Part 16 (2/2)

This letter shattered all my hopes for the future. I could not, and would not, relinquish my chances of wealth and position. Henceforth I summoned all my will-power in order to efface the disastrous impression caused by my att.i.tude. I a.s.sured my future husband that what he had mistaken for want of love was only the natural coyness of my youth. He was only too ready to believe me. We decided to hasten the marriage, and his delight knew no bounds.

One day I went to discuss with him some details of the marriage settlements. We had champagne at lunch, and I, being quite unused to wine, became very lively. Life appeared to me in a rosy light. Arm in arm, we went over the house together. He had ordered all the lights to be lit. At length we pa.s.sed through the room that was to be our conjugal apartment. Misled, no doubt, by my unwonted animation, and perhaps a little excited himself by the wine he had taken, he forgot his usual prudent reserve, and embraced me with an ardour he had never yet shown.

His features were distorted with pa.s.sion, and he inspired me with repugnance. I tried to respond to his kisses, but my disgust overcame me and I nearly fainted. When I recovered, I tried to excuse myself on the ground that the champagne had been too much for me.

Von Brincken looked long and searchingly at me, and said in a sad and tired voice, which I shall never forget:

”Yes, you are right.... Evidently you cannot stand my champagne.”

The following morning two letters were brought from his house. One was for my father, in which Von Brincken said he felt obliged to break off the engagement. He was suffering from a heart trouble, and a recent medical examination had proved to him that he would be guilty of an unpardonable wrong in marrying a young girl.

To me he wrote:

”You will understand why I give a fict.i.tious reason to your father and to the world in general. I should be committing a moral murder were I to marry you under the circ.u.mstances. My love for you, great as it is, is not great enough to conquer the instinctive repugnance of your youth.”

Once again he sent me abroad at his own expense. This time, at my own wish, I went to Paris, where I met a young artist who fell in love with me. Had I not, in the saddest way, ruled out of my life everything that might interfere with my ambitious projects, I could have returned his pa.s.sion. But he was poor; and about the same time I met Richard. I cheated myself, and betrayed my first love, which might have saved me, and changed me from an automaton into a living being.

Under the eyes of the man who had stirred my first real emotions, I proceeded to draw Richard on. My first misfortune taught me wisdom. This time I had no intention of letting all my plans be shattered.

When I look back on that time, I see that my worst sin was not so much my resolve to sell myself for money, as my apt.i.tude for playing the contemptible comedy of pretended love for days and months and years. I, who only felt a kind of indifference for Richard, which sometimes deepened into disgust, pretended to be moved by genuine pa.s.sion. Yes, I have paid dearly, very dearly, for my golden cage in the Old Market.

Richard is not to blame. He could not have suspected the truth....

It is so fatally easy for a woman to simulate love. Every intelligent woman knows by infallible instinct what the man who loves her really wants in return. The woman of ardent temperament knows how to appear reserved with a lover who is not too emotional; while a cold woman can a.s.sume a pa.s.sionate air when necessary.

I, Joergen, I, who for years cared for no one but myself, have left Richard firmly convinced to this day that I was greedy of his caresses.

You are an honest man, and what I have been telling you will come as a shock. You will not understand it, or me.

Yet I think that you, too, must have known and possessed women without loving them. But that is not the same. If it were, my guilt would be less.

I allowed my senses to be inflamed, while my mind remained cold, and my heart contracted with disgust. I consciously profaned the sacred words of love by applying them to a man whom I chose for his money.

Meanwhile I developed into the frivolous society woman everybody took me to be. Every woman wears the mask which best suits her purpose. My mask was my smile. I did not wish others to see through me. Sometimes, during a sudden silence, I have caught the echo of my own laugh--that laugh in which you, too, delighted--and hearing it I have shuddered.

No! That is not quite true. I was a different woman with you. A real, living creature lived and breathed behind the mask. You taught me to live. You looked into my eyes, and heard my real laughter.

How many hours we spent together, Joergen, you and I! But we did not talk much; we never came to the exchange of ideas. I hardly remember anything you ever said; although I often try to recall your words. How did we pa.s.s the happy time together?

You are the only man I ever loved.

When we first got to know each other you were five-and-twenty. So young--and I was eight years your senior. We fell in love with each other at once.

You had no idea that I cared for you.

From that moment I was a changed woman. Not better perhaps, but quite different. A thousand new feelings awoke in me; I saw, heard, and felt in an entirely new way. All humanity a.s.sumed a new aspect. I, who had hitherto been so indifferent to the weal or woe of my fellow-creatures, began to observe and to understand them. I became sympathetic. Towards women--not towards men. I do not understand the male s.e.x, and this must be my excuse for the way in which I have so often treated men. For me there was, and is, only one man in the world: Joergen Malthe.

At first I never gave a thought to the difference in our ages. We were both young then. But you were poor. No one, least of all myself, guessed that you carried a field-marshal's baton in your knapsack. Money had not brought me happiness; but poverty still seemed to me the greatest misfortune that could befall any human being.

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