A whole year passed in this way, and I believe without doubt that I was truly happy. A dull sense of fear, however, had gradually got hold of me. No more did I sit down to my books when the children lay asleep, as my habit had been, but sat crouched in a corner, brooding over thoughts that would be ignored no longer.
"What would be the end of it all?"
I shuddered when I remembered the strange, sad looks he gave me sometimes. Would it be possible to carry our friendship unsullied through the flames of passion? And then the question rose again, which I had believed to have silenced for ever, with many a beautiful phrase—the question of all Philistines!
"Why does he not marry me? Why not?"
On account of my poverty, and my humble station in life! But could such things come into consideration if a man loved a woman truly? And love me he did, or else how could I account for the interest he took in me, and for his ever ready and never failing devotion? I tried to find something similar among the girls I knew. There was, however, nothing similar. Whenever they touched upon matters of the heart, they smiled a cunning little smile that only disgusted me, but never made me any the wiser.
My poems began to be of a meditative, doleful, over-subtle nature, and he, round whose figure revolved all my dreams, my thoughts, my verses, criticized and corrected the lines, that held all the unspeakable woe and longing of my soul, criticized and corrected them with an odd smile on his face sometimes, and with looks grave, sad, far away, at other times. And then there came nights which brought no slumber to me; nights when I lay awake till daybreak,asking myself that one dull, torturing question, over and over again, until at last its answer flashed quick as lightning into my brain....
One day when we met again, he said:
"I am not quite satisfied with your progress."
"What do you mean?"
"Simply that you are treating one subject in your poems over and over again. That is, of course, not in the least surprising, since you limit your experience of people and their ways to one place only."
My heart beat faster, but I succeeded in hiding my emotion, and answered with some hesitation:
"I, too, have thought of that already." And then I added still more hesitatingly: "And I should like to go away."
We looked at each other now and knew that we lied; but the redeeming words that were in heart and throat died away before the feigned indifference on our faces.
"Where to?" he asked at last.
But I shrank back now—the die was aboutto be cast; all the dog-like attachment and faithfulness of my sex broke loose, all the ardent desire of happiness that had been waiting quietly and submissively for so long stood up, every beat of my heart, every thought of my brain said "No." The minutes passed and I made no answer; testing, like a sounding lead, his looks searched my soul, and all at once I saw how his lips twisted, and there it was again, the old malicious smile that I had grown to hate and fear so much. I never understood it before, but comprehended it now all in a moment. He did not consider me strong enough to part from him; more, he considered no woman strong enough to part from the man she happened to love; nay, more, he despised every woman, every girl that lived, and, knowing that, I knew also, that not even an atom of his soul belonged to me so far, that the battle which I had taken up instinctively, as it were, was not yet by any means won.
"Where to!" he asked again.
With the quick instinct of someone hunted I realized my position, and now I smiled inspite of the tears that sprang up behind my eyelids.
"To England."
"Why to England?"
"Because I speak a little English and should like to know it perfectly."
"Do you know anybody in London?"
"No; that, however, matters little; all that matters is the money for the journey."
After that he grew very grave and was silent for a long while.
"You know," he said at last, "that you have a friend."
A few days after that conversation I fell ill with inflammation of the lungs, and had to spend several weeks in the hospital. At last when I had recovered the doctor told me that I was not strong enough for a situation, but needed careful nursing and entire rest in order to effect a complete recovery.
"Could you not go home for some time?" my mistress asked me.
"Where was my home?" I thought to myself.
But far too proud to tell her, I agreed, and left Buda-Pesth behind me for the second time.
My parents had moved to Vienna in the meantime. They had not told me much about the change, and in my heart of hearts I wondered what the new shop and the new lodging would be like. When I arrived there, however, I became very down-hearted. It was a picture of misery and desolation. The shop was very small and almost empty, and the lodging consisted of a single room that contained nothing but a little iron stove, one or two beds, a table, and a chair. Moreover, being underground, it received but little air and light. My father was alone at home, and after having greeted him I asked for my mother. He told me that she had taken a place as charwoman, and would not be in before eight o'clock in the evening. Without taking off my hat or my jacket, I sat down on one of the beds and listened silently to all that my father said. I had heard the same over and over again, and now I listened to it once more.
"Do you think that you will have room for me?" I asked at last.
