The people to whom I went were Jews. The mistress with her dark hair
and dark eyes seemed beautiful to me. The four children--three boys
and one girl--had all rather reddish hair and freckles, except one of
the boys, who was seven years old and idiotic. I had to take the three
elder children to school and fetch them home again, to tidy the rooms
and to keep the kitchen in order. The lady did the cooking herself. As
the idiotic boy did not go to school, he was constantly around me and
chattered to me all day long in unintelligible sentences. Often he tore
off his clothes and ran about naked. In the beginning I was afraid of
him, but I soon noticed that with the exception of a few disagreeable
things, to which one had to get used, he was perfectly harmless. Many
times during the day he would come and spit into my face. At first I
could hardly bear this, but by-and-by I got to know his movements, and
quickly turned away when I saw him coming. But worse still than this
poor boy was his brother, a boy of twelve years, who had a horrible way
of speaking to me, and made me feel as much as possible that I had to
obey him. The girl I liked the best.
I had not been in this family for two months when I noticed that the
circumstances of the manager were no better than those of my parents.
People frequently came to the door and asked me if they could see the
manager. But as soon as I announced such a visitor the manager became
furious, and told me to tell the people to go to hell. I soon got to
know that these were all creditors asking for their money. It had been
decided that I should receive eight shillings each month, and I could
scarcely wait the day on which my wages fell due. When I left home I
only possessed one pair of shoes, and these were almost in shreds.
Therefore I thought of getting a new pair of strong shoes and also a
small notebook into which I could copy my verses, which, although my
work was plentiful, I did not stop writing. But yet I felt as lonely
as before. I could easily have made acquaintances, but I did not wish
to. The cook at the next house often spoke to me, and told me once
that every second Sunday she went out with her sweetheart, who was a
corporal; after which she asked me how many times I went out. I told
her that I did not go out at all, and at this she looked at me with
suspicion.
"Well, I never! then madam very likely allows your sweetheart into her
drawing-room to visit you, eh?"
"You impudent person, I have no sweetheart!"
At these words she gave a jeering laugh.
"So it is as far as that already. You are sick of men; I expect one of
them has left you in the lurch."
Without answering I turned my back on her, and afterwards we saw each
other as little as possible.
I began to hate everybody with whom I came in contact: the baker
because he had always some nasty words ready, which made me cast down
my eyes and caused the blood to rush to my head; the milkman for the
same reason; and the family itself because it was plain that the man
was a liar. To my great disappointment I had not received my wages, and
so I wrote my verses, which were even more frequent now, on paper bags
that had previously contained such things as rice, tea or sugar; and
these verses I carefully kept and put away.
One day I had just come back from a walk with the children, and after I
had put the youngest child into the cot I went into the kitchen to warm
his milk; on entering the kitchen whom should I see but Madam standing
calmly in front of the drawer in which I kept my belongings. The drawer
was open and my mistress held in her hands one of those paper bags that
I knew so well. I was frightened and furious at the same time, but
the respect which, at least outwardly, I had for that very indiscreet
person prevented me from uttering any angry exclamation. With an
amused and astonished face she turned towards me and held up the bag,
"You have never told me about these things," she said, seeming not at
all troubled at being detected in that mean action. "If you please," I
answered, trying to get hold of the bag, "it would not have been worth
the while." She still wore the amused smile on her face. "No, let me
have it, I am going to show it to my husband."
"For God's sake, no!" I cried in dismay.
"Why not? I like the verses very well."
The whole of my indignation and feelings of revolt immediately
vanished. I felt like kneeling down and kissing the hem of her
dress; her words had made me very happy, and from that day forward I
recognized in her my guardian angel.
The fact that I as yet had not received my wages made me, it is true,
feel very sad; but I told myself that this must be the manager's fault,
for he ought to have provided her with the money to pay her servant.
But she, and of this I was perfectly sure, never even caught sight of
a single penny.
My mistress had shown the manager some of the verses discovered in the
drawer, but he had laughed and responded that she had better not turn
my head altogether since I was a good, hard-working girl, and that
there were a far greater number of good poets than good servants in
existence. The manager had to go away to Vienna nearly every week. One
day when he had gone there as usual and the children were put to bed,
Madam came down into the kitchen where I was busily washing up, and
said: "Anna, I want to speak to you."
I thought that she was going to pay me my wages at last, and my heart
beat faster. She sat down on a kitchen chair, and watched me silently
for a while. Suddenly she began again:
"Tell me why you have not been truthful with me?"
I was startled and looked at her in surprise, but my conscience was
clear, and so I answered quietly:
"I don't know what you mean, Madam."
She tapped the floor impatiently with her feet, and said:
"No pretences, please. You remember that you told me once that you had
no sweetheart, but that poem"--and oh, horror and dismay! she held up a
paper bag on which I had written only the day before, and which I had
never intended to show to anybody--"that poem does not say the same.
