Authors: Stefan Zweig
“At last, at last! Please do sit down beside me. And please don’t say anything. I have something important to say to you first.”
I sat down, feeling entirely at my ease. For how can anyone be confused and awkward after such a bright, friendly welcome?
“I just want you to listen to me for a minute, and you won’t interrupt me, will you?” This time, I felt, she had thought out every word in advance. “I know all that you told my father. I know what you are going to do for me. And now, please believe what I say, word for word. I promise that I will never—never, do you hear?—ask why you did this, whether for my father’s sake or really for mine. Whether it was just pity on your part or—no, please don’t interrupt, I don’t
want
to know, I’m not going to dwell on that any more, tormenting myself and everyone else. It’s enough that you have brought me back to life, and now I shall go on living … that since yesterday I have only just
begun
to live. If I get better I shall have only one person to thank for it, you and no one else.”
She hesitated briefly, and then went on. “And now I’ll tell you what I myself will promise. I thought it all through last night. For the first time I thought about it all like a healthy person, not the way I did before when I was still uncertain, when I was so confused and impatient. It’s wonderful—at last I know what it’s like not to feel afraid, wonderful to be able to tell in advance, for the first time ever, what it’s like to feel I’m normal, and I owe that ability to you. So I will do absolutely everything the doctors ask me to do, everything, to make a human being out of the unnatural thing I am now. I won’t give in, I won’t let my efforts flag now that I know what’s a stake. I will work at it with every fibre of my body, every nerve, every drop of blood, and I think if you want something so very much you can make God let you have it. I’ll do it all for you, I won’t expect you to make any sacrifice. But if I don’t succeed … please don’t interrupt!— or if I don’t succeed entirely, if I can’t be
perfectly
healthy
again, if I can’t move about as well as other people, don’t be afraid! I will bear it all by myself. I know that there are sacrifices one ought not to accept, least of all from the person one loves. So if that course of treatment fails, although I am hoping for so much from it—for everything!—then you will never hear from me again, never see me again. I promise I will never be a burden to you, I don’t want anyone to take me on as a burden, certainly not you. There—that’s all I wanted to say. Now, not another word! We have only a few hours together left over the next couple of days, and I would like to spend them happily.”
She spoke in a different voice; you could call it the voice of an adult. And her eyes were different, not a child’s restless eyes now, nor the weary, demanding eyes of an invalid. I felt that she loved me with a different love, not in her original playful manner, not with her later avidly tormented emotion. And I myself saw her now with other eyes, not with the old pity for her misfortune, I did not have to be anxious and cautious with her, I could be clear and forthright. For the first time I unexpectedly felt real tenderness for this delicate girl, radiant as she was with the anticipation of the happiness she dreamt of. Without being really aware of it, I moved close to her to take her hand, and this time it did not tremble at my touch. Her slender wrist lay still in my grasp, fitting into my hand, and I was happy to feel the little hammer of her pulse beating peacefully.
Then we talked at our leisure about her forthcoming journey and little everyday things, we discussed what had happened in the town and in the barracks. I no longer understood why I had been tormenting myself, when it was all so easy—you sat beside a girl and held her hand. I was not making a painful effort any more, I was not hiding my feelings, we were showing each other warmth. I did not resist these tender emotions any
more, I accepted the knowledge of her feelings for me without shame, indeed with pure gratitude.
And then we went in to dinner. The silver candleholders shone in the candlelight, the flowers rose from their vases like coloured flames. The light of the crystal chandelier was reflected from mirror to mirror, the house around us was silent, like a darkly curving shell holding a bright pearl inside it. Sometimes I thought I heard the quiet breathing of the trees outside, and the warm wind wafting over the grasses, for fragrant air came in through the open windows. It was all lovelier and better than ever. The old man sat there like a priest, upright and solemn; I had never seen either Edith or Ilona look so young and happy, old Josef’s shirt front had never been so white, nor had the smooth-skinned fruit glowed in such colours. We sat there and ate and drank, talked, and were glad of the new harmony among us. Laughter flew from one to the other as carefree as a bird chirping, playful waves of merriment ebbed and flowed. Only when Josef filled our glasses with champagne, and I was the first to raise mine to Edith, drinking, “To your very good health!” did everyone suddenly fall silent.
“Oh yes, to my health,” she breathed, looking at me as trustingly as if my wish had power over life and death. “I so want to get it back—for you!”
