Beware of Pity

by Stefan Zweig

  ‘But, Balinkay, that’s just why I want to go far away from here, where all that sort of thing doesn’t exist and no one knows anything about me.’

  ‘Exactly what I told myself, Hofmiller, exactly what I thought! I just wanted to get away, and then I thought everything would be wiped out — tabula rasa! Better, I thought, be a boot-black or a dish-washer in America, like the big millionaires whose life-stories you read of in the newspapers. But, my dear Hofmiller, even to get to America you need a hell of a lot of money, and you’ve no idea what it means for the likes of us to have to kow-tow. The moment an old Uhlan no longer feels the collar with its stars round his neck, he can no longer stand squarely on his feet, still less talk as he has been used to. He sits there, tongue-tied and embarrassed even in the presence of his best friends, and when the moment comes to ask a favour, his pride chokes him. Yes, old man, I went through a good deal that I’d rather not think about — disgrace and humiliations I’ve never mentioned to anyone.’

  He got up and threw his arms wide as though he suddenly felt his coat too tight for him.

  ‘There’s no reason, by the way, why I shouldn’t tell you. For I’m no longer ashamed, and I should probably only be doing you a good turn by removing your rose-coloured spectacles before it is too late.’

  He sat down again and drew up his chair.

  ‘I suppose you’ve been told the whole story of my marvellous catch, of how I got to know my wife at the Excelsior Hotel in Cairo? I know they bandy the story about in every regiment, and no doubt would like to have it included in a book of golden deeds performed by His Imperial Majesty’s officers. Well, it wasn’t as marvellous as all that! There’s only one thing about the story that’s true, and that is that I really did meet her at the Excelsior, but how I met her only she and I know, and she’s told no one, and neither have I. And I’m only telling you so that you may realize that the streets aren’t paved with gold for the likes of us ... Well, to cut a long story short — when I met her at the Excelsior I was — yes, don’t be shocked — I was a waiter there; yes, my dear chap, an ordinary common or garden waiter, running up and down stairs with trays. Naturally I wasn’t doing it for my own amusement, but out of sheer stupidity and inexperience. I had met an Egyptian at my dingy pension in Vienna, and the fellow had boasted to me that his brother-in-law was the manager of the Royal Polo Club in Cairo, and that if I gave him two hundred crowns commission he could get me a job there as trainer. Breeding and a good name would get you on no end there; I had always been a first-class polo-player, and the salary he mentioned was excellent — in three years’ time I should have scraped together enough to start some really decent business. Besides, Cairo was a long way off, and in polo I would be mixing with pukka sahibs. And so I agreed enthusiastically. Well, I won’t bore you with the story of the dozens of doors on which I had to knock and how many embarrassed excuses I had to hear on the part of old friends before I scraped together the few hundred crowns I needed for the journey and my kit — after all, you’ve got to have riding-things and evening-clothes for a smart club like that, you’ve got to keep up appearances. Although I travelled steerage, it was a devil of a squeeze to manage it. When I got to Cairo, I had exactly seven piastres jingling merrily away in my pocket. When I rang the bell of the Royal Polo Club, a negro came out and goggled at me and said he didn’t know Mr Efdopulos or his brother-in-law, and they didn’t require a trainer, and in any case the Polo Club was being wound up. You’ll have guessed by now that the Egyptian was a lousy blackguard who had swindled me, poor mug that I was, out of my two hundred crowns, and I hadn’t been sufficiently on the ball to get him to show me all the letters and telegrams he said he had received. Yes, my dear Hofmiller, we’re no match for such scum, and what’s more, it wasn’t the first time I had been hoaxed in my search for jobs. This time it was a real knock-out blow. For, my dear chap, there I was in Cairo, not knowing a soul, with the grand sum of seven piastres in my pocket, and it’s not only a hot, but a confoundedly dear, place to be stranded in. I shall spare you the details of how I lived and what food I picked up during the first six days — it’s a miracle to me myself how one gets through such an experience. Another chap, of course, would go along to the Consulate in such a case and ask to be repatriated. But there’s the rub — we officers can’t do that sort of thing. We can’t go and sit in a waiting-room with dockers and coolies who’ve lost their jobs, and I couldn’t have stood the sort of look the twopenny-halfpenny Consul would have given me as he spelt out the name on my passport: “Baron Balinkay”. Chaps like us would rather go to the dogs; and so you can imagine what a stroke of luck in the midst of all my bad luck it was for me to hear by chance that they needed an under-waiter at the Excelsior. As I had a suit of evening-clothes — a new one, what’s more (I had lived for the first few days on the proceeds of my riding-kit) — and as I knew French, they condescended to give me a trial. Well, on the surface that sort of job seems quite bearable; there you stand, with gleaming shirt-front, you wait and serve at table, you cut a good figure. But to have to sleep in an attic right under the burning hot roof with two other waiters and seven million fleas and bugs, and in the morning to wash in the same tin basin as the two others, and to feel the tips scorch your hand and so on — we’ll draw a veil over all that. Enough that I went through it, that I managed to survive.

