The Dead are Silent

by Arthur Schnitzler

He could put up with the quiet waiting in the cab no longer; it was easier to get out and walk up and down. It was now dark; the few lamps in the narrow side street moved in the wind. The rain had stopped, the pavements were almost dry, but the road was still wet, and little pools of water shone in the lamplight.

"Strange, isn't it?" thought Franz. "Here we are in the centre of Vienna but it could be a street in a little country town. Well, it's safe anyway. She won't meet any of the friends she's so afraid of here."

He looked at his watch. "Only just seven, and so dark already! It's an early autumn this year... and then this terrible storm..." He turned his coat collar up around his neck and walked faster.

"Half an hour more," he said to himself, "then I can go home. I could almost wish that half-hour was already over." He stood for a moment on the corner, where he could see both streets. "She'll definitely come today. It's Friday... a meeting at the University; she needn't hurry home."

The street became busier. Hurrying figures passed him, clerks from neighbouring shops; they rushed forwards, fighting against the storm. No-one noticed him; a couple of half-grown girls glanced up as they went by. Suddenly he saw a familiar figure coming towards him. He hurried to meet her.... Could it be her? On foot?

She saw him and walked faster.

"You are walking?" he asked.

"I left the cab in front of the theatre. I think I've had that driver before."

A man passed them, turning to look at the lady. Her companion glared at him, and the other passed on hurriedly. The lady looked after him. "Who was it?" she asked, anxiously.

"I don't know him. We'll see no-one we know here, don't worry. But come now, let's get into the cab."

"Is that yours?"

"Yes."

They walked to the cab; the lady got in.

"Driver!" called the man.

"All right, sir... I'll be there in a minute. Where'll you go, sir?"

"Summer-house."

Franz got in the cab. His companion sat back in a corner, hiding in the shadows.

He took both her hands in his. She sat silent. "Won't you say good evening to me?"

"Give me a moment to rest, dear. I'm still out of breath."

Neither spoke for some minutes. The cab was driving quickly along the broad, dark avenue.

Emma turned suddenly and threw both arms around her lover's neck. He kissed her.

"I have you again... at last!" she said.

"Do you know how long it is since we have seen each other?" he asked.

"Since Sunday."

"Yes, and that wasn't any good."

"Why not? You were in our house."

"Yes, in your house. That's just it. This can't continue. I won't go to your house again...What's the matter?"

"A cab passed us."

"The people driving here at this time and in such weather won't notice much what other people are doing."

"Yes, you're right. But someone might look in, by accident."

"We couldn't be seen. It's too dark."

"Yes, but can't we drive somewhere else?"

"Just as you like." He called to the driver, who did not seem to hear.

Franz touched the man.

"Turn around again. We're in no hurry. Drive... let me see... yes, drive down the avenue to the Reichs Bridge."

"The Reichsstrasse?"

"Yes. But don't hurry, there's no need."

"Alright, sir. But it's the wind that makes the horses so crazy."

Franz sat back again as the cab turned in the other direction.

"Why didn't I see you yesterday?"

"How could I?"...

"You were invited to my sister's."

"Oh, yes."

"Why weren't you there?"

"Because I can't be with you... like that... with others around. No, I just can't." She shivered. "Where are we now?" she asked, after a moment.

They were passing under the bridge at the entrance to the Reichsstrasse.

"On the way to the river," replied Franz. "We're driving towards the Reichs Bridge. We'll certainly not meet any of our friends here," he added, making fun of her.

"The cab moves around so much."

"Oh, you only think so."

He had begun to notice himself that the cab was moving to and fro more than necessary. But he said nothing, not wishing to worry her.

"There's a great deal I want to say to you today, Emma."

"You'd better begin then. I must be home at nine o'clock."

"A few words may decide everything."

"Oh, goodness, what was that!" she screamed. The cab turned partly over as the driver tried to control it. Franz caught at the man's coat. "Stop that!" he cried. "You're drunk, man!"

The driver stopped his horses with some difficulty. "Oh, no, sir."

