Katherine's first letter was posted in Cologne and reached Berlin the
following morning, according to expectations. The accompanying address
had been given by Botho himself, who, smiling and good-humored, held in
his hand a rather thick-feeling letter. Three cards faintly written on
both sides with a pencil had been put in the envelope, and all of them
barely legible, so that Rienaecker went out on the balcony, in order
better to decipher the indistinct scrawl.
"Now let us see, Catherine."
And he read:
"Brandenburg a. H., 8 o'clock in the morning.
"The train, my dear Botho, stops here only three minutes, but I will
make the best use I can of the time, and in case of need I will write,
well or ill as it happens, when the train is in motion. I am travelling
with a very charming young banker's wife, Madame Salinger, nee Saling,
from Vienna. When I wondered at the similarity of the names, she said:
'Yes, it looks as if I had married my own comparative.' She talks like
that right straight along, and in spite of having a ten-year-old
daughter (blonde; the mother is brunette) she too is going to
Schlangenbad. And she is going by way of Cologne too, like me, because
of a visit that she is to make there. The child has naturally a good
disposition, but is not well brought up and has already broken my
parasol by her constant climbing about in the railway carriage, a
mishap which embarrassed her mother very much. The railroad station,
where we are just now stopping (that is to say, the train is starting
again this very moment), is swarming with soldiers, among them
Brandenburg Cuirassiers with a name in yellow letters on their shoulder
straps; apparently it was Nicholas. It looked very well. There were
fusiliers there too, from the thirty-fifth, little people, who seemed
to me far too small, although Uncle Osten always used to say the best
fusilier was one who could not be seen with the naked eye. But I will
close. The little girl, alas, is running from one window to the other
as before and makes it hard for me to write. And besides she is
constantly munching cakes, little pastry tarts with cherries and
pistachio nuts on top. She began that long ago, between Potsdam and
Werder. The mother is too weak. I would be more severe."
Botho laid the card aside and ran through the second one as well as he
could. It ran:
"Hannover, 12-30.
"Goltz was at the Magdeburg station and told me you had written him
that I was coming. How very good and kind you were once more. You are
always the best and most attentive of men. Goltz has charge of the
survey in the Harz Mountains now, that is, he begins July first. The
train stops a quarter of an hour in Hannover, and I have made use of
the time to see the place immediately around the station: regular
hotels and beer-drinking places that have grown up under our
government, one of which is built completely in the Gothic style. The
Hannoverians call it the 'Prussian beer church,' as a fellow traveller
told me, simply because of Guelphish hostility. How painful such things
are! But time will mitigate this feeling also. Heaven send that it may.
The child still keeps on nibbling, which begins to make me nervous.
What will be the upshot of it? But the mother is really charming and
has already told me _everything_. She has also been in Wuerzburg, with
Scanzoni, about whom she is enthusiastic. Her way of confiding in me is
embarrassing and almost painful. For the rest, she is, as I can only
repeat, perfectly _comme il faut_. To mention just one thing, what a
dressing case! In Vienna they far surpass us in such things; one can
notice the older culture."
"Wonderful," laughed Botho. "When Katherine indulges in reflections on
the history of civilisation, she surpasses herself. But all good things
go by threes. Let us see."
And he picked up the third card.
"Cologne, 8 o'clock in the evening.
"Headquarters.
"I prefer to mail my cards here rather than to wait until I reach
Schlangenbad, where Frau Salinger and I expect to arrive to-morrow
noon. All goes well with me. The Schroffensteins are very friendly and
pleasant; especially Herr Schroffenstein. By the way, not to omit
anything of interest, Frau Salinger was fetched from the station by the
Oppenheim's carriage. Our journey, which began so charmingly, grew
somewhat burdensome and unattractive from Hamm on. The little girl had
a hard time, and moreover it was her mother's fault. 'What more do you
want?' as soon as the train had left the Hamm station, whereupon the
child answers: 'Drops.' And it was from that very moment that things
got so bad.... Ah, dear Botho, young or old, our wishes ought to be
constantly kept under strict and conscientious control. This thought
has been constantly in my mind ever since and the meeting with this
charming woman was perhaps no chance occurrence in my life. How often
have I heard Kluckhuhn speak in this vein. And he was right More
to-morrow. Your
"Katherine."
