by Stefan Zweig
She laughed more and more uproariously, glaring at us as she did so. But she trembled as she laughed; this was hysteria rather than genuine merriment. I could tell that she longed to jump up, and indeed that would have been the most natural thing for her to do in her state of extreme agitation, but her powerless legs fettered her to her chair. This enforced immobility lent her anger something of the viciousness and tragic helplessness of a caged animal.
‘One moment, I’ll fetch Josef,’ whispered Ilona, who had blenched. For years she had been accustomed to anticipating Edith’s every movement. Kekesfalva too went up to his daughter anxiously. But his fears proved to be superfluous, for when Josef entered the room Edith allowed herself to be led away quietly by him and her father, without a word of farewell or apology to me. Evidently it was only our embarrassment that made her realize what a scene she had made.
I was left alone with Ilona. I felt like a man who has fallen from an aeroplane and staggers to his feet dazed and frightened, not knowing what has happened.
‘You must try and understand,’ Ilona whispered to me hurriedly. ‘She never gets a night’s sleep now. The thought of going away upsets her terribly and ... you don’t know ...’
‘Oh yes, I do, Ilona,’ I said. ‘I know everything. That’s why I’m coming again tomorrow.’
Hold out! Stand fast! I told myself firmly as, thoroughly upset by this whole scene, I walked homewards. Stand fast at all costs! You promised Condor you would. Your honour is at stake. Don’t let yourself be deflected because of her nerves and her moods. Remember always that this hostility is only the desperation of a person who loves you, and to whom you are in debt because of your coldness and hardness of heart. Stand fast until the very last moment — only another three days, three and a half days, and you will have stood the test, you will be able to slacken off, you will be relieved of your burden for weeks, months! Patience, have patience — just for this last lap, these last three, three and a half days.
Condor had been right. It is only the immeasurable, the limitless that terrifies us. That which is set within defined, fixed limits is a challenge to our powers, comes to be the measure of our strength. Three days — I shall manage that, I felt, and the knowledge inspired me with confidence. Next day I carried out my duties in exemplary fashion, which is saying a good deal, for we had to parade an hour earlier than usual and drill for all we were worth until the sweat poured down our necks. To my own astonishment I was even able to extract an involuntary ‘Well done!’ from our testy old Colonel. This time the storm of his wrath descended with all the more violence on the head of the unfortunate Count Steinhübel. Mad about horseflesh as he was, he had acquired, only a few days before, a new, high-stepping chestnut, a young, unmanageable thoroughbred, and in his confidence in his own equestrian skill he had been so imprudent as to neglect to put him through his paces beforehand. While the Colonel had been discussing the orders of the day with us, the villainous beast, startled by the shadow of a bird, had reared up madly, and later, during the attack, had simply bolted. Had Steinhübel not been such a marvellous horseman the whole regiment would have been privileged to see him take a tumble. It was only after a positively acrobatic struggle that he was able to get the whip-hand of the furious beast, a redoubtable feat for which he was not exactly congratulated by the Colonel. Once and for all, growled the old martinet, he was not going to tolerate circus tricks on the parade-ground; if Count Steinhübel knew nothing about horses by this time he should at least break them in properly beforehand in the riding-school, and not make such a disgraceful exhibition of himself before the men on the parade-ground.
This caustic remark infuriated the Captain beyond measure. All the way home and later at mess he kept on complaining of how unjustly he had been treated. It was merely that the beast was mettlesome; we should see what a fine figure the chestnut would cut once he’d been thoroughly broken in. But the more he got worked up, the more his friends chaffed him. He’d been sold a pup, they jeered, and this made him absolutely wild. The argument became more and more heated. During this stormy scene an orderly spoke to me over my shoulder. ‘You’re wanted on the telephone, Herr Leutnant.’
I jumped up with an uneasy presentiment. During the last few weeks telephone calls, telegrams and letters had meant nothing but endless trouble and nervous worry. What did she want this time? Probably she was regretting that she had given me an afternoon of freedom. Well, if that was so, all the better; it meant everything was smoothed over. At any rate I slammed the padded door of the telephone booth as firmly behind me as though I were completely cutting off all contact between my two worlds. Ilona was at the other end.
