Part 30

When Christian entered his room and switched on the electric light, he was surprised to find Johanna sitting at the table. She shaded her eyes from the sudden glare. He remained at the door. His frown disappeared when he saw the deadly pallor of the girl’s face.

“I must leave,” Johanna breathed. “I’ve received a telegram and I must start for Vienna at once.”

“I am about to leave, too,” Christian answered.

For a while there was silence. Then Johanna said: “Shall I see you again? Will you want me to? Dare I?” Her timid questions showed the old division of her soul. She smiled a smile of patience and renunciation.

“I shall be in Berlin,” Christian answered. “I don’t know yet where I shall live. But whenever you want to know, ask Crammon. He is easily reached. His two old ladies send him all letters.”

“If you desire it, I can come to Berlin,” Johanna said with the same patient and resigned smile. “I have relatives there. But I don’t think that you do desire it.” Then, after a pause, during which her gentle eyes wandered aimlessly, she said: “Then is this to be the end?” She held her breath; she was taut as a bow-string.

Christian went up to the table and rested the index finger of one hand on its top. With lowered head he said slowly: “Don’t demand a decision of me. I cannot make one. I should hate to hurt you. I don’t want something to happen again that has happened so often before in my life. If you feel impelled to come--come! Don’t consider me. Don’t think, above all, that I would then leave you in the lurch. But just now is a critical time in my life. More I cannot say.”

Johanna could gather nothing but what was hopeless for herself from these words. Yet through them there sounded a note that softened their merely selfish regretfulness. With a characteristically pliant gesture, she stretched out her arm to Christian. Her pose was formal and her smile faint, as she said: “Then, au revoir--perhaps!”

XXII

When the girl had gone, Christian lay down on the sofa and folded his hands beneath his head. Thus he lay until dawn. He neither switched off the light nor did he close his eyes.

He saw the paintless stairs that led to the den where he had been and the red carpet of the inn soiled by many feet; he saw the lamp in the desolate street and the watch charms on the proprietor’s waistcoat; he saw the brandy bottle on the shelf, and the green shawl of one of the drunken women, and the tattooed symbols on the sailor’s naked arm: the anchor, the winged wheel, the phallus, the fish, the snake; he saw the rubber cherries on the prostitute’s hat and the silver brooch with the garnets and the foolish motto: _Ricordo di Venezia_.

And more and more as he thought of these things they awakened in him an ever surer feeling of freedom and of liberation, and seemed to release him from other things that he had hitherto loved, the rare and precious things that he had loved so exclusively and fruitlessly. And they seemed to release him likewise from men and women whose friendship or love had been sterile in the end.

As he lay there and gazed into space, he lived in these poor and mean things, and all fruitless occupations and human relationships lost their importance; and even the thought of Eva ceased to torment him and betray him into fruitless humiliation.

That radiant and regal creature allured him no more, when he thought of the blood-stained face of the harlot. For the latter aroused in him a feeling akin to curiosity that gradually filled his soul so entirely that it left room for nothing else.

Toward dawn he slumbered for an hour. Then he arose, and bathed his face in cold water, left the hotel, hired a cab, and drove to the inn called “The King of Greece.”

The nightwatchman was still at his post. He recognized this early guest and guided him with disagreeable eagerness up two flights of stairs to the room of Karen Engelschall.

Christian knocked. There was no answer. “You just go in, sir,” said the porter. “There ain’t no key and the latch don’t work. All kinds of things will happen, and it’s better for us to have the doors unlocked.”

Christian entered. It was a room with ugly brown furnishings, a dark-red plush sofa, a round mirror with a crack across its middle, an electric bulb at the end of a naked wire, and a chromo-lithograph of the emperor. Everything was dusty, worn, shabby, used-up, poor and mean.

Karen Engelschall lay in the bed asleep. She was on her back, and her dishevelled hair looked like a bundle of straw; her face was pale and a little puffy. Recent scars showed on her forehead and right cheek. Her full but flaccid breasts protruded above the coverings.