Where is he? What profession is he in? Have you got his photo?"
I took my hands out of the hot dish-water, and covered my face.
"Don't be so silly," she continued. "I am a married woman, and you may
trust me. Now, come, out with it," and while she said that she looked
at me half commandingly, half lovingly. My hands dropped, and I noticed
how very red and ugly they were. A new shame overcame me.
"It is true," I said at last.
"That you have got a sweetheart?"
"No; I mean that I have not got one."
"But this poem?" and, greatly puzzled, she looked down at the bag that
was smelling of coffee.
"I don't know who he is, nor where he is;" and with sudden courage:
"all I know is that he does exist."
"But, pray, where have you seen him, then?"
"I have never seen him at all, except in my thoughts."
"Oh" she exclaimed, and rising with a yawn, she began to leave the
kitchen; but at the doorway she turned round once more and said: "As
long as you know him only in your thoughts he can do you no harm."
Scarcely had the door closed behind her, when I flew at the drawer,
pulled out the bags, and threw them into the fire. I watched until
the flickering flames had destroyed every bit of them, then I leaned
against the grey wall of the kitchen and wept bitterly.
Oh, for those tears in that grey kitchen! Oh, for those dreams in that
grey kitchen! Every moment my heart yearned in incomprehensible longing
for him. When would he come? Oh, when? When would he come to take me
away, like the princes came in the fairy tales to woo a shepherdess or
a kitchen-maid? I felt so sure that we were destined to meet some day,
but it seemed a long, long way off. Sometimes a doubting fear would
overcome me. How if the picture of my dreams--that picture so proud, so
far away--should never turn into a form of flesh and blood, but ever
be a dream! At such moments I was weak and foolish. I looked down at
my hands, which were so red and ugly from washing-up and scrubbing. If
no man would ever love me because of my red and ugly hands, what then?
At that question my soul trembled, and tears thronged into my eyes.
The next second, however, I smiled at my fears; a line or two out of
my poems had fallen into my thoughts. What did it matter that my hands
were red and ugly? What did hands matter at all? What had the heart,
the mind, the soul of a man or woman in common with his or her hands?
The man of my dreams was not a man who would love a girl only for
her beauty. No; he would love me for the purity of my thoughts, the
chastity of my longing, and for that wonderful part of my being that
made me write my poems and dream all day.
Once on washing-day I was standing at the tub, when the door opened and
my mother came in.
"Mother!" I cried, "why did you not write that you were coming?"
"We have not heard from you for so long, and when no letter arrived
yesterday I became worried, and walked over," she said.
Only then I noticed her tired face and the dust that covered her rough
shoes.
"Do you mean to say you walked all that distance?"
"Yes, I did;" and after a little pause; "we must be very careful with
our pennies, business is so bad now."
I tried hard to keep back my tears.
"If I only had some money I would gladly give it to you," I said.
My mother shook her head.
"Don't be silly. You need your money yourself. Have you managed to save
a little?"
"No," I answered very slowly.
"Let me see, you have been here for a year now"--she began to count by
the aid of her fingers--"and your wages are eight shillings a month."
She counted again. "That ought to have left you something. I am afraid
you are careless, my dear."
Seeing that she looked at me with tender but reproachful eyes I cuddled
down beside her.
"No," I said, "I am not careless; but--"
And then I told her that I had never received my real wages; only just
enough to buy some very necessary articles of clothing, or to have a
pair of shoes mended when it was urgently required. I felt very much
ashamed to tell her this, since my own stubbornness was the cause of it
all. My mother sat still, and after a long while she said:
"I am glad I have come. I have never been quite at my ease, and wanted
to see for myself whether you are happy or not. I have heard of a very
good situation, which would be suitable for you. You would have to look
after three children, and to help the cook with the scrubbing. The
household there is kept on a big scale, and you would learn a great
deal."
I remembered the mad boy, who still managed to spit at me occasionally,
and the sneers of the older boy.
"I would like to take that place," I said at last.
My mother got up from the linen-basket on which she had been sitting.
"It is easy enough," she replied. "I have arranged for a fortnight's
notice with the manager, and if I give it to-day, you are free to go in
two weeks' time. I have seen the lady of the other post; she is very
kind, and does not mind waiting another three weeks. You might just as
well come home for a week. Does that suit you?"
I nodded in silence, and we parted.
When I went into the kitchen later on, my mistress was sitting near the
fire as if she had been waiting for me.
"I am sorry your mother wants you to leave me, but I have always said
that this was too rough work for you. I hope you will like your new
situation."
After the fortnight had passed I again packed up my things into brown
paper, but the parcel seemed to be smaller than it had been a year ago.
When I took my leave my mistress handed me ten shillings, and promised
to send on the rest of the money due to me. Although I knew for a
certainty that she would never do it, I thanked her very much for the
ten shillings, which seemed to be an enormous sum.