German Fiction

CHAPTER XIX

Between Berlin and Potsdam Katherine was already drawing down the yellow curtains of the car windows to protect herself from the dazzling light which grew stronger and stronger. But on this same day no curtains were drawn in the little home on the Luise Bank and the forenoon sun shone brightly in at Frau Nimptsch's window and filled the whole room with light. Only the background was in shadow and here stood an old-fashioned bed with a high pile of red and white checked pillows, against which Frau Nimptsch was leaning. She was sitting up rather than lying down, because she had water on the lungs and was suffering severely from asthma. She kept turning her head toward the one open window, but still oftener toward the fireplace where no fire was burning to-day.

Lena was sitting by her, holding her hand, and when she saw that her mother kept looking in the same direction, she said: "Shall I make a fire, mother? I thought that you were lying warm in bed and it is such a hot day …"

The old woman did not speak, but it seemed to Lena as if she would like it. So she went and knelt down and lit a fire.

When she came back to the bed, the old woman smiled contentedly and said: "Yes, Lena, it is hot. But you know, I always want to see it. And when I do not see it, I think everything is gone and there is not a spark of life left. And there is so much trouble here…"

And she pointed to her breast and heart.

"Ah, mother, you are always thinking about dying. And yet it has passed away so many times already."

"Yes, child, it has passed away often, but it must come sometime and at seventy it may come any day. I wish you would open the other window too, so that there will be more air and the fire will burn better. Just look, it isn't burning well, it smokes so …"

"The sun does that, it is shining right on it…"

"And then give me the green drops that Frau Dörr brought me. They always help me a little."

Lena did as she was asked and when the sick woman had taken the drops, she really seemed to be a little better and easier around her heart. She propped herself up with her hands and raised herself higher, and when Lena had put another cushion behind her back, she said:

"Has Franke been here lately?"

"Yes, he was here early to-day. He always stops to inquire before he goes to the factory."

"He is a very good man."

"Yes, he is that."

"And about the Conventiclers…"

"It may not be so bad. And I almost believe that he gets his good principles from them. Do you believe so?"

The old woman smiled. "No, Lena, they come from the good God. And one has them and another has not. I don't believe very much in learning and training… And has not he said anything yet?"

"Yes, yesterday evening."

"And how did you answer him?"

"I told him that I would accept him, because I thought he was an honorable and trustworthy man, who would not only take care of me, but of you too…"

The old woman nodded her approval.

"And," Lena went on, "when I had told him that, he took my hand and exclaimed cheerfully: 'So then, Lena, it is all settled!' But I shook my head and said, not quite so fast, because I still had something to confess to him. And when he asked what it was, I told him that I had had two love affairs: First … there, mother, you know all about it … and the first I liked very much and the other I loved dearly and still cared for him. But he was now happily married and I had never seen him again but just once, and I did not want to see him again. But, since he was so good and kind to us, I felt obliged to tell him everything, because I would not deceive anyone, and certainly not him…"

"My Lord, my Lord," whimpered the old woman, while Lena was speaking.

"And directly afterwards he got up and went back to his own rooms. But I could see plainly that he was not angry. Only he would not let me go to the door with him as usual."

Frau Nimptsch was evidently anxious and uneasy, although indeed one could not tell whether the cause was what Lena had told her or the struggle for breath. But it almost seemed as if it were her breathing, for suddenly she said: "Lena, child, I am not high enough. You will have to put the song book under me too."

Lena did not contradict her, but went and got the song book. But when she brought it, her mother said: "No, not that one, that is the new one. I want the old one, the thick one with the two clasps." And when Lena came back with the thick song book, she went on: "I used to have to bring that same book to my mother too when I was not much more than a child and my mother was not yet fifty; and she suffered here too, and her great frightened eyes kept looking at me so. But when I put the Porst song book, that she had got when she was confirmed, under her, she grew perfectly quiet and fell peacefully asleep. And I want to do that too. Ah, Lena. It isn't death … but dying… There, now. Ah, that helps me."

Lena wept softly to herself and since she now saw plainly that the good old woman's last hour was very near, she sent word to Frau Dörr, that "her mother was in a bad way and would not Frau Dörr come." She sent word back, "Yes, she would come." Toward six o'clock she arrived, bustling noisily in, for she knew nothing about being quiet, even with sick people. She tramped about the room so that everything on or near the hearth shook and rattled, and at the same time she scolded about Dörr, who was always in town when he ought to be at home, and always at home when she wished he was in Jericho. Meanwhile she took the sick woman's hand and asked Lena, "whether she had given her plenty of the drops?"

