XIII.
The commencement of the new term had just assembled the incomingstudents to sign their names in the venerable rollbook, when the reportspread that Schilsky was willing to play his symphonic poem,ZARATHUSTRA, to those of his friends who cared to hear it. Curiosityswelled the number, and Furst lent his house for the occasion.
"You'll come, of course," said the latter to Maurice, as they leftSchwarz's room after their lesson; and Madeleine said the same thingwhile driving home from the railway-station, where Maurice had met her.She was no more a friend of Schilsky's than he was, but she certainlyintended to be present, to hear what kind of stuff he had turned out.
On the evening of the performance, Maurice and she walked together tothe BRANDVORWERKSTRASSE. Madeleine had still much to say. She hadreturned from her holiday in the best of health and spirits, liberallyrewarded for her trouble, and possessed of four new friends, who, nodoubt, would all be of use to her when she settled in England again.This was to be her last winter in Leipzig, and she was drawing updetailed plans of work. From now on, she intended to take privatelessons from Schwarz, in addition to those she received in the class.
"Even though they do cost ten marks each, it makes him ever so muchbetter disposed towards you."
She also told him that she had found a letter from Louise waiting forher, in which the latter announced her return for the following week.Louise wrote from England, and all her cry was to be back in Leipzig.
"Of course--now he is here," commented Madeleine. "You know, I suppose,that he has been travelling with Zeppelin? He has the luck of I don'tknow what."
The Cayhills would be absent till the middle of the month; Maurice hadreceived from Ephie one widely written note, loud in praise of a familyof "perfectly sweet Americans," whom they had learnt to know inInterlaken, but also expressing eagerness to be at home again in "dearold Leipzig." Dove had arrived a couple of days ago--and here Madeleinelaughed.
"He is absolutely shiny with resolution," she declared. "Mind, Maurice,if he takes you into confidence--as he probably will--you are not onany account to dissuade him from proposing. A snub will do him worldsof good."
They were not the first to climb the ill-lighted stair that wound up tothe Fursts' dwelling. The entry-door on the fourth storey stood open,and a hum of voices came from the sitting-room. The circular hat-standin the passage was crowded with motley headgear.
As they passed the kitchen, the door of which was ajar, Frau Furstpeeped through the slit, and seeing Maurice, called him in. Thecoffee-pot was still on the stove; he must sit down and drink a cup ofcoffee.
"There is plenty of time. Schilsky has not come yet, and I have onlythis moment sent Adolfchen for the beer."
Maurice asked her if she were not coming in to hear the music. Shelaughed good-naturedly at the idea.
"Bless your heart, what should I do in there, among all you youngpeople? No, no, I can hear just as well where I am. When my goodhusband had his evenings, it was always from the kitchen that Ilistened."
Pausing, with a saucepan in one hand, a cloth in the other, she said:"You will hear something good to-night, Herr Guest. Oh, he has talent,great talent, has young Schilsky! This is not the usual work of apupil. It has form, and it has ideas, and it is new and daring. I knowone of the motives from hearing Franz play it," and she hummed a themeas she replaced on the shelf, the scrupulously cleaned pot. "For such ayoung man, it is wonderful; but he will do better still, depend uponit, he will."
Here she threw a hasty glance round the tiny kitchen, at three of thechildren sitting as still as mice in the corner, laid a finger on herlips, and, bursting with mystery, leaned over the table and askedMaurice if he could keep a secret.
"He is going away," she whispered.
Maurice stared at her. "Going away? Who is? What do you mean?" heasked, and was so struck by her peculiar manner that he set his cupdown untouched.
"Why Schilsky, of course." She thought his astonishment was disbelief,and nodded confirmingly. "Yes, yes, he is going away. And soon, too."
"How do you know?" cried Maurice. Sitting back in his chair, he stemmedhis hands against the edge of the table, and looked challengingly atFrau Furst.
"Ssh--not so loud," said the latter. "It's a secret, a deadsecret--though I'm sure I don't know why. Franz----"
At this very moment, Franz himself came into the kitchen. He lookeddistrustfully at his whispering mother.
"Now then, mother, haven't you got that beer yet?" he demanded. Hisgenial bonhomie disappeared, as if by magic, when he entered his homecircle, and he was particularly gruff with this adoring woman.
