Part 40

“No, no,” cried Told, interrupting him. “I ... I ... it is on my own account that I’ve come here,” and then he began his story. He told, too, what an extraordinary sensation of heat he had felt at the back of his head, and this must have been the forerunner of misfortune. “Do not be vexed, Dr. Wenk, that I, a stranger, should come to you thus, but I should have had to put an end to myself if I had not been able to confide in someone to-night. May I go on? Well, these powerful rays, that were like red-hot iron at the back of my head, changed gradually to a feeling of well-being throughout my whole body. They seemed to bathe me in pleasant warmth, and I had a feeling that I was somehow saved from something that lay before me, and in this very moment of relief ... it happened! In the first half-hour afterwards I denied that it could have done, but when I reached home I realized that the dreadful story was true, and this thing had really happened. There is no getting away from it, either for others or for myself.”

Wenk at once recalled his experience with the old Professor. He was startled. Could it be possible that here too ... and he thought of the Countess and of Cara Carozza. He asked Told, “Have you any suspicion at all?”

The Count did not understand the question.

“Any suspicion? What do you mean? That I have been like this before? Ill in this way? No, never!”

“No, a suspicion of any special person who was there?”

“The idea never occurred to me. I can’t understand how anybody else could.... No ... I don’t suspect anyone!”

“Was there nobody in the company who did not seem to belong there, who was not quite like the other guests?”

“It was a company of the Privy Councillor’s intimate friends. No, there was nobody!”

Wenk rejected the idea. Besides, how could there be any connection between the criminal he was seeking and the Count’s act of cheating? It was apparently a momentary mental aberration, a loss of will-power. A subconscious process in a strange and elusive personality which bordered upon morbidity, which thus strove to register a mental impression upon its fellow-players. The Count ought to consult a psychiatrist. It was extraordinary that he should appeal to him, a criminal prosecutor, but he did not put any question to him on this head.

Told became silent, and the lawyer respected his mood. Then suddenly he seemed to pull himself together and said, “I realize that I am keeping you from your night’s rest; I beg you not to be vexed with me. In misfortune it seems as if the mind sinks into a gulf, and the consciousness grasps at the nearest support. You had rung up, and there was some connection between you and ... my house, and so....” He broke off. “But tell me, am I really saying what I want to, or am I talking nonsense? You see, that is the horror of such an experience as mine. It seems as if I shall always require a neurologist to guide my future life.”

“Reassure yourself, Count; you are speaking quite clearly and saying exactly what you want to express. I beg you to make use of me if you can. My calling in some respects borders upon the sphere of the specialist in nerve-disorders; perhaps it goes even further, and at any rate it is bound up with the most mysterious and most speculative part of man’s being. I am very sorry that the occasion that brings you to me is such an unfortunate one, else I should be only too pleased by your visit.”

While Wenk was speaking, desiring to convey that anything out of the common which was mentally or spiritually of an unusual and critical nature was really his concern, the idea occurred to him to enlist the Count’s sympathy in his own aims. Count Told was a man of the world. He belonged to a sphere through which Wenk hoped to be able to endow the life of the nation with nobler qualities and loftier ideals. In the practical necessities which the last few months had forced upon him he had almost neglected the ideal side of the task before him. The events of this night had brought him into unexpected relations with a human being, and he could best serve him by not leaving him alone. He explained his views to the Count.

“They talk of ours as the ‘upper’ class. This description, which certainly has a substratum of truth, must be made a living reality once more. Our class, free of the struggle to obtain a better social status, is more than ever called upon to foster intellectual development and mental gifts. It must cherish these noble qualities in itself and turn them to account for others. Our sphere of politics must be the spiritual one!”

