PEISSENBERG
Once back in Moscow, we resumed our usual mode of life. My husband is
working very hard, and I see him only during our meals. Our doctor finds
repose and change of air necessary for us both, and sends us to make a
cure in the sanatorium of the famous Wunderfrau Ottilie Hohenmeister, at
Peissenberg, in the Bavarian mountains. Our journey occupied three days.
I grew rather excited as we neared our destination, and when the train
steamed into the station of Peissenberg, I felt downcast and nervous at
the thought that we should have to undergo a serious cure here. We drove
in a carriage sent by Frau Hohenmeister to her sanatorium—beautifully
situated on the slope of a hill—and followed her head-manager into a
parlour where a fire was burning brightly. After having put our names
down in the register-book, we climbed to the top-floor by a creaking
staircase of seventy steep steps which led to our apartment, consisting
of two rooms high up in the attic. Our turret bedroom was close under
the roof, and our eyes were above the tree-tops. It had a window in its
sloping ceiling through which stars might be studied at night. And we
are first-class boarders at the sanatorium! How are the second-class
tenants lodged, I wonder? In return we have a beautiful view from our
sitting-room window, looking on to the vast forest and on snowy hill-tops
in the background.
After having ordered a fire to be lit in our room, we went to present
ourselves to the Wunderfrau, who lives in a private house close to the
sanatorium. A number of people, coming from all parts of the world, sat
about waiting in the drawing-room. Frau Hohenmeister has wide-world
fame and works wonders. The doctoress welcomed us affably and gave me a
friendly pat, calling me all the time, “_Mein Kind, mein Schatz_.” She is
a short and fat woman, with a round face and round black eyes—in short,
she is round everywhere. My German being very elementary, I called to my
help all the German words I knew to answer the Wunderfrau’s questions.
That night, before going to bed, we devoured a whole box of caviare which
we had brought from Moscow, as we were to be put on diet the following
day.
Our cure began at six o’clock in the morning. First came a little wizen
old woman, badly named “Greti” (diminutive of Margaret), who brought us
a nasty drug which we swallowed with a grimace. At half-past six we had
to undergo a massage performed by Fräulein Zenzi, Frau Hohenmeister’s
pretty niece; at seven came the knock of the bathman (Herr Bademeister)
announcing that our baths were ready. The water in the bath was dark, and
smelt just like Grete’s mixture. We had to lie down in bed for twenty
minutes after our bath, and at eight o’clock Fräulein Zenzi reappeared
bringing a bottle bearing the inscription “Medicine,” and we had to
swallow a tablespoonful of that horrid physic every two hours. It was
only at ten o’clock that I got a cup of beef-tea, whilst Sergy (lucky
man) was allowed a cup of coffee. At eleven o’clock repetition of the
same broth with an egg, and a small roll in addition. At seven we went
down to dinner after the table-d’hôte, and returned to our attic feeling
very hungry, for the soup had been uneatable and the following dishes
quite tasteless, as our doctoress strictly forbids seasoning of any kind.
At nine o’clock we were obliged to go to bed, and at ten the gas was
turned out all over the house.
Sergy was not a very docile patient, and felt rebellious to the authority
of a person of the feeble sex, but I did all that the Wunderfrau ordered
me to do without protest.
The village of Peissenberg—set upon a hill—is very picturesque. It is
inhabited mostly by mine-workers. In the daytime the male population
lives underground. When we went out for our every-day walk, the women
on their doorsteps dropped us a curtsey with a muttered “_Grüss
Gott_.” Sergy goes out on excursions sometimes. One afternoon he went
to Steinberg, where he took the boat plying on the Lake Wurm. He met
on board a very pretty and stylish woman, the Countess Dürkheim née
Princess Bobrinsky, a compatriot of ours, who had married an aide-de-camp
of the King of Bavaria. The Countess expressed her desire to make my
acquaintance and wrote a note to me asking us to dine on the following
day at Rothenbuch, the Dürkheims’ beautiful estate at two hours’ drive
from Peissenberg. I scribbled off a line to say that I regretted I was
unable to accept her amiable invitation, not being very well, but if she
would come to see me, I should be very pleased. And the Countess came the
next day. At the end of the week, we drove down to Rothenbuch to return
her call. On approaching their estate, there came a sound of music from
the forest surrounding the fine old mansion. The Countess and her husband
came to meet us on the verge of the forest, and led us over a velvet
lawn to a nook under a group of old trees where there was tea and cakes
and all sorts of things laid on a long table, at which sat numerous
guests, including the priest of the parish and the schoolmaster. The
whole company went afterwards to shoot at targets near the brewery, where
we saw a huge barrel filled with beer. The pencil drawings on the walls
of the brew-house, of life-sized faces, depict every drunken emotion
that the human face is capable of expressing, and represent red-nosed
drunkards belonging to all classes of society, with a constable and a
monk in the number. The young Count in shooting get-up, with his gun
on the shoulder, looked very sportsmanlike. He is the best shot in the
country, and now he carried off the first prize—a good fat goose. Then
our hosts led us to inspect their magnificent property. The “Schloss” is
a formidable square building with rounded towers at the four corners,
full of mediæval reminiscences. The grounds around are beautifully kept.
As we were driven back to Peissenberg, we were overtaken by a terrible
storm; the thunder rolled, preceded by dazzling lightning, and rain began
to fall heavily. We came home drenched to the skin; my dress had the
heavy soapy look that bathing-suits have, and my hat looked a sad object
with its plume hanging lamentably, and rivulets of water falling from its
brim.
Every year on her birthday the Wunderfrau gives a village entertainment
followed by a rural ball. She invited us to a grand dinner during which
a military band, imported from Munich, played marches and lively airs.
After the repast we went to see the country-dance on the common. The
merry-go-round was in all activity. The Wunderfrau, surrounded by her
guests, was sitting on the grass, dowdily dressed and loaded with false
jewellery; her black silk dress was fastened at the throat by a brooch
the size of a saucer, which contained the effigy of her late husband.
There was a long file of tables laid out with dishes and bottles.
Village youths and maidens had come from all around, dressed in their
Sunday best. The lads, their vests hanging on one shoulder and their
large-brimmed hats cocked on one ear, sat before large bocks, filling
themselves steadily with beer and flirting with their sweethearts,
talking and laughing uproariously. When it began to get dark there
were dances in the big barn. Our cook and laundress opened the ball,
swinging round the three-step waltz to the music of _Ach mein lieber
Augustin_ played by rural musicians. After them the whole company began
whirling and twirling with shrill shrieks of merriment. We were very
much amused by the gambols of these rustics. The lads in their thick
boots and country clothes, carrying their partners clasped to their
bosom like packets, were careering round, stamping the floor loudly with
their nailed heels. We were much surprised to see among the dancers our
doctoress, red and panting, turning round like a weather-cock, embraced
by a ruddy-faced youth. All of a sudden the boys, brisked up by some
glasses of wine, separated from the girls and began to turn somersaults,
tapping themselves noisily on the thighs, at which Countess Platen, a
Swedish lady who lived in our Sanatorium and gave tone to everything,
gathered up her skirts majestically and swept out queen-like, bearing
her head high and stepping as though she was mistress of the whole fair
earth, followed by her satellites.
The days passed with despairing monotony. With admirable patience we
were persevering in our cure, and took our medicine, our bath, our
massage with great resignation. We shall finish our treatment in about a
fortnight and have decided to go and take sea-baths at the Isle of Wight.
The day of our departure arrived at last. When taking leave of us the
doctoress presented me with an enormous bouquet. Our train was crammed,
and we were closely packed in our compartment, when the door was flung
open and a breathless, panting lady of colossal dimensions, pushing
parcels before her, clambered in, walking on everybody’s toes. That fat
creature had undergone a cure in our Sanatorium, and was also provided
with a bouquet, only of much smaller dimensions than mine, because she
had been a second-class boarder.
We made a short halt at Munich, just in time to make a round of the
museums and to climb a dark staircase, lighted by a few oil-lamps, up to
the gigantic statue of Bavaria, in the head of which two big iron sofas
find place, and whose eyes serve as windows. We had a splendid bird’s-eye
view of the whole town out of them.