FRANKA’S DÉBUT AND CAREER
Franka read the letter over a second and a third time—then she let it
sink into her lap and fell into deep thoughts. She was sitting alone in
her sleeping-room; on the table before her stood the breakfast-tray, and
beside it her mail, as yet untouched. In the stove a cheerful fire was
burning: the windows, through which could be seen the trees of the
garden behind the palace, were open and warm sunbeams came laughing in,
for it was already springtime. There was occasionally a cool breath of
air, full of that spring fragrance which does not come from violets, but
suggests violets. Such a breath fans in young hearts the fire of
longing—longing for the joys of life.
Franka stood up, still holding the letter in her hand, and went to the
window. She looked down into the garden; it was not large, and behind
the still leafless trees could be seen the walls and roofs of the houses
beyond....
“How lovely it must be now in my parks and forests,” thought Franka.
Nothing would prevent her from journeying to them. A sense of pride in
possession and of joyous freedom swelled her heart. The world lay open
before her ... how easily, how freely might she not pluck all the
blossoms of enjoyment. But she flung these thoughts away from her. “To
accomplish something great”—that was her task, that was the aim, held up
as a command before her conscience, and now she had in her hands what
she wanted—a concrete programme, a definite way.
There were men in the world—there was one man—who regarded her with
confidence and esteem, who had such a high idea of her that he believed
she might be an apostle, a leader ... oh, if that only might be, if only
she had the strength, the courage, and the fire to carry others along
with her, to lift them up! And like an electric shock there flashed
through her that lightning of the will which bears the name of resolve:
“Yes, I will do it!”
She stepped from the window and stood in front of her great pier-glass
as if to strengthen her resolution by means of a vow spoken in presence
of herself. The mirror reflected a lovely picture. The tall, graceful,
maidenly figure, clasped in the folds of a soft, white cashmere
morning-gown, the head crowned by a heavy diadem of braids and proudly
thrown back, the cheeks brilliantly colored, the dark-red lips slightly
parted and showing the gleaming white teeth: so she stood for a little
while, and then she repeated the sentence aloud again: “Yes, I will do
it!”
Franka went to her desk and wrote a line or two, then she rang for her
maid: “Send this dispatch immediately.” The telegram was addressed to
Chlodwig Helmer and ran: “I expect you to-day for a further talk.”
Frau Eleonore entered the room: “Not yet dressed, dear Franka? And we
have such a busy day before us! Look—I have jotted everything down: at
eleven o’clock the betrothal-service of the Archduchess—we have cards
admitting us to the Augustiner Church; then Drecoll expects you to try
on three dresses—that will take at least two hours. There is the
reception of the eight lady artists at Pisco’s—you promised to go, and
we must be sure to see the exhibition of flowers at the Botanical
Society—to-day is the last day. It is also Baroness Rinski’s _jour_;
then....”
“Shut up your notebook—I am not going out at all. I am expecting a
caller. All that you have told me seems to me so trivial, so trivial....
Frau Eleonore, I am at the turning-point of my life....”
“You are to be married!... I ought to have been prepared for it, but it
is a hard blow for me.
“No. I am not to be married. Yet, would that affect you so?”
“Of course, because you would not need my services any longer.”
“I shall need you more than ever.... I want you to accompany me on my
journeys.”
“What journeys?”
“I will explain it all to you later. Meanwhile I will ask you to give
orders that I am at home to no one, absolutely no one, with the
exception of Mr. Helmer.”
“That is an extraordinary order—what will your servants think.
Especially this Mr. Helmer.... I wanted to tell you, the other day, when
I found you tête-à-tête with him, that it is not at least very good form
for you to....”
“Frau Eleonore,” interrupted Franka, “I look on you as my companion—a
very pleasant companion—who may very possibly become my friend—but not a
governess, please!”
Frau Eleonore bit her lips. “Pardon me! Older people always believe
themselves justified in giving younger ones advice on the ground of
their experience—it is a bad habit.”
It was late in the afternoon when Helmer was announced. He had been
away, and consequently had not received the telegram in time. Franka was
beginning to grow impatient. She sat in her little salon; Frau Eleonore
was reading to her from the evening paper, but Franka did not listen. If
only Chlodwig would come soon.