"Let's get out here, Emma, and walk."

"Where are we?"

"Here's the bridge already. And the wind is not nearly as strong as it was. It will be nicer to walk a little. It's so hard to talk in the cab."

"Don't you call this windy?" she asked as she fought against the wind that met her at the corner.

He took her arm and called to the driver to follow them.

They walked on slowly. Neither spoke as they walked onto the bridge and they stopped where they could hear the water below them. Heavy darkness surrounded them. The river ran in grey, indefinite outlines; red lights in the distance, shone on the water. On the other side of the bridge the river lost itself in the blackness of open fields. There was thunder in the distance; they looked over to where the red lights shone. The thunder grew fainter and more distant; silence fell again; only the wind moved.

Franz spoke at last, after a long silence. "We must go away."

"Of course," Emma answered, softly.

"We must go away," he continued, more excitedly. "Go away forever, I mean."

"Oh, we can't!"

"Only because we are cowards, Emma."

"And my child?"

"He will let you have the boy, I know."

"But how can we go?" Her voice was very low. "You mean, to run away..."

"Not at all. You have only to be honest with him, to tell him that you cannot live with him any longer, that you belong to me."

"Franz, are you mad?"

"I will tell him myself."

"No, Franz, you will do nothing like that."

He tried to read her face. But the darkness showed him only that her head was turned towards him.

He was silent a few moments more. Then he spoke quietly: "You needn't be afraid; I won't do it."

They walked on. "Don't you hear a noise?" she asked. "What is it?"

"Something is coming from the other side," he said.

A low noise came out of the darkness. A little red light shone out at them. They could see that it hung from an old country cart, but they could not see whether there were people on it. Two other carts followed the first. They could just see the outlines of a man on the last one and could see that he was lighting his pipe. The carts passed them slowly. Soon there was nothing to be heard. They walked away and saw the street disappear into blackness between the trees. Open fields lay in front of them to the right and the left; they gazed out into the darkness.

There was another long silence before Franz spoke again. "Then it is the last time..."

"What?" Emma's voice was anxious.

"The last time we are to be together. Stay with him, if you want. Goodbye."

"Are you serious?"

"Absolutely."

"There, now you see, it's you who always spoils the few hours we have together, not me."

"Yes, you're right," said Franz. "Let's drive back to town."

She held his arm closer. "No," she insisted, softly "I don't want to go back. I won't be sent away from you."

She pulled his head down to hers, and kissed him tenderly. "Where would we get to if we drove on down there?" she asked.

"That's the road to Prague, dear."

"We won't go quite that far," she smiled, "but I'd like to drive on a little, down there." She pointed into the darkness.

Franz called to the driver. There was no answer. The cab moved on, slowly. Franz ran after it, and saw that the driver was fast asleep.

Franz woke him roughly. "We want to drive on down that street. Do you hear me?"

"Alright, sir."

Emma got into the cab first, then Franz. The couple held each other closely as they moved with the cab.

"Isn't this nice?" whispered Emma, her lips on his.

At the moment she spoke, she seemed to feel the cab lifting into the air. She felt herself thrown violently, tried to hold something, anything, but found only the empty air. She seemed to be falling, her eyes closed, suddenly she was lying on the ground, a great silence about her, as if she were alone, far away from all the world.

Then she began to hear noises again, a low moaning came from somewhere, but she could see nothing. She was very afraid; she screamed. Her fear grew stronger, because she could not hear her own voice. Suddenly she knew what had happened. The cab had hit something and she had been thrown out. 'Where's Franz?' was her next thought. She called his name. And now she could hear her voice, not clearly yet, but she could hear it. There was no answer to her call.

She tried to get up. After some effort she sat up and, reaching out, she felt something, a human body, on the ground beside her. She could now begin to see a little through the darkness. Franz lay beside her, motionless. She put out her hand and touched his face; something warm and wet covered it. Her heart seemed to stop beating. Blood? Oh, what had happened? Franz was hurt and unconscious. Where was the driver? She called him, but no answer came. She still sat there on the ground. She did not seem to be injured, although she ached all over. "What shall I do?" she thought; "what shall I do? How can it be that I'm not injured? Franz!" she called again. A voice answered from somewhere near her.

