The rosy hues had vanished from the sky; gray twilight was spreading over the valleys, and the evening breeze began to whisper and to murmur in the tops of the pine-trees.
Oswald was seized with vague terror. He felt as if that mystical Night, which Berger had invoked in his strange prayer, was chilling him already with a breath from the grave--as if the sun had set never to rise again But this fear was not without a strange admixture of delight. The narcotic fragrance of thoughts of death which had been borne to him on Berger's ecstatic words, filled his heart, together with the perfume of the heather and the aroma of the pines.
He thought of Helen and of Melitta, but not with the restless anxiety of the morning, but in calm melancholy, as we think of the departed whom we have loved. He thought of the troubles and blunders of his gay drama in the château of Grenwitz, but it looked to him like a puppet-show for children. He thought of the future, but it had no longer any charms for him; it filled him neither with hope nor with fear; it was as if his whole life were withdrawing from without, as if the world were not worthy of so much love or so much hatred.
Thus he sat, resting his head on his hands, upon a large rock, and looked out into the evening, which was spreading its dark wings wider and wider over the heavens.
A hand was laid on his shoulder.
"Come!" said Berger, "let us return to the dead!"
They descended from the summit and plunged into the damp darkness of the forest. Berger seemed to know every path and every stone in the mountains. He went on, supporting himself every now and then with his stout cane, at a pace which made it difficult for Oswald to follow him, though he was considered a good pedestrian.
Thus they had reached a meadow lying in the very heart of the forest. As they followed the edge of the wood they suddenly saw a light glimmering on the opposite side. It came from the flame of a pile of briars which had just been kindled. Within the bright circle of the flames two persons were visible--a woman, as it seemed, and a child.
Oswald's sharp eyes confirmed him in a suspicion which had entered his heart at the first glance.
They were Xenobia and Czika.
He hastened as fast as he could across the meadow towards the fire, but he had hardly accomplished half the distance when he sank up to his ankles into the morass. He saw that he could not go any further. He cried as loud as he could: "Xenobia! Czika! it is I! Oswald!"
But his call had scarcely broken the peace of the silent forest when the fire vanished, and with the fire the two forms he had seen.
All was quiet--quiet as death. Oswald might have imagined that his fancy had played him a trick.
"What was the matter?" asked Berger, when Oswald joined him again.
"Did you not see the fire!"
"It was a will-o'-the-wisp in the swamp," replied Berger. "Let us go on."
It was completely dark when the two wanderers left the last spur of the mountain, and reached the first houses of the village. Oswald, who was for the first time in this region, and whose sense of locality was not strongly developed, had of course allowed himself to be entirely guided by Berger, and had expected that the latter would return by the nearest road to Doctor Birkenhain's asylum. He was, therefore, not a little surprised when he found out that they were approaching the town from the opposite direction. There were the huge wagons laden with bales, there was the wide court-yard with its hospitably open gates, there was the green lamp burning in dismal dimness over the door of the house, and casting a mournful light upon one-half of the leaden hat which had once shone in all the splendor of oil-paint, but which had since passed through many a storm, losing its youthful freshness under the action of wind and weather and rain. There they heard in the low room to the right of the hall, with its four tiny windows and its dim light, the clinking of glasses, as thirsty guests knocked them impatiently against each other, and the concentrated noise of some twenty male voices, which were by no means delicate, and yet insisted upon being all heard at once.
It would scarcely have needed all these unmistakable signs to convince Oswald that he was near the hospitable roof of the Green Hat.
The sudden meeting with the gypsies in the forest had reminded him most forcibly of this whole affair, which Berger's recital had nearly driven from his mind.
He should have liked much to consult Berger in this matter, as the latter had in former times given him frequent opportunities to admire his skill in unravelling intricate situations and problematic characters; but he was loth to trouble a mind which was constantly seeking the truth in the mysterious depths of mysticism, with stories in which Director Schmenckel was playing the most prominent part.
What was his amazement, therefore, when Berger suddenly stopped at the door of the Green Hat, and said:
"I am thirsty; let us go in here for a moment!"
"Here?" inquired Oswald, who shrank from the idea of introducing the dreamy, delicate man, with his horror of the mere odor of tobacco, to such vulgar society. "The company in there is hardly suitable."
"What does that matter?" replied Berger. "Are they not the children of men?"
With these words he entered through the open house-door into the halls where yesterday the enthusiastic admirers of art had fought their battle royal with their adversaries, and through the door of the room which was also open into the coffee-room.