When the footman announced her caller, her heart fluttered as if she
were expecting a lover. But she was not in love. Helmer seemed to her
only as the director of her future career; he was not only going to
point out the way, but also to make it smooth for her, support her first
steps. And then that kinship in ideas! Among all the strangers, among
these indifferent people in whose midst she had lived since her father’s
death, this was one person allied to her, a fellow-countryman from the
home region of her soul—actually a brother; and therefore her heart was
drawn toward him.
“Ask him to come in,” said she to the footman; and then, turning to her
companion, she said: “Remain here, but please do not interrupt with a
word or a question while we are talking; later you will know all about
it.”
Chlodwig entered. He also was inwardly much agitated. He had not
expected that Franka would so speedily accept his proposition. He was,
therefore, filled with pride and delight at the thought of it; and
beneath it all there was also a vague sense of being in love, yet
without passion and without expectation. When he first saw her, his
imagination had been somewhat kindled by her beauty, but never had he
gone to the extent of thinking that it was within the bounds of
possibility for him to win her; still less since she had become a
millionairess. And now that she desired to devote herself to the vestal
consecration of a great service, she seemed to him absolutely removed
from the domain of love and marriage.
He drew nearer: “You sent for me, gnädiges Fräulein.”
The presence of the stranger disturbed him. Franka noticed it. She asked
him to sit down.
“We can talk without constraint. My friend must be initiated into all my
plans—she will accompany me on my _tournées_. And now, how am I to
begin?”
Helmer paused to consider. “The first step,” he said after a little
while, “is the engagement of an elocution teacher. The technical side
must be conquered. After that one may get the mastery of the ideal side.
Frau von Rockhaus will get the notion,” said he, in a different tone of
voice, “that you are intending to go on the stage if she hears us
talking of _tournées_ and elocution masters. And yet how far, how high
above that, stands our plan! What you propose to accomplish is related
to the art of acting—however noble that may be—as the Zeppelin stands
above a wheelbarrow.”
“Your thoughts move much in the upper regions of the air, Mr. Helmer.”
“Yes, Miss Franka, the conquest of this element gave me the impulse to
my poetry and my aspirations, and this thought must also serve as the
foundation of your work.”
“What is your poetry? What are your aspirations?”
Helmer explained. His poetry was not to be understood merely in a
figurative sense; he was actually writing poetry! He told of the books
which he had already written and those which he had in mind to write.
Above all, the great epic “Pinions.” And as he in eloquent, fiery words
explained the meaning and purpose of this poem, and recited some of the
lines, out of these words a light fell on Franka as to the meaning of
the work which lay before her. The conversation lasted nearly two hours.
The plan was discussed alternately in its details and then in its great
outlines—lines lost in sublime distances, where to-day Franka’s
spiritual eyes for the first time penetrated.
It had struck eight o’clock. Helmer was on the point of taking his
departure.
“No, no,” cried Franka, “now you must have supper with
us—informally—just we three alone. Please, Frau Eleonore, you are
sitting near the bell, ring for supper to be served. You poor creature
must be all used up by silently listening to all these wonderful things.
You need something to strengthen you, and so do we two.”
“Uff!” exclaimed Frau von Rockhaus as she touched the bell, and after
she had given the order to the servant, “Supper for three,” she again
uttered her “Uff!” adding, it was high time and ten minutes more had
turned her crazy.
Franka laughed: “Did you understand what we were talking about?”
“Well, yes, fairly well. Mr. Helmer wants to build a new flying-machine.
You are going to fly up into the air, and from up there deliver
addresses—and so you need to have lessons in declamation. You will not
touch upon the right of ‘Women to vote,’ but you will make the whole sex
mobile so that they can carry on their activities somewhere in the upper
regions. Then, there is to be a circuit through the German cities—or is
it through an epic in ten books?—tending to introduce a new
civilization; and the requisites for this simple scheme are as far as I
could make out—air-propellers, moral search-lights and a Valkyrie’s
horse.”