"Where are you, lady? And where is the gentleman? Wait a minute, Miss. I'll light the lamps, so we can see. I don't know what's wrong with the horses today. It ain't my fault, Miss."

Emma managed to stand up, although she was bruised all over. The fact that the driver seemed quite uninjured made her calmer. She heard the man lighting the lamp. She waited anxiously for the light. She did not dare to touch Franz again. "It's all much worse when you can't see plainly," she thought. "His eyes may be open now. There won't be anything wrong...."

A tiny light came from one side. She saw the cab, not completely upset, as she had thought, but with one wheel broken. The horses stood quietly. Then the light touched Franz's feet, moved slowly up over his body to his face and rested there. The coachman put the lamp on the ground beside the head of the unconscious man. Emma's heart seemed to stop as she looked into the face before her. It was ghostly white; the eyes were half open, only the white showing. A thin stream of blood ran from his hair to his collar. The teeth had bitten into his lower lip. "No, no, it isn't possible," Emma spoke, as if to herself.

The driver examined the face of the man. Then he took the head in both his hands and lifted it. "What are you doing?" screamed Emma, frightened by the head that seemed to be moving on its own.

"Please, Miss, I'm afraid, I think a terrible thing has happened..."

"No, no, it's not true!" said Emma. "It can't be true! You're not hurt? Nor am I..."

The man let the head fall back again into Emma's lap. "If only someone would come! If the farmers had only passed fifteen minutes later."

"What shall we do?" asked Emma, her lips white.

"Why, you see, Miss, if the cab was all right, but it's no good as it is, we've got to wait till someone comes..." he talked on, but Emma did not hear him. Her brain seemed to wake up suddenly, and she knew what was to be done. "How far is it to the nearest house?" she asked.

"Not much further, Miss. There's Franz-Josef's land right there. We'd see the houses if it was light. It won't take five minutes to get there."

"Go there, then; I'll stay here. Go and get someone."

"I think I'd better stay here with you, Miss. Somebody must come; it's the main road."

"It'll be too late; we need a doctor at once."

The driver looked down at the quiet face, then he looked at Emma and shook his head.

"You can't tell," she cried.

"Yes, Miss. But there'll be no doctor in those houses."

"But there'll be somebody to send to the city..."

"Oh, yes, Miss. They'll have a telephone there, anyway!"

"Yes, yes, that's it. Go at once, run! And bring some men back with you. Why are you waiting? Hurry!"

The man looked down again at the white face in her lap. "There'll be no use here for a doctor, Miss."

"Oh, go! For God's sake go!"

"I'm going, Miss, but don't get afraid in the dark here."

He hurried down the street. "'It wasn't my fault," he murmured as he ran. "What an idea! To drive down this road at this time of night."

Emma was left alone with the unconscious man in the gloomy street.

"What shall I do now?" she thought "It can't be possible. It can't." Suddenly she seemed to hear breathing. She bent to the pale lips - no, not the faintest breath came from them. The blood had dried on his forehead and cheek. She gazed at the eyes, the half-closed eyes, and trembled. Why couldn't she believe it?... It must be true. This was Death! "This is a corpse. I am here alone with a corpse! A corpse that rests on my lap!" With trembling hands she pushed the head away, until it rested on the ground.

"What am I waiting for?" she asked herself. "What am I waiting for? The people who might come? They don't need me. They will come, and they will ask questions... and I... why am I here? They will ask who I am... what shall I answer? I will not answer them... I won't say a word... they can't force me to talk."

The sound of voices came from the distance.

"Already?" she thought, listening in terror. The voices came from the bridge. It could not be the men the driver was bringing with him. But whoever it was would see the light... and they must not see it, for then she would be discovered. She kicked the lamp with her foot, and the light went out. She stood in complete darkness. She could see nothing... not even him. The voices came nearer. She trembled from head to foot; they must not find her here. That was the only thing of real importance in all the wide world, that no-one should find her here. She would be lost if they knew that this... this corpse... was her lover.

