“We’re getting old, but our burdens don’t lighten. Our children tread on our laps when they are young. Later, on our hearts.”
(Frau von Anklam had never had children. Nor could she bear with them.)
“Come, sit on the sofa, Mathilde. I’ll ring—Fraulein will bring us coffee and cake. Today I sent out for a Hilbrich cake; he still has the best. Only it isn’t worthwhile for myself alone—forty thousand marks in fares, you understand, forty thousand! Robbers, that’s what they are. Yes, Fraulein, pastry and coffee, very strong—my cousin has had bad news. Yes, dear Mathilde, I’ve been sitting in my chair and thinking about things. Fraulein thinks I’ve been sleeping, but of course I haven’t. I hear every sound in the kitchen, and when a plate’s broken in the washing-up I’m there at once. Does your Minna break much, too? It’s still the old Nymphenburg china which Grandfather Kuno received on his diamond wedding from the dear late Emperor—there’s enough left for an old woman, but one has to think of one’s heirs. I really promised it to Irene, but lately I’ve not been sure. Irene has such strange views about the bringing-up of children. Perfectly—how shall I describe it?—revolutionary.”
“And the news is absolutely true, Betty?” asked Frau Pagel, erect and slender. However sympathetic a close relative might be, it could not be told from her face and behavior that she had wept.
“The news? What news? Oh,
Fraulein appeared with the tray and the coffee set of Nymphenburg china from grandfather’s diamond wedding. The ladies became silent. Without a sound, Fraulein, elderly and mouse-gray, laid the table.
She was always “Fraulein”—all these changing faces were nameless at Frau Major General von Anklam’s. Fraulein set the table, and Fraulein darned. Fraulein read aloud and Fraulein described something; above all, Fraulein listened. Fraulein listened from morn till even. Stories of regimental ladies long dead and forgotten (“I told her: ‘Dear child, I decide what tact is’ ”); stories of children long ago in possession of their own children (“And then the sweet little angel said to me”); stories of relatives long alienated; tales of promotion and dismissals; of orders and decorations; of wounds; of marriage tangles and divorces—the rag, tag, and bobtail of a life spent entirely in gossip and tittle-tattle about intimate, the most intimate, things.
Fraulein, colorless and mouse-gray, listened, said: “Yes,” “Oh, no,” “Really,” “Charming”; but when Her Excellency had visitors she heard nothing. Frau Major General whispered with the last remnants of her Lausanne finishing-school French:
But after the first silence Frau von Anklam did not remain silent by any means—that was not done either. She talked of the weather. (“It is close today, perhaps we shall have a storm; perhaps yes, perhaps no.”) She’d once had a Fraulein with rheumatic twinges in her big toe before a storm—very strange, was it not?
“It always came true, and once when Fraulein was on her holiday (you know we had our estate at that time) we had a tremendous hailstorm which smashed down the whole crop. Well, if Fraulein hadn’t been on holiday we should have known about it in advance-and that would have been so good, wouldn’t it, dear Mathilde? But, of course, Fraulein was on her holiday.”
“Yes, everything is all right, Fraulein, thanks. You may now press the lace frill on my black taffeta dress. It’s already pressed I know, Fraulein. It’s not necessary to tell me that. But it’s not done as I like it. I like it to be as light as a breath of air. Fraulein, as light as air! So please do that, Fraulein.”
And the door had hardly closed behind Fraulein before Frau von Anklam turned sympathetically to Frau Pagel. “I’ve considered and reconsidered the matter, dear Mathilde, and I stick to my opinion. She is simply a low, vulgar creature.”
Frau Pagel started and looked anxiously toward the door. “Fraulein?”
“Mathilde, do concentrate a little. What are we talking about? Your son’s marriage! If I were to be so absent-minded … I always told the ladies of my regiment.…” Frau Pagel still hoped to learn something definite, but what she hardly knew. She succeeded in putting in a word. “The girl is perhaps not entirely bad.…”
“Mathilde! A creature! Only a creature!”
“She loves Wolfgang—in her way.”
“I don’t wish to hear anything about it. No indelicacy in my house!”
“But Wolfgang gambles, Betty, gambles everything away.”
Frau von Anklam laughed. “To see your face, dearest Mathilde! Boys always play a little—you mustn’t say ‘gamble,’ it sounds so vulgar. All young men play a little. I remember that time we had the regiment at Stolp—there was a lot of playing among the young fellows. Excellency von Bardenwiek said to me: ‘What are we to do, Frau von Anklam? We must do something about it.’ I said: ‘Excellency,’ I said, ‘we’ll do nothing of the kind. As long as the young people play they’re not making fools of themselves in another way.’ And he agreed with me at once.… Come in.”
There had been a gentle knocking at the door. Fraulein put her head in: “Ernst is back, Excellency.”
“Ernst? What does he want? These are peculiar manners, Fraulein! You know I have a visitor, don’t you? Ernst—the idea of it!”
In spite of this outburst Fraulein still dared to say something. Like a mouse in the trap she squeaked. “He has been to the registry office, Excellency.”
Frau von Anklam brightened up. “Oh, of course. He shall come in as soon as he has washed his hands. What a long story you make of everything, Fraulein. Fraulein, one moment, don’t always run away at once, so heedlessly. Please wait for my instructions. First give him a spray or two of eau-de-Cologne; yes, the toilet eau-de-Cologne. One never knows whom he has met there.”
Alone with her cousin again, she said: “I wanted to find out how the wedding went. I considered for a long time whom I could send to such an affair, and I sent our Ernst. Well, now we shall hear.” And her eyes shone. She moved her heavy body to and fro in anticipation. She was to hear something new, something more for her lumber- room of memories. O Lord, how splendid!
Ernst, the servant, entered: an elderly man, diminutive, close on sixty, who had been in Frau von Anklam’s service for a lifetime.
“Wait at the door,” she called. “Stay at the door, Ernst.”
“I know that, Excellency.”
“Immediately afterward have a bath and change every stitch. Heaven knows what bacteria you have picked up, Ernst. Come on, do tell us about the wedding.”
“There was none, Excellency.”
“You see, Mathilde—what did I tell you? You get excited about nothing. What did I tell you only three minutes ago? She’s quite a common person. She has thrown him over.”
“Might I ask Ernst a few questions, dear Betty?” said Frau Pagel faintly.
“Certainly, dear Mathilde. Ernst, I don’t understand you. You stand there like a stick. Don’t you hear that Frau Pagel wants to know everything? Speak. She has of course thrown him over. Go on, what did he say to that?”
“Pardon me, Excellency. I believe the young gentleman didn’t turn up either.”
“You see, Mathilde, what did I tell you? The boy is all right, the bit of playing does him no harm; on the contrary, he is absolutely sensible. One doesn’t marry such a person.”
At last Frau Pagel got in a word. “Ernst, is it certain? Was there definitely no wedding? Perhaps you arrived a little too late.”
“No, madam, certainly not. I was there in time and waited till the end, and also asked the clerk. Neither of them turned up.”
“You see, Mathilde.”
“But why should you think, Ernst, that it was my son?”
“I wanted to be sure, madam. Something might have happened. I ascertained their address from the registry office. So I went there, madam.…”
“Ernst, be sure to have a bath immediately and put on fresh linen.”
“Yes, Excellency. The young gentleman has not been seen since this morning. And the girl has been turned out of doors because the rent hadn’t been paid. She was still standing in the doorway.”
