Lili

by Lili- A Portrait of the First Sex Change (retail) (epub)

  “And the citizens, who had arranged a charity ball after the performance was over, of which we ‘Parisians’ were to form the centre of attraction, saw in Lili, who at the desire of all the company had remained in her stage costume, the typical Parisienne. Wherever she showed herself, she was treated with exquisite courtesy. She enjoyed herself immensely. She was sought after more than any other dancer at the ball. When at length she found she could skip a dance, Claude Lejeune made his way towards her, bowed in his most amusing way, then, in order to show the most serious face in the world, screwed his monocle tighter into his eye, even blushed a little, and said almost solemnly: ‘Mademoiselle, may I, as soon as you have somewhat recovered, solicit the honour of being your dancing partner a number of times in succession?’ Lili looked at him somewhat surprised, and then nodded. And during this night they danced together many times.

  They were both about the same height. During the dancing they scarcely spoke a word to each other. They danced, completely surrendering themselves to the rhythm of the dance.

  “When the last dance was over, Claude bowed very low before Lili, blushed again, and said: ‘Mademoiselle, may I hope you will honour the excursion we are making tomorrow with your presence?’

  “The other comrades also begged Lili, and she promised with a smile. Only the ‘Parisians’ took part in this excursion, otherwise Lili could hardly have been present. The day passed in perfect harmony, and it was arranged that everybody should meet again in Balgencie on the first of August, to spend their holidays together on the banks of the Loire. Lili was specially invited. She promised, on behalf of her brother Andreas. Lili henceforth called me by this name.

  “That evening we returned to Paris.

  “In August the ‘Paris gang’, as we called ourselves, half admiringly, half apprehensively, conquered the little town, together with the delightful bathing-place. it was hot, 85 degrees in the shade. Frequently we were obliged to prolong our day into the night, which was all the more amusing as by ten o’clock in the evening the little town was shrouded in darkness, whether the moon was full or new.

  “The so-called respectable society of Balgencie kept at a distance from us, with the exception of Monsieur René, the deputy mayor. The ‘proper’ civic chief had been obliged for a long time to shift the official business on to the broad shoulders of Monsieur René, owing to chronic stomach trouble. Monsieur René, as everybody in the town called him, was a bachelor. He took part in all our nocturnal excursions through the environs of his town, and it was he who during those August days submitted to the town councillors solemnly assembled in the town hall a proposal to organize, with the help of the ‘Paris gang’, another civic function for charitable purposes. The proposal was unanimously accepted. The next day solemn invitations were delivered to Jean Tempête, Grete, and me, as well as to a few other prominent members of our party, to devise a programme for the function. We resolved to organize a water-carnival, with flower-bedecked boats, on the Loire. Cupid’s boat was to sail at the head of the procession of boats.

  “Grete received instructions to prepare Cupid’s boat. “Monsieur René placed at our disposal an old broad-bottomed boat, as well as a boat-house, together with his wine cellar. When the rather shabby boat was at length transformed into Cupid’s festive gondola – the sail was a large red heart – and the launching had taken place, it transpired that, owing to its splendid, as well as very weighty, equipment, the craft was extremely difficult to steer. At Balgencie the Loire is very impetuous, and treacherous winds render a sail rather dangerous. It was therefore necessary for Cupid, as well as his attendant, to be strong swimmers. As no practised and daring swimmer could be discovered among the young ladies of the town, Jean Tempête very discreetly asked me if I could not assume Cupid’s rôle, provided Claude Lejeune was assigned to me as squire. I was known to be an excellent swimmer. I promised on behalf of Lili and also of Claude, who had meanwhile become a good friend of ours.

  “Thus on the banks of this ancient township, into which Joan of Arc had made her entry as a warrior in steel and iron centuries before, Lili was dressed up as the boy Cupid. The carnival took place in glorious midsummer weather. The whole population stood on the shore and greeted Cupid with frantic cheers as he sailed in triumph upon the smooth glassy surface of the Loire. With his golden bow he shot a rain of arrows at the thousands of heads peeping through the trellis-work on the shore. And everybody believed that behind Cupid’s mask was concealed the typical Parisienne from the revue of the last charity performance.

