The country excursion, which had been promised or at least discussed
after the walk to Wilmersdorf, was now the favorite topic for several
weeks, and whenever Botho came the question was, where to go? All
possible places were mentioned: Erkner and Kranichberg, Schwilow and
Baumgartenbrueck, but all were too much frequented, and so it happened
that at last Botho spoke of Hankel's Ablage, the beauty and solitude of
which he had heard enthusiastically described. Lena agreed, for all she
wanted was to get out into God's green world, as far as possible from
the city and its doings, and to be with her lover. It really did not
matter where.
The next Friday was decided upon for the excursion. "Agreed." And so
they started by the Goerlitz afternoon train for Hankel's Ablage, where
they had engaged quarters for the night and meant to pass the next day
very quietly.
There were very few coaches on the train, but even these were not very
full, and so it happened that Botho and Lena found themselves alone. In
the next coupe there was a good deal of talk, from which it was plainly
to be heard that these were through passengers and not people meaning
to stop over at Hankel's Ablage.
Lena was happy, and gave her hand to Botho and gazed silently at the
landscape with its woods and meadows. At last she said: "But what will
Frau Doerr say about our leaving her at home?"
"She needn't find it out."
"Mother will be sure to tell her,"
"Why, that is rather bad and yet we could not do any differently. Look
here! It was well enough out in the fields the other day, because we
were quite alone. But if we do find ourselves practically alone at
Hankel's Ablage, yet we shall have a host and a hostess and perhaps a
waiter from Berlin. And a waiter laughing quietly to himself or at
least laughing inwardly, I cannot endure: he would spoil all my
pleasure. Frau Doerr, when she is sitting by your mother or teaching the
proprieties to old Doerr, is great fun, but not in public. Amongst
people she is simply a comical figure and an embarrassment to us."
Towards five the train stopped at the edge of a wood.... Actually no
one but Botho and Lena got out, and the two walked leisurely and with
frequent pauses to a tavern, which stood close to the Spree and about
ten minutes' walk from the little station. This "Establishment," as it
was described on a slanting signboard, had been originally a mere
fisherman's cottage, which had very gradually, and more by addition
than by rebuilding, been changed into a tavern. The view across the
stream made up for all other deficiencies, so that the brilliant
reputation which the place enjoyed among the initiated never for a
moment seemed exaggerated. Lena, too, felt quite at home immediately,
and went and sat in a sort of veranda-like room that had been built on,
and that was half covered over by the branches of an old elm that stood
between the house and the bank.
"Let us stay here," said she, "Just see the boats, two, three ... and
further out a whole fleet is coming. Yes, it was indeed a lucky thought
that brought us here. Only see how they run back and forth on the boats
and put their weight on the rudder. And yet it is all so silent. Oh, my
own dear Botho, how beautiful it is and how I love you!"
Botho rejoiced to see Lena so happy. Something determined and almost
severe that had always formed a part of; her character seemed to have
disappeared and to have been replaced by a new gentleness, and this
change seemed to make her perfectly happy. Presently mine host who had
inherited the "Establishment" from his father and grandfather, came to
take the orders of the "gentle folk," and especially to ascertain
whether they intended to stay overnight, and when this question was
answered in the affirmative, he begged them to decide upon their room.
There were several at their disposal, but the gable room would probably
suit them the best. It was, indeed, low studded, but was large and
roomy and had the view across the Spree as far as the Mueggelborg.
When his proposal had been accepted, the host went to attend to the
necessary preparations, and Botho and Lena were left once more to enjoy
to the full the happiness of being quietly alone together. A finch
whose nest was in a low bush near by was swinging on a drooping twig of
the elm, the swallows were darting here and there, and finally came a
black hen followed by a whole brood of ducklings, passed the veranda,
and strutted pompously out on a little wooden pier that was built far
out over the water. But half way along this pier the hen stopped, while
the ducklings plunged into the water and swam away.
Lena watched all this eagerly. "Just look, Botho, how the stream rushes
through among the posts." But actually it was neither the pier nor the
water flowing through, that attracted her attention, but the two boats
that were moored there. She coquetted with the idea and indulged in
various trifling questions and references, and only when Botho remained
deaf to all this did she express herself more plainly and declare that
she wanted to go boating.
"Women are incorrigible. Incorrigible in their light-mindedness. Think
of that Easter Monday! Just a hair's breadth ..."
"And I should have been drowned. Certainly. But that is only one side
of the matter. There followed the acquaintance with a handsome man, you
may be able to guess whom I mean. His name is Botho. I am sure you will
not think of Easter Monday as an unlucky day? I am more amiable and
more gallant than you."
"There, there.... But can you row, Lena?"
"Of course I can. And I can steer and raise a sail too. Because I was
near being drowned, you think I don't know anything? But it was the
boy's fault, and for that matter, any one might be drowned."
And then they walked down the pier to the two boats, whose sails were
reefed, while their pennants with their names embroidered on them
fluttered from the masthead.
"Which shall we take," said Botho, "the _Trout_ or the _Hope_?"
