A Thread in the web of Erika's existence snapped with Goswyn's departure. The sudden separation from him without even a farewell she felt to be very sad, and long after he had gone the mere mention of his name would thrill her with a vague, restless pain, a nervous dissatisfaction with herself, with the world, with him, a dim sense that some error had crept into her life's reckoning and that the story ought to have turned out otherwise. In the depths of her heart she was bitterly disappointed when after a rather gay summer and autumn she heard upon her return to Berlin that young Sydow had been transferred to Breslau.
Soon, indeed, she lacked the time for occupying her thoughts with her dear good friend but unwelcome suitor. Existence developed brilliantly for her, and the world's incense mounted to her head, and bewildered her, as it bewilders all, even the wisest and gravest, if they are exposed to its influence.
She was presented at court, where she produced the most favourable impression, and was distinguished by the highest personages in the land in a manner to excite much envy.
Of course she went out a great deal,--so much that her grandmother, who had always been characterized by a certain social indolence, grew weary of accompanying her, and, whenever she could, intrusted her to the chaperonage of her oldest friend, Frau von Norbin.
But when Erika reached home at midnight or after it she had to recount her triumphs at her grandmother's bedside. The old Countess would scrutinize her closely, as she would have done a work of art, and once she said, "Yes, you are a rare creature, it cannot be denied: you are more lovely after a ball than before it. How life thrills through you! But I do not understand you. I know your mind, and your nerves, but I have never proved the depths of your heart." Then she shook her head, sighed, kissed the youthful beauty upon her eyelids, and sent her to bed.
Yes, there was no end to the homage paid her. No young girl had ever been so admired and caressed as was Erika Lenzdorff in the first two years after her presentation. It fairly rained adorers and suitors. Then--not because her beauty began to fade; no, she had never been more beautiful, she had developed magnificently--her conquests decreased. Her admirers were capricious, returning to her at times, and then holding aloof again; and as for suitors, they entirely disappeared.
One fact was too patent not to be acknowledged by even the girl's adoring grandmother. To the usual society man Erika was duller and more uninteresting than the rawest pink-and-white village girl whose natural coquetry taught her how to flatter his vanity and emphasize his superiority. She did not know how to talk to her admirers, and her admirers did not know how to talk to her. The men thought her 'queer.' She passed for a blue-stocking because she read serious books, and for 'highfalutin' because she speculated upon matters quite uninteresting to young girls in general. Since with all her feminine refinement of mind she combined not an iota of worldly wisdom, she harboured the conviction that every one regarded life from her own serious stand-point, and would fearlessly propound the problems that occupied her to the most superficial dandy who happened to be her partner in the german.
Her grandmother once said to her, "You scare away your admirers with your attempts to teach them to fly. Men do not wish to learn to fly: you would succeed far better if you should try to teach them to crawl on all fours. Most of them have a decided predilection for doing so, and those women who can furnish them with a plausible pretext for it--for crawling on all fours, I mean--are sure to be the most popular with them."
In reply to such a declaration Erika would gaze at her grandmother with an expression 'so pathetically stupid' that the old Countess could not help drawing the girl towards her and kissing her.
"It is a pity you would not have Goswyn," the old Countess generally concluded, with a sigh: "you are caviare for people in general, and Goswyn was the only one who knew how to value you. I cannot comprehend you, Erika. Goswyn is the very ideal of a husband; warm-hearted, brave, and true, there is real support in his stout arm, and his broad shoulders are just fitted to bear a burden that another would find too heavy. He is no genius, but instead is brimful of the noblest kind of sense. Understand me, Erika; there is a great difference between the noblest kind and the inferior article."