— 2–
One day Simon rang the bell rather shyly — it was noon — before an elegant house standing off on its own in a garden. The bell sounded to him as if a beggar had rung it. If he himself were sitting inside the house just now, as its owner for instance who was perhaps eating lunch, he would have turned indolently to his wife and asked: Who could be ringing the bell just now, surely a beggar! “When you think of elegant people,” he thought as he waited, “you always picture them at the dinner table, or in a carriage, or getting dressed with the help of male or female servants, while you always imagine a poor man standing outside in the cold with his coat collar drawn up, as mine is now, waiting before a garden gate with a pounding heart. Poor people have, as a rule, rapid, pounding, ardent hearts, while those of the rich are cold, roomy, upholstered, well-heated, and nailed shut! Oh, if only someone would rush fleet-footed to the door, what a relief that would be. There’s something constricting about standing and waiting at a wealthy portal. Despite my little bit of worldly experience what weak legs I am standing on.” —And indeed he was trembling when a girl came hurrying up to open the door for the one standing outside. Simon always had to smile when someone opened the door and invited him in, and now, too, this smile was in evidence, a smile that resembled a timid appeal and perhaps could be seen on many other faces as well.
“I’m looking for a room.”
Simon removed his hat before a beautiful lady who appeared and looked the newcomer up and down with great attentiveness. This pleased Simon, for he believed it was her right to do so, and because her air of friendliness was unabated.
“Would you like to come with me? There, up the stairs.”
Simon invited the lady to precede him. To do so, he gestured with his hand, actually employing his hand for this purpose for the first time in his whole life. The woman, opening a door, showed the young man the room.
“What a beautiful room,” cried Simon, who was truly astonished, “far too beautiful for me, unfortunately, far too elegant for me. I am, you should know, so very poorly suited to such an elegant room. And yet I would dearly love to inhabit it — all too dearly, far far too dearly. In fact, it wasn’t right to show me this chamber. It would have been better had you shown me the door at once. How do I come to be casting my gaze into such a gay, beautiful space — it’s as if it were made for a god to dwell in. What beautiful dwellings are inhabited by the well-to-do, the ones who possess something. I have never possessed anything, have never been anything, and despite the hopes of my parents will never amount to anything at all. What a lovely view from the windows, and such pretty, shiny furniture, and such charming curtains — they give the room a girlish look. I would perhaps become a good, tender person here, if it’s true, as people say, that surroundings can change a person. Might I gaze at it for a little while longer, remain standing here one more minute?”
“Of course you may.”
“I thank you.”
“What sort of people are your parents, and, if I may ask, in what sense are you ‘nothing,’ as you expressed yourself a moment ago?”
“I’m unemployed.”
“That wouldn’t matter to me. It all depends!”
“No, I have little hope. Though admittedly I shouldn’t be saying such things if I am to speak with perfect truthfulness. I’m overflowing with hope. Never, ever does it abandon me. — My father is a poor but joyful individual who would never dream of comparing his currently bleak circumstances with his glory days. He lives like a lad of twenty-five and can’t be bothered to ponder his condition. I admire him and seek to emulate him. If he can still be cheerful in his snowy old age, it must be his young son’s duty, thirty times — indeed one hundred times — over, to hold his head high and meet people’s gazes with eyes that flash like lightning. But the gift of thought was given to me — and to my brothers even more than me — by our mother. My mother is dead.”
A dismayed “ah” came from the mouth of the lady, who was still standing there kindly.
“She was a good-hearted woman. We children always, constantly still speak of her whenever and wherever we’re reunited. We live scattered all across this round, wide world, and this is excellent, for we all have such heads on us, you see, that they shouldn’t come together for very long. There’s a ponderousness to each of us that would be burdensome if we appeared together in human society. But this is something that, thank goodness, we avoid, and each of us knows perfectly well why that’s imperative. And yet we love one another with appropriate fraternal love. One of my brothers is a fairly prominent scholar, another a stock market specialist, and yet another nothing more than just my brother, for I love him more than a brother — and thinking of him, it never occurs to me to emphasize any of his qualities except simply the fact that he is my brother: mine, someone who looks just like me, and nothing more. I would like to live here in your home together with this brother of mine. The room is large enough for both of us. But no doubt this isn’t possible. What does the room cost?”
“What does your brother do?”
“He’s a landscape painter! How much would you charge for the room? — Oh, that much? This is assuredly not too expensive for this room, but for us it’s far too much. Besides which, come to think of it, now that I am peering at you more keenly: The two of us would hardly be suitable, strolling in and out of this house as though we belonged here. We are still so coarse, you’d be disappointed in us. What’s more, our habits are a bit rough on duvet covers, furniture, linens, window curtains, doorknobs and stair landings — you’d be horrified and would lose your temper with us, or perhaps you would forgive us and strive to turn the other cheek, which would be even more humiliating. I don’t wish to be the cause of your having trouble with us at some later point. Surely you would! Do hear me out. I can see it all perfectly clearly. Basically, the two of us have, in the long run, little respect for anything fine and delicate. People such as ourselves should be left standing before wealthy garden gates — free to make derisive remarks about all the splendor and attention to detail. We are great deriders! Adieu!”
The eyes of the beautiful woman had begun to gleam intensely, and now all at once she said: “I should like to take in you and your brother after all. As for the price, I am certain we can reach some agreement.”
“No, it’s best that we don’t.”
Simon was already heading downstairs. Then the lady’s voice called out after him: “Please stay a little longer.” And she hurried after him. At the bottom she caught up with Simon and forced him to stand still and listen to her: “What could you be thinking of, leaving again so soon. Can’t you see that I want, that I would like to keep the two of you? Even if you don’t pay a thing. What does it matter? Not at all, not at all, just come with me, come. Come into this room with me. Marie! Where are you? Bring in the coffee at once.”
Inside she said to Simon: “I wish to get to know you and your brother. How could you go running off like that? I am so often all alone in this isolated house that I feel frightened. My husband is always gone, off on some distant journey, he is an explorer and goes sailing off on seas the very existence of which his poor wife hasn’t even an inkling. Am I not a poor woman? What is your name? What’s the name of the other one, your brother? My name is Klara. Just call me Miss Klara. It pleases me to hear this simple name. Are you feeling a bit more trusting now? This would make me so, so very happy. Don’t you think we’ll be able to live together and get along? Certainly we’ll be able to — I think you must be quite gentle. I’m not afraid to have you in my home. You have honest eyes. Is your brother older than you?”