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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1472 ***
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+In a German Pension
+
+by Katherine Mansfield
+
+Contents
+
+ GERMANS AT MEAT
+ THE BARON
+ THE SISTER OF THE BARONESS
+ FRAU FISCHER
+ FRAU BRECHENMACHER ATTENDS A WEDDING
+ THE MODERN SOUL
+ AT “LEHMANN’S”
+ THE LUFT BAD
+ A BIRTHDAY
+ THE CHILD-WHO-WAS-TIRED
+ THE ADVANCED LADY
+ THE SWING OF THE PENDULUM
+ A BLAZE
+
+
+
+
+GERMANS AT MEAT
+
+
+Bread soup was placed upon the table.
+
+“Ah,” said the Herr Rat, leaning upon the table as he peered into the
+tureen, “that is what I need. My ‘magen’ has not been in order for
+several days. Bread soup, and just the right consistency. I am a good
+cook myself”—he turned to me.
+
+“How interesting,” I said, attempting to infuse just the right amount
+of enthusiasm into my voice.
+
+“Oh yes—when one is not married it is necessary. As for me, I have had
+all I wanted from women without marriage.” He tucked his napkin into
+his collar and blew upon his soup as he spoke. “Now at nine o’clock I
+make myself an English breakfast, but not much. Four slices of bread,
+two eggs, two slices of cold ham, one plate of soup, two cups of
+tea—that is nothing to you.”
+
+He asserted the fact so vehemently that I had not the courage to refute
+it.
+
+All eyes were suddenly turned upon me. I felt I was bearing the burden
+of the nation’s preposterous breakfast—I who drank a cup of coffee
+while buttoning my blouse in the morning.
+
+“Nothing at all,” cried Herr Hoffmann from Berlin. “Ach, when I was in
+England in the morning I used to eat.”
+
+He turned up his eyes and his moustache, wiping the soup drippings from
+his coat and waistcoat.
+
+“Do they really eat so much?” asked Fräulein Stiegelauer. “Soup and
+baker’s bread and pig’s flesh, and tea and coffee and stewed fruit, and
+honey and eggs, and cold fish and kidneys, and hot fish and liver? All
+the ladies eat, too, especially the ladies.”
+
+“Certainly. I myself have noticed it, when I was living in a hotel in
+Leicester Square,” cried the Herr Rat. “It was a good hotel, but they
+could not make tea—now—”
+
+“Ah, that’s one thing I _can_ do,” said I, laughing brightly. “I can
+make very good tea. The great secret is to warm the teapot.”
+
+“Warm the teapot,” interrupted the Herr Rat, pushing away his soup
+plate. “What do you warm the teapot for? Ha! ha! that’s very good! One
+does not eat the teapot, I suppose?”
+
+He fixed his cold blue eyes upon me with an expression which suggested
+a thousand premeditated invasions.
+
+“So that is the great secret of your English tea? All you do is to warm
+the teapot.”
+
+I wanted to say that was only the preliminary canter, but could not
+translate it, and so was silent.
+
+The servant brought in veal, with “sauerkraut” and potatoes.
+
+“I eat sauerkraut with great pleasure,” said the Traveller from North
+Germany, “but now I have eaten so much of it that I cannot retain it. I
+am immediately forced to—”
+
+“A beautiful day,” I cried, turning to Fräulein Stiegelauer. “Did you
+get up early?”
+
+“At five o’clock I walked for ten minutes in the wet grass. Again in
+bed. At half-past five I fell asleep, and woke at seven, when I made an
+‘overbody’ washing! Again in bed. At eight o’clock I had a cold-water
+poultice, and at half past eight I drank a cup of mint tea. At nine I
+drank some malt coffee, and began my ‘cure.’ Pass me the sauerkraut,
+please. You do not eat it?”
+
+“No, thank you. I still find it a little strong.”
+
+“Is it true,” asked the Widow, picking her teeth with a hairpin as she
+spoke, “that you are a vegetarian?”
+
+“Why, yes; I have not eaten meat for three years.”
+
+“Im—possible! Have you any family?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“There now, you see, that’s what you’re coming to! Who ever heard of
+having children upon vegetables? It is not possible. But you never have
+large families in England now; I suppose you are too busy with your
+suffragetting. Now I have had nine children, and they are all alive,
+thank God. Fine, healthy babies—though after the first one was born I
+had to—”
+
+“How _wonderful!_” I cried.
+
+“Wonderful,” said the Widow contemptuously, replacing the hairpin in
+the knob which was balanced on the top of her head. “Not at all! A
+friend of mine had four at the same time. Her husband was so pleased he
+gave a supper-party and had them placed on the table. Of course she was
+very proud.”
+
+“Germany,” boomed the Traveller, biting round a potato which he had
+speared with his knife, “is the home of the Family.”
+
+Followed an appreciative silence.
+
+The dishes were changed for beef, red currants and spinach. They wiped
+their forks upon black bread and started again.
+
+“How long are you remaining here?” asked the Herr Rat.
+
+“I do not know exactly. I must be back in London in September.”
+
+“Of course you will visit München?”
+
+“I am afraid I shall not have time. You see, it is important not to
+break into my ‘cure.’”
+
+“But you _must_ go to München. You have not seen Germany if you have
+not been to München. All the Exhibitions, all the Art and Soul life of
+Germany are in München. There is the Wagner Festival in August, and
+Mozart and a Japanese collection of pictures—and there is the beer! You
+do not know what good beer is until you have been to München. Why, I
+see fine ladies every afternoon, but fine ladies, I tell you, drinking
+glasses so high.” He measured a good washstand pitcher in height, and I
+smiled.
+
+“If I drink a great deal of München beer I sweat so,” said Herr
+Hoffmann. “When I am here, in the fields or before my baths, I sweat,
+but I enjoy it; but in the town it is not at all the same thing.”
+
+Prompted by the thought, he wiped his neck and face with his dinner
+napkin and carefully cleaned his ears.
+
+A glass dish of stewed apricots was placed upon the table.
+
+“Ah, fruit!” said Fräulein Stiegelauer, “that is so necessary to
+health. The doctor told me this morning that the more fruit I could eat
+the better.”
+
+She very obviously followed the advice.
+
+Said the Traveller: “I suppose you are frightened of an invasion, too,
+eh? Oh, that’s good. I’ve been reading all about your English play in a
+newspaper. Did you see it?”
+
+“Yes.” I sat upright. “I assure you we are not afraid.”
+
+“Well, then, you ought to be,” said the Herr Rat. “You have got no army
+at all—a few little boys with their veins full of nicotine poisoning.”
+
+“Don’t be afraid,” Herr Hoffmann said. “We don’t want England. If we
+did we would have had her long ago. We really do not want you.”
+
+He waved his spoon airily, looking across at me as though I were a
+little child whom he would keep or dismiss as he pleased.
+
+“We certainly do not want Germany,” I said.
+
+“This morning I took a half bath. Then this afternoon I must take a
+knee bath and an arm bath,” volunteered the Herr Rat; “then I do my
+exercises for an hour, and my work is over. A glass of wine and a
+couple of rolls with some sardines—”
+
+They were handed cherry cake with whipped cream.
+
+“What is your husband’s favourite meat?” asked the Widow.
+
+“I really do not know,” I answered.
+
+“You really do not know? How long have you been married?”
+
+“Three years.”
+
+“But you cannot be in earnest! You would not have kept house as his
+wife for a week without knowing that fact.”
+
+“I really never asked him; he is not at all particular about his food.”
+
+A pause. They all looked at me, shaking their heads, their mouths full
+of cherry stones.
+
+“No wonder there is a repetition in England of that dreadful state of
+things in Paris,” said the Widow, folding her dinner napkin. “How can a
+woman expect to keep her husband if she does not know his favourite
+food after three years?”
+
+“Mahlzeit!”
+
+“Mahlzeit!”
+
+I closed the door after me.
+
+
+
+
+THE BARON
+
+
+“Who is he?” I said. “And why does he sit always alone, with his back
+to us, too?”
+
+“Ah!” whispered the Frau Oberregierungsrat, “he is a _Baron_.”
+
+She looked at me very solemnly, and yet with the slightest possible
+contempt—a “fancy-not-recognising-that-at-the-first-glance” expression.
+
+“But, poor soul, he cannot help it,” I said. “Surely that unfortunate
+fact ought not to debar him from the pleasures of intellectual
+intercourse.”
+
+If it had not been for her fork I think she would have crossed herself.
+
+“Surely you cannot understand. He is one of the First Barons.”
+
+More than a little unnerved, she turned and spoke to the Frau Doktor on
+her left.
+
+“My omelette is empty—_empty_,” she protested, “and this is the third I
+have tried!”
+
+I looked at the First of the Barons. He was eating salad—taking a whole
+lettuce leaf on his fork and absorbing it slowly, rabbit-wise—a
+fascinating process to watch.
+
+Small and slight, with scanty black hair and beard and yellow-toned
+complexion, he invariably wore black serge clothes, a rough linen
+shirt, black sandals, and the largest black-rimmed spectacles that I
+had ever seen.
+
+The Herr Oberlehrer, who sat opposite me, smiled benignantly.
+
+“It must be very interesting for you, gnädige Frau, to be able to
+watch... of course this is a _very fine house_. There was a lady from
+the Spanish Court here in the summer; she had a liver. We often spoke
+together.”
+
+I looked gratified and humble.
+
+“Now, in England, in your ‘boarding ’ouse’, one does not find the First
+Class, as in Germany.”
+
+“No, indeed,” I replied, still hypnotised by the Baron, who looked like
+a little yellow silkworm.
+
+“The Baron comes every year,” went on the Herr Oberlehrer, “for his
+nerves. He has never spoken to any of the guests—_yet_.” A smile
+crossed his face. I seemed to see his visions of some splendid upheaval
+of that silence—a dazzling exchange of courtesies in a dim future, a
+splendid sacrifice of a newspaper to this Exalted One, a “danke schön”
+to be handed down to future generations.
+
+At that moment the postman, looking like a German army officer, came in
+with the mail. He threw my letters into my milk pudding, and then
+turned to a waitress and whispered. She retired hastily. The manager of
+the pension came in with a little tray. A picture post card was
+deposited on it, and reverently bowing his head, the manager of the
+pension carried it to the Baron.
+
+Myself, I felt disappointed that there was not a salute of twenty-five
+guns.
+
+At the end of the meal we were served with coffee. I noticed the Baron
+took three lumps of sugar, putting two in his cup and wrapping up the
+third in a corner of his pocket-handkerchief. He was always the first
+to enter the dining-room and the last to leave; and in a vacant chair
+beside him he placed a little black leather bag.
+
+In the afternoon, leaning from my window, I saw him pass down the
+street, walking tremulously and carrying the bag. Each time he passed a
+lamp-post he shrank a little, as though expecting it to strike him, or
+maybe the sense of plebeian contamination....
+
+I wondered where he was going, and why he carried the bag. Never had I
+seen him at the Casino or the Bath Establishment. He looked forlorn,
+his feet slipped in his sandals. I found myself pitying the Baron.
+
+That evening a party of us were gathered in the salon discussing the
+day’s “kur” with feverish animation. The Frau Oberregierungsrat sat by
+me knitting a shawl for her youngest of nine daughters, who was in that
+very interesting, frail condition.... “But it is bound to be quite
+satisfactory,” she said to me. “The dear married a banker—the desire of
+her life.”
+
+There must have been eight or ten of us gathered together, we who were
+married exchanging confidences as to the underclothing and peculiar
+characteristics of our husbands, the unmarried discussing the
+over-clothing and peculiar fascinations of Possible Ones.
+
+“I knit them myself,” I heard the Frau Lehrer cry, “of thick grey wool.
+He wears one a month, with two soft collars.”
+
+“And then,” whispered Fräulein Lisa, “he said to me, ‘Indeed you please
+me. I shall, perhaps, write to your mother.’”
+
+Small wonder that we were a little violently excited, a little
+expostulatory.
+
+Suddenly the door opened and admitted the Baron.
+
+Followed a complete and deathlike silence.
+
+He came in slowly, hesitated, took up a toothpick from a dish on the
+top of the piano, and went out again.
+
+When the door was closed we raised a triumphant cry! It was the first
+time he had ever been known to enter the salon. Who could tell what the
+Future held?
+
+Days lengthened into weeks. Still we were together, and still the
+solitary little figure, head bowed as though under the weight of the
+spectacles, haunted me. He entered with the black bag, he retired with
+the black bag—and that was all.
+
+At last the manager of the pension told us the Baron was leaving the
+next day.
+
+“Oh,” I thought, “surely he cannot drift into obscurity—be lost without
+one word! Surely he will honour the Frau Oberregierungsrat or the Frau
+Feldleutnantswitwe _once_ before he goes.”
+
+In the evening of that day it rained heavily. I went to the post
+office, and as I stood on the steps, umbrellaless, hesitating before
+plunging into the slushy road, a little, hesitating voice seemed to
+come from under my elbow.
+
+I looked down. It was the First of the Barons with the black bag and an
+umbrella. Was I mad? Was I sane? He was asking me to share the latter.
+But I was exceedingly nice, a trifle diffident, appropriately
+reverential. Together we walked through the mud and slush.
+
+Now, there is something peculiarly intimate in sharing an umbrella.
+
+It is apt to put one on the same footing as brushing a man’s coat for
+him—a little daring, naïve.
+
+I longed to know why he sat alone, why he carried the bag, what he did
+all day. But he himself volunteered some information.
+
+“I fear,” he said, “that my luggage will be damp. I invariably carry it
+with me in this bag—one requires so little—for servants are
+untrustworthy.”
+
+“A wise idea,” I answered. And then: “Why have you denied us the
+pleasure—”
+
+“I sit alone that I may eat more,” said the Baron, peering into the
+dusk; “my stomach requires a great deal of food. I order double
+portions, and eat them in peace.”
+
+Which sounded finely Baronial.
+
+“And what do you do all day?”
+
+“I imbibe nourishment in my room,” he replied, in a voice that closed
+the conversation and almost repented of the umbrella.
+
+When we arrived at the pension there was very nearly an open riot.
+
+I ran half way up the stairs, and thanked the Baron audibly from the
+landing.
+
+He distinctly replied: “Not at all!”
+
+It was very friendly of the Herr Oberlehrer to have sent me a bouquet
+that evening, and the Frau Oberregierungsrat asked me for my pattern of
+a baby’s bonnet!
+
+
+Next day the Baron was gone.
+
+Sic transit gloria German mundi.
+
+
+
+
+THE SISTER OF THE BARONESS
+
+
+“There are two new guests arriving this afternoon,” said the manager of
+the pension, placing a chair for me at the breakfast-table. “I have
+only received the letter acquainting me with the fact this morning. The
+Baroness von Gall is sending her little daughter—the poor child is
+dumb—to make the ‘cure.’ She is to stay with us a month, and then the
+Baroness herself is coming.”
+
+“Baroness von Gall,” cried the Frau Doktor, coming into the room and
+positively scenting the name. “Coming here? There was a picture of her
+only last week in _Sport and Salon_. She is a friend of the Court: I
+have heard that the Kaiserin says ‘du’ to her. But this is delightful!
+I shall take my doctor’s advice and spend an extra six weeks here.
+There is nothing like young society.”
+
+“But the child is dumb,” ventured the manager apologetically.
+
+“Bah! What does that matter? Afflicted children have such pretty ways.”
+
+Each guest who came into the breakfast-room was bombarded with the
+wonderful news. “The Baroness von Gall is sending her little daughter
+here; the Baroness herself is coming in a month’s time.” Coffee and
+rolls took on the nature of an orgy. We positively scintillated.
+Anecdotes of the High Born were poured out, sweetened and sipped: we
+gorged on scandals of High Birth generously buttered.
+
+“They are to have the room next to yours,” said the manager, addressing
+me. “I was wondering if you would permit me to take down the portrait
+of the Kaiserin Elizabeth from above your bed to hang over their sofa.”
+
+“Yes, indeed, something homelike”—the Frau Oberregierungsrat patted my
+hand—“and of no possible significance to you.”
+
+I felt a little crushed. Not at the prospect of losing that vision of
+diamonds and blue velvet bust, but at the tone—placing me outside the
+pale—branding me as a foreigner.
+
+We dissipated the day in valid speculations. Decided it was too warm to
+walk in the afternoon, so lay down on our beds, mustering in great
+force for afternoon coffee. And a carriage drew up at the door. A tall
+young girl got out, leading a child by the hand. They entered the hall,
+were greeted and shown to their room. Ten minutes later she came down
+with the child to sign the visitors’ book. She wore a black, closely
+fitting dress, touched at throat and wrists with white frilling. Her
+brown hair, braided, was tied with a black bow—unusually pale, with a
+small mole on her left cheek.
+
+“I am the Baroness von Gall’s sister,” she said, trying the pen on a
+piece of blotting-paper, and smiling at us deprecatingly. Even for the
+most jaded of us life holds its thrilling moments. Two Baronesses in
+two months! The manager immediately left the room to find a new nib.
+
+To my plebeian eyes that afflicted child was singularly unattractive.
+She had the air of having been perpetually washed with a blue bag, and
+hair like grey wool—dressed, too, in a pinafore so stiffly starched
+that she could only peer at us over the frill of it—a social barrier of
+a pinafore—and perhaps it was too much to expect a noble aunt to attend
+to the menial consideration of her niece’s ears. But a dumb niece with
+unwashed ears struck me as a most depressing object.
+
+They were given places at the head of the table. For a moment we all
+looked at one another with an eena-deena-dina-do expression. Then the
+Frau Oberregierungsrat:
+
+“I hope you are not tired after your journey.”
+
+“No,” said the sister of the Baroness, smiling into her cup.
+
+“I hope the dear child is not tired,” said the Frau Doktor.
+
+“Not at all.”
+
+“I expect, I hope you will sleep well to-night,” the Herr Oberlehrer
+said reverently.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+The poet from Munich never took his eyes off the pair. He allowed his
+tie to absorb most of his coffee while he gazed at them exceedingly
+soulfully.
+
+Unyoking Pegasus, thought I. Death spasms of his Odes to Solitude!
+There were possibilities in that young woman for an inspiration, not to
+mention a dedication, and from that moment his suffering temperament
+took up its bed and walked.