Chlodwig laughed heartily, so heartily that Franka listened in surprise;
she had never heard him laugh so before. It sounded so merry, so boyish,
so entirely different from what might have been expected from that
serious man who had just been talking with her on the gravest of
world-problems—a man whom she had judged, particularly from his behavior
on the Sielenburg and from the tone of his letters, and also from the
thoughtful expression of his face, to be rather inclined to melancholy.
Now all three were in the most cheerful mood, and during the little
supper not a word further was said about the serious plans for the
future; the jesting tone that had been hit upon was preserved
throughout; several times again, though more quietly, rang out Helmer’s
characteristic laugh with its golden ring of genuine merriment, and
Franka was filled with a sense of perfect ease and enjoyment, which was
doubly agreeable after the preceding strain of intellectual excitement;
at the same time she realized that her confidence in her brotherly young
friend was growing stronger—only a good, pure-minded man laughs like
that.
After ten months of industrious study, Franka felt prepared to begin her
career. She had also accepted Chlodwig’s advice to go through all the
books of which he had furnished a list; these brought her into touch
with the history and present condition of all the great questions
stirring the world, and she made him explain to her his standpoint in
these matters.
The result of this period of study was not merely that she proved to be
a good pupil who had passed through her course creditably and was
capable of understanding and correctly rendering the ideas of other
people; but during this period of preparation a thousand original
thoughts had arisen in her mind and the material she had stored up put
out further blossoms; views, convictions, aspirations were gathered,
which grew so imperious that she felt inspired, nay, compelled, to share
them with others, to compel others to adopt them. What lay before her—at
least, so it seemed to her proud consciousness—was more than a great
duty—it was a mission.
“A Word to Young Girls” was the title of her first lecture, and this
title was to be seen in gigantic letters on placards posted in every
nook and corner of Vienna. Above it was printed: “Great Music-Union
Hall, Sunday, January 15. Seven o’clock in the evening. Admission free.”
And below it: “Speaker: Franka Garlett.”
The sensation in Vienna society was immense.... What! that pretty
Fräulein Garlett, Vienna’s richest heiress, she who had refused so many
offers of marriage, who had been so generous in her charities, who had
gathered about her so many of the distinguished men of the city, who had
won universal admiration for her charm of manner, her simplicity and her
loveliness—was she coming out as a public speaker? On what subject? Why?
People cudgeled their brains, and were somewhat scandalized at such a
thing! The idea was certainly quixotic! Was there no one in the noble
family of Sielen to put a stop to such an absurdity? And what was she
going to say to the young girls? Possibly preach emancipation? Advocate
a doctor’s career? Equal suffrage?—or perhaps—free love! Certainly these
things did not agree at all with her whole personality. But one must be
ready to expect anything from a person who suddenly comes out on the
platform—no one would ever have thought her capable of that!
The public came in crowds. Helmer had seen to it that the lecture was
well advertised in the newspapers, and the fact that it came on a
Sunday, and was free, assured a large audience. The first two rows and a
few boxes were reserved for invited guests.
Long before the stated hour, the hall was packed to overflowing and
the entrances had to be closed. Franka was waiting in the artists’
room for the signal to begin. Frau Eleonore, Dr. Fixstern, and Helmer
were in attendance on her. Her cheeks were pale, for the terrible
phantom which so delights in haunting artists’ rooms and the scenes of
theaters,—a cousin of it is often found in the waiting-room of
dentists,—stage-fright, _le trac_, “footlight-fever,” or whatever the
thing is called, had seized her throat. The others tried to encourage
her—a perfectly useless attempt, which brings forth a still broader
grin on the face of the phantom. Now, really, it was no little thing
to step out for the first time in one’s life and deliver a lecture
before so many thousand people!
“O my dear friends, I am frightened at the mere idea of standing on the
platform so alone with the abyss before me!”
“Think of ‘soaring,’” said Chlodwig; “think of Blériot, who also was
alone—high up between heaven and the sea, apparently motionless, lost in
the universe.”
“And do you believe that I should not be panic-stricken up there? Oh, if
I could only be in my room—if I were not obliged to go out before all
those strangers, perhaps hostile to me....”
