I was not frightened, I was not even surprised … but rising up slightly in bed, and propping myself on my elbow, I began to gaze with redoubled attention at the figure which had so unexpectedly presented itself.
The latter continued to nod its head.
"What is it?" I said at last.—"Art thou exulting? Or art thou pitying?—What is this—a warning or a reproach?… Or dost thou wish to give me to understand that thou wert in the wrong? That we were both in the wrong? What art thou experiencing? The pains of hell? The bliss of paradise? Speak at least one word!"
But my rival did not utter a single sound—and only went on nodding his head sadly and submissively, as before, downward from above.
I burst out laughing … he vanished.
February, 1878.
THE BEGGAR MAN
I was passing along the street when a beggar, a decrepit old man, stopped me.
Swollen, tearful eyes, blue lips, bristling rags, unclean sores…. Oh, how horribly had poverty gnawed that unhappy being!
He stretched out to me a red, bloated, dirty hand…. He moaned, he bellowed for help.