+
+They retired after the meal, leaving us to discuss them at leisure.
+
+“There is a likeness,” mused the Frau Doktor. “Quite. What a manner she
+has. Such reserve, such a tender way with the child.”
+
+“Pity she has the child to attend to,” exclaimed the student from Bonn.
+He had hitherto relied upon three scars and a ribbon to produce an
+effect, but the sister of a Baroness demanded more than these.
+
+Absorbing days followed. Had she been one whit less beautifully born we
+could not have endured the continual conversation about her, the songs
+in her praise, the detailed account of her movements. But she
+graciously suffered our worship and we were more than content.
+
+The poet she took into her confidence. He carried her books when we
+went walking, he jumped the afflicted one on his knee—poetic licence,
+this—and one morning brought his notebook into the salon and read to
+us.
+
+“The sister of the Baroness has assured me she is going into a
+convent,” he said. (That made the student from Bonn sit up.) “I have
+written these few lines last night from my window in the sweet night
+air—”
+
+“Oh, your _delicate_ chest,” commented the Frau Doktor.
+
+He fixed a stony eye on her, and she blushed.
+
+“I have written these lines:
+
+“‘Ah, will you to a convent fly,
+    So young, so fresh, so fair?
+Spring like a doe upon the fields
+    And find your beauty there.’”
+
+
+Nine verses equally lovely commanded her to equally violent action. I
+am certain that had she followed his advice not even the remainder of
+her life in a convent would have given her time to recover her breath.
+
+“I have presented her with a copy,” he said. “And to-day we are going
+to look for wild flowers in the wood.”
+
+The student from Bonn got up and left the room. I begged the poet to
+repeat the verses once more. At the end of the sixth verse I saw from
+the window the sister of the Baroness and the scarred youth
+disappearing through the front gate, which enabled me to thank the poet
+so charmingly that he offered to write me out a copy.
+
+But we were living at too high pressure in those days. Swinging from
+our humble pension to the high walls of palaces, how could we help but
+fall? Late one afternoon the Frau Doktor came upon me in the
+writing-room and took me to her bosom.
+
+“She has been telling me all about her life,” whispered the Frau
+Doktor. “She came to my bedroom and offered to massage my arm. You
+know, I am the greatest martyr to rheumatism. And, fancy now, she has
+already had six proposals of marriage. Such beautiful offers that I
+assure you I wept—and every one of noble birth. My dear, the most
+beautiful was in the wood. Not that I do not think a proposal should
+take place in a drawing-room—it is more fitting to have four walls—but
+this was a private wood. He said, the young officer, she was like a
+young tree whose branches had never been touched by the ruthless hand
+of man. Such delicacy!” She sighed and turned up her eyes.
+
+“Of course it is difficult for you English to understand when you are
+always exposing your legs on cricket-fields, and breeding dogs in your
+back gardens. The pity of it! Youth should be like a wild rose. For
+myself I do not understand how your women ever get married at all.”
+
+She shook her head so violently that I shook mine too, and a gloom
+settled round my heart. It seemed we were really in a very bad way. Did
+the spirit of romance spread her rose wings only over aristocratic
+Germany?
+
+I went to my room, bound a pink scarf about my hair, and took a volume
+of Mörike’s lyrics into the garden. A great bush of purple lilac grew
+behind the summer-house. There I sat down, finding a sad significance
+in the delicate suggestion of half mourning. I began to write a poem
+myself.
+
+“They sway and languish dreamily,
+And we, close pressed, are kissing there.”
+
+
+It ended! “Close pressed” did not sound at all fascinating. Savoured of
+wardrobes. Did my wild rose then already trail in the dust? I chewed a
+leaf and hugged my knees. Then—magic moment—I heard voices from the
+summer-house, the sister of the Baroness and the student from Bonn.
+
+Second-hand was better than nothing; I pricked up my ears.
+
+“What small hands you have,” said the student from Bonn. “They are like
+white lilies lying in the pool of your black dress.” This certainly
+sounded the real thing. Her high-born reply was what interested me.
+Sympathetic murmur only.
+
+“May I hold one?”
+
+I heard two sighs—presumed they held—he had rifled those dark waters of
+a noble blossom.
+
+“Look at my great fingers beside yours.”
+
+“But they are beautifully kept,” said the sister of the Baroness shyly.
+
+The minx! Was love then a question of manicure?
+
+“How I should adore to kiss you,” murmured the student. “But you know I
+am suffering from severe nasal catarrh, and I dare not risk giving it
+to you. Sixteen times last night did I count myself sneezing. And three
+different handkerchiefs.”
+
+I threw Mörike into the lilac bush, and went back to the house. A great
+automobile snorted at the front door. In the salon great commotion. The
+Baroness was paying a surprise visit to her little daughter. Clad in a
+yellow mackintosh she stood in the middle of the room questioning the
+manager. And every guest the pension contained was grouped about her,
+even the Frau Doktor, presumably examining a timetable, as near to the
+august skirts as possible.
+
+“But where is my maid?” asked the Baroness.
+
+“There was no maid,” replied the manager, “save for your gracious
+sister and daughter.”
+
+“Sister!” she cried sharply. “Fool, I have no sister. My child
+travelled with the daughter of my dressmaker.”
+
+Tableau grandissimo!
+
+
+
+
+FRAU FISCHER
+
+
+Frau Fischer was the fortunate possessor of a candle factory somewhere
+on the banks of the Eger, and once a year she ceased from her labours
+to make a “cure” in Dorschausen, arriving with a dress-basket neatly
+covered in a black tarpaulin and a hand-bag. The latter contained
+amongst her handkerchiefs, eau de Cologne, toothpicks, and a certain
+woollen muffler very comforting to the “magen,” samples of her skill in
+candle-making, to be offered up as tokens of thanksgiving when her
+holiday time was over.
+
+Four of the clock one July afternoon she appeared at the Pension
+Müller. I was sitting in the arbour and watched her bustling up the
+path followed by the red-bearded porter with her dress-basket in his
+arms and a sunflower between his teeth. The widow and her five innocent
+daughters stood tastefully grouped upon the steps in appropriate
+attitudes of welcome; and the greetings were so long and loud that I
+felt a sympathetic glow.
+
+“What a journey!” cried the Frau Fischer. “And nothing to eat in the
+train—nothing solid. I assure you the sides of my stomach are flapping
+together. But I must not spoil my appetite for dinner—just a cup of
+coffee in my room. Bertha,” turning to the youngest of the five, “how
+changed! What a bust! Frau Hartmann, I congratulate you.”
+
+Once again the Widow seized Frau Fischer’s hands. “Kathi, too, a
+splendid woman; but a little pale. Perhaps the young man from Nürnberg
+is here again this year. How you keep them all I don’t know. Each year
+I come expecting to find you with an empty nest. It’s surprising.”
+
+Frau Hartmann, in an ashamed, apologetic voice: “We are such a happy
+family since my dear man died.”
+
+“But these marriages—one must have courage; and after all, give them
+time, they all make the happy family bigger—thank God for that.... Are
+there many people here just now?”
+
+“Every room engaged.”
+
+Followed a detailed description in the hall, murmured on the stairs,
+continued in six parts as they entered the large room (windows opening
+upon the garden) which Frau Fischer occupied each successive year. I
+was reading the “Miracles of Lourdes,” which a Catholic priest—fixing a
+gloomy eye upon my soul—had begged me to digest; but its wonders were
+completely routed by Frau Fischer’s arrival. Not even the white roses
+upon the feet of the Virgin could flourish in that atmosphere.
+
+“... It was a simple shepherd-child who pastured her flocks upon the
+barren fields....”
+
+Voices from the room above: “The washstand has, of course, been
+scrubbed over with soda.”
+
+“... Poverty-stricken, her limbs with tattered rags half covered....”
+
+“Every stick of the furniture has been sunning in the garden for three
+days. And the carpet we made ourselves out of old clothes. There is a
+piece of that beautiful flannel petticoat you left us last summer.”
+
+“... Deaf and dumb was the child; in fact, the population considered
+her half idiot....”
+
+“Yes, that is a new picture of the Kaiser. We have moved the
+thorn-crowned one of Jesus Christ out into the passage. It was not
+cheerful to sleep with. Dear Frau Fischer, won’t you take your coffee
+out in the garden?”
+
+“That is a very nice idea. But first I must remove my corsets and my
+boots. Ah, what a relief to wear sandals again. I am needing the ‘cure’
+very badly this year. My nerves! I am a mass of them. During the entire
+journey I sat with my handkerchief over my head, even while the guard
+collected the tickets. Exhausted!”
+
+She came into the arbour wearing a black and white spotted
+dressing-gown, and a calico cap peaked with patent leather, followed by
+Kathi, carrying the little blue jugs of malt coffee. We were formally
+introduced. Frau Fischer sat down, produced a perfectly clean pocket
+handkerchief and polished her cup and saucer, then lifted the lid of
+the coffee-pot and peered in at the contents mournfully.
+
+“Malt coffee,” she said. “Ah, for the first few days I wonder how I can
+put up with it. Naturally, absent from home one must expect much
+discomfort and strange food. But as I used to say to my dear husband:
+with a clean sheet and a good cup of coffee I can find my happiness
+anywhere. But now, with nerves like mine, no sacrifice is too terrible
+for me to make. What complaint are you suffering from? You look
+exceedingly healthy!”
+
+I smiled and shrugged my shoulders.
+
+“Ah, that is so strange about you English. You do not seem to enjoy
+discussing the functions of the body. As well speak of a railway train
+and refuse to mention the engine. How can we hope to understand
+anybody, knowing nothing of their stomachs? In my husband’s most severe
+illness—the poultices—”
+
+She dipped a piece of sugar in her coffee and watched it dissolve.
+
+“Yet a young friend of mine who travelled to England for the funeral of
+his brother told me that women wore bodices in public restaurants no
+waiter could help looking into as he handed the soup.”
+
+“But only German waiters,” I said. “English ones look over the top of
+your head.”
+
+“There,” she cried, “now you see your dependence on Germany. Not even
+an efficient waiter can you have by yourselves.”
+
+“But I prefer them to look over your head.”
+
+“And that proves that you must be ashamed of your bodice.”
+
+I looked out over the garden full of wall-flowers and standard
+rose-trees growing stiffly like German bouquets, feeling I did not care
+one way or the other. I rather wanted to ask her if the young friend
+had gone to England in the capacity of waiter to attend the funeral
+baked meats, but decided it was not worth it. The weather was too hot
+to be malicious, and who could be uncharitable, victimised by the
+flapping sensations which Frau Fischer was enduring until six-thirty?
+As a gift from heaven for my forbearance, down the path towards us came
+the Herr Rat, angelically clad in a white silk suit. He and Frau
+Fischer were old friends. She drew the folds of her dressing-gown
+together, and made room for him on the little green bench.
+
+“How cool you are looking,” she said; “and if I may make the
+remark—what a beautiful suit!”
+
+“Surely I wore it last summer when you were here? I brought the silk
+from China—smuggled it through the Russian customs by swathing it round
+my body. And such a quantity: two dress lengths for my sister-in-law,
+three suits for myself, a cloak for the housekeeper of my flat in
+Munich. How I perspired! Every inch of it had to be washed afterwards.”
+
+“Surely you have had more adventures than any man in Germany. When I
+think of the time that you spent in Turkey with a drunken guide who was
+bitten by a mad dog and fell over a precipice into a field of attar of
+roses, I lament that you have not written a book.”
+
+“Time—time. I am getting a few notes together. And now that you are
+here we shall renew our quiet little talks after supper. Yes? It is
+necessary and pleasant for a man to find relaxation in the company of
+women occasionally.”
+
+“Indeed I realise that. Even here your life is too strenuous—you are so
+sought after—so admired. It was just the same with my dear husband. He
+was a tall, beautiful man, and sometimes in the evening he would come
+down into the kitchen and say: ‘Wife, I would like to be stupid for two
+minutes.’ Nothing rested him so much then as for me to stroke his
+head.”
+
+The Herr Rat’s bald pate glistening in the sunlight seemed symbolical
+of the sad absence of a wife.
+
+I began to wonder as to the nature of these quiet little after-supper
+talks. How could one play Delilah to so shorn a Samson?
+
+“Herr Hoffmann from Berlin arrived yesterday,” said the Herr Rat.
+
+“That young man I refuse to converse with. He told me last year that he
+had stayed in France in an hotel where they did not have serviettes;
+what a place it must have been! In Austria even the cabmen have
+serviettes. Also I have heard that he discussed ‘free love’ with Bertha
+as she was sweeping his room. I am not accustomed to such company. I
+had suspected him for a long time.”
+
+“Young blood,” answered the Herr Rat genially. “I have had several
+disputes with him—you have heard them—is it not so?” turning to me.
+
+“A great many,” I said, smiling.
+
+“Doubtless you too consider me behind the times. I make no secret of my
+age; I am sixty-nine; but you must have surely observed how impossible
+it was for him to speak at all when I raised my voice.”
+
+I replied with the utmost conviction, and, catching Frau Fischer’s eye,
+suddenly realised I had better go back to the house and write some
+letters.
+
+It was dark and cool in my room. A chestnut-tree pushed green boughs
+against the window. I looked down at the horsehair sofa so openly
+flouting the idea of curling up as immoral, pulled the red pillow on to
+the floor and lay down. And barely had I got comfortable when the door
+opened and Frau Fischer entered.
+
+“The Herr Rat had a bathing appointment,” she said, shutting the door
+after her. “May I come in? Pray do not move. You look like a little
+Persian kitten. Now, tell me something really interesting about your
+life. When I meet new people I squeeze them dry like a sponge. To begin
+with—you are married.”
+
+I admitted the fact.
+
+“Then, dear child, where is your husband?”
+
+I said he was a sea-captain on a long and perilous voyage.
+
+“What a position to leave you in—so young and so unprotected.”
+
+She sat down on the sofa and shook her finger at me playfully.
+
+“Admit, now, that you keep your journeys secret from him. For what man
+would think of allowing a woman with such a wealth of hair to go
+wandering in foreign countries? Now, supposing that you lost your purse
+at midnight in a snowbound train in North Russia?”
+
+“But I haven’t the slightest intention—” I began.
+
+“I don’t say that you have. But when you said good-bye to your dear man
+I am positive that you had no intention of coming here. My dear, I am a
+woman of experience, and I know the world. While he is away you have a
+fever in your blood. Your sad heart flies for comfort to these foreign
+lands. At home you cannot bear the sight of that empty bed—it is like
+widowhood. Since the death of my dear husband I have never known an
+hour’s peace.”
+
+“I like empty beds,” I protested sleepily, thumping the pillow.
+
+“That cannot be true because it is not natural. Every wife ought to
+feel that her place is by her husband’s side—sleeping or waking. It is
+plain to see that the strongest tie of all does not yet bind you. Wait
+until a little pair of hands stretches across the water—wait until he
+comes into harbour and sees you with the child at your breast.”
+
+I sat up stiffly.
+
+“But I consider child-bearing the most ignominious of all professions,”
+I said.
+
+For a moment there was silence. Then Frau Fischer reached down and
+caught my hand.
+
+“So young and yet to suffer so cruelly,” she murmured. “There is
+nothing that sours a woman so terribly as to be left alone without a
+man, especially if she is married, for then it is impossible for her to
+accept the attention of others—unless she is unfortunately a widow. Of
+course, I know that sea-captains are subject to terrible temptations,
+and they are as inflammable as tenor singers—that is why you must
+present a bright and energetic appearance, and try and make him proud
+of you when his ship reaches port.”
+
+This husband that I had created for the benefit of Frau Fischer became
+in her hands so substantial a figure that I could no longer see myself
+sitting on a rock with seaweed in my hair, awaiting that phantom ship
+for which all women love to suppose they hunger. Rather, I saw myself
+pushing a perambulator up the gangway, and counting up the missing
+buttons on my husband’s uniform jacket.
+
+“Handfuls of babies, that is what you are really in need of,” mused
+Frau Fischer. “Then, as the father of a family he cannot leave you.
+Think of his delight and excitement when he saw you!”
+
+The plan seemed to me something of a risk. To appear suddenly with
+handfuls of strange babies is not generally calculated to raise
+enthusiasm in the heart of the average British husband. I decided to
+wreck my virgin conception and send him down somewhere off Cape Horn.
+
+Then the dinner-gong sounded.
+
+“Come up to my room afterwards,” said Frau Fischer. “There is still
+much that I must ask you.”
+
+She squeezed my hand, but I did not squeeze back.
+
+
+
+
+FRAU BRECHENMACHER ATTENDS A WEDDING
+
+
+Getting ready was a terrible business. After supper Frau Brechenmacher
+packed four of the five babies to bed, allowing Rosa to stay with her
+and help to polish the buttons of Herr Brechenmacher’s uniform. Then
+she ran over his best shirt with a hot iron, polished his boots, and
+put a stitch or two into his black satin necktie.
+
+“Rosa,” she said, “fetch my dress and hang it in front of the stove to
+get the creases out. Now, mind, you must look after the children and
+not sit up later than half-past eight, and not touch the lamp—you know
+what will happen if you do.”
+
+“Yes, Mamma,” said Rosa, who was nine and felt old enough to manage a
+thousand lamps. “But let me stay up—the ‘Bub’ may wake and want some
+milk.”
+
+“Half-past eight!” said the Frau. “I’ll make the father tell you too.”
+
+Rosa drew down the corners of her mouth.
+
+“But... but....”
+
+“Here comes the father. You go into the bedroom and fetch my blue silk
+handkerchief. You can wear my black shawl while I’m out—there now!”
+
+Rosa dragged it off her mother’s shoulders and wound it carefully round
+her own, tying the two ends in a knot at the back. After all, she
+reflected, if she had to go to bed at half past eight she would keep
+the shawl on. Which resolution comforted her absolutely.
+
+“Now, then, where are my clothes?” cried Herr Brechenmacher, hanging
+his empty letter-bag behind the door and stamping the snow out of his
+boots. “Nothing ready, of course, and everybody at the wedding by this
+time. I heard the music as I passed. What are you doing? You’re not
+dressed. You can’t go like that.”
+
+“Here they are—all ready for you on the table, and some warm water in
+the tin basin. Dip your head in. Rosa, give your father the towel.
