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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1b2b905 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #66390 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/66390) diff --git a/old/66390-0.txt b/old/66390-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 6566d05..0000000 --- a/old/66390-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4021 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Imre, by Edward Irenaeus Prime-Stevenson - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Imre - A Memorandum - -Author: Edward Irenaeus Prime-Stevenson - -Editor: Xavier Mayne - -Release Date: September 27, 2021 [eBook #66390] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteers - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IMRE *** - - - - - IMRE: - A MEMORANDUM - - - EDITED BY - XAVIER MAYNE. - - - "There is a war, a chaos of the mind, - When all its elements convulsed, combined, - Like dark and jarring..." - - "The whole heart exhaled into One Want, - I found the thing I sought, and that was--thee." - - - "The Friendship which is Love--the Love which is Friendship" - - - - - NAPLES. - THE ENGLISH BOOK-PRESS: R. RISPOLI, - CALATA TRINITÀ MAGGIORE, 53. - 1906. - - (PRIVATELY PRINTED AND ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.) - - - - - THIS BOOK IS PRIVATELY PRINTED - IN A LIMITED EDITION, OF WHICH THIS COPY IS - NUMBER 10 - - - - - CONTENTS - - -PREFATORY. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Page 3 - -MASKS. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ' 9 - -MASKS AND--A FACE. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ' 79 - -FACES--HEARTS--SOULS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ' 157 - - - - - PREFATORY. - - -My dear Mayne: - -In these pages I give you a chapter out of my life... an episode that -at first seemed impossible to write even to you. It has lengthened -under my hand, as autobiography is likely to do. My apology is that in -setting forth absolute truth in which we ourselves are concerned so -deeply, the perspectives, and what painters call the values, are not -easily maintained. But I hope not to be tedious to the reader for -whom, especially, I have laid open as mysterious and profoundly -personal an incident. - -You know why it has been written at all for you. Now that it lies -before me, finished, I do not feel so dubious of what may be thought -of its utterly sincere course as I did when I began to put it on -paper. And as you have more than once urged me to write something -concerning just that topic which is the mainspring of my pages I have -asked myself whether, instead of some impersonal essay, I would not -do best to give over to your editorial hand all that is here?--as -something for other men than for you and me only? Do with it, -therefore, as you please. As speaking out to any other human heart -that is throbbing on in rebellion against the ignorances, the narrow -psychologic conventions, the false social ethics of our epoch--too -many men's hearts must do so!--as offered in a hope that some -perplexed and solitary soul may grow a little calmer, may feel itself -a little less alone in our world of mysteries--so do I give this -record to you, to use it as you will. Take it as from Imre and from -me. - -As regards the actual narrative, I may say to you here that the -dialogue is kept, word for word, faithfully as it passed, in all the -more significant passages; and that the correspondence is literally -translated. - -I do not know what may be the exact shade of even your sympathetic -judgment, as you lay down the manuscript, read. But, for myself, I -put by my pen after the last lines were written, with two lines of -Platen in my mind that had often recurred to me during the progress -of my record: as a hope, a trust, a conviction: - - "Ist's möglich ein Geschöpf in der Natur zu sein, -Und stets und wiederum auf falscher Spur zu sein? - -Or, as the question of the poet can be put into English: - - "Can one created be--of Nature part-- -And ever, ever trace a track that's false? - -No... I do not believe it! - - Faithfully yours, - - Oswald. - - Velencze, - 19-- - - - - -... "You have spoken of homosexualism, that profound problem in human -nature of old or of to-day; noble or ignoble; outspoken or masked; -never to be repressed by religions nor philosophies nor laws; which -more and more is demanding the thought of all modern civilizations, -however unwillingly accorded it..... Its diverse aspects bewilder -me... Homosexualism is a symphony running through a marvellous -range of psychic keys, with many high and heroic (one may say -divine) harmonies; but constantly relapsing to base and fantastic -discords!... Is there really now, as ages ago, a sexual aristocracy of -the male? A mystic and hellenic Brotherhood, a sort of super-virile -man? A race with hearts never to be kindled by any woman; though, if -once aglow, their strange fires can burn not less ardently and purely -than ours? An _élite_ in passion, conscious of a superior knowledge -of Love, initiated into finer joys and pains than ours?--that looks -down with pity and contempt on the millions of men wandering in the -valleys of the sexual commonplace?"... - - (Magyarból.) - - - - - I. - - MASKS. - - Like flash toward metal, magnet sped to iron, - A Something goes--a Current, mystic, strange-- - From man to man, from human breast to breast: - Yet 'tis not Beauty, Virtue, Grace, not Truth - That binds nor shall unbind, that magic tie. - - (GRILLPARZER) - - -It was about four o' clock that summer afternoon, that I sauntered -across a street in the cheerful Hungarian city of Szent-Istvánhely, -and turned aimlessly into the café-garden of the Erzsébet-tér, where -the usual vehement military-band concert was in progress. I looked -about for a free table, at which to drink an iced-coffee, and to mind -my own business for an hour or so. Not in a really cross-grained mood -was I; but certainly dull, and preoccupied with perplexing affairs -left loose in Vienna; and little inclined to observe persons and -things for the mere pleasure of doing so. - -The kiosque-garden was somewhat crowded. At a table, a few steps -away, sat only one person; a young Hungarian officer in the pale -blue-and-fawn of a lieutenant of the well-known A-- Infantry Regiment. -He was not reading, though at his hand lay one or two journals. Nor -did he appear to be bestowing any great amount of attention on the -chattering around him, in that distinctively Szent-Istvánhely manner -which ignores any kind of outdoor musical entertainment as a thing to -be listened-to. An open letter was lying beside him, on a chair; but -he was not heeding that. I turned his way; we exchanged the usual -sacramental saluts, in which attention I met the glance, by no means -welcoming, of a pair of peculiarly brilliant but not shadowless hazel -eyes; and I sat down for my coffee. I remember that I had a swift, -general impression that my neighbour was of no ordinary beauty of -physique and elegance of bearing, even in a land where such matters -are normal details of personality. And somehow it was also borne in -upon me promptly that his mood was rather like mine. But this was a -vague concern. What was Hecuba to me?--or Priam, or Helen, or Helenus, -or anybody else, when for the moment I was so out of tune with life! - -Presently, however, the band began playing (with amazing calmness -from any Hungarian wind-orchestra) Roth's graceful "Frau Réclame" -Waltz, then a novelty, of which trifle I happen to be fond. Becoming -interested in the leader, I wanted to know his name. I looked across -the table at my vis-à-vis. He was pocketing the letter. With a word -of apology, which turned his face to me, I put the inquiry. I met -again the look, this time full, and no longer unfriendly, of as -winning and sincere a countenance, a face that was withal strikingly -a temperamental face, as ever is bent toward friend or stranger. And -it was a Magyar voice, that characteristically seductive thing in the -seductive race, which answered my query; a voice slow and low, yet -so distinct, and with just that vibrant thrill lurking in it which -instantly says something to a listener's heart, merely as a sound, -if he be susceptible to speaking-voices. A few commonplaces followed -between us, as to the band, the programme, the weather--each -interlocutor, for no reason that he could afterward explain, any more -than can one explain thousands of such attitudes of mind during casual -first meetings--taking a sort of involuntary account of the other. -The commonplaces became more real exchanges of individual ideas. -Evidently, this Magyar fellow-idler, in the Erzsébet-tér café, was in -a social frame of mind, after all. As for myself, indifference to the -world in general and to my surroundings in particular, dissipated and -were forgot, my disgruntled and egotistical humour went to the limbo -of all unwholesomenesses, under the charm of that musical accent, -and in the frank sunlight of those manly, limpid eyes. There was -soon a regular dialogue in course, between this stranger and me. -From music (that open road to all sorts of mutualities on short -acquaintanceships) and an art of which my neighbour showed that he -knew much and felt even more than he expressed--from music, we passed -to one or another aesthetic question; to literature, to social life, -to human relationships, to human emotions. And thus, more and more, by -unobserved advances, we came onward to our own two lives and beings. -The only interruptions, as that long and clear afternoon lengthened -about us, occurred when some military or civil acquaintance of my -incognito passed him, and gave a greeting. I spoke of my birth-land, -to which I was nowadays so much a stranger. I sketched some of the -long and rather goal-less wanderings, almost always alone, that I had -made in Central Europe and the Nearer East--his country growing, -little by little, my special haunt. I found myself charting-out to -him what things I liked and what things I anything but liked, in this -world where most of us must be satisfied to wish for considerably more -than we receive. And in return, without any more questions from me -than I had from him--each of us carried along by that irresistible -undercurrent of human intercourse that is indeed, the Italian -_simpatia_, by the quick confidence that one's instinct assures him -is neither lightly-bestowed, after all, nor lightly-taken--did I -begin, during even those first hours of our coming-together, to know -no small part of the inner individuality of Imre von N..., _hadnagy_ -(Lieutenant) in the A... Honvéd Regiment, stationed during some years -in Szent-Istvánhely. - -Lieutenant Imre's concrete story was an exceedingly simple matter. It -was the everyday outline of the life of nine young Magyar officers in -ten. He was twenty-five; the only son of an old Transylvanian family; -one poor now as never before, but evidently quite as proud as ever. He -had had other notions, as a lad, of a calling. But the men of the -N.... line had always been in the army, ever since the days of -Szigetvár and the Field of Mohács. Soldiers, soldiers! always -soldiers! So he had graduated at the Military Academy. Since then? Oh, -mostly routine-life, routine work... a few professional journeyings in -the provinces--no advancement and poor pay, in a country where an -officer must live particularly like a gentleman; if too frequently -only with the aid of confidential business-interviews with Jewish -usurers. He sketched his happenings in the barracks or the ménage--and -his own simple, social interests, when in Szent-Istvánhely. He did not -live with his people, who were in too remote a quarter of the town for -his duties. I could see that even if he were rather removed from daily -contact with the family-affairs, the present home atmosphere was a -depressing one, weighing much on his spirits. And no wonder! In the -beginning of a brilliant career, the father had become blind and was -now a pensioned officer, with a shattered, irritable mind as well as -body, a burden to everyone about him. The mother had been a beauty and -rich. Both her beauty and riches long ago had departed, and her health -with them. Two sisters were dead, and two others had married officials -in modest Government stations in distant cities. There were more -decided shadows than lights in the picture. And there came to me, now -and then, as it was sketched, certain inferences that made it a -thought less promising. I guessed the speaker's own nervous distaste -for a profession arbitrarily bestowed on him. I caught his something -too-passionate half-sigh for the more ideal daily existence, seen -always through the dust of the dull highroad that often does not -seem likely ever to lead one out into the open. I noticed traces of -weakness in just the ordinary armour a man needs in making the most of -his environment, or in holding-out against its tyrannies. I saw the -irresolution, the doubts of the value of life's struggle, the sense -of fatality as not only a hindrance but as excuse. Not in mere -curiosity so much as in sympathy, I traced or divined such things; -and then in looking at him, I partly understood why, at only about -five-and-twenty, Lieutenant Imre von N.....'s forehead showed those -three or four lines that were incongruous with as sunny a face. Still, -I found enough of the lighter vein in his autobiography to relieve -it wholesomely. So I set him down for the average-situated young -Hungarian soldier, as to the material side of his life or the rest; -blessed with a cheerful temperament and a good appetite, and plagued -by no undue faculties of melancholy or introspection. And, by-the-by, -merely to hear, to see, Imre von N.... laugh, was to forget that -one's own mood a moment earlier had been grave enough. It might be, -he had the charm of a child's most infectious mirth, and its current -was irresistible. - -Now, in remembering what was to come later for us two, I need record -here only one incident, in itself slight, of that first afternoon's -parliament. I have mentioned that Lieutenant Imre seemed to have his -full share of acquaintances, at least of the comrade-class, in Szent -Istvánhely. I came to the conclusion as the afternoon went along, that -he must be what is known as a distinctly "popular party". One man -after another, by no means of only his particular regiment, would stop -to chat with him as they entered and quit the garden, or would come -over to exchange a bit of chaff with him. And in such of the meetings, -came more or less--how shall I call it?--demonstrativeness, never -unmanly, which is almost as racial to many Magyarak as to the Italians -and Austrians. But afterwards I remembered, as a trait not so much -noticed at the time, that Lieutenant Imre, did not seem to be at all a -friend of such demeanour. For example, if the interlocutor laid a hand -on Lieutenant Imre's shoulder, the Lieutenant quietly drew himself -back a little. If a hand were put out, he did not see it at once, nor -did he hold it long in the fraternal clasp. It was like a nervous -habit of personal reserve; the subtlest sort of mannerism. Yet he was -absolutely courteous, even cordial. His regimental friends appeared to -meet him in no such merely perfunctory fashion as generally comes from -the daily intercourse of the service, the army-world over. One -brother-officer paused to reproach him sharply for not appearing -at some affair or other at a friend's quarters, on the preceding -evening--"when the very cat and dog missed you." Another comrade -wanted to know why he kept "out of a fellow's way, no matter how -hard one tries to see something of you." An elderly civilian remained -several minutes at his side, to make sure that the young Herr -Lieutenant would not forget to dine with the So-and-So family, at a -birthday-fête, in course of next few days. Again,--"Seven weeks was I -up there, in that d--d little hole in Calizien! And I wrote you long -letters, three letters! Not a post-card from you did I get, the whole -time!"...... remonstrated another comrade. - -Soon I remarked on this kind of dialogue. "You have plenty of -excellent friends in the world, I perceive," said I. - -For the first time, that day, since one or another topic had occurred, -something like scorn--or a mocking petulance--came across his face. - -"I must make you a stale sort of answer, to--pardon me--a very stale -little flattery," he answered. "I have acquaintances, many of them -quite well enough, as far as they go--men that I see a good deal of, -and willingly. But friends? Why, I have the fewest possible! I can -count them on one hand! I live too much to myself, in a way, to be -more fortunate, even with every Béla, János and Ferencz reckoned-in. I -don't believe you have to learn that a man can be always much more -alone in his life than appears his case. Much!" He paused and then -added: - -"And, as it chances, I have just lost, so to say, one of my friends. -One of the few of them. One who has all at once gone quite out of my -life, as ill-luck would have it. It has given me a downright stroke at -my heart. You know how such things affect one. I have been dismal just -this very afternoon, absurdly so, merely in realizing it." - -"I infer that your friend is not dead?" - -"Dead? No, no, not that!" He laughed. "But, all things concerned, -he might as well be dead--for me. He is a marine-officer in the -Royal Service. We met about four years ago. He has been doing some -Government engineering work here. We have been constantly together, -day in, day out. Our tastes are precisely the same. For only one of -them, he is almost as much a music-fiend as I am! We've never had the -least difference. He is the sort of man one never tires of. Everyone -likes him! I never knew a finer character, not anyone quite his equal, -who could count for as much in my own life. And then, besides," he -continued in a more earnest tone, "he is the type to exert on such a -fellow, as I happen to be, exactly the influences that are good for -me. That I know. A man of iron resolution..... strong will.... energies. -Nothing stops him, once he sees what is worth doing, what must be -done. Not at all a dreamer.... not morbid.. and so on." - -"Well," said I, both touched and amused by this naïveté, "and what has -happened?" - -"Oh, he was married last month, and ordered to China for time -indefinite.... a long affair for the Government. He cannot possibly -return for many years, quite likely never." - -"Two afflictions at once, indeed," I said, laughing a little, he -joining in ruefully. "And might I know under which one of them you, -as his deserted Fidus Achates, are suffering most? I infer that you -think your friend has added insult to injury." - -"What? I don't understand. Ah, you mean the marriage-part of it? Dear -me, no! nothing of the sort! I an only too delighted that it has come -about for him. His bride has gone out to Hong-Kong with him, and -they expect to settle down into the most complete matrimonial bliss -there. Besides, she is a woman that I have always admired simply -unspeakably... oh, quite platonically, I beg to assure you!.. as have -done just about half the men in Szent-Istvánhely, year in and out--who -were not as lucky as my friend. She is absolutely charming--of high -rank--an old Bohemian family--beautiful, talented, with the best -heart in the world..... and-_Istenem!_" he exclaimed in a sudden, -enthusiastic retrospect... "how she sings Brahms! They are the model of -a match.... the handsomest couple that you could ever meet." - -"Ah... is your marine friend of uncommon good-looks?" He glanced -across at the acacia-tree opposite, as if not having heard my -careless question, or else as if momentarily abstracted. I was -about to make some other remark, when he replied, in an odd, -vaguely-directed accent. "I beg your pardon! Oh, yes, indeed... my -friend is of exceptional physique. In the service, he is called -'Hermes Karvaly'... his family name is Karvaly.... though there's -Sicilian blood in him too--because he looks so astonishingly like -that statue you know--the one by that Greek--Praxiteles, isn't it? -However, looks are just one detail of Karvaly's unusualness. And to -carry out that, never was a man more head over heels in love with his -own wife! Karvaly never does anything by halves." - -"I beg to compliment on your enthusiasm for your friend... plainly one -of the 'real ones' indeed," I said. For, I was not a little stirred by -this frank evidence, of a trait that sometimes brings to its possessor -about as much melancholy as it does happiness. "Or, perhaps I would -better congratulate Mr. Karvaly and his wife on leaving their merits -in such generous care. I can understand that this separation means -much to you." - -He turned full upon me. It was as if he forgot wholly that I was a -stranger. He threw back his head slightly, and opened wide those -unforgettable eyes--eyes that were, for the instant, sombre, troubled -ones. - -"Means much? Ah, ah, so very much! I dare say you think it odd.... but -I have never had anything... never... work upon me so!.... I couldn't -have believed that such a thing could so upset me. I was thinking of -some matters that are part of the affair--of its ridiculous effect on -me--just when you came here and sat down. I have a letter from him, -too, today, with all sorts of messages from himself and his bride, a -regular turtle-dove letter. Ah, the lucky people in this world! What -a good thing that there are some!" He paused, reflectively. I did not -break the silence ensuing. All at once, "_Teremtette_!" he exclaimed, -with a short laugh, of no particular merriment,--"what must you think -of me, my dear sir! Pray pardon me! To be talking along--all this -personal, sentimental stuff--rubbish--to a perfect stranger! Idiotic!" -He frowned irritably, the lines in his brow showing clear. He was -looking me in the eyes with a mixture of, shall I say, antagonism -and appeal; psychic counter-waves of inward query and of outward -resistance.... of apprehension, too. Then, again he said most formally, -"I never talked this way with any one--at least never till now. I am -an idiot! I beg your pardon." - -"You haven't the slightest need to beg it," I answered, "much -less to feel the least discomfort in having spoken so warmly -of this friendship and separation. Believe me, stranger or -not... and, really we seem to be passing quickly out of that degree of -acquaintance... I happen to be able to enter thoroughly into your -mood. I have a special sense of the beauty and value of friendship. -It often seems a lost emotion. Certainly, life is worth living only -as we love our friends and are sure of their regard for us. Nobody -ever can feel too much of that; and it is, in some respects, a pity -that we don't say it out more. It is the best thing in the world, -even if the exchange of friendship for friendship is a chemical -result often not to be analyzed; and too often not at all equal as an -exchange." - -He repeated my last phrase slowly, "Too often--not equal!" - -"Not by any means. We all have to prove that. Or most of us do. But -that fact must not make too much difference with us; not work too -much against our giving our best, even in receiving less than we wish. -You may remember that a great French social philosopher has declared -that when we love, we are happier in the emotion we feel than in that -which we excite." - -"That sounds like--like that 'Maxims' gentleman--Rochefoucauld!" - -"It was Rochefoucauld." - -My vis-à-vis again was mute. Presently he said sharply and with a -disagreeable note of laughter, "That isn't true, my dear sir!--that -nice little French sentiment! At least I don't believe it is! Perhaps -I am not enough of a philosopher--yet. I haven't time to be, though -I would be glad to learn how." - -With that, he turned the topic. We said no more as to friends, -friendship or French philosophy. I was satisfied, however, that my new -acquaintance was anything but a cynic, in spite of his dismissal, so -cavalierly, of a subject on which he had entered with such abrupt -confidentiality. - - * * * * * - -So had its course my breaking into an acquaintance... no, let me not -use as burglarious and vehement a phrase, for we do not take the -Kingdom of Friendship by violence even though we are assured that -there is that sort of an entrance into the Kingdom of Heaven--so was -my passing suddenly into the open door of my intimacy (as it turned -out to be) with Lieutenant Imre von N..... It was all as casual as my -walking into the Erzsébet-tér Café. That is, if anything is casual. I -have set down only a fragment of that first conversation; and I -suspect that did I register much more, the personality of Imre would -not be significantly sharpened to anyone, that is to say in regard to -what was my impression of him then. In what I have jotted, lies one -detail of some import; and there is shown enough of the swift -confidence, the current of immediate mutuality which sped back and -forth between us. "_Es gibt ein Zug, ein wunderliches Zug_"... declares -Grillparzer, most truthfully. Such an hour or so.... for the evening -was drawing on when we parted..... was a kindly prophecy as to the -future of the intimacy, the trust, the decreed progression toward -them, even through our--reserves. - -We met again, in the same place, at the same hour, a few days later; -of course, this time by an appointment carefully and gladly kept. -That second evening, I brought him back with me to supper, at the -Hotel L--, and it was not until a late hour (for one of the most -early-to-bed capitals of Europe) that we bade each other good-night -at the restaurant-door. By the by, not till that evening was -rectified a minor neglect.... complete ignorance of one another's -names! The fourth or fifth day of our ripening partnership, we spent -quite and entirely together; beginning it in the same coffee-house at -breakfast, making a long inspection of Imre's pleasant lodging, -opposite my hotel, and of his music-library; and ending it with a bit -of an excursion into one of Szent-Istvánhely's suburbs; and with what -had already become a custom, our late supper, with a long aftertalk. -The said suppers by the by, were always amusingly modest banquets. -Imre was by no means a valiant trencher-man, though so strong-limbed -and well-fleshed. So ran the quiet course of our first ten days, -our first two weeks, a term in which, no matter what necessary -interruptions came, Lieutenant Imre von N.... and I made it clear to -one another, though without a dozen words to such effect, that we -regarded the time we could pass together as by far the most agreeable, -not to say important, matter of each day. We kept on continually -adjusting every other concern of the twenty-four hours toward our -rendezvous, instinctively. We seemed to have grown so vaguely -concerned with the rest of the world, our interests that were not in -common now abode in such a curious suppression, they seemed so -colourless, that we really appeared to have entered another and a -removed sphere inhabited by only ourselves, with each meeting. As it -chanced, Imre was for the nonce, free from any routine of duties of a -regimental character. As for myself, I had come to Szent-Istvánhely -with no set time-limit before me; the less because one of the objects -of my stay was studying, under a local professor, that difficult and -exquisite tongue which was Imre's native one, though, by the way, -he was like so many other Magyars in slighting it by a perverse -preference. (For a long time, we spoke only French or German when -together.) So between my sense of duty to Magyar, and a sense, -even more acute, of a great unwillingness to leave Szent-Istvánhely--it -was growing fast to something like an eighth sense... I could abide my -time, or the date when Imre must start for certain annual regimental -maneuvers, down in Slavonia. With reference to the idle curiosity of -our acquaintances as to this so emphatic a state of dualism for Imre -and myself.... such an inseparable sort of partnership which might -well suggest something... - - ... "too rash, too unadvised, too sudden, - Too like the lightening which doth cease to be - Ere one can say 'It lightens'"... - -... why we were careful. Even in one of the countries of Continental -Europe where sudden, romantic friendship is a good deal of a cult, it -seems that there is neither wisdom nor pleasure in wearing one's heart -on one's sleeve. Best not to placard sudden affinities; between -soldiers and civilists, especially. It was Imre von N.... himself who -gave me this information, or hint; though not any clear explanation of -its need. But he and I not only kept out of the most frequented haunts -of social and military Szent-Istvánhely thenceforth, but spoke (on -occasion) to others of my having come to the place especially to be -with Imre, again,--"for the first time in three years", since we -had become "acquainted with each other down in Sarajevo, one -morning"--during a visit to the famous Husruf-Beg Mosque there! -This easy fabrication was sufficient. Nobody questioned it. As a -fact, Imre and I, when comparing notes one afternoon had found out -that really we had been in Sarajevo at the exact date mentioned. "The -lie that is half a truth is ever".... the safest of lies, as well as -the convenientest one. - -Now of what did two men thus insistent on one another's companionship, -one of them some twenty-five years of age, the other past thirty, -neither of them vapourous with the vague enthusiasms of first manhood, -nor fluent with the mere sentimentalities of idealism.... of what did -we talk, hour in and hour out, that our company was so welcome to each -other, even to the point of our being indifferent to all the rest of -our friends round about?.... centering ourselves on the time _together_ -as the best thing in the world for us. Such a question repeats a -common mistake, to begin with. For it presupposes that companionship -is a sort of endless conversazione, a State-Council ever in session. -Instead, the _silences_ in intimacy stand for the most perfect -mutuality. And, besides, no man or woman has yet ciphered out -the real secret of the finest quality, clearest sense, of human -companionability--a thing that often grows up, flower and fruit, so -swiftly as to be like the oriental juggler's magic mango-plant. We are -likely to set ourselves to analyzing, over and over, the externals and -accidence... the mere inflections of friendships, as it were. But the -real secret evades us. It ever will evade. We are drawn together -because we are drawn. We are content to abide together just because -we are content. We feel that we have reached a certain harbour, after -much or little drifting, just because it is for _that_ haven, after -all, that we have been moving on and on; with all the irresistible -pilotry of the wide ocean-wash friendly to us. It is as foolish to -make too much of the definite in friendship as it is in love--which -is the highest expression of companionship. Friendship?--love? -what are they if real on both sides, but the great Findings? -Grillparzer... once more to cite that noble poet of so much that is -profoundly psychic... puts all the negative and the positive of it -into the appeal of his Jason.. - - "In my far home, a fair belief is found, - That double, by the Gods, each human soul - Created is... and, once so shaped, divided. - So shall the other half its fellow seek - O'er land, o'er sea, till when it once be found, - The parted halves, long-sundered, blend and mix - In one, at last! Feel'st thou this _half_-heart? - Beats it with pain, divided, in thy breast? - O... come!" - -As a fact, my new friend and I had an interesting range of commonplace -and practical topics, on which to exchange ideas. Sentimentalities -were quite in abeyance. We were both interested in art, as well as -in sundry of the less popular branches of literature, and in what -scientifically underlies practical life. Moreover, I had been longtime -enthusiastic as to Hungary and the Hungarians, the land, the race, the -magnificent military history, the complicated, troublous aspects of -the present and the future of the Magyar Kingdom. And though I cannot -deny that I have met with more ardent Magyar patriots than Imre von -N... for somehow he took a conservative view of his birth-land and -fellow-citizens--still, he was always interested in clarifying my -ideas. Again, contrary-wise, Lieutenant Imre was zealous in informing -himself on matters and things pertaining to my own country and to its -system of social and military life, as well as concerning a great deal -more; even to my native language, of which he could speak precisely -seven words, four of them too forcible for use in general polite -society. Never was there a quicker, a more aggressively intelligent -mind than his; the intellect that seeks to take in a thing as swiftly -yet as fully as possible.... provided, as Imre confessed, with -complete absence of shame, the topic "attracted" him. Fortunately, -most interesting topics did so; and what he learned once, he learned -for good and all. I smile now as I remember the range, far afield -often, of our talks when we were in the mood for one. I think that in -those first ten days of our intercourse we touched on, I should say, -a hundred subjects--from Árpád the Great to the Seventh Symphony, -from the prospects of the Ausgleich to the theory of Bisexual -Languages, from Washington to Kossuth, from the novels of Jókai to -the best _gulyás_, from harvesting-machines, drainage, income-taxes, -and whether a woman ought to wear earrings or not, to the Future -State! No,--one never was at a loss for a topic when with Imre, and -one never tired of his talk about it, any more than one tired of Imre -when mute as Memnon, because of his own meditations, or when he was, -apparently, like the Jolly Young Waterman, "rowing along, thinking of -nothing at all." - - * * * * * - -And besides more general matters, there was... for so is it in -friendship as in love... ever that quiet undercurrent of inexhaustible -curiosity about each other as an Ego, a psychic fact not yet mutually -explained. Therewith comes in that kindly seeking to know better and -better the Other, as a being not yet fully outlined, as one whom we -would understand even from the farthest-away time when neither friend -suspected the other's existence, when each was meeting the world -_alone_--as one now looks back on those days... and was absorbed in so -much else in life, before Time had been willing to say, "Now meet, you -two! Have I not been preparing you for each other?" So met, the simple -personal retrospect is an ever new affair of detail for them, with its -queries, its concessions, its comparisons. "I thought that, but now I -think this. Once on a time I believed that, but now I believe this. I -did so and so, in those old days; but now, not so. I have desired, -hoped, feared, purposed, such or such a matter then; now no longer. -Such manner of man have I been, whereas nowadays my identity before -myself is thus and so." Or, it is the presenting of what has been -enduringly a part of ourselves, and is likely ever abide such? -Ah, these are the moods and tenses of the heart and the soul in -friendship! more and more willingly uttered and listened-to as -intimacy and confidence thrive. Two natures are seeking to blend. -Each is glad to be its own directory for the newcomer; to treat him as -an expected and welcomed guest to the Castle of Self, while yet -something of a stranger to it; opening to him any doors and windows -that will throw light on the labyrinth of rooms and corridors, wishing -to keep none shut.... perhaps not even some specially haunted, remote -and even black-hung chamber. Guest? No, more than that, for is it not -the tenant of all others, the Master, who at last, has arrived! - -Probably this is the best place in my narrative to record certain -particularly personal aspects of Lieutenant Imre, though in -giving them I must draw on details and impressions that I gained -gradually--later. During even that earlier stage of our friendship, -he insisted on my going with him to his father's house, to meet his -parents. From them, as from two or three of his officer-friends with -whom I occasionally foregathered, when Imre did not happen to be of -the party of us, I derived facts--side-lights and perspectives--of -use. But the most part of what I note came from Imre's tendency -toward introspection; and from his own frank lips. - -He had been a singularly sensitive, warm-hearted boy, indeed too -high-strung, too impressionable. He had been petted by even the -merest strangers because of his engaging manners and his peculiarly -striking boyish beauty. He had not been robust as a lad (though now -superbly so) with the result that his schooling had been desultory -and unsystematic. "And I wanted to study art, I didn't care what -art... music, painting, sculpture, perhaps music more than anything... -I hated the army! But my father--his heart was set on my doing what -the rest of us had done... I was the only son left.. it had to be." And -however little was Imre at heart a soldier, he had made himself into -a most excellent officer. I soon heard that from all his comrades whom -I met; and I have heard it often since those days in Szent-Istvánhely. -His sense of his personal duty, his pride, his filial affection, his -feeling toward his King, all contributed toward the outward semblance -that was at least so desirable. He had already been highly commended; -probably promotion would soon come. He had always won cordial words -from his superiors. Loving not in the least the work, he played his -unwelcome part well and manly, so that not more than half a dozen -individuals could have been sure that Imre von N... _hadnagy_, would -have doffed gladly, at any minute, the King's Coat for a blouse. -Ambition failed him, alas! just because he was at heart indifferent to -the reward. But he ran the race well. And for the matter of ambition -the advancement in the Magyar service is as deliberate as in other -armies in peace-times. Imre needed much stronger influence than what -was at his request, to hurry him beyond a lieutenancy. - -With only one such contest in his soul, no wonder that Imre led his -life in Szent-Istvánhely so much to himself, however open to others it -seemed to be. Yet whatever depressed him, he was determined not to -be a man of moods to the cynical world's eyes. As a fact he was so -happily a creature of buoyant temperament, that his popularity was not -surprising, on the basis of comrade-intercourse and of the pleasantly -superficial side of a regimental life. Every man was Imre's friend! -Every woman was, such, that I ever heard speaking of him, or spoken-of -along with his name. The paradox of living to oneself while living -with everyone, the doors of an individuality both open and shut, could -no farther go than in his instance. - -How fully was I to realize that, in a little time! - -As to physique, Imre had fulfilled in his maturity the promise of -his boyhood. He was called "Handsome N...", right and left; and he -deserved the sobriquet. Of middle height, he possessed a slender -figure, faultless in proportions, a wonder of muscular development, of -strength, lightness and elegance. His athletic powers were renowned in -his regiment. He was among the crack gymnasts, vaulters and swimmers. -I have seen him, often, make a standing-leap over an ordinary -library-table, to land, like a cat, on the other side. I have seen -him, half-a-dozen times, spring out of a common barrel into another -one placed beside it, without touching his hands to either. He could -hold out a heavy garden-chair perfectly straight, with one hand; -break a stout penholder or leadpencil between his second and third -fingers; and bend a thick, brass curtain-rod by his leg-muscles. He -frequently swam directly across the wide Duna, making nothing of its -cross-currents at Szent-Istvánhely. He was a consummate fencer, and a -prize-shot. He could jump on and off a running horse, like a vaquero. -Yet all this force, this muscular address, was concealed by the -symmetry of his graceful, elastic frame. Not till he was nude, and one -could trace the ripple of muscle and sinew under the fine, hairless -skin, did one realize the machinery of such strength. I have never -seen any other man--unless Magyar, Italian or Arab--walk with such -elasticity and dignity. It was a pleasure simply to see Imre cross -the street. - -His head, a small, admirably shaped one, with its close-cut golden -hair, carried out his Hellenic exterior. For it was really a small -head to be set on such broad shoulders and on as well-grown a figure. -As to his face (generally a detail of least relative importance in -the male type), I do not intend to analyze retrospectively certainly -one of the most engaging of manly countenances that I have ever -looked upon. The actual features were delicate enough, but without -womanishness. Imre was not a pretty man; but a beautiful man. And the -mixture of maturity and of almost boyish youth, the outlook of his -natural sincerity and warmth of nature, his self-unconsciousness and -self-respect... these entered into the matter of his good looks, quite -as much as his merely technical beauty. I did not wonder that not -only the women in Szent-Istvánhely but the street-children, aye, -the very dogs and cats it seemed to me, would look at him with -friendly interest. Those lustrous hazel eyes, with the white so clear -around the pupils... the indwelling laughter in them that nevertheless -could be overcast with so penetrating a seriousness...! It seems to me -that now, as I write, I meet their look. I lay down my pen for an -instant as my own eyes suddenly blur. Yet why? We should find tears -rising for a living grief, not a living joy! - -United with all this capital of a man's physical attractiveness -was Imre's extraordinary modesty. He never seemed to think of his -appearance for so much as two minutes together. He never glanced into -a mirror when he happened to pass near that piece of furniture which -seems to inflict a sort of nervous disease of the eyes... occasionally -also of the imagination... on the average soldier of any rank and -uniform, the world round. "Thanks... but I don't trouble myself much -about looking-glasses, when I've once got my clothes on my back and am -certain that my face isn't dirty!" was his reply to me one morning -when I gave him an amused look because he had happened to plant his -chair exactly in front of the biggest pier-glass in the K... Café. He -never posed; never fussed as to his toilet, nor worried concerning the -ultrafitting of his clothes, nor studied with anxiety details of his -person. One day, another officer was lamenting the melancholy fact -that baldness was gaining ground slyly, pitilessly, on the speaker's -hyacinthine locks. He gave utterance to a sorrowful envy of Imre. -"Pooh, pooh," returned Imre, _hadnagy,_ scornfully, "It's in the -family... and such a convenience in warm weather! I shall be bald as a -cannon-shot by the time I am thirty!" He detested all jewellery in -the way of masculine adornments, and wore none: and his civilian -clothing was of the plainest. - - * * * * * - -The making-up of every man refers, or should do so, to a fourfold -development... his physical, mental, moral and temperamental equipment, -in which last-named class we can include the aesthetic individuality. -The endowment of Imre von N... as to this series was decidedly less -symmetrical than otherwise. In fact, he was a striking example of -contradictions and inequations. He had studied hardest when in his -school-courses just what came easiest... with the accustomed results of -that sort of process. He was a bad, a perversely bad mathematician; an -indifferent linguist, simply because he had found it "a hideous job -to learn all those complicated verbs"; an excellent scholar in -history; took delight in chemistry and in other physical sciences; -and though so easily plagued by a simple sum in decimals, he had -a passion for astronomy, and he knew not a little about it, at least -theoretically. Physical science appealed to him, curiously; his small -library was two-thirds full of books on those topics. He loved to read -popular philosophy and biography and travel. For novels, as for -poetry, he cared almost nothing. He would spare no pains to get to the -bottom of some subject that interested him, a thing that "bit" him, as -he called it; short of actually setting himself down to the calm and -applicative study of it! Tactics did he, somehow deliberately learn; -grimly, angrily, but with success. They were indispensable to his -professional credit. Such a result showed plainly enough that he -lacked resolution, concentration as a duty, but did not lack -capability. Many a sound lecture from myself, as from other friends, -including particularly, as I found out, from the much-married Karvaly, -did Imre receive respecting this defect. A course in training in -the Officers' Military School (_Hadiskola_) was involved in the -difficulty, or perversity, so in evidence. This _Hadiskola_ course -is an indispensable in such careers as Imre's sort should achieve, -willing or unwilling. When a young officer is so obstinately cold to -what lies toward good work in the _Hadiskola,_ and in his inmost soul -desires almost anything rather than becoming even an major... why, what -can one say severe enough to him? - -Yet, with reference to what might be called Imre's aesthetic -self-expression, I wish to record one thing at variance with much -which was negative in him. At least it was in contradiction to his -showing such modest "literary impulses", and to his relative aversion -to belles-lettres, and so on. When Imre was deeply stirred over -something or other that "struck home", by some question to open the -mountains of innermost feeling in him, it was remarkable with what -exactitude,--more than that, what genuine emotional eloquence of -phrase--he could express himself! This even to losing that slight -hesitancy of diction which was an ordinary characteristic. I was often -surprised at the simple, direct beauty, sometimes downright poetic -grace, in his language on such unexpected occasions. He seemed to -become tinged with quite another personality, or to be following, in -a kind of trance, the prompting of some voice audible to him only. I -shall hardly so much as once attempt conveying this effect of sudden -"_ihletés_", even in coming to the moments of our intercourse when it -surged up. It must in most part be taken for granted; read between -the lines now and then. But... one must be mindful of its natural -explanation. For, after all, there was no miracle in it. Imre was a -Magyar; one of a race in which sentimental eloquence is always -lurking in the blood, even to a poetic passion in verbal utterance -that is often out of all measure with the mere formal education of a -man or a woman. He was a Hungarian: which means among other things -that a cowherd who cannot write his name, and who does not know -where London is, can be overheard making love to his sweetheart, or -lamenting the loss of his mother, in language that is almost of -Homeric beauty. It is the Oriental quality, ever in the Magyar; now -to be admired by us, now disliked, according to the application of the -traits. Imre had his full share of Magyarism of temperament, and of -its impromptu eloquence; taking the place of much of a literal -acquaintance with Dante, Shakespeare, Goethe, and all the rhetorical -and literary Parnassus in general. - -He detested politics, as might be divined. He "loved" his Apostolic -King and his country much as do some children their nearest relatives; -that is to say, on general principles, and to the sustaining of a -correct attitude before himself and the world. On this matter, also -he and I had many passages-at-arms. He had not much "religion." But he -was a firm believer in God; in helping one's neighbour, even to most -injudicious generosity; in avoiding debts "when one could possibly do -so" (a reserve that I regretted to find out was not his case any more -than it is usually the case with young Hungarian officers living in a -capital city, with small home-subventions); in honour; in womanly -virtue; in a true tongue and a clean one. His sense of fun was -not limited to the kind that may pass between a rector of the -Establishment and his daughters over afternoon-tea. But Lieutenant -Imre von N.... had no relish for the stupid-smutty sallies and stock -_racontars_ of the officers' mess and the barracks. Unless a "story" -really possessed wit and humour, he had absolutely dull ears for it. - -He wrote a shameful handwriting, with invariable hurry-scurry; he -could not draw a pot-hook straight, and he took uncertain because -untaught interest in painting. Sculpture, and architecture appealed -more to him, though also in an untaught way. But he was a most -excellent practical musician; playing the piano-forte superbly well, -as to general effect, with an amazingly bad technic of his own -evolution, got together without any teaching; and not reading well -and rapidly at sight. Indeed, his musical enthusiasm, his musical -insight and memory, they were all of a piece; the rich and perilous -endowment of the born son of Orpheus. His singing-voice was a full -baritone.... smooth and sweet, like his irresistible speaking-voice. He -would play or sing for hours together, quite alone in his rooms, of an -evening. He would go without his dinner (he often did) to pay for his -concert-ticket or standing-place in the Royal Opera. He did not care -for the society of professional musicians, or of the theaterfolk in -general. "They really are not worth while," he used to say... "art is -one thing to me and artists another--or nothing at all--off the -stage." As for more general society, why, he said frankly that -nowadays the N.... family simply were too poor to go into it, and -that he had no time for it. So he was to be met in only a few of the -Szent-Istvánhely drawing rooms. Yet he was passionately fond of -dancing.... anything from a waltz to a _csárdás_. But, à-propos of -Imre's amusement, let me note here (for I dare say, the incredulity -of persons who have stock-ideas of what belongs to soldier-life and -soldier-nature) that three usual pleasures were not his; for he -abominated cards, indeed never played them; he did not smoke; and he -seldom drank out his glass of wine or beer, having no taste for -liquors of any sort. This in a champion athlete and an "all-round" -active soldier... at least externally thoroughly such... in a smart -regiment, is not common. I should have mentioned above that he was -oddly indifferent to the theater, as the theater; declaring that he -never could find "any great illusion" in it. He much liked billiards, -and was invincible in them. His feeling for whatever was natural, -simple, out-of-doors was great. He loved to walk, to walk alone, in -the open country, in the woodlands and fields... to talk with peasants, -who invariably "took to" him at once. He loved children, and was a -born animal-friend; in fact, between him and beasts little and big, -there appeared to be a regular understanding. Never forthputting, -he could delight, in a quiet way in the liveliest company. That -buoyancy of his temperament, so in contrast with the other elements -of his nature, was a vast blessing to him. He certainly had a supply -of personal subjects sufficiently sobering for home-consumption, some -of which I soon knew; others not spoken till later. The gloom in his -parents' house, the various might-have-beens in his own young life, -the wearisome struggle to do his duty in a professional career whereto -he had been called without its being chosen by him; weightier still -the fact that he was in the hands of a couple of usurers on account -of his generous share of the deficit in a foolish brother officer's -finances, to the extent of some thousands of florins.... these were not -trifles for Imre's private meditations. I could quite well understand -his remarking... "I have tried to cultivate cheerfulness on just about -the same principle that when a man hasn't a _korona_ in his pocket he -does well to dress himself in his best clothes and swagger in the -Officers' Casino as if he were a millionaire. For the time, he forgets -that he isn't one... poor devil!" - -But I am belated, I see, in alluding to two traits in our acquaintance, -_ab initio,_ which are of significance in my outline of Imre's -personality while new to me: and more than trifles in their weight. -There were two subjects as to which remarkably little was said between -us during the first ten days of my going-about so much with him. -"Remarkably little" I say, because of Imre's own frank references to -one matter, on our first meeting; and because we were both men, and -neither of us octogenarians, nor troubled with super-sensitiveness in -talking about all sorts of things. The first of these overpassed -topics was the friendship between Imre and the absent Karvaly Miklos. -Since the afternoon on which we had met, Imre referred so little -to Karvaly.... he seemed so indifferent to his absence, all at -once... indeed he appeared to be shunning the topic... that I avoided -it completely. It gradually was borne in upon me that he wished me -to avoid it. So no more expansiveness on the perfections and gifts -of the exile! Of Karvaly's young bride, on the other hand, the -fascinating Bohemian lady who sang Brahms' songs so beautifully, Imre -was still distinctly eloquent; alluding often to one or another of -her shining attributes... paragon that she may have been! I write -'may have been'; because to this day I know her, like Shakespeare's -Olivia,--"only by her good report". - -The other matter of our reticence was an instance of the difference -between the general and the particular. Very early in my meeting with -Imre's more immediate circle of soldier-friends, I heard over and over -again that to Imre, as one of the officers most distinguished in all -the town for personal beauty, there attached a reputation of being an -ever-campaigning and ever-victorious Don Juan... if withal one of most -exceptional discretion. Right and left, he was referred to as a -wholesale enemy to the peace of heart and to the virtue of dozens of -the fair citizenesses of Szent-Istvánhely. Two of these romances, the -heroine of one of them being an extremely beautiful and refined -_déclassée_ whose sudden suicide had been the gossip of the clubs, -were heightened by the touch of the tragic. But along with them, and -the more ordinary chatter about a young man's _bonnes fortunes,_ or -what were taken to be them, there were surmises and assertions of -vague, aristocratic, deep, unconfessed ties and adventures. The -Germans use the terms "Weiberfreund" and "Weiberfeind" in rather -a special sense sometimes. Now, I knew that Imre von N... was no -woman-hater. He admired, and had a circle of admiring, women-friends -enough to dismiss at once such an ungallant accusation. Never was -there a sharper eye, not even in Magyarország, for an harmonious -female figure, a graceful carriage, a charming face.... he was a -_connaisseur de race!