Hunger

an evening in autumn. It was late; they were three jovial souls together, they came out late from the Grand, and met this being going along alone past Cammermeyers, and they addressed her. At first she answered rebuffingly; but one of the jovial spirits, a man who neither feared fire nor water, asked her right to her face if he might not have the civilised enjoyment of accompanying her home? He would, by the Lord, not hurt a hair on her head, as the saying goes⁠–⁠only go with her to her door, reassure himself that she reached home in safety, otherwise he could not rest all night. He talked incessantly as they went along, hit upon one thing or another, dubbed himself Waldemar Atterdag, and represented himself as a photographer. At last she was obliged to laugh at this merry soul who refused to be rebuffed by her coldness, and it finally ended by his going with her.

“Indeed, did it? and what came of it?” I inquired; and I held my breath for his reply.

“Came of it? Oh, stop there; there is a lady in question.”

We both kept silent a moment, both “Missy” and I.

“Well, I’m hanged, was that ‘the Duke’? So that’s what he looks like,” he added, reflectively. “Well, if she is in contact with that fellow; well, then, I wouldn’t like to answer for her.”

I still kept silent. Yes, of course “the Duke” would make the pace with her. Well, what odds? How did it concern me? I bade her good day with all her wiles: a good day I bade her; and I tried to console myself by thinking the worst thoughts about her; took a downright pleasure in dragging her through the mire. It only annoyed me to think that I had doffed my hat to the pair, if I really had done so. Why should I raise my hat to such people? I did not care for her any longer, certainly not; she was no longer in the very slightest degree lovely to me; she had fallen off. Ah, the devil knows how soiled I found her! It might easily have been the case that it was only me she looked at; I was not in the least astounded at that; it might be regret that began to stir in her. But that was no reason for me to go and lower myself and salute, like a fool, especially when she had become so seriously besmirched of late. “The Duke” was welcome to her; I wish him joy! The day might come when I would just take into my head to pass her haughtily by without glancing once towards her. Ay, it might happen that I would venture to do this, even if she were to gaze straight into my eyes, and have a blood-red gown on into the bargain. It might very easily happen! Ha, ha! that would be a triumph. If I knew myself aright, I was quite capable of completing my drama during the course of the night, and, before eight days had flown, I would have brought this young lady to her knees⁠—with all her charms, ha, ha! with all her charms.⁠ ⁠…

“Goodbye,” I muttered, shortly; but “Missy” held me back. He queried:

“But what do you do all day now?”

“Do? I write, naturally. What else should I do? Is it not that I live by? For the moment, I am working at a great drama, ‘The Sign of the Cross.’ Theme taken from the Middle Ages.”

“By Jove!” exclaimed “Missy,” seriously. “Well, if you succeed with that, why⁠ ⁠…”

“I have no great anxiety on that score,” I replied. “In eight days’ time or so, I think you and all the other folks will have heard a little more of me.”

With that I left him.

When I got home I applied at once to my landlady, and requested a lamp. It was of the utmost importance to me to get this lamp; I would not go to bed tonight; my drama was raging in my brain, and I hoped so surely to be able to write a good portion of it before morning. I put forward my request very humbly to her, as I had noticed that she made a dissatisfied face on my re-entering the sitting-room. I said that I had almost completed a remarkable drama, only a couple of scenes were wanting; and I hinted that it might be produced in some theatre or another, in no time. If she would only just render me this great service now.⁠ ⁠…

But madam had no lamp. She considered a bit, but could not call to mind that she had a lamp in any place. If I liked to wait until after twelve o’clock, I might perhaps get the kitchen lamp. Why didn’t I buy myself a candle?

I held my tongue. I hadn’t a farthing to buy a candle, and she knew that right well. Of course I was foiled again! The servant-girl sat inside with us⁠—simply sat in the sitting-room, and was not in the kitchen at all; so that the lamp up there was not even lit. And I stood and thought over this, but said no more. Suddenly the girl remarked to me:

“I thought I saw you come out of the palace a while ago; were you at a dinner party?” and she laughed loudly at this jest.

I sat down, took out my papers, and attempted to write something here, in the meantime. I held the paper on my knees, and gazed persistently at the floor to avoid being distracted by anything; but it helped not a whit; nothing helped me; I got no farther. The landlady’s two little girls came in and made a row with a cat⁠—a queer, sick cat that had scarcely a hair on it; they blew into its eyes until water sprang out of them and trickled down its nose. The landlord and a couple of others sat at a table and played cent et un. The