"That's true enough," she said. "A pretty face is worth a pocketful of
gold."
"Can one sell a pretty face, then?" I asked.
"Yes, child, to the highest bidder," she replied, laughing.
From that moment I entered upon the accursed cult of my person which
absorbed the rest of my childhood and all my first youth. To become rich
was henceforth my one and only aim in life. I believed I possessed the
means of attaining my ends, and the thought of money was like a poison
working in my blood.
At school I was diligent and obedient, for I soon saw it paid best in
the long run. I was delighted to see that I attracted the attention of
the masters and mistresses, simply because of my good looks. I took in
and pondered over every word of praise that concerned my appearance. But
I put on airs of modesty, and no one guessed what went on within me.
I avoided the sun lest I should get freckles. I collected rain-water for
washing. I slept in gloves; and though I adored sweets, I refrained from
eating them on account of my teeth. I spent hours brushing my hair.
At home there was only one looking-glass. It was in my father's room,
which I seldom entered, and was hung too high for me to use. In my
pocket-mirror I could only see one eye at a time. But I had so much
self-control that I resisted the temptation to stop and look at my
reflection in the shop windows on my way to and from school.
I was surprised when I came home one day to find that the large mirror
in its gold frame had been given over to me by my father and was hanging
in my room. I made myself quite ill with excitement, and the maid had to
put me to bed. But later on, when the house was quiet, I got up and lit
my lamp. Then I spent hours gazing at my own reflection in the glass.
Henceforth the mirror became my confidant. It procured me the one
happiness of my childhood. When I was indoors I passed most of my time
practising smiles, and forming my expression. I was seized with terror
lest I should lose the gift that was worth "a pocketful of gold."
I avoided the wild and noisy games of other girls for fear of getting
scratched. Once, however, I was playing with some of my school friends
in a courtyard. We were swinging on the shafts of a cart when I fell and
ran a nail into my cheek. The pain was nothing compared to the thought
of a permanent mark. I was depressed for months, until one day I heard a
teacher say that the mark was all but gone--a mere beauty spot.
When I sat before the looking-glass, I only thought of the future.
Childhood seemed to me a long, tiresome journey that must be got through
before I reached the goal of riches, which to me meant happiness.
Our house overlooked the dwelling of the chief magistrate. It was a
white building in the style of a palace, the walls of which were covered
in summer-time with roses and clematis, and to my eyes it was the finest
and most imposing house in the world.
It was surrounded by park-like grounds with trim lawns and tall trees.
An iron railing with gilded spikes divided it from the common world.
Sometimes when the gate was standing open I peeped inside. It seemed as
though the house came nearer and nearer to me. I caught a glimpse in
the basement of white-capped serving-maids, which seemed to me the
height of elegance. It was said that the yellow curtains on the ground
floor were pure silk. As to the upstairs rooms, the shutters were
generally closed. These apartments had not been opened since the death
of Herr von Brincken's wife. He rarely entertained.
Sometimes while I was watching the house, Herr von Brincken would come
riding home accompanied by a groom. He always bowed to me, and
occasionally spoke a few words. One day an idea took possession of me,
with such force that I almost involuntarily exclaimed aloud. My brain
reeled as I said to myself, "Some day I will marry the great man and
live in that house!"
This ambition occupied my thoughts day and night. Other things seemed
unreal. I discovered by accident that Herr von Brincken often visited
the parents of one of my schoolmates. I took great pains to cultivate
her acquaintance, and we became inseparable.
Although I was not yet confirmed, I succeeded in getting an invitation
to a party at which Von Brincken was to be present. At that time I
ignored the meaning of love; I had not even felt that vague, gushing
admiration that girls experience at that age. But when at table this man
turned his eyes upon me with a look of astonishment, I felt
uncomfortable, with the kind of discomfort that follows after eating
something unpleasant. Later in the the evening he came and talked to me,
and I managed to draw him on until he asked whether I should like to see
his garden.
A few days later he called on my father, who was rather bewildered by
this honour, and asked permission to take me to the garden. He treated
me like a grown-up person, and after we had inspected the lawns and
borders, and looked at the ripening bunches in the grape-house, I felt
myself half-way to become mistress of the place. It never occurred to me
that my plans might fall through.
At the same time it began to dawn upon me that the personality of Von
Brincken, or rather the difference of our ages, inspired me with a kind
of disgust. In spite of his style and good appearance, he had something
of the "elderly gentleman" about him. This feeling possessed me when we
looked over the house. In every direction there were lofty mirrors, and
for the first time in my life I saw myself reflected in full-length--and
by my side an old man.