The appearance of the latter was nearly the same as on the previous day, before and after the fight, only that the table at which the artists had their seats was to-day much less sought after by the other guests. The glory of artists is apt to fade quickly in the eyes of men who still feel the smarting of the blows which they have received a day before on account of this very glory, and who are prosaic enough to recollect the number of glasses of beer which the artists have drunk at their expense, solely for the purpose of not interfering with the general good-temper of the company. Thus it came about that many who, in their enthusiasm for art, had utterly forgotten their old friends in the blue overalls and the heavy shoes, to-night joined them once more, and granted to new comers the privilege of listening to Director Schmenckel's long stories, and of paying his long bills.
Mr. Schmenckel was far too great a philosopher to lose his good humor and his temper on account of this insulting desertion by his friends. His fat face shone as bright as ever--it was redder than usual, even, because its original color appeared still richer and more intense in contrast with a few patches of black which had become indispensable in consequence of his fight with Mamselle Adele. His swollen eyelids winked at everybody as cunningly as ever, his linen was perhaps a shade less white, but the suspenders had not lost a line of their width, and none of the embroidered roses seemed to have suffered in the least.
And as rosy as this indispensable part of his wardrobe, was also the temper of the man whose broad bosom it adorned.
"How do you like the beer, Cotterby?" he said, laying his broad hand upon the shoulder of the man of the pyramids.
"Sour!" was the laconic reply; for the hero had received but meagre applause to-day, since the genius in the oak-tree had not been there to hallow his flight.
"Pshaw!" said Mr. Schmenckel, "you are spoilt, Cotterby. It is of course not as good as you drink it in Egypt, but nevertheless it is good, very good indeed. Your health gentlemen."
The director put the glass to his lips, but only swallowed a moderate quantity, a circumstance which might have convinced the impartial observer of the correctness of the judgment of the Flying Pigeon, whose beer had not been paid for to-night by enthusiastic admirers of art.
At that moment Berger and Oswald entered the room and approached a table at which the artists sat, because it had some vacant seats. Mr. Schmenckel's observant eye had scarcely seen the new comers--whom he recognized instantly as the insane young count of the day before, and an old gray-bearded fellow of curious appearance whom the count had picked up for his amusement after the escape of the gypsies--when he rose from his seat, went up to Oswald, bowed low before him, and said, with a voice which he intended should be distinctly heard all over the room,
"Ah, your excellency, count, that is nice in you, that you come to call upon a poor artist in his lowly inn. Sit down here by the side of Director Schmenckel! Move on a little, Cotterby! That's it! Now, gentlemen, take your seats; delighted to make your acquaintance, old fellow, much honor. Two fresh glasses of beer for the gentlemen, and one for Director Schmenckel! Empty your glass, Cotterby! So, now bring four glasses! Who would have thought that we should have such excellent company to-night?" and Mr. Schmenckel rubbed his hands with delight as Oswald and Berger took seats in his immediate neighborhood.
"Well, here is the beer--fresh from the cask, my angel--well, all the better! Here gentlemen! Your health, count, and your health also, old man! Ah! that was the first mouthful I have relished this evening. Odd! is it not? Bad company spoils good beer; good company makes bad beer good! Am a lover of sociability, count. See that you are another. Will you have the kindness to introduce me to the old gentleman? Director Schmenckel likes to know with whom he has to do."
Oswald glanced at Berger to see what impression was made upon him by this company and these surroundings, and to judge from that what he had better do for Director Schmenckel. To his astonishment, Berger seemed to listen to the prattle of the rope-dancer with some interest. He had hung his hat upon the back of the chair, placed the cane by his side, and was now leaning with both arms upon the table, exactly like one who does not intend to leave the place very soon again.
"My name is Berger," he answered to the director's question.
"Professor Berger," added Oswald, with the good intention of making an impression upon Mr. Schmenckel by the title, and to put, if possible, a check upon his familiarity.
"Professor!" repeated Mr. Schmenckel, with a look at Berger's blue blouse and ill-kept beard. "Ha! ha! ha! Very good! May I make you acquainted with my friend Cotterby? Mr. John Cotterby, of Egypt, known as the Flying Pigeon. Mr. Berger, known as Professor! Ha! ha! ha!"
"Shall we go again," inquired Oswald, who was seriously embarrassed by Mr. Schmenckel's conduct.
"I think we had better stay a little longer," replied Berger.