Botho put the three cards back in the envelope and said: "Exactly like
Katherine. What gift she has for small talk! And I ought to be glad
that she writes as she does. But there is something lacking. It is all
so trivial and comes so easily, like a mere echo of society talk. But
she will change when she has duties of her own. Or perhaps she will. In
any case, I will not give up the hope."
The next day there came a short letter from Schlangenbad, in which
there was far, far less than in the three cards, and from this time on
she wrote only twice a week and gossiped about Anna Graevenitz and Elly
Winterfeld, who had actually put in an appearance, but most of all
about Madame Salinger and her charming little Sarah. There were always
the same asseverations and only at the close of the third week did some
lessening of enthusiasm appear:
"I now think the little girl more charming than her mother. Frau
Salinger indulges in such luxurious toilettes as I find scarcely
appropriate, especially as there are practically no men here. And then
too, I see now that her complexion is artificial; her eyebrows are
certainly painted and perhaps her lips too, for they are cherry-red.
But the child is perfectly natural. Whenever she sees me, she rushes up
to me and kisses my hand and makes her excuses for the hundredth time
about the drops, 'but it was Mamma's fault," in which I fully agree
with the child. And yet, on the other hand, there must be a mysterious
streak of greediness in Sarah's nature, I might almost say something
like a besetting sin (do you believe in besetting sins? I do, my dear
Botho), for she cannot let sweet things alone and constantly buys
wafers, not the Berlin kind that taste like buns with meringue on top,
but the Karlsbad land with sugar sprinkled over. But I will not write
any more about all this. When I see you, which may be very soon--for I
should like to travel with Anna Graevenitz, we should be so much more by
ourselves--we will talk about it and about a great many other things
too. Ah, how glad I shall be to see you and to sit on the balcony with
you. After all, Berlin is the most beautiful place, and when the sun
goes down behind Charlottenburg and the Gruenewald, and one grows so
tired and dreamy, how lovely it is! Don't you think so? And do you know
what Frau Salinger told me yesterday? She said that I had grown still
blonder. Well, you will see for yourself.
As always, your
"Katherine."
Rienaecker nodded and smiled. "Charming little woman. She writes nothing
at all about her health or the effects of the cure; I will wager that
she goes out to drive and has hardly taken ten baths yet." And after
saying this to himself, he gave some orders to his man servant who had
just come in and then walked through the Zoological Garden and the
Brandenburg gate, then under the Lindens and then to the barracks,
where he was on duty until noon.
Soon after twelve o'clock, when he was at home again, and had had
something to eat, and was about to make himself comfortable for a
little, the servant announced "that a gentleman ... a man (he hesitated
over the word) was outside, and wished to speak with the Herr Baron."
"Who is it?"
"Gideon Franke ... so he said."
"Franke? Strange. I never heard of him. Bring him in."
The servant went out again, while Botho repeated: "Franke ... Gideon
Franke ... Never heard of him. I don't know him."
In a moment the visitor entered the room and bowed somewhat stiffly at
the door. He wore a dark-brown coat closely buttoned up, highly
polished boots and shiny black hair, which lay very thick on both
temples. He wore black gloves and a spotlessly white high collar.
Botho met him with his usual courteous amiability and said: "Herr
Franke?"
The latter nodded.
"How can I serve you? Let me beg you to be seated.... Here ... or
perhaps here. Stuffed chairs are always uncomfortable."
Franke smiled in assent and took a cane-seated chair, which Rienaecker
had indicated.
"How can I serve you?" repeated Rienaecker.
"I have come to ask you a question, Herr Baron."