  “Upon Claude had devolved the task, after the carnival was over, of conducting Lili to her hotel through a crowd wild with enthusiasm, and when at length he brought her intact to her room, he looked at her long and then said, very quietly: ‘However you dress up and whatever you want to make me believe, you are a genuine girl.’ “He stopped, startled at his own temerity. Lili stared at him.

  “‘What is the matter, Claude?’ she asked.

  “‘Nothing,’ he said quietly, ‘nothing at all. Or is it something? But if I told Lili what I was just thinking and what I have been thinking all day, her brother Andreas would certainly be very angry with me.’

  “Then he went, and when we saw each other again the following morning he looked at me shyly and kept out of my way. Lili had again disappeared.

  “Year after year we all met again at Balgencie, where I gradually became accustomed to Lili’s and my double existence. Lili took part in the festivities and excursions. I painted very industriously, swam and drank many glasses of wine with the notabilities of the town. I had many friends there. All the inhabitants of the town knew me and were delighted to recognize their houses and gardens and themselves in pictures of mine, which might subsequently hang in the autumn exhibitions of Paris. But nobody in the town suspected the identity of the slender Parisienne who now and then strolled with Grete and

  Claude through the alleys of the town and out into the country. These trips were among Lili’s most delightful recollections. In the early dawn, before any bedroom window was opened, the three of them would march out into the summer morning, and not until late in the evening, when the town had long since retired to rest, did they return, tired and happy. Claude was then Grete’s and Lili’s most delightful cavalier; he was their brother and protector, and the friendship between them became ever more intimate and permanent, a friendship which stood every test.

  “It went without saying that this ‘triple alliance’ continued afterwards in Paris. Every Sunday Claude made his appearance, when he was the guest of the studio for the whole of the day. And in accordance with an unwritten law, Lili always received him at the door in the corridor. If, however, she was, by a rare chance, absent, and I had to open the door to him, we greeted each other in a very comradely way; he gave me his hand, asked about this and that; but I could always remark his disappointment. In the studio he would then look at my pictures, although quite cursorily; politics and similar topics were touched on in conversation and even the latest Parisian scandal. But it did not last long, at the most a quarter of an hour, and then Claude would look at me somewhat uncertainly. ‘I have not yet said good day to Grete.’ And then he would disappear into the little kitchen to join Grete.

  “But if Lili opened the door to him on Sundays, he would at once go with her into the kitchen.

  “In this connection I recall a little incident which happened just at that time.

  “Claude had come to see us one weekday evening. Grete was not at home. I then suggested to him that we should visit some amusing dancing-bar in the Quartier Latin together. We landed in the Gipsy Bar, where Claude ordered the speciality of the house, namely a coffin-nail. This cocktail was not unworthy of its very promising name. A frequent repetition of the enjoyment of this drink during a day or a night is calculated to curtail considerably our sojourn here below. Perhaps it was this drink which prompted us to try out a new dance which Claude had recently seen somewhere. Moreover, it was the first time that he
had danced with me. We had scarcely taken the first step before the manager made a dash at us and requested us to stop dancing immediately. The gentlemen must excuse him; he knew us both very well, but in his establishment, unfortunately, they did not allow two gentlemen to dance together.

  “We duly explained to the strict gentleman that all we were concerned about was trying out a new dance. He answered: ‘Messieurs, I am sorry, but gentlemen are not allowed to dance together here. If I permitted it only for one occasion, and I know that in your case I am dealing with irreproachable gentlemen, my establishment would be over-run by persons of a certain type and its reputation would suffer injury.’

  “We sat down again with a laugh, ordered a harmless apéritif, and then went home.

  “The next evening Grete, Lili, and Claude visited the dancing-bar. Claude had, in the meantime, taught both ladies the same dance, and shortly after entering the bar Claude and Lili executed the extremely complicated dance amid the vigorous applause of the manager.