+Everything ready except the trousers. I haven’t had time to shorten
+them. You must tuck the ends into your boots until we get there.”
+
+“Nu,” said the Herr, “there isn’t room to turn. I want the light. You
+go and dress in the passage.”
+
+Dressing in the dark was nothing to Frau Brechenmacher. She hooked her
+skirt and bodice, fastened her handkerchief round her neck with a
+beautiful brooch that had four medals to the Virgin dangling from it,
+and then drew on her cloak and hood.
+
+“Here, come and fasten this buckle,” called Herr Brechenmacher. He
+stood in the kitchen puffing himself out, the buttons on his blue
+uniform shining with an enthusiasm which nothing but official buttons
+could possibly possess. “How do I look?”
+
+“Wonderful,” replied the little Frau, straining at the waist buckle and
+giving him a little pull here, a little tug there. “Rosa, come and look
+at your father.”
+
+Herr Brechenmacher strode up and down the kitchen, was helped on with
+his coat, then waited while the Frau lighted the lantern.
+
+“Now, then—finished at last! Come along.”
+
+“The lamp, Rosa,” warned the Frau, slamming the front door behind them.
+
+Snow had not fallen all day; the frozen ground was slippery as an
+icepond. She had not been out of the house for weeks past, and the day
+had so flurried her that she felt muddled and stupid—felt that Rosa had
+pushed her out of the house and her man was running away from her.
+
+“Wait, wait!” she cried.
+
+“No. I’ll get my feet damp—you hurry.”
+
+It was easier when they came into the village. There were fences to
+cling to, and leading from the railway station to the Gasthaus a little
+path of cinders had been strewn for the benefit of the wedding guests.
+
+The Gasthaus was very festive. Lights shone out from every window,
+wreaths of fir twigs hung from the ledges. Branches decorated the front
+doors, which swung open, and in the hall the landlord voiced his
+superiority by bullying the waitresses, who ran about continually with
+glasses of beer, trays of cups and saucers, and bottles of wine.
+
+“Up the stairs—up the stairs!” boomed the landlord. “Leave your coats
+on the landing.”
+
+Herr Brechenmacher, completely overawed by this grand manner, so far
+forgot his rights as a husband as to beg his wife’s pardon for jostling
+her against the banisters in his efforts to get ahead of everybody
+else.
+
+Herr Brechenmacher’s colleagues greeted him with acclamation as he
+entered the door of the Festsaal, and the Frau straightened her brooch
+and folded her hands, assuming the air of dignity becoming to the wife
+of a postman and the mother of five children. Beautiful indeed was the
+Festsaal. Three long tables were grouped at one end, the remainder of
+the floor space cleared for dancing. Oil lamps, hanging from the
+ceiling, shed a warm, bright light on the walls decorated with paper
+flowers and garlands; shed a warmer, brighter light on the red faces of
+the guests in their best clothes.
+
+At the head of the centre table sat the bride and bridegroom, she in a
+white dress trimmed with stripes and bows of coloured ribbon, giving
+her the appearance of an iced cake all ready to be cut and served in
+neat little pieces to the bridegroom beside her, who wore a suit of
+white clothes much too large for him and a white silk tie that rose
+halfway up his collar. Grouped about them, with a fine regard for
+dignity and precedence, sat their parents and relations; and perched on
+a stool at the bride’s right hand a little girl in a crumpled muslin
+dress with a wreath of forget-me-nots hanging over one ear. Everybody
+was laughing and talking, shaking hands, clinking glasses, stamping on
+the floor—a stench of beer and perspiration filled the air.
+
+Frau Brechenmacher, following her man down the room after greeting the
+bridal party, knew that she was going to enjoy herself. She seemed to
+fill out and become rosy and warm as she sniffed that familiar festive
+smell. Somebody pulled at her skirt, and, looking down, she saw Frau
+Rupp, the butcher’s wife, who pulled out an empty chair and begged her
+to sit beside her.
+
+“Fritz will get you some beer,” she said. “My dear, your skirt is open
+at the back. We could not help laughing as you walked up the room with
+the white tape of your petticoat showing!”
+
+“But how frightful!” said Frau Brechenmacher, collapsing into her chair
+and biting her lip.
+
+“Na, it’s over now,” said Frau Rupp, stretching her fat hands over the
+table and regarding her three mourning rings with intense enjoyment;
+“but one must be careful, especially at a wedding.”
+
+“And such a wedding as this,” cried Frau Ledermann, who sat on the
+other side of Frau Brechenmacher. “Fancy Theresa bringing that child
+with her. It’s her own child, you know, my dear, and it’s going to live
+with them. That’s what I call a sin against the Church for a free-born
+child to attend its own mother’s wedding.”
+
+The three women sat and stared at the bride, who remained very still,
+with a little vacant smile on her lips, only her eyes shifting uneasily
+from side to side.
+
+“Beer they’ve given it, too,” whispered Frau Rupp, “and white wine and
+an ice. It never did have a stomach; she ought to have left it at
+home.”
+
+Frau Brechenmacher turned round and looked towards the bride’s mother.
+She never took her eyes off her daughter, but wrinkled her brown
+forehead like an old monkey, and nodded now and again very solemnly.
+Her hands shook as she raised her beer mug, and when she had drunk she
+spat on the floor and savagely wiped her mouth with her sleeve. Then
+the music started and she followed Theresa with her eyes, looking
+suspiciously at each man who danced with her.
+
+“Cheer up, old woman,” shouted her husband, digging her in the ribs;
+“this isn’t Theresa’s funeral.” He winked at the guests, who broke into
+loud laughter.
+
+“I _am_ cheerful,” mumbled the old woman, and beat upon the table with
+her fist, keeping time to the music, proving she was not out of the
+festivities.
+
+“She can’t forget how wild Theresa has been,” said Frau Ledermann. “Who
+could—with the child there? I heard that last Sunday evening Theresa
+had hysterics and said that she would not marry this man. They had to
+get the priest to her.”
+
+“Where is the other one?” asked Frau Brechenmacher. “Why didn’t he
+marry her?”
+
+The woman shrugged her shoulders.
+
+“Gone—disappeared. He was a traveller, and only stayed at their house
+two nights. He was selling shirt buttons—I bought some myself, and they
+were beautiful shirt buttons—but what a pig of a fellow! I can’t think
+what he saw in such a plain girl—but you never know. Her mother says
+she’s been like fire ever since she was sixteen!”
+
+Frau Brechenmacher looked down at her beer and blew a little hole in
+the froth.
+
+“That’s not how a wedding should be,” she said; “it’s not religion to
+love two men.”
+
+“Nice time she’ll have with this one,” Frau Rupp exclaimed. “He was
+lodging with me last summer and I had to get rid of him. He never
+changed his clothes once in two months, and when I spoke to him of the
+smell in his room he told me he was sure it floated up from the shop.
+Ah, every wife has her cross. Isn’t that true, my dear?”
+
+Frau Brechenmacher saw her husband among his colleagues at the next
+table. He was drinking far too much, she knew—gesticulating wildly, the
+saliva spluttering out of his mouth as he talked.
+
+“Yes,” she assented, “that’s true. Girls have a lot to learn.”
+
+Wedged in between these two fat old women, the Frau had no hope of
+being asked to dance. She watched the couples going round and round;
+she forgot her five babies and her man and felt almost like a girl
+again. The music sounded sad and sweet. Her roughened hands clasped and
+unclasped themselves in the folds of her skirt. While the music went on
+she was afraid to look anybody in the face, and she smiled with a
+little nervous tremor round the mouth.
+
+“But, my God,” Frau Rupp cried, “they’ve given that child of Theresa’s
+a piece of sausage. It’s to keep her quiet. There’s going to be a
+presentation now—your man has to speak.”
+
+Frau Brechenmacher sat up stiffly. The music ceased, and the dancers
+took their places again at the tables.
+
+Herr Brechenmacher alone remained standing—he held in his hands a big
+silver coffee-pot. Everybody laughed at his speech, except the Frau;
+everybody roared at his grimaces, and at the way he carried the
+coffee-pot to the bridal pair, as if it were a baby he was holding.
+
+She lifted the lid, peeped in, then shut it down with a little scream
+and sat biting her lips. The bridegroom wrenched the pot away from her
+and drew forth a baby’s bottle and two little cradles holding china
+dolls. As he dandled these treasures before Theresa the hot room seemed
+to heave and sway with laughter.
+
+Frau Brechenmacher did not think it funny. She stared round at the
+laughing faces, and suddenly they all seemed strange to her. She wanted
+to go home and never come out again. She imagined that all these people
+were laughing at her, more people than there were in the room even—all
+laughing at her because they were so much stronger than she was.
+
+
+They walked home in silence. Herr Brechenmacher strode ahead, she
+stumbled after him. White and forsaken lay the road from the railway
+station to their house—a cold rush of wind blew her hood from her face,
+and suddenly she remembered how they had come home together the first
+night. Now they had five babies and twice as much money; _but_—
+
+“Na, what is it all for?” she muttered, and not until she had reached
+home, and prepared a little supper of meat and bread for her man did
+she stop asking herself that silly question.
+
+Herr Brechenmacher broke the bread into his plate, smeared it round
+with his fork and chewed greedily.
+
+“Good?” she asked, leaning her arms on the table and pillowing her
+breast against them.
+
+“But fine!”
+
+He took a piece of the crumb, wiped it round his plate edge, and held
+it up to her mouth. She shook her head.
+
+“Not hungry,” she said.
+
+“But it is one of the best pieces, and full of the fat.”
+
+He cleared the plate; then pulled off his boots and flung them into a
+corner.
+
+“Not much of a wedding,” he said, stretching out his feet and wriggling
+his toes in the worsted socks.
+
+“N—no,” she replied, taking up the discarded boots and placing them on
+the oven to dry.
+
+Herr Brechenmacher yawned and stretched himself, and then looked up at
+her, grinning.
+
+“Remember the night that we came home? You were an innocent one, you
+were.”
+
+“Get along! Such a time ago I forget.” Well she remembered.
+
+“Such a clout on the ear as you gave me.... But I soon taught you.”
+
+“Oh, don’t start talking. You’ve too much beer. Come to bed.”
+
+He tilted back in his chair, chuckling with laughter.
+
+“That’s not what you said to me that night. God, the trouble you gave
+me!”
+
+But the little Frau seized the candle and went into the next room. The
+children were all soundly sleeping. She stripped the mattress off the
+baby’s bed to see if he was still dry, then began unfastening her
+blouse and skirt.
+
+“Always the same,” she said—“all over the world the same; but, God in
+heaven—but _stupid_.”
+
+Then even the memory of the wedding faded quite. She lay down on the
+bed and put her arm across her face like a child who expected to be
+hurt as Herr Brechenmacher lurched in.
+
+
+
+
+THE MODERN SOUL
+
+
+“Good-evening,” said the Herr Professor, squeezing my hand; “wonderful
+weather! I have just returned from a party in the wood. I have been
+making music for them on my trombone. You know, these pine-trees
+provide most suitable accompaniment for a trombone! They are sighing
+delicacy against sustained strength, as I remarked once in a lecture on
+wind instruments in Frankfort. May I be permitted to sit beside you on
+this bench, gnädige Frau?”
+
+He sat down, tugging at a white-paper package in the tail pocket of his
+coat.
+
+“Cherries,” he said, nodding and smiling. “There is nothing like
+cherries for producing free saliva after trombone playing, especially
+after Grieg’s ‘Ich Liebe Dich.’ Those sustained blasts on ‘liebe’ make
+my throat as dry as a railway tunnel. Have some?” He shook the bag at
+me.
+
+“I prefer watching you eat them.”
+
+“Ah, ha!” He crossed his legs, sticking the cherry bag between his
+knees, to leave both hands free. “Psychologically I understood your
+refusal. It is your innate feminine delicacy in preferring etherealised
+sensations.... Or perhaps you do not care to eat the worms. All
+cherries contain worms. Once I made a very interesting experiment with
+a colleague of mine at the university. We bit into four pounds of the
+best cherries and did not find one specimen without a worm. But what
+would you? As I remarked to him afterwards—dear friend, it amounts to
+this: if one wishes to satisfy the desires of nature one must be strong
+enough to ignore the facts of nature.... The conversation is not out of
+your depth? I have so seldom the time or opportunity to open my heart
+to a woman that I am apt to forget.”
+
+I looked at him brightly.
+
+“See what a fat one!” cried the Herr Professor. “That is almost a
+mouthful in itself; it is beautiful enough to hang from a watch-chain.”
+He chewed it up and spat the stone an incredible distance—over the
+garden path into the flower bed. He was proud of the feat. I saw it.
+“The quantity of fruit I have eaten on this bench,” he sighed;
+“apricots, peaches and cherries. One day that garden bed will become an
+orchard grove, and I shall allow you to pick as much as you please,
+without paying me anything.”
+
+I was grateful, without showing undue excitement.
+
+“Which reminds me”—he hit the side of his nose with one finger—“the
+manager of the pension handed me my weekly bill after dinner this
+evening. It is almost impossible to credit. I do not expect you to
+believe me—he has charged me extra for a miserable little glass of milk
+I drink in bed at night to prevent insomnia. Naturally, I did not pay.
+But the tragedy of the story is this: I cannot expect the milk to
+produce somnolence any longer; my peaceful attitude of mind towards it
+is completely destroyed. I know I shall throw myself into a fever in
+attempting to plumb this want of generosity in so wealthy a man as the
+manager of a pension. Think of me to-night”—he ground the empty bag
+under his heel—“think that the worst is happening to me as your head
+drops asleep on your pillow.”
+
+Two ladies came on the front steps of the pension and stood, arm in
+arm, looking over the garden. The one, old and scraggy, dressed almost
+entirely in black bead trimming and a satin reticule; the other, young
+and thin, in a white gown, her yellow hair tastefully garnished with
+mauve sweet peas.
+
+The Professor drew in his feet and sat up sharply, pulling down his
+waistcoat.
+
+“The Godowskas,” he murmured. “Do you know them? A mother and daughter
+from Vienna. The mother has an internal complaint and the daughter is
+an actress. Fräulein Sonia is a very modern soul. I think you would
+find her most sympathetic. She is forced to be in attendance on her
+mother just now. But what a temperament! I have once described her in
+her autograph album as a tigress with a flower in the hair. Will you
+excuse me? Perhaps I can persuade them to be introduced to you.”
+
+I said, “I am going up to my room.” But the Professor rose and shook a
+playful finger at me. “Na,” he said, “we are friends, and, therefore, I
+shall speak quite frankly to you. I think they would consider it a
+little ‘marked’ if you immediately retired to the house at their
+approach, after sitting here alone with me in the twilight. You know
+this world. Yes, you know it as I do.”
+
+I shrugged my shoulders, remarking with one eye that while the
+Professor had been talking the Godowskas had trailed across the lawn
+towards us. They confronted the Herr Professor as he stood up.
+
+“Good-evening,” quavered Frau Godowska. “Wonderful weather! It has
+given me quite a touch of hay fever!” Fräulein Godowska said nothing.
+She swooped over a rose growing in the embryo orchard, then stretched
+out her hand with a magnificent gesture to the Herr Professor. He
+presented me.
+
+“This is my little English friend of whom I have spoken. She is the
+stranger in our midst. We have been eating cherries together.”
+
+“How delightful,” sighed Frau Godowska. “My daughter and I have often
+observed you through the bedroom window. Haven’t we, Sonia?”
+
+Sonia absorbed my outward and visible form with an inward and spiritual
+glance, then repeated the magnificent gesture for my benefit. The four
+of us sat on the bench, with that faint air of excitement of passengers
+established in a railway carriage on the qui vive for the train
+whistle. Frau Godowska sneezed. “I wonder if it is hay fever,” she
+remarked, worrying the satin reticule for her handkerchief, “or would
+it be the dew. Sonia, dear, is the dew falling?”
+
+Fräulein Sonia raised her face to the sky, and half closed her eyes.
+“No, mamma, my face is quite warm. Oh, look, Herr Professor, there are
+swallows in flight; they are like a little flock of Japanese
+thoughts—nicht wahr?”
+
+“Where?” cried the Herr Professor. “Oh yes, I see, by the kitchen
+chimney. But why do you say ‘Japanese’? Could you not compare them with
+equal veracity to a little flock of German thoughts in flight?” He
+rounded on me. “Have you swallows in England?”
+
+“I believe there are some at certain seasons. But doubtless they have
+not the same symbolical value for the English. In Germany—”
+
+“I have never been to England,” interrupted Fräulein Sonia, “but I have
+many English acquaintances. They are so cold!” She shivered.
+
+“Fish-blooded,” snapped Frau Godowska. “Without soul, without heart,
+without grace. But you cannot equal their dress materials. I spent a
+week in Brighton twenty years ago, and the travelling cape I bought
+there is not yet worn out—the one you wrap the hot-water bottle in,
+Sonia. My lamented husband, your father, Sonia, knew a great deal about
+England. But the more he knew about it the oftener he remarked to me,
+‘England is merely an island of beef flesh swimming in a warm gulf sea
+of gravy.’ Such a brilliant way of putting things. Do you remember,
+Sonia?”
+
+“I forget nothing, mamma,” answered Sonia.
+
+Said the Herr Professor: “That is the proof of your calling, gnädiges
+Fräulein. Now I wonder—and this is a very interesting speculation—is
+memory a blessing or—excuse the word—a curse?”
+
+Frau Godowska looked into the distance, then the corners of her mouth
+dropped and her skin puckered. She began to shed tears.
+
+“Ach Gott! Gracious lady, what have I said?” exclaimed the Herr
+Professor.
+
+Sonia took her mother’s hand. “Do you know,” she said, “to-night it is
+stewed carrots and nut tart for supper. Suppose we go in and take our
+places,” her sidelong, tragic stare accusing the Professor and me the
+while.
+
+I followed them across the lawn and up the steps. Frau Godowska was
+murmuring, “Such a wonderful, beloved man”; with her disengaged hand
+Fräulein Sonia was arranging the sweet-pea “garniture.”
+
+
+“A concert for the benefit of afflicted Catholic infants will take
+place in the salon at eight-thirty P.M. Artists: Fräulein Sonia
+Godowska, from Vienna; Herr Professor Windberg and his trombone; Frau
+Oberlehrer Weidel, and others.”
