_The_
CENTAURIANS
A NOVEL
BY
BIAGI
[Illustration]
BROADWAY PUBLISHING CO.
_835 Broadway, New York_
BRANCH OFFICES: CHICAGO, WASHINGTON, BALTIMORE, ATLANTA, NORFOLK, DES
MOINES, IOWA
COPYRIGHT, 1911,
BY
L. D. BIAGI.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I 3
II 23
III 31
IV 39
V 51
VI 63
VII 77
VIII 90
IX 105
X 122
XI 153
XII 182
XIII 210
XIV 225
XV 238
XVI 253
XVII 262
XVIII 273
XIX 297
XX 316
XXI 323
“The Centaurians.”
CHAPTER I.
Twelve long years of European travel had failed to stale the beauties of
my own country. I compared the exquisite, restful view, to the garish
expansiveness of foreign panorama. Though fagged and frayed with
experience it was a tingling delight to gaze once again upon this fair,
smiling, home country, whose mountain-lined distance of vivid heliotrope
formed superb contrast to waving fields of deep yellow corn.
I flung aside the book I was reading with its repellant thoughts; the
dewy freshness of a bright July morning weaned me from poppy-drugged
ideas. I faltered at the grand finale of this wonderful collection of
moods and wandered out in the glorious sunshine and fields beyond. Upon
a huge mound of hay I lolled, enjoying the delicate fragrance of roses
mingled with the heavy, pungent scent of carnations, and lazily watched
blue butterflies flitting above, while black field reptiles ventured
close, wondering what species I might be, then vanishing at the least
movement. The hum of insects seemingly swelled to the city’s roar; all
nature was active with industry, I alone was the drone, though master of
this rural, enchanting, warm, lazy scene, which, like a veil, spread
over the vast area of my possessions.
Powerfully wealthy, I gloat in enjoyment and exist merely to squander
the fabulous riches inherited from ancestors who worshipped at the
shrine of Accumulation, that I, the culminating period, should revel in
Profligacy. Value has no significance and to me there is naught under
the blue heavens that is priceless, except perhaps—a new experience. I
came from a queer clan, we could date our premier back to the twelfth
century; a Florentine dealer in precious stones, whose interesting
history filled one of the documents handed to me when I reached the age
of supposed discretion. Originality was our motto. All were gifted with
keenness and enterprise, though dotted periodically with mania—just a
dash, you understand, to aid personality and create distinction. Avarice
was strongly developed, dulling fear forcing us to brave many perils,
and we scorned the warning contained in the great chest of documents
which even I failed to unseal. We had survived many disasters and twice
narrowly escaped oblivion. We possessed a doubtful legend and closely
guarded a buried tomb of foulness, yet with all our cunning two fools
nearly snuffed the name out of existence during the fifteenth, and again
at the close of the seventeenth century.
My thoughts often dwelt upon these afflicted kinsmen; both had been mad,
of course, their chameleon brains merely reflected the brilliant glints
of their rare collection of gems. One coveted the green light flaring in
the crown of Isis, and early mastered the knowledge that all men perfect
when they are too old to profit by it—anticipation is the nectar of
realization. He was radiant in longing for the mystic green he could
never possess, and existed in a daring dreamland that all men desire but
never contemplate. His marvelous collection of emeralds formed the
foundation of our almost fabulous wealth. It was a similar malady that
afflicted the later kinsman, who closed his career with a rabidness that
slanted a muddy shade consuming centuries of gigantic endeavor to clear.
His madness lacked reverence, but keenness, determination proved talent
had he not been abnormal. He conceived a frenzied desire to possess a
famous jewel with a rich setting of superstition and priceless value.
The cutting fascinated him, he jeered at warnings and made offers of
purchase with a persistency equal his mania; when realizing the wealth
of the world contained not the value of the stone he called it fate and
stole the gem. Years later he was found murdered, horribly mutilated.
Aware of the fate destined for him, he reasoned a life forfeited justly
covered all debts—the stone was our property. He feared to trust it out
of his keeping, however, and when the final, awful moment arrived, his
insane cunning outwitted the assassins—he swallowed the stone. I have it
sunk in a broad band of gold.
After the exploit of this fanatic we scattered over the world, and
though our name suffered torturing abbreviation, we were easily traced
by our wealth. Luck followed us in all undertakings, riches accumulated,
but doubting the truth of the superstition surrounding the stone it is
indisputable that from the date it entered our possession love departed.
