icinity
of Gardener's Lane had become a lake. There seemed to be no need of
entertaining fears for the old man's life, for he lived high up under
the roof, whereas death had claimed its numerous victims among the
residents of the ground floor. But cut off from all help, how great
might not his distress be! As long as the flood lasted, nothing could be
done. Moreover, the authorities had done what they could to send food
and aid in boats to those cut off by the water. But when the waters had
subsided and the streets had become passable, I decided to deliver at
the address that concerned me most my share of the fund that had been
started for the benefit of the sufferers and that had assumed incredible
proportions.

The Leopoldstadt was in frightful condition. Wrecked boats and broken
tools were lying in the streets, while the cellars of some houses were
still filled with water covered with floating furniture. In order to
avoid the crowd I stepped aside toward a gate that stood ajar; as I
brushed by it yielded, and in the passageway I beheld a row of dead
bodies, which had evidently been picked up and laid out there for
official inspection. Here and there I could even see unfortunate victims
inside the rooms, still clinging to the iron window bars. For lack of
time and men it was absolutely impossible to take an official census of
so many fatalities.

Thus I went on and on. On all sides weeping and tolling of funeral
bells, anxious mothers searching for their children and children looking
for their parents. At last I reached Gardener's Lane. There also the
mourners of a funeral procession were drawn up, seemingly at some
distance, however, from the house I was bound for. But as I came nearer
I noticed by the preparations and the movements of the people that there
was some connection between the funeral procession and the gardener's
house. At the gate stood a respectable looking man, somewhat advanced in
years, but still vigorous. In his high top-boots, yellow leather
breeches, and long coat, he looked like a country butcher. He was giving
orders, but in the intervals conversed rather indifferently with the
bystanders. I passed him and entered the court. The old gardener's wife
came toward me, recognized me at once, and greeted me with tears in her
eyes. "Are you also honoring us?" she said, "Alas, our poor old man!
He's playing with the angels, who can't be much better than he was here
below. The good man was sitting up