writing! tired! what nonsense; it was for my health I was here, and my
nerves required amusement and rest. No, as I had run up the Kuechelberg
yesterday like an unreasonable child, she had come to-day to prevent
the repetition of such suicide and to show me what it was to take the
air in a healthful way. Oh, yes she had found me out, I was not pleased
to see her again so soon! but a young lady who lived by herself was on
no account to be neglected. I was only to submit to her authority, and
would certainly be grateful to her afterwards.
I put on my hat silently and resignedly. I could not even feel angry at
her clumsy and good natured tone, though it made me suffer bodily pain.
Chattering incessantly she dragged me towards the winter grounds, as
the most sheltered part of the Wassermauer is called, for there an old
cloister and its high garden-wall keep off all cold winds, evergreen
shrubs flourish and the rose-bushes are still covered with roses. This
place is always crowded, the band plays and the whole society of
strangers walk there or sit basking in the sunshine. My protectress
seemed purposely to have brought me here with the intention of
introducing me to this beau monde. I had to run the gauntlet of a
curious, but to me quite indifferent crowd of ladies and gentlemen. I
saw not one face that pleased me, heard not one word that reached my
heart. Then the heat under those arbours, the noise of the importunate
brass band, and the rebellion which was chafing within me against this
soft tyranny, nearly drove me distracted.
Still more revolting to me than the dull unfeelingness of the healthy,
was the behaviour of many of my fellow sufferers. There sat a young
countess who as I heard had been parted from her husband, in order to
avoid all excitement, but she was not too ill to notice my simple
old-fashioned dress, which she scanned from head to foot, and then with
a crushing look, she wrapped herself up in her cashemere burnouss, as I
sat on the bench beside her.
And that young girl who treated me as an old acquaintance in the first
five minutes, and told me all the scandal of Meran, though death was
written in her face, and her cough went to my heart. Are those figures
of wax, dressed up automatons, who exhibit all their old minauderies,
though when spring comes they will have to lie in their coffins.
It seemed to me quite a deliverance when the dinner-bell of the hotel
de la poste rang, and most of the company departed and my protectress
had to go to her sick friend. I hardly bid her good-bye. I could no
longer speak, or listen to a word, for I felt quite paralized; so she
has at last obtained her object and tried her cure on me, and the
result is, that both in mind and body I am more dead than alive.
Certainly that is a sort of recovery.
The 13th--Evening.
I have at last succeeded, and cannot sufficiently express my joy at
this achievement. I reflected that it was only just, that if I wished
for freedom, I should purchase it by the exertion of some courage and
determination. Armed with a book, I calmly walked through the winter
grounds without recognizing any one, sat down in the midst of the whole
society and read for several hours without once looking up.
Of course the life-preserver made her appearance and at once approached
my bench, but I coolly told her that talking hurt me; she looked
astonished, shrugged her shoulders, and left me to myself.
I saw very well that she was offended. So much the better! If I find no
better occupation I will do this every day; I feel a certain
satisfaction in it. Whilst I sat surrounded by all those tiresome
people, I triumphed in my courage and the victory I had gained in not
having allowed myself to be daunted. Certainly the conflict had made my
heart beat faster, but even courage is not to be learnt in a day. And
then is it not doubly refreshing to read the grave and beautiful words
of our greatest poets, when from the different conversations around,
one picks up words which show what inferior spiritual nourishment
society puts up with.
Possibly this may be a proud and over vain thought. But some pride
surely is pardonable in one so isolated. Is it not most presumptuous to
retire within oneself, and be contented with one's own society? Surely
he who prepares for death has a right to think of his soul above all
things, and how is this possible, in the midst of the thoughtless,
soulless noise, commonly called conversation?
Already they show me plainly that I am not to their taste. To-day when
I appeared on the Wassermauer, with my book, all the benches were
occupied except one, on which sat only a pale and melancholy looking
young man, who is daily partly led, partly followed by a servant to a
sunny corner of the wintergarden and there sits covered up with costly
furs. Had the ladies, who were talking, and embroidering in the arbours
deigned to move, they certainly could have made room for my slight
person, whose crinoline never molested any one.
