"There are delicate boundaries within the realm of the eternal
womanly,"--thus Niebeldingk reflected next day,--"in which one is
sorely puzzled as to what one had better put into an envelope: a poem
or a cheque."
His latest adventure--the cause of these reflections--had blossomed,
the evening before, like the traditional rose on the dungheap.
One of his friends who had travelled about the world a good deal and
who now assumed the part of the full-blown Parisian, had issued
invitations to a house-warming in his new bachelor-apartment. He had
invited a number of his gayer friends and ladies exclusively from
so-called artistic circles. So far all was quite Parisian. Only the
journalists who might, next morning, have proclaimed the glory of the
festivity to the world--these were excluded. Berlin, for various
reasons, did not seem an appropriate place for that.
It was a rather dreary sham orgy. Even chaperones were present.
Several ladies had carefully brought them and they could scarcely be
put out. Other ladies even thought it incumbent upon them to ask after
the wives of the gentlemen present and to turn up their noses when it
appeared that these were conspicuous by their absence. It was upon
this occasion, however, that some beneficent chance assigned to
Niebeldingk a sighing blonde who remained at his side all evening.
Her name was Meta, she belonged to one of the "best families" of
Posen, she lived in Berlin with her mother who kept a boarding house
for ladies of the theatre. She herself nursed the ardent desire to
dedicate herself to art, for "the ideal" had always been the guiding
star of her existence.
At the beginning of supper she expressed herself with a fine
indignation concerning the ladies present into whose midst--she
assured him eagerly--she had fallen through sheer accident. Later she
thawed out, assumed a friendly companionableness to these despised
individuals and, in order to raise Niebeldingk's delight to the
highest point, admitted with maidenly frankness the indescribable and
mysterious attraction toward him which she had felt at the
first glance.
Of course, her principles were impregnable. He mustn't doubt that. She
would rather seek a moist death in the waves than.... and so forth.
Although she made this solemn proclamation over the dessert, the
consequence of it all was an intimate visit to Niebeldingk's dwelling
which came to a bitter sweet end at three o'clock in the morning with
gentle tears concerning the wickedness of men in general and of
himself in particular....
An attack of _katzenjammer_--such as is scarcely ever spared worldly
people of forty--threw a sobering shadow upon this event. The shadow
crept forward too, and presaged annoyance.
He was such an old hand now, and didn't even know into what category
she really fitted. Was it, after all, impossible that behind all this
frivolity the desire to take up the struggle for existence on cleanly
terms stuck in her little head?
At all events he determined to spare the possible wounding of outraged
womanliness and to wait before putting any final stamp upon the nature
of their relations. Hence he set out to play the tender lover by means
of the well-tried device of a bunch of Indian lilies.
When he was about to give the order for the flowers to John who
always, upon these occasions, assumed a conscientiously stupid
expression, a new doubt overcame him.
Was he not desecrating the gift which had brought consolation and
absolution to many a remorseful heart, by sending it to a girl who,
for all he knew, played a sentimental part only as a matter of decent
form? ... Wasn't there grave danger of her assuming an undue
self-importance when she felt that she was taken tragically?
"Well, what did it matter? ... A few flowers! ..."
Early on the evening of the next day Meta reappeared. She was dressed
in sombre black. She wept persistently and made preparations to stay.
Niebeldingk gave her to understand that, in the first place, he had no
more time for her that evening, and that, in the second place, she
would do well to go home at a proper hour and spare herself the
reproaches of her mother.
"Oh, my little mother, my little mother," she wailed. "How shall I
ever present myself to her sight again? Keep me, my beloved! I can
never approach my, mother again."
He rang for his hat and gloves.
When she saw that he was serious she wept a few more perfunctory tears
and went.
Her visits repeated themselves and didn't become any more delightful.
On the contrary ... the heart-broken maiden gave him to understand
that her lost honour could be restored only by the means of a speedy
marriage. This exhausted his patience. He saw that he had been
thoroughly taken in and so, observing all necessary considerateness,
he sent her definitely about her business.
Next day the "little mother" appeared on the scene. She was a
dignified woman of fifty, equipped as the Genius of Vengeance,
exceedingly glib of tongue and by no means sentimental.
