FRANK WEDEKIND 
 
Princess Russalka 
 
 By frank WEDEKIND 
 
 Translated by 
 Frederick Eisemann 
 
 JOHN W. LUCE & COMPANY 
 Boston 
 
To K'mI*-^^. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 fAAlAJ 
 
 Introduction 
 
 
 On Eroticism 
 
 
 Princess Russalka 
 
 
 The Grisly Suitor 
 
 
 I Am Bored 
 
 
 The Burning of Egliswyl 
 
 
 Les Halles 
 
 
 The Victim 
 
 
 The Inoculation 
 
 
 Rabbi Esra 
 
 1 
 
 f>2H?00 
 
FRANK WEDEKIND 
 
 ''The playwrights whom I choose to 
 emphasize as most expressive of the 
 modern German theatre — the theatre 
 in which Sudermann and Hauptmann 
 are no longer paramount figures — are 
 such men as Frank Wedekind, Ludwig 
 Thoma, Hugo von Hoffmansthal, Arthur 
 Schnitzler and Hermann Bahr. Very 
 slowly have these names penetrated to 
 English intelligences; yet it is in their 
 work that we may find that which is 
 today drawing the attention of the rest 
 of the world to the German theatre.'' 
 
 It was in this fashion that the late 
 Percival Pollard introduced the readers 
 of his now famous book, ''Masks and 
 Minstrels of New Germany/'* to the 
 author of the stories contained in this 
 volume. From the nature of the book 
 he then had in hand, Mr. Pollard's 
 fine critical judgment was devoted al- 
 
 *" Masks and Minstrels of New Germany," by Percival 
 Pollard. John W. Luce & Company, Boston, 191 l.j 
 
ii Introduction 
 
 most exclusively to Wedekind's dra- 
 matic productions. His references to 
 the short stories and poetry being 
 merely incidental, but brief as they are, 
 quite sufficient to rouse the curiosity 
 of those who are interested in the 
 extraordinary personality of the man, 
 and of those students of the drama who 
 seek for the sources from which his 
 plays have been finally evolved. 
 
 At least two features of importance 
 will strike the reader of this volume. 
 First, that even in his early work, 
 Wedekind was not only impressed with 
 the necessity of imparting a knowledge 
 of the functions of sex to the young, 
 but set himself seriously to the task 
 of overcoming the popular prejudice 
 against such education, by the only 
 means he then had at command, the 
 short story. Second, Wedekind's theory 
 of the existence of a spirit of the flesh 
 quite distinct from the soul, a theory 
 imparting to the body a dignity which 
 animists have reserved exclusively for 
 the intangible in man, and which gives 
 
Frank Wedekind iii 
 
 added weight and importance to his 
 plea for a knowledge of the functions 
 of that idealized body. 
 
 At a later period, when Wedekind 
 was accorded a hearing on the stage 
 and had won for himself an assured 
 position of authority as an author and 
 dramatist, he made use in the theatre 
 of much of the material contained in 
 this volume to further advance and 
 strike home his ideas. Sure of himself 
 and his audience, all restraint was 
 thrown to the winds with a result not 
 altogether happy. 
 
 Mr. Pollard's portraiture of Wedekind 
 and analysis of his drama remains the 
 most vivid and comprehensive in Eng- 
 lish, or for that matter in any language, 
 and no greater service can be done the 
 reader of this volume than to continue 
 the quotation from "Masks and Min- 
 strels of New Germany" which forms 
 the opening paragraph of this introduc- 
 tion: 
 
 "For several reasons, I begin with 
 Frank Wedekind. He has, for one 
 
iv Introduction 
 
 thing, communicated to his dramatic 
 creations the variete ideas, the music- 
 hall style, so to say, which he brought 
 from those early days, when he ap- 
 peared upon this or that intimate or 
 independent stage as a performer of his 
 own work. Nextly, it is he who has 
 most practically, most brutally, put 
 upon the stage figures and ideas that 
 were profane or barbaric expressions 
 of the lyric unmoralities in Nietzsche. 
 The line from Nietzsche to Wedekind, 
 from the music-hall expression of ar- 
 tistic personality to Wedekind, is direct 
 and not to be mistaken. 
 
 ^^What was theoretically sublime in 
 Nietzsche became the actually bizarre 
 if not ridiculous in Wedekind. 
 
 '^ Wedekind chiefly represents complete 
 divorce from all the old man-made 
 moralities. He and his characters are 
 not so much above those moralities, 
 as outside of them. He treats humanity 
 diabolically; there is never any trace 
 of divine pity in him.%The -"music halFs 
 complete freedom from society^s or- 
 
Frank Wedekind v 
 
 dinary restraints; its sheerly physiologic 
 interpretation of life; its entire forget- 
 fulness of ethical or moral reasonable- 
 ness; are all typified in Wedekind's art. 
 All life is for him a music-hall per- 
 formance. The effects of things move 
 him; causes, morals, old labels like 
 'good and evil,' or Hhe wages of sin,' 
 do not move him at all. He is the 
 essential modern expression, through 
 art, of that savage doctrine in nature 
 which orders that the stronger reptile 
 devour t^he weaker. Doctrine, however, 
 is the wrong word to apply to Wede- 
 kind; he is as above doctrines as he is 
 outside of the old humanities. He has 
 in him something of Machiavelli, some- 
 thing of Casanova, and the more satanic 
 egoisms of Nietzsche; he remains a 
 strange, uncanny, isolated, abnormal 
 figure, and is yet, in his very remoteness 
 from all normalities and all moraUties, 
 typical of modern Germany's throwing 
 away from old, too long accepted 
 things. 
 
vi Introduction 
 
 "It is Wedekind's ^Spring's Awaken- 
 ing' (Fruehlings Erwachen) which first 
 brought him into notice beyond the 
 German borders. That tragedy upon 
 our youth's need for sexual illumination 
 was brutal and melancholy enough; 
 and will never be without its value for 
 our time; yet it is mild compared to 
 some of the other plays from his pen. 
 
 " An abnormal, an eccentric, Wedekind 
 has always been. He was an eccentric 
 performer, in the music-hall interpre- 
 tations he gave; he was eccentric as 
 dramatist. Little that was abnormal in 
 pathology of sex, or nerves, or sanity, 
 escaped his treatment as material for 
 plays. He was eccentric, outside of all 
 the elder moral, or critical, or artistic 
 scruples, or even scruples about the 
 pubUc or his own profit. He did not 
 merely satirize his pubhc, as Shaw did; 
 he insulted it, both as playwright and 
 as performer. Neither censors nor jail- 
 ors lessened the fury with which he 
 imposed his eccentric ego upon his time 
 in Germany. Against the time serving 
 
Frank Wedekind vii 
 
 of Sudermann and the dreamy com- 
 plaining ot Hauptmann, Wedekind 
 loomed as some vast irresistible monster, 
 some Juggernaut that moved ruthlessly 
 on over the blood and bones of the 
 play going public. He cared as little 
 for style or form in his plays as he 
 cared for morals. For him, as for 
 Meredith, the ^ chaos illumined by 
 lightning^ of Wilde applies; his dra- 
 matic work is more chaotic than any 
 other in our time, and yet has flashes, 
 moments, of genius, that irritate by 
 their very impertinence. He treats 
 humanity as an aggregation of atoms; 
 it amuses him to galvanize those atoms 
 into this or that attitude. He has no 
 cowardices of texts and teachings, no 
 hymns to sing to humanity. We are 
 marionettes for his amusement; that 
 is all. 
 
 ^^ Wedekind' s life has been as extraor- 
 dinary as his work. Indeed, if we 
 would fully understand the one, we 
 must examine the other. They must 
 be taken together, as in the case of 
 
viii Introduction 
 
 Verlaine, or of Wilde. Only, as against 
 the apparent contradictions in those 
 other cases, Wedekind's life and his 
 work have always had eccentricities 
 and abnormalities in common. 
 
 " He was born, 1864, in Hanover. His 
 father had been a physician in the 
 Orient, one of the rebels of '48, gone 
 to America, and been a pioneer in San 
 Francisco, where he married. Frank 
 Wedekind's mother was of a Wurttem- 
 berg family; she had reached San Fran- 
 cisco in the adventuring vagabondage 
 of the stage artist. Wedekind senior 
 made money in land, and returned to 
 Hanover, where Frank was born. The 
 family moved to Lenzburg, where 
 Frank's first youth had its untrammeled 
 way. The passion for writing was his 
 from the first, but his father made him 
 study law in Munich. There, however, 
 he consorted only with artists and 
 players. His studies shifted to Zurich, 
 where with others of his own age he 
 started the so-called Ulrich-Hutten 
 circle, furthering the cause of modernity 
 
Frank Wedekind ix 
 
 in literature. To this circle belonged 
 such as Karl Henckell, John Henry 
 Mackay, Otto Erich Hartleben and the 
 two brothers Hauptmann. Wedekind 
 here came first into touch with Strind- 
 berg. In 1888, his father dead, Wede- 
 kind returned to Munich with his 
 patrimony. Artistic ferment tossed him 
 hither and thither; he went to Paris 
 and to London, flinging away his 
 patrimony and much of his physical 
 and spiritual health. He learned, then, 
 as Maximilian Harden has pointed out, 
 all the centres of European culture, all 
 the sinks of its perversity and its 
 crookedness. He squandered his money 
 and his beliefs alike recklessly. In 1891 
 he returned again to Munich, in funds, 
 the old family home in Lenzburg hav- 
 ing been sold. 
 
 ^^The first editor to recognize Wede- 
 kind was Albert Langen, of Sim- 
 plicissimus, who took him onto the staff 
 of that weekly. Karl Heine, of the 
 Leipzig Literary Society, also took up 
 Wedekind, and put on such plays of 
 
X Introduction 
 
 his as 'Earth Spirit' (Der Erdgeist), 
 1895, 'The Tenor' (Der Kammer- 
 saenger), 1899, and 'The Love Potion' 
 (Der Liebestrank), 1899, in which Wede- 
 kind himself played important parts. 
 These were his first successes, both as 
 writer and public performer. An action 
 for lese-majeste was brought against 
 him about this time; he fled to Paris; 
 but eventually gave himself up, and 
 served a sentence in the fortress of 
 Koenigstein. This episode brought him 
 more notoriety than all he had ac- 
 complished in art. Then came the 
 'Uberbrettr period, in which Wedekind 
 was active as singer and performer, as 
 has already been told on an earlier 
 page. The variety theatres of Berlin, 
 of Munich, and many other towns 
 knew him. In 1904 he joined the forces 
 of Max Reinhardt at the German 
 Theatre (Deutsches Theater) in Berlin, 
 acting in such pieces of his own as 
 'Spring's Awakening' (Fruehhngs Er- 
 wachen), written in 1891, 'Earth 
 Spirit,' and 'Hidalla,' 1904. 
 
Frank Wedekind xi 
 
 ''In 1906, Wedekind married Tillie 
 Niemann, an actress, and in 1908 left 
 Berlin to settle again in Munich. The 
 name Wedekind is rich in talents 
 besides that of Frank. His sister Erika 
 is well known as a brilliant singer; a 
 brother Donald aped Wedekind' s career, 
 at least in literature, but lacked Frank's 
 robust physical and mental equipment. 
 Donald wandered in America, retired 
 to a monastery, wrote a weird novel, 
 drifted from editorial desk to music-hall 
 platform, and finally shot himseK in 
 Vienna in 1908. 
 
 '' Only in some of his first verses will 
 you find trace of an idealistic youth- 
 fulness having once dwelt in Wedekind. 
 He began, as Conradi, as Nietzsche, 
 with some yearning for the illimitable 
 beauties that spring seems to conjure 
 in the human soul; the actualities of 
 life appear to have buffeted all those 
 fine fancies out of him at the first 
 touch, and forever. In his later work 
 there is not one single link that binds 
 
xii Introduction 
 
 him to his human kind. Joy of hfe 
 died in him so young that he has 
 forgotten that it still exists in others. 
 
 " What has always been to the fore 
 in his preoccupation with the sexual 
 relation between the sexes is the brutal, 
 the diabolic, in them. His bitter, cynical 
 irony has played about every normal 
 and abnormal gesture of human passion 
 that experience or imagination can 
 conceive. He is the great Denier of our 
 time. He denies morals, denies cus- 
 tom, denies the laws and scruples of 
 society and art. Whether the barriers 
 of nicety and decency — to use words 
 intelligible to the polite! — which Wede- 
 kind has kicked down can ever again 
 be put up as permanently as before in 
 art, is a fine question. He denies the 
 ideal, denies even what is. 
 
 ^^It is in the volume 'Countess Rus- 
 salka' (Furstin Russalka), 1897, that 
 one should look for the first signs of 
 Wedekind's artistic temper. This volume 
 held stories, poems, and pantomines. It 
 gave some of his earliest, and also some 
 of his most characteristic work. 
 
Frank Wedekind xiii 
 
 (C t 
 
 Spring's Awakening' will probably 
 live longer than any other Wedekind 
 play. Brutal as it is, it still has a 
 vestige of idealism, of which the later 
 Wedekind retains no trace. It was a 
 children's tragedy of the most awful, 
 this play, and no greater indictment 
 of the folly of letting hypocrisy and 
 shamefulness keep the young of both 
 sexes blind to what sex means has ever 
 been written. In quite recent times 
 this matter of the awakening of sex, of 
 the wide-spread and disastrous prudery 
 about diseases of sex, has gradually 
 been creeping into publicity in Anglo- 
 Saxon countries. Here and there a 
 medical man courageous enough to tell 
 the truth has brought an indictment 
 against the way adults conspire to 
 pretend diseases of sex as non-existent, 
 and against the way children are 
 brought up in ignorance of sexual 
 functions. Wedekind was the first to 
 bring that indictment through dramatic 
 art. 
 
xiv Introduction 
 
 ^' One of the stories in 'Furstin Rus- 
 salka' had already outUned the subject 
 of 'Spring's Awakening.' That interim 
 period of pubescence, when youth is torn 
 between its dread of the unknown and 
 its desires, was the theme which first 
 moved Wedekind in his story of 'Rabbi 
 Esra' in the 'Russalka' collection, and 
 later in the play. Nothing could be 
 more awful, more tragic, than the man- 
 ner in which his play exposes the 
 injustice which parents do their children 
 by letting them stay in ignorance con- 
 cerning all the body's natural functions. 
 Almost every hypocrisy common in 
 every modern country's attitude toward 
 children is flayed bitterly by Wedekind. 
 One character in an early story declares 
 that she would never have supposed 
 'that one could bear children without 
 having been married'; Countess Rus- 
 salka herself was of the steadfast belief 
 that God had given her parents children 
 because they had been married in 
 church, and not because early in their 
 married life they lived together. Frau 
 
Frank Wedekind xv 
 
 Bergmann in the last act of 'Spring's 
 Awakening^ explains to the fifteen-year- 
 old Wendla that the latter has a child, 
 only to have the latter exclaim: 'But 
 mother, that isn't possible. Why, — 
 I'm not married!' Whereon comes her 
 curt reproach: 'Oh, mother, why didn't 
 you tell me everything?' and Frau 
 Bergmann' s reply: 'I dealt with you 
 exactly as my dear mother dealt with 
 me.' In that latter frightful confession, 
 you have the whole bitter irony of 
 Wedekind's indictment. It is the curse 
 of Yesterday that has put its pall of 
 ignorance upon so many of these danger 
 spots in Today's consciousness; in the 
 contrast between that reply of Frau 
 Bergmann's and the frightful tragedy 
 overwhelming the children in this play 
 lies the whole difference between the 
 old hypocrisies and the enhghtenment 
 for which all our modern world is still 
 too slowly striving. All the mongrel 
 results of half culture, all the false 
 shame and hypocrisy preventing parent 
 and child from dealing straightforwardly 
 
xvi Introduction 
 
 with the tr^th in things physical, are 
 castigated in this play. 
 
 ^^If in 'Spring's Awakening' our 
 modern world first came to realize 
 Wedekind's concentration upon sex, that 
 concentration was to be expressed even 
 more forcibly afterwards. There was, 
 in the children's tragedy referred to, 
 still much of the unquenched idealist 
 in Wedekind; indeed, it was what 
 gleamed through the lines suggesting 
 the bitter way in which the great world 
 of experience had brutally upset the 
 ideal in Wedekind's own youth that 
 gave this play much of its power. The 
 play was applicable wherever old hy- 
 pocrisies between parent and child still 
 linger; but the most tremendously in- 
 ternational creation of Wedekind was 
 to come later, in the character of 
 Lulu, the heroine of 'Earth Spirit' 
 and its sequel, 'The Box of Pandora.' 
 
 ^^ Lulu was a daughter of the people, 
 who rose thence from one story of 
 society to another without ever com- 
 pletely feeling at home on any Hage. 
 
Frank Wedekind xvii 
 
 Literally she was of the people; she 
 knew neither parent; she was of the 
 earth, the ^ Earth Spirit' truly; its 
 soil clung to her always. First a flower 
 girl; then adventuress, then a lady in 
 society, she goes always forward upon 
 her single business, that of giving her 
 sexuality one triumph after another 
 over the opposing sex. She deceives 
 this man, ruins another, murders an- 
 other. She is the eternal temptress; 
 she embodies the everlasting struggle 
 between the sexes; she is untameable, 
 merciless, and seems immortal. In the 
 sequel to ^ Earth Spirit,' Lulu has def- 
 initely become a professional general 
 in the bitter war against the male. 
 In ^The Box of Pandora' we find her 
 released from the prison to which the 
 murder in the other play had brought 
 her; though free from that constraint, 
 she is now more and more the slave 
 of her own passions and sinks from one 
 phase of courtesanship to another. 
 There is no abomination of vice or ex- 
 tortion to which she does not come. 
 
xviii Introduction 
 
 both actively and passively; she ex- 
 hausts every iniquitous corner of every 
 capital of the world's vice; mires lower 
 and lower, in Paris, and then London; 
 to end, at last, as streetwalker in a 
 London garret, murdered by a Jack 
 the Ripper in one of the most appalling 
 scenes ever written in our time in any 
 tongue. 
 
 " No artist in our time, or perhaps in 
 any time, has gone farther to the ex- 
 treme, in revolt from his embittered 
 youth, than Wedekind. If at first his 
 bitterness was a mask to conceal the 
 hurt of his young manhood, it became 
 eventually the man himself, an insepa- 
 rable part of his ego. That he has been 
 able to make that ego stream so 
 strongly upon the outer world of inter- 
 national art, proves him a dramatic 
 force of truly continental calibre. There 
 are those, of course, who find Wedekind 
 simply the last human word in that 
 degeneration once put into circulation 
 as a phrase for the general abuse; those 
 who murmur of Krafft-Ebing, and of 
 
Frank Wedekind xix 
 
 Nietzsche dying in a madhouse. They 
 declare the profitlessness of putting into 
 plays characters and actions which, 
 after all, are not typical but abnormal. 
 They do not deny that such people, 
 such incidents, such life, as are in 
 Wedekind's plays, exist; but they ques- 
 tion the value of putting them into 
 play or print. Against which it is to 
 be remarked that even if they only 
 recorded the utterest abnormalities, 
 from the most inhuman standpoint, 
 these plays of Wedekind will have to 
 be reckoned with by the future student 
 of today's civilization. In that larger 
 reckoning our abnormalities as well as 
 our normalities must figure. 
 
 '^Students of psychology, moreover, 
 may easily enough illumine the case of 
 Wedekind to suit their theories. To 
 Wedekind, as we have seen, humanity 
 has never been other than atoms under 
 a microscope. To hold humanity under 
 the microscope is exactly the method 
 of the conscious psychologist; he notes 
 actions, causes and effects; he appHes 
 
XX Introduction 
 
 his observations, deduces from them; 
 the human machine becomes obvious 
 and simple to him. Wedekind may, 
 then, by some be held consciously or 
 unconsciously to enact the psychologist 
 in his drama; not only to let the atoms 
 move under his microscope, but to let 
 us, the playgoers, watch the very 
 process of psychologic exposition. All 
 this, as I said, if you are able, in what 
 seems to others only chaotic, to find 
 psychology. 
 
