Diana emerged from the great red-brick building which constituted the
headquarters of the newspaper. She had been back some weeks, and
spent the whole forenoon working in the office as before. Now, in
her simple summer frock she was walking leisurely down the drive.
Other young ladies, eager to catch a bus or to rejoin a lover round
the next corner, overtook her, and scurried on their way. Diana
seemed to see herself again, making her entry here that first day,
ignorant of all these faces, scrutinized by the huge janitor at the
door, a man she was subsequently to greet with such studied dignity;
and as she dwelt on that time in reminiscent mood, it occurred to her
that she was older now by two whole years. Was not this very day the
anniversary? She took her way along the Friedrich Strasse, musing as
she went.
"Yes, it was the fourteenth of May, the same date, I remember it
well, for I started work the next morning, and on the last of the
month I got my two weeks' pay, a hundred and twenty marks. Am I
happier now that I get ten times as much? J'aime l'argent, parce que
j'aime la liberté. Are those the words of the sage of Geneva, who
had them from Voltaire? Or have I read them somewhere in Voltaire's
works? ... Liberté! There's a flavour of gasconade about the French
word. Libertà! That rings truer. Freedom has a hollow sound.
Freiheit is beautiful. And yet it is an ancient word! At one time I
could rattle off the libertatem concedere, desiderio libertatis
flagrare; but the most lovely of all was the libertas innata! And
then eleutheria! I remember when I was seventeen I read the
definition in my Greek lexicon: 'eleutheros--1) free, independent; 2)
self-disciplined, candid, also inconsiderate, unceremonious.' Yes,
inconsiderate.... How the young toss the word in the air and never
realize its implications! One just begins to understand it by the
time one is twenty-five. The day has come when I can say: Ten years
ago..."
Her attention was attracted to a pair of laughing young lovers
crossing the street, and then coming to a halt in front of a great
plate-glass window full of goods; she saw the girl point a tiny
gloved finger at a little box containing the coveted knives and
forks, and press this same finger against the window.
"They all seek out some brick-built den, and then they mate, and
breed, and feed, and die. I have brought too high an ideal of the
perfect from a previous life, too much presumption, too keen a demand
for the princely.... Even this word will have to disappear before
long. As soon as one sees a thing near at hand, it becomes
meaningless. How hard it is for Eduard that his excessive
seriousness should always make him misconceive the present. Ten days
since we bade farewell.... Why does he leave me with never a word?
I know his heart is in a fever, his head is throbbing; always
grubbing in the mines of the future! ... Oh these men who are for
ever practising renunciation, these architects of life, these
Scherers, and Eduards, and Russians.... The Russian? He at least
occasionally sends all his theories to the right about, so that they
retire trembling into a dark corner!"
She turned into Unter den Linden.
"The lime trees are in flower, and their sickly-sweet perfume is
wafted to me. I'm always driven to seek out Germany in May. Has one
ever enough of it? Libertas? With seven hours at the office? It's
lost its savour ... not only because of Scherer ... and yet... It
used to be so jolly in the old days when he came towards three every
afternoon to discuss things with me; and the paper he held in his
hand had the appearance of a battle ground. With what evident
pleasure he'd let me get the better of him in one round, though in
the end he was still more delighted when he pinked me! Now it is
nothing but recriminations; or he will beseech, or play the meek and
humble.... Meanwhile, kindliness, such as we hoped to establish in
our relations, murmurs deprecatingly: 'I am kindliness: let us try to
understand one another.' ... How stately and white the library looks
over there. It is peaceful, because it contains all the wisdom of
the world. Had I not better once more go through its portals and
start learning anew? Sometimes the game seems too ridiculous for
words; the feverish activity to get the latest news, merely time
lost."
She stopped before a travel agency, looking at a map of the world on
whose oceans tiny ships sailed. An arm suddenly stirred the curtain
from within the office, a huge hand gripped one of the tiny vessels
which had nearly reached the Azores, and set it down again one degree
farther westward. Then, another boat, nearing Cape Town, would
suffer a similar fate.
"Just like the gods. Without that sleeve and cuff, one might take it
for Neptune's arm. Thus, it is only Mercury's. How small are the
seas: how swiftly the little ships travel across them! The
'Excelsior' could make no more than eleven knots; without a breath of
wind to help them, these have made twenty-three.... Ought one not
... I could..."
