Lili Page 2
“Skaal!” cried Andreas, in the good old Nordic way, and raised his glass. “This wine, children, is for the soul what alpine sun is for the body. And this reminds me of a glorious legend of the cathedral of Seville, which Grete and I were admiring a short time ago. Under the plinth of the highest column they have immured a sunbeam – that is the whole legend.”
“Splendid!” cried Ernesto, with enthusiasm. “Heavenly, Andreas!” chimed in Elena, warmly pressing his hand.
And Grete smiled happily and thoughtfully.
Grete and Ernesto exchanged a multitude of travel stories – wanderings through galleries, museums, parks and disreputable alleys in Cadiz and Antwerp, voyages of discovery through bazaars in the Balkans and in marine stores in The Hague and Amsterdam. Each tried to outdo the other. Thus Grete; thus Ernesto – completely absorbed in their subject, their keen eyes alight with the enthusiasm of the artist.
Meanwhile, Andreas was leaning attentively, while Elena whispered in his ear the latest amusing, and even scandalous, anecdotes from Rome and Madrid.
“You are not drinking too much, Andreas?” suddenly inquired Elena, pausing in the midst of one of the “latest” incredible stories, only to be related in a whisper … She had noticed the growing nervous excitement of her companion. “You want to be fit and well tonight.”
Ernesto and Grete caught Elena’s words. Grete gazed mutely at Andreas. Ernesto took his friend’s hand. “Is Lili causing you trouble again?” he inquired, full of solicitude.
“You have said it, Ernesto,” replied Andreas very seriously. “This condition is gradually becoming intolerable. Lili is no longer content to share her existence with me. She wants to have an existence of her own. I don’t know whether you understand me … I, I am no longer any use. Cannot do anything more. I am finished. Lili has known this for a long time. That’s how matters stand. And consequently she rebels more vigorously every day. What shall I do with myself? The question may sound strange, though only fools think they are indispensable, irreplaceable. But not another word of this. Let us drink! Let us drink a fiery, sweet Asti, to please Elena!”
“Bravo!” cried Elena, not taking her eyes off Andreas, who rose wearily and made for the bar.
“Tell me quickly,” whispered Elena, looking towards her friend, “how is your husband? I don’t like his looks.”
Grete had lost her smile. “He has never been worse.” Ernesto and Elena gazed silently at their friend.
“I have almost given up all hope of saving him,” said Grete very softly, “unless a miracle …”
Elena interrupted her sharply. “Look here, you’re talking of a miracle?” Grete regarded her friend inquiringly. “Well, listen. A very good friend of ours is now in Paris. He comes from Dresden. He is a woman’s doctor. He rang us up early today, shortly after we had spoken to Andreas on the telephone. And then I thought at once: ‘If anybody can help Andreas, it is this doctor from Dresden.’ And the matter is urgent, as the doctor must return to Germany tomorrow afternoon. I will make an appointment with him this evening.”
Grete made a listless movement with her hand. “Dearest Elena, it is useless. Andreas won’t see any more doctors.”
Elena seized both Grete’s hands.
“Grete, dearest, now you must not contradict me; this time you must obey, and I will call on the Professor this very evening. I know the Professor will be able to help him.”
Grete slowly lit a cigarette. She blew away clouds of blue smoke and stared into the haze.
Then she said slowly, without excitement, and distinctly:
“Good, Elena; go and see your German Professor, and I will persuade Andreas to call upon you early in the morning.”
Andreas returned at this moment, holding up two bottles of Asti as if they were booty.
*
When Grete and Andreas were strolling at a later hour along the avenue near which their studio dwelling was situated, she avowed, at first cautiously, but afterwards with energy, what she had arranged with Elena. Andreas was beside himself. He stood still in the middle of the road. He would not be examined either by a German or by a French, or by an Indian mountebank. He was through with these bloodsuckers.
He had been ill for many years. Innumerable doctors and specialists had examined him without result. Now he was utterly tired. Life had become a torment to him.
Nobody understood what was wrong with him. But his sufferings were of the strangest kind. A specialist in Versailles had without further ado declared him to be an hysterical subject; apart from this he was a perfectly normal man, who had only to behave reasonably like a man to become perfectly well again; all that the patient lacked was the conviction that he was in fact perfectly healthy and normal.
A young doctor, likewise in Versailles, had indeed pronounced that “everything was not as it should be” … but he had dismissed Andreas with the following reassuring words: “Don’t distress yourself about your physical state. You are so healthy and unimpaired that you could stand anything.”
A radiologist had been very thorough, but he had nearly killed Andreas.
The diagnosis of a medical personage from Vienna, a man of somewhat mystical temperament and a friend of Steinach, pointed him in the right direction. “Only a bold and daring doctor can help you,” this man had declared; “but where will you find such a doctor today?”
Thereupon Andreas had taken this declaration to heart and approached three surgeons.
The first had declared that he had never in all his life performed “beautifying operations”; the second examined exclusively the blind gut; and the third declared Andreas to be “perfectly crazy”.
Most people would probably have agreed with this third specialist: for Andreas believed that in reality he was not a man, but a woman.
