On the slope of the hill behind the village Christian and Amadeus Voss
met quite by chance.
“I have been waiting for you all week,” said Voss.
“I was going to come to you to-day,” said Christian. “Won’t you walk a
little with me?”
Amadeus Voss turned and accompanied Christian. They climbed the
hill-top, and then turned toward the forest. Silently they walked side
by side. The sun shone through the boughs and everything was watery.
Remnants of snow rested on the dry foliage; the ground was slippery; on
the road the water flowed in the deep ruts. When they left the forest
the sun was just setting, the sky was greenish and pink, and when they
reached the first houses of Heptrich, twilight had fallen. On the whole
way they had not exchanged a syllable. At first Voss had deliberately
not kept step with Christian. Later they walked in a rhythmic harmony
that was like the prelude to their conversations.
“I’m hungry,” said Amadeus Voss; “there is an inn yonder. Let us go.”
They entered the guest room, which they found empty. They sat down at a
table near the oven, for the cold air had chilled them. A bar-maid lit
a lamp, and brought what they ordered. Christian, in an access of fear,
which was less only than his curiosity, thought: What will happen now?
and watched Voss attentively.
“The other day I read a moral tale in an old book,” said Amadeus, and
he used a sharpened match as a tooth-pick in a way that made Christian
tremble with nervousness. “It tells about a king, who realized that men
and things in his country were growing worse every day, and he asked
four philosophers to find out the reason. The four wise men consulted,
and then each went to one of the four gates of the city and inscribed
thereon one of the chief reasons. The first wrote: ‘Here might is
right, and therefore this land has no law; day is night, and therefore
this land has no road; conflict is flight, and therefore this land has
no honour.’ The second wrote: ‘One is two here, and therefore this
land has no truth; friend is enemy here, therefore this land has no
troth; evil is good, therefore we see no piety.’ The third wrote: ‘The
snail pretends to be an eagle, and thieves hold all power.’ The fourth
wrote: ‘The will is our counsellor, and its counsel is evil; the penny
pronounces judgment, therefore our rule is vile; God is dead, and
therefore the land is filled with sins.’”
He threw the match away, and leaned his head upon his hand. “In the
same book,” he went on, “there is yet another story, and perhaps you
will feel the connection between the two. Once upon a time the earth
opened in the midst of Rome, and a yawning abyss was seen. The gods
were questioned, and they made answer: ‘This abyss will not close
until some one has leaped into it of his own free will.’ None could
be persuaded to do that. At last a youth came and said: ‘If you will
let me live for one year according to my pleasure, then at the year’s
end I shall gladly and voluntarily plunge into the abyss.’ It was
decided that nothing should be forbidden him, and he used the women and
possessions of the Romans freely and at his pleasure. All yearned for
the moment to come when they could be rid of him. And when the year was
gone, he rode up on a noble charger, and with it leaped into the abyss,
which immediately closed behind him.”
Christian shrugged his shoulders. “It is all dark to me,” he said
moodily. “Did you really want to tell me these old tales? They have no
meaning.”
Voss laughed hoarsely to himself. “You are not nimble,” he said, “you
have not a nimble mind. Have you never felt the need of seeking refuge
in some metaphor? It is like a drug that stills pain.”
“I don’t know what you mean by that,” Christian said, and again he
heard the other’s soft laughter.
“Let us go,” said Christian and arose.
“Very well. Let us go.” Voss spoke with a morose air. And they went.