I saw however that they had resolved to cause me embarrassment. Oh, how
sharp, unamiable, cold, and even inhuman our faces become, when we are
determined to show our dislike to some one of our fellow creatures! I
felt quite frightened at the stony features, dark looks, and drawn down
lips of the company. But soon I was ashamed of my cowardice, and of
having allowed it to be perceived. So I looked as if I saw no hostility
in their countenances and quietly sat down beside the young man,
leaving space enough between us, even for the wide robes of the
countess. I was deeply absorbed in my book, but though I never looked
up, I knew exactly what were the glances they cast at me, and could
have written down the benevolent remarks that were whispered beneath
those arbours. The sick young man hardly moved, only from time to time
he sighed--I pitied him; he appears to be one of the most suffering of
the invalids here, and to bear his illness with difficulty. He must be
rich for I saw a costly ring glittering on his finger.
We sat side by side for several hours, and I was on the point of making
some observation to him about the book I was reading merely for the
sake of rousing him from the melancholy thoughts which seemed to
oppress him. Where would have been the harm? But now a days, care is
taken to make us feel ashamed of every natural impulse. So I remained
silent and read on. Suddenly he let a silver pencil-case fall from his
hands, as he was going to write down something in his pocketbook; he
made an effort to stoop, breathing with difficulty and I, without much
hesitation, anticipated him, and picked up the neat little pencil-case.
He thanked me with rather a surprised look: I myself blushed deeply,
and hearing a derisive titter from the ladies' bower, I lost my
composure for a few minutes. I thought with most tormenting
perspicacity of all that would be said of the crime committed by a
young lady in being of use to a young man. What would he think of me? I
had slightly glanced at him and remarked no smile on his melancholy
face. If after this proof of how little worldly knowledge I possess, he
thinks me very countrified, why should that annoy me? If I am contented
to be so, why should I be angry with him for perceiving it? He bowed
very politely, as half an hour later I rose to go. By this time I had
come to an understanding with myself, and felt so composed, that I
returned hi? salutation without the least embarrassment. Even the black
looks of my protectress, who had been immediately taken possession of,
by the other ladies, could not spoil my appetite for dinner.
Here comes the soup unfortunately, it is of a lighter colour even than
the fair curls of the charitable lady. What a pity it is, that with the
dying, taste is not the first thing to depart. How I wish for one good
home cooked dish.--
Evening. The first autumnal winds
carrying with it some poplar leaves.
A letter from our dear old doctor, my best friend. He wants to hear how
I am getting on, how I feel, and how the climate agrees with me. He
reproaches himself for not having hidden the hopeless truth from me; at
the same time he praises my courage and firmness; he does not try to
change or put another construction on his former words; he knows it
would be useless. "Remember, dear Mary," he adds, "that miracles still
happen every day, and that all our science and knowledge only teach us
to marvel at everything or nothing. He is aware that my best comfort is
to know the truth, and to live in the truth as long as life is granted
me."
Several days later. I have lost the date.
Beautiful autumnal evening.
Here was so much wind in the forenoon that I had to remain in-doors. I
was busy altering my dresses for my chest becomes more and more
delicate and they oppress me. In the afternoon the wind subsided, and I
walked out, down the broad street called Rennweg. Numbers of cows and
goats were driven through it--not a pleasant circumstance attending the
walks here. I tremble every time I see one of those clumsy horned heads
approach me though I know that they are not so stupid as they appear,
and have not such strong prejudices against a lonely female, as my wise
fellow-creatures. It is my bodily weakness which in case of need could
not find shelter behind a stout heart, which leaves me defenceless. So
I kept close to the houses, and arrived safely at the Western gate of
the town from whence the road leads on to the beautiful and sunny
Vintschgau. A path which passes at the foot of the Kuechelberg and then
winds through the vineyards tempted me and I slowly walked in that
direction. It pleased me to see the heavy bunches of purple grapes
hanging from the trellis above me, the huge yellow pumpkins, the ripe
maize in short all the riches of a southern autumn. Now and then I met
peasants at work; tubs filled with grapes and carts laden with
vine-leaves passed me. It seemed strange to me that the work was done
so quietly, without music or singing, for I had always fancied the
vintage to be one of the most noisy and brilliant of festivals. The
people of the country are of a lazy pensive disposition and never sing
at their work. If one now and then hears a song it is owing to there
being many Italians here, who are easily recognized by their fiery and
lively gestures.