"Yes."

"How many have you given her?"

"Five … five every two hours."

That was not enough, Frau Dörr assured her, and after bringing to light all her medical knowledge she added: "She had let the medicine draw in the sun for a fortnight, and if one took it properly the water would go away as if it were pumped out. Old Selke at the Zoological had been just like a cask, and for more than four months he could never go to bed, but had to be propped up straight in a chair with all the windows wide open, but when he had taken the medicine for four days, it was just as if you squeezed a pig's bladder: haven't you seen how everything goes out of it and it is all soft and limp again!"

While she was telling all this, the vigorous Frau Dörr forced the sick woman to take a double dose from her thimble.

Lena, whose anxiety was only too justly redoubled by these heroic measures, took her shawl and made ready to go for a doctor. And Frau Dörr, who was not usually in favor of doctors, had nothing to say against it this time.

"Go," said she, "she can't hold out much longer. Just look here (and she pointed to the nostrils), that means death."

Lena started; but she could scarcely have reached the square in front of Michael's church, when the old woman, who had been lying in a half doze sat upright and called: "Lena …"

"Lena is not here."

"Who is here then?"

"I, Mother Nimptsch. I, Frau Dörr."

"Ah, Frau Dörr, that is right. Come here; sit on the footstool."

Frau Dörr, who was not accustomed to receiving orders, hung back a little, but was too good-natured not to do as she was asked. And so she sat down on the stool.

And immediately the old woman began: "I want a yellow coffin and blue trimmings. But not too much…"

"Yes, Frau Nimptsch."

"And I want to be buried in the new Jacob's churchyard, behind the Rollkrug and quite far over on the road to Britz."

"Yes, Frau Nimptsch."

"And I saved up enough for all that is needed, long ago, when I was still able to save up. And it is in the top drawer. And the chemise and short gown are there and a pair of white stockings marked with N. And it is lying among the other things."

"Yes, Frau Nimptsch. Everything shall be done just as you say. And is there anything more?"

But the old woman did not seem to have heard Frau Dörr's question, and without answering, she merely folded her hands, looked up toward the ceiling with a pious and peaceful expression and prayed: "Dear Father in heaven, protect her and reward her for all that she has done for a poor old woman."

"Ah, Lena," said Frau Dörr to herself and then she added: "The good Lord will do that too, Frau Nimptsch, I know him, and I have never seen any one come to grief that was like Lena and that had such a heart and such hands as she has."

The old woman nodded and one could see that some pleasant picture was in her mind.

So the minutes passed away and when Lena came back and knocked on the door of the corridor, Frau Dörr was still sitting on the footstool and holding her old friend's hand. And only when she heard Lena knock did she lay down Frau Nimptsch's hand and go to open the door.

Lena was still out of breath. "He will be here right away… He is coming at once."

But Frau Dörr only said: "Oh Lord, the doctors!" and pointed to the dead woman.

CHAPTER XX

Katherine's first letter was posted in Cologne and reached Berlin the following morning, according to expectations. The accompanying address had been given by Botho himself, who, smiling and good-humored, held in his hand a rather thick-feeling letter. Three cards faintly written on both sides with a pencil had been put in the envelope, and all of them barely legible, so that Rienäcker went out on the balcony, in order better to decipher the indistinct scrawl.

"Now let us see, Catherine."

And he read:

"The train, my dear Botho, stops here only three minutes, but I will make the best use I can of the time, and in case of need I will write, well or ill as it happens, when the train is in motion. I am travelling with a very charming young banker's wife, Madame Salinger, née Saling, from Vienna. When I wondered at the similarity of the names, she said: 'Yes, it looks as if I had married my own comparative.' She talks like that right straight along, and in spite of having a ten-year-old daughter (blonde; the mother is brunette) she too is going to Schlangenbad. And she is going by way of Cologne too, like me, because of a visit that she is to make there. The child has naturally a good disposition, but is not well brought up and has already broken my parasol by her constant climbing about in the railway carriage, a mishap which embarrassed her mother very much. The railroad station, where we are just now stopping (that is to say, the train is starting again this very moment), is swarming with soldiers, among them Brandenburg Cuirassiers with a name in yellow letters on their shoulder straps; apparently it was Nicholas. It looked very well. There were fusiliers there too, from the thirty-fifth, little people, who seemed to me far too small, although Uncle Osten always used to say the best fusilier was one who could not be seen with the naked eye. But I will close. The little girl, alas, is running from one window to the other as before and makes it hard for me to write. And besides she is constantly munching cakes, little pastry tarts with cherries and pistachio nuts on top. She began that long ago, between Potsdam and Werder. The mother is too weak. I would be more severe."

