CHAPTER IX
FRANKA’S DÉBUT AND CAREER
Franka read the letter over a second and a third time—then she let it sink into her lap and fell into deep thoughts. She was sitting alone in her sleeping-room; on the table before her stood the breakfast-tray, and beside it her mail, as yet untouched. In the stove a cheerful fire was burning: the windows, through which could be seen the trees of the garden behind the palace, were open and warm sunbeams came laughing in, for it was already springtime. There was occasionally a cool breath of air, full of that spring fragrance which does not come from violets, but suggests violets. Such a breath fans in young hearts the fire of longing—longing for the joys of life.
Franka stood up, still holding the letter in her hand, and went to the window. She looked down into the garden; it was not large, and behind the still leafless trees could be seen the walls and roofs of the houses beyond....
“How lovely it must be now in my parks and forests,” thought Franka. Nothing would prevent her from journeying to them. A sense of pride in possession and of joyous freedom swelled her heart. The world lay open before her ... how easily, how freely might she not pluck all the blossoms of enjoyment. But she flung these thoughts away from her. “To accomplish something great”—that was her task, that was the aim, held up as a command before her conscience, and now she had in her hands what she wanted—a concrete programme, a definite way.
There were men in the world—there was one man—who regarded her with confidence and esteem, who had such a high idea of her that he believed she might be an apostle, a leader ... oh, if that only might be, if only she had the strength, the courage, and the fire to carry others along with her, to lift them up! And like an electric shock there flashed through her that lightning of the will which bears the name of resolve: “Yes, I will do it!”
She stepped from the window and stood in front of her great pier-glass as if to strengthen her resolution by means of a vow spoken in presence of herself. The mirror reflected a lovely picture. The tall, graceful, maidenly figure, clasped in the folds of a soft, white cashmere morning-gown, the head crowned by a heavy diadem of braids and proudly thrown back, the cheeks brilliantly colored, the dark-red lips slightly parted and showing the gleaming white teeth: so she stood for a little while, and then she repeated the sentence aloud again: “Yes, I will do it!”
Franka went to her desk and wrote a line or two, then she rang for her maid: “Send this dispatch immediately.” The telegram was addressed to Chlodwig Helmer and ran: “I expect you to-day for a further talk.”
Frau Eleonore entered the room: “Not yet dressed, dear Franka? And we have such a busy day before us! Look—I have jotted everything down: at eleven o’clock the betrothal-service of the Archduchess—we have cards admitting us to the Augustiner Church; then Drecoll expects you to try on three dresses—that will take at least two hours. There is the reception of the eight lady artists at Pisco’s—you promised to go, and we must be sure to see the exhibition of flowers at the Botanical Society—to-day is the last day. It is also Baroness Rinski’s jour; then....”
“Shut up your notebook—I am not going out at all. I am expecting a caller. All that you have told me seems to me so trivial, so trivial.... Frau Eleonore, I am at the turning-point of my life....”
“You are to be married!... I ought to have been prepared for it, but it is a hard blow for me.
“No. I am not to be married. Yet, would that affect you so?”
“Of course, because you would not need my services any longer.”
“I shall need you more than ever.... I want you to accompany me on my journeys.”
“What journeys?”
“I will explain it all to you later. Meanwhile I will ask you to give orders that I am at home to no one, absolutely no one, with the exception of Mr. Helmer.”
“That is an extraordinary order—what will your servants think. Especially this Mr. Helmer.... I wanted to tell you, the other day, when I found you tête-à-tête with him, that it is not at least very good form for you to....”
“Frau Eleonore,” interrupted Franka, “I look on you as my companion—a very pleasant companion—who may very possibly become my friend—but not a governess, please!”
Frau Eleonore bit her lips. “Pardon me! Older people always believe themselves justified in giving younger ones advice on the ground of their experience—it is a bad habit.”
