Bertha Garlan Part 21

"Don't forget me completely,

"Your

"EMIL."

When she had finished reading the letter she was quite calm; she paid the commissionaire the fee he demanded and found that, for a person in her circ.u.mstances, it was by no means insignificant. Then she sat down at the table and tried to collect her thoughts. She realized immediately that she could no longer remain in Vienna, and her only regret was that there was no train which could take her home at once. On the table stood the half empty bottle of wine, bread crumbs were scattered beside the plate, on the bed lay her spring jacket, beside it were the flowers which he had sent her that very morning.

What could it all mean? Was it at an end?

Indistinctly, but so that it seemed that it must bear some relation to her recent experiences, there occurred to her a sentence which she had once read. It was about men who desire nothing more than "to attain their object..." But she had always considered that to be a phrase of the novelists. But, after all, it was surely not a letter of farewell that she was holding in her hand, was it?... Was it really not a letter of farewell? Might not these kind words be also lies?... Also lies--that was it!... For the first time the positive word forced itself into her thoughts.... Lies!... Then it was certain that, when he brought her home the previous night, he had already made up his mind not to see her again.

And the appointment for the present day and his desire to see her again that day were lies....

She went over the events of the previous evening in her mind, and she asked herself what could she have said or done to put him out of humour or disappoint him.... Really, it had all been so beautiful, and Emil had seemed so happy, just as happy as she had been ... was all that going to prove to have been a lie too?... How could she tell?... Perhaps, after all, she had put him out of humour without being aware that she was doing so.... She had, indeed, been nothing more or less than a good woman all her life.... Who could say whether she had not been guilty of something clumsy or stupid?... whether she had not been ludicrous and repellent in some moment when she had believed herself to be sacrificing, tender, enchanted and enchanting?... But what did she know of all these things?... And, all at once, she felt something almost in the nature of repentance that she had set out upon her adventure so utterly unprepared, that, until the previous day, she had been so chaste and good, that she had not had other lovers before Emil.... Then she remembered, too, that he had evaded her shy questions and requests on the subject of his violin playing, as if he had not wanted to admit her into that sphere of his life. He had thus remained strange to her, intentionally strange, so far as concerned the very things which were of the deepest and most vital importance to him. All at once she realized that she had no more in common with him than the pleasures of a night, and that the present morning had found them both as far apart from one another as they had been during all the years in which they had each led a separate existence.

And then jealousy again flared up within her.... But she felt as though she was always thus, as though every conceivable emotion had always been present within her ... love and distrust, and hope and penitence, and yearning and jealousy ... and, for the first time in her life, she was so stirred, even to the very depths of her soul, that she understood those who in their despair have hurled themselves out of a window to meet their death.... And she perceived that the present state of affairs was impossible, that only certainty could be of any avail to her.... She must go to him and ask him ... but she must ask in the manner of one who is holding a knife to another's breast....

She hurried away through the streets, which were almost deserted, as though all Vienna had gone off into the country.... But would she find him at home?... Would he not, perhaps, have had a presentiment that the idea might come to her to seek him, to take him to task, and would he not have taken steps to evade the chance of such an occurrence?... She was ashamed of having had to think of that, too.... And if he was at home would she find him alone?... And if he was not alone, would she be admitted into his house?

And if she found him in the arms of some other woman, what should she say?... Had he promised her anything? Had he sworn to be true to her? Had she even so much as demanded loyalty of him? How could she have imagined that he was waiting for her here in Vienna until she congratulated him on his Spanish Order?... Yes, could he not say to her: "You have thrown yourself on my neck and have desired nothing more than that I should take you as you are...." And if she asked herself--was he not right?... Had she not come to Vienna to be his beloved?--and for no other reason ... without any regard to the past, without any guarantee as to the future?... Yes, that was all she had come for! All other hopes and wishes had only transiently hovered around her pa.s.sion, and she did not deserve anything better than that which had happened to her.... And if she was candid to herself, she must also admit that of all that she had experienced this had still been the best....

She stopped at a street corner. All was quiet around her; the summer air about her was heavy and sultry. She retraced her steps back to her hotel.

