Thereupon they went from that room together, without having exchanged
another word.
The pawnbroker Grünbusch had already closed his shop. Niels Heinrich
sought another whom he knew to be reliable. He left Christian in the
street while he slipped into a dirty vault. He had torn one pearl from
the string, just one, to serve as a sample for the present. After the
old rascal who kept the shop had tested and weighed the pearl exactly,
he gave Niels Heinrich fifteen hundred marks. The money was partly
in bank-notes and partly in gold. He scarcely counted it. He stuffed
the coins into one pocket; the notes crackled as he crushed them into
another.
“Give him? What does he think I can give him?” He brooded. “Maybe he
smells a rat, and suspects that I stole the pearls. Does he mean that?
Does he want me to give them to him?”
When he reached the street again, and saw that Christian had waited
patiently and without suspicion, he merely made a wry face; and he
continued silently by the other’s side. Dumbfounded, he bore the heavy
weight of Christian’s continued presence; he could not imagine what
would come of it.
But the man’s weeping was still in his ears and in his limbs. A cold,
clear stillness filled the air of night, yet everywhere rustled the
sound of that weeping. The streets through which they passed were
nearly empty, yet in them was that weeping embodied in the whitish
mist. In the walls and balconies of the houses to the right and to the
left, it lifted up its treacherous voice--this weeping of a man.
He dared not think. Beside him went one who knew his thoughts. A rope
was about him, and he could move only so far as that other permitted.
Who is he? The question went through and through him. He tried to
remember his name, but the name had slipped from his mind. And all
that this man, this suddenly nameless man, had said to him, whirled up
within him like sparks of fire.
They had reached their goal at the end of half an hour. Gottlieb’s Inn
was a drinking place for workingmen and small shopkeepers. It contained
quite a number of rooms. First one entered the restaurant proper, which
was filled with guests all night. Its chief attraction consisted in a
dozen pretty waitresses, as well as twenty to thirty other ladies,
who smiled and smoked and lounged in their provocative costumes on the
green plush sofas, waiting for victims. Adjoining the restaurant there
were a number of cell-like private dining-rooms for couples. Beyond
these was a longish, narrow hall, which was rented out for parties
or to clubs, or in which gambling took place. The decoration of the
rooms corresponded to the quarter and its taste. Everything was gilt;
everywhere were pretentious sculptures of stucco. There were tall
pillars that were hollow and supported nothing, but blocked one’s path.
The walls were covered with paintings that had been the latest thing
the day before yesterday. Everything was new, and everything was dirty
and touched with decay.
Niels Heinrich went in through the swinging door, looked about dazzled
by the light, lurched past the tables, went into the passage that led
to the little private rooms, came back, stared into the painted faces
of the girls, called the head-waiter, and said he wanted to go into the
long hall at the rear, wanted the hall for the whole evening, in fact,
no matter what it cost. Twenty quarts of Mumm’s Extra Dry were to be
put on ice. He drew forth three one hundred mark bank-notes, and tossed
them contemptuously to the head-waiter. That cleared the situation. The
functionary in question had a mien at once official and ingratiating.
Two minutes later the hall was festively lit.
The women appeared, and young men who were parasites by trade, corrupt
boys who looked like consumptive lackeys, clerks out of a berth in
loud, checked clothes--doubtful lives with a dark past and a darker
future. At Gottlieb’s Inn there was never any lack of such. Cordially
they insisted on their long friendship for the giver of the feast. He
remembered not one, but turned no one away.
He sat at the centre of the long table. He had pushed his hat far back
on his head and crossed his legs and gritted his teeth. His face was
as white as the cloth on the table. Impudent songs were sung; they
crowed and cried and screeched and giggled and joked and guzzled and
wallowed and smacked each other; foul stories were told and boastful
experiences; they mounted on chairs and smashed glasses. In half an
hour the bacchanal destroyed all sobriety and reserve. It wasn’t often
that a man dropped in, as from the clouds, fairly dripping with money.
Niels Heinrich presided icily. From time to time he called out his
commands: “Six bottles! A chocolate cake! Nine bottles Veuve Cliquot!
A tray of pastry!” The commands were swiftly obeyed, and the company
yelled and cheered. A black-haired woman put an arm about his shoulder.
Brutally he thrust her back, but she made no complaint. A fat woman,
excessively rouged and décolletée, held a goblet to his lips.
Rancorously he spat into it, and the applause rattled about him.
He did not drink. On the wall immediately opposite him was a gigantic
mirror. In it he saw the table and the roisterers. He also saw the red
drapery that covered the wall behind him. He also saw several little
tables that stood against the drapery. They were unoccupied, save that
Christian sat at one. So through the mirror Niels Heinrich gazed across
and shyly observed that alienated guest, whose silent presence had at
first been noticed, but had now been long forgotten.
At Niels Heinrich’s left four men played at cards. They attracted a
public and sympathizers. From time to time Niels Heinrich threw a
couple of gold pieces on the table. He lost every stake; but always at
the same moment he threw down more gold.
He looked into the mirror and saw himself--colourless, lean, withered.
He threw down a hundred mark note. “Small stakes, big winnings!” he
boasted. A few of the spectators got between him and the mirror. “Out
of the way!” he roared. “I want to see that!” Obediently they slunk
aside.
He looked into the mirror and beheld Christian, who sat there straight
and slender, stirless and tense.
He threw down two more bank notes. “They’ll bring back others,” he
murmured.
And when he looked into the mirror again, he saw a vision in it. It was
a human trunk, a virginal body, radiant with an earthly and also with
another, with an immortal purity. The scarcely curving breasts with
their rosy blossoms had a sweet loveliness of form that filled him with
dread and with pain. It was only the trunk: there was no head; there
were no limbs. Where the neck ended there was a ring of curdled blood;
the dark triangle revealed its mystery below.
Niels Heinrich got up. The chair behind him clattered to the floor. All
were silent. “Out with you!” he roared. “Out! Out!” With swinging arms
he indicated the door.
The company rose frightened. A few lingered; others thronged toward
the door. Beside himself, Niels Heinrich grasped the chair, lifted it
far above his head, and stormed toward the loiterers. They scattered;
the women screamed and the men growled. Only the gamblers had remained
seated, as if the whole incident did not concern them. Niels Heinrich
swept with his hand across the tablecloth, and the cards flew in all
directions. The gamblers jumped up, determined to resist; but at the
sight of their adversary they backed away from him, and one by one
strolled from the hall. Immediately thereafter the head-waiter, with a
look of well-bred astonishment, came in and presented his bill. Niels
Heinrich had sat down on the edge of the table with his back toward the
mirror. A thin foam clung to his lips.
He paid the reckoning. The amount of his tip assuaged the deprecation
and surprise of the head-waiter. He asked whether the gentleman had
any further commands. Niels Heinrich answered that he wanted to drink
alone now. He ordered a bottle of the best and some caviare. One of the
doll-like waitresses hastened in with the bottle and opened it. Niels
Heinrich emptied a glassful greedily. At the food he shuddered. He
ordered the superfluous lights to be turned out; he didn’t need so much
light. All but a few of the incandescent lamps were darkened, and the
hall grew dim. The door was to be closed, he commanded further, and no
one was to enter unless he rang. Again he threw gold on the table. He
was obeyed in everything.
Suddenly it grew still.
Niels Heinrich still sat on the edge of the table.
Christian said: “That took a long time.”