She scrutinized the map, which was becoming more and more full of
life as she looked. She planned, cast away her plans, and then
pursued her meditations:
"Another fortnight, and Father will be taking the train through the
Simplon, to Paris and London... Macdonald once promised me he'd keep
a place for me in the British Museum.... The time has come when I
should make another dive, experience new freedoms and unfreedoms...."
Now a jeweller's window caught her eye. She stopped to inspect.
"How old-world those diadems appear. If they were antiques, it would
not be so bad. But to think that they are still made and still find
purchasers! Eduard is perhaps the only one from that world who
really feels deeply.... Yes, those are huge pearls, shaped like
pears, a grey chain--I should not mind having that. They come from
the sea, and he whom the gods permit to find the right shell has
merely to open it and there the pearl lies in all its beauty. A gift
from the depths, heavy with melancholy--not like these sparkling
diamonds which it has taken thousands of black hands to hew from the
earth with the aid of horrible machines bringing death in their
train...."
"Do you like those glittering headbands?"
She turned abruptly at the sound of the deep voice, and found Kyril
beside her.
"How do you do, Mademoiselle?"
Diana gazed into the earnest blue eyes; she felt the strong hand
clasping hers.
"At the moment my mind was drifting so vaguely among thoughts of
diamonds and princely crowns and what not, that they would ultimately
have wandered to you had you not yourself spoken before I got there!"
"Then I may as well continue on my way, for it is probably far better
for us to think of each other than to talk to each other."
"Why do you think that?"
"Because our talks have never yet led to anything. Are you going
through the Tiergarten?"
"I'm on my way home," said Diana moving ahead, while Kyril--by chance
or through an impish spirit of contradiction--remained on her right.
"How much nicer he looks in this old-fashioned get-up," she thought,
"than he did in his soft hat and elegant clothes on the yacht."
"She's dressed herself with great simplicity today," he was thinking;
"she seems more serious," he added to himself, having watched her for
some time from a distance before he spoke to her.
Their conversation turned to questions as to what each had been doing
since they had parted, and then Kyril asked for news of the prince.
They passed by Diana's door, before she answered:
"I had thought you would be able to tell me something about him--you
made the journey together."
"I've only had one letter since then. And you?"
"Nothing," said Diana quietly.
"She's lying," thought Kyril.
"I wonder what Eduard wrote to Sergievitch," thought Diana. Then she
said: "Did he appear to be finding things hard towards the end?"
"No, he seemed all right during the train journey. We talked
politics. With a wise head to guide him, he'll do well, I fancy. He
has excellent intentions."
"Undoubtedly. Admirable disposition."
Unconsciously Diana had adopted Eduard's very tone and manner as she
uttered the words, and Kyril was unpleasantly impressed: "How they
snap at one when they have anything to hide, people of this class,"
he thought. "Oh, I'll clear out!"
He stopped when they reached the corner. Diana asked tentatively:
"Perhaps we shall meet at Herr Scherer's?" But her thoughts were:
"He ought to come in with me and play the 'cello the whole evening!"
She did not, however, even ask him to call.
"Maybe we shall," he said frigidly.
She had fallen into a brown study, and did not hear him when he
spoke, saying absent-mindedly:
"And you'll play that sonata with him--the one you played alone in
the Palazzo Tiepoletto."
"And you would be criticizing the time of day.... You want nocturnes
at night!"
The mocking tone of his voice brought her back to the present.
"Good-bye," she said, merely nodding her head to him, and never
raising her hand in farewell.
When she got home, she found her brother waiting for her. He had
come to see her once before since her return, had asked after their
father, had given no news of himself, and as he left had said
casually that he might be going on a journey. She was pleased, and
at the same time not overjoyed to see him here today, for she had
looked forward to being alone and to thrashing her own problems out
with herself.
"Forgive me," he said. "Am I disturbing you? I hope my cigarette...
Is it too strong? A little opium.... Shall we open the windows?"
"Why's he talking so much and so unsteadily?" The question agitated
her as she took a chair beside him.
"Won't you sit down?" she asked civilly.
"I'm just off...."
"What makes you so restless?"
"Can't help it. I know I am a trifle..."
"Do you need my help?"
