German Fiction

"Pardon, Serge, there was no definite agreement."

"But almost. For the rest, you will find me personally in the most accommodating mood. How you can settle things with Pitt, who has just lost 150 points, is your affair."

Thereupon the two men pushed the cards aside and the young man whom Wedell had greeted as Serge took out his watch and said: "Quarter past three. Time for coffee. Some philosopher, and he must have been one of the greatest, once said that the best thing about coffee was that it was always suitable under all circumstances and at all times of day. Truly that was a wise saying. But where shall we take it? I think we had better sit outside on the terrace, right in the sun. The more one braves the weather the better one fares. Here, Pehlecke, three cups. I cannot listen to the falling of the pins any longer. It makes me nervous; outside, indeed, there is noise too, but it is different, and instead of the sharp strokes, we shall hear the rumbling and thundering of the underground railway, and we can imagine that we are on Vesuvius or Ætna. And why not? All pleasures are in the last analysis imaginary, and whoever has the best imagination enjoys the most pleasure. Only unreality gives value and is actually the only reality."

"Serge," said the man who had been addressed as Pitt at the piquet table, "if you go on with your famous wise sayings, you will punish Wedell more severely than he deserves. Besides, you must have some mercy on me because I have been losing. So, we will stay here, with the lawn behind us, this ivy near us, and a view of a bare wall. A heavenly location for his Majesty's guards! What would old Prince Pückler have said to this club garden? Pehlecke, here, bring the table here, that will do. And, to finish with, you may bring us some of your very best lager. And now, Wedell, if you want to win forgiveness, give your cloak a shake, and see if you cannot shake a new war or some other big piece of news out of it. You are related to God in heaven through the Puttkamers. With which branch I need not say. What more is he brewing?"

"Pitt," said Wedell, "I beg you, don't ask me any questions about Bismarck. For in the first place, you know that I know nothing about such matters, because cousins in the seventeenth degree are not precisely the intimates and confidants of princes, and in the second place, I come, instead of from the Prince, direct from a shooting match where with a few hits and many, many misses, no other than his Highness was the target."

"And who was this bold shot?"

"The old Baron Osten, Rienäcker's uncle. A charming old gentleman and a good fellow. But of course a sly dog also."

"Like all Märkers."

"I am one myself."

"Tant mieux. Then you know all about it yourself. But out with it. What did the old fellow say?"

"A good many things. His political talk was hardly worth reporting, but another bit of news was all the more important: Rienäcker has a sharp corner to turn."

"And what corner?"

"He is about to marry."

"And you call that a sharp corner to turn? I beg to disagree with you, Wedell; Rienäcker stands in a much more difficult position: he has 9000 marks a year and spends 12000, and that is the sharpest of all corners, at least sharper than the marriage corner. Marriage is no danger for Rienäcker, but a rescue. For that matter, I have seen it coming. And who is it then?"

"A cousin!"

"Naturally. A rescuer and a cousin are almost identical terms at present. And I will wager that her name is Paula. All cousins are named Paula these days."

"But this one is not."

"And her name?"

"Katherine."

"Katherine? Ah, now I know. Katherine Sellenthin. Hm! Not so bad, in fact a brilliant match. Old Sellenthin, he is the old man with the plaster over his eye, has six estates, and with the farms there are really thirteen. If divided in equal parts, Katherine will get the thirteenth thrown in. My congratulations."

"Do you know her?"

"Certainly. A wonderful flaxen-haired blonde with eyes as blue as forget-me-nots, but for all that she is not sentimental, and is less like the moon than like the sun. She was here at Frau Zülow's Pension, and at fourteen she was already surrounded and courted."

"At the Pension?"

"Not really at the Pension and not every day, but on Sundays when she went to lunch with old Osten, the one whom you have just seen. Katherine, Katherine Sellenthin!.. she was like a rail then, and that is what we used to call her, and she was the most charming little hoyden that you can imagine. I can still see her braid of hair, which we always called the distaff. And Rienäcker will now have a chance to spin it off. Well, why not? It will not be so difficult for him."