_ - -But when it came to his alluding, when we were by ourselves, to -anything like really intimate sentimental--I would best plainly say -amorous--relations with the other sex, Imre never opened his mouth -for a word of the least real significance! He referred to himself, -casually, now and then, and as it appeared to me in precisely the -right key, as one to whom woman was a sufficiently definite social -and physical attraction.... necessity... quite as essentially as is -to be expected with a young soldier of normal health and robust -constitution. When it suited his mixed society, he had as many -"discreet stories" as Poins. But when he and I were alone, no matter -whatever else he spoke of... so unreservedly, so temperamentally!--he -never did what is commonly called "talk women." He never so much -alluded to a light-o' love, to an "affair", to any distinctly sexual -interest in a ballerina or--a princess! And when third parties were -pleased to compliment him, or to question him, as to such a thing, -Imre "smiling put the question by." His special reserve concerning -these topics, so rare in men of his profession and age, was as -emphatic as in the instance of the average English gentleman. I -admired it, certainly not wishing it less. I often thought how well -it became Imre's general refinement of disposition, manners and -temperamental bias... most of all, suiting that surprising want of -vanity as to his person, his character, his entire individuality. - - * * * * * - -In this connection, came a bit of an incident that has its -significance... as things came to pass later in our acquaintance. One -evening, while I was dressing for dinner, with Imre making a random -visit, I lapsed into hearty irritation as to a marvellously ill-fitting -new garment, that was to be worn for the first time. Imre was pleased -to be facetious. "You ought to go into the tailoring-line yourself," -he observed... "then you can adorn yourself as perfectly as you -would wish!" I threw out some sort of a return-banter that his own -carelessness as to his looks was "the pride that apes humility." - -"One would really suppose," I remarked, "that you do not know why a -pretty woman makes eyes at you!... Are you under the impression that -you are admired on account of the Three Christian Graces and the Four -Theological Virtues?--all on sight! Come now, my dear fellow, you -really need not carry the pose so far!" - -Imre opened his lips as if about to say something or other; and then -made no remark. Once more he gave me the idea that he was minded to -speak, but hesitated. So I suspended operations with my hairbrushes. - -"You appear to be labouring with a remarkably difficult idea," said I. - -He answered abruptly: "There are some things it is hard for a man to -judge of, even in another fellow... at least people say so. See here, -you! I wish... I wish you would tell me something.... you won't think me -a conceited ass? Do you... for instance... do you... find me _really_ -specially good-looking... when you look around the lot of other men one -sees.... in comparison with _plenty_ of others, I mean?" - -"Do you want an answer in chaff, or seriously?" - -"Seriously." - -"I most certainly think you 'specially' such, N...." - -"And you are of the opinion that most people... women... men... sculptors, -for instance, or painters..: a photographer, if you like.... ought to be -of your opinion?" - -"But yes, assuredly," I replied, laughing at what seemed the naiveté -and uncalled-for earnestness in his tone. "You do not need to put me -on oath, such a newcomer, too, into your society, to give you the -conviction. Or, stay... how would you like me to draft you a kind of -technical schedule, my dear fellow, stating how and why you are--not -repulsive? I could give it to you, if I thought it would be good for -you, and if you would listen to it. For you are one of those lucky -ones in the world whose good-looks can be demonstrated, categorically, -so to say--trait by trait--passport-style. Come, come, N--! Don't be -so depressed because you are so beautiful! Cheer up! Probably there -will always be somebody in the wide world who will not care to bestow -even an half-eye on you!... some being who remains, first and last, -totally unimpressed, brutally unmoved, by all your manly charms! I -dare say that if you consult that individual you will be assured that -you are the most ordinary-looking creature in creation." - -As I spoke, Imre who had been sitting, three-quarters turned from me, -over at a window, whisked himself about quickly and gave me what I -thought was a most inexplicable look. "Have I offended him?" I asked -myself; ridiculous to me, even at so early a stage of our intimacy, -as was the notion. But I saw that his look was not one of surprised -irritation. It was not one of dissent. He continued looking at -me... ah, his serious eyes!... whatever else he was seeing in his -perturbed mind. - -"Well," I continued, "isn't that probable? Have I made you angry by -hinting at such a stupidity.... such an aesthetic tragedy?" - -"No, no," he returned hastily,--"of course not!" And then with a -laugh as curious as that look of his, for it was not his real, his -cheerful and heart-glad laugh, but one that rang false even to being -ill-humored, he added... "By God, you have spoken the truth! Yes, to -the dot on the _i_!" - -I did not pursue the subject. I saw that it was one, whatever else -was part of it, that was better left for Imre himself to take up at -some other time; or not at all. Apparently, I had stumbled on one -little romance; possibly on a _grande passion_! In either case it -was a matter not dead, if moribund it might be. Imre could open -himself to me thereon, or not: I was not curious, nor a purveyor of -reading-matter to fashionable London journals. - - * * * * * - -Two matters more in this diagnosis... shall I call it so?... of my -friend. Let me rather say that it is a memorandum and guidebook of -Imre's emotional topography. - -Something has been said of the spontaneous warmth of his -temperament, and of his enthusiasm for his closer friends. But his -undemonstrativeness also mentioned, seemed to me more and more -curiously accentuated. Imre might have been an Englishman, if it came -to outward signs of his innermost feelings. He neither embraced, -kissed, caressed nor what else his friends; and, as I had surmised, -when first being with him and them, he did not appear to like what in -his part of the world are ordinary degrees of "demonstrativeness". He -never invited nor returned (to speak as Brutus)--"the shows of love in -other men". There was a certain captain in the A.... Regiment, a -man that Imre much liked and, what is more, had more than once -admired in good set terms, when with me. ("He is as beautiful as -a statue, I think!") This brother-soldier being suddenly returned to -Szent-Istvánhely, after a couple of years of absence, hurried up to -Imre and fairly threw his arms about him. Imre was cordiality itself. -But after Captain R.... had left him, Imre made a wry face at me, and -said... "The best fellow in the world! and generally speaking, most -rational! But I do wish he had forgotten to kiss men! It is so -hideously womanish!" Another time we were talking of letters between -intimate friends. "I hate... I absolutely hate... to write letters, even -to my nearest friends", he protested, "in fact, I never write unless -there is no getting-out of it! Five words on a post-card, once a month -or so... two or three months, maybe... and lucky if they get that! How -do I write? Something like this... 'I am here and well. How are you. -We are very busy. I saw your cousin, Csodaszép Kisasszony yesterday. -No time to-day for more! Kindest regards. _Alá szolgája!_ N....'. -Now there you have my style to a dot. What more in the world is -really called-for? As for sentiment... sentiment! in letters to my -friends!... well, I simply cannot squeeze _that_ out, or in. Nobody need -expect it from your most obedient servant! My correspondence is like -telegrams." - -"Thanks much," I returned, smiling, "your remarks are most timely, -considering that you and I have agreed to keep in touch with each -other by post, after I leave here. Forewarned is forearmed! Might I -ask, by the by, whether you are as laconic in writing, to--say, your -friend Karvaly, over there in China? And if he is satisfied?" - -"Karvaly? Certainly. He happens to like precisely that sort of -communications particularly well. I never give him ten words where -five will do." To which statement I retorted that it was a vast -blessing that some persons were easily pleased, as well as so -likeminded; and that perhaps it would be quite as wise under such -conditions, not to write at all; except maybe on All-Souls Day! - -"Perhaps," assented Imre. - -So much, then, of your outward individuality and environment, with -somewhat of your inner self, my dear Imre!... chiefly as I looked upon -you and strove to sum you up during those first days. But was there -not one thing more, one most special point of personal interest?... of -peculiar solicitude?.. one supreme undercurrent of query and wondering -in my mind, as we were thus thrown together, and as I felt my thoughts -more and more busied with what was our mutual liking and instinctive -trust? Surely there was! I should find myself turning aside from the -path of straightest truth which I would hold-to in these pages, if I -did not find _that_ question written down early and frankly here, with -the rest. It _must_ be written, or be this record broken now and here! - -Was Imre von N... what is called among psychiaters of our day, an -homosexual? an Urning?--in his instincts and feelings and life?--in -his psychic and physical attitude toward women and men? Was he an -Uranian? Or was he sexually entirely normal and Dionian? Or, a blend -of the two types, a Dionian-Uranian? Or what,... or what not? For that -something of a special sexual attitude, hidden, instinctive, was -maintained by him, no matter what might be the outward conduct of his -life--this I could not help believing, at least at times. - -Uranian? Similisexual? Homosexual? Dionian? - -Profound and often all too oppressive, even terrible, can be -the significance of those cold psychic-sexual terms to the man -who.... _"knows." To the man who "knows!"_ Even more terrible to those -who understand them not, may be the human natures of which they are -but new and clumsy technical symbols, the mere labels of psychiatric -study, within a few decades of medical explorers. - -What, then, was my new friend? - - * * * * * - -I could not determine! The more I reflected, the less I perceived. -It is so easy to be deceived by just such a mingling of psychic and -physic and temperamental traits; easy to dismiss too readily the -counterbalancing qualities. I had learned that much. Long before now, -I had found it out as a practical psychiater, in my own interests and -necessities, by painful experience. Precisely how suggestive, and yet -how adverse... where quite vaguely?.. where with a fairly clear -accent?.. was inference in Imre's case to be drawn or thrown aside, -those who are intelligent in the subtle problems of Uranianism or its -absence, can appreciate best. I had been a good deal struck with the -passionate--as it seemed--note in Imre's friendship for the absentee, -Karvaly Mihály. I noticed the dominance that men, simply as men, -seemed to maintain in Imre's daily life and ideals. I studied his -reserved relations toward the other sex; the general scope of his -tastes, likes and dislikes, his emotional constitution. But all these -suffice not to prove... to _prove_... the deeply-buried mystery of a -heart's uranistic impulses, the mingling in the firm, manly nature -of another inborn sexual essence which can be mercifully dormant; or -can wax unquiet even to a whole life's unbroken anguish!... - -And, after all, why should I... I... seek to drag out from him such a -secret of his individuality? Was that for me? Hardly, even if I, -probably, of all those who now stood near to Imre von N.... But there! -I had _no_ right! Even if I..... But there! I swore to myself that I -had _no_ wish! - -It was Imre himself who gave me a sort of determinative, just -as--after the oaths at which love laughs--I was querying with myself -what I might do believe. - -One evening, we were walking home, after an hour or so with his father -and mother. As we turned the corner of a certain brilliantly-lighted -café, a man of perhaps forty years, with the unmistakeable suggestion -of a soldier about him, and of much distinction of person along with -it, but in civilian's dress, came out and passed us. He looked at Imre -as if almost startled. Then he bowed. Imre returned his salutation -with so particular a coldness, an immediate change of expression, that -I noticed it. - -"Who is he?" I asked. "Somehow I fancy he is not in your best books." - -"No, I can't say that he is," responded Imre. After a moment of -silence he went on. "That gentleman used to be a captain in our -regiment. He was asked to leave the service. So he left it--about -three years ago." - -"Why?" - -"On account of..." here Imre's voice took on a most disagreeable -sneer.. "of a little love-affair." - -"Really? Since when was a little love-affair a topic for the action -of a regimental Ehrenrath?" - -"It happened to be his little love-affair with a.... cadet. You -understand?" - -"Ah, yes, now I understand. A great scandal, I presume?" - -"Scarcely any at all. In fact, nobody, to this day, knows how far -the... intimacy really went. But gradually some sort of a story got -about... as to the discovery of "relations"... perhaps really amounting -to only a trifling incident... But, the man's character was smirched. -The regiment's Council didn't go into details... didn't even ask for -the facts. He simply was requested privately to give up his charge. -You know, or perhaps you do not know, how specially sensitive... indeed -implacable.. the Service is on _that_ topic. Anything but a hint of -_it_! There mustn't be a suspicion, a breath! One is simply ruined!" - -I stopped to pay our tolls for the long Suspension Bridge. As we -pursued our walk, Imre said: - -"Do you have any such affairs in England?" - -"Yes. Certainly." - -"In military life?" - -"In military and civil life. In every kind of life." - -"Indeed. And.. how do _you_ understand that sort of thing?" - -"What sort of thing?" - -"A... a man's feeling _that_ way for another man? What's the -explanation?--the excuse for it?" - -"Oh, I don't pretend to understand it. There are things we would -better not try to _understand_..." - -Ah, had I only finished that the sentence as I certainly meant to do -in beginning it!... with some such words as "--so much as often to -pardon." But the sentence remained open; and I know that it sounded as -if it was meant to end with some such phrase as "... because they are -so beyond any understanding, beyond any excuse!" - -Imre walked on beside me, whistling softly. Just two or three notes, -over and over, no tune. Then he remarked abruptly: - -"Did you ever happen to meet with... that sort of a man... _person_... -yourself... in your own circle of friends?" - -Again the small detail, this time one of commission, not omission, on -my part! Through it this narrative is, I suspect, twice as long as -otherwise it would have been. "Did I ever know such a man... a -'person'... in my own circle of friends?" Irony could no farther go! I -laughed, not in mirth, not in contempt, but in sheer bitterness of -retrospect. There are instants when it may be said of other men than -Cassius: - - "And when he smiles, he smiles in such a sort - As if he mocked himself..." - -Yes, I laughed. And unfortunately Imre von N... thought that I -sneered; that I sneered at my fellow-men! - -"Yes," I replied, "I knew such a man, such a 'person.' On the whole, -pretty well. He had other rather acceptable qualities, you see; so I -didn't allow myself to be too much stirred up by... that remarkably -queer one." - -"Lately?" Imre asked. - -"Oh, yes, very lately," I returned flippantly. - -Imre spoke no word for several steps. Then, hesitatingly... - -"Perhaps you didn't know him quite as thoroughly as you supposed. -Were you quite sure?" - -"Quite sure." Then, sharply in another sentence that was uttered on -impulse and with more of the equivocal in it which afterward I -understood, I added, "I think we will not talk any more about him: I -mean in that respect... Imre." - -Again silence. One-two, one-two--on we went, step and step, over the -resonant, deserted bridge. I had an impression that Imre turned his -head, looking sharply at me in the fluttering gas-light... then -glancing quickly away. I had other thoughts, far, far removed from -him! I had well-nigh forgot when I was!--forgot him, forgot -Szent-Istvánhely........! - -But now he laughed out, too, as if in angry derision. - -"I say! I knew such a fellow, too.. two or three years ago. And I beg -to tell you that he fell in love with.. me! No less! He was absolutely -_bódult_ over your humble servant. Did you ever!" - -"Really? What did you do? Slap his face, and give him the address of -a... doctor of nervous diseases?" - -"Oh, Lord, no! I merely declined with thanks the.... honour of his -farther acquaintance. I told him never to speak me. He left town. I -had rather liked him. But I heard he had been compromised already. I -have no use for that particular brand of fool!" - -Are there perverse demons, demons delighting to make mortal men -blunderers in simplest word and action... that haunt the breezy -Lánczhíd in Szent-Istvánhely? If so, some of us would better cross -that long bridge in haste and solitary silence after nightfall. For: - -"You surprise me," I said lightly. I was thinking of one of his own -jests as well of his unbelief in his personal attractions. "How -inconsistent for _you_! Now _you_ are just the very individual I -should suspect!...... yes, yes, I _am_ surprised!" - -To my astonishment, Imre stopped full in his steps, drew himself up, -and faced me with instant formality. - -"Will you be so good as to tell me _why_ you are surprised?" asked he, -in a tone that was--I will not write sharp, but which suggested to me -immediately that I had spoken mal-à-propos or misleadingly; the more -so in view of what Imre had mentioned of his _ex professio_ and -personal sensitiveness to the general topic. "Do you observe anything -particularly womanish--abnormal--about me, if you please?" - -Now, as it happened my remark, as I have said, was made in consequence -of an impersonal and amusing incident, which I had supposed Imre would -at once remember. - -"Womanish? Abnormal? Certainly not. But you seem to forget what -you yourself said to Captain Molten this afternoon... in the -billiard-room... about the menage-cooks... don't you remember?" - -Imre burst into laughter. He remembered! (There is no need of my -writing out here a piece of humour not transferable with the least -_esprit_ into English, though mighty funny in Magyar.) His mood -changed at once. He took my arm, a rare attention from him, and -we said no more till the Bridge was past, and the corner which -divided our lodgings by a street's breadth was reached. We said -"Good-night!... till tomorrow!"... the _házmester_ opened his door. -Imre waved his hand gaily and vanished. - - * * * * * - -I got to bed, concluding among other things that so far from -Imre's being homosexual--as Uranian, or Dionian-Uranian, or -Uranian-Dionian... or what else of that kind of juggling terminology -in homosexual analysis--my friend was no sort of an Uranistic example -at all. No! he was, instead, a thorough-going Dionian, whatever the -fine fusions of his sensitive and complex nature! A complete Dionian, -capable of warm friendship, yes--but a man to whom warm, even -passionate, friendship with this or that other man never could -transform itself into the bitter and burning mystery of Uranistic -Love,--the fittest names for which so often should be written Torment, -Shame, and Despair! - -Fortunate Imre! Yet, as I said so to myself, altruistically glad for -his sake, I sighed... and surely that night I thought long, long -thoughts till I finally slept. - - - - - II. - - MASKS AND--A FACE. - - "My whole life was a contest since the day - That gave me being, gave me that which marred - The gift.... - - "A silent suffering and intense.... - All that the proud can feel of pain, - The agony they do not show.... - Which speaks it in its loneliness. - - BYRON - - -A couple of miles out of Szent-Istvánhely, one finds the fine old -seat, or what was such, of the Z... family, with its deserted chateau -and neglected park. The family is a broken and dispersed one. The -present owner of the premises lives in Paris. He visits them no -oftener, and spends no more for their care than he cannot help. The -park itself is almost a forest, so large it is and so stately are the -trees. Long, wide alleys wind through the acacias and chestnuts. You -do not go far from the very house without hares running by you, and -partridges and pheasant fluttering; so left to itself is the whole -demesne. Like most old estates near Szent-Istvánhely, it has its -legends, plentifully. One of these tales, going back to the days of -the Turkish sieges of the city, tells how a certain Count Z..., a -young soldier of only twenty-six years, during the investment of 1565, -was sitting at dinner, in the citadel, when word was brought that a -Turkish skirmishing-party had captured his cousin, to whom he was -deeply attached; and had cruelly murdered the young man here, in the -park of this same chateau, which during some days the lines of the -enemy had approached. The officer sprang up from the table. He held up -his sword, and swore by it, and Saint Stephen of Hungary, that he -would not put the sword back into its sheath, nor sit down to a table, -nor lie in a bed, till he had avenged his cousin's fate. He collected -a little troop--in an hour. Before another one had passed, he made a -sortie, under a pretext, toward his invaded estate. He forced its -defences. He drove out the enemy's post. He found and buried his -cousin's mutilated body. Then, before dawn, he himself was surprised -by a fresh force of Turks. He was shot, standing by his friend's -grave... in which he too eventually was buried. Their monument is -there to-day, with the story on it, beginning: "To The Unforgettable -Memory of _Z_... Lorand, and _Z_... Egon", after the customary Magyar -name-inversion. - -The public was not admitted to this old bit of the Szent-Istvánhely -suburbs. But persons known to the caretakers were welcome. Lieutenant -Imre and I had been out there once before, with the more freedom -because a certain family-connection existed between the Z--s and the -N--s. So was it that about a week after the little incident closing -the preceding portion of this narrative, we planned to go out to Z.... -for the end of the afternoon. A suburban electric tramway passed near -the gates. - -For two days, I had been superstitiously.... absurdly... irresistibly -oppressed with the idea that some disagreeable thing was coming my -way. We all have such fits; sometimes justifiably, if often, thank -Heaven! proving them quite groundless. I had laughed at mine, with -Imre. I could think of no earthly reason for expecting ill to befall -me. To myself, I accounted for the mood as a simple reaction of -temperament. For, I had been extremely happy lately; and now there -was the ebb, not of the happiness, but of the hyper-sensitiveness to -it all. The balance would presently be found, and I would be neither -too glad nor too gloomy. - -"But why.. _why_... have you found yourself so wonderfully happy -lately?" had asked Imre, curiously. "You haven't inherited a million? -Nor fallen in love?" - -No--I had not inherited a million....... - -It was on my way to the tram, to meet Imre, that same afternoon, that -I found, from my letters from England, why justly I should exclaim: - - "My soul hath felt a secret weight, - A warning of approaching fate...." - -I was wanted in London within four days! I must start within less than -twenty-four hours! A near relative was in uncertainty and anxiety as -to some special personal affairs. And not only was my entire programme -for the next few weeks completely broken up; worse still, was a -strong probability that I might be hindered from setting foot on the -Continent for indefinite time. In any case, a return to Hungary under -less than a full twelvemonth was not now to be thought-of. - -With this fall of the proverbial bolt out of a clear sky, in the shape -of that letter in my pocket, from Onslow Square, I hurried toward the -tram and Imre. All my pleasure in the afternoon and in everything else -was paralyzed. Astonishing was it how heavy-hearted I had become in -course of glancing through that communication from Mrs L..., between -the Ipar-Bank and the street-corner. - -Heavy-hearted? Yes, miserably heavy-hearted!... - -Why so? Was it because of the worriments of Mrs. L...? Because I could -not loiter, as a travelling idler, in pleasant Szent-Istvánhely?--could -not go on studying Magyar there; and anon set out for the Herkules-Baths? -Hardly any of these were good and sufficient reasons for suddenly -feeling as if life were not worth living! that a world where -departings, and partings along with them, seemed to be the main reason -for one's comings and meetings, was a deceitful and joyless kind of -planet. - -Well then, was my grey humour just because I was under the need of -shaking hands with Imre von N..., and saying, "A viszontlátásra!" -("Auf Wiedersehen!") or, more sensibly, saying to him "Goodbye?" Was -_that_ the real weight in my breast? I, a man--strong-willed, firm of -temper and character! Surely I had other friends, many and warm ones, -old ones, in a long row of places between Constantinople and London; -in France, Germany, Austria, England. O dear, yes!... there were A.., -and B..., and C... and so, on very decently through a whole alphabet -of amities. Why should I feel so fierce a hatred at this interrupting -of a casual, pleasant but not extraordinary intimacy, quite one -_de voyage_ on its face, between two men, who, no matter how -companionable, were of absolutely diverse races, unlike objects in -life and wide-removed environments?... who could not even understand -each other's mother-tongues? Why did existence itself seem so -ironical, so full of false notes, so capricious in its kindness... seem -allowed us that we might _not_ be glad in it as... Elsewhere? The reply -to each of these queries was close to another answer to another -question; that one which Imre von N... had asked,.. "And why, pray, -have you found yourself so wonderfully happy _lately_?" That I should -find myself so wonderfully unhappy now? Perhaps so. - -Imre was at the tram, and in high spirits. - -"We shall have a beautiful afternoon, my dear fellow.... Beautiful!" he -began. Then... "What the mischief is the matter with you? You look as -if you had lost your soul!" - -In a few words, I told him of my summons North. - -"Nonsense!" he exclaimed. "You are making a bad joke!" - -"Unfortunately I never have been less able to joke in my life! -Tomorrow afternoon I must be off, as surely as Saint-Stephen's Crown -has the Crooked Cross." - -Imre "looked right, looked left, looked straight before". For an -instant his look was almost painfully serious. Then it changed to an -amused bewilderment. "Well... sudden things come by twos! You have got -to start off for God knows where, tomorrow afternoon: I have got to be -up at dawn, to rush my legs off! For, about noon I go out by a pokey -special-train, to the Summer-Camp at P... And I must stay there five, -six, ten mortal days, drilling Slovaks, and other such cattle! No -wonder we have had a fine time of it here together! Too beautiful to -last! But, Lord, how I envy you! Won't you change places with me? -You're such an obliging fellow, Oswald! You go to the Camp: let me go -to London?" - -At this moment, up came the tram. It was packed with an excursion-party. -We were hustled and separated during our leisurely transit. Imre met -some fair acquaintances, and made himself exceedingly lively company -to them, till we reached the Z... cross-road. We stepped out alone. - -I did not break the silence as the noisy tram vanished, and the -country's quietness closed us in. - -"Well?" said Imre, after fully five minutes, as we approached the -Z.... gateway. - -"Well," I replied quite as laconically. - -"Oh come, come," he began, "even if it is I routing out of bed by -sunrise tomorrow, to start in for all that P.. Camp drudgery, and you -to go spinning along in the afternoon to England... why, what of it! We -mustn't let the tragedy spoil our last afternoon. Eh?... Philosophy, -philosophy, my dear Oswald! I have grown so trained, as a soldier, to -having every sort of personal plan and pleasure, great or small, -simply blown to the winds on half-an-hour's notice, that I have ceased -to get into bad humour over any such contretemps. What profits it? -Life isn't at all a plaything for a good lot of us, more's the pity! -We've got to suffer and be strong; or else learn not to suffer. That -on the whole is decidedly preferable. Permit me to recommend it; a -superior article for the trade, patent applied for, take only the -genuine." - -I was not in tune for being philosophic, in that moment. And, from the -very first words and demeanour with which Imre had received the -announcement that so cruelly preyed on my spirits, I was... shall I -write piqued--by what seemed to be his indifference; nay more, by his -complete nonchalance. Whether Imre as a soldier, or through possessing -a colder nature than I had inferred.... at least, colder than some -other natures... had indeed learned to sustain life's disagreeable -surprises with equanimity, was nothing now to me. Or, stay, it was a -good deal that just then came crosswise to my mood; so wholly -_intransigéant._ Angry irritation waxed hot in me all at once, along -with increasing bitterness of heart. It is edifying to observe what -successive and sheer stupidities a man will perpetrate under such -circumstances... edifying and pitiable! - -"I don't at all envy you your philosophy, my dear friend," I said -sharply. "I believe a good deal in the old notion as to philosophic -people being pretty often unfeeling people... much too often. I think -I'd rather not become a stoic. Stoic means a stock. I'm not so far -along as you." - -"Really? Oh, you try it and you'll like it... as the cannibals said to -the priest who had to watch them eat up the bishop. It is far better -to feel nothing than to feel unpleasant things too much... so much more -comfortable and cheap in the end.... _Ei_! you over there!" he called -out to a brown-skinned _czigány_ lad, suddenly appearing out of a -coppice, with something suspiciously like a snap-shot in his hand, -"don't you let the _házmester_ up at the house catch you with that -thing about you, or you'll get yourself into trouble! Young poacher!" -he added angrily... "those snap-shots when a gipsey handles them are as -bad as a fowling-piece. The devil take the little rascal! And the -devil take everything else!" - -We walked down an alley in silence. Neither of us had ever been in -this sort of a mood till this afternoon. The atmosphere was a trifle -electric! Imre drew his sword and began giving slashes at trees and -weeds, an undesirable habit that he had, as we strolled onward. -Thought I, "A pleasing couple of hours truly we are likely to pass!" -I felt that I would better have stayed at home; to start my packing-up -for London. Then I pulled myself together. I found myself all at once -possessed of a decent stock of pride, if not "philosophy". I undertook -to meet Imre's manner, if not to match his sentiments. I began to -talk suavely of trifles, then of more serious topics... of wholly -general interests. I smiled much and laughed a little. I referred -to my leaving Szent-Istvánhely and him... more to the former -necessity... in precisely the neatest measure of tranquility and even -of humour. Imre's responsiveness to this delicate return for his own -indifference at once showed me that I had taken the right course not -to "spoil this last afternoon together".... probably the last such in -our lives!.... - -On one topic, most personal to Imre, I could speak with him at any -time without danger of its being talk-worn between us; could argue -with him about it even to forgetting any other matter in hand; if, -alas! Imre was ever satirical, or placidly unresponsive toward it. -That topic was his temperamental, obstinate indifference to making the -most of himself in his profession; to "going-on" in it, with all -natural energies or assumed ones. He was, as I have mentioned, a -perfectly satisfactory officer. But there it ended. He seemed to think -that he had done his duty, and must await such vague event as would -carry him, _motu proprio,_ further toward efficiency and distinction. -Or else, of all things foolish, not to say discreditable, he declared -he still would "keep his eyes open for a chance to enter civil -life"... would give himself up to some more or less aesthetic calling, -especially of a musical connection... become "free from this farce -of _playing_ soldier." He excused his plan by saying that his -position now was "disgracefully insincere." Insincere, yes; but not -disgraceful; and he was resting on his oars with the idea that he -ought not to try to row on, just when such conduct was fatal. A man -can remedy a good deal that he feels is an "insincere" attitude toward -daily life. And what is more, any worthy, any elevating profession, -and in the case of the soldier the sense of himself as a prop and -moral element in the State must not be insulted! The army-life even -if chosen merely from duty, and led in times of peace, is a good deal -like the marriage of respect. The man may never have loved the wife to -whom he is bound, he may never be able to love her, he may find her -presence lamentably _unsympathisch._ But mere self-respect and the -outward duty to her, and duty to those who are concerned in her honour -as in his, in her welfare as in his.... there comes in the unavoidable -and just demand! Honour and country are eloquent for a soldier, -always. It was on the indispensable, unwelcome, ever-postponed -_Hadiskolai_ course that, once more, this afternoon, I found myself -voluble with Imre. If I could not well speak of myself, I could of -him, in a parting appeal. - -"You must go on! You have no right to falter now. For God's sake, -N.....! put by all these miserable dreams of quitting the service. -What in the world could you do out of it? You have plenty of time for -entertaining yourself with strumming and singing, and what not. -Everything is in your own hands. Oh, yes, I know perfectly well that -special help is needed to push one along fast... friends at court. But -you are not wholly without them. For your father's sake and yours!.... -You have shown already what you can do! If you will only work a bit -harder! The War-School, Imre, the War-School! That must come. If you -care for your own credit, success... stop, I forbid you to sneer... get -into the School, hate it as much as you will!" - -"I hate it! I hate it all, I tell you! I am sick of pretending to like -it. Especially just lately... more so than ever!" - -"Very possibly. But what of that? Is there anything else in the wide -world that you feel you can do any better?... beginning such an -experiment at twenty-five years of age.... with no training for so much -as digging a ditch? Do you wish to become a dance-music strummer in -the Városliget? Or a second-class acrobat in the Circus Wulff? Or will -you throw off your uniform, to take flight to America... Australia... to -be a riding-master or a waiter in a restaurant, or a vagabond, like -some of the Habsburg arch-dukes? Imre, Imre! Instead be... a man! A man -in this, as in all else. You trifle with your certainty of a career. -Be a man in this matter!" - -He sighed. Then softly, with a strange despair of life in his tone: - -"Be a man? In this, as in _all_? God! how I wish I could be so." - -"Wish you could be so! I don't know what you mean. A manlier fellow -one need not be! Only this damnable neglect of your career! You surely -wish to succeed in life?" - -"I wish. But I cannot _will_..... Do not talk any more about it just -now. You can... _teremtette!_ you will write me quite enough about it. -You are exactly like Karvaly, once that topic comes into your mind! -Yes, like him to half-a-word... and I certainly am no match for either -of you." - -"I should think," returned I, coldly, "that if you possess any -earnest, definite regard for such a zealous friend as Herr Karvaly, or -for _any_ true friend, you would prove it by just this very effort to -make the most of yourself... for their sakes if not for your own." - -I waited a second or so, as we stood there looking across an opening -of the woodland. Then I added,--"For his sake, if not for--for such a -newcomer's sake as--mine. But I begin to believe that your heart does -not so easily stir really, warmly, as... as I supposed. At least, not -for me. Possibly for nobody, my dear N...! Odd--for you have so many -friends. I confess I don't see now just why. You are a strange fellow, -Imre. Such a row of contradictions!" - -One, two... one, two... again was Imre walking along in silence, exactly -as on the evening when we came over the long Suspension Bridge in town -together. And once more was he whistling softly, as if either wholly -careless or buried in thought, those same two or three melancholy -notes of what I had discovered was a little Bakony peasant-song, "O, -jaj! az álom nelkül"--! ("Alas, I am sleepless,--I fear to dream!") - -So passed more than an hour. We spoke less and less. My moods of -self-forgetfulness, of philosophy, passed with it. I could not -recover either. - -We had made a detour around the lonelier portion of the park. The sun -was fairly setting as we came out before the open lawn, wide, and -uncropped save by two cows and a couple of farm-horses. There were -trees on either border. At farther range, was the long, low mansion, -three stories high, with countless white-painted _croisées_, and -lime-blanched chimneys; an odd Austro-Magyar-style dwelling, of -a long-past fashion, standing up solid and sharp against that -silver-saffron sky. Not a sign of life, save those slow-moving -beasts, far off in the middle of the lawn. No smoke from the -yet more removed old homestead. Not a sound, except a gentle -wind... melancholy and fitful. We two might have been remote, near -a village in the Siebenbürgen; not within twenty minutes of a great -commercial city. - -Instead of going on toward the avenue which led to the exit--the hour -being yet early--we sat down on a stone bench, much beaten by weather. -A few steps away, rose the monument I have mentioned... "To the -Unforgettable Memory" of Lorand and Egon Z... - -Neither Imre nor I spoke immediately; each of us was a trifle -leg-weary, I once more was sad and... angry. As we sat there, I read -over for yet another time... the last time?... those carved words which -reminded a reader, whether to his gladness of soul or dolour, that -love, a _love_ indeed strong as death, between two manly souls was no -mere ideal; but instead, a possible crown of existence, a glory of -life, a realizable unity that certain fortunate sons of men attained! -A jewel that others must yearn for, in disappointment and folly, and -with the taste of aloes, and the white of the egg, for the pomegranate -and the honeycomb! I sighed. - -"Oh, courage, courage, my well beloved friend!" exclaimed Imre, -hearing the sigh and apparently quite misreading my innermost -thoughts. "Don't be downhearted again as to leaving Szent-Istvánhely -tomorrow; not to speak of being cheerful even if you must part from -your most obedient servant. Such is life!... unless we are born -sultans and kaisers... and if we are that, we must die to slow music -in the course of time." - -I vouchsafed no comment. Could this be Imre von N...? Certainly I had -made the acquaintance of a new and extremely uncongenial Imre; in -exactly the least appropriate circumstances to lose sight of the -sympathetic, gentler-natured friend, whom I had begun to consider as -one well understood, and had found responsive to a word, a look. Did -all his closer friends meet, sooner or later, with this under-half of -his temperament--this brusqueness which I had hitherto seen in his -bearing with only his outside associates? Did they admire it... if -caring for him? Bitterness came over me in a wave, it rose to my lips -in a burst. - -"It is just as well that one of us should show some feeling.... a -trifle... when our parting is so near." - -A pause. Then Imre: - -"The 'one of us', that is to say the only one, who has any 'feeling' -being yourself, my dear Oswald?" - -"Apparently." - -"Don't you think that perhaps you rather take things for granted? Or -that, perhaps, you feel too much? That is, in supposing that I feel -too little?" - -My reply was quick and acid enough: - -"Have you any sentiments in the matter worth calling by such a name, -at all? I've not remarked them so far! Are friends that love you and -value you only worth their day with you?... have they no real, lasting -individuality for you? Your heart is not so difficult to please as -mine; nor so difficult to occupy." - -Again a brief interval. Imre was beating a tattoo on his braided cap, -and examining the top of that article with much attention. The sky -was less light now. The long, melancholy house had grown pallid -against the foliage. Still the same fitful breeze. One of the cows -lowed. - -He looked up. He began speaking gravely... kindly.. not so much as if -seeking his words for their exactness, but rather as if he were -fearful of committing himself outwardly to some innermost process of -thought. Afraid, more than unwilling. - -"Listen, my dear friend. We must not expect too much of one another in -this world... must we? Do not be foolish. You know well that one of the -last things that I regard as 'of a day' is _our_ friendship.. however -suddenly grown. No matter what you think now... for just these few -moments... when something disturbs us both... _that_ you know. Why, dear -friend! did I not believe it myself; had I not so soon after our -meeting believed it..... do you think I would have shown you so much of -my real self, happy or unhappy, for better or worse? Sides of my -nature unknown to others. Traits that you like, along with traits that -I see you do not like? Why Oswald, you understand _me_... the real -_me!_--better than anybody else that I have ever met. Because I wished -it... I hoped it. Because I--I could not help it. Just that. But you -see the trouble is that, in spite of all... you do not _wholly_ -understand me. And... and the worst of the reason is that I am the one -most to blame for it! And I... I cannot better it now." - -"When do we understand one another in this life of half-truths... -half-intimacies?" - -"Yes... all too-often half... whether it is with one's wife, one's -mistress, one's friend! And I am not easy... ah, how I have had to -learn the way to keep myself so--to study it till it is a second -nature to me!--I am not easy to know! But, Oswald, Oswald, _ich kann -nicht anders, nein, nein, ich kann nicht anders!_" - -And then, in his own language, dull and doggedly he added to -himself--"_Mit használ, mit használ az én nekem?_"--(What matters -it to _me_?) - -He took my hand now, that was lying on the settle beside his own, and -held it while he spoke; unconsciously clasping it tighter and tighter -till it was in pain, or would have been so, had it not been, like his -own, cold from sheer nervousness. He continued: - -"One thing more. You seem to forget sometimes that I am a man, and -that you too are a man. Not either of us a--woman. Forgive me--I speak -frankly. We are both of us, you and I, a bit over-sensitive... -_exalté_... in type. Isn't that so? You often suggest a... a... -regard... so... what shall I call it?... so romantic,... heroic... -passionate--a _love_ indeed (and here his voice was suddenly -broken)--something that I cannot accept from anybody without warning -him back.. back! I mean back coming to me from any other _man._ -Sometimes you have troubled me... frightened me. I cannot,--will not, -try to tell you why this is so. But so it is. Our friendship must be -friendship as the world of today accepts friendship! Yes--as the world -of _our_ day does. God! What else could it be to-day.. friendship? -What else--_to-day?_" - -"Not the friendship which is love, the love which is friendship?" I -said in a low voice; indeed, as I now remember more than half to -myself. - -Imre was looking at the darkened sky, the grey lawn--into the vague -distance... at whatsoever was visible save myself. Then his glance was -caught by the ghostly marble of the monument to the young Z.... -heroes, at which I too was staring. A tone of appeal came as he -continued: - -"Once more, I beg, I implore you, not to make the mistake of--of--thinking -me cold-natured. I, cold-natured?.. Ah, ah! If you knew me better, -you'd not pack that notion into your trunks for London! Instead, -believe that I value unspeakably all your friendship for me, dear -Oswald. Time will prove that. I have had no friend like you, I -believe. But though friendship can be a passion... can cast a spell -over us that we cannot comprehend nor unbind"... here he withdrew his -hand and pointed to the memorial-stone set up for those two human -hearts that after so ardently beating for each other, were now but -dust... "it must be only a spiritual, manlike regard! The world thought -otherwise once. The world thinks--_as_ it thinks--now. And the world, -our to-day's world, must decide for us all! Friendship now--now--must -stay as the _man_ of our day understands it, Oswald. That is, if the -man deserves the name, and is not to be classed as some sort of an -incomprehensible... womanish... outcast... counterfeit.... a miserable -puzzle--born to be every genuine man's contempt!" - -We had come, once more, suddenly, fully, and because of me, on the -topic which we had touched on, that night of our Lánczhid walk! But -this time I faced it, in a sense of fatality and finality; in a rash, -desperate desire to tear a secret out of myself, to breathe free, to -be true to myself, to speak out the past and the present, so strangely -united in these last few weeks, to reserve nothing, cost what it -might! My hour had come! - -"You have asked me to listen to you!" I cried. Even now I feel the -despair, I think I hear the accent of it, with which I spoke. "I have -heard you! Now I want you to listen to me! I wish to tell you a story. -It is out of one man's deepest yet daily life... my own life. Most of -what I wish to tell happened long before I knew you. It was far away, -it was in what used to be my own country. After I tell it, you will be -one of very few people in all the world who have known... even -suspected... what happened to me. In telling you, I trust you with my -social honour... with all that is outwardly and inwardly myself. And I -shall probably pay a penalty... just because _you_ hear the wretched -history, Imre... _you_! For, before it ends, it has to do with you; as -well as with something that you have just spoken of--so fiercely! I -mean--how far a man, deserving to be called a man, refusing, as surely -as God lives and has made him, to believe that he is.... what did you -call him?... 'a miserable, womanish, counterfeit... outcast'... even if -he be incomprehensible to himself... how such a being can suffer and be -ruined in his innermost life and peace, by a soul-tragedy which he -nevertheless can hide--_must_ hide! I could have told you all on the -night that we talked, as we crossed the Lánczhid. No, that is not -true! I could not then. But I can now. For I may never see you again. -You talk of our 'knowing each other'! I wish you to know me. And I -could never write you this, never! Will you hear me, Imre?