She was very tired, and a new thought rose up convulsively within her: was it not possible that he had written to put her off only because he also was tired?... She seemed to herself very experienced when that idea occurred to her.... And yet another thought flashed through her mind: that he could also love no other woman in the way in which he had loved her.... And suddenly she asked whether, after all, the previous night would remain her only experience--whether she herself would belong to no other man save him? And she rejoiced in the doubt, as if, by cherishing it, she was taking a kind of revenge on his compa.s.sionate glance and mocking lips.

And now she was back again in the cheerless room away up in the third storey of the hotel. The remains of her dinner had not yet been cleared away. Her jacket and the flowers were still lying on the bed. She took the flowers in her hand and raised them to her lips, as though about to kiss them. Suddenly, however, as though her whole anger burst forth again, she flung them violently to the ground. Then she threw herself on the bed, her face buried in her hands.

After lying for some time in this position she felt her calmness gradually returning. It was perhaps just as well that she could return home that very day. She thought of her boy, how he was accustomed to lie in his little cot with his whole face beaming with laughter, if his mother leaned over the railings. She yearned for him. Also she yearned in some slight degree for Elly and for Frau Rupius. Yes, it was true--Frau Rupius, of course, was going to leave her husband.... What could there be at the bottom of it all?... A love affair?... But, strangely enough, she was now still less able than before to picture to herself the answer to that question.

It was growing late, it was time for her to get ready for her departure.... So, then, she would be home again by Sunday evening.

She sat in the carriage; on her lap lay the flowers, which she had picked up from the floor.... Yes, she was now travelling home, leaving the town where she ... had experienced something--that was the right expression, wasn't it?... Words which she had read or heard in connexion with similar circ.u.mstances kept recurring continually to her mind ... such words as: "bliss" ... "transports of love" ... "ecstasy"

... and a gentle thrill of pride stirred within her at having experienced what those words denoted. And yet another thought came to her which caused her to grow singularly calm: if he also--maybe--had an affair with another woman at that very time ... she had taken him from _her_ ... not for long indeed, but yet as completely as it was possible to take a man from a woman. She grew calmer and calmer, almost cheerful.

It was, indeed, clear to her that she, Bertha, the inexperienced woman, could not, with one a.s.sault, completely obtain possession of her beloved.... But might she not be successful on a second occasion, she wondered? She was very glad that she had not carried out her determination to hasten to him at once. Indeed, she even formed the intention of writing him such a cold letter that he would fall into a mild fit of anger; she would be coquettish, subtle.... But she must have him again ... of that she was certain ... soon, and, if possible, forever!... And so her dreams went on and on as the train carried her homewards.... Ever bolder they grew as the humming of the wheels grew deeper and deeper, lulling her into a semi-slumberous state.

On her arrival she found the little town buried in a deep sleep--she reached home and told the maidservant to fetch Fritz from her sister-in-law's the first thing in the morning. Then she slowly undressed herself. Her glance fell on the portrait of her dead husband, which hung over the bed. She asked herself whether it should remain in that position. Then the thought occurred to her that there are some women who come from their lovers and then are able to sleep by the side of their husbands, and she shuddered.... She could never have done such a thing while her husband had been alive!... And, if she _had_ done it, she would never have returned home again....

IX

The next morning Bertha was wakened by Fritz. He had jumped on to her bed and had breathed softly on her eyelids. Bertha sat up, embraced and kissed him, and he immediately began to tell her how well he had fared with his uncle and aunt, how Elly had played with him, and how Richard had once had a fight with him without being able to beat him. On the previous day, too, he had learned to play the piano, and would soon be as clever at it as mamma.

Bertha was content just to listen to him.

"If only Emil could hear his sweet prattle now!" she thought.

She considered whether, on the next occasion, she should not take Fritz with her to Vienna to see Emil, by doing which she would at once remove anything of a suspicious nature in such a visit.

She thought only of the pleasant side of her experiences in Vienna, and of the letters which Emil had written to put her off scarcely anything remained in her memory, other than those words which had reference to a future meeting.

She got up in an almost cheerful frame of mind and, whilst she was dressing herself, she felt a quite new tenderness for her own body, which still seemed to her to be fragrant with the kisses of her beloved.

While the morning was yet young, she went to call on her relations. As she walked by the house of Herr Rupius she deliberated for a moment whether she should not go up and see him there and then. But she had a vague fear of being immediately involved again in the agitated atmosphere of the household, and she deferred the visit until the afternoon.