We were known as a cold, calculating, heartless people, with the
doubtful intellect usually accompanying wealth. We purchased affection
as we would any saleable bauble, and lived the life of indifference and
final dislike the purchased article always brings. The curse was a
short, loveless existence, crowned with intangible longings.
* * * * *
I recollect very little of my parents, both having passed away during my
infancy, but I am liberally supplied with relatives who are disagreeably
vivid, treacherous, small, scheming, gifted with a keen eye for
profit—just relatives.
It was a kind providence, chiefly law, that placed me under the
protection of Middleton & Co., a trio of the ablest and shrewdest of
lawyers. They sent me to college, where I passed some years, though
really it was not necessary. The intellect of a millionaire is generally
accredited heavy with metal, though when backed with distinction, a most
desirable bric-a-brac. I early discovered nothing was expected of me
except good-nature and generosity. The commonest attributes were denied
me, and though of a sunny temperament, eventually I grew bitter,
scorning the mercenary. To be constantly striving to force a measure
above companionable appendage was a cruel trial. However, my college
life was not so difficult when I crushed the romantic nobility of youth.
I became resigned to my value and easily tolerated the adulation my
wealth inspired. I was extravagantly generous and considered a rare good
fellow, who gave rare good times. Occasionally I indulged in spasms of
ambition, and when controlled by this feverish sensation, vowed to
out-class the associates who imposed upon me. I had a vague idea of
Fame, Worth gained through merit, not purchased. These attacks
invariably visited me after an evening passed with Professor Saxlehner,
the only individual in the wide world who understood me and honestly
believed in my possession of brains, and who pronounced my name always
with full entirety—Virgillius Salucci. Saxlehner was a man of brilliant
mind, quiet, simple, seeking solitude and delving deep in all manner of
mysteries.
My gold carried little weight with him, he was sincerely fond of me and
consequently rated me soundly for all indiscretions, declaring I would
regret wasting the best years of my life and deadening my vast
talents—though he failed to state in what particular line my genius lay,
I believed him. Frequently I sought him, weary and in need of sympathy,
but he regularly refrained giving any, telling me I was simply suffering
the dissatisfaction of inferior association and he could not understand
my persistence in such a course. He begged me to cultivate seriousness
and avoid flattering clowns, frivolity was altogether out of my line, I
was born for greater, higher things.
Young and fond of pleasure, I ignored most of his advice, yet his words
vividly impressed me, and in after years, profiting by his counsel, I
became known as a man of many ideas, a trifle eccentric, and notoriously
willing to fling away a fortune for a new experience. Saxlehner and I
became great friends, yet with the ending of my college days we drifted
apart. I plunged into the social gayety that awaits all rich young men,
and learned more in one month of idleness than in all the years passed
at college. I became wild, fast, yet deceived all with assumed
unsophisticatedness and was a great trial to Middleton & Co., who kept a
sharp lookout for squalls, remonstrating and warning me of disasters
they could not steer me out of. Maliciously I parried with them, while
debauchery fostered ennui and the dormant characteristics of my people
roused to activity impregnating my system with the pessimist’s germ.
Much encountered subtlety and unscrupulousness ceased causing anxiety. I
developed an impenetrable armor of caution and sought diversion in
heartless analysis—the world is money-mad. Lovelessness, the curse of my
people, was upon me. It caused no unhappiness, we had all lived through
it, but I alone discovered and realized—it developed with mature reason,
we were not born with it. Vaguely I dreamed of congeniality and calm
affection but craved neither, and anything deeper seemed annoying. I was
incapable of passion, consequently could not inspire it. Iron against
all sensations, my callousness astounded even me. I scorned the
temptations other men embraced. Contact with the world robbed me of all
romance. I lived my life in a few months. In demeanor I was simplicity
itself, jovial, gullible as ever, but where formerly I sought enjoyment
I was now indifferent, content to bask in the supreme delight of proving
my convictions correct. I never committed an error. Disinterestedness,
gratitude, are chimeras. Through my reduced expenses Middleton & Co.
figured, and honestly believed the gradual change meant matrimony; in no
other way could they comprehend my sudden respectability. Middleton
harped continually on the subject, Rollins made it the topic of
conversation every time I visited his home, and Burke smiled
suggestively, but refrained from remarks—he was not the orator of the
firm.
