Maurice Guest

by Henry Handel Richardson

  XIV.

  Whistling to him to stop, Furst ran the length of a street-block afterMaurice, as the latter left the Conservatorium.

  "I say, Guest," he said breathlessly, on catching up with him. "Lookhere, I just wanted to tell you, you must be sure and join us to-night.We are going to give Schilsky a jolly send-off."

  They stood at the corner of the WACHTERSTRASSE; it was a blowy day.Maurice replied evasively, with his eyes on the unbound volume ofBeethoven that Furst was carrying; its tattered edges moved in the wind.

  "When does he go?" he asked, without any show of concern.

  Furst looked warily round him, and dropped his voice. "Well, look here,Guest, I don't mind telling you," he said; he was perspiring from hisrun, and dried his neck and face. "I don't mind telling you; you won'tpass it on; for he has his reasons--family or domestic reasons, if onemay say so, tra-la-la!"--he winked, and nudged Maurice with hiselbow--"for not wanting it to get about. It's deuced hard on him thatit should have leaked out at all. I don't know how it happened; for Iwas mum, 'pon my honour, I was."

  "Yes. And when does he go?" repeated his hearer with the same want ofinterest.

  "To-morrow morning early, by the first train."

  Now to be rid of him! But it was never easy to get away from Furst, andsince Maurice had declared his intention of continuing to take lessonsfrom him, as good as impossible. Furst was overpowering in hisfriendliness, and on this particular occasion, there was no escape forMaurice before he had promised to make one of the party that was tomeet that night, at a restaurant in the town. Then he bluffly allegedan errand in the PLAGWITZERSTRASSE, and went off in an oppositedirection to that which his companion had to take.

  As soon as Furst was out of sight, he turned into the path that led tothe woods. Overhead, the sky was a monotonous grey expanse, and a soft,moist wind drove in gusts, before which, on the open meadow-land, hebent his head. It was a wind that seemed heavy with unfallen rain; amelancholy wind, as the day itself was melancholy, in its fadedcolours, and cloying mildness. With his music under his arm, Mauricewalked to the shelter of the trees. Now that he had learnt the worst, akind of numbness came over him; he had felt so intensely in the courseof the past week that, now the crisis was there, he seemed destitute offeeling.

  His feet bore him mechanically to his favourite seat, and here heremained, with his head in his hands, his eyes fixed on the troddengravel of the path. He had to learn, once and for all, that, bytomorrow, everything would be over; for, notwithstanding thewretchedness of the past days, he was as far off as ever fromunderstanding. But he was loath to begin; he sat in a kind of torpor,conscious only of the objects his eyes rested on: some children hadbuilt a make-believe house of pebbles, with a path leading up to thedoorway, and at this he gazed, estimating the crude architectural ideasthat had occurred to the childish builders. He felt the wind in hishair, and listened to the soothing noise it made, high above his head.But gradually overcoming this physical dullness, his mind began to workagain. With a sudden vividness, he saw himself as he had walked thesevery woods, seven months before; he remembered the brilliant colouringof the April day, and the abundance of energy that had possessed him.Then, on looking into the future, all his thoughts had been ofstrenuous endeavour and success. Now, success was a word like anyother, and left him cold.

  For a long time, in place of passing on to his real preoccupation, heconsidered this, brooding over the change that had come about in him.Was it, he asked himself, because he had so little whole-heartedendurance, that when once a thing was within his grasp, that graspslackened? Was it that he was able to make the effort required for aleap, then, the leap over, could not right himself again? He believedthat the slackening interest, the inability to fix his attention, whichhe had had to fight against of late, must have some such deepersignificance; for his whole nature--the inherited common sense ofgenerations--rebelled against tracing it back to the day on which hehad seen a certain face for the first time. It was too absurd to becredible that because a slender, dark-eyed girl had suddenly comewithin his range of vision, his life should thus lose form andpurpose--incredible and unnatural as well--and, in his present mood, hewould have laughed at the suggestion that this was love. To his mind,love was something frank and beautiful, made for daylight and the sun;whereas his condition was a source of mortification to him. To love,without any possible hope of return; to love, knowing that the personyou loved regarded you with less than indifference, and, what wasworse, that this person was passionately attached to another man--no,there was something indelicate about it, at which his blood revolted.It was the kind of thing that it suited poets to make tragedies of, butit did not--should not--happen in sober, daily life. And if, as itseemed in this case, it was beyond mortal's power to prevent it, thenthe only fitting thing to do was promptly to make an end. And because,over the approach of this end, he suffered, he now called himself hardnames. What had he expected? Had he really believed that matters couldalways dally on, in this pleasant, torturous way? Would he always havebeen content to be third party, and miserable outsider? No; the bestthat could happen to him was now happening; let the coming day once bepast, let a very few weeks have run their course, and the parting wouldhave lost its sting; he would be able to look back, regretfully nodoubt, but as on something done with, irrecoverable. Then he wouldapply himself to his work with all his heart; and it would be possibleto think of her, and remember her, calmly. If once an end were put tothese daily chances of seeing her, which perpetually fanned his unrest,all would go well.