--patiently?" - -"I will hear you patiently--yes, Oswald--if you think it best to tell -me. Of _that_ pray think, carefully." - -"It is best! I am tired of thinking of it. It is time you knew." - -"And I am really concerned in it?" - -"You are immediately concerned. That is to say, before it ends. You -will see how." - -"Then you would better go on... of course." - -He consented thus, in the constrained but decided tone which I have -indicated as so often recurring during the evening, adding--"I am -ready, Oswald." - - * * * * * - -"From the time when I was a lad, Imre... a little child... I felt -myself unlike other boys in one element of my nature. That one matter -was my special sense, my passion, for the beauty, the dignity, the -charm... the... what shall I say?... the loveableness of my own sex. I -hid it, at least so far as, little by little, I came to realize its -force. For, I soon perceived that most other lads had no such -passionate sentiment, in any important measure of their natures, even -when they were fine-strung, impressionable youths. There was nothing -unmanly about me; nothing really unlike the rest of my friends in -school, or in town-life. Though I was not a strong-built, or -rough-spirited lad, I had plenty of pluck and muscle, and was as -lively on the playground, and fully as indefatigable, as my chums. -I had a good many friends; close ones, who liked me well. But I felt -sure, more and more, from one year to another even of that boyhood -time, that no lad of them all ever could or would care for me as much -as I could and did care for one or another of them! Two or three -episodes made that clear to me. These incidents made me, too, shyer -and shyer of showing how my whole young nature, soul and body -together, Imre--could be stirred with a veritable adoration for some -boy-friend that I elected.. an adoration with a physical yearning in -it--how intense was the appeal of bodily beauty, in a lad, or in a -man of mature years." - -"And yet, with that beauty, I looked for manliness, poise, will-power, -dignity and strength in him. For, somehow I demanded those traits, -always and clearly, whatever else I sought along with them. I say -'sought'; I can say, too, won--won often to nearness. But this other, -more romantic, emotion in me... so strongly physical, sexual, as well -as spiritual... it met with a really like and equal and full response -once only. Just as my school-life was closing, with my sixteenth year -(nearly my seventeenth) came a friendship with a newcomer into my -classes, a lad of a year older than myself, of striking beauty of -physique, and uncommon strength of character. This early relation -embodied the same precocious, absolutely vehement _passion_ (I can -call it nothing else) on both sides. I had found my ideal! I had -realized for the first time, completely, a type; a type which had -haunted me from first consciousness of my mortal existence, Imre; one -that is to haunt me till my last moment of it. All my immature but -intensely ardent regard was returned. And then, after a few months -together, my schoolmate, all at once, became ill during an epidemic in -the town, was taken to his home, and died. I never saw him after he -left me." - -"It was my first great misery, Imre. It was literally unspeakable! -For, I could not tell to anyone, I did not know how to explain even to -myself, the manner in which my nature had gone out to my young mate, -nor how his being spontaneously so had blent itself with mine. I was -not seventeen years old, as I said. But I knew clearly now what it -was to _love_ thus, so as to forget oneself in another's life and -death! But also I knew better than to talk of such things. So I never -spoke of my dead mate." - -"I grew older, I entered my professional studies, and I was very -diligent with them. I lived in a great capital, I moved much in -general society. I had a large and lively group of friends. But -always, over and over, I realized that, in the kernel, at the very -root and fibre of myself, there was the throb and glow, the ebb and -the surge, the seeking as in a vain dream to realize again that -passion of friendship which could so far transcend the cold modern -idea of the tie; the Over-Friendship, the Love-Friendship of -Hellas--which meant that between man and man could exist--the -sexual-psychic love. That was still possible! I knew that now! I -had read it in the verses or the prose of the Greek and Latin and -Oriental authours who have written out every shade of its beauty or -unloveliness, its worth or debasements--from Theokritos to Martial, or -Abu-Nuwas, to Platen, Michel Angelo, Shakespeare. I had learned it -from the statues of sculptors, with those lines so often vivid with a -merely physical male beauty--works which beget, which sprang from, -the sense of it in a race. I had half-divined it in the music of a -Beethoven and a Tschaikowsky before knowing facts in the life-stories -of either of them--or of an hundred other tone-autobiographists." - -"And I had recognized what it all meant to most people today!--from -the disgust, scorn and laughter of my fellow-men when such an emotion -was hinted at! I understood perfectly that a man must wear the Mask, -if he, poor wretch! could neither abide at the bound of ordinary -warmth of feeling for some friend of friends, that drew on his -innermost nature; or if he were not content because the other stayed -within that bound. Love between two men, however absorbing, however -passionate, must not be--so one was assured--solemnly or in disgusted -incredulity--a sexual love, a physical impulse and bond. _That_ was -now as ever, a nameless horror--a thing against all civilization, -sanity, sex, Nature, God! Therefore, _I_ was, of course... what then -was I? Oh, I perceived it! I was that anachronism from old--that -incomprehensible incident in God's human creation... the man-loving -man! The man-loving man! whose whole heart can be given only to -another man, and who when his spirit is passing into his beloved -friend's keeping would demand, would surrender, the body with it. The -man-loving man! He who seeks not merely a spiritual unity with him -whom he loves, but seeks the embrace that joins two male human beings -in a fusion that no woman's arms, no woman's kisses can ever realize. -No woman's embrace? No, no!... for instead of that, either he cares not -a whit for it, is indifferent to it, is smilingly scornful of it: or -else he tolerates it, even in the wife he has married (not to speak of -any less honourable ties) as an artifice, a mere quietus to that -undeceived sexual passion burning in his nature; wasting his really -_unmated_ individuality, years-long. Or else he surrenders himself to -some woman who bears his name, loves him--to her who perhaps in -innocence and ignorance believes that she dominates every instinct of -his sex!--making her a wife that she may bear to him children; or -thinking that marriage may screen him, or even (vain hope) 'cure' him! -But oftenest, he flies from any woman, as her sexual self; wholly -shrinks from her as from nothing else created; avoids the very touch -of a woman's hand in his own, any physical contact with woman, save in -a calm cordiality, in a sexless and fraternal reserve, a passionless -if yet warm... friendship! Not seldom he shudders (he may not know why) -in something akin to dread and to loathing, though he may succeed in -hiding it from wife or mistress, at any near approach of his strong -male body to a woman's trivial, weak, feminine one, however fair, -however harmonious in lines! Yes, even were she Aphrodite herself!" - -"And yet, Imre, thousands, thousands, hundreds of thousands, of such -human creatures as I am, have not in body, in mind, nor in all the -sum of our virility, in all the detail of our outward selves, any -openly womanish trait! Not one! It is only the ignoramus and the -vulgar who nowadays think or talk of the homosexual as if he were -an--hermaphrodite! In every feature and line and sinew and muscle, in -every movement and accent and capability, we walk the world's ways as -men. We hew our ways through it as men, with vigour, success, -honour... _one_ master-instinct unsuspected by society for, it may be, -our lives long! We plough the globe's roughest seas as men, we rule -its States as men, we direct its finance and commerce as men, we forge -its steel as men, we grapple with all its sciences, we triumph in all -its arts as men, we fill its gravest professions as men, we fight in -the bravest ranks of its armies as men, or we plan out its fiercest -and most triumphant battles as men.... in all this, in so much more, we -are men! Why, (in a bitter paradox) one can say that we always have -been, we always are, always will be, too much _men_! So super-male, so -utterly unreceptive of what is not manly, so aloof from any feminine -essences, that we cannot tolerate woman at all as a sexual factor! Are -we not the extreme of the male? its supreme phase, its outermost -phalanx?--its climax of the aristocratic, the All-Man? And yet, if -love is to be only what the narrow, modern, Jewish-Christian ethics of -today declare it, if what they insist be the only _natural_ and pure -expression of 'the will to possess, the wish to surrender'.. oh, then -is the flouting world quite right! For then we are indeed _not_ men! -But if not so, what are we? Answer that, who can!" - -"The more perplexed I became in all this wretchedness (for it had -grown to that by the time I had reached my majority).. the more -perplexed I became because so often in books, old ones or new, nay, in -the very chronicles of the criminal-courts, I came face to face with -the fact that though tens of thousands of men, in all epochs, of -noblest natures, of most brilliant minds and gifts, of intensest -energies.. scores of pure spirits, deep philosophers, bravest -soldiers, highest poets and artists, had been such as myself in this -mystic sex-disorganization.... that nevertheless of this same Race, -the Race-Homosexual, had been also, and apparently ever would -be, countless ignoble, trivial, loathesome, feeble-souled and -feeble-bodied creatures!... the very weaklings and rubbish of -humanity!" - -"Those, _those,_ terrified me, Imre! To think of them shamed me; those -types of man-loving-men who, by thousands, live incapable of any noble -ideals or lives. Ah, those patently depraved, noxious, flaccid, gross, -womanish beings! perverted and imperfect in moral nature and in -even their bodily tissues! Those homosexual legions that are the -straw-chaff of society; good for nothing except the fire that purges -the world of garbage and rubbish! A Heliogabalus, a Gilles de Rais, a -Henri Trois, a Marquis de Sade; the painted male-prostitutes of the -boulevards and twilight-glooming squares! The effeminate artists, the -sugary and fibreless musicians! The Lady Nancyish, rich young men of -higher or lower society; twaddling aesthetic sophistries; stinking -with perfume like cocottes! The second-rate poets and the neurasthenic, -_précieux_ poetasters who rhyme forth their forged literary passports -out of their mere human decadence; out of their marrowless shams of -all that is a man's fancy, a man's heart, a man's love-life! The -cynical debauchers of little boys; the pederastic perverters of -clean-minded lads in their teens; the white-haired satyrs of clubs -and latrines!" - -"What a contrast are these to great Oriental princes and to the heroes -and heroic intellects of Greece and Rome! To a Themistocles, an -Agesilaus, an Aristides and a Kleomenes; to Socrates and Plato, and -Saint Augustine, to Servetus and Beza; to Alexander, Julius Caesar, -Augustus, and Hadrian; to Prince Eugene of Savoy, to Sweden's Charles -the Twelfth, to Frederic the Great, to indomitable Tilly, to the -fiery Skobeleff, the austere Gordon, the ill-starred Macdonald; -to the brightest lyrists and dramatists of old Hellas and Italia; -to Shakespeare, (to Marlowe also, we can well believe) Platen, -Grillparzer, Hölderlin, Byron, Whitman; to an Isaac Newton, a Justus -Liebig--to Michel-Angelo and Sodoma; to the masterly Jerome Duquesnoy, -the classic-souled Winckelmann, to Mirabeau, Beethoven, Bavaria's -unhappy King Ludwig;--to an endless procession of exceptional men, -from epoch to epoch! Yet as to these and innumerable others, facts of -their hidden, inner lives have proved without shadow of doubt (however -rigidly suppressed as 'popular information') or inferences vivid -enough to silence scornful denial, have pointed out that they belonged -to Us." - -"Nevertheless, did not the widest overlook of the record of -Uranianism, the average facts about one, suggest that the most part -of homosexual humanity had always belonged, always would belong, to -the worthless or the wicked? Was our Race gold or excrement!--as -rubies or as carrion? If _that_ last were one's final idea, why then -all those other men, the Normalists, aye, our severest judges, those -others whether good or bad, whether vessels of honour or dishonour, -who are not in their love-instincts as are we... the millions against -our tens of thousands, even if some of us are to be respected.... why, -they do right to cast us out of society; for, after all, we must be -just a vitiated breed!... We must be judged by our commoner mass. - -"And yet, the rest of us! The Rest, over and over! men so high-minded, -often of such deserved honour from all that world which has either -known nothing of their sexual lives, or else has perceived vaguely, -and with a tacit, a reluctant pardon! Could one really believe in God -as making man to live at all, and to love at all, and yet at the same -time believe that _this_ love is not created, too, by God? is not of -God's own divinest Nature, rightfully, eternally--in millions of -hearts?... Could one believe that the eternal human essence is in its -texture today so different from itself of immemorial time before now, -whether Greek, Latin, Persian, or English? Could one somehow -find in his spirit no dread through _this,_ none, at the idea of -facing God, as his Judge, at any instant?... could one feel at -moments such strength of confidence that what was in him _so_ -was righteousness... oh, could all this be?--and yet must a man -shudder before himself as a monster, a solitary and pernicious -being--diseased, leprous, gangrened--one that must stagger along on -the road of life, ever justly shunned, ever justly bleeding and ever -the more wearied, till Death would meet him and say 'Come--enough!--Be -free of all!--be free of _thyself_ most of all!'" - - * * * * * - -I paused. Doing so, I heard from Imre, who had not spoken so much as a -word--was it a sigh? Or a broken murmur of something coming to his -lips in his own tongue? Was it--no, impossible!... was it a sort of -sob, strangled in his throat? The evening had grown so dark that I -could not have seen his face, even had I wished to look into it. -However... absorbed now in my own tenebrous retrospect, almost -forgetting that anyone was there, at my side, I went on: - - * * * * * - -"You must not think that I had not had friendships of much depth, -Imre, which were not, first and last, quite free from this _other_ -accent in them. Yes, I had had such; and I have many such now; -comradeships with men younger, men of my own age, men older, for whom -I feel warm affection and admiration, whose company was and is a true -happiness for me. But somehow they were not and, no matter what -they are they still are not, of _the_ Type; of that eternal, -mysteriously-disturbing cruel Type, which so vibrates sexually against -my hidden Self." - -"How I dreaded, yet sought that Type!... how soon was I relieved, or -dull of heart, when I knew that this or that friend was not enough -dear to me, however dear he was, to give me that hated sexual stir and -sympathy, that inner, involuntary thrill! Yet I sought it ever, right -and left, since none embodied it for me; while I always _feared_ that -some one might embody it! There were approaches to it. Then, then, I -suffered or throbbed with a wordless pain or joy of life, at one and -the same time! But fortunately these encounters failed of full -realization. Or what might have been my fate passed me by on the -other side. But I learned from them how I could feel toward the -man who could be in his mind and body my ideal; my supremest -Friend. Would I ever meet him?... meet him _again_?... I could say to -myself--remembering that episode of my schooldays. Or would I never -meet him! God forbid that! For to be all my life alone, year after -year, striving to content myself with pleasant shadow instead of -glowing verity!... Ah, I could well exclaim in the cry of Platen: - - "O, weh Dir, der die Welt verachtet, allein zu sein - Und dessen ganze Seele schmachtet allein zu sein!" - -"One day a book came to my hand. It was a serious work, on abnormalisms -in mankind: a book partly psychologic, partly medico-psychiatric; -of the newest 'school'. It had much to say of homosexualism, -of Uranianism. It considered and discussed especially researches -by German physicians into it. It described myself, my secret, -unrestful self, with an unsparing exactness! The writer was a -famous specialistic physician in nervous diseases, abnormal conditions -of the mind, and so on--an American. For the first time I understood -that responsible physicians, great psychologists--profound students -of humanities, high jurists, other men in the world besides obscene -humourists of a club-room, and judges and juries in police-courts--knew -of men like myself and took them as serious problems for study, -far from wholly despicable. This doctor spoke of my kind as -simply--diseased. 'Curable', absolutely 'curable'; so long as the -mind was manlike in all else, the body firm and normal. Certainly that -was my case! Would I not therefore do well to take one step which was -stated to be most wise and helpful toward correcting as perturbed a -relation as mine had become to ordinary life? That step was--to marry. -To marry immediately!" - -"The physician who had written that book happened to be in England at -the time. I had never thought it possible that I could feel courage to -go to any man... save that one vague sympathizer, my dream-friend, -he who some day would understand all!.. and confess myself; lay -bare my mysterious nature. But if it were a mere disease, oh, -that made a difference! So I visited the distinguished specialist -at once. He helped me urbanely through my embarrassing story of -my... 'malady'.... 'Oh, there was nothing extraordinary, not at all -extraordinary in it, from the beginning to the end,' the doctor -assured me, smiling. In fact, it was 'exceedingly common... All -confidential specialists in nervous diseases knew of hundreds of just -such cases. Nay, of much worse ones, and treated and cured them... A -morbid state of certain sexual-sensory nerve-centers'... and so on, -in his glib professional diagnosis." - ---"'So I am to understand that I am curable?'--'Curable? Why, surely. -Exactly as I have written in my work; as Doctor So-and-So, and the -great psychiatric Professor Such-a-One, proved long ago... Your case my -dear sir, is the easier because you suffer in a sentimental and sexual -way from what we call the obsession of a set, distinct Type, you -see; instead of a general... h'm... how shall I style it... morbidity -of your inclinations. It is largely mere imagination! You say you -have never really "realized" this haunting masculine Type which -has given you such trouble? My dear sir, don't think any more -about such nonsense!... you never will "realize" it in any way to -be... h'm... disturbed. Probably had you married and settled down -pleasantly, years ago, you often would have laughed heartily at the -whole story of such an illusion of your nature now. Too much _thought_ -of it all, my dear friend! too much introspection, idealism, sedentary -life, dear sir! Yes, yes, you must _marry_--God bless you!'" - -"I paid my distinguished specialist his fee and came away, with a far -lighter heart than I had had in many a year." - -"Marry! Well, that was easily to be done. I was popular enough with -women of all sorts. I was no woman-hater. I had many true and charming -and most affectionate friendships with women. For, you must know, -Imre, that such men as I am are often most attractive to women, most -beloved by them.. I mean by good women... far more than through being -their relatives and social friends. They do not understand the reason -of our attraction for them, of their confidence, their strengthening -sentiment. For we seldom betray to them our secret, and they seldom -have knowledge, or instinct, to guess its mystery. But alas! it is the -irony of _our_ nature that we cannot return to any woman, except by a -lie of the body and the spirit, (often being unable to compass or to -endure that wretched subterfuge) a warmer glow than affection's -calmest pulsations. Several times, before my consulting Dr. D... I had -had the opportunity of marrying 'happily and wisely'--if marriage with -any woman could have meant only a friendship. Naught physical, no -responsibility of sex toward the wife to whom one gives oneself. But -'the will to possess, the desire to surrender', the negation of what -is ourself which comes with the arms of some one other human creature -about us--ours about _him_--long before, had I understood that the -like of this joy was not possible for me with wife or mistress. It -had seemed to me hopeless of attempt. If marriage exact _that_ -effort.. good God! then it means a growing wretchedness, riddle and -mystery for two human beings, not for one. Stay! it means worse still, -should they not be childless......" - -"But now I had my prescription, and I was to be cured. In ten days, -Imre, I was betrothed. Do not be surprised. I had known a long while -earlier that I was loved. My betrothed was the daughter of a valued -family friend, living in a near town. She was beautiful, gifted, -young, high-souled and gentle. I had always admired her warmly; we -had been much thrown together. I had avoided her lately however, -because--unmistakeably--I had become sure of a deeper sentiment on her -part than I could exchange." - -"But now, now, I persuaded myself that I did indeed return it; that I -had not understood myself. And confidently, even ardently, I played my -new role so well, Imre, that I was deceived myself. And she? She never -felt the shade of suspicion. I fancied that I loved her. Besides, my -betrothed was not exacting, Imre. In fact, as I now think over those -few weeks of our deeper intimacy, I can discern how I was favoured in -my new relationship to her by her sensitive, maidenly shrinking from -the physical nearness, even the touch, of the man who was dear to -her... how troubling the sense of any man's advancing physical -dominancy over her. Yet do not make the mistake of thinking that she -was cold in her calm womanliness; or would have held herself aloof as -a wife. It was simply virginal, instinctive reserve. She loved me; and -she would have given herself wholly to me, as my bride." - -"The date for our marriage was set. I tried to think of nothing but -it and her; of how calmly, securely happy I should soon be, and of -all the happiness that, God willing, I would bring into her young -life. I say 'tried' to think of nothing else. I almost succeeded. -But... nevertheless... in moments..." - -"It was not to be, however, this deliverance, this salvation for me!" - -"One evening, I was asked by a friend to come to his lodgings to dine, -to meet some strangers, his guests. I went. Among the men who came was -one... I had never seen him before... newly arrived in my city.. coming -to pass the winter. From the instant that set me face to face with -him... that let me hear his voice in only a greeting... that put us to -exchanging a few commonplace sentences... I thrilled with joy and -trembled to my innermost soul with a sudden anguish. For, Imre, it was -as if that dead schoolmate of mine, not merely as death had taken him; -but matured, a man in his beauty and charm... it was as if every -acquaintance that ever had quickened within me the same unspeakable -sense of a mysterious bond of soul and of body... the Man-Type which -owned me and ever must own me, soul and body together--had started -forth in a perfect avatar. Out of the slumberous past, out of the -kingdom of illusions, straying to me from the realm of banished -hopes, it had come to me! The Man, the Type, that thing which meant -for me the fires of passion not to be quenched, that subjection of my -whole being to an ideal of my own sex... that fatal 'nervous illusion', -as the famous doctor's book so summarily ranged it for the world.. all -had overtaken me again! My peace was gone--if ever I had had true -peace. I was lost, with it!..." - -"From that night, I forgot everything else except him. My former, -unchanged, unchangeable self, in all its misery and mystery reverted. -The temperament which I had thought to put to sleep, the invisible -nature I had believed I could strangle--it had awakened with the -lava-seethe of a volcano. It burned in my spirit and body, like a -masked crater." - -"Imre, I sought the friendship of this man, of my ideal who had -re-created for me, simply by his existence, a world of feeling; one of -suffering and yet of delight. And I won his friendship! Do not suppose -that I dared to dream, then or ever, of more than a commonplace, -social intimacy. Never, never! Merely to achieve his regard toward -myself a little more than toward others; merely that he would care to -give me more of his society, would show me more of his inner self -than he inclined to open to others. Just to be accounted by him -somewhat dearer, in such a man's vague often elusive degree, than the -majority for whom he cared at all! Only to have more constant leave to -delight my spirit in silence with his physical beauty while guarding -from him in a sort of terror the psychic effects it wrought in -me..... My hopes went no further than these. And, as I say, I won -them. As it kindly happened, our tastes, our interests in arts and -letters, our temperaments, the fact that he came to my city with few -acquaintances in it and was not a man who readily seeks them... the -chance that he lived almost in the same house with me... such -circumstances favored me immediately. But I did not deceive myself -once, either as to what was the measure or the kind of my emotion for -him, any more than about what (if stretched to its uttermost) would be -his sentiment for me, for any man. He could not love a man _so._ He -could love... passionately, and to the completing of his sexual -nature... only a woman. He was the normal, I the abnormal. In that, -alone, he failed to meet all that was I: - - "O, the little more, and how much it is! - And the little less.. and what worlds away!" - -"Did I keep my secret perfectly from him? Perfectly, Imre! You will -soon see that clearly. There were times when the storm came full over -me... when I avoided him, when I would have fled from myself, in the -fierce struggle. But I was vigilant. He was moved, now and then, at a -certain inevitable tenderness that I would show him. He often spoke -wonderingly of the degree of my 'absorbing friendship'. But he was a -man of fine and romantic ideals, of a strong and warm temper. His life -had been something solitary from his earliest youth... and he was no -psychologist. Despite many a contest with our relationship, I never -allowed myself to complain of him. I was too well aware how fortunate -was my bond with him. The man esteemed me, trusted me, admired -me... all this thoroughly. I had more; for I possessed what in such a -nature as his proves itself a manly affection. I was an essential -element in his daily life all that winter; intimate to a depth that -(as he told me, and I believe it was wholly true) he had never -expected another man could attain. Was all _that_ not enough for me? -Oh, yes! and yet... and yet..." - -"I will not speak to you more of that time which came to pass for me, -Imre. It was for me, verily, a new existence! It was much such a daily -life, Imre, as you and I might lead together, had fate allowed us the -time for it to ripen. Perhaps we yet might lead it... God knows!... I -leave you tomorrow!" - -"But, you ask,--what of my marriage-engagement?" - -"I broke it. I had broken it within a week after I met him, so far as -shattering, it to myself went. I knew that no marriage, of any kind -yet tolerated in our era, would 'cure' me of my 'illusion', my -'nervous disease', could banish this 'mere psychic disturbance', the -result of 'too much introspection.' I had no disease! No... I was -simply what I was born!--a complete human being, of firm, perfect -physical and mental health; outwardly in full key with all the man's -world: but, in spite of that, a being who from birth was of a vague, -special sex; a member of the sex _within_ the most obvious sexes, or -apart from them. I was created as a man perfectly male, save in the -one thing which keeps such a 'man' back from possibility of ever -becoming integrally male--his terrible, instinctive demand for a -psychic and a physical union with a man--not with a woman." - -"Presently, during that same winter, accident opened my eyes wider to -myself. From then, I have needed no further knowledge from the Tree of -my Good and Evil. I met with a mass of serious studies, German, -Italian, French, English, from the chief European specialists and -theorists on the similisexual topic: many of them with quite other -views than those of my well-meaning but far too conclusive Yankee -doctor. I learned of the much-discussed theories of 'secondary -sexes' and 'intersexes'. I learned of the theories and facts of -homosexualism, of the Uranian Love, of the Uranian Race, of 'the Sex -within a Sex'. I could, at last, inform myself fully of its mystery, -and of the logical, inevitable and necessary place in sexualism, of -the similisexual man, and of the similisexual woman". - -"I came to know their enormous distribution all over the world today; -and of the grave attention that European scientists and jurists have -been devoting to problems concerned with homosexualism. I could pursue -intelligently the growing efforts to set right the public mind as to -so ineradicable and misunderstood a phase of humanity. I realized that -I had always been a member of that hidden brotherhood and Sub-Sex, or -Super-Sex. In wonder, too I informed myself of its deep, instinctive, -freemasonries--even to organized ones--in every social class, every -land, every civilization: of the signs and symbols and safeguards of -concealment. I could guess that my father, my grandfather and God -knows how many earlier forerunners of my unhappy Ego, had been of it! -'Cure?' By marriage? By marriage, when my blood ran cold at the -thought!...... The idea was madness, in a double sense. Better a -pistol-shot to my heart! So first, I found pretexts to excuse meetings -with my bride-not-to-be, avoiding thus a comedy which now was odious -as a lie and insupportable as a nervous demand. Next, I pleaded -business-worries. So the marriage was postponed for three months -further. Then I discovered a new obstacle to bring forward. With that, -the date of the wedding was made indefinite. Then came some idle -gossip, unjust reflections on my betrothed and on myself. I knew well -where blame enough should fall, but not that sort of blame. An end had -to be! I wrote my betrothed, begging my freedom, giving no reason. She -released me, telling me that she would never marry any other man. She -keeps her word to-day. I drew my breath in shame at my deliverance. - -"Any other _man_!" - -"So seldom had I referred to my betrothal in talking with my new -friend that he asked me no questions when I told him it was ended. -He mistook my reserve; and respected it rigidly." - -"During that winter, I was able to prove myself a friend in deed and -need to him. Twice, by strange fatality, a dark cloud came over his -head. I might not dare to show him that he was dearer than myself; but -I could protect and aid him. For, do not think that he had no faults. -He had more than few; he was no hero, no Galahad. He was careless, he -was foolishly obstinate, he made missteps; and punishment came. But -not further than near. For I stood between! At another time his -over-confidence in himself, his unsuspiciousness, almost brought him -to ruin, with a shameful scandal! I saved him, stopping the mouths of -the dogs that were ready to howl, as well as to tear. I did so at the -cost of impairing my own material welfare; worse still, alas! with a -question of duty to others. Then, once again, as that year passed, he -became involved in a difference, in which certain of my own relatives, -along with some near friends of my family were concerned; directors in -a financial establishment in our city. I took his part. By that step, -I sacrificed the good-will and the longtime intimacy of the others. -What did I care? 'The world well lost!' thought I." - -"Then, from that calm sky, thickened and fell on me the storm; and for -my goodly vineyard I had Desolation!" - -"One holiday, he happened to visit some friends in the town where was -living my betrothed.. that had been. He heard there, in a club's -smoking-room, a tale 'explaining'--positively and circumstantially, -why my engagement had been broken. The story was a silly falsehood; -but it reflected on my honour. He defended me instantly and warmly. -That I heard. But his host, after the sharp passing altercation was -over, the evening ended, took him aside to tell him privately that, -while friendship for me made it a credit to stand out for me, the -tale was 'absolutely true'. He returned to me late that night. He was -thoroughly annoyed and excited. He asked me, as I valued my good name -and his public defence of it, to give him, then and there, the real, -the decisive reason for my withdrawing from my engagement. He would -not speak of it to anyone; but he would be glad to know, now, on what -ground he rested. I admitted that my betrothed had not wished the -withdrawing." - -"That was the first thing counter to what he had insisted at the club. -He frowned in perplexity. Ah, so the matter was wholly from myself? I -assented. Would I further explain?... so that at least he could get rid -of one certain local statement... of that other one. An argument rose -between us that grew to a sharp altercation. It was our first one, as -well as our last. We became thoroughly angry, I the more so, because -of what I felt was a manifest injustice to myself. Finally there was -no other thing left than for me to meet his appeal--his demand. 'No -matter what was the root of the mystery, no matter what any attitude -toward me because of it, he must _know_'... Still I hung back. Then, -solemnly, he pledged me his word that whatever I might disclose, he -'would forgive it'; it should 'never be mentioned between us two -again'; only provided that it bore out his defence of my relation to a -faithful and pure woman." - -"So--I yielded! Lately, the maddening wish to tell him all at any -risks, the pressure of passion and its concealment... they had never so -fiercely attacked me! In a kind of exalted shame, but in absolute -sincerity, I told him all! I asked nothing from him, except his -sympathy, his belief in whatever was my higher and manlier nature... as -the world judges any man... and the toleration of our friendship on the -lines of its past. Nothing more: not a handclasp, not a look, not a -thought more; the mere continued sufferance of my regard. Never again -need pass between us so much as a syllable or a glance to remind him -of this pitiable confession from me, to betray again the mysterious -fire that burned in me underneath our intimacy. He had not suspected -anything of it before. It could be forgotten by him from now, onward." - -"Did I ask too much? By the God that made mankind, Imre--that made it -not only male or female but also as We are... I do not think I did!" - -"But he, _he_ thought otherwise! He heard my confession through with -ever more hostile eyes, with an astonished unsympathy... disgust... curling -his lips. Then, he spoke--slowly--pitilessly: '... I have heard that -such creatures as you describe yourself are to be found among mankind. -I do not know, nor do I care to know, whether they are a sex by -themselves, a justified, because helpless, play of Nature; or even a -kind of _logically_ essential link, a between-step.... as you seem to -have persuaded yourself. Let all that be as it may be. I am not a man -of science nor keen to such new notions! From this moment, you and I -are strangers! I took you for my friend because I believed you to be -a... man. You chose me for your friend because you believed me.... stay, -I will not say _that!_... because you wished me to be.... a something -else, a something more or less like to yourself, whatever you -_are!_ I loathe you!... I loathe you! When I think that I have -touched your hand, have sat in the same room with you, have respected -you!.. Farewell!...... If I served you as a man should serve such beings -as you, this town should know your story tomorrow! Society needs more -policemen than it has, to protect itself from such lepers as you! I -will keep your hideous secret. Only remember never to speak to -me!... never to look my way again! Never! From henceforward I have -never known you and never will think of you!--if I can forget anything -so monstrous in this world!'" - -"So passed he out of my life, Imre. Forever! Over the rupture of our -friendship not much was said, nevertheless. For he was called to -London a few days after that last interview; and he was obliged to -remain in the capital for months. Meantime I had changed my life to -meet its new conditions; to avoid gossip. I had removed my lodgings to -a suburb. I had taken up a new course in professional work. It needed -all my time. Then, a few months later, I started quietly on a long -travel-route on the Continent, under excuse of ill-health. I was far -from being a stranger to life in at least half a dozen countries of -Europe, east or west. But now, now, I knew that it was to be a refuge, -an exile!" - -"For so began those interminable, those mysterious, restless -pilgrimages, with no set goals for me; those roamings alone, of which -even the wider world, not to say this or that circle of friends, has -spoken with curiosity and regret. My unexplained and perpetual exile -from all that earlier meant home, sphere, career, life! My wandering -and wandering, ever striving to forget, ever struggling to be beguiled -intellectually at least; to be diverted from so profound a sense of -loss. Or to attain a sort of emotional _assoupissement,_ to feel -myself identified with new scenes, to achieve a new identity. Little -by little, my birth-land, my people, became strange to me. I grew -wholly indifferent to them. I turned my back fuller on them, evermore. -The social elements, the grades of humanity really mine, the concerns -of letters, of arts,... from these I divorced myself utterly. They knew -me no more. In some of them, already I had won a certain repute; but I -threw away its culture as one casts aside some plant that does not -seem to him worth watering and tending." - -"And indeed the zest of these things, their reason for being mine, -seemed dead.... asphyxiated! For, they had grown to be so much a part -of what had been the very tissue of intimacy, of life, with _him_! I -fled them all. Never now did my foot cross the threshold of a -picture-gallery, never did I look twice at the placard of a theater, -never would I enter a concert-room or an opera-house, never did I -care to read a romance, a poem, or to speak with any living creature -of aesthetics that had once so appealed to me! Above all did my -aversion to music (for so many years a peculiar interest for -me)--become now a dull hatred,..... a detestation, a contempt, a -horror!... super-neurotic, quintessently sexual, perniciously -homosexual art--mystery--that music is! For me, no more symphonies, no -more sonatas, no more songs!... No more exultations, elegies, questions -to Fate of any orchestra!... Nevermore!" - -"And yet, involuntarily, sub-consciously, I was always hoping... -seeking--_something._ Hoping..., seeking.... what? Another such man as -I? Sometimes I cried out as to _that,_ 'God forbid it!' For I dreaded -such a chance now; realizing the more what it would most likely _not_ -offer me. And really unless a miracle of miracles were to be wrought -just for me, unless I should light upon another human creature who in -sympathies, idealisms, noble impulses, manliness and a virile life -could fill, and could wish to fill, the desolate solitudes of mine, -could confirm all that was deepest fixed in my soul as the concept of -true similisexual masculinity.... oh, far better meet none! For such a -miracle of miracles I should not hope. Even traversing all the devious -ways of life may not bring us face to face with such a friend. Yet I -was hoping--seeking--I say: even if there was no vigour of expectancy, -but rather in my mind the melancholy lines of the poet: - - "And are there found two souls, that each the other - Wholly shall understand? Long must man search - In that deep riddle--seek that Other soul - Until he dies! Seeking, despairing--dies!" - -"Or, how easy to meet such a man, he also 'seeking, despairing' and -not to recognize him, any more than he recognizes us! The Mask--the -eternal social Mask for the homosexual!--worn before our nearest and -dearest, or we are ruined and cast out! I resolved to be content with -tranquility... pleasant friendships. Something like a kindly apathy, -often possessed me." - -"And nevertheless, the Type that still so stirred my nature? The man -that is.... inevitably.. to be _loved,_ not merely liked; to be feared -while yet sought; the friend from whom I can expect nothing, from -whom never again will I expect anything, more than calm regard, -his sympathy, his mere leave for my calling him '_barátom_'--my -brother-friend? He, by whom I should at least be respected as an -upright fellow-creature from the workshop of God, not from the hand of -the Devil; be taken into companionship because of what in me is -worthily companionable? The fellow-man who will accept what of good in -me is like the rest of men, nor draw away from me, as from a leper? -Have I really ceased to dream of this grace for me, this vision--as -years have passed?" - -"Never, alas! I have been haunted by it; however suppressed in my -heart. And something like its embodiment has crossed my way, really -nearly granted me again; more than once. There was a young English -officer, with whom I was thrown for many weeks, in a remote Northern -city. We became friends; and the confidence between us was so great -that I trusted him with the knowledge of what I am. And therewith had -I in turn, a confession from him of a like misfortune, the story of -his passion for a brother-officer in a foreign service, that made him -one of the most wretched men on the face of the world--while everyone -in his circle of home-intimates and regimental friends fancied that he -had not a trouble in life! There was, too, one summer in Bosnia, a -meeting with a young Austrian architect; a fellow of noble beauty and -of high, rich nature. There was a Polish friend, a physician--now far -off in Galizien. There was an Italian painter in Rome. But such -incidents were not full in the key. Hence, they moved me only -so far and no farther. Other passings and meetings came. Warm -friendship often grew out of them; tranquil, lasting, sustaining -friendship!--that soul-bond not over-common with _us,_ but, when -really welded, so beautiful, so true, so enduring!..." - -"But one thing I had sworn, Imre; and I have kept my word! That so -surely as ever again I may find myself even half-way drawn to a man by -the inner passion of an Uranian love--not by the mere friendship of a -colder psychic complexion--if that man really shows me that he cares -for me with respect, with intimate affection, with trust... then he -shall know absolutely what manner of man I am! He shall be shown -frankly with what deeper than common regard he has become a part of my -soul and life! He shall be put to a test!... with no shrinkings on my -part. Better break apart early, than later... if he say that we break! -Never again, if unquiet with such a passion, would I attempt to wear -to the end the mask, to fight out the lie, the struggle! I must be -taken as I am, pardoned for what I am; or neither pardoned nor taken. -I have learned my lesson once and well. But the need of my maintaining -such painful honesty has come seldom. I have been growing in to -expecting no more of life, no realizing whatever of the Type that had -been my undoing, that must mean always my peace or my deepest -unrest... till I met you, Imre! Till I met you!" - -"Met you! Yes, and a strange matter in my immediately passionate -interest in you... another one of the coincidences in our interest for -each other... is the racial blood that runs in your veins. You are a -Magyar. You have not now to be told of the unexplainable, the -mysterious affinity between myself and your race and nation; of -my sensitiveness, ever since I was a child, to the chord which -Magyarország and the Magyar sound in my heart. Years have only added -to it, till thy land, thy people, Imre, are they not almost my land, -my people? Now I have met thee. Thou wert _to be;_ somewhat, at least, -to be for me! That thou wast ordained to come into the world that I -should love thee, no matter what thy race... that I believe! But, see! -Fate also has willed that thou shouldst be Magyar, one of the Children -of Emesa, one of the Folk of Árpád!" - -"I cannot tell thee, Imre,... oh, I have no need now to try!.... what -_thou_ hast become for me. My Search ended when thou and I met. Never -has my dream given me what is this reality of thyself. I love this -world now only because thou art in it. I respect thee wholly--I -respect myself--certain, too, of that coming time, however far away -now, when no man shall ever meet any intelligent civilization's -disrespect simply _because_ he is similisexual, Uranian! But--oh, -Imre, Imre!--I _love_ thee, as can love only the Uranian... once more -helpless, and therewith hopeless!--but this time no longer silent, -before the Friendship which is Love, the Love which is Friendship." - -"Speak my sentence. I make no plea. I have kept my pledge to confess -myself tonight. But I would have fulfilled it only a little later, -were I not going away from thee tomorrow. I ask nothing, except what -I asked long ago of that other, of whom I have told thee! Endure my -memory, as thy friend! Friend? That at least! For, I would say -farewell, believing that I shall still have the right to call thee -'friend'--even--O God!--when I remember tonight. But whether that -right is to be mine, or not, is for thee to say. Tell me!" - -I stopped. - -Full darkness was now about us. Stillness had so deepened that the -ceasing of my own low voice made it the more suspenseful. The sweep of -the night-wind rose among the acacias. The birds of shadow flitted -about us. The gloom seemed to have entered my soul--as Death into -Life. Would Imre ever speak? - -His voice came at last. Never had I heard it so moved, so melancholy. -A profound tenderness was in every syllable. - -"If I could... my God! if I only could!.. say to thee what I cannot. -Perhaps... some time.... Forgive me, but thou breakest my heart!.... Not -because I care less for thee as my friend.... no, above all else, not -that reason! We stay together, Oswald!... We shall always be what we -have become to each other! Oh, _we_ cannot change, not through all our -lives! Not in death, not in anything! Oh, Oswald! that thou couldst -think, for an instant, that I--I--would dream of turning away from -thee... suffer a break for us two... because thou art made in thy nature -as God makes mankind--as each and all, or not as each and all! We are -what we are!... This terrible life of ours... this existence that men -insist on believing is almost _all_ to be understood nowadays--probed -through and through--decided!... but that ever was and will be just -mystery, _all_!...... Friendship between us? Oh, whether we are near or -far! Forever! Forever, Oswald!... Here, take my hand! As long as I -live... and beyond _then_! Yes, by God above us, by God in us!... Only, -only, for the sake of the bond between us from this night, promise me -that thou wilt never speak again of what thou hast told me of -thyself--never, unless I break the silence. Nevermore a word of--of -thy--thy--feeling for me. There are other things for us to talk of, -my dear brother? Thou wilt promise?" - -With his hand in mine, my heart so lightened that I was as a new -creature, forgetting even the separation before me, I promised. -Gladly, too. For, instead of loss, with this parting, what gain was -mine! Imre knew me now as myself!--he really knew me: and yet was now -rather the more my friend than less, so I could believe, after this -tale of mine had been told him! His sympathy--his respect--his -confidence--his affection--his continued and deeper share in my -strange and lonely life--even if lands and seas should divide us -two--ah, in those instants of my reaction and relief, it seemed to me -that I had everything that my heart had ever sought of him, or would -seek! I made the promise too, gladly with all my soul. Why should he -or I ever speak of any stranger emotions again? - -Abruptly, after another long pressure of my hand, my friend started -up. - -"Oswald we must go home!" he exclaimed. "It's nearly nine o'clock, -surely. I have a regimental report to look at before ten... this affair -of mine tomorrow." - -Nearly the whole of our return-ride we were silent. The tram was full -as before with noisy pleasure-trippers. Even after quitting the -vehicle, neither of us said more than a few sentences... the beauty of -the night, the charm of the old Z... park, and so on. But again Imre -kept his arm in mine, all the way we walked. It was, I knew, not -accident. It was the slight sign of earnest thoughts, that he did not -care to utter in so many words. - -We came toward my hotel. - -"I shall not say farewell tonight, Oswald," said Imre, "you know how I -hate farewells at any time... hate them as much as you. There is more -than enough of such a business. Much better to be sensible.. to add as -few as one can to the list.... I will look in on you tomorrow... about -ten o'clock. I don't start till past midday." - -I assented. I was no longer disturbed by any mortal concerns, not even -by the sense of the coming sundering. Distrust--loneliness--the one -was past, even if the other were to come! - -The hotel-portier handed me a telegram, as we halted in the light of -the doorway. - -"Wait till I read this," I said. - -The dispatch ran: "Situation changed. Your coming unnecessary. Await -my letter. Am starting for Scotland." - -I gave an exclamation of pleasure, and translated the words to Imre. - -"What! Then you need not leave Szent-Istvánhely?" he asked quickly, in -the tone of heartiest pleasure that a friend could wish to hear. -"_Teremtette!_ I am as happy as you!.... What a good thing, too, that -we were so sensible as not to allow ourselves to make a dumpish, -dismal afternoon of it, over there at the Z.... You see, I am right, -my dear fellow.. I am always right!... Philosophy, divine philosophy! -Nothing like it! It makes all the world go round."...... - -With which Imre touched his _csákó_, laughed his jolliest laugh, and -hurried away to the Commando of the regiment. - -I went upstairs, not aware of there being stairs to climb... unless -they might be steps to the stars. In fact the stars, it seemed to me, -could not only shine their clearest in Szent-Istvánhely; but, after -all, could take clement as well as unfriendly courses, in mortal -destiny. - - - - - III. - - FACES--HEARTS--SOULS. - - "Think'st thou that I could bear to part - With thee?--and learn to halve my heart?" - - "No more reproach, no more despair!" - - BYRON - - ".... Et deduxit eos in portum voluntatis sorum". - - _Psalm._ CVI, 30. - - -Next morning, before I was dressed, came this note: - -"I have just received word that I must take my company out to the -camp at once. Please excuse my not coming. It does not make so much -difference, now that you are to stay. Will write you from the Camp. -Only a few days absence. I shall think of you. - - Imre. - -P. S. Please write me." - -I was amused, as well as pleased, at this characteristic missive. - -My day passed rather busily. I had not time to send even a card to -Imre; I had no reason to do so. To my surprise, the omission was -noticed. For, on the following morning I was in receipt of a lively -military _Ansichtskarte_ with a few words scratched on it; and at -evening came the ensuing communication; which, by the by, was neither -begun with the "address of courtesy", as the "Complete Letter-Book" -calls it, nor ended with the "salute of ceremony", recommended by the -same useful volume; they being both of them details which Imre had -particularly told me he omitted with his intimate "friends who were -not prigs." He wrote: - -"Well, how goes it with you? With me it is dull and fatiguing enough -out here. You know how I hate all this business, even if you and -Karvaly insist on my trying to like it. I have a great deal to say to -you this evening that I really cannot write. Today was hot and it -rained hard. Dear Oswald, you do not know how I value your friendship. -Yesterday I saw the very largest frog that ever was created. He looked -the very image of our big vis-a-vis in the Casino, Hofkapellan -Számbor. Why in God's name do you not write? The whole city is full of -_tiz-filléres_ picture-postcards! Buy one, charge it to my account, -write me on it.