"GLEICH, FRANZCHEN, GLEICH," she answered soothingly, and whisked abouther work again, with the air of one caught napping.
Maurice followed Furst's invitation to join the rest of the party.
The folding-doors between the "best room" and the adjoining bedroom hadbeen opened wide, and the guests were distributed over the two rooms.The former was brilliantly lighted by three lamps and two candles, andall the sitting-accommodation the house contained was ranged in asemicircle round the grand piano. Here, not a place was vacant; thosewho had come late were in the bedroom, making shift with whateveroffered. Two girls and a young man, having pushed back the feather-bed,sat on the edge of the low wooden bedstead, with their arms interlacedto give them a better balance. Maurice found Madeleine on a ricketylittle sofa that stood at the foot of the bed. Dove sat on a chest ofdrawers next the sofa, his long legs dangling in the air. BesideMadeleine, with his head on her shoulder, was Krafft.
"Oh, there you are," cried Madeleine. "Well, I did my best to keep theplace for you; but it was of no use, as you see. Just sit down,however. Between us, we'll squeeze him properly."
Maurice was glad that the room, which was lighted only by one smalllamp, was in semi-darkness; for, at the sound of his own voice, itsuddenly became clear to him that the piece of gossip Frau Furst hadvolunteered, had been of the nature of a blow. Schilsky's departurethreatened, in a way he postponed for the present thinking out, todisturb his life; and, in an abrupt need of sympathy, he laid his handon Krafft's knee.
"Is it you, old man? What have you been doing with yourself?"
Krafft gave him one of those looks which, in the early days of theiracquaintance, had proved so disconcerting--a look of strugglingrecollection.
"Oh, nothing in particular," he replied, without hostility, but alsowithout warmth. His mind was not with his words, and Maurice withdrewhis hand.
Madeleine leaned forward, dislodging Krafft's head from itsresting-place.
"How long have you two been 'DU' to each other?" she asked, and atMaurice's curt reply, she pushed Krafft from her. "Sit up and behaveyourself. One would think you had an evil spirit in you to-night."
Krafft was nervously excited: bright red spots burnt on his cheeks, hishands twitched, and he jerked forward in his seat and threw himselfback again, incessantly.
"No, you are worse than a mosquito," cried Madeleine, losing patience."Anyone would think you were going to play yourself. And he will be ascool as an iceberg. The sofa won't stand it, Heinz. If you can't stopfidgeting, get up."
He had gone, before she finished speaking; for a slight stir in thenext room made them suppose for a moment that Schilsky was arriving.Afterwards, Krafft was to be seen straying about, with his hands in hispockets; and, on observing his rose-pink cheeks and tumbled curly hair,Madeleine could not refrain from remarking: "He ought to have been agirl."
The air was already hot, by reason of the lamps, and the many breaths,and the firmly shut double-windows. The clamour for beer had becomeuniversal by the time Adolfchen arrived with his arms full of bottles.As there were not enough glasses to go round, every two or threepersons shared one between them--a proceeding that was carried out withmuch noisy mirth. Above all other voices was to be heard that of MissJensen, who, in a speckled yellow dress, with a large feather fan inher hand, sat in the middle of the front row of seats. It was she whodirected how the beer s
hould be apportioned; she advised a fewlate-comers where they would still find room, and engaged Furst toplace the lights on the piano to better advantage. Next her, a Mrs.Lautenschlager, a plump little American lady, with straight yellow hairwhich hung down on her shoulders, was relating to her neighbour on theother side, in a tone that could be clearly heard in both rooms, howshe had "discovered" her voice.
"I come to Schwarz, last fall," she said shaking back her hair, andmaking effective use of her babyish mouth; "and he thinks no end of me.But the other week I was sick, and as I lay in bed, I sung some--justfor fun. And my landlady--she's a regular singer herself--who wasfixing up the room, she claps her hands together and says: 'My goodnessme! Why YOU have a voice!' That's what put it in my head, and I went toSperling to hear what he'd got to say. He was just tickled to death, Iguess he was, and he's going to make something dandy of it, so I stoplong enough. I don't know what my husband'll say though. When I wrotehim I was sick, he says: 'Come home and be sick at home'--that's whathe says."