"It will give me pleasure to answer it, provided that I am able."
"No one could answer me better than you, Herr von Rienaecker ... I have
come, in fact, about Lena Nimptsch ..."
Botho started back a little.
"And I want to add at once," Franke went on, "that it is nothing
troublesome that has brought me here. What I wish to say, or if you
will permit me, Herr Baron, to ask, will cause no inconvenience to you
or to your family. I already know that your gracious lady, the Frau
Baroness is away, and I carefully waited until you should be alone, or,
if I may say so, until you should be a grass widower."
Botho's discriminating ear perceived that, in spite of his rather
ordinary middle-class clothes, the man was frank and high-minded. This
soon helped him to get over his embarrassment and he had recovered his
usual calmness of manner, as he asked, across the table: "Are you a
relative of Lena's? Pardon me, Herr Franke, for calling my old friend
by the old name of which I am so fond."
Franke bowed and replied: "No, Herr Baron, no relative; I have not that
right to speak. But my right is perhaps quite as good: I have known
Lena for a year and more and I intend to marry her. She has given her
consent, but on that occasion she told me of her previous life and
spoke of you so affectionately, that I at once determined to ask you
yourself, Herr Baron, freely and openly, what you can tell me about
Lena. When I told Lena of my intention, she at first encouraged me
gladly, but immediately afterwards she added, that I might as well not
ask you, as you would be sure to speak too well of her."
Botho looked straight before him and found it difficult to control the
beating of his heart. Finally, however, he mastered himself and said:
"You are an excellent man, Herr Franke, and you want to make Lena
happy. So much I can see at once, and that gives you a perfect right to
an answer. I have no doubt at all as to what I ought to tell you, and I
only hesitate as to how I shall tell it. The best way will be to tell
you how it all began and continued and then how it came to an end."
Franke bowed once more, to show that he too agreed to this plan.
"Very well then," began Rienaecker, "it is about three years or perhaps
a couple of months more, since on a boating excursion around the
Liebesinsel near Treptow I had the opportunity of doing two young girls
a service by preventing their boat from capsizing. One of these two
young girls was Lena, and from her manner of thanking me, I saw at once
that she was different from others. She was wholly free from
affectation, both then and later, a fact which I specially wish to
emphasise. For no matter how merry and at times almost boisterous she
may be, yet she is naturally thoughtful, serious and simple."
Botho mechanically pushed aside the tray, which was still standing on
the table, smoothed the cloth and then went on: "I asked leave to
escort her home, and she consented without more ado, which at that time
surprised me for a moment. For I did not yet know her. But I soon saw
what it meant; from her youth on she had been accustomed to act
according to her own judgment, without much regard for others, and in
any case without fearing their opinion."
Franke nodded.
"So we went all the long distance together and I escorted her home and
was delighted with all that I saw there, with the old mother, with the
fireplace by which she sat, with the garden in which the house stood,
and with the modest seclusion and stillness of the place. A quarter of
an hour later I took my leave, and as I was saying good-bye to Lena at
the garden gate, I asked whether I might come again, and she answered
the question with a simple 'Yes.' She showed no false modesty, and yet
was not unwomanly. On the contrary, there was something touching in her
voice and manner."
As all this came so vividly before his mind once more, Rienaecker rose,
in manifest excitement and opened both halves of the balcony door, as
if the room were growing too hot. Then, as he walked back and forth, he
went on more rapidly: "I have scarcely anything more to add. That was
about Easter and we had a whole long happy summer. Ought I to tell you
about it? No. And then came life with all its serious claims. And that
was what separated us."
Meanwhile Botho had sat down again and Franke, who had been busily
stroking his hat all the time, said quietly to himself: "Yes, that is
just how she told me about it."
"And it could not be any other way, Herr Franke. For Lena--I rejoice
with all my heart to be able to say so once more--Lena does not lie,
and would sooner bite her tongue off than to boast or speak falsely.
