d
pompous harangue, the Councillor, without answering so much as a
single word, calmly fixed his eyes upon me as though expecting me
to go on again. And this I did indeed attempt to do, but it sounded so
ill-founded and so stupid as well that I soon grew silent again.
Krespel gloated over my embarrassment, whilst a malicious ironical
smile flitted across his face. Then he grew very grave, and addressed
me in solemn tones. "Young man, no doubt you think I am foolish,
insane; that I can pardon you, since we are both confined in the same
madhouse; and you only blame me for deluding myself with the idea that
I am God the Father because you imagine yourself to be God the Son. But
how do you dare desire to insinuate yourself into the secrets and lay
bare the hidden motives of a life that is strange to you and that must
continue so? She has gone and the mystery is solved." He ceased
speaking, rose, and traversed the room backwards and forwards several
times. I ventured to ask for an explanation; he fixed his eyes upon me,
grasped me by the hand, and led me to the window, which he threw wide
open. Propping himself upon his arms, he leaned out, and, looking down
into the garden, told me the history of his life. When he finished I
left him, touched and ashamed.

In a few words, his relations with Antonia rose in the following way.
Twenty years before, the Councillor had been led into Italy by his
favourite engrossing passion of hunting up and buying the best violins
of the old masters. At that time he had not yet begun to make them
himself, and so of course he had not begun to take to pieces those
which he bought. In Venice he heard the celebrated singer Angela ----i,
who at that time was playing with splendid success as _prima donna_ at
St. Benedict's Theatre. His enthusiasm was awakened, not only in her
art--which Signora Angela had indeed brought to a high pitch of
perfection--but in her angelic beauty as well. He sought her
acquaintance; and in spite of all his rugged manners he succeeded in
winning her heart, principally through his bold and yet at the same
time masterly violin-playing. Close intimacy led in a few weeks to
marriage, which, however, was kept a secret, because Angela was
unwilling to sever her connection with the theatre, neither did she
wish to part with her professional name, that by which she was
celebrated, nor to add to it the cacophonous "Krespel." With the most
extravagant irony he described to me what