"Of course," he replied; "but you will have to sleep in one bed with the children."
"Where are the children?"
"Out making money."
"How?"
"They are selling papers."
"As soon as I feel better I will work too."
"The main point is that you should be well again."
I looked round the small, badly-aired room.
"I am afraid I shall never get well here."
"Since mother is away from home all day long, I am doing the cooking," he said; "and I think a cup of coffee will do you good."
After that he broke some brushwood across his knees, and laid the fire in the stove. But as soon as he had put a match to the stove it began to smoke terribly.
"That's only from the draught," my father said apologetically; "it will soon pass off."
And so it did, but not before the whole room was clouded.
My eyes smarted and my throat felt sore, butI said nothing, and drank the coffee that my father handed me in a cracked cup. I thought of my brother, and could not understand how it was that he gave them no help.
"Where is he?" I asked aloud.
"Who?"
"Charlie."
At that my father grew very sad.
"It is very unfortunate," he replied, "but he has been out of work for sometime."
"Where is he?"
"He is living with us of course."
I looked round the room again, and my father, who guessed my thoughts, shrugged his shoulders.
"It can't be helped; it must do for us."
Later on my mother came in with the children, who, after having sold their papers, had watched for her at the house where she did her work.
When the scanty supper was over, and it grew late, my brother arrived. I was greatly shocked. He had changed completely. His face looked pale and haggard, black circles werearound his eyes, his hair hung wildly over his forehead, his figure was lean, and his movements had lost all their former gracefulness.
I controlled as well as I could the effect which this sad sight had produced upon me, and shook hands with him.
"I am afraid," he said, with the same touch of cynicism in his voice which I had noticed whenever he had spoken to me before—"I am afraid that you won't very much enjoy staying with us."
"As soon as I have recovered," I answered, "I will put everything in order."
"Put everything in order," my brother shouted, shaking with laughter; "do you really think that this man"—he pointed to my father—"would ever allow such a thing? Let me tell you that your honourable papa is extremely fond of dirt."
For the second time in my life I saw the vein of wrath swell on my father's forehead.
"Stop it!" he shouted; "do you hear?"
"Yes," my brother replied, and made himself ready to fight.
I sprang to my feet and placed myself with clasped hands before my father.
"Pray do not listen to what he says," I cried between my tears and sobs; "you know that I do not believe a single word of it."
"For your sake," my father replied; then his clenched fists dropped and he left the room hurriedly.
"He is, of course, acting the offended part now," my brother continued in the same scornful way as before, "and I hope for goodness' sake that you will not be influenced by this comedian and feel pity, which would be ill-placed in his case. You have been away these last years and have had no opportunity to get to know him fully. I, however, see through his game, and so will you after you have spent some time at home. At present you may see in me a scoundrel or something near to it, but I can assure you that although circumstances compel me to live under the same roof with these common people, I am still the gentleman that I was before. Schiller says somewhere in his dramas, a jewel remains a jewel even should ithappen to get mixed up with dung. As it is, I am a man whom life has cruelly disappointed only because his ideals were too fine and his dreams touched heaven. It is true that I am perhaps one of the most questionable creatures to-day, but wait for half a year, or say a year—my head is filled with ideas which will, when worked out, affect like an explosion our entire code of laws, together with the whole life as we conceive it to-day. Outwardly I am a waiter, a rogue, or whatever you like, but inwardly I am at work on a kingdom for millions of beings who now toil away half-starved in obscurity—and that kingdom of mine holds a crown for everyone."
"It strikes me that you should first have one for yourself," I said.
My brother shrugged his shoulders.
"I can scarcely expect you to understand my point, since you are still too much swallowed up by the mud of your origin, and therefore utterly incapable of following my ideas. The great doctrine of reincarnation is all Greek to you, and you can hardly see that according to its teachingI am your brother only by chance. As little do you dream that most probably I have been a powerful conqueror, or creator of kingdoms, centuries ago. My great hope of being proud of you some day has, alas, proved to be as fictitious as all my other hopes have proved themselves to be, and I must now alone—great men have ever stood alone—carry out my task."
My mother, who most probably was used to such speeches, had gone fast asleep on her chair, and I went out to see what had become of my father. I found him in a dingy-looking, badly-smelling courtyard, and begged him to come in. He went back into the room with me, and no further quarrels ensued that night. Later on my father and my brother prepared to go to sleep on the floor.
