - -John Hubert was quite alone. A letter from Christopher, one from Anne. -He read them both many times over, smiled and shut his eyes. Nowadays, -he was always sleepy. He looked at the clock. Too early to go to bed. -He walked up and down in the quiet rooms. - -From the green room the light of the lamp reached the dining room. The -sunshine room received light from a lamp in the street which spread -over the ceiling. The old nursery was quite dark. - -John Hubert folded his hands behind his back and walked slowly from -darkness into light, from light into darkness. He thought of his life. -It had been like that too, but now that he looked back on it there -seemed to have been more darkness than light. - -He could not understand what made him think of this just now when his -head was weary enough. For an instant he intended sending for the -doctor. Then he felt too tired to do it. - -While he slowly turned the key in his watch, he felt giddy, yet he put -all the various objects from his pocket into the alabaster tray. His -keys, his penknife and the cigar case embroidered with beads. This he -carried as a habit, having renounced smoking several years ago. - -Next day was Sunday. He did not get out of bed. From time to time Tini -came in to ask if he wanted anything. He opened his eyes, nodded, but -said nothing. - -Gárdos, the physician, reassured him. - -“It will pass away; it is only a little overwork,” and prescribed nux -vomica. - -“No, you must not write to the children.” - -During the week John Hubert was up. On Sunday he again stayed in bed -and felt better there. A letter came from Anne. He smiled at it. So -there was one person in the world who owed him her happiness.... He -smoothed his blanket down and turned to the wall. - -A loud buzzing woke him at night. His head turned, the bed turned, so -did the room. And he breathed with difficulty. He wanted to unbutton -his shirt collar, but did not succeed. He sat up suddenly and with his -accustomed movement put his hand several times to his neck as if to put -his necktie right. - -Then he fell back and moved no more. - -That night John Hubert Ulwing died, correctly, without much ado, just -as he had lived. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - -The house was empty and silence nestled between its walls. It was -a memorable event for the corridor to hear the sound of steps. The -ticking of the marble clock resounded through all the rooms, no noise -impeding its progress. - -Thus did Anne find the house when she came back with her husband from -the interrupted journey which was to remain in her memory like a broken -dream. - -Days without thoughts. Gentle words. Pure, girlish fears. Then she -became accustomed to Thomas’s embraces. The news of her father’s death -roused her and she could dream her dream no more. It was gone for ever. -Another came. - -Real life took its place and the first year passed away. - -Slowly the peace of the old house became bright again. Now and then -the rooms began to laugh timidly. They stopped suddenly, ashamed of -themselves, as if remembering those who had left by the door never to -come back again. - -Another year went by. - -The yellow walls of the old house were warm in the sun. In the garden -the beds put forth blossom-laden rosebushes, climbing garlands of -roses. - -The rooms now laughed freely with the rippling laughter of a child. -And the house smiled to itself, like some good old patriarch who has -regained youth. - -At that time Anne sang some wonderful little songs. She had never -learned them, they came of themselves and their soothing rhythm was -like the rocking of a cradle. Then she lifted her son with that -mysterious movement, which is more exalted than the gesture of love, a -movement secretly known by her arms long ago. And she thought that it -was this that linked all humanity. An endless, blessed chain, a chain -wrought of women’s arms over the earth, beginning with the first woman -and to end with the last child. - -“Mamma,” babbled little George. Anne repeated in whispers the word -which was bestowed on her, which she herself had never uttered to her -mother; she looked at the fading portrait of Mrs. Christina. She began -to listen. The street door opened. Steps came along the corridor.... - -“Thomas, I was longing for you!” She would have liked to say more, -something warmer. She wanted to tell him her love, but the words were -bashful and changed as they crossed her lips. She leaned towards her -husband, ready to be kissed. - -Illey did not notice it; he was thinking of something else. He began to -read a letter. - -“From home....” - -“From home?... Is not this your home?” Anne’s head, held till now -sideways in a listening attitude, rose slowly. - -Thomas saw nothing, heard nothing when Ille was in question. Everybody, -the old steward, the bailiff, the agent, the priest, anybody who was -in difficulties, came to him, as if he were still the landlord. He did -their errands and his eyes shone when he spoke of them. - -Anne looked at him motionless. A feeling came over her of which she -could never rid herself whenever Thomas spoke of Ille. It seemed to her -that her husband abandoned her and went far away to some other place. - -“Thomas,” she whispered, as if to recall him. - -Illey smiled inattentively. He was still reading the letter. Anne’s -face became grave and cold. The tenderness which had till then flowed -bootlessly from her shrank back painfully into her heart. - -“No, don’t go away. Come here. Read this....” - -But Anne would not go nearer him. She held her head rigidly erect. -After the vain inclination to tenderness she hoped to regain the -balance in this way. - -“It doesn’t matter, Thomas,” and animosity sounded in her voice, -“after all I don’t know those people of yours.” - -“Why do you speak like that?” He looked at her reproachfully. Again -Anne’s voice baffled the hope in his soul, with which he thought -of Ille, which still gained, against his will, the upper hand over -him.... If he were to tell her everything, if he explained to her -that everything belonging to Ille was grown to his heart, that he -was craving for his land ... would she understand? The words shaped -themselves so intensely in his mind that he nearly heard them sound. -But they seemed abasing, as if they were begging. He felt that he could -never utter them. - -In that moment Anne saw her husband’s countenance hard and frigid. - -“Why are you angry, Thomas?” Her eyes wandered to the letter from -Ille. “Don’t you understand? It will all be empty talk. All this is so -strange to me.” - -“You are right!” Illey gave a short reproachful laugh. It dawned on him -suddenly that Anne was strange to all that which lived so vividly in -his blood and his past. Strange, and perhaps she wanted to remain so. - -While they were silent it seemed to both of them that they had drawn -further apart from each other, though neither of them had moved. Then -it was Thomas who turned away. Anne looked after him. - -In the beginning, when they could not understand each other, they -forgot it in an embrace. Later on, the weak, helpless cry of a baby in -the next room was enough to remove everything from their minds and to -make them run to it side by side; before they had reached the door they -had grasped each other’s hands. - -On this occasion each of them remained alone. The words he had spoken -weighed cold on Anne’s memory; those he had kept back made her anxious. -She played with her little son absent-mindedly. She fumbled idly in her -work-table’s drawers. She gave that up too. She wanted to go to her -husband, lean her head against his shoulders, and ask and answer till -there remained nothing between them that was obscure and uncertain. - -But Thomas had visitors. From the green room the voice of gentlemen -reached the dining room and the smoke of their pipes pervaded the -place. They talked of the reconciliation of the King and the country, -of the coronation, of those who performed it, of Parliament, of great -national transformations. - -Since the constitution had been re-established, Illey had entered the -service of the State; he worked in the Ministry of Agriculture. Anne -heard him in the adjoining room make some remarks on intensive culture. - -How coolly and intelligently Thomas spoke, while her own heart was -still heavy and sore. Suddenly her husband’s laughter reached her ears -through the closed door. Her eyebrows stiffened and straightened, as if -she had been hurt.... - -It was about this time that Thomas Illey began to go shooting more -often. His friends who owned property in the country invited him. Down -there in Ille, in his swampy wood, game was plentiful. When he was free -from his office he took his gun and was off. Then he came home again -happy, with a sunburnt face. - -In the green room arms stood in the old cupboard where Ulwing the -builder used to keep his plans. Above the couch the portrait of the -architects Fischer von Erlach and Mansard were replaced by English -prints of hunting scenes. Cartridges were kept in the small recesses of -the writing table with the many drawers. A finely wrought hunting knife -lay in front of the marble clock. - -Anne sometimes felt that Thomas did not love the old house or the green -room or the cosy, well-padded good old furniture. - -“I say, Anne, these chairs here stand round the table like fat -middle-class women in the market. They hold their arms akimbo and are -nearly bursting with health.” - -He laughed quietly. - -“Is it possible you cannot see how funny they are? At home, in Ille, -there is a similar armchair in the nursery. We called it ‘Frau Mayer’ -and put a basket on its arm.” - -Anne blushed a little and, disconcerted, looked at the chequered linen -covers. - -“They insult us,” she said, as if speaking to the armchair, “though -we belong together....” She thought suddenly of the staircase in the -Geramb house, of Bertha Bajmoczy ... the old indignity ... the old -resentment. Then, as if her grandfather’s voice echoed in her memory, -“I am a free citizen.” - -She raised her head. Her young neck bent back disdainfully. - -“How beautiful you are, like this,” said Thomas and his voice altered. - -The woman’s shoulder trembled. That was the old voice that thrilled -her like a touch. They looked at each other for a moment and then she -disappeared in Thomas’s embrace. - -Anne felt that in her husband’s arms all her cares vanished, that she -herself passed away. Her head fell back, no longer with pride but with -that feminine movement which expresses the conquest of the conqueror. - -“My love....” - -They held each other for a long time tightly embraced and the silence -of rare and secret reunions came over them. When the silence broke, the -reunion was ended and they both withdrew into themselves. - -Later in the day, Anne came running through the rooms with a telegram -and joy rang in her voice: - -“From Christopher!” - -“Is he still in Baden-Baden?” sneered Thomas. - -“He is coming to-night.” - -“It is time....” - -Anne cast her eyes down sadly. She always felt some irritation in -Thomas’s voice when he spoke of Christopher and that pained her. It was -true that since their father’s death Christopher had travelled a great -deal, but Otto Füger sent him regular reports and when he was home he -worked. - -Business must have been excellent. There was more luxury in the house -than ever. Christopher had replaced the old boards by parquet flooring. -Carpets were laid on the stairs and two pairs of horses stood in -the stable. A manservant served at table in Netti’s place. Florian -opened the gate in livery. Anne received as much money as she liked -for housekeeping, that was all she understood. But if Thomas was not -content, why did he keep silent? Surely it would have been his duty to -look through the business books. Why did he shrink from it? - -Anne believed that he despised the business and, as in her mind the -business and the name of Ulwing were inseparable, she felt affronted by -her husband’s aloof indifference. In the beginning, she had frequently -raised the question with Thomas. He always maintained a repelling -silence. - -She turned to him, but her husband, as if divining her thoughts, -anticipated her. - -“Let us leave that alone, darling. I won’t interfere with the affairs -of the Ulwing business.” He thought of what her father had told him -when he asked for his daughter’s hand. A man must keep his word even -if he has not given it formally. He put his arms out and drew his wife -onto his knee. - -“Let us stay together. I have to leave to-night, I am going shooting -to-morrow.” - -Anne put her arms round Thomas’s neck. However much she desired it, she -would not ask her husband in words not to go away from her. But to-day -she knew something that was sure to retain him. She smiled into his -face. - -“Do you know what day to-morrow is?” - -Thomas became cheerful. - -“Of course, Sunday. I can go to shoot.” - -“The third anniversary of our wedding,” whispered Anne. - -“Is that so? To-morrow?” Thomas’s eyes became affectionate with -grateful remembrance and he pressed his wife passionately to his -breast. He felt her slender body bend from his knee into his arms. Her -small, cool face, nestled close to his. Her hair smelt of violets. It -made him reel.... - -“He does not say he will stay at home,” thought Anne, “he never says -anything.” Her soul felt degraded by the caresses bestowed on her -body. “Never anything but this.... I don’t want it.” She pushed her -husband brusquely away and arranged her hair. - -Thomas felt a cold void in his lap. For a moment he looked disconcerted -into the air, then he collected himself. His love was a request from a -man, not the humble supplication of a beggar. He frowned obstinately. - -“When does your train start?” asked Anne, exhausting herself in the -effort to appear unaffected. - -The woman’s voice appeared quite strange to Illey. “She does not ask -me to stay. She sends me away from her,” and his countenance became at -once dark and hostile from the memory of thwarted desire. He pulled out -his watch. He returned it to his pocket without looking at it. He began -to hurry. He made his guns ready. The cartridge bag exhaled something -left in it by the woods. The straps cracked delicately, just like out -there, when they rubbed together over one’s shoulders; and his thoughts -were no more in the room, but were wandering far afield over