‘I only wanted to say,’ she said, speaking, it seemed to me, in a somewhat strained voice, ‘that it would be better if you didn’t come today. Edith doesn’t feel very well ...’
‘Nothing serious, I hope?’ I interrupted her.
‘Oh no ... but I think we’d better let her have a good rest today, and then ...’ — she hesitated for a remarkably long time — ‘and then ... one day doesn’t matter so much now. We shall have to ... we shall have to postpone our departure.’
‘Postpone it?’ I must have sounded very alarmed, for she added hastily:
‘Yes ... but only for a few days, we hope ... Anyhow, we can discuss that tomorrow or the day after ... Perhaps I’ll give you another ring ... I only wanted to let you know ... So don’t come today, if you don’t mind, and ... and ... good-bye and best wishes.’
‘Yes, but ...’ I stammered into the receiver. But there was no further answer. I went on listening for a moment or two. No, there was no answer. She had rung off. Odd — why had she broken off the conversation in such a hurry — as though she were afraid of being questioned any further? There must be something behind it all. And why put off the journey? The date had been settled. A week, Condor had said. A week — I’d completely adapted myself to the idea, and now I should have to ... Impossible ... it was impossible! I couldn’t stand this eternal shilly-shallying ... After all, I had nerves too ... I must be left in peace some time ...
Was it really so hot in this telephone booth? I pushed open the padded door as if I were suffocating, and staggered back to my seat. Apparently my absence had not been remarked. They were still arguing away and ragging the wretched Steinhübel, and the orderly was hovering patiently behind my vacant chair with the meat course. Mechanically, to get rid of the fellow, I helped myself to two or three slices, but I made no move to take up knife or fork, for there was a violent pounding at my temples, as though a little hammer were pitilessly knocking out the words on my skull: ‘Postpone! Postpone our departure.’ There must be some reason for it. Something must have happened. Had she really been taken ill? Had I offended her? Why had she decided all of a sudden not to go? Condor had promised me that I should have to hold out only for a week, and I had already struggled through four days ... But I couldn’t go on any longer ... I simply could not!
‘A penny for your thoughts, Toni? Our homely fare doesn’t seem to be to your taste. Well, well, that’s what comes of living in such style! As I keep on saying, we can’t live up to Toni these days.’
There was that confounded Ferencz again with his good-natured chaff, his beastly innuendoes, and hints that I was sponging on the Kekesfalvas.
‘Can’t you give me a rest from your damn silly jokes, blast you!’ I burst out. Something of my pent-up fury must have crept into my voice, for the two ensigns opposite looked up in surprise. Ferencz put down his knife and fork.
‘Now look here, Toni,’ he said threateningly, ‘I don’t like your tone. Surely we can go on cracking our little jokes in the mess! If you like it better elsewhere, all right, that’s your affair, not mine. But I still have a right to remark at our table that you’re not touching your lunch!’
Our neighbours looked at the two of us with interest. The clattering and scraping of cutlery on the plates suddenly died down. Even the Major frowned and looked sharply across at us. I realiz
ed that it was high time to make some amends for my outburst.
‘And you, Ferencz,’ I said, forcing a laugh, ‘will perhaps kindly allow me to have a splitting headache and to feel out of sorts once in a while.’
‘Oh, sorry, Toni!’ Ferencz immediately interposed. ‘How was I to know? Yes, now I come to think of it, you really do look washed out. I’ve been thinking for the last few days that you were a bit under the weather. But — you’ll pick up again. I’m not seriously worried.’
The incident was happily closed. But I continued to fume inwardly. What were the Kekesfalvas up to? This way, that way, hot and cold — no, I wasn’t going to let them play me up like this! Three days, I had said, three and a half days, and not a moment longer. It was all the same to me if they postponed their journey or not. I wasn’t going to let my nerves be torn to pieces any longer. I wasn’t going to be tortured any longer by this cursed pity. It was driving me mad.
