Christopher Ulwing’s honest face assumed a resigned expression. With a sweeping movement of his hand he announced his submission. An entry had been made in the books over which he had no control. After all, what does it matter why a man is proclaimed a hero? To signal, at the risk of one’s life, to a little girl, or to soldiers, what is the difference?
“I thank you,” he said, scarcely audibly. He took his hat off and, slightly stooping, entered the shop. Outside, on the clock-sign, sparrows were waiting for Brother Sebastian’s crumbs. Indoors two candles burned. The silence was broken only by the ticking of the clocks; it sounded like the beating of many hearts. The heart of him who wound the clocks beat no more.
Night was falling when the builder descended from the castle.
“I shall come back for the night,” he said to the spectacle-maker and the wood-carver, who had decided to sit up near their old friend. Then he stepped out smartly, making an effort to keep his head erect, but his eyes looked dimly upon the people. He walked as if nobody else existed, as if he were quite alone. It occurred to him that throughout all his life he had been alone. He did not mind; it was the cause of his strength. To expect nothing from anybody, to lean on no one. But what he felt now was something quite different. It was not the solitude of strength, but that of old age. The house in Pozsony with its dark corners; his mother’s songs; his father’s workshop; his youth ... there was nobody left with him to whom these were realities. When a man remains alone with the past, it is more painful than present solitude. It came home to him what it meant, now that everyone had gone to whom he could say: “Do you remember?”
Round him soldiers began to flow in. Rows of men, grimy with sweat and smoke. The drums beat. The crowd followed on both flanks. The whole road was singing.
In the windows of the houses handkerchiefs flickered like white flames.
Anne and Christopher had run to the window. Opposite, the sun had set already behind the castle. The outline of Buda, spires, gables, showed dark on the red sky. A black town on the top of the hill. On the bridge over the Danube a dark stream of steel poured over to Pest ... soldiers with fixed bayonets. They too received the sun on their backs and had their faces in the shade.
Anne leaned out from the window.
At the head of the troops, the shape of a man dominated the floating throng. The one in the red dolman. The leader.... His horse was invisible. The living stream appeared to carry him over its head.
From the bridge end on the Pest side he looked back to the castle. The outline of his features shone up clear and strong, with Buda as its background. The sun, reflected violently from the glasses of his spectacles, sent a vivid flame into the darkness.