The Harvard Classics Shelf of Fiction - German Part 51

When he had read the letter, Botho was much excited. It was just as the letter said, and further delay was no longer possible. The Rienacker property was not in good condition and there were embarra.s.sments which he did not feel the power to clear away through his own energy and ability. "Who am I? An average man from the so-called upper circle of society. And what can I do? I can ride and train a horse, carve a capon and play cards. That is all and therefore I have the choice between a trick rider, and a head butler and a croupier. At the most I might add a soldier, if I am willing to join a foreign legion. And then Lena could go with me as daughter of the regiment. I can see her now with a short skirt and high-heeled shoes and a knapsack on her back."

He went on speaking in this tone, and actually enjoyed saying bitter things to himself. Finally, however, he rang and ordered his horse, because he meant to go riding. And it was not long before his beautiful chestnut, a present from his uncle and the envy of his comrades, was waiting outside. He sprang into the saddle, gave the stable boy some orders and rode to the Moabiter Bridge, after crossing which, he turned into a broad road that led over fens and fields to the Jungfern Haide. Here he let his horse change from a trot to a walk, and while he had thus far pursued all sorts of dim thoughts, he now began to cross-examine himself more sharply every moment. "What is it then that hinders me from taking the step that everyone expects of me? Do I mean to marry Lena? No. Have I promised her that I would? No. Does she expect it? No. Or would the parting be any easier if I should postpone it? No. Still no, again and again. And yet I delay and hesitate to do the one thing which positively must be done. And why do I delay? What is the cause of this vacillating and postponing? Foolish question.

Because I love her."

His soliloquy was here interrupted by the sound of gun shots from the Tegler shooting range, and only when he had once more quieted his restive horse did he take up again the thread of his thoughts and repeat: "Because I love her! Yes. And why should I be ashamed of this affection? Feeling reigns over all, and the fact that one loves also gives one the right to love, no matter how much the world may shake its head or talk about riddles. For that matter it is no riddle, and even if it were I can solve it. Every man according to his own nature is dependent upon certain little things, sometimes very, very little things, which in spite of being so small, mean life for him or the best there is in life. And for me the best there is in life is simplicity, truth, naturalness. Lena has all this, that is how she won me, and there lies the magic from which it now seems so difficult to free myself."

Just now his horse s.h.i.+ed and he saw a hare that had been driven out of a strip of meadow land, and was darting right in front of him towards the Jungfern Haide. He watched the creature curiously and only resumed his reflections when the fugitive had disappeared among the trunks of the trees. "And was what I wanted," he went on, "anything so foolish and impossible? No. It isn't in me to challenge the world and declare open war against its judgments; besides, I do not believe in such quixotism. All that I wanted was a still, secluded happiness, a happiness which I expected would sooner or later win the approval of society, because I should have spared it the shock of defiance. Such was my dream, such were my hopes and my thoughts. And now shall I abandon this happiness and exchange it for another that is no happiness to me? I am wholly indifferent to a _salon_, and I feel a repulsion for all that is untrue, high-flown, dressed up or disguised. _Chic_, _tournure_, _savoir faire_--are all just as ugly to me as their foreign names."

At this point in Botho's reflections, the horse, whose reins had been lying loose for the past quarter of an hour, turned as if of its own accord into a side path, which led first to a bit of farm land and immediately behind this to a gra.s.s plot surrounded by undergrowth and a few oak trees. Here, in the shade of an old tree, stood a low, solid cross, and as he rode up to have a better look at the cross, he read: "Ludwig v. Hinckeldey, died March 10, 1856." What an impression this made upon him! He had known that the cross was somewhere in this region, but had never been exactly here before, and he now regarded it as a sign, that his horse left to his own devices had brought him to this very spot.

Hinckeldey! It was now nearly twenty years since the death of this man, whose power was then almost absolute; and everything that had been said in his parents' house when the news came, now came back vividly to Botho's mind. And more clearly than anything else he remembered one story. One of the citizens, who was especially trusted in other ways as an adviser by his chief had warned and admonished him against duels in general, and especially against such a duel under such circ.u.mstances, as a folly and a crime. But his chief, suddenly taking his stand as a n.o.bleman on this occasion, had answered brusquely and haughtily: "Norner, you do not understand anything about such matters." And an hour later he was dead. And why? For the sake of a conception of what was required of a n.o.bleman, for a whim of a cla.s.s of society, which proved more powerful than reason, even more powerful than the law to uphold and protect, which was especially his duty. "Instructive." And what in particular have I to learn from this story? What does this monument preach to me? In any case, one thing, that our ancestry determines our deeds. He who obeys this principle may go to ruin, but he goes to ruin in a better way than he who disobeys it.

While he was thinking thus, he turned his horse around and rode across the field towards a great factory, a rolling mill or a machine shop, from the many chimneys of which flames and smoke were rising. It was noon, and part of the workmen were sitting outside in the shade, eating their dinner. The women, who had brought them their food, stood near by chatting, several with babies in their arms, laughing amongst themselves whenever a playful or sarcastic remark was made. Rienacker, who quite rightly believed that he appreciated naturalness, was delighted with this picture, and with a sort of envy he gazed at the group of happy people. "Work and daily bread and an orderly life. When our people from the Mark marry, they have nothing to say about love and pa.s.sion, they merely say: 'I need to lead an orderly life.' And that is a fine trait in the life of our people and not at all prosaic. For order is a great thing, and sometimes it is worth everything. And now I must ask myself, has my life been 'orderly'? No. Order means marriage."