“But, Franka, I don’t know you,” said Frau Eleonore reproachfully. “I
thought you were a heroine. It was certainly not necessary for you to do
all this....”
Some one came in and announced: “It is time, Fräulein.... The house is
full.... The audience is growing impatient.”
A murmur of admiration went through the hall as Franka went forward and
took her place at the front of the stage. They were not prepared to see
such a maidenly poetic apparition. She wore a very simple white frock
with long, open sleeves. Her arms and hands were bare, without gloves,
without bracelets, without rings; they were white and perfectly
sculpturesque in form. Her luxuriant hair was artlessly arranged around
the small head. A bouquet of violets adorned her bodice. She had no
manuscript in her hand; nothing but a small ivory fan. Thus she stood
there for a moment. Her friends had applauded as she entered, and now
the others were clapping their hands so as to inspire the pale girl with
confidence. She extended her arms toward the hall as if commanding
silence and advanced one more step. The tumult ceased. Then she began in
a clear, firm, distinct voice:—
“Dear sisters ... for, although I see many men in the hall, my message
is to women only, particularly to young girls....”
The sound of her own voice reassured her. Under the tuition of an
eminent professor her melodious alto, capable of rich modulations, had
been happily trained and strengthened so that her clearly articulated
words were borne to the farthest corners of the hall.
She spoke for nearly two hours; at first very slowly and calmly, but
gradually, as she grew more animated, her pale cheeks took on color, her
eyes shone, and her voice intensified to a passionate power. It was soon
evident that she was in touch with her audience, and repeatedly there
was a murmur of approbation; occasionally, outbursts of applause showed
the effect of her words. This made her feel as if she were borne aloft,
and it happened that many times, as if under inspiration, she used
sentences and turns of speech which she had not thought of during the
preparation of her lecture, and these very improvisations still further
strengthened the magnetic relationship between speaker and audience.
The gist of her address had been expressed in her introduction: “You all
know the beautiful expression of Goethe’s Antigone: ‘Not here for mutual
hate, but mutual love are we.’ But, my sisters, the modern time enforces
upon us a second commandment: ‘For mutual thinking are we here.’”
And then she went on to show what are the duties of this latest age,—the
age of flying,—and she further showed how in the accomplishment of these
duties both halves of the human race must coöperate; how it behooved a
woman not only to win for herself the mastery of various professions, of
various offices which have hitherto been exclusively preempted by men,
but also to realize that she must no longer remain voluntarily aloof
whenever the highest interests of the community are in question. Place
and voice in the direction of public affairs? That certainly is already
on the programme of the Woman Movement, but the most important thing is
a knowledge and understanding of the universal laws that govern nature
and the world; then only can she judge and coöperate where social
arrangements are to be decided. To take a hand in the transformation of
these arrangements, to become themselves lawgivers: that is a goal the
attainment of which may stand for the future; but even before having
attained this positive power, women, and maidens too, may work through
their influence. But how shall they bring their views and their feelings
to effectiveness if they stay in voluntary ignorance of all those things
that regulate the conduct of social, political, and economic life? If in
the most important questions on which depend welfare or misery, war or
peace, they are to have no voice because they always allow themselves to
be told: “You don’t understand anything about that!” They must acquire
for themselves a conception of the universe. First, they must
understand; then they must share in councils; then at last they can
coöperate.... Indeed, they must understand as well as the men; then they
will perhaps do better work than men, because they will not forget that
they are there to share in love, that it is their task to make
goodness—this highest of feminine virtues—prevail in all situations and
all actions.
“There is no reason why the flame on the home altar should die down
because we succeed in casting its reflection on political life. Are
really mildness and gentleness, capacity for sympathy in sorrow and joy
purely feminine characteristics? No, they belong to men as well. Are
power and tenacity of purpose and resoluteness and courage purely
masculine virtues? No; they belong to women as well. And the perfect
human race of both sexes, when once they are to direct social life side
by side, must apply thereto the collective treasure of all their
qualities.”
