The Goose Man Part 82

"The gra.s.s rises again, the desert conceals him," said the stranger. He wore an old-fas.h.i.+oned suit, a droll sort of cap, and Hessian boots. "I ought to know him," thought Daniel to himself, and began to meditate with cloudy mind.

"This is like murder, unheard-of murder," cried Benda's soul; "how can he bear it? What will he do?"

"What is there to do?" asked Daniel, expressing Benda's silent thought in audible words, and looking askew, as he walked back and forth, at the stranger who went slowly through the room over to the window in the corner. "What can human fancy find reasonable or possible after all that has happened? Nothing! Merely pine away; pine away in insanity."

"Oho," said the stranger, "that is a trifle strong."

"If he would only keep quiet," thought Daniel, tortured. "I presume you know what has happened with the woman whom I called my wife," he continued. "That I threw myself away on this vain, soulless spirit of a mirror is irrelevant. Greater men than I have walked into such nets and become entangled, ensnared. I have never cherished the delusion that I was immune to all the mockery of this earth. I believed, however, that I could scent out truth and falsehood, and differentiate the one from the other, just as the hand can tell by the feel the wet from the dry. But the connection of the one with the other, and the horrible necessity of this connection, I do not understand."

"You have been served just right," remarked the intruder with the Hessian boots. He had sat down on a chair in the corner, and looked quite friendly.

"Why?" roared Daniel, stopping.

Benda, astounded, rose to his feet. "Speak out, Daniel," he said affectionately, "unburden your soul!"

"If I only could, Friedrich, if I only could! If my tongue would only move! Or if there were some one who felt with me and could speak for me!"

"Try it; the first word is often like a spark and starts a flame."

Daniel was silent. The intruder said deliberatively: "That goes deep down to the recesses of the heart and up high to the things that are immortal."

Daniel looked over at him sharply, and saw that it was the Goose Man.

II

All effort to get Daniel to talk was in vain. Along toward midnight, Benda took leave of him. Agnes unlocked the door for him; he said to her: "Look after him; he has no one else now."

Daniel lay on the sofa with his hands crossed behind his head, and stared at the ceiling. His eyes were hot; at times he trembled and shook.

"It isn't very sociable here," said the Goose Man, "the air is full of tobacco smoke, and there is a draft coming in from that dark room."

Daniel got up, closed the door, and lay down again.

The metallic exterior of the Goose Man seemed to become flexible, somewhat as when a frozen body thaws out. "You have gone through a great deal," he continued thoughtfully. "That any one who wishes to create must also experience is clear. Experience is his mother's milk, his realm of roots; it is where the saps flow together, from which his forms and figures are developed. But there is experience and experience, and between the two there is a world of difference."

"Superfluous profundity," murmured Daniel, plainly annoyed. "To live is to have experience." He took council with himself in the attempt to devise a means by which he might get rid of the importunate chatterer.

The Goose Man again struck up his gentle laugh. He replied: "Many live, and yet do not live; suffer, and yet do not suffer. In what does guilt lie? What does it consist of? In not feeling; in not doing. The first thing for some men to do is to eradicate completely the false notions they have of what const.i.tutes greatness. For what is greatness after all? It is nothing in the world but the fulfilment of an unending circle of petty duties, small obligations."

"There is a fundamental difference between the creator and all other men," remarked Daniel, at once excited and troubled by the conversation and the turn it was taking.

"Do you appeal to, depend on, refer to music in this present case?"

asked the Goose Man, his good-natured look becoming more or less disdainful.

"In music every creation is more closely related to an unconditional exterior than is true of anything else that man gives to man," answered Daniel. "The musical genius stands nearer G.o.d than any other genius."

The Goose Man nodded. "But his fall begins one step from G.o.d's throne, and is a high and deep one. Do you know what you are? And do you really know what you are not?"

Daniel pressed his hand to his heart: "Have you ever known me to fight for evanescent laurels? Have I ever tried to feed the human race, which is a race of minors, on surrogates? Have I ever imitated the flights of Heaven with St. Vitus dance, confusing the one with the other? Have I not always acted in accord with the best, the inmost knowledge I had, and in obedience to my conscience? Was I ever a liar?"

"No, no, no!" cried the Goose Man, by way of appeasing Daniel's unrest.

He took off his cap, and laid it on his knee. "You were always sincere.

There can be no doubt about it, your heart was always in your profession. All life has streamed into your soul, and you have lived in the ivory tower. Your soul was well protected, well protected from the very beginning. It was in a position similar to that created by a swimmer who rubs his body with grease before plunging into the water.

You have suffered; the poison of the Nessus s.h.i.+rt you have worn has burned your skin, and the pain you have thereby suffered has been transformed into sweet sounds. So they all are, the creators, invulnerable and inaccessible. That is the way you picture them to yourself. Is it not true? Monsters who take up the cross of the world, and yet, grief-laden though they be, grow beyond their own fate. Such is your lot; and so do you look to-day in your forty-second year."

Daniel was not prepared for this tone of bitterness; he turned his face to the corner where the Goose Man was sitting. "I do not understand you," he said slowly. The pitiable crying of little Gottfried could be heard from the room opening out on the court, and then Agnes's quieting lullaby.

"If you only had not lived in the ivory tower!" cried the Goose Man. "If you only had been more sensitive and not so well protected! If you had only lived, lived, lived, really and truly, and near to life, like a naked man in a thicket of thorns! Life would have got the best of you, but your love would have been real, the hate you have experienced real, your misfortunes real, the lies, ridicule, and betrayal all real, and the shadows of those who have died from you would have taken on reality.