Miss Jensen could not let pass the opportunity of breaking a lance forher own master, the Swede, and of cutting up Sperling's method, whichshe denounced as antiquated. She made quite a little speech, in thecourse of which she now and then interrupted herself to remindFurst--who, was as soft as a pudding before her--of something he hadforgotten to do, such as snuffing the candles or closing the door.
"Just let me hear your scale, will you?" she said patronisingly to Mrs.Lautenschlager. The latter, nothing loath, stuck out her chin, openedher mouth, and, for a short time, all other noises were drowned in afine, full volume of voice.
On their sofa, Madeleine and Maurlee sat in silence, pretending tolisten to Dove, who was narrating his journey. Madeleine was out ofhumour; she tapped the floor, and had a crease in her forehead. As forMaurice, he was in such poor spirits that she could not but observe it.
"Why are you so quiet? Is anything the matter?"
He shook his head, without speaking. His vague sense of impendingmisfortune had crystallised into a definite thought; he knew now whatit signified. If Schilsky went away from Leipzig, Louise would probablygo, too, and that would be the end of everything.
"I represented to him," he heard Dove saying, "that I had seen theluggage with my own eyes at Flushing. What do you think he answered? Helooked me up and down, and said: 'ICH WERDE TELEGRAPHIEREN UNDERKUNDIGUNGEN EINZIEHEN.' Now, do you think if you said to an Englishstation-master: 'Sir, I saw the luggage with my own eyes,' he would notbelieve you? No, in my opinion, the whole German railway-system needsrevision. Would you believe it, we did not make fifty kilometers in thehour, and yet our engine broke down before Magdeburg?"
So this would be the end; the end of foolish dreams and weak hopes,which he had never put into words even to himself, which had neverproperly existed, and yet had been there, nevertheless, a mass ofgloriously vague perhapses. The end was at hand--an end before therehad been any beginning.
"... the annoyance of the perpetual interruptions," went on the voiceon the other side. "A lady who was travelling in the samecompartment--a very pleasant person, who was coming over to be ateacher in a school in Dresden--I have promised to show her our lionswhen she visits Leipzig: well, as I was saying, she was quite alarmedthe first time he entered in that way, and it took me some time, Iassure you, to make her believe that this was the German method ofrevising tickets."
The break occasioned by the arrival of the beer had been of shortduration, and the audience was growing impatient; at the back of theroom, some one began to stamp his feet; others took it up. Furstperspired with anxiety, and made repeated journeys to the stair-head,to see if Schilsky were not coming. The latter was almost an hour lateby now, and jests, bald and witty, were made at his expense. Some oneoffered to take a bet that he had fallen asleep and forgotten theappointment, and at this, one of the girls on the bed, a handsomecreature with bold, prominent eyes, related an anecdote to herneighbours, concerning Schilsky's powers of sleep. All three explodedwith laughter. In a growing desire to be asked to play, Boehmer had forsome time hung about the piano, and was now just about to drop, as ifby accident, upon the stool, when the cry of: "No Bach!" wasraised--Bach was Boehmer's specialty--and re-echoed, and he retired redand discomfited to his Place in a corner of the room, where hiscompanion, a statuesque little English widow, made biting observationson the company's behaviour. The general rowdyism was at its height,when some one had the happy idea that Krafft should sing them hisnewest song. At this, there was a unanimous shriek of approval, andseveral hands dragged Krafft to the piano. But himself the wildest ofthem all, he needed no forcing. Flinging himself down on the seat, hepreluded wildly in imitation of Rubinstein. His hearers sat with theirmouths open, a fixed smile on their faces, laughter ready in theirthroats, and only Madeleine was coolly contemptuous.
"Tom-fool!" she said in a low voice.
Krafft was confidently expected to burst into one of those songs forwhich he was renowned. Few of his friends were able to sing them, andno one but himself could both sing and play them simultaneously: theywere a monstrous, standing joke. Instead of this, however, he turned,winked at his audience, and began a slow, melancholy ditty, with arecurring refrain. He was not allowed to finish the first verse; a howlof disapproval went up; his hearers hooted, jeered and stamped.
"Sick cats!"
"Damn your 'WENIG SONNE!'"--this was the refrain.
"Put your head in a bag!"
"Pity he drinks!"
"Give us one of the rousers--the rou ... sers!"
Krafft himself laughed unbridledly. "DAS ICH SPRICHT!"--he announced."In C sharp major."
