The GOOSE MAN

 by JACOB WASSERMANN

 Author of “THE WORLD’S ILLUSION”

 _Authorized translation by_ ALLEN W. PORTERFIELD

 [Illustration: Das Gänsemännchen]

 GROSSET & DUNLAP ~ _Publishers_ _by arrangement with_ HARCOURT, BRACE & COMPANY

 NOTE

_The first chapter, “A Mother Seeks Her Son, ” and sections I and II ofthe second chapter, “Foes, Brothers, a Friend, and a Mask, ” weretranslated by Ludwig Lewisohn. The rest of the book has been translatedby Allen W. Porterfield. The title, “The Goose Man” (“Das Gänsemännchen”), refers to the famous statue of that name in Nuremberg. _

 COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY, INC. 

 PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. 

 CONTENTS

 PAGE

 A Mother Seeks Her Son 1

 Foes, Brothers, A Friend and a Mask 23

 The Nero of To-day 44

 Inspector Jordan and His Children 65

 Voices from Without and Voices from Within 97

 In Memory of a Dream Figure 123

 Daniel and Gertrude 153

 The Glass Case Breaks 178

 Tres Faciunt Collegium 204

 Philippina Starts a Fire 239

 Eleanore 277

 The Room with the Withered Flowers 323

 The Promethean Symphony 352

 Dorothea 405

 The Devil Leaves the House in Flames 435

 But Aside, Who Is It? 455

 THE GOOSE MAN

 A MOTHER SEEKS HER SON

 I

The landscape shows many shades of green; deep forests, mostlyconiferous, extend from the valley of the Rednitz to that of the Tauber. Yet the villages lie in the midst of great circles of cultivated land, for the tillage of man is immemorial here. Around the many weirs thegrass grows higher, so high often that you can see only the beaks of thedroves of geese, and were it not for their cackle you might take thesebeaks to be strangely mobile flowers. 

The little town of Eschenbach lies quite flat on the plain. In it afragment of the Middle Ages has survived, but no strangers know it, since hours of travel divide it from any railway. Ansbach is the nearestpoint in the great system of modern traffic; to get there you must use astage-coach. And that is as true to-day as it was in the days whenGottfried Nothafft, the weaver, lived there. 

The town walls are overgrown with moss and ivy; the old drawbridgesstill cross the moats and take you through the round, ruined gates intothe streets. The houses have bay-windows and far-projecting overhangs, and their interlacing beams look like the criss-cross of muscles on ananatomical chart. 

Concerning the poet who was once born here and who sang the song ofParsifal, all living memory has faded. Perhaps the fountains whisper ofhim by night; perhaps sometimes when the moon is up, his shadow hoversabout the church or the town-hall. The men and women know nothing of himany more. 

The little house of the weaver, withdrawn by a short distance from thestreet, stood not far from the inn at the sign of the Ox. Three wornsteps took you to its door, and six windows looked out upon the quietsquare. It is strange to reflect that the spirit of modernindustrialism hewed its destructive path even to this forgotten nook ofthe world. 

In 1849, at the time of Gottfried Nothafft’s marriage—his wife, Marian, was one of the two Höllriegel sisters of Nuremberg—he had still beenable to earn a tolerable living. So the couple desired a child, butdesired it for years in vain. Often, at the end of the day’s work, whenGottfried sat on the bench in front of his house and smoked his pipe, hewould say: “How good it would be if we had a son. ” Marian would fallsilent and lower her eyes. 

As time passed, he stopped saying that, because he would not put thewoman to shame. But his expression betrayed his desire all the moreclearly. 

 II

A day came on which his trade seemed to come to a halt. The weavers inall the land complained that they could not keep their old pace. It wasas though a creeping paralysis had come upon them. The market pricessuddenly dropped, and the character of the goods was changed. 

This took place toward the end of the eighteen hundred and fifties, whenthe new power looms were being introduced from America. No toil profitedanything. The cheap product which the machines could furnish destroyedthe sale of the hand-made weaves. 

At first Gottfried Nothafft refused to be cast down. Thus the wheel of amachine will run on for a space after the power has been cut off. Butgradually his courage failed. His hair turned grey in a single winter, and at the age of forty-five he was a broken man. 

And just as poverty appeared threatening at their door, and the soul ofMarian began to be stained by hatred, the longing of the couple wasfulfilled, and the wife became pregnant in the tenth year of theirmarriage. 

The hatred which she nourished was directed against the power loom. Inher dreams she saw the machine as a monster with thighs of steel, whichscreamed out its malignity and devoured the hearts of men. She wasembittered by the injustice of a process which gave to impudence andsloth the product that had once come thoughtfully and naturally from thecareful hands of men. 

One journeyman after another had to be discharged, and one hand-loomafter another to be stored in the attic. On many days Marian would slipup the stairs and crouch for hours beside the looms, which had once beenset in motion by a determinable and beneficent exertion and were likecorpses now. 

Gottfried wandered across country, peddling the stock of goods he had onhand. Once on his return he brought with him a piece of machine-madecloth which a merchant of Nördlingen had given him. “Look, Marian, seewhat sort of stuff it is, ” he said, and handed it to her. But Mariandrew her hand away, and shuddered as though she had seen the booty of amurderer. 

After the birth of her boy she lost these morbid feelings; Gottfried onthe other hand seemed to dwindle from month to month. Though heoutlasted the years, there was no cheer left in him and he got nocomfort even from his growing boy. When he had sold all his own wares, he took those of others, and dragged himself wearily in summer andwinter from village to village. 

In spite of the scarcity that prevailed in the house, Marian wasconvinced that Gottfried had put by money, and certain hints which hethrew out confirmed her in this hope. It was one of his peculiar viewsthat it was better to leave his wife in the dark regarding the truestate of their fortunes. As their circumstances grew worse, he becamewholly silent on this point. 

 III

On the square of the grain merchants in Nuremberg, Jason PhilipSchimmelweis, the husband of Marian’s sister, had his bookbinder’s shop. 

Schimmelweis was a Westphalian. Hatred against the junkers and thepriests had driven him to this Protestant city of the South, where fromthe beginning he had acquired the respect of people through his readywit and speech. Theresa Höllriegel had lodged in the house in which heopened his shop, and gained her living as a seamstress. He had thoughtthat she had some money, but it had proved to be too little for hisambitious notions. When he discovered that, he treated Theresa as thoughshe had cheated him. 

He held his trade in contempt, and was ambitious of greater things. Hefelt that he was called to be a bookseller; but he had no capitalwherewith to realise this plan. So he sat morosely in his subterraneanshop, pasted and folded and quarrelled with his lot, and in his hours ofleisure read the writings of socialists and freethinkers. 

It was the Autumn in which the war against France was raging. On thatvery morning had come the news of the battle of Sedan. All the churchbells were ringing. 

To the surprise of Jason Philip, Gottfried Nothafft stepped into hisshop. His long, patriarchal beard and tall stature gave somethingvenerable to his appearance, even though his face looked tired and hiseyes were dull. 

“God bless you, brother, ” he said and held out his hand. “The fatherlandhas better luck than its citizens. ”

Schimmelweis, who did not like the visits of kinsmen, returned thesalutation with careful coolness. His features did not brighten until heheard that his brother-in-law was stopping at the Red Cock Inn. He askedwhat errand had brought Gottfried to the city. 

“I must have a talk with you, ” Nothafft replied. 

They entered a room behind the shop and sat down. Jason Philip’s eyesharboured even now a definitely negative answer to any proposal thatmight cost him money or trouble. But he was to be agreeablydisappointed. 

“I want to tell you, brother, ” Gottfried Nothafft said, “that I have putby three thousand taler during the nineteen years of my married life. And since I have the feeling that I am not long for this world, I havecome to ask you to take charge of the money for Marian and the boy. Ithas been troublesome enough not to touch it in these evil times thathave come. Marian knows nothing of it, and I don’t want her to know. Sheis a weak woman, and women do not understand money nor the worth anddignity it has when it has been earned so bitterly hard. In some hour ofdifficulty she would begin to use it, and presently it would be gone. But I want to ease Daniel’s entry into life, when his years of trainingand apprenticeship are over. He is twelve now. In another twelve yearshe will be, God willing, a man. You can help Marian with the interest, and all I ask of you is to be silent and to act a father’s part towardthe boy when I shall be no more. ”

Jason Philip Schimmelweis arose. He was moved and wrung GottfriedNothafft’s hand. “You may rely upon me, ” he said, “as you would on theBank of England. ”

“I thought that would be your answer, brother, and that is why I came. ”

He put down on the table three thousand taler in bank notes of therealm, and Jason Philip wrote out a receipt. Then he urged him to staythat night at his house. But Gottfried Nothafft said that he mustreturn home to his wife and child, and that a single night in the noisycity had been enough for him. 

When they returned to the shop, they found Theresa sitting there. In herlap she held Philippina, her first-born, who was three years old. Thechild had a large head and homely features. Gottfried hardly stopped toanswer his sister-in-law’s questions. Later Theresa asked her husbandwhat Gottfried’s business had been. Jason Philip answered brusquely:“Nothing a woman would understand. ”

Three days later Gottfried sent back the receipt. On the back of it hehad written: “The paper is of no use; it might even betray my secret. Ihave your word and your hand. That is enough. With thanks for yourfriendship and your services, I am your faithful kinsman, GottfriedNothafft. ”

 IV

Before peace had been made with France, Gottfried lay down to die. Hewas buried in the little churchyard by the wall, and a cross was setupon his grave. 

Jason Philip and Theresa had come to the funeral, and stayed for threedays. An examination of her inheritance showed, to Marian’sconsternation, that there were not twenty taler in the house, and whatshe saw ahead of her was a life of wretchedness and want. Jason Philip’scounsel and his plan were a genuine consolation to her, and hisdeclaration that he would stand by her to the best of his ability easedher heart. 

It was determined that she was to open a little shop, and Jason advancedher one hundred taler. All the while he had the air of a made man. Heheld his head high, and his fat little cheeks glowed with health. He wasfond of drumming with his fingers on the window pane and of whistling. The tune he whistled was the Marseillaise, but that tune was not knownin Eschenbach. 

Daniel observed carefully his uncle’s lips, and whistled the tune afterhim. Jason Philip laughed so that his little belly quivered. Then heremembered that it was a house of mourning, and said: “What a boy!”

But really he did not like the boy. “Our excellent Gottfried does notseem to have trained him carefully, ” he remarked once, when Danielshowed some childish recalcitrance. “The boy needs a strong hand. ”

Daniel heard these words, and looked scornfully into his uncle’s face. 

Sunday afternoon, when the coffee had been served, the Schimmelweiscouple was ready to leave. But Daniel was not to be found. The wife ofthe inn-keeper called out across the road that she had seen him followthe organist to church. Marian ran to the church to fetch him. After awhile she returned, and said to Jason Philip, who was waiting: “He’scrouching in the organ loft, and I can’t get him to move. ”

“Can’t get him to move?” Jason Philip started up, and his little redcheeks gleamed with rage. “What does that mean? How can you toleratethat?” And he himself proceeded to the church to get the disobedientchild. 

As he was mounting the organ-loft he met the organist, who laughed andsaid: “I suppose you’re looking for Daniel? He’s still staring at theorgan, as though my bit of playing had bewitched him. ”

“I’ll drive the witch-craft out of him, ” Jason Philip snarled. 

Daniel was crouching on the floor behind the organ, and did not stir athis uncle’s call. He was so absorbed that the expression of his eyesmade his uncle wonder whether the boy was really sane. He graspedDaniel’s shoulder, and spoke in a tone of violent command: “Come homewith me this minute!”

Daniel looked up, awoke from his dream, and became aware of theindignant hiss of that alien voice. He tore himself away, and declaredinsolently that he would stay where he was. That enraged Jason Philiputterly, and he tried again to lay hands on the boy in order to drag himdown by force. Daniel leapt back, and cried with a quivering voice:“Don’t touch me!”

Perhaps it was the silence of the nave that had an admonishing andterrifying effect on Jason Philip. Perhaps the extraordinary malignityand passion in the little fellow’s face caused him to desist. At allevents he turned around and went without another word. 

“The stage-coach is waiting. We’ll be late!” his wife called out to him. 

He turned a sinister face to Marian. “You’re bringing up a fine product, I must say. You’ll have your own troubles with him. ”

Marian’s eyes fell. She was not unprepared for the reproach. She washerself frightened at the boy’s savage obduracy, his self-centredinsistence on his imaginings, his hardness and impatience and contemptof all restraint. It seemed to her as though fate had inspired the soulof her child with something of the foolish and torturing hatred whichshe had nursed during her pregnancy. 

 V

Jason Philip Schimmelweis left the dark basement on the square, rented ashop near the bridge by the museum, and set up as a bookseller. Thushis old ambition was realised at last. 

He hired a shop-assistant, and Theresa sat all day at the till andlearned to keep books. 

When she asked her husband what was the source of his capital, heanswered that a friend who had great confidence in his ability hadadvanced him the money at a low rate of interest. He added that he hadbeen pledged not to divulge the name of his friend. 

Theresa did not believe him. Her mind was full of dark forebodings. Shebrooded incessantly and grew to be watchful and suspicious. In secretshe tried to ferret out the identity of this nameless friend, but cameupon no trace. Now and then she tried to cross-question Jason Philip. Onsuch occasions he would snarl at her malignantly. There was no talk ofthe return of the money or of the payment of interest on it, nor did thebooks show an entry of any sort. To rid herself of the anxieties thataccompanied her through the years, it would have been necessary forTheresa to believe in helpful fairies. And she did not believe in them. 

Nature had given her neither gaiety nor gentleness; under the pressureof this insoluble mystery she became ill-tempered as a wife and moody asa mother. 

When there were no customers in the shop she would pick up books quiteat random and read in them. Sometimes it was a novel dealing with crime, sometimes a garrulous tract dealing with secret vices. Such things wereneeded to attract a public that regarded the buying of books as a sinfulwaste. Without special pleasure, and with a morose sort of thirst forinformation, she read revelations of court life and the printedbetrayals of all kinds of spies, adventurers, and rogues. Quiteunconsciously she came to judge the world to which she had no realaccess according to these books which offered her as truth the issues ofsick and pestilential minds. 

But as the years went on, and prosperity raised Jason Philip definitelyinto the merchant class, he abandoned the shadier side of his business. He was a man who knew his age and who unfurled his sails when he wassure of a favourable wind. He entrusted his ship more and more to theever swelling current of the political parties of the proletariat, andhoped to find his profit where, in a half-hearted way, his convictionslay. He exhibited a rebel’s front to the middle-classes, and held out ahand of unctuous fellowship to the toiler. He knew how to make his way!Many an insignificant shop-keeper had been known to exchange his mustyrooms for a villa in the suburbs, to furnish it pretentiously, and tosend his sons on trips abroad. 

In these days, too, the old imperial city awoke from its romanticslumber. Once the sublime churches, the lovely curves of the bridges, and the quaint gables of the houses had formed an artistic whole. Nowthey became mere remnants. Castle and walls and mighty towers were ruinsof an age of dreams now fortunately past. Iron rails were laid on thestreets and rusty chains with strangely shaped lanterns were removedfrom the opening of narrow streets. Factories and smoke-stackssurrounded the venerable and picturesque city as an iron frame mightsurround the work of some old master. 

“Modern man has got to have light and air, ” said Jason PhilipSchimmelweis, and clinked the coins in his trousers pocket. 

 VI

Daniel attended the _gymnasium_ at Ansbach. He was to complete thecourse of studies that would entitle him to the reduction of hismilitary service to one year and then enter business. This had beenagreed upon between Jason Philip and Marian. 

The boy’s zeal for study was small. His teachers shook their heads. Their considerable experience of the world had never yet offered them abeing so constituted. He listened more eagerly to the lowing of a herdof cows and to the twittering of the sparrows than to the best foundedprinciples of grammatical science. Some of them thought him dull, othersmalicious. He passed from class to class with difficulty and solely byvirtue of a marvellous faculty of guessing. At especially criticalmoments he was saved through the help and advocacy of the music-masterSpindler. 

The families who gave the poor student his meals complained of his badmanners. The wife of Judge Hahn forbade him the house on account of hisboorish answers. “Beggars must not be choosers, ” she had called outafter him. 

Spindler was a man who asserted quite correctly that he had been meantfor better things than wearing himself out in a provincial town. Hiswhite locks framed a face ennobled by the melancholy that speaks of lostideals and illusions. 

One summer morning Spindler had risen with the sun and gone for a longwalk in the country. When he reached the first barn of the village ofDautenwinden he saw a company of strolling musicians, who had playeddance music the evening before and far into the night, and who were nowshaking from their hair and garments the straw and chaff amid which theyhad slept. Above them, under the open gable of the barn, Daniel Nothafftwas lying in the straw. With an absorbed and devout expression he wasseeking to elicit a melody from a flute which one of the musicians hadloaned him. 

Spindler stood still and looked up. The musicians laughed, but he didnot share in their merriment. A long while passed before the unskilfulplayer of the flute became aware of his teacher. Then he climbed downand tried to steal away with a shy greeting. Spindler stopped him. Theywalked on together, and Daniel confessed that he had not been able totear himself away from the musicians since the preceding afternoon. Thelad of fourteen was not able to express his feeling; but it seemed tohim as though a higher power had forced him to breathe the same air atleast with those who made music. 

From that day on and for three years Daniel visited Spindler twice aweek, and was most thoroughly grounded in counterpoint and harmony. Thehours thus spent were both consecrated and winged. Spindler found apeculiar happiness in nourishing a passion whose development struck himas a reward for his many years of toneless isolation. And though thedesperateness of this passion, though the rebelliousness and aimlesswildness which streamed to him not only from the character of his pupilbut also from that pupil’s first attempts at composition, gave him causefor anxiety, yet he hoped always to soothe the boy by pointing to thehigh and serene models and masters of his art. 

And so the time came in which Daniel was to earn his own bread. 

 VII

Spindler journeyed to Eschenbach to confer with Marian Nothafft. 

The woman did not understand him. She felt tempted to laugh. 

Music had meant in her life the droning of a hurdy-gurdy, the singingof a club of men, the marching of a military band. Was her boy to wanderfrom door to door and fiddle for pennies? Spindler seemed a mere madmanto her. She pressed her hands together, and looked at him as at a manwho was wasting trivial words on a tragic disaster. The music-masterrealised that his influence was as narrow as his world, and was forcedto leave without accomplishing anything. 

Marian wrote a letter to Jason Philip Schimmelweis. 

One could almost see Jason Philip worrying his reddish brown beard withhis nimble fingers and the scornful twinkling of his eyes; one couldalmost hear the sharp, northern inflection of his speech when his answerto Daniel arrived: “I expected nothing else of you than that it would beyour dearest wish to be a wastrel. My dear boy, either you buckle underand make up your mind to become a decent member of society, or I leaveyou both to your own devices. There is no living in selling herrings andpepper, and so you will kindly imagine for yourself the fate of yourmother, especially if a parasite like yourself clings to her. ”

Daniel tore up the letter into innumerable bits and let them flutter outinto the wind. His mother wept. 

Then he went out into the forest, wandered about till nightfall, andslept in the hollow of a tree. 

 VIII

One might go on and tell the tale of continued rebellion, of angry wordson both sides, of pleas and complaints and fruitless arguments, ofbitter controversy and yet bitterer silence. 

Daniel fled and returned and let the slothful days glide by, stormedabout in the vicinity, and lay in the high grass beside the pools oropened his window at night, cursing the silence and envying the cloudstheir speed. 

His mother followed him when he went to his little room and pressed herear to the door, and then entered and saw the candle still lit, and wentto his bed and was frightened at his gleaming eyes which grew sombre ather approach. Full of the memories of her early cares and fears for him, and thinking that the darkness and the sight of her weakness wouldprevail upon him, she pleaded and begged once more. And he looked up ather and something broke in his soul, and he promised to do as shedemanded. 

So we see him next at the house of the leather merchant Hamecher inAnsbach. He sits on a bale of leather in the long, dismal passage way oron the cellar steps or in the store room, and dreams and dreams anddreams. And gradually the worthy Hamecher’s indulgent surprise turned toblank astonishment and then to indignation, and at the end of six monthshe showed the useless fellow the door. 

Once more Jason Philip condescended to grant his favour, and chose a newscene and new people for his nephew, if only to remove him fromSpindler’s baneful influence. At the mention of the city of Bayreuth noone became aware of Daniel’s fiery ecstasy, for they had never heard ofthe name of Richard Wagner but always of the name of the wine merchantMaier. And so he came to Bayreuth, the Jerusalem of his yearning, andforced himself to an appearance of industry in order to remain in thatspot where sun and air and earth and the very beasts and stones andrefuse breathe that music of which Spindler had said that he himself hada profound presentiment of its nature but was too old to grasp and loveit wholly. 

Daniel did his best to make himself useful. But in spite of himself hescrawled music notes on the invoices, roared strange melodies in lonelyvaults, and let the contents of a whole keg of wine leak out, because infront of him, on the floor, lay the score of the English Suites. 

At a rehearsal he slipped into the Festival Playhouse, but was put outby a zealous watchman, and on this occasion made the acquaintance ofAndreas Döderlein, who was a professor at the Nuremberg conservatory anda tireless apostle of the redeemer. Döderlein seemed not disinclined tounderstand and to help, and expressed a real delight at the deep, original enthusiasm and burning devotion of his protégé. And Daniel, intoxicated by a rather vague and not at all binding promise of ascholarship at the conservatory, fled from Bayreuth by night, made hisway on foot back to Eschenbach, threw himself at his mother’s feet, andalmost writhed there before her and begged and implored her, and inwords almost wild sought to prevail on her to attempt to change the mindof Jason Philip. He tried to explain to her that his life and happiness, his very blood and heart were dedicated to this one thing. But she, whowas once kindly, was now hard—hard as stone, cold as ice. Sheunderstood nothing, felt nothing, believed nothing, saw only thefrightfulness, as she called it, of his incurable aberration. 

All these matters might have been related at length. But they are asinevitable in their character and sequence as the sparks and smoke thatfollow upon fire. They are quite determinable; they have often happened, and have always had the same final effect. 

What clung to Marian’s soul was an immemorial prejudice against agipsy’s life and a stroller’s fate. Her ancestors and her husband’s hadalways earned their livelihood in the honest ways of a trade. She couldnot see what the free tuition at Döderlein’s conservatory would availDaniel, since he had nothing wherewithal to sustain life. He told herthat Spindler had taught him how to play on the piano, that he wouldperfect his skill and so earn his sustenance. She shook her head. Thenhe spoke to her of the greatness of art, of the ecstasy which an artistcould communicate and the immortality he might win, and that perhaps itwould be granted him to create something unique and incomparable. Butthese words she thought mad and pretentious delusions, and smiledcontemptuously. And at that his soul turned away from her, and sheseemed a mother to him no more. 

When Jason Philip Schimmelweis learned what was afoot, he would not letthe troublesome journey deter him, but appeared in Marian’s shop like anavenging angel. Daniel feared him no longer, since he had given uphoping for anything from him. He laughed to himself at the sight of thestubby, short-necked man in his rage. Gleams of mockery and of cunningstill played over the red cheeks of Jason Philip, for he had a very highopinion of himself, and did not think the windy follies of a boy ofnineteen worthy of the whole weight of his personality. 

While he talked his little eyes sparkled, and his red, little tonguepushed away the recalcitrant hairs of his moustache from his volublelips. Daniel stood by the door, leaning against the post, his armsfolded across his chest, and regarded now his mother, who, dumb andsuddenly old, sat in a corner of the sofa, now the oil portrait of hisfather on the opposite wall. A friend of Gottfried Nothafft’s youth, apainter who had been long lost and forgotten like his other works, hadonce painted it. It showed a man of serious bearing, and brought to mindthe princely guildsman of the Middle Ages. Seeing the picture at thatmoment enlightened Daniel as to the ancestral strain that had broughthim to this mood and to this hour. 

And turning now once more to Jason Philip’s face, he thought heperceived in it the restlessness of an evil conscience. It seemed to himthat this man was not acting from conviction but from an antecedentdetermination. It seemed to him further that he was faced, not merely bythis one man and his rage and its accidental causes, but by a wholeworld in arms that was pledged to enmity against him. He had noinclination now to await the end of Jason Philip’s oratorical efforts, and left the room. 

Jason Philip grew pale. “Don’t let us deceive ourselves, Marian, ” hesaid. “You have nursed a viper on your bosom. ”

Daniel stood by the Wolfram fountain in the square, and let the purpleof the setting sun shine upon him. Round about him the stones and thebeams of the ancient houses glowed, and the maids who came with pails tofetch water at the fountain gazed with astonishment into the brimmingradiance of the sky. At this hour his native town grew very dear toDaniel. When Jason Philip entered the square, at the corner of which thestage-coach was waiting, he did his best not to be seen by Daniel andavoided him in a wide semi-circle. But Daniel turned around and fastenedhis eyes on the man, who strode rapidly and gazed stubbornly aside. 

This thing too has happened before and will happen again. Nor is itamazing that the fugitive should turn and inspire terror in his pursuer. 

 IX

Daniel saw that he could not stay to be a burden to his mother with hersmall resources. She was poor and dependent on the judgment of atyrannical kinsman. Mastering his passionate impulses, he forced himselfto cool reflection and made a plan. He would have to work and earn somuch money that after a year or more he would be able to go to AndreasDöderlein and remind him of his magnanimous offer. So he studied theadvertisements in the papers and wrote letters of application. A printerin Mannheim wanted an assistant correspondent. Since he agreed to takethe small wage offered, he was summoned to that city. Marian gave himhis railway fare. 

He endured the torment for three months. Then it grew unbearable. Forseven months he slaved for an architect in Stuttgart, next four monthsfor the municipal bath in Baden-Baden, finally for six weeks in acigarette factory in Kaiserslautern. 

He lived like a dog. In terror of having to spend money, he avoided allhuman intercourse. He was unspeakably lonely. Hunger and self-denialmade him as lean as a rope. His cheeks grew hollow, his limbs trembledin their sockets. He patched his own clothes, and to save his shoeshammered curved bits of iron to the heels and toes. His aim sustainedhim; Andreas Döderlein beckoned in the distance. 

Every night he counted the sum he had saved so far. And when at last, after sixteen months of self-denial, he had a fortune of two hundredmarks, he thought he could risk the fateful step. As he reckoned andaccording to his present standard of life, he thought that this moneywould last him five months. Within that period new sources might open. He had come to know many people and had experienced many circumstances, but in reality he had known no one and experienced nothing, for he hadstood in the world like a lantern with a covered light. With an enormousexpenditure of energy he had restrained his mind from its nativeactivity. He had throttled it for the sake of its future. Hence hiswhole soul had now the temperature of a blast furnace. 

On his trip his fare was the accustomed one of dry bread and cheese. Hehad made a package of his few books and his music, and had despatched itin care of the railway station in Nuremberg. It was early spring. Infair weather he slept in the open. When it rained he took refuge inbarns. A little bundle was his pillow and his ragged top-coat shieldedhim from frost. Not rarely farmers received him in kindly fashion andgave him a meal. Now and then a tramping apprentice joined him. But hissilence did not invite companionship. 

Once in the neighbourhood of Kitzingen he came upon a high fenced park. Under a maple tree in the park sat a young girl in a white dress readinga book. A voice called: “Sylvia!” Thereupon the girl arose, and withunforgettable grace of movement walked deeper into the garden. 

And Daniel thought: Sylvia! A sound as though from a better world. Heshuddered. Was it to be his lot to stand without a gate of life thatgave everything to the eyes and nothing to the hands?

 X

He sought out Andreas Döderlein at once. He was told that the professorwas not in town. Two weeks later he stood once more before the oldhouse. He was told that the professor could not be seen to-day. He wasdiscouraged. But out of loyalty to his cause he returned at the end ofthree days and was received. 

He entered an overheated room. The professor was sitting in an armchair. On his knees was his little, eight-year-old daughter; in hisright arm he held a large doll. The white tiles of the stove wereadorned with pictured scenes from the Nibelungen legend; table andchairs were littered with music scores; the windows had leaded panes; inone corner there was a mass of artfully grouped objects—peacocks’feathers, gay-coloured silks, Chinese fans. This combination was knownas a Makart bouquet, and represented the taste of the period. 

Döderlein put the little girl down and gave her her doll. Then he drewhimself up to the fulness of his gigantic stature, a process that gavehim obvious pleasure. His neck was so fat that his chin seemed to reston a gelatinous mass. 

He seemed not to recall Daniel. Cues had to be given him to distinguishthis among his crowded memories. He snapped his fingers. It was a signthat his mind had reached the desired place. “Ah, yes, yes, yes! To besure, to be sure, my dear young man! But what do you suppose? Just nowwhen all available space is as crowded as a street strewn with crumbs iscrowded with sparrows. We might take the matter up again in autumn. Yes, in autumn something might be done. ”

A pause, during which the great man gave inarticulate sounds of profoundregret. And was the young man, after all, so sure of a genuine talent?Had he considered that art was becoming more and more an idling placefor the immature and the shipwrecked? It was so difficult to tell thesheep from the goats. And finally, granting talent, how was the youngman equipped in the matter of moral energy? There, indisputably, thecore of the problem was to be sought. Or didn’t he, perhaps, think so?

As through a fog Daniel observed that the little girl had approached himand looked him over with a curiously cold and testing glance. Almost hewas impelled to stretch out his hand and cover the eyes of the child, whose manner was uncanny to him through some ghostly presentiment. 

“I’m truly sorry that I can’t give you a more encouraging outlook. ”Andreas Döderlein’s voice was oily, and showed a conscious delight inits own sound. “But as I said, there’s nothing to be done until autumn. Suppose you leave me your address. Put it down on this slip. No? Well, quite as you wish. Good-bye, young man, good-bye. ”

Döderlein accompanied him to the door. Then he returned to his daughter, took her on his knee, picked up the doll, and said: “Human beings, mydear Dorothea, are a wretched set. If I were to compare them to sparrowson the road, I should be doing the sparrows but little honour. Heavensand earth! Wouldn’t even write his name on a slip of paper. Felt hurt!Well, well, well. What funny creatures men are. Wouldn’t leave his name. Well, well. ”

He hummed the Walhalla motif, and Dorothea, bending over her doll, coquettishly kissed the waxen face. 

Daniel, standing in front of the house, bit his lips like a man in afever who does not want his teeth to rattle. Why, the depth of his soulasked him, why did you sit in their counting-houses and waste theirtime? Why did you crucify your body and bind my wings? Why were you deafto me and desirous of gathering fruits where there are only stones? Whydid you, like a coward, flee from your fate to their offices andware-houses and iron safes and all their doleful business? For the sakeof this hour? Poor fool!

And he answered: “Never again, my soul, never again. ”

 XI

In the beginning Marian had received a letter from Daniel every now andthen. These letters became rarer. During the second year he wrote onlyonce—a few lines at Christmas. 

At the time when he was leaving his last place of employment he wroteher on a postcard that he was changing his residence again. But he didnot tell her that he was going to Nuremberg. So spring passed andsummer. Then her soul, which was wavering between fear and hope, wasrudely jolted out of its dim state by a letter from Jason Philip. 

He wrote that Daniel was loafing about in Nuremberg. Quite by accidenthe had met him a few days before near the fair booths on Schütt Island. His appearance was indescribable. He had tried to question him, butDaniel had disappeared. What had brought him to the city he, JasonPhilip, could not see. But he was willing to wager that at the bottom ofit was some shady trick, for the fellow had not looked like one whoearns an honest living. So he proposed to Marian that she should come toNuremberg and help in a raid on the vagabond, in order to prevent theunblemished name he bore from being permanently disgraced before it wastoo late. As a contribution to her travelling expenses he enclosed fivemarks in stamps. 

Marian had received the letter at noon. She had at once locked up herhouse and shop. At two o’clock she had reached the station at Ansbach;at four she arrived in Nuremberg. Carrying her hand-bag, she asked herway to Plobenhof Street at every corner. 

Theresa sat at the cashier’s desk. Her brown hair on her squarepeasant’s skull was smoothly combed. Zwanziger, the freckledshop-assistant, was busy unpacking books. Theresa greeted her sisterwith apparent friendliness, but she did not leave her place. Shestretched out her hand across the ink-stand, and observed Marian’sshabby appearance—the worn shawl, the old-fashioned little cloth bonnetwith its black velvet ribbands meeting in a bow under the chin. 

“Go upstairs for a bit, ” she said, “and let the children entertain you. Rieke will bring up your bag. ”

“Where is your husband?” asked Marian. 

“At an electors’ meeting, ” Theresa answered morosely. “They couldn’tmeet properly, according to him, if he isn’t there. ”

At that moment a man in a workingman’s blouse entered the shop and beganto talk to Theresa urgently in a soft but excited voice. “I bought theset of books and they’re my property, ” said the man. “Suppose I did skipa payment. That’s no reason to lose my property. I call that sharppractice, Frau Schimmelweis, that’s what I call it. ”

“What did Herr Wachsmuth buy of us?” Theresa turned to theshop-assistant. 

“Schlosser’s ‘History of the World, ’” was the prompt answer. 

“Then you’d better read your contract, ” Theresa said to the workingman. “The terms are all fixed there. ”

“That’s sharp practice, Frau Schimmelweis, sharp practice, ” the manrepeated, as though this phrase summed up all he could express in theway of withering condemnation. “A fellow like me wants to get on andwants to learn something. All right. So I think I’ll buy me a book andget a step ahead in knowledge. So where do I go? To a party member, toComrade Schimmelweis, thinking natural-like I’m safe in his hands. I paysixty marks—hard earned money—for a history of the world, and manageto squeeze the payments out o’ my wages, and then, all of a sudden, whenhalf the price is paid, I’m to have my property taken from me without somuch as a by your leave just because I’m two payments in arrears. ”

“Read your contract, ” said Theresa. “Every point is stipulated. ”

“No wonder people get rich, ” the man went on. His voice grew louder andlouder, and he glanced angrily at Jason Philip, who at that momentrushed into the shop with his hat crushed and his trousers sprinkledwith mud. “No wonder that people can buy houses and speculate in realestate. Yes, Schimmelweis, I call such things sharp practice, and Idon’t give a damn for your contract. Everybody knows by this time whatkind of business is done here—more like a man-trap—and that these hereinstalments are just a scheme to squeeze the workingman dry. First youtalk to him about education, and then you suck his blood. It’s hell!”

“Pull yourself together, Wachsmuth!” Jason Philip cried sternly. 

Wachsmuth picked up his cap, and slammed the shopdoor behind him. 

Marian Nothafft’s eyes passed mechanically over the titles of a row offiercely red pamphlets spread out on a table. She read: “The Battle thatDecides, ” “Modern Slaveholders, ” “The Rights of the Poor, ” “Christianityand Capitalism, ” “The Crimes of the Bourgeoisie. ” Although thesecatch-words meant nothing to her, she felt in her heart once more herold, long forgotten hatred against machines. 

 XII

“Fetch me a sandwich, Theresa, ” Jason Philip commanded, “I’m hungry as awolf. ”

“Didn’t you eat anything at the inn?” Theresa asked suspiciously. 

“I was at no such place. ” Jason Philip’s eyes gleamed, and he shook hishead like a lion. 

So Theresa went to fetch his sandwich. It was queer to observe how muchdistrust and contradiction she was able to express through the sloth ofher movements. But her daughter Philippina was already hurrying down thestairs with the sandwich. 

At this moment Jason Philip became aware of his sister-in-law. “Ah, there you are, you shrinking flower, ” he said lightly, and held out hispudgy hand. “Theresa will put you up in the little room under thestore-room. You have a pleasant view of the river there. ”

Theresa handed him the bread. He sniffed at it, and frowned because itwasn’t thickly enough buttered. But he had not the courage to complain. He bit into it, and, with full cheeks, turned once more to Marian. 

“Well, that son of yours has disappeared again. A nice situation. Shouldn’t wonder if he ended in the penitentiary. The best thing wouldbe to ship him off to America; but it isn’t clear to me how we’re toget hold of him at all. It was really premature to ask you to come. ”

“If only I knew what he’s living on, ” Marian whispered, with repressedanguish. 

Jason Philip indulged with broad psychical comfort in an anecdote: “Iwas reading the other day how a giraffe escaped from the Zoo. You’veheard of giraffes. They are long-necked quadrupeds, very stupid andstubborn. The silly beast had run off into the woods, and the peopledidn’t know how to capture it. Then the keeper hung the stable-lanternover his chest and a bundle of hay on his back, and at nightfall wentinto the woods. Scarcely had the giraffe noticed the gleam of thelantern when it came up in its curiosity. At once the man swung around. It smelled the hay, nibbled, and began to feed. Slowly the man went on, and the beast went on nibbling and feeding. First thing you know it wasback in its cage. Now don’t you think that when hunger begins to tormenthim, your Daniel could be tamed with a bit of hay too? It’s worth yourthinking about. ”

Jason Philip laughed merrily, and Zwanziger grinned. His boss was asource of humour. At night, when he sat in his favourite tap-rooms overhis beer, he would entertain his boon companions with the witticisms ofSchimmelweis, and always won their applause. 

A lean old man with kid gloves and a top-hat entered the shop. It wasgrowing dark, and he had peered carefully about before entering. Hehurried up to Jason Philip, and said in a cracked falsetto: “How aboutthe new publications? Anything very fine?” He rubbed his hands, andstared stupidly from under his thin, reddish lids. It was CountSchlemm-Nottheim, a cousin of the Baron von Auffenberg, the leader ofthe liberal party. 

“I’m entirely at your service, sir, ” said Jason Philip, holding himselfas rigidly as a sergeant who is being addressed by a captain. 

He led the count to a corner of the shop, and opened a heavy oakenchest. This chest contained the pornographic publications forbidden bythe state. They were sold quite secretly and only to very reliablepersons. 

Jason Philip whispered, and the old count turned over the heap of bookswith avid fingers. 

 XIII

Marian climbed up the steep, dark stairs, and rang the upstairs bell. She had to tell the maid who she was and even mention her name to thechildren. The latter laughed at her stiff, rural courtesy. Philippina, who was twelve, acted arrogantly and swung her hips when she walked. Allthree had their mother’s square head and a cheesy complexion. 

The maid brought up the bag. Then Theresa came too and helped her sisterunpack. With her acrid, unfeeling voice she asked many questions, butwithout waiting for an answer told the tale of marriage and births anddeaths that had taken place in the city. She avoided Marian’s eyes, because she was silently considering how long her sister’s visit wouldlast and to what expense it would put her. 

She did not mention Daniel, and her silence condemned him morecompletely than her husband’s acrimonious speeches. She held firmly analmost religious doctrine of the complete obedience which children owetheir parents, and doubted Marian’s power to punish properly a breach ofthis sacred law. 

When Marian was left alone, she sat down by the window of the littleroom, and gazed sadly down at the river. Without any curl of waves theyellow water glided by and washed the walls of the houses on the otherbank. She had a view of the Museum Bridge and another bridge, and thecrowding of people on the bridges disquieted her. 

She walked through the streets, and stopped at the head of the MuseumBridge. She thought that every human being who lived in the town mustpass by here sooner or later. Her attentive glance searched all faces, and where one escaped, she followed the figure as it melted into thedark. But as it grew later the people were fewer and fewer. 

At night she would lie awake, and listen to the dull echo of the feet ofthe last passerby. Next day from morning to twilight she would wander upand down the streets. What she saw weighed on her heart. The city peopleseemed to her like dumb animals, tormented and angry. The narrow streetsstopped her breath; the hubbub deadened her senses. 

But she was never tired of seeking. 

On the fifth day she did not come home until ten o’clock. Theresa, whohad gone to bed, sent her a plate of lentil soup. While she was avidlyeating the soup she heard steps in the hall and a knock at the door. Jason Philip entered. “Come along at once, ” was all he said. But sheunderstood. With trembling fingers she threw a shawl across hershoulders, since the October nights were growing cool, and followed himin silence. 

They went up hill to Adler Street, turned into it and then into anarrow, dark little alley at the right. A lantern hung above a door andon a green glass pane were inscribed the words: “The Vale of Tears. ” Agreenish light suffused the stone stairs that led to the cellar, thekegs and the desolate room filled with chairs and benches. A sourishsmell of wine arose from the place. 

Beside the entrance there was a barred window. Beside it Jason Philipstopped, and beckoned Marian to join him. 

At the long tables below them sat a queer crowd. They were young men, but such as one never finds in ordinary houses and only very rarely inthe streets. Want seemed to have driven them to huddle here, and thenight to have lured them from their hiding places—shipwrecked creaturesthey seemed who had fled to a cavern on some deserted shore. They hadabsurdly gay cravats and sad, pallid faces, and the greenish light madethem look altogether like corpses. It was long since a barber hadtouched their hair or a tailor their garb. 

A little aside from these sat two old fellows, habitual topers, not inthe best circumstances themselves, yet rather astonished at this drearyStygian crew. For they themselves at least received their weekly wage ofa Saturday night, while those others had obviously for years not workedat all. 

But in a dusky corner sat one at a piano and struck the keys with astrange might. He had no score before him, but played from memory. Theinstrument moaned; the strings hummed pitifully; the pedals creaked; butthe man who played was so bewitched by his music that he cared littlefor the inadequacy of its communication. Wild as the tumult of theplaying sounded, the shrill and raging chords, the wild clamour of thetreble, the driven triplets and seething tremolos of the bass, yet thedeep emotion of the player, the ecstasy and world-estranged madness inwhich he was, lent the scene a melancholy and a solemnity which wouldhave had its effect even without the greenish cellar and the cavernouspallor of the listeners. 

Marian had at once recognised the pianist as Daniel. She had to holdfast to the bars of the window and lean her knees against thewainscoting. It was not for nothing that Jason Philip was known as athorough wag. The comparison to Daniel in the lion’s den was too muchfor him. He whispered the words to Marian. But since the window was openand the music had first risen and then, at this moment, paused, hiswords penetrated to the people below, and several heads turned towardhim. Marian was thoughtless. She believed that the piece had ended. Faintly and fearfully she cried: “Daniel!”

Daniel leaped up, stared at her, saw Jason Philip’s mocking face, hastened to the door, the steps, and was beside them. 

He stood in the doorway, and his lips began to form words. The unhappyboy, she thought, and it seemed to her as though power would be givenher to press back to his heart the words she trembled to hear. 

It was in vain. The words were uttered. He did not wish to see hismother any more; he was content to live alone and for himself and to befree. He needed no one. He needed only to be free. 

Jason Philip hurled a glance of contempt at the blasphemous wretch, anddrew Marian away with him. To the very corner of the alley they wereaccompanied by the excited voices of the people in the Vale of Tears. 

Next morning Marian returned to Eschenbach. 

 FOES, BROTHERS, A FRIEND AND A MASK

 I

Daniel had rented a room of the brush-maker Hadebusch and his wife, wholived on Jacob’s Square behind the church. 

It was March, and a sudden cold had set in; and Frau Hadebusch had asuperstitious fear of coal, which she characterised as Devil’s dung. Atthe back of the yard was the wood pile, and logs were brought in withwhich to feed the oven fires. But wood was dear, and had Daniel fed hislittle iron stove in the garret with such costly food, his monthly billwould have reached a fabulous height. He paid seven marks a month forhis room and counted every penny so as not to shorten the period of hisliberty by any needless expenditure. 

So he sat freezing over his books and scores until the first warmth ofspring stole in through the windows. The books he borrowed from thelibrary at the King’s Gate, and paid six pfennigs a volume. Achim vonArnim and Jean Paul were his guides in those days: the one adorned theworld of the senses for him, the other that of the soul. 

On the police department’s identification blank Daniel had calledhimself a musician. Frau Hadebusch brought the paper into her livingroom, which, like all the rooms of the house, seemed built for dwarfsand reeked of limewater and lye. It was at the day’s end, and in theroom were assembled Herr Francke and Herr Benjamin Dorn, who lodged onthe second floor, and Frau Hadebusch’s son, who was weak-minded andcrouched grinning beside the stove. 

Herr Francke was a town traveller for a cigar house, and was regarded asa good deal of a Don Juan by the female servants of the neighbourhood. Benjamin Dorn was a clerk in the Prudentia Life Insurance Company, belonged to a Methodist congregation, and was respected by all therespectable on account of his Christian walk and conversation. 

These gentlemen examined the document thoroughly and with frowns. HerrFrancke gave it as his opinion that a musician who never made musiccould scarcely be regarded as one. 

“He’s probably pawned his bass violin or bugle or whatever he wastaught, ” he said contemptuously; “perhaps he can only beat a drum. Well, I can do that too if I have one. ”

“Yes, you’ve got to have a drum to be a drummer, ” Benjamin Dornremarked. “The question, however, is whether such a calling is inharmony with the principles of Christian modesty. ” He laid his finger onhis nose, and added: “It is a question which, with all proper humility, all proper humility, you understand, I would answer in the negative. ”

“He hasn’t any relatives and no acquaintances at all, ” Frau Hadebuschwailed, and her voice sounded like the scraping of carrots on a grater;“and no employment and no prospects and no boots or clothes but whathe’s got on. In all my life I haven’t had no such lodger. ”

The blank fluttered to the floor, whence the weak-minded Hadebusch Jr. Picked it up, rolled it in the shape of a bag, and applied that bag, trumpet-like, to his lips, a procedure which caused the document inquestion to be gradually soaked through and thus withdrawn from itsofficial uses. Frau Hadebusch was too little concerned over the policeregulations to take further thought of her duties as the keeper of alodging house. 

Herr Francke drew from his pocket a pack of greasy cards and began toshuffle them. Frau Hadebusch giggled and it sounded like a witchrustling in the fire. The Methodist conquered his pious scruples, andplaced his pfennigs on the table; the town-traveller turned up hissleeves as though he were about to wring a hen’s neck. 

Before very long there arose a dissonant controversy, since HerrFrancke’s relations with the goddess of fortune were strained andviolent. The old brush-maker poked his head in at the door and cursed;the weak-minded boy blew dreamily on his paper trumpet; and the companythat had been so peacefully at one separated in violence and rage. 

 II

Daniel wandered up to the castle, along the walls, over the bridges andplanks. 

It was his youth that caused him so to love the night that he forgot allmen and seemed to himself to be alone on earth. It was his youth thatdelivered him up to things with such passion that he was able to weavethe ghostly flowers of melodies about all that is visible—melodies thatwere so delicate, so eloquent, and so winged that no pen could everrecord them. They vanished and died whenever he sought to capture them. 

But it was also his youth that fired his eyes with hatred when he sawthe comfort of lit windows, and filled his heart with bitterness againstthe satisfied, the indifferent, the strangers, the eternal strangers whohad no consciousness of him. 

He was so small and so great: small in the eyes of the world, great inhis own estimation. When the tones burst from him like sparks from ananvil, he was a god. When he stood in the dark court behind the CityTheatre waiting for the final chorus of “Fidelio” to penetrate the walland reach his grateful ears, he was an outcast. Fountains of musicrustled all about him. He looked into the eyes of the children and therewas melody; he gazed up at the stars and there was harmony. He finallycame to the point where there was no limit. His day was a waste place, his brain a parched field in the rain, his thoughts were birds ofpassage, his dreams a super-life. 

He lived on bread and fruit, treating himself only every third day to awarm meal in the inn at the sign of the White Tower. There he would sitand listen at times, unobserved, to the quite remarkable conversation ofsome young fellows. This awakened in him a longing for intercourse withcongenial companions. But when the brethren of the Vale of Tears finallytook him into their circle, he was like a Robinson Crusoe or a Selkirkwho had been abducted from his island. 

 III

Benjamin Dorn was a compassionate individual. The desire to save a lostsoul filled him with the courage to pay Daniel Nothafft a visit. Hehobbled up the creaky steps with his club-foot, and knocked timidly atthe door. 

“Can I be of service to you, Sir, in a Christian way?” he asked, afterhe had blown his nose. 

Daniel looked at him in amazement. 

“You know, I could help you in an unselfish, Christian way, to get aposition. There is a great deal of work to be done down at thePrudentia. If I were to recommend you to Herr Zittel it certainly wouldnot be in vain. Herr Zittel is head of the clerical department. I alsostand in with Herr Diruf, and he is general agent. I come in contactnearly every day with Inspector Jordan, and Herr Jordan is a man ofexceptional culture. His daughter Gertrude attended my Sunday-schoolclass. She has received and still enjoys divine favour. If you were toentrust your case to me, you would be entering upon a righteous, wholesome career. I am always looking out for some one. To tell thetruth, and not wishing to appear immodest, I was born that way. ”

The man looked like a patchwork of qualmishness, tribulation, andunctuous piety, and his coat collar was badly frayed. 

“That’s all right, ” replied Daniel; “don’t you see that I am gettingalong quite well?”

The pious life-insurance agent sighed and brushed a drop from the tip ofhis nose with the back of his hand. “My dear Sir, ” said he, “take toheart the words of Solomon: Pride goeth before a fall, but the humble inspirit obtain honour. ”

“Yes, I’ll take that to heart, ” said Daniel drily, and bent still lowerover the score on which he was working. 

Benjamin Dorn sighed again, and limped out of the room. With his thumbspointing straight to high heaven above, he said to Frau Hadebusch: “Youknow, Frau Hadebusch, I simply can’t help it. I must lighten my heart ina Christian way. What do you think?”

“Good heavens, what’s he doing? What’s he up to now?” sighed the oldlady, as she shoved her broom under her arm. 

“As true as I stand here, the table is all covered with papers, and thepapers are all covered with some kind of mysterious signs. ”

Alarmed at the very thought of having a lodger up in the attic who waspractising black magic, Frau Hadebusch sent her husband down to thedistrict policeman. This enlightened official declared that thebrush-maker was a gossip. Vexed at this unanticipated description ofhimself, the brush-maker went straightway to the inn at the sign of theHorse and got drunk, so drunk that Benjamin Dorn had to take him home. It was a beautiful moonlit night. 

 IV

Not far from Hadebusch’s was a little café known as The Paradise. Everything in it was diminutive, the proprietor, the waitress, thetables, the chairs and the portions. There the brethren from the Valeof Tears assembled to drag the gods down into the dust and destroy theuniverse in general. 

Daniel wended his way thither. He knew the liliputian room and thestarved faces. He was personally acquainted with the painter who neverpainted, the writer who never wrote, the student who never studied, andthe inventor who never invented anything. He knew all about the sculptorwho squandered such talents as he may have had in tinkering with plastercasts, the actor who had been on a leave of absence for years, and thehalf dozen mendicant Philistines who came here day after day to have agood time in their own repelling fashion. He knew the young Baron vonAuffenberg who had broken with his family for reasons that were clear tono one but himself. He knew Herr Carovius, who invariably played therôle of the observer, and who sat there in a sort of mysterious fashion, smiling to himself a smile of languishing irony, and stroking his handover his long hair, which was cut straight across at the back of hisneck. 

He knew, ah, he knew by heart, the grease spots on the walls that hadbeen rubbed in by the heads of the habitués, the indelible splotches onthe tables, the hartshorn buttons on the proprietor’s vest, and thesmoke-coloured curtains draped about the tiny windows. The loud, boisterous talking, the daily repetition of the same hackneyed remarks, the anarchistic swashbuckling of the painter whom his comrades haddubbed Kropotkin—all of these were familiar stories to him. He knew thephilosophic cynicism of the student who felt that he was the Socrates ofthe nineteenth century, and who looked back on twenty-five wastedsemesters as on so many battles fought and won. 

The most interesting personage was Herr Carovius. He was a well-readman. That he knew a great deal about music was plain from many of hischance remarks. He was a brother-in-law of Andreas Döderlein, though heseemed to take anything but pride in the relationship. If any onementioned Döderlein’s name in his presence, he screwed up his face, andbegan to shuffle about uneasily on his chair. He was an unfathomable, impenetrable personality. Even if his years—he was forty-five—had notwon for him a measure of esteem, the malicious and mordant scorn heheaped on his fellow-men would have done so. People said he had a gooddeal of money. If this was brought to his attention, he employed themost ghastly oaths in asserting his poverty. But since he had neithercalling nor profession and spent his days in unqualified idleness, itwas apparent that his assertions on this point were wholly unfounded, and this despite the virility of his unconventional language. 

“Say, tell me, who is that lanky quack there?” asked Herr Carovius, pointing to Daniel and looking at Schwalbe the sculptor. He had knownDaniel for a long while, but every now and then it gave him a peculiarkind of pleasure to play the rôle of the newcomer. 

The sculptor looked at him indignantly. 

“That is a man who still has faith in himself, ” he remarked rathermorosely. “He is a man who has bathed in the dragon blood of illusions, and has become as invulnerable as Young Siegfried. He is convinced thatthe people who sleep in the houses around this part of town dream of hisfuture greatness, and have already placed an order with the green-grocerfor his laurel wreath. He has not the faintest idea that the only thingthat is sacred to them is their midday meal, that they are ready todrink their beer at the first stroke of the gong, and to yawn when thelight appears on Mount Sinai. He is completely taken up with himself; heis sufficient unto himself; and he gathers honey. The bee will have itshoney, and if it is unable to get it from the flowers, it buzzes aboutthe dung heap. As is evidently the case here. _Prosit_ Nothafft, ” hesaid in conclusion, and lifted his glass to Daniel. 

Herr Carovius smiled in his usual languishing fashion. “Nothafft, ” hebleated, “Nothafft, Nothafft, that is a fine name, but not exactly onethat is predestined to a niche in Walhalla. It strikes me as beingrather more appropriate for the sign of a tailor. Good Lord! The bonesthe young people gnaw at to-day were covered with meat in my time. ”

And then, clasping his glasses a bit firmer onto his nose, he rivetedhis blinking, squinting eyes on the door. Eberhard von Auffenberg, elegant, slender, and disgruntled, entered to find life where otherswere throwing it away. 

It was far into the night when the brethren went home. As they passedalong through the streets they bellowed their nocturnal serenades at thewindows of the otherwise peaceful houses. 

As the hilarious laughter and vocal rowdyism reached Daniel’s ear, hedetected from out of the hubbub a gentle voice in E-flat minor, accompanied by the inexorable eighth-notes sung with impressive vigour. Then the voice died away in a solemn E-flat major chord, and everythingwas as if sunk in the bottom of the sea. 

 V

Toward the end of the summer, Philippina, Jason Philip’s daughter, shotout the eye of her seven-year-old brother with a so-called bean-shooter. 

The children were playing in the yard. Willibald, the older boy, wantedthe shooter. Philippina, who had not the slightest sense of humour, snatched it from his hands, placed the stone on the elastic band and letit fly with all her might. Little Marcus ran in front of it. It was allover in a jiffy. A heart-rending scream caused the frightened mother toleave the shop and run out into the yard. She found the child lying onthe ground convulsed with pain. While Theresa carried the boy into thehouse, Jason Philip ran for the doctor. But it was too late; the eye waslost. 

Philippina hid. After considerable search her father found her under thecellar steps. He beat her so mercilessly that the neighbours had to comeup and take him away. 

Little Marcus was Theresa’s favourite child. She could not get over theaccident. The obsession that had slumbered in her soul for years nowbecame more persistent than ever: she began to brood over guilt ingeneral and this case in particular. 

At times she would get up in the night, light a candle, and walk aboutthe house in her stocking feet. She would look behind the stove andunder the table, and then crouch down with her ear against the maid’sdoor. She would examine the mouse-trap and if a mouse had been caught init, she could not, try as she might, completely detach her own unrestfrom the mental disturbance of the little beast. 

One day Jason Philip was stopped on the street by a well-knowncabinet-maker and asked whether he had any old furniture for sale. JasonPhilip replied that he was not at all familiar with the contents of theattic and sent him to Theresa. Theresa recalled that there was an olddesk up in the attic that had been standing there for years. Shesuggested that they might be willing to dispose of this for a few taler, and accompanied the man to the room where the worn-out furniture wasstored. 

She opened the little wooden door. The cabinet-maker caught sight atonce of the desk. It had only three legs and was just about ready tofall to pieces. “I can’t make you an offer for that, ” said thecabinet-maker, and began to rap on it here and there, somewhat as aphysician might sound a corpse. “The most I can offer you is twelvegroschen. ”

They haggled for a while, and finally agreed on sixteen. The man left atonce, having promised to send one of his men up in the afternoon to getthe desk. Theresa was already standing on the steps, when it occurred toher that it might be well to go through the drawers before letting thething get out of the house: there might be some old documents in them. She went back up in the attic. 

In the dust of one of the drawers she found, sure enough, a bundle ofpapers, and among them the receipt which Gottfried Nothafft had sentback to Jason Philip ten years before. She read in the indistinct lightthe confidential words of the deceased. She saw that Jason Philip hadreceived three thousand taler. 

After she had read this, she crumpled up the paper. Then she put it intoher apron pocket and screamed out: “Be gone, Gottfried, be gone!”

She went down stairs into the kitchen. There she took her place by thetable and stirred a mixture of flour and eggs, as completelyabsent-minded as it is possible for one to become who spends her time inthat part of the house. Rieke, the maid, became so alarmed at herbehaviour that she made the sign of the cross. 

 VI

When the midday meal was over, the children left the table and preparedto go to school. Jason Philip lighted a cigar, and took the newspaperfrom his pocket. 

“Did you find anything for the second-hand furniture man?” he asked, ashe puffed away. 

“I found something for him and something for myself, ” she said. 

“What do you mean? You found something for yourself?”

“What do I mean? I mean just what I said. I have always known that therewas something crooked about that money. ”

“What money are you talking about? Listen, don’t speak to me in riddles!When you have anything to say to me, say it. Do you understand?”

“I mean Gottfried Nothafft’s money, Jason Philip, ” said Theresa, almostin a whisper. 

Jason Philip bent over the table. “Then you have at last found the oldreceipt, have you?” he asked with wide-opened eyes. “Ahem! You havefound the receipt that I’ve been looking for for years . .. ?”

Theresa nodded. She took out a hairpin, and stuck it in a crust ofbread. Jason Philip got up, clasped his hands behind his back, and beganto walk back and forth. Just then Rieke came in and began to clear offthe table. She went about her business in a slow but noisy fashion. Shemade things rattle, even if she could not make them hum. When she wasthrough, Jason Philip, his hands pressed to his hips, his elbowsprotruding, planted himself before Theresa. 

“I suppose you think I am going to let you browbeat me, ” he began. “Well, my dear woman, you’re mistaken. Listen! Are you angry at mebecause I have created for you and your children a dignified existence?Do you take it amiss of me for having kept your sister from going to thepoor-house? You act as though I had won that much money at the countyfair, or had squandered an equal amount at the same place. The truth is, Gottfried Nothafft entrusted me with three thousand taler. That’s whathe did; that’s the truth. It was his intention to keep the whole affairfrom the chatter of women. And he willed that I should use thishard-earned capital in a productive way, and not give it to the culpritwho would waste it in debauchery and worse if possible. ”

“Ill-gotten goods seldom prosper, ” said Theresa, without looking up. “Things may go along all right for ten years, and that seems like a longtime, but the vengeance of Heaven comes in the eleventh, as it hasalready come in the case of little Marcus. ”

“Theresa—you’re talking like a mad woman, ” said Jason Philip at the topof his voice. With that he picked up a chair, and threw it on the floorso violently that every cup, spoon, and plate in the room shook. 

Theresa turned her peasant face toward him without the shadow of a traceof fear. He was a trifle alarmed: “You’ll have to be responsible, if youcan, for any misfortune that visits us in the future. ” She spoke thesewords with a deep voice. 

“Do you think I am a bandit?” said Jason Philip. “Do you think I want topocket the money? Don’t you think that I am capable of anything betteror higher than that? Or is ambition of any sort quite beyond your powersof comprehension?”

“Well, what ambitions do you have?” asked Theresa in a tone ofsullenness, her eyes in the meantime blinking. 

“Listen, ” Jason Philip continued, as he sat down on the chair he had soviolently abused a minute before, and assumed the air of a teacher:“The culprit has got to submit, and that with good grace. He has got tofall on his knees before me. And he’ll come to it. I have made someinquiries; I am on his tracks; and I know that he has just about reachedthe end of his rope. He’ll come, depend upon it he’ll come around, andwhen he does he will whine. Then I am going to take him into thebusiness. In this way we will see whether it is humanly possible to makea useful man out of him. If I can, and if he sticks, I’ll call him intothe office, tell him the whole story, make everything as clear as day tohim, and then offer to take him in as a partner in the firm. You havegot to admit that he will be a made man if he becomes my partner. Hewill have sense enough himself to see this, and as sure as you areliving, he will first kiss my hand and then eat out of it for thekindness I have shown him. And once this has all been put through, Iwill bind him to us more firmly than ever by having him marryPhilippina. ”

A wry smile disfigured Theresa’s face. “I see, so, so, ” she said in asing-song tone. “You will have him marry Philippina. I take it that youfeel that she will be hard to marry, and that the man who does marry herwill have his hands full. Well, that’s not a bad idea. ”

“In this way, ” continued Jason Philip, without detecting the scorn inTheresa’s words, “the account between the culprit and myself will besettled. He will become a decent member of society, the money willremain in the family, and Philippina will be cared for. ”

“And suppose he does not come; suppose he does not fall on his knees;suppose you have made a miscalculation. What then?” Whether Jason Philiphimself believed what he had said Theresa could not determine. Nor hadshe the slightest desire to enlighten herself on this point. She did notlook him in the face, but contented herself with letting her eyes reston his hands. 

“Well—there will be time then to change my plans, ” said Jason Philip, in a tone of peeved vexation. “Leave it to me. I have turned the wholesituation over in my mind; I have omitted not the slightest detail. Iknow men, and I have never made a mistake in judging them. _Mahlzeit!_”

With that he went out. 

Theresa remained seated for a while, her arms folded across her breast. Then she got up, and walked over to the door that opened on to thecourt. Suddenly she stopped as if rooted to the sill: she caught sightof Philippina, who was then sitting by the window mending a pair ofsocks. On her face there was an expression of naïveté that may beharmless in itself, but it was enough to arouse suspicion. 

“What’s the matter with you, why didn’t you go to school?” asked Theresauneasily. 

“I couldn’t; I had a headache, ” said Philippina curtly, and broke thethread as she gave a hasty jerk at the needle. Her dishevelled hair hungdown over her forehead and quite concealed her face. 

Theresa was silent. Her gloom-laden eyes rested on the diligent fingersof Philippina. It was easy to suspect that the girl had heard everythingJason Philip had said, for he had such a loud voice. She could have donethis without going to the trouble of listening at the door. Theresa wasminded to give the girl a talking-to; but she controlled herself, andquietly withdrew. 

Philippina looked straight through her as she left. But she did notinterrupt her work, and in a short while she could be heard humming atune to herself. There was a challenge in her voice. 

 VII

Daniel’s money was about at an end. The new sources on which he hadhoped to be able to draw were nowhere to be discovered. He defiantlyclosed the doors against care; and when fear showed its gloomy face, heshut up shop, and went out to drown his sorrows with the brethren of theVale of Tears. 

Schwalbe, the sculptor, had made the acquaintance of Zingarella, thenengaged in singing lascivious couplets at the Academy, and invited thefellows to join him. 

The Academy was a theatre of the lowest description. Smoking was, ofcourse, permitted. When they arrived the performance was over. Peoplewere still sitting at many of the tables. Reeking as the auditorium waswith the stench of stale beer, it left the impression of a dark, dankcavern. 

With an indifference that seemed to argue that Zingarella made nodistinction between chairs and people, she took her seat between thesculptor and the writer. She laughed, and yet it was not laughter; shespoke, and her words were empty; she stretched out her hands, and thegesture was lifeless. She fixed her eyes on no one; she merely gazedabout. She had a habit of shaking her bracelet in a way that arousedsympathy. And after making a lewd remark she would turn her head to oneside, and thereby stagger even the most hardened frequenter of thissort of places. Her complexion had been ruined by rouge, but underneaththe skin there was something that glimmered like water under thin ice. 

The former winsomeness of her lips was still traceable in the sorrowedcurves of her now ravaged mouth. 

At times her restless eyes, seeking whom they might entangle, were fixedon Daniel, then sitting quite alone at the lower end of the table. Inorder to avoid the unpleasant sensation associated with the thought ofgoing up to such a distinguished-looking person and making herself knownto him, she would have been grateful had some one picked her up andthrown her bodily at his feet. There was an element of strangeness abouthim. Zingarella saw that he had had nothing to do with women of herkind. This tortured her; she gnashed her teeth. 

Daniel did not sense her hatred. As he looked into her face, marked witha life of transgression and already claimed by fate, he built up in hisown soul a picture of inimitable chastity. He tried to see the playmateof a god. The curtain decorated with the distorted face of a harlequin, the acrobat and the dog trainer at the adjacent table, who werequarrelling over their money, the four half-grown gamblers directlybehind him, the big fat woman who was lying stretched out on a benchwith a red handkerchief over her face and trying to sleep, the writerwho slandered other writers, the inventor who discoursed so volubly andincessantly on perpetual motion—to all of this he paid not theslightest bit of attention. For him it could just as well have been inthe bottom of the sea. He got up and left. 

But as he saw the snow-covered streets before him and was unable todecide whether he should go home or not, Zingarella stepped up to him. “Come, be quick, before they see that we are together, ” she whispered. And thus they walked along like two fugitives, whose informationconcerning each other stops short with the certainty that both are poorand wretched and are making their way through a snow storm. 

“What is your name?” asked Daniel. 

“My name is Anna Siebert. ”

The clock in the St. Lorenz Church struck three. The one up in the towerof St. Sebaldus corroborated this reckoning by also striking three andin much deeper tones. 

They came to an old house, and after floundering through a long, dark, ill-smelling passage way, entered a room in the basement. Anna Siebertlighted a lamp that had a red chimney. Gaudy garments of the soubrettehung on the wall. A big, grey cat lay on the table cover and purred. Anna Siebert took the cat in her arms and caressed it. Its name wasZephyr. It accompanied her wherever she went. 

Daniel threw himself on a chair and looked at the lamp. Zingarella, standing before the mirror, stroked the cat. Gazing distractedly intospace, she remarked that the manager had discharged her because thepublic was no longer satisfied with her work. 

“Is this what you call the public?” asked Daniel, who never once tookhis eyes from the lamp, just as Anna Siebert kept hers rigidly fixed onthe desolate distances of the mirror. “These fathers of families whoside-step every now and then, these counter-jumpers, the mere looks ofwhom is enough to snatch your clothing from your body, this human filthat the sight of which God must conceal His face in shame—this is whatyou call the public?”

“Well, however that may be, ” Anna Siebert continued in a colourlessvoice, “the manager rushed into my dressing room, threw the contract atmy feet, and said I had swindled him. How on earth could I have swindledhim? I am no prima donna and my agent had told him so. You can’t expecta Patti on twenty marks a week. In Elberfeld I got twenty-five, and ayear ago in Zürich I even drew sixty. Now he comes to me and says hedoesn’t need to pay me anything. What am I to live off of? And you’vegot to live, haven’t you, Zephyr, ” said Anna as she picked up the cat, pressed its warm fur to her cheek, and repeated, “You’ve got to live. ”

She let her arms fall to her sides, the cat sprang on the floor, hunchedup its back, wagged its tail, and purred. She then went up to Daniel, fell on her knees, and laid her head on his side. “I have reached theend, ” she murmured in a scarcely audible voice, “I am at the end of allthings. ”

The snow beat against the window panes. With an expression on his faceas though his own thoughts were murdering each other, Daniel looked intothe corner from which Zephyr’s yellowish eyes were shining. The musclesof his face twitched like a fish on being taken from the hook. 

And as he cowered in this fashion, the poor girl pressed against hisbody, his shoulders lowered, past visions again arose from the depths ofthe sea. First he heard a ravishing arpeggio in A-flat major and aboveit, a majestic theme, commanding quiet, as it were, in sixteenth triads. The two blended, in _forte_, with a powerful chord of sevens. There wasa struggling, a separating, a wandering on, and out of the subduedpianissimo there arose and floated in space a gentle voice in E-flatminor. O voice from the sea, O humanity on earth! The eighth note, unpitiable as ever in its elemental power, cut into the bass with thestrength that moves and burrows as it advances, until it was caught upby the redeemed voice in E-flat major. And now everything suddenlybecame real. What had formerly been clouds and dreams, longing andwishing, at last took shape and form and stood before him. Indeed hehimself became true, real, and conscious of his existence in a world ofactualities. 

On his way home he covered his face with his hands, for the windows ofthe houses gaped at him like the hollow eyes of a demi-monde. 

 VIII

Zingarella could not imagine why the strange man had left. He seemed tobe quite indifferent. Her heart beat with numerical accuracy, but therewas no strength in the beats. The sole creature through which she wasbound to the world was Zephyr. 

Night followed night, day followed day. Each was like the preceding. Shespoke when people took enough trouble to speak to her. She laughed whenthey had the incomprehensible desire to hear laughter. To-day shewrapped this dress around her shivering body, to-morrow another. Shewaited for the time to come when she was to do something definite. Shelay in bed and dreaded the darkness; she pondered on the injustice ofthe world; she thought of her own disgrace, and reflected on the needthat surrounded her. It was too much for her to bear. 

A man would come, and at daylight he would leave and mingle with therest of the people on the street. When she awoke she could no longerrecall what he looked like. The landlady would bring in soup and meat. Then some one knocked at the door; but she did not open it. She had nodesire to find out who it was. Perhaps it was the man who had been withher the night before; perhaps it was another. 

She had neither curiosity nor hope. Her soul had dissolved like a pieceof salt in water. When she returned home on the third day she foundZephyr lying by the coal-scuttle dead. She knelt down, touched the coldfur, wrinkled her brow, shook her bracelet, and went out. 

It was getting along toward night, and the air was heavy with mist. Shewent first through lighted streets, and then turned into others thatwere not lighted. She passed through avenues of leafless trees, andwalked across silent squares. The snow made walking difficult. When itwas too deep, she was obliged to stop every now and then and take a deepbreath. 

She reached the river at a point where the shore was quite flat and thewater shallow. Without thinking for a moment, without a moment’shesitation, just as if she were blind, or as if she saw a bridge wherethere was none, she walked in. 

First she felt the water trickling into her shoes. Then she could feelher legs getting wet, as her clothes, soft, slippery, and ice-cold, clung to her body. Now her breast was under the water, and now her neck. She sank down, glided away, took one deep breath, smiled, and as shesmiled she lost consciousness. 

The next day her body was washed up on the shore some distance beyondthe city. It was taken to the morgue of the Rochus Cemetery. 

 IX

Schwalbe, the sculptor, was attending a funeral. His nephew had died, and was being buried in the same cemetery. 

As he passed by the morgue he caught sight of the body of a girl. Afterthe child had been buried he went back to the morgue. A few people werestanding near the body, one of whom said, “She was a singer down at theAcademy. ”

Schwalbe was struck by the pure and beautiful expression on the girl’sface. He studied it long and with no little emotion. Then he went to thesuperintendent, and asked if he might take a death mask. The permissionwas given him, and in a few hours he returned with the necessaryimplements. 

When he removed the mask from the face, he held something trulywonderful in his hands. It showed the features of a sixteen-year-oldgirl, a face full at once of sweetness and melancholy, and, mostcharming of all, an angelic smile on the curved lips of this mouth ofsorrow. It resembled the work of a renowned artist, so much so that thesculptor was suddenly seized with a burning desire to regain his lostart. 

He was nevertheless obliged within a week to sell the mask to the casterby whom he was employed in Pfannenschmied Street. Schwalbe needed readymoney. The caster hung the mask by the door at the entrance to his shop. 

 X

At the end of December Daniel found himself with not a cent of cash, sothat he was obliged to sell his sole remaining treasure, the score ofthe Bach mass in B-minor. Spindler had presented it to him when he left, and now he had to take it to the second-hand dealer and part with it fora mere pittance. 

Unless he cared to lie in bed the whole day, he was obliged to walk thestreets in order to keep warm. His poverty made it out of the questionfor him to go to any of the cafés, and so he was excluded fromassociation with the brethren of the Vale of Tears. He had moreovertaken a violent dislike to them. 

One evening he was standing out in front of the Church of Ægydius, listening to the organ that some one was playing. The icy wind blewthrough his thin clothing. When the concert was over he went down to thesquare, and leaned up against the wall of one of the houses. He wastremendously lonesome; he was lonely beyond words. 

Just then two men came along who wished to enter the very house againstthe wall of which he leaned. He was cold. One of these men was BenjaminDorn, the other was Jordan. Benjamin Dorn spoke to him; Jordan stood byin silence, apparently quite appreciative of the condition in which theyoung man found himself, as he stood there in the cold and madeunfriendly replies to the questions that were put to him. Jordan invitedDaniel up to his room. Daniel, chilled to the very marrow of his bones, and able to visualise nothing but a warm stove, accepted the invitation. 

Thus Daniel came in contact with Jordan’s family. He had three children:Gertrude, aged nineteen, Eleanore, aged sixteen, and Benno, fifteenyears old and still a student at the _gymnasium_. His wife was dead. 

Gertrude was said to be a pietist. She went to church every day, and hadan inclination toward the Catholic religion, a fact which gave Jordan, as an inveterate Protestant, no little worry. During the day she lookedafter the house; but as soon as she had everything in order, she wouldtake her place by the quilting frame and work on crowns of thorns, hearts run through with swords, and languishing angels for a mission. There she would sit, hour after hour, with bowed head and knit. 

The first time Daniel saw her she had on a Nile green dress, fastenedabout her hips with a girdle of scales, while her wavy brown hair hungloose over her shoulders. It was in this make-up that he always saw herwhen he thought of her years after: Nile green dress, bowed head, sitting at the quilting frame, and quite unaware of his presence, apicture of unamiability, conscious or affected. 

Eleanore was entirely different. She was like a lamp carried through adark room. 

For some time she had been employed in the offices of the Prudentia, forshe wished to make her own living. So far as it was humanly possible todetermine from her casual remarks, she thoroughly enjoyed her work. Sheliked to make out receipts for premiums, lick stamps, copy letters, andsee so many people come in and go out. Stout old Diruf and lanky Zitteldid everything they could to keep her interested, and if, despite theirefforts, it was seen that a morose mood was invading her otherwisecheerful disposition, they took her out to the merry-go-round, and in ashort time her wonted buoyancy had returned. 

She seemed like a child, and yet she was every inch a woman. Sheinsisted on wearing her little felt cap at a jaunty angle on her blondhair. When she entered the room, the atmosphere in it underwent achange; it was easier to breathe; it was fresher. People somehowdisapproved of the fact that her eyes were so radiantly blue, and thather two rows of perfect white teeth were constantly shining from outbetween her soft, peach-like lips. They said she was light-hearted; theysaid she was a butterfly. Benjamin Dorn was of the opinion that she wasa creature possessed of the devil of sensuality and finding hercompletest satisfaction in earthly finery and frippery. For some timethere had been an affair of an intimate nature between her and Baron vonAuffenberg. Just what it was no one knew precisely; the facts were notobtainable. But Benjamin Dorn, experienced ferreter that he was, couldnot see two people of different sexes together without imagining that hewas an accomplice in the hereditary sin of human kind. And one day hecaught Eleanore alone in the company of Baron von Auffenberg. From thatday on she was, in his estimation, a lost soul. 

The fact concerning Eleanore was this: life never came very close toher. It comes right up to other people, strangles them, or drags themalong with it. It kept its distance from Eleanore, for she lived in aglass case. If she had sorrow of any kind, if some painfullyindeterminable sensation was gnawing at her soul, if the vulgarity andbanality of a base and disjointed world came her way, the glass case inwhich she lived simply became more spacious than ever, and the thingsor thoughts that swarmed around it more and more incomprehensible. 

One can always laugh if one lives in a glass case. Even bad dreamsremain on the outside. Even longing becomes nothing more than a purplebreath which clouds the crystal from without, not from within. 

The people were quite right in saying that Jordan was bringing up hisdaughters like princesses. Both were far removed from the customarythings of life: the one was translated to the realm of darkness, theother to that of light. 

Daniel saw both of them. They were just as strange to him as he to them. He saw the brother, too, a tall, glib, dapper youth. He saw the oldhouse with its dilapidated stairs, its rooms filled with cumbersome, provincial furniture. He saw the alternating currents of life in thisfamily: there was now rest, now unrest, now quiet, now storm. Lifeflowed out from the house, and then life, the same or of a differentorigin, flowed back in again. When he came, he talked with Jordanhimself rather than with any one else; for he always knew when Jordanwould be at home. They spoke in a free and easy fashion and about thingsin general. If their conversation could be characterised more fully, itmight be said that Daniel was reserved and Jordan tactful. Gertrude satby the table and attended to her needlework. 

Daniel came and warmed himself by the stove. If he was offered asandwich or a cup of coffee he declined. If the offer was made withnoticeable insistency, he shook his head and distorted the features ofhis face until he resembled an irritated ape. It was the peasant spiritof defiance in him that made him act this way. He nourished a measure ofsmall-minded anxiety lest he be indebted to somebody for something. Totemptations, yielding to which would have been spiritually mortifying, he was impervious. When, consequently, his need became overpowering, hesimply stayed away. 

 XI

His want grew into a purple sheen. To him there was an element of theridiculous in the whole situation: it was 1882 and he had nothing toeat; he was twenty-three years old and quite without food. 

Frau Hadebusch, virago that she could be when a dubious debtor failed tofulfil his obligations, stormed her way up the steps. The rent was longoverdue, and uncanny councils were being held in the living room, inwhich an invalid from the Wasp’s Nest and a soap-maker from KamerariusStreet were taking part. 

In his despair, Daniel thought of entering the army. He reported at thebarracks, was examined—and rejected because of a hollow chest. 

At first there was the purple sheen. He saw it as he stood on thehangman’s bridge and looked down into the water where pieces of ice weredrifting about. But when he raised his distressed face a giganticcountenance became visible. The great vaulted arch of heaven was acountenance fearfully distorted by vengeance and scorn. Of escape fromit there could be no thought. Within his soul everything became wrappedin darkness. Tones and pictures ran together, giving the disagreeablyinarticulate impression that would be made by drawing a wet rag across afresh, well-ordered creation. 

As he walked on, it seemed to him that the horror of the vision wasdiminishing. The countenance became smaller and more amiable. It was nownot much larger than the façade of a church and what wrath remainedseemed to be concentrated in the forehead. An old woman passed by, carrying apples in her apron. He trembled at the smell of them; but hedid not reach out; he did not try to take a single one of them from her;he still held himself in control. By this time the entire vision was notmuch larger than the top of a tree, and in it were the traces of mercy. 

The sun was high in the heavens, the snow was melting, birds werechirping everywhere. As he sauntered along with uncertain steps throughPfannenschmied Street he suddenly stopped as if rooted to the pavement. There was the vision: he caught sight of it in bodily form on the doorjamb of the shop. He could not see that it was the mask of Zingarella. Of course not, for it was a transfigured face, and how could he havegrasped a reality in his present state of mind? He looked from withinout. The thing before him was a vision; it joined high heaven with theearth below; it was a promise. He could have thrown himself down on thestreet and wept, for it seemed to him that he was saved. 

The incomparable resignation and friendly grief in the expression of themask, the sanctity under the long eyelashes, the half extinguished smileplaying around the mouth of sorrow, the element of ghostliness, a beingfar removed from death and equally far removed from life—all thiscaused his feeling to swell into one of credulous devotion. His entirefuture seemed to depend upon coming into possession of the mask. Withouta moment’s hesitation or consideration he rushed into the shop. 

Within he found a young man whom the caster addressed most respectfullyas Dr. Benda, and who was about thirty years old. Dr. Benda was beingshown a number of successful casts of a figure entitled “The Fountain ofVirtue. ” It was quite a little while before the caster turned to Danieland asked him what he wanted. In a somewhat rude voice and with anunsteady gesture, Daniel made it clear to him that he wished to buy themask. The caster removed it from the door, laid it on the counter, andnamed his price. He looked at the shabby clothing of the newly arrivedcustomer, concluded at once that the price, ten marks, would be morethan he could afford, and turned again to Dr. Benda, so that Danielmight have time to make up his mind. 

The two conversed for quite a while. When the caster finally turnedaround, he was not a little surprised to see that Daniel was stillstanding at the counter. He stood there in fact with half closed eyes, his left hand lying on the face of the mask. The caster exchanged asomewhat dazed glance with Dr. Benda, who, in a moment of forewarningsympathy, grasped the situation perfectly in which the stranger foundhimself. Dr. Benda somehow understood, owing to his instinct forappreciation of unusual predicaments, the man’s poverty, his isolation, and even the ardour of his wish. Subduing as well as he might thefeeling of ordinary reserve, he stepped up to Daniel, and said to himcalmly, quietly, seriously, and without the slightest trace ofcondescension: “If you will permit me to advance you the money for themask, you will do me a substantial favor. ”

Daniel gritted his teeth—just a little. His face turned to a greenishhue. But the face of his would-be friend, schooled in affairs of thespirit, showed a winning trace of human kindness. It conquered Daniel;it made him gentle. He submitted. Dr. Benda laid the money for the maskon the counter, and Daniel was as silent as the tomb. 

When they left the shop, Daniel held the mask under his arm so tightlythat the paper wrapping was crushed, if the mask itself was not. The sadstate of his clothing and his haggard appearance in general struck Dr. Benda at once and forcibly. He needed to ask but a few well chosenquestions to get at the underlying cause of this misery, physical andspiritual, in human form. He pretended that he had not lunched andinvited Daniel to be his guest at the inn at the sign of the Grape. 

Daniel felt that his soul had suddenly been unlocked by a magic key. Atlast—he had ears and could hear, eyes and could see. It seemed to himthat he had come up to earth from out of some lightless, subterraneancavern. And when they separated he had a friend. 

 THE NERO OF TO-DAY

 I

The spectacle of wellnigh complete degeneracy offered by theroister-doistering slough brethren of the Vale of Tears gave HerrCarovius a new lease on life. He had a really affable tendency toassociate with men who were standing just on the brink of humanexistence. He always drank a great deal of liqueur. The brand hepreferred above all others was what is known as Knickebein. Once he hadenjoyed his liberal potion, he became jovial, friendly, companionable. In these moods he would venture the hardiest of assertions, not merelyin the field of eroticism, but against the government and divineprovidence as well. 

And yet, when he trippled home with mincing steps, there was in his facean expression of cowardly, petty smirking. It was the sign of his innerreturn to virtuous living; for his night was not as his day. The onebelied the other. 

He had a quite respectable income; the house in which he lived was hisown private property. It was pointed out to strangers as one of thesights of the town; it was certainly one of the oldest and gloomiestbuildings in that part of the country. An especially attractive featureof it was the smart and graceful bay-window. Above the beautifullyarched outer door there was a patrician coat-of-arms, consisting of twocrossed spears with a helmet above. This was chiselled into the stone. In the narrow court was a draw-well literally set in a frame of moss. Each floor of the house had its own gallery, richly supplied with themost artistic of carvings. The stairway was spacious; the tread of thesteps was broad, the elevation slight; there were four landings. Itsymbolised in truth the leisurely, comfortable tarrying of centuriesgone before and now a matter of easy memory only. 

Often in the nighttime, Herr Carovius recognised in the distance themassive figure of his brother-in-law, Andreas Döderlein, the professorof music. Not wishing to meet him, Herr Carovius would stand at thestreet corner, until the light from Döderlein’s study assured him thatthe professor was at home. On other occasions he would come in contactwith the occupant of the second floor, Dr. Friedrich Benda. When thesetwo came together, there was invariably a competitive tipping of hatsand passing of compliments. Each wished to outdo the other in matters ofcourtesy. Neither was willing to take precedence over the other. Thepolished civility of the young man made an even greater degree of prettybehaviour on the part of Herr Carovius imperative, with the result thathis excessive refinement of manners made him appear awkward, while hisembarrassment made coherent speech difficult and at times impossible. 

When however he came alone, he would take the huge key from his pocket, unlock the door, light a candle, hold it high above his head, and spyinto every nook and cranny of the barn-like hall before entering hisapartment on the ground floor. 

 II

Herr Carovius was a regular customer at the Crocodile Inn; a table wasalways reserved for him. Around it there assembled every noon thefollowing companions: Solicitor of the Treasury Korn, assistantmagistrate Hesselberger, assistant postmaster Kitzler, apothecaryPflaum, jeweller Gründlich, and baker Degen. Judge Kleinlein also joinedthem occasionally as a guest of honour. 

They gossiped about their neighbours, their acquaintances, theirfriends, and their colleagues. What they said ran the whole gamut ofhuman emotions from an innocent anecdote up to venomous calumny. Not asingle event was immune from malicious backstairs comment. Reputationswere sullied without discrimination; objections were taken to theconduct of every living soul; every family was shown to have itsskeleton in the closet. 

When the luncheon was finished, the men all withdrew and went abouttheir business, with the exception of Herr Carovius. He remained to readthe papers. For him it was one of the most important hours of the day. Having feasted his ears with friends in private, he now turned to astudy of the follies, transgressions, and tragedies that make upeveryday life. 

He read three papers every day: one was a local sheet, one a greatBerlin daily, and the third a paper published in Hamburg. He neverdeviated; it was these three, week in and week out. And he read themfrom beginning to end; politics, special articles, and advertisementswere of equal concern to him. In this way he familiarised himself withthe advance of civilisation, the changes civic life was undergoing, andthe general status of the aristocracy, bourgeoisie, and proletariat. 

Nothing escaped him. He was as much interested in the murder of apeasant in a Pommeranian village as he was in the loss of a pearlnecklace on the Boulevard des Italiens in Paris. He read with equalconcentration of the sinking of a steamer in the South Sea and thewedding of a member of the Royal Family in Westminster Abbey. He couldwork up just as much enthusiasm over the latest fashions as he couldover the massacring of enslaved Armenians by the Turks. If he read withcare and reflection of the death of a leading citizen, he pursued thesame course with regard to the reprehending of a relatively harmlessvagabond. 

It is only fair to remark, however, that his real sympathy was withthose events that have to be entered on the calamitous side of life’sledger. This was due to a bizarre kink in his philosophy: he studied theworld primarily from the point of view of its wars, earthquakes, floods, hailstorms, cyclones, and public and private tragedies in the lives ofmen. Happy and reassuring events, such as the birth of a healthy child, the conferring of an order of distinction, heroic deeds, the winning ofa prize in the lottery, the publication of a good book, or theannouncement of a legitimate and successful speculation made noimpression on him. At times they even annoyed him. He kept his mind, inother words, riveted on the evils, sorrows, woes, and tribulations thatcome to pass either on this earth or in the starry firmament above, andthat were somehow brought to his attention. 

His brain was a storehouse of fearful and ferocious happenings; it was acatalogue, an inventory of disease, seduction, theft, robbery, larceny, assassination, murder, catastrophe, pest, incest, suicide, duel, bankruptcy, and the never failing family quarrel. 

If he chanced to enrich his collection by the addition of someespecially curious or unheard-of incident, he took out his pocket diary, noted the date, and then wrote: “In Amberg a preacher had a hemorrhagewhile delivering his morning sermon. ” Or: “In Cochin China a tigerkilled and ate fourteen children, and then, forcing its way into thebungalow of a settler, bit off the head of a woman as she was sleepingpeacefully by the side of her husband. ” Or: “In Copenhagen a formeractress, now ninety years old, mounted a huge vegetable basket on themarket place, and recited Lady Macbeth’s monologue. Her unconventionalbehaviour attracted such a large crowd of passersby that several peoplewere crushed to death in the excitement. ”

This done, he would go home, happy as a man can be. To idlers standingin the doorways or servants looking out the windows he would extend thegreetings of the day, and that with really conspicuous cordiality. 

If a fire broke out in the city, he was present. As his eyes peered intothe flames, they seemed intoxicated, obsessed, seized with uncanniness. He would hum a tune of some sort, look into the anxious faces of thoseimmediately concerned, busy himself with whatever had been salvaged, andattempt to force his gratuitous advice on the fire chief. 

If a prominent citizen died, he never failed to attend the funeral, and, where possible, to join the procession on the way to the cemetery. Hewould stand by the grave with bowed head, and take in every word of thefuneral discourse. But his lips twitched in a peculiar fashion, as if hefelt that he were understood, and flattered. 

And in truth all this did flatter him. The defeat, distress, and deathof other people, the betrayals that take place in any community, thehighhanded injustice of those in power, the oppression of the poor, theviolence that was done to right and righteousness, and the sufferingswhich had to be borne by thousands day after day, all this flatteredhim; it interested him; it lulled him into a comfortable feeling ofpersonal security. 

But then he sat down at his piano at home, and played an adagio ofBeethoven or an impromptu by Schubert, his eyes with fine frenzy rollingin the meantime. And when the mighty chorus in a Bach oratorioresounded, he became pale with ecstasy. At the hearing of a good songwell sung he could shed copious tears. 

He idolised music. 

He was a provincial with unfettered instincts. He was an agitator with atendency to conservatism. He was a Nero without servants, without power, and without land. He was a musician from despair and out of vanity. Hewas a Nero in our own day. 

He was the Nero of our day living in three rooms. He was a lonelybachelor and a bookworm. He exchanged his views with the corner grocer;he discussed city ordinances with the night watchman; he was a tyrantthrough and through and a hangman at heart; he indulged ineavesdropping at the shrine of fate, and in this way concocted the mostimprobable of combinations and wanton deeds of violence; he wasconstantly on the lookout for misfortune, litigation, and shame; herejoiced at every failure, and was delighted with oppression, whetherat home or abroad. He hung with unqualified joy on the imagined ruins ofimaginary disaster, and took equal pleasure in the actual debacles oflife as it was lived about him. And alongside of this innate and attimes unexpressed gruesomeness and bloodthirstiness, he was filled witha torturing passion for music. This was Herr Carovius. Such was hislife. 

 III

For nine long years, that is, from the time she was fifteen until shewas twenty-four, his sister Marguerite kept house for him. She got hisbreakfast, made his bed, darned his socks, and brushed his clothes; andall he knew about her was that she had yellowish hair, a skin full offreckles, and a timid, child-like voice. His astonishment wasconsequently unbounded when Andreas Döderlein called one day andproposed to her. He had moved into the house the year before. HerrCarovius was amazed for the very simple reason that he had never knownMarguerite except as a fourteen-year-old girl. 

He took her to task. With unusual effort she summoned the courage totell him that she was going to marry Döderlein. “You are a shamelessprostitute, ” he said, though he did not dare to show Andreas Döderleinthe door. The wedding took place. 

One evening he was sitting in the company of the young couple. AndreasDöderlein, being in an unusually happy mood, went to the piano, andbegan playing the shepherd’s motif from Wagner’s “Tristan and Isolde. ”

Herr Carovius sprang to his feet as if stung by a viper, and exclaimed:“Stop playing that foul magic! You know as well as you are living that Idon’t believe in it. ”

“What do you mean, brother?” asked Andreas Döderlein, his head bowed ingrief. 

“What are you trying to do? Are you trying to teach me something aboutthis poisoner of wells?” shouted Herr Carovius, and his face took on theenraged expression of a hunchback who has just been taunted about hisdeformity. “Does the professor imagine that he knows better than I dowho this Richard Wagner is, this comedian, this Jew who goes aboutmasked as the Germanic Messiah, this cacaphonist, this bungler, botcher, and bully, this court sycophant, this Pulchinello who pokes fun at thewhole German Empire and the rest of Europe led about by the nose, thisRichard Wagner? Very well, if you have anything to teach me about him, go on! Proceed! I am listening. Go on! Pluck up your courage. ” With thishe leaned back in his chair, and laughed a laughter punctuated withasthmatic sighs, his hands in the meantime resting folded across hisstomach. 

Andreas Döderlein rose to his full stature, see-sawed a bit on the tipsof his toes, and looked down on Herr Carovius as one might look downupon a flea that one had caught and was just in the act of crushingbetween two finger nails. “Oh, ho, ” he said, “how interesting! Upon myword, brother Carovius, you are an interesting individual. But if someone were to offer me all the money in the world, I should not like to beso . .. Interesting. Not I. And you, Marguerite, would you like to be sointeresting?”

There was something distinctly annihilating in this air of superiority. It had its full effect on Herr Carovius: his unleashed laughter wasimmediately converted into a gurgling titter. He opened his eyes wideand rolled them behind his nose-glasses, thus making himself look like awater-spitting figure on a civic fountain. Marguerite, however, timid asshe was, never saying a word without making herself smaller by hidingher hands, glanced in helpless fashion from her brother to her husband, and dropped her head before them. 

Was the feeling of Herr Carovius for Andreas Döderlein one of hatred? Itwas hatred and more. It was a feeling of venomous embitterment withwhich he thought of him, his name, his wife, his child, the thick, bulkywedding ring on his finger, and the gelatinous mass of flesh on hisneck. From that evening on he never again visited his sister. IfMarguerite got up enough courage to visit him, he treated her withcrabbed contempt. She finally came to the point where she would pass hisdoor with not a thought of entering it. 

When the first child was born and the maid brought him the glad tidings, he squinted into the corner, tittered, and made bold to say: “Well, mycongratulations. It is good that the Döderleins are not to becomeextinct, for so long as one of them is living, _plaisir_ will not havevanished from the earth. ”

Little Dorothea formed in time the habit of playing on the steps oraround the old windlass well in the backyard. Herr Carovius procuredforthwith a mean dog and named him Cæsar. Cæsar was tied to a chain, tobe sure, but his snarls, his growls, his vicious teeth were hardlycalculated to inspire the child with a love for the place near him. Shesoon stopped playing at home. 

Four years had elapsed since the Carovius-Döderlein wedding. HerrCarovius was celebrating his birthday. Marguerite called with Dorothea. The child recited a poem which she had learned by heart for her uncle’sbenefit. Carovius shook with laughter when he saw the girl dressed uplike a doll and realised that the recital was imminent. Dorothea had ofcourse the enunciation of one of her age. When through, Herr Caroviussaid: “Honestly, it would never have occurred to me that such a littletoad could croak so beautifully. ”

Though the man knew so little about women that it would be perilous toattempt to measure his ignorance of them, he nevertheless felt, as helooked into Marguerite’s radiant face, a certain disappointment inlife—a disappointment which he would try at once to benumb but whichdelighted him. 

 IV

About this time Herr Becker died. He was the senior city official, andhad been living in the second story of the apartment for twenty-eightyears. Dr. Benda moved in at once with his mother. 

Carovius told all about this at the reserved table in the Crocodile. Hiscompanions were in a position to tell him a great deal more about theancestry and past life of the Bendas. They were said to have been veryrich once, to have lost their money in the great panic, and to be livingat present in quite moderate circumstances. Benda’s father was said tohave shot himself, and his mother was reported to have taken the boy toschool every morning. Solicitor Korn had been told that, despite hisyouth, Dr. Benda had written a number of scientific books on biology, but that this had not enabled him to reach his desired goal. 

“What goal?” the table companions asked in unison. 

“Why, he wanted to be made a professor, but people had objected. ” Whyhad they objected? came the question from more than one throat. “Well, you see it was this way: the man is a Jew, and the authorities are notgoing to appoint a Jew to an official position in a university withoutraising objections. That is to be taken as a matter of course. ” Thatthis was in very truth to be taken as a matter of course was also theopinion of Herr Carovius, who, however, insisted that Benda didn’texactly look like a Jew; he looked more like a tolerably fat Dutchman. He was in truth not quite blond, but he was not dark either, and hisnose was as straight as a rule. 

“That is just the point: that’s the Jewish trick, ” remarked the Judge, and took a mighty draught from his beer glass. “In olden times, ” hesaid, “the Jews all had the yellow spots, aquiline noses, and hair likebushmen. But to-day no Christian can be certain who is Jew and who isGentile. ” To this the whole table agreed. 

Herr Carovius at once began a system of espionage. He studied the facesof the new tenants, and was particularly careful to note when they wentout and when they came in and with whom they associated. He knewprecisely when they turned the lights out at night and when they openedthe windows in the morning. He could tell exactly how many rugs theyhad, how much coal they burned, how much meat they ate, how many lettersthey received, what walks they preferred, what people they spoke to, andwho recognised them. As if this were not enough, he went down to thebookstore, bought the complete works of Dr. Benda, and read these heavyscientific treatises in the sweat of his brow. He was annoyed at thethought that they had not been critically reviewed. He would haveembraced any one who would have told him that they were all perfectlyworthless compilations. 

One evening, along towards spring, he chanced to go into the backyard tofeed Cæsar. He looked up, and saw Marguerite standing on the balcony. She did not see him, for she was also looking up. On the balcony of thesecond floor, across the court from her, stood Friedrich Benda, responding to some mute signals Marguerite was giving him. Finally theyboth stopped and merely looked at each other, until Marguerite caughtsight of her brother, when she quickly disappeared behind the glass doordraped with green curtains. 

“Aha, ” thought Carovius, “there’s something up. ” The scene warmed hisvery blood. 

From that day on he avoided the court. He sat instead for hours at atime in a room from which he could look out through a crack and seeeverything that was taking place at the windows and on the balconies. Hediscovered that signals were being sent from the first floor up to thesecond by changing the position of a flower pot on the railing of thebalcony, and that these signals were answered by having a yellow clothflutter on now a vertical, now a horizontal pole. 

At times Marguerite would come out quite timidly, and look up; at timesBenda appeared, and stood for a while at the window completelyabsorbed, as it seemed, in melancholy thoughts. Herr Carovius caughtthem together but on one single occasion. He opened the window asquickly as he could, and placed his ear so that he could hear what wasbeing said, but it so happened that over in the adjoining yard some onewas just then nailing a box together. As a result of the noise it wasimpossible for him to understand their remarks. 

Since that day they exchanged no more signals, and never again appearedon the balcony. 

Carovius rubbed his hands at the thought that the majestic AndreasDöderlein had after all grown horns. But his joy waned when he reflectedthat two other people were deriving profit from the situation. Thatshould not be; that had to be corrected. 

And so he stood at times in the evening out in the narrow passage at theentrance to his apartment. His bathrobe fell down over his bony body inmany folds. In his right hand he carried a candle. Thus equipped, helistened in, or rather into, the stillness of the house. 

At times he would take a dark lantern, walk up the stairs slowly, stepby step, and listen, listen with the greedy ears of a man who wasdetermined to hear something. There was something in the air that toldhim of secret, and of course illicit, transactions. 

Was it the same medium through which he learned of the weakening ofMarguerite’s mind and the beclouding of her soul? Was it this that toldhim of her mental anxiety and the ever growing delusion of her terrifiedand broken heart?

Later he learned of her mad outbursts of anxiety concerning the life ofher child. He heard that she would never allow the child out of hersight; that she regarded the natural warmth of her body as a high fever;that every morning she would stand by Dorothea’s bed, weep, take her inher arms, feel her pulse, and wrap her body in warm clothing. He heard, too, that night after night she sat by the child’s bedside watching overher and praying for her, while the child herself slept like an old shoe. All this he learned from the maid. 

One day Herr Carovius came home, and found an ambulance and a crowd ofgaping people before the house. As he went up the stairway he heard ahushed whimpering. Marguerite was being dragged from the house by twomen. The rear of this procession was brought up by Andreas Döderlein, onwhose face there was an expression of accusation. The room door wasopen. He looked in, and saw bits of broken glasses and dishes, and inthe midst of the debris sat Dorothea. Her mouth was puckered as if juston the point of weeping, and a cloth was bound about her forehead. Themaid stood in the door wringing her hands. And on a step above wasFriedrich Benda, white as a sheet, and evidently suffering from greatmental anxiety. 

Marguerite offered but little resistance. She looked behind her, andtried to see what the child was doing. Herr Carovius buried his hands inhis overcoat pockets, and followed the mournful caravan out on to thestreet. The poor woman was taken to the insane asylum at Erlangen. 

Herr Carovius said to himself: somebody is responsible for all this. Hedetermined at once to bring the guilty party to account. He took thisstand neither out of grief nor from a feeling of love for his fellowmen. His action was motivated by his hatred of a world in whichsomething is constantly going on, and in the midst of which he wascondemned to an inactive and deedless life. 

 V

Not much could be learned from Döderlein’s maid. The efforts to drawsomething out of little Dorothea were also fruitless. She was wrapped upin her own affairs. She arranged her ribbons, played with her toys, recounted the small incidents of her uneventful life, and could hardlybe persuaded even to listen to the ingenious questions Carovius put toher when he stopped her out in the hall and asked her about this andthat. 

One day he went over to Erlangen to visit his sister in the insaneasylum. He thought that he might be able to get some clue to thismystery from her. 

He found her sitting in the corner of a room, stroking her long, yellowish hair. Her head was bowed; her eyes were fixed on the floor. Through no cunning that he could devise was it possible to entice asingle statement from her. 

The physician said: “She is a harmless patient, but most secretive andpassionate. She must have suffered for years from some heavy burden onher soul. ”

Herr Carovius left her, and went back to the station. The sun wasshining bright. He soon saw to his infinite discomfort that it wasimpossible to eliminate the picture of the melancholy woman from hisinner eye. He went into a café and drank some whiskey. On the returnjourney an old woman sat opposite him who seemed to understand him. There was a trace of compassion in her eyes. This made him so uneasythat he found it necessary to change his seat. 

He had met with unanticipated difficulties in his investigation. Herecognised these fully, but consoled himself with the thought that therewas still time. It occurred to him that he might somehow get hold of Dr. Benda and cross-question him. He recalled having seen Friedrich Bendameet little Dorothea on the stairway once, and no sooner had he seen hercoming than he made every effort to avoid her. That set Carovius tothinking. 

Some gas pipes had to be installed in the apartment about that time, andthis gave him, as superintendent, a splendid opportunity to go up andsee Benda. The doctor was just then making his final attempt to claimhis rights—the rights of a man and a scholar—against the conspiracy ofenemies who were really immune before the law. 

He was all alone when Carovius called. He took him straight to hisstudy. The walls of his hall as well as those of his room were coveredwith books from floor to ceiling. Benda said he was just getting readyto go on an extended journey. The finished politeness with which heremoved the books from a chair and the tense way in which he eyed HerrCarovius made it clear to the latter that this was neither the time northe place to engage in mock conversation. Carovius talked gas pipes. Benda finished all he had to say on this subject in two short, crispsentences and got up to go. 

Herr Carovius got up too, removed his nose glasses, and rubbed them withhis bright blue handkerchief. “Where are you going, if I may ask?” Therewas an expression of apparent sympathy in his question. 

Benda made it a habit never to treat any man impolitely, however littleregard he might have for him personally. He said that he was going toKiel to deliver his trial lecture at the university. 

“Bravo!” cried Carovius, falling at once into the tone of awkwardfamiliarity. “You have simply got to show those fellows that you are nota coward. Bravo!”

“I don’t quite understand you, ” said Benda in amazement. His antipathyfor the man was growing. And no one recognised this better than Caroviushimself. 

He cast a sideglance that reeked with hypocrisy at the young scholar. “My dear doctor, you must not look upon me as a poor uncultured yokel, ”he said, “_anch’ io sono pittore_. I have read, among other things, yourmonograph on the morphogenetic achievements of the original sulcatecell. Listen, man! I take off my hat to that book. Of course, it is notexactly original, but then it is one of your earlier works. The ideadeveloped in it follows pretty closely that of the evolutionary andmechanical theories of the much slandered Wilhelm Roux. And yet I ambound to say you display considerable independence in your method. Indeed you do. And more than that, you throw much needed light on themysteries of God himself. There is a good deal of incoherent drivelthese days about the freedom of science. Well, you’ll have to show mewhere it is. Scientists? They are a lot of conceited pin-heads, eachworking for himself, and incurably jealous of what his colleagues aredoing. Up and at ’em, Doctor, that’s my advice, and luck to you!”

Benda was amazed to hear Carovius mention a work that was otherwiseknown only to specialists. This however merely tended to increase hisdistrust. He knew too much about the man to stand before him without afeeling of hostility. He merely needed to call to mind the story of thewoman whose youth he had made into a waste place and a prison to be madeaware of the fact that it was quite impossible to stand in his presenceand breathe easily. The air of the room in which Carovius chanced to bewas heavy, stuffy, depressing. 

Benda’s bearing, however, remained unchanged. He replied in a serioustone: “It is not after all easy to get along with people. Each has hisown place and wants to keep it. I thank you very much for your visit andyour kind words, but my time is limited. I have a great deal to do—”

“Oh, certainly, ” said Carovius hastily, while a rancorous grin flittedacross his face, “but you don’t need to drive me away. I am going on myown accord. I have an engagement at the district court at five o’clock, I am to sign some sort of a document concerning the detention of mysister in the insane asylum. It probably has to do with the settling ofher estate or something like that. Who knows? By the way, what have youto say about the affair? You knew her rather intimately. No hedging, doctor. There she sits in the cell and combs her hair. Can you imaginewho is responsible? You know a woman doesn’t lose her mind from a merelove affair. And this music swindler down stairs—it is impossible toget him to show his true colours. Yes, we all have our troubles. ”

In order to take the sting out of his impudent insinuations, for heregretted having made a premature move with his trump card, Caroviussmiled in a scurrilous fashion, ducked his head, coward that he was, andriveted his greedy, banal eyes on Benda. 

But Benda was looking down. His eyes had been attracted by the fancybuckle shoes of Herr Carovius. He was repelled by the man’s foppishsocks with the yellow stripes which were made more conspicuous by thefact that his trousers were too high. He had a feeling of unmitigatedmental nausea, too, when he noticed how Carovius lifted first one footand then the other from the floor, and then set it down, heel first. Itwas a detestable habit; and indulging in it made an ugly noise. 

 VI

Benda’s absence lasted for hardly a year. His mother had not accompaniedhim this time. She was not feeling well, and there was some danger thatshe was losing her eyesight. 

After his return he took to silent brooding. Though he never said a wordto his mother about the disappointment he had experienced, she knewprecisely what he had gone through, and spared him the humiliation thatwould have followed any questions she might have asked. 

He was oppressed by the memories the house awakened in him. Forgottenpictures became living ones. The figure of the murdered woman appearedin the nighttime on the balcony. Her shadow fell upon him, nestled up tohim in fact, as he sat at his writing-desk. 

There were a great many things that still bound him to her whose spirithad vanished from the earth, though her body remained. 

It was impossible for him to forget her gentle look or the coyness ofher hands. He knew her fate; he knew her soul. But he was condemned tosilence. To withdraw from contact with the world and into the deepest ofloneliness had been her lot; it had also been his. At present it waspossible to get only one picture of her, the one her brother had given:she sat in her cell and combed her yellow hair. 

He held no one responsible; he blamed no one. He merely regretted thatmen are as they are. 

A former university friend of his came in, and tried to get himinterested in collaborating on a great scientific work. He declined. Assoon as his colleague of other days had gone, he visualised to himselfthe entire conversation: The man was affable and insistent; and yetthere was in his very being an underground, enigmatic hostility. It wasthe hostility he invariably felt whenever he had anything to do, eitherof a purely external, business nature or in a social way, with men ofother faith. The least he had to fear was a prejudiced inimicality, asif the individual in question were on the point of calling out to him:You stay on that side, I’ll stay on this. Keep off the bridge. 

He was fully aware of this, but his pride forbade his fighting againstit. He renounced his natural right to life and a living. He declined theuniversity conceded privilege of co-existence. To go out and actuallywin for himself the right to participate in the inevitable contest offorces, or to secure even this poor privilege by supplication, or todefend it by argument, or to cajole it into his possession by politicalwiles, seemed to him contrary to reason and at odds with common sense. He would not do it. 

He refused to knock at the door which he himself had bolted andbarricaded. 

From this self-imposed embarrassment he suffered to an almostintolerable degree. It was the irrational and fraudulent phase ofmatters that made him suffer. Did men act as they did because they wereso strong in their faith? Not at all. Did he believe in those racialdifferences which made them believe? Not at all. He felt at home on thesoil that nourished him; he felt under obligations to the weal and woeof his people; he was bound heart and soul to the best of them, andrealised that he had been spiritually developed by their language, ideas, and ideals. 

Everything else was a lie. They knew that it was a lie too, but out ofhis pride they forged a weapon and turned it against him. To deny hisrelationship to them, a relationship that had been proved by hisachievements and enthusiasm, was a part of their plan; it was also apart of their evil designs. 

To strike up acquaintances, seek out congenial companions, or take anactive part in social organisations was repulsive to him. He did notcare to be dragged into fruitless and empty community of effort orsocial co-operation. Defiant and alone, he explained his case tohimself. Since it merely intensified his agony to compare his lot withthat of others who seemed to be similarly situated, he did not do it. Heavoided in truth all reflections that might have made the world appearto him as having at least a semblance of justice. 

He was consequently filled with a longing which took more definiteshape day by day, and finally developed into a positive and irrevocabledecision. 

About this time he made the acquaintance of Daniel, and through him hecame to know other people. He saw at once that there was somethingunusual about Daniel; that there was something in him which he had neverbefore noticed in any one. Even his outer distress was a challenge togreater activity, while his inner agitation never permitted hisassociates to rest in idle peace. 

It was not easy to be of assistance to him; he rejected all gifts whichhe could not repay. He had to be convinced first of his duty andindebtedness to the friend whom fate had made cross his path. And eventhen he stood out for the privilege of being theoretically ungrateful. 

Benda and his mother succeeded in getting him a position as a tutor insome private families. He had to give piano lessons to young boys andgirls. The compensation was not great, but it at least helped him outfor the time being. 

After the day’s work was done, the evenings and nights bound the twomore and more firmly together. 

 VII

One evening Daniel entered the house and met Herr Carovius. But he wasso absorbed in thought that he passed by without noticing him. Caroviuslooked at him angrily, and walked back to the hall to see where theyoung man was going. When he heard him ring the bell on the secondfloor, an uneasy expression came over his face. He rubbed his chin withhis left hand. 

“The idea of passing by me as though I were a block of wood, ” murmuredCarovius spitefully. “Just wait, young man, I’ll make you pay for that. ”

Instead of leaving the house as he had wished, Carovius went into hisapartment, lighted a candle, and tripped hastily through three rooms, inwhich there were old cabinets and trunks filled with books and musicscores. There was also a piano in one. He then took a key from hispocket, and unlocked a fourth room, which had closed shades and was infact otherwise quite oddly arranged. 

He went to a table which reached almost the full length of the room, picked up a piece of white paper, sat down, and wrote with red ink:“Daniel Nothafft. Musician. Two months in jail. ”

He then covered the paper with mucilage, pasted it on a wooden boxwhich looked like a miniature sentry-house, and nailed a lid on the box, using tacks that were lying ready for this purpose. 

There were at least five dozen such boxes on the long table, themajority of which had names attached to them and had been nailed up. 

The closed room Herr Carovius called his court chamber. What he did init he termed the regulation of his affairs with humanity, and thecollection of little wooden cells he called his jail. Every individualwho had offended, hurt, humiliated, or defrauded him was assigned such akeep in which he was obliged to languish, figuratively, until his time, determined by a formal sentence, was up. 

Nor was this all. In the middle section of the table there were a numberof diminutive sand heaps, about thirty in all, and on each one was asmall wooden cross and on each cross was a name. That was HerrCarovius’s cemetery, and those who were figuratively buried there were, so far as he was concerned, dead, even though they were still goingabout their earthly affairs as lively and cheerful as ever. They werepeople whose mundane careers were finished, as he saw it, and under eachof their accounts, reckoned exclusively in sins, he had drawn a heavyline. They were such people as Richard Wagner and his champions, thelocal stationer to whom he had advanced some money years ago and whoentered a plea of bankruptcy a few months later, the authors of badbooks that were widely read, or of books which he loathed without havingread them, as, for instance, those of Zola. 

There were still a third noteworthy section of the table, and that wasthe so-called Academy. This consisted of a plot of ground, surrounded byan iron fence, and divided up into twelve or fifteen square fields, eachof which was painted in fresh green. In the middle of each field therewas a wooden peg about two inches high, and to the middle of each pegthere was attached a name-plate. From the tops of some of these pegslittle banners of green cloth fluttered in the breeze. 

The fact is, Herr Carovius had a weakness for association witharistocrats. In his heart of hearts he admired the manners of thearistocracy, their indifference and self-complacency, their irrefragabletraditions and their noiseless and harmonious behaviour. To the pegs ofthe Academy he had affixed the names of some of the best families he hadknown; among others, those of the Tuchers, the Hallers, the Humbsers, the Kramer-Kleets, and the Auffenbergs. Whenever he had succeeded inmaking the personal acquaintance of the members of any of thesefamilies, he went straightway to the Academy and hoisted the appropriateflag. 

