“Are you still amazed that later I carried my own case, and would not hand it over to you under any conditions? And if you are still wondering, then we can no longer understand each other and our love has run empty. I had come with everything that I had, and I had brought with me my own shabby things, but you didn’t want me. Not even my belongings, whose shabbiness I really acknowledge only now. You had carried perhaps only because you saw the case, not knowing that you were carrying things that were destined to cover my body.
“On coming home from some friend’s place I would often tell my aunt about my amazement at the beautiful objects and jewels I’d seen there, and ask her whether I would ever get any such things, or when I would get them, but she always said to me, ‘Make do with what you have; you won’t be taking a husband yet.’ Now I wanted to go to my husband and I took with me my best and prettiest things, but my husband wouldn’t accept me, as if he were of the same opinion as my aunt. You can’t take a husband with those things.
“I don’t know if there has ever been a more pitiable creature in the world than I was that evening with my suitcase. At the mere recall of what I was carrying in my case and with what feelings, assumptions, hopes and dreams I had put them in there, a deadly shame burned in my heart, my whole body and my every movement so terribly painfully that to repress a loud scream I had to clench my teeth, which made a crack as they came together. You know that my body trembled all over at the time, and you thought that it was the cold, but I was shaking from the terrible shame and terror. It was about what I was supposed to do with my case and my things now, and where would I go. I was ashamed of myself, particularly because you were there, and the only good fortune was that the park was so dark, otherwise I don’t know what would have happened. In the light I would not have dared to get up from the bench, I wouldn’t have dared to take a step, make a movement, for I felt thoroughly humiliated, desecrated. I wanted to go straight home to grandfather, but I didn’t even dare do that. I didn’t have the courage to tell you that I no longer could, and I had to escape, so terrible was my shame and so thoroughly wretched did I feel.
“And how was I to appear before grandfather? How was I going to look him in the eye? Where could I put the suitcase so that he couldn’t see it when he came to open the door? How could I move about in full view of him? Believe me, at that time I had the feeling that I would rather compromise myself with anyone than return home in the same state as I had left it. And if some shameless scoundrel had encountered me on the road, I would have gone off with him and then done away with myself. But of course nothing of the kind happened, for who would disturb a badly dressed lady when she is walking with a worn suitcase in her hand? Who would even cast a glance at her? So I reached home safely.
“I was really lucky when I reached home, for grandfather was alone and opened the door himself. But from his first glance I realised immediately that he understood the extent of my shame. This robbed me of my self-control so that I threw down my case with a bang, and without taking off my outer clothes rushed past grandfather, ran to my room, collapsed on the spot and burst into tears.
“I didn’t notice when grandfather followed me, nor did I know that he had picked up my case and brought it to my room. I only felt someone taking off my overshoes, as if I were a little baby who couldn’t manage it herself. After that he somehow pulled off my coat, removed my cap and took them to the peg in the hall. Only then did he sit down with me and start to gently stroke me, as if this were the only remedy for my frantic crying.
“Finally he spoke, very quietly and sadly, as if asking my pardon: ‘I told you before, dear child, that I can’t permit it, I mustn’t agree to it, you mustn’t go…’ ‘Now at least I know that he doesn’t love me,’ I sobbed, almost angrily. ‘No, dear child, now even I believe that he does love you,’ said grandfather, adding, ‘He loves you more than you actually like at the moment.’ ‘He has shamed me for my whole life!’ I screamed. But grandfather stroked my hair and said, ‘Ah, child, child, if you only understood what an injustice you’re doing him!’
“To that I could no longer give any reply, I only wept to wash my soul of shame with tears, my body of the dishonour, humiliation, defilement. I went on weeping until I feel asleep. When I awoke in the night, I found myself under a rug, but I didn’t remember how I got there. Seeing grandfather in the dim lamplight still sitting by my bed, as if I were gravely ill and had to be watched over, I suddenly remembered everything again and once more burst into tears, though with less force than in the evening, for I began to feel a terrible pity not just for myself but for grandfather too, who was trying to calm me, saying, ‘Child, what’s wrong with you, that you can’t conquer yourself! The main thing is that your aunt can’t hear you in her room, for you don’t want her to know as well. It’s easier for two people to handle this than three.’ ‘There are already three of us,’ I said, to which grandfather readily agreed, saying, ‘And of course three of us, dear child; my old head is forgetting the third.’ ‘Do you really believe now, grandfather, that he loves me?’ I asked, trying to look questioningly at his face in the dim light. ‘And of course, child, now I do believe it,’ replied grandfather, adding, ‘Sleep until the morning, then you’ll understand it yourself without asking.’ ‘But why did he shame me so much then?’ I queried. ‘He saved you from shame, dear child,’ replied grandfather. ‘To shame a young lady is a very easy thing to do, but to keep her from shame, few men have enough manliness and love for that.’
“That is what he said to me that night, when I just couldn’t overcome my pain and shame. But in the morning it really was a little easier, as grandfather had predicted, although I didn’t get out of bed at all that day. I couldn’t move my limbs, because it reminded me of the humiliation and defilement they had endured the previous day. My aunt came to see me, felt my head and pulse, and said that my face was paler than theirs were. At any rate I would be wise not to move from the spot until the next morning. Thus she too approved of my staying in bed to recuperate. But when she was in my room, I suddenly remembered my suitcase and I became fearful that she might happen for some reason to touch it and feel that it was heavier than usual and ask what I had in it and why I had it. At the same time I was afraid she might open the drawer in the bureau to take something from it, and her practised eyes would immediately see that some of my things were missing. But neither one nor the other happened: grandfather had put the case aside and the bureau drawer remained unopened. I had no luck in love, but I did have some in shielding my shame.
“Lying on my own I started to gradually realise what had happened to me and my love the previous day, and soon I was blaming not you but only myself. Only myself, and I will until I die. I had come to you with the greatest thing that a poor young girl has in this world – love, and I had wanted to pawn myself and my shabby little things for it, but at the same time I had made a vow to a third person, though he was my grandfather, the only good person in the world, and I had kept that vow, as though it were greater, more important, dearer and more sacred than my love. I wanted to come to you with pure love, but I came with a pledge which changed my love to a lie and a deception. For I now believe firmly that, as you kneeled before me in the park and tried to put sense into my head with pleas and explanations, I could have happily and directly told you what grandfather and I had talked about and what we had both agreed, then you would have either taken me upstairs to your room and I would not have felt the shame and humiliation that burnt within me then and will probably burn within me till my dying hour. That scorching sensation is perhaps the principal reason why I’m writing, making a sort of testament to my love, which I have never been able to speak about.