The great moment of her hopes had arrived.
"Is this you, Lilly Czepanek, to whom such things happen? Or, is it
someone else, with whom you changed places, some character in one of
your brown-backed books, who will cease to live the instant you close
it?"
He had not insisted on an answer that New Year's Eve. When she had
fallen back in a tremble, incapable of uttering a syllable, incapable of
thinking, he had taken her hands in his, and with the smile of a
gift-giving god had begun to talk to her in a softer, gentler tone than
she had thought possible in him. He told her to think the matter over;
she might take three days, no, a week; he would have patience. But she
must promise not to say a word about it to anybody.
She promised willingly, though she could not look him in the face, she
was so horribly ashamed.
Then she had run home, and cried and cried without knowing whether from
bliss or misery. When the sisters came creeping in at four o'clock in
the morning--they had let down the bars of their propriety on New Year's
Eve--she was still crying.
On rising, she came to the conclusion he could not possibly have been
serious and he would take the first opportunity to recant--perhaps that
very day.
She would not complain if he did. On the contrary she would breathe
freer, and thank God for having rid her of the presence of a phantom.
At ten o'clock the bell rang.
A box of roses was delivered, the size and cost of which aroused the
disapproving amazement of the sisters, who knew to a penny the price of
roses at that season, and reckoned a sum greatly exceeding Lilly's wages
for several months.
"I cannot for the life of me see," said the older, "why you don't yield
to such a magnificent admirer. With us, of course, it's different. We
belong to society, and we cannot give ourselves up. But you, nothing
more than a shop girl, with no family to have to consider! Besides,
there's no doubt but that shame has its charms. I in your place would
make a venture--"
The younger and more sentimental sister opposed the older one's advice.
"The first time it should be from pure love," she said. "You owe it to
your own soul, even if you are only a shop girl."
Without coming to an agreement upon this debatable point, they went off
to witness the change of guards, which Colonel von Mertzbach, they said,
contemplated directing in his own person on New Year's day, and the
Colonel, reputed to be a very handsome man pursued by all the
marriageable girls in society, was someone they wanted to see.
Lilly patted and kissed the roses of the upper stratum, and would have
done the same to all in the box, had there not been so many.
Then she took heart, locked the door, and went to St. Anne's to pay St.
Joseph a visit.
She nearly met the officers hastening to the main guard face to face,
but managed in the nick of time to escape down a side street.
High mass had just concluded and had left an odor of incense and poor
people between the arched aisles. A few persons were still praying at
the side altars.
Lilly kneeled before her saint, leaned her head against the
velvet-covered rail, and tried to lay bare her torn heart in order to
obtain counsel and help.
"May I? Shall I? Can I?"
Oh, she longed to. Such a piece of fortune would never come her way
again, never, never. To be rich, a baroness, to have all the splendours
of the universe laid at her feet. Where outside of fairytales do such
marvels occur?
If only there hadn't been one thing about him. But what that one thing
was she could not determine.
It wasn't his eyes, no matter how dagger-like they looked. It wasn't the
bristly hair on his temples either, nor the grating voice of command.
Now she knew! It was the two dewlaps that fell from chin to throat. Yes,
that's what it was. No use trying to dissemble with herself and pretend
she did not see them. She shuddered at the mere thought of them.
None the less, the sisters had called him a _handsome_ man, and rich,
aristocratic women ran after him. It would be sheer folly to refuse.
And wasn't he the noblest, the best, the most exalted of men? Wasn't he
like God Himself?
She imagined herself living and breathing for him. She would sit at his
feet and learn. She would flutter about him like a gay bird. No, she
could not imagine a person being gay in his presence. But a person could
be poetic. You could languish away into unknown remotenesses, gaze at
the evening clouds, present a noble, pale picture, up to which strange
young men would look with consuming passion, and be honoured by not a
glance in return--she could do this, because her life would be dedicated
to the one who was to be her protector, friend, and father, who would
elevate her to heights from which otherwise a ray would never have
fallen upon her.
"I will, I will!" life within her cried. "Dear St. Joseph, I will!"
St. Joseph raised a threatening finger.
But St. Joseph always raised a threatening finger. He couldn't help
himself. That was the way the sculptor had made him. The sight of that
finger, however, was vexatious and not calculated to help a poor human
being out of a dilemma.
The next day she received a letter from Mr. Pieper, asking her to call
at his office on a matter of great importance.
Hot and cold waves shivered up and down her back.
"He knows," she said to herself.
Mrs. Asmussen was greatly displeased when Lilly asked for permission to
go out.