"Your fist, old boy!" said Mr. Schmenckel, seizing Berger's small thin hand and shaking it warmly. "I like you prodigiously. When your tile is losing its glue, and your blouse is going to tatters completely, you must come to me. Director Schmenckel will be delighted to receive a man like you as a member of his company. Your beard alone is an ornament for the whole land. You would create a sensation in a pantomime. What did you think of our performance to-day, count?"
"I was unfortunately unable to see it," replied Oswald, encouraged by a smile upon Berger's lips to continue the strange conversation.
"Oh, you have lost much, indeed very much," said the director in a tone of sincere regret, shaking his huge head slowly to and fro. "The performance was by far the finest we have given for a long time. Director Schmenckel has convinced everybody that the absence of a few estimable members of his company could in no wise impair the general efficiency of the same. I do not mean myself--although the world-renowned Schmenckel-act, with three cannon-balls of forty-eight pounds each, has never yet been imitated by anybody in this world, and myfontaine d'argent, with ten silver balls, is as yet unequalled. But, gentlemen, you ought to have seen Mr. Cotterby on the trapeze; I tell you the ring-tailed apes of the Island of Sumatra are miserable bunglers in comparison--absolutely miserable bunglers! And then Mr. Stolsenberg with his gigantic cask! I tell you--come nearer, Stolsenberg. An artist such as you are need not be so very modest, and the count here does not mind another glass of beer, or even several he is not like ordinary men. And then Mr. Pierrot, as contortionist!--come this way, Pierrot! Artists ought always to keep to each other. I tell you, count, your penknife is a ramrod in comparison with Mr. Pierrot. I have said it again and again: Pierrot, if we ever should travel by rail together, I mean to pay only for myself; I shall put you in my hat-box. Ha! ha! ha! A clever idea! Is it not, count? But the professor's glass is empty; and by all the Powers! mine is empty too! I verily believe that man Stolsenberg has secretly emptied my glass, and his own into the bargain! You had better drink yours too, Pierrot. You will save the pretty waiting-maid some trouble. Here, my angel, five fresh glasses; but really fresh, my beauty--fresh, like the roses on your cheeks. Fond of pretty women, count?--such a pretty child, with brown eyes, dark hair, and a slight, graceful person, like Czika? Eh? Just let her grow a few years older and you'll see something; she'll give you pleasure!"
"Have you any news about them?" asked Oswald.
Mr. Schmenckel, who had not the remotest idea of what could have become of the two gypsies, but who considered it wrong to destroy all hope of meeting the last object of his mad fancy in the heart of a man who was immensely rich and passionately fond of young gypsy-children, winked cunningly with his swollen eyes, put his fat finger against his nose, and said: "Are not far from here, in the woods--have certain information--can get her when I want her--don't want her, though--women must have time to get over their tantrums--then they come of their own account, and are thoroughly cured of their fancies. Yes, you have to know them well! Women are troublesome people to deal with, only they are all alike--and yet not one is like the other. What do you think about that, old boy?"
"I think you a great philosopher, from whom one might learn a great deal yet," replied Berger, looking with a curious smile into Mr. Schmenckel's face.
"Well, I should think so," said the director, throwing out his capacious chest and resting his hands on his hips. "Mr. Schmenckel, of Vienna, knows where the hare burrows, and the man who wants to lead him astray has to rise early in the morning. But, by all the Powers! it is no wonder after all if I know rather better than others how the world wags; I have been shaken about in it, upside and down, round and round and round, like a cork in an empty bottle."
"An empty bottle," said Berger. "That's a capital comparison; perfectly correct. How did you get hold of that?"
"How I got hold of it?" replied the director with an air of astonishment. "How I got hold of it? Probably, because I have an empty glass standing before me. Ha, ha, ha."
"It looks as if you had not been displeased, so far, with the beverage of life," said Berger, while Mr. Schmenckel made use of the interval, till the new glass of beer could come, to fill his short clay pipe.
"Well, and why not?" replied the director, lighting his pipe at the flame of the tallow candle that stood near him on the table, and disappearing for a few moments from the sight of the by-standers in thick, blue clouds. "Life is a prodigiously funny thing for a man who knows what's what, like Caspar Schmenckel, of Vienna. Thanks, my angel!"
"I am not your angel, sir," said the girl, snappishly, as she pushed back violently the arm with which Mr. Schmenckel had embraced her waist, and cast a stolen glance at Oswald.
Mr. Schmenckel's only reply to this insulting correction was this: he pressed the five finger-tips of his right hand against his thick lips and cast a kiss after the girl as she slipped out, and then, closing his left eye, winked cunningly with the other at Oswald, who was sitting on the opposite side.
