Wolf Among Wolves

manliness!

What he did was right. This casual fellow who traveled about with a vague commission to mobilize the country-folk for all emergencies; this cold adventurer who was not concerned with the object of the struggle, but only with the struggle itself; this mercenary who would have fought for any party so long as there was unrest—for he loved unrest and hated quiet, which immediately left him unoccupied, out of his element, not knowing what to do with himself—this dashing jack-of-all-trades was the hero! And he might have set a world alight—he would nonetheless remain the hero to her!

The way he now, with the flashlight in his hand and her lightly trembling fingers on his arm, directed the beam on to the disarranged bed with the naked man on it, the indifferent way he said to her: “Better look away, Violet!” and covered up the fellow; the way he growled: “Swine!” and then told her to sit by the bed, adding: “See whether he wakes up! I’ll take a quick look through his things!”—this camaraderie which was a shabby thing, hardly concealing ruthlessness, lack of respect, and roughness—all this she found marvelous.

She sat on her chair. It was almost completely dark, the moon scarcely penetrating through the grayish- yellow curtains. The man in bed wheezed, snored and groaned, invisible to her, and then began tossing about, as if in his sleep he sensed his enemies. Behind her the Lieutenant was going through the things, cursing loudly; it is difficult to find anything in an unfamiliar room with a flashlight in one’s hand. He rustled about, stumbled over chairs; his torch danced suddenly across the window and went out. Then the rustling started again.…

Yes, she had to be early in bed of an evening. Now and again she was allowed to go to a dance till eleven o’clock, till twelve at the latest, or to go shooting, with special permission and accompanied by the forester and the servants. In the afternoons, on alternate days, her mother spoke French and English with her. “So that you shall keep up with things, Violet. Later on you will have to go into Society—not like your Mamma, who is only a farmer’s wife.” Oh, how thin, how false, how dull the world at home seemed! Here she sat in the bailiff’s malodorous room, and life smelled of blood and bread and dirt. It was by no means, as parents, governesses and vicars pretended, a gentle, friendly, polite business; it was dark … a wonderful darkness. And out of the darkness came a mouth with glistening white teeth. The eye-teeth were pointed, the lips were thin, dry, saucy. O mouth, man’s mouth for kissing, ravenous teeth for biting!

Parents, grandparents, Altlohe and Neulohe, Ostade with its garrison, the autumn fair in Frankfurt-on-the- Oder, the Cafe Kranzler in Berlin—narrow world, servile world, world forever standing still. One sits at a little marble table, the waiter bows, Papa and Mamma argue whether their dear daughter can stand another cream puff, the impudent fellow at the next table stares, and the dear daughter looks away—of that ordered world only the ruins are left.

For another life has broken into it, and the past no longer counts. This life is swift and brilliant. Infinite fire, mysterious adventure, a wonderful darkness, in which one may be naked without shame! Poor Mamma who has never known this! Poor Papa—so old with your white temples! For me ever new paths, ever different adventures! Stupid ugly Black Meier, good for nothing but to get himself a little quarter of an hour’s thrill and then be severely punished for it.

“Is that the scrawl?” asked the Lieutenant, shining his torch on a damp smeared sheet of paper. “The fellow has drowned it in spirits!”

“Oh, please give it to me!” she cried, suddenly ashamed of her emotional scribblings.

“By no means, my child!” he replied. “You won’t send it traveling again and get me to run after it!” He had already put the letter in his pocket. “And I tell you this, Violet, you are not to write to me again. Never. Not a word!”

“But I wanted you so much!” she cried and threw her arms round his neck.

“Yes, of course, I understand—understand everything. Tell me, you don’t keep a diary, do you?”

“I? What do you mean? A diary? No, of course not.”

“Well, I think you’re lying. I shall have to inspect your room sometime.”

“Oh, do! Fritz, do come to my room sometime; it would be wonderful of you if you had been in my room!”

“Good! Good! We can arrange it. But now I must hurry off to the meeting. They’ll be cursing.”

“Today—will you come today? After the meeting? Oh, please, Fritz, do come.”

“Today? Absolutely impossible. I’ve got to come back here again after the meeting—chat with the fellow, hear whether he has told any others about the letter.” He became thoughtful.

“Yes, Fritz, go for him properly. You must make him afraid; otherwise he will tell everything. He’s too disgusting and mean.”

“And you yourself recommended him to me as a messenger—” began the Lieutenant, but controlled himself and stopped. There was no use in reminding women of an error they had committed, in starting a quarrel with them. It always immediately passed beyond all bounds. A different, a much more frightening, thought had occurred to him: the man there might not merely be able to babble about the letter—he knew other things. Perhaps Kniebusch had not kept things to himself.…

“No, I have got to talk to him later,” he said once again.

She seemed to have guessed his thoughts. “And what will you do with him then, Fritz? If he has betrayed you?”

The Lieutenant stood quite still. Even this silly little goose had thought of it, had sensed the danger which was always threatening the Cause, which everyone feared: betrayal. As yet hardly anything had been said; outside a very small circle hardly anyone knew exactly what it was all about, what was intended. Hints were thrown out, loose phrases. Dissatisfaction, hatred, despair, sufficiently abounded in the country. The printing presses in Berlin hurled a new wave of bitterness abroad with every new spate of paper money. Thus a few words were enough, the muffled clank of arms … almost nothing. But the traitor did not need to be well informed, he did not need to know much; if he told the Landrat that someone was running around inciting people, that he had even heard today that the weapons were to be counted in the village …

The Lieutenant let the ray of his torch fall on to the sleeper’s face. It was not a good face, not one that could be trusted. He had had the right instinct when he didn’t want to have this fellow in it.… But that was Violet. She had suggested that he would be such a convenient, unnoticeable go-between, always with access to the Rittmeister’s house and always to be found in the fields, in the woods.… And on the very first occasion the affair went wrong! Always these women had to put their oars in. They had nothing on their minds but their so-called love.

The Lieutenant turned round abruptly. “You are going to bed at once, Violet,” he said angrily.

She was quite frightened by his tone. “But Fritz, I wanted to wait for you here. And then I’ve also got to speak with the forester about the buck.”

“Here? Don’t be ridiculous. How can you think of it? Supposing the fellow wakes up, or someone comes in?”

“But, Fritz, what do you want to do then? If he wakes up now and notices his letter is gone, my letter, I mean, and he gets angry with us, he’ll run off and tell everything to Grandpa or Mamma.”

“Now please stop it, Violet! Please! I’ll see to all that. I shall deal with him after the meeting—and properly, I can tell you!”

“But supposing he runs away before?”

“He won’t run away. He’s drunk.”

“But supposing he does run away before?”

“For God’s sake, shut up now, Violet!” The Lieutenant almost shouted. Then, since he himself had had a fright, he added in a whisper: “Come along now, be sensible. You can’t possibly wait here. Keep watch for me outside the house—I shall be back here in an hour.”

They went out together, felt their way through the dark room and along the dark passage. Now they were in the open again. It was night, full moon and peaceful; the air was very warm.

“Blast the moon! Everyone can see us! Go into the bushes there. In an hour, then.”

“Fritz!” she called after him. “Fritz!”

“What’s the matter? Can’t you be quiet?”

“Fritz! Aren’t you going to give me a kiss? Not even one?”

“Damn and curse!” he muttered. Aloud: “Afterwards, my child, afterwards we’ll make up for everything.”

The gravel crunched and he was gone. Violet von Prackwitz stood in the bushes where Amanda Backs had