The White Dominican Read Online Free PDF Page B

money – he was a widower – Providence sent an angel to comfort me, for I felt I would weep myself to death in my sorrow at the loss of my father: Herr Paris, the celebrated theatre director, came to see me. You don’t know Herr Paris? He comes every other day to instruct my daughter in the art of acting. He has the same name as Paris, the ancient Greek god, it was destiny from his earliest childhood. Well. Hm. At that time my present lady wife was still a maid. Hm. Well. That is, I mean, she was still a girl. Well. Hm. And Herr Paris was guiding her artistic career. She was a marble nymph in a private theatre in the capital. Hm. Well.”
    From the disjointed way he brought out each sentence, paused involuntarily, then abruptly went on, I realised that his memory kept on disappearing and reappearing. Like breathing in and out, his consciousness ebbed and flowed. ‘He still hasn’t recovered from the dreadful torture of the metal coffin’, I sensed, ‘he remains a man who has been buried alive.’
    “Well, and when I inherited the business, Herr Paris came to the house and told me the celebrated marble nymph, Aglaia, had happened to see me at the funeral, as she was walking, unrecognised, through the town. Hm. And when she had seen me crying at my father’s grave, she had said (Herr Mutschelknaus suddenly leapt to his feet and began to declaim, his little watery blue eyes fixed on the empty air, as if he could see the words in letters of fire), ‘I will be a comfort and a support to this plain, simple man, a light that shineth in the darkness, never to be extinguished. And I will bear him a child, whose life shall be dedicated to art alone. I will open its spirit to the sublime, even though my heart should break in the dreary desert of the work-aday world. Farewell, Art! Farewell, Fame! Farewell, ye haunts of glory! Aglaia is departing, never to return.’ Hm. Well.” He clasped his hand to his forehead and then, as if memory had suddenly departed, slowly sat down on his stool.
    “Well. Herr Paris sobbed and tore his hair. When the three of us were sitting together at the wedding breakfast. And he kept on crying out. ‘My theatre will be ruined if I lose Aglaia. I’m finished.’ Hm. The thousand crowns I forced on him, so that at least he wouldn’t lose everything, were nowhere near enough, of course. Well. Hm. From then on he’s suffered from melancholy. Only now, since he’s discovered our daughter’s great dramatic talent, has his health improved a little. Hm. Well.
    She must have inherited it from her mother. Yes, some children are suckled by the muse in their cradles. Ophelia! Ophelia!” He was suddenly seized by a wild fit of enthusiasm, and grasped me by the arm and shook me violently. “Do you know, Herr Dovecote, Ophelia, my child, is a gift from God? Herr Paris keeps telling me, when he comes to the workshop for his salary, ‘The divine Vestalus himself must have been present when she was conceived, Herr Mutschelknaus.’ Ophelia –”, his voice sank to a whisper, “but this must be a secret between us, like all those … all those … lids – Ophelia was born after only six months. Hm. Ordinary children need nine months. Well. But it wasn’t a miracle. Her mother, too, was born under a royal star. Hm. But unfortunately it wasn’t very constant. The star, that is. My wife doesn’t want anyone to know, but I can tell you, Herr Dovecote. Do you know that she almost sat on a throne?! And if it hadn’t been for me – it brings the tears to my eyes, just to think of it – she could be riding in a fine carriage behind six white horses. And she renounced it all for me. Hm. Well. And that about sitting on a throne”, he solemnly raised three fingers, “is the honest truth; as I hope to be saved, I swear it’s no lie. I had it from Herr Paris himself. In his younger days he was Grand Fixer to the King of Arabia in Baghdad. He used to rehearse the Imperial Harem for His Majesty. Hm. Well. And