The Goose Man
Standing in the living room with Gertrude, Daniel's eye fell on the mask
of Zingarella; it had been decorated with rose twigs. Under the green
young leaves fresh buds shone forth; they hung around the white stucco
of the mask like so many little red lanterns. "Who did that?" he asked.
"Eleanore was here in the afternoon; she did it," replied Gertrude.
His burning eyes were riveted on the mask, when Gertrude stepped up to
him, threw her arms around him, and in the fulness of her feelings
exclaimed: "Daniel, your work was wonderful, wonderful!"
"So? Did you like it? I am glad to hear it," he said, in a tone of dry
conventionality.
"The people don't grasp it," she said gently, and then added with a
blush: "But I understand it; I understand it, for it belongs to me."
The following day he laid the score of the "Harzreise" together with the
words in a big old chest, and locked it. It was like a funeral.
XII
In the dark, winding alleys behind the city wall stand little houses
with large numbers and coloured lanterns. They are filled with a
sweetish, foul odour, and have been laboriously built up out of
dilapidated lumber-rooms. From the cracks in the closed blinds come
forth, night after night, the sounds of shrill laughter. Those who enter
are received by half-nude monsters, and are made to sit down on
monstrous chairs and sofas covered with red plush.
The citizen calls these places dens of vice. Between Friday and Sunday
he thinks with lustful horror of the inhabitants with their bloated or
emaciated bodies and the sad or intoxicated stare of their eyes.
Herr Carovius wended his way to this quarter of the city. Because it was
only a shadow which he embraced in hours when his inflamed imagination,
vitiated by all the poisons of the earth, conjured up a human body, he
was angry; now he went there, and bought himself a real human body.
After he had been in a half a dozen of these houses, had been jubilantly
greeted, and then thrown out to the accompaniment of bawdy abuse, he at
last found what he had been looking for: a creature whose cunning had
not entirely been lost, who still had the features of a daughter of man,
and whose figure and character still had the power to call up a memory,
provided one were firmly decided to see what one wished to see and to
forget what one wished to forget.
Her name was Lena, charming reminder of a desired reality! He went with
her as she left the circle of her companions, and followed her into the
wretched hole between winding stairs and attic rooms. He rattled the
coins in his pocket, and gave his orders. The nymph had to put on a
street dress, set a modest hat on her head, and draw a veil over her
rouged face. Thereupon he went up to her, spoke to her courteously, and
kissed her hand. He had never in his life acted in so polite and
chivalric a fashion in the presence of a woman.
The prostitute was frightened; she ran away. She had to be given
instructions; these were given her by the madame of the house; for Herr
Carovius was rattling the coins in his pocket. "You will have to be
patient and indulgent; we are not prepared for such refined guests
here."
He returned. Lena had been told what to do. She soon fell into her role.
"To be frank," he said to Lena, "I am inexperienced in the arts of love.
I am too proud to kowtow to the berobed and bodiced idol. A woman is a
woman, and a man is a man. They delude themselves and each other, or try
to, into believing that each woman is a special person, and each man a
man to himself. Idiocy!"
The prostitute grinned.
He walked back and forth; the room was just large enough to allow him to
take three steps. He recalled the expression on Eleanore's face during
the performance of the symphony; his greedy eyes had rested on her all
the while. He became enraged: "You don't imagine that progress can be
made by such amateurish efforts?" he said with a roar. "It is all
hocus-pocus. There is as a matter of fact no such thing as progress in
art, any more than there is progress in the course of the stars.
Listen!"
He bellowed forth the first motif from the "Sonata quasi una fantasia"
of Mozart: "Listen to this: Da--dada--da--daddaa! Is it possible to
progress beyond that? Don't let them make a fool of you, my angel. Be
honest with yourself. He has hypnotised you. He has turned your
unsuspecting heart upside down. Look at me! Are you afraid of me? I will
do all in my power for you. Give me your hand. Speak to me!"
The prostitute was obliged to stretch out her arms. He sat down beside
her with a solemn ceremoniousness. Then he removed the pin from her
hat, and laid the hat tenderly to one side. She had to lean her head on
his shoulder.
With that he fell into a dreamy meditation.
XIII
Philippina came up to Gertrude in the living room. Daniel was not at
home. Philippina was humming the latest street song, the refrain of
which ran as follows:
_Drah' di, Madel, drah' di,
Morgen kommt der Mahdi._
"There it is," said Philippina, and threw a ball of yarn on the table.
Gertrude had yielded to the girl's importunities, and was addressing her
now with the familiar "thou" and allowing Philippina to do the same in
speaking to her. "We are after all relatives, you know, Gertrude," said
Philippina.
Gertrude was afraid of Philippina; but she had thus far found no means
of defending herself against her exaggerated eagerness to help her with
the housework. And she felt in Philippina's presence what she felt in
the presence of no one else--a sense of shame at her own condition.
Philippina, in fact, saw something indecent in Gertrude's pregnancy;
when she talked to her she always held her head up and looked into
space; her action was quite conspicuous.
