Villa Rubein, and Other Stories. Galsworthy John

cheeks and little eyes, and a big gold chain – the swine! And little Misek. It was in his room we met, with the paper peeling off the walls, and two doors with cracks in them, so that there was always a draught. We used to sit on his bed, and pull the dirty blankets over us for warmth; and smoke – tobacco was the last thing we ever went without. Over the bed was a Virgin and Child – Misek was a very devout Catholic; but one day when he had had no dinner and a dealer had kept his picture without paying him, he took the image and threw it on the floor before our eyes; it broke, and he trampled on the bits. Lendorf was another, a heavy fellow who was always puffing out his white cheeks and smiting himself, and saying: ‘Cursed society!’ And Schonborn, an aristocrat who had quarrelled with his family. He was the poorest of us all; but only he and I would ever have dared to do anything – they all knew that!”

      Christian listened with awe. “Do you mean?” she said, “do you mean, that you – ?”

      “You see! you’re afraid of me at once. It’s impossible even for you to understand. It only makes you afraid. A hungry man living on charity, sick with rage and shame, is a wolf even to you!”

      Christian looked straight into his eyes.

      “That’s not true. If I can’t understand, I can feel. Would you be the same now if it were to come again?”

      “Yes, it drives me mad even now to think of people fatted with prosperity, sneering and holding up their hands at poor devils who have suffered ten times more than the most those soft animals could bear. I’m older; I’ve lived – I know things can’t be put right by violence – nothing will put things right, but that doesn’t stop my feeling.”

      “Did you do anything? You must tell me all now.”

      “We talked – we were always talking.”

      “No, tell me everything!”

      Unconsciously she claimed, and he seemed unconsciously to admit her right to this knowledge.

      “There’s not much to tell. One day we began talking in low voices – Garin began it; he had been in some affair in Russia. We took an oath; after that we never raised our voices. We had a plan. It was all new to me, and I hated the whole thing – but I was always hungry, or sick from taking charity, and I would have done anything. They knew that; they used to look at me and Schonborn; we knew that no one else had any courage. He and I were great friends, but we never talked of that; we tried to keep our minds away from the thought of it. If we had a good day and were not so hungry, it seemed unnatural; but when the day had not been good – then it seemed natural enough. I wasn’t afraid, but I used to wake up in the night; I hated the oath we had taken, I hated every one of those fellows; the thing was not what I was made for, it wasn’t my work, it wasn’t my nature, it was forced on me – I hated it, but sometimes I was like a madman.”

      “Yes, yes,” she murmured.

      “All this time I was working at the Academie, and learning all I could… One evening that we met, Paunitz was not there. Misek was telling us how the thing had been arranged. Schonborn and I looked at each other – it was warm – perhaps we were not hungry – it was springtime, too, and in the Spring it’s different. There is something.”

      Christian nodded.

      “While we were talking there came a knock at the door. Lendorf put his eye to the keyhole, and made a sign. The police were there. Nobody said anything, but Misek crawled under the bed; we all followed; and the knocking grew louder and louder. In the wall at the back of the bed was a little door into an empty cellar. We crept through. There was a trap-door behind some cases, where they used to roll barrels in. We crawled through that into the back street. We went different ways.”

      He paused, and Christian gasped.

      “I thought I would get my money, but there was a policeman before my door. They had us finely. It was Paunitz; if I met him even now I should wring his neck. I swore I wouldn’t be caught, but I had no idea where to go. Then I thought of a little Italian barber who used to shave me when I had money for a shave; I knew he would help. He belonged to some Italian Society; he often talked to me, under his breath, of course. I went to him. He was shaving himself before going to a ball. I told him what had happened; it was funny to see him put his back against the door. He was very frightened, understanding this sort of thing better than I did – for I was only twenty then. He shaved my head and moustache and put me on a fair wig. Then he brought me macaroni, and some meat, to eat. He gave me a big fair moustache, and a cap, and hid the moustache in the lining. He brought me a cloak of his own, and four gulden. All the time he was extremely frightened, and kept listening, and saying: ‘Eat!’

      “When I had done, he just said: ‘Go away, I refuse to know anything more of you.’

      “I thanked him and went out. I walked about all that night; for I couldn’t think of anything to do or anywhere to go. In the morning I slept on a seat in one of the squares. Then I thought I would go to the Gallerien; and I spent the whole day looking at the pictures. When the Galleries were shut I was very tired, so I went into a cafe, and had some beer. When I came out I sat on the same seat in the Square. I meant to wait till dark and then walk out of the city and take the train at some little station, but while I was sitting there I went to sleep. A policeman woke me. He had my wig in his hand.

      “‘Why do you wear a wig?’ he said.

      “I answered: ‘Because I am bald.’

      “‘No,’ he said, ‘you’re not bald, you’ve been shaved. I can feel the hair coming.’

      “He put his finger on my head. I felt reckless and laughed.

      “‘Ah!’ he said, ‘you’ll come with me and explain all this; your nose and eyes are looked for.’

      “I went with him quietly to the police-station…”

      Harz seemed carried away by his story. His quick dark face worked, his steel-grey eyes stared as though he were again passing through all these long-past emotions.

      The hot sun struck down; Christian drew herself together, sitting with her hands clasped round her knees.

      X

      “I didn’t care by then what came of it. I didn’t even think what I was going to say. He led me down a passage to a room with bars across the windows and long seats, and maps on the walls. We sat and waited. He kept his eye on me all the time; and I saw no hope. Presently the Inspector came. ‘Bring him in here,’ he said; I remember feeling I could kill him for ordering me about! We went into the next room. It had a large clock, a writing-table, and a window, without bars, looking on a courtyard. Long policemen’s coats and caps were hanging from some pegs. The Inspector told me to take off my cap. I took it off, wig and all. He asked me who I was, but I refused to answer. Just then there was a loud sound of voices in the room we had come from. The Inspector told the policeman to look after me, and went to see what it was. I could hear him talking. He called out: ‘Come here, Becker!’ I stood very quiet, and Becker went towards the door. I heard the Inspector say: ‘Go and find Schwartz, I will see after this fellow.’ The policeman went, and the Inspector stood with his back to me in the half-open door, and began again to talk to the man in the other room. Once or twice he looked round at me, but I stood quiet all the time. They began to disagree, and their voices got angry. The Inspector moved a little into the other room. ‘Now!’ I thought, and slipped off my cloak. I hooked off a policeman’s coat and cap, and put them on. My heart beat till I felt sick. I went on tiptoe to the window. There was no one outside, but at the entrance a man was holding some horses. I opened the window a little and held my breath. I heard the Inspector say: ‘I will report you for impertinence!’ and slipped through the window. The coat came down nearly to my heels, and the cap over my eyes. I walked up to the man with the horses, and said: ‘Good-evening.’ One of the horses had begun to kick, and he only grunted at me. I got into a passing tram; it was five minutes to the West Bahnhof; I got out there. There was a train starting; they were shouting ‘Einsteigen!’ I ran. The collector tried to stop me. I shouted: ‘Business – important!’ He let me by. I jumped into a carriage. The train started.”

      He paused, and Christian heaved a