As daughters did not ornament any of the three homes I became partially
convinced of my duty, and following Middleton’s advice began a series of
inspection of my numerous cousins.
With the kind assistance of Rollins’s wife (who believed herself too
young for Rollins, but wasn’t), I finally selected a tall, thin young
woman, with rolling blue eyes, red cheeks, and rather pretty brown hair.
Accustomed to quasi-fresh-wilted buds, I was attracted to the youth and
apparent innocence of the girl. She was Carolyn, nineteen, with old age
upon her at twenty-five. She was languid, insipid, and possessed the
stereotyped conversation of nearly all girls of her age, who arrange
their hair and dress all alike. She sang two songs in Italian, without
knowing anything about it, and worried through four instrumental solos
with murderous skill; also, she painted some, but Mamma gave it great
importance and became a nuisance in her persistence that all should
inspect the awful attempts, which were merely daubs even after the
teacher had “gone over them.” This was the extent of Carolyn’s
accomplishments, which opened preliminaries every time I ventured near
her, and wise people versed in prediction aided by Mamma, had us married
early in the skirmish. But Mamma was difficult, Carolyn impossible, and
both possessed an omnivorous appetite for courtesy. Like
boa-constrictors, they swallowed and swallowed and were always famished;
and suddenly an unaccountable chill came upon me and I discovered the
right was mine to live my own life. I could see no reason why I should
burden myself with this great nonentity, this Carolyn, for the sole
purpose of permitting her to inherit my wealth when she became my widow.
It was an unnaturally cold conclusion and Middleton’s pointedness became
annoying. I advised him to get the matrimonial “bug” out of his head and
quit bothering me. I did not regret Carolyn, but the affair was rather
unfortunate, and she was young to be afflicted with the disappointment
that all girls find so bitter and take so hard. Actuated by profound
selfishness I renounced every inclination toward matrimony; martyr-like
I vowed the lasciviousness of my race would end with me. I would live to
squander this vast wealth and lead the ideal existence the poor imagine
the wealthy enjoy. Possibly I would experience happiness, but in a
superficial way, the intense I abhorred. Middleton & Co. were
dumbfounded at my strange behavior, their consternation was rather
interesting because unnecessary, but eventually the three kindly
gentlemen greatly bored me, and to oust all unpleasant association I
stated my long-contemplated intention of touring the world. No
objections were offered. I was to send news regularly of my doings and
the firm was to be notified at once should anything unusual occur.
Loaded with directions and accompanied by a trio of gay, young friends,
I started out for adventure. Scarcely had we reached the old world, when
I decided to get rid of my traveling companions. They were nice, jolly
boys, restless for diversion and amusing because of their eternal
appreciation of enjoyment, but I desired freedom, wishing to discover
and cultivate any talents I might be gifted with, and to me it was
unlimited opportunity, being in a strange land, surrounded by strangers.
My three friends early discovered their pursuits were not mine; we
parted without any ill-feeling. Then I proceeded to waste my time in a
thousand ways, never accomplishing anything, yet perfectly sincere all
the time, child-like in my own ambition, horribly cynical regarding
others. I became known, of course, as a man of vast ideas, lacking the
concentration that promotes success. I was constantly inspired with
thoughts that rarely visit other people, but I kept my own counsel and
encouraged the inventive ideas that assailed me. Eventually various
learned people heard of me and my positive convictions and extended much
courtesy while guiding me through all the intricate labyrinths that ever
created stupefaction. Greatly encouraged and as happy as I ever expected
to be, I became absorbed in that which three-fourths of the world are
ever seeking and which the other fourth cannot comprehend—Fame.
