It was already growing dark when they stood once more in front of Frau
Nimptsch's house, and Botho, who had quickly recovered his high
spirits, wanted to come in for just a moment and then bid good-bye at
once. But when Lena had reminded him of all sorts of promises, and Frau
Doerr with much emphasis and much use of her eyes had reminded him of
the still outstanding philopena, he yielded and decided to spend the
evening.
"That is right," said Frau Doerr. "And I will stay too. That is, if I
may and if I shall not be in the way of the philopena. For one can
never know. And I will just take my hat and cloak home and then come
right back."
"Surely you must come back," said Botho, as he shook hands with her.
"We shall never be so young when we meet again."
"No, no," laughed Frau Doerr, "We shall never be so young when we meet
again. And it is quite impossible, of course even if we should meet
again to-morrow. For a day is always a day and must amount to
something. And therefore it is perfectly true that we shall never be so
young when we meet again. And every one must agree to that."
In this fashion she went on for a while longer, and the wholly
undisputed fact of growing older every day pleased her so much that she
repeated it several times yet. And then she went out. Lena escorted her
out through the hall, while Botho sat down by Frau Nimptsch and asked,
as he put her shawl around her shoulders, "whether she was still angry
with him for taking Lena away again for a couple of hours? But it had
been so beautiful there on the mound where they had sat to rest and
talk that they had quite forgotten the time."
"Yes, happy people forget the time," said the old woman. "And youth is
happy, and that is right and good. But when one grows old, dear Herr
Baron, the hours grow long and one wishes the day was done and life
too."
"Ah, you are only saying that, Mutterchen. Old or young, everyone loves
life. Isn't that so, Lena, that we all love life?"
Lena had just come back into the room and ran to him as if struck by
what he had said and threw her arms around his neck and kissed him and
was far more passionate than was usual with her.
"Lena, what is the matter with you?"
But she had already regained her self-control and with a quick gesture
she refused his sympathy, as if to say: "Do not ask." And while Botho
was talking with Frau Nimptsch, she went to the kitchen cupboard,
rummaged about there a little and came back immediately with a
perfectly cheerful face, bringing a little blue book sewed up in paper,
which looked like the books in which housewives write down their daily
tasks. In fact the book served this purpose and also contained
questions which Lena had noted down either out of curiosity or because
of some deeper interest. She now opened it and pointed to the last
page, on which Botho's eyes immediately fell upon the heavily
underscored words: "_Things I need to know_."
"For heaven's sake, Lena, that sounds like a tract or the title of a
comedy."
"It is something of the sort. Read on."
And he read: "Who were the two ladies at the Corso? Is it the elder or
is it the younger? Who is Pitt? Who is Serge? Who is Gaston?"
Botho laughed. "If I should answer all those questions, Lena, I should
have to stay till early to-morrow morning."
It was fortunate that Frau Doerr was not present to hear this answer or
else there would have been a fresh embarrassment. But the good lady who
was usually so brisk, at least where the Baron was concerned, had not
yet returned, and so Lena said: "Very well, then, have it your own way.
And for all I care, the two ladies may wait until another time! But
what do the foreign names mean? I asked you before, the time you
brought the bonbons. But you gave me no real answer, only half an
answer. Is it a secret?"
"No."
"Then tell me about it."
"Gladly, Lena, these names are only nicknames."
"I know that. You said so before."
"So they are names that we have given each other for convenience, with
or without reason, just by chance."
"And what does Pitt mean?"
"Pitt was an English statesman."
"And is your friend a statesman too?"
"For heaven's sake ..."
"And Serge?"
"That is a Russian given name, belonging to a Russian saint and many
Russian crown princes."
"Who, however, do not find it necessary to be saints if I am right?...
And Gaston?"
"Is a French name."
"Yes, I remember that. Once when I was a little young thing, before I
was confirmed, I saw a piece: 'The Man with the Iron Mask.' And the man
with the mask was called Gaston. And I cried dreadfully."
"And now you will laugh if I tell you that I am Gaston."
"No, I will not laugh. You have a mask too."
Botho was about to contradict this, both in earnest and in jest, but
Frau Doerr, who just then came in, broke off the conversation, by
excusing herself for having kept them waiting so long. But an order had
come in and she had been obliged to make a burial wreath in a hurry.
"A big one or a little one?" asked Frau Nimptsch, who loved to talk
about funerals and had a passion for hearing all the details about
them.
