German Fiction

"It is something of the sort. Read on."

And he read: "Who were the two ladies at the Corso? Is it the elder or is it the younger? Who is Pitt? Who is Serge? Who is Gaston?"

Botho laughed. "If I should answer all those questions, Lena, I should have to stay till early to-morrow morning."

It was fortunate that Frau Dörr was not present to hear this answer or else there would have been a fresh embarrassment. But the good lady who was usually so brisk, at least where the Baron was concerned, had not yet returned, and so Lena said: "Very well, then, have it your own way. And for all I care, the two ladies may wait until another time! But what do the foreign names mean? I asked you before, the time you brought the bonbons. But you gave me no real answer, only half an answer. Is it a secret?"

"No."

"Then tell me about it."

"Gladly, Lena, these names are only nicknames."

"I know that. You said so before."

"So they are names that we have given each other for convenience, with or without reason, just by chance."

"And what does Pitt mean?"

"Pitt was an English statesman."

"And is your friend a statesman too?"

"For heaven's sake …"

"And Serge?"

"That is a Russian given name, belonging to a Russian saint and many Russian crown princes."

"Who, however, do not find it necessary to be saints if I am right?.. And Gaston?"

"Is a French name."

"Yes, I remember that. Once when I was a little young thing, before I was confirmed, I saw a piece: 'The Man with the Iron Mask.' And the man with the mask was called Gaston. And I cried dreadfully."

"And now you will laugh if I tell you that I am Gaston."

"No, I will not laugh. You have a mask too."

Botho was about to contradict this, both in earnest and in jest, but Frau Dörr, who just then came in, broke off the conversation, by excusing herself for having kept them waiting so long. But an order had come in and she had been obliged to make a burial wreath in a hurry.

"A big one or a little one?" asked Frau Nimptsch, who loved to talk about funerals and had a passion for hearing all the details about them.

"Well," said Frau Dörr, "it was a middle-sized one; plain people. Ivy and azaleas."

"Oh, Lord!" went on Frau Nimptsch, "every one is wild about ivy and azaleas, but I am not. Ivy is well enough when it grows on the grave and covers it all so green and thick that the grave seems as peaceful as he who lies below. But ivy in a wreath, that is not right. In my day we used immortelles, yellow or half yellow, and if we wanted something very fine we took red ones or white ones and made a wreath out of those, or even just one color and hung it on the cross, and there it hung all winter, and when spring came there it hung still. And some lasted longer than that. But this ivy and azalea is no good at all. And why not? because it does not last long. And I always think that the longer the wreath hangs on the grave, the longer people remember him who lies below. And a widow too, if she is not too young. And that is why I favor immortelles, yellow or red or even white, and any one can hang up another wreath also if he wants to. That is just for the looks of it. But the immortelle is the real thing."

"Mother," said Lena, "you talk so much about graves and wreaths lately."

"Yes, child, everyone speaks as he thinks. And if one is thinking of a wedding, he talks about weddings, and if he is thinking of a funeral, then he talks about graves. And, anyway, I didn't begin talking about graves and wreaths; Frau Dörr began it, which was quite right. And I only keep on talking about it because I am always anxious and I keep thinking. Who will bring you one?"

"Now, mother …"

"Yes, Lena, you are good, you are a dear child. But man proposes and God disposes, and to-day red, to-morrow, dead. And you might die any day as well as I; for all that, I do not believe you will. And Frau Dörr may die, or when I die she may live somewhere else, or I may be living somewhere else and may have just moved in. Ah, my dear Lena, one can never be sure of anything, not even of a wreath for one's grave."

"Oh, but you can, Mother Nimptsch," said Botho, "you shall certainly have one."

"Oh, Herr Baron, if that is only true."

"And if I am in Petersburg or Paris, and I hear that my old friend Frau Nimptsch is dead, I will send a wreath, and if I am in Berlin or anywhere near, I will bring it myself."

The aged woman's face brightened for joy. "There, now you have said something, Herr Baron. And now I shall have a wreath for my grave and it is dear to me that I shall have it. For I cannot endure bare graves, that look like a burial ground for orphans or prisoners or worse. But now make the tea, Lena, the water is boiling already, and we have strawberries and milk. And sour too. Heavens, the Herr Baron must be quite starved. Looking and looking makes folks hungry, I can remember so much yet. Yes, Frau Dörr, we had our youth, even if it was long ago. But men were the same then as they are to-day."