"You get flowers and expensive gifts, and you want to leave the library
every day. I very much fear me I shall have to offer up a daily prayer
for you again."
But Lilly showed her the guardian's letter, and she yielded.
Lilly had not seen her guardian since the day, a year and a half before,
when she had left the hospital tottering from weakness. Timidity had
prevented her from availing herself of his invitation to visit him
again. Besides, there had been no occasion to. Nobody had inquired for
her. From time to time a tall, dry man, whom she recognised as Mr.
Pieper's managing clerk, had called on Mrs. Asmussen and held a short
conversation with her. This was the one sign that the man to whose
protection Lilly had been consigned thought of her.
"Mr. Pieper says, will you please walk in," said the clerk.
The prominent lawyer, as on the previous occasion, was sitting behind
his desk. When Lilly entered, he raised his head, and inspected her a
few moments in silence. Then he smiled and rubbed his shining pate, and
said in a long drawl:
"U--m--m! So--o--o!"
His eyes glided over her body as over a piece of goods for sale.
Lilly, whose respect for the man rendered her breathless, made a gesture
which was half bow, half courtesy, and pulled at the short sleeves of
her overcoat.
"Now I understand," continued Mr. Pieper. "You have developed in a way,
my child, which in a measure excuses all sorts of masculine absurdities,
even if it does not justify them--the masculine intellect is here to
suppress all ebullitions. I forgot my manners--good morning, Miss
Czepanek."
He rose and held out his cold, spongy hand, which under pressure felt as
limp as if it were boneless.
"Oh, do please show me your gloves," he said.
Lilly started like a guilty thing, drew her elbows back, blushed and
stammered:
"I was just going to buy a new pair."
"Don't!" he rejoined, smacking his lips with gusto. "Grey rags like
these arouse emotion. Your cloak arouses emotion, too. Your clothes make
a piquant contrast to your general appearance. Lovers of such naive,
sentimental things are easily moved by them to lyric outbursts, even if
lyricism is not their forte."
He laid his arm in hers with a confidential manner, and led her to a
heavily upholstered settee.
"Be seated in this chair of torture," he said, "though to-day we're not
going to extract even a tooth. Taking everything into consideration,
you have done well for yourself. I am content with you, my child."
He stroked his straw-coloured beard complacently, and grinned like a
trickster after the performance of a particularly artful dodge. "When do
you think the wedding will take place?"
"Why, there has not been--an engagement--yet," stammered Lilly.
"Well, there won't be what is called a real engagement--sending out
notices and receiving visits, and so on. As little stir as possible,
Miss Czepanek, as little stir as possible. That's my advice. In the
delicate situation in which we find ourselves, contrary influences are
always to be feared."
"I haven't said 'yes' yet," Lilly ventured to interject.
This amused him immensely.
"Who'd have thought it! A mock refusal! Who'd have thought it! I didn't
take you for so good a business woman, Miss Czepanek."
"I am at a loss as to your meaning," said Lilly, who without fully
realising why, was growing hot with indignation.
He put one hand to his hip, and continued to be amused.
"Well, well, that's all very fine and practical. But you can't carry
such jokes too far. Let _me_ arrange matters. I have some knowledge of
these affairs, though, I admit, so important a case has never come to me
before. I will endeavour to hasten the wedding as much as possible--for
the reasons I have already mentioned. I will also ask for all possible
secrecy, at least until his resignation has been accepted. Then nothing
need stand in the way of securing the banns, since getting an adequate
trousseau need concern us in only a lesser degree. As for your conduct,
my dear child, I advise you for the present to remain as undecided, as
maidenly, as fresh as possible. The only change I suggest is to use
better soap. Everything else may continue to be just as it is. Perhaps
you will have to be placed with another family. In that case it will be
necessary, of course, to get an outfit, for which the sum realised from
the sale of your mother's effects, amounting to--one moment, please." He
opened a large account book lying on a rack next to his desk, "amounting
to--A, B, C, Czepanek--amounting to one hundred and thirty-six marks and
seventy-five pfennig, will come in very handy. AEsthetic enjoyment of the
circumstances leads me to place my own purse also at your disposal.
Well, so much for the time preceding the wedding! As to the incomparably
more important time following, I should not like you to leave my office
before I had given you a few delicate hints, although _unfortunately_, I
must deny myself the pleasure of--"
He paused a moment, and rubbed his hands, while an epicurean, satyr's
smile widened his broad face.
"The pleasure of taking a mother's place and giving you the advice with
which a mother usually sends off a bride."