  And then came the business with my wife. She had recently been left a widow and had gone to Cairo with her sister and brother-in-law. This brother-in-law was about the lowest type of fellow you can imagine, stocky, fat, podgy, impudent. Something about me got his goat. Perhaps I was too elegant for him, perhaps I didn’t bow sufficiently low for Mynheer, and so one day, because I didn’t bring him his breakfast to the minute, he shouted: ‘You—lout!’... That sort of thing gets under your skin when you’ve been an officer. It had the effect on me of a jerk at the reins. I pulled up sharp and was within an inch of punching him in the face. Then at the last moment I held myself in, for in any case, don’t y’know, all this business of being a waiter seemed a bit of a masquerade, and the next moment — I don’t know whether you can understand me — it gave me a kind of sadistic pleasure to think that I, Balinkay, should have to put up with such an insult from a lousy cheesemonger. And so I merely stood still and just smiled faintly at him — de haut en bas, you know, looking down my nose — and the fellow went a sickly green in the face with rage, for he felt that somehow or other I was more than a match for him. Then I marched out of the room as cool as a cucumber, with an exaggerated, ironical bow, and he nearly exploded with anger. But my wife, that is to say, the lady who is now my wife, was present; she must have guessed the situation between the two of us and she realized — she admitted it to me later on — from the way in which I had drawn myself up, that no one had taken such a liberty with me before. And so she followed me into the corridor and explained that her brother-in-law was a little on edge, I mustn’t take it amiss, and — well, I may as well tell you the whole truth, old chap — she even tried to slip me a banknote to smooth things over.

  When I refused her note, she must have realized for the second time that there was something fishy about my being a waiter. And there the whole thing might have ended, for I had scraped together enough in the few weeks I’d been there to be able to get home without having to go whining to the Consul. I only went there to get some information. And then I had a stroke of luck, the sort of luck that only comes your way after you’ve drawn a hundred thousand blanks: the Consul happened to walk across the waiting-room, and who should he turn out to be but Elemèr von Juhácz, whom I had met God knows how many times at the Jockey Club. He seized me by both hands and immediately invited me to his club, and then, by another stroke of luck, one stroke after another — I’m only telling you all this so you can see how many strokes of luck are needed to pull chaps like us out of the mire — my present wife was there. When Elemèr introduced me as his friend, Baron Balinkay, she blushed crimson. She recognized me at once, of course, a
nd was horrified at the thought of that tip. But I realized straight away what sort of person she was, what a fine, decent soul, for she didn’t try to act as though she had forgotten all about it, but was quite frank and outspoken. Everything else happened in a whirl, and does not concern what I have to say. But believe me, such a sequence of accidents doesn’t happen every day, and despite my money and despite my wife, for whom I thank God a thousand times over every morning and evening of my life, I shouldn’t like to go through a second time what I went through then.’

  Impulsively I held out my hand to Balinkay.

  ‘Thanks awfully for warning me. Now at least I have a clearer idea what’s in store for me. But upon my word, I see no other way out. Don’t you really know of any job for me? I’m told that you and your wife are in a big way of business.’

  Balinkay was silent for a moment; then he sighed sympathetically.

