FRANKA’S LECTURE
When Franka woke the following morning, she was possessed by the
consciousness that all sorts of unpleasantnesses were weighing upon
her.... What could it mean? Oh, yes, that evening, she had to give her
address. Never, except the first time, had she felt such a panic at the
prospect of a public appearance as she felt now. Always, before, she had
realized that she was making her addresses as the exponent of a cause,
as a guide for those of her own sex who were searching their way—a way
of escape; her own person was, so to speak, eliminated. But this time it
seemed to her as if she, Franka Garlett, were going to make her début
before the assembled world, which would pass judgment as to whether she
were capable of coöperating with all the celebrities of Europe and
America in Toker’s great work of civilization. There would be in the
hall no band of enthusiastic young girls, but the majority of the
audience would be men who would either take no interest in the tasks of
the new woman, or would even be opposed to them.
The second unpleasant thing that weighed on her spirit was the presence
of her aunts and their two escorts, Coriolan and Malhof. To speak before
them was really painful, and it would seem to her as if these four were
her real audience. And then there was Prince Victor Adolph, who would
hear her.... Why had she any timidity before him? Why that wish to
please him, that terror of displeasing him?... Is a person worthy of
addressing the whole world as the interpreter of “lofty thoughts,” when
the question arises, What wall that young man think?
Accustomed to speak extempore, she had made no written digest of her
address; but now she felt that in these quite altered circumstances her
inspiration might desert her, and she resolved to write a draft. She
looked at the clock: it was still early, only seven. No matter, she must
have time to write. She rang for her maid, made a hurried morning
toilette, and had her writing-apparatus, together with her breakfast,
brought out on the balcony.
It was a wonderfully fresh morning, full of bird songs and spicy
fragrance. Franka’s room looked out on a small group of firs, and she
regarded it as a real blessing that here nothing was to be seen of the
everlasting roses, and no breath of the everlasting perfume of roses.
Just that day the whole rose-scheme for the time being seemed
distasteful to her, for it was responsible for her making her appearance
as a member of the Rose Order and perhaps lamentably failing....
She drew in long breaths of the forest-air and a half-yearning,
half-regretful thought stole over her: “Why am I not in my quiet
Moravian hunting-castle, which lies so deep hidden in the fir forest?”
How beautiful it would be there, how restful, how lonely ... loneliness?
No, that was not, after all, what she was pining for ... some one must
be with her ... who? Victor Adolph? No, he was a stranger. It must be
some trusty friend, some one on whose heart—a heart containing no depths
hidden from her—she might lean; at the same time, some one to whom she
would be the dearest object on earth.... The image of her father rose in
her soul.... “Oh, yes, thou, thou! But thou art dead.”
She drew a deep sigh and went into her room to fetch out the precious
notebook. She would hold a little colloquy with her father. She came
back to the balcony with the book in her hand, sat down at the table
where her tablet and pencil were ready for her, and instead of writing,
she began to turn the pages of the notebook and to read. The first
sentence that attracted her attention was:—
“The absent grow daily more and more distant!” (Japanese proverb.)
Franka looked up to the sky. “Ah, yes, my poor departed father! Death is
an eternal absence—how sadly true that is. I love thee still—I see thee,
but how far, how far away!”
She read on:—
Saüme nicht dich zu erdreisten,
Wenn die Menge zaudernd schweift;
Alles kann der Edle leisten,
Der versteht und rasch ergreift.
Do not hesitate to be full of daring,
When the crowd irresolute drifts;
All things can the noble accomplish
Who perceives and quickly acts.
(Goethe, _Faust_, 2d part, Act 1. “Chor der Geister.”)
Franka remembered how at this stanza her father had remarked: “Do you
see in how few words the poet sums up the characteristics that make a
man a leader and accomplisher? He must be bold and confident and noble;
he must have intellect and resolution.”
Von Halbheit halte den Pfad rein,
Der ganze Mann setzt ganze Tat ein
Und wahre Ehre muss ohne Naht sein.
Of mediocrity keep thy road clear;
Let the whole man bear the whole load clear
And pure honor must be of all seam sewed clear.
(Ernst Ziel.)
“The whole man bear the whole load clear,” repeated Franka. “The whole
woman, too,—this equalization in dignity Brother Chlodwig taught me.”