 "Whatever were the first influences 
 upon Wedekind, as Nietzsche, Strind- 
 berg, and the French writers, essentially 
 it was his own life that fashioned him 
 to eventual individualism as artist. 
 If in matter he occasionally tried paths 
 that had been trodden in Scandinavia 
 or France, in manner he was never 
 anything but grotesquely himself; he 
 scorned any pattern whatsoever; his 
 work was nothing but the eruption, the 
 ebullition of his ego and its ideas. 
 Even in matter he surpassed in un- 
 scrupulousness and disregard for old 
 
Frank Wedekind xxi 
 
 shames, old restraints, anything that 
 others had done. By comparison, 
 Strindberg's ^Fraulein Julie ^ seems al- 
 most dainty, and the pseudomedical 
 revelations in the novels of D'Annunzio 
 seem packed in saccharine rhetoric. 
 
 ^^Wedekind's intense joy in the body 
 is as pagan as that of the Greeks, but 
 expressed far more in terms of literal 
 physics. For him there is no veiling 
 the essential thing itself by phrases 
 about a ^ human form divine,' ^an- 
 tique boy-worship of the Greeks,' or 
 even the allusiveness of a Gautier 
 declaring that 'sl woman who has wit 
 enough to be beautiful has wit enough.' 
 In him no tenor murmurs about ^fair 
 boys' who are lovely as Antinous.' 
 He goes straight to the rude core of 
 man's delight in woman's body. If he 
 himself declared once that 4ife is a 
 toboggan-slide,' we must, as we ex- 
 amine his paramount obsession, declare 
 that in him the cult of the human body 
 is chiefly expressed in intense devotion 
 to woman's every gesture, every motion 
 
xxii Introduction 
 
 ^^ 
 
 of her gait. Prince Escerny said of 
 
 Lulu: ^When she dances her solo, she 
 becomes drunk with her own beauty, 
 with which she is in love up to the 
 ears!' To Wedekind, as to Heine, the 
 real Song of Songs in this our day is 
 the song in a woman's form. 
 
 " Through the most grotesque situa- 
 tions that occur between the extraor- 
 dinary people in his plays — noblemen, 
 trapeze performers, adventurers, co- 
 cottes, and school children — the idea 
 that only in a perfect body can the 
 perfect spirit dwell, rings out. The girl 
 Hidalla, after all the years she has 
 spent in seclusion with many other girls 
 in that strange educational institution 
 pictured in ^Mine-Haha,' recalls of 
 her fellows nothing, nothing save their 
 — gait. Not Felicien Rops himself has 
 expressed the sheer animality of the 
 female form as has Wedekind; the 
 Belgian could not get the flowing 
 vividness of motion into his strokes 
 that the German has put into his prose. 
 The case of Hidalla is nothing but a 
 
Frank Wedekind xxiii 
 
 girFs education in worship of her own 
 body. The gradual dawning in her of 
 appreciation for the suavity of her 
 Umbs, of Hhat joy which came to her 
 as the consciousness of her own body 
 came to her, and which found vent 
 again in every sUghtest gesture/ is 
 typical of this trait in Wedekind's art. 
 Even in early verses in the 'Countess 
 Russalka' collection was the line ad- 
 dressed to a girl: 'Your irresistibility 
 is in your legs . . .' and in the 
 'Galathea' ballad (German Chansons) 
 he declared that he 'Yearned to kiss 
 your knees, Spelling as they do tempta- 
 tion. . . .^ Of gait and rhythm in the 
 body we find this in 'Mine-Haha^ 
 'A person^s walk is not an accidental 
 thing. It depends directly on the way 
 the body is built. . . . Human gait has 
 its rhythm that is not to be expressed 
 in words, that can only be felt. From 
 this rhythm you may easily reconstruct 
 the entire body.' 
 
 '^ This instinct for bodily rhythm Wede- 
 kind put among the vital attributes 
 
xviv Introduction 
 
 of his elemental female, Lulu, The 
 rhythm of her own body moves Lulu 
 to a very passion, a need, for dancing; 
 if for one evening she fails to give her 
 dance, she admits: 'I dream all night 
 that I am dancing, and next day every 
 bone in me aches/ Her body excites 
 not only in others but in herself, Hhe 
 maddest excitement.' One, a poet, 
 praises her body thus: 'Through this 
 gown your stature is as a symphony to 
 me. These fine ankles are as a Canta- 
 bile; this ravishing curve, and this 
 knee, are as a Capriccio; and this the 
 mighty Andante of voluptuousness.' 
 
 '^As we remember the emphasis on 
 these qualities in body and gait that 
 runs through all Wedekind writes, those 
 early 'Pantomime Dances' in the 
 'Furstin Russalka' volume come more 
 and more to express Wedekind's real 
 attitude toward life. That attitude 
 is one of inhuman disdain. Before 
 his cynically distorting mirror he lets 
 all life pass; all are equal before that 
 ironic reflector. His relentless deter- 
 
Frank Wedekind xxv 
 
 mination to fling his figures about into 
 frightful and abnormal postures, de- 
 tracts from our ability to feel anything 
 of his as a complete work of art. 
 Wedekind is as chaotic as Nature 
 herself; there is no notion absurder than 
 that Nature is logical or artistic in the 
 petty sense. The sheerly profane ex- 
 pression of Nietzsche's most inhuman 
 egoism is Wedekind. Humanity has 
 moved his pity as much as it has 
 moved Vesuvius, when that volcano 
 was in eruption. 
 
 ^' To further his conception of all life 
 as an expression of the body, either for 
 brutality or beauty, he has sacrificed 
 not alone casual characters and types 
 in ordinary human society, but most 
 of the actual men and women whom he 
 has known in the flesh. There is hardly 
 a play of his that has not some gross, 
 hideous version of a real and well- 
 known personage. What makes all 
 this the more frightful is that some 
 truth is in even the most brutal of 
 Wedekind's apparent distortions. Have 
 
xxvi Introduction 
 
 we not heard, for many years, the 
 sententious: ^In the most civilized, the 
 most sophisticated of us, dwells still 
 the primal brute, the savage. But no 
 man dares proclaim the real thoughts 
 and words of that brute part of us.' 
 That is just what Wedekind has dared 
 to do: he has laid bare all the brute 
 in normal, as well as in abnormal man- 
 kind. If he has gone to the other 
 extreme — has refused to see that in 
 us human creatures there is also some- 
 thing beside the brute — he has none 
 the less perfectly fulfilled the old artistic 
 law that you must always, to bring 
 your point home, teU not only the 
 truth but more than the truth: you 
 must exaggerate. Wedekind has exag- 
 gerated the brutal qualities in us, until 
 he has made us shudder. He is eccen- 
 tric and perverse; the tragic comedian 
 of the abnormal; whether he is genius 
 of psychology or only genius of chaos, 
 he has gashed the irremediable savagery 
 of our time, surviving through centuries 
 of so-called civilization, so deeply upon 
 
Frank Wedekmd xxvii 
 
 the theatre and upon literature that 
 he may survive when time serving 
 photographers, or complaining idealists, 
 are forgotten/^ 
 
EXCERPTS FROM WEDEKIND'S 
 PREFACE ON EROTICISM 
 
EXCERPTS FROM WEDEKIND'S ' 
 PREFACE ON EROTICISM 
 
 Most people divide their fellow men into 
 two large classes: Their friends and their 
 foes; those who speak their tongue, and those 
 who speak different languages; those who try 
 to help them in their development, and 
 those who try to hinder this development. 
 
 And I should like to divide my fellow 
 men into two large classes. The one 
 class has, since creation, championed the 
 adage: FLESH REMAINS FLESH — AS 
 OPPOSED TO SPIRIT. 
 
 Naturally, here the spirit is the higher ele- 
 ment, the sovereign absolute, which severely 
 punishes every revolutionary utterance of 
 the flesh. 
 
 But the flesh has never submitted itself 
 to this contempt and degradation for any 
 length of time, and has over and over 
 again played the maddest pranks on the 
 champions of the adage: FLESH RE- 
 MAINS FLESH— AS OPPOSED TO SPIRIT. 
 
 As a result of these everlasting pranks a 
 
xxxii On Eroticism 
 
 new party has appeared which, after many 
 ripe experiences, has promulgated the adage: 
 THE FLESH HAS ITS OWN SPIRIT. 
 
 And it is with the champions of this 
 new theory in mind that the stories con- 
 tained in this volume have been written. 
 All of their problems center around the 
 spirit of the flesh, which we usually term 
 eroticism. And here allow me to state 
 that it is not only in Germany that this 
 eroticism has been looked upon with fearful 
 dread; and it is for this reason that I am 
 taking it upon myself to say a few impar- 
 tial words on this subject. 
 
 As a result of all sorts of accidents the 
 problem of sex education has been coming 
 into the foreground for many years past. 
 
 The duty of the home is to inform 
 maturing children that there are no in- 
 decent happenings in nature, but that 
 there are only good and evil, sensible 
 and unsensible occurrences. Furthermore, 
 that there are indecent people who do not 
 know how to talk about or behave decently 
 in connection with nature^ s functions. 
 
 Why is this? It is because such people 
 
On Eroticism xxxiii 
 
 lack culture and spiritual freedom. 
 
 The youth of today does not grow up 
 in natural blindness and stupidity ^ and 
 it is mad folly to try to blind them in 
 regard to sex questions. 
 
 And still this folly has saturated our 
 homes and schools for the last century. 
 And why? For fear that a serious con- 
 sideration of eroticism would do harm 
 rather than good. 
 
 This fear is the result of self-deception. 
 Parents have not, as they thought, placed 
 a ban on such subjects for fear of harming 
 their offspring, but because they have never 
 been able to talk among themselves on 
 eroticism for the very reason that they them- 
 selves had never been taught to consider it 
 seriously. 
 
 And why? Why has this subject al- 
 ways been banned as indecent? 
 
 Because very often, and without any 
 reason, these discussions have led to the 
 most serious kind of quarrels. And the 
 reason for these quarrels is that such dis- 
 cussions lead into sensitive channels in 
 which husband or wife, especially when 
 
xxxiv On Eroticism 
 
 they live together, become hurt at the 
 slightest provocation; sensitive channels in 
 which women do not care to justify them- 
 selves to any one, and least of all to their 
 husbands. To cite an example of such 
 a sensitive channel let me mention: the 
 bodily charm of woman, or the bodily 
 health of man. 
 
 We know the mechanism of a motor, 
 and of an airship, but we know nothing 
 of the mechanism of the marriage. 
 Thousands of cultured people believe that 
 they will be inseparably united once the 
 marriage ceremony is over. No account 
 is taken of the real reason for the bond 
 between man and wife. Is it any wonder 
 then that this error leads so often to divorce? 
 
 In our present-day society we speak 
 more guardedly about politics than we do 
 about religion. During the Reformation 
 the case, of course, was the opposite. And 
 it is in just such a manner that we are 
 more guarded today in speaking about sex 
 questions than we are about politics. Once, 
 however, a general understanding of this 
 subjectjhas been arrived at there will prob- 
 ably be a great change. 
 
PRINCESS RUSSALKA 
 
PRINCESS RUSSALKA. 
 
 ^^You are wondering how I happened 
 to become a ^Social Democrat' and 
 marry a SociaUst leader?' ' asked Prin- 
 cess Russalka of her friend, the re- 
 cently married Baroness Hohenwart. 
 ^^The reason was/' she continued, ^'that 
 my marriage with the Duke of Galliera 
 left me childless." 
 
 ^'But is that a reason?" asked the 
 baroness, blushing. 
 
 '' Perhaps my whole youth is to 
 blame," said the princess. ^^It's a 
 rather hard story to tell. As a child 
 I was greatly taken up with my own 
 importance. I knew nothing higher in 
 the world than myself. I looked at 
 myself in the mirror as at something 
 holy. Yet with all I was merry and 
 bold, though I always failed to see any 
 humor in certain things. My inner 
 pride revolted itself then. And this 
 pride later on proved to be my fate. 
 When my sister AmeUa began talking 
 
2 Princess Russalka 
 
 to me one evening about the way in 
 which people came into the world, I 
 could have almost strangled her. I 
 was very religious, and often conversed 
 in persona with God for hours at a 
 time. I had the firm behef that God 
 had created me. I told myself that 
 what man made had no spirit. Amelia 
 and I grew up in the castle of 
 Schwarzeneck in Bohemia, cut off from 
 the rest of the world. The only com- 
 panions we had were a dried-up, old 
 major domo, and a very cold-blooded 
 governess. I do not know where Amelia 
 got her knowledge. She was, it is true, 
 two years older than I, and was phleg- 
 matic and lazy. One evening she told 
 me that the miller^s daughter in the 
 village had a child. I was furious, and 
 told her that what she was saying was 
 impossible. Our parents had been mar- 
 ried in a church and that was why 
 God had given them children, not be- 
 cause they had lived together during 
 the first few years of their married life. 
 It seemed to me as if Amelia were 
 
Princess Russalka 3 
 
 trying to deprive me of my right of 
 living. In the middle of the night I 
 prayed to God that He might show me 
 that I was right, and not Amelia; and 
 I distinctly heard a voice say, ^^ You are 
 right, Russalka, you are quite right." 
 And when my sister, a few days later, 
 again began talking about such things, 
 I swore by God and all that there 
 were no illegitimate children in the 
 world. Amelia laughed, but I was 
 so serious in my convictions, I felt 
 such a proselytism in myself, that day 
 and night I yearned for the opportunity 
 to prove my convictions. 
 
 ^'At Christmas time my father always 
 brought a great many friends from 
 Vienna for hunting. And every winter 
 he brought the duke of Galliera with 
 him. I was then sixteen years old. 
 On the very first day I took him as my 
 cavalier. He was twenty-eight, very 
 clever and attentive, and he eased my 
 mad resolution in every conceivable 
 manner. Amelia and a young lieuten- 
 ant from Budapest always kept near 
 
4 Princess Russalka 
 
 us. In three days the catastrophe had 
 happened. I told her about it that very 
 evening. She turned pale as death and 
 fainted. Then she wept and sobbed 
 the whole night through, beat her breast 
 and tore her hair, so that I had to use 
 every atom of love and power I had 
 to console her. Of course it did not do 
 much good, but I still was so con- 
 fident of myself that she, as if impelled 
 by some higher force, knelt down before 
 me and clutched my knees. 
 
 ^'After New Year's all the guests left. 
 Since I had shown Amelia my absolute 
 confidence in the whole affair I hardly 
 looked at the duke any more. He 
 accepted my disregard in a very graceful 
 manner. 
 
 ^'Then came the spring, and at times 
 I became frightened. I prayed to God 
 that He might not let my belief in 
 Him vaccilate. But I did not have 
 the least reason for it. And finally, 
 one September evening, I said to my 
 sister, "You see, I was right. And 
 from now on please do not give me your 
 
Princess Russalka 5 
 
 opinion about things/^ She had said 
 nothing more about it. Now she looked 
 at me with big eyes, fell on my neck 
 and kissed me. 
 
 ^^But at Christmas time, when the 
 duke again came with my father, I was 
 overcome with emotions that I had 
 never felt before. My father sur- 
 prised us and the duke asked for my 
 hand in marriage. 
 
 ^'We spent our honeymoon in Naples. 
 I was very, very happy. Then we 
 went to the castle of Egersdorf, where 
 we could live just for our happiness, 
 shut off from the rest of the world. 
 I yearned for a child as only a young 
 married woman can. It seemed in- 
 credible that this joy should now be 
 denied to me. During the first year 
 I spoke of it daily, as of something that 
 was as certain to come as winter and 
 spring. But I had no child. I prayed 
 for whole nights at a time; I knelt 
 and prayed that God might let me die 
 rather than deny us His blessing. But 
 I had no child. And besides, my hus- 
 
6 Princess Russalka 
 
 band began to gaze at me queerly, 
 and I noticed that his love for me was 
 growing cooler. We were bored. 
 
 ^^Then my cousin, the countess Telecky 
 came from Vienna to visit us. My 
 husband loathed her, but for me she 
 was a new world. She had read every- 
 thing: Ibsen, Tolstoy, Zola, Dostoyev- 
 sky, Nietzsche, and Sudermann; she 
 was a human circulating library. With- 
 in six months she had changed me into 
 as fanatical an atheist as I had before 
 been a Catholic. And when finally 
 I did not feel one more atom of faith, 
 of confidence in myseK; when I had 
 lost all that could have helped me bear 
 up under a misfortune, then I found 
 that she had won over my husband in 
 the meantime, and was already bearing 
 a child by him. 
 
 ^^I was taken, unconscious, to Vienna. 
 For weeks I lay in a high fever. After 
 my convalescence I went to my father 
 to ask him to help me procure a di- 
 vorce. At the word ^^ divorce'^ he told 
 
Princess Russalka 7 
 
 me to leave his home. Then I came 
 here, to BerUn, to secure a lawyer, 
 but I instantly saw that in whatever 
 society I might go I would only meet 
 the sort of people of which the countess 
 Telecky was a type. I appeared to 
 myself like a remnant from the Middle 
 Ages, which happened to remain un- 
 noticed in a secluded spot. I yearned 
 for all that was modern. I cut off 
 my lovely hair, went in men's clothes 
 to the artists' ball, and wrote about the 
 woman questioh. Before a year had 
 passed I appeared publicly at meetings. 
 ^^I met Doctor Rappart at the ^first 
 night' of 'Hedda Gabler.' A few 
 days later, I heard him speak at a 
 Social Democratic meeting. Then he 
 visited me. His first words were a 
 sincere appeal that, on account of the 
 feminine in me, on account of the high 
 calling of making a good wife, I should 
 give up this mad existence. He told 
 me that I was acting against my nature; 
 it might be all right for others, but not 
 
8 Princess Russalka 
 
 for me. At first I defended myself on 
 the ground of service to my cause, but 
 he had fathomed me so clearly that I 
 sat there like a child who was being 
 punished. The third time he called 
 he asked me to become his wife. I 
 refused, although I had learned to love 
 him. Wherever I went they spoke of 
 him; all Berlin raved about him, the 
 tribune of the people, the future ruler. 
 I watched, at a parade on Unter den 
 Linden, how the crowd cheered him. 
 I heard some workingmen telling each 
 other that there was nothing dearer 
 to this man than his life's work, and 
 I knew what was next dearest to him. 
 But I did not have the courage any 
 more; I felt myself divorced from all 
 worldly happiness, because I doubted 
 whether I could ever bear a man any 
 children. 
 
 ^'Then came the most terrible days 
 I have ever lived through. I decided 
 to die, and took morphine. They took 
 me to a hospital. When I regained 
 
Princess Russalka 9 
 
 consciousness, I wept because I had 
 done all in vain. But there he stood 
 at my bedside and leaned over me. 
 The doctors left us alone, and then — 
 then all my strength gave way. I 
 wept and wept on his breast, and told 
 him everything. 
 
 ^^I begged him to let me go away, but 
 he was with me every day. He told 
 me things, which he himself doubted, 
 only to console me. And finally — I 
 knew that if there was any happiness in 
 this world for me it was he who could 
 give it. Then I fell on his neck and 
 let him cover me with kisses, while 
 I, through it all, felt entirely unworthy 
 of him. 
 
 *^We were married. He insisted that 
 we be also married by the Church. 
 And now . . .'^ 
 
 The princess arose quickly, went into 
 the next room and brought out the 
 rosy, little, blue-eyed Social Demo- 
 crat, who measured the baroness with 
 a deep, stern look. 
 
10 Princess Russalka 
 
 '^Now conceive my happiness !'' 
 The baroness smiled. ^^I should 
 
 much prefer a little baron — or even 
 
 a baroness/' 
 
THE GRISLY SUITOR. 
 
 Leonie Fisher had a fine nature. 
 The charm of her features, which were 
 rather sweet than pretty, lay in the 
 expression of the eyes and of the some- 
 what drawn-up hps. The judge of 
 human nature who saw her had to 
 confess that Leonie's attractions were 
 not perishable, and that a woman with 
 the same charms would be just as 
 alluring as the young girl. The shape 
 of her head, and the line of smooth 
 closely coifed black hair, were perfect. 
 She was rather plump, but her hips 
 were a little too thin; her foot was 
 small, and her hands also would prob- 
 ably have been pretty if she had not 
 been keeping house ever since the end 
 of her school days. She did the sweep- 
 ing, cooking, cleaning and washing. 
 