And the poison of the Nessus s.h.i.+rt would not merely have burned your skin; it would have penetrated to your very blood, it would have found its way to the deepest, most secret recesses of your heart. Your work would have been carried on and out, not in a struggle against your darkness and your limited torments of soul, a slave before men and unblessed of G.o.d. Eliminate from your mind now, forever and completely, the delusion that you have borne the sufferings of the world! You have merely borne your own sufferings, loving-loveless, altruistic-egoist, monster, man without a country that you are!"

"Who are you? What are you trying to say?" asked Daniel, automatically, falteringly, with pale lips.

"Oh, don't you see who I am? I am the Goose Man," came the reply, spoken with a loyal and devoted bow. "The Goose Man, lonesome there behind the iron fence, lonesome there on the water at the fountain, and yet situated in the middle of the Market. An insignificant being, tangible and intelligible to every one who pa.s.ses by, though a certain degree of monumentality has been ascribed to me in all these years. But I pay no attention to this ascription of greatness; I laugh at it. I give the Market, where the people come and haggle over the price of potatoes and apples, a certain degree of dignity. That is all. They see me as I stand there, always upright, under the open sky; and despite my distinguished position, they have all come to look upon me as a cousin. For a time they gave me a nickname: they called me by your name. But they had no right to do this; none at all, it seems to me. I have looked out for my geese; no one can say a thing against me."

The Goose Man laughed a quiet, inoffensive laugh; and when Daniel turned his face to the corner, the chair was empty, the strange guest had vanished.

III

But he came back. And when Daniel's mind and body were both completely broken down and he was obliged to remain in bed, his visits became regular. He sat next to Benda, for Benda had taken to calling on Daniel now every day and staying with him until late at night. But Daniel grew quieter and quieter. Sometimes he would make no reply at all to Benda's remarks or questions.

The Goose Man came in behind Dr. Dingolfinger and stood on tiptoes, as curious as curious could be, and looked over his arm when he wrote out his prescriptions. The Goose Man was a little fellow: he hardly reached up to the doctor's hips.

He hopped around Agnes when she cooked the soup and expressed his sympathy for her; she looked so pale. Though only thirteen years old, there was the worried look of a mature woman in her face; she would cast her eyes around the room as if trying to catch a glance of human love in the eyes of another person; her looks were timid and stealthy. "Some one should be caring for her too," said the Goose Man, shaking his head, "some one should be making a good, warm soup for her."

Though it would be unfair to say that the Goose Man was offensively concerned, he seemed to be interested in everything that was going on in the house. When the officials of the fire department came to cross-question Daniel about the fire, he became angry and gruff, and did not wish to let them in. "Give the poor man some rest, some peace, after all these years of suffering," he implored, "give him time to collect himself and to meditate on what has taken place." And in fact the members of the fire department left as soon as possible; they did not stay long.

The Goose Man was always in a cheerful humour, always ready for a good joke. At times he would whistle softly, and smooth out the wrinkles in his doublet. There was a certain amount of rustic shyness about him, but his affability, his good manners, and his child-like cheerfulness removed any unpleasant impression this rusticity might otherwise have made. He generally spoke the dialect of Nuremberg, though when with Daniel he never spoke anything but the most correct and chosen High German. His natural, acquired culture and the wealth of his vocabulary were really amazing.

Ten times a day at least he would scamper into the room where little Gottfried was sleeping and express his admiration for the pretty child.

"How you are to be envied to have such a living creature crawling and sprawling around in your home!" he said to Daniel. And in course of time Daniel actually came to have a new affection for the child.

As soon as the Goose Man felt perfectly at home in Daniel's house, he took to bringing his two geese along with him. He would place them very circ.u.mspectly in a corner of the room. One evening he was sitting playing with them, when the bell rang. Andreas Doderlein stormed in, and demanded that some one tell him where his daughter was.

"Upon my word and honour! An old acquaintance of mine!" said the Goose Man, laughing and blinking. "I see him nowadays in the cafe much more frequently than is good for his health."

"I must urgently request you to control yourself," said Benda, turning to Andreas Doderlein, and pointed to the bed in which Daniel was lying.

"My daughter is not a bad woman. Let people overburdened with credulity believe that she is bad," cried Doderlein, with the expression and in the tone and gesture of the royal Lear, and shook his Olympian locks.

"The fact is that violence has been practised on her; she has been driven into ruin! Men have stolen the sweet love of my dearly beloved daughter through the use of vile tricks and artifices. Where is she, the unfortunate, betrayed child? With what is she clothing her nakedness, and how is she finding food and shelter-shelter in a world of wicked men?"

A strange thing happened: the Goose Man took the gigantic arm of the Olympian, put his mouth to his beefy ear, and, with a sad and reproachful look on his face, whispered something to him. Doderlein turned red and then pale, looked down at the floor, and went away with heavy, rumbling step but silent lips. The Goose Man folded his arms across his breast, and looked at Doderlein thoughtfully.

"He is said to have taken to drinking," remarked Benda, "is said to be living a wild, dissipated life. It seems incredible to me. The Doderleins are generally content to stroll in l.u.s.t along the banks of the slimy sea of vice and let other people fall in. The Doderleins are born in false ermine, and they die in false ermine."

"And yet he is a human being," said the Goose Man, so that only Daniel could hear him.

Daniel sighed.