man and superman-第28章
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himself virtually alone with a sympathetic listener in the still
starlight of the mountains； for all the rest are asleep by this
time＇ It was just so with her； sir。 Her intellect reached forward
into the twentieth century： her social prejudices and family
affections reached back into the dark ages。 Ah； sir； how the
words of Shakespear seem to fit every crisis in our emotions！
I loved Louisa： 40；000 brothers
Could not with all their quantity of love
Make up my sum。
And so on。 I forget the rest。 Call it madness if you will
infatuation。 I am an able man； a strong man： in ten years I
should have owned a first…class hotel。 I met her； and you see！ I
am a brigand； an outcast。 Even Shakespear cannot do justice to
what I feel for Louisa。 Let me read you some lines that I have
written about her myself。 However slight their literary merit may
be； they express what I feel better than any casual words can。
＇He produces a packet of hotel bills scrawled with manuscript；
and kneels at the fire to decipher them； poking it with a stick
to make it glow＇。
TANNER。 ＇clapping him rudely on the shoulder＇ Put them in the
fire； President。
MENDOZA。 ＇startled＇ Eh？
TANNER。 You are sacrificing your career to a monomania。
MENDOZA。 I know it。
TANNER。 No you don't。 No man would commit such a crime against
himself if he really knew what he was doing。 How can you look
round at these august hills； look up at this divine sky； taste
this finely tempered air； and then talk like a literary hack on a
second floor in Bloomsbury？
MENDOZA。 ＇shaking his head＇ The Sierra is no better than
Bloomsbury when once the novelty has worn off。 Besides； these
mountains make you dream of womenof women with magnificent
hair。
TANNER。 Of Louisa； in short。 They will not make me dream of
women； my friend： I am heartwhole。
MENDOZA。 Do not boast until morning； sir。 This is a strange
country for dreams。
TANNER。 Well； we shall see。 Goodnight。 ＇He lies down and composes
himself to sleep＇。
Mendoza； with a sigh； follows his example； and for a few moments
there is peace in the Sierra。 Then Mendoza sits up suddenly and
says pleadingly to Tanner
MENDOZA。 Just allow me to read a few lines before you go to
sleep。 I should really like your opinion of them。
TANNER。 ＇drowsily＇ Go on。 I am listening。
MENDOZA。 I saw thee first in Whitsun week
Louisa； Louisa
TANNER。 ＇roaring himself＇ My dear President； Louisa is a
very pretty name； but it really doesn't rhyme well to Whitsun
week。
MENDOZA。 Of course not。 Louisa is not the rhyme； but the refrain。
TANNER。 ＇subsiding＇ Ah； the refrain。 I beg your pardon。 Go on。
MENDOZA。 Perhaps you do not care for that one： I think you will
like this better。 ＇He recites； in rich soft tones； and to slow
time＇
Louisa； I love thee。
I love thee； Louisa。
Louisa； Louisa； Louisa； I love thee。
One name and one phrase make my music；
Louisa。 Louisa； Louisa； Louisa； I love thee。
Mendoza thy lover；
Thy lover； Mendoza；
Mendoza adoringly lives for Louisa。
There's nothing but that in the world for Mendoza。
Louisa； Louisa； Mendoza adores thee。
＇Affected＇ There is no merit in producing beautiful lines upon
such a name。 Louisa is an exquisite name； is it not？
TANNER。 ＇all but asleep； responds with a faint groan＇。
MENDOZA。 O wert thou； Louisa；
The wife of Mendoza；
Mendoza's Louisa； Louisa Mendoza；
How blest were the life of Louisa's Mendoza！
How painless his longing of love for Louisa！
That is real poetryfrom the heartfrom the heart of hearts。
Don't you think it will move her？
No answer。
＇Resignedly＇ Asleep； as usual。 Doggrel to all the world； heavenly
music to me！ Idiot that I am to wear my heart on my sleeve！ ＇He
composes himself to sleep； murmuring＇ Louisa； I love thee； I love
thee； Louisa； Louisa； Louisa； Louisa； I
Straker snores； rolls over on his side； and relapses into sleep。
Stillness settles on the Sierra； and the darkness deepens。 The
fire has again buried itself in white ash and ceased to glow。 The
