“Yes, of course, but…” I wanted to interject, but he said, “Allow me, young man, I haven’t finished yet. So then you think you are not marrying a mere girl that you love, but you’re marrying a baroness. Well, what about the circle you are taking your young wife away from – how will this affect her? Will they see her only as your young wife? No, first of all they will see her as a baroness, and they will see her as that even when she doesn’t want them to. For what does that title mean to her, if she’s living with you in a one or two-roomed apartment, washing her own dishes and yours, polishing the floors, because you won’t have enough money to get help, just as we don’t at the moment. You’ll be lucky if it ends there – then the misery won’t be so great. But as I’ve already said, in your circles my grandchild would always remain a baroness, and that would mean that she could never be her own person. In a word, one way or another, she will remain outside of society. Moreover, she might be slightly detrimental to your career, for how could you be trusted completely if your wife, whom you love, cannot be trusted?”
“You’re wrong there,” I said, “there are plenty of men among us who are in similar positions, whose wives have not even taken the trouble to learn their husband’s language.”
“No, young man, it’s not I who am wrong, it’s you, if you think that such men and women can be completely trusted, that society can rely on them. But forgive me, this is probably unnecessary, for I wanted to say something quite different. You see, my grandchild would remain in your society as a more or less alien being. But what would happen in her own circle – the one she comes from? In marrying you she would even lose that, wholly or in part – we can’t ignore that. So she would be left completely high and dry, her whole world would be only you. So tell me now – shouldn’t I be demanding much greater guarantees from you than from a young German who might ask for my grandchild’s hand? In that case, my grandchild would have, apart from a husband, his circle of friends as well, with their interests and traditions, their joys and woes, their hopes and disappointments.”
“You’re quite right,” I said, beaten, and added, “but if you look at it that way, there can be no question of marriage between Estonians and Germans at all; there must be no love affairs between them; they must always remain hostile to each other.”
“You’re exaggerating, young man, because you’re in love,” he said quite calmly, as if this question didn’t concern him. “I think that if one side loses its social circle without gaining a new one, when it brings with it an old, pure pedigree and name which has not yet lost its power and dignity, then it must receive some sort of recompense from the other side, whether it’s a husband, like an ‘amen’ in church, or a certain economic advantage, which allows the lovers to live even without closer ties with one or the other social circle. That is how I understand it.”
“And according to your understanding I won’t satisfy you, either in my person or in my financial situation?” I asked.
“I may be wrong, but unfortunately that is so,” he replied. “I am old, I don’t understand things or people well any more – it’s possible, very possible, that judgements about their values should be made by very different yardsticks. But what can be done? I’m getting older by the day, not younger.”
“I’m very sorry,” I said, getting up, because I saw no point in continuing, “but I can’t do anything about the fact that I still love your grandchild. My honour and respect for her, though, has grown considerably now that I know she has such a grandfather.”
“Young man,” he said, now raising his head to look at me almost pleadingly, which led me to believe that he also loved her, “if you really love my grandchild, then forget that she is a baroness, and give her up; that’s the only good you can do her. Be content with love alone; marriage to you would be too heavy a burden for her. In any case I will do everything in my power to see that she does not take on that burden.”
I didn’t reply, because I didn’t dare to promise, and just bowed silently before him, as if in agreement, intending to leave, but he stretched out his hand to me, as if I were supposed to kiss it – as if it were my sweetheart’s hand.
“You’ll kindly forgive me, but my old limbs won’t let me get up from my chair. Please leave the doors open, so I can hear when Erika stirs. If you need to, come and see me. Talking with you is so interesting, but now I’m so tired that I’ll have a little nap before Erika comes. Then I’ll have to stir my stumps anyway.”
Those were the last words I heard from him. Outside, my first thought was, did the old man – that is what I called him, for some reason, as soon as I got outside – really believe everything he told me, or did he only tell me to convince me and thus get me to give up my love? I would still like to know that even now, as I write these lines. Did he really think I was the spineless and shapeless mollusc that he tried to convince me I was, or was it just his stratagem?
When I got back to my workplace, greatly delayed, I had a feeling that the whole world could read in my face what had happened to me in the past hour and a half. And evidently it was not only my feeling, for otherwise why would my colleague, who had previously advised me so personally and sagely, ask me without demur, “No luck, eh?”
“No,” I replied.
“Did you want to get a new one or extend an old one?”
“Get a new one,” I explained.
“Then things are not too bad,” he consoled me. “Loans that aren’t agreed are never called in, and bonds that aren’t signed cannot be protested against through a notary.”
Of course these were very wise words, but they didn’t ease my mind. I was going over the same old question: what now? – and could find no answer. When the depressing working hours were over finally, I hurried home impatiently, and I almost wished that I wouldn’t meet Erika at the lunch table that day, or better still, that I would never see her again. In my letter box at home I found a letter addressed in an unknown hand, which left me quite indifferent, like everything else. I tossed it carelessly on the table and then clean forgot about it.
But, strangely, my mood evidently had no effect on the world or other people: the landlady was much the same as before at the lunch table, offering food like mad and talking of love, as if there were some secret bond between those two things, while the landlord threw his clumsy jokes into the chatter, and the children seemed like wild creatures who had just been unleashed from their tethers. Even Miss Erika appeared, and sat at the table as if she knew nothing of my visit to her grandfather, or else had not the faintest idea of its outcome. There was something unusual only about me, for otherwise the landlady would hardly have set me to worrying so often about the young lady, as if she wanted to keep me alert with her words.
“The only young lady at the table, and she is left on her own,” moaned the landlady on Erika’s behalf. “Can your men, I mean the Germans, be so obtuse and impolite?”