This time Lilly understood him, and her hot shame seemed to spread a red
mist before her eyes.
"You may trust me implicitly in such matters as a will, life insurance,
and alimony in case of divorce, provided, of course, you are the
innocent party--or even, in a sense, a bit guilty. You were not placed
in my keeping for nothing. However, there is _one_ circumstance--which
circumstance has to be taken most frequently into consideration in
marriages like yours--_one_ circumstance in which my professional skill,
I am sorry to say, cannot provide you with adequate security. As to
that, you must keep your eyes wide open for yourself. We human beings
have been put in this world, my child, to do what gives us pleasure.
Whoever says the reverse steals the sun from your heaven. But I warn you
of three things: first, exchange no superfluous glances; second, demand
no superfluous rendering of accounts; third, make no superfluous
confessions. You cannot fully comprehend this yet--"
As a matter of fact Lilly comprehended not a single word.
"But when the occasion arises, think of what I've said. The recollection
may prove useful. And--here's something very important--do you love
jewels?"
"I cannot say I have ever seen any."
"Well, in the jeweler's window at the Altmarkt?"
"We were always forbidden to stand in front of shop windows."
Mr. Pieper laughed his vilest laugh.
"I advise you when you are out walking with your husband to stand in
front of _every_ shop window. Such little attentions may seldom be
reclaimed. Pay special regard to pearls. In that way you will lay by a
little reserve which will stand you in mighty good stead in your hour of
need--and your hour of need will come, you may be sure it will."
Lilly nodded her head and thought:
"I will never, never, do that."
Mr. Pieper stroked his shining bald spot several times with his plump,
white hand, and continued:
"Well, what else have I to say to you? I have a good deal more advice to
give, but I fear not being understood. Just one thing, for the first few
months. Marriage, no matter what sort of marriage, causes a peculiar
derangement of the nervous system in natures like yours. Should you feel
an inclination to cry, take a bromide. In general, take plenty of
bromides--whether in case of great love, or--hm--great aversion. At
certain times pull a cap over your head, so that you see nothing, hear
nothing, and feel nothing, and, as it were, shunt yourself off from what
goes on around you, yourself, your volition, and your feelings. The
close atmosphere of the chamber which will at first envelope you will
gradually evaporate--in this case probably at the end of a few months.
Then you will breathe fresh air again, and instead of a tester, you will
once more see the heaven of your maiden days. But, whatever happens, it
is dangerous when one's nerves are overstimulated, to direct one's fancy
too much upon the immediate environment and seek the necessary
compensation that very instant. Turn from what is near, and dream about
the remote blue mountains. Let your happiness ever dwell at a safe
distance. You are young. It will draw closer. Give it time to become
full fledged. I assume you haven't understood a word."
"Oh, yes I have," stammered Lilly, who wished not to be considered
stupid, though he was right--his words fell upon her like hailstones, of
which she was able to gather only a few here and there. Nevertheless,
she had understood the last part, that about dreaming of the remote blue
mountains. It did her heart good, and she would take his advice.
"However that may be," Mr. Pieper continued, "some sentence or other
will occur to you on occasion. One point more, the most delicate of all,
because it is, so to speak, the most spiritual. If what is about you
gives no sound or response, if it does not echo to your call, you must
not grieve, nor attempt to alter it. Cracked bells should not be rung.
Rather make your own music. If I am not mistaken, you have a whole
orchestra at your disposal."
"I have the Song of Songs," thought Lilly, triumphantly.
"You cannot imagine, my child, how important it is, when one lives in
such close contact with another human being, not to lose one's touch
with oneself. Keep a corner reserved for your own thoughts--they will
amuse you greatly. He who likes to eat fresh eggs must raise his own
chickens. Don't forget that. But keep your corner to yourself. Offer no
superfluous resistance. No obstinacy. From the very start you must
provide the course of your life with a double track, so that you can
ride in either direction, as need be. I shouldn't wonder if under such
conditions it wouldn't turn out to be quite a happy marriage, entirely
apart from the external advantages--so long as they last--these are
matters of adaptation and good luck which our will cannot control in
advance. I will send you the marriage contract sealed. Until your coming
of age--in about two years, I believe--I am at your disposal. If after a
time you see that the milk in your cup has turned permanently sour,
break the seal. A thorough lawyer can read all sorts of surprises out of
the contract, which laymen do not immediately realise. But, as I said,
in _one_ case he cannot. Beware of that one case. It is called _in
flagranti_. Some time cautiously inquire into its meaning. There you
are! Now, may I give the colonel your consent?"