  “Then he came over to Claude’s table, made a polite bow to Grete, and especially to Lili, and said: ‘I hope that your friend, whom I am sorry not to see with you today, has not avoided my establishment because he was irritated at the little incident of yesterday evening. Monsieur will understand.’

  “‘Oh, we understand,’ answered Claude, ‘and I can assure you that my friend is not annoyed in the least.’

  “The manager then turned to Lili and bowed again: ‘May I offer Mademoiselle my heartiest congratulations? Mademoiselle dances charmingly, charmingly.’ And then, turning to Claude: ‘Monsieur will admit that his partner of yesterday cannot be compared in the least with Mademoiselle.’

  “In connection with this amusing encounter I must tell you about another experience, which also happened about this time.

  “Together with Claude and Grete, Lili was sometimes invited to a smart artists’ club. The club evening usually consisted of a meal followed by a ball. One evening, Grete being tired, Lili went there alone with Claude, at his urgent request. A lady who was an intimate friend of ours and knew me as well as Lili – for the rest, nobody in the club suspected our double existence – made a point this evening of introducing Lili to a number of gentlemen, including her cousin, a nobleman who was no longer quite young. Hitherto Lili had declined to make fresh acquaintances on these club evenings, which were rare events for her. She was happy enough dancing with Claude, and did not need any other partners. Yet, before she could decline, her friend fetched her cousin: ‘My cousin, le Comte de Trempe – la Baronne Lili de Cortaud.’ The gallant Count immediately challenged Lili to a foxtrot. This dance was followed by several more. Lili could not refuse. Claude nodded to her merrily. Thus it happened that Lili danced with her new cavalier until far into the night. When at length, completely exhausted, she said farewell to him ‘for the present’, with the most solemn face in the world he begged ‘Madame la Baronne’, who, as his cousin had whispered, was staying with Grete for a few days, to allow him to pay his respects to her the following day. What else could Lili do than make the best of a bad job?

  “When Lili reached home, Grete was fast asleep.

  “The next morning, while Lili was telling Grete about her conquest in the club, the bell rang in the corridor. The Count appeared; he made profuse, apologies – Grete had opened the door – in case he was intruding, but he only wanted to inquire after the health of her guest, the Baroness Lili de Cortaud.

  “Grete regretted sincerely that her visitor had already gone out, and showed the Count into the studio, where he immediately discovered portraits of Lili all over the place. He was beside himself with enthusiasm. Might he wait until the Baroness returned? Grete assured him that this would be a useless undertaking, as her visitor, who was also her sister-in-law, had been invited to dinner with friends.

  “‘Oh,’ the Count then exclaimed, ‘so your husband – Monsieur Sparre – is brother to the Baroness.’

  “In her distress Grete was obliged to admit this fact.

  “‘ When may I perhaps have the pleasure of calling on Monsieur Sparre?’ asked the Count, almost flurried.

  “Grete promised to let him know soon through his cousin.

  “The following day – we were taking tea in our studio with a few friends and were just discussing Lili’s involuntary experience – the corridor bell rang again. The Count! “‘I am sincerely delighted,’ he began at once in his ceremonious way, ‘to pay you a visit’ (I could scarcely find time to usher him in). ‘As I have already told Madame Sparre, the day before yesterday I made the acquaintance of your sister, the charming Baroness, and I am most anxious to see her again.’

  “Of course it was now very difficult to keep up the pose, but we succeeded in doing so, and I replied: ‘My sister will certainly be sorry to have missed the pleasure of shaking hands with you again, monsieur.’

  “Grete and our visitors had great difficulty in strangling an outburst of Homeric laughter. I had to throw them a warning look. Without thinking, I continued: ‘Unfortunately, we are seeing very little of our sister these days, invited everywhere … very much sought after … scarcely home before midnight.’

  “‘Yes, I quite understand that,’ said the Count, looking at me searchingly. My heart felt like an anvil trembling under the strokes of a hammer. He went on, speaking slowly and blinking through his monocle at every word: ‘It is very strange to me that you are brother and sister, for Madame de Cortaud does not resemble you in the least, my dear sir.’

