The physicians ascended on deck again. On breathing in the ocean's pure
breath after the foul odours of the steerage, Frederick felt as if he had
escaped from a hideous, suffocating hell.
With difficulty they made their way across the wet, empty deck, ever and
again washed by waves sweeping overboard. To keep their footing they had
to cling to the railing. Not a soul was on deck. The ship, restlessly
rolling and pounding, seemed to have been left to fight its fight alone.
But this was an awful scene that relieved and refreshed Frederick.
He went to the ladies' parlour, there to read the letter from home,
which he had nearly forgotten. A few women, who were not seasick, were
scattered through the room, lolling in their chairs in a state of limp
exhaustion. The saloon smelled of plush and varnish. It was decorated
with a number of mirrors in gold frames, there was a grand piano, and the
sound of footsteps was muffled by the soft carpet covering the floor. The
prevailing colour was blue.
Frederick made himself comfortable in one of the blue arm-chairs, and
opened the envelope. He found a letter from his mother also. But he was
more anxious to learn his father's feelings and opinion of the step he
had taken, and he read his letter first.
* * * * *
Dear Frederick,
I do not know whether this letter will find you, or where it will find
you. Perhaps not until you reach New York, where it may arrive later than
you. I should really like you to have your old father's and mother's
greetings on your trip, which is something of a surprise to us. But we
are used to surprises from you, since we have not had your unreserved
confidence for a long time. I am a fatalist, and far from wishing to bore
you with reproaches; but it is a pity that ever since you have been of
age, so many differences have arisen in our ways of thinking and acting.
A great pity, God knows. If only you had sometimes listened to me--but,
as I said, there's no use to come limping after with "if only's" and the
like.
My dear boy, now that fate has afflicted you so sorely--I told you from
the very first that Angèle comes of a diseased family--at least hold
your head up. If you do, then nothing's lost. And I especially beseech
you--don't take that nonsense of your failure with bacilli too much to
heart. You know, I've already told you I think all the noise they make
about bacilli is a hoax. Why, Pettenkofer himself swallowed the whole
culture of a typhus bacillus without its hurting him.
For all I care, go to America. It may not be a bad idea and need not be
a failure, I know persons whose lives were wrecked here and who went to
America and returned millionaires, to be envied and fawned upon. I don't
doubt that after all you have gone through, you have carefully weighed
and considered the step you are taking. Dear Frederick, I beg of you,
concentrate. The man who wants too much wants nothing. Above all, get rid
of your philanthropic notions. You would never believe me when I told you
that you uselessly sacrificed your money, your time, and your career to
your philanthropic notions. And don't take up with Utopias, such as, for
example, Socialism is, even at best. Bismarck is gone. The exceptional
law against the Socialists has been repealed. Now we'll be seeing wonders
from that pack of red internationals without a country. Did you read that
some Anarchist dogs have again been throwing bombs--in Paris in a café
not far from the Gare St. Lazare, right among a lot of innocent people,
and seven or eight were killed. My dear boy, you were in Paris. For God's
sake, in the discontented mood you are in, don't throw yourself in with
such desperate elements.
Forgive me. It was a slip of my pen. But here in Görlitz, far from the
firing line, even a rational man, when he is troubled, begins to imagine
things. With your talents you might have been an officer on a general's
staff long ago.
God be with you. Write to us. I am convinced that with your great
talents, you will strike root over there and make your fortune. Be on
your guard against art and against side interests, from which a man
cannot make a living. Do you know that the Grand Duke has made Botho his
adjutant? It looks as if the boy might rise pretty high.
Have a good trip and sometimes think of your devoted father.
* * * * *
With a sigh and a short, almost inaudible laugh of great compassion and
great bitterness, Frederick folded up the letter.
"'I don't know whether this letter will find you, or where it will find
you,'" he repeated, and added mentally, "or how it will find you."
Then he sat still for a while, staring into space.
After a time he became observant of the American jackanapes, who had
annoyed him in the smoking-room the day before. He was flirting with a
young lady apathetically lounging in an easy-chair, a Canadian, Frederick
had been told. He did not trust his eyes when he saw the American, who
had been toying with a small box of matches, pile them up carelessly, and
set fire to them in that inflammable room. A steward came up and modestly
explained that it was his duty to ask him to refrain from what he was
doing. At which the jackanapes dismissed him with "Get out of here, you
idiot."
Frederick drew out his mother's letter, but before reading it, he had
to meditate briefly upon the matter that took the place of brains in the
young American's skull.
* * * * *
My Dear Son,
Your mother's prayers accompany you. You have gone through a great deal
and suffered very much for one of your years. To let you hear something
pleasant at the very start, I will tell you of the children. They are
very well. This week I convinced myself with my own eyes that they have
a good home with Pastor Mohaupt. Albrecht is splendid. Bernhard, you
know, is more like his mother and always has been a quiet child. But he
seemed more alert and more talkative. The life in the pastor's house and
on the farm seems to please him. Pastor Mohaupt thinks both boys are by
no means untalented. He has already begun to give them lessons in Latin.
Little Annemarie asked me very timidly about her mother, but especially
about you. She spoke of you often. I told the children there was a
medical congress in New York or Washington, where they would at last make
an end of that dreadful disease, consumption. My dear child, do come back
soon to this dear old Europe.
I had a long talk with Doctor Binswanger. He told me your wife's trouble
is hereditary. It was in her all the time and would certainly have
cropped out, sooner or later. He spoke of your work, too, dear child, and
thought you ought not allow yourself to be crushed. Four or five years of
hard work, he said, would make up for your set-back.
Dear Dietrich, listen to your old mother and put your trust in our loving
Father in heaven. I think you are an atheist. Just laugh at your old
mother. But believe me, we are nothing without God's help and mercy. Pray
sometimes. It won't do any harm. I know how you reproach yourself on
Angèle's account. Binswanger says you may have a perfectly easy
conscience. And if you pray, believe me, God will remove every thought of
guilt from your harassed soul. You are only thirty. I am seventy. From
the experience of the forty years more that I have, I tell you, your life
can still turn out so that some day you will scarcely have a recollection
of all you are now suffering. You will remember the facts; but you will
try in vain to recall the feelings of anguish with which they are now
connected in your mind. I am a woman. I was fond of Angèle. And yet I
could observe you two together perfectly objectively. Believe me, there
were times when she would have driven any man desperate.
* * * * *
The end of the letter was all motherly tenderness. Frederick saw himself
at his mother's sewing-table by the window, and in his thoughts kissed
her hair, her forehead, her hands.
When he looked up, he heard the steward remonstrating with the American
and heard the American say in good German:
"The captain's a donkey."
The word had the effect of an electric shock. The next instant another
pile of matches sent up a wavering flare in the gloomy, terrifying
twilight.
Frederick mentally cut out the young man's cerebrum and cerebellum for an
anatomical examination, proceeding strictly according to the rules of
dissection, as he had so frequently done in actuality. He hunted for the
centre of stupidity, which undoubtedly composed the American's whole
soul, though his impudence, which he possessed in a rare degree, may also
have had its seat in the brain. Frederick had to laugh. In his amusement
he realised that little Ingigerd Hahlström no longer had any power over
him, less, perhaps than, for example, the dark Jewess from Odessa, whom
he had seen for the first time only a quarter of an hour before.
Captain von Kessel entered. He greeted Frederick with a slight nod of
his head and seated himself at a table beside a lady, with whom he was
acquainted, apparently. The American coxcomb and the pretty Canadian
exchanged glances. She was languishing in her easy-chair, pale but
coquettish. Frederick set her down as a woman of unusual southern
beauty--straight nose, quivering nostrils, heavy, nobly arched eyebrows,
black as her hair and the shadowy down over her fine, expressive,
twitching lips. Her gestures had the weary grace of a Spaniard. She was
laughing, and her long, slim form stretched on the chair shook. Her
admirer, with a comic expression of seriousness, was again building a
little pile of matches. In her weak condition she was unable to resist
the impulse to laugh, and every now and then hid her face behind a black
lace shawl.
It was an exciting moment when the American, in defiance of the Captain's
presence, again made ready for his dangerous play.
Von Kessel, broad and ponderous and somewhat too short-legged, seemed out
of proportion in the dainty parlour. He was speaking quietly with his
lady. From the expression of his face it was evident that the weather was
giving him cause to be serious. Suddenly the matches flared up. Now the
captain's calm St. Bernard head turned slightly, and a voice said in a
tone not to be misunderstood:
"Put that fire out!"
Frederick had never heard an order from a man's lips so incisive, so
truly commanding, so fearful. The American turned pale and in the
twinkling of an eye smothered the flame. The beautiful Canadian closed
her eyes. But the captain, as if nothing had occurred, continued to
converse with his lady.