-- - - Imre. - -P. S. I think of you often, Oswald." - -This communication, like its predecessor, was written in a tenth-century -kind of hand, with a blunt lead-pencil! I sent its authour a few -lines, of quite as laconical a tone as he had given me to understand -he so much preferred. - -The next day, yet another communication from the P... Camp! Three -billets in as many days, from a person who "hated to write letters," -and "never wrote them when he could get out of it!" Clearly, Imre in -camp was not Imre in Szent-Istvánhely! - -"Thank you, dear Oswald, for your note. Do not think too much of that -old nonsense (_azon régi bolondság_) about not writing letters. _It -depends._ I send my this in a spare moment. But I have nothing -whatever to say. Weather here warm and rainy. Oswald, you are a great -deal in my thoughts. I hope I am often in yours. I shall not return -tomorrow, but I intend to be with you on Sunday. Life is wearisome. -But so long as one has a friend, one can get on with much that is part -of the burden; or possibly with _all_ of it.--Yours ever-- - - Imre" - -I have neglected to mention that the second person of intimate Magyar -address, the "thou" and "thee", was used in these epistles of Imre, in -my answers, with the same instinctiveness that had brought it to our -lips on that evening in the Z... park. I shall not try to translate -it systematically, however; any more than I shall note with system -its disused English equivalents in the dialogue that occurs in the -remainder of this record. More than once before the evening named, -Imre and I had exchanged this familiarity, half in fun. But now it -had come to stay. Thenceforth we adhered to it; a kind of serious -symbolism as well as intimate sweetness in it. - -I looked at that note with attention: first, because it was so opposed -in tenor to the Imre von N... "model". Second, because there appeared -to have been a stroke under the commonplace words "Yours ever". That -stroke had been smirched out, or erased. Was it like Imre to be -sentimental, for an instant, in a letter?--even in the most ordinary -accent? Well, if he had given way to it, to try to conceal such a sign -of the failing, particularly without re-writing the letter... why, that -was characteristic enough! In sending him a newspaper-clipping, along -with a word or so, I referred to the unnecessary briskness of our -correspondence. ".... Pray do not trouble yourself, my dear N..., to -change your habits on my account. Do not write, now or ever, only -because a word from you is a pleasure to me. Besides I am not yet on -my homeward-journey. Save your postal artillery." - -To the foregoing from me, Imre's response was this: - -"It is three o'clock in the morning, and everybody in this camp must -be sound asleep, except your most humble servant. You know that I -sometimes do not sleep well, Lord knows why. So I sit here, and scrawl -this to thee, dear Oswald... All the more willingly because I am -_awfully_ out of sorts with myself..... I have nothing special to -write thee; and nevertheless how much I would _now_ be glad to _say_ -to thee, were we together. See, dearest friend... thou hast walked -from that other world of thine into my life, and I have taken my place -in thine, because for thee and for me there shall be, I believe, a -happiness henceforth that not otherwise could come to us. I have known -what it is to suffer, just because there has been no man to whom I -could speak or write as to thee. Dear friend, we are much to one -another, and we shall be more and more... No, would not write if it -were not a pleasure to me to do it. I promise thee so. We had a great -regimental athletic contest this afternoon, and I took two prizes. I -will try to sleep now, for I must be on my feet very early. Good -night, or rather good-morning, and remember... - - Thine own - Imre." - -This letter gave me many reflections. There was no need for its -closing injunction. To tell the truth, Imre von N... was beginning to -bewilder me!--this Imre of the P... Camp and of the mail-bag, so -unlike the Imre of our daily conversations and moods when vis-à-vis. -There was certainly a curious, a growing psychic difference. The -naïveté, the sincerity of the speaking and of the acting Imre was -written into his lines spontaneously enough. But there was that -odd new touch of an equally spontaneous something, a suppressed -emotion--that I could not define. My own letters to Imre certainly -did not ring to the like key. On the contrary (I may as well mention -that it was not of mere accident, but in view of a resolution -carefully considered, and held-to) the few lines which I sent him -during those days were wholly lacking in any such personal utterances -as his. If Imre chose to be inconsistent, I would be steadfast. - -All such cogitations as to Imre's letters were however soon unnecessary, -inasmuch as on the tenth day of his Camp-service, he wrote: - -"Expect me tomorrow. I am well. I have much to tell thee. After all, a -camp is not a bad place for reflections. It is a tiresome, rainy day -here. I took the second prize for shooting at long range today. - - Imre." - -Now, I did not suppose that Imre's pent-up communicativeness was -likely to burst out on the topic of the Hungarian local weather, much -less with reference to his feats with a rifle, or in lifting heavy -weights. I certainly could not fancy just what meditations promoted -that remark about the Camp! So far as I knew anything, of such -localities, camps were not favourable to much consecutive thinking -except about the day's work. - -I did not expect him till the afternoon should close. I was busy -with my English letters. It was a warm August noon, and even when -coat and waistcoat had been thrown aside, I was oppressed. My -high-ceiled, spacious room was certainly amongst the cooler corners -of Szent-Istvánhely; but the typical ardour of any Central-Hungary -midsummer is almost Italian. Outside, in the hotel-court, the fountain -trickled sleepily. Even the river steamers seemed too torpid to signal -loudly. But suddenly there came a most wide-awake sort of knock; and -Imre, with an exclamation of delight--Imre, erect, bronzed, flushed, -with eyes flashing--with that smile of his which was almost as -flashing as his eyes--Imre, more beautiful than ever, came to me, with -both hands outstretched. - -"At last.... and really!" I exclaimed as he hurried over the wide -room, fairly beaming, as with contentment at being once more out of -camp-routine. "And back five hours ahead of time!" - -"Five hours ahead of time indeed!" he echoed, laughing. "Thou art -glad? I know I am!" - -"Dear Imre, I am immeasurably happy", I replied. - -He leaned forward, and lightly kissed my cheek. - -What!--he Imre von N--, who so had questioned the warm-hearted -greetings of his friend--Captain M--! An odd lapse indeed! - -"I am in a state of regular shipwreck," he exclaimed; standing -up particularly straight again, after a demonstration that so -confounded me as to leave me wordless!--"I have had no breakfast, -no luncheon, nothing to eat since five o'clock. I am tired as a dog, -and hungry--_oh, mint egy vén Kárpáti medve!"_ [Literally, "as an old -Carpathian bear".] "I stopped to have a bath at the Officers' -Baths.. you should see the dust between here and the Camp... and to -change, and write a note to my father. So, if you don't mind, the -sooner I have something to eat and perhaps a nap, why the better. I -am done up!" - -In a few moments we were at table. Imre manifestly was not too fagged -to talk and laugh a great deal; with a truly Homeric exhibition of his -appetite. The budget of experiences at the Camp was immediately drawn -upon, with much vivacity. But as luncheon ended, my guest admitted -that the fatigues of the hot morning-march with his troop, from P.... -(during which several sunstrokes had occurred, those too-ordinary -incidents of Hungarian army-movements in summer) were reacting on him. -So I went to the Bank, as usual, for letters; transacted some other -business on the way; and left Imre to himself. When I returned to my -room an hour or so later, he was stretched out, sound asleep, on the -long green sofa. His sword and his close-fitting fatigue-blouse were -thrown on a chair. The collarless, unstarched shirt (that is so much -an improvement on our civilian garment) was unbuttoned at the throat; -the sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, in unconscious emphasizing of -the deepened sun-tan of his fine skin. The long brown eye-lashes lying -motionless, against his cheek, his physical abandonment, his deep, -regular, soundless breathing... all betokened how the day had spent -itself on his young strength. Once left alone, he had fallen asleep -where he had sat down. - -A great and profoundly human poet, in one famous scene, speaks of -those emotions that come to us when we are watching, in his sleep, a -human being that we love. Such moments are indeed likely to be -subduing to many a sensitive man and woman. They bring before our eyes -the effect of a living statue; of a beauty self-unconscious, almost -abstract, if the being that we love be beautiful. Strongly, suddenly, -comes also the hint at helplessness; the suggestion of protection from -_us_, however less robust. Or the idea of the momentary but actual -absence of that other soul from out of the body before us, a vanishing -of that spirit to whom we ourselves cling. We feel a subconscious -sense of the inevitable separation forever, when there shall occur the -Silence of "the Breaker of Bonds, the Sunderer of Companionships, the -Destroyer of Fellowships, the Divider of Hearts"--as (like a knell of -everything earthly and intimate!) the old Arabian phrases lament the -merciless divorce of death! - -I stood and watched Imre a moment, these things in my mind. Then, -moving softly about the room, lest he should be aroused, I began -changing my clothes for the afternoon. But more than once the spell of -my sleeping guest drew me to his side. At last, scarce half dressed, I -sat down before him, to continue to look at him. Yes.. his face had the -same expression now, as he slumbered there, that I had often remarked -in his most silent moments of waking. There were not only the calm -regular beauty, the manly uprightness, his winning naïveté of -character written all through such outward charm for me; but along -with that came again the appealing hint of an inward sadness; the -shadow of some enrooted, hidden sorrow that would not pass, however -proudly concealed. - -"God bless thee, Imre!" my heart exclaimed in benediction, "God bless -thee, and make thee happy!... happier than I! Thou hast given me thy -friendship. I shall never ask of God... of Fate... anything more... -save that the gift endure till we two endure not!" - -The wish was like an echo from the Z... park. Or, rather, it was an -echo from a time far earlier in my life. Once again, with a mystic -certainty, I realized that _those_ days of Solitude were now no longer -of any special tyranny upon my moods. That was at an end for me, -verily! O, my God! _That_ was at an end!.... - -Imre opened his eyes. - -"Great Árpád!", he exclaimed, smiling sleepily, "is it so late? You -are dressing for the evening!" - -"It is five o'clock," I answered. "But what difference does that make? -Don't budge. Go to sleep again, if you choose. You need not think of -getting supper at home. We will go to the F-- Restaurant." - -"So be it. And perhaps I shall ask you to keep me till morning, my -dear fellow! I am no longer sleepy, but somehow or other I do feel -most frightfully knocked-out! Those country roads are misery..... And -I am a poor sleeper often,.... that it is, in a way. I get to -worrying... to wondering over all sorts of things that there's no good -in studying about... in daylight or dark." - -"You never told me till lately, in one of your letters, that you were -so much of an insomniac, Imre. Is it new?" - -"Not in the least new. I have not wished to say anything about it to -anybody. What's the use! Oh, there many are things that I haven't had -time to tell you--things I have not spoken about with anyone--just as -is the case with most men of sense in this world... eh? But do you -know," he went on, sitting up and continuing with a manner more and -more reposeful, thoughtful, strikingly unlike his ordinary nervous -self, ".. but do you know that I have come back from the Camp to you, -my dear Oswald, certain that I shall never be so restless and troubled -a creature again. Thanks to you. For you see, so much that I have shut -into myself I know now that I can trust to your heart. But give me a -little time. To have a friend to trust myself to _wholly_--that is new -to me." - -I was deeply touched. I felt certain again that a change of some -sort--mysterious, profound--had come over Imre, during those few days -at the Camp. Something had happened. I recognized the mood of his -letters. But what had evolved or disclosed it? - -"Yes, my dear von N..." I returned, "your letters have said that, in a -way, to me. How shall I thank you for your confidence, as well as for -your affection?" - -"Ah, my letters! Bother my letters! They said nothing much! You know -I cannot write letters at all. What is more, you have been believing -that I wrote you as... as a sort of duty. That whatever I said--or a -lot of it--well, there were things which you fancied were not really -I. I understood why you could think it." - -"I never said that, Imre," I replied, sitting down beside him on the -sofa. - -"Not in so many words. But my guilty conscience prompted me. I mean -that word, 'conscience', Oswald. For--I have not been fair to you, -not honest. The only excuse is that I have not been honest with -myself. You have thought me cold, reserved, abrupt... a fantastic sort -of friend to you. One who valued you, and yet could hardly speak out -his esteem--a careless fellow into whose life you have taken only -surface-root. That isn't all. You have believed that I... that -I... never could comprehend things... feelings... which you have lived -through to the full... have suffered from... with every beat of your -heart. But you are mistaken." - -"I have no complaint against you, dear Imre." No, no! God knows that! - -"No? But I have much against myself. That evening in the Z... -park... you remember... when you were telling me"... - -I interrupted him sharply: "Imre!" - -He continued--"That evening in the Z-- park when you were telling -me"-- - -"Imre, Imre! You forget our promise!" - -"No, I do _not_ forget! It was a one-sided bargain, _I_ am free to -break it for a moment, _nem igaz?_ Well then, I break it! There! Dear -friend, if you have ever doubted that I have a heart,... that I would -trust you utterly, that I would have you know me as I am.... then from -this afternoon forget to doubt! I have hid myself from you, because I -have been too proud to confess myself _not enough for myself!_ I -have sworn a thousand times that I could and would bear anything -alone--alone--yes, till I should die. Oswald--for God's sake--for our -friendship's sake--do not care less for me because I am weary of -struggling on thus alone! I shall not try to play hero, even to -myself... not any longer. Oswald..., listen... you told me your story. -Well, I have a story to tell you... Then you will understand. -Wait... wait... one moment!... I must think how, where, to begin. My -story is short compared with yours, and not so bitter; yet it is no -pleasant one." - -As he uttered the last few words, seated there beside me, whatever -sympathy I could ever feel for any human creature went out to -him, unspeakably. For, now, now, the trouble flashed into my -mind! Of course it was to be the old, sad tale--he loved, loved -unhappily--a woman! - -The singer! The singer of Prag! That wife of his friend Karvaly. The -woman whose fair and magnetic personality, had wrought unwittingly or -wittingly, her inevitable spell upon him! One of those potent and -hopeless passions, in which love, and probably loyalty to Karvaly, -burdened this upright spirit with an irremediable misfortune! - -"Well," I said very gently, "tell me all that you can, if there be one -touch of comfort and relief for you in speaking, Imre. I am wholly -yours, you know, for every word." - -Instead of answering me at once, as he sat there so close beside me, -supporting his bowed head on one hand, and with his free arm across -my shoulder, he let the arm fall more heavily about me. Turning his -troubled eyes once--so appealingly, so briefly!--on mine, he laid his -face upon my breast. And then, I heard him murmur, as if not to me -only, but also to himself: - -"O, thou dear friend! Who bringest me, as none have brought it before -thee... _rest_!" - -Rest? Not rest for me! A few seconds of that pathetic, trusting -nearness which another man could have sustained so calmly... a few -instants of that unspeakable joy in realizing how much more I was in -his life than I had dared to conceive possible... just those few -throbs upon my heart of that weary spirit of my friend... and then the -Sex-Demon brought his storm upon my traitorous nature, in fire and -lava! I struggled in shame and despair to keep down the hateful -physical passion which was making nothing of all my psychic loyalty, -asserting itself against my angriest will. In vain! The defeat must -come; and, worse, it must be understood by Imre. I started up. I -thrust Imre from me--falling away from him, escaping from his -side--knowing that just in his surprise at my abruptness, I must -meet--his detection of my miserable weakness. No words can express my -self-disgust. Once on my feet, I staggered to the opposite side of -the round table between us. I dropped into a chair. I could not raise -my eyes to Imre. I could not speak. Everything was vanishing about me. -Of only one thing could I be certain; that now all was over between -us! Oh, this cursed outbreak and revelation of my sensual weakness! -this inevitable physical appeal of Imre to me! This damned and -inextricable ingredient in the chemistry of what ought to be wholly a -spiritual drawing toward him, but which meant that I--desired my -friend for his gracious, virile beauty--as well as loved him for his -fair soul! Oh, the shame of it all, the uselessness of my newest -resolve to be more as the normal man, not utterly the Uranian! Oh, the -folly of my oaths to love Imre _without_ that thrill of the plain -sexual Desire, that would be a sickening horror to him! All was over! -He knew me for what I was. He would have none of me. The flight of my -dreams, departing in a torn cloud together, would come with the first -sound of his voice! - -But Imre did not speak. I looked up. He had not stirred. His hand was -still lying on the table, with its open palm to me! And oh, there -was that in his face... in the look so calmly bent upon me... that -was... good God above us!.. so kind! - -"Forgive me," I said. "Forgive me! Perhaps you can do that. Only that. -You see... you know now. I have tried to change myself... to care for -you only with my soul. But I cannot change. I will go from you. I will -go to the other end of the world. Only do not believe that what I feel -for you is wholly base... that were you not outwardly--what you -are--had I less of my terrible sensitiveness to your mere beauty, -Imre--I would care less for your friendship. God knows that I love you -and respect you as a man loves and respects his friend. Yes, yes, a -thousand times! But... but... nevertheless... Oh, what shall I say... -You could never understand! So no use! Only I beg you not to despise -me too deeply for my weakness; and when you remember me, pardon me -for the sake of the friendship bound up in the love, even if you -shudder at the love which curses the friendship." - -Imre smiled. There was both bitterness as well as sweetness in his -face now. But the bitterness was not for me. His voice broke the short -silence in so intense a sympathy, in a note of such perfect accord, -such unchanged regard, that I could scarcely master my eyes in hearing -him. He clasped my hand. - -"Dear Oswald! Brother indeed of my soul and body! Why dost thou ask me -to forgive thee! Why should _I_ 'forgive'? For--oh, Oswald, Oswald! I -am just as art thou... I am just as art thou!" - -"Thou! Just as _I_ am? I do not understand!" - -"But that will be very soon, Oswald. I tell thee again that _I am as -thou art_... wholly.. wholly! Canst thou really not grasp the truth, -dear friend? Oh, I wish with all my heart that I had not so long held -back my secret from thee! It is I who must ask forgiveness. But at -least I can tell thee today that I came back to thee to give thee -confidence for confidence, heart for heart, Oswald! before this day -should end. With no loss of respect--no weakening of our friendship. -No, no! Instead of that, only with more--with... with _all!_" - -"Imre... Imre! I do not understand--I do not dare... to understand." - -"Look into thyself, Oswald! It is all _there._ I am an Uranian, as -thou art. From my birth I have been one. Wholly, wholly homosexual, -Oswald! The same fire, the same, that smoulders or flashes in thee! It -was put into _my_ soul and body too, along with whatever else is in -them that could make me wish to win the sympathy of _just_ such a -friend as thee, or make thee wish to seek mine. My youth was like -thine; and to become older, to grow up to be a man in years, a man in -every sinew and limb of my body, there was no changing of my nature in -_that._ There were only the bewilderments, concealments, tortures that -come to us. There is nothing, nothing, that any man can teach me of -what is one's life with it all. How well I know it! That inborn -mysterious, frightful sensitiveness to whatever is the _man_--that -eternal vague yearning and seeking for the unity that can never come -save by a love that is held to be a crime and a shame! The instinct -that makes us cold toward the woman, even to hating her, when one -thinks of her as a sex. And the mask, the eternal mask! to be worn -before our fellowmen for fear that they should spit in our faces in -their loathing of us! Oh God, I have known it all--I have understood -it all!" - -It was indeed my turn to be silent now. I found myself yet looking at -him in incredulity--wordless. - -"But that is not the whole of my likeness to thee, Oswald. For, I have -endured that cruellest of torments for us--which fell also to thy -lot. I believe it to be over now, or soon wholly so to be. But the -remembrance of it will not soon pass, even with thy affection to heal -my heart. For I too have loved a man, loved him--hiding my passion -from him under the coldness of a common friendship. I too have lived -side by side, day by day, with him; in terror, lest he should see -_what_ he was to me, and so drive me from him. Ah, I have been -unhappier, too, than thou, Oswald. For I must needs to watch his -heart, as something not merely impossible for me to possess (I -would have cast away my soul to possess it!)--but given over to a -woman--laid at her feet--with daily less and less of thought for what -was his life with me... Oh, Oswald!... the wretchedness of it is over -now, God be thanked! and not a little so because I have found thee, -and thou hast found me. But only to think of it again".... - -He paused as if the memory were indeed wormwood. I understood now! And -oh, what mattered it that I could not yet understand or excuse the -part that he had played before me for so long?--his secrecy almost -inexplicable if he had had so much as a guess at my story, my feelings -for him! As in a dream, believing, disbelieving, fearing, rejoicing, -trembling, rapt, I began to understand Fate! - -Yet, mastering my own exultant heart, I wished in those moments to -think only of him. I asked gently: - -"You mean your friend Karvaly?" - -"Even so... Karvaly." - -"O, my poor, poor Imre! My brother indeed! Tell me all. Begin at the -beginning." - - * * * * * - -I shall not detail all of Imre's tale. There was little in it for the -matter of that, which could be set forth here as outwardly dramatic. -Whoever has been able, by nature or accident, to know, in a fairly -intimate degree, the workings of the similisexual and uranistic heart; -whoever has marvelled at them, either in sympathy or antipathy, even -if merely turning over the pages of psychiatric treatises dealing with -them--he would find nothing specially unfamiliar in such biography. -I will mention here, as one of the least of the sudden discoveries -of that afternoon, the fact that Imre had some knowledge of such -literature, whether to his comfort or greater melancholy, according -to his author. Also he had formally consulted one eminent Viennese -specialist who certainly was much wiser--far less positive--and not -less calming than my American theorist. - -The great Viennese psychiater had not recommended marriage to Imre: -recognizing in Imre's "case" that inborn homosexualism that will not -be dissipated by wedlock; but perhaps only intensifies, and so is -surer to darken irretrievably the nuptial future of husband and wife, -and to visit itself on their children after them. But the Austrian -doctor had not a little comforted and strengthened Imre morally; -warning him away from despising himself: from thinking himself alone, -and a sexual Pariah; from over-morbid sufferings; from that bitterness -and despair which, year by year, all over the world, can explain, in -hundreds of cases, the depressed lives, the lonely existences, the -careers mysteriously interrupted--broken? What Asmodeus could look -into the real causes (so impenetrably veiled) of sudden and long -social exiles; of sundered ties of friendship or family; of divorces -that do not disclose their true ground? Longer still would be the -chronicle of ruined peace of mind, tranquil lives maddened, fortunes -shattered--by some merciless blackmailer who trades on his victim's -secret! Darker yet the "mysterious disappearances," the sudden -suicides "wholly inexplicable," the strange, fierce crimes--that are -part of the daily history of hidden uranianism, of the battle between -the homosexual man and social canons--or of the battle with just -himself! Ah, these dramas of the Venus Urania! played out into death, -in silent but terribly-troubled natures!--among all sorts and -conditions of men! - - "C'est Venus, tout entière à sa proie attachée"... - -Imre's youth had been, indeed, one long and lamentable obsession of -precocious, inborn homosexuality. Imre (just as in many instances) had -never been a weakling, an effeminate lad, nor cared for the society -of the girls about him on the playground or in the house. On the -contrary, his sexual and social indifference or aversion to them had -been always thoroughly consistent with the virile emotions of that -sort. But there had been the boy-friendships that were passions; the -sense of his being out of key with his little world in them; the -deepening certitude that there was a mystery in himself that "nobody -would understand"; some element rooted in him that was mocked by the -whole boy-world, by the whole man-world. A part of himself to be -crushed out, if it could be crushed, because base and vile. Or that, -at any rate, was to be forever hid.. hid.. hid.. for his life's sake -hid! So Imre had early put on the Mask; the Mask that millions never -lay by till death--and many not even then! - -And in Imre's case there had come no self-justification till late in -his sorrowful young manhood. Not until quite newly, when he had -discovered how the uranistic nature is regarded by men who are wiser -and wider-minded than our forefathers were, had Imre accepted himself -as an excusable bit of creation. - -Fortunately, Imre had not been born and brought up in an Anglo-Saxon -civilization; where is still met, at every side, so dense a blending -of popular ignorances; of century-old and century-blind religious -and ethical misconceptions, of unscientific professional conservatism -in psychiatric circles, and of juristic barbarisms; all, of course, -accompanied with the full measure of British or Yankee social -hypocrisy toward the daily actualities of homosexualism. By -comparison, indeed, any other lands and races--even those yet hesitant -in their social toleration or legal protection of the Uranian--seem -educative and kindly; not to distinguish peoples whose attitude is -distinctively one of national common-sense and humanity. But in this -sort of knowledge, as in many another, the world is feeling its way -forward (should one say _back_?) to intelligence, to justice and to -sympathy, so spirally, so unwillingly! It is not yet in the common -air. - -Twice Imre had been on the point of suicide. And though there had been -experiences in the Military-Academy, and certain much later ones to -teach him that he was not unique in Austria-Hungary, in Europe, or the -world, still unluckily, Imre had got from them (as is too often the -hap of the Uranian) chiefly the sense of how widely despised, mocked, -and loathed is the Uranian Race. Also how sordid and debasing are the -average associations of the homosexual kind, how likely to be wanting -in idealism, in the exclusiveness, in those pure and manly influences -which ought to be bound up in them and to radiate from them! He had -grown to have a horror of similisexual types, of all contacts with -them. And yet, until lately, they could not be torn entirely out of -his life. Most Uranists know why! - -Still, they had been so expelled, finally. The turning-point had come -with Karvaly. It meant the story of the development of a swift, -admiring friendship from the younger soldier toward the older. But -alas! this had gradually become a fierce, despairing homosexual love. -This, at its height, had been as destructive of Imre's peace as it was -hopeless. Of course, it was impossible of confession to its object. -Karvaly was no narrow intellect; his affection for Imre was warm. But -he would never have understood, not even as some sort of a diseased -illusion, this sentiment in Imre. Much less would he have tolerated it -for an instant. The inevitable rupture of their whole intimacy would -have come with Imre's betrayal of his passion. So he had done wisely -to hide every throb from Karvaly. How sharply Karvaly had on one -occasion expressed himself on masculine homosexuality, Imre cited to -me, with other remembrances. At the time of the vague scandal about -the ex-officer Clement, whom Imre and I had met, Imre had asked -Karvaly, with a fine carelessness,--"Whether he believed that there -was any scientific excuse for such a sentiment?" Karvaly answered, -with the true conviction of the dionistic temperament that has -never so much as paused to think of the matter as a question in -psychology... "If I found that you cared for another man that way, -youngster, I should give you my best revolver, and tell you to put a -bullet through your brains within an hour! Why, if I found that you -thought of me so, I should brand you in the Officers Casino tonight, -and shoot you myself at ten paces tomorrow morning. Men are not to -live when they turn beasts.... Oh, damn your doctors and scientists! A -man's a man, and a woman's a woman! You can't mix up their emotions -like _that._" - -The dread of Karvaly's detection, the struggle with himself to subdue -passion, not merely to hide it, and along with these nerve-wearing -solicitudes, the sense of what the suspicion of the rest of the world -about him would inevitably bring on his head, had put Imre, little by -little, into a sort of panic. He maintained an exaggerated attitude of -safety, that had wrought on him unluckily, in many a valuable social -relation. He wore his mask each and every instant; resolving to make -it his natural face before himself! Having, discovered, through -intimacy with Karvaly how a warm friendship on the part of the -homosexual temperament, over and over takes to itself the complexion -of homosexual love--the one emotion constantly likely to rise in the -other and to blend itself inextricably into its alchemy--Imre had -simply sworn to make no intimate friendship again! This, without -showing himself in the least unfriendly; indeed with his being more -hail-fellow-well-met with his comrades than otherwise. - -But there Imre stopped! He bound his warm heart in a chain, he -vowed indifference to the whole world, he assisted no advances -of warm, particular regard from any comrade. He became that friend -of everybody in general who is the friend of nobody in particular! -He lived in a state of perpetual defence in his regiment, and in -whatever else was social to him in Szent-Istvánhely. So surely as he -admired another man--would gladly have won his generous and virile -affection--Imre turned away from that man! He covered this morbid -state of self-inclusion, this solitary life (such it was, apart from -the relatively short intimacy with Karvaly) with laughter and a most -artistic semblance of brusqueness; of manly preoccupation with private -affairs. Above all, with the skilful cultivation of his repute as a -Lothario who was nothing if not sentimental and absorbed in--woman! -This is possibly the most common device, as it is the securest, on the -part of an Uranian. Circumstances favoured Imre in it; and he gave it -its full show of honourable mystery. The cruel irony of it was often -almost humorous to Imre. - -"... They have given me the credit of being the most confirmed rake in -high life... think of that! I, and in high life!.. to be found in town. -The less they could trace as ground for it, why, so much the stronger -rumours!.. you know how that sort of a label sticks fast to one, once -pinned on. Especially if a man _is_ really a gentleman and holds his -tongue, ever and always, about his intimacies with women. Why, Oswald, -I have never felt that I could endure to be alone five minutes with -any woman... I mean in--_that_ way! Not even with a woman most dear to -me, as many, many women are. Not even with a wife that loved me. I -have never had any intimacies--not one--of _that_ sort... Merely -semblances of such! Queer experiences I've tumbled into with _them_, -too! You know." - -Oh, yes... I knew! - -Part of Imre's exaggerated, artificial bearing toward the outer world -was the nervous shrinking from commonplace social demonstrativeness on -the part of his friends. To that mannerism I have already referred. -It had become a really important accent, I do not doubt, in Imre's -acting-out of a friendly, cheerful, yet keep-your-distance sort of -personality. But there was more than that in it. It was a detail in -the effort toward his self-transformation; a minor article in his -compact with himself never to give up the struggle to "_cure_" -himself. He was convinced that this was the most impossible of -achievements. But he kept on fighting for it. And since one degree -of sentiment led so treacherously to another, why, away with all! - -"But Imre, I do not yet see why you have not trusted me sooner. There -have been at least two moments in our friendship when you could have -done so; and one of them was when.. you _should_!" - -"Yes, you are right. I have been unkind. But then, I have been as -unkind to myself. The two times you speak of, Oswald... you mean, for -one of them, that night that we met Clement... and spoke about such -matters for a moment while we were crossing the Lánczhid? And the -other chance was after you had told me your own story, over there in -the Z... park?" - -"Yes. Of course, the fault is partly mine--once. I mean that time on -the Bridge... I fenced you off from me--I misled you--didn't help -you--I didn't help myself. But even so, you kept me at sword's length, -Imre! You wore your mask so closely--gave me no inch of ground to come -nearer to you, to understand you, to expect anything except scorn--our -parting! Oh, Imre! I have been blind, yes! but you have been dumb." - -"You wonder and you blame me," he replied, after busying himself a few -seconds with his own perplexing thoughts. "Again, I say 'Forgive me.' -But you must remember that we played at cross-purposes too much (as I -now look back on what we said that first time) for me to trust myself -to you. I misunderstood you. I was stupid--nervous. It seemed to me -certain, at first, that you had me in your mind--that I was the friend -you spoke of--laughed at, in a way. But after I saw that I was -mistaken? Oh, well it appeared to me that, after all, you must be one -of the Despisers. Gentler-hearted than the most; broader minded, in a -way; but one who, quite likely, thought and felt as the rest of the -world. I was afraid to go a word farther! I was afraid to lose you. I -shivered afterward, when I remembered that I had spoken then of what -I did. Especially about that man... who cared for me once upon a -time... in that way... And so suddenly to meet Clement! I didn't know he -was in Szent-Istvánhely; the meeting took me by surprise. I heard next -morning that his mother had been very ill." - -"But afterwards, Imre? You surely had no fear of what you call -'losing' me then? How could you possibly meet my story--in that hour -of such bitter confidence from me!--as you did? Could come no further -toward me? When you were certain that to find you my Brother in the -Solitude would make you the nearer-beloved and dearer-prized!" - -"That's harder for me to answer. For one reason, it was part of that -long battle with myself! It was something against the policy of -my whole life!... as I had sworn to live it for all the rest of -it... before myself or the world. I had broken that pledge already in -our friendship, such as even then it was! Broken it suddenly, -completely... before realizing what I did. The feeling that I was -weak, that I cared for you, that I was glad that you sought my -friendship... ah, the very sense of nearness and companionship in -that... But I fought with all _that,_ I tell you! Pride, Oswald!... a -fool's pride! My determination to go on alone, alone, to make myself -sufficient for myself, to make my punishment my tyrant!--to be -martyred under it! Can you not understand something of that? You broke -down my pride that night, dear Oswald. Oh, _then_ I knew that I had -found the one friend in the world, out of a million-million men not -for me! And nevertheless I hung back! The thought of your going from me -had been like a knife-stroke in my heart all the evening long. But -_yet_ I could not speak out. All the while I understood how our -parting was a pain to you--I could have echoed every thought that -was in your soul about it!... but I would not let myself speak one -syllable to you that could show you that I cared! No!... _then_ I -would have let you go away in ignorance of everything that was most -myself... rather than have opened that life-secret, or my heart, as we -sat there. Oh, it was as if I was under a spell, a cursed enchantment -that would mean a new unhappiness, a deeper silence for the rest of my -life! But the wretched charm was perfect. Good God!... what a night I -passed! The mood and the moment had been so fit... yet both thrown -away! My heart so shaken, my tongue so paralyzed! But before morning -came, Oswald, that fool's hesitation was over. I was clear and -resolved, the devil of arrogance had left me. I was amazed at myself. -You would have heard everything from me that day. But the call to the -Camp came. I had not a moment. I could not write what I wished. There -was nothing to do but to wait." - -"The waiting has done no harm, Imre." - -"And there is another reason, Oswald, why I found it hard to be frank -with you. At least, I think so. It is--what shall call it?--the -psychic trace of the woman in me. Yes, after all, the woman! The -counter-impulse, the struggle of the weakness that is womanishness -itself, when one has to face any sharp decision... to throw one's whole -being into the scale! Oh, I know it, I have found it in me before now! -I am not as you, the Uranian who is too much man! I am more feminine -in impulse--of weaker stuff... I feel it with shame. You know how the -woman says 'no' when she means 'yes' with all her soul! How she draws -back from the arms of the man that she loves when she dreams every -night of throwing herself into them? How she finds herself doing, over -and over, just that which is _against_ her thought, her will, her -duty! I tell you, there is something of _that_ in me, Oswald! I must -make it less... you must help me. It must be one of the good works of -your friendship, of your love, for me. Oh, Oswald, Oswald!... you are -not only to console me for all that I have suffered, for anything in -my past that has gone wrong. For, you are to help me to make myself -over, indeed, in all that _is_ possible, whatever cannot be so." - -"We must help each other Imre. But do not speak so of woman, my -brother! Sexually, we may not value her. We may not need her, as do -those Others. But think of the joy that they find in her to which we -are cold; the ideals from which we are shut out! Think of your mother, -Imre; as I think of mine! Think of the queens and peasants who have -been the light and the glory of races and peoples. Think of the -gentle, noble sisters and wives, the serene, patient rulers of myriad -homes. Think of the watching nurses in the hospitals... of the spirits -of mercy who walk the streets of plague and foulness!... think of the -nun on her knees for the world...!" - -The shadows in the room were almost at their deepest. We were -still sitting face to face, almost without having stirred since -that moment when I had quitted his side so suddenly--to divine how -much closer I was to be drawn to him henceforth. Life!--Life and -Death!--Life--Love--Death! The sense of eternal kinship in their -mystery.... somehow it haunted one then! as it is likely to do when not -our unhappiness but a kind of over-joy swiftly oppresses us; making us -to feel that in some other sphere, and if less grossly "set within -this muddy vesture of decay," we might understand all three... might -find all three to be one! Life--Love--Death!... - -"Oswald, you will never go away from me!" - -"Imre, I will never go away from thee. Thy people shall be mine. Thy -King shall be mine. Thy country shall be mine,--thy city mine! My feet -are fixed! We belong together. We have found what we had despaired -of finding... 'the friendship which is love, the love which is -friendship'. Those who cannot give it--accept it--let them live -without it. It can be 'well, and very well' with them. Go they their -ways without it! But for Us, who for our happiness or unhappiness -cannot think life worth living if lacking it... for Us, through the -world's ages born to seek it in pain or joy... it is the highest, -holiest Good in the world. And for one of us to turn his back upon it, -were to find he would better never have been born!"...... - - * * * * * - -It was eleven o'clock. Imre and I had supped and taken a stroll in the -yellow moonlight, along the quais, overlooking the shimmering Duna; -and on through the little Erzsébet-tér where we had met, a few weeks -ago--it seemed so long ago! I had heard more of Imre's life and -individuality as a boy; full of the fine and unhappy emotions of the -uranistic youth. We had laughed over his stock of experiences in the -Camp. We had talked of things grave and gay. - -Then we had sauntered back. It was chance; but lo! we were on the -Lánczhid, once more! The Duna rippled and swirled below. The black -barges slumbered against the stone _rakpartok._ The glittering belts -of the city-lights flashed in long perspectives along the wide river's -sweeping course and twinkled from square to square, from terrace to -terrace. Across from us, at a garden-café, a cigány orchestra was -pulsating; crying out, weeping, asking, refusing, wooing, mocking, -inebriating, despairing, triumphant! All the warm Magyar night about -us was dominated by those melting chromatics, poignant cadences--those -harmonies eternally oriental, minor-keyed, insidious, nerve-thrilling. -The arabesques of the violins, the vehement rhythms of the clangorous -czimbalom!.... Ah, this time on the Lánczhid, neither for Imre nor -me was it the sombre Bakony song, "O jaj! az álom nelkül"--but -instead the free, impassioned leap and acclaim,--"Huszár legény -vagyok!--Huszár legény vagyok!" - -We were back in the quiet room, lighted now only by the moon. Far up, -on the distant Pálota heights, the clear bell of Szent-Mátyás struck -the three-quarters. The slow notes filled the still night like a -benediction, keyed to that haunting, divine, prophetic triad, -Life--Love--Death! Benediction threefold and supreme to the world! - -"Oh, my brother! Oh, my friend!" exclaimed Imre softly, putting -his arm about me and holding me to his heart. "Listen to me. -Perhaps.. perhaps even yet, canst thou err in one, only one thought. I -would have thee sure that when I am with thee here, now, I _miss_ -nothing and no one--I seek nothing and no one! My quest, like thine, -is over!... I wish no one save thee, dear Oswald, no one else, even as -I feel thou wishest none save me, henceforth. I would have thee -believe that I am glad _just_ as thou art glad. Alike have we two been -sad because of our lonely hearts, our long restlessness of soul and -body, our vain dreams, our worship of this or that hope--vision--which -has been kept far from us--it may be, overvalued by us! We have -suffered so much thou and I!... because of what never could be! We -shall be all the happier now for what is real for us... I love thee, as -thou lovest me. I have found, as thou hast found, 'the friendship -which is love, the love which is friendship.'... Come then, O friend! O -brother, to our rest! Thy heart on mine, thy soul with mine! For us -two it surely is... Rest!" - - "Truth? What is truth? Two human hearts - Wounded by men, by fortune tried. - Outwearied with their lonely parts. - Vow to beat henceforth side by side."* - - - - - THE END. - - - - -*Matthew Arnold - - - - - TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE - - -Obvious printing errors have been silently corrected throughout. -Otherwise, inconsistencies and possible errors have been preserved, -and some irregular and non-standard formatting and punctuation has -likewise been retained. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IMRE *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Imre</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:0;'>A Memorandum</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Edward Irenaeus Prime-Stevenson</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Editor: Xavier Mayne</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: September 27, 2021 [eBook #66390]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteers</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IMRE ***</div> - -<hr class="pagebreak" /> - -<div class="image-centre"> - <img id="coverpage" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Book cover" /> -</div> - -<hr class="pagebreak" /> - -<h1>IMRE:<br /> -<span class="small">A MEMORANDUM</span></h1> - -<p class="centre morespaceabove"><span class="small">EDITED BY</span><br /> -XAVIER MAYNE.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"There is a war, a chaos of the mind,</div> -<div class="verse">When all its elements convulsed, combined,</div> -<div class="verse">Like dark and jarring..."</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"The whole heart exhaled into One Want,</div> -<div class="verse">I found the thing I sought, and that was—thee."</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="decorative" /> - -<p class="centre small">"The Friendship which is Love—the Love which is Friendship"</p> - -<p class="centre morespaceabove">NAPLES.<br /> -<span class="smcap">The English Book-Press:</span> R. RISPOLI,<br /> -<span class="small">CALATA TRINITÀ MAGGIORE, 53.<br /> -1906.</span></p> - -<hr class="decorative" /> - -<p class="centre smcap">(Privately Printed And All Rights Reserved.)</p> - -<hr class="pagebreak" /> - -<p class="centre morespaceabove">THIS BOOK IS PRIVATELY PRINTED<br /> -IN A LIMITED EDITION, OF WHICH THIS COPY IS<br /> -NUMBER 10</p> - -<hr class="pagebreak" /> - -<h2>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table class="toc"> - <tr> - <td>PREFATORY</td> - <td class="right">Page</td> - <td class="right"><a href="#p0">3</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>MASKS</td> - <td class="right">'</td> - <td class="right"><a href="#p1">9</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>MASKS AND—A FACE</td> - <td class="right">'</td> - <td class="right"><a href="#p2">79</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>FACES—HEARTS—SOULS</td> - <td class="right">'</td> - <td class="right"><a href="#p3">157</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr class="pagebreak" /> - -<h2 id="p0">PREFATORY.</h2> - -<hr class="decorative" /> - -<p class="noindent">My dear Mayne:</p> - -<p>In these pages I give you a chapter out of my life... an episode that -at first seemed impossible to write even to you. It has lengthened -under my hand, as autobiography is likely to do. My apology is that in -setting forth absolute truth in which we ourselves are concerned so -deeply, the perspectives, and what painters call the values, are not -easily maintained. But I hope not to be tedious to the reader for -whom, especially, I have laid open as mysterious and profoundly -personal an incident.</p> - -<p>You know why it has been written at all for you. Now that it lies -before me, finished, I do not feel so dubious of what may be thought -of its utterly sincere course as I did when I began to put it on -paper. And as you have more than once urged me to write something -concerning just that topic which is the mainspring of my pages I have -asked myself whether, instead of some impersonal essay, I would not -do best to give over to your editorial hand all that is here?—as -something for other men than for you and me only? Do with it, -therefore, as you please. As speaking out to any other human heart -that is throbbing on in rebellion against the ignorances, the narrow -psychologic conventions, the false social ethics of our epoch—too -many men's hearts must do so!—as offered in a hope that some -perplexed and solitary soul may grow a little calmer, may feel itself -a little less alone in our world of mysteries—so do I give this -record to you, to use it as you will. Take it as from Imre and from -me.</p> - -<p>As regards the actual narrative, I may say to you here that the -dialogue is kept, word for word, faithfully as it passed, in all the -more significant passages; and that the correspondence is literally -translated.</p> - -<p>I do not know what may be the exact shade of even your sympathetic -judgment, as you lay down the manuscript, read. But, for myself, I -put by my pen after the last lines were written, with two lines of -Platen in my mind that had often recurred to me during the progress -of my record: as a hope, a trust, a conviction:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container" lang="de" xml:lang="de"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"Ist's möglich ein Geschöpf in der Natur zu sein,</div> -<div class="verse">Und stets und wiederum auf falscher Spur zu sein?</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Or, as the question of the poet can be put into English:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"Can one created be—of Nature part—</div> -<div class="verse">And ever, ever trace a track that's false?</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>No... I do not believe it!</p> - -<p class="rightalign">Faithfully yours,<br /> -Oswald.