“I am going to leave your house. No! Do not protest. Do not do me
or yourselves the injury to wish me to remain. My mind is made up,
irrevocably. You know the tenants of my flat above the shop are
leaving the city. I shall at once move back into my own house, which I
should never have left. It was a grievous thing for me to come to you,
my dears, for no one should be a useless fifth wheel upon another’s
domestic coach. You should have your chance to be happy--alone. Forgive
me, forgive me, for having made you unhappy! You see, Leontine is my
only child, and her father--” She turned her head aside for a moment.
But Willy leaned over and took her hand, consolingly.
“You are quite right, little Mother,” he said, truthfully. “It would
be as great a wrong to you as to us to wish you to remain, when you
are not happy with us. But do you realize why you are unhappy here,
Mamanchen? It is because you are too young and too pretty to play
second fiddle in anybody else’s house, even Leontine’s.”
Maman laughed through her tears. “Willy!” she cried, “you might have
been a Frenchman!”
When Father was told, he nodded his head. “I, too, go,” he said
bluntly. “She is right for once, that odious woman. For there is no
room in the new nest for the old birds; they crowd the youngsters, and
for themselves they make starvation. Sing and fly by yourselves, my
children. That will make me happy. Only--do not fly too far away from
thy old father, Willy!”
So Maman went back to the rooms over the shop and was too busy to allow
herself to be unhappy, even if she were inclined to be; and Father took
two pleasant rooms near us, and went right on with his music lessons.
Maman was to come on Tuesdays and Fridays, and Father on Mondays and
Thursdays, with an alternate Sunday for each; thus they would escape
the unpleasantness of meeting each other in our house.
It was pleasant to have such a darling little place as Maman’s flat to
visit. Now that she was alone she gave full rein to her own individual
taste, and never did any little place look daintier, more homelike and
simple and charming than Maman’s rooms. And Maman herself! Under our
astonished and delighted eyes Maman grew younger. She arranged her
thick white hair ravishingly, with fleecy curls about the ears; she
manufactured for herself enchanting little hats with hints of lilac in
them, and she evolved frocks of a chic to make one gasp. She was witty
as only a Frenchwoman can be; she was pretty as only an American is.
Then she began to skip her evenings with us; she began to visit us, not
as a pleasure only to herself, but as a pleasure and a privilege to us.
As for Father, the change in him was of a longer growth, but it
was none the less certain and sure. He began to do without us. He
looked brushed and groomed and well-fed and prosperous and jovial. He
developed a taste in ties that made us marvel. His ragged beard had
been Vandyked into a trimness which clipped ten years off his age, and
his clothes were modern and dignified.
It was our turn now to suffer a little wholesome neglect, for our
parents _were_ neglecting us. They were seeking--and, what is more,
finding--other objects of absorbing interest outside of our dear selves
that loved them so much; they were living their own lives in their own
fashion, without so much as a by-your-leave from either of us.
When our dear adored baby was born they behaved as distractedly as any
well-brought-up grandparents could, however. They were extravagantly
delighted. Never was there so exquisite a baby! Maman said that I had
been an adorable baby myself, but that I simply wasn’t to be compared
with _this_ angel. Father remembered that Willy had been a very nice
baby, too, but not to compare to our baby, who, judging from the
magnificent formation of his head, would undoubtedly grow up to be a
statesman. Poor, dear, red, wrinkled little statesman, with no language
at his command save a squeal, and never a hair to his precious head!
The baby had come to us at Thanksgiving--that good, beautiful American
holiday of ours that I so greatly love--so it was almost Christmas
before I was able to take him out, myself. Willy and I had decided that
his first visit should be to his grandmother; we would take him to see
her on Christmas Eve, all snugly wrapped up. And we would then go to
Father on Christmas morning. It was to be a beautiful surprise.
To tell the truth, for the last week or ten days we had seen very
little of Maman or of Father, either. They were so busy with their own
affairs.
We knew that Maman had intended to dismiss her assistants early, close
the shop, and spend Christmas Eve at home; she could afford to be so
independent, for those charming hats of hers were beginning to sell
for good prices. At dusk, then, we wrapped our little baby up snugly
and tucked him among his carriage cushions, took our presents, and
started out. We were both in a glow of pride and happiness when we
reached Maman’s. Her windows were lighted, so we knew she was at home.
She met us at the door with a cry of pleasure; then she ushered us into
her living-room, calling in a gay, glad voice:
“See who’s here! See who’s here!”
A big man in a brand-new smoking-jacket got up out of the new Morris
chair in which he had been making himself comfortable.
“Ha! Our children!” said Willy’s father gaily, and fell upon us.
We could only gasp, and stare. The room was lovely with Christmas
greens, and Maman herself was a vision in a red gown, with red satin
slippers on her little feet and a vivid Poinsettia in her beautiful
white hair. On a new mahogany stand was a powerful bust of--who but
the Chancellor himself, a gay holly wreath adorning his beetling brows!
“Father!” gurgled Willy. “Maman!” I echoed weakly, and almost fell into
a chair.
Willy’s father shifted his small grandson very tenderly to his
shoulder, and beckoned to Maman, who came and stood beside him, slipped
her small hands about his big arm, and laughed at our bewilderment.
“My surprise for you, my children!” said she.
“It is like this,” said Father, gravely. “I came one night to Madame,
forced by loneliness and repentance, to beg her pardon for driving her
out of her child’s home. I found her sad and lonely, even as I was; but
how good the little home she had made for herself looked to me, who had
none! And we consoled each other. She loved my son and I adored her
daughter, and thus we fell into kind talk and discovered that each was
better than the other had thought. And how heavenly a meal she set
before me, seasoned with such wit! It is true that there are no cooks
and no wits on earth like the French!
“Afterward I came again--and yet again. And we discovered that we were
not so very old--not too old to be young--and that there was much, very
much, in life, for both of us. We decided to share, to help each other.
I taught her much of German, she explained to me much of French, and
the great immortal ones of our countries healed us with their divine
art.”
He paused to rub his cheek softly against the baby’s bald head. “Ach!
She is a wonderful woman--wonderful!” he said, with a vast pride. “Dear
little child, if thou wilt but take after thy wise, beautiful, witty,
perfect, ever-to-be-adored grandmother, thou wilt be the greatest of
men!” he told the baby.
Maman laughed like a girl. “What I most admire about the best Germans,”
she said thoughtfully, “is their fine domestic sentiment. They have
such tender hearts, which they are at times wise enough to show. Ah,
Willy, how I rejoice, for my dear child’s sake, that you so greatly
resemble your good father!”
“And so,” continued Father, comfortably, “our love for our children
having made us hate each other, their love for each other and for us
made us love each other. I found I was unhappy away from Madame. Madame
discovered that she was happy only in my company. Do you think the
young alone are capable of love? No, no! While there is life there is
love. So Madame and I propose to make for ourselves a home, a fireside,
where we shall sit, loving each other and our children, until our good
Herr Gott removes us to a better Home. Your mother, Leontine,” he added
to me, “is a remarkable woman, a perfectly marvelous woman! Wonderful,
my child, wonderful! It is not to be told how I adore this angel of a
woman!”
“You are going to be married?” Willy’s voice was all but hysterical.
“We were married,” said Maman calmly, “three days ago. Your father,”
she told Willy, “is a very masterful man. He would have it so, without
fuss and without explanations; and I was glad to please him.”
Father pointed to the holly-wreathed bust.
“My dear wife’s first Christmas present to me!” he said happily.
“Yes,” said Maman, with unabashed serenity, “Johann has labored to
explain his real character to me. Johann loves and respects him, so
there must be something to be said for the man, although I of course
deplore the fact that he thought he had to be harsh to my dear country.
But we are both good Americans. _This_ is our country. Remembering
that, why should we waste our time quarreling about foreign statesmen?”
“Now you shall hear _my_ little gift to my dear wife,” said Father,
proudly. Still holding the baby, who seemed perfectly content to
snuggle on his shoulder, he marched over to a magnificent graphanola
and slipped in a fine new record. Under the Chancellor’s mighty nose
rose the soul-stirring, martial magic of the “Marseillaise.” We
listened with delight, until it ceased. Then Maman, with a glance of
affection and gratitude at Father, put in another record. Flooding
the little Christmas-decked room came a beautiful blending of men’s
and women’s and children’s voices, singing the old, old, lovely, holy
Christmas hymn.
“Oh, come ye, oh, come ye, to Bethlehem!”
We all drew closer together, feeling our hearts in unison; and
remembering the Holiest Baby of all, we looked down upon our own little
baby very tenderly.
“My dearest children,” said Maman, with her hands clasped around
Father’s arm, “I have to beg of you a favor, a great favor: for my
best Christmas gift, promise me to name my little adored grandson Karl
Johann!”
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Perceived typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.