Иоганн Вольфганг фон Гёте
German Fiction
CHAPTER XVI
The wedding had taken place about the middle of September on the Sellenthins' estate, Rothenmoor. Uncle Osten, who was usually no speaker, had offered his good wishes to the bridal pair in what was undoubtedly the longest toast of his life. And on the next day the following notice appeared among other family items in the "Kreuzzeitung": "Botho Freiherr von Rienäcker, First Lieutenant in the Imperial Regiment of Cuirassiers, and Katherine Freifrau von Rienäcker, née Sellenthin have the honor to announce their marriage which took place yesterday." Naturally the "Kreuzzeitung" was not the paper which usually found its way to the Dörrs' dwelling nor to the other house in their garden, but the very next morning there came a letter addressed to Fräulein Magdalena Nimptsch, containing nothing but a newspaper clipping containing the marriage notice. Lena was startled, but regained her self-control more quickly than the sender, apparently some envious acquaintance, might have anticipated. That the clipping came from such a source was easily seen from the addition of "Hochwohlgeboren" (well born). But his gratuitous freak of sarcasm, which was intended to double her pain, stood Lena in good stead and diminished the bitter feeling that the news would otherwise have caused her.
Botho and Katherine von Rienäcker started for Dresden the very day of the wedding, after both had happily withstood the enticement of a tour of visits among the Neumark relatives. And actually they had no reason to repent their choice, certainly Botho had not, for every day he congratulated himself not only upon his stay in Dresden, but still more upon the possession of a young wife who seemed to know nothing of caprice or ill humor. She actually laughed all day long, and her nature was as bright and clear as her complexion. She was delighted with everything and saw the cheerful side of everything. At their hotel there was a waiter with a forelock that looked like the crest of a breaking wave, and this waiter with his coiffure was a source of constant amusement to her, so much so, that although she was not usually very witty, she simply outdid herself in images and comparisons. Botho also was amused and laughed heartily, until suddenly a shade of doubt and even of discomfort began to mingle with his laughter. That is, he began to notice that whatever happened or came in sight, she took notice only of the trivial and the comical side of it. And at the close of a pleasant fortnight spent in Dresden, as the couple were beginning their homeward journey to Berlin, a short conversation fully enlightened him as to this side of his wife's character. They had a coupé to themselves and as they looked back from the bridge over the Elbe to take farewell of old Dresden and the tower of the Frauenkirche, Botho said, as he took her hand: "And now tell me, Katherine, what was really the most beautiful thing here in Dresden?"
"Guess."
"But that is difficult, for you have your own tastes, and I know you do not care for church music and Holbein's Madonnas…"
"No. You are right there. And since my lord and master is so serious I will not keep him waiting and tormenting himself any longer. There were three things that I was delighted with: first, the confectioner's shop at the Old Market and the Scheffelgassen corner, with those wonderful pasties and liqueurs. Just to sit there…"
"But, Katherine, one could not sit at all, one could scarcely stand, and it seemed as if one had to get every mouthful by force."
"That was just it. That was the very reason, my dear. Whatever one must win by force …"
And she turned away roguishly pretending to pout, until he kissed her ardently.
"I see," she laughed, "that you really agree with me and as a reward I will tell you the second and third too. The second thing was the summer theater in the suburbs, where we saw 'Monsieur Hercules' and Knaak drummed the Tannhäuser March on a rickety old whist table, I never saw anything so comical in all my life, and I don't believe you ever did either. It was really too funny… And the third … was 'Bacchus Riding on the He-goat' in the Art Museum and the 'Dog Scratching Himself' by Peter Vischer."
"I thought it was something like that; and when Uncle Osten hears about it he will think you are quite right and he will be fonder of you than ever and will say still oftener than before, 'I tell you, Botho, Katherine …'"
"And isn't he right?"
"Why surely he is."
And with these words their conversation ceased for some minutes, leaving in Botho's mind, however tenderly he gazed upon his young bride, a somewhat painful impression. The young woman herself had meanwhile no suspicion of what was taking place in her husband's mind, and only said: "I am tired, Botho. So many pictures. It comes over me afterwards… But [the train was just stopping] what is the noise and excitement outside?"