  And yet ... did he close his eyes and let her face rise up beforehim--her sweet, white face, with the unfathomable eyes, and pale,sensuous mouth--he was shaken by an emotion that knocked hisresolutions as flat as a breath knocks a house of cards. It was notlove, nor anything to do with love, this he could have sworn to: it wasmerely the strange physical effect her presence, or the remembrance ofher presence, had had upon him, from the first day on: a tightening ofall centres, a heightening of all faculties, an intense hope, and asintense a despair. And in this moment, he confessed to himself that hewould have been over-happy to live on just as he had been doing, ifonly sometimes he might see her. He needed her, as he had never feltthe need of anyone before; his nature clamoured for her, imperiously,as it clamoured for light and air. He had no concern with anyone buther--her only--and he could not let her go. It was not love; it was abodily weakness, a pitiable infirmity: he even felt it degrading thatanother person should be able to exercise such an influence over him,that there should be a part of himself over which he had no control.Not to see her, not to be able to gather fresh strength from eachchance meeting, meant that the grip life had of him would relax--hegrew sick even at the thought of how, in some unknown place, in themidst of strangers, she would go on living, and giving her hand and hersmile to other people, while he would never see her again. And he saidher name aloud to himself, as if he were in bodily pain, or as if thesound of it might somehow bring him aid: he inwardly implored whateverfate was above him to give him the one small chance he asked--thechance of fair play.

  The morning passed, without his knowing it. When, considerably afterhis usual dinner-hour, he was back in his room, he looked at familiarobjects with unseeing eyes. He was not conscious of hunger, but goinginto the kitchen begged for a cup of the coffee that could be smeltbrewing on Frau Krause's stove. When he had drunk this, a veil seemedto lift from his brain; he opened and read a letter from home, and waspricked by compunction at the thought that, except for a few scales runhastily that morning, he had done no work. But while he still stood,with his arm on the lid of the piano, an exclamation rose to his lips;and taking up his hat, he went down the stairs again, and out into thestreet. What was he thinking of? If he wished to see Louise once more,his place was under her windows, or in those streets she would belikely to pass through.

  He walked up and down before the house in the BRUDERSTRASSE, sometimesincluding a side street, in order to avoid making himself conspicuous;putting
on a hurried air, if anyone looked curiously at him; lingeringfor a quarter of an hour on end, in the shadow of a neighbouringdoorway. Gradually, yet too quickly, the grey afternoon wore to aclose. He had paced to and fro for an hour now, but not a trace of herhad he seen; nor did even a light burn in her room when darkness fell.A fear lest she should have already gone away, beset him again, and gotthe upper hand of him; and wild schemes flitted through his mind. Hewould mount the stairs, and ring the door-bell, on some pretext orother, to learn whether she was still there; and his foot was on thelowest stair, when his courage failed him, and he turned back. But theidea had taken root; he could not bear much longer the uncertainty hewas in; and so, towards seven o'clock, when he had hung about for threehours, and there was still no sign of life in her room, he went boldlyup the broad, winding stair and rang the bell. When the door wasopened, he would find something to say.

  The bell, which he had pulled hard, pealed through the house, jangledon, and, in a series of after-tinkles, died away. There was noimmediate answering sound; the silence persisted, and having waited forsome time, he rang again. Then, in the distance, he heard a door creak;soft, cautious footsteps crept along the passage; a light moved; theglass window in the upper half of the door was opened, and a little oldwoman peered out, holding a candle above her head. On seeing the paleface close before her, she drew back, and made as if to shut thewindow; for, as a result of poring over newspapers, she lived incontinual expectation of robbery and murder.

  "She is not at home," she said with tremulous bravado, in answer to theyoung man's question, and again was about to close the window. ButMaurice thrust in his hand, and she could not shut without crushing it.