Botho laid the card aside and ran through the second one as well as he could. It ran:

"Goltz was at the Magdeburg station and told me you had written him that I was coming. How very good and kind you were once more. You are always the best and most attentive of men. Goltz has charge of the survey in the Harz Mountains now, that is, he begins July first. The train stops a quarter of an hour in Hannover, and I have made use of the time to see the place immediately around the station: regular hotels and beer-drinking places that have grown up under our government, one of which is built completely in the Gothic style. The Hannoverians call it the 'Prussian beer church,' as a fellow traveller told me, simply because of Guelphish hostility. How painful such things are! But time will mitigate this feeling also. Heaven send that it may. The child still keeps on nibbling, which begins to make me nervous. What will be the upshot of it? But the mother is really charming and has already told me everything. She has also been in Würzburg, with Scanzoni, about whom she is enthusiastic. Her way of confiding in me is embarrassing and almost painful. For the rest, she is, as I can only repeat, perfectly comme il faut. To mention just one thing, what a dressing case! In Vienna they far surpass us in such things; one can notice the older culture."

"Wonderful," laughed Botho. "When Katherine indulges in reflections on the history of civilisation, she surpasses herself. But all good things go by threes. Let us see."

And he picked up the third card.

"I prefer to mail my cards here rather than to wait until I reach Schlangenbad, where Frau Salinger and I expect to arrive to-morrow noon. All goes well with me. The Schroffensteins are very friendly and pleasant; especially Herr Schroffenstein. By the way, not to omit anything of interest, Frau Salinger was fetched from the station by the Oppenheim's carriage. Our journey, which began so charmingly, grew somewhat burdensome and unattractive from Hamm on. The little girl had a hard time, and moreover it was her mother's fault. 'What more do you want?' as soon as the train had left the Hamm station, whereupon the child answers: 'Drops.' And it was from that very moment that things got so bad… Ah, dear Botho, young or old, our wishes ought to be constantly kept under strict and conscientious control. This thought has been constantly in my mind ever since and the meeting with this charming woman was perhaps no chance occurrence in my life. How often have I heard Kluckhuhn speak in this vein. And he was right More to-morrow. Your

Botho put the three cards back in the envelope and said: "Exactly like Katherine. What gift she has for small talk! And I ought to be glad that she writes as she does. But there is something lacking. It is all so trivial and comes so easily, like a mere echo of society talk. But she will change when she has duties of her own. Or perhaps she will. In any case, I will not give up the hope."

The next day there came a short letter from Schlangenbad, in which there was far, far less than in the three cards, and from this time on she wrote only twice a week and gossiped about Anna Grävenitz and Elly Winterfeld, who had actually put in an appearance, but most of all about Madame Salinger and her charming little Sarah. There were always the same asseverations and only at the close of the third week did some lessening of enthusiasm appear:

"I now think the little girl more charming than her mother. Frau Salinger indulges in such luxurious toilettes as I find scarcely appropriate, especially as there are practically no men here. And then too, I see now that her complexion is artificial; her eyebrows are certainly painted and perhaps her lips too, for they are cherry-red. But the child is perfectly natural. Whenever she sees me, she rushes up to me and kisses my hand and makes her excuses for the hundredth time about the drops, 'but it was Mamma's fault," in which I fully agree with the child. And yet, on the other hand, there must be a mysterious streak of greediness in Sarah's nature, I might almost say something like a besetting sin (do you believe in besetting sins? I do, my dear Botho), for she cannot let sweet things alone and constantly buys wafers, not the Berlin kind that taste like buns with meringue on top, but the Karlsbad land with sugar sprinkled over. But I will not write any more about all this. When I see you, which may be very soon-for I should like to travel with Anna Grävenitz, we should be so much more by ourselves-we will talk about it and about a great many other things too. Ah, how glad I shall be to see you and to sit on the balcony with you. After all, Berlin is the most beautiful place, and when the sun goes down behind Charlottenburg and the Grünewald, and one grows so tired and dreamy, how lovely it is! Don't you think so? And do you know what Frau Salinger told me yesterday? She said that I had grown still blonder. Well, you will see for yourself.

