FRANKA’S SALON
With the aid of Dr. Fixstern and his wife, Franka had established
herself in the Vienna palace, having made first in the company of the
doctor a trip to Lower Austria and Carinthia for the purpose of
acquainting herself with her two other estates. The castles there were
fully as sumptuous and seigneurial as Castle Sielenburg, even if not so
comfortable and homelike, and the reason for this was that its owners
had always preferred Schloss Sielenburg, while Grossmarkendorf and
Hochberg generally stood empty. The lands and industries belonging to
them were profitably rented, so that their administration would not
occasion any care to the possessor. The fixed revenues were to be
collected by the agent and by him turned over to her. When Dr. Fixstern
informed her of the amount of the income, she had to suppress a cry of
astonishment: so rich, so unboundedly rich she was now!
“I must deserve it—I must be worthy of this unheard-of good fortune—if I
only knew how!”
She did not say that aloud. It was like a secret burden of indebtedness
which she had to carry around with her. It would have to be paid—that
was absolutely certain. Meantime, during this journey through her
domains, she gave herself up to the irresistibly joyful pride which the
thought, “mine, mine,” is wont to arouse in any heart.
She found the Vienna palace in perfect order; only a few slight
alterations and refurnishings were necessary to render comfortable and
tasteful her own suite of rooms. The domestics comprised the major-domo,
who had been connected with the establishment for ten years, and his
wife, who was installed as housekeeper. Franka had brought her own maid
from the Sielenburg. The other servants were new people. Franka had also
engaged a companion. Her name was Eleonore von Rockhaus, the daughter of
a naval officer and the widow of a consul. She had seen much of the
world, and was a perfect lady. Her age was about forty-five. Her hair
was just beginning to turn gray, but she had a youthfully elastic
figure, and delicate, friendly features; she was well read, almost an
artist on the piano, an absolute mistress of French and English;—in
short, she was a jewel of a companion and chaperon. Perhaps also she
would prove to be a genuine friend, but as to that the future would
tell. Provisionally, the two ladies were somewhat reserved in their
intercourse ... first of all, they had to learn to know each other.
Franka did not open her heart to Eleonore von Rockhaus. What was
beginning to become a fixed idea—that the wealth lavished upon her as by
a gift of good fairies must be spent for some great purpose, that she
herself must labor with her whole soul, with all her energies, with all
her gifts of body and mind, so as to confer upon the world some
advantage, some great blessing—this dream, as yet vague and
unformulated, she did not confide to her companion. First she herself
must go through a novitiate; in other words, test herself, acquire more
knowledge, look about her, clarify her thoughts. She intended to
question Helmer as to what reality there was behind the visions which he
outlined in his letters. Yet even this she postponed. First she desired
to gain some experience from intercourse with prominent men and women.
To this end Dr. Fixstern might be useful to her. As a highly respected
lawyer, he had a wide circle of acquaintances, among them scientists,
artists, statesmen, and could bring the most interesting of them into
the Garlett palace. As for “Society,” Franka had no ambition at all.
During the first year of mourning, following her grandfather’s death,
that, as well as attendance at concerts and theaters, would naturally be
out of question; but besides, she felt no desire for it: she knew that
it might divert her from the serious sacred duties to which she had
consecrated herself, although without having as yet settled in her own
mind what they should be.
It was four o’clock in the afternoon. The two ladies had come in from
their daily walk in the Prater and were sitting in the little salon. A
cheering warmth and a rosy glow radiated from the gas-log; the electric
lights had not been turned on. It was pleasanter to rest and chat in the
twilight.
“It is delicious here,” said Frau von Rockhaus, leaning back in the
comfortable armchair. “I look forward with dismay to the time, probably
not very distant, when you will be getting married and will no longer
need me.”
“I am not contemplating being married—at least, not for some time
yet.... I like my freedom. Were you happy in your marriage, Frau
Eleonore?”
“Not so very. My husband played me false with the most exotic women.
Besides, he was quarrelsome and very arbitrary. And yet, I liked him
well enough. That was unfortunate, because for that very reason I was
tormented with jealousy and suffered from his stern and cold behavior.”
