SHE WAS, confidentially speaking, a spy. In certain times certain persons are entrusted with a mission. The spy had been assigned by such and such government to pry from certain hands a little pouch with letters, sketches, etc. What backstairs-intriguishness I’m bringing into this!
In her beauty and innocent appearance the spy resembled a dream, a dove, and thus it was almost inevitable that the proprietor, owner, and possessor of the little pouch was seized with a love for her. His love exalted him to the point of his becoming a kind of child. The little pouch was made of red leather.
The respective government waited anxiously to hear what kind of news the spy would convey to them. The absence of news lasted a long time. Various emissaries returned disappointed from whence they had come. The one assigned apparently seemed to take her assignment quite casually. Certain people considered her inept. A writer ridiculed her, but one often ridicules what one loves.
Several ministers already had had to give up the ghost, but still the bag was in the possession of this most peculiar individual. This individual represented, as it were, a certain sort of power. The scoundrel, with his heart full of love for the spy, and the government in question waged, so to speak, a secret war with each other. The state continued to place its highest trust in the spy.
For his part the owner of the little leather pouch from time to time wrote articles—received in part disparagingly, in part with applause—for national newspapers and ones from neighboring countries, so one might assume he was a journalist. In addition, he played the piano unusually lovingly, sweetly, and beautifully.
For her part the spy was constantly shadowed by an escort. Its members carried revolvers capable of going off at any moment.
All these gentlemen often passed closely by the pouch carrier. Had the abovementioned government suspected how the spy became more and more afraid of the scoundrel, it would hardly have bethought itself to withdraw her. The spy shivered at the thought of his detecting what she was, for she liked him.
The villain knew exactly what the villainess was after, she whose attire was appalling and at the same time fabulously beautiful. The government still had trust in the spy. The escort trembled with agitation. The country abounded with perplexed faces.
(1927)
Translated with Nicole Köngeter