Count Told’s life hitherto had been irreproachable. Both in sentiment and in the externals of life he had shown himself superior, but for lack of serious pursuits to which he could devote himself he had thrown his energies into following up his hobbies, such as the collection of Futurist works of art, for which there was as yet no standard to judge by. He patronized young poets who were at present but a minority and a novelty. They were brought into the light, and the discovery of their powers engaged the serious attention of himself and his like. The struggle to get possession of something new and striking was carried on in this respect just as it was by the profiteers of ordinary wares.... It was not the uneducated rich who devoted themselves to it, but those who sought for their wealth a channel which should return their gold stamped with the impress of beauty and of intellectual superiority. But these fell victims to the age, and their ideas dissolved in hysteria akin to that of a weeping woman whose whole consciousness can hold but one idea. The value of money declined, and in so doing its power over men became all the greater; it seized upon them with ever-growing force, till at last it was like a disease.

Such was the connection between the hobbies of the Count and his like and the age they lived in. The age made use of what was valuable in them. The propagandists of the “new art” were merely stockjobbers, uniting their intellectual ambitions with their speculations. The celebrated “Blue Horses” were to be had for a couple of hundred marks at first. X. bought them for eight hundred, and now it was impossible to obtain them for two hundred thousand. It was such anecdotes as these that spurred them on.

For a long time Wenk and Count Told discussed these things. The Count opposed Wenk’s view, having learnt some of the terminology of the artists whose pictures he bought.

“Folks even begin to say,” said Wenk to him on one occasion, “that he speaks as well as a Futurist! And this school begins to affiliate itself with another intellectual movement of our day, which stands on much the same foundations--with the so-called theosophy. You will notice that the Futurist eo ipso is also a theosophist or an anthropologist. But it is not because these ideas are really inwardly connected, but because the pursuance of them is united. You will always find nowadays that those who most freely deplore the materialism of our age are those who in private life are most devoted to it. Moreover, in the one case as in the other, it is not always a question of money. Mental and spiritual greed is also an aspect of this age, which exchanges the dominion of one for that of another. Everywhere folks are seeking, seeking eagerly to escape from the misery of the present, and for us mortals there remains but warfare--war against those near us, against those among us, and against ourselves, and it is our class especially which must wage war against ourselves!”

Wenk then asked the Count whether he would not spend the night with him, as it was now so late.

The Count answered involuntarily, “Yes, but my wife....” Then he stopped, looking at Wenk, and his face showed the return of his tormenting thoughts. After a time he began again: “You had caused me to forget my trouble, Dr. Wenk! For this night I have robbed you of, which you have devoted to me so sympathetically, I shall eternally be in your debt. I cannot think how I should have lived through it--alone! Now it seems to be behind me, and I gratefully accept your offer of a bed.”

“How would you like,” said Wenk to Count Told next morning, “for me to see the Privy Councillor and relate your story to him?”

“I should be extremely glad if you would.”

He hesitated as if he wanted to say something more. Wenk noticed it and waited. Then he said, anticipating the other, “I am absolutely at your service. If you have any other wish....”

The Count answered quickly, reddening as he spoke, “Yes, I want to speak to my wife. When I think of her I feel ... so ashamed!”

“You need not be ashamed!”

“My wife has such a strong and forceful idea of life. It always seemed as if she found our life together a somewhat feeble thing.... I wonder whether it will be possible for her to go on living with a husband who henceforth is but an invalid.”

“I will see her, too,” said Wenk.

* * * * *

The Privy Councillor received Wenk at once. As amiably as he could, and in the pleasantly sarcastic tone which distinguished him on all occasions, he told Wenk that his opinion was that the Count had been anxious to adventure something that might raise him in his wife’s esteem. The force of her personality stood far above his own, and he hoped to attain to it by undertaking so hazardous a scheme as to “pack” the cards and win the game. It was not on account of the money, he was convinced of that. He merely wanted to exercise his imagination in adventure as his wife did, but her strength of character always ensured a safe way of escape. For the more feeble personality the first attempt had ended in misfortune. His phantasies had been excited by the current stories of the thieving band of gambling cheats, and the whole affair was mainly due to his neighbour at the table, whose own desire for gain influenced a weaker character and thus paved the way to a society scandal.