Crammon desired a friend. The one who was lost could never be replaced.
The hope of winning him back still smouldered within, but the empty
space in his bosom was desolate and chill. To install a lodger there
seemed wise and would be stimulating.
Franz Lothar von Westernach had the first claim upon the place. They
had agreed by letter to meet at Franz Lothar’s country house in Styria,
so at the beginning of spring Crammon left Vienna. At Nürnberg he left
in the lurch a certain handsome Miss Herkinson in whose car he had
travelled from Spa.
To an acquaintance whom, by a mere chance, he met in the dining-car, he
said, “I can no longer bear the noise that young people always make.
The subdued and clarified attracts me now. The fifth decade of our
lives demands milder ways.”
Crammon found Franz Lothar in the thick of a mental struggle. His
sister Clementine wanted him to get married. Laughing and yet helpless,
he confided the state of affairs to Crammon. His sister had picked
out a girl of excellent family, and was sure that the alliance would
have a wholesome influence on her brother’s career, as well as on his
uncertain and idle way of life. All preliminaries had been arranged,
and the parents of the young lady had intimated their full approval.
Crammon said: “Don’t let them take you in, my son. The affair can have
none but a disgraceful outcome. I do not know the girl in question
personally. But she is a vampire. Her ancestors were among the most
infamous robber knights of the Middle Ages. Later they came into
conflict with the empire on account of cruelty to their serfs. You can
imagine what your future would be.”
Franz Lothar was highly amused. Crammon’s rage at the thought of being
robbed of this friend too, in the same old stupid way, was positively
rabid and passed all the bounds of decency. He treated Clementine with
embittered silence. If any dispute arose, he barked at her like an
angry dog.
Franz Lothar’s own indecision and fear of change saved Crammon from
further conflicts. He simply informed his disappointed sister one day
that he was thoroughly unprepared for so important a step, and begged
her to break off the negotiations.
This turn of affairs satisfied Crammon, but brought him no definite
peace of mind. He wanted to prevent the possibility of a similar
assault on his contentment. The best thing seemed to be to marry off
Clementine herself. It would not be easy. She was no longer in her
first youth; she had had her experiences and knew her world; she
possessed a clear vision and a sharp understanding. Great care would
have to be taken. He looked about in his mind for a candidate, and his
choice fell on a man of considerable wealth, distinguished ancestry,
and spotless reputation, the Cavaliere Morini. He had made his
acquaintance years ago through friends in Trieste.
He took to cultivating Clementine’s society. Fragrant little anecdotes
of married bliss and unstilled longing and cosy households flowed from
his lips. He found her very receptive. He dropped, as though casually,
intimations of his friendship with an uncommonly distinguished and able
Italian gentleman. He built up the character with an artist’s care, and
turned the excellent cavaliere into a striking figure. Next he wrote to
Morini, feigned deep concern for his well-being, recalled the memory
of hours they had passed together, pretended a great longing and a
desire to see him again, and inquired after his plans. So soon as the
correspondence flourished it was not difficult to mention Clementine
and praise her admirable qualities.
Morini nibbled at the bait. He wrote that he would be in Vienna in
May, and would be charmed to meet Crammon there. He added that he
dared scarcely hope to meet the Baroness von Westernach at the same
time. Crammon thought, “The old idiot!” but he persuaded Franz Lothar
and Clementine to promise to join him in Vienna. The plan succeeded;
Morini and Clementine liked each other at once. Crammon said to
her: “You have charmed him wholly.” And to him: “You have made an
ineffaceable impression on her.” Two weeks later the betrothal took
place. Clementine seemed to revive and was full of gratitude toward
Crammon. What he had planned, hardly with the purest intentions, became
an unalloyed blessing to her.
Crammon bestowed upon himself the recognition he held to be his due.
His action was as useful as any other. He said: “Be fruitful and
multiply! I shall be the godfather of your first-born. It goes without
saying that I shall celebrate that event with a solemn feast.”
Furthermore he said: “In the records of history I shall be known as
Bernard the Founder. Perhaps I am myself the remote ancestor of a race
destined to fame--a race of kings. Who can tell? In that case my far
descendants, whom God protect, will have every reason to regard me with
veneration.”
But all this was but the deceptive flash of a fleeting mood. The worm
of doubt burrowed in his mind. The future seemed black to him. He
prophesied war and revolution. He took no joy in himself or in his
deeds. When he lay in bed and the lights were out, he felt surrounded
by troops of evils; and these evils fought with one another for the
chance to lacerate him first. Then he would close his eyes, and sigh
deeply.
Fräulein Aglaia became aware of his depression, and admonished him to
pray more industriously. He thanked her for her counsel, and promised
to follow it.