I ought to write a couple of letters, make all ready—prepare myself. I would wash myself carefully, and tidy my bed nicely. I would lay my head upon the sheets of white paper, the cleanest things I had left, and the green blanket. I … The green blanket! Like a shot I was wide awake. The blood mounted to my head, and I got violent palpitation of the heart. I arise from the seat, and start to walk. Life stirs again in all my fibres, and time after time I repeat disconnectedly, “The green blanket—the green blanket.” I go faster and faster, as if it is a case of fetching something, and stand after a little time in my tinker’s workshop. Without pausing a moment, or wavering in my resolution, I go over to the bed, and roll up Hans Pauli’s blanket. It was a strange thing if this bright idea of mine couldn’t save me. I rose infinitely superior to the stupid scruples which sprang up in me—half inward cries about a certain stain on my honour. I bade goodbye to the whole of them. I was no hero—no virtuous idiot. I had my senses left.
So I took the blanket under my arm and went to No 5 Stener’s Street. I knocked, and entered the big, strange room for the first time. The bell on the door above my head gave a lot of violent jerks. A man enters from a side room, chewing, his mouth is full of food, and stands behind the counter.
“Eh, lend me sixpence on my eyeglasses?” said I. “I shall release them in a couple of days, without fail—eh?”
“No! they’re steel, aren’t they?”
“Yes.”
“No; can’t do it.”
“Ah, no, I suppose you can’t. Well, it was really at best only a joke. Well, I have a blanket with me for which, properly speaking, I have no longer any use, and it struck me that you might take it off my hands.”
“I have—more’s the pity—a whole store full of bedclothes,” he replied; and when I had opened it he just cast one glance over it and said, “No, excuse me, but I haven’t any use for that, either.”
“I wanted to show you the worst side first,” said I; “it’s much better on the other side.”
“Ay, ay; it’s no good. I wouldn’t own it; and you wouldn’t raise a penny on it anywhere.”
“No, it’s clear it isn’t worth anything,” I said; “but I thought it might go with another old blanket at an auction.”
“Well, no; it’s no use.”
“Three pence?” said I.
“No; I won’t have it all, man! I wouldn’t have it in the house!” I took it under my arm and went home.
I acted as if nothing had passed, spread it over the bed again, smoothed it well out, as was my custom, and tried to wipe away every trace of my late action. I could not possibly have been in my right mind at the moment when I came to the conclusion to commit this rascally trick. The more I thought over it the more unreasonable it seemed to me. It must have been an attack of weakness; some relaxation in my inner self that had surprised me when off my guard. Neither had I fallen straight into the trap. I had half felt that I was going the wrong road, and I expressly offered my glasses first, and I rejoiced greatly that I had not had the opportunity of carrying into effect this fault which would have sullied the last hours I had to live.
I wandered out into the city again. I let myself sink upon one of the seats by Our Saviour’s Church; dozed with my head on my breast, apathetic after my last excitement, sick and famished with hunger. And time went by.
I should have to sit out this hour, too. It was a little lighter outside than in the house, and it seemed to me that my chest did not pain quite so badly out in the open air. I should get home, too, soon enough—and I dozed, and thought, and suffered fearfully.
I had found a little pebble; I wiped it clean on my coat sleeve and put it into my mouth so that I might have something to mumble. Otherwise I did not stir, and didn’t even wink an eyelid. People came and went; the noise of cars, the tramp of hoofs, and chatter of tongues filled the air. I might try with the buttons. Of course there would be no use in trying; and besides, I was now in a rather bad way; but when I came to consider the matter closely, I would be obliged, as it were, to pass in the direction of my “Uncle’s” as I went home. At last I got up, dragging myself slowly to my feet, and reeled down the streets. It began to burn over my eyebrows—fever was setting in, and I hurried as fast as I could. Once more I passed the baker’s shop where the little loaf lay. “Well, we must stop here!” I said, with affected decision. But supposing I were to go in and beg for a bit of bread? Surely that was a