As she belonged to one of the first families of Posen, it was her duty
to lay particular stress upon the honour of her daughter whom he had
lured to his house and there wickedly seduced. ... She was prepared to
repel any overtures toward a compromise. She belonged to one of the
best families of Posen and was not prepared to sell her daughter's
virtue. The only possible way of adjusting the matter was an
immediate marriage.
Thereupon she began to scream and scold and John, who acted as master
of ceremonies, escorted her with a patronising smile to the door....
Next came the visits of an old gentleman in a Prince Albert and the
ribbon of some decoration in his button-hole.--John had strict orders
to admit no strangers. But the old gentleman was undaunted. He came
morning, noon and night and finally settled down on the stairs where
Niebeldingk could not avoid meeting him. He was the uncle of Miss
Meta, a former servant of the government and a knight of several
honourable orders. As such it was his duty to demand the immediate
restitution of his niece's honour, else--Niebeldingk simply turned his
back and the knight of several honourable orders trotted, grumbling,
down the stairs.
Up to this point Niebeldingk had striven to regard the whole business
in a humorous light. It now began It now began to promise serious
annoyance. He told the story at his club and the men laughed
boisterously, but no one knew anything to the detriment of Miss Meta.
She had been introduced by a lady who played small parts at a large
theatre and important parts at a small one. The lady was called to
account for her protegee. She refused to speak.
"It's all the fault of those accursed Indian lilies," Niebeldingk
grumbled one afternoon at his window as he watched the knight of
various honourable orders parade the street as undaunted as ever. "Had
I treated her with less delicacy, she would never have risked playing
the part of an innocent victim."
At that moment John announced Fritz von Ehrenberg.
The boy came in dressed in an admirably fitting summer suit. He was
radiant with youth and strength, victory gleamed in his eye; a hymn of
victory seemed silently singing on his lips.
"Well Fritz, you seem merry," said Niebeldingk and patted the boy's
shoulder. He could not suppress a smile of sad envy.
"Don't ask me! Why shouldn't I be happy? Life is so beautiful, yes,
beautiful. Only you musn't have any dealings with women. That plays
the deuce with one."
"You don't know yourself how right you are," Niebeldingk sighed,
looking out of the corner of an eye at the knight of several
honourable orders who had now taken up his station in the shelter of
the house opposite.
"Oh, but I do know it," Fritz answered. "If I could describe to you
the contempt with which I regard my former mode of life ... everything
is different ... different ... so much purer ... nobler ... I'm
absolutely a stoic now.... And that gives one a feeling of such peace,
such serenity! And I have you to thank for it, Herr von Niebeldingk."
"I don't understand that. To teach in the _stoa_ is a new employment
for me."
"Well, didn't you introduce me to that noble lady? Wasn't it you?"
"Aha," said Niebeldingk. The image of Alice, smiling a gentle
reproach, arose before him.
In the midst of this silly and sordid business that had overtaken him,
he had almost lost sight of her. More than a week had passed since he
had crossed her threshold.
"How is the dear lady?" he asked.
"Oh, splendid," Fritz said, "just splendid."
"Have you seen her often?"
"Certainly," Fritz replied, "we're reading Marcus Aurelius together
now."
"Thank heaven," Niebeldingk laughed, "I see that she's well taken care
of."
He made up his mind to see her within the next hour.
Fritz who had only come because he needed to overflow to some one with
the joy of life that was in him, soon started to go.
At the door he turned and said timidly and with downcast eyes.
"I have one request to make----"
"Fire away, Fritz! How much?"
"Oh, I don't need money ... I'd like to have the address of your
florist ...I'd like to send to the dear lady a bunch of the ... the
Indian lilies."
"What? Are you mad?" Niebeldingk cried.
"Why do you ask that?" Fritz was hurt. "May I not also send that
symbol to a lady whose purity and loftiness of soul I reverence. I
suppose I'm old enough!"
"I see. You're quite right. Forgive me." Niebeldingk bit his lips and
gave the lad the address.
Fritz thanked him and went.
Niebeldingk gave way to his mirth and called for his hat. He wanted to
go to her at once. But--for better or worse--he changed his mind, for
yonder in the gateway, unabashed, stood the knight of several
honourable orders.