  "Then she is still here? Has she gone out? When will she be back?" hequeried.

  "How should I know? And look here, young man, if you don't take awayyour hand and leave the house at once, I shall call from the window fora policeman."

  He went slowly down the stairs and across the street, and took up anewhis position in the dark doorway--a proceeding which did not reassureFraulein Grunhut, who, regarding his inquiries as a feint, was watchinghis movements from between the slats of a window-blind. But Maurice hadnot stood again for more than a quarter of an hour, when a feeling ofnausea seized him, and this reminded him that he had practically eatennothing since the morning. If he meant to hold out, he must snatch abite of food somewhere; afterwards, he would return and wait, if he hadto wait all night.

  In front of the PANORAMA on the ROSSPLATZ, he ran into the arms ofFurst, and the latter, when he heard where Maurice was going, hadnothing better to do than to accompany him, and drink a SCHNITT. Furst,who was in capital spirits at the prospect of the evening, laughedheartily, told witty anecdotes, and slapped his fat thigh, the type ofrubicund good-humour; and as he was not of an observant turn of mind,he did not notice his companion's abstraction. Hardly troubling todissemble, Maurice paid scant attention to Furst's talk; he ate avidly,and as soon as he had finished, pushed back his chair and called to thewaiter for his bill.

  "I must go," he said, and rose. "I have something important to do thisevening, and can't join you."

  Furst, cut short in the middle of a sentence, let his double chin fallon his collar, and gazed open-mouthed at his companion.

  "But I say, Guest, look here!..." Maurice heard him expostulate as theouter door slammed behind him.

  He made haste to retrace his steps. The wind had dropped; a fine rainwas beginning to fall; it promised to be a wet night, of empty streetsand glistening pavements. There was no visible change in the windows ofthe BRUDERSTRASSE; they were as blankly dark as before. Turning up hiscoat-collar, Maurice resumed his patrollings, but more languidly; hewas drowsy from having eaten, and the air was chill. A weaknessovercame him at the thought of the night-watch he had set himself; itseemed impossible to endure the crawling past of still more hours. Hewas tired to exhaustion, and a sudden, strong desire arose in him,somehow, anyhow, to be taken out of himself, to have his thoughtsdiverted into other channels. And this feeling grew upon him with suchforce, the idea of remaining where he was, for another hour, became sointolerable, that he forgot everything else, and turned and ran backtowards the PANORAMA, only afraid lest Furst should have gone withouthim.

  The latter was, in fact, just coming out of the door. He stared inastonishment at Maurice.

  "I've changed my mind," said Maurice, without apology. "Shall we go?Where's the place?"

  Furst mumbled something inaudible; he was grumpy at the other'sbehaviour. Scanning him furtively, and noting his odd, excited manner,he concluded that Maurice had been drinking.

  They walked without speaking; Furst hummed to himself. In thethick-sown, business thoroughfare, the BRUHL, they entered a dingy cafeand while Furst chattered with the landlord and BUFFETDAME, with bothof whom he was on very friendly terms, Maurice went into the side-room,where the KNEIPE was to be held, and sat down before a long, narrowtable, spread with a soiled red and blue-checked tablecloth. He feltcold and sick again, and when the wan PICCOLO set a beer-mat beforehim, he sent the lad to the devil for a cognac. The waiter came withthe liqueur-bottle; Maurice drank the contents of one and then anotherof the tiny glasses. A genial warmth ran through him and his nauseaceased. He leaned his head on his hands, closed his eyes, and, soothedby the heat of the room, had a few moments' pleasant lapse ofconsciousness.

  He was roused by the entrance of a noisy party of three. These werestrangers to him, and when they had mentioned their names and learnedhis, they sat down at the other end of the table and talked amongthemselves. They were followed by a couple of men known to Maurice bysight. One, an Italian, a stout, animated man, with prominent jet-blackeyes and huge white teeth, was a fellow-pupil of Schilsky's, and aviolinist of repute, notwithstanding the size and fleshiness of hishands, which were out of all proportion to the delicate build of hisinstrument. The other was a slender youth of fantastic appearance. Hewore a long, old-fashioned overcoat, which reached to his heels, andwas moulded to a shapely waist; on his fingers were numerous rings; hisbushy hair was scented and thickly curled, his face painted andpencilled like a woman's. He did not sit down, but, returning to thepublic room, leaned over the counter and talked to the BUFFETDAME, in atone which had nothing in common with Furst's hearty familiarity.