There was a hush of anticipation, in which Dove, stopping his BRETZELhalf-way to his mouth, was heard to say in his tone of measuredsurprise: "C sharp major! Why, that is----"
The rest was drowned in the wild chromatic passages that Krafft sent upand down the piano with his right hand, while his left followed withfull-bodied chords, each of which exceeded the octave. Before, however,there was time to laugh, this riot ceased, and became a mournfulcadence, to the slowly passing harmonies of which, Krafft sang:
I am weary of everything that is, under the sun. I sicken at the long lines of rain, which are black against the sky; They drip, for a restless heart, with the drip of despair: For me, winds must rage, trees bend, and clouds sail stormily.
The whirlwind of the prelude commenced anew; the chords became stillvaster; the player swayed from side to side, like a stripling-tree in astorm. Madeleine said, "Tch!" in disgust, but the rest of the company,who had only waited for this, burst into peals of laughter; some bentdouble in their seats, some leant back with their chins in the air.Even Dove smiled. Just, however, as those whose sense of humour wasmost highly developed, mopped their faces with gestures of exhaustion,and assured their neighbours that they "could not, really could notlaugh any more," Furst entered and flapped his hands.
"Here he comes!"
A sudden silence fell, broken only by a few hysterical giggles from theladies, and by a frivolous American, who cried: "Now for ALSO SCHRIEZENOPHOBIA!" Krafft stopped playing, but remained sitting at the piano,wiping down the keys with his handkerchief.
Schilsky came in, somewhat embarrassed by the lull which had succeededthe hubbub heard in the passage, but wholly unconcerned at the latenessof the hour: except in matters of practical advancement, time did notexist for him. As soon as he appeared, the two ladies in the front rowbegan to clap their hands; the rest of the company followed theirexample, then, in spite of Furst's efforts to prevent it, rose andcrowded round him. Miss Jensen and her friend made themselvesparticularly conspicuous. Mrs Lauterischlager had an infatuation forthe young man, of which she made no secret; she laid her handcaressingly on his coat-sleeve, and put her face as near his aspropriety admitted.
"Disgusting, the way those women go on with him!" said Madeleine. "Andwhat is worse, he likes it."
Schilsky listened to the babble of compliments with that mixture ofboyish deference
and unequivocal superiority, which made him soattractive to women. He was too good-natured to interrupt them and freehimself, and would have stood as long as they liked, if Furst had notcome to the rescue and led him to the piano. Schilsky laid his handaffectionately on Krafft's shoulder, and Krafft sprang up inexaggerated surprise. The audience took its seats again; the thickmanuscript-score was set up on the music-rack, and the three young menat the piano had a brief disagreement with one another about turningthe leaves: Krafft was bent on doing it, and Schilsky objected, forKrafft had a way of forgetting what he was at in the middle of a page.Krafft flushed, cast an angry look at his friend, and withdrew, in highdudgeon, to a corner.
Standing beside the piano, so turned to those about him that the two onthe sofa in the next room only saw him sideways, and ill at that,Schilsky gave a short description of his work. He was nervous, whichaggravated his lisp, and he spoke so rapidly and in such a low voicethat no one but those immediately in front of him, could understandwhat he said. But it did not matter in the least; all present had comeonly to hear the music; they knew and cared nothing about Zarathustraand his spiritual development; and one and all waited impatiently forSchilsky to stop speaking. The listeners in the bedroom----merelycaught disjointed words--WERDEGANG, NOTSCHREI, TARANTELN--but not onewas curious enough even to lean forward in his seat. Madeleine madesarcastic inward comments on the behaviour of the party.
"It's perfectly clear to you, I suppose," she could not refrain fromobserving as, at the finish, Dove sagely wagged his head in agreement.
It transpired that there was an ode to be sung before the last sectionof the composition, and a debate ensued who, should sing it. The twoladies in the front had quite a little quarrel--without knowinganything about the song--as to which of their voices would best suitit. Schilsky was silent for a moment, tapping his fingers, then saidsuddenly: "Come on, Heinz," and looked at Krafft. But the latter, whowas standing morose, with folded arms, did not move. He had a dozenreasons why he should not sing; he had a cold, was hoarse, was out ofpractice, could not read the music from sight.
"Good Heavens, what a fool Heinz is making of himself tonight!" saidMadeleine.