peaks show unfathomably dark against the starry firmament； but
now the stars dim and vanish； and the sky seems to steal away out
of the universe。 Instead of the Sierra there is nothing；
omnipresent nothing。 No sky； no peaks； no light； no sound； no
time nor space； utter void。 Then somewhere the beginning of a
pallor； and with it a faint throbbing buzz as of a ghostly
violoncello palpitating on the same note endlessly。 A couple of
ghostly violins presently take advantage of this bass
（a staff of music is supplied here）
and therewith the pallor reveals a man in the void； an
incorporeal but visible man； seated； absurdly enough； on nothing。
For a moment he raises his head as the music passes him by。 Then；
with a heavy sigh； he droops in utter dejection； and the violins；
discouraged； retrace their melody in despair and at last give it
up； extinguished by wailings from uncanny wind instruments；
thus：
（more music）
It is all very odd。 One recognizes the Mozartian strain；
and on this hint； and by the aid of certain sparkles of violet
light in the pallor； the man's costume explains itself as that of
a Spanish nobleman of the XV…XVI century。 Don Juan； of
course； but where？ why？ how？ Besides； in the brief lifting
of his face； now hidden by his hat brim； there was a curious
suggestion of Tanner。 A more critical； fastidious； handsome face；
paler and colder； without Tanner's impetuous credulity and
enthusiasm； and without a touch of his modern plutocratic
vulgarity； but still a resemblance； even an identity。 The name
too： Don Juan Tenorio； John Tanner。 Where on earth…or elsewhere
have we got to from the XX century and the Sierra？
Another pallor in the void； this time not violet； but a
disagreeable smoky yellow。 With it； the whisper of a ghostly
clarionet turning this tune into infinite sadness：
（Here there is another musical staff。）
The yellowish pallor moves： there is an old crone wandering in
the void； bent and toothless； draped； as well as one can guess；
in the coarse brown frock of some religious order。 She wanders
and wanders in her slow hopeless way； much as a wasp flies in its
rapid busy way； until she blunders against the thing she seeks：
companionship。 With a sob of relief the poor old creature
clutches at the presence of the man and addresses him in her dry
unlovely voice； which can still express pride and resolution as
well as suffering。
THE OLD WOMAN。 Excuse me； but I am so lonely； and this place is
so awful。
DON JUAN。 A new comer？
THE OLD WOMAN。 Yes： I suppose I died this morning。 I confessed； I
had extreme unction； I was in bed with my family about me and my
eyes fixed on the cross。 Then it grew dark； and when the light
came back it was this light by which I walk seeing nothing。 I
have wandered for hours in horrible loneliness。
DON JUAN。 ＇sighing＇ Ah！ you have not yet lost the sense of time。
One soon does； in eternity。
THE OLD WOMAN。 Where are we？
DON JUAN。 In hell。
THE OLD WOMAN ＇proudly＇ Hell！ I in hell！ How dare you？
DON JUAN。 ＇unimpressed＇ Why not； Senora？
THE OLD WOMAN。 You do not know to whom you are speaking。 I am a
lady； and a faithful daughter of the Church。
DON JUAN。 I do not doubt it。
THE OLD WOMAN。 But how then can I be in hell？ Purgatory； perhaps：
I have not been perfect： who has？ But hell！ oh； you are lying。
DON JUAN。 Hell； Senora； I assure you； hell at its best that is；
its most solitarythough perhaps you would prefer company。
THE OLD WOMAN。 But I have sincerely repented； I have confessed。
DON JUAN。 How much？
THE OLD WOMAN。 More sins than I really committed。 I loved
confession。
DON JUAN。 Ah； that is perhaps as bad as confessing too little。 At
all events； Senora； whether by oversight or intention； you are
certainly damned； like myself； and there is nothing for it now
but to make the best of it。
THE OLD WOMAN ＇indignantly＇ Oh！ and I might have been so much
wickeder！ All my good deeds wasted！ It is unjust。
DON JUAN。 No： you were fully and clearly warned。 For you
