I had read my eyes out of their sockets, had starved the brains out of my head, and what the devil had I gained by it? Even a street hussy prayed God to deliver her from the sight of me. Well, now, there should be a stop to it. Do you understand that? Stop it shall, or the devil take a worse hold of me.
With steadily increasing fury, grinding my teeth under the consciousness of my impotence, with tears and oaths I raged on, without looking at the people who passed me by. I commenced once more to martyr myself, ran my forehead against lampposts on purpose, dug my nails deep into my palms, bit my tongue with frenzy when it didn’t articulate clearly, and laughed insanely each time it hurt much.
Yes; but what shall I do? I asked myself at last, and I stamped many times on the pavement and repeated, What shall I do? A gentleman just going by remarks, with a smile, “You ought to go and ask to be locked up.” I looked after him. One of our well-known lady’s doctors, nicknamed “The Duke.” Not even he understood my real condition—a man I knew; whose hand I had shaken. I grew quiet. Locked up? Yes, I was mad; he was right. I felt madness in my blood; felt its darting pain through my brain. So that was to be the end of me! Yes, yes; and I resume my wearisome painful walk. There was the haven in which I was to find rest.
Suddenly I stop again. But not locked up! I say, not that; and I grew almost hoarse with fear. I implored grace for myself; begged to the wind and weather not to be locked up. I should have to be brought to the guardhouse again, imprisoned in a dark cell which had not a spark of light in it. Not that! There must be other channels yet open that I had not tried, and I would try them. I would be so earnestly painstaking; would take good time for it, and go indefatigably round from house to house. For example, there was Cisler the music-seller; I hadn’t been to him at all. Some remedy would turn up! … Thus I stumbled on, and talked until I brought myself to weep with emotion. Cisler! Was that perchance a hint from on high? His name had struck me for no reason, and he lived so far away; but I would look him up all the same, go slowly, and rest between times. I knew the place well; I had been there often, when times were good had bought much music from him. Should I ask him for sixpence? Perhaps that might make him feel uncomfortable. I would ask for a shilling. I went into the shop, and asked for the chief. They showed me into his office; there he sat handsome, well-dressed in the latest style running down some accounts. I stammered through an excuse, and set forth my errand. Compelled by need to apply to him … it should not be very long till I could pay it back … when I got paid for my newspaper article … He would confer such a great benefit on me. … Even as I was speaking he turned about to his desk, and resumed his work. When I had finished, he glanced sideways at me, shook his handsome head, and said, “No”; simply “no”—no explanation—not another word.
My knees trembled fearfully, and I supported myself against the little polished barrier. I must try once more. Why should just his name have occurred to me as I stood far away from there in Vaterland? Something in my left side jerked a couple of times, and I broke out into a sweat. I said I was really awfully run down, and rather ill, worse luck. It would certainly be no longer than a few days when I could repay it. If he would be so kind?
“My dear fellow, why do you come to me?” he queried; “you are a perfect stranger off the street to me; go to the paper where you are known.”
“But only for this evening,” said I; “the office is already shut up, and I am very hungry.”
He shook his head persistently; kept on shaking it after I