This was the beginning. A year later, after I had been confirmed, I was
sent to a finishing school at Geneva at Von Brincken's expense. I had
not the least doubt that he meant to marry me as soon as my education
was completed.
The other girls at the school were full of spirits and enthusiastic
about the beauties of nature. I was a poor automaton. Neither lakes nor
mountains had any fascination for me. I simply lived in expectation of
the day when the bargain would be concluded.
When two years later I returned to Denmark, our engagement, which had
been concluded by letter, was made public. His first hesitating kiss
made me shudder; but I compelled myself to stand before the
looking-glass and receive his caresses in imagination without disturbing
my artificially radiant smile.
Sometimes I noticed that he looked at me in a puzzled kind of way, but
I did not pay much attention to it. The wedding-day was actually fixed
when I received a letter beginning:
"MY DEAR ELSIE,
"I give you back your promise. You do not love me.
"You do not realize what love is...."
This letter shattered all my hopes for the future. I could not, and
would not, relinquish my chances of wealth and position. Henceforth I
summoned all my will-power in order to efface the disastrous impression
caused by my attitude. I assured my future husband that what he had
mistaken for want of love was only the natural coyness of my youth. He
was only too ready to believe me. We decided to hasten the marriage, and
his delight knew no bounds.
One day I went to discuss with him some details of the marriage
settlements. We had champagne at lunch, and I, being quite unused to
wine, became very lively. Life appeared to me in a rosy light. Arm in
arm, we went over the house together. He had ordered all the lights to
be lit. At length we passed through the room that was to be our conjugal
apartment. Misled, no doubt, by my unwonted animation, and perhaps a
little excited himself by the wine he had taken, he forgot his usual
prudent reserve, and embraced me with an ardour he had never yet shown.
His features were distorted with passion, and he inspired me with
repugnance. I tried to respond to his kisses, but my disgust overcame me
and I nearly fainted. When I recovered, I tried to excuse myself on the
ground that the champagne had been too much for me.
Von Brincken looked long and searchingly at me, and said in a sad and
tired voice, which I shall never forget:
"Yes, you are right.... Evidently you cannot stand my champagne."
The following morning two letters were brought from his house. One was
for my father, in which Von Brincken said he felt obliged to break off
the engagement. He was suffering from a heart trouble, and a recent
medical examination had proved to him that he would be guilty of an
unpardonable wrong in marrying a young girl.
To me he wrote:
"You will understand why I give a fictitious reason to your father and
to the world in general. I should be committing a moral murder were I to
marry you under the circumstances. My love for you, great as it is, is
not great enough to conquer the instinctive repugnance of your youth."
Once again he sent me abroad at his own expense. This time, at my own
wish, I went to Paris, where I met a young artist who fell in love with
me. Had I not, in the saddest way, ruled out of my life everything that
might interfere with my ambitious projects, I could have returned his
passion. But he was poor; and about the same time I met Richard. I
cheated myself, and betrayed my first love, which might have saved me,
and changed me from an automaton into a living being.
Under the eyes of the man who had stirred my first real emotions, I
proceeded to draw Richard on. My first misfortune taught me wisdom. This
time I had no intention of letting all my plans be shattered.
When I look back on that time, I see that my worst sin was not so much
my resolve to sell myself for money, as my aptitude for playing the
contemptible comedy of pretended love for days and months and years. I,
who only felt a kind of indifference for Richard, which sometimes
deepened into disgust, pretended to be moved by genuine passion. Yes, I
have paid dearly, very dearly, for my golden cage in the Old Market.
Richard is not to blame. He could not have suspected the truth....
It is so fatally easy for a woman to simulate love. Every intelligent
woman knows by infallible instinct what the man who loves her really
wants in return. The woman of ardent temperament knows how to appear
reserved with a lover who is not too emotional; while a cold woman can
assume a passionate air when necessary.
I, Joergen, I, who for years cared for no one but myself, have left
Richard firmly convinced to this day that I was greedy of his caresses.
You are an honest man, and what I have been telling you will come as a
shock. You will not understand it, or me.
Yet I think that you, too, must have known and possessed women without
loving them. But that is not the same. If it were, my guilt would be
less.
I allowed my senses to be inflamed, while my mind remained cold, and my
heart contracted with disgust. I consciously profaned the sacred words
of love by applying them to a man whom I chose for his money.