 Leonie Fisher was of that type which 
 is at ease in all kinds of society, a 
 type which is never offensive, thanks 
 to an inborn tact and unselfish mind; 
 
12 The Grisly Suitor 
 
 a type which always sympathizes with 
 others. 
 
 Since her fifth year Leonie had had 
 no mother and had never been outside 
 of the httle town of Lenzburg. Her 
 father was in his shop all day long, and 
 in the evenings would sit with some 
 sullen old men around a poorly lighted 
 table, in one of the innumerable inns, 
 and never came home before eleven 
 o'clock. Since her older sister had died 
 Leonie had spent almost every evening 
 at home alone, doing some fine crochet- 
 ing or reading a book from the town 
 library. And she had always been 
 satisfied. When she was only seventeen 
 she could have married well. Her father 
 was furious at the time that she had 
 refused the offer. But she had smiled 
 quietly to herself; she would wait until 
 the right one came along; she did not 
 believe in trying out. And when the 
 right man did appear she wasted no 
 time in deliberating. He was of me- 
 dium height, about thirty-five years 
 old, and he had a profitable business. 
 
The Grisly Suitor 13 
 
 But what attracted her most was that 
 he could be serious, and when she 
 wanted to she could talk to him about 
 things that did not concern either his 
 business or her father's shop. 
 
 The young couple spent their honey- 
 moon at the Gar da See. There they 
 sat in the afternoon sun on the veran- 
 dah, spoke but little, and were thankful 
 for the beautiful world about them. 
 Leonie smiled whenever she caught her 
 husband's eyes. Then he would glance 
 at her earnestly so that she blushed 
 up to the roots of her hair, but im- 
 mediately he would look at her in a 
 supplicating and helpless manner as if 
 he were begging her pardon. It always 
 ended when she laid her hand in his 
 and let him fondle it. And thus it 
 went every day from dawn to sunset. 
 Leonie enjoyed her happiness without 
 affectation, in absolute abandon, but 
 without any judgment, and without 
 any consideration of her person. She 
 loved love above all, and but seldom 
 was she happy at the thought of 
 
14 The Grisly Suitor 
 
 having found such a kind, good man 
 to share her future Ufe with her. And 
 it was as she had dreamed during the 
 many long evenings that she sat at 
 home alone. At the altar she had 
 promised herself never to hold any 
 one responsible for her marriage but 
 herself. And besides, she had prayed 
 to heaven to spare her and hers from 
 all unlooked for sorrows. 
 
 Quiet reigned in the large hotel. The 
 door to their room was locked and the 
 heavy, green curtains were drawn. 
 There was a night lamp burning on the 
 table. It was long past midnight but 
 the young couple could not sleep. It 
 was probably because they had such 
 little exercise during the daytime, and 
 becailse they always drank black coffee 
 after their dinner. 
 
 ^'How does it happen," asked the 
 young man in a whisper, ^^that a young 
 girl of your age, with so much emotion, 
 is always so quiet. The way you talk 
 and act among people makes one believe 
 that you have lived before. Other 
 

 The Grisly Suitor 15 
 
 girls of your age are always out, but 
 you grow quieter and more sedate from 
 day to day. 
 
 ^^ Perhaps it is on account of what 
 I went through in my youth/ ^ answered 
 the young woman. Her eyes glowed 
 in the black night that lay about them. 
 What did you go through? '^ 
 Why, when my sister died. Didn^t 
 I ever tell you about it?'' 
 
 ^^No. That is, I don't remember that 
 you did." 
 
 ^^You have seen her picture. She 
 was nearly a head taller than I am, 
 and she had a much stronger consti- 
 tution. Her arms were so large that 
 I could hardly get my two hands 
 around them. But with all of it she 
 was neither fat nor clumsy. She was 
 more supple than I, and when she 
 walked the earth seemed to bend with 
 her steps. Perhaps it was on account 
 of her large, well rounded hips. But 
 her neck was the most beautiful part 
 of her body. When I think^of?her|now 
 the first thing I see is her beautifully 
 
16 The Grisly Suitor 
 
 molded neck and her lovely, sloping 
 shoulders. She was so strong and healthy 
 that no one would have ever im- 
 agined that she would die. Only she 
 herself used to have the most terrible 
 thoughts; one could almost see them 
 in her eyes. When one looked at her 
 one thought that she was going to weep 
 the next moment. She used to tell 
 long stories about a catastrophe that 
 had occurred or that was going to 
 happen in the future; and when later 
 on one would think over what she had 
 said, one would realize that there was 
 nothing in it. She was always excited 
 and also bashful. From the mere fear 
 of unhappiness and death she never 
 really went out into the world until the 
 very end; but then it was different. 
 And that was the very thing that 
 never gave her any peace of mind. 
 From the very day that she put on 
 long skirts and was confirmed, she 
 thought of one thing only :| how and 
 when she would get married.^^Andfwith 
 it all she had a presentiment, I'T^don't 
 
The Grisly Suitor 17 
 
 know where from, that it would never 
 happen — that she would die before 
 it. And that was the basis of what 
 finally happened. 
 
 ^^I remember/^ continued Leonie, ^^I 
 was perhaps ten years old and we slept 
 in the same bed. Next to the bed 
 stood the crib in which my doll slept; 
 and in the other bed slept our old 
 nurse Lisbeth. Lisbeth snored so loud 
 that we often woke up in the middle 
 of the night. Then we would talk 
 very quietly in the dark just as we 
 are talking now; only then we did not 
 have a four-post bed. Once Clara 
 asked me what sort of a man I was 
 going to marry. I had never thought 
 about it, so I said that I did not know. 
 Then she told me that hers would have 
 to have broad shoulders and be large 
 and well built; that his nose must be 
 straight and that he would have to 
 wear a small black moustache and have 
 pearly teeth. His hair would be short 
 and his ears small, while he must have 
 well formed legs and wear large boots 
 
18 The Grisly Suitor 
 
 with spurs. It took her half of the 
 night to tell me about him. We thought 
 of all of our acquaintances, but there 
 was not one among them who was 
 stately enough. . . . And finally she 
 said, with her head against my breast 
 and in a sobbing voice: ^I think that 
 I will have to marry a man of fifty or 
 sixty years, who has lost all of his 
 teeth and who coughs and sputters 
 at every word he utters. Oh, Leonie, 
 Leonie, if you only knew how much I 
 fear and dread it'/ All the blood had 
 gone to her head and her arms were 
 as hot as fire. 
 
 '^And on another night when Lisbeth 
 was again snoring loudly Clara told me 
 all about Hfe, why one marries, and 
 why women dress differently than men. 
 I found it all very natural, but she 
 made a dismal story of it. She could 
 hardly speak and I could hear her heart 
 beating. I had never known anything 
 about all she told me, but I had never 
 imagined anything unnatural either. 
 
 '^When she came back from Italy 
 
The Grisly Suitor 19 
 
 three years later — she had by this 
 time become a truly beautiful girl, 
 aside from her corpulence — imme- 
 diately an old man, a trembling old 
 court recorder, proposed marriage to 
 her. For four weeks she did not get 
 over the shock. She did not go out, she 
 did not speak; her eyes were always on 
 the ground so that she never looked 
 at any one any more. It seemed almost 
 as if she were losing her mind. The 
 recorder was a very much respected 
 man; but of course I could never have 
 loved him either. He told my father 
 that he would like to marry Clara 
 because her lips were never firmly 
 closed, which, he felt, implied that she 
 had a good heart. And he was right. 
 At first she received him in quite a 
 friendly manner. But when she real- 
 ized what his intentions were, she 
 shrieked aloud and had terrible cramps. 
 We had to make cold applications for 
 her all day. 
 
 ^^In the following summer Rudolf 
 Eisner came to Lenzburg. And it was 
 
20 The Grisly Suitor 
 
 as if heaven had sent him, for he and 
 Clara seemed to have been made just 
 for each other, as no couple ever had 
 been before. She met him for the 
 first time when she was going bathing; 
 and immediately it seemed as if some 
 one had come into her life. She could 
 hardly go on walking. That evening 
 when we were alone she told me about 
 it; she had felt the blood rushing 
 through all of her veins she said. When 
 she came home to supper that evening 
 she complained of the tepidness of the 
 water, and in reality it was only fifty- 
 two degrees. 
 
 ^'It was very hard for her to avoid 
 showing her feeling, but it was just 
 the same with him. The very next 
 day he came to the store to buy cigars. 
 Clara was watching from the window. 
 He was a veritable Hercules. His chest 
 was so well developed that a heavy 
 wagon could have passed over it; he 
 had no moustache yet — he was only 
 twenty-three years old; his mouth was 
 broad and full, while his lips were thin 
 
The Grisly Suitor 21 
 
 but full of expression. When he was 
 going out of the lower gate he bent 
 his head unconsciously; he wore his 
 hat on the back of his head — that 
 was the only untidy thing about him. 
 His head was firm, but dignified and 
 graceful; he did not carry it lowered 
 like a steer, but high like a lion. He 
 had just served in the army — he was 
 in the artillery, I think — and now he 
 was agent for a metal company. I 
 trembled from pure delight when I 
 saw Clara standing next to me breath- 
 ing fast and oblivious of all that was 
 passing around her. I was still a per- 
 fect child at the time, but I must say 
 that when two weeks later they became 
 secretly engaged, I am sure that I was 
 just as happy about it as they them- 
 selves. 
 
 ^^They met at the post office. He 
 was writing a postal card; she also 
 wanted to write one so he gave her 
 the pen, and then they became engaged. 
 They had hardly spoken a word. He 
 had looked into her soul, and she had 
 
22 The Grisly Suitor 
 
 gazed into his; and then all was as 
 clear and firm as the vaulted heavens. 
 AVhen she came home, she kneeled 
 down by the sofa, shrieked for hap- 
 piness, and beat her feet on the floor. 
 '^They could not announce their en- 
 gagement then. They could not be 
 married yet as he was still only a 
 clerk; but he had prospects of becom- 
 ing manager in the near future. His 
 father was a rich miller, and Clara 
 was to get some money also; but 
 they would have to wait at least 
 another year. And every evening, when 
 his business was over, we, Clara and 
 I, would go out into the woods together. 
 She had to take me along, for if she 
 had gone alone other girls would have 
 followed to see where she was going. 
 In the woods they would kiss for an 
 hour, until dinner time. I always sat 
 close by; Clara had insisted that I 
 should never leave her alone with him 
 for a minute, and I believe that he was 
 honestly thankful for it; in any case, 
 he understood her; she wanted to 
 
The Grisly Suitor 23 
 
 treasure their life's happiness with all 
 safety. But, for me, it was no little 
 thing to sit there every evening and 
 watch them first blush, then tremble, 
 and at last not say a word for an entire 
 hour, looking all the while as serious as 
 storm clouds. Whenever Rudolf turned 
 around he would give me a friendly 
 glance. I used to take my reader with 
 me, but often the letters would dance 
 about the page and mean nothing to 
 me. Then when I would look up at 
 Clara she would be wiping the tears 
 from her eyes. Often, on our return 
 home, I felt very sorry for her, but I 
 was so dutiful that I did not dare say 
 anything. And thus it went on for 
 a whole year, in sunshine, rain, and 
 snow. 
 
 '^Towards the end of the next sum- 
 mer, in the early part of September, 
 Rudolf went home one day and settled 
 everything with his father. His father 
 was to give him enough money to buy 
 a partnership in the business. That 
 would be in February; then he could 
 
24 The Grisly Suitor 
 
 get married and take Clara to Italy. 
 Cards were sent out immediately; all 
 of Lenzburg congratulated them and 
 Clara felt considerably embarrassed. 
 Everything seemed so queer to her 
 that she often became as lively as other 
 engaged girls. 
 
 ^^Now, of course, he came to the 
 house every night. Father sat at the 
 inn and I did my lessons. Clara and 
 Rudolf did their very best not to be- 
 come so excited as in the beginning; 
 the kissing was not the same any 
 longer; they had become wiser, and the 
 wedding day was coming nearer. But 
 they devoured each other with their 
 eyes; I can stiD see them sitting si- 
 lently opposite one another, she on the 
 sofa and he on the taboret, like two 
 mummies. Sometimes, in order to pass 
 the time away, I would tell them about 
 what I was reading until I saw that 
 they were not listening to me. Then I 
 also grew silent and wrote my compo- 
 sition. There was a deathlike quiet. 
 All that could be heard was the sputter- 
 
The Grisly Suitor 25 
 
 ing of the lamp, the scratching of my 
 pen, and our breathing. 
 
 ^^On the first of December, Clara 
 had a terrible fit. It was right after 
 dinner. She lost control of her mind, 
 her face and hands became blue, her 
 breathing almost stopped, and her heart 
 beat violently. During the entire morn- 
 ing she had feared that war was going 
 to break out on her wedding day and 
 that Rudolf would have to ride with 
 the artillery. I opened her waist and 
 loosened her stays, but it did no good. 
 When the doctor arrived she was al- 
 ready in bed. He pronounced it a bad 
 heart attack. He gave her something 
 that brought her back to consciousness 
 again. Her first words on opening her 
 eyes were, ^'Oh, Leonie, Oh, Leonie, 
 I am going to die!" 
 
 ^'That evening the doctor came again; 
 Rudolf and I were standing at her 
 bedside. When he left he told me that 
 under no considerations should I allow 
 Rudolf to see her again; he saw that 
 it excited her too much; her whole 
 
26 The Grisly Suitor 
 
 illness was only from excitement, and 
 if I allowed him to see her again, it 
 might mean her immediate death. He 
 told my father the same. And it was 
 for me to tell Rudolf about it. The 
 next day, of course, I did not go to 
 school. 
 
 ^'Old Lisbeth had left when Clara 
 had returned from Italy and was able 
 to help along in the household. And 
 since that time I had slept in Lisbeth's 
 bed. During the first night I was up 
 every hour putting cold compresses 
 on Clara's heart. On the next day, as 
 she was no better, we engaged a trained 
 nurse, who stayed all day, and helped 
 along in the house so that I could go 
 to school. Rudolf was as if turned to 
 stone when I told him that he could 
 not see Clara again; he did not say a 
 word; it seemed as if he had not under- 
 stood me. Morning, noon, and night 
 he came to the shop and asked how 
 she was getting along. She was not 
 doing well. During the whole night 
 Clara had been gasping for breath and 
 
The Grisly Suitor 27 
 
 had not slept at all. Only in the 
 morning was she able to get a few 
 hours sleep. She had no pains, but as 
 soon as she left her bed she became 
 terribly dizzy. And with it all she did 
 not look any different than usual; in 
 fact, she looked almost better; her large 
 eyes shone brightly and there was 
 something powerful in her expression; 
 she was truly wonderful to behold. Of 
 course she always spoke of him; with 
 tears in her eyes she begged me to 
 allow him to come up to see her. I 
 told her that I could not; she would 
 soon be better and then they could get 
 married. But she looked up at the 
 white ceiUng as if she knew very well 
 that she would never be better. And 
 then we would hear Rudolf walking 
 up and down on the street below. I 
 felt a horrible twinge in my throat. 
 I would have Uked to have knelt down 
 at my sister's bedside and wept with 
 her. But I told myself that for her 
 sake, I could not show my feeUngs and 
 I swallowed hard. 
 
28 The Grisly Suitor 
 
 ^'The next night I dreamed that I 
 had a talk with Rudolf. I saw him 
 on his knees before me, his hands 
 clasped in supplication, and in his 
 hands he held a knife with which he 
 wanted to kill himself. And all I 
 could say was, ^No, no, no, no, no!^ 
 And it made me happy that I could 
 torment him. Suddenly, all was blood. 
 I awoke and heard Clara speaking to 
 herself. ^Merciful God, have pity on 
 me!' she murmured. ^Have mercy on 
 me! In what way have I deserved this! 
 Oh, Rudolf, RudoK!' 
 
 '^I got up and gave her a powder. 
 Then I stood in front of the stove in 
 my nightgown and in order to calm 
 her, let her tell me all sorts of things 
 about him, things that he had told her 
 about his military career. 
 
 ^^My first recitation the next morning 
 was arithmetic. I had done the prob- 
 lems, but when I was standing in front 
 of the blackboard, all of a sudden I 
 did not know how much twice twenty 
 was. During recess the other girls 
 
The Grisly Suitor 29 
 
 asked me what was the matter. I 
 saw them running around the school- 
 house as if they were ghosts, and could 
 only think of Rudolf and Clara. I 
 went home arm in arm with my friend 
 Marie Hemmann. She was tactful 
 enough not to ask me why I was so 
 quiet, and when we met Rudolf in 
 front of our house she left me im- 
 mediately. 
 
 '^He was in a terrible state of excite- 
 ment, and was all in a tremble. He 
 clawed at his breast and told me that 
 it was there that he felt how Clara 
 was suffering, and that if anything 
 could bring on death it was following 
 the doctor's orders. He would like to 
 kill that inhuman wretch for his mur- 
 derous knowledge. I told him that 
 he should tell the doctor himself; that 
 I understood his feelings perfectly, but 
 of course I did not have the power to 
 do anything. Then he took my hand 
 in his and pressed it so that it ached, 
 and with the other he smoothed my 
 hair. 'No,' he said, 'you cannot under- 
 
30 The Grisly Suitor 
 
 stand, you are still nothing but a school 
 girl. But you can be of help to me. 
 Your father goes to the inn every 
 evening, and then you are alone with 
 Clara, and then . . .' 
 
 ^^^Oh, heavens,' I cried, 'I cannot! 
 I cannot!' and I tore myself away from 
 him and ran into the house. I could 
 not go up to see Clara. I sat in the 
 kitchen and wept and wept until dinner 
 time. 
 
 ^^That evening the doctor came again 
 and made a very hopeless face, although 
 we could notice no change in Clara. 
 But he had felt her pulse and had 
 tapped her heart for a half -hour. ^Only 
 no excitement! Anything but excite- 
 ment!' he said. After supper I was 
 again alone with her, and she told me 
 the very same thing that RudoK had. 
 It was just as if they had had an under- 
 standing. She scolded me heartlessly 
 and told me that I was not her sister. 
 And with it all she sobbed so that her 
 pillow was wet through and through. 
 She told me to go downstairs and get 
 
The Grisly Suitor 31 
 
 him. She was glad to die, she continued, 
 and knew that there was no hope for 
 her, but she would have to be alone 
 with him. She was leaning on her 
 elbow and her whole body shook with 
 pain. I thought that it would never 
 cease. And not until she heard his 
 steps in the street below did she be- 
 come calmer. In the middle of the 
 night I was awakened by a cry of 
 misery that I shall never forget. I 
 jumped up and gave her a glass of 
 water. She drank a whole bottle. She 
 told me that she had had a bad dream. 
 The following morning as I was getting 
 dressed she told me what she had 
 dreamed. It was terrible. 
 
 ^^As soon as she closed her eyes, she 
 always saw an old man. The first time 
 he appeared was when she had had her 
 fit. He was bald, and his large, leaf- 
 like ears stood out far from his head. 
 He had a short gray beard, and a very 
 small nose. His breast was like a 
 child's, and he had thin, bony legs. 
 He always appeared in a high hat and 
 
32 The Grisly Suitor 
 
 a frock coat, and used a cane to feel 
 his way along. His face was so re- 
 pulsive that it almost froze the blood 
 in one's veins. He had immediately 
 appeared to her as her husband-to-be; 
 in two weeks he was to marry her. 
 And each time he would kiss her, she 
 always tried to push him away with 
 her knees and elbows, but he held her 
 head so tight that she could not resist 
 his caresses. And that night he had 
 wanted to take her along with him. 
 Rudolf had protected her, but the old 
 man had hit him across the eyes with 
 his cane. Then he had bent over her. 
 She was fully conscious that she was 
 in bed. Always nearer came his red- 
 rimmed eyes and his freckled face, and 
 only just as he placed his bony hands 
 on her neck, had she had the power 
 to cry out. 'Oh, Rudolf,' she sobbed 
 with folded hands, 'I shall not see you 
 again, I shall not see you again.' 
 
