Both were up early and the sun was still struggling with the morning
mist as they came down stairs to take breakfast. A light early breeze
was blowing, which the boatmen did not want to lose, and so, as our
young couple were stepping out of doors, a whole flotilla of sailboats
glided past on the Spree.
Lena was still in her morning dress. She took Botho's arm and wandered
along the bank with him to a place where the reeds and rushes grew
tall. He looked at her tenderly. "Lena, I have never seen you look as
you do to-day. I hardly know how to express it. I cannot find any other
word; you look so happy."
And that was true. Yes, she was happy, perfectly happy and saw the
world in a rosy light. She was leaning on her lover's arm and the hour
was very precious to her. Was not that enough? And if this hour was the
last, then let it be the last. Was it not a privilege to pass such a
day, even if it were only once?
Thus all thoughts of care and sorrow vanished, which in spite of
herself had oppressed her spirit, and she felt nothing but pride and
joy and thankfulness. But she said nothing, for she was superstitious
and did not dare to talk about her happiness, and it was only through a
slight tremor of her arm that Botho knew that his words "I believe you
are happy, Lena" had found their way to her innermost heart.
The host came and inquired courteously, though with some slight
embarrassment, whether they had slept well.
"Admirably," said Botho. "The herb tea, which your good wife
recommended, did wonders and the crescent moon shone right in at our
window, and the nightingales sang softly, so softly that we could
barely hear them. Who would not sleep as if in paradise? I hope that no
steamer with two hundred and forty guests has been announced for this
afternoon. That indeed would drive us forth from paradise. You smile
and are probably thinking, 'Who can tell?' and perhaps my own words
have conjured up the devil, but he is not here yet. I see neither
smokestack nor smoke, the Spree is still undisturbed, and even if all
Berlin is on the way our breakfast at least we can enjoy in peace. Can
we not? But where?"
"Wherever you order it."
"Very well, then I think under the elm. The fine dining-room is only
necessary when the sun is too hot out of doors. And it is not too hot
yet and has not wholly burned away the mist above the woods."
The host went to order the breakfast, but the young couple walked as
far as a little promontory on their side of the stream, from which they
could see the red roofs of a neighboring village and close to the
village the sharp church steeple of Koenigs-Wusterhausen. By the water's
edge lay the trunk of a willow that had drifted down stream and lodged
there. They sat down on this log and watched a fisherman and his wife
who were cutting the tall reeds and throwing great bundles of them into
their skiff. They enjoyed the pretty sight, and when they arrived at
the tavern again, their breakfast was just being served. The breakfast
was in the English style rather than the German: coffee and tea, with
eggs and meat and even slices of toast in a silver rack.
"Just look, Lena. We must take breakfast here often. What do you think?
It is heavenly. And look over towards the dockyard; they are already at
work caulking the boats and the work follows a regular rhythm. Really,
the rhythm of any such work is the best kind of music."
Lena nodded, but she was only half listening, for again to-day her
attention was attracted toward the pier. It was not, indeed, the boats
that were moored there, and which had so aroused her interest
yesterday, but a pretty maid, who was kneeling half way down the pier
amongst her kettles and copperware. With a hearty pleasure in her work,
which was expressed in every motion of her arms, she polished the cans,
kettles, and saucepans, and whenever she had finished one, she let the
water run over the highly polished vessel. Then she would hold it up,
let it glisten a moment in the sun and then put it in a basket.
Lena was quite carried away by the picture, and pointed to the pretty
girl, who seemed to love her work as if she could never do enough.
"Do you know, Botho, it is no mere chance that she is kneeling there.
She is kneeling there for me and I feel plainly, that it is a sign and
a token."
"But what is the matter with you, Lena? You look so different, you have
grown quite pale all of a sudden."
"Oh nothing."
"Nothing? And yet your eyes are glistening as if you were nearer to
tears than to laughter. You certainly must have seen copper kettles
before and a cook polishing them. It seems almost as if you envied the
girl kneeling there and working hard enough for three women."
The appearance of the host interrupted the conversation at this point
and Lena recovered her quiet bearing and soon her cheerfulness also.
Then she went upstairs to change her dress.
When she returned she found that a programme proposed by the host had
been unconditionally accepted by Botho: the young people were to take a
sailboat as far as the next village, Nieder Loehme, which was charmingly
situated on the Wendisch Spree. From this village they were to walk as
far as Koenigs-Wusterhausen, visit the park and the castle, and then
return in the same way. This excursion would take half a day. The
manner of passing the afternoon could be arranged later.
