Two and a half years had passed since this meeting, during which time
many things had changed in our circle of friends and acquaintances, but
not among those of the Landgrafenstrasse.
The same good humor continued there, the gayety of the honeymoon still
remained, and Katherine continued to laugh as of old. What might
perhaps have troubled other young women, that they had no children, did
not disturb Katherine for a moment. She enjoyed life so much and found
such complete satisfaction in dressing and small-talk, in riding and
driving, that she shrank from any change in her way of life rather than
desired it. The feeling for family life, to say nothing of any real
longing for it, had not yet awakened in her and when her mother made
some remark in a letter about such matters, Katherine answered somewhat
heretically: "Don't trouble yourself, mamma. Botho's brother has just
become engaged, and in six months he will be married and I shall gladly
leave to my future sister-in-law the care of providing for the
continuance of the house of Rienaecker."
Botho did not take exactly this view, but even his happiness was not
seriously disturbed by the lack of children, and if from time to time
he had a discontented mood, it was chiefly because, as he had already
found out on his wedding journey to Dresden, he could perhaps talk
somewhat reasonably with Katherine, but any really serious speech with
her was wholly out of the question. She was talkative and sometimes
even had bright ideas, but the best things she ever said were but
superficial and trivial, as if she were unable to distinguish between
important and unimportant things. And what was the worst of all, she
considered all this as a merit, and plumed herself on it, and never
thought of correcting the habit. "But, Katherine, Katherine," Botho
would exclaim sometimes, and the tone of his voice would show some
displeasure, but her happy nature could always disarm him again, so
completely, indeed, that his own expectations seemed almost pedantic to
him.
Lena with her simplicity, genuineness, and directness of speech often
recurred to his mind, but vanished again as quickly; and only when
chance recalled some special incident very vividly did her image come
to him with greater distinctness, and perhaps a stronger feeling with
which some embarrassment was mingled.
Such an incident happened during the first summer, when the young
couple, who had returned from dining with Count Alten, were sitting on
the balcony taking tea. Katherine was leaning back in her chair
listening to a newspaper article which was profusely interspersed with
figures, and dealt with the subject of minister's salaries and surplice
fees. She actually understood very little of the subject, and all the
less because the many figures troubled her, but she listened rather
attentively, because all the young girls of her province spend half
their youth "with the minister" and so they retain a certain sympathy
with the affairs of the parsonage. This was the case to-day. Finally
evening came on and just as it was growing dark the concert at the
Zoological Garden began and the tones of a ravishing Strauss Waltz
reached them.
"Only listen, Botho," said Katherine, rising, while she added eagerly:
"Come, let us dance." And without waiting for his consent, she pulled
him up out of his chair and waltzed with him into the large room from
which the balcony opened and then two or three times around the room.
Then she kissed him, and while she clung to him caressingly she said:
"Do you know, Botho, I never danced so wonderfully before, not even at
my first ball, that I went to while I was still at Frau Zuelow's and had
not yet been confirmed, if I must confess it. Uncle Osten took me on
his own responsibility and mamma knows nothing about it to this very
day. But even then it was not so lovely as to-day. And yet forbidden
fruit is the sweetest. Isn't it? But you are not saying anything,
Botho, you seem embarrassed. See, now I have caught you again."
He attempted to say something or other, but she did not give him a
chance to speak. "I really believe, Botho, my sister Ina has taken your
fancy and it is of no use your trying to comfort me by saying that she
is only a little half-grown girl or not much more. Those are always the
most dangerous. Don't you think so? Now I am not going to take any
notice and I do not grudge it to you or to her. But I am very jealous
about old affairs of long ago, far, far more jealous than of things
that may happen now."
"How curious," said Botho, and tried to laugh.
"And yet after all it is not so curious as it may look," Katherine went
on. "Don't you see, affairs that are going on now one has almost under
one's eyes; and it must be a hard case and an arch deceiver, if one
should notice nothing and so be completely betrayed. But there is no
control possible over old stories; there might be a thousand and three,
and one might hardly know it."
"And what one does not know ..."
"May make one's anger grow. But let us drop all this and read me
something more from the paper. I was reminded constantly of our
Kluckhuhns. And the good wife can't understand it, and the oldest boy
is just going to the University."
Such incidents happened more and more frequently and led Botho to
recall old times as well as Lena's image; but he never saw her, which
surprised him, because he knew that they were almost neighbors.