 ''When I came down stairs I found 
 Rudolf in the shop, talking to my father 
 with his head bowed in grief, but he 
 
The Grisly Suitor 33 
 
 was so manly, so youthful, and had 
 such a soulful expression that he was 
 wonderful to look upon. 
 
 ^^ During my first two recitations I 
 was all confused. I had my poor 
 sister's nightmare continually before my 
 eyes. Then we had composition, and 
 I gradually collected my thoughts. Our 
 teacher was an old man, but he was 
 kind-hearted. Each one of us fifteen 
 girls used to read the same compo- 
 sition to him, one after another, and 
 yet he always found something praise- 
 worthy to say to every girl. The only 
 thing that he could not bear was when 
 our skirts were too short, and when we 
 wore colored hair ribbons. Then he 
 said we were proud little chits. Marie 
 Hemmann told him once, when he 
 was remarking about her dress, that 
 it was not her fault that her legs were 
 so long. Then he raised the cover of 
 his desk and did not come out of his 
 hiding place for a quarter of an hour. 
 
 '^ It is death,' I said to myself, 
 ^it is death that is coming to get her.' 
 
34 The Grisly Suitor 
 
 And then I decided to go to the doctor 
 right after school and ask him whether 
 there was any chance for Clara's re- 
 covery. There was a gnawing in me; 
 I had the feeUng that I was going to 
 be ill myseK. I felt as if I were in 
 Clara's place. I felt her yearning for 
 Rudolf and also her horror for the old 
 man. 'You are an awful wretch without 
 feeling/ I said to myself; 'Clara is 
 terribly excited because she cannot see 
 him, and she cannot possibly get any 
 worse if she does see him, and it will 
 probably calm her if anything. And 
 if she were to die, and if she were really 
 to die, he could not even say farewell 
 to her! And then I told myself that 
 the old man had no right to her, that 
 no one but RudoK had the right to 
 kiss her. 'The old man is death,' I 
 said to myself, 'and Rudolf is life. 
 When Rudolf is with her the old man 
 will not dare to come. And if the old 
 man is to get her anyway, then it 
 makes no difference if she does see 
 Rudolf once more.' 
 
The Grisly Suitor 35 
 
 *^At noon, when school was over, I 
 ran to the doctor; I had left my bag 
 in school; I must have looked quite 
 wan. The doctor drew me towards 
 him and told me that he had known for 
 a long time that there was no chance 
 for her recovery; that his drugs had 
 been wholly useless, but that I should 
 not weep as I must realize that God 
 would take care of her. Then the 
 tears came to my eyes; I told him that 
 I only wanted to find out. Then he 
 said that all might be well again, but 
 in such a hopeless way that I knew he 
 just said it to calm me. 
 
 ^^I feared that the worst might have al- 
 ready happened without Rudolf having 
 seen her, and I ran all the way home, 
 only to find Clara the same as when I 
 had left her. She was beautiful as a rose 
 in full bloom, and she spoke very 
 quickly. ^Let him come, Leonie; let 
 him come up to me' she sobbed. And 
 I repHed, ^All right, this evening.' 
 Then she threw her arms about me, 
 pressed me close to her breast and 
 
36 The Grisly Suitor 
 
 kissed me as if I had been Rudolf 
 himself. I thought of what the doctor 
 had said and also of her terrible phan- 
 tasies. Before she let me out of her 
 embrace, she whispered in my ear, 
 ^But you must leave me alone with 
 him.' And I said that I would. Then 
 the nurse came with Clara's soup, and 
 I went in to have my supper. 
 
 ^^ While we were still at the table a 
 thought tore through my head. Al- 
 ready yesterday she had told me that 
 she wanted to be alone with him. In 
 spite of the fact that I was still at 
 school I knew very well what she 
 wanted of him. I grew hot and cold 
 all over. ^No,' I said to myseK, ^ou 
 cannot allow that.' Clara had up to 
 this time been a respectable girl, but 
 if she did this she would be so no 
 longer. I thought of the old man who 
 wanted to do violence to her. And 
 then I thought that she would have 
 to die; yes, have to die without ever 
 having been really loved like other 
 women who get married. This made 
 
The Grisly Suitor 37 
 
 me certain that God was indeed hard. 
 If there ever was a girl created solely 
 for love it was my sister; that I was 
 sure of. 
 
 "That afternoon we had our Bible 
 Class. Before the hour I walked up 
 and down the hall with Marie Hem- 
 mann. The boys who were in our 
 class stood there and stared at us. 
 Marie was wearing high brown shoes, 
 and I had on a pair of brand new 
 low shoes. She asked how Clara was, 
 and I yearned to tell her some of the 
 things that were so torturing my soul. 
 But after her first words I realized 
 that she did not know the condition 
 of affairs at all. I would have had to 
 explain all to her, and rather than do 
 that I kept quiet. During the recita- 
 tion the parson, with whom all the 
 girls were in love, told us how the 
 Sadducees came to Christ and asked 
 Him if a man had seven wives which 
 one he would have in Heaven; and how 
 He answered them that there were 
 neither men nor women in Heaven, and 
 
38 The Grisly Suitor 
 
 that all sexual differences disappeared. 
 Then a burden fell from my heart. 
 If there were neither men nor women 
 in Heaven it could make no difference 
 if Clara saw Rudolf once more. That 
 made me decide. And, as the parson 
 went on talking, I said to God: ^If Thou 
 dost not wish Rudolf to come and see 
 my sister tonight then let her get 
 better. Thou canst do that if Thou 
 dost desire. I shall not go home until 
 this evening, and if at that time she is 
 the least bit better, I will not permit 
 RudoK to see her. But if she is not 
 better, I will let him see her. Oh, 
 merciful God, Thou canst always stop 
 me if Thou dost not desire it to happen. 
 Thou canst let a stone fall on me or 
 have me murdered. I will be glad to 
 stake my life in the game in spite of 
 my youth. And if all this does not 
 happen then it is a proof that Thou 
 didst not wish it otherwise, for Thou 
 art omnipotent.' 
 
 ^^I wandered out in the snow-covered 
 fields the whole afternoon. I went 
 
The Grisly Suitor 39 
 
 into the woods also, and when I came 
 to their trysting place I was really 
 afraid that some one would rush from 
 out of the bushes and make an end of 
 me. When it struck six o'clock in the 
 village, I returned home. Clara was 
 in bed complaining about the beating 
 of her heart. She told me that she 
 had had another visit from the grisly 
 suitor, and there had been a terrible 
 struggle. When he was leaving he had 
 said that tonight was their wedding 
 night, and she said: ^Yes it is Rudolf's 
 and my wedding night; yes, Rudolf's, 
 but not yours.' 
 
 *^At seven o'clock my father went to 
 the inn, and the nurse left at eight. 
 Then I crept down the stairs and 
 opened the door to let him in. As I 
 was walking up the stairs behind him, 
 I did not notice anything out of the 
 ordinary. But when I opened the door 
 and let him in, I saw how at every 
 step nearer the bed his legs grew weaker 
 so that he had to drag himself to where 
 Clara lay. I softly closed the door and 
 
40 The Grisly Suitor 
 
 then went down to the kitchen where 
 only a lamp was burning. Then I 
 knelt down on the hearth and prayed 
 to God that He might not hold it 
 against Clara on account of what she 
 was now doing; He should not punish 
 her as the doctor had said, but should 
 rather make me suffer for it; I would 
 be glad to undergo anything at all 
 if Clara were only permitted to live 
 if she did wrong. 
 
 '^I heard the clock strike nine. Right 
 after that it struck ten. The time 
 went as if it had only been a minute. 
 At half past ten I went up stairs with 
 my lamp. I knocked softly at the 
 door and told them that it was half 
 past ten. Then a terribly slow quarter 
 of an hour dragged by. I held my 
 breath as I feared I would hear noises 
 in front of the house, but all I could 
 hear was sighs and kisses. Immedi- 
 ately after that RudoK stepped out, 
 wrapped up in his long cloak, his hat 
 pushed forward on his brow. I lighted 
 the way downstairs. In the hall he 
 
The Grisly Suitor 41 
 
 pressed my hand without saying a word. 
 Then I let him out. 
 
 ^^I was very anxious to know how I 
 would find Clara. It was as if a soft 
 sunset were playing over her, and she 
 was as hopeful as I have ever remem- 
 bered her to be. Not a word did she 
 utter about death. She spoke only 
 of their wedding, of their trip to Italy. 
 Tomorrow she would get up again. 
 Then all at once she began to talk of 
 our childhood days, of our games and 
 how she had sometimes maltreated me. 
 Then she laughed, and I wept for joy. 
 
 '^She could not become calm, but 
 finally she fell asleep. The next morn- 
 ing when I got up she lay very quiet, 
 and I thought that I would not disturb 
 her. Her head was buried deep in the 
 pillow, so I did not approach her bed 
 but softly tiptoed out of the room. 
 Below I told them that she was sleep- 
 ing. I was hardly in school when the 
 nurse came running in and brought me 
 back. When I came into the room 
 
42 The Grisly Suitor 
 
 my father and the doctor were stand- 
 ing at her bedside. She was dead/' 
 
 It was deathly quiet in the large 
 hotel. The young husband had listened 
 very sympathetically to his wife's story. 
 Then he told himself that a creature 
 who at the age of fifteen was capable 
 of sympathizing so thoroughly with 
 the life about her would blossom forth 
 even more wonderfully as a mature 
 woman. And he felt himself fortunate 
 in having at his side such a treasure 
 of quiet deliberation, unselfishness, and 
 deep resignation. 
 
I AM BORED. 
 
 (1883) 
 
 February 9. I am so terribly bored 
 that I have again taken refuge in my 
 diary which I have not kept now for 
 ten months. When Carl and I take 
 Wilhelmine down the hill I wonder 
 what the best way is to have her love 
 me for the winter. She has really 
 become quite charming, with her black 
 eyes, her pretty little head, and her 
 beautiful plump arms, which boast of 
 loving. She has now, for the first time, 
 really budded out, although she is 
 twenty-seven years old. 
 
 February 12. Wilhelmine let me know 
 that I should call for her at the skating 
 rink. She says that she is head over 
 heels in love. When I step into her 
 boudoir she presses a photograph into 
 my hands. It is his picture. While I 
 look at him, she stands in front of me, 
 with an album in her hands and recites 
 with hair-raising gestures some of the 
 
44 / am Bored 
 
 verses she has written to him. In the 
 rink, when we are skating hand in 
 hand, she draws the photograph out of 
 her pocket again, gazes at it with 
 loving fondness, and loses one of her 
 skates every ten steps. All the way 
 home she does the same thing. In my 
 room she covers the picture with kisses 
 and slides it in and out of the envelope, 
 so that she can fully appreciate the 
 various and individual traits. All she 
 desires is to be able to travel with 
 him for four weeks. He is a celebrated 
 tenor. For a half-year with him she 
 would gladly sacrifice the rest of her 
 life. I really cannot blame her, for up 
 to the present her life has been pretty 
 monotonous and the future does not 
 look any brighter. While we are play- 
 ing duets she presses a kiss upon his 
 adored features at every quarter rest. 
 At the end of the etude she is in ab- 
 solute agony; she sinks into the corner 
 of the sofa, and is resistless to all of 
 my fondling. Only once in a while she 
 
/ am Bored 45 
 
 murmurs with dying voice: '^Oh, you 
 are so repulsive, so repulsive !'' 
 
 God bless you, heavenly tenor! I 
 had never pictured such results. I do 
 not seem to be so terribly bored any 
 more. 
 
 February 13. Wilhelmine receives me 
 with open arms. She could not have 
 sung her aria if I had not put her in 
 the mood. The Cecilia Choral Society 
 wants to produce the '^ WaffenschmiedJ^ 
 She insists that my lips are too weak, 
 too feminine. Moreover, she insists 
 that love between us is out of the 
 question. And I am really very in- 
 different about any question. If her 
 mouth were just for speaking, I would 
 sew it together. When there is a 
 question of amusement, I love the 
 serious and the quiet. She has written 
 some verses to me that treat of love. 
 She has not enough control of the 
 language to avoid that word. Then she 
 tells me when and where she learned to 
 kiss. It is a very tedious, sentimental 
 story, all very monotonous, but it 
 
46 / am Bored 
 
 convinces me that she is using her 
 maiden name with full right. Suddenly 
 she asks me where I learned it, but I, 
 so suddenly surprised, clothe myself in 
 the deepest silence, while I am fully 
 ashamed of my teacher, my good old 
 Auntie Helen. 
 
 February 16. After dinner I am 
 going to call for Wilhelmine. She says 
 that from today all must be over 
 between us. I told her then that 
 nothing had begun as yet, and asked 
 her whether she was impatient, remark- 
 ing, at the same time, that I was in no 
 hiirry at all. She wrote no less than 
 six poems, all of which vary her decision. 
 Then she gets her revolver, presses me 
 into the corner of the sofa, props my 
 chin up against her breast, and with 
 drawn revolver reads me her verses. 
 TrembUng in all of my parts I beg 
 her to stop. Suddenly she throws a 
 white scarf over my head, falls on my 
 neck and kisses me through the soft 
 silk, then flying into a terrible fury, she 
 throws her slipper in my face. Then 
 
/ am Bored 47 
 
 she entreats me to write some verses 
 to her. I write three short stanzas 
 in which I rhyme Brodem* with Sodom, 
 and she feels deeply insulted. 
 
 In the evening, on the window seat 
 in the upper room, she declares that 
 she wanted to have just a taste of love 
 and that she was then caught in the 
 stream for good. But she wants to 
 stop before the time comes to lay her 
 aside. Then she asks me to be abso- 
 lutely honest. I ask her whether she 
 knows what the most terrible thing in 
 life is. She answers: '^Desire without 
 satisfaction.^' I shake my head and 
 whisper into her ear: ^'Tedium!" \ 
 She sympathizes deeply with me. 
 
 At supper the question comes up as 
 to whether the road to the heart is 
 by way of the lips, or whether the road 
 to the lips leads through the heart. 
 Opinions are divided and the discussion 
 waxes warm. My mother defends the 
 road through the heart; Wilhelmine 
 
 *Brodem means brothel, but in German its rhyme is 
 ahnost perfect. 
 
48 I am Bored 
 
 sincerely feels that the road goes by 
 way of the lips. Carl, who has for 
 the past week been splitting wood from 
 morning to night, in order to calm his 
 nerves, thinks that the road to the 
 heart passes not through the lips, but 
 through the ears; and that the road 
 over the lips leads to the stomach, 
 rather than to the heart. Wilhemine 
 wants to give my poems to the victor, 
 but as the manuscript is hidden in her 
 breast she does not. My mother re- 
 minds her that we are among the family, 
 but Wilhelmine says that the manuscript 
 has slipped down too far. At these 
 words Carl lowers his eyes, blushing. 
 After supper Carl and I light a 
 roaring log fire in the fireplace. Then 
 we get the trunk with the Turkish 
 costumes out of the cellar. As we 
 carry it back through the yard the 
 sparks come flying out of the chimney 
 and then are lost among the stars. 
 Carl thinks that if the roof should 
 catch fire we would be in a terrible 
 fix for there is no water to be had now 
 
/ am Bored. 49 
 
 that the hydrant is frozen. I calm 
 him; what great difference would it 
 make if the whole castle should go up 
 in flames! 
 
 We all put on the Turkish costumes. 
 My mother wears a long, richly em- 
 broidered velvet coat. She dances in it 
 with incomparable spirit and grace. 
 Wilhelmine, Carl, the two little ones, 
 and I sit around on sofa cushions and 
 drink coffee. Carl plays the accordion 
 and I accompany him on the guitar. 
 Then Gretchen and Elsa dance a Pas 
 de Deux which my mother has taught 
 them. Then she tells us of her stage 
 experiences in San Francisco, in Val- 
 paraiso, of the life on the haciendas, 
 and of her first husband, who at the 
 end of every one of her concerts had 
 already gambled away all the money 
 she had earned. He was to be shot 
 not less than three times in his life: 
 Once during the insurrection in Vene- 
 zuela, once during the Commune, and 
 finally during the Turco-Russian war. 
 At the present time he is officiating as 
 
60 / am Bored 
 
 master of ceremonies at the Palais de 
 Glace in Paris. Suddenly Gretchen, 
 with her keen gaze, discovers that I 
 have a blood red spot on my neck; 
 I can hardly keep from laughing. As 
 I accompany Wilhelmine down the 
 hill, in order to console her I tell her 
 that she is not the only one but rather 
 a representative; that that is the inter- 
 esting part for me; to consider her 
 first as a type and then as an individ- 
 ual. I tell her that people so often think 
 that they are ^^ different,'^ just like men 
 who are suffering from imaginary illnesses. 
 Were they to consider that that happens 
 to almost every one, their sickness would 
 be cured. 
 
 February 17. I go to see Wilhelmine 
 between two and three o'clock. Her 
 sister is at home. When she finally 
 leaves for her women's society we both 
 watch her gratefully from the window. 
 There are people whom we would 
 rather see from the back than from 
 the front. I explain to Wilhelmine 
 that that is the basis of Greek love. 
 
/ am Bored 51 
 
 She does not understand how a person 
 of my temperament can even think of 
 such things. Then we talk about high 
 hats. When I want to calm her I 
 always speak about high hats. In fact 
 I was to marry her in a slouch hat, 
 and be divorced in a high hat. On 
 leaving her, she entreats me, if I have 
 a spark of feeling for her, to write 
 some poetry to her before tomorrow. 
 We are to go to Aarau together and I 
 am to read my verses to her in the 
 train. Gretchen comes for her music 
 lesson. Wilhelmine pushes me quietly 
 into the next room, and she has such 
 a tight hold on my throat that I 
 become red and blue in the face; then 
 with the motherly quiet of a madonna, 
 she turns back into the music room, 
 while I creep out of the house on tip- 
 toe. 
 
 After supper I look through all of 
 my poems but find nothing suitable. 
 Then I stretch out on the divan; how- 
 ever I cannot concentrate my thoughts, 
 and I fall asleep. 
 
52 / am Bored 
 
 February 18. The important day! 
 After dinner I put a few sheets of paper 
 in my pocket, hoping that on the way 
 down the hill some sort of an idea will 
 strike me. Wilhelmine rushes towards 
 me at the station asking me for my 
 poem. I tell her that I cannot read 
 it to her here, and I take her to an 
 empty bench in the park close by. 
 There I hand her the folded papers 
 which she opens with pride and happi- 
 ness. When she finds that the pages 
 are blank, I tell her that I must have 
 left the poem at home by mistake. 
 She gives me a savage slap, her eyes 
 sparkling with anger. Thank heavens, 
 right after that the train leaves. In 
 the coupe I kiss her hand uninterrupt- 
 edly and assure her of my honest love for 
 her. In Aarau, while we are drinking 
 our beer at the inn, I succeed in fully 
 calming her. On the way back we sit 
 in the car directly behind the engine, 
 and our coupe lies over the wheels. 
 At the very first curve we are tossed 
 about, and I hold her in my arms just 
 
I am Bored 53 
 
 as three years ago, on the very same 
 stretch and perhaps in the same coupe, 
 I held the Uttle, red-haired Deha. 
 It was during my last year at the high 
 school in Aarau; and every morning 
 and evening Delia and I rode back 
 and forth. Now she is a teacher some- 
 where and teaches little girls to be 
 modest and virtuous. The difference 
 is quite notable. There, blissful sacri- 
 fice; here, still uneasy bashfulness. But 
 both here and there the same foolish 
 side remarks. 
 
 In spite of the flickering light I can 
 see the down on Wilhelmine's cheeks, 
 and some scattered freckles, and two 
 wrinkles at the eyes; as if everything 
 were under a microscope, five hundred 
 times enlarged. And I ask myself if 
 the most delicate teint can stand such 
 close scrutiny. I do not try to converse 
 any more, for I see that she is satisfied 
 with herself, and I bring her home in 
 absolute silence. 
 