All men’s advantage every man’s rule.
Banish him far away—our age’s demon far hence,
The sleepy, lame monster, whose name is Indifference.
I believe it is the secret of eminent men that they preserve into
advancing life their childish feelings,—that is to say, warm, deep
feelings. This terrible world cools down all ardor into nauseous
lukewarmness. But eminent men have so much internal warmth that an
ocean of stupidity and unintelligence could never cool what is burning
in their hearts. They have an absolute lack of affinity for everything
common and ordinary; they enter into no combination with it.
“There didst thou describe thy dear self, my own father.... I never saw
in my life such a childlike person as thou wert ... except Helmer, when
he laughs ... he also can laugh like a child....”
Wenn auch nur Einer lebt,
Der nicht sich beugt
Und für die Wahrheit zeugt—
Wie das erhebt!
Wenn auch nur Einer still
Die Hand uns drückt
Und mit uns denkt und will,
Wie das beglückt!
If only one man lives
Who will not fail
And makes the truth prevail—
What joy that gives!
If only one man press
Silent our hands,
What happiness
To know he understands!
(Hermann Lingg.)
For a long while Franka remained buried in the perusal of the old
notebook. At last, she put herself to making an outline of her coming
address. She wrote down a few notes, but could not seem to warm up to
the work, and she accepted as a welcome diversion the arrival of the
morning mail. As usual, she received a great number of letters and
documents. Dr. Fixstern regularly sent her reports regarding the
condition of the property entrusted to him. The directors of the Garlett
Academy kept her informed of the progress of this flourishing
institution. Enthusiastic letters from young girls came every day, and
there were numerous requests for autographs. On this morning there was
in addition the offer of an impresario who wanted her to undertake a
lecture _tournée_ through the United States; not to speak of a
declaration of love from a silent admirer present at the Rose-Week’s
exercises and moved to send her a few lyric effusions. This time her
whole mail made a particularly arid impression on Franka. It seemed to
her so lifeless and soulless. But now her duty was to proceed with
writing down the lecture—it was already eleven o’clock. She pushed the
half-written page into position before her.... No, she could not master
her thoughts.... She needed advice, needed warm, living words. She got
up and pressed the electric button. “Please,” she said to the servant
who answered her summons, “see if Mr. Helmer is in, and if he is, I
should like to have him come to see me.”
After a moment the servant came back: “Mr. Helmer has just this moment
come.”
“Very good, ask him into the salon.”
She stepped into the adjoining room. Helmer was standing before the
center table, contemplating the great basket of violets on which was
still attached Prince Victor Adolph’s visiting-card.
Franka offered him her hand: “It was good of you to come....”
“Since you have summoned me....”
“Oh. Do not be so ceremonious.... I wanted to see Brother Chlodwig.... I
need your encouragement, your advice....”
He seemed ill at ease. “My advice? Perhaps in regard to this business,”
and he indicated the violets.
“What business? Oh, indeed, you think ... no, no, listen.... I will tell
you what I want.”
Just at that moment Frau Eleonore entered by the other door. “Do I
disturb you”?
“Frankly, yes. I wanted to talk over my lecture with Mr. Helmer.”
“Very well; then I will write some letters”; and she vanished again into
her own room.
“So now you know what it is about.... I am simply in despair about my
lecture. You must help me, just as at the first time. You showed me the
way and made it smooth, and here this day I am standing again on a
crossway, or rather before a wall.... Help me over, reach me your hand!”
The demand was only meant symbolically, but Helmer took her hand in his,
and she got a degree of calm, of consolation from the firm grasp.
“What is the matter, Franka?” he asked tenderly. “What has come over you
suddenly? Timidity?... You, the victorious, you, ‘the Garlett’?”
“Dear me, it is hard to explain. Timidity? Yes, and such a sense of
emptiness, such a lack of impulse. When, before, I have spoken to my
audiences of women, I have had something to say to them.... I wanted to
persuade them, I wanted to transfer to their souls what filled my own
soul to the brim. My addresses were a means, not an end.... But here: I
cannot feel the impulse to persuade all these people,—beginning with Mr.
