Gustav Schlling: Memoirs of a Baron

I owe my life to a passionate embrace with which the Old Baron honored my mother.

The Old Baron was one of the richest noblemen in the country, and the last member of his branch. It did not matter to him that he could barely count the number of his forebears; despite the fact that he was the last one, he had no desire to get himself married and increase the length of his long line of nobility. Once in a while he would pick out a young girl from among his subjects whose charms attracted him as the loveliest he had ever seen at that particular time. He would have her properly trained by a governess and dress her up in fineries with the help of a tailor and a seamstress of impeccable taste. Thereupon he would love the girl for as long as it took him to find another one he liked more.

But he never expelled the sweethearts he had grown weary of without any further ado. He handed every one of them a dowry in direct proportion to the measure of delight which he had found with her. Many a surgeon, schoolmaster or tax collector in the area was rather well-to-do, only because he had married one of the Old Baron's little wards. (This is how he himself referred to his dethroned amours.)

To be sure, the old parish priest sulked occasionally about such misconduct, and he never wanted to hear the confession of one of those transformed peasant beauties, or admit her to the baptismal font to be a godmother; however, the pastor was much more sensible in these matters and wangled it so that somehow the blame was heaped upon the conscience of his most gracious patron. And the Baron considered the poor parish priest much too old to be punished for his stubborn orthodoxy.

And it came to pass that the Old Baron visited a certain town and beheld the daughter of a barber and saw that she was beautiful. He immediately dispatched his chamberlain, and that Mercury never returned from such a mission without having accomplished his purpose. He did not fail that time either. If that fellow had been at the court of a sovereign prince, his skillful and cunning manners would have swung him upwards all the way to prime minister.

The shy barber's daughter visited the Old Baron when dusk began to fall and returned home several hours later, well laden with many presents.

When ten weeks had gone by, the Baron received a letter from the poor girl in which she described, to the best of her ability, her fear of the severity of her hot-tempered father, especially now that she was afraid he was about to discover a slight change in her condition.

The Baron sent for the old man and sugared the pill with gilding. The man fumed and raged, then quieted down quickly when the Baron promised a two thousand Taler dowry for his daughter plus upbringing and education of the child.

So much for my father and my mother.

The Old Baron remained true to his word. I received an education in the city as he could only have afforded his own son, and none of my teachers and instructors who brought him good reports about me returned without gifts.

My mother died when I was ten years old. The Old Baron had taken a great liking for me, and adopted me with princely approval as his own son.

I was seventeen years old when this happened and it appears to me that my readers have now taken a considerable leap without having endangered the softest member in the least.

It is said that most children who owe their existence to an incidental embrace at which first sight made the passions flare up to a greater degree have quicker blood, more tender and sensitive nerves, that they are more receptive to all impressions and I don't know what else. Supposedly, they are more and have more than those children of an embrace to which the man goes with carefully measured step and at an appointed time, like the old Tristram Shandy who needed Saturday nights when he would draw up the wall clock to remind him with one thing or another about one thing or another.

But however this may be, I must admit that I did get a goodly portion of passion as could be expected from the manner in which I was conceived. At a very early age I was aware of a fire in my veins and a restlessness in my breast which caused me many an uncomfortable hour. I liked to gaze into the eyes of some young girl, preferred it even more to take her hands in mine, and loved it, whenever I had a chance, to kiss her upon the cheeks-or better yet-upon the mouth. I would never pass up such an opportunity. The quickening of my heartbeat, the tightening in my chest, the swelling of all my muscles, and the vibrations that coursed through my body, these were all experiences much too pleasant for me to neglect even the smallest opportunity which could bring about any one of these feelings.

I had no supervisors and no bad-tempered tutors; with my good looks, my cheerful, careless, coaxing and charming disposition, how could I help but not find frequent opportunities?

I was seventeen years old when my father officially adopted me. It was a big celebration which lasted for a week. Many friends from the neighboring nobility were present, and it did not matter how much they resented-anywhere else, or in the privacy of their own homes-that my father's mistress had her place at the table as if she were his lawful wife, they were not about to decline the invitation since nowhere else in the area was the table so well laden, were the wines as delicious and was the music as beautiful as at the mansion of the Old Baron.

I had spent a very pleasant day, jesting with the young ladies and earning more than a dozen little kisses. I also had drunk a glass or two more of wine than usual. Was it any surprise then that my blood was unusually feverish when I had reached my bedroom and that, after hours of tossing and turning, sleep still evaded me?

My sleeping quarters were next to those of my father and separated from them by a thin wall only. I could hear my father talking:

“Lilla, you sure are taking your time.”

I must tell my readers that the Baron had a habit of giving his sweethearts a name which he considered fitting for them. The one he had at that time was called Lilla.

I arose from my bed upon hearing my father's voice so clearly and I suddenly noticed, because of a ray of light on the floor of my bedroom, that the door had been left slightly ajar. I sneaked a little bit closer and could just see my father's bed through the opening, and slightly more to the left I had a very good view of a large mirror on each side of which was a wall bracket with a large, burning wax candle. I was filled with fear and foreboding; my legs crumbled under me. I fell down upon my knees and remained in front of the door opening as if nailed to the floor.

Lilla entered and walked toward the door, wearing a simple white gown. She unpinned her hair which fell in long black waves down upon her shoulders.

“I had to undress first,” she said.

The Baron, who wore a nightgown, walked up to her and, putting an arm around her neck, kissed her.

The Baron: “And get as carefully dressed again, as if you were going to the dance and not to sleep.”

Lilla: “Don't you expect that from your Lilla?”

The Baron: “That is only so I can undress you.”

And while he said this, he pulled her scarf and the pins had done their duty. The dress fell down upon the floor and Lilla stood there, barely covered by a little chemise.

It took away my breath.

Lilla turned her back toward me, threw both arms around his neck and languidly rested against his shoulders. Their mutual kisses and deep breathing made me stiffen.