Franka did not confine herself to such abstract discussions throughout
her lecture. She elucidated in clear, simple words the conditions
actually prevailing; she described the promising as well as the
threatening prospects of the future as conditioned by the new
discoveries, and she pointed out the practical ways which young women of
the present day had to enter upon if they were to share in the
humanization—nay, rather, the deification of the humanity of the morrow.
The most concrete and practical announcement which she made was that she
had established out of her own means a private free course of
instruction for mature young women. The lectures were not to be given by
her, but by university professors,—and she named certain distinguished
persons,—who twice a week during the next four months would give
lectures in a large hall engaged by her for this purpose. The following
subjects were on the programme: Social science, philosophy, the doctrine
of evolution, the history and prospects of contemporaneous movements,
and, finally, ethics and æsthetics. These two last were included,
because the realm of scientific truth should always be penetrated by the
light of morality and beauty. All these courses of study would be given
without pedantic insistence upon details, but would be presented in
synthetic method; and all of them, if they were absorbed into the mind
of the students, would furthermore produce that broader synthesis which
deserves the name of “world-conception,” that is, the vision of the
world, according to what we actually know it is at present and as it
presumably will be in the future, in the line of ceaseless evolution.
When she had spoken the peroration in a tone of ardent enthusiasm and
with an expression of prophetic inspiration on her youthful features,
there was at first a moment of breathless silence and then a burst of
thunderous applause. She bowed modestly and left the stage.
In the artists’ room she sank exhausted on a sofa. Her three friends
surrounded her:—“It was marvelously beautiful!”—“Bravo, Franka!”—Helmer
kissed her hand: “Heroine,” he said in a whisper.
In the hall the applause would not cease.
“They are calling for you,” said Dr. Fixstern. “The audience wants to
see you again.”
Franka shook her head. “No, I will not go out again—I am not a prima
donna!”
“But just hear, how they are clapping, how they are calling for you.”
“I beg of you, dear Doctor, go out and tell them that I have already
left the hall.”
Dr. Fixstern did as she ordered.
“Are you very tired, Franka?” asked Frau Eleonore. “How do you feel?”
“How do I feel? Happy!”
This was the beginning of Franka’s career, and now followed a series of
triumphs. The newspapers published long extracts from her addresses and
enthusiastic criticisms of her skill in the art of elocution. A few days
after her début she gave her second lecture, which again packed the
great Music Hall to the last seat; then she spoke in the Workingmen’s
Home, and here she kindled even more enthusiasm than before. Among the
young women of Vienna there sprang up a regular Franka cult, her
adherents called themselves “Frankistinnen”; as their badge they wore a
violet pin. There was in all the bookshops a special display of her
portraits. In the toy-shops Franka dolls were put on sale and were
eagerly bought. The comic papers published caricatures of her. Karl
Kraus made a feature of her in a Garlett number of “Die Fackel.” Herds
of autograph hyenas came down upon her. An impresario offered her an
engagement for America. The gramophone companies made her an offer to
have her represented on a record. A fashionable tailor introduced the
long, open Garlett sleeves. The pupils who attended the courses of
instruction which Franka had established were designated by the nickname
of the “Garlett girls.” And, worse than all, vaudeville theaters
enriched their repertoires of topical songs with a Garlett stanza.
Franka shuddered under this tidal wave of popularity; it was almost
mortifying to her. She had undertaken her work as a kind of vestal
mission, and now it was accompanied by such noisy publicity. But like
all sudden and exaggerated excitement, this also gradually subsided; yet
the quiet and earnest effect continued and increased. She soon
recovered, in the estimation of all, her standing as a powerful advocate
and woman of irreproachable character. The Sielen relatives, to be sure,
turned their backs on her. Adele and Albertine and their whole set
completely vanished. It was not a severe blow to her.
After a few weeks she went on a lecture _tournée_ to all the principal
cities of Germany. She was accompanied only by Frau von Rockhaus and a
maid. A business manager preceded her, whose duty it was to engage for
her lecture-halls and suitable quarters in the hotels. Everywhere she
went, she was received not only in her public capacity as a speaker, but
also with special honors by society as a lady. In the course of time her
journeys extended beyond Germany, first to the Scandinavian countries,
then to London and Paris. And after a few years her fame was world-wide.