Not hampered with advice from individuals who fancied themselves
superior mortals, I entered upon heavy duties, much disappointment—which
failed to affect me as I brought it upon myself—and many, many years of
waste and vast expense. At one time I believed myself destined to become
a famous inventor, but after repeated failures I realized the utter
impossibility of my productions. However, I was encouraged to continue
my “experiments,” being considered very promising, and it was the
popular impression that in the general confusion I might hit upon
something entirely original. I was energetic and deserved to. My
inclinations were for work. I believed entirely in myself and continued
ambitious till suddenly I developed a pet theory which came upon me
unawares, yet took entire possession of my thoughts. For some time I
worried along under this compelling influence, then suddenly, without
regret, thrust aside inventive ambitions and with my usual determination
to succeed entered a college of medicine. Undaunted by the years of
study before me I grasped hopefully all problems labelled hazardous and
avoided by others, and became an enthusiast when I discovered my theory
a fact undreamed of. It was daring, yet I never faltered delving deep in
the science that would create universal benefit, convince the skeptical,
and perfect success. Finally came the day when knowledge forced me to
propound my theory to the medical fraternity. An opportunity to
demonstrate was all I asked. I was listened to and not exactly laughed
at—that was the impression I made upon the learned gentlemen. All
admired the suggestion, yet would give no encouragement. Frankly it was
hinted that I was seeking fame, notoriety, not the advancement of
science, yet the theory was feasible, though crude, a lifetime problem,
and—no one dared back me. Through all unfavorable criticism I retained
my enthusiasm and sought opportunity. My startling theory received
world-wide attention and I lectured all over Europe. When the
opportunity presented itself I demonstrated my theory and—failed. The
subject was the victim of a shocking accident and could not have lived.
I prolonged his life five months. During that time he became the picture
of health and progressed rapidly up to a certain degree, then science
utterly failed to benefit. He never regained strength, was unable to
walk, and if permitted to stand alone sank like pulp to the floor. The
case interested and puzzled the whole medical clientele, the end was
unexpected and astonishing.
“Your theory is nil, unnatural,” I was informed. “Nothing living has the
power to survive the shock of test. The subject from the start is doomed
to inward decay—you kill the strength nerves,” and I had “grasped a
suggestion that only a master’s mind could complete.” Raw, immature, my
great theory might be, but it was neither unnatural or impracticable;
some bright, young student would master the science that I, through lack
of ability for application (?) failed to perfect. Beneath the sun there
is nothing new. The wonderful theory I dallied with had been in practice
centuries ago and with many other valuable sciences had through disuse
fallen out of existence.
The intellect of Time is degenerating with Earth. We grasp and marvel at
that at which the ancient giant intellects simply nodded approval.
Modernity is the reflection of miraculous originality of the early ages.
My career as a physician came abruptly to an end. I was wearied, and for
the benefit of science would sacrifice nothing. That which had animated
me now became an abomination. The profession of medicine had not scope
enough to bring contentment or make me realize the vast ambition of
pride. Vanity! vanity! vanity! I floated rudderless upon this cloudy
lake and plunged into the huge, sulky, black waves of Disappointment,
yet for an instant I gazed in the far distance—beautiful, enchanting,
where the sun of Fame gilded the enticing pool of Success.
From my gigantic blunder I had the courage to extricate myself,
renouncing the delights that absorb indolent others who declare the
world an illusion and life an exertion. I donated large sums to various
colleges to be expended in penetrating the mysterious science I failed
in, then for years wandered over the world, aimless, melancholy,
craving, ever searching the grand, supreme idea that I knew would reach
me before peace.
India, that great field of abundant superstition, mildly restored my
shattered energies. The occult science in its most malignant form
attacked me. I was enchanted with fanatical proverbs tantalizing in
their promise of what?—nothing.
I engaged a dwelling and furnished it up with barbaric splendor, then
watched the subtle operations of the strange people I surrounded myself
with. They possessed extraordinary imaginations and narrative powers,
and, because it was impossible, I developed a keen desire to experience
some of the delights these fanatics extolled.
Following instructions, I spent weeks in the mountains, inhaling dank
vapors and camped in the wilderness, fasting for days, reading a
book—for what purpose I never discovered—and ended it all as
unimaginative as ever. I tried my utmost to become convinced of the
supernatural, but never for an instant lost the knowledge I was an ass
to so ardently pursue Folly, in her mock seriousness. I became shamed
with the realization of the utter nonsense I permitted my intellect to
roam in and the wild-eyed fanatics with their shrieks and convulsions
and frenzied endeavors to convince, nauseated me when I discovered it
was all acting, mere acting, and they were less sincere than I.
The fanaticism, immorality, the full rein given to sensualism and vulgar
superstition disgusted me. Naught but undeveloped or diseased minds are
convinced of such farces—an obnoxious weight upon civilization. My cold,
calm, reasoning of the subject flashed clear, strong, like a vivid blaze
of light, I stood alone but powerfully in the right. My ideas were ahead
of my time, that was all. I suddenly ended my researches in the occult.