I had to keep a tight hold on myself so as not to betray my inward fury. I felt like picking up the glasses and crushing them between my fingers or smashing them down on the table; I felt I must do something violent to relieve my feelings. I just couldn’t go on waiting with my nerves on edge, waiting to know whether they were going to write or ring up, to postpone or not postpone their journey. I simply couldn’t go on. I felt I had to do something.
Meanwhile my comrades were arguing just as heatedly as before. ‘I tell you,’ sneered the lanky Jozsi, ‘that fellow Neutitscheiner did you down thoroughly. I know something about horses, and you’ll never get the better of that rascal, no one’ll ever master that one.’
‘Is that so? Well, I’d just like to see!’ I suddenly burst in upon the conversation. ‘I’d just like to see whether one couldn’t get the better of the beast. I say, Steinhübel, d’you mind if I take your chestnut in hand for an hour or so and give it him hot and strong till he submits?’
I don’t know what put the idea into my head, but the urge to vent my fury against someone or something, to have a tussle, a real scrap, was so overpowering that I eagerly jumped at the first opportunity that offered. They all looked up at me in astonishment.
‘Good luck to you!’ laughed Count Steinhübel. ‘If you’ve got the nerve, you’ll be doing me a favour. I’ve positively got cramp in my fingers today, I had to pull the beast in so hard. It would be a jolly good thing if someone fresh took a hand with the rogue. If you like, we’ll go along straight away. Come along, quick march!’
Everyone jumped up in pleasant anticipation of some real fun. We went to the stables to fetch Caesar — for this was the invincible name that Steinhübel had somewhat prematurely bestowed on the intractable animal. Caesar, seeing us gathered in a noisy group round him, scented mischief. He snorted and pawed the ground and frisked about in the narrow confines of his box, tugging at his halter until the boards groaned. It was not without considerable difficulty that we managed to manoeuvre the suspicious beast into the riding-school.
In general I was only an average rider, and far from being the equal in prowess of so redoubtable a rider as Steinhübel. Today, nevertheless, he could not have found anyone better than myself, and the unmanageable Caesar could not have met a more dangerous antagonist. For my muscles were tensed with fury, and in my perverse craving to get the better of, to master, someone or something, I took an almost sadistic pleasure in showing at least this stubborn animal (for one cannot let fly at what is out of one’s reach) that there were limits to my patience. It little availed the doughty Caesar to zoom about like a rocket, to pound the walls with his hoofs, to rear and do his best, by suddenly leaping sideways, to throw me. My blood was up; I tugged mercilessly at the curb-rein as though trying to break all his teeth, I dug my heels into his ribs. And at this treatment he soon began to stop his antics. I was excited, elated by his stubborn resistance, and the approving remarks of my fellow-officers, ‘My stars, he’s giving him what for!’ or ‘Just look at old Hofmiller!’ inspired me with more and more daring and confidence. The feeling of self-assurance derived from physical achievement always transfers itself to the mental sphere. After half an hour of ruthless wrestling with the animal I still sat victorious in the saddle, and the exhausted brute beneath me was gnashing his teeth and steaming and sweating as though he had come out of a hot shower. His neck and bridle were flecked with foam, and his ears drooped submissively. After another half-hour the invincible Caesar was pacing up and down mildly and obediently at my will; I no longer needed to squeeze him firmly with my legs and was now able to dismount at my leisure and receive the congratulations of my fellow-officers. But there was still so much fight in me, and I had felt so fine during this trial of strength, that I asked Steinhübel to allow me to ride out to the parade-ground for an hour or two, at the trot of course, to allow the sweating beast to cool off a little.
‘Why, with pleasure,’ Steinhübel laughed his consent. ‘I can see you’ll bring him back as meek as a lamb. He won’t try any of his tricks again. Bravo, Toni, my congratulations!’