His old and violent dislike of sleeping people stirred in Christian, but he mastered it and regarded her face. He wondered from what social class she had come, whether she was a sailor’s or a fisherman’s daughter, a girl of the lower middle-classes, of the proletariat or the peasantry. Thus his curiosity employed his mind for a while until he became fully aware of the indescribable perturbation of that face. It was as void of evil as of good; but as it lay there it seemed distraught by the unheard of torment of its dreams. Then Christian thought of the carnelian on Mesecke’s hand, and the repulsively red stone which was like a beetle or a piece of raw flesh became extraordinarily vivid to him.

He made a movement and knocked against a chair; the noise awakened Karen Engelschall. She opened her lids, and fear and horror burned in her eyes when she observed a figure in her room; her features became distorted with fury, and her mouth rounded itself for a cry. Then she saw who the intruder was, and with a sigh of relief slid back among the pillows. Her face reassumed its expression of stubbornness and of enforced yielding. She watched, not knowing what to make of this visit, and seemed to wonder and reflect. She drew the covers up under her chin, and smiled a shallow, flattered smile.

Involuntarily Christian’s eyes looked for the red riband and the silver brooch. The girl’s garments had been flung pell-mell on a chair. The hat with the rubber cherries lay on the table.

“Why do you stand?” Karen Engelschall asked in a cheerful voice. “Sit down.” Again, as in the night, his splendour and distinction overwhelmed her. Smiling her empty smile, she wondered whether he was a baron or a count. She had slept soundly and felt refreshed.

“You cannot stay in this house very long,” Christian said courteously. “I have considered what had better be done for you. Your condition requires care. You must not expose yourself to the brutality of that man. It would be best if you left the city.”

Karen Engelschall laughed a harsh laugh. “Leave the city? How’s that going to be done? Girls like me have to stay where they are.”

“Has any one a special claim on you?” Christian asked.

“Claim? Why? How do you mean? Oh, I see. No, no. It’s the way things are in our business. The feller to whom you give your money, he protects you, and the others mind him. If he’s strong and has many friends you’re safe. They’re all rotten, but you got no choice. You get no rest day or night, and your flesh gets tired, I can tell you.”

“I can imagine that,” Christian replied, and for a second looked into Karen’s round and lightless eyes, “and for that reason I wanted to put myself at your disposal. I shall leave Hamburg either to-day or to-morrow, and probably stay in Berlin for some months. I am ready to take you with me. But you must not delay your decision, because I have not yet any address in Berlin, I don’t know yet where I shall live, and if a plan like this is delayed it is usually not carried out at all. At the moment you have eluded your pursuer, and so the opportunity to escape is good. You don’t need to send for your things. I can get you whatever you need when we arrive.”

Those words, spoken with real friendliness, did not have the effect which Christian expected. Karen Engelschall could not realize the simplicity and frankness of their intention. A mocking suspicion arose in her mind. She knew of Vice Crusaders and Preachers of Salvation; and these men her world as a rule fears as much as it does the emissaries of the police. But she looked at Christian more sharply, and an instinct told her that she was on the wrong track. Clumsily considering, she drifted to other suppositions that had a tinge of cheap romance. She thought of plots and kidnapping and a possible fate more terrible than that under the heel of her old tormentor. She brooded over these thoughts in haste and rage, with convulsed features and clenched fist, passing from fear to hope and from hope to distrust, and yet, even as on the day before, compelled by something irresistible, a force from which she could not withdraw and which made her struggles futile.

“What do you want to do with me?” she asked, and gave him a penetrating glance.

Christian considered in order to weigh his answer carefully. “Nothing but what I have told you.”

She became silent and stared at her hands. “My mother lives in Berlin,” she murmured. “Maybe you’d want me to go back to her. I don’t want to.”

“You are to go with me.” Christian’s tone was firm and almost hard. His chest filled with breath and exhaled the air painfully. The final word had been spoken.

Karen looked at him again. But now her eyes were serious and awake to reality. “And what shall I do when I’m with you?”

Christian answered hesitatingly: “I’ve come to no decision about that. I must think it over.”

Karen folded her hands. “But I’ve got to know who you are.”

He spoke his name.

