The Harvard Classics Shelf of Fiction - German Part 41

"Yes, she really is, for all that she says strange things--things that sound as if they have a double meaning and perhaps really have. But she knows nothing about that, and in her doings and behavior there is not the least thing that could recall her past."

"Has she a past then?"

"Yes. At least she had some sort of a relation for years and 'went with him' as she calls it. And there is no sort of doubt that there was plenty of talk about that affair, and of course about good Frau Dorr herself. And she herself must have given occasion for it again and again. Only she is so simple that she never gave it a thought, still less reproached anyone. She speaks of it as an unpleasant service, that she faithfully and honorably fulfilled, simply from a sense of duty.

You may laugh, and it does sound queer. But I don't know any other way to tell it. And now let us leave Frau Dorr alone and sit down and look at the crescent moon."

And in fact, the moon stood just above the elephant house, which, in the flood of silver light, looked even more fantastic than usual. Lena pointed to it, drew her hood closer and hid her face on Botho's breast.

So the minutes pa.s.sed by, silent and happy, and only when Lena aroused, as if from a dream that escaped her, and sat up again, did she say: "What were you thinking of? But you must tell me the truth."

"What was I thinking of, Lena? Why, I am almost ashamed to tell you. I had some sentimental thoughts and was thinking of our kitchen garden at Castle Zehden, which is laid out so much like this of the Dorr's, the same lettuce beds with cherry trees between and I would almost wager, just as many bird houses. And even the asparagus beds run the same way.

And I would walk amongst them with my mother and if she was in a good humor, she would give me the knife and let me help her. But woe be unto me if I were careless and cut the asparagus stalk too long or too short. My mother's hand was hasty."

"I well believe it. And I always feel as if I ought to be afraid of her."

"Afraid? How so? Why, Lena?"

Lena laughed merrily and yet her laughter was a trifle forced. "You must not take it into your head that I have any intention of presenting myself before the gracious lady; you must just feel as if I had said that I am afraid of the Empress. That would not make you think that I meant to go to court? No, don't be afraid; I shall never complain of you."

"No, you wouldn't do that. You are much too proud for that, and then you are a regular little democrat, and every friendly word has to be almost choked out of you. Isn't that so? But however that may be, describe my mother, as you imagine her. How does she look?"

"Very much like you: tall and slender and blond and blue-eyed."

"Poor Lena (and now the laugh was on his side), you have missed it this time. My mother is a little woman with bright black eyes and a long nose."

"I don't believe it. It isn't possible."

"And yet it is true. You must remember that I have a father too. But that never occurs to you. You always think that you women are the princ.i.p.al thing. And now tell me something about my mother's character.

But make a better guess."

"I think of her as very much concerned for the welfare of her children."

"Correct."

"... And that all her children must make wealthy, yes very wealthy marriages. And I know too, whom she has ready for you."

"An unfortunate woman, whom you ..."

"How you do mistake me. Believe me, that I have you now, for this very hour, is my joy. What follows does not trouble me. One of these days you will have flown away...."

He shook his head.

"Don't shake your head; what I say is true. You love me and are true to me; at least in my love I am childish and vain enough to believe so.

But you will fly away, I see that clearly enough. You will have to. The saying is that love makes us blind, but it also makes us see far and clear."

"Ah, Lena, you do not know how dearly I love you."

"Oh yes, I do. And I know too that you think of your Lena as something set apart, and every day you think, 'if only she were a Countess.' But it is too late for that now, I can never bring it about. You love me, and you are weak. That cannot be altered. All handsome men are weak and the stronger spirit rules over them.... And the stronger spirit ...

now, who is that? Either it is your mother, or people's talk, or your connections. Or perhaps all three ... But just look."

And she pointed towards the Zoological Garden, where through the darkness of the trees and foliage a rocket rushed hissing into the air and with a puff burst into a countless shower of sparks. A second followed the first and so it went on, as if they were chasing and trying to catch up with one another, until of a sudden the rockets ceased and the shrubbery began to glow in a green and red light. A couple of birds cried out harshly in their cages and then after a long pause the music began again.

"Do you know, Botho, what I would give, if I could lean on your arm and walk with you over there up and down that school for scandal, as safely as here among the box borders, and if I could say to everyone: 'Yes, you may wonder at us, he is he and I am I, and he loves me and I love him,'--do you know what I would give? But don't guess, for you never could. You only know yourself and your club and your life. Oh, the poor little life."

"Don't speak so, Lena."

"Why not? One must look everything squarely in the face and not whiten anything over, and above all one must not whiten one's self. But it is growing cold and they are through over there. That is the last piece that they are playing now. Come, we will go in and sit by the fireside, the fire will not be out yet and my mother has long since gone to bed."

So they walked back along the garden path, she leaning lightly on his shoulder. The lights were all out in the "castle" and only Sultan gazed after them, thrusting his head out of his kennel. But he did not move and only some dim, sullen thoughts pa.s.sed through his brain.

