“I desire to be of society, but society will not—it is cold. Guests do not come to my table. Servants do not stay. They tell that they hear my mother weep for sorrow in the night. I laugh at them, but in my heart I know them true. Peasants in the village hide from me as I come to them.
“But my mind is worse. Every night I hear the crack of the rifles—the sound of the volley that was my brother’s death. Soldiers I get, men of the devil-dare kind, to stay with me. They do not come back; they tell that they hear tramp, tramp, tramp of soldiers’ feet.
“One night, with the soldiers, I take much wine, for I say, ‘I shall be drunk and not hear the guns at night.’
“We drink in our noble hall. Heavy doors are chained, windows barred, draperies close arranged, and the great lamp burns dim. We drink, we sing, we curse God und das Gesindel. ‘We ourselves,’ we say, ‘are gods.’
“Then creeps close the hour for the guns. My tongue is fast and cannot move; my brow is wet, and frozen is my blood.
“Boom! go the guns; then thunder shakes the castle, lightning flashes through draperies, and I fall as dead.
THE BUNK-HOUSE
“Was I in a dream? I know not. I did not believe in God; I did not believe in heaven or in hell; yet do I see my past life go past me in pictures—pictures of light in frames of fire: Two boys, first,—Max, my brother, and I,—playing as children; then my mother, weeping for great sorrow; then the black walls of the great fortress—my brother with arms outstretched. Again my blood is frozen, again creeps my skin, and I hear the volley and see him fall to death. I fear. I scream loud that I love the King, but in my ear comes a voice like iron—‘Liar!’ A little girl then, with hair so golden, comes and wipes the 460 stain of blood from my brow. I see her plain.