But, despite all his effort, he had never in the course of time beenable to run up more than three flags, and these only for a brief periodand without any marked success. Some one had recognised him on thestreet or spoken to him at the concert, and that was all. The Academylooked, in contradistinction to the jail and the cemetery, quitedeserted. Finally he was able to hoist the Auffenberg banner. HerrCarovius felt that the Academy had a great future. 

 VIII

Kropotkin the painter had once upon a time received an order to make acopy of a Holbein for Baron Siegmund von Auffenberg. He never finishedthe picture, owing to lack of ability; but he had become acquainted withBaron Eberhard, and years later, having met him quite accidentally, tookhim to the Paradise, where the infamous brethren were then in the habitof gathering. 

Eberhard’s appearance at the Paradise was short-lived; he disappeared infact as quickly as he had appeared. But this brief space was sufficientfor Herr Carovius to become intimately acquainted with him. 

The first time he sat at the same table with him he was noticeablyexcited. His face shone with a mild spiritual glow. His voice was sweetand gentle, his remarks of an unusually agreeable moderation. 

He turned the conversation to a discussion of the superiorities ofbirth, and lauded the distinction of the hereditary classes. He said itwas from them only that the people could acquire civic virtue. Thebrethren scorned his point of view. Herr Carovius came back at them withan annihilating jest. 

During the rendition of this hallelujah-solo in praise of the nobility, Eberhard von Auffenberg intrenched himself behind a sullen silence. Andthough Carovius used every available opportunity from then on to flatterthe young nobleman in his cunning, crafty way, he failed. The most hecould do was to inspire Eberhard to lift his thrush-bearded chin in theair and make some sarcastic remark. Fawn as he might, Carovius wasstumped at every turn. 

One night, however, the two enjoyed each other’s company on the wayhome. That is, Carovius never left Eberhard’s side. Annoyed at thefailure of his former tactics, he thought he would try his luck inanother way: he ridiculed the arrogance of a certain caste whichaffected to attach less importance to a man like himself than to somejackanapes whose handkerchief was adorned with an embroidered crown. 

“What are you, any way, what is your vocation?” asked Eberhard vonAuffenberg. 

“I don’t do anything, ” replied Carovius. 

“Nothing at all? That is quite agreeable. ”

“Oh, I do work a little at music, ” added Herr Carovius, entirely pleasedat the curiosity of the Baron. 

“Now, you see, that is after all something, ” said the Baron. “I for mypart am as unmusical as a shot-gun. And if you do not do anything butinterest yourself in music, you must have a great deal of money. ”

Herr Carovius turned away. The positive dread of being taken for a richman wrestled with the vain desire to make the young Baron feel that hereally was somebody. “I have a little, ” he remarked with a titter, “alittle. ”

“Very well; if you will loan me ten thousand marks, it will give megreat pleasure to make you a present of the crown on my handkerchief, ”said Eberhard von Auffenberg. 

Herr Carovius stopped stock still, and opened his mouth and his eyes:“Baron, you are taking the liberty of jesting with me. ” But whenEberhard indicated that he was quite serious, Carovius continued, blankamazement forcing his voice to its highest pitch: “But my dear Sir, yourfather has an income of half a million. A mere income! The tax receiptsshow it. ”

“Well, I am not talking about my father, ” said Eberhard coldly, and oncemore threw his chin in the air. “It is evidently a part of your heraldicprejudices to feel that you can coax the income of my father into my ownpockets. ”

They were standing under a gas lamp at the Haller Gate. It was drippingrain, and they had raised their umbrellas. It was perfectly still; itwas also late. Not a human being was to be seen anywhere. Caroviuslooked at the seriously offended young man, the young man looked atCarovius, then grinning a grin of embarrassment, and neither knew how totake the other. 

“You are surprised, ” said Eberhard, resuming the conversation. “You aresurprised, and I don’t blame you. I am a discontented guest in my ownskin; that much I can assure you. I am as abortive a creature as everwas born. I inherited far too much that is superfluous, and not nearlyenough of the necessities. There are all manner of mysteries about me;but they are on the outside. Within there is nothing but stale, deadair. ”

He stared at the ground as though he were talking to himself, and asthough he had forgotten that any one was listening, and continued: “Haveyou ever seen old knights carved in stone in old churches? If you have, you have seen me. I feel as if I were the father of my father, and as ifhe had had me buried alive, and an evil spirit had turned me to stone, and my hands were lying crossed over my breast and could not move. Igrew up with a sister, and I see her as though it were yesterday”—atthis point his face took on an expression of fantastic senility—“walkingthrough the hall, proud, dainty, innocent, with roses in her hand. Sheis married to a captain of cavalry, a fellow who treats his men likeNegro slaves, and who never returns the greeting of a civilian unless heis drunk. She had to marry him. I could not prevent it. Somebody forcedher into it. And if she is carrying roses now, it is as if a corpse weresinging songs. ”

Herr Carovius felt most uneasy. He was not accustomed to hearing thingslike this. Where he lived people called a spade a spade. He pricked uphis ears and made a wry face. “It is the way he has been trained thatmakes him talk like that, ” he thought; “it is the result of constantlysitting on gold-embroidered chairs and seeing nothing about him butpaintings. ”

“I am going to sit on such chairs too, ” he was happy to think, “and Ishall see the paintings, too. ” He pictured himself between the Baron andthe Baroness, marching up to the portals of the castle, flanked oneither side by a row of liveried servants, the nervous masses catchingsight of the splendour as well as they might. The rear of thisprocession was being brought up by the young Baron, who had returnedhome as the penitent Prodigal Son. 

“One must have a feeling of personal security, ” remarked Carovius. Hewondered whether the Baron had reached his majority. Eberhard repliedthat he had just completed his twenty-first year, and that certainthings had made him feel that it would be wise to live independent ofhis family and to renounce his claims to all family rights for the timebeing. What he really had in mind was the desire to avoid, so far ashumanly possible, association with all professional money-lenders. 

Herr Carovius felt that this was an extremely serious case. He claimedmoreover to understand it perfectly and to be ready for anything, butinsisted that nothing must be withheld, that he must be given undilutedwine. He made this remark just as if he were holding a glass of oldJohannisberger out in the rain, sniffing as he did with appreciativenostrils. 

“I am very discreet, ” he said, “very taciturn. ” He looked at the Barontenderly. 

The young Baron nodded. 

“The wearer of purple is recognised wherever he goes, ” continued HerrCarovius, “and if he lays the purple aside he stands at once in need ofreticent friends. I am reserved. ”

The Baron nodded again. “If you will permit me, I shall visit you in afew days. ” With that he ended the conversation. 

He started off toward the Avenue, walking stiffly. It was not hard tosee that he was ill at ease. Herr Carovius walked away with mincing, merry steps down toward the small end of the alley, singing an aria fromthe “Barber of Seville” as he went. 

At the end of the first week he was taken down with a disconcertingsuspicion that the Baron had made a fool of him. He was filled with awrath that had to be cooled. One morning, just as he was leaving hisapartment, he saw two milk cans filled with milk standing in the outerhall. One was for the first floor, the other for the second. Themilkmaid had placed them there for the time being, and had gone over tohave a little morning chat with her neighbour. Herr Carovius went to hislumber-room, which also served as the kitchen, took down a jug ofvinegar, came back, looked around with all the caution he could summon, and then poured half of the contents of the jug into one can and theother half into the other. 

Two days later he decided not to give Cæsar anything to eat, so that hewould terrify the neighbours by his howling. This worked. The dog howledand whined and barked night after night. It was enough to melt the heartof a stone. Nobody could sleep. Andreas Döderlein went to the police, but they told him that the case was beyond their jurisdiction. 

Herr Carovius lay in bed rejoicing with exceeding great joy over thefact that the people could not sleep. He became enamoured of the ideathat it might be possible, through some ingenious invention, to rob awhole city or a whole nation of its sleep. The inventor could then moveabout conscious of the fact that he was at once the distributor and thedestroyer of the world’s supply of sleep. If he so elected to exploithis invention, he could revel in the sight of an entire people pining, drying up, and eventually dying from the want of sleep. 

After Cæsar had become quite savage, Herr Carovius decided to unleashhim. It was just after sunset. He slipped up to the beast from the rear, and opened the chain lock. The dog ran like mad through the court andthe hall, and out on to the street. 

Just at this moment young Baron von Auffenberg was entering to pay HerrCarovius that promised visit. He jumped back from the beast, but itsprang at his body, and in a jiffy the Baron was lying full length onthe pavement. Cæsar left him, made a straight line for the open door ofa butcher shop across the street, sprang in, and snatched a fancy cutfrom one of the hooks. 

In order to see just how much damage the dog would really do, HerrCarovius ran after him, hypocritically feigning as he ran an expressionof horror, and acting as though the beast had somehow broken his chainand got loose. The first sight that caught his eyes was that of the youngBaron as he rose to his feet and limped over toward his host to-be. 

The horror of Herr Carovius at once became real. With the diligence of aseasoned flunkey, he stooped over, picked up the Baron’s hat, dusted it, stammered all sorts of apologies, gazed at high heaven like a martyredsaint, and brushed the dirt from Eberhard’s trousers. Then the dog cameback, a huge piece of meat in his mouth. The butcher came to the doorand shook his fists. The butcher’s boy stuck two fingers in his mouth, and whistled for the police. They came, too, and Herr Carovius had topay for the meat. 

He then took the Baron into his living-room, plying him in the meantimewith innumerable questions as to how he felt. Having been stunned by thefall, the Baron asked to lie down for a few minutes on the couch. HerrCarovius granted his wish, smothering him with sighs of affection andexclamations of regret. 

As the Baron lay on the couch, trying to regain his vital spirits, HerrCarovius went to the piano and played the rondo from Weber’s sonata in Aflat major. His technique was superb; his emotion was touching. 

After the concert the transactions began. 

 INSPECTOR JORDAN AND HIS CHILDREN

 I

Benno Jordan was now a senior in the _gymnasium_ and had begun to playmischievous pranks. He also declared that he was no longer minded totolerate the tyranny of the school, and that he had not the slightestdesire to enter the university. He was a wilful, obstinate boy with amarked tendency to sociability. He paid a great deal of attention to hisclothes, and was proud of his handsome face. 

After repeated conversations with the seventeen-year-old boy, Jordandecided to get him a job as a clerk in the offices of the Prudentia. Hediscussed the situation with the general agent, and Alfons Diruf gavehis consent. Benno began his work at fifty marks a month. 

When Jordan would come home of an evening, the first thing he would hearfrom Eleanore was that Benno had an engagement with some of his friends, and that they were in the Alfas Garden, or in the Wolf’s Glen, or inCafé Merkur, where the orchestrion, then a new invention, was beingplayed for the first time. 

“Lord, what is to become of the next generation?” said Jordan, quiteworried. “All they think about is having a good time. Why, I never in mywhole life thought of merely amusing myself. ”

Anxious about Benno’s behaviour, Jordan called on the chief of theclerical department. The little man with the waxened, weazened, faceexpressed himself as quite satisfied with the new employé. Jordan tookhim by the hand; it was his way of displaying gratitude. And he wasgrateful, though it was hard for him to subdue a feeling of solicitude. He recognised the boy’s external amiability, but felt convinced thatthis merely covered and concealed a decayed soul. 

Alfons Diruf was obese and gloomy. His clothes were made in Paris, andon the ring finger of his left hand was a brilliant diamond. 

Since the Prudentia had introduced the so-called workmen’s insurance, the number of clerks on its payroll had been increased by abouttwenty-five thousand. Of these eighty-four were under Diruf’s directsupervision. They were located in three rooms of a house in FürtherStreet. They were pale and they were silent. Diruf himself had a privateoffice which resembled the boudoirs of a woman of the world. Thecurtains were of blue silk, a bathing nymph by Thumann hung on the wall, and the whole place smelled of musk. 

Three times a day he would leave his fair retreat, and, with the mien ofdisgust, make the rounds of the clerks’ quarters. When they saw himcoming, heads ducked, hands scurried across the books, feet stoppedscraping, and all whispering died out. 

He gave the impression of a man who hated his job, but in reality heloved it. He liked the clerks because of their servile docility andtheir famished faces. He liked them because they came promptly everymorning and went away every evening tired as tired could be, and becauseday after day, year in and year out, they sat there and wrote, wrote, wrote. 

He liked the inspectors because day after day, year in and year out, they did a great deal of work for a very little money. He liked theagents and sub-agents who made it possible for the company to issuehundreds of new policies every day. He liked their dirty clothes andtattered boots, their hungry looks, their misleading but effective lineof talk, and their sad faces. 

The special bait of the workmen’s insurance was the small premium, carrying with it a small policy. In this way the man of small means wasto be educated in thrift. As a rule, however, the small man realised, when it was too late, that the agent had promised more than the companycould do. He became distrustful; his weekly savings were so scant thatit was impossible for him to pay his premiums regularly; with theexpiration of each week it became increasingly difficult to make up theback payments, and, before he knew precisely what had happened, hispolicy had been declared void, and the money he had paid in on itconfiscated. 

In this way the company made millions. It was the pfennigs of thepoorest classes that constituted these millions, made the dividends risehigher and higher, increased the army of clerks, and filled the pocketsof the agents. 

These agents were recruited from the scum of human society. They weremade up of bankrupts, decadent students, gamblers, topers, and beggars. They came from the ranks of those who had been pursued by misfortuneand who bore the marks of crime. No one was too small or too bad. 

Alfons Diruf, however, saw that it would vastly improve the credit ofthe company if to this list of outcasts he would add a few eminentlyrespectable citizens. He consequently went out on his ownresponsibility, and looked for help. His quest brought him to JasonPhilip Schimmelweis. 

“It’s a gold mine, ” he said; “you work for an ideal, and you getsomething out of it for yourself. Ideals, incidentally, that are notprofitable are idiotic. ” With that he blew the smoke of his Havana cigarthrough his nose. 

Jason Philip understood. It was not necessary to flatter the leader andpolitician that was admittedly in him. He nearly ran his legs offworking for the company. Alfons Diruf loved this socialist bookkeeper, after a fashion. 

Inspector Jordan saw however that the countless brokers were encroachingon his territory and stirring up distrust on the part of his betterclients. He lost his interest. The directors felt obliged to send AlfonsDiruf a critical memorandum explaining Jordan’s case, and showing thathe was no longer as efficient as he used to be. 

 II

Daniel had grown tired of his room in the attic and the society ofbrush-maker Hadebusch. He announced that he was going to move. Surrounded by a cloud of smells from boiled cabbage, Frau Hadebuschraged about the ingratitude of man. Her shrieks called Herr Francke andthe Methodist from out their warm holes; the brush-maker and hisimbecile son also appeared in the dimly lighted vestibule; and beforethese five Hogarth figures stood the defenceless sinner, DanielNothafft. 

He looked about in the suburbs of St. Mary, but found everything toodear. He went out to New Gate, but everything was taken. He tried theSt. John district, and that pleased him best of all. Late in theafternoon he came to a house in the Long Row, at the entrance to whichhung a “To Let” sign. 

He pulled the bell cord, and a beautiful servant girl took him into aroom. Through the window he could look out on a garden filled with oldtrees. A spinster came in, and smiled at the pleasure he took in theroom and the view. 

“I must see my sister, ” she said, as he asked her about the price. 

She called out into the hall, and her sister, likewise an elderly andkindly spinster, came in. They held a council, the deliberations ofwhich were conducted in muffled tones, and then agreed that they wouldhave to consult Albertina. She was the third sister. The first tip-toedto the door and, with pointed lips, called the name, Albertina, out intothe long hall with as much coyness as had been employed in summoning thesecond sister. 

Albertina was the youngest of the three; she was about forty. But shehad forgotten, like Jasmina and Saloma, to erase twenty years from thecalendar: all three had preserved the youthful charm of their girlhood. 

Albertina blushed as she looked at the young man, and her modesty wascontagious; the two sisters also blushed. She told Daniel that they werethe Rüdiger sisters. With that she remained silent, and looked down asthough she had divulged her entire fate. She informed Daniel that theyhad decided to rent the room to some dependable young man, because therehad been considerable petty thieving in the neighbourhood of late andthey would like to enjoy the protection of a man, for they were entirelyalone, except for the boy who tended the garden. They told him also thatthey had had several offers, but that they had declined them becausethey did not like the appearance of the applicants. In affairs of thiskind, indeed in everything, the three sisters were always of like mind. 

Fräulein Saloma asked Daniel what he did. He replied that he was amusician. A chorus of surprise greeted his ears, rendered in perfecttime by the three female voices. Fräulein Jasmina asked him whether hewas a singer or a violinist. He replied that he was neither, that he wasa composer, or that he at least hoped to become one. With that anexpression of intense spirituality spread over the faces of the sisters, so that they looked like triplets. Aha, a creative artist! “Y-e-s, ” saidDaniel, “if you wish to put it that way: a creative artist. ”

They hopped into the corner like so many sparrows, and went into seriousconference. Fräulein Saloma, as chairman, wanted to know whether amonthly rent of twelve marks would be too much. No, replied Daniel, thatwould not be excessive. He said it without giving the matter theslightest consideration, and then shook hands with the sisters. FräuleinJasmina added that he could use the piano on the first floor whenever hewished to, and that it merely needed tuning. Daniel shook her handagain, this time with special warmth. His joy had awakened in him ameasure of clumsy familiarity. 

Before he left the house he went out into the garden, and stood for awhile under one of the trees. A tree to myself at last, he thought. Upin the top a blackbird was singing. Meta the servant looked out from thedoor where she was standing, astonished at it all. 

Fräulein Albertina said to her sisters: “He seems like an interestingyoung man, but he has bad manners. ”

“Artists attach no importance to externalities, ” replied FräuleinJasmina with knitted brow. 

“A great mistake. He always looked as if he had just come out of abandbox. You remember, don’t you?”

The other two nodded. The three then walked down the garden path, arm inarm. 

 III

Daniel was standing in the vegetable market before the Goose ManFountain, eating apples. 

The sun was shining, and he noticed that the shadow of the fountain wasmoving slowly toward the church. It made him sad to see that time waspassing and how it was passing. When he turned around, however, and sawthat the bronze figure of the man with the two geese under his arms wasnot merely indifferent to the passing of time but confident that all iswell, he could not help but laugh. 

What made him laugh was partly the calm of the man: he was alwayswaiting for something, and he was always there. He was likewise amusedat the thought that two geese could make a man look so contented. 

 IV

As Daniel was going home one afternoon from a piano lesson, he metEleanore Jordan. He told her about his new room and the three bizarrecreatures in the house in the Long Row. 

Eleanore had heard all about them. She said they were the daughters ofthe geometrician Rüdiger, and that he had left the town some time agobecause of a quarrel with the citizens, or rather with one of the gilds. The origin of the trouble was the picture of a certain painter. More shedid not know, other than that Rüdiger had gone to Switzerland and losthis life by falling down one of the mountains. The sisters, she said, were the laughing stock of the town. They never left the house except oncertain days, when they went out to the nearby cemetery at the Church ofSt. John to place flowers on the grave of that painter. 

Daniel hardly listened to what she said. They were standing at the St. Sebaldus Church, and the chimes began to play. “Magnificent, ” hemurmured, “an ascending triad in A. ”

Eleanore asked him how he was getting along, and looked with regret athis sunken cheeks. Her virile expression was rather displeasing to him. He was surprised to see how rarely she lowered her eye lids. He said hewas getting along quite well. She smiled. 

“It’s terrible that a man has to have a monster in his body that must befed, ” he remarked. “Otherwise one could storm the heavens and steal thesongs of the angels. But this was not to be. You have first to flutteryour wings until they are wounded and break your chains, and by thattime such ethereal power as you may have had is dissipated. ”

He wrinkled his face until he again looked like the wily ape. “But I amgoing to see it through, ” he said. “I want to find out whether God drewme from the urn as a blank or a prize. ” He could be very eloquent whenhe talked about himself. 

Eleanore smiled. It seemed to her that it was merely necessary to bringa little order into his life. She consequently assumed theresponsibility of looking after his room. 

In Tetzel Street they met the inspector. As Jordan walked along at theside of his beloved daughter, it seemed to him that the grey walls andweather-beaten stones of the houses were no longer so earthy or weigheddown with time. Eleanore looked toward the West into the purple glow ofthe setting sun. She was not quite herself. There came moments when shesuffered from homesickness for a fairer land. 

She thought of Italy. She conjured up lovely visions of sunny bays, blooming groves, and white statues. 

Daniel however went on toward the Füll. The workmen were coming from thesuburbs, and in their tired faces he felt that he recognised his ownworld. “Oh, ” he sighed, “I should like to get nearer the stars, to makethe acquaintance of more dependable hearts, of hearts that are truereven than my own. ”

Just then he looked up at Benda’s window, and saw his light. He wasashamed of himself. 

 V

The first time Eleanore visited Daniel it was along toward evening. Sheheard from a distance the piano and the shrill crowing of Daniel’svoice. Down in the hall she saw three white figures cuddled up close toeach other like hens on a roost. 

It was the Rüdiger sisters trying to drink in the creative efforts ofthe artist. That they were eavesdropping at the fount of art theyunderstood both in the good and the bad sense: their enthusiasm waspraiseworthy, their courtesy was deficient. When they caught sight ofEleanore on the stairway, they were terrified, and rustled into theadjoining room. 

The three elderly hearts beat impetuously. It was Jasmina’s turn to readfrom Rückert’s poems. Jasmina had not the shadow of a desire to perform;her sisters were equally disinclined to listen. 

“It is not right, ” the three kept saying, when they heard of Eleanore’svisits. “It is not right. ” Even Meta the maid was of the opinion thather calls were highly unconventional. 

As Daniel played on and merely nodded to her, Eleanore’s eyes fell onthe mask of Zingarella. She stepped up, took it down from the nail onthe wall, and examined it in perfect silence. 

Daniel had in the meantime left the piano. A loud cry from him startledher: “What the devil are you doing?” he exclaimed in a tone ofimmoderate anger. He took the mask, which she was handling so lightlyand tremulously, out of her hands, and replaced it on the nail withaffectionate care. 

The sensitive girl at once began to cry. She turned to one side in orderto conceal her tears. Daniel was irritated, but the first thought thatoccurred to him was how he could make amends for his rudeness. Hefetched a worn book, and offered to lend it to her. It was a translationof that beautiful old novel, “Manon Lescaut. ”

Eleanore came frequently after office hours, but never remained long;she did not wish to make the people at home uneasy. During the shorttime she stayed she always found a number of things to do, such asstraightening up the papers on his table or arranging his scores. 

She became acquainted with Benda; he took a liking to her. It did himgood merely to be in her presence, and he could not understand why shedid not have the same wholesome effect on Daniel. Daniel seemedthoroughly unappreciative of the girl. He was like a man who goes alongthe street carrying a basket full of eggs: his sole ambition for thetime being is to see that not a single egg is lost or broken. 

The two would frequently accompany the girl home. Daniel always talkedabout himself, and Benda listened with a smile. Or Benda talked aboutDaniel, and Daniel was all ears. 

What did people say? That Eleanore was now trotting around with threemen, whereas she formerly had only one on her string, the Baron, andthat you are going to hear from this affair. 

Every now and then a snip of ugly gossip reached Eleanore’s ears. Shepaid not the slightest attention to it. She looked out from her glasscase on to the world with cool and cheerful indifference, quiteincapable of placing the established interpretation on the glances ofcalumniators. 

 VI

Benda could have sketched Daniel’s face in the darkness: the roundforehead, the little nose, pointed and mulish, the rigidly pinched lips, the angular musician’s chin, and the deep dimples in his cheeks. 

His ignorance of the musician was complete. Like all scholars, henurtured an ingrained distrust when it came to the supernaturalinfluence of art. For the great musical compositions which, in thecourse of time and as a result of the homage of succeeding generations, had come to be regarded as exemplary and incontestable, he had a feelingof reverence. For the creations of his contemporaries he had no ear. 

That it was hard to understand and appreciate, he knew. That it wasbitter not to be understood or appreciated, he had experienced. That thediscipline associated with all intellectual work demands its tribute inthe form of sacrificial renunciation needed no proof in his case. 

The musician was something new to him. How did he regard him? As a blindman whose soul was on fire. As a drunken man who made the impression ofrepulsive sobriety on other men. As an obsessed individual who wasliving an excruciatingly lonely life and was unaware of it. As anunpolished peasant with the nerves of a degenerate. 

The scientist wished to find the established and formulated law in themusician—a task that could lead only to despair. The friend surveyedthe life of his friend; he allowed the personalities of many young menwhom he had met in life to pass before his mind’s eye. He looked for thecriteria of common interests; he sought a law, even here. He sat in thedusk, and read from the works of the philosopher Mainländer. Then helaid the book to one side, and said to himself: “The youth of to-day arelacerating, devastating themselves. .. . It is a fearful age. Measure, proportion, and balance are gone. Every model becomes a caricature. Theindividual is absolutely dependent upon himself. The flame is withoutcontainer, and threatens to burn the hand that would check it. ”

In Daniel he had found his brother in fate. Music became his brother intorture. On seeing his friend lacerated and devastated, he saw twitchfrom the eye of Gorgo herself the profoundest of wisdom. But he did notlay bare his own heart. 

One night, after unending conversation had brought them both tosilence—like ships which, tossed about by the winds, at last drift intothe harbour—Benda, taking up with an angry, exasperated remark byDaniel as it echoed back from the other shore of this silence, said: “Wemust not be vain. We dare not usurp a privilege which has no other basisthan our inner task. We must never stand before our own picture. Itseems to me that an artist should be of exalted modesty, and thatwithout this modesty he is nothing but a more or less remarkable lout. ”

Daniel looked up at once. Benda’s big teeth were visible under his bushymoustache. He had a habit of pulling his lips apart whenever he wassearching for a really incisive word. 

Benda continued: “The great majority of what you call talent isignominious. Talent is a feather duster. All that comes from the fingertips is evil. The man who has a distinct goal and is willing to sufferin order to reach it, that man we can use. And otherwise—how beautifulit all is after all! Heaven is above us, the earth is beneath us, and inbetween stands immortal man. ”

Daniel got up, and seized Benda’s hand. There was nothing morevanquishing than Benda’s handshake. His good strong right became a visein which he shook a man’s hand until it became limp, a perfectlydelightful benevolence radiating from his eyes in the meanwhile. 

The two men exchanged the fraternal “thou. ”

 VII

Eleanore returned the copy of “Manon Lescaut. ” When Daniel asked herhow she liked it, she never said a word. Since he thought that it was anexcellent book, he began to scold. 

She said: “I cannot read books in which there is so much talk aboutlove. ”

He gazed into space in order to allow her voice time to die away. Therewas a violin tone in her speech, the charm of which he could not escape. When he fully realised what she had said, he laughed a short laugh, andremarked that her attitude was one of affected coyness. She shook herhead. Then he teased her about going with young Auffenberg, and askedher whether real love affairs were just as disagreeable to her as thoserelated in novels. 

The flaming blue of her eyes compelled him to look down. It was notpleasant for him to admit, by action, that the expression in her facewas stronger than his own. She left, and did not allow herself to beseen for a few days. 

When she returned, he was naïve enough to renew his banter. She took herseat on the corner sofa, and looked straight into his face: “Do wereally intend to remain friends, Daniel?” she asked. 

He cast a side glance of amazement at her, not because he wasparticularly struck by her charming suavity and marked winsomeness, butrather because the violin tone in her throat resounded more strongly andclearly than ever. But it was quite impossible for him to give anaffirmative reply to her question without puckering up his lips andputting his hands in his trouser pockets. 

She said she had no desire to seem important in his estimation, that shemerely wanted him to regard her as different from other girls. Sheinsisted that he concede her one privilege if they were to remainfriends: he was not to talk to her about love, either seriously or injest. She remarked that for months the very word love had called upghost-like recollections. Why this was so, she said she could not tellhim, not now, perhaps years from now when both had grown old. She couldnot do it, for if she endeavoured to refresh old memories or revive whatshe had half forgotten, her whole past arose before her, flat, languid, and insipid, easily misinterpreted by the person who heard the story, however clear it might be to her. She repeated that this was the way itwas, and she could not help it. Once again she asked that he spare herfeelings on this point. 

Her face took on a serious expression; it resembled an old picture. There was something dream-like in her words. 

“Well, if that is all you have on your mind, Eleanore, I am sure thatit will be easy for me to respect your wish, ” said Daniel. There was amanifest lack of feeling in the kindness he displayed. It seemed indeedthat the secret to which she was attaching so much importance was farremoved from his egotistically encircled world. The little fountain inthe garden was rustling. He listened to see if he could not catch thedominating tone in the continual splashing. 

Eleanore turned to him now with renewed if not novel candour. She wascloser to him in every way—her eyes, her hands, and her words. 

 VIII

Daniel had just completed an orchestral work which he had entitled“Vineta. ” He wished to have Benda hear it. One evening about six Bendacame in. Everything was ready. Daniel sat down at the piano. His facewas pale, his smooth upper lip was trembling. 

“Now think of the sea; think of a storm; think of a boat with people init. Picture to yourself a wonderful _aurora borealis_ and a sunken cityrising from the sea. Imagine a sea that had suddenly become calm, and inthe light a strange phenomenon. Conjure up such a scene before yourmind’s eye, or conjure up something totally different, for this is afalse way of getting at the meaning of music. It is plain prostitutionto think anything of the kind. Ice-flat. ”

He was just about to begin, when some one knocked at the door. Eleanoreentered. She whisked across the room, and took her seat on the sofa. 

The piece opened with a quiet rhythmical, mournful movement, whichsuddenly changed to a raging presto. The melodic figure was shatteredlike a bouquet of flowers in a waterfall almost before it had had timeto take shape and display real composure. The dissipated elements, scattered to the four corners of the earth, then returned, hesitatinglyand with evident contrition, to be reunited in a single chain. It seemedthat the mad whirlwind had left them richer, purer and more spiritual. They pealed forth now, one after the other, in a slow-movingdecrescendo, until they constituted a solemn chorus played in moderato, melting at last into the lovely and serious main theme, which in thefinale streamed away and beyond into infinity, dying out on anarpeggiated chord. 

Where the piano failed to produce the full effect, Daniel helped outwith his crow-like voice. It was the uncanny energy of expression thatprevented his singing from having a comic effect. 

Benda’s eyes were so strained in the effort to listen intelligently andappreciatively that they became dazed, glazed. Had he been asked hecould not have said whether the work was a success or a failure. Thefeature of the performance that convinced him was the man and themagnetism that radiated from the man. The work itself he could neitherfathom nor evaluate. It took hold of him nevertheless because of itsinseparable association with the human phenomenon. 

Daniel got up, stumbled over to the sofa, buried his face in his hands, and sighed: “Do you feel it? Do you really feel it?” He then rose, lunged at the piano, seized the score, and hurled it to the floor: “Ah, it’s no account; it is nothing; it is an abominable botch. ”

He threw himself on the sofa a second time. Eleanore, sitting perfectlymotionless in the other corner, looked at him with the eyes of anastonished child. 

Benda had gone to the window, and was looking out into the trees and thegrey clouds of the sky. Then he turned around. “That something must bedone for you and your cause is clear, ” he said. 

Eleanore stretched out her arms toward Benda as though she wished tothank him. Her lips began to move. But when she saw Daniel she did notdare to say a word, until she suddenly exclaimed: “Heavens, there aretwo buttons on his vest which are hanging by a thread. ” She ran out ofthe room. In a few moments she returned with needle and thread, whichshe had had Meta give her, sat down at Daniel’s side, and sewed thebuttons on. 

Benda had to laugh. But what she did had a tranquilising effect; sheseemed to enable life to win the victory over the insidious pranks ofapparitions. 

 IX

In years gone by, Benda had known the theatrical manager and impresarioDörmaul. He went to Dörmaul now, and took Daniel’s new work along withhim; for the versatile parvenu, who always had a number of irons in thefire, also published music. 

A few weeks elapsed before Benda heard from Dörmaul: “Incomprehensiblestuff! Crazy attempt to be original! You couldn’t coax a dog away fromthe stove with it. ” Such was Dörmaul’s opinion. 

A young man with fiery red hair followed Benda to the door and spoke tohim. He said his name was Wurzelmann and that he was a musician himself;that he had attended the Vienna Conservatory, where his teacher hadgiven him a letter of recommendation to Alexander Dörmaul. He also toldBenda that Dörmaul was planning to form an opera company that wouldvisit the smaller cities of the provinces, and that he was to be theKapellmeister. 

He spoke in the detestable idiom of the Oriental Jew. Benda was politelycold. 

The main point was still to come: “Vineta” had aroused Wurzelmann’sprofound admiration; he had read the score on the side: “A great talent, Doctor, a talent such as we have not had for a long, long while, ” saidWurzelmann. 

“Yes, but what am I to say about Herr Dörmaul’s opinion?” asked Benda. He found it difficult to trust the man before him, and was using thejudgment of the man behind him as a foil. 

“Don’t you know Dörmaul? I thought you did. Whenever he has no authorityto fear he becomes very bold. Lay the Ninth Symphony before him withoutBeethoven’s name to it, and he will tell you at once that it is rubbish. Do you want to bet?”

“Honestly?” asked Benda, somewhat concerned. 

“Give me the score, and I’ll promise you to arouse the least sensitivefrom their lethargy with it. With a work of that kind you have got toblow the trumpet. ”

Benda thought it over. He had no use for trumpet-blowing, and noconfidence in those who did the blowing. And yet he consented, for hedid not feel justified in arbitrarily depriving Daniel of a chance. 

It turned out that Wurzelmann had told the truth. A fortnight laterDaniel was informed that the Orchestral Union had decided to perform hiswork in February. In order to provide its hearers with a more elaboratepicture of his creative ability, the Union asked him for a second work. His compositions were perfect; others needed revision. 

Wurzelmann boasted of having won his way to the seats of the mighty. Hehad the cordial approval of such professors of music as Wackerbarth andHerold. His masterpiece of diplomacy lay in the fact that he had securedAndreas Döderlein as director of the orchestra. 

His store of suggestions was inexhaustible, his plans without number. Hementioned the fact that when the company was on the road they would haveto have a second Kapellmeister, since he himself would have to functionat times as substitute director: “Leave it all to me, dear Nothafft, ” hesaid, “Alexander Dörmaul has got to dance to my tune, and my tune isthis: It is Nothafft or nobody for Kapellmeister. ”

If he began with humility, he concluded with familiarity. Daniel hatedred-headed people, particularly when they had inflamed eyes andslobbered when they spoke. 

“He is an unappetising fellow, your Wurzelmann, ” he said to Benda, “andit is embarrassing to me to be indebted to him. He imagines he flattersme when he speaks contemptibly of himself. What he deserves is a kick ortwo. ”

Benda was silent. Touched by Wurzelmann’s devoted efforts, he had calledhim _servule_, or the “little slave. ” It was pleasant to think thatthere was some one to remove the stumbling blocks from the road, so thatthe feet of him who had risen from obscurity might find a place to walk. But the little slave was filled with the admiration of the Jew, born inpoverty and oppression, for the genius of the other race. 

Benda knew this. He was uneasy at the thought of it; for other and noless disingenuous fanatics regarded Wurzelmann’s behaviour merely as aracial peculiarity. 

 X

Summer with its hot August days had come. The two friends took frequentwalks out to the suburbs, strolling through the forests of Feucht andFischbach, or climbing the high hills about the city. 

Eleanore joined them on one of these excursions. It was a joy to see herdrink in the fragrance of the flowers and the fir trees or study thevarious cloud formations and the alternating scenes of the landscape. When she did this she was like a bird gliding along on noiseless wing inthe upper regions, far removed from the grime of the earth, bathing inthe undefiled air of the clouds. 

She listened to the conversation of the friends with intelligentattention. A piercing glance or a wrinkle of the brow showed that shewas taking sides, and accepting or rejecting in her own mind the viewsthat were being set forth. If she was moved to express an opinion of herown, she generally hit the nail on the head. 

As they were returning home, night set in. The sky was clear; the starswere shining. There were a great number of falling stars. Eleanoreremarked that she really did not have as many wishes as she couldexpress under these circumstances. The erudite Benda replied with asmile that in these August nights there were frequently so many groupsof asteroids that the whole firmament seemed to be in motion, and thatone could easily grow tired of so many wishes. 

Eleanore wanted to know what an asteroid was. Benda explained it to heras well as he could. Then he told her all about constellations and themilky way, and explained to her that the latter consists of millions ofindividual stars. He also spoke of the size of the stars; and since hereferred to them occasionally as suns and worlds, she became somewhatsceptical, and asked him whether there were any earths among the stars. “Earths? What do you mean by earths?” he asked. “Why, earths, just likethe one we live on, ” she replied. Having been told that there wereearths among the stars, Eleanore raised a number of rather cleverlyframed questions about the trees and animals and people that might befound on these other earths. She was told that it was highly probablethat they were all inhabited about as our own: “Why should this globeenjoy special privileges?” he asked. He added, however, that even if theinhabitants of the other earths did not have the same mental facultiesthat we have, they were at least beings endowed with reason andinstinct. 

“Do you mean to tell me that such people as you and Daniel and I may beliving up there in those starry regions?”

“Certainly. ”

“And that there are countless peoples and humanities up among the starsof whom we know nothing at all?”

“Certainly. ”

Eleanore sat down on a milestone by the roadside, gazed out into spacewith trembling lips, and broke out crying. Benda took her hand, andcaressed it. 

“I am awfully sorry for all those peoples up there, ” Eleanore sobbed, looked up, smiled, and let the tears take their course. Benda would haveliked to take Daniel by the arm, and shout into his ear: “Look at hernow!” Daniel was looking at her, but he did not see her. 

 XI

One evening in October, Inspector Jordan left his house in Broad Street, buttoned his top coat more closely about him, and walked hastily througha connecting alley that was so narrow that it seemed as if some one hadtaken a big knife and cut the houses in two. His goal was CarolinaStreet. It was late, and he was hungry. Doubting whether Gertrude wouldhave a warm supper ready for him, he went to an inn. 

He had spent two full hours there trying to get a rich hops dealer totake out some insurance. The man had him explain over and over again theadvantages of insurance, studied the tables backwards and forwards, andyet he was unable to come to a decision. Then the waiter brought him hisdinner. There he sat, smacking his lips with the noise of humancontentment, his great white napkin tied under his chin in such afashion that the two corners of it stuck out on either side of hismassive head, giving the appearance of two white ears. He had offendedJordan’s social instincts: he had not thought it worth while to wait foran invitation. 

Among other guests in the inn was Bonengel, the barber. He recognisedJordan and spoke to him. He took a seat in the background, picked outthe ugliest and greasiest of the waitresses, and ordered a bulky portionof sausage and sauerkraut. 

He told lascivious anecdotes. When the waitress brought him his food, she tittered, and said: “He is a jolly good fellow, Bonengel is. ”

Jordan began to eat rapidly, but soon lost his appetite, pushed hisplate to one side, propped his chin on his hands, and stared at theimmobile clouds of tobacco smoke before him. 

He had a feeling that it was no longer possible to keep at this work dayafter day, year in and year out. Running from one end of the city to theother, up and down the same stairs, through the same old streets—hecould not do it. Answering the same questions, making the sameassertions, refuting the same objections, praising the same plan in thesame words, feigning the same interest and quieting the same distrustday after day—no, he could not do it. Disturbing the same people intheir domestic peace, prodding himself on to new effort every morning, listening to the same curtain lectures of that monster of monsters, theinsatiate stock market, and standing up under the commands of his chief, Alfons Diruf—no, he was no longer equal to it. It was all contrary tothe dignity of a man of his years. 

He was ashamed of himself; and he was fearfully tired. 

He thought of his past life. He recalled how he had risen from poverty, and worked up to the position of a highly respected merchant. That waswhen he was in Ulm. There he had married Agnes, the blond daughter ofthe railroad engineer. 

But why had he never become rich? Other men who were distinctly inferiorto him in shrewdness, diligence, and polish were now wealthy; he waspoor. Three times he had been threatened with bankruptcy, and threetimes friends had come to his rescue. Then a partner joined him, invested some capital in the firm, and the business was once more on itsfeet. 

But it turned out that this partner was a stranger to loyalty and quitewithout conscience. “Jordan is a drag on the business, ” he would say tohis customers, “Jordan is stupid, Jordan cannot make a calculation. ” Andthe partner never rested until Jordan was paid a set sum and eased outof the firm. 

He then tried his fortune here and there for eight or nine years. “Don’tworry, Jordan, ” said Agnes, “everything will come out well. ” But it didnot. Whatever Jordan took hold of, he took hold of at the wrong end atthe wrong time with the wrong people. 

He could not get on. Not only because his hand was heavy and his headtoo honest, but because he had allowed himself to be befooled by achimera. 

Early in life he had had a dream, and all his enterprise and industrywere directed toward the fulfilment of this dream. It had beenimpossible: he had never been able to save up enough money. Every timehe discussed his favourite wish with Agnes, and told her about the happydays when he would be able to live his own life and be his own boss, sheencouraged him and tried to help him. But it seemed now that she hadknown all along that he had merely been dreaming, and that hermagnanimity had prompted her not to jolt him out of his delusion. 

It had always seemed to him that the world of dolls was a world initself. He had taken an enchanted delight in picturing the types offaces, clothes, and hair he would design for his various dolls, big andlittle. Dolls of the most variegated charm peopled his fancy: there wereprincesses of different degrees of proximity to the throne, fisher maidsand mermaids; there were shepherds and shepherdesses, Casperls and lustyimps, dolls with heads of porcelain and dolls with heads of wax, all sofaithfully imitated that it would require anthropomorphic skill todetect that they were not human beings. Their hair was, of course, to behuman hair. Some of them were to wear the costumes of foreign races, while others were to be dressed up like fairy figures, sprites, andgnomes. There was to be a Haroun al Raschid and an Oriental Dervish. 

The last time he moved his choice fell on Nuremberg. He was attracted toNuremberg because it was the centre of the doll industry. 

About this time Agnes died, and he was left alone with the threechildren for whom he had to make a living. He no longer had the courageto hope for success or prosperity; even the doll factory had become achimera. He had but one ambition: he wished to lay aside ten thousandmarks for each of his three daughters, so that they would be providedfor in any event after his death. The boy, he thought, could take careof himself. 

Up to the present, however, he had not been able to place the half ofthis sum in the bank. And now, suppose he lost his position; suppose thefrailties of old age prevented him from making his own living; supposehe was obliged to draw on the savings of years for his own support. Howcould he look his daughters in the face in the evening of his earthlylife?

“The slag hid behind something in the cellar, and when his wife tried tobring him his pants, she let them fall in the flour bin. ” This elegantremark emanated from Bonengel the barber. 

His auditors gurgled, the waitress roared. 

As Jordan walked home he could hear above the wind the voice of Bonengelthe barber. It sounded like the rattling of a pair of hair-clippers. 

He disliked walking up the steps to his front door; they were so narrow;they creaked as though they were ready to fall down; and he was alwaysafraid he would meet some blind people. An oculist lived on the firstfloor, and he had often seen sightless persons feeling their way around. 

A letter was lying on his table. The cover bore the address of theGeneral Agency of the Prudentia Insurance Co. He walked up and down awhile before opening it. It was his discharge papers. 

 XII

Friedrich Benda became more and more dejected. He saw that as a privateindividual he would have to waste energy that should be going into hisprofession. It seemed to him that he was condemned to bury his talent ineternal obscurity. 

He broke off from the most of his acquaintances; with others he quitcorresponding. If friends spoke to him on the street, he turned hishead. His sense of honour had been wounded; he was on the point oflosing his self-respect. 

Daniel was the only one who failed to notice the change that was comingover him. Probably he had accustomed himself to the belief that Benda’slife was orderly and agreeable. The plebeian prosperity of the family inwhich he himself lived probably made him feel that that was the way hisfriend was living. At all events he never asked any questions, and wasnever once struck by the fact that Benda would sit before him for hourswith his face wrapped in bitter, melancholy gloom. 

Benda smiled at Daniel’s naïveté; for he felt that his attitude was dueto naïveté and nothing more. He harboured no resentment. He decided notto say a word about his condition to Daniel, then all taken up withhimself and his music. It was, however, at times impossible for him toprevent his smarting and his desire to put an end to his ineffectualexistence from breaking through the coating of reserve in which he hadencased himself. 

Late in the afternoon of a dismal day, Benda called for Daniel just ashe was finishing one of his piano lessons. The two friends decided totake a walk and then dine together at Benda’s. 

In the hallway they met the Rüdiger sisters as they were returning fromtheir daily stroll through the garden. Benda greeted them with anantiquated politeness; Daniel just barely touched the rim of his hat. The sisters lined up as if ready for a cotillion, and returned thegreetings with infinite grace. Fräulein Jasmina let a rose fall, andwhen Benda picked it up for her, she pressed her hand against herscarcely noticeable breast and gave voice to her gratitude, again withinfinite grace. 

When they reached the street, Benda said in a tone of compassion: “Theyare three delicate creatures; they live their lonely lives like vestalvirgins guarding a sacred fire. ”

Daniel smiled. “Yes, a sacred fire? Do you refer to the incident withthe painter?”

“Yes, I do; and he was no ordinary painter, either, let me tell you. Iheard the whole story the other day. The painter was Anselm Feuerbach. ”

Daniel knew nothing whatever about Anselm Feuerbach. He was impressed, however, by the name, which, by virtue of a mysterious magic, struck hisear like the chime of a noble bell. “Tell me about him, ” he said. 

The story was as follows: Four years before his death, that is, sixyears ago, Anselm Feuerbach came to Nuremberg for the last time to visithis mother. He was already sick in body and soul, and was muchdisappointed in his alleged friends. The incessant torture resultingfrom lack of appreciation had told on his health. A few of the moreenlightened citizens, however, recalled his fame, as it floated about inthe heavy air of Germany, somewhat befogged and quite expatriated, andthe Chamber of Commerce placed an order with Feuerbach for a painting tobe hung in the Palace of Justice. Feuerbach accepted the order, choosingas his theme Emperor Ludwig in the act of conferring on the citizens ofNuremberg the right to free trade. When the picture was completed, therewas a great deal of dissatisfaction with it. The merchants had expectedsomething totally different: they had looked for a cheap but strikingcanvas after the style of Kreling, and not this dignified, classicalwork by Feuerbach. 

Nor was this all. The hanging space was so small that several inches ofthe canvas had to be run into the wall, and the light was wretched. TheChamber of Commerce proceeded at once to make trouble with regard to thepaying of Feuerbach’s bill. An ugly quarrel arose in which Rüdiger, thegeometrician, who had always been an ardent champion of Feuerbach, tookthe artist’s part. It finally reached the point where Rüdiger left thecity, swearing he would never return. His daughters had all three lovedFeuerbach from the time he lived in their father’s house. 

“As a matter of fact, if there ever was an amiable artist, ” Benda saidin conclusion, “it was Anselm Feuerbach. Would you like to see him?Come, then. ”

They were near the Cemetery of St. John. The gate was open, and Danielfollowed Benda. They walked along a narrow path, until Benda pointed toa flat stone bearing the name of Albrecht Dürer. After this they came toFeuerbach’s grave. A bronze tablet, already quite darkened with age andweather, bore Feuerbach’s face in profile. Beneath it lay a laurelwreath, the withered leaves of which were fluttering in the wind. 

“What a life he lived!” said Benda in a low tone. “And what a death hedied! The death of a hunted dog!”

As they walked back to the city, night came on. Daniel had removed hishat, and was walking along at Benda’s side looking straight ahead. Bendawas as nervous as he had ever been in his life. 

“A German life, and a German death, ” he exclaimed. “He stretched out hishand to give, and the people spat in it. He gives and gives and gives, and they take and take and take, without gratitude, yea, rather with, scorn. The only thing they study is their consanguinity table. They makethe microscope and the catechism copulate; their philosophy and theirpolice systems live in _mésalliance_. Good demeanour they know not; ofhuman agreements they have never heard. They decide to do something, andthey do it. That is all. There is no longer a place for me in Germany. Iam leaving. ”

“You are going to leave? Where are you going?” asked Daniel, in faithfulamazement. Benda bit his lips, and was silent. 

“Do you see these big white spots here? They have neither mountains norrivers on them. Those are places that have never been trod upon byEuropean feet. There is where I am going. ” He smiled a gentle smile. 

“Really? When?” asked Daniel, filled with dismay at the thought oflosing his friend. 

“I have not decided when, but it will be soon. I have work to do overthere. I need air, room, sky, the free animal and the free plant. ”

Benda’s mother came in. She was rather tall, walked with thedifficulties of age, had sharp features and deep-set eyes. 

She looked first at her son and then at Daniel. Then her eyes fell onthe atlas and remained fixed upon it, filled with an expression ofhorror and anxiety. 

Daniel did not know what to say. Benda, still smiling to himself, beganto talk about other things. 

 XIII

At the death of her mother, Gertrude Jordan was nine years old. She hadcrept into the death chamber and sat by the bier for three hours. Perhaps her seclusion from the world and association with people datedfrom that hour. As she was leaving the death room, the clock on thewall struck, and a cock crowed in the distance. 

“Why do you tick, clock?” she asked in a loud voice, “why do you crow, cock?” And again: “Who makes you tick, clock, who makes you crow, cock?”

She had grown up, and no one knew anything about her. It was evendifficult for her own father to approach her; how she was constituted, mentally and spiritually, he did not know. She never associated withgirls of her own age. Her dark eyes glowed with wrath when she heard thesenseless, sensuous laughter of other girls. 

The first time she partook of the holy communion she swooned and had tobe carried out. Jordan then took her to Pommersfelden to his sister, thewidow of the district physician Kupferschmied. At the end of one weekshe returned alone, completely broken in spirit. She had seen a calfslaughtered; the sight had made her almost insane. 

From the time she was fifteen years old she had insisted on having herown bed room. When she was sixteen she demanded that the maid bedischarged; she herself did all the cooking and kept house. As soon asshe had finished her work, she would take her seat by the quiltingframe. 

Through her father, Benjamin Dorn had come into the family. Gertrudeliked him because Eleanore made fun of him. He did not seem to her likea man; he reminded her rather of the languishing angels she embroidered. He brought her all his religious tracts and edifying pamphlets, but shecould not grasp the language. He took her to the Methodist revivals, butthe noisy gnashing of teeth at these meetings terrified her, and after afew times it was impossible to persuade her to go back. He alsorecommended that she read the Bible, but she could find nothing in itthat brought her peace of mind. It seemed that she had a wound in hersoul that would not heal. Long after she had abandoned Benjamin Dorn andhis cheap sanctimoniousness, he imagined that she still loved him andlooked up to him. She managed, however, to come into his presence onlyon the rarest occasions, and then she never spoke to him. 

Divine worship in the Protestant church seemed to her like a sort ofbargain day on which the people assembled to do business with Heaveninstead of on work days. She missed the dignity; the sermons left hercold; the ritual made not the slightest appeal to her. 

She never heard from any one at any time a single sentence that reallyenlightened her or remained fixed in her memory. It was the jejuneinsipidity of an entire age, the stale flatness of the world that shefelt to the very depths of her soul. If she wished to make her heartglow, if she became unusually fearful of the empty air and the emptyday, she stole secretly into the Church of Our Lady or into St. Sebaldus, where the house of God was more solemnly decorated, wherethere were more lights burning, where the prayers had a more mysterioussound, the priests seemed to be more affected by what they were doing, and where the worshipper could sense the awful meaning of life anddeath. 

All external beauty, however, was repulsive to her. She hated evenbeautiful scenery and fair weather, regarding them as temptations tomortal man intended to lead him into some sort of folly. She lovednothing about herself, neither her face nor her voice. She was indeedfrightened at the sound of her own deep voice. She did not like herhair, nor had she any use for her hands. 

One winter evening she took from her hand the gold ring, an heirloomfrom her mother, presented to her by her father, and threw it into thecreek. Then she bowed down over the ledge, and seemed to feel as if shehad relieved her soul of a great burden. 

Eleanore tried time and time again to come near her sister, but eachtime she was thrust back. Though Gertrude never conversed with people, every word that was said about Eleanore reached her ears; she feltashamed of her sister. She could not bear the looks of Eleanore, took anintense dislike to her, and in the end was obliged to summon all hercourage in order to return her greeting. It was impossible for her, however, to reproach Eleanore; for that she did not have sufficientcommand of language. In truth, her control of words was exceedinglylimited. Everything, grief as well as injustice, she was forced tostifle within her own soul. She grieved about Eleanore, and became atthe same time more and more nervous and excited. It seemed thatsomething about her sister was tantalising her, drawing her on, worryingher, making her lose sleep. 

Her restlessness became so great that she could no longer sit at thequilting frame; in fact, it was no longer possible for her to do anykind of exacting work. Something drew her out of the house, and once shewas away, something forthwith drew her back home. Her heart beatviolently when she was alone, and yet, if her father or brother orEleanore came in, she could not stand their presence, and took refugein her own room. If it was hot, she closed the windows; if it was cold, she opened them and leaned out. If it was quiet, she was filled withfear; if it was not quiet, she longed for peace. She could not say herprayers; she had none to say; her mind and soul were muted, muffled, dumb. She felt the hours following each other in regular order assomething terrible; she wanted to skip over years, just as one mightskip over pages of a tiresome book. And when the worst came to theworst, and she did not know what on earth to do, she ran to the Churchof Our Lady, threw herself prostrate before the high altar, buried herface, and remained perfectly motionless until her soul had found greaterpeace. 

Something made her go to Eleanore; she did not want to do it, but shecould not help it. She was naturally vigilant, and she wished to wardoff misfortune if possible. She was obsessed with an uncanny feeling, agruesome curiosity. She dogged her sister’s steps in secret. One timeshe saw from a distance that Eleanore had started off with a man who hadbeen waiting for her. She could not move from the spot; Eleanore caughtsight of her. 

The next day Eleanore came to her voluntarily, and told her quitecandidly of her relation to Eberhard von Auffenberg. Concerning what sheknew of Eberhard’s fate she said nothing; she merely indicated that hewas extremely unhappy. She told her how she had met him the previouswinter on the Dutzendteich at the ice carnival, how he ran after her, how glad she was to show him a little friendship, and how much he neededfriendship. 

Gertrude was silent for a long while. Finally she said, with a voice sodeep that it seemed to have burst from being too full: “You two eithermust get married, or you must not see each other any more. What you aredoing is a crime. ”

“A crime?” said Eleanore astonished, “how so?”

“Ask your conscience, ” was the answer, spoken with eyes riveted on theground. 

“My conscience is quite clear. ”

“Then you have none, ” said Gertrude harshly. “You lie, and you are beinglied to. You are sunk in sin; there is no hope for you. That man’s evillooks! His ugly thoughts! And the thoughts of the other men! They areall beyond redemption. You are spotted through and through. You don’tknow it, but I do. ”

She got up, kicked the chair from her with her heels, and stared atEleanore with her mysterious black eyes: “Never mention this to meagain, ” she whispered with trembling lips, “never, never!” With that shewent out. 

Eleanore felt something like actual loathing for her own sister. Filledwith an indescribable foreboding, she detected in Gertrude the adversarythat fate had marked out for her. 

 XIV

When the autumn days came on and it began to get cold, Daniel was afrequent visitor at Jordan’s. Although he had a warm stove now of hisown, he took pleasure in remembering the comfortable corner of a yearago. He had a greater affection for things and rooms than he had forhuman beings. 

It was rare that he came in contact with Jordan, for now that he was nolonger with the Prudentia, it was hard to locate him: he was doing oddjobs for a number of concerns, and this kept him more or less on the go. Benno came home after office hours, only to betake himself to his room, where he shaved and made himself as elegant-looking as possible for thesocial engagements of the evening. He did not like to be alone withGertrude, so he never came until after six o’clock, when he knew thatEleanore would be at home. Realising that Eleanore was diligentlypursuing the study of French and English, and that her evenings weretherefore of great value to her, he begged her not to be disturbed byhis visits. He said that he found nothing so agreeable as sitting stilland saying nothing. After an hour or two, however, he left, murmuring anindistinct farewell as he did so. 

At times he would bring a book with him and read. If he chanced to lookup, he saw Eleanore bending over the writing table, her hair, bathed ina flood of golden light from the lamp, falling in fine silken threadsover her temples, while her mouth was firmly closed, her lips inclinedto droop at the corners, but in a lovely fashion. Then he saw Gertrude. She did not wear her hair loose; she put it up in a tight knot above herneck. Her dress was no longer the Nile green; it was made of browncloth, and on the front was a row of glistening black buttons. 

At times Eleanore would make some remark to him, and he would reply. Attimes the remarks between the two spun out into a verbal skirmish. Eleanore teased, and he was gruff; or he mocked, and Eleanore delivereda curtain lecture. Gertrude would sit with an expression of helplessamazement on her face, and look at the window. She purposely remainedunoccupied; she purposely postponed her household duties. The thoughtof leaving the two alone in the room was unbearable. 

What Daniel did and said, how he walked or sat or stood, how he put hishands in his pockets and smacked his lips, all this and more aroused asense of fear and shame in her. She regarded his candour as impudentpresumption; she looked upon his capriciousness as malevolentirrationality; his indifferent manners and his disposition to slandershe felt certain were of a piece with the scorn of the devil. 

On one occasion he dropped a caustic remark about the bigots who contendthat God is a moralising censor. Having this phase of ethics underdiscussion, he also paid his respects to those people who look uponevery worm-eaten pastor as an archangel. Gertrude got up with a jerk, and stared at him. He stood his ground; he merely shrugged hisshoulders. Gertrude whispered: “Men without faith are worse thancontagious diseases. ”

Daniel laughed. Then he became serious, and asked her what sheunderstood by faith. He wanted to know whether she felt that faith was amatter of lip service. She replied, with bowed head, that she could notdiscuss sacred matters with a man who had renounced all religion. Danieltold her that her remark was slanderous. He wanted to know whether shehad ever taken the pains to find out precisely how he stood in mattersof religion, and if not, was this the reason she passed such finaljudgment on him with such suddenness and conviction. He asked her pointblank whether she was quite certain that her so-called faith was betterthan his so-called unfaith. Not content with this, he asked where shegot her authority, her courage, her feeling of security; whether shefelt she had evidence to prove that she had carefully examined his soul;and whether she had at any time interviewed God. 

He laughed again, whistled, and left. 

Gertrude remained motionless for a while, her eyes fixed on the floor. Eleanore supported her chin on her hand, and looked at hercompassionately. Gertrude began to tremble in her whole body, and, without raising her head, she stretched out her arms to Eleanore. Thoughquite unable to interpret this accusing gesture, Eleanore was terrified. 

The next time Daniel came, he resumed his seat by the stove, andremained silent for a while. Then, without the slightest warning orapparent motivation, he began to discuss religion. And how? With the oldspirit of defiance, as if from an ambuscade from which he could sendout his poisoned arrows, with calculating maliciousness and coldrebellion, with the air of a man who has been defeated, who is now beingpursued, and who is willing to concede more to the earthly order ofthings than to the divine. Thus he sat, the incarnation of blasphemy, and once more shuffled the features of his face until he looked like thesedulous ape. 

Eleanore felt that he was denying both himself and God, and that withviolence. She went over to him, and laid her hand on his shoulder. Gertrude, a death-like pallor playing over her face, got up, passed byher and Daniel, and did not appear again that evening. Nor did sheappear the following evening. From that time on she avoided hispresence. 

For one remarkable second and no longer, Daniel fixed his eyes on theshape of Gertrude’s legs. He became suddenly conscious of the fact thatshe was a woman and he was a man. During this second, one of the rarestof his life, he perceived the outer surface of her body, but without theenveloping clothes. He thought of her as a nude figure. It lasted only asecond, but he pictured her to himself as a nude. Everything she hadsaid and done fell from her like so much clothing. 

He had a feeling that his eyes had been opened; that he had really seenfor the first time in his life; and that what he now saw was the body ofthe world. 

The nude picture followed him. He fought against his disquietude. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. He conjured up thepicture in order to destroy it with coolness and composure; but it wouldnot be destroyed, nor would it vanish. One day he chanced to meetGertrude by the beautiful fountain. He stopped, stood as if petrified, and forgot to speak to her. 

 XV

It was a cold, clear day in the middle of December. Eleanore wanted togo skating after dinner. She was known in the entire city for her skillon the ice. An irrepressible vivacity and sense of freedom pulsedthrough her body. It seemed to her lamentable that she should have tosit down in the overheated, sticky air of the office among all thoseclerks, and write. 

She went, nevertheless, to the office, took her place among the clerks, and wrote as usual. Herr Zittel’s eyes shone through the lenses of hisspectacles like two poison flasks. But she did not make much progress;time dragged; it dragged even more heavily and slowly than Herr Diruf’sfeet, as he made his rounds through the room. Eleanore looked up. Shefelt as if his gloomy eyes were resting on her. Conscious of havingfailed to perform her duty as she might have done, she blushed. 

Finally the clock struck six. The other clerks left, making much noiseas they did so. Eleanore waited as usual until they had all gone, forshe did not like to mix with them. Just then Benjamin Dorn came wabblingin: “The Chief would like to speak to Fräulein Jordan, ” he said, andbent his long neck like a swan. Eleanore was surprised: what on earthcould Herr Diruf want with her? Possibly it had to do with Benno. 

Alfons Diruf was sitting at his desk as she entered. He wrote one moreline, and then stared at her. There was something in his expression thatdrove the blood from her cheeks. Involuntarily she looked down atherself and felt her flesh creep. 

“You wanted to see me, ” she said. 

“Yes, I wanted to see you, ” he replied, and made a weary attempt tosmile. 

There was another pause. In her anxiety Eleanore looked first at oneobject in the room and then at another; first at the bathing nymph, thenat the silk curtains, then at the Chinese lampshade. 

“Well, sweetheart, ” said Herr Diruf, his smile gradually changing into asort of convulsion, “we are not bad, are we? By the beard of theprophet, we are all right, aren’t we? Hunh?”

Eleanore lowered her head. She thought she had misunderstood him: “Youwanted to see me, ” she said in a loud voice. 

Diruf laid his hand, palm down, on the edge of his desk. His solitairethrew off actual sparks of brilliancy. “I can crush every one of you, ”he said, as he shoved his hand along the edge of the desk towardEleanore. “That boy out there, your brother, is an underhanded sharper. If I want to I can make him turn a somersault, believe me. ” He shovedhis fat hand a little farther along, as if it were some dangerous engineand his solitaire a signal lamp. “I can make the whole pack of you dancewhenever I want to. Can’t I, sweetheart? _Capito?_ _Comprenez-vous?_”

Eleanore looked into Alfons Diruf’s smeary eyes with unspeakableamazement. 

Diruf got up, walked over to her, and put his arms around her shoulders. “Well, if the boy is a sweet-toothed tom-cat who can easily be ledastray, you are a purring pussy-cat, ” he said with a tone of terribletenderness, and held the girl so tight in his arms that she could notpossibly move. “Now be quiet, sweetheart; be calm, my little bosom;don’t worry, you little devil!”

Horror, hot and cold, came over her, and filled her with unnamabledismay. Contact with the man had a more gruesome effect on her thananything she had ever even dreamed of. One jerk as though it were amatter of life and death, and she was free. White as a sheet, shenevertheless stood there before him, and smiled. It was a rare smile, something quite beyond the bounds of what is ordinarily called a smile. Alfons Diruf was no longer fat and fierce; he was like a pricked bubble;he was done for. And finding himself alone, he stood there for a whileand gaped at the floor. He looked and felt hopelessly stupid. 

Eleanore hastened through the streets, and suddenly discovered that shewas in the Long Row. She turned around. Benda, then on the way over tocall on Daniel, caught sight of her, recognised her by the light of thegas lamp, stopped as she passed by him, and looked after her not alittle concerned. 

When she reached home, she sank down on the sofa exhausted. To rid hermind of the memory of the past hour, she took refuge in her longing, longing for a southern country. Her longing was so intense, her desireto go south so fervent, that her face shone as if in fever. But theglass case had at last been broken. 

The bell rang shortly before eight; she said to Gertrude: “If it isDaniel, send him away. I cannot see any one this evening. ”

“Are you ill?” asked Gertrude with characteristic sternness. 

“I don’t know; I simply do not want to see anybody, ” said Eleanore, andsmiled again as she had smiled in Diruf’s office. 

It was Daniel, to be sure. Benda had told him that he had seen Eleanoreout in front of the house; and when he learned that she had not been tocall on Daniel, his anxiety increased. “There is something wrong here, ”he said, “you had better go see her. ” After they had talked thesituation over for a while Benda accompanied Daniel as far as ÆgydiusPlace, in order to make sure that he inquired after Eleanore. 

Gertrude opened the iron door. “Eleanore does not want you to come in, ”she said, with a trace of joy in her eyes. 

“Why not? What has happened?”

“She does not wish to see you, ” said the monosyllabic Gertrude, andgazed into the light of the hall lamp. 

“Is she ill?”

“No!”

“Then she has got to tell me herself that she does not wish to see me. ”

“Go!” commanded Gertrude and tossed her head back. 

Her gloomy eyes hung on his, and the two stood there for a momentopposite each other, like two racers who have come in at the same goalat the same time but from opposite directions. Daniel then turnedaround, and went down the steps in silence. Gertrude remained standingfor a time, her head sinking deeper and deeper all the while on herbreast. Suddenly she covered her face with her hands; a cold shudder ranthrough her body. 

 XVI

Before going to bed, Eleanore wrote a letter to Herr Zittel informinghim that she was leaving the Prudentia at once. 

Lying in bed, she could not sleep. She saw herself on the ice cuttingbold and novel figures. The spectators, grouped about her in a widecircle, admired her skill. She saw the sea with fishing smacks andcoloured sails. She saw gardens full of roses. 

Her father and Benno had come home long ago. She heard the bell up inthe nearby church tower strike twelve—and then one—and then two. 

She heard some one walking back and forth in the house; she heard someone opening and closing a door. Then the steps died away, and all wasquiet. She got up, went to the door, and listened. A deep sigh reachedher ear from the next room. She opened the door just a little, withoutmaking the slightest noise, and peeped out through the crack. 

Gertrude was standing by the open window; she was in her night-gown andbare feet. The moon was shining on the square in front of the house; theglitter of the snow on the roofs made it seem quite cold. The spookyillumination made the girl’s face look spooky. Her loose flowing hairlooked as black as ebony. 

Eleanore ran into the room, and closed the window. “What on earth areyou doing, Gertrude?” she exclaimed; “are you getting ready to take yourlife?”

Gertrude’s slender body shivered in the cold; her toes were all bent inas if she were having a convulsion. “Yes, ” she said with markedmoroseness, “that is what I would like to do. ”

“That’s what you would like to do?” replied Eleanore, also tremblingwith cold. “And your father? Haven’t you the slightest consideration forhim? Do you want to give him more worry than he already has? What isthe matter with you, you crazy girl?”

“I am a sinner, Eleanore, ” cried Gertrude, fell on her knees, andclasped Eleanore about the hips. “I am a sinner. ”

“Yes? A sinner? What sin, pray, have you committed?” asked Eleanore, andbent down over her. 

“Why am I in that house there, in that prison?” cried Gertrude, andclasped her hands to her breast. “Evil has come over me, evil has takenpossession of me. I have evil thoughts. Look at me, Eleanore, look atme!”

Her voice had now mounted to the pitch of a piercing shriek. Eleanorestepped back from her, terror-stricken. Gertrude fell head first on thefloor. Her hair covered her bent and twitching back. 

The door leading to Jordan’s room opened, and he himself came incarrying a lighted candle. In default of pajamas, he had thrown achequered shawl around his shoulders, the fringes of which were danglingabout his knees. He had a white-peaked night-cap on his head. 

Quite beside himself, he looked at the two girls and wanted to saysomething; but he was speechless. When much worried he would alwayssmirk. It was a disagreeable habit. In Eleanore it always aroused afeeling of intense compassion. “There is nothing wrong, father, ” shestammered, and made an awkward gesture which indicated to him that itwould be most agreeable to her if he would go away. “Gertrude has painsin her stomach; she tried to go to the medicine chest to get a fewdrops. Please go, father; I’ll put her to bed. ”

“I will go to the doctor, or I will call Benno and have him go, ” saidJordan. 

“No, father, it is not necessary. Please go away!”

He appreciated Eleanore’s impatience and obediently withdrew, shieldingthe light of the candle with his hand; his gigantic shadow followedalong behind him like some unclassified animal. 

“Get up, Gertrude, get up and come with me!” said Eleanore. 

Gertrude was taken back to her room. After she had been in bed for a fewminutes, there was a knock at the door. It was Jordan; he asked how shefelt. Eleanore told him everything was all right. 

Until the moon had disappeared below the church roof, Eleanore sat onGertrude’s bed, and held her mute hand in her own. Though she had throwna cloak about her shoulders, she was cold. Gertrude lay with open, lifeless eyes. Every movement of Eleanore’s face revealed the changingmoods of her soul: she was thinking over an unending series of gravethoughts. When it became quite dark, Gertrude turned her face toEleanore, and said softly: “Please get in bed with me, Eleanore. If Isee you sleeping, possibly I can sleep too. ”

Eleanore laid the cloak to one side, and slipped in under the covers. The two girls cuddled up to each other, and in a few minutes both weresound asleep. 

 VOICES FROM WITHOUT AND VOICES FROM WITHIN

 I

Daniel gradually gained followers. Those whom the “little slave” wonover to his cause were hardly to be called patrons: they were patriots. They were delighted at the thought that a _maestro_ should have beenborn and risen to fame in soulful old Franconia. In the actual life oftheir protégé they took but little interest. 

Daniel’s followers were young people. 

Professor Herold was a strange man. His reputation reached far beyondthe boundaries of his native province, and yet, owing to his whimsicalpeculiarities, he had not the slightest desire to leave home. On suchsons and daughters of the natives as were diligent in their pursuit ofmusical studies, he poured out the whole of his sarcasm. His chief, hisdarling ambition was to wean them away from their fondness for worthlessmusic and clap-trap performances of it. He did not succeed: you were notconsidered educated unless you could play the piano, and in the homes ofthese merchants education was highly regarded. 

Enticed by his name, all kinds of people came from a distance to takelessons from Professor Herold. Having read the score of “Vineta, ” hesaid to two of these: “Fetch me that fellow dead or alive. ” And theyfetched him. 

The two came more frequently to Daniel, and then others, pupils ofProfessors Wackerbarth and Döderlein. At times he would take luncheonwith them in the students’ restaurant. We will call them thelong-haired, or the pale-faced. Many of them looked like snake-charmers. They were almost without exception hopelessly stupid, but they all hadsome kind of a bee in their bonnet. 

There were some young girls among them; we will call them thedreamy-eyed, or the lost-in-dreams. Daniel had no use for themwhatsoever. His patience with the long-haired was equally lacking. 

He told “the old man, ” as Professor Herold was called, of his antipathyto these students. Professor Herold snapped like a vicious dog, brushedthe white bristles back over his enormous head, and said: “Well, myyoung original, you have made a discovery. Don’t you know that musiccajoles into its magic circle the very riff-raff of any community? Don’tyou know that music is a subterfuge for the neglect of human duty? Don’tyou know that the voluptuous fumes it spreads over the cities results inthe general corrosion and consumption of men’s hearts? Don’t you knowthat of every five hundred so-called artists, four hundred andninety-nine are nothing but the cripple guard of God above? Therefore hewho does not come to music with the holiest fire burning in the depthsof his soul has his blood in time transformed by it into glue, his mindinto a heap of rubbish. ”

Whereat he pushed Daniel out of the door, so that he might workundisturbed on his little pictures. Of these the walls of his room werefull. He painted them in his leisure hours. They were small in size, andsmaller still in merit; but he was proud of them. They representedscenes from country life. 

 II

On New Year’s Eve, Dörmaul, the impresario, gave a dinner in the LittleSwan, to which he invited Daniel. Dörmaul was quite well disposed towardDaniel. He said he had recognised the young man’s talents at the sightof his very first note. He promised to publish “Vineta” and also thework Daniel had finished in the meantime, entitled “Nuremberg Serenade. ”He also seemed inclined to consider favourably Daniel’s appointment inhis newly founded opera company. 

Among those present at the dinner were Professors Herold andWackerbarth, Wurzelmann, a few of the long-haired and a few of thelost-in-dreams. Andreas Döderlein had promised to come in later. Heappeared, as a matter of fact, five minutes before midnight, and stoodin the wide-opened door as ceremonious as the New Year itself. 

He went up to Daniel, and extended him his right hand. 

“Look who’s here! Our Benjamin and our John, not to mention our Daniel, ”he said, glancing at the last of the trio. “Congratulations, my youngstar! What do the annals from Andreas Döderlein’s nose for news have toreport? Back in Bayreuth, when we used to draw our wine by the flask, hemerely had to sniffle around a bit to know just how things were. Isn’tthat true, Benjamin?”

Nobody denied it. Benjamin let right yield to mercy. The mighty manremoved his storm-cape from his shoulders as though it were ermine hewere doffing before condescending to associate with ordinary mortals. 

Professor Wackerbarth had a wife who beat him and gave him nothing toeat: he regarded this as a rare opportunity to eat his fill and have agood time generally. But it was a poor sort of a good time. 

One of the long-haired sang the champagne song, and Wurzelmann made awitty speech. Döderlein suggested that now was the time to let the micedance and the fleas hop. When one of the lost-in-dreams sang David’sMarch, which according to the rules of Bayreuth could not be classed asreal music, Döderlein exclaimed: “Give me Lethe, my fair one. ” By“Lethe” he meant punch. 

Daniel drank Lethe too. He embraced old Herold, shook hands with AndreasDöderlein, and tried to waltz with Wurzelmann. He was not drunk; he wasmerely happy. 

Then it became too close for him in the room. He took his hat, put onhis overcoat, and hurried out. 

The air was warm, mild. A south wind was blowing. Heaven above, heavenbelow, the houses were standing on clouds. One breath made him thirstyfor the next one. There was a bay-window; it was so beautiful that hefelt like kneeling before it. There was a fountain; it was so snug andexotic that it seemed like a poem. There were the arches of the bridge;in them was the dim reflection of the water. There were two towers; theywere as delicate as a spider’s web. 

He rejoiced and exclaimed: “Oh world, art thou real? Art thou my world, and am I living in thee? My world, my year, my time, and I in it all, Imyself!”

 III

He stood on Ægydius Place, and looked up at the windows in Jordan’shouse. They were all dark. 

He wanted to call out, but the name that was on his lips filled him withanxiety. The passionate flutter of his heart almost tore his breastasunder. 

He had to do something; he had to speak; he had to ask questions andhear a human voice. Consequently, he hurried out to the Füll, stoodunder Benda’s window, and called Benda’s name. The clocks struck three. 

The blinds were soon drawn to one side, and Benda’s stoutish figureappeared at the open window. “Daniel? Is it you? What’s up?”

“Nothing. I merely wanted to bring you New Year’s greetings. ”

“Do you think you are bringing me something good? Go home and go tobed. ”

“Ah, let me come in a little while, Friedrich. Let’s chat for a momentor two about happiness!”

“Be reasonable! We might frighten happiness away by our talk. ”

“Philistine! Well, give me your blessing at least. ”

“You have it. Now go, night owl, and let the people sleep. ”

Another window opened on the ground floor. Herr Carovius’s desolatenocturnal physiognomy appeared at the window, looked up, looked down onthe disturber of the peace on the street, and with one mighty grim, grinning sound on his lips, his revengeful fist swinging in themeanwhile, the indignant man closed the window with a bang. 

Something impelled Daniel to return to Ægydius Place. Again he looked upat the windows, this time beseechingly. The storm within his heartbecame more violent. For a long time he ran through the streets, andreached home at last along toward five o’clock. 

As he passed through the dark hall, he saw a light up on the landing. Meta was carrying it. She was already stirring about, ready to begin hermorning’s work. He hesitated; he looked at her; with three steps he wasby her side. 

“So late?” she whispered with premonitory embarrassment, and began tofinger her dress, which she had not yet buttoned up. 

“Oh, what a joy to take hold of a living human being on this gloriousday!” he exclaimed. 

She offered some resistance, but when he tried to take her into herroom, she bent her body backward, and thus pressed about his wrist. Shewas still carrying the light. 

“Oh, if you only knew how I feel, Meta. I need you. Hold me tight inyour arms. ”

She made no more resistance. Perhaps she too was not without her ferventdesire. Perhaps it was the time of day that made nature more insistentthan usual. Perhaps she was suffering from loneliness in the company ofthe three sisters. It was still night and dark; but for her it wasalready day; it was the first day in the year, and she greeted it infestive mood. She yielded to him. 

She was a virgin; she had no idea of the responsibility she was takingupon herself. Man had never been exactly a mystery to her, but now shefelt for the first time the congenerous creature—and she gave in tohim. 

Daniel returned to earth after having knocked at the portals of the godswith tremendous wishes. The gods smiled their profoundest smile; forthey had decided to have an especial fate arise from this hour. 

 IV

A meeting of the Social Democrats was being held in Gosten Court. Theyhad met to discuss the Chancellor’s speech on accident insurance. 

The first speaker was Deputy Störbecker. But his voice had no carryingpower, and what he said died away almost unheard. 

Jason Philip Schimmelweis followed him. He presented a fearfulindictment of the government. The official representative of thegovernment advised him to be more reserved, whereupon he reinvigoratedhimself with a draught of beer. Then he hurled the full beaker of thatwrathful scorn for which his heart, beating for the people, was noted, at the head of the individual who was first and foremost responsible forthe affairs of the Empire. He did not mention Bismarck by name; he spokeinstead of a certain bogey. He snatched the halo from his head, sworethat he would some day unmask him and show the people that he was atraitor, branded his fame as a tissue of lies, his deeds as the disgraceof the century. 

The venomous and eloquent hatred of the pudgy little man inflamed theminds that drank in his oratory. Jason Philip was greeted with a tumultof applause as he took his seat. His face was a bright scarlet red. 

The leaders of the party, however, were noticeably quiet. In a moment ortwo, Deputy Störbecker returned with two comrades eager to enter into adebate with Jason Philip. He followed them into a side room. Exalted atthe thought that they had been delegated to express to him the gratitudeof the party for his speech, he smiled the smile of vanity and caressedhis beard with his fingers. 

“What is the matter, gentlemen? Why are you so serious? Did I go toofar? I assume complete responsibility for everything I said. But becalm! They are getting afraid of us. The air has a dubious odour. TheFrench are becoming cantankerous again. ”

“No, Comrade Schimmelweis, that is not it. You have got to vindicateyourself. You are a Proteus, Comrade Schimmelweis. Your right hand doesnot know what your left hand is doing. You are treating usdisgracefully. You are ploughing in the widow’s garden. You preach waterand guzzle wine. You have entered into a conspiracy with the grafters ofthe town. You are in collusion with the people down at the Prudentia, and you are filling your own coffers in this gigantic swindle. Frommorning to night you enrich yourself with the hard-earned pennies of thepoor. That is sharp practice, Jason Philip Schimmelweis, sharp practice, we say. Now you have got to sever all connection with the Prudentia, orthe Party is going to kick you out. ”

Then it was that Jason Philip Schimmelweis rose to his true heights ofeloquence. He insisted that his hands were clean, his left one and alsohis right one; that he was working in the interest of a good cause; andthat threats could not intimidate him. He made it plain that he wouldbow to no dictatorship operating under the mask of equality andfraternity. He cried out that if the people wanted a scandal they couldhave it, but they would find him armed to the teeth. And he assured themthat wherever he went in this wide, wide world, he would find the doorsopen to welcome him. 

He then made a sudden about-face, and left his comrades standing. On theway home he continued to murmur murmurs of embitterment to himself. 

Like a seasoned sailor eager to escape the storms of a raging sea, hesteered his good ship toward other and more hospitable shores. Threedays later he went to Baron Siegmund von Auffenberg, the leader of theLiberals, and offered him his services. He told him that he was willingto make any sacrifice for the great Liberal Party. 

 V

For thirty-five minutes, by his own watch, he cooled his heels in theante-chamber. He made one caustic remark after another touching on thearrested development of the feeling of equality among the rich. Genuinerebel that he was, he did not repudiate himself even when he waspractising high treason. 

When he was finally taken into the office, he was not blinded in theslightest by the luxuriousness of the furniture, the rugs, or the oilpaintings. He displayed not the remotest shimmer of servility onmeeting the illustrious Baron. He sat down on one of the chairs withcomplete equanimity, took no notice of the French-speaking parrot, andnever cast a single glance at the breakfast table covered withappetising tid-bits. But he did present his case with all duestraightforwardness and simplicity. 

“Fine, ” said the Baron, “fine! I hardly believe that you will find itnecessary to make a radical change in your battlefront. A consciencelessagitator you have never been. You have a family, a home of your own;your affairs are in good condition; and in the bottom of your heart youlove order and discipline. I have in truth been expecting you for a longwhile. Nor am I exaggerating when I confess to you that you had to bolt, sooner or later. ”

Jason Philip blushed with satisfaction. With the bearing of a cabman whohas just pocketed his tip, he replied: “I thank you very much, Baron. ”

“On one point we are wholly agreed, ” said the Baron, “and it seems to meto be the most important—”

“Quite right, ” interrupted Jason Philip, “you allude to the fightagainst Bismarck. Yes, on this point we are, I hope, of precisely thesame opinion. I will do my part. Hand and heart on it, Baron. I couldlook with perfectly cold blood on this knight of obscurantism writhingon the rack. ”

Herr von Auffenberg heard this temperamental statement with noticeablytenuous reassurance. He smiled just a little, and then said: “Wait aminute, my friend, don’t be quite so savage. ” He reached for hissmelling salts, held them to his nose, and closed his eyes. Then he gotup, folded his hands across his back, and walked up and down the room afew times. 

What he said after this was as familiar to him as the letters of thealphabet. While Jason Philip gaped at his lips in dumb inspiration, theBaron himself thought of things that had not the remotest connectionwith what he said. 

“The very same man who tried to make the new Empire inhabitable, withthe aid of a liberal code of laws, and who brought the long-drawn-outquarrel between the Emperor and the Pope to a happy conclusion, is nowtrying, by word, thought, and deed, gradually to destroy all liberaltraditions and to proclaim the Roman High Priest as the real creator ofpeace. All that the German Chancellor could do to give the final blow toliberalism he has done. The reaction has not hesitated to abandon theidea of the _Kulturkampf_ and to work instead in the interests of classhatred and racial prejudice, nurturing them even with deeds ofviolence. Faced with the crimes they themselves have committed, theywill see their own children despised and rejected. ”

“_Dépêche-toi, mon bon garçon_, ” screeched the parrot. 

“I am happy at the thought of having snatched a precious booty from theclaws of anarchy, and of having won a new citizen for the State, my dearHerr Schimmelweis. But for the time being it will be advisable for youto keep somewhat in the background. They will be inclined to make yourchange of political conviction the subject of vociferous attacks, andthat might injure the cause. ”

 VI

What was the old Baron really thinking about while he delivered thispolitical speech?

There was just one thought in his mind; the same sullen, concealed angergnawed incessantly at his heart. 

He thought incessantly of his son, of the contempt which he hadexperienced because of him, and was still experiencing daily, evenhourly, because of the fact that Eberhard had withdrawn from his power, had repudiated him. 

He could not get over the fact that he had heaped up millions, and thatEberhard, so far as it was humanly possible to calculate—and inaccordance with the law—would some day fall heir to a part of thesemillions. He knew very little about poverty; but his poisoned mind couldthink of nothing else than the satisfaction he would derive from beingable, somehow, to deliver this abortive scion of his own name and bloodover to poverty. Thus did he wish to take vengeance; thus would hepunish. 

But it was impossible for him to wreak vengeance on his son as he wouldhave liked to: between the execution of the punishment and himself stoodthe law. The very thought that his riches were increasing daily, hourly, that the millions he had were creating new millions without his moving afinger, that he could not even stop the flood if he wished to, and thatconsequently the share of this disloyal, rebellious, and hateful son wasbecoming larger daily, even hourly—this thought he could not endure. Itpoisoned his peace of mind, paralysed his powers, robbed him of allnatural and legitimate joy, and enveloped his days in a cloud ofdespair. 

A modern Midas, he transformed everything he touched into gold; and themore gold he had the sadder his life became, the more revengeful hissoul. 

The tones of a piano reached his ear; it was his wife who was playing. She played Mendelssohn’s “Song Without Words. ” He shook with disgust;for of all things repulsive, music was to him the most repulsive. 

“_Dépêche-toi, mon bon garçon_, ” screeched the parrot. 

 VII

During Jason Philip’s absence, poorly dressed people frequently came tothe shop and demanded that Theresa give them back the money they hadpaid in on their insurance. 

Some of them became very much excited when Theresa told them that shewould do nothing of the kind, that the insurance was the affair of herhusband, and that she had nothing whatever to do with it. A locksmith’sapprentice had given a sound thrashing to Zwanziger, the clerk, who hadhastened up to protect the wife of his employer. A gold-beater fromFürth had created so much excitement that the police had to be calledin. A cooper’s widow, who had managed to pay her premiums for one year, but had been unable to continue the payment for the quite sufficientreason that she had been in the hospital, fell headlong to the floor inepileptic convulsions when she heard how matters stood. 

It finally reached the point where Theresa was frightened every time shesaw a strange face. She breathed more easily when a day had passedwithout some disagreeable scene, but trembled at the thought of whatmight happen on the day to come. 

What disturbed her more than anything else was the inexplicabledisappearance of small sums of money; this had been going on for sometime. A man came into the office once and laid his monthly premium, onetaler in all, on the counter. When he left, Theresa closed the doorbehind him in order that she might be able to watch the snow storm fromthe window. When she returned to the desk the taler had disappeared. Sheasked where it was. Jason Philip, who was just then handing some booksup the ladder to Zwanziger, became so gruff that one might have thoughtshe had accused him of the theft. She counted the money over in thetill, but in vain; the taler had vanished. 

She had forgotten, or had not noticed, that Philippina had been in theoffice. She had brought her father his evening sandwiches, and then goneout again without making the slightest noise; she wore felt shoes. 

On another occasion she missed a number of groschen from her purse. Onstill another, a spice merchant came in and demanded that she pay a billof three marks. She was certain she had already paid it; she was certainshe had given Philippina the money to pay it. Philippina was called in. She, however, denied having anything to do with it, and acted with suchself-assurance that Theresa, completely puzzled, reached down in herpocket and handed over the three marks in perfect silence. 

She had suspected the maid, she had suspected the clerk. She evensuspected Jason Philip himself; she thought that he was appropriatingmoney to pay his drinking expenses. And she suspected Philippina. But inno case could she produce the evidence; her spying and investigatingwere in vain. Then the thieving stopped again. 

For Philippina, who had been doing all the stealing, feared she might bediscovered, and adopted a less hazardous method of making herself a richwoman: she stole books, and sold them to the second-hand dealer. She wassly enough to take books that had been on the shelves for a long while, and not to do all her business with one dealer: she would go first toone and then to another. 

The money which she scraped together in this way, as secretly andgreedily as a jack-daw, she hid in the attic. There was a loose brick inthe wall near the chimney. This she removed; and in time she removedother bricks. And once her treasures were safely stored in the hole, shewould replace the bricks and set a board up against them. 

When everything had become perfectly quiet and she felt wholly at ease, she would sit down, fold her hands, and give herself up to speechlessmeditation, an evil and fanatic dream playing over her features as shedid. 

 VIII

One evening in February, Theresa and Philippina chanced to be sitting bythe lamp mending the week’s wash. Jason Philip entered the room; therewas a sheepish expression on his face; he rubbed his hands. 

Since Theresa did not consider it worth her trouble to ask him why hewas in such a good humour, he suddenly laughed out loud and said: “Nowwe can pack up, my dear. I see it in writing: The wonder of the age, orthe humiliated relatives. A touching tableau presented by Herr DanielNothafft of the Schimmelweis family. ”

“I do not understand you; you are talking like a harlequin again, ” saidTheresa. 

“Compositions by Daniel are going to be played in a public concert, ”Philippina informed her mother with that old, harsh voice of hers. 

“How do you know?” asked Theresa, in a tone of evident distrust. 

“I read it in the paper. ”

“The miracle is to take place in the Harmony Society, ” said JasonPhilip, by way of confirming Philippina’s remark, with an expression ofenigmatic malevolence. “There is to be a public rehearsal on Thursday, and there is nothing on earth that can keep me away. The music dealer, Zierfuss, has given me two tickets, and if you want to, why, you can comealong and see how they make a local hero out of a plain loafer. ”

“I?” responded Theresa, in a tone of contemptuous amazement, “not onestep will I take. What have I got to do with your imbecile concerts?”

“But these gentlemen are going to be disillusioned, terribly so, ”continued Jason Philip in a threatening tone. “There is still a certainamount of common sense left, just as there are means of proceedingagainst a common, ordinary swindler. ”

Philippina raised her head in the mood of a person who has come to asudden decision: “C’n I go ’long, Pop?” she asked, her ears as red asfire. 

It was more than a request. Jason Philip was startled at the intractableexpression on the girl’s face. “Sure, ” he said, avoiding as well as hecould the mute opposition on the part of Theresa, “but take a whistlealong so that you can make cat calls. ”

He sank back with a comfortable sigh on his chair, and stretched out hislegs. Philippina knelt down and took off his boots. He then put on hisslippers. Each of them bore a motto embroidered in red. On the left onewere the words “For tired father”; on the right one, “Consolation. ”

 IX

Eleanore had not told her father why she had left her position withAlfons Diruf. Nor did Jordan ask her why when he learned that she didnot wish to speak about it. He suspected that there was somedisagreeable incident back of it, and if he maintained a strict silenceit was because he feared his own wrath and grief. 

She soon found another position. A schoolmate and good friend of hers, Martha Degen, the daughter of the pastry-baker, had married Herr Rübsam, a notary public and an old man to boot. Eleanore visited the Rübsamsoccasionally, as did also her father; and in the course of conversationit came out that Herr Rübsam needed an assistant copyist. Since it wasthen impossible to give Eleanore a desk in the office, she was allowedto do all her work at home. 

Friedrich Benda had also given her a cordial letter of recommendation toHerr Bock, Counsellor of Archives, who was just then engaged in writinga voluminous work on the history of Nuremberg. It would be her task toarrange Herr Bock’s muddled manuscript. 

It was a laborious undertaking, but she learned a great deal from it. Her thirsty mind would draw nourishment even from dry and lifelesssubjects. 

She was seized with a desire to fill up the gaps in her education. Shebegged Benda first for this book and then for that one. And after havingwritten the whole day long, she would often sit down and read until lateat night. 

Everything she came in contact with she either assimilated or shook off:she dragged nothing along in the form of surface impedimenta; it becamea part of her being, or she threw it to one side. 

Daniel had not called for a long while. He was busy with the rehearsalswhich Wurzelmann was conducting. Professor Döderlein was not to takecharge of the orchestra until it had been thoroughly drilled. Theprogramme was to consist of Daniel’s works and the “Leonore Overture. ”Wurzelmann referred to the Beethoven number as “a good third horse inthe team. ”

Daniel also had a lot of business to transact with the impresarioDörmaul: the company was to go on the road in March, and many things hadto be attended to. The contract he signed was for three years at asalary of six hundred marks a year. 

A few days before the public rehearsal he came to Jordan’s with threetickets: one for Jordan himself and the other two for the sisters. Thepublic rehearsal was quite like a regular concert; over a hundredpersons had been invited. 

Jordan was just getting ready to go out. “That is fine, that is great: Ican hear some more music now. I am looking forward to the concert withextreme pleasure. When I was a young fellow I rarely missed a concert. But that was long ago; indeed, when I think it over I see how old I am. The years pass by like milestones on the highway of life. Well, Daniel, I thank you, thank you very much!”

Eleanore’s joy was also great. As soon as her father had gone, sheremarked that Daniel had looked for Gertrude; but she had left the roomas soon as she saw him coming. Eleanore opened the door, and cried:“Gertrude, come in, right away! I have a surprise for you. ”

After a while Gertrude came in. 

“A ticket for you to Daniel’s concert, ” said Eleanore, radiant with joy, and handed her the green card of admission. 

Gertrude looked at Eleanore; and she wanted to look at Daniel. But herheavy glance, slowly rising from the floor, barely reached his facebefore it returned to its downward position, aggrieved and pained. Thenshe shook her head, and said: “A ticket for the concert? For me? Are youserious, Eleanore?” Again she shook her head, amazed and indignant. Whereupon she went to the window, leaned her arm against the cross bars, and pressed her head against her arm. 

Daniel followed her with looks of glowing anger. “You can take sheep tothe slaughter, ” he said, “you can throw thieves in a dungeon, you cantransport lepers to a hospital for incurables, but you cannot force anemotional girl to listen to music. ”

He became silent; a pause ensued. Tortured at the thought that Daniel’seyes were riveted on her back, Gertrude turned around, went to thestove, sat down, and pressed her cheek against the Dutch tiles. 

Daniel took two steps, stood by her side, and exclaimed: “But suppose Irequest that you go? Suppose my peace of mind or something else ofimportance to the world, consolation, liberation, or improvement, depends on your going? Suppose I request that you go for one of thesereasons? What then?”

Gertrude had become as pale as death. She looked at him for a moment, then turned her face to one side, drew up her shoulders as if she wereshivering with cold, and said: “Well—then—then—I’ll go. But I will besorry for it . .. Sorry for it. ”

Eleanore was a witness to this scene. Her eyes, wide open when it began, grew larger and larger as it advanced through its successive stages. Asshe looked at Daniel a kindly, languishing moisture came to them, andshe smiled. 

Daniel, however, had become vexed. He mumbled a good-bye and left. Eleanore went to the window and watched him as he ran across thesquare, holding his hat with both hands as a shield against the drivingwind. 

“He is an amusing fellow, ” she said, “an amusing fellow. ”

She then lifted her eyes to the clouds, whose swift flight above thechurch roof pleased her. 

 X

It was the original intention to begin the regular evening concert withthe third “Fidelio Overture. ” Döderlein was of the opinion that itoffered no special difficulties: the general rehearsal was to be devotedprimarily to the works of the novice. He raised his baton, and silencefilled the auditorium. 

The “Nuremberg Serenade” opened with ensemble playing of the windinstruments. It was a jovial, virile theme which the violins took upafter the wind instruments, plucked it to pieces in their capriciousway, and gradually led it over into the realm of dreams. The nightbecame living: a gentle summer wind blew, glow worms flitted about, Gothic towers stood out in the sultry darkness, plebeian figures creptinto the narrow, angular alleys; it was night in Nuremberg. Theacclamation a glorious past with an admonition to the future fell uponthe smug complacency of the present, the heroic mingled with the jocose, the fantastic with the burlesque, romanticism found its counterpart, andall this was achieved through a flood of genuine melody in whichstodginess played no part, while charm was abundant in every turn andtune. 

The professional musicians were astonished; and their astonishment wasvigorously expressed in their criticisms. The general admiration, to besure, was somewhat deafened by the unpleasant end that the rehearsal wasdestined to come to; but one critic, who enjoyed complete independenceof soul, though an unfortunate incident in his life had compelled him torelinquish his influential circle in the city and retire to a limitedsphere of activity in the province, wrote: “This artist has theunquestioned ability to become the light and leader of his generation. Nature created him, his star developed him. May Heaven give him thepower and patience indispensable to the artist, if he would be bornagain and become a man above the gifts of men. If he only does not reachout too soon for the ripe fruits, and, intoxicated by the allurements ofthe lower passions, fail to hear the voice of his heart! He has taken alofty flight; the azure gates of renown have swung wide open to him. Let him only be cautious about his second descent into the night. ”

The same connoisseur found the composition of “Vineta” less ingenious, and its instrumentation suffering from the lean experience of abeginner. Yet even this work was strongly applauded. The impresarioDörmaul clapped his hands until the perspiration poured from his face. Wurzelmann was beside himself with enthusiasm. Old Herold smiled allover his face. The long-haired found it of course quite difficult tosubdue their jealousy, but even they were not stingy with theirrecognition. 

But how did Herr Carovius feel? His spittle had a bitter taste, his bodypained him. When Andreas Döderlein turned to the audience and bowed, Carovius laughed a laugh of tremendous contempt. And Jason PhilipSchimmelweis? He would have felt much more comfortable if thehand-clapping had been so much ear-boxing, and Daniel Nothafft, theculprit, had been the objective. The boy who had been cast out hadbecome the leader of men! Jason Philip put his hand to his forehead, shook his head, and was on the point of exclaiming, “Oh, ye deceiversand deceived! Listen, listen! I know the boy; I know the man who hasmade fools of you here this evening!” He waited to see whether themisunderstanding, the colossal swindle, would not be cleared upautomatically. He did not wait in vain. 

At the close of the “Serenade, ” Jordan was struck by Gertrude’s feverishpaleness. He asked her whether she felt ill, but received no reply. During the performance of the second piece she kept putting her hands toher bosom, as if she were suffering from repressed convulsions. Her eyeswere now lifeless, now glowing with an uncanny fire. As soon as thepiece was finished, she turned to her father and asked him to take herhome. Jordan was frightened. Those sitting next to him looked at thegirl’s pale face, sympathised with her, and made conventional remarks. Eleanore wanted to go home too, but Gertrude whispered to her in herimperious way and told her to stay. Familiar as she was with Gertrude’sdisposition, she thought that it was simply a passing attack of somekind, and regained her composure. 

Daniel was standing at the door, talking to Benda and Wurzelmann. He wasvery much excited; his two companions were trying to appease hisembitterment against Andreas Döderlein. “Ah, the man doesn’t know athing about his profession, ” he exclaimed, and scorned all attempts toeffect a reconciliation between him and the leader of the orchestra. “What is left of my compositions is debris only. He drags the time, never even tries to make a _legatura_, scorns a _piano_ every time hecomes to one, pays no attention to _crescendos_, never retards—it isterrible! My works cannot be played in public like that!”

Gertrude and her father passed by quickly and without greeting. Danielwas stupefied. The lifeless expression in Gertrude’s face unnerved him. He felt as if he had been struck by a hammer, as if his own fate wereinseparably connected with that of the girl. Her step, her eyes, hermouth were, he felt, a part of his own being. And the fact that shepassed by without even speaking to him, cold, reserved, hostile, filledhim with such intense anger that from then on he was not accountable forwhat he did. 

The flood of melody in Beethoven’s great work was on the point ofpouring forth from the orchestra in all its exalted ruggedness. Whathappened? There came forth instead a confused, noisy clash and clatter. Daniel was seized with violent restlessness. It was hard enough to seehis own works bungled; to see this creation with its delicate soul andtitanic power, a work which he knew as he knew few things on this earth, torn to tatters and bungled all around was more than he could stand. Thetrumpet solo did not sound as though it came from some distant land offairy spirits: it was manifestly at the people’s feet and it was flat. He began to tremble. When the calm melancholy andante, completely robbedof all measure and proportion by the unskilled hand of the leader andmade to dissipate in senseless sounds, reached his ear, he was besidehimself. He rushed on to the platform, seized the arm of the conductorwith his icy fingers, and shouted: “That is enough! That is no way totreat a divine creation!”

The people rose in their seats. The instruments suddenly became silent, with the exception of a cello which still whimpered from the corner. Andreas Döderlein bounded back, looked at the mad man, his mouth as wideas he could open it, laid the baton on the desk, and stammered: “ByJupiter, this is unheard of!” The musicians left their places andgrouped themselves around the strange man; the tumult in the public grewworse and worse. They asked questions, threatened, tried to set eachother at ease, scolded and raged. In the meantime Daniel Nothafft, hishead bowed, his back bent, stood there on the platform, glowing withanger and determined to have his revenge. 

A few minutes later, Andreas Döderlein was sitting at the table in themusicians’ waiting room. He looked like Emperor Barbarossa inKyffhäuser. He had well founded reason to express his contempt for thedecadence and impiety of the youth of to-day. It was superfluous for himto remark that a man who would conduct himself as Daniel had done shouldbe eliminated from the ranks of those who lay claim to the help andconsideration of sane people. The dignified gentlemen of the OrchestralUnion were of the same opinion; you could search the annals of historyfrom the beginning of time, and you would never find a case like this. Mild eyes flashed, grey beards wagged. The deliberation was brief, thesentence just. A committee waited on Daniel to inform him that hiscompositions had been struck from the programme. The news spread likewild-fire. 

Who was happier than Jason Philip Schimmelweis?

He was like a man who gets up from the table with a full stomach, afterhaving sat down at it fearing lest he starve to death. On his way homehe whistled and laughed alternately and with well balanced proportion. 

“There you see it again, ” he said to his daughter, as she walked alongat his side, “you see it again: you cannot get blood from a turnip anymore than you can get happiness from misery. A jackass remains ajackass, a culprit a culprit, and loafing never fails to bring theloafer to a disgraceful end. The Devil has a short but nimble tail; andit makes no difference how slovenly he may conduct his business, hisrecruits have got to pay the piper in the end. This will be a windfallfor mother. Let’s hurry so that we can serve it to her while it’s stillhot!”

And Philippina—she had never taken her eyes off the floor the entireevening—seemed to be utterly unconscious of the fact at present thatshe was surrounded by houses and people. She was a defeated woman; shewanted to be. She had much to conceal; her young breast was a hell ofemotions, but her ugly, gloomy old face was as inanimate and empty as astone. 

Herr Carovius waited at the gate. After all the other people had gone, Daniel, Benda, Wurzelmann, and Eleanore came along. Daniel’s storm capefluttered in the wind; his hat was drawn down over his eyes. HerrCarovius stepped up before him. 

“A heroic deed, my dear Nothafft, ” he miauled. “I could embrace you. From this time on you can count me among your friends. Now stand still, you human being transformed into a hurricane. I must say of course thatso far as your music is concerned, I am not with you. There is too muchhullaballoo in it, and not enough plain hellishness to suit me. But ridthis country of the whole tribe of Döderleins, and you will find that Iam your man. Not that I would invite you to take dinner with me, so thatyou could have me make you a loan, not on your life. I am only a poormusician myself. But otherwise I am at your service. I hope you sleepwell to-night—and get the hullaballoo out of your music just as soon asyou can. ”

He tittered, and then scampered away. Daniel looked at him with afeeling of astonishment. Wurzelmann laughed, and said he had never seensuch a queer codger in all his life. All four stood there for a while, not knowing exactly what to think, and in the meantime it was snowingand raining. Asked by Benda where he wished to go, Daniel said he wasgoing home. But what could he do at home? Why couldn’t he go home withBenda? “No, ” said Daniel, “I can’t do that: I am a burden to every oneto-day, including myself. Say, little servant, how are you feeling?” hesaid, turning to Wurzelmann, “how about a drink or two?”

Wurzelmann, somewhat embarrassed, said that he had an engagement. Therewas something repulsive in the way he declined the invitation. 

“Ah, you, with your old engagement, ” said Daniel, “I don’t give a hangwhere you are going; I am going along. ”

“No, you’re not, Daniel, ” cried Eleanore. And when Daniel looked at herin astonishment, she blushed and continued: “You are not going with him;he is going to see some women!”

The three young men laughed, and in her confusion Eleanore laughed too. 

“How tragic you are, little Eleanore, ” said Daniel in a tone of unusualflippancy, “what do you want me to do? Do you think that Wurzelmann andI are just alike when it comes to an evening’s amusement? Do you thinkthe earth claims me as soon as I see a tear?”

“Let him go, ” whispered Benda to the girl, “he is right. Don’t bring anartificial light into this darkness; it serves his purpose; let him dowith it as he pleases. ”

Eleanore looked at Benda with wide-opened eyes. “Darkness? What do youmean? The fire then was merely a will-o’-the-wisp, ” she said, her eyesshining with pride, “I see him full of light. ” Daniel had heard what shesaid. “Really, Eleanore?” he asked with greedy curiosity. 

She nodded: “Really, Daniel. ”

“For that you can have anything you want from me. ”

“Well then I beg you and Benda to come over to our house. Father willbe delighted to see you, and we will have something to eat. ”

“Fine. That sounds good to me. Addio, Wurzelmann, and remember me to thegirls. You are coming along, aren’t you, Friedrich?”

Benda first made a few polite remarks, and then said he would accept. 

“You liked it then, did you, Eleanore?” asked Daniel, as they walkedalong the street. 

Eleanore was silent. To Daniel her silence was moving. But he soonforgot the impression it made on him; and it was a long, long while, indeed even years, before he recalled this scene. 

 XI

Jordan had taken Gertrude home. He was very careful not to ask her anyquestions that would cause her pain. On reaching the house he lighted alamp and helped her take off her cloak. 

“How do you feel?” he asked in a kindly tone, “are you better?”

Gertrude turned to one side, and sat down on a chair. 

“Well, we’ll drink a cup of hot tea, ” continued the old man; “then mychild will go to bed, and to-morrow morning she will be all right again. Yes?”

Gertrude got up. “Father, ” she sighed, and felt around for the tea tableas a means of support. 

“Gertrude, what is the matter?” cried Jordan in dismay. 

She moved the upper part of her body in her characteristic way—asthough it were limp and she were trying to drag it along with her—and afaint smile came over her face. All of a sudden she burst out crying andran to her room. Jordan heard her bolt the door, looked anxiously beforehim, waited a moment or two, and then crept up to her door on histiptoes. 

He placed his hands under his chin and listened. Gertrude was crying. Itwas an even and touching cry, not so much filled with grief as her sobsgenerally were, and seemed to be expiratory rather than the reverse. 

As Jordan let the lonely, unhappy, and impenetrable life of his daughterpass by him in mental review, he became painfully aware of the fact thatthis was the first time in her life that she had ever heard real music. “Is it possible?” he asked. He tried to think of another time that wouldmake him disbelieve the accuracy of his unpleasant observation. 

He said to himself: Her case is simple; the hitherto unknown sweetnessand power concealed in the ensemble playing of the violins, the euphonyof the orchestra, and the beauty of the melody with all its fatefuldirectness has made the same impression on her that the sunlight makeson a person from whose eyes a cataract has just been removed. Her soulhas suffered from hunger; that is where the trouble lies. She hasstruggled too fiercely with the incomprehensible and the intangible. 

His instinct of love told him that the best thing to do was to let hercry. It will do her good; it will relieve her soul. He pulled a chair upto her door, sat down, and listened. When he could no longer hear hercrying, his heart grew easier. 

 XII

Eleanore was right. Her father was quite pleased to see Daniel andBenda. “I am proud of you, ” he said to Daniel, “and for your visit to meI thank you. I feel flattered. ”

“If you had stayed a half hour longer, you might feel differently aboutit, ” replied Daniel. 

Eleanore gave her father a brief account of what had taken place at theconcert. Jordan listened attentively, looked at Daniel, and, with awrinkle on his forehead, said, “Is it possible?”

“Yes, it is possible; it had to happen, ” said Daniel. 

“Well, if it had to happen, it is a good thing that it is over, ” was thedispassionate response. 

Eleanore took her father’s hand; the back of it was covered with bigyellow spots; she kissed it. Then she set the table, got everythingready for the meal, went in and out of the room in a most cheerful way, and did not forget to put the water on the stove to boil. She had askedabout Gertrude as soon as she came home, but for some reason or otherher father seemed disinclined to say anything on the subject, from whichEleanore inferred that there was nothing seriously wrong. 

Finally they sat down at the table. Eleanore was quite pleased to seethe three men whom she liked so much gathered together in this way. There was a feeling of gratitude in her heart toward each one of them. But she was also hungry: she ate four sandwiches, one right after theother. When she saw that Daniel was not eating, she stepped up behindhis chair, bent over him so far that the loose flowing hair from hertemples tickled his face, and said: “Are you embarrassed? Or don’t youlike the way the sausages have been prepared? Would you like somethingelse?”

Daniel evaded the questions; he was out of sorts. And yet in the bottomof his heart the contact with the girl made a pleasing impression onhim; it was in truth almost a saving impression. For his thoughtscontinually and obstinately returned to the girl who had fled, and whosepresence he missed without exactly wishing that she were at the tablewith the others. 

Benda spoke of the political changes that might, he feared, take placebecause of the death of Gambetta. Jordan, who always took a warminterest in the affairs of the Fatherland, made a number of true andhumane remarks about the tense feeling then existing between France andGermany, whereupon the door to Gertrude’s room opened and Gertrudeherself stood on the threshold. 

Deep silence filled the room; they all looked at her. 

Strangely enough, she was not wearing the dress she had on at theconcert. She had put on the Nile green dress, the one in which Danielsaw her for the first time. Jordan and Eleanore hardly noticed thechange; they were too much absorbed in the expression on the girl’sface. Daniel was also astonished; he could not look away. 

Her expression had become softer, freer, brighter. The unrest in whichher face had heretofore been clouded had disappeared. Even the outlinesof her face seemed to have changed: the arch of her eyebrows was higher, the oval of her cheeks more delicate. 

She leaned against the door; she even leaned her head against the door. Her left hand, hanging at her side, seemed indolent, limp, indifferent. Her right hand was pressed against her bosom. Standing in this position, she studied the faces of those who were sitting at the table, while atimid and gentle smile played about her lips. 

Jordan’s first suspicion was that she had lost her mind. He sprang up, and hastened over to her. But she gave him her hand, and offered noresistance at all to being led over to the table. 

Suddenly she fixed her silent gaze on Daniel. He got up involuntarily, and seized the back of his chair. His colour changed; he distorted thecorners of his mouth; he was nervous. But when Gertrude withdrew herhand from her father’s and extended it to him, and when he took it andhis eye met hers—he could not help but look at her—his solicitudevanished. For what he read in her eyes was an unreserved and irrevocablecapitulation of her whole self, and Daniel was the victor. His face grewgentle, grateful, dreamy, and resplendent. 

It was not merely the sensuous charm revealed in the feeling whichGertrude betrayed that moved him: it was the fact that she came as shehad come, a penitent and a convert. The sublime conviction that he hadbeen able to transform a soul and awaken it to new life touched himdeeply. 

This it was that drew him to Gertrude more than her countenance, herexpression, and her body combined. And now he saw all three—hercountenance, her expression, and her body. 

Jordan had a foreboding of something. He felt that he would have to takethe girl in his arms and flee with her. Pictures of future misfortunecrowded upon his imagination; the hope he had cherished for Gertrude wascrushed to the earth. 

Benda stared at his plate in silence. Nevertheless, just as if he hadother eyes than those with which he saw earthly things, he noticed thatEleanore’s hands and lips were trembling, that with each succeedingsecond she grew paler, that she cast a distrustful glance first at herfather, then at her sister, and then at Daniel, and that she finally, asif overcome with a feeling of exhaustion, slipped away from her place bythe table lamp, stole into a corner, and sat down on the hassock. 

But after they had all resumed their seats at the table, Gertrudesitting between Benda and her father, Eleanore came up and sat down nextto Daniel. She never took her eyes off Gertrude; she looked at her inbreathless surprise, Gertrude smiled as she had smiled when leaningagainst the door, timidly and passionately. 

From that moment on, the conversation lagged, Benda suggested to hisfriend that it was time for them to leave. They thanked Jordan for hishospitality and departed. Jordan accompanied them down the stairs andunlocked the front door. When he returned, Eleanore was just going toher room: “Well, Eleanore, are you not going to say good-night?” hecalled after her. 

She turned around, nodded conventionally, and closed the door. 

Gertrude was still sitting at the table. Jordan was walking up and downthe room. Suddenly she sprang up, stepped in his way, forced him tostop, threw her arms about his neck, and kissed him on the forehead. Shehad never done that before. 

She too had gone to sleep. Jordan felt terribly alone. He heard thestreet door open and close; he heard some one enter. It was Benno. Jordan thought that his son would come in, for he must have seen thelight through the crack of the door. But Benno evidently had no desireto see his father. He went to his room at the other end of the hall, and closed the door behind him just as if he were a servant. 

“They are all three in bed, ” thought Jordan to himself, “and what do Iknow about them?”

He shook his head, removed the hanging lamp from its frame, and lockedthe room, holding the lamp very carefully as he did so. 

 XIII

Eleanore had not seen Eberhard von Auffenberg for a number of weeks. Hewrote her a card, asking for the privilege of meeting her somewhere. Theplace in fact was always the same—the bridge at the gate to theZoölogical Garden. Immediately after sunset she betook herself to thatpoint. It was a warm March evening; there was not a breath of wind; thesky was covered with clouds. 

They strolled up the castle hill, and when they had reached the parapet, Eleanore said, gently laughing: “Now listen, I have talked enough; yousay something. ”

“It is so pleasant to be silent with you, ” replied Eberhard in adowncast mood. 

Filled with a disagreeable premonition, Eleanore sought out one of themany hundreds of lights dimly flickering down in the city, fixed hereyes on it, and stubbornly refused to look at any other earthly object. 

