Obviously it would have been the right thing to give you my news in
person--apart from the fact that I should then have enjoyed the amusing
spectacle of your horror! But I could not make up my mind to this
course.
All the same, upon my word of honour, you, dear innocent soul, are the
only person to whom I have made any direct communication on the subject.
It is at once your great virtue and defect that you find everything that
everybody does quite right and reasonable--you, the wife eternally in
love with her husband; eternally watching over your children like a
brood-hen.
You are really virtuous, Lillie. But I may add that you have no reason
for being anything else. For you, life is like a long and pleasant day
spent in a hammock under a shady tree--your husband at the head and your
children at the foot of your couch.
You ought to have been a mother stork, dwelling in an old cart-wheel on
the roof of some peasant's cottage.
For you, life is fair and sweet, and all humanity angelic. Your
relations with the outer world are calm and equable, without temptation
to any passions but such as are perfectly legal. At eighty you will
still be the virtuous mate of your husband.
Don't you see that I envy you? Not on account of your husband--you may
keep him and welcome! Not on account of your lanky maypoles of
daughters--for I have not the least wish to be five times running a
mother-in-law, a fate which will probably overtake you. No! I envy your
superb balance and your imperturbable joy in life.
I am out of sorts to-day. We have dined out twice running, and you know
I cannot endure too much light and racket.
We shall meet no more, you and I. How strange it will seem. We had so
much in common besides our portly dressmaker and our masseuse with her
shiny, greasy hands! Well, anyhow, let us be thankful to the masseuse
for our slender hips.
I shall miss you. Wherever you were, the atmosphere was cordial. Even on
the summit of the Blocksberg, the chillest, barest spot on earth, you
would impart some warmth.
Lillie Rothe, dear cousin, do not have a fit on reading my news:
_Richard and I are going to be divorced_.
Or rather, we _are_ divorced.
Thanks to the kindly intervention of the Minister of Justice, the affair
was managed quickly and without fuss, as you see. After twenty-two years
of married life, almost as exemplary as your own, we are going our
separate ways.
You are crying, Lillie, because you are such a kind, heaven-sent,
tender-hearted creature. But spare your tears. You are really fond of
me, and when I tell you that all has happened for the best, you will
believe me, and dry your eyes.
There is no special reason for our divorce. None at least that is
palpable, or explicable, to the world. As far as I know, Richard has no
entanglements; and I have no lover. Neither have we lost our wits, nor
become religious maniacs. There is no shadow of scandal connected with
our separation beyond that which must inevitably arise when two
middle-aged partners throw down the cards in the middle of the rubber.
It has cost my vanity a fierce struggle. I, who made it such a point of
honour to live unassailable and pass as irreproachable. I, who am
mortally afraid of the judgment of my fellow creatures--to let loose the
gossips' tongues in this way!
I, who have always maintained that the most wretched _ménage_ was better
than none at all, and that an unmarried or divorced woman had no right
to expect more than the semi-existence of a Pariah! I, who thought
divorce between any but a very young couple an unpardonable folly! Here
am I, breaking a union that has been completely harmonious and happy!
You will begin to realize, dear Lillie, that this is a serious matter.
For a whole year I delayed taking the final step; and if I hesitated so
long before realizing my intention, it was partly in order to test my
own feelings, and partly for practical reasons; for I _am_ practical,
and I could not fancy myself leaving my house in the Old Market Place
without knowing where I was going to.
My real reason is so simple and clear that few will be content to accept
it. But I have no other, so what am I to do?
You know, like the rest of the world, that Richard and I have got on as
well as any two people of opposite sex ever can do. There has never been
an angry word between us. But one day the impulse--or whatever you like
to call it--took possession of me that I must live alone--quite alone
and all to myself. Call it an absurd idea, an impossible fancy; call it
hysteria--which perhaps it is--I must get right away from everybody and
everything. It is a blow to Richard, but I hope he will soon get over
it. In the long run his factory will make up for my loss.
We concealed the business very nicely. The garden party we gave last
week was a kind of "farewell performance." Did you suspect anything at
all? We are people of the world and know how to play the game...!
If I am leaving to-night, it is not altogether because I want to be
"over the hills" before the scandal leaks out, but because I have an
indescribable longing for solitude.
Joergen Malthe has planned and built a little villa for me--without
having the least idea I was to be the occupant.
The house is on an island, the name of which I will keep to myself for
the present. The rooms are fourteen feet high, and the dining-room can
hold thirty-six guests. There are only two reception-rooms. But what
more could a divorced woman of my age require? The rest of the
house--the upper storey--consists of smaller rooms, with bay-windows and
balconies. My bedroom, isolated from all the others, has a glass roof,
like a studio. Another of my queer notions is to be able to look up from
my bed and see the sky above me. I think it is good for the nerves, and
mine are in a terrible condition.
So in future, having no dear men, I can flirt with the little stars in
God's heaven.
Moreover, my villa is remarkable for its beautiful situation, its
fortress-like architecture, and--please make a note of this--its
splendid inhospitality. The garden hedge which encloses it is as high as
the wall of the women's penitentiary at Christianshafen. The gates are
never open, and there is no lodge-keeper. The forest adjoins the garden,
and the garden runs down to the water's edge. The original owner of the
estate was a crank who lived in a hut, which was so overgrown with moss
and creepers that I did not pull it down. Never in my life has anything
given me such delight as the anticipation of this hermit-like existence.
At the same time, I have engaged a first-rate cook, called Torp, who
seems to have the cookery of every country as pat as the Lord's Prayer.
I have no intention of living upon bread and water and virtue.
I shall manage without a footman, although I have rather a weakness for
menservants. But my income will not permit of such luxuries; or rather I
have no idea how far my money will go. I should not care to accept
Richard's generous offer to make me a yearly allowance.
I have also engaged a housemaid, whose name is Jeanne. She has the most
wonderful amber-coloured eyes, flaming red hair, and long, pointed
fingers, so well kept that I cannot help wondering where she got them
from. Torp and Jeanne will make the sum-total of my society, so that I
shall have every opportunity of living upon my own inner resources.
Dear Lillie, do all you can to put a stop to the worst and most
disgusting gossip, now you know the true circumstances of the case. One
more thing, in profound confidence, and on the understanding that you
will not say a word about it to my husband: Joergen Malthe, dear
fellow, formerly honoured me with his youthful affections--as you all
knew, to your great amusement. Probably, like a true man, he will be
quite frantic when he hears of my strange retirement. Be a little kind
and friendly to the poor boy, and make him understand that there is no
mystical reason for my departure.
Later on, when I have had time to rest a little, I shall be delighted to
hear from you; although I foresee that five-sixths of the letters will
be about your children, and the remaining sixth devoted to your
husband--whereas I would rather it was all about yourself, and our dear
town, with its life and strife. I have not taken the veil; I may still
endure to hear echoes of all the town gossip.
If you were here, you would ask what I proposed to do with myself. Well,
dear Lillie, I have not left my frocks nor my mirror behind me.
Moreover, time has this wonderful property that, unlike the clocks, it
goes of itself without having to be wound up. I have the sea, the
forest; my piano, and my house. If time really hangs heavy on my hands,
there is no reason why I should not darn the linen for Torp!
Should it happen by any chance--which God forbid--that I were struck
dead by lightning, or succumbed to a heart attack, would you, acting as
my cousin, and closest friend, undertake to put my belongings in order?
Not that you would find things in actual disorder; but all the same
there would be a kind of semi-order. I do not at all fancy the idea of
Richard routing among my papers now that we are no longer a married
couple.
With every good wish,
Your cousin,
ELSIE LINDTNER.