"Nice girl, your excellency, isn't she? Pretends to eat me up alive, and is head over ears in love with me."
"You seem to be very successful with ladies," said Oswald, merely in order to say something.
"Well, can't complain, your excellency," said Mr. Schmenckel, laughing complacently. "Women are like the weather. To-day too hot, and to-morrow too cold; to-day sunshine, and to-morrow rainy weather. Must take everything as it comes from them, just as from the Great One above."
"I should think that depended solely upon yourself," said Berger, whose look dwelt imperturbably upon his jovial companion, as if his mind could not comprehend so remarkable a phenomenon.
"How so, old fellow? You think I should let them alone, every one of them? Well, old gentleman, that might do very well for you; but of Caspar Schmenckel, of Vienna, you cannot expect such a thing. The deuce! Leave them alone? Why, I had rather be dead and buried!"
"That would certainly be the best of all," said Berger.
"Look here, old gentleman," replied the director, with an effort to be serious, which sat very oddly upon him. "Don't commit such a sin! I tell you again, life is a mighty good thing, and we must not paint the devil's likeness on the wall. Oh, pshaw! Why do you let your beer grow stale, and make a face like a tanner whose skins have been washed down the stream? Come, drink a glass with Caspar Schmenckel! Well, that's right! Schmenckel is a merry fellow, and likes to be in company with merry fellows. Well, gentlemen, what do you say, shall we have a nice song? Cotterby, you have a voice like a nightingale! Come, fall in! Does your excellency know the song of the midges?"
"No; but let us hear it."
"Well, here goes; Stolsenberg, Pierrot, fall in!"
And Mr. Schmenckel took the pipe from his mouth, leaned back in his chair, and began with a tremendous bass voice, while his three friends sang chorus:
"Good morning, fiddler,Why are you so late?Retreating, advancing,The midges are dancing,With the little killekeiaWith the big cumcum."Then came the women,With scythe and sickle,To keep the midgesFrom dancing like witches,With the little killekeia,With the big cumcum."
"Good morning, fiddler,Why are you so late?Retreating, advancing,The midges are dancing,With the little killekeiaWith the big cumcum.
"Then came the women,With scythe and sickle,To keep the midgesFrom dancing like witches,With the little killekeia,With the big cumcum."
"Well, gentlemen, isn't that a fine song?" cried Mr. Schmenckel, after having finished off the remarkable air by pummelling the table with both hands so that the glasses began to dance.
"Very fine," said Berger; "do you know any more?"
"Hundreds," replied Mr. Schmenckel, "but Mr. Cotterby knows the best. Sing us a solo, Cotterby."
The Egyptian smiled complacently, twisted his small, jet-black moustache, and passed his hand through his dark, well-oiled hair, leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes half, and began in quite a pleasant tenor voice:
"A peasant had a pretty wife,She loved to stay at home,She begged her husband by her life,To go abroad and roam,Through the grass and through the hay,Through the grass--alas!Ha, ha, ha; ha, ha, ha; hideldeedee!Hurrah! hurrah!To go abroad, and in the grass."
"A peasant had a pretty wife,She loved to stay at home,She begged her husband by her life,To go abroad and roam,Through the grass and through the hay,Through the grass--alas!Ha, ha, ha; ha, ha, ha; hideldeedee!Hurrah! hurrah!To go abroad, and in the grass."
"Ho, ho, ho!" laughed the director. "That is a good song--very good. That reminds me of a pretty story, which I will tell if you say so, gentlemen. You can finish the song afterwards, Cotterby."
The Egyptian seemed to take it rather amiss that he was thus interrupted; but Mr. Schmenckel did not notice it, or did not choose to notice it. He took a long pull at his glass of beer, and said to the waiting maid, whom the song or the presence of the young, distinguished stranger had brought back to the table,
"You go a little outside, my angel. The story which Director Schmenckel is going to tell is not made for young girls."
The pretty girl blushed up to her ears and ran away, looking back for a moment at Oswald. Mr. Schmenckel cleared his voice, leaned over the table, and began with a voice which sounded all the hoarser for his efforts to subdue it:
"Gentlemen, you know that all thinking men divide women into two classes--such as serve, and such as are served. But love knows no such distinction, for love masters them all. I have myself experienced this very often in life, but it has never become quite so clear to me as some----" Here Mr. Schmenckel looked almost anxiously around, to see that no unauthorized ear, especially no female ear, should catch the chronological fact which he was about to mention. "Some twenty years ago, in St. Petersburg. Have any of the gentlemen ever been in St. Petersburg?"