But Schilsky thumped his fist on the lid, and said, if Krafft did notsing it, no one should; and that was the end of the matter. Krafft waspulled to the piano.
Schilsky took his seat, and, losing his nervousness as soon as hetouched the keys, preluded firmly and easily, with his large, whitehands. Now, every one leaned forward to see him better; especially theladies threw themselves into positions from which they could watch hairand hands, and the slender, swaying figure.
"Isn't he divine?" said the bold-eyed girl on the bed, in a loudwhisper, and hung upon her companion's neck in an ecstatic attitude.
After the diversity of noises which had hitherto interfered with histhinking connectedly, Maurice welcomed the continuous sound of themusic, which went on without a break. He sat in a listening attitude,shading his eyes with his hand. Through his fingers, he surreptitiouslywatched the player. He had never before had an opportunity of observingSchilsky so closely, and, with a kind of blatant generosity, he nowpointed out to himself each physical detail that he found prepossessingin the other, every feature that was likely to attract--in the nextbreath, only to struggle with his honest opinion that the composer wasa slippery, loose-jointed, caddish fellow, who could never be proved tobe worthy of Louise. But he was too down-hearted at what he had learntin the course of the evening, to rise to any active feeling of dislike.
Intermittently he heard, in spite of himself, something of Schilsky'smusic; but he was not in a frame of mind to understand or to retain anyimpression of it. He was more effectively jerked out of hispreoccupation by single spoken words, which, from time to time, struckhis ear: this was Furst, who, in the absence of a programme, announcedfrom his seat beside Schilsky, the headings of the different sectionsof the work: WERDEGANG; SEILTANZER--here Maurice saw Dove conductingwith head and hand--NOTSCHREI; SCHWERMUT; TARANTELN--and here again,but vaguely, as if at a distance, he heard suppressed laughter. But hewas thoroughly roused when Krafft, picking up a sheet of music andcoming round to the front of the piano, began to sing DAS TRUNKENELIED. By way of introduction, the low F in the bass of F minor soundedpersistently, at syncopated intervals; Schilsky inclined his head, andKrafft sang, in his sweet, flute-like voice:
Oh, Mensch! Gieb Acht! Was spricht die tiefe Mitternacht? "Ich schlief, ich schlief, Aus tiefem Schlaf bin ich erwacht: Die Welt ist tief, Und tiefer als der Tag gedacht."
--the last phrase of which was repeated by the accompaniment, asemitone higher.
Tief ist ihr Weh, Lust--tiefer noch als Herzeleid:
As far as this, the voice had been supported by simple, full-soundingharmonies. Now, from out the depths, still of F minor, rose ahesitating theme, which seemed to grope its way: in imagination, oneheard it given out by the bass strings; then the violas reiterated it,and dyed it purple; voice and violins sang it together; the high littleflutes carried it up and beyond, out of reach, to a half close.
Weh spricht: vergeh!
Suddenly and unexpectedly, there entered a light yet mournful phrase inF major, which was almost a dance-rhythm, and seemed to be a small,frail pleading for something not rightly understood.
Doch alle Lust will Ewigkeit, Will tiefe, tiefe Ewigkeit.
The innocent little theme passed away, and the words were sung again toa stern and fateful close in D flat major.
The concluding section of the work returned to these motives, developedthem, gathered them together, grouped them and interchanged them, incomplicated thermatic counterpoint. Schilsky was barely able to copewith the difficulties of the score; he exerted himself desperately,laboured with his head and his whole body, and surmounted sheerlyunplayable parts with the genial slitheriness that is the privilege ofcomposers.
When, at last, he crashed to a close and wiped his face in exhaustion,there was a deafening uproar of applause. Loud cries were uttered andexclamations of enthusiasm; people rose from their seats and crowdedround the piano to congratulate the player. Mrs. Lautenschlager couldnot desist from kissing his hand. A tall, thin Russian girl inspectacles, who had assiduously taken notes throughout, asked in a loudvoice, and her peculiar, hoppy German, for information about theorchestration. What use had he made of the cymbals? She trusted apurely Wagnerian one. Schilsky hastened to reopen the score, and sathimself to answer the question earnestly and at length.
"Come, Maurice, let us go," said Madeleine, rising and shaking thecreases from her skirt. "There will be congratulations enough. He won'tmiss ours."