  Next came a couple of Americans, loud, self-assertive, careless ofdress and convention; close behind them still another group, and at itsheels, Dove. The latter entered the room with an apologetic air, and onsitting down at the head of the table, next Maurice, mentioned at oncethat, at heart, he was not partial to this kind of thing, and was onlythere because he believed the present to be an exceptional occasion:who knew but what, in after years, he might not be proud to claimhaving, made one of the party on this particular evening?--the plaintruth being that Schilsky was little popular with his own sex, and, inconsequence of the difficulty of beating up a round dozen of men, Fursthad been forced to be very pressing in his invitations, to haverecourse to bribes and promises, or, as in the case of Dove, tostimulating the imagination. The majority of the guests present werenot particular who paid for their drink, provided they got it.

  At Krafft's entry, a stifled laugh went round. To judge from hisappearance, he had not been in bed the previous night: sleep seemed tohang on his red and sunken eyelids; his hands and face were dirty, andwhen he took off his coat, which he had worn turned up at the neck, itwas seen that he had either lost or forgotten his collar. Shirt andwaistcoat were insufficiently buttoned. His walk was steady, but hiseyes had a glassy stare, and did not seem to see what they rested on. Astrong odour of brandy went out from him; but he had not been manyminutes in the room before a stronger and more penetrating smell madeitself felt. The rest of the company began to sniff and ejaculate, andFurst, having tracked it to the corner where the overcoats hung, drewout of one of Krafft's pockets a greasy newspaper parcel, evidentlysome days old, containing bones, scraps of decaying meat, and rancidfish. The PICCOLO, summoned by a general shout, was bade
to dispose ofthe garbage instantly, and to hang the coat in a draughty place to air.Various epithets were hurled at Krafft, who, however, sat picking histeeth with unconcern, as if what went on around him had nothing to dowith him.

  They were now all collected but Schilsky, and much beer had been drunk.Furst was in his usual state of agitation lest his friend should forgetto keep the appointment; and the spirits of those--there were severalsuch present--who suffered almost physical pain from seeing anotherthan themselves the centre of interest, went up by leaps and bounds.But at this juncture, Schilsky's voice was heard in the next room. Itwas raised and angry; it snarled at a waiter. Significant glances flewround the table: for the young man's outbursts of temper were wellknown to all. He entered, making no response to the greetings that wereoffered him, displaying his anger with genial indifference to whatothers thought of him. To the PICCOLO he tossed coat and hat, and sworeat the boy for not catching them. Then he let his loose-limbed bodydown on the vacant chair, and drank off the glass of PILSENER that wasset before him.

  There was a pause of embarrassment. The next moment, however, severalmen spoke at once: Furst continued a story he was telling, some oneelse capped it, and the mirth these anecdotes provoked was more thanordinarily uproarious. Schilsky sat silent, letting his sullen mouthhang, and tapping the table with his fingers. Meanwhile, he emptied oneglass of beer after another. The PICCOLO could hardly cope with thedemands that were made on him, and staggered about, top-heavy, with hisload of glasses.

  But it was impossible to let the evening pass as flatly as this;besides, as the general hilarity increased, it made those present lesssensitive to the mood of the guest of honour. Furst was a born speaker,and his heart was full. So, presently, he rose to his feet, struck hisglass, and, in spite of Schilsky's deepening scowl, held a floweryspeech about his departing friend. The only answer Schilsky gave was amuttered request to cease making an idiot of himself.

  This was going rather too far; but no one protested, except Ford, thepianist, who said in English: "Speesch? Call that a speesch?"

  Furst, inclined in the first moment of rebuff to be touchy, allowed hisnatural goodness of heart to prevail. He leaned forward, and said, notwithout pathos: "Old man, we are all your friends here. Something's thematter. Tell us what it is."

  Before Schilsky could reply, Krafft awakened from his apparent stuporto say with extreme distinctness: "I'll tell you. There's been thedevil to pay."

  "Now, chuck it, Krafft!" cried one or two, not without alarm at theturn things might take.

  But Schilsky, whose anger had begun to subside under the influence ofthe two litres he had drunk, said slowly and thickly: "Let him be. Whathe says is the truth--gospel truth."

  "Oh, say, that's to' bad!" cried one of the Americans--a lean man, withthe mouth and chin of a Methodist.