Frau Nimptsch, who happened to be talkative this evening, philosophised for a while longer, while Lena was bringing in the supper and Botho continued to amuse himself by teasing Frau Dörr. "It was a good thing that she had put away her handsome hat, which was suitable for Kroll or for the theatre, but not for the mound near Wilmersdorf. Where did she get the hat? No princess had such a hat. And he had never seen anything so becoming; he would not speak for himself alone, but a prince might have fallen in love with it."

The good woman did indeed realize that he was joking. But still she said: "Yes, indeed, when Dörr once gets started, he is so eager and so fastidious that I can hardly tell what has come over him. Day by day he is quite dull, but all of a sudden he is as if he had changed into another man and then I always say to myself: there must be something the matter with him and this is the only way he knows how to show it."

And so the talk went on over the tea, until ten o'clock. Then Botho rose to go and Lena and Frau Dörr accompanied him through the front garden to the gate. While they were standing there Frau Dörr reminded them that after all they had forgotten the philopena. Both seemed desirous to disregard this reminder and repeated once more how delightful the afternoon had been. "We must make such little excursions oftener, Lena, and when I come again, we will think where to go. I shall be sure to think of something, some place where it is quiet and beautiful, and further away, and not just across the fields."

"And we will take Frau Dörr with us again," said Lena, "You ask her, will you not, Botho?"

"Certainly, Lena. Frau Dörr must always go with us. Without her the trip would be a failure."

"Ah, Herr Baron, I could never accept that, I could never expect such a thing."

"Oh, yes indeed, dear Frau Dörr," laughed Botho. "You may expect everything, such a woman as you."

And therewith they parted.

CHAPTER XI

The country excursion, which had been promised or at least discussed after the walk to Wilmersdorf, was now the favorite topic for several weeks, and whenever Botho came the question was, where to go? All possible places were mentioned: Erkner and Kranichberg, Schwilow and Baumgartenbrück, but all were too much frequented, and so it happened that at last Botho spoke of Hankel's Ablage, the beauty and solitude of which he had heard enthusiastically described. Lena agreed, for all she wanted was to get out into God's green world, as far as possible from the city and its doings, and to be with her lover. It really did not matter where.

The next Friday was decided upon for the excursion. "Agreed." And so they started by the Görlitz afternoon train for Hankel's Ablage, where they had engaged quarters for the night and meant to pass the next day very quietly.

There were very few coaches on the train, but even these were not very full, and so it happened that Botho and Lena found themselves alone. In the next coupe there was a good deal of talk, from which it was plainly to be heard that these were through passengers and not people meaning to stop over at Hankel's Ablage.

Lena was happy, and gave her hand to Botho and gazed silently at the landscape with its woods and meadows. At last she said: "But what will Frau Dörr say about our leaving her at home?"

"She needn't find it out."

"Mother will be sure to tell her,"

"Why, that is rather bad and yet we could not do any differently. Look here! It was well enough out in the fields the other day, because we were quite alone. But if we do find ourselves practically alone at Hankel's Ablage, yet we shall have a host and a hostess and perhaps a waiter from Berlin. And a waiter laughing quietly to himself or at least laughing inwardly, I cannot endure: he would spoil all my pleasure. Frau Dörr, when she is sitting by your mother or teaching the proprieties to old Dörr, is great fun, but not in public. Amongst people she is simply a comical figure and an embarrassment to us."

Towards five the train stopped at the edge of a wood… Actually no one but Botho and Lena got out, and the two walked leisurely and with frequent pauses to a tavern, which stood close to the Spree and about ten minutes' walk from the little station. This "Establishment," as it was described on a slanting signboard, had been originally a mere fisherman's cottage, which had very gradually, and more by addition than by rebuilding, been changed into a tavern. The view across the stream made up for all other deficiencies, so that the brilliant reputation which the place enjoyed among the initiated never for a moment seemed exaggerated. Lena, too, felt quite at home immediately, and went and sat in a sort of veranda-like room that had been built on, and that was half covered over by the branches of an old elm that stood between the house and the bank.

"Let us stay here," said she, "Just see the boats, two, three … and further out a whole fleet is coming. Yes, it was indeed a lucky thought that brought us here. Only see how they run back and forth on the boats and put their weight on the rudder. And yet it is all so silent. Oh, my own dear Botho, how beautiful it is and how I love you!"