</p> - -<p class="extraindent">Velencze,<br /> -19—</p> - -<hr class="pagebreak" /> - -<p class="spaceabove">... "You have spoken of homosexualism, that profound problem in human -nature of old or of to-day; noble or ignoble; outspoken or masked; -never to be repressed by religions nor philosophies nor laws; which -more and more is demanding the thought of all modern civilizations, -however unwillingly accorded it..... Its diverse aspects bewilder -me... Homosexualism is a symphony running through a marvellous -range of psychic keys, with many high and heroic (one may say -divine) harmonies; but constantly relapsing to base and fantastic -discords!... Is there really now, as ages ago, a sexual aristocracy of -the male? A mystic and hellenic Brotherhood, a sort of super-virile -man? A race with hearts never to be kindled by any woman; though, if -once aglow, their strange fires can burn not less ardently and purely -than ours? An <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">élite</i> in passion, conscious of a superior knowledge -of Love, initiated into finer joys and pains than ours?—that looks -down with pity and contempt on the millions of men wandering in the -valleys of the sexual commonplace?"...</p> - -<p class="rightalign">(Magyarból.)</p> - -<hr class="pagebreak" /> - -<h2 id="p1"><small>I.</small><br /> -MASKS.</h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Like flash toward metal, magnet sped to iron,</div> -<div class="verse">A Something goes—a Current, mystic, strange—</div> -<div class="verse">From man to man, from human breast to breast:</div> -<div class="verse">Yet 'tis not Beauty, Virtue, Grace, not Truth</div> -<div class="verse">That binds nor shall unbind, that magic tie.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="rightalign smcap">(Grillparzer)</p> - - -<p class="spaceabove">It was about four o' clock that summer afternoon, that I sauntered -across a street in the cheerful Hungarian city of Szent-Istvánhely, -and turned aimlessly into the café-garden of the Erzsébet-tér, where -the usual vehement military-band concert was in progress. I looked -about for a free table, at which to drink an iced-coffee, and to mind -my own business for an hour or so. Not in a really cross-grained mood -was I; but certainly dull, and preoccupied with perplexing affairs -left loose in Vienna; and little inclined to observe persons and -things for the mere pleasure of doing so.</p> - -<p>The kiosque-garden was somewhat crowded. At a table, a few steps -away, sat only one person; a young Hungarian officer in the pale -blue-and-fawn of a lieutenant of the well-known A— Infantry Regiment. -He was not reading, though at his hand lay one or two journals. Nor -did he appear to be bestowing any great amount of attention on the -chattering around him, in that distinctively Szent-Istvánhely manner -which ignores any kind of outdoor musical entertainment as a thing to -be listened-to. An open letter was lying beside him, on a chair; but -he was not heeding that. I turned his way; we exchanged the usual -sacramental saluts, in which attention I met the glance, by no means -welcoming, of a pair of peculiarly brilliant but not shadowless hazel -eyes; and I sat down for my coffee. I remember that I had a swift, -general impression that my neighbour was of no ordinary beauty of -physique and elegance of bearing, even in a land where such matters -are normal details of personality. And somehow it was also borne in -upon me promptly that his mood was rather like mine. But this was a -vague concern. What was Hecuba to me?—or Priam, or Helen, or Helenus, -or anybody else, when for the moment I was so out of tune with life!</p> - -<p>Presently, however, the band began playing (with amazing calmness -from any Hungarian wind-orchestra) Roth's graceful "<span lang="de" xml:lang="de">Frau Réclame</span>" -Waltz, then a novelty, of which trifle I happen to be fond. Becoming -interested in the leader, I wanted to know his name. I looked across -the table at my vis-à-vis. He was pocketing the letter. With a word -of apology, which turned his face to me, I put the inquiry. I met -again the look, this time full, and no longer unfriendly, of as -winning and sincere a countenance, a face that was withal strikingly -a temperamental face, as ever is bent toward friend or stranger. And -it was a Magyar voice, that characteristically seductive thing in the -seductive race, which answered my query; a voice slow and low, yet -so distinct, and with just that vibrant thrill lurking in it which -instantly says something to a listener's heart, merely as a sound, -if he be susceptible to speaking-voices. A few commonplaces followed -between us, as to the band, the programme, the weather—each -interlocutor, for no reason that he could afterward explain, any more -than can one explain thousands of such attitudes of mind during casual -first meetings—taking a sort of involuntary account of the other. -The commonplaces became more real exchanges of individual ideas. -Evidently, this Magyar fellow-idler, in the Erzsébet-tér café, was in -a social frame of mind, after all. As for myself, indifference to the -world in general and to my surroundings in particular, dissipated and -were forgot, my disgruntled and egotistical humour went to the limbo -of all unwholesomenesses, under the charm of that musical accent, -and in the frank sunlight of those manly, limpid eyes. There was -soon a regular dialogue in course, between this stranger and me. -From music (that open road to all sorts of mutualities on short -acquaintanceships) and an art of which my neighbour showed that he -knew much and felt even more than he expressed—from music, we passed -to one or another aesthetic question; to literature, to social life, -to human relationships, to human emotions. And thus, more and more, by -unobserved advances, we came onward to our own two lives and beings. -The only interruptions, as that long and clear afternoon lengthened -about us, occurred when some military or civil acquaintance of my -incognito passed him, and gave a greeting. I spoke of my birth-land, -to which I was nowadays so much a stranger. I sketched some of the -long and rather goal-less wanderings, almost always alone, that I had -made in Central Europe and the Nearer East—his country growing, -little by little, my special haunt. I found myself charting-out to -him what things I liked and what things I anything but liked, in this -world where most of us must be satisfied to wish for considerably more -than we receive. And in return, without any more questions from me -than I had from him—each of us carried along by that irresistible -undercurrent of human intercourse that is indeed, the Italian -<i lang="it" xml:lang="it">simpatia</i>, by the quick confidence that one's instinct assures him -is neither lightly-bestowed, after all, nor lightly-taken—did I -begin, during even those first hours of our coming-together, to know -no small part of the inner individuality of Imre von N..., <i lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">hadnagy</i> -(Lieutenant) in the A... Honvéd Regiment, stationed during some years -in Szent-Istvánhely.</p> - -<p>Lieutenant Imre's concrete story was an exceedingly simple matter. It -was the everyday outline of the life of nine young Magyar officers in -ten. He was twenty-five; the only son of an old Transylvanian family; -one poor now as never before, but evidently quite as proud as ever. He -had had other notions, as a lad, of a calling. But the men of the -N.... line had always been in the army, ever since the days of -Szigetvár and the Field of Mohács. Soldiers, soldiers! always -soldiers! So he had graduated at the Military Academy. Since then? Oh, -mostly routine-life, routine work... a few professional journeyings in -the provinces—no advancement and poor pay, in a country where an -officer must live particularly like a gentleman; if too frequently -only with the aid of confidential business-interviews with Jewish -usurers. He sketched his happenings in the barracks or the ménage—and -his own simple, social interests, when in Szent-Istvánhely. He did not -live with his people, who were in too remote a quarter of the town for -his duties. I could see that even if he were rather removed from daily -contact with the family-affairs, the present home atmosphere was a -depressing one, weighing much on his spirits. And no wonder! In the -beginning of a brilliant career, the father had become blind and was -now a pensioned officer, with a shattered, irritable mind as well as -body, a burden to everyone about him. The mother had been a beauty and -rich. Both her beauty and riches long ago had departed, and her health -with them. Two sisters were dead, and two others had married officials -in modest Government stations in distant cities. There were more -decided shadows than lights in the picture. And there came to me, now -and then, as it was sketched, certain inferences that made it a -thought less promising. I guessed the speaker's own nervous distaste -for a profession arbitrarily bestowed on him. I caught his something -too-passionate half-sigh for the more ideal daily existence, seen -always through the dust of the dull highroad that often does not -seem likely ever to lead one out into the open. I noticed traces of -weakness in just the ordinary armour a man needs in making the most of -his environment, or in holding-out against its tyrannies. I saw the -irresolution, the doubts of the value of life's struggle, the sense -of fatality as not only a hindrance but as excuse. Not in mere -curiosity so much as in sympathy, I traced or divined such things; -and then in looking at him, I partly understood why, at only about -five-and-twenty, Lieutenant Imre von N.....'s forehead showed those -three or four lines that were incongruous with as sunny a face. Still, -I found enough of the lighter vein in his autobiography to relieve -it wholesomely. So I set him down for the average-situated young -Hungarian soldier, as to the material side of his life or the rest; -blessed with a cheerful temperament and a good appetite, and plagued -by no undue faculties of melancholy or introspection. And, by-the-by, -merely to hear, to see, Imre von N.... laugh, was to forget that -one's own mood a moment earlier had been grave enough. It might be, -he had the charm of a child's most infectious mirth, and its current -was irresistible.</p> - -<p>Now, in remembering what was to come later for us two, I need record -here only one incident, in itself slight, of that first afternoon's -parliament. I have mentioned that Lieutenant Imre seemed to have his -full share of acquaintances, at least of the comrade-class, in Szent -Istvánhely. I came to the conclusion as the afternoon went along, that -he must be what is known as a distinctly "popular party". One man -after another, by no means of only his particular regiment, would stop -to chat with him as they entered and quit the garden, or would come -over to exchange a bit of chaff with him. And in such of the meetings, -came more or less—how shall I call it?—demonstrativeness, never -unmanly, which is almost as racial to many Magyarak as to the Italians -and Austrians. But afterwards I remembered, as a trait not so much -noticed at the time, that Lieutenant Imre, did not seem to be at all a -friend of such demeanour. For example, if the interlocutor laid a hand -on Lieutenant Imre's shoulder, the Lieutenant quietly drew himself -back a little. If a hand were put out, he did not see it at once, nor -did he hold it long in the fraternal clasp. It was like a nervous -habit of personal reserve; the subtlest sort of mannerism. Yet he was -absolutely courteous, even cordial. His regimental friends appeared to -meet him in no such merely perfunctory fashion as generally comes from -the daily intercourse of the service, the army-world over. One -brother-officer paused to reproach him sharply for not appearing -at some affair or other at a friend's quarters, on the preceding -evening—"when the very cat and dog missed you." Another comrade -wanted to know why he kept "out of a fellow's way, no matter how -hard one tries to see something of you." An elderly civilian remained -several minutes at his side, to make sure that the young Herr -Lieutenant would not forget to dine with the So-and-So family, at a -birthday-fête, in course of next few days. Again,—"Seven weeks was I -up there, in that d—d little hole in Calizien! And I wrote you long -letters, three letters! Not a post-card from you did I get, the whole -time!"...... remonstrated another comrade.</p> - -<p>Soon I remarked on this kind of dialogue. "You have plenty of -excellent friends in the world, I perceive," said I.</p> - -<p>For the first time, that day, since one or another topic had occurred, -something like scorn—or a mocking petulance—came across his face.</p> - -<p>"I must make you a stale sort of answer, to—pardon me—a very stale -little flattery," he answered. "I have acquaintances, many of them -quite well enough, as far as they go—men that I see a good deal of, -and willingly. But friends? Why, I have the fewest possible! I can -count them on one hand! I live too much to myself, in a way, to be -more fortunate, even with every Béla, János and Ferencz reckoned-in. I -don't believe you have to learn that a man can be always much more -alone in his life than appears his case. Much!" He paused and then -added:</p> - -<p>"And, as it chances, I have just lost, so to say, one of my friends. -One of the few of them. One who has all at once gone quite out of my -life, as ill-luck would have it. It has given me a downright stroke at -my heart. You know how such things affect one. I have been dismal just -this very afternoon, absurdly so, merely in realizing it."</p> - -<p>"I infer that your friend is not dead?"</p> - -<p>"Dead? No, no, not that!" He laughed. "But, all things concerned, -he might as well be dead—for me. He is a marine-officer in the -Royal Service. We met about four years ago. He has been doing some -Government engineering work here. We have been constantly together, -day in, day out. Our tastes are precisely the same. For only one of -them, he is almost as much a music-fiend as I am! We've never had the -least difference. He is the sort of man one never tires of. Everyone -likes him! I never knew a finer character, not anyone quite his equal, -who could count for as much in my own life. And then, besides," he -continued in a more earnest tone, "he is the type to exert on such a -fellow, as I happen to be, exactly the influences that are good for -me. That I know. A man of iron resolution..... strong will.... energies. -Nothing stops him, once he sees what is worth doing, what must be -done. Not at all a dreamer.... not morbid.. and so on."</p> - -<p>"Well," said I, both touched and amused by this naïveté, "and what has -happened?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, he was married last month, and ordered to China for time -indefinite.... a long affair for the Government. He cannot possibly -return for many years, quite likely never."</p> - -<p>"Two afflictions at once, indeed," I said, laughing a little, he -joining in ruefully. "And might I know under which one of them you, -as his deserted Fidus Achates, are suffering most? I infer that you -think your friend has added insult to injury."</p> - -<p>"What? I don't understand. Ah, you mean the marriage-part of it? Dear -me, no! nothing of the sort! I an only too delighted that it has come -about for him. His bride has gone out to Hong-Kong with him, and -they expect to settle down into the most complete matrimonial bliss -there. Besides, she is a woman that I have always admired simply -unspeakably... oh, quite platonically, I beg to assure you!.. as have -done just about half the men in Szent-Istvánhely, year in and out—who -were not as lucky as my friend. She is absolutely charming—of high -rank—an old Bohemian family—beautiful, talented, with the best -heart in the world..... and-<i lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">Istenem!</i>" he exclaimed in a sudden, -enthusiastic retrospect... "how she sings Brahms! They are the model of -a match.... the handsomest couple that you could ever meet."</p> - -<p>"Ah... is your marine friend of uncommon good-looks?" He glanced -across at the acacia-tree opposite, as if not having heard my -careless question, or else as if momentarily abstracted. I was -about to make some other remark, when he replied, in an odd, -vaguely-directed accent. "I beg your pardon! Oh, yes, indeed... my -friend is of exceptional physique. In the service, he is called -'Hermes Karvaly'... his family name is Karvaly.... though there's -Sicilian blood in him too—because he looks so astonishingly like -that statue you know—the one by that Greek—Praxiteles, isn't it? -However, looks are just one detail of Karvaly's unusualness. And to -carry out that, never was a man more head over heels in love with his -own wife! Karvaly never does anything by halves."</p> - -<p>"I beg to compliment on your enthusiasm for your friend... plainly one -of the 'real ones' indeed," I said. For, I was not a little stirred by -this frank evidence, of a trait that sometimes brings to its possessor -about as much melancholy as it does happiness. "Or, perhaps I would -better congratulate Mr. Karvaly and his wife on leaving their merits -in such generous care. I can understand that this separation means -much to you."</p> - -<p>He turned full upon me. It was as if he forgot wholly that I was a -stranger. He threw back his head slightly, and opened wide those -unforgettable eyes—eyes that were, for the instant, sombre, troubled -ones.</p> - -<p>"Means much? Ah, ah, so very much! I dare say you think it odd.... but -I have never had anything... never... work upon me so!.... I couldn't -have believed that such a thing could so upset me. I was thinking of -some matters that are part of the affair—of its ridiculous effect on -me—just when you came here and sat down. I have a letter from him, -too, today, with all sorts of messages from himself and his bride, a -regular turtle-dove letter. Ah, the lucky people in this world! What -a good thing that there are some!" He paused, reflectively. I did not -break the silence ensuing. All at once, "<i lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">Teremtette</i>!" he exclaimed, -with a short laugh, of no particular merriment,—"what must you think -of me, my dear sir! Pray pardon me! To be talking along—all this -personal, sentimental stuff—rubbish—to a perfect stranger! Idiotic!" -He frowned irritably, the lines in his brow showing clear. He was -looking me in the eyes with a mixture of, shall I say, antagonism -and appeal; psychic counter-waves of inward query and of outward -resistance.... of apprehension, too. Then, again he said most formally, -"I never talked this way with any one—at least never till now. I am -an idiot! I beg your pardon."</p> - -<p>"You haven't the slightest need to beg it," I answered, "much -less to feel the least discomfort in having spoken so warmly -of this friendship and separation. Believe me, stranger or -not... and, really we seem to be passing quickly out of that degree of -acquaintance... I happen to be able to enter thoroughly into your -mood. I have a special sense of the beauty and value of friendship. -It often seems a lost emotion. Certainly, life is worth living only -as we love our friends and are sure of their regard for us. Nobody -ever can feel too much of that; and it is, in some respects, a pity -that we don't say it out more. It is the best thing in the world, -even if the exchange of friendship for friendship is a chemical -result often not to be analyzed; and too often not at all equal as an -exchange."</p> - -<p>He repeated my last phrase slowly, "Too often—not equal!"</p> - -<p>"Not by any means. We all have to prove that. Or most of us do. But -that fact must not make too much difference with us; not work too -much against our giving our best, even in receiving less than we wish. -You may remember that a great French social philosopher has declared -that when we love, we are happier in the emotion we feel than in that -which we excite."</p> - -<p>"That sounds like—like that 'Maxims' gentleman—Rochefoucauld!"</p> - -<p>"It was Rochefoucauld."</p> - -<p>My vis-à-vis again was mute. Presently he said sharply and with a -disagreeable note of laughter, "That isn't true, my dear sir!—that -nice little French sentiment! At least I don't believe it is! Perhaps -I am not enough of a philosopher—yet. I haven't time to be, though -I would be glad to learn how."</p> - -<p>With that, he turned the topic. We said no more as to friends, -friendship or French philosophy. I was satisfied, however, that my new -acquaintance was anything but a cynic, in spite of his dismissal, so -cavalierly, of a subject on which he had entered with such abrupt -confidentiality.</p> - -<hr class="textbreak" /> - -<p>So had its course my breaking into an acquaintance... no, let me not -use as burglarious and vehement a phrase, for we do not take the -Kingdom of Friendship by violence even though we are assured that -there is that sort of an entrance into the Kingdom of Heaven—so was -my passing suddenly into the open door of my intimacy (as it turned -out to be) with Lieutenant Imre von N..... It was all as casual as my -walking into the Erzsébet-tér Café. That is, if anything is casual. I -have set down only a fragment of that first conversation; and I -suspect that did I register much more, the personality of Imre would -not be significantly sharpened to anyone, that is to say in regard to -what was my impression of him then. In what I have jotted, lies one -detail of some import; and there is shown enough of the swift -confidence, the current of immediate mutuality which sped back and -forth between us. "<i lang="de" xml:lang="de">Es gibt ein Zug, ein wunderliches Zug</i>"... declares -Grillparzer, most truthfully. Such an hour or so.... for the evening -was drawing on when we parted..... was a kindly prophecy as to the -future of the intimacy, the trust, the decreed progression toward -them, even through our—reserves.</p> - -<p>We met again, in the same place, at the same hour, a few days later; -of course, this time by an appointment carefully and gladly kept. -That second evening, I brought him back with me to supper, at the -Hotel L—, and it was not until a late hour (for one of the most -early-to-bed capitals of Europe) that we bade each other good-night -at the restaurant-door. By the by, not till that evening was -rectified a minor neglect.... complete ignorance of one another's -names! The fourth or fifth day of our ripening partnership, we spent -quite and entirely together; beginning it in the same coffee-house at -breakfast, making a long inspection of Imre's pleasant lodging, -opposite my hotel, and of his music-library; and ending it with a bit -of an excursion into one of Szent-Istvánhely's suburbs; and with what -had already become a custom, our late supper, with a long aftertalk. -The said suppers by the by, were always amusingly modest banquets. -Imre was by no means a valiant trencher-man, though so strong-limbed -and well-fleshed. So ran the quiet course of our first ten days, -our first two weeks, a term in which, no matter what necessary -interruptions came, Lieutenant Imre von N.... and I made it clear to -one another, though without a dozen words to such effect, that we -regarded the time we could pass together as by far the most agreeable, -not to say important, matter of each day. We kept on continually -adjusting every other concern of the twenty-four hours toward our -rendezvous, instinctively. We seemed to have grown so vaguely -concerned with the rest of the world, our interests that were not in -common now abode in such a curious suppression, they seemed so -colourless, that we really appeared to have entered another and a -removed sphere inhabited by only ourselves, with each meeting. As it -chanced, Imre was for the nonce, free from any routine of duties of a -regimental character. As for myself, I had come to Szent-Istvánhely -with no set time-limit before me; the less because one of the objects -of my stay was studying, under a local professor, that difficult and -exquisite tongue which was Imre's native one, though, by the way, -he was like so many other Magyars in slighting it by a perverse -preference. (For a long time, we spoke only French or German when -together.) So between my sense of duty to Magyar, and a sense, -even more acute, of a great unwillingness to leave Szent-Istvánhely—it -was growing fast to something like an eighth sense... I could abide my -time, or the date when Imre must start for certain annual regimental -maneuvers, down in Slavonia. With reference to the idle curiosity of -our acquaintances as to this so emphatic a state of dualism for Imre -and myself.... such an inseparable sort of partnership which might -well suggest something...</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">... "too rash, too unadvised, too sudden,</div> -<div class="verse">Too like the lightening which doth cease to be</div> -<div class="verse">Ere one can say 'It lightens'"...</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>... why we were careful. Even in one of the countries of Continental -Europe where sudden, romantic friendship is a good deal of a cult, it -seems that there is neither wisdom nor pleasure in wearing one's heart -on one's sleeve. Best not to placard sudden affinities; between -soldiers and civilists, especially. It was Imre von N.... himself who -gave me this information, or hint; though not any clear explanation of -its need. But he and I not only kept out of the most frequented haunts -of social and military Szent-Istvánhely thenceforth, but spoke (on -occasion) to others of my having come to the place especially to be -with Imre, again,—"for the first time in three years", since we -had become "acquainted with each other down in Sarajevo, one -morning"—during a visit to the famous Husruf-Beg Mosque there! -This easy fabrication was sufficient. Nobody questioned it. As a -fact, Imre and I, when comparing notes one afternoon had found out -that really we had been in Sarajevo at the exact date mentioned. "The -lie that is half a truth is ever".... the safest of lies, as well as -the convenientest one.</p> - -<p>Now of what did two men thus insistent on one another's companionship, -one of them some twenty-five years of age, the other past thirty, -neither of them vapourous with the vague enthusiasms of first manhood, -nor fluent with the mere sentimentalities of idealism.... of what did -we talk, hour in and hour out, that our company was so welcome to each -other, even to the point of our being indifferent to all the rest of -our friends round about?.... centering ourselves on the time <em>together</em> -as the best thing in the world for us. Such a question repeats a -common mistake, to begin with. For it presupposes that companionship -is a sort of endless conversazione, a State-Council ever in session. -Instead, the <em>silences</em> in intimacy stand for the most perfect -mutuality. And, besides, no man or woman has yet ciphered out -the real secret of the finest quality, clearest sense, of human -companionability—a thing that often grows up, flower and fruit, so -swiftly as to be like the oriental juggler's magic mango-plant. We are -likely to set ourselves to analyzing, over and over, the externals and -accidence... the mere inflections of friendships, as it were. But the -real secret evades us. It ever will evade. We are drawn together -because we are drawn. We are content to abide together just because -we are content. We feel that we have reached a certain harbour, after -much or little drifting, just because it is for <em>that</em> haven, after -all, that we have been moving on and on; with all the irresistible -pilotry of the wide ocean-wash friendly to us. It is as foolish to -make too much of the definite in friendship as it is in love—which -is the highest expression of companionship. Friendship?—love? -what are they if real on both sides, but the great Findings? -Grillparzer... once more to cite that noble poet of so much that is -profoundly psychic... puts all the negative and the positive of it -into the appeal of his Jason..</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"In my far home, a fair belief is found,</div> -<div class="verse">That double, by the Gods, each human soul</div> -<div class="verse">Created is... and, once so shaped, divided.</div> -<div class="verse">So shall the other half its fellow seek</div> -<div class="verse">O'er land, o'er sea, till when it once be found,</div> -<div class="verse">The parted halves, long-sundered, blend and mix</div> -<div class="verse">In one, at last! Feel'st thou this <em>half</em>-heart?</div> -<div class="verse">Beats it with pain, divided, in thy breast?</div> -<div class="verse">O... come!"</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>As a fact, my new friend and I had an interesting range of commonplace -and practical topics, on which to exchange ideas. Sentimentalities -were quite in abeyance. We were both interested in art, as well as -in sundry of the less popular branches of literature, and in what -scientifically underlies practical life. Moreover, I had been longtime -enthusiastic as to Hungary and the Hungarians, the land, the race, the -magnificent military history, the complicated, troublous aspects of -the present and the future of the Magyar Kingdom. And though I cannot -deny that I have met with more ardent Magyar patriots than Imre von -N... for somehow he took a conservative view of his birth-land and -fellow-citizens—still, he was always interested in clarifying my -ideas. Again, contrary-wise, Lieutenant Imre was zealous in informing -himself on matters and things pertaining to my own country and to its -system of social and military life, as well as concerning a great deal -more; even to my native language, of which he could speak precisely -seven words, four of them too forcible for use in general polite -society. Never was there a quicker, a more aggressively intelligent -mind than his; the intellect that seeks to take in a thing as swiftly -yet as fully as possible.... provided, as Imre confessed, with -complete absence of shame, the topic "attracted" him. Fortunately, -most interesting topics did so; and what he learned once, he learned -for good and all. I smile now as I remember the range, far afield -often, of our talks when we were in the mood for one. I think that in -those first ten days of our intercourse we touched on, I should say, -a hundred subjects—from Árpád the Great to the Seventh Symphony, -from the prospects of the Ausgleich to the theory of Bisexual -Languages, from Washington to Kossuth, from the novels of Jókai to -the best <i lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">gulyás</i>, from harvesting-machines, drainage, income-taxes, -and whether a woman ought to wear earrings or not, to the Future -State! No,—one never was at a loss for a topic when with Imre, and -one never tired of his talk about it, any more than one tired of Imre -when mute as Memnon, because of his own meditations, or when he was, -apparently, like the Jolly Young Waterman, "rowing along, thinking of -nothing at all."</p> - -<hr class="textbreak" /> - -<p>And besides more general matters, there was... for so is it in -friendship as in love... ever that quiet undercurrent of inexhaustible -curiosity about each other as an Ego, a psychic fact not yet mutually -explained. Therewith comes in that kindly seeking to know better and -better the Other, as a being not yet fully outlined, as one whom we -would understand even from the farthest-away time when neither friend -suspected the other's existence, when each was meeting the world -<em>alone</em>—as one now looks back on those days... and was absorbed in so -much else in life, before Time had been willing to say, "Now meet, you -two! Have I not been preparing you for each other?" So met, the simple -personal retrospect is an ever new affair of detail for them, with its -queries, its concessions, its comparisons. "I thought that, but now I -think this. Once on a time I believed that, but now I believe this. I -did so and so, in those old days; but now, not so. I have desired, -hoped, feared, purposed, such or such a matter then; now no longer. -Such manner of man have I been, whereas nowadays my identity before -myself is thus and so." Or, it is the presenting of what has been -enduringly a part of ourselves, and is likely ever abide such? -Ah, these are the moods and tenses of the heart and the soul in -friendship! more and more willingly uttered and listened-to as -intimacy and confidence thrive. Two natures are seeking to blend. -Each is glad to be its own directory for the newcomer; to treat him as -an expected and welcomed guest to the Castle of Self, while yet -something of a stranger to it; opening to him any doors and windows -that will throw light on the labyrinth of rooms and corridors, wishing -to keep none shut.... perhaps not even some specially haunted, remote -and even black-hung chamber. Guest? No, more than that, for is it not -the tenant of all others, the Master, who at last, has arrived!</p> - -<p>Probably this is the best place in my narrative to record certain -particularly personal aspects of Lieutenant Imre, though in -giving them I must draw on details and impressions that I gained -gradually—later. During even that earlier stage of our friendship, -he insisted on my going with him to his father's house, to meet his -parents. From them, as from two or three of his officer-friends with -whom I occasionally foregathered, when Imre did not happen to be of -the party of us, I derived facts—side-lights and perspectives—of -use. But the most part of what I note came from Imre's tendency -toward introspection; and from his own frank lips.</p> - -<p>He had been a singularly sensitive, warm-hearted boy, indeed too -high-strung, too impressionable. He had been petted by even the -merest strangers because of his engaging manners and his peculiarly -striking boyish beauty. He had not been robust as a lad (though now -superbly so) with the result that his schooling had been desultory -and unsystematic. "And I wanted to study art, I didn't care what -art... music, painting, sculpture, perhaps music more than anything... -I hated the army! But my father—his heart was set on my doing what -the rest of us had done... I was the only son left.. it had to be." And -however little was Imre at heart a soldier, he had made himself into -a most excellent officer. I soon heard that from all his comrades whom -I met; and I have heard it often since those days in Szent-Istvánhely. -His sense of his personal duty, his pride, his filial affection, his -feeling toward his King, all contributed toward the outward semblance -that was at least so desirable. He had already been highly commended; -probably promotion would soon come. He had always won cordial words -from his superiors. Loving not in the least the work, he played his -unwelcome part well and manly, so that not more than half a dozen -individuals could have been sure that Imre von N... <i lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">hadnagy</i>, would -have doffed gladly, at any minute, the King's Coat for a blouse. -Ambition failed him, alas! just because he was at heart indifferent to -the reward. But he ran the race well. And for the matter of ambition -the advancement in the Magyar service is as deliberate as in other -armies in peace-times. Imre needed much stronger influence than what -was at his request, to hurry him beyond a lieutenancy.</p> - -<p>With only one such contest in his soul, no wonder that Imre led his -life in Szent-Istvánhely so much to himself, however open to others it -seemed to be. Yet whatever depressed him, he was determined not to -be a man of moods to the cynical world's eyes. As a fact he was so -happily a creature of buoyant temperament, that his popularity was not -surprising, on the basis of comrade-intercourse and of the pleasantly -superficial side of a regimental life. Every man was Imre's friend! -Every woman was, such, that I ever heard speaking of him, or spoken-of -along with his name. The paradox of living to oneself while living -with everyone, the doors of an individuality both open and shut, could -no farther go than in his instance.</p> - -<p>How fully was I to realize that, in a little time!</p> - -<p>As to physique, Imre had fulfilled in his maturity the promise of -his boyhood. He was called "Handsome N...", right and left; and he -deserved the sobriquet. Of middle height, he possessed a slender -figure, faultless in proportions, a wonder of muscular development, of -strength, lightness and elegance. His athletic powers were renowned in -his regiment. He was among the crack gymnasts, vaulters and swimmers. -I have seen him, often, make a standing-leap over an ordinary -library-table, to land, like a cat, on the other side. I have seen -him, half-a-dozen times, spring out of a common barrel into another -one placed beside it, without touching his hands to either. He could -hold out a heavy garden-chair perfectly straight, with one hand; -break a stout penholder or leadpencil between his second and third -fingers; and bend a thick, brass curtain-rod by his leg-muscles. He -frequently swam directly across the wide Duna, making nothing of its -cross-currents at Szent-Istvánhely. He was a consummate fencer, and a -prize-shot. He could jump on and off a running horse, like a vaquero. -Yet all this force, this muscular address, was concealed by the -symmetry of his graceful, elastic frame. Not till he was nude, and one -could trace the ripple of muscle and sinew under the fine, hairless -skin, did one realize the machinery of such strength. I have never -seen any other man—unless Magyar, Italian or Arab—walk with such -elasticity and dignity. It was a pleasure simply to see Imre cross -the street.</p> - -<p>His head, a small, admirably shaped one, with its close-cut golden -hair, carried out his Hellenic exterior. For it was really a small -head to be set on such broad shoulders and on as well-grown a figure. -As to his face (generally a detail of least relative importance in -the male type), I do not intend to analyze retrospectively certainly -one of the most engaging of manly countenances that I have ever -looked upon. The actual features were delicate enough, but without -womanishness. Imre was not a pretty man; but a beautiful man. And the -mixture of maturity and of almost boyish youth, the outlook of his -natural sincerity and warmth of nature, his self-unconsciousness and -self-respect... these entered into the matter of his good looks, quite -as much as his merely technical beauty. I did not wonder that not -only the women in Szent-Istvánhely but the street-children, aye, -the very dogs and cats it seemed to me, would look at him with -friendly interest. Those lustrous hazel eyes, with the white so clear -around the pupils... the indwelling laughter in them that nevertheless -could be overcast with so penetrating a seriousness...! It seems to me -that now, as I write, I meet their look. I lay down my pen for an -instant as my own eyes suddenly blur. Yet why? We should find tears -rising for a living grief, not a living joy!</p> - -<p>United with all this capital of a man's physical attractiveness -was Imre's extraordinary modesty. He never seemed to think of his -appearance for so much as two minutes together. He never glanced into -a mirror when he happened to pass near that piece of furniture which -seems to inflict a sort of nervous disease of the eyes... occasionally -also of the imagination... on the average soldier of any rank and -uniform, the world round. "Thanks... but I don't trouble myself much -about looking-glasses, when I've once got my clothes on my back and am -certain that my face isn't dirty!" was his reply to me one morning -when I gave him an amused look because he had happened to plant his -chair exactly in front of the biggest pier-glass in the K... Café. He -never posed; never fussed as to his toilet, nor worried concerning the -ultrafitting of his clothes, nor studied with anxiety details of his -person. One day, another officer was lamenting the melancholy fact -that baldness was gaining ground slyly, pitilessly, on the speaker's -hyacinthine locks. He gave utterance to a sorrowful envy of Imre. -"Pooh, pooh," returned Imre, <i lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">hadnagy,</i> scornfully, "It's in the -family... and such a convenience in warm weather! I shall be bald as a -cannon-shot by the time I am thirty!" He detested all jewellery in -the way of masculine adornments, and wore none: and his civilian -clothing was of the plainest.</p> - -<hr class="textbreak" /> - -<p>The making-up of every man refers, or should do so, to a fourfold -development... his physical, mental, moral and temperamental equipment, -in which last-named class we can include the aesthetic individuality. -The endowment of Imre von N... as to this series was decidedly less -symmetrical than otherwise. In fact, he was a striking example of -contradictions and inequations. He had studied hardest when in his -school-courses just what came easiest... with the accustomed results of -that sort of process. He was a bad, a perversely bad mathematician; an -indifferent linguist, simply because he had found it "a hideous job -to learn all those complicated verbs"; an excellent scholar in -history; took delight in chemistry and in other physical sciences; -and though so easily plagued by a simple sum in decimals, he had -a passion for astronomy, and he knew not a little about it, at least -theoretically. Physical science appealed to him, curiously; his small -library was two-thirds full of books on those topics. He loved to read -popular philosophy and biography and travel. For novels, as for -poetry, he cared almost nothing. He would spare no pains to get to the -bottom of some subject that interested him, a thing that "bit" him, as -he called it; short of actually setting himself down to the calm and -applicative study of it! Tactics did he, somehow deliberately learn; -grimly, angrily, but with success. They were indispensable to his -professional credit. Such a result showed plainly enough that he -lacked resolution, concentration as a duty, but did not lack -capability. Many a sound lecture from myself, as from other friends, -including particularly, as I found out, from the much-married Karvaly, -did Imre receive respecting this defect. A course in training in -the Officers' Military School (<i lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">Hadiskola</i>) was involved in the -difficulty, or perversity, so in evidence. This <i lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">Hadiskola</i> course -is an indispensable in such careers as Imre's sort should achieve, -willing or unwilling. When a young officer is so obstinately cold to -what lies toward good work in the <i lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">Hadiskola,</i> and in his inmost soul -desires almost anything rather than becoming even an major... why, what -can one say severe enough to him?</p> - -<p>Yet, with reference to what might be called Imre's aesthetic -self-expression, I wish to record one thing at variance with much -which was negative in him. At least it was in contradiction to his -showing such modest "literary impulses", and to his relative aversion -to belles-lettres, and so on. When Imre was deeply stirred over -something or other that "struck home", by some question to open the -mountains of innermost feeling in him, it was remarkable with what -exactitude,—more than that, what genuine emotional eloquence of -phrase—he could express himself! This even to losing that slight -hesitancy of diction which was an ordinary characteristic. I was often -surprised at the simple, direct beauty, sometimes downright poetic -grace, in his language on such unexpected occasions. He seemed to -become tinged with quite another personality, or to be following, in -a kind of trance, the prompting of some voice audible to him only. I -shall hardly so much as once attempt conveying this effect of sudden -"<i lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">ihletés</i>", even in coming to the moments of our intercourse when it -surged up. It must in most part be taken for granted; read between -the lines now and then. But... one must be mindful of its natural -explanation. For, after all, there was no miracle in it. Imre was a -Magyar; one of a race in which sentimental eloquence is always -lurking in the blood, even to a poetic passion in verbal utterance -that is often out of all measure with the mere formal education of a -man or a woman. He was a Hungarian: which means among other things -that a cowherd who cannot write his name, and who does not know -where London is, can be overheard making love to his sweetheart, or -lamenting the loss of his mother, in language that is almost of -Homeric beauty. It is the Oriental quality, ever in the Magyar; now -to be admired by us, now disliked, according to the application of the -traits. Imre had his full share of Magyarism of temperament, and of -its impromptu eloquence; taking the place of much of a literal -acquaintance with Dante, Shakespeare, Goethe, and all the rhetorical -and literary Parnassus in general.</p> - -<p>He detested politics, as might be divined. He "loved" his Apostolic -King and his country much as do some children their nearest relatives; -that is to say, on general principles, and to the sustaining of a -correct attitude before himself and the world. On this matter, also -he and I had many passages-at-arms. He had not much "religion." But he -was a firm believer in God; in helping one's neighbour, even to most -injudicious generosity; in avoiding debts "when one could possibly do -so" (a reserve that I regretted to find out was not his case any more -than it is usually the case with young Hungarian officers living in a -capital city, with small home-subventions); in honour; in womanly -virtue; in a true tongue and a clean one. His sense of fun was -not limited to the kind that may pass between a rector of the -Establishment and his daughters over afternoon-tea. But Lieutenant -Imre von N.... had no relish for the stupid-smutty sallies and stock -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">racontars</i> of the officers' mess and the barracks. Unless a "story" -really possessed wit and humour, he had absolutely dull ears for it.</p> - -<p>He wrote a shameful handwriting, with invariable hurry-scurry; he -could not draw a pot-hook straight, and he took uncertain because -untaught interest in painting. Sculpture, and architecture appealed -more to him, though also in an untaught way. But he was a most -excellent practical musician; playing the piano-forte superbly well, -as to general effect, with an amazingly bad technic of his own -evolution, got together without any teaching; and not reading well -and rapidly at sight. Indeed, his musical enthusiasm, his musical -insight and memory, they were all of a piece; the rich and perilous -endowment of the born son of Orpheus. His singing-voice was a full -baritone.... smooth and sweet, like his irresistible speaking-voice. He -would play or sing for hours together, quite alone in his rooms, of an -evening. He would go without his dinner (he often did) to pay for his -concert-ticket or standing-place in the Royal Opera. He did not care -for the society of professional musicians, or of the theaterfolk in -general. "They really are not worth while," he used to say... "art is -one thing to me and artists another—or nothing at all—off the -stage." As for more general society, why, he said frankly that -nowadays the N.... family simply were too poor to go into it, and -that he had no time for it. So he was to be met in only a few of the -Szent-Istvánhely drawing rooms. Yet he was passionately fond of -dancing.... anything from a waltz to a <i lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">csárdás</i>. But, à-propos of -Imre's amusement, let me note here (for I dare say, the incredulity -of persons who have stock-ideas of what belongs to soldier-life and -soldier-nature) that three usual pleasures were not his; for he -abominated cards, indeed never played them; he did not smoke; and he -seldom drank out his glass of wine or beer, having no taste for -liquors of any sort. This in a champion athlete and an "all-round" -active soldier... at least externally thoroughly such... in a smart -regiment, is not common. I should have mentioned above that he was -oddly indifferent to the theater, as the theater; declaring that he -never could find "any great illusion" in it. He much liked billiards, -and was invincible in them. His feeling for whatever was natural, -simple, out-of-doors was great. He loved to walk, to walk alone, in -the open country, in the woodlands and fields... to talk with peasants, -who invariably "took to" him at once. He loved children, and was a -born animal-friend; in fact, between him and beasts little and big, -there appeared to be a regular understanding. Never forthputting, -he could delight, in a quiet way in the liveliest company. That -buoyancy of his temperament, so in contrast with the other elements -of his nature, was a vast blessing to him. He certainly had a supply -of personal subjects sufficiently sobering for home-consumption, some -of which I soon knew; others not spoken till later. The gloom in his -parents' house, the various might-have-beens in his own young life, -the wearisome struggle to do his duty in a professional career whereto -he had been called without its being chosen by him; weightier still -the fact that he was in the hands of a couple of usurers on account -of his generous share of the deficit in a foolish brother officer's -finances, to the extent of some thousands of florins.... these were not -trifles for Imre's private meditations. I could quite well understand -his remarking... "I have tried to cultivate cheerfulness on just about -the same principle that when a man hasn't a <i lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">korona</i> in his pocket he -does well to dress himself in his best clothes and swagger in the -Officers' Casino as if he were a millionaire. For the time, he forgets -that he isn't one... poor devil!"</p> - -<p>But I am belated, I see, in alluding to two traits in our acquaintance, -<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">ab initio,</i> which are of significance in my outline of Imre's -personality while new to me: and more than trifles in their weight. -There were two subjects as to which remarkably little was said between -us during the first ten days of my going-about so much with him. -"Remarkably little" I say, because of Imre's own frank references to -one matter, on our first meeting; and because we were both men, and -neither of us octogenarians, nor troubled with super-sensitiveness in -talking about all sorts of things. The first of these overpassed -topics was the friendship between Imre and the absent Karvaly Miklos. -Since the afternoon on which we had met, Imre referred so little -to Karvaly.... he seemed so indifferent to his absence, all at -once... indeed he appeared to be shunning the topic... that I avoided -it completely. It gradually was borne in upon me that he wished me -to avoid it. So no more expansiveness on the perfections and gifts -of the exile! Of Karvaly's young bride, on the other hand, the -fascinating Bohemian lady who sang Brahms' songs so beautifully, Imre -was still distinctly eloquent; alluding often to one or another of -her shining attributes... paragon that she may have been! I write -'may have been'; because to this day I know her, like Shakespeare's -Olivia,—"only by her good report".