“If I appeal to you at this hour, ” the young Baron finally began, “it isto a certain extent exactly as if I were appealing to the Supreme Court. My expectations in life have, with one single exception, been utterlyand irrevocably crushed. It depends quite upon you, Eleanore, whether Iam to become and remain a useless parasite of human society, or a manwho has firmly decided to pay for his share of happiness by an equalamount of honest work. I offer you everything I have. It is not much, but I offer it to you without haggling and forever. You and you alonecan save me. That is what I wanted to say to you. ”

He looked up at the clouds, leaning on his cane, which he had placedbehind his back. 

“I have forbidden you to speak of this, ” whispered Eleanore in profounddismay, “and you promised me that you would not say anything about it. ”

“I gave you my promise because I loved you; I break it for the samereason, ” replied Eberhard. “I feel that such a promise is the act of afoolish child, when the building up or the tearing down of a human lifedepends upon it. If you are of a different opinion, I can only beg yourpardon. Probably I have been mistaken. ”

Eleanore shook her head; she was grieved. 

“It was my plan to go to England with you, and there we would bemarried, ” continued Eberhard. “It is quite impossible for me to getmarried here: I loathe this city. It is impossible, because if I did mypeople would in all probability set up some claims to which they are nolonger entitled and for which I would fight. The mere thought of doingthis repels me. And it is also impossible because . .. ” at this hestopped and bit his lips. 

Eleanore looked at him; she was filled with curiosity. His pedanticenumeration of the various hindrances as well as the romanticism of hisplans amused her. When she detected the expression of downright grief inhis face, she felt sorry for him. She came one step nearer to him; hetook her hand, bowed, and pressed his lips to her fingers. She jerkedher hand back. 

“Fatal circumstances have placed me in a most humiliating situation; ifI am not to succumb to them, I must shake them off at once, ” saidEberhard anxiously. “I was inexperienced; I have been deceived. There isa person connected with my case who hardly deserves the name of a humanbeing; he is a monster in the garb of an honest citizen. I have not thefaintest idea what I am to do next, Eleanore. I must leave at once. In astrange country I may regain my strength and mental clearness. With youI could defy the universe. Believe in me, have confidence in me!”

Eleanore let her head sink. The despair of this usually reserved mantouched her heart. Her mouth twitched as she sought for words. 

“I cannot get married, Eberhard, ” she said, “really, I cannot. I did notentice you to me; you dare not reproach me. I have tried to make myattitude toward you perfectly clear from the very first time I met you. I cannot get married; I cannot. ”

For five or six minutes there was a silence that was interrupted only byhuman voices in the distance and the sound of carriages from the streetsdown in the city. In the compassion that Eleanore after all felt forEberhard she sensed the harshness of her unqualified refusal. She lookedat him courageously, firmly, and said: “It is not obstinacy on my part, Eberhard; nor is it stupid anxiety, nor imagination, nor lack ofrespect. Truth to tell I have a very high opinion of you. But there mustbe something quite unnatural about me, for you see that I loathe thevery idea of getting married. I detest the thought of living with a man. I like you, but when you touch me as you did a little while ago when youkissed my hand, a shudder runs through my whole body. ”

Eberhard looked at her in astonishment; he was morose, too. 

She continued: “It has been in me since my childhood; perhaps I was bornwith it, just as other people are born with a physical defect. It may bethat I have been this way ever since a certain day in my life. It was anautumn evening in Pappenheim, where my aunt then lived. My sisterGertrude and I were walking in a great fruit garden; we came to a thornhedge, and sitting by the hedge was an old woman. My father and motherwere far away, and the old woman said to my sister, then about seven: Beon your guard against everything that sings and rings. To me she said:Be careful never to have a child. The next day the woman was found deadunder the hedge. She was over ninety years old, and for more than fiftyyears she had peddled herbs in Altmühltal. I naturally had not thevaguest idea what she meant at the time by ‘having a child, ’ but herremark stuck in my heart like an arrow. It grew up with me; it became apart of me. And when I learned what it meant, it was a picture by theside of the picture of death. Now you must not think that I have gonethrough life thus far filled with a feeling of despicable fear. Not atall. I simply have no desires. The idea does not attract me. If it everdoes, many questions will I ask about life and death! I will laugh atthe old woman under the hedge and do what I must. ”

As she spoke these last words, her face took on a strangely chaste andfanciful expression. Eberhard could not take his eyes from her. “Ah, there are after all fairy creatures on this flat, stale, andunprofitable earth, ” he thought, “enchanted princesses, mysteriousMelusinas. ” He smiled somewhat distrustfully—as a matter of habit. Butfrom this moment his frank, open, wooing attachment to the girl wastransformed into a consuming passion. 

He was proud, and man enough to subdue his feelings. But he yearned morethan ever, and was tortured by his yearnings to know something more thanthe vague knowledge he had at present about that glass case, thatspirit-chest in which, so near and yet so far, this lovely creaturelived, impervious to the touch of mortal hands and immune to the flamesof love. 

“You are rejecting me, then?” he asked. 

“Well, it is at least advisable that for the time being we avoid eachother’s presence. ”

“Advisable for me, you think. And for the time being? How am I tointerpret that?”

“Well, let us say for five years. ”

“Why exactly five years? Why not twenty? Why not fifty? It would be allthe same. ”

“It seems to me that five years is just the right amount of time, Eberhard. ”

“Five years! Each year has twelve times thirty, fifty-two times sevendays. Why, the arithmetic of it is enough to make a man lose his mind. ”

“But it must be five years, ” said Eleanore gently though firmly. “Infive years I will not have changed. And if I am just the same in fiveyears from now, why, we’ll talk it over again. I must not exclude myselffrom the world forever. My father often says: What looks like fate atEaster is a mere whim by Pentecost. I prefer to wait until Pentecost andnot to forget my friend in the meantime. ”

She gave him her hand with a smile. 

He shook his head: “No, I can’t take your hand; another one of thoseshudders will run through you if I do. Farewell, Eleanore. ”

“And you too, Eberhard, farewell!”

Eberhard started down the hill. Suddenly he stopped, turned around, andsaid: “Just one thing more. That musician—Nothafft is his name, isn’tit?—is engaged to your sister, isn’t he?”

“Yes, Gertrude and Daniel will get married some day. But who told youabout it?”

“The musician himself was in a restaurant. The fellows were drinking, and he was so incautious as to raise his glass, and, somewhat after thefashion of an intoxicated drum-major, he himself drank to Gertrude’shealth. For some time there was talk of his marrying you. It is muchbetter as it is. I can’t stand artists. I can’t even have due respectfor them, these indiscreet hotspurs. Good night, Eleanore. ”

And with that he vanished in the darkness. 

 IN MEMORY OF A DREAM FIGURE

 I

One evening Daniel called on Benda to take leave of him for a longwhile. 

Just as he was about to enter the front gate, he saw Herr Carovius’s dogstanding there showing his teeth. The beast’s bloodshot eyes were fixedon a ten-year old girl who was likewise on the point of entering thehouse, but, afraid of the dog, she did not dare take another step. Theanimal had dragged his chain along behind him, and stood there now, snarling in a most vicious way. 

Daniel took the child by the hand and led it back a few steps, after hehad frightened the dog into silence by some rough commands. “Who areyou?” he asked the girl. 

“Dorothea Döderlein, ” was the reply. 

“Ah, ” said Daniel. He could not help but laugh, for there was a comictone of precociousness in the girl’s manner of speaking. But she was avery pretty child. A sly, smiling little face peeped out from under herhood, and her velvet mantle with great pearl buttons enshrouded a daintyfigure. 

“You should have been in bed long ago, Dorothea, ” said Daniel. “Whatwill the night watchman think when he comes along and finds you up? Hewill take you by the collar, and lead you off to jail. ”

Dorothea told him why she was still up and why she was alone. She hadbeen visiting a school friend, and the maid who called for her wanted toget a loaf of bread from the bakery before going up stairs. She relatedthe story of her meeting with the dog with so much coquetry and detailthat Daniel was delighted at the contrast between this rodomontade andthe quaking anxiety in which he first found her. 

“You are a fraud, Dorothea, ” said Daniel, and called to mind theunpleasant sensation she aroused in him when he saw her for the firsttime years ago. 

In the meanwhile the maid had come up with the loaf of bread; she lookedwith astonishment at the two as they stood there gossiping, andimmediately took the child into her charge, conscious as she was of herown dilatoriness. With a few piercing shrieks she drove Cæsar back fromthe gate, and as he ran across the street Dorothea cast one triumphantglance back at Daniel, feeling that she had proved to him that she wasnot the least afraid of the dog. 

 II

Frau Benda opened the door, closed it without saying a word, and wentinto her room. She had had a violent quarrel with her son, who had justinformed her that he had accepted the invitation of a learned society tocome to England and settle down. He was to start at the end of spring. Frau Benda was tired of travelling; she shuddered at the thought ofmoving. The separation from Friedrich seemed intolerable to her; and inhis flight from the Fatherland she saw a final and prematurerenunciation of all the opportunities that might in the end presentthemselves to him at home. 

She was convinced that the men who had done him injustice would in timecome to see the error of their ways and make amends for theirmiscalculations. She was particularly anxious that he be patient untilsatisfaction had been done him. Moreover, she knew his plans, andtrembled at the risks to which he was voluntarily exposing himself: shefelt that he was undertaking a task for which he had not had thepractical experience. 

But his decision was irrevocable. That he had never said a word about itto Daniel, had not even insinuated that he was thinking of making achange, was due to the peculiar onesideness of their present relation toeach other. 

Laughing heartily, Daniel told of his meeting with little Dorothea. “Shelooks to me as though she will give old Döderlein a good deal to thinkabout in the days to come, ” said Daniel. 

“You played him a pretty scurvy trick, the old Döderlein, ” repliedBenda. “The night after the public rehearsal I heard him walking up anddown for hours right under my bedroom. ”

“You feel sorry for him, do you?”

“If I were you, I would go to him and beg his pardon. ”

“Do you really mean it?” exclaimed Daniel. Benda said nothing. Danielcontinued: “To tell the truth, I should be grateful to him. It is due tohis efforts that I have come to see, more quickly than I otherwise wouldhave done, that those were two impossible imitations to which I wantedto assure a place in the sun. They may throw me down if they wish; I’llget up again, depend upon it, if, and even if, I have in the meantimegulped down the whole earth. ”

Benda smiled a gracious smile. “Yes, you die at each fall, and at eachcome-back you appear a new-made man, ” he said. “That is fine. But aDöderlein cannot come back, once his contemporaries have thrown himover. The very thing that means a new idea to you spells his ruin; whatgives you pleasure, voluptuous pleasure, is death to him. ”

“Y-e-s, ” mumbled Daniel, “and yet, what good is he?”

“The spirit of nature, the spirit of God, is a total stranger to suchconceptions as harmfulness and usefulness, ” replied Benda in a tone ofserious reflection. “He lives, and that is about all you can say. So faras I am concerned, I have not the slightest reason to defend a Döderleinin your presence. ” He was silent for a moment and took a deep breath. “Icannot speak more distinctly; somehow or other I cannot quite find theright words, ” he continued in a disconcerted way, “but the point is, theman has committed a crime against a woman, a crime so malicious, subtle, and naïve, that he deserves every stigma with which it is possible tobrand him, and even then he would not be adequately punished. ”

“You see, ” exclaimed Daniel, “he is not only a miserable musician. Andthat is the way it always is. They are all like that. Oh, thesebitter-sweet, grinning, pajama-bred, match-making, ninnying, super-smartmanikins—it makes your blood curdle to look at one of them. And yet areal man has got to run the gauntlet before them his whole life long, and down through their narrow little alleys at that!”

“Rather, ” said Benda with bowed head. “It is a tough, clammy poison pap. If you stir it with your finger, you will stick fast, and it will suckthe very marrow out of your bones. But you are speaking for the timebeing without precise knowledge of all the pertinent material, as we sayin science. During my study of the cells of plants and animals, I cameto see that a so-called fundamental procreation was out of the question. I gave expression to this view in a circle of professional colleagues. They laughed at me. To-day it is no longer possible to oppose the theoryI then advanced. One of my former friends succeeded in making certaincombinations of acetic acid, crystallised by artificial means. When hemade his great discovery known, one of the assembled gentlemen criedout: ‘Be careful, doctorette, or your amido atoms will get out of theircage. ’ That is a sample of the base and treacherous fashion in which weare treated by the very people who we might think were our warmestfriends, for they are apparently trying to reach the same goal that weare. But you! The world may reject you, and you still have what no onecan take from you. I have to wait in patience until a judge hands down adecision either condemning me or redeeming me. You? Between you and methere is the same difference that exists between the seed which, sunkinto the earth, shoots up whether it rains or shines, and some kind of autensil which rusts in the store because no one buys it. ”

He got up and said: “You are the more fortunate of us two, it behoovesme therefore to be the more merciful. ”

Daniel could make no reply that would console him. 

As he went home, he thought of the fidelity and the constant butunassuming help he had received from Benda. He thought of the refinedand delicate consideration of his friend. He thought especially of thatextraordinary courtesy which was so marked in him, that, for example, while laughing at a good joke, Benda would stop with open mouth if someone resumed the conversation: he did not wish to lose anything anothermight wish to say to him. 

He stopped. It seemed to him that he had neglected the opportunity toput an especially reassuring, cordial, and unforgettable force into hisfinal handshake. He would have liked to turn back. But it is not thecustom to turn back; no one in truth can do it. 

 III

Daniel did not wish to take the mask of Zingarella with him on histours. To expose the fragile material to all the risks associated with afortuitous life on the road seemed to him an act of impiety. He hadconsequently promised Eleanore to leave the mask with her in Jordan’shouse during his absence. 

Eleanore opened the door; Daniel entered. Gertrude arose from her seatat the table, and came up to meet him. Her face showed, as it always didwhen she saw him, unmistakable traces of resignation, willingness, submissiveness. 

Daniel walked over to the table, took the newspaper wrapping from themask, and held it up in the light of the lamp. 

“How beautiful!” exclaimed Gertrude, whose senses were now delighted atthe sight of any object that appealed to one’s feelings. 

“Well, take it, then, Gertrude, ” said Eleanore, as she leaned bothelbows on the top of the table. “Keep it with you, ” she continuedsomewhat tensely, when she noticed that Gertrude was looking at Danielas if to say, “May I?”

“But won’t he give it to both of us?” replied Gertrude with a covetoussmile. 

“No, no, he simply mentioned me for courtesy’s sake, ” said Eleanore, quite positively. 

“Eleanore, I can scarcely tell you how I feel toward you, ” said Daniel, half confused, half angry, and then stopped with conspicuous suddennesswhen the fiery blue of her eyes fell upon him. 

“You?” she whispered in astonishment, “you?”

“Yes, you, ” he replied emphatically. “Later I can tell everybody; to-dayit is true in a double sense: you seem to me just like a sister. ”

He had laid the mask to one side and extended his left hand to Eleanore, and then, hesitating at first, he gave Gertrude his right hand with amost decisive gesture. 

Eleanore straightened up, took the mask of Zingarella, and held it upbefore her face. “Little Brother, ” she cried out in a teasing tone. Thepale, sweet stone face was wonderful to behold, as it was raised abovethe body that was pulsing with life. 

And Gertrude—for one second she hung on Daniel’s gaze, a sigh as deepas the murmuring of the sea sounded in her bosom, and then she lay inhis arms. He kissed her without saying a word. His face was gloomy, hisbrow wrinkled. 

“Little Brother” sounded out from behind the mask. But there was nobanter in the expression; it was much more like a complaint, arevelation of anguish: “Little Brother!”

 IV

Daniel had left the city long ago. Eleanore chanced to meet HerrCarovius. He forced her to stop, conducted himself in such a familiarway, and talked in such a loud voice that the passersby simpered. Heasked all about the young master, meaning Daniel. 

He told her that “the good Eberhard”—it was his way of referring toBaron von Auffenberg—had gone to Munich for a few months, and wastaking up with spiritists and theosophists. 

“It is his way of having a fling, ” said Herr Carovius, grinning from earto ear. “In former times, when young noblemen wished to complete theireducation and have a little lark at the same time, they made the grandtour over Europe. Now-a-days they become penny-a-liners, or they go infor table-tipping. Humanity is on the decline, my charming little girl. To study the flower of the nation at close range is no longer anedifying occupation. It is rotten, as rotten, I tell you, as lastwinter’s apples. There is consequently no greater pleasure than to makesuch a young chap dance. You play, he dances; you whistle, he retrieves. It is a real treat!”

He laughed hysterically, and then had a coughing spell. He coughed soviolently that the black cord suspended from his nose-glasses becametangled about a button on his great coat, and his glasses fell from hisnose. In his awkwardness, intensified by his short-sightedness, hefumbled the button and the cord with his bony fingers until Eleanorecame to the rescue. One move, and everything was again in order. 

Herr Carovius was struck dumb with surprise. He would never haveimagined that a young girl could be so natural and unembarrassed. Hesuspected a trap: was she making fun of him, or did she wish to do himharm? It had never occurred to him that one might voluntarily assist himwhen in distress. 

Suddenly he became ashamed of himself; he lifted his eyes and smiledlike a simpleton; he cast a glance of almost dog-like tenderness atEleanore. And then, without saying a word, without even saying good-byeto her, he hastened across the street to hide as soon as he might insome obscure corner. 

 V

One afternoon in the last week of August, the Rüdiger sisters sent theboy who attended to their garden over to Eleanore with the urgentrequest that she call as soon as she possibly could. Feeling that somemisfortune had befallen Daniel and that the sisters wished to tell herabout it, Eleanore was not slow about making up her mind: exactly onequarter of an hour later she entered the Rüdigers’ front door. 

A lamentable sight greeted her. Each of the three sisters was sitting ina high-backed chair, her arms hanging lifeless from her sides. Thecurtains were drawn; in the shaded light their faces looked likemummies. Nor was the general impression measurably brightened by the“Medea, ” the “Iphigenie, ” and the “Roman Woman” that hung on the wall, copies of the paintings of their idol. 

Eleanore’s greeting was not returned. She did not dare leave withoutfinding what was the matter, and the silence with which she was receivedwas broken only when she herself decided to ask some questions. 

Fräulein Jasmina took out her handkerchief and dried her eyes. FräuleinSaloma looked around somewhat like a judge at a session of court. Andthen she began to speak: “We three lonely women, forgotten by the world, have asked you to come to our house so that we might tell you of a crimethat has been committed in our innocent home. We never heard of it untilthis morning. It is such an unexampled, gruesome, abominable deed thatwe have been sitting here ever since it was brought to our attention, wringing our hands in vain attempt to make up our minds as to whatcourse we should pursue. ”

Fräulein Jasmina and Fräulein Albertina nodded their heads in sadnessand without looking up. 

“Can we put the unfortunate girl out of the house?” continued FräuleinSaloma, “can we, sisters? No! Can we afford to keep her? No! What are weto do then? She is an orphan; she is all alone, abandoned by herinfamous seducer, and exposed to unmitigated shame. What are we to do?”

“And you, ” said Fräulein Saloma turning to Eleanore, “you who are boundto that gifted monster by ties the precise nature of which we are in noposition to judge, you are to show us a way out of this labyrinth of ouraffliction. ”

“If I only knew what you are talking about, ” said Eleanore, a greatburden falling from her heart as she realised that her initial fearswere groundless. “By the monster you evidently mean Daniel Nothafft. What crime has he committed?”

Fräulein Saloma was indignant at the flippancy of her manner. She roseto her full stature, and said with punitive lips: “He has made our maidan ordinary prostitute, and the consequences are no longer to beconcealed. Do you know what we are talking about now?”

Eleanore uttered a faint “Oh!” and blushed to the roots of her hair. Inher embarrassment she opened her mouth to laugh, but she came very nearto crying. 

Her saddened feelings slowly crept back to Daniel, and as the picture ofhim rose before her mind’s eye, she turned from it in disgust. But shedid not wish to allow this picture to remain in her memory: it was tooflabby, petty, and selfish. Before she knew what she was doing, she, asa woman, had pardoned him. Then she shuddered, opened wide her eyes, and resumed her accustomed cheerfulness. She was again in completecontrol of herself. 

The court had in the meanwhile examined the silent woman with sternscrutiny: “Where is Daniel Nothafft at present?” asked Fräulein Saloma. 

“I do not know, ” replied Eleanore, “he hasn’t written for over threeweeks. ”

“We must request you to inform him at once of the condition of theprostitute, for so long as such a person is in our house, we cannotsleep at night nor rest by day. ”

“I am sorry that you take the matter so to heart, ” said Eleanore, “andit is a rather disagreeable affair. But I have no right to mix myself upin it, nor have I the least desire to do so. ”

The three sisters received this statement with despair; they wrung theirhands. They would rather die, they said, than meet this voluptuary faceto face again; they would endure all manner of martyrdom before theywould have him come in. All three spoke at once; they threatenedEleanore; they implored her. Jasmina told with bated breath how Meta hadcome to them and confessed the whole business. Albertina swore thatthere was not another living soul on earth who could help them out ofthis shameless situation. Saloma said that there was nothing for them todo but to send the wicked creature back to the streets where shebelonged. 

Eleanore was silent. She had fixed her eyes on the “Medea, ” and wasdoing some hard thinking. Finally she came to a conclusion: she askedwhether she might speak to Meta. Filled at once with anxiety and hope, Saloma asked her what she wanted with Meta. She replied that she wouldtell them later what her purpose was. Fräulein Jasmina showed her theway to Meta’s room. 

When Meta caught sight of Eleanore, her features became at oncebeclouded in sombre amazement. 

She was sitting at the open window of her attic room knitting. She gotup and looked into the face of the beautiful girl without saying a word. Eleanore was moved on seeing the tall, youthful figure, and yet it wasquite impossible for her to subdue a feeling of horror. 

At Eleanore’s very first words, Meta began to sob. Eleanore comfortedher; she asked her where she was planning to go during her confinement. 

“Why, there are institutions, ” she murmured, holding her apron beforeher face, “I can go to one of them. ”

Eleanore sat down on the side of the bed. She unrolled her plans to thegirl with a delicacy and consideration just as if she were speaking to apampered lady. She spoke with a silver-clear vivacity just as if shewere discussing some hardy prank. Meta looked at her at first with theair of one oppressed; later she assumed the attitude of a gratefullistener. 

Pained by the ethereal and inhuman primness of her three employers, angry at the man who had abandoned her to her present fate, and fightingagainst the reproaches of her own conscience, Meta became as wax inEleanore’s hands, submissive, obedient, and appreciative. 

The Rüdiger sisters, all but bursting with curiosity to know whatEleanore had in mind, could draw nothing from her other than that shewas going to take Meta away and that Meta was agreed. 

 VI

It was Eleanore’s intention to take the pregnant girl to Daniel’s motherat Eschenbach. 

She knew of the dissension between Daniel and his mother. She knew thatthe two avoided each other’s presence; that Daniel in his defiance feltit his duty to avenge himself for the lack of love on the part of hismother. Back of the picture of the unloving and impatient son she sawthat of an old woman worrying her life away in silent care. 

She had often given way to a painful feeling of sympathy when shethought of the unknown mother of her friend. It seemed to her now as ifshe could play the rôle of an emissary of reconciliation; as if it wereher duty to take the deserted woman here to the deserted woman there; asif she were called to take the mother-to-be to the mother who had justreasons for regretting that she had ever been a mother. 

It seemed to her as if she must create a bond which could not even besundered by crime, to say nothing of misunderstanding or caprice; itseemed to her that Daniel had to effect a reconciliation in the home ofthe Rüdigers as well as in that of his mother; and that, conscious asshe was of doing what was right, she would meet with no opposition, would have no settling of accounts to fear. 

She also took the practical side of the matter into carefulconsideration: Meta would have no trouble in making her living inEschenbach; she could help Daniel’s mother, or she could do day workamong the peasants. 

When the child was born, Daniel’s mother would have a picture of younglife to look at; it would alleviate her longing; it would appease herbitterness to see a child of Daniel’s own blood. 

Eleanore told the people at home that she was going on an excursion witha school friend to the Ansbach country. She studied the time-table, andwrote a postcard to Meta telling her to be at the station at eighto’clock in the morning. 

Jordan approved of Eleanore’s outing, though he warned her againstbandits and cold drinks. Gertrude was not wholly without suspicion. Shehad a feeling that something was wrong, that these unspoken wordsreferred to Daniel, for she was always thinking about him. 

If she received a letter from him, which was very rare, she would let itlie on the table for a long while, imagining that it was full of themost glorious declarations of his love for her, expressed in languagewhich she could not command. In a sort of moon-struck ecstasy she madean inner, dreamed music out of what he wrote. 

When she read his letter, she was satisfied merely to see the words hehad written and to feel the paper on which his hand had rested. Shesubmitted in silence to the laws of his nature, which would not permithim to be excessive in his remarks or unusually communicative. Each ofhis dry reports was a tiding of glad joy to her, though her own replieswere just as dry, giving not the slightest picture of the enrapturedsoul from which they came. 

She felt that Eleanore was lying, and that the lie she was telling wassomehow connected with Daniel. That is why she went up to Eleanore’s bedin the dead of night, and whispered into her ear: “Tell me, Eleanore, has anything happened to Daniel?”

But before Eleanore could reply, reassured by her sister’s astonishedbehaviour, and angry at herself for having suspected Eleanore of afalsehood, she hurried back to her own bed. She had come to think moreand more of her sister every day. 

“How she must love him, ” thought Eleanore to herself, and buried hersmiling face in the pillow. 

 VII

“Wait for me at the fountain, ” said Eleanore to her companion, as shecrossed the market place in Eschenbach at midday: “I’ll call for you assoon as everything has been discussed. ”

The coachman pointed out the little house of the widow Nothafft. 

A woman with a stern face and unusually large eyebrows asked her whatshe wanted as she entered the little shop, which smelled of vinegar andcheese. 

Eleanore replied that she would like to talk with her for a few minutesquite undisturbed and alone. 

The profound seriousness of Marian’s features, which resembled more thananything else an incurable suffering, did not disappear. She closed theshop and took Eleanore into the living room, and, without saying a word, pointed to one chair and took another herself. 

Above the leather sofa hung the picture of Gottfried Nothafft. Eleanorelooked at it for a long while. 

“Dear mother, ” she finally began, laying her hand on Marian’s knee. “Iam bringing you something from Daniel. ”

Marian twitched. “Good or bad?” she asked. She had not heard from Danielfor twenty-two months. “Who are you?” she asked, “what have you to dowith him?”

Eleanore saw at once that she would have to be extremely cautious if shedid not wish to offend the sensitive—and offended—woman by someinconsiderate remark. With all the discrimination she could command shelaid her case before Daniel’s mother. 

And behold—the unusual became usual, just as the natural seemedstrange. Eleanore pictured Daniel’s hardships and rise to fame, boastedloyally of his talents and of the enthusiasm for him of those whobelieved in him, referred to his future renown, and insisted that allhis guilt, including that toward his mother, be forgotten and forgiven. 

Marian reviewed the past; she understood a great many things now thatwere not clear to her years ago; she understood Daniel better; sheunderstood virtually everything, except this girl’s relation to him andthe girl herself. If it was peculiar that this strange woman had to cometo her to tell her who Daniel was and what he meant to the people, itwas wholly inexplicable that she had brought some one with her who hadbeen the sweetheart of the very man for whom she now showed unreservedaffection. 

Eleanore read Marian’s face and became a trifle more deliberate. Itoccurred to her, too, to ask herself a few questions: What am I, anyway? What is the matter with me?

She could not give a satisfactory answer to these questions. His friend?He my friend? The words seemed to contain too much peace and calm. Brother? Companion? Either of these words brought up pictures ofintimate association, inner relationship. Little Brother! Yes, that iswhat she had called out to him once from behind the mask. Well then:Little sister behind the mask?

Yes, that was what it should be: Little sister behind the mask. She hadto have a hiding place for so many things of which she had only a vaguepresentiment and which in truth she did not care to visualise inbrighter outlines. A subdued heart, a captured heart—it glows, it coolsoff, you lift it up, you weigh it down just as fate decrees. To bepatient, not to betray anything, that was the all-important point:Little sister behind the mask—that was the idea. 

Marian said: “My child, God himself has inspired you with the idea ofcoming to me and telling me about Daniel. I will put fresh flowers inthe window as I did some time ago, and I will leave the front door openso that the swallows can fly in and build their nests. Perhaps he willthink then from time to time of his mother. ”

Then she asked to see Meta. Eleanore went out, and returned in a fewminutes with her charge. Marian looked at the pregnant girlcompassionately. Meta was ill at ease; to every question that was put toher she made an incoherent reply. She could stay with her, said Marian, but she would have to work, for there was no other way for the two tolive. The girl referred to the fact that she had already worked out forfour years, and that no one had ever accused her of lack of industry orwillingness. Thereupon Marian told her she would have to be very quiet, that the people in the neighbourhood were very curious, and that if sheever gave them her family history she would have to leave. 

This attended to, Eleanore went on her way. She refused quiteemphatically to stay for dinner. Marian thought that she was in a hurryto catch the next coach, and accompanied her across the square. Theypromised to write to each other; before Eleanore got into the ricketyold coach, Marian kissed her on the cheek. 

She watched the coach until it had passed out through the city gate. Adrunken man poked her in the ribs, the blacksmith called to her as shepassed by, the doctor’s wife leaned out of the window and asked her whothe cityfied lady was. Marian paid not the slightest attention to any ofthem; she went quietly and slowly back to her house. 

 VIII

Thus it came about that five weeks later a daughter of Daniel Nothafftsaw the light of the world under Marian’s roof. 

As soon as the child was born, Marian took a great liking to it, despitethe fact that she had thought of it before its birth only with aversion. It was a fine little creature: its little legs and arms were delicatelyformed, its head was small, there was something peculiarly human aboutits first cries and laughter, and it showed quite distinctly that therewas something noble in its character. 

The people of Eschenbach were astonished. “Where did the child comefrom?” they asked. “Who is its mother? Who is its father?” The recordsin the office of the registrar of births showed that Meta Steinhäger wasthe mother of the illegitimate child, Eva Steinhäger, and that itsfather was unknown. 

It was to be presumed, however, that widow Nothafft knew the details. The old women, and the young ones too, came on this account morefrequently now than ever to her shop. They wanted to know how the littlething was getting along, whether its milk agreed with it, whether it hadbegun to teethe, whether it would speak German or some foreign tongue, and so on. 

In order to quiet them, Marian told them that Meta was a poor relativeand that she was bringing up the child at her own expense. It was notdifficult to make this story seem plausible, for Meta had very little todo with her daughter. Shortly after her confinement, she got a job witha baker over in Dinkelsbühl, and never visited Eva more than once amonth. She cared very little for the child. A young fellow in the bakeryhad fallen in love with Meta, and wanted to marry her and move toAmerica. 

At Christmas they were married, and left the country at once. Marian wasglad of it: the child now belonged entirely to her. 

Though the people soon became accustomed to the existence of theirdiminutive fellow-townswoman, Eva was and remained the mysterious childof Eschenbach. 

 IX

The opera company made its rounds through the small cities that liebetween the Danube and the Main, the Saale and the Neckar—and there aremany of them, —its stay in any one place depending naturally on theinterest shown by the public. 

“The province is the enchanted Sleeping Beauty, ” said the impresarioDörmaul to Wurzelmann and Daniel, “the province is still asleep, and youmust rouse it from its slumbers by pressing the kiss of the Muse on itsforehead. ”

But the impresario was unwilling to open his pockets. The princes whowere to release Sleeping Beauty did not have sufficient means to make apresentable appearance, while their retinue was seedy-looking indeed. 

The tenor had long since passed the zenith of his career. His massivepaunch placed deadening strictures on his credentials as theimpersonator of heroes. The buffo was an inveterate toper who had oftenbeen placed behind bars by the police for his nocturnal excesses. Thebarytone had a big lawsuit on his hands about an estate; his lawyerswere two stars of obscurity from a small village; and at times he becameso vexed at the cuts of his opponents that he lost his voice. Thesoprano was incessantly quarrelling with her colleagues, and the altowas an intriguing vixen quite without talent. In addition to these therewere a dozen or so super-numeraries and under-studies, who were bored, whoplayed practical jokes on each other, drew starvation wages, and hadnever learned anything. 

The musicians were also a sorry lot. It was not rare that one or theother of them had pawned his instrument. Once a performance had to bepostponed because the violinists had stayed over their time at a villagedance where they were playing in order to add to their paltry income. The inspector, who was scene-shifter, promoter, ticket seller, andpublicity agent all in one, and who was not equal to any of thesepositions, took French leave in the second year and ran off with one ofthe chorus girls, taking the box-office receipts for the evening withhim. 

One time the costumes were sent to the wrong address, with the resultthat Boieldieu’s “La Dame Blanche” had to be played in woollen frocks, patched velvet skirts, filthy cotton blouses, and French wadding. 

Another time the mob in “Martha” consisted of a distempered woman, awaiter brought in at the last minute from a herring restaurant, and thedoor-keeper of an orphanage: the chorus had gone on a strike becausetheir salaries had been held up. 

In Karlstadt the final act of the “Merry Wives of Windsor” could not beplayed, because during the intermission Falstaff and Mrs. Quickly hadgot into a fight, and the lady had scratched a huge piece of skin fromthe singer’s nose. 

If these musical strollers, as acting-director Wurzelmann called thecompany, nevertheless made some money, it was due to the superhumanefforts of Daniel. Wurzelmann was always mixed up in some kind of loveaffair, introduced in time a ruinous system of favouritism, and becamelazier and lazier as the weeks passed by. 

Daniel had to pull the singers out of their beds to get them to go torehearsals; Daniel had to help out with the singing when the chorus wastoo weak; Daniel had to distribute the rôles, tame down refractorywomen, and make brainless dilettants subordinate their noisy opinions tothe demands of a work which he himself generally detested. He had todrill beginners, abbreviate scores, transpose voices, and produceeffects with lamentably inadequate material. And from morning to nighthe had to wage war eternal against libellous action, inattention, andinability. 

Nobody loved him for this; they merely feared him. They swore they wouldtake vengeance on him, but they knuckled under whenever they seemed tohave a chance. He had a habit of treating them with crushing coldness, he could make them look like criminals. He had a look of icy contemptthat made them clench their fists when his eye fell on them. But theybowed before a power which seemed uncanny to them, though it consistedin nothing more than the fact that he did his duty while they did not. 

At the close of each quarter, the impresario Dörmaul appeared on thescene to take invoice in person. His presence was invariably celebratedby a gala performance of “Fra Diavolo, ” or “The Daughter of theRegiment, ” or “Frou Frou. ” On these occasions the buffo did not getdrunk, the barytone rested from the torments of his lawsuit, the altohad a charming smile for the sympathetic house, the soprano was aspeaceful as a mine immediately after an explosion. Not one of the chorusstayed too long in the café; and since Wurzelmann directed, and theorchestra did not have to feel the burning, basilisk eye ofKapellmeister Nothafft resting on it and floating over it, it playedwith more precision and produced a more pleasing feast for the ears thanordinarily. 

Dörmaul was not stingy with his praise. “Bravo Wurzelmann, ” he cried, “one more short year of hard work, and I’ll get you a position in theRoyal Opera House. ”

“Nothafft will likewise rise to fame and office, ” he said, “although Iwas so stupid as to publish his music, and now all this waste paper islying in my shop like a pound of brick cheese in a sick stomach. ”

The impresario Dörmaul wore black and white striped trousers ofimported cut, a vest that looked like a bit of tapestry made of pressedleather, a massive gold watch-chain from which dangled countless fobs, ablood red tie with a diamond as big as the Koh-i-noor and as false as anApril sun, and a grey silk tile hat which he lifted only when in thepresence of privy councillors, generals, and police presidents. 

To a man of this kind Daniel had the boldness to remark: “Had you eatencheese you would at least have digested it. Your crowded shops are afterall more desirable in my estimation than many a head which would remainempty even if some one stuffed the whole of the ‘Passion of St. Matthew’into it. ”

Dörmaul decided to laugh. “Oho, my good fellow, ” he said, and pushed histile hat on to the back of his head, “you are getting all puffed up. Look out that you don’t burst. You remember the story of Hänschen: Hewas awfully proud of his porridge while sitting behind the stove; butwhen he went out on to the street, he fell into the puddle. ”

The little slave tittered. Daniel had known for a long time thatWurzelmann was working against him. Quite innocently, to be sure, forhalf souls can admire and betray at the same time. 

“Envy is my only virtue, ” said Wurzelmann quite openly, “I am a geniusat envying. ”

Daniel was not equal to such cynicism. He was stupefied by Wurzelmann’sremark, but he did not break with the little slave; he continued to usehim. He was the only individual with whom he could speak of himself andhis work. And though he was overburdened, owing to his present position, he nevertheless managed to steal a few hours every day for his own work. And the pressure from all sides fanned the flame within him. 

It was then that he staked out his field in order to be master in hisown realm; he turned to the song; he chose the clear, restrained formsof chamber music; he studied with unwavering industry the old masters;he deduced from their works the right rules of composition; and he setthese up before him like a dam against arbitrariness and æstheticdemoralisation. 

He was not unmindful of the fact that by so doing he was cutting himselfoff from association with men, and renouncing, probably forever, thesatisfaction that comes from monetary reward and outward success. Heknew, too, that he was not making his life easier by adopting thiscourse, nor was he gaining the popular favour of the emotionalists. 

When he would sit in a café late at night and show Wurzelmann one scoreafter another, sing a few bars in order to bring out the quality of asong, improvise an accompaniment, praise a melody, or explain thepeculiarity of a certain rhythm, he surprised the little slave, anddrove him into an attitude of self-defence. All this was fundamentallynew to Wurzelmann. If Daniel proved that the new was not new after all, that the trouble lay in the fact that the deranged and shattered soulsof the present century had lost the power to assimilate unbroken linesin their complete purity, Wurzelmann at once became an advocate ofmodern freedom, insisting that each individual should be allowed to doall that his innate talent enabled him to vindicate. 

Daniel remained unconvinced. Was not the whole of life, the richcontents of human existence, to be found in the beautiful vessel thathad been proved long ago? Could any one say that he was displaying aspirit of greediness in his love for the classical? And were joy andsorrow, however intense, less perceptible when expressed through aconcise, well ordered medium? “What a distorted view a man takes when hebecomes so narrow-minded, ” thought Daniel. “His ambition makes itimpossible for him to feel; his very wit militates against clearthinking. ”

Thus they went from town to town, month after month, year after year. The company had in time its traditions, its _chronique scandaleuse_, itsoft-tested drawing cards, its regular patrons, its favourite stands, andits stands that it avoided if humanly possible. 

The local paper greeted them editorially; the children stood on thesidewalks to gape their fill at the ladies from the theatre; the retiredmajor bought a reserved seat for the first performance; the barberoffered his services; and the faculty of the Latin School held a specialmeeting to decide whether they should permit their pupils to go to theopera or not. The Young Men’s Christian Association voiced its protestagainst the nude shoulders of the _artistes_; the members of the Casinoturned up their noses at the achievements of the company; the policeinsisted that the booth or hotel lobby in which they performed should befireproof; the wife of the mining engineer fell in love with thebarytone, and her husband hired a number of hoodlums to take theirplaces in the gallery and hoot and hiss when the time came. And thosewho nag under any circumstances requested more cheerfulness. They foundthe “Czar and Zimmermann” too dull, the “Muette de Portici” toohackneyed. They insisted on “Madame Angot” and “Orpheus in the UnderWorld. ”

There was always something wrong. 

Daniel shuddered at the mere presence of these people; he was repelledby their occupations, their amusements, and the cadavers of theirideals. He did not like the way they laughed; nor could he stand theirdismal feelings. He despised the houses out of which they crept, thedetectives at their windows, their butcher shops and hotels, theirnewspapers, their Sundays and their work days. The world was pressinghard upon him. He had to look these people straight in the face, andthey compelled him to haggle with them for money, words, feelings, andideas. 

He learned in time, however, to see other things: the forests on thebanks of the Main; the great meadows in the hills of Franconia; themelancholy plains of Central Germany; the richly variegated slopes ofthe Jura Mountains; the old cities with their walls and cathedrals, their gloomy alleys and deserted castles. In time he came to see peoplein a different and easier light. He saw the young and the old, the fairand the homely, the cheerful and the sad, the poor—and the rich so faraway and peaceful. They gave him, without discrimination, of theirwealth and their poverty. They laid their youth and their old age, theirbeauty and their ugliness, their joys and their sorrows, at his feet. 

And the country gave him the forests and the fields, the brooks and therivers, the clouds and the birds, and everything that is under theearth. 

 X

It was winter. The company came to Ansbach, where they were to play inthe former Margrave Theatre. “Freischütz” was to be given, and Danielhad held a number of special rehearsals. 

But a violent snow storm broke out on the day of the performance;scarcely two dozen people attended. 

How differently the violins sounded in this auditorium! The voices were, as it seemed, automatically well balanced; there was in them an elementof calm and assurance. The orchestra? Daniel had so charmed it that itobeyed him as if it were a single instrument. At the close of the lastact, an old, grey-haired man stepped up to Daniel, smiled, took him bythe hand, and thanked him. It was Spindler. 

Daniel went home with him; they talked about the past, the future, menand music. They could not stop talking; nor could the snow stop falling. This did not disturb them. They met again on the following day; but atthe end of the week Spindler was taken ill, and had to go to bed. 

As Daniel entered the residence of his old friend one morning, helearned that he had died suddenly the night before. It had been apeaceful death. 

On the third day, Daniel followed the funeral procession to thecemetery. When he left the cemetery—there were but few people at thefuneral—he went out into the snow-covered fields, and spent theremainder of the day walking around. 

That same night he sat down in his wretched quarters, and began hiscomposition of Goethe’s “Harzreise im Winter. ” It was one of theprofoundest and rarest of works ever created by a musician, but it wasdestined, like the most of Daniel’s compositions, not to be preserved toposterity. This was due to a tragic circumstance. 

 XI

In the spring of 1886, the company went north to Hesse, then toThuringia, gave performances in a few of the towns in the Spessartregion and along the Rhoen, the box receipts growing smaller and smallerall the while. Dörmaul had not been seen since the previous autumn; thesalaries had not been paid for some time. Wurzelmann prophesied a speedyand fatal end of the enterprise. 

An engagement of unusual length had been planned for the town ofOchsenfurt. The company placed its last hopes on the series, although itwas already June and very warm. The thick, muggy air of the gloomy hallin which they were to play left even the enthusiasts without much desireto brighten up the monotony of provincial life by the enjoyment of grandopera. 

They drew smaller houses from day to day. Finally there was no moremoney in the till; they did not even have enough to move to the nexttown. To make matters worse, the tenor was taken down with typhus, andthe other singers refused to sing until they had been paid. Daniel wroteto Dörmaul, but received no reply. Wurzelmann, instead of helping, fanned the easily inflamed minds of the company into a fire of noise, malevolence, and hostility. They demanded that Daniel give them what wasdue them, besieged him in his hotel, and finally brought matters to sucha pitch that the whole town was busied with their difficulties. 

One afternoon, a stately gentleman between fifty-five and fifty-sixyears old entered Daniel’s room, and introduced himself as Sylvester vonErfft, the owner of an estate. 

His mission was as follows: Every year, at this season, the Chancellorof the German Empire was taking the cure at the nearby Kissingen Baths. Herr von Erfft had made his acquaintance, and the Prince, anenthusiastic landowner, had expressed the desire to visit Herr vonErfft’s estate, the management of which was widely known as excellent inevery way. In order to celebrate the coming of the distinguished guestwith befitting dignity, it had been decided not to have any tawdryfireworks or cheap shouting, but to give a special performance of the“Marriage of Figaro” in a rococo pavilion that belonged to the Erfftestate. 

“This idea comes from my wife, ” said Herr von Erfft. “Some ladies andgentlemen of noble birth who belong to our circle will sing the variousparts, and my daughter Sylvia, who studied for two years in Milan withGallifati, will take the part of the page. The only thing we lack is atrained orchestra. For this reason I have come to you, HerrKapellmeister, to see if you could not bring your orchestra over andplay for us. ”

Daniel, though pleased with the kindly disposition of Herr von Erfft, could not make him any definite promise, for he felt bound to thehelpless, if not hopeless, opera company now in his care. Herr von Erfftinquired more closely into the grounds of his doubt as to his ability tohave his orchestra undertake the special engagement, and then asked himwhether he would accept his help. “Gladly, ” replied Daniel, “but suchhelp as you can offer us will hardly be of any avail. Our chief is ahardened sinner. ”

Herr von Erfft went with Daniel to the mayor; a half-hour later anofficial dispatch was on its way to the impresario Dörmaul. It wascouched in language that was sufficient to inspire any citizen withrespect, referred to the desperate plight in which the company thenfound itself, and demanded in a quite imperious tone that something bedone at once. 

Dörmaul was frightened; he sent the necessary money by return wire. Inanother telegram to Wurzelmann he declared the company dissolved; mostof the contracts had expired, and those members of the company who putin claims were satisfied in one way or another. 

Daniel was free. Wurzelmann said to him on taking leave: “Nothafft, youwill never amount to anything. I have been disappointed in you. You havefar too much conscience. You cannot make children out of morality, muchless music. The swamp is quaggy, the summit rocky. Commit some act ofgenuine swinishness, so that you may put a little ginger into yourlife. ”

Daniel laid his hand on his shoulder, looked at him with his cold eyes, and said: “Judas. ”

“All right, Judas so far as I am concerned, ” said Wurzelmann. “I was notborn to be nailed to the cross; I am much more for the feasts with thePharisees. ”

He had got a position as critic on the _Phœnix_, one of the best knownmusical magazines. 

Daniel found the members of the orchestra only too glad to take theexcursion over to Herr von Erfft’s. They were put up in a hotel; Danielhimself lived in the castle. The rehearsals were held with zeal andseriousness. Though the name of the Chancellor was still darkened by theclouds of political life, by the enmity of his opponents, by pettinessand misunderstanding, all these young people felt the power of the greatImmortal, and were delighted with the idea of meaning something to him, even in the guise of an imaginary world and for only a fleeting hour ortwo. Agatha von Erfft, the wife of Herr von Erfft, was indefatigable inpreparing the costumes, surmounting technical difficulties, andentertaining her guests. The twenty-four-year-old Sylvia had inheritedneither the strength of her mother nor the amiability of her father: shewas delicate and reserved. Nevertheless, she managed to put a great dealof winsomeness and roguishness into the rôle of the cherub. Even herparents were surprised at the unexpected wealth of her natural ability. Moreover, her voice was velvety and well trained. Accustomed as he hadbeen for years to the mediocre accomplishments of sore throats, Danielnodded approval when she sang. 

The other members of the improvised company he handled with no greaterindulgence than he had shown the singers of the Dörmaul troupe. They hadto put up with his gruffness and snappishness, and to do it without amurmur. Herr von Erfft attended the rehearsals regularly, observingDaniel at all times with quiet admiration. If Daniel spoke to any onewith such seeming harshness that the case was taken up with Herr vonErfft, the latter said: “Let the man have his way; he knows hisbusiness; there are not many like him. ”

Sylvia was the only one he treated with consideration. As soon as Herrvon Erfft mentioned her name, Daniel listened; and as soon as he hadseen her, he knew that he had seen her before. It was the time he wason his journey; he was standing out at the entrance to the park; someone called to her. It seemed strange to him that he should rememberthis. Now he was with her, and yet he was just as much of a stranger toher as ever. 

But the thing that drew him to the beautiful girl had nothing to do withthis chance incident; nor was there the slightest trace of sensuousnessin his feelings. It was all a sort of dream-like sympathy, similar tothe quest of memory in search of a forgotten happiness. It was a vaguerand more plaguing sensation than the one that bound him so inviolably toGertrude; it was more sorrow than joy, more unrest than consciousness. 

This forgotten happiness slumbered deep down in his soul; it had beenwashed away by the waves of life. It was not Sylvia herself; it wasperhaps a movement of her hand: where had he known this same movementbefore? It was the way she tossed her head back; it was her proud look, the blue of her eyes—but where had he seen all this before?

Forgotten, forgotten. .. . 

 XII

Just as everything was in full swing, just as they had decorated thebuildings and arranged the Herrenhaus, the news came of the death ofKing Ludwig of Bavaria. The newspapers bore a broad black margin, andwere crowded with details concerning the tragedy at the Starnbergersee. The entire country, including the family of Herr von Erfft, mourned theloss of the art-loving monarch genuinely and for a long while. 

Of an operatic performance there could be no thought. The Chancellorcancelled his engagement, and the young men who had assembled for therehearsals went quietly home. Herr von Erfft gave Daniel a considerablepurse with which he might recompense his musicians for their trouble, and, not wishing to treat Daniel himself as though he were an ordinarymechanic, he invited him to spend a few more days on his estate. 

Daniel did not decline; he had not in truth given one minute’s thoughtto where he would go when he left. 

After he distributed the present from Herr von Erfft among the musiciansand discharged them, he took a long walk in the woods. He ate a frugalmeal in a village restaurant, and then sauntered around until evening. When he returned, he found his hosts sitting at the table. He neglectedto beg their pardon; Frau Agatha looked at her husband and smiled, andtold the maids to bring in something for the Herr Kapellmeister. Sylviahad a book in her hand and was reading. 

Daniel was a trifle ill at ease; he merely took a bite here and there. When Frau von Erfft left the table, walked over to the window, andlooked out into the cloudy sky, Daniel got up, went into the adjoiningroom, and sat down at the piano. 

He began to play Schubert’s “Song to Sylvia. ” Having finished theimpetuous, heart-felt song, he struck up a variation, then a second, athird, and a fourth. The first was melancholy, the second triumphant, the third meditative, the fourth dreamy. Each was a hymn to forgottenjoy. 

Herr von Erfft and Agatha were standing in the open door. Sylvia had satdown close beside him on a tabourette; there was a pleasing, far-awaylook in her eyes, riveted though they were to the floor. 

He suddenly stopped, as if to avoid both thanks and applause. Sylvestervon Erfft took a seat opposite him, and asked him in a most kindly tonewhether he had any definite plans for the immediate future. 

“I am going back to Nuremberg and get married, ” said Daniel. “My fiancéehas been waiting for me for a long time. ”

Herr von Erfft asked him whether he was not afraid of premature marriagebonds. Daniel replied rather curtly that he needed some one to standbetween him and the world. 

“You need some one to act as a sort of buffer, ” said Frau Agathasarcastically. Daniel looked at her angrily. 

“Buffer? No, but a guardian angel if such a creature can shield me fromrebuffs, ” said Daniel, even more brusquely than he had spoken the firsttime. 

“Why do you wish to settle down and live in Nuremberg, a city of suchone-sided commercial interests?” continued Herr von Erfft, with analmost solicitous caution. “Would you not have a much better opportunityas a composer in one of the great cities?”

“It is impossible to separate the daughter from her father, ” repliedDaniel with unusual candour. “It is impossible. Nor is it possible toget the old man to tear himself away from his former associations. Hewas born and reared there. And I do not wish to live alone any longer. Everybody needs a companion; even the miner digs with a better heart, when he knows that up on the earth above his wife is preparing the soup. I must say, however, that I am not so much taken up with the soup phaseof married life: it is the dear little soul that will belong to me thatinterests me. ”

He turned around, and struck a minor chord. 

“And even if everything were different, your great cities would notattract me, ” he began again, wrinkling his face in a most bizarre way. “What would I get out of them? Companions? I have had enough of them. Music I can study at home. I can summon the masters of all ages to mystudy. Fame and riches will find their way to me, if they wish to. Thedawn is missed only by those who are too indolent to get up, and realmusic is heard by all except the deaf. God attends to everything else;man has nothing to do with it. ”

He struck another chord, this time in a major key. 

Herr von Erfft and his wife looked at him with evident joy and sympathy. Sylvia whispered something to her mother, who then said to Daniel: “Ihave a sister living in Nuremberg, Baroness Clotilde von Auffenberg. From the time she was a mere child she was an ardent lover of goodmusic. If I give you a letter of introduction to her, I am quite sureshe will welcome you with open arms. She is unfortunately not in thebest of health, and a heavy fate is just now hanging over her; but shehas a warm heart, and her affections are trustworthy. ”

Daniel looked down at the floor. He thought of Gertrude and his futurelife with her, and murmured a few words of gratitude. Frau von Erfftwent at once to her desk, and wrote a detailed letter to her sister. When she had finished it, she gave it to Daniel with a good-naturedsmile. 

The next morning he left the castle with the feeling of regret that oneexperiences on leaving the dwelling place of peace and separating fromnoble friends. 

 XIII

The streets of Nuremberg were hung with black banners. It was raining. Daniel took a cheap room in The Bear. 

It had already grown dark when he started to Jordan’s. He met Benno atthe front door. He did not recognise the foppishly-dressed young man, and was on the point of passing by without speaking to him; but Bennostopped, and laughed out loud. 

“Whew, the Herr Kapellmeister!” he cried, and his pale face, alreadyshowing the signs of dissipation, took on a scornful expression. “Becareful, my friend, or Gertrude will swoon. ”

Daniel asked if they were all well. Benno replied that there was nolack of good health, though some of the family were a little short ofchange. Then he laughed again. He spoke of his father, said the oldgentleman was not getting along very well, that he was having quite alittle trouble to get anything to do, but then what could be expectedwith a man of his age, and the competition and the hard times! Danielasked if Eleanore was at home. No, she was not at home: she had gone ona visit with Frau Rübsam over to Pommersfelden, and planned to staythere for a few weeks. “Well, I’ll have to be hurrying along, ” saidBenno, “my fraternity brothers are waiting for me. ”

“Good gracious! Do you have fraternity brothers too?”

“Of course! They are the spice of my life! We have a holiday to-day: TheKing’s funeral. Well, God bless you, Herr Kapellmeister, I must begoing. ”

Daniel went up and rang the bell; Gertrude came to the door. It wasdark; each could see only the outline of the other. 

“Oh, it’s you, Daniel!” she whispered, happy as happy could be. She cameup to him, and laid her face on his shoulder. 

Daniel was surprised at the regularity of his pulse. Yesterday the merethought of this meeting took his breath. Now he held Gertrude in hisarms, and was amazed to find that he was perfectly calm and composed. 

In the room he led her over to the lamp, and looked at her for a longwhile, fixedly and seriously. She grew pale at the sight of him: he wasso strange and so terrible. 

Then he took her by the hand, led her over to the sofa, sat down besideher, and told her of his plans. Her wishes and his tallied exactly. Hewanted to get married within four weeks. Very well; she would getmarried. 

He found her the same unqualifiedly submissive girl. In her eyes therewas an expression of fatal docility; it terrified him. There was nocowardly doubt in her soul; her cool hand lay in his and did not twitch. With her hand her whole soul, her whole life, lay in his hand. He wantedto raise some doubt in her mind: he spoke in a down-hearted tone of hisfuture prospects; he said that there was very little hope of his everwinning recognition from the world for his compositions. 

“What is the good of recognition?” she asked. “They can take nothingfrom you, and what they give you is clear gain. ”

He became silent. The feeling of her worth to him swept like a fierymeteor through the heaven of his existence. 

The statement that they were going to remain in Nuremberg made herhappy, particularly because of her father. She said there was a smallapartment for rent on Ægydius Place, three rooms, a very quietneighbourhood. They went over to the window; Gertrude showed him thehouse. It was close to the church, right where the Place makes a turn. 

Jordan came in, and welcomed Daniel with a long handshake. His hair hadbecome greyer, he walked with more of a stoop, and his clothes showedtraces of neglect. 

When he heard what Daniel and Gertrude were planning to do, he shook hishead: “It is a bad year, children. Why are you in such a hurry? Both ofyou are still young. ”

“If we were older, we would have less courage, ” replied Daniel. 

Jordan took a seat, and buried his face in his hands. In course of timehe looked up, and said that three years ago he had only eight thousandmarks in the bank; that hard times had forced him to draw on this sum tokeep the house going; and that to-day there was hardly a third of itleft. Two thousand marks was all he could give Gertrude as a dowry; withthat they would have to be satisfied, and get along as well as theycould. 

“We don’t need any more, ” said Daniel; “as a matter of fact I did notexpect that much. Now I haven’t a care in the world; I am ready foranything. ”

A bat flew in at the open window, and then quietly flew out again. Ithad stopped raining. You could still hear the water trickling andsplashing down the leaders and in the pipes. There was something heavy, portentous, in the air of this June evening. 

 XIV

At first Daniel had received small bits of news from England aboutBenda, but for a year and a half he had not heard a word. When Eleanorereturned from Pommersfelden in July, she told him that she had receiveda letter from Benda in April, and that she had sent him this letter whenhe was at Naumburg. Daniel, however, had never received it, and theinvestigations which he made proved fruitless. 

Benda’s mother was not in the city; she was living with relatives inWorms, but had kept her apartment at Herr Carovius’s. 

Frau von Auffenberg was at Bad Ems, and did not plan to return untilSeptember. Daniel looked up old friends, and rebound the ties of formerdays. He also succeeded in getting a number of students to tutor, anoccupation that netted him a little spending money. 

He had to attend to a great deal of business for which he was quiteunfit. He had imagined that he could get married just as he might go toa shop and buy something: he would not make any noise, nor would it takemuch time. He had a hundred moods, a hundred objections, a hundredgrimaces. The apartment on Ægydius Place was already rented. Itembittered him to think that in order to live with a person you loved, you had to have tables, beds, chairs, cupboards, lamps, glasses, plates, garbage cans, water pails, window cushions, and a thousand and one otherfoolish objects. 

There was a great deal of talk in the city about the marriage. Thepeople said they did not know what Jordan could be thinking of. Theywere convinced that he was in desperate financial straits if he wouldmarry his daughter to an impecunious musician. 

Daniel found everything hard: every day was his Day of Judgment. Amelody was gnawing at his heart, trying to take on a pure and finishedform. Freedom sounded in his ears with voices from above; his quietfiancée begged for comradeship. The task to which he had dedicatedhimself demanded loneliness; then his blood carried him along and away, and he became like wax, but wild. 

He would rush to Jordan’s house, enter the living room, his hair alldishevelled, sit down where the two sisters were working on Gertrude’strousseau, and never utter a syllable until Gertrude would come up tohim and lay her hand on his forehead. He thrust her back, but she smiledgently. At times, though none too frequently, he would take her by thearms and pull her down to him. When he did this, Eleanore would smilewith marked demureness, as if it were not right for her to see twopeople in love. 

There was a second-hand baby grand piano in Jordan’s living room. Danielplayed on it in the evening, and the sisters listened. Gertrude was likea woman wrapt in peaceful slumber, her every wish having been fulfilled, with kindly spirits watching over her. Eleanore, however, was wideawake; she was awake and meditating. 

 XV

The day of the wedding arrived. At half past nine in the morning, Danielappeared in Jordan’s house. He wore an afternoon suit and a high hat!He was vexed, and villanous to behold, a picture of misery. 

Benno, the man of the world, was forced to leave the room. No sooner washe outside than he laughed so heartily that he fell into a clothesbasket. He did not approve of this marriage; he was ashamed to tell hisfriends about it. 

Gertrude wore a plain street dress and a little virgin bonnet, thenprescribed by fashion. She sat by the table, and gazed into space withwide-opened eyes. 

Eleanore came into the room with a wreath of myrtle. “You must put thison, Gertrude, ” she said, “just to please us; just to make us feel thatyou are a real bride. Otherwise you look too sober, too much as thoughyou two were going to the recorder’s office on profane business. ”

“Where did you get that wreath?” asked Jordan. 

“I found it in an old chest; it is mother’s bridal wreath. ”

“Really? Mother’s bridal wreath?” murmured Jordan, as he looked at thefaded myrtle. 

“Put it on, Gertrude, ” Eleanore again requested, but Gertrude lookedfirst at Daniel, and then laid it to one side. 

Eleanore went up to the mirror, and put it on her own head. 

“Don’t do that, child, ” said Jordan with a melancholy smile. “Superstitious people say that you will remain an old maid forever, ifyou wear the wreath of another. ”

“Then I will remain an old maid, and gladly so, ” said Eleanore. 

She turned away from the mirror, and looked at Daniel half unconsciousof what she was doing. The blond of her eyelashes had turned almostgrey, the red of her lips had been dotted with little spots from hersmiling, and her neck was like something liquid and disembodied. 

Daniel saw all this. He looked at the Undine-like figure of the girl. Itseemed to him that he had not seen her since the day of his return, thathe had not noticed that she had become more mature, more beautiful, andmore lovely. All of a sudden he felt as if he were going to swoon. Itwent through him like a flash: Here, here was what he had forgotten;here was the countenance, the eye, the figure, the movement that hadstood before him, and he, fool, unspeakable fool, had been struck byblindness. 

Gertrude had a fearful suspicion of the experience he was going through. She arose, and looked at Daniel in horror. He hastened up to her as ifhe were fleeing, and seized her hands. Eleanore, believing she hadaroused Daniel’s displeasure by some word or gesture, snatched themyrtle wreath from her hair. 

Jordan had paid no attention to these incidents. Bringing at last hisrestless pacing back and forth to an end, he took out his watch, lookedat it, and said it was time they were going. Eleanore, who had displayeda most curious disposition the whole morning, asked them to wait aminute. Before they could find out why she wished them to wait, the doorbell rang, and she ran out. 

She returned with a radiant expression on her face; Marian Nothafftfollowed her. Marian composed herself only with extreme difficulty. Hereyes roamed about over the circle of people before her, partly as if shewere frightened, partly as if she were looking for some one. 

Mother and son stood face to face in absolute silence. That was the workof Eleanore. 

Marian said she was living with her sister Theresa; that she had arrivedthe day before; and that she wished to return this evening. 

“I am glad, Mother, that you could come, ” said Daniel with a stifledvoice. 

Marian laid her hand on his head; she then went up to Gertrude, and didthe same. 

After the wedding, Jordan gave a luncheon for his children. In theafternoon they all started off in two hired coaches. Daniel had neverseen his mother so cheerful; but it was useless to ask her to prolongher visit. While this was being discussed, she and Eleanore exchangedknowing glances. 

As evening drew on, Daniel and Gertrude betook themselves to their home. 

 XVI

It is night. The antiquated old square is deserted. The bell in thechurch tower has struck eleven; the lights in the windows die out, slowly, one by one. 

The figure of a woman is seen coming up the alley. She is spyinganxiously about, before her and behind her. Finally she stops before thelittle house in which Daniel and Gertrude live. Is it a living creature?Is it not rather an uncanny gnome? The garments hang loose about theunshapely body; a crumpled straw hat covers the mad-looking face; theshoulders are raised; the fists are clenched; the eyes are glassy. 

Suddenly there is a scream. The woman hastens over toward the church, falls on her knees, and sinks her teeth with frenzied madness into thewooden pickets of the fence. After some time she rises, stares up oncemore at the windows with distorted lips, and then moves away with slow, dragging steps. 

It was Philippina Schimmelweis. She kept going about the streets in thisfashion until break of day. 

 DANIEL AND GERTRUDE

 I

The Reichstag had voted to extend the period during which the Socialistlaw would be in effect; the passing of a new army bill was also to beexpected. These two measures had provoked tumultuous discord in manyparts of the country. 

The Social Democrats were planning a parade through the main streets ofthe city in October, but the police had already forbidden theirdemonstration. The evening the edict was issued the regiments stood atalert in the barracks; feeling ran high throughout the entire city. InWöhrd and Plobenhof there had been a number of riots; in the narrowstreets of the central zone thousands of workmen had stormed theRathaus. 

Every now and then there would come a long, shrill whistle from thesilent mass, followed at once by the heavy rolling of drums at the guardhouse. 

Among those who came down from the direction of Koenig Street was theworkman Wachsmuth. In the vicinity of the Schimmelweis shop he deliveredan excited harangue against the former member of the party; his wordsfell on fruitful soil. A locksmith’s apprentice who had lost some moneythrough the Prudentia violently defamed the character of the bookseller. 

The mob gathered before the lighted shop window. Wachsmuth stood by thedoor, and demanded that the traitor be suspended from a lamp post beforethis day’s sun had set. A stone flew through the air over their heads, and crashed through the window; pieces of glass flew in all directions. Thereupon a dozen fellows rushed into the shop, exclaiming, “Where isthe dirty dog? Let us get at the blood-sucker!” They wanted to teach hima lesson he would never forget. 

Before Theresa could open her mouth, scraps of books and newspapers wereflying in every direction, and pamphlets were being trampled under foot. A forest of arms were reaching out for the shelves, and bundles of bookswere falling to the floor, like stacks of cards piled up by a child andblown over by the wind. Zwanziger had taken refuge at the top of theladder; he was howling. Theresa stood by the till looking like the ghostof ages. Philippina came in through the back door, and eyed what wasgoing on without one visible trace of surprise or discomfort; she merelysmiled. Just then the policeman’s whistle blew; in less time than ittakes to draw one breath, the rebellious insurgents were beating a hastyretreat. 

When Theresa regained consciousness, the shop was empty; and the streetin front of the shop was as deserted as it ordinarily is at midnight. After some time, the chief of police came up; he was followed by a crowdof curious people, who stood around and gaped at the scene ofdevastation. 

Jason Philip, seeing what was coming, had left the shop betimes andhidden in his house. He had even locked the front door and was sunk downon a chair, his teeth clappering with vigour and regularity. 

He returned at last to the shop, and with heart-rending dignity faced thedispenser of justice, who by this time had put in his appearance. Hesaid: “And this is what I get from people for whom I have sacrificed mymoney and my blood. ”

In giving his testimony as an eyewitness, Zwanziger displayed boastfulhardiness in his narration of details. Philippina looked at him withvenomous contempt from under the imbecile locks that hung down over herforehead, and murmured: “You disgusting coward!”

When Jason Philip came back from the inn, he said: “To believe thatpeople can be ruled without the knout is a fatal delusion. ” With that hestepped into his embroidered slippers—“For tired Father—Consolation. ”The slippers had aged, and so had Jason Philip. His beard was streakedwith grey. 

Theresa took an invoice of the damage the mob had done: she felt thatJason Philip was a ruined man. 

As he lay stretched out in bed, Jason Philip said: “The first thing Iwant to do is to have a serious, heart-to-heart talk with BaronAuffenberg. The Liberal Party is going to take direct action against theimpudence of the lower classes, or it is going to lose a constituent. ”

“How many quarts of beer did you drink?” asked Theresa from the depthsof the pillows. 

“Two. ”

“You are a liar. ”

“Well, possibly I drank three, ” replied Jason Philip with a yawn. “Butto accuse a man of my standing of lying on such small grounds is an actof perfidy such as only an uncultured woman like yourself could bebrought to commit. ”

Theresa blew out the candle. 

 II

Baron Siegmund von Auffenberg had returned from Munich, where he had hadan interview with the Minister. 

He had also seen a great many other people in the presence of whom hewas condescending, jovial, and witty. His amiability was proverbial. 

Now he was sitting with a gloomy face by the chimney. Not a one of thosemany people who had so recently been charmed by his conversational giftswould have recognised him. 

The stillness and loneliness pained him. An irresistible force drew himto his wife. He had not seen her for seven weeks, though they had livedin the same house. 

He was drawn to her, because he wanted to know whether she had heardanything from that person whose name he did not like to mention, fromhis son, his enemy, his heir. Not that he wanted to ask his wife anyquestions: he merely wished to read her face. Since no one in thevicinity had dared say a word to him about his son, he was forced torely on suppositions and the subtle cunning of his senses at ferretingout information on this kind of subjects. He did not dare betray thecuriosity with which he waited for some one to inform him that his hatedoffspring had at last come to mortal grief. 

Six years had elapsed, and still he could hear the insolent voice inwhich the monstrous remarks were made that had torn him from thetwilight of his self-complacency; remarks that distressed him more thanany other grief he may have felt in the secrecy of his bed chamber andwhich completely and forever robbed him of all the joys of humanexistence. 

“_Dépêche-toi, mon bon garçon_, ” screeched the parrot. 

The Baron arose, and went to his wife’s room. She was terrified when shesaw him enter. She was lying on a sofa, her head propped up by cushions, a thick Indian blanket spread out over her legs. 

She had a broad, bloated face, thick lips, and unusually big black eyes, in which there was a sickly glare. She had been regarded as a beauty inher young days, though none of this beauty was left, unless it was thefreshness of her complexion or the dignified bearing of the born lady ofthe world. 

She sent her maid out of the room, and looked at her husband in silence. She studied the friendly, Jesuitic wrinkles in his face, by virtue ofwhich he managed to conceal his real thoughts. Her anxiety wasincreased. 

“You have not played the piano any to-day, ” he began in a sweet voice. “It makes the house seem as though something were missing. I am toldthat you have acquired perfect technique, and that you have engaged anew teacher. Emilia told me this. ”

Emilia was their daughter. She was married to Count Urlich, captain ofcavalry. 

In the Baroness’s eyes there was an expression such as is found in theeyes of some leashed beast when the butcher approaches, axe in hand. Shewas tortured by the smoothness of the man from whom she had never oncein the last quarter of a century received anything but brutality andscorn, and from whom she had suffered the grossest of humiliations—whenno one was listening. 

“What do you want, Siegmund?” she asked, with painful effort. 

The Baron stepped close up to her, bit his lips, and looked at her forten or twelve seconds with a fearful expression on his face. 

She then seized him by the left arm: “What is the matter with Eberhard?”she cried; “tell me, tell me everything! There is something wrong. ”

The Baron, with a gesture of stinging aversion, thrust her hands fromhim, and turned to go. There was unfathomable coldness in his conduct. 

Beside herself with grief, the Baroness made up her mind to tell him, for the first time in her life, of the thousand wrongs that burnedwithin her heart. And she did: “Oh, you monster! Why did Fate bring youinto my life? Where is there another woman in the world whose lot hasbeen like mine? Where is the woman who has lived without joy or love oresteem or freedom or peace, a burden to others and to herself? Show meanother woman who goes about in silk and satin longing for death. Nameme another woman who people think is happy, because the devil, whotortures her without ceasing, deceives them all. Where is there anotherwoman who has been so shamelessly robbed of her children? For is not mydaughter the captive and concubine of an insane tuft-hunter? Has not myson been taken from me through the baseness that has been practisedagainst his sister, and the lamentable spectacle afforded him by my ownpowerlessness? Where, I ask high Heaven, is there another woman socursed as I have been?”

She threw herself down on her bosom, and burrowed her face into thecushion. 

The Baron was surprised at the feverish eloquence of his wife; he hadaccustomed himself to her mute resignation, as he might have accustomedhimself to the regular, monotonous ticking of a hall clock. He wasanxious to see what she would do next, how she would develop herexcitement; she was a novel phenomenon in his eyes: therefore heremained standing in the door. 

But as he stood there in chilly expectancy, his haggard face casting offexpressions of scorn and surprise, he suddenly sensed a feeling of wearydisgust at himself. It was the disgust of a man whose wishes had alwaysbeen fulfilled, whose lusts had been satisfied; of a man who has neverknown other men except as greedy and practical supplicants; of a man whohas always been the lord of his friends, the tyrant of his servants, andthe centre of all social gatherings; of a man before whom all othersyielded, to whom all others bowed; of a man who had never renouncedanything but the feeling of renunciation. 

“I am not unaware, ” he began slowly, just as if he were making acampaign speech to his electors, “I am not unaware that our marriage hasnot been the source of wholesome blessings. To be convinced of this, your declamation was unnecessary. We married because the circumstanceswere favourable. We had cause to regret the decision. Is it worth whileto investigate the cause now? I am quite devoid of sentimental needs. This is true of me to such an extent that any display of sympathy orexuberance or lack of harshness in other people fills me with mortalantipathy. Unfortunately, my political career obliged me to assume afavourable attitude toward this general tendency of the masses. I playedthe hypocrite with complete consciousness of what I was doing, and madeso much the greater effort to conceal all feeling in my private life. ”

“It is easy to conceal something you do not have, ” replied the Baronessin a tone of intense bitterness. 

“Possibly; but it is a poor display of tact for the rich man to irritatethe poor man by flaunting his lavish, spendthrift habits in his face;and this is precisely what you have done. The emphasis you laid on acertain possession of yours, the value of which we will not dispute, provoked my contempt. It gave you pleasure to cry when you saw a cateating a sparrow. A banal newspaper novel could rob you completely ofyour spiritual equanimity. You were always thrilled, always in ecstasy, it made not the slightest difference whether the cause of your ecstasywas the first spring violet or a thunder storm, a burnt roast, a sorethroat, or a poem. You were always raving, and I became tired of yourraving. You did not seem to notice that my distrust toward theexpression of these so-called feelings was transformed into coldness, impatience, and hatred. And then came the music. What was at first adiversion for you, of which one might approve or disapprove, became intime the indemnity for an active life and all the defects of yourcharacter. You gave yourself up to music somewhat as a prostitute givesherself up to her first loyal lover”—the Baroness twitched as if someone had struck her across the back with a horsewhip—“yes, like aprostitute, ” he repeated, turning paler and paler, his eyes glistening. “Then it was that your whole character came to light; one saw howspoiled you were, how helpless, how undisciplined. You clung like a wormto uncertain and undetermined conditions. If I have become a devil inyour eyes, it is your music that has made me so. Now you know it. ”

“So that is it, ” whispered the Baroness with faltering breath. “Did youleave me anything but my music? Have you not raged like a tiger? But itis not true, ” she exclaimed, “you are not so vicious, otherwise I myselfwould be a lie in the presence of the Eternal Judge, and that I hadborne children by you would be contrary to nature. Leave me, go away, sothat I may believe that it is not true!”

The Baron did not move. 

In indescribable excitement, and as quickly as her obese body wouldpermit, the Baroness leaped to her feet: “I know you better, ” she saidwith trembling lips, “I have been able to foreshadow what is driving youabout; I have seen what makes you so restless. You are not the man youpretend to be; you are not the cold, heartless creature you seem. Inyour breast there is a spot where you are vulnerable, and there you havebeen struck. You are bleeding, man! If we all, I and your daughter andyour brothers and your friends and your cowardly creatures, are asindifferent and despicable to you as so many flies, there is one who hasbeen able to wound you; this fact is gnawing at your heart. And do youknow why he was in a position to wound you? Because you loved him. Lookme in the eye, and tell me that I lie. You loved him—your son—youidolised him. The fact that he has repudiated your love, that he foundit of no value to him, the love that blossomed on the ruined lives ofhis mother and sister, this is the cause of your sorrow. It is writtenacross your brow. And that you are suffering, and suffering for thisreason, constitutes my revenge. ”

The Baron did not say a word; his lower jaw wagged from left to right asthough he were chewing something; his face seemed to have dried up; helooked as though he had suddenly become older by years. The Baroness, driven from her reserve, stood before him like an enraged sibyl. Heturned in silence, and left the room. 

“My suffering is her revenge, ” he murmured on leaving the room. Oncealone, he stood for a while perfectly absent-minded. “Am I reallysuffering?” he said to himself. 

He turned off a gas jet that was burning above the book case. “Yes, I amsuffering, ” he confessed reluctantly; “I am suffering. ” He walked alongthe wall with dragging feet, and entered a room in which a light wasburning. He felt the same satiety and disgust at himself that he hadexperienced a few moments earlier. This time it was caused by the sightof the hand-carved furniture, the painted porcelain, the precioustapestries, and the oil paintings in their gold frames. 

He longed for simpler things; he longed for barren walls, a cot ofstraw, parsimony, discipline. It was not the first time that hisexhausted organism had sought consolation in the thought of a monasticlife. This Protestant, this descendent of a long line of Protestants, had long been tired of Protestantism. He regarded the Roman Church asthe more wholesome and merciful. 

But the transformation of his religious views was his own carefullyguarded secret. And secret it had to remain until he, the undisciplinedson of his mother, could atone for his past misdeeds. He decided to waituntil this atonement had been effected. Just as a hypnotist gainscontrol of his medium by inner composure, so he thought he could hastenthe coming of this event by conceding it absolute supremacy over hismind. 

 III

When Eberhard von Auffenberg left the paternal home to strike out forhimself, he was as helpless as a child that has lost the hand of itsadult companion in a crowd. 

He put the question to himself: What am I going to do? He had neverworked. He had studied at various universities as so many other youngmen have studied, that is, he had managed to pass a few examinations bythe skin of his teeth. 

He had had so little to do in life, and was so utterly devoid ofambition, that he looked upon a really ambitious individual as beinginsane. Anything that was at all practical was filled withinsurmountable obstacles. His freedom, in other words, placed him in adistressing state of mind and body. 

It would not have been difficult for him to find people who would havebeen willing to advance him money on his name. But he did not wish toincur debts of which his father might hear. If he did, his solemnsolution of an unbearable relation would have amounted to nothing. 

He could, of course, count on his share of the estate; and he did counton it, notwithstanding the fact that to do so was to speculate on thedeath of his own father. He stood in urgent need of a confidentialfriend; and this friend he thought he had found in Herr Carovius. 

“Ah, two people such as you and I will not insist upon unnecessaryformalities, ” said Herr Carovius. “All that I need is your face, andyour signature to a piece of paper. We will deduct ten per cent at thevery outset, so that my expenses may be covered, for money is dear atpresent. I will give you real estate bonds; they are selling to-day ateighty-five, unfortunately. The Exchange is a trifle spotty, but alittle loss like that won’t mean anything to you. ”

For the ten thousand marks that he owed, Eberhard received seventhousand, six hundred and fifty, cash. In less than a year he was againin need of money, and asked Herr Carovius for twenty thousand. HerrCarovius said he did not have that much ready money, and that he wouldhave to approach a lender. 

Eberhard replied sulkily that he could do about that as he saw fit, buthe must not mention his name to a third party. A few days later HerrCarovius told a tale, of hair-splitting negotiations: there was amiddleman who demanded immodest guarantees, including certified notes. He swore that he knew nothing about that kind of business, and that hehad undertaken to supply the needed loan only because of his excessiveaffection for his young friend. 

Eberhard was unmoved. The eel-like mobility of the man with thesqueaking voice did not please him; not at all; as a matter of fact hebegan to dread him; and this dread increased in intensity andfearfulness in proportion to the degree in which he felt he was becomingmore and more entangled in his net. 

The twenty thousand marks were procured at an interest of thirty-fiveper cent. At first Eberhard refused to sign the note. He would not touchit until Herr Carovius had assured him that it was not to be convertedinto currency, that it could be redeemed with new loans at any time, andthat it would lie in his strong-box as peacefully as the bones of theAuffenberg ancestors rested in their vaults. Eberhard, tired of thisflood of words, yielded. 

Every time he signed his name he had a feeling that the danger intowhich he was walking was becoming greater. But he was too lazy to defendhimself; he was too aristocratic to interest himself in pettyexplanations; and he was simply not capable of living on a small income. 

The endorsed notes were presented as a matter of warning; new loanssettled them; new loans made new notes necessary; these were extended;the extensions were costly; an uncanny individual shielded in anonymitywas taken into confidence. He bought up mortgages, paid for them indiamonds instead of money, and sold depreciated stocks. The debts havingreached a certain height, Herr Carovius demanded that Eberhard have hislife insured. Eberhard had to do it; the premium was very high. In thecourse of three years Eberhard had lost all perspective; he could nolonger survey his obligations. The money he received he spent in theusual fashion, never bothered himself about the terms on which he hadsecured it, and had no idea where all this was leading to and where itwas going to end. He turned in disgust from Herr Carovius’s clumsyapproaches, malicious gibes, and occasional threats. 

What an insipid smile he had! How fatuous, and then again how profound, his conversation could be! He took upon himself the impudent liberty ofrunning in and out at Eberhard’s whenever he felt like it. He bored himwith his discussion of philosophic systems, or with miserable gossipabout his neighbours. He watched him day and night. 

He followed him on the street. He would come up to him and cry out, “Herr Baron, Herr Baron!” and wave his hat. His solicitude forEberhard’s health resembled that of a gaoler. One evening Eberhard wentto bed with a fever. Herr Carovius ran to the physician, and then spentthe whole night by the bedside of the patient, despite his entreaties tobe left alone. “Would it not be well for me to write to your mother?” heasked, with much show of affection on the next morning when he noticedthat the fever had not fallen. Eberhard sprang from his bed with anexclamation of rage, and Herr Carovius left immediately andunceremoniously. 

Herr Carovius loved to complain. He ran around the table, exclaimingthat he was ruined. He brought out his cheque book, added up thefigures, and cried: “Two more years of this business, dear Baron, and Iwill be ready for the poor house. ” He demanded security and still moresecurities; he asked for renewed promises. He submitted an account ofthe total sum, and demanded an endorsement. But it was impossible forany one to make head or tail out of this welter of interest, commissions, indemnities, and usury. Herr Carovius himself no longerknew precisely how matters stood; for a consortium of subsequentindorsers had been formed behind his back, and they were exploiting hiszeal on behalf of the young Baron for all it was worth. 

“What is this I hear about you and the women?” asked Herr Carovius oneday. “What about a little adventure?” He had noticed that the Baron hada secret; and it enraged him to think that he could not get at thebottom of this amorous mystery. 

He made this discovery one day as Eberhard was packing his trunk. “Whereare you going, my dear friend?” he crowed in exclamatory dismay. Eberhard replied that he was going to Switzerland. “To Switzerland? Whatare you going to do there? I am not going to let you go, ” said HerrCarovius. Eberhard gave him one cold stare. Herr Carovius triedbeseeching, begging, pleading. It was in vain; Eberhard left forSwitzerland. He wanted to be alone; he became tired of being alone, andreturned; he went off again; he came back again, and had theconversation with Eleanore that robbed him of his last hope. Then hewent to Munich, and took up with the spiritists. 

Spiritual and mental ennui left him without a vestige of the power ofresistance. An inborn tendency to scepticism did not prevent him fromyielding to an influence which originally was farther removed from theinclinations of his soul than the vulgar bustle of everyday life. Benumbed as his critical judgment now was, he went prospecting for thefountain of life in a zone where dreams flourish and superficialenchantment predominates. 

Herr Carovius hired a spy who never allowed Eberhard to get out of hissight. He reported regularly to his employer on the movements of theunique scion of the Auffenberg line. If Eberhard needed money, he wasforced to go to Carovius, who would stand on the platform for an hourwaiting for the Baron’s train to come in; and once Eberhard had got outof his carriage, Herr Carovius excited the laughter of the railroadofficials by his affectionate care for his protégé. Delighted to see himagain, he would talk the sheerest nonsense, and trip around about hisyoung friend in groundless glee. 

It seemed after all this that Herr Carovius really loved the Baron; andhe did. 

He loved him as a gambler loves his cards, or as the fire loves thecoals. He idealised him; he dreamt about him; he liked to breathe theair that Eberhard breathed; he saw a chosen being in him; he imputed allmanner of heroic deeds to him, and was immeasurably pleased at hisaristocratic offishness. 

He loved him with hatred, with the joy of annihilation. This hate-lovebecame in time the centre of his thoughts and feelings. In it wasexpressed everything that separated him from other men and at the sametime drew him to them. It controlled him unconditionally, until asecond, equally fearful and ridiculous passion became affiliated withit. 

 IV

Daniel had hesitated for a long while about making use of the letter ofintroduction from Frau von Erfft. Gertrude then took to begging him togo to the Baroness. “If I go merely to please you, my action will avengeitself on you, ” he said. 

“If I understood why you hesitate, I would not ask you, ” she replied ina tone of evident discomfort. 

“I found so much there in Erfft, ” said he, “so much human kindness thatwas new to me; I dislike the idea of seeing some ulterior motive back ofit, or of putting one there myself. Do you understand now?” She nodded. 

“But must is stronger than may, ” he concluded, and went. 

The Baroness became quite interested in his case. The position of secondKapellmeister at the City Theatre was vacant, and she tried to haveDaniel appointed to it. She was promised that it would be given to him;but the usual intrigues were spun behind her back; and when she urgedthat the matter be settled immediately and in favour of her candidate, she was fed on dissembling consolation. She was quite surprised to bebrought face to face with hostile opposition, which seemed to springfrom every side as if by agreement against the young musician. Not asingle one of his enemies, however, allowed themselves to be seen, andno one heard from by correspondence. It was the first time that she hadcome in conflict with the world in a business way; there was somethingtouching in her indignation at the display of cowardly fraud. 

Finally, after a long, and for her humiliating, interview with thatchief of cosmopolitan brokers, Alexander Dörmaul, Daniel’s engagementfor the coming spring was agreed upon. 

In the meantime the Baroness took lessons from Daniel. She expressed adesire to familiarise herself with the standard piano compositions, andto be given a really practical introduction to their meaning and theright method of interpreting them. 

It was long before she became accustomed to his cold and morosesternness. She had the feeling that he was pulling her out of a nicewarm bath into a cold, cutting draught. She longed to return to hertwilights, her ecstatic moods, her melancholy reveries. 

Once he explained to her in a thoroughly matter-of-fact way the movementof a fugue. She dared to burst out with an exclamation of joy. He shutthe piano with a bang, and said: “Adieu, Baroness. ” He did not returnuntil she had written him a letter asking him to do so. 

“Ah, it is lost effort, a waste of time, ” he thought, though he did notfail to appreciate the Baroness’s human dignity. The eight hours a monthwere a complete torture to him. And yet he found that twenty marks anhour was too much; he said so. The suspicion that she was giving himalms made him exceedingly disagreeable. 

A servant became familiar with him. Daniel took him by the collar andshook him until he was blue in the face. He was as wiry as a jaguar, andmuch to be feared when angry. The Baroness had to discharge the servant. 

Once the Baroness showed him an antique of glass work made of mountaincrystal and beautifully painted. As he was looking at it in intenseadmiration, he let it fall; it broke into many pieces. He was ashumiliated as a whipped school boy; the old Baroness had to use herchoicest powers of persuasion to calm him. He then played the whole ofSchumann’s “Carneval” for her, a piece of music of which she waspassionately fond. 

Every forenoon you could see him hastening across the bridge. He alwayswalked rapidly; his coat tails flew. He always had the corners of hismouth drawn up and his lower lip clenched between his teeth. He wasalways looking at the ground; in the densest crowds he seemed to bealone. He bent the rim of his hat down so that it covered his forehead. His dangling arms resembled the stumpy wings of a penguin. 

At times he would stop, stand all alone, and listen, so to speak, intospace without seeing. When he did this, street boys would gather abouthim and grin. Once upon a time a little boy said to his mother: “Tellme, mother, who is that old, old manikin over there?”

This is the picture we must form of him at this time of his life, justbefore his years of real storm and stress: he is in a hurry; he seems soaloof, sullen, distant, and dry; he is whipped about the narrow circleof his everyday life by fancy and ambition; he is so young and yet soold. This is the light in which we must see him. 

 V

The apartment of Daniel and Gertrude had three rooms. Two opened on thestreet, and one, the bed room, faced a dark, gloomy court. 

With very limited means, but with diligence and pleasure, Gertrude haddone all in her power to make the apartment as comfortable as possible. Though the ceilings were low and the walls almost always damp, the roomsseemed after all quite home-like and attractive. 

In Daniel’s study the piano was the chief object of furniture; itdominated the space. Fuchsias in the window gave a pleasing frame to thegeneral picture of penury. His mother had given him the oil painting ofhis father. From its place above the sofa the stern countenance ofGottfried Nothafft looked down upon the son. It seemed at times that theface of the father turned toward the mask of Zingarella as if to ask whoand what it was. The mask hung on the other side of the room from theoil painting; its unbroken smile was lost in the shadows. 

Gertrude had to do all the household work; they could not afford aservant. In the years of Daniel’s absence, however, she had learned tocopy notes. Herr Seelenfromm, assistant to the apothecary Pflaum, hadtaught her. He was a cousin of Frau Rübsam, and she had becomeacquainted with him through Eleanore. In his leisure hours he composedwaltzes and marches, and dedicated them to the princes and princesses ofthe royal family. He also dedicated one to Gertrude. It was entitled“Feenzauber, ” and was a gavotte. 

When Daniel learned of her accomplishment, he was so astonished that hethrew his hands above his head. The rare being looked up at himintoxicated with joy. “I will help you, ” she said, and copied his notesfor him. 

When they walked along the streets she would close her eyes at times. Amelody floated by her which she had never before been able tounderstand. As she bought her vegetables and tried to drive a bargainwith the old market woman, her soul was full of song. 

Certain tones and combinations of tones took on definite shapes in hermind. The bass B of the fourth octave appeared to her as a heavilyveiled woman; the middle E resembled a young man who was stretching hisarms. In chords, harmonies, and harmonic transformations these figureswere set in motion, the motion depending on the character of thecomposition: a procession of mourning figures between clouds and stars;wild animals spurred on by the huntsmen who were riding them; maidensthrowing flowers from the windows of a palace; men and women plunginginto an abyss in one mass of despairing humanity; weeping men andlaughing women, wrestlers and ball players, dancing couples and grapepickers. The pause appealed to her as a man who climbs naked from a deepsubterranean shaft, carrying a burning torch in his hand; the trillseemed like a bird that anxiously flutters about its nest. 

All of Daniel’s compositions came close to her heart; all his pictureswere highly coloured; his figures seemed to be full of blood. If theyremained dead and distant, her sympathy vanished; her face became tiredand empty. Without having spoken a word with each other, Daniel wouldknow that he was on the wrong track. But all this bound him to the youngwoman with hoops of steel; he came to regard her as the creature givenhim of God to act as his living conscience and infallible if mute judge. 

He hated her when her feelings remained unmoved. If he at last came tosee, after much introspection, that she was right, then he would haveliked to fall down and worship the unknown power that was so inexorablein pointing him the way. 

Spindler had a beautiful harp which he had bequeathed to Daniel in hiswill. It had remained in Ansbach in the possession of the old lady whokept house for him. Daniel had forgotten all about the harp. After hismarriage he had it sent to him. 

He kept it in the living room; Gertrude was fond of looking at it. Itenticed her. One day she sat down and tried to draw tones from itsstrings. She touched the strings very gently, and was charmed with themelody that came from them. Gradually she learned the secret; shediscovered the law. An innate talent made the instrument submissive toher; she was able to express on it all the longings and emotions she hadexperienced in her dark and lonely hours. 

She generally played very softly; she never tried intricate melodies, for the harp was adapted to the expression of simple, dream-likeharmonies. The tones were wafted out into the hall and up the stairs;they greeted Daniel as he entered the old house. 

When he came into the room, Gertrude was sitting in a corner by thestove, the harp between her knees. She smiled mysteriously to herself;her hands, like strange beings loosed from her body, sought chords andmelodies that were his, and which she was trying to translate to her ownworld of dreams. 

 VI

Her command of language was more defective now than ever. She was seizedwith painful astonishment when she noticed that in matters of dailyintercourse Daniel’s mind was not able to penetrate the veil behindwhich she lived. 

He said to himself: she is too heavy. He was dumbfounded at her conduct, and displeased with it. 

“The gloomy house oppresses you, ” he said in a tone of ill humour, whenshe smiled in her helpless way. 

“Let us run a race, ” he said to her one day as they were taking a walkthrough the country. An old tree in the distance that had been struck bylightning was to be their objective. 

They ran as fast as their feet could carry them. At a distance of aboutten metres from the tree, Gertrude collapsed. He carried her over to themeadow. 

“How heavy you are, ” he said. 

“Too heavy for you?” she asked with wide-opened eyes. He shrugged hisshoulders. 

Then she slipped out of his embrace, sprang to her feet, and ran withremarkable swiftness a distance that was twice as long as the one he hadstaked off; she did not fall; she did not want to fall; she dared not. 

Breathing heavily and pale as a corpse, she waited until he came up. Buthe had no tenderness for her now; he merely scolded. Arm in arm theywalked on. Gertrude felt for his hand; he gave it to her, and shepressed it to her bosom. 

Daniel was terrified as he looked into her face, and saw her thoughtswritten there as if in letters of fire: We belong to each other for timeand eternity. 

That was her confession of faith. 

 VII

She lay wide awake until late at night. She heard him go into thekitchen and get a drink of water and then return to his room. He hadforbidden her to come to the door and ask whether he was not going tobed soon: she was not to do this, it made no difference how late it was. 

Then he lay beside her, his head on his arm, and looked at her with eyesthat had lost their earthly, temporal glow. Man, where are your eyesanyway, she would have liked to exclaim. And yet she knew where theywere; she knew, too, that it is dangerous to disturb a somnambulist bycalling to him. 

One night he had found it impossible to do his work. He sat down on theedge of the bed and stared into the light of the lamp for an hour or so, hating himself. Gertrude saw how he raged at himself; how he really fed, nourished his lack of confidence in himself. But she could not sayanything. 

A publisher had returned one of his manuscripts with a courteous butdepressing conventional rejection slip. Daniel spoke disparagingly ofhis talents; he had lost hope in his future; he was bitter at the world;he felt that he was condemned to a life of unceasing obscurity. 

The only thing she could do was look at him; merely look at him. 

He became tired of having her look at him; a fresh, vigorous remarkwould have served his purpose much better, he thought. 

She measured her work and his not in terms of reward; she did not seekfor connection of any kind between privation and hope; nor did shemeasure Daniel’s love in terms of tender expressions and embraces. Shewaited for him with much patience. In time her patience irritated him. “A little bit more activity and insistence would not hurt you, ” he saidone day, and thrust her timid, beseeching hands from him. 

He saw himself cared for: He had a home, a person who prepared hismeals, washed his clothes, and faithfully attended to his otherhousehold needs. He should have been grateful. He was, too, but he couldnot show it. He was grateful when he was alone, but in Gertrude’spresence his gratitude turned to defiance. If he was away from home, hethought with pleasure of his return; he pictured Gertrude’s joy atseeing him again. But when he was with her, he indulged in silentcriticism, and wanted to have everything about her different. 

The judge’s wife on the first floor complained that Gertrude did notspeak to her. “Be kind to your neighbours, ” he remarked with the air ofa professional scold. The next Sunday they took a walk, on which theymet the judge’s wife. Gertrude spoke to her: “Well, you don’t need tofall on her neck, ” he mumbled. She thought for a long while of how shemight speak to people without offending them and without annoyingDaniel. She was embarrassed; she was afraid of Daniel’s criticism. 

On such days she would put too much salt in the soup, everything wentwrong, and in her diligent attempt to be punctual she lost much time. She was fearfully worried when he got up from the table and went to hisroom without saying a word. She would sit perfectly still and listen;she was frightened when he went to the piano to try a motif. When heagain entered her room, she looked into his face with the tenseness of asoul in utter anguish. Then it suddenly came about that he would sitdown by her side and caress her. He told her all about his life, hishome, his father, his mother. If she could only have heard each of hiswords twice! If she could only have drunk in the expression in his eyes!They were filled with peace; his nervous hands lay in quiet on his kneeswhen he spoke to her in this way on these subjects. His twitching, angular face, weather-beaten by the storms of life, took on an expressionof sorrow that was most becoming to it. 

When she had a headache or was tired, he expressed his anxiety for herin touching tones. He would go about the house on tiptoes, and close thedoors with infinite care. If a dog barked on the street, he rushed tothe window and looked out, enraged at the beast. When she retired, hewould help her undress, and bring her whatever she needed. 

It was also strange that he disliked the idea of leaving her alone. There was something child-like in his restlessness when he was at homeand she was out. He pictured her surrounded by grievous dangers; hewould have liked to lock her up and hold her a captive, so as to be surethat she was quite safe. This made her all the weaker and more dependentupon him, while he was like a man who presses what he has to his heart, plagued with the thought that by some mischance it might escape, andyet clings to it also lest he be disturbed by the thought of anothermore precious possession he loved long since and lost a while. 

Once he came to Gertrude while she was playing the harp, threw his armsabout her, looked into her face with a wild, gloomy expression, andstammered: “I love you, I love you, I do. ” It was the first time he hadspoken these eternal words. She grew pale, first from joy and then fromfear; for there was more of hatred than of love in his voice. 

 VIII

He felt that association with congenial men would help him over many adark hour. But when he set out to look for these men, the city became adesert and a waste place. 

Herr Seelenfromm came to his house now and then. Daniel could not endurethe timid man who admired him so profoundly, and who, in the bottom ofhis heart, had an equal amount of respect for Gertrude. The youngarchitect who had been employed at the St. Sebaldus Church while it wasbeing renovated, and who loved music, had won Daniel’s esteem. But hehad a repulsive habit of smacking his tongue when he talked. Daniel andhe discussed the habit, and parted the worst of enemies. His associationwith a certain Frenchman by the name of Rivière was of longer duration. Rivière was spending some time in the city, looking up material for alife of Caspar Hauser. He had made his acquaintance at the Baroness vonAuffenberg’s, and taken a liking to him because he reminded him ofFriedrich Benda. 

M. Rivière loved to hear Daniel improvise on the piano. He knew solittle German that he merely smiled at Daniel’s caustic remarks; and ifhe became violently enraged, M. Rivière merely stared at his mouth. Hehad a wart on his cheek, and wore a straw hat summer and winter. Hecooked his own meals, for it was an obsession of his that people wantedto poison him because he was writing a life of Caspar Hauser. 

When Herr Seelenfromm and M. Rivière came in of a Sunday evening, Danielwould reach for a volume of E. T. A. Hoffmann or Clemens Brentano, andread from them until he was hoarse. He tried in this way to find peacein a strange world; for he did not wish to weep at the sight of humanbeings who seemed perfectly at ease. 

Gertrude looked at him, and put this question to herself: How is itthat a man to whom music is life and the paradise of his heart can allowhimself to be so enveloped in sorrow, so beclouded by gloom? Sheunderstood the smarting pains in which he composed; she had a vague ideaof the labyrinthine complications of his inner fate; these she grasped. But her own soul was filled with joyless compassion; she wished with allher power to plant greater faith and more happiness in his heart. 

She meditated on the best means of carrying on her spiritual campaign. It occurred to her that he had had more of both faith and happiness atthe time he was going with Eleanore. She saw Eleanore now in a quitedifferent light. She recalled that Eleanore was not merely her sisterbut the creator of her happiness. Nor was she unmindful of the fact thatthrough the transformation of her being, love and enlightenment hadarisen to take the place of her former suspicion and ignorance. 

She ascribed to Eleanore all those powers in which she had formerly beenlacking: general superiority and stimulating vigour; an ability to playthat lent charm to drudgery and made the hard things of life easy;brightness in conversation and delicacy of touch. In her lonelybroodings she came to the conclusion that Eleanore was the only one whocould help her. She went straightway to her father’s house to find outwhy Eleanore so rarely came to see her. 

“I don’t like to come; Daniel is so unkind to me, ” said Eleanore. 

Gertrude replied that he was unkind to everybody, including her herself, and that she must not pay any attention to this; for she knew full wellthat Daniel liked her—and perhaps he himself was offended because shenever called. 

Eleanore thought it all over, and from then on visited her sister morefrequently. But if it did not look as though Daniel did everything inhis power to avoid her, this much was certain: he never said a word toher more than human decency required, and was an expert at findingreasons why he had to leave the room when she was there. Eleanore wasgainfully conscious of this; it hurt her. 

 IX

One morning Gertrude returned from the market, carrying a heavy basketfull of things she had bought. As she came in the front door she heardDaniel playing. She noticed at once that he was not improvising; that hewas playing a set piece, the tones of which were quite unfamiliar toher. 

As she came up the steps, the basket no longer seemed like a burden. She went quietly into the living room and listened. Something drew hercloser and closer to the piano. Daniel had not noticed that she hadentered the room and sat down. He was wholly lost in what he was doing;he never took his rapt and wondering eyes from the music before him. 

It was his draft of the “Harzreise im Winter. ” For a year and a half, since the time he had composed it in Ansbach, he had never again thoughtof it; it had lain untouched. Suddenly the fire of creation had flamedup in him; he could once more bind the incoherent, and make what hadbeen merely implied or indicated take definite shape. 

He would play a movement again and again, trying to connect it with whatwent before or came after; he would take his pencil and write in a fewnotes here or there; then he would try it again, and smile to himself ina strange, confused, and yet enchanted way, when he saw that the motifwas complete, perfect. Gertrude was drawn still closer to him. In herawe-struck admiration she crouched on the floor beside him. She wouldhave liked to creep into the piano, and give her soul the opportunity itsought to express itself in the tones that came from the strings. WhenDaniel had finished, she pressed her head to his hips, and reached herhot hands up to him. 

Daniel was terrified; for he recalled instantaneously another occasionon which another woman had done precisely the same thing. His eyeinvoluntarily fell on the mask of Zingarella. He was not conscious ofthe connection; there was no visible bridge between the two incidents;Gertrude’s face was too unlike that of its momentary prototype. But witha feeling of awe he detected a mysterious liaison between then and now:he imagined he could hear a voice calling to him from the distant shoresof yonder world. 

He laid his hand on Gertrude’s hair. She interpreted the gesture as avisible sign that his promise had been fulfilled; that this workbelonged to her; that he had created it for her, had taken it from herheart, and was returning it to the heart from whence it came. 

 X

Zierfuss, the music dealer, had sent out invitations to a concert. Daniel did not feel like going. Gertrude asked Eleanore if she wouldnot go with her. Daniel called for them after the concert. 

Eleanore told him on the way home that she had received a letter for himthat afternoon bearing a London stamp. 

“From Benda?” asked Daniel quickly. 

“It is Benda’s handwriting, ” replied Eleanore. “I was going to bring itto you when Gertrude called for me. Wait out in the front of the house, and I’ll go in and get it. ”

“Take dinner with us this evening, Eleanore, ” said Gertrude, lookingrather uncertainly at Daniel. 

“If it is agreeable to Daniel. .. . ”

“No nonsense, Eleanore, of course it is agreeable to me, ” said Daniel. 

A quarter of an hour later Daniel was sitting by the lamp readingBenda’s letter. 

The first thing his friend told him was that he was to join a scientificexpedition to the Congo, and that his party would follow almost exactlythe same route that had been taken by the Stanley Expedition when it setout to look for Emin Pascha. 

Benda wrote: “This letter then, my dear friend, is written to saygood-bye for a number of years, perhaps forever. I feel as if I had beenborn anew. I have eyes again; and the ideas that fill my brain are nolonger condemned to be stifled in the morass of imprisoned colleagues, loyal and inimical. To labour in nature’s laboratory will make me forgetthe wrongs I have suffered, the injustice that has been done me. Hungerand thirst, disease and danger will of course have to be endured; theyare the effects of those crimes of civilisation that spare the bodywhile they poison the mind and soul. ”

Further on Benda wrote: “I am bound to my home by only two people, mymother and you. When I think of you, a feeling of pride comes over me;every hour we spent together is indelibly stamped on my heart. But thereis one delicate point: it is a point of conscience. Call it, so far as Iam concerned, a chip; call it anything you please. The fact is I havehad a Don Quixotic run in, and I have got to defend myself. ”

Daniel shook his head and read on. Benda knew nothing of his marriage. He did not even seem to know that Daniel and Gertrude had been engaged. Or if he had known it he had forgotten it. Daniel could hardly believehis own eyes when he came to the following passage: “My greatest anxietyalways lay in the fear that you would pass Eleanore by. I was toocowardly to tell you how I felt on this point, and I have reproachedmyself ever since for my cowardice. Now that I am leaving I tell you howI feel about this matter, though not exactly with the sensation ofperforming a belated task. ”

For Heaven’s sake, thought Daniel, what is he trying to do to me?

“I have often thought about it in quiet hours; it gave me the samefeeling of satisfaction that I have in a chemical experiment, when thereactions of the various elements take place as they should: whatEleanore says is your word; what you feel is Eleanore’s law. ”

He is seeing ghosts, cried Daniel, he is tangling up the threads of mylife. What does he mean? Why does he do it?

“Don’t neglect what I am telling you! Don’t crush that wonderful flower!The girl is a rare specimen; the rarest I know. You need your wholeheart with all its powers of love and kindness to appreciate her. But ifmy words reach you too late, please tear this letter into shreds, andget the whole idea out of your mind as soon and completely as possible. ”

“Come, let’s eat, ” said Gertrude, as she entered the room with a dish ofpickled herring. 

Eleanore was sitting on the sofa looking at Daniel quizzically. He waslost in thought. 

Daniel looked up, and studied the two women as if they were the figuresof a hallucination: the one in dark red, the other in dark blue; minorand major keys. The two stood side by side, and yet so far removed fromeach other: they were the two poles of his world. 

 XI

“What has Benda got to say?” asked Gertrude hesitatingly. 

“Just think, he is going to Africa, ” replied Daniel, with a voice as ifhe were lying. “Curious, isn’t it? I suppose he is on the ocean by thistime. ”

With an expression on his face that clearly betrayed the fact that hewas afraid the sisters might somehow divine or suspect the parts of theletter he wished to keep to himself, he read as much of it as he daredto them. 

“Why don’t you read on?” asked Eleanore, when he paused. 

She bent over the table, filled with a burning curiosity to know thewhole contents of the letter, and while so doing her hair becameentangled in the metal bric-a-brac of the hanging lamp. Gertrude got upand liberated her. 

Daniel had laid his hand over the letter, and was looking at Eleanorethreateningly. His eye and that of the captured girl chanced to meet;she struggled between a feeling of amusement and one of annoyance. Itgave Daniel an uncomfortable feeling to have her eyes so close to his. 

“Don’t you know that that is not polite?” he asked. “We have somesecrets, probably, Benda and I. ”

“I merely thought that Benda had sent me his greetings, ” repliedEleanore, and blushed with embarrassment. 

Daniel then held the letter above the chimney of the lamp, waited untilit had caught fire, and then threw it on the floor, where it burned up. 

“It is late, and father is already waiting, ” said Eleanore, after theyhad eaten in great haste. 

“I will take you home, ” declared Daniel. Surprised by such unusualgallantry, Eleanore looked at him with amazement. He at once becamemoody; she was still more surprised. “I can go home alone, Daniel, ” shesaid in a tone of noticeable seriousness, “you do not need to putyourself out for me. ”

“Put myself out? What do you mean? Are you one of those people who can’tkeep a tune, and step on the pedal when their sentiment runs short?”

Eleanore had nothing to say. 

“Put your great coat on, Daniel, ” said Gertrude in the hall, “it is coldand windy out. ”

She wanted to help him on with it, but he threw it in the clothes press;he was irritated. 

He walked along at Eleanore’s side through the deserted streets. 

She had already put the key in the front door, when she turned around, looked up in a most unhappy way, and said: “Daniel, what in the world isthe matter with you? When I look at you, a feeling of anguish anddistress comes over me. What have I done that you should act sodisagreeably toward me?”

“Oh, forget it, think about something else, don’t mention the subjectany more, ” said Daniel, in a rough, rude voice. But the glance she fixedon him was so stern and unpitying, so testing and so un-girl-like, sostrong and so bold, that he felt his heart grow softer. “Let us take alittle walk, ” he said. 

For a long time they paced back and forth in perfect silence. Then sheasked him what he was working on now. He made cautious, non-committalreplies, and then suddenly he was overwhelmed with a flood of words. Heremarked that he felt at times as if he were struggling with goblins inthe dark. What gushed forth from the deepest depths of his soul, hesaid, was somehow or other too noisy and blatant, and died in his handswhile he was trying to create an appropriate form for it. He said he hadno success with anything unless it was something disembodied, incorporeal, the melody of which had thus far found an echo in no humanbreast. Therefore he seemed to be groping around, without anchorage, after sprites from the land of nowhere. And the more domineering theorder was to which he subjected his mind and his fancy, the more lostand hopeless his earthly self seemed to be as it drifted in the chaos ofthe everyday world. He remarked that heaven was in his dreams, hell inhis association with men. And how dead everything about him seemed tobe! It was all like a cemetery; it was a cemetery. His doughtiest lifewas gradually transformed into a shadow and lacerated into amonstrosity. But that he was aggrieved at men he felt full well; forthey lived more innocent lives than he, and they were more useful. 

“But you have some one to hold to, ” said Eleanore, realising that shewas skating on thin ice, “you have Gertrude. ”

To this he made no reply. She waited for him to say something, and whenshe saw that he did not care to make a reply of any kind, she smiled athim as if in a last attempt to get him to tell her what was the matter. Then all peace of mind vanished from her soul—and her face. Every timethey passed a street lamp she turned her head to one side. 

“She is after all in the presence of God your wife, ” said Eleanoregently and with remarkable solemnity. 

Daniel looked up and listened as if greatly abashed. Speaking out intothe wind he said: “The over-tone, Eleanore; a bird twittering in thebush. In the presence of God my wife! But in the roots the bass ishowling; it is an infernal tremolo; do you hear it?”

He laughed as if mad, and his face, with his spotted teeth, was turnedtoward her. She took him by the arm, and implored him to straighten up. 

He pressed her hand to his forehead, and said: “The letter, Eleanore, the letter . .. !”

“Now you see, Daniel, I knew it all along. What was in the letter?”

“I dare not tell you, otherwise my sweet over-tone will take asomersault, become mingled with the gloomy bass, and be lost forever. ”

Eleanore looked at him in amazement; he had never seemed so much like afool to her in her life. 

“Listen, ” he said, putting his arm in hers, “I have composed a song;here is the way it goes. ” He sang a melody he had written for one ofEichendorff’s poems. In it there was a tender sadness. “While everythingis still and everybody asleep, my soul greets the eternal light, andrests like a ship in the harbour. ”

They had again reached the front door; they had been strolling back andforth for two hours. 

He had an unpleasant feeling when he went up the steps of his apartment. 

Gertrude was sitting where he had left her: by the clothes press. Shehad wrapped his top coat about her legs, her back was leaning againstthe wall, her head had sunk on her shoulder; she was asleep. She was notawakened by his coming. Beside her stood the candle, now burned down tothe edge of the metal holder; it was spluttering. The light from it fellon Gertrude’s face, lighting it up irregularly and lending it a painfulexpression. 

“In the presence of God my wife, ” murmured Daniel. He did not wakenGertrude until the candle had gone out. Then he did; she got up, and thetwo went off in darkness to their bed room. 

 THE GLASS CASE BREAKS

 I

Daniel wished to see Eleanore skate; he went out to the Maxfeld at atime he knew she would be there. 

He saw her quite soon, and was delighted when she glided by; but whenshe was lost in the crowd, he frowned. High school boys followed herwith cowardly and obtrusive forwardness. One student, who wore a redcap, fell flat on his stomach as he bowed to her. 

She ran into two army officers, or they into her; this put an end forthe time being to the inspired grace of her movement. When she startedoff a second time, drawing a beautiful circle, she saw Daniel and cameover to him. She smiled in a confidential way, chatted with him, glidedbackwards in a circle about him, laughed at his impatience because shewould not stand still, threw her muff over to him, asked him to throw itback, and, with arms raised to catch it, cut an artistic figure on theice. 

The picture she offered filled Daniel with reverence for the harmony ofher being. 

 II

They frequently took walks after sunset out to the suburbs and up to thecastle. Gertrude was pleased to see that Daniel and Eleanore were goodfriends again. 

One time when they walked up the castle hill, Eleanore told Daniel thatthere was where she had taken leave of Eberhard von Auffenberg. Shecould recall everything he said, and she confessed with marked candourwhat she had said in reply. The story about the old herb woman Danieldid not find amusing. He stopped, and said: “Child, don’t have anythingto do with spirits! Never interfere with your lovely reality. ”

“Don’t talk in that way, ” replied Eleanore. “I dislike it. The tone ofyour voice and the expression on your face make me feel as if I were awoman of worldly habits. ”

They went into the Church of St. Sebaldus, and revelled in the beautyof the bronze castings on the tomb of the saint. They also went to theGermanic Museum, where they loved to wander around in the countlessdeserted passage-ways, stopped and studied the pictures, and never tiredof looking at the old toys, globes, kitchen utensils, and armour. 

Eleanore’s greatest pleasure, however, was derived from saunteringthrough the narrow alleys. She like to stand in an open door, and lookinto the court at some weather-beaten statue; to stand before the windowof an antique shop, and study the brocaded objects, silver chains, ringswith gaudy stones, engraved plates, and rare clocks. All manner ofroguish ideas came to her mind, and around every wish she wove a fairytale. The meagrest incident sufficed to send her imagination to the landof wonders, just as if the fables and legends that the people had beenpassing on from hearth to hearth for centuries were leading a life ofreality over there. 

The tailor sitting with crossed legs on his table; the smith hammeringthe red-hot iron; the juggler who made the rounds of the city with thetrained monkey; the Jewish pawnbroker, the chimney sweep, the one-leggedveteran, an old woman who looked out from some cellar, a spider’s nestin the corner of a wall—around all these things and still others shewound her tale of weal or woe. It seemed that what she saw had neverbeen seen by mortal eyes before. It seemed that the things or peoplethat attracted her attention had not existed until she had seen them. For this reason she was never in a bad humour, never bored, never lazy, never tired. 