 February 19. Wilhelmine comes to 
 dinner; but immediately after, she lies 
 
64 / am Bored 
 
 down on my divan and falls asleep. 
 When she awakens she tells me that in 
 some ways she is too old for me, and 
 then again she is too young for me; I 
 should really have two women, one 
 sixteen years old, the other forty-six. 
 Then she asks me to go to her 
 sister, and tell her that she cannot 
 come to her tomorrow as she has to 
 give the town clerk^s daughter a music 
 lesson. I go there and Elisabeth opens 
 the door for me. That suffices to make 
 me the perfect swain for the rest of 
 the evening. Elisabeth is fifteen years 
 old, and a bit plump, as girls at this 
 age usually are. Her hands and feet 
 are not small, yet she walks with a 
 comfortable, deliberate gait. Her fea- 
 tures are full and glowing, even though 
 they are timid; and dark circles shadow 
 her large, blue eyes. Her glance con- 
 fuses me and I am sorry that I did 
 not address a kindly word to her. Her 
 mother receives me in the parlor. It 
 makes a rather queer impression upon 
 me to find this house, which I have 
 
I am Bored 55 
 
 not visited since its completion, fully 
 occupied. The younger brothers are 
 racing about, running after the depart- 
 ing ash cart. The mother tells me with 
 pride and delight about her husband. 
 The old man comes in; he still pinches 
 her arm as a sign of greeting. On my 
 way home I have the most vivid dreams 
 of marrying the little creature, of 
 taking her out into the world on trips 
 and adventures. I dream of the honor- 
 able president of the court as my 
 father-in-law, of Elisabeth as wife, as 
 mother, and as a matron sitting at my 
 side with our children and grandchildren 
 about us. 
 
 March 1. There is a light snowfall, 
 and I take Wilhelmine out into the 
 woods where she believes she is follow- 
 ing in the footsteps of her father, who 
 has gone hunting. The festive quiet, 
 the peace of the dead nature about us 
 act as an incentive for unending love 
 discourses. If I were a painter I would 
 marry her today. For a writer marriage 
 with her would spell ruin. She yearns 
 
56 / am Bored 
 
 to really love once more; but not now, 
 not now, perhaps later. Then she 
 asserts that even if I wanted to have 
 her love me now she would not agree. 
 Whereupon I begin to bully her. A 
 half-hour only, just as far as from here 
 to her house, and I could make her 
 fall madly in love with me. She sobs 
 in her handkerchief. I tell her that all 
 I need is to give idealism free rein; 
 it would work unfailingly on her es- 
 pecially as she knew me only as an 
 idler. She entreats me to take her 
 home. Very much strengthened I re- 
 turn. At home all is very quiet. I go 
 to bed early and long to be in Paris. 
 
 March 9. Wilhelmine preaches moral- 
 ity. She feels that she has been the 
 loser; she does not agree with herself; 
 now and then she tells herself that it 
 is wrong. She jumps up happily and 
 asks me to tell her truthfully what she 
 is to me. But why does she want 
 to know? I tell her that I could lie 
 about it. Her head falls: that is just 
 the sad part; that is how I hold the 
 
/ am Bored S7 
 
 whip hand. I ask her why she started 
 so suddenly; why she asked anyway? 
 She says that she would feel freer if 
 she knew for certain. I say, very well, 
 she is a diversion for me. She looks 
 beyond me: For her I am a convenient 
 plaything. Perhaps, too, a sort of mine, 
 an encyclopedia? She tells me that I 
 have used her simply as I would vivi- 
 sect a rabbit. But why all this? 
 She feels freer. I ask her if she does 
 not perhaps feel that I have a deeper 
 feeling for her? Oh, no, never! She has 
 only asked me for her own satisfaction. 
 Then there is a farewell with great 
 affection. Under the bridge I meet 
 little Elisabeth. She greets me with a 
 nod that makes me feel better all over. 
 I acknowledge her greeting as respect- 
 fully as I can. I do not dare to smile. 
 I fear the sharp gaze of innocence. 
 She has wonderful lips and dark blue 
 eyes. At home, up on the sconce, in 
 the beautiful spring air, I spend an 
 hour in the best of humors. The 
 thrushes have begun their singing. In 
 
68 / am Bored 
 
 the Black Forest and on the Jura 
 mountains the fires have been hghted. 
 A tedious evening at home! 
 
 March 20. After I have breakfasted, 
 for the first time again in two weeks I 
 go to the gymnastic exercises in the 
 girls' school. The second class can 
 boast of only one pretty girl. Her face 
 is very fine; her complexion is like 
 milk, and she has black eyes and a 
 delicate nose. Beyond suspicion of 
 cunningness she has very little expres- 
 sion. Her foot is good but she holds 
 herself badly. In the third and fourth 
 classes, which are doing their exercises 
 together, there is only one worth notic- 
 ing, but that one is a masterpiece. 
 It is my Elisabeth. She stands very near 
 us. A well filled out body, a healthy 
 face, fresh, serious, and not stupid. 
 She holds herself beautifully, and there 
 is a certain softness in her motions. 
 There is an exquisite charm in the 
 round dance which one of the girls 
 performs, accompanied by the old 
 
I am Bored 59 
 
 teacher who is playing an old-fashioned 
 minuet. 
 
 March 25. Orsina comes up after 
 dinner. She has again written a lot 
 of poems to me. Wilhelmine is very 
 much hurt. I console her by showing 
 that I appreciate her misery. At tea, 
 I am so enervated that I throw a butter 
 plate at Gretchen's head. She weeps 
 and locks herself up in her room. 
 Whereupon I again go to the girls' school, 
 sit down opposite EUsabeth, and use a 
 second chair to lean my elbow upon. 
 With all of this I wear a wry face, 
 partly in order to keep any people 
 from sitting near me, partly so that I 
 can stare at people unabashed. Any- 
 way no one seems to feel the need of 
 sitting near me. The school superin- 
 tendents move about with incredibly 
 fooUsh self-importance; they open and 
 close the large blank books, and exert 
 themselves without ever losing their 
 dignity to look after the heating, 
 EUsabeth remains perfectly unconcerned 
 although she must have noticed my 
 
60 I am Bored 
 
 actions. She knows her lessons per- 
 fectly. On the whole the questioning 
 is rather repulsive to me, especially 
 the holding up of the hands which is 
 so often accompanied by poisonous 
 glances. I pick up Elisabeth's compo- 
 sition book and happening to have a 
 pencil in my hand, write my feelings 
 down in the margin as notes. Her 
 books are none too clean; the penman- 
 ship is peculiar. I read a whole com- 
 position about a vacation trip. Then 
 I leave, as I think, with effect; but it 
 really makes no difference to me either 
 way. In the next room I still look at 
 her geometrical designs. They are not 
 any too geometrical. I am already 
 happy over the fact that I can make a 
 fool out of her. The thoughts of 
 marriage have disappeared. The old 
 president of the court for a father-in- 
 law has lost all fascination for me. 
 In the evening I work in my room up in 
 the tower. Then my dear, sweet little 
 cat comes and meows at my door. As 
 I do not open it immediately she starts 
 
I am Bored 61 
 
 scratching. She did the very same thing 
 yesterday. When I let her in she made 
 straight for my large closet which 
 stands against the wall and tried to 
 open it with her paws. I now open the 
 door and she goes right into the lowest 
 compartment, makes herself comfortable 
 on one of my symbolistic manuscripts 
 and purrs. I keep the door ajar so 
 that the light will not shine on her. 
 After awhile she begins to turn and 
 twist. She moves about here and there 
 and licks herself. Then follows a 
 decided stretching of her body. In the 
 meanwhile she snaps at the roUed-up 
 poems on the side, and throws the first 
 out on the floor with her mouth. I 
 hear her eating something and see how 
 she is biting at it. Five times she 
 repeats her action. The accouchement 
 lasts a full hour. After she has thor- 
 oughly cleaned her young ones they 
 begin to meow. I get my mandolin 
 and play them one of Brahms' lullabys. 
 Now it is half past three. A damp, 
 fresh wind blows in through the win- 
 
62 / am Bored 
 
 dow. Throughout the castle the doors 
 and shutters are slamming and the 
 rustling of the linden trees sounds like 
 some distant fire. 
 
THE BURNING OF EGLISWYL. 
 
 In the canton of Aargau, in the north- 
 ern part of Switzerland, there are more 
 mountain castles than there are farm- 
 yards in all the north of Germany. 
 Every mountain top, every crest is 
 crowned with an old castle, or at least 
 a ruin of one. Within the circumfer- 
 ^ce of a few miles there are the castles 
 Wildegg, Habsburg, Bruneck, Casteln, 
 Wildenstein, Lenzburg, Liebegg, and 
 Hallwyl. My father bought the castles 
 of Lenzburg when I was eight years old. 
 The little town of Lenzburg had, besides 
 this old castle, a less happy place of 
 interest. This was the cantonal prison, 
 modeled after an American type. And 
 thus when the landowners of the sur- 
 rounding country have any heavy labor 
 to be performed, they hire the convicts, 
 who have become so accustomed to 
 their lot that they almost never try to 
 escape. And among them there are 
 some very dangerous criminals. 
 
64 The Burning of Egliswyl 
 
 In the year 1876 there was a small 
 landsUde which blocked one half of the 
 street. In order to drain the place, 
 pipes had to be laid deep under the 
 ground. My father secured a number 
 of convicts to perform the undertaking. 
 A guard accompanied them. Besides, 
 my father was always on hand. As the 
 men were not permitted to smoke, he 
 gave them chewing tobacco. One day, 
 a long, lead pipe was needed from the 
 village. My father took one of the 
 prisoners with him to fetch it. I met 
 them on their return as I was coming 
 from school. The three of us walked 
 slowly up the hillside, my father in the 
 middle. 
 
 ^^How long have you been in prison?" 
 my father asked the convict. 
 Seven years." 
 
 And how much longer is your 
 sentence?" 
 
 ^^ Eight years." 
 
 ^^How did you get here?" 
 
 ^* Arson." 
 
 u 
 u 
 
The Burning of Egliswyl 65 
 
 iC 
 
 You probably had debts, and wanted 
 to get the insurance on your house? '^ 
 
 ^^I never owned a house, and never 
 had any debts. I was a servant. But 
 — but — .'^ Then he told his story. He 
 was born and committed his crime in 
 Egliswyl. I was not more than twelve 
 years old at the time, but his story 
 made such an impression upon me that 
 today, twenty years afterwards, I can 
 remember it word for word. 
 
 ^^Amrai's Susan,'' began the prisoner, 
 ^Hhere was a girl for you! There was 
 nothing lacking in her. Every man in 
 this world should have had his little 
 fun with her. She was the bailiff's 
 daughter, and the whole week through 
 she was washed and combed, and she 
 wore a white shirt. I was only farmer 
 Suter's hired man and had always been 
 boarded at the expense of the com- 
 munity. I never knew who my parents 
 were. In fact, I knew nothing about 
 men and women; all that I knew was 
 about cattle: why they were on earth 
 and how old they were. And until 
 
66 The Burning of Egliswyl 
 
 Amrai's Susan told me that her father 
 had said that I was nineteen years old 
 and would have to go to the army in 
 two years, I knew nothing about myself. 
 She was drawing water from the pump 
 and I was holding Bethi by the halter 
 because the milk boy had gone into the 
 village. She looked at me so queerly 
 that I turned around because I thought 
 that she was perhaps talking about Bethi. 
 ^You are nineteen years old/ I said to 
 Bethi when I tied her up for the night. 
 And from that moment I had a strange 
 feeling. 
 
 ^^Amrai^s Susan was the first. As 
 far back as I can remember I had never 
 dared to look at her squarely. I don't 
 think I could have done it even in a 
 dream. I used to look at her only 
 when her back was turned. And now 
 she made such big eyes. The next 
 evening she told me that I should come 
 to the ^Egli' on the following Sunday. 
 I told her that I had no money but 
 she said that made no difference. So on 
 Sunday I went to the 'Egh' and watched 
 
The Burning of Egliswyl 67 
 
 them dancing from the doorway. 
 Then Amrai's Susan came with her 
 Uttle friend Marianne and they drew 
 me into the hall. First Marianne had 
 to dance with me. At the beginning 
 it was hard; I did not hold her tight, 
 but she was so clever that by the time 
 we had made three turns we were doing 
 as well as any of the others. And then 
 I felt that something strange was going 
 on within me. After a while Amrai^s 
 Susan let her partner go and took me, 
 hot as I was, out of Marianne's arms 
 and danced with me until it grew dark. 
 When there was an intermission she 
 gave me a glass of wine to keep me 
 cool. After that I held her so close 
 that her shoulders were bent back and 
 she did not know what to do with her 
 feet. After the dance she took me 
 with her by the hand. Marianne 
 started a fuss because no one was 
 going with her. I took my shoes off 
 in the street and left them at the pump. 
 The bailiff was taking his grog at the 
 ^Egh.' There were two roses painted 
 
68 The Burning of Egliswyl 
 
 on her bed. When I came back to 
 the stable and saw our five cows sleep- 
 ing in a row, I said to myself, ^It is 
 all the same; man or beast !^ 
 
 ^^ Every night I climbed in and out 
 of Susan's window. But then there 
 was Veronica, farmer Loser's daughter, 
 a proud creature, and the first girl in 
 the whole village. On Sundays she and 
 her comrades would go up the main 
 street in the village all in a row, so 
 that no carriage could pass them. And 
 when a young fellow would come along, 
 all seven of them would stare at him 
 until he had passed by; and once he 
 was gone they would laugh so that 
 they could be heard way up in the 
 church. Veronica had had a lover now 
 for a year. But Ruodi Weber had been 
 consumptive since the fall. Now he 
 could only dance three dances no matter 
 how much wine he had drunk at the 
 ^Egli.' Then he would rest his elbows 
 on the table and not say a word. Thus 
 when Veronica saw me dance all night with 
 Susan, without resting at all, she begged 
 
The Burning of Egliswyl 69 
 
 Susan to let her have a dance with me. 
 Susan didn't want to but I did, and 
 so I danced with her. Susan ran out- 
 side and wept. And Veronica laughed; 
 and I felt how warm she was. She 
 was as solid as if she had been fed for 
 the butcher. If she had been a three 
 year old heifer I'd have given twenty 
 napoleons for her. We went home arm 
 in arm. 
 
 ^'When the clock struck one there 
 was a knock outside her window. 
 ^That's Ruodi Weber/ she said, and 
 got up and went to the window to bid 
 him good night so that he would not 
 get the stable men. Then she told me 
 that I ought not go with Susan any 
 longer, and because I liked her so well 
 I told her that I wouldn't. But the 
 next day I felt as if I ought to go and 
 see Susan anyway. And I went to see 
 her that night and told her everything. 
 Then she said that she was not like 
 Veronica; as far as she was concerned 
 I could go with any one I cared about, 
 excepting one, her little friend Marianne. 
 
70 The Burning of Egliswyl 
 
 And because Susan was so good I said 
 that I would do as she said. But the 
 next day I thought it was mean of 
 Susan to have told me not to go with 
 Marianne. 
 
 ^^But then when our Muni was being 
 shod on account of the ice, Marianne 
 came to the smithy^s to say that her 
 father was coming to get a potion for 
 the bailiff's sick horse. Then I asked 
 her whether I might come and see her. 
 Marianne stood there as if rooted to the 
 spot and gazed at the glowing coals; 
 then she went softly up the stairs. 
 
 ^^At the ^Egli' on Sunday, there was 
 a fight between big Veronica and Susan. 
 I danced the whole afternoon with 
 Marianne. And when the dance was 
 over, they made up, and the four of 
 us walked home together. They kept 
 me in the middle for they were afraid 
 that I would run away. And thus we 
 went through the village on the follow- 
 ing Sunday, and the boys cursed and 
 swore, and the girls who were with 
 them laughed, but stared at me be- 
 
The Burning of Egliswyl 71 
 
 cause I was walking with the three 
 prettiest girls in the village. Neither 
 Veronica, Susan, nor Marianne looked 
 to the left or right. They talked among 
 themselves, however, and laughed so 
 loud that they could be heard all over 
 the village. The pastor who was com- 
 ing along at this time pretended to see 
 nothing. He looked at me, however, 
 and I thought he was jealous. 
 
 '^Marianne loved me so much that 
 she gave me a pipe. I showed it to 
 Susan and she gave me a large fur 
 cap. Then I showed the cap to 
 Veronica and she gave me a silver 
 watch. 
 
 ^^And thus it happened that when 
 the summer came around there was not 
 a girl who danced at the ^Egli,' or one 
 who went to the spinning room with 
 whom I had not spent the night. 
 During the day I worked well and it 
 pleased farmer Suter. Every one won- 
 dered at how I had filled out in the 
 last year. My shoulders were so broad 
 that one could have hitched me to a 
 
72 The Burning of Egliswyl 
 
 plow. My arms were well developed 
 too, and I had grown very smart with 
 it all! ^Now he^s ready for the re- 
 cruits/ said farmer Suter, ^and they'll 
 not send him back.' 
 
 '^It was midsummer. One night 
 when I opened the stable door I found 
 farmer Suter's wife standing there. 
 ^ Where are you going, Hans?' ^ Is 
 that anyj of your business?' ' I'll tell 
 farmer Suter!' Then I went back into 
 the stable. Farmer Suter's wife was 
 fifty-three, and her face was all wrinkled. 
 I suddenly turned back and said to 
 her : ' If you tell farmer Suter that 
 I go out at night, I'll tell him that you 
 did it once too.' She never came to 
 the stable again and I went where I 
 pleased. 
 
 ^^Then came haying time, then the 
 harvest, and then the vintage; and it 
 was during vintage time that the good 
 Lord punished me, and made me an 
 incendiary. It was over there, at 
 Castle Wildegg. Because the vine 
 dresser himseK came from Egliswyl, he 
 
The Burning of Egliswyl 73 
 
 took all of his help from that village. 
 It was a rich year, the last year that I 
 carried the grapes. The vintage lasted 
 three days. There were seven of us 
 men, and twenty women folks. On the 
 third day, in the evening, the owner of 
 the castle brought a gypsy along with 
 him. He had a fiddle, and we danced 
 on the grass in the castle courtyard. 
 The grooms strung lanterns, and then 
 the maids also came out to dance. 
 There was one — she was the chamber- 
 maid — who came from Suabia. She 
 was slim and short; but her eyes sank 
 into my flesh so that were I to see them 
 today I would recognize them. I had 
 only one dance with her, but when we 
 were leaving I met her coming along 
 singing, arm in arm with the fat cook. 
 I heard that singing all night, as I 
 lay in the stable gazing into the lantern 
 light. The next evening I went to 
 Wildegg again to get a basket that had 
 been forgotten; and then the little maid 
 came down into the lower courtyard 
 with me and gave me her mouth to 
 
74 The Burning of Egliswyl 
 
 kiss. When I left her I felt it here, in 
 my breast; that is where it hurt, and 
 I did not know what the matter was 
 as I had never been ill before. 
 