They said no.
"How did you get to St. Petersburg?" inquired the hopeful son of a citizen of Fichtenau, who had in the meanwhile joined the company.
"Schmenckel, of Vienna," replied the director, in a dogmatic tone of voice, "has been everywhere. You may expect him, therefore, at any place on earth. St. Petersburg, gentlemen, is a beautiful city, as you may judge from the fact that the palaces of the emperor and of all the great nobles are cut of blue and white ice, which shines brilliantly in the sun."
"How can that be," inquired again the man from Fichtenau; "don't they melt in summer?"
"In summer," said Mr. Schmenckel, by no means taken aback; "in summer? Why, what are you thinking of? I tell you, sir, in St. Petersburg there is no summer. Snow and ice, ice and snow, all the year round, from one New Year's Eve to the next New Year's Eve. You have no idea, in your country here, of such a cold; the human mind can't conceive it. I tell you, the breath from your mouth falls instantly as snow to the ground, and when two persons have been talking to each other for some time in the street, a heap is formed between them so high that when they part they have to climb up in order to be able to shake hands. Why, it is so cold there that the milk freezes in the cow; and when you say: here, give me a glass of beer, or a little mug-full, the Petersburg people say: give me a slice, for the beer freezes into a thick syrup, and is not poured out, but cut into long, thin slices, put upon buttered bread, and eaten in that way."
"That must be quite uncomfortable," remarked the oldest guest of the Green Hat.
"Every land has its ways," replied Mr. Schmenckel.
"But we know that expression, too," said the fat landlord, who had come up to the table.
"Well, then, just let me have a slice, my good man," said Mr. Schmenckel, draining his glass and handing it over his shoulder to the landlord, "but Christian measure, if you please!
"In one word," continued the director, after he had graciously accepted the applause which his wit received as a tribute due to his superiority, and after trying cautiously the contents of the new glass, "in a word, St. Petersburg is a fine city, and when you see how the sun glitters on all the ice palaces, and how the Russians, wrapped in their bearskins, drive furiously through the streets in their sleighs with four reindeers abreast, you feel as if your heart was laughing within you with delight, and you must go into the nearest shop to take a good glass of gin.
"Well, then, we were in St. Petersburg, and liked it mightily. We--that is to say, the famous circus company of my uncle, who was the director, Francis Schmenckel, and myself, who had the honor to be engaged as Hercules--I can say that we created a sensation, especially our horses; for the Russians know horses only from hearsay. The emperor alone has two or three shaggy creatures that look like big dogs in his stables. Everybody else, as I said before, drives only reindeer--even the cavalry is mounted in that way; and I can assure you, gentlemen, that a Russian cuirassier of the guards, mounted on his reindeer stallion, is not so bad a sight after all.
"We had immense audiences. The emperor and the whole court were every evening at the circus. His majesty applauded so furiously that he had to put on a new pair of white kid gloves every five minutes, because he had torn the others to pieces. During the entire act I had to be on my post at the door of the Imperial box, so that I could show his majesty the way behind the scenes and into the stables, where his majesty condescended to pat the best animals most graciously on the neck, and to pinch the cheeks of the handsomest ladies in the company, with his own hand. But more than anybody else did I enjoy the emperor's favor. I cannot tell exactly why! I only know that the emperor sent for me to his box the very first night, and said to me before the whole court: 'Mr. Schmenckel, you are not only the strongest but also the handsomest man I have ever seen. Ask a favor!' 'Your majesty,' I replied, bowing gracefully, 'I ask only for a continuance of your favor, which I esteem above all things else.' 'That you shall have, and patents of nobility into the bargain,' exclaimed his majesty, most enthusiastically. 'Give me your strong hand, Mr. von Schmenckel; with a company of men like yourself, I would dictate laws to the whole world.'
"From that moment we were sworn friends. 'Mr. Schmenckel, come this evening and take a cup of caravan tea with me! Will you drink a glass of wutki punch with me to-night, after the performance is over? dear von Schmenckel. You know, quiteentre nous, perhaps, a few ladies and gentlemen of my court. Will you come?' That was the way, day by day.
"Well, gentlemen, Mr. Schmenckel, of Vienna, is not a proud man, but he likes to be in good company----"
Here Mr. Schmenckel made a courteous bow to the bystanders, and continued:
"And an emperor is, after all, always an emperor, and it is a pleasure, which I will not deny, to be on such terms of intimacy with such a man.
