The Harvard Classics Shelf of Fiction - German Part 44

"But this one is not."

"And her name?"

"Katherine."

"Katherine? Ah, now I know. Katherine Sellenthin. Hm! Not so bad, in fact a brilliant match. Old Sellenthin, he is the old man with the plaster over his eye, has six estates, and with the farms there are really thirteen. If divided in equal parts, Katherine will get the thirteenth thrown in. My congratulations."

"Do you know her?"

"Certainly. A wonderful flaxen-haired blonde with eyes as blue as forget-me-nots, but for all that she is not sentimental, and is less like the moon than like the sun. She was here at Frau Zulow's Pension, and at fourteen she was already surrounded and courted."

"At the Pension?"

"Not really at the Pension and not every day, but on Sundays when she went to lunch with old Osten, the one whom you have just seen.

Katherine, Katherine Sellenthin!... she was like a rail then, and that is what we used to call her, and she was the most charming little hoyden that you can imagine. I can still see her braid of hair, which we always called the distaff. And Rienacker will now have a chance to spin it off. Well, why not? It will not be so difficult for him."

"After all, it may be more difficult than many think," answered Wedell.

"And while he certainly needs his finances improved, yet I am not sure that he would decide at once in favor of the blond beauty from his own province. For you must know that Rienacker has for some time past enjoyed another tint, indeed ash-blond, and if what Balafre lately told me is true, he has been seriously considering whether he should not raise his blanchisseuse to the rank of la dame blanche. He sees no distinction between Castle Avenal and Castle Zehden. A castle is a castle and, you know, Rienacker, who for that matter, goes his own way in many things, was always in favor of naturalness."

"Yes," laughed Pitt. "That he was. But Balafre draws the long bow and invents interesting tales. You are sober, Wedell, and will not be ready to believe such made up nonsense."

"No, it is not imaginary," said Wedell. "But I believe what I know.

Rienacker, in spite of his six feet, or perhaps because of them, is weak and easily guided and is peculiarly gentle and tenderhearted."

"He certainly is. But circ.u.mstances will compel him and he will break away and free himself, at the worst like a fox out of a trap. It is painful and a bit of one's life is left behind. But the main thing is to get out again--out, out and free. Long live Katherine! And Rienacker! What does the proverb say? 'G.o.d helps those who help themselves.'"

CHAPTER IX

That evening Botho wrote to Lena that he would come on the following day, perhaps even earlier than usual. And he kept his word and arrived an hour before sunset. Naturally he found Frau Dorr there. The air was very fine and not too warm, and after they had talked a while, Botho said:

"Perhaps we could go into the garden."

"Yes, either into the garden or somewhere else?"

"What do you mean?"

Lena laughed. "Don't be worried again, Botho. There is no one hiding in ambush and the lady with the pair of white horses and the wreaths of flowers will not cross your path."

"Then where shall we go, Lena?"

"Just out in the green meadows where you will have nothing but daisies and me. And perhaps Frau Dorr, too, if she will be so good as to go with us."

"Will she?" said Frau Dorr. "Surely she will. I feel much honored. But I must put myself to rights a little. I will be with you again directly."

"There is no need, Frau Dorr; we will call for you."

And so the plan was carried out, and as the young couple walked across the garden a quarter of an hour later, Frau Dorr was already standing at the door, a wrap on her arm and a marvellous hat on her head, a present from Dorr, who, like all misers, would buy something absurdly expensive once in a while.

Botho said something complimentary to the rather overdressed lady, and all three walked down the path and went out by a hidden side door and reached a little path, which before it led further and curved out into the open green fields ran along by the outer side of the garden fence where the nettles grew high.

"We will follow this path," said Lena. "It is the prettiest and the most solitary. No one comes here."

And certainly it was the loneliest path, far more silent and solitary than three or four other roads that ran parallel with it over the meadows towards Wilmersdorf and showed something of their own sort of suburban life. On one of these roads there were a good many sheds, between which there were horizontal bars somewhat like those used by gymnasts. These aroused Botho's curiosity, but before he could ask about them, the work going on answered his question: rugs and carpets were spread out on the frames and immediately began such a beating and banging with big sticks that a cloud of dust rose and nearly concealed the road.

Botho pointed out this dust and was beginning a discussion with Frau Dorr about the value or harmfulness of carpets, which, viewed in this light, are mere dirt catchers, "and if one has not a very strong chest one might get consumption and never know how." But he stopped short in the middle of a sentence, because the road he had taken led past a place where the rubbish of a stone-cutter's workshop had been thrown out, and all sorts of fragments of ornaments lay about, in great numbers especially angels' heads.

"There is an angel's head," said Botho. "Look, Frau Dorr. And here is even one with wings."

"Yes," said Frau Dorr. "And a chubby face too. But is it really an angel? I think it must be a cupid, because it is so small and has wings."

"Cupid or angel," said Botho, "they are just the same. You ask Lena, and she will tell you so. Isn't that so, Lena?"

Lena seemed offended, but he took her hand and they were good friends again.

Immediately behind the rubbish heap the path turned to the left and opened immediately afterwards into a somewhat larger country road where the willows were in bloom and were scattering their fleecy catkins over the fields, where they lay strewn about like cotton wool.

"Look, Lena," said Frau Dorr, "do you know that they stuff beds with that now instead of feathers? And they call it tree wool."

"Yes, I know, Frau Dorr. And I am always glad when people think of anything like that and make use of it. But it would never do for you."

"No, Lena, it would not do for me. You are right. I am more in favor of something firm, horse hair and a spring bed, and if it gives a jump ..."

"Oh, yes," said Lena, who was growing a trifle nervous over this description. "But I am afraid that we shall have rain. Just hear the frogs, Frau Dorr."

"Yes, the frogs," repeated the latter. "At night they keep up such a croaking that one cannot sleep. And why? Because this is all swamp and only looks like meadow land. Look at the pool where the stork is standing and looking right over this way. Well, he isn't looking at me.

He might have to look a long time. And a mighty good thing too."

"But we ought really to be turning back," said Lena, who was much embarra.s.sed, and simply wanted to say something.

"Oh, no indeed," laughed Frau Dorr. "Surely not now, Lena; you mustn't get frightened at a little thing like that. Good stork, you must bring me ... Or shall I sing: Dearest stork?"

And so it went on for a while yet, for it took time to get Frau Dorr away from such a favorite topic.

But finally there was a pause, during which they walked slowly onward, until at last they came to a plateau-like ridge that led over from the Spree towards the Havel. Just at this point the pasture land ended and fields of rye and rape seed began and continued as far as the first rows of houses of Wilmersdorf.

"Now let us go up there," said Frau Dorr, "and then we will sit down and pick b.u.t.tercups and make a wreath out of the stems. It is always so much fun to poke one stem into another until the wreath or the chain is done."

"Yes, yes," said Lena, whose fate it was not to be free from small embarra.s.sments. "Yes, yes. But now come, Frau Dorr, the path leads this way."

And talking thus they climbed the little slope and seated themselves at the top on a heap of weeds and rubbish that had been lying there since the previous autumn. This heap was an excellent resting place, and also afforded a good point of view from which one could overlook a ditch bordered with willows and gra.s.s, and could not only see the northern row of houses of Wilmersdorf, but could also plainly hear, from a neighboring smoking-room and bowling-alley, the fall of the ninepins and more plainly still the rolling back of the heavy ball along the two noisy wooden rods of its track. Lena enjoyed this, and took Botho's hand and said: "See, Botho, I understand that so well (for when I was a child we lived near such a bowling-alley) that when I just hear the ball hit, I know at once how much it will make."

"Well," said Botho, "then we can bet."