He had grown tired of it all, and sworn to himself that he would not visit any more doctors. He had made up his mind to end his existence. The first of May was to be the fatal day. Spring is a dangerous time for people who are sick and tired.
He had thought over everything, even the mode of his departure. It was to be, to some extent, a polite obeisance to Nature. Now it was February. March and April would be waiting months. A reprieve … he felt calm.
The only thing which tormented him, which pained him unspeakably, was the thought of his wife – the loyal friend and companion of his life.
Grete Sparre was an artist of great talent. Her pictures made an exciting and tingling impression, like a vapour from the jungles of Paris.
Perhaps because their marriage had been, above all, a comradeship almost from the beginning, they both found life pleasant and worthwhile only when they were together.
They were hardly adult and were still attending the Copenhagen academy of art when they had married. A few days before the wedding Andreas had sold his very first picture at his very first exhibition. They had lived mostly abroad, chiefly in Paris, and this life abroad had contributed to strengthen the tie which bound them.
It was therefore inevitable that Andreas frequently had moments when it seemed as if he were behaving like a traitor towards Grete. He had been forced to recognize that he could work no longer, and he was apprehensive of becoming a burden on Grete. This disturbing thought had been worrying him for months, poisoning the fount of his enjoyment.
Grete was aware of his thoughts. Yet she suspected that whatever she proposed to offer in the way of new hope would prove futile. They shared so many struggles, so many memories, bright and dark. So many things bound them together, perhaps most of all, Lili. For Andreas was, in fact, two beings: a man, Andreas, and a girl, Lili. They might even be called twins who had both taken possession of one body at the same time.
In character however they were entirely different. Gradually Lili had gained such predominance over
Andreas that she could still be traced in him, even after she had retired, but never the reverse. Whereas he felt tired and seemed to welcome death, Lili was joyous and in the freshness of youth.
She had become Grete’s favourite model. Lili wandered through her best works.
Grete felt herself to be the protectress of this carefree and helpless Lili. And Andreas felt himself to be the protector of both Grete and Lili. His ultimate hope was to die in order that Lili might awaken to a new life.
II
The next morning Grete spoke affectionately to him, pointing out lightly that he must call upon Elena if for no other reason than as an act of courtesy. When there he could always find an excuse if he could not bring himself to visit her German Professor.
An hour later he was on his way to Passy, where Elena lived, and punctually at twelve o’clock her car stopped in front of the house where the German doctor was staying. While Elena was pulling the bell, Andreas whispered: “Perhaps it will turn out quite interesting to see your German celebrity face to face, as he belongs to a race in whom interest in scientific investigation is so strongly pronounced that this interest …”
“For heaven’s sake,” interrupted Elena, “don’t start delivering a lecture on the doorstep.”
Andreas seized his friend’s hand. “Elena, I only mean … I only hope … How shall I express it?”
Elena looked very seriously at her friend, who was pale with excitement. “Go on, Andreas.”
And then he blurted out: “ … That he will not regard me merely as a sorry renegade … because … I would rather be a woman than a man.”
“No, Andreas, I will answer for that.” Footsteps were heard inside the house.
The door was opened and a servant received them; but before he had found time to announce them a tall, thin beautiful gentleman advanced to meet them. A dark-blue sakkoanzug (frock-coat) emphasized the austere elegance of his appearance in an almost military manner. His hair, which was brushed in a smooth mass across his high forehead, was dark, while his small moustache, trimmed in American style, was of a light fair colour.
When Andreas later on tried to recall these features to memory, his mind was a mere blank every time. From those blue, deep-set eyes, which were bright and dark at the same time, radiated a strange, captivating charm.
It was Werner Kreutz.
Andreas felt his heart beat faster. While the Professor was conducting them with a somewhat ceremonious cordiality into the drawing room, exchanging the while a few words with Elena, it occurred to Andreas for the first time in his life that German was a very beautiful and musical language.
As in a dream he listened to the conversation between the two, even when Elena was telling the Professor about him and his doleful story, and the Professor was throwing him now and again a quick, affectionate glance.
Andreas could think of nothing, and was conscious of nothing but the doctor’s voice. It was as if he were laid under a spell, the spell of this voice. It reminded him of the Professor’s eyes for it, too, was light and dark at the same time. Both the eyes and the voice penetrated into the innermost recesses of his soul.
And what would this voice have to say to him? And these eyes, what would their glance announce to him?
A death sentence? Did he expect anything other than this? Did he expect anything at all? Had he come here for any definite purpose?
The Professor stood in front of him, hardly looked at him, and spoke only a few brief words. And Andreas followed the Professor into an ante-room, where he was told to undress. “Now I feel like a sleep-walker,” thought Andreas in a vague and remote manner. He must obey, without questioning. He wanted to say something, and fumbled for German words.
“You need not give me any explanations, sir,” the Professor interrupted him considerately.
“It hurts here, doesn’t it, and there, and likewise there, doesn’t it?” And his hand slowly glided over Andreas’ body. All that Andreas needed to do was to nod quickly and shyly. An almost terrifying astonishment gripped him. How did this strange man know where his pains were located?