</p> - -<p>The other matter of our reticence was an instance of the difference -between the general and the particular. Very early in my meeting with -Imre's more immediate circle of soldier-friends, I heard over and over -again that to Imre, as one of the officers most distinguished in all -the town for personal beauty, there attached a reputation of being an -ever-campaigning and ever-victorious Don Juan... if withal one of most -exceptional discretion. Right and left, he was referred to as a -wholesale enemy to the peace of heart and to the virtue of dozens of -the fair citizenesses of Szent-Istvánhely. Two of these romances, the -heroine of one of them being an extremely beautiful and refined -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">déclassée</i> whose sudden suicide had been the gossip of the clubs, -were heightened by the touch of the tragic. But along with them, and -the more ordinary chatter about a young man's <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bonnes fortunes,</i> or -what were taken to be them, there were surmises and assertions of -vague, aristocratic, deep, unconfessed ties and adventures. The -Germans use the terms "<span lang="de" xml:lang="de">Weiberfreund</span>" and "<span lang="de" xml:lang="de">Weiberfeind</span>" in rather -a special sense sometimes. Now, I knew that Imre von N... was no -woman-hater. He admired, and had a circle of admiring, women-friends -enough to dismiss at once such an ungallant accusation. Never was -there a sharper eye, not even in Magyarország, for an harmonious -female figure, a graceful carriage, a charming face.... he was a -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">connaisseur de race!</i></p> - -<p>But when it came to his alluding, when we were by ourselves, to -anything like really intimate sentimental—I would best plainly say -amorous—relations with the other sex, Imre never opened his mouth -for a word of the least real significance! He referred to himself, -casually, now and then, and as it appeared to me in precisely the -right key, as one to whom woman was a sufficiently definite social -and physical attraction.... necessity... quite as essentially as is -to be expected with a young soldier of normal health and robust -constitution. When it suited his mixed society, he had as many -"discreet stories" as Poins. But when he and I were alone, no matter -whatever else he spoke of... so unreservedly, so temperamentally!—he -never did what is commonly called "talk women." He never so much -alluded to a light-o' love, to an "affair", to any distinctly sexual -interest in a ballerina or—a princess! And when third parties were -pleased to compliment him, or to question him, as to such a thing, -Imre "smiling put the question by." His special reserve concerning -these topics, so rare in men of his profession and age, was as -emphatic as in the instance of the average English gentleman. I -admired it, certainly not wishing it less. I often thought how well -it became Imre's general refinement of disposition, manners and -temperamental bias... most of all, suiting that surprising want of -vanity as to his person, his character, his entire individuality.</p> - -<hr class="textbreak" /> - -<p>In this connection, came a bit of an incident that has its -significance... as things came to pass later in our acquaintance. One -evening, while I was dressing for dinner, with Imre making a random -visit, I lapsed into hearty irritation as to a marvellously ill-fitting -new garment, that was to be worn for the first time. Imre was pleased -to be facetious. "You ought to go into the tailoring-line yourself," -he observed... "then you can adorn yourself as perfectly as you -would wish!" I threw out some sort of a return-banter that his own -carelessness as to his looks was "the pride that apes humility."</p> - -<p>"One would really suppose," I remarked, "that you do not know why a -pretty woman makes eyes at you!... Are you under the impression that -you are admired on account of the Three Christian Graces and the Four -Theological Virtues?—all on sight! Come now, my dear fellow, you -really need not carry the pose so far!"</p> - -<p>Imre opened his lips as if about to say something or other; and then -made no remark. Once more he gave me the idea that he was minded to -speak, but hesitated. So I suspended operations with my hairbrushes.</p> - -<p>"You appear to be labouring with a remarkably difficult idea," said I.</p> - -<p>He answered abruptly: "There are some things it is hard for a man to -judge of, even in another fellow... at least people say so. See here, -you! I wish... I wish you would tell me something.... you won't think me -a conceited ass? Do you... for instance... do you... find me <em>really</em> -specially good-looking... when you look around the lot of other men one -sees.... in comparison with <em>plenty</em> of others, I mean?"</p> - -<p>"Do you want an answer in chaff, or seriously?"</p> - -<p>"Seriously."</p> - -<p>"I most certainly think you 'specially' such, N...."</p> - -<p>"And you are of the opinion that most people... women... men... sculptors, -for instance, or painters..: a photographer, if you like.... ought to be -of your opinion?"</p> - -<p>"But yes, assuredly," I replied, laughing at what seemed the naiveté -and uncalled-for earnestness in his tone. "You do not need to put me -on oath, such a newcomer, too, into your society, to give you the -conviction. Or, stay... how would you like me to draft you a kind of -technical schedule, my dear fellow, stating how and why you are—not -repulsive? I could give it to you, if I thought it would be good for -you, and if you would listen to it. For you are one of those lucky -ones in the world whose good-looks can be demonstrated, categorically, -so to say—trait by trait—passport-style. Come, come, N—! Don't be -so depressed because you are so beautiful! Cheer up! Probably there -will always be somebody in the wide world who will not care to bestow -even an half-eye on you!... some being who remains, first and last, -totally unimpressed, brutally unmoved, by all your manly charms! I -dare say that if you consult that individual you will be assured that -you are the most ordinary-looking creature in creation."</p> - -<p>As I spoke, Imre who had been sitting, three-quarters turned from me, -over at a window, whisked himself about quickly and gave me what I -thought was a most inexplicable look. "Have I offended him?" I asked -myself; ridiculous to me, even at so early a stage of our intimacy, -as was the notion. But I saw that his look was not one of surprised -irritation. It was not one of dissent. He continued looking at -me... ah, his serious eyes!... whatever else he was seeing in his -perturbed mind.</p> - -<p>"Well," I continued, "isn't that probable? Have I made you angry by -hinting at such a stupidity.... such an aesthetic tragedy?"</p> - -<p>"No, no," he returned hastily,—"of course not!" And then with a -laugh as curious as that look of his, for it was not his real, his -cheerful and heart-glad laugh, but one that rang false even to being -ill-humored, he added... "By God, you have spoken the truth! Yes, to -the dot on the <i>i</i>!"</p> - -<p>I did not pursue the subject. I saw that it was one, whatever else -was part of it, that was better left for Imre himself to take up at -some other time; or not at all. Apparently, I had stumbled on one -little romance; possibly on a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">grande passion</i>! In either case it -was a matter not dead, if moribund it might be. Imre could open -himself to me thereon, or not: I was not curious, nor a purveyor of -reading-matter to fashionable London journals.</p> - -<hr class="textbreak" /> - -<p>Two matters more in this diagnosis... shall I call it so?... of my -friend. Let me rather say that it is a memorandum and guidebook of -Imre's emotional topography.</p> - -<p>Something has been said of the spontaneous warmth of his -temperament, and of his enthusiasm for his closer friends. But his -undemonstrativeness also mentioned, seemed to me more and more -curiously accentuated. Imre might have been an Englishman, if it came -to outward signs of his innermost feelings. He neither embraced, -kissed, caressed nor what else his friends; and, as I had surmised, -when first being with him and them, he did not appear to like what in -his part of the world are ordinary degrees of "demonstrativeness". He -never invited nor returned (to speak as Brutus)—"the shows of love in -other men". There was a certain captain in the A.... Regiment, a -man that Imre much liked and, what is more, had more than once -admired in good set terms, when with me. ("He is as beautiful as -a statue, I think!") This brother-soldier being suddenly returned to -Szent-Istvánhely, after a couple of years of absence, hurried up to -Imre and fairly threw his arms about him. Imre was cordiality itself. -But after Captain R.... had left him, Imre made a wry face at me, and -said... "The best fellow in the world! and generally speaking, most -rational! But I do wish he had forgotten to kiss men! It is so -hideously womanish!" Another time we were talking of letters between -intimate friends. "I hate... I absolutely hate... to write letters, even -to my nearest friends", he protested, "in fact, I never write unless -there is no getting-out of it! Five words on a post-card, once a month -or so... two or three months, maybe... and lucky if they get that! How -do I write? Something like this... 'I am here and well. How are you. -We are very busy. I saw your cousin, Csodaszép Kisasszony yesterday. -No time to-day for more! Kindest regards. <i lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">Alá szolgája!</i> N....'. -Now there you have my style to a dot. What more in the world is -really called-for? As for sentiment... sentiment! in letters to my -friends!... well, I simply cannot squeeze <em>that</em> out, or in. Nobody need -expect it from your most obedient servant! My correspondence is like -telegrams."</p> - -<p>"Thanks much," I returned, smiling, "your remarks are most timely, -considering that you and I have agreed to keep in touch with each -other by post, after I leave here. Forewarned is forearmed! Might I -ask, by the by, whether you are as laconic in writing, to—say, your -friend Karvaly, over there in China? And if he is satisfied?"</p> - -<p>"Karvaly? Certainly. He happens to like precisely that sort of -communications particularly well. I never give him ten words where -five will do." To which statement I retorted that it was a vast -blessing that some persons were easily pleased, as well as so -likeminded; and that perhaps it would be quite as wise under such -conditions, not to write at all; except maybe on All-Souls Day!</p> - -<p>"Perhaps," assented Imre.</p> - -<p>So much, then, of your outward individuality and environment, with -somewhat of your inner self, my dear Imre!... chiefly as I looked upon -you and strove to sum you up during those first days. But was there -not one thing more, one most special point of personal interest?... of -peculiar solicitude?.. one supreme undercurrent of query and wondering -in my mind, as we were thus thrown together, and as I felt my thoughts -more and more busied with what was our mutual liking and instinctive -trust? Surely there was! I should find myself turning aside from the -path of straightest truth which I would hold-to in these pages, if I -did not find <em>that</em> question written down early and frankly here, with -the rest. It <em>must</em> be written, or be this record broken now and here!</p> - -<p>Was Imre von N... what is called among psychiaters of our day, an -homosexual? an Urning?—in his instincts and feelings and life?—in -his psychic and physical attitude toward women and men? Was he an -Uranian? Or was he sexually entirely normal and Dionian? Or, a blend -of the two types, a Dionian-Uranian? Or what,... or what not? For that -something of a special sexual attitude, hidden, instinctive, was -maintained by him, no matter what might be the outward conduct of his -life—this I could not help believing, at least at times.</p> - -<p>Uranian? Similisexual? Homosexual? Dionian?</p> - -<p>Profound and often all too oppressive, even terrible, can be -the significance of those cold psychic-sexual terms to the man -who.... <em>"knows." To the man who "knows!"</em> Even more terrible to those -who understand them not, may be the human natures of which they are -but new and clumsy technical symbols, the mere labels of psychiatric -study, within a few decades of medical explorers.</p> - -<p>What, then, was my new friend?</p> - -<hr class="textbreak" /> - -<p>I could not determine! The more I reflected, the less I perceived. -It is so easy to be deceived by just such a mingling of psychic and -physic and temperamental traits; easy to dismiss too readily the -counterbalancing qualities. I had learned that much. Long before now, -I had found it out as a practical psychiater, in my own interests and -necessities, by painful experience. Precisely how suggestive, and yet -how adverse... where quite vaguely?.. where with a fairly clear -accent?.. was inference in Imre's case to be drawn or thrown aside, -those who are intelligent in the subtle problems of Uranianism or its -absence, can appreciate best. I had been a good deal struck with the -passionate—as it seemed—note in Imre's friendship for the absentee, -Karvaly Mihály. I noticed the dominance that men, simply as men, -seemed to maintain in Imre's daily life and ideals. I studied his -reserved relations toward the other sex; the general scope of his -tastes, likes and dislikes, his emotional constitution. But all these -suffice not to prove... to <em>prove</em>... the deeply-buried mystery of a -heart's uranistic impulses, the mingling in the firm, manly nature -of another inborn sexual essence which can be mercifully dormant; or -can wax unquiet even to a whole life's unbroken anguish!...</p> - -<p>And, after all, why should I... I... seek to drag out from him such a -secret of his individuality? Was that for me? Hardly, even if I, -probably, of all those who now stood near to Imre von N.... But there! -I had <em>no</em> right! Even if I..... But there! I swore to myself that I -had <em>no</em> wish!</p> - -<p>It was Imre himself who gave me a sort of determinative, just -as—after the oaths at which love laughs—I was querying with myself -what I might do believe.</p> - -<p>One evening, we were walking home, after an hour or so with his father -and mother. As we turned the corner of a certain brilliantly-lighted -café, a man of perhaps forty years, with the unmistakeable suggestion -of a soldier about him, and of much distinction of person along with -it, but in civilian's dress, came out and passed us. He looked at Imre -as if almost startled. Then he bowed. Imre returned his salutation -with so particular a coldness, an immediate change of expression, that -I noticed it.</p> - -<p>"Who is he?" I asked. "Somehow I fancy he is not in your best books."</p> - -<p>"No, I can't say that he is," responded Imre. After a moment of -silence he went on. "That gentleman used to be a captain in our -regiment. He was asked to leave the service. So he left it—about -three years ago."</p> - -<p>"Why?"</p> - -<p>"On account of..." here Imre's voice took on a most disagreeable -sneer.. "of a little love-affair."</p> - -<p>"Really? Since when was a little love-affair a topic for the action -of a regimental Ehrenrath?"</p> - -<p>"It happened to be his little love-affair with a.... cadet. You -understand?"</p> - -<p>"Ah, yes, now I understand. A great scandal, I presume?"</p> - -<p>"Scarcely any at all. In fact, nobody, to this day, knows how far -the... intimacy really went. But gradually some sort of a story got -about... as to the discovery of "relations"... perhaps really amounting -to only a trifling incident... But, the man's character was smirched. -The regiment's Council didn't go into details... didn't even ask for -the facts. He simply was requested privately to give up his charge. -You know, or perhaps you do not know, how specially sensitive... indeed -implacable.. the Service is on <em>that</em> topic. Anything but a hint of -<em>it</em>! There mustn't be a suspicion, a breath! One is simply ruined!"</p> - -<p>I stopped to pay our tolls for the long Suspension Bridge. As we -pursued our walk, Imre said:</p> - -<p>"Do you have any such affairs in England?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. Certainly."</p> - -<p>"In military life?"</p> - -<p>"In military and civil life. In every kind of life."</p> - -<p>"Indeed. And.. how do <em>you</em> understand that sort of thing?"</p> - -<p>"What sort of thing?"</p> - -<p>"A... a man's feeling <em>that</em> way for another man? What's the -explanation?—the excuse for it?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, I don't pretend to understand it. There are things we would -better not try to <em>understand</em>..."</p> - -<p>Ah, had I only finished that the sentence as I certainly meant to do -in beginning it!... with some such words as "—so much as often to -pardon." But the sentence remained open; and I know that it sounded as -if it was meant to end with some such phrase as "... because they are -so beyond any understanding, beyond any excuse!"</p> - -<p>Imre walked on beside me, whistling softly. Just two or three notes, -over and over, no tune. Then he remarked abruptly:</p> - -<p>"Did you ever happen to meet with... that sort of a man... <em>person</em>... -yourself... in your own circle of friends?"</p> - -<p>Again the small detail, this time one of commission, not omission, on -my part! Through it this narrative is, I suspect, twice as long as -otherwise it would have been. "Did I ever know such a man... a -'person'... in my own circle of friends?" Irony could no farther go! I -laughed, not in mirth, not in contempt, but in sheer bitterness of -retrospect. There are instants when it may be said of other men than -Cassius:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"And when he smiles, he smiles in such a sort</div> -<div class="verse">As if he mocked himself..."</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Yes, I laughed. And unfortunately Imre von N... thought that I -sneered; that I sneered at my fellow-men!</p> - -<p>"Yes," I replied, "I knew such a man, such a 'person.' On the whole, -pretty well. He had other rather acceptable qualities, you see; so I -didn't allow myself to be too much stirred up by... that remarkably -queer one."</p> - -<p>"Lately?" Imre asked.</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, very lately," I returned flippantly.</p> - -<p>Imre spoke no word for several steps. Then, hesitatingly...</p> - -<p>"Perhaps you didn't know him quite as thoroughly as you supposed. -Were you quite sure?"</p> - -<p>"Quite sure." Then, sharply in another sentence that was uttered on -impulse and with more of the equivocal in it which afterward I -understood, I added, "I think we will not talk any more about him: I -mean in that respect... Imre."</p> - -<p>Again silence. One-two, one-two—on we went, step and step, over the -resonant, deserted bridge. I had an impression that Imre turned his -head, looking sharply at me in the fluttering gas-light... then -glancing quickly away. I had other thoughts, far, far removed from -him! I had well-nigh forgot when I was!—forgot him, forgot -Szent-Istvánhely........!</p> - -<p>But now he laughed out, too, as if in angry derision.</p> - -<p>"I say! I knew such a fellow, too.. two or three years ago. And I beg -to tell you that he fell in love with.. me! No less! He was absolutely -<i lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">bódult</i> over your humble servant. Did you ever!"</p> - -<p>"Really? What did you do? Slap his face, and give him the address of -a... doctor of nervous diseases?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, Lord, no! I merely declined with thanks the.... honour of his -farther acquaintance. I told him never to speak me. He left town. I -had rather liked him. But I heard he had been compromised already. I -have no use for that particular brand of fool!"</p> - -<p>Are there perverse demons, demons delighting to make mortal men -blunderers in simplest word and action... that haunt the breezy -Lánczhíd in Szent-Istvánhely? If so, some of us would better cross -that long bridge in haste and solitary silence after nightfall. For:</p> - -<p>"You surprise me," I said lightly. I was thinking of one of his own -jests as well of his unbelief in his personal attractions. "How -inconsistent for <em>you</em>! Now <em>you</em> are just the very individual I -should suspect!...... yes, yes, I <em>am</em> surprised!"</p> - -<p>To my astonishment, Imre stopped full in his steps, drew himself up, -and faced me with instant formality.</p> - -<p>"Will you be so good as to tell me <em>why</em> you are surprised?" asked he, -in a tone that was—I will not write sharp, but which suggested to me -immediately that I had spoken mal-à-propos or misleadingly; the more -so in view of what Imre had mentioned of his <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">ex professio</i> and -personal sensitiveness to the general topic. "Do you observe anything -particularly womanish—abnormal—about me, if you please?"</p> - -<p>Now, as it happened my remark, as I have said, was made in consequence -of an impersonal and amusing incident, which I had supposed Imre would -at once remember.</p> - -<p>"Womanish? Abnormal? Certainly not. But you seem to forget what -you yourself said to Captain Molten this afternoon... in the -billiard-room... about the menage-cooks... don't you remember?"</p> - -<p>Imre burst into laughter. He remembered! (There is no need of my -writing out here a piece of humour not transferable with the least -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">esprit</i> into English, though mighty funny in Magyar.) His mood -changed at once. He took my arm, a rare attention from him, and -we said no more till the Bridge was past, and the corner which -divided our lodgings by a street's breadth was reached. We said -"Good-night!... till tomorrow!"... the <i lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">házmester</i> opened his door. -Imre waved his hand gaily and vanished.</p> - -<hr class="textbreak" /> - -<p>I got to bed, concluding among other things that so far from -Imre's being homosexual—as Uranian, or Dionian-Uranian, or -Uranian-Dionian... or what else of that kind of juggling terminology -in homosexual analysis—my friend was no sort of an Uranistic example -at all. No! he was, instead, a thorough-going Dionian, whatever the -fine fusions of his sensitive and complex nature! A complete Dionian, -capable of warm friendship, yes—but a man to whom warm, even -passionate, friendship with this or that other man never could -transform itself into the bitter and burning mystery of Uranistic -Love,—the fittest names for which so often should be written Torment, -Shame, and Despair!</p> - -<p>Fortunate Imre! Yet, as I said so to myself, altruistically glad for -his sake, I sighed... and surely that night I thought long, long -thoughts till I finally slept.</p> - -<hr class="decorative" /> - -<h2 id="p2"><small>II.</small><br /> -MASKS AND—A FACE.</h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"My whole life was a contest since the day</div> -<div class="verse">That gave me being, gave me that which marred</div> -<div class="verse">The gift....</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"A silent suffering and intense....</div> -<div class="verse">All that the proud can feel of pain,</div> -<div class="verse">The agony they do not show....</div> -<div class="verse">Which speaks it in its loneliness.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="rightalign smcap">Byron</p> - -<p class="spaceabove">A couple of miles out of Szent-Istvánhely, one finds the fine old -seat, or what was such, of the Z... family, with its deserted chateau -and neglected park. The family is a broken and dispersed one. The -present owner of the premises lives in Paris. He visits them no -oftener, and spends no more for their care than he cannot help. The -park itself is almost a forest, so large it is and so stately are the -trees. Long, wide alleys wind through the acacias and chestnuts. You -do not go far from the very house without hares running by you, and -partridges and pheasant fluttering; so left to itself is the whole -demesne. Like most old estates near Szent-Istvánhely, it has its -legends, plentifully. One of these tales, going back to the days of -the Turkish sieges of the city, tells how a certain Count Z..., a -young soldier of only twenty-six years, during the investment of 1565, -was sitting at dinner, in the citadel, when word was brought that a -Turkish skirmishing-party had captured his cousin, to whom he was -deeply attached; and had cruelly murdered the young man here, in the -park of this same chateau, which during some days the lines of the -enemy had approached. The officer sprang up from the table. He held up -his sword, and swore by it, and Saint Stephen of Hungary, that he -would not put the sword back into its sheath, nor sit down to a table, -nor lie in a bed, till he had avenged his cousin's fate. He collected -a little troop—in an hour. Before another one had passed, he made a -sortie, under a pretext, toward his invaded estate. He forced its -defences. He drove out the enemy's post. He found and buried his -cousin's mutilated body. Then, before dawn, he himself was surprised -by a fresh force of Turks. He was shot, standing by his friend's -grave... in which he too eventually was buried. Their monument is -there to-day, with the story on it, beginning: "To The Unforgettable -Memory of <i>Z</i>... Lorand, and <i>Z</i>... Egon", after the customary Magyar -name-inversion.</p> - -<p>The public was not admitted to this old bit of the Szent-Istvánhely -suburbs. But persons known to the caretakers were welcome. Lieutenant -Imre and I had been out there once before, with the more freedom -because a certain family-connection existed between the Z—s and the -N—s. So was it that about a week after the little incident closing -the preceding portion of this narrative, we planned to go out to Z.... -for the end of the afternoon. A suburban electric tramway passed near -the gates.</p> - -<p>For two days, I had been superstitiously.... absurdly... irresistibly -oppressed with the idea that some disagreeable thing was coming my -way. We all have such fits; sometimes justifiably, if often, thank -Heaven! proving them quite groundless. I had laughed at mine, with -Imre. I could think of no earthly reason for expecting ill to befall -me. To myself, I accounted for the mood as a simple reaction of -temperament. For, I had been extremely happy lately; and now there -was the ebb, not of the happiness, but of the hyper-sensitiveness to -it all. The balance would presently be found, and I would be neither -too glad nor too gloomy.</p> - -<p>"But why.. <em>why</em>... have you found yourself so wonderfully happy -lately?" had asked Imre, curiously. "You haven't inherited a million? -Nor fallen in love?"</p> - -<p>No—I had not inherited a million.......</p> - -<p>It was on my way to the tram, to meet Imre, that same afternoon, that -I found, from my letters from England, why justly I should exclaim:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"My soul hath felt a secret weight,</div> -<div class="verse">A warning of approaching fate...."</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>I was wanted in London within four days! I must start within less than -twenty-four hours! A near relative was in uncertainty and anxiety as -to some special personal affairs. And not only was my entire programme -for the next few weeks completely broken up; worse still, was a -strong probability that I might be hindered from setting foot on the -Continent for indefinite time. In any case, a return to Hungary under -less than a full twelvemonth was not now to be thought-of.</p> - -<p>With this fall of the proverbial bolt out of a clear sky, in the shape -of that letter in my pocket, from Onslow Square, I hurried toward the -tram and Imre. All my pleasure in the afternoon and in everything else -was paralyzed. Astonishing was it how heavy-hearted I had become in -course of glancing through that communication from Mrs L..., between -the Ipar-Bank and the street-corner.</p> - -<p>Heavy-hearted? Yes, miserably heavy-hearted!...</p> - -<p>Why so? Was it because of the worriments of Mrs. L...? Because I could -not loiter, as a travelling idler, in pleasant Szent-Istvánhely?—could -not go on studying Magyar there; and anon set out for the Herkules-Baths? -Hardly any of these were good and sufficient reasons for suddenly -feeling as if life were not worth living! that a world where -departings, and partings along with them, seemed to be the main reason -for one's comings and meetings, was a deceitful and joyless kind of -planet.</p> - -<p>Well then, was my grey humour just because I was under the need of -shaking hands with Imre von N..., and saying, "<span lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">A viszontlátásra!</span>" -("<span lang="de" xml:lang="de">Auf Wiedersehen!</span>") or, more sensibly, saying to him "Goodbye?" Was -<em>that</em> the real weight in my breast? I, a man—strong-willed, firm of -temper and character! Surely I had other friends, many and warm ones, -old ones, in a long row of places between Constantinople and London; -in France, Germany, Austria, England. O dear, yes!... there were A.., -and B..., and C... and so, on very decently through a whole alphabet -of amities. Why should I feel so fierce a hatred at this interrupting -of a casual, pleasant but not extraordinary intimacy, quite one -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">de voyage</i> on its face, between two men, who, no matter how -companionable, were of absolutely diverse races, unlike objects in -life and wide-removed environments?... who could not even understand -each other's mother-tongues? Why did existence itself seem so -ironical, so full of false notes, so capricious in its kindness... seem -allowed us that we might <em>not</em> be glad in it as... Elsewhere? The reply -to each of these queries was close to another answer to another -question; that one which Imre von N... had asked,.. "And why, pray, -have you found yourself so wonderfully happy <em>lately</em>?" That I should -find myself so wonderfully unhappy now? Perhaps so.</p> - -<p>Imre was at the tram, and in high spirits.</p> - -<p>"We shall have a beautiful afternoon, my dear fellow.... Beautiful!" he -began. Then... "What the mischief is the matter with you? You look as -if you had lost your soul!"</p> - -<p>In a few words, I told him of my summons North.</p> - -<p>"Nonsense!" he exclaimed. "You are making a bad joke!"</p> - -<p>"Unfortunately I never have been less able to joke in my life! -Tomorrow afternoon I must be off, as surely as Saint-Stephen's Crown -has the Crooked Cross."</p> - -<p>Imre "looked right, looked left, looked straight before". For an -instant his look was almost painfully serious. Then it changed to an -amused bewilderment. "Well... sudden things come by twos! You have got -to start off for God knows where, tomorrow afternoon: I have got to be -up at dawn, to rush my legs off! For, about noon I go out by a pokey -special-train, to the Summer-Camp at P... And I must stay there five, -six, ten mortal days, drilling Slovaks, and other such cattle! No -wonder we have had a fine time of it here together! Too beautiful to -last! But, Lord, how I envy you! Won't you change places with me? -You're such an obliging fellow, Oswald! You go to the Camp: let me go -to London?"</p> - -<p>At this moment, up came the tram. It was packed with an excursion-party. -We were hustled and separated during our leisurely transit. Imre met -some fair acquaintances, and made himself exceedingly lively company -to them, till we reached the Z... cross-road. We stepped out alone.</p> - -<p>I did not break the silence as the noisy tram vanished, and the -country's quietness closed us in.</p> - -<p>"Well?" said Imre, after fully five minutes, as we approached the -Z.... gateway.</p> - -<p>"Well," I replied quite as laconically.</p> - -<p>"Oh come, come," he began, "even if it is I routing out of bed by -sunrise tomorrow, to start in for all that P.. Camp drudgery, and you -to go spinning along in the afternoon to England... why, what of it! We -mustn't let the tragedy spoil our last afternoon. Eh?... Philosophy, -philosophy, my dear Oswald! I have grown so trained, as a soldier, to -having every sort of personal plan and pleasure, great or small, -simply blown to the winds on half-an-hour's notice, that I have ceased -to get into bad humour over any such contretemps. What profits it? -Life isn't at all a plaything for a good lot of us, more's the pity! -We've got to suffer and be strong; or else learn not to suffer. That -on the whole is decidedly preferable. Permit me to recommend it; a -superior article for the trade, patent applied for, take only the -genuine."</p> - -<p>I was not in tune for being philosophic, in that moment. And, from the -very first words and demeanour with which Imre had received the -announcement that so cruelly preyed on my spirits, I was... shall I -write piqued—by what seemed to be his indifference; nay more, by his -complete nonchalance. Whether Imre as a soldier, or through possessing -a colder nature than I had inferred.... at least, colder than some -other natures... had indeed learned to sustain life's disagreeable -surprises with equanimity, was nothing now to me. Or, stay, it was a -good deal that just then came crosswise to my mood; so wholly -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">intransigéant.</i> Angry irritation waxed hot in me all at once, along -with increasing bitterness of heart. It is edifying to observe what -successive and sheer stupidities a man will perpetrate under such -circumstances... edifying and pitiable!</p> - -<p>"I don't at all envy you your philosophy, my dear friend," I said -sharply. "I believe a good deal in the old notion as to philosophic -people being pretty often unfeeling people... much too often. I think -I'd rather not become a stoic. Stoic means a stock. I'm not so far -along as you."</p> - -<p>"Really? Oh, you try it and you'll like it... as the cannibals said to -the priest who had to watch them eat up the bishop. It is far better -to feel nothing than to feel unpleasant things too much... so much more -comfortable and cheap in the end.... <i lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">Ei</i>! you over there!" he called -out to a brown-skinned <i lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">czigány</i> lad, suddenly appearing out of a -coppice, with something suspiciously like a snap-shot in his hand, -"don't you let the <i lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">házmester</i> up at the house catch you with that -thing about you, or you'll get yourself into trouble! Young poacher!" -he added angrily... "those snap-shots when a gipsey handles them are as -bad as a fowling-piece. The devil take the little rascal! And the -devil take everything else!"</p> - -<p>We walked down an alley in silence. Neither of us had ever been in -this sort of a mood till this afternoon. The atmosphere was a trifle -electric! Imre drew his sword and began giving slashes at trees and -weeds, an undesirable habit that he had, as we strolled onward. -Thought I, "A pleasing couple of hours truly we are likely to pass!" -I felt that I would better have stayed at home; to start my packing-up -for London. Then I pulled myself together. I found myself all at once -possessed of a decent stock of pride, if not "philosophy". I undertook -to meet Imre's manner, if not to match his sentiments. I began to -talk suavely of trifles, then of more serious topics... of wholly -general interests. I smiled much and laughed a little. I referred -to my leaving Szent-Istvánhely and him... more to the former -necessity... in precisely the neatest measure of tranquility and even -of humour. Imre's responsiveness to this delicate return for his own -indifference at once showed me that I had taken the right course not -to "spoil this last afternoon together".... probably the last such in -our lives!....</p> - -<p>On one topic, most personal to Imre, I could speak with him at any -time without danger of its being talk-worn between us; could argue -with him about it even to forgetting any other matter in hand; if, -alas! Imre was ever satirical, or placidly unresponsive toward it. -That topic was his temperamental, obstinate indifference to making the -most of himself in his profession; to "going-on" in it, with all -natural energies or assumed ones. He was, as I have mentioned, a -perfectly satisfactory officer. But there it ended. He seemed to think -that he had done his duty, and must await such vague event as would -carry him, <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">motu proprio,</i> further toward efficiency and distinction. -Or else, of all things foolish, not to say discreditable, he declared -he still would "keep his eyes open for a chance to enter civil -life"... would give himself up to some more or less aesthetic calling, -especially of a musical connection... become "free from this farce -of <em>playing</em> soldier." He excused his plan by saying that his -position now was "disgracefully insincere." Insincere, yes; but not -disgraceful; and he was resting on his oars with the idea that he -ought not to try to row on, just when such conduct was fatal. A man -can remedy a good deal that he feels is an "insincere" attitude toward -daily life. And what is more, any worthy, any elevating profession, -and in the case of the soldier the sense of himself as a prop and -moral element in the State must not be insulted! The army-life even -if chosen merely from duty, and led in times of peace, is a good deal -like the marriage of respect. The man may never have loved the wife to -whom he is bound, he may never be able to love her, he may find her -presence lamentably <i lang="de" xml:lang="de">unsympathisch.</i> But mere self-respect and the -outward duty to her, and duty to those who are concerned in her honour -as in his, in her welfare as in his.... there comes in the unavoidable -and just demand! Honour and country are eloquent for a soldier, -always. It was on the indispensable, unwelcome, ever-postponed -<i lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">Hadiskolai</i> course that, once more, this afternoon, I found myself -voluble with Imre. If I could not well speak of myself, I could of -him, in a parting appeal.</p> - -<p>"You must go on! You have no right to falter now. For God's sake, -N.....! put by all these miserable dreams of quitting the service. -What in the world could you do out of it? You have plenty of time for -entertaining yourself with strumming and singing, and what not. -Everything is in your own hands. Oh, yes, I know perfectly well that -special help is needed to push one along fast... friends at court. But -you are not wholly without them. For your father's sake and yours!.... -You have shown already what you can do! If you will only work a bit -harder! The War-School, Imre, the War-School! That must come. If you -care for your own credit, success... stop, I forbid you to sneer... get -into the School, hate it as much as you will!"</p> - -<p>"I hate it! I hate it all, I tell you! I am sick of pretending to like -it. Especially just lately... more so than ever!"</p> - -<p>"Very possibly. But what of that? Is there anything else in the wide -world that you feel you can do any better?... beginning such an -experiment at twenty-five years of age.... with no training for so much -as digging a ditch? Do you wish to become a dance-music strummer in -the Városliget? Or a second-class acrobat in the Circus Wulff? Or will -you throw off your uniform, to take flight to America... Australia... to -be a riding-master or a waiter in a restaurant, or a vagabond, like -some of the Habsburg arch-dukes? Imre, Imre! Instead be... a man! A man -in this, as in all else. You trifle with your certainty of a career. -Be a man in this matter!"</p> - -<p>He sighed. Then softly, with a strange despair of life in his tone:</p> - -<p>"Be a man? In this, as in <em>all</em>? God! how I wish I could be so."</p> - -<p>"Wish you could be so! I don't know what you mean. A manlier fellow -one need not be! Only this damnable neglect of your career! You surely -wish to succeed in life?"</p> - -<p>"I wish. But I cannot <em>will</em>..... Do not talk any more about it just -now. You can... <i lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">teremtette!</i> you will write me quite enough about it. -You are exactly like Karvaly, once that topic comes into your mind! -Yes, like him to half-a-word... and I certainly am no match for either -of you."</p> - -<p>"I should think," returned I, coldly, "that if you possess any -earnest, definite regard for such a zealous friend as Herr Karvaly, or -for <em>any</em> true friend, you would prove it by just this very effort to -make the most of yourself... for their sakes if not for your own."</p> - -<p>I waited a second or so, as we stood there looking across an opening -of the woodland. Then I added,—"For his sake, if not for—for such a -newcomer's sake as—mine. But I begin to believe that your heart does -not so easily stir really, warmly, as... as I supposed. At least, not -for me. Possibly for nobody, my dear N...! Odd—for you have so many -friends. I confess I don't see now just why. You are a strange fellow, -Imre. Such a row of contradictions!"</p> - -<p>One, two... one, two... again was Imre walking along in silence, exactly -as on the evening when we came over the long Suspension Bridge in town -together. And once more was he whistling softly, as if either wholly -careless or buried in thought, those same two or three melancholy -notes of what I had discovered was a little Bakony peasant-song, "<span lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">O, -jaj! az álom nelkül</span>"—! ("Alas, I am sleepless,—I fear to dream!")</p> - -<p>So passed more than an hour. We spoke less and less. My moods of -self-forgetfulness, of philosophy, passed with it. I could not -recover either.</p> - -<p>We had made a detour around the lonelier portion of the park. The sun -was fairly setting as we came out before the open lawn, wide, and -uncropped save by two cows and a couple of farm-horses. There were -trees on either border. At farther range, was the long, low mansion, -three stories high, with countless white-painted <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">croisées</i>, and -lime-blanched chimneys; an odd Austro-Magyar-style dwelling, of -a long-past fashion, standing up solid and sharp against that -silver-saffron sky. Not a sign of life, save those slow-moving -beasts, far off in the middle of the lawn. No smoke from the -yet more removed old homestead. Not a sound, except a gentle -wind... melancholy and fitful. We two might have been remote, near -a village in the Siebenbürgen; not within twenty minutes of a great -commercial city.</p> - -<p>Instead of going on toward the avenue which led to the exit—the hour -being yet early—we sat down on a stone bench, much beaten by weather. -A few steps away, rose the monument I have mentioned... "To the -Unforgettable Memory" of Lorand and Egon Z...</p> - -<p>Neither Imre nor I spoke immediately; each of us was a trifle -leg-weary, I once more was sad and... angry. As we sat there, I read -over for yet another time... the last time?... those carved words which -reminded a reader, whether to his gladness of soul or dolour, that -love, a <em>love</em> indeed strong as death, between two manly souls was no -mere ideal; but instead, a possible crown of existence, a glory of -life, a realizable unity that certain fortunate sons of men attained! -A jewel that others must yearn for, in disappointment and folly, and -with the taste of aloes, and the white of the egg, for the pomegranate -and the honeycomb! I sighed.</p> - -<p>"Oh, courage, courage, my well beloved friend!" exclaimed Imre, -hearing the sigh and apparently quite misreading my innermost -thoughts. "Don't be downhearted again as to leaving Szent-Istvánhely -tomorrow; not to speak of being cheerful even if you must part from -your most obedient servant. Such is life!... unless we are born -sultans and kaisers... and if we are that, we must die to slow music -in the course of time."</p> - -<p>I vouchsafed no comment. Could this be Imre von N...? Certainly I had -made the acquaintance of a new and extremely uncongenial Imre; in -exactly the least appropriate circumstances to lose sight of the -sympathetic, gentler-natured friend, whom I had begun to consider as -one well understood, and had found responsive to a word, a look. Did -all his closer friends meet, sooner or later, with this under-half of -his temperament—this brusqueness which I had hitherto seen in his -bearing with only his outside associates? Did they admire it... if -caring for him? Bitterness came over me in a wave, it rose to my lips -in a burst.</p> - -<p>"It is just as well that one of us should show some feeling.... a -trifle... when our parting is so near."</p> - -<p>A pause. Then Imre:</p> - -<p>"The 'one of us', that is to say the only one, who has any 'feeling' -being yourself, my dear Oswald?"</p> - -<p>"Apparently."</p> - -<p>"Don't you think that perhaps you rather take things for granted? Or -that, perhaps, you feel too much? That is, in supposing that I feel -too little?"</p> - -<p>My reply was quick and acid enough:</p> - -<p>"Have you any sentiments in the matter worth calling by such a name, -at all? I've not remarked them so far! Are friends that love you and -value you only worth their day with you?... have they no real, lasting -individuality for you? Your heart is not so difficult to please as -mine; nor so difficult to occupy."</p> - -<p>Again a brief interval. Imre was beating a tattoo on his braided cap, -and examining the top of that article with much attention. The sky -was less light now. The long, melancholy house had grown pallid -against the foliage. Still the same fitful breeze. One of the cows -lowed.</p> - -<p>He looked up. He began speaking gravely... kindly.. not so much as if -seeking his words for their exactness, but rather as if he were -fearful of committing himself outwardly to some innermost process of -thought. Afraid, more than unwilling.</p> - -<p>"Listen, my dear friend. We must not expect too much of one another in -this world... must we? Do not be foolish. You know well that one of the -last things that I regard as 'of a day' is <em>our</em> friendship.. however -suddenly grown. No matter what you think now... for just these few -moments... when something disturbs us both... <em>that</em> you know. Why, dear -friend! did I not believe it myself; had I not so soon after our -meeting believed it..... do you think I would have shown you so much of -my real self, happy or unhappy, for better or worse? Sides of my -nature unknown to others. Traits that you like, along with traits that -I see you do not like? Why Oswald, you understand <em>me</em>... the real -<em>me!</em>—better than anybody else that I have ever met. Because I wished -it... I hoped it. Because I—I could not help it. Just that. But you -see the trouble is that, in spite of all... you do not <em>wholly</em> -understand me. And... and the worst of the reason is that I am the one -most to blame for it! And I... I cannot better it now."</p> - -<p>"When do we understand one another in this life of half-truths... -half-intimacies?"</p> - -<p>"Yes... all too-often half... whether it is with one's wife, one's -mistress, one's friend! And I am not easy... ah, how I have had to -learn the way to keep myself so—to study it till it is a second -nature to me!—I am not easy to know! But, Oswald, Oswald, <i lang="de" xml:lang="de">ich kann -nicht anders, nein, nein, ich kann nicht anders!</i>"</p> - -<p>And then, in his own language, dull and doggedly he added to -himself—"<i lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">Mit használ, mit használ az én nekem?</i>"—(What matters -it to <em>me</em>?)</p> - -<p>He took my hand now, that was lying on the settle beside his own, and -held it while he spoke; unconsciously clasping it tighter and tighter -till it was in pain, or would have been so, had it not been, like his -own, cold from sheer nervousness. He continued:</p> - -<p>"One thing more. You seem to forget sometimes that I am a man, and -that you too are a man. Not either of us a—woman. Forgive me—I speak -frankly. We are both of us, you and I, a bit over-sensitive... -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">exalté</i>... in type. Isn't that so? You often suggest a... a... -regard... so... what shall I call it?... so romantic,... heroic... -passionate—a <em>love</em> indeed (and here his voice was suddenly -broken)—something that I cannot accept from anybody without warning -him back.. back! I mean back coming to me from any other <em>man.</em> -Sometimes you have troubled me... frightened me. I cannot,—will not, -try to tell you why this is so. But so it is. Our friendship must be -friendship as the world of today accepts friendship! Yes—as the world -of <em>our</em> day does. God! What else could it be to-day.. friendship? -What else—<em>to-day?</em>"</p> - -<p>"Not the friendship which is love, the love which is friendship?" I -said in a low voice; indeed, as I now remember more than half to -myself.</p> - -<p>Imre was looking at the darkened sky, the grey lawn—into the vague -distance... at whatsoever was visible save myself. Then his glance was -caught by the ghostly marble of the monument to the young Z.... -heroes, at which I too was staring. A tone of appeal came as he -continued:</p> - -<p>"Once more, I beg, I implore you, not to make the mistake of—of—thinking -me cold-natured. I, cold-natured?.. Ah, ah! If you knew me better, -you'd not pack that notion into your trunks for London! Instead, -believe that I value unspeakably all your friendship for me, dear -Oswald. Time will prove that. I have had no friend like you, I -believe. But though friendship can be a passion... can cast a spell -over us that we cannot comprehend nor unbind"... here he withdrew his -hand and pointed to the memorial-stone set up for those two human -hearts that after so ardently beating for each other, were now but -dust... "it must be only a spiritual, manlike regard! The world thought -otherwise once. The world thinks—<em>as</em> it thinks—now. And the world, -our to-day's world, must decide for us all! Friendship now—now—must -stay as the <em>man</em> of our day understands it, Oswald. That is, if the -man deserves the name, and is not to be classed as some sort of an -incomprehensible... womanish... outcast... counterfeit.... a miserable -puzzle—born to be every genuine man's contempt!"</p> - -<p>We had come, once more, suddenly, fully, and because of me, on the -topic which we had touched on, that night of our Lánczhid walk! But -this time I faced it, in a sense of fatality and finality; in a rash, -desperate desire to tear a secret out of myself, to breathe free, to -be true to myself, to speak out the past and the present, so strangely -united in these last few weeks, to reserve nothing, cost what it -might! My hour had come!</p> - -<p>"You have asked me to listen to you!" I cried. Even now I feel the -despair, I think I hear the accent of it, with which I spoke. "I have -heard you! Now I want you to listen to me! I wish to tell you a story. -It is out of one man's deepest yet daily life... my own life. Most of -what I wish to tell happened long before I knew you. It was far away, -it was in what used to be my own country. After I tell it, you will be -one of very few people in all the world who have known... even -suspected... what happened to me. In telling you, I trust you with my -social honour... with all that is outwardly and inwardly myself. And I -shall probably pay a penalty... just because <em>you</em> hear the wretched -history, Imre... <em>you</em>! For, before it ends, it has to do with you; as -well as with something that you have just spoken of—so fiercely! I -mean—how far a man, deserving to be called a man, refusing, as surely -as God lives and has made him, to believe that he is.... what did you -call him?... 'a miserable, womanish, counterfeit... outcast'... even if -he be incomprehensible to himself... how such a being can suffer and be -ruined in his innermost life and peace, by a soul-tragedy which he -nevertheless can hide—<em>must</em> hide! I could have told you all on the -night that we talked, as we crossed the Lánczhid. No, that is not -true! I could not then. But I can now. For I may never see you again. -You talk of our 'knowing each other'! I wish you to know me. And I -could never write you this, never! Will you hear me, Imre?