The Harvard Classics Shelf of Fiction - German Part 59

He was still brooding over these thoughts, when he saw two comrades coming along a bridle path from the woods towards the ca.n.a.l. They were Uhlans, as he could plainly see even from a distance by their "Czapkas." But who were they? To be sure, he could not remain long in doubt and before they had approached within a hundred paces, Botho saw that they were the Rexins, cousins, and both from the same regiment.

"Ah, Rienacker," said the elder. "Where are you going?"

"As far as the sky is blue."

"That is too far for me."

"Well, then, as far as Saatwinkel."

"That is worth thinking of. I believe I will join the party, that is, provided that I do not intrude.... Kurt (and as he spoke he turned to his younger companion), I beg your pardon. But I want to speak with Rienacker. And under the circ.u.mstances ..."

"You would rather speak with him privately. Just as you prefer, Bozel,"

and Kurt von Rexin touched his hat and rode on. The cousin who had been addressed as Bozel, however, turned his horse around, took the left side of Rienacker, who was far above him in rank and said: "Very well then, to Saatwinkel. We shall take care not to ride into the Tegeler rifle range."

"At all events I shall try to avoid it," replied Rienacker, "first for my own sake and second for yours. And third and last because of Henrietta. What would that interesting brunette say, if her Bogislaw should be shot and killed and that too by some friend?"

"That would indeed give her a heartache," answered Rexin, "and would also strike out one item in the reckoning between her and me."

"What reckoning do you mean?"

"That is the very point, Rienacker, about which I wanted to consult you."

"To consult me? And about what point?"

"You ought to be able to guess it. It is not difficult. Naturally I mean an affair, an affair of my own."

"An affair!" laughed Botho. "Why, I am at your service, Rexin. But, to be frank with you, I hardly know just what leads you to confide in me.

I am not a remarkable fount of wisdom in any direction, least of all in this. And then, too, we have quite different authorities. One of these you know very well. And moreover he is a special friend of yours and of your cousin's."

"Balafre?"

"Yes."

Rexin felt that there was something like reluctance or refusal in these words and stopped talking with some air of finality. But that was more than Botho had meant, and so he led on a little further. "Affairs.

Pardon me, Rexin, there are so many affairs."

"Certainly. But however many there are, they are all different."

Botho shrugged his shoulders and smiled. But Rexin, evidently not meaning to be stopped the second time through his own sensitiveness, only repeated in an indifferent tone: "Yes, however many there are, yet they are different. And I wonder, Rienacker, that you should be the one to shrug your shoulders. I really thought ..."

"Well, then, out with it."

"So I will."

And after a while Rexin went on: "I have been through the University, and have served with the Uhlans, and before that (you know I joined them rather late) I was at Bonn and Gottingen and I need no instruction and advice when the case is a usual one. But when I examine myself carefully, I find that in my case the affair is not usual but exceptional."

"Everyone thinks that."

"To speak plainly, I feel myself engaged, and more than that, I love Henrietta, or to show you my feeling more plainly, I love my dark Yetta. Yes, this importunate pet name with its suggestion of the canteen suits me best, because I want to avoid all solemn airs in this connection. I feel sufficiently in earnest and just because I am in earnest, I feel no need of anything like pompous or artificial forms of speech. They only weaken the expression."

Botho nodded in agreement and refrained from every sign of derision or superiority, such as he had shown at first.

"Yetta," Rexin went on, "is not descended from a line of angels nor is she one herself. But where can you find one who is? In our own sphere?

Absurd. All these distinctions are purely artificial and the most artificial are to be found in the realm of virtue. Naturally, virtue and other such fine things do exist, but innocence and virtue are like Bismarck and Moltke, that is, they are rare. I have observed very carefully her life and conduct, I believe her to be genuine and I intend to act accordingly as far as possible. And now listen, Rienacker. If, instead of riding beside this tiresome ca.n.a.l, as straight and monotonous as the forms and formulas of our society, I say, if we were now riding by the Sacramento instead of beside this wretched ditch, and if we had the diggings before us instead of the Tegeler shooting range, I would marry Yetta at once. I cannot live without her. She has bewitched me, and her simplicity, modesty and genuine love have more weight with me than ten countesses. But it is impossible. I cannot treat my parents so, and besides, I cannot leave the service at twenty-seven years of age, to become a cowboy in Texas or a waiter on a Mississippi steamer. Therefore the middle way...."

"And what do you mean by that?"

"A union without formal sanction."

"You mean a marriage without marriage."

"If you like, yes. The mere word means nothing to me, just as little as legalisation, sanctification, or whatever else such things may be called; I am a bit touched with nihilism and have no real faith in the blessing of the church. But, to cut a long story short, I am in favor of monogamy, not on moral grounds, but because I cannot help it, and because of my own inborn nature. All relations are repugnant to me, where beginning and breaking off may happen within the same hour, so to speak. And if I just now called myself a nihilist, I may with still more justice call myself a Philistine. I long for simple forms, for a quiet, natural way of living, where heart speaks to heart and where one has the best that there is, faithfulness, love and freedom."