boundless, -free lands, under the shining sun. - -Anne said no more and left the room. - -In the evening, while putting her little son to sleep, she thought of -past anniversaries.... Since when had life changed so much between her -and Thomas? The change must have come slowly, she had not noticed it. - -The child was asleep. Anne opened the door of the sunshine room and, -after a long time, unconsciously sat down to the piano. She did not -play, she did not sing, just leaned her head on it as if she were -leaning it on somebody’s shoulder. - -When Christopher arrived he found his sister there near the mute -instrument. - -Anne looked at her brother aghast. How he had changed of late. Clothes -of an English cut hung on his body. His once lovely hair with the -silver shine had thinned round his deep blue-veined temples. The light -eyelashes appeared heavy over his exhausted eyes. - -“And Thomas, gone a-shooting?” - -“Have you been ill?” asked Anne, sitting down opposite to him in the -dining room. - -“What makes you think so? No, just a trifle.” Christopher ate hastily, -speaking all the time in a snatchy way. “There is nothing the matter -with me, only my nerves are bad just now when I shall stand most in -need of them. I want to achieve great things. I have learned many new -things. But they require nerve.” - -He lit a cigar; the match moved queerly between his fingers. “In the -past life depended on the muscles of man, so development of muscles was -the principal aim of education. Now we have to rely for everything on -nerves, and nobody looks after them.” His mouth twitched slightly to -one side. “Tell me, Anne, do you feel sometimes as if strings quivered -in your neck high up to the brain?” - -“No, I don’t feel that,” said Anne, and stared at him. - -Christopher laughed, ill at ease. - -“Nor do I feel it, I only heard it spoken of. A friend of mine ... you -know ... nerves.” - -Anne pressed her folded hands convulsively, but her face remained calm. - -“Tell your friend that he is ill and that he better attend to it at -once.” - -Christopher blew the smoke into the air. - -“The old ones had more resistance than we. Our generation received so -many shocks when young. Do you remember the shell striking the house? -And the fire ... those among us who were weak were broken by it, those -who were strong became stronger. You became stronger. You are lucky, -Anne, and it is good to be near you, you are so sure and cool.” - -“Then do remain always near me, Christopher.” - -“Yes. By the way, do you sometimes start up in terror at night? You -understand, one can’t ask these things from a stranger ... and do you -never feel when you are alone, that somebody is standing behind your -back? He stands near the wall and watches what you are doing.” - -Anne looked horrified at her brother. - -“But that is folly....” - -“Stove-fairies and piano-mice,” said Christopher and smiled wearily -towards the green room. “And little George?” He laughed with forced -mirth, “he must be quite a little gentleman. I brought him a horse from -Paris. It has an engine inside, you wind it up like a clock and then it -runs. What wonders people invent nowadays!” - -He began to speak of cities, countries ... of the French Emperor, the -Paris Stock Exchange, the dresses of the Empress Eugénie. All the time -he smoked one cigar after another; after a time weariness disappeared -from his voice and his eyes became livelier. When he went downstairs he -whistled. Anne heard it clearly but it did not reassure her. - -Since his sister’s marriage Christopher had lived on the ground floor. -He had adapted two rooms of the old office which had been empty since -the business had dwindled. - -Flowers stood on the chest of drawers in the deep vaulted room. He -knew Anne had put them there. It was she who had put the lace mat on -the night table. For an instant he felt happy at being home again and -gave orders to the servant not to wake him in the morning; he wanted -to sleep. Then he remembered that he had business on the morrow with -his book-keeper. He had signed many bills in blank during his journey, -so that Otto Füger might send him some money. He had lost incessantly -at Baden-Baden and his stay in Paris had made a serious breach in his -purse. To-morrow all that would have to be reckoned up. Hazy ignorance -was comfortable, but the reckoning day was loathsome. - -He wanted to chase away unpleasant thoughts. They were like wasps, -returned to the attack, and stung him. - -And the business? How had the various enterprises prospered while he -had been away? The weekly reports were in his valise. He had never -found time to read them through. It didn’t matter. He had studied the -Stock Exchange in Paris. People got rich there in one day. All that was -required was a cool head. One must not lose one’s nerve. How much money -he had seen! How much! - -He extinguished the candle. He lay on his back with open eyes. For a -time his thoughts gave him a rest. The darkness was quite empty. How -many things had passed through his darknesses! Ancient fairies and -dwarfs. Sophie, his first love. Girls from the streets, actresses, -women, beautiful grand ladies, cold and indifferent in day time, -passionate and exacting at night. Enough. They interested him no more. -The only thing that mattered to him now was money, the mighty mass of -money which flows incessantly between the hands of men, like a great -dominating river, from one end of the world to the other. One had only -to dig a channel for the river and it would flow wherever one liked. -He saw it on the Paris Stock Exchange. How much money.... - -The darkness of Christopher’s night was suddenly empty no more. - -Money!... That was the whole secret.... And he began to long for it as -he used to yearn in days gone by for women. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -The hanging lamp over the table in the green room had been lit. - -Anne’s hand fell slowly from the child’s cap she was crocheting. -She had been aware for a long time of the irregular sounds of -Christopher’s steps. Her brother walked restlessly up and down the -rooms. Occasionally he bumped into the open wings of doors, then again -he would make aimless, unnecessary circuits round the furniture. - -Anne noticed that Thomas dropped the newspaper he was reading upon his -knees. He too was listening to the disordered steps. - -Again Christopher came in collision with a door, then he stopped -nervously near the table. - -“Land fetches a big price nowadays.” While he spoke he lit a cigar and -the smoke came in puffs from his lips. “It will never again fetch as -much. We ought to sell some of the building sites; we have too many; at -any rate I know of a better investment.” - -Anne did not like the idea. She would have liked to keep everything as -it had been left to them by their grandfather. - -“Our grandfather would be the first to exploit this exorbitant boom,” -said Christopher with unnecessary temper. “You don’t understand these -things, my dear.” - -Anne sighed. - -“You are right. Speak to Thomas about it.” - -“To me?” Illey laughed frigidly. Looking at Christopher his expression -became haughty. “I understand that you gamble on the Stock Exchange and -that you win. Take care. It is always like that at the start and then -fortune turns. People only stop it when they have broken their necks.” - -“You have to remain cool, nothing else,” growled Christopher, “one must -not lose one’s nerve. Anyhow, that has nothing to do with it. What is -your opinion about selling building sites?” - -Thomas shrugged his shoulders. - -“I have no opinion. I am unacquainted with the circumstances.” He was -aware that his obstinate reticence was nothing but the expression of -his disappointed hopes. Yet he could not alter it. - -Christopher was delighted that everything went so smoothly. As a matter -of fact he had already sold some of the sites. Now that the deed was -done, he was given the required consent. He breathed more freely. He -would sell the old timber yard too. Otto Füger was a clever go-between. - -Anne took up her work again. Thomas’s aloof indifference revolted her. -She had lost her confidence in Christopher. She suspected Otto Füger, -but she did not understand business. She had never been taught anything -but to sing, to embroider, to play the piano and to dance. - -She decided that when her little girl was born, she would make her -learn everything that her mother did not know. And while still young, -she should be taught that people can never be entirely happy. She -would tell it to her simply, so that she could understand and not be -obliged later on to hug to herself something that nobody wants and -that is always unconsciously trampled on by those to whom it is vainly -proffered. - -But the little girl, for whom Anne was waiting in the old house, never -came. In spring the second boy was born and he was christened Ladislaus -Thomas John Christopher in the old church, now rebuilt, at Leopold’s -town. - -After that Anne was ill for a long time. The cold gleam, which had -formerly made her glance so hard, disappeared from her eye. The lines -of her fine eyebrows softened down. Her boyish bony little hands became -softer, more womanly. - -Then she was about again, but the shadow of her sufferings remained on -her face. - -Thomas was courteous and attentive. He brought her books. For hours he -read to her aloud, without stopping, as if driven; he seemed to fear -Anne’s gaze which his eye had to face when he put the book down. What -did this gaze want? Did it say anything, or ask, or beg, or command? -No, Anne wanted nothing more from him. The time was past when.... He -buried his face sadly in his hands. - - * * * * * - -Year by year Thomas became more taciturn and if Anne asked him -whether anything hurt him or if he had any worries, he shook his head -impatiently. No, there was nothing the matter with him; that was just -his Hungarian nature. - -But when he took his son on his knee he told him tales of big forests, -an ancestral country house, an old garden. Fields, horses, harvests in -the glaring sun ... and his face became rejuvenated and he held his -head as of old, in the little glen, when he turned towards the sun. - -Anne had become accustomed not to be told these things by her husband. -Nor did she mention Ille when letters in a female hand came thence and -one handwriting, with its shapeless, rustic characters, repeated itself -frequently. When once it happened that Otto Füger brought the mail up, -Anne found one of these letters on the piano. She took it into her hand -and the contact made her tremble. She had to struggle against herself; -was it pride, honesty, or cowardice? She put the envelope untouched on -Thomas’s table. She did not question him, she did not complain, but she -never spoke of Ille again. - -From that time the name of this strange land became a ghost in the -house. They never pronounced it, but it was ever there between them. - -It seemed to Anne that even now it was stealing, hostile, through the -silence, drawing Thomas away from her. Desperate fear possessed her; -she felt that she was going to be left alone in icy darkness with no -way out of it. - -“Thomas,” she said imploringly, as if calling for help, “why can’t we -talk to each other?” - -Illey raised his head from between his hands. - -“Are you reproaching me with my nature again?” - -Anne perceived impatient irritation in her husband’s voice. - -“I did not mean it like that”; the woman stopped short as if a hand had -been put rudely before her mouth. - -Night was pouring slowly into the sunshine room. They could not see -each other’s faces when Thomas began suddenly to listen; he seemed to -hear suppressed sobs.... No, it was imagination; his wife never cried. -They had been silent for such a long time that Anne had merely fallen -asleep in the corner of the couch. Illey rose and closed the door -noiselessly behind him. - -During Anne’s illness Thomas had moved from the common bedroom into -the back room which had once belonged to Ulwing the builder. When she -improved, he did not himself know why, he remained there. His wife did -not oppose it and he was fond of the room. From the window he could -touch the leaves of the chestnut tree and after rain the smell of the -damp earth in the garden reached him. - -He sat on the window sill. Outside, the trees whispered. - -Thomas’s mind was gone from among the closed walls. Desire carried -his soul beyond the town. He strolled alone and was met by a breeze -smelling of rain. How he loved that! How he loved everything out of -doors: the smells, the colours, the sounds, the steaming bogs of -boiling summer, the frozen roads of winter, where one’s footsteps -ring and the branches crack as they fall. Then the wind rises from -the soughing reeds and life trembles over the world. In the furrows, -the water soaks into the ground. The wood resounds with the amorous -complaint of birds. Call ... answer. Do they always find their mate? - -In his heart Thomas nearly felt the silence of the woods. The seed of -reproduction falls in this trembling, solemn peace. Birds float slowly -in the sunshine. When the hour of the crops comes, summer is there. -Harvest is in full swing everywhere and his blood is haunted with -inherited memories. How often, how often, he has stopped at the edge of -somebody else’s wheat-field and clenched his fist. Nowhere in the world -is anything growing for him. - -This memory brought sad autumn weather to his mind. A deep sad fall -... and he comes in a mist towards the town. He comes like an escaped -convict brought back to his prison. Again the paved streets and narrow -strips of smoky sky. Office, blotches of ink, paper and the old house, -which is strange to him, and the lovely cold woman who does not -understand him. - -Dim recollections stole upon him. Again he seemed to feel Anne’s two -little protesting hands on his breast and that unsympathetic look which -had more than once repelled his desire. - -He stretched his hand out of the window towards the chestnut tree. He -picked a young shoot. The bough yielded itself easily, moist, fresh.... - -He thought of someone who had yielded herself as easily as the young -shoot. She had been bred there on his old land, the daughter of the -keeper in the swampy wood. Humble, as the former serf-girls had been -with his ancestors, pretty too, with laughing eyes. She never asked -what her master