Meanwhile I developed into the frivolous society woman everybody took me
to be. Every woman wears the mask which best suits her purpose. My mask
was my smile. I did not wish others to see through me. Sometimes, during
a sudden silence, I have caught the echo of my own laugh--that laugh in
which you, too, delighted--and hearing it I have shuddered.
No! That is not quite true. I was a different woman with you. A real,
living creature lived and breathed behind the mask. You taught me to
live. You looked into my eyes, and heard my real laughter.
How many hours we spent together, Joergen, you and I! But we did not
talk much; we never came to the exchange of ideas. I hardly remember
anything you ever said; although I often try to recall your words. How
did we pass the happy time together?
You are the only man I ever loved.
When we first got to know each other you were five-and-twenty. So
young--and I was eight years your senior. We fell in love with each
other at once.
You had no idea that I cared for you.
From that moment I was a changed woman. Not better perhaps, but quite
different. A thousand new feelings awoke in me; I saw, heard, and felt
in an entirely new way. All humanity assumed a new aspect. I, who had
hitherto been so indifferent to the weal or woe of my fellow-creatures,
began to observe and to understand them. I became sympathetic. Towards
women--not towards men. I do not understand the male sex, and this must
be my excuse for the way in which I have so often treated men. For me
there was, and is, only one man in the world: Joergen Malthe.
At first I never gave a thought to the difference in our ages. We were
both young then. But you were poor. No one, least of all myself, guessed
that you carried a field-marshal's baton in your knapsack. Money had not
brought me happiness; but poverty still seemed to me the greatest
misfortune that could befall any human being.
Then you received your first important commission, and I ventured to
dream dreams for us both. I never dreamt of fame and honour; what did I
care whether you carried out the restoration of the cathedral or not?
The pleasure I showed in your talent I did not really feel. It was not
to the man as artist, but as lover, that my heart went out.
Later, you had a brilliant future before you; one day you would make an
income sufficient for us both. But you seemed so utterly indifferent to
money that I was disappointed. My dreams died out like a fire for want
of fuel.
Had you proposed that I should become your mistress, no power on earth
would have held me back. But you were too honourable even to cherish the
thought. Besides, I let you suppose I was attached to my husband....
I knew well enough that the moment you became aware of my feelings for
you, you would leave no stone unturned until you could legitimately
claim me as your wife.... Such is your nature, Joergen Malthe!
So I let happiness go by.
* * * * *
Two years ago Von Brincken died, leaving me a considerable share of his
fortune--- and a letter, written on the night of the day when we last
met.
I might then have left Richard. Your constancy would have been a
sufficient guarantee for my future.
A mere accident destroyed my illusions. A friend of my own age had
recently married an officer much younger than herself. At the end of a
year's happiness he left her; and society, far from pitying her, laughed
at her plight.
This drove me to make my supreme resolve--to abandon, and flee from, the
one love of my life.
Joergen, I owe you the best hours I have known: those hours in which you
showed me the plans for the "White Villa."
I feel a bitter, yet unspeakable joy when I think that you yourself
built the walls within which I am living in solitary confinement.
Once I longed for you with a consuming ardour.
Now, alas, I am but a pile of burnt-out ashes. The winds of heaven have
dispersed my dreams.
I go on living because it is not in my nature to do away with myself. I
live, and shall continue to live.
If only you knew what goes on within me, and how low I have sunk that I
can write this confession!
There are thoughts that a woman can never reveal to the man she
loves--even if her own life and his were at stake....
It is night. The stars are bright overhead. Joergen Malthe, why have I
written all this to you?... What do I really want of you?...
* * * * *
No, no!... never in this world....
You shall never read this letter. Never, never! What need you know more
than that I love you? I love you! I love you!
I will write to you again, calmly, humbly, and tell you the simple
truth: I was afraid of the future, and of the time when you would cease
to love me. That is what I fled from.
I still fear the future, and the time when you will love me no more. But
all my powers of resistance are shattered by this one truth: _I love_.
For the first and only time in my life. Therefore I implore you to come
to me; but now, at once. Do not wait a week or a month. My lime trees
are fragrant with blossom. I want you, Joergen, now, while the limes
are flowering. Then, what you ask of me shall be done.
If you want me for a wife, I will follow you as the women of old
followed their lords and masters, in joyful submission. But if you only
care to have me for a time, I will prepare the house for my desired
guest.
Whatever you decide to do will be such an immense joy that I tremble
lest anything should happen to hinder its fulfilment....
Then let the years go by! Then let age come to me!
