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Published online by Cambridge University Press: 12 January 2023
I.
Mary Bender is to be married today.
She is nineteen years old. And chaste! And naive! You have no idea how charming she is.
Her upbringing was the most excellent imaginable. You know—none of these disgusting thoughts of emancipation. No! Truly feminine. That means—yes, what does this actually mean?
No, you are not embarrassing me at all. I can’t define this for you, but listen to what the little girl learned:
A little bit of history, just enough so that she knew nothing, and so that her husband, who is not to be blamed, can one day accuse her of being superficial. Then, a little bit of math and natural history. The human being existed for her teachers only as a skeleton. They remained silent about the living, suffering, carnal body of nerves and blood. This is how they molded her mind. Oh, and how! The most alluring music, the most sentimental poems and love, love, love! In poems, plays, novels, even in religious studies, nothing but love, this great, wonderful, only feeling which, it seemed to her, pervaded life.
She grew up as if in a dream. No wonder that the sensibility of such a carefully groomed sapling like this one, also unfurled the most capable leaves.
So it was that she trembled and quivered and mused about this love longingly at night.
Then came a man to her parents’ house—Heinrich Krüger. First, she met him at a ball somewhere. He looked at her then and blushed, she also blushed, and neither of them knew what to say.
So, they saw each other more often, more frequently, until he finally asked her parents for permission to visit the house.
She sensed his arrival from afar. His steps made her tremble. His gaze, immersed in hers, full of tender love, delighted and enchanted her.
He squeezed her hand gently, he whispered sweet words in her ear as he passed by (after he had wisely inquired about her dowry beforehand).
And she believed him. Dear God, how she loved him! In the evening she secretly knelt down, praying to God, overflowing with glowing words of gratitude, so fervent, so pure, so intimate as she herself was.
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