Philippina would not permit little Agnes to play with other children.
One day the child went out on to the square, and stood and watched some
other children playing a game known as "Tailor, lend me the scissors."
She was much pleased at the sight of them, as they ran from tree to tree
and laughed. She would have been only too happy to join them, but no one
thought of asking the pale, shy little creature to take part.
Philippina, seeing her, rushed out like a fury, and cried in her very
meanest voice: "You come back here in the house, or I'll maul you until
your teeth will rattle in your mouth for three days to come!"
Philippina also disliked to have Jordan pay any attention to Agnes. If
he did not notice that he was making her angry by talking with the
child, she would begin to sing, first gently, and then more and more
loudly. If this did not drive the old man away, she would unload some
terrific abuse on him, and keep at it until he would get up, sigh, and
leave. He did not dare antagonise her, for if he did, she would penalise
him by giving him poor food and reduced portions. And he suffered
greatly from hunger. He was making only a few pennies a week, and had to
save every bit of it, if possible, so as to defray the expenses he was
incurring while working on his invention.
He had unbounded faith in his invention; his credulity became stronger
and stronger as the months rolled by. He could not be discouraged by
seeming failure. He was convinced, on the contrary, that each failure
merely brought him so much nearer the desired goal.
He said to Philippina: "Why is it that you object to my playing once in
a while with my little grand-daughter? It gives me so much pleasure; it
diverts me; it takes my mind off of my troubles."
"Crazy nonsense," replied Philippina. "Agnes has had trouble enough with
her father. Her grandfather? whew! That beats me!"
Another time the old man said: "Suppose we make an agreement: let me
have the child a half-hour each day, and in return for that I'll run
your errands down town."
Philippina: "I'll run my own errands. Agnes belongs to me. That settles
it."
And yet Philippina was in an especially good humour about this time.
Benjamin Dorn, like Herr Zittel, had left the Prudentia, and obtained a
position with the Excelsior. He was taking unusual interest in
Philippina. In a dark hour, Philippina had told her friend, Frau
Hadebusch, that she had saved a good deal of money, and, equipped with
this bit of earthly wisdom, Frau Hadebusch had gone to the Methodist,
told him all about it, and put very serious matrimonial ideas in his
head.
Benjamin Dorn took infinite pains to gain Philippina's good graces. He
was, to be sure, somewhat dismayed at having her blasphemous system of
theology dinned into his ears. He shook his head wearily when she called
him a sky-pilot and declared right out that all this sanctimonious stuff
was damned rot, and that the main thing was to have a fat wallet. In
this philosophy Frau Hadebusch was with her to the last exclamation
point. She had told Benjamin Dorn that a doughtier, bonnier, more
capable person than Fraeulein Schimmelweis was not to be found on this
earth, and that the two were as much made for each other as oil and
vinegar for a salad. She said: "You simply ought to see the dresses the
girl has and how she can fix herself up when she wants to go out.
Moreover, she comes of a good family. In short, any man who could get
her would be a subject for real congratulations."
To Philippina Frau Hadebusch said: "Dorn--he can write as no one else on
this earth. Oh, you ought to see him swing a pen! He limps a little, but
what of it? Just think how many people go around on two sound legs, but
have their heads all full of rubbish! But Dorn! He's whole cloth and a
yard wide! He's as soft as prune juice. Why, when a dog barks at him, he
gives the beast a lump of sugar. That's the kind of a man he is."
In October Benjamin Dorn and Philippina went to the church fair, and
naturally took Agnes along. Benjamin Dorn knew what was expected of him.
He had Philippina take two rides on the merry-go-round, paid her way
into the cabinet of wax figures, and took a chance on the lottery. It
was a blank. He then explained to Philippina that it was immoral to have
anything to do with lotteries, and bought her a bag of ginger snaps; and
that was solid pleasure.
Philippina acted very nicely. She laughed when nothing amusing had taken
place, rolled her eyes, spoke with puckered lips, shook her hips when
she walked, and never lost a chance to show her learning. As they were
coming home on the train, she said she felt she would like to ride in a
chaise, but there would have to be two horses and a coachman with a tile
hat. Benjamin Dorn replied that that was not an impossible wish,
suggesting at the same time in his best brand of juvenile roguishness
that there was a certain solemn ceremony that he would not think of
celebrating without having a vehicle such as she had described.
Philippina giggled, and said: "Oi, oi, you're all right." Whereupon
Benjamin Dorn, grinning with embarrassment, looked down.
Then they took leave of each other, for Agnes had fallen asleep in
Philippina's arms.
How Philippina actually felt about the attention he was showing her
would be extremely difficult to tell, though she acted as if she felt
honoured and flattered. Benjamin Dorn was by no means certain of
himself. Frau Hadebusch did all she could to bring Philippina around,
but every time she made a fresh onslaught Philippina put her off.
But Philippina had never sung as she had been singing recently, nor had
she ever been so light and nimble of foot. Every day she put on her
Sunday dress and trimmed it with her choicest ribbons. She washed her
hands with almond soap, and combed her hair before the mirror. Bangs had
gone out of fashion, so she built her hair up into a tower and looked
like a Chinese.
She visited Herr Carovius occasionally, and always found him alone, for
Dorothea Doederlein had been sent by her father to Munich to perfect
herself in her art. In broken words, with blinking eyes, from a grinning
mouth and out of a dumb soul, she told Herr Carovius all about her
affair with Benjamin Dorn, evidently believing that he was all fire and
flame to know how she was getting along and what she had _in petto_.
Herr Carovius had long since grown sick and tired of her, though he did
not show her the door. He had reached the point where he heaved a sigh
of relief when he heard a human voice, where he began to dread the
stillness that ruled supreme within his four walls. No one came to see
him, no one spoke to him, and he in turn no longer had the courage to
speak to any one. His arrogance of former days had died a difficult
death, and now he saw no way of making friends. If he went to the cafe,
there was no one there whom he knew. The brethren of the Vale of Tears
had been scattered to the four corners of the earth; a new generation
was having its fling; new customs were being introduced, new topics
discussed, and he was old.
He found it hard to get along without Dorothea. He counted the days,
waiting for her to return. He never opened the piano, because all music,
and especially the music he loved, caused a melancholy depression to
arise that filled the room with miasma.
The Nero of our day was suffering from Caesar sadness. The private
citizen had sunk to the very bottom of the ditch which he himself had
dug with the idea of burying all that was new and joyful, and all winged
creatures in it.
The worst of it all was that he had nothing to do, and no brain racking
could devise a position he could fill. The world went on its way,
progress was made, and, strangely enough, it was made without his
criticism, his adulation, his opinions, or his crepe-hanging.
Philippina was annoyed at the grudging squints cast at her by the old
stay-at-home; her visits became rarer and rarer. She did not feel like
opening her heart to Frau Hadebusch, for she did not appeal to her as a
disinterested party. This completed her list of friends; she was obliged
to restrain her impatience and excitement.
It was Christmas. On Christmas Eve they had bought a tree for Agnes,
trimmed it, and lighted it with candles. Agnes's Christmas gifts were
placed under the tree: a big piece of ginger-bread, a basket with apples
and nuts, and a cheap doll. For Old Jordan she had bought a pair of
boots which he badly needed. He had been going around on his uppers
since autumn.
Jordan was sitting by the door holding his boots on his knees. Agnes
looked at the doll with unhappy eyes; she did not dare touch it. After
gazing for a while into the light of the fluttering candles, Jordan
said: "I thank you, Philippina, I thank you. You are a real
benefactress. I also thank you for remembering the child. It is a paltry
makeshift you have bought there at the bazaar, but any one who gives
gifts to children deserves the reward of Heaven, and in such giving we
do not weigh the value or count the cost."
"Don't whine all the time so!" shrieked Philippina. She was chewing her
finger nails, hardly able to conceal her embarrassment. Frau Hadebusch
had told her that Benjamin Dorn was coming around that evening to make a
formal proposal of marriage.
"Just wait, Agnes, just wait!" continued old Jordan, "you'll soon get to
see a wonder of a doll. A few short years, and the world will be
astonished. You are going to be the first to see it when it is finished.
You'll be the first, little Agnes, just wait. What have we got to eat on
this holy evening?" asked Jordan, turning with fear and trembling to
Philippina.
"Cold hash and broiled meal-beetles," said Philippina scornfully.
"And ... and ... no letter from Daniel?" he asked in a sad voice,
"nothing, nothing at all?"
Philippina shrugged her shoulders. The old man got up and tottered to
his room.
A little later Philippina heard some one stumbling around in the hall,
and then the bell rang. "Open the door," she said to Agnes, who did as
she was told and returned with Benjamin Dorn. The Methodist wore a black
suit, and in his hand he had a black felt hat that was as flat as a
pancake. He bowed to Philippina, and asked if he was disturbing any one.
Philippina pushed a chair over to him. He sat down quite
circumstantially, and laughed a hollow laugh. As Philippina was as
silent as the tomb and looked at him so tensely, he began to speak.
First he expatiated on the general advantages of a married life, and
then remarked that what he personally wished first of all was to be able
to take a good, true woman into his own life as his wife. He said that
he had gone through a long struggle over the matter, but God had finally
shown him the light and pointed the way. He no longer hesitated, after
this illumination from above, to offer Fraeulein Schimmelweis his heart
and his hand forever and a day, insist though he must that she give the
matter due consideration, in the proper Christian spirit, before taking
the all-important step.
Philippina was restless; she rocked back and forth, first on one foot
and then on another--and then burst out laughing. She bent over and
laughed violently. "No, you poor simpleton, what you want is my money,
hey? Be honest! Out with it! You want my money, don't you?"
Her anger grew as Benjamin Dorn sat and looked on, his asinine
embarrassment increasing with each second of silence. "Listen! You'd
like to git your fingers on it, wouldn't you? Money--it would taste
good, wouldn't it? You think I'm crazy? Scrape a few coppers together
and lose my mind and marry some poor fool, and let him loaf around and
live on me. Nothing doin'! They ain't no man livin' what can catch
Philippina Schimmelweis so easy as all that. She knows a thing or two
about men, she does. D'ye hear me! Get out!" She sawed the air with her
arms like a mad woman, and showed him the door.
Benjamin Dorn rose to his feet, stuttered something unintelligible,
moved backwards toward the door, reached it, and left the place with
such pronounced speed that Philippina once again broke out in a shrill,
piercing laughter. "Come here, Agnes," she said, sat down on the step in
the corner, and took the child on her lap.
She was silent for a long while; the child was afraid to speak. Both
looked at the lights on the Christmas tree. "Let us sing something,"
said Philippina. She began with a hoarse, bass voice, "Stille Nacht,
heilige Nacht," and Agnes joined in with her high, spiritless notes.
Another pause followed after they had finished singing.
"Where is my father?" asked Agnes suddenly, without looking at
Philippina. It sounded as if she had waited for years for an opportunity
to ask this question.
Philippina's face turned ashen pale; she gritted her teeth. "Your
father, he's loafing around somewhere in the country," replied
Philippina, and blew out one of the candles that had burned down and was
ready to set the twig on fire. "He's done with women, it seems, but you
can't tell. He strums the music box and smears good white paper full of
crow-feet and pot-hooks. A person can rot, and little does he worry."
Whereat she set the child on the floor, hastened over to the window,
opened it, and put her head out as if she were on the point of choking
with the heat.
She leaned out over the snow-covered window sill.
"I'm getting cold," said Agnes; but Philippina never heard her.