There was something about her, however, that Daniel could notunderstand. He did not know wherein the riddle lay, he merely knew thatthere was one. If she gave him her hand, it seemed to him that there wassomething unreal about it. If he requested that she look at him, she didso, but it seemed that her glance was divided, half going to the left, half to the right, neither meeting his. If she came so close to him thattheir arms touched, he had the feeling that he could not take hold ofher if he wished to. 

He struggled against the enticement that lay in this peculiarity. 

Her presence ennobled his ambition and dispelled his whims. She gave himthe beautifully formed cloud, the tree covered with young foliage, themoon that rises up over the roofs of the houses—she gave him the wholeearth over which he was hastening, a stranger to peace, unfamiliar withcontentment. 

He cherished no suspicion; he had no foreshadowing of his fate. AndEleanore was not afraid of him; she, too, was without a sense of danger. 

 III

One Sunday afternoon in April they took a walk out into the country. Gertrude had been suffering for weeks from lassitude and could not gowith them. 

Eleanore was a superb walker. It gave Daniel extreme pleasure to walkalong with her, keeping step, moving hastily. The quick movementincreased his susceptibility to the charm of the changing landscapes. Itwas quite different when he walked with Gertrude. She was slow, given tointrospection, thoughtful, and not very strong. 

In the course of an hour clouds gathered in the sky, the sundisappeared, big drops began to fall. Eleanore had taken neitherumbrella nor rain coat along; she began to walk more rapidly. If theytried, they could reach the inn beyond the forest, and find shelter fromthe storm. 

Just as they slipped through the crowd that had hurried up the road tothe same refuge and entered the inn, the sluices of heaven seemed toopen, and a cloud-burst followed. They were standing in the hall. Eleanore was warm, and did not wish to remain in the draught. They wentinto the restaurant; it was so full that they had considerable troubleto find seats. A working man, his wife, and four sickly-looking childrensqueezed up more closely together; the two youngest boys gave them theirchairs and went to look for others. 

The clouds hung low, causing premature darkness. Lamps were lighted, andtheir odour mingled freely with the other odours of this overcrowdedroom. A few village musicians played some unknown piece; the eyes of theworkingman’s children shone with delight. Because they sat there soquietly—and because they looked so pale—Eleanore gave each of thechildren a sandwich. The mother was very grateful, and said so. Thefather, who said he was the foreman in a mirror factory, began to talkwith Daniel about the troubles of the present era. 

All of a sudden Daniel caught sight of a familiar face at a nearbytable. As it turned to one side, he saw in the dim, smelly light anotherface he knew, and then a third and a fourth. It was all so ghost-like inthe room that it was some time before he knew just where to place them. Then it occurred to him where they came from. 

Herr Hadebusch and Frau Hadebusch, Herr Francke and Benjamin Dorn werehaving a little Sunday outing. The brush-maker’s wife was radiant withjoy on seeing her old lodger. She nodded, she blinked, she folded herhands as if touched at the sight, and Herr Hadebusch raised his beerglass, eager to drink a toast to Daniel’s health. 

They could not quite make out who Eleanore was; they took her forDaniel’s wife. This misunderstanding, it seemed, was then cleared up bythe Methodist after he had craned his neck and called his powers ofrecognition into play. The demoniac woman nodded, to be sure, and kepton blinking, but in her face there was an expression of rusticdisapproval. Her mouth was opened, and the tusks of her upper jaw shoneforth uncannily from the black abyss. 

The swan neck of the Methodist was screwed up so hardily andpicturesquely above the heads of the others that Eleanore could not helpbut notice his physical and spiritual peculiarities. She wrinkled herbrow, and looked at Daniel questioningly. 

She looked around, and saw a great many people from the city whom sheknew either by name or from having met them so frequently. There was asaleswoman from Ludwig Street; a clerk with a pock-marked face from aproduce store; the dignified preceptress of a Kindergarten; an officialof the savings bank; the hat-maker from the corner of the Market Placewith his grown daughter; and the sergeant who invariably saluted when hepassed by her. 

All these people were in their Sunday clothes and seemed care-free andgood natured. But as soon as they saw Eleanore a mean expression cameover them. The fluttering of the lights made their faces look ghastly, while partial intoxication made it easy to read their filthy, lazythoughts. Full of anxiety, Eleanore looked up at Daniel, as if she feltshe would have to rely on his wealth of experience and greatersuperiority in general. 

He was sorry for her and sorry for himself. He knew what was in storefor him and her. When he looked over this Hogarthian gathering, and saw, despite its festive, convivial mood, hidden lusts of every description, crippled passions, secreted envy, and mysterious vindictiveness spreadabout like the stench of foul blood, he felt it was quite futile tocherish delusions of any kind as to what was before him. To spareEleanore and to defend her, to leave her rather than be guilty ofcausing the child-like smile on her lips to die out and disappearforever—this he believed in the bottom of his heart he could promiseboth her and himself. 

The working man and his family had left; and as it was no longerraining, most of the other guests had also gone. Up in the room abovepeople were dancing. The lamps were shaking, and it was easy to hear thelow sounds of the bass violin. Daniel took out his pencil, and beganwriting notes on the table. Eleanore bent over, looking at him, and, like him, fell to dreamy thinking. 

Neither wished to know what the other was thinking; they entertainedthemselves in silence; inwardly they were drawn closer and closertogether, as if by some mysterious and irresistible power. They had notnoticed that it was evening, that the room was empty, that the waitershad taken the glasses away, and that the dance music in the room abovehad stopped. 

They sat there in the half-lighted corner side by side, as if in somedark, deserted cavern. When they finally came out of their deep silenceand looked at each other, they were first surprised and then dismayed. 

“What are we going to do?” asked Eleanore half in a whisper, “it islate; we must be going home. ”

The sky was clouded, a warm wind swept across the plains, the road wasfull of puddles. Here and there a light flashed from the darkness, and adog barked every now and then in the distant villages. When the roadturned into the forest, Daniel gave Eleanore his arm. She took it, butsoon let go. Daniel stopped, and said almost angrily: “Are we bewitched, both of us? Speak, Eleanore, speak!”

“What is there for me to say?” she asked gently. “I am frightened; it isso dark. ”

“You are frightened, Eleanore, you? You do not know the night. It hasnever yet been night in your soul; nor night in the world about you. Nowyou appreciate perhaps how a being of the night feels. ”

She made no reply. 

“Give me your hand, ” he said, “I will lead you. ”

She gave him her hand. Soon they saw the lights of the city. He took herto her house; but when they reached it, they did not say good-bye: theylooked at each other with dazed, helpless, seeking eyes; they were bothpale and speechless. 

Eleanore hastened into the hall, but turned as she reached the stairs, and waved to him with a smile, as if the two were separated by a hazydistance. As he fixed his eyes on the spot where he saw the slenderfigure disappear, he felt as if something were clutching his throat. 

 IV

Without the slightest regard for time, without feeling tired, withoutdefinite thoughts, detached from the present and all sense ofobligation, Daniel wandered aimlessly through the streets. A low dive onSchütt Island saw him as a late guest. He sat there with his handsbefore his eyes, neither seeing nor hearing nor feeling, all crouched upin a bundle. Dirty little puddles of gin glistened on the top of thetable, the gamblers were cursing, the proprietor was drunk. 

The fire alarm drove him out: there was a fire in the suburbs ofSchoppershof. The sky was reddened, it was drizzling. It seemed toDaniel that the air was reeking with the premonition of a heart-crushingdisaster. Above the Laufer Gate a sheaf of sparks was whirling about. 

Just then the melody for which he had waited so long throughout so manynights of restless despair arose before him in a grandiose circle. Itseemed as if born for the words of the “Harzreise”: “With the dimburning torch thou lightest for him the ferries at night over bottomlesspaths, across desolate fields. ”

In mournful thirds, receding again and again, the voices sank to earth;just one remained on high, alone, piously dissociated from profanereturn. 

He hummed the melody with trembling lips to himself, until he met thenineteenth-century Socrates with his followers in the Rosenthal. Theywere still gipsying through the night. 

They all talked at once; they were going to the fire. Daniel passed byunrecognised. The shrill voice of the painter Kropotkin pierced the air:“Hail to the flames! Hail to those whose coming we announce!” Thelaughter of the slough brothers died away in the distance. 

Gertrude was standing at the head of the stairs with a candle in herhand; she had been waiting there since twelve o’clock. At eleven she hadgone over to her father’s house and rung the bell. Eleanore, frightened, had raised the window, and called down to her that Daniel had left herat nine. 

He took the half-inanimate woman into the living room: “You must neverwait for me, never, ” he said. 

He opened the window, pointed to the glowing sky beyond the church, andas she leaned her head, with eyes closed, on his shoulder, he said witha scurrilous distortion of his face: “Behold! The fire! Hail to theflames! Hail to those whose coming we announce!”

 V

The following morning Eleanore had no time to think of why Daniel hadnot gone home. 

Jordan had just finished his breakfast when some one rang the door bellwith unusual rapidity. Eleanore went to the door, and came back withHerr Zittel, who was in a rare state of excitement. 

“I have come to inquire about your son, Jordan, ” he began, clearing histhroat as though he were embarrassed. 

“About my son?” replied Jordan astonished, “I thought you had given himthree days’ leave. ”

“I know nothing about that, ” replied Herr Zittel. 

“Last Saturday evening he went on a visit to his friend Gerber inBamberg to celebrate the founding of a club, or something of that sort;we are not expecting him until to-morrow. If you know nothing about thisarrangement, Herr Diruf must have given him his leave. ”

The chief of the clerical department bit his lips. “Can you give me theaddress of this Herr Gerber?” he asked, “I should like to send him atelegram. ”

“For heaven’s sake, what has happened, Herr Zittel?” cried Jordan, turning pale. 

Herr Zittel stared into space with his gloomy, greenish eyes: “OnSaturday afternoon Herr Diruf gave your son a cheque for three thousandseven hundred marks, and told him to cash it at the branch of theBavarian Bank and bring the money to me. I was busy and did not go tothe office in the afternoon. To-day, about a half-hour ago, Herr Dirufasked me whether I had received the money. It turned out that your sonhad not put in his appearance on Saturday, and since he has not shown upthis morning either, you will readily see why we are so uneasy. ”

Jordan straightened up as stiff as a flag pole: “Do you mean toinsinuate that my son is guilty of some criminal transaction?” hethundered forth, and struck the top of the table with the bones of hisclenched fist. 

Herr Zittel shrugged his shoulders: “It is, of course, possible thatthere has been some misunderstanding, or that some one has failed toperform his duty. But in any event the affair is serious. Something mustbe done at once, and if you leave me in the lurch I shall have to callin the police. ”

Jordan’s face turned ashen pale. For some reason or other he began tofumble about in his long black coat for the pocket. The coat had nopocket, and yet he continued to feel for it with hasty fingers. He triedto speak, but his tongue refused to obey him; beads of perspirationsettled on his brow. 

Eleanore embraced him with solicitous affection: “Be calm, Father, don’timagine the worst. Sit down, and let us talk it over. ” She dried theperspiration from his forehead with her handkerchief, and then breatheda kiss on it. 

Jordan fell on a chair; his powers of resistance were gone; he looked atEleanore with beseeching tenseness. From the very first she had knownwhat had happened and what would happen. But she dared not show him thatshe was without hope; she summoned all the power at her resourcefulcommand to prevent the old man from having a paralytic stroke. 

With the help of Herr Zittel she wrote out a telegram to Gerber. Theanswer, to be pre-paid, was to be sent to the General Agency of thePrudentia, and Eleanore was to go to the main office between eleven andtwelve o’clock. She accompanied Herr Zittel to the front door, whereuponhe said: “Do everything in your power to get the money. If the loss canbe made good at once, Herr Diruf may be willing not to take the case tothe courts. ”

Eleanore knew full well that it would be exceedingly difficult to getsuch a sum as this. Her father had no money in the bank; his employerhad lost confidence in him because he could no longer exert himself;what he needed most of all was a rest. 

She entered the room with a friendly expression on her face, andremarked quite vivaciously: “Now, Father, we will wait and see whatBenno has to say; and in order that you may not worry so much, I willread something nice to you. ”

Sitting on a hassock at her father’s feet she read from a recent numberof the _Gartenlaube_ the description of an ascent of Mont Blanc. Thenshe read another article that her eye chanced to fall upon. All thewhile her bright voice was ringing through the room, she was strugglingwith decisions to which she might come and listening to the ticking ofthe clock. That her father no more had his mind on what she was readingthan she herself was perfectly clear to her. 

Finally the clock struck eleven. She got up, and said she had to go tothe kitchen to make the fire. A maid usually came in at eleven to getdinner for the family, but to-day she had not appeared. Out in the hallEleanore took her straw hat, and hastened over to Gertrude’s as fast asher feet could carry her. Daniel was not at home; Gertrude was peelingpotatoes. 

In three sentences Eleanore had told her sister the whole story. “Nowyou come with me at once! Go up and stay with Father! See that he doesnot leave the house! I will be back in half an hour!”

Gertrude was literally dragged down the steps by Eleanore; before shecould ask questions of any kind, Eleanore had disappeared. 

At the General Agency Herr Zittel met her with the reply from thatGerber, Benno’s friend. It bore Gerber’s signature, and read: “BennoJordan has not been here. ”

Benjamin Dorn stood behind Herr Zittel; he displayed an expression ofsoft, smooth, dirge-like regret. 

“Herr Diruf would like to speak to you, ” said Herr Zittel coldly. 

Eleanore entered Herr Diruf’s private office; her face was pale. He kepton writing for about three minutes before he took any notice of her. Then his plum-like eyes opened lazily, a rare, voluptuous smile sneakedout from under his moustache like a slothful flash of heat lightning; hesaid: “The sharper has gone and done it, hasn’t he?”

Eleanore never moved. 

“Can the embezzled money be returned within twenty-four hours?” askedthe pudgy, purple prince of pen-pushers. 

“My father will do everything that is humanly possible, ” repliedEleanore anxiously. 

“Be so good as to inform your father that to-morrow morning at twelveo’clock the charge will be preferred and placed in the hands of thepolice, if the money has not been paid by that time. ”

Eleanore hastened home. Now her father had to be brought face to facewith the realities of the case. He and Gertrude were sitting close toeach other in terrible silence. Eleanore revealed the exact state ofaffairs; she had to. 

“My good name!” groaned Jordan. 

He had to save himself from disgrace; the twenty-four hours seemed tooffer him a sure means of doing this. He had not the remotest doubt butthat he could find friends who would come to his aid; for he hadsomething of which he could boast: a blameless past and the reputationof being a reliable citizen. 

Thus he thought it over to himself. And as soon as he made up his mindto appeal to the friends of whom he felt he was certain, the mostdifficult part of his plan seemed to have been completed. The sufferingto which he was condemned by his wounded pride and his betrayed, crushedfilial affection he had to bear alone. He knew that this was a separateitem. 

He went out to look up his friends. 

 VI

The first one he appealed to was the brother-in-law of his sister, FirstLieutenant Kupferschmied, retired. His sister had died six months ago, leaving nothing; the lieutenant, however, was a well-to-do man. He hadmarried into the family of a rich merchant. Jordan’s relation to him hadalways been pleasant; indeed the old soldier seemed to be very fond ofhim. But hardly had Jordan explained his mission when the lieutenantbecame highly excited. He said he had seen this disaster coming. Heremarked that any man who brings up his children in excessive ease mustnot be surprised if they come to a bad end. He remarked, too, that nopower on earth could persuade him to invest one penny in Jordan’s case. 

Jordan went away speechless. 

The second friend he appealed to was his acquaintance of long standing, Judge Rübsam. From him he heard a voluble flow of words dealing withregrets, expressions of disgust, one lament after the other, a jeremiadeon hard times, maledictions hurled at dilatory creditors, infiniteconsolation—and empty advice. He assured Jordan that yesterday he hadalmost the requisite sum in cash, and that he might have it again sometime next month, but to-day—ah, to-day his taxes were due, and so on, and so on. 

Oppressed by the weight of this unexpected humiliation, he went to thethird friend, a merchant by the name of Hornbusch, to whom he had oncerendered invaluable assistance. Herr Hornbusch had forgotten all aboutthis, though he had not forgotten that he had vainly sounded in Jordan’sears a warning against the ever-increasing flippancy of young Benno. Hetold Jordan that he himself was just then in urgent need of money, thathe had only last month been obliged to sacrifice a mortgage, and thathis wife had pawned her diamonds. 

Thus it went with the fourth friend, an architect who had told him oncethat he would sacrifice money and reputation for him if he ever got intotrouble. And it was the same story with the fifth and sixth and seventh. With a heart as heavy as lead, Jordan decided to take the last desperatestep: He went to Herr Diruf himself. He asked for a three days’extension of time. Diruf sat inapproachable at his desk. He was smokinga big thick Havana cigar, his solitaire threw off its blindingfireworks, he smiled a cold, tired smile and shook his head inastonishment. 

When Jordan came home that evening he found Daniel and Gertrude in theliving room. Gertrude went up to him to support him; then she broughthim a glass of wine as a stimulant: he had not eaten anything sincebreakfast. 

“Where is Eleanore?” he murmured, but seemed to take no interest in thereply to his question. He fell down on a chair, and buried his face inhis hands. 

Gertrude, who saw his strength leaving him as the light dies out of aslowly melting candle, became dizzy with compassion. Her last hope wasin Eleanore, who had left at five o’clock simply because she found itintolerable to sit around, hour after hour, doing nothing but waitingfor the return of her father. At every sound that could be heard in thehouse, Gertrude pricked up her ears in eager expectancy. 

Daniel stood by the window, and looked out across the deserted squareinto the dull red glow of the setting sun. 

It struck seven, then half past seven, eight, and Eleanore had notreturned. Daniel began to pace back and forth through the room; he wasnervous. If his foot chanced to strike against a chair, Gertrudeshuddered. 

Shortly after eight, steps were heard outside. The key rattled in thefront gate, the room door opened, and in came Eleanore—and PhilippinaSchimmelweis. 

 VII

Everybody looked at Philippina; even Jordan himself honoured her with afaint glance. Daniel and Gertrude were amazed. Daniel did not recognisehis cousin; he knew nothing about her; he had seen her but once, andthen he was a mere child. He did not know who this repulsive-lookingindividual was, and demanded that Eleanore give him an explanation. Ashe did this, he raised his eyebrows. 

Eleanore was the only one Philippina looked at in a kindly way; inPhilippina’s own face there was an expression of curiosity. 

Philippina’s whole bearing had something of the monstrous about it. Evenher dress was picturesque, adventuresome. Her great brown straw hat, with the ribbon sticking straight up in the air, was shoved on to theback of her head so as not to spoil the effect of the fashionable bangsthat hung down over her forehead. Her loud, checkered dress was strappedabout her waist with a cloth belt so tightly that the contour of her fatbody was made to look positively ridiculous: she resembled a gigantichour glass. In her rough-cut features there was an element of lurkingmalevolence. 

After a few minutes of painful stillness she walked up to Daniel, andplucked him by the coat-sleeve: “Eh, you don’t know who I am?” sheasked, and her squinty eyes shone on him with enigmatic savagery: “I amPhilippina; you know, Philippina Schimmelweis. ”

Daniel stepped back from her: “Well, what of it?” he asked, wrinklinghis brow. 

She followed him, took him by the coat-sleeve again, and led him overinto one corner: “Listen, Daniel, ” she stammered, “my father—he mustgive you all the money you need. For years ago your father gave him allthe money he had, and told him to keep it for you. Do you understand? Ihappened to hear about it one time when my father was talking about itto my mother. It was a good seven years ago, but I made a note of it. Myfather spent the money on himself; he thinks he can keep it. Go to him, and tell him what you want; tell him how much you want, and then go helpthese people here. But you must not give me away; if you do they’ll killme. Do you understand? You won’t say a word about it, will you?”

“Is that true?” Daniel managed to say in reply, as a feeling ofunspeakable anger struggled with one of indescribable disgust. 

“It is true, Daniel, every word of it; ’pon my soul and honour, ” repliedPhilippina; “just go, and you’ll see that I have told you the truth. ”

During the conversation of the two, of which she could hardly hear asingle syllable, Eleanore never took her eyes off them. 

 VIII

Since the day Philippina had made her little brother Markus a cripplefor life, she had been an outcast in the home of her parents. 

To be sure, she had had no great abundance of kindness and cheerfulnessbefore the accident took place. But since that time the barbarouscastigation of her father had beclouded and besmirched her very soul. From her twelfth year on, her mind was ruled exclusively by hate. 

Hatred aroused her; it gave birth to thoughts and plans in her; itendowed her with strength of will and audacity; and it matured herbefore her time. 

She hated her father, her mother, her brothers. 

She hated the house with all its rooms; she hated the bed in which sheslept, the table at which she ate. She hated the people who came to seeher parents, the customers who came into the shop, the loafers whogathered about the window, the tall lanky Zwanziger, the books and themagazines. 

But the day she overheard her father and mother talking about thatmoney, a second power had joined the ranks of hate in her benighted, abandoned soul. With her brain on fire she stood behind the door, andheard that she was to be married to Daniel. This remark had filled thethen thirteen-year-old girl with all the savage instincts of a bound andfettered woman, with all the crabbedness of an unimaginative person ofher standing. 

In her father’s remark she did not see merely a more or less carefullyoutlined plan; she heard a message from Fate itself; and from that timeon she lived with an idea that brought light and purpose into her dailyexistence. 

Shortly after his arrival in Nuremberg, she saw Daniel for the firsttime as he was standing by a booth in the market place on Schütt Island. Her father had pointed him out to her. She knew that he wished to becomea musician; this made no special impression on her. She knew that he washaving a hard time of it; this filled her neither with sympathy norregret. When she later on saw him in the concert hall, he was alreadyher promised spouse; he belonged to her. To capture him, to get him intoher power, it made no difference how, was her unchanging aspiration, inwhich there was a bizarre mixture of bestiality and insanity. 

The thieving, which she decided upon at once and practised with perfectregularity, netted her in the course of time a handsome sum. She did notbecome bolder and bolder as she continued her evil practices, but, unlike thieves generally, she grew to be more and more cautious. Sheacquired in time remarkable skill at showing an outwardly honest face. Indeed she became such an adept at dissimulation that the suspicion ofeven Jason Philip, aroused as it had been during the course of acareful investigation, was dispelled by her behaviour. 

Her plan was to gain a goodly measure of independence through the moneyshe had stolen. For she always felt convinced that the day would comewhen her parents would debar her from their home. She was convinced thather father and mother were merely waiting for some plausible excuse torid themselves of her for good and all. 

Moreover, she had two pronounced passions: one for candy and one forflashy ribbons. 

The candy she always bought in the evening. She would slip into the shopof Herr Degen, and, with her greedy eyes opened as wide as possible, buytwenty pfennigs’ worth of sweets, at which she would nibble until shewent to bed. 

The ribbons she sewed together into sashes, which she wore on her hat oraround her neck or on her dress. The gaudier the colour the better sheliked it. If her mother asked her where she got the ribbons she wasforced to lie. Although she had no girl friends, as a matter of fact nofriends of any kind, she would say that this or that girl had given themto her. When her wealth became too conspicuous, she would leave thehouse and not tie her sashes about her until she had reached someunlighted gateway or dark corner. 

She never dared go to the attic more than once a week; she did this whenher brothers were at school and her parents in the shop. The fear lestsome one find her out and take her stolen riches from her made her moreand more uneasy, lending to her face an expression of virulent distrust. 

She would go up the thirteen steps from the landing to the attic withtrembling feet. The fact that there were exactly thirteen was the firstthing that awakened her superstition. As the months crept on, sheresigned to this superstition with the abandon of an inveteratevoluptuary. If she chanced to put her left foot first on the bottom stepand not to notice it until she was half way up, she would turn around, come down, and relinquish the pleasure of seeing her treasures for therest of that week. 

She was afraid of ghosts, witches, and magicians; if a cat ran acrossthe street in front of her, she turned as white as chalk. 

Theresa did not keep a maid; Philippina helped in the kitchen; thisruined her complexion, and made her skin rough and horny. Frequently shegot out of washing dishes by simply running away. On these occasionsTheresa would create such an uproar that the neighbours would come tothe window and look out. Philippina avenged herself by purposely ruiningthe sheets, towels, and shirts that lay in the clothes basket. When inthis mood and at this business, she made use of a regular oath that sheherself had formulated: it consisted of sentences that sounded mostimpressive, though they had no meaning. 

She cherished the odd delusion that it lay in her power to bringmisfortune to other people. The time Jason Philip complained of poorbusiness she felt an infernal sense of satisfaction. His change ofpolitical views had driven away his old customers, and the new ones hadno confidence in him. He had to go in for the publication of dubiousworks, if he wished to do any business at all. The result of this wasthat when people passed by the Schimmelweis bookshop, they stoppedbefore the window, looked at his latest output, and smiledcontemptuously. The workman’s insurance no longer paid as it used to, for the credit of the Prudentia and its agents had suffered a violentsetback. 

The rise and fall in bourgeois life follows a well established law. In asingle day the honesty and diligence of one man, the tricks and fraudsof another, grow stale, antiquated. Thus Jordan’s affairs started on thedown grade, and Jason Philip’s likewise. 

Philippina ascribed their failure to the quiet influence of herdestructive work. Every bit of misfortune in the life of her fatherloosened by that much the chain that prevented her from complete freedomof movement. In her most infamous hours she would dream of the hungerand distress, bankruptcy and despair of her people. Once this state ofaffairs had been realised, she would no longer have to play the rôle ofCinderella; she would no longer have to be the first one up in themorning; she would no longer have to chop wood, and polish her brothers’boots: she would have a fair field and no favours in her campaign tocapture Daniel. 

 IX

At times she thought she could simply go to him and stay with him. Attimes she felt that he would come and get her. One thing or the otherhad to take place, she thought. 

One Sunday afternoon—it chanced to be her eighteenth birthday—a junioragent of Jason Philip, a fellow by the name of Pfefferkorn, came to thehouse, and in the course of the conversation remarked rather casuallythat the elder of the Jordan sisters was engaged to the musicianNothafft, that the engagement had been kept secret for a while, but thatthe wedding was to take place in the immediate future. 

“By the way, I hear that the musician is your nephew, ” said Pfefferkornat the close of his report. 

Jason Philip cast a gloomy look into space, while Theresa, then sippingher chicory coffee, set her cup on the table, and looked at the man withscornful contempt. 

Philippina broke out in a laughter that went through them like a knife. Then she ran from the room, and banged the door behind her. “She seems abit deranged, ” murmured Jason Philip angrily. 

Then came that June night on which she did not come home at all. JasonPhilip raged and howled when she returned the next morning; but she wassilent. He locked her up in the cellar for sixteen hours; but she wassilent. 

After this she did not leave the house for months at a time; she did notwash or comb her hair; she sat crouched up in the kitchen with her long, dishevelled, unwashed hair falling in loose locks down over her neck andshoulders. 

A feeling of consuming vengeance seethed in her heart; the patience shewas forced to practise, much against her will, petrified in time into amien of hypocritic sottishness. 

Suddenly she took to dressing up again and sauntering through thestreets in the afternoon. Her loud ribbons awakened the mocking laughterof young and old. 

She had learned that Eleanore Jordan was attending the lectures in theCultural Club. She went too; she always crowded up close to Eleanore, but she could not attract her attention. One time she sat right next toEleanore. A strolling pastor delivered a lecture on cremation. Philippina took out her handkerchief, and pressed it to her eyes asthough she were weeping. Eleanore, somewhat concerned, turned to her, and asked her what was the matter. She said that it was all so sad whatthe old gentleman was saying. Eleanore was surprised, for nothing thespeaker had said was sad or in any way likely to bring tears to the eyesof his auditors. 

At the end of the lecture she left the hall with Eleanore. When theugly, disagreeable creature told her of the wretchedness of her life, how she was abused by her parents and brothers, and that there was not asoul in the world who cared for her, Eleanore was moved. The fact thatPhilippina was Daniel’s blood cousin made her forget the aversion shefelt, and drew from her a promise to go walking with her on certaindays. 

Eleanore kept her promise. She was not in the least disconcerted by thequeer looks cast at her by the people they met. With perfect composureshe walked along by the side of this strapping, quackish young womandressed in the oddest garments known to the art of dress-making. Atfirst they strolled in broad daylight through the park adjoining thecity moat. Later Eleanore arranged to have the walks, which were to takeplace two or three times a month, postponed until after sunset. 

This was quite agreeable to Philippina. She threw out a hint every nowand then that there was a mysterious feud between the Schimmelweisfamily and the Nothaffts, and implored Eleanore never to let Daniel knowthat she was taking these walks with her. It was painful to Eleanore tohave Philippina make such requests of her. The lurking manner in whichshe would turn the conversation to the affairs of Daniel and Gertrudehad an element of offensive intrusiveness in it. She wanted to knowfirst this, then that. She even had the impudence to ask aboutGertrude’s dowry; and finally she requested that Eleanore bring hersister along some time when they went walking. 

Eleanore came to have a feeling of horror at the sight or thought ofPhilippina; she was dismayed too when, despite the darkness, she noticedthe shrewish look of incorrigible wickedness in Philippina’s face. Anineluctable voice put her on her guard. In so far as she could do itwithout grievously offending Philippina, she withdrew from furtherassociation with her. And even if she had not promised her absolutesilence, a feeling half of fear and half of shame would have preventedher from ever mentioning Philippina’s name in Daniel’s presence. 

She never once suspected that Philippina was spying on her. Philippinasoon found out just when, how often, and where Daniel and Eleanore met;and wherever they went, she followed at a safe distance behind them. Whyshe did this she really did not know; something forced her to do it. 

What she had succeeded in doing with Eleanore she now wished to do withGertrude. She would bob up all of a sudden in the butcher shop, at thevegetable market, in the dairy, anywhere, stare at Gertrude, act asthough she were intensely interested in something, and make some suchremarks as: “Lord, but beans are dear this year”; or “That is a nastywind, it is enough to give you the colic. ” But Gertrude was far too lostto the world and much too sensitive about coming in contact withstrangers to pay any attention to her awkward attempts at approach. 

“Just wait, ” thought Philippina, enraged, “the penalty of your arrogancewill some day descend upon your head. ”

 X

On that Monday so fatal for the Jordan family, Philippina had anotherviolent quarrel with her mother. Theresa was still shrieking, when JasonPhilip came up from the shop to know what could be wrong. 

“Don’t ask, ” cried Theresa at the top of her shrill voice, “go teachyour daughter some manners. The wench is going to end up in jail; that’swhat I prophesy. ”

Philippina made a wry face. Jason Philip, however, was little inclinedto play the rôle of an avenging power: he had something new on thestring; his face was beaming. 

“I met Hornbusch, ” he said, turning to Theresa, “you know him, firm ofHornbusch heirs, bloody rich they are, and the man tells me that youngJordan has embezzled some money from the Prudentia and left the country. I went at once to the Prudentia, and Zittel told me the whole story, just as I had heard it. It is almost four thousand marks! Jordan hasbeen requested to make good the deficit; but he hasn’t a penny to hisname and is in a mighty tight place, for Diruf is threatening to sendhim to jail. You know, Diruf is hard-boiled in matters of this kind. What do you think of that?”

Theresa wrapped her hands in her apron, and looked at Jason Philip outof the corner of her eye. She guessed at once the cause of his joy, andhung her head in silence. 

Jason Philip smirked to himself. Leaning up against the Dutch tiles ofthe stove, he began to whistle in a happy-go-lucky mood. It was the“Marseillaise. ” He whistled it partly out of forgetfulness and partlyfrom force of habit. 

He had not noticed how Philippina had listened to every syllable thatfell from his lips; how she was holding her breath; that her featureswere lighted up from within by a terrible flame of fire. He did notice, however, that she got up at the close of his remarks and left the roomwith rustling steps. 

Five minutes later she was standing before Jordan’s house. She sent asmall boy in with the request that Fräulein Eleanore come down at once. The boy came back, and said that Fräulein Eleanore was not at home. Shetook her position by the front gate, and waited. 

 XI

Driven by the torment of her soul, Eleanore had gone to Martha Rübsam’sonly to hear that her father had been there three hours earlier. Fromthe confused and embarrassed conduct of her friend she learned that herfather had made a request of Judge Rübsam, and a fruitless one at that. 

Then she stood for a while on one of the leading streets, and stared inbewilderment at the throngs of people surging by. It was all so cruellyreal. 

She thought of whom she might go to next. A wave of purple flashedacross her face as she thought of Eberhard. Involuntarily she made apassionate, deprecating gesture, as if she were saying: No, no, not tohim! The first ray of this hope was also the last. Her conscience struckher; but she was helpless. Here was a feeling impervious to reason;armed ten times over against encouragement. Anyhow, he was not at home. She thought of this with a sigh of relief. 

Would Daniel go to the Baroness? No; that could not be thought of for aminute. 

She could no longer endure the city nor the people in it. She walkedthrough the park out into the country. She could not stand the sight ofthe sky or the distant views; she turned around. She came back to TheFüll, entered the Carovius house, and rang Frau Benda’s bell. She knewthe old lady was away, and yet, as if quite beside herself, she rangfour times. If Benda would only come; if the good friend were onlysitting in his room and could come to the door. 

But there was not a stir. From the first floor the sounds of a pianofloated out the window; it was being played in full chords. Down in thecourt Cæsar was howling. 

She started back home with beating heart. At the front gate she sawPhilippina. 

“I have heard all about your misfortune, ” said Philippina in her shrillvoice. “Nobody can help you but me. ”

“You? You can help?” stammered Eleanore. The whole square began to move, it seemed, before her. 

“Word of honour—I can. I must simply have a talk with Daniel first. Let’s lose no time. Is he upstairs?”

“I think he is. If not, I will get him. ”

“Let’s go up, then. ”

They went up the stairs. 

 XII

Jason Philip had been invited to a sociable evening in the Shufflers’Club. He was now enjoying his siesta after his banquet by reading aneditorial in the _Kurier_. One of Bismarck’s addresses had been sohumorously commented on that every now and then Jason Philip emitted amalevolent snarl of applause. 

He had brought a lemon along home with him; it was lying on a platebefore him, sliced and covered with sugar. From time to time he wouldreach over, take a piece and stick it in his mouth. He smacked histongue with the display of much ceremony of his kind, and licked hislips after swallowing a piece. His two sons gaped at his hand withgreedy eyes and likewise licked their lips. 

Willibald was groaning over an algebraic equation. In his pale, pimpledface were traces of incapability and bad humour. Markus, owing to hisphysical defect, was not allowed to study by artificial light. He helpedhis mother shell the peas, and in order to make her angry at Philippina, kept making mean remarks about her staying out so long. 

Just as the last piece of the lemon disappeared behind Jason Philip’smoustache, the door bell rang. 

“There is a man out there, ” said Markus, who had gone to the door andwas now standing on the threshold, stupidly staring with his oneremaining eye. 

Jason Philip stretched his neck. Then he got up. He had recognisedDaniel standing in the half-lighted hall. 

“I have something to say to you, ” said Daniel, as he entered the room. His eyes gazed on the walls and at the few cheap, ugly, banal objectsthat hung on them: a newspaper-holder with embroidered ribbons; a cornertable on which stood a beer mug representing the fat body of a monk; anold chromic print showing a volunteer taking leave of his big family ashe starts for the front. These things appealed to Daniel somewhat as anirrational dream. Then, taking a deep breath, he fixed his eyes on JasonPhilip. In his mind’s eye he looked back over many years; he saw himselfstanding at the fountain in Eschenbach. Round about him glistened thestones and cross beams of the houses. Jason Philip was hurrying by at atimid distance. There was bitterness in his face: he seemed to befleeing from the world, the sun, men, and music. 

“I have something to say to you, ” he repeated. 

Theresa felt that the worst of her forebodings were about to befulfilled. With trembling knees she arose. She did not dare turn hereyes toward the place in the room where Daniel was standing. She did notsee, she merely sensed Jason Philip as he beckoned to her and his sonsto leave the room. She took Markus by the hand and Willibald by thecoat-sleeve, and marched out between the two. 

“What’s the news?” asked Jason Philip, as he crossed his arms and lookedat the pile of beans on the table. “You have a—what shall I say?—avery impulsive way about you. It is a way that reminds me of the factthat we have a law in this country against disturbing the peace of aprivate family. Your stocks must have gone to the very top of the marketrecently. Well, tell me, what do you want?”

He cleared his throat, and beat a tattoo on the elbows of his crossedarms with his fingers. 

Daniel felt that his peace was leaving him; his own arm seemed to himlike a shot-gun; it itched. But thus far he could not say a thing. Thequestion he had in mind to put to Jason Philip was of such tremendousimport that he could not suppress his fear that he might make a mistakeor become too hasty. 

“Where is the money my father gave you?” came the words at last, rollingfrom his lips in a tone of muffled sullenness. 

The colour left Jason Philip’s face; his arms fell down by his side. 

“The money? Where it’s gone to? That your father—?” He stuttered inconfusion. He wanted to gain time; he wanted to think over verycarefully what he should say and what he could conceal. He cast oneglance at Daniel, and saw that it was not possible to expect mercy fromhim. He was afraid of Daniel’s bold, lean, sinewy face. 

He nearly burst with anger at the thought that this young man, for whomhe, Jason Philip, was once the highest authority, should have theunmitigated audacity to call him to account. In this whole situation hepictured himself as the immaculate man of honour that he wished he wasand thought he was in the eyes of his fellow citizens. At the same timehe was nearly stifled with fear lest he lose the money which he had longsince accustomed himself to regard as his own, with which he had workedand speculated, and which by this time was as much a part of his verybeing as his own house, his business, his projects. He buried his handsin his pockets and snorted. His cowardly dread of the consequences offraud forced him into a half confession of fraud, but in his words laythe feverish pettifogging of the frenzied financier who fights forMammon even unto raging and despair. 

“The money is here; of course it is. Where did you think it was? Mybooks will show exactly how much of it has found its way over toEschenbach in the shape of interest and loans. My books are open toinspection; the accounts have been kept right up to this very day. Ihave made considerable progress in life. A man who has lived as I havelived does not need to fear a living soul. Do you imagine for a minutethat Jason Philip Schimmelweis can be frightened by a little thing likethis? No, no, it will take more of a man than you to do that. Who areyou anyhow? What office do you hold? What authority have you? With whatright do you come rushing into the four walls of my home? Do you perhapsimagine that your artistic skill invests you with special privileges? Idon’t give a tinker’s damn for your art. The whole rubbish is hardlyworth spitting on. Music? Idiocy. Who needs it? Any man with the leastvestige of self-respect never has anything to do with music except onholidays and when the day’s work is done. No, no, you can’t impress mewith your music. You’re not quite sane! And if you think that you aregoing to get any money out of me, you are making the mistake of yourlife. It is to laugh. If a man wants money from me, he has to come to meat least with a decent hair-cut and show me at least a little respect. He can’t come running up like a kid on the street who says: ‘Mumma, gifme a shent; I want to buy some tandy. ’ No, no, son, you can’t getanything out of me that way. ”

The smile that appeared on Daniel’s face filled Jason Philip with mortalterror. He stopped his talk with incriminating suddenness. He decided tohold in and to promise Daniel a small payment. He hoped that by handingover a few hundred marks he could assure himself the desired peace ofmind. 

But Daniel never felt so certain of himself in his life. He thought ofthe hardships he had had to endure, and his heart seemed as if it wereon fire. At the same time he was ashamed of this man and disgusted withhim. 

He said quietly and firmly: “I must have three thousand seven hundredmarks by ten o’clock to-morrow morning. It is a question of saving anhonourable and upright family from ruin. If this sum is handed over tome promptly, I will waive all rights to the balance that is due me, inwriting. The receipt will be filled out ready for delivery in my house. If the money is not in my hands by the stipulated time, we will meeteach other in another place and in the presence of people who willimpress you. ”

He turned to go. 

Jason Philip’s mouth opened wide, and he pressed his fist to the holemade thereby. “Three thousand seven hundred marks?” he roared. “The manis crazy. Completely crazy is the man. Man, man, you’re crazy, ” he criedin order to get Daniel to stop. “Are you crazy, man? Do you want to ruinme? Don’t you hear, you damned man?”

Daniel looked at Jason Philip with a shudder. The door to the adjoiningroom sprang open, and Theresa rushed in. Her face was ashen pale; therewere just two little round red spots on her cheek bones. “You are goingto get that money, Daniel, ” she howled hysterically, “or I am going tojump into the Pegnitz, I’ll jump into the Pegnitz and drown myself. ”

“Woman, you . .. ” he gnashed his teeth, and seized her by the shoulder. 

She sank down on a chair, and, seizing her hair, continued: “He iseverywhere, and wherever he is, our dear Gottfried, he is looking at me. He stands before the clothes press, at the cupboard, by my bedside, nods, exhorts, raises his finger, finds no peace in his grave, and doesnot let me sleep; he has not let me sleep all these years. ”

“Now listen, you had better think of your children, ” snapped JasonPhilip. 

Theresa let her hands fall in her lap, and looked down at the floor:“All that nice money, that nice money, ” she cried. Then again, this timewith a face distorted beyond easy recognition and at the top of hervoice: “But you’ll get it, Daniel; I’ll see to it that you get it: I’llbring it to you myself. ” Then again, in a gentle voice of acutelamentation: “All that nice money. ”

Daniel was almost convulsed. It seemed to him as if he had never rightlyunderstood the word _money_ before, as if the meaning of _money_ hadnever been made clear to him until he heard Theresa say it. 

“To-morrow morning at ten o’clock, ” he said. 

Theresa nodded her head in silence, and raised her hands withoutstretched fingers as if to protect herself from Jason Philip. Willibald and Markus had crept under the door. The gate must not havebeen closed, for just then Philippina came in. She had come over withDaniel, but had remained outside on the street. She could not wait anylonger; she was too anxious to see the consequences of her betrayal. 

She looked around with affected embarrassment. Was it merely the sightof her that aroused Jason Philip’s wrath? Was it the half-cowardly, half-cynical smile that played around her lips? Or was it the cumulativeeffect of blind anger, long pent up and eager to be discharged, thatmade Jason Philip act as he did? Or did he have a vague suspicion ofwhat Philippina had done? Suffice it to say, he leapt up to her andstruck her in the face with his fist. 

She never moved a muscle. 

Indignant at the rudeness of his conduct, Daniel stepped between JasonPhilip and his daughter. But the venomous scorn in the girl’s eyesstifled his sympathy; he turned to the door, and went away in silence. 

“All that nice money, ” murmured Theresa. 

 XIII

When Daniel told the Jordans that the money would be there the nextmorning, Jordan looked at him first unbelievingly, and then wept like achild. 

Eleanore reached Daniel both her hands without saying a word. Gertrude, who was lying on the sofa, straightened up, smiled gently, and then laydown again. Daniel asked her what was the matter. Eleanore answered forher, saying that she had not felt well since some time in the afternoon. “She must go to bed, she is tired, ” added Eleanore. 

“Well, come then, ” said Daniel, and helped Gertrude to get up. But herlegs were without strength; she could not walk. She looked first atDaniel and then at Eleanore; she was plainly worried about something. 

“You won’t care, will you, Father, if I go home with them?” askedEleanore in a tone of flattery. 

“No, go, child, ” said Jordan, “it will do me good to be alone for a fewminutes. ”

Daniel and Eleanore took Gertrude between them. At the second landing intheir apartment, Daniel took Gertrude in his arms, and carried her intothe bedroom. She did not want him to help her take off her clothes; shesent him out of the room. A cup of warm milk was all she said shewanted. 

“There is no milk there, ” said Eleanore to Daniel, as she entered theliving room. He stopped suddenly, and looked at her as if he hadawakened from a fleeting dream: “I’ll run down to Tetzel Street and geta half a litre, ” said Eleanore. “I’ll leave the hall door open, so thatGertrude will not be frightened when I come in. ”

She had already hastened out; but all of a sudden she turned around, andsaid with joyful gratitude, her blue eyes swimming in the tears of afull soul: “You dear man. ”

His face took on a scowl. 

There was a fearful regularity in his walking back and forth. The chainsof the hanging lamp shook. The flame sent forth a thin column of smoke;he did not notice it. “How long will she be gone?” he thought in hisunconscious, drunken impatience. He felt terribly deserted. 

He stepped out into the hall, and listened. There hovered before him inthe darkness the face of Philippina. She showed the same scornfulimmobility that she showed when her father struck her in the face. Hestepped to the railing, and sat down on the top step; a fit at once ofweakness and aimless defiance came over him. He buried his face in hishands; he could still hear Theresa saying, “All that nice money. ”

There were shadows everywhere; there was nothing but night and shadows. 

Eleanore, light-hearted and light-footed, returned at last. When she sawhim, she stopped. He arose, and stretched out his arms as if to take themilk bottle. That is the way she interpreted his gesture, and handed itto him in surprise. He, however, set it down on the landing beside him. The light from the living room shone on it and made it look sparklingwhite. Then he drew Eleanore to him, threw his arms around her, andkissed her on the mouth. 

Merely a creature of man, only a woman, nothing but heart and breath, all longing and forgetting, forgetting for just one moment, findingherself for a moment, knowing her own self for a moment—she pressedclose up to him. But her hands were folded between her breast and his, and thus separated their bodies. 

Then she broke away from him, wrung her hands, looked up at him, pressedclose up to him again, wrung her hands again—it was all done inabsolute silence and with an almost terrible grace and loveliness. 

Everything was now entirely different from what it had been, or what shehad formerly imagined it to be; there were depths to everything now. Shelost herself; she ceased to exist for a moment; darkness enveloped hermuch-disciplined heart; she entered upon a second existence, anexistence that had no similarity with the first. 

To this existence she was now bound; she had succumbed to it: the law ofnature had gone into effect. But the glass case had been shattered; itwas in pieces. She stood there unprotected, even exposed, so to speak, to men, no longer immune to their glances, an accessible prey to theirtouch. 

She went into the kitchen, and heated the milk. Daniel returned to theliving room. His veins were burning, his heart was hammering. He had nosense of appreciation of the time that had passed. When Eleanore cameinto the room, he began to tremble. 

She came up to him, and spoke to him in passionate sadness: “Have youheard about Gertrude? Don’t you know, really? She is with child—yourwife. ”

“I did not know it, ” whispered Daniel. “Did she tell you?”

“Yes, just now. ”

 TRES FACIUNT COLLEGIUM

 I

The habitués of the reserved table at the Crocodile were all reasonablywell informed of the events that had recently taken place in the homesof Inspector Jordan and Jason Philip Schimmelweis. Details werementioned that would make it seem probable that the cracks in the wallsand the key-holes of both houses had been entertaining eavesdroppers. 

Some refused to believe that Jason Philip had made restitution for themoney young Jordan had embezzled. For, said Degen, the baker, Schimmelweis is a hard-fisted fellow, and whoever would try to get moneyout of him would have to be in the possession of extraordinaryshrewdness. 

“But he has already paid it, ” said Gründlich, the watchmaker. He knew hehad; he knew that the wife of the bookseller had gone over to Nothafft’son Tuesday afternoon; that she had a heap of silver in a bag; and thatwhen she came back home she took to bed, and had been ill ever since. 

Kitzler, the assistant postmaster, felt there was something wrong here;and if there was not, you would simply have to assume that Nothafft, themusician, was a dangerous citizen, who had somehow managed to place thebreast of his uncle _vis-à-vis_ a revolver. 

“And you know, Nothafft is to be made Kapellmeister at the CityTheatre, ” remarked the editor Weibezahl, the latest member of the roundtable. “His appointment is to be made public in a few days. ”

“What! Kapellmeister! You don’t say so! That will make Andreas Döderleinthe saddest man in ten states. ”

Herr Carovius, whose mouth was just then hanging on his beer glass, laughed so heartily that the beer went down his Sunday throat; he wasseized with a coughing spell. Herr Korn slapped him on the back. 

It was a shame that such a bad actor as Nothafft had to be endured inthe midst of people who lived peaceful and law-abiding lives. Thislament came from Herr Kleinlein, who had been circuit judge now forsome time. He was anxious to know whether all the tales that werecirculating concerning Nothafft were true. 

Well, he was told, a great many things are said about Nothafft, but itis difficult to get at the truth. They appealed to the apothecaryPflaum, on the ground that his assistant knew the musician and might beable to give them some definite information. 

Herr Pflaum took on an air as if he knew a great deal but was underobligations not to tell. Yes, yes, he said rather perfunctorily, he hadheard that some one had said that Nothafft was running a prettyquestionable domestic establishment; that he had a rather unsavourypast; and that there was some talk about his neglecting his wife. 

The deuce you say! Why, they were married only a short while ago. Yes, but there was a rumour to the effect that there was a woman in the case. Who could it be? Ahem! Well-ah, it would be a good idea to be cautiousabout mentioning names. Good Lord, why cautious? Why not straight outwith the information any one chanced to be fortunate enough to have? Isit not a question of protecting one’s own wife and daughters?

And so this slanderous babble rattled on. There was somethingunfathomable in their hatred of the musician. They were just as agreedon this point as they would have been if Daniel had broken open theirstrong boxes, smashed their windows, and betrayed their honour anddignity to public ridicule. 

They did not know what they should do about him. They passed by him asone would pass by a bomb that might or might not explode. 

 II

When Herr Carovius was alone, he picked up the paper, and read theaccount of a mine explosion in Silesia. The number of killed satisfiedhim. The description of the women as they stood at the top of the shaft, wept, wrung their hands, and called out the names of their husbands, filled him with the same agreeable sensation that he experienced when helistened to the melancholy finale of a Chopin nocturne. 

But he could not forget the expression on Herr Pflaum’s face when hetold how Nothafft was neglecting his wife. It had been the expressionthat comes out, so to speak, from between the curtains of a sleepingroom: something was up, make no mistake, something was going on. 

For quite a while Herr Carovius had harboured the suspicion that therewas something wrong. Twice he had met Daniel and Eleanore walking alongthe street in the twilight, talking to each other in a very mysteriousway. Things were going on behind Herr Carovius’s back which he could notafford to overlook. 

Since the day Eleanore had disentangled the cord of his nose glassesfrom the button of his top coat, the picture of the young girl had beenindelibly stamped on his mind. He could still see the beautifulcurvature of her young bosom as she raised her arm. 

A year and a half after this incident, Herr Carovius was going throughsome old papers. He chanced upon an unfinished letter which Eberhard vonAuffenberg had written to Eleanore but had never posted. Eberhard hadcome to Nuremberg at the time to transact some business connected withthe negotiation of a new loan; he had left his hotel, and Herr Caroviushad had to wait for him a long while. This time he had spent in lookingover the unsealed documents of the incautious young Baron. 

Then it was that he discovered the letter. What words! And oh, thepassion! Herr Carovius would never have believed that the reservedmisanthrope was capable of such a display of emotion. He felt thatEberhard had disclosed to him the most secret chambers of his heart. Hewas terrified at the voluptuousness revealed to him by the unveiling ofthe mystery of his soul. They are human beings after all, those membersof the nobility, he exclaimed with a feeling of personal triumph. Theythrow themselves away; they meet some slippery imp, and fall; they losecontrol of themselves as soon as they hear a skirt rustle. 

But what concerned the Baron in this case concerned also Herr Carovius. A passion that had taken possession of the Baron had to be guarded, studied, and eventually shared by Herr Carovius himself. 

Herr Carovius’s loneliness had gradually robbed him of his equanimity. Suppressed impulses were stifling his mind with the luxuriant growths ofa vivid and vicious imagination. The adventures into which he hadvoluntarily plunged in order to make sure of his control over Eberhardhad almost ruined him. The net he had spread for the helplesslyfluttering bird now held him himself entangled in its meshes. The worldto him was a body full of wounds on which he was battening his Neroniclusts. But it was at the same time a tapestry, with bright colouredpictures which could be made living and real by a magic formula, andthis formula he had not yet been able to discover. 

At the insinuations of the apothecary his fancy took on new life: hewas not a man in whose soul old emotions died out; his lusts neverbecame extinct. Lying on the sofa, taking his midday siesta, he wouldpicture the figure of Eleanore dancing around him in diminutive form. When he sat at the piano and played an _étude_, he imagined he sawDaniel standing beside him criticising his technique—and doing it withmuch show of arrogance. When he went out of evenings, he saw Nothafftdisplayed on all the signs, while every _demi-monde_ bore Eleanore’sfeatures. 

It seemed to him in time that Eleanore Jordan was his property; that hehad a right to her. His life, he felt, was full of lamentableprivations: other people had everything, he had nothing. Otherscommitted crimes; all he could do was to make note of the crimes. And noman could become either satiated or rich from merely taking the criminalincidents of other people’s lives into account. 

At midnight he put on his sleeping gown, took a seat before the mirror, and read until break of day a novel in which a man fifty years old has asecret and successful love affair with a young woman. As he read thisnovel he knew that something was going on. And he knew that out there ina certain house on Ægydius Place something was also going on. Make nomistake, something was up. 

He saw trysts on unlighted stairways. He saw people coming to mutualunderstandings by a certain pressure of the hand and adulterous signals. That is the way they did it; that is the way Benda and Marguerite haddone it. His old hate was revived. He transferred his hate, but also hishope, to music. Through music he was to build a bridge to Daniel andEleanore. He wanted to give them the advantage of his insight, histricks, his experience, simply in order that he might be on hand whenthey committed the gruesome deed; so that he might not be cut off fromthem by an impenetrable wall and be tortured in consequence by anincorporeal jealousy; he wanted to be one with them, to feast his eyeand reach forth his empty, senescent hand. 

“I am, ” he said to himself, “of the same flesh and blood as that man; inme too there is Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. I have, to be sure, ” he said tohimself, “despised women, for they are despicable. But let some womancome forward and show me that she is fit for anything more than toincrease by two or three the number of idiots with which the world isalready overcrowded, and I will do penance, whole and complete, and thenoffer her my services as a knight. ”

He no longer slept or ate; nor could he do anything that was in any wayrational. In a belated sexual outburst, a second puberty, hisimagination became inflamed by a picture which he adorned with all theperfections of both soul and body. 

He heard that one of Daniel’s works was to be played before invitedguests at the home of Baroness von Auffenberg. He wired to Eberhard, andasked him to get him an invitation. The reply was a negative one. In hisrage he could have murdered the messenger boy. He then wrote to Daniel, and, boasting of what he had already done for him, begged Daniel to seeto it that he was among the guests at the recital. He received a printedcard from the Baroness, on which she had expressed the hope that shemight be able to greet him on a certain day. 

He was in the seventh heaven. He decided to pay Daniel a visit, and tothank him for his kindness. 

 III

“The only thing to do is to leave the city, to go far, far away fromhere, ” thought Eleanore, on that evening that was so different from anyother evening of her life. 

While she was combing her hair, she was tempted to take the scissors andcut it off just to make herself ugly. In the night she went to thewindow to look for the stars. If it only had not happened, if it onlywere a dream, a voice within her cried. 

As soon as it turned grey in the morning, she got up. She hastenedthrough the deserted streets, just as she had done yesterday, out to thesuburbs. But everything was different. Tree and bush looked down uponher with stern reproachfulness. The mists hung low; but the hazy greycold of the early morning was like a bath to her. Later the sun brokethrough; primroses glistened with gold on the meadow. If it could onlyhave been a dream, she thought in silence. 

When she came home, her father had already received the news about themoney: it had been paid to Diruf; Daniel had taken it to him. 

Jordan remained in his room the whole day. And on the following day hekept to himself except while at dinner. He sat at the table with bowedhead; he had nothing to say. Eleanore went to his door from time to timeto see if she could hear him. There was not a sound; the house sang withsolitude. 

Jordan had requested the landlord to sublet the house before his leasehad expired: he felt that it was too large and expensive for him in thepresent state of his affairs. The landlord approved of the idea. In thehouse where Daniel and Gertrude were living there were two vacant roomsin the attic. Gertrude suggested to her father that it would be well forhim to take them. Jordan agreed with her. 

Eleanore began to think the situation over: if Father moves into thoserooms, I can leave him. She learned from Gertrude, who came now to seeher father every other day, that Daniel had received the appointment asKapellmeister at the City Theatre. Eleanore could carry out her plansthen with a clear conscience, for her brother-in-law and her sister weregetting along quite well at present. 

She recalled some conversations she had had with M. Rivière, who hadadvised her to go to Paris. Since Christmas, when he was invited to bepresent at the distribution of the presents, he had been coming toJordan’s quite frequently to talk French with Eleanore. This was inaccord with her express desire. 

One afternoon she went to visit M. Rivière. He was living in theromantic place up by the gardener on Castle Hill. His room had a balconythat was completely overgrown with ivy and elder, while in thebackground the trees and bushes of the city moat formed an impenetrablemaze of green. The spring air floated into the room in waves. AsEleanore made her business known, she fixed her enchanted eyes on abouquet of lilies of the valley that stood on the table in a bronzevase. 

M. Rivière took a handful of them, and gave them to her. They had notbeen cut; they had been pulled up by the roots. Eleanore laughed happilyat the fragrance. 

M. Rivière said he was just about to write to his mother in Paris, andas she was so familiar with the city, she could be of great help toEleanore. 

Eleanore stepped out on the balcony. “The world is beautiful, ” shethought, and smiled at the fruitless efforts of a tiny beetle to climbup a perpendicular leaf. “Perhaps it was after all merely a dream, ” shethought, and thereby consoled herself. 

When she returned, Daniel was at her father’s. The two men were sittingin the dark. 

Eleanore lighted the lamp. Then she filled a glass with water, and putthe lilies of the valley in it. 

“Daniel wants to know why you never visit them any more, ” said Jordan, weak and distraught as he now always was. “I told him you were busy atpresent with great plans of your own. Well, what does the Frenchmanthink about it?”

Eleanore answered her father’s question in a half audible voice. 

“Go wherever you want to go, child, ” said Jordan. “You have beenprepared for an independent life in the world for a long while; there isno doubt about that. God forbid that I should put any hindrances in yourway. ” He got up with difficulty, and turned toward the door of his room. Taking hold of the latch, he stopped, and continued in his brooding way:“It is peculiar that a man can die by inches in a living body; that aman can have the feeling that he’s no longer a part of the present; andthat he can no longer play his rôle, keep up with his own people, graspwhat is going on about him, or know whether what is to come is good orevil. It is fearful when a man reaches that stage, fearful—fearful!”

He left the room, shaking his head. To Daniel his words sounded like avoice from the grave. 

They had been silent for a long while, he and Eleanore. Suddenly heasked gruffly: “Are you serious about going to Paris?”

“Of course I am, ” she said, “what else can I do?”

He sprang up, and looked angrily into her face: “One has to be ashamedof one’s self, ” he said, “human language becomes repulsive. Don’t youhave a feeling of horror when you think? Don’t you shudder when youreflect on that caricature known as the heart, or the soul, or whateverit may be called?”

“I don’t understand you, Daniel, ” said Eleanore. She would never haveconsidered it possible that he would look with disfavour on hercontrition and the decision that had sprung from it. Then it had notafter all been the flash of a solitary second? Had she not hoped andexpected to hear a self-accusation from him that would make her forgetall and forgive herself? Where was she? In what world or age was sheliving?

“Do you believe that I merely wanted to enjoy a diverting and momentaryside-step?” Daniel continued, measuring her with his eyes from head tofoot. “Do you believe that it is possible to jest with the most sacredlaws of nature? You have had a good schooling, I must say; you do yourteachers honour. Go! I don’t need you. Go to Paris, and let medegenerate!”

He stepped to the door. Then he turned, and took the lamp, which she hadremoved from the holder when she lighted it. Holding the lamp in hisright hand, he walked close up to her. Her eyes closed involuntarily. “I simply wanted to see whether it was really you, ” he said withpassionate contempt. “Yes, it is you, ” he said scornfully, “it is you. ”With that he placed the lamp on the table. 

“I don’t understand you, Daniel, ” she said softly. She looked around forsome object to rest her eyes on. 

“So I see. Good night. ”

“Daniel!”

But he had already gone. The hall door closed with a bang. The housesang with solitude. 

The green threadbare sofa, the old, old smoke stains on the whitewashedceiling, the five rickety chairs that reminded her of so many decrepitold men, the mirror with the gilded angel of stucco at the top—allthese things were so tiring, so irksome, so annoying: they were likeunderbrush in the forest. 

Little brother! Little brother!

 IV

Three evenings of the week were devoted to opera, the others to drama. 

The first Kapellmeister was a middle-aged man whose curly hair made himthe idol of all flappers. He was lazy, uncultivated, and his name wasLebrecht. 

The director was an old stager who referred to the public about as adisrespectful footman refers to his lord. At Daniel’s suggestions forimproving the repertory, he generally shrugged his shoulders. The operasin which he had the greatest confidence as drawing cards were “TheBeggar Student, ” “Fra Diavolo, ” “L’Africaine, ” and “Robert le Diable. ”The singers and the orchestra were not much better than those of thelamented Dörmaul-Wurzelmann troupe. The possibility of arousing them tointensified effort or filling them with a semblance of intelligententhusiasm for art was even less. Privileges based on length of serviceand the familiar traditions of indolence made æsthetic innovationsunthinkable. 

Wherever careworn Philistines and slothful materialists occupy the seatsfrom which art should raise her voice, advancement, progress born ofsacrificial application, is out of the question: the most it isreasonable to expect is a bourgeois fulfilment of inescapable duties. Insuch, cases the flower droops; the dream vanishes; the free-born spirithas the choice of fighting day in and day out against the collectivedemons of pettiness and mediocrity, or of going down in admitted defeat. 

“Stuff the people can easily digest, my dear boy, that is the idea, ”said the director. 

“What are you so excited about? Don’t you know these people haven’t amusical muscle in their whole soul?” said Lebrecht. 

“For nine consecutive years I have been singing F sharp at this operahouse, and now here comes a _musicien_ from the backwoods and demandsall of a sudden that I sing F!” This was the commentary of FräuleinVarini, the prima donna whose outstanding bosom had long been a sourceof human merriment to pit, stall, and gallery. 

“Ah, he is a greasy grind determined to arrive, ” said the firstviolinist. 

“He’s a spit-fire, ” said the lad who beat the big drum, when Danielthreatened to box his ears for a false intonation. 

The Baroness had secured a publisher in Leipzig for his cycle of sixteensongs; the compositions were to be brought out at her expense. That didnot have the right effect: it was not something, Daniel felt, that hehad fought for and won; it was not a case where merit had made rejectionimpossible. He had the feeling that he was selling his soul and wasbeing paid to do it. Moreover, and worst of all, he had to express hisgratitude for this act. The Baroness loved to have somebody thank herfor what she had done. She never once suspected that what Daniel wantedwas not benefactors, but people who were stirred to the depths of theirsouls by his creations. The rich cannot sense the feelings of the poor;the higher classes remain out of contact with the lower. 

His excitability saved him. In his magnificent solicitude for themission that is at once the token and the curse of those who are reallycalled, he shut himself off from a world from which the one thing hewanted was bread; bread and nothing else. 

After the publication of the songs a review appeared in the _Phœnix_which had a remarkably realistic ring to the ear of the layman. As amatter of fact it was merely an underhanded attempt at assassination. The thing was signed with a big, isolated “W. ” Wurzelmann, the littleslave, had shot from his ambush. 

Other musical journals copied this review. A half dozen people boughtthe songs; then they were forgotten. 

It was no use to hope. The trouble was, he needed bread, just bread. 

 V

It was often difficult for him to find the peace and quiet necessary foreffective work. May brought cold weather; they had to make a fire; thestove smoked; the potter came in and removed the tiles; the room lookedlike an inferno. 

Gertrude was pounding sugar: “Don’t be angry at me, Daniel; I must poundthe sugar to-day. ” And she pounded away until the hammer penetrated theparalysed brain of the listener by force of circumstances. 

The hinges of the door screeched. “You ought to oil them, Gertrude. ”Gertrude looked high and low for the oil can, and when she finally foundit, she had no feather to use in smearing the oil on. She went over tothe chancellor’s, and borrowed one from her maid. While she was gone, the milk boiled over and filled the house with a disagreeable stench. 

The door bell rang. It was the cobbler; he had come to get the money forthe patent leather shoes. The wives of Herr Kirschner and Herr Rübsamhad both said that Daniel must not think of appearing at the comingrecital at the Baroness’s without patent leather shoes. 

“I haven’t the money, Gertrude; have you got that much?”

Gertrude went through her chests, and scraped up five marks which shegave the cobbler as a first instalment. The man went away growling;Daniel hid from him. 

Gertrude was sitting in the living room making clothes for herbaby-to-come. There was a happy expression on her face. Daniel knew thatit was a display of maternal joy and expectation, but since he could notshare this joy, since indeed he felt a sense of fear at the appearanceof the child, her happiness embittered him. 

Between the fuchsias in the window stood a robin red-breast; the impishbird had its head turned to one side, and was peeping into the room:“Come out, ” it chirped, “come out. ” And Daniel went. 

He had an engagement with M. Rivière at the café by the market place. Since he no longer saw anything of Eleanore, he wanted to find out howher plans for going to Paris were getting along. 

The Frenchman told of the progress he was making in his Caspar Hauserresearch. In his broken German he told of the murder of body and soulthat had been committed in the case of the foundling: “He was a mortalman _comme une étoile_, ” he said. “The bourgeoisie crushed him. Thebourgeoisie is the _racine_ of all evil. ”

Daniel never mentioned Eleanore’s name. He tried to satisfy himself bythe fact that she kept out of his sight. He bit his lips together, andsaid: I will. But a stronger power in him said, No, you won’t. And thisstronger power became a beggar. It went around saying, Give me, please, give me!

The billiard balls rattled. A gentleman in a red velvet vest had aquarrel with a shabby looking fellow who had been reading _FliegendeBlätter_ for the last two hours; he would begin over and over again atthe very beginning, and break out into convulsions of laughter everytime he came to his favourite jokes. 

Daniel was silent; he insisted somehow on remaining silent. M. Rivièrewished, for this reason, to hear something about the “Harzreise. ” By wayof starting a discussion he remarked quite timidly that _sans musique lavie est insupportable_, “There is something about music that reminds oneof insanity, ” he remarked. He said there were nights when he would opena volume of Schubert’s or Brahms’s songs, leaf through them, read thenotes, and hum the melodies simply in order to escape the despair whichthe conduct of the people about him was emptying into his heart. “_Moi_, I ought to be, how do you say? stoic; _mais_ I am not. In me there is_trop de musique, et c’est le contraire_. ”

Daniel looked at him in astonishment. “Come with me, ” he said suddenly, got up, and took him by the arm. 

They met Eleanore in the hall. She had been up in the new flat with thewhitewasher. Her father was to move in the following day. 

“Why was all this done so quickly?” asked Daniel, full of a vaguehappiness that drew special nourishment from the fact that Eleanore wasplainly excited. 

“Mere chance, ” she said, and carefully avoided looking at him. “Acaptain who is being transferred here from Ratisbon is moving in ourplace. It is a pity to leave the good old rooms. The second-hand dealeris going to get a deal of our stuff; there is no room for it up there inthose two cubby holes. How is Gertrude? May I go up and see her for aminute or two?”

“Yes, go right up, ” said Daniel stiffly; “you can stay and listen if youwish to. I am going to play the Harzreise. ”

“If I wish to? I almost have a right to; you promised me this long ago. ”

“She thinks after all that I want to catch her, ” he thought to himself. “It will be better for me to drop the whole business than to let theidea creep into her stupid skull that my composition is going to makepropaganda for our private affairs. ” With bowed head he ascended thestairs, M. Rivière and Eleanore following along behind. His ears werepricked to hear anything they might say about Paris; they talked aboutthe weather. 

As they entered the room Gertrude had the harp between her knees; butshe was not playing. Her hands lay on the strings, her head was restingon the frame. “Why haven’t you lighted a lamp?” asked Daniel angrily. 

She was terrified; she looked at him anxiously. The expression on herface made him conscious of many things that he had kept in thebackground of his thoughts during his everyday life: her unconditionalsurrender to him; the magnanimity and nobility of her heart, which wasas dependent on his as the mercury in the thermometer is dependent onthe atmosphere; her speechless resignation regarding a thousand littlethings in her life! her wellnigh supernatural ability to enter into thespirit and enjoyment of what he was doing, however much his mind mightpresume to write _De profundis_ across his creations. 

It was on this account that he recognised in her face a serious, far-away warning. At once cowardly and reverential, conscious of hisguilt and yet feeling innocent, he went up to her and kissed her on thehair. She leaned her head on his breast, thus causing him to feel, though quite unaware of it herself, the whole weight of the burden shewas placing on him. 

He told her he was going to play. He said: “I have lost my pictureagain; I want to try to find it in others. ”

Gertrude begged him, with a pale face, to be permitted to stay in theliving room. She closed the door only partly. 

 VI

In Goethe’s verses entitled “Harzreise im Winter, ” thoughts liescattered about like erratic strata in the world of geology, andfeelings that are as big and terrible as the flames from burningplanets. In Daniel’s work the whole of Goethe’s prodigious sorrow andsolemnity seemed to have been transformed automatically into music. 

When, in the second half, the motif of human voices was taken over, whenthese voices pealed forth first singly, one by one, from the surgingsea of tones, and then gathered with ever-increasing avidity, longing, and candour into the great chorus, one had the feeling that without thisliberation they would have been stifled in the darkness. 

The effect of the pianissimo moaning of the basses before the sopranoset in was overwhelming: it was like the vulture which, resting witheasy wing on the dark morning cloud, spies around for booty. So was thesong meant to be. The trombone solo was a shout of victory: it impartednew life to the sunken orchestra. 

Daniel had infinite trouble in making all this wealth of symbolic artclear through song, word, and gesture at the same time that his musicwas being played. 

The work abounded in blends and half tones which stamped it as a childof its age, and still more of ages to come, despite the compact rigidityof its architecture. There was no bared sweetness in it; it was as roughas the bark of a tree; it was as rough as anything that is created withthe assurance of inner durability. 

Its rhythm was uniform, regular; it provided only for crescendos. Therewas nothing of the seductive, nothing of the waltz-fever in it. It wasin no way cheap; it did not flatter slothful ears. It had no languishingmotifs; it was all substance and exterior. The melody was concealed likea hard kernel in a thick shell; and not merely concealed: it wasdivided, and then the divisions were themselves divided. It wascondensed, compressed, bound, and at the same time subterranean. It wascreated to rise from its depths, rejoice, and overwhelm: “But clothe thelonely one in thy clouds of gold! Enshroud with ivy until the rosesbloom again, oh Love, the dampened hair of thy poet!”

The work was written a quarter of a century before its time. It was outof touch with the nerves of its contemporary environment. It could nothope to count upon a prophet or an interpreter. It could not be carriedfurther by the benevolence of congenial champions. It bore the marks ofmortal neglect. It was like a bird from the tropics left to die on theicy coasts of Greenland. 

But for those who are near in heart there is a fluid in the air thatintercedes for the higher truth. M. Rivière and Eleanore scarcelybreathed during the recital. Eleanore’s big eyes were still: they openedand closed slowly. When Daniel finished, he dried his hot brow with hishandkerchief, and then his arms fell limp at his sides. He felt as ifthe brilliancy of Eleanore’s eyes had reached the tips of his hair andhad electrified it. 

“Enshroud with ivy, until the roses bloom again, oh Love, the dampenedhair of thy poet!”

“It is impossible to get an idea of it, ” murmured Daniel; “the piano islike an instrument of torture. ”

They were struck by peculiar sounds coming from the living room. Theywent in, and found Gertrude pale as death, her hands folded across herbosom, sitting on the sofa. She was talking to herself, partly as if ina dream, partly as if she were praying. It was impossible to understandwhat she was saying. She seemed distant, estranged. 

Eleanore hastened to her; Daniel looked at her with a scowl. Just thenthe bell rang, and M. Rivière went out. There was the sound of a man’svoice; it was disagreeable. The door was opened and—Herr Caroviusentered. 

 VII

Herr Carovius bowed in all directions. He wore tan shoes with brassbuckles, black trousers, a shiny green coat, and a white cravat thatcould no longer be called clean. He laid his slouch hat on a chair, andsaid he would like to beg their pardon if he had called at aninopportune hour. He had come, he said, to thank his dear young masterfor the aforementioned invitation. 

“It seems—yes, it seems, ” he added, with a droll blinking of his eyes, “that I have in all innocence interrupted the performance of a mostinteresting production. There is a crowd of people gathered out in frontof the house, and I could not forego the pleasure of listening. I hopeyou will not stop playing the sacrificial festival on my account. Whatwas it, _maestro_? It wasn’t the symphony, was it?”

“Yes, it was the symphony, ” replied Daniel, who was so amazed at theappearance and conduct of the man that he was really courteous. 

“It cost me money to be sure—believe it or not. I had to get anafternoon coat that would do for a Count—latest cut, velvet collar, tails that reached down to my calves. Aristocratic, very!” He staredover Gertrude’s head into the corner, and tittered for at least a half aminute. 

Nobody said a word. Everybody was dumb, astounded. 

“Good lord, social obligations, ” continued Herr Carovius, “but after allyou can’t afford to be a backwoodsman. Music is supposed to ennoble aman even externally. By the way, there is a rumour afloat that it is asymphony with chorus. How did you happen upon the idea? The laurels ofthe Ninth will not let you sleep? I would have thought that you didn’tgive a damn about classical models. Everybody is so taken up now withmusical lullabies, _wage-la-wei-a_, that kind of stuff, you know. Butthen I suppose that is only a transition stage, as the fox said when hewas being skinned. ”

He took off his nose glasses, polished them very hastily, fumbled for awhile with his cord, and then put them on again. Having gained time inthis way, he began to expatiate on the decadence of the arts, askedDaniel whether he had ever heard anything about a certain Hugo Wolf whowas being much talked about and who was sitting in darkest Austriaturning out songs like a Hottentot, made a number of derogatory remarksabout a fountain that was being erected in the city, said that a companyof dancers had just appeared at the Cultural Club in a repertory ofgrotesque pantomimes, remarked that as he was coming over he learnedthat there was an institution in the city that loaned potato sacks, andthat there had just been a fearful fire in Constantinople. 

Thereupon he looked first at Daniel, then at M. Rivière, took the snarlsof the one and the embarrassment of the other to be encouraging signsfor the continuation of his gossip, readjusted his glasses, and sneezed. Then he smoothed out the already remarkably smooth hairs he had left onhis head, rubbed his hands as if he were beginning to feel quite athome, and tittered when there was any sign of a stoppage in his asinineeloquence. 

At times he would cast a stealthy glance at Gertrude, who would drawback somewhat as the arm of a thief who feels he is being watched. Eleanore did not seem to be present so far as he was concerned: he didnot see her. Finally she got up. She was tortured by the interruption ofwhat she had just experienced from the music and by his flat, stale, andunprofitable remarks. Then he got up too, looked at his watch as if hewere frightened, asked if he might repeat his visit at another time, took leave of Gertrude with a silly old-fashioned bow, from Daniel witha confidential handshake, and from the Frenchman with uncertaincourtesy. Eleanore he again entirely overlooked. 

Out in the hall he stopped, nodded several times, and said with analmost insane grin, speaking into the empty air before him: “_AufWiedersehen_, fair one! _Auf Wiedersehen_, fairest of all! Good-bye, myangel! Forget me not!”

In the room Eleanore whispered in a heavy, anxious tone: “What wasthat? What was that?”

 VIII

Philippina Schimmelweis came to help Eleanore with the moving. At firstEleanore was quite surprised; then she became accustomed to having heraround and found her most helpful. Jordan took no interest in anythingthat was going on. The last of all his hope seemed to be shattered bythe fact that he was to move. 

Philippina gradually fell into the habit of coming every day and workingfor a few hours either for Eleanore or for Gertrude, so long as thelatter had anything to do in the kitchen. They became used to seeingher, and put up with her. She tried to make as little noise as possible;she had the mien of a person who is filling an important butunappreciated office. 

She made a study of the house; she knew the rooms by heart. Shepreferred to come along toward sunset or a little later. One day shetold Eleanore she had seen a mysterious-looking person out on the hallsteps. Eleanore took a candle and went out, but she could not see anyone. Philippina insisted nevertheless that she had seen a man in a greendoublet, and that he had made a face at her. 

She was particularly attracted by the rooms in the attic. She told theneighbours that there was an owl up there. As a result of this thechildren of that section began to fear the entire house, while thechancellor’s wife, who lived on the ground floor, became so nervous thatshe gave up her apartment. 

There was no outside door or entrance hall of any kind to Jordan’s newquarters. You went direct from the stairway into the room where Eleanoreworked and slept. Adjoining this was her father’s room. People stillcalled him the Inspector, although he no longer had such a position. 

He sat in his narrow, cramped room the whole day. One wall was out ofplumb. The windows he kept closed. When Eleanore brought him hisbreakfast or called him to luncheon, which she had cooked in the tinybox of a kitchen and then served in her own little room, he wasinvariably sitting at the table before a stack of papers, mostly oldbills and letters. The arrangement of these he never changed. 

Once she entered his room without knocking. He sprang up, closed adrawer as quickly as he could, locked it, put the key in his pocket, and tried to smile in an innocent way. Eleanore’s heart almost stoppedbeating. 

He never went out until it was dark, and on his return he could be seencarrying a package under his arm. This he took with him to his room. 

At first Eleanore was always uneasy when she had to leave. She requestedPhilippina to be very careful and see to it that no stranger entered thehouse. Philippina had a box full of ribbons in Eleanore’s cabinet. Sheset a chair against the door leading into Jordan’s room; and when herhands were tired from rummaging around in the ribbons and her eyes wearyfrom looking at all the flashy colours, she pressed her ear to the doorto see if she could find out what the old man was doing. 

At times she heard him talking. It seemed as if he were talking withsome one. His voice had an exhortatory but tender tone in it. Philippinatrembled with fear. Once she even pressed the latch; she wanted to openthe door as quietly as possible, so that she might peep in and see whatwas really going on. But to her vexation, the door was bolted on theother side. 

For Gertrude she did small jobs and ran little errands: she would go tothe baker or the grocer for her. Gertrude became less and less active;it was exceedingly difficult for her to climb the stairs. Philippinatook the place of a maid. The only kind of work she refused to do waswork that would soil her clothes. Gertrude’s shyness irritated her; oneday she said in a snappy tone: “You are pretty proud, ain’t you? Youdon’t like me, do you?” Gertrude looked at her in amazement, and made noreply; she did not know what to say. 

Whenever Philippina heard Daniel coming, she hid herself. But if hechanced to catch sight of her, he merely shrugged his shoulders at the“frame, ” as he contemptuously called her. It seemed to him that it wouldbe neither wise nor safe to mistreat her. He felt that it was the betterpart of valour to look with favour on her inexplicable diligence, andlet it go at that. 

Once he even so completely overcame himself that he gave her his hand;but he drew it back immediately: he felt that he had never touchedanything so slimy in his life; he thought he had taken hold of a frog. Philippina acted as if she had not noticed what he had done. Butscarcely had he gone into his room, when she turned to Gertrude with adiabolic glimmer in her eyes, and, making full use of her vulgar voice, said: “Whew! Daniel’s kind, ain’t he? No wonder people can’t stand him!”

When she saw that Gertrude knit her brow at this exclamation, shewheeled about on the heels of her clumsy shoes, and screamed as if thedevil were after her: “Oi, oi, Gertrude, Gertrude, oi, oi, the meat’sburning! The meat’s burning. ”

It was a false alarm. The meat was sizzling quite peacefully in the pan. 

 IX

Late in the afternoon of a stormy day in June Daniel came home from thelast rehearsal of the “Harzreise, ” tired and out of humour. Therehearsals had been held in a small room in Weyrauth’s Garden. He hadquarrelled with all the musicians and with all the singers, male andfemale. 

As he reached Ægydius Place a shudder suddenly ran through his body. Hewas forced to cover his eyes with his hands and stand still for amoment; he thought he would die from longing for a precious virginalpossession which he had been so foolish as to trifle away. 

He went up the steps, passed by his own apartment, and climbed on up tothe apartment of Inspector Jordan and his daughter Eleanore. 

His eye fell on the board partition surrounding the stove and the coppercooking utensils that hung on the wall. There sat Eleanore, her armresting on the window sill, her head on her hand: she wasmeditating—meditating and gaining new strength as she did so. Her facewas turned toward the steep fall of a roof, the century-old frame-work, grey walls, darkened window panes and dilapidated wooden galleries, above which lay stillness and a rectangular patch of sky that was thencovered with clouds. 

“Good evening, ” said Daniel, as he stepped out of the darkness into thedimly lighted room. “What are you doing, Eleanore, what are you thinkingabout?”

Eleanore shuddered: “Ah, is it you, Daniel? You show yourself after along while? And ask what I am thinking about? What curiosity! Do youwant to come into my room?”

“No, no, sit perfectly still, ” he replied, and prevented her fromgetting up by touching her on the shoulder. “Is your father at home?”

She nodded. He drew a narrow bench from which he had removed the coffeemill and a strainer up to the serving table, and sat down as far aspossible from Eleanore, though even so they were as close together asif they were sitting opposite each other in a cab. 

“How are you making out?” she asked with embarrassment, and without theremotest display of warmth. 

“You know that I am beating a perforated drum, Eleanore. ” After a pausehe added: “But whatever people may do or fail to do, between us twothere must be a clear understanding: Are you going to Paris?”

She dropped her head in silence. “Well, I could go; there is nothing toprevent me, ” she said, softly and with hesitation. “But you see how itis. I am no longer as I used to be. Formerly I could scarcely picturethe happiness I would derive from having some one there in whom I couldconfide and who would be interested in me. I would not have hesitatedfor a moment. But now? If I go, what becomes clear from my going? And ifI stay here, what will be clear? I have already told you, Daniel, that Idon’t understand you. How terrible it is to have to say that! What doyou want now? How is all this going to come out?”

“Eleanore, do you recall Benda’s last letter? You yourself brought it tome, and after that I was a different person. He wrote to me in thatletter just as if he had never heard of Gertrude, and said that I shouldnot pass you by. He wrote that we two were destined for each other, andneither for any one else in the world. Of course you recall how I actedafter reading the letter. And even before that: Do you remember the dayof the wedding when you put the myrtle wreath on? Why, I knew then thatI had lost everything, that my real treasure had vanished. And evenbefore that: Do you recall that I found that Fräulein Sylvia von Erffthad your complexion, your figure, your hair, and your hands? And evenbefore that: When you went walking with Benda in the woods, I walkedalong behind, and took so much pleasure in watching you walk, but Ididn’t know it. And when you came into the room there in the Long Row, and caressed the mask and sat down at the piano and leaned your headagainst the wood, don’t you recall how indispensable you were to me, tomy soul? The only trouble is, I didn’t know it; I didn’t know it. ”

“Well, there is nothing to be done about all that: that is a by-gonestory, ” said Eleanore, holding her breath, while a blush of emotionflitted across her face only to give way to a terrible paleness. 

“Do you believe that I am a person to be content with what is past?Every one, Eleanore, owes himself his share of happiness, and he can getit if he simply makes up his mind to it. It is not until he hasneglected it, abandoned it, and passed it by, that his fate makes aslave out of him. ”

“That is just what I do not understand, ” said Eleanore, and looked intohis face with a more cheerful sense of freedom. “It wounds my heart tosee you waging a losing battle against self-deception and ugly defiance. We two cannot think of committing a base deed, Daniel. It is impossible, isn’t it?”

Daniel, plainly excited, bent over nearer to her: “Do you know where Iam standing?” he asked, while the blue veins in his temples swelled andhammered: “Well, I’ll tell you. I am standing on a marble slab above anabyss. To the right and left of this abyss are nothing but blood-thirstywolves. There is no choice left to me except either to leap down intothe abyss, or to allow myself to be torn to pieces by the wolves. Whensuch a being as you comes gliding along through the air, a wingedcreature like you, that can rescue me and pull me up after it, is thereany ground for doubt as to what should be done?”

Eleanore folded her arms across her bosom, and half closed her eyes: “Ahno, Daniel, ” she said in a kindly way, “you are exaggerating, really. You see everything too white and too black: A winged creature, I? Where, pray, are my wings? And wolves? All these silly little people—wolves?Oh no, Daniel. And blood-thirsty? Listen, Daniel, that is going quitetoo far; don’t you think so yourself?”

“Don’t crush my feelings, Eleanore!” cried Daniel, in a suppressed toneand with passionate fierceness: “Don’t crush my feelings, for they areall I have left. You are not capable of thinking as you have just beentalking, you cannot think that low, you are not capable of such languid, ordinary feelings. The over-tone! The over-tone! Think a little! Can’tyou see them gritting their teeth at me? Can’t you hear them howling dayand night? Can you possibly say that they are kind or compassionate? Orare they willing to be good and great when one comes? Do you haveconfidence in a single one of them? Have they not even dragged your goodname into the mire? Are any of the things that are sacred to you and tome sacred to them? Can they be moved the one-thousandth part of an inchby your distress or my distress or the distress of any human being? Isnot the slime of slander thick upon their tongues? Is not your smile athorn in their flesh? Do they not envy me the little I have and forwhich I have flayed myself? Don’t they envy me my music, which they donot understand, and which they hate because they do not understand it?Would it not fill them with joy if I had to make my living beatingstones on the public highway or cleaning out sewers? Do they find itpossible to pardon me for my life and the things that make up my life?And yet you say there are no wolves? That they are not wolves? Tell methat you are afraid of them, that you do not wish to turn them againstyourself; but don’t tell me that you are committing an evil act when Icall you to me, you with your wings, and you come. ”

His arms were stretched out toward her on the top of the kitchen table;they were trembling to the very tips of his fingers. 

“The evil deed, Daniel, ” whispered Eleanore, “hasn’t anything to do withthese people; it was committed against the higher law of morals, againstour feeling of right usage and established honour. .. . ”

“False, ” he hissed, “false! They have made you believe that. They havepreached that to you for centuries and centuries; your mother, yourgrand-mother, your great-grand-mother, they have all been telling youthat. It is false; it is a lie; it is all a lie. It is with this verylie that they support their power and protect their organisation. It istruth on the contrary that fills my heart, fills it with joy, and helpsme along. What nature offers, obedience to nature, that is truth. Truthlies in your thoughts, in your feelings, girl, in your choked feelings, in your blood, in the ‘yes’ you speak in your dreams. Of course I knowthat they need their lie, for they must be organised, the wolves; theymust go in packs, otherwise they are impotent. But I have only my truth, only my truth as I stand on the marble slab above the abyss. ”

“Your truth, Daniel, ” said Eleanore, “_your_ truth. But your truth isnot my truth. ”

“No, Eleanore? No? Not yours? What then is the use of my talking withyou? And even if everything else were falsehood and error, I am asconvinced as I can be that my truth is also your truth. ”

“You can’t stand out against the whole world, ” said Eleanore in anguish, “you are after all in the world yourself. ”

“Yes, I will take my stand against the whole world, ” he said, “that isprecisely what I have made up my mind to do. I will pay them back intheir own coin. Just as they have all stood against me, just so will Istand against them. I am no compromiser, no treaty-maker, no haggler, nobeggar. I live according to my own law. I _must_, where other peoplemerely _should_ or _may_, or _may not_. Whoever does not comprehend thathas nothing in common, one way or the other, with me. ”

She was terrified at the presumptuousness of his words; and yet therewas a feeling in her of joy and pride: she felt a desire to be for him, to be with him. If he was fighting against the very power that would inthe end overcome him, he was doing it for her sake. She did not feel, therefore, that she had the right to withdraw from him. The thing aboutit all that gave her a wonderful feeling of relief, and at the same timemade her morally flabby and carried her away, was the passion of hiswill and the undaunted assurance of his feelings. 

But their eyes chanced to meet; and in the eyes of each there was thename of Gertrude. 

Gertrude stood between them in living form. Everything they had said hadproceeded from her and returned to her. That Daniel was not thinking ofannulling his marriage, that he could not think of it, Eleanore knew. Achild was expected; who could reject the mother under thesecircumstances? How would it be possible, poor as they were, to exposeboth mother and child to the inevitable misery that would followannulment of the marriage? Daniel could not do this, and Eleanore knewit. 

But she also knew, for she knew her sister, that separation from Danielwould mean her death. She knew too that Daniel considered his marriageto Gertrude as indissoluble, not only because of his knowledge of hercharacter, but because there was in his life with Gertrude somethingthat is quite independent of passions, views, and decisions, somethingthat binds even in hate and binds even more firmly in despair. 

Eleanore knew all this. She knew that Daniel knew it. And if she drewthe only conclusion that could be drawn from his argument and his stateof mind, she knew what he demanded of her. 

He was demanding that she give herself up to him. Of this there could benot a shred of doubt. 

But how? Secretly? Could that produce happiness? With the understandingof Gertrude? Could Gertrude endure such a thought, even if she were asmagnanimous as a saint? Where was the way that could be followed? Wherewas there an angle from which embarrassment, anxiety, and ruin were notready to leap forth without warning?

She bowed her head, and covered it with her hands. She sat in thisposition for a long while. Darkness settled down over the roofs of thehouses. 

Suddenly she got up, reached him her hand, smiled with tears in hereyes, and said with a last attempt to escape the horrible consequences, “Brüderlein[1]. .. . ” She spoke the word in a tone of longing fervour andhalf-humorous appealing. 

 [Footnote 1: “Little brother. ”]

He shook his head sadly, but took her hand and held it tenderly betweenhis. 

Her face became clouded; it was like a landscape at the coming of night. Her eyes, turned to one side, saw the trees of a great garden, an uglyold woman sitting by a hedge, and two little girls who looked into thesetting sun with fear in their hearts. 

There was a noise; she and Daniel were startled. In the doorway stoodPhilippina Schimmelweis. Her eyes glistened like the skin of a reptilethat has just crept up from out of the bog. 

Daniel went down to his apartment. 

 X

For nine years the rococo hall in the Auffenberg home had been closed tofestive celebrations of every kind. It took a long, tedious exchange ofletters between the secretary of the Baron living in Rome and thesecretary of the Baroness to get the permission of the former to use thehall. 

The indignation at Nothafft’s work was general. The members of thesocial set could hardly contain themselves, while the amateurs andspecially invited guests were likewise but little edified. The chiefdiversion of the evening, in fact, was to see the composer himselfconduct. At the sight of the jumping and sprawling fellow, Herr Zöllner, councillor of the consistory, almost burst with laughter. 

Old Count Schlemm-Nottheim, who not only had a liking for pornographicliterature but was also known to drink a quarter of a litre of Dr. Rosa’s balsam of life every afternoon, declared that the ensembleplaying of all the instruments represented by the show-booths at theannual fair was an actual musical revelation in comparison with thisDutch concert of rogues’ marches. Judge Braun of the Supreme Court gaveit as his candid opinion that there was evidently a conspiracy againstgood taste. 

Remarks of this kind were, of course, made behind screens and in thecorners. In order not to offend the Baroness, there was a goodly measureof seemingly cordial applause. The guests and artists then assembledaround a huge table arranged in the shape of a horseshoe. 

Count Schlemm-Nottheim was the table companion of the Baroness; he hadher tell him who the various personages from the world of art were. Heasked who was the woman of such interesting melancholy sitting next toMajor Bellmann. He was told that that was the wife of the composer. Hiswife? She is not at all bad; life with her would be rather worth while. And who was the woman between old Herold and the Frenchman? A charminglittle creature: she had eyes like the Lake of Liguria and hands like aprincess. That was the sister of the composer’s wife. Sister? You don’ttell me! A jolly fine family; worth the support of any man. 

Toasts were drunk. Herr Ehrenreich, the wholesale merchant, drank to thehealth of the creator of the “Harzreise”; the Count to the ladiespresent. 

Herr Carovius created a sensation. He sat with the members of the“Liedertafel”; they had sung in the chorus; and they were ashamed ofhim, for he conducted himself in a most unseemly fashion. 

He had somehow managed to get hold of a glove Eleanore had lost, andpossibly it was this that made him so convivial. He picked up an almondshell from the serving tray, and threw it at Fräulein Varini. He let hisleery, lascivious eyes roam about over the cut glass and the decorationsof the hall, and never once grew tired of praising the wealth andsplendour of the house. He acted as though he were quite at home. Heraised his wine glass, and declared that he was charmed by the flavourand colour of the costly, precious juice from the grape: he tried togive the impression that he knew the Auffenberg wine cellar from yearsof intimate association with it. 

Then it happened that through a hasty, awkward movement, he upset hisplate; a rivulet of rich brown gravy ran down over his white vest. Hebecame silent; he retired within himself. He dipped his napkin in thewater, and rubbed and rubbed. The waiters tittered. He buttoned up hiscoat, and looked like a show window in the dead of night. 

The eyes of the waiters were also given the privilege of feasting onanother rare social phenomenon. They noticed that Kapellmeister Nothafftwas sitting at the table in his stocking feet. His patent leather shoeshad hurt him so much that he made short work of it and took them offduring the dinner. There they stood without master or servant, one atthe right, the other at the left of his disencumbered feet. Whenever thewaiters passed by, they would cast one furtive but profitable glanceunder the table, and bite their lips to keep from bursting out inlaughter. 

This rude offence to social dignity was not unknown to the other dinnerguests. They whispered, smiled, shrugged their shoulders, and shooktheir heads. Daniel made no effort to conceal his bootlessness when theguests rose to leave the table; without giving the astonishment of hiscompanions a single thought, he once more drew the patent leathertorturers on to his extremities. But he had made a mistake: he hadgambled and lost. 

The news of the extraordinary event was fully exploited on the followingday. It was carried from house to house, accumulated momentous charm inits course, passed from the regions of the high to those of the lesshigh and quite low, and provoked storms of laughter everywhere. No onehad anything to say about the symphony; everybody was fully informedconcerning the patent leather episode. 

 XI

On the way home Daniel walked with Eleanore. Gertrude followed at somedistance with M. Rivière; she could not walk rapidly. 

“How did you find it, Eleanore? Didn’t you have the feeling that youwere at a feast of corpses?”

“Dear, ” she murmured; they walked on. 

After they had gone along for some time in perfect silence, they came toa narrow gateway. Eleanore suddenly felt that she could no longer endureDaniel’s mute questioning. She pulled her silk veil closer to hercheeks, and said: “Give me time! Don’t hurry me! Please give me time!”

“If I hadn’t given you time, my dear girl, I should not have deservedthis moment, ” he replied. 

“I cannot, I cannot, ” she said, with a sigh of despair. She had only onehope, one ray of hope left, and her whole soul was fixed on that. Butshe was obliged to act in silence. 

Standing in the living room with Gertrude, Daniel’s eye fell on the maskof Zingarella; it had been decorated with rose twigs. Under the greenyoung leaves fresh buds shone forth; they hung around the white stuccoof the mask like so many little red lanterns. “Who did that?” he asked. 

“Eleanore was here in the afternoon; she did it, ” replied Gertrude. 

His burning eyes were riveted on the mask, when Gertrude stepped up tohim, threw her arms around him, and in the fulness of her feelingsexclaimed: “Daniel, your work was wonderful, wonderful!”

“So? Did you like it? I am glad to hear it, ” he said, in a tone of dryconventionality. 

“The people don’t grasp it, ” she said gently, and then added with ablush: “But I understand it; I understand it, for it belongs to me. ”

The following day he laid the score of the “Harzreise” together with thewords in a big old chest, and locked it. It was like a funeral. 

 XII

In the dark, winding alleys behind the city wall stand little houseswith large numbers and coloured lanterns. They are filled with asweetish, foul odour, and have been laboriously built up out ofdilapidated lumber-rooms. From the cracks in the closed blinds comeforth, night after night, the sounds of shrill laughter. Those who enterare received by half-nude monsters, and are made to sit down onmonstrous chairs and sofas covered with red plush. 

The citizen calls these places dens of vice. Between Friday and Sundayhe thinks with lustful horror of the inhabitants with their bloated oremaciated bodies and the sad or intoxicated stare of their eyes. 

Herr Carovius wended his way to this quarter of the city. Because it wasonly a shadow which he embraced in hours when his inflamed imagination, vitiated by all the poisons of the earth, conjured up a human body, hewas angry; now he went there, and bought himself a real human body. 

After he had been in a half a dozen of these houses, had been jubilantlygreeted, and then thrown out to the accompaniment of bawdy abuse, he atlast found what he had been looking for: a creature whose cunning hadnot entirely been lost, who still had the features of a daughter of man, and whose figure and character still had the power to call up a memory, provided one were firmly decided to see what one wished to see and toforget what one wished to forget. 

Her name was Lena, charming reminder of a desired reality! He went withher as she left the circle of her companions, and followed her into thewretched hole between winding stairs and attic rooms. He rattled thecoins in his pocket, and gave his orders. The nymph had to put on astreet dress, set a modest hat on her head, and draw a veil over herrouged face. Thereupon he went up to her, spoke to her courteously, andkissed her hand. He had never in his life acted in so polite andchivalric a fashion in the presence of a woman. 

The prostitute was frightened; she ran away. She had to be giveninstructions; these were given her by the madame of the house; for HerrCarovius was rattling the coins in his pocket. “You will have to bepatient and indulgent; we are not prepared for such refined guestshere. ”

He returned. Lena had been told what to do. She soon fell into her rôle. 

“To be frank, ” he said to Lena, “I am inexperienced in the arts of love. I am too proud to kowtow to the berobed and bodiced idol. A woman is awoman, and a man is a man. They delude themselves and each other, or tryto, into believing that each woman is a special person, and each man aman to himself. Idiocy!”

The prostitute grinned. 

He walked back and forth; the room was just large enough to allow him totake three steps. He recalled the expression on Eleanore’s face duringthe performance of the symphony; his greedy eyes had rested on her allthe while. He became enraged: “You don’t imagine that progress can bemade by such amateurish efforts?” he said with a roar. “It is allhocus-pocus. There is as a matter of fact no such thing as progress inart, any more than there is progress in the course of the stars. Listen!”

He bellowed forth the first motif from the “Sonata quasi una fantasia”of Mozart: “Listen to this: Da—dada—da—daddaa! Is it possible toprogress beyond that? Don’t let them make a fool of you, my angel. Behonest with yourself. He has hypnotised you. He has turned yourunsuspecting heart upside down. Look at me! Are you afraid of me? I willdo all in my power for you. Give me your hand. Speak to me!”

The prostitute was obliged to stretch out her arms. He sat down besideher with a solemn ceremoniousness. Then he removed the pin from herhat, and laid the hat tenderly to one side. She had to lean her head onhis shoulder. 

With that he fell into a dreamy meditation. 

 XIII

Philippina came up to Gertrude in the living room. Daniel was not athome. Philippina was humming the latest street song, the refrain ofwhich ran as follows:

 _Drah’ di, Madel, drah’ di, Morgen kommt der Mahdi. _

“There it is, ” said Philippina, and threw a ball of yarn on the table. 

Gertrude had yielded to the girl’s importunities, and was addressing hernow with the familiar “thou” and allowing Philippina to do the same inspeaking to her. “We are after all relatives, you know, Gertrude, ” saidPhilippina. 

Gertrude was afraid of Philippina; but she had thus far found no meansof defending herself against her exaggerated eagerness to help her withthe housework. And she felt in Philippina’s presence what she felt inthe presence of no one else—a sense of shame at her own condition. 

Philippina, in fact, saw something indecent in Gertrude’s pregnancy;when she talked to her she always held her head up and looked intospace; her action was quite conspicuous. 

“Oh, but ain’t people impudent, ” Philippina began, after she had taken aloutish position on a chair. “The clerk over in the store asked mewhether there wasn’t something up between Daniel and Eleanore. What d’yethink of that? Fresh, yes? You bet I give him all that was coming tohim!”

The needle in Gertrude’s fingers stopped moving. It was not the firsttime that Philippina had made such insinuating remarks. To-day she wouldcome up to Gertrude, and whisper to her that Daniel was upstairs withEleanore; yesterday she had said in a tone of affected sympathy thatEleanore looked so run down. Then she gave a detailed report of whatthis person and that person had said; then she turned into a champion ofgood morals and gentle manners, and remarked that you ought not offendpeople. 

Her every third word was “people. ” She said she knew what a faultlesscharacter Eleanore had and how Daniel loved his wife, but people! Andafter all you couldn’t scratch everybody’s eyes out who annoyed you withdubious questions; if you did, there would soon be very few eyes left. 

Philippina’s bangs had acquired an unusual length; they covered herwhole forehead down to her eyelashes. The glances she cast at Gertrudehad on this account something especially malevolent about them. “She isnot so certain of herself and her family after all, ” thought Philippina, and made a lewd gesture with her legs as she sprawled on the chair. 

“You know, I think Daniel ought to be more cautious, ” she said with herrasping voice. “This being together all alone for hours at a time ain’tgoing to do no good; no good at all, I say. And the two are alwaysrunning after each other; if it’s not her, it’s him. If you happen totake ’em by surprise, they jump like criminals. It’s been going on thisway for six weeks, day after day. Do you think that’s right? You don’tneed to put up with it, Gertrude, ” she said in conclusion, making a sadattempt to look coquettish. Then she cast her eyes to the floor, andlooked as innocent as a child. 

Gertrude’s heart grew cold. Her confidence in Daniel was unfaltering, but the venomous remarks made to her left her without peace of mind orbody; she could not think clearly. The very fact that such things werebeing said about Daniel and Eleanore, and that words failed her to stopthem because from the very beginning she had borne it all with theself-assurance that naturally springs from contempt for gossip, onlytended to make her grief all the more bitter. 

How hollow any objection on her part would have sounded! How fatuous andineffective a rebuke from her would have been! Could she muzzle thesewicked, slanderous tongues by referring to the peculiarities of Daniel’snature? Could he be expected to go to Philippina and give an account ofhimself? A contemptuous smile came to her face when she pondered on suchpossibilities. 

And yet, why was she heart-sore? Was it because she was at lastbeginning to realise that she was unloved?

Involuntarily her eyes fell on the mask; it was still covered with thewithered rose twigs. She got up and removed them. Her hand trembled asif she were committing some evil act. 

“Go home, Philippina, I don’t need you any more, ” she said. 

“Oi, it is late, ain’t it? I must be going, ” cried Philippina. “Don’tworry, Gertrude, ” she said by way of consolation. “And don’t complain ofme to your husband; he’ll git ugly if you do. If you say anything badabout me, there’s going to be trouble here, I say. I am a perfect fool;people git out of my way, they do. I’ve got a wicked mouth, I have;there’s no stopping it. Well, good night. ”

She rubbed her hands down over her skirt, as if she were trying tosmooth out the wrinkles; there was an element of comic caution in whatshe did. 

Out on the street she began to hum again:

 _Drah’ di, Madel, drah’ di, Morgen kommt der Mahdi. _

 XIV

When Daniel came home, it was late; but he sat down by the lamp in hisroom and began to read Jean Paul’s “Titan. ” In the course of time histhoughts liberated themselves from the book and went their own way. Hegot up, walked over to the piano, raised the lid, and struck a chord; helistened with closed eyes: it seemed that some one was calling him. Itwas a sultry night; the stillness was painful. 

Again he struck the chord: bells from the lower world. They rang upthrough the green, grey mists, each distinct and delicate. Each tonesent forth its accompanying group like sparks from a skyrocket. Thoserelated by the ties of harmony joined; those that were alien fell backand down. And up in the distant, inaccessible heights there rang outwith deceiving clarity, like the last vision of earthly perfection, themelody of love, the melody of Eleanore. 

Yet, some one was calling him; but from where? His wife? The distant, gloomy, waiting one? He closed the piano; the echo of the noise madethereby rebounded from the church wall through his window. 

He put out the lamp, went into his bedroom, and undressed by the lightof the moon. The border of the curtain was embroidered with heavyVitruvian scrolls, the shadows of which were reflected on the floor;they made jagged, goalless paths. All these lines consisted after all ofonly one line. 

As he lay in bed his heart began to hammer. Suddenly he knew, withoutlooking, that Gertrude was not asleep; that she was lying there staringat the ceiling just as he was. “Gertrude!” he called. 

From the slight rustling of the pillow he concluded that she turned herface to him. 

“Don’t you hear me?”

“Yes, Daniel. ”

“You must give me some advice; you must help me: help me and yoursister, otherwise I cannot say what may happen. ”

He stopped and listened, but there was not a stir: the stillness wasabsolute. 

“It is at times possible to remain silent out of consideration forothers, ” he continued, “but if the silence is maintained too long, deception follows, and falsehood does not fail. But of what use iscandour if it thrusts a knife into the heart of another merely in orderto prepare an unblocked path for him who is candid? What good does it doto confess if the other does not understand? Two are already bleeding todeath; shall the third meet with the same fate merely in order to saythat the matter was talked over? The truth is, too many words havealready been spoken, gruesome, shameless words, at the sound of whichthe innocent night of the senses vanishes. And must one bleed to deathwhen it becomes clearer and clearer that those are not eternal lawsagainst which war is being waged? How can I, dwarf that I am, attacketernal laws? No, it is the frail, mutable customs of human society—?Are you listening, Gertrude?”

A “yes” that sounded like a note from a bird on a distant hill greetedhis ears: it was the answer to his question. 

“I have reached the point where silence is no longer thinkable: there isno going any farther without you. I will neither exaggerate nor haverecourse to conventional phrases: I will not speak of passion nor saythat it could not be helped. It is just barely possible that everythingcan be helped; that a man could always have done differently if he hadbegun soon enough. But who can ever tell what the future may bring? Andpassion? There are many varieties of passion. It is the term that everyswain, washed and unwashed, uses in referring to his lusts. I had neverfelt a passion for which a woman was guilty. But now one has seized mewith hide and hair. I had imagined that I could get out of it and notbring you into it; impossible! I am burning up with this passion, Gertrude, my whole being has been changed by it; and if help is notgiven me, I will be ruined. ”

For a time there was a death-like stillness in the room; then hecontinued. 

“But where is help to come from? It is strange; never until this thinghappened did I know what holds us two together, you and me. Threads arebeing spun back and forth between us which no hand may touch withoutwithering, as it is written in the Bible. There is a secret, a sacredsecret, and if I offended it I would feel as though I had strangled theunborn child in your womb; and not only the child in your womb, but allthe unborn children in my own breast. There is in the life of each man awoman in whom his own mother becomes young again, and to whom he isbound by an unseen, indestructible, umbilical cord. Face to face withthis woman, his love, great or small, even his hate, his indifference, becomes a phantom, just as everything that we give out becomes a phantomcompared with what is given to us. And there is another woman who is myown creation, the fruit of my dreams; she is my picture; I have createdher from my own blood; she lay in me just as the seed lay in the bud. And she must be mine once she has been unveiled and made known to me, orI will perish of loneliness and maddened longing. ”

The extravagant man pressed his face to the pillow and groaned: “Shemust be mine, or I will never get up from this bed. But if my way to herpasses over you, Gertrude, I would have to cry out with Faust: ‘Oh, hadI never been born!’”

Gertrude never uttered a sound. Minute after minute passed by. Daniel, growing calmer, listened to see if he could not hear some sound in theroom. He heard nothing. The silence of his wife began to fill him withanxiety; he rose up in bed. The moon had gone down; it was pitch dark. He felt around for some matches, and lighted a candle. Holding it in hishand, he bent over Gertrude. She was as pale as death; she was lookingat the ceiling with wide-opened eyes. 

“Put the candle out, Daniel, ” she whispered, “I have something to say toyou. ”

He put the candle out, and set it away. 

“Give me your hand, Daniel. ”

He felt for her hand; he took hold of it. It was ice cold; he laid it onhis breast. 

“May I stay with you, Daniel? Will you tolerate me in your home?”

“Tolerate? Gertrude, tolerate?” he asked, in a lifeless, toneless voice. “You are my wife, in the presence of God my wife, ” he added, in deadenedmemory of the words of another. 

“I will become your mother made young again, as you wish. ”

“Yes, Gertrude, but how?”

“I will help you, you and Eleanore. The hearts of you two shall notbleed to death because of me. Let me stay; that is all I ask. ”

“That is more easily said than done, Gertrude. ” He pressed close up toher, took her in his arms, and sobbed with unexpected violence. 

“It is hard; yes, it is hard. But your heart must not be allowed tobleed on my account. ”

His head lay on her breast; he was seized with convulsions of grief thatwould not let him go until break of day. 

Then all of a sudden the words came like a scream from Gertrude’s lips:“I too am a creature. ”

He embraced her with warmth; and she murmured: “It is hard, Daniel, butbe of good cheer, be of good cheer. ”

 XV

Pflaum, the apothecary, had begun to feel cramped in his house near theChurch of the Holy Ghost. He had looked at several houses in the lastweek or two, and had finally decided on the Schimmelweis property, whichwas now for sale. The apothecary shop was to remain for the time beingat its present location, and Jason Philip was likewise to keep his storeand his residence. Herr Pflaum, being the landlord, intended to occupythe first and second floors; he had a large family. 

One beautiful August afternoon, the two men—the apothecary and thebookseller—left the office of Judge Rübsam, where they had gone to signthe papers transferring the mortgage on the Schimmelweis property. Acloudless sky, already tinted with the blue of the descending sun, shoneover the city. 

Herr Pflaum looked the picture of happiness: his troubles seemed all tobe behind him; he was manifestly facing the future without fear andwithout care. Jason Philip Schimmelweis, on the contrary, was plainlyworried. He looked like a man who was on the down grade. There was agreat grease spot on his coat. This spot told the story of domestictroubles; it revealed the fact that Jason Philip had a wife who had beenill in bed for months, and no physician in the city could diagnose hercase; none knew what she was suffering from. Jason Philip was angry athis wife, at her illness, at the whole medical profession, and at thegrowing confusion and disorder in his affairs. 

As they crossed Ægydius Place he cast a glance of unbounded hatred atthe house in which Daniel and Gertrude lived. But he did not sayanything; he merely pinched his lips and hung his head. In so doing henoticed the grease spot on his coat, and emitted a vexed growl. “I willgo along with you, Herr Apothecary, and get a bottle of benzine, ” hesaid, turning to his companion. In his voice there was a noticeabletrace of that reluctant and unwilling humility which the poor display inthe presence of the rich. 

“Good, good, ” he said, “come right along. ” He blew the air before him;for he was warm. “Greetings, greetings, ” he exclaimed, and waved hishand, “what are you doing here?”

It was Herr Carovius to whom he spoke. Herr Carovius was just thenstanding by the fountain of the Goose Man, rapt in the sort ofreflection that was peculiar to him. 

“At your service, gentlemen, ” he said. 

“I see there are natives who study our native art, ” remarked theapothecary with an ironical smile, and stopped. Jason Philip likewisestopped, and looked in a dazed, distraught way at the bronze man withthe two geese. Some boys were playing ball close by the fountain. Whenthey saw the three men looking at it, they quit playing, came up, andlooked at the fountain and the men and grinned as if there weresomething new to be seen. 

“We have no idea what riches we possess, ” said Herr Carovius. 

“Quite right, quite right, ” nodded the apothecary. 

“I have just been trying to think what meaning this group may have, ”continued Herr Carovius, “there is undeniably a musical motif in it. ”

“A musical motif?” murmured Jason Philip, to whom the very term musicconveyed the idea of something unpleasant. 

“Yes, but you have got to understand it, ” said Herr Carovius ratherjauntily. With that he seized the ear of a small boy who had venturedright up to his trousers’ legs; the boy screamed. 

After casting an angry look at the monument, Jason Philip broke out insudden and hearty laughter. “Now I understand, ” he stammered as hecoughed, “you are a fox, a sly old dodger. ”

“What do you mean, gentlemen?” asked the apothecary, who had becomesomewhat anxious, for he feared that this outburst of hilarity wasdirected at him. 

“Why, don’t you see? Don’t you understand?” panted Jason Philip with ascarlet red face, “the two geese—? The musical motif and the twogeese—? Isn’t it clear yet?”

It was clear to Herr Carovius. He stuck the index finger of his righthand in the air, and broke out in a neighing sort of laughter. Then hetook the apothecary by the arm, and in the pauses between salvos oflaughter he bleated: “Magnificent!—Under each arm a goose!—Priceless!Say, Herr Schimmelweis, that was good. We will allow you one on that. ”

The connection was now clear to the apothecary. He slapped himself onhis hips and cried: “As sure as there is a devil, that’s the best joke Iever heard in my life. ”

Jason Philip Schimmelweis again got control of himself. He pressed hishands to his stomach and said breathlessly: “Who would have thought thatthe Goose Man moves about among us in bodily form?”

