Daniel saw that he could not stay to be a burden to his mother with her
small resources. She was poor and dependent on the judgment of a
tyrannical kinsman. Mastering his passionate impulses, he forced himself
to cool reflection and made a plan. He would have to work and earn so
much money that after a year or more he would be able to go to Andreas
Doederlein and remind him of his magnanimous offer. So he studied the
advertisements in the papers and wrote letters of application. A printer
in Mannheim wanted an assistant correspondent. Since he agreed to take
the small wage offered, he was summoned to that city. Marian gave him
his railway fare.
He endured the torment for three months. Then it grew unbearable. For
seven months he slaved for an architect in Stuttgart, next four months
for the municipal bath in Baden-Baden, finally for six weeks in a
cigarette factory in Kaiserslautern.
He lived like a dog. In terror of having to spend money, he avoided all
human intercourse. He was unspeakably lonely. Hunger and self-denial
made him as lean as a rope. His cheeks grew hollow, his limbs trembled
in their sockets. He patched his own clothes, and to save his shoes
hammered curved bits of iron to the heels and toes. His aim sustained
him; Andreas Doederlein beckoned in the distance.
Every night he counted the sum he had saved so far. And when at last,
after sixteen months of self-denial, he had a fortune of two hundred
marks, he thought he could risk the fateful step. As he reckoned and
according to his present standard of life, he thought that this money
would last him five months. Within that period new sources might open.
He had come to know many people and had experienced many circumstances,
but in reality he had known no one and experienced nothing, for he had
stood in the world like a lantern with a covered light. With an enormous
expenditure of energy he had restrained his mind from its native
activity. He had throttled it for the sake of its future. Hence his
whole soul had now the temperature of a blast furnace.
On his trip his fare was the accustomed one of dry bread and cheese. He
had made a package of his few books and his music, and had despatched it
in care of the railway station in Nuremberg. It was early spring. In
fair weather he slept in the open. When it rained he took refuge in
barns. A little bundle was his pillow and his ragged top-coat shielded
him from frost. Not rarely farmers received him in kindly fashion and
gave him a meal. Now and then a tramping apprentice joined him. But his
silence did not invite companionship.
Once in the neighbourhood of Kitzingen he came upon a high fenced park.
Under a maple tree in the park sat a young girl in a white dress reading
a book. A voice called: "Sylvia!" Thereupon the girl arose, and with
unforgettable grace of movement walked deeper into the garden.
And Daniel thought: Sylvia! A sound as though from a better world. He
shuddered. Was it to be his lot to stand without a gate of life that
gave everything to the eyes and nothing to the hands?
X
He sought out Andreas Doederlein at once. He was told that the professor
was not in town. Two weeks later he stood once more before the old
house. He was told that the professor could not be seen to-day. He was
discouraged. But out of loyalty to his cause he returned at the end of
three days and was received.
He entered an overheated room. The professor was sitting in an arm
chair. On his knees was his little, eight-year-old daughter; in his
right arm he held a large doll. The white tiles of the stove were
adorned with pictured scenes from the Nibelungen legend; table and
chairs were littered with music scores; the windows had leaded panes; in
one corner there was a mass of artfully grouped objects--peacocks'
feathers, gay-coloured silks, Chinese fans. This combination was known
as a Makart bouquet, and represented the taste of the period.
Doederlein put the little girl down and gave her her doll. Then he drew
himself up to the fulness of his gigantic stature, a process that gave
him obvious pleasure. His neck was so fat that his chin seemed to rest
on a gelatinous mass.
He seemed not to recall Daniel. Cues had to be given him to distinguish
this among his crowded memories. He snapped his fingers. It was a sign
that his mind had reached the desired place. "Ah, yes, yes, yes! To be
sure, to be sure, my dear young man! But what do you suppose? Just now
when all available space is as crowded as a street strewn with crumbs is
crowded with sparrows. We might take the matter up again in autumn. Yes,
in autumn something might be done."
A pause, during which the great man gave inarticulate sounds of profound
regret. And was the young man, after all, so sure of a genuine talent?
Had he considered that art was becoming more and more an idling place
for the immature and the shipwrecked? It was so difficult to tell the
sheep from the goats. And finally, granting talent, how was the young
man equipped in the matter of moral energy? There, indisputably, the
core of the problem was to be sought. Or didn't he, perhaps, think so?
As through a fog Daniel observed that the little girl had approached him
and looked him over with a curiously cold and testing glance. Almost he
was impelled to stretch out his hand and cover the eyes of the child,
whose manner was uncanny to him through some ghostly presentiment.
"I'm truly sorry that I can't give you a more encouraging outlook."
Andreas Doederlein's voice was oily, and showed a conscious delight in
its own sound. "But as I said, there's nothing to be done until autumn.
Suppose you leave me your address. Put it down on this slip. No? Well,
quite as you wish. Good-bye, young man, good-bye."
Doederlein accompanied him to the door. Then he returned to his daughter,
took her on his knee, picked up the doll, and said: "Human beings, my
dear Dorothea, are a wretched set. If I were to compare them to sparrows
on the road, I should be doing the sparrows but little honour. Heavens
and earth! Wouldn't even write his name on a slip of paper. Felt hurt!
Well, well, well. What funny creatures men are. Wouldn't leave his name.
Well, well."
He hummed the Walhalla motif, and Dorothea, bending over her doll,
coquettishly kissed the waxen face.
Daniel, standing in front of the house, bit his lips like a man in a
fever who does not want his teeth to rattle. Why, the depth of his soul
asked him, why did you sit in their counting-houses and waste their
time? Why did you crucify your body and bind my wings? Why were you deaf
to me and desirous of gathering fruits where there are only stones? Why
did you, like a coward, flee from your fate to their offices and
ware-houses and iron safes and all their doleful business? For the sake
of this hour? Poor fool!