I shall have sown so many memories of you and happiness that I shall
have henceforth a forest of glad thoughts, wherein to wander and take my
rest till Death comes to claim me.
The sun is flashing on the window-panes; the sunbeams seem to be weaving
threads of joy in rainbow tints.
You child! How I love you!...
Come to me and stay with me--or go when we have had our hour of delight.
* * * * *
The letter has gone. Jeanne has rowed to the town with it.
She looked searchingly at me when I gave it to her and told her to hurry
so that she should not lose the evening post. Both of us had tears in
our eyes.
I will never part with Jeanne. Her place is with me--and with him. I
stood at the window and watched her pull away in the little white boat.
She pulled so hard at the oars. If only she is strong enough to keep it
up.... It is a long way to the town.
Never has the evening been so calm. Everything seems folded in rest and
silence. There lies a majesty on sky and earth. I wandered at random in
the woods and fields, and scarcely seemed to feel the ground beneath my
feet. The flowers smell so sweet, and I am so deeply moved.
How can I sleep! I feel I must remain awake until my letter is in his
hands.
Now it is speeding to him through the quiet night. The letter yearns
towards him as I do myself.
I am young again.... Yes, young, young!... How blue is the night! Not a
single light is visible at sea.
If this were my last night on earth I would not complain. I feel my
happiness drawing so near that my heart seems to open and drink in the
night, as thirsty plants drink up the dew.
All that was has ceased to be. I am Elsie Bugge once more, and stand on
the threshold of life in all its expanse and beauty.
* * * * *
He is coming....
He will come by the morning train. It seems too soon.
Why did he not wait a day or two? I want time to collect myself. There
is so much to do....
How my hands tremble!
* * * * *
I carry his telegram next my heart. Now I feel quite calm. Why will
Jeanne insist on my going to bed? I am not ill.
She says it is useless to arrange the flowers in the vases to-night,
they will be faded by to-morrow. But can I rely on Torp's seeing that we
have enough food in the house? My head is swimming.... The grass wants
mowing, and the hedge must be cut.... Ah! What a fool I am! As though he
would notice the lawn and the hedge!...
Jeanne asks, "Where will the gentleman sleep?" I cannot answer the
question. I see she is getting the little room upstairs ready for him.
The one that has most sun.
* * * * *
Has Jeanne read my thoughts? She proposes to sleep downstairs with Torp
so long as I have "company."
* * * * *
I have begun a long letter to Richard, and that has passed the time so
well. I wish he could find some dear little creature who would sweeten
life for him. He is a good soul. During the last few days I seem to have
started a kind of affection for him.
We will travel a great deal, Joergen and I. Hitherto I have seen
nothing on my many trips abroad. Joergen must show me the world. We will
visit all the places he once went to alone.
Now I understand the doubting apostle Thomas. Until my eyes behold I
dare not believe.
Joergen has such a big powerful head! I sometimes feel as though I were
clasping it with both my hands.
* * * * *
Torp suggests that to-morrow we should have the same _menu_ that she
prepared when the "State Councillor" entertained Prince Waldemar. Well!
Provided she can get all she wants for her creations! She can amuse
herself at the telegraph office as far as I am concerned. I am willing
to help her; at any rate, I can stir the mayonnaise.
* * * * *
How stupid of me to have given Lillie my tortoiseshell combs! How can I
ask to have them back without seeming rude? Joergen was used to them;
he will miss them at once.
I have had out all my dresses, but I cannot make up my mind what to
wear. I cannot appear in the morning in a dinner dress, and a white
frock--at my age!... After all, why not?... The white embroidered
one ... it fits beautifully. I have never worn it since Joergen's last
visit to us in the country. It has got a little yellow from lying by,
but he will never notice it.
* * * * *
To-night _I will_ sleep--sleep like a top. Then I shall wake, take my
bath, and go for a long walk. When I come home, I will sit in the garden
and watch until the white boat appears in the distance.
* * * * *
I had to take a dose of veronal, but I managed to sleep round the clock,
from 9. P.M. to 9. A.M. The gardener has gone off in the boat; and I
have two hours in which to dress.
What is the matter with me? Now that my happiness is so close at hand,
I feel strangely depressed.
* * * * *
Jeanne advises a little rouge. No! Joergen loves me just as I am....
* * * * *
How he will laugh at me when he hears that I cried because I cannot get
into the white embroidered dress nowadays! It is my own fault; I eat too
much and do not take enough exercise.
I put on another white dress, but I am very disappointed, for it does
not suit me nearly as well.
* * * * *