German Fiction

"Is that all?"

"Perhaps love, too, if it does sound strange. I mean love on his side. For in spite of his fifty-six years or more he is perfectly wild over his wife, simply because she is stout. Both of them have made me the most wonderful confessions about that. But I confess frankly, she is not to my taste."

"But you are wrong there, Lena; she makes quite a figure."

"Yes," laughed Lena, "she makes a figure, but she has none. Can't you see, that her hips are a hand's breath too high? But you never see anything like that, and 'figure' and 'imposing' are every other word with you, without any concern as to the origin of that 'imposing figure.'"

Chatting and teasing each other thus they paused and stooped down to see if they could find an early strawberry in the bed that lay in front of the hedge and fence. Finally Lena found what she wanted, took the stem of a perfect beauty between her lips and came close up to Botho and looked at him.

He was nothing loth, plucked the berry from her lips and embraced and kissed her.

"My sweet Lena, you did that just right. But just hear how Sultan is barking; he wants to get to you; shall I let him loose?"

"No, if he is here, you are only half mine. And if you keep on talking about 'stately Frau Dörr,' then I have as good as nothing left of you at all."

"Good," laughed Botho, "Sultan may stay where he is. I am contented. But I want to talk more about Frau Dörr. Is she really so good?"

"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 Dörr 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 Dörr 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 passed 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 Dörr'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 principal 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 passed 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 furnishing 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 Rienäcker, "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 Rienäcker, 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."

Rienäcker 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 Dörr, 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."

"Your Lena," said he, repeating the signature, once more to himself and a sort of restlessness took possession of him, because all kinds of conflicting emotions passed through his heart: love, anxiety, fear. Then he read the letter through again. At two or three passages he could not forbear to make a little mark with his silver pencil, not through pedantry, but through pure delight. "How well she writes! The handwriting certainly, and the spelling almost … Stiehl instead of Stiel… Well, why not? Stiehl was a much dreaded school inspector, but the Lord be praised, I am not. And 'emphelen.' Shall I be put out with her over f and h? Good Lord, how many people can spell 'empfehlen' properly? The young Countesses cannot always, and the old ones never. So where is the harm! Really, the letter is like Lena herself, good, true and trustworthy, and the mistakes make it only the more charming."

He leaned back in his chair and covered his eyes and brow with his hand: "Poor Lena, what is to come of all this? It would have been better for us both, if there had been no Easter Monday this time. Why indeed should there be two holidays? Why Treptow and Stralau and boating excursions? And now my Uncle! Either he is coming as a messenger from my mother, or else he has plans for me himself, of his own initiative. Well, we shall see. He has never been through any training in diplomatic disguises, and even if he has sworn ten oaths to keep silence, he comes out with everything. I shall soon find out, for all that I am even less experienced than he in the art of intrigue."

Thereupon he pulled out a drawer of his writing table, in which there were already other letters of Lena's, tied up with a red ribbon. And now he rang for the servant to help him to dress. "So, John, that is all I need… And now don't forget to draw the blinds down. And if anyone should come and ask for me, I shall be at the barracks till twelve, at Hiller's after one and at Renz's in the evening. And be sure to raise the blinds again at the right time, so that I shall not find a bake-oven again. And leave the lamp lighted in the front room, but not in my bedroom; it seems as if the flies are possessed this year. Do you understand?"

"Very good, Herr Baron."

And during this dialogue, which was half carried on in the corridor, Rienäcker passed through the vestibule, and out in the garden he playfully pulled the braids of the porter's little girl, who was stooping over her little brother's wagon, and got in return a furious glance, which changed to one of delight as soon as she recognized him.

And now at last he stepped through the gate to the street. Here he saw beneath the green bower of the chestnut trees the men and vehicles passing silently to and fro between the great gate and the Zoological Garden, as if through the glass of a camera. "How beautiful! This is surely one of the best of worlds."

CHAPTER VII

Towards twelve his service at the barracks being over, Botho von Rienäcker was walking along under the Lindens toward the Gate, simply with the intention of filling up the time as well as he could until his interview at Hiller's. Two or three picture shops were very welcome to him in this interim. At Lepke's there were a couple of Oswald Achenbach's in the show window, among them a street in Palermo, dirty and sunny, and strikingly truthful as to life and color. "There are things, then, about which one is never quite clear. So it is with these Achenbach's. Until recently I always swore by Andreas; but when I see something like this, I do not know that Oswald is not his equal or his superior. In any case he is more brilliant and varied. But such things as this I can only think to myself, for to say them before people would be to lower the value of my 'Storm at Sea' by half, and quite unnecessarily."

Thinking of these matters he stood for a time before Lepke's show window and then walked across the Parisian Square to the Gate and the path turning sharply to the left toward the Zoological Garden, until he paused before Wolf's group of lions. Here he looked at the clock. "Half past twelve. Then it is time." And so he turned and went back over the same path towards the Lindens.

In front of the Redern Palace he saw Lieutenant von Wedell of the Dragoon Guards coming towards him.

"Where are you going, Wedell?"

"To the club. And you?"

"To Hiller's."

"Aren't you rather early?"

"Yes, but what of it? I am to breakfast with an old uncle of mine, an old Neumärker who lives in an odd corner with 'Aldermann, Petermann and Zimmermann'-all names that rhyme with man, but without connection or obligation. By the way, he was once in your regiment, my Uncle, I mean. To be sure it was long ago, about forty years. Baron Osten."

"From Wietzendorf?"

"The same."

