The Tanners

“That may be. Wine always makes me speak poetically,” Simon replied, “as little a poet as I am otherwise. I tend to lay down rules for myself and in general am hardly disposed to get carried away by fantasies and ideals, since I consider doing so ill-advised and presumptuous in the extreme. Take my word for it, I can be quite dry. It’s also far from permissible to assume any person you happen to hear speaking of beauty is a poet with his head in the clouds, as seems to be your habit; for I do believe it can occur even to an in general coldly calculating pawn-shop broker or bank cashier to think of matters not pertaining to his money-grubbing profession. As a rule, we reckon too few individuals capable of sentimental reflection, for people haven’t learned to look at each other. I’ve taken it upon myself to engage in bold, heartfelt conversation with every single person so that I’ll quickly see what sort he is. You often make a fool of yourself using a rule like this in life, and occasionally you might even get your ears boxed — by a delicate lady, for example — but what harm does that do? I find it enjoyable to disgrace myself and maintain the conviction that the respect of individuals in whose eyes you lose face the moment you begin to speak openly isn’t so terribly valuable that losing it is any reason to feel glum. Human respect must always suffer beneath human love. That’s what I wanted to say in response to the somewhat derisive remark you made at my expense.”

“I had no intention of hurting your feelings.”

“In that case, how nice of you,” Simon said and gave a laugh. Then he added abruptly after a moment’s pause: “As for your story about my brother, by the way, it did in fact affect me. He’s still alive, my brother, and scarcely anyone still thinks of him; for when a person steals away, above all to such a dismal place, he’s soon stricken from people’s memories. The unfortunate! You know, I could argue that it would only have taken the tiniest alteration in his heart, perhaps a single teeny jot more in his soul, and he’d have been a productive artist whose work would have enraptured humankind. It takes so very little to make a person strong — and so very little, on the other hand, to thrust him into utter misfortune. What use is there talking about it. He’s ill, and he’s standing now on the side where there’s no longer any sunshine. I shall think of him more often now, for his misfortune is just too cruel. It is a misery even ten criminals wouldn’t deserve, much less him, who had such a heart. Yes, misfortune is sometimes far from lovely, I now freely confess this. I should warn you, sir: I’m a defiant person and like to go about making wild claims, which is no way to act. My heart is at times quite hard — particularly when I see that others are filled with pity. I feel such an impulse then to start raging and laughing in the middle of that nice warm pity. Very bad of me, very very bad! As for the rest, I am by no means a good man, far from it, but I hope one day I will be. It was a pleasure for me to be permitted to speak with you. The happenstance is always the most valuable. I would appear to have drunk rather a lot, and it’s so warm here in the barroom, that I feel an urge to go outside. Farewell, gentlemen! No, not au revoir. Absolutely not. I wouldn’t dream of it. I feel no urge at all to see you again. There are still so many people I have yet to meet, I can’t go about frivolously saying au revoir. That would only be a lie; for I have no desire to see you again unless it’s by chance, and then it will be a pleasure for me, though only to a certain extent. I don’t like to make a fuss and prefer to be truthful, this is perhaps my distinguishing characteristic. I hope it also distinguishes me in your eyes, though you are now gaping at me in a rather astonished and foolish way, as if you were insulted. Well, then, be insulted! Devil take it, what can I have said to insult you? Well?”

The innkeeper walked over and asked that Simon keep his voice down:

“It’s best you leave now, it’s time.”

And Simon allowed himself to be steered gently out into the dark alleyway.