I had laid myself down on one of the torn mattresses, and had closed my eyes at once in order to make them believe that I had gone to sleep. As soon, however, as all were silent I sat up and looked round in wild despair. My mother, tired of her daily work, slept soundly, and I listened to her breathing for a while. ThenI glanced over to where my brother lay. He looked now even leaner and taller than before, and his face, all unguarded, showed such a strange expression of disappointment, woe, and pain, that for the moment I forgot his vanity, his brutality, his arrogance. A great pity sprang up within me for his early-spoiled youth, his strange, passionate nature lashing him, as it were, never granting him a second's rest nor reconciliation to his fate. He hated my father because he thought that bad management of the business had been the reason for all our misfortune. But he was wrong. I knew for a certainty that my father had given large credit to people who afterwards did not pay, and the natural consequence of it was that he himself became unable to pay for the goods he had received. Besides all that, there were the large number of children and other matters, which would have melted a bigger capital than my father had ever possessed. It is true that one might say there was no need for him to give credit to people who could or would not pay, but he was too generous and too good-heartedto refuse. Being himself a child of the poor, he understood the bitterness of want, and if he had given way too much to such feelings, he had, God knows, not escaped punishment.
I could not for a long time take my eyes from my father and my brother, who now slept so peacefully side by side as if an ill word had never passed between them.
My mother had to leave home very early next morning, and after the poor breakfast was over, my brother seated himself at the table and called my two little brothers to him.
"Come on, you lazy-bones; go and get your books!" he shouted, after which they produced a few dirty books from a corner. My brother then commenced the lesson with them; he was, however, very rude, and boxed their ears for trifling things. Once he gave the youngest a brutal kick, at which I sprang to my feet and, placing myself with clenched fists before him, said:
"Don't you touch him again!"
My brother fell into a terrible rage.
"That's the thanks I get from you, I guess,"he roared, "for spoiling my whole career in giving up my time to educate the boys, a thing which it is true you all consider superfluous. Do you believe that I can quietly see them grow up and become such rogues as I have become, only because I have had no education? Where are you, you dogs?" he shouted, turning to the table again.
But while he had been disputing with me the boys had run away.
"There you are," he said to me, "they are no more afraid of the devil than they are of books. Like sire, like son! The boys are not a bit better than their honourable begetter. However, I trust I shall be able to steady them yet, and will see who is the master here."
After he had for a while scolded and reproached me for my incomprehensible shortsightedness in taking the part of these miserable boys, he reached down a shabby felt hat and disappeared.
When he had left my father entered the room; I could see that he tried to avoid the company of my brother as much as possible.
"What are you going to do?" I asked him, because he was putting on a large blue overall.
"I am going to tidy the room, and after that I am going to cook."
He took a broom and began to sweep the floor. I would much rather have done it myself, but the weariness in my knees was so great that I could hardly stand up, so I remained seated on the edge of the bed and watched him silently. After a while I asked him:
"Have you thought over where I shall go to?"
"Well, the best thing for you to do would be to go into the country."
"But that must not come too expensive."
"You might go up to the mill. I saw uncle last week, and they would certainly be pleased to have you there for some time."
My joy was very great. I had not been there for so many years, and the thought of strolling once more through those lovely meadows filled me with delight.
"There is only one thing," my fathercontinued, scratching his head in some embarrassment, "the fare will amount to at least four to five shillings, but I must try and get the money somehow."
"That is not necessary; I have got as much myself."
"Well, then there are no further difficulties, and if you will tell me when you want to go I will write immediately."
I should have liked best to go at once, but since I did not want to arrive there unexpectedly, I decided to stay at home for a week. During that week I suffered terribly. The violent scenes between my father and my brother drove me almost mad with anxiety and fear. I hailed the day of my departure with the greatest joy, and spent five quiet weeks with the very aged relations of my mother.
The pure, lovely air, together with the sunshine and the wonderful tranquillity all around, soon made me feel better, and I was able to walk again without pains in my knees. As soon as I felt better I asked myself: "Whatnow?" The thought of remaining at home was unbearable to me, and yet I considered it to be my duty to stand by my parents in their troubles. I turned the question over and over again in my mind, but much as I thought and much as I reasoned, there was no way out. "I must stay at home," I said to myself, "to work for them, and the sooner I begin the better for us all."