was brooding about, and yet she knew. The woods, the -meadows, she too thought of them and she sang of them with the very -voice of the earth. One did not need to listen, one could whistle, she -expected no praise. No more do the birds.... - -Thomas could not remember how it was at first that he desired the girl. -He simply wanted her, like the perfume of the woods, the soft meadows -under his feet. His inherited man-conscience did not reprove him. He -did not think there was any sin, any unfaithfulness in it, for he did -not love this girl. He really believed that he did not wrong Anne or -deprive her of anything to which she attached any importance. - -He leaned again out of the window. He looked up to the sky. He would -see it to-morrow above the woods.... Then he reached for his hat. A -rare event with him, he longed to hear some gipsy music. He wanted to -be solitary, somewhere where the fiddle played for him alone. - -He hesitated before Anne’s door. Should he go in? Perhaps she was still -asleep.... - -His steps sounded in the sunshine room. Anne jumped up. If Thomas were -to open the door she would throw herself into his arms ... but the -steps passed by. - -She started to run after him, then stopped wearily before the -threshold. She would abase herself uselessly. And as she stood there -she remembered something. A dream. A desolated strange street. One -solitary person at the furthest end. Thomas ... and she runs after -him, but the distance does not become less. The street becomes longer. -Thomas seems always further and further away and she cannot reach -him.... - -She thought of her girlhood, the time full of promises. Was this to be -their realization? Would everything remain forever like this? Would -she and Thomas never come together again? Live with each other and look -at each other and remain strangers? - -She shuddered as though she were cold. - -Then she noticed that for a long time someone had been ringing the -front door bell. Who could it be? The old friends came no more to her. -Thomas was taciturn with them too. They may have thought it conceit -and all stayed away. The relations of the Illey family were avoided -by Anne. The voice of Bertha Bajmoczy stood between her and the -descendants of the old landlords. - -A knock at the door. A lamp was burning in the corridor and the shape -of a man appeared in the opening. - -It was Adam Walter. - -“After all this time....” And Anne thought how wonderful it was that -the old friend should come back just this day when she felt her life so -poor and lonely. Joy came to her heart for a moment. It seemed to her -that her youth, her girlhood, had returned to her, with everything that -distance embellished. - -Adam Walter was grave and serious like a man who has painful memories -to bury in himself. Yet his eyes followed Anne’s movements eagerly -while she reached to light the lamp. He longed and feared to see her -face again. - -“She has suffered since I have seen her,” thought Adam Walter, “and it -has beautified her.” Anne’s veiled voice and her look broke open in -him a wound which he thought had long ago healed. He too remembered his -youth, when he went away from her all unsuspecting, when he worked, -when he dreamed. Then he heard that Anne had married and in the same -instant he realized that he loved her. He had loved her always. - -She seemed strangely tall and slender to him. The flame flared up. - -“To be here again with you ... it’s too good to be true.” - -“You ought not to speak like that.” Anne smiled her old, young smile, -“or do you still say everything that passes through your mind? Do you -remember the Ferdinand Müllers? And the new sign, the white head of -Æsculapius? How we laughed....” - -“In those times everything was different,” said Walter dryly. - -Anne looked at him. “He too has become old. How hard his looks are,” -and the smile that had rejuvenated her vanished from her face. - -And Walter’s voice became ironical. - -“And I thought I would create like God, just like Him. Then my opera -failed, nobody wanted my sonatas. Nobody ... and now I am humbly -thankful to become assistant professor in the National Academy of -music.” He laughed lifelessly. “But perhaps it was bound to be like -that. When a man in his youth wants to become like God, he becomes -at least an assistant professor in the end; who knows that if he had -started with the ambition of becoming an assistant professor he would -have ended by becoming nothing at all.” - -Anne looked sadly down. “So he too has failed to grasp what he reached -for. Does nobody grasp it?” - -“Once upon a time we were all revolutionaries,” said Walter, “for is -not youth a revolution in itself? We are all borne to the executioner: -one for a thought, the other for a dream, and ... all of us for love. -It sounds mad, but it is so. Man must die many deaths in himself to -be able to live. I was just the same as the others and those that are -young to-day are as we were in old times. In its unlimited conceit -youth of every age believes that it has discovered the rising of the -sun and all youth shouts vehemently that its sun will never set. That -is as it ought to be. When the sun comes to set, the youth of another -age believes the same thing. Men drop out, but their faith remains in -others, and in others again, and that is the thing that matters.” - -It seemed to Anne, that Adam Walter, who once, when he was young, had -guided her thoughts to freedom, now taught her the art of compromise. - -Again Walter attempted to be ironical, but his voice failed him. - -“Man is full of colours, brilliant colours, when he starts. They all -wear off. Only grey remains. The awful grey spreads and becomes greyer -and greyer till it covers the man and his life.” - -“Oh, Walter, how sad all this is....” - -“To me it is sad no more. I have got over it. Don’t be sorry for me, -please. Even for the grey people there are still some lovely things -in this world. The grey ones see other people’s colours. They alone -can see them truly. Since I have renounced creating myself, I enjoy -peacefully, profoundly, other people’s creations. Before, I was -aggressive and impatient, now I love even Schumann and Schubert, and -all those who have dreamed and who woke from their dreams.” - -Anne sat with half-closed eyes, bent a little, and her pale hands were -interlocked over her knee. - -“Have I grieved you?” asked Walter hesitatingly. - -The woman shook her head. - -“You have made me understand my own life....” - -“So she is no happier than I am,” thought Walter, and for the moment he -felt irrepressibly reconciled to his fate. Then he was ashamed of the -feeling. He had no right to it. Anne was not to blame for his state of -mind. She knew nothing of it. - -“Do sing something....” - -She looked at him with large, beaming eyes. It was a long time since -anybody had said this to her. - -They began to talk of music. And this changed them into their old -selves; they were boy and girl again, just as on Sundays in the old -days. - -“Come again soon and bring your violin with you,” said Anne when they -took leave of each other. Then it struck her that neither of them had -mentioned Thomas. - -Adam Walter and Thomas Illey never became friends. They met with -courteous rigidity. Adam Walter smiled disparagingly at Illey’s views, -while Illey’s mocking gaze tried to call Anne’s attention to the -musician’s ill-cut clothes and shapeless heavy boots. - -It mattered little to Anne. The piano stood mute no more in the -sunshine room and a bright ray of light was cast on her life by the -revival of music, which indifference and want of appreciation had -silenced for so long. Its resurrection was her salvation. Her soul -ceased to be strangled by the torture of enforced silence; it found -relief and took flight on the wings of songs, attended, through many -quiet evenings, by Walter’s soul cast into the music of his violin. - -Christopher looked in occasionally. He patted his old school-mate on -the back and whistled softly to the music while he ran through Stock -Exchange reports in the papers. Soon after his uneven steps passed -again through the corridor. - -He could not find peace anywhere. Calculations swarmed in his head. -They appeared, but before he was able to grasp them they scattered and -vanished. He had no idea if he was winning or losing and he dared not -look at his accounts. Money became dearer and dearer. Banks restricted -their credit. Suspicious rumours from Vienna reached the Stock Exchange -of Pest. Quotations fluctuated and declined slowly, but he lacked the -resolution to wind up his transactions. He was still waiting, still -buying. He became intoxicated with the fascination of risks and blind -hopes. His nerves were in a constant state of tremulous tension. The -lust for gain became the torturing passion of his soul. - -His grandfather had been the money’s conqueror, his father its guardian -and he, it seemed, was to become its adventurer. No matter, chance -helped adventurers. - -His nights became very long. Restlessly, Christopher turned his head -from one side to the other on his hot pillow. He rose early. He was no -longer contented to send his agents on ’Change. He wanted to see the -confusion, hear the noise, feel the universal pulsation of money as -evinced in the excitement of the crowd. - -He rushed through the office. Otto Füger had become manager with full -powers. He arranged the cover for speculations, he received and paid -out money in the name of the firm. Christopher had no time to see to -anything. In unbusinesslike handwriting he put his name to anything. -Then he rushed away, leaving the doors open behind him. - -It was a lovely May morning. - -At the Exchange in Dorothea Street brokers stood on the stairs and -transacted their business, leaning against the balustrade. Men stood -in small groups in the acid, stuffy air of the cloak-room. Subdued -talk was heard here and there. An old fat man with his hat perched on -the back of his head, passed wheat between his fingers from one hand -to the other. Near the window a red-haired broker held some crushed -maize in the palm of his hand. He lifted it up, now and then, and at -intervals pushed his tongue out between his yellow teeth. Scattered -grain crackled under people’s feet. - -Doors banged in the big hall of the Stock Exchange. The lesser fry was -pushed back. There was a crush round the bankers’ boxes. Slowly the -masters of the Exchange arrived. People saluted them respectfully, -as if they were paid for it. The unimportant ones used to read their -faces, the gestures of their hands. The great ones looked indifferent, -though they were the men who held the secrets which mean money. Nervous -heads swayed round a fat, owl-like face. Those behind pressed eagerly -forward. - -Near Christopher a red-eyed, seedy-looking man shrank to the wall. -A worn out, long, silk purse was in his hand. He began to suck the -ivory ring of the purse; people collided with him and the ring knocked -against his teeth; but he went on sucking it. - -“I sell....” - -“I buy ...” cries came from all sides like the shrieks of hawks. - -Somebody’s hat fell on the floor ... it was trampled under foot. A -freckled hand waved a bundle of papers. - -“I sell ...” it came denser and denser. The brokers of the big banks -shouted themselves hoarse. The noise increased. The stocks fell. - -“Now ... now is the time to buy,” thought Christopher in deadly -excitement. His shrieks joined the general pandemonium. - -“People’s Bank, ninety-two....” - -“Eighty ...” bellowed a brute voice. - -“Seventy-six....” - -Arms rose. Hands moved from their wrists, flabby, like rags. - -“Industrial Bank....” - -“Credit Institute....” - -“Forty-five ... forty-two.” - -Faces were aflame. The gamble became a wildfire, roasting people’s -skins. Rumours spread through the hall. Nobody knew whence they came, -they simply were suddenly there and then scattered all over the place. - -A deafening uproar followed. People blindly believed anything. Prices -fell. Somebody bought. Blind confidence returned. - -“I buy....” - -Unconfirmed news of disaster came again. The whole ’Change became -a whirlpool, as if it had been stirred round. Nobody knew what was -happening. Telegram forms flew over the place. Fists beat wildly on the -air.... Everything was upside down. - -A man with sweaty face flew like an arrow into the crowd. - -“There is a Black Saturday in Vienna! News has just arrived. There is a -slump all over Europe.” Quotations fell head over heel. - -A big broker tried to stem the tide. It swept him away. It was all -over.... In a few seconds people, families, institutions, were ruined. -Lost were the easily-won fortunes of the day before, never seen by -those who owned them. Lost were the old fortunes amassed by the hard -work of several generations.... - -Christopher leaned his snow-white face against the wall. Near him, the -seedy-looking man continued mechanically to suck the ring of his purse. -He could not take his eyes off him. He stared at him while he was -ruined. - -The brokers came panting. No, it was now impossible to sell anything. -What stood for money an hour ago had become a valueless scrap of paper. - -The porter of the Stock Exchange rang the bell. The death-knell. - -Christopher could only mumble. Nobody listened to him, his own agents -left him there. Only the weird man looked at him with funny, bloodshot -eyes. - -Then strange faces passed quite near to his face. A sickening smell -of perspiration moved with them in the air. Christopher’s eyes became -rigid and glassy. Faces ... faces of a strange race. Some smiled pale -smiles. These had won. Everything would be theirs, it was only a -question of time. Theirs the gold, the town, the country. - -And the grandson of Ulwing the builder, ruined, tottered through the -gates of the Stock Exchange among the new men. - -Life became confused and dreary. After Black Saturday, the Stock -Exchange differences were enormous. No bright Sunday shone for -Christopher. He had to pay, and, as he had never reckoned, he attacked -Anne’s fortune too. This was a secret between Otto Füger and himself. -He said nothing of it to Thomas. - -He clutched like a drowning man. He wanted to turn everything into -money. To hide the truth, to keep up appearances as long as possible -... fighting, lying. Sometimes Otto Füger whispered into his ears and -then he shrivelled up and looked horrified at the