Читать книгу Through Night to Light - Spielhagen Friedrich - Страница 13

"Good morning, fiddler,

Why are you so late?

Retreating, advancing,

The midges are dancing,

With the little killekeia

With the big cumcum.

"Then came the women,

With scythe and sickle,

To keep the midges

From 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."

"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, quite entre 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 life

Eaten 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.