With that resolution I returned to Vienna. The conditions of my parents were, of course, still the same, and I was very anxious to find work in order to contribute to our livelihood. After looking about for some time, I obtained a situation during the afternoons to look after a boy of nine years of age, whose mother had come over from America and intended to stay in Vienna until January.
But bravely as I worked, and much as I tried to feel happy and contented, I was far from being so. The common misery, and more than that the quarrels between my father and my brother which were ever sought for by the latter, affected me greatly, and my scarcelyrecovered health began to fail again. When I came home in the evening I used to sit down at the small window and stare out in the little courtyard, which was surrounded by a grey, massive wall, at the top of which, looking like a roof, hung a piece of sky.
It happened many times that I still sat there after the courtyard wall and sky had long become invisible, and a single lonesome gas-jet timidly streamed forth its cool, pale, trembling rays through the darkness.
But when I knew myself alone, I burst into tears—into those tears which, in spite of all their bitterness, soothe and relieve.
My mother often looked at me with sorrowful, troubled eyes, but the only answer I made to her silent questions was a woeful little smile.
"What could I have told her?" She did not know that another thing tortured me besides the misery of poverty that we all shared. She did not know him, nor would she have understood it all. So I suffered on, and suffered inexpressibly. Now and again I received a letter from him—cool, formal lines, containingsometimes in a light, casual way the question, "What was I going to do?"
I read these notes a thousand times, hid them away like costly treasures, and reflected in a helpless, stupid manner on the wonderful endurance and submission of a girl's love. And once in the midst of these reflections I remembered suddenly the little story called "Morgan" which he had given me first to read—remembered the man full of restless desire, the dreamer, the idealist, the conqueror, the despiser, who was by the purity and virtue of a woman brought to acknowledge "love" at last. And whilst I yet pondered over it, my heart grew strangely calm.
"Mother," I said the same evening, "would it not be far the best if I went away again? I would, of course, send home my monthly wages, so there would be no difference in the money, and one less to feed."
My mother gave me a quick, uncertain glance, and said in a singular, hesitating manner: "You want to go back to Buda-Pesth, don't you?"
I felt my heart beat to my very throat, but my eyes, as they looked into hers, did not waver. "No," I answered, "I want to go to England."
At first it seemed that she was relieved from some secret fear, then her face looked the same again.
"Yes, it would be far the best," she replied, in the tired, tormented voice of those who had given up all hope.
When everyone had gone to sleep, I sat down to write to my friend. Trembling with excitement and haste, repeating the same thing over and over again, I asked him to send me the money to go to London. His answer arrived two days later—lines so full of tenderness, readiness, and devotion, that the tears thronged into my eyes. "Would I not arrange to see him before I went away?" he asked at the end. But of that I would not think. I knew the charm, the power of his eyes, and trembled for my victory so hardly won.
London, terrible, magnificent London, to my eyes like a huge monster, moving countless fangs in countless directions. I walked along, stunned, benumbed, dazzled as it were, with neither feeling nor thought, just shrinking a little when I saw the frail figure of a paper-boy slip through the mass of carriages and horses, risking his life a hundred times in order to catch a single copper. And yet, if he had been crushed by the wheels of a motor, or by the hoofs of a horse, would that have mattered? The wave of pleasure and corruption would rush onward, and only in a dingy little room a pale, ragged woman might grow still a shade paler if by the break of dawn her boy had not come home. And realizing that, somethingwithin me revolted; I thought of Him in whose honour we are reverently building altars of gold, burning incense, and all at once to me He lost His glory.
Was He not sleeping within a leafy bower, drunk, and forgetful of His World?
And was there nobody who dared to rouse and sober Him?
The next second I was myself again. A silken gown rustled, a silver horn whistled, and people next to me laughed. Feeling very tired and shivering with cold, I longed for shelter and rest. At last, after much asking and useless running here and there, I found a cheap German home for young girls. My limbs were trembling, and I could hardly stand when I was shown into the room of the directress. I remained on the threshold for a few minutes, so sweet and pleasing to me was the sight of that cosily furnished place. All was softness and luxury; a profusion of carpets, cushions, and easy chairs around a sparkling fire. On a little table there was a vase with fresh flowers, and in a cage near by a little yellow bird wasswinging to and fro. Next to the fire there sat an elderly lady, with shawls round her shoulders and shawls on her knees. I felt like sitting down, closing my eyes, and saying nothing. However, the lady told me not to sit down because my wet clothes might soil the covers or the cushions. So I remained standing, and answered her questions as precisely as I could.