“May God grant it!” Her father had risen. He could not control his tears; they moistened his glasses, and he took them off to clean them with much ceremony. I felt that his hands could hardly help moving to touch me, and I did not object. I too felt a need to show him gratitude. I went up to him and embraced him, and his beard brushed my face. When I moved away from him I saw that Edith was looking at me. Her lips were trembling slightly, and I guessed how much she longed
for the same ardent touch. So I leant quickly down to her and kissed her on the mouth.
That sealed our betrothal. I had not kissed the girl who loved me after deliberate reflection, but on a purely emotional impulse. It had happened without my conscious will or knowledge, but I did not regret the small, pure sign of affection. For she did not raise her throbbing breast to me wildly, thrusting herself on me as she had before, and although she was glowing with happiness she did not cling to me. Her lips received mine with humility, as if the kiss were a great gift. None of the others said anything. And then I heard a timid sound from the corner of the room. At first it seemed to be an awkward clearing of someone’s throat, but when we looked up I saw that Josef the manservant was sobbing quietly in the corner. He had put down the bottle he was holding and turned away; he didn’t want us to notice his unseemly emotion, but each of us felt the warmth of his awkward tears in our own eyes. I suddenly felt Edith’s hand in mine. “Let me hold it for a moment.”
I didn’t know what she meant to do. Then something cool and smooth was slipped onto my fourth finger. It was a ring. “To remind you of me when I am away,” she said apologetically. I did not look at the ring, I just took her hand and kissed it.
I was God that evening. I had created the world, and behold, it was full of kindness and justice. I had created a human being with a brow that shone pure as the morning, and eyes reflecting the rainbow of happiness. I had spread a table with prosperity and plenty, I had caused the earth to yield its fruits, its wine and food. These wonderful witnesses to my abundance were
heaped up before me like sacrificial offerings, they came in shining dishes and laden baskets, and the wine sparkled, the fruits tasted sweet and delicious. I had brought light into this room and into the hearts of the people in it. The light of the chandelier flashed like the sun in our glasses, the damask cloth was white as snow, and I felt proud. My companions loved the light that I radiated, and I took their love and felt intoxicated by it. They offered me wine, and I drank deeply. They offered me fruit and choice dishes, and I relished their gifts. They offered me reverence and gratitude, and I accepted their homage like the sacrificial offerings of food and drink.
I was God that evening. But I did not look down remotely from a raised throne on my words and deeds, I sat there, kind and affable among my creations, and I vaguely saw their faces through the silvery mist of the clouds surrounding me. On my left sat an old man; the bright light of my kindness had smoothed out the wrinkles on his furrowed brow and extinguished the shadows darkening his eyes. I had taken death from him, and he spoke in the voice of a man risen from the dead, grateful for the miracle made manifest in him. Beside me sat a girl who had been an invalid, fettered and oppressed and hopelessly entangled in her own confused thoughts. But now the light of returning health shone around her. I had raised her from the hell of fear to the heaven of love with the breath of my mouth, and her ring sparkled on my finger like the morning star. Opposite her sat another girl, and she too was smiling gratefully, for I had brought beauty to her face and the dark, fragrant wealth of hair around her pale brow. I had given them all gifts and raised them up by the miracle of my presence, they all had my light in their eyes, when they looked at one another the brightness of their gaze was my doing. When they talked to each other, I and only I was the
subject of their discussion, and even when we fell silent I was in their thoughts. For I alone was at the centre of their happiness, I was its beginning and its origin. When they praised one another, they were praising me, and when they showed their love for each other they meant it for me as the creator of all love. And I sat among them, glad to see my works, and I saw that it was good to have been kind to my creations. I magnanimously drank in their love with the wine, and relished their happiness with the delicious food.
Yes, I was God that evening. I had calmed the troubled waters, I had cast darkness out of human hearts. But I had also taken away my own fear; my mind was at peace as it had never been before in all my days. Only when the evening grew late, and I rose from the table, did I feel slightly mournful. It was the eternal sadness of God on the seventh day, when his work was done, and I saw that mild sadness of mine reflected in the others’ empty faces. For now came the moment of farewell. We had all been strangely moved, as if we knew that something unparalleled was now coming to its end, one of those rare hours of complete ease that, like clouds, do no return. For the first time I felt real regret at the thought of leaving Edith. Like a true lover, I postponed the moment of leaving the girl who loved me. How pleasant it would be, I thought, to sit beside her bed, stroking the delicate, tender hand in mine again and again, seeing the rosy smile of happiness light up her face. But it was late. So I just swiftly embraced her and kissed her mouth again. I felt her hold her breath, as if to keep the warmth of my own for ever. Then I went to the door, with her father accompanying me. One last look back, a greeting, and then I went, walking freely and confidently, as you walk away from a good deed well done.