“I am a pregnant woman,” she said with a sombre look, and for the first time her voice trembled, “a street-walker who’s pregnant. Do you know that? I’m the lowest and vilest thing in the whole world! Do you know that?”

“I know it,” said Christian, and cast down his eyes.

“Well, what does a fine gentleman like you want to do with me? Why do you take such an interest in me?”

“I can’t explain that to you at the moment,” Christian answered diffidently.

“What am I to do? Go with you? Right away?”

“If you are willing, I shall call for you at two, and we can drive to the station.”

“And you won’t be ashamed of me?”

“No, I shall not be ashamed.”

“You know how I look? Suppose people point their fingers at the whore travelling with such an elegant gentleman?”

“It does not matter what people do.”

“All right. I’ll wait for you.” She crossed her arms over her breast and stared at the ceiling and did not stir. Christian arose and nodded and went out. Nor did Karen move when he was gone. A deep furrow appeared on her forehead, the fresh scars gleamed like burns upon her earthy skin, a dull and primitive amazement turned her eyes to stone.

XXIII

When Christian crossed the reception room of the hotel he saw Crammon sitting sadly in a chair. Christian stopped and smiled and held out his hand. “Did you sleep well, Bernard?” he asked.

“If that were my only difficulty I should not complain,” Crammon answered. “I always sleep well. The troubles begin when I’m awake. Age with his stealing steps! The old pleasures no longer sting, the old delights are worn out. One counts on gratitude and affection, and gets care and disappointment. I think a monastery would be the best place for me. I must look into that plan more closely.”

Christian laughed. “Come now, Bernard, you would be a very unsuitable person in a monastery. Drive the black thoughts away and let us have breakfast.”

“All right, let us have breakfast.” Crammon arose. “Have you any idea why poor Rumpelstilzkin suddenly fled by night? She had bad news from home, I am told, but that’s no reason why she should have gone without a word. It was not nice or considerate. And in a few hours Ariel too will be lost to us. Her rooms are filled with cases and boxes, and M. Chinard is bursting with self-importance. Black clouds are over us, and all our lovely rainbows fade. This caviare, by the way, is excellent. I shall withdraw into an utterly private life. Perhaps I shall hire a secretary, either a man or a fat, appetizing, and discreet woman, and begin to dictate my memoirs. You, my dear fellow, seem in more excellent spirits than for a long time.”

“Yes, excellent,” Christian said, and his smile revealed his beautiful teeth. “Excellent!” he repeated, and held out his hand to his astonished friend.

“So you have finally become reconciled to your loss?” he winked, and pointed upward with a significant gesture.

Christian guessed his meaning. “Entirely,” he said cheerily. “I’m completely recovered.”

“Bravo!” said Crammon, and, comfortably eating, he philosophized: “It would be saddening were it otherwise. I repeat what I have often said: Ariel was born for the stars. There are blessed stars and fateful stars. Some are inhabited by good spirits, others by demons. We have known that from times immemorial. Let them wage their battles among themselves. If it comes to collisions and catastrophes, it is a cosmic matter in which we mortals have no share. When all is said and done, you are but a mortal too, though one so blessed that you were even granted a stay in the happy hunting grounds of the gods. But excesses are evil. You cannot compete with Muscovite autocrats. Siegfried can conquer the dragons in the end; were Lucifer to attack him with fire-breathing steeds, the hero would but risk his skin in vain. Your renunciation is as wise as it is delightful. I drink to your pleasant future, dearest boy!”

Christian went to a buffet where magnificent fruit was exposed for sale. He knew Crammon’s passionate delight in rare and lovely fruit. He selected a woven basket and placed in the middle a pine-apple cut open so that its golden inside showed. He surrounded it with a wreath of flawless apples and of great, amber-coloured peaches from the South of France. They were elastic and yet firm. He added seven enormous clusters of California grapes. He arranged the fruit artistically, carried the basket to Crammon, and presented it to him with jesting solemnity.

They separated. When, late that afternoon, Crammon returned to the hotel, he learned to his bitter amazement that Christian had left.