—patiently?"</p> - -<p>"I will hear you patiently—yes, Oswald—if you think it best to tell -me. Of <em>that</em> pray think, carefully."</p> - -<p>"It is best! I am tired of thinking of it. It is time you knew."</p> - -<p>"And I am really concerned in it?"</p> - -<p>"You are immediately concerned. That is to say, before it ends. You -will see how."</p> - -<p>"Then you would better go on... of course."</p> - -<p>He consented thus, in the constrained but decided tone which I have -indicated as so often recurring during the evening, adding—"I am -ready, Oswald."</p> - -<hr class="textbreak" /> - -<p>"From the time when I was a lad, Imre... a little child... I felt -myself unlike other boys in one element of my nature. That one matter -was my special sense, my passion, for the beauty, the dignity, the -charm... the... what shall I say?... the loveableness of my own sex. I -hid it, at least so far as, little by little, I came to realize its -force. For, I soon perceived that most other lads had no such -passionate sentiment, in any important measure of their natures, even -when they were fine-strung, impressionable youths. There was nothing -unmanly about me; nothing really unlike the rest of my friends in -school, or in town-life. Though I was not a strong-built, or -rough-spirited lad, I had plenty of pluck and muscle, and was as -lively on the playground, and fully as indefatigable, as my chums. -I had a good many friends; close ones, who liked me well. But I felt -sure, more and more, from one year to another even of that boyhood -time, that no lad of them all ever could or would care for me as much -as I could and did care for one or another of them! Two or three -episodes made that clear to me. These incidents made me, too, shyer -and shyer of showing how my whole young nature, soul and body -together, Imre—could be stirred with a veritable adoration for some -boy-friend that I elected.. an adoration with a physical yearning in -it—how intense was the appeal of bodily beauty, in a lad, or in a -man of mature years."</p> - -<p>"And yet, with that beauty, I looked for manliness, poise, will-power, -dignity and strength in him. For, somehow I demanded those traits, -always and clearly, whatever else I sought along with them. I say -'sought'; I can say, too, won—won often to nearness. But this other, -more romantic, emotion in me... so strongly physical, sexual, as well -as spiritual... it met with a really like and equal and full response -once only. Just as my school-life was closing, with my sixteenth year -(nearly my seventeenth) came a friendship with a newcomer into my -classes, a lad of a year older than myself, of striking beauty of -physique, and uncommon strength of character. This early relation -embodied the same precocious, absolutely vehement <em>passion</em> (I can -call it nothing else) on both sides. I had found my ideal! I had -realized for the first time, completely, a type; a type which had -haunted me from first consciousness of my mortal existence, Imre; one -that is to haunt me till my last moment of it. All my immature but -intensely ardent regard was returned. And then, after a few months -together, my schoolmate, all at once, became ill during an epidemic in -the town, was taken to his home, and died. I never saw him after he -left me."</p> - -<p>"It was my first great misery, Imre. It was literally unspeakable! -For, I could not tell to anyone, I did not know how to explain even to -myself, the manner in which my nature had gone out to my young mate, -nor how his being spontaneously so had blent itself with mine. I was -not seventeen years old, as I said. But I knew clearly now what it -was to <em>love</em> thus, so as to forget oneself in another's life and -death! But also I knew better than to talk of such things. So I never -spoke of my dead mate."</p> - -<p>"I grew older, I entered my professional studies, and I was very -diligent with them. I lived in a great capital, I moved much in -general society. I had a large and lively group of friends. But -always, over and over, I realized that, in the kernel, at the very -root and fibre of myself, there was the throb and glow, the ebb and -the surge, the seeking as in a vain dream to realize again that -passion of friendship which could so far transcend the cold modern -idea of the tie; the Over-Friendship, the Love-Friendship of -Hellas—which meant that between man and man could exist—the -sexual-psychic love. That was still possible! I knew that now! I -had read it in the verses or the prose of the Greek and Latin and -Oriental authours who have written out every shade of its beauty or -unloveliness, its worth or debasements—from Theokritos to Martial, or -Abu-Nuwas, to Platen, Michel Angelo, Shakespeare. I had learned it -from the statues of sculptors, with those lines so often vivid with a -merely physical male beauty—works which beget, which sprang from, -the sense of it in a race. I had half-divined it in the music of a -Beethoven and a Tschaikowsky before knowing facts in the life-stories -of either of them—or of an hundred other tone-autobiographists."</p> - -<p>"And I had recognized what it all meant to most people today!—from -the disgust, scorn and laughter of my fellow-men when such an emotion -was hinted at! I understood perfectly that a man must wear the Mask, -if he, poor wretch! could neither abide at the bound of ordinary -warmth of feeling for some friend of friends, that drew on his -innermost nature; or if he were not content because the other stayed -within that bound. Love between two men, however absorbing, however -passionate, must not be—so one was assured—solemnly or in disgusted -incredulity—a sexual love, a physical impulse and bond. <em>That</em> was -now as ever, a nameless horror—a thing against all civilization, -sanity, sex, Nature, God! Therefore, <em>I</em> was, of course... what then -was I? Oh, I perceived it! I was that anachronism from old—that -incomprehensible incident in God's human creation... the man-loving -man! The man-loving man! whose whole heart can be given only to -another man, and who when his spirit is passing into his beloved -friend's keeping would demand, would surrender, the body with it. The -man-loving man! He who seeks not merely a spiritual unity with him -whom he loves, but seeks the embrace that joins two male human beings -in a fusion that no woman's arms, no woman's kisses can ever realize. -No woman's embrace? No, no!... for instead of that, either he cares not -a whit for it, is indifferent to it, is smilingly scornful of it: or -else he tolerates it, even in the wife he has married (not to speak of -any less honourable ties) as an artifice, a mere quietus to that -undeceived sexual passion burning in his nature; wasting his really -<em>unmated</em> individuality, years-long. Or else he surrenders himself to -some woman who bears his name, loves him—to her who perhaps in -innocence and ignorance believes that she dominates every instinct of -his sex!—making her a wife that she may bear to him children; or -thinking that marriage may screen him, or even (vain hope) 'cure' him! -But oftenest, he flies from any woman, as her sexual self; wholly -shrinks from her as from nothing else created; avoids the very touch -of a woman's hand in his own, any physical contact with woman, save in -a calm cordiality, in a sexless and fraternal reserve, a passionless -if yet warm... friendship! Not seldom he shudders (he may not know why) -in something akin to dread and to loathing, though he may succeed in -hiding it from wife or mistress, at any near approach of his strong -male body to a woman's trivial, weak, feminine one, however fair, -however harmonious in lines! Yes, even were she Aphrodite herself!"</p> - -<p>"And yet, Imre, thousands, thousands, hundreds of thousands, of such -human creatures as I am, have not in body, in mind, nor in all the -sum of our virility, in all the detail of our outward selves, any -openly womanish trait! Not one! It is only the ignoramus and the -vulgar who nowadays think or talk of the homosexual as if he were -an—hermaphrodite! In every feature and line and sinew and muscle, in -every movement and accent and capability, we walk the world's ways as -men. We hew our ways through it as men, with vigour, success, -honour... <em>one</em> master-instinct unsuspected by society for, it may be, -our lives long! We plough the globe's roughest seas as men, we rule -its States as men, we direct its finance and commerce as men, we forge -its steel as men, we grapple with all its sciences, we triumph in all -its arts as men, we fill its gravest professions as men, we fight in -the bravest ranks of its armies as men, or we plan out its fiercest -and most triumphant battles as men.... in all this, in so much more, we -are men! Why, (in a bitter paradox) one can say that we always have -been, we always are, always will be, too much <em>men</em>! So super-male, so -utterly unreceptive of what is not manly, so aloof from any feminine -essences, that we cannot tolerate woman at all as a sexual factor! Are -we not the extreme of the male? its supreme phase, its outermost -phalanx?—its climax of the aristocratic, the All-Man? And yet, if -love is to be only what the narrow, modern, Jewish-Christian ethics of -today declare it, if what they insist be the only <em>natural</em> and pure -expression of 'the will to possess, the wish to surrender'.. oh, then -is the flouting world quite right! For then we are indeed <em>not</em> men! -But if not so, what are we? Answer that, who can!"</p> - -<p>"The more perplexed I became in all this wretchedness (for it had -grown to that by the time I had reached my majority).. the more -perplexed I became because so often in books, old ones or new, nay, in -the very chronicles of the criminal-courts, I came face to face with -the fact that though tens of thousands of men, in all epochs, of -noblest natures, of most brilliant minds and gifts, of intensest -energies.. scores of pure spirits, deep philosophers, bravest -soldiers, highest poets and artists, had been such as myself in this -mystic sex-disorganization.... that nevertheless of this same Race, -the Race-Homosexual, had been also, and apparently ever would -be, countless ignoble, trivial, loathesome, feeble-souled and -feeble-bodied creatures!... the very weaklings and rubbish of -humanity!"</p> - -<p>"Those, <em>those,</em> terrified me, Imre! To think of them shamed me; those -types of man-loving-men who, by thousands, live incapable of any noble -ideals or lives. Ah, those patently depraved, noxious, flaccid, gross, -womanish beings! perverted and imperfect in moral nature and in -even their bodily tissues! Those homosexual legions that are the -straw-chaff of society; good for nothing except the fire that purges -the world of garbage and rubbish! A Heliogabalus, a Gilles de Rais, a -Henri Trois, a Marquis de Sade; the painted male-prostitutes of the -boulevards and twilight-glooming squares! The effeminate artists, the -sugary and fibreless musicians! The Lady Nancyish, rich young men of -higher or lower society; twaddling aesthetic sophistries; stinking -with perfume like cocottes! The second-rate poets and the neurasthenic, -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">précieux</i> poetasters who rhyme forth their forged literary passports -out of their mere human decadence; out of their marrowless shams of -all that is a man's fancy, a man's heart, a man's love-life! The -cynical debauchers of little boys; the pederastic perverters of -clean-minded lads in their teens; the white-haired satyrs of clubs -and latrines!"</p> - -<p>"What a contrast are these to great Oriental princes and to the heroes -and heroic intellects of Greece and Rome! To a Themistocles, an -Agesilaus, an Aristides and a Kleomenes; to Socrates and Plato, and -Saint Augustine, to Servetus and Beza; to Alexander, Julius Caesar, -Augustus, and Hadrian; to Prince Eugene of Savoy, to Sweden's Charles -the Twelfth, to Frederic the Great, to indomitable Tilly, to the -fiery Skobeleff, the austere Gordon, the ill-starred Macdonald; -to the brightest lyrists and dramatists of old Hellas and Italia; -to Shakespeare, (to Marlowe also, we can well believe) Platen, -Grillparzer, Hölderlin, Byron, Whitman; to an Isaac Newton, a Justus -Liebig—to Michel-Angelo and Sodoma; to the masterly Jerome Duquesnoy, -the classic-souled Winckelmann, to Mirabeau, Beethoven, Bavaria's -unhappy King Ludwig;—to an endless procession of exceptional men, -from epoch to epoch! Yet as to these and innumerable others, facts of -their hidden, inner lives have proved without shadow of doubt (however -rigidly suppressed as 'popular information') or inferences vivid -enough to silence scornful denial, have pointed out that they belonged -to Us."</p> - -<p>"Nevertheless, did not the widest overlook of the record of -Uranianism, the average facts about one, suggest that the most part -of homosexual humanity had always belonged, always would belong, to -the worthless or the wicked? Was our Race gold or excrement!—as -rubies or as carrion? If <em>that</em> last were one's final idea, why then -all those other men, the Normalists, aye, our severest judges, those -others whether good or bad, whether vessels of honour or dishonour, -who are not in their love-instincts as are we... the millions against -our tens of thousands, even if some of us are to be respected.... why, -they do right to cast us out of society; for, after all, we must be -just a vitiated breed!... We must be judged by our commoner mass.</p> - -<p>"And yet, the rest of us! The Rest, over and over! men so high-minded, -often of such deserved honour from all that world which has either -known nothing of their sexual lives, or else has perceived vaguely, -and with a tacit, a reluctant pardon! Could one really believe in God -as making man to live at all, and to love at all, and yet at the same -time believe that <em>this</em> love is not created, too, by God? is not of -God's own divinest Nature, rightfully, eternally—in millions of -hearts?... Could one believe that the eternal human essence is in its -texture today so different from itself of immemorial time before now, -whether Greek, Latin, Persian, or English? Could one somehow -find in his spirit no dread through <em>this,</em> none, at the idea of -facing God, as his Judge, at any instant?... could one feel at -moments such strength of confidence that what was in him <em>so</em> -was righteousness... oh, could all this be?—and yet must a man -shudder before himself as a monster, a solitary and pernicious -being—diseased, leprous, gangrened—one that must stagger along on -the road of life, ever justly shunned, ever justly bleeding and ever -the more wearied, till Death would meet him and say 'Come—enough!—Be -free of all!—be free of <em>thyself</em> most of all!'"</p> - -<hr class="textbreak" /> - -<p>I paused. Doing so, I heard from Imre, who had not spoken so much as a -word—was it a sigh? Or a broken murmur of something coming to his -lips in his own tongue? Was it—no, impossible!... was it a sort of -sob, strangled in his throat? The evening had grown so dark that I -could not have seen his face, even had I wished to look into it. -However... absorbed now in my own tenebrous retrospect, almost -forgetting that anyone was there, at my side, I went on:</p> - -<hr class="textbreak" /> - -<p>"You must not think that I had not had friendships of much depth, -Imre, which were not, first and last, quite free from this <em>other</em> -accent in them. Yes, I had had such; and I have many such now; -comradeships with men younger, men of my own age, men older, for whom -I feel warm affection and admiration, whose company was and is a true -happiness for me. But somehow they were not and, no matter what -they are they still are not, of <em>the</em> Type; of that eternal, -mysteriously-disturbing cruel Type, which so vibrates sexually against -my hidden Self."</p> - -<p>"How I dreaded, yet sought that Type!... how soon was I relieved, or -dull of heart, when I knew that this or that friend was not enough -dear to me, however dear he was, to give me that hated sexual stir and -sympathy, that inner, involuntary thrill! Yet I sought it ever, right -and left, since none embodied it for me; while I always <em>feared</em> that -some one might embody it! There were approaches to it. Then, then, I -suffered or throbbed with a wordless pain or joy of life, at one and -the same time! But fortunately these encounters failed of full -realization. Or what might have been my fate passed me by on the -other side. But I learned from them how I could feel toward the -man who could be in his mind and body my ideal; my supremest -Friend. Would I ever meet him?... meet him <em>again</em>?... I could say to -myself—remembering that episode of my schooldays. Or would I never -meet him! God forbid that! For to be all my life alone, year after -year, striving to content myself with pleasant shadow instead of -glowing verity!... Ah, I could well exclaim in the cry of Platen:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container" lang="de" xml:lang="de"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"O, weh Dir, der die Welt verachtet, allein zu sein</div> -<div class="verse">Und dessen ganze Seele schmachtet allein zu sein!"</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>"One day a book came to my hand. It was a serious work, on abnormalisms -in mankind: a book partly psychologic, partly medico-psychiatric; -of the newest 'school'. It had much to say of homosexualism, -of Uranianism. It considered and discussed especially researches -by German physicians into it. It described myself, my secret, -unrestful self, with an unsparing exactness! The writer was a -famous specialistic physician in nervous diseases, abnormal conditions -of the mind, and so on—an American. For the first time I understood -that responsible physicians, great psychologists—profound students -of humanities, high jurists, other men in the world besides obscene -humourists of a club-room, and judges and juries in police-courts—knew -of men like myself and took them as serious problems for study, -far from wholly despicable. This doctor spoke of my kind as -simply—diseased. 'Curable', absolutely 'curable'; so long as the -mind was manlike in all else, the body firm and normal. Certainly that -was my case! Would I not therefore do well to take one step which was -stated to be most wise and helpful toward correcting as perturbed a -relation as mine had become to ordinary life? That step was—to marry. -To marry immediately!"</p> - -<p>"The physician who had written that book happened to be in England at -the time. I had never thought it possible that I could feel courage to -go to any man... save that one vague sympathizer, my dream-friend, -he who some day would understand all!.. and confess myself; lay -bare my mysterious nature. But if it were a mere disease, oh, -that made a difference! So I visited the distinguished specialist -at once. He helped me urbanely through my embarrassing story of -my... 'malady'.... 'Oh, there was nothing extraordinary, not at all -extraordinary in it, from the beginning to the end,' the doctor -assured me, smiling. In fact, it was 'exceedingly common... All -confidential specialists in nervous diseases knew of hundreds of just -such cases. Nay, of much worse ones, and treated and cured them... A -morbid state of certain sexual-sensory nerve-centers'... and so on, -in his glib professional diagnosis."</p> - -<p>—"'So I am to understand that I am curable?'"—'Curable? Why, surely. -Exactly as I have written in my work; as Doctor So-and-So, and the -great psychiatric Professor Such-a-One, proved long ago... Your case my -dear sir, is the easier because you suffer in a sentimental and sexual -way from what we call the obsession of a set, distinct Type, you -see; instead of a general... h'm... how shall I style it... morbidity -of your inclinations. It is largely mere imagination! You say you -have never really "realized" this haunting masculine Type which -has given you such trouble? My dear sir, don't think any more -about such nonsense!... you never will "realize" it in any way to -be... h'm... disturbed. Probably had you married and settled down -pleasantly, years ago, you often would have laughed heartily at the -whole story of such an illusion of your nature now. Too much <em>thought</em> -of it all, my dear friend! too much introspection, idealism, sedentary -life, dear sir! Yes, yes, you must <em>marry</em>—God bless you!'"</p> - -<p>"I paid my distinguished specialist his fee and came away, with a far -lighter heart than I had had in many a year."</p> - -<p>"Marry! Well, that was easily to be done. I was popular enough with -women of all sorts. I was no woman-hater. I had many true and charming -and most affectionate friendships with women. For, you must know, -Imre, that such men as I am are often most attractive to women, most -beloved by them.. I mean by good women... far more than through being -their relatives and social friends. They do not understand the reason -of our attraction for them, of their confidence, their strengthening -sentiment. For we seldom betray to them our secret, and they seldom -have knowledge, or instinct, to guess its mystery. But alas! it is the -irony of <em>our</em> nature that we cannot return to any woman, except by a -lie of the body and the spirit, (often being unable to compass or to -endure that wretched subterfuge) a warmer glow than affection's -calmest pulsations. Several times, before my consulting Dr. D... I had -had the opportunity of marrying 'happily and wisely'—if marriage with -any woman could have meant only a friendship. Naught physical, no -responsibility of sex toward the wife to whom one gives oneself. But -'the will to possess, the desire to surrender', the negation of what -is ourself which comes with the arms of some one other human creature -about us—ours about <em>him</em>—long before, had I understood that the -like of this joy was not possible for me with wife or mistress. It -had seemed to me hopeless of attempt. If marriage exact <em>that</em> -effort.. good God! then it means a growing wretchedness, riddle and -mystery for two human beings, not for one. Stay! it means worse still, -should they not be childless......"</p> - -<p>"But now I had my prescription, and I was to be cured. In ten days, -Imre, I was betrothed. Do not be surprised. I had known a long while -earlier that I was loved. My betrothed was the daughter of a valued -family friend, living in a near town. She was beautiful, gifted, -young, high-souled and gentle. I had always admired her warmly; we -had been much thrown together. I had avoided her lately however, -because—unmistakeably—I had become sure of a deeper sentiment on her -part than I could exchange."</p> - -<p>"But now, now, I persuaded myself that I did indeed return it; that I -had not understood myself. And confidently, even ardently, I played my -new role so well, Imre, that I was deceived myself. And she? She never -felt the shade of suspicion. I fancied that I loved her. Besides, my -betrothed was not exacting, Imre. In fact, as I now think over those -few weeks of our deeper intimacy, I can discern how I was favoured in -my new relationship to her by her sensitive, maidenly shrinking from -the physical nearness, even the touch, of the man who was dear to -her... how troubling the sense of any man's advancing physical -dominancy over her. Yet do not make the mistake of thinking that she -was cold in her calm womanliness; or would have held herself aloof as -a wife. It was simply virginal, instinctive reserve. She loved me; and -she would have given herself wholly to me, as my bride."</p> - -<p>"The date for our marriage was set. I tried to think of nothing but -it and her; of how calmly, securely happy I should soon be, and of -all the happiness that, God willing, I would bring into her young -life. I say 'tried' to think of nothing else. I almost succeeded. -But... nevertheless... in moments..."</p> - -<p>"It was not to be, however, this deliverance, this salvation for me!"</p> - -<p>"One evening, I was asked by a friend to come to his lodgings to dine, -to meet some strangers, his guests. I went. Among the men who came was -one... I had never seen him before... newly arrived in my city.. coming -to pass the winter. From the instant that set me face to face with -him... that let me hear his voice in only a greeting... that put us to -exchanging a few commonplace sentences... I thrilled with joy and -trembled to my innermost soul with a sudden anguish. For, Imre, it was -as if that dead schoolmate of mine, not merely as death had taken him; -but matured, a man in his beauty and charm... it was as if every -acquaintance that ever had quickened within me the same unspeakable -sense of a mysterious bond of soul and of body... the Man-Type which -owned me and ever must own me, soul and body together—had started -forth in a perfect avatar. Out of the slumberous past, out of the -kingdom of illusions, straying to me from the realm of banished -hopes, it had come to me! The Man, the Type, that thing which meant -for me the fires of passion not to be quenched, that subjection of my -whole being to an ideal of my own sex... that fatal 'nervous illusion', -as the famous doctor's book so summarily ranged it for the world.. all -had overtaken me again! My peace was gone—if ever I had had true -peace. I was lost, with it!..."</p> - -<p>"From that night, I forgot everything else except him. My former, -unchanged, unchangeable self, in all its misery and mystery reverted. -The temperament which I had thought to put to sleep, the invisible -nature I had believed I could strangle—it had awakened with the -lava-seethe of a volcano. It burned in my spirit and body, like a -masked crater."</p> - -<p>"Imre, I sought the friendship of this man, of my ideal who had -re-created for me, simply by his existence, a world of feeling; one of -suffering and yet of delight. And I won his friendship! Do not suppose -that I dared to dream, then or ever, of more than a commonplace, -social intimacy. Never, never! Merely to achieve his regard toward -myself a little more than toward others; merely that he would care to -give me more of his society, would show me more of his inner self -than he inclined to open to others. Just to be accounted by him -somewhat dearer, in such a man's vague often elusive degree, than the -majority for whom he cared at all! Only to have more constant leave to -delight my spirit in silence with his physical beauty while guarding -from him in a sort of terror the psychic effects it wrought in -me..... My hopes went no further than these. And, as I say, I won -them. As it kindly happened, our tastes, our interests in arts and -letters, our temperaments, the fact that he came to my city with few -acquaintances in it and was not a man who readily seeks them... the -chance that he lived almost in the same house with me... such -circumstances favored me immediately. But I did not deceive myself -once, either as to what was the measure or the kind of my emotion for -him, any more than about what (if stretched to its uttermost) would be -his sentiment for me, for any man. He could not love a man <em>so.</em> He -could love... passionately, and to the completing of his sexual -nature... only a woman. He was the normal, I the abnormal. In that, -alone, he failed to meet all that was I:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"O, the little more, and how much it is!</div> -<div class="verse">And the little less.. and what worlds away!"</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>"Did I keep my secret perfectly from him? Perfectly, Imre! You will -soon see that clearly. There were times when the storm came full over -me... when I avoided him, when I would have fled from myself, in the -fierce struggle. But I was vigilant. He was moved, now and then, at a -certain inevitable tenderness that I would show him. He often spoke -wonderingly of the degree of my 'absorbing friendship'. But he was a -man of fine and romantic ideals, of a strong and warm temper. His life -had been something solitary from his earliest youth... and he was no -psychologist. Despite many a contest with our relationship, I never -allowed myself to complain of him. I was too well aware how fortunate -was my bond with him. The man esteemed me, trusted me, admired -me... all this thoroughly. I had more; for I possessed what in such a -nature as his proves itself a manly affection. I was an essential -element in his daily life all that winter; intimate to a depth that -(as he told me, and I believe it was wholly true) he had never -expected another man could attain. Was all <em>that</em> not enough for me? -Oh, yes! and yet... and yet..."</p> - -<p>"I will not speak to you more of that time which came to pass for me, -Imre. It was for me, verily, a new existence! It was much such a daily -life, Imre, as you and I might lead together, had fate allowed us the -time for it to ripen. Perhaps we yet might lead it... God knows!... I -leave you tomorrow!"</p> - -<p>"But, you ask,—what of my marriage-engagement?"</p> - -<p>"I broke it. I had broken it within a week after I met him, so far as -shattering, it to myself went. I knew that no marriage, of any kind -yet tolerated in our era, would 'cure' me of my 'illusion', my -'nervous disease', could banish this 'mere psychic disturbance', the -result of 'too much introspection.' I had no disease! No... I was -simply what I was born!—a complete human being, of firm, perfect -physical and mental health; outwardly in full key with all the man's -world: but, in spite of that, a being who from birth was of a vague, -special sex; a member of the sex <em>within</em> the most obvious sexes, or -apart from them. I was created as a man perfectly male, save in the -one thing which keeps such a 'man' back from possibility of ever -becoming integrally male—his terrible, instinctive demand for a -psychic and a physical union with a man—not with a woman."</p> - -<p>"Presently, during that same winter, accident opened my eyes wider to -myself. From then, I have needed no further knowledge from the Tree of -my Good and Evil. I met with a mass of serious studies, German, -Italian, French, English, from the chief European specialists and -theorists on the similisexual topic: many of them with quite other -views than those of my well-meaning but far too conclusive Yankee -doctor. I learned of the much-discussed theories of 'secondary -sexes' and 'intersexes'. I learned of the theories and facts of -homosexualism, of the Uranian Love, of the Uranian Race, of 'the Sex -within a Sex'. I could, at last, inform myself fully of its mystery, -and of the logical, inevitable and necessary place in sexualism, of -the similisexual man, and of the similisexual woman".</p> - -<p>"I came to know their enormous distribution all over the world today; -and of the grave attention that European scientists and jurists have -been devoting to problems concerned with homosexualism. I could pursue -intelligently the growing efforts to set right the public mind as to -so ineradicable and misunderstood a phase of humanity. I realized that -I had always been a member of that hidden brotherhood and Sub-Sex, or -Super-Sex. In wonder, too I informed myself of its deep, instinctive, -freemasonries—even to organized ones—in every social class, every -land, every civilization: of the signs and symbols and safeguards of -concealment. I could guess that my father, my grandfather and God -knows how many earlier forerunners of my unhappy Ego, had been of it! -'Cure?' By marriage? By marriage, when my blood ran cold at the -thought!...... The idea was madness, in a double sense. Better a -pistol-shot to my heart! So first, I found pretexts to excuse meetings -with my bride-not-to-be, avoiding thus a comedy which now was odious -as a lie and insupportable as a nervous demand. Next, I pleaded -business-worries. So the marriage was postponed for three months -further. Then I discovered a new obstacle to bring forward. With that, -the date of the wedding was made indefinite. Then came some idle -gossip, unjust reflections on my betrothed and on myself. I knew well -where blame enough should fall, but not that sort of blame. An end had -to be! I wrote my betrothed, begging my freedom, giving no reason. She -released me, telling me that she would never marry any other man. She -keeps her word to-day. I drew my breath in shame at my deliverance.</p> - -<p>"Any other <em>man</em>!"</p> - -<p>"So seldom had I referred to my betrothal in talking with my new -friend that he asked me no questions when I told him it was ended. -He mistook my reserve; and respected it rigidly."</p> - -<p>"During that winter, I was able to prove myself a friend in deed and -need to him. Twice, by strange fatality, a dark cloud came over his -head. I might not dare to show him that he was dearer than myself; but -I could protect and aid him. For, do not think that he had no faults. -He had more than few; he was no hero, no Galahad. He was careless, he -was foolishly obstinate, he made missteps; and punishment came. But -not further than near. For I stood between! At another time his -over-confidence in himself, his unsuspiciousness, almost brought him -to ruin, with a shameful scandal! I saved him, stopping the mouths of -the dogs that were ready to howl, as well as to tear. I did so at the -cost of impairing my own material welfare; worse still, alas! with a -question of duty to others. Then, once again, as that year passed, he -became involved in a difference, in which certain of my own relatives, -along with some near friends of my family were concerned; directors in -a financial establishment in our city. I took his part. By that step, -I sacrificed the good-will and the longtime intimacy of the others. -What did I care? 'The world well lost!' thought I."</p> - -<p>"Then, from that calm sky, thickened and fell on me the storm; and for -my goodly vineyard I had Desolation!"</p> - -<p>"One holiday, he happened to visit some friends in the town where was -living my betrothed.. that had been. He heard there, in a club's -smoking-room, a tale 'explaining'—positively and circumstantially, -why my engagement had been broken. The story was a silly falsehood; -but it reflected on my honour. He defended me instantly and warmly. -That I heard. But his host, after the sharp passing altercation was -over, the evening ended, took him aside to tell him privately that, -while friendship for me made it a credit to stand out for me, the -tale was 'absolutely true'. He returned to me late that night. He was -thoroughly annoyed and excited. He asked me, as I valued my good name -and his public defence of it, to give him, then and there, the real, -the decisive reason for my withdrawing from my engagement. He would -not speak of it to anyone; but he would be glad to know, now, on what -ground he rested. I admitted that my betrothed had not wished the -withdrawing."</p> - -<p>"That was the first thing counter to what he had insisted at the club. -He frowned in perplexity. Ah, so the matter was wholly from myself? I -assented. Would I further explain?... so that at least he could get rid -of one certain local statement... of that other one. An argument rose -between us that grew to a sharp altercation. It was our first one, as -well as our last. We became thoroughly angry, I the more so, because -of what I felt was a manifest injustice to myself. Finally there was -no other thing left than for me to meet his appeal—his demand. 'No -matter what was the root of the mystery, no matter what any attitude -toward me because of it, he must <em>know</em>'... Still I hung back. Then, -solemnly, he pledged me his word that whatever I might disclose, he -'would forgive it'; it should 'never be mentioned between us two -again'; only provided that it bore out his defence of my relation to a -faithful and pure woman."</p> - -<p>"So—I yielded! Lately, the maddening wish to tell him all at any -risks, the pressure of passion and its concealment... they had never so -fiercely attacked me! In a kind of exalted shame, but in absolute -sincerity, I told him all! I asked nothing from him, except his -sympathy, his belief in whatever was my higher and manlier nature... as -the world judges any man... and the toleration of our friendship on the -lines of its past. Nothing more: not a handclasp, not a look, not a -thought more; the mere continued sufferance of my regard. Never again -need pass between us so much as a syllable or a glance to remind him -of this pitiable confession from me, to betray again the mysterious -fire that burned in me underneath our intimacy. He had not suspected -anything of it before. It could be forgotten by him from now, onward."</p> - -<p>"Did I ask too much? By the God that made mankind, Imre—that made it -not only male or female but also as We are... I do not think I did!"</p> - -<p>"But he, <em>he</em> thought otherwise! He heard my confession through with -ever more hostile eyes, with an astonished unsympathy... disgust... curling -his lips. Then, he spoke—slowly—pitilessly: '... I have heard that -such creatures as you describe yourself are to be found among mankind. -I do not know, nor do I care to know, whether they are a sex by -themselves, a justified, because helpless, play of Nature; or even a -kind of <em>logically</em> essential link, a between-step.... as you seem to -have persuaded yourself. Let all that be as it may be. I am not a man -of science nor keen to such new notions! From this moment, you and I -are strangers! I took you for my friend because I believed you to be -a... man. You chose me for your friend because you believed me.... stay, -I will not say <em>that!</em>... because you wished me to be.... a something -else, a something more or less like to yourself, whatever you -<em>are!</em> I loathe you!... I loathe you! When I think that I have -touched your hand, have sat in the same room with you, have respected -you!.. Farewell!...... If I served you as a man should serve such beings -as you, this town should know your story tomorrow! Society needs more -policemen than it has, to protect itself from such lepers as you! I -will keep your hideous secret. Only remember never to speak to -me!... never to look my way again! Never! From henceforward I have -never known you and never will think of you!—if I can forget anything -so monstrous in this world!'"</p> - -<p>"So passed he out of my life, Imre. Forever! Over the rupture of our -friendship not much was said, nevertheless. For he was called to -London a few days after that last interview; and he was obliged to -remain in the capital for months. Meantime I had changed my life to -meet its new conditions; to avoid gossip. I had removed my lodgings to -a suburb. I had taken up a new course in professional work. It needed -all my time. Then, a few months later, I started quietly on a long -travel-route on the Continent, under excuse of ill-health. I was far -from being a stranger to life in at least half a dozen countries of -Europe, east or west. But now, now, I knew that it was to be a refuge, -an exile!"</p> - -<p>"For so began those interminable, those mysterious, restless -pilgrimages, with no set goals for me; those roamings alone, of which -even the wider world, not to say this or that circle of friends, has -spoken with curiosity and regret. My unexplained and perpetual exile -from all that earlier meant home, sphere, career, life! My wandering -and wandering, ever striving to forget, ever struggling to be beguiled -intellectually at least; to be diverted from so profound a sense of -loss. Or to attain a sort of emotional <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">assoupissement,</i> to feel -myself identified with new scenes, to achieve a new identity. Little -by little, my birth-land, my people, became strange to me. I grew -wholly indifferent to them. I turned my back fuller on them, evermore. -The social elements, the grades of humanity really mine, the concerns -of letters, of arts,... from these I divorced myself utterly. They knew -me no more. In some of them, already I had won a certain repute; but I -threw away its culture as one casts aside some plant that does not -seem to him worth watering and tending."</p> - -<p>"And indeed the zest of these things, their reason for being mine, -seemed dead.... asphyxiated! For, they had grown to be so much a part -of what had been the very tissue of intimacy, of life, with <em>him</em>! I -fled them all. Never now did my foot cross the threshold of a -picture-gallery, never did I look twice at the placard of a theater, -never would I enter a concert-room or an opera-house, never did I -care to read a romance, a poem, or to speak with any living creature -of aesthetics that had once so appealed to me! Above all did my -aversion to music (for so many years a peculiar interest for -me)—become now a dull hatred,..... a detestation, a contempt, a -horror!... super-neurotic, quintessently sexual, perniciously -homosexual art—mystery—that music is! For me, no more symphonies, no -more sonatas, no more songs!... No more exultations, elegies, questions -to Fate of any orchestra!... Nevermore!"</p> - -<p>"And yet, involuntarily, sub-consciously, I was always hoping... -seeking—<em>something.</em> Hoping..., seeking.... what? Another such man as -I? Sometimes I cried out as to <em>that,</em> 'God forbid it!' For I dreaded -such a chance now; realizing the more what it would most likely <em>not</em> -offer me. And really unless a miracle of miracles were to be wrought -just for me, unless I should light upon another human creature who in -sympathies, idealisms, noble impulses, manliness and a virile life -could fill, and could wish to fill, the desolate solitudes of mine, -could confirm all that was deepest fixed in my soul as the concept of -true similisexual masculinity.... oh, far better meet none! For such a -miracle of miracles I should not hope. Even traversing all the devious -ways of life may not bring us face to face with such a friend. Yet I -was hoping—seeking—I say: even if there was no vigour of expectancy, -but rather in my mind the melancholy lines of the poet:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"And are there found two souls, that each the other</div> -<div class="verse">Wholly shall understand? Long must man search</div> -<div class="verse">In that deep riddle—seek that Other soul</div> -<div class="verse">Until he dies! Seeking, despairing—dies!"</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>"Or, how easy to meet such a man, he also 'seeking, despairing' and -not to recognize him, any more than he recognizes us! The Mask—the -eternal social Mask for the homosexual!—worn before our nearest and -dearest, or we are ruined and cast out! I resolved to be content with -tranquility... pleasant friendships. Something like a kindly apathy, -often possessed me."</p> - -<p>"And nevertheless, the Type that still so stirred my nature? The man -that is.... inevitably.. to be <em>loved,</em> not merely liked; to be feared -while yet sought; the friend from whom I can expect nothing, from -whom never again will I expect anything, more than calm regard, -his sympathy, his mere leave for my calling him '<i lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">barátom</i>'—my -brother-friend? He, by whom I should at least be respected as an -upright fellow-creature from the workshop of God, not from the hand of -the Devil; be taken into companionship because of what in me is -worthily companionable? The fellow-man who will accept what of good in -me is like the rest of men, nor draw away from me, as from a leper? -Have I really ceased to dream of this grace for me, this vision—as -years have passed?"</p> - -<p>"Never, alas! I have been haunted by it; however suppressed in my -heart. And something like its embodiment has crossed my way, really -nearly granted me again; more than once. There was a young English -officer, with whom I was thrown for many weeks, in a remote Northern -city. We became friends; and the confidence between us was so great -that I trusted him with the knowledge of what I am. And therewith had -I in turn, a confession from him of a like misfortune, the story of -his passion for a brother-officer in a foreign service, that made him -one of the most wretched men on the face of the world—while everyone -in his circle of home-intimates and regimental friends fancied that he -had not a trouble in life! There was, too, one summer in Bosnia, a -meeting with a young Austrian architect; a fellow of noble beauty and -of high, rich nature. There was a Polish friend, a physician—now far -off in Galizien. There was an Italian painter in Rome. But such -incidents were not full in the key. Hence, they moved me only -so far and no farther. Other passings and meetings came. Warm -friendship often grew out of them; tranquil, lasting, sustaining -friendship!—that soul-bond not over-common with <em>us,</em> but, when -really welded, so beautiful, so true, so enduring!..."</p> - -<p>"But one thing I had sworn, Imre; and I have kept my word! That so -surely as ever again I may find myself even half-way drawn to a man by -the inner passion of an Uranian love—not by the mere friendship of a -colder psychic complexion—if that man really shows me that he cares -for me with respect, with intimate affection, with trust... then he -shall know absolutely what manner of man I am! He shall be shown -frankly with what deeper than common regard he has become a part of my -soul and life! He shall be put to a test!... with no shrinkings on my -part. Better break apart early, than later... if he say that we break! -Never again, if unquiet with such a passion, would I attempt to wear -to the end the mask, to fight out the lie, the struggle! I must be -taken as I am, pardoned for what I am; or neither pardoned nor taken. -I have learned my lesson once and well. But the need of my maintaining -such painful honesty has come seldom. I have been growing in to -expecting no more of life, no realizing whatever of the Type that had -been my undoing, that must mean always my peace or my deepest -unrest... till I met you, Imre! Till I met you!"</p> - -<p>"Met you! Yes, and a strange matter in my immediately passionate -interest in you... another one of the coincidences in our interest for -each other... is the racial blood that runs in your veins. You are a -Magyar. You have not now to be told of the unexplainable, the -mysterious affinity between myself and your race and nation; of -my sensitiveness, ever since I was a child, to the chord which -Magyarország and the Magyar sound in my heart. Years have only added -to it, till thy land, thy people, Imre, are they not almost my land, -my people? Now I have met thee. Thou wert <em>to be;</em> somewhat, at least, -to be for me! That thou wast ordained to come into the world that I -should love thee, no matter what thy race... that I believe! But, see! -Fate also has willed that thou shouldst be Magyar, one of the Children -of Emesa, one of the Folk of Árpád!"</p> - -<p>"I cannot tell thee, Imre,... oh, I have no need now to try!.... what -<em>thou</em> hast become for me. My Search ended when thou and I met. Never -has my dream given me what is this reality of thyself. I love this -world now only because thou art in it. I respect thee wholly—I -respect myself—certain, too, of that coming time, however far away -now, when no man shall ever meet any intelligent civilization's -disrespect simply <em>because</em> he is similisexual, Uranian! But—oh, -Imre, Imre!—I <em>love</em> thee, as can love only the Uranian... once more -helpless, and therewith hopeless!—but this time no longer silent, -before the Friendship which is Love, the Love which is Friendship."</p> - -<p>"Speak my sentence. I make no plea. I have kept my pledge to confess -myself tonight. But I would have fulfilled it only a little later, -were I not going away from thee tomorrow. I ask nothing, except what -I asked long ago of that other, of whom I have told thee! Endure my -memory, as thy friend! Friend? That at least! For, I would say -farewell, believing that I shall still have the right to call thee -'friend'—even—O God!—when I remember tonight. But whether that -right is to be mine, or not, is for thee to say. Tell me!"</p> - -<p>I stopped.</p> - -<p>Full darkness was now about us. Stillness had so deepened that the -ceasing of my own low voice made it the more suspenseful. The sweep of -the night-wind rose among the acacias. The birds of shadow flitted -about us. The gloom seemed to have entered my soul—as Death into -Life. Would Imre ever speak?</p> - -<p>His voice came at last. Never had I heard it so moved, so melancholy. -A profound tenderness was in every syllable.</p> - -<p>"If I could... my God! if I only could!.. say to thee what I cannot. -Perhaps... some time.... Forgive me, but thou breakest my heart!.... Not -because I care less for thee as my friend.... no, above all else, not -that reason! We stay together, Oswald!... We shall always be what we -have become to each other! Oh, <em>we</em> cannot change, not through all our -lives! Not in death, not in anything! Oh, Oswald! that thou couldst -think, for an instant, that I—I—would dream of turning away from -thee... suffer a break for us two... because thou art made in thy nature -as God makes mankind—as each and all, or not as each and all! We are -what we are!... This terrible life of ours... this existence that men -insist on believing is almost <em>all</em> to be understood nowadays—probed -through and through—decided!... but that ever was and will be just -mystery, <em>all</em>!...... Friendship between us? Oh, whether we are near or -far! Forever! Forever, Oswald!... Here, take my hand! As long as I -live... and beyond <em>then</em>! Yes, by God above us, by God in us!... Only, -only, for the sake of the bond between us from this night, promise me -that thou wilt never speak again of what thou hast told me of -thyself—never, unless I break the silence. Nevermore a word of—of -thy—thy—feeling for me. There are other things for us to talk of, -my dear brother? Thou wilt promise?"</p> - -<p>With his hand in mine, my heart so lightened that I was as a new -creature, forgetting even the separation before me, I promised. -Gladly, too. For, instead of loss, with this parting, what gain was -mine! Imre knew me now as myself!—he really knew me: and yet was now -rather the more my friend than less, so I could believe, after this -tale of mine had been told him! His sympathy—his respect—his -confidence—his affection—his continued and deeper share in my -strange and lonely life—even if lands and seas should divide us -two—ah, in those instants of my reaction and relief, it seemed to me -that I had everything that my heart had ever sought of him, or would -seek! I made the promise too, gladly with all my soul. Why should he -or I ever speak of any stranger emotions again?</p> - -<p>Abruptly, after another long pressure of my hand, my friend started -up.</p> - -<p>"Oswald we must go home!" he exclaimed. "It's nearly nine o'clock, -surely. I have a regimental report to look at before ten... this affair -of mine tomorrow."</p> - -<p>Nearly the whole of our return-ride we were silent. The tram was full -as before with noisy pleasure-trippers. Even after quitting the -vehicle, neither of us said more than a few sentences... the beauty of -the night, the charm of the old Z... park, and so on. But again Imre -kept his arm in mine, all the way we walked. It was, I knew, not -accident. It was the slight sign of earnest thoughts, that he did not -care to utter in so many words.</p> - -<p>We came toward my hotel.</p> - -<p>"I shall not say farewell tonight, Oswald," said Imre, "you know how I -hate farewells at any time... hate them as much as you. There is more -than enough of such a business. Much better to be sensible.. to add as -few as one can to the list.... I will look in on you tomorrow... about -ten o'clock. I don't start till past midday."</p> - -<p>I assented. I was no longer disturbed by any mortal concerns, not even -by the sense of the coming sundering. Distrust—loneliness—the one -was past, even if the other were to come!