Lena was pleased with the plan and a couple of wraps were just being
put in the boat, which had been hastily gotten ready, when voices and
hearty laughter were heard from the garden--a sound which seemed to
indicate visitors and the probability that their solitude would be
disturbed.
"Ah, members of the yacht and rowing club," said Botho. "The Lord be
praised, we shall escape them, Lena. Let us hurry."
And they both started off to reach the boat as quickly as possible. But
before they could reach the pier they saw that they were already
surrounded and caught. The guests' were not only Botho's comrades, but
his most intimate friends, Pitt, Serge, and Balafre. All three had
ladies with them.
"_Ah, les beaux esprits se rencontrent_," said Balafre in a rather wild
mood, which quickly changed to a more conventional manner, as he
observed that he was being watched by the host and hostess from the
threshold. "How fortunate we are to meet here. Allow me, Gaston, to
present our ladies to you: Queen Isabeau, Fraeulein Johanna, Fraeulein
Margot."
Botho saw what sort of names were the order of the day, and adapting
himself quickly, he replied, indicating Lena with a little gesture and
introducing her: "Mademoiselle Agnes Sorel."
All the three men bowed civilly, even to all appearances respectfully,
while the two daughters of Thibaut d'Arc made a very slight curtsey,
and Queen Isabeau, who was at least fifteen years older, offered a more
friendly greeting to Agnes Sorel, who was not only a stranger to her,
but apparently embarrassed.
The whole affair was a disturbance, perhaps even an intentional
disturbance, but the more successfully the plan worked out, the more
needful did it seem to keep a bold front at a losing game. And in this
Botho was entirely successful. He asked one question after another, and
thus found out that the little group had taken one of the small
steamers very early and had left the boat at Schmoeckwitz, and from
there had come to Zeuthen on a sailboat. From Zeuthen they had walked,
since it took scarcely twenty minutes; it had been charming: old trees,
green fields and red roofs.
While the entire group of new-comers, but especially Queen Isabeau, who
was almost more distinguished for her talkativeness than for her stout
figure, were narrating these things, they had by chance strolled up to
the veranda, where they sat down at one of the long tables.
"Charming," said Serge. "Large, free and open and yet so secluded. And
the meadow over there seems just made for a moonlight promenade."
"Yes," added Balafre, "a moonlight promenade. That is all very fine.
But it is now barely ten o'clock, and before we can have a moonlight
promenade we have about twelve hours to dispose of. I propose a boating
trip."
"No," said Isabeau, "a boating trip will not do; we have already had
more than enough of that to-day. First the steamer and then the
sailboat and now another boat, would be too much. I am against it.
Besides I never can see the good of all this paddling: we might just as
well fish or catch some little creatures with our hands and amuse
ourselves with the poor little beasts. No, there will be no more
paddling to-day. I must earnestly beg you."
The men, to whom these words were addressed, were evidently amused at
the desires of the Queen Mother, and immediately made other proposals,
which, however, met with the same fate. Isabeau rejected everything;
and at last, when the others, half in jest and half in earnest, began
to disapprove of her conduct, she merely begged to be left in peace.
"Gentlemen," said she, "Patience. I beg you to give me a chance to
speak for at least a moment." This request was followed by ironical
applause, for she had done all the talking thus far. But she went on
quite unconcernedly: "Gentlemen, I beg you, teach me to understand men.
What is an excursion into the country? It is taking breakfast and
playing cards. Isn't that so?"
"Isabeau is always right," laughed Balafre giving her a slap on the
shoulder. "We will play cards. This is a capital place for it; I almost
think that everyone must win here. And the ladies can go to walk in the
meantime or perhaps take a forenoon nap. That will do them the most
good, and an hour and a half will be time enough. And at twelve o'clock
we will meet again. And the menu shall be according to the judgment of
our Queen. Yes, Queen, life is still sweet. To be sure that is from
'Don Carlos.' But must everything be quoted from the 'Maid of
Orleans'?"
That shot struck home and the two younger girls giggled, although they
had scarcely understood the innuendo. But Isabeau who had grown up
amongst conversations that were always interspersed with such slightly
hinted sarcasms, remained perfectly calm and said, turning to the three
other women: "Ladies, if I may beg you, we are now abandoned and have
two hours to ourselves. For that matter, things might be worse."
Thereupon they rose and went into the house, where the Queen went to
the kitchen, and after greeting those present in a friendly but
superior manner, she asked for the host. The latter was not in the
house, so the young woman offered to go and call him in from the
garden, but Isabeau would not hear of it. She would go herself, and she
actually went, still followed by her cortege of three (Balafre called
them the hen and chickens). She went into the garden, where she found
the host arranging the new asparagus beds. Close by there was an
old-fashioned greenhouse, very low in front, with big, sloping windows,
and a somewhat broken-down wall on which Lena and the daughters of
Thibaut d'Arc sat, while Isabeau was arranging her business.