"Those were famous evenings which I spent, so to say, in the bosom of the imperial family. The gentlemen of the court were very pleasant people, and the ladies----"
Mr. Schmenckel closed his eyes, kissed his hand toward! the ceiling, and sent a deep sigh after the winged messenger of his love. "The ladies! I tell you, gentlemen, he who has not seen the women of Russia, has not seen any women at all. Such hair, such eyes, such figures, such fire; and if Schmenckel of Vienna, was to live four thousand years, he would never forget the winter in St. Petersburg!
"The Russian women are beautiful, and you may feel a little twitch of envy, gentlemen, when I tell you that I had the pick among the fairest of the fair. You may think that sounds like brag, gentlemen, but I cannot help it, it was so. They sent me whole wagon-loads of locks of hair, bouquets and little notes, which always began thus: 'Divine Schmenckel, or Apollo Schmenckel,' and always ended thus: 'Meet me at such and such a place, at such and such an hour.'
"But, as it happens most frequently in such cases, she whose favor I should have valued most highly was not one of my admirers. This was a young and very beautiful lady, whom I saw every evening at the circus; but she always assumed a prodigiously haughty and reserved air, although I invariably made her a special bow when they applauded.
"'How do you like our ladies?' the emperor asked me one evening as we were walking, arm-in-arm, up and down the reception room.
"'So so! your majesty,' I replied, for discretion was always Caspar Schmenckel's special gift.
"'You are hard to please,' said the emperor. 'How do you like the little Malikowsky?'
"'What name was that?' suddenly asked Berger, who had been sitting immovable, his brow buried in his hand, and who now, for the first time, raised his head.
"Malikowsky, old gentleman," repeated Mr. Schmenckel. "Another Russian slice, landlord. With your leave, gentlemen. I'll fill my pipe once more."
Oswald looked at Berger. He felt as if a strange nervous twitching was agitating his calm, serious features, and as if the eyes betrayed an unusual excitement but the next moment Berger had again hid his brow in his hand. Mr. Schmenckel continued his story:
"'The little Malikowsky?' I asked. 'Who is she?'
"'Have you never noticed a lady in black who sits very near the imperial box? Pale face, large eyes, chin rather long?'
"'Certainly, your majesty; but she seems to be a shy bird.'
"'Nonsense! dear Schmenckel; sheer nonsense! Between us be it said, the lady once stood in somewhat nearer relations to our house than I liked. We have given her a husband, a Polish nobleman who was ruined; her reputation was not very good, his is very bad; he has nothing, she has half a million souls----'"
"How much is that in Prussian money?" inquired the fat habitué of the Green Hat, who kept a grocery-store in the town.
"Five million dollars, twenty-six silver groschen, and fourpence--'thus they suit each other exactly. When she wants to get rid of him for a time, she sends him to his estates in Poland. Just now he is again on his travels. You had better make a conquest of her, and I will say then that Schmenckel, of Vienna, is not only the strongest and the handsomest, but also the luckiest man on earth.'
"'Your majesty's wish is my command,' I replied, and went home considering how I could win the heart of the beauty. 'Only by doing something which no man ever yet has been able to do,' I said to myself, and then, gentlemen, it was I invented the famous Schmenckel-act, with the three cannon balls of forty-eight pounds each. On the first evening I played with one of them as with a boy's ball--she smiled; on the second I played with two--she clapped her tiny hands; on the third I played with all three of them--she threw me a bouquet. I was sure of my success now. But here, gentlemen, I must beg you to excuse me if I follow my invariable custom when a lady is mentioned in my recollections, and if I only suggest, therefore, in a general way, that the same evening a pretty maid presented herself at my rooms and asked me to follow her to her mistress who was dying of love for me. I may add that Schmenckel, of Vienna, has too good a heart to let anybody die for him, and least of all for love for him, if he can help it, and that the next four weeks belonged to the happiest of his whole life."
"You are a fortunate man, director," said the native of Fichtenau, who had been for four years secretly in love with the daughter of an alderman, and had already triumphed so far over all obstacles as to have obtained, almost, a kiss from her.
"As you take it, young man," replied Mr. Schmenckel, with paternal benevolence, "where there is much light, there must also be dark shadows. I ought properly to let my story end here, but I suppose I must finish it for the benefit of such young hot-blooded creatures as you are. Master Miller, and you Cotterby, you abominably fast man, and you Pierrot, the greatest scamp I know. Well, just listen, gentlemen! The pretty maid was not less passionately fond of me than her mistress, for, as I said just now, in that matter of love all the women are alike What happens, therefore? One fine evening, as I was drinking my cup of tea with the lady--in all honor and propriety, gentlemen, upon my word of honor--somebody suddenly knocks with great violence at the door which leads into the count's apartment, and which was locked from inside. 'Open the door! open the door!----'
"'Great God, the count!' whispered the countess, pale with terror. 'Nadeska has betrayed us.'
