THE
8
March, 1911
MASSES
stand you're a trifle bored at K r a k o w i t z . It's a bit lonely—and your father kicks up a row with all the neighbors. B u t if you would consent to marry. A woman like you need only crook her little finger." " O h , nonsense! Empty words. W h o would want me? D o you know anybody who wants me?" M y heart beat frightfully. I didn't mean to say it—it was madness—but there! I had said it. I told her I wanted to prove to her that I for my part was not talking empty words—or something of the sort. Because even then I could not screw up my courage—God knows—to make regular love to her. She shut her eyes and heaved a deep sigh. Then she took hold of my arm and said : "Before you leave, Baron, I want to confess something, so that you should not be under a wholly wrong impression. M y father and mother are not asleep. W h e n they heard your carriage coming up the drive, they locked themselves in their room—that is, mother did not want to, but father forced her to. O u r being here together is a preconcerted plan. I was to turn your head, so that you should ask me in marriage. Ever since you were first here both of them, both father and mother, have been tormenting me. father with threats, mother with begging, not to let the chance slip, because an eligible party like you would never turn up again. Baron, forgive me. I didn't want to. E v e n i f I had loved you, oh, ever so much, that would have disgusted me with you. But now, after I have lifted that bur den from my conscience, now I am willing. If you want me, take me. I am yours." Gentlemen, put yourself in my place. A beau tiful young woman, a piece of Venus, throwing herself at me from pride and despair, and I, a good, corpulent gentleman at the end of the forties. W a s it not a sort of sacrilege to snatch up and carry off a bit of good fortune like that ? "Iolanthe," I said, "Iolanthe, dear, sweet child, do you know what you're doing ?" "I know," she replied, and smiled a woebegone smile. " I am lowering myself before God, be fore myself, and before you. I ' m making myself your slave, your creature, and I am deceiving you at the same time." " Y o u cannot even bear me, can you?" I asked. A t that she made the same old light-blue eyes of innocence, and said very softly and senti mentally : "You're the best, the noblest man in the world. I could love you—I could idolize you, but—" "But?" " O h , it's all so hideous—so impure. Just say you don't want me—just throw me over—I don't deserve anything better." I felt as i f the world were turning in a circle. I had to summon my last remnant of reason not to clutch the lovely, passionate creature straight to my breast. A n d with that last remnant o i reason I said: " F a r be it from me, dear child, to turn the excitement of this moment to m y profit. Y o u might regret it tomorrow when it would be too late. I will wait a week. T h i n k it all over in that time. I f by the end of the week you have not written to take back your word, I ' l l consider the matter settled, and I'll present myself to your father and mother to ask for your hand. But weigh everything carefully, so that you don't run into unhappiness." She seized my hand—this awful, fat, horny, brown hand, gentlemen, and before I could pre vent her, kissed it. It was not till much, much later that I realized the meaning of that kiss. A s soon as we had crawled out of the arbor, following her, we heard the old gentleman screaming from a distance: "Is it possible? Hanckel—my friend Hanckel (Continued on page 18) (
"When she put her arm in mine I began to tremble" "Thinking—what's the good of thinking? I'm tired—I want to sleep." "Then sleep." "But you must sleep, too," she said. " V e r y well. I ' l l sleep, too." I half stretched myself out on the bench op posite her. "But you must shut your eyes," she com manded again. I obediently shut my eyes. I saw suns and light-green wheels and sheaves of fire the whole time—saw them the whole time. That comes when your blood is stirred up. A n d every now and then I'd say to myself : "Hanckel, you're making a fool of yourself." It was so quiet I could hear the little bugs crawling on the leaves. Even Iolanthe's breath ing had ceased to be audible. " Y o u must see what she's doing," 1 thought, at the same time hoping to be able to admire her to my heart's content as she lay there in her glory. But when I furtively opened my eyes the least little bit, I saw—and, gentlemen, fright sent a cold shiver through me to the very tips of my toes—I saw her eyes fixed on me in a wide, wild stare, in a sort of a spying frenzy, I may say. "But, Iolanthe, dear child," I said, "why are you looking at me that way? What have I done to you ?" She jumped to her feet as i f startled out of a dream, wiped her forehead and cheeks, and
tried to laugh—two or three times—short, abrupt little laughs like before—and then she burst into tears, and cried and cried. I got up quickly and stood in front of her. I should have liked to put my hand on her head, but I lacked the courage. I asked her if something was troubling her and whether she would not confide in me, and so on. " O h , I'm the most miserable creature on earth," she sobbed. "But w h y ? " "I want to do something—something horrible —and I'm afraid to." " W e l l , well, what is it?" "I can't tell y o u ! I can't tell y o u ! " That was all I could get out of her, though 1 did my best to persuade her to confide more in me. Gradually her expression changed and grew gloomier and more set. A n d finally she said in a suppressed voice as i f to herself : "I want to go away—I want to run away." "Good L o r d , with whom ?" I asked, completely taken aback. She shrugged her shoulders. " W i t h whom? Nobody. There's nobody here who takes up for me—not even the shepherd boy. But I must go away. I'm choking here—I have nothing to hope for here. I'm going to ruin. A n d since nobody comes to take me away, I'm going to go off by myself." "But, my dear young lady," I said, " I under -