 '^The next evening I again went to 
 see her, and I asked her whether I 
 might stay with her until morning, but 
 she said no. Then I wept. For three 
 days I could do no work. Farmer Suter 
 said: 'What's the matter with Hans? 
 He doesn't eat, drink, or work any 
 more.' Then I went down again that 
 night to Wildegg. At every step I felt 
 better. The castle gate was closed and 
 everything was dark. There I sat until 
 morning and did not return to Eglis- 
 wyl; I hired myself out down in the 
 village. Every evening when it grew 
 dark I went up there, and if I but saw 
 a corner of her apron I felt better. 
 During the week I drove with a load of 
 wood to Lenzburg. There I bought a 
 ring so that I would have something 
 to give her the next time we met. 
 She laughed when I gave it to her, and 
 she offered me her mouth to kiss. Then 
 
The Burning of Egliswyl 75 
 
 she told me that I might come the day 
 after next, when it was dark. And 
 when I was going down the mountain I 
 said to myself: ^Up there lies Eghswyl, and 
 now you are a good man; now you will 
 succeed in life/ Until I again saw 
 Marie — that was her name — I worked 
 as no farm hand ever worked before. 
 And while working I thought: ^When 
 you come back from the army you'll 
 carry every penny to the savings bank 
 until you have enough to buy some 
 land and build a little cottage. Then 
 you'll go up to the castle and ask Marie 
 to marry you. And if she says no, then 
 you'll go to America and never wed. 
 But Marie will not say no; that would 
 not be right, for if she did not want 
 you she ought to tell you so immedi- 
 ately, and not ask you to come and see 
 her again.' Morning and evening I 
 said the same to myself; and I said to 
 the cows: 'You don't understand such 
 things. That is just the difference 
 between man and beast,' 
 
76 The Burning of Egliswyl 
 
 '^And now I have pondered over it 
 for seven years, and still I do not know 
 what brought me down there to the 
 prison, making me miss the best years 
 of a man's life. Marie was a flighty 
 little thing, and when we had made love 
 for three weeks down in the lower 
 courtyard, under the cliffs, and in the 
 cold snow, she wanted to go where it 
 was warmer, and I was not sorry. 
 Then she showed me where I could 
 clamber up the rocks to the little room 
 where she slept alone. One night, when 
 it was striking midnight down in the vil- 
 lage, I climbed up to her, trembling for 
 fear lest a stone should roll down among 
 the bushes and awaken the castle folks. 
 Marie softly opened and closed her 
 window. Then for an hour not a word 
 was spoken. And when I left her she 
 was the same as when I had come. 
 
 ^^I dashed down over the cliffs. I 
 had no more feeling in my hands or 
 feet; and my throat felt as though the 
 hangman's noose were around it. And 
 I felt it in my chest, in my back, and 
 
The Burning of Egliswyl 77 
 
 in between: as if my insides were being 
 torn out. And I felt poison surging 
 through my veins. At first I wanted 
 to drown myself, but then I thought: 
 ^No! What does she think of me! What 
 does she think of me! She did not 
 cry and she did not laugh. She was as 
 if frozen.' And then I thought of 
 Amrai's Susan, of Veronica, of Marianne. 
 ^It is their fault,' I said to myself, Mt 
 is their fault.' It was not, though, and 
 I knew it, but I said so to myself as I 
 ran hither and thither through the 
 streets of Egliswyl. I've been pretty 
 bad at times during my seven years 
 here, so bad that I have screamed and 
 rolled on the ground until they locked 
 me up in a place where there was 
 neither light nor air. But at such times 
 I used to think back to that night, and 
 then I'd say to myself: 'They can do 
 what they want with you here, for 
 there is no suffering in God's world as 
 great as what you went through on that 
 night, and that, at least, is behind you.' 
 Had some one tied me to a bench and 
 
78 The Burning of Egliswyl 
 
 beaten me at that time I would have 
 thanked him for it. But there was no 
 one. I came down the mountain side. 
 I howled and shrieked like an animal 
 in a slaughter house. And all I could 
 see was flames, which always grew 
 hotter. It was as if I were in a burn- 
 ing house. Wherever I looked hot 
 flames beat into my face. And the 
 ground was so hot, in spite of the snow 
 that had fallen, that I could not stand 
 still on one spot. And thus it drove me 
 on. At first I did not know what to 
 do, but then suddenly I knew. And 
 then I felt better; but I kept on run- 
 ning for I thought that the new day 
 would break before I had done it. I 
 still saw nothing but flames. All the 
 trees were crackling. It was the bis- 
 wind. ^ It has come just at the right 
 time,^ I thought. ^ You must start in 
 that corner where the wind comes 
 from so that it will spread well. The 
 fire hydrant is frozen too,^ I thought. 
 ' That is fine, that is fine!' When I came 
 to the village of Egliswyl I crept around 
 
The Burning of Egliswyl 79 
 
 the left side of it, for it was from there 
 that the wind was blowing; and I crept 
 into five houses, right up under the 
 straw roofs. The third house belonged 
 to farmer Leser, and I thought of 
 Veronica and hoped that she would 
 burn up too. Then I set fire to it. 
 Now I ran back. When I came to the 
 woods there was a good blaze, and my 
 heart grew warm in it. I was still in 
 the middle of the woods when the fire 
 bells began ringing in the little town 
 of Lenzburg; and on the Stanfberg, 
 and over in Amriswyl. And then it 
 went bum, bum! That was the fireman 
 on the castle of Lenzburg who had shot 
 off the cannon. When I came out of the 
 woods the heavens in back of me were 
 red, and I could hear the swishing of 
 the fire hose down on the highway. 
 'They can sprinkle a long while,' I 
 thought, ' without any water ' ; and I kept 
 on running down towards Wildegg. 
 I clambered up the rocks, I don't 
 know how, and knocked softly at the 
 window. Marie came. 
 
80 The Burning of Egliswyl 
 
 ^'^Let me in/ I cried. ^Open, 
 Marie!' 
 
 *' Then she opened the window. 
 
 '^^Do you know that it's burning?' 
 
 ^^ 'What is burning? Where is it burn- 
 ing?' 
 
 '^ ' Do you see, over there? The 
 heavens are burning.' 
 
 '^'Oh, my God!' 
 
 '^'It is burning! The village is burn- 
 ing! The village of Egliswyl is burning! 
 And I did it! See how it lights up. I 
 set fire to five corners of it, Marie! 
 Look look!* 
 
 ''But she was still like ice. It did 
 not seem to move her. Her face was 
 white. She dressed hurriedly and awoke 
 the whole castle, and she told them 
 that she knew who had set fire to 
 Egliswyl. Then she pointed to me. 
 It was I, she said. I had wanted to 
 hide in her room, but she despised me 
 too much. Then they brought a 
 straight jacket; I was still standing at 
 the window, enjoying the crimson heav- 
 ens. They took me down to the court- 
 
The Burning of Egliswyl 81 
 
 yard. Marie was there. She did not 
 laugh — I am sure of that — yet I do 
 not know why she didn't/^ 
 
 We had arrived at the top of the hill 
 by this time, at the place where the 
 landslide had occurred. Over there, 
 but an hour away, lay the castle of 
 Wildegg bathed in the afternoon sun- 
 light. Perhaps my father would have 
 liked to have sent me away during the 
 story, but there had been no excuse 
 for doing so. The convict stretched 
 his bony body and placed the lead 
 pipe on the grass. 
 
 Perhaps my father may have thought 
 that I did not understand what the 
 prisoner was talking about. And, in 
 fact, my understanding of it did not 
 come until much, much later. And 
 by that time the prisoner must have 
 been released. 
 
LES HALLES. 
 
 September 8. I awaken about four 
 o^clock. The curtains are still drawn 
 and the room is pitch dark. I light 
 the lights and rise slowly. After yester- 
 day ^s fatigue I feel like a new man; 
 there is a peculiar movement in my 
 joints, my head seems freer, and I am 
 sure that my body is twenty pounds 
 lighter. 
 
 When I go out on the street it is 
 sunset. I walk to my little restaurant, 
 buy MaeterUnck^s Princesse Malaine 
 under the Odeon, and read it through 
 at the cafe. Had he given his spirits 
 more flesh, they would probably have 
 lived longer. I dine at the Palais 
 Royal and work at home until mid- 
 night. 
 
 As I come out of the Brasserie Pont- 
 Neuf a girl in a long coat passes me; 
 she reminds me of Marie Louise, but 
 it is not she. 
 
Les Holies 83 
 
 I go to Bovy to find out something 
 about Raimonde. The only face I 
 know in the little place is that of Marie 
 Louise. She asks me to buy her a glass 
 of milk and tells me that yesterday, 
 on the terrace of the Cafe d^Harcourt, 
 a girl had poisoned herself with subli- 
 mate. She tells me that Raimonde is still 
 in the Quartier, and that she is dans 
 la puree. She has forty thousand francs' 
 worth of debts. That fills me with an 
 enormous satisfaction. 
 
 I ask her if she still takes morphine. 
 No, she stopped a long while ago. She 
 then opens her coat and shows me that 
 she has got rid of her burden. She had 
 been in the hospital for three weeks on 
 account of her miscarriage; and it was 
 there that she had broken herself of the 
 morphine habit. She really looks much 
 the better for it. She does not rouge 
 any more, sleeps like a child at night, 
 and when she awakens is no more 
 beset by morbid thoughts. She al- 
 ways reads before turning out her lights. 
 Now she is reading La Faute de VAbhe 
 
84 Les Holies 
 
 Mouret. She had never beUeved that 
 Zola could have written such a pretty 
 book. Before this she had begun L'As- 
 somoiTy but had found it in bad taste 
 and tedious. She herself could write 
 a thing like that if she only had the 
 time! 
 
 In the meanwhile, a girl, to whom 
 six months before I had given a louis- 
 d'or, presses close to me. I have for- 
 gotten her name. At that time she was 
 in black; now she is wearing a brand 
 new, light dress, with a blue silk yoke. 
 I had given her one of my fine figured 
 shirts; after that she took up Gon- 
 court's La Fille Elisa, which little 
 Germaine had loaned to me, read it all 
 night, and then ran away. She would 
 have hked to have taken the shirt too. 
 But I must have promised a diamond 
 ring instead. 
 
 She has a round, pale face, with 
 rather full cheeks, a pretty chin, a 
 fine retrousse nose, well-formed lips, 
 narrow, updrawn eyebrows, and very 
 sympathetic, black eyes. 
 
Les Holies 85 
 
 Since she is very elegantly gowned, 
 let me state that she has won a personal 
 victory. She does not Uve at the Hotel 
 Voltaire in the Rue de Seine any longer, 
 but in the Rue St. Sulpice, on the first 
 floor. 
 
 I ask her whether she will have any- 
 thing to drink. No, she is not thirsty. 
 
 I have never seen such a pretty little 
 room. 
 
 It is all furnished in flowered cre- 
 tonne, and the bed hangings are of the 
 same material. 
 
 The girl in the corn-colored dress 
 with the blue yoke fits into the sur- 
 roundings so beautifully, that in this 
 little room I feel myself away from the 
 world, from sin, extravagance, danger, 
 and duty. 
 
 She asks me whether I would care 
 to have a chartreuse; and she takes out 
 a cut glass bottle and fills two glasses. 
 
 The chartreuse is the color of liquid 
 gold and runs like mad through the 
 veins. Over our glasses we discuss her 
 "colleagues. '^ 
 
86 Les Holies 
 
 She does not know whether Lulu 
 and Nini still like each other; perhaps 
 they do — why not? Lulu lived in her 
 own room — really nothing but a little 
 hole — just a bit of a room. But she 
 told every one she met that she had an 
 apartment. Lulu was the domineering 
 and intelligent one, while Nini had 
 very little to say and could only as- 
 sociate with the men whom Lulu chose 
 for her. Did I know Lulu? 
 
 I answer that I do not, and foolishly 
 add that it is not my fault that I do 
 not. 
 
 Then we talk about Raimonde. Yes, 
 there is a woman for you! She had 
 seen me with her on that memorable 
 night at the Grand Comptoir. How 
 much one of her kind would cost! 
 
 In order to atone for my former slip, 
 I say fifteen francs. 
 
 Pas plus que ca? 
 
 No, and she had to beg for that. 
 
 Whether I like Raimonde? 
 
 I earnestly shake my head, and say, 
 ^^C^est une belle femme!^' 
 
Les Halles 87 
 
 While we are talking I see a deck of 
 cards on the table. I ask her whether 
 she can tell fortunes, and she tells me 
 that she will dire la bonne aventure. 
 The process takes a good half -hour. 
 We sit down opposite to one another and 
 she tells me many things about my mother 
 and my sisters; about a lot of gold 
 which I am to inherit from a blond man 
 whom I recognize as my publisher. 
 
 An hour later she suddenly becomes 
 gay and suggests that we go the halles 
 a bit, un pen vadrouiller. It was so 
 warm outside and so close here in the 
 room. My entreaties are of no avail. 
 I rise slowly-; we dash down one more 
 glass of chartreuse and then we go 
 through the gray dawn over the Pont- 
 Neuf toward the halles. She wants to 
 have a soupe au frontage at the Grand 
 Comptoir. There will probably be a 
 lot of people there. 
 
 But there is neither music, nor a lot 
 of people. A few lonely grisettes oc- 
 cupy the rear of the place. My com- 
 panion orders her soup; I call for a 
 
88 Les Holies 
 
 bottle of wine, and we are quite silent. 
 Then the waiter asks: ^^Des ecr hisses? 
 line douzaine de Marenesf Un demi 
 poulet?^^ She shakes her head three 
 times, and the waiter leaves. That 
 almost moves me to tears. I call him 
 back and ask him to bring two dozen 
 oysters; and while we are eating them, 
 I tell her that we ought to go to 
 Barat's for our coffee. 
 
 The lights are out already at Barat's. 
 The musicians who sit opposite us are 
 eating their supper. She asks me how 
 I like the woman there, and I reply 
 that she looks too much like a cocotte. 
 Then she asks me whether I think that 
 she looks like a cocotte. I pay her 
 some compliment, and then she asks 
 me whether I think that Raimonde 
 looks like a cocotte. I reply: '^Mais 
 c^est une belle femme!^^ After which 
 she says: ^^Tu Vaimes a la folier^ 
 
 I drink four or five cups of coffee 
 and would like more, but it is too ex- 
 pensive here. They charge one franc 
 per portion. So I propose that we go to 
 
Les Holies 89 
 
 the Chien qui fume. She has never 
 heard of the place. I tell her that it 
 is close by. And, in the morning glow, 
 we wander through the endless stalls 
 of cauliflowers and beets to the Chien 
 qui fume. We climb up the winding 
 staircase to the salon, sit down at the 
 window, and the busy Ufe of the holies 
 lies at our feet. 
 
 We soon arrive at the conclusion that 
 there is nothing more amusing than to 
 watch other people at work. 
 
 In order to appreciate everything 
 fully, instead of ordering coffee again, 
 I tell the waiter to bring us oysters 
 and a good bottle of wine. 
 
 We talk about the Duke of Leuchten- 
 berg, about whose eyes my little friend 
 raves; and I describe the magnificent 
 tomb that he has in the Michoels- 
 Kirche in Munich. She thinks he was 
 Napoleon's brother-in-law, while I am 
 of the opinion that he was his step-son. 
 Neither of us is sure of our point. 
 
 She has recently read a book — she 
 has forgotten the author's name — which 
 
90 Les Holies 
 
 treats of the various mistresses of the 
 French Court, from Diana de Poitiers 
 up to the beautiful Therese. So we 
 chat about Mme. DuBarry, Mme. de 
 Maintenon, Mme. de Pompadour, Mme. 
 de Sevignee, Mme. de Stael; about Adele 
 Courtois, Cora Pearl, Guilia Barucci, 
 Anna Deslions, and finally reach Pope 
 Joan. 
 
 Then we talk about culinary delights, 
 about the various restaurants in the 
 Quartier, and those a V autre cote de 
 VEou. There is nothing to the little 
 restaurants with yrix fixes. One gets 
 a long dinner but very little to eat. 
 I bow to her views for I feel the same 
 as she does about it. Like me, she can 
 digest only green vegetables. Excepting 
 asparagus, she likes brussels sprouts 
 best of all. Cauliflower is too insipid. 
 Again I agree with her. We talk about 
 strawberries and about pineapples; and 
 we gradually become one heart and 
 soul. When she leaves me for a mo- 
 ment I tell the waiter to bring a bottle 
 of pommery. 
 
Les Holies 91 
 
 A mild sunshine lies over the holies. 
 The people are hurrying about like 
 ants. The high heaps of cauliflowers 
 and beets have already disappeared — 
 perhaps they are already eaten. I feel 
 especially well. 
 
 My companion seems to come from 
 a good family. Everything about her 
 seems to point that way. She again 
 takes her seat opposite me and raises 
 her glass to her lips in a manner that 
 could not be emulated in the best 
 society. She comes from Normandie, 
 from Falaise. I know the place well 
 enough. She has also read Maupas- 
 sant ^s Moison Tellier, but turns the con- 
 versation away from it. She tells me 
 that she has a wealthy married sister 
 in Falaise who comes to Paris every 
 winter, but she never sees her. She 
 herself is waiting for some forty thou- 
 sand francs, which she will get when she 
 comes of age. Probably she will buy 
 new gowns at once, and within three 
 months all will be gone. She does not 
 seem to have the slightest desire to go 
 
92 Les Holies 
 
 back into respectable society. She says 
 that she could never again fit into the 
 life in Falaise, where they retire at 
 eight and rise at seven; where, neither 
 in summer nor winter do they go the 
 cafes, and where they never think of 
 un peu vadrouiller. I propose that when 
 she comes into her money she should 
 take me for her special friend. I bring 
 my good qualities to her notice, my 
 happy disposition and my general ease. 
 She laughs and says that I am richer 
 than she. I shake my head and tell her 
 that I have no thirty of forty thousand 
 francs to look forward to. Very well! 
 She will agree if I am willing to go 
 through all I have with her now; all I 
 have to do is to put it on the table. 
 
 I look at the clock and think that it 
 has stopped. The waiter tells us that 
 it is half past twelve. We are both 
 terribly surprised. Now we really must 
 have some dejeuner. 
 
 She wants to fix her hair in front of 
 the mirror but she connot see herself, 
 for it is covered, from top to bottom, 
 
Les Holies 93 
 
 with inscriptions, and there is not even 
 enough room left for a postage stamp. 
 Then she asks for my diamond. I give 
 her my shirt stud, but it does not 
 write, and I tell her that I must have 
 it sharpened again. 
 
 On account of the glaring sun we go 
 down through the holies, paying special 
 attention to the flower stalls. Roses 
 from the most delicate white to the 
 deepest red lie in profusion on either 
 side. Greedily I inhale the intoxicating 
 odor. 
 
 It is nice and cool in the Grond 
 Comptoir. The waiter, who remembers 
 having seen us but ten hours before, 
 falls flat on his stomach in awe. We 
 both feel the need of something re- 
 freshing so we really eat more from a 
 feeling of duty than anything else. We 
 agree on a Poulet-Moyonnoise, a huge 
 portion of salad, a basket of peaches 
 and pears, and a light bottle of white 
 wine. We will have our coffee in the 
 Quartier. 
 
94 Les Holies 
 
 While she is peehng a peach with 
 her beautiful fingers she asks me how 
 she looks, and I, of course, say: ^^ En- 
 chanting/' Her moist eyes are still 
 the same, and, what does not surprise 
 me in the least her lips are still that 
 beautiful red. 
 
 ^'You use rouge, don't you?" 
 
 ^^No, that is natural color. My lips 
 are always like this." And she proves 
 it by rubbing them with a damp hand- 
 kerchief. 
 
 We drive back over the Pont-Neuf to 
 the Quartier in an open carriage. Paris 
 is resplendent; or is it my state of 
 mind that makes me think so? The 
 sparkling, blue Seine with its innumer- 
 able steamboats, its black tugs, and 
 long, white rowboats; the boulevard with 
 its rows of trees, whose last leaves tremble 
 in the autumnal sunshine and among 
 whose branches there still can be seen, 
 here and there, a bright streamer from 
 last year's carnival, — all of this helps to 
 make me happier, and seems to me to 
 have been created for just that purpose. 
 
Les Holies 95 
 
 At the Cafe de la Source my friend 
 suggests Petits pacquets. She wins a 
 trifle. After that, she wins five francs; 
 then she stops playing and insists upon 
 payment. I tell her to wait two days; 
 but since she does not consent I can- 
 didly confess to her that I have not 
 another sou in my pocket, and that she 
 will have to treat me to a cup of coffee 
 at the Caf^^ Vachette. 
 
 We wander along slowly to the Cafe. 
 The waiter, who sees me daily sitting 
 alone in my solitary corner, asks me 
 with more than customary politeness 
 what I want. I tell him that madame 
 is ordering. Madame feels very much 
 embarassed. With downcast eyes, she 
 stammers: ^^Two coffees.'^ ^^With 
 brandy?'' the waiter asks me. '' That is 
 for madame to say." ''With brandy, 
 of course!" madame hastens to add. 
 