CHAPTER VI

It was the next week after the events narrated, and the chestnut trees were already in bloom. They were blossoming also in Bellevue Street.

Baron Botho lived here in a ground floor apartment that extended through from a front balcony to one that opened on a garden: there was a living-room, a dining-room, and a bedroom, which were distinguished by a tasteful furnis.h.i.+ng decidedly beyond the means of their owner. In the dining-room there were two pictures of still life by Hertel and between these a bear hunt, an admirable copy from Rubens, while in the living-room the "show piece" was a storm at sea by Andreas Achenbach, surrounded by several smaller pictures by the same artist. The storm picture had come into Baron Botho's possession by chance at a lottery, and by means of this beautiful and valuable work he had gained the reputation of a connoisseur and especially of an admirer of Achenbach.

He joked freely about this and used to declare "that his luck at the lottery cost him quite dear, because it continually led him to make new purchases, adding that it was perhaps the same with all good fortune."

Before the sofa, the plush of which was covered with a Persian rug, the coffee apparatus stood on a malachite table, while on the sofa itself all kinds of political journals were lying about, and amongst these some whose presence in this place seemed rather peculiar, and could only be explained by Baron Botho's favorite phrase "fiddlesticks before politics." Stories which bore the stamp of imagination, so-called "pearls," amused him the most. A canary bird, whose cage always stood open at breakfast time, was flying as usual to light on the hand or shoulder of his too-indulgent master, who, instead of being impatient, put his paper aside every time to stroke his little favorite. But if he omitted the caress, the little creature would cling to the reader's neck and beard and chirp long and persistently until he had his way.

"All favorites are alike," said Baron Rienacker, "they expect humility and obedience."

Just now the door bell rang and the servant came in to bring the letters. One, a gray, square envelope, was open and bore a three pfennig stamp. "Hamburg lottery tickets or new cigars," said Rienacker, and threw envelope and contents aside without further consideration.

"But this one ... Ah, from Lena. I will save this for the last, unless this third sealed one contends for the honor. The Osten crest. Then it is from Uncle Kurt Anton: the Berlin postmark means that he is already here. What can he want now? Ten to one, he wants me to breakfast with him or to buy a saddle or to escort him to Renz, or perhaps to Kroll also; most likely I am to do the one and not omit the other."

And he took a knife from the window-sill and cut open the envelope, on which he had recognized also Uncle Osten's handwriting, and took out the letter. The letter read:

"Hotel Brandenburg, Number 15

"My dear Botho:

"An hour ago I arrived safely at the eastern depot, warned by your old Berlin notice 'Beware of Pickpockets,' and have engaged rooms in the Hotel Brandenburg, which is to say, in the same old place; a real conservative is conservative even in small things. I shall only stay two days, for your air is too heavy for me. This is a smothering hole.

But I will tell you everything by word of mouth. I shall expect you at one o'clock at Hiller's. After that we will go and buy a saddle. And then in the evening we will go to Renz. Be punctual. Your old Uncle,

Kurt Anton."

Rienacker laughed. "I thought as much! And yet there is an innovation.

Formerly it was Borchardt, and now it is Hiller. Oh, oh, Uncle dear, a true conservative is conservative even in small things.... And now for my dear Lena.... What would Uncle Kurt Anton say if he knew in what company his letter and his commands arrived."

And while he was speaking, he opened Lena's note and read:

"It is now five whole days since I last saw you. Is it going to be a whole week? And I was so happy that evening that I thought you simply must come again the next day. And you were so dear and good. Mother is already teasing me, and she says: 'He will not come again.' Oh, what a pain in my heart that gives me, because I know that it must happen some time and because I feel that it might happen any day. I was reminded of that again yesterday. For when I just wrote you that I had not seen you for five whole days, I did not tell the truth; I did see you yesterday, but secretly, by stealth, on the Corso. Just fancy, I too was there, naturally far back in a side path and I watched you riding back and forth for an hour. Oh I was extremely happy, for you were the most imposing rider (almost as imposing as Frau Dorr, who sends her regards to you), and I was so proud just to see you that I didn't even grow jealous. I mean I was jealous only once. Who was the pretty blonde, with the two white horses? They were simply garlanded with flowers, and the flowers were so thick that there were no leaves nor stems. I never saw anything so beautiful in my life. When I was a child I would have thought that she was a Princess, but now I know that Princesses are not always the most beautiful. Yes, she was pretty and you liked her, I could see that, and she liked you too. But her mother, who set beside the pretty blonde, you liked still better. And that angered me. I grant you a really young woman, if it must be so. But an old woman! and even a mamma? No, no, she has had her share. In any case, my own Botho, you see that you will have to quiet me and make me happy again. I shall expect you to-morrow or the next day. And if you cannot come in the evening, come in the daytime, even if only for a minute. I am so troubled about you, that is to say, about myself. But you understand me already. Your

"Lena."