And so, followed by the thunderous applause of my friends, I rode the conquered Caesar out of the riding-school and, letting the reins hang loose, through the town and into the meadows. The horse’s movements were light and easy, and I too felt light and easy. In that one hour of struggle I had taken out on the recalcitrant animal all my anger and exasperation. And now he trotted along meekly and peaceably, and I had to admit that Steinhübel was right, he really stepped wonderfully. More beautifully, more gracefully, more smartly, it would have been impossible to canter; and gradually my original ill-temper gave way to a voluptuous and almost dreamy feeling of well-being. For a good hour I rode him hither and thither, and at length, at about half-past five, walked him slowly back. We had both of us had enough for one day, Caesar and I. I was a little somnolent as I rode back to the town along the familiar high-road at a comfortable jog-trot. Suddenly I heard the sound of a motor-horn behind me, loud and shrill. The excitable chestnut immediately pricked up his ears and began to tremble. Realizing in good time that the horse was likely to shy, I pulled in the reins and urged him under a tree by the side of the road, to allow the car to pass.
The chauffeur must have been a very considerate driver, for, correctly interpreting my caution, he came driving along at a most leisurely pace, and the engine could scarcely be heard. As the car now passed us, Caesar stood fairly still, and I was able to glance up at my leisure. But the moment I raised my eyes, I became aware that someone was waving to me from the open car, and I recognized Condor’s spherical bald head side by side with Kekesfalva’s egg-shaped skull with its frame of scanty white hair.
I could not tell whether I myself was trembling or the horse was trembling under me. What was the meaning of this? Condor here, and he had not let me know! He must have been to see the Kekesfalvas, for the old man was sitting next to him in the car. But why had they not stopped to say a few words to me? Why had they driven past me so coldly? And how was it that Condor had suddenly come out here again? Surely his consulting hours in Vienna were between two and four? They must have sent for him very urgently and, moreover, very early in the morning. Something must have happened. It must have something to do with what Ilona had said on the telephone about their postponing their journey and my not going that afternoon. Something must have happened, something that they were keeping from me! Had she done herself some injury? Yesterday evening there had been an air of resolution about her, an air of scornful confidence, such as a person only wears when planning something dreadful, something desperate. She must have done something to herself. Ought I not to gallop after them? Perhaps I might catch Condor at the station?
But perhaps, I quickly bethought myself, he’s not going away at all. No; if something dreadful has happened, he will on no account go back to Vienna without leaving a message for me. I expect he’s left a note at the barracks. He would, I knew, do nothing without my knowledge, nothing against my interests. He would not leave me in the lurch. The main thing was to get back q
uickly. I was certain to find a message, a letter, a note from him, or the man himself. I must hurry.
Arrived at the barracks, I stabled the horse as quickly as possible and rushed up the stairs so as to avoid the chatter and congratulations of my friends. And there, to be sure, I found Kusma — waiting outside my door. From his anxious expression, his drooping shoulders, I realized something was wrong. A gentleman in mufti was waiting in my room, he told me in some consternation; he had not liked to turn the gentleman away, because his business had seemed to be so urgent. As a matter of fact, Kusma had strict instructions to let no one into my room, but probably Condor had given him a tip — hence his fear and uneasiness, which, however, quickly changed to astonishment when, instead of cursing him, I merely murmured a jovial ‘That’s all right’ and made for the door. Thank God Condor had come! He would tell me everything.
As I threw open the door a figure stirred, seemed to take shape out of the shadows of the darkened room (Kusma had pulled down the blinds because of the heat). I was just about to give Condor a hearty greeting when I realized — this was not Condor at all. It was someone else waiting for me, the very person whom I had least expected to find here — Kekesfalva. Even had the darkness been denser I should have recognized him among thousands by the timid way in which he got up and bowed. And even before he cleared his throat to speak, I imagined I could hear his dejected, despondent tones.
‘Forgive me, Herr Leutnant,’ he said with a bow, ‘for bursting in upon you like this, but Dr Condor asked me to present his compliments and to apologize for our not stopping the car ... we hadn’t a moment to lose, he simply had to catch the Vienna express because this evening he has to ... and ... and ... so he asked me to let you know at once how sorry he was ... That’s the only reason ... I mean that’s why I have taken the liberty of coming up to your room.’
