Part 111 (1/2)

He stood before a mirror, and they said to him: ”See how horrible you look.”

He could not rid himself of his companions. They played merry dances; they jingled their gold and cried: ”va banque”; they rattled the gla.s.ses and showed him voluptuous and seductive forms, and he could hear rude and wanton laughter. They filled the room; they seized him and wanted to dance about with him; but he stood firm, clenching his fists and unable to go. And then they cried to him: ”We know you! You are a silly boy and care for what the world thinks. You have no courage! Cheer up! Let them taunt you, but be merry, nevertheless. The day you lose in fretting, no one can ever give back to you. Fie! at this begging for sympathy! Go about and say: 'I'm a poor man, my father's dead and my sister drowned herself.' Get some one to make a song for you, and another to paint a little sign, and wander about from fair to fair, asking for an alms. Fie! fie! You must do one thing or the other: despise the world, or let it pity you. Which do you choose?

How often have you said: 'I despise the world'--and what makes you afraid? You are sitting there, and would like to go out; who closes the door? who has tied your horse's feet? You are alone. The dear friends, the kind-hearted beings, the sympathizing souls, will come and say: 'Be firm; be a man; conquer your grief!' And what will the dear souls do for you? They will give you the alms of sympathy and then leave you in solitude, while they go their way in search of pleasure. As long as there is playing, dancing, drinking, they are true and enduring friends; but no feast will be put off for your sake, nothing will be changed. If you mean to enjoy the world you must despise mankind. They merely say to you: 'Be a man'--but be one.”

His thoughts worked him into a frenzy. The next few days seemed a yawning unfathomable abyss staring him in the face. All was empty, void, hollow, joyless, consuming solitude.

He was at last released, for the servant entered and announced the intendant.

They had not been great friends, but now Bruno embraced the intendant as if he were the only friend he had in the world, and lay on his neck sobbing and begging him not to abandon him to solitude. He raged and raved and, with a strange mixture of blasphemy and mockery, reviled his fate. ”Oh, the terrible days that await me!” he exclaimed vehemently.

”Time heals all wounds,” said the intendant.

”But to pa.s.s weeks, aye months, in mourning!” cried Bruno again.

The intendant started. He had received an insight into this man's character. What grieved him most was the long period during which he would have to seem to be in mourning.

It could not have happened at a more unfavorable time.

Bruno had entered two of his best horses for the races which were to come off in a few days. He had intended to ride Zuleika himself in a trotting match, and, for the great hurdle race, he had carefully trained Fitz, his groom. The name was really Fritz, but Fitz sounded better. Fitz, Baum's son, was a thorough rascal, in whom his father took great pride. His future was a.s.sured, for there was no doubt that if Fitz did not break his limbs, he would be the first jockey in the stables. He sat his horse like a cat, and it was impossible to throw him.

The weather was charming. There were just enough clouds to s.h.i.+eld one from the burning rays of the sun, and during the night there had been a gentle rain which had improved the course. Fitz, in his green and white suit, would surely win the first prize. Bruno was not a little proud of Fitz's livery. He had, as it were, divided him in two, from the crown of his head to his feet his dress was gra.s.s-green on the right and snow-white on the left. What a pity that there are but seven cardinal colors, thus affording so little chance to indulge one's love of variety. But still, persistence can accomplish much, and while Bruno held his handkerchief before his face, he smiled at the thought of Fitz with one boot green and the other white.

”Of course, I shan't ride,” he said to the intendant. ”Do you think I ought to allow my jockey to do so? I may do that; may I not?” he hastily added, as if fearing a negative reply. ”They would think it mean of me, if I didn't. I have a large amount staked on the race. I shall let Fitz ride. Yes, I must; there's no harm in that.” He had scarcely finished speaking, when Fitz entered the room. In a harsh voice Bruno told him to go away. He was determined to act as though he had forgotten all about the races. That would prove his sorrow far more effectually than if he were to withdraw his engagement. He would submit to the fine for non-appearance, and the world would thus perceive that his grief was deep enough to make him forget everything.

CHAPTER VIII.

The intendant sat on the sofa with Bruno. He held Bruno's hand in his--it was hot with fever.

Now that he had found the key to Bruno's character and present mood, he knew what was meant when the mourner exclaimed:

”I know how it is in the world. To-day and to-morrow there is hunting at Wolfswinkel; and day after to-morrow, the races. I am only surprised that I didn't forget everything in that one hour. His excellency Von Schnabelsdorf is now 'intellectualizing' with the handsome wife of amba.s.sador Von N----. After that comes guard-mounting, and, this evening, there will be a _banque_ at Prince Arnold's.--Ah! the world goes on in its beaten track. If I could only forget it; for it forgets me.--Who has a thought for the solitary mourner? Oh, forgive me, my beloved, my only friend in this world. You will stay with me. You will never, never leave me. Don't leave me alone, or I shall go mad?”

The intendant felt sincere pity for the poor man. He had been invited to dine with the master of the horse, and merely wished to leave for a few moments in order to present his excuses in person. But Bruno would not permit him to go, and induced him to send his excuse in writing.

”Of course I'll stay with you,” said the intendant consolingly. ”At such moments, the presence of a friend is like a light in the night, obliging or, at all events, enabling one to see surrounding objects; it teaches us that the world has not yet ceased to exist, and that we do wrong to bury ourselves in solitude.”

”Oh, you understand me! Tell me what to do, what to begin? I know nothing. I am like a child that has lost its way in the dark woods.”

”Yes, that you are.”

Bruno started. The intendant's confirmation of his opinion of himself rather displeased him.

”I am so weak now,” said he. ”Just think of what I've had to suffer during the last few days.”

There was a strange mixture of gentleness and bitterness in his tone.

”May I smoke?” he asked.

”Certainly. Do anything that pleases you.”