+
+This notice was tied round the neck of the melancholy stag’s head in
+the dining-room. It graced him like a red and white “dinner bib” for
+days before the event, causing the Herr Professor to bow before it and
+say “good appetite” until we sickened of his pleasantry and left the
+smiling to be done by the waiter, who was paid to be pleasing to the
+guests.
+
+On the appointed day the married ladies sailed about the pension
+dressed like upholstered chairs, and the unmarried ladies like draped
+muslin dressing-table covers. Frau Godowska pinned a rose in the centre
+of her reticule; another blossom was tucked in the mazy folds of a
+white antimacassar thrown across her breast. The gentlemen wore black
+coats, white silk ties and ferny buttonholes tickling the chin.
+
+The floor of the salon was freshly polished, chairs and benches
+arranged, and a row of little flags strung across the ceiling—they flew
+and jigged in the draught with all the enthusiasm of family washing. It
+was arranged that I should sit beside Frau Godowska, and that the Herr
+Professor and Sonia should join us when their share of the concert was
+over.
+
+“That will make you feel quite one of the performers,” said the Herr
+Professor genially. “It is a great pity that the English nation is so
+unmusical. Never mind! To-night you shall hear something—we have
+discovered a nest of talent during the rehearsals.”
+
+“What do you intend to recite, Fräulein Sonia?”
+
+She shook back her hair. “I never know until the last moment. When I
+come on the stage I wait for one moment and then I have the sensation
+as though something struck me here,”—she placed her hand upon her
+collar brooch—“and... words come!”
+
+“Bend down a moment,” whispered her mother. “Sonia, love, your skirt
+safety-pin is showing at the back. Shall I come outside and fasten it
+properly for you, or will you do it yourself?”
+
+“Oh, mamma, please don’t say such things,” Sonia flushed and grew very
+angry. “You know how sensitive I am to the slightest unsympathetic
+impression at a time like this.... I would rather my skirt dropped off
+my body—”
+
+“Sonia—my heart!”
+
+A bell tinkled.
+
+The waiter came in and opened the piano. In the heated excitement of
+the moment he entirely forgot what was fitting, and flicked the keys
+with the grimy table napkin he carried over his arm. The Frau
+Oberlehrer tripped on the platform followed by a very young gentleman,
+who blew his nose twice before he hurled his handkerchief into the
+bosom of the piano.
+
+“Yes, I know you have no love for me,
+And no forget-me-not.
+No love, no heart, and no forget-me-not.”
+
+
+sang the Frau Oberlehrer, in a voice that seemed to issue from her
+forgotten thimble and have nothing to do with her.
+
+“Ach, how sweet, how delicate,” we cried, clapping her soothingly. She
+bowed as though to say, “Yes, isn’t it?” and retired, the very young
+gentleman dodging her train and scowling.
+
+The piano was closed, an arm-chair was placed in the centre of the
+platform. Fräulein Sonia drifted towards it. A breathless pause. Then,
+presumably, the winged shaft struck her collar brooch. She implored us
+not to go into the woods in trained dresses, but rather as lightly
+draped as possible, and bed with her among the pine needles. Her loud,
+slightly harsh voice filled the salon. She dropped her arms over the
+back of the chair, moving her lean hands from the wrists. We were
+thrilled and silent. The Herr Professor, beside me, abnormally serious,
+his eyes bulging, pulled at his moustache ends. Frau Godowska adopted
+that peculiarly detached attitude of the proud parent. The only soul
+who remained untouched by her appeal was the waiter, who leaned idly
+against the wall of the salon and cleaned his nails with the edge of a
+programme. He was “off duty” and intended to show it.
+
+“What did I say?” shouted the Herr Professor under cover of tumultuous
+applause, “tem-per-ament! There you have it. She is a flame in the
+heart of a lily. I know I am going to play well. It is my turn now. I
+am inspired. Fräulein Sonia”—as that lady returned to us, pale and
+draped in a large shawl—“you are my inspiration. To-night you shall be
+the soul of my trombone. Wait only.”
+
+To right and left of us people bent over and whispered admiration down
+Fräulein Sonia’s neck. She bowed in the grand style.
+
+“I am always successful,” she said to me. “You see, when I act _I am_.
+In Vienna, in the plays of Ibsen we had so many bouquets that the cook
+had three in the kitchen. But it is difficult here. There is so little
+magic. Do you not feel it? There is none of that mysterious perfume
+which floats almost as a visible thing from the souls of the Viennese
+audiences. My spirit starves for want of that.” She leaned forward,
+chin on hand. “Starves,” she repeated.
+
+The Professor appeared with his trombone, blew into it, held it up to
+one eye, tucked back his shirt cuffs and wallowed in the soul of Sonia
+Godowska. Such a sensation did he create that he was recalled to play a
+Bavarian dance, which he acknowledged was to be taken as a breathing
+exercise rather than an artistic achievement. Frau Godowska kept time
+to it with a fan.
+
+Followed the very young gentleman who piped in a tenor voice that he
+loved somebody, “with blood in his heart and a thousand pains.”
+Fräulein Sonia acted a poison scene with the assistance of her mother’s
+pill vial and the arm-chair replaced by a “chaise longue”; a young girl
+scratched a lullaby on a young fiddle; and the Herr Professor performed
+the last sacrificial rites on the altar of the afflicted children by
+playing the National Anthem.
+
+“Now I must put mamma to bed,” whispered Fräulein Sonia. “But
+afterwards I must take a walk. It is imperative that I free my spirit
+in the open air for a moment. Would you come with me as far as the
+railway station and back?”
+
+“Very well, then, knock on my door when you’re ready.”
+
+Thus the modern soul and I found ourselves together under the stars.
+
+“What a night!” she said. “Do you know that poem of Sappho about her
+hands in the stars.... I am curiously sapphic. And this is so
+remarkable—not only am I sapphic, I find in all the works of all the
+greatest writers, especially in their unedited letters, some touch,
+some sign of myself—some resemblance, some part of myself, like a
+thousand reflections of my own hands in a dark mirror.”
+
+“But what a bother,” said I.
+
+“I do not know what you mean by ‘bother’; is it rather the curse of my
+genius....” She paused suddenly, staring at me. “Do you know my
+tragedy?” she asked.
+
+I shook my head.
+
+“My tragedy is my mother. Living with her I live with the coffin of my
+unborn aspirations. You heard that about the safety-pin to-night. It
+may seem to you a little thing, but it ruined my three first gestures.
+They were—”
+
+“Impaled on a safety-pin,” I suggested.
+
+“Yes, exactly that. And when we are in Vienna I am the victim of moods,
+you know. I long to do wild, passionate things. And mamma says, ‘Please
+pour out my mixture first.’ Once I remember I flew into a rage and
+threw a washstand jug out of the window. Do you know what she said?
+‘Sonia, it is not so much throwing things out of windows, if only you
+would—’”
+
+“Choose something smaller?” said I.
+
+“No... ‘tell me about it beforehand.’ Humiliating! And I do not see any
+possible light out of this darkness.”
+
+“Why don’t you join a touring company and leave your mother in Vienna?”
+
+“What! Leave my poor, little, sick, widowed mother in Vienna! Sooner
+than that I would drown myself. I love my mother as I love nobody else
+in the world—nobody and nothing! Do you think it is impossible to love
+one’s tragedy? ‘Out of my great sorrows I make my little songs,’ that
+is Heine or myself.”
+
+“Oh, well, that’s all right,” I said cheerfully.
+
+“But it is not all right!”
+
+I suggested we should turn back. We turned.
+
+“Sometimes I think the solution lies in marriage,” said Fräulein Sonia.
+“If I find a simple, peaceful man who adores me and will look after
+mamma—a man who would be for me a pillow—for genius cannot hope to
+mate—I shall marry him.... You know the Herr Professor has paid me very
+marked attentions.”
+
+“Oh, Fräulein Sonia,” I said, very pleased with myself, “why not marry
+him to your mother?” We were passing the hairdresser’s shop at the
+moment. Fräulein Sonia clutched my arm.
+
+“You, you,” she stammered. “The cruelty. I am going to faint. Mamma to
+marry again before I marry—the indignity. I am going to faint here and
+now.”
+
+I was frightened. “You can’t,” I said, shaking her.
+
+“Come back to the pension and faint as much as you please. But you
+can’t faint here. All the shops are closed. There is nobody about.
+Please don’t be so foolish.”
+
+“Here and here only!” She indicated the exact spot and dropped quite
+beautifully, lying motionless.
+
+“Very well,” I said, “faint away; but please hurry over it.”
+
+She did not move. I began to walk home, but each time I looked behind
+me I saw the dark form of the modern soul prone before the
+hairdresser’s window. Finally I ran, and rooted out the Herr Professor
+from his room. “Fräulein Sonia has fainted,” I said crossly.
+
+“Du lieber Gott! Where? How?”
+
+“Outside the hairdresser’s shop in the Station Road.”
+
+“Jesus and Maria! Has she no water with her?”—he seized his
+carafe—“nobody beside her?”
+
+“Nothing.”
+
+“Where is my coat? No matter, I shall catch a cold on the chest.
+Willingly, I shall catch one.... You are ready to come with me?”
+
+“No,” I said; “you can take the waiter.”
+
+“But she must have a woman. I cannot be so indelicate as to attempt to
+loosen her stays.”
+
+“Modern souls oughtn’t to wear them,” said I. He pushed past me and
+clattered down the stairs.
+
+
+When I came down to breakfast next morning there were two places vacant
+at table. Fräulein Sonia and Herr Professor had gone off for a day’s
+excursion in the woods.
+
+I wondered.
+
+
+
+
+AT “LEHMANN’S”
+
+
+Certainly Sabina did not find life slow. She was on the trot from early
+morning until late at night. At five o’clock she tumbled out of bed,
+buttoned on her clothes, wearing a long-sleeved alpaca pinafore over
+her black frock, and groped her way downstairs into the kitchen.
+
+Anna, the cook, had grown so fat during the summer that she adored her
+bed because she did not have to wear her corsets there, but could
+spread as much as she liked, roll about under the great mattress,
+calling upon Jesus and Holy Mary and Blessed Anthony himself that her
+life was not fit for a pig in a cellar.
+
+Sabina was new to her work. Pink colour still flew in her cheeks; there
+was a little dimple on the left side of her mouth that even when she
+was most serious, most absorbed, popped out and gave her away. And Anna
+blessed that dimple. It meant an extra half-hour in bed for her; it
+made Sabina light the fire, turn out the kitchen and wash endless cups
+and saucers that had been left over from the evening before. Hans, the
+scullery boy, did not come until seven. He was the son of the butcher—a
+mean, undersized child very much like one of his father’s sausages,
+Sabina thought. His red face was covered with pimples, and his nails
+indescribably filthy. When Herr Lehmann himself told Hans to get a
+hairpin and clean them he said they were stained from birth because his
+mother had always got so inky doing the accounts—and Sabina believed
+him and pitied him.
+
+Winter had come very early to Mindelbau. By the end of October the
+streets were banked waist-high with snow, and the greater number of the
+“Cure Guests,” sick unto death of cold water and herbs, had departed in
+nothing approaching peace. So the large salon was shut at Lehmann’s and
+the breakfast-room was all the accommodation the café afforded. Here
+the floor had to be washed over, the tables rubbed, coffee-cups set
+out, each with its little china platter of sugar, and newspapers and
+magazines hung on their hooks along the walls before Herr Lehmann
+appeared at seven-thirty and opened business.
+
+As a rule his wife served in the shop leading into the café, but she
+had chosen the quiet season to have a baby, and, a big woman at the
+best of times, she had grown so enormous in the process that her
+husband told her she looked unappetising, and had better remain
+upstairs and sew.
+
+Sabina took on the extra work without any thought of extra pay. She
+loved to stand behind the counter, cutting up slices of Anna’s
+marvellous chocolate-spotted confections, or doing up packets of sugar
+almonds in pink and blue striped bags.
+
+“You’ll get varicose veins, like me,” said Anna. “That’s what the
+Frau’s got, too. No wonder the baby doesn’t come! All her swelling’s
+got into her legs.” And Hans was immensely interested.
+
+During the morning business was comparatively slack. Sabina answered
+the shop bell, attended to a few customers who drank a liqueur to warm
+their stomachs before the midday meal, and ran upstairs now and again
+to ask the Frau if she wanted anything. But in the afternoon six or
+seven choice spirits played cards, and everybody who was anybody drank
+tea or coffee.
+
+“Sabina... Sabina....”
+
+She flew from one table to the other, counting out handfuls of small
+change, giving orders to Anna through the “slide,” helping the men with
+their heavy coats, always with that magical child air about her, that
+delightful sense of perpetually attending a party.
+
+“How is the Frau Lehmann?” the women would whisper.
+
+“She feels rather low, but as well as can be expected,” Sabina would
+answer, nodding confidentially.
+
+Frau Lehmann’s bad time was approaching. Anna and her friends referred
+to it as her “journey to Rome,” and Sabina longed to ask questions,
+yet, being ashamed of her ignorance, was silent, trying to puzzle it
+out for herself. She knew practically nothing except that the Frau had
+a baby inside her, which had to come out—very painful indeed. One could
+not have one without a husband—that she also realised. But what had the
+man got to do with it? So she wondered as she sat mending tea towels in
+the evening, head bent over her work, light shining on her brown curls.
+Birth—what was it? wondered Sabina. Death—such a simple thing. She had
+a little picture of her dead grandmother dressed in a black silk frock,
+tired hands clasping the crucifix that dragged between her flattened
+breasts, mouth curiously tight, yet almost secretly smiling. But the
+grandmother had been born once—that was the important fact.
+
+As she sat there one evening, thinking, the Young Man entered the café,
+and called for a glass of port wine. Sabina rose slowly. The long day
+and the hot room made her feel a little languid, but as she poured out
+the wine she felt the Young Man’s eyes fixed on her, looked down at him
+and dimpled.
+
+“It’s cold out,” she said, corking the bottle.
+
+The Young Man ran his hands through his snow-powdered hair and laughed.
+
+“I wouldn’t call it exactly tropical,” he said. “But you’re very snug
+in here—look as though you’ve been asleep.”
+
+Very languid felt Sabina in the hot room, and the Young Man’s voice was
+strong and deep. She thought she had never seen anybody who looked so
+strong—as though he could take up the table in one hand—and his
+restless gaze wandering over her face and figure gave her a curious
+thrill deep in her body, half pleasure, half pain.... She wanted to
+stand there, close beside him, while he drank his wine. A little
+silence followed. Then he took a book out of his pocket, and Sabina
+went back to her sewing. Sitting there in the corner, she listened to
+the sound of the leaves being turned and the loud ticking of the clock
+that hung over the gilt mirror. She wanted to look at him again—there
+was a something about him, in his deep voice, even in the way his
+clothes fitted. From the room above she heard the heavy dragging sound
+of Frau Lehmann’s footsteps, and again the old thoughts worried Sabina.
+If she herself should one day look like that—feel like that! Yet it
+would be very sweet to have a little baby to dress and jump up and
+down.
+
+“Fräulein—what’s your name—what are you smiling at?” called the Young
+Man.
+
+She blushed and looked up, hands quiet in her lap, looked across the
+empty tables and shook her head.
+
+“Come here, and I’ll show you a picture,” he commanded.
+
+She went and stood beside him. He opened the book, and Sabina saw a
+coloured sketch of a naked girl sitting on the edge of a great,
+crumpled bed, a man’s opera hat on the back of her head.
+
+He put his hand over the body, leaving only the face exposed, then
+scrutinised Sabina closely.
+
+“Well?”
+
+“What do you mean?” she asked, knowing perfectly well.
+
+“Why, it might be your own photograph—the face, I mean—that’s as far as
+I can judge.”
+
+“But the hair’s done differently,” said Sabina, laughing. She threw
+back her head, and the laughter bubbled in her round white throat.
+
+“It’s rather a nice picture, don’t you think?” he asked. But she was
+looking at a curious ring he wore on the hand that covered the girl’s
+body, and only nodded.
+
+“Ever seen anything like it before?”
+
+“Oh, there’s plenty of those funny ones in the illustrated papers.”
+
+“How would you like to have your picture taken that way?”
+
+“Me? I’d never let anybody see it. Besides, I haven’t got a hat like
+that!”
+
+“That’s easily remedied.”
+
+Again a little silence, broken by Anna throwing up the slide.
+
+Sabina ran into the kitchen.
+
+“Here, take this milk and egg up to the Frau,” said Anna. “Who’ve you
+got in there?”
+
+“Got such a funny man! I think he’s a little gone here,” tapping her
+forehead.
+
+Upstairs in the ugly room the Frau sat sewing, a black shawl round her
+shoulders, her feet encased in red woollen slippers. The girl put the
+milk on a table by her, then stood, polishing a spoon on her apron.
+
+“Nothing else?”
+
+“Na,” said the Frau, heaving up in her chair. “Where’s my man?”
+
+“He’s playing cards over at Snipold’s. Do you want him?”
+
+“Dear heaven, leave him alone. I’m nothing. I don’t matter.... And the
+whole day waiting here.”
+
+Her hand shook as she wiped the rim of the glass with her fat finger.
+
+“Shall I help you to bed?”
+
+“You go downstairs, leave me alone. Tell Anna not to let Hans grub the
+sugar—give him one on the ear.”
+
+“Ugly—ugly—ugly,” muttered Sabina, returning to the café where the
+Young Man stood coat-buttoned, ready for departure.
+
+“I’ll come again to-morrow,” said he. “Don’t twist your hair back so
+tightly; it will lose all its curl.”
+
+“Well, you are a funny one,” she said. “Good-night.”
+
+By the time Sabina was ready for bed Anna was snoring. She brushed out
+her long hair and gathered it in her hands.... Perhaps it would be a
+pity if it lost all its curl. Then she looked down at her straight
+chemise, and drawing it off, sat down on the side of the bed.
+
+“I wish,” she whispered, smiling sleepily, “there was a great big
+looking-glass in this room.”
+
+Lying down in the darkness, she hugged her little body.
+
+“I wouldn’t be the Frau for one hundred marks—not for a thousand marks.
+To look like that.”
+
+And half-dreaming, she imagined herself heaving up in her chair with
+the port wine bottle in her hand as the Young Man entered the café.