A hundred paces distant from the gate, close under the mountain, lies a
solitary farm. My landlady had told me that there one could get milk
fresh from the cow. As I am not a good walker, I entered the little
garden and ordered some milk and bread. Only a few strangers occupied
the benches, but just beside the door underneath a large orange-tree,
sat the pale young man, whilst his servant further, off, was refreshing
himself with a glass of wine. He had not touched the glass of milk
which stood before him, and as I was going to pass, he rose, bowed, and
offered me a seat at his table, saying that it was the most sheltered
spot. It was the first time I had heard him speak several sentences
together without stopping. His deep sad voice was very pleasing. I
gladly accepted his offer and when he begged me to take his untouched
glass, as he was not thirsty, I could not refuse without giving
offence. Finally we began a conversation, though much broken by pauses,
during which he relapsed into his melancholy dreaming. Only once he
smiled slightly, but it made him look still more sad when his pale lips
parted over the bluish white teeth. We had been talking of the dull
monotony in the life of the patients here; of the tiresome sitting
about in the winter garden. I said it reminded me of the caterpillars
and cocoons which my little brother keeps in glass boxes. These also
crawled about indolent and depressed amongst their food, satisfying
their gaoler by feeding greedily, and eyeing each other curiously when
they accidentally met; then they proceeded to their winter sleep, if by
chance they did not find the air too oppressive for them, and died. He
laughed, and said: "your comparison is much too flattering; do you
think that our fellow-worms ever feel as light and free as _they_
become, unless in a purer atmosphere than this terrestrial one?" "That
depends," replied I, "on whether, when they proceed safe and sound from
their cocoons, they find their glass cage open. Otherwise they may be
reserved for a still more cruel fate. Few enjoy the liberty of their
wings; they are generally caught again, and struggle on a pin till
their bright colours turn to dust."
He remained silent, and I was half sorry for having led the
conversation to so strange a theme; to divert his thoughts, I spoke to
him of the stiff, foolish narrow minded views of my native town, where
in the style of the so-called good old times, every one embitters the
life of his neighbour in the most amicable and ceremonious way. I then
told him how free and released I felt since I knew I was doomed to die.
My fetters had been loosened like the fetters of those who are
sentenced to death. He listened with interest but looked incredulous.
When I had done speaking....
The next day.
Yesterday I could not have been interrupted in a more unwelcome manner.
My door suddenly opened and the life-preserver, the sister of charity,
the lady without nerves, rushed into the room with a particularly stern
and solemn countenance which boded no good. Without taking breath after
running up the stairs, she sat down, spread her skirts over my sofa,
and without any circumlocution began to lecture me. Possibly she may be
of use where bodily nursing is required, but for spiritual care she
certainly has no vocation. A more clumsy way of touching on delicate
subjects I have not yet met with, and I have certainly not been spoiled
in that respect. I was informed that I had been guilty of great sins,
and could only make atonement for them by deep contrition. The
unaccountable whims of a sick person might, perhaps, excuse the
highflown manner with which I had received the friendly advances of
many estimable ladies, and the way in which I had withdrawn from their
company. But I had dared too in the face of all society to make
advances to a young man, and yesterday had gone so far as to accept his
glass of milk, and his company on my way home. She had never heard of
such a thing. A girl without the least education but with a sense of
decency and a proper regard for her reputation would never have thought
of doing so. After these occurrences she would certainly never have set
foot over my threshold again, had not conscience, and her good nature
bidden her warn me. I was alone here, and had no one to look after me
if I went astray. That young man did not enjoy a good reputation; his
illness was the consequence of a dissipated and reckless life which he
had now to expiate by an early death. If so near to the grave, he was
still so unscrupulous as to compromise a young creature like myself,
then all persons who had any regard for morality must condemn his
outrageous conduct, and endeavour to save his victim.