  All kept silence now, in the hope that Schilsky would continue. As hedid not, but sat brooding, Furst, in his role of peacemaker, clappedhim on the back. "Well, forget it for to-night, old man! What does itmatter? To-morrow you'll be miles away."

  This struck a reminiscence in Ford, who forthwith tried to sing:

  I'm off by the morning train, Across the raging main----

  "That's easily said!" Schilsky threw a dark look round the table. "Bythose who haven't been through it. I have. And I'd rather have lost ahand."

  Krafft laughed--that is to say, a cackle of laughter issued from hismouth, while his glazed eyes stared idiotically. "He shall tell usabout it. Waiter, a round of SCHNAPS!"

  "Shut up, Krafft!" said Furst uneasily.

  "Damn you, Heinz!" cried Schilsky, striking the table. He swallowed hisbrandy at a gulp, and held out the glass to be refilled. His anger fellstill more; he began to commiserate himself. "By Hell, I wish a plaguewould sweep every woman off the earth!"

  "The deuce, why don't you keep clear of them?"

  Schilsky laughed, without raising his heavy eyes. "If they'd only giveone the chance. Damn them all!--old and young----I say. If it weren'tfor them, a man could lead a quiet life."

  "It'll all come out in the wash," consoled the American.

  Maurice heard everything that passed, distinctly; but the words seemedto be bandied at an immeasurable distance from him. He remained quiteundisturbed, and would have felt like a god looking on at the doings ofan infinitesimal world, had it not been for a wheel which revolved inhis head, and hindered him from thinking connectedly. So far, drinkinghad brought him no pleasure; and he had sense enough to find theproximity of Ford disagreeable; for the latter spilt half the liquor hetried to swallow over himself, and half over his neighbour.

  A fresh imprecation of Schilsky's called forth more laughter. On itssubsidence, Krafft awoke to his surroundings again. "What has the oldwoman given you?" he asked, with his strange precision of speech andhis drunken eyes.

  Schilsky struck the table with his fist. "Look at him!--shamming drunk,the bitch!" he cried.

  "Never mind him; he don't count. How much did she give you?"

  "Oh, gee, go on!"

  But Schilsky, turned sullen again, refused to answer.

  "Out with it then, Krafft!--you know, you scoundrel, you!"

  Krafft put his hand to the side of his mouth. "She gave him threethousand marks."

  On all sides the exclamations flew.

  "Oh, gee-henna!"

  "Golly for her!"

  "DREI TAUSEND MARK!--ALLE EHRE!"

  Again Krafft leaned forward with a maudlin laugh.

  "JAWOHL--but on what condition?"

  "Heinz, you ferret out things like a pig's snout," said Furst with anexaggerated, tipsy disgust.

  "What, the old louse made conditions, did she?"

  "Is she jealous?"

  There was another roar at this. Schilsky looked as black as thunder.

  Again Furst strove to intercede. "Jealous?--in seven devils' name, whyjealous? The old scarecrow! She hasn't an ounce of flesh to her bones."

  Schilsky laughed. "Much you know about it, you fool! Flesh or no flesh,she's as troublesome as the plumpest. I wouldn't go through the lastmonth again for all you could offer me. Month?--no, nor the last sixmonths either! It's been a hell of a life. Three of 'em, whole damnedthree, at my heels, and each ready to tear the others' eyes out."

  "Three! Hullo!"

  "Three? Bah!--what's three?" sneered the painted youth.

  Schilsky turned on him. "What's three? Go and try it, if you want toknow, you pap-sodden suckling! Three, I said, and they've ended bymaking the place too hot to hold me. But I'm done now. No more forme!--if my name's what it is."

  Having once broken through his reserve, he talked on, with heatedfluency; and the longer he spoke, the more he was carried away by hisgrievances. For, all he had asked for, he assured his hearers, had beenpeace and quiet--the peace necessary to important work. "Jesus andMary! Are a fellow's chief obligations not his obligations to himself?"At the same time, it was not his intention to put any of the blame onLulu's shoulders: she couldn't help herself. "Lulu is Lulu. I'm damnedfond of Lulu, boys, and I've always done my best by her--is thereanyone here who wants to say I haven't?"

  There was none; a chorus of sympathetic ayes went up from the partythat was drinking at his expense.