+
+Cold and dark the next morning. Sabina woke, tired, feeling as though
+something heavy had been pressing under her heart all night. There was
+a sound of footsteps shuffling along the passage. Herr Lehmann! She
+must have overslept herself. Yes, he was rattling the door-handle.
+
+“One moment, one moment,” she called, dragging on her stockings.
+
+“Bina, tell Anna to go to the Frau—but quickly. I must ride for the
+nurse.”
+
+“Yes, yes!” she cried. “Has it come?”
+
+But he had gone, and she ran over to Anna and shook her by the
+shoulder.
+
+“The Frau—the baby—Herr Lehmann for the nurse,” she stuttered.
+
+“Name of God!” said Anna, flinging herself out of bed.
+
+No complaints to-day. Importance—enthusiasm in Anna’s whole bearing.
+
+“You run downstairs and light the oven. Put on a pan of water”—speaking
+to an imaginary sufferer as she fastened her blouse—“Yes, yes, I
+know—we must be worse before we are better—I’m coming—patience.”
+
+It was dark all that day. Lights were turned on immediately the café
+opened, and business was very brisk. Anna, turned out of the Frau’s
+room by the nurse, refused to work, and sat in a corner nursing
+herself, listening to sounds overhead. Hans was more sympathetic than
+Sabina. He also forsook work, and stood by the window, picking his
+nose.
+
+“But why must I do everything?” said Sabina, washing glasses. “I can’t
+help the Frau; she oughtn’t to take such a time about it.”
+
+“Listen,” said Anna, “they’ve moved her into the back bedroom above
+here, so as not to disturb the people. That was a groan—that one!”
+
+“Two small beers,” shouted Herr Lehmann through the slide.
+
+“One moment, one moment.”
+
+At eight o’clock the café was deserted. Sabina sat down in the corner
+without her sewing. Nothing seemed to have happened to the Frau. A
+doctor had come—that was all.
+
+“Ach,” said Sabina. “I think no more of it. I listen no more. Ach, I
+would like to go away—I hate this talk. I will not hear it. No, it is
+too much.” She leaned both elbows on the table—cupped her face in her
+hands and pouted.
+
+But the outer door suddenly opening, she sprang to her feet and
+laughed. It was the Young Man again. He ordered more port, and brought
+no book this time.
+
+“Don’t go and sit miles away,” he grumbled. “I want to be amused. And
+here, take my coat. Can’t you dry it somewhere?—snowing again.”
+
+“There’s a warm place—the ladies’ cloak-room,” she said. “I’ll take it
+in there—just by the kitchen.”
+
+She felt better, and quite happy again.
+
+“I’ll come with you,” he said. “I’ll see where you put it.”
+
+And that did not seem at all extraordinary. She laughed and beckoned to
+him.
+
+“In here,” she cried. “Feel how warm. I’ll put more wood on that oven.
+It doesn’t matter, they’re all busy upstairs.”
+
+She knelt down on the floor, and thrust the wood into the oven,
+laughing at her own wicked extravagance.
+
+The Frau was forgotten, the stupid day was forgotten. Here was someone
+beside her laughing, too. They were together in the little warm room
+stealing Herr Lehmann’s wood. It seemed the most exciting adventure in
+the world. She wanted to go on laughing—or burst out crying—or—or—catch
+hold of the Young Man.
+
+“What a fire,” she shrieked, stretching out her hands.
+
+“Here’s a hand; pull up,” said the Young Man. “There, now, you’ll catch
+it to-morrow.”
+
+They stood opposite to each other, hands still clinging. And again that
+strange tremor thrilled Sabina.
+
+“Look here,” he said roughly, “are you a child, or are you playing at
+being one?”
+
+“I—I—”
+
+Laughter ceased. She looked up at him once, then down at the floor, and
+began breathing like a frightened little animal.
+
+He pulled her closer still and kissed her mouth.
+
+“Na, what are you doing?” she whispered.
+
+He let go her hands, he placed his on her breasts, and the room seemed
+to swim round Sabina. Suddenly, from the room above, a frightful,
+tearing shriek.
+
+She wrenched herself away, tightened herself, drew herself up.
+
+“Who did that—who made that noise?”
+
+
+In the silence the thin wailing of a baby.
+
+“Achk!” shrieked Sabina, rushing from the room.
+
+
+
+
+THE LUFT BAD
+
+
+I think it must be the umbrellas which make us look ridiculous.
+
+When I was admitted into the enclosure for the first time, and saw my
+fellow-bathers walking about very nearly “in their nakeds,” it struck
+me that the umbrellas gave a distinctly “Little Black Sambo” touch.
+
+Ridiculous dignity in holding over yourself a green cotton thing with a
+red parroquet handle when you are dressed in nothing larger than a
+handkerchief.
+
+There are no trees in the “Luft Bad.” It boasts a collection of plain,
+wooden cells, a bath shelter, two swings and two odd clubs—one,
+presumably the lost property of Hercules or the German army, and the
+other to be used with safety in the cradle.
+
+And there in all weathers we take the air—walking, or sitting in little
+companies talking over each other’s ailments and measurements and ills
+that flesh is heir to.
+
+A high wooden wall compasses us all about; above it the pine-trees look
+down a little superciliously, nudging each other in a way that is
+peculiarly trying to a _débutante_. Over the wall, on the right side,
+is the men’s section. We hear them chopping down trees and sawing
+through planks, dashing heavy weights to the ground, and singing part
+songs. Yes, they take it far more seriously.
+
+On the first day I was conscious of my legs, and went back into my cell
+three times to look at my watch, but when a woman with whom I had
+played chess for three weeks cut me dead, I took heart and joined a
+circle.
+
+We lay curled on the ground while a Hungarian lady of immense
+proportions told us what a beautiful tomb she had bought for her second
+husband.
+
+“A vault it is,” she said, “with nice black railings. And so large that
+I can go down there and walk about. Both their photographs are there,
+with two very handsome wreaths sent me by my first husband’s brother.
+There is an enlargement of a family group photograph, too, and an
+illuminated address presented to my first husband on his marriage. I am
+often there; it makes such a pleasant excursion for a fine Saturday
+afternoon.”
+
+She suddenly lay down flat on her back, took in six long breaths, and
+sat up again.
+
+“The death agony was dreadful,” she said brightly; “of the second, I
+mean. The ‘first’ was run into by a furniture wagon, and had fifty
+marks stolen out of a new waistcoat pocket, but the ‘second’ was dying
+for sixty-seven hours. I never ceased crying once—not even to put the
+children to bed.”
+
+A young Russian, with a “bang” curl on her forehead, turned to me.
+
+“Can you do the ‘Salome’ dance?” she asked. “I can.”
+
+“How delightful,” I said.
+
+“Shall I do it now? Would you like to see me?”
+
+She sprang to her feet, executed a series of amazing contortions for
+the next ten minutes, and then paused, panting, twisting her long hair.
+
+“Isn’t that nice?” she said. “And now I am perspiring so splendidly. I
+shall go and take a bath.”
+
+Opposite to me was the brownest woman I have ever seen, lying on her
+back, her arms clasped over her head.
+
+“How long have you been here to-day?” she was asked.
+
+“Oh, I spend the day here now,” she answered. “I am making my own
+‘cure,’ and living entirely on raw vegetables and nuts, and each day I
+feel my spirit is stronger and purer. After all, what can you expect?
+The majority of us are walking about with pig corpuscles and oxen
+fragments in our brain. The wonder is the world is as good as it is.
+Now I live on the simple, provided food”—she pointed to a little bag
+beside her—“a lettuce, a carrot, a potato, and some nuts are ample,
+rational nourishment. I wash them under the tap and eat them raw, just
+as they come from the harmless earth—fresh and uncontaminated.”
+
+“Do you take nothing else all day?” I cried.
+
+“Water. And perhaps a banana if I wake in the night.” She turned round
+and leaned on one elbow. “You over-eat yourself dreadfully,” she said;
+“shamelessly! How can you expect the Flame of the Spirit to burn
+brightly under layers of superfluous flesh?”
+
+I wished she would not stare at me, and thought of going to look at my
+watch again when a little girl wearing a string of coral beads joined
+us.
+
+“The poor Frau Hauptmann cannot join us to-day,” she said; “she has
+come out in spots all over on account of her nerves. She was very
+excited yesterday after having written two post-cards.”
+
+“A delicate woman,” volunteered the Hungarian, “but pleasant. Fancy,
+she has a separate plate for each of her front teeth! But she has no
+right to let her daughters wear such short sailor suits. They sit about
+on benches, crossing their legs in a most shameless manner. What are
+you going to do this afternoon, Fräulein Anna?”
+
+“Oh,” said the Coral Necklace, “the Herr Oberleutnant has asked me to
+go with him to Landsdorf. He must buy some eggs there to take home to
+his mother. He saves a penny on eight eggs by knowing the right
+peasants to bargain with.”
+
+“Are you an American?” said the Vegetable Lady, turning to me.
+
+“No.”
+
+“Then you are an Englishwoman?”
+
+“Well, hardly—”
+
+“You must be one of the two; you cannot help it. I have seen you
+walking alone several times. You wear your—”
+
+I got up and climbed on to the swing. The air was sweet and cool,
+rushing past my body. Above, white clouds trailed delicately through
+the blue sky. From the pine forest streamed a wild perfume, the
+branches swayed together, rhythmically, sonorously. I felt so light and
+free and happy—so childish! I wanted to poke my tongue out at the
+circle on the grass, who, drawing close together, were whispering
+meaningly.
+
+“Perhaps you do not know,” cried a voice from one of the cells, “to
+swing is very upsetting for the stomach? A friend of mine could keep
+nothing down for three weeks after exciting herself so.”
+
+I went to the bath shelter and was hosed.
+
+As I dressed, someone tapped on the wall.
+
+“Do you know,” said a voice, “there is a man who _lives_ in the Luft
+Bad next door? He buries himself up to the armpits in mud and refuses
+to believe in the Trinity.”
+
+The umbrellas are the saving grace of the Luft Bad. Now when I go, I
+take my husband’s “storm gamp” and sit in a corner, hiding behind it.
+
+Not that I am in the least ashamed of my legs.
+
+
+
+
+A BIRTHDAY
+
+
+Andreas Binzer woke slowly. He turned over on the narrow bed and
+stretched himself—yawned—opening his mouth as widely as possible and
+bringing his teeth together afterwards with a sharp “click.” The sound
+of that click fascinated him; he repeated it quickly several times,
+with a snapping movement of the jaws. What teeth! he thought. Sound as
+a bell, every man jack of them. Never had one out, never had one
+stopped. That comes of no tomfoolery in eating, and a good regular
+brushing night and morning. He raised himself on his left elbow and
+waved his right arm over the side of the bed to feel for the chair
+where he put his watch and chain overnight. No chair was there—of
+course, he’d forgotten, there wasn’t a chair in this wretched spare
+room. Had to put the confounded thing under his pillow. “Half-past
+eight, Sunday, breakfast at nine—time for the bath”—his brain ticked to
+the watch. He sprang out of bed and went over to the window. The
+venetian blind was broken, hung fan-shaped over the upper pane....
+“That blind must be mended. I’ll get the office boy to drop in and fix
+it on his way home to-morrow—he’s a good hand at blinds. Give him
+twopence and he’ll do it as well as a carpenter.... Anna could do it
+herself if she was all right. So would I, for the matter of that, but I
+don’t like to trust myself on rickety step-ladders.” He looked up at
+the sky: it shone, strangely white, unflecked with cloud; he looked
+down at the row of garden strips and backyards. The fence of these
+gardens was built along the edge of a gully, spanned by an iron
+suspension bridge, and the people had a wretched habit of throwing
+their empty tins over the fence into the gully. Just like them, of
+course! Andreas started counting the tins, and decided, viciously, to
+write a letter to the papers about it and sign it—sign it in full.
+
+The servant girl came out of their back door into the yard, carrying
+his boots. She threw one down on the ground, thrust her hand into the
+other, and stared at it, sucking in her cheeks. Suddenly she bent
+forward, spat on the toecap, and started polishing with a brush rooted
+out of her apron pocket.... “Slut of a girl! Heaven knows what
+infectious disease may be breeding now in that boot. Anna must get rid
+of that girl—even if she has to do without one for a bit—as soon as
+she’s up and about again. The way she chucked one boot down and then
+spat upon the other! She didn’t care whose boots she’d got hold of.
+_She_ had no false notions of the respect due to the master of the
+house.” He turned away from the window and switched his bath towel from
+the washstand rail, sick at heart. “I’m too sensitive for a man—that’s
+what’s the matter with me. Have been from the beginning, and will be to
+the end.”
+
+There was a gentle knock at the door and his mother came in. She closed
+the door after her and leant against it. Andreas noticed that her cap
+was crooked, and a long tail of hair hung over her shoulder. He went
+forward and kissed her.
+
+“Good-morning, mother; how’s Anna?”
+
+The old woman spoke quickly, clasping and unclasping her hands.
+
+“Andreas, please go to Doctor Erb as soon as you are dressed.”
+
+“Why,” he said, “is she bad?”
+
+Frau Binzer nodded, and Andreas, watching her, saw her face suddenly
+change; a fine network of wrinkles seemed to pull over it from under
+the skin surface.
+
+“Sit down on the bed a moment,” he said. “Been up all night?”
+
+“Yes. No, I won’t sit down, I must go back to her. Anna has been in
+pain all night. She wouldn’t have you disturbed before because she said
+you looked so run down yesterday. You told her you had caught a cold
+and been very worried.”
+
+Straightway Andreas felt that he was being accused.
+
+“Well, she made me tell her, worried it out of me; you know the way she
+does.”
+
+Again Frau Binzer nodded.
+
+“Oh yes, I know. She says, is your cold better, and there’s a warm
+undervest for you in the left-hand corner of the big drawer.”
+
+Quite automatically Andreas cleared his throat twice.
+
+“Yes,” he answered. “Tell her my throat certainly feels looser. I
+suppose I’d better not disturb her?”
+
+“No, and besides, _time_, Andreas.”
+
+“I’ll be ready in five minutes.”
+
+They went into the passage. As Frau Binzer opened the door of the front
+bedroom, a long wail came from the room.
+
+That shocked and terrified Andreas. He dashed into the bathroom, turned
+on both taps as far as they would go, cleaned his teeth and pared his
+nails while the water was running.
+
+“Frightful business, frightful business,” he heard himself whispering.
+“And I can’t understand it. It isn’t as though it were her first—it’s
+her third. Old Schäfer told me, yesterday, his wife simply ‘dropped’
+her fourth. Anna ought to have had a qualified nurse. Mother gives way
+to her. Mother spoils her. I wonder what she meant by saying I’d
+worried Anna yesterday. Nice remark to make to a husband at a time like
+this. Unstrung, I suppose—and my sensitiveness again.”
+
+When he went into the kitchen for his boots, the servant girl was bent
+over the stove, cooking breakfast. “Breathing into that, now, I
+suppose,” thought Andreas, and was very short with the servant girl.
+She did not notice. She was full of terrified joy and importance in the
+goings on upstairs. She felt she was learning the secrets of life with
+every breath she drew. Had laid the table that morning saying, “Boy,”
+as she put down the first dish, “Girl,” as she placed the second—it had
+worked out with the saltspoon to “Boy.” “For two pins I’d tell the
+master that, to comfort him, like,” she decided. But the master gave
+her no opening.
+
+“Put an extra cup and saucer on the table,” he said; “the doctor may
+want some coffee.”
+
+“The doctor, sir?” The servant girl whipped a spoon out of a pan, and
+spilt two drops of grease on the stove. “Shall I fry something extra?”
+But the master had gone, slamming the door after him. He walked down
+the street—there was nobody about at all—dead and alive this place on a
+Sunday morning. As he crossed the suspension bridge a strong stench of
+fennel and decayed refuse streamed from the gulley, and again Andreas
+began concocting a letter. He turned into the main road. The shutters
+were still up before the shops. Scraps of newspaper, hay, and fruit
+skins strewed the pavement; the gutters were choked with the leavings
+of Saturday night. Two dogs sprawled in the middle of the road,
+scuffling and biting. Only the public-house at the corner was open; a
+young barman slopped water over the doorstep.
+
+Fastidiously, his lips curling, Andreas picked his way through the
+water. “Extraordinary how I am noticing things this morning. It’s
+partly the effect of Sunday. I loathe a Sunday when Anna’s tied by the
+leg and the children are away. On Sunday a man has the right to expect
+his family. Everything here’s filthy, the whole place might be down
+with the plague, and will be, too, if this street’s not swept away. I’d
+like to have a hand on the government ropes.” He braced his shoulders.
+“Now for this doctor.”
+
+“Doctor Erb is at breakfast,” the maid informed him. She showed him
+into the waiting-room, a dark and musty place, with some ferns under a
+glass-case by the window. “He says he won’t be a minute, please, sir,
+and there is a paper on the table.”
+
+“Unhealthy hole,” thought Binzer, walking over to the window and
+drumming his fingers on the glass fern-shade. “At breakfast, is he?
+That’s the mistake I made: turning out early on an empty stomach.”
+
+A milk cart rattled down the street, the driver standing at the back,
+cracking a whip; he wore an immense geranium flower stuck in the lapel
+of his coat. Firm as a rock he stood, bending back a little in the
+swaying cart. Andreas craned his neck to watch him all the way down the
+road, even after he had gone, listening for the sharp sound of those
+rattling cans.
+
+“H’m, not much wrong with him,” he reflected. “Wouldn’t mind a taste of
+that life myself. Up early, work all over by eleven o’clock, nothing to
+do but loaf about all day until milking time.” Which he knew was an
+exaggeration, but he wanted to pity himself.
+
+The maid opened the door, and stood aside for Doctor Erb. Andreas
+wheeled round; the two men shook hands.
+
+“Well, Binzer,” said the doctor jovially, brushing some crumbs from a
+pearl-coloured waistcoat, “son and heir becoming importunate?”
+
+Up went Binzer’s spirits with a bound. Son and heir, by Jove! He was
+glad to have to deal with a man again. And a sane fellow this, who came
+across this sort of thing every day of the week.
+
+“That’s about the measure of it, Doctor,” he answered, smiling and
+picking up his hat. “Mother dragged me out of bed this morning with
+imperative orders to bring you along.”