Maurice had had an idea of lingering till everybody else had gone, onthe chance of picking up fresh facts. But he was never good at excuses.So they slipped out into the passage, followed by Dove; but while thelatter was looking for his hat, Madeleine pulled Maurice down thestairs.
"Quick, let us go!" she whispered; and, as they heard him coming afterthem, she drew her companion down still further, to the cellar flight,where they remained hidden until Dove had passed them, and his stepshad died away in the street.
"We should have had nothing but his impressions and opinions all theway home," she said, as they emerged. "He was bottled up from having tokeep quiet so long--I saw it in his face. And I couldn't stand itto-night. I'm in a bad temper, as you may have observed--or perhaps youhaven't."
No, he had not noticed it.
"Well, you would have, if you hadn't been so taken up with yourself.What on earth is the matter with you?"
He feigned surprise: and they walked in silence down one street andinto the next. Then she spoke again. "Do you know--but you're sure notto know that either--you gave me a nasty turn to-night?"
"I?" His surprise was genuine this time.
"Yes, you--when I heard you say 'DU' to Heinz."
He looked at her in astonishment; but she was not in a hurry tocontinue. They walked another street-length, and all she said was: "Howrefreshing the air is aft
er those stuffy rooms!"
As they turned a corner however, she made a fresh start.
"I think it's rather hard on me," she said, and laughed as she spoke."Here am I again, having to lecture you! The fact is, I suppose, one'sMETIER clings to one, in spite of oneself. But there must be somethingabout you, too, Maurice Guest, that makes one want to do it--want tolook after you, so to speak--as if you couldn't be trusted to take careof yourself. Well, it disturbed me to-night, to see how intimate youand Heinz have got."
"Is that all? Why on earth should that trouble you? And anyhow," headded, "the whole affair came about without any wish of mine."
"How?" she demanded; and when he had told her: "And since then?"
He went into detail, coolly, without the resentment he had previouslyfelt towards Krafft.
"And that's all?"
"Isn't it enough--for a fellow to go on in that way?"
"And you feel aggrieved?"
"No, not now. At first I was rather sore, though, for Heinz is aninteresting fellow, and we were very thick for a time."
"Yes, of course--until Schilsky comes back. As soon as he appears onthe scene, Master Heinz gives you the cold shoulder. Or perhaps youdidn't know that Heinz is the attendant spirit of that heaven-borngenius?"
Maurice did not reply, and when she spoke again, it was with renewedseriousness. "Believe me, Maurice, he is no friend for you. It's notonly that you ought to be above letting yourself be treated in thisway, but Heinz's friendship won't do you any good. He belongs to a badset here--and Schilsky, too. If you were long with Heinz, you would bebound to get drawn into it, and then it would be good-bye to anythingyou might have done--to work and success. No, take my advice--it'ssincerely meant--and steer clear of Heinz."
Maurice smiled to himself at her womanly idea of Krafft leading him toperdition. "But you're fond of him yourself, Madeleine," he said. "Youcan't help liking him either."
"I daresay I can't. But that is quite a different matter--quite;" andas if more than enough had now been said, she abruptly left the subject.
Before going home that night, Maurice made the old round by way of theBRUDERSTRASSE, and stood and looked up at the closed windows behindwhich Louise lived. The house was dark, and as still as was thedeserted street. Only the Venetian blinds seemed to be faintly alive;the outer windows, removed for the summer, had not yet been replaced,and a mild wind flapped the blinds, just as it swayed the tops of thetrees in the opposite garden. There was a breath of autumn in the air.He told himself aloud, in the nightly silence, that she was goingaway--as if by repeating the words, he might ultimately grow used totheir meaning. The best that could be hoped for was that she would notgo immediately, but would remain in Leipzig for a few weeks longer.Then a new fear beset him. What if she never came back again?--if shehad left the place quietly, of set purpose?--if these windows wereclosed for good and all? A dryness invaded his throat at thepossibility, and on the top of this evening of almost apatheticresignation to the inevitable, the knowledge surged up in him that allhe asked was to be allowed to see her just once more. Afterwards, letcome what might. Once again, he must stand face to face with her--muststamp a picture of her on his brain, to carry with him for ever.
For ever!--And through his feverish sleep ran, like a thread, the wordshe had heard Krafft sing, of an eternity that was deep and dreamless, ajoy without beginning or end.
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