  “I agreed emphatically, and gave Grete an imploring look to keep a straight face. I had just finished a lengthy and tedious assurance that my sister and I did not resemble each other in the least, when the Count addressed to me an inquiry as to whether my sister was, as his cousin intimated to him, not engaged, was really free?

  “Foolishly enough I did not contest this point. “Whereupon he made an exemplary bow and, without beating about the bush, declared: ‘Then, monsieur, I have the honour of offering the Baroness my hand.’

  “I thanked him in the name of my sister and promised to inform her of his flattering offer. He then withdrew, amidst the exchange of numerous compliments.

  “A moment later our studio was rocking with the roaring laughter of Grete and our visitors.

  “I did not join in. Lili’s experience at the ball was taking her out of her depth. I had to think of a way out.

  “‘Quite simple,’ cried Grete, whose laughter had brought tears into her eyes. ‘I will tell the cousin to inform the Count that his lady-love has been suddenly obliged to leave for Copenhagen for very urgent family reasons. For the present a return to Paris is out of the question.’

  “And so it happened. A few postcards which we caused to be posted to the Count by a friend in Copenhagen, who had to forge Lili’s ‘handwriting’, gradually convinced him of the ‘hopelessness’ of his wooing.

  “He never found out who Lili was.

  “Even stranger was something that happened at the house of my sister and my brother-in-law in Copenhagen, where we were staying some months later on a visit.

  “My little niece had seen pictures of Lili, and wanted to see this remarkable person for once ‘in the life’. So it was arranged that she should be present one Sunday afternoon, which my parents were also to spend with my relatives. My parents had not seen Grete and me for a number of years. Consequently father and mother were disappointed to learn on their arrival that I was not expected until later, as I had a very important call to make first. Suddenly the bell rang in the hall. The girl announced that a French lady was in the passage and wanted to speak to Madame Grete Sparre. The lady was brought in; Grete welcomed her in the most cordial manner. It was a friend from Paris – unfortunately she only spoke French. And … Father immediately began a conversation in French! Mother, who made him translate everything to her, was enormously proud of him!

  “In the course of the conversation Mother suddenly warned Father that he should not keep so close to the window
with the lady from Paris. It was the middle of winter. ‘Don’t forget,’ she said to Father, looking thoughtfully at the lady, ‘the lady comes from a much milder climate and is so thinly clad. Please tell her to sit near the stove.’ Then tea was served. And Father and Mother plied the foreign visitor with requests for the latest news from Paris.

  “For a whole hour the ‘Parisienne’ kept up the deception in front of Father and Mother. When she suddenly disclosed her identity, they both covered their faces with their hands. They could no longer trust their own eyes.

  “‘No, no!’ repeated Mother, after a long interval. ‘That Andreas and Mademoiselle Lili from Paris are one and the same person I cannot believe.’ ”

  VIII

  “So Lili and I continued to live our double life, and no one, neither the ‘initiated’ nor myself, saw in this anything else than a pleasant kind of distraction and entertainment, a kind of artists’ caprice, neither more nor less. We were as little perturbed at the obviously growing distinction, of an emotional kind, which increasingly manifested itself between the mystical girl and myself; nor did anyone take any serious notice of the delicate changes which gradually became perceptible in my physical form.

  “But something had been silently preparing in me. “One evening I said suddenly to Grete:

  “‘Really I cannot imagine what existence would be like if Lili should one day vanish for ever, or if she should no longer look young and beautiful. Then she would no longer have any justification for living at all.’

  “Grete at first looked at me astonished. Then she nodded and said in her calm, thoughtful way: ‘It is strange that you have mentioned something which has been on my mind a good deal lately. In recent months I have felt prickings of conscience because I was, to a certain extent, the cause of creating Lili, of enticing her out of you, and thus becoming responsible for a disharmony in you which reveals itself most distinctly on those days when Lili does not appear.’