The Goose Man
before my mind. It is possible that I flatter myself; it may be that I
am being cajoled by fraud and led on by visions; but it is in me, I feel
certain of it, and it must come to light. Then we shall see what sort of
creature it is. Then all my previous works will have ceased to exist;
then I will bestir myself in a public way; I will come out and be the
man that I really am. You can depend on it."
Daniel had never talked to Eleanore in this way before. As she looked at
him, overcome almost by the passion of his words, and saw him standing
there so utterly fearless, so unyielding and unpitying, her breast
heaved with a sigh, and she said: "God grant that you succeed, and that
you live to enjoy the fruits of your ambition."
"It is all a matter of fate, Eleanore," he replied.
He demanded the quartette; it was sent back to him.
From then on Eleanore suppressed even the slightest sense of discontent
that arose in her heart. She felt that he needed cruelty and harshness
for his small life in order to preserve love and patience for the great
life.
Yes, she prayed to Heaven that she might leave him harsh and cruel.
XVI
"Eleanore is my wife," said Daniel every now and then; he would even
stop in the middle of the street in order to enjoy to the full, and
preserve if possible, the blessed realisation of this fact.
He always knew it. Yet when he was with Eleanore he frequently forgot
her presence. There were days when he would pass by her as though she
were some chance acquaintance.
Then there were other days when his happiness made him sceptical; he
would say: "Is it then really happiness? Am I happy? If so, why is it
that I do not feel my happiness more fervently, terribly?"
He would frequently study her form, her hands, her walk, and wish that
he had new eyes, so that he might see her anew. He went away merely in
order that he might see her better. In the night he would take a candle,
and go up to her bed: a gentle anguish seemed to disappear from her
features, his own pulse beat more rapidly. This was caused by the
flame-blue of her eyes.
There is a point where the most demure and chaste woman differs in no
wise from a prostitute. This is the source of infinite grief to the man
who loves. No woman suspects or can understand it.
It was one day while he was brooding and musing and quarrelling without
definite reason, in the arms of his beloved, that the profound,
melancholy motif in the first movement of his symphony in D minor came
to him. This symphony gradually grew into the great vision of his life,
and, many years later, one of his women admirers gave it the modifying
title of Promethean. The first time the theme sounded in his ears he
roared like a wild beast, but with joy. It seemed to him that music was
really born at that moment.
He pressed Eleanore so tightly to his bosom that she could not breathe,
and murmured between his teeth: "There is no choice left: we have got to
remain lifeless and irresponsive to each other's presence or wound one
another with love."
"The mask, the mask," whispered Eleanore anxiously, and pointed over to
the corner from which the mask of Zingarella, with the dim light falling
on it, shone forth like the weirdly beautiful face of a spectre.
Philippina stood before the door, and listened to what they were saying.
She had caught a rat, killed it, and laid the cadaver in the door. The
next morning, as Eleanore was going into the kitchen, she saw the dead
rat, screamed, and went back to her room trembling with fright.
Daniel stroked her hair, and said: "Don't worry, Eleanore. Rats belong
to married life just as truly as salty soup, broken dishes, and holes in
the stockings."
"Now listen, Daniel, is that meant as a reproach?" she asked.
"No, my dear, it is not a reproach; it is merely a picture of the world.
You have the soul of a princess; you know nothing about rats. Look at
those black, staring, pearly eyes: they remind me of Jason Philip
Schimmelweis and Alfons Diruf and Alexander Doermaul; they remind me of
the reserved table, the _Kaffeeklatsch_, smelly feet, evenings at the
club, and everything else that is unappetising, vulgar, and base. Don't
look at me in such astonishment, Eleanore, I have just had an ugly
dream; that is all. I dreamt that a miserable-looking wretch came up to
me and kept asking me what your name is, and I couldn't tell him. Just
think of it: I could not recall your name. It was terribly annoying.
Farewell, farewell."
He had put on his hat and left. He ran out in the direction of Feucht,
and stayed the entire day in the open fields without taking a single bit
of nourishment except a piece of black bread and a glass of milk. But
when he returned in the evening his pockets were bulging with notes he
had jotted down while out there by himself.
He came back by way of the Castle, and knocked at Eberhard's door. Since
there was no one at home, he sauntered around for a while along the old
rampart, and then returned about nine o'clock. But the windows were
still dark.
He had not seen Eberhard for two months. He could still recall the
Baron's depression and worry the last time he had talked with him--it
was toward the end of March: he had spoken very little at that time and
had gazed into space with remarkably lifeless eyes. He gave the
impression of a man who is on the point of doing something quite out of
the ordinary if not distinctly terrible.
Daniel did not become aware of this until now; the Baron's troubles,
whatever they were, had not occurred to him during the past weeks; he
was sorry for having neglected him so.
XVII
When he came home Eleanore was suffering from premature birth pains.
Philippina greeted him with the words: "There is going to be an
increase in the family, Daniel." Whereat she burst out in a coarse
laugh.
"Shut up, you beast," cried Daniel: "How long has she been suffering?
Why didn't you get the nurse?"
