It was an overcast day and rain was falling in a fine drizzle. The
Princess continued to cough and was alternately hot and cold, but she
could not stay in bed. Impatiently she awaited Prokop’s answer. She
looked out of the window to see if he might be coming, and again sent
for Paul. The answer was always the same: Mr. Prokop was walking up and
down his room. And did he say anything? No, nothing. She dragged herself
from one wall to the other and then sat down again, rocking her body to
and fro to calm her feverish anxiety. Oh, it was too much to be borne!
Suddenly she began to write to him a long letter, entreating him to marry
her, and saying that he must not give up a single one of his secrets,
that she would enter his life and be faithful to him, whatever might
happen. “I love you so much,” she wrote, “that there is no sacrifice
which is too great for me to make for you. Test me, remain poor and
unknown; I will follow you as your wife and never be able to return to
the world which I left. I know that you only love me a little and that
with a small part of your heart; but you will get used to me. I have
been proud, wicked and passionate; now all is changed, all my familiar
surroundings are strange to me, I have ceased to be——” She read the
letter through and then tore it into pieces, moaning softly. It was
evening. There were still no news of Prokop.
Perhaps he will come without announcing himself, she thought, and in
impatient haste she put on her evening clothes, terribly agitated. She
stood in front of her mirror and examined herself with burning eyes,
horribly dissatisfied with her clothes, the way her hair was dressed, and
everything possible. She covered her heated face with a thick layer of
powder, and bedecked herself with jewels. But she seemed to herself to be
ugly, impossible and awkward. “Hasn’t Paul come?” she asked every moment.
At last he arrived: Nothing new; Mr. Prokop was sitting in darkness and
had not ordered the lights to be lit.
It was already late and the Princess, utterly exhausted, was sitting in
front of her glass. The powder was peeling off her burning cheeks, she
looked positively grey and her hands were numb. “Undress me,” she ordered
her maid weakly. The fresh, sturdy girl took off one ornament after
another, loosened her clothes and wrapped her in a diaphanous _peignoir_.
Just as she was about to begin combing the loose hair of the Princess,
Prokop burst into the room, unannounced.
The Princess recoiled and became even more pale. “Go, Marie,” she
breathed and drew the _peignoir_ over her thin chest. “Why ... have you
come?”
Prokop leaned against a cupboard, his face pale and his eyes bloodshot.
“So,” he said through his teeth, “that was your plan, eh? You arrange
things for me nicely!”
She stood up as if she had been given a blow: “What—what are you
saying?” Prokop ground his teeth. “I know what I’m saying. The idea was
that ... that I should give you Krakatit, eh? They’re getting ready for a
war, and you, you,” he cried, “you are their tool! You and your love! You
and your marriage, you spy! And I—I was to be lured into it so that you
could kill, so that you could avenge yourselves——”
She sank into a chair with her eyes wide open with horror; her whole body
was shaken by a terrible dry sob. He wanted to throw himself upon her,
but she prevented him with a movement of her frozen hand.
“Who are you?” Prokop ground out. “You are a princess? Who persuaded you
to this? Do you realize, you worthless creature, that you would have
killed thousands and thousands of men, that you would have helped them
to destroy cities, and that our world, our world and not yours, would
have been obliterated! Obliterated, smashed to fragments, wiped out! Why
did you do it?” he cried, and fell on his knees and crawled towards her.
“What did you want to do?”
She raised to him a face full of horror and aversion and edged away from
him. He bent his face over the spot where she had been sitting and began
to cry with the heavy, crude sobs of a raw youth. She would have knelt
next to him, but controlled the impulse to do so and retreated still
further, pressing her convulsively twisted fingers to her breast. “So,”
she whispered, “this is what you think?”
Prokop was being suffocated by the weight of his pain. “Do you know,”
he cried, “what war is? Do you know what Krakatit is? Have you never
realized that I’m a man? And that—I have a contempt for you! That is why
I was good to you! And if I had given up Krakatit it would all have been
over; the Princess would have gone away, and I——” He sprang up, beating
his head with his fists. “And to think that I wanted to do it! A million
lives for the sake of—no, two million dead! Ten million dead! That—that
for the sake of a marriage with a princess, eh? To lower oneself so far
for that! I was mad! Aa-ah!” he roared, “I loathe you!”
He was terrible, like some monster, with froth on his lips, swollen face
and the eyes of a madman. She pressed herself to the wall, deathly pale,
with staring eyes and lips twisted with horror.
“Go,” she wailed, “go away!”
“Don’t be afraid,” he said hoarsely, “I shan’t kill you. I always loathed
you; even when—even when you were mine, I was horrified and didn’t
believe you even for an instant. And yet, yet I—I shan’t kill you. I—know
quite well what I’m doing. I—I——” He looked round, picked up a bottle of
_eau de Cologne_, poured a generous quantity of it over his hands and
rubbed it on his forehead. “Aha!” he cried, “aha-ha! Don’t—be afraid!