door. - -“No, no, tell them to-morrow.... It cannot be done to-day!” - -From day to day, from hour to hour, he kept things going and the -strings of his nerves tightened in his neck. To gain time, if only -minutes ... even a minute is a long time for a man clinging to his life. - -Summer passed like this and then, in autumn, came the terrible wave -of bankruptcy affecting the whole building trade. The firm of Münster -became insolvent. Many of the new businesses went bankrupt. Christopher -alone kept himself still going and one afternoon he carried his last -hope to Paternoster Street. - -No one took any notice of him in the office. One inferior clerk to -whom he told his name stared over his head. He had to wait a long time -before he entered the manager’s office. - -The manager was reading a letter at his writing-table and seemed to -take no notice of his presence. Christopher could not help remembering -how different everything had been when he signed his first bill in -this same office. The smoky low room had disappeared and the business -occupied the whole building. It had become a bank. - -His eyes were arrested by the fat, owl-like head of the all-powerful -manager. He recognised in him suddenly the little owl-faced clerk who -in those old times cringed humbly before him. The proportions of his -face had doubled since, and so had his body; there was scarcely room -enough for him in the armchair. - -The director came to the letter’s end. He lowered his head like a bull -preparing to charge and his dull eyes looked suspiciously over his -spectacles at Christopher. - -“I have the pleasure of seeing Mr. Ulwing? Yes ... of course, of -course, I know the firm. A connection dating from our youth.... -Once I happened to have the good fortune of meeting a certain old -Mr. Christopher Ulwing. Any relation of yours? A powerful man, a -distinguished man.” - -“My grandfather....” - -The manager became at once very polite. He offered Christopher a seat. - -“Can I be of any service to you?” - -Christopher was startled by this question, though he had naturally -expected it. He cast his eyes down, pale, suffering. He would have -liked to defer the answer. Until it was given there was still one last -hope. After that none might be left. - -Owl-face moved the side-pieces of his gold-rimmed spectacles which made -an impression on his fleshy temples. - -“I am at your orders,” he said a little impatiently, looking at the -clock on the wall. - -Christopher made an effort. - -“I want a loan.” - -The manager at once became cold and haughty. - -“Everybody wants one nowadays. Black Saturday has ruined many people.” - -“I don’t deny that it has caused some temporary embarrassment to my -firm too....” - -“I know,” said the manager drily. - -The whole face of Christopher was anxiously convulsed. - -“A short loan would help me considerably....” - -“What security do you offer? The name of Ulwing?” Owl-face smiled, -“that I am afraid is no longer enough....” - -“My books are at your disposal, allow me ...” stuttered Christopher. He -felt clearly that he was humiliating himself before a stranger, though -he knew but dared not confess to himself that it was useless. He also -knew that it was hopeless to argue and still he argued. - -The manager looked coldly into his eyes. - -“The Bank is carefully informed of everything.” - -Christopher drew his head between his shoulders as if expecting a blow. -He twisted his mouth helplessly to one side. - -“You came too late to me, much too late,” continued Owl-face. “Is it -not a fact that the house alone remains the property of the Ulwings? -It is true it could not be sold at present. Times are bad, but if I -remember aright the grounds are exceptionally large, well situated in -the middle of the town, and could bear a heavy mortgage.” - -Christopher hung his head in desperation. The manager looked at him -over his spectacles expectantly. For an instant, kind, human pity -appeared in his eyes, then he sighed and dropped his hand with a heavy -movement on his knee. - -“I can lend you money on the house. That is the only way I can do it.” - -With a motion of his hand, Christopher waved the suggestion away. He -was in the mire, but he had strength enough to escape drowning in it. -He struggled no more with himself. He felt he could never touch the -house. At least let that be preserved clear for Anne. The house, the -dear old house.... - -The banker rose when he had shaken hands with Christopher and went with -him to the door. - -“I was a great admirer of Mr. Ulwing the builder. I am sorry I cannot -oblige his grandson. Perhaps another time,” he added in a murmur, as if -he did not believe it himself. - -Christopher smiled convulsively, painfully. Even when he reached the -street this smile remained on his face and tortured his features. -He caught hold of the corner of his mouth and pulled it downwards, -sideways. - -He did not know where he went. He ran into people. An old gentleman -shouted at him angrily: - -“Can’t you look out, young man?” - -Christopher looked at him wearily. He thought how this old man was -younger than he, because he would live longer than he. - -When he reached home, he threw himself on his bed. Curiously, he fell -asleep at once. The heavy dreams of exhaustion took possession of him. -Sweat ran from his brow. - -When he woke, it was quite dark in the room. At first he knew not where -he was, nor what had happened. Then, with a shock, he remembered. -He moaned like a suffering animal that cannot tell its pains.... He -could stand solitude no more. Already he was on the threshold. On the -staircase he looked at his watch. Eleven o’clock. He knocked timidly at -the door of the sunshine room. - -“Anne, are you asleep?” - -“Yes, a long time ago,” answered his sister inside. The door opened. -Anne tried to look gay, but her eyes were sad. - -“Do you remember, Christopher, how often you asked that question in the -old times from your little railed bed?” - -“And you answered then as you did now. Then too I was afraid.” - -Anne looked him straight in the eyes. - -“What do you mean?” - -Christopher laughed curiously. - -“Can’t I make a joke when I am merry? And what are you doing so late?” -He looked at the table. Under the shaded lamp lay account books and -bills. - -“I have learnt about accounts,” said Anne wearily, “so many bills have -accumulated lately. The tradesmen worry me and I receive no money from -the office. I cannot understand why Otto Füger delays things like -this.” She stopped suddenly, thinking of something else. “Did you -hear?” and she began to run towards the nursery. - -Christopher dragged his steps behind her. - -On the chest of drawers a night-lamp was burning. In the deep recess of -the earthenware stove water was warming in a jug. Anne leaned over one -of the beds and her voice sounded softly in the silence of the room: - -“Here I am....” - -Christopher’s heart was touched by these three short words, which meant -so much. He too had, once upon a time, slept in the very same little -bed, he too had waked with a start, had been afraid, but no mother’s -voice came to say: “Here I am.” He had never known a light cool hand -caressing for caresses’ sake, two warm womanly arms embracing chastely, -nor the clear smile that has no design. He did not know her who -understands all and forgives all, and who says when one is miserable: -“Here I am!” Yet just that might have been enough to alter his life. - -“They are lucky,” muttered Christopher as he went back to the sunshine -room. Anne, before shutting the door behind her, put a piece of paper -between the two wings. She never forgot that. The loose old doors had -glass panes and rattled if a carriage passed down below in the street; -this frightened little Ladislaus. - -“This ought to be set right....” - -Christopher sat in silence in the corner of the sofa with the many -flowers. He paid no attention. Under his motionless eyelids he looked -wearily all round the room. He noticed suddenly that Anne said nothing. -Why did she not speak? She would help him if she said something, -anything, words, ordinary matter-of-fact everyday words, which had a -sound, which lived and caught hold of his mind, which held him back if -only for a minute at the brink of the abyss which threatened him and -filled him with horror. - -“Anne, tell me a story.” - -She looked up from the little drawer into which she had locked her -bills. - -“Tell you a story? What are you thinking about? How can I tell a story -who am living within four walls?” she smiled and put her hand on her -brother’s shoulder. - -“Well, little Chris, once upon a time there was an old house: in that -house lived a woman who never could sleep her fill, because her two -sons waked her up early every morning....” - -Christopher’s face twitched as he rose. - -“You are right, let us go to sleep....” He bent down and kissed his -sister’s hand. “Good night, Anne, and....” He wanted to say something -more, but turned his head away with an effort and left the room. - -In the corridor he stopped near the loose stone slab and tried it. It -was still loose. The ticking of the marble clock accompanied him once -more down the stairs. - -In his deep, vaulted room a candle was burning, but the small flame -could not cope with the big room and left cavelike dark corners. A big -white spot attracted Christopher’s eyes. While he had been with Anne, -the servant had made his bed and his clothes for the morrow were lying -there ready on a chair. He could not bear this sight. To-morrow.... He -choked. In that moment a delicate crackling reached his ear. He turned -towards it. - -The fire was burning in the stove and shone through the old tiles. -Christopher went up to it, leaned his hand on the stove and looked -through the ventilators. Small flames flickered among the logs. He -looked at them for some time with extraordinary interest, then raised -himself with a sigh. - -Life had deprived him of everything. Whenever he inspected closely -things he believed in, he always found them to be delusions, just like -the stove fairies. He had been running after delusions too when he had -fallen. He had broken when he fell; it was useless to try to stand up -again; he could do it no more. Even if he could, what good would it be? -All the people he had come in contact with had broken a piece off his -soul, taken it with them and cast it away. Where was he to seek the -scattered pieces?... What was left to him was too little for life. A -little honour, very little. A little pity for Anne ... nothing else. - -His hand slid from the stove. Why warm it now, it was no longer worth -while.... - -He went to the writing-table. Then, as if disgusted, he pushed the -papers away from himself. He turned back at the threshold. He threw a -packet of letters into the fire. He put his watch and his empty purse -on the table. No, he had nothing else on him. - -In the garden the autumnal leaves rustled gently, as if somebody’s -teeth chattered in the dark. Christopher slunk with bent back out of -the gate ... only the two pillar-men looked after him. - -“Just like a thief.” Somehow, he could not understand why, his -grandfather’s funeral came to his mind. The mayor, the city councillors, -the flags of the guilds. The priests sang and the bells tolled.... He -leaned back, then he went on with his unsteady, heavy steps. - -The night was dense. In the mist the city looked like a reflection in -grey, murky water. The light of the gas lamps faded away into the air, -the walls of the houses faded, the people’s faces faded. With a shudder -Christopher turned up the collar of his coat. - -He reached the Danube. He sought his way between the barrels and bags -of the docks. Then he sat down on the lowest step, put his arms around -his shins and leaned his forehead on his knees. He only wanted to rest -for an instant. Just for a short time. - -He opened his eyes. Why did he wait? All that was worth waiting for had -gone. - -In the damp air, the Danube seemed to rise.... It approached him with a -soft black movement. He shrank back instinctively, as if to escape, and -his hands clung in horror to the stones. - -Suddenly this passed away. The great river became beautiful and calm. -The lamps of the shore dipped swaying stairs of fire into the deep. The -river ceased to be hostile to Christopher. It whispered to him and, as -if recognising him, it called him, as it had called the Ulwings of old. - -The tired soul of Christopher responded to the appeal and his body -followed his soul. - -After that he never came back again. