Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - V. Purgatory
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my friends? “I go blackened, but not by the
sun; I am a brother to dragons and a companion
to ostriches; mv skin is black and falleth from
me, and my bones are burned with heat. My
harp is turned to mourning, and my pipe unto
the voice of them that weep.”
Thus Job. And Jeremiah with two words
fathoms the depth of my sadness: “I forgat
prosperity.”
In this mood I sit one oppressive afternoon
bent over my work, when, all of a sudden,
behind the foliage of the garden in front of me,
I hear the playing of a piano. Like a war-horse
at the sound of the trumpet, I prick up my ears,
straighten myself, and in a great state of excitement
struggle for breath. Someone is playing
Schumann’s Aufschwung; and what is more, he
is playing—he, my Russian friend, my pupil
who called me “Father,” because he owed all
his culture to me, my assistant who called me
“Master” and kissed my hands, whose life began
where mine ended. He has come from
Vienna to Paris to ruin me, as he ruined me
in Vienna—and why? Because Fate has arranged
that his present wife, before he knew
her, was my sweetheart. Was it my fault that
matters so fell out? Surelv not, and yet he
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