"That is some Dresden pleasure resort, Kötchenbroda, I think."
"Kötchenbroda? How comical."
And as the train went on again, she stretched herself out and apparently closed her eyes. But she was not asleep and was watching her dear husband between her eyelashes.
On the Landgrafenstrasse, which still had houses on one side only, Katherine's mother had in the meantime arranged the home for the young couple, who were much pleased with the comfort that they found awaiting them when they arrived in Berlin at the beginning of October. Fire was burning in the fireplaces of the two front rooms, but the doors and windows stood open, for the autumn air was mild and the fire was only for the sake of cheerfulness and for ventilation. But the most attractive thing was the large balcony with its low-hanging awning, under which one could look straight out over the open country, first over the birch woods and the Zoological Garden and beyond that as far as the northern point of the Grünewald.
Katherine clapped her hands for joy over this beautiful wide view, embraced her mother, kissed Botho and then suddenly pointed to the left, where between scattered poplars and willows a shingled tower could be seen. "See, Botho, how comical. It looks as if it had been notched three times. And the village near by. What is it called?"
"Wilmersdorf, I believe," stammered Botho.
"Very well, Wilmersdorf. But what do you mean by 'I believe'? You surely must know the names of the villages hereabouts. Only look, mamma, doesn't he look as if he had been betraying a state secret? Nothing is more comical than these men."
And then they left the balcony, and went into the room near it to take their first luncheon en famille: only Katherine's mother, the young couple and Serge, who had been invited as the only guest.
Rienäcker's house was scarcely a thousand steps from that of Frau Nimptsch. But Lena did not know that and often passed through the Landgrafenstrasse, which she would have avoided if she had had the slightest suspicion that Botho lived so near.
Yet it could not long remain a secret to her.
The third week in October was beginning, but it was still like summer and the sun shone so warm, that one could scarcely notice the slight sharpness in the air.
"I must go into town to-day, mother," said Lena. "I have a letter from Goldstein. He wants to speak to me about a pattern that is to be embroidered on the Princess Waldeck's linen. And while I am in town, I shall also go to see Frau Demuth in old Jakobstrasse. Otherwise one would never see a soul. But I shall be back at about noon. I shall tell Frau Dörr, so that she will keep an eye on you."
"Never mind, Lena, never mind. I like best to be alone. And Frau Dörr talks so much and always about her husband. And I have my fire. And when the goldfinch chirps, that is company enough for me. But if you could bring me a bag of candy, I have so much trouble with my throat tickling and malt candy is so loosening …"
"Very well, mother."
And then Lena left the quiet little house and walked first along the Kurfürsten Strasse and then the Potsdamer Strasse, to the Spittelmarkt, where the Goldstein Brothers' place of business was. All went well and it was nearly noon. Lena was homeward bound, and this time had chosen to pass through the Lützowstrasse instead of the Kurfürsten Strasse as before. The sun did her good and the bustle and stir on the Magdeburg Square, where the weekly market was being held and everything was being made ready for departure, pleased her so much that she paused to watch the cheerful activity. She was quite absorbed in this and was only aroused when the fire apparatus rushed by her with a great noise.
Lena listened until the rumbling and ringing had vanished in the distance, but then she glanced to the left at the clock tower of the Church of the Twelve Apostles. "Just twelve," said she. "Now I shall have to hurry; she always grows uneasy if I come home later than she expects me." And so she went on down the Lützowstrasse to the square of the same name. But suddenly she paused and did not know which way to turn, for at a little distance she recognised Botho, who was coming directly towards her, with a pretty young lady leaning on his arm. The young lady was speaking with animation and apparently about droll or cheerful things, for Botho was laughing all the time, as he looked down at her. It was to this circumstance that she owed the fact that she had not been observed long before, and quickly deciding to avoid a meeting with him at any price, she turned to the right of the sidewalk and stepped up to the nearest large show window, before which there was a square iron plate, probably used as a cover for the opening to a cellar. The window itself belonged to an ordinary grocery store, with the usual assortment of stearine candles and bottles of mixed pickles, in no way uncommon, but Lena stared at them as if she had never seen the like before. And truly it was time, for at this very moment the young couple passed close to her and not a word of the conversation between them escaped her.