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - -Things and events in which Christopher had had a hand passed slowly, -painfully into oblivion. Hope was exhausted and the old house awaited -no more the home-coming of the last Ulwing. - -Anne knew everything.... The huge fortune of Ulwing the builder was -shattered before anybody had raised its gold to the sun. This fortune -had never shone and those still living only realized its immensity when -they saw its ruins. - -Thomas choked when he told Anne the truth. He was horrified by the -words he had to pronounce, he feared he would break his wife’s heart. - -Anne listened to him silently with bowed head, only her face became -deadly pale and her eyes turned dim like the eyes of one dangerously -ill. - -“For a long time I have feared this would happen,” she whispered -gently, and straightened herself up with a great effort as if to face -the misfortune. She seemed suddenly taller than usual. Her expression -became clear and brave and the fine lines of her chin strong and -determined. - -“Don’t spare me anything, Thomas. I want to know all.” After that she -only said that Christopher’s creditors were to be paid in full; she -would have no stain on the name of Ulwing. - -During the period that followed, Anne bore her ruin with the same -dominating will power that Ulwing the builder had shown in building up -his fortune. Thomas Illey discovered in Anne something he had not known -hitherto. An incomprehensible strength exuded from her, the tenacious -strength of the woman, which can be greater among ruins than when it is -called upon to build. - -Nobody ever heard her complain of the loss of her fortune, nor did -anybody ever see her weep. Only on the sides of her forehead a silvery -gleam began to appear in the warm, shaded gold of her hair. - -Thomas Illey was now forced to concern himself with the Ulwing -business. He asked for leave from his official duties and in front of -the grated ground-floor window of the builder’s former office he worked -hard with his lawyer among the muddled books. He arranged matters with -the creditors, and the firm of Ulwing, known by three generations, -ceased to exist. - -The small tablet was removed from the office door. The employés were -paid off. Of the ancient ones, only a few remained, old Gemming and Mr. -Feuerlein. The eyes of the clerk were very red when he took leave of -Anne. In the corridor, he turned back several times; he stopped on the -stairs; with knees knocking together he went round the garden and took -a white pebble with him as a keepsake. - -When they had gone, Otto Füger alone remained in his place for the -liquidation. Thomas rang for him. He asked for explanations. Vague -excuses were the answer. - -“He knows nothing about it,” thought Otto Füger and waited impatiently -for the hour when he would be free. - -Illey appeared always cool. He did not grope, and never lost his head. -He listened quietly to the end and stuck his hands into his pockets -while Füger took leave with deep obeisances. - -But he went unusually slowly up the stairs. When he turned from the -sordid details of the dissipation of this huge fortune, he was driven -to frenzy by the thought that an infinitely small portion of it would -have saved him the torture of his invincible longing for the lands of -Ille which had tarnished the years of his youth. He was wrung by a -bitterness that robbed him of speech when he came to face Anne. - -She looked at him. - -“Are you tired, Thomas?” - -Illey shook his head and pressed his open hand for an instant to his -chest, as if something weighed on him in the left breast-pocket of his -coat. - -Anne struggled silently with her thoughts. She was convinced that if -Thomas had made up his mind years ago to do the work he had done now, -Christopher might be alive, the firm might be alive, and the fortune -too. - -They accused each other without exchanging a word. Only when a long -time had passed did they notice, both of them, that their silence had -become cold and horrible and that they could not alter it. - -After a few days the lawyer stopped his visits. Thomas locked up the -business books and had the shutters fixed in the old study of Ulwing -the builder. He seemed quite calm now, only his face was thinner than -usual. In the outer office he stopped in front of Otto Füger and looked -motionlessly down on him. - -The former book-keeper became embarrassed. - -“Sad work,” he stuttered, while he took off his spectacles and wiped -them energetically, holding them near to his eyes. - -“Scoundrel,” said Thomas Illey with imperturbable calm, “you did your -stealing cleverly.” - -Otto Füger stared at him confounded. He was not prepared for this. His -lips parted, he wanted to protest. - -Illey looked down on him from head to foot. He exclaimed: - -“Clear out!” and, as Füger did not move, he gripped him by the -shoulders and without apparent effort, thrust him out of the door. The -spectacles had fallen to the ground; as if he would not touch them -with his hand for fear of pollution, Thomas pushed them with the tip of -his shoe to the threshold. - -Otto Füger spoke excitedly under the porch: - -“Defamation of character.... We shall meet again. Then we shall see. -I’ll have the law on you....” - -He never did. It was not in his interest to make a scandal. He was a -rich man now. - - * * * * * - -In the old house life became quiet and economical. The offices on the -ground floor were let to strangers. The lodgings of Mrs. Henrietta -and the stables were transformed into a warehouse by a wine-merchant. -He built up the windows and doors towards the back garden and made an -entrance from the street. Horses and carriages passed to strangers. Of -the servants only Florian and Netti remained, and old Mamsell Tini, who -wiped clandestine tears from her long, rigid face. - -Of late years the whole neighbourhood of the house had changed. In -place of the old timber yard strange apartment houses had risen -and their grimy walls looked hideously and impertinently into the -garden. Between the Ulwing house and the Danube a narrow street with -four-storey buildings. From her window Anne could no longer see the -lovely, wide river, the Castle hill, the spires, the Jesuits’ Stairs up -which she once used to climb to Uncle Sebastian. Morning came later to -the rooms than formerly. The houses opposite sent their shadows into -the windows. The sun shone into them no more and night fell earlier -than of old. - -Anne thought often that if her grandfather were to come back he would -feel strange in his old town and would not find his way home. - -The town grew rapidly and the years flew still faster. Everything -became faster than in the old times. Anne remembered how, when she was -a child, time passed smoothly, calmly, while now it rushed by as if it -went downhill. - -Thomas had a high and influential post in his office. For a long time -the two boys had been going to school, and Anne, hearing their lessons, -learned more than she had known before. - -In the garden the flowers began to bloom; the holidays came; then it -was again winter. - -Christmas eve. - -Not the former Christmas of childhood when all was wonder, when the -Christmas tree with shining candles was brought from woods beyond the -earth by angels above the snow-covered house tops. This was a Christmas -suitable for grown-up people, a sober Christmas. - -The boys smiled at the old tales. They themselves had decorated the -tree the evening before. After supper they both felt sleepy and -gathered their presents quietly together in the sunshine room. - -George had received a watch and books and a real gun from his father. -His mother had given building bricks to little Ladislaus. - -“Hurry up. It is late,” said Thomas. - -Sleep suddenly forsook the boys’ eyes. “Next Christmas I shall ask -for things to build a bridge with,” decided the smaller boy with true -childlike insatiability. - -George shrugged his shoulders. - -“If I were you I should ask for horses like those we saw in the shop -window the other day. When I was little they did not make such lovely -toys as they do now.” - -“You are for ever thinking of horses,” retorted the little son. “I want -to build bridges. When I am grown up I shall build a bridge over the -Danube and get a lot of toll from everybody.” - -“Don’t be silly,” said the elder, “as if one could not get rich with -horses!” - -Thomas smiled and looked at his wife. - -“They have got your grandfather’s fine blood in them.” - -Anne looked after the boys. The younger was fair and blue-eyed like -the Ulwings. His bony little fist resembled his great-grandfather’s -powerful hand and when he got into a temper his jaw went to one side -and his eyes became cold. - -“Yes, but their appearance and movements are yours, the shape of their -heads too,” said she, and, a thing she had not done for a long time, -she stroked Thomas’s head where it curved in such a noble, fine line -into his neck. She did it out of gratitude, because she loved his -blood in her sons. Then her hand slid into her husband’s shoulder and -an inordinate longing came over her to lean her forehead on it. But -what would Thomas think of it? After all these years? Perhaps he would -be astonished and misconstrue it? She blushed faintly and recovered -herself. She remembered that whenever she was seeking pure tenderness, -Thomas gave her something else. Men never understand women when they -ask them for something for their soul. - -Anne stood a moment longer near her husband and then, as if overflowing -with feelings she could not express, she moved irresistibly towards the -piano. - -“You want to sing?” asked Thomas, out of humour now. “Has not Adam -Walter promised to come? You will be able to have plenty of music then.” - -Anne stopped and looked at him over her shoulder. The corners of her -eyes and lips rose slowly, sadly. - -“Come and sit by me,” said Thomas, “let us talk.” - -“Talk....” The word repeated itself on Anne’s lips like a lifeless -echo. Was not this word only a name, the name of something that never -came when called for? - -They looked at each other enquiringly for a little, then there was -resigned silence. There had been so many short words and long silences -between them, during which they were going further and further apart, -retreating into their own souls instead of coming nearer to each -other, that they had to make a fresh start if they wanted to talk to -each other. A start from a painfully long distance and ... this was -Christmas eve. - -“Do you hear?” - -Anne shuddered and looked shiveringly towards the dark rooms. - -A delicate sound repeated itself obstinately, like the sound of a tiny -drill working in the depth of things. It started over and over again. -For an instant it came from under the whitewash of the ceiling, then up -from the floor, from the windows, from the beams, from everywhere. - -“Do you hear?” asked Thomas and his hands stopped in the air in the -middle of the movement. - -“I have heard it for a long time.” Anne’s lips trembled while she tried -to smile. They both became silent again and the weevil continued its -work in the old house. - -Thomas started when the steps of Adam Walter resounded from the -corridor. He went to meet him and took the violin case out of his hand. - -“Welcome, dear troubadour,” then, as if he had himself noticed his -careless irony, he added: “Do sit down, my dear professor,” and offered -cigars to his guest. - -“But of course, you want to make music. My wife has already started, -an hour ago, to air the piano.” He laughed quietly, looking mockingly -at the end of Walter’s necktie which pointed rigidly into the air -beside his white collar. - -“What is the news in town?” - -“I only see musicians,” said Walter with good-natured condescension, -“and they are fighting at present over the score of the artist Richard -Wagner’s Parsifal. They are coming to blows.” - -“Do tell me, professor, do you really take those things seriously? Do -you consider Art something quite serious?” - -Adam Walter wrinkled his low brow. He smiled with mocking forbearance. - -Anne looked at him as if making a request that he should not continue -the subject. It was always painful to her when her husband talked of -these things. She found him on these occasions hopelessly inconsequent, -obstinately perverse. She did not like to see him like that. - -“I know you are angry if I say so,” Thomas continued lightheartedly, -“but my Hungarian breed can see nothing in Art but an explanatory -imitation of Nature. We have no need of artists to stand between us and -living nature. Any shepherd or cowherd can see the sunset of the great -plain without the need of having its beauty worked into verses.” - -Walter turned away as if he tried to escape Anne’s irresistible -imploring look. He wanted to answer, for he felt he ought to answer. - -“I understand music only. I can speak of that alone. That is not an -explanatory imitation of nature, it is man’s only artistic achievement -which lives in him, and comes out of his very own self.” - -“I think so too,” said Anne gently. “Every art represents what exists, -music alone creates what has never existed.” - -“How they agree,” thought Thomas, vexed. Then, rather disdainfully: - -“Do not the musicians learn from the reeds, the thunder, the wind, the -birds?” - -“Nature only knows harmony and discord,” answered Adam Walter, “melody -has been created by man. Nature knows no melody.” - -“Don’t say so, professor; have you never walked in the woods? Have you -never slept on the moss near a brook?” - -Adam Walter shook his head. - -“I am afraid we don’t understand each other.” - -“It seems impossible,” said Illey. “You are one of those who like the -painted landscape more than the real, live country. I don’t want to -smell the violet in the scent bottle, but at the edge of the woods.” - -Walter looked suddenly at Anne and then, as if comparing her with -Thomas. - -“Mr. Illey, you seem to me like the music of the Tsigans.” - -“Tsigan music,” repeated Anne thoughtfully, “and I, what am I?” - -“You are a song by Schubert,” answered the musician. - -“The two don’t fit well together.... Do light a cigar, professor. But, -of course, you want to make music.” - -But that day Adam Walter did not draw his violin from its case. A small -nosegay was in it. It was meant for Anne, but it remained there too. He -took it away with him, out into the snow, back into the white Christmas -night. - -When he came again he brought a larger bunch of flowers. It was a poor, -ungainly bunch wrapped up in a newspaper. He put it awkwardly on the -piano near Anne, and became more and more embarrassed. - -“Please don’t thank me, it is not worth it. I thought of it quite by -chance.” - -Something flashed into Anne’s face which resembled pain. She did not -hear Walter’s voice any more, she knew no more that he had brought -her flowers; all she remembered was that Thomas never, never gave her -flowers. - -“Why? ...” and her hands raised doubtful, dreamy chords from the -piano. Her tender, meek face became unconsciously tragical. She began -to sing.... A deep question sang through her voice. The whole life -of a woman sobbed in it, complained, implored. It rent the heart, it -clamoured for the unattainable, the promises of past youth, the dream, -the realization. - -Adam Walter became obsessed by the rapt womanly voice. He went to the -door, shut it carelessly, then leaned immobile against the wall.... He -stood there spellbound, even after the last sound had died away. He was -not in time to harden his features into calmness, and Anne understood -his expression, because she was suffering herself at the time. She -received with a grateful smile the tenderness which came to her.... -They remained like that for an instant. Anne was the first to awake. -And as if she wanted to wake him, she looked towards the door. - -“I closed it,” said Walter humbly, “in order that your voice should be -nobody’s but mine....” - -Then he left and she gazed for a long time into the growing darkness. -Her tenderness, which she had thought long extinct, was now ablaze. - -Thomas came in. Anne remembered that her husband was going to shoot and -knew he came to take leave. - -“Has the troubadour gone?” Illey looked round the room. Suddenly he saw -the flowers on the piano. “Now