And this astonishment grew into amazement when the Professor, to whom Elena had handed a bundle of photographs of Lili, took the portraits out of the envelope and laid them on the table in the order of the years marked on their backs, which the Professor had not observed.
“There we have the development clearly marked,” said the Professor bluntly. Andreas did not even nod.
“I hear you have had Röntgen Rays treatment by a radiologist; but unless he previously made chemical or microscopical examinations it is impossible to say whether he exerted an unfavourable effect upon the germ glands, and perhaps upon any existing ovaries. This must be disclosed by a further examination.”
“Ovaries!” Andreas almost shrieked. “Then … I … have …” He could get no further. He could scarcely breathe from excitement. Everything was going round.
“Extremely probable,” replied the Professor, imperturbable and positive; yet the sound of his voice seemed slightly muffled, very soft and discreet. Andreas was to be reminded continually of this lightly-veiled voice, and not merely Andreas. “For I think you possess both male and female organs, and that neither of them has sufficient room to develop properly. It is fortunate for you that you have such a pronounced feminine feeling. That is why I think I shall be able to help you.”
Andreas had to clutch at his heart. He leaned over, in order not to miss a single word that fell from the lips of this amazing man. He stared fixedly at him, expecting to find confirmation of his words in his glance.
‘Well, Professor, what am I? What …?
The Professor rose, paced up and down the room for a while as if to think the matter over, and then turned to Andreas again. And once more Andreas drank in his words.
“Come to me in Germany. I hope I shall be able to give you a new life and a new youth.”
These words were uttered with extreme simplicity. Andreas stood up and struggled for speech. “Then it will be Lili who survives?”
“Yes,” answered Werner Kreutz. “I will operate on you, and give you new and strong ovaries. This operation will remove the arrest in your development which occurred at the age of puberty. But first of all you will have to undergo various treatment of a preliminary nature in Berlin. Then you can come to me in Dresden.”
With these words ended the serious and fateful conversation between the strange man and Andreas, who was still sitting a little breathless when the Professor brought Elena into his consulting room. She smiled to conceal her emotion.
The doctor stood apart from them thoughtfully, and looked suddenly at Andreas and then at Elena. “May I speak openly?” he said, glancing from one to the other.
“Please do,” replied Andreas. “I have no secrets from Elena.”
“Well, then,” began the Professor, “I hear that you are married.”
Andreas blushed with embarrassment.
“Your marriage … perhaps you can tell me something about it, because, as a doctor, at any rate …”
Each of them was conscious of something fantastic at this moment, although the question seemed the most natural thing in the world.
“Perhaps I had better go,” suggested Elena, full of solicitude for her friend.
Andreas caught hold of her. “No, Elena, no, don’t go.” The Professor came to the assistance of both. His smile worked at this moment like a deliverance. “What is the attitude, for instance, of – I thought I heard the name Lili just now – well, of Lili, towards men? I mean, do men interest Lili?”
“Yes, indeed,” laughed Elena; “it is positively incredible what an attraction Lili has for the other sex.”
Andreas attempted to interrupt her. The Professor was now laughing heartily.
“Let the lady go on, please.” And Andreas had to listen while she continued: “I have seen it with my own eyes at various carnivals and balls.”
The Professor became serious again. “What you have just told me, madam, is all of a piece with the picture I have formed in my own mind. For the rest, the operation which has become necessary, especially as it is the first of its kind, will create a nu
mber of remarkable situations, not least, from a legal point of view. But” – and with this he came close to Andreas and took his hand – “I promise you I will not leave Lili in the lurch and that I will assist her with her first independent steps into life.”
Andreas looked down at the stranger’s hand. He did not know what he ought to do. He looked helplessly around the room, then released the doctor’s hand and stretched out both arms to Elena, as if imploring help. She hurried to him and embraced him maternally.
“Elena,” he stammered through his tears, “the life which is now coming with which I shall have nothing whatever to do … this life, Elena, you have saved. Without you, Elena, I should never have come here.”
Werner Kreutz was standing in front of the window, looking silently into the street.
Andreas went towards him, weeping. The Professor took his hands and said quietly: “I understand you. I know how much you have suffered.”
Einar Wegener (Andreas Sparre), 1929
III
For hours Grete had been waiting in the little studio for her husband’s return.
When at last he entered, he was as pale as death. Grete hurried to him. She led him to the sofa, upon which he collapsed helplessly. Grete remained sitting by him for a long time without saying a word.
When at length Andreas began to speak, she listened to him with closed eyes, and Andreas too spoke with closed eyes. How much of it all was a dream? And how much reality? Did that which was then beginning mean redemption, the redemption? What was the way forward for him, for her, for both of them?
And Andreas, completely upset by all that he had just experienced, told his story in broken words.
At length he rose to his feet. Without a word he took Grete’s hands and led her to the easel in front of the broad window, through which the northern sky was lighting up the room. A large picture was leaning against the easel, upon which three female figures were to be seen. One of the women bore Grete’s features, another bore Elena’s features, and the third figure bore Andreas’– Lili’s features!