+
+“Gig will be round in a minute. Drive back with me, won’t you?
+Extraordinary, sultry day; you’re as red as a beetroot already.”
+
+Andreas affected to laugh. The doctor had one annoying habit—imagined
+he had the right to poke fun at everybody simply because he was a
+doctor. “The man’s riddled with conceit, like all these professionals,”
+Andreas decided.
+
+“What sort of night did Frau Binzer have?” asked the doctor. “Ah,
+here’s the gig. Tell me on the way up. Sit as near the middle as you
+can, will you, Binzer? Your weight tilts it over a bit one side—that’s
+the worst of you successful business men.”
+
+“Two stone heavier than I, if he’s a pound,” thought Andreas. “The man
+may be all right in his profession—but heaven preserve me.”
+
+“Off you go, my beauty.” Doctor Erb flicked the little brown mare. “Did
+your wife get any sleep last night?”
+
+“No; I don’t think she did,” answered Andreas shortly. “To tell you the
+truth, I’m not satisfied that she hasn’t a nurse.”
+
+“Oh, your mother’s worth a dozen nurses,” cried the doctor, with
+immense gusto. “To tell you the truth, I’m not keen on nurses—too
+raw—raw as rump-steak. They wrestle for a baby as though they were
+wrestling with Death for the body of Patroclus.... Ever seen that
+picture by an English artist. Leighton? Wonderful thing—full of sinew!”
+
+“There he goes again,” thought Andreas, “airing off his knowledge to
+make a fool of me.”
+
+“Now your mother—she’s firm—she’s capable. Does what she’s told with a
+fund of sympathy. Look at these shops we’re passing—they’re festering
+sores. How on earth this government can tolerate—”
+
+“They’re not so bad—sound enough—only want a coat of paint.”
+
+The doctor whistled a little tune and flicked the mare again.
+
+“Well, I hope the young shaver won’t give his mother too much trouble,”
+he said. “Here we are.”
+
+A skinny little boy, who had been sliding up and down the back seat of
+the gig, sprang out and held the horse’s head. Andreas went straight
+into the dining-room and left the servant girl to take the doctor
+upstairs. He sat down, poured out some coffee, and bit through half a
+roll before helping himself to fish. Then he noticed there was no hot
+plate for the fish—the whole house was at sixes and sevens. He rang the
+bell, but the servant girl came in with a tray holding a bowl of soup
+and a hot plate.
+
+“I’ve been keeping them on the stove,” she simpered.
+
+“Ah, thanks, that’s very kind of you.” As he swallowed the soup his
+heart warmed to this fool of a girl.
+
+“Oh, it’s a good thing Doctor Erb has come,” volunteered the servant
+girl, who was bursting for want of sympathy.
+
+“H’m, h’m,” said Andreas.
+
+She waited a moment, expectantly, rolling her eyes, then in full
+loathing of menkind went back to the kitchen and vowed herself to
+sterility.
+
+Andreas cleared the soup bowl, and cleared the fish. As he ate, the
+room slowly darkened. A faint wind sprang up and beat the tree branches
+against the window. The dining-room looked over the breakwater of the
+harbour, and the sea swung heavily in rolling waves. Wind crept round
+the house, moaning drearily.
+
+“We’re in for a storm. That means I’m boxed up here all day. Well,
+there’s one blessing; it’ll clear the air.” He heard the servant girl
+rushing importantly round the house, slamming windows. Then he caught a
+glimpse of her in the garden, unpegging tea towels from the line across
+the lawn. She was a worker, there was no doubt about that. He took up a
+book, and wheeled his arm-chair over to the window. But it was useless.
+Too dark to read; he didn’t believe in straining his eyes, and gas at
+ten o’clock in the morning seemed absurd. So he slipped down in the
+chair, leaned his elbows on the padded arms and gave himself up, for
+once, to idle dreaming. “A boy? Yes, it was bound to be a boy this
+time....” “What’s your family, Binzer?” “Oh, I’ve two girls and a boy!”
+A very nice little number. Of course he was the last man to have a
+favourite child, but a man needed a son. “I’m working up the business
+for my son! Binzer & Son! It would mean living very tight for the next
+ten years, cutting expenses as fine as possible; and then—”
+
+A tremendous gust of wind sprang upon the house, seized it, shook it,
+dropped, only to grip the more tightly. The waves swelled up along the
+breakwater and were whipped with broken foam. Over the white sky flew
+tattered streamers of grey cloud.
+
+Andreas felt quite relieved to hear Doctor Erb coming down the stairs;
+he got up and lit the gas.
+
+“Mind if I smoke in here?” asked Doctor Erb, lighting a cigarette
+before Andreas had time to answer. “You don’t smoke, do you? No time to
+indulge in pernicious little habits!”
+
+“How is she now?” asked Andreas, loathing the man.
+
+“Oh, well as can be expected, poor little soul. She begged me to come
+down and have a look at you. Said she knew you were worrying.” With
+laughing eyes the doctor looked at the breakfast-table. “Managed to
+peck a bit, I see, eh?”
+
+“Hoo-wih!” shouted the wind, shaking the window-sashes.
+
+“Pity—this weather,” said Doctor Erb.
+
+“Yes, it gets on Anna’s nerves, and it’s just nerve she wants.”
+
+“Eh, what’s that?” retorted the doctor. “Nerve! Man alive! She’s got
+twice the nerve of you and me rolled into one. Nerve! she’s nothing but
+nerve. A woman who works as she does about the house and has three
+children in four years thrown in with the dusting, so to speak!”
+
+He pitched his half-smoked cigarette into the fireplace and frowned at
+the window.
+
+“Now _he’s_ accusing me,” thought Andreas. “That’s the second time this
+morning—first mother and now this man taking advantage of my
+sensitiveness.” He could not trust himself to speak, and rang the bell
+for the servant girl.
+
+“Clear away the breakfast things,” he ordered. “I can’t have them
+messing about on the table till dinner!”
+
+“Don’t be hard on the girl,” coaxed Doctor Erb. “She’s got twice the
+work to do to-day.”
+
+At that Binzer’s anger blazed out.
+
+“I’ll trouble you, Doctor, not to interfere between me and my
+servants!” And he felt a fool at the same moment for not saying
+“servant.”
+
+Doctor Erb was not perturbed. He shook his head, thrust his hands into
+his pockets, and began balancing himself on toe and heel.
+
+“You’re jagged by the weather,” he said wryly, “nothing else. A great
+pity—this storm. You know climate has an immense effect upon birth. A
+fine day perks a woman—gives her heart for her business. Good weather
+is as necessary to a confinement as it is to a washing day. Not
+bad—that last remark of mine—for a professional fossil, eh?”
+
+Andreas made no reply.
+
+“Well, I’ll be getting back to my patient. Why don’t you take a walk,
+and clear your head? That’s the idea for you.”
+
+“No,” he answered, “I won’t do that; it’s too rough.”
+
+He went back to his chair by the window. While the servant girl cleared
+away he pretended to read... then his dreams! It seemed years since he
+had had the time to himself to dream like that—he never had a breathing
+space. Saddled with work all day, and couldn’t shake it off in the
+evening like other men. Besides, Anna was interested—they talked of
+practically nothing else together. Excellent mother she’d make for a
+boy; she had a grip of things.
+
+Church bells started ringing through the windy air, now sounding as
+though from very far away, then again as though all the churches in the
+town had been suddenly transplanted into their street. They stirred
+something in him, those bells, something vague and tender. Just about
+that time Anna would call him from the hall. “Andreas, come and have
+your coat brushed. I’m ready.” Then off they would go, she hanging on
+his arm, and looking up at him. She certainly was a little thing. He
+remembered once saying when they were engaged, “Just as high as my
+heart,” and she had jumped on to a stool and pulled his head down,
+laughing. A kid in those days, younger than her children in nature,
+brighter, more “go” and “spirit” in her. The way she’d run down the
+road to meet him after business! And the way she laughed when they were
+looking for a house. By Jove! that laugh of hers! At the memory he
+grinned, then grew suddenly grave. Marriage certainly changed a woman
+far more than it did a man. Talk about sobering down. She had lost all
+her go in two months! Well, once this boy business was over she’d get
+stronger. He began to plan a little trip for them. He’d take her away
+and they’d loaf about together somewhere. After all, dash it, they were
+young still. She’d got into a groove; he’d have to force her out of it,
+that’s all.
+
+He got up and went into the drawing-room, carefully shut the door and
+took Anna’s photograph from the top of the piano. She wore a white
+dress with a big bow of some soft stuff under the chin, and stood, a
+little stiffly, holding a sheaf of artificial poppies and corn in her
+hands. Delicate she looked even then; her masses of hair gave her that
+look. She seemed to droop under the heavy braids of it, and yet she was
+smiling. Andreas caught his breath sharply. She was his wife—that girl.
+Posh! it had only been taken four years ago. He held it close to him,
+bent forward and kissed it. Then rubbed the glass with the back of his
+hand. At that moment, fainter than he had heard in the passage, more
+terrifying, Andreas heard again that wailing cry. The wind caught it up
+in mocking echo, blew it over the house-tops, down the street, far away
+from him. He flung out his arms, “I’m so damnably helpless,” he said,
+and then, to the picture, “Perhaps it’s not as bad as it sounds;
+perhaps it is just my sensitiveness.” In the half light of the
+drawing-room the smile seemed to deepen in Anna’s portrait, and to
+become secret, even cruel. “No,” he reflected, “that smile is not at
+all her happiest expression—it was a mistake to let her have it taken
+smiling like that. She doesn’t look like my wife—like the mother of my
+son.” Yes, that was it, she did not look like the mother of a son who
+was going to be a partner in the firm. The picture got on his nerves;
+he held it in different lights, looked at it from a distance, sideways,
+spent, it seemed to Andreas afterwards, a whole lifetime trying to fit
+it in. The more he played with it the deeper grew his dislike of it.
+Thrice he carried it over to the fireplace and decided to chuck it
+behind the Japanese umbrella in the grate; then he thought it absurd to
+waste an expensive frame. There was no good in beating about the bush.
+Anna looked like a stranger—abnormal, a freak—it might be a picture
+taken just before or after death.
+
+Suddenly he realised that the wind had dropped, that the whole house
+was still, terribly still. Cold and pale, with a disgusting feeling
+that spiders were creeping up his spine and across his face, he stood
+in the centre of the drawing-room, hearing Doctor Erb’s footsteps
+descending the stairs.
+
+He saw Doctor Erb come into the room; the room seemed to change into a
+great glass bowl that spun round, and Doctor Erb seemed to swim through
+this glass bowl towards him, like a goldfish in a pearl-coloured
+waistcoat.
+
+“My beloved wife has passed away!” He wanted to shout it out before the
+doctor spoke.
+
+“Well, she’s hooked a boy this time!” said Doctor Erb. Andreas
+staggered forward.
+
+“Look out. Keep on your pins,” said Doctor Erb, catching Binzer’s arm,
+and murmuring, as he felt it, “Flabby as butter.”
+
+A glow spread all over Andreas. He was exultant.
+
+“Well, by God! Nobody can accuse _me_ of not knowing what suffering
+is,” he said.
+
+
+
+
+THE CHILD-WHO-WAS-TIRED
+
+
+She was just beginning to walk along a little white road with tall
+black trees on either side, a little road that led to nowhere, and
+where nobody walked at all, when a hand gripped her shoulder, shook
+her, slapped her ear.
+
+“Oh, oh, don’t stop me,” cried the Child-Who-Was-Tired. “Let me go.”
+
+“Get up, you good-for-nothing brat,” said a voice; “get up and light
+the oven or I’ll shake every bone out of your body.”
+
+With an immense effort she opened her eyes, and saw the Frau standing
+by, the baby bundled under one arm. The three other children who shared
+the same bed with the Child-Who-Was-Tired, accustomed to brawls, slept
+on peacefully. In a corner of the room the Man was fastening his
+braces.
+
+“What do you mean by sleeping like this the whole night through—like a
+sack of potatoes? You’ve let the baby wet his bed twice.”
+
+She did not answer, but tied her petticoat string, and buttoned on her
+plaid frock with cold, shaking fingers.
+
+“There, that’s enough. Take the baby into the kitchen with you, and
+heat that cold coffee on the spirit lamp for the master, and give him
+the loaf of black bread out of the table drawer. Don’t guzzle it
+yourself or I’ll know.”
+
+The Frau staggered across the room, flung herself on to her bed,
+drawing the pink bolster round her shoulders.
+
+It was almost dark in the kitchen. She laid the baby on the wooden
+settle, covering him with a shawl, then poured the coffee from the
+earthenware jug into the saucepan, and set it on the spirit lamp to
+boil.
+
+“I’m sleepy,” nodded the Child-Who-Was-Tired, kneeling on the floor and
+splitting the damp pine logs into little chips. “That’s why I’m not
+awake.”
+
+The oven took a long time to light. Perhaps it was cold, like herself,
+and sleepy.... Perhaps it had been dreaming of a little white road with
+black trees on either side, a little road that led to nowhere.
+
+Then the door was pulled violently open and the Man strode in.
+
+“Here, what are you doing, sitting on the floor?” he shouted. “Give me
+my coffee. I’ve got to be off. Ugh! You haven’t even washed over the
+table.”
+
+She sprang to her feet, poured his coffee into an enamel cup, and gave
+him bread and a knife, then, taking a wash rag from the sink, smeared
+over the black linoleumed table.
+
+“Swine of a day—swine’s life,” mumbled the Man, sitting by the table
+and staring out of the window at the bruised sky, which seemed to bulge
+heavily over the dull land. He stuffed his mouth with bread and then
+swilled it down with the coffee.
+
+The Child drew a pail of water, turned up her sleeves, frowning the
+while at her arms, as if to scold them for being so thin, so much like
+little stunted twigs, and began to mop over the floor.
+
+“Stop sousing about the water while I’m here,” grumbled the Man. “Stop
+the baby snivelling; it’s been going on like that all night.”
+
+The Child gathered the baby into her lap and sat rocking him.
+
+“Ts—ts—ts,” she said. “He’s cutting his eye teeth, that’s what makes
+him cry so. _And_ dribble—I never seen a baby dribble like this one.”
+She wiped his mouth and nose with a corner of her skirt. “Some babies
+get their teeth without you knowing it,” she went on, “and some take on
+this way all the time. I once heard of a baby that died, and they found
+all its teeth in its stomach.”
+
+The Man got up, unhooked his cloak from the back of the door, and flung
+it round him.
+
+“There’s another coming,” said he.
+
+“What—a tooth!” exclaimed the Child, startled for the first time that
+morning out of her dreadful heaviness, and thrusting her finger into
+the baby’s mouth.
+
+“No,” he said grimly, “another baby. Now, get on with your work; it’s
+time the others got up for school.” She stood a moment quite silently,
+hearing his heavy steps on the stone passage, then the gravel walk, and
+finally the slam of the front gate.
+
+“Another baby! Hasn’t she finished having them _yet?_” thought the
+Child. “Two babies getting eye teeth—two babies to get up for in the
+night—two babies to carry about and wash their little piggy clothes!”
+She looked with horror at the one in her arms, who, seeming to
+understand the contemptuous loathing of her tired glance, doubled his
+fists, stiffened his body, and began violently screaming.
+
+“Ts—ts—ts.” She laid him on the settle and went back to her
+floor-washing. He never ceased crying for a moment, but she got quite
+used to it and kept time with her broom. Oh, how tired she was! Oh, the
+heavy broom handle and the burning spot just at the back of her neck
+that ached so, and a funny little fluttering feeling just at the back
+of her waistband, as though something were going to break.
+
+The clock struck six. She set the pan of milk in the oven, and went
+into the next room to wake and dress the three children. Anton and Hans
+lay together in attitudes of mutual amity which certainly never existed
+out of their sleeping hours. Lena was curled up, her knees under her
+chin, only a straight, standing-up pigtail of hair showing above the
+bolster.
+
+“Get up,” cried the Child, speaking in a voice of immense authority,
+pulling off the bedclothes and giving the boys sundry pokes and digs.
+“I’ve been calling you this last half-hour. It’s late, and I’ll tell on
+you if you don’t get dressed this minute.”
+
+Anton awoke sufficiently to turn over and kick Hans on a tender part,
+whereupon Hans pulled Lena’s pigtail until she shrieked for her mother.
+
+“Oh, do be quiet,” whispered the Child. “Oh, do get up and dress. You
+know what will happen. There—I’ll help you.”
+
+But the warning came too late. The Frau got out of bed, walked in a
+determined fashion into the kitchen, returning with a bundle of twigs
+in her hand fastened together with a strong cord. One by one she laid
+the children across her knee and severely beat them, expending a final
+burst of energy on the Child-Who-Was-Tired, then returned to bed, with
+a comfortable sense of her maternal duties in good working order for
+the day. Very subdued, the three allowed themselves to be dressed and
+washed by the Child, who even laced the boys’ boots, having found
+through experience that if left to themselves they hopped about for at
+least five minutes to find a comfortable ledge for their foot, and then
+spat on their hands and broke the bootlaces.
+
+While she gave them their breakfast they became uproarious, and the
+baby would not cease crying. When she filled the tin kettle with milk,
+tied on the rubber teat, and, first moistening it herself, tried with
+little coaxing words to make him drink, he threw the bottle on to the
+floor and trembled all over.
+
+“Eye teeth!” shouted Hans, hitting Anton over the head with his empty
+cup; “he’s getting the evil-eye teeth, I should say.”
+
+“Smarty!” retorted Lena, poking out her tongue at him, and then, when
+he promptly did the same, crying at the top of her voice, “Mother, Hans
+is making faces at me!”
+
+“That’s right,” said Hans; “go on howling, and when you’re in bed
+to-night I’ll wait till you’re asleep, and then I’ll creep over and
+take a little tiny piece of your arm and twist and twist it until—” He
+leant over the table making the most horrible faces at Lena, not
+noticing that Anton was standing behind his chair until the little boy
+bent over and spat on his brother’s shaven head.
+
+“Oh, weh! oh, weh!”
+
+The Child-Who-Was-Tired pushed and pulled them apart, muffled them into
+their coats, and drove them out of the house.