“That seems to me the most terrible thing: an unloving or an unloved
husband. I would only marry when I was certain that I loved the man with
my whole heart, only when I knew that he was not after my money—but how
can one know that? And then, besides, I cannot possibly marry yet
awhile: I must remain my own mistress in order to accomplish a certain
task.”
“A task? What?”
“Oh, no matter—I am not talking about it as yet.”
“The first and most important duty which a person, especially a young
and pretty girl, has to fulfill is to be happy. Besides, what can a
woman undertake and accomplish by herself? Of course, if we lived in
England, you might become a Suffragette or join the Salvation Army, but
here in Vienna? There would be a chance for you to join one of the
ladies’ committees in some charity organization, or to meander down into
the slums and distribute harmless gifts, or catechise the children of
the suburbs; our circle of activities is so narrow! Only indirectly can
we acquire any influence in public affairs, or even help direct the
course of history—I mean when we exert power over some powerful man!”
“And what profitable work can this influential individual do, according
to your idea?”
“Heavens! that I can’t tell. Commonly she will have to secure high
positions for her friends or....”
“Certainly,” interrupted Franka; “commonly one does the common thing.
But I am thinking of something different.... Play to me, Frau Eleonore;
it is so lovely to hear music in the twilight.”
Frau von Rockhaus went to the grand piano. “What shall it be? Also
something out of the ordinary?”
“Yes, ‘Isoldens Liebestod,’ please.”
A moment later the sweet, passion-swept chords were floating through the
room. Franka closed her eyes. She breathed deeply. What she felt was a
sort of anguish, for it was a longing, and, to tell the truth, a longing
not for something out of the ordinary, but for the simplest and most
commonplace thing which even the simplest and most commonplace maiden
heart desires—Love! Yet what kind of a person must he be, should she
ever meet him—the man who should be her Tristan?
She roused herself from her dreaming. “No, no,” she said to herself as
she had just said aloud: “I must remain my own mistress.”
Indeed, there was not a single young man in her whole circle of
acquaintance to whom she felt drawn, and, besides, she had no business
to be wishing and seeking for such a one ... all her thoughts and
feelings must be concentrated on the task that hovered before her.
The servant announced a caller. Frau Eleonore left the piano and turned
on the electric lights. A second visitor followed the first, and then a
third, and, before long, a little circle was gathered around Franka. Dr.
Fixstern had brought to her a number of distinguished personages, just
as she had wished—people who either had written successful books, or had
played leading parts in parliament, or had delivered popular courses of
lectures at the university, or who were famous as artists. There were
also a few ministers of state and foreign diplomats. In short, Franka
had good reason to expect that the conversation in her drawing-room
would be most lively and interesting: discussions of learned topics,
alternating with witty anecdotes and edifying observations. Yet she was
gradually led to discover that the conversational capacity of society
does not reach such a high level. Occasionally, indeed, stirring talk
may occur in a salon, but only about as frequently as oases in a desert;
the average conversation consists of sand and simooms, for even choice
spirits sink down to the banal ground of ordinary topics, especially
when in a larger circle of merely casual acquaintances: the weather, the
latest theatrical gossip, the sensational news sprung in the morning
papers, mingled with still tamer questions and comments on health,
projects of travel, and the like. And then it is impossible to form a
circle of nothing but prominent people. There will always be an
intermixture of cordially futile Nobodies. One cannot post on the front
door the notice: “Admittance only for Somebodies!”
Now this afternoon the talk began to take a very interesting direction.
A distinguished dramatic author was telling about certain foreign
colleagues whom he had met during a summer journey, and he was relating
in his cleverest way characteristic anecdotes about their peculiarities.
But first he was to describe the individuality of the most original of
the present day—Bernard Shaw. He was interrupted by the arrival of new
callers: Miss Albertine von Beck and the Baroness Rinski.
Not very agreeably surprised, Franka went to meet the new guests.
“You, dear Aunt Albertine?”