In this strain he talked to himself for a while longer and then he saw Lena standing before him once more, but she did not look at him reproachfully or complainingly, but rather the reverse, as if she were in friendly agreement with him.

"Yes, my dear Lena, you too believe in work and orderly living, and you will understand and not make it hard for me ... but it is hard all the same ... for you and for me."

He put his horse to the trot again and kept along by the Spree for a little while more. Then, however, he turned aside into a bridle path, which led past the tents which lay in the noonday silence, then past the Wrangel Spring and soon afterwards to his own door.

CHAPTER XV

Botho wanted to go to Lena at once, and when he felt that he had not strength enough for that, he wanted at least to write. But even that was too much for him. "I cannot do it, not to-day." And so he let the day go by and waited until the next morning. Then he wrote very briefly.

"Dear Lena:

"Things are turning out, just as you told me the day before yesterday.

We must part. And we must part forever. I have had letters from home which compel me; it must be, and since it must be, let it be quickly.... Ah, I wish these days lay behind us. I will say no more, not even how my heart aches.... It was a beautiful time, though so brief, and I shall never forget anything that has been. Towards nine I shall come to you, not earlier, for it must not last long. Auf Wiedersehen! only this once more, auf Wiedersehen! Your own,

"B. v. R."

And so he came. Lena was standing at the gate and received him as usual; not the slightest trace of reproach or even of painful renunciation was to be seen in her face. She took his arm and so they walked along the front garden path.

"It is right that you have come ... I am happy because you are here.

And you must be happy too."

With these words they reached the house, and Botho started to go into the large front room as usual. But Lena led him further along and said: "No. Frau Dorr is in there."

"And is she still angry with us?"

"Oh, no. I comforted her. But what do we want with her to-day? Come, it is such a beautiful evening and we want to be alone."

Botho agreed, and so they went along the pa.s.sage and across the yard to the garden. Sultan did not stir and only blinked at the two, as they followed the long middle path and then went over to the bench that stood between the raspberry bushes.

They sat down on the bench. It was very still, only they could hear a chirping from the fields beyond and the moon was high above them.

She leaned against him and said quietly and affectionately: "And so this is the last time that I shall hold your hand in mine?"

"Yes, Lena. Can you forgive me?"

"How can you always ask that? What have I to forgive?"

"That I make your heart ache."

"Yes, it aches. That is true."

And she was silent again and looked up at the dim stars that were appearing in the sky.

"What are you thinking of, Lena?"

"How beautiful it would be if I were up there."

"Do not speak so. You ought not to wish your life to be over; it is only a step from such a wish ..."

She smiled. "No, not that. I am not like the girl who ran and threw herself into the well, because her sweetheart danced with some one else. Do you remember when you told me about that?"

"But what do you mean then? It does not seem like you to say such a thing, just for the sake of talking."

"No, I meant it seriously. And really" (she pointed up to the sky), "I should be glad to be there. Then I should be at peace. But I can wait.... And now come, let us walk out in the fields. I brought no wrap and I find it cold sitting still."

And so they followed the same path through the fields that had led them the other time as far as the first houses of Wilmersdorf. The tower was plainly visible under the bright starry sky while a thin mist was drifting over the meadow land.

"Do you remember," said Botho, "how we took this same walk with Frau Dorr?"

She nodded. "That is why I proposed to come here; I was not chilly, or scarcely at all. Ah, that was such a beautiful day and I have never been so gay and happy, either before or afterwards. Even now my heart laughs, when I think how we walked along singing, 'Do you remember.'

Yes, memory means so much--it means everything. And I have that and I can keep it and nothing can ever, take it away from me. And I can feel plainly how it will lighten my heart."

He embraced her. "You are so good."

But Lena went on quietly: "And I will not let it pa.s.s without telling you all about it, how it is that my heart is so light. Really it is just the same thing that I told you before, the day before yesterday, when we were in the country on our half-spoiled excursion, and afterwards when we were saying good-bye. I always saw this coming, even from the beginning, and nothing has happened but what had to happen. If one has had a beautiful dream, one should thank the Lord for it, and not lament that the dream ends and reality begins again. It is hard now, but all will be forgotten or will seem pleasant again. And some day you will be happy again and perhaps I shall too."

"Do you believe so? And if not? What then?"

"Then we must live without happiness."

"Ah, Lena, you say that as if happiness were nothing. But it is something, and that is what distresses me, and it seems to me as if I had done you an injustice."

"I absolve you from that. You have done me no injustice, you did not lead me astray and you made me no promise. Everything was my own free choice. I loved you with all my heart. That was my fate, and if it was a sin, then it was my sin, and more than that, a sin in which I rejoice with all my heart, as I have told you again and again, because it was my joy. If I must pay for it, I will pay gladly. You have not injured, hurt, or damaged anything, unless perhaps what men call propriety and good morals. Shall I distress myself about that? No. Everything will come right again, and that too. And now come, let us turn back. See how the mist is rising; I think Frau Dorr must have gone home by this time and we shall find my good old mother alone. She knows everything, and all day long she has only said the one same thing."

"And that was?"

"That all was for the best."