It was late in the afternoon when Helmer was announced. He had been away, and consequently had not received the telegram in time. Franka was beginning to grow impatient. She sat in her little salon; Frau Eleonore was reading to her from the evening paper, but Franka did not listen. If only Chlodwig would come soon.
When the footman announced her caller, her heart fluttered as if she were expecting a lover. But she was not in love. Helmer seemed to her only as the director of her future career; he was not only going to point out the way, but also to make it smooth for her, support her first steps. And then that kinship in ideas! Among all the strangers, among these indifferent people in whose midst she had lived since her father’s death, this was one person allied to her, a fellow-countryman from the home region of her soul—actually a brother; and therefore her heart was drawn toward him.
“Ask him to come in,” said she to the footman; and then, turning to her companion, she said: “Remain here, but please do not interrupt with a word or a question while we are talking; later you will know all about it.”
Chlodwig entered. He also was inwardly much agitated. He had not expected that Franka would so speedily accept his proposition. He was, therefore, filled with pride and delight at the thought of it; and beneath it all there was also a vague sense of being in love, yet without passion and without expectation. When he first saw her, his imagination had been somewhat kindled by her beauty, but never had he gone to the extent of thinking that it was within the bounds of possibility for him to win her; still less since she had become a millionairess. And now that she desired to devote herself to the vestal consecration of a great service, she seemed to him absolutely removed from the domain of love and marriage.
He drew nearer: “You sent for me, gnädiges Fräulein.”
The presence of the stranger disturbed him. Franka noticed it. She asked him to sit down.
“We can talk without constraint. My friend must be initiated into all my plans—she will accompany me on my tournées. And now, how am I to begin?”
Helmer paused to consider. “The first step,” he said after a little while, “is the engagement of an elocution teacher. The technical side must be conquered. After that one may get the mastery of the ideal side. Frau von Rockhaus will get the notion,” said he, in a different tone of voice, “that you are intending to go on the stage if she hears us talking of tournées and elocution masters. And yet how far, how high above that, stands our plan! What you propose to accomplish is related to the art of acting—however noble that may be—as the Zeppelin stands above a wheelbarrow.”
“Your thoughts move much in the upper regions of the air, Mr. Helmer.”
“Yes, Miss Franka, the conquest of this element gave me the impulse to my poetry and my aspirations, and this thought must also serve as the foundation of your work.”
“What is your poetry? What are your aspirations?”
Helmer explained. His poetry was not to be understood merely in a figurative sense; he was actually writing poetry! He told of the books which he had already written and those which he had in mind to write. Above all, the great epic “Pinions.” And as he in eloquent, fiery words explained the meaning and purpose of this poem, and recited some of the lines, out of these words a light fell on Franka as to the meaning of the work which lay before her. The conversation lasted nearly two hours. The plan was discussed alternately in its details and then in its great outlines—lines lost in sublime distances, where to-day Franka’s spiritual eyes for the first time penetrated.
It had struck eight o’clock. Helmer was on the point of taking his departure.
“No, no,” cried Franka, “now you must have supper with us—informally—just we three alone. Please, Frau Eleonore, you are sitting near the bell, ring for supper to be served. You poor creature must be all used up by silently listening to all these wonderful things. You need something to strengthen you, and so do we two.”
“Uff!” exclaimed Frau von Rockhaus as she touched the bell, and after she had given the order to the servant, “Supper for three,” she again uttered her “Uff!” adding, it was high time and ten minutes more had turned her crazy.
Franka laughed: “Did you understand what we were talking about?”
“Well, yes, fairly well. Mr. Helmer wants to build a new flying-machine. You are going to fly up into the air, and from up there deliver addresses—and so you need to have lessons in declamation. You will not touch upon the right of ‘Women to vote,’ but you will make the whole sex mobile so that they can carry on their activities somewhere in the upper regions. Then, there is to be a circuit through the German cities—or is it through an epic in ten books?—tending to introduce a new civilization; and the requisites for this simple scheme are as far as I could make out—air-propellers, moral search-lights and a Valkyrie’s horse.”