</p> - -<p>The hotel-portier handed me a telegram, as we halted in the light of -the doorway.</p> - -<p>"Wait till I read this," I said.</p> - -<p>The dispatch ran: "Situation changed. Your coming unnecessary. Await -my letter. Am starting for Scotland."</p> - -<p>I gave an exclamation of pleasure, and translated the words to Imre.</p> - -<p>"What! Then you need not leave Szent-Istvánhely?" he asked quickly, in -the tone of heartiest pleasure that a friend could wish to hear. -"<i lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">Teremtette!</i> I am as happy as you!.... What a good thing, too, that -we were so sensible as not to allow ourselves to make a dumpish, -dismal afternoon of it, over there at the Z.... You see, I am right, -my dear fellow.. I am always right!... Philosophy, divine philosophy! -Nothing like it! It makes all the world go round."......</p> - -<p>With which Imre touched his <i lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">csákó</i>, laughed his jolliest laugh, and -hurried away to the Commando of the regiment.</p> - -<p>I went upstairs, not aware of there being stairs to climb... unless -they might be steps to the stars. In fact the stars, it seemed to me, -could not only shine their clearest in Szent-Istvánhely; but, after -all, could take clement as well as unfriendly courses, in mortal -destiny.</p> - -<hr class="decorative" /> - -<h2 id="p3"><small>III.</small><br /> -FACES—HEARTS—SOULS.</h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"Think'st thou that I could bear to part</div> -<div class="verse">With thee?—and learn to halve my heart?"</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"No more reproach, no more despair!"</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="rightalign smcap">Byron</p> - -<div class="poetry-container" lang="la" xml:lang="la"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">".... Et deduxit eos in portum voluntatis sorum".</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="rightalign"><i>Psalm.</i> <small>CVI, 30.</small></p> - -<p class="spaceabove">Next morning, before I was dressed, came this note:</p> - -<p class="letter">"I have just received word that I must take my company out to the -camp at once. Please excuse my not coming. It does not make so much -difference, now that you are to stay. Will write you from the Camp. -Only a few days absence. I shall think of you.</p> - -<p class="rightalign letter">Imre.</p> - -<p class="letter">P. S. Please write me."</p> - -<p>I was amused, as well as pleased, at this characteristic missive.</p> - -<p>My day passed rather busily. I had not time to send even a card to -Imre; I had no reason to do so. To my surprise, the omission was -noticed. For, on the following morning I was in receipt of a lively -military <i lang="de" xml:lang="de">Ansichtskarte</i> with a few words scratched on it; and at -evening came the ensuing communication; which, by the by, was neither -begun with the "address of courtesy", as the "Complete Letter-Book" -calls it, nor ended with the "salute of ceremony", recommended by the -same useful volume; they being both of them details which Imre had -particularly told me he omitted with his intimate "friends who were -not prigs." He wrote:</p> - -<p class="letter">"Well, how goes it with you? With me it is dull and fatiguing enough -out here. You know how I hate all this business, even if you and -Karvaly insist on my trying to like it. I have a great deal to say to -you this evening that I really cannot write. Today was hot and it -rained hard. Dear Oswald, you do not know how I value your friendship. -Yesterday I saw the very largest frog that ever was created. He looked -the very image of our big vis-a-vis in the Casino, Hofkapellan -Számbor. Why in God's name do you not write? The whole city is full of -<i lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">tiz-filléres</i> picture-postcards! Buy one, charge it to my account, -write me on it.—</p> - -<p class="rightalign letter">Imre.</p> - -<p class="letter">P. S. I think of you often, Oswald."</p> - -<p>This communication, like its predecessor, was written in a tenth-century -kind of hand, with a blunt lead-pencil! I sent its authour a few -lines, of quite as laconical a tone as he had given me to understand -he so much preferred.</p> - -<p>The next day, yet another communication from the P... Camp! Three -billets in as many days, from a person who "hated to write letters," -and "never wrote them when he could get out of it!" Clearly, Imre in -camp was not Imre in Szent-Istvánhely!</p> - -<p class="letter">"Thank you, dear Oswald, for your note. Do not think too much of that -old nonsense (<i lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">azon régi bolondság</i>) about not writing letters. <em>It -depends.</em> I send my this in a spare moment. But I have nothing -whatever to say. Weather here warm and rainy. Oswald, you are a great -deal in my thoughts. I hope I am often in yours. I shall not return -tomorrow, but I intend to be with you on Sunday. Life is wearisome. -But so long as one has a friend, one can get on with much that is part -of the burden; or possibly with <em>all</em> of it.—Yours ever—</p> - -<p class="rightalign letter">Imre"</p> - -<p>I have neglected to mention that the second person of intimate Magyar -address, the "thou" and "thee", was used in these epistles of Imre, in -my answers, with the same instinctiveness that had brought it to our -lips on that evening in the Z... park. I shall not try to translate -it systematically, however; any more than I shall note with system -its disused English equivalents in the dialogue that occurs in the -remainder of this record. More than once before the evening named, -Imre and I had exchanged this familiarity, half in fun. But now it -had come to stay. Thenceforth we adhered to it; a kind of serious -symbolism as well as intimate sweetness in it.</p> - -<p>I looked at that note with attention: first, because it was so opposed -in tenor to the Imre von N... "model". Second, because there appeared -to have been a stroke under the commonplace words "Yours ever". That -stroke had been smirched out, or erased. Was it like Imre to be -sentimental, for an instant, in a letter?—even in the most ordinary -accent? Well, if he had given way to it, to try to conceal such a sign -of the failing, particularly without re-writing the letter... why, that -was characteristic enough! In sending him a newspaper-clipping, along -with a word or so, I referred to the unnecessary briskness of our -correspondence.</p> - -<p class="letter">".... Pray do not trouble yourself, my dear N..., to -change your habits on my account. Do not write, now or ever, only -because a word from you is a pleasure to me. Besides I am not yet on -my homeward-journey. Save your postal artillery."</p> - -<p>To the foregoing from me, Imre's response was this:</p> - -<p class="letter">"It is three o'clock in the morning, and everybody in this camp must -be sound asleep, except your most humble servant. You know that I -sometimes do not sleep well, Lord knows why. So I sit here, and scrawl -this to thee, dear Oswald... All the more willingly because I am -<em>awfully</em> out of sorts with myself..... I have nothing special to -write thee; and nevertheless how much I would <em>now</em> be glad to <em>say</em> -to thee, were we together. See, dearest friend... thou hast walked -from that other world of thine into my life, and I have taken my place -in thine, because for thee and for me there shall be, I believe, a -happiness henceforth that not otherwise could come to us. I have known -what it is to suffer, just because there has been no man to whom I -could speak or write as to thee. Dear friend, we are much to one -another, and we shall be more and more... No, would not write if it -were not a pleasure to me to do it. I promise thee so. We had a great -regimental athletic contest this afternoon, and I took two prizes. I -will try to sleep now, for I must be on my feet very early. Good -night, or rather good-morning, and remember...</p> - -<p class="rightalign letter">Thine own<br /> -Imre."</p> - -<p>This letter gave me many reflections. There was no need for its -closing injunction. To tell the truth, Imre von N... was beginning to -bewilder me!—this Imre of the P... Camp and of the mail-bag, so -unlike the Imre of our daily conversations and moods when vis-à-vis. -There was certainly a curious, a growing psychic difference. The -naïveté, the sincerity of the speaking and of the acting Imre was -written into his lines spontaneously enough. But there was that -odd new touch of an equally spontaneous something, a suppressed -emotion—that I could not define. My own letters to Imre certainly -did not ring to the like key. On the contrary (I may as well mention -that it was not of mere accident, but in view of a resolution -carefully considered, and held-to) the few lines which I sent him -during those days were wholly lacking in any such personal utterances -as his. If Imre chose to be inconsistent, I would be steadfast.</p> - -<p>All such cogitations as to Imre's letters were however soon unnecessary, -inasmuch as on the tenth day of his Camp-service, he wrote:</p> - -<p class="letter">"Expect me tomorrow. I am well. I have much to tell thee. After all, a -camp is not a bad place for reflections. It is a tiresome, rainy day -here. I took the second prize for shooting at long range today.</p> - -<p class="rightalign letter">Imre."</p> - -<p>Now, I did not suppose that Imre's pent-up communicativeness was -likely to burst out on the topic of the Hungarian local weather, much -less with reference to his feats with a rifle, or in lifting heavy -weights. I certainly could not fancy just what meditations promoted -that remark about the Camp! So far as I knew anything, of such -localities, camps were not favourable to much consecutive thinking -except about the day's work.</p> - -<p>I did not expect him till the afternoon should close. I was busy -with my English letters. It was a warm August noon, and even when -coat and waistcoat had been thrown aside, I was oppressed. My -high-ceiled, spacious room was certainly amongst the cooler corners -of Szent-Istvánhely; but the typical ardour of any Central-Hungary -midsummer is almost Italian. Outside, in the hotel-court, the fountain -trickled sleepily. Even the river steamers seemed too torpid to signal -loudly. But suddenly there came a most wide-awake sort of knock; and -Imre, with an exclamation of delight—Imre, erect, bronzed, flushed, -with eyes flashing—with that smile of his which was almost as -flashing as his eyes—Imre, more beautiful than ever, came to me, with -both hands outstretched.</p> - -<p>"At last.... and really!" I exclaimed as he hurried over the wide -room, fairly beaming, as with contentment at being once more out of -camp-routine. "And back five hours ahead of time!"</p> - -<p>"Five hours ahead of time indeed!" he echoed, laughing. "Thou art -glad? I know I am!"</p> - -<p>"Dear Imre, I am immeasurably happy", I replied.</p> - -<p>He leaned forward, and lightly kissed my cheek.</p> - -<p>What!—he Imre von N—, who so had questioned the warm-hearted -greetings of his friend—Captain M—! An odd lapse indeed!</p> - -<p>"I am in a state of regular shipwreck," he exclaimed; standing -up particularly straight again, after a demonstration that so -confounded me as to leave me wordless!—"I have had no breakfast, -no luncheon, nothing to eat since five o'clock. I am tired as a dog, -and hungry—<i lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">oh, mint egy vén Kárpáti medve!"</i> [Literally, "as an old -Carpathian bear".] "I stopped to have a bath at the Officers' -Baths.. you should see the dust between here and the Camp... and to -change, and write a note to my father. So, if you don't mind, the -sooner I have something to eat and perhaps a nap, why the better. I -am done up!"</p> - -<p>In a few moments we were at table. Imre manifestly was not too fagged -to talk and laugh a great deal; with a truly Homeric exhibition of his -appetite. The budget of experiences at the Camp was immediately drawn -upon, with much vivacity. But as luncheon ended, my guest admitted -that the fatigues of the hot morning-march with his troop, from P.... -(during which several sunstrokes had occurred, those too-ordinary -incidents of Hungarian army-movements in summer) were reacting on him. -So I went to the Bank, as usual, for letters; transacted some other -business on the way; and left Imre to himself. When I returned to my -room an hour or so later, he was stretched out, sound asleep, on the -long green sofa. His sword and his close-fitting fatigue-blouse were -thrown on a chair. The collarless, unstarched shirt (that is so much -an improvement on our civilian garment) was unbuttoned at the throat; -the sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, in unconscious emphasizing of -the deepened sun-tan of his fine skin. The long brown eye-lashes lying -motionless, against his cheek, his physical abandonment, his deep, -regular, soundless breathing... all betokened how the day had spent -itself on his young strength. Once left alone, he had fallen asleep -where he had sat down.</p> - -<p>A great and profoundly human poet, in one famous scene, speaks of -those emotions that come to us when we are watching, in his sleep, a -human being that we love. Such moments are indeed likely to be -subduing to many a sensitive man and woman. They bring before our eyes -the effect of a living statue; of a beauty self-unconscious, almost -abstract, if the being that we love be beautiful. Strongly, suddenly, -comes also the hint at helplessness; the suggestion of protection from -<em>us</em>, however less robust. Or the idea of the momentary but actual -absence of that other soul from out of the body before us, a vanishing -of that spirit to whom we ourselves cling. We feel a subconscious -sense of the inevitable separation forever, when there shall occur the -Silence of "the Breaker of Bonds, the Sunderer of Companionships, the -Destroyer of Fellowships, the Divider of Hearts"—as (like a knell of -everything earthly and intimate!) the old Arabian phrases lament the -merciless divorce of death!</p> - -<p>I stood and watched Imre a moment, these things in my mind. Then, -moving softly about the room, lest he should be aroused, I began -changing my clothes for the afternoon. But more than once the spell of -my sleeping guest drew me to his side. At last, scarce half dressed, I -sat down before him, to continue to look at him. Yes.. his face had the -same expression now, as he slumbered there, that I had often remarked -in his most silent moments of waking. There were not only the calm -regular beauty, the manly uprightness, his winning naïveté of -character written all through such outward charm for me; but along -with that came again the appealing hint of an inward sadness; the -shadow of some enrooted, hidden sorrow that would not pass, however -proudly concealed.</p> - -<p>"God bless thee, Imre!" my heart exclaimed in benediction, "God bless -thee, and make thee happy!... happier than I! Thou hast given me thy -friendship. I shall never ask of God... of Fate... anything more... -save that the gift endure till we two endure not!"</p> - -<p>The wish was like an echo from the Z... park. Or, rather, it was an -echo from a time far earlier in my life. Once again, with a mystic -certainty, I realized that <em>those</em> days of Solitude were now no longer -of any special tyranny upon my moods. That was at an end for me, -verily! O, my God! <em>That</em> was at an end!....</p> - -<p>Imre opened his eyes.</p> - -<p>"Great Árpád!", he exclaimed, smiling sleepily, "is it so late? You -are dressing for the evening!"</p> - -<p>"It is five o'clock," I answered. "But what difference does that make? -Don't budge. Go to sleep again, if you choose. You need not think of -getting supper at home. We will go to the F— Restaurant."</p> - -<p>"So be it. And perhaps I shall ask you to keep me till morning, my -dear fellow! I am no longer sleepy, but somehow or other I do feel -most frightfully knocked-out! Those country roads are misery..... And -I am a poor sleeper often,.... that it is, in a way. I get to -worrying... to wondering over all sorts of things that there's no good -in studying about... in daylight or dark."</p> - -<p>"You never told me till lately, in one of your letters, that you were -so much of an insomniac, Imre. Is it new?"</p> - -<p>"Not in the least new. I have not wished to say anything about it to -anybody. What's the use! Oh, there many are things that I haven't had -time to tell you—things I have not spoken about with anyone—just as -is the case with most men of sense in this world... eh? But do you -know," he went on, sitting up and continuing with a manner more and -more reposeful, thoughtful, strikingly unlike his ordinary nervous -self, ".. but do you know that I have come back from the Camp to you, -my dear Oswald, certain that I shall never be so restless and troubled -a creature again. Thanks to you. For you see, so much that I have shut -into myself I know now that I can trust to your heart. But give me a -little time. To have a friend to trust myself to <em>wholly</em>—that is new -to me."</p> - -<p>I was deeply touched. I felt certain again that a change of some -sort—mysterious, profound—had come over Imre, during those few days -at the Camp. Something had happened. I recognized the mood of his -letters. But what had evolved or disclosed it?</p> - -<p>"Yes, my dear von N..." I returned, "your letters have said that, in a -way, to me. How shall I thank you for your confidence, as well as for -your affection?"</p> - -<p>"Ah, my letters! Bother my letters! They said nothing much! You know -I cannot write letters at all. What is more, you have been believing -that I wrote you as... as a sort of duty. That whatever I said—or a -lot of it—well, there were things which you fancied were not really -I. I understood why you could think it."</p> - -<p>"I never said that, Imre," I replied, sitting down beside him on the -sofa.</p> - -<p>"Not in so many words. But my guilty conscience prompted me. I mean -that word, 'conscience', Oswald. For—I have not been fair to you, -not honest. The only excuse is that I have not been honest with -myself. You have thought me cold, reserved, abrupt... a fantastic sort -of friend to you. One who valued you, and yet could hardly speak out -his esteem—a careless fellow into whose life you have taken only -surface-root. That isn't all. You have believed that I... that -I... never could comprehend things... feelings... which you have lived -through to the full... have suffered from... with every beat of your -heart. But you are mistaken."</p> - -<p>"I have no complaint against you, dear Imre." No, no! God knows that!</p> - -<p>"No? But I have much against myself. That evening in the Z... -park... you remember... when you were telling me"...</p> - -<p>I interrupted him sharply: "Imre!"</p> - -<p>He continued—"That evening in the Z— park when you were telling -me"—</p> - -<p>"Imre, Imre! You forget our promise!"</p> - -<p>"No, I do <em>not</em> forget! It was a one-sided bargain, <em>I</em> am free to -break it for a moment, <i lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">nem igaz?</i> Well then, I break it! There! Dear -friend, if you have ever doubted that I have a heart,... that I would -trust you utterly, that I would have you know me as I am.... then from -this afternoon forget to doubt! I have hid myself from you, because I -have been too proud to confess myself <em>not enough for myself!</em> I -have sworn a thousand times that I could and would bear anything -alone—alone—yes, till I should die. Oswald—for God's sake—for our -friendship's sake—do not care less for me because I am weary of -struggling on thus alone! I shall not try to play hero, even to -myself... not any longer. Oswald..., listen... you told me your story. -Well, I have a story to tell you... Then you will understand. -Wait... wait... one moment!... I must think how, where, to begin. My -story is short compared with yours, and not so bitter; yet it is no -pleasant one."</p> - -<p>As he uttered the last few words, seated there beside me, whatever -sympathy I could ever feel for any human creature went out to -him, unspeakably. For, now, now, the trouble flashed into my -mind! Of course it was to be the old, sad tale—he loved, loved -unhappily—a woman!</p> - -<p>The singer! The singer of Prag! That wife of his friend Karvaly. The -woman whose fair and magnetic personality, had wrought unwittingly or -wittingly, her inevitable spell upon him! One of those potent and -hopeless passions, in which love, and probably loyalty to Karvaly, -burdened this upright spirit with an irremediable misfortune!</p> - -<p>"Well," I said very gently, "tell me all that you can, if there be one -touch of comfort and relief for you in speaking, Imre. I am wholly -yours, you know, for every word."</p> - -<p>Instead of answering me at once, as he sat there so close beside me, -supporting his bowed head on one hand, and with his free arm across -my shoulder, he let the arm fall more heavily about me. Turning his -troubled eyes once—so appealingly, so briefly!—on mine, he laid his -face upon my breast. And then, I heard him murmur, as if not to me -only, but also to himself:</p> - -<p>"O, thou dear friend! Who bringest me, as none have brought it before -thee... <em>rest</em>!"</p> - -<p>Rest? Not rest for me! A few seconds of that pathetic, trusting -nearness which another man could have sustained so calmly... a few -instants of that unspeakable joy in realizing how much more I was in -his life than I had dared to conceive possible... just those few -throbs upon my heart of that weary spirit of my friend... and then the -Sex-Demon brought his storm upon my traitorous nature, in fire and -lava! I struggled in shame and despair to keep down the hateful -physical passion which was making nothing of all my psychic loyalty, -asserting itself against my angriest will. In vain! The defeat must -come; and, worse, it must be understood by Imre. I started up. I -thrust Imre from me—falling away from him, escaping from his -side—knowing that just in his surprise at my abruptness, I must -meet—his detection of my miserable weakness. No words can express my -self-disgust. Once on my feet, I staggered to the opposite side of -the round table between us. I dropped into a chair. I could not raise -my eyes to Imre. I could not speak. Everything was vanishing about me. -Of only one thing could I be certain; that now all was over between -us! Oh, this cursed outbreak and revelation of my sensual weakness! -this inevitable physical appeal of Imre to me! This damned and -inextricable ingredient in the chemistry of what ought to be wholly a -spiritual drawing toward him, but which meant that I—desired my -friend for his gracious, virile beauty—as well as loved him for his -fair soul! Oh, the shame of it all, the uselessness of my newest -resolve to be more as the normal man, not utterly the Uranian! Oh, the -folly of my oaths to love Imre <em>without</em> that thrill of the plain -sexual Desire, that would be a sickening horror to him! All was over! -He knew me for what I was. He would have none of me. The flight of my -dreams, departing in a torn cloud together, would come with the first -sound of his voice!</p> - -<p>But Imre did not speak. I looked up. He had not stirred. His hand was -still lying on the table, with its open palm to me! And oh, there -was that in his face... in the look so calmly bent upon me... that -was... good God above us!.. so kind!</p> - -<p>"Forgive me," I said. "Forgive me! Perhaps you can do that. Only that. -You see... you know now. I have tried to change myself... to care for -you only with my soul. But I cannot change. I will go from you. I will -go to the other end of the world. Only do not believe that what I feel -for you is wholly base... that were you not outwardly—what you -are—had I less of my terrible sensitiveness to your mere beauty, -Imre—I would care less for your friendship. God knows that I love you -and respect you as a man loves and respects his friend. Yes, yes, a -thousand times! But... but... nevertheless... Oh, what shall I say... -You could never understand! So no use! Only I beg you not to despise -me too deeply for my weakness; and when you remember me, pardon me -for the sake of the friendship bound up in the love, even if you -shudder at the love which curses the friendship."</p> - -<p>Imre smiled. There was both bitterness as well as sweetness in his -face now. But the bitterness was not for me. His voice broke the short -silence in so intense a sympathy, in a note of such perfect accord, -such unchanged regard, that I could scarcely master my eyes in hearing -him. He clasped my hand.</p> - -<p>"Dear Oswald! Brother indeed of my soul and body! Why dost thou ask me -to forgive thee! Why should <em>I</em> 'forgive'? For—oh, Oswald, Oswald! I -am just as art thou... I am just as art thou!"</p> - -<p>"Thou! Just as <em>I</em> am? I do not understand!"</p> - -<p>"But that will be very soon, Oswald. I tell thee again that <em>I am as -thou art</em>... wholly.. wholly! Canst thou really not grasp the truth, -dear friend? Oh, I wish with all my heart that I had not so long held -back my secret from thee! It is I who must ask forgiveness. But at -least I can tell thee today that I came back to thee to give thee -confidence for confidence, heart for heart, Oswald! before this day -should end. With no loss of respect—no weakening of our friendship. -No, no! Instead of that, only with more—with... with <em>all!</em>"</p> - -<p>"Imre... Imre! I do not understand—I do not dare... to understand."</p> - -<p>"Look into thyself, Oswald! It is all <em>there.</em> I am an Uranian, as -thou art. From my birth I have been one. Wholly, wholly homosexual, -Oswald! The same fire, the same, that smoulders or flashes in thee! It -was put into <em>my</em> soul and body too, along with whatever else is in -them that could make me wish to win the sympathy of <em>just</em> such a -friend as thee, or make thee wish to seek mine. My youth was like -thine; and to become older, to grow up to be a man in years, a man in -every sinew and limb of my body, there was no changing of my nature in -<em>that.</em> There were only the bewilderments, concealments, tortures that -come to us. There is nothing, nothing, that any man can teach me of -what is one's life with it all. How well I know it! That inborn -mysterious, frightful sensitiveness to whatever is the <em>man</em>—that -eternal vague yearning and seeking for the unity that can never come -save by a love that is held to be a crime and a shame! The instinct -that makes us cold toward the woman, even to hating her, when one -thinks of her as a sex. And the mask, the eternal mask! to be worn -before our fellowmen for fear that they should spit in our faces in -their loathing of us! Oh God, I have known it all—I have understood -it all!"</p> - -<p>It was indeed my turn to be silent now. I found myself yet looking at -him in incredulity—wordless.</p> - -<p>"But that is not the whole of my likeness to thee, Oswald. For, I have -endured that cruellest of torments for us—which fell also to thy -lot. I believe it to be over now, or soon wholly so to be. But the -remembrance of it will not soon pass, even with thy affection to heal -my heart. For I too have loved a man, loved him—hiding my passion -from him under the coldness of a common friendship. I too have lived -side by side, day by day, with him; in terror, lest he should see -<em>what</em> he was to me, and so drive me from him. Ah, I have been -unhappier, too, than thou, Oswald. For I must needs to watch his -heart, as something not merely impossible for me to possess (I -would have cast away my soul to possess it!)—but given over to a -woman—laid at her feet—with daily less and less of thought for what -was his life with me... Oh, Oswald!... the wretchedness of it is over -now, God be thanked! and not a little so because I have found thee, -and thou hast found me. But only to think of it again"....</p> - -<p>He paused as if the memory were indeed wormwood. I understood now! And -oh, what mattered it that I could not yet understand or excuse the -part that he had played before me for so long?—his secrecy almost -inexplicable if he had had so much as a guess at my story, my feelings -for him! As in a dream, believing, disbelieving, fearing, rejoicing, -trembling, rapt, I began to understand Fate!</p> - -<p>Yet, mastering my own exultant heart, I wished in those moments to -think only of him. I asked gently:</p> - -<p>"You mean your friend Karvaly?"</p> - -<p>"Even so... Karvaly."</p> - -<p>"O, my poor, poor Imre! My brother indeed! Tell me all. Begin at the -beginning."</p> - -<hr class="textbreak" /> - -<p>I shall not detail all of Imre's tale. There was little in it for the -matter of that, which could be set forth here as outwardly dramatic. -Whoever has been able, by nature or accident, to know, in a fairly -intimate degree, the workings of the similisexual and uranistic heart; -whoever has marvelled at them, either in sympathy or antipathy, even -if merely turning over the pages of psychiatric treatises dealing with -them—he would find nothing specially unfamiliar in such biography. -I will mention here, as one of the least of the sudden discoveries -of that afternoon, the fact that Imre had some knowledge of such -literature, whether to his comfort or greater melancholy, according -to his author. Also he had formally consulted one eminent Viennese -specialist who certainly was much wiser—far less positive—and not -less calming than my American theorist.</p> - -<p>The great Viennese psychiater had not recommended marriage to Imre: -recognizing in Imre's "case" that inborn homosexualism that will not -be dissipated by wedlock; but perhaps only intensifies, and so is -surer to darken irretrievably the nuptial future of husband and wife, -and to visit itself on their children after them. But the Austrian -doctor had not a little comforted and strengthened Imre morally; -warning him away from despising himself: from thinking himself alone, -and a sexual Pariah; from over-morbid sufferings; from that bitterness -and despair which, year by year, all over the world, can explain, in -hundreds of cases, the depressed lives, the lonely existences, the -careers mysteriously interrupted—broken? What Asmodeus could look -into the real causes (so impenetrably veiled) of sudden and long -social exiles; of sundered ties of friendship or family; of divorces -that do not disclose their true ground? Longer still would be the -chronicle of ruined peace of mind, tranquil lives maddened, fortunes -shattered—by some merciless blackmailer who trades on his victim's -secret! Darker yet the "mysterious disappearances," the sudden -suicides "wholly inexplicable," the strange, fierce crimes—that are -part of the daily history of hidden uranianism, of the battle between -the homosexual man and social canons—or of the battle with just -himself! Ah, these dramas of the Venus Urania! played out into death, -in silent but terribly-troubled natures!—among all sorts and -conditions of men!</p> - -<div class="poetry-container" lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"C'est Venus, tout entière à sa proie attachée"...</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Imre's youth had been, indeed, one long and lamentable obsession of -precocious, inborn homosexuality. Imre (just as in many instances) had -never been a weakling, an effeminate lad, nor cared for the society -of the girls about him on the playground or in the house. On the -contrary, his sexual and social indifference or aversion to them had -been always thoroughly consistent with the virile emotions of that -sort. But there had been the boy-friendships that were passions; the -sense of his being out of key with his little world in them; the -deepening certitude that there was a mystery in himself that "nobody -would understand"; some element rooted in him that was mocked by the -whole boy-world, by the whole man-world. A part of himself to be -crushed out, if it could be crushed, because base and vile. Or that, -at any rate, was to be forever hid.. hid.. hid.. for his life's sake -hid! So Imre had early put on the Mask; the Mask that millions never -lay by till death—and many not even then!</p> - -<p>And in Imre's case there had come no self-justification till late in -his sorrowful young manhood. Not until quite newly, when he had -discovered how the uranistic nature is regarded by men who are wiser -and wider-minded than our forefathers were, had Imre accepted himself -as an excusable bit of creation.</p> - -<p>Fortunately, Imre had not been born and brought up in an Anglo-Saxon -civilization; where is still met, at every side, so dense a blending -of popular ignorances; of century-old and century-blind religious -and ethical misconceptions, of unscientific professional conservatism -in psychiatric circles, and of juristic barbarisms; all, of course, -accompanied with the full measure of British or Yankee social -hypocrisy toward the daily actualities of homosexualism. By -comparison, indeed, any other lands and races—even those yet hesitant -in their social toleration or legal protection of the Uranian—seem -educative and kindly; not to distinguish peoples whose attitude is -distinctively one of national common-sense and humanity. But in this -sort of knowledge, as in many another, the world is feeling its way -forward (should one say <em>back</em>?) to intelligence, to justice and to -sympathy, so spirally, so unwillingly! It is not yet in the common -air.</p> - -<p>Twice Imre had been on the point of suicide. And though there had been -experiences in the Military-Academy, and certain much later ones to -teach him that he was not unique in Austria-Hungary, in Europe, or the -world, still unluckily, Imre had got from them (as is too often the -hap of the Uranian) chiefly the sense of how widely despised, mocked, -and loathed is the Uranian Race. Also how sordid and debasing are the -average associations of the homosexual kind, how likely to be wanting -in idealism, in the exclusiveness, in those pure and manly influences -which ought to be bound up in them and to radiate from them! He had -grown to have a horror of similisexual types, of all contacts with -them. And yet, until lately, they could not be torn entirely out of -his life. Most Uranists know why!</p> - -<p>Still, they had been so expelled, finally. The turning-point had come -with Karvaly. It meant the story of the development of a swift, -admiring friendship from the younger soldier toward the older. But -alas! this had gradually become a fierce, despairing homosexual love. -This, at its height, had been as destructive of Imre's peace as it was -hopeless. Of course, it was impossible of confession to its object. -Karvaly was no narrow intellect; his affection for Imre was warm. But -he would never have understood, not even as some sort of a diseased -illusion, this sentiment in Imre. Much less would he have tolerated it -for an instant. The inevitable rupture of their whole intimacy would -have come with Imre's betrayal of his passion. So he had done wisely -to hide every throb from Karvaly. How sharply Karvaly had on one -occasion expressed himself on masculine homosexuality, Imre cited to -me, with other remembrances. At the time of the vague scandal about -the ex-officer Clement, whom Imre and I had met, Imre had asked -Karvaly, with a fine carelessness,—"Whether he believed that there -was any scientific excuse for such a sentiment?" Karvaly answered, -with the true conviction of the dionistic temperament that has -never so much as paused to think of the matter as a question in -psychology... "If I found that you cared for another man that way, -youngster, I should give you my best revolver, and tell you to put a -bullet through your brains within an hour! Why, if I found that you -thought of me so, I should brand you in the Officers Casino tonight, -and shoot you myself at ten paces tomorrow morning. Men are not to -live when they turn beasts.... Oh, damn your doctors and scientists! A -man's a man, and a woman's a woman! You can't mix up their emotions -like <em>that.</em>"</p> - -<p>The dread of Karvaly's detection, the struggle with himself to subdue -passion, not merely to hide it, and along with these nerve-wearing -solicitudes, the sense of what the suspicion of the rest of the world -about him would inevitably bring on his head, had put Imre, little by -little, into a sort of panic. He maintained an exaggerated attitude of -safety, that had wrought on him unluckily, in many a valuable social -relation. He wore his mask each and every instant; resolving to make -it his natural face before himself! Having, discovered, through -intimacy with Karvaly how a warm friendship on the part of the -homosexual temperament, over and over takes to itself the complexion -of homosexual love—the one emotion constantly likely to rise in the -other and to blend itself inextricably into its alchemy—Imre had -simply sworn to make no intimate friendship again! This, without -showing himself in the least unfriendly; indeed with his being more -hail-fellow-well-met with his comrades than otherwise.</p> - -<p>But there Imre stopped! He bound his warm heart in a chain, he -vowed indifference to the whole world, he assisted no advances -of warm, particular regard from any comrade. He became that friend -of everybody in general who is the friend of nobody in particular! -He lived in a state of perpetual defence in his regiment, and in -whatever else was social to him in Szent-Istvánhely. So surely as he -admired another man—would gladly have won his generous and virile -affection—Imre turned away from that man! He covered this morbid -state of self-inclusion, this solitary life (such it was, apart from -the relatively short intimacy with Karvaly) with laughter and a most -artistic semblance of brusqueness; of manly preoccupation with private -affairs. Above all, with the skilful cultivation of his repute as a -Lothario who was nothing if not sentimental and absorbed in—woman! -This is possibly the most common device, as it is the securest, on the -part of an Uranian. Circumstances favoured Imre in it; and he gave it -its full show of honourable mystery. The cruel irony of it was often -almost humorous to Imre.</p> - -<p>"... They have given me the credit of being the most confirmed rake in -high life... think of that! I, and in high life!.. to be found in town. -The less they could trace as ground for it, why, so much the stronger -rumours!.. you know how that sort of a label sticks fast to one, once -pinned on. Especially if a man <em>is</em> really a gentleman and holds his -tongue, ever and always, about his intimacies with women. Why, Oswald, -I have never felt that I could endure to be alone five minutes with -any woman... I mean in—<em>that</em> way! Not even with a woman most dear to -me, as many, many women are. Not even with a wife that loved me. I -have never had any intimacies—not one—of <em>that</em> sort... Merely -semblances of such! Queer experiences I've tumbled into with <em>them</em>, -too! You know."</p> - -<p>Oh, yes... I knew!</p> - -<p>Part of Imre's exaggerated, artificial bearing toward the outer world -was the nervous shrinking from commonplace social demonstrativeness on -the part of his friends. To that mannerism I have already referred. -It had become a really important accent, I do not doubt, in Imre's -acting-out of a friendly, cheerful, yet keep-your-distance sort of -personality. But there was more than that in it. It was a detail in -the effort toward his self-transformation; a minor article in his -compact with himself never to give up the struggle to "<em>cure</em>" -himself. He was convinced that this was the most impossible of -achievements. But he kept on fighting for it. And since one degree -of sentiment led so treacherously to another, why, away with all!</p> - -<p>"But Imre, I do not yet see why you have not trusted me sooner. There -have been at least two moments in our friendship when you could have -done so; and one of them was when.. you <em>should</em>!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, you are right. I have been unkind. But then, I have been as -unkind to myself. The two times you speak of, Oswald... you mean, for -one of them, that night that we met Clement... and spoke about such -matters for a moment while we were crossing the Lánczhid? And the -other chance was after you had told me your own story, over there in -the Z... park?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. Of course, the fault is partly mine—once. I mean that time on -the Bridge... I fenced you off from me—I misled you—didn't help -you—I didn't help myself. But even so, you kept me at sword's length, -Imre! You wore your mask so closely—gave me no inch of ground to come -nearer to you, to understand you, to expect anything except scorn—our -parting! Oh, Imre! I have been blind, yes! but you have been dumb."</p> - -<p>"You wonder and you blame me," he replied, after busying himself a few -seconds with his own perplexing thoughts. "Again, I say 'Forgive me.' -But you must remember that we played at cross-purposes too much (as I -now look back on what we said that first time) for me to trust myself -to you. I misunderstood you. I was stupid—nervous. It seemed to me -certain, at first, that you had me in your mind—that I was the friend -you spoke of—laughed at, in a way. But after I saw that I was -mistaken? Oh, well it appeared to me that, after all, you must be one -of the Despisers. Gentler-hearted than the most; broader minded, in a -way; but one who, quite likely, thought and felt as the rest of the -world. I was afraid to go a word farther! I was afraid to lose you. I -shivered afterward, when I remembered that I had spoken then of what -I did. Especially about that man... who cared for me once upon a -time... in that way... And so suddenly to meet Clement! I didn't know he -was in Szent-Istvánhely; the meeting took me by surprise. I heard next -morning that his mother had been very ill."</p> - -<p>"But afterwards, Imre? You surely had no fear of what you call -'losing' me then? How could you possibly meet my story—in that hour -of such bitter confidence from me!—as you did? Could come no further -toward me? When you were certain that to find you my Brother in the -Solitude would make you the nearer-beloved and dearer-prized!"</p> - -<p>"That's harder for me to answer. For one reason, it was part of that -long battle with myself! It was something against the policy of -my whole life!... as I had sworn to live it for all the rest of -it... before myself or the world. I had broken that pledge already in -our friendship, such as even then it was! Broken it suddenly, -completely... before realizing what I did. The feeling that I was -weak, that I cared for you, that I was glad that you sought my -friendship... ah, the very sense of nearness and companionship in -that... But I fought with all <em>that,</em> I tell you! Pride, Oswald!... a -fool's pride! My determination to go on alone, alone, to make myself -sufficient for myself, to make my punishment my tyrant!—to be -martyred under it! Can you not understand something of that? You broke -down my pride that night, dear Oswald. Oh, <em>then</em> I knew that I had -found the one friend in the world, out of a million-million men not -for me! And nevertheless I hung back! The thought of your going from me -had been like a knife-stroke in my heart all the evening long. But -<em>yet</em> I could not speak out. All the while I understood how our -parting was a pain to you—I could have echoed every thought that -was in your soul about it!... but I would not let myself speak one -syllable to you that could show you that I cared! No!... <em>then</em> I -would have let you go away in ignorance of everything that was most -myself... rather than have opened that life-secret, or my heart, as we -sat there. Oh, it was as if I was under a spell, a cursed enchantment -that would mean a new unhappiness, a deeper silence for the rest of my -life! But the wretched charm was perfect. Good God!... what a night I -passed! The mood and the moment had been so fit... yet both thrown -away! My heart so shaken, my tongue so paralyzed! But before morning -came, Oswald, that fool's hesitation was over. I was clear and -resolved, the devil of arrogance had left me. I was amazed at myself. -You would have heard everything from me that day. But the call to the -Camp came. I had not a moment. I could not write what I wished. There -was nothing to do but to wait."</p> - -<p>"The waiting has done no harm, Imre."</p> - -<p>"And there is another reason, Oswald, why I found it hard to be frank -with you. At least, I think so. It is—what shall call it?—the -psychic trace of the woman in me. Yes, after all, the woman! The -counter-impulse, the struggle of the weakness that is womanishness -itself, when one has to face any sharp decision... to throw one's whole -being into the scale! Oh, I know it, I have found it in me before now! -I am not as you, the Uranian who is too much man! I am more feminine -in impulse—of weaker stuff... I feel it with shame. You know how the -woman says 'no' when she means 'yes' with all her soul! How she draws -back from the arms of the man that she loves when she dreams every -night of throwing herself into them? How she finds herself doing, over -and over, just that which is <em>against</em> her thought, her will, her -duty! I tell you, there is something of <em>that</em> in me, Oswald! I must -make it less... you must help me. It must be one of the good works of -your friendship, of your love, for me. Oh, Oswald, Oswald!... you are -not only to console me for all that I have suffered, for anything in -my past that has gone wrong. For, you are to help me to make myself -over, indeed, in all that <em>is</em> possible, whatever cannot be so."</p> - -<p>"We must help each other Imre. But do not speak so of woman, my -brother! Sexually, we may not value her. We may not need her, as do -those Others. But think of the joy that they find in her to which we -are cold; the ideals from which we are shut out! Think of your mother, -Imre; as I think of mine! Think of the queens and peasants who have -been the light and the glory of races and peoples. Think of the -gentle, noble sisters and wives, the serene, patient rulers of myriad -homes. Think of the watching nurses in the hospitals... of the spirits -of mercy who walk the streets of plague and foulness!... think of the -nun on her knees for the world...!"</p> - -<p>The shadows in the room were almost at their deepest. We were -still sitting face to face, almost without having stirred since -that moment when I had quitted his side so suddenly—to divine how -much closer I was to be drawn to him henceforth. Life!—Life and -Death!—Life—Love—Death! The sense of eternal kinship in their -mystery.... somehow it haunted one then! as it is likely to do when not -our unhappiness but a kind of over-joy swiftly oppresses us; making us -to feel that in some other sphere, and if less grossly "set within -this muddy vesture of decay," we might understand all three... might -find all three to be one! Life—Love—Death!...</p> - -<p>"Oswald, you will never go away from me!"</p> - -<p>"Imre, I will never go away from thee. Thy people shall be mine. Thy -King shall be mine. Thy country shall be mine,—thy city mine! My feet -are fixed! We belong together. We have found what we had despaired -of finding... 'the friendship which is love, the love which is -friendship'. Those who cannot give it—accept it—let them live -without it. It can be 'well, and very well' with them. Go they their -ways without it! But for Us, who for our happiness or unhappiness -cannot think life worth living if lacking it... for Us, through the -world's ages born to seek it in pain or joy... it is the highest, -holiest Good in the world. And for one of us to turn his back upon it, -were to find he would better never have been born!"......</p> - -<hr class="textbreak" /> - -<p>It was eleven o'clock. Imre and I had supped and taken a stroll in the -yellow moonlight, along the quais, overlooking the shimmering Duna; -and on through the little Erzsébet-tér where we had met, a few weeks -ago—it seemed so long ago! I had heard more of Imre's life and -individuality as a boy; full of the fine and unhappy emotions of the -uranistic youth. We had laughed over his stock of experiences in the -Camp. We had talked of things grave and gay.</p> - -<p>Then we had sauntered back. It was chance; but lo! we were on the -Lánczhid, once more! The Duna rippled and swirled below. The black -barges slumbered against the stone <i lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">rakpartok.</i> The glittering belts -of the city-lights flashed in long perspectives along the wide river's -sweeping course and twinkled from square to square, from terrace to -terrace. Across from us, at a garden-café, a <span lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">cigány</span> orchestra was -pulsating; crying out, weeping, asking, refusing, wooing, mocking, -inebriating, despairing, triumphant! All the warm Magyar night about -us was dominated by those melting chromatics, poignant cadences—those -harmonies eternally oriental, minor-keyed, insidious, nerve-thrilling. -The arabesques of the violins, the vehement rhythms of the clangorous -czimbalom!.... Ah, this time on the Lánczhid, neither for Imre nor -me was it the sombre Bakony song, "<span lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">O jaj! az álom nelkül</span>"—but -instead the free, impassioned leap and acclaim,—"<span lang="hu" xml:lang="hu">Huszár legény -vagyok!—Huszár legény vagyok!</span>"</p> - -<p>We were back in the quiet room, lighted now only by the moon. Far up, -on the distant Pálota heights, the clear bell of Szent-Mátyás struck -the three-quarters. The slow notes filled the still night like a -benediction, keyed to that haunting, divine, prophetic triad, -Life—Love—Death! Benediction threefold and supreme to the world!</p> - -<p>"Oh, my brother! Oh, my friend!" exclaimed Imre softly, putting -his arm about me and holding me to his heart. "Listen to me. -Perhaps.. perhaps even yet, canst thou err in one, only one thought. I -would have thee sure that when I am with thee here, now, I <em>miss</em> -nothing and no one—I seek nothing and no one! My quest, like thine, -is over!... I wish no one save thee, dear Oswald, no one else, even as -I feel thou wishest none save me, henceforth. I would have thee -believe that I am glad <em>just</em> as thou art glad. Alike have we two been -sad because of our lonely hearts, our long restlessness of soul and -body, our vain dreams, our worship of this or that hope—vision—which -has been kept far from us—it may be, overvalued by us! We have -suffered so much thou and I!... because of what never could be! We -shall be all the happier now for what is real for us... I love thee, as -thou lovest me. I have found, as thou hast found, 'the friendship -which is love, the love which is friendship.'... Come then, O friend! O -brother, to our rest! Thy heart on mine, thy soul with mine! For us -two it surely is... Rest!"</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"Truth? What is truth? Two human hearts</div> -<div class="verse">Wounded by men, by fortune tried.</div> -<div class="verse">Outwearied with their lonely parts.</div> -<div class="verse">Vow to beat henceforth side by side."*</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="centre morespaceabove">THE END.</p> - -<p class="morespaceabove small">*Matthew Arnold</p> - -<h2>TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE</h2> - -<p class="noindent">Obvious printing errors have been silently corrected throughout. -Otherwise, inconsistencies and possible errors have been preserved, -and some irregular and non-standard formatting and punctuation has -likewise been retained.</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IMRE ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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