“Yes, who would have thought it?” said Herr Carovius as if conceding apoint. “It is a capital shot, a real discovery. We come to the simpleconclusion: Goose Man! And we are capable of drawing a conclusion, forthere are three of us. According to an old proverb, _Tres faciuntcollegium. _”

“And they, ” stuttered Jason Philip, pointing to the group, as tears oflaughter trickled down over his pudgy cheeks, “they are three, too. See, there are three of them!”

“Right, ” screamed Herr Carovius, “there are three of them, too. It isall clear. ”

“Have a chew, gentlemen?” said the apothecary, taking his tobacco pouchfrom his pocket. 

“No, ” replied Jason Philip, “that joke deserves a cigar. ” The remark wasmade between gulps of laughter. 

“I suggest that we christen the story with a flask of Salvator, ” saidHerr Carovius. 

The other two agreed to the proposal. The _collegium_ marched across thesquare, stopped every now and then, broke out in fits of insuppressiblelaughter, and then continued on their way to the inn with parchedthroats. 

It may have been only an evening shadow, or it may have been a rareinspiration that created the impression. But the Goose Man, standingthere in all his pride behind the iron railing, seemed to follow themwith his eyes, in which there were traces of sorrow and astonishment. The boys playing ball had soon forgotten the delectable episode. 

 PHILIPPINA STARTS A FIRE

 I

Daniel and Eleanore had reached a stage of mutual silence; it was notthe first time, however, and it was as disagreeable now as it had beenthen. They would meet on the steps, and pass each other with a mere nod. If Eleanore came in to see Gertrude, Daniel withdrew. 

Once Eleanore called when Gertrude was not at home. Daniel was stubborn;nor could Eleanore manage to make a single rational remark. He did notlike her looks; he suspected her paleness and outward, enforcedcheerfulness. “It is an undignified state of affairs, Eleanore, ” heexclaimed, “we must make an end of it. ”

Make an end of it? Yes—but how? This was the thought that came at onceto Eleanore’s mind. Every day the chain that bound her to him becamestronger. 

Daniel was also tortured by the sight of Gertrude. He felt that she waswatching him and that she was worried about him. More than that, theevent was approaching that surrounded her with an atmosphere ofsuffering and made forbearance obligatory. Her features, though haggardand distorted, bore nevertheless an expression of mysterioustransfiguration. 

After Gertrude had noticed for some time that Daniel was being estrangedfrom his work and that he had lost interest in everything, she decidedto have a talk with Eleanore. She did it without preparation ortenderness. 

“Can’t you see that you are ruining him?” she cried. 

“You want me to be ruined, do you?” asked Eleanore, in surprised dismay. She had appreciated at once and without difficulty the complete range ofGertrude’s renunciation. 

“What difference does it make about you?” replied Gertrude harshly;“what are you getting excited about?”

This question made Eleanore’s ideas of order and duty quake and totter. She looked at her sister with incredulous eyes and in perfect silence. It was not the happy, gentle Gertrude that had spoken, but the Gertrudeof months ago, the lonely, loveless Gertrude. 

What difference does it make about you? Why are you getting excited?That was equivalent to saying: Make short work of your life, and don’tdraw out the episode in his life any longer than you have to. 

Eleanore took courage to carry out the plan she had had in mind for along while and in which she placed her last hope. 

One evening she went to Daniel and said: “I should like to go with youto Eschenbach, Daniel, and visit your mother. ”

“Why do you wish to do that?” he asked in amazement. He and his motherdid not write to each other: that was due first of all to their natures, and secondly to the condition in which each was now living. But he knewthat Eleanore received an occasional letter from Eschenbach which sheanswered without consulting him. This had never seemed strange to himuntil now. 

A few days later she repeated her wish; Daniel granted it. They decidedupon the following Sunday for the excursion. 

 II

A warm, languid October sun shone over the land; the forests presented agorgeous array of autumnal foliage; the fields lay stretched in barrenrows; along the hills of Franconia floated clouds that looked like downdriven by the wind. 

They had taken the train as far as Triesdorf; from there they went on toMerckendorf by stage coach. The rest of the distance they walked. Danielpointed to a flock of geese that were trotting around on the shore of anabandoned pond, and said: “That is our national bird; his cackle is ourmusic. But it doesn’t sound so bad. ”

A peasant woman passed by, and made the sign of the cross before thepicture of a saint: “It is strange that everything has suddenly becomeCatholic, ” said Eleanore. 

Daniel nodded, and replied that when his father moved to Eschenbach afew other Protestant families were living there, all of whom joined inProtestant worship. Later, he said, most of them emigrated, leaving hismother as the only Protestant, so far as he knew, in the neighbourhood. But, Daniel remarked in the course of conversation, his mother had neverhad any unpleasant experience on this account, and he himself hadfrequently gone to church, primarily of course to hear the organ, thoughno one had ever taken offence at this. “There is a totally differenttype of people here, ” he added, “people who lay greater stress onexternals than we do, and yet are more secretive. ”

Eleanore looked at the church tower whose Spanish-green roof rose fromthe valley. After a long silence she said: “I wonder whether it will bea boy or a girl, Gertrude’s baby? Oh, a girl, of course. Some day itwill be in the world, and will look at me with eyes, with real eyes. Howstrange that a child of yours should look at me!”

“What is there strange about that? Many children are born, many look atsome one. ”

“What are you going to call it?” asked Eleanore. 

“If it is blond and has blue eyes like yours, I am going to call itEva. ”

“Eva!” cried Eleanore, “no, that won’t do. ” She herself had chosen thename of Eva for the child of the maid at the Rüdigers’. That he shouldnow want to call Gertrude’s child by the same name seemed so strange toher. 

“Why not Eva?” he asked. “There is something back of this objection onyour part. Women always have something up their sleeve. Out with it! Whydo you object to Eva?”

Eleanore smiled, and shook her head. She would have liked to make aclean confession to him, but she was not certain how he would take it:she was afraid he would turn back, enraged at her cunning. Once thechild had been born and lay there before him, it would captivate him, and she knew it. 

They had stopped and were looking out over the sunlit plains. “How alonewe are!” said Daniel. 

“Everything is easier here, ” said Eleanore thoughtfully. “If one couldonly forget where one comes from, it would be easy to be happy. ”

 III

“I have been away for seven years, ” said Daniel as they passed throughthe village gate. Everything seemed so ridiculously small—the TownHall, the Church, the Market Place, and the Eschenbach Fountain. He hadalso pictured the houses and streets to himself as being cleaner andbetter kept. As he passed over the three steps at the front gate, eachone of which was bulging out like a huge oyster shell, and entered theshop with its smell of spices, the past dwindled to nothing. Marian wasso happy she could not speak. She reached one of her hands to Daniel, the other to Eleanore. Her first question was about Gertrude. 

In the room sat a four-year-old child with blond hair and marvellousblue eyes. Its little face was of the most delicate beauty, its body wasdelicately formed. 

“Who is the child? To whom does it belong?” asked Daniel. 

“It is your own child, Daniel, ” said his mother. 

“My own child! Yes, for heaven’s sakes—!” He blushed, turned pale, looked first at his mother, and then at Eleanore. 

“It is your own flesh and blood. Don’t you ever think of Meta any more?”

“Of Meta. .. . Oh, I see. And you, you adopted the child? And you, Eleanore, knew all about this? And you, Mother, took the child?” He satdown at the table, and covered his face with his hands. “That was whatEleanore had in mind?” he murmured timidly to himself. “And I presumethat to make the story complete the child’s name is Eva . .. ?”

“Yes, Eva, ” whispered Eleanore, touched by the situation. “Go to yourfather, Eva, and shake hands with him. ”

The child did as it had been told. Then Marian related to her son howEleanore had brought the child to Eschenbach, and how Meta had marriedand gone to America with her husband. 

Every look, every movement on the part of Marian showed how great herlove for the child was: she guarded it as the apple of her eye. 

The circle of wonderful events closed in around Daniel’s heart. Whereresponsibility lay and where guilt, where will power ended and fatebegan, Daniel could not say. To express gratitude would be vulgar; toconceal his emotions was difficult. He was ashamed of himself in thepresence of both of the women. But when he looked at the livingcreature, his shame lost all meaning. And how exalted Eleanore appearedin his eyes just then! She seemed to him equally amiable and worthy ofrespect, whether he regarded her as an active or as a sentient, feelingwoman. He almost shuddered at the thought that she was so near him; thatwhat she had done had been done for him filled him with humility. 

The strangest of all, however, was little Eva herself. He could not seeenough of her; he was amazed at the trick nature had played: a humanbeing of the noblest mien and form had been born of a gawky, uncouthservant girl. There was something divinely graceful and airy about thechild. She had well-formed hands, delicate wrists, shapely ankles, and aclear, transparent forehead, on which a network of bluish veins spreadout in various directions. Her laughter was the purest of music; and inher walk and gestures in general there was a rhythm which promised muchfor her future poise and winsomeness. 

Daniel took Eleanore through the village and out to the old town gate. It was the time of the annual fair; Eschenbach was crowded. Theyreturned on this account to the more quiet streets, and finally enteredthe church. The sexton came up and admitted Daniel to the choir. Danielsat down at the organ; the sexton pumped the bellows; Eleanore took aseat on one of the little benches near the side wall. 

Daniel’s eyes became fixed; his fingers touched the keys withsupernatural power; he began to improvise. There were two motifsfollowing each other in close succession; both were in fifths; they wereunited into one; they ran from the low to the high registers, from Hellthrough the World to Heaven. A hymn crowned the improvised composition. 

He stood with Eleanore for a long while in the stillness. The songsechoed from the lofty arches. It seemed to both of them that the bloodof the one was flowing into the body of the other. Incidents of the pastfaded from their memory; they seemed to have completed a long journey;there was no voice to remind them of their return; they were completelyliberated from duties and made immune from care. 

 IV

Eleanore was to sleep with Marian and Eva; Daniel was to have his oldroom. He showed it to Eleanore; they stepped to the window and lookedout. They saw Eva down in the yard dancing back and forth barefooted ona wooden balustrade. She kept her equilibrium by holding out her arms. The grace of her movements was so fairy-like that Daniel and Eleanoresmiled at each other in astonishment. 

After dinner Daniel went out in front of the house; Marian and Eleanoresat for a while at the window; the light of the lamp shone behind them. Later they came out into the street and joined Daniel. Marian, however, was uneasy on account of the child. She said that Eva had been restlessall day and might cry for her. “Stay out just as long as you like; Iwill leave the door open, ” she said, and went back. 

Daniel and Eleanore returned to the fair. It was still early in theevening, but the crowd had disappeared. They sauntered around among thebooths, and stopped to listen to the harangue of a mountebank or towatch peasant boys shooting at figures of various kinds and a glass ballthat danced on a jet of water. There was a sea of red and greenlanterns; sky-rockets were hissing into the air from the rampart;musicians were playing in the cafés, while hilarious tipplers sang orhooted as the spirit moved them. 

They came to a grass plot, the sole illumination of which was the lightfrom a circus wagon. On the steps of the wagon sat a man in tricotholding the head of a black poodle between his knees. 

“Those were the last inhabitants of the earth, ” said Daniel, after theyhad crossed the square. The noise died away, the gaudy lightsdisappeared. 

“How far are you going?” asked Eleanore, without the remotest trace offear in her voice. 

“I am going on until I am with you, ” was the quick reply. 

The indistinct outline of a bridge became visible; under it the waterflowed noiselessly. The path had a yellowish shimmer; there were nostars in the heavens. Suddenly the path seemed to come to an end; at theend of it were trees there that seemed to be moving closer and closertogether; it became darker and darker; they stopped. 

“We have told each other our whole story, ” said Daniel. “In the way ofwords we owe each other nothing. We have had enough of talk; there hasbeen no lack of sorrow and enough of error. We can no longer actdifferently, and therefore we dare not act differently any longer. ”

“Be still, ” whispered Eleanore, “I don’t like your wrangling; what yousay is so unpeaceful and fiendish. Yesterday I dreamed that you werelying on your knees and had your folded hands uplifted. Then I lovedyou—very much. ”

“Do you need dreams in order to love me, girl? I don’t; I need you justas you are. I will soon be thirty years old, Eleanore. A man neverreally wakes up until he is thirty; it is then that he conquers theworld. You know what rests within me; you suspect it. You know too how Ineed you; you feel it. You are my soul; you are created out of my music;without you I am an empty hull, a patchwork, a violin without strings. ”

“Oh, Daniel, I believe you, and yet it is not all true, ” repliedEleanore. He thought he could see in the darkness her mockingly ironicalsmile: “Somewhere, I am almost tempted to say in God, it is not true. Ifwe were better, if we were beings in the image of God and acting inGod’s ways, we would have to desist from our own ways. Then it would bewonderful to live: it would be like living above the clouds, happy, atpeace, pure. ”

“Does that come from your heart, Eleanore?”

“My dear, dear man! My heart, like yours, has been beclouded andbewitched. I cannot give you up. I have settled my accounts. In my soulI am entirely conscious of my guilt. I know what I am doing and assumefull responsibility for my action. There is no use to struggle anylonger; the water is already swirling over our heads. I simply want tosay that you should not delude yourself into believing that we haverisen up above other people by what we have done, that we have deservedthe gratitude of fate. No, Daniel, what we are doing is precisely whatall those do who fall. Let me stay with you, dearest; kiss me, kiss meto death. ”

 V

Philippina had promised Eleanore to look after Jordan and Gertrude onSunday. 

As she was crossing Five Points, she went into a shop, and asked forthree pfennigs’ worth of court plaster. While doing some housework shehad scratched herself on a nail. The clerk gave her the plaster, andasked her what was the news. 

“Ah, you poor bloke, you want to know the very latest, don’t you?” shesnarled, and then grinned with blatant self-complacency. 

“The later the better, ” said the fellow with a lustful smirk. 

Philippina bent over the counter, and whispered: “They’re taking theirwedding trip to-day. ” She laughed in a lewd, imbecile way. The clerkstared at her with wide-opened eyes and mouth. Two hours later the newswas in the mouth of every hussy in that section of the city. 

Gertrude was in bed. The day woman who did the cooking gave Philippina aplate with Jordan’s dinner on it: Meat, vegetables, and a few sourplums. Philippina ate two of the plums on the way up to his room, andlicked her fingers. 

The whole forenoon she spent rummaging around in Eleanore’s room; shelooked through the cabinets, the presses, and the pockets of Eleanore’sdresses. As it began to grow dark, Jordan suddenly entered, in hat andgreat coat, and looked on in speechless and enraged amazement at thegirl’s inexplicable curiosity. 

Philippina took the broom from the corner, and began to sweep with allher might. While sweeping she sang, out of tune, impudently, andsavagely:

 “No fire, no coal, so warmly glows As secret love that no one knows. ”

Jordan went away without saying anything. He had forgotten to lock hisroom. Hardly had Philippina noticed that he had left the key in thedoor, when she opened it and went in. 

She spied around with cowardly, superstitious eyes. She was afraid ofthe old inspector, as she would have been afraid of an invinciblemagician. For such cases she had a number of formulas at her tongue’send. She murmured: “Put earth in, close the lid, hold your thumbs, spiton your shoe. ” She spat on her shoe. 

She then began to examine the cabinet, for she believed that itcontained all of Jordan’s secrets. But she could not open the lock, tryas she might. She then went at the writing desk; she was angry. Thereshe found, in plain wooden frames, the pictures of Gertrude andEleanore. She ran out, got a large needle, came back, and stuck it inthe picture of Eleanore right between the eyes. Then she took Gertrude’spicture, and after she had held it for a while, looking at it with hergloomy eyes, she noticed that it was spotted with blood. The plaster hadcome off her finger, and the finger had started to bleed. 

“Come now, Philippina, ” she said to herself, “go and see how Gertrude ismaking out. ” Entering Gertrude’s room, she found her asleep. Creeping upto her bed on her tiptoes, she took a chair, straddled it, leaned herchin on the back, and stared fixedly at the face of the young woman, nowjust barely visible in the darkness of the room. 

Gertrude dreamed that a black bird was hovering over her and picking ather breast with its pointed beak. She screamed and woke up. 

Shortly after this Gertrude had to send for the midwife. 

During the night, Gertrude gave birth to a girl; she had sufferedterrible pains. Philippina had seen and heard it all. She had run backand forth, from the kitchen to the bedroom and from the bedroom to thekitchen, for hours; she was like an insane person; she kept mumblingsomething to herself. What she mumbled no one knew. 

Gertrude had called in vain for Daniel; in vain had she waited for himthe whole day. 

“Where in the world can Daniel be?” cried Philippina, “where can Danielbe with his damned Eleanore?” She sat in the corner with her handsfolded, her hair tangled and knotted, her face distorted with thegrimaces of madness. The midwife was still busy with Gertrude; thenew-born child was crying pitifully. 

 VI

Daniel held the child in his arms, and looked at it carefully butwithout love. “You little worm, what do you want in this world?” he saidto his daughter. He still had his hat on; so had Eleanore. Both of themwere dressed just as they came from the station; they were embarrassedand excited at what had happened. Eleanore was exceedingly pale; hergreat eyes looked dreamy; her body seemed of almost boyish slenderness. At times she smiled; then the smile died away, as if she did not havethe courage to appear so cheerful. 

Inspector Jordan was also in the room, acting as he had always actedsince his bankruptcy—like a guest who feels that he is a burden to thefamily. He said very humbly: “I have suggested to Gertrude that she callthe child Agnes after my deceased wife. ”

“Very well, let’s call her Agnes, ” said Daniel. 

Gertrude asked that the child be brought to her so that she could nurseit. Eleanore carried it over and laid it at her breast. As the hands ofthe sisters touched, Gertrude looked up quickly: there was anindescribable expression of thoughtfulness, knowingness, and kindlinesson her face. Eleanore fell on her knees, threw her arms aroundGertrude’s neck, and kissed her passionately. Gertrude reached out herleft hand to Daniel; he gave her his right hand with some hesitancy. Jordan was radiant with joy: “It is so good, children, to see that youall love each other, so good, ” he said with visible emotion. 

“Daniel, you must move up into Father’s quarters at once, ” saidGertrude. “Your piano, bed, and all your things must be taken up, andEleanore will move into your room. I have already spoken to Father aboutit, and he feels that it will be a good arrangement. He will be veryquiet so as not disturb you. The crying of the baby would make itimpossible for you to work. ”

“It is a very practical solution of the problem, ” said Jordan, speakingfor Daniel, and looked down at his frayed coat-sleeves, which he triedto conceal by hiding them behind his back. “I am also glad that Eleanorewill be with you. A man, you know, has a habit of going to bed longbefore a woman quits her daily work. Is that not true, my son-in-law?”With that he clapped Daniel on the shoulder. 

“During Gertrude’s confinement I will sleep here in her room, ” saidEleanore, avoiding Daniel’s eyes as she said so. “She cannot stay alone, and it costs too much to keep a nurse. ”

“Exactly, ” said Jordan, and went to the door. But he turned around: “Ishould like to know, ” he asked in a tone of great grief, “who has beenat Gertrude’s and Eleanore’s pictures. The one is covered with spots ofblood, and the other has a hole punched in it. Isn’t that very strange?I can’t understand it: I can’t imagine who could have done me thisinjury. ” He shook his head and went out. 

“Do you realise that to-morrow is the first of November?” askedGertrude. “Have you the rent ready? Did Father make any money lastmonth?”

“No, he didn’t, ” replied Eleanore, “but I have almost enough to pay thelandlord. ”

It was no longer possible to depend upon Jordan. He was supported by hischildren, and seemed to find the arrangement neither strange norhumiliating. At times he would allude in a mysterious way to a bigenterprise that was going to claim the whole of his attention and bringhim a great deal of money and honour. But if you asked him about it, hewould wrinkle his brow and put his finger to his lips. 

“I owe the man more than the rent, ” said Daniel. He kissed Gertrude onthe forehead, and went out. 

“Put the child in the cradle, and come over here, ” said Gertrude toEleanore, as soon as Daniel had closed the door behind him. Eleanore didas she had been told. The baby was asleep. She took it up, looked at itswrinkled face, and carried it to the cradle. Then she went over toGertrude’s bed. 

Gertrude seized her by her hands, and drew her down to her with morestrength than one would have imagined her to have just then. The eyes ofthe two women were drawn close together. “You must make him happy, Eleanore, ” she said in a hoarse voice, and with a sickly glimmer in hereyes. “If you do not, it would be better if one of us were dead. ”

Despite her terror, Eleanore loosened Gertrude’s hold on her with greatgentleness. “It is hard to discuss that subject, Gertrude; it is hard tolive and hard to think about it all. ” Eleanore breathed these words intoGertrude’s ears. 

“You must make him happy; you must make him happy! Repeat it to yourselfand keep it in your mind every day, every hour, every minute. You must, you must, you must. ” Gertrude was almost beside herself. 

“I will learn how to do it, ” replied Eleanore slowly and seriously. “Iam . .. I hardly know what I am or how I feel. But be patient with me, Gertrude, I will learn how to make him happy. ” She looked intoGertrude’s face with anxious curiosity. Gertrude however pressed herhands against Eleanore’s cheeks, drew her down to her again, and kissedher with unusual fervour. “I too must learn how, ” whispered Gertrude, “Imust learn the whole of life from the very beginning. ”

Some one knocked at the door. The midwife came in to look after herpatient. 

 VII

At that time the superstition still prevailed that the window in theroom of a woman in confinement must never be opened. The air in the roomwas consequently heavy and ill-smelling. Eleanore could hardly stand itduring the day; during the night she could not sleep. Moreover naturaldaylight could not enter the room, and, as if it were not already gloomyenough, the window had been hung with green curtains which were kepthalf drawn. 

The most unpleasant feature of all, however, was the interminable roundof visits from the women: custom had decreed that they should not beturned away. The wife of the director of the theatre came in; MarthaRübsam came in, and so did the wife of Councillor Kirschner, and thewives of the butcher, baker, preacher, and physician. And of course thewife of the apothecary called. No one of them failed to pour out anabundance of gratuitous advice or go into ecstasies over the beauty ofthe baby. Once Daniel came in just as such an assemblage was in the sickroom. He looked first at one, then at another, threw back his head, andleft without saying a word. 

Herr Seelenfromm and M. Rivière were likewise not frightened by thedistance; they called. Eleanore met them in the hall, and got rid ofthem by the usual method. And one day even Herr Carovius came around toinquire how mother and child were doing. Philippina received him; andPhilippina was having a hard time of it at present: she was not allowedto enter Gertrude’s room; Gertrude would have nothing to do with her;she refused to see her. 

So that she might not get too far behind with her work—for it meanther daily bread—Eleanore pushed the table up to the window, and despitethe poor light, kept on writing. In the evening she would sit by thelamp and write, although she was so tired that she could hardly keep hereyes open. 

After three days, Gertrude had no milk for the baby; it had to be fedwith a bottle. It would cry for hours without stopping. And as soon asit was quiet, its clothes had to be washed or its bath prepared, orGertrude wanted something, or one of the pestiferous visitors came in. Eleanore had to lay her work aside; in the evening she would fall acrossthe bed and sleep with painful soundness for an hour or two. If the babydid not wake her by its hungry howling, the bad air did. Her head ached. Yet she concealed her weakness, her longing, her oppression. Not evenDaniel noticed that there was anything wrong with her. 

She had very little opportunity to talk with him. And yet there wasprobably not another pair of eyes in the whole world that could be soeloquent and communicative with admonition, promise, request, andcordial resignation. One evening they met each other at the kitchendoor: “Eleanore, I am stifling, ” he whispered to her. 

She laid her hands on his shoulder, and looked at him in silence. 

“Come with me, ” he urged with a stupid air. “Come with me! Let’s runoff. ”

Eleanore smiled and thought to herself: “The demands of his soul arealways a few leagues in advance of the humanly possible. ”

The next morning he stormed into the room. Eleanore was only halfdressed. With an expression of wrath flitting across her face shereached for a towel and draped it about her shoulders. He sat down onGertrude’s bed, and let loose a torrent of words: “I am going to setGoethe’s ‘Wanderers Sturmlied’ to music! I am planning to make it acompanion piece to the ‘Harzreise’ and publish the two in a cycle. Ihave not slept the whole night. The main motif is glorious. ” He began tohum it over in a falsetto voice: “‘Oh, mortal man, if genius does notforsake thee, neither rain nor storm can breathe upon thy heart!’ How doyou like that?”

Gertrude looked at him inspired. 

“I should have a good drink on that idea, ” he continued; “I have rarelyfelt such a longing for a flask of old wine. It’s a bloody shame that Ican’t afford it. But you wait till I get a little money, and you willsee a _bouteille_ of Tokay on my table every day. ”

“My God, just listen how he raves! He’s going to have the best thereis, ” said Philippina angrily, as she entered the room in her stockingfeet and heard Daniel’s remarks. 

Daniel told her to keep her mouth shut and leave the room at once. Hepaid no attention to her reply, and cried out: “Something has got tohappen. If I can’t drink, I at least want to dance. Dance with me, Eleanore; don’t be afraid, come, dance with me!” He threw his armsaround her, pressed her to his bosom, sang a waltz melody, and drew thestruggling and embarrassed girl across the floor. 

Philippina broke out in her slimy, malicious laughter, and then shriekedat the top of her voice that Frau Kirschner was outside and wanted tosee the Kapellmeister’s wife. Gertrude made an imploring gesture, thefull meaning of which Daniel easily grasped. The baby began to cry, Eleanore tore herself away from Daniel’s embrace, arranged her hair, andhastened over to the cradle. Philippina opened the door to let theCouncillor’s wife in. Just then a violent discussion was started in thehall. One could hear the voice of Jordan and that of some strange man. 

It was the furniture dealer who had come to collect the money for thecradle. He was boiling with the rage that cares not how it may beexpressed: he said he had already been there four times, and each timehe was put off. The truth is, Daniel was very hard up. 

The Councillor’s wife took Daniel to one side, and made him an offer ofa loan of two hundred marks. Daniel was silent; he bit his lips, andlooked down at the floor. She scolded him: “You are always your ownworst enemy. Now be reasonable, Nothafft, I will send the money over atnoon. If you have any left, you may pay it back. ”

Daniel went out, and gave the blustering furniture dealer his lastten-mark piece. 

Frau Kirschner had brought a flask of Tokay wine with her for Gertrude. Tokay was regarded at that time as a sort of elixir of life. 

“You see, so quickly are wishes fulfilled, ” said Gertrude to Daniel inthe evening, when he came into her room. She poured out a glass for him. 

“Have you any bills to settle?” he asked, looking partly at Eleanore, partly at Gertrude, and striking his wallet, then bulging with notes. “It’s Court Councillor’s money, ” he said, “real Court Councillor’smoney. How beautiful it looks, lousy fine, eh? And upon that stuff thesalvation of my soul depends!” He threw the money on Gertrude’s bed, stuck out his tongue, and turned away in disgust. 

Eleanore handed him the glass of Tokay; her eyes glistened with tears. 

“No, Eleanore, ” he said, “I have trifled it away. In my arrogance Iimagined I could do something; I thought I could get somewhere. I sitdown, brood over my ideas, and find that they are all wind-eggs. I havethe feeling that I have taken a false oath. What good am I, Eleanore, what good am I, Gertrude?”

“Ah, take a drink, and perhaps your troubles will leave you, ” saidEleanore, and stroked his brow with her hand. 

Gertrude called out to her: “Quit that! Put that glass away!” She spokeso harshly that Eleanore sprang back, and Daniel got up. 

“Leave me alone for a while, ” she said. Daniel and Eleanore left theroom. 

Eleanore went into the living room, sat down at the table, and laid herhead in her hands. “What can we do now?” she said to Daniel. The violintone in her voice had something unusually touching about it. 

Daniel set the candle he was carrying in the bay window. He bent downover the table, and took Eleanore by her small wrists. “Accept thebitter for the sake of the sweet, ” he murmured. “Believe in me, believein yourself, believe in the higher law. It is not possible that I merelyimagined that there is a winged creature for me. I must have somethingto cling to, something indestructible, ah, even superhuman. ”

“You must have something superhuman to cling to, ” Eleanore repeatedafter him. She could not help but think that he had already madesuperhuman demands of the other woman, his wife, her sister, Gertrude. She raised her finger as if to warn him: it was a gesture of infinitetimidity. 

But Daniel scarcely saw what she had done. In his arrogant presumptionand passion he could have smashed the universe to pieces, and thenre-created it merely in order to mould this one creature after his owndesires. He would have made her of boundless pliability, and yet activein her love for him; he would have had her spurn venerable commandmentsin a spirit of self-glorification, and yet cherish unequivocalconfidence in him, the creature of need and defiance; and she would becheerful withal. 

“I am cold, ” whispered Eleanore, peering into the dark shadows of theroom. 

 VIII

To know that these eyes and their pure passion were so close to him; tobe able to touch this cool, sincere, mutely-eloquent mouth with hislips; to be able to hold these hands in which passion resided as it doesin the speechless unrest of a messenger; to be able to press thisthrobbing figure with all its willingness and hesitation to hisbosom—it was almost too much for Daniel. It involved pain; it arousedan impatience, a thirst for more and more. His daily work wasinterrupted; his thoughts, plans, and arrangements were torn from theirconnection. 

He spoke to people whom he knew as though they were total strangers; heamazed those whom he did not know by the loyal confidence he voluntarilyplaced in them. He forgot to put on his hat when he walked along thestreet; the distraction he revealed was the source of constant merrimentto passersby and on-lookers. He would not know when it was noon; he wouldcome home at three o’clock, thinking it was twelve. Once he came nearlybeing run over by a team of galloping horses; another time he had hisumbrella taken straight from his hands without noticing it. This tookplace at the Ludwig Station. 

“Oh, winged creature, winged creature, ” he would say to himself, andsmile like a somnambulist. Deep in his soul a sea of tones was surging. He listened to them with complete assurance, angry though he wouldbecome at times because of the failure of this or that. He was soabsorbed in himself, so enmeshed in his own thoughts, that he scarcelysaw the sky above him; houses, people, animals, and the things that areafter all necessary to human existence existed only in his dreams, if atall. 

Winged creature, winged creature!

 IX

As soon as Gertrude could get up and go about, Eleanore accepted aninvitation from Martha Rübsam to visit her aunt, Frau Seelenfromm, inAltdorf. The visit was to last two weeks. Eleanore looked upon it as atest that would determine whether she could do anything on her ownaccount now: whether she could get along without Daniel. 

But she saw that she could no longer live without him. In the lonelyhouse she came to the conclusion that her love was great enough toenable her to bear the monstrous burden fate had been trying to imposeupon her. She saw that neither flight nor concealment nor anything elsecould save her, could save Daniel, could give back to Gertrude what shehad lost, what had been taken from her. 

There were times, to be sure, when she asked herself whether it was alltrue and real; whether it could be possible. She walked in darknesssurrounded by demons. Her being was plunged into the deepest andstrangest bewilderment; confusion enveloped her; there was sorrow in theeffort she made to avert the inexorable. 

But in one of her sleepless nights she thought she was covering Daniel’smind with a flame of fire; she thought she heard his voice calling outto her with a power she had never known before. 

No one she had ever seen was so vivacious, so alive as he. Herslumbering fancy had awakened at the sound of his voice and the feel ofhis warm breath. She felt that people owed him a great deal; and sincethey did not seem inclined to pay their debts, it was her duty to makerestitution to Daniel for their neglect. 

She could not survey the ways of his art: the musician in him madeneither a strange nor a special appeal to her. She grasped and felt onlyhim himself; to her he was Daniel. She grasped and felt only the man whowas born to do lofty, the loftiest, deeds and who passed by the base andevil in men in silence; who knew that he had been chosen but was obligedto renounce the privilege of ruling; who was always in full armour, ready to defend a threatened sanctuary. 

Of such a man, of such a knight and warrior, she had dreamt even when achild. For although she looked at things and circumstances with the eyesof truth, her soul had always been full of secret dreams and visions. Back of her unceasing and unfading activity the genii of romanticism hadbeen spinning their bright-coloured threads; it was they that had formedthe glass case in which she had lived for so long, impervious to thetouch of mortal hand, immune to the flames of love. 

The morning following that night she explained to her friend that shewas going home. Martha tried in vain to get her to stay: she was almostill with longing. 

Martha let her go; she had the very saddest of thoughts concerningEleanore’s future; for the unhappy incidents of that unhappy home hadreached Martha’s sensitive ears. She did not worry because of moralprinciples; she was not that kind of a woman. She worried over Eleanoreout of genuine affection: it pained her to know that she could no longeradmire Eleanore. 

 X

In the meanwhile Daniel had told his wife that a child of his was livingwith his mother in Eschenbach, and that he had known nothing about ituntil Eleanore took him over there. He told her the child’s name and howold it was and who its mother was, and gave her a detailed descriptionof that celebrated New Year’s Night on which he had embraced the maid. He told her how he had stood out in front of her house that night andlonged for her with all his senses, and how he felt, when he looked atlittle Eva, as if Providence had only seemed to use the body of astrange woman, and that Eva was in reality Gertrude’s own child. 

To this Gertrude replied: “I never want to see that child. ”

“You will be ashamed of having made this remark once you do see thechild, ” replied Daniel. “You should not be envious of a creature whomGod brought into the world so that the world may be more beautiful. ”

“Don’t speak of God!” said Gertrude quickly and with uplifted hand. Then, after a pause, during which Daniel looked at her angrily, sheadded with a painful smile: “The very idea: I, jealous, envious! O no, Daniel. ”

The way she pressed her hands to her bosom convinced Daniel, and quiteemphatically too, that she did not know the feeling of envy or jealousy. He said nothing, but remained in her room for an unusually long while. When she was cutting bread, she let the knife fall. He sprang and pickedit up for her. He had never done this before. Gertrude looked at him ashe bent over. Her eyes became dim, flared up, and then became dim again. 

“Don’t speak of God!” Somehow Daniel could not get these words out ofhis mind. 

When Eleanore returned she was terrified at the expression on Daniel’sface. He seemed dazed; his eyes were inflamed as though he too had notbeen able to sleep; he could hardly talk. Finally he demanded that sheswear to him never to go away again. 

She hesitated to take an oath of this kind, but he became more and moreinsistent, and she took it. He threw his arms about her with passionateimpetuosity; just then the door opened, and Gertrude stood on thethreshold. Daniel hastened to her, and wanted to take her by the hand;but she stepped back and back until she reached her bedroom. 

It was evening; covers were laid for four: Jordan was to take dinnerwith them that evening. He came down promptly; Eleanore brought in thefood; but Gertrude was nowhere to be found. Eleanore went in to her. Shewas sitting by the cradle, combing her hair with slow deliberation. 

“Won’t you eat with us, Gertrude?” asked Eleanore. 

Gertrude did not seem to hear her. In a few minutes she got up, walkedover to the mirror on the wall, pressed her hair with the palms of herhands to her two cheeks, and looked in the mirror with wide-opened eyes. 

“Come, Gertrude, ” said Eleanore, rather timidly, “Daniel is waiting. ”

“That they are in there again, ” murmured Gertrude, “it seems like asin. ” She turned around, and beckoned to Eleanore. 

Eleanore went over to her in perfect obedience. Gertrude threw her armsaround her neck until her left temple touched Eleanore’s right one withonly her hair hanging between them like a curtain. Gertrude again lookedin the mirror; her eyes became rigid; she said: “Oh yes, you are morebeautiful, much more beautiful, a hundred times more beautiful. ”

Just then the child began to stir, and since Gertrude was still standingimmovable before the mirror, Eleanore went to the cradle. Hardly hadGertrude noticed what she had done, when she rushed out and cried withterrifying rudeness: “Don’t touch that child! Don’t touch it, I say!”She then went up, snatched the child from the cradle, and went back toher bed with it, saying gently and yet threateningly: “It belongs to me, to me and to no one else. ”

Since this incident, Eleanore knew that a fearful change had come overher sister. She did not know whether other people noticed it; she didnot even know whether Daniel was aware of it. But she knew it, and itfrightened her. 

One afternoon, about sunset, Eleanore came in and found Gertrude on herknees in the hall scrubbing the floor. “You shouldn’t do that, Gertrude, ” said Eleanore, “you are not strong enough for that kind ofwork yet. ”

Gertrude made no reply; she kept on scrubbing. 

“Why don’t you dress better?” continued Eleanore; “Daniel does not liketo see you going about in that ugly old brown skirt. Believe me, itmakes him angry. ”

Gertrude straightened up on her knees, and said with disconcertinghumility: “You dress up; it is not well for two to look so nice. Whatshall I do?” she asked, and let her head sink. “You wear your gold chainand the corals in your ears. That pleases me; that is the way it shouldbe. But I have no gold chain; I have no corals. If I had them, Iwouldn’t wear them; and if I wore them, it would not be right. ”

“Ah, Gertrude, what are you talking about?” asked Eleanore. 

The ringing of the church bells could be heard in the hall. Gertrudefolded her hands in prayer. There was a stern solemnity in her action. In her kneeling position she looked as though she were petrified. 

Eleanore went into the room with a heavy heart. 

 XI

Through the dividing walls Daniel and Eleanore were irresistibly drawnto each other. They accompanied each other in their thoughts; eachdivined the other’s wishes and feelings. If he came home in a badhumour, if she was anxious and restless, they both needed merely to sitdown by each other to regain their peace. 

If Daniel’s power of persuasion was great, Eleanore’s example wasequally great. A dish would displease Daniel. Eleanore would not onlyeat it, but would praise it; and Daniel would then eat it too, and likeit. Gertrude had prepared the food, and Eleanore felt it was her duty tospare her sister as much humiliation as possible. But Gertrude did notwant to be treated indulgently. She would lay her knife and fork aside, and say: “Daniel is right. It is not fit to eat. ” She would get up andgo into the kitchen and make a porridge that would take the place of theinedible dish. That was the way she acted: she was always resigned, diligent, and quiet; she made every possible effort to do her duty. Daniel and Eleanore looked at each other embarrassed; but theirembarrassment was transformed in time into mutual ecstasy: they couldnot keep from looking at each other. 

There was nothing of the seducer in Daniel’s sexual equipment. On theother hand he was dependent to a very high degree upon his wishes anddesires; and in his passionate obstinacy he not infrequently lackedconsideration. Eleanore however possessed profound calmness, cheerfulcertainty, and a goodly measure of indulgence; and she knew exactly howto make use of these traits. The claims that were made on her patienceand moderation would have harassed a heart steeled in the actualities ofpolitics and flooded with worldly experiences. She however found a safeand unerring guide in the instincts of her nature, and was never tired. 

The trait in her to which he took most frequent and violent exceptionwas what he called her plebeian caution; she seemed determined to paydue and conventional respect to appearances. He did not wish to layclaim to the hours of his love as though they were a stolen possession;he did not wish to sneak across bridges and through halls; he did notwish to whisper; he did not wish to lie in wait for a secret tryst; herebelled at the thought of coming and going in fear and trembling. 

There is not the slightest use to investigate all the secrecies betweenDaniel and Eleanore. It will serve no useful end to infringe withunskilled hand on the work of the evil spirit Asmodeus, who makes wallstransparent and allows his devotees to look into bed chambers. It wouldbe futile to act as the spy of Daniel and show how he left the atticroom in the dead of night and crept down the stairs in felt slippers. Wehave no desire to hear of Eleanore’s pangs of conscience and herlongings, her flights, her waiting in burning suspense; to relate howshe endeavoured to avert the inevitable to-day and succumbed to-morrowwould be to tell an idle tale. It is best to overlook all these things;to draw a curtain of mercy before them; for they are so human and sowholly without a trace of the miraculous. 

It will be enough to touch upon a single night on which Daniel went toEleanore’s room and said: “I have never yet seen you as a lover sees hisbeloved. ” Eleanore was sitting on the edge of her bed, trembling. Sheblew out the candle. Daniel heard the rustling of her clothes. She wentup to the stove and opened the front draft door. There was a red hotcoal fire in the stove. She stood before him with the purple glow of theburning coals upon her body, slender, delicate, nude. Her figure, peculiarly beautiful, was filled with the most harmonious ofinspiration; it was ensouled. And since the play of her limbs, as theybecame conscious of the light, was suddenly stiffened with shame, Eleanore bent her head over to the wall where the mask of Zingarella, which he had given her, was hanging. She took it down, and held it withboth hands so that the purple glow from the stove fell also on it. Asshe did this she smiled in a way that cut Daniel to the very heart:something eternal came over him; he had a premonition of the end; hefeared fate. 

At the same time Gertrude rose up in her bed, and stared with eyes asif she were beholding, who knows whom? at the door. After she had staredfor a long while, she got up, opened the door, went out into the hallwithout making the slightest noise, came back, went out again, came backagain, and got in bed, left the door open, sat upright and gazed at theclosed door across the hall behind which she knew Daniel and Eleanorewere. Her hair hung down in two long braids on either side of her head. Her pale face in this frame of black hair above it and on both sides ofit looked like a wax figure in an old black frame. 

Of the pictures that were being formed in her mind and soul, there wasnot a single twitching of the muscles to indicate what they looked like. 

For her the entire world lay behind that door. It seemed to her that shecould no longer endure the knowledge she had of what was taking place. In her maddened imagination she saw women stealing through the halls ofthe house; in every corner there was a woman, and with every woman therewas a man; they embraced each other, and sank their teeth into eachother’s flesh. It was all as criminal as it was irrational; it was ashame and an abomination to behold. Everywhere she looked she sawreprehensible nudeness; all clothes seemed to be made of glass; shecould look neither at a man nor at a woman without turning pale. She hadonly one refuge: the cradle of her child. She would rush to it and pray. But as soon as her prayer was ended she again felt stifled in thepoisoned air about her, while the desire to acquit herself of the crimeof which she felt guilty, unable though she was to define the crime ordetermine her part in it, robbed her of her sleep. She felt that a greatjagged stone was suspended over her head, that it was becoming less andless firmly attached every day, and that its fall if not imminent wascertain. 

Hour after hour passed by; Daniel finally appeared in the vestibule. Hewas not a little terrified when he saw the burning lamp and Gertrudesitting up in bed. 

He went into the bedroom, closed the door, walked up to the cradle, looked at the child, and then went over to Gertrude. She cast a glanceof infinite inquiry at him. It was a look that seemed to implore him fora decision, a judgment. At the same time she put out her hands as if toward off any approach on his part. When she saw that he was astonished, she softened the expression on her face, and said: “Give me your hand. ”

She took his right hand, stroked it, and whispered: “Poor hand, poorhand. ”

Daniel bit his lips: “Oh woman, what . .. ?” That was all. 

He sat down in silence on the edge of her bed. Gertrude looked at him inthe same tense, anxious way in which she had studied him a few momentsearlier. He sank down beside her, and fell asleep with his head on herbreast. 

She kept on holding his hand. She looked into his pale, narrow face andat his angular brow, the skin of which could be seen to twitch every nowand then under the loose flowing hair that hung over it. The oil in thelamp was getting low, the wick had begun to smell. She was afraidhowever to put it out lest she might waken Daniel. She looked on insilence as the light became dimmer and dimmer and finally went out, leaving only the red glow of the wick. This too died away in time, andit became dark. 

 XII

For some time Eleanore had noticed that the baker’s boy, instead ofcarefully putting the rolls in the sack each morning as had always beenhis custom, threw them through the lattice on to the ground. 

The newspaper boy stopped speaking to her; the postman smiledscornfully; and even the beggar, at least she thought so, asked for hisalms in a tone of impudence. 

One day she was passing through Schmausen Street; a woman was leaningout of the window. Seeing Eleanore coming, she called back into theroom, whereupon a young man and three half-grown girls rushed to thewindow, began making remarks to each other, and gaped at her with looksthat made her turn deathly pale. 

Another time Daniel brought her a free ticket to a concert. She went, and as soon as she reached the hall she was struck by the discourteousand indecent manner in which the bystanders looked at her. Awell-dressed woman moved away from her. Some men kept walking aroundher, grinning at her. She found it intolerable, and went home. 

Exercise in the open had often driven away the cares that chanced to beweighing upon her: she went skating. As soon as the people saw her, theybegan to whisper among themselves. She did not bother about them ortheir remarks; she cut her beautiful figures on the ice as if she werequite alone. A group of young girls pointed at her with their fingers. She went up to them with pride glistening in her eyes, and they all ranaway. Those who had formerly paid homage to her avoided her now. Hersoul rebelled within her; meeting with so much unexpected and cowardlyvulgarity enflamed her sensibilities and ennobled her self-respect. 

One day in December she crossed the Wine Market, and started to passthrough a narrow street that led to the Halle Gate. Standing at theentrance to the alley were a number of men engaged in conversation. Sherecognised Alfons Diruf among them. She thought they would step to oneside and let her pass, but not one of them moved. They gaped at her inunmitigated shamelessness. She could have turned about and taken anotherstreet, but that defiance on the part of those men made her insist uponher rights to go the way she had originally decided upon. Impressed, apparently, by the flaming blue of her eyes, the scoundrels at lastcondescended to shift their lazy frames to one side. They formed anespalier through which she had to walk. But worse than this were thelewd looks that she knew were following her, and the laughter thatgreeted her ears. It was the type of laughter ordinarily heard at nightwhen one passes a low dive, in which the scum of human society hasgathered to amuse itself by the telling of salacious stories. 

She often had the feeling, particularly after dark, that some one wasfollowing her. Once she looked around, and a man was behind her. He worea havelock; he turned quickly into a gate. A few days later she had asimilar experience, but this time she was frightened worse than ever, for she thought it was Herr Carovius. 

One evening as she was leaving the house she saw the same figurestanding by the church on the other side of the street. As she hesitatedand wondered whether she should go on, another person joined the first. She thought it was Philippina. The two began to talk, but Eleanore couldnot make out who they were; it was snowing, and there was no street lampnearby. 

She could not tell why, but she was suddenly seized with anxiety forDaniel; for him and for no one else. She felt that unless she went backsomething dreadful would happen to him. She rushed up the steps to theattic room, and knocked at his door; there was not a sound. She openedthe door and went in, but everything was dark. In the darkness, however, standing out against the white background from the light of the snow, she saw his body. He was sitting at the piano; he had his arms on thelid, his head between his hands. Eleanore hastened up to him, and, witha tone of sweet sadness in what she said, threw her arms around hisneck. 

Daniel took her on his lap, pressed her head to his bosom, and laughedwith open month and shining teeth but without making a sound. He oftenlaughed that way now. 

 XIII

He laughed that way at the intrigues that were being forged against himby his bitterest enemy, Fräulein Varini, and which resulted in hismeeting with distrust and opposition in everything he undertook at theCity Theatre. 

He laughed that way at the anonymous letters, filled with insultingremarks, which were being sent him by his fellow citizens, and which heread with naïve curiosity merely to see how far human nastiness andbestial hate could go. 

He laughed that way when he received the letter from Baroness vonAuffenberg informing him that she was forced to discontinue her lessonsand recitals. She said that her constitution had been weakened, and thatshe was going to close her town house and spend the winter at hercountry place at Hersbruck. Daniel heard however that she spent a greatdeal of her time in town, and that she had arranged for an elaboratecycle of _musicales_, a thing she had never dared to do under hisadministration. Andreas Döderlein had been engaged as her musicaladviser: now she could rave and go into ecstasies and hypnotise herimpotent soul in the mephitic air of artificial aroma just as much asshe pleased. 

And he laughed that way at the weekly attacks upon him and his art thatappeared in the _Fränkischer Herold_, copies of which were delivered athis front door with the regularity of the sun. The attacks consisted ofsly, caustic sneers, secrets that had been ferreted out with dog-likekeenness, gigantic broadsides based on hearsay evidence, and perfidioussuspicions lodged against Daniel Nothafft, the artist, and DanielNothafft, the man. 

The articles never failed to mention the Goose Man. Daniel asked to havethe allusion explained. The Goose Man was elevated to the rank anddignity of an original humourist. “What is the latest concerning theGoose Man?” became a standing head-line. Or the reader’s eye would fallon the following notice: “The Goose Man is again attracting theattention of all friends of music. He has had the ingenious audacity tomake the opera ‘Stradella’ more enjoyable by the interpolation of afuneral march of his own make. The ever-submissive domestic birds whichhe carries under his arms have rewarded him for his efforts in thisconnection by the cackling of their abundant and affectionategratitude. ”

The birthplace of these inimitable achievements in the field ofjournalistic wit was the reserved table at the Crocodile. If ever in thehistory of the world men have laughed real honest tears it was at thewriting of such news bearing on the life and conduct of the Goose Man. The editor-in-chief, Weibezahl, was the recording secretary at theseintellectual Olympiads, and Herr Carovius was the protagonist. He hadaccess to reliable sources, as newspaper men say, and every evening hesurprised the round table with new delicacies for Weibezahl’s columns. 

Daniel was ignorant of what was going on. But the Goose Man, theexpression as well as the figure, became interwoven with his thoughts, and acquired, somehow and somewhere in the course of time, atransfigured meaning. 

 XIV

One day Frau Kirschner wrote to Daniel telling him that she did not wishto have anything more to do with him; she demanded in the same letterthat he pay back the money she had advanced him. He could not raise it:the City Theatre had already made him a loan, he had no friends, and M. Rivière, the only person on earth who might have been able to come tohis rescue, had gone back to France. 

Matters took their usual course: A lawyer notified Daniel, giving him somany days grace; when these had elapsed and no payment had been made, asummons was served on him; the sheriff came in, and in default of anyother object of value he pawned the piano. 

Daniel’s objections were quite ineffectual: a few days more and thepiano would be put up at auction. 

One gloomy morning in January Philippina entered his room. 

“Say, Daniel, ” she began, “would you like to have some money from me?”

Daniel turned his head slowly and looked at her in amazement. 

“I have lots of it, ” she continued with her hoarse voice, her glassyeyes glittering underneath her bangs. “I have been saving it a pfennigat a time ever since I was a child. I can give you the money you owethe Councillor’s wife. Sling it at her, the old hag! Say to me: ‘PleasePhilippina, give me the money, ’ and you’ll find it on the table. ”

“Are you crazy?” asked Daniel, “get out of here just as quickly as yourfeet can carry you!” He felt distinctly creepy in her presence. 

Philippina, beside herself with rage, seized his hand. Before he coulddo a thing she bit him just below the little finger. The wound was quitedeep. He groaned, shook her off, and pushed her back. She looked at himtriumphantly, but her face had turned yellow. 

“Listen, Daniel, ” she said in a begging, beseeching tone, “don’t be sougly! Don’t be so mean toward me! Don’t be so jealous!”

The wench’s infamous smile, her hair hanging down over her eyes, her bigred hands, the snow-flakes on her short cloak, the border on her fieryred dress below her cloak, and the poison green ribbon on her hat—thisensemble of ugliness filled Daniel with the loathing he might haveexperienced had he stood face to face with the most detestable picturehe had ever seen from the world of human beings. But as he turned hishead, a feeling of sympathy came over him; he suspected that the girlwas bound to him by bonds that did not reach him until after they hadtaken their course through the dark channels of some subterraneanlabyrinth. What she had done filled him with dismay; but as a revelationof character it surprised him and set him to thinking. 

He went over to the washing table to put his bleeding hand in the water. Philippina took a fresh handkerchief from the cabinet, and handed it tohim as a bandage. He looked at her with piercing eyes, and said: “Whatkind of a person are you? What sort of a devil is in you, anyway? Becareful, Jason Philip’s daughter, be careful!”

Since there was a tone of kindness in these words, the muscles ofPhilippina’s face moved in a mysterious way. Her features were distortedas if by a grin, and yet she was not grinning. She drew a leather pursefrom her cloak pocket, opened it, and took out two one-hundred-marknotes and a gold coin. They had been wrapped in paper. She unfolded thepaper and the notes, laid them, together with the coin, on the table, and handed Daniel a written statement. 

He read it: “I, the undersigned, Daniel Nothafft, promise to pay toPhilippina Schimmelweis two hundred and twenty marks at five per centinterest, for value received. ”

“With that you c’n pay the sheriff and git yourself out of this mess, ”said Philippina, in a most urgent tone. “You can’t give piano lessons ona rolling pin, and that music box of yours is after all the tool youmake your living by. Sign that, and you will be in peace. ”

“Where did you get the money?” asked Daniel. “How did you ever come byso much money? Tell me the truth. ” All of a sudden he rememberedTheresa’s words: “All that nice money, all that nice money!”

Philippina began to chew her finger nails. “That’s none of yourbusiness, ” she said gruffly, “it ain’t been stolen. Moreover, I c’n tellyou, ” she said, as she felt that his distrust was taking on athreatening aspect, “mother give it to me on the sly. She didn’t want meto be without a penny if anything happened. For my father—he would liketo see me strung up. She give it to me, I say, on the side, and she mademe swear before the cross that I would never let any one know about it. ”

This tale of horror made Daniel shake his head; he had his doubts. Hefelt she was lying, and yet there was a mysterious force back of herstatement and in her eyes. He was undecided; he thought it over. Hislivelihood was at stake. Weeks, months might pass by before he could getanother piano. Philippina’s readiness to help him was a riddle to him, everything she said was repulsive and banal; but after all she waswilling to help in a most substantial way, and he was in suchdifficulties that voices of admonition simply had to be drowned out. 

“It is nothing but money, ” he thought contemptuously, and sat down toput his name to the note. 

Philippina drew up her shoulders, and never once breathed until he hadsigned the note and handed it over to her in silence. Then she looked athim imploringly, and said: “Now Daniel, you must never again treat melike you would a scurvy cat. ”

 XV

There had been an unusual amount of talk this year about the parade onShrove Tuesday. On the afternoon of that day the whole city was on itsfeet. 

Daniel was on his way home; he had reached the corner of Theresa Streetwhen he ran into the crowd. He stopped out of idle curiosity. The firstdivision of the parade came up: it consisted of three heralds in gaudymediæval costumes, and back of them were three councillors on horseback. 

Next in the procession was a condemned witch on a wheelbarrow. Her facehad been hideously painted, and in her hand she swung a huge whiskeybottle. She was followed by a group of Chinese, each with a longpigtail, and they by a troupe of dancing Kameruns. 

The procession moved on in the following order: a giant carryingtwenty-seven quart beer mugs; a woman’s orchestra consisting exclusivelyof old women; a wagon from one of the peasant districts bearing theinscription, “Adorers of Taxes”; a smoking club with the Swedish matchmerchant; a wagon with a replica of the Spittler Gate made of beer kegs;the so-called guard against sparks; a nurse with a grown child indiapers and Hussar boots; the seven Swabians on velocipedes; a cabrioletwith a gaily dressed English family; a conveyance carrying authors. There were two inscriptions on it: “The And So Forths” and “The EtCeterists. ”

At the end of the procession was a wagon with a skilful imitation of theGoose Man. It had been made out of old boards, hoops, clay, old rags, and iron. The Goose Man himself wore an open velvet doublet and shortvelvet trousers, from the pockets of which protruded rolls of banknotes. Instead of a cap he had a rusty pan on his head, and on his feet was apair of worn patent leather shoes. Under each arm he carried a goose. The geese had been made of dough. Their heads were not the heads ofgeese but of women artificially painted and with so-called taws, ormarbles, for their eyes. The face at the Goose Man’s left lookedmelancholy, the one at his right was cheerful. 

This was the centre of attraction; it was surrounded by the largestcrowds. Every time it came within sight of a fresh group of on-lookersthere was a tremendous shouting and waving of flags. This was true evenwhere it was plain that the people did not appreciate the significanceof it. Pulchinellos brandished their wooden swords, Indian chieftainsdanced around it screaming their mighty war-whoops, a Mephistophelesturned somersaults, knights mounted on stilts saluted, and children withwax masks shrieked until it was impossible to hear one’s own voice. 

Daniel had watched the performance with relative indifference. He hadregarded it merely as a display of commonplace ability to amuse thepeople. Then came the wagon with the imitation of the Goose Man. On itstood Schwalbe the sculptor, gloriously drunk. Beside him stoodKropotkin the painter in his shirt sleeves, apparently oblivious to thefact that it was cold. A fearfully fat youth—a future school officer, so far as could be determined from his looks—had hit upon the happyidea of pasting the title of the _Fränkischer Herold_ to the Goose Man’shat. This took the initiated by storm. 

Kropotkin recognised Daniel. He called to him, threw him kisses, had oneof the wooden swords given him, and went through the motion of directingan orchestra. The fat boy hurled a handful of pretzels at the spot onthe sidewalk where Daniel was standing; a trombone began to bray; theEnglishman first stuck his head out of his cabriolet, and then got outand hopped over to Daniel, carrying a pole draped with women’s clothes, including a feather hat and a veil. A new keg of beer was tapped on theGambrinus wagon, while the people in the houses rushed to the windowsand roared. 

“You have forgotten the railing, ” cried Daniel in a loud voice to thepeople on the Goose Man wagon. 

“What did he say?” they asked, and looked at each other in astonishment. The on-lookers were filled with curious silence: many of them gazed atDaniel, bewildered. 

“You forgot the railing, ” he repeated, with glistening eyes, “you haveforgotten the iron railing. Without his protection the poor Goose Man isto be sure your buffoon, your zany, your clown. ”

He laughed quietly, and, with opened mouth and shining teeth, quicklywithdrew from the innumerable gapers. Having reached a deserted alley, he began to sing with a frenzied expression on his face: “Whom thou dostnot desert, oh Genius, him wilt thou raise up with wings of fire. Hewill wander on as if with feet of flowers across Deucalion’s seas ofslime, killing Python, light-footed, famed Pythius Apollo. ”

 XVI

A few weeks later a real singer came to Daniel. She sang several of thesongs he had written. He had thought they were completely forgotten byeverybody. Her art was not merely perfect; it was wonderful. 

It was a very mysterious visit the singer paid him. One afternoon duringa fearful snow storm the bell rang; and when Gertrude opened the door, she saw a woman wearing a heavy black veil standing before her, who saidshe wished to speak to Kapellmeister Nothafft. Gertrude took her up toDaniel’s room. The stranger told Daniel she had been wishing to make hisacquaintance for a long time, and, now on her way to Italy, she had beendetained in the city for a few days by the illness of a near friend. This, she said, she regarded as a hint from fate itself. She had come toextend him her greetings, and particularly to thank him for his songs, acopy of which a friend had been good enough to present to her at a timewhen she was living under the weight of a great sorrow. 

She spoke with an accent that had a Northern note in it, but easily andfluently; she gave the impression of a woman who had seen a great dealof the world and had profited by her travels. Daniel asked her with whomhe had the pleasure of speaking, but she smiled, and asked permission toconceal her name for the present. She said that it really did not makemuch difference, and that it might be more agreeable to him later tothink that an unknown woman had come to him to express her appreciationthan to recall that Fräulein So-and-So had been there: she hoped thather very anonymity would make a more lasting impression on his memorythan could be made by a woman of whom he knew only what everybody knows. 

The mingling of the jocose and the serious, of the mind and the heart, in the words of the stranger pleased Daniel. Though his replies werecurt and cool, it was plain that she was affording him much pleasure:she was reminding him of the fact that his creations had not after allsunk into an echoless abyss. In course of time, the conversation turnedagain to the songs; she said she would like very much to sing some ofthem for him. Daniel was pleased. He got the score, sat down at thepiano, and the enigmatic woman began to sing. At the very first noteDaniel was enraptured; he had never heard such a voice: so soft, sopure, so emotional, so unlike the conventional product of theconservatory. As soon as she had finished the first song, he looked upat her in unaffected embarrassment, and murmured: “Who are you, anyhow?Who are you?”

“No investigations or cross-questioning, please, ” replied the singer, and, blushing at the praise Daniel was bestowing on her by his verybehaviour, she laughed and said, “The next song, please, that one byEichendorff!”

Gertrude, who had not wished to remain longer than was necessarybecause of the unkempt impression she knew she made, had hastened downto the kitchen. And now Eleanore came in, after having knocked at thedoor with all imaginable timidity. She had heard the strange voice, hadrushed out into the hall, and, unable to restrain her curiosity anylonger, had come in to see the singer. 

Daniel nodded to her with radiant eyes, the stranger greeted hercordially though calmly, and then began to sing the next song; afterthis she took up the third, and so on until she had sung the completecycle of six. Old Jordan was standing behind the door; he had his handspressed to his face and was listening; he was much moved. 

“Well, I must be going, ” said the strange woman, after she had finishedthe last song. She shook hands with Daniel, and said: “It has been abeautiful hour. ”

“It has been one of the most beautiful hours I have ever experienced, ”said Daniel. 

“Farewell!”

“Farewell!”

The strange woman went away, leaving behind her not a trace of anythingother than the memory of a joy that grew more fabulous as thestorm-tossed years rolled by. Daniel never saw her again, and neverheard from her again. 

 XVII

While the woman was singing, Gertrude had been standing down in the halllistening. She knew every note of every song; every melody in theaccompaniment seemed to her like an old, familiar picture. She was alsoaware that an artist by the grace of God had been in the house. 

But how strange it was that she should find nothing unusual in theincident. She felt that a living stream in her bosom had dried up, leaving nothing but sand and stones in its bed. This inability to feel, this being dead to all sensations, took the form of excruciating pangsof conscience. 

“My God, my God, what has happened to me?” she sighed, and wrung herhands. 

That evening she went to the Church of Our Lady, and prayed for a longwhile. Her prayer did not appease her, however; she came back home moredisquieted than ever. 

The door of the living room was open: Daniel and Eleanore were sittingby the lamp, reading together from a book. The baby began to move;Eleanore had left the door open so that she might be able to hear thechild when it woke up. Gertrude took the child in her arms, quieted it, and returned to the door leading into the living room. Daniel andEleanore had turned their backs to the door, and were so absorbed intheir reading that they were not aware of Gertrude’s presence. 

A light suddenly came into Gertrude’s heart: she became conscious of herguilt—the guilt she had been trying in vain to fathom now for so manycruel weeks. 

She did not have enough of the power of love; therein lay her guilt. Shehad assumed an obligation that was quite beyond her power to fulfil: shehad entered into marriage without having the requisite strength ofheart. 

Marriage had seemed to her like the Holy of Holies. Her union with theman she loved seemed to her to be of equal significance with the unionwith God. But when she saw that this bond had been broken, the world wasplunged into an abyss immeasurably remote from God. And it was not herhusband who seemed to her to be guilty of infidelity; nor did she lookupon her sister as being the guilty one; it was she herself who had beenunfaithful and guilty in their eyes. She had not stood the test; she hadbeen tried and found wanting; her strength had not been equal to herpresumptions; God had rejected her. This conviction became irrevocablyrooted in her heart. 

In her union with Daniel music had become something divine; and she saw, now this union had been broken, something in music that was perilous, something that was to be avoided: she understood why she was sounemotional, why her feelings had dried up and vanished. 

But she wanted to make one more effort to see whether she was entirelyright in the analysis of her soul. One morning she went to Daniel, andasked him to play a certain passage from the “Harzreise. ” She said shewould like to hear the close of the slow middle movement which hadalways made such an appeal to her. Her request was made in such anurgent, anxious tone that Daniel granted it, though he did not feel likeplaying. As Gertrude listened, she became paler and paler: her diagnosiswas being corroborated with fearful exactness. What had once been asource of ecstasy was now the cause of intense torture. The tones andharmonies seemed to be eating into her very soul; the pain she felt wasso overwhelming, that it was only with the greatest exertion that shemustered up sufficient self-control to leave the room unaided. Danielwas dismayed. 

On her return to the kitchen, Gertrude heard a most peculiar noise inher bedroom. She went in only to see that little Agnes had crept intothe corner of the room where the harp stood, and was striking thestrings with a copper spoon, highly pleased with her actions. Gertrudewas seized with a vague, nameless terror. She took the harp into thekitchen, removed the strings from the frame, rolled them up, put them ina drawer, and carried the stringless frame up to the attic. 

“What can I do?” she whispered to herself, and looked around in theattic with an expression of complete helplessness. She longed for peace, and it seemed peaceful up where she was. She stayed a while, leaning upagainst one of the beams, her eyes closed. 

“What can I do?” That was the question she put to herself day and night. “I can no longer be of any help to my husband; to stand in his waymerely because of the child is not right. ” Such was the trend of herargument. She saw how he was suffering, how Eleanore was suffering, howeach was suffering on account of the other, and how both were sufferingbecause of the despicable vulgarity of the human race. She thought toherself that if she were not living, everything would be right. Sheimagined, indeed she was certain, that all the truth he had given herhad had the sole purpose of whitewashing a lie, by which she was to bemade to believe that her existence was a necessity to him. She wasconvinced that the weight of this lie was crushing the very life out ofhim. She wished to free him from it and its consequences. But how shewas to do this she did not know. She knew that if Daniel and Eleanorecould belong to each other in a legal, legitimate way, they would bevindicated in the eyes of God and man. But how this was to be broughtabout she did not know. 

She sought and sought for a way out. Her ideas were vague butpersistent. She felt that she was running around in a circle, unable todo more than stare at the centre of the circle. Every morning at fiveo’clock she would get up and go to church. She prayed with a devotionand passion that physically exhausted her heart. 

One morning she knelt before the altar in unusually heart-rendingdespair. She thought she heard a small voice crying out to her andtelling her to take her life. 

She swooned; people rushed up to her, and wet her forehead with coldwater. This enabled her to get up and go home. A peculiarly sorrowfuland dreamy expression lay on her face. 

She wanted to do some knitting, for she recalled that when she was agirl she was always able to dispel care and grief by knitting. But everystitch she made turned into the cry: “You must take your life. ”

She knelt down by the cradle of little Agnes, but the child said to heronly too distinctly: “Mother, you must take your life. ”

Eleanore came in. On her brow was the light of enjoyed happiness; herwhole body was happiness; her lips trembled and twitched with happiness. But her eyes said. “Sister, you must take your life. ”

Philippina stood by the kitchen stove, and whispered to the coals:“Gertrude, you must take your life. ” Her father came in, got his dinner, expressed his thanks for it, and went out murmuring, “Daughter, you musttake your life; believe me, it will be for the best. ”

If she passed by the well, something drew her to the edge; voices calledto her from the depths. From every beaker she put to her lips to drinkshone forth her image as if from beyond the tomb. On Sunday she climbedup the Vestner Tower, and let her eyes roam over the plains below as ifin the grief of departure. She leaned forward out of the little windowwith a feeling of assuaging horror. The keeper, seeing what she wasdoing, rushed up, seized her arms, and made her get back. 

If the cock crew, it was the crow of death; if the clock ticked, it wasthe tick of death; if the wind blew, it was a breath from beyond thegrave. “You must take your life”—with this thought the air, the earth, the house, the church, the morning, the evening, and her dreams werefull. 

In April Eleanore was taken down with fever. Gertrude watched by herbedside night and day; she sacrificed herself. Daniel, worried aboutEleanore, went around in a dazed condition. When he came to her bed henever noticed Gertrude. After Eleanore had begun to recover, Gertrudelay down; for she was very tired. But she could not sleep; she got upagain. 

She went into the kitchen in her bare feet, though she did not know whyshe went. It was the consuming restlessness of her heart that drove herfrom her bed. Her legs were heavy with exhaustion, but she did not liketo stay in any one place for any length of time. Later Daniel came backfrom the city, and brought her a silver buckle which he fastened to herbracelet. Then he pressed his lips to her forehead, and said: “I thankyou for having been so good to Eleanore. ”

Gertrude stood as if rooted to the floor. Something seemed to cryincessantly within her; she felt that a mortally wounded beast was inher bosom wallowing in its blood. Long after Daniel had gone to his roomshe could still be seen standing in the middle of the floor. Wrapped ingloomy meditation, she removed the buckle from her bracelet: she thoughtshe saw an ugly mark where the metal had touched her skin. She went intoher room, opened the cabinet, and hid the buckle under a pile of linen. 

She had only one wish: she wanted to sleep. But as soon as she wouldclose her eyes her heart would begin to beat with doubled, trebledrapidity. She had to get up and walk back and forth in the room; she wasstruggling for breath. 

 XVIII

A few days later she went out during a pouring rain storm, and wanderedabout aimlessly through the streets. Every minute she feared—andhoped—she would fall over and become unconscious of herself and theworld about her. She passed by two churches, the doors of which werelocked. It was growing dark; she reached the apothecary shop of HerrPflaum, and looked in through the glass door. Herr Seelenfromm wasstanding at the counter, mixing some medicine in a mortar. She went inand asked him whether he could not give her a narcotic. He said hecould, and asked her what it should be. “One which makes you sleep for along, long while, ” she said, and smiled at him so as to make himinclined to fulfil her request. It was the first smile that had adornedher grief-stricken face for many a day. Herr Seelenfromm was just aboutto suggest a remedy to her. He sat down in a vain position so that hemight avail himself of the opportunity to flirt with her a little. Theapothecary, however, came up just then, and when he heard what Gertrudewanted, he cast a penetrating glance at her and said: “You had better goto the doctor, my good woman, and have him make you out a prescription. I have had some rather disagreeable experiences with cases of thiskind. ”

When Gertrude had finally dragged herself home, she found Philippinasitting by the cradle of little Agnes, rocking the child back and forthand humming a lullaby. “Where is Eleanore?” asked Gertrude. 

“Where do you think she is?” said Philippina contemptuously: “She isupstairs with your husband. ”

Gertrude heard Daniel playing the piano. She raised her head to hearwhat he was playing. 

“She told me I was to go with her to Glaishammer to get a washwoman foryou, ” continued Philippina. 

“Ah, what do we want with a washwoman?” said Gertrude; “we cannot affordone. It costs a great deal of money, and every cent of money spent meansa drop of blood from Daniel’s veins. Don’t go to Glaishammer! I wouldrather do the washing myself!”

She knew, however, at that very moment that she had done her lastwashing. There was something so mournful about the light of the lamp. Agnes’s little face looked so pale as it peeped out from under thecovers, Philippina cowered so witlessly at the floor. But all this wasonly for the moment; all this she could take with her up into a betterworld. 

She bent down over the child, and kissed it, and kissed it with hot, burning lips. A lurk of unsoftened evil crept into Philippina’s face. “Listen, Gertrude, listen: you are all Greek to me, ” said Philippina, “Idon’t understand you. ”

Gertrude went over to Eleanore’s room, where she stood for a while inthe dark, trembling and thinking. At times she was startled: she heardsome one walking about, and she thought the door would open. She couldscarcely endure her impatience. Suddenly she remembered the attic andhow quiet it was up there; there no one could disturb her. She decidedto go up. On her way she went into the kitchen, and took a thick cordfrom a sugar-loaf. 

As she passed by Daniel’s room, she noticed that the door was half open. He was still playing. Two candles were standing on the piano; Eleanorewas leaning up against the side of the piano. She had on a pale bluedress that fell down over her beautiful body in peaceful folds. 

Gertrude looked at the picture with wide-open eyes. There was aninimitable urging, a reaching aloft, and a painful sinking-back in thepiece he was playing and in the way he was playing it. Gertrude went onup without making the slightest bit of noise. It was dark, but she foundher way by feeling along with her hands. 

 XIX

After a half-hour had gone by, Philippina began to wonder where Gertrudewas. She looked in the living room, then in Eleanore’s room, and thenhastened up the steps and peeped through the open door into Daniel’sroom. Daniel had stopped playing and was talking with Eleanore. Philippina turned back. On the stairs she met Jordan just then coming infrom his evening walk. She lighted a candle, and looked in the kitchen. Gertrude was nowhere to be found. 

“It is raining; there is her raincoat, and here is her umbrella, so shecan’t have gone out, ” thought Philippina to herself. She sat down on thekitchen table, and stared before her. 

She was filled with an ugly, bitter suspicion; she scented a tragedy. Inthe course of another half-hour, she got up, took the lighted candle, and started out on a second search. Something drove her all about thehouse: she went out into the hall, into the various rooms, and then backto the kitchen. 

All of a sudden she thought of the attic. It was the expression onGertrude’s face the last time she kissed Agnes that made her think ofit. Was not the attic of any house, and particularly the one in thishouse, the room that had the greatest attraction for her, and that herlight-fearing fancy invariably chose as the most desirable and befittingplace for her hidden actions?

She went up quickly and without making the least noise. Holding thelighted candle out before her, she stared at a rafter from which hung ahuman figure dressed in woman’s clothes. She wheeled about, uttering astifled gurgle. A sort of drunkenness came over her; she was seized witha terrible desire to dance. She raised one leg, and sank her teeth deepinto the nails of her right hand. In her convulsions she had the feelingthat some one was crying out to her in a strong voice: “Set it on fire!Set it on fire!”

Near the chimney wall was a pile of letters and old newspapers. She fellon her knees, and exclaimed: “Blaze! Blaze!” And then, half with horrorand half with rejoicing, she uttered a series of irrational, incoherentsounds that were nothing more than “Hu-hu, oi-oi, hu-hu, oi-oi!”

The fire from the papers flared up at once, and she ran down the stepswith a roar and a bellow that are fearful to imagine, nerve-racking tohear. 

In a few minutes the house was a bedlam. Daniel ran up the steps, Eleanore close behind him. The women in the lower apartments camerunning up, screaming for water. Daniel and Eleanore turned back, anddragged a big pail full of water up the stairs. The fire alarm wasturned in, the men made their way into the building, and with the helpof many hands the flames were in time extinguished. 

Jordan was the first to see the lifeless Gertrude. Standing in smoke andashes, he sobbed and moaned, and finally fell to the floor as if struckon the head with an axe. The men carried Gertrude’s body out; herclothes were still smoking. 

Philippina had vanished. 

 ELEANORE

 I

It was all over. 

The visit of the doctor was over; and so was that of the coroner. Theinvestigations of the various boards, including that of the firedepartment, the cross-examination, the taking of evidence, the coming toa decision—all this was over. 

The cause of the fire remained unexplained; a guilty party could not befound. Philippina Schimmelweis had sworn that the fire had alreadystarted when she reached the attic. It was therefore assumed that thesuicide had knocked over a lighted candle in her last moments. 

The crowd of acquaintances and close friends had disappeared; this wasover too. Hardened souls expressed their conventional sympathy toKapellmeister Nothafft. That a man who had carried his head so high hadsuddenly been obliged to lower it in humility awakened a feeling ofsatisfaction. The punished evil-doer again gained public favour. Womenfrom the better circles of society expatiated at length on the questionwhether a relation which in all justice would have to be designated as acriminal one while the poor woman was living could be transformed into alegal one after the lapse of a certain amount of time. With pimplikegenerosity and match-making indulgence they decided that it could. 

The funeral was also over. Gertrude was buried in St. John’s Cemetery ona stormy day. 

The preacher had preached a sermon, the mourners had stood with theirhands stuffed in their coat pockets and their furs, for it was cold. Asthe coffin was lowered into the grave, Jordan cried out: “Farewell, Gertrude! Until we meet again, my child!”

There was one man who crowded right up to the edge of the grave: it wasHerr Carovius. He looked over his nose glasses at Jordan and Daniel andEleanore. It seemed to him that the latter, with her pale face and herblack dress, was more beautiful than the most beautiful Madonna anyItalian or Spaniard had ever immortalised on imperishable canvas. 

He turned his frightened face to one side, and came very nearly fallingover the heaped-up earth by the grave. 

With regard to Daniel’s conduct, Pflaum, the apothecary, had this tosay: “I should have expected more grief and sorrow from him, and not somuch sullenness. ”

“A hard-hearted man, an exceedingly hard-hearted man, ” said HerrSeelenfromm in his grief. 

Daniel was severely criticised for his discourteous treatment of thepeople from the City Theatre, every one of whom had come to the funeral. When several of them shook hands with him, he merely nodded, and blinkedhis eyes behind the round glasses which he had been wearing for sometime. 

Judge Kleinlein said: “He should be very grateful for the Christianburial, for despite the evidence that was turned in, it was notsatisfactorily proved that the woman was in her right mind. ”

Eleanore looked into the open grave. She thought: “Guilt is being heapedupon guilt, deep, serious guilt. ”

All this was over now. Daniel and Eleanore and Jordan had come back tothe house. 

 II

They felt lonely and deserted. Jordan shut himself up in his room. Itwas rare now that he took his accustomed evening walks; his coat-sleevesand the ends of his trouser legs had become more and more frayed. Hepined away; his hair became snow white, his walk unsteady, his eye dim. But he was never ill, and he never complained of his fate. He never saidanything at the table; he was a quiet man. 

Eleanore moved back up with her father, and Daniel took his old roomnext to the dining room. There was all of a sudden so much space; he wassurprised that the going of a single person could make such a vastdifference. 

Eleanore spent the whole day with little Agnes until Philippina came andrelieved her. She also did her work close to Agnes. 

When she had finished her writing, she had to look after the house. Shecould not cook, and had no desire to learn how, so she had a woman comein three times a week who prepared the midday meals. Twice a week shewould prepare meals for two days, and once a week she would get themready for three days. She was a modest woman who worked for very littlemoney. The food she cooked merely needed to be heated over, and in theevening they always had sausage and sandwiches anyhow. 

It was a practical arrangement, but no one praised Eleanore for it. 

At first she spent her nights in Gertrude’s room with the child; shecould not stand this, however, longer than three weeks. Either she couldnot sleep, or she had such terrible dreams. 

Then she took to carrying the child up to her room with her and making alittle bed for it on the sofa. But the child did not sleep so wellthere; Eleanore noticed that, as a result of all the excitement and hardwork, she was losing strength. 

Often in the night when she would take the child to quiet it—and becomeso tired and uneasy—she would make up her mind to have a talk withDaniel. But the next morning she would find it impossible to bring upthe subject. She felt that the voice of Gertrude was admonishing herfrom beyond the grave and telling her to be patient. 

She felt, too, that the time was drawing near when she would succumb toover-exertion; it made her anxious. Just then Philippina came in tohelp. 

 III

When Jason Philip heard that Philippina was going to Jordan’s daughtersevery day, he told her most emphatically and repeatedly that she had toquit it. Philippina paid not the slightest attention to him and did asshe pleased. 

“I’ll kill you, ” cried Jason Philip at the girl. 

Philippina shrugged her shoulders and laughed impudently. 

Jason Philip saw that a grown person was standing before him; he wasafraid of the evil look of his daughter. 

It was long before he could make out what was taking her to his enemies. Then he learned that wherever she chanced to be, at home, or withacquaintances, or with strangers, she was spreading evil reportsconcerning Daniel and his family. This tended to make him a bit moreindulgent: he too wanted to feast his ears on scandal from that quarter. At times he would enter into a conversation with Philippina, and whenshe told him the latest news he was filled with fiendish delight. “Theday will come when I will get back at that music-maker, you see if Idon’t, ” he said. 

Theresa was still confined to her bed. During his leisure hoursWillibald had to read to her, either from the newspapers or from trashynovels. When she was alone she lay perfectly quiet and stared at theceiling. 

The time finally came when Willibald left school. He went to Fürth, where he was employed as an apprentice by a manufacturer. There was nodoubt in any one’s mind but that he would become one of those loyal, temperate, industrious people who are the pride of their parents, andwho climb the social ladder at the rate of an annual increase in salaryof thirty marks. 

The one-eyed Markus entered the paternal bookshop, where he soonfamiliarised himself with the novels of the world from Dumas and LuiseMühlbach to Ohnet and Zola, and with the popular sciences from Darwin toMantegazza. His brain was a book catalogue, and his mouth an oracle ofthe tastes displayed at the last fair. But in reality he not only didnot like the books, he regarded all this printed matter as a jolly finedeception practised on people who did not know what to do with theirmoney. Zwanziger, the clerk, had married the widow of a cheese merchant, and was running a shop of his own on the Regensburg Chaussee. 

“A rotten business, ” said Jason Philip at the end of each month. “Thetrouble with me, ” he invariably added, “is that I have been too much ofan idealist. If I had worked as hard for myself as I have for otherpeople, I would be a rich man to-day. ”

He went to the café and discussed politics. He had developed into aperpetual grumbler; he was pleased with nothing, neither the governmentnor the opposition. To hear him talk you would have thought that theopposing parties had been forced to narrow their platforms down to thedifferences between the views of Prince Bismarck and Jason PhilipSchimmelweis. When Kaiser Wilhelm I died, Jason Philip acted as thoughhis appointment to the chancellorship was imminent. And when in thatsame memorable year Kaiser Friedrich succumbed to his sufferings, JasonPhilip resembled the pilot on whose isolated fearlessness the rescue ofthe storm-tossed ship of state depends. 

The born hero always finds a sphere of activity, a forum from which toexpress his views. If public life has rejected him, he goes to the café, where he is sure to find a congenial element. 

One day Theresa got up from the bed where she had spent fifteen unbrokenmonths, and seemed all of a sudden completely recovered. The physiciansaid it was the strangest case that had ever come under his observation. But Jason Philip said: “It is the triumph of a good constitution. ” Withthat he went to the café, drank beer, made fiery political speeches, andplayed skat. 

But Theresa left her bed not as a woman forty-six years old—that washer age—but as a woman of seventy. She had only a few sparselydistributed grey hairs left on her square head, her face was full ofwrinkles, her eye was hard and cold. From that time on, however, she didnot seem to age. She did not quarrel any more, attended to her affairsin a straightforward, self-assured way, and observed her increasingimpoverishment with unexpected calm. 

She lived on herring, potatoes, and coffee; it was the same diet onwhich Philippina and Markus lived, with the one exception that Markus, as the child nearest her heart, was allowed a piece of sugar for hiscoffee. Jason Philip was also put on a diet: he never dared open hismouth about it, either. 

Philippina stood it for a while in silence; finally she said to hermother: “I can’t stand this chicory brew forever. ”

“Then you’ll have to lap up water, you will, ” replied Theresa. 

“No, I won’t, ” said Philippina. “I am going to hire out. ”

“Well, hire out. Who cares? It’ll be one mouth less to feed. ” “Yourdaughter is going to hire out, ” said Theresa to her husband, when hecame home that evening. 

Jason Philip had been playing cards that day, and had lost. He was in aterrible humour: “She can go plumb to the Devil so far as I amconcerned. ” That was his comment. 

The next morning Philippina sneaked up to the attic, and drew out hercash from the hole in the chimney: it amounted to nine hundred and fortymarks, mostly in gold, which she had exchanged in the course of yearsfor small coins. Through the opening in the wall the June sun fell uponher face, which, never young and bearing the stamp of extended crime, looked like that of a witch. 

She put the money in a woollen stocking, rolled it up in a knot, stuffedit down her corset between her breasts, made the sign of the cross, andrepeated one of her drivelling formulas. Her clothes, ribbons, and otherpossessions she had already packed in a basket. This she carried downthe stairs, and, without saying good-bye to a soul, left the house. 

Her brother Markus was standing with sprawled legs in the sun before thestore, whistling. He caught sight of her with his one eye, smiledcontemptuously at her, and cried: “Happy journey!”

Philippina turned to him, and said: “You branded lout! You’re going tohave a lousy time of it, mark what I tell you!”

In this frame of mind and body she came to Daniel, and said to him: “Iwant to work for you. You don’t need to pay nothing if you ain’t gotit. ”

Daniel had been noticing for some time that Eleanore could not stand theexertion required of her by the extra work. 

“Will you mind the baby and sleep with it?” Daniel asked. Philippinanodded and looked down. 

“If you will take care of the child and act right toward it and me, Ishall be awfully grateful to you, ” he said, breathing more easily. 

Thereupon Philippina threw her hands to her face, and shuddered fromhead to foot. She was not exactly crying; there was something muchworse, much more despairing, in what she was doing than in mere crying. She seemed to be convulsed by some demoniac power; a ghastly dreamseemed to have seized her in a moment of higher consciousness. Sheturned around and trotted into the room where the child was playing witha wooden horse. 

She sat down on a foot-stool, and stared at the restless littlecreature. 

Daniel stopped, stood perfectly still, and looked at her in a mood ofsolicitous reflection. 

 IV

During a rehearsal of “Traviata, ” Daniel flew into a rage at FräuleinVarini: “Listen, pay attention to your intonation, and keep in time. It’s enough to make a man lose his mind! What are you squeaking up atthe gallery for? You’re supposed to be singing a song, and not whiningfor a little bit of cheap applause. ”

The lady stepped out to the foot-lights with heaving bosom. Her offendeddignity created something like the spread tail of a peacock about herhips: “How dare you?” she exclaimed: “I give you your choice: You canapologise or leave this place. Whatever you do, you are going to becomeacquainted with the power I have. ”

Daniel folded his arms, let his eyes roam over the members of theorchestra, and said: “Good-bye, gentlemen. Since it is the director’splace to choose between me and this lady, there is no doubt whatever butthat my term of usefulness in this position is up. And moreover, in aninstitution where meat is more valuable than music, I feel that I amquite superfluous. ”

The other singers had come running out from the wings, and werestanding crowded together on the stage looking down at the orchestra. When Daniel laid down his baton and walked away, every member of theorchestra rose as one man to his feet. It was a voluntary and almostoverwhelming expression of speechless admiration. Though they had neverloved this man, though they had regarded him as an evil, alien kill-joy, who interfered with their easy-going habits as musicians in that town, they nevertheless respected his energy, admired the nobility of hisintentions, and at least had a vague idea of his genius. 

Fräulein Varini went into hysterics. The director was called in. Hepromised Fräulein Varini immediate redress, and wrote a letter to Danielrequesting that he offer an apology. 

Daniel replied in a brief note that he had no thought of changing hisplans as announced when he left the building. He remarked that it wasquite impossible for him to get along with Fräulein Varini, that eitherhe or she would have to quit, and that since she intended to remain hemust consider his resignation as submitted and accepted. 

That evening, as he was sitting at the table with Eleanore, he told her, after a long silence and in very few words, what had happened. Herresponse to him was a look of astonishment; that was all. 

“Oh, it was the only thing I could do, ” said Daniel, without looking upfrom his plate; “I was so heartily sick of the whole business. ”

“What are you going to live on, you and your child?” asked Eleanore. 

His eye became even darker and harsher: “You know, God who makes thelilies grow in the fields . .. I can’t quote that old proverb exactly, myfamiliarity with the Bible is nothing to boast of. ”

That was all they said. The window was open; there was a mysteriouspulsing in the earth; the warm air had a disagreeable taste, somewhatlike that of sweet oil. 

When the clock in the tower struck ten, Eleanore got up and saidgood-night. 

“Good-night!” replied Daniel, with bowed head. 

 V

That is the way it was now every evening between the two; for during theday they scarcely saw each other. 

Daniel would sit perfectly still for hours at a time and brood. 

He could not forget. He could not forget the burning, smoking border ofthe dress; nor the shoes that had some street mud on them; nor the facewith the pinched upper lip, the dishevelled hair, the nervously knittedbrow. 

Under the linen in the clothes press he had found the silver buckle hehad given her. “Why did she hide it there?” he asked himself. Thecondition of her soul when she opened the press and put the buckle in itbecame vivid, real; it became blended with his own soul, a part of hisown being. 

Then he discovered the harp without the strings. He took it to his room;and when he looked at it, he had the feeling that he was looking at aface without flesh. 

“Am I too melancholy, too heavy for you?” This was the question thatcame to him from the irrevocable past. And that other statement: “I willbe your mother made young again. ” And that other one, too: “I, too, am aliving creature. ”

He recalled some old letters she had written him and which he hadcarefully preserved. He read them over with the care and caution hewould have exercised in studying an agreement, the disregard orfulfilment of which was a matter of life and death. And there were bitsof old embroidery from her girlhood which he acquired in order to lockthem up and keep them as if they were sacred relics. 

She stood out in his mind and his soul more vividly with each passinghour. If he remembered how she sat and listened when he played ordiscussed his works, he felt something clutching at his throat. Herecalled how she crept up to him once and pressed her forehead againsthis lips: this picture was enshrouded in the awe of an unfathomablemystery. 

It was not a sense of guilt that bound him to his deceased wife. Nor wasit contrition or self-reproach or the longing that finds expression inthe realisation of accumulated neglect. His fancy warded off all thoughtof death; in its creative defiance it invested the dead woman with areality she never possessed while making her pilgrimage in bodily formover this earth. 

It was not until now that she really took on form and shape for Daniel. And this is the marvellous and the criminal feature of the musician. Things and people are not his while they are his. He lives with shadows;it is only what he has lost that is his in living form. Dissociated fromthe moment, he reaches out for the moment that is gone; he longs foryesterday and storms to-morrow with unassimilative impatience. What hehas in his hands is withered; what lies behind him is in flower. Histhinking is a winter between two springs: the true one that is gone, andthe one that is to come of which he dreams, but when it arrives he failsto take it to himself. He does not see; he has seen. He does not love;he has loved. He is not happy; he was happy. Dead, lifeless eyes open inthe grave; and the living eyes that look into the grave, see all things, understand all things, and glorify all things, feel as if they are beingdeceived by death and its duration throughout eternity. 

Gertrude was transformed into a melody; everything she had done or saidwas a melody. Her silence was awakened, her mute hours were madeeloquent. Once he had seen her and Eleanore, the one in a brown dress, the other in a blue, minor and major, the two poles of his universe. Nowthe major arose like the night, spread out over the lonely earth, andenveloped all things in mourning. Grief fed on pictures that had oncebeen daily, commonplace occurrences, but which were illumined at presentby the brightness of visions. 

He saw her as she lay in bed with the two braids of hair on either sideof her face, her face itself looking like a wax figure in an old blackframe. He could see her as she carried a dish into the room, threaded aneedle, put a glass to her lips to drink, or laced up her shoe. He couldsee the expression in her eye when she cautioned, besought, was amazed, or smiled. How incomparably star-like this eye had all of a suddenbecome! It was always lifted up, always bright with inner meaning, always fixed on him. In the vision of this eye he found one eveningalong toward sunset the motif of a sonata in B minor. A gesture heremembered—it was the time Eleanore stood before the mirror with themyrtle wreath on her head—gave the impulse to the stirring _presto_ inthe first movement of a quartette. The twenty-second Psalm, beginning“My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” he sketched on awakeningfrom a dream in which Gertrude had appeared before him in perfectrepose, as pale as death, her chin resting on her hand. 

But it could not be said that he worked. The music he wrote under theseconditions simply gushed forth, so to speak, during fits of fever. Whenthe mood came over him, he would scribble the notes on whatever laynearest him; his haste seemed to betray a sense of guilt. He stole fromhimself; tones appealed to him as so many crimes. When the grippingmelody of the twenty-second Psalm arose in his mind, he trembled fromhead to foot, and left the house as if lashed by Furies, though it wasin the dead of night. The recurring bass figure of the _presto_ soundedto him as though it were a gruesome, awed voice stammering out the fatalwords: “Man, hold your breath, Man, hold your breath!” And he did holdhis breath, full of unresting discomfort, while his inspiration hackedits way through the ice-locked region into which a passionate spell thatwas becoming more and more a part of his nature had driven it. 

He saw humanity forsaking him; he watched the waves of isolationwidening and deepening around him. Since he felt that time did notchallenge him to effort of any kind, he took to despising time. It cameto the point where he regarded his creations as something that neverwere intended for the world; he never spoke about them or cherished theremotest desire that men hear of them. The more completely he kept themin secret hiding, the more real they appeared to him. The thought that aman could write a piece of music and sell it for money appealed to himas on a par with the thought of disposing for so much cash of his motheror his sweetheart, of his child or one of his own limbs. 

He came on this account to cherish a feeling of superb disgust forshrewd dealers who were carried along on the wings of fashion. He took adislike to anything that was famous; for fame smelled of and tasted tohim like money. He shuddered at the mere thought of the chaos thatarises from opinions and judgments; the disputes as to the merits ofdifferent schools and tendencies made him ill; he could not stand theperambulating virtuosos of all zones and nations, the feathers theymanage to make fly, the noise they evoke, the truths they proclaim, thelies they wade about in and make a splash. He stood aghast at themention of a concert hall or a theatre; he flew into a reasoned ragewhen he heard a neighbour playing a piano; he despised the falsedevotion of the masses, and scorned their impotent, imbecile transports. 

All their music smelled of and tasted to him like money. 

He had bought the biographies of the great masters. From them hefamiliarised himself with their distress and poverty; he read of thepetty attitudes and fatuous mediocrity that stood deaf and dumb in thepresence of immortal genius. But one day he chanced to read thatMozart’s body had been buried in a pauper’s grave. He hurled the bookfrom him with an oath that he would never again touch a work of thatsort. The mordant smoke of misanthropy blew into the fire ofidolisation; he did not wish to see any one; he left the city, andfound peace only after he had reached a lonely, unfrequented place inthe forest, where he felt he was out of the reach of human feet and safefrom the eyes of men. 

At night he would walk rapidly through the streets; his head was alwaysbowed. If he became tired, he betook himself to some unknown café wherehe was sure he would not meet any of his acquaintances. If some one whomhe knew met him on the street, he did not speak; if any one spoke tohim, he was blatant and bizarre in his replies, and hastened off asrapidly as he could, with some caustic bit of intended wit on hisloosened tongue. 

To enter the room where Philippina and the child were required mucheffort; at first he was able to do it only with pronounced aversion. Later he came somehow to be touched by the form and actions of thechild: he would come in a few times each day for a minute or two only, take it up in his arms, have it poke its tiny hands into his face oreven jerk at his nose glasses; he listened with undivided interest toits baby talk. Philippina would stand in the corner in the meanwhile, with her eyes on the floor and her mouth closed. He became painfullyaware of his obligations to her because of her inexplicable fidelity tohim, and knew that he would never be able to reward her for her uniqueand faithful assistance. He was grieved at the same time to see thechild so motherless, so utterly without the attention that ennobles. Thechild’s bright eyes, its outstretched arms hurt him: he feared thefeelings slumbering even then in its breast, and was driven away by thethought of what might happen in the future. 

One morning in August he arose with the sun, went to the kitchen and gothis own breakfast, took his walking stick, and left the house. He wantedto go to Eschenbach on foot. 

He walked the entire day, making only very short stops for rest. At noonthe heat became intense; he asked a peasant, who chanced to drive up inhis hay wagon, if he might ride a little. He had no definite end inview, no plan. Something drew him on; what it was he did not know. 

When he finally reached the little town it was late at night; the moonwas shining. There was not a soul on the street. The windows of hismother’s house were all dark. He climbed up the steps, and sat down asclose to the front door as was physically possible. He imagined he couldhear his mother and the child she had in her care breathing. 

It seemed so strange to him that his mother knew nothing of hispresence. If she had known he was there, she would have unlocked thedoor and looked at him in astonishment. And if he had not felt liketalking, he would have been obliged to lay his head in her lap and weep. Nothing else was possible; he could not speak. And yet the fear lest hetalk, lest he be forced to tell everything, took such firm hold on himthat he decided to start back home without letting his mother know thathe had been there and without having seen either her or the child. Thepeculiar restlessness that had driven him away from his home andimpelled him to go on this unusual journey was silenced as soon as hesat in the shadow of his mother’s little house. 

But he was so tired that he soon fell asleep. He dreamed that the childand the old lady were standing before him, that the former had a greatbunch of grapes in her hand and the latter a shovel and was shovellingup the earth, her face revealing a soul of sorrows. Eva seemed to him tobe much more beautiful than she had been a year ago; he felt drawn tothe child by an uncontrollable power and a painful love that stood in amost unusual relation to what his mother was doing. The longer hismother shovelled in the earth the heavier his heart became, but he couldnot say anything; he felt as if a glorious song were pouring forth fromhis soul, a song such as he had never heard in his life. Enraptured byits beauty, he woke up. At first he thought he could still hear it, butit was only the splashing of the water in the Wolfram fountain. 

The moon was high in the heavens. Daniel went over to the fountain justas the night watchman came along, blew his trumpet and sang: “Listen, all men, I wish to tell that it has struck two from the town-hall bell. ”The watchman noticed the lonely man standing by the fountain, wasstartled at first, but then continued on his rounds, repeating from timeto time the words of his official song. 

Often as a child Daniel had read the inscription on the base of theWolfram figure. Now he read the words, irradiated by the light of themoon, and they had a totally different meaning:

 Water gives to the trees their life, And makes with fertile vigour rife All creatures of the world. By water all our eyes are purled; It washes clean man’s very soul And makes it like an angel, whole. 

Simple words, but Daniel read them in the light of a full experience, dipped his hands in the basin, and rubbed them over his eyes drunk withsleep; then casting one more glance at his mother’s house, he turned inthe direction of the road leading away from the town. 

Out in the fields it was too damp for him to lie down to rest. Near anisolated farm house he found a hay rick, went up to it, and lay down. 

 VI

Every time Eleanore looked at Daniel her heart was filled with the sameanxiety. She did not understand him; she could not comprehend a singleone of his movements. Such joy as she had arose from meditation on thepast. 

He did not seem to be able to recall her. One word, any word, from himwould have relieved her of her anguish; but he spoke to her precisely ashe spoke to Philippina or to Frau Kütt, the woman who came in to do thehousework. 

It was bad enough to live with Philippina, to feel the incessant hatredof this secretive person; to suspect that she knew things that would notstand the light of day. But to see the child handed over to her, treatedby her as though it were her own and guarded by her with a jealousy thatmade her face wrinkle with rage if Eleanore presumed to stay with it foras much as five minutes, this was infinitely worse. 

It was bad enough to have to accept with filial obedience the society ofthe speechless old father who spent his days and nights in his ownmysterious way, striving without peace of any kind to reach an unknowngoal. This made it hard for Eleanore. It was spooky in the roomsupstairs, and equally spooky in the ones downstairs. Eleanore dreadedthe coming winter. At times she felt that her own voice had an unrealsound, and that her most commonplace remark echoed with the gloom ofunhappy premonitions. 

She sought refuge in the old pictures of her longings—southernlandscapes with groves and statues and a sea of supernatural blue. Butshe was too mature to find enduring satisfaction in empty dreams; shepreferred, and felt it were better, to forget her grief in thedistractions of hard work. It was not until the pen fell from her hand, weighed down with distress at the thought of so many unadorned andunrelieved hours, that something drew her back into the realm of spiritsand visions. And then it was that she sought support, that sheendeavoured to get a footing, in the world of actual objects round abouther. 

She would take a pear, and think herself, so to speak, into the veryheart of this bit of fruit, just as if it were possible to findprotection, shelter in so small a space. Or she would take a piece ofcoloured glass, hold it in her hand, and look at the world of realityabout her, hoping that the commonplace would in this way be made to seemmore beautiful. Or she looked into the burning fire, and studied, with asmile on her face, the romantic tongues of flames. Or she had a longingto look at old pictures: she went to the Germanic Museum, and spent anentire morning there, standing before a Crucifixion, a Last Supper, hereye and her heart filled with flowing emotion. 

Her love for flowers became stronger than ever, and she began to studythem. The most of them she picked herself; those that grew only ingardens she bought from the florists, paying very little for them. Aftershe had made several purchases, they refused to take any more money fromher; they gave her just as many flowers as she wanted. She took themhome, and made bouquets out of them. 

One evening she was frightened by Philippina, who came rushing up to herjust as she was arranging her flowers and told her that little Agnes hada high fever. Eleanore went out and got the doctor, who immediatelyreassured her. As she returned, her astonishment was intense andunusual. Reaching the door, her eyes fell on the flowers: they seemedwonderfully beautiful to her; the harmony and play of their colours wasso striking that she involuntarily looked around in the illusion that astranger had called during her absence, brought the flowers, andarranged them in their artistic bouquets. 

In the meantime poverty was haunting the house in very tangible form. Neither the butcher nor the baker was willing any longer to delivergoods on credit. It was quite impossible for Eleanore to support fivepeople with her clerical work, to say nothing of keeping them in clothesand paying the rent. However hard she might work, the most she could dowas to get enough money for the barest necessities. Her cares multipliedday by day. 

She had always been an implacable foe of debts; she would not make them. But after all, the people could not starve, and so she had to contractdebts now. Bitter humiliations were unavoidable; she looked into thefuture with untempered dread. She racked her brain trying to deviseplans, deplored her weakness and the gaps in her training, bemoaned theneglect both she and Daniel were suffering, and was quite disturbed tosee that Philippina’s heart was filled with joy at the thought that thedestitution of the household with its accompanying mental anguish wasrapidly increasing. 

Twice a day the druggist sent in his bill; finally he came in person. Itwas along toward evening when he rang. Philippina treated him soimpolitely that he became impudent, and made such a noise that thepeople on the lower floors came out into the hall and leaned over therailing of the stairs. Eleanore ran down and stood before the man withfolded hands. Jordan also left his room and looked on, sighing. 

Others came in and started trouble. Philippina came up to Eleanore, and, with a smile on her face as if she were going to tell of some great goodfortune that had come to the family, said: “There’s another down there, Eleanore; come down and give him a piece of your mind, or I’m thinkinghe’s going to call the police. ”

After quiet had been restored, Philippina began to rage and rant:“Daniel’s a dunderhead. He could live like a Kaiser if he’d mix with theright people. I know a woman who is lousy with money, and she’s going togit a lot more; but Daniel, the poor bloke, ain’t got a ghost of an ideaas to how to work people. ” She laughed furiously; or, in order toventilate her spiteful rage, she picked up some object and smashed it topieces on the floor. 

Eleanore did not hear what she had said. Her hope was gone. Daniel hadbeen out of work for three months: who could explain his strangeinactivity? The rent would be due in a short while, and then what?

One morning she went to Daniel’s room and said: “Daniel, we are out ofmoney. ”

He was sitting at the table reading; he looked at her as if he had tothink for a while who she was: “Just have patience, ” he said, “you arenot going to starve. ”

“I am doing all that I possibly can, Daniel, ” continued Eleanore; “buttell me, please, how are you planning to keep the house going? I see noway out. Tell me, Daniel, tell me, please, what you are going to do. ”

“A musician must be poor, Eleanore, ” replied Daniel, and looked at herwith eyes that seemed to be frozen. 

“But he has got to live, I should think. ”

“You can’t live from husks alone, and I am not going to work my head offfor husks. ”

“Daniel, oh Daniel, where is your mind? And where is your heart?” criedEleanore in despair. 

“Where I should have been long ago, ” he replied, without the shadow of aray of hope. He got up, and turning his face away from Eleanore, said ina half-audible voice: “Let’s have no argument, no cogency, no urgency. Not now! Not now when I am creeping along on the earth with such lightas is left me, trying to grope my way out of the hole. A man doesn’tgive up the ghost so quickly as all that, Eleanore. The stomach is avery elastic piece of skin. ”

He went into the other room, sat down at the piano, and struck aslow-moving bass chord. 

Eleanore turned to the wall, and buried her feverish brow in her hands. 

 VII

It was not in Eleanore’s nature to submit to a misfortune without firsthaving made every possible effort to evade it. 

She wrote for from fourteen to sixteen hours a day, with the result thatshe had finished all that was asked of her long before her time wasreally up. 

Then she looked around for a better paying position; it was in vain. Women had never been paid well, she had no recommendations, no personalconnections, nothing on which she could depend or to which she mightrefer. 

Finally it occurred to her that she might make some money out of herflowers. She went to the florist at St. Lorenz Place, taking with her agarland of carnations and mignonettes she had made the day before. Shetold the florist she knew a great deal about flowers and had hadconsiderable experience in handling them. 

The man laughed at her, and told her he could find no sale for that kindof things, and that, even if he could, he would have to ask so littlefor them that it would not pay her to make them. Eleanore took herflowers back home; she was profoundly discouraged. She saw herself howperishable flowers were; these withered that same evening. Nothing couldbe expected from that source. 

She had not noticed that, as she left the florist shop, a man on theother side of the street had stopped and looked at her. He was a haggardyoung individual with a pale, peevish expression on his face, a man witha chin the unimpressiveness of which was hidden behind a Vandyke beard. 

He stood for a long while and looked at Eleanore as she walked down thestreet. There could be no doubt but that something in her generalbearing and her face had drawn his attention to her; had awakened in hima feeling that was nobler than mere curiosity or the satisfaction anidler derives from gaping. 

The young man finally began to move; he walked rather stiffly across thesquare and entered the florist’s shop. A few minutes later the florist, a man past middle age, with the typical toper’s nose, threw open hisdoor and removed his cap, actions which in addition to his fawning bowwere unmistakable proof to the merchants on either side of him that itwas no ordinary sale he had just made. The young man went his way, ambling along in shiftless indifference to where he was or the time ofday. 

The next morning the florist’s errand boy came to Eleanore, and told herthat his chief had something very important to say to her, and that sheshould come at once. Eleanore followed the call without delay. As sheentered the shop, the florist greeted her with unusual politeness, andtold her that a man who took a special fancy to the kind of flowers shehad shown him the day before had been there and placed an order for twosuch bouquets, or even three, a week at twenty marks each. He advisedher to exercise all diligence in making the flowers and said that whensuch a rain of good fortune descended upon one it was wise to let otherthings take care of themselves. The only condition the florist imposedon her was absolute silence. The customer did not wish his name to beknown, nor did he wish to be seen. He remarked casually that there wasmanifestly some whim or crotchet back of the man’s action, such as is sofrequently the case with aristocratic people. 

Who was happier than Eleanore! She never bothered herself for a minuteabout the illogical and legendary element in the offer of a man who onlya day before had appeared so shrewd and cautious. She drank in everyword of the florist’s detailed statement, and merely believed that inthis city, among its inhabitants, there was an eccentric fellow who waswilling to pay such a princely price for her flowers simply because heliked flowers and was pleased with the way she put them up. Though shehad not been spoiled by fortune, the transformation that had suddenlytaken place in her circumstances awakened in her not the slightestsuspicion or surprise. She was too happy to be distrustful, too gratefulto become inquisitive. Her thoughts were on Daniel, who, she felt, wassaved. The whole way home she smiled to herself as if lost in dreams. 

Evening after evening she sat with the flowers she had gathered in theforenoon from the forests, the meadows, and the gardens out by the cityfortress, where an old gardener went with her and picked out thechoicest specimens for her. He had a crippled son who fell in love withEleanore and always stood in the door and smiled at her when she came. He promised he would get her flowers from the green house during thewinter. 

The butcher was paid, the baker was paid; the druggist was paid, and sowas the rent. Philippina shook her head, and swore there was somethingwrong. She was convinced that it would all come out some day, even ifyou had to scratch the dung hill to get at the secret. She told thepeople about a ghost that carried on every night up in the attic; andonce when the moon was shining she came running into the room and sworethat a bony finger had rapped on the window. 

Eleanore bound roses and gilliflowers, tulips and pansies, mosses, ferns, and what-not into beautiful tapestried pictures, or wound theminto wreaths and garlands. She gave herself up to this novel occupationwith the sacrificial love of a woman of her type; and at times shebecame dizzy from so much fragrance. But this mattered not. She arrangedher flowers; and then she would lean out of the window, and sing gentlyinto the night. 

Daniel was ignorant of what she was doing; he had not troubled himselfabout the distressing poverty of past weeks; he did not concern himselfnow with their abundance; where it came from he never asked. 

 VIII

Eberhard von Auffenberg had returned to the city shortly after the deathof Gertrude Nothafft. The last large sum he had received from HerrCarovius, now nearly a year ago, he had almost used up. He found HerrCarovius quite changed in his attitude toward him. Herr Caroviusdeclared that he was bankrupt, that he could not get any more money forhim. Instead of complaining or boasting, or flattering his princelyfriend, or trying to incite him to activity of some kind, as he had beenaccustomed to do, he wrapped himself in a silence that could not beregarded as a favourable omen. 

Eberhard had no desire to beg. Herr Carovius’s personality was sodisagreeable to him that he refused to investigate the cause of hisnovel behaviour. He let his thoughts take their own course; and theydrifted into other channels. 

The gossip afloat concerning Eleanore had naturally reached his ears. Herr Carovius had seen to it that there was no lack of insinuations, either written or oral. But Eberhard had ignored them. Offensive insultsthat had dared attach themselves to Eleanore seemed to him as incredibleas litter from the street on the radiant moon. 

One day he had to call on Herr Carovius because of a note that had beenprotested. They discussed the affair in a dry, business-like way, andthen, all of a sudden, Herr Carovius fixed his piercing eyes on theBaron, walked around the table time after time, dressed in his sleepinggown, and told, without the omission of a single detail, of thelamentable death of Daniel Nothafft’s young wife. 

He became highly excited; why, it would be hard to say. “Let us hopethat the Kapellmeisterette will come to his senses now, ” he cried in afalsetto voice. “He is already on the point of starvation; ah, believeme, he is nearly done for. It will be necessary to take up a collectionfor the unrecognised genius. He has already put one of his women in thegrave, the other is still kicking. By the way, how do you like her, theangel? Are you not a bit sorry for the neat little halo that now hangslike a piece of castoff clothing on the bedpost of an adulteress? Ofcourse, geniuses are allowed to do as they please. O Eleanore, bloodylie that you are, you hypocritical soft, sneaking, slimy lie—Eleanore!”

With that Eberhard stepped up very calmly to the unleashed demon inpajamas, seized him by the throat, and held him with such a fierce andunrelenting grip that Herr Carovius sank to his knees, while his facebecame as blue as a boiled carp. After this he was remarkably quiet; hecrept away. At times he tittered like a simpleton; at times a venomousglance shot forth from under his eyelids. But that was all. 

Eberhard poured some water in a basin, dipped his hands in it, driedthem, and went away. 

The picture of the whining man with the puffed and swollen eyes and theblue face was indelibly stamped on Eberhard’s memory. He had felt agreedy, voluptuous desire to commit murder. He felt he was not merelypunishing and passing final judgment on his own tormentor andpersecutor, but on the hidden enemy of humanity, the arch-criminal ofthe age, the destroyer of all noble seed. 

And yet the exalted outburst of Herr Carovius had precisely the effectthat Eberhard had least expected. His confidence in Eleanore’s innocencehad been shaken. There may have been in Herr Carovius’s voice, despitethe slanderous wrath with which his cowardly tongue was coated, something that sounded truer than the wretch himself suspected. Eberhardsaw just then, for the first time in his life, the adored figure of thegirl as a human being like all other human beings; and as if through adistant vision he experienced in his heart what had taken place. 

His illusions were destroyed. 

In his soul he had gone through the trials of renunciation long ago. Hispassionate wishes of former times had gone through a process ofweakening from loss of blood. He had learned to bow to the inevitable;he had made a special effort to acquire this bit of earthly wisdom. Whenhe surveyed the life he had lived in the past five years, it resembled, despite its flux and the incessant change from city to city and countryto country, a sojourn in a room with closed doors and drawn shades. 

When he had returned to the city, which he loved simply because Eleanorelived in it, he had had no intention of reminding Eleanore of theexpiration of the time mutually agreed upon. He felt that it would be abanal display of poor taste to appear before her once again as anawkward, jilted suitor, and try to reconnect the thread where it hadbeen so ruthlessly broken five years ago. He had intended not to disturbher or worry her in any way. But to go to her and speak with her, thathad been the one bright ray of hope in all these empty years. 

After the scene with Herr Carovius he decided quite firmly to keep awayfrom Eleanore. 

His ready cash had shrunk to a few hundred marks. He discharged hisservants, disposed of some of his jewelry, and rented one of thoselittle houses that are stuck on the rocks up by the castle like so manywasp nests. The house he took had been occupied before him by thePfragners, and with its three rooms was not much larger than afair-sized cage in a menagerie. But he had taken it into his head tolive there, and that was all there was to it. He bought some oldfurniture, and adorned the slanting walls of the dilapidated barrackswith such pictures as he had. 

One evening there was a knock at the green door of the cottage. Eberhardopened, and saw Herr Carovius standing before him. 

Herr Carovius entered the Baron’s doll house, looked around inastonishment, and, pale as a sheet, said: “So help me God, it seems tome you are trying to play the rôle of a hermit. This won’t do; this isno place for a Baron; I will not stand for it. ”

Eberhard reached for the book he had been reading, a volume of Carl duPrel, and read on without replying to Herr Carovius or even takingnotice of the fact that he was present. 

Herr Carovius tripped from one foot to the other. “Perhaps the Baronwill be so good as to take a look at his account, ” he said in abeseeching tone. “I am in a tight place. My capital is gone, and mydebts in the shape of interest have been swelling like the Pegnitz inthe spring of the year. Would you like to know what I have been livingon for the last three months? I have been living on turnips, potatopeelings, and brick cheese; that has been my daily diet; and I havesubmitted to it for the sake of my Baron. ”

“I am not a bit interested in what you have been eating, ” said the Baronarrogantly, and kept on reading. 