  Mollified, he proceeded, asserting vehemently that he would have gonemiles out of his way to avoid causing Lulu pain. "I'm a soft-heartedfool--I admit it!--where a woman is concerned." But he had yielded toher often enough--too often--as it was; the time had come for him tomake a stand. Let those present remember what he had sacrificed onlythat summer for Lulu's sake. Would anyone else have done as much forhis girl? He made bold to doubt it. For a man like Zeppelin to come tohim, and to declare, with tears in his eyes, that he could teach him nomore--could he afford to treat a matter like that with indifference?Had he really been free to make a choice?

  Again he looked round the table with emphasis, and those who had theirmuscles sufficiently under control, hastened to lay their faces inseemly folds.

 
; Then, however, Schilsky's mood changed; he struck the table so that theglasses danced. "And shall I tell you what my reward has been for notgoing? Do you want to know how Lulu has treated me for staying on here?'You are a quarter of an hour late: where have you been? You've onlywritten two bars since I saw you this morning: what have you beendoing? A letter has come in a strange writing: who is it from? You'veput on another tie: who have you been to see?' HIMMELSAKRAMENT!" Hedrained his glass. "I've had the life of a dog, I tell you--of a dog!There's not been a moment in the day when she hasn't spied on me, andfollowed me, and made me ridiculous. Over every trifle she has got up afresh scene. She's even gone so far as to come to my room and search mypockets, when she knew I wasn't at home."

  "Yes, yes," sneered Krafft. "Exactly! And so, gentlemen he was now forslinking off without a word to her."

  "Oh, PFUI!" spat the American.

  "Call him a liar!" said a voice.

  "Liar?" repeated Schilsky dramatically. "Why liar? I don't deny it. Iwould have done it gladly if I could--isn't that just what I've beensaying? Lulu would have got over it all the quicker alone. And then,why shouldn't I confess it? You're all my friends here." He dropped hisvoice. "I'm afraid of Lulu, boys. I was afraid she'd get round me, andthen my chance was gone. She might have shot me, but she wouldn't havelet me go. You never know how a woman of that type'll break out--never!"

  "But she didn't!" said Krafft. "You live."

  Schilsky understood him.

  "Some brute," he cried savagely, "some dirty brute had nothing betterto do than to tell her."

  "Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the painted boy.

  Furst blew his nose. "It wasn't me. I was mum. 'Pon my honour, I was."

  "My God!" said Schilsky, and fell to remembering it. "What a time I'vebeen through with her this afternoon!" He threatened to be overcome bythe recollection, and supported his head on his hands. "A woman has nogratitude," he murmured, and drew his handkerchief from his pocket. "Itis a weak, childish sex--with no inkling of higher things." Here,however, he suddenly drew himself up. "Life is very hard!" he cried, ina loud voice. "The perpetual struggle between duty and inclination fora man of genius ...!"

  He grew franker, and gave gratuitous details of the scene that hadtaken place in his room that afternoon. Most of those present were inecstasies at this divulging of his private life, which went forward tothe accompaniment of snores from Ford, and the voice of Dove, who, withportentous gravity, sang over and over again, the first strophe of THELAST ROSE OF SUMMER.

  "A fury!" said Schilsky. "A ... a what do you call it?--a ... Meg ... aMeg--" He gave it up and went on: "By God, but Lulu knows how! Keepclear of her nails, boys--I'd advise you!" At this point, he pulledback his collar, and exhibited a long, dark scratch on the side of hisneck. "A little remembrance she gave me to take away with me!" While hedisplayed it, he seemed to be rather proud of it; but immediatelyafterwards, his mood veered round again to one of bitter resentment. Toillustrate the injustice she had been guilty of, and his ownlong-suffering, he related, at length, the story of his flirtation withEphie, and the infinite pains he had been at to keep Louise inignorance of what was happening. He grew very tender with himself as hetold it. For, according to him, the whole affair had come about withoutany assistance of his. "What the deuce was I to do? Chucked herselffull at my head, did the little one. No invitation necessary--a ripeplum, boys! Touch the plum--and off it tumbles! As pretty a littlething, too, as ever was made! Had everything arranged by the secondmeeting. Papa to set us up; house in New York; money IN HULLE UNDFULLE!"

  At the mention of New York, the lean American looked grave. "Look here,you, don't think you're the whole shoot because you've got a wave inyour hair!" he murmured in English.

  But Schilsky did not hear him; his voice droned on, giving the fullparticulars of this particular case. He grew momentarily opener.

  "One no sooner out of the door than the other was in," he asserted, andlaughed long to himself.

