The Indian Lily and Other Stories. Hermann Sudermann
in all things and to adopt witty points of view.
Nor was this all. She acquired a desire to learn, which at first stimulated and amused Niebeldingk, but which had long grown to be something of a nuisance.
He himself was held, and rightly held, to be a man of intellect, less by virtue of rapid perception and flexible thought, than by virtue of a coolly observant vision of the world, incapable of being confused—a certain healthy cynicism which, though it never lost an element of good nature, might yet abash and even chill the souls of men.
His actual knowledge, however, had remained mere wretched patchwork, his logic came to an end wherever bold reliance upon the intuitive process was needed to supply missing links in the ratiocinative chain.
And so it came to pass that Alice, whom at first he had regarded as his scholar, his handiwork, his creature, had developed annoyingly beyond him. … Involuntarily and innocently she delivered the keenest thrusts. He had, actually, to be on guard. … In the irresponsible delight of intellectual crudity she solved the deepest problems of humanity; she repeated, full of faith, the judgments of the ephemeral rapid writer, instead of venturing upon the sources of knowledge. Yet even so she impressed him by her faculty of adaptation and her shining zeal. He was often silenced, for his slow moving mind could not follow the vagaries of that rapid little brain.
What would she be at again to-day? "The old gossip Cicero. … " And, "Mme. de Sévigné remarks. … " What a rattling and tinkling. It provoked him.
And her love! … That was a bad business. What is one to do with a mistress who, before falling asleep, is capable of lecturing on Schopenhauer's metaphysics of sex, and will prove to you up to the hilt how unworthy it really is to permit oneself to be duped by nature if one does not share her aim for the generations to come?
The man is still to be born upon whom such wisdom, uttered at such an hour—by lips however sweet—does not cast a chill.
Since that philosophical night he had left untouched the little key that hung yonder over his desk and that give him, in her house, the sacred privileges of a husband. And so his life became once more a hunt after new women who filled his heart with unrest and with the foolish fires of youth.
But Alice had never been angry at him. Apparently she lacked nothing. …
And his thoughts wandered from her to the woman who had lain against his breast to-night, shuddering in her stolen joy.
Heavens! He had almost forgotten one thing!
He summoned John and said:
"Go to the florist and order a bunch of Indian lilies. The man knows what I mean. If he hasn't any, let him procure some by noon."
John did not move a muscle, but heaven only knew whether he did not suspect the connection between the Indian lilies and the romance of the past night. It was in his power to adduce precedents.
It was an old custom of Niebeldingk's—a remnant of his half out-lived Don Juan years—to send a bunch of Indian lilies to those women who had granted him their supreme favours. He always sent the flowers next morning. Their symbolism was plain and delicate: In spite of what has taken place you are as lofty and as sacred in my eyes as these pallid, alien flowers whose home is beside the Ganges. Therefore have the kindness—not to annoy me with remorse.
It was a delicate action and—a cynical one.
Chapter II.
At noon—Niebeldingk had just returned from his morning canter—the visitor, previously announced, was ushered in.
He was a robust young fellow, long of limb and broad of shoulder. His face was round and tanned, with hot, dark eyes. With merry boldness, yet not without diffidence, he sidled, in his blue cheviot suit, into the room.
"Morning, Herr von Niebeldingk."
Enviously and admiringly Niebeldingk surveyed the athletic figure which moved with springy grace.
"Morning, my boy … sober?"
"In honour of the day, yes."
"Shall we breakfast?"
"Oh, with delight, Herr von Niebeldingk!"
They passed into the breakfast-room where two covers had already been laid, and while John served the caviare the flood of news burst which had mounted in their Franconian home during the past months.
Three betrothals, two important transfers of land, a wedding, Papa's gout, Mama's charities, Jenny's new target, Grete's flirtation with the American engineer. And, above all things, the examination!
"Dear Herr von Niebeldingk, it's a rotten farce. For nine years the gymnasium trains you and drills you, and in the end you don't get your trouble's worth! I'm sorry for every hour of cramming I did. They released me from the oral exam., simply sent me out like a monkey when I was just beginning to let my light shine! Did you ever hear of such a thing? Did you ever?"
"Well, and how about your university work, Fritz?"
That was a ticklish business, the youth averred. Law and political science was no use. Every ass took that up. And since it was after all only his purpose to pass a few years of his green youth profitably, why he thought he'd stick to his trade and find out how to plant cabbages properly.
"Have you started in anywhere yet?"
Oh, there was time enough. But he had been to some lectures—agronomy and inorganic chemistry. … You have to begin with inorganic chemistry if you want to go in for organic. And the latter was agricultural chemistry which was what concerned him.
He made these instructive remarks with a serious air and poured down glass after glass of Madeira. His cheeks began to glow, his heart expanded. "But that's all piffle, Herr von Niebeldingk, … all this book-worm business can go to the devil. … Life—life—life—that's the main thing!"
"What do you call life, Fritz?"
With both hands he stroked the velvety surface of his close-cropped skull.
"Well, how am I to tell you? D'you know how I feel? As if I were standing in front of a great, closed garden … and I know that all Paradise is inside … and occasionally a strain of music floats out … and occasionally a white garment glitters … and I'd like to get in and I can't. That's life, you see. And I've got to stand miserably outside?"
"Well, you don't impress me as such a miserable creature?"
"No, no, in a way, not. On the coarser side, so to speak, I have a good deal of fun. Out there around Philippstrasse and Marienstrasse there are women enough—stylish and fine-looking and everything you want. And my friends are great fellows, too. Every one can stand his fifteen glasses … I suppose I am an ass, and perhaps it's only moral katzenjammer on account of this past week. But when I walk the streets and see the tall, distinguished houses and think of all those people and their lives, yonder a millionaire, here a minister of state, and think that, once upon a time, they were all crude boys like myself—well, then I have the feeling as if I'd never attain anything, but always remain what I am."
"Well, my dear Fritz, the only remedy for that lies in that 'book-worm business' as you call it. Sit down on your breeches and work!"
"No, Herr von Niebeldingk, it isn't that either … let me tell you. Day before yesterday I was at the opera. … They sang the Götterddmmerung. … You know, of course. There is Siegfried, a fellow like myself, … not more than twenty … I sat upstairs in the third row with two seamstresses. I'd picked them up in the Chausseestrasse—cute little beasts, too. … But when Brunhilde stretched out her wonderful, white arms to him and sang: 'On to new deeds, O hero!' why I felt like taking the two girls by the scruff of the neck and pitching them down into the pit, I was so ashamed.