Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - Part I - I
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I dragged her from gallery to gallery, exhibiting all
my bibliographical knowledge. I compelled her to admire
the miniatures of the Middle Ages, the autographs of
famous men. I evoked the great historical memories held
captive in old manuscripts and prints. In the end her
insignificance came home to her and she became
embarrassed.
“But you are a very learned man!” she exclaimed.
“Of course I am,” I laughed.
“Oh, my poor old mummer!” she murmured, alluding
to her friend, the opera singer, her so-called fiancé.
But if I had flattered myself that the mummer was now
finally disposed of, I was mistaken. He was threatening
to shoot me—by post; he accused me of having robbed
him of his future bride. I proved to him that he could
not have been robbed, for the simple reason that he had
not possessed anything. After that our correspondence
ceased and gave way to a menacing silence.
Her visit was drawing to an end. On the eve of her
departure I received a jubilant letter from her, telling
me of an unexpected piece of good luck. She had read
my play to some people of note who had influence with
stage managers. The play had made such an impression
on them that they were anxious to make my
acquaintance. She would tell me all the details in the afternoon.
At the appointed hour I met her and accompanied her
on a shopping expedition to make a few last purchases.
She was talking of nothing but the sensation my play had
created, and when I explained to her that I hated
patronage of any sort, she did her utmost to convert me to her
point of view. I paid little attention to her and went on
grumbling. The idea of ringing at unknown front doors,
meeting strangers and talking to them of everything
except that which was nearest to my heart, was hateful
to me; I could not whine like a beggar for favours.
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