  For some time past, Maurice had been possessed by the idea that whatwas happening concerned him very nearly, and that he ought to interfereand put his foot down. His hands had grown cold, and he sat vainlytrying to speak: nothing, however, came, but little drunken gulps andhiccups. But the first mention of Ephie's name seemed to put newstrength into him; he made a violent effort, and rose to his feet,holding on to the table with both hands. He could not, however, manageto attract attention; no one took any notice of him; and besides this,he had himself no notion what it was that he really wanted to say.

  "And drowns his sorrows in the convivial glass!" he suddenly shouted inEnglish, at the top of his voice, which he had found. He had a vaguebelief that he was quoting a well-known line of poetry, and, though hedid not in the least understand how it applied to the situation, hecontinued to repeat it, with varying shades of fervour, till some onecalled out: "Oh, stop your blasted rot!"

  He laughed hoarsely at this, could not check himself, and was soexhausted when he had finished that it took him some time to rememberwhy he was on his feet. Schilsky was still relating: his face wasdarkly red, his voice husky, and he flapped his arms with meaninglessgestures. A passionate rebellion, a kind of primitive hatred, grippedMaurice, and when Schilsky paused for breath, he could contain himselfno longer. He felt the burning need of contradicting the speaker, eventhough he could not catch the drift of what was said.

  "It's a lie!" he cried fiercely, with such emphasis that every face wasturned to him. "A damned lie!"

  "A lie? What the devil do you mean?" responded not one but manyvoices--the whole table seemed to be asking him, with the exception ofDove, who sang on in an ever decreasing tempo.

  "Get out!--Let him alone; he's drunk. He doesn't know what he'ssaying--He's got rats in his head!" he heard voices asserting.Forthwith he began a lengthy defence of himself, broken only by gaps inwhich his brain refused to work. Conscious that no one was listening tohim, he bawled more and more loudly.

  "Oh, quit it, you double-barrelled ass!" said the American.

  Schilsky, persuaded by those next him to let the incident passunnoticed, contented himself with a: "VERFLUCHTE SCHWEINEREI!" spat,after Furst's gurgled account of Maurice's previous insobriety, acrossthe floor behind him, to express his contempt, and proceeded asdominatingly as before with the narration of his love-affairs.

  The blood rushed to Maurice's head at the sound of this voice which hecould neither curb nor understand. Rage mastered him--a vehement desireto be quits. He kicked back his chair, and rocked to and fro.

  "It's a lie--a dirty lie!" he cried. "You make her unhappy--God, howunhappy you make her! You illtreat her. You've never given her a day'shappiness. S ... said so ... herself. I heard her ... I swear ... I----"

  His voice turned to a whine; his words came thick and incoherent.

  Schilsky sprang to his feet and aimed the contents of a half-emptiedglass at Maurice's face. "Take that, you blasted spy!--you Englishman!"he spluttered. "I'll teach you to mix your dirty self in my affairs!"

  Every one jumped up; there was noise and confusion; simultaneously twowaiters entered the room, as if they had not been unprepared forsomething of this kind. Furst and another man restrained Schilsky bythe arms, reasoning with him with more force than coherence. Maurice,the beer dripping from chin, collar and shirt-front, struggledfuriously with some one who held him back.

  "Let me get at him--let me get at him!" he cried. "I'll teach him totreat a woman as he does. The sneak--the cur--the filthy cad! He's notfit to touch her hand--her beautiful hand--her beau ... ti ... ful----"Here, overpowered by his feelings, as much as by superior strength, hesank on a chair and wept.

  "I'll break his bones!" raved Schilsky. "What the hell does he mean byit?--the INFAME SCHUFT, the AAS, the dirty ENGLANDER! Thinks he'llsneak after her himself, does he?--What in Jesus' name is it to him howI treat her? I'll take a stick to her if I like--it's none of hisblasted business! Look here, do you see that?" He freed one hand,fumbled in his pocket, and, almost inarticulate wit
h rage and liquor,brandished a key across the table. "Do you see that? That's a key,isn't it, you drunken hog? Well, with that key, I can let myself intoLulu's room at any hour I want to; I can go there now, this veryminute, if I like--do you think she'll turn me out, you infernal spy?Turn me out?--she'd go down on her knees here before you all to get meback to her!"

