Pain, grief, despair, such terms do not describe his condition.
He knew nothing about himself; he had no thoughts; he lay on the sofa in
the living room day and night, ate nothing, said nothing, and never
moved.
When they carried the empty coffin into the death chamber, he burrowed
his face into the corner of the sofa. Old Jordan tottered through the
room to take a last look at his dead daughter. "He has sinned," Jordan
sobbed, "sinned against God in Heaven."
In the hall some people were whispering. Martha Ruebsam and her husband
had come in. Martha was crying. Her slender figure with her pale face
appeared in the doorway; she looked around for Daniel.
"Don't you want to see your Eleanore before the coffin is closed?" asked
Philippina in a hollow voice.
He never moved; the twitchings of his face were terrible to behold.
Beside him on the table was some cold food; also some bread and apples.
They carried the coffin out. He felt that where his heart once was there
was now a dark, empty space. The church bell rang, the rain splashed
against the window panes.
During the second night he felt his soul suddenly become incoherent,
lax. This was followed by a brief flaring up within him, whereupon his
eyes were filled with hot, burning tears. He resigned himself to the
situation without audible display of grief; he felt all of a sudden that
he had now for the first time in his life really sensed the beauty of
the pure triad in the major key.
Another day passed by. He could hear old Jordan walking about in the
room above him, ceaselessly and with heavy tread. He felt cold;
Philippina came in; he asked her to get him a blanket. Philippina was
most eager to be of service to him. The door bell rang; Philippina
opened.
Before her stood a lady and a gentleman. There was something so refined
about them that Philippina did not dare raise any objections when they
quietly came in and went straight to the living room: the door had not
been closed, and they could see Daniel lying on the sofa.
Daniel looked at them quite indifferently. Gradually he began to collect
his thoughts, to compose himself, to come to himself.
His guests were Eberhard von Auffenberg and his cousin, Sylvia von
Erfft. They were betrothed.
Taken up as he had latterly been with the marked changes and
transformations in his life, Eberhard had not heard of the death of
Eleanore until a few hours ago.
It was a rare visit. None of the three said a word. Daniel lay wrapped
in his blanket; he never moved. Finally, when his friends were about to
leave, Sylvia got up, and turning to Daniel, said: "I did not know
Eleanore, but I feel as if I had lost one of my own dear friends."
Eberhard tossed his chin in the air, turned pale, and was as silent as
the tomb.
They repeated their visit on the following day, and then on the next
day, and so on. The presence of the two people came in time to have a
beneficent effect on Daniel.