Herr Carovius continued with an imbecile sulk: “When you left merecently because of that little quarrel we had about the Goose Man, itnever occurred to me that you were going to take the matter soseriously. Lovers like to be teased, I thought. He’ll come back, Ithought, he’ll come back just as sure as laughter follows tickling. Well, I was mistaken. I thought you were of a more gentle disposition, and that you would be more indulgent with an old friend. Yes, we makemistakes sometimes. ”

Eberhard remained silent. 

Herr Carovius sighed, and sat down timidly on the narrow edge of thesofa that stood next to the whitewashed wall. He sat there for almost anhour in perfect silence. Eberhard appreciated neither the ridiculous northe fantastic element in the conduct of his guest. He read on. 

And then, all of a sudden, Herr Carovius sprang to his feet, took hiswallet from his pocket, drew out a thousand-mark note, and laid it, together with a blank receipt, across the page Eberhard was reading. Before the Baron could recover from his amazement he had alreadydisappeared, closing the door behind him. The sound of his footsteps onthe street could be heard in the room; but he was gone. 

What rare living creatures there are, O World, and what rare dead ones, too! This is the thought that passed through Eberhard’s mind. 

 IX

That two men as radically different by nature as Eberhard and Danielchanced to meet and be drawn together at the very period of their liveswhen both had voluntarily renounced human society was due to one ofthose decrees of Providence that contain in them either a law ofcrystallisation or the attraction of polar forces, however much they mayseem to be matters of pure chance. 

Their coming together took place on the day after Daniel had gone toEschenbach. At the break of day, Daniel had decided to return by way ofSchwabach, both for the sake of variety and because this was the shorterroute. The sun was hotter than on the day before; and when it hadreached the height of its ability to dry up the land and scorch a humanbeing, Daniel lay down in the forests. Late in the afternoon, just as hewas approaching Schwabach, great black clouds began to gather in theWest; a fearful storm was evidently to be expected. Heavy streaks oflightning flashed across the sky; and although Daniel tried to hastenhis steps, the storm overtook him. Before he could reach the shelter ofa house, he was wet to the skin from head to foot. 

The rain came down in torrents. He waited a long while, and then had tostart out in it again, arriving finally at the station shivering withcold. As he went to buy his ticket he noticed a lean, haggard, unusuallooking individual standing at the ticket window. It is quite probablethat, vexed by his uncomfortable condition, Daniel treated him none toocourteously; he pushed up against him, whereupon the man turned around, and Daniel recognised the young Baron, Eberhard von Auffenberg. Eberhardin turn recognised Daniel. It is unlikely that there was at that timeanother face in the world which could belong so completely to just oneperson as that of Daniel. 

The Baron had been attracted to Schwabach by his affection for a certainperson there, an affection he had preserved from the days of hischildhood. There lived in Schwabach at the time a woman who had been hisnurse. Her undivided and resigned love for him was touching. She was asproud of him as she might have been had she been able to say that in himshe had been responsible for the childhood training of the noblestspecimen of manhood known to human history. And he was fond of her; thestories she told him he could still recall, and he did recall themfrequently and with pleasure. She had married the foreman of a tin mill, and had sons and daughters of her own. Eberhard had been planning foryears to visit her. This visit had now been paid. But Eberhard could notsay that he had derived extraordinary pleasure from it: it had taken aninner figure from his soul. And, on the other hand, whether the nursefelt, on seeing the tall, lank, stiff, and ill-humoured foster son, thatenraptured charm she so much liked to conjure up before her imagination, is a question that had better remain unanswered. 

When Eberhard became aware of the condition in which Daniel then foundhimself, his feelings of chivalry were moved. With the dauntless courageof which he was capable, he subdued the apathy he had cherished towardDaniel ever since he first came to know him, and to which actualdetestation and disquieting jealousy had been added a few weeks ago. “You have been out in the rain, ” said Eberhard courteously, but with areserve that was rigid if not quite forbidding or impenetrable. 

“I look like it, don’t I?” said Daniel with a scowl. 

“You will catch cold if you are not careful. May I offer you my topcoat?” continued Eberhard more courteously. He felt as if he could seethe figure of Eleanore rising up behind Daniel, that she was quitesurrounded by flowers, and that she was smiling at him in joy andgratitude. He bit his lips and blushed. 

Daniel shook his head: “I am accustomed to all kinds of weather. Thankyou. ”

“Well, then, at least wrap this around your neck; the water is runningdown your back. ” Thereupon Eberhard reached him a white silk kerchief hedrew from the pocket of his coat. Daniel make a wry face, but took thekerchief, threw it about his neck, and tied it in a knot under his chin. 

“You are right, ” he admitted, and drew his head down between hisshoulders: “It all reminds me of a good warm bed. ”

Eberhard stared at the locomotive of the in-coming train. “Plebeian, ” hethought, with inner contempt. 

Nevertheless he joined this same plebeian in the third-class carriage, though he had bought a ticket for first class. Was it the white silkkerchief that so suddenly attracted him to the plebeian? What else couldit have been? For during the entire journey they sat opposite each otherin absolute silence. It was a remarkable pair: the one in a shabby, wetsuit with a hat that looked partly as though it belonged to a cheap signpainter, and partly as though it were the sole head gear of a gypsybard, and with a big pair of spectacles from which the eyes flashedgreen and unsteady; the other looking as though he had just stepped outof a bandbox, not a particle of dust on his clothing, in patentleather slippers, English straw hat, and with an American cigarette inhis mouth. 

Next to them sat a peasant woman with a chicken basket on her lap, ared-headed girl who held the hind part of pig on her knees, and aworkman whose face was bandaged. 

At times they looked at each other. If they chanced to catch eachother’s eye, the Baron would at once look down, and Daniel, bored as hewas, would gaze out of the window at the rain. But there must have beensomething unusually communicative and mutually intelligent in the fewglances with which they involuntarily honoured each other during thejourney; for when the train pulled into the station, they left together, and walked along the street quite peacefully, side by side, just as ifit were to be taken as a matter of fact that they would remain in eachother’s company. 

Man is a gregarious animal; given the right conditions, one man willseek out the company of another. Neither defiance nor reserve is of theslightest avail; there is something that conquers the strongest man whenhe finds another who will yield. Then it is that what was formerlyregarded as contentment with loneliness is unmasked and shown to benothing more than ordinary self-deception. 

“I presume you wish to go home and change your clothes, ” said Eberhard, standing on the street corner. 

“I am already dry, ” said Daniel, “and I really have no desire to gohome. Over there on Schütt Island is a little inn called the PeterVischer. I like it because it is frequented only by old people who talkabout old times, and because it is situated on a bridge, so that youhave the feeling you are in a ship floating around on the water. ”

Eberhard went along. From eight o’clock till midnight they sat thereopposite each other. Their conversation was limited to such remarks as, “It is really quite comfortable here. ”—“It seems to have stoppedraining. ”—“Yes, it has stopped. ”—“That old white-bearded man over bythe stove who is doing so much talking is a watchmaker from UnschlittPlace. ”—“So? He looks pretty husky. ”—“He is said to have fought in thebattle of Wörth. ”—And so their remarks ran. 

When they separated, Eberhard knew that Daniel would again be at thePeter Vischer on Wednesday of the following week, and Daniel knew thathe would find the Baron there. 

 X

Philippina was on her knees by the hearth, cleaning out the ashes;Eleanore was sitting by the kitchen table, adding up the week’s expensesin a narrow note-book. 

“You ought-a git married, Eleanore, ” said Philippina, as she blew on ahot coal, “’deed you ought; it’s the right time for you. ”

“Ah, leave me alone, ” said Eleanore angrily. 

Philippina crouched still lower on the hearth: “I mean well by you, Ido, ” she said. “You’re simply killing yourself here. With your whiteskin and sugary eyes—uhm, uhm! You bet if I had ’em like yours I’d gitone. Men are all as dumb as shoats outside of a sty. ”

“Keep quiet, ” said Eleanore, and went on counting: “Seven from fifteenleaves eight. .. . ”

“An angel has made your bed, ” interrupted Philippina with a giggle. “Iknow a fellow, ” she went on, her face becoming rather sour, “he’s justthe right one. Money? whew! He’s stuck on you too, believe me! If I wuzto go to him and say, Eleanore Jordan is willing, I believe the oldcodger would give me a bag of gold. Cross my heart, Eleanore, and he’s afine man too. He can play the piano just as good as Daniel, if notbetter. When he plays you can see the sparks fly. ”

Eleanore got up, and closed the book. “Do you want me to give you apresent for finding me a man, Philippina?” she asked, with a sympatheticsmile. “And you are trying to sound me? Go on, you fool. ”

“Come wind and blow my fire hot, so that my soup be not forgot, ”whispered Philippina with a gloomy face. 

Eleanore left the kitchen and went upstairs. Her heart was full oflonging; it was in truth almost bursting with longing. 

 XI

It was at the beginning of October that Daniel for the first timevisited Eberhard in his doll house up by the castle. 

They had met each other in the Peter Vischer on the evening agreed upon, but there was a special party there that evening, a sort of a clam-bake;the place was crowded; the noise was disagreeable, so that they leftmuch earlier than they had intended. 

They walked along in silence until they reached the Town Hall, whenEberhard said: “Won’t you come up and sit awhile with me?” Danielnodded. 

Eberhard lighted the six candles of a chandelier in his diminutive room. Seeing that Daniel was surprised, he said: “There is nothing I hateworse than gas or oil. That is light; gas and oil merely give offilluminated stench. ”

For a while there was complete silence in the room; Daniel had stretchedout on the sofa. 

“Illuminated stench, ” he repeated with a smile of satisfaction. “That isnot bad; it is the new age in which we are living. I believe they callit _fin de siècle_. The day when things flourish is gone; everything hasto be manufactured now. Men have become Americans, gruesomely sobered bythe intoxication of doing a big business; women have lost their nicetyof instinct; the cities have become colossal steam engines; everybody, young and old, is on his belly adoring the so-called wonders of science, just as if it really meant anything to humanity that a loafer in Pariscan sip his morning coffee and crunch his rolls while reading that thePope spent a restful night, or that a gun has been invented which willsend a bullet through fourteen people one after another, whereas thebest record up to the present had been only seven to a shot. Who cancreate anything, who can draw anything from his soul under suchconditions? It is madness, it is immoral discipline. ”

“Oh, I don’t know; I think a man can draw something from within hissoul, ” said the Baron, in whose face a bored, peeved expression gave wayto one of suspense. “It is possible, for example, to conjure theinvisible spirit into visibility. ”

Daniel, who had not yet suspected that the Baron was, in a way, speakingfrom another country and in a strange tongue, continued: “The wholesupply of interest and enthusiasm at the disposal of the nation has beenused up. The venerable creations of days gone by still have nominalvalue; that is, they are still gaped at and praised, but creative, reproductive, and moulding power they no longer have. Otherwisehocus-pocus alone prospers, and he who does forgive it is not forgiven. But life is short; I feel it every day; and if you do not attend to theplant, it soon withers and dies. ”

“It is not only hocus-pocus, ” replied Eberhard, who was now completelytransformed, though he did not grasp the painful indignation of themusician. “You see, I have associated but very little with men. Myrefuge has been the realm of departed and invisible spirits who take onvisible form only when a believing soul makes an unaffected appeal tothem. It was my task to de-sensualise and de-materialise myself; thenthe spirits took on shape and form. ”

Daniel straightened up, and saw how pale the Baron had become. It seemedto him that they were both quite close together, and at the same timepoles removed from each other. He could not refrain however from takingup the thread of his thought. “Yes, yes, ” he exclaimed with the sameshort, jerky laugh that accompanied the beginning of the conversation, “my little spirits also demand faith, credulity, and whine and cry forform and shape. You have expressed yourself in an admirable way, Baron. ”

“And have you given up in final resignation with regard to yourspirits?” asked Eberhard, in a serious tone. 

“Resignation? To what? Of what? Do you imagine that is necessary in mycase? I am the counterpart of Cronos. My children devour me; they devourmy living body. I conjure up spirits and endow them with flesh andblood, and in return for what I do they convert me into a shadow. Theyare rebellious fellows, I tell you, quite without mercy. I am supposedto arouse a citizenry on their behalf that is petrified withindifference. The very thing, or things, that offend and disgust me, Iam supposed to take up and carry about on an unencumbered shoulder. I amsupposed to be their prostitute and offer them my body at a price. I amsupposed to be their retail grocer and haggle in their behalf. There issomething inspiring about a struggle, and when the enemy is worthy ofone’s steel there is a distinct pleasure in entering the fray. But mylittle spirits want to be pampered and have a lot of attention paidthem. The hate, consequently, that is being dammed up within me ispossibly nothing but rage at my fruitless wooing. No, mine is not anhonest hate, because I long to get at every ragged beggar who will havenothing to do with my spirits, because my entire life consists inpleading for an audience with people who do not care to listen, andscraping together pennies of love from people who cannot love, becausetwo or three are not enough for me, because I must have thousands and amnothing if I don’t have thousands, and pine away in anguish and distressif I cannot imagine that the whole world is keeping step with my paceand keeping in time with the swing of my baton. I can despise MushroomMike who lies down by his wife at night drunk as a fool, and to whom thename of Beethoven is an empty sound; Jason Philip Schimmelweis makes melaugh when he looks me in the face and says, I don’t give a damn forall your art. And yet there is humanity in such people, and so long asthis is true I must have them; I must convince them, even if my heart istorn from my breast in the attempt. Would you call this life? Thisdigging-up of corpses from the graves, and breathing the breath of lifeinto them so that they may dance? And doing it with the consciousnessthat this moment is the only one? I am; I exist; here is the table, there are the wax candles, and over there sits a man; and when I havestopped talking everything is different, everything is as if a year hadpassed by, and everything is irrevocable. Show me a way to humanity, tomen, and then I will believe in God. ”

The Baron’s head swam; his brain felt close; it seemed to be sultry, stuffy in his skull. He could not help but think of certain excitingmeetings where the people had sat in the dark in trembling expectancyand then suddenly heard a voice from beyond the tomb at the sound ofwhich the marrow froze in their bones. He hardly dared look at the placewhere Daniel was sitting. The words of the musician caused him infinitepain: there lay in them a greediness, a shamelessness, and agruesomeness that filled him with terror. 

He could almost have asked: And Eleanore? And Eleanore?

But however much he felt repelled, owing to his training, association, and general views of life, there was nevertheless something about thewhole situation before which he bowed. He could not have said preciselywhat it was, but it seemed to be a compromise between fear andconvulsion. 

As he was pondering over it all, he heard a rattling at the window. Helooked up, and saw the face of Herr Carovius pressed so tightly againstthe pane that his nose was as flat as a pancake, while his glasseslooked like two opalescent grease spots on the water. 

Daniel also looked up; he too saw the face of Herr Carovius, thendistorted with wrath and filled with threats. He looked at the Baron inamazement; the latter got up and said: “You will have to pardon theannoyance; I forgot to draw the blinds. ”

With that he went to the window, and pulled down the dark shade over theface of Herr Carovius. 

 XII

That same night, just as Daniel was crossing the hall of his apartment, he detected a strong scent of flowers. He had smelt them before, butthey had never seemed to be so fragrant as at present. Because of theseason of the year, the sensation was all the more pronounced andunusual. 

He sniffed around for a while, and then saw that the door to Eleanore’sroom was open: her light was shining out on the stairs. 

When Daniel was not at home of an evening, Eleanore always kept her dooropen so that she could hear when he came in. Daniel was unaware of this;he had never seen the light on any previous night. 

He thought for a moment, then locked the door, and went up the stairs. But Eleanore must have heard his approaching footsteps; for she steppedhastily out into the vestibule, and said with evident embarrassment:“Please stay downstairs, Daniel; Father is asleep. If you wish I willcome down to the living room. ”

She did not wait for his answer, but went into her room, got the tablelamp, and followed Daniel to the living room. Daniel closed the window, and shook as if he were cold; for it was a cool night, and there was nofire in the stove. 

“What is this I smell?” he asked. “Have you so many flowers up in yourroom?”

“Yes, I have some flowers, ” replied Eleanore, and blushed. 

He looked at her rather sharply, but was disinclined to make any furtherinquiry, or he was not interested in knowing what this all meant. Hewalked around the room with his hands in his pockets. 

Eleanore had sat down on a chair; she never once took her eyes offDaniel. 

“Listen, Daniel, ” she said suddenly, and the violin tone of her voicelifted him from his mute and heavy meditations, “I know now what Fatheris doing. ”

“Well, what is the old man doing?” asked Daniel distractedly. 

“He is working at a doll, Daniel. ”

“At a doll? Are you trying to poke fun at me?”

Eleanore, whose cheeks had turned pale, began to tell her story:“Yesterday afternoon, Father took advantage of the beautiful weather, and went on a walk for the first time in a long while. During hisabsence, I went to his room to straighten it up a little. I noticed thatthe door to the large cabinet was not closed as usual, but was standingajar. He probably forgot to lock it. I did not suspect anything, andknew that there was no harm in what I was going to do, so I opened thedoor, and what did I see? A big doll, about the size of a four-year-oldchild, a wax figure with big eyes and long, yellow hair. But there wereno clothes on it: the lower part of the back and the front from the neckto the legs had been removed. Inside, there where a person’s heart andentrails are, was a network of wheels and screws and little tubes andwires, all made of real metal. ”

“That is strange, really strange. Well?”

“He is making something, ” continued Eleanore, “that much is clear. Butif I could tell you how I felt when I saw the thing! I never felt so sadin my life. I have shown him so little love, just as Fate has been sounlovely to him. And everything—the air and the light and the peopleand how one feels towards the people and how they feel towards you, allseemed to me to be so hopelessly without love that I could not help it:I just sat down before that doll and cried. The poor man! The poor oldman!”

“Strange, really strange, ” repeated Daniel. 

After a while, as if conscious of his guilt, he took a seat by thetable. Eleanore however got up, went to the window, and leaned herforehead against the glass. 

“Come here to me, Eleanore, ” said Daniel in a changed tone of voice. 

She came. He took her hand and looked into her face. “How in the worldhave you been keeping the house going all this time?” he asked, viewingthe situation in the light of his guilty conscience. 

Eleanore let her eyes fall to the floor. “I have done my writing, and Ihave had considerable success with the flowers. I have even been able tosave a little money. Don’t look at me like that, Daniel. It was nothingwonderful I did; you have no reason to feel especially grateful to me. ”

He drew her down on his knees, and threw his arms around her shoulders. “You probably think I have forgotten you, ” he said sorrowfully, andlooked up, “that I have forgotten my Eleanore. Forget my Eleanore? Myspirit sister? No, no, dear heart, you have known for a long while thatwe have begun our common pilgrimage—for life, for death. ”

Eleanore lay in his arms; her face was perfectly white; her body wasrigid; her eyes were closed. 

Daniel kissed her eyes: “You must hold me, keep me, even when it seemsthat I have left you, ” he murmured. 

Then he carried her in his arms through the door into his room. 

“I have so longed, I have been so full of longing, ” she said, pressingher lips to his neck. 

 XIII

Before one could realise it, winter had come, and the Place with theChurch was covered with snow. 

Eleanore had gone skating; when she returned she sat down in the livingroom to wait for Daniel. There she sat with her fur cap on her head, holding her skates in her hand by the cord: she was tired—and she wasthinking. 

Daniel entered the room and greeted her; she looked up, and said with agentle voice: “I am with child, Daniel; I found it out to-day. ”

He fell on his knees, and kissed the tips of her fingers. Eleanore drewa deep breath; a smile of dream-like cheerfulness spread over her face. 

The following day Daniel went to the Town Hall, and made arrangements tohave the banns posted. 

Hardly had Philippina heard that Daniel and Eleanore were to get marriedin February when she disappeared; she did not leave a trace of herwhereabouts behind her. Little Agnes cried in vain for her “Pina. ” Sixdays after Philippina had left, she came back just as mysteriously asshe had gone away. She was desperately gloomy; her hair was towsled, herclothes were wrinkled, there were no soles on her shoes; she was asspeechless as a clod, and remained so for weeks. 

No one knew, nor has any one ever found out, what she did during thosesix days or where she had been. 

Eleanore insisted on a church wedding; this caused Daniel a great dealof worry; it made him run many a vexatious errand. But he consented todo as Eleanore had asked; for he did not wish to deprive her of anypleasure she might imagine such a ceremony would give her. Eleanore madeher own white dress and her veil. Gisela Degen, a younger sister ofMartha Rübsam, and Elsa Schneider, the daughter of the rector of theChurch of St. Ægydius, were to be her bridesmaids. Marian Nothafft andEva were also to come over from Eschenbach; Eleanore had already sentthem the money for the tickets. 

“Help me with my sewing, Philippina, ” said Eleanore one evening, andhanded her silent house companion the veil, the border of which had tobe made. 

Philippina took her seat opposite Eleanore, and began to sew; she wassilent. In the meanwhile, little Agnes, tottering about on the floor, fell and began to cry in a most pitiable fashion. Eleanore hastened overand picked the child up. Just then she heard a sound as if cloth werebeing torn. She looked around, and saw that the veil had an ugly rip init: “You wicked thing! What do you mean, Philippina?” she exclaimed. 

“I didn’t do it; it tore itself, ” growled Philippina, taking everyprecaution to see that Eleanore might not catch her cowardly eye. 

“You just leave that alone! Keep your hands off of it! You will sew evilthoughts into my veil, ” replied Eleanore, filled with forebodings. 

Philippina got up. “Well, it’s torn anyway, the veil, ” she said in adefiant tone; “if harm is to come it will come; you can’t keep it off bysending me away. ” Philippina left the room. 

The injury to the veil was not as great as Eleanore had feared. It was arelatively easy matter to cut off the torn piece entirely, and still usethe remainder. 

But from that hour Eleanore was filled with sadness: her face might becompared to a beautiful landscape on which the first fog of autumn hassettled. It is probable that the tearing of her veil had nothing to dowith her depression: there was not a shimmer of superstition in her. Perhaps it was merely happiness and fulfilment: it may be that she feltthe end had come, that happiness and fulfilment leave nothing more to bedesired, that life from then on would be nothing but a hum-drumexistence which does not give but only takes. 

Perhaps her mind was darkened and weighed down with grief because of thelife within her body; for that which is to come sends out its rays ofmelancholy just as well as that which has come and gone. What was thereto hinder a pure soul from having an inner premonition of the fate thatwas in store for it? Why should this soul not learn in its dreams of theinevitable that was not so far ahead?

It was impossible to notice any change in Eleanore; her eyes werebright; she seemed peaceful. She would often sit before the mask ofZingarella; she hung it with fresh flowers every day: to her the maskwas a mysterious picture of all that her own being, her own life, embraced. 

Marian Nothafft came to the wedding alone. Just as in the case ofDaniel’s wedding to Gertrude, she had left the child with a neighbour. She told Daniel and Eleanore that she could not think of taking thechild out on such a journey in the dead of winter. She mentioned Eva’sname or talked about her only in a half audible, subdued voice, a tendersmile playing gently about her lips. 

Among those present at the wedding in the Ægydius Church were Judge andFrau Rübsam, Councillor Bock, Impresario Dörmaul, PhilippinaSchimmelweis, Marian Nothafft, and Inspector Jordan. On the very lastbench sat Herr Carovius; underneath one of the pillars, unseen by mostof the people in the church, stood Baron Eberhard von Auffenberg. 

Philippina walked along in an ugly, crouched, cowering fashion by theside of Jordan; had it not been that she was constantly chewing herfinger nails, one would have thought she was asleep. 

As the bridal couple was marching up to the altar, the sun broke out, and shone through the windows of the old church. The effect wastouching; for just then Eleanore raised her head, stroked her veil backfrom her forehead, and caught the full light of the sun in her radiantface. 

Old Jordan had laid his forehead on the prayer-desk; his back wasquivering. 

 XIV

Late at night and in senseless excitement—for he was thinking of abridal bed that filled him with the most intense pangs of jealousy—HerrCarovius sat in his room playing Chopin’s _étude_ of the revolution. Hewould begin it again and again; he struck the keys with ever-increasingviolence; the time in which he played the _étude_ became wilder andwilder; the swing of his gestures became more and more eloquent; and hisface became more and more threatening. 

He was squaring accounts with the woman he had been unable to bringbefore his Neronic tribunal in bodily form; and all the pent-up hatredin his heart for the musician Nothafft he was emptying into the music ofanother man. The envy of the man doomed to limit his display of talentto the appreciation of what another had created laid violent hands onthe creator; the impotence of the taster was infuriated at the cook. Itwas as if a flunked and floored comedian had gone out into the woods todeclaim his part with nothing but the echo of his own voice to answerback. 

His hatred of things in general, of the customs of human society, oforder and prosperity, of state and family, of love and marriage, of manand woman, had burst out into lurid flames. It was rare that a man hadso cut, slashed, and vilified himself as did this depatriated citizenwhile playing the piano. He converted music into an orgy, a debauch, adebasing crime. 

“Enough!” he bellowed, as he closed with an ear-splitting discord. Heshut the piano with a vituperative bang, and threw himself into arickety leather chair. 

What his inner eye saw mocks at language and defies human speech. He wasin that house over there; it lay in his power to murder his rival; hecould abuse the woman who had been denied him by the wily tricks ofcircumstances; he chastised her; he dragged her from her bed of pleasureby the hair. He feasted on her sense of shame and on the angrytwitchings of the musician, tied, bound, and gagged. He spared them noword of calumniation. The whole city stood before his court, andlistened to the sentence he passed. Everybody stood in awe of him. 

Thus it is that the citizen of the moral stature of Herr Caroviussatisfies his thirst for revenge. Thus does the Nero of our time punishthe crimes mankind commits against him in that it creates pleasures andenjoyments of which he is not in a position to partake. 

But because he felt more abandoned to-day than ever, and more fearful inhis abandonment, and because he felt so keenly the injustice done him bythe man on whom he had hung for years with dog-like fidelity, and whoavoided him to-day as one avoids an old dog that is no longer fit foranything, he decided in the depths of his embittered soul to avengehimself, and to do it by a means that would be quite different fromplaying the piano in accordance with the rules of his own pervertedfancy. 

With this decision in mind he sought sleep—at last. 

 XV

Jordan was now living all alone in the two attic rooms. He had asked ofhis own will that he be permitted to take over the clerical workEleanore had been doing, and her employers had agreed to thisarrangement. He was consequently enabled to pay the rent and a little onhis board. 

Daniel and Eleanore slept in the corner room in the front. Daniel movedhis piano into the living room, and did all his work there. Philippinaand Agnes remained in the room next to the kitchen. 

Eleanore still made the bouquets, and still received the fancy pricefor them from the unknown purchaser. But she did not attend to herflowers in Daniel’s presence, or even near him; she did this in the oldroom up next to the roof. 

Her father would sit by her, and look at her thoughtfully. She had thefeeling that he knew of everything that had taken place between her andGertrude and Daniel, but, out of infinite delicacy and modesty, and alsoin grief and pain, had never said a word about it. For previous to hermarriage with Daniel, he had never been with her; he had never sat andlooked at her so attentively; he had always passed by her in greathaste, and had always shown an inclination to be alone. 

She had the feeling that he knew a great deal in general about men andthings, but rarely said anything because of his superior sense ofgentleness and compassion. 

Daniel lived about as he did before the wedding. He would sit at thetable until late at night and write. It often happened that Eleanorewould find him sitting there with his pen in his hand, sound asleep, when she got up early in the morning. She always smiled when this tookplace, and wakened him by kissing him on the forehead. 

He wrote the notes direct from his memory, from his head, just as otherpeople write letters. He no longer needed an instrument to try what hehad composed or to give him an inspiration for a new theme. 

Once he showed Eleanore eighteen variations of the same melody. He hadspent the whole night making changes in a single composition. Eleanore’sheart was heavy: she came very nearly asking, “For whom, Daniel? Forwhat? The trunk up in the attic?”

She slowly began to perceive that it is not brooding reason that climbsand conquers the steps of perfection, but moral will. Like a flash oflightning she recognised one day the demoniacal element in this impulse, an impulse she had been accustomed to ascribe to his everlastingfidgeting, fumbling, and grumbling. She shuddered at the hithertounsuspected distress of the man, and took pity on him: he was buryinghimself in darkness in order to give the world more light. 

The world? What did it know about the creations of her Daniel! The bigtrunk was full of _opus_ upon _opus_, and not a soul troubled itselfabout all these musical treasures resting in a single coffin. 

There was something wrong here, she thought. There must be a lost orbroken wheel in the clock-work of time; there was some disease amongmen; some poison, some evil, some heinous oversight. 

She could think of nothing else. One day she decided to visit oldHerold. At first he acted as though he would chew her to pieces, butafterwards he became more civil, at least civil enough to listen to her. Her features were remarkably brilliant and agile as she spoke. Heexpressed himself as follows later on: “If some one had promised meeternal blessedness on condition that I forget the picture of thispregnant woman, as she stood before me and argued the case of DanielNothafft _vs. _ The Public, I would have been obliged to forego theoffer, for I could never have fulfilled my part of the agreement. Forgether? Who would demand the impossible?”

Old Herold begged her to send him one of Daniel’s latest compositions, if she could. She said she would, and the next morning she took from thetrunk the quartette in B minor for strings, and carried it over to theprofessor. He laid the score before him, and began to read. Eleanoretook a seat, and patiently studied the many little painted pictures thathung on the wall. 

The hour was up. The white-haired man turned the last leaf and struckhis clenched fist on the paper, while around his leonine mouth there wasa play partly of wrath and partly of awe. He said: “The case will beplaced on the calendar, you worthiest of all Eleanores, but I am nolonger the herald. ”

He walked back and forth, wrung his hands, and cried: “What structure!What colourful tones! What a wealth of melody, rhythm, and originality!What discipline, sweetness, power! What a splendid fellow he is! And tothink that a man like that lives right here among us, and plagues andtortures himself! A disgrace and a shame it is! Come, my dear woman, wewill go to him at once. I want to press him to my bosom. .. . ”

But Eleanore, whose face burned with the feeling of good fortune, interrupted him, and said: “If you do that, you will spoil everything. It will be much better to tell me what to do. He will become more andmore obstinate and bitter, if some ray of light does not soon fall onwhat he has thus far created. ”

The old man thought for a while: “You leave the score with me; I’ll seewhat I can do with it; I have an idea, ” he replied, after a short timehad elapsed. 

Eleanore went back home full of hope. 

The quartette was sent to Berlin, and placed in the hands of a man ofinfluence and discrimination. Some professional musicians soon becameacquainted with it and its merits. Professor Herold received a number ofenthusiastic letters, and answered them with characteristic andbecoming shrewdness. A cycle of sagas was soon afloat in Berlinconcerning the habits and personality of the unknown master. It was saidthat he was an anchorite who lived in the Franconian forests andpreached renunciation of all earthly pleasures. 

In Leipzig the quartette was played before an invited audience. Theapplause was quite different from what it ordinarily was in the case ofa public that is surfeited with musical novelties. 

Thereby Daniel finally learned what had been done. One day he received aletter from the man who had arranged the concert, a certain HerrLöwenberg. The letter closed as follows: “A community of admirers isanxious to come into possession of your compositions. They send youtheir greetings at present with cordial gratitude. ”

Daniel could scarcely believe his own eyes; it was like magic. Withoutsaying a word he handed the letter to Eleanore. She read it, and lookedat him quietly. 

“Yes, I am guilty, ” she said, “I stole the quartette. ”

“Is that so? Do you realise, Eleanore, what you have done to me?”

Eleanore’s face coloured with surprise and fear. 

“You ought to know; probably in the future you will lose interest insuch womanish wiles. ”

He walked back and forth, and then stepped up very close to her: “Youprobably think I am an idiotic simpleton, a dullard. You seem to feelthat I am one of those rustic imbeciles, who has had his fingers frozenonce, and spends his days thereafter sitting behind the stove, gruntingand shaking every time anybody says weather to him. Well, you are wrong. There was a period when I felt more or less like that, but that time isno more. ”

He started to walk back and forth again; again he stopped: “It is notbecause I think they are too good, nor is it because I am too inert orcowardly, that I keep my compositions under lock and key. I would haveto have wheels in my head if I did not have sense enough to know thatthe effect of a piece is just as much a part of it as heat is a part offire. Those people who claim that they can quite dispense withrecognition and success are liars and that only. What I have created isno longer my property: it longs to reach the world; it is a part of theworld; and I must give it to the world, provided, do you hear?_provided_ it is a living thing. ”

“Well then, Daniel, ” said Eleanore, somewhat relieved. 

“That is where the trouble lies, ” he continued, as though he had neverbeen interrupted, “it all depends on whether the piece has life, reality, the essence of true being in it. What is the use of feedingpeople with unripe or half-baked stuff? They have far too much of thatalready. There are too many who try and even can, but what they createlacks the evidence that high heaven insisted on its being created: thereis no divine _must_ about it. My imperfect creations would merely serveas so many stumbling blocks to my perfect ones. If a man has once beenseduced by the public and its applause, so that he is satisfied withwhat is only half perfect, his ear grows deaf, his soul blind before heknows it, and he is the devil’s prey forever. It is an easy matter tomake a false step, but there is no such thing as turning back withcorrective pace. It cannot be done; for however numerous thepossibilities may be, the actual deed is a one-time affair. And howeverfructifying encouragement from without may be, its effects are in theend murderous if it is allowed to drown out conscience. What I havecreated in all these years is good enough so far as it goes, but it ismerely the preparatory drill to the really great work that is hoveringbefore my mind. It is possible that I flatter myself; it may be that Iam being cajoled by fraud and led on by visions; but it is in me, I feelcertain of it, and it must come to light. Then we shall see what sort ofcreature it is. Then all my previous works will have ceased to exist;then I will bestir myself in a public way; I will come out and be theman that I really am. You can depend on it. ”

Daniel had never talked to Eleanore in this way before. As she looked athim, overcome almost by the passion of his words, and saw him standingthere so utterly fearless, so unyielding and unpitying, her breastheaved with a sigh, and she said: “God grant that you succeed, and thatyou live to enjoy the fruits of your ambition. ”

“It is all a matter of fate, Eleanore, ” he replied. 

He demanded the quartette; it was sent back to him. 

From then on Eleanore suppressed even the slightest sense of discontentthat arose in her heart. She felt that he needed cruelty and harshnessfor his small life in order to preserve love and patience for the greatlife. 

Yes, she prayed to Heaven that she might leave him harsh and cruel. 

 XVI

“Eleanore is my wife, ” said Daniel every now and then; he would evenstop in the middle of the street in order to enjoy to the full, andpreserve if possible, the blessed realisation of this fact. 

He always knew it. Yet when he was with Eleanore he frequently forgother presence. There were days when he would pass by her as though shewere some chance acquaintance. 

Then there were other days when his happiness made him sceptical; hewould say: “Is it then really happiness? Am I happy? If so, why is itthat I do not feel my happiness more fervently, terribly?”

He would frequently study her form, her hands, her walk, and wish thathe had new eyes, so that he might see her anew. He went away merely inorder that he might see her better. In the night he would take a candle, and go up to her bed: a gentle anguish seemed to disappear from herfeatures, his own pulse beat more rapidly. This was caused by theflame-blue of her eyes. 

There is a point where the most demure and chaste woman differs in nowise from a prostitute. This is the source of infinite grief to the manwho loves. No woman suspects or can understand it. 

It was one day while he was brooding and musing and quarrelling withoutdefinite reason, in the arms of his beloved, that the profound, melancholy motif in the first movement of his symphony in D minor cameto him. This symphony gradually grew into the great vision of his life, and, many years later, one of his women admirers gave it the modifyingtitle of Promethean. The first time the theme sounded in his ears heroared like a wild beast, but with joy. It seemed to him that music wasreally born at that moment. 

He pressed Eleanore so tightly to his bosom that she could not breathe, and murmured between his teeth: “There is no choice left: we have got toremain lifeless and irresponsive to each other’s presence or wound oneanother with love. ”

“The mask, the mask, ” whispered Eleanore anxiously, and pointed over tothe corner from which the mask of Zingarella, with the dim light fallingon it, shone forth like the weirdly beautiful face of a spectre. 

Philippina stood before the door, and listened to what they were saying. She had caught a rat, killed it, and laid the cadaver in the door. Thenext morning, as Eleanore was going into the kitchen, she saw the deadrat, screamed, and went back to her room trembling with fright. 

Daniel stroked her hair, and said: “Don’t worry, Eleanore. Rats belongto married life just as truly as salty soup, broken dishes, and holes inthe stockings. ”

“Now listen, Daniel, is that meant as a reproach?” she asked. 

“No, my dear, it is not a reproach; it is merely a picture of the world. You have the soul of a princess; you know nothing about rats. Look atthose black, staring, pearly eyes: they remind me of Jason PhilipSchimmelweis and Alfons Diruf and Alexander Dörmaul; they remind me ofthe reserved table, the _Kaffeeklatsch_, smelly feet, evenings at theclub, and everything else that is unappetising, vulgar, and base. Don’tlook at me in such astonishment, Eleanore, I have just had an uglydream; that is all. I dreamt that a miserable-looking wretch came up tome and kept asking me what your name is, and I couldn’t tell him. Justthink of it: I could not recall your name. It was terribly annoying. Farewell, farewell. ”

He had put on his hat and left. He ran out in the direction of Feucht, and stayed the entire day in the open fields without taking a single bitof nourishment except a piece of black bread and a glass of milk. Butwhen he returned in the evening his pockets were bulging with notes hehad jotted down while out there by himself. 

He came back by way of the Castle, and knocked at Eberhard’s door. Sincethere was no one at home, he sauntered around for a while along the oldrampart, and then returned about nine o’clock. But the windows werestill dark. 

He had not seen Eberhard for two months. He could still recall theBaron’s depression and worry the last time he had talked with him—itwas toward the end of March: he had spoken very little at that time andhad gazed into space with remarkably lifeless eyes. He gave theimpression of a man who is on the point of doing something quite out ofthe ordinary if not distinctly terrible. 

Daniel did not become aware of this until now; the Baron’s troubles, whatever they were, had not occurred to him during the past weeks; hewas sorry for having neglected him so. 

 XVII

When he came home Eleanore was suffering from premature birth pains. Philippina greeted him with the words: “There is going to be anincrease in the family, Daniel. ” Whereat she burst out in a coarselaugh. 

“Shut up, you beast, ” cried Daniel: “How long has she been suffering?Why didn’t you get the nurse?”

“Can I leave the child here alone? Don’t growl so!” replied Philippinaangrily. She went out for the nurse. In a half an hour she came backwith her: it was Frau Hadebusch. 

Daniel had a disagreeable feeling. He wanted to raise some questions andmake some objections, but Frau Hadebusch’s nimble tongue anticipatedhim. She grinned, curtsied, rolled her eyes, and went through the entirecategory of acquired mannerisms on the part of a woman of her type, andthen unloaded her life history: Her duly wedded husband had saidfarewell to this vale of tears three years ago, and since then she hadbeen supporting, as well as she could, herself and her poor Henry, theidiot, by hiring out as a midwife. She seemed already to have come toan understanding with Eleanore, for when she entered the room, Eleanoregreeted her as though she were an old acquaintance. 

While Daniel was alone with Eleanore for a few minutes, he asked her inan indignant tone: “How did you ever come to get that vicious woman?”

Eleanore replied in a gentle and unsuspecting tone: “She came to me oneday, and asked to be called in when the child was born. She said she wasawfully fond of you, and that you had once lived in her house. Well, Ithought, what difference does it make who comes, so I engaged her, andthere she is. ”

It was only with the greatest difficulty that she finished saying whatwas on her mind. Her face, white as a sheet, was pinched with anexpression of terrific pain. She reached for Daniel’s hand, and held itso tightly that he became rigid with anxiety. 

When she began to groan, Daniel turned away and pressed his fiststogether. Frau Hadebusch came in with a tub of hot water: “This is noplace for men, ” she exclaimed with a kindly twisting of her face, tookDaniel by the shoulder, and pushed him out the door. 

Little Agnes was standing in the hall. “Father, ” she said. 

“Put that child to bed!” said Daniel, turning to Philippina. 

Jordan came out of the kitchen. He held an earthen bowl of soup in hishand. It had been saved for him, and all he had to do was to hold itover the fire and heat it up. He went up to Daniel, and said, as hischin quivered: “May God protect her, and be merciful to her!”

“Quit that kind of talk, Father, ” said Daniel impatiently. “God ruleswith reservations that make me insane. ”

“Won’t you say good-night to little Agnes?” asked Philippina in a rude, rough tone from the other room. 

He went in; the child looked at him timidly. The more it grew, thegreater his own shyness became in its presence. And the constantassociation of Eleanore with the child had always been a source of worryto him. There was one thing of which he was mortally certain: he couldnot see Eleanore in bodily form and precisely as she was, when Agnes, with her Gertrude eyes and her arched Eleanore mouth, was present in theroom with Eleanore. He felt that Eleanore had been transformed into thesister of Agnes, that she was still only a sister. And this he felt wassomething fatal. 

Both of the sisters looked at him out of Agnes’s big childish eyes; inher they were both melted and moulded into a single being. A presagefulhorror crept over him. Sisters! The word had a solemn sound in his ears;it seemed full of mysterious meaning; it took on mythical greatness. 

“Sleep, baby, sleep, outside are two sheep, a black one and a whiteone . .. ” sang Philippina in her imbecile way. It was astonishing theamount of malevolence there was in her sing-song. 

Daniel could not stand it in the house; he went out on the street, andwandered around until midnight. If he made up his mind to go home, thethought occurred to him at once that Frau Hadebusch would prevent himfrom going into Eleanore’s room. He felt like lying down on the pavementand waiting until some one came and told him how Eleanore was gettingalong. 

 XVIII

It struck one just as he came home. The maid from the first floor andthe maid from the second were standing on the stairs. They had not beenable to sleep; they had heard the cries of the young woman from theirrooms, had come out, joined each other, listened, trembled, andwhispered. 

Daniel heard one of them say: “The Kapellmeister should send for thedoctor. ”

The other sobbed and replied: “Yes, but a doctor can’t work miracles. ”

“Lord, Lord, ” they cried, as a nerve-racking cry from Eleanore rangthrough the bleak house. 

Daniel sprang up the steps. “Run for Dr. Müller just as fast as yourfeet can carry you, ” said Daniel to Philippina, who was then standing inthe kitchen in her bare feet with her hair hanging down her back. Danielwas breathing heavily; Philippina was making some tea. Daniel thenhastened into Eleanore’s room; Frau Hadebusch tried to keep him out, buthe pushed her to one side, gritted his teeth, and threw himself on thefloor by Eleanore’s bed. 

She raised her head; she was a pale as death; the perspiration waspouring down over her face. “You shouldn’t be here, Daniel, youshouldn’t see me, ” she said with much effort, but her tone was socommanding and final that Daniel got up and slowly left the room. He wasseized with a strange, violent anger. He went out into the kitchen anddrank a glass of water, and then hurled the glass on the floor: it brokeinto a hundred pieces. 

Frau Hadebusch had followed him; she looked very much discouraged. Whenhe noticed the frame of mind she was in, he became dizzy; he had to sitdown in order to keep from falling. “Ah, the doctor will come, ” he saidin a brusque tone. 

“My God, it makes you sick at the stomach to see how women sufferto-day, ” said the old lady in her shrillest, one-tooth voice; it wasquite plain that she was pleased to know that the doctor was coming. Thepresent case had got her into serious trouble, and she wanted to get outof it. “The devil to these women who are so delicately built, ” she hadsaid about an hour ago to the grinning Philippina. 

Philippina came back with the announcement that Dr. Müller was on avacation: “Well, is he the only physician in the city, you dumb ox?”howled Daniel, “go get Dr. Dingolfinger; he lives here close by: rightover there by the Peller House. But wait a minute! You stay here; I’llgo get him. ”

Dr. Dingolfinger was a Jewish physician, a rather old man, and Danielhad to ring and ring to get him out of his bed. But finally he heard thebell, got up, and followed Daniel across the square. Daniel had left thelantern burning at the front gate, and with it he lighted the doctorthrough the court and up the stairs. 

Then he sat down on the bench in the kitchen; how long he sat there hedid not know; he bent his body forward and buried his head in his hands. The screams became worse and worse: they were no longer the cries ofEleanore but of some unsouled, dehumanised being. Daniel heard themall; he could think of nothing, he could feel nothing but that voice. Attimes the terrible cry ran through his heart: Sisters! Sisters!

Frau Hadebusch came out several times to get hot water. The yellow toothin her lower jaw stuck out like a cracked, lecherous remainder andreminder of her past life. Once Dr. Dingolfinger himself came out, rummaged around in his leather case, which he had left in the hall, looked at Daniel, and said: “It is going to come out all right; it willall be over in a short while. ” At that Philippina poked at the fire, andput on fresh coals. She looked at Daniel out of one corner of her eye, and went on her way. From time to time old Jordan rapped on the wall tohave Philippina come up and tell him how things were going. 

It must have been about four o’clock in the morning; the gloomy, greystones in the walls of the court yard were already being covered withrosy tints from the East. There was a cry so fearful, so like that of avoice from the wilds of the heart, that Daniel sprang to his feet andstood trembling in every limb. 

Then it became quiet, mysteriously, uncannily quiet. 

 XIX

He sat down again; after a while his eyes closed, and he fell asleep. 

He must have slept about half an hour when he was wakened by the soundof footsteps. 

Standing around him were the physician, Frau Hadebusch, and Philippina. The doctor said something at which Daniel shook his head. It soundedlike: “Unfortunately I cannot keep the sad news from you. ” Daniel didnot understand him; he drew his lips apart, and thought: “The idea ofdreaming such disordered stuff!”

“Mother and child are both dead, ” said the old physician, with tears inhis eyes. “Both dead. It was a boy. Science was powerless; nature washostile and the stronger of the two. ”

“So delicately built, ” murmured Frau Hadebusch, in a tone ofdisapproval, “as delicate as the stem of a plant. ”

When Daniel at last realised that he was not dreaming, that these werein bitter truth Philippina’s glistening eyes and Frau Hadebusch’sgoatish tooth and Dr. Dingolfinger’s silvery beard, and that these wereactual words that were being spoken to him, he fell over and becameunconscious. 

 XX

Pain, grief, despair, such terms do not describe his condition. 

He knew nothing about himself; he had no thoughts; he lay on the sofa inthe living room day and night, ate nothing, said nothing, and nevermoved. 

When they carried the empty coffin into the death chamber, he burrowedhis face into the corner of the sofa. Old Jordan tottered through theroom to take a last look at his dead daughter. “He has sinned, ” Jordansobbed, “sinned against God in Heaven. ”

In the hall some people were whispering. Martha Rübsam and her husbandhad come in. Martha was crying. Her slender figure with her pale faceappeared in the doorway; she looked around for Daniel. 

“Don’t you want to see your Eleanore before the coffin is closed?” askedPhilippina in a hollow voice. 

He never moved; the twitchings of his face were terrible to behold. 

Beside him on the table was some cold food; also some bread and apples. 

They carried the coffin out. He felt that where his heart once was therewas now a dark, empty space. The church bell rang, the rain splashedagainst the window panes. 

During the second night he felt his soul suddenly become incoherent, lax. This was followed by a brief flaring up within him, whereupon hiseyes were filled with hot, burning tears. He resigned himself to thesituation without audible display of grief; he felt all of a sudden thathe had now for the first time in his life really sensed the beauty ofthe pure triad in the major key. 

Another day passed by. He could hear old Jordan walking about in theroom above him, ceaselessly and with heavy tread. He felt cold;Philippina came in; he asked her to get him a blanket. Philippina wasmost eager to be of service to him. The door bell rang; Philippinaopened. 

Before her stood a lady and a gentleman. There was something so refinedabout them that Philippina did not dare raise any objections when theyquietly came in and went straight to the living room: the door had notbeen closed, and they could see Daniel lying on the sofa. 

Daniel looked at them quite indifferently. Gradually he began to collecthis thoughts, to compose himself, to come to himself. 

His guests were Eberhard von Auffenberg and his cousin, Sylvia vonErfft. They were betrothed. 

Taken up as he had latterly been with the marked changes andtransformations in his life, Eberhard had not heard of the death ofEleanore until a few hours ago. 

It was a rare visit. None of the three said a word. Daniel lay wrappedin his blanket; he never moved. Finally, when his friends were about toleave, Sylvia got up, and turning to Daniel, said: “I did not knowEleanore, but I feel as if I had lost one of my own dear friends. ”

Eberhard tossed his chin in the air, turned pale, and was as silent asthe tomb. 

They repeated their visit on the following day, and then on the nextday, and so on. The presence of the two people came in time to have abeneficent effect on Daniel. 

 THE ROOM WITH THE WITHERED FLOWERS

 I

A few days later, Herr Carovius carried out the scheme he had decidedupon at the time his heart became so embittered at Eleanore’s marriage. 

It was the end of March. Herr Carovius had learned that the old Baronhad just returned from Berlin. He went around to his house, and sent inhis card. The butler came out, and told him that the Baron could receiveno one, that he should state his business in writing. 

Herr Carovius, however, wanted to see his debtor face to face: this wasthe heart of his dream. When he came back a second time and was againtold that he could not see the Baron, he began to storm and bluster, andinsisted that they should at least let him talk with the Baroness. 

The Baroness was just then taking her music lesson. The fifteen-year-oldDorothea Döderlein, who gave promise of developing into a remarkablevirtuoso on the violin, was playing some sonatas with the Baroness. 

Andreas Döderlein had recognised her talents when she was a mere child. Since her tenth year, she had been obliged to practise six hours everyday. She had had a great number of different teachers, all of whom hadbeen brought to the point of despair by her intractability. In thepresence of her father, however, she was meek: to him she bowed. 

Andreas Döderlein had recommended his daughter to the Baroness in wordsreplete with objective recognition. The Baroness declared herwillingness to play with Dorothea. Andreas Döderlein had said to her:“Now you have a chance to rise in the world through powerful influence;don’t neglect it! The Baroness loves the emotional; be emotional. Attimes she will demand the demoniac; be obedient. Like all rich people, she is pampering some grief _de luxe_; don’t disturb her!”

Dorothea was docile. 

They were playing Beethoven’s spring sonatas, when the altercation beganout in the vestibule. The maid came in and whispered something to hermistress. The Baroness arose and went to the door. Dorothea laid herviolin in her lap, and looked around in affected astonishment, as thoughshe were coming out of a dream. 

At a sign from the Baroness the old servant gave Herr Carovius a freepath. He went in: his face was red; he made a quite ridiculous bow. Hiseyes drank in the velvet portières, the cut glass mirrors, the crystalvases, and the bronze statuettes. In the meantime, and without fail, hehad placed his right hand against his hip, giving the fine effect ofright akimbo, and set one foot very elegantly a trifle more to the forethan the other: he looked like a provincial dancing-master. 

He complained of the presumptuousness of the servants, and assured theBaroness that she was in complete enjoyment of his deference. He spokeof his good intentions and the pressure of circumstances. When theimpatient bearing of his sole but distinguished auditor at last obligedhim to come to the real purpose of his visit, the Baroness twitched; forfrom his flood of words there emerged, as she heard them, nothing butthe name of her son. 

With panting sounds she came up to Herr Carovius, and took him by thecoat-sleeve. Her dim, black eyes became as round as little bullets; thesupplicating expression in them was so much balm to the soul of hervisitor. 

Herr Carovius was enchanted; he was having the time of a scurvy life; hebecame impudent; he wanted to take vengeance on the mother against theson. He saw that the Baroness did not correspond to the picture he hadmade of a creature who belonged to the aristocracy. In his imaginationshe had lived as a domineering, imperious, inaccessible phenomenon: andnow there stood before him an old, obese, worried woman. On this accounthe gave his voice a shriller tone, his face a more scurrilous expressionthan was his wont. Then he launched forth on a graphic narration of theunhappy plight in which he now found himself as a result of hisassociation with Baron von Eberhard, Jr. 

He claimed that it was nothing but his own good nature that had got himinto this trouble. And yet, what was he to do? The Baron would havestarved to death, or become morally depraved, if he had not come to hisspiritual and pecuniary rescue, for the young man was sadly wanting inthe powers of moral resistance. And what had he gained by all thisaltruism? Ingratitude, bitter ingratitude!

“He plundered me; he took my last cent, and then acted as if it were mydamned duty to go through fire for his baronical excellency, ” screamedHerr Carovius. “Before I came to know him I was a well-to-do man; Icould enjoy myself; I could reap the higher pleasures of humanexistence. To-day I am ruined. My money is wasted, my house is burdenedwith mortgages, my peace of mind has gone plumb to the Devil. Twohundred and seventy-six thousand marks is what the young man owes me andmy business friends. Yes—two hundred and seventy-six thousand marks, including interest and interest on the interest, all neatly noted downand signed up by the duly authorised parties. Am I to let him slam thedoor in my face because of his indebtedness to me? I think you will seeyourself that that cannot be expected of me. He at least owes me alittle respect for what I have done for him. ”

The Baroness had listened to all this with folded hands and unfixedeyes. But the close of the story was too much for her: she threw herselfon a great divan, overcome—for the time being—with worry and maternalweakness. A grin strayed across Herr Carovius’s face. He twirled hisCalabrian headpiece in his hands, and let his leery eyes wander aboutthe walls. Then it was that he caught sight of Dorothea, whom he hadthus far failed to see in his intoxication of wrath and rapture. 

When Herr Carovius entered, Dorothea, out of discretion rather than withserious intent, had made herself as small as possible in the most remotecorner of the room. Trembling with curious excitement, she had wished toevade the eye of her uncle Carovius, for in very truth she was ashamedof him. 

She regarded him as a sort of comic freak, who, though he had enough tolive on, could not be said to be in the best of circumstances. When herolled the sum the Auffenberg family owed him from his tongue, she wasfilled with astonishment and delight, and from then on she took atotally different view of him. 

During the last few years Herr Carovius had seen very little ofDorothea. Whenever he had met her, she had passed by him in great haste. He knew that she was taking violin lessons: he had often heard herscreechy fiddling on the stairs and out in the hall. 

He fixed his eyes on her, and exclaimed: “Well I’m a son-of-a-gun ifthere isn’t Döderlein’s daughter! How did you get here? Aha, you aregoing about and showing the people what you can do! I should think youand your creator would have had enough of music by this time. ”

The Baroness, recalling that the young girl was present, raised hereyes and looked at Dorothea reproachfully. For the first time in herlife she felt that the resources she had managed to extract from a lifeof neglect were about exhausted; for the first time in her life she felta shudder at the thought of her musical stupefactions. 

She asked Herr Carovius to have patience, adding that he would hear fromher in a few days—as soon as she had talked the matter over with herhusband. She nipped in the bud a zealous reply he was about to make, andnodded a momentary farewell to Dorothea, who put her violin in the case, took the case in her hand, curtsied, and followed her uncle out of theroom. 

She remained at his side; they went along the street together. HerrCarovius turned to her from time to time, and made some rancorousremark. She smiled modestly. 

With that began the strange relation that existed between the two fromthen on. 

 II

It had looked for some time as though the Baron von Auffenberg hadretired from the political stage. In circles in which he had formerlybeen held in unqualified esteem he was now regarded as a fallen hero. 

His friends traced the cause of his failure to the incessant frictionfrom which the party had suffered; to the widespread change that wastaking place in the public mind; to the ever-increasing pressure fromabove and the never-ceasing fermentation from below; to the feverishrestlessness that had come over the body politic, changing its form, itsideals, and its convictions; and to the more scrupulous and sometimesreactionary stand that was being taken on all matters of nationalculture. 

But this could not explain the hard trace of repulsion and aversionwhich the Baron’s countenance had never before revealed when in thepresence of men; it threw no light, or at most an inadequate light, onthe stony glare, gloomy impatience, and reticence which he practised noweven in those circles and under those circumstances in which he hadformerly been noted for his diverting talents as a conversationalist andcompanion. 

In his heart of hearts he had, as a matter of fact, always despised hispolitical constituents, their speeches, their action, their enthusiasm, and their indignation. But he had never kicked over the traces, forduring the course of a rather eventful life he had made the discoverythat contempt and an icy disposition are invaluable adjuncts to any onewho wishes to control men. 

Even though he had fought at the beginning of his career with all theeloquence and buoyancy at his command for freedom and tolerance, itremained a fact that he regarded liberalism as nothing more than anewspaper term, a means of keeping men busy who were too indolent tothink for themselves, and a source of obstructive annoyance to theopenly hated but secretly admired Bismarck. 

He had wielded a power in full consciousness of the lie he was acting, and had done it solely by gestures, calculations, and politicaladroitness. This will do for a while, but in time it eats into themarrow of one’s life. 

In his eyes nothing was of value except the law, unwritten to be sure, but of immemorial duration, that subjects the little to the big, theweak to the strong, the immature to the experienced, the poor to therich. In accordance with this law humanity for him was divided into twocamps: those who submitted to the law, and the undesirable citizens whorebelled against the law. 

And of these undesirable citizens his son Eberhard was the mostundesirable. 

With this stinging, painful thorn in his flesh, oppressed by the feelingof loneliness in the very midst of a noisy, fraudulent activity, andfilled with an ever-increasing detestation of the superfluity andconsequent effeminacy of his daily existence, he had created out of thefigure of his son a picture of evil incarnate. 

He visualised him in dissipation and depravity of every kind and degree;he saw him sinking lower and lower, a traitor to his family name; as ifin a dream that appeases the sense of obscene horror, he saw him inleague with the abandoned and proscribed, associating with thieves, street bandits, high-flying swindlers, counterfeiters, anarchists, prostitutes, and literati. He saw him in dirty dives, a fugitive fromjustice wandering along the highway, drunk in a gambling den, a beggarat a fair, and a prisoner at the bar. 

His determination to wait until the degenerate representative of thehuman family had been stigmatised by all the world he finally abandoned. His impatience to find peace, to throw off the mask, to rid himselfcompletely of all entanglements, dissimulation, and the life of luxuryto which he had been accustomed became so great, that he looked forwardto the day that would eventually mark his release as the day of a newbirth. 

But why did he hesitate? Was there still an element of doubt in hisbreast? Was there still slumbering, deep down in the regions of hisheart that were inaccessible to bitterness and revenge, another pictureof his son? Why did he hesitate from week to week, from month to month?

In the meantime he had donated great fortunes to poor houses, hospitals, foundations, and similar causes. He wanted to give away other millions, at least so much that his heirs would receive only the gleanings of whathad once been a field of riches. Emilia was to be given the income fromthe breweries and the country estates. 

To this extent he had firmly made up his mind. Now that his wife hadtold him of the actual condition in which Eberhard found himself, hefelt justified in going ahead and carrying out his pre-determined plans. The proofs of dishonourable conduct on the part of his son could now bebrought forward. The debts he had contracted, either through flippancyor downright deception, in the name of his father were sufficient tocondemn him forever. And if not, then let them fight it out after he wasdead and gone; let his last will and testament be a ghost, a spectrethat would strike terror into their hearts and embitter such pleasure asthey might otherwise derive from life. 

His will had been drawn up seven years ago; all that was needed was thesignature of the notary public. 

But why did the Baron hesitate? Why did he pace back and forth in hisroom with pinched lips? Why did he ring for the butler with the idea ofsending this functionary for the notary, and then suddenly change hismind and give the butler something else to do?

_“Dépêche-toi, mon bon garçon_, ” screeched the parrot. 

 III

In the course of three days the Baroness had five talks with herhusband. Each time he rejected her petition to have the affairs of theirson straightened out; and when she became insistent and seemed minded tokeep up her fight, he became silent, speechless. 

It was during her last attempt that the servants heard her speaking withextraordinary passion and violence. When she left the Baron’s room herwhole body was quivering with emotion and excitement. She came out, andordered the house servants to pack her trunk and her coachman to beready to leave in a few minutes. 

An hour later she was on her way to the estate at Siegmundshof, aboutten miles from the baronial residence. Her maid accompanied her. But shewas utterly unable to find peace there. During the day she would paceback and forth through the rooms, crying and wringing her hands; atnight she would lie down, but not to sleep. On the fourth day shereturned to the city, had the carriage driven to the residence of CountUrlich, and sent her coachman in to get the Countess. Emilia came down, terrified, to know what her mother wanted. The Baroness told her thatshe wished her to accompany her to Herr Carovius, whose address she hadfound in the city directory. 

Herr Carovius had waited in vain for the news the Baroness had promisedhim. His anger got the best of him: he decided to make an example of theAuffenberg family, and, with this end in view, entered their house asthe personal embodiment of punitive justice. When he was told that hecould not be admitted, he began once more to start trouble; he raged andstormed like a madman. The servants came running out from all quarters;finally a policeman appeared on the scene and questioned him. The porterthen dragged him from the house and out through the big gate at theentrance to the grounds, where he stood surrounded by a crowd of curiousbut not entirely disinterested people, bare-headed, waving his arms andstriking an imaginary adversary with his fists—a picture, all told, ofanger intensified to the point of insanity. 

His backers at once got wind of his fruitless attempts to collect. Theybecame uneasy, gave Herr Carovius himself a deal of trouble, and finallyappointed a lawyer to take charge of the case. In the meantime HerrCarovius had learned through a spy that it had come to a complete breakbetween the Baron and the Baroness, that the latter had left within twodays with bag and baggage, and that great consternation prevailed amongthe servants and friends of the family. 

A voluptuous light crept across Herr Carovius’s face: here was defeatand despair, weeping and gnashing of teeth; what more could he wish? Hefelt that he was personally the annihilator of the collectivearistocracy. And if it is possible to take a fiendish delight inwitnessing the destruction of what one after all despises, how muchgreater may this joy be when the thing destroyed is something one lovesand admires!

It was while in this mood that the Baroness and her daughter came to seehim. The sight of the two women left him momentarily speechless. Heforgot to say good-day to them; to ask them in never once occurred tohim. 

The Baroness wanted to know where Eberhard was: she was determined tosee him. When Herr Carovius stuttered out the astounding information toher that he was living hardly more than three hundred paces from whereshe was then standing, she began to tremble and leaned against the wall. She was not prepared for this: she had always imagined that he wasstaying at some mysterious place in some mysterious distance. 

Herr Carovius at once insisted that he accompany the ladies to theBaron’s diminutive residence. But the Baroness felt that she was notcapable of this: she feared it would mean her death. “Take me home withyou, Emilia, ” she said to her daughter, “and you go over and have a talkwith Eberhard first. ”

But Emilia had not seen Eberhard once during the nine years of hermarried life, and was even less inclined than her mother to meet himnow. Nor was it possible to take the Baroness to her home. The old ladyhad evidently forgotten that she had told Count Urlich never to show hisface in her presence again. The occasion of this inexorable request wasthe time she learned that the governess of his child was in a family wayand that he was responsible for her disgrace. 

Since the Baroness stoutly refused to return either to her townresidence or to Siegmundshof, there was nothing for Emilia to do but totake her to a hotel. Herr Carovius, who had accompanied the two women onthe street and had enjoyed to the full their pitiable distress, suggested that they go to the Bavarian Court. He climbed up on the seatby the coachman, told him how to get there, and looked down in regaltriumph on the pedestrians. 

Countess Emilia, quite at her wits’ end, sent a telegram to her AuntAgatha. The next Wednesday Frau von Erfft with her daughter Sylviaarrived. “Clotilda acts as if she had lost her mind, ” she said to Emiliaafter having spent an hour in the room with her sister. “I am going tosee your father. I must have a long talk with Siegmund. ”

The Baron received his sister-in-law with marked coolness, though he hadalways had a great deal of respect for her. 

Frau von Erfft was quite careful to avoid any reference to the familyaffairs. She talked about Sylvia, remarking that she was nowtwenty-seven years old, and that she had rejected all her suitors, afact which was causing her parents a measure of concern. “She simplywill not be contented, ” said Frau Agatha. “She is bent on securing aspecial mission in her marriage, and fears nothing so much as the lossof her personal liberty. That is the way our children are, dearSiegmund; and if we had brought them into the world differently, theywould be different. In our day the ideal was obedience; but now childrenhave discovered the duty they owe themselves. ”

“Then they should look out for themselves, ” replied the Baron gloomily. He had fully appreciated what his sister-in-law was driving at. 

From the confused and incoherent remarks of her sister, Agatha hadlearned what had taken place between the Baron and the Baroness. She wasfamiliar with the painful past; and when she looked into the old Baron’seyes, she saw what was necessary. She made up her mind then and there tohave Eberhard meet his mother. 

She wished above everything else to quiet Clotilda and persuade her toreturn home. The task, owing to the weakness and instability of theBaroness, was not difficult. Sylvia remained with her aunt, and herquiet, resolute disposition had a wholesome effect upon her. In themeantime Agatha had got Eberhard’s address. After some search she foundthe house: Eberhard was at home. 

 IV

The first talk she had with him passed off without results of any kind. He evaded her courageous remarks, and failed to hear what he did notcare to hear. He was stiff, polite, and annoyingly listless. Agatha, full of vexation, told her daughter of her disappointment. Sylvia saidshe would like to go with her mother the next time she visited Eberhard. Agatha shook her head, though she was in no way minded to abandon herpurpose. 

There was no change at the Baron’s house. Baroness Clotilda was in aperpetual state of nervous excitement that was anything but reassuringeither to herself or those about her. The Baron was a disquieting riddleto the entire household: he never left his room; he paced up and downhours at a time, with his hands folded across his back. 

Agatha called on her nephew a second, a third, a fourth time. Eventhough Eberhard’s Arctic impenetrability seemed made for all time, though yielding seemed to be no part of his nature, she finallysucceeded in jolting him loose from his bearings. And when Sylviaaccompanied her mother—Sylvia generally won her point with hermother—he shook off his armour with unexpected suddenness; you couldsee the struggles that were going on in his soul. 

Falteringly, and in the affected and finical tone he not infrequentlyadopted, he told the story of his youth, commenting on the everlastingdiscord between his father and his mother and the disagreeable quarrelsthat used to take place at home. He said that just as soon as his motherwould ask that something be done, his father would demand the opposite. The children soon saw that father was going his way and mother hers;they were not unaware of the fact that their parents cordiallydistrusted each other and even went so far as to lay traps for eachother. He insisted that his mother, with all her amiability andgentleness, was obsessed with the idea of teasing, annoying, andwounding his father on that very point where she had already and sooften teased, annoyed, and wounded him before; and that this lack ofreason and consideration on her part, coupled with the absence ofkindness and candour on his, had made the paternal home a hell, torn atthe hearts of the growing children, and in time so hardened them thatthey suspected every friendly face they saw, and withdrew, as if so fromsomething vile, from every hand that was reached out to them. He relatedfurther that in this loveless wilderness brother and sister had beendrawn to each other, that in Emilia’s heart, and his own as well, thismutual friendship was cherished as a sacred, inviolable possession, sosacred that it impelled them in time to establish a league against allthe rest of the world. How did they conduct themselves once this leaguehad been founded? If they read a book it was in common; they kept nosecrets from each other, advised each other, and shared their happinessand sorrow equally, until one fine day Emilia’s father appeared beforeher, and informed her that Count Urlich had asked for her hand and thathe had promised that he should have it. 

At this point in the story, Eberhard became silent; he bit his lips; hisashen face, that had never before reminded Agatha so much of the oldBaron, betrayed an incurable grief. 

Agatha was familiar with this incident, in rough outline; but asEberhard related it, it stirred her soul to the very depths. “One musttry to forget, ” she said. 

“Forget? No, that I cannot do; never have been able to do. Be it amatter of virtue or of vice, I cannot forget. Emilia, then still halfchild and only half woman, was made flexible in time. But that my motherdid not do everything in her power to prevent this gruesome deed, andthat it caused her to sink deeper and deeper into the coils of domesticanguish by reason of her innate and gnawing weakness—that was thebitterest experience of my entire life. ”

“But she is your mother, Eberhard. Never in the history of the humanfamily has a son had the right to condemn his mother. ”

“That is news to me, ” replied Eberhard coldly. “Mothers are human beingslike any one else. Even mothers can commit a sin by filling theirchildren with the poison of distrust and disgust with life. Father andmother, parents: they are a symbol, a glorious one when they hover aboveus and around us, worthy of respect and calling for filial veneration. But if I am bound to them only by the ties of duty, they are notsymbols; they are mere phantoms, conceptions of human speech. There isno duty but the duty of love. ”

Sylvia had sat in perfect silence. Unconsciously she had followed themost beautiful law of harmonious souls: to wield an influence, to havepower, not through the use of words and the elaboration of reasons, butby a pure life, an unquestioned existence. Agreement and disagreementlay like a play of light and shadow on her brow. 

In this way she reminded Eberhard more and more of Eleanore. 

Perhaps it was the power of this memory that moved him to promise thathe would go with Agatha on the following day to his mother. The solecondition he imposed was that he be assured that he would not meet hisfather. 

Seeing that he was relentless in this request, Frau von Erfft concededit, though she had a reassuring premonition that the events and the hourwould be stronger than will and purpose. 

 V

On entering his mother’s boudoir, Eberhard’s eyes fell at once on thealabaster clock, the face of which was supported by three figuresrepresenting the daughters of time. In his childhood days the clock hadalways had a highly poetic meaning to him: it seemed to symbolise thefulfilment of his most ardent wishes. 

The Baroness had been prepared for his coming by her sister. WhileEberhard and Sylvia had been standing in the corner room waiting, a fewof the servants had gathered at the door, where they whispered to eachother timidly. 

Eberhard went up to his mother and kissed her hand. The Baroness’s facewas the colour of lead; her eyes were opened as wide as possible, andyet she seemed hardly conscious. Emilia stood at one side; her handswere pressed to her bosom, her fingers were twitching convulsively. 

Frau Agatha endeavoured to relieve the situation of its solemnity andunnaturalness by making a few humorous remarks about Eberhard’s hidingplace on the hill by the Castle. Baroness Clotilda looked at her son inanxious and uneasy suspense: “I scarcely recognise him, ” she said with ahoarse voice, “he has changed so. ”

“You have changed, too, Mother, ” said Eberhard, as his chin soughtrefuge between the lapels of his coat. He was as stiff as a poker. Agatha looked at him full of vexation and annoyance. He acted as thoughhe were being bored by the meeting. 

But it was only a mask. As he looked at the old, indistinct, tired, bullied face, he became conscious of his mistake: he felt that he waswrong in saying that “Mothers are also human beings. ” He saw at oncethat amends had to be made, that action was necessary; he felt that hisnext step would lead to inevitable self-contempt if he neglected themoral deed of repentance. 

As he struggled with himself and stared, as if paralysed, into therebellion of his own soul, a certain pair of eyes had forced their waybehind the seeming apathy. A sudden blush came to Sylvia’s cheeks: shewent up to her cousin, and took him by the hand. He quivered; he saw atonce that she had divined what was going on in his soul, and now she wasdetermined to bring his fight to a close, a final, definite close. Shetook him out of the room; he followed her; she led him through thedining room, the reception room, the smoking room, the library, and onto his father’s room. Agatha, Emilia, and the Baroness looked at eachother in amazement. They went to the door of the room, and listened inbreathless suspense. 

Sylvia opened the door rather boldly. The old Baron was sitting on theleather chair before the stove. His legs were wrapped in a blanket; theexpression on his face was of stony coldness. 

Hardly had he noticed the two when he sprang to his feet as if thelightning had struck close by him. He shook; he faltered; he gropedabout for a physical support; and from his throat there came a stifledgurgle. That was all. 

Eberhard walked over to him, and reached out his hand. 

For a moment it seemed as if the old man would collapse. A last flash ofhatred and revenge shot from his blue eyes; then he too reached out hishand. His arm trembled; thick knots of quivering muscles formed on hischeeks. Sylvia had gently closed the door and vanished. 

Anxious minutes passed by and nothing happened, except that each heldthe hand of the other and each looked into the eyes of the other. Thesilence was broken only by the crackling of the fire in the stove. 

“Just at the right time, ” murmured the old Baron, without looking up andas if lost in meditation, “just at the right time. ”

Eberhard made no reply. He stood as still, as motionless, as silent, andwith his heels as close together as if he were a young officer facinghis superior in command. 

After a while he wheeled about and slowly left the room. 

Sylvia was waiting in the library. In the twilight it was possible tosee only the vague outline of her body. 

Eberhard took hold of her and whispered: “I really believe that I nolonger have a father. ”

 VI

That same night the old Baron had left. He got up in the middle of thenight; at four o’clock his valet accompanied him to the station. 

The next morning two letters were found lying on his writing desk: onewas addressed to Eberhard, the other to the Baroness. The lattercontained nothing more than a few words of farewell. The former was moredetailed. It expressed the Baron’s satisfaction at the fact thatEberhard, whom he welcomed as the head of the house, had returned, andplainly indicated that all the necessary legal steps would be taken in avery short while to give him complete authority as his heir andsuccessor. The letter closed with this surprising sentence: “So far as Iam personally concerned, I am planning to enter the Catholic Church, inorder to spend the remainder of my misapplied life at Viterbo in theDominican Convent of Della Guercia. ”

There was no explanation, no unusual display of feeling, no confession, nothing but the naked fact. 

The Baroness was neither surprised nor shocked. She fell into a mute, melancholy brooding, and then said: “He never was happy, never in hiswhole life. I never heard him laugh a really whole-souled laugh; andliving with him has made me forget how to laugh myself. His heart hasbeen from time immemorial a sort of convent, an abode of darkness, aplace of sternness. He has found his way home at last, and is probablytired from the long journey on the way to his soul. ”

“Nonsense, Clotilda!” cried Frau von Erfft. “What you say about hislaughing may be true, and a man who cannot laugh is half animal. But doyou mean to tell me that an intelligent man must resort to such means tofind peace with himself and his God? A man who is under obligations toset an example for others? Is there not enough darkness in men’s headsalready? Is it necessary to put out the torches of those who standguard? My sense of pardon is not so elaborate. I prefer to be a child ofthe world and associate with those who are regarded as heathens, and whohave given us works of light and illumination. ”

At these words Eberhard entered. As she looked into his face, Frau vonErfft thought: “There is another who can’t laugh. ”

The Baron’s change of religious views caused the greatest excitementthroughout the entire country. The liberal newspapers publishedfulminatory articles; flaming protests were made in the clubs againstthe surreptitious propaganda of Rome. The ultramontane party leadersrejoiced and made capital out of the marvellous return of such a scepticto the bosom of the Church which alone can save the souls of men: theyused the case as a bait for fresh recruits and as a means to fill theold regulars with greater fire and enthusiasm. Through the homes blew abreath of a tyrannical priesthood and spiritual gagging. 

Eberhard adapted himself to his changed condition quickly and with butlittle apparent effort: the chaos of opinions left him virtuallyunmoved. To become the master of so much and so many people, and to doit so suddenly, necessitated dignity, a clear eye, and a firm hand. Hisbeing was in no danger from an excess of zeal or up-start conceit, suffer though he might from too great seriousness and his preference fora place in the shadow. Strangely enough, the abundance of hisresponsibilities made him more cheerful. And where he was unable to takehis part in the world of outward unrest, Sylvia’s influence intercededand made it possible for him to do what was expected of him. 

In May he accompanied her and her mother to Erfft. There they took longwalks together every day, and talked a great deal about Eleanore. Atfirst he spoke with noticeable reserve. But when he felt that he hadgained the confidence of his auditor, and she his, he spoke quitecandidly, so candidly in truth that Sylvia came to look upon his actionas one of inner liberation. 

When he told of Eleanore’s marriage to Daniel Nothafft, Sylviainterrupted him, and asked a number of questions concerning Daniel. “Oh, yes, he was our guest once; he is the Kapellmeister, ” she said. And thenshe told him all about Daniel’s visit at Erfft, and did it with a smilein which there were both indulgence and re-awakened astonishment. 

Her smile made the same appeal to Eberhard that Eleanore’s had. And yet, when he was in Sylvia’s company, he seemed to recognise more distinctlythan ever what had drawn him with such irresistible power to Eleanore, possibly because Sylvia was of a less ardent and forceful nature. Hecould not exactly express it in words; he merely felt that it was theunknown realm of tones, the unknown melting of melodies, the ringingorder of the music transformed into soul. 

At the beginning of June, Sylvia went back to Nuremberg with Eberhardand her parents. A few days later the betrothal took place in thebaronial residence. 

 VII

Herr Carovius had been paid. The consortium of silent backers had beendissolved. 

Never in the history of finance had there been a satisfied creditorwho was so unhappy as Herr Carovius. He was without a goal, and thesign posts had been destroyed. He had received his money; so far sogood. His share of the profit was something over sixty thousand marks. But what was this in comparison with the great noise? What comparisonwas there between living in ease and the gorgeous sight of fallingstars? What attraction could the world offer him after this hopefulaffair, which had begun as a tragedy, and had increased in interest andsuspense until one was justified in believing that all the contradictoryforces in human nature were going to collide with one mighty bang, when, in reality, the whole incident flattened out into an ordinary drama ofemotion, with the curtain going down on reconciliation all around?

But this was not the sole reason why Herr Carovius, up until this time amost elastic figure, one of those imperturbable bachelors for whom nohurdle was too high, suddenly felt that he was growing old. His soul wasfilled with unrest; he was seeing bad omens; he feared there was goingto be a change in the weather. 

He felt an inner hunger, and yet he somehow lacked appetite for hiskind of things. “Down and out, lost and no good, ” he sighed within. Butthose who had got rich at his expense could not possibly succeed. Thismuch he knew. 

He began to lose his hair; he became rheumatic. As soon as thethermometer began to fall he shivered; if it rained he stayed at home. He began to study medicine, all by himself. He took up the variousremedies of our remote ancestors. He read the works of Paracelsus, anddeclared that all those who had written on medicine since Paracelsuswere quacks and poison-mixers. 

His ideas with regard to music became also more and more strange andbizarre. He had discovered an old Nuremberg composer by the name ofStaden. His opera entitled “Seelewig”—the first of all German operas, by the way—he insisted was the very zenith of musical art, eminentlysuperior to Mozart and Bach. He played arias and melodies from“Seelewig” to Dorothea. 

“Now, when you can get that, ” he exclaimed, “when you come to the pointwhere I can see from your playing what is in it and at the bottom of it, Heaven and Hell in one stroke of the bow, then, you little jackanapes, I’m going to make you my heiress. ”

That was precisely what Dorothea had been longing to hear; it confirmedher calculations and crowned her dreams. To hear these words roll fromher uncle’s tongue had been her ambition; and she had spared no pains toarrive at her goal. 

Herr Carovius was not spoiled. Since the days his sister had kept housefor him, no woman had ever concerned herself about him in the least. Butat that time he was young; and he had wheedled himself into believingthat the women were merely waiting for him, that all he had to do was tobeckon to them with his finger and they would come rushing up to him inbattalions. But because he had dreaded the idea of making an unhappyselection, and by reason of the expense of the enterprise, he hadneglected to give the necessary signal, and hence had been so generousas to leave them in complete possession of their freedom. 

He never knew until now that the soft, little hand of a woman couldbring out effects as if they had come from the touch of a magic wand. “What a pleasant little phiz Döderlein’s offspring has, ” he thought. Andif Dorothea, who had made him believe that she was visiting him on thesly, though her father had given his consent long ago, chanced to remainaway for a few days, he would become wild with rage, and go into thekitchen and chop wood merely to enjoy the sensation of destroyingsomething. 

Moreover, the music lessons Dorothea was taking at Herr Carovius’sexpense gave the girl a new conception of her art, and awakened in her ameasure of wholesome ambition. Satisfied as he was with her docility andher progress, Herr Carovius referred to her at times as the comingfemale Paganini, and pictured himself in the rôle of a demoniacalimpresario. 

But the thing about Dorothea that struck him most forcibly and filledhim with such astonishment was her relation to mirrors. 

A mirror exercised a tremendous influence on her. If she passed by one, her face became coloured with a charming blush of desire; if she stoodbefore one and saw her picture reflected in it, she was filled, firstwith sexual unrest, and then with retreating uncertainty. In thebrightness of her eyes there was always a longing for the mirror. Hergait and her gestures seemed to have duties imposed on them by themirror; it seemed to be their task to prepare surprises. Her whole bodyseemed to live in common with a spectral mirror sister, and to catchsight of this beloved sister was her first wish, fulfilment of which sheeffected as often as possible. 

 VIII

Dorothea had succeeded in making it clear to her father that it would behighly advantageous to her, as the nearest relative, to show HerrCarovius every conceivable favour. Andreas Döderlein baulked at first;but he could not refuse recognition to the far-seeing penetration of hisdaughter. 

When she told him of her appearance in the baronial residence, andmentioned the enormous sum Herr Carovius had collected with the mien ofan undaunted victor, Döderlein became serious; he stared into space anddid some hard thinking. Recalling the now superannuated feud, hepreserved the appearance of inapproachability, and said: “We will notdebase ourselves for the sake of Mammon. ”

A few days later, however, he said, quite of his own free will, sighinglike a man who has gone through some great moral struggle and come outof it victorious, “Well, do as you think best, my child, but don’t letme know anything about it. ”

His argument, had he expressed it in so many words, would have beensomething like the following: We are poor; we are living from hand tomouth. The negligible dowry Herr Carovius gave his sister has been usedup. Marguerite would have been perfectly justified in putting in herclaim for thirty thousand marks, but Herr Carovius settled with her foronly twelve thousand, and there was no possibility of redress. For HerrCarovius had wheedled his sister into giving him a written statementthat she was satisfied with the sum of twelve thousand: the remainingeighteen thousand was the price he demanded in return for her consent tohave his sister, who was slavishly submissive to him, marry the man ofher choice. 

“I have been duped, ” said Andreas Döderlein, and bore up under hisgrudge with becoming dignity. 

The director of the conservatory died, and Andreas Döderlein, who, byvirtue of his achievements and his personality, had the first right tothe vacant position, was appointed to it. His former colleagues werestout in their contention that the appointment cost him many a bittervisit to the powers that be. Döderlein read envy in their eyes andsmiled to himself. 

But it was a hard life. “Art cannot live without bread, ” said Döderlein, with a heroic glance into the future. “But oh, what works I could bringout if I only had time! Give me time, time, and, ” swinging his handscloudward, “the eagles above would greet me!”

 IX

Herr Carovius and death were intimate friends. Whenever death had anerrand to run, it always knocked on Herr Carovius’s door, as if to finda person who approved of its deeds and who had a just appreciation ofthem, for there were so many of the other kind. 

But when Herr Carovius heard that Eleanore Nothafft had died, he feltthat his old friend had gone a bit too far. He was touched. He wasseized with griping pains in the abdominal region, and locked himself upfor the period of one whole day in his court room. There he was takendown with catalepsy; his face went through a horrible transformation: itcame to look as if all the wickedness, hopelessness, and despair of theman who had never become reconciled to life through love had beenconcentrated in it and petrified. 

His forebodings had come true. 

Eleanore’s funeral took place on a rainy June day. Herr Carovius, dressed in his shabby old yellow raincoat with its big pockets, waspresent. There were also many others present. Every face was touchedwith grief; every eye was filled with tears, like the earth round about. Those who had not known her had at least heard of her. They had knownthat she had been there in some capacity, just as one hears of someunusual phenomenon among the celestial bodies, and that she was gone;that she was no more to be seen. For one moment at least all thesepeople were changed into deep, seeing, feeling beings; for one momentthey laid aside their fruitless activities, their petty misdeeds, desires, anxieties, and vanities, and became conscious of the fact thatthe truth, purity, love, and loveliness of this earth had beendecreased. 

Herr Carovius went home and made a lime-blossom tea; such a tea hadoften helped him when he had not felt well. 

The rain dripped down on the kitchen window sill. Herr Carovius said tohimself: “That is my last funeral. ”

Along in the evening Dorothea came in and after her PhilippinaSchimmelweis. Herr Carovius had paid her many a penny for her servicesas a spy, and now she wanted to hear what he had to say to this last andgreatest of misfortunes. His infatuated interest in everything Eleanoredid had been a source of unmitigated pleasure to her, though she hadbeen exceedingly cautious never to let him see how she felt about itall. On the contrary, she never failed to affect a hypocriticalseriousness in the face of all his questions, orders, instructions, andcaustic observations. She had egged him on; she had flattered him; shehad used every opportunity to fan the flames of his ridiculous hopes. Owing to this the confidence between the two had grown to considerableproportion; the man’s senile madness, born of his love for Eleanore, hadeven aroused Philippina’s lewd lasciviousness. 

She said she would have to be going home; the child was asleep; andthough she had locked the front door, you could never tell what wasgoing to happen over there. “My God, ” she said, “things take place inthat house that are never heard of in any other home. ”

The presence of Dorothea disturbed and annoyed her. She sat down on thekitchen bench, and looked at the young girl with poison in her eyes. Dorothea on the other hand found it painfully difficult to conceal herdisgust at the mere sight of Philippina: her ugliness defied descriptiveadjectives. Dorothea never took her eyes off the creature who sat theretalking in a screeching voice, and who, as if her normalunattractiveness were not enough, had her head bandaged. 

The fact is that Philippina had the toothache; for this reason her facewas wrapped in a loud, checkered cloth, while out from underneath herhat stuck two little tassels. 

She told the story of Eleanore’s death with much satisfaction toherself, and with that delight in the tragic in which she revelled byinstinct. “And now, ” she said, “old Jordan sits over there in his atticrooms and sobs, and Daniel goes moping about, refusing to eat any foodand looking at you with eyes that would fill you with fear even ifeverything else was as it should be. ”

This is the point to which Daniel has brought things, she showed in hergratuitous report, in which there was an attempt to chide him for hiswaywardness: He has put two women under the ground, has a helpless childin the house, is out of a job, is not making a cent. Now what could thiskind of doings lead to? Judge Rübsam’s wife had paid the funeralexpenses. Why, you know, Daniel didn’t even know what they were talkingabout when the bill came in, and old Jordan, he didn’t have twenty marksto his name. She swore she wasn’t going to stand for it much longer, andif Daniel didn’t quit his piano-strumming—he wasn’t getting a cent forit—she was going to know a thing or two. 

Quite contrary to his established custom, Herr Carovius failed to showthe slightest interest in her gabble; at least he made no concessions toher. Nor did he fuss and fume; he gazed into space, and seemed to bethinking about many serious things all at the same time. His silencemade Philippina raging mad. She jumped up and left without sayinggood-bye to him, slamming first the room door and then the hall doorbehind her. 

Dorothea was standing by the piano rummaging around in some note books. Her thoughts were on what she had just been hearing. 

She remembered Daniel Nothafft quite well. She knew that there was anirreconcilable feud between him and her father. She had seen him; peoplehad pointed out the man with the angry looking eyes to her on thestreet. She had felt at the time as if she had already talked with him, though she could not say when or where. She had a vague idea as to whatpeople said about him, and she knew that he was looked upon in the cityas the adversary of evil himself. 

Her breast was filled with an aimless longing. Her blood began to runwarm, the fusty _milieu_ in which she just then chanced to be cleared upand began to bestir itself. She took her violin and began to play aHungarian dance, while an enlivening smile flitted across her face, andher eyes shone with the audacity of an ambitious and temperamental girl. 

Herr Carovius raised his head: “Tempo!” he exclaimed, “Tempo!” and beganto beat time with his hands and stamp the floor with his feet. 

Dorothea smiled, shook her head, and played more and more rapidly. 

“Tempo, ” howled Herr Carovius. “Tempo!”

The barking of a sad dog was wafted into the room from the court below. It was Cæsar: he was on his last legs. 

 X

Daniel’s mother had come; she had brought little Eva along. 

Marian had learned of Eleanore’s death through the newspaper. No one hadthought of her; no one had written to her. She had not read it in thenewspaper herself. The doctor in Eschenbach, who had subscribed to the_Fränkischer Herold_, had read it one morning, and had given her thepaper with considerable hesitation, calling her attention to the deathnotice. 

She was not present at the funeral. But she went out to the cemetery andprayed by Eleanore’s grave. 

She appreciated Daniel’s loss. When she met him he was precisely as shethought he would be. She recognised her son in his great grief and mutedespair: he was nearer to her then than at any other time of his life. She honoured his grief; she did not need to decrease it or divert it. She was silent, just as Daniel himself was silent. All she did was tolay her hand on his forehead occasionally. He murmured: “Mother, ohMother!” She replied: “Now don’t! Don’t think of me!”

She said to herself: “When an Eleanore dies in the full bloom of youth, one must mourn until the soul of its own accord again grows hungry forlife. ”

At first Eva had tried to play with her little step-sister; butPhilippina had chased her from the room. Once she turned against theenraged daughter of Jason Philip Schimmelweis, and said: “I’ll tell myfather on you!”

“Yes? You’ll tell your father? Well, tell him! Who cares?” repliedPhilippina scornfully. “But who is your father? What is he? Where is he?In Pomerania perhaps?” Whereupon she added in a sing-song voice:“Pomerania is burnt to the ground. Fly, cockchafer, fly!”

“My father? He’s in the room there, ” replied Eva surprised andoffended: “I am in his house, and little Agnes is my sister. ”

Philippina tore open her eyes and her mouth: “Your father—is in theroom—” she stammered, “and little Agnes—is your sister?” She got up, seized Eva by the shoulders, and dragged her across the floor into theroom where Daniel and Marian were sitting. With an outburst of laughterthat sounded as though she were not quite in her right mind, and with anexpression of impudence and rage on her face, she panted forth herindignation in the following terms: “This brat says Daniel is her fatherand Agnes is her sister! A scurvy chit—I’ll say!”

Marian, terrified, sprang to her feet, ran over to Eva, and began toscream: “Let her go, take your hands off that child!” Eva was pale, thetears were rolling down her cheeks, her little arms were stretched outas if in urgent need of help from an older hand. Philippina let go ofher and stepped back. “Is it really true?” she whispered, “is it reallytrue?” Marian knelt down and picked up her foster child: “Now you mindyour own business, you rogue, ” she said to Philippina. 

“Daniel?” Philippina turned to Daniel with uplifted arms, and repeated, “Daniel?” She seemed to be challenging him to speak; and to bereproaching him for having deceived her. There was something quiteuncanny about the way she said, “Daniel? Daniel?”

“You go back and mind Agnes!” said Daniel, worried as he had never beenbefore: he felt more than ever under obligations to Philippina. And whatcould he do now without her? She was the sole guardian of his child. Hismother could not remain in the city; she had to make her living, andthat she could do only over in Eschenbach. Her business was locatedthere; and there Eva was growing up in peace and happiness. On the otherhand, he did not feel that it would be possible or advisable to takeAgnes away from Philippina, even if his mother saw fit to adopt her too. Philippina was attached to the child with an ape-like affection. Andmore than this: Who would take care of old Jordan if Philippina weredischarged? Daniel could not make his bed or get his meals. 

Philippina went out. “The damned scoundrel!” she said as soon as she hadleft the room. She clenched her horny fists, and continued Daniel’s lifehistory: “The brute has a bastard, he has. You wait, you little chit, and the first chance I get I’ll scratch your eyes out!”

Taking the child on her lap, Marian sat down by Daniel’s side. “Don’tcry, Eva, don’t cry; we’re going back home now in a minute. ”

Daniel looked at his mother most attentively, and told her howPhilippina had chanced to come into his family. He told her all aboutJason Philip’s attempt to rob him of his inheritance, and how his owndaughter had betrayed him; how his father had taken three thousandtalers to Jason Philip; how Jason Philip had been forced to hand over apart of the money when Jordan was in trouble because of his son; and howhe had waived his claims to the rest of the money. 

Marian’s head sank low on her breast. “Your father was a remarkable man, Daniel, ” she said after a long silence, “but he never did understandpeople; and the person whom he misunderstood most of all was his wife. He was like a man who is blind, but who does not want to let it be knownthat he is blind: he walks around, but where does he go? He stands stilland has not the faintest idea where he is. And by the way, Daniel, itseems to me that you are a little bit like him. Open your eyes, Daniel, I beg you, open your eyes!”

The child in her lap had fallen asleep. Daniel looked into Eva’sface—yes, he opened his eyes—and as he saw this delicate, sweet, charming countenance so close before him, he could no longer controlhimself. He turned to the wall, and cried as if his heart would break:“I am a murderer!”

“No, Daniel, ” said Marian gently, “or if you are, then everybody wholives is a murderer, the dead of the past being the victims. ”

Daniel writhed in agony and gnashed his teeth. 

“Father is in the room there, ” whispered Eva in her dreams. 

 XI

The hardest of all for Marian was to get along with old Jordan; for hewas only a shadow of his former self. He never entered Daniel’s room; ifMarian wanted to see him she went upstairs, and there he sat, quiet, helpless, extinguished, a picture of utter dereliction. 

He never mentioned his sorrows; it made him restless to see that Mariansympathised with him. When she did, he became quite courteous; he eventried to act the part of a man of the world. The effect of this assumedsprightliness, seen from the background of his physical impoverishmentand spiritual decay, was terrifying. 

Marian hoped to hear something from him concerning Daniel’s presentsituation. She knew, in a general way, that he was in profound distress, that he was living in most straightened circumstances, and this worriedher tremendously. But she wanted to know how he stood in the world;whether people felt there was anything to him; and whether music wassomething from which a man could make a decent living. On this lastpoint her distrust was as strong as ever; her fear showed no signs ofweakening. It was Eleanore, and she only, that had given her a measureof confidence: it seemed that Eleanore’s disposition, her very presence, had inspired her with a vague, far-away idea of music. But now Eleanorewas gone, and all her old doubts returned. 

Jordan however became painfully secretive whenever she referred toDaniel. He seemed to be grieved at the mere mention of his name. Hewould merely look at the door, tuck his hands up his coat-sleeves, anddraw his head down between his shoulders. 

Once he said: “Can you explain to me, my good woman, why I am alive? Canyou throw any light on such a preposterous paradox as my presentexistence? My son—a wretch, vanished without a trace, so far as I amconcerned no longer living. My daughters, both of them, in the grave; mydear wife also. I have been a man, a husband, and a father; that is, Ihave _been_ a father! My existence scorns the laws and purposes ofnature. To eat, to drink, to sleep—oh, what repulsive occupations! Andyet, if I do not eat, I get hungry; if I do not drink, I get thirsty; ifI do not sleep, I get sick. How simple, how aimless it all is! For methe birds no longer sing, the bells no longer ring, the musicians haveno more music. ”

Owing to her desire to find consolation of some kind and at any price, she turned to Eberhard and Sylvia; they were now visiting Daniel almostevery day. She liked them; there was so much consideration for otherpeople in their behaviour, so much delicacy and refinement in theirconversation. Sylvia was not in the least offended by Daniel’s sullensilence; she treated him with a respect and deference that made Marianfeel good; for it was proof to her that in the eyes of good and noblepeople Daniel stood in high esteem. The Baron seemed in some mysteriousway to be continually talking about Eleanore, though he never mentionedher name. There was a sadness in his eyes that reminded her of Eleanore;there was something supersensuous in its power. Marian often felt asthough this strange nobleman and her son were brothers and at the sametime enemies, as seen in the light of painful memories. Sylvia alsoseemed to have the same feeling; but she found nothing objectionable inthe relation. 

One day, as Marian accompanied the two to the hall door, she decided topick up her courage; and she did. “Well, how do you think he is going tomake out?” she asked; “he has no work; as a matter of fact he neverspeaks of work. What will that lead to?”

“We have been thinking about that, ” replied Sylvia, “and I believe a wayhas been found to help him. He will hear about it in a short while. Buthe must not suspect that we have anything to do with it. ” She looked ather fiancé; he nodded approvingly. 

Eberhard and Sylvia knew perfectly well from the very beginning thatthere could be no thought of lending Daniel money. Gifts, large orsmall, merely humiliated him; they disgraced him. It was a case whereeagerness to serve on the part of those who have meets withinsurmountable obstacles, whether they wish to be lavish in theirgenerosity or of seeming calculation. There was no use to appeal todelicacy; attenuating provisos would not help; small deceptionspractised in the spirit of love would prove ineffectual. Riches stoodface to face with poverty, and was as helpless as poverty usually iswhen obliged to enter the lists against riches. The case was striking, but not unique. 

Having made up her mind to come to the assistance of the musician, Sylvia turned to her mother. But it was idle to count on the backing ofthe Baroness: Andreas Döderlein had so poisoned her mind against Danielthat the mere mention of his name caused her brow to wrinkle, her lipsto drop. 

Agatha von Erfft got in touch, by letter, with some business people whowere in a position to give her some practical advice. Their assistancewas helpful in that it at least saved her the invaluable time she mighthave lost by appealing to the wrong people. One day she appeared beforeEberhard and Sylvia with her plans all drawn up. 

One of the most reputable music houses of Mayence had been nursing theidea for years of bringing out a pretentious collection of mediævalchurch music. A great deal of material had already been assembled underthe supervision of a writer on musical subjects who had recently died. But there was still much to be collected. To do this, it would benecessary to go on long journeys, and these would entail the expenditureof a good deal of money. Moreover, it was necessary to find a man whowould not be afraid of the work attached to the undertaking, and onwhose judgment one could rely without doubt or cavil. Owing to the factthat the expenses up to the present had far exceeded the initialcalculations, and since it seemed impossible to engage the right sort ofman to place in charge of the work, the publisher had become firstsceptical and then positive; positive that he would invest no more moneyin it. 

Agatha had heard of this some time ago. That the enterprise might berevived she learned from direct inquiry; indirect investigationconfirmed what she had been told. But the publisher was unwilling toassume all the financial responsibility; he was looking for a patron whowould be disposed to invest capital in the plan. If such a person couldbe found, he was willing to place Daniel Nothafft, whose name was nowknown to him, in the responsible position of making the collections andediting them. There would be a good deal of work connected with theundertaking: the treasures of the archives, libraries, and conventswould have to be investigated; corrections would have to be made; noteswould have to be written; and the entire work would have to be seenthrough the press. To do this would take several years. The publisherconsequently insisted that whoever was placed in charge should sign acontract to remain until the work had been finished, he in turn agreeingto pay the editor a salary of three thousand marks a year. 

Eberhard made careful inquiries as to the standing of the firm, andfinding that it enjoyed a rating well above the average, he agreed tofurnish the requisite capital. 

A few days after the conversation between Sylvia and Marian, Danielreceived a letter in the morning mail from Philander and Sons, requesting him to accept the position, a detailed description of whichwas given. In the event of his acceptance, all he had to do was to signthe enclosed contract. 

He read the letter carefully and quietly from beginning to end. His facedid not brighten up. He walked back and forth in the room a few times, and then went to the window and looked out. “It seems to rain every daythis summer, ” he said. 

Marian had returned to the table. She took the letter with the enclosedcontract and read both of them. Her heart beat with joy, but she wasexceedingly careful not to betray her state of mind to Daniel: she wasafraid of his contradictory and crotchety disposition. She hardly daredlook at him, as she waited in anxious suspense to see what he would do. 

Finally he came back to the table, made a wry face, stared at theletter, and then said quite laconically: “Church music? Yes, I will doit. ” With that he took his pen, and scrawled his name to the contract. 

“Thank God, ” whispered Marian. 

That afternoon they left Daniel. Eva hung on her father’s neck, quiteunwilling to leave him. Without the least display of shyness, she kissedhim many times, laughing as she did so. She was overflowing with anatural and whole-hearted love for him. Daniel offered no resistance. Helooked serious. As his eye caught that of the child, he shuddered at theabundant fulness of her life; but he was aware at the same time of apromise, and against this he struggled with all the power there was inhim. 

 XII

It was a sunny day in September. Eberhard, who had spent the entireAugust at Erfft, had returned to the city to attend to some urgentbusiness—and also to hasten the arrangements for his coming wedding. 

As the streets were filled with playing children, he sauntered along onhis way up to the Castle on the hill. He wanted to look up his littlehouse; he had not been in it for months. He had a feeling that he wouldenjoy the quiet up there; he longed to look back over and into scenesfrom the past; he wanted to pass in review the shadowy pictures of hisformer self; pictures he saw before him wherever he went, wherever hewas. One of these was always with him; if he found himself in a certainroom it was there; if he went on a long journey it was with him. He evenfound it on the faded pages of books he had taken to himself ascompanions in his loneliness. 

He hesitated from time to time, stopped, and seemed quite irresolute. All of a sudden he turned around, and started back with hasty steps toÆgydius Place. Just as he was entering the hall of Daniel’s apartment, he met Daniel coming out. He greeted Eberhard and gave him his hand. 

“I was just going to call for you, ” said the Baron. “Won’t you come withme up to my old hermitage?”

Daniel looked out through his glasses at a swallow that was just thencircling around over the square; there was something fabulous in itsflight. “To tell you the truth, Baron, I have very little inclination togossip at present. ” He made the remark with as much consideration forthe laws of human courtesy as lay within his power. 

“There must be no gossiping, ” said Eberhard. “I have a great secret, onethat I can tell you without saying a word. ”

Daniel went along with him. 

The air in the little house was dead, stuffy. But Eberhard did not openthe windows; he wished to have it as quiet as it was when they entered. Daniel took a seat on one of the chairs in the former living room of theBaron. Eberhard thought he had sat down because he was tired; hetherefore took a seat opposite him. The evening sun cast a slanting rayon an old copper engraving based on a scene from pastoral life. A mouseplayed around in the corner. 

“Well, what is your secret?” asked Daniel brusquely, after they had satin perfect silence for some time. 

Eberhard got up, and made a gesture which meant that Daniel was tofollow him. They crossed the narrow hall, climbed up a pair of smallsteps, and then Eberhard opened a door leading into the attic room. 

A stupefying, deadening odour of decayed flowers struck them in theface. Involuntarily Daniel turned to go, but the Baron pointed at thewalls in absolute silence. 

“What is this? What kind of a room is this?” asked Daniel, ratherforcibly. 

The four walls of the room were completely covered with bouquets, garlands, and wreaths of withered flowers. The leaves had fallen frommost of them, and were now lying scattered about the floor. Leaves thathad once been green had turned brown; the grasses and mosses were inshreds, the twigs were dry and brittle. Many of the bouquets had hadribbons attached to them; these, once red or blue, were now faded. Others had been bound with gold tinsel; this had rusted. The slantingrays of the sun fell on others, and lighted them as it had shone on thecopper engraving in the room below. Through the purple rays could beseen a dancing stream of dust. 

It was a flower mausoleum; a vault of bouquets, a death-house ofmemories. Daniel suspected what it all meant. He felt his tonguecleaving to the roof of his mouth; a chill ran over him. And whenEberhard at last began to speak, his eyes filled with hot, gushingtears. 

“The flowers were all picked and bound by her hands, by Eleanore’shands, ” said Eberhard. And then, after a pause: “She prepared thebouquets for a florist, and I bought them; she had no idea who boughtthem. ” That was all he said. 

Daniel looked back into his past life, as if an invisible arm weredrawing him to the pinnacle of some high mountain. He looked, and hissoul was dissolved in anxiety, torture, and repentance. 

What had he left? Two graves: that was all. No, he had, aside from thetwo graves, a broken harp, some withered flowers, and a mask ofterracotta. 

He looked at the dead stems and withered chalices: Eleanore’s fingershad once touched all of these. Her fingers were even then hovering overthe dead buds like figures from the realm of spirits. In the dustyspider webs hung caught at present unused moments, kind words that werenever spoken, consolation that was never expressed, encouragement, consideration, and happiness that were allowed to pass unclaimed andunapplied. Oh, this living and not knowing what the present contains!Oh, this being with a living life, and remaining unaware of it! Thisfailure to avail one’s self of a wonderful day, a breathing, pulsinghour! This dragging, falling, plunging into the night of desire anddelusion, this proud, vain, criminal discontent! O winged creature, winged creature, where art thou! Where can one call out to thee!

There was nothing left but two graves, a broken harp, withered flowers, and a mask! And a fair child here, a foul one there, and a third thathad come into life only to die! And up above all this, up above even thetip of the mountain top, the gigantic, the inexpressible, the sea ofdreams and dreamed melodies, the breath of God, the annunciation ofinfernal darkness, the message of eternity, the wonders of temporalexistence, dance and dancing pipes, peals of thunder, and sweet weavingsof sound—Music!

It was evening. The Baron closed the door. Daniel reached him his handin silence, and then went home. 

 THE PROMETHEAN SYMPHONY

 I

During the following autumn and winter, Daniel lived a quiet, lonelylife. In the spring, Sylvia von Auffenberg wrote him a letter, askinghim to come over to Siegmundshof and spend a few weeks with her andEberhard. He declined, though he promised to come later. 

Old Herold visited him occasionally. He told all about the friction inthe conservatory since Döderlein had been in charge, and contended thatthe world was on the point of turning into a pig-stye. 

Herr Seelenfromm also came in from time to time, while among othervisitors were the architect who had a defect in his speech and MarthaRübsam. Toward the close of the winter Herr Carovius also called. Socially he had become more nearly possible than he had been in formeryears. He still held, however, some very remarkable views about music. 

Whatever any of the visitors said went in one of Daniel’s ears and outof the other. It would often happen that there would be a number ofpeople in his presence, and he would seem to be listening to them; andyet if you watched his face, you could see that he was completelyabsent-minded. If some one turned to him with a question, he would notinfrequently smile like a child, and make no effort whatsoever torespond. No one had ever noticed him smile this way before. 

He returned the money Philippina had loaned him at the time the pianowas pawned. Philippina said: “Oi, oi, Daniel, you seem to be swimming inmoney!” She brought him the receipt, and then took the money to herroom, where she did a lot of figuring to see whether the interest hadbeen accurately calculated. 

Little Agnes was sitting on the floor, sucking a stick of candy. She wasalways happy when Philippina was around; she was afraid of her father. 

Friends had told him that his apartment was too large now; he wasadvised to give it up and take a smaller one. He became enraged; hesaid he would never do this voluntarily, for the house meant a greatdeal more to him than merely so many rented rooms; and he insisted thateverything be left just as it was. 

One day at the beginning of spring he said to Philippina: “I am goingaway for a long time. Watch the child, and don’t let the old manupstairs suffer for anything. I will send you the money to keep up thehouse on the first day of each month, and you will be held responsiblefor everything that takes place. Moreover; I want to pay you a set wage:I will give you five talers a month. There is no reason why you shouldwork for me for nothing. ”

The shaking and shuddering that Daniel had often had occasion to noticein Philippina returned. She shrugged her shoulders, looked as mean asonly she could, and said: “Save your coppers; you’ll need ’em; youmustn’t try to act so rich all of a sudden; it ain’t good for yourhealth. If you have any money to spend, go out and git Agnes a pair ofshoes and a decent dress. ” Daniel made no reply. 

Her greediness in money matters had certainly not diminished since theday she began to pilfer from her parents. She loved money; she adoredthe shining metal; she liked to see it and feel it; she liked to takebank notes in her hands and caress them. It gave her intense pleasure tothink that people looked upon her as being poor when she was actuallycarrying more than a thousand marks around in an old stocking stuffeddown in her corset between her breasts. She loved to hear peoplecomplain of hard times. When a beggar reached out his hand to her on thestreet, she felt that he was doing it as an act of homage to her; shewould cause her bosom to heave so that she might feel the presence ofthe stocking more keenly. She was pleased to think that one so young hadmade herself so secure against future eventualities of any kind. 

She felt, despite all this, like scratching Daniel’s eyes out when hespoke of paying her regular monthly wages. This she regarded as baseingratitude. If it were at all possible for grief to find ineradicablelodgment in her envious, unenlightened, malicious soul, Daniel’s offerof so much per month made it so. 

She ran into the kitchen, and hurled knives and forks in the sink. Shewent to old Jordan’s room, knocked on his door, and made him open it;then she told him with all the anger at her resourceful command thatDaniel was going away. “There is hardly a cent in the house, and he’sgoing on a jamboree!” she exclaimed. “There is some damned wench backof this. Go tell him, Herr Inspector, go tell him what a dirty thing itis he’s doing—going away and leaving his child and his old father inthe lurch. Do it, Herr Inspector, and you’ll get potato dumplings, ginger-bread, and sauce for dinner next Sunday. ”

Jordan looked at Philippina timidly. His mouth watered for the food shehad promised him; for she was holding him down to a near-starvationdiet. He was often so hungry that he would sneak into the delicatessenshop, and buy himself ten pfennigs’ worth of real food. 

“I will make inquiry as to the reason for his going, ” murmured Jordan, “but I hardly believe that I will be able to move him one way or theother. ”

“Well, you go out and take a little walk; git a bit of fresh air, ”commanded Philippina; “I’ve got to straighten up your room. Your windowsneed washing; you can’t see through ’em for dirt. ”

Late that evening Daniel came up to say good-bye to Jordan. 

“Where are you going?” asked the old man. 

“I want to see a little of the German Empire, ” replied Daniel. “I havesome business to attend to up in the North, in the cities and also outin the country. ”

“Good luck to you, ” said Jordan, much oppressed, “good luck to you, mydear son. How long are you going to be gone?”

“Oh, I don’t know yet; possibly for years. ”

“For years?” asked Jordan. He looked at the floor; he tried to keep hiseyes on the floor under his feet: “Then I suppose we might as well saygood-bye forever. ”

Daniel shook his head. “It makes no difference when I return, I willfind you here, ” he said with a note of strange assurance in his voice. “When fate has treated a man too harshly, there seems to come a timewhen it no longer bothers him; it evades him, in fact. It seems to methat this is the case with you: you are quite fateless. ”

Jordan made no reply. He opened his eyes as if in fear, and sighed. 

The next morning Daniel left home. He wore a brown hunting jacketbuttoned close up to his neck with hartshorn buttons. Over this hung atop-coat and a cape. His broad-brimmed hat overshadowed his face, whichlooked young, although so serious and distracted that voices, glances, and sounds of any kind seemed to rebound from it like swift-runningwater from a smooth stone wall. 

Philippina carried his luggage to the station. Her dress was literallysmothered in garish, gaudy ribbons. The women in the market-placelaughed on seeing her until they got a colic. 

When Daniel took leave from her and boarded the train, she did not openher mouth; she wrinkled her forehead, rubbed the ends of her fingersagainst each other, stood perfectly quiet, and looked at the ground. Long after the train had left the station, she was still to be seenstanding there in that unique position. A station official went up toher, and, with poorly concealed ridicule at the rare phenomenon, askedher what she was waiting for. 

She turned her back on him, and started off. She came back by way of St. James’s Place, and talked for a quarter of an hour with her friend FrauHadebusch. It was Sunday. Benjamin Dorn was just coming home fromchurch. Seeing Philippina, he made a profound bow. 

Frau Hadebusch slapped Philippina on the hip, and smiled at herknowingly. 

Herr Francke was no longer living at Frau Hadebusch’s: he was in jail. He had promised to marry the cook of a certain distinguished family; butinstead of hastening the coming of the happy day, he had gambled awaythe savings of his bride-to-be. 

 II

Daniel had a letter of introduction to the Prior of the Monastery atLöhriedt. He was looking for a manuscript that was supposed to have beenwritten by a contemporary of Orlando di Lasso, if not by Di Lassohimself. 

He remained for over two months, working at his collection. He found hisassociation with the monks quite agreeable, and they liked him. One ofthem, who held him in especially high regard because of his ability asan organist, gave him to understand that it was a matter of unaffectedregret to him that he could not greet him, Protestant that he was, withthe confidence that a man of his singular distinction deserved. 

“So! I wish I were a Jew, ” said Daniel to him, “then you would have areally unqualified opportunity to see what God can do without yourassistance. ”

The monk in question was called Father Leonhard; he was a short, wiryfellow with black eyes and a dark complexion. He seemed to have had agreat deal of experience with the world, and to have no little cause forcontrition and repentance: there was nothing conventional about hisreligious practices; they were, on the contrary, of almost redundantfervour and renunciation. Daniel was impressed by the man’s faith, though his soul shuddered when in his presence: he regarded him as anenemy, a Philistine, and preferred not to look at him at all. 

He lived close by the monastery in the house of a railroad official. Father Leonhard came in to visit him once. Daniel was sitting by thewindow busily engaged in making some corrections. The Father lookedabout the room: his eyes fell on a round, wooden box lying on a chair;it looked like a cake box. 

“The people at home have sent you something to nibble at, ” remarked theFather, as Daniel got up. 

Daniel riveted his eyes on the monk, took the box, hesitated for awhile, and then opened it. In it, carefully packed in sawdust, was themask of Zingarella. It was a part of Daniel’s meagre luggage; whereverhe went it followed him. 

Father Leonhard sprang back terrified. “What does that mean?” he asked. 

“It means sin and purification, ” said Daniel, holding the mask up in thelight of the setting sun. “It means grief and redemption, despair andmercy, love and death, chaos and form. ”

From that day on, Father Leonhard never said another word to DanielNothafft. And whenever the strange musician chanced to play the organ, the monk arose as quickly as possible, left the church, and sought outsome place where the tones could not reach him. 

