wering brow; a state and
a spectacle which caused me pain and misery not to be described. He
would begin sudden conversations with me, starting with some question,
as:

"Friedel, do you believe in a future state?"

"I do, and I don't. I mean to say that I don't know anything about it."

"Do you know what my idea of heaven would be?"

"Indeed, I don't," said I, feebly endeavoring a feeble joke. "A place
where all the fiddles are by Stradivarius and Guanarius, and all the
music comes up to Beethoven."

"No; but a place where there are no mistakes."

"No mistakes?"

"_Ja wohl!_ Where it would not be possible for a man with fair chances
to spoil his whole career by a single mistake. Or, if there were
mistakes, I would arrange that the punishment should be in some
proportion to them--not a large punishment for a little sin, and _vice
versa_."

"Well, I should think that if there is any heaven there would be some
arrangement of that kind."

"As for hell," he went on, in a low, calm tone which I had learned to
understand meant with him intense earnestness, "there are people who
wonder that any one could invent a hell. My only wonder is why they
should have resorted to fire and brimstone to enhance its terrors when
they had the earth full of misery to choose from."

"You think this world a hell, Eugen?"

"Sometimes I think it the very nethermost hell of hells, and I think if
you had my feelings you would think so too. A poet, an English poet (you
do not know the English poets as you ought, Friedhelm), has said that
the fiercest of all hells is the failure in a great purpose. I used to
think that a fine sentiment; now I sometimes wonder whether to a man who
was once inclined to think well of himself it may not be a much fiercer
trial to look back and find that he has failed to be commonly honest and
upright. It is a nice little distinction--a moral wire-drawing which I
would recommend to the romancers if I knew any."

Once and only once was Sigmund mentioned between us, and Eugen said:

"Nine years, were you speaking of? No--not in nineteen, nor in
ninety-nine shall I ever see him again."

"Why?"

"The other night, and what occurred then, decided me. Till then I had
some consolation in thinking that the blot might perhaps be wiped
out--the shame lived down. Now I see that that is a fallacy. With God's
help I will never see him nor speak to him again. It is better that he
should forget me."

His voice did no