he has started to bring you flowers?” - -Anne looked at him. - -“Do you know, Thomas, it has struck me that you never give me any -flowers.” - -“You don’t think I am going to give you flowers grown on somebody -else’s land?” Illey laughed harshly and left the room without a kiss, -without a word of farewell. - -They had never yet parted like this. Anne looked after him amazed. - -“Have a good time!” she shouted and did not recognize her own voice. It -could be cold and indifferent. - -When Thomas descended the stairs, the sound of Anne’s piano reached -him. A sad song echoed through the house.... He slammed the street door -furiously, as if he sought to slay the music. He looked up from the -cab. He suddenly remembered that Anne once used to look after him from -the window. Once ... a long time ago.... - -“She is probably pleased now when I go and she can live for her music. -That is what draws her and Adam Walter together.” He rejected roundly -the image of Walter. He did not want to think of him and Anne at the -same time, yet the two images would get mixed up in his brain and he -felt as if he had been robbed. - -The sound of the cab had passed. In the twilight of the sunshine room -the music had broken off. Anne began to nurse the burning bitterness -with which she thought of her husband. Could he not see that she -suffered, that her smiles, her calm, her indifference were all his? -Did he not know her face was all a mummery? A mask ... fearfully she -raised her hand to her face as though she would snatch something from -it.... - -At that moment a dawning light glimmered in the depths of her mind, -mounting up through innumerable memories. An old, once meaningless -tale worked its way out slowly from oblivion. First she only saw the -setting: the small clockmaker’s shop, her grandfather in front of a -large, semi-circular window, the old hand of Uncle Sebastian, the -violet-coloured tail coat, the buckled shoes. She heard his voice -again. Broken, unconnected words came to her mind, reached her heart -... and then, suddenly, there was light. - -“No, people don’t know what their neighbour’s real face is like.... -Everybody wears a mask, nobody has the courage to take it off, nobody -dares to be the first because he cannot know whether the others will -follow his example, or stone him.” - -Anne’s thoughts repeated in despair the words of the old story: -“Everybody wears a mask, everybody....” And perhaps the proud alone -were the charitable, for they wore the mask of silence. - -“Thomas,” she uttered his name aloud, as of old, when their love began. -It seemed to her that she had found a torch which, on the dark road, -lit up her husband’s real face. She began to expect him, though she -knew he could not come back so soon. She waited for him through many -long hours. Next day too she waited. - -Evening came. Adam Walter arrived and again brought some flowers in his -violin-case. - -Anne became absent-minded and restless. The flowers only brought Thomas -to her mind. Adam Walter’s voice seemed strange to her and his ardent -glances irritated her. To-day not even music could bring them together. - -While reading the music, Anne listened continually for sounds below. A -cab stopped at the door. Steps in the corridor. She rose involuntarily -and stretched her arms out as if she wanted to stop someone who passed -by.... The noise ceased outside and her arms felt weary. - -Adam Walter watched her attentively and at the same time peered -relentlessly into his own mind. He too felt now what so many others had -suffered; he thought with physical pain of the other who was expected -and passed by.... An expression of despair passed over his face. Then, -as if sneering at himself, he raised his low brows and put his violin -aside. - -She started and looked at him enquiringly. - -“I can’t to-day.” Walter’s voice attempted to be harsh and repellent, -but his eyes were hopelessly sad. - -Anne did not detain him when he started to go. She felt relieved; now -there was no more need to control her expression, her movements. She -ran towards her husband’s room. - -Thomas stood with his back to the door in the middle of the room. - -“So you no longer even come to see me?” she asked, and there was warmth -in her voice. - -“I knew you had company. I wanted to be alone.” - -Anne stepped back but she did not leave the room as she would have done -at any other time. Thomas started walking up and down. Several times he -touched his left breast pocket and pressed his open hand against his -chest. He stopped suddenly before Anne. - -“I thank you for staying,” he said excitedly. “I must speak to you.” - -Anne looked at him frightened. “Has anything happened to you?” - -“No, nothing. Listen.... Ille is for sale.” - -Thomas sat down on the window sill as if he were tired. He related -how he was shooting over the swampy wood. One of the beaters told him -that the property of Ille was again up for auction. Those to whom it -belonged were ruined and had left the place. He could not resist and he -walked all over the property, a thing he had never done before. An old -farm hand recognized him. He called him young master as in old times, -though his hair was turning grey. The bailiff recognized him too. And -he saw the big garden, the roof of the house, the free Danube, the -barn, the tree with the swing, whose bark still showed the marks of the -ropes. - -“You understand, Anne, all this is for sale, cheap, it could be ours. -And there my life would have a purpose. You know, for the sake of -the boys.... A family survives only if it is rooted in the soil. It -is hopeless for a tree to cast its seeds on the pavements of cities; -lasting life is impossible there. The families of city folk are like -their houses and last but three generations. Country people are like -the earth. The earth outlives a house.... If only I could go home, -everything would be different.” - -Astonishment disappeared from Anne’s face and an indescribable terror -appeared in its stead. - -“And the house! We shall have to leave here!” - -“Don’t be frightened,” said Thomas icily. “I do not want you to leave -the house for my sake. I never asked you for a sacrifice. Nor will I -now. But I can’t stand this any longer.” - -Every word wounded Anne. - -“Why do you hurt me like this?” - -“So you would come with me?” He looked at her incredulously, -inquiringly. “Is it possible? You would come with me, to me, now when I -have grown old and your love for me has passed away?” - -Anne smiled sadly. - -“Don’t you think, Thomas, that the memories of the road we have trodden -together are as strong a tie as love?” - -He again drew his hand over his left breast pocket and then let it -slip quickly to his waist as if it had been done accidentally. - -This movement caused Anne some anxiety. She remembered that it had -become frequent lately. She thought no more of her troubles. - -“What is the matter with you? What has happened?” She turned back the -frilly silk shade of the lamp with a rapid movement. - -They looked at each other as if they had not met for a very long -time.... When did their ways part? When, for what word, for what -silence? Neither of them remembered. It must have been long ago and -since then they had walked through life side by side, without each -other. - -Anne leaned over Thomas. It seemed to her that they had met at last on -the dark road and that she saw, through Uncle Sebastian’s story, into -the face she had never understood. - -“You have suffered too, Thomas....” And as if he were her child she -took his head tenderly between her hands. She pressed it to her -bosom and gently stroked his grey-sprinkled hair, his wrinkles. She -wanted to ask forgiveness of Thomas for the marks left by their sad -misunderstandings. Every touch of her hand demolished one of the -barriers that had stood between them and had obstructed their vision. - -“I have not been kind to you,” he said sadly, “I passed from your side -because I thought of nothing but of my craving for my land.” - -“And I thought something quite different,” answered Anne, in a whisper. -“You said nothing and I am not one of those who can question. We both -kept silent and that was our misfortune. I see now that silence can -only cover things, but cannot efface them. Dear God, why did you not -tell me your heart’s desire? Why did you not speak while we were still -rich?” - -Thomas took his wife’s hand and kissed it. - -“I was afraid you would not understand. You understand me now--and it -is not too late.” - -“But how could we buy Ille?” she asked anxiously. - -“Do you remember that swampy wood? Once nobody wanted it, now I am -offered a good price for it. That would go some way and I might take -the present mortgage over.” - -Anne’s eyes opened wide with fear. She thought of Christopher who had -been swallowed up by financial obligations. - -“I shall work,” said Thomas and his voice became quite youthful, “and -pay off the debts.” - -“Debts,” repeated Anne mechanically and the practical blood of Ulwing -the builder rose in her. - -“No, Thomas, we don’t build on debts!” She said this with such force as -she had never before put into her speech with her husband. - -Thomas stared at her darkly for an instant. Then his figure bent up in -a curious way and while he turned aside he made a gesture as if casting -something away. - -This gesture went to Anne’s heart. In her despair, she must make -another effort, fight a last fight at the cost of any sacrifice. And -while her bewildered mind was seeking for a solution, her eye followed -her husband’s glance instinctively, through the window, to the garden -where, under the evening sky the steep roof descended near the gargoyle. - -Both looked at it silently. The two wills were fighting no more against -each other and Anne felt with relief that they thought in unison. She -buried her face in her hands convulsively, as if pressing a mask on it, -a mask heavier than the old one, one she would have to bear now, for -ever, for the rest of her life. Then she looked up. - -“We must sell the house.” - -In that moment, within the ancient walls, a cord, strained for a long -time, suddenly snapped in great, invisible pain. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - -Strange steps walked through the house, indifferent, careless steps. -They passed along the corridor and went up even to the attics. Down -in the courtyard bleak business voices bargained and depreciated -everything. They said that the ground alone had any value that could -be discussed. As for the building, it did not count--a useless old -chattel, no longer conforming to modern requirements. - -Anne looked round as if fearing that the house might hear this. She -felt tempted to shout to the agents to clear out of the place and never -dare to come back again. Let old Florian lock the gate. Let the days be -again as secure as of old, when there was no fear that they must break -off their lives in the old house and have to continue elsewhere. - -In the green room an agent knocked at the wall and laughed. - -“Strong as a fortress. The pickaxe will have hard work with these old -bricks.” - -Anne could listen no more. She moved herself to the furthest room -and hid so that Thomas might not look into her eyes. Why destroy her -husband’s bliss? He was so contented and grateful. He worked, planned, -discussed, bargained. At the auction Ille had fallen to him and his -eyes glistened marvellously when he spoke of it. “Soon our house at -home will be ready, and the farm too. Everything in its old place, the -furniture, the pictures, the servants, the bailiff, the agent, even the -old housekeeper. The crops are promising.... Are you pleased, Anne? You -rejoice with me, don’t you? The earth will produce for us.” - -Feverishly, disorderly haste spoke in his voice, in his actions. Anne -was tired and slow; it took her a long time to go from one room to -another; there was so much to be looked at on her way.... - -Thomas prepared for re-union and counted the days impatiently; Anne -took leave and woke every morning with fear. - -“Nothing has happened yet.” She looked round, and, being alone, she -repeated it aloud so that the walls might hear it.... Then again she -was frightened. “Perhaps to-day ... to-night....” - -Then the day came. - -A stranger walked with Thomas in the back garden. He trod on the flower -beds and turned his head several times towards the house. Anne saw -his owl-like face from the staircase window, watched his movements -anxiously. He too bargained and depreciated everything. She began to -hope: perhaps he would go away like the others, life would remain in -its old groove and the day which was to be the last day of all would -never come. - -The owl-like face began to ascend under the vaults of the staircase and -smiled. It looked into the sunshine room. Vainly Anne fled from it; she -met it again in the green room. - -The stranger, feeling quite at home, leaned now against the writing -table with the many drawers and said something to Thomas. - -Anne did not understand clearly what was said, but she felt as if -a sharp, short blow had struck her brow. Her brain was stunned by -it. Thomas’s voice too reached her ear confusedly, but she saw with -despairing certitude that his countenance brightened. - -When an hour later the banker from Paternoster Street left, the old -house was already his. - -For days the dull pain behind Anne’s brow did not cease. Everything -that happened around her seemed unreal: the sudden departure of the -people from the ground floor, the packing up of everything all over the -house. - -The time for delivery was short. The greatest haste was necessary. - -The old pieces of furniture moved from their places, as clumsily, -painfully, as old people move from their accustomed corners. Below, in -front of the house, rattling furniture vans stopped now and then. - -Anne looked out of the window. Barefooted, sweating men carried the -piano out of the door. The pampered household gods stood piled up in a -heap in the middle of the pavement, amidst the crowd of the street. A -man sat on the music chest. Christopher’s old desk lay upside down on -top of the chest of drawers, just like a dead animal, its four legs up -in the air. - -In these days, Thomas travelled repeatedly from home, for he wanted -himself to supervise the placing of the furniture of the old house in -the manor house of Ille. - -The boys were made noisy by their