"Katherine, don't talk so loud," said Botho, "people will be staring at us."
"Let them …"
"But they must think we are quarreling …"
"While we are laughing? Quarrelling and laughing at once?" And she laughed again.
Lena felt the thin iron plate on which she stood tremble. A horizontal brass rod ran across in front of the show window to protect the large pane of glass and for a moment it seemed to Lena as if she must catch at this rod for help and support, but she managed to stand straight, and only when she could make sure that the pair were far enough away did she turn to walk homeward. She felt her way cautiously along close to the houses and got on well enough at first. But soon she felt as if she were going to faint, and when she reached the next side street that led toward the canal, she turned into it and stepped through an open gate into a garden. It was with difficulty that she dragged herself as far as a little flight of steps that led to a veranda and terrace, and sat down, nearly fainting, on one of the steps.
As she came to herself, she saw that a half-grown girl, with a little spade in her hand with which she had been digging small beds, was standing near her and looking at her sympathetically, while from the veranda railing an old nurse regarded her with scarcely less curiosity. Apparently no one but the child and the old servant was at home, and Lena rose and thanked them both and walked back to the gate. But the half-grown girl looked after her with sad and wondering eyes, and it almost seemed as if some premonition of the sorrows of life had dawned upon her childish heart.
Meanwhile Lena, having crossed the embankment, had reached the canal, and now walked along at the foot of the slope where she could be sure of meeting nobody. From the boats a Spitz dog barked now and then, and as it was noontime a thin smoke rose from the little stovepipes of the galleys. But she saw and heard nothing of what was going on, or at least had no clear consciousness of it, and only where beyond the Zoological Garden the houses by the canal came to an end and the great lock gate with the water rushing and foaming over it came in sight, did she stand still and struggle for breath. "Ah, if I could only cry." And she pressed her hand to her heart.
At home she found her mother in her accustomed place and sat down opposite her, without a word or a glance being exchanged between them. But suddenly the old woman, who had been looking all the time in the same direction, glanced up from the fire and was startled at the change in Lena's face.
"Lena, child, what is wrong with you? How you do look, Lena?" And although she was usually slow in her movements, she jumped up in a moment from her bench and got the jug, to sprinkle water on Lena, who still sat as if she were half dead. But the jug was empty and so she hobbled into the passageway and from there into the yard and the garden, to call good Frau Dörr, who was cutting wallflowers and honeysuckle for bouquets for the market. Her old husband stood near her and was just saying: "Don't use up too much string again."
When Frau Dörr, heard from some little distance the distressed cry of the old woman, she turned pale and called back "I am coming, Mother Nimptsch, I am coming," and throwing down whatever she had in her hands, she ran at once to the little house, saying to herself that something must be wrong there.
"Yes, just as I thought … Lena." And she vigorously shook the young girl, who still sat lifeless as before, while the old woman slowly shuffled in from the passageway.
"We must put her to bed," said Frau Dörr, and Frau Nimptsch started to take hold with her. But that was not what the stronger woman meant by "we". "I can manage alone, Mother Nimptsch," and taking Lena in her arms, she carried her into the next room and covered her over.
"There, Mother Nimptsch. Now a hot cover. I know what is the trouble, it comes from the blood. First a cover and then a hot brick to the soles of her feet; but put it right under the instep, that is where the life is… But what brought it on? It must have been some shock."
"I don't know. She didn't say anything. But I think that perhaps she saw him."
"That is so. That's it. I know about that… But now shut the window and draw down the blinds… Some people believe in camphor and Hoffmann's drops, but camphor is so weakening and is really only fit for moths. No, dear Frau Nimptsch, nature must help itself, and especially when one is so young, and so I believe in sweating. But thoroughly. And what makes all the trouble? The men. And yet we need them and must have them… There, her color is coming back."
"Hadn't we better send for a doctor?"
"Heaven forbid! They are all out going their rounds now and before one of them would get here she might die and come to life again three times over."
CHAPTER XVII
Two and a half years had passed since this meeting, during which time many things had changed in our circle of friends and acquaintances, but not among those of the Landgrafenstrasse.
The same good humor continued there, the gayety of the honeymoon still remained, and Katherine continued to laugh as of old. What might perhaps have troubled other young women, that they had no children, did not disturb Katherine for a moment. She enjoyed life so much and found such complete satisfaction in dressing and small-talk, in riding and driving, that she shrank from any change in her way of life rather than desired it. The feeling for family life, to say nothing of any real longing for it, had not yet awakened in her and when her mother made some remark in a letter about such matters, Katherine answered somewhat heretically: "Don't trouble yourself, mamma. Botho's brother has just become engaged, and in six months he will be married and I shall gladly leave to my future sister-in-law the care of providing for the continuance of the house of Rienäcker."
Botho did not take exactly this view, but even his happiness was not seriously disturbed by the lack of children, and if from time to time he had a discontented mood, it was chiefly because, as he had already found out on his wedding journey to Dresden, he could perhaps talk somewhat reasonably with Katherine, but any really serious speech with her was wholly out of the question. She was talkative and sometimes even had bright ideas, but the best things she ever said were but superficial and trivial, as if she were unable to distinguish between important and unimportant things. And what was the worst of all, she considered all this as a merit, and plumed herself on it, and never thought of correcting the habit. "But, Katherine, Katherine," Botho would exclaim sometimes, and the tone of his voice would show some displeasure, but her happy nature could always disarm him again, so completely, indeed, that his own expectations seemed almost pedantic to him.
Lena with her simplicity, genuineness, and directness of speech often recurred to his mind, but vanished again as quickly; and only when chance recalled some special incident very vividly did her image come to him with greater distinctness, and perhaps a stronger feeling with which some embarrassment was mingled.
Such an incident happened during the first summer, when the young couple, who had returned from dining with Count Alten, were sitting on the balcony taking tea. Katherine was leaning back in her chair listening to a newspaper article which was profusely interspersed with figures, and dealt with the subject of minister's salaries and surplice fees. She actually understood very little of the subject, and all the less because the many figures troubled her, but she listened rather attentively, because all the young girls of her province spend half their youth "with the minister" and so they retain a certain sympathy with the affairs of the parsonage. This was the case to-day. Finally evening came on and just as it was growing dark the concert at the Zoological Garden began and the tones of a ravishing Strauss Waltz reached them.
"Only listen, Botho," said Katherine, rising, while she added eagerly: "Come, let us dance." And without waiting for his consent, she pulled him up out of his chair and waltzed with him into the large room from which the balcony opened and then two or three times around the room. Then she kissed him, and while she clung to him caressingly she said: "Do you know, Botho, I never danced so wonderfully before, not even at my first ball, that I went to while I was still at Frau Zülow's and had not yet been confirmed, if I must confess it. Uncle Osten took me on his own responsibility and mamma knows nothing about it to this very day. But even then it was not so lovely as to-day. And yet forbidden fruit is the sweetest. Isn't it? But you are not saying anything, Botho, you seem embarrassed. See, now I have caught you again."
He attempted to say something or other, but she did not give him a chance to speak. "I really believe, Botho, my sister Ina has taken your fancy and it is of no use your trying to comfort me by saying that she is only a little half-grown girl or not much more. Those are always the most dangerous. Don't you think so? Now I am not going to take any notice and I do not grudge it to you or to her. But I am very jealous about old affairs of long ago, far, far more jealous than of things that may happen now."
"How curious," said Botho, and tried to laugh.
"And yet after all it is not so curious as it may look," Katherine went on. "Don't you see, affairs that are going on now one has almost under one's eyes; and it must be a hard case and an arch deceiver, if one should notice nothing and so be completely betrayed. But there is no control possible over old stories; there might be a thousand and three, and one might hardly know it."
"And what one does not know …"
"May make one's anger grow. But let us drop all this and read me something more from the paper. I was reminded constantly of our Kluckhuhns. And the good wife can't understand it, and the oldest boy is just going to the University."<//p>
Such incidents happened more and more frequently and led Botho to recall old times as well as Lena's image; but he never saw her, which surprised him, because he knew that they were almost neighbors.
This surprised him and yet it would have been easily explained had he promptly ascertained that Frau Nimptsch and Lena were no longer living at the old place. And yet this was the case. From the day when she had met the young couple on the Lützowstrasse, Lena had told her old mother that she could no longer stay in the Dörr's house. And when Mother Nimptsch, who used never to contradict her, shook her head and whimpered and continually pointed to the fireplace, Lena said: "Mother, you know me. I will never rob you of your open fire; you shall have everything again that you have had; I have saved up money enough for it, and even if I had not, I would work until I had got it together. But we must get away from here. Every day I should have to pass that way, and I could never stand it, mother. I do not grudge him his happiness, and what is more, I am glad that he has it. God is my witness, for he was a dear, good man and lived only for my sake; no pride, no stinginess. And I will say it right out, for all that I cannot bear fine gentlemen, he is a real nobleman, and his heart is in the right place. Yes, my dear Botho, you must be happy, as happy as you deserve to be. But I cannot bear to see it, mother, I must get away from here, for I cannot take ten steps without imagining that he is right there before me. And that keeps me all in a tremble. No, no, it will never do. But you shall have your fireplace. I am your Lena, and I promise you that."
After this talk there was no more opposition on the part of old Frau Nimptsch and even Frau Dörr said: "Of course, you will have to go. And it serves that old miser, Dörr, right. He is always grumbling at me that you are getting the place too cheap and that what you pay would never cover rent and repairs. Now let him see how he likes it when he has the whole place standing empty. For that is how it will be. For who is going to move into such a doll's house, where every cat can peek in at the window and there is no gas nor running water. Well, it is plain; you can give a quarter's notice and at Easter you can leave, and it will do him no good to make a fuss. And I am really glad of it; yes, Lena, I am so glad. But then I have to pay for my bit of malice too, For when you are gone, child, and good Frau Nimptsch with her fire and her teakettle that is always boiling, what shall I have left, Lena? Only him and Sultan and the poor foolish boy, who keeps growing more foolish. And nobody else in the world. And when it grows cold and the snow falls, it is enough to drive one crazy, simply sitting still and all alone."
Such were the early discussions, since Lena held fast to her plan of moving, and at Easter time, a furniture wagon drew up before the door to carry away her household possessions. Old Dörr had behaved surprisingly well at the last and after a formal farewell Frau Nimptsch was bundled into a Droschke with her squirrel and her goldfinch and carried to the Luise Bank, where Lena had hired a charming little flat, three flights up, and had not only gotten a little new furniture, but had remembered her promise, and had arranged to have a pleasant open fireplace built on to the big stove in the front room. The landlord had at first made all sorts of difficulties, "because such an addition would ruin the stove." But Lena had persevered and had given her reasons, which made such an impression on the landlord, an old master-carpenter who was pleased with such ideas, that at last he was disposed to yield.
The two now lived in much the same way that they had formerly done in the house in the Dörr's garden, only with this difference, that they were now three flights up and that they looked out upon the beautiful tower of Michael's church instead of the fantastic tower of the elephants' house. Indeed, the view that they enjoyed was delightful, and so free and fine that it even influenced the habits of old Frau Nimptsch and induced her not to sit all the time on the bench by the fire, but when the sun was shining, to sit by the open window, where Lena had managed to have a little platform placed. All this did old Frau Nimptsch a great deal of good and even improved her health, so that since her change of abode, she suffered much less pain than in the Dörr's little house, which, however poetically it was situated, was not much better than a cellar.
For the rest, never a week passed without Frau Dörr's coming all the long distance from the Zoological Garden to the Luise Bank, simply "to see how everything was going on." During these visits she talked, after the manner of Berlin wives, exclusively about her husband, and always in a tone which implied that her marriage to him had been one of the most dreadful misalliances and really half inexplicable. In fact, however, she was extremely comfortable and contented, and was actually glad that Dörr had his peculiarities. For she reaped only advantages from them, first, to grow richer all the time, and second (an advantage which she valued quite as highly) without any danger of change or loss of property she could continually hold herself superior to the old miser and reproach him for his niggardly ways. So Dörr was the principal theme of these conversations and Lena, unless she was at Goldstein's or somewhere else in town, always laughed heartily with the others, all the more so because she, as well as Frau Nimptsch, had visibly improved in health since they had moved. The moving in, buying and placing of house furnishings had, as one may imagine, led her away from her own thoughts from the beginning and what was still more helpful and important for her health and the recovery of her spirits was that she no longer needed to fear a meeting with Botho. Who came away out to the Luise Bank? Certainly not Botho. All this combined to make her seem comparatively fresh and cheerful again, and only one outward sign remained of the struggles she had been through: in the midst of her long hair there was one white strand. Mother Nimptsch either did not notice this or did not think much about it, but Frau Dörr, who in her own way followed the fashions and was uncommonly proud of her own braid of hair, noticed the white lock at once and said: "Good Lord, Lena. And right on the left side. But naturally … that is where the trouble is … it would have to be on the left."
It was soon after the moving that this conversation took place. Otherwise there was usually no mention either of Botho or of the old days, which was simply because whenever the gossip turned in this special direction, Lena always broke off the conversation quickly or even left the room. As this happened again and again, Frau Dörr remarked it and learned to keep silence about topics which proved unwelcome. So things went on for a year and then there appeared another reason that made it seem inadvisable to recall past incidents. A new neighbour had hired a room just on the other side of the wall from Frau Nimptsch, and while he seemed to wish to be on neighbourly terms from the beginning, he soon promised to become even more than a good neighbour. He would come in every evening and talk, so that it seemed like the old times when Dörr used to sit on his stool smoking his pipe, only that the new neighbour was very different in many ways. He was a correct and well educated man, with very proper although not exactly fine manners, and was also a good talker. When Lena was present, he would talk about all sorts of town affairs, such as schools, gas works, or canals, and sometimes also about his travels. If it happened that he found the old lady alone, he was not at all annoyed, but would play "everlasting" or checkers or would help her with a game of patience, in spite of the fact that he hated cards. For he was a Conventicler, and after he had taken some part with the Mennonites and later with the followers of Irving, he had still more recently founded a separate sect.
As may be readily imagined, all this aroused Frau Dörr's curiosity to the highest pitch, and she was never weary of asking questions, and making allusions, but only when Lena was busy at some household task or had matters to attend to in town. "Tell me, dear Frau Nimptsch, just what is he, really? I have tried to hunt him up, but he is not in the book; Dörr never has any later one than year before last. His name is Franke?"
"Yes. Franke."
"Franke. There used to be one on the Ohmgasse, a master cooper, and he had only one eye; that is, the other eye was still there, but it was all white and looked just like a fish's bladder. And what do you suppose had happened to it? When he went to put on a hoop, it had sprung loose and the end had hit him in the eye. That is how it was. Could he have come from there?"
"No, Frau Dörr, he is not from anywhere near here. He is from Bremen."
"Well, well. Then of course it is quite natural."
Frau Nimptsch nodded in assent, without seeking to be further enlightened as to this "naturalness," and went on talking herself: "And it only takes a fortnight to go from Bremen to America. And he has been there. And he was a tinman or a locksmith or a workman in a machine shop or something like that, but when he saw that he could not make it go, he became a doctor and went around with a lot of little bottles and he began to preach too. And because he preached so well, he got a position with the … There now, I have forgotten it again. But they must have been very pious people and good proper people too."
"Glory be to God!" said Frau Dörr. "Surely he was not… Heavens, what is the name of those people that have so many wives, always six or seven and sometimes even more… I don't know what they do with so many."
This theme seemed made on purpose for Frau Dörr. But Frau Nimptsch reassured her friend: "No, dear Frau Dörr, it is quite different. At first I thought it was something like that, but he laughed and said: 'The Lord forbid. Frau Nimptsch. I am a bachelor. And if I ever marry, I think one will be quite enough.'"