“I came to Vienna for a few days, and so of course I came to see you,
and I am bringing with me a friend who is very desirous of making your
acquaintance.”
The Baroness Rinski was a little elderly lady of unprepossessing
appearance. Her name was not unknown to Franka; she had frequently seen
it in the social columns of the papers among the personages who stand at
the head of various charitable organizations.
“I begged my friend to bring me to you, my dear Miss Garlett, as I place
great hopes on your aid.”
“If I had known that you were entertaining so many this afternoon,” said
Albertine, “we should have come at another hour. I also have a message
from Aunt Adele. But you do not look particularly well,” she added in
her most benevolent tone of voice.
“Please, come with me, aunt, and you also, Baroness,—here we can talk
undisturbed”; and she led the two ladies to the remotest end of the
salon. This seemed preferable to introducing the two ladies into the
circle of the others; they could continue listening to the revelations
concerning Bernard Shaw while she sacrificed herself to her new
visitors. She certainly felt that she was a martyr as she sat down with
the two and tried to be gracious.
“Well, what word did my great-aunt send to me?”
“She sends you her greeting. I think she is a very good woman—she no
longer seems to be offended with you.”
“But why should she be offended with me?”
“Well, if you will permit me to say so—for the way you got rid of us
all.... But we will not talk about that now. Adele wanted me to tell you
that you must come and visit her at Sielenburg—it would please her.”
“Thank you. Perhaps I will, next spring.” And, turning to the baroness,
she said: “What do you wish I should help you about, Baroness?”
“You must not disappoint her, Franka,” suggested Albertine. “If you do
what the Baroness Rinski is going to ask you, it will be for your own
great advantage. You need something to occupy you and give you some
object in life, something that will turn your great property to a good
purpose.”
Franka concealed her vexation. She had thought that she was going to rid
herself entirely of the Sielenburg protectorate, and now it was cropping
up again. She could easily imagine what secret design the Baroness
Rinski cherished. She had no objection to devoting large sums to
charitable ends and she had already done much in that direction; yet on
this score she preferred to act in accordance with her own judgment and
her own impulse, and not after the prescription of others, and she
certainly did not wish to be drawn into the game of charity as she
happened to know it was played by the baroness. As a student of social
economic literature under the wise direction of her father, she had won
too deep an insight into the causes and the ramifications of human
misery, not to know that if she spent her whole property in alms, it
would be only a drop on a hot stone. The lever must be applied in a very
different place, in order to eradicate the evil.
The little baroness took a few printed documents out of her hand-bag.
“See, my dear young lady, here are the yearly reports of various
societies on whose boards I serve.” And she began with great volubility
to describe the blessings afforded by these associations for the rescue
of babies, the protection of the young, the guardianship of
maidservants, and the care of elderly persons; and she wanted Franka to
enroll herself as a patroness and undertake the office of president of a
new society for providing food for needy school-children.
“There is nothing,” she said in conclusion, “nothing which can better
build a golden stair up to heaven than beneficence. And even here below
one gains recognition by it; and even if one does not belong to high
society, it affords an opportunity to meet with ladies of high standing,
and one may even expect to obtain the ‘Elizabeth Order’ of the third
class.”
Franka laughed and shook her head. “I am afraid that there is danger of
slipping off the heavenly stairs if one has at the same time an eye for
such earthly things. However, Baroness, send me the subscription-list of
your associations—I will gladly put my name down according to my
ability, but I will not accept any offices.”
“Oh, I hope that I shall be able to change your mind.”
Visitors taking their leave and the arrival of others, whose names were
announced, rescued Franka. She was obliged to get up and abandon her
place between the two ladies in order to devote herself to the departing
and to the new-coming guests. The Baroness Rinski put her documents back
into the bag: “Come, Albertine, we will call on your niece at another
time, when she is alone. Let us say good-bye now.”
Franka made no effort to detain them and accompanied them to the door.
“Well, I shall look for the lists.”