  ‘Poor fellow, you must have been through it — oh, don’t worry, I’m not going to cross-examine you! I can see for myself. When things have got to such a pass, persuasion and dissuasion are of no more use. One’s got to hold out a helping hand, and there’s no need for me to tell you I’ll do my very best. There’s only one thing, though, Hofmiller; you must be sensible and not get the idea into your head that I can push you up to the top of the tree straight away. That sort of thing’s out of the question in a decent business; it only makes bad blood if one man is promoted over the heads of the others. You’ll have to begin right at the bottom. You may even have to sit at a desk in the counting-house for a few months before we can send you out to the plantations or fit you in somewhere else. Anyway, as I have said, I’ll fix up something for you. My wife and I are leaving tomorrow, and after a week or ten days in Paris we’re going for a few days to Le Havre and Antwerp to have a look at our agencies. But in about three weeks we shall be home again, and I’ll write to you directly we get to Rotterdam. Don’t worry — I shan’t forget. You can rely on old Balinkay.’

  ‘I know that,’ I said. ‘It’s damned good of you.’

  But Balinkay must have sensed a trace of disappointment behind my words (only those who have been in a jam themselves acquire an ear for such half-tones).

  ‘Or ... or is that too long to wait?’

  ‘No,’ I faltered, ‘of course not, so long as I know for certain. But I would have preferred it if ...’

  Balinkay reflected for a moment. ‘I suppose you’ve no time today? I mean, my wife’s still in Vienna, and since the business belongs to her and not to me, the final decision rests with her.’

  ‘Oh yes — of course I’m free,’ I said quickly. I had suddenly remembered that the Colonel had expressed a wish not to see my face again today.

  ‘Excellent! Splendid! In that case, the best thing would be if you came along with me in the old bus. There’s room in the front next to the chauffeur. I’m afraid you can’t sit at the back, for I’ve offered to give my old friend Baron Lajos and his better half a lift. We shall be at the Bristol by five, and I’ll speak to my wife straight away, and then we’ll have turned the corner. She’s never yet refused when I’ve asked her for anything for a friend.’

  I gripped his hand. We went downstairs. The mechanics had already taken off their blue overalls, and the car was waiting. Two minutes later we rattled off along the high road.

  Speed has at once a stimulating and a numbing effect on both the mind and the body. No sooner had the car left the streets of the town and reached the open country than a remarkable feeling of relief and release came over me. The chauffeur drove at a furious pace; the trees and telegraph poles receded as though lopped off obliquely, houses staggered into each other as in a distorting mirror, milestones sprang up white and dived out of sight before one could read the figures on them, and from the violence of the wind on my face I could tell at what a terrific pace we were going. But even greater, perhaps, was my amazement at the speed at which my own life was rushing along: what decisions had been taken in these last few hours! As a rule, until dawning purpose and final action follow on vague desire, the mind hovers, vacillates, swings back and forth between countless shades of emotion, and it is one of the most secret pleasures of the heart to try to dally with resolves before putting them into effect. Now, however, everything has descended upon me with dream-like rapidity, and just as villages and streets, trees and meadows, fell away in the wake of the throbbing car into nothingness, finally and beyond recall, so now was all that had hitherto been my daily life, the barracks, my career, my comrades, the Kekesfalvas, the Schloss, my rooms, the riding-school, the whole of my apparently secure and well-regulated existence, rushing away at full speed. One single hour had changed the whole of my world.

  At half-past five we drew up outside the Hotel Bristol, thoroughly jolted about and covered with dust from head to foot, yet wonderfully exhilarated by having been whistled along at such a speed.

  ‘You can’t come up and meet my wife in your present condition,’ laughed Balinkay. ‘You look as though someone has emptied a sack of flour over you. And anyway, it might be better if I had a word with her alone; I can speak much more freely, and you’ll have no need to feel embarrassed. I suggest you go to the cloakroom, have a thorough wash and brush up, and then go and sit in the bar. I’ll come down in a few minutes and report to you. And don’t worry. I’ll manage things.’

  And I must say he didn’t keep me waiting long. In five minutes he was back, smiling all over his face.