 We both feel rather bored. After I 
 have finished my cup I ask her to 
 treat me to another. She has a five franc 
 piece in her hand, and when the waiter 
 passes she orders another cup for me. 
 
96 Les Holies 
 
 It is half past three. I have not 
 much more time. We go together to 
 the Carrefour de VOdeon, and there we 
 separate. I follow her with my eyes 
 for a while. As with elastic step, she is 
 turning the corner of St. Sulpice I 
 suddenly remember that I have for- 
 gotten to ask her name. I go to my 
 room, draw my curtains, and lie down 
 on the bed, fully dressed. 
 
 As I reread these lines one thing comes 
 to my notice: the odd things about diaries 
 is — if they are honest — that they seldom 
 recount any events. As soon as events 
 occur in life, all the joy, interest, and 
 time for diaries is gone, and one re- 
 gains the spontaneous naivete of the child, 
 or the beast in its wild surroundings. 
 
THE VICTIM. 
 
 ^^No, please do not ask me how I 
 came here. How can you be interested 
 in it? Tomorrow you'll be laughing at 
 me; I can see it in your face. Why 
 do you want to make me weep? It's 
 much nicer for you when I am gay.'' 
 
 And the beautiful, slim girl from 
 Munich, with her heavy, thick raven- 
 colored hair bent trembling over him 
 and kissed his lips, and his half -closed 
 eyelids, so that he would forget his 
 question. But it did no good. He 
 made a grimace that caused a shudder 
 to pass through her whole body. He 
 rejected her caresses pushing her away 
 from him. Thus he made her helpless, 
 for her beauty was all that she pos- 
 sessed. And he was no creature of 
 mad passions, but a dilettante for 
 whom nature had made nothing too 
 good. He had to add his seasoning to 
 everything that came in his way. While 
 still a youth he had tasted aU the 
 
98 The Victim 
 
 pleasures of life, and now he scorned all 
 that was law to others. And so it did 
 not satisfy him that the young girl 
 was sinning with a light heart for his 
 sake. He had to make her see what 
 she was doing in order to appreciate 
 fully the last soft conscience pain. That 
 was the reason he would not allow her 
 glances or her smiles to lure him from 
 his purpose; he set himself up as an 
 admonisher of penitence and asked her 
 quite frankly whether hunger had driven 
 her to it. 
 
 '^No, no. I always had enough to eat 
 as far back as I can remember. We 
 had meat three times a week at home.'^ 
 
 He had thought that. For whoever 
 saw her could not possibly imagine 
 that she had ever suffered from lack 
 of food. 
 
 ^^But you had nightmares that both- 
 ered you? You came here to enjoy 
 your youth?' ^ 
 
 ^^Oh, God, no! Don't ask me more. Do 
 you live here in Zurich, or are you 
 just passing through?" 
 
The Victim 99 
 
 C( 
 
 Passing through. But your parents 
 are still living?" 
 
 ^'Yes. But they do not know where 
 I am." 
 
 ^^Not even that you are here in 
 Zurich?" 
 
 ^^No. They do not know anything 
 about me." 
 
 ^'What is your name?" 
 
 '^Martha." 
 
 ^^ Martha? Well, well. Yes, there are 
 many Marthas in God's world. I 
 knew already that your name was 
 Martha." 
 
 ^^You only have to say ^Martha' 
 in case you want to write to me. Then 
 you can feel sure that I will receive 
 the letter. All of my friends simply 
 address me as 'Martha.'" 
 
 ^'And your last name?" 
 
 ''That I'd not tell you even if you 
 had a knife at my throat. I'd rather 
 be killed than mention my father's 
 
 name." 
 
 (( 
 
 How did you come here?" 
 
100 The Victim. 
 
 ^^VU tell you another time. Only 
 not today. Please not today.'' 
 
 ^'I suppose you had a lot of work to 
 do at home? You had to get up early 
 and sweep the stairs?'' 
 
 ^^I always enjoyed work." 
 
 *^ Really, is that such a pleasure for 
 you? But here you are certainly more 
 comfortable." 
 
 ^^Oh, why do you say that! I'll 
 tell you what brought me here. I 
 beUeve you pity me. Other men want 
 to hear nothing but obscenities and as 
 soon as you do not fondle them, they do 
 not want to have anything to do with 
 you. God knows, I have never yet 
 spoken to a Uving soul about it, al- 
 though I think of it day and night. My 
 one consolation is that this life cannot 
 last long. Then all is over and for- 
 gotten." 
 
 ^'But don't you beheve in a future 
 life?" 
 
 ^^ There may be one for rich people, 
 but there is none for us. That would 
 be too frightful!" 
 
The Victim 101 
 
 And again the young girl looked deep 
 into his eyes, because she was not sure 
 whether he was not laughing to himself 
 over her frankness. Then she turned 
 down the light and said: 
 
 '^I was fourteen years old when my 
 mother put me to work. I had no 
 figure, and my eyes were as large as a 
 calf's. There were four of us appren- 
 tices, Resi, Celia, Katy and I. On 
 Monday mornings we would count the 
 days till the following Sunday. On 
 Sunday afternoons we used to visit 
 each other; then we'd have tea and go 
 for a walk in the park. Do you know 
 the Englische Garten in Munich?" 
 
 ^'Yes, yes. Yes I've often gone 
 skating there with my little one." 
 
 "That you did not have to tell me 
 now." 
 
 "But what did you four talk about?" 
 
 "Mostly about our forelady. She 
 was so clever that we all had the 
 highest respect for her. When a lady 
 would come for the first time, she would 
 simply look at her and then cut out a 
 
102 The Victim 
 
 pattern on her lap. It looked as if she 
 were designing with her scissors. '^ 
 
 ^'And you talked about nothing else?^' 
 
 ^^Why? Oh, yes. We used to tell 
 about our home life. Celia had a 
 brother for whom she made clothes. 
 He was still at school. Sometimes she 
 helped him with his lessons. You 
 can't realize how proud she was of 
 him. Now when I am alone I often 
 think that if I only had a child . . . 
 and then my mind always goes back to 
 little Hans. He was so pretty.^' 
 
 ^^Now don't weep." 
 
 ^^I'm not crying on that account. I 
 am only thinking how much I feared 
 it at first, and now I'd be so happy; 
 then at least I'd have something to live 
 for." 
 
 ^^Yes, but you would only spoil the 
 child." 
 
 '^Yes, you are right. I'd make a 
 mess of it. And I'd love it with all 
 my heart and soul. It would have a 
 better time than all other children." 
 
 "Then you still love him?" 
 

 The Victim 103 
 
 ''Oh, yes. You are good. I could 
 tell you everything.'^ 
 
 How did you happen to meet him?" 
 It was in midwinter, one evening 
 at nine o'clock. I had been working 
 for two years. By this time I was 
 wearing long skirts, and when I used 
 to walk down the street without my 
 hat, wearing my Httle apron, the men 
 would smack their lips. I laughed 
 about it because I took it as a com- 
 pliment. Then, one evening, I was 
 given a dress to dehver to the Baroness 
 Ubra, who hved on the Schwabinger 
 Landstrasse. I wanted to take a street 
 car, but they were all crowded. It was 
 a very stormy and cold night. Every 
 one wore ulsters and furs, but all I 
 had on was my coat with the big 
 buttons and my feather hat that I had 
 to hold to keep on my head. Already 
 in the Theatinerstrasse I was wishing 
 that I had not been born. My hands 
 and feet were numb, and at each step 
 I bumped into somebody else. Then 
 I ran into a street lamp and broke my 
 
104 The Victim 
 
 umbrella. The wind tore it to shreds. 
 The snow blew into my skirts and flew 
 down my neck. I was wet from top to 
 toe. In front of the Feldherrnhalle, 
 the top of the box flew off and the 
 dress fell onto the snow. I wanted 
 to die on the spot. I picked up the 
 dress and brushed off the snow from the 
 paper with my handkerchief so that 
 the moisture would not go through. 
 Then I was about to take the box under 
 my arm when a gust of wind blew 
 my skirts up all around me. Heavens, 
 I thought, if only no one saw me! 
 
 ^^Immediately after that a gentleman 
 came up to me and asked if he might 
 carry my bundle. I said yes. 
 
 '^So we two walked out to the 
 Schwabinger Landstrasse, and then he 
 walked back home with me. He had 
 told me that he worked in a store, and 
 that he was supporting his sixty year 
 old mother. I told him where I worked. 
 I had not looked at his face carefully 
 and would never have been able to 
 recognize him again. 
 
The Victim 105 
 
 '^But the next evening as I was 
 coming out of the store, he was at my 
 side, as soon as I had separated from 
 the other girls. As he had been so 
 kind, I could not send him away. And 
 thus it was that every evening he 
 called for me and then walked up to 
 my house door with me, always telling 
 me how good and kind his old mother 
 was. And when the spring came he 
 told me one evening that he loved me. 
 At first I did not believe it. But for 
 an entire month he spoke of nothing 
 else; and then, all of a sudden, he asked 
 me whether I loved him, and I answered 
 yes. 
 
 ^'That was the terrible part; from 
 that day on he was not the same man. 
 Before this he had always been so 
 gentle and kind; now that was all 
 over. He insisted that I did not love 
 him. I told him again and again that 
 I did. And it was true. I thought of 
 him all day long, and used to wonder 
 in what sort of humor he would be in 
 the evening. But he was never the 
 
106 The Victim 
 
 same any more. His eyes were always 
 on the ground, and often he never 
 spoke a word. Before this he had 
 often kissed me on leaving me. Now 
 he did not even do that any more. 
 I asked him to do so, but he refused. 
 He called me a ^cocotte.' I was so 
 frightened; I did not know what that 
 meant. At first I could not even re- 
 member the word. Then I wrote it 
 down and asked Celia what it meant. 
 She said that it was a girl who walked 
 the streets at night. 
 
 ^'My mother asked me why I looked 
 so badly, and why I did not eat or 
 talk any more. But I could not say 
 anything. I had firmly decided not to 
 say anything at home about him until 
 we would be able to announce our 
 engagement; and his income was not 
 yet large enough for that. It meant 
 waiting until his mother died. But 
 once, when he left me standing in the 
 middle of the square, because he was 
 so angry, and then walked away with 
 his hands in his pockets, I rushed after 
 
The Victim 107 
 
 him and threw my arms around his 
 neck; and he must have seen that I 
 loved him. I begged him to be as he 
 used to; I had done nothing to hurt 
 him; he should not torture me so 
 terribly. Then he murmured: ^ Prove 
 to me that you love me.' I asked him 
 how I could prove it, and he answered 
 that I certainly must know, I was no 
 child any more. Then he told me that 
 I was a coquette and that I was playing 
 with him; but he had enough of it, 
 and was not going to be made a fool 
 of any longer. 
 
 ^^I could not sleep that whole night, 
 and I kept wondering what he meant, 
 and why I had shown myself ungrateful. 
 Finally, I decided to question Celia, 
 as he would not tell me himself. But 
 I did not want to tell Celia the whole 
 story. No one had noticed my going 
 with him, and thus I wanted it to be, 
 until we could announce our engage- 
 ment. He used to tell me about his 
 mother's ill health; then she would be 
 better again. 
 
108 The Victim 
 
 '^ After dinner, as I was walking arm 
 in arm with Celia, I asked her if she 
 had ever been in love. She pondered a 
 moment, and then said yes. I then 
 asked her what she had done, and she 
 told me that she had taken a hot foot 
 bath. Then all was put to rights, she 
 said. No, she had done nothing more. I 
 should have liked to know more, but 
 she laughed and told me that the rest 
 was strictly private. 
 
 '^That evening I told him that I 
 knew all; I had asked Celia and he 
 should wait until the next day. ^Then 
 tomorrow,' he said, and kissed me. 
 He was sweeter than he had been for 
 weeks. That whole evening I was in a 
 tremble. I prayed that my mother 
 would not notice that I was going to 
 take a foot bath. I was terribly fright- 
 ened. After they were all asleep, I 
 crept down to the kitchen in my night- 
 gown. I had left the fire burning in 
 the stove. I put on the kettle to boil, 
 and then I had sensations that I had 
 never felt before. You may not believe 
 
The Victim 109 
 
 it, but I trembled for joy, and wondered 
 what he would think when he saw me 
 so changed. I crept into bed, and 
 slept as I have never slept before. 
 The next evening I was in a terrible 
 state. First we fell into each other^s 
 arms and kissed. I was so happy I 
 could have wept. Then he told me to 
 come with him, but I told him that 
 he knew I had to go home. Then he 
 called me a silly, stubborn creature. 
 ^^On Sunday I went to the fortune 
 teller. I did not want to tell her 
 any more of my love than I did Celia, 
 but in five minutes she had the whole 
 story out of me. Then she told me 
 that I should go with him and deny 
 him nothing, for if I did he would 
 realize how much I loved him. I 
 asked her how much I owed her, and 
 she wanted to know how much money 
 I had with me. I told her three dollars 
 and ten cents. She said that although 
 her usual fee was five dollars she would 
 be satisfied because it was I. Finally, 
 she asked me to come and see her again. 
 
no The Victim 
 
 ^^The next evening I went to bed 
 with all my clothes on. I had removed 
 only my shoes. As it struck eleven I 
 tiptoed down the stairs. He embraced 
 me and took me to his room. An hour 
 later, he brought me back; but I could 
 not imagine why he was so happy. I 
 thought that there must be something 
 very strange about love to make a man 
 so happy at the knowledge that he 
 was loved by a girl. 
 
 ^^Then I became his mistress. Al- 
 ready in the first week he said: ^If 
 you really love me, you'll not Uve at 
 home any longer. If the butcher's 
 boys should find me at your door 
 they'd kill me.' I took my clothes 
 along that night, and the next day I 
 said I had a headache, and went to 
 look for a room with a bed and two 
 chairs. That evening I did not return 
 home. My father came to me on 
 Sunday. He asked me if I was still 
 working in the store. I said that I 
 was. Then he asked me the name of 
 my lover. I replied, 'That I'll not 
 
The Victim 111 
 
 tell you; you can beat me as much as 
 as you want to, but I'll not tell you/ 
 Then he threatened to get the police. 
 I told him that I was not afraid of 
 the police, or of the entire world. Then 
 he fell on my bed and sobbed as if 
 his heart would break. Then he got up, 
 looked me square in the face, gave me 
 a terrible slap, and left my room. I 
 never saw him again. 
 
 ^^My lover now came to see me every 
 evening. His mother, he said, was very 
 ill, and that was why he had given up 
 his apartment. He needed the money 
 for medical purposes. Sometimes, when 
 he did not have enough, I gave him a 
 few of my savings, but I never had 
 much left over as I always had to pay 
 for supper for two people. At first he 
 was going to introduce me to his 
 mother; but now it was too late, she 
 was too ill. He was afraid that the 
 pleasure and the excitement would kill 
 her on the spot. 
 
 ^^Once in the shop, when the forelady 
 was gone, Resi and Celia began to 
 
112 The Victim 
 
 speak about a girl who had had a child. 
 I asked whether she was not married. 
 They said she was not. Then a terrible 
 fear seized me. I became quite ill and 
 had to go home. I wept the whole 
 day. Never in my life had I thought 
 that one could have children without 
 being married. When I told him, he 
 called me a silly child, and told me 
 that he was not in the least afraid. 
 But from that day on I never had a 
 moment of quiet. 
 
 ^^And then he was sent here to Zurich 
 on business. As we were sitting in the 
 train a young girl entered. At first 
 she sat in the opposite corner, but when 
 she saw my lover she threw him a 
 glance that made me shudder, and 
 then she sat opposite to him. She said 
 that she was engaged as a waitress. 
 She was laced so tightly that I did not 
 see how she could breathe. And she 
 could not keep her feet still, and she 
 kept fanning herself with a handker- 
 chief that smelled like a menagerie. 
 She exchanged looks with my lover that 
 
The Victim 113 
 
 seemed to imply the most heavenly 
 things, but I did not understand them. 
 Once in a while she would look at me; 
 but then I was ashamed to death. I 
 had on a terribly faded dress, a gray 
 shawl over my head, and I kept my 
 feet curled up beneath me as there were 
 big holes in my shoes. She wore brand 
 new russet shoes with gilded buttons. 
 Her dress was so tight that one could 
 see the outlines of her knees. On her 
 lap she had a box of candy and a 
 bottle of plum brandy. She offered 
 me some of it. I did not want to take 
 any but my lover told me not to be 
 bashful. Just before we reached Lin- 
 dau, the engine came to a sudden stop, 
 and she almost fell into his arms. 
 
 ^'As soon as the second day he went 
 out with her to the concert hall in the 
 evening and did not return the whole 
 night. In the morning I set out to 
 look for him, and when I returned his 
 belongings were gone. Then I looked 
 for him all over the city. I pictured 
 him standing at every street corner. 
 
114 The Victim 
 
 Finally I found him on a bench on the 
 quai. I asked him to come back with 
 me. He told me that he would not; 
 that here in Zurich the police forbid 
 a man and woman to live together. 
 We would be sent to prison if we were 
 caught. But he promised to come and 
 see me as often as he could. 
 
 ^'During the first two weeks he only 
 came three times. I had found work 
 in a store and sat at home all day and 
 did sewing. On his third visit I asked 
 him where he was living, but he would 
 not tell me. And so often I would go 
 out on the streets looking for him 
 because I had firmly made up my mind 
 not to return to my room without him. 
 
 ^^One evening about eleven o'clock, 
 I caught him just as he was coming out 
 of a fine restaurant. I asked him 
 point-blank, ^You are living with that 
 waitress?' Then I asked him whether 
 he did not love me any longer. He 
 replied, 'How can I love you as long 
 as I do not come to see you any more?' 
 At first I did not understand him. 
 
The Victim 115 
 
 ^What did you say?' I asked him. And 
 then he repeated, ^How can I love you 
 as long as I do not come to see you 
 any more?' 
 
 '^It seemed to grow green and blue 
 before my eyes. I held my hands up to 
 my face and ran away. I had to think 
 over what he had said. What did he 
 understand about love since he thought 
 that as long as we were not living to- 
 gether he had to cease to love me? I 
 knew that I had loved him in spite 
 of it. I loved him, and love him still; 
 I could have worked for him my whole 
 life; and he could not love me any 
 more because he did not come to see 
 me. I was not a silly girl any longer. 
 I also felt that there was something 
 very sweet in being together. And then 
 I began to think that that was all he 
 had wanted from the beginning. Then 
 I ran down to the lake and wanted to 
 drown myself. But that was not 
 enough for me. It hurt me that the 
 water seemed so sweet and pleasant. 
 I ran through the streets and wished 
 
116 The Victim 
 
 that somebody would come along and 
 maltreat me so badly that I would lose 
 my mind. I felt that if some one would 
 kick me my pain would be lessened. 
 I felt that I had to let myself be 
 debased as low as possible, and then 
 perhaps I would not feel the pains in 
 my heart so much. 
 
 *^I pondered a long while. A gentle- 
 man came along and smoothed my hair. 
 I would have gone with him but he was 
 too kind, too decent. He wore kid 
 gloves and seemed to be some one who 
 wanted to save me. No, no; I had to 
 go lower, lower, where one can neither 
 see nor hear. I whispered to myself 
 that I had to become so miserable that 
 I could feel nothing more. 
 
 ''My lover had told me that in Zurich 
 there were women who took young 
 girls into their houses and then sold 
 them. I asked a policeman at the 
 corner where I could find such a woman. 
 He asked me if I had ever been in one 
 of those houses before, and I told him 
 I had. Then he took me by the arm 
 and took me to the station house. A 
 
The Victim 117 
 
 red-faced man, with a black moustache 
 and blue glasses also asked me whether 
 I had ever been in that kind of a house 
 before. And I again said that I had. 
 Then he asked me where that had been, 
 and I pointed to some indefinite direc- 
 tion. I told him that I was a total 
 stranger, that I had today for the first 
 time gone out and that I could not find 
 my way back. Then he told two police- 
 men to bring me to this place. And 
 here I am. . . ." 
 
