example.'
He began his next lecture with the information that he had decided to go away, that someone else would take his place. He glimpsed Hilde in one of the back rows in a deliberately unpretentious coat. What a masquerade, he thought angrily. He felt responsible for her presence. He felt it as a betrayal committed against those he was addressing. He began to read out the leading article of a bourgeois newspaper. It was an account of the determination of the Central Powers to safeguard the peace of the world, and of the strivings of this very world towards the conflagration of war. He produced a Russian, a French, an English newspaper and demonstrated to his audience that they all wrote the same. The lamp hung low over the lectern at which he stood and dazzled him. When he wanted to survey the small room, he saw the walls as a grey obscurity. They lost their solidity. They receded even further, like veils dispersed by the ring of his words. The faces that shone towards him out of the darkness multiplied tenfold. He listened attentively to his own voice, the ringing resonance of his speech. He stood there as if on the verge of a darkling sea. His best words were derived from the expectancy of his listeners. It seemed to him as if he spoke and listened at the same time, as if he said things and at the same time suffered things to be said to him, as if he were resonant and simultaneously heard the resonance.
There was a moment's quietness. The quietness was an answer. It sanctioned his authority like a seal of silence.
When he got down from the platform, Hilde had disappeared. He was annoyed at having looked for her. A few persons pressed his hand and wished him a good journey.
12
His departure was fixed for the evening of the following day. He still had over twenty-four hours to wait. Savelli had provided him with money, letters and commissions. He was to report first to Frau K. and stay with her. To return at the first safe available opportunity with part of the money, which was urgently needed here. He had a trunk full of newspapers. They were stuffed in the pockets, the sleeves, the linings of strange clothing with which he had been provided.
He was not afraid. He was pervaded by a current of peace, like a dying man conscious of a long and righteous life behind him. He could perish, nameless, forgotten, but not without trace. A drop in the ocean of the Revolution.
'I have taken a cordial farewell from R.,' he told me. 'R., whom everyone calls treacherous, whom no one can really tolerate, knows more than the others. He does not forget the infirmity of men where sentiment is concerned. He is aware of the hidden diversity of which we are all made up. No one trusts him entirely because he is many-sided. But, beyond that, he doesn't even trust himself, his incorruptible intelligence.'
He went to say goodbye to Grünhut.
'Where are you off to?'
There was silence for a few moments. Grünhut went to the window. It was as if he looked, not at the street, but only in the windowpane which had ceased to be transparent.
'What's got into you?' Grünhut cried in a tearful voice. 'I don't ask the reason for your journey, that I can guess. But why you?'
'I'm not even sure myself.'
Back to the windowpane.
'I'm seeing him for the last time,' thought Friedrich.
His thoughts, which he had already directed towards death, suddenly made a volte-face.
'You don't realize, you don't realize,' said Grünhut. 'You're young. Do you really imagine that you will ever again be in a position to say: "I'm going far away"? Do you think life is endless? It's short, and has a few miserable possibilities to offer, and you must know how to cherish them. You can say "I want" twice, "I love" once, "I shall" twice, "I'm dying" once. That's all. Look at me. I'm certainly no one to envy. But I don't wish to die. I can probably still say once more 'I want" or "I shall". No great expectations at present but I can wait. I intend to suffer for
He began his next lecture with the information that he had decided to go away, that someone else would take his place. He glimpsed Hilde in one of the back rows in a deliberately unpretentious coat. What a masquerade, he thought angrily. He felt responsible for her presence. He felt it as a betrayal committed against those he was addressing. He began to read out the leading article of a bourgeois newspaper. It was an account of the determination of the Central Powers to safeguard the peace of the world, and of the strivings of this very world towards the conflagration of war. He produced a Russian, a French, an English newspaper and demonstrated to his audience that they all wrote the same. The lamp hung low over the lectern at which he stood and dazzled him. When he wanted to survey the small room, he saw the walls as a grey obscurity. They lost their solidity. They receded even further, like veils dispersed by the ring of his words. The faces that shone towards him out of the darkness multiplied tenfold. He listened attentively to his own voice, the ringing resonance of his speech. He stood there as if on the verge of a darkling sea. His best words were derived from the expectancy of his listeners. It seemed to him as if he spoke and listened at the same time, as if he said things and at the same time suffered things to be said to him, as if he were resonant and simultaneously heard the resonance.
There was a moment's quietness. The quietness was an answer. It sanctioned his authority like a seal of silence.
When he got down from the platform, Hilde had disappeared. He was annoyed at having looked for her. A few persons pressed his hand and wished him a good journey.
12
His departure was fixed for the evening of the following day. He still had over twenty-four hours to wait. Savelli had provided him with money, letters and commissions. He was to report first to Frau K. and stay with her. To return at the first safe available opportunity with part of the money, which was urgently needed here. He had a trunk full of newspapers. They were stuffed in the pockets, the sleeves, the linings of strange clothing with which he had been provided.
He was not afraid. He was pervaded by a current of peace, like a dying man conscious of a long and righteous life behind him. He could perish, nameless, forgotten, but not without trace. A drop in the ocean of the Revolution.
'I have taken a cordial farewell from R.,' he told me. 'R., whom everyone calls treacherous, whom no one can really tolerate, knows more than the others. He does not forget the infirmity of men where sentiment is concerned. He is aware of the hidden diversity of which we are all made up. No one trusts him entirely because he is many-sided. But, beyond that, he doesn't even trust himself, his incorruptible intelligence.'
He went to say goodbye to Grünhut.
'Where are you off to?'
There was silence for a few moments. Grünhut went to the window. It was as if he looked, not at the street, but only in the windowpane which had ceased to be transparent.
'What's got into you?' Grünhut cried in a tearful voice. 'I don't ask the reason for your journey, that I can guess. But why you?'
'I'm not even sure myself.'
Back to the windowpane.
'I'm seeing him for the last time,' thought Friedrich.
His thoughts, which he had already directed towards death, suddenly made a volte-face.
'You don't realize, you don't realize,' said Grünhut. 'You're young. Do you really imagine that you will ever again be in a position to say: "I'm going far away"? Do you think life is endless? It's short, and has a few miserable possibilities to offer, and you must know how to cherish them. You can say "I want" twice, "I love" once, "I shall" twice, "I'm dying" once. That's all. Look at me. I'm certainly no one to envy. But I don't wish to die. I can probably still say once more 'I want" or "I shall". No great expectations at present but I can wait. I intend to suffer for
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