She listens breathless. Yes, they are there, on the other side... women, two women, or perhaps three. What are they talking about? They have seen the cab, they are speaking about it. She cannot understand, they walk on, they have passed her...

And now? What now? Oh, why isn't she dead, as he is? She's jealous of him; there is no more danger, no more fear for him. But so much for her. She's afraid of being found here, of being asked, "Who are you?" She will have to go to the police station, and all the world will know about it - her husband, her child. She cannot understand why she has stood there motionless so long. She need not stay here, she can do no good here, and she is only asking for disaster.

She walks forward. Careful! Two steps more and she is in the middle of the street. She stops a moment, looks straight ahead, and can finally see the grey line of the road in the darkness. There lies the city. She cannot see it, but she knows the way. She turns once more. It does not seem so dark now. She can see the cab and the horses quite clearly... and, looking hard, she seems to see the outline of a human body on the ground.

Her eyes open wide. And she walks on, faster, faster, she starts to run. The wind is behind her, and seems to push her along. She is not escaping the dead, but the living who will soon be there and who will look for her. What will they think? Will they follow her? No-one can know who she is, no-one can imagine who the woman was who drove down the country road with the dead man. The driver does not know her; he would not recognise her if he should ever see her again. It was sensible of her not to stay and it was not cowardly either. Franz himself would say it was sensible. She must go home; she has a husband, a child.

There is the bridge; the street seems lighter. She hears the water beneath her. She stands there, where they stood together, arm in arm... when was it? How many hours ago? It cannot be long since then. Now she hears a car flying past her. She stops and looks after it; it is the ambulance. She knows where it is going. "How quickly they have come," she thinks; "it is like magic." For a moment she feels that she must call to them, must go back with them. Shame, terrible shame shakes her from head to foot. She knows how cowardly she is.

Then she is suddenly in the street. She is saved, saved! She hurries on; she meets more people, but she is not afraid of them. The worst is over. The noise of the city grows louder, the street is lighter and she knows that she can disappear into a flood of humanity there and lose herself in it. When she comes to a street lamp she is quite calm enough to take out her watch and look at it. It is ten minutes to nine. She holds the watch to her ear... it is working. And she thinks: "Here I am, alive, unharmed and he, he... dead."

She feels as if everything has been forgiven, as if she never sinned. And what if she were lying there in the road and he were still alive? He would not have run away, but then he is a man. She is only a woman, she has a husband, a child. It was her right, her duty, to save herself. She knows that it was not duty that made her run. If she had stayed she would have been discovered by this time. The doctors would question her. And all the papers would report it next morning; she would have been ruined forever, and yet her ruin could not bring him back to life.

She crosses under the railway bridge and hurries on. She has plenty of time now. She knows that her husband will not be home before ten o'clock. She will have time to change her clothes. And then she looks at her dress. She is horrified to see how dirty it is. What will she say to the servant about it? And next morning the papers will all tell the story of the accident, and they will tell of a woman who had been in the cab and who had run away. One single moment of carelessness and she is lost, even now. But she has her key with her; she can let herself in; no-one will hear her come in. She jumps into a cab and is about to give her address, then suddenly she remembers that this would not be wise. She gives any number that occurs to her.

As she drives, she wishes that she could feel something but she cannot. She has only one thought, one need: to be at home, safe. When she decided to leave him alone, dead, by the road, at that moment everything seemed to die in her. She has no feeling except fear for herself. She is not heartless... she knows that the day will come when her sorrow may kill her. But she knows nothing now, except to sit with her husband and child. She looks out through the cab window. She is driving through the streets of the inner city. It is brilliantly lit here, and many people hurry past. Suddenly all that she has experienced in the last few hours seems not to be true, it is like an evil dream; not something real. She does not seem able to think of anything anymore.