"Is it a situation you want?"
"Yes."
"And to stay here while you are looking for something suitable?"
"Yes."
"You could hardly have found a better place than our worthy home, but before I regard you as one of its occupants, I must ask you if you have got sufficient money to last you for at least two months, in case you should find no situation before then. Our home is a most respectable home, and I could not think of taking in anybody with a doubtful character."
As my friend had not only sent me enough money for the journey, but also a larger sum for ordinary expenses, I told the directress thatmy money would last for the board, but in my heart of hearts I was determined not to stay there for two months.
After having settled everything to her satisfaction, she pressed a button, and ordered the entering servant to take me to my room. This time there was no need for me to fear that I might soil any covers or cushions. The room looked cold and grey, and seemed to be as damp and dreary as the foggy streets themselves. It contained a few wardrobes let into the wall, a few washstands, and eight beds.
"Are the beds all occupied?" I asked the maid.
"Of course," she replied, gazing at me with some surprise.
A little later the home filled with girls of all ages, and when the supper-bell rang, the dining-room was crowded with about two hundred girls. After supper, at which the girls were very noisy, we had to go into another room for prayer. On a footstool knelt the directress, with her eyes raised up devoutly to the ceiling. She began to recite a series of prayers, at theend of which we all sang a hymn. Then the directress folded her hands once more, and said:
"O Lord, take care of all the helpless young girls that are in London without shelter and protection" ("And without money," I thought to myself). "Guard their footsteps to prevent them from stumbling, and have mercy on those who have, alas! stumbled already. O most holy Lord, grant our humble prayers, enlighten the blind, and protect the defenceless. Amen."
She looked very sweet and dignified as she knelt there, with her white head bowed reverently, and lost in prayer as it seemed. After a little while she got up and walked out. The girls followed her, laughing and pushing each other; they went up to their bedrooms, and I now became acquainted with the other occupants of my room. I did not care for them. They laughed continually, telling one another shameless stories, and I knew from their conversation that they were mostly chamber-maids and had come from Switzerland.
"Have you only arrived to-day?" someone asked me.
I turned round to the speaker, and saw that she was a girl of my age. Without knowing exactly why, I asked myself whether she was pretty or not, and while I answered her, I thought about the question I had put to myself, and decided at last that she was pretty. She had large bright eyes and auburn hair; her face was well-shaped, yet there was something in it to which I could not get used. What it was, however, I could not tell. She asked me a few other questions, and I inquired whether it was possible for me to find a situation soon.
"What kind of situation do you want?"
"I don't at all mind," I answered.
"As you do not seem to be so very particular, I think you will find one easily."
Later on I noticed that she slept in the bed next to me. I liked her best of all the girls. When she got into bed she rubbed her hands with glycerine, that was all. The others took far more trouble in getting ready for the night. Midst laughing and joking they took off their false plaits, etc., and throwing the things on theirbeds, they began to dance about on them. At ten o'clock the light had to be put out, but the girls became none the quieter for that. They had so many things to tell each other, and several times, when I was on the point of going off to sleep, their laughter woke me again.
By-and-by, however, the stories grew shorter, their jokes less frequent, and at last they all slept the sound, peaceful sleep of heedlessness. Although the girls had not made a very good impression on me, I was glad to rest my tired limbs, and while I listened to their breathing, my soul filled with almost happy thoughts.
On the following morning we had to assemble again for prayer, and I noticed that they were different from those of the evening before. Each girl having received a Bible, we formed a circle. Then the directress began to read a passage out of the Bible, and we had in our turn to continue.
When it was my turn I read:
"And of the rest of the oil that is in his hand shall the priest put upon the tip of theright ear of him that is to be cleansed, and upon the thumb of his right hand, and upon the great-toe of his right foot, upon the blood of the trespass offering."
