It was two o’clock at night when Christian got up from the table in
Karen’s room and closed his books. He went to the sofa to lie down as
he was. Toward evening Karen had been seized by a violent fever. The
woman physician to whom Ruth had appealed had been there at noon, and
had spoken of tuberculosis of the bones.
Curled up in a wooden chair by the oven lay a small, white cat. She
had run in a few days before, and had made herself at home since no
one drove her out. Christian had always disliked cats intensely. He
stopped a moment and considered whether he shouldn’t drive the cat out.
Observing the animal he reconsidered.
Ruth, little Ruth.... The words ran through his head.
Karen slept heavily. On her dim face the muscles were taut. A dream
raged behind her forehead. In her throat a fearful cry was gathering.
A dream! She stood in front of a barn which had a little window in
its slanting roof. A man and a woman had just disappeared through
that window. She knew their purpose at once. In the darkness,
half-invisible, stood two lads, and it enraged the dreamer that the
lads were eagerly listening. She herself was tormented by the sensual
envy and hatred that arises in people when they see others in the
throes of passion. Her blood tingled and her heart throbbed. Suddenly
the barn seemed to have swung around, or she to have insensibly changed
her station. The barn was open; one whole wall had disappeared. But the
couple were not above, where they had entered; they were down in the
depths. The man was fully clothed, but nothing was visible of the woman
except her black stockings in the straw. From them both streamed forth
something unspeakably disgustful--a heated, sweetish air. The two lads,
as though seized by St. Vitus’ dance, hurled themselves at each other.
Then Karen felt her bodily personality dissolve. She was no longer
Karen; she was that sensual miasma, she was the woman with the man.
She lost herself in the straw, in its reddish-brown light, in those
black stockings; and as she lay there, her body swelled and expanded
and became a gelatinous, greyish-yellow ball, and reached even to the
roof of the barn. Then the ball became transparent, and she saw within
it lizards and toads and tiny, scarlet horses, on which tiny horsemen
were riding, and soldiers and spiders and worms, a loathsome swarm. The
horrible passions that penetrated everything turned into a throttling
torment. The ball burst. A corpse fluttered about like charred paper. A
white shadow expanded. Karen gave a shriek, and started from her sleep.
Her first gesture was to grasp the pearls.
Christian went up to the bed.
She murmured wildly: “Are you still here? What are you doing?”
He gave her water to drink. “I’ve been dreaming,” she said, and touched
the glass with trembling lips. The elements of her dream were already
dissolving in her mind and escaping a formulation in speech. But the
sense of that dream’s frightfulness increased; in the depth of her
consciousness flickered the terror of death.
“I’ve been dreaming,” she repeated and shook. After a while she asked:
“Why are you up so late? What did you do all day that you’ve got to
work till late at night? Why do you work so hard? Tell me!”
He shook his head and the words, “Ruth, little Ruth,” passed through
his head. “Didn’t your mother visit you to-day?” he asked, and smoothed
her pillows.
“Tell me what you’ve been doing all day!” she persisted.
“In the forenoon I went to lectures.” “And then?” “Then I went to
see Botho Thüngen, who was very anxious to talk something over with
me.” “And then?” “Then I went to court with Lamprecht and Jacoby. A
servant girl in Kurfürsten Street gave birth to a child and strangled
it to death immediately after birth.” “Did they send her up?” “She was
condemned to five years in the penitentiary. Her counsel took us to
her, and Lamprecht talked to her. She was half-clad, and kept staring
at me.” “And where were you then?” “I went to meet Amadeus Voss. He
wrote me.” “Did he ask you for money?” “No, he begged me to come and
meet Johanna Schöntag in his room.” “Who is she?” “An old friend.”
“What does she want of you?” “I don’t know.” “And then?” “Then I came
back by way of Moabit and Plötzensee.” “On foot? All that distance? And
then?” “Then I came here.” “But you didn’t stay!” “I went over to see
Ruth.” “Why do you always go to see the Jewess?” Karen murmured, and
her face was sombre. “Give me your hand,” she suddenly said roughly,
and stretched out her right hand, while her left clawed itself into
the pearls under the coverlet. She had hurt her left hand. When the
widow Engelschall had been there she had dug her nails into her own
palm, so convulsively had she grasped her treasure.
The widow Engelschall had written a blackmailing letter to Privy
Councillor Wahnschaffe, and had read it to Karen. Niels Heinrich had
stolen two thousand marks; the money had to be found or he would be
apprehended. In the letter she had shamelessly demanded ten thousand.
Karen had tried to prevent her mother from sending the letter, and the
old woman had raised a terrible outcry.
Karen thought it was almost pleasant to be ill. But why did he not give
her his hand?
The little cat had jumped from the chair. With tail erect she stood in
front of Christian, and blinked her eyes and mewed very softly. She
seemed undecided, then suddenly took heart and jumped on his knee. For
a moment he struggled with his old aversion. Then the soft white fur
and the grace of the little body tempted him. Timidly he touched the
little animal’s head and back, and bent over it and smiled. The kitten
pleased him.
“What’ve you done with my child?” Karen had asked her mother. The
answer had been a rowdy laugh. If he knew that she had asked after her
child, perhaps he would look at her more kindly. But she could not tell
him; and the memory of the old woman’s laughter had left a dread.
For a while she held out her hand dumbly. Then she let it fall, and
folded back the covers and crept out of bed. She whimpered strangely.
Sitting on the edge of the bed opposite Christian, she had an icy
stare and went on whimpering. One could scarcely hear her words. “He
don’t touch a person’s hand,” she whispered. Barefoot, in her long
night-dress, with bowed back she crawled to the oven, crouched down
beside it, hid her head in her hands and howled.
With increasing astonishment Christian had observed her behaviour.
The kitten had snuggled into his hands and purred and thrust her rosy
little nozzle against his breast. This awakened a sense of pleasure
in him such as he had not felt for long, and he wished secretly that
he could be alone with the little beast and play with it. But Karen’s
doings horrified him. He got up, carrying the kitten with him, and went
to Karen and kneeled down beside her. He asked her what ailed her, and
begged her to return to bed. She paid no attention to his words, but
writhed there on the floor and howled.
And it was chaos that was howling there.