"Where is he now?" She closes her eyes and sees him in the ambulance. Suddenly she feels that he is here beside her. The cab moves, she feels the terror of being thrown out again, and she screams aloud. The cab stops before the door of her home. She gets out quickly, opens her apartment door very gently, and runs unseen into her own room. She undresses, hiding the filthy clothes in her cupboard. Tomorrow, when they are dry, she can clean them herself. She washes her hands and face, and changes into a new dress.

The bell rings. She hears the servant open the door, she hears her husband's voice. She feels she must be brave now or it will all have been in vain. She hurries to the dining-room, entering one door as her husband comes in at the other.

"Ah, you're home already?" he asks.

"Why, yes," she replies, "I've been home some time."

"They didn't hear you come in."

She smiles without effort. But it makes her horribly tired to smile. He kisses her forehead.

The little boy is already at his place by the table. He has been waiting some time, and has fallen asleep, his head resting on an open book.

She sits down beside him; her husband takes his chair opposite, picks up a paper, and glances carelessly at it. Then he says: "The others are still talking there."

"What about?" she asks.

And he begins to tell her about the meeting, at length. Emma pretends to listen, and nods now and then. But she does not hear what he is saying, she feels like one who has escaped terrible danger by a miracle; she can feel only this: "I am safe; I am at home." And while her husband is talking, she pulls her chair nearer the boy's and lifts his head to her shoulder. She can no longer control herself; she feels that her eyes are closing, that she is falling asleep.

Suddenly another possibility occurs to her. Suppose he were not dead! Suppose... oh, but it is impossible... his eyes... his lips... not a breath came from them! Suppose he is still alive, suppose he has woken and found himself alone by the roadside, suppose he calls her by her name? He might think she had been injured; he might tell the doctors that there was a woman with him, and that she must be injured nearby. They will look for her. The driver will come back with the men he has brought and will tell them that she was there, unhurt... and Franz will know the truth. Franz knows her so well, he will know that she has run away... and a great anger will come over him. He will tell them her name in revenge. For he is badly injured and it will hurt him greatly that she has left him alone in his last hour. He will say: "That is Mrs. Emma ________. I'm her lover. Oh, why didn't she wait until you came?"

"What is the matter?" asks the Professor, very seriously, getting up from his chair.

"What? What?"

"Yes, what's the matter with you?"

"Nothing." She presses the boy closer to her.

The Professor looks at her carefully for a few minutes.

"Didn't you know that you had fallen asleep, and..."

"And?"

"And then you screamed out in your sleep."

"Did I?"

"You screamed as if you were having a nightmare. Were you dreaming?"

"I don't know..."

And she sees her face in a mirror opposite, a face tortured into a deadly smile. She knows it is her own face, and it terrifies her. She sees that it is frozen; that this terrible smile is frozen on it, and will always be there, all her life. She tries to cry. Two hands are on her shoulders, and between her own face and the mirrored one her husband's face pushes its way in; his eyes look into hers. She knows that unless she is strong, everything is lost. And she feels that she is strong; she has regained control, but the moment of strength is short. She raises her hands to his, which rest on her shoulders; she pulls him down to her, and smiles naturally into his eyes.

She feels his lips on her forehead, and she thinks: "It is all a dream... he will never tell... he will never take revenge like that... he is dead... really dead... and the dead are silent..."

"Why did you say that?" she hears her husband's voice suddenly.

She starts. "What did I say?" And it seems to her as if she had told everything and again she asks, shaking before his horrified eyes, "What did I say?"

"The dead are silent," her husband repeats very slowly.

"Yes," she answers.

And she reads in his eyes that she can no longer hide anything from him.

They look long and silently at each other. "Put the boy to bed," he says at last. "You have something to tell me, haven't you?"

"Yes..."

She knows now that in a few moments she will tell this man everything... this man that she has lied to for many years. And while she goes slowly through the door, holding her boy, she feels her husband's eyes still looking at her, and a great peace comes over her, the certainty that now many things will be right again.