Toker and his guests,—and all these princes and diplomats and my aunts
and Coriolan (why didn’t they stay at home?)—to persuade them, I say,
that the young girls of our day must assume new duties.... And I shall
stand there on the platform, in order to perform—hateful term!—in order
to show the inquisitive company whether I have sufficient ability to be
accepted as one of the Rose-Knights, whether I really deserved to be
invited by Mr. Toker. These people are not at all here to get
edification, but they come as critics; and I am here, not as one urging,
but as an artist, and I am not that. For if the inner impulse fails,
then I can’t speak ... and that is the reason why I am unhappy....”
Chlodwig pressed her hand still more firmly. “I understand you, Franka.
But oh, your lips are actually trembling, like a child’s when it wants
to cry. Do not be faint-hearted; there will be a way out of this
difficulty. If it is really only what you have just told me, then it is
easy enough to help you. Or, perhaps, is it a fit of strained nerves?
Possibly the work that you have chosen does not satisfy you any
longer;—perhaps the emptiness which you complain of is the emptiness of
your heart, a conscious or an unconscious yearning;—or is it that you
are tired of these roses here, and,” with a glance at the basket, “are
longing for more violets?”
Franka shook her head vigorously. “Leave the violets out of the
question. I have told you the honest truth, why I dread this evening so
much.”
“Well, then, we shall meet that difficulty. Let me think.”
He leaned his elbow on the table and supported his head with his hand.
Franka looked up to him—expectantly and trustfully. The thoughtful
expression of his face touched and moved her: he was employing his
faculties for her. He wanted to help her. Ah, after the verb “to love,”
“to help” is the most beautiful verb in the world!
After a while he began to speak, looking her full in the eye: “The
public, whose criticism and lack of sympathy thou fearest—forgive me for
using the familiar ‘du’ ... I drifted back to the time when I wrote you
those letters as your brother in the spirit—this public must vanish,
must really vanish out of your consciousness. You must put it out of
existence yourself with your own introductory words. There must be the
feeling that it really is not there, this public—that therefore it has
no right to criticize you. You are not speaking to it—it can only
listen, while you are speaking to a hundred thousand others. Aye, to
millions, perhaps; ... it is your best opportunity—that must inspire you
and fire you. Up till now you have been following a fine, brilliant
career; to-day you will set the crown to it. Begin your address with the
words: ‘You young girls, now listen to me’; and then continue in some
such way as this: ‘Forgive me, ladies and gentlemen! I know very well
that in this distinguished assembly assuredly there will be only a small
percentage of young girls, and therefore my words will arouse only a
feeble echo in this room. But here I stand because I have undertaken to
deliver a message—a message to young people of my own sex showing them
the way which—as I believe—will lead the girls themselves and at the
same time all human society to higher aims. And to-day in this hall, the
windows of which look out into the wide world, the opportunity is
vouchsafed me to be heard by invisible throngs of those to whom my
life-work is dedicated, and therefore it is a sacred duty to direct my
utterances only to these and to call out more loudly and joyfully than
ever before: “Ye young maidens, listen to me!”’ After this exordium,
Franka, the whole audience of those that disturb you will vanish out of
your consciousness, and you can repeat to the invisible listeners all
the things with which at your first appearance you took all maiden
hearts by storm.”
Franka sprang up and reached Helmer both her hands. “Thanks, Brother
Chlodwig, that is, indeed, a saving way out. You are and always will be
my dear master!”
Some one knocked at the door. Franka let go Helmer’s hands and cried:
“Come in.”
Once more it was an offering of flowers and once more the prince’s
visiting-card was attached to the bouquet. A shade of vexation passed
over Helmer’s face. He felt a twofold annoyance: in the first place, at
this importunate homage, and in the second place, because he was
annoyed ... was it jealousy?
“I will leave you now. You must collect your thoughts, and you need
rest, Franka.”
“Good-bye, then, for now. I thank you again.”
“Shall you wear these violets this evening?”
“I always wear violets.”
“If you marry this prince, Franka, then it is all up with your career.”
“What are you thinking about? The prince in his position cannot marry
any one of humble rank; he is not imagining such a thing.”
“What is he imagining, then?”
“I don’t know you, Helmer. Hitherto you have never interfered with my
private affairs.”
“Forgive my presumption. I shan’t do so any more.” He turned to go.
“Are you angry, Brother Chlodwig?”
“Yes—with myself.” And he hastened out.
Franka gazed after him and smiled.