No—no——”
He calmed down a little, sat down on a chair and put his face in his
hands. “Now,” he began hoarsely. “Now, now we must talk, eh? You see
that I’m quiet. Not even ... not even my fingers are trembling....”
He stretched out his hand to show her, but it trembled so that it was
frightful to look at it. “We can ... undisturbed, eh? I’m quite calm
again. You can dress. Now ... your uncle told me that ... that I’m
obliged ... that it’s a question of honour for me to make it possible for
you ... to repair your slip and that I must ... simply must ... earn the
right to a title ... sell myself, and pay for the sacrifice which you——”
She got up deathly pale and wanted to say something. “Wait,” he
interrupted her. “I haven’t yet— You all thought ... and have your own
ideas about honour. But you made a terrible mistake. I’m not a nobleman.
I’m ... the son of a cobbler. That doesn’t matter much, but ... I’m a
pariah, you understand? An absolutely commonplace person. I haven’t any
honour. You can drive me away like a thief or send me off to a fortress.
I won’t give it up. I won’t give Krakatit up. You may think ... that I’m
base. You can tell them ... what I think about war. I was in the war ...
and I saw poison gases ... and know what people are capable of. I won’t
give up Krakatit. Why should I trouble to explain it all to you? You
won’t understand me; you’re simply a Tartar princess and too lofty.... I
only want to tell you I won’t give it up and I humbly thank you for the
honour—incidentally, I’m engaged already; I certainly don’t know her, but
I’ve betrothed myself to her—that’s my baseness again. I’m sorry that ...
I’m not worthy of your sacrifice.”
She stood as if petrified, digging her nails into the wall. It was
painfully quiet. He got up slowly and heavily: “Have you anything to say?”
“No,” she said quietly and her large eyes continued to gaze into the
distance. She looked exquisitely young and tender in her _peignoir_; he
would have knelt down and kissed her trembling knees.
He approached her, wringing his hands. “Princess,” he said in a
controlled voice, “now they’ll take me away as a spy or something of the
sort. I shan’t try to defend myself. I am prepared for whatever happens.
I know that I shall never see you again. Have you anything to say to me
before I leave?”
Her lips trembled, but she said nothing. Oh God! why was she staring like
that into the distance?
He drew near her. “I loved you,” he said, “I loved you more than I am
able to say. I am a base and rough man, but I can tell you that ... that
I loved you differently.... I took you ... and held on to you through
fear that you might not be mine, that you would escape me; I wanted to
make sure; I could never believe it; and so I——” Not realizing what he
was doing, he placed his hand on her shoulder; she trembled under the
thin _peignoir_. “I loved you ... desperately....”
She turned her eyes on him. “Darling,” she whispered and her pale face
was flushed for a moment. He bent down and kissed her trembling lips; she
made no resistance.
“What,” he ground his teeth, “I love you now?” With rough hands he tore
her from the wall and enveloped her in his embrace. She struggled as if
she were mad, so powerfully that if he had released his grip she would
have fallen on the floor. He held her more closely, staggering himself
through her desperate resistance. She writhed with clenched teeth and
hands pressed convulsively against his chest; her hair fell over her
face and she bit it to prevent herself shrieking and tried to push him
away as if she was having an attack of epilepsy. It was incredible and
horrible; he was conscious of only one thing: that he must not let her
fall on the ground and that he must avoid knocking any chairs over. What
... what would he do if she evaded him? He would sink through the earth
for shame. He drew her to him and buried his lips in her tangled hair; he
encountered a burning forehead. She turned away her head with revulsion
and tried still more desperately to free herself of the iron grip of his
arms.
“I’ll give up Krakatit,” he heard his own voice say, to his horror. “I’ll
give it up, you hear? I’ll give up everything! A war, a new war, millions
of dead. It’s all the same to me. Do you want me to? Say one word—I’m
telling you, that I’ll give up Krakatit! I swear that I’ll ... I love
you, do you hear? What ... whatever happens! Even ... even if I had to
destroy the whole world—I love you!”
“Let me go,” she wailed, struggling.
“I can’t,” he groaned, his face buried in her hair. “I’m the most
miserable man on earth. I’m a traitor to the whole world. To the whole
human race. Spit in my face, but don’t dr—drive me away! Why can’t I let
you go? I’ll give you Krakatit, you hear? I’ve sworn to; but then forget
me! Where—where’s your mouth? I’m a monster, but kiss me! I’m lost——”
He swayed as if he were about to fall and now she could slip out of his
grasp. He stretched out his arms vaguely and she threw the hair back from
her face and offered him her lips. He took her in his arms, quiet and
passive, and kissed her closed lips, her burning cheeks, her neck, her
eyes; he was sobbing hoarsely and she made no effort to defend herself.
Then he grew frightened by her motionless passivity, let her go and drew
back. She staggered, passed her hand over her forehead, smiled weakly—and
put her arms round his neck.