"'Open the door'--and here followed a fearful oath--'open the door!'
"'Well,' said I, 'that's a nice predicament; what's to be done next?'
"'Schmenckel, you must save me.'
"'With pleasure; but how?'
"'I'll slip into my chamber, and lock the door behind me.'
"'Very good; but what am I to do?'
"'You have broken into the house, through that window'--and as she said this she opened the window, took the candelabra with the lights, passed through the second door, locked it, and began to cry as loud as she could--'Help! Help! Thieves!'
"Well, gentlemen, just imagine my position, if you can. Before I could collect my five senses the door was broken open, and the count rushed in, holding two pistols in his hands, and five men-servants with lights and big sticks behind him."
"How did the count look?" Berger asked in a low voice, without raising his head.
"Well, old gentleman, I had not exactly time to look closely at him. I only know that he was a fine-looking, tall man, with a pair of eyes that fairly burnt with fury. 'Ah, I have caught you, rascal?' he cried. Crack! went a ball past my left ear--crack! and another ball went past my right ear. Well, gentlemen, that was, after all, a little too strong, and not exactly the way to make Caspar Schmenckel's acquaintance. What could I do? I seized the count around the body, and threw him out of the window; and in case he should have broken something in falling, I threw one of the servants right after him. The others were frightened and ran away as fast as they could. I ran after them through the other rooms across the hall and down the stairs, and, gentlemen, when I had gotten so far I found the way into the street easily enough by myself. How do you like my story, professor?" and Mr. Schmenckel put his broad hand upon Berger's shoulder.
Berger raised his head. His face was deadly pale, his eyes were rolling fearfully, his gray hair hung down into his face.
"If you can tell the truth, man," he said, with weird-sounding voice, "answer me; have you told the truth?"
"I believe the old gentleman has taken a little too much," said Mr. Schmenckel, good-naturedly.
"Yes, I have drunk too much," cried Berger, gesticulating violently with his hands--"too much of the wretched beverage of this miserable life, which is utterly good for nothing, and the liquor has gotten into my head. Ha! ha! ha!"
It was a terrible laughter; but the half-drunk visitors thought it highly amusing.
"Oh, ho! the professor is taking to it very kindly," cried Mr. Schmenckel, holding his sides. "Speech, speech! Let the professor give us a speech!"
Oswald had jumped up and stood by Berger's side. He tried in his anxiety to calm the over-excited man, and to persuade him to leave the house.
Berger paid no attention to him. He stood there, leaning with both his hands upon the table, as Oswald had seen him do so often in his lecture-room.
"Write, gentlemen," he said, "this is the quintessence of the long syllogism, the parts of which I have just explained to you:
"I climbed on a pear-tree,I wanted to dig beets,Then have I all my lifeEaten no better plums.
"I climbed on a pear-tree,I wanted to dig beets,Then have I all my lifeEaten no better plums.
"You will say that this is not a speculative idea, but an old drinking song; but, gentlemen, in a world where good people are made fun of, and led by the nose by impudent demons--where folly with the fool's cap on the head is ruling supreme, and causes its lofty conceptions to be executed by stupidity, vulgarity, and brutality--there speculation becomes a drinking song, and the idea--the grand, all-sublime idea--why, you are the idea yourselves, gentlemen, rough, vulgar fellows as you are."
"Oh, ho! old man, I won't stand that," cried Mr. Schmenckel, who could hardly laugh any longer.
"Yes indeed, yourself," continued Berger, growing more and more violent. "You, Director Caspar Schmenckel, of Vienna, you represent the justice of heaven! The idea can do nothing without you; you are the idea, the incarnate idea. I told you life was good for nothing, but no--that is saying too much--it is worthy of you. I detest you, but I honor you; I shudder at the sight of you, but I worship you. Come into my arms, that I may measure the depths of this wretchedness, that I may touch with my own hands the incredible."
"Come to my heart, old boy," cried Mr. Schmenckel returning the embrace. "You are a trump--a perfect brick; let us be brothers."
He let go Berger and seized his glass.
At the same moment Berger fell, pressing his hand upon his heart, with a fearful cry, and fainted away.