Chlodwig laughed heartily, so heartily that Franka listened in surprise; she had never heard him laugh so before. It sounded so merry, so boyish, so entirely different from what might have been expected from that serious man who had just been talking with her on the gravest of world-problems—a man whom she had judged, particularly from his behavior on the Sielenburg and from the tone of his letters, and also from the thoughtful expression of his face, to be rather inclined to melancholy.
Now all three were in the most cheerful mood, and during the little supper not a word further was said about the serious plans for the future; the jesting tone that had been hit upon was preserved throughout; several times again, though more quietly, rang out Helmer’s characteristic laugh with its golden ring of genuine merriment, and Franka was filled with a sense of perfect ease and enjoyment, which was doubly agreeable after the preceding strain of intellectual excitement; at the same time she realized that her confidence in her brotherly young friend was growing stronger—only a good, pure-minded man laughs like that.
After ten months of industrious study, Franka felt prepared to begin her career. She had also accepted Chlodwig’s advice to go through all the books of which he had furnished a list; these brought her into touch with the history and present condition of all the great questions stirring the world, and she made him explain to her his standpoint in these matters.
The result of this period of study was not merely that she proved to be a good pupil who had passed through her course creditably and was capable of understanding and correctly rendering the ideas of other people; but during this period of preparation a thousand original thoughts had arisen in her mind and the material she had stored up put out further blossoms; views, convictions, aspirations were gathered, which grew so imperious that she felt inspired, nay, compelled, to share them with others, to compel others to adopt them. What lay before her—at least, so it seemed to her proud consciousness—was more than a great duty—it was a mission.
“A Word to Young Girls” was the title of her first lecture, and this title was to be seen in gigantic letters on placards posted in every nook and corner of Vienna. Above it was printed: “Great Music-Union Hall, Sunday, January 15. Seven o’clock in the evening. Admission free.” And below it: “Speaker: Franka Garlett.”
The sensation in Vienna society was immense.... What! that pretty Fräulein Garlett, Vienna’s richest heiress, she who had refused so many offers of marriage, who had been so generous in her charities, who had gathered about her so many of the distinguished men of the city, who had won universal admiration for her charm of manner, her simplicity and her loveliness—was she coming out as a public speaker? On what subject? Why? People cudgeled their brains, and were somewhat scandalized at such a thing! The idea was certainly quixotic! Was there no one in the noble family of Sielen to put a stop to such an absurdity? And what was she going to say to the young girls? Possibly preach emancipation? Advocate a doctor’s career? Equal suffrage?—or perhaps—free love! Certainly these things did not agree at all with her whole personality. But one must be ready to expect anything from a person who suddenly comes out on the platform—no one would ever have thought her capable of that!
The public came in crowds. Helmer had seen to it that the lecture was well advertised in the newspapers, and the fact that it came on a Sunday, and was free, assured a large audience. The first two rows and a few boxes were reserved for invited guests.
Long before the stated hour, the hall was packed to overflowing and the entrances had to be closed. Franka was waiting in the artists’ room for the signal to begin. Frau Eleonore, Dr. Fixstern, and Helmer were in attendance on her. Her cheeks were pale, for the terrible phantom which so delights in haunting artists’ rooms and the scenes of theaters,—a cousin of it is often found in the waiting-room of dentists,—stage-fright, le trac, “footlight-fever,” or whatever the thing is called, had seized her throat. The others tried to encourage her—a perfectly useless attempt, which brings forth a still broader grin on the face of the phantom. Now, really, it was no little thing to step out for the first time in one’s life and deliver a lecture before so many thousand people!
“O my dear friends, I am frightened at the mere idea of standing on the platform so alone with the abyss before me!”
“Think of ‘soaring,’” said Chlodwig; “think of Blériot, who also was alone—high up between heaven and the sea, apparently motionless, lost in the universe.”
“And do you believe that I should not be panic-stricken up there? Oh, if I could only be in my room—if I were not obliged to go out before all those strangers, perhaps hostile to me....”