"Freedom!" repeated Botho.

"Yes, Rienacker. But since I well know that dangers may lurk here too and that the joy of freedom, perhaps all freedom, is a two-edged sword, that can wound, one never knows how, I wanted to ask you."

"And I will answer you," said Rienacker, who was growing more and more serious, as these confidences recalled his own life, both past and present, to his mind. "Yes, Rexin, I will answer you as well as I can, and I believe that I am able to answer you. And so I implore you, keep out of all that. In such a relation as you are planning for, only two things are possible, and the one is fully as bad as the other. If you play the true and faithful lover, or what amounts to the same thing, if you break entirely with your position and birth and the customs of your cla.s.s, sooner or later, if you do not go to pieces altogether, you will become a horror and a burden to yourself; but if things do not go that way, and if, as is more common, you make your peace, after a year or more, with your family and with the social order, then there is sorrow, for the tie must be loosened which has been knit and strengthened by happiness, and alas, what means still more, by unhappiness and pain and distress. And that hurts dreadfully."

Rexin looked as if he were about to answer, but Botho did not notice him and went on: "My dear Rexin, a short time ago you were speaking, in a way that might serve as a model of decorous expression, of relations 'where beginning and breaking off may happen within the same hour,' but these relations, which are really none at all, are not the worst. The worst are those, to quote you once more, which keep to the 'middle course.' I warn you, beware of this middle course, beware of half-way measures. What you think is gain is bankruptcy, and what seems to you a harbor means shipwreck. That way leads to no good, even if to outward appearances all runs smoothly and no curse is p.r.o.nounced and scarcely a gentle reproach is uttered. And there is no other way. For everything brings its own natural consequences, we must remember that. Nothing that has happened can be undone, and an image that has once been engraved in the soul, never wholly fades out again, never completely disappears. Memory remains and comparisons will arise in the mind. And so once more, my friend, give up your intention or else the whole course of your life will be disturbed and you will never again win your way through to clearness and light. Many things may be permitted, but not those that involve the soul, not those that entangle the heart, even if it is only your own."

CHAPTER XXIV

A telegram sent just as Katherine was on the point of departure arrived on the third day: "I shall arrive this evening. K."

And she actually arrived. Botho was at the station and was presented to Frau Salinger, who declined all thanks for her good companionship during the journey, and kept repeating how fortunate she had been, and above all how fortunate he must be in having such a charming young wife. "Look here, Herr Baron, if I were so fortunate as to be her husband, I would never part from such a wife even for three days." And then she began to complain of men in general, but in the same breath she added an urgent invitation to Vienna. "We have a nice little house less than an hour from Vienna, and a couple of saddle horses and a good table. In Prussia you have schools and in Vienna we have cooking. And I don't know which I prefer."

"I know," said Katherine, "and I think Botho does too."

Hereupon they separated and our young couple got into an open carriage, after having given orders for sending the baggage home.

Katherine leaned back and put her little feet up on the back seat, on which lay a gigantic bouquet, a parting attention from the Schlangenbad landlady who was perfectly delighted with the charming lady from Berlin. Katherine took Botho's arm and clung to him caressingly, but only for a few moments, then she sat up again and said, as she held the great bouquet in place with her parasol: "It is really charming here, so many people and the river so crowded with boats that they can scarcely find their way in or out. And so little dust. I think it is really a blessing that they sprinkle now and everything is drenched with water; of course one had better not wear long dresses. And only look at the baker's wagon with the dog harnessed in. Isn't he too comical? Only the ca.n.a.l.... I don't know, it is still just about the same...."

"Yes," laughed Botho, "it is just about the same. Four weeks of July heat have not managed to improve it."

As they were pa.s.sing under some young trees, Katherine plucked a linden leaf, placed it over the hollow of her hand and struck it so that it made a popping sound. "We always used to do that at home. And at Schlangenbad, when we had nothing better to do, we would pop leaves and do all sorts of little tricks that we used to do when we were children.

Can you imagine it, I really care a great deal for such foolish little things and yet I am quite old and have finished with them."

"But, Katherine...."

"Yes, yes, a regular matron, you will see.... But just look, Botho, there is the rail fence again and the old alehouse with the comical and rather improper name, that we used to laugh at so heartily at boarding-school. I thought the place was gone long ago. But the Berliners will not let anything of that sort go, a place like that will always keep on; all that is needed is a queer name, that amuses people."

Botho vacillated between pleasure over Katherine's return and fleeting moments of discontent. "I find you a good deal changed, Katherine."