This surprised him and yet it would have been easily explained had he
promptly ascertained that Frau Nimptsch and Lena were no longer living
at the old place. And yet this was the case. From the day when she had
met the young couple on the Luetzowstrasse, Lena had told her old mother
that she could no longer stay in the Doerr's house. And when Mother
Nimptsch, who used never to contradict her, shook her head and
whimpered and continually pointed to the fireplace, Lena said: "Mother,
you know me. I will never rob you of your open fire; you shall have
everything again that you have had; I have saved up money enough for
it, and even if I had not, I would work until I had got it together.
But we must get away from here. Every day I should have to pass that
way, and I could never stand it, mother. I do not grudge him his
happiness, and what is more, I am glad that he has it. God is my
witness, for he was a dear, good man and lived only for my sake; no
pride, no stinginess. And I will say it right out, for all that I
cannot bear fine gentlemen, he is a real nobleman, and his heart is in
the right place. Yes, my dear Botho, you must be happy, as happy as you
deserve to be. But I cannot bear to see it, mother, I must get away
from here, for I cannot take ten steps without imagining that he is
right there before me. And that keeps me all in a tremble. No, no, it
will never do. But you shall have your fireplace. I am your Lena, and I
promise you that."
After this talk there was no more opposition on the part of old Frau
Nimptsch and even Frau Doerr said: "Of course, you will have to go. And
it serves that old miser, Doerr, right. He is always grumbling at me
that you are getting the place too cheap and that what you pay would
never cover rent and repairs. Now let him see how he likes it when he
has the whole place standing empty. For that is how it will be. For who
is going to move into such a doll's house, where every cat can peek in
at the window and there is no gas nor running water. Well, it is plain;
you can give a quarter's notice and at Easter you can leave, and it
will do him no good to make a fuss. And I am really glad of it; yes,
Lena, I am so glad. But then I have to pay for my bit of malice too,
For when you are gone, child, and good Frau Nimptsch with her fire and
her teakettle that is always boiling, what shall I have left, Lena?
Only him and Sultan and the poor foolish boy, who keeps growing more
foolish. And nobody else in the world. And when it grows cold and the
snow falls, it is enough to drive one crazy, simply sitting still and
all alone."
Such were the early discussions, since Lena held fast to her plan of
moving, and at Easter time, a furniture wagon drew up before the door
to carry away her household possessions. Old Doerr had behaved
surprisingly well at the last and after a formal farewell Frau Nimptsch
was bundled into a Droschke with her squirrel and her goldfinch and
carried to the Luise Bank, where Lena had hired a charming little flat,
three flights up, and had not only gotten a little new furniture, but
had remembered her promise, and had arranged to have a pleasant open
fireplace built on to the big stove in the front room. The landlord had
at first made all sorts of difficulties, "because such an addition
would ruin the stove." But Lena had persevered and had given her
reasons, which made such an impression on the landlord, an old
master-carpenter who was pleased with such ideas, that at last he was
disposed to yield.
The two now lived in much the same way that they had formerly done in
the house in the Doerr's garden, only with this difference, that they
were now three flights up and that they looked out upon the beautiful
tower of Michael's church instead of the fantastic tower of the
elephants' house. Indeed, the view that they enjoyed was delightful,
and so free and fine that it even influenced the habits of old Frau
Nimptsch and induced her not to sit all the time on the bench by the
fire, but when the sun was shining, to sit by the open window, where
Lena had managed to have a little platform placed. All this did old
Frau Nimptsch a great deal of good and even improved her health, so
that since her change of abode, she suffered much less pain than in the
Doerr's little house, which, however poetically it was situated, was not
much better than a cellar.
For the rest, never a week passed without Frau Doerr's coming all the
long distance from the Zoological Garden to the Luise Bank, simply "to
see how everything was going on." During these visits she talked, after
the manner of Berlin wives, exclusively about her husband, and always
in a tone which implied that her marriage to him had been one of the
most dreadful misalliances and really half inexplicable. In fact,
however, she was extremely comfortable and contented, and was actually
glad that Doerr had his peculiarities. For she reaped only advantages
from them, first, to grow richer all the time, and second (an advantage
which she valued quite as highly) without any danger of change or loss
of property she could continually hold herself superior to the old
miser and reproach him for his niggardly ways. So Doerr was the
principal theme of these conversations and Lena, unless she was at
Goldstein's or somewhere else in town, always laughed heartily with the
others, all the more so because she, as well as Frau Nimptsch, had
visibly improved in health since they had moved. The moving in, buying
and placing of house furnishings had, as one may imagine, led her away
from her own thoughts from the beginning and what was still more
helpful and important for her health and the recovery of her spirits
was that she no longer needed to fear a meeting with Botho. Who came
away out to the Luise Bank? Certainly not Botho. All this combined to
make her seem comparatively fresh and cheerful again, and only one
outward sign remained of the struggles she had been through: in the
midst of her long hair there was one white strand. Mother Nimptsch
either did not notice this or did not think much about it, but Frau
Doerr, who in her own way followed the fashions and was uncommonly proud
of her own braid of hair, noticed the white lock at once and said:
"Good Lord, Lena. And right on the left side. But naturally ... that is
where the trouble is ... it would have to be on the left."