"Can I leave the child here alone? Don't growl so!" replied Philippina
angrily. She went out for the nurse. In a half an hour she came back
with her: it was Frau Hadebusch.
Daniel had a disagreeable feeling. He wanted to raise some questions and
make some objections, but Frau Hadebusch's nimble tongue anticipated
him. She grinned, curtsied, rolled her eyes, and went through the entire
category of acquired mannerisms on the part of a woman of her type, and
then unloaded her life history: Her duly wedded husband had said
farewell to this vale of tears three years ago, and since then she had
been supporting, as well as she could, herself and her poor Henry, the
idiot, by hiring out as a midwife. She seemed already to have come to
an understanding with Eleanore, for when she entered the room, Eleanore
greeted her as though she were an old acquaintance.
While Daniel was alone with Eleanore for a few minutes, he asked her in
an indignant tone: "How did you ever come to get that vicious woman?"
Eleanore replied in a gentle and unsuspecting tone: "She came to me one
day, and asked to be called in when the child was born. She said she was
awfully fond of you, and that you had once lived in her house. Well, I
thought, what difference does it make who comes, so I engaged her, and
there she is."
It was only with the greatest difficulty that she finished saying what
was on her mind. Her face, white as a sheet, was pinched with an
expression of terrific pain. She reached for Daniel's hand, and held it
so tightly that he became rigid with anxiety.
When she began to groan, Daniel turned away and pressed his fists
together. Frau Hadebusch came in with a tub of hot water: "This is no
place for men," she exclaimed with a kindly twisting of her face, took
Daniel by the shoulder, and pushed him out the door.
Little Agnes was standing in the hall. "Father," she said.
"Put that child to bed!" said Daniel, turning to Philippina.
Jordan came out of the kitchen. He held an earthen bowl of soup in his
hand. It had been saved for him, and all he had to do was to hold it
over the fire and heat it up. He went up to Daniel, and said, as his
chin quivered: "May God protect her, and be merciful to her!"
"Quit that kind of talk, Father," said Daniel impatiently. "God rules
with reservations that make me insane."
"Won't you say good-night to little Agnes?" asked Philippina in a rude,
rough tone from the other room.
He went in; the child looked at him timidly. The more it grew, the
greater his own shyness became in its presence. And the constant
association of Eleanore with the child had always been a source of worry
to him. There was one thing of which he was mortally certain: he could
not see Eleanore in bodily form and precisely as she was, when Agnes,
with her Gertrude eyes and her arched Eleanore mouth, was present in the
room with Eleanore. He felt that Eleanore had been transformed into the
sister of Agnes, that she was still only a sister. And this he felt was
something fatal.
Both of the sisters looked at him out of Agnes's big childish eyes; in
her they were both melted and moulded into a single being. A presageful
horror crept over him. Sisters! The word had a solemn sound in his ears;
it seemed full of mysterious meaning; it took on mythical greatness.
"Sleep, baby, sleep, outside are two sheep, a black one and a white
one ..." sang Philippina in her imbecile way. It was astonishing the
amount of malevolence there was in her sing-song.
Daniel could not stand it in the house; he went out on the street, and
wandered around until midnight. If he made up his mind to go home, the
thought occurred to him at once that Frau Hadebusch would prevent him
from going into Eleanore's room. He felt like lying down on the pavement
and waiting until some one came and told him how Eleanore was getting
along.
XVIII
It struck one just as he came home. The maid from the first floor and
the maid from the second were standing on the stairs. They had not been
able to sleep; they had heard the cries of the young woman from their
rooms, had come out, joined each other, listened, trembled, and
whispered.
Daniel heard one of them say: "The Kapellmeister should send for the
doctor."
The other sobbed and replied: "Yes, but a doctor can't work miracles."
"Lord, Lord," they cried, as a nerve-racking cry from Eleanore rang
through the bleak house.
Daniel sprang up the steps. "Run for Dr. Mueller just as fast as your
feet can carry you," said Daniel to Philippina, who was then standing in
the kitchen in her bare feet with her hair hanging down her back. Daniel
was breathing heavily; Philippina was making some tea. Daniel then
hastened into Eleanore's room; Frau Hadebusch tried to keep him out, but
he pushed her to one side, gritted his teeth, and threw himself on the
floor by Eleanore's bed.
She raised her head; she was a pale as death; the perspiration was
pouring down over her face. "You shouldn't be here, Daniel, you
shouldn't see me," she said with much effort, but her tone was so
commanding and final that Daniel got up and slowly left the room. He was
seized with a strange, violent anger. He went out into the kitchen and
drank a glass of water, and then hurled the glass on the floor: it broke
into a hundred pieces.
Frau Hadebusch had followed him; she looked very much discouraged. When
he noticed the frame of mind she was in, he became dizzy; he had to sit
down in order to keep from falling. "Ah, the doctor will come," he said
in a brusque tone.
"My God, it makes you sick at the stomach to see how women suffer
to-day," said the old lady in her shrillest, one-tooth voice; it was
quite plain that she was pleased to know that the doctor was coming. The