  Unwilling to be involved in the brawl, the more sober of the party hadbegun to seek out their hats and to slink away. A little group roundSchilsky blarneyed and expostulated. Why should the whole sport of theevening be spoilt in this fashion? What did it matter what the damnedcranky Englishman said? Let him be left to his swilling. They wouldclear out, and wind up the night at the BAUER; and at four, when thatshut, they would go on to the BAYRISCHE BAHNHOF, where they could notonly get coffee, but could also see Schilsky off by a train soon afterfive. These persuasions prevailed, and, still swearing, andthreatening, and promising, by all that was holy, to bring Lulu there,by the hair of her head if necessary, to show whether or no he had thepower over her he boasted of, Schilsky finally allowed himself to bedragged off, and those who were left lurched out in his wake.

  With their exit an abrupt silence fell, and Maurice sank into a heavysleep, in which he saw flowery meadows and heard a gently tricklingbrook....

  "Now then, up with you!--get along!" some one was shouting in his ear,and, bit by bit, a pasty-faced waiter entered his field of view. "It'spast time, anyhow," and yawning loudly, the waiter turned out all thegas-jets but one. "Don't yer hear? Up with you! You'll have to lookafter the other--now, damn me, if there isn't another of you as well!"and, from under the table, he drew out a recumbent body.

  Maurice then saw that he was still in the company of Dove, who satstaring into space--like a dead man. Krafft, propped on a chair, hunghis head far back, and the collarless shirt exposed the whole of hiswhite throat.

  The waiter hustled them about. Maurice was comparatively steady on hislegs; and it was found that Dove could walk. But over Krafft, the manscratched his head and called a comrade. At the mention of a droschke,however, Maurice all but wept anew with ire and emotion: this was hisdearest friend, the friend of his bosom; he was ready at any time tostake his life for him, and now he was not to be allowed even to seehim home.

  A difficulty arose about Maurice's hat: he was convinced that the onethe waiter jammed so rudely on his head did not belong to him; and itseemed as if nothing in the world had ever mattered so much to him asnow getting back his own hat. But he had not sufficient fluency toexplain all he meant; before he had finished, the man lost patience;and suddenly, without any transition, the three of them were in thestreet. The raw night air gave them a shock; they gasped and choked alittle. Then the wall of a house rose appositely and met them. Theyleaned against it, and Maurice threw the hat from him and trampled onit, chuckling at the idea that he was revenging himself on the waiter.

  It was a journey of difficulties; not only was he unclear what localitythey were in, but innumerable lifeless things confronted them andformed obstacles to their progress; they had to charge anadvertisement-column two or three times before they could get round it.Maurice grew excessively angry, especially with Dove. For while Heinzlet himself be lugged this way and that, Dove, grown loud and wilful,had ideas of his own, and, in addition to this, sang the whole timewith drunken gravity:

  Sez the ragman, to the bagman, I'll do yees no harm.

  "Stop it, you oaf!" cried Maurice, goaded to desperation. "You beastly,blathering, drunken idiot!"

  Then, for a street-length, he himself lapsed into semi-consciousness,and when he wakened, Dove was gone. He chuckled anew at the thoughtthat somehow or other they had managed to outwit him.

  His intention had been to make for home, but the door before which theyultimately found themselves was Krafft's. Maurice propped his companionagainst the wall, and searched his own pockets for a key. When he hadfound one, he could not find the door, and when this was secured, thekey would not fit. The perspiration stood out on his forehead; he triedagain and again, thought the keyhole was dodging him, and asserted thefact so violently that a window in the first storey was opened and ahead thrust out.

  "What in the name of Heaven are you doing down there?" it cried. "Youdrunken SCHWEIN, can't you see the door's open?"

  In the sitting-room, both fell heavily over a chair; after that, withinfinite labour, he got Heinz on the sofa. He did not attempt to make alight; enough came in from a street-lamp for him to see what he wasdoing.

  Lying on his face, Krafft groaned a little, and Maurice suddenlygrasped that he was taken ill. Heinz was ill, Heinz, his best friend,and he was doing nothing to help him! Shedding tears, he poured out aglass of water. He believed he was putting the carafe safely back onthe table, but it dropped with a crash to the floor. He was afraid FrauSchulz would come in, and said in a loud voice: "It's that fellowthere, he's dead drunk, beastly drunk!" Krafft would not drink thewater, and in the attempt to force him, it was spilled over him. Hestirred uneasily, put up his arms and dragged Maurice down, so that thelatter fell on his knees beside the sofa. He made a few ineffectualefforts to free himself; but one arm held him like a vice; and in thisuncomfortable position, he went to sleep.

  Part II

  O viva morte, e dilettoso male!

  PETRARCH.