 ^^But the life here is very nice, isn't 
 it?'' 
 
 ^^At first the lady of the house was 
 dissatisfied with me because I was 
 always so sad. But since she sees that 
 our most repulsive customers always 
 pick me out and that I never refuse 
 any of them, she likes me just as well 
 as young Miss Palmyra, that very jolly 
 girl." 
 
 It was Sunday morning when the 
 young man found himself out in the 
 open again. The church bells were 
 ringing; men, women, and children were 
 
118 The Victim 
 
 coming out of church. The young man 
 would have hked to make some wit- 
 ticism about it but he did not feel 
 very well. He had never appeared so 
 small to himself; but neither had he 
 ever appeared so good to himself. He 
 did not recognize this new state of mind. 
 He compared the care free, sunny mood 
 of the churchgoers, who had just 
 listened to their minister and who were 
 looking forward to their Sunday dinner, 
 with the serious tone of his own soul 
 and he decided, without a spark of 
 frivolity, that he did not envy them. 
 That evening he had taken off the mask 
 of the admonisher of penitence. He 
 had learned to believe in innocence 
 where he least expected to find it. He 
 despised himself when his thoughts 
 went back to the girl. She had never 
 wanted to do wrong and had drawn 
 the unlucky number in life's lottery. 
 He had never wanted to do anything 
 good in this world, still he felt that he 
 was not quite lost yet. The impres- 
 sion remained with him to the end of 
 bis days. 
 
THE INOCULATION. 
 
 When I teU you this story, my 
 friends, I do not do so to show the 
 slyness of women nor the stupidity of 
 men; I tell it rather on account of 
 certain psychological curiosities con- 
 tained in it which will interest you, 
 and which, if known, can be of great 
 advantage to you during life. But 
 before proceeding, allow me to protest 
 against the reproach that I am crowing 
 over my early misconduct which I so 
 thoroughly repent, and which, now that 
 my hair has turned gray and my knees 
 weak, is of no fascination to me. 
 
 ^'You have nothing to fear, my 
 dear, sweet boy,'' said Fanny one 
 evening, just as her husband was com- 
 ing home, '^because married men are 
 jealous only when they have no cause 
 for it. And from the very moment 
 that there is a cause for jealousy they 
 are as struck blind.'' 
 
120 The Inoculation 
 
 ^'But I don^t like his expression/' 
 I murmured. ^'It seems to me that 
 he has noticed something/' 
 
 ''You misunderstand that expression/' 
 she said. ''That expression is only the 
 result of the means I have used in 
 order to prevent any possible jealousy 
 from ever arising in him, and to stop 
 any suspicious thoughts about you." 
 
 "What is this means?" I asked, 
 astonished. 
 
 "It is a sort of inoculation. On the 
 very day thait I took you for my lover 
 I told him quite frankly that I loved 
 you. Since then I repeat it to him 
 twice daily, on arising and on retiring. 
 'You have every reason,' I say to him, 
 'to be jealous of that dear boy; I truly 
 love him, and it is neither your nor 
 my merit that I remain faithful to 
 you, but it is through him that I am 
 still as virtuous as I am.' " 
 
 In that very moment it became clear 
 to me why her husband, when he did 
 not think that I was looking, would 
 
The Inoculation 121 
 
 gaze at me in a sympathetically scorn- 
 ful way. 
 
 ^'And do you really think/' I asked, 
 "that this means is lasting?" 
 
 " Unfailing !'' she replied with perfect 
 surety. 
 
 In spite of it, however, I greatly 
 doubted that safety of her psychological 
 calculations until one day the following 
 event forced me to change my mind. 
 
 I was at that time living in the heart 
 of the city, in a small furnished room 
 on the fourth floor of a large apartment 
 house. I was accustomed to sleep late 
 into the morning. One sunny day, 
 at about nine o'clock, the door opened 
 and she entered. I should never have 
 told what followed if it had not shown 
 one of the most surprising and still 
 credible cases of blindness that are 
 conceivable in mankind. Hardly had 
 the sheets covered us both, when we 
 heard steps in front of the door. There 
 was a knock, and I had hardly time 
 enough to pull the sheet over her 
 head, when her husband, puffing and 
 
122 The Inoculation 
 
 perspiring after having walked up the 
 one hundred twenty steps to my room, 
 came into the room, his face all aglow 
 with happiness. 
 
 '^I came to ask you whether you 
 wanted to take a little trip with Roeder, 
 Schletter and myself. We are going to 
 take the train as far as Ebenhausen, 
 and from there we are going to bicycle 
 to Ammerland. I really had work 
 to do at home today, but my wife left 
 early this morning to find out how the 
 Bruechmann's youngest child is, and 
 the weather was so glorious that I 
 could not stay at home. I met Roeder 
 and Schletter at the Cafe Luitpold 
 and we made ud the party. Our 
 train leaves at 10.57. '^ 
 
 During the time that he was speaking 
 I had a chance to collect my thoughts. 
 ^^You see that I am not alone,'' I 
 remarked, smiling. 
 
 ^^Yes, I see," he replied with that 
 understanding smile. Then his eyes 
 began to sparkle. Hesitatingly he took 
 a step forward and now stood close to 
 
The Inoculation 123 
 
 the chair on which I always placed my 
 clothes. On the top of the chair lay 
 a fine batiste, armless chemise, with a 
 name embroidered on it; across that 
 lay a pair of open-worked, silk stock- 
 ings. Since there was no other part of 
 a feminine wardrobe apparent, his gaze 
 fell on that with unmistakable longing. 
 
 That moment was the deciding one. 
 One second more an<d he must remem- 
 ber that he had seen this apparel some- 
 where before in his life. Let it cost 
 what it might, I had to detract his 
 attention from the incriminating evi- 
 dence. The train of thought which 
 flew through my mind caused me to 
 perpetrate an outrage which, in spite 
 of the fact that it saved the situation, 
 causes me as much shame now as it 
 did twenty years ago. 
 
 '^I am not alone,'' I repeated. ^^And, 
 if you had the slightest idea of the 
 magnificence of this creature you would 
 envy me." With that I pressed my 
 arm on that part of the sheet where 
 I thought her mouth was, in order to 
 
124 The Inoculation 
 
 stop any sort of a sound that she might 
 utter. 
 
 His greedy eyes traveled up and down 
 the perfect outhne. 
 
 And now comes the terrible, the 
 unheard of. I grasped the bottom of 
 the sheet and pulled it right up to 
 her throat, so that only her head was 
 covered. ^^Have you ever in all of 
 your Ufe seen anything so magnificent?" 
 I asked him. 
 
 His eyes stood wide open, but he was 
 very much confused. 
 
 ^^Yes, yes, — I must say — you have 
 good taste — well, I — Til go now — 
 please excuse my — disturbance." 
 
 With that, he drew back to the door 
 and I slowly, very slowly, lowered the 
 veil. But then I jumped up as quick 
 as a flash and stood with him at the 
 door, but I was so placed that he could 
 not possibly see the chair on which the 
 clothes lay. 
 
 "I'll probably take the noon train 
 to Ebenhausen," I said, as he stood 
 there, his hand on the door knob. 
 
The Inoculation 125 
 
 '' Perhaps you^ll wait for me there at 
 the Gasthof zur Post. Then we can 
 ride together to Ammerland. Ttat will 
 be a lovely trip. And thank you so 
 much for your invitation.^' 
 
 He made a few, well-meaning re- 
 marks and then left. I remained rooted 
 to the spot until I heard him leave the 
 house. 
 
 I will spare you a description of the 
 terrible fury into which the deplorable 
 woman flew after this scene. She was 
 like a maniac, and swore such implac- 
 able hatred against me as I have never 
 in all my life heard. And while she 
 was hurrying into her clothes she even 
 threatened to spit in my face. 
 
 ^^ Where do you think of going now?" 
 
 ^^I don't know — I'll drown myself — 
 or go home — or to the Bruechmann's 
 — to see how their youngest is getting 
 along — I don't know!" 
 
 At about two o'clock Roeder, 
 Schletter, my friend and I were sitting 
 under the shady chestnut tree at the 
 Gasthof zur Post in Ebenhausen and 
 
126 The Inoculation 
 
 were relishing our chicken and salad. 
 My friend, whom I had been watching 
 very closely, gave me every reason to 
 feel absolutely safe, as he was in unusual, 
 good humor. Every once in a while 
 he would throw an amusing glance at 
 me, and then would relishingly rub 
 his hands together, without, however, 
 betraying the cause of his joUiness. 
 The excursion went off quietly and at 
 ten o'clock we were back again in the 
 city. At the station, we decided it was 
 too early to go home, so we thought 
 we would go to a cafe. 
 
 ''I am going home to get my wife,'' 
 my friend said. ^^She has been at the 
 bedside of a sick child all day, and 
 would be provoked if I let her stay at 
 home alone the entire evening." 
 
 A little later he brought her back 
 with him. The conversation, of course, 
 centered around the excursion, the event- 
 lessness of which made us all try our 
 utmost to make some interesting story 
 of it. The young woman spoke very 
 little and ignored me altogether. He, 
 
The Inoculation 127 
 
 on the contrary, even more than in the 
 afternoon, wore that puzzling look of 
 conquest. His triumphant glances were, 
 however, more for his wife than for 
 me. It was as if he had experienced 
 some deep-rooted satisfaction. 
 
 It was not until a month later, when 
 I was alone with her for the first time 
 again, that the riddle was solved for 
 me. After I had once more to stand 
 some very severe reproaches, there was 
 a sort of reconciliation, after which, 
 she told me how her husband, on that 
 eventful day, had told her the follow- 
 ing story: 
 
 '^Now I really have come to know 
 what sort of a man your ^dear, sweet 
 boy' is, my child. Every day you 
 tell me how you love him, and you have 
 no idea how he is laughing at you 
 behind your back. This morning I 
 went to his room; of course, he was 
 not alone. And now I also see why 
 he bothers so little about you and why 
 he spurns your feelings. For his mis- 
 tress is a woman of such wonderful 
 
128 The Inoculation. 
 
 bodily perfection that you could never 
 even hope to compete with her/^ 
 
 That, my friends, was the way in 
 which the inoculation worked. I have 
 only told you about it so that you may 
 guard your lives against it. 
 
RABBI ESRA 
 
 "Moses, Moses, I do not like your 
 actions. Why do you want to become 
 engaged at twenty when you do not 
 wish to wed until you are twenty-five?'' 
 Old Esra gazed at his son with half- 
 closed eyes, as if he wanted to decipher 
 an indelible cabalistic cipher in his 
 son's head. 
 
 "I love Rebecca." 
 
 "You love Rebecca? How do you 
 know that you love Rebecca? I will 
 believe that you love a small foot, 
 white skin, and a smooth face; but how 
 do you know that it is Rebecca? You 
 have studied Roman law, you have 
 studied Civil law, but you have not 
 studied women. Have I brought you 
 up with care for twenty years only to 
 have you begin your life with a folly? 
 How many women have you known, 
 Moses, that you can come to your old 
 father and tell him that you are in, 
 love?" 
 
130 Rabbi Esra 
 
 "I know but one, and I love her from 
 the bottom of my heart." 
 
 "What do you mean by the bottom 
 of youT heart? Have you learned to 
 know your whole heart?" 
 
 **I entreat you, father, not to make 
 light of my feelings." 
 
 ** Moses, Moses, now do not be hot 
 headed. I tell you, do not be hot 
 headed. Let me tell you a story. 
 Come over here and sit next to me on 
 the divan. Let me tell you what my 
 father told me when I was twenty years 
 old." 
 
 "'Esra,' he said to me, 'when you 
 marry, marry a rich girl. Believe your 
 father when he tells you that woman 
 is not lasting. But a sound taler will 
 last through generations!'" 
 
 "And when I thought it over that 
 he was an old man I promised him that 
 my wife would have a dowry of thirty 
 thousand talers. But I want to ex- 
 plain to you, Moses, why I loved little 
 Leah, why I married her, why I lived 
 in sadness with her until she was taken 
 
Rahhi Esra 131 
 
 from me like snow melts in the hand. 
 It was because I did not know women, 
 Esra; because I did not know myself. 
 "Moses, I am an old man and I want 
 nothing more from the world except 
 your happiness. When I was twenty 
 years old my soul was like a barnyard 
 before sunrise. When I walked on the 
 street and a Gentile girl or a Jewish 
 girl passed me, I could feel her presence 
 in my finger tips, and I wished that I 
 had been King Solomon with five 
 thousand wives. But she had to be 
 made as if the Lord had made her for 
 Himself; she had to possess every pos- 
 sible feminine charm. If she was small, 
 thin, pale, and quick as a rat I lowered 
 my umbrella towards her, for it hurt 
 my eyes to behold her. But if she was 
 like the cedars on Lebanon, then I 
 lowered my umbrella towards the other 
 side; and I took her picture home with 
 me and saw it while I was reading the 
 Talmud; and I could hear the patter 
 of her feet in the holy words. And 
 the picture appeared to me in the night 
 
132 Rabbi Esra 
 
 — and I had it before me as Moses 
 had the image of the Lord before him 
 in the Holy Land. 
 
 "But then I said to myself — Moses, 
 can you imagine what I said to myself? 
 ^You are a child of the devil, and you 
 have been so since your birth. If you 
 give in to your desires, and if you 
 want to cross the river Jordan, then 
 you will become a child of death. You 
 should not go with women who appeal 
 to your senses, but you should go with 
 women who appeal to your heart, un- 
 less you want your flesh to become like 
 the flesh of Job; unless you want your 
 actions to be cursed; unless you want 
 to eat grass like Nebuchadnezzar.' 
 
 "And then I went to old Hezekiel 
 and asked him to give me his daughter 
 Leah; and I promised him that I would 
 do all that I could to make her happy. 
 Leah was like the shadow on the win- 
 dowpane, but I loved her because I 
 thought that she would save me from 
 myself, from the devil, and from death, 
 which I felt day and night hovering 
 
Rabbi Esra 133 
 
 over my head. At first she would have 
 none of me, for I was big and broad, 
 while she was small and thin; and she 
 was ashamed to walk on the street with 
 me. But as no one else came to ask 
 for her hand she took me. 
 
 "Now, Moses, let your father tell 
 you how our human understanding is 
 hemmed in, and how vain is all our 
 discernment. I had not as yet tasted 
 the sweetness of love; I was as chaste as 
 the dew on Hebron, just as you are, 
 Moses; although you have studied Ro- 
 man law and Civil law and have neglec- 
 ted Moses and the prophets. But when 
 I tasted of the sweetness of love with 
 Leah I realized that it was a sin before 
 God, and I thanked the Lord that He 
 had not let me go the road of the god- 
 less. I had dreamed during my lonely 
 nights that this love would act on the 
 body like a balm, but behold, it was 
 like medicine to Leah and me. And 
 we took it as medicine, with eyes closed 
 and choking throats, as if it had been 
 prescribed by a physician. And when 
 
134 Rabbi Esra 
 
 we had tasted it we felt as if we had 
 been judged by the Lord and cursed, 
 and we avoided each other Hke thieves 
 in the night, having met at their 
 devilish work. Then I said to myseK: 
 *You were right, Esra, bodily love is 
 like serving the devil, and is not worthy 
 of mankind.' And believe your old 
 father, Moses, I was not happy. 
 
 ** I was not happy, Moses, my son, 
 and the Lord is my witness; for I 
 could not converse any more with 
 Leah than if she had been an inanimate 
 thing. Her thoughts were not my 
 thoughts, for my thoughts were my 
 own, and she had none. Then I 
 turned to solitude, and I found solace 
 in it. And I said to myself: 'Esra,' 
 I said, V^u have bought a cat in the 
 bag, and on your head lies the re- 
 sponsibility. You could have tested 
 her, and found out whether her soul 
 was mated to yours, whether her heart 
 was the companion of yours. Do not 
 let her notice, Esra, that you have 
 bought a cat in the bag, for she is as 
 
Rabbi Esra 135 
 
 innocent as a lamb. And why were 
 you not as careful in picking out a wife 
 as you are when you buy an expensive 
 scarf ?' 
 
 "And thus I lived and suffered with 
 her for two long years, and loved her 
 all the while, for she kept me away 
 from the temptation of the flesh until 
 she had borne me a little boy; but there 
 was not room for him and the Lord 
 took both him and my Leah away 
 from me. 
 
 "Moses, I then felt as if my entrails 
 had been burnt out with a hot iron, 
 as if the earth had been razed to the 
 ground, as if I had been left alone in 
 the world to suffer the curse. And I 
 became incensed with Jehovah, and I 
 cried: 'Cursed be Thy name! Why didst 
 Thou take unto Thyself the woman I 
 had chosen for myself! Art Thou cursed 
 with stupidity that Thou crushest Thy 
 child and sparest Thy enemy! Canst 
 Thou not take unto Thyself the rich 
 man's lamb! Must Thou deprive the 
 poor man of his all! Cursed be Thy 
 
136 Rabbi Esra 
 
 name! Doest Thou want to thrust me 
 in the way of temptation, and cast me 
 out into sin; doest Thou want me to 
 go among the godless again, after I 
 have with care and pain hidden my 
 soul from Thy anger? Cursed be Thy 
 name! Cursed be Thy name! On Thy 
 head my curse!' 
 
 "And then, in order to find solace, 
 1 went to the sisters of sorrow. Yes 
 Moses, I went to the sisters of sorrow. 
 I am not telling you, Moses, to visit 
 the sisters of sorrows. You can do as 
 you please. But I, your father Esra, 
 went to the sisters of sorrow. And as 
 I went I cursed Jehovah. I cried to 
 Him: 'It is Thy fault that I am going 
 to find solace among the sisters of 
 sorrow. Why didst Thou take my 
 Leah from me!' 
 
 "And now, Moses, open your ears 
 wide so that you will understand me. 
 I tasted of the pleasures of Gentile 
 maids, of Jewish maids, of the daughters 
 oflHam. I did not choose those who 
 appealed to my heart, but those who 
 
Rabbi Esra 137 
 
 appealed to my senses, for I wanted to 
 forget my sorrow, for I wanted to for- 
 get my Leah. And I chose those who 
 were like the cedars on Lebanon. And 
 I found that the more a girl appealed 
 to my senses the easier it was for me 
 to hold converse with her, and the 
 easier it was for her to hold converse 
 with me; and the more she appealed 
 to my senses the friendlier she was, 
 and the more she appeased my aching 
 heart. And I found, Moses, that the 
 more she appealed to my senses the 
 easier it was for me to endure my sin; 
 and I found myself closer to the Al- 
 mighty. And if you were to offer me 
 a half a million, Moses, I would not 
 exchange it for that knowledge; for 
 that knowledge bears interest at twenty 
 per cent, at thirty per cent, at one 
 hundred per cent; and the interest is 
 children and children's children. One 
 can be unhappy with a half a million, 
 but one cannot be unhappy with the 
 knowledge that the love of the iBesh 
 is not like serving the devil when man 
 
138 Rabbi Esra 
 
 goes the path marked out for him by 
 the Lord who created two people for 
 each other who are aUke physically 
 and spiritually. 
 
 '*And I beat my breast and cried: 
 'Lord, I have heard Thy secret counsel. 
 Thou confusest the wiseman in his 
 cunning, and makest him to walk and 
 grope about at midday as in the dark- 
 ness of the night ! ' And then I went 
 and searched for a wife with the use 
 of all my senses; and I found Sarah, 
 beautiful as the newborn earth, and 
 she became your mother. I tested her 
 heart, and I found that her heart was 
 the brother of my heart. And on our 
 wedding night, Moses, the night to 
 which you thank your existence, I 
 found that her bodv was the mate of 
 my body; and I praised the Lord, 
 Whose spirit does not lie. Whose truth 
 is visible in His work." 
 
 Rabbi Esra wiped his brow and 
 breathed deeply. Moses, his head low- 
 ered, crept away. 
 
 19 
 
This volume preserved 
 with funding from the 
 National Endowment for 
 the Humanitj -hi, 1990. 
 
<^03n?Mc^7t,