"Well," said Frau Doerr, "it was a middle-sized one; plain people. Ivy
and azaleas."
"Oh, Lord!" went on Frau Nimptsch, "every one is wild about ivy and
azaleas, but I am not. Ivy is well enough when it grows on the grave
and covers it all so green and thick that the grave seems as peaceful
as he who lies below. But ivy in a wreath, that is not right. In my day
we used immortelles, yellow or half yellow, and if we wanted something
very fine we took red ones or white ones and made a wreath out of
those, or even just one color and hung it on the cross, and there it
hung all winter, and when spring came there it hung still. And some
lasted longer than that. But this ivy and azalea is no good at all. And
why not? because it does not last long. And I always think that the
longer the wreath hangs on the grave, the longer people remember him
who lies below. And a widow too, if she is not too young. And that is
why I favor immortelles, yellow or red or even white, and any one can
hang up another wreath also if he wants to. That is just for the looks
of it. But the immortelle is the real thing."
"Mother," said Lena, "you talk so much about graves and wreaths
lately."
"Yes, child, everyone speaks as he thinks. And if one is thinking of a
wedding, he talks about weddings, and if he is thinking of a funeral,
then he talks about graves. And, anyway, I didn't begin talking about
graves and wreaths; Frau Doerr began it, which was quite right. And I
only keep on talking about it because I am always anxious and I keep
thinking. Who will bring you one?"
"Now, mother ..."
"Yes, Lena, you are good, you are a dear child. But man proposes and
God disposes, and to-day red, to-morrow, dead. And you might die any
day as well as I; for all that, I do not believe you will. And Frau
Doerr may die, or when I die she may live somewhere else, or I may be
living somewhere else and may have just moved in. Ah, my dear Lena, one
can never be sure of anything, not even of a wreath for one's grave."
"Oh, but you can, Mother Nimptsch," said Botho, "you shall certainly
have one."
"Oh, Herr Baron, if that is only true."
"And if I am in Petersburg or Paris, and I hear that my old friend Frau
Nimptsch is dead, I will send a wreath, and if I am in Berlin or
anywhere near, I will bring it myself."
The aged woman's face brightened for joy. "There, now you have said
something, Herr Baron. And now I shall have a wreath for my grave and
it is dear to me that I shall have it. For I cannot endure bare graves,
that look like a burial ground for orphans or prisoners or worse. But
now make the tea, Lena, the water is boiling already, and we have
strawberries and milk. And sour too. Heavens, the Herr Baron must be
quite starved. Looking and looking makes folks hungry, I can remember
so much yet. Yes, Frau Doerr, we had our youth, even if it was long ago.
But men were the same then as they are to-day."
Frau Nimptsch, who happened to be talkative this evening, philosophised
for a while longer, while Lena was bringing in the supper and Botho
continued to amuse himself by teasing Frau Doerr. "It was a good thing
that she had put away her handsome hat, which was suitable for Kroll or
for the theatre, but not for the mound near Wilmersdorf. Where did she
get the hat? No princess had such a hat. And he had never seen anything
so becoming; he would not speak for himself alone, but a prince might
have fallen in love with it."
The good woman did indeed realize that he was joking. But still she
said: "Yes, indeed, when Doerr once gets started, he is so eager and so
fastidious that I can hardly tell what has come over him. Day by day he
is quite dull, but all of a sudden he is as if he had changed into
another man and then I always say to myself: there must be something
the matter with him and this is the only way he knows how to show it."
And so the talk went on over the tea, until ten o'clock. Then Botho
rose to go and Lena and Frau Doerr accompanied him through the front
garden to the gate. While they were standing there Frau Doerr reminded
them that after all they had forgotten the philopena. Both seemed
desirous to disregard this reminder and repeated once more how
delightful the afternoon had been. "We must make such little excursions
oftener, Lena, and when I come again, we will think where to go. I
shall be sure to think of something, some place where it is quiet and
beautiful, and further away, and not just across the fields."
"And we will take Frau Doerr with us again," said Lena, "You ask her,
will you not, Botho?"
"Certainly, Lena. Frau Doerr must always go with us. Without her the
trip would be a failure."
"Ah, Herr Baron, I could never accept that, I could never expect such a
thing."
"Oh, yes indeed, dear Frau Doerr," laughed Botho. "You may expect
everything, such a woman as you."
And therewith they parted.