The Song Of Songs Part 115

Konrad's right hand, which had been gliding ceaselessly from her forehead to the nape of her neck, for an instant pressed her head painfully as if to fetch strength for the approaching life struggle from closer contact.

"That will be all right, too," he said and smiled again.

A little while later she lay at his side in the narrow bed, the edge of which cut her body. She put her head under his shoulder, and with both arms clasped his body, as always in her distress when she sought protection with him.

But this time she slept, and he kept watch.

CHAPTER XIX

Mrs. Laue was not a little astonished when one day her former tenant, the _grande dame_, appeared at her door in an ill-fitting alpaca suit and a sailor hat, trimmed with a green band, begging for admittance.

The young lady tenant of the year had just been married, and the best room was vacant.

Thus, it came about that Mrs. Laue's red plush furniture once more cast a fiery glow upon Lilly's life.

The photographs of famous mimes smirked upon her patronisingly. And while performing her morning toilet, she was admonished:

To keep your body clean, be sure To have your conscience just as pure.

The way Konrad looked out for her was touching. He instantly drew all his money from the bank, five hundred marks, and himself went to buy an outfit for her, since she could not appear on the street in the garments she had worn when she had come to him.

He had let the salesladies persuade him into buying the absurdest things. Lilly would have split her sides laughing over them, if they had not represented a goodly portion of his money.

The shoddy dress struck her as a temporary masquerade; and nothing in the world would have induced her to wear it outside the house.

Mrs. Laue shook her head dubiously.

"When you moved away from here four years ago, you had the finest gowns and brooches and bracelets and all sorts of things; and now you come back in rags. It seems to me you're on the wrong road, Lilly dear."

Konrad found as little favour in Mrs. Laue's eyes.

"He's too young for you, and not stylish enough. Maybe he has ideal sentiments--if he hadn't he would snap his fingers at you. But I tell you, ideal sentiments always go hand in hand with trouble."

Lilly thought the old woman's chatter abominable. But for lack of something better to do during the daytime--Konrad was busy and could not come until evening--she again took to pasting flowers in Mrs. Laue's company. Occasionally it seemed to her she had never gone away from her.

Lilly had written to Adele the very first day, without, of course, mentioning her address. She told her not to be troubled by her absence, and to attend to the apartment as usual until Mr. Dehnicke's return.

It was more difficult to pen her farewell to her old friend. She said nothing of Konrad. For the present her engagement was to be kept a secret. She gave as the sole cause for her flight her irresistible desire at last to live a different life. She also referred to her wish not to stand in the way of his future, and wound up with cordial words, which robbed separation of its bitterness.

When she read the letter over, she felt a genuine pang, at which she was a bit ashamed.

The days pa.s.sed.

The new life that had been the dream of her dreams for years had begun, freighted with boundless confidence, such as she had not ventured to hope for in her wildest fancyings.

With her sins washed away, redeemed, reborn, she stepped back into virtuous society at the side of the beloved man, whom only a few days before, it would have been arrogance, sacrilege to wish to possess.

Who would have believed it?

And yet Lilly was unable to attain to perfect enjoyment of her unspeakable happiness.

No matter how often she told herself it was nothing but a transition period, soon to pa.s.s, the misery of her old quarters, the poor-peoples'

odour, the spiritual mustiness that pervaded the place, bad food, the lack of suitable clothes, money and service, all this worked upon her sufficiently to delude her into the belief that instead of rising to new honours, she was suddenly sinking from splendour and brilliance to a dull, dead level.

No matter that she found fault with herself for this ungrateful frame of mind, the fact was, the feeling was there, and she could not dismiss it.

And how account for it that five years before when she had descended from the genuine heights of life, delicately nurtured, a spoiled darling, accustomed to luxury and attention, such as is granted to few persons in the world, she had scarcely suffered from the wretchedness of these surroundings? In fact, though utterly without prospects, she had felt tolerably secure. But now that the idle comfort of a vapid existence fortunately lay behind her, and her beloved walked by her side ready to throw open the gates to a happiness she had never divined, she was unable to breathe among the red plush chairs. Trifles annoyed her, and she hankered for a bathroom and a hairdresser.

Something must have departed from her during those years. She thought and thought, but failed to discover what it was.

Added to all these troubles was her worry over Konrad's condition.

Whenever her soul conjured up his image, her heart throbbed with mingled sensations--secret pangs of conscience, longings for atonement, reproaches, not to be stilled, of herself and--why conceal it?--of Konrad also.

Her yearning for him no longer had a quality of joyousness; and yet, she was ever expectant of a letter from him by the pneumatic tube.

If he wrote, he said too little; and if he sent no message at all she felt angry, though she well knew he had not a second to spare for her during the day, and was drudging as never before in his life.

He would come at last between eight and nine in the evening; and then loaded with papers and books. He had ma.n.u.scripts to read, proofs to look over, and letters to answer. He scarcely took time to eat, and while he s.n.a.t.c.hed a few bites, troubled recollections of things he had forgotten during the day kept flashing up in his hara.s.sed brain.

There was no thought of amorous nights. As a rule Konrad fell asleep in the midst of work.

As he reclined there in the corner of the sofa, Lilly could appreciate how tired and worn he was. He no longer cared for his person. His clothes hung on him impressed, and in place of the velvety sheen on his cheeks, which had been her delight, she saw dark boils and coa.r.s.e stubble.

She would have given a great deal to learn what he thought of her in the depths of his soul. But she could extract nothing from him. He remained mute, with glowing eyes, and lips tightly compressed.

Certainly she had no right to doubt him. She knew that he spent every spare minute trying to arrange for their life in the future.

In Buenos Ayres the position of a high school teacher of German was vacant; the same in Caracas; and he could even become a university professor, though of course on the other side of the Atlantic. All he needed to do was present a few letters of recommendation from well-known professors.

Such efforts, however, were necessary only in case his uncle refused his consent to Konrad's marriage with Lilly, and dropped his disobedient heir.

If he said yes, if he furnished the means for their household, they could live aloof from the world wherever they wished, wherever conditions were best adapted for the precious work.

Konrad had immediately written to his uncle about his engagement, and told of Lilly's past in the most touching words. He had not concealed the stains on her life, but he brought out strongly her fine qualities, the virginity of her soul, her n.o.bility, her rich intellectual endowments, the number of her ideal interests.

After he had sent off the letter, he read to Lilly a few pa.s.sages from the draught of it. It was a bold doc.u.ment of revolutionary ideas.

"I know that _I_ and you, too, are raised above the narrow conventions of philistinism, above the merciless judgments of social court-martials, above a Pharisaism which const.i.tutes itself the watchdog of morality, and which with its code of formal, pedantic family relationships knocks to the ground all aspirations for free, high-minded conduct. You have lived in many parts of the world, and you have learned to know how mutable moral laws are everywhere, how hollow the pretence of regarding each as the sole G.o.d-ordained dogma, you know the sly, hypocritical paths and by-ways by which one manages to escape their tyranny, and you know that in the province of ethics there is only one thing which commands respect and admiration: the will to _kallokagathia_, to that form of life in which the n.o.blemen of all times combined the beautiful with the good. Yes, beautiful and good. That is what Lilly is, her aspirations, and sufferings."

How glorious!

Who could be dull enough to resist such words?