“But, Franka, I don’t know you,” said Frau Eleonore reproachfully. “I thought you were a heroine. It was certainly not necessary for you to do all this....”
Some one came in and announced: “It is time, Fräulein.... The house is full.... The audience is growing impatient.”
A murmur of admiration went through the hall as Franka went forward and took her place at the front of the stage. They were not prepared to see such a maidenly poetic apparition. She wore a very simple white frock with long, open sleeves. Her arms and hands were bare, without gloves, without bracelets, without rings; they were white and perfectly sculpturesque in form. Her luxuriant hair was artlessly arranged around the small head. A bouquet of violets adorned her bodice. She had no manuscript in her hand; nothing but a small ivory fan. Thus she stood there for a moment. Her friends had applauded as she entered, and now the others were clapping their hands so as to inspire the pale girl with confidence. She extended her arms toward the hall as if commanding silence and advanced one more step. The tumult ceased. Then she began in a clear, firm, distinct voice:—
“Dear sisters ... for, although I see many men in the hall, my message is to women only, particularly to young girls....”
The sound of her own voice reassured her. Under the tuition of an eminent professor her melodious alto, capable of rich modulations, had been happily trained and strengthened so that her clearly articulated words were borne to the farthest corners of the hall.
She spoke for nearly two hours; at first very slowly and calmly, but gradually, as she grew more animated, her pale cheeks took on color, her eyes shone, and her voice intensified to a passionate power. It was soon evident that she was in touch with her audience, and repeatedly there was a murmur of approbation; occasionally, outbursts of applause showed the effect of her words. This made her feel as if she were borne aloft, and it happened that many times, as if under inspiration, she used sentences and turns of speech which she had not thought of during the preparation of her lecture, and these very improvisations still further strengthened the magnetic relationship between speaker and audience.
The gist of her address had been expressed in her introduction: “You all know the beautiful expression of Goethe’s Antigone: ‘Not here for mutual hate, but mutual love are we.’ But, my sisters, the modern time enforces upon us a second commandment: ‘For mutual thinking are we here.’”
And then she went on to show what are the duties of this latest age,—the age of flying,—and she further showed how in the accomplishment of these duties both halves of the human race must coöperate; how it behooved a woman not only to win for herself the mastery of various professions, of various offices which have hitherto been exclusively preempted by men, but also to realize that she must no longer remain voluntarily aloof whenever the highest interests of the community are in question. Place and voice in the direction of public affairs? That certainly is already on the programme of the Woman Movement, but the most important thing is a knowledge and understanding of the universal laws that govern nature and the world; then only can she judge and coöperate where social arrangements are to be decided. To take a hand in the transformation of these arrangements, to become themselves lawgivers: that is a goal the attainment of which may stand for the future; but even before having attained this positive power, women, and maidens too, may work through their influence. But how shall they bring their views and their feelings to effectiveness if they stay in voluntary ignorance of all those things that regulate the conduct of social, political, and economic life? If in the most important questions on which depend welfare or misery, war or peace, they are to have no voice because they always allow themselves to be told: “You don’t understand anything about that!” They must acquire for themselves a conception of the universe. First, they must understand; then they must share in councils; then at last they can coöperate.... Indeed, they must understand as well as the men; then they will perhaps do better work than men, because they will not forget that they are there to share in love, that it is their task to make goodness—this highest of feminine virtues—prevail in all situations and all actions.
“There is no reason why the flame on the home altar should die down because we succeed in casting its reflection on political life. Are really mildness and gentleness, capacity for sympathy in sorrow and joy purely feminine characteristics? No, they belong to men as well. Are power and tenacity of purpose and resoluteness and courage purely masculine virtues? No; they belong to women as well. And the perfect human race of both sexes, when once they are to direct social life side by side, must apply thereto the collective treasure of all their qualities.”