He could not compose himself. It seemed to him that he was the victim of some secret cabal. “They all leave me in the lurch,” he murmured angrily to himself; “they make a mock of me. It’s like an epidemic. You are through with life, Bernard Gervasius, you are in every one’s way. Go to your cell and bemoan your fate.”

He ordered his valet to pack, and to secure accommodations on the train to Vienna. Then he placed the basket of fruit on the table, and in his sad reflections plucked berry after berry of the grape.

XXIV

In his quiet little house, furnished in the style of the age of Maria Theresa, he forgot what he had suffered. He lived an idyl.

He accompanied the two pious ladies to church, and out of considerateness and kindness to them even prayed occasionally. His chief prayer was: Lord, forgive those who have trespassed against me and lead me not into temptation. On sunny afternoons the carriage appeared and took the three for a ride through the parks. In the evening the bill of fare for the following day was determined on, and the national and traditional dishes were given the preference. Then he read to the devoutly attentive Misses Aglaia and Constantine classical poems: a canto of Klopstock’s “Messiah,” Schiller’s “Walk,” or something by Rückert. And he still imitated the voice and intonation of Edgar Lorm. Also he related harmless anecdotes connected with his life; and he adorned and purified them so that they would have been worthy of a schoolgirl’s library.

Not till the two ladies had retired did he light his short pipe or pour himself out a glass of cognac; he practised reminiscence or introspection, or became absorbed in his little museum of treasures, which he had gathered during many years.

Shortly before his proposed meeting with Franz Lothar von Westernach, he received an alarming letter from Christian’s mother.

Frau Wahnschaffe informed him that Christian had ordered all his possessions to be sold--Christian’s Rest, Waldleiningen, the hunting lodge, the stables and kennels, the motor cars, the collections, including the wonderful collection of rings. This incomprehensible plan was actually being carried out, and no one had an inkling of the motive. She herself was in the utmost despair, and begged Crammon for some explanation and, if possible, to come to the castle. She besought him in God’s name for some hint in regard to Christian’s actions and state of mind. No news of her son had reached her for weeks; he seemed lost, and they were groping in the dark. The family did not, of course, desire his possessions to pass into the hands of strangers, and would bid in everything, although it was both difficult and hateful to oppose the impudent offers and the tricky manœuvres which the auction ordered by Christian would entail. Above all, however, there was her personal anxiety about Christian. She expected Crammon to stand by her in her hour of need, and justify the high opinion she had formed both of his friendship for her son and of his attachment to her family.

Crammon re-read the lines that mentioned the sale of Christian’s Rest and of the collections. He shook his head long and sadly, pressed his chin into his hands, and two large tears rolled down his cheeks.

END OF VOL. I

Transcriber's Note

The following apparent errors have been corrected:

p. 49 "Machailovitch" changed to "Michailovitch"

p. 79 "cross-beams," changed to "cross-beams."

p. 104 "chuch" changed to "church"

p. 105 "insisisted" changed to "insisted"

p. 195 "pubic" changed to "public"

p. 198 "walk." changed to "walk.”"

p. 207 "passsionate" changed to "passionate"

p. 223 "Finally,in" changed to "Finally, in"

p. 238 "elegent" changed to "elegant"

p. 239 "aquaintance" changed to "acquaintance"

p. 241 "int" changed to "into"

p. 250 "orginate" changed to "originate"

p. 250 "Wahnshaffe" changed to "Wahnschaffe"

p. 262 "mother-of pearl" changed to "mother-of-pearl"

p. 263 "Hy" changed to "My"

p. 290 "Maalbeeks" changed to "Maelbeeks"

p. 297 "Rumpelstiezkin" changed to "Rumpelstilzkin"

p. 342 "characteritsics" changed to "characteristics"

p. 366 "I shall" changed to "“I shall"

Spelling and punctuation have otherwise been kept as printed.

The following are used inconsistently in the text:

careworn and care-worn

earrings and ear-rings

fireplace and fire-place

fishpond and fish-pond

flowerlike and flower-like

heartache and heart-ache

horseshoe and horse-shoe

nearby and near-by

shopkeepers and shop-keepers

shopworn and shop-worn

Voss’ and Voss’s