  ‘There, what did I tell you! It’s all fixed up — that is, if it suits you. You can take your time to think it over, and call it off at any time. My wife — she really is a brilliant woman — has had a brainwave as usual. Well, the idea is that you should join one of our ships, mainly to learn the necessary languages and take a look at things over in the Dutch East Indies. You’ll be enrolled as assistant purser, be given a uniform, eat at the officers’ table, make the round trip several times, and help with the clerical work. Then we’ll fit you in somewhere, at one end or the other, whichever suits you — my wife has given me her word on it.’

  ‘Oh, thanks ...’

  ‘No need to thank me. Naturally I would lend you a hand. But let me beg you once more, Hofmiller, don’t take a step like this on the spur of the moment! As far as I’m concerned you can report for duty the day after tomorrow — in any case, I’ll wire our manager to make a note of your name. But it would be better, of course, if you were to sleep on the whole thing. Personally, I’d rather see you in the regiment, but chacun à son goût. As I’ve said, if you come, you come, and if not, we won’t hold it against you. Well then’ — he held out his hand to me — ‘whether it’s yes or no, however you decide, it’s been a real pleasure to me to be of service. Servus.’

  I felt deeply moved as I looked at this man whom Fate had sent to my aid. In his marvellously light-hearted, casual way he had taken the heaviest part of my burden off my shoulders, the asking of favours, the hesitation, and the torturing doubt and agony attendant on the taking of momentous decisions. All that was left for me to do was to carry out one small formality — to write out and hand in my resignation. After that I should be free, saved.

  The so-called ‘chancery double’, a folded sheet of paper of prescribed dimensions and format, was perhaps the most indispensable requisite of the Austrian civil and military administration. Every request, every memorandum, every report, had to be sent in on this neatly trimmed form, which, owing to the uniqueness of its format, enabled official documents to be distinguished at a glance from private correspondence. From the millions and millions of such forms piled up in government offices it may one day be possible to glean the only reliable account of the history and misfortunes of the Habsburg monarchy. No communication is officially recognized unless it is made on this white rectangle of paper, and so my first task was to buy two such forms at the nearest tobacconist’s, an envelope, and, in addition, one of those so-called ‘guides’ which you place underneath so that the lines show through. The next thing
was to go across to a café, the place in Vienna where all business, the most serious as well as the most frivolous, is transacted. In twenty minutes’ time, that is to say by six o’clock, I should have my resignation written out, and I should once more belong to myself and myself alone.

  I can remember with uncanny clarity, for, after all, the most important decision of my life was being taken, every detail of this upsetting procedure; the little round marble table by the window in the café in the Ringstrasse; I can remember carefully spreading out the form on my briefcase, and folding the paper over carefully with the help of a knife, so that the fold should be dead in the middle. I can still see before me, with all the definition of a photograph, the blue-black, somewhat watery ink, can feel the slight squaring of the shoulders with which I prepared to lend the first letter the correct fullness and melodramatic flourish. For I got a certain kick out of performing my last act as a soldier with ultra-correctitude; and since the contents were prescribed by formula, the only way in which I could mark the solemnity of the occasion was by writing in a particularly neat and artistic hand.

  But even as I was writing the first few lines a strange dreaminess came over me. I put down my pen and began to think of what would happen tomorrow when my resignation reached the regimental office. At first, no doubt, there would be a look of bewilderment on the face of the sergeant-major, then astonished whispering among the clerks, for, after all, it was not every day that a lieutenant threw up his commission just like that. Then the document would pass through the usual official channels until it reached the Colonel himself. I could suddenly see him before me as large as life, clamping his pince-nez before his long-sighted eyes, giving a start as he read the first few words, and then in his choleric way banging his fist down on the table; the churlish old buffer was only too accustomed to seeing junior officers whom he had hauled over the coals fairly wagging their tails with joy when he gave them to understand the next day by some genial remark that the thundercloud had passed. This time, however, he would realize that he had come up against as tough a nut as himself, namely, little Lieutenant Hofmiller, who was not going to let himself be bullied. And when it came out later that Hofmiller had resigned his commission, twenty or thirty heads would involuntarily be jerked up in amazement. My fellow-officers would each think to himself: Well, I’m damned, there’s a chap for you! He’s not going to stand for that sort of thing! Confoundedly disagreeable it might be for Colonel Bubencic! In any case, no one had taken a more honourable farewell of the regiment, no one had got out of a scrape more decently, for as far back as I could remember.