Frau Fischer was the fortunate possessor of a candle factory somewhere
on the banks of the Eger, and once a year she ceased from her labours
to make a “cure” in Dorschausen, arriving with a dress-basket neatly
covered in a black tarpaulin and a hand-bag. The latter contained
amongst her handkerchiefs, eau de Cologne, toothpicks, and a certain
woollen muffler very comforting to the “magen,” samples of her skill in
candle-making, to be offered up as tokens of thanksgiving when her
holiday time was over.
Four of the clock one July afternoon she appeared at the Pension
Müller. I was sitting in the arbour and watched her bustling up the
path followed by the red-bearded porter with her dress-basket in his
arms and a sunflower between his teeth. The widow and her five innocent
daughters stood tastefully grouped upon the steps in appropriate
attitudes of welcome; and the greetings were so long and loud that I
felt a sympathetic glow.
“What a journey!” cried the Frau Fischer. “And nothing to eat in the
train—nothing solid. I assure you the sides of my stomach are flapping
together. But I must not spoil my appetite for dinner—just a cup of
coffee in my room. Bertha,” turning to the youngest of the five, “how
changed! What a bust! Frau Hartmann, I congratulate you.”
Once again the Widow seized Frau Fischer’s hands. “Kathi, too, a
splendid woman; but a little pale. Perhaps the young man from Nürnberg
is here again this year. How you keep them all I don’t know. Each year
I come expecting to find you with an empty nest. It’s surprising.”
Frau Hartmann, in an ashamed, apologetic voice: “We are such a happy
family since my dear man died.”
“But these marriages—one must have courage; and after all, give them
time, they all make the happy family bigger—thank God for that.... Are
there many people here just now?”
“Every room engaged.”
Followed a detailed description in the hall, murmured on the stairs,
continued in six parts as they entered the large room (windows opening
upon the garden) which Frau Fischer occupied each successive year. I
was reading the “Miracles of Lourdes,” which a Catholic priest—fixing a
gloomy eye upon my soul—had begged me to digest; but its wonders were
completely routed by Frau Fischer’s arrival. Not even the white roses
upon the feet of the Virgin could flourish in that atmosphere.
“... It was a simple shepherd-child who pastured her flocks upon the
barren fields....”
Voices from the room above: “The washstand has, of course, been
scrubbed over with soda.”
“... Poverty-stricken, her limbs with tattered rags half covered....”
“Every stick of the furniture has been sunning in the garden for three
days. And the carpet we made ourselves out of old clothes. There is a
piece of that beautiful flannel petticoat you left us last summer.”
“... Deaf and dumb was the child; in fact, the population considered
her half idiot....”
“Yes, that is a new picture of the Kaiser. We have moved the
thorn-crowned one of Jesus Christ out into the passage. It was not
cheerful to sleep with. Dear Frau Fischer, won’t you take your coffee
out in the garden?”
“That is a very nice idea. But first I must remove my corsets and my
boots. Ah, what a relief to wear sandals again. I am needing the ‘cure’
very badly this year. My nerves! I am a mass of them. During the entire
journey I sat with my handkerchief over my head, even while the guard
collected the tickets. Exhausted!”
She came into the arbour wearing a black and white spotted
dressing-gown, and a calico cap peaked with patent leather, followed by
Kathi, carrying the little blue jugs of malt coffee. We were formally
introduced. Frau Fischer sat down, produced a perfectly clean pocket
handkerchief and polished her cup and saucer, then lifted the lid of
the coffee-pot and peered in at the contents mournfully.
“Malt coffee,” she said. “Ah, for the first few days I wonder how I can
put up with it. Naturally, absent from home one must expect much
discomfort and strange food. But as I used to say to my dear husband:
with a clean sheet and a good cup of coffee I can find my happiness
anywhere. But now, with nerves like mine, no sacrifice is too terrible
for me to make. What complaint are you suffering from? You look
exceedingly healthy!”