At the end the directress again prayed for the "poor helpless girls," and after that we were free for the day. As soon as I had got up from my knees, I went over to the directress and asked her to give me an address at which I might inquire for a situation. She motioned me to follow her. In her room she sat down, and looked at me thoughtfully.
"You want to look for a place already to-day, don't you?" she said. "I can quite understand that you are in some hurry; but, as I have agreed to take care of your soul, I cannot let such an earnest matter as this one pass without giving you a little motherly advice. So many girls arrive in London daily, who have left their homes in the sweetness and innocence of their youth, and who return home quite otherwise. Therefore I should like to know that you are prepared for all dangers which might threaten you. Will you promise to pray toGod to take care of you, to assist you, to counsel you, to lead you?"
I promised everything.
"There, then, are several addresses where you may try to find something suitable, and I only hope that you will be received into the bosom of a God-fearing family."
I thanked her very much for the slip of paper she had handed me, and, after I had left her, I sprang upstairs to get my hat and coat. Several of the girls were just putting on their hats, and asked me where I was going to. I told them, whereupon they replied that they wanted to go to the same place, and that I might come with them because they knew the way. Although I felt sincerely grateful for their offer, I was annoyed at the time they took to put on their hats. There was only one looking-glass in the room, and this the girls surrounded, adjusting their hats by the aid of hat-pins, of which they possessed incredible numbers. Whenever I thought that they had at last finished, they took off their hats again, declaring that they did not look their best to-day, and tried allmeans and ways to look it after all. I stood there waiting for them with my quiet little hat on my head and felt terribly impatient. I longed to find a situation in order to be able to leave the home. The others, it is true, did not seem to have a similar wish. Apparently they were quite contented, even happy, and cared little whether they got a situation or not. A fair girl who was so tall that she towered above the others had given a bold sweep to her great black transparent hat, and was now trying it on.
"Do you find it becoming like that?" she asked, after which she had to turn round and round, and was assured eventually that it was very becoming.
Just when I thought that she looked horrid, she turned to me and said:
"Hurry up, little one; we are almost ready."
"I have been ready for a long time," I answered in surprise.
But now it was her turn to be surprised.
"Surely you don't mean to go out like that?"
"Well, of course."
At that they all laughed, and, after having cooled down a little, one of the girls said:
"You don't seem to know London ways yet, and we shall have to do a little for you. In such clothes you will never get a situation; I can give you that by writing, my dear."
"But what am I to do?"
"Leave her alone," the fair girl intervened; "she who does not possess chic by nature will never acquire it."
The others seemed to agree with this, and said no more about me. When all of them had their hats on, they began to hunt in their trunks and bags for such things as a pair of gloves without holes, a handkerchief that was clean, and so forth.
At last they were ready to go, and I kept behind them in the street because I thought they were ashamed of me. The remark, however, that one of the girls had made—namely, "that she could give it to me by writing," that I would never find a post in such clothes—haunted and troubled me.
It was most important for me to find asituation as soon as possible if I did not want to ask for more money from my friend. And that I would not do. I had sent him a few cards during the journey, but was going to write him a long letter as soon as I knew how matters stood; and so full was I with that one thought that to-day I cared little for what went on around me. Only once when we went over a mighty bridge did I stop, and look enraptured at a swarm of greyish birds such as I had never seen before. They were sea-gulls.
After much wandering which made me very tired and recalled to my memory the old pains in my knees, the girls stopped at last in front of a beautiful house and entered gaily. I followed them into a large room, and on the benches and chairs there sat girls who apparently were also looking for situations. At a writing-desk an elderly lady and a young girl were sitting and writing diligently in large books which were placed in front of them.
The girls were called up one after the other, and after those who had been there when we arrived had gone, it was our turn.
The tall, fair girl went up first and sat down with affected dignity.
"What I want," she said to the inquiry of the elder lady, "Is a place where I should get enough spare-time to see my friends at and away from home; also I do not wish to have charge of more than one child, not older than twelve, and not younger than six years."
The younger lady at the desk put down the notes; but the elder one smiled politely, and said she was sorry, but there was nothing suitable at present. Shrugging her shoulders, my fair friend left the chair, and another of the girls explained what she wished to get, and what she did not wish to take. But she, too, was sent away with a polite phrase only. After they were all told that nothing suitable was to be had at present, they prepared to go, and went away together without giving me another look. I felt greatly relieved when they had gone; and because it was now my turn I stepped near the desk.
