The Sleepwalkers (145 page)

He
must
have
been
in
a
dreadful
state
of
hysteria.
He
was
suffering
from
one
of
his
recurrent
obscure
fevers;
his
family
was
in
faraway
Gratz;
the
persecution
of
the
Protestants
in
Styria,
and
the
debacle
at
Benatek
had
made
a
shambles
of
his
future;
and
the
data
on
Mars
remained
inaccessibly
in
Tycho's
hands.
Within
a
week,
the
pendulum
swung
to
the
other
extreme:
Kepler
wrote
a
letter
of
apologies
to
Tycho
which
sounds
like
the
ravings
of
a
masochist
against
his
own
guilty
ego:

"The
criminal
hand
which,
the
other
day,
was
quicker
than
the
wind
in
inflicting
injury,
hardly
knows
how
to
set
about
it
to
make
amends.
What
shall
I
mention
first?
My
lack
of
self-control,
which
I
can
only
remember
with
the
greatest
pain,
or
your
benefactions,
noblest
Tycho,
which
can
neither
be
enumerated
nor
valued
according
to
merit?
For
two
months
you
have
most
generously
provided
for
my
needs
...
you
have
extended
to
me
every
friendliness,
you
have
allowed
me
to
share
in
your
most
cherished
possession...
Taken
all
in
all,
neither
to
your
children,
nor
to
your
wife,
nor
to
yourself
did
you
devote
yourself
more
than
to
me...
Therefore
I
think
with
the
deepest
dismay
that
God
and
the
Holy
Ghost
delivered
me
to
such
an
extent
to
my
impetuous
attacks
and
to
my
sick
mind
that
instead
of
displaying
moderation,
I
indulged
during
three
weeks
with
closed
eyes
in
sullen
stubbornness
against
you
and
your
family;
that
instead
of
thanking
you,
I
displayed
blind
rage;
that
instead
of
showing
you
respect
I
displayed
the
greatest
insolence
against
your
person
which
by
noble
descent,
prominent
learning
and
great
fame
deserves
all
respect;
that
instead
of
sending
you
a
friendly
greeting
I
let
myself
be
carried
away
by
suspicion
and
insinuation
when
I
was
itching
with
bitterness...
I
never
considered
how
cruelly
I
must
have
hurt
you
by
this
despicable
behaviour...
I
come
to
you
as
a
postulant
to
ask,
in
the
name
of
Divine
pity,
for
your
forgiveness
of
my
terrible
offences.
What
I
have
said
or
written
against
your
person,
your
fame,
your
honour
and
your
scientific
rank...
I
retract
in
all
parts,
and
declare
it
voluntarily
and
freely
as
invalid,
false
and
unsound...
I
also
promise
sincerely
that
henceforth
at
whatever
place
I
shall
be
I
shall
not
only
refrain
from
such
foolish
acts,
words,
deeds
and
writings,
but
I
shall
also
never
and
in
no
way
unjustly
and
deliberately
offend
you...
But
since
the
ways
of
men
are
slippery,
I
ask
you
that
whenever
you
notice
in
me
any
tendency
towards
such
unwise
manner
of
behaviour,
to
remind
me
of
myself;
you
will
find
me
willing.
I
also
promise
...
to
oblige
you
by
all
kinds
of
services
and
...
thus
to
prove
by
my
acts
that
my
attitude
towards
your
person
is
different,
and
always
was
different,
from
what
one
may
conclude
from
the
reckless
condition
of
my
heart
and
body
during
these
last
three
weeks.
I
pray
that
God
may
help
me
to
fulfil
this
promise."
⁷

I
have
quoted
this
letter
at
some
length,
because
it
reveals
the
tragic
core
of
Kepler's
personality.
These
turns
of
phrase
do
not
seem
to
come
from
a
scholar
of
repute,
but
from
a
tortured
adolescent,
begging
to
be
forgiven
by
a
father
whom
he
hates
and
loves.
Tycho
had
replaced
Maestlin.
At
the
base
of
his
iridescent,
complex
character,
Kepler
always
remained
a
waif
and
stray.

But
Tycho
was
no
less
dependent
on
Kepler
than
Kepler
on
Tycho.
In
their
worldly
contacts,
Tycho
was
the
old
man
of
the
tribe,
Kepler
the
nagging,
ill-mannered
adolescent.
But
on
that
other
level,
the
rules
were
reversed:
Kepler
was
the
magician
from
whom,
Tycho
hoped,
would
come
the
solution
of
his
problems,
the
answer
to
his
frustrations,
the
salvation
from
ultimate
defeat;
and
however
foolishly
they
both
behaved,
qua
sleepwalkers,
they
both
knew
all
this.

Therefore,
three
weeks
after
the
row,
Tycho
turned
up
in
Prague
and
drove
Kepler
back
to
Benatek
in
his
coach
–
one
can
almost
see
Tyge's
great
fat
arm
in
the
leg-of-mutton
sleeve,
crushing
in
an
affectionate
embrace
Kepler's
skimpy
bones.