At her brother-in-law's house Elly was the first to meet her, and she welcomed her as boisterously as if Bertha had returned from a long journey. Her brother-in-law, who was on the point of going out, jestingly shook a threatening finger at Bertha and said:

"Well, have you had a good time?"

Bertha felt herself blushing crimson.

"Yes," he continued; "these are pretty stories that we hear about you!"

He did not, however, notice her embarra.s.sment and, as he went out of the door, greeted her with a glance which plainly meant: "You can't keep your secrets from me."

"Father is always making jokes like that," said Elly. "I don't like him doing that at all!"

Bertha knew that her brother-in-law had only been talking at random, as his usual manner was, and that, if she had told him the truth, he would not have believed her for a moment.

Her sister-in-law came into the room, and Bertha had to relate all about her stay in Vienna.

To her own surprise she succeeded very well in cleverly blending truth with fiction. She told how she had been with her cousin to the public gardens and the picture gallery; on Sunday she had heard Ma.s.s at St.

Stephen's Church; she had met in the street a teacher from the Conservatoire; and finally she even invented a funny married couple, whom she represented as having had supper one evening at her cousin's. The further she proceeded with her lies, the greater was her desire to tell all about Emil as well, and to inform them how she had met in the street the celebrated violinist Lindbach, who had formerly been with her at the Conservatoire, and how she had had a conversation with him. But a vague fear of not being able to stop at the right time caused her to refrain from making any reference to him.

Frau Albertine Garlan sat on the sofa in an att.i.tude of profound la.s.situde, and nodded her head. Elly stood, as usual, by the piano, her head resting on her hands, and she gazed open-eyed at her aunt.

From her sister-in-law's Bertha went on to the Mahlmanns' and gave the twins their music lesson. The finger exercises and scales which she had to hear were at first intolerable to her, but finally she ceased to listen to them at all, and let her thoughts wander at will. The cheerful mood of the morning had vanished, Vienna seemed to her to be infinitely distant, a strange feeling of disquietude came over her and suddenly the fear seized her that Emil might go away immediately after his concert.

That would indeed be terrible! He might go away all of a sudden without her having seen him once more--and who could say when he would return?

She wondered whether it would not be well to arrange to be in Vienna in any case on the day of the concert. She had to admit to herself that she had not: the slightest longing to hear him play. Indeed, it seemed to her that she would not in the least mind if he was not a violin virtuoso at all, if he was not even an artist, but just an ordinary kind of man--a bookseller, or something like that! If she could only have him for herself, for herself alone!...

Meanwhile the twins played through their scales. It was surely a terrible doom to have to sit there and give these untalented brats music lessons.

How was it that she had been in good spirits only just a little earlier that day?...

Ah, those beautiful days in Vienna! Quite irrespective of Emil--the entire freedom, the sauntering about the streets, the walks in the public gardens.... To be sure, she had spent more money during her stay than she could afford; two dozen lessons to the Mahlmann twins would not recoup her the outlay.... And now, here she had to come back again to her relations, to give music lessons, and really it might even be necessary to look about for fresh pupils, for her accounts would not balance at all that year!... Ah, what a life!...

In the street Bertha met Frau Martin, who asked her how she had enjoyed herself in Vienna. At the same time she threw Bertha a glance which clearly said:

"I'm quite sure you don't enjoy life so much as I do with my husband!"

Bertha had an overwhelming desire to shriek in that person's face:

"I have had a much better time than you think! I have been with an enchanting young man who is a thousand times more charming than your husband! And I understand how to enjoy life quite as well as you do! You have only a husband, but I have a lover!--a lover!--a lover!"...

Yet, of course, she said nothing of the kind, but related how she had gone with her cousin and the children for a walk in the public gardens.

Bertha also met with some other ladies with whom she was superficially acquainted. She felt that her mental att.i.tude towards those ladies had undergone a complete change since her visit to Vienna--that she was freer, superior. It seemed to her that she was the only woman in the town with any experience, and she was almost sorry that n.o.body knew anything about it, for although, publicly, they would have despised her, in their hearts all those women would have been filled with unutterable envy of her.