"Oh, I know him, at least by name. There is some relationship. My grandmother was an Osten. Is he the same who has the quarrel with Bismarck?"

"The same. I tell you what, Wedell, you had better come too. The club can wait and Pitt and Serge too; you can find them at three just as well as at one. The old gentleman is still wild over the blue and gold of the dragoons, and is enough of a Neumärker to consider every Wedell an acquisition."

"Very well, Rienäcker, but it is on your responsibility."

"With pleasure."

During this talk they had reached Hiller's, where the old Baron was already standing by the glass door looking out, for it was a minute after one. He made no comments, however, and was evidently overjoyed when Botho presented "Lieutenant von Wedell."

"Your nephew …"

"No excuses. Herr von Wedell, everyone who bears the name of Wedell is welcome to me, and doubly and trebly so when wearing this coat. Come, gentlemen, we will extricate ourselves from this mélée of tables and chairs, and concentrate in the rear as well as we can. It is not Prussian to retreat, but here it does not matter." And therewith he preceded his guests to choose a good place, and after looking into several little private rooms, he decided on a rather large room, with walls of some leather colored material, which was not very light, in spite of the fact that it had a broad window in three parts, because this looked out on a narrow and dark court. The table was already laid for four, but in the twinkling of an eye the fourth cover was removed, and while the two officers placed their side arms in the corner of the window, the old Baron turned to the head waiter, who had followed at some distance, and ordered a lobster and some white Burgundy. "But what kind, Botho?"

"How would Chablis do?"

"Very well, Chablis, and fresh water. But not from the tap. I want it cold in a carafe. And now, gentlemen, be seated: my dear Wedell, sit here, and Botho there. If only we hadn't this heat, this dog-day weather coming so early. Air, gentlemen, air. Your beautiful Berlin, (which, so they tell me, grows more beautiful all the time, at least those who know no better say so), your beautiful Berlin has everything but air." And with these words he threw open the big window sash, and sat so that he had the large middle opening directly opposite him.

The lobster had not yet come, but the Chablis was already on the table. Old Baron Osten restlessly began to cut one of the rolls from the basket quickly and skilfully into diagonal strips, merely for the sake of having something to do. Then he laid down the knife again and offered his hand to Wedell. "I am endlessly grateful to you, Herr von Wedell, and it was a brilliant idea of Botho's to alienate your affections from the club for a couple of hours. I take it as a good omen, to have the privilege of meeting a Wedell immediately after my arrival in Berlin."

And now he began to fill the glasses, because he could not control his uneasiness any longer. He ordered a bottle of Clicquot to be set to cool and then went on: "Really, dear Wedell, we are related; there are no Wedells to whom we are not related, were it only through a bushel of peas; we all have Neumärk blood. And when I see the blue of my old dragoons once more, my heart jumps right up in my mouth. Yes, Herr von Wedell, old affection does not rust. But here comes the lobster… Please bring me the big shears. The shears are always the best… But, as I was saying, old love does not grow rusty, nor the edge of the blade either. And I wish to add, the Lord be praised. In those days we still had old Dobeneck. Heavens, what a man he was! A man like a child. But if things did not go well and would not work out properly, I should have liked to see the man who could keep his face under old Dobeneck's eye. He was a regular old East Prussian dating from the year '13 and '14. We were afraid of him, but we loved him too. For he was like a father. And, do you know, Herr von Wedell, who my riding master was …?"

At this point the champagne was brought in.

"My riding master was Manteuffel, the same to whom we owe everything that the army, and victory with the army, has made of us."

Herr von Wedell bowed, while Botho said softly: "Surely, one may well say so."

But that was not wise nor clever of Botho, as was soon manifest, for the old Baron, who was already subject to congestion, turned red all over his bald head and what little curly hair still remained on his temples seemed to curl still tighter. "I don't understand you, Botho; what do you mean by 'one may well say so,' that is the same as to say 'one might also not say so.' And I know, too, what all this points to. It signifies that a certain officer of Cuirassiers from the reserves, who, for the rest, held nothing in reserve, least of all revolutionary measures, it signifies, I say, that a certain man from Halberstadt with a sulphur-yellow collar, himself personally stormed St. Privat and closed the great circle around Sedan. Botho, you ought not to come to me with any such tale as that. He was a young barrister and worked for the government at Potsdam, and what is more, under old Meding, who never spoke well of him, as I know, and for that matter, he never learned anything but how to write despatches. I am willing to grant him that much, he does understand that, or in other words, he is a quill driver. But it is not quill drivers who have made Prussia great. Was the hero of Fehrbellin a quill driver? Was the hero of Leuthen a quill driver? Was Blücher a quill driver, or York? The power of the Prussian pen is here! I cannot suffer this cult."

"But my dear Uncle …"

"But, but, I will tolerate no buts. Believe me, Botho, it takes years to settle such questions; I understand such things better. How is it then? He tips over the ladder by which he has climbed, and even suppresses the 'Kreuzzeitung,' and, to speak plainly, he ruins us; he despises us, he tells us foolish things, and if he takes a notion to, he denounces us for robbery or interception of documents and sends us to the fortress. But why do I say fortress? The fortress is for decent people; no, he sends us to the poor-house to pluck wool… But air, gentlemen, air. There is no air here. Damnable hole."

And he jumped up, and in addition to the middle window which was already open, he flung wide the two side windows also, so that the draught that passed through blew the curtains and the tablecloth about. Then, sitting down again, he took a piece of ice from the champagne cooler and passed it over his forehead.