During this speech I remained petrified, and my heart beat so violently
that I could not utter a word; but when she stopped and cast a severe
look at me, the convicted sinner, I rallied all my remaining spirit and
answered that I thanked her for her solicitude, and did not at all
doubt her good intentions, but that I did not think I had committed any
impropriety--still less had gone astray--that I did not believe my
reputation to be in any danger. I knew what I could, or could not do,
and would be responsible for it. I did not see why the fact of having
one foot in the grave obliged one to give an account to the world of
every free but innocent action, particularly as even that would not
protect one against its malignant judgments. I had not come to Meran, I
continued, in order to ingratiate myself with a society entirely
strange to me, but to spend my last days in the manner most agreeable
to me, and most in accordance with my nature. You must allow me, my
dear Madam, I concluded, not to be led by considerations which,
perhaps, may be useful to others. When I had delivered this speech I
felt quite startled at my own boldness yet I was pleased with myself.
This I thought will at all events make an end of it; and so it was; at
least, I hope so, for my protectress rose with a dignified look which
sat oddly on, her round face adorned with the little ringlets and said:
"Good-bye, Mademoiselle, you are so independent that it would be
indiscreet in me to prolong my visit," and with these words she sailed
out of the room. So I had at last got rid of her, but not of her
sayings, nor of my thoughts. Oh, the sad cold littleness of the world!
Is there no spot on earth where a poor human being may be permitted to
die after its own fashion? Is one to go tightly laced even to one's
last breath? No, they shall not get the better of me; I do not love
them, then why should I not despise them; or at least not notice them
when they cross my path? Possibly I may have been thoughtless, but
thoughtfulness requires time, and I have not much to spare. Certainly
if I had to live with these people for an immeasurable time, it might
be prudent not to exasperate them, and to bow before them--prudent, but
annoying, and in my opinion, hardly worth the while. What harm could
they do to me; at the worst they would leave me alone, and could they
do me a greater favour? She said that he had caused his own sufferings.
Is he for that less worthy of compassion? Perhaps, the remorse he feels
is the cause of his melancholy, as the consciousness of my undeserved
fate is the cause of my gaiety. Each of us has lived a different life,
and has now to resign it. I have nothing to repent of, and nothing to
regret; he does both, and so each of us dies a different death.
Why should it be a crime to exchange a few unconstrained words? Do not
people who have set out together on a long journey fraternize, and
become friends at the first station? Are they then to be blamed if they
exchange a few words before starting.
Monday, the 21st October.
I spent my Sunday at home in writing, and reading the letters of
Mendelssohn's youth, which in my opinion show his character to much
greater advantage than his other writings. They convince me still more
that even a complete and free man of genius can work earnestly at his
own improvement. If I were a man, I should only care to be an artist.
This seems an extravagant idea; for those not endowed with talents
perceive only the outward freedom of the existence of a genius, and not
the anxieties and labours of his vocation. But in some of the
attributes of an artist's nature, in the power of desiring freedom, and
of maintaining it, in enthusiasm for noble deeds, and in admiration for
all that is beautiful, I should not be found wanting, and armed with
these weapons could pass a lifetime in waging war against petty
formalists and pedants.
But of what use are all these to me, a girl, with death before me.
Well, at all events they will teach me to die calmly.
Mendelssohn's letters have awakened in me a longing for music. I hope I
have not been extravagant in hiring a small piano. This morning it was
brought to me, and now stands In my room. I have not played for a long
time, and after reading Mendelssohn's letters felt quite ashamed of
stumbling through his songs without words. I must purchase some sonatas
and study them. I confess that at the first notes of music I burst into
tears. The last conversation has left in me a wound which bled afresh,
as the first sound of music reached my heart after so many weeks
privation. I let my tears flow freely, and played on till I grew calm
again.