"We have come," said she, "to speak with you about the luncheon. What
can we have?"
"Everything you are pleased to order."
"Everything? That is a great deal, almost too much. Now I should like
eels. Only not like this, but like this." And as she spoke she pointed
first to a ring on her finger and then to her broad thick bracelet.
"I am very sorry, ladies," answered the host. "We have no eels. Nor any
kind of fish; I cannot serve you with fish, it is an exception.
Yesterday we had tench and dill, but it came from Berlin. If I want a
fish, I have to go to the Cologne fish market for it."
"What a pity! We could have brought one with us. But what have you
then?"
"A saddle of venison."
"H'm, that sounds rather well. And before that some vegetables for a
salad. It is too late or almost too late for asparagus. But I see you
still have some young beans there. And here in the hot bed there is
surely something to be found, a couple of small cucumbers or some
lettuce. And then a sweet dish. Something with whipped cream. I do not
care so much for it myself, but men, who always behave as if they did
not like such things, are always wanting sweets. This will make three
or four courses, I think. And then bread and butter and cheese."
"And at what time do you wish the luncheon?"
"Well, I think quite soon, or at least as soon as possible. Is that
right? We are hungry and half an hour is long enough to roast the
saddle of venison. So let us say at about twelve. And if I may ask, we
will have punch, a bottle of Rhine wine, three of Moselle and three of
Champagne. But good brands. You must not think that it will be wasted.
I am familiar with wines, and can tell by the taste whether it is Moet
or Mumm. But you will come out all right; you inspire me with
confidence. By the way, can we not go from your garden directly into
the wood? I hate every unnecessary step. And perhaps we may find some
mushrooms. That would be heavenly. They would go well with the saddle
of venison; mushrooms never spoil anything." The host not only answered
the question in the affirmative, but escorted the ladies as far as the
garden gate, from which it was only a couple of steps to the edge of
the wood. Only a public road ran between. As soon as one had crossed
the road, one was in the shady woods, and Isabeau, who suffered greatly
from the increasing heat, thought herself fortunate in having avoided
the rather long detour over a strip of treeless grass land. She played
the fine lady, but her parasol, which she hung to her girdle, was
decorated with a big grease spot. She took Lena's arm, while the two
ladies followed. Isabeau appeared to be in the best humor and said,
glancing back, to Margot and Johanna: "We must have a goal. It is quite
dreadful to see only woods and then more woods. What do you think,
Johanna?"
Johanna was the taller of the two d'Arcs, and was very pretty, but
somewhat pale and dressed with studied simplicity. Serge liked that.
Her gloves fitted wonderfully, and one might have taken her for a lady
if she had not used her teeth to button one of her glove buttons which
had sprung out.
"What do you think, Johanna?" the Queen repeated her question.
"Well, then, I propose that we should go back to the village from which
we came. It was called Zeuthen, and looked so romantic and so
melancholy, and the road between there and here was so beautiful. And
it must be just as beautiful or more so going back in the other
direction. And on the right hand, that is to say, on the left going
from here, was a churchyard with crosses. And there was a very large
marble one."
"Yes, dear Johanna, that is all very well, but what good would it do
us? We have seen the whole road. Or do you want to see the
churchyard...."
"Of course I do. I have my own feelings, especially on a day like this.
And it is always good to be reminded that one must die. And when the
elder bushes are in bloom ..."
"But, Johanna, the elders are no longer in bloom; the acacia is about
all, and that already has pods. My goodness, if you are so wild about
churchyards, you can see the one in the Oranienstrasse every day.
Zeuthen and the churchyard, what nonsense! We had rather stay right
here and see nothing at all. Come, little one, give me your arm again."
The little one, who by the way was not little, was Lena. She obeyed.
But as they walked on again, the Queen continued in a confidential
tone: "Oh that Johanna, one really cannot go about with her; she has
not a good reputation, and she is a goose. Ah, child, you would not
believe what kind of folks there are going about now; Oh well, she has
a fine figure and is particular about her gloves. But she might better
be particular about some other things. And if you will notice, it is
always such as she who talk continually about the churchyard and dying.
And now you ought to see her by and by. So long as things are all
right, they are all right. But when the punch bowl comes and is emptied
and comes in again, then she screeches and screams. No idea of
propriety. But where should it come from? She was always amongst the
commonest people, out on the Chaussee towards Tegel, where no one ever
goes and only the artillery passes by. And artillery ... Oh well....
