Crammon loved the theatre and everything connected with it. When the
great Marian Wolter died, he locked himself in his house for a week,
and mourned as if for a personal bereavement.
During a stay in Berlin he heard of the early fame of Edgar Lorm. He
saw him as Hamlet, and when he left the theatre he embraced an utter
stranger and cried out: “I am happy!” A little crowd gathered.
He had meant to stay in Berlin three days but remained three months.
His connections made it easy for him to meet Lorm. He overwhelmed the
actor with gifts--costly bric-à-brac, rare books, exquisite delicacies.
Every morning, when Edgar Lorm arose, Crammon was there, and with
a deep absorption watched the actor at his morning tasks and his
gymnastic exercises. He admired his slender stature, his noble
gestures, his eloquent mimicry, and the perfection of his voice.
He took care of Lorm’s correspondence for him, interviewed agents,
got rid of unwelcome admirers of either sex. He called the dramatic
reviewers to account, and in the theatre looked his rage whenever he
thought the applause too tepid. “The beasts should roar,” he said.
During the scene in Richard II in which the king addresses the lords
from the castle wall, his enthusiasm was so great that his friend, the
Princess Uchnina, who shared his box, covered her face with her fan to
escape the glances of the public.
To him Lorm was in very truth the royal Richard, the melancholy Hamlet,
Romeo the lover, and Fiesko the rebel. His faith in the actor’s art
was boundless; his imagination was wholly convinced. He attributed to
him the wit of Beaumarchais, the eloquence of Antony, the sarcasm of
Mephistopheles, the dæmonic energy of Franz Moor. When it was necessary
for him to part, he did not conceal his grief, and from afar wrote him
at intervals a letter of adoration.
The actor accepted this worship as a tribute that differed
fundamentally from the average praise and love with which he was
beginning to be satiated.
V
Lola Hesekiel, the celebrated beauty, owed her good fortune wholly to
Crammon. Crammon had educated her and given her her place in the world
and its appreciation.
When she was but an undistinguished young girl Crammon took a trip
with her to Sylt. There they met Crammon’s friend, Franz Lothar von
Westernach. Lola fell in love with the handsome young aristocrat, and
one evening, after a tender hour, she confessed her love for the other
to Crammon. Then Crammon arose from his couch, dressed himself, went
to Franz Lothar’s room and brought the shy lad in. “My children,” he
said in the kindliest way, “I give you to each other. Be happy and
enjoy your youth.” With these words he left the two alone. And for long
neither of them quite knew how to take so unwonted a situation.