Christian and Amadeus walked across the dam toward Duinbergen.
“I have a confession to make to you, Wahnschaffe,” Amadeus Voss began.
“I’ve been gambling, playing roulette, over at Ostende.”
“I’ve heard about it,” said Christian absent-mindedly. “And, of course,
you lost?”
“The devil appeared to me,” said Amadeus, in hollow tones.
“How much did you lose?” Christian asked.
“Maybe you think it was some refined modern devil, a hallucination, or
a product of the poetic fancy,” Amadeus continued in his breathless
and strangely hostile way. “Oh, no, it was a regular, old-fashioned
devil with a goat’s beard and great claws. And he spoke to me: ‘Take
of their superfluity; clothe your sensitiveness in armour; let them
not intimidate you, nor the breath of their insolently beautiful world
drive you into the cloudy closets of your torment.’ And with his
cunning fingers he guided the little, jumping ball for me. The light of
the lamps seemed to cry, the rouge fell from the cheeks of the women,
the spittle of poisonous greed ran down the beards of the men. I won,
Christian Wahnschaffe, I won! Ten thousand, twelve thousand--I hardly
remember how much. The thousand franc notes looked like tatters of a
faded flag. There were gleaming halls, stairs, gardens, white tables,
champagne coolers, platters of oysters; and I breathed deep and lived
and was like a lord. Strange men congratulated me, honoured me with
their company, ate with me--experienced people, spick and span and
respectable. In the Hotel de la Plage my goat-footed devil finally
became transformed into a worthy symbol. He became a spider that had a
huge egg between its feet and sucked insatiably.”
“I believe you ought to go to bed and have a long sleep,” said
Christian drily. “How much did you lose in the end?”
“I have lost sleep,” Amadeus admitted. “How much I lost? About fourteen
thousand. Prince Wiguniewski advanced the money; he thought you’d
return it. He’s a very distinguished person, I must say. Not a muscle
in his face moves when he’s courteous; nothing betrays the fact that he
scents the proletarian in me.”
“I’ll straighten out the affair with him,” said Christian.
“It is not enough, Wahnschaffe,” Amadeus answered, and his voice shook,
“it is not enough!”
“Why isn’t it enough?”
“Because I must go on gambling and win the money back. I can’t remain
your debtor.”
“You will only increase your indebtedness, Amadeus. But I won’t prevent
you, if you’ll make up your mind to name a limit.”
Amadeus laughed hoarsely. “I knew you’d be magnanimous, Christian
Wahnschaffe. Plunge the thorn deeper into my wound. Go on!”
“I don’t understand you, Amadeus,” Christian said calmly. “Ask as much
money of me as you please. To be sure, I’d prefer to have you ask it
for another purpose.”
“How magnanimous again, how magnanimous!” Amadeus jeered. “But suppose
that naming a limit is just what I won’t do? Suppose I want to strip
off my beggar’s shame and become frankly a robber? Would you cast me
off in that case?”
“I don’t know what I should do,” Christian answered. “Perhaps I should
try to convince you that you are not acting justly.”
These sober and simple words made a visible impression on Amadeus
Voss. He lowered his head and, after a while, he said: “It crushes the
heart--that interval between the hopping of the little ball and the
decision of the judge. The faded bank notes rustle up, or a round roll
of gold is driven up on a shovel. I invented a system. I divided eight
letters into groups of three and five. Once I won seventeen hundred
with my system, another time three thousand. You mustn’t leave me in
the lurch, Wahnschaffe. I have a soul, too. Three and five--that’s my
problem. I’ll break the bank. I’ll break the bank thrice--ten times! It
is possible, and therefore it can be done. Can three and five withstand
a cloudburst of gold? Would Danaë repel Perseus, or would she demand
that he bring her first the head of the Gorgon Medusa?”
He fell silent very suddenly. Christian had laid an arm about his
shoulder, and this familiar caress was so new and unexpected that
Amadeus breathed deep as a child in its sleep. “Think of what has
happened, Amadeus,” said Christian. “Do think of the words you said to
me: ‘It is possible that you need me; it is certain that without you I
am lost.’ Have you forgotten so soon, dear friend?”
Amadeus started. He stood still and grasped Christian’s hands: “For the
love of God ... no one has ever spoken to me thus ... no one!”
“You will not forget it then, Amadeus?” Christian said softly.
A weakness overcame Amadeus Voss. He looked about him with unquiet
eyes, and saw a low post to which the ships’ hawsers were made fast.
He sat down on it, and buried his face in his hands. Then he spoke
through his hands: “Look you, dear brother, I am a beaten dog; that
and nothing else. I feel as though I had leaned too long against a
cold, hard, tinted church wall. The chill has remained in my very
marrow, and I struggle because I don’t want that feeling to enslave
me. Often I think I should like to love a woman. I cannot live without
love; and yet I live on without it, day after day. Always without love!
The accursed wall is so cold. I cannot and would not and must not live
without love. I am only human, and I must know woman’s love, or I shall
freeze to death or be turned to stone or utterly destroyed. Yet I am
a Christian, and it is hard for a Christian who bears a certain image
in his heart to give himself up to woman. Help me to find a woman,
brother, I beseech you.”
Christian looked out upon the dark sea. “How can I help him?” he
thought, and felt all the coldness of the world and the confusion of
mortal things.
While he stood and reflected he heard from afar across the dunes a cry,
first dulled by the distance, then nearer and clearer, and then farther
away again. It was such a cry as a man might utter, at his utmost need,
in the very face of death. Amadeus Voss also lifted his head to listen.
They looked at each other.
“We must go,” said Christian.
They hurried in the direction of the cry, but the dunes and the beach
were equally desolate. Thrice again they heard the cry in the same
fashion, approaching and receding, but their seeking and listening and
hurrying were in vain. When they were about to return Voss said: “It
was not human. It came from something in nature. It was a spirit cry.
Such things happen oftener than men believe. It summons us somewhere.
One of us two has received a summons.”
“It may be,” said Christian, smiling. His sense for reality could
accept such an interpretation of things only in jest.