Rienäcker nodded and smiled. "Charming little woman. She writes nothing at all about her health or the effects of the cure; I will wager that she goes out to drive and has hardly taken ten baths yet." And after saying this to himself, he gave some orders to his man servant who had just come in and then walked through the Zoological Garden and the Brandenburg gate, then under the Lindens and then to the barracks, where he was on duty until noon.

Soon after twelve o'clock, when he was at home again, and had had something to eat, and was about to make himself comfortable for a little, the servant announced "that a gentleman … a man (he hesitated over the word) was outside, and wished to speak with the Herr Baron."

"Who is it?"

"Gideon Franke … so he said."

"Franke? Strange. I never heard of him. Bring him in."

The servant went out again, while Botho repeated: "Franke … Gideon Franke … Never heard of him. I don't know him."

In a moment the visitor entered the room and bowed somewhat stiffly at the door. He wore a dark-brown coat closely buttoned up, highly polished boots and shiny black hair, which lay very thick on both temples. He wore black gloves and a spotlessly white high collar.

Botho met him with his usual courteous amiability and said: "Herr Franke?"

The latter nodded.

"How can I serve you? Let me beg you to be seated… Here … or perhaps here. Stuffed chairs are always uncomfortable."

Franke smiled in assent and took a cane-seated chair, which Rienäcker had indicated.

"How can I serve you?" repeated Rienäcker.

"I have come to ask you a question, Herr Baron."

"It will give me pleasure to answer it, provided that I am able."

"No one could answer me better than you, Herr von Rienäcker … I have come, in fact, about Lena Nimptsch …"

Botho started back a little.

"And I want to add at once," Franke went on, "that it is nothing troublesome that has brought me here. What I wish to say, or if you will permit me, Herr Baron, to ask, will cause no inconvenience to you or to your family. I already know that your gracious lady, the Frau Baroness is away, and I carefully waited until you should be alone, or, if I may say so, until you should be a grass widower."

Botho's discriminating ear perceived that, in spite of his rather ordinary middle-class clothes, the man was frank and high-minded. This soon helped him to get over his embarrassment and he had recovered his usual calmness of manner, as he asked, across the table: "Are you a relative of Lena's? Pardon me, Herr Franke, for calling my old friend by the old name of which I am so fond."

Franke bowed and replied: "No, Herr Baron, no relative; I have not that right to speak. But my right is perhaps quite as good: I have known Lena for a year and more and I intend to marry her. She has given her consent, but on that occasion she told me of her previous life and spoke of you so affectionately, that I at once determined to ask you yourself, Herr Baron, freely and openly, what you can tell me about Lena. When I told Lena of my intention, she at first encouraged me gladly, but immediately afterwards she added, that I might as well not ask you, as you would be sure to speak too well of her."

Botho looked straight before him and found it difficult to control the beating of his heart. Finally, however, he mastered himself and said: "You are an excellent man, Herr Franke, and you want to make Lena happy. So much I can see at once, and that gives you a perfect right to an answer. I have no doubt at all as to what I ought to tell you, and I only hesitate as to how I shall tell it. The best way will be to tell you how it all began and continued and then how it came to an end."

Franke bowed once more, to show that he too agreed to this plan.

"Very well then," began Rienäcker, "it is about three years or perhaps a couple of months more, since on a boating excursion around the Liebesinsel near Treptow I had the opportunity of doing two young girls a service by preventing their boat from capsizing. One of these two young girls was Lena, and from her manner of thanking me, I saw at once that she was different from others. She was wholly free from affectation, both then and later, a fact which I specially wish to emphasise. For no matter how merry and at times almost boisterous she may be, yet she is naturally thoughtful, serious and simple."

Botho mechanically pushed aside the tray, which was still standing on the table, smoothed the cloth and then went on: "I asked leave to escort her home, and she consented without more ado, which at that time surprised me for a moment. For I did not yet know her. But I soon saw what it meant; from her youth on she had been accustomed to act according to her own judgment, without much regard for others, and in any case without fearing their opinion."

Franke nodded.

"So we went all the long distance together and I escorted her home and was delighted with all that I saw there, with the old mother, with the fireplace by which she sat, with the garden in which the house stood, and with the modest seclusion and stillness of the place. A quarter of an hour later I took my leave, and as I was saying good-bye to Lena at the garden gate, I asked whether I might come again, and she answered the question with a simple 'Yes.' She showed no false modesty, and yet was not unwomanly. On the contrary, there was something touching in her voice and manner."