"I expect you have only just arrived."
"Yesterday."
"I am afraid you had a bad crossing, you look so pale."
I told her that I was always pale.
"What are your requirements?"
"I have no requirements whatever—all I want is a situation."
"Have you got any papers?"
I handed her my reference from Buda-Pesth, and, after having read it carefully, she folded it up and looked at me thoughtfully.
"Would you mind doing housework?"
"Not at all," I replied, full of new hopes.
She reached for one of the large books, and turned the leaves over.
"Would you like to go in the country?"
"With all my heart."
At that she nodded eagerly, and pointing with her finger at a place in the book, she said:
"There is something which I am sure that you would like. The lady here is trying to find a girl who speaks German and who would not object to do the work in the house, besides being a companion to her daughter aged fourteen. There is also a young French womanwho is to help you. What do you say to it?"
I thought of the eight beds as well as the girls in the home, and said that I should feel very happy if I could obtain that situation.
"The lady is coming again at two o'clock, and if you like you may wait here and speak with her."
Controlling my joy as well as I could, I decided to wait, and sat down on my chair again.
The lady arrived in about an hour. She looked nearly forty years of age, and was very kind. She only repeated what I had heard already, and I agreed to everything. Finally she gave me a card with her name and address upon it, and told me to start two days later. When everything was settled she held out her hand to me, but took it back again as if she had thought of something.
"Have you had your dinner?"
"No," I said truthfully.
"Then you must come with me."
She made me sit down in the carriage inwhich she had come, and a little later we were seated round a table.
"What would you like to eat?" she asked me.
I said it was all the same to me, whereupon she ordered a lovely dinner and looked much pleased that I liked it. When I had finished she took me into the street again and looked round for one of the red motor-buses. She soon spied one and begged the conductor to take care of me, and to tell me when I had to get out. Then she nodded to me once more and I rode back to the home. As soon as I got there I went to the directress and reported my good luck. She, however, looked a little doubtful.
"The whole matter is somewhat suspicious," she said; "it has gone too quick, but all that we can do is to trust in Him."
I assured her that I did so, and then I went up into the bedroom and wrote to my friend a letter of some length. The girls who had left the home with me in the morning returned towards supper-time and inquired a littlescornfully whether I had got a situation. After I had told them of my success they looked greatly surprised and asked me to tell them all about it. I told them all I knew, and after I had finished the tall, fair girl again shrugged her shoulders.
"That is only the place of a kitchen-maid, but for doing the cooking and scrubbing the floors I am too good, I think;" and while she said that she turned her hat into another shape.
The little place where my mistress lived is situated on the Thames, about two hours' journey from London. The lady herself came to meet me at the station. The house to which she took me stood somewhat back from the others, near to the bank of the river. Talking kindly all the while, my new mistress showed me into a large pleasant room, and told me that this was to be my room. Left alone, I looked round. The low walls were covered with a pretty light-grey paper, and the black massive iron bedstead had a cover of similar colour. In one corner there was a washstand with a grey veined marble slab, and white china standing upon it. On the right, a chair and a table. The room had two windows, one of which faced thecourtyard. The view, however, was barred by the protruding roof of a shed, overgrown so thickly with creepers that it looked like underbrush in the woods. That roof I grew to love immensely, and, later on, I watched with keen delight how its colour changed from the most tender green of spring to the burning red of autumn. The second window gave me a view of the garden which was sloping down to the river, and on the other bank I could see extensive meadows of a most exquisite green. It was this window at which I leaned and looked out, after I had, with a deep breath of relief, noticed the cleanliness and comfort of the room.
I looked down at the Thames, of which I had heard so often at school, and for which I received so much scolding and thrashing because it was so hard to remember whether London or Paris flourished on its banks. I looked down on the meadows lying soft and dreamy, untouched by the hand of greed. No tree, no bush, as far as the eyes could wander, nothing but the free, lovely fields, impressing one with a sense of prosperity and peace. To me thatpeace and stillness was so pleasing that I folded my hands involuntarily.
"Life," I said in a low voice, "wonderful life!" for wonderful I thought it, in spite of the weariness in all my limbs and the ardent longing in my heart.