"After all, it may be more difficult than many think," answered Wedell. "And while he certainly needs his finances improved, yet I am not sure that he would decide at once in favor of the blond beauty from his own province. For you must know that Rienäcker has for some time past enjoyed another tint, indeed ash-blond, and if what Balafré lately told me is true, he has been seriously considering whether he should not raise his blanchisseuse to the rank of la dame blanche. He sees no distinction between Castle Avenal and Castle Zehden. A castle is a castle and, you know, Rienäcker, who for that matter, goes his own way in many things, was always in favor of naturalness."

"Yes," laughed Pitt. "That he was. But Balafré draws the long bow and invents interesting tales. You are sober, Wedell, and will not be ready to believe such made up nonsense."

"No, it is not imaginary," said Wedell. "But I believe what I know. Rienäcker, in spite of his six feet, or perhaps because of them, is weak and easily guided and is peculiarly gentle and tenderhearted."

"He certainly is. But circumstances will compel him and he will break away and free himself, at the worst like a fox out of a trap. It is painful and a bit of one's life is left behind. But the main thing is to get out again-out, out and free. Long live Katherine! And Rienäcker! What does the proverb say? 'God helps those who help themselves.'"

CHAPTER IX

That evening Botho wrote to Lena that he would come on the following day, perhaps even earlier than usual. And he kept his word and arrived an hour before sunset. Naturally he found Frau Dörr there. The air was very fine and not too warm, and after they had talked a while, Botho said:

"Perhaps we could go into the garden."

"Yes, either into the garden or somewhere else?"

"What do you mean?"

Lena laughed. "Don't be worried again, Botho. There is no one hiding in ambush and the lady with the pair of white horses and the wreaths of flowers will not cross your path."

"Then where shall we go, Lena?"

"Just out in the green meadows where you will have nothing but daisies and me. And perhaps Frau Dörr, too, if she will be so good as to go with us."

"Will she?" said Frau Dörr. "Surely she will. I feel much honored. But I must put myself to rights a little. I will be with you again directly."

"There is no need, Frau Dörr; we will call for you."

And so the plan was carried out, and as the young couple walked across the garden a quarter of an hour later, Frau Dörr was already standing at the door, a wrap on her arm and a marvellous hat on her head, a present from Dörr, who, like all misers, would buy something absurdly expensive once in a while.

Botho said something complimentary to the rather overdressed lady, and all three walked down the path and went out by a hidden side door and reached a little path, which before it led further and curved out into the open green fields ran along by the outer side of the garden fence where the nettles grew high.

"We will follow this path," said Lena. "It is the prettiest and the most solitary. No one comes here."

And certainly it was the loneliest path, far more silent and solitary than three or four other roads that ran parallel with it over the meadows towards Wilmersdorf and showed something of their own sort of suburban life. On one of these roads there were a good many sheds, between which there were horizontal bars somewhat like those used by gymnasts. These aroused Botho's curiosity, but before he could ask about them, the work going on answered his question: rugs and carpets were spread out on the frames and immediately began such a beating and banging with big sticks that a cloud of dust rose and nearly concealed the road.

Botho pointed out this dust and was beginning a discussion with Frau Dörr about the value or harmfulness of carpets, which, viewed in this light, are mere dirt catchers, "and if one has not a very strong chest one might get consumption and never know how." But he stopped short in the middle of a sentence, because the road he had taken led past a place where the rubbish of a stone-cutter's workshop had been thrown out, and all sorts of fragments of ornaments lay about, in great numbers especially angels' heads.

"There is an angel's head," said Botho. "Look, Frau Dörr. And here is even one with wings."

"Yes," said Frau Dörr. "And a chubby face too. But is it really an angel? I think it must be a cupid, because it is so small and has wings."

"Cupid or angel," said Botho, "they are just the same. You ask Lena, and she will tell you so. Isn't that so, Lena?"

Lena seemed offended, but he took her hand and they were good friends again.

Immediately behind the rubbish heap the path turned to the left and opened immediately afterwards into a somewhat larger country road where the willows were in bloom and were scattering their fleecy catkins over the fields, where they lay strewn about like cotton wool.

"Look, Lena," said Frau Dörr, "do you know that they stuff beds with that now instead of feathers? And they call it tree wool."

"Yes, I know, Frau Dörr. And I am always glad when people think of anything like that and make use of it. But it would never do for you."