German Fiction

And she was silent again and looked up at the dim stars that were appearing in the sky.

"What are you thinking of, Lena?"

"How beautiful it would be if I were up there."

"Do not speak so. You ought not to wish your life to be over; it is only a step from such a wish …"

She smiled. "No, not that. I am not like the girl who ran and threw herself into the well, because her sweetheart danced with some one else. Do you remember when you told me about that?"

"But what do you mean then? It does not seem like you to say such a thing, just for the sake of talking."

"No, I meant it seriously. And really" (she pointed up to the sky), "I should be glad to be there. Then I should be at peace. But I can wait… And now come, let us walk out in the fields. I brought no wrap and I find it cold sitting still."

And so they followed the same path through the fields that had led them the other time as far as the first houses of Wilmersdorf. The tower was plainly visible under the bright starry sky while a thin mist was drifting over the meadow land.

"Do you remember," said Botho, "how we took this same walk with Frau Dörr?"

She nodded. "That is why I proposed to come here; I was not chilly, or scarcely at all. Ah, that was such a beautiful day and I have never been so gay and happy, either before or afterwards. Even now my heart laughs, when I think how we walked along singing, 'Do you remember.' Yes, memory means so much-it means everything. And I have that and I can keep it and nothing can ever, take it away from me. And I can feel plainly how it will lighten my heart."

He embraced her. "You are so good."

But Lena went on quietly: "And I will not let it pass without telling you all about it, how it is that my heart is so light. Really it is just the same thing that I told you before, the day before yesterday, when we were in the country on our half-spoiled excursion, and afterwards when we were saying good-bye. I always saw this coming, even from the beginning, and nothing has happened but what had to happen. If one has had a beautiful dream, one should thank the Lord for it, and not lament that the dream ends and reality begins again. It is hard now, but all will be forgotten or will seem pleasant again. And some day you will be happy again and perhaps I shall too."

"Do you believe so? And if not? What then?"

"Then we must live without happiness."

"Ah, Lena, you say that as if happiness were nothing. But it is something, and that is what distresses me, and it seems to me as if I had done you an injustice."

"I absolve you from that. You have done me no injustice, you did not lead me astray and you made me no promise. Everything was my own free choice. I loved you with all my heart. That was my fate, and if it was a sin, then it was my sin, and more than that, a sin in which I rejoice with all my heart, as I have told you again and again, because it was my joy. If I must pay for it, I will pay gladly. You have not injured, hurt, or damaged anything, unless perhaps what men call propriety and good morals. Shall I distress myself about that? No. Everything will come right again, and that too. And now come, let us turn back. See how the mist is rising; I think Frau Dörr must have gone home by this time and we shall find my good old mother alone. She knows everything, and all day long she has only said the one same thing."

"And that was?"

"That all was for the best."

Frau Nimptsch was alone, as Botho and Lena came in. The room was still and dusky and only the firelight flickered amongst the great shadows that lay across the room. The goldfinch was already asleep in his cage, and there was not a sound but now and then the hissing of the boiling water.

"Good evening, Mutterchen," said Botho.

The old woman returned his greeting and was going to rise from her footstool to draw up the big armchair. But Botho would not allow it and said: "No, Mutterchen, I will sit in my old place."

And he pushed the wooden stool up to the fire.

There was a short pause; but soon he began again: "I have come to-day to bid good-bye and to thank you for all the loving-kindness that I have enjoyed here so long. Yes, I thank you from my heart. I was so happy and always loved to be here. But now I must leave you, and now I can only say that perhaps it is better so."

The old woman did not speak but nodded as if in agreement.

"But I shall not be gone out of the world," Botho went on, "and I shall not forget you. And now give me your hand. That is right. And now good-night."

Hereupon he rose quickly and walked to the door, while Lena clung to his arm. And so they walked as far as the garden gate, without another word being spoken. But then Lena said: "Quick now, Botho. My strength will not hold out any longer; these two days have really been too much. Farewell, my dearest, and may you be as happy as you deserve to be, and as happy as you have made me. Then you will be happy. And we will not talk about the rest, it is not worth while. There, there."

And she kissed him again and again and then closed the gate. As he stood on the other side of the street, he seemed, when he saw Lena, as if he must turn back for one more word, for one more kiss. But she made an urgent gesture of refusal. And so he walked on down the street, while she, leaning on the gatepost, with her head supported on her arm, gazed after him with wide eyes.

So she stood for a long time until his footsteps had died away in the silence of the night.

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.