In the mean time the dramatic author had concluded his interesting
anecdotes about the brilliant British author, and the conversation had
become general, and was turning on the most unfortunate of all subjects:
Austrian politics; the German-Bohemian linguistic disputes, Hungarian
confusions and disorders, trade compacts and frontier obstructions, new
tariffs and increased prices, and all in a tone of complaint and
lamentation, such as is generally used when great calamities or great
crimes are discussed, as if the whole activity of the municipality, of
the Parliament, and of the State consisted in accomplishing as much harm
and causing as much discontent as possible. Franka said to herself: “If
Cousin Coriolan were present, he would know of two simple means of
relief: to expel the Jews and establish absolutism.”
“Yes, you see, gentlemen and ladies,” said a little stout man with
shining eyeglasses and equally shining forehead which extended over to
the back of his neck, “this is the way things stand....”
The others listened excitedly, for the speaker was a highly respected
publicist, who, as was well known, enjoyed the confidence of influential
political circles—in other words, of the ministers of internal and
external affairs.
“We have reached a great crisis in the history of our country.
Everything which you have been lamenting and criticizing is in reality
in a very wretched condition. The dissensions among the nationalities,
the passion for independence on the part of the Transleithan population,
the dangers from the Irredentists, the activities of the Socialists, the
quarrel over confession, and God knows what else—are things which make
it seem as if we were a thoroughly disunited and crumbling state; and so
many elements unfavorable to us or watching for our inheritance may be
supposed to be all ready to do us harm; and yet it has been already
proved by the crisis in the Balkans that we are nevertheless a proud,
brave, first-class power; proud of our strength and brave to the last
degree; and that all petty internal quarrels will disappear when
necessity arises to affirm ourselves against outside encroachments. Thus
we have compelled respect ... with our constituted power we have proved
that we can act, that we can take hold together, that we will not allow
ourselves to be moved by international tribunals and conferences,
because we are ready to defend our rights,—or, if you please, our ‘_bon
plaisir_’—with guns and ships. In presence of this resolute attitude,
all the intrigues weaving against us went to smash. It came near war, I
know that; the men on the General Staff were at fever heat to strike ...
the population was enthusiastic, ready for every sacrifice ... and
because our ally showed himself resolved to stand by us to the ultimate
consequences, but especially because we were so firm and energetic, we
won—and that, too, without drawing the sword. Now it is our duty to
solidify this position which we have acquired as a first-class power, if
possible to make it still stronger, still more unassailable—we must
build dreadnoughts. Perhaps this sounds harsh at a time when all sorts
of peace fads are taking possession of people, but of course only among
those who understand nothing of politics and its modernest phases, among
those who do not know that this phase is imperialism. Unscrupulousness
is the key to a strong policy. Self-consciousness and the development of
force—that is necessary if one is not to be crushed, if one is to have a
voice in the council of the nations.... But I beg the pardon of the
ladies, and particularly of our gracious hostess, for having touched on
a theme in which fortunately ladies are not interested. There is
scarcely anything more repulsive than women who meddle with politics.”
Franka felt a sense of suffocation in her throat and a bitter taste in
her mouth. The tone and the spirit of the political speech to which she
had just listened were, indeed, detestable to her. She might have
contradicted what he said; for her father had been living at the time of
that crisis to which the imperialistic publicist referred, and he had
closely followed the course of events and talked with her about them.
She knew that the populace, during the hasty and secret mobilization,
was the opposite of enthusiastic; she knew that the war so eagerly
desired in high military circles was not allowed to break out for the
reason that the Emperor Franz Josef opposed it, that peace was
maintained—not from fear of the united bayonets of the central states,
but because the other powers desired to avoid a European war and by
continual yielding removed all the difficulties that pointed to an
ultimatum. Franka might have said all this, but she controlled herself
and replied:—
“You need not ask pardon, Doctor; perfect freedom of thought and of
expression reigns here.”
At this point some of those present took their departure, and after a
short time the rest followed, and Franka was left alone with her
companion. She felt depressed—a sense of loneliness and isolation and
unprotectedness overtook her, which is especially sad when it comes over
one not in actual solitude, but as the aftermath of social intercourse.