expectation of new and unknown -things. They spoke of Ille as if it were the realization of a fairy -tale--a fairy tale told by their father. - -“They don’t cling to the old house,” thought Anne and felt lonely. She -liked best to be by herself. Then her imagination restored everything -to its old place in the dismantled rooms. The shapes of the furniture -were visible on the wall papers. The forsaken nails stretched out of -the walls like fingers asking for something. In the place of Mrs. -Christina’s portrait a weary shadow looked like a faded memory. - -Another piece of furniture disappeared, then another.... The -writing-table with many drawers remained alone in the green room. Anne -drew the drawers out one by one. One contained some embroideries made -in cross-stitch. How ugly and sweet they were! She remembered them -well, she had made them for her grandfather. Then some clumsy old -drawings came into her hands, quaint castles, girls, big-eared cats; -two silvery, fair curls, in a paper, tied together; beneath them an old -distant date in her grandfather’s faded writing. - -Whenever the clock struck she started and touched her forehead as if it -had struck her to hurry her on. - -In another drawer she found a diploma of the Freedom of the Royal Free -City of Pest and a worn little book. On its cover a two-headed eagle -held the arms of Hungary between its claws. - -... Pozsony. A. D. 1797, Christopher Ulwing ... civil carpenter.... - -While she turned the pages a faint, mouldy odour fanned her face. Her -memory searched hesitatingly: - - “Two prentice lads once wandered - To strange lands far away.” - -Suddenly the torpor of her brain was dispelled. Reality assumed its -merciless shape in her conscience. She had to leave here, everything -would be different.... Unchecked tears flowed down her cheeks. - -She had no courage to pack the contents of the drawers, nor the heart -to have the open boxes nailed down. Anything that seemed final filled -her with horror. - -Somewhere a door creaked. Anne woke to her helplessness. She pretended -to hurry and strained her efforts to hide her feelings before those she -loved. - -The boys were preparing for their examinations. Thomas noticed nothing. -In the egotism of his own happiness he passed blindly beside Anne’s -shy, wordless pain. He was pleased with everything, only his wife’s -apathy irked him. - -A half-opened drawer, an empty cupboard, could stop Anne for hours. In -her poor tortured brain memories alone had room. Everything spoke of -the past. Even in the attics she only met with memories. - -Uncle Sebastian’s shaky winged armchair; the grimy engravings of -Fischer von Erlach and Mansard; the out of date coloured map of -Pest-Buda.... She took the map to the light of the attic window. For a -long time she contemplated the lines of the short crooked streets, the -Danube painted blue, the small vessels of the boat-bridge, the small -churches, the many empty building plots. - -She could not find her way on the map. Over her childhood’s memories a -new big city had risen, had swallowed in its growth the old streets, -removed the markets, spread beyond the limits of the tattered map, -spread even beyond the cold, confident dreams of Ulwing the builder. - -Wearily Anne went down the stairs and evening found her again immobile -in front of an open cupboard. She sat on the ground and on her knee lay -an old shrunken cigar case, embroidered with beads.... - -Steps approached from the adjoining room. She became attentive and -really wanted to be quick, but forgot that she was engaged in filling -an empty box and with rapid movements she instinctively returned -everything to its usual place in the cupboard. - -Thomas stopped near her. - -“What do you think, how much more time do you require?” - -“There is still much to be done,” answered Anne guardedly. What it was -she could not have told. - -“In a week the house has to be handed over,” muttered her husband -nervously. - -Anne looked up at him. - -The lamplight lit up Thomas’s face. How old and worn out he looked! His -well-shaped mouth seemed pitifully dry and between his cheek bones the -sunken crevices were darkened with purplish-blue shadows. - -Anne thought her eyes deluded her and got up. - -Thomas snatched at his chest and again made the ominous movement with -his hand. Anne could no longer believe that it was accidental. As if -to escape her maddening anxiety she flung herself into his arms and -pressed her head to his chest. - -Thomas stood motionless as if he had lost consciousness. He breathed -heavily and stared anxiously into space above his wife’s head. His -heart beat faintly a rapid course, stumbled suddenly, and for an -instant there was an awful, cold silence in his chest. - -Anne listened with bated breath. Under her head, the rapid irregular -gallop started again. - -As if he had only then noticed his wife’s proximity, Thomas stretched -himself out and pushed her away impatiently. Anne remembered that this -was not the first time this had happened. The awful truth dawned on her. - -“It is nothing,” he said and made an effort to laugh, but his laughter -died away under Anne’s pitiful look. - -“Thomas, since when?” - -“A long time ago.” - -“For God’s sake, why did you not tell me?” - -“I thought it would pass away at Ille.... Open the window. It is rather -worse to-day....” His face became ashen-grey, his eyes appealed for -help. With a single gesture he tore his shirt-collar open. - -Anne flew through the room. - -“Call the doctor! The doctor....” - -It sounded all through the house when Florian slammed the street door. - -Hours came and passed and left their marks on the faces of the people -in the old house. Thomas was already in bed. On the vaulted staircase -Anne talked for a long time with Dr. Gárdos, the son of the old -proto-medicus. - -The doctor’s voice was strangled; his words scarcely reached Anne -and yet they annihilated everything around her. Had she not yet lost -enough? Was there no mercy for her? - -Dr. Gárdos looked at her full of pity. - -“Miracles might happen....” - -The corners of Anne’s eyes drew up slowly and horror was in her -expression. She shivered and then went back through the corridor with -strained, stiff lips. When Thomas as in a dream reached for her hand, -she bent over him with her wan, crushed smile. - -Dawn was slow to come and it was a long time before evening fell again. -Nothing altered in the house, only the day opened and closed its eyes. - -Thomas lay motionless in his bed. Anne watched his every breath -anxiously, thought of the passing hours and of the day that drew -threateningly nearer, on which the house was to be surrendered. - -She asked for delay. It was refused. She had to accept the advice of -young Doctor Gárdos. - -The empty little lodgings in the house opposite ... there was no -choice, they must move there. They would have to rough it, there would -be room enough for a few days. For the doctor had told her, quite -calmly, that it was only a matter of a few days. - -“So there are still miracles,” thought Anne. “Yes, it is only for a -short time and then ... everything will come right again.” She felt -relieved and thus the last day in the old house passed away. - -It was evening. The two boys had already gone with Tini into the -lodgings opposite. Thomas slept. Anne and the old servant sat up with -him; they did not dare to look at each other. - -The windows were open; in the corridor, near the wall, the marble clock -ticked, on the floor. The last thing left in the old house. Florian -insisted on carrying it over himself into the new lodgings. - -Anne counted the strokes of the clock. “In three hours ... in two -hours....” She rose quietly, slid along the corridor, down the stairs. -In the back garden, between the high, ugly walls, the old chestnut -tree, the winged pump, the bushes were all still in their places ... -and one could rest on the circular seat of the apple tree. Everything -was as of old, even the ticking of the old clock came down into the -garden. - -Anne leaned her head against the trunk of the tree; without taking her -eyes off Thomas’s window, she took leave of all things around her. - -Suddenly, as if somebody’s speech had broken off in the act of saying -farewell, the silence became absolute. The clock had stopped. - -Anne ran up the stairs. Now she remembered. Last night she had -forgotten the clock and now the butterfly pendulum, which she had seen -alive, lay dead between the marble pillars. She passed her hand wearily -over her brow. So the little dwarf had gone too! Had Time itself -forsaken the old house? - -She opened the door of the green room. The candle light floated round -her up and down. Her steps echoed sharply from the empty walls. -She stopped in front of the tall white doors with the glass panes. -On the panel rising notches were visible. When they were children, -Christopher and she, their father had marked their growth every year. -She went further, trying the door-handles carefully. Some were meek -and obedient, others creaked and resisted. She knew them ... they had -had their say in her life. She knew the voice of everything in the -house. The windows spoke to her when they were opened; the board of the -threshold too had something to say beneath her tread, always the same -thing, ever since she could remember. But that was part of its destiny. - -She slipped along the walls. She passed her hand over the faded -wallpaper, over the grey stove, even over the window sills. She put -the candle down and looked through the small panes of glass towards -the Danube, just like old times. But the fronts of the houses opposite -repelled her looks. - -A carriage rattled through the street: it sounded like the crack -of a whip. Anne clung close to the walls and under the harmonizing -influence of the quiet night, the intimate physical contact brought -something suddenly home to her that had lived in her unconscious self -dimly unexpressed, for the whole of her existence. In that moment -she understood the bond that existed between her and the doomed old -house. The bricks under the whitewash, the beams, the arches, all were -creations of one single force and she felt herself one with them as if -she had grown from between the walls, as if she were just a chip of -them, a chip privileged to move and say aloud what they had to suffer -in silence. - -She thought of the finished lives, continued in her who had survived -everybody. Mysterious memories of events she had never witnessed -invaded her mind. Grafts from memories treasured up by the house of the -Ulwings. - -Since the clock had stopped, time ceased to exist for Anne. A painful -trembling of her own body brought her back to reality. The whole house -trembled. The bell rang in the hall. - -Blood rushed to Anne’s benumbed heart. Her knees gave way as she -returned through the rooms. One after another she closed the doors -behind her, looking back all the time. Near the door of the nursery a -folded piece of paper lay on the floor. She picked it up and pressed -it carefully between the glazed wings, as she used to do, so that they -might not rattle when carriages passed below. - -She only realized what she had done when the door-handle dropped back -to its place, when the door was closed, the door whose rattling would -wake no one any more. Anne sobbed aloud among the empty walls. The -rooms repeated her sob, one after the other, gently, more and more -gently.... - -The street door opened below. Dr. Gárdos’ commanding voice was audible -on the staircase. Two men followed him, carrying a stretcher on their -shoulders. Anne came face to face with them in the corridor. She -swayed, as if she had been hit on the chest, then she seemed quite -composed again. She opened the door and gently wakened her husband. - -The stretcher, with Thomas on it, floated across the road in the early -dawn as over a narrow blue river. One shore, the habitual one, was the -old house, the other, the strange dark house, the strange new life in -which Anne felt she had no root. - -She passed the gate quickly, with her head bent. Only in the middle of -the road did she stop and hesitate. She turned back suddenly. - -The two pillar-men leaned out under the urns of the cornice. Their -stone eyes turned to her, as if they stared straight at her accusingly -and asked a question to which there was no answer. - -Florian turned the big old key slowly in the door. For the last time, -the very last time.... - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - - -The new inhabitants of the strange, small lodgings found everything -hostile and bleak in their new surroundings. - -An open gas flame whistled in the narrow anteroom. The neglected doors -were shabby and the dark rooms only remembered people who had not cared -for them and were for ever moving on. - -The first week passed by. Anne did not leave Thomas’s bedside and still -dreaded going to the window. All this time her soul lead a double life: -one for Thomas, one for the house. - -After a sleepless night she could stand it no longer. She stole gently -to the window and bent hesitatingly, fearfully, forward. - -She felt relieved. In the grey morning the old house still stood -intact.... She noticed for the first time that its yellow walls -stood further out than the other houses and that they obstructed the -road. She was shocked to realize how old and big it was. Its steep, -old-fashioned roof cast a deep shadow out of which the windows stared -at her with the pitiful gaze of the blind. - -While she looked at them one by one, she never ceased listening to her -patient. Suddenly it seemed to her that Thomas’s breath had become -weaker. She glided back trembling. Henceforth this became Anne’s only -road. It was a short road but it embraced Anne’s whole life. - -One morning a queer noise roused her from the sleep of exhaustion. -There was silence in the room, the noise came from the street. She rose -from the armchair in which she spent the nights and went on tiptoe to -the window. - -Workmen stood in front of the old house. Some men rolled tarred poles -from a cart. The front door was open as if gaping for an awful shriek -of agony. A gap had formed between the tiles of the attics and men -walked upon the roof. - -Anne covered her eyes. Had she to live through this? She could not run -away. She would have to see it all.... - -Thomas started up from a restless dream. - -“What is it? What