 III

That summer Daniel came to Aix-la-Chapelle and the region of Liége, Louvain, and Malines. From there he wandered on foot to Ghent andBruges. 

In places where he had to make investigations, he was obliged to dependupon the letters he received from his publisher to make himselfunderstood. Condemned to silence, he lived very much alone; he was astranger in a strange land. 

He had no interest in sights. It was rare that he looked at oldpaintings. The beautiful never caused him to stop unless it actuallyblocked his way. He went about as if in between two walls. He followedhis nose, turned around only with the greatest reluctance, and neverfelt tired until he was ready to lie down to sleep. 

And even when he was tired the feeling that he was being robbed ofsomething gnawed at his soul; he was restless even when he slept. Hastecoloured his eye, fashioned his step, and moulded his deeds. He ate hismeals in haste, wrote his letters in haste, and talked in haste. 

It pained him to feel that men were looking at him. Although heinvariably sought out the most deserted corner of whatever inn hechanced to stop at, and thereby avoided becoming, so far as he might, the target of the curious, he was nevertheless gaped at, watched, andstudied wherever he went. For everything about him was conspicuous: theenergy of his gestures, the agility of his mimicry, the way he showedhis teeth, and the nervous, hacking step with which he moved throughgroups of gossiping people. 

He had anticipated with rare pleasure the sight of the sea. He wasprepared to behold the monstrous, titanic, seething, and surgingelement, the tempest of the Apocalypse. He was disappointed by thepeaceful rise and fall of the tide, the harmless rolling back and forthof the waves. He concluded that it were better for one not to becomeacquainted with things that had inspired one’s fancy with reverentialawe. 

He could quarrel with nature just as he could quarrel with men. Thephases of nature which he regarded as her imperfections excited hisanger. He was fond, however, of a certain spot in the forest; or heliked a tree in the plain, or sunset along the canal. 

He liked best of all the narrow streets of the cities, when the gentlemurmurings of song wafted forth from the open windows, or when the lightfrom the lamp shone forth from the windows after they had been closed. He loved to pass by courts and cellars, gates and fences; when the faceof an old man, or that of a young girl, came suddenly to view, whenworkmen went home from the factories, or soldiers from the barracks, orseamen from the harbours, he saw a story in each of them; he felt as onefeels on reading an exciting book. 

One day when he was in Cleve he walked the streets at night all alone. He noticed a man and a woman and five children, all poorly dressed, standing near a church. Lying before them on the pavement were severalbundles containing their earthly possessions. A man came up after awhile and addressed them in a stern, domineering tone; they picked uptheir bundles and followed him: it was a mournful procession. They wereemigrants; the man had told them about their ship. 

Daniel felt as if a cord in his soul had been made taut and werevibrating without making a sound. The steps of the eight people, asthey died away in the distance, developed gradually into a rhythmical, musical movement. What had been confused became ordered; what had beendark shone forth in light. Weighed down with heaviness of soul, he wenton, his eyes fixed on the ground as if he were looking for something. Heno longer saw, nor could he hear. Nor did he know what time it was. 

After a year and a half of congealed torpidity, the March wind once morebegan to blow in his soul. 

But it was like a disease; he was being consumed with impatience. Hisimmediate goal was the cloister of Œsede at Osnabrück, and from there hewanted to go to Berlin. He could not bear to sit in the railwaycarriages: in Wesel he placed his trunk on a freight train, and wentfrom there on foot, his top-coat hung over his arm, his knapsackstrapped across his back. Despite the inclement weather he walked fromeight to ten hours every day. It was towards the end of October, themornings and evenings were chilly, the roads were muddy, the inns werewretched. This did not deter him from going on: he walked and walked, sought and sought, often until late at night, passionately absorbed inhimself. 

When he came to the coal and iron district, he raised his head more andmore frequently. The houses were black, the earth and the air wereblack, blackened men met him on the road. Copper wires hummed in the fogand mist, hammers clinked, wheels hummed, chimneys smoked, whistlesblew—it was like a dream vision, like the landscape of an unknown andaccursed star. 

One evening he left a little inn which he had entered to get somethingto eat and drink. It was eight miles to Dortmund, where he planned tostay over night. He had left the main road, when all of a sudden thefire from the blast-furnaces leaped up, giving the mist the appearanceof a blood-red sea. Miners were coming in to the village; in the lightof the furnaces their tired, blackened faces looked like so manydemoniac caricatures. Far or near, it was impossible to say, a horsecould be seen drawing a car over shining rails. On it stood a manflourishing his whip. Beast, man, and car all seemed to be of colossalsize; the “gee” and “haw” of the driver sounded like the mad cries of aspectre; the iron sounds from the forges resembled the bellowing oftormented creatures. 

Daniel had found what he had been looking for: he had found the mournfulmelody that had driven him away the day Eleanore died. He had, to besure, put it on the paper then and there, but it had remained withoutconsequence: it had been buried in the grave with Eleanore. 

Now it had arisen, and its soul—its consequence—had arisen with it; itwas expanded into a wonderful arch, arranged and limbed like a body, andfilled as the world is full. 

Music had been born to him again from the machine, from the world ofmachinery. 

 IV

Jason Philip Schimmelweis had been obliged to give up his house by themuseum bridge. He could not pay the rent; his business was ruined. By amere coincident it came about that the house on the Corn Market had acheap apartment that was vacant, and he took it. It was the same housein which he lived when he made so much money twenty years ago. 

Was Jason Philip no longer in touch with modern business methods? Had hebecome too old and infirm to make the public hungry for literarynourishment? Were his advertisements without allurement, his baitswithout scent? No one felt inclined to buy expensive lexicons andeditions de luxe on the instalment plan. The rich old fellows with anose for dubious reading matter never came around any more. Jason Philiphad become a dilatory debtor; the publishers no longer gave him books onapproval; he was placed on the black list. 

He took to abusing modern writers, contending that it was no wonder thatthe writing of books was left exclusively to good-for-nothing subjectsof the Empire, for the whole nation was suffering from cerebral atrophy. 

But his reasoning was of no avail; his business collapse was imminent;in a jiffy it was a hard reality. A man by the name of Rindskopf boughthis stock and furnishings at brokers’ prices, and the firm of JasonPhilip Schimmelweis had ceased to exist. 

In his distress Jason Philip appealed to the Liberal party. He boastedof his friendship with the former leader of the party, Baron vonAuffenberg, but this only made matters worse: one renegade was dependingupon the support of another. This was natural: birds of a feather flocktogether. 

Then he went to the Masons, and began to feel around for their help; hetried to be made a member of one of the better lodges. He was given tounderstand that there was some doubt as to the loyalty of hisconvictions, with the result that the Masons would have none of him. 

For some time he found actual difficulty in earning his daily bread. Hehad resigned his position with the Prudentia Insurance Company long ago. Ever since a certain interpellation in the Reichstag and a long lawsuitin which the Prudentia became involved, and which was decided in favourof its opponents, the standing of the company had suffered irreparably. 

Jason Philip had no other choice: he had to go back to bookbinding; hehad to return to pasting, cutting, and folding. He returned in theevening of his life, downcast, impoverished, and embittered, to theposition from which he had started as an ambitious, resourceful, stout-hearted, and self-assured man years ago. His eloquence had provedof no avail, his cunning had not helped him, nor his change of politicalconviction, nor his familiarity with the favourable turns of the market, nor his speculations. He had never believed that the order of things inthe world about him was just and righteous, neither as a Socialist noras a Liberal. And now he was convinced that it was impossible to write amotto on the basis of business principles that would be fit material fora copy book in a kindergarten. 

Willibald was still the same efficient clerk. Markus had got a job in afurniture store, where he spent his leisure hours studying Volapük, convinced as he was that all the nations of the earth would soon beusing this great fraternal tongue. 

Theresa moved into the house on the Corn Market with as much peace andplacidity as if she had been anticipating such a change for years. Therewas a bay window in the house, and by this she sat when her work in thekitchen was done, knitting socks for her sons. At times she wouldscratch her grey head with her knitting needle, at times she would reachover and take a sip of cold, unsugared coffee, a small pot of which shealways kept by her side. Hers was the most depressed face then known tothe human family; hers were the horniest, wrinkliest peasant hands thatformed part of any citizen of the City of Nuremberg. 

She thought without ceasing of all that nice money that had passedthrough her hands during the two decades she had stood behind thecounter of the establishment in the Plobenhof Street. 

She tried to imagine where all the money had gone, who was using it now, and who was being tormented by it. For she was rid of it, and in thebottom of her heart she was glad that she no longer had it. 

One day Jason Philip came rushing from his workshop into her room. Hehad a newspaper in his hand; his face was radiant with joy. “At last, mydear, at last! I have been avenged. Jason Philip Schimmelweis was afterall a good prophet. Well, what do you say?” he continued, as Theresalooked at him without any noticeable display of curiosity, “what do yousay? I’ll bet you can’t guess. No, you will never be able to guesswhat’s happened; it’s too much for a woman’s brain. ” He mounted a chair, held the paper in his hand as if it were the flag of his country, wavedit, and shouted: “Bismarck is done for! He’s got to go. The Kaiser hateshim! Now let come what may, I have not lived in vain. ”

Jason Philip had the feeling that it was due to his efforts that thereins of government had been snatched from the hands of the IronChancellor. His satisfaction found expression in blatancy and in actionsthat were thoroughly at odds with a man of his age. He held up hisacquaintances on the street, and demanded that they offer him theircongratulations. He went to his favourite café, and ordered a barrel ofbeer for the rejuvenation of his friends. He delivered an oration, spiced with all the forms of sarcasm known to the art of cheap politicsand embellished with innumerable popular phrases, explaining why heregarded this as the happiest day of his eventful life. 

He said: “If fate were to do me the favour of allowing me to stand faceto face with this menace to public institutions, this unscrupuloustyrant, I would not, believe me, mince matters in the slightest: I wouldtell him things no mortal man has thus far dared say to him. ”

Several months passed by. Bismarck, then staying at his country place inSachsenwald and quarrelling with his lot, decided to visit Munich. Therewas tremendous excitement in Nuremberg when it was learned that he wouldpass through the city at such and such an hour. 

Everybody wanted to see him, young and old, aristocrats and humble folk. Early in the morning the whole city seemed to be on its feet, making itsway in dense crowds out through the King’s Gate. 

This was a drama in which Jason Philip had to play his part: without himit would be incomplete. “To look into the eyes of a tiger whose clawshave been chopped off and whose teeth have been knocked out is apleasure and a satisfaction that my mother’s son dare not forego, ” saidhe. 

His elbows stood him in good stead. When the train pulled into thestation, our rebel was standing in the front row, having pushed his waythrough the seemingly impenetrable mass of humanity. 

The train stopped for a few minutes. The Iron Chancellor left hiscarriage amid deafening hurrahs from the assembled multitude. He shookhands with the Mayor and a few high-ranking army officers. 

Jason Philip never budged. It never occurred to him to shout his ownhurrah. An acidulous smile played around his mouth, his white beardquivered when he dropped the corners of his lips in satanic glee. Itnever occurred to him to take off his hat, despite the threateningprotests all too audible round about him. “I am consistent, my dearBismarck, I am incorruptible, ” he thought to himself. 

And yet—the satisfaction which we have described as satanic seemedsomehow or other to be ill founded: it was in such marked contrast tothe general enthusiasm. What had possessed this imbecile pack? Why wasit raging? It saw the enemy, the hangman, right there before it, immuneto the law, dressed in civilian clothes, and yet it was acting as thoughthe Messiah had come to town on an extra train!

Jason Philip had the feeling that Bismarck was looking straight at him. He fancied that the fearfully tall man with the unusually small head andthe enormously blue eyes had taken offence at his silence. He fearedsome one had told him all about his political beliefs. 

The scornful smile died away. Jason Philip detected a lukewarm impotencycreeping over his body. The sweat of solicitude trickled down across hisforehead. Involuntarily he kneed his way closer to the edge of theplatform, threw out his chest, jerked his hat from his head, opened hismouth, and cried: “Hurrah!”

He cried hurrah. The Prince turned his face from him, and looked inanother direction. 

But Jason Philip had cried hurrah. 

He sneaked home shaking with shame. He drew his slippers, “For the tiredMan—Consolation, ” on his feet. They had become quite worn in the courseof his tempestuous life. He lay down on the sofa with his face to thewall, his back to the window and against the world. 

 V

Daniel had been in Berlin for weeks. He had been living a lonely life onthe east side of the gigantic city. One of the managers of Philander andSons came to see him. He returned the call, and in the course of twohours he was surrounded, contrary to his own will, by a veritable swarmof composers, directors, virtuosos, and musical critics. 

Some had heard of him; to them he appeared to be a remarkable man. Theythrew out their nets to catch him, but he slipped through the meshes. Unprepared, however, as he was for their schemes, he could not helpbeing caught in time. He had to give an account of himself, to unveilhimself. He found himself under obligations, interested, and so forth, but in the end they could not prevail against him: he simply passedthrough them. 

They laughed at his dialect and his rudeness. What drew them to him washis self-respect; what annoyed them was his secretiveness; what theyfound odd about him was the fact that, try as they might to associatewith him, he would disappear entirely from them for months at a time. 

A divorced young woman, a Jewess by the name of Regina Sussmann, fell inlove with him. She recognised in Daniel an elemental nature. The more heavoided her the more persistent she became. At times it made him feelgood to come once again into intimate association with a woman, to hearher bright voice, her step more delicate, her breathing more ardent thanthat of men. But he could not trust Regina Sussmann; she seemed to knowtoo much. There was nothing of the plant-like about her, and withoutthat characteristic any woman appealed to him as being unformed anduncultured. 

One winter day she came to see him in his barren hall room in GreifswaldStreet. She sat down at the piano and began to improvise. At first itwas all like a haze to him. Suddenly he was struck by her playing. Whathe heard made a half disagreeable, half painful impression on him. Heseemed to be familiar with the piece. She was playing motifs from hisquartette, his “Eleanore Quartette” as he had called it. It came outthat Regina Sussmann had been present at the concert given in Leipzigthree years ago when the quartette was performed. 

After a painful pause Regina began to ask some questions that cut him tothe very heart. She wanted to know what relation, if any, thecomposition bore to actual life. She was trying to lift the veil fromhis unknown fate. He thrust her from him. Then he felt sorry for her: hebegan to speak, with some hesitation, of his symphony. There wassomething bewitching, enchanting in the woman’s passionate silence andsympathy. He lost himself, forgot himself, disclosed his heart. He builtup the work in words before her, pictured the seven movements like sevenstairs in the tower of a temple, a glorious promenade in the upperspheres, a tragic storm with tragically cheerful pauses of memory andmeditation, all accompanied by laughing genii that adorned and crownedthe pillars of the structure of his dreams. 

He went to the piano, began playing the melancholy leading motif and thetwo subsidiary themes, counterpointed them, ran into lofty crescendos, introduced variations, modulated and sang at the same time. The pupilsof his eyes became distended until they shone behind his glasses likeseas of green fire. Regina Sussmann fell on her knees by the piano. Itmay be that she was so affected by his playing that she could not actotherwise; and it may be that she wished thereby to give him visibleproof of her respect and adoration. All of a sudden the woman becamerepulsive to him. The unleashed longing of her eyes filled him withdisgust. Her kneeling position appealed to him as a gesture of mockeryand ridicule: a memory had been desecrated. He sprang to his feet andrushed out of the room, leaving her behind and quite alone. He neversaid a word; he merely bit his lips in anger and left. When he came backhome late that night, he was afraid he might meet her again; but she wasnot there. Only a letter lay on the table by the lamp. 

She wrote that she had understood him; that she understood he had beenliving in the past as if in an impregnable fortress, surrounded byshadows that were not to be dispelled or disturbed by the presumption ofany living human being. She remarked that she had neither intention nordesire to encroach upon his peace of mind, that she was merely concernedfor his future, and was wondering how he would fight down his hunger ofbody and soul. 

“Shameless wretch, ” cried Daniel, “a spy and a woman!”

She remarked, with almost perverse humility, that she had recognised hisgreatness, that he was the genius she had been waiting for, and that herone desire was to serve him. That is, she wished to serve him at adistance, seeing that he could not endure her presence. She implored himto grant her this poor privilege, not merely for his own sake, but forthe sake of humanity as well. 

Daniel threw the letter in the stove. In the night he woke up with aburning desire for delicate contact with an untouched woman. He dreamedof a smile on the face of a seventeen-year-old girl innocently playingaround him—and shuddered at himself and the thought of himself. 

Shortly after this he went to Dresden, where he had some work to do inthe Royal library. 

People came to him anxious to place themselves at his service. Manysigns told him that Regina Sussmann was making fervent propaganda forhim. 

One day he received a letter from a musical society in Magdeburg, askinghim to give a concert there. He hesitated for a long while, and thenagreed to accede to their wish. Outwardly it could not be called anunusually successful evening, but his auditors felt his power. Peoplewith the thinnest smattering of music forgot themselves and becameinfatuated with his arms and his eyes. An uncertain, undeterminedhappiness which he brought to the hearts of real musicians carried himfurther along on his career. For two successive winters he directedconcerts in the provincial towns of North Germany. He was the first toaccustom the people to strictly classical programmes. It is rare thatthe first in any enterprise of this kind reaps the gratitude of thosewho pay to hear him. Had he not desisted with such Puritanical severityfrom feeding the people on popular songs, opera selections, andfavourite melodies, his activity would have been much better rewarded. As it was, his name was mentioned with respect, but he passed throughthe streets unacclaimed. 

Regina Sussmann was always on hand when he gave a concert. He knew it, even if he did not see her. At times he caught sight of her sitting inthe front row. She never approached him. Articles redolent withadulation appeared in the papers about him: it was manifest that she hadbeen influential in having them written. Once he met her on the steps ofa hotel. She stopped and cast her eyes to the ground; she was pale. Hepassed by her. Again he was filled with longing to come into intimatecontact with an untouched woman. Was his heart already hungry, as shehad predicted? He bit his lips, and worked throughout the whole night. He felt that he was being fearfully endangered by the prosy insipidityof the age and the world he was living in. But could he not escape theterrors of such without having recourse to a woman? The shadows receded, enveloped in sorrow, Gertrude and Eleanore, wrapped in the embrace ofsisters. 

“Don’t!” they cried. He saw at once that his provincial concerts wereleading him to false goals, enflaming false ambitions, robbing him ofhis strength. He no longer found it possible to endure the sight ofbrilliantly lighted halls, and the over-dressed people who came emptyand left untransformed. It all seemed to him like a lie. He desisted; hethrew it all overboard just as the temptation was strongest, just as theBerlin Philharmonic invited him to give a concert of his own works inits hall. 

He had suddenly disappeared. In less than three months his name hadbecome a saga. 

 VI

He spent the summer, autumn, and winter of 1893 wandering around. Now hewas in a remote Thuringian village, now in some town in the Rhön region, now in the mountains of Saxony, now in a fishing village on the Baltic. Throughout the day he worked on his manuscripts, in the evening hecomposed. No one except the members of the firm of Philander and Sonsknew where he was. He did not dare hide himself from the people who weresending him the cheque at the end of the month. 

He gradually became so unaccustomed to talking that it was only withdifficulty that he could ask a hotel-keeper about the price of his room. This unrelieved silence chiselled his lips into ghastly sharpness. 

He never heard from his mother or his children. He seemed to haveforgotten that there were human beings living who thought of him withaffection and anxiety. 

The only messages he received from the world were letters that wereforwarded to him at intervals of from four to five weeks by the musicalfirm in Mayence. These letters were written by Regina Sussmann, thoughthey were not signed in her name: the signature at the close of each onewas “The Swallow. ” She addressed Daniel by the familiar _Du_, and not bythe more conventional and polite _Sie_. 

She told him of her life, wrote of the books she had read, the peopleshe had met, and gave him her views on music. Her communications becamein time indispensable to him; he was touched by her fidelity; he waspleased that she did not use her own name. She had a remarkable finesseand power of expression, and however ungenuine and artificial she mayhave appealed to him in personal association, everything she wroteseemed to him to be natural and convincing. She never expressed a wishthat he do something impossible and never uttered a complaint. On theother hand, there was a passion of the intelligence about her that wasquite new to him; she was unlike the women he had known. And there was afervour and certainty in her appreciation of his being before which hebowed as at the sound of a higher voice. 

Though he never answered her letters, he looked forward to receivingthem, and became impatient if one were overdue. He often thought of theswallow when he would step to the window on a dark night. He thought ofher as an all-seeing spirit that hovered in the air. The swallow—thatwas fraught with meaning—the restless, delicate, swift-flying swallow. And in his mind’s eye he saw the swallow that hovered over Ægydius Placewhen Eberhard came to take him up to the room with the withered flowers. 

He wrote to Philippina: “Decorate my graves. Buy two wreaths, and laythem on the graves. ”

“You must mount to the clouds, Daniel, otherwise you are lost, ” was onepassage in one of the letters from the Swallow. Another, much longer, ran: “As soon as you feel one loneliness creeping over you, you musthasten into another, an unknown one. If your path seems blocked, youmust storm the hedges before you. If an arm surrounds you, you must tearyourself loose, even though it cost blood and tears. You must leave menbehind and move above them; you dare not become a citizen; you dare notallow yourself to be taken up with things that are dear to you; you musthave no companion, neither man nor maid. Time must hover over you coldand quiet. Let your heart be encased in bronze, for music is a flamethat breaks through and consumes all there is in the man who created it, except the stuff the gods have forged about their chosen son. ”

Why should the picture of this red-haired Jewess, from whom Daniel hadfled in terror, not have vanished? There was a Muse such as poets dreamof! “Jewess, wonderful Jewess, ” thought Daniel, and thisword—Jewess—took on for him a meaning, a power, and a prophetic flightall its own. 

“The work, Daniel Nothafft, the work, ” wrote this second Rahel inanother letter, “the rape of Prometheus, when are you going to lay it atthe feet of impoverished humanity? The age is like wine that tastes ofthe earth; your work must be the filter. The age is like an epilepticbody convulsed with agonies; your work must be the healing hand thatone lays on the diseased brow. When will you finally give, Oparsimonious mortal? when ripen, tree? when flood the valley, stream?”

But the tree was in no hurry to cast off the ripened fruit; the streamfound that the way to the sea was long and tortuous; it had to breakthrough mountains and wash away the rocks. Oh, those nights of tormentwhen an existing form crashed and fell to the earth in pieces! Oh, thosehundreds of laborious nights in which there was no sleep, nothing butthe excited raging of many voices! Those grey mornings on which the sunshone on tattered leaves and a distorted face, a face full of sufferingthat was always old and yet new! And those moonlight nights, when someone moved along singing, not as one sings with joy, but as the hereticswho sat on the martyr benches of the Inquisition! Then there were therainy nights, the stormy nights, the nights when it snowed, and when hechased after the phantom of a melody that was already half his own, andhalf an incorporeal thing wandering around in boundless space under thestars. 

Each landscape became a pale vision: bush and grass and flower, likespun yarn seen in a fever, the people who passed by, and the cloudsfibrillated above the forests were of one and the same constituency. Nothing was tangible; the palate lost its sense of taste, the finger itssense of touch. Bad weather was welcome; it subdued the noises, made menquieter. Cursed be the mill that clappers, the carpenter who drives thenails, the teamster who calls to his jaded pair, the laughter ofchildren, the croaking of frogs, the twittering of birds! An insensateman looks down upon the scene, one who is deaf and dumb, one who wouldsnatch all clothing and decorations from the world, to the end thatneither colour nor splendour of any description may divert his eye, onewho mounts to heaven at night to steal the eternal fire, and who burrowsin the graves of the dead by day—an outcast. 

In the beginning of spring, he started on the third movement, an andantewith variations. It expressed the gruesome peace that hovered overEleanore’s slumbering face one night before her death. The springswithin him were all suddenly dried up; he could not tell why his handwas paralysed, his fancy immobile. 

One evening he returned from a long journey to Arnstein, a little placein Lower Franconia, where he had then pitched his tent. He was living inthe house of a seamstress, a poor widow, and as he came into the room henoticed her ten-year-old daughter standing by the open box in which hehad kept the mask of Zingarella. Out of a perfectly harmless curiositythe child had removed the lid, and was standing bewitched at theunexpected sight. 

When Daniel’s eyes fell on her, she was frightened; her body shook withfear; she tried to run away. “No, no, stay!” cried Daniel. He felt theemaciated body, the timidly quivering figure, and a distant memory sunkits claws deep into his breast. The mouth of the mask seemed to speak;the cheeks and forehead shone with a brilliant whiteness. And as heturned his eyes away there was a little elf dancing over him; and thislittle elf aroused a guilty unrest in his heart. 

 VII

Philippina would not permit little Agnes to play with other children. 

One day the child went out on to the square, and stood and watched someother children playing a game known as “Tailor, lend me the scissors. ”She was much pleased at the sight of them, as they ran from tree to treeand laughed. She would have been only too happy to join them, but no onethought of asking the pale, shy little creature to take part. Philippina, seeing her, rushed out like a fury, and cried in her verymeanest voice: “You come back here in the house, or I’ll maul you untilyour teeth will rattle in your mouth for three days to come!”

Philippina also disliked to have Jordan pay any attention to Agnes. Ifhe did not notice that he was making her angry by talking with thechild, she would begin to sing, first gently, and then more and moreloudly. If this did not drive the old man away, she would unload someterrific abuse on him, and keep at it until he would get up, sigh, andleave. He did not dare antagonise her, for if he did, she would penalisehim by giving him poor food and reduced portions. And he sufferedgreatly from hunger. He was making only a few pennies a week, and had tosave every bit of it, if possible, so as to defray the expenses he wasincurring while working on his invention. 

He had unbounded faith in his invention; his credulity became strongerand stronger as the months rolled by. He could not be discouraged byseeming failure. He was convinced, on the contrary, that each failuremerely brought him so much nearer the desired goal. 

He said to Philippina: “Why is it that you object to my playing once ina while with my little grand-daughter? It gives me so much pleasure; itdiverts me; it takes my mind off of my troubles. ”

“Crazy nonsense, ” replied Philippina. “Agnes has had trouble enough withher father. Her grandfather? whew! That beats me!”

Another time the old man said: “Suppose we make an agreement: let mehave the child a half-hour each day, and in return for that I’ll runyour errands down town. ”

Philippina: “I’ll run my own errands. Agnes belongs to me. That settlesit. ”

And yet Philippina was in an especially good humour about this time. Benjamin Dorn, like Herr Zittel, had left the Prudentia, and obtained aposition with the Excelsior. He was taking unusual interest inPhilippina. In a dark hour, Philippina had told her friend, FrauHadebusch, that she had saved a good deal of money, and, equipped withthis bit of earthly wisdom, Frau Hadebusch had gone to the Methodist, told him all about it, and put very serious matrimonial ideas in hishead. 

Benjamin Dorn took infinite pains to gain Philippina’s good graces. Hewas, to be sure, somewhat dismayed at having her blasphemous system oftheology dinned into his ears. He shook his head wearily when she calledhim a sky-pilot and declared right out that all this sanctimonious stuffwas damned rot, and that the main thing was to have a fat wallet. Inthis philosophy Frau Hadebusch was with her to the last exclamationpoint. She had told Benjamin Dorn that a doughtier, bonnier, morecapable person than Fräulein Schimmelweis was not to be found on thisearth, and that the two were as much made for each other as oil andvinegar for a salad. She said: “You simply ought to see the dresses thegirl has and how she can fix herself up when she wants to go out. Moreover, she comes of a good family. In short, any man who could gether would be a subject for real congratulations. ”

To Philippina Frau Hadebusch said: “Dorn—he can write as no one else onthis earth. Oh, you ought to see him swing a pen! He limps a little, butwhat of it? Just think how many people go around on two sound legs, buthave their heads all full of rubbish! But Dorn! He’s whole cloth and ayard wide! He’s as soft as prune juice. Why, when a dog barks at him, hegives the beast a lump of sugar. That’s the kind of a man he is. ”

In October Benjamin Dorn and Philippina went to the church fair, andnaturally took Agnes along. Benjamin Dorn knew what was expected of him. He had Philippina take two rides on the merry-go-round, paid her wayinto the cabinet of wax figures, and took a chance on the lottery. Itwas a blank. He then explained to Philippina that it was immoral to haveanything to do with lotteries, and bought her a bag of ginger snaps; andthat was solid pleasure. 

Philippina acted very nicely. She laughed when nothing amusing had takenplace, rolled her eyes, spoke with puckered lips, shook her hips whenshe walked, and never lost a chance to show her learning. As they werecoming home on the train, she said she felt she would like to ride in achaise, but there would have to be two horses and a coachman with a tilehat. Benjamin Dorn replied that that was not an impossible wish, suggesting at the same time in his best brand of juvenile roguishnessthat there was a certain solemn ceremony that he would not think ofcelebrating without having a vehicle such as she had described. Philippina giggled, and said: “Oi, oi, you’re all right. ” WhereuponBenjamin Dorn, grinning with embarrassment, looked down. 

Then they took leave of each other, for Agnes had fallen asleep inPhilippina’s arms. 

How Philippina actually felt about the attention he was showing herwould be extremely difficult to tell, though she acted as if she felthonoured and flattered. Benjamin Dorn was by no means certain ofhimself. Frau Hadebusch did all she could to bring Philippina around, but every time she made a fresh onslaught Philippina put her off. 

But Philippina had never sung as she had been singing recently, nor hadshe ever been so light and nimble of foot. Every day she put on herSunday dress and trimmed it with her choicest ribbons. She washed herhands with almond soap, and combed her hair before the mirror. Bangs hadgone out of fashion, so she built her hair up into a tower and lookedlike a Chinese. 

She visited Herr Carovius occasionally, and always found him alone, forDorothea Döderlein had been sent by her father to Munich to perfectherself in her art. In broken words, with blinking eyes, from a grinningmouth and out of a dumb soul, she told Herr Carovius all about heraffair with Benjamin Dorn, evidently believing that he was all fire andflame to know how she was getting along and what she had _in petto_. Herr Carovius had long since grown sick and tired of her, though he didnot show her the door. He had reached the point where he heaved a sighof relief when he heard a human voice, where he began to dread thestillness that ruled supreme within his four walls. No one came to seehim, no one spoke to him, and he in turn no longer had the courage tospeak to any one. His arrogance of former days had died a difficultdeath, and now he saw no way of making friends. If he went to the café, there was no one there whom he knew. The brethren of the Vale of Tearshad been scattered to the four corners of the earth; a new generationwas having its fling; new customs were being introduced, new topicsdiscussed, and he was old. 

He found it hard to get along without Dorothea. He counted the days, waiting for her to return. He never opened the piano, because all music, and especially the music he loved, caused a melancholy depression toarise that filled the room with miasma. 

The Nero of our day was suffering from Cæsar sadness. The privatecitizen had sunk to the very bottom of the ditch which he himself haddug with the idea of burying all that was new and joyful, and all wingedcreatures in it. 

The worst of it all was that he had nothing to do, and no brain rackingcould devise a position he could fill. The world went on its way, progress was made, and, strangely enough, it was made without hiscriticism, his adulation, his opinions, or his crepe-hanging. 

Philippina was annoyed at the grudging squints cast at her by the oldstay-at-home; her visits became rarer and rarer. She did not feel likeopening her heart to Frau Hadebusch, for she did not appeal to her as adisinterested party. This completed her list of friends; she was obligedto restrain her impatience and excitement. 

It was Christmas. On Christmas Eve they had bought a tree for Agnes, trimmed it, and lighted it with candles. Agnes’s Christmas gifts wereplaced under the tree: a big piece of ginger-bread, a basket with applesand nuts, and a cheap doll. For Old Jordan she had bought a pair ofboots which he badly needed. He had been going around on his upperssince autumn. 

Jordan was sitting by the door holding his boots on his knees. Agneslooked at the doll with unhappy eyes; she did not dare touch it. Aftergazing for a while into the light of the fluttering candles, Jordansaid: “I thank you, Philippina, I thank you. You are a realbenefactress. I also thank you for remembering the child. It is a paltrymakeshift you have bought there at the bazaar, but any one who givesgifts to children deserves the reward of Heaven, and in such giving wedo not weigh the value or count the cost. ”

“Don’t whine all the time so!” shrieked Philippina. She was chewing herfinger nails, hardly able to conceal her embarrassment. Frau Hadebuschhad told her that Benjamin Dorn was coming around that evening to make aformal proposal of marriage. 

“Just wait, Agnes, just wait!” continued old Jordan, “you’ll soon get tosee a wonder of a doll. A few short years, and the world will beastonished. You are going to be the first to see it when it is finished. You’ll be the first, little Agnes, just wait. What have we got to eat onthis holy evening?” asked Jordan, turning with fear and trembling toPhilippina. 

“Cold hash and broiled meal-beetles, ” said Philippina scornfully. 

“And . .. And . .. No letter from Daniel?” he asked in a sad voice, “nothing, nothing at all?”

Philippina shrugged her shoulders. The old man got up and tottered tohis room. 

A little later Philippina heard some one stumbling around in the hall, and then the bell rang. “Open the door, ” she said to Agnes, who did asshe was told and returned with Benjamin Dorn. The Methodist wore a blacksuit, and in his hand he had a black felt hat that was as flat as apancake. He bowed to Philippina, and asked if he was disturbing any one. Philippina pushed a chair over to him. He sat down quitecircumstantially, and laughed a hollow laugh. As Philippina was assilent as the tomb and looked at him so tensely, he began to speak. 

First he expatiated on the general advantages of a married life, andthen remarked that what he personally wished first of all was to be ableto take a good, true woman into his own life as his wife. He said thathe had gone through a long struggle over the matter, but God had finallyshown him the light and pointed the way. He no longer hesitated, afterthis illumination from above, to offer Fräulein Schimmelweis his heartand his hand forever and a day, insist though he must that she give thematter due consideration, in the proper Christian spirit, before takingthe all-important step. 

Philippina was restless; she rocked back and forth, first on one footand then on another—and then burst out laughing. She bent over andlaughed violently. “No, you poor simpleton, what you want is my money, hey? Be honest! Out with it! You want my money, don’t you?”

Her anger grew as Benjamin Dorn sat and looked on, his asinineembarrassment increasing with each second of silence. “Listen! You’dlike to git your fingers on it, wouldn’t you? Money—it would tastegood, wouldn’t it? You think I’m crazy? Scrape a few coppers togetherand lose my mind and marry some poor fool, and let him loaf around andlive on me. Nothing doin’! They ain’t no man livin’ what can catchPhilippina Schimmelweis so easy as all that. She knows a thing or twoabout men, she does. D’ye hear me! Get out!” She sawed the air with herarms like a mad woman, and showed him the door. 

Benjamin Dorn rose to his feet, stuttered something unintelligible, moved backwards toward the door, reached it, and left the place withsuch pronounced speed that Philippina once again broke out in a shrill, piercing laughter. “Come here, Agnes, ” she said, sat down on the step inthe corner, and took the child on her lap. 

She was silent for a long while; the child was afraid to speak. Bothlooked at the lights on the Christmas tree. “Let us sing something, ”said Philippina. She began with a hoarse, bass voice, “Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht, ” and Agnes joined in with her high, spiritless notes. 

Another pause followed after they had finished singing. 

“Where is my father?” asked Agnes suddenly, without looking atPhilippina. It sounded as if she had waited for years for an opportunityto ask this question. 

Philippina’s face turned ashen pale; she gritted her teeth. “Yourfather, he’s loafing around somewhere in the country, ” repliedPhilippina, and blew out one of the candles that had burned down and wasready to set the twig on fire. “He’s done with women, it seems, but youcan’t tell. He strums the music box and smears good white paper full ofcrow-feet and pot-hooks. A person can rot, and little does he worry. ”Whereat she set the child on the floor, hastened over to the window, opened it, and put her head out as if she were on the point of chokingwith the heat. 

She leaned out over the snow-covered window sill. 

“I’m getting cold, ” said Agnes; but Philippina never heard her. 

 VIII

Daniel wrote to Eberhard and Sylvia asking them if he might visit them. He thought: “There are friends; perhaps I need friends again. ”

He received a note in a strange, secretarial hand informing him that theBaroness was indeed very sorry but she could not receive him atSiegmundshof: she was in child-bed. She sent her best greetings, andtold him that the newest born was getting along splendidly, as well ashis brother who was now three years old. 

“Everywhere I turn, children are growing up, ” thought Daniel, and packedhis trunk and started south as slowly as he could go, so slowly indeedthat it seemed as if he were approaching a goal he was afraid to reachand yet had to. 

He arrived in Nuremberg one evening in April. As he entered the room, Philippina struck her hands together with a loud bang, and stood as ifrooted to the floor. 

Agnes looked at her father shyly. She had grown slim and tall far beyondher age. 

Old Jordan came down. “You don’t look well, Daniel, ” he said, and seemednever to let go of his hand. “Let us hope that you are going to stayhome now. ”

“I don’t know, ” replied Daniel, staring absent-mindedly around thewalls. “I don’t know. ”

On the third day he was seized with a quite unusual sense of fear andanxiety. He felt that he had made a mistake; that he had lost his way;that something was driving him to another place. He went into thekitchen. Philippina was cooking potato noodles in lard; they smelt good. 

“I am going to Eschenbach, ” he said, to his own astonishment, for thedecision to do so had come with the assertion. 

Philippina jerked the pan from the stove; the flames leaped up. “You cango to Hell, so far as I’m concerned, ” she said in a furious rage. Withthe light from the fire flaring up through the open top of the stove andreflected in her face, she looked like a veritable witch. 

Daniel gazed at her questioningly. “What is the matter with Agnes?” heasked after a while. “The child seems to try to avoid me. ”

“You’ll find out what’s the matter with her, ” said Philippinaspitefully, and placed the pan on the stove again. “She don’t swallowpeople whole. ”

Daniel left the kitchen. 

“He is going over to see his bastard, the damned scoundrel, ” murmuredPhilippina. She crouched down on the kitchen stool, and gazed intospace. 

The potato noodles burned up. 

 IX

Daniel entered his mother’s little house in Eschenbach late at night. Assoon as he saw her, he knew that some misfortune had taken place. 

Eva was gone. She had disappeared one evening four weeks ago. A troupeof rope dancers had given an exhibition in the city, and it wasgenerally suspected that they had abducted the child. The people ofEschenbach were still convinced of their suspicion after the police hadrounded up the dancers without finding a trace of the child. 

A general alarm had been sent out, and investigations were being madeeven at the time of Daniel’s arrival. But they were in vain; it wasimpossible to find the slightest clue. To the authorities, indeed toevery one, the case was a hopeless riddle. 

They made a thorough search of the forests; the canals were drained;vagabonds were cross-questioned. It was all in vain; Eva had apparentlybeen spirited away in some mysterious fashion. Then the Mayor receivedan anonymous letter that read as follows: “The child you are looking foris in safe keeping. She was not forced to do what she has done; of herown free will and out of love for her art she went off with the peoplewith whom she is at present. She sends her grandmother the tenderest ofgreetings, and hopes to see her some time again, after she has attainedto what she now has in mind. ”

To this Eva had added in a handwriting which Marian Nothafft could bereasonably certain was her own: “This is true. Good-bye, grandmother!”

The people who mourned with Marian the loss of the child were convincedthat if Eva had really written these words herself, she had been forcedto do it by the kidnappers. 

The letter bore the postmark of a city in the Rhenish Palatinate. Atelegram brought the reply that a company of jugglers had been there ashort while ago, but that they had already gone. It was impossible tosay in what direction, but it was most likely that they had gone toFrance. 

Marian was completely broken up. She no longer had any interest in life. She did not even manifest joy or pleasure at seeing Daniel. 

Daniel in turn felt that the brightest star had fallen from his heaven. As soon as he had really grasped the full meaning of the tragedy, hewent quietly into the attic room, threw himself across the bed of hislost daughter, and wept. “Man, man, are you weeping at last?” a voiceseemed to call out to him. 

Of evenings he would sit with his mother, and they would both brood overthe loss. Once Marian began to speak; she talked of Eva. She had alwaysbeen made uneasy by the child’s love for mimicry and shows of any kind. Long ago, she said, when Eva was only eight years old, a company ofcomedians had come to the village, and Eva had taken a passionateinterest in them. She would run around the tent in which they played, from early in the morning until late in the evening. She had made theacquaintance of some of them at the time, and one of them took her alongto a performance. Whenever the circus came to town, it was impossible tokeep her in the house. “At times I thought to myself, there must begipsy blood in her veins, ” said Marian sadly, “but she was such a goodand obedient child. ”

Another time she told the following story. One Sunday in spring she tooka walk with Eva. It had grown late, night had come on, and on the returnjourney they had to go through the forest. Marian became tired, and satdown on the stump of a tree to rest. The moon was shining, and there wasa clearing in the forest where they had stopped. All of a sudden Evasprang up and began to dance. “It was marvellous the way she danced, ”said Marian, at the close of her story. “The girl’s slender, delicatelittle figure seemed to glide around on the moss in the moonlight of itsown accord. It was marvellous, but my heart grew heavy, and I thought tomyself at the time, she is not going to be with me much longer. ”

Daniel was silent. “Oh, enchanting and enchanted creature!” he thought, “heredity and destiny!”

He remained with his mother for three weeks. Then he began to feelcramped and uneasy. The house and the town both seemed so small to him. He left and went to Vienna, where the custodian of the ImperialInstitute had some invaluable manuscripts for him. 

Six weeks later he received a letter that had followed him all oversouth Europe informing him of the death of his mother. The schoolteacher at Eschenbach had written the letter, saying, among otherthings, that the aged woman had died during the night, suddenly andpeacefully. 

A second letter followed, requesting him to state what dispositionshould be made of his mother’s property. He was asked whether the housewas to be put on the market. A neighbour, the green-grocer, hadexpressed his willingness to look after Daniel’s interests. 

Daniel wrote in reply that they should do whatever seemed best. Therewas a heavy mortgage on the house, and the amount that could reasonablybe asked for it was not large. 

He retired to a desolate and waste place. 

 X

While living in little towns and villages on the Danube, Danielcompleted the third movement of the Promethean symphony. When he awokeas if from a delirious fever, it was autumn. 

One morning in October he heard a saint playing the organ. It was in theChurch of St. Florian near Enns. The great artist had lived in formeryears in the monastery, and now had the habit of coming back once in awhile to hold communion with his God. In his rapture, Daniel felt as ifhis own crowned brother were at the organ. He sat in a corner andlistened, meekly and with overwhelming delight. Then when a man passedby him, a stooped, haggard, odd-looking old fellow with a wrinkled faceand dressed in shabby clothes, he was terror-stricken at the reality, the corporeality of genius: he wondered whether he himself were not aghost. 

The Swallow wrote: “There is only one who can redeem us: the musician. The day of founders of religion, builders of states, military heroes, and discoverers is gone. The poets have only words, and our ears havegrown tired of words, words, words. They have only pictures and figures, and our eyes are tired beholding. The soul’s last consolation is to befound in music; of this I am certain. If there is any one thing that canmake restitution for the lost illusions of religious faith, provide uswith wings, transform us, and save us from the abyss to which we arerushing with savage senses, it is music. Where are you, O redeemer? Youare wandering about over the earth, the poorest, the most abandoned, theguiltiest of men. When are you going to pay your debts, DanielNothafft?”

Daniel spent seven months in Ravenna, Ferrara, Florence, and Pisa. Hewas looking for some manuscripts by Frescobaldi, Borghesi, and ErcolePasquini. Having found the most important ones he could regard hiscollection as complete. 

Men seemed to him like puppets, landscapes like paintings on glass. Helonged for forests; his dreams became disordered. 

From Genoa he wandered on foot through Lombardy and across the Alps. Heslept on hard beds in order to keep his hot blood in check, and lived onbread and cheese. His attacks of weakness, sometimes of completeexhaustion, did not worry him at first; he paid no attention to them. But in Augsburg he swooned, falling headlong on the street. He was takento a hospital, where he lay for three months with typhus. From hiswindow he could see the tall chimneys of factories and an endlessprocession of wandering clouds. It had become winter; the ground wascovered with snow. 

Two years after his last visit he again entered the house on ÆgydiusPlace. When Philippina saw him, so pale and emaciated, she uttered a cryof horror. 

Agnes had grown still taller, thinner, and more serious. At times whenshe looked at her father he felt like crying out to her in anger: “Whatdo you mean by your everlasting questions?” But he never said a word ofthis kind to her. 

When Philippina saw that Daniel had returned as lonesome anduncommunicative as he was when he went away, she took it upon herself todisplay a great deal of gentleness, kindness, sympathy in his presence. Old Jordan was living the same life he had been living for years. Everything in fact was just the same; it seemed that the household wasrun according to a prescribed routine. It seemed as if Daniel had beenaway, not six years, but six days. 

He did not feel strong yet, but he worked day and night. The fourthmovement of the symphony gave promise of being a miracle of polyphony. Daniel felt primeval existence, the original of all longing, the basicgrief of the world urging and pulsing in him, and this he wastranslating into the symphony. The eternal wanderer had arrived at thegates of Heaven and was not admitted. Supernal harmonies had borne himaloft. Muffled drum beats symbolised his beseeching raps on closeddoors. Within resounded the terrible “no” of the trumpets. The pleadingof the violins was in vain; in vain the intercession of the one angelstanding at the right, leaning on a harp without strings; in vain themelodious chants of the other angel at the left, crowned with flowersand all together lovely; in vain the elfin chorus of the upper voices, in vain the foaming lament of the voices below. No path here for him, and no space!

One evening Daniel noticed a strange girl at his window. She wasbeautiful. Struck by her charms, he got up to go to her. She hadvanished. It was an hallucination. He became afraid of himself, leftthe house, and wandered through the streets as in days of long ago. 

 XI

It was Carnival Week, and the people had resumed their wonted gaiety. Masked boys and girls paraded the streets, making merry wherever theywent. 

As Daniel was passing through The Füll he was startled: the windows inthe Benda house were lighted. He suddenly recalled that Herr Seelenfrommhad told him that Frau Benda had returned from Worms some time ago, andwas living with her niece; she had become totally blind. 

He went up the steps and rang the bell. A grey-haired, distressed-looking woman came to the door. He thought she must be theniece. He told her his name; she said she had heard of him. 

“You probably know that Friedrich has disappeared, ” she said in asleepy, sing-song voice. “It is eight years since we have heard fromhim. The last letter was from the interior of Africa. We have given upall hope. Not even the newspapers say anything more about him. ”

“I have read nothing about it, ” murmured Daniel. “But Friedrich cannotbe dead, ” he continued, shaking his head, “I will never believe it, never. ” Partly in distraction and partly in anxiety, he riveted his eyeson the woman, who stared at his glasses as if held by a charm. 

“We have done everything that was humanly possible, ” she said. “We havewritten to the consulates, we have inquired of the military outposts andmissionary stations, and all to no purpose. ” After a pause she said witha little more vivacity: “You do not wish me to ask you in, I hope. It isso painful to my aunt to hear a strange voice, and I cannot think ofletting you talk to her. If I did, it would merely open her old wounds, and she has a hard enough time of it as it is. ”

Daniel nodded and went on his way. A coarse laugh could be heard down inthe entrance hall; it was painfully out of harmony with the depressedatmosphere of the Benda apartment. He felt his heart grow faint; he felta burning desire for something, though he was unable to say preciselywhat, something sweet and radiant. 

On the last landing he stopped, and looked with utter amazement intothe hall below. 

Herr Carovius was dancing like a Merry-Andrew around the door of hisresidence. He had a crown of silver paper on his head, and was trying toward off the importunate advances of a young girl. His smiles weretender but senile. The girl wore a carnival costume. Her dark bluevelvet dress, covered with threads of silver, made her robust figurelook slenderer than it actually was. A black veil-like cloth hung fromher shoulders to the ground, and then draped along behind her for aboutthree paces. It was sprinkled with glittering tinsel. In her hand sheheld a hideous wax mask of the face of an old sot with a red nose. Shewas trying to fit the mask to Herr Carovius’s face. 

She was working hard to make him yield; she said she was not going toleave until she had put the mask on his face. Herr Carovius shook thedoor, which in the meantime had closed, fumbled about in his pockets forthe key, but the girl gave him no peace. 

“Come now, Teddy, ” she kept crying, “come, Uncle, don’t be such an oldbore. ” She kept getting closer and closer to him. 

“You wait, I’ll show you how to make a fool of respectable people, ”croaked Herr Carovius in well-meaning anger. He resembled an old dog, hopping about and getting ready to make the plunge when his masterthrows his walking stick into the water. In his zeal, however, toprevent the girl from offending his dignity, he had forgotten the papercrown on his head. It wabbled and shook so when he hopped around, thatthe girl nearly split her sides laughing. 

A maid came in just then with an apronful of snow. The girl with thesweeping train ran up to her, got some of the snow, and threatened topelt Herr Carovius with it. He begged for mercy; and rather than undergoa bombardment with this cold stuff, he ceased offering resistance, whereupon the girl walked up to him and placed the mask on his face. Then, exhausted from laughter, she laid her head on his shoulder. Themaid—it was Döderlein’s maid—was delighted at the comedy, and made anoise that resembled the cackling of a hen. 

The scene was dimly lighted by a lamp attached to the adjacent wall, andhad on this account, quite apart from the sight of Herr Carovius withthe paper crown and the toper’s mask, something fantastic about it. 

Daniel did not know that the girl was Dorothea Döderlein, though hehalf suspected as much. But whoever she was, he was impressed by herjollity, her actual lust for laughter, her complete lack of restraint. He had never known that sort of mirthful hilarity; and if he had knownit, he could not recall it. Her youthful features, her bright eyes, herwhite teeth, her agile gestures filled him with deferential respect; hiseyes swam with emotion. He felt so old, so foreign; he felt that wherehe was the sun was not shining, the flowers were not budding. He feltthat life had appeared to him all of a sudden and quite unexpectedly ina new, kindly, bewitching light. 

He came slowly down the steps. 

“Is it possible!” cried Herr Carovius, tearing the mask from his face. “Can I trust my own eyes? It is our _maestro_! Or is it his ghost?”

“It is both he and his ghost, ” replied Daniel drily. 

“This is no place for ghosts, ” cried Dorothea, and threw a snow ball, hitting him square on the shoulder. 

Daniel looked at her; she blushed, and looked at Herr Caroviusquestioningly. “Don’t you know our Daniel Nothafft, you littleignoramus?” said Herr Carovius. “You know nothing of our coryphæus? Hailto the Master! Welcome home! He is here, covered with fame!”

At any other time Herr Carovius’s biliary sarcasm would have arousedDaniel’s whole stock-in-trade of aversion and indignation. To-day he wasunimpressed by it. “How young she is, ” he thought, as he feasted hiseyes on the embarrassed, laughing Dorothea, “how gloriously young!”

Dorothea was angry because she did not have on the red dress she had hadmade in Munich. 

“Dorothea!” called a strong voice from the first floor. 

“Oh, there’s father!” whispered Dorothea. She was frightened. She ran upthe steps on her tiptoes, dragging her long veil after her. The maidfollowed her. 

“A devil, a regular little devil, _Maestro_, ” said Herr Carovius turningto Daniel. “You must come in some time and hear how she can draw thebow. She’s a regular little devil, I say. ”

Daniel bade Herr Carovius adieu, and went walking down the street withbowed head. 

 XII

In the province, Dorothea Döderlein, fresh from the Bavarian capital, was a phenomenon that attracted general attention. Her conduct seemed, to be sure, a bit liberal, but then she was an artist, and her nameappeared in the newspapers every now and then, so it was only natural tomake allowances for her. When she gave her first concert, Adler Hall wasalmost completely sold out. 

The musical critic of the _Herold_ was captivated by her capriciousplaying. He called her an extraordinary talent, and predicted abrilliant future for her. Andreas Döderlein accepted the congratulationsin the spirit of a seasoned patron of the arts; Herr Carovius was in theseventh heaven of joy. He who had formerly been so captious neveruttered a critical word. He had taken to worshipping the Dorothea cult, and this had made him quite indiscriminating. 

At first Dorothea never suffered from want of invitations to all mannerof clubs, dances, and family gatherings. She was much adored by theyoung men, so much so that other daughters of the city of matrimonialage could not sleep from envy. In a short while, however, the youth ofmore sterling character, warned while there was yet time by theirmothers, sisters, cousins, and aunts, withdrew in fear. 

Dorothea reaped the disapproval of her acquaintances by walking with heradmirers in public, unchaperoned. Moreover she could frequently be seenin the company of officers in the Eisenbeiss pastry shop, drinkingchocolate and having a good time generally. Once she had been seen inthe society of a big blonde Swede from Schuckert’s factory coming out ofthe Music Hall. The rumour was spread that she had lived an irregularlife in Munich, had gadded about the streets at night, contracted anumber of bad debts, and flirted with all kinds of men. 

Yet there were a few serious wooers who, duped by Andreas Döderlein’sdiplomacy, fell into the habit of coming around on Sunday evenings andtaking dinner with father and daughter. Dorothea, however, alwaysmanaged to play off one against the other; and as they were all seriousand provincial, they did not know precisely what to make of it. In orderto instil patience into them, Döderlein took to delivering them lectureson the intricate complications of the artistic temperament, or he mademysterious allusions to the handsome legacy to which Dorothea would oneday fall heir. 

It was this very fact, however, that made him exercise caution withregard to Dorothea. Knowing her spirit of defiance, and appreciating heryouthful lack of judgment, he was afraid she might make some _faux pas_that would offend that old fool of a Carovius. He was already giving hera little spending money, and the Döderleins found this a highlyadvantageous arrangement. 

The state of Döderlein’s own finances was hopeless. It was with thegreatest difficulty that he kept up the appearance of a well-to-do man. The chief cause of his pecuniary embarrassment was his relation oflong standing with a woman by whom he had had three children. To supportthis second family, of whose existence not a soul in his immediatesurroundings knew a thing, burdened him with a care that made it hardfor him to preserve his cheerful, Jove-like disposition. 

He had been leading a double life for fourteen years. His regular visitsto the woman he loved—she lived very quietly out in the remote suburbsof the city—had to be made without attracting attention. To conceal hisconnection with her from the vigilant eyes of his fellow citizens madeconstant dissimulation, discretion, and shrewdness a necessary part ofhis character. But to practise these traits year in and year out andsuffer at the same time from economic pressure filled him withsuppressed anger and fear. 

He was afraid of Dorothea. There were moments when he would have likedto maul her; and yet he saw himself obliged to hold her in check withkind words. He could not see through her. But she was always around, always adding to his troubles with her plans, wishes, engagements andintrigues. He thought he had her under control, only to discover thatshe was a tyrant, lording it over him. Now she would burst out cryingbecause of some bagatelle, now she was laughing as though nothing hadever happened. The roses her serious and moneyed admirers brought hershe picked to pieces in their very presence, and threw the pieces in thewaste-paper basket. Döderlein would lecture her in the kindest and mostintelligent way on good morals and gentle manners, and she would listenas though she were a saint. Five minutes later she would be hanging outof the window, flirting with the barber’s boy across the street. 

“I am an unfortunate father, ” said Andreas Döderlein to himself, when, apart from all his other multifarious worries, he began to be scepticalabout Dorothea’s artistic ability. Shortly after her success inNuremberg, she gave a concert in Frankfort, but everything was prettyquiet. Then she toured the small towns of central Germany, and wasreceived everywhere with the greatest enthusiasm. But what of it? Howmuch critical acumen is to be found in such places?

One evening she was at the home of a certain Frau Feistelmann, a womanwhose past had some connection with nearly every scandal of the city. While there she met an actor by the name of Edmund Hahn. Herr Hahn hadsoft, blonde hair and a pale, bloated face. He was rather tall and hadlong legs. Dorothea raved about long legs. There was a thoroughlysensual atmosphere about the man; he devoured Dorothea with his impudenteyes. His build, his bearing, his half blasé, half emphatic way ofspeaking made an impression on Dorothea. He sat next to her at thetable, and began to rub his feet against hers. Finally he succeeded ingetting his left foot on her slipper. She tried to pull her foot back, but the more she tried the harder he bore down on it. She looked at himin amazement; but he smiled cynically, and in a few minutes they weredesperately intimate. After dinner they withdrew to a hidden corner, andyou could hear Dorothea giggling. 

They arranged to meet each other on a certain street corner in the dark. He sent her free tickets to “Maria Stuart” and “Die Räuber. ” He playedthe rôles of Mortimer and Kosinsky; he roared till you thought the roofwould fall in. He introduced Dorothea to a number of his friends, andthese brought their girl friends along, and they all sat in the NassauCellar till break of day. Among them was a certain Samuelsky, an employéof the Reutlinger Bank. He had the manners of a man about town, drankchampagne, and went mad over Dorothea. She submitted to his attention, welcomed it in fact, and accepted presents from him, though, as itseemed, not until she had received the permission from Edmund Hahn. Oncehe tried to kiss her: she gave him a ringing box on the ears. He wipedhis cheek, and called her a siren. 

She liked the expression. At times she would stand before the mirror, and whisper: “Siren. ”

When Andreas Döderlein heard of what was going on, he had an attack ofmad rage. “I will put you out of the house, ” he exclaimed, “I will beatyou until you are a helpless, despicable cripple. ” But in his eyes therewas again the trace of that suppressed fear that gave the lie to hisseeming berserker rage. 

“An artist does not need to adapt her morals to the code of thePhilistine, ” remarked Dorothea, with complete imperturbability. “Thoseare all nice people with whom I am going. Every one of them is agentleman. ”

A gentleman: that was an argument against which it was futile to enter acaveat. In her eyes that man was a gentleman who ran risks, impressedwaiters and coachmen, and wore creased trousers. “No one dares come tooclose to me, ” she said with much pride. That was the truth; no one hadthus far awakened her deepest curiosity, and she had determined to put ahigh price on herself. Edmund Hahn was the only one who had anyinfluence on her; and this was true of him because he was absolutelydevoid of feeling, and had a type of shamelessness that completelydisarmed and terrified her. 

Andreas Döderlein had to let her have her way. If he had any consolationat all, it lay in the belief on his part that a real Döderlein wouldnever voluntarily come to grief. If Dorothea was a genuine Döderlein, she would march straight to her objective, and take by storm the goodand useful things of life. If she failed, it would be proof that therewas a flaw somewhere in her birth. This was his logic; and havingapplied it, theoretically, he enshrouded himself in the clouds of hisOlympus. 

Dorothea gave her uncle Carovius, however, detailed accounts of how shewas making her suitors, young and old, walk the war-path. They all hadto do it, the actor and the banker, the candle manufacturer and theengineer. She said she was leading the whole pack of them around by thenose. Herr Carovius’s face beamed with joy when he heard her say this. He called her his little jackanapes, and said she was the fortune of hisold age. To himself he said that she was a genuine Carovius destined togreat deeds. 

“You don’t have to get married, ” he said with the urge of a zealot ofold, and rubbed his hands. “Oh, of course, if a Count comes along with afew millions and a castle in the background, why, you might think itover. But just let some greasy comedian get it into his head that he isgoing to steal you away from me! Or let some wabbly-hipped office-boyimagine for a minute that he is going to drag you into his circle alongwith his other unwashed acquaintances! If this ever happens, Dorothea, give it to ’em hot and heavy! Show the wanton satyrs what kind of bloodyou have in you. ”

“Ah, Uncle, ” said Dorothea, “I know you mean well by me. You are theonly one who does. But if I were only not so poor! Look at me! Look atthis dress I have on! It’s a sight!” And she put her head in heruplifted arm and sobbed. 

Herr Carovius pulled at his moustaches, moved his eyebrows up and down, went to his writing desk, opened his strong box, took out a hundred-markbill, and gave it to her with turned head, as if he were afraid of thewrath of the protecting spirit of the money chest. 

This was the state of affairs when Daniel met the youthful Dorothea inHerr Carovius’s home, and went away with an unforgettable, unextinguishable picture of her in his soul. 

 XIII

Daniel’s approaching fortieth birthday seemed like a sombre portalleading to the realm of spent ambition. “Seize what remains to beseized, ” a voice within him cried. “Grass is growing on the graves. ”

His senses were at war with his intellect and his heart. He had neverlooked on women as he was looking on them now. 

One day he went out to Siegmundshof. Eberhard was not at home. Sylvia’sface showed traces of subdued sadness. She had three children, each onemore beautiful than the other, but when her eyes rested on them herheart was filled with grief. Women whose married life is unhappy havedull, lifeless features; their hands are transparent and yellow. 

Daniel took leave more quickly than he had wished or intended. He feltan egoistic aversion to the joyless sons of man. 

He went to see Herr Carovius. The laughing one whom he sought was not athome. 

Herr Carovius looked at him at times distrustfully. The face of hisformer foe set him to thinking. It was furrowed like a field undercultivation and burnt like a hearthstone. It was the face of a criminal, crabbed, enervated, tense, and breathed upon, it seemed, by threateningclouds. Herr Carovius was a connoisseur of faces. 

In order to avoid the discomfort of fatuous conversation, Daniel playeda number of old motetts for Herr Carovius. Herr Carovius was so pleasedthat he ran into his pantry, and got a half dozen Boxdorf apples and putthem in Daniel’s pockets. He bought these apples every autumn by thepeck, and cherished them as so many priceless treasures. 

“At the sound of such music it would not be difficult to become a realChristian, ” he said. 

“There is spring in them, ” said Daniel, “they are art that is asinnocent as new seed in the soil. But your piano needs tuning. ”

“Symbolic, symbolic, my dear friend, ” cried Herr Carovius, and puffedout his cheeks. “But you come back another time, and you will find it inthe pink of condition. Come frequently, please. You will reap the rewardof Heaven if you do. ”

Herr Carovius begging for company; it was touching. Daniel promised tobring some of the manuscripts he had been collecting along with him. When he returned a few days later, Dorothea was there; and from then onshe was always there. His visits became longer and longer. When HerrCarovius noticed that Dorothea was coming to see him more frequentlynow, he moved heaven and earth to persuade Daniel to come morefrequently. He rained reproach and abuse on him if he failed to come; ifhe was late, he greeted him with a sour face and put indiscreetquestions to him. When he was alone of an afternoon, time stood still. He was like a drinker tantalised by seeing his accustomed portion ofbrandy on the table but just beyond his reach. The company of these twopeople, Daniel and Dorothea, had become as indispensable to hishappiness as in former years the reading of the newspapers, the brethrenof the Vale of Tears, the troubles of Eberhard and the funerals wereindispensable if he were to feel at ease. It is the way of the smallcitizen: each of his customs becomes a passion. 

When Daniel played the old chorals, Dorothea listened quietly, though itcould not be said that she was perfect at concealing her tedium. 

One time they began talking about Dorothea’s violin playing. HerrCarovius asked her to play something. She declined without the slightestdisplay of affectation. Daniel said nothing to encourage her; he foundthat this modesty was becoming to her; he believed that he detectedwisdom and resignation in her behaviour; he smiled at her graciously. 

“Tell us a story, Daniel, ” she said, “that would be better. ” Iteventually came out that that was what she had wanted all along. 

“I am a poor raconteur, ” said Daniel. “I have a thick tongue. ”

She begged him, however, with stammering words and beseeching gestures. Herr Carovius tittered. Daniel took off his glasses, polished them, andlooked at the young girl with squinting eyes. It seemed as if theglasses had made it difficult for him to see Dorothea distinctly, or asif he preferred to see her indistinctly. “I really don’t know what Icould tell in the way of a story, ” he replied, shaking his head. 

“Tell us everything, anything, ” cried Dorothea, seized with a veritablefit of eagerness to hear him talk. She stretched out her hands towardhim: that seemed to him to be so like a child. He had never told storiesto a child; he had never in truth told stories to any one. Gertrude andEleanore had, to be sure, forced a confession or a complaint from him attimes, but that was all, and all that was necessary or appropriate. 

Suddenly he was drawn on by the word in which his fate would be quietlyreflected; by the fiery young eye in the brilliancy of which the complexbecame simple, the dark bright; by the wicked old man to whom the wholeworld, as seen from his mire, had become a poisonous food. 

And with his brittle, staccato voice he told of the countries throughwhich he had journeyed; of the sea and the cities by the sea; of theAlps and the Alpine lakes; of cathedrals, palaces, and marvellousmonasteries; of the queer people he had met, of his work and hisloneliness. It was all incoherent, arid, and loveless. Though sorelytempted, he desisted from mentioning things that came close to his soul;things that moved his heart, fired his brain. When he told of theJewess, the Swallow, he did not even finish the sentence. He made a longpause, and then shifted to the account of his visit to Eschenbach. Herehe stopped again before he was through. 

But Dorothea began to ask questions. It was all too general andtherefore unsatisfactory. “What was there in Eschenbach? Why did you gothere?” she asked boldly. 

He was in error concerning the hot desire that burned in her eyes toknow about Eschenbach. Her question made him feel good; he believed thathe was on the scent of warm-heartedness; he thought he had found a soulthat was eager to help through knowledge. He was seized with the desireof the mature man to fashion an untouched soul in harmony with thepicture of his dreams. “My mother used to live there, ” he repliedhesitatingly, “she has died. ”

“Yes—and?” breathed Dorothea. She saw that that was not all. 

He felt that this uncompromising reticence was not right; he felt asense of guilt. With still greater hesitation—and immediaterepentance—he added: “A child of mine also lived there; she was elevenyears old. She has disappeared; no one knows where she is. ”

Dorothea folded her hands, “A child? And disappeared? Simply vanished?”she whispered excitedly. 

Herr Carovius looked like a man sitting on a hot iron. “Eleven yearsold?” he asked, hungry for sensation, “why—that was, then—before thetime . .. ”

“Yes, it was before the time, ” said Daniel gloomily and by way ofconfirmation. He had betrayed himself, and was angry at himself forhaving done so. He became silent; it was impossible to get him to sayanother word. 

Herr Carovius noticed how Dorothea hung on Daniel’s eyes. A tormentingsuspicion arose in him. “Yesterday out on St. Joseph’s Place, I wastalking with one of your admirers, the fellow who shatters the wings ofthe stage with his ranting, ” he began with malice aforethought. “Theblade had the nerve to say to me: ‘You’d better hurry up and getDorothea Döderlein a husband, or people will talk their tongues loose intheir throats. ’”

“That is not true, ” cried Dorothea indignantly, blushing to the roots ofher hair. “He didn’t say that. ”

Herr Carovius laughed malevolently. “Well, if it is not true, it ispretty well put together, ” he said with his usual bleat. 

When Daniel left, Dorothea accompanied him to the outside door. 

“It’s a pity, ” murmured Daniel, “a pity!”

“Why a pity? I am free. There isn’t a soul in the world who has anyclaim on me. ” She looked at him with the courage of a real woman. 

“There are remarks that are just like grease spots, ” he replied. 

“Well, who can keep from the dirt these days?” she asked, almost wildwith excitement. 

Daniel let his eyes rest on her as though she were some material object. He said slowly and seriously: “Keep your hands and your eyes off of me, Dorothea. I will bring you no happiness. ”

Her lips opened, thirsty. “I should like to take a walk with you sometime, ” she whispered, and her features trembled with an ecstasy which hewas dupe enough to believe was meant for him; in reality Dorothea wasthinking of the adventurer and the disclosure of the secret. 

“Many years ago, ” said Daniel, “you will scarcely recall it, I protectedyou here in this very same gateway from a big dog. Do you remember?”

“No! Or do I? Wait a minute! Yes, I remember, that is, quiteindistinctly. You did that?” Dorothea seized his hands with gratitude. 

“Fine! Then we will go walking to-morrow morning. Where? Oh, it doesn’tmake much difference, ” said Daniel. 

“But you must tell me everything, you hear? everything. ” Dorothea was asinsistent as she had been in the room a short while ago; and she wasmore impetuous and impatient. 

They agreed upon the place where they would meet. 

 XIV

At first they took short walks in remote parts of the city; then theytook longer ones. On Mid-Summer Day they strolled out to Kraftshof andthe grove of the Pegnitz shepherds. Daniel made unconscious effort toavoid the places where he had once walked with Eleanore. 

There came moments when Dorothea’s exuberance made him pensive and sad;he felt the weight of his forty years; they were inclined to make himhypochondriacal. Was it the vengeance of fate that made him slow up whenthey came to a hill, while Dorothea ran on ahead and waited for him, laughing?

She did not see the flowers, the trees, the animals, or the clouds. Butwhen she saw people a change came over her: she would become moreactive; or she would mobilise her resources; or she seemed to strike upa spiritual liaison with them. It might be only a peasant boy on anerrand or a vagabond going nowhere; she would shake her hips and laughone note higher. 

“Her youth has gone to her head, like wine, ” Daniel thought to himself. 

Once she took a box of chocolate bon-bons along. Having had enough ofthem herself and seeing that Daniel did not care for them, she threwwhat was left away. Daniel reproached her for her wastefulness. “Whydrag it along?” she asked with perfect lack of embarrassment, “when youhave enough of a thing you throw it away. ” She showed her white teeth, and took in one deep breath of fresh air after another. 

Daniel studied her. “She is invulnerable, ” he said to himself; “herpower to wish is invincible, her fulness of life complete. ” He felt thatshe bore a certain resemblance to his Eva; that she was one of thoseelves of light in whose cheerfulness there is occasionally a touch ofthe terrible. He decided then and there not to let mischievous chancehave its own way: he was going to put out his hand when he felt it wasadvisable. 

“When are you going to begin to tell me the stories?” she asked: “Imust, I must know all about you, ” she added with much warmth ofexpression. “There are days and nights when I cannot rest. Tell me! Tellme!”

That was the truth. In order to penetrate his life history, which shepictured to herself as full of passionate, checkered events, she haddone everything that he had demanded of her. 

Daniel refused; he was silent; he was afraid he would darken the girl’spure mind, jeopardise her unsuspecting innocence. He was afraid toconjure up the shadows. 

One day she was talking along in her easy way, and while so doing shetripped herself up. She had begun to tell him about the men she had beengoing with; and before she knew what she was doing, she had fallen intothe tone she used when she talked with her Uncle Carovius. Becomingsuddenly aware of her indiscretion, she stopped, embarrassed. Daniel’sserious questions caused her to make some confessions she wouldotherwise never have thought of making. She told a goodly number ofrather murky and ugly stories, and it was very hard for her to act asthough she were innocent or the victim of circumstances. At last, unablelonger to escape from the net she had woven, she made a clean breast ofher whole life, painted it all in the gaudiest colours, and then waitedin breathless—but agreeable—suspense to see what effect it would haveon Daniel. 

Daniel was silent for a while; then he made a motion with hisoutstretched hand as if he were cutting something in two: “Away fromthem, Dorothea, or away from me!”

Dorothea bowed her head, and then looked at him timidly from head tofoot. The decisiveness with which he spoke was something new to her, though it was by no means offensive. A voluptuous shudder ran throughher limbs. “Yes, ” she whispered girlishly, “I am going to put an end toit. I never realised what it all meant. But don’t be angry, will you?No, you won’t, will you?”

She came closer to him; her eyes were filled with tears. “Don’t be angryat me, ” she said again, “poor Dorothea can’t help it. She is notresponsible for it. ”

“But how did you come to do it?” asked Daniel. “I can’t see how it waspossible. Weren’t you disgusted to the very bottom of your soul? Howcould you go about under God’s free heavens with such hyenas? Why, girl, the very thought of it fills me with scepticism about everything. ”

“What should I have done, Daniel?” she said, calling him by hisbaptismal name for the first time. She spoke with a felicitous mixtureof submissiveness and boldness that touched and at the same timeenchanted him. “What should I have done? They come and talk to you, andspin their nets about you; and at home it is so dreary and lonely, andyour heart is so empty and Father is so mean, you haven’t got anybodyelse in the world to talk to. ” Such was her defence, effective even ifmore voluble than coherent. 

They walked on. They were passing through a valley in the forest. Oneither side were tall pine trees, the crowns of which were lighted bythe evening sun. 

“You can’t play with Fate, Dorothea, ” said Daniel. “It does not permitsmudging or muddling, if we are to stand the test. It keeps a faultlessledger; the entries it makes on both sides are the embodiment ofaccuracy. Debts that we contract must always be paid, somehow, somewhere. ”

Dorothea felt that he was getting started; that the great, good storywas about to come. She stopped, spread her shawl on the ground, and tooka graceful position on it, all eyes and ears. Daniel threw himself onthe moss beside her. 

And he told his story—into the moss where little insects were creepingaround. He never raised either his eye or his voice. At times Dorotheahad to bend over to hear him. 

He told about Gertrude, her torpor, her awakening, her love, herresignation. He told about Eleanore; told how he had loved her withoutknowing it. He told how Eleanore, out of an excess of passion andsuffering, became his, how Gertrude wandered about dazed, unhappy, lost, until she finally took her life: “Then we went up to the attic, andfound it on fire and her lifeless body hanging from the rafter. ”

He told how Gertrude had lived on as a shadow by the side of Eleanore, and how Eleanore became a flower girl, and how Philippina theinexplicable, and still inexplicable, had come into his family, and howGertrude’s child lived there like an unfed foundling, and how the otherchild, the child he had had by the maid, had found such a warm spot inhis heart. 

He told of his meeting the two sisters, their speaking and theirremaining silent, his seeing them in secret trysts, the moving aboutfrom house to house and room to room, the singing of songs, hisexperiences with the Dörmaul opera company, the light thrown on hisdrab life by a mask, his friend and the help he had received from him, his separation from him, the brush-maker’s house on St. James’s Place, the three queer old maids in the Long Row, the days he spent at CastleErfft, the old father of the two sisters and his strange doings—all ofthis he described in the tone of a man awakening from a deep sleep. There was a confidence in what he said and the way he said it thatmayhap terrified the hovering spirits of the evening, though it did notfill Dorothea’s eyes, then glistening like polished metal, with a moreintimate or cordial light. 

When he looked up he felt he saw two sombre figures standing on the edgeof the forest; he felt he saw the two sisters, and that they werecasting mournful, reproachful glances at him. 

He got up. “And all that, ” he concluded, “all that has been drunk up, like rain by the parched earth, by a work on which I have been labouringfor the past seven years. For seven years. Two more years, and I willgive it to the world, provided this unsteady globe has not fallen intothe sun by that time. ”

Dorothea had a confused, haphazard idea as to the type of man that wasstanding before her. She was seized with a prickling desire for him suchas she had thus far never experienced. She began to love him, in herway. Something impelled her to seek shelter by him, near him, somewhatas a bird flies under the crown of a tree at the approach of a storm. Daniel interpreted the timidity with which she put her arm in his as asign of gratitude. 

And in this mood he took her back to the city. 

 XV

It was in this pulsing, urging, joyful mood that Daniel worked at andcompleted the fifth movement of his symphony, a _scherzo_ of grandproportions, beginning with a clarinet figure that symbolised laughing_sans-souci_. All the possibilities of joy developed from this simplemotif. Nor was retrospection or consolation lacking. If the main themes, mindful of their former pre-eminence, seemed inclined to widen the bedof their stream, they were appeased and forced back into their originalchannel by artistic and capriciously alternating means. Once all threethemes flowed along together, gaining strength apparently through theirunion, rose to a wonderful fugue, and seemed to be just on the point ofgaining the victory when the whole orchestra, above the chord in Dsevenths, was seized by the waltz melody, those melancholysister-strains were taken up by the violins, and fled, dirge-like, totheir unknown abodes. Just before the jubilant crescendo of the finale, a bassoon solo held one of them fast on its distant, grief-strickenheights. 

Daniel sketched the sixth movement in the following fourteen nights. 

He was fully aware of the fact that he had never been able to work thisway before. When a man accomplishes the extraordinary, he knows it. Itseizes him like a disease, and fills him like a profound dream. 

At times he felt as though he must tell some one about it, even if itwere only Herr Carovius. But once the flame had died down, he could nothelp but laugh at the temptation to which he had felt himself subjected. “Patience, ” he thought, feeling more assured than ever, “patience, patience!”

Since his work on the manuscripts was completed and his connection withthe firm of Philander and Sons dissolved, he began to look around foranother position. He had saved in the course of the last few years fourthousand marks, but he wished to keep this sum intact. 

He learned that the position of organist at the Church of St. Ægydiuswas vacant; he went to the pastor, who recommended him to his superiors. It was decided that he should play something before the churchconsistory. This he did one morning in October. The trial provedeminently successful to his exacting auditors. 

He was appointed organist at St. Ægydius’s at a salary of twelve hundredmarks a year. When he played on Sundays and holidays, the people cameinto the church just to hear him. 

 XVI

Among the suitors for the hand of Dorothea on whom Andreas Döderleinlooked with special favour was the mill owner, a man by the name ofWeisskopf. Herr Weisskopf was passionately fond of music. He had greatlyadmired Dorothea when she gave her concert, and had sent her a laurelwreath. 

One day Herr Weisskopf came in and took dinner with the Döderleins. Whenhe left, Döderlein said to his daughter: “My dear Dorothea, from thisday on you may consider yourself betrothed. This admirable man desiresto have you as his lawfully wedded wife. It is a great good fortune; theman is as rich as Crœsus. ”

Instead of making a reply, Dorothea laughed heartily. But she knew thatthe time had come when something had to be done. Her mobile facetwitched with scorn, fear, and desire. 

“Think it over; sleep on it. I have promised Herr Weisskopf to let himknow to-morrow, ” said Döderlein, black-browed. 

A week before this, Andreas Döderlein, confidently expecting that HerrWeisskopf would ask for the hand of his daughter, had borrowed athousand marks from him. The miller had loaned him the money believingthat he was thereby securing a promissory note on Dorothea. Döderleinhad placed himself under obligations, and was consequently determined tocarry out his plans with regard to the marriage of his daughter. 

But Dorothea’s behaviour made it safe to predict that objections wouldbe raised on her part. Döderlein was in trouble; he sought distraction. Sixteen years ago he had begun an _opus_ entitled “All Souls: aSymphonic Picture. ” Five pages of the score had been written, and sincethen he had never undertaken creative work. He rummaged around in hisdesk, found the score, went to the piano, and tried to take up thethread where he had lost it sixteen years ago. He tried to imagine theintervening time merely as a pause, an afternoon siesta. 

It would not go. He sighed. He sat before the instrument, and stared atthe paper like a schoolboy who has a problem to solve but has forgottenthe rule. He seemed to lament the loss of his artistic ability. He feltso hollow. The notes grinned at him; they mocked him. His thoughtsturned involuntarily to the miller. He improvised for a while. Dorotheastuck her head in the door and sang: “Rhinegold, Rhinegold, pu-re gold. ”

He was enraged; he got up, slammed the lid of the piano, took his hatand top coat, left the house, and went out to see his friend in thesuburbs. 

When he returned that night, he saw Dorothea standing in the door with aman. It was the actor, Edmund Hahn. They were carrying on a heatedconversation in whispers. The man was holding Dorothea by the arm, butwhen Döderlein became visible from the unlighted street, he uttered anugly oath and quickly disappeared. 

Dorothea looked her father straight, and impudently, in the face, andfollowed him into the dark house. 

When they were upstairs and had lighted the lamp, Döderlein turned toher, and asked her threateningly: “What do you mean by these immodestassociations? Tell me! I want an answer!”

“I don’t want to marry your flour sack. That’s my answer, ” saidDorothea, with a defiant toss of her head. 

“Well, we’ll see, ” said Döderlein, pale with rage and ploughing throughhis hair with his fingers, “we’ll see. Get out of here! I have no desireto lose my well-earned sleep on account of such an ungrateful hussy. We’ll take up the subject again to-morrow morning. ”

The next morning Dorothea hastened to Herr Carovius. “Uncle, ” shestammered, “he wants to marry me to that flour sack. ”

“Yes? Well, I suppose I’ll have to visit that second-rate musician inhis studio again and give him a piece of my mind. In the meantime becalm, my child, be calm, ” said he, stroking her brown hair, “OldCarovius is still alive. ”

Dorothea nestled up to him, and smiled: “What would you say, Uncle, ” shebegan with a knavish and at the same time unusually attentive expressionin her face, “if I were to marry Daniel Nothafft? You like him, ” shecontinued in a flattering tone, and held him fast by the shoulder whenhe started back, “you like him, I know you do. I must marry somebody;for I do not wish to be an old maid, and I can’t stand Father anylonger. ”

Herr Carovius tore himself loose from her. “To the insane asylum withyou!” he cried. “I would rather see you go to bed with that meal sack. Is the Devil in you, you prostitute? If your skin itches, scratch it, sofar as I am concerned, but take a stable boy to do it, as EmpressKatherine of blessed memory did. Buy fine dresses, bedizen yourself withtom-foolery of all shades and colours, go to dances and lap upchampagne, make music or throw your damn fiddle on the dung heap, doanything you want to do, I’ll pay for it; but that green-eyed phantast, that lunk-headed rat-catcher, that woman-eater and music-box bird, no, no! Never! Send him humping down the stairs and out the front door! ForGod’s sake and the sake of all the saints, don’t marry him! Don’t, Isay. If you do, it’s all off between you and me. ”

There was such a look of hate and fear in Herr Carovius’s face thatDorothea was almost frightened. His hair was as towsled as the twigs ofan abandoned bird’s nest; water was dripping from the corners of hismouth; his eyes were inflamed; his glasses were on the tip of his nose. 

Nothing could have made Dorothea more pleased with the story Daniel hadtold her than Herr Carovius’s ravings. Her eyes were opened wide, hermouth was thirsty. If she had hesitated at times before, she did so nomore. She loved money; greed was a part of her make-up from the hourshe was born. But if Herr Carovius had laid the whole of his treasuresat her feet, and said to her, “You may have them if you will renounceDaniel Nothafft, ” she would have replied, “Your money, my Daniel. ”

Something terribly strange and strong drew her to the man she had justheard so volubly cursed. That sensual prickling was of a more dangerousviolence and warmth in his presence than in that of any other man shehad ever known; and she had known a number. To her he was a riddle and amystery; she wanted to solve the one and clear up the other. He hadpossessed so many women, indubitably more than he had confessed to her;and she wished now to possess him. He was so quiet, so clever, soresolute: she wanted his quietness, his cleverness, his resoluteness. She wanted everything he had, his charm, his magic, his power over men, all that he displayed and all that he concealed. 

She thought of him constantly; she thought in truth of no one else, andnothing else. Her thoughts fluttered about his picture, shyly, greedily, and as playfully as a kitten. He had managed to bring will power andunity into her senses. She wanted to have him. 

The rain beat against the window. Terrified at Dorothea’sthoughtfulness, Herr Carovius pressed his hands to his cheeks. “I see, Isee, you want to leave me all alone, ” he said in a tone that soundedlike the howling of a dog in the middle of the night. “You want todeceive me, to surrender me to the enemy, to leave me nothing, nothingbut the privilege of sitting here and staring at my four walls. I see, Isee. ”

“Be still, Uncle, nothing is going to happen. It is all a huge joke, ”said Dorothea with feigned good humour and kind intentions. She walkedto the door slowly, looking back every now and then with a smile on herface. 

 XVII

It was early in the morning when Dorothea rang Daniel’s bell. Philippinaopened the door, but she did not wish to let Dorothea in. She forced anentrance, however, and, standing in the door, she inspected Philippinawith the eye of arrogance, always a clear-sighted organ. 

“Look out, Philippin’, there’s something rotten here, ” murmuredPhilippina to herself. 

Daniel was at work. He got up and looked at Dorothea, who carefullyclosed the door. 

“Here I am, Daniel, ” she said, and breathed a sigh of relief, like aswimmer who has just reached the land. 

“What is it all about?” asked Daniel, seemingly ill inclined to becomeexcited. 

“I have done what you wanted me to do, Daniel: I have broken away fromthem. I cannot tolerate Father a minute longer. Where should I go if notto you?”

Daniel went up to her, and laid his hands on her shoulders. “Girl, girl!” he said as if to warn her. He felt uneasy. 

They looked into each other’s eyes for what seemed like an eternity. Daniel was apparently trying to peer into the innermost recesses of hersoul. Dorothea’s eyes sparkled with daring; she did not lower her lids. Suddenly, as if moved from within, Daniel bent over and kissed her onthe forehead. 

“You know who I am, ” he said, and walked back and forth in the room. “You know how I have lived and how I am living at present. I am a guiltyman, and a lonely man. My nature craves tenderness, but is unable togive tenderness in return. My lot is a hard one, and whoever decides toshare it with me must be able to bear her part of this hardness. I amfrequently my own enemy and the enemy of those who mean well by me. I amnot a humourist, and make a poor impression in society. I can be gruff, offensive, spiteful, irreconcilable, and revengeful. I am ugly, poor, and no longer young. Are you not afraid of your twenty-three years, Dorothea?”

Dorothea shook her head vigorously. 

“Test yourself, Dorothea, examine yourself, ” he continued urgently, “don’t be too inexact, too careless with me, nor with yourself. Studythe situation from all sides, so that we may make no false calculations. Fate, you know, is fate. Love can get control of me more than I can getcontrol of myself, and when this takes place I will do everything in mypower. But I must have confidence, unlimited confidence. If I were tolose confidence, I should be like a mortal proscribed to Hell, anoutcast, an evil spirit. Examine yourself, Dorothea. You must know whatyou are doing; it is your affair, and it is a sacred one. ”

“I cannot do otherwise, Daniel!” cried Dorothea, and threw herself onhis bosom. 

“Then God be merciful to us, ” said Daniel. 

 XVIII

Daniel took Dorothea over to Sylvia von Erfft’s at Siegmundshof. He hadwritten to her, given her all the details, explained the entiresituation, and begged her to take Dorothea in and entertain her untilthe day of the wedding. Sylvia had shown herself most obliging in thematter; she met his requests with unaffected cordiality. 

Dorothea had spent two nights at home, during which she had succeeded inevading all explanations with her father. She did this by having himagree to give her three days to think it over. On the morning of thethird day, after her father had gone to the conservatory, she packed upher belongings and left the house. 

Andreas Döderlein found the following letter from her: “Dear Father:Abandon all your hopes with regard to my marrying Herr Weisskopf. I amof age and can marry whomsoever I wish. I have already made my choice. The man who is going to lead me to the altar is called Daniel Nothafft. He loves me perhaps even more than I deserve, and I will make him a goodwife. This is my unalterable decision, and you yourself will certainlycome to see that it is nobler to obey the impulses of one’s own heartthan to allow one’s self to be led on and blinded by materialconsiderations. Your loving daughter, Dorothea. ”

Andreas Döderlein had a sinking spell. The letter slipped from hisfingers and fell to the floor. Trembling in his whole body, he walked upto the covered table, took a glass and hurled it against the wall. Theglass broke into a thousand pieces. “I will choke you, you impioustoad!” he panted, shook his clenched fist, went to Dorothea’s room, and, seized with boundless wrath, upset the chairs and the little dressingtable. 

The maid, terrified, ran into the living room. She saw Dorothea’s letterlying on the floor, picked it up, and read it. When she heard her madmaster returning, she ran down stairs to the ground floor, rang HerrCarovius’s bell, and showed him the letter. His face turned yellow as heread it. The maid uttered a shrill, piercing cry, snatched the letterfrom Herr Carovius’s hands, and ran out into the court, for she heardAndreas Döderlein stumbling down the steps. He wanted to call the policeand have them lock up the abductor of his daughter. Catching sight ofHerr Carovius in the hall, he stopped and fixed his eyes on him. In themthere was a sea of anger; and yet it was obvious that Andreas Döderleinwas eager to ask a question or two. It seemed indeed that just oneconciliatory statement, even a single gesture on the part of the manwhom he had scrupulously avoided for years, would make bye-gones bebye-gones and convert two implacable foes into friends, colleaguesindeed in the business of revenge and punishment. 

But Herr Carovius was done with the world. His face was distorted;grimaces of unrelieved meanness furrowed his brow; his contempt knew nobounds. He turned about and slammed the door leading into his apartmentwith a bang that showed his intention of shutting himself up in his ownstronghold. 

Andreas Döderlein got as far as the entrance to the Town Hall. There hewas suddenly seized with grave doubts. He stared at the pavement for awhile, sad and sinister, and then started back home. His steps were nothalf so impetuous as they had been on the way over; they gave evidenceof weakened will and fading energy. 

Hardly had he reached home when Daniel was announced. “You have theboldness, Sir, ” he cried out to Daniel on his entering. “You have theboldness to appear in my sight? By the gods above, you are going far!”

“I will accept any challenge you make, ” said Daniel, with the chillydignity that was characteristic of him in such circumstances and thatnever failed to have a sobering effect on his potential antagonist. “Ihave nothing to fear. I should like to live in peace with the father ofmy wife, and for this reason I have come to you. ”

“Do you know what you are doing to me? You have stolen my daughter, man!” cried Döderlein with pathos. “But just wait. I will checkmate yourplans. I will make you feel the full measure of my power. ”

Daniel smiled contemptuously. “I am certain of that, ” he replied. “Iwill feel your power as long as I live; I have always felt it. But Ihave never submitted to it, and up to the present I have always beenable to break it. Think it over! Recall my past history! And devote afew of your meditative moments to your child. Adieu!” With that Danielleft. 

Andreas Döderlein was ill at ease. The man’s smile followed him whereverhe went. What could the desperado be planning? A bad conscienceparalyses evil determinations. For more than a week, Döderlein wagedperpetual war with his pride. And then? Daniel did not allow himself tobe seen; he received no news of any kind from Dorothea; and, climax ofit all, Herr Weisskopf notified him that his note for one thousandmarks, with interest, was due. Döderlein saw that there was nothing tobe done about it all except to recognise the dénouement as a fact andnot as a stage scene. And one day he hobbled up the steps of the houseon Ægydius Place. 

“I am glad to see you, ” said Daniel as he reached out his hand to hisvisitor. 

Andreas Döderlein spoke of a father’s bleeding heart, of the crushing ofproud hopes, of the impiety of youth, and the lonesomeness of old age. And then, rather disconnectedly, beating a tattoo with the fingers ofhis big hand on the top of the table, he spoke of the constraint inwhich he found himself with reference to the opulent owner of the mill. He told Daniel he had gone on a man’s note, had been suddenly obliged toredeem the note, and not having so much ready money at his disposal, hadaccepted a loan from the rich aspirant for Dorothea’s hand. 

Daniel was forced to admit that his troubles were humiliating and thatthe money would have to be raised. Döderlein said it amounted to fifteenhundred marks. He was surprised himself when he mentioned the sum whichassured him a clear gain of fifty per cent. It had been a clever idea, serving as it did to put the generosity of his future son-in-law totest. At the bottom of his heart he felt that his action wasdishonourable, and was consequently touched when Daniel, giving thisinroad on his savings but a moment’s thought, promised to send him themoney the following day. 

“You make me feel ashamed of myself, Daniel, really you do. Let us burythe hatchet! We are after all colleagues in Apollo. Or aren’t we? Callme Father, and I will call you Son! Address me with _Du_, and I willfollow your example. ”

Daniel gave him his hand without saying a word. 

Döderlein asked about Dorothea; and when Daniel told him where she was, he seemed quite contented. “Tell her my house and my arms are open toher; tell her of the change in the constellation, ” he said softly. “Wehave both done each other injustice and have both repented. ”

Daniel replied quite conventionally that he thought it better to leaveDorothea with Sylvia von Auffenberg. 

“As you wish, my son, ” said Andreas Döderlein, “I bow to the claims ofyour young happiness. Now we should have a bottle of Malvoisie orMoselle, so that I can drink to the health of my dear, unruly daughter. Or don’t you care to?”

Daniel went to send Philippina to the Golden Posthorn. But Philippinahad gone out with Agnes. He saw one of the maids from one of the otherapartments standing on the steps, and got her to run the errand. It wasa long while before she returned, and when the wine was finally pouredout, Döderlein had not time to drink: he was scheduled to give a lecturein the conservatory at seven. He drank about half of his glass, and thentook hasty leave of Daniel, shaking his hand with unwonted fervour. 

Daniel sat for a while thinking it all over. There was a knock at thedoor, and old Jordan came in. “May I?” he asked. 

Daniel nodded. Jordan took a seat on the chair Döderlein had beensitting on. He looked into Daniel’s face quizzically. “Is it true, Daniel, that you are going to get married again? That you are going tomarry the Döderlein girl?”

“Yes, Father, it is true, ” replied Daniel. He got a fresh glass, filledit, and pushed it over to the old man. “Drink, Father!” he said. 

The old man sipped the wine with an air of adoration. “It must be nineor ten years since I have had any wine, ” he said more or less tohimself. 

“You have not had a happy life, ” replied Daniel. 

“I will not complain, Daniel. I bear it because I have to. And whoknows? Perhaps there is still a measure of joy in store for me. Perhaps;who knows?”

The two men sat in silence and drank. It was so still that you couldhear the fluttering of the light in the lamp. 

“Where can Philippina be?” asked Daniel. 

“Yes, Philippina. I had forgot to tell you, ” began old Jordansorrowfully. “She came to me this afternoon, and told me she was goingover to Frau Hadebusch’s with Agnes and was going to stay there untilafter the wedding. But she spoke in such a confused way that I couldn’tmake out just what she planned to do. It sounded in fact as though shewere thinking of leaving the house for good and all. I wonder whetherthe girl isn’t a little off in her head? Day before yesterday I heard anawful racket in the kitchen; and when I went down, I saw at least sixplates lying on the floor all smashed to pieces. And as if this was notenough, she threatened to throw the dishwater on me. She was swearinglike a trooper. Now tell me: how is this? Can she go over to FrauHadebusch’s, and take Agnes with her without getting any one’s consent?”

Daniel made no reply. The thought of Philippina filled him withanguish; he feared some misfortune. He felt that he would have to lether have her way. 

 XIX

In the night Daniel became very much excited. He left the house, and, despite the darkness and the snow storm, wandered out to the countryquite unmindful of the cold and snow and the wind. 

He listened to the whisperings of his soul; he took council withhimself. He looked up at the great black vaulted arch of heaven asthough he were beseeching the powers above to send him the light he felthe needed. The morning of the approaching day seemed bleaker, blacker tohim than the night that was passing. He was lost in anxiety: he wentover to his graves. 

He did not stop to think until well on his way that the gate to thecemetery would be closed; but he kept on going. He looked around for aplace in the wall where he might climb over. Finally he found one, climbed up, scratched his hands painfully, leaped down into somesnow-covered hedges, and then wandered around with his burden of griefover the stormy, desolate field of the dead. As he stood beforeGertrude’s grave he was overwhelmed with the feeling of the hour: therewere voices in the storm; he felt that the horror and the memory of itall would hurl him to the ground. But when he stood by the grave ofEleanore, he felt his peace return. The clouds suddenly opened on thedistant horizon, and a moonbeam danced about him. 

It was almost morning when he reached home. 

A week later he went over to Siegmundshof and got Dorothea. 

Sylvia and Dorothea came down through a snow-covered alley to meet him. They were walking arm in arm, and Sylvia was laughing at Dorothea’seasy-flowing conversation. They seemed to be getting along perfectlytogether: there could be no mistaking the picture he saw before him. Sylvia told Daniel when she was alone with him that she had taken agreat liking to Dorothea. She remarked that her cheerfulness wasirresistible and contagious, and that when she was with children shebecame a child herself. 

Yet, despite all this, Sylvia studied Daniel. And when Dorothea waspresent she studied her too: she cast fleeting, searching, unassuredglances at them—at Daniel and at Dorothea. 

Daniel and Dorothea were married on a sunny day in December. 

 DOROTHEA

 I

For the past fortnight, Philippina and Agnes had been living at FrauHadebusch’s. A message came from Daniel telling Philippina that she andAgnes should return, or, if she preferred to stay with Frau Hadebusch, she should send Agnes home at once. 

“There you have it, ” said Frau Hadebusch, “the master speaks. ”

“Ah, him—he’s been speakin’ to me for a long while. Much good it doeshim, ” said Philippina. “The child stays with me, and I’m not going back. That settles it! What, Agnes? Yes?”

Agnes was sitting on the bench by the stove with Henry the idiot, reading the greasy pages of a cheap novel. When Philippina spoke to her, she looked up in a distracted way and smiled. The twelve-year-old childhad a perfectly expressionless face; and as she never got out of thehouse for any length of time, her skin was almost yellow. 

“It ain’t no use to try to buck him, ” continued Frau Hadebusch, wholooked as old as the mountains and resembled generally a crippled witch, “he c’n demand the kid, and if he does he’ll git her. If you ain’tcareful, I’ll get mixed up in the mess before long. ”

“Well, how do you feel about it, Agnes? Do you want to go back to yourdaddy?” said Philippina, turning to the girl, and looking at FrauHadebusch in a knowing way. 

Agnes’s face clouded up. She hated her father. This was the point towhich Philippina had brought matters by her incessant whisperings andugly remarks behind Daniel’s back. Agnes was convinced that she was aburden to her father, and his marriage had merely confirmed what shealready felt she knew. Deep in her silent soul she carried the pictureof her prematurely deceased mother, as if it were that of a woman whohad been murdered, sacrificed. Philippina had told her how her motherhad committed suicide; it was a fearful tale in her language. It hadbeen the topic of conversation between her and her charge on many acold, dark winter evening. Agnes always said that when she was big andcould talk, she would take vengeance on her father. 

When she could talk! That was her most ardent wish. For she wassilent-born. Her soul pined in a prison that was much harsher and harderthan that in which her mother’s soul had been housed and harassed. Gertrude had some bright moments; Agnes never. She was incapable ofenthusiasm; she could not look up. For her heart, her soul was notmerely asleep, torpid, lethargic; it was hopelessly dried up, withered. Life was not in it. 

“I am not going to those Döderleins, ” she said, crying. 

But in the evening Daniel came over. He took Philippina to one side, andhad a serious talk with her. He explained the reasons for his gettingmarried a third time as well as he could without going too deeply intothe subject. “I needed a wife; I needed a woman to keep house for me; Ineeded a companion. Philippina, I am very grateful to you for what youhave done, but there must also be a woman in my home who can cheer meup, turn my thoughts to higher things. I have a heavy calling; that youcannot appreciate. So don’t get stubborn, Philippina. Pack up yourthings, and come back home. How can we get along without you?”

For the first time in his life he spoke to her as though she were awoman and a human being. Philippina stared at him. Then she burst outinto a loud, boisterous laugh, and began to show her whole supply ofscorn. “Jesus, Daniel, how you c’n flatter a person! Who’d a thought it!You’ve always been such a sour dough. Very well. Say: ‘Dear Philippina!’Say it real slow: ‘D-e-a-r Philippina, ’ and then I’ll come. ”

Daniel looked into the face of the girl, who never did seem young andwho had aged fearfully in the last few months. “Nonsense!” he cried, andturned away. 

Philippina stamped the floor with her foot. Henry, the idiot, came outinto the hall, holding a lamp above his head. 

“Does the sanctimonious clerk still live here?” asked Daniel, looking upat the crooked old stairway, while a flood of memories came rushing overhim. 

“Thank God, no!” snarled Philippina. “He’d be the last straw. I feelsick at the stomach when I see a man. ”

Daniel again looked into her detestable, ugly, distorted, and wickedface. He was accustomed to question everything, eyes and bodies, abouttheir existence in terms of tones, or their transformation into tones. Here he suddenly felt the toneless; he had the feeling one might have onlooking at a deep-sea fish: it is lifeless, toneless. He thought of hisEva; he longed for his Eva. Just then Agnes came out of the door to lookfor Philippina. 

He laid his hand on Agnes’s hair, and said good-naturedly, looking atPhilippina: “Well, then—d-e-a-r Philippina, come back home!”

Agnes jerked herself away from him; he looked at the child amazed; hewas angry, too. Philippina folded her hands, bowed her head, andmurmured with much humility: “Very well, Daniel, we’ll be backto-morrow. ”

 II

Philippina arrived at the front door at ten o’clock in the morning. Inone hand she carried her bundle; by the other she led Agnes, thenstudying her _milieu_ with uneasy eyes. 

Dorothea opened the door. She was neatly and tastefully dressed: shewore a blue gingham dress and a white apron with a lace border. Aroundher neck was a gold chain, and suspended from the chain a medallion. 

“Oh, the children!” she cried cheerfully, “Philippina and Agnes. What doyou think of that! God bless you, children. You are home at last. ” Shewanted to hug Agnes, but the child pulled away from her as timidly asshe had pulled away from her father yesterday. In either case, shepulled away!

Philippina screwed her mouth into a knot on hearing a woman ten yearsher junior call her a child; she looked at Dorothea from head to foot. 

Dorothea scarcely noticed her. “Just imagine, Philippin’, the cookdidn’t come to-day, so I thought I would try my own hand, ” said Dorotheawith glib gravity, “but I don’t know, the soup meat is still as hard asa rock. Won’t you come and see what’s the matter?” She took Philippinainto the kitchen. 

“Ah, you’ve got to have a lid on the pot, and what’s more, that ain’t aregular fire, ” remarked Philippina superciliously. 

Dorothea had already turned to something else. She had found a glass ofpreserved fruit, had opened it, taken a long-handled spoon, dived intoit, put the spoon to her mouth, and was licking away for dear life. “Tastes good, ” she said, “tastes like lemon. Try it, Philippin’. ” Sheheld the spoon to Philippina’s lips so that she could try it. Philippinathrust the spoon rudely to one side. 

“No, no, you have got to try it. I insist. Taste it!” continuedDorothea, and poked the spoon tightly against Philippina’s lips. “Iinsist, I insist, ” she repeated, half beseechingly, half in the tone ofa command, so that Philippina, who somehow or other could not find herveteran power of resistance, and in order to have peace, let the spoonbe shoved into her mouth. 

Just then old Jordan came out into the hall, and with him thechimney-sweeper who wished to clean the chimney. 

“Herr Inspector, Herr Inspector, ” cried Dorothea, laughing; and when theold man followed her call, she gave him a spoonful, too. Thechimney-sweep likewise; he had to have his. And last but not least cameAgnes. 

They all laughed; a faint smile even ventured across Agnes’s pale face, while Daniel, frightened from his room by the hubbub, came out and stoodin the kitchen door and laughed with the rest. 

“Do you see, Daniel, do you see? They all eat out of my hand, ” saidDorothea contentedly. “They all eat out of my hand. That’s the way Ilike to have things. To your health, folks!”

 III

One afternoon Dorothea, with an open letter in her hand, came rushinginto Daniel’s room, where he was working. 

“Listen, Daniel, Frau Feistelmann invites me over to a party at herhouse to-morrow. May I go?”

“You are disturbing me, my dear. Can’t you see you are upsetting me?”asked Daniel reproachfully. 

“Oh, I see, ” breathed Dorothea, and looked helplessly at the stack ofscores that lay on the top of the table. “I am to take my violin alongand play a piece or two for the people. ”

Daniel gazed into space without being able to comprehend her remarks. Hewas composing. 

Dorothea lost her patience. She stepped up to the place on the wallwhere the mask of Zingarella had been hanging since his return home. “Daniel, I have been wanting for some time to ask you what that thingis. Why do you keep it there? What’s it for? It annoys me with itseverlasting grin. ”

Daniel woke up. “That is what you call a grin?” he asked, shaking hishead; “Is it possible? That smile from the world beyond appeals to youas a grin?”

“Yes, ” replied Dorothea defiantly, “the thing is grinning. And I don’tlike it; I can’t stand that silly face; I don’t like it simply becauseyou do like it so much. In fact, you seem to like it better than you dome. ”

“No childishness, Dorothea!” said Daniel quietly. “You must get yourmind on higher things; and you must respect my spirits. ”

Dorothea became silent. She did not understand him. She looked at himwith a touch of distrust. She thought the mask was a picture of one ofhis old sweethearts. She made a mouth. 

“You said something about playing at the party, Dorothea, ” continuedDaniel. “Do you realise that I never heard you play? I will franklyconfess to you that heretofore I have been afraid to hear you. I couldtolerate only the excellent; or the promise of excellence. You may showboth; and yet, what is the cause of my fear? You have not practised in along while; not once since we have been living together. And yet youwish to play in public? That is strange, Dorothea. Be so good as to getyour violin and play a piece for me, won’t you?”

Dorothea went into the next room, got her violin case, came out, tookthe violin, and began to rub the bow with rosin. As she was tuning theA string, she lifted her eyebrows and said: “Do you really want me toplay?”

She bit her lips and played an _étude_ by Fiorillo. Having finished itbut not having drawn a word of comment from Daniel, she again took upthe violin and played a rather lamentable selection by Wieniawski. 

Daniel maintained his silence for a long while. “Pretty good, Dorothea, ”he said at last. “You have, other things being equal, a very pleasantpastime there. ”

“What do you mean?” asked Dorothea with noticeable rapidity, a heavyblush colouring her cheeks. 

“Is it anything more than that, Dorothea?”

“What do you mean?” she repeated, embarrassed and indignant. “I shouldthink that my violin is more than a pastime. ”

Daniel got up, walked over to her, took the bow gently from her hands, seized it by both ends, and broke it in two. 

Dorothea screamed, and looked at him in hopeless consternation. 

With great earnestness Daniel replied: “If the music I hear is not ofunique superiority, it sounds in my ears like something that has beenhashed over a thousand times. My wife must consider herself quite abovea reasonably melodious dilettantism. ”

Tears rushed to Dorothea’s eyes. Again she was unable to grasp themeaning of it all. She even imagined that Daniel was making a consciouseffort to be cruel to her. 

For her violin playing had been a means of pleasing—pleasing herself, the world. It had been a means of rising in the world, of compellingadmiration in others and blinding others. This was the onlyconsideration that made her submit to the stern discipline her fatherimposed upon her. She possessed ambition, but she sold herself to praisewithout regard for the praiser. And whatever an agreement of unknownorigin demanded in the way of feeling, she fancied she could satisfy itby keeping her mind on her own wishes, pleasures, and delights whileplaying. 

Daniel put his arms around her and kissed her. She broke away from himin petulance, and went over to the window. “You might have told me thatI do not play well enough for you, ” she exclaimed angrily and sobbed;“there was no need for you to break my bow. I never play. It neveroccurred to me to bother you by playing. ” She wept like a spoiled child. 

It cost Daniel a good deal of persuasion to pacify her. Finally he sawthat there was no use to talk to her; he sighed and said nothing more. After a while he took her pocket handkerchief, and dried the tears fromher eyes, laughing as he did so. “What was really in my mind was thatparty at Frau Feistelmann’s. I did not want you to go. For I do not putmuch faith in that kind of entertainment. They do not enrich you, thoughthey do incite all kinds of desires. But because I have treated youharshly, you may go. Possibly it will make you forget your troubles, youlittle fool. ”

“Oh, I thank you for your offer; but I don’t want to go, ” repliedDorothea snappishly, and left the room. 

 IV

Yet Dorothea said the next day at the dinner table that she was going toaccept the invitation. It would be much easier just to go and have itover with, she remarked, than to stay away and explain her absence. Shesaid this in a way that would lead you to believe that it had cost hermuch effort to come to her decision. 

“Certainly, go!” said Daniel. “I have already advised you to do itmyself. ”

She had had a dark blue velvet dress made, and she wanted to wear it forthe first time on this occasion. 

Toward five o’clock Daniel went to his bedroom. He saw Dorothea standingbefore the mirror in her new dress. It was a tall, narrow mirror on aconsole. Dorothea had received it from her father as a wedding present. 

“What is the matter with her?” thought Daniel, on noticing her completelack of excitement. She was as if lost in the reflection of herself inthe mirror. There was something rigid, drawn, transported about hereyes. She did not see that Daniel was standing in the room. When sheraised her arm and turned her head, it was to enjoy these gestures inthe mirror. 

“Dorothea!” said Daniel gently. 

She started, looked at him thoughtfully, and smiled a heady smile. 

Daniel was anxious, apprehensive. 

 V

“I am related to Daniel, and we must address each other by the familiar_Du_, ” said Philippina to Dorothea. Daniel’s wife agreed. 

Every morning when Dorothea came into the kitchen Philippina would say:“Well, what did you dream?”

“I dreamt I was at the station and it was wartime, and some gipsies camealong and carried me off, ” said Dorothea on one occasion. 

“Station means an unexpected visit; war means discord with variouspersonalities; and gipsies mean that you are going to have to do withsome flippant people. ” All this Philippina rattled off in the HighGerman of her secret code. 

Philippina was also an adept in geomancy. Dorothea would often sit byher side, and ask her whether this fellow or that fellow were in lovewith her, whether this girl loved that fellow and the other girlanother, and so on through the whole table of local infatuations. Philippina would make a number of dots on a sheet of paper, fill in thenumbers, hold the list up to the light, and divulge the answer of theoracle. 

In a very short while the two were one heart, one soul. Dorothea couldalways count on Philippina’s laughter of approval when she fell into oneof her moods of excessive friskiness. And if Agnes failed to show theproper amount of interest, Philippina would poke her in the ribs andexclaim: “You little rascallion, has the cat got your tongue?”

Agnes would then sneak off in mournful silence to her school books, andsit for hours over the simplest kind of a problem in the wholearithmetic. Dorothea would occasionally bring her a piece of taffy. Shewould wrap it up, put it in her pocket, and give it the next day to aschoolmate from whose note book she had copied her sums in subtraction. 

Herr Seelenfromm stopped Philippina on the street, and said to her:“Well, how are you getting along? How is the young wife making out?”

“Oi, oi, we’re living on the fat of the land, I say, ” Philippinareplied, stretching her mouth from ear to ear. “Chicken every day, caketoo, wine always on hand, and one guest merely opens the door onanother. ”

“Nothafft must have made a pile of money, ” remarked Herr Seelenfromm inamazement. 

“Yes, he must. Nobody works at our house. The wife’s pocket-book atleast is always crammed. ”

The sky was blue, the sun was bright, spring had come. 

 VI

Andreas Döderlein always took Sunday dinner with his children. He loveda juicy leg of pork, a salad garnished with greens and eggs, and a tartdrowned in sugar. Old Jordan, who was privileged to sit at the table, let the individual morsels dissolve on his tongue. He had never had suchdelicacies placed before him in his life. At times he would cast aglance of utter astonishment at Daniel. 

He very rarely took part in the conversation. As soon as the dishes hadbeen removed, he would get up and quietly go to his room. 

“A very remarkable old man, ” said Andreas Döderlein one Sunday, as hesat tipped back on his chair, picking his teeth. 

“Ah, we have our troubles with him, ” said Dorothea abusively, “he is anincorrigible pot-watcher. He comes to the kitchen ten times a day, sticks his nose up in the air, asks what we are going to have fordinner, and then goes out and stands in the hall, with the result thatour guests come and stumble over him. ”

Andreas Döderlein emitted a growl of lament. 

“How are your finances, my son?” he asked, turning to Daniel with an airof marked affability. “Would you not like to bolster up your income bytaking a position in the conservatory? You would have time for it; yourwork as organist at St. Ægydius does not take up all your time. Heroldis going to be retired, you know. He is seventy-five and no longer ableto meet the requirements. All that we will have to do will be for me togive you my backing. Three thousand marks a year, allocation to yourwidow after ten years of service, extra fees—I should think you wouldregard that as a most enticing offer. Or don’t you?”

Dorothea ran up to her father in a spirit of unrestrained jubilation, threw her arms around his bulky body, and kissed him on his flabbycheek. 

“No thanks to me, my child, ” said the Olympian; “to stand by you two isof course my duty. ”

“What sort of a swollen stranger is that, anyhow?” thought Daniel tohimself. “What does he want of me? Why does he come into my house andsit down at my table? Why is he so familiar with me? Why does he blowhis breath on me?” Daniel was silent. 

“I understand, my dear son, that you would abandon your leisure hoursonly with the greatest reluctance, ” continued Döderlein with concealedsarcasm, “but after all, who can live precisely as he would like tolive? Who can follow his own inclinations entirely? The everyday featureof human existence is powerful. Icarus must fall to the earth. With yourwife anticipating a happy event, you cannot, of course, hesitate in theface of such an offer. ”

Daniel cast an angry look at Dorothea. 

“I will think it over, ” said Daniel, got up, and left the room. 

“It is unpleasant for him, ” complained Dorothea; “he values his leisureabove everything else in the world. But I will do all in my power tobring him around, Father. And you keep at him. He will resist andobject. I know him. ”

Thus it was brought to light that Daniel was no longer a mysterious andunfathomable individual in her estimation. She had found him out; shehad divined him, in her way to be sure. He was much simpler than she hadimagined, and at times she was really a bit angry at him for notarousing her curiosity more than he did. What she had fancied as highlyinteresting, thrilling, intoxicating, had proved to be quite simple andordinary. The charm was gone, never to return. Her sole diversion lay inher attempts to get complete control over him through the skilfulmanipulation of her senses and her priceless youth. 