She has two kinds of pride; one is to live by the work of her own
hands, the other is to speak right out freely and make no false
pretences and not to represent anything as more or less than it really
is. 'I do not need to do it and I will not do it,' I have often heard
her say. She certainly has a will of her own, perhaps rather more
than she should have, and one who wanted to criticise her, might
reproach her with being obstinate. But she only persists in what she
thinks she can take the responsibility for, and she really can too,
and that sort of strength of will is, I think, rather character than
self-righteousness. I see by your nodding your head that we are of the
same opinion, and that pleases me greatly. And now just one word more,
Herr Franke. What has been, has been. If you cannot pass over it, I
must respect your feeling. But if you can, I want to tell you, you will
have an exceptionally good wife. For her heart is in the right place
and she has a strong sense of duty and right and order."
"That is how I have always found Lena, and I believe that she will make
me an uncommonly good wife, precisely as the Herr Baron says. Yes, one
ought to keep the Commandments, one ought to keep them all, but yet
there is a distinction, according to which commandments they are, and
he who fails to keep one of them, may yet be good for something, but he
who fails to keep another, even if it stands the very next one in the
catechism, he is worthless and is condemned from the beginning and
stands beyond the hope of grace."
Botho gazed at him in surprise and evidently did not know what to make
of this solemn address. Gideon Franke, however, who for his part had
now gotten well started, had no longer any sense of the impression
produced by his homemade opinions, and so went on in a tone that more
and more suggested that of a preacher: "And he who, because of the
weakness of the flesh sins against the sixth commandment, he may be
forgiven if he repents and turns to better ways, but he who breaks the
seventh, sins not merely through the weakness of the flesh but through
the corruption of the soul, and he who lies and deceives, or slanders
and bears false witness, he is rotten to the core and is a child of
darkness, and for him there is no salvation, And he is like a field in
which the nettles have grown so tall that the weeds always come
uppermost, no matter how much good corn may be sown. And I will live
and die by that and have always found it true. Yes, Herr Baron, the
important things are neatness and honesty and practicality. And in
marriage it is the same. For 'honesty is the best policy,' and one's
word is his word and one must be able to have confidence. But what has
been, has been, and that is in the hands of God. And if I think
otherwise about it, which I too respect, exactly as the Herr Baron
does, then it is my place to keep away and not allow my love and
inclination to get a foothold. I was in the United States for a long
time, and although over there just the same as here, all is not gold
that glitters, yet it is true, that there one learns to see differently
and not always through the same glass. And one learns also that there
are many ways to salvation and many ways to happiness. Yes, Herr Baron,
there are many roads that lead to God, and there are many roads that
lead to happiness, of that I feel sure in my very heart. And the one
road is good and the other road is good. But every good road must be
straight and open, and lie in the sun, without swamps or quicksands or
will-o'-the-wisps. Truth is the main thing, and trustworthiness and
honor."
With these words Franke had risen and Botho, who had politely gone to
the door with him, gave him his hand.
"And now, Herr Franke, as we are bidding good-bye I will ask just one
thing more: Please greet Frau Doerr from me, if you see her, and if the
old friendship with her still continues, and above all give my
greetings to good old Frau Nimptsch. Does she still have her gout and
her days of suffering, of which she used to complain so constantly?"
"That is all over now."
"How so?" asked Botho.
"We buried her three weeks ago, Herr Baron. Just three weeks ago
to-day."
"Buried her?" repeated Botho. "And where?"
"Over behind the Rollkrug, in the new Jacob's churchyard.... She was a
good old woman. And how she did love Lena! Yes, Herr Baron, Mother
Nimptsch is dead. But Frau Doerr is still living (and he laughed), and
she will live a long time yet. And if she comes--it is a long way--I
will give her your greeting. And I can see already how pleased she will
be. You know her, Herr Baron. Oh yes, Frau Doerr ..."
And Gideon Franke took off his hat once more and the door closed.