is happening?” - -There was no word which could express what happened there, on the -other side of the street, or if there was one, Anne could not find it. -Without a word, she went back to the bed and drew her old sweet smile, -like a veil, over her face. She was overwrought, she drew the veil too -hard ... and it broke and covered her no more. - -Thomas reached for her hand. In that instant he realised the immensity -of Anne’s sacrifice. Till now he had faith in himself and believed he -could attract his wife’s soul to what he loved. Illness had wrung this -hope from him and he felt ashamed, his pride suffered, that he should -have been the cause of Anne’s sudden sacrifice. - -His dying eyes looked at her earnestly, with boundless love. Anne’s -back was turned to the light and while Thomas stroked her hand she -spoke of Ille. She planned.... - -Next day the post brought a little bag. It contained wheat ... golden -wheat from Ille. Thomas passed it slowly, pensively, between his -fingers and while the source of life flowed in poignant contrast -between his ghostly, lean hands, tears came to his eyes. - -In these moments, in these days, under the cover of the worn torn smile -Anne’s face became old. - -Out there, the roof of the old house was already gone and hemmed in -between scaffoldings; like a poor old prisoner, the yellow front was -waiting for its fate. To Anne’s imagining the house complained behind -its wooden cage and knew that it had been so surrounded only to be -killed. - -The pickaxes set to work. The bricks slid shrieking down a slide -from the first floor. Labourers, Slovak girls, came and went on the -scaffolding and they too carried bricks on hods. - -Every passing day saw the house grow smaller. The labourers tore holes -in the walls and left the rest to crumble down. That was the quickest -way. - -The dull noise went to the marrow, and with every wall something fell -to pieces in Anne’s heart. It seemed to her that she became feebler -after every crash, that the efforts of generations collapsed in her -soul, great old efforts, with which the first Ulwings, the ancient -unknown ones, had all carried bricks for the builder--bricks for the -house. - -She thought of her father. He kept the walls standing. And of -Christopher--he began to pull the building down. And now the end had -come. - -The crevice grew alarmingly in the yellow wall. By and by the whole -front became one crevice. One could look into the rooms. From the -street people stared in and this affected Anne as if impertinent, -inquisitive strangers spied into the past of her private life. - -Here and there the green wallpaper clung tenaciously to the ruins. A -round black hole glared in a corner from which the stove pipes had been -torn remorselessly: the tunnel of Christopher’s stove-fairies. In some -places the torn up floor boards hung in the air and the dark passages -of the demolished chimneys looked as if a sooty giant finger had been -drawn along the wall. - -On the further side, the row of semi-circular windows in the corridor -became visible. The trees of the back garden stretched their heads and -looked out into the street. Then one day they stood there no longer. -When the heavy waggon drove jerkily with them through the gaping door, -Anne recognized each, one by one. On the top lay a crippled trunk and -the boards of the cracked, round seat spread from it in splinters. - -Everything went quickly now; even the two pillar-men lay on their backs -on the pavement of the street. When evening came and the labourers had -gone, Anne snatched a shawl and ran down the stairs. She wanted to take -leave of the pillar-men. She bent down and looked into their faces. The -light of the street lamp which used to shine into the green room, lit -up the two stone figures. They looked as if they had died. - -Steps approached from the street corner. Anne withdrew into the former -entrance. Two men came down the street. The elder stopped; his voice -sounded clear: - -“Once this was the house of Ulwing the builder.” - -The younger, indifferent, stepped over the head of one of the stone -figures. - -“Ulwing the builder?” Suddenly he looked interestedly at the mutilated -walls. - -“Ulwing? ... any relation of the clockmaker of Buda?” - -“His brother.” - -“I never heard that he had any family,” murmured the younger, -continuing his way, “Sebastian Ulwing did great things for our country.” - -Anne looked after them. Was this all that remained of the Ulwing name? -Was the memory of his work already gone? The heroic death of Uncle -Sebastian, a doubtful legend, was that all that was remembered? - -Men came again. Carriages, life, the noise of the town. - -Anne went back, across the road, towards the strange house. - -That night Thomas became very restless. He tossed from one side to the -other and asked several times if Anne was there. He did not see her, -though she sat at the side of the bed and held his hand in hers. She -held her head quite bravely, there was not a tear in her eyes. She did -not want Thomas to read his death sentence from her face. - -In the morning Anne felt her hand tenderly pressed. - -“Are you here?” asked the pallid, dying man. “All the time I was -waiting for you to be here.” - -In a few moments Thomas’s features altered amazingly. A shadow fell -over them and Anne looked round vainly to find out whence it came. Yet -it was there and became darker and darker in the hollow of his eyes, -round his mouth. - -“I am going now,” said Thomas, “don’t shake your head. I know....” - -She could not answer nor could she restrain her tears any longer. - -“Weep, Anne, it will do you good and forgive me if you can. I did not -understand you, that is what made your life so heavy at my side.” He -shut his eyes and remained a long time without moving; only his face -was now and again convulsed as if something sobbed within him. Then he -drew Anne’s head to his heart. - -“Here ... close, quite close.... This was yours, yours alone.... -Anne.... Anne....” repeated his voice further and further away, -“Anne....” - -That was the last word, as if of all the words of life it were the only -one he wanted to take with him on the long, lone road. - -Before night came Thomas Illey was no more. - -That night Anne kept vigil between two dead. Her husband ... and the -old house. - -When day broke somebody came into the room and flung his arms around -her. Her son. Thomas’s son. - -Leaning on his arm Anne left the strange house behind Thomas’s coffin. -And the younger boy, fair and blue-eyed held her hand close and clung -to her. - -Thomas was borne away. It was his wish to be buried in Ille. Anne and -the two boys went in a carriage through the town to the station. - -It was a warm summer night. The gas lamps were already alight. Here -and there electric globes hung like glowing silver-blue drops from -their wires. Illuminated shops, show windows, large coffee houses with -glaring windows. Servites’ Place, Grenadier’s Street ... and on what -had once been the Grassalkovich corner an electric clock marked the -time. - -The carriage turned a corner, the pavements on both sides swarmed with -pushing crowds. ’Buses, carriages, the hum of voices, glaring posters, -people. Many people, everywhere. - -Further on there was a block in the traffic. The scaffoldings of -new-built houses encroached on the pavement. Damp smell of lime mixed -with the summer’s dust. Under the scaffoldings hurrying figures with -drawn-up shoulders. Sudden shouts. A jet of water sprayed the hot -pavement in a broad sheaf. - -A mounted policeman lifted his white-gloved hand. For an instant -everything stopped, then the crowd became untangled and rolled on like -a stream. - -Anne’s eyes passed vaguely over the signs of the shops. She found no -familiar name. The Jörgs, Münster, Walter, were nowhere. Other names, -other people. And the Ulwings? - -A forgotten corner lamp, an old tree surviving in the row of young -trees bordering the streets, a condemned, quaint old house, uncouthly -timid among the powerful new buildings ... these might possibly know -something of Ulwing the builder but men knew him no more. - -The carriage reached its destination. It stopped at the railway station. - -In the smoky hall Florian and Mamsell Tini sat on the luggage. -Somewhere a bell was rung and a voice proclaimed the names of unknown -places that people went to ... lived in. - -Anne, standing on the platform, saw a dark van coupled to the train. -They had to wait a long time ... the train started late. People came -hurrying. Only he who travelled in the black van to Ille was in no -hurry. - -The furious bell sounded again. - -Anne leaned out of her carriage door though she wanted to see no more; -all was over for her and far, far away. Her tired aimless look was -suddenly arrested. - -Someone came to her, came to her out of the past ... from far away. - -Adam Walter stopped in front of her carriage and, without a word, -uncovered himself. He stood still there near the line when the train -had gone. He looked long, long after the trail of smoke. - -The long dark night dissolved into dawn and fields and trees.... - -Now and then little sentry huts appeared as if something white had been -flashed beside the rushing windows of the train. The barriers at the -crossings were like outstretched arms. Racing telegraph poles, signal -wires shining like silver. The shrubs rocked in the wind caused by -the train and the shadow of the smoke floated broad over the sunlit -cornfields. - -Then all was reversed. The train stopped. - -People had been waiting for a long time at the small station of Ille. -Blue spots, bright peasants’ petticoats, shining white chemisettes. All -the round holiday hats were doffed simultaneously like a flock of black -birds. - -Bareheaded, dumb, the people of Ille stood before the wife of Thomas -Illey. Hard brown hands offered themselves and the tearful eyes looked -at her as if they had always known her. - -“God brought you back home to us.” The deeply furrowed face of an old -peasant bent over her hand. - -Those behind gathered round the boys. One peasant woman stroked George -Illey’s arm. - -“Oh my sweet soul, you are just like your father.” - -Anne looked round bewildered. She felt some strange new emotion. The -ground she stood on was the ground of Ille, the trees had grown from -it, the people too, everything was part of it, her sons, Thomas’s -memory.... - -A deep rustic voice said: - -“Our master has come home.” - -The crowd opened a way for the metal coffin, carried by four stalwart -youths to a cart. They placed it on a pile of oak boughs, then all -started behind it. At the cross roads the cart turned towards the -chapel. The carriage took the road through the row of poplars. - -Anne’s eyes followed the cart. The wheels were invisible under the -branches hanging down from it. Rich green life carried death. The crown -of the oak carried Thomas Illey towards the cemetery. - -The bell of the chapel called gently to heaven. The churches of the -villages responded in the distance. One told the other all over the -country, that the master of Ille had come home. - -Along both sides of the road the poplars stood erect like a guard of -honour, full of old traditions. The carriage turned another corner and -pebbles flew up under the wheels. There, surrounded by oaks, stood -the old manor house of Ille, and in the cool white-washed hall steps -resounded under the portraits of ancient lords of Ille. - -Anne started wearily, then suddenly stopped, deeply shocked. As though -the house had been prepared for a gay festival ... it was all decked -with flowers. Her eyes were hurt by the glare of the bright colours -and her pent-up sorrow moaned within her. She pressed her hands to her -bosom ... the flowers pained her. - -“Why did you do it? Why? Just now?” - -The old housekeeper left the row of women servants. - -“It was the order of our good master. It was his will that every flower -should be picked when our mistress came home.” - -In Anne’s pale, transparent face the corners of her eyes and lips rose -in silent pain. It was as though she gazed into a mysterious abyss of -which she had known nothing till this day. Now she saw Thomas’s soul, -now that he had given her every flower that had not grown on someone -else’s land. He was dead when he gave, but he gave.... - -If only one could answer those who are gone; if only one could speak -when speech is no more possible.... - -Anne remained alone in a small vaulted room. Above the couch of many -flowers hung the portrait of Mrs. Christina. The piano, the small -work-table were there too, and everything was in the same position as -it had been in the sunshine room. - -She leaned her brow against the window railing and from among her old -household gods looked out into the new world. A verdant breath of the -large garden fanned her face. The trees whispered strange things to -each other. - -Anne thought of the swing-tree and her gaze wandered over the garden -as if in search of it. Then she heard something call to her. It became -clearer and clearer. Beyond the trees, there spoke with quiet distant -murmur, a faithful old voice: the Danube ... the fate of the Ulwings. -The past spoke. This was all that was left to her; nothing more.... - -In that instant the tramp of strong young steps recalled her from the -past. Through the glaring summer sunlight her two sons came down the -gravelled path. - -She looked at them and her head rose. - - -THE END - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[A] Canzelei = office (German). - -[B] Iroda = office (in Magyar). - - -Transcriber's Note: - -Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as -possible, including inconsistent hyphenation. - -Italic text has been marked with _underscores_. - -The following is a list of changes made to the original. The first -line is the original line, the second the corrected one. - -Page 8 - - driving him into bankruptcy” - driving him into bankruptcy.” - -Page 67 - - a wire inside to curl it up on his back.” - a wire inside to curl it up on his back. - -Page 84 - - In the shadow of Tarnok Street he saw light - In the shadow of Tárnok Street he saw light - -Page 189 - - lamp in front of the Ulwing’s house. - lamp in front of the Ulwings’ house. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD HOUSE *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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