"Oh, but ain't people impudent," Philippina began, after she had taken a
loutish position on a chair. "The clerk over in the store asked me
whether there wasn't something up between Daniel and Eleanore. What d'ye
think of that? Fresh, yes? You bet I give him all that was coming to
him!"
The needle in Gertrude's fingers stopped moving. It was not the first
time that Philippina had made such insinuating remarks. To-day she would
come up to Gertrude, and whisper to her that Daniel was upstairs with
Eleanore; yesterday she had said in a tone of affected sympathy that
Eleanore looked so run down. Then she gave a detailed report of what
this person and that person had said; then she turned into a champion of
good morals and gentle manners, and remarked that you ought not offend
people.
Her every third word was "people." She said she knew what a faultless
character Eleanore had and how Daniel loved his wife, but people! And
after all you couldn't scratch everybody's eyes out who annoyed you with
dubious questions; if you did, there would soon be very few eyes left.
Philippina's bangs had acquired an unusual length; they covered her
whole forehead down to her eyelashes. The glances she cast at Gertrude
had on this account something especially malevolent about them. "She is
not so certain of herself and her family after all," thought Philippina,
and made a lewd gesture with her legs as she sprawled on the chair.
"You know, I think Daniel ought to be more cautious," she said with her
rasping voice. "This being together all alone for hours at a time ain't
going to do no good; no good at all, I say. And the two are always
running after each other; if it's not her, it's him. If you happen to
take 'em by surprise, they jump like criminals. It's been going on this
way for six weeks, day after day. Do you think that's right? You don't
need to put up with it, Gertrude," she said in conclusion, making a sad
attempt to look coquettish. Then she cast her eyes to the floor, and
looked as innocent as a child.
Gertrude's heart grew cold. Her confidence in Daniel was unfaltering,
but the venomous remarks made to her left her without peace of mind or
body; she could not think clearly. The very fact that such things were
being said about Daniel and Eleanore, and that words failed her to stop
them because from the very beginning she had borne it all with the
self-assurance that naturally springs from contempt for gossip, only
tended to make her grief all the more bitter.
How hollow any objection on her part would have sounded! How fatuous and
ineffective a rebuke from her would have been! Could she muzzle these
wicked, slanderous tongues by referring to the peculiarities of Daniel's
nature? Could he be expected to go to Philippina and give an account of
himself? A contemptuous smile came to her face when she pondered on such
possibilities.
And yet, why was she heart-sore? Was it because she was at last
beginning to realise that she was unloved?
Involuntarily her eyes fell on the mask; it was still covered with the
withered rose twigs. She got up and removed them. Her hand trembled as
if she were committing some evil act.
"Go home, Philippina, I don't need you any more," she said.
"Oi, it is late, ain't it? I must be going," cried Philippina. "Don't
worry, Gertrude," she said by way of consolation. "And don't complain of
me to your husband; he'll git ugly if you do. If you say anything bad
about me, there's going to be trouble here, I say. I am a perfect fool;
people git out of my way, they do. I've got a wicked mouth, I have;
there's no stopping it. Well, good night."
She rubbed her hands down over her skirt, as if she were trying to
smooth out the wrinkles; there was an element of comic caution in what
she did.
Out on the street she began to hum again:
_Drah' di, Madel, drah' di,
Morgen kommt der Mahdi._
XIV
When Daniel came home, it was late; but he sat down by the lamp in his
room and began to read Jean Paul's "Titan." In the course of time his
thoughts liberated themselves from the book and went their own way. He
got up, walked over to the piano, raised the lid, and struck a chord; he
listened with closed eyes: it seemed that some one was calling him. It
was a sultry night; the stillness was painful.
Again he struck the chord: bells from the lower world. They rang up
through the green, grey mists, each distinct and delicate. Each tone
sent forth its accompanying group like sparks from a skyrocket. Those
related by the ties of harmony joined; those that were alien fell back
and down. And up in the distant, inaccessible heights there rang out
with deceiving clarity, like the last vision of earthly perfection, the
melody of love, the melody of Eleanore.
Yet, some one was calling him; but from where? His wife? The distant,
gloomy, waiting one? He closed the piano; the echo of the noise made
thereby rebounded from the church wall through his window.
He put out the lamp, went into his bedroom, and undressed by the light
of the moon. The border of the curtain was embroidered with heavy
Vitruvian scrolls, the shadows of which were reflected on the floor;
they made jagged, goalless paths. All these lines consisted after all of
only one line.
As he lay in bed his heart began to hammer. Suddenly he knew, without
looking, that Gertrude was not asleep; that she was lying there staring
at the ceiling just as he was. "Gertrude!" he called.
From the slight rustling of the pillow he concluded that she turned her
face to him.
"Don't you hear me?"
"Yes, Daniel."
"You must give me some advice; you must help me: help me and your
sister, otherwise I cannot say what may happen."
He stopped and listened, but there was not a stir: the stillness was
absolute.
"It is at times possible to remain silent out of consideration for
others," he continued, "but if the silence is maintained too long,