"Yes."
"Money?"
"Of course."
Diana was pleased that he should come to her in his strait, rather
than try to raise the wind among his friends. But this was the first
time for two years that he had asked her for any pecuniary
assistance, whence she concluded that he must be passing through a
crisis.
"Only too pleased to let you have what I can...."
"Thanks. But it's rather a lot...."
"How much?"
"Four thousand."
She had completely regained her composure by now, and got up quickly
to go over to the window. It was as one young man addressing another
that she said:
"Absolutely necessary?"
"Urgent."
"Soon?"
"At once."
"I've only got five at the bank. You could have your four by
tomorrow."
"Sunday tomorrow. Banks closed."
"By Monday, then."
"Too late."
"What on earth are we to do?"
"Borrow meanwhile."
"No!"
The word shot out so coldly that he became alarmed, for it sounded
final.
"Well, for the present, a note of hand will do."
"Gladly."
She sat at her table, writing. Then she said:
"What name?"
"I'd--rather write that in myself."
Slowly she turned, and looked at him. As he stood there, so elegant
and handsome and pale, she suddenly felt a loathing for him and his
way of living. Yet there was also a little envy too; she envied him
for being able to keep the secret of his life so completely....
Turning back to the table, she wrote, signed, and handed him the
paper in an open envelope.
"I have no more. Besides, I am going to resign my post...."
He did not seem to hear. Thanking her, he took his departure. She
pressed the button of the bell.
"Mary, please make me a pot of tea. No, I'd rather have some fruit."
"There's none to be had. Oranges are finished, and strawberries not
yet in season."
"I saw a basket of strawberries at the florist's over the way."
"Ah, those!"
"Yes, those. Please go and fetch them."
"Silly old slow-coach," thought Diana petulantly as the old woman
disappeared to do the commission. "She must come to cap my worries.
The last straw! ... What a day! Cooped up in a stuffy office,
business letters, trouble with the records, lunch in the office among
unattractive persons, one of whom makes noises as he chews.... A
note from Scherer, politely begging for a fresh statement of
accounts, and remaining 'your...' Mine? ... Longing eyes cast in the
direction of the library ... resistance to the lure of those
diadems... A peasant, anarchist and 'cello player, who reviles me in
his heart, because I annoyed him one evening in Venice when he had
been playing Bach ... A servant who considers early strawberries too
good for me... And yet ... hold on, Diana! Did you not see a huge
hand manipulating ships upon the seas? True, the hand was only the
hand of Mercury; still, it was the hand of a god... There's no way
out of it... I'll have to start afresh..."
She held the little basket lovingly in both her hands, and carried it
to her writing-table. Setting it down, she picked out the ripest,
and nodded appreciatively as she ate. Gregor's face flashed upon
her, and she remembered how they always inverted the order of the
breakfast dishes.... She dug her teeth into the fruit, and sucked in
her lips. Then she took another. At last squaring her elbows, she
wrote:
"Two years ago, this very day, Paula Linke, in answer to an
advertisement, stepped through the portals of your office. You read
my reports, dear Herr Scherer; then you sent for me, and discovered
Diana Wassilko.
"The fact that my eyes happened upon that advertisement, was not due
to any skill on your part or on mine. Where you showed your mettle,
was in being so quick to discover the merits of a stranger. I have
to thank you primarily for all the experience I have gained in your
service, in the matter of travel, of things, and of personalities;
secondarily I owe my good fortune to a kindly fate.
"Above all what I value in you is the man, the teacher, and the
friend. Don't take it amiss that I should leave you at such short
notice. You will soon find a substitute. I am in urgent need of a
change. The whole earth is open to me. I hope to get everything
straight by June 1st, and to hand you over my final reports and
accounts.
"Wherever life will take me I shall always look back with pleasure to
the days I spent within the white walls of your office, shall never
forget your round dining table, and the 'Excelsior.'
"DIANA."
She read the letter through, placed it in an envelope, stretched her
hand out for her seal. The telephone bell rang.
"Scherer speaking. Good evening."
"I've just finished a letter to you."
"To me? That's something new! So far I've only received one card."
"Well, what's the news?"
"I've this moment had a telephone message to say that old Prince
Heinrich died at four this afternoon. I thought you might be
interested...."