On the next night after her performance, Eva had invited several
friends to her house. She had danced the chief rôle in the new
pantomime called “The Dryads,” and her triumph had been very great. She
came home in a cloud of flowers. Later a footman brought in a basket
heaped with cards and letters.
She sank into Susan’s arms, happy and exhausted. Every pore of her
glowed with life.
Crammon said: “There may be insensitive scoundrels in the world. But I
think it’s magnificent to watch a human being on the very heights of
life.”
For this saying Eva, with graceful reverence, gave him a red rose. And
the burning in his breast became worse and worse.
It had been agreed that Christian and Denis were to have a fencing
bout. Eva had begged for it. She hoped not only to enjoy the sight, but
to learn something for her own art from the movements of the two young
athletes.
The preparations had been completed. In the round hall hung with
tapestries, Christian and Denis faced each other. Eva clapped her
hands and they assumed their positions. For a while nothing was heard
except their swift, muffled, and rhythmical steps and the clash of
their foils. Eva stood erect, all eye, drinking in their gestures.
Christian’s body was slenderer and more elastic than the Englishman’s.
The latter had more strength and freedom. They were like brothers of
whom one had grown up in a harsh, the other in a mild climate; the
one self-disciplined and upheld by a long tradition of breeding, the
other cradled in tenderness and somewhat uncertain within. The one was
all marrow, the other all radiance. In virility and passion they were
equals.
Crammon was in the seventh heaven of enthusiasm.
When the combat was nearly at an end, Cornelius Ermelang appeared, and
with him Ivan Michailovitch Becker. Eva had asked Ermelang to read a
poem. He and Becker had known each other long, and when he had found
the Russian walking to and fro near the gate he had simply brought
him up. It was the first time that Ivan showed himself to Eva’s other
friends.
Both were silent and sat down.
Christian and Denis had changed back to their usual garments, and now
Ermelang was to read. Susan sat down near Becker and observed him
attentively.
Cornelius Ermelang was a delicate creature and of a repulsive ugliness.
He had a steep forehead, watery blue eyes with veiled glances, a
pendulous nether lip, and a yellowish wisp of beard at the extreme end
of his chin. His voice was extraordinarily gentle and soft, and had
something of the sing-song rhythm of a preacher’s.
The name of the poem was “Saint Francis and Why Men Followed Him,” and
its content was in harmony with the traditions and the writings.
Once upon a time Saint Francis was tarrying in the convent of
Portiuncula with Brother Masseo of Marignano, who was himself a very
holy man and could speak beautifully and wisely concerning God. And
for this reason Saint Francis loved him greatly. Now one day Saint
Francis returned from the forest where he had been praying, and just
as he emerged from the trees Brother Masseo came to meet him and said:
“Why thee rather than another? Why thee?” Saint Francis asked: “What
is the meaning of thy words?” Brother Masseo replied: “I ask why all
the world follows thee, and why every man would see thee and listen
to thee and obey thee. Thou art not goodly to look upon, nor learned,
nor of noble blood. Why is it that all the world follows thee?” When
Saint Francis heard this he was glad in his heart, and he raised his
face to Heaven and stood without moving for a long space, because his
spirit was lifted up to God. But when he came to himself again, he
threw himself upon his knees and praised and thanked God, and full of
a devout passion turned to Brother Masseo and spoke: “Wouldst thou
know why they follow me, and me always, and me rather than another?
This grace has been lent to me by the glance of Almighty God Himself
which rests on the good and the evil everywhere. For His holy eyes saw
among the sinners on earth none who was more wretched than I, none
who was less wise and able, nor any who was a greater sinner. For the
miraculous work that He had it in His heart to bring about He found no
creature on earth so mean as I. And therefore did He choose me to put
to shame the world with its nobility and its pride and its strength and
its beauty and its wisdom, in order that it might be known that all
power and goodness proceed from Him alone and from no created thing,
and that no one may boast before His face. But whoever boast, let him
boast in the Lord.” And Brother Masseo was frightened at this answer,
which was so full of humility and spoken with such fervour.
And the poem related how Brother Masseo went into the forest out of
which Saint Francis had come, and how tones as of organ music came from
the tops of the trees and formed more and more clearly the question:
Wouldst thou know why? Wouldst thou know? And he cast himself upon the
earth, upon the roots and stones, and kissed the roots and stones and
cried out: “I know why! I know why!”