I became a worshipper of nature, and gloated in the sunset with its
rare, rich coloring; in rapture I gazed upon the ocean with its tracery,
lace-flecked waves and grand swell bursting in deep roar. I calmed my
vision with the azure vaults above gradually deepening to a purple
beyond imitation to be studded with billions and trillions of brilliant
twinkling lights, then at the white, mysterious globe, sailing
majestically alone; and finally at noontide, I worshipped the brazen,
hot splendor of the Sun, and asked what was more awe-inspiring or worthy
of devotion than this vast, beautiful Something, we call Nature. With
joy I realized I alone had solved the mystery all were struggling to
solve. Nature, divine, beautiful Nature, ruled the universe. Continually
before us is laid this grand example in its chaste regulations which
never offends, yet we the puny, tainted, little atoms, existing in this
wonderful purity, continually offend all laws of Nature. If we formed
our lives to compare with the vast splendor shining ever before us we
would be divine. Eternity, the germ of imagination, soars to wonderful
spheres, yet never reaches the sublime summit of the vast glory of the
universe. And I still searched for the one great inspiration I knew I
was destined for.
About this time I received urgent news from Middleton & Co. They
demanded my return and conveyed the impression it was a matter of
necessity, causing me to vaguely meditate upon the possibility if I had
really reached the end of my powerful fortune. This was laughable, but
Middleton & Co. had some strong reason—they always had strong reasons,
and had entirely upset the rather flimsy plans I had formed for the
future. I used some irritable language, though right down in my heart I
had a hankering to see the old boys again.
Leisurely I journeyed homeward and tremendously enjoyed the trip across
the ocean. The voyage was remarkably calm and I strode upon deck,
inhaling great quantities of fresh, vigorous, salt air, and giving a
passing glance at the class of people to whom I belonged, saw what is
seen always among the rich and idle. Well-dressed self-satisfaction,
without interest or idea beyond their own narrow little world;
fashionable, complacent boredom, a certain well-bred discontent,
idiotic, polite repartee, stifled yawns.... A kindly old gentleman
interested me considerably. We were together constantly and I learned he
had squandered three fortunes and enjoyed the superb satisfaction of
regretting it. He had a wife and mature family somewhere and delighted
in the thought that they had not the remotest idea of his whereabouts. I
knew very well who he was, but did not allude to it as he traveled
incognito and I feared to annoy him. He was an aristocrat—such men
usually are. Our acquaintance ended with the voyage, but as we parted he
gave me original, wholesome advice, which, like everything else, failed
to impress me, though I stored it safely away in my memory.
“My young friend,” he said, “you have traveled over a great portion of
the globe and encountered a vast assortment of people, and to your
astonishment discovered that good predominated. Everybody is good
according to their idea of goodness—ahem! Am I not right? You see, I’ve
studied you as you studied me. Salucci, cease to embitter your life with
false views of yourself and others, you’ve entered the wrong track
altogether; it is the man all admire, not the wealth which you permit to
kill ambition. Interest yourself in financial problems, the most
wonderful of all sciences. You’re a born financier. God in heaven! what
were the Fates up to that they bestowed upon you every faculty to amass
riches, then supplied you with the fortune! What puppets we are! Last
night you wished me luck, prosperity; and, Salucci, I wish you
happiness. Good-bye.”
I watched him hurrying away and almost fall into the arms of two dapper
young men who were waiting for him. They had recognized him as I did and
their object and interview. The old gentleman smiled genially upon them,
but his amazement was comical when they addressed him—he looked politely
embarrassed as though regretting he was not the party they were looking
for, then shrugged his graceful old shoulders and quietly departed; and
the two young men stared at each other, astounded that it was possible
they had been trapped into a case of mistaken identity. I was glad we
met, however, for he made an otherwise dull voyage extremely
interesting.
It was a cold, misty morning when the pompous custom-house officials
boarded the steamer. The fussy health officers were working themselves
into a fret because some one in the steerage had a cold, and the decks
were crowded with passengers, eager, expectant, prepared for departure.
