One night, as they were walking together, Becker spoke of Eva Sorel.
“She has attained an extraordinary position,” he said. “I’ve heard
people say that she is the real ruler of Russia and is having a
decisive influence on European diplomacy. She lives in incomparable
luxury. The Grand Duke presented to her the famous palace of Duke
Biron of unblessed memory. She receives ministers of state and foreign
ambassadors like a crowned sovereign. Paris and London reckon with her,
bargain with her, consult her. She will be heard of more and more. Her
ambition is inconceivable.”
“It was to be foreseen that she would rise high,” Christian remarked
softly. He wanted more and more to talk to Becker about his own affairs
and explain the errand on which he had come. But he did not find the
right word.
Becker continued: “Her soul was bound to lose the harmony that rules
her body so severely. It is a natural process of compensation. She
desires power, insight, knowledge of the obscure and intricate. She
plays with the fate of men and nations. Once she said to me, ‘The whole
world is but a single heart.’ Well, one can destroy that single heart,
which is all humanity, in one’s own bosom. Ambition is but another form
of despair; it will carry her to the outermost boundary of life. There
she will meet me and many others who have come to the same spot from
another direction, and we shall clasp hands once more.”
They had reached the shores of the lake. Becker buttoned his coat and
turned up the collar. His voice sank almost to a whisper. “I saw her in
Paris once crossing the floor in an old house. In either hand she bore
a candelabrum, and in each candelabrum burned two candles. A brownish
smoke came from the flames, a white veil flowed from her shoulders; an
undreamed-of lightness took possession of me. Once when she was still
appearing at the Sapajou, I saw her lying on the floor behind the
stage, watching with the intensest scrutiny a spider that was spinning
its web in a crack between two boards. She raised her arm and bade me
stand still, and lay there and observed the spider. I saw her learning
of the spider, and I knew then the power of utter absorption that she
had. I scarcely knew it, but she drew me into the burning circle of her
being. Her unquenchable thirst for form and creation and unveiling and
new vision taught me whom she called her master. Yes, the whole world
is but a single heart, and we all serve but a single God. He and I
together are my doom.”
Christian thought restlessly: “How can I speak to him?” But the right
word did not come.
“The other day,” Becker said, “I stood in a chapel, lost in the
contemplation of a miracle-working image of the Mother of God, and
thinking about the simple faith of the people. A few sick men and women
and old men were kneeling there and crossing themselves and bowing to
the earth. I lost myself in the features of the image, and gradually
the secret of its power became clear to me. It was not just a painted
piece of wood. For centuries the image had absorbed the streams of
passionate prayer and adoration that had come to it from the hearts of
the weary and the heavy-laden, and it became filled with a power that
seemed to proceed from it to the faithful and that was mirrored in
itself again. It became a living organism, a meeting place between man
and God. Filled with this thought, I looked again upon the old men and
the women and the children there, and I saw the features of the image
stirred by compassion, and I also kneeled down in the dust and prayed.”
Christian made no comment. It was not given him to share such feelings.
But Becker’s speech and ecstatic expression and the great glow of his
eyes cast a spell upon him; and in the exaltation which he now felt,
his purpose seemed more possible to realize.
Walking restlessly up and down in the inhospitable room of his hotel,
he was surprised to find himself in an imaginary conversation with
Becker, which drew from him an eloquence that was denied him in the
presence of men.
“Hear me. Perhaps you can understand. I possess fourteen millions, but
that is not all. More money pours in on me, daily and hourly, and I
can do nothing to dam the torrent. Not only is the money a vain thing
to me, but an actual hindrance. Wherever I turn, it is in my way.
Everything I undertake appears in a false light on account of it. It is
not like something that belongs to me, but like something that I owe;
and every human being with whom I speak explains in some way how and
why I owe it to him or to another or to all. Do you understand that?”
Christian had the feeling that he was addressing the Ivan Becker of his
imagination in a friendly, natural, and convincing tone; and it seemed
to him that Ivan Becker understood and approved. He opened the window,
and caught sight of some stars.
“If I distribute it I cause mischief,” he continued, and walked up
and down again without articulating a sound. “That has been proved.
The fault is probably in me; I haven’t the art of doing good or
useful things with money. And it’s unpleasant to have people remind
me wherever I go: ‘You’ve got your millions behind you; whenever you
have enough of this, you can quit and go home.’ This is the reason why
everything glides from my grasp and no ground is secure under my feet;
this is the reason why I cannot live as I would live, nor find any
pleasantness within myself. Therefore relieve me of my millions, Ivan
Michailovitch. Do with them whatever you wish. If necessary we can go
to a notary and make out a deed of gift. Distribute the money, if you
desire, feed the hungry, and relieve the suffering. I can’t do it; it
repels me. I want to be rid of my burden. Have books printed or build
refuges or bury it or waste it; only take the burden from me. I can
only use it to fill maws that afterwards show me their teeth.”
And as he spoke those words within himself, a serenity overspread his
features. His smooth forehead, his deep blue eyes, his large and rather
pallid cheeks, his healthy red lips, and the clean-shaven skin about
them were all bathed in that new serenity.
It seemed to him that on the next day, when he would see Becker, he
might be able to speak to him quite as he had spoken to-night, or at
least nearly so.