The Tanners

One day Simon rang the bell rather shyly — it was noon — before an elegant house standing off on its own in a garden. The bell sounded to him as if a beggar had rung it. If he himself were sitting inside the house just now, as its owner for instance who was perhaps eating lunch, he would have turned indolently to his wife and asked: Who could be ringing the bell just now, surely a beggar! “When you think of elegant people,” he thought as he waited, “you always picture them at the dinner table, or in a carriage, or getting dressed with the help of male or female servants, while you always imagine a poor man standing outside in the cold with his coat collar drawn up, as mine is now, waiting before a garden gate with a pounding heart. Poor people have, as a rule, rapid, pounding, ardent hearts, while those of the rich are cold, roomy, upholstered, well-heated, and nailed shut! Oh, if only someone would rush fleet-footed to the door, what a relief that would be. There’s something constricting about standing and waiting at a wealthy portal. Despite my little bit of worldly experience what weak legs I am standing on.” —And indeed he was trembling when a girl came hurrying up to open the door for the one standing outside. Simon always had to smile when someone opened the door and invited him in, and now, too, this smile was in evidence, a smile that resembled a timid appeal and perhaps could be seen on many other faces as well.

“I’m looking for a room.”

Simon removed his hat before a beautiful lady who appeared and looked the newcomer up and down with great attentiveness. This pleased Simon, for he believed it was her right to do so, and because her air of friendliness was unabated.

“Would you like to come with me? There, up the stairs.”

Simon invited the lady to precede him. To do so, he gestured with his hand, actually employing his hand for this purpose for the first time in his whole life. The woman, opening a door, showed the young man the room.

“What a beautiful room,” cried Simon, who was truly astonished, “far too beautiful for me, unfortunately, far too elegant for me. I am, you should know, so very poorly suited to such an elegant room. And yet I would dearly love to inhabit it — all too dearly, far far too dearly. In fact, it wasn’t right to show me this chamber. It would have been better had you shown me the door at once. How do I come to be casting my gaze into such a gay, beautiful space — it’s as if it were made for a god to dwell in. What beautiful dwellings are inhabited by the well-to-do, the ones who possess something. I have never possessed anything, have never been anything, and despite the hopes of my parents will never amount to anything at all. What a lovely view from the windows, and such pretty, shiny furniture, and such charming curtains — they give the room a girlish look. I would perhaps become a good, tender person here, if it’s true, as people say, that surroundings can change a person. Might I gaze at it for a little while longer, remain standing here one more minute?”

“Of course you may.”

“I thank you.”

“What sort of people are your parents, and, if I may ask, in what sense are you ‘nothing,’ as you expressed yourself a moment ago?”

“I’m unemployed.”

“That wouldn’t matter to me. It all depends!”

“No, I have little hope. Though admittedly I shouldn’t be saying such things if I am to speak with perfect truthfulness. I’m overflowing with hope. Never, ever does it abandon me. — My father is a poor but joyful individual who would never dream of comparing his currently bleak circumstances with his glory days. He lives like a lad of twenty-five and can’t be bothered to ponder his condition. I admire him and seek to emulate him. If he can still be cheerful in his snowy old age, it must be his young son’s duty, thirty times — indeed one hundred times — over, to hold his head high and meet people’s gazes with eyes that flash like lightning. But the gift of thought was given to me — and to my brothers even more than me — by our mother. My mother is dead.”

A dismayed “ah” came from the mouth of the lady, who was still standing there kindly.