Franka did not confine herself to such abstract discussions throughout her lecture. She elucidated in clear, simple words the conditions actually prevailing; she described the promising as well as the threatening prospects of the future as conditioned by the new discoveries, and she pointed out the practical ways which young women of the present day had to enter upon if they were to share in the humanization—nay, rather, the deification of the humanity of the morrow.
The most concrete and practical announcement which she made was that she had established out of her own means a private free course of instruction for mature young women. The lectures were not to be given by her, but by university professors,—and she named certain distinguished persons,—who twice a week during the next four months would give lectures in a large hall engaged by her for this purpose. The following subjects were on the programme: Social science, philosophy, the doctrine of evolution, the history and prospects of contemporaneous movements, and, finally, ethics and æsthetics. These two last were included, because the realm of scientific truth should always be penetrated by the light of morality and beauty. All these courses of study would be given without pedantic insistence upon details, but would be presented in synthetic method; and all of them, if they were absorbed into the mind of the students, would furthermore produce that broader synthesis which deserves the name of “world-conception,” that is, the vision of the world, according to what we actually know it is at present and as it presumably will be in the future, in the line of ceaseless evolution. When she had spoken the peroration in a tone of ardent enthusiasm and with an expression of prophetic inspiration on her youthful features, there was at first a moment of breathless silence and then a burst of thunderous applause. She bowed modestly and left the stage.
In the artists’ room she sank exhausted on a sofa. Her three friends surrounded her:—“It was marvelously beautiful!”—“Bravo, Franka!”—Helmer kissed her hand: “Heroine,” he said in a whisper.
In the hall the applause would not cease.
“They are calling for you,” said Dr. Fixstern. “The audience wants to see you again.”
Franka shook her head. “No, I will not go out again—I am not a prima donna!”
“But just hear, how they are clapping, how they are calling for you.”
“I beg of you, dear Doctor, go out and tell them that I have already left the hall.”
Dr. Fixstern did as she ordered.
“Are you very tired, Franka?” asked Frau Eleonore. “How do you feel?”
“How do I feel? Happy!”
This was the beginning of Franka’s career, and now followed a series of triumphs. The newspapers published long extracts from her addresses and enthusiastic criticisms of her skill in the art of elocution. A few days after her début she gave her second lecture, which again packed the great Music Hall to the last seat; then she spoke in the Workingmen’s Home, and here she kindled even more enthusiasm than before. Among the young women of Vienna there sprang up a regular Franka cult, her adherents called themselves “Frankistinnen”; as their badge they wore a violet pin. There was in all the bookshops a special display of her portraits. In the toy-shops Franka dolls were put on sale and were eagerly bought. The comic papers published caricatures of her. Karl Kraus made a feature of her in a Garlett number of “Die Fackel.” Herds of autograph hyenas came down upon her. An impresario offered her an engagement for America. The gramophone companies made her an offer to have her represented on a record. A fashionable tailor introduced the long, open Garlett sleeves. The pupils who attended the courses of instruction which Franka had established were designated by the nickname of the “Garlett girls.” And, worse than all, vaudeville theaters enriched their repertoires of topical songs with a Garlett stanza.
Franka shuddered under this tidal wave of popularity; it was almost mortifying to her. She had undertaken her work as a kind of vestal mission, and now it was accompanied by such noisy publicity. But like all sudden and exaggerated excitement, this also gradually subsided; yet the quiet and earnest effect continued and increased. She soon recovered, in the estimation of all, her standing as a powerful advocate and woman of irreproachable character. The Sielen relatives, to be sure, turned their backs on her. Adele and Albertine and their whole set completely vanished. It was not a severe blow to her.
After a few weeks she went on a lecture tournée to all the principal cities of Germany. She was accompanied only by Frau von Rockhaus and a maid. A business manager preceded her, whose duty it was to engage for her lecture-halls and suitable quarters in the hotels. Everywhere she went, she was received not only in her public capacity as a speaker, but also with special honors by society as a lady. In the course of time her journeys extended beyond Germany, first to the Scandinavian countries, then to London and Paris. And after a few years her fame was world-wide.