I went the few steps into the front hall, where the servant was standing ready with my cap and sword. I only wish I had walked faster, I wish I had been less considerate of old Kekesfalva’s feelings, for he still couldn’t bear to see me go. Once again he embraced me, caressed my arm to show me yet again how grateful he was for what I had done for him. Now he could die in peace, he said, his child would be cured, everything was good now, and it was all because of me, all my doing. I felt it increasingly embarrassing to be caressed and flattered like that in front of the servant, who still stood waiting patiently with his head bowed. I had already shaken the old man’s hand and said goodbye several times, but he always began again. And I, made foolish by my pity, stayed standing there. I could not find the strength to tear myself away, although a sombre voice inside me said firmly—this is enough, this is too much.
Suddenly I heard the sound of a disturbance of some kind through the door. I pricked up my ears. A quarrel must have begun in the next room; I clearly heard a vigorous argument in progress, and with horror I recognised the voices of Ilona and Edith. One seemed to want to do something, the other was trying to dissuade her. “Please, I beg you,” I heard Ilona admonishing Edith, “please stay where you are.” And more roughly came Edith’s angry, “No, leave me alone, leave me alone!” I listened to them more and more uneasily, through the old man’s chatter. What was going on behind the closed door? Why had the peace been disturbed, my peace, the divine peace of this day? What was Edith demanding so imperiously, what was Ilona trying to prevent? There—suddenly I heard that unpleasant sound, the click-click of the crutches. For God’s sake, surely she wasn’t going to come out here after me without Josef’s help? But that hasty, wooden sound came again, click-click … click, right, left
… click-click … right, left, right, left—instinctively I thought of her swaying body as she moved on the crutches. She must be close to the door now. Then there was a clatter and a thud as if some solid mass had flung itself against one half of the door. Next came the gasping sound of strenuous effort, and the handle of the door, heavily pressed down, clicked open.
A dreadful sight met my eyes. Edith was leaning against the doorpost, still exhausted by her efforts. She was clinging grimly to the post with her left hand in order to keep her balance, and she was clutching both crutches in her right hand. Ilona, visibly distraught, was behind her, obviously trying either to support her or hold her back by force. But Edith’s eyes were flashing with impatience and anger. “Leave me alone, I told you!” she screamed, rejecting Ilona’s unwanted assistance. “I don’t need anyone to help me. I can do it by myself.”
And then, before Kekesfalva or the manservant had grasped the situation, something incredible happened. The crippled girl bit her lip as if about to make a mighty effort, and looking at me with wide, burning eyes she pushed herself away from the doorpost that had been supporting her with a single movement, like a swimmer taking off from the beach, intending to walk towards me on her own, without her crutches. As she moved she swayed as if she were plunging into the emptiness of space, but she quickly flailed both hands in the air, the empty hand and the hand holding the crutches, to regain her equilibrium. She bit her lip again several times, put one foot forward and dragged the other after it, with staccato movements to right and left like the movements of a puppet running through her body. But she did it. She was walking! She was walking with her eyes wide open and turned on me, walking as if an invisible wire were pulling her along, he teeth pressed into her lip, her
features spasmodically contorted. She was walking, swaying back and forth like a boat in stormy seas, but she was walking alone for the first time without her crutches, without other help—a miracle of sheer willpower must have brought her legs temporarily back to life. No doctor has ever been able to explain to me how the lame girl was able to reanimate her dead, weak, stiff legs that one and only time, and I cannot describe what it was like, for we were all staring at her as if turned to stone. Even Ilona forgot about following her to protect her. However, Edith took those few tottering steps as if impelled by a storm within her; it was not exactly walking, more like flying close to the ground, the unsteady, tentative flight of a bird with broken wings. But willpower, that daemonic force of the heart, kept her going on and on. Very close to me now, she was already reaching out her arms, which had been flapping, bird-like, to help her stay on her feet. She stretched them out longingly to me in the triumph of her achievement, and her tense features were already relaxing into an exultant smile of happiness. She had done it, she had worked the miracle—only two more steps, no, just one last step. I could almost feel the breath from her mouth as it broke into a smile, and then the terrible thing happened. The vigorous, ardent movement with which she was already spreading her arms in anticipation of the embrace she would have won made her lose her balance. Her knees gave way as if at the stroke of a scythe. She fell with a crash just in front of my feet on the hard tiles. And in my first horrified reaction I instinctively flinched away, instead of doing the most natural thing in the world and going to help her up.