It was soon after the moving that this conversation took place.
Otherwise there was usually no mention either of Botho or of the old
days, which was simply because whenever the gossip turned in this
special direction, Lena always broke off the conversation quickly or
even left the room. As this happened again and again, Frau Doerr
remarked it and learned to keep silence about topics which proved
unwelcome. So things went on for a year and then there appeared another
reason that made it seem inadvisable to recall past incidents. A new
neighbour had hired a room just on the other side of the wall from Frau
Nimptsch, and while he seemed to wish to be on neighbourly terms from
the beginning, he soon promised to become even more than a good
neighbour. He would come in every evening and talk, so that it seemed
like the old times when Doerr used to sit on his stool smoking his pipe,
only that the new neighbour was very different in many ways. He was a
correct and well educated man, with very proper although not exactly
fine manners, and was also a good talker. When Lena was present, he
would talk about all sorts of town affairs, such as schools, gas works,
or canals, and sometimes also about his travels. If it happened that he
found the old lady alone, he was not at all annoyed, but would play
"everlasting" or checkers or would help her with a game of patience, in
spite of the fact that he hated cards. For he was a Conventicler, and
after he had taken some part with the Mennonites and later with the
followers of Irving, he had still more recently founded a separate
sect.
As may be readily imagined, all this aroused Frau Doerr's curiosity to
the highest pitch, and she was never weary of asking questions, and
making allusions, but only when Lena was busy at some household task or
had matters to attend to in town. "Tell me, dear Frau Nimptsch, just
what is he, really? I have tried to hunt him up, but he is not in the
book; Doerr never has any later one than year before last. His name is
Franke?"
"Yes. Franke."
"Franke. There used to be one on the Ohmgasse, a master cooper, and he
had only one eye; that is, the other eye was still there, but it was
all white and looked just like a fish's bladder. And what do you
suppose had happened to it? When he went to put on a hoop, it had
sprung loose and the end had hit him in the eye. That is how it was.
Could he have come from there?"
"No, Frau Doerr, he is not from anywhere near here. He is from Bremen."
"Well, well. Then of course it is quite natural."
Frau Nimptsch nodded in assent, without seeking to be further
enlightened as to this "naturalness," and went on talking herself: "And
it only takes a fortnight to go from Bremen to America. And he has been
there. And he was a tinman or a locksmith or a workman in a machine
shop or something like that, but when he saw that he could not make it
go, he became a doctor and went around with a lot of little bottles and
he began to preach too. And because he preached so well, he got a
position with the ... There now, I have forgotten it again. But they
must have been very pious people and good proper people too."
"Glory be to God!" said Frau Doerr. "Surely he was not.... Heavens, what
is the name of those people that have so many wives, always six or
seven and sometimes even more.... I don't know what they do with so
many."
This theme seemed made on purpose for Frau Doerr. But Frau Nimptsch
reassured her friend: "No, dear Frau Doerr, it is quite different. At
first I thought it was something like that, but he laughed and said:
'The Lord forbid. Frau Nimptsch. I am a bachelor. And if I ever marry,
I think one will be quite enough.'"
"Oh, that takes a load off my heart," said Frau Doerr. "And what
happened afterwards? I mean over in America."
"Well, after that everything went well and it was not long till he had
help enough. For religious people are always helping each other. And he
found customers again and got back to his old trade. And that is what
he works at now, and he is in a big factory here on the
Koepnickerstrasse, where they make little tubes and burners and
stopcocks and everything that is needed for gas. And he is the chief
man, something like a foreman carpenter or foreman mason, and has
perhaps a hundred under him. And he is a very respectable man and he
wears a tall hat and black gloves. And he has a good salary too."
"And Lena?"
"Oh, Lena, she would take him all right. And why not? But she cannot
hold her tongue, and if he comes and says anything to her, she is going
to tell him everything, all the old stories, first the one with
Kuhlwein (and that is so long ago that it is just as if it never had
happened), and then all about the Baron. And Franke, you must know, is
a refined and well-behaved man, and really a gentleman."
"We must persuade her out of that. He does not need to know everything;
why should he? We never know everything."
"Yes, yes. But Lena ..."