You would hardly believe how different all that is. And now Serge has
taken her up and is trying to make something out of her. My goodness,
it can't be done, or at least not all of a sudden; good work takes
time. But here are some strawberries still. How nice! Come, little one,
let us pick some (if it were not for this accursed stooping), and if we
find a real big one we will take it back with us. I will put it in his
mouth and he will be pleased. For I want to tell you that he is just
like a child and he is just the very best man."
Lena, who saw that Balafre was referred to, asked a question or two,
and also asked once more why the men had those peculiar names? She had
already asked about it, but had never learned anything worth speaking
of.
"Good Lord," said the Queen, "there would have to be something like
that and no one should take any notice; and any way it is all put on.
For in the first place no one concerns himself about it, and even if
anyone did, why, it is so all the same. And why not? What harm does it
do? They have nothing to cast up at one another, and each one is just
like the rest."
Lena looked straight before her and kept silence.
"And really, child, you will find it out for yourself, really all this
is simply tiresome. For a while it goes well enough, and I have nothing
to say against it, and I will not deny it myself. But time brings
weariness. Ever since you are fifteen and not even confirmed. Truly,
the sooner one gets out of all this the better. Then I shall buy me a
distillery (for I get plenty of money), and I already know where; and
then I shall marry a widower and I already know whom. And he is willing
too. For I must tell you I like order and propriety and bringing up
children decently, and whether they are his or mine, it is all the same
to me.... And how is it really with you?"
Lena did not say a word.
"Heavens, child, you are changing color; perhaps something in here (she
pointed to her heart) is involved and you are doing everything for the
sake of love? Ah, child, that is bad, then there is sure to be some
sudden smash."
Johanna followed with Margot. They purposely kept at some little
distance and plucked twigs of birch, as if they meant to make a wreath
of them. "How do you like her?" said Margot. "I mean Gaston's ..."
"Like her? Not at all. The very idea that such girls should take a hand
in the game and come to be the fashion! Just see how her gloves fit.
And her hat doesn't amount to much. He ought not to let her go like
that. And she must be stupid too, for she has not a word to say."
"No," said Margot, "she isn't stupid; it is only that she has not
struck her gait yet. And it is rather clever in her to make up to our
stout friend so promptly."
"Oh, our stout friend. Get out with her. She thinks she is the whole
show. But she is nothing at all. I don't believe in backbiting, but she
is false, false as the wood of the gallows."
"No, Johanna, she is not really false. And she has pulled you out of a
hole more than once. You know what I mean."
"Good gracious, _why_ did she do it? Because she was stuck in the same
hole herself, and because she always gives herself airs and thinks she
is so important. Anyone as stout as that is never good."
"Lord, Johanna, how you do talk. It is just the other way around, stout
people are always good."
"Well, have it your own way. But you cannot deny that she is a comical
figure to look at. Just see how she waddles; like a fat duck. And
always buttoned up to her chin because otherwise she would not look fit
to be seen among decent people. And, Margot, I will not give way on
that point, a slender figure is really the principal thing. We are not
Turks, you know. And why wouldn't she go with us to the churchyard?
Because she is afraid. Heaven forbid, she isn't thinking of any such
thing, it's because she's buttoned up so tight and she can't stand the
heat. And yet it isn't really so terribly hot to-day."
So the conversations went, until the two couples came together again
and seated themselves on a moss-grown bank.
Isabeau kept looking at her watch; it seemed as if the hands would
never move.
But when it was half past eleven, she said: "Now, my friends, it is
time; I think we have had enough of nature and may quite properly pass
on to something else. We have never had a bite to eat since early this
morning at about seven. For those ham sandwiches at Grunauer do not
count.... But the Lord be praised, self-denial brings its own reward,
as Balafre says, and hunger is the best cook. Come, ladies, the saddle
of venison is beginning to be more important than anything else. Don't
you think so, Johanna?"
The latter shrugged her shoulders, and sought to turn aside the
suspicion that any such things as venison and punch could ever matter
to her.
But Isabeau laughed. "Well, we shall see, Johanna. Of course the
Zeuthner churchyard would have been more enjoyable. But one must take
what one can get."
And hereupon they all started to return from the woods through the
garden, where a pair of yellow butterflies were fluttering together,
and from the garden to the front of the house where they were to take
luncheon.
As they were passing the dining-room Isabeau saw the host busily
repairing the damage where a bottle of Moselle had been spilt.
"What a pity," said she, "that I had to see just that. Fate really
might have afforded me a more pleasing sight. And why must it be
Moselle?"