Unconcernedly I scanned the dim outlines of the great city I called
home, and experienced not the slightest tremolo of excitement, though I
had been absent twelve years. What welcome had I to expect? Who cared
when I came or went? Affection was not for me, and I grew heavy with
longing, when, for the first time, I realized how much alone I was in
this world. I would never be conscious of anything above the familiar,
calculating coldness, sordid cordiality that was continually shown to me
and, reflecting bitterly, I knew precisely what awaited me when the
steamer docked. Albert would be there with the carriage and his
perpetual grin. My wealth prevented me even enjoying the little
annoyances fortunate others were subjected to. They could appreciate
comfort. I was uncomfortable always. At my residence there would be no
excitement, all in readiness as though I had never been absent. Later,
if not fatigued I would saunter to the club, there to meet men who, like
myself, had no place else to go. They would all hasten to reach my hand
and give it the hearty shake men always give to each other whether they
like you or not, and all would simultaneously exclaim: “Glad to see you
back, old man! Remain long? What’ll you have?”
I almost yelled with repugnance. Though usually I permitted gloom to
entirely envelop me, there was an undercurrent of consolation that few,
very few experience—I was able to gratify all whims and execute all
resolves, and generally when I reached this conclusion obnoxious
meditations evaporated.
I strolled among the chattering, enthused passengers, trying to absorb
some of their excitement; finding this difficult, I turned my full
attention upon a small, black object in the waters that absentmindedly I
had been watching some time. It was headed straight for the steamer and
the pert, little craft, battling in the choppy sea, amused me. As it got
nearer I discovered three men on the deck intently gazing at the steamer
and then—yes—no—Middleton’s launch—and the three of them! Middleton,
Burke, and Rollins! I yelled to them—by George! the firm had come to
welcome me home! I was not forgotten. They spied me, then all yelled,
wild with excitement. They extended their hands, so did I, as though it
was possible to shake at that distance. The launch finally ran alongside
the steamer, and three eager gentlemen boarded her. The bones in my
hands were nearly crushed, yet hardly were the greetings over when my
former gloomy thoughts rushed flood-like upon me. In vain I tried to
drown the painful doubts—pon my soul! I swear these gentlemen had no
motive but kindness in hurrying to greet me. Why couldn’t I be content
with the action? What happiness is there in continually searching the
motive? Middleton & Co. certainly had regard for me, else would have
remained in their comfortable offices such a cold, raw morning. Away
with this damned eternal probing, accept what is given, never expect
more; yet judging from universal bitter comments of injury, humanity is
firm in the belief, more is given than received. Smiling faces,
flattering tongues, affectionate attitudes are at least genuine in
exertion, why question further? It is enough to cement friendship.
If Middleton & Co. knew of my engaging thoughts while I was wringing
their hands they would at once send in a bill for all the advice given
gratis since my infancy. What a valuable nature is mine, and what
disfigurement is humanity to this gloriously beautiful world.
I remained a month in town, following implicitly the orders of Middleton
& Co. We’d had a thorough understanding plus details, and I learned my
twelve years abroad had made vast inroads upon my fortune, still I was
several centuries from starvation. I chided the old boys for their
needless anxiety—Middleton & Co. hung on to every cent they could grasp,
then felt injured. Dutifully I dined at each of their homes and gave a
return banquet to the club; also, I attended a few extraordinary
affairs—decorations, rows of debutantes—then suddenly discovered I
didn’t owe anybody anything anyhow, and quietly slipped down to my
country home that I had not visited in twelve years, and which made me
realize for the first time the wonderful pleasure of return. I was born
in this simple, rambling, old-fashioned house, surrounded with its acres
and acres of boundless wealth. I gloried in the all-pervading peace, the
enervating air vibrating with sounds, each a distinct note of music and
all blending in superb harmony. I strolled in the orchards, plucking
luscious fruit, I gathered my own salads and indulged in the juvenile
delight of hunting eggs. I rode with the men upon lofty hay wagons, and
lolled countless hours in the fields, dreamily viewing the far distant
valleys sloping gently upward into deep purple mountains, and in all my
travels of foreign antiquity flanked with oriental splendor I could
remember no land to compare with the grand, vast freshness of this
beautiful home scene, nor did I consider time wasted in this sublime
appreciation. It seemed the joyous, lazy hours passed in the hot
sunshine were simply the rest and peace needed to nerve me for coming
events that the supreme inspiration enveloped. The rural quietness did
not weary me. I indulged in day dreams and enthused in a thousand plans
to be banished as soon as formed, then one morning, as suddenly as I
came, I left all this sultry luxury and returned to the city.
With me in dreamland one entire night was Saxlehner, Professor
Saxlehner, whom I had not seen or heard of in twelve years. He had
appeared vivid, mirthful; we talked long, but with awakening I
remembered nothing, simply he had thrust himself upon my memory and I
returned to the city at once to search for him.