l, the paintings and statuary,
the silver table-ware, and the costly porcelain service, all these
were now exposed for sale.

There is something sad and mournful about an auction. It speaks always
of the ruin and breaking up of a man's life and the happiness of his
family, of the wreck of a shattered existence, and the sad remains of
what was once, perhaps, a brilliant destiny. On the day of an auction
there ceases to be a home, the sacred secrets of family life vanish;
home is no longer the abode of peace, and the long-cherished _penates_
hide their heads in grief.

Then the gates are opened, and the curious multitude rushes in, and
with callous eye spies into each corner and every room; tries the
sofas on which, perhaps, yesterday some poor widow sat weeping for her
lost husband; throws itself down on the bed which once had been the
sacred temple of their love; and coldly and unfeelingly examines the
furniture of parlor and boudoir, which yet retains the appearance
of comfort and of genial repose, though soon to be scattered to
the winds, to proclaim aloud its sad and secret story in the gaudy
show-room of some second-hand dealer. All the beauty and splendor of
Gotzkowsky's former days were now to be displayed at auction. For this
reason there stood so many carriages before his door; for this reason
did so many noble and wealthy persons come to his house, and, mixed
with brokers and speculators, crowd into those halls, which they had
formerly trod with friendly smiles and in costly dresses.

No one took any heed of the figure of a man crouching, leaning against
the staircase, with his hat pressed down over his brow, and the collar
of his cloak drawn up high over his face. No one perceived how he
shuddered when the auctioneer handled the beautiful articles and
called on the public to bid. It was to him a terrible grief to assist
at these obsequies of his past life, and yet he could not tear himself
away. He felt fascinated, as it were, by some supernatural power, and
forced to remain in the house and attend this horrible ceremony.
In the tediousness of his lonesome, inactive, idle misery, it was a
species of diversion to him, something to arouse him from his dull
rumination, to be present at this disintegration and demolition of his
own house.

As Jeremiah once sat among the ruins of Jerusalem, so sat Gotzkowsky
with concealed face at the threshold of his house, listening with
savage joy to the strokes of the auct