Daniel felt that she was disappointed; he had been afraid of this allalong. His anxiety increased with time, for it was evident thateverything he said or did disappointed her. His anxiety caused him to beindulgent, where he had formerly been unbending. The difference in theirages made him patient and tractable. He feared he could not show her thelove that she in her freshness and natural, unconsumed robustnessdesired. On this account he denied himself many things which he formerlycould not have got along without, and put up with, many things thatwould have been intolerable to him as a younger man. 

It needed only a single hour at night to make him promise to accept theposition old Herold was leaving. He, as parsimonious with words as inthe expression of feelings, succumbed to her cat-like cuddling. Hecapitulated in the face of her unpitying ridicule, and surrendered allto the prurient agility of a young body. Dark powers there are that setup dependencies between man and woman. When they rule, things do notwork out in accordance with set calculation or inborn character. Ittakes but a single hour of the night to bend the most sacred truth oflife into a lie. 

 VII

In the course of time Daniel had to provide for an increase in hisannual salary. Dorothea had made a great many innovations that costmoney. She had bought a dressing table, a number of cabinets, and abath tub. The lamps, dishes, bed covers, and curtains she foundold-fashioned, and simply went out and bought new ones. 

Nothing gave her greater pleasure than to go shopping. Then the billscame in, and Daniel shook his head. He begged her to be more saving, butshe would fall on his neck, and beseech and beseech until he acceded toevery single one of her wishes. 

She rarely came home with empty hands. It may have been only littlethings that she bought, a manikin of porcelain with a tile hat and anumbrella, or a pagoda with a wag-head, or even merely a mouse-trap—butthey all cost money. 

Philippina would be called in; Philippina was to admire the purchases. And she would say with apparent delight: “Now ain’t that sweet!” Or, “Now that’s fine; we needed a mouse-trap so bad! There was a mouse onthe clothes rack just yesterday, cross my heart, Daniel. ”

As to hats, dresses, stockings, shoes, laces, and blouses—when it cameto these Dorothea was a stranger to such concepts as measure or modesty. She wanted to compete with the wives of the rich people whose partiesshe attended, and next to whom she sat in the pastry shop or at thetheatre. 

She was given free tickets to the theatre and the concerts. But oncewhen she had told Daniel that the director had sent her a ticket, helearned from Philippina that she had bought the ticket and paid for itwith her own money. He did not call her to account, but he could notget the thought out of his mind that she had believed she had deceivedhim. 

He did not accompany her on her pleasure jaunts; he wanted to work andnot double even the smallest expenditure by going with her. Dorothea hadbecome accustomed to this. She looked upon his apathy toward the theatreand his dislike of social distractions as a caprice, a crotchet on hispart. She never considered what he had gone through in the way oftheatricals and concerts; she had completely forgotten what he hadconfessed to her in a decisive hour. 

When she came home late in the evening with burning cheeks and glowingeyes, Daniel did not have the courage to give her the advice he felt sheso sorely needed. “Why snatch her from her heaven?” he thought. “Shewill become demure and quiet in time; her wild lust for pleasure willfade and disappear. ”

He was afraid of her pouting mien, her tears, her perplexed looks, herdefiant running about. But he lacked the words to express himself. Heknew how ineffectual warning and reproach might be and were. Emptytalking back and forth he could not stand, while if he made a reallyhuman remark it found no response. She did not appreciate what he said;she misunderstood, misinterpreted everything. She laughed, shrugged hershoulders, pouted, called him an old grouch, or cooed like a dove. Shedid not look at him with real eyes; there was no flow of soul in whatshe did. 

Gloom filled his heart. 

The waste in the household affairs became worse and worse from week toweek. Daniel would have felt like a corner grocer if he had never lether know how much he had saved, or had given her less than she askedfor. And so his money was soon all gone. Dorothea troubled herself verylittle about the economic side of their married life. She toldPhilippina what to do, and fell into a rage if her orders were notpromptly obeyed. 

“It’s too dull for her here. My God, such a young woman!” saidPhilippina to Daniel with simulated regret. “She wants to have a goodtime; she wants to enjoy her life. And you can’t blame her. ”

Philippina was the mistress of the house. She went to the market, paidthe bills, superintended the cook and the washwoman, and rejoiced withexceeding great and fiendish joy when she saw how rapidly everything wasgoing downhill, downhill irresistibly and as sure as your life. 

 VIII

As the time approached for Dorothea’s confinement she very rarely leftthe house. She would lie in bed until about eleven o’clock, when shewould get up, dress, comb her hair, go through her wardrobe, and writeletters. 

She carried on a most elaborate correspondence; those who received herletters praised her amusing style. 

After luncheon she would go back to bed; and late in the afternoon hervisitors came in, not merely women but all sorts of young men. It oftenhappened that Daniel did not even know the names of the people. He wouldwithdraw to the room Eleanore had formerly occupied, and from which hecould hear laughter and loud talk resounding through the hall. 

By evening Dorothea was tired. She would sit in the rocking chair andread the newspaper, or the _Wiener Mode_, generally not in the best ofhumour. 

Daniel confidently believed that all this would change for the better assoon as the child had been born; he believed that the feeling of amother and the duties of a mother would have a broadening and subduingeffect on her. 

Late in the autumn Dorothea gave birth to a boy, who was baptisedGottfried. She could not do enough by way of showing her affection forthe child; her transports were expressed in the most childish terms; herdisplay of tenderness was almost excessive. 

For six days she nursed the child herself. Then the novelty wore off, friends told her it would ruin her shape to keep it up, and she quit. “It makes you stout, ” she said to Philippina, “and cow’s milk is just asgood, if not better. ”

Philippina opened her mouth and eyes as wide as she could when she sawDorothea standing before the mirror, stripped to the hips, studying thesymmetry of her body with a seriousness that no one had ever noticed inher before. 

Dorothea became coldly indifferent toward her child; it seemed that shehad entirely forgotten that she was a mother. The baby slept in the roomwith Philippina and Agnes, both of whom cared for it. Its mother wasotherwise engaged. 

As if to make up for lost time and to indemnify herself for thesuffering and general inconvenience to which she had been put in thelast few months, Dorothea rushed with mad greediness into new pleasuresand strange diversions. Soon however she found herself embarrassed froma lack of funds. Daniel told her, kindly but firmly, that the salarieshe was drawing as organist and teacher were just barely enough to keepthe house going, and that he was curtailing his own personal needs asmuch as possible so that there would be no cause to discontinue ordiminish the home comforts they had latterly been enjoying. “We are notpeasants, ” he said, “and that we are not living from the mercy of chanceis a flaw in me rather than in my favour. ”

“You old pinch-penny!” said Dorothea. Ugly wrinkles appeared on herbrow. “If you had not made me disgusted with my art, I might have beenable to make a little money too, ” she added. 

He looked down at the floor in complete silence. She however beganthinking about ways and means of getting her hands on money. “UncleCarovius might help me, ” she thought. She took to visiting her fathermore frequently, and every time she came she would stand out in the hallfor a while hoping to see Herr Carovius. One day he appeared. She wantedto speak to him, smile at him, win him over. But one look from thatface, filled with petrified and ineradicable rage, showed her that anyattempt to approach the old man and get him in a friendly frame of mindwould be fruitless. 

On the way home she chanced to meet the actor Edmund Hahn. She had notseen him since she had been married. The actor seemed tremendouslypleased to see her. They walked along together, engaged in a zealousconversation, talking at first loudly and then gently. 

 IX

The day Dorothea got married, Herr Carovius had gone to his lawyer tohave the will he had drawn up the night before attested to. He hadbequeathed his entire fortune, including his home and the furniture, toan institution to be erected after his death for the benefit of orphansof noble birth. Baron Eberhard von Auffenberg had been named as firstdirector of the institution and sole executor of his will. 

Herr Carovius refused to have anything more to do with music. He had aleather cover made for his long, narrow grand piano, and enshrouded inthis, the instrument resembled a stuffed animal. He looked back on hispassion for music as one of the aberrations of his youth, though herealised that he was chastising his spirit till it hurt when he tookthis attitude. 

The method he employed to keep from having nothing to do wascharacteristic of the man: he went through all the books of his librarylooking for typographical errors. He spent hours every day at this work;he read the scientific treatises and the volumes of pure literature withhis attention fixed on individual letters. When, after infinite search, he discovered a word that had been misspelled, or a grammatical slip, hefelt like a fisherman who, after waiting long and patiently, finallysees a fish dangling on the hook. 

Otherwise he was thoroughly unhappy. The beautiful evenness of his hairon the back of his neck had been transformed into a shaggy wilderness. He could be seen going along the street in a suit of clothes that waspeppered with spots, while his Calabrian hat resembled a war tent thathas gone through a number of major offensives. 

He had again taken to frequenting the Paradise Café two or three times aweek, not exactly to surrender himself to mournful memories, but becausethe coffee there cost twenty pfennigs, whereas the more modern caféswere charging twenty-five. His dinner consisted of a pot of coffee and afew rolls. 

It came about that old Jordan likewise began to frequent the Paradise. For a long while the two men would go there, sit down at their chosentables, and study each other at a distance. Finally the day came whenthey sat down together; then it became a custom for them to take theirplaces at the same table, one back in the corner by the stove, where aquiet comradeship developed between them. It was rare that theirconversation went beyond external platitudes. 

Herr Carovius acted as though he were merely enduring old Jordan. But henever really became absorbed in his newspaper until the old man had comeand sat down at the table with him, greeting him with marked respect ashe did so. Jordan, however, did not conceal his delight when, onentering the café and casting his eyes around the room, they at lastfell on Herr Carovius. While he sipped his coffee, he never took themoff the wicked face of his _vis-à-vis_. 

 X

Philippina became Dorothea’s confidential friend. 

At first it was nothing more than Dorothea’s desire to gossip that drewher to Philippina. Later she fell into the habit of telling hereverything she knew. She felt no need of keeping any secret fromPhilippina, the inexplicable. The calm attentiveness with whichPhilippina listened to her flattered her, and left her without a vestigeof suspicion. She felt that Philippina was too stupid and uncultivatedto view her activities in perspective or pass judgment on them. 

She liked to conjure up seductive pictures before the old maid’simagination; for she loved to hear Philippina abuse the male of thespecies. If some bold plan were maturing in her mind, she would tellPhilippina about it just as if it had already been executed. In this wayshe tested the possibility of really carrying out her designs, andprocured for herself a foretaste of what was to follow. 

It was chiefly Philippina’s utter ugliness that made her trust her. Sucha homely creature was in her eyes not a woman, hardly a human being ofeither sex; and with her she felt she could talk just as much as shepleased, and say anything that came into her head. And since Philippinanever spoke of Daniel in any but a derogatory and spiteful tone, Dorothea felt perfectly safe on that ground. 

She would come into the kitchen, and sit down on a bench and talk: abouta silk dress she had seen for sale; about the fine compliments CourtCouncillor Finkeldey had paid her; about the love affairs of these andthe divorce proceedings of those; about Frau Feistelmann’s pearls, remarking that she would give ten years of her life if she also had suchpearls. In fact, the word she used most frequently was “also. ” Shetrembled and shook from head to foot with desires and wishes, low-mindedunrest and lusts that flourish in the dark. 

Often she would tell stories of her life in Munich. She told how sheonce spent a night with an artist in his studio, just for fun; and howon another occasion she had gone with an officer to the barracks atnight simply on a wager. She told of all the fine-looking men who ranafter her, and how she dropped them whenever she felt like it. She saidshe would let them kiss her sometimes, but that was all; or she wouldwalk arm in arm with them through the forest, but that was all. Shecommented on the fact that in Munich you had to keep an eye out for thepolice and observe their hours, otherwise there might be trouble. Forexample, a swarthy Italian kept following her once—he was a regularConte—and she couldn’t make the man go on about his business, and youknow he rushed into her room and held a revolver before her face, andshe screamed, of course she did, until the whole house was awake, andthere was an awful excitement. 

When Daniel endeavoured to put a stop to her wastefulness, she went toPhilippina and complained. Philippina encouraged her. “Don’t you let himget away with anything, ” said she, “let him feel that a woman with yourbeauty didn’t have to marry a skinflint. ”

When she began to go with Edmund Hahn, she told Philippina all about it. “You ought to see him, Philippina, ” she whispered in a mysterious way. “He is a regular Don Juan; he can turn the head of any woman. ” She saidhe had been madly in love with her for two years, and now he was goingto gamble for her; but in a very aristocratic and exclusive club, towhich none but the nicest people belonged. “If I win, Philippina, I amgoing to make you a lovely present, ” she said. 

From then on her conversation became rather tangled and incoherent. Shewas out a great deal, and when she returned she was always in a ratheruncertain condition. She had Philippina put up her hair, and every wordshe spoke during the operation was a lie. One time she confessed thatshe had not been in the theatre, as Daniel had supposed, but at thehouse of a certain Frau Bäumler, a good friend of Edmund Hahn. They hadbeen gambling: she had won sixty marks. She looked at the door as if infear, took out her purse, and showed Philippina three gold pieces. 

Philippina had to swear that she would not give Dorothea away. A fewdays later Dorothea got into another party and got out of itsuccessfully, and Philippina had to renew her oath. The old maid couldtake an oath with an ease and glibness such as she might have displayedin saying good morning. In the bottom of her heart she never failed togrant herself absolution for the perjury she was committing. For thetime being she wished to collect, take notes, follow the game whereverit went. Moreover, it tickled and satisfied her senses to think aboutrelations and situations which she knew full well she could neverherself experience. 

Dorothea became more and more ensnared. Her eyes looked likewill-o’-the-wisps, her laugh was jerky and convulsive. She never hadtime, either for her husband or her child. She would receive lettersoccasionally that she would read with greedy haste and then tear intoshreds. Philippina came into her room once quite suddenly; Dorothea, terrified, hid a photograph she had been holding in her hand. WhenPhilippina became indignant at the secrecy of her action, she said withan air of inoffensive superiority: “You would not understand it, Philippina. That is something I cannot discuss with any one. ”

But Philippina’s vexation worried her: she showed her the photograph. It was the picture of a young man with a cold, crusty face. Dorotheasaid it was an American whom she had met at Frau Bäumler’s. He was saidto be very rich and alone. 

Every evening Philippina wanted to know something about the American. “Tell me about the American, ” she would say. 

One evening, quite late, Dorothea came into Philippina’s room withnothing on but her night-gown. Agnes and little Gottfried were asleep. “The American has a box at the theatre to-morrow evening. If you callfor me you can see him, ” she whispered. 

“I am bursting with curiosity, ” replied Philippina. 

For a while Dorothea sat in perfect silence, and then exclaimed: “If Ionly had money, Philippin’, if I only had money!”

“I thought the American had piles of it, ” replied Philippina. 

“Of course he has money, lots of it, ” said Dorothea, and her eyesflashed, “but—”

“But? What do you mean?”

“Do you think men do things without being compensated?”

“Oh, that’s it, ” said Philippina reflectively, “that’s it. ” She crouchedon a hassock at Dorothea’s feet. “How pretty you are, how sweet, ” shesaid in her bass voice: “God, what pretty little feet you have! And whatsmooth white skin! Marble’s got nothing on you. ” And with the carnalconcupiscence of a faun in woman’s form she took Dorothea’s leg in herhand and stroked the skin as far as the knee. 

Dorothea shuddered. As she looked down at the cowering Philippina, shenoticed that there was a button missing on her blouse. Through theopening, just between her breasts, she saw something brown. “What isthat on your body there?” asked Dorothea. 

Philippina blushed. “Nothing for you, ” she replied in a rough tone, andheld her hand over the opening in her blouse. 

“Tell me, Philippina, tell me, ” begged Dorothea, who could not stand thethought of any one keeping a secret from her: “Possibly it is yourdowry. Possibly you have made a savings bank out of your bosom?” Shelaughed lustily. 

Philippina got up: “Yes, it is my money, ” she confessed with reluctance, and looked at Dorothea hostilely. 

“It must be a whole lot. Look out, or some one will steal it from you. You will have to sleep on your stomach. ”

Daniel came down from his study, and heard Dorothea laughing. Grief wasgnawing at his heart; he passed hastily by the door. 

 XI

One evening, as Philippina came into the hall from the street, she saw aman coming up to her in the dark; he called her by name. She thought sherecognised his voice, and on looking at him more closely saw that it washer father. 

She had not spoken to him for ten years. She had seen him from time totime at a distance, but she had always made it a point to be going inanother direction as soon as she saw him; she avoided him, absolutely. 

“What’s the news?” she asked in a friendly tone. 

Jason Philip cleared his throat, and tried to get out of the light inthe hall and back into the shadow: he wished to conceal his shabbyclothes from his daughter. 

“Now, listen, ” he began with affected naturalness, “you might inquireabout your parents once in a while. The few steps over to our housewouldn’t make you break your legs. Honour thy father and thy mother, youknow. Your mother deserves any kindness you can show her. As for me, well, I have dressed you down at times, but only when you needed it. Youwere a mischievous monkey, and you know it. ”

He laughed; but there was the fire of fear in his eyes. Philippina wasthe embodiment of silence. 

“As I was saying, ” Jason Philip continued hastily, as if to prevent anyinimical memories of his daughter from coming to his mind, “you mightpay a little attention to your parents once in a while: Can’t you lendme ten marks? I have got to meet a bill to-morrow morning, and I haven’tgot a pfennig. The boys, you know, I mean your brothers, are conductingthemselves splendidly. They give me something the first of each month, and they do it regularly. But I don’t like to go to them about thispiddling business to-morrow. I thought that as you were right here inthe neighbourhood, I could come over and see you about it. ”

Jason Philip was lying. His sons gave him no help whatsoever. Willibaldwas living in Breslau, where he had a poorly paid position as abookkeeper and was just barely making ends meet. Markus was good fornothing, and head over heels in debt. 

Philippina thought the matter over for a moment, and then told herfather to wait. She went upstairs. Jason Philip waited at the door, whistling softly. Many years had passed by since he first attacked thecivil powers, urged on by a rebellion of noble thoughts in his soul. Many years had passed by since he had made his peace with these samecivil powers. Nevertheless, he continued to whistle the “Marseillaise. ”

Philippina came waddling down the steps, dragged herself over to thedoor, and gave her father a five-mark piece. “There, ” she bellowed, “Ihaven’t any more myself. ”

But Jason Philip was satisfied with half the amount he had asked for. Hewas now equipped for an onslaught on the nearest café with its cornedbeef, sausages, and new beer. 

From this time on he came around to the house on Ægydius Place quitefrequently. He would stand in the hall, look around for Philippina, andif he found her, beg her for money. The amounts Philippina gave himbecame smaller and smaller. Finally she took to giving him ten pfennigswhen he came. 

 XII

It frequently happened that Daniel would not answer when any one askedhim a question. His ear lost the words, his eye the pictures, signs, faces, gestures. He was in his own way; he was a torment to himself. 

Something drew him there and then here. He would leave the house, andthen be taken with a longing to return. He noticed that people werelaughing at him; laughing at him behind his back. He read mockery in theeyes of his pupils; the maids in the house tittered when he passed by. 

What did they know? What were they concealing? Perhaps his soul couldhave told what they knew and what they concealed; but he was unwillingto drag it all out into the realm of known, nameable things. 

As if an invisible slanderer were at his side, unwilling to leave him, leave him in peace, his despair increased. “What have you done, Daniel!”a voice within him cried, “what have you done!” The shades of thesisters, arm in arm, arose before him. 

The feeling of having made a mistake, a mistake that could never berectified, burned like fire within him. His work, so nearly completed, had suddenly died away. 

For the sake of his symphony, he forced himself into a quiet frame ofmind at night, made room for faint-hearted hopes, and lulled hispresentient soul into peace. 

The thing that troubled him worst of all was the way Philippina lookedat him. 

Since the birth of the child he had been living in Eleanore’s room. OldJordan was consideration itself: he went around in his stocking feet soas not to disturb him. 

One night Daniel took the candle, and went downstairs to Dorothea’sroom. She woke up, screamed, looked at him bewildered, recognised him, became indignant, and then laughed mockingly and sensually. 

He sat down on the side of her bed, and took her right hand between histwo. But he had a disagreeable sensation on feeling her hand in his, andlooked at her fingers. They were not finely formed: they were thicker atthe ends than in the middle; they could not remain quiet; they twitchedconstantly. 

“This can’t keep up, Dorothea, ” he said in a kindly tone, “you areruining your own life and mine too. Why do you have all these peoplearound you? Is the pleasure you derive from associating with them sogreat that it benumbs your conscience? I have no idea what you aredoing. Tell me about it. The household affairs are in a wretchedcondition; everything is in disorder. And that cigar smoke out in theliving room! I opened a window. And your child! It has no mother. Lookat its little face, and see how pale and sickly it looks!”

“Well, I can’t help it; Philippina puts poppy in the milk so that itwill sleep longer, ” Dorothea answered, after the fashion of guiltywomen: of the various reproaches Daniel had cast at her, she seized uponthe one of which she felt the least guilty. But after this, Daniel hadno more to say. 

“I am so tired and sleepy, ” said Dorothea, and again blinked at him outof one corner of her eye with that mocking, sensual look. As he showedno inclination to leave, she yawned, and continued in an angry tone:“Why do you wake a person up in the middle of the night, if all you wantis to scold them? Get out of here, you loathsome thing!”

She turned her back on him, and rested her head on her hand. Oppositeher bed was a mirror in a gold frame. She saw herself in it; she waspleased with herself lying there in that offended mood, and she smiled. 

Daniel, who had been so cruel to noble women now become shades, saw howshe smiled at herself, infatuated with herself: he took pity on suchchild-like vanity. 

“There is a Chinese fairy tale about a Princess, ” he said, and bent downover Dorothea, “who received from her mother as a wedding present a setof jewel boxes. There was a costly present in each box, but the last, smallest, innermost one was locked, and the Princess had to promisethat she would never open it. She kept her promise for a while, butcuriosity at last got the better of her, she forgot her vow, and openedthe last little box by force. There was a mirror in it; and when shelooked into it and saw how beautiful she was, she began to abuse herhusband. She tortured him so that he killed her one day. ”

Dorothea looked at him terrified. Then she laughed and said: “What astupid story! Such a tale of horror!” She laid her cheek on the pillow, and again looked in the mirror. 

The following morning Daniel received an anonymous letter. It read asfollows: “You will be guarding your own honour if you keep a sharplookout on your wife. A Well-wisher. ”

A cold fever came over him. For a few days he dragged his body from roomto room as if poisoned. He avoided every one in the house. One night heagain felt a desire to go down to Dorothea. When he reached the door toher room, he found it bolted. He knocked, but received no answer. Heknocked again, this time more vigorously. He heard her turn her head onthe pillow. “Let me sleep!” cried Dorothea angrily. 

“Open the door, Dorothea, ” he begged. 

“No, I will not; I want to sleep. ” These were the words that reached hisear from behind the bolted door. 

He pressed three or four times on the latch, implored her three or fourtimes to let him come in, but received no answer. He did not wish tomake any more noise, looked straight ahead as if into a dark hole, andthen turned and went back to his room in the attic. 

 XIII

Friedrich Benda was again in Europe. All the newspapers containedaccounts of the discoveries made on the expedition. Last autumn Arabdealers in ivory had found him in the land of Niam-Niam, taken aninterest in him, and finally brought him, then seemingly in the throesof imminent death, back to the Nile. In England he was celebrated as ahero and a bold pioneer; the Royal Geographical Society had made him anhonorary member; and the incidents of his journey were the talk of theday. 

Toward the close of April he came to Nuremberg to visit his mother. Theblind old woman had been carefully and cautiously prepared for hiscoming. She nevertheless came very near dying with joy; her life was ingrave danger for a while. 

Benda had not wished to stay more than a week: his business and hiswork called him back to London; he had lectures to deliver, and he hadto see a book through the press, a book in which he had given adescription of the years spent in Africa. 

At the urgent request of his mother he had decided to stay longer. Moreover, during the first days of his visit to Nuremberg, he sufferedfrom a severe attack of a fever he had brought with him from thetropics, and this forced him to remain in bed. The news of his presencein the city finally became generally known, and he was annoyed by thecuriosity of many people who had formerly never concerned themselvesabout him in the slightest. 

He was eager to see Daniel; every hour of delay in meeting his oldfriend was an hour of reproach. But his mother insisted that he staywith her; he had to sit near her and tell of his experiences in Africa. 

When he heard of the outer events in Daniel’s life he was filled withterror. The fact that made the profoundest impression on him wasDaniel’s marriage to Dorothea Döderlein. People told him a great manythings about their life and how they were getting along, and with eachpassing day he felt that it would be more difficult to go to Daniel. Oneevening he got his courage together and decided to go. He got as far asÆgydius Place, when he was seized with such a feeling of sadness anddiscomfort at the thought of all the changes that time and fate had madethat he turned back. He felt as if he might be deceived by a picturewhich would perhaps still show the features of Daniel as he looked informer years, but that he would be so changed inwardly that words wouldbe unable to bring the two together. 

He longed to talk with some one who loved Daniel and who had followedhis career with pure motives. He had to think for a long while: wherewas there such a person? He thought of old Herold and went to him. Hedirected the conversation without digression to a point that was ofprime importance to him. And in order to put the old man in asconfidential a frame of mind as possible, he reminded him of a nightwhen the three of them, Daniel, Herold, and Benda, had sat in the MohrenCellar drinking wine and discussing things in general, important andunimportant, that have a direct bearing on life. 

The old man nodded; he recalled the evening. He spoke of Daniel’s geniuswith a modesty and a deference that made Benda’s heart swell. He raisedhis finger, and said with a fine fire in his eye: “I’ll stand good forhim. I prophesy on the word of the Bible: A star will rise from Jacob. ”

Then he spoke of Eleanore; he was passionately fond of her. He told howshe had brought him the quartette, and how she had glowed withinspiration and the desire to help. He also had a good deal to say aboutGertrude, especially with regard to her mental breakdown and her death. 

Benda left the old man at once quiet and disquieted. He walked along thestreet for a long while, rapt in thought. When he looked up he saw thathe was standing before Daniel’s house. He went in. 

 XIV

Daniel knew that Benda had returned: Philippina had read it in thenewspaper and told him about it. Dorothea, who had learned of his returnfrom her father, had also spoken to him about it. He had also heardother people speak of it. 

The first time he heard it he was startled. He felt he would have toflee to his friend of former days. Then he was seized with the same fearthat had come over Benda: Is our relation to each other the same? Thethought of meeting Benda filled him with a sense of shame, to which wasadded a touch of bitterness as day after day passed by and Benda nevercalled or wrote. “It is all over, ” he thought, “he has forgotten me. ” Hewould have liked to forget too; and he could have done it, for his mindwas wandering, restless, strayed. 

One evening as he crossed the square he noticed that the windows of hishouse were all brilliantly lighted. He went to the kitchen, where hefound Agnes at the table seeding plums. 

“Who is here again?” he asked. One could hear laughter, loud andboisterous, in the living room. 

Agnes, scarcely looking up, reeled off the names: Councillor Finkeldey, Herr von Ginsterberg, Herr Samuelsky, Herr Hahn, a strange man whosename she did not know, Frau Feistelmann and her sister. 

Daniel remained silent for a while. Then he went up to Agnes, put hishand under her chin, lifted her head, and murmured: “And you? And you?”

Agnes frowned, and was afraid to look into his face. Suddenly she said:“To-day is the anniversary of mother’s death. ” With that she looked athim fixedly. 

“So?” said Daniel, sat down on the edge of the table, and laid his headin his hand. Some one was playing the piano in the living room. SinceDaniel had taken the grand piano up to his room, Dorothea had rented asmall one. The rhythmical movement of dancing couples could be heardquite distinctly. 

“I’d like to leave this place, ” said Agnes, as she threw a worm-eatenplum in the garbage can. “In Beckschlager Street there is a seamstresswho wants to teach me to sew. ”

“Why don’t you go?” asked Daniel. “It would be a very sensible thing todo. But what will Philippina say about it?”

“Oh, she doesn’t object, provided I spend my evenings and Sundays withher. ”

The front door bell rang, and Agnes went out: there was some one to seeDaniel. He hesitated, started toward the door, shook and stepped back, seized with trembling hand the kitchen lamp in order to make certainthat he was not mistaken, for it was dark, but there could be nomistake. It was Benda. 

They looked at each other in violent agitation. Benda was the first toreach out his hand; then Daniel reached out his. Something seemed tosnap within him. He became dizzy, his tall, stiff body swung back andforth. Then he fell into the arms of his friend, whom he had livedwithout for seventeen years. 

Benda was not prepared for such a scene; he was unable to speak. ThenDaniel tore himself loose from the embrace of his old comrade, pushedthe dishevelled hair back from his forehead, and said hastily: “Comeupstairs with me; no one will disturb us up there. ”

Daniel lighted the lamp in his room, and then looked around to seewhether old Jordan was at home. Jordan’s room was dark. He closed thedoor and took a seat opposite Benda. He was breathing heavily. 

What meaning can be attached to the preliminary questions and answersthat invariably accompany such a meeting after such a long separation?“How are you? How long are you going to stay in town? You still have thesame old habits of life? Tell me about yourself. ” What do such questionsmean? They mean virtually nothing. The protagonists thereby simplyremove the rubbish from the channels which have been choked up in thecourse of years, and try to build new bridges carrying them over abyssesthat must be crossed if the conversation is to be connected andcoherent. 

Benda had grown somewhat stout. His face was brownish yellow, about thecolour of leather. The deep wrinkles around his forehead and mouth toldof the hardships he had gone through. His eye was completely changed: ithad the strong, vivacious, and yet quiet appearance of the eye of ahunter or a peasant. 

“You may well imagine that I have already told the story of myadventures in Africa a hundred times and in the same way, ” said Benda. “It has all been written down, and will shortly appear in book form, where you can read it. It was an unbroken chain of toil and trouble. Frequently I was as close to death as I am to this wall. I devouredenough quinine to fill a freight car, and yet it was always the same oldstory, fever to-day, to-morrow, for six months in the year. I have, Ifear, ruined my health; I am afraid my old heart will not last muchlonger. The eternal vigilance I was obliged to exercise, the incessantfight for so simple a thing as a path, or for more urgent things such asfood and drink, has told on me. I suffered terribly from the sun; alsofrom the rain. I had very few of the comforts of life; I was oftenforced to sleep on the ground. And there was no one to talk to, no senseof security. ”

“And yet, ” he continued, “I had my reward. When I look back on it all, there is not an hour that I would care to have wiped from my memory. Iaccomplished a great deal. I made some important discoveries, broughtback enough work to keep me busy for years to come, thirty-six boxes ofplant preparations, and this despite the fact that the entire fruit ofmy first seven years of effort was burned in a tent near Nembos. Butapart from what I have actually done, there is something so real andsolemn about such a life. You live with the sky above you and savagesround about you. These savages are like children. This state of affairsis, to be sure, being rapidly changed: Europe is breathing its pest intothe paradise. The wiles and weaknesses of these savages are in a waytouching; you feel sorry for them as you feel sorry for a dumb, harassedbeast. I had taken a boy along with me from the boundless, primevalforests north of the Congo. He was a little bit of a fellow, almost adwarf. I liked him; I even loved him. And obedient! I merely had to makea sign, and he was ready. Well, we came back to the Italian lakes, whereI wished to remain for a while for the sake of the climate beforereturning to England. What happened? At the sight of the snow-coveredmountain peaks he was seized with deathly fear; he became homesick; andin a few days he died of pneumonia. ”

“Why is it that there was such a long period that we never heard fromyou?” asked Daniel, with a timidity and shyness that made Benda’s heartache. 

“That is a long story, ” said Benda. “It took me two years to get throughthat fearful forest and out to a lake called Albert-Nyanza. From there Iwanted to get over to Egypt, but the country was in a state ofrevolution and was occupied by the soldiers of the Mahdi. I was forcedto take the route to the Northwest, ran into a pathless wilderness, andfor five years was a captive of a tribe of the Wadai. The Niam-Niam, whowere at war with the Wadai, liberated me. I could move about withrelative freedom among them, but I could not go beyond their boundaries, for they held me in high esteem as a medicine man and were afraid Iwould bewitch them if I ever got out of their personal control. I hadlost my guides, and I had no money to hire new ones. The things Ineeded, because of the delicacy of my constitution, as compared withtheirs, I secured through the chieftain from a band of Arabianmerchants. This was all very well so far as it went, but the chieftainwas careful to keep me concealed from the Arabs. I finally succeeded incoming into personal touch with a Sheik to whom I could make myselfunderstood. It was high time, for I could not have stood it anotheryear. ”

Daniel was silent. It was all so strange; he could hardly adapt himselfto Benda’s voice and manner. Memory failed him. The world of Benda wasall too foreign, unknown to him. What he himself felt had no weight withhis friend; it did not even have meaning. With the old sense of dimdefiance, he coaxed the ghost of disappointment into his soul; and hissoul was weighed down by the nocturnal darkness like the glass of hiswindow. 

“Now I am enjoying my home, ” said Benda thoughtfully, “I am enjoying amilder light, a more ordered civilisation. I have come to look uponGermany as a definite figure, to love it as a composite picture. Nature, really great, grand nature such as formerly seemed beyond the reach ofmy longings, such as constituted my idea, my presentiment of perfection, I have experienced in person; I have lived it. It enticed me, taught me, and almost destroyed me. All human organisation, on the contrary, hasdeveloped more and more into an idea. In hours that were as full of thefeeling of things as the heart is full of blood, I have seen the scalesof the balance move up and down with the weight of two worlds. Theloneliness, the night, the heavens at night, the forest, the deserthave shown me their true faces. The terribleness that at times proceedsfrom them has no equal in any other condition of existence. I understoodfor the first time the law that binds families, peoples, statestogether. I have repudiated all thought of rebellion, and sworn toco-operate, to do nothing but co-operate. 

“I want to make a confession to you, ” he continued. “I never had thefaintest conception of the rhythm of life until I went to Africa. I hadknown how long it takes to grow a tree; I was familiar with themetamorphoses through which a plant must pass before it attains toperfection and becomes what it is; but it had never occurred to me toapply these laws and facts to our own lives; this had never entered mymind. I had demanded too much; I had been in too much of a hurry. Egoistic impatience had placed false weights and measures in my hands. What I have learned during these seventeen years of trial and hardshipis patience. Everything moves so slowly. Humanity is still a child, andyet we demand justice of it, expect right and righteous action from it. Justice? Oh, there is still a long, long road to be travelled before wereach Justice! The way is as long and arduous as that from the primevalforest to the cultivated garden. We must exercise patience—for thebenefit of the many generations of men that are to come after us. ”

Daniel got up and began to walk back and forth. After a silence that wasexceedingly painful to Benda, he said: “Let’s go out. Let’s go to acafé, or take a long walk on the streets, or go wherever you would liketo go. Or if I am a burden to you, I will accompany you for a shortstretch and then remain alone. The point is, I cannot stay here anylonger; I cannot stand it here. ”

“A burden to me?” replied Benda reproachfully. That was the tone, thelook of years gone by. Daniel felt at once that he was personally underno obligation to talk. He saw at once that Benda knew a great deal andsuspected the rest. He felt his heart grow lighter. 

They went downstairs. 

 XV

Daniel asked Benda to wait on the stairs, locked the door, and took hishat from the hook. In the living room there was a great deal of noisepunctuated with laughter. Philippina came out of her room, and snarled:“The way they’re carrying on in there! You’d think they wuz all drunk!”

“What is going on?” asked Daniel timidly, merely to have something tosay. 

“They are playing blindfold, ” replied Philippina contemptuously, “everyone of them is an old bird, and they’re playing blindfold!”

There was a sound as if a plate had been broken; a piercing screamfollowed, and then silence. But the silence was of momentary duration:that vulgar, slimy laughter soon broke out again. 

Above the din of screaming voices, Daniel heard Dorothea’s. He hastenedto the door and opened it. 

His enraged eye fell on the table covered with pots, empty cups, andpastry. The chairs had been pushed to one side; the new gas chandelierwith its five frosted globes was functioning at full force; there wereseven or eight persons grouped around Dorothea, laughing and looking atsomething that had fallen on the floor. 

Dorothea had pushed the white sash she had been wearing while playingblindfold back on her forehead. She was the first to see Daniel; sheexclaimed: “There is my husband. Now don’t get angry, Daniel; it’snothing but that idiotic plaster mask. ”

Councillor Finkeldey, a white-bearded man, nodded at Daniel, or at leastat the spot where he was standing, with marked enthusiasm. It was hisway of paying homage to Dorothea: everything she said he accompaniedwith an inspired nod of approval. 

Daniel saw that the mask of Zingarella had been broken to pieces. 

Without greeting a single person present, without even looking at asingle one of them, he stepped into the circle, knelt down, and tried toput the broken pieces of the mask together. But there were too manysmall shreds. The nose, the chin, parts of the glorious forehead, apiece with the mouth arched in sorrow, another piece of the cheek—therewere too many; they could not be put together. 

He hurled the fragments to one side, and straightened up. “Philippina!The broom!” His command was given in a loud tone. And when Philippinacame in with the broom, he added: “Sweep the dirt up on a pile, and thenthrow it in the garbage can. ”

Philippina swept up, while Daniel, as silent and unsocial on going as hehad been on coming, left the room. 

Frau Feistelmann made an indignant face, Edward Hahn breathed throughhis nose, Herr Samuelsky, a fat man with a red beard, made acontemptuous remark, Dorothea, vexed and annoyed, stood and looked onwhile the tears took their unrestrained course. 

Benda had been waiting down at the front door. “She has broken my mask, ”said Daniel with a distorted smile, as he came down to his old friend, “the mask you gave me. You remember! Strange that it should have beenbroken to-day of all days, the very day you come to see me after so longa separation. ”

“Possibly it can be glued together again, ” said Benda, trying to consoleDaniel. 

“I am not in favour of glueing things together, ” replied Daniel. Hiseyes flashed green behind his glasses. 

 XVI

When the guests left, Philippina came in and cleaned up the room. Dorothea sat on the sofa. Her hands were lying in her lap; she wasunusually serious. 

“Why don’t your American ever come to see us?” asked Philippina, withoutapparent motive. 

Dorothea was terrified. “Lock the door, Philippina, ” she whispered, “Ihave something to tell you. ”

Philippina locked the door, and went over to the sofa. “The American hasto see me, ” continued Dorothea, as her eyes roamed about the room intimid waywardness. “He says he wants to talk to me about something thatwill be of very great importance to me the rest of my life. He is livingin a hotel, but I can’t go to a hotel. It will not do to have him comehere, nor do I wish to be seen on the street with him. He has suggesteda place where we might meet, but I am afraid: I do not know the people. Can’t you help me out, Philippina? Don’t you know some one to whom wecan go and in whose house we can meet?”

Philippina’s eyes shone with their veteran glitter. She thought for asecond or two, and then replied: “Oh, yes, I’ll tell you what you cando. Go down to Frau Hadebusch’s! She’s a good friend of mine, and youc’n depend on her. It don’t make no difference what takes place in herhouse; it won’t bother even the cat. You know Frau Hadebusch! Of courseyou do. What am I talking about! She is a widow, and lives all alone ina little house. She won’t rent; she says she don’t want the trouble. Youknow she’s no young woman any more. She is all alone, mind you. No onethere but her son, and he’s cracked. Honest, the boy ain’t right. ”

“Well, you go and talk it over with Frau Hadebusch, Philippina, ” saidDorothea timidly. 

“Very well, I’ll go see her to-morrow morning, ” replied Philippina, smiled subserviently, and laid her horny hand on Dorothea’s tendershoulder. 

“But listen, Philippina, be very, very careful. Do you hear?” Dorothea’seyes became big and threatening. “Swear that you will be as silent asthe tombs. ”

“As true as I’m standing here!” said Philippina. Just then she bent overto pick up a hair pin from the floor. 

The next morning Philippina ran over to Frau Hadebusch’s. The whole wayshe kept humming to herself; she was happy; she was contented. 

 THE DEVIL LEAVES THE HOUSE IN FLAMES

 I

Despite the rain, Daniel and Benda strolled around the city moat untilmidnight. 

The very thing that lay heaviest on Daniel’s heart, as was obvious fromthe expression on his face, he never mentioned. He told of his work, histravels in connection with the old manuscripts, his position as organistand in the conservatory, but all in such a general, detached, anddistraught way, so tired and bewildered, that Benda was filled with anembarrassed anguish that made courteous attention difficult if notimpossible. 

In order to get him to talk more freely, Benda remarked that he had notheard of the death of Gertrude and Eleanore until his return. He said hewas terribly pained to hear of it, and, try as he might, he could nothelp but brood over it. But he had no thought of persuading Daniel togive him the mournful details. He merely wished to convince himself thatDaniel had become master of the anguish he had gone through, —master ofit at least inwardly. 

Instead of making a direct and logical reply, Daniel said with atwitching of his lips: “Yes, I know, you have been here for quite awhile already. Inwardly I was surprised at your silence. But it is noteasy to start up a renewed friendship with such a problematic creatureas I am. ”

“You know you are wrong when you say that, ” responded Benda calmly, “andtherefore I refuse to explain my long waiting. You never wereproblematic to me, nor are you now. I find you at this moment just astrue and whole as you always were, despite the fact that you avoid me, crouch before me, barricade yourself against me. ”

Daniel’s breast heaved as if in the throes of a convulsion. He saidfalteringly: “First let that old confidence return and grow. I mustfirst become accustomed to the thought that there is a man near me whofeels with me, sympathises with me, understands me. To be sure, you wantme to talk. But I cannot talk, at least not of those things about whichyou would like to hear. I am afraid: I shudder at the thought; I haveforgotten how; words mock me, make me feel ashamed. Even when I havegood dreams, I personally am as happily and blessedly silent in them asthe beast of the field. I shudder at the thought of reaching down intomy soul and pulling out old, rusty things and showing them toyou—mouldy fruit, slag, junk—showing them to you, you who knew me whenall within me was crystal. ”

He fixed his eyes on the clouds and then continued: “But there isprobably another means, Friedrich. Look, friend, look! It was alwaysyour affair to look, to behold. Look, but see to it that you do not makeme writhe before you like a worm in the dust! And when you havelooked—wisdom needs only one spoken word for ten that are unspoken. This one word you will surely draw from me. ”

Benda, deeply moved, remained silent: “Is it the fault of a woman?” heasked gently, as they crossed the drawbridge and entered the desolateold door leading to the castle. 

“The fault of a woman? No! Not really the fault of a woman. It is ratherthe fault of a man—my fault. Many a fate reaches the decisive point inhappiness, many not until coloured with guilt. And guilt is bitter. Thefault of a woman!” he repeated, in a voice that threw off a gruesomeecho in the vaulted arch of the gateway to the castle. “There is to besure a woman there; and when one has anything to do with her, he findshimself with nothing left but his eyes for weeping. ”

They left the gateway. Benda laid one hand on Daniel’s shoulder, andpointed in silence at the sky with the other. There were no stars to beseen; nothing but clouds. Benda however had the stars in mind. Danielunderstood his gesture. His eyelids closed; around his mouth there wasan expression of vehement grief. 

 II

Benda was convinced, not merely that one great misfortune had alreadytaken place, but that a still greater was in the making. 

Whenever he thought of Dorothea, the picture that came to his mind wasone that filled him with fear. And yet, he thought, she must have someremarkable traits, otherwise Daniel would never have chosen her as hislife companion. He wanted to meet her. 

He had Daniel invite him in to tea. He called one evening early in theafternoon. 

She received him with expressions of ostentatious joy. She said shecould hardly wait until he came, for there was nothing in the world thatmade such an impression on her as a man who had really run great risks, who had placed his very life at stake. She could not become tired ofasking him questions. At each of his laconic replies she would shake herhead with astonishment. Then she rested her elbows on her knees, placedher head in her hands, bent over and stared at him as though he weresome kind of prodigy—or monster. 

She asked him whether he had been among cannibals, whether he had shotany savages, whether he had hunted lions, and whether it was really truethat every Negro chieftain had hundreds of wives. When she asked thisquestion she made an insidious face, and remarked that Europeans woulddo the same thing if the law allowed. 

Thereupon she said that she could not recall having seen him, when stilla child, in her father’s house, and she was surprised at this, for hehad such a striking personality. She devoured him with her eyes; theybegan to burn as they always did when she wanted to make some kind ofhuman capture, and blind greed came over her. She unbent; she spoke inher very sweetest voice; in her laugh and her smile there was, in fact, something irresistible, something like that trait we notice in good, confiding, but at times obstinate children. 

But she noticed that this man studied her, not as if she were a youngmarried woman who were trying to please him and gain his sympathy, rather as a curious variety of the human species. There was something inhis face that made her tremble with irritation, and all of a sudden hereyes were filled with hate and distrust. 

Benda felt sorry for her. This everlasting attempt to make a seductivegesture, this fishing for words that would convey a double meaning, thisself-betrayal, this excitement about nothing, made him feel sad. Dorothea did not seem to him a bad woman. Whatever else she might beaccused of, it did not seem to him that she was guilty of downrightimmoral practices. He felt that she was merely misguided, poisoned, aphantom and a fool. 

His mind went back to certain Ethiopian women in the very heart ofAfrica; he thought of their noble walk, the proud restfulness of theirfeatures, their chaste nudeness, and their inseparability from the earthand the air. 

He nevertheless understood his friend: the musician could not help butsuccumb to the charms of the phantom; the lonely man sought the leastlonely of all human beings. 

As he was coming to this conclusion, Daniel entered the room. He greetedBenda, and said to Dorothea: “There is a girl outside who says she hassome ostrich feathers for you. Did you order any feathers?”

“Oh, yes, ” replied Dorothea hastily, “it is a present from my friend, Emmy Büttinger. ”

“Who’s she?”

“You don’t know her? Why, she is the sister of Frau Feistelmann. Youmust help me, ” she said, turning to Benda, “for you must know all aboutthis kind of things. There where you have been ostriches must be asthick as chickens here at home. ” Laughing, she went out, and returned indue time with a big box, from which, cautiously and with evidentdelight, she took two big feathers, one white, one black. Holding themby the stem, she laid them across her hair, stepped up to the mirror, and looked at herself with an intoxicated mien. 

In this mien there was something so extraordinary, indeed uncanny, thatBenda could not help but cast a horrified glance at Daniel. 

“This is the first time I ever knew what a mirror was, ” he said tohimself. 

 III

That evening Daniel visited Benda in his home. Benda showed him somearmour and implements he had brought back with him from Africa. Inexplaining some of the more unusual objects, he described at length thecustoms of the African blacks. 

Then he was seized with a headache, sat down in his easy chair, and wassilent for a long while. He suddenly looked like an old man. The ravageshis health had suffered while in the tropics became visible. 

“Did you ever see Dorothea’s mother?” he asked, by way of breaking thelong silence. 

Daniel shook his head: “It is said that she is vegetating, a mere shadowof her former self, in some kind of an institution in Erlangen, ” hereplied. 

“I have been told that neither Andreas Döderlein nor his daughter hasever, in all these years, taken the slightest interest in theunfortunate woman, ” continued Benda. “Well, as to Andreas Döderlein, Ihave always known what to expect of him. ”

Daniel looked up. “You hinted once that Döderlein was guilty ofreprehensible conduct with regard to his wife. Do you recall? Is that inany way connected with Dorothea and her life? Do you care to discuss thematter?”

“I have no objection whatever to throwing such light on the incident asI have, ” replied Benda. “It does have to do with Dorothea, and itexplains, perhaps, some things about her. That is, it is possible thather character is in part due to the kind of father she grew up under andthe kind of mother she lost when a mere child. It is strange the waythese things work out: I am myself, in a way, interwoven with your ownfate. ”

He was silent for a while; memories were rushing to his mind. Then hebegan: “If you had ever known Marguerite Döderlein, she would have beenjust as unforgettable to you as she is to me. She and Eleanore—thosewere the two really musical women I have known in my life. They wereboth all nature, all soul. Marguerite’s youth was a prison; her brotherCarovius was the jailer. When she married Döderlein, she somehow fanciedshe would escape from that prison, but she merely exchanged one for theother. And yet she hardly knew how it all came about. She acceptedeverything just as it came to her with unwavering fidelity andgentleness. Her soul remained unlacerated, unembittered. ”

He rested his head on his hand; his voice became gentler. “We loved oneanother before we had ever spoken a word to each other. We met eachother a few times on the street, once in a while in the park; and anumber of times she stole up to me in the theatre. I was not reserved: Ioffered her my life, but she always insisted that she could not livewithout her child and be happy. I respected her feelings and restrainedmy own. For a while things went on in this way. We tortured ourselves, practised resignation, but were drawn together again, and then Döderleinsuddenly began to be suspicious. Whether his suspicion was due towhisperings or to what he himself had at some time seen his wife do—itwas impossible for her to play the hypocrite—I really do not know. Atany rate he began to abuse her in the most perfidious manner. He triedto disturb her conscience. One night he went to her bed with a crucifixin his hand, and made her swear, swear on the life of her child, thatshe would never deceive him. He used all manner of threats and unctuousfustian. She took the oath. ”

“Yes, my friend, she took the oath. And this oath seemed to her muchmore solemn and serious than the oath she had taken at the altar the daythey were married. I knew nothing about it; she kept out of my sight. Icould not endure it. One day she came to me again to say good-bye. Therefollowed a moment when human strength was no longer of avail, and humandeliberation the emptiest of words. The fatal situation developed. Thedelicately moulded woman succumbed to a sense of guilt; her heart grewirresponsive to feelings, her mind dark. She was stricken with thedelusion that her child was slowly dying in her arms, and one day shecollapsed completely. The rest is known. ”

Benda got up, went over to the window, and looked out into the darkness. 

Daniel felt as if a rope were being tightened about his neck. He too gotup, murmured a farewell, and left. 

 IV

He had reached the Behaim monument when he began to walk more slowly. Ashort distance before him he saw a man and a woman. He recognizedDorothea. 

They were speaking very rapidly and in subdued tones. Daniel followedthem; and when they reached the door of his house and turned to go in, he stopped in the shadow of the church. 

The man seemed to be angry and excited: Dorothea was trying to quiethim. She was standing close by him; she held his hand in hers until sheunlocked the door. First she whispered, looked up at the houseanxiously, and then said out loud: “Good night, Edmund. Sweet dreams!”

The man went on his way without lifting his hat. Dorothea hastened in. 

Daniel was trembling in his whole body. There was something in his eyesthat seemed to be beseeching; and there was something mystic about them. He watched until the light had been lighted upstairs and the windowshade drawn. He was tortured by the stillness of the Square; when theclock in the tower struck eleven he thought he could hear the bloodroaring in his ears. 

It was only with difficulty that he dragged himself into the house. Dorothea, already in her night-gown, was sitting at the table in theliving room, sewing a ribbon on the dress she had just been wearing: ithad somehow got loose. 

They spoke to each other. Daniel stood behind her, near the stove, andlooked over at the back of her bared neck as if held by a spell. Onecold shiver after another was running through his body. 

“Who gave you those ostrich feathers?” he asked, suddenly and ratherbrusquely. The question slipped from his lips before he himself wasaware of it. He would have liked to say something else. 

Dorothea raised her head with a jerk. “I thought I told you, ” shereplied, and he noticed that she coloured up. 

“I cannot believe that a perfect stranger, and a woman at that, ismaking you such costly presents, ” said Daniel slowly. 

Dorothea got up, and looked at him rather undecidedly. “Very well, ifyou simply must know, I bought them myself, ” she said with unusualdefiance. “But you don’t need to try to browbeat me like that; I’ll getthe money that I paid for them. And you needn’t think for a minute thatI am going to let you draw up a family budget, and expect to make melive by it. ”

“You didn’t buy those feathers, ” said Daniel, cutting her off in themiddle of her harangue. 

“I didn’t buy them, and they were not given to me! How did I get themthen? Stole them perhaps?” Dorothea was scornful; but cowardice made itimpossible for her to look Daniel in the face. 

“I have never in my life talked to any one in this way, nor has any oneever spoken to me like that, ” thought Daniel to himself. He turneddeathly pale, went up to her, and placed his hand like an iron viseabout her arm. “I shall permit you to waste my money; I shall not objectif you fritter your time away in the company of good-for-nothing people;if you regard my health and peace of mind as of no consequence whatever, I shall say nothing; if you let your poor little child suffer and pineaway, I shall keep quiet. I shall submit to all of this. And whyshouldn’t I? Why should I want to have my meals served at regular hours?Why should I insist that my morning coffee be warm and my rolls freshfrom the baker? Why should I be so exacting as to ask that my clothes bemended, my windows washed, my room swept, and my table in order? I wasnot born with a silver spoon in my mouth; I have never known what it wasto be comfortable. ”

“Oh, listen, Daniel, it’s too bad about you, ” said Dorothea in ananxious tone, “but let go of my arm. ”

He loosened his grip on her arm, but did not let it go. “You mayassociate with whomsoever you please. Let those people treasure you towhom you are a treasure. So far as money is concerned, you can have allthat I have. Here it is, take it. ” He drew from his pocket anembroidered purse filled with coins, and hurled them on the table. “Sothat you can wear fine dresses, I will play the organ on Sundays. Sothat you can go to masquerade balls and parties of all kinds, I will tryto beat a little music into some twenty-odd unmusical idiots. I will domore than that: I will promise never to bother myself about yourbehaviour: I will never ask you where you have been or where you aregoing. But listen, Dorothea, ” he said, as his face flushed with angerand anxiety, his voice rising as if by unconscious pressure, “don’t youever dare dishonour my name! It is the only thing I have. I owe humanityan irreparable debt for it. It invests me not simply with what is knownas civic honour, it gives me also the honour I feel and enjoy when Istand in the presence of what I have created. Lie, and you besmirch myname! Lie, and you sully and debase it! I am probably not as much afraidas you think I am of being regarded as a cuckold, though I admit thatthe thought of it makes my blood boil. But I want to say to you here andnow, that when I think of you in the arms of another man I feel withinme a deep desire, a real lust for murder. But you would throw me intothe last pit of hell and damnation, if you were to repay the truths Ihave told you and given you with lies, lies, lies. You must not, youdare not, imagine for a minute that I am so selfish and vulgar as not tobe able to understand that a change might come over your heart. But thatis one thing; telling a lie and living a lie is quite another. It isimpossible for me to live side by side with another human being exceptin absolute truth. A lie, the lie, crushes what there is in me of thedivine. A lie to me is carrion and corruption. Tell me, then, whetheryou have been and are true to me! Don’t be afraid, Dorothea, and don’tbe ashamed. Everything may be right yet and work out as it should. Buttell me: Have you been deceiving me?”

“I—deceiving you?” breathed Dorothea, and looked into his face as ifhypnotised, never so much as moving an eyelash. “What do you mean?Deceiving you? Do you really think that I would be capable of suchbaseness?”

“You have no lover? No other man has touched you since you have been mywife?”

“A lover? Some other man has touched me?” she repeated with that samehypnotic look. In her child-like face there was the glow ofunadulterated honour and undiluted innocence. 

“You have been having no secret _rendezvous_, you have not beenreceiving treacherous letters, nor writing them, you have promised noman anything, not even in jest?”

“Ah, well now, Daniel, listen! In jest. That’s another matter. Whoknows? You know me, and you know how one talks and laughs. ”

“And you assure me that all this mysterious abuse that is beingwhispered into my ears and to which your conduct has given a certainamount of plausibility is nothing in the world but wickedness on thepart of people who know us, nothing but calumny?”

“Yes, Daniel: it is merely wickedness, meanness, and calumny. ”

“You are willing that God above should never grant you another minute ofpeace, if you have been lying to me? Do you wish that, Dorothea?”

Dorothea balked; she blinked a little. Then she said quite softly:“Those are terrible words, Daniel. But if you insist upon it, I amwilling to abide by the curse you have made a possibility. ”

Daniel breathed a breath of relief. He felt that a mighty load had beentaken from his heart. And in grateful emotion he went up to his wife, and pressed her to his bosom. 

But at the same time he was repelled by something. He felt that thecreature he was pressing to his heart was without rhythm, or vibration, or law, or order. He began again to be gnawed at by torture, this timeof a new species and coming from another direction. 

As he opened the door to the hall, he heard a rustle; and he saw a darkfigure hastening over to the room that opened on the court. 

 V

Left alone, Dorothea stared for a while into space, as motionless as astatue. Then she took her violin and bow from the case—she had bought anew bow to take the place of the one that had been broken—and began toplay: a cadence, a trill, a waltz. Her face took on a hardened, resoluteexpression. 

She soon let the instrument fall from her hands, and began to think. Shelaid the violin to one side, took off her slippers, sneaked out of theroom in her stocking feet and across the hall, and listened at the doorto Philippina’s room. She opened it cautiously and heard a sound snoringfrom Philippina’s bed, which stood next to the door. 

The lamp had almost burned down; it gave so little light that the bedclothes could hardly be seen. 

She stole up to Philippina’s couch of repose, step by step, withoutmaking the slightest noise, bent down, stretched out her arm, gropedaround over the body of the inexplicable creature who was sleepingthere, and was on the point of raising the covers and reaching forPhilippina’s breast. Philippina ceased snoring, woke up as if she hadbeen struck in the face by the rays of a magic lantern, opened her eyes, and looked at Dorothea with a speechless threat. Not a muscle of herface moved. 

Dorothea collected her thoughts instantly. With the expression on herface of one who has just succeeded in carrying out some good joke, shethrew her whole body on Philippina and pressed her face to her cheek, nauseated though she was by the stench of her breath and the bedclothes. 

“Listen, Philippina, the American wants to give you something, ” shewhispered. 

“Jesus, you’re punching my belly in, ” replied Philippina, and gasped forbreath. When Dorothea had straightened up, she said: “Well, has healready given you something? That’s the main thing. ”

“He gave me the feathers. Isn’t that something?” replied Dorothea, “andhe is going to give me a set of rubies. ”

“I wish you already had ’em. It seems to me that your American don’texactly hail from Givetown. I’ve been told that he ain’t so damn richafter all. When are you goin’ to meet him again, your lover?”

“To-morrow evening, between six and seven. Oh, I am so glad, so glad, Philippina. He is so young. ”

“Yes, young! That’s a lot, ain’t it?” murmured Philippinacontemptuously. 

“He has such a pretty mole on his neck, way down on his neck, downthere, ” she said, pointing to the same spot on Philippina’s neck. “Rightthere! Does it tickle you? Does it make you feel good?”

“Don’t laugh so loud, you’ll waken little Gottfried, ” said Philippina ina testy, morose tone. “And get out of here! I’m sleepy. ”

“Good-night, then, you pesky old dormouse, ” said Dorothea, in seeminglygood-natured banter, and left the room. 

Hardly had she closed the door behind her when Philippina sprang like anenraged demon from her bed, clenched her fist, and hissed: “Damnedthief and whore! She wanted to rob me, that’s what she did, the dirtywench! You wait! Your days in this place are numbered. Somebody’s goingto squeal, believe me, and when they do, they’ll get you right. ”

She drew her red petticoat over her legs, tied it tightly, and went tothe door to lock it. The lock had been out of order for some time; shecould not budge it. She carried a chair over to the door, placed itdirectly underneath the lock, folded her arms, sat down on it, andremained sitting there for an hour or so blinking her evil eyes. 

When no longer able to keep from going to sleep, she got up, placed thefolding table against the door, and got back into bed, murmuringimprecations such as were second nature to her. 

 VI

The following day began with a heavy rain storm. Daniel had had arestless night; he went to his work quite early. But his head was soheavy that he had to stop every now and then, and rest it on his hand. There was no blood, no swing to his ideas. 

Toward eight o’clock the postman came, and asked for Inspector Jordan. The old man had to sign a receipt in acknowledgment of a solemnly sealedmoney order. 

In the letter the postman gave him were two hundred dollars in bills anda note from Benno. The letter had been mailed in Galveston. Benno wrotethat he had made inquiries and found that his father was still living. He said he had been quite successful in the New World, and as a proof ofhis prosperity he was sending him the enclosed sum, with the best ofgreetings, in payment for the trouble he had cost his father. 

It was a cold epistle. But the old man was beside himself with joy. Heran to Daniel and then to Philippina, held the crisp notes in the air, and stammered: “Look, people! He is rich. He has sent me two hundreddollars! He has become an honest man, he has. He remembers his oldfather, he does! Really this is a great day! A great day, Daniel, because of something else that has just been finished. ” He added with amysterious smile: “A blessed day in the history of a great cause!”

He dressed and went down town; he wanted to tell his friends the news. 

Daniel called down to know if his breakfast was ready; nobody answered. Thereupon he went to the kitchen, and got himself a bottle of milk anda loaf of bread. Philippina came in a little later. Her hair looked asthough a hurricane had struck it; she was in her worst humour. Shesnarled at Daniel, asking him why in the name of God he couldn’t waittill the coffee had been boiled. 

“Leave me in peace, Philippina, ” he said, “I need peace. ”

“Peace!” she roared, “peace, the same old story: you want peace!” Shethrew a wild, contemptuous glance at the open chest containing Daniel’sscores, leaned against the table, put the tips of her dirty fingers onthe score he was then studying, and shrieked: “There is the cause of thewhole _malheur_! The whole _malheur_, I say, comes from this damnednote-smearing of yours! The idea of a man settin’ down and dabbing thempot-hooks on good white paper, day after day, year in and year out! Whatdoes it all mean? Tell me! While you’re doin’ it, everything else ismoving—like a crab, backwards. Jesus, you’re a man, and yet you spendyour time at that kind of stuff! I’d be ashamed to admit it. ”

Not prepared for this enigmatic outburst of anger and hate, Daniellooked at Philippina utterly dazed. “Get out of here, ” he criedindignantly. “Get out of here, I say, ” and pointed to the door. 

She got out. “The damned dabbery!” she bellowed with reinforcedmaliciousness. 

From ten to twelve, Daniel had to lecture at the conservatory. His heartbeat violently, though he was unable to explain his excitement. It wasmore than a foreboding: he felt as if he had heard a piece of terriblybad news and the real nature of it had slipped his memory. 

He did not go home for luncheon; he ate in the café at the CarthusianGate. Then he took a long walk out over the fields and meadows. It hadstopped raining, and the brisk wind refreshed him. He stood for a longwhile on the banks of the canal, and watched some men piling bricks at abrick-kiln. From time to time he took a piece of paper from his pocket, and wrote something on it with his pencil: it was notes. 

Once he wrote alongside of a motif: “Farewell, my music!” His eyes werefilled with dreadful tears. 

He returned to the city just as the sun was setting; it looked like ahuge ball of fire in the west. The sky shone out between two great blackclouds like the forge of a smithy. He could not help but think ofEleanore. 

He entered his living room, and paced back and forth. Philippina camein, and asked him whether she should warm up his soup for him. Herunnatural, singing tone attracted his attention; he looked at her veryclosely. 

“Where is my wife?” he asked. 

Philippina’s face betrayed an abysmally mean smile, but she never said aword. 

“Where is my wife?” he asked a second time, after a pause. 

Philippina’s smile became brighter. “Is it cold out?” she asked, and ina moment she had left the room. Daniel stared at her as if he feared shehad lost her mind. In a few minutes she came back. In the meantime shehad put on a cloak that was much too short for her, and beneath whichthe loud, freakish skirt of her checkered dress could be seen. 

“Daniel, come along with me, ” she said in an anxious voice. To Danielher voice sounded mysterious and fearful. “Come along with me, Daniel! Iwant to show you something. ”

He turned pale, put on his hat, and followed her. They crossed thesquare in silence, went through Binder Street, Town Hall Street, andacross the Market. Daniel stopped. “What are you up to?” he asked with ahoarse voice. 

“Come along! You’ll see, ” whispered Philippina. 

They walked on, crossed the Meat Bridge, went through Kaiser Street andthe White Tower to St. James’s Place. Some people looked at the oddcouple in amazement. When they reached Frau Hadebusch’s little house, itwas dark. “Listen, Philippina, are you ever going to talk?” said Daniel, gritting his teeth. 

“Psh!” Philippina knew what she was doing. She put her mouth to Daniel’sear, and whispered: “Go up two flights, quick, you know the house, bangon the door, and if it’s locked, bust it in. In the meantime I’ll go toFrau Hadebusch so that she can’t interfere. ”

Then Daniel understood. 

 VII

Everything became blood-red before his eyes; he was seized with afeverish chill. 

He had followed Philippina with a dejected, limp feeling of disgust, fear and coercion. Now he knew what it was all about. At the verybeginning of the events he saw the middle and the end. He saw before thebolted door what was going on behind it. His soul was seized withhorror, rage, woe, contempt, and terror. He felt dizzy; he feared liemight lose consciousness. 

He sprang up the creaking stairs by leaps and bounds. He stood beforethe door behind which he had gone hungry, been cold, and glowed withenthusiasm as a young man. Silence should have reigned there now, sothat the devotion of retrospective spirits might not be molested on thegrave of so many, many hopes. 

He jerked at the latch; a scream was heard from within. The door wasbolted. He pressed his body against the fragile wood so violently thatboth hinges, and the latch, gave way, and the door fell on to the middleof the floor with a mighty crash. 

The scream was repeated, this time in a more piercing tone. Dorothea waslying on a big bed with nothing on but a flimsy chemise. Frau Hadebusch, pimp always, had rented the bed from a second-hand dealer; it covered ahalf of the room. Before Dorothea was a plate of cherries; she had beenamusing herself by shooting the pits at her lover. He likewise waslacking nearly all the garments ordinarily worn by men when in thepresence of women. He was sitting astride on a chair, smoking ashort-stemmed pipe. 

When Daniel, with bloody hands—he had scratched himself while breakingin the door—with his hair flying wild about his face, panting, and paleas death, stepped over the door, Dorothea again began to scream; shescreamed seven or eight times. She was filled with despair and terribleanxiety. 

Daniel rushed at the young man, and seized him by the throat. While heheld the American in a death-like grip, while he saw Dorothea, as if ina roseate haze, with uplifted arms, leave the bed screaming at the topof her voice, while an extraordinary power of observation, despite hisinsane rage, came over him, while he watched the cherries as they rolledacross the bed and saw the green stems, some of which were withered, showing that the cherries were half rotten, while he felt a taste on histongue as if he too had eaten cherries—while he saw all these thingsand had this sensation, he thought to himself without either doubt orrelief: “This is the downfall; this is chaos. ”

The American—it later became known that he was a wandering artist whohad, with an equal amount of nerve and adroitness, worked his way intothe private social life of the city—thrust his antagonist back with allhis might, and struck up the position of a professional boxer. Daniel, however, gave him no time to strike; he fell on him, wrapped his armstight about him, threw him to the floor, and was trying to choke him. Hegroaned, struggled, got his fist loose, struck Daniel in the face, andcried, “You damned fool!” But it was the cry of a whipped man. 

Loud noise broke out downstairs. A crowd of people collected on thesidewalk. “Police, police!” shrieked the shrill voice of a woman. Thepeople began to make their way up the stairs. 

“Oh, oh, oh!” moaned Dorothea. In half a minute she had her dress on. “Out of this place and away, ” she said, as she looked for her gloves andumbrella. 

Frau Hadebusch appeared in the hall, wringing her hands. Behind herstood Philippina. Two men forced their way in, ran up to Daniel and theAmerican, and tried to separate them. But they had bitten into eachother like two mad dogs; and it was necessary to call for help. Asoldier and the milkman gave a hand; and finally two policemen appearedon the scene. 

“I must go home, ” cried Dorothea, while the other women shrieked andcarried on. “I must go home, and get my things and leave. ”

With the face of one possessed and at the same time dumb, Philippinastole out from among the excited crowd and followed Dorothea. She didnot feel that she was walking; she could not feel the pavement under herfeet; she was unconscious of the air. That wild inspiration returned toher which she had experienced once before in her life—the time she wentup in the attic and saw Gertrude’s lifeless body hanging from a rafter. 

Her veins pulsed with a hot lust for destruction. “Swing the torch!”That was the cry she heard running through her brain. “Swing the torch!”But she wanted to do something much more pretentious this time thanmerely start a fire in some rubbish. The farther she went the morerapidly she walked. Finally she began to run and sing with a loud, coarse voice. Her cloak was not buttoned; it flew in the air. The peoplewho saw her stopped and looked at her, amazed. 

 VIII

Herr Carovius and Jordan were sitting in the Paradise Café. 

“How things change, and how everything clears up and straightens out!”remarked Jordan. 

“Yes, the open graves are gaping again, ” said Herr Carovius cynically. 

“So far as I am concerned, ” continued Jordan, without noticing theaversion his affability had aroused in Herr Carovius, “I can now facedeath with perfect peace of mind. My mission is ended; my work is done. ”

“That sounds as if you had discovered the philosopher’s stone, ” remarkedHerr Carovius sarcastically. 

“Perhaps, ” replied Jordan gently and bent over the table. “You are afterall not entirely wrong, my honoured friend. Do you wish to be convinced?Will you honour me with a visit?”

Herr Carovius had become curious. They paid their bills and left forÆgydius Place. 

Having entered Jordan’s room, the old man lighted a lamp and bolted thedoor. He then opened the door of the great cabinet by the wall, and tookout a big doll. It was dressed like a Swiss maid, had on a floweredskirt, a linen waist, and a little pink apron. Its yellow hair was doneup in braids, and on its head was a little felt hat. 

“All that is my handiwork, ” said Jordan, with much show of pride. “Imyself took all the measurements and made the clothes, including eventhe shoes. And now watch, my dear friend. ”

He placed the doll in the middle of the room. “She will speak, ” hecontinued, his face radiant with joy, “she will sing. She will sing asong native to her beloved Tyrol. Will you be so good as to take thischair? I would rather not have you so close to it, if I may, for thereare certain noises which I still have to correct. The illusion isstronger when you are some distance away. ”

He crouched down behind the doll, did something at its back, and thebuzzing of wheels became audible. The old man then stepped out to thefront of the doll, and said: “Now, my little girl, let’s hear what youcan do!”

An uncanny, hoarse, somewhat cooing voice rang out from the body of thedoll. It sounded like the vibrations of metallic strings accompanied bythe low tones of a water whistle. If you closed your eyes, you could atleast imagine you were hearing a song sung by some one in the distance. But if you looked at the thing closely with its lifeless, mask-likekindly, waxen face, and heard the shrill, muffled sounds, without eitherarticulation or rhythm, coming from within, it took on a ghostly aspect. Herr Carovius in fact felt a cold chill creep down his back. 

When the machine ran down, the doll’s eyelids and lips closed. Jordanwas looking at Herr Carovius in great suspense. “Well, what do you thinkof it?” he asked. “Be quite frank; I can stand any amount of criticism. ”

Herr Carovius had great difficulty to keep from bursting out laughing. His mouth and chin itched. Suddenly, however, scorn and contempt lefthim; he fell into a disagreeably serious frame of mind, and a softness, a mildness such as he had not felt since time immemorial stole over hisheart. He said: “That is a perfectly splendid invention! Perfectlysplendid! Though it does need some improvement. ”

Jordan nodded zealously and with joyous approval. He was on the point ofgoing into a detailed description of the mechanism and its artisticconstruction, when the two men heard a strange noise in the adjoiningroom. They stopped and listened. They could hear some one moving thefurniture; there were steps back and forth; they heard a hammering andpounding as if some one were trying to open a box. This was followed bya sound that resembled the falling of paper on the floor; it lasted forsome time, bunch apparently following bunch. Listen! Some one is talkingin an abusive voice! What’s that? A gruesome, sing-song voice repeatingunintelligible words: “I-oi! huh, huh! I-oi, huh-huh!” There is a soundas if of crackling fire. The flames cannot be seen; but they can beheard!

Old Jordan jerked the door open, and cried like a child. 

Philippina was standing in the midst of a pile of burning papers. Shehad forced Daniel’s trunk open, thrown every one of his scores on thefloor, and set them on fire. She was a fearful object to behold. Herhair hung down loose and straggly over her shoulders, she was swingingher arms as if she were working a pump-handle, and from her mouth pouredforth a volley of loud, babbling, gurgling tones that bore not thefaintest resemblance to anything human. Her face, lightened by theflames, was coloured with the trace of fearful voluptuousness. HerrCarovius and old Jordan stood in the doorway as if paralysed. Seeingthem, she began to hop about, and stretched out her upraised arms to theflames, which were leaping higher and higher. 

Herr Carovius, awakening from his torpidity, saw that it was high timeto make some effort to escape. Shielding his face with his hands, hefled as fast as his feet could carry him to the hall door and down thesteps. Tears were gushing down Jordan’s cheeks; fear had made itimpossible for him to reflect. He ran back into his room, opened thewindow, and called out to the people on the square. Then he chanced tothink of his beloved doll. He rushed up to it and took it under his arm. But when he tried to leave the room, the smoke blew into his face, benumbing and burning him. He staggered, reached the top of the stairs, made a misstep, fell headlong down the steps, still holding the doll inconvulsive embrace, twitched a few times, and then lay lifeless on thehall floor. 

Heart failure had put an end to his life. 

Dorothea, who had been in the house packing her things, hastened, luggage in hand, past the corpse. Her face was ashen; she never lookedat the dead body of Inspector Jordan. She was soon lost in the crowd ofexcited people. She had vanished. 

 IX

The police had at last separated Daniel and the American in FrauHadebusch’s house. Daniel fell on a chair, and gazed stupidly intospace. Frau Hadebusch brought him some water. The American put on hisclothes, while the spectators looked on and laughed. 

The two men were then taken to the police station, where the lieutenantin charge took such depositions as were necessary for court action. Daniel saw a gas lamp, a quill pen, several grinning faces, his ownbloody hand, and nothing more. The American was held in order to protecthim from further attacks; Daniel was released. He heard the young mantell his story in a mangled German and with a voice that was nearlychoked with rage, but did not absorb anything he said. 

He heard a dog bark, a wagon rattle, a bell strike; he heard peopletalking, murmuring, crying; he heard the scraping of feet. But it allsounded to him like noises that were reaching his ears through the wallsof a prison. He went on his way; his gait was unsteady. 

As he reached the Church of Our Lady, Daniel turned to the right towardthe Market Place, and saw the Goose Man standing before him. 

“Go home, ” the Goose Man seemed to say with a sad voice. “Go home!”

“Who are you? what do you wish of me?” A voice within him asked. Butthen it seemed that the figure had become invisible, and that it couldnot be seen again until it was far off in the distance, where it wasbeing shone upon by a bright light. 

People were running across Ægydius Place; some of them were crying“Fire!” Daniel turned the corner; he could see his house. Flames wereleaping up behind his window. He pressed his hands to his temples, and, with eyes wide open and filled with terror, he forced his way throughthe crowd up to his house. “For God’s sake, for Heaven’s sake!” hecried, “save my trunk!”

Many looked at him. A figure appeared at the window; many arms werepointed at it. “The woman! Look, look, the woman!” came a cry from thecrowd. And then again: “She has set the house on fire! She has swung thetorch and started the fire!”

Daniel rushed into his house. Firemen overtook him. There he saw in thehall, lighted by the lanterns being carried back and forth so swiftly, and placed in the corner with no more care or consideration than waspossible under such circumstances, the dead body of old Jordan. Hisbody, and close beside it, as if in supernatural mockery of all thingshuman, the doll, the Swiss maid with the machine in her stomach. Sighingand sobbing, he fell down; his forehead touched the dead hand of the oldman. 

As if in a dream he heard the hissing of the hoses, the commands, thehurried running back and forth of the firemen. Then he felt as if ashadow, a figure from the lower world, suddenly rose before him. Aclenched fist, he thought, opened and hurled shreds of paper into hisface. When he looked up he could see nothing but the firemen rushingaround him. The shadow, the figure, had pushed its way in among them, and in the confusion no one had paid any attention to it. 

With an absent-minded gesture, Daniel reached out and picked up thepaper that was lying nearest him. It had fallen on the face of the doll. He unfolded it and saw, written in his own hand, the music to the“Harzreise im Winter. ” Under the notes were the words:

 But aside, who is it? His path in the bushes is lost, Behind him rustle The thickets together, The grass rises again, The desert conceals him. 

The melody and rhythm that interpreted the words were of a grandiosegloominess, like a song of shades pursued in the night, across the sea. Daniel recalled the hour he had written this music; he recalled theexpression on Gertrude’s face the time he played it for her. Eleanorewas there, too, wearing a white dress, with a myrtle wreath in her hair. The tones dissolved the web of infinite time. “But aside, who is it?”came forth like a great, deep dirge. In the question there was somethingprophetically great. He covered his face and wept; he felt as if hisheart would break. 

The dead man and the doll were lying there, motionless, lifeless. 

In half an hour the fire was under control. The two attic rooms had beenburned out completely. Further than this no damage had been done. 

Philippina had vanished without a trace. Since no one had seen her leavethe house, the first theory was that she had been burned to death. Butinvestigation proved this assumption to be incorrect. The police lookedfor her everywhere, but in vain; she was not to be found. A few peoplewho had known her rather intimately insisted that she had been burned upso completely that there was nothing left of her but a little pile ofblack ashes. 

However this may be, and whatever the truth may be, Philippina neveragain entered the house. No one ever again saw or heard a thing of her. 

 BUT ASIDE, WHO IS IT?

 I

Late in the evening Benda came. He had been tolerably well informed ofeverything that had taken place. In the hall he met Agnes. Thoughgenerally quite monosyllabic, Agnes was now inclined to be extremelycommunicative, but she could merely confirm what he had already heard. 

She went up to the top floor with him, and he stood there for a longwhile looking at the burnt rooms. There were two firemen on guard duty. “All of his music has been burnt up, ” said Agnes. Benda thought he wouldhardly be able to talk with his old friend again after this tragedy. Buthe at once felt ashamed of his timidity, and went down to see him. 

It was again quiet throughout the entire house. 

Daniel had lighted a candle in the living room. Finding it too dark withonly one candle, he lighted another. 

He paced back and forth. The room seemed too small for him: he openedthe door leading into Dorothea’s room, and walked back and forth throughit too. On entering the dark room, his lips would move; he would murmursomething. When he returned to the lighted room, he would stand for asecond or two and stare at the candles. 

His features seemed to show traces of human suffering such as no man hadborne before; it could hardly have been greater. He did not seem tonotice Benda when he came in. 

“Everything gone? Everything destroyed?” asked Benda, after he hadwatched Daniel walk back and forth for nearly a quarter of an hour. 

“One grave after the other, ” murmured Daniel, in a voice that no longerseemed to be his own. He raised his head as if surprised at the sound ofwhat he himself had said. He felt that a stranger had come into the roomwithout letting himself be heard. 

“And the last work, the great work of which you told me, the fruit of somany years, has it also been destroyed?” asked Benda. 

“Everything, ” replied Daniel distractedly, “everything I have createdin the way of music from the time I first had reason to believe inmyself. The sonatas, the songs, the quartette, the psalm, the‘Harzreise, ’ ‘Wanderers Sturmlied, ’ and the symphony, everything down tothe last page and the last note. ”

Yes, there was a stranger there; you could hear him laughing quietly tohimself. “Why do you laugh?” asked Daniel sternly, and adjusted hisglasses. 

Benda, terrified, said: “I did not laugh. ”

“The grass rises again, the desert conceals him, ” said the stranger. Hewore an old-fashioned suit, a droll sort of cap, and Hessian boots. “Iought to know him, ” thought Daniel to himself, and began to meditatewith cloudy mind. 

“This is like murder, unheard-of murder, ” cried Benda’s soul; “how canhe bear it? What will he do?”

“What is there to do?” asked Daniel, expressing Benda’s silent thoughtin audible words, and looking askew, as he walked back and forth, at thestranger who went slowly through the room over to the window in thecorner. “What can human fancy find reasonable or possible after all thathas happened? Nothing! Merely pine away; pine away in insanity. ”

“Oho, ” said the stranger, “that is a trifle strong. ”

“If he would only keep quiet, ” thought Daniel, tortured. “I presume youknow what has happened with the woman whom I called my wife, ” hecontinued. “That I threw myself away on this vain, soulless spirit of amirror is irrelevant. Greater men than I have walked into such nets andbecome entangled, ensnared. I have never cherished the delusion that Iwas immune to all the mockery of this earth. I believed, however, that Icould scent out truth and falsehood, and differentiate the one from theother, just as the hand can tell by the feel the wet from the dry. Butthe connection of the one with the other, and the horrible necessity ofthis connection, I do not understand. ”

“You have been served just right, ” remarked the intruder with theHessian boots. He had sat down on a chair in the corner, and lookedquite friendly. 

“Why?” roared Daniel, stopping. 

Benda, astounded, rose to his feet. “Speak out, Daniel, ” he saidaffectionately, “unburden your soul!”

“If I only could, Friedrich, if I only could! If my tongue would onlymove! Or if there were some one who felt with me and could speak forme!”

“Try it; the first word is often like a spark and starts a flame. ”

Daniel was silent. The intruder said deliberatively: “That goes deepdown to the recesses of the heart and up high to the things that areimmortal. ”

Daniel looked over at him sharply, and saw that it was the Goose Man. 

 II

All effort to get Daniel to talk was in vain. Along toward midnight, Benda took leave of him. Agnes unlocked the door for him; he said toher: “Look after him; he has no one else now. ”

Daniel lay on the sofa with his hands crossed behind his head, andstared at the ceiling. His eyes were hot; at times he trembled andshook. 

“It isn’t very sociable here, ” said the Goose Man, “the air is full oftobacco smoke, and there is a draft coming in from that dark room. ”

Daniel got up, closed the door, and lay down again. 

The metallic exterior of the Goose Man seemed to become flexible, somewhat as when a frozen body thaws out. “You have gone through a greatdeal, ” he continued thoughtfully. “That any one who wishes to createmust also experience is clear. Experience is his mother’s milk, hisrealm of roots; it is where the saps flow together, from which his formsand figures are developed. But there is experience and experience, andbetween the two there is a world of difference. ”

“Superfluous profundity, ” murmured Daniel, plainly annoyed. “To live isto have experience. ” He took council with himself in the attempt todevise a means by which he might get rid of the importunate chatterer. 

The Goose Man again struck up his gentle laugh. He replied: “Many live, and yet do not live; suffer, and yet do not suffer. In what does guiltlie? What does it consist of? In not feeling; in not doing. The firstthing for some men to do is to eradicate completely the false notionsthey have of what constitutes greatness. For what is greatness afterall? It is nothing in the world but the fulfilment of an unending circleof petty duties, small obligations. ”

“There is a fundamental difference between the creator and all othermen, ” remarked Daniel, at once excited and troubled by the conversationand the turn it was taking. 

“Do you appeal to, depend on, refer to music in this present case?”asked the Goose Man, his good-natured look becoming more or lessdisdainful. 

“In music every creation is more closely related to an unconditionalexterior than is true of anything else that man gives to man, ” answeredDaniel. “The musical genius stands nearer God than any other genius. ”

The Goose Man nodded. “But his fall begins one step from God’s throne, and is a high and deep one. Do you know what you are? And do you reallyknow what you are not?”

Daniel pressed his hand to his heart: “Have you ever known me to fightfor evanescent laurels? Have I ever tried to feed the human race, whichis a race of minors, on surrogates? Have I ever imitated the flights ofHeaven with St. Vitus dance, confusing the one with the other? Have Inot always acted in accord with the best, the inmost knowledge I had, and in obedience to my conscience? Was I ever a liar?”

“No, no, no!” cried the Goose Man, by way of appeasing Daniel’s unrest. He took off his cap, and laid it on his knee. “You were always sincere. There can be no doubt about it, your heart was always in yourprofession. All life has streamed into your soul, and you have lived inthe ivory tower. Your soul was well protected, well protected from thevery beginning. It was in a position similar to that created by aswimmer who rubs his body with grease before plunging into the water. You have suffered; the poison of the Nessus shirt you have worn hasburned your skin, and the pain you have thereby suffered has beentransformed into sweet sounds. So they all are, the creators, invulnerable and inaccessible. That is the way you picture them toyourself. Is it not true? Monsters who take up the cross of the world, and yet, grief-laden though they be, grow beyond their own fate. Such isyour lot; and so do you look to-day in your forty-second year. ”

Daniel was not prepared for this tone of bitterness; he turned his faceto the corner where the Goose Man was sitting. “I do not understandyou, ” he said slowly. The pitiable crying of little Gottfried could beheard from the room opening out on the court, and then Agnes’s quietinglullaby. 

“If you only had not lived in the ivory tower!” cried the Goose Man. “Ifyou only had been more sensitive and not so well protected! If you hadonly lived, lived, lived, really and truly, and near to life, like anaked man in a thicket of thorns! Life would have got the best of you, but your love would have been real, the hate you have experienced real, your misfortunes real, the lies, ridicule, and betrayal all real, andthe shadows of those who have died from you would have taken on reality. And the poison of the Nessus shirt would not merely have burned yourskin; it would have penetrated to your very blood, it would have foundits way to the deepest, most secret recesses of your heart. Your workwould have been carried on and out, not in a struggle against yourdarkness and your limited torments of soul, a slave before men andunblessed of God. Eliminate from your mind now, forever and completely, the delusion that you have borne the sufferings of the world! You havemerely borne your own sufferings, loving-loveless, altruistic-egoist, monster, man without a country that you are!”

“Who are you? What are you trying to say?” asked Daniel, automatically, falteringly, with pale lips. 

“Oh, don’t you see who I am? I am the Goose Man, ” came the reply, spokenwith a loyal and devoted bow. “The Goose Man, lonesome there behind theiron fence, lonesome there on the water at the fountain, and yetsituated in the middle of the Market. An insignificant being, tangibleand intelligible to every one who passes by, though a certain degree ofmonumentality has been ascribed to me in all these years. But I pay noattention to this ascription of greatness; I laugh at it. I give theMarket, where the people come and haggle over the price of potatoes andapples, a certain degree of dignity. That is all. They see me as I standthere, always upright, under the open sky; and despite my distinguishedposition, they have all come to look upon me as a cousin. For a timethey gave me a nickname: they called me by your name. But they had noright to do this; none at all, it seems to me. I have looked out for mygeese; no one can say a thing against me. ”

The Goose Man laughed a quiet, inoffensive laugh; and when Daniel turnedhis face to the corner, the chair was empty, the strange guest hadvanished. 

 III

But he came back. And when Daniel’s mind and body were both completelybroken down and he was obliged to remain in bed, his visits becameregular. He sat next to Benda, for Benda had taken to calling on Danielnow every day and staying with him until late at night. But Daniel grewquieter and quieter. Sometimes he would make no reply at all to Benda’sremarks or questions. 

The Goose Man came in behind Dr. Dingolfinger and stood on tiptoes, ascurious as curious could be, and looked over his arm when he wrote outhis prescriptions. The Goose Man was a little fellow: he hardly reachedup to the doctor’s hips. 

He hopped around Agnes when she cooked the soup and expressed hissympathy for her; she looked so pale. Though only thirteen years old, there was the worried look of a mature woman in her face; she would casther eyes around the room as if trying to catch a glance of human love inthe eyes of another person; her looks were timid and stealthy. “Some oneshould be caring for her too, ” said the Goose Man, shaking his head, “some one should be making a good, warm soup for her. ”

Though it would be unfair to say that the Goose Man was offensivelyconcerned, he seemed to be interested in everything that was going on inthe house. When the officials of the fire department came tocross-question Daniel about the fire, he became angry and gruff, and didnot wish to let them in. “Give the poor man some rest, some peace, afterall these years of suffering, ” he implored, “give him time to collecthimself and to meditate on what has taken place. ” And in fact themembers of the fire department left as soon as possible; they did notstay long. 

The Goose Man was always in a cheerful humour, always ready for a goodjoke. At times he would whistle softly, and smooth out the wrinkles inhis doublet. There was a certain amount of rustic shyness about him, buthis affability, his good manners, and his child-like cheerfulnessremoved any unpleasant impression this rusticity might otherwise havemade. He generally spoke the dialect of Nuremberg, though when withDaniel he never spoke anything but the most correct and chosen HighGerman. His natural, acquired culture and the wealth of his vocabularywere really amazing. 

Ten times a day at least he would scamper into the room where littleGottfried was sleeping and express his admiration for the pretty child. “How you are to be envied to have such a living creature crawling andsprawling around in your home!” he said to Daniel. And in course of timeDaniel actually came to have a new affection for the child. 

As soon as the Goose Man felt perfectly at home in Daniel’s house, hetook to bringing his two geese along with him. He would place them verycircumspectly in a corner of the room. One evening he was sittingplaying with them, when the bell rang. Andreas Döderlein stormed in, anddemanded that some one tell him where his daughter was. 

“Upon my word and honour! An old acquaintance of mine!” said the GooseMan, laughing and blinking. “I see him nowadays in the café much morefrequently than is good for his health. ”

“I must urgently request you to control yourself, ” said Benda, turningto Andreas Döderlein, and pointed to the bed in which Daniel was lying. 

“My daughter is not a bad woman. Let people overburdened with credulitybelieve that she is bad, ” cried Döderlein, with the expression and inthe tone and gesture of the royal Lear, and shook his Olympian locks. “The fact is that violence has been practised on her; she has beendriven into ruin! Men have stolen the sweet love of my dearly beloveddaughter through the use of vile tricks and artifices. Where is she, theunfortunate, betrayed child? With what is she clothing her nakedness, and how is she finding food and shelter—shelter in a world of wickedmen?”

A strange thing happened: the Goose Man took the gigantic arm of theOlympian, put his mouth to his beefy ear, and, with a sad andreproachful look on his face, whispered something to him. Döderleinturned red and then pale, looked down at the floor, and went away withheavy, rumbling step but silent lips. The Goose Man folded his armsacross his breast, and looked at Döderlein thoughtfully. 

“He is said to have taken to drinking, ” remarked Benda, “is said to beliving a wild, dissipated life. It seems incredible to me. TheDöderleins are generally content to stroll in lust along the banks ofthe slimy sea of vice and let other people fall in. The Döderleins areborn in false ermine, and they die in false ermine. ”

“And yet he is a human being, ” said the Goose Man, so that only Danielcould hear him. 

Daniel sighed. 

 IV

It was late at night. Daniel could not sleep. The Goose Man crouched athis feet on the edge of the bed, and looked at him as one looks at adear brother who is suffering intense pain. 

“I cannot deny that it is difficult for you to continue your life, ” saidthe Goose Man, trying to subdue his bright voice. “When we sum up yoursituation, we see day following day, night following night, and nothinghappening that can be a cause for rejoicing. Everything has been cutoff; the threads have all been broken; the foundation on which youbuilt has been completely annihilated. You are like the mother of manychildren who loses them all, all of them, on a single day by oneterrible stroke. The labour of years remains unrewarded; your work hasbeen in vain; in vain the blood your heart has poured out, thedeprivations you have submitted to; your whole past is like a bad, disordered dream. Oh, I understand full well; I appreciate yoursituation. It seems hard, very hard, to go on and not to despair. ”

Daniel covered his face with his hands and moaned. 

“Have you ever asked yourself how the hand of murder came to strike you?Ah, this Philippina! This daughter of Jason Philip! I am almost fourhundred years old, but such a person I have never seen or known. Butlook back over your past! Do it just once! Open your eyes; they are purenow and capable of beholding. Have you not suffered the Devil to live byyour side, to take part in your life? And were you not at the same timeimpatient with the angels who spread their wings about you as my geesespread theirs about me? The Devil has grown fat from you. The vampirehas battened on you, has fed on your blood. All this comes about whenone is unwilling to give, when one merely takes and takes and takes. That makes the Devil fat; the vampire becomes greedier with each passingsun. Ah, so many good genii have fled from you! Many you have frightenedaway, you, bewitched, you, enchanted! Well, what now? What next? Hellhas claimed its full booty; Heaven can now open again to your new-bornheart. ”

“There is no Heaven, ” groaned Daniel, “there is nothing but blacknessand darkness. ”

“You still breathe, your heart is still beating, you still have fivefingers on each hand, ” replied the Goose Man quietly. “He who has paidhis debts is a free man: you have paid yours. ”

“I am my own debt, my own guilt. If I continue to live, I will sinagain. Were I to live over the past, back into the past, I wouldcontract the same debts. ”

“But there is such a thing as a transformation, and through it onereceives absolution. Turn away from your phantom and become a humanbeing—and then you can become a creator. If you once become human, really human, it may be that you will not need the work, symphony orwhatever else you choose to call it. It may be that power and glory willradiate from you yourself. For are not all works merely the round-aboutways, the detours of the man himself, merely man’s imperfect attempts toreveal himself? Did you not love a mask of plaster more than thecountenances that shone upon you, the faces that wept about you? Did younot allow another mask, a thing of the mirror, to get control over you, and so to besmirch your soul and strike your spirit with paralysis? Howcan a man be a creator if he deceives, stunts, and abbreviates thehumanity that is in him? It is not a question of ability, DanielNothafft, it is a question of being, living, being. ”

Daniel tossed his head back and forth on his pillow, writhing in agony. “Stop!” he gulped, “stop, stop!”

The Goose Man bent over him, and crouched up nearer to his body like ananimal trying to get warm. “Come out of the convulsion, ” something criedand exhorted within him, “break your chains! Your music can give mennothing so long as you yourself are held captive. Feel their distress!Have pity on their unplumbed loneliness! Behold mankind! Behold it!”

“There is so much, ” replied Daniel in extreme torture, “a hundredthousand faces bewilder me, a hundred thousand pictures hem me in. Icannot differentiate; I must flee, flee!”

There was something inimitably tender, reassuring, and resigned in whatthe Goose Man then said: “I speak to you as Christ: Rise and walk! Riseand go in peace, Daniel! Go with me to my place. Be _me_ for just oneday, from morning to evening, and _I_ will be _you_. ”

Daniel got up, and before he was conscious of what he was doing, he hadput on his clothes and was out on the street with the Goose Man. Theycrossed the market place, and Daniel, in a crepuscular state of mind, climbed up, with the help of the Goose Man, and took his place on thebase of the fountain behind the iron railing. The two geese he tookunder his arms. He stood perfectly still, rigid, just like the GooseMan, and waited in anticipation of the things that were to come. 

 V

But nothing extraordinary happened. Everything that took place was quiteprosaic and obviously a matter of custom. 

The sun rose, and the market women took the cords and covers from theirbaskets. Fresh cherries, young pears, and winter apples shone in alltheir brilliancy of colour and lent variety to the drab square. Sparrowspicked in the straw that lay on the street. The sun rose higher; itsearly red gave way to a midday blue. Clouds drifted over the roof of thechurch. The women gossiped. Wagons rattled by, errand boys called toeach other, curtains were drawn from the windows, and men and womenlooked out to see what the weather was going to be like. There weresleepy faces and anxious faces, good faces and bad faces, young and old. 

Maids and humbler housewives came to make their purchases. They examinedthe fruit with seasoned care and experienced hand, and bargained forlower prices. The peasant women praised what they had, and if theirpraise was ineffectual, they became abusive. Once a sale had been made, they would take their balances, put the weights in one pan and the fruitin another, and never cease praising what they were selling until theyhad the money safe in their pockets. Then they would count over thecoins they had received, and looked at them as if to say: “It is fine toearn money!”

But those who paid out the money bore the mien of painful care andsolicitude. They seemed to be counting it all up in their heads; to betaking lessons in mental arithmetic. They would think over how much itwere wise or permissible for them to spend. The thing that impressedDaniel most of all, and the longer he stood there the clearer it becameto him, was this: Each purchaser went right up to the very edge of theterritory staked out for her, so to speak, by some mysterious master. This they felt was correct, certain though they were that to have gonebeyond the allotted limit would have brought swift and irremediableruin. The money was paid out with such studied caution, and taken inwith such a sense of victory! There was something touching about it all. This daily life of these small people seemed so strange, so verystrange, and at the same time so in accord with established order: itseemed indeed to be a practical visualisation of the sanctity of thelaw. 

In all the transactions due respect was paid to the formalities of life, and nothing was veiled. There was fulness, but no confusion; many words, but no misunderstanding. There were the wares and there were the coins. The scales showed how much was being given and how much taken. The fruitwandered from basket to basket, and human arms carried it home. Eachbought as much as could be paid for; there was no thought of goingbeyond one’s means. 

The clock in the tower struck on the hour, and the shadows moved in acircle about the objects on the square. So it was to-day; and so it hadbeen four hundred years ago. 

Four hundred years ago the houses stood there just as they stood to-day, and people, men and women, looked out of the windows, some with kindly, some with embittered faces. 

Is that not Theresa Schimmelweis creeping around the corner? How old, decrepit, and bent with years! Her hair is stone grey, her face is likelime. She is poorly dressed; she does not notice the people she meets. She sees nothing but the full baskets of fruit; for them she has agreedy eye. And she looks at Daniel behind the iron fence with anexpression of painful astonishment. 

And is that not Frau Hadebusch hobbling along over there! Though herface is that of a crafty criminal, in her eyes there is a panicky, terrified look. She has no support other than the ground beneath herfeet; she is a poor, lost soul. 

There comes Alfons Diruf, who retired years ago. He has become stout andgloomy. He is out for his morning walk along the city moat. There goesthe actor, Edmund Hahn, seeking whom he may devour. Disease and lust arewrit large across his jaded face. There is the sculptor, Schwalbe. He issecretly buying a few apples to take home to roast, for otherwise he hasnothing warm to eat. And there is Herr Carovius, ambling along. He lookslike a wandering spirit, dejected and exhausted. 

Beggars pass by, and so do the rich. There are respected people who aregreeted by those who see them; there are outcasts who are shunned. Thereare those who are happy and those who are weighed down with grief. Somehasten and some hesitate. Some seem to hold fast to their lives as alover might hold fast to his fiancée; others will die that same day. Onehas a child by the hand, another a woman by the arm. Some drag crimes intheir hearts, others walk upright, free, happy to face the world. One isbeing summoned to court as a witness, the other is on his way to thedoctor. One is fleeing from domestic discord, another is rejoicing oversome great good fortune. There is the man who has lost his purse and theman who is reading a serious letter. One is on his way to church topray, another to the café to drown his sorrows. One is radiant with joyover the business outlook, another is crushed with poverty. A beautifulgirl has on her best dress; a cripple lies in the gateway. There is aboy who sings a song, and a matron whose eyes are red with weeping. Thebaker carries his bread by, the cobbler his boots. Soldiers are going tothe barracks, workmen are returning from the factory. 

Daniel feels that none of them are strangers to him. He sees himself ineach of them. He is nearer to them while standing on his elevatedposition behind the iron railing than he was when he walked by them onthe street. The jet of water that spurts from him is like fate: it flowsand collects in the basin. Eternal wisdom, he feels, is streaming up tohim from the fountain below; each hour becomes a century. However menmay be constituted, he is seized with a supernatural feeling when helooks into their eyes. In all of their eyes there is the same fire, thesame anxiety and the same prayer; the same loneliness, the same life, the same death. In all of them he sees the soul of God. 

He himself no longer feels his loneliness; he feels that he has beendistributed among men. His hate has gone, dispelled like so much smoke. The tones he hears now come rushing up from the great fountain; and thisfountain is fed from the blood of all those he sees on the market place. Water is something different now: “It washes clean man’s very soul, andmakes it like an angel, whole. ”

Noon came, and then evening: a day of creation. And when evening came, amist settled over the city, and Daniel came down from his high place atthe fountain, set the geese carefully to one side, and went home. Hearrived at the vestibule; he stood in the door of the room looking outon the court. His eyes beheld a wonderful sight. 

The Goose Man was sitting playing with Agnes and little Gottfried. Hehad cut silhouettes from bright coloured paper and made them stand up onthe table by bending back the edge of the paper. There he sat, pushingthese figures into each other, and making such droll remarks that Agnes, who had never in her life really laughed, laughed now with all herheart, and like the child that she in truth still was. 

Little Gottfried could only prattle and clap his hands. The Goose Manhad placed him on the table. Whenever he made a false or awkward move, the Goose Man would set him right. He seemed to be especially skilled athandling and amusing children. 

When Daniel came in, the Goose Man got up and went over to him, greetedhim, and said in a kindly, confidential tone: “Are you back so soon? Wehave had such a nice time!”

In the room, however, there was the same haze that had settled down overthe city when Daniel left the fountain. Agnes and Gottfried were seizedwith a terrible fear. The boy began to cry; Agnes threw her arms aroundhim and cried too. 

Daniel went up to them, and said: “Don’t cry! I’m with you. You don’tneed to cry any more!”

He sat down on the same seat on which the Goose Man had been sitting, looked at the tiny paper figures, and, smiling, continued the game theGoose Man had been playing with them. 

Gottfried became quiet and Agnes happy. 

“Good-night!” cried the Goose Man, “now I am again myself, and you areyou. ”

He nodded kindly and disappeared. 

 VI

That same evening six of Daniel’s pupils came in. They had heard that hehad been removed from his position at the conservatory. 

It was not a mere rumour. Andreas Döderlein had had him discharged. Hewas also relieved of his post as organist at St. Ægydius’s. The scandalwith which he had been associated, and which was by this time known tothe entire city, had turned the church authorities against him. 

The six pupils came into his room where he was playing with hischildren. One of them, who had been chosen as their spokesman, told himthat they had made up their minds not to leave him; they were anxious tohave him continue the instruction he had been giving them. 

They were clever, vivacious young chaps. In their eyes was an enthusiasmthat had not yet been dimmed either by cowardice or conceit. 

“I am not going to remain in the city, ” said Daniel. “I am planning toreturn to my native Eschenbach. ”

The pupils looked at each other. Thereupon the speaker remarked: “Wewant to go with you. ” They all nodded. 

Daniel got up and shook hands with each one of them. 

Two days later, Daniel’s furniture and household belongings had all beenpacked. Benda came to say good-bye: his work, his great duty was callinghim. 

At first Benda could hardly realise that Daniel was yet to live anactive life; that there was still a whole life in him; that his life wasnot merely the debris of human existence, the ruins of a heart. But itwas true. 

There was about Daniel the expression, the bearing of a man who had beenliberated, unchained. No one could help but notice it. Though morereticent and laconic than in former days, his eyes had taken on a newsplendour, a renewed brilliancy and clarity; they were at once seriousand cheerful. His mood had become milder, his face more peaceful. 

The friends shook hands. Benda then left the room slowly, went down thesteps slowly, and once out on the street he walked along slowly: he feltso small, so strangely unimportant. 

 VII

Daniel returned to Eschenbach, and moved into the house of his parents. His pupils took rooms with the residents of the village. 

He was regarded by the natives as a peculiar individual. They smiledwhen they spoke of him, or when they saw him passing through the streetsabsorbed in his own thoughts. But it was not a malicious smile. If therewas the faintest tinge of ridicule in it at first, it soon gave way to avague feeling of pride. 

He gained a mysterious influence over people with whom he came incontact; many sought his advice when in trouble. His pupils especiallyadored him. He had the gift of holding their attention, of carrying themalong. The means he employed were the very simplest: his splendid, cheerful personality, the harmony between what he said and what he did, his earnestness, his humanness, his resignation to the cause that layclose to his heart, and his own belief in this cause—those were themeans through which and by which he gained a mysterious influence overthose with whom he came in touch. 

He became a famous teacher; the number of pupils who wished to studyunder him increased from year to year. But he admitted very few of themto his classes. He took only the best; and the certainty with which hemade his selections and differentiated was wellnigh infallible. 

No inducements of any kind could persuade him to leave the isolatedplace where he had elected to live. 

He was almost always in a good humour; he was never distracted; and thepreciseness and sharpness with which he observed whatever took place wasremarkable. The one thing that could throw him into a rage was to seesome one abuse a dumb beast. Once he got into trouble with a teamsterwho was beating his skinny old jade in order to make it pull a load thatwas far in excess of its strength. The boys on the street made fun ofhim; the people laughed with considerable satisfaction, and said: “Ah, the professor: he’s a bit off. ”

Agnes kept house for him; she was most faithful in looking out for hiswants. When he would leave the house, she would bring him his hat andwalking stick. Every evening before she went to sleep, he would come into her and kiss her on the forehead. It was rare that they spoke witheach other, but there was a secret agreement, a peaceful harmony, between them. 

Gottfried grew up to be a strong, healthy boy. He had Daniel’s physiqueand Eleanore’s eyes. Yes, they were the eyes with that blue fire; andthey had Eleanore’s elfin-like chastity and her hatred of all that isfalse and simulated. Daniel saw in this a freak of nature of theprofoundest significance. All the laws of blood seemed unsubstantial andshadowy. His feelings often wandered between gratitude and astonishment. 

Of Dorothea he heard one day that she was making her living as aviolinist in a woman’s orchestra. He made some inquiries and traced heras far as Berlin. There he lost her. A few years later he was told thatshe had become the mistress of a wealthy country gentleman in Bohemia, and was driving about in an automobile on the Riviera. 

He was also informed of the death of Herr Carovius. His last hours weresaid to have been very hard: he had kept crying out, “My flute, give memy flute!”

 VIII

In August, 1909, Daniel’s pupils celebrated the fiftieth birthday oftheir master. They made him a great number of presents, and gave him adinner in the inn at the Sign of the Ox. 

One of his pupils, an extremely handsome young fellow for whose futureDaniel had the highest of hopes, presented him with a huge bouquet oforange lilies, wild natives of the woods around Eschenbach. He hadgathered them himself, and arranged them in a costly vase. 

The menu at the dinner was quite frugal; the wine was Franconian countrywine. During the dinner, Daniel rose, took his glass in his hand, and, with a far-away look in his eyes, said: “I drink to the health andhappiness of a creature who is a stranger to all of you. She grew uphere in Eschenbach. Many years ago she vanished in a most mysteriousway. But I know that she is alive and happy at this hour. ”

His pupils all raised their glasses. They looked at him, and were deeplymoved by the strength and clarity of his features. 

After the dinner he and his pupils went to the old church. He had bothof the large doors opened so that the bright light of day might pour inunimpeded. Up in the lofty vaults of the nave, where all had been darkbut a moment ago, there was now a milky clearness and cheerfulness. 

He went to the organ and began to play. Some men and women who chancedto be passing by came in and sat down on the benches with the boys. Thena group of children entered. They tripped timidly through the opendoors, stopped, looked around, and opened their eyes as wide as childrencan. Other people came in; for the tones of the organ had penetrated thehumble homes. They looked up at the organ silently and seriously; forits exalted melodies had, without their being prepared for it, carriedthem away from their everyday existence, and lifted them up above itsabject lowliness. 

The tones grew louder and louder, until they sounded like the prayer ofa heart overflowing with feeling. As the close of the great hymn drewon, a little girl was heard weeping from among the uninvited auditors. 

It was Agnes who wept. Had life been fully awakened in her? Was lovecalling her out into the unknown? Was the life of her mother beingrepeated in her?

Children grow up and are seized by their fate. 

Toward evening, Daniel took a walk with his nine pupils out over themeadow. They went quite far. The last song of the birds had died out, the glow of the sun had turned pale. 

The beautiful youth, then walking by Daniel’s side, said: “And the work, Master?”

Daniel merely smiled; his eye roamed over the landscape. 

The landscape shows many shades of green. Around the weirs the grass ishigher, so high at times that one can see nothing of the geese but theirbeaks. Were it not for their cackling, one might take these beaks forstrangely mobile flowers. 

 THE END

[Transcriber’s Note: The table below lists all corrections applied tothe original text. 

p. 007: [normalized] set up as a book-seller -> booksellerp. 008: the lovely curves of the birdges -> bridgesp. 011: [normalized] he slipt into the Festival Playhouse -> slippedp. 011: [normalized] acquaintance of Andreas Döberlein -> Döderleinp. 011: [normalized] Döberlein seemed not disinclined -> Döderleinp. 014: [normalized] little, eight-year old daughter -> eight-year-oldp. 017: [normalized] Theresa said to the working-man -> workingmanp. 018: fiercely red pamphets spread out -> pamphletsp. 023: [normalized] a room of the brushmaker Hadebusch -> brush-makerp. 024: Frau Hadesbusch wailed -> Hadebuschp. 024: [normalized] The old brushmaker poked his head -> brush-makerp. 046: status of the artistocracy -> aristocracyp. 047: [normalized] he indulged in eaves-dropping -> eavesdroppingp. 048: [normalized] as a fourteen-year old girl -> fourteen-year-oldp. 054: no sooner had be seen her -> hep. 057: seemed to be similiarly situated -> similarlyp. 065: [normalized] the seventeen-year old boy -> seventeen-year-oldp. 067: flatter the leader and politican -> politicianp. 067: [normalized] socialist book-keeper -> bookkeeperp. 067: Her shrieks called Herr Franke -> Franckep. 084: [missing period] took the artist’s part. P. 094: [normalized] she was in her nightgown -> night-gownp. 095: clasped Eleanor about the hips -> Eleanorep. 095: stepped back from her, terror stricken -> terror-strickenp. 101: The venemous and eloquent hatred -> venomousp. 105: [normalized] fell head-long to the floor -> headlongp. 107: [added comma] and if you want to, why you can come -> why, youp. 121: meant at the time by “having a child, ” -> ‘having a child, ’p. 122: [added comma] Why the arithmetic of it -> Why, thep. 123: [normalized] fixed on a ten-year old girl -> ten-year-oldp. 124: [normalized] right under my bed-room -> bedroomp. 125: crystallised by artifical means -> artificialp. 127: [normalized] voice that the passers-by simpered -> passersbyp. 130: rather die, they said, then meet -> than meetp. 131: she could play the role of an emissary -> rôlep. 132: [normalized] Eschenbach at mid-day -> middayp. 133: [normalized] unusually large eye-brows -> eyebrowsp. 136: their retinue was seedy looking indeed -> seedy-lookingp. 136: dozen or so super-numaries -> super-numerariesp. 145: [normalized] pleasing, faraway look in her eyes -> far-awayp. 153: [normalized] character of the book-seller -> booksellerp. 154: [normalized] with heartrending dignity -> heart-rendingp. 162: [comma missing ink] “Where are you going, my dear friend?”p. 163: he liked to breathe the air that Eberhard dreamed -> breathedp. 169: [normalized] weatherbeaten by the storms -> weather-beatenp. 169: something childlike in his restlessness -> child-likep. 176: from the land of no-where -> nowherep. 180: [normalized] this over-crowded room -> overcrowdedp. 183: the words of the “Herzreise” -> “Harzreise”p. 183: voice of the painter Krapotkin -> Kropotkinp. 186: Gertrude was pealing potatoes -> peelingp. 191: but twenty pfennigs’ worth of sweets -> buyp. 197: [added closing quotes] “I think he is. If not, I will get him. ”p. 202: light hearted and light footed -> light-hearted and light-footedp. 212: [normalized] appeared in the _Phoenix_ -> _Phœnix_p. 215: [normalized] her well-nigh supernatural ability -> wellnighp. 215: [normalized] a serious, far-a-way warning -> far-awayp. 227: threw it at Fraülein Varini -> Fräuleinp. 253: [normalized] passersby and onlookers -> on-lookersp. 257: Eleanor’s example was equally great -> Eleanore’sp. 275: the greatest atraction for her -> attractionp. 297: potato pealings -> peelingsp. 300: [normalized] just stepped out of a band-box -> bandboxp. 300: That old white bearded man -> white-beardedp. 301: [punctuation] interrupted Philippina with a giggle, -> giggle. P. 304: his nose was as flat as a pan-cake -> pancakep. 313: You probaby think I am an idiotic simpleton -> probablyp. 317: [normalized] hiring out as a mid-wife -> midwifep. 320: [normalized] the sound of foot-steps -> footstepsp. 326: at most an inadquate light -> inadequatep. 327: rid himself completely of all entangements -> entanglementsp. 331: That is the way our childer are -> childrenp. 333: Count Ulrich had asked for her hand -> Urlichp. 338: more and more strange and izarre -> bizarrep. 340: his shabby old yellow rain-coat -> raincoatp. 346: a vague, faraway idea of music -> far-awayp. 358: passsionately absorbed in himself -> passionatelyp. 360: [normalized] and a long law-suit -> lawsuitp. 360: establishment in the Plobenhaf Street -> Plobenhofp. 364: with some hesistation -> hesitationp. 378: [normalized] A neighbour, the green grocer -> green-grocerp. 397: unsually attentive expression -> unusuallyp. 411: [normalized] the next day to a school-mate -> schoolmatep. 424: [punctuation] sleep longer. ” Dorothea answered -> longer, ”p. 426: [added period] concerned themselves about him in the slightest. P. 441: [normalized] try to brow-beat me -> browbeatp. 444: bent dawn, stretched out her arm -> downp. 461: The Döderlins are born in false ermine -> Döderleinsp. 464: [added period] going beyond one’s means. P. 466: Little Gootfried could only prattle -> Gottfried ]