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 lamp-posts 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 guard- house 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 him 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 had seized the handle of the door. "Good-evening," I said. It was not any hint from on high, thought I, and I smiled bitterly. If it came to that, I could give as good a hint as that myself. I dragged on one block after the other; now and then I rested on a step. If only I could escape being locked up. The terror of that cell pursued me all the time; left me no peace. Whenever I caught sight of a policeman in my path I staggered into a side street to avoid meeting him. Now, then, we will count a hundred steps, and try our luck again! There must be a remedy sometime....
It was a little yarn-shop--a place in which I had never before set foot; a solitary man behind the counter (there was an office beyond, with a china plate on the door) was arranging things on the shelves and counter. I waited till the last customer had left the shop--a young lady with dimples. How happy she looked! I was not backward in trying to make an impression with the pin holding my coat together. I turned, and my chest heaved.
"Do you wish for anything?" queried the shopman.
"Is the chief in?" I asked.