+
+“Hurry, hurry! the second bell’s rung,” she urged, knowing perfectly
+well she was telling a story, and rather exulting in the fact. She
+washed up the breakfast things, then went down to the cellar to look
+out the potatoes and beetroot.
+
+Such a funny, cold place the coal cellar! With potatoes banked on one
+corner, beetroot in an old candle box, two tubs of sauerkraut, and a
+twisted mass of dahlia roots—that looked as real as though they were
+fighting one another, thought the Child.
+
+She gathered the potatoes into her skirt, choosing big ones with few
+eyes because they were easier to peel, and bending over the dull heap
+in the silent cellar, she began to nod.
+
+“Here, you, what are you doing down there?” cried the Frau, from the
+top of the stairs. “The baby’s fallen off the settle, and got a bump as
+big as an egg over his eye. Come up here, and I’ll teach you!”
+
+“It wasn’t me—it wasn’t me!” screamed the Child, beaten from one side
+of the hall to the other, so that the potatoes and beetroot rolled out
+of her skirt.
+
+The Frau seemed to be as big as a giant, and there was a certain
+heaviness in all her movements that was terrifying to anyone so small.
+
+“Sit in the corner, and peel and wash the vegetables, and keep the baby
+quiet while I do the washing.”
+
+Whimpering she obeyed, but as to keeping the baby quiet, that was
+impossible. His face was hot, little beads of sweat stood all over his
+head, and he stiffened his body and cried. She held him on her knees,
+with a pan of cold water beside her for the cleaned vegetables and the
+“ducks’ bucket” for the peelings.
+
+“Ts—ts—ts!” she crooned, scraping and boring; “there’s going to be
+another soon, and you can’t both keep on crying. Why don’t you go to
+sleep, baby? I would, if I were you. I’ll tell you a dream. Once upon a
+time there was a little white road—”
+
+She shook back her head, a great lump ached in her throat and then the
+tears ran down her face on to the vegetables.
+
+“That’s no good,” said the Child, shaking them away. “Just stop crying
+until I’ve finished this, baby, and I’ll walk you up and down.”
+
+But by that time she had to peg out the washing for the Frau. A wind
+had sprung up. Standing on tiptoe in the yard, she almost felt she
+would be blown away. There was a bad smell coming from the ducks’ coop,
+which was half full of manure water, but away in the meadow she saw the
+grass blowing like little green hairs. And she remembered having heard
+of a child who had once played for a whole day in just such a meadow
+with real sausages and beer for her dinner—and not a little bit of
+tiredness. Who had told her that story? She could not remember, and yet
+it was so plain.
+
+The wet clothes flapped in her face as she pegged them; danced and
+jigged on the line, bulged out and twisted. She walked back to the
+house with lagging steps, looking longingly at the grass in the meadow.
+
+“What must I do now, please?” she said.
+
+“Make the beds and hang the baby’s mattress out of the window, then get
+the wagon and take him for a little walk along the road. In front of
+the house, mind—where I can see you. Don’t stand there, gaping! Then
+come in when I call you and help me cut up the salad.”
+
+When she had made the beds the Child stood and looked at them. Gently
+she stroked the pillow with her hand, and then, just for one moment,
+let her head rest there. Again the smarting lump in her throat, the
+stupid tears that fell and kept on falling as she dressed the baby and
+dragged the little wagon up and down the road.
+
+A man passed, driving a bullock wagon. He wore a long, queer feather in
+his hat, and whistled as he passed. Two girls with bundles on their
+shoulders came walking out of the village—one wore a red handkerchief
+about her head and one a blue. They were laughing and holding each
+other by the hand. Then the sun pushed by a heavy fold of grey cloud
+and spread a warm yellow light over everything.
+
+“Perhaps,” thought the Child-Who-Was-Tired, “if I walked far enough up
+this road I might come to a little white one, with tall black trees on
+either side—a little road—”
+
+“Salad, salad!” cried the Frau’s voice from the house.
+
+Soon the children came home from school, dinner was eaten, the Man took
+the Frau’s share of pudding as well as his own, and the three children
+seemed to smear themselves all over with whatever they ate. Then more
+dish-washing and more cleaning and baby-minding. So the afternoon
+dragged coldly through.
+
+Old Frau Grathwohl came in with a fresh piece of pig’s flesh for the
+Frau, and the Child listened to them gossiping together.
+
+“Frau Manda went on her ‘journey to Rome’ last night, and brought back
+a daughter. How are you feeling?”
+
+“I was sick twice this morning,” said the Frau. “My insides are all
+twisted up with having children too quickly.”
+
+“I see you’ve got a new help,” commented old Mother Grathwohl.
+
+“Oh, dear Lord”—the Frau lowered her voice—“don’t you know her? She’s
+the free-born one—daughter of the waitress at the railway station. They
+found her mother trying to squeeze her head in the wash-hand jug, and
+the child’s half silly.”
+
+“Ts—ts—ts!” whispered the “free-born” one to the baby.
+
+As the day drew in the Child-Who-Was-Tired did not know how to fight
+her sleepiness any longer. She was afraid to sit down or stand still.
+As she sat at supper the Man and the Frau seemed to swell to an immense
+size as she watched them, and then become smaller than dolls, with
+little voices that seemed to come from outside the window. Looking at
+the baby, it suddenly had two heads, and then no head. Even his crying
+made her feel worse. When she thought of the nearness of bedtime she
+shook all over with excited joy. But as eight o’clock approached there
+was the sound of wheels on the road, and presently in came a party of
+friends to spend the evening.
+
+Then it was:
+
+“Put on the coffee.”
+
+“Bring me the sugar tin.”
+
+“Carry the chairs out of the bedroom.”
+
+“Set the table.”
+
+And, finally, the Frau sent her into the next room to keep the baby
+quiet.
+
+There was a little piece of candle burning in the enamel bracket. As
+she walked up and down she saw her great big shadow on the wall like a
+grown-up person with a grown-up baby. Whatever would it look like when
+she carried two babies so!
+
+“Ts—ts—ts! Once upon a time she was walking along a little white road,
+with oh! such great big black trees on either side.”
+
+“Here you!” called the Frau’s voice, “bring me my new jacket from
+behind the door.” And as she took it into the warm room one of the
+women said, “She looks like an owl. Such children are seldom right in
+their heads.”
+
+“Why don’t you keep that baby quiet?” said the Man, who had just drunk
+enough beer to make him feel very brave and master of his house.
+
+“If you don’t keep that baby quiet you’ll know why later on.”
+
+They burst out laughing as she stumbled back into the bedroom.
+
+“I don’t believe Holy Mary could keep him quiet,” she murmured. “Did
+Jesus cry like this when He was little? If I was not so tired perhaps I
+could do it; but the baby just knows that I want to go to sleep. And
+there is going to be another one.”
+
+She flung the baby on the bed, and stood looking at him with terror.
+
+From the next room there came the jingle of glasses and the warm sound
+of laughter.
+
+And she suddenly had a beautiful marvellous idea.
+
+She laughed for the first time that day, and clapped her hands.
+
+“Ts—ts—ts!” she said, “lie there, silly one; you _will_ go to sleep.
+You’ll not cry any more or wake up in the night. Funny, little, ugly
+baby.”
+
+He opened his eyes, and shrieked loudly at the sight of the
+Child-Who-Was-Tired. From the next room she heard the Frau call out to
+her.
+
+“One moment—he is almost asleep,” she cried.
+
+And then gently, smiling, on tiptoe, she brought the pink bolster from
+the Frau’s bed and covered the baby’s face with it, pressed with all
+her might as he struggled, “like a duck with its head off, wriggling”,
+she thought.
+
+She heaved a long sigh, then fell back on to the floor, and was walking
+along a little white road with tall black trees on either side, a
+little road that led to nowhere, and where nobody walked at all—nobody
+at all.
+
+
+
+
+THE ADVANCED LADY
+
+
+“Do you think we might ask her to come with us,” said Fräulein Elsa,
+retying her pink sash ribbon before my mirror. “You know, although she
+is so intellectual, I cannot help feeling convinced that she has some
+secret sorrow. And Lisa told me this morning, as she was turning out my
+room, that she remains hours and hours by herself, writing; in fact
+Lisa says she is writing a book! I suppose that is why she never cares
+to mingle with us, and has so little time for her husband and the
+child.”
+
+“Well, _you_ ask her,” said I. “I have never spoken to the lady.”
+
+Elsa blushed faintly. “I have only spoken to her once,” she confessed.
+“I took her a bunch of wild flowers, to her room, and she came to the
+door in a white gown, with her hair loose. Never shall I forget that
+moment. She just took the flowers, and I heard her—because the door was
+not quite properly shut—I heard her, as I walked down the passage,
+saying ‘Purity, fragrance, the fragrance of purity and the purity of
+fragrance!’ It was wonderful!”
+
+At that moment Frau Kellermann knocked at the door.
+
+“Are you ready?” she said, coming into the room and nodding to us very
+genially. “The gentlemen are waiting on the steps, and I have asked the
+Advanced Lady to come with us.”
+
+“Na, how extraordinary!” cried Elsa. “But this moment the gnädige Frau
+and I were debating whether—”
+
+“Yes, I met her coming out of her room and she said she was charmed
+with the idea. Like all of us, she has never been to Schlingen. She is
+downstairs now, talking to Herr Erchardt. I think we shall have a
+delightful afternoon.”
+
+“Is Fritzi waiting too?” asked Elsa.
+
+“Of course he is, dear child—as impatient as a hungry man listening for
+the dinner bell. Run along!”
+
+Elsa ran, and Frau Kellermann smiled at me significantly. In the past
+she and I had seldom spoken to each other, owing to the fact that her
+“one remaining joy”—her charming little Karl—had never succeeded in
+kindling into flame those sparks of maternity which are supposed to
+glow in great numbers upon the altar of every respectable female heart;
+but, in view of a premeditated journey together, we became delightfully
+cordial.
+
+“For us,” she said, “there will be a double joy. We shall be able to
+watch the happiness of these two dear children, Elsa and Fritz. They
+only received the letters of blessing from their parents yesterday
+morning. It is a very strange thing, but whenever I am in the company
+of newly-engaged couples I blossom. Newly-engaged couples, mothers with
+first babies, and normal deathbeds have precisely the same effect on
+me. Shall we join the others?”
+
+I was longing to ask her why normal deathbeds should cause anyone to
+burst into flower, and said, “Yes, do let us.”
+
+We were greeted by the little party of “cure guests” on the pension
+steps, with those cries of joy and excitement which herald so
+pleasantly the mildest German excursion. Herr Erchardt and I had not
+met before that day, so, in accordance with strict pension custom, we
+asked each other how long we had slept during the night, had we dreamed
+agreeably, what time we had got up, was the coffee fresh when we had
+appeared at breakfast, and how had we passed the morning. Having toiled
+up these stairs of almost national politeness we landed, triumphant and
+smiling, and paused to recover breath.
+
+“And now,” said Herr Erchardt, “I have a pleasure in store for you. The
+Frau Professor is going to be one of us for the afternoon. Yes,”
+nodding graciously to the Advanced Lady. “Allow me to introduce you to
+each other.”
+
+We bowed very formally, and looked each other over with that eye which
+is known as “eagle” but is far more the property of the female than
+that most unoffending of birds. “I think you are English?” she said. I
+acknowledged the fact. “I am reading a great many English books just
+now—rather, I am studying them.”
+
+“Nu,” cried Herr Erchardt. “Fancy that! What a bond already! I have
+made up my mind to know Shakespeare in his mother tongue before I die,
+but that you, Frau Professor, should be already immersed in those wells
+of English thought!”
+
+“From what I have read,” she said, “I do not think they are very deep
+wells.”
+
+He nodded sympathetically.
+
+“No,” he answered, “so I have heard.... But do not let us embitter our
+excursion for our little English friend. We will speak of this another
+time.”
+
+“Nu, are we ready?” cried Fritz, who stood, supporting Elsa’s elbow in
+his hand, at the foot of the steps. It was immediately discovered that
+Karl was lost.
+
+“Ka—rl, Karl—chen!” we cried. No response.
+
+“But he was here one moment ago,” said Herr Langen, a tired, pale
+youth, who was recovering from a nervous breakdown due to much
+philosophy and little nourishment. “He was sitting here, picking out
+the works of his watch with a hairpin!”
+
+Frau Kellermann rounded on him. “Do you mean to say, my dear Herr
+Langen, you did not stop the child!”
+
+“No,” said Herr Langen; “I’ve tried stopping him before now.”
+
+“Da, that child has such energy; never is his brain at peace. If he is
+not doing one thing, he is doing another!”
+
+“Perhaps he has started on the dining-room clock now,” suggested Herr
+Langen, abominably hopeful.
+
+The Advanced Lady suggested that we should go without him. “I never
+take my little daughter for walks,” she said. “I have accustomed her to
+sitting quietly in my bedroom from the time I go out until I return!”
+
+“There he is—there he is,” piped Elsa, and Karl was observed slithering
+down a chestnut-tree, very much the worse for twigs.
+
+“I’ve been listening to what you said about me, mumma,” he confessed
+while Frau Kellermann brushed him down. “It was not true about the
+watch. I was only looking at it, and the little girl never stays in the
+bedroom. She told me herself she always goes down to the kitchen, and—”
+
+“Da, that’s enough!” said Frau Kellermann.
+
+We marched _en masse_ along the station road. It was a very warm
+afternoon, and continuous parties of “cure guests”, who were giving
+their digestions a quiet airing in pension gardens, called after us,
+asked if we were going for a walk, and cried “Herr Gott—happy journey”
+with immense ill-concealed relish when we mentioned Schlingen.
+
+“But that is eight kilometres,” shouted one old man with a white beard,
+who leaned against a fence, fanning himself with a yellow handkerchief.
+
+“Seven and a half,” answered Herr Erchardt shortly.
+
+“Eight,” bellowed the sage.
+
+“Seven and a half!”
+
+“Eight!”
+
+“The man is mad,” said Herr Erchardt.
+
+“Well, please let him be mad in peace,” said I, putting my hands over
+my ears.
+
+“Such ignorance must not be allowed to go uncontradicted,” said he, and
+turning his back on us, too exhausted to cry out any longer, he held up
+seven and a half fingers.
+
+“Eight!” thundered the greybeard, with pristine freshness.
+
+We felt very sobered, and did not recover until we reached a white
+signpost which entreated us to leave the road and walk through the
+field path—without trampling down more of the grass than was necessary.
+Being interpreted, it meant “single file”, which was distressing for
+Elsa and Fritz. Karl, like a happy child, gambolled ahead, and cut down
+as many flowers as possible with the stick of his mother’s
+parasol—followed the three others—then myself—and the lovers in the
+rear. And above the conversation of the advance party I had the
+privilege of hearing these delicious whispers.
+
+Fritz: “Do you love me?” Elsa: “Nu—yes.” Fritz passionately: “But how
+much?” To which Elsa never replied—except with “How much do _you_ love
+_me?_”
+
+Fritz escaped that truly Christian trap by saying, “I asked you first.”
+
+It grew so confusing that I slipped in front of Frau Kellermann—and
+walked in the peaceful knowledge that she was blossoming and I was
+under no obligation to inform even my nearest and dearest as to the
+precise capacity of my affections. “What right have they to ask each
+other such questions the day after letters of blessing have been
+received?” I reflected. “What right have they even to question each
+other? Love which becomes engaged and married is a purely affirmative
+affair—they are usurping the privileges of their betters and wisers!”
+
+The edges of the field frilled over into an immense pine forest—very
+pleasant and cool it looked. Another signpost begged us to keep to the
+broad path for Schlingen and deposit waste paper and fruit peelings in
+wire receptacles attached to the benches for the purpose. We sat down
+on the first bench, and Karl with great curiosity explored the wire
+receptacle.
+
+“I love woods,” said the Advanced Lady, smiling pitifully into the air.
+“In a wood my hair already seems to stir and remember something of its
+savage origin.”
+
+“But speaking literally,” said Frau Kellermann, after an appreciative
+pause, “there is really nothing better than the air of pine-trees for
+the scalp.”
+
+“Oh, Frau Kellermann, please don’t break the spell,” said Elsa.
+
+The Advanced Lady looked at her very sympathetically. “Have you, too,
+found the magic heart of Nature?” she said.
+
+That was Herr Langen’s cue. “Nature has no heart,” said he, very
+bitterly and readily, as people do who are over-philosophised and
+underfed. “She creates that she may destroy. She eats that she may spew
+up and she spews up that she may eat. That is why we, who are forced to
+eke out an existence at her trampling feet, consider the world mad, and
+realise the deadly vulgarity of production.”
+
+“Young man,” interrupted Herr Erchardt, “you have never lived and you
+have never suffered!”
+
+“Oh, excuse me—how can you know?”
+
+“I know because you have told me, and there’s an end of it. Come back
+to this bench in ten years’ time and repeat those words to me,” said
+Frau Kellermann, with an eye upon Fritz, who was engaged in counting
+Elsa’s fingers with passionate fervour—“and bring with you your young
+wife, Herr Langen, and watch, perhaps, your little child playing with—”
+She turned towards Karl, who had rooted an old illustrated paper out of
+the receptacle and was spelling over an advertisement for the
+enlargement of Beautiful Breasts.
+
+The sentence remained unfinished. We decided to move on. As we plunged
+more deeply into the wood our spirits rose—reaching a point where they
+burst into song—on the part of the three men—“O Welt, wie bist du
+wunderbar!”—the lower part of which was piercingly sustained by Herr
+Langen, who attempted quite unsuccessfully to infuse satire into it in
+accordance with his—“world outlook”. They strode ahead and left us to
+trail after them—hot and happy.
+
+“Now is the opportunity,” said Frau Kellermann. “Dear Frau Professor,
+do tell us a little about your book.”
+
+“Ach, how did you know I was writing one?” she cried playfully.
+
+“Elsa, here, had it from Lisa. And never before have I personally known
+a woman who was writing a book. How do you manage to find enough to
+write down?”
+
+“That is never the trouble,” said the Advanced Lady—she took Elsa’s arm
+and leaned on it gently. “The trouble is to know where to stop. My
+brain has been a hive for years, and about three months ago the pent-up
+waters burst over my soul, and since then I am writing all day until
+late into the night, still ever finding fresh inspirations and thoughts
+which beat impatient wings about my heart.”