"Naturally, the _Trout_. What have we to do with _Hope_?" Botho
understood well enough that Lena said that on purpose to tease him, for
in spite of her delicacy of feeling, still as a true child of Berlin
she took pleasure in witty little speeches. He excused this little
fling, however, and helped her into the boat. Then he sprang in too.
Just as he was about to cast off the host came down the pier bringing a
jacket and a plaid, because it would grow cold as the sun went down.
They thanked him and soon were in the middle of the stream, which was
here scarcely three hundred paces wide, as it flowed among the islands
and tongues of land. Lena used her oars only now and then, but even
these few strokes sufficed to bring them very soon to a field overgrown
with tall grass which served as a boatbuilder's yard, where at some
little distance from them a new boat was being built and various old
leaky ones were being caulked and repaired.
"We must go and see the boats," said Lena gaily, taking Botho's hand
and urging him along, but before they could reach the boat builder's
yard the sound of hammer and axe ceased and the bells began to ring,
announcing the close of the day's work. So they turned aside, perhaps a
hundred paces from the dockyard into a path which led diagonally across
a field, to a pine wood. The reddish trunks of the trees glowed
wonderfully in the light of the sinking sun, while their tops seemed
floating in a bluish mist.
"I wish I could pick you a pretty bunch of flowers," said Botho, taking
Lena's hand. "But look, there is just the grassy field, all grass and
no flowers. Not one."
"But there are plenty. Only you do not see them, because you are too
exacting."
"And even if I were, it is only for your sake."
"Now, no excuses. You shall see that I can find some."
And stooping down, she searched right and left saying: "Only look,
here ... and there ... and here again. There are more here than in
Doerr's garden; only you must have an eye for them." And she plucked the
flowers diligently, stooping for them and picking weeds and grass with
them, until in a very short time she had a quantity both of attractive
blossoms and of useless weeds in her hands.
Meanwhile they had come to an old empty fisherman's hut, in front of
which lay an upturned boat on a strip of sand strewn with pine cones
from the neighboring wood.
"This is just right for us," said Botho: "we will sit down here. You
must be tired. And now let me see what you have gathered. I don't
believe you know yourself, and I shall have to play the botanist. Give
them here. This is ranunculus, or buttercup, and this is mouse's ear.
Some call it false forget-me-not. False, do you hear? And this one with
the notched leaf is taraxacum, our good old dandelion, which the French
use for salad. Well, I don't mind. But there is a distinction between a
salad and a bouquet."
"Just give them back," laughed Lena. "You have no eye for such things,
because you do not love them, and the eyes and love always belong
together. First you said there were no flowers in the field, and now,
when we find them, you will not admit that they are really flowers. But
they are flowers, and pretty ones too. What will you bet that I can
make you something pretty out of them."
"I am really curious to see what you will choose."
"Only those that you agree to. And now let us begin. Here is a
forget-me-not, but no mouse's ear--forget-me-not, but a real one. Do
you agree?"
"Yes."
"And this is speedwell, the prize of honor, a dainty little blossom.
That is surely good enough for you. I do not even need to ask. And this
big reddish brown one is the devil's paintbrush, and must have grown on
purpose for you. Oh yes, laugh at it. And these," and she stooped to
pick a couple of yellow blossoms, that were growing in the sand at her
feet, "these are immortelles."
"Immortelles," said Botho. "They are old Frau Nimptsch's passion. Of
course we must take those, we need them. And now we must tie up our
little bouquet."
"Very well. But what shall we tie it with? We will wait till we find a
strong grass blade."
"No, I will not wait so long. And a grass blade is not good enough for
me, it is too thick and coarse. I want something fine. I know what,
Lena, you have such beautiful long hair; pull out one and tie the
bouquet with that."
"No," said she decidedly.
"No? And why not? Why not?"
"Because the proverb says 'hair binds.' And if I bind the flowers with
it you too will be bound."
"But that is superstition. Frau Doerr says so."
"No, the good old soul told me herself. And whatever she has told me
from my youth up, even if it seemed like superstition, I have always
found it correct."
"Well, have it so. I will not contradict you. But I will not have the
flowers tied with anything else but a strand of your hair. And you will
not be so obstinate as to refuse me."
She looked at him, pulled a long hair from her head and wound it around
the bunch of flowers. Then she said: "You chose it. Here, take it. Now
you are bound."
He tried to laugh, but the seriousness with which Lena had been
speaking, and especially the earnestness with which she had pronounced
the last words, did not fail to leave an impression on his mind.
"It is growing cool," said he after a while. "The host was right to
bring you a jacket and a plaid. Come, let us start."
And so they went back to the boat, and made haste to cross the stream.
Only now, as they were returning, and coming nearer and nearer, did
they see how picturesquely the tavern was situated. The thatched roof
sat like a grotesque high cap above the timbered building, whose four
little front windows were just being lit for the evening. And at the
same time a couple of lanterns were carried out to the veranda, and
their weird-looking bands of light shone out across the water through
the branches of the old elm, which in the darkness resembled some
fantastically wrought grating.
Neither spoke. But the happiness of each seemed to depend upon the
question how long their happiness was to last.