I was called down a little later and made the acquaintance of the daughter and the French girl. The former spoke German, the latter did not. As I myself did not understand French, my fellow-servant and I spoke English, and spoke it badly. I found out very soon that she was a most superficial girl who hated thoroughly the work we had to do together in the rooms and kitchen. Though she was only seventeen years old she had already flirted a good deal, and whenever we were at work beating the carpets, washing up the dishes, or cleaning the boots and clothes, she told me of the men who had crossed her way and been more or less fatal in her life. After having detailed also the latest of her conquests, a grocer or a chemist's apprentice, she urged me to tell her something about myself. But at that I shook my headdecidedly and smiled. What could I have told her? That what made me sometimes so happy and sometimes so sad was a fairy-tale of such wonderful delicacy that she could never have understood it. And when, regardless of my smile and silence, she dived again into the waves of her adventures, I was all the more quiet and worked twice as quickly as she did.
So time passed away painfully, yet mingled with the blissful hope that he would come for me some day; unconscious, but not to be shaken, it lived within me, and innumerable times I pictured to myself how it would happen. The bell would ring a short, energetic ring, and he would stand in the kitchen all unexpected and all unannounced. Then I would take him upstairs to my room, show him happily—like a child shows his toys—the little forest below my window, the river and the green fields beyond it, until suddenly he would notice my black dress, my white apron, and the flowing bonnet-strings—badges of my position—would comprehend the endurance of my heart, my hands, and silently take me in his arms.
These dreams, however, were the most foolish dreams that I have ever dreamt.
By-and-by I learned to know thoroughly the ways of English home-life. Although my mistress was a widow, she gave all sorts of entertainments characteristic of English people, such as tea-parties, picnics, and so forth. It is true that these large and small gatherings doubled my work in every respect, but I tried to compensate myself by catching now and again an English word, in order to enlarge my knowledge of that language, which was poor indeed, since my mistress as well as her daughter generally spoke either French or German. Yet, with much zeal and diligence (I studied in English books deep into the night) I progressed very nicely.
My mistress always treated me most kindly, but I could not help smiling sometimes at the relations between her and her daughter. The fifteen-year-old girl tyrannized over her mother in a most incredible way. Unfortunately my mistress was convinced that her darling possessed everything that was needed to make a greatartist, and did all in her power to develop the talents of that future genius. It is true that the girl sang, danced, painted, and wrote poetry, but I am doubtful as to the merit of her accomplishments. One day, when I was busily beating the carpets, my mistress rushed out of her room, and looking pale with nervousness she begged me to stop that noise because Miss Daisy was about to write a poem. I lifted the heavy carpet down at once, but thought of my own poems, which still proved to be a secret source of my scanty joys, and asked myself how many poems I could have written if absolute stillness was necessary for the writing of them.
They were composed while I was working, while I was running up and downstairs, and there was nobody who cared. Nobody? No. Now and again a letter told me that the one or the other of my poems was exceptionally beautiful.
When I had been at my post for some time, a great change happened. Miss Daisy fell illwith scarlet fever. As soon as the French girl knew about it she left the house.
"Do you want to leave too?" my mistress asked me.
"Certainly not," I replied.
After seven weeks full of anxiety and fear, the doctor ordered the patient a change of air. All the necessary things were packed up immediately, and a few days later we looked out on the northern sea. I had got a room to myself, and was impatient to retire there. The evening came at last, but tired though I was, I did not think of sleep. I stepped to the window, opened it as much as one can open a window in England, and gazed enraptured at the heaving waters, on which the moonlight glittered and danced. It was very late before I went to bed on that night, and very early when I got up next morning. Nobody was astir yet, and I dressed noiselessly. During the night I had had a strange dream and felt like writing it down. I looked for a sheet of paper and while the sky deepened from pink intored, I wrote a new poem, and entitled it "Ruby."
After we had stayed at the seaside for about five weeks we returned home, and my mistress did not engage a second servant for the present. My duties increased and I had less time to spare than before, but still filled the few moments of leisure I could find with the study of the English language.
One day I came across a book by Milton, and in spite of my defective knowledge of the language, read most eagerly his "Paradise Lost," and was overwhelmed by the picturesque language and by the bold imagination and grandeur of the whole. Many, many times, also, I looked up the page on which was written: