Иоганн Вольфганг фон Гёте
German Fiction
CHAPTER XXIV
A telegram sent just as Katherine was on the point of departure arrived on the third day: "I shall arrive this evening. K."
And she actually arrived. Botho was at the station and was presented to Frau Salinger, who declined all thanks for her good companionship during the journey, and kept repeating how fortunate she had been, and above all how fortunate he must be in having such a charming young wife. "Look here, Herr Baron, if I were so fortunate as to be her husband, I would never part from such a wife even for three days." And then she began to complain of men in general, but in the same breath she added an urgent invitation to Vienna. "We have a nice little house less than an hour from Vienna, and a couple of saddle horses and a good table. In Prussia you have schools and in Vienna we have cooking. And I don't know which I prefer."
"I know," said Katherine, "and I think Botho does too."
Hereupon they separated and our young couple got into an open carriage, after having given orders for sending the baggage home.
Katherine leaned back and put her little feet up on the back seat, on which lay a gigantic bouquet, a parting attention from the Schlangenbad landlady who was perfectly delighted with the charming lady from Berlin. Katherine took Botho's arm and clung to him caressingly, but only for a few moments, then she sat up again and said, as she held the great bouquet in place with her parasol: "It is really charming here, so many people and the river so crowded with boats that they can scarcely find their way in or out. And so little dust. I think it is really a blessing that they sprinkle now and everything is drenched with water; of course one had better not wear long dresses. And only look at the baker's wagon with the dog harnessed in. Isn't he too comical? Only the canal… I don't know, it is still just about the same…"
"Yes," laughed Botho, "it is just about the same. Four weeks of July heat have not managed to improve it."
As they were passing under some young trees, Katherine plucked a linden leaf, placed it over the hollow of her hand and struck it so that it made a popping sound. "We always used to do that at home. And at Schlangenbad, when we had nothing better to do, we would pop leaves and do all sorts of little tricks that we used to do when we were children. Can you imagine it, I really care a great deal for such foolish little things and yet I am quite old and have finished with them."
"But, Katherine…"
"Yes, yes, a regular matron, you will see… But just look, Botho, there is the rail fence again and the old alehouse with the comical and rather improper name, that we used to laugh at so heartily at boarding-school. I thought the place was gone long ago. But the Berliners will not let anything of that sort go, a place like that will always keep on; all that is needed is a queer name, that amuses people."
Botho vacillated between pleasure over Katherine's return and fleeting moments of discontent. "I find you a good deal changed, Katherine."
"Certainly I am. And why should I be changed? I was not sent to Schlangenbad to change, at least not my character and conversation. And whether I have changed in some other ways, mon cher ami, nous verrons."
"Quite matronly now?"
She held her hand over his mouth and pushed back her veil, which had fallen half over her face, and directly afterwards they passed the Potsdam railway viaduct, over the iron framework of which an express train was just rushing. It made both a thundering and a trembling and when they had left the bridge behind, Katherine said: "It is always disagreeable to me to be directly under it."
"But it is no better for those who are up there."
"Perhaps not. But it is all in the idea. Ideas always have so much influence. Don't you think so too?" And she sighed, as if some dreadful thing that had taken a terrible hold upon her life had suddenly come before her mind. But then she went on: "In England, so Mr. Armstrong, an acquaintance at the baths, told me (I must tell you more about him, besides he married an Alvensleben) – in England, he said, they bury the dead fifteen feet deep. Now fifteen feet deep is no worse than five feet, but I felt distinctly, while he was telling me about it, how the clay, for that is the correct English word, must weigh like a ton on the breast. For in England they have a very heavy clay soil."
"Did you say Armstrong… There was an Armstrong in the Baden Dragoons."
"A cousin of his. They are all cousins, the same as with us. I am glad that I can describe him to you with all his little peculiarities. A regular cavalier with his mustache turned up, and he really went a little too far with that. He looked very comical, with those twisted ends, which he was always twisting more."
In about ten minutes the carriage drew up before the door and Botho gave her his arm and led her in. A garland hung over the large door of the corridor and a tablet with the inscription "Willkommen" ("Welcome"), from which, alas, one "l" was wanting, hung somewhat crookedly from the garland. Katherine looked up, read it and laughed.
"Willkommen! But only with one 'l,' that is to say, only half. Dear me. An 'L' is the letter for Love, too. Well then, you too shall have only half of everything."
And so she walked through the door into the corridor, where the cook and housemaid were already standing waiting to kiss her hand.
"Good day, Bertha; good day, Minette. Yes, children, here I am again. Well, how do you think I look? Have I improved?" And before the maids could answer, which indeed she was not expecting, she went on: "But you have both improved. Especially you, Minette, you have really grown quite stout."
Minette was embarrassed and looked straight before her, and Katherine added good-naturedly: "I mean only here around your chin and neck."
Meantime the man servant came in also. "Why, Orth, I was growing anxious about you. The Lord be praised, there was no need; you are none the worse for wear, only a trifle pale. But the heat causes that. And still the same freckles."
"Yes, gracious lady, they stay."
"Well, that is right. Always fast color."
While this talk was in progress she had reached her bedroom, where Botho and Minette followed her, while the other two retired to their kitchen.
"Now, Minette, help me. My cloak first. And now take my hat. But be careful, or else we shall never know how to get rid of the dust. And now tell Orth to set the table out on the balcony. I have not eaten a bite all day, because I wanted everything to taste good here at home. And now go, my dear girl; go Minette."
Minette hastened to leave the room, while Katherine remained standing before the tall glass and arranged her hair which was in some disorder. At the same time she looked at Botho in the glass, for he was standing near her and looking at his pretty young wife.
"Now, Botho," said she with playful coquetry and without turning around to look at him.
And her affectionate coquetry was cleverly enough calculated so that he embraced her while she gave herself up to his caresses. He put his arms around her waist and lifted her up in the air. "Katherine, my little doll, my dear little doll."
"A doll, a dear little doll. I ought to be angry at that, Botho. For one plays with dolls. But I am not angry, on the contrary. Dolls are usually loved best and treated best. And that is what I like."
CHAPTER XXV
It was a glorious morning, the sky was half clouded and in the gentle west wind the young couple sat on the balcony, while Minette was clearing the coffee table, and looked over toward the Zoological Garden where the gay cupolas of the elephant houses shone softly in the dim morning light.
"I really know nothing yet about your experiences," said Botho. "You went right to sleep, and sleep is sacred to me. But now I want to hear all about it. Tell me."
"Oh yes, tell you; what shall I tell you? I wrote you so many letters that you must know Anna Grävenitz and Frau Salinger quite as well as I do, or perhaps still better, for among other things I wrote more than I knew myself."
"Perhaps. But you always said, 'More about this when we meet.' And that time has now come, or do you want me to think you are keeping something from me? I know actually nothing at all about your excursions and yet you were in Wiesbaden. You said indeed that there were only colonels and old generals in Wiesbaden, but there are Englishmen there too. And speaking of Englishmen reminds me of your Scotchman, about whom you were going to tell me. Let me see, what was his name?"
"Armstrong; Mr. Armstrong. He certainly was a delightful man, and I cannot understand his wife, an Alvensleben, as I think I told you before, who was always embarrassed whenever he spoke. And yet he was a perfect gentleman, who always respected himself, even when he let himself go and showed a certain nonchalance. At such moments, gentlemen are always the most easily recognised. Don't you agree with me? He wore a blue necktie and a yellow summer suit, and he looked as if he had been sewed into it, and Anna Grävenitz always used to say: 'There comes the penholder.' And he always carried a big, open umbrella, a habit he had formed in India. For he was an officer in a Scotch regiment, that had been stationed a long time in Madras or Bombay, or perhaps it may have been Delhi. But any way it is all the same. And what had he not been through! His conversation was charming, even if sometimes one hardly knew how to take it."
"So he was too forward? Insolent?"
"I beg your pardon, Botho, how can you speak so? Such a man as he; a cavalier comme il faut. I will give you an example of his style of conversation. Opposite us sat an old lady, the wife of General von Wedell, and Anna Grävenitz asked her (I believe it was the anniversary of Königgratz), whether it was true that thirty-three Wedells fell in the seven years' war? Old Frau von Wedell said that it was quite true, and added that there had really been more. All who were present, were astonished at so great a number, excepting Mr. Armstrong, and when I playfully took him to task, he said that he could not get excited over such small numbers. 'Small numbers!' I interrupted him, but he laughed and added, for the sake of refuting me, that one hundred and thirty-three of the Armstrongs had perished in the various wars and feuds of their clan. And when Frau von Wedell at first refused to believe this, but finally (as Mr. A. stuck to his story) asked eagerly, whether the whole hundred and thirty-three had really 'fallen'? he replied 'No, my dear lady, not exactly fallen. Most of them were hung as horse thieves by the English, who were then our enemies.' And when everybody was horrified over this unsuitable, one might almost say embarrassing tale of hanging, he swore that 'we were wrong to be offended by any such a thing, for times and opinions had changed and as far as his own immediate family were concerned, they regarded their heroic forbears with pride. The Scottish method of warfare for three hundred years had consisted of cattle lifting and horse stealing. Different lands, different customs,' and he could not see any great difference between stealing land and stealing cattle."
"He is a Guelph in disguise," said Botho, "but there is a good deal to say for his view."
"Surely. And I was always on his side, when he made such statements. Oh, he would make you die of laughter. He used to say that one should not take anything seriously, it did not pay, and fishing was the only serious occupation. He would occasionally go fishing for a fortnight on Loch Ness or Loch Lochy-only think what funny names they have in Scotland-and he would sleep in the boat, and when the sun rose, there he was again; and when the fortnight was ended, he would moult and his whole sunburnt skin would come off and then he would have a skin like a baby. And he did all this through vanity, for a smooth, even color is really the best thing that one can have. And as he said this, he looked at me in such a way, that I did not know how to answer for a moment. Oh, you men! But yet from the beginning I really had a warm attachment for him and took no offence at his way of talking, which sometimes pursued one subject for some time, but far, far oftener shifted constantly here and there. One of his favorite sayings was: 'I cannot bear to have one dish stay on the table a whole hour; if only it is not always the same, I am much better pleased when the courses are changed rapidly.' And so he was always jumping from the hundreds into the thousands."
"Then you must have met on common ground," laughed Botho.
"So we did. And we mean to write to each other, in the same style in which we used to talk; we agreed on that as we were saying good-bye. Our men, even your friends, are always so thoroughgoing. And you are the most thoroughgoing of all, which sometimes annoys me and puts me quite out of patience. And you must promise me that you will be more like Mr. Armstrong and try to talk a little more simply and amusingly and a little faster and not always on the same subject."
Botho promised to amend his ways, and as Katherine, who loved superlatives, after describing a phenomenally rich American, an absolutely albino Swede with rabbit's eyes, and a fascinating Spanish beauty-had closed with an afternoon excursion to Limburg, Oranienstein and Nassau, and had described to her husband in turn the crypt, the cadets' training school and the water-cure establishment, she suddenly pointed to the towers of the castle at Charlottenburg and said: "Do you know, Botho, we must go there to-day or to Westend or to Hallensee. The Berlin air is rather heavy and there is none of the breath of God in it, as there is in the country where the poets so justly praise it. And when one has just come back fresh from nature, as I have, one has learned to love once more what I might call purity and innocence. Ah, Botho, what a treasure an innocent heart is. I have fully determined to keep my heart pure. And you must help me. Yes, you must promise me. No, not that way; you must kiss me three times on my forehead like a bride. I want no tenderness, I want a kiss of consecration … And if we take lunch, a warm dish, of course, we can get out there at about three."
And so they went on their excursion and although the air of Charlottenburg was still less like the breath of God than the Berlin air, yet Katherine was fully determined to stay in the castle park and to give up Hallensee. Westend was so tiresome and Hallensee was half a journey further, almost as far as Schlangenbad. But in the castle park one could see the mausoleum, where the blue lights were always so strangely moving, indeed she might say it was as if a bit of heaven had fallen into one's soul. That produced a thoughtful mood and led to pious reflections. And even if it were not for the mausoleum, still there was the bridge where you could see the carp, the bridge with the bell on it, and if a great big mossy carp came swimming by, it always seemed to her as if it were a crocodile. And perhaps there might be a woman there with round cakes and wafers, and one might buy some and so, in a small way, do a good work. She said a "good work" on purpose and avoided the word Christian, for Frau Salinger was always charitable.
And everything went according to the programme, and when the carps had been fed they both walked further into the park until they reached the Belvedere with its rococo figures and its historical associations. Katherine knew nothing of these associations and Botho therefore took occasion to tell her of the ghosts of the departed Emperor and Electors whom General von Bischofswerder caused to appear at this very place in order to arouse King Frederick William the Second from his lethargy, or what amounted to the same thing, to get him out of the hands of his lady love and bring him back to the path of virtue.
"And did it do any good?" asked Katherine.
"No."
"What a pity! Anything like that always moves me so painfully. And if I consider that the unhappy prince (for he must have been unhappy) was the father-in-law of Queen Luise then my heart bleeds. How she must have suffered! I can never rightly imagine such things in our Prussia. And you say Bischofswerder was the name of the general who caused the ghosts to appear?"
"Yes. At court they called him the tree toad."
"Because he brought on changes of weather?"
"No, because he wore a green coat."
"Oh, that is too comical!.. The tree toad!"
CHAPTER XXVI
As the sun was setting the young couple reached home, and after Katherine had given her hat and cloak to Minette and had ordered tea, she followed Botho into his room, because she thought it fitting to spend the whole of the first day after her journey in his company, and besides she really wished to stay with him.
Botho was content, and because she was shivering, he put a cushion under her feet and spread a plaid over her. Soon afterwards he was called away, on account of some official business which required prompt attention.
The time passed and since the cushion and plaid did not quite suffice to give the requisite warmth, Katherine rang and asked the servant to bring a couple of pieces of wood; she was so cold.
At the same time she rose, to set the fire screen to one side, and in doing this, she saw the little heap of ashes, which still lay on the iron plate of the fire place.
At this very moment Botho came in again and was startled at what he saw. But he was immediately reassured, as Katherine pointed to the ashes and said in her most playful tone: "What does this mean, Botho. Look there, I have caught you again. Now confess. Love letters? Yes or no?"
"Of course you will believe what you choose."
"Yes or no?"
"Very well then; yes."
"That is right. Now I am satisfied. Love letters! That is too comical. But perhaps we had better burn them twice; first to ashes and then to smoke. Perhaps that will bring good luck."
And she took the pieces of wood that the servant had brought in the meantime, laid them skilfully together and started to light them with a couple of matches. The wood caught. In a moment the fire was blazing brightly and as she drew the armchair up before it and put her feet comfortably on the iron fender to warm them, she said: "And now I will tell you the story of the Russian, who naturally was not a Russian. But she was a very clever person. She had almond eyes, all such persons have almond eyes, and she gave out that she was at Schlangenbad for the sake of the cure. Well, one knows what that means. She had no doctor, at least no regular physician, but every day she went to Frankfort or Wiesbaden, or even to Darmstadt, and she always had an escort. And some even said that it was not always the same one. And you just ought to have seen her toilettes and her conceited airs! She would scarcely bow to anyone when she came to the table d'hôte with her chaperon. For she had a chaperon-that is always the first requisite for such ladies. And we called her 'the Pompadour,' I mean the Russian, and she knew that we called her that too. And the general's wife, old Frau von Wedell, who was entirely on our side and was quite indignant over this doubtful person (for she was a person, there could be no doubt about that) – Frau Wedell, I say, said right out loud across the table: 'Yes, ladies, the fashions change in everything even in pockets large and small and in purses long and short. When I was young, there were still Pompadours, but now there are no longer any Pompadours. Is not that so? There are no longer any Pompadours?' And as she said this we all laughed and looked at the Pompadour. But the shocking person won a victory over us for all that for she said in a loud, sharp tone (old Frau von Wedell was rather deaf) 'Yes, Frau Generalin, it is exactly as you say. Only it is strange, that as the Pompadours went out reticules came in, and presently they were called Ridicules and such Ridicules we still have.' And as she spoke she looked at good old Frau von Wedell, who, since she could not answer, rose from the table and left the room. And now I should like to ask you, what have you to say to this? What do you think of such impertinence?.. But, Botho, you are not saying anything. You are not listening…"
"Oh yes, I am, Katherine…"
Three weeks later there was a wedding in Jacob's church, the cloister-like court in front of which was filled with a large and curious crowd, mostly workingmen's wives, some of them with children on their arms. But there were some school children and street children among them too. A number of carriages drove up, from one of the first of which a couple alighted, who were accompanied by laughter and comments, as long as they were in sight.
"Such a figure!" said one of the women who stood nearest.
"Figure?"
"Well, her hips."
"They are more like the sides of a whale."
"That is right."
And doubtless this conversation would have continued longer, had not the bride's carriage driven up just at this moment. The servant sprang down from the box and hastened to open the door, but the bridegroom himself, a thin man in a tall hat and high pointed collar, was quicker than he and gave his hand to his bride, a very pretty girl, who, as is usually the case with brides was less admired for her beauty than for her white satin dress. Then both walked up the few stone steps, which were covered with a somewhat worn carpet, then over the court and directly afterwards through the church door. All eyes followed them.
"And she has no wreath?" said the same woman whose critical eye had shortly before looked so severely at Frau Dörr's figure.
"Wreath?.. Wreath?.. Didn't you know then?.. Haven't you heard anything whispered about?"
"Oh, so that is it. Of course I have. But, my dear Kornatzki, if everybody paid attention to rumors there would be no more wreaths and Schmidt on the Friedrichsstrasse might as well shut up shop at once."
"Yes, yes," laughed Kornatzki, "so he might. And after all, for such an old man! At least fifty years have gone over his head and he looks as if he might be going to celebrate his silver wedding at the same time."
"Yes indeed. That is just how he looked. And did you see his old-fashioned high collar? I never saw anything like it."
"Well, he could use it to kill her with, if there are any more rumors."
"Yes, he can do that."
And so the talk ran on a little longer, while the organ prelude could already be heard from the church.
The next morning Rienäcker and Katherine were sitting at breakfast, this time in Botho's workroom, both windows of which stood wide open to let in the air and light. Some mating swallows were flying and twittering all about the yard, and Botho, who was in the habit of giving them crumbs every morning, was just reaching for the basket again for the same purpose when the hearty laughter of his young wife who for the last five minutes had been absorbed in her favorite newspaper, caused him to set the basket down again.
"Now, Katherine, what is it? You seem to have found something uncommonly nice."
"So I have… It is simply too comical, the names that one sees! And always in the notices of weddings or engagements. Just listen…"
"I am all ears."
"Gideon Franke, Master Mechanic, and Magdalena Franke, née Nimptsch, respectfully beg leave to announce their marriage which took place to-day … Nimptsch. Can you imagine anything funnier? And then Gideon!"
Botho took the paper, but only as a means of concealing his embarrassment. Then he handed it back, and said in as careless a tone as he could muster: "What have you against Gideon, Katherine? Gideon is better than Botho."