"The 22nd."
I have seen him again. I had avoided him these last days. Though I am
quite determined to go my own way; still they have succeeded in robbing
me of my first unconstraint. But to-day I met him at the bookseller's
shop, where I was looking out some music. He asked me if I had felt
unwell, as I had not appeared on the Wassermauer. I blushed and
replied, "no, but I had not felt inclined to walk there." Then we
talked about music which he greatly likes. "Once I was in possession of
a voice," he said, smiling; "but it has departed this life before me."
As we came out of the shop I at first wished to bid him adieu, and walk
home alone. Then I felt ashamed of my cowardice, and walked on with him
to the gate which leads on to the Wassermauer. The day was lovely, and
the promenaders walked about with their cloaks on their arms. Only a
few yellow leaves reminded one of October. As we followed the course of
the Passer and passed the benches occupied by the so-called good
society, I was pleased, and happy to feel so much at ease. I tried to
cheer him up and when I had succeeded in making him laugh I applauded
my own spirit which was not to be daunted. I said to myself, "Does it
please you my good people to put on disdainful looks, and to wrap
yourselves up in your own virtue, as much as it does me to see this
pale face, on which death has already cast its shadow, light up with
the serenity of an evening sky." We walked up and down for a whole hour,
and I did not feel in the least tired. This time I closely examined his
countenance. Whatever lies behind him, it can be nothing base or mean.
His features are neither regular nor can they be called expressive, but
when he speaks there is something refined and thoughtful about his face
which becomes him well. He cannot be more than twenty-six years old.
His manners are easy, and natural, and plainly show that he has mixed
in the best society. I, with my provincial style of dress, and little
knowledge of the world, must contrast strangely with him.
I have looked over the book of strangers trying to find out his name;
_before_, I only knew where he lived; I have now discovered that he can
be none other than a Mr. Morrik _Particulier_ from Vienna. What an odd
position! probably it means independent. Then I am a _Particuliere_
with more right to be so than he has. He is dependent on many things;
on his fortune, on his melancholy thoughts--on his servant, who carries
his cloak and furs for him.
The 23rd.
Last night I dreamt much, and very reflective dreams. In one of them, I
again met Halding, who for years has never troubled my thoughts. I
spoke to him as indifferently as ever, and asked after his wife and
children. I was glad to hear that they were very well. Then still in my
dream, I considered what would have been my lot, had I accepted his
hand. I should now be established in America, in a fine house, and have
riches and health, for I should not have passed through the sufferings
of the last years, in my father's house--I should not be thinking of
dying. I thought over all this, as I saw the red cheeked wife, who had
so soon consoled him after my refusal--I shuddered at the idea of such
happiness. This may appear foolish, full of pretension, and
ingratitude. What fault could I find in him except that I did not love
him. Many people found him most amiable, and I thought him even too
much so, for a man. As a woman he would have made the best, most
docile, and virtuous of wives, but just for that reason would, as a
husband have made me most wretched. More than once I have been given to
understand that my character was too determined and energetic for a
girl. Did not the long lecture of the life preserver tend to show me
how deficient I was in feminine timidity and reserve. If this be true
the fault lies with my destiny, which threw me early in life on my own
resources, and made me independent. One to whom the world and life
makes advances may well await its approach but one who must confront
its struggles, cannot do without reliance on God, and on himself. If I
required any proof that no unwomanly boldness, no desire of dominating
lies in my character, I would find it in my dislike to womanish men,
who must lean for support on a wife; and towards manly women who only
find their happiness in ruling.
The 26th.
A few quiet and uniform days have passed. I felt very languid and
disinclined to everything and I remained at home, as the change from
the hot sunshine to the dark arcades always hurts me. I read, and
played a few sonatas, and felt that even solitude brings many heavy
hours with it.