It was a fearful cry indeed--like the cry for help of a drowning man at the instant of sinking--a cry that was heard high above the din in the room, that silenced all the chatting and chaffing, and made the drinkers jump up from their seats in utter consternation. They crowded around the fallen man, and glared with stupid, half-drunken eyes at him, as Oswald tried in vain to raise him from the floor. No one lent a hand to assist the young man. The fright seemed to have paralyzed the crowd.
"Will nobody help me?" cried Oswald, supporting the burden of the lifeless body in his arms.
These words were addressed to Mr. Schmenckel, who until now had been quietly standing near, with open mouth and fixed eyes, his pipe in one hand, the glass of beer in the other.
Oswald's appeal brought him back to his senses.
"You are right, count," he said, "we must do something for the old gentleman."
He put his pipe on the table, took Berger, who was still unconscious, from Oswald's arms, lifted him without effort on his shoulder, and carried him out of the room as a lion bears off a dead gazelle.
Oswald and the landlord followed him.
"Here, come in here," said the landlord, opening the door of the room on the opposite side of the hall, where more distinguished guests were commonly received.
Mr. Schmenckel laid the patient on the sofa.
"The old gentleman had an empty stomach," said Director Schmenckel, whispering his information gravely into Oswald's ear, while the latter was busy about Berger.
"Your excellency ought to have made him eat a good slice of ham with brown bread, and a glass of brandy."
Berger began to stir. He opened his eyes and looked wonderingly at the by-standers, like somebody who is awaking from a heavy dream. Then he rose fully, with Oswald's assistance, and said in a low voice:
"I thank you, my friends. I have given you much trouble. We are dependent one on the other in this life. I hope I shall soon meet you again; perhaps I may be able then to reciprocate your kindness. Come, Oswald, let us go."
"Do you feel strong enough? Had we not better send for a carriage?"
"Oh no! Horses and carriages are not for people like me."
He went to the door. Suddenly he stopped again.
"Pay the people what we owe them, Oswald; we must not remain in anybody's debt on this earth."
Oswald paid the landlord his bill, including in it, to Mr. Schmenckel's evident satisfaction, all that the ropedancers had consumed.
A few moments afterward he and Berger had left the house and were walking slowly through the silent streets of Fichtenau, back to Doctor Birkenhain's asylum.
Berger observed a silence which Oswald dared not break. The young man reproached himself in secret to have been so imprudent as to have left Berger so long in such company. He ascribed his exaltation mainly to the heat and the drinking of the strong beer, to which he was not accustomed. He had no suspicion of the close connection between Berger's history and the grotesque adventures of the circus-director, whose story he had scarcely heard. He only thought of Dr. Birkenhain, and how little he had attended to his suggestions. He was reflecting whether his presence was not perhaps rather injurious than useful for Berger, and thought of leaving Fichtenau as soon as possible, for his own benefit as well as for Berger's.
Thus they had reached in silence the road which led past the mill to the gateway of Doctor Birkenhain's asylum, when Berger suddenly said:
"You must leave us to-night, Oswald!"
"To-night?"
"Rather to-day than to-morrow. You have to go out into the desert once more; I cannot spare you the trial. And I, myself--I have to learn much yet, and you cannot assist me. It is better for us, therefore, to part. You go your way, and I shall go my way--it is the same road and although I am a little ahead of you, you learn quickly and will soon overtake me. Until then, Oswald farewell!"
Berger embraced Oswald and kissed him.
Oswald was deeply moved.
"Let me stay with you," he said, his voice half-drowned in tears; "let me stay with you and never leave you again. I hate the world, I despise the world, as much as you do."
"I know that," said Berger, "but to despise the world is but the first stage of the three on the road to the Great Mystery."
"And which is the second stage? Mention it, so that I may reach it at once!"
"To despise one's self."
"And--the third?"
They were standing before the gateway. Berger rang the bell; the door sprang open.
"And the third--the last stage?"
"Despise being despised."
"And the mystery itself--the Great Mystery?"
"He who has passed all three stages knows it and understands it without asking any questions. He who asks about it does not know it, and cannot understand it. Oswald, farewell; we shall meet again!"
Berger pressed Oswald once more to his heart; then he entered through the gate, which closed immediately upon him.
Oswald remained standing near the gate, like the beggar who has been refused the refreshing drink for which he has asked; then he went, with drooping head, back the way he had come with Berger.
The night was dark; hardly a star on the murky, cloudy sky; the poplars by the wayside were whispering to each other; and the mill-race down below said in its own way: To despise the world--to despise one's self--to despise being despised.