+
+“Is it a novel?” asked Elsa shyly.
+
+“Of course it is a novel,” said I.
+
+“How can you be so positive?” said Frau Kellermann, eyeing me severely.
+
+“Because nothing but a novel could produce an effect like that.”
+
+“Ach, don’t quarrel,” said the Advanced Lady sweetly. “Yes, it is a
+novel—upon the Modern Woman. For this seems to me the woman’s hour. It
+is mysterious and almost prophetic, it is the symbol of the true
+advanced woman: not one of those violent creatures who deny their sex
+and smother their frail wings under... under—”
+
+“The English tailor-made?” from Frau Kellermann.
+
+“I was not going to put it like that. Rather, under the lying garb of
+false masculinity!”
+
+“Such a subtle distinction!” I murmured.
+
+“Whom then,” asked Fräulein Elsa, looking adoringly at the Advanced
+Lady—“whom then do you consider the true woman?”
+
+“She is the incarnation of comprehending Love!”
+
+“But my dear Frau Professor,” protested Frau Kellermann, “you must
+remember that one has so few opportunities for exhibiting Love within
+the family circle nowadays. One’s husband is at business all day, and
+naturally desires to sleep when he returns home—one’s children are out
+of the lap and in at the university before one can lavish anything at
+all upon them!”
+
+“But Love is not a question of lavishing,” said the Advanced Lady. “It
+is the lamp carried in the bosom touching with serene rays all the
+heights and depths of—”
+
+“Darkest Africa,” I murmured flippantly.
+
+She did not hear.
+
+“The mistake we have made in the past—as a sex,” said she, “is in not
+realising that our gifts of giving are for the whole world—we are the
+glad sacrifice of ourselves!”
+
+“Oh!” cried Elsa rapturously, and almost bursting into gifts as she
+breathed—“how I know that! You know ever since Fritz and I have been
+engaged, I share the desire to give to everybody, to share everything!”
+
+“How extremely dangerous,” said I.
+
+“It is only the beauty of danger, or the danger of beauty” said the
+Advanced Lady—“and there you have the ideal of my book—that woman is
+nothing but a gift.”
+
+I smiled at her very sweetly. “Do you know,” I said, “I, too, would
+like to write a book, on the advisability of caring for daughters, and
+taking them for airings and keeping them out of kitchens!”
+
+I think the masculine element must have felt these angry vibrations:
+they ceased from singing, and together we climbed out of the wood, to
+see Schlingen below us, tucked in a circle of hills, the white houses
+shining in the sunlight, “for all the world like eggs in a bird’s
+nest”, as Herr Erchardt declared. We descended upon Schlingen and
+demanded sour milk with fresh cream and bread at the Inn of the Golden
+Stag, a most friendly place, with tables in a rose-garden where hens
+and chickens ran riot—even flopping upon the disused tables and pecking
+at the red checks on the cloths. We broke the bread into the bowls,
+added the cream, and stirred it round with flat wooden spoons, the
+landlord and his wife standing by.
+
+“Splendid weather!” said Herr Erchardt, waving his spoon at the
+landlord, who shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“What! you don’t call it splendid!”
+
+“As you please,” said the landlord, obviously scorning us.
+
+“Such a beautiful walk,” said Fräulein Elsa, making a free gift of her
+most charming smile to the landlady.
+
+“I never walk,” said the landlady; “when I go to Mindelbau my man
+drives me—I’ve more important things to do with my legs than walk them
+through the dust!”
+
+“I like these people,” confessed Herr Langen to me. “I like them very,
+very much. I think I shall take a room here for the whole summer.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“Oh, because they live close to the earth, and therefore despise it.”
+
+He pushed away his bowl of sour milk and lit a cigarette. We ate,
+solidly and seriously, until those seven and a half kilometres to
+Mindelbau stretched before us like an eternity. Even Karl’s activity
+became so full fed that he lay on the ground and removed his leather
+waistbelt. Elsa suddenly leaned over to Fritz and whispered, who on
+hearing her to the end and asking her if she loved him, got up and made
+a little speech.
+
+“We—we wish to celebrate our betrothal by—by—asking you all to drive
+back with us in the landlord’s cart—if—it will hold us!”
+
+“Oh, what a beautiful, noble idea!” said Frau Kellermann, heaving a
+sigh of relief that audibly burst two hooks.
+
+“It is my little gift,” said Elsa to the Advanced Lady, who by virtue
+of three portions almost wept tears of gratitude.
+
+Squeezed into the peasant cart and driven by the landlord, who showed
+his contempt for mother earth by spitting savagely every now and again,
+we jolted home again, and the nearer we came to Mindelbau the more we
+loved it and one another.
+
+“We must have many excursions like this,” said Herr Erchardt to me,
+“for one surely gets to know a person in the simple surroundings of the
+open air—one _shares_ the same joys—one feels friendship. What is it
+your Shakespeare says? One moment, I have it. The friends thou hast,
+and their adoption tried—grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel!”
+
+“But,” said I, feeling very friendly towards him, “the bother about my
+soul is that it refuses to grapple anybody at all—and I am sure that
+the dead weight of a friend whose adoption it had tried would kill it
+immediately. Never yet has it shown the slightest sign of a hoop!”
+
+He bumped against my knees and excused himself and the cart.
+
+“My dear little lady, you must not take the quotation literally.
+Naturally, one is not physically conscious of the hoops; but hoops
+there are in the soul of him or her who loves his fellow-men.... Take
+this afternoon, for instance. How did we start out? As strangers you
+might almost say, and yet—all of us—how have we come home?”
+
+“In a cart,” said the only remaining joy, who sat upon his mother’s lap
+and felt sick.
+
+We skirted the field that we had passed through, going round by the
+cemetery. Herr Langen leaned over the edge of the seat and greeted the
+graves. He was sitting next to the Advanced Lady—inside the shelter of
+her shoulder. I heard her murmur: “You look like a little boy with your
+hair blowing about in the wind.” Herr Langen, slightly less
+bitter—watched the last graves disappear. And I heard her murmur: “Why
+are you so sad? I too am very sad sometimes—but—you look young enough
+for me to dare to say this—I—too—know of much joy!”
+
+“What do you know?” said he.
+
+I leaned over and touched the Advanced Lady’s hand. “Hasn’t it been a
+nice afternoon?” I said questioningly. “But you know, that theory of
+yours about women and Love—it’s as old as the hills—oh, older!”
+
+From the road a sudden shout of triumph. Yes, there he was again—white
+beard, silk handkerchief and undaunted enthusiasm.
+
+“What did I say? Eight kilometres—it is!”
+
+“Seven and a half!” shrieked Herr Erchardt.
+
+“Why, then, do you return in carts? Eight kilometres it must be.”
+
+Herr Erchardt made a cup of his hands and stood up in the jolting cart
+while Frau Kellermann clung to his knees. “Seven and a half!”
+
+“Ignorance must not go uncontradicted!” I said to the Advanced Lady.
+
+
+
+
+THE SWING OF THE PENDULUM
+
+
+The landlady knocked at the door.
+
+“Come in,” said Viola.
+
+“There is a letter for you,” said the landlady, “a special letter”—she
+held the green envelope in a corner of her dingy apron.
+
+“Thanks.” Viola, kneeling on the floor, poking at the little dusty
+stove, stretched out her hand. “Any answer?”
+
+“No; the messenger has gone.”
+
+“Oh, all right!” She did not look the landlady in the face; she was
+ashamed of not having paid her rent, and wondered grimly, without any
+hope, if the woman would begin to bluster again.
+
+“About this money owing to me—” said the landlady.
+
+“Oh, the Lord—off she goes!” thought Viola, turning her back on the
+woman and making a grimace at the stove.
+
+“It’s settle—or it’s go!” The landlady raised her voice; she began to
+bawl. “I’m a landlady, I am, and a respectable woman, I’ll have you
+know. I’ll have no lice in my house, sneaking their way into the
+furniture and eating up everything. It’s cash—or out you go before
+twelve o’clock to-morrow.”
+
+Viola felt rather than saw the woman’s gesture. She shot out her arm in
+a stupid helpless way, as though a dirty pigeon had suddenly flown at
+her face. “Filthy old beast! Ugh! And the smell of her—like stale
+cheese and damp washing.”
+
+“Very well!” she answered shortly; “it’s cash down or I leave
+to-morrow. All right: don’t shout.”
+
+It was extraordinary—always before this woman came near her she
+trembled in her shoes—even the sound of those flat feet stumping up the
+stairs made her feel sick, but once they were face to face she felt
+immensely calm and indifferent, and could not understand why she even
+worried about money, nor why she sneaked out of the house on tiptoe,
+not even daring to shut the door after her in case the landlady should
+hear and shout something terrible, nor why she spent nights pacing up
+and down her room—drawing up sharply before the mirror and saying to a
+tragic reflection: “Money, money, money!” When she was alone her
+poverty was like a huge dream-mountain on which her feet were fast
+rooted—aching with the ache of the size of the thing—but if it came to
+definite action, with no time for imaginings, her dream-mountain
+dwindled into a beastly “hold-your-nose” affair, to be passed as
+quickly as possible, with anger and a strong sense of superiority.
+
+The landlady bounced out of the room, banging the door, so that it
+shook and rattled as though it had listened to the conversation and
+fully sympathised with the old hag.
+
+Squatting on her heels, Viola opened the letter. It was from Casimir:
+
+“I shall be with you at three o’clock this afternoon—and must be off
+again this evening. All news when we meet. I hope you are happier than
+I.—CASIMIR.”
+
+
+“Huh! how kind!” she sneered; “how condescending. Too good of you,
+really!” She sprang to her feet, crumbling the letter in her hands.
+“And how are you to know that I shall stick here awaiting your pleasure
+until three o’clock this afternoon?” But she knew she would; her rage
+was only half sincere. She longed to see Casimir, for she was confident
+that this time she would make him understand the situation.... “For, as
+it is, it’s intolerable—intolerable!” she muttered.
+
+It was ten o’clock in the morning of a grey day curiously lighted by
+pale flashes of sunshine. Searched by these flashes her room looked
+tumbled and grimed. She pulled down the window-blinds—but they gave a
+persistent, whitish glare which was just as bad. The only thing of life
+in the room was a jar of hyacinths given her by the landlady’s
+daughter: it stood on the table exuding a sickly perfume from its plump
+petals; there were even rich buds unfolding, and the leaves shone like
+oil.
+
+Viola went over to the washstand, poured some water into the enamel
+basin, and sponged her face and neck. She dipped her face into the
+water, opened her eyes, and shook her head from side to side—it was
+exhilarating. She did it three times. “I suppose I could drown myself
+if I stayed under long enough,” she thought. “I wonder how long it
+takes to become unconscious?... Often read of women drowning in a
+bucket. I wonder if any air enters by the ears—if the basin would have
+to be as deep as a bucket?” She experimented—gripped the washstand with
+both hands and slowly sank her head into the water, when again there
+was a knock on the door. Not the landlady this time—it must be Casimir.
+With her face and hair dripping, with her petticoat bodice unbuttoned,
+she ran and opened it.
+
+A strange man stood against the lintel—seeing her, he opened his eyes
+very wide and smiled delightfully. “Excuse me—does Fräulein Schäfer
+live here?”
+
+“No; never heard of her.” His smile was so infectious, she wanted to
+smile too—and the water had made her feel so fresh and rosy.
+
+The strange man appeared overwhelmed with astonishment. “She doesn’t?”
+he cried. “She is out, you mean!”
+
+“No, she’s not living here,” answered Viola.
+
+“But—pardon—one moment.” He moved from the door lintel, standing
+squarely in front of her. He unbuttoned his greatcoat and drew a slip
+of paper from the breast pocket, smoothing it in his gloved fingers
+before handing it to her.
+
+“Yes, that’s the address, right enough, but there must be a mistake in
+the number. So many lodging-houses in this street, you know, and so
+big.”
+
+Drops of water fell from her hair on to the paper. She burst out
+laughing. “Oh, _how_ dreadful I must look—one moment!” She ran back to
+the washstand and caught up a towel. The door was still open.... After
+all, there was nothing more to be said. Why on earth had she asked him
+to wait a moment? She folded the towel round her shoulders, and
+returned to the door, suddenly grave. “I’m sorry; I know no such name,”
+in a sharp voice.
+
+Said the strange man: “Sorry, too. Have you been living here long?”
+
+“Er—yes—a long time.” She began to close the door slowly.
+
+“Well—good-morning, thanks so much. Hope I haven’t been a bother.”
+
+“Good-morning.”
+
+She heard him walk down the passage and then pause—lighting a
+cigarette. Yes—a faint scent of delicious cigarette smoke penetrated
+her room. She sniffed at it, smiling again. Well, that had been a
+fascinating interlude! He looked so amazingly happy: his heavy clothes
+and big buttoned gloves; his beautifully brushed hair... and that
+smile.... “Jolly” was the word—just a well-fed boy with the world for
+his playground. People like that did one good—one felt “made over” at
+the sight of them. _Sane_ they were—so sane and solid. You could depend
+on them never having one mad impulse from the day they were born until
+the day they died. And Life was in league with them—jumped them on her
+knee—quite rightly, too. At that moment she noticed Casimir’s letter,
+crumpled up on the floor—the smile faded. Staring at the letter she
+began braiding her hair—a dull feeling of rage crept through her—she
+seemed to be braiding it into her brain, and binding it, tightly, above
+her head.... Of course that had been the mistake all along. What had?
+Oh, Casimir’s frightful seriousness. If she had been happy when they
+first met she never would have looked at him—but they had been like two
+patients in the same hospital ward—each finding comfort in the sickness
+of the other—sweet foundation for a love episode! Misfortune had
+knocked their heads together: they had looked at each other, stunned
+with the conflict and sympathised... “I wish I could step outside the
+whole affair and just judge it—then I’d find a way out. I certainly was
+in love with Casimir.... Oh, be sincere for once.” She flopped down on
+the bed and hid her face in the pillow. “I was not in love. I wanted
+somebody to look after me—and keep me until my work began to sell—and
+he kept bothers with other men away. And what would have happened if he
+hadn’t come along? I would have spent my wretched little pittance, and
+then—Yes, that was what decided me, thinking about that ‘then.’ He was
+the only solution. And I believed in him then. I thought his work had
+only to be recognised once, and he’d roll in wealth. I thought perhaps
+we might be poor for a month—but he said, if only he could have me, the
+stimulus.... Funny, if it wasn’t so damned tragic! Exactly the contrary
+has happened—he hasn’t had a thing published for months—neither have
+I—but then I didn’t expect to. Yes, the truth is, I’m hard and bitter,
+and I have neither faith nor love for unsuccessful men. I always end by
+despising them as I despise Casimir. I suppose it’s the savage pride of
+the female who likes to think the man to whom she has given herself
+must be a very great chief indeed. But to stew in this disgusting house
+while Casimir scours the land in the hope of finding one editorial open
+door—it’s humiliating. It’s changed my whole nature. I wasn’t born for
+poverty—I only flower among really jolly people, and people who never
+are worried.”
+
+The figure of the strange man rose before her—would not be dismissed.
+“That was the man for me, after all is said and done—a man without a
+care—who’d give me everything I want and with whom I’d always feel that
+sense of life and of being in touch with the world. I never wanted to
+fight—it was thrust on me. Really, there’s a fount of happiness in me,
+that is drying up, little by little, in this hateful existence. I’ll be
+dead if this goes on—and”—she stirred in the bed and flung out her
+arms—“I want passion, and love, and adventure—I yearn for them. Why
+should I stay here and rot?—I am rotting!” she cried, comforting
+herself with the sound of her breaking voice. “But if I tell Casimir
+all this when he comes this afternoon, and he says, ‘Go’—as he
+certainly will—that’s another thing I loathe about him—he’s under my
+thumb—what should I do then—where should I go to?” There was nowhere.
+“I don’t want to work—or carve out my own path. I want ease and any
+amount of nursing in the lap of luxury. There is only one thing I’m
+fitted for, and that is to be a great courtesan.” But she did not know
+how to go about it. She was frightened to go into the streets—she heard
+of such awful things happening to those women—men with diseases—or men
+who didn’t pay—besides, the idea of a strange man every night—no, that
+was out of the question. “If I’d the clothes I would go to a really
+good hotel and find some wealthy man... like the strange man this
+morning. He would be ideal. Oh, if I only had his address—I am sure I
+would fascinate him. I’d keep him laughing all day—I’d make him give me
+unlimited money....” At the thought she grew warm and soft. She began
+to dream of a wonderful house, and of presses full of clothes and of
+perfumes. She saw herself stepping into carriages—looking at the
+strange man with a mysterious, voluptuous glance—she practised the
+glance, lying on the bed—and never another worry, just drugged with
+happiness. That was the life for her. Well, the thing to do was to let
+Casimir go on his wild-goose chase that evening, and while he was
+away—What! Also—please to remember—there was the rent to be paid before
+twelve next morning, and she hadn’t the money for a square meal. At the
+thought of food she felt a sharp twinge in her stomach, a sensation as
+though there were a hand in her stomach, squeezing it dry. She was
+terribly hungry—all Casimir’s fault—and that man had lived on the fat
+of the land ever since he was born. He looked as though he could order
+a magnificent dinner. Oh, why hadn’t she played her cards better?—he’d
+been sent by Providence—and she’d snubbed him. “If I had that time over
+again, I’d be safe by now.” And instead of the ordinary man who had
+spoken with her at the door her mind created a brilliant, laughing
+image, who would treat her like a queen.... “There’s only one thing I
+could not stand—that he should be coarse or vulgar. Well, he wasn’t—he
+was obviously a man of the world, and the way he apologised... I have
+enough faith in my own power and beauty to know I could make a man
+treat me just as I wanted to be treated.”... It floated into her
+dreams—that sweet scent of cigarette smoke. And then she remembered
+that she had heard nobody go down the stone stairs. Was it possible
+that the strange man was still there?... The thought was too
+absurd—Life didn’t play tricks like that—and yet—she was quite
+conscious of his nearness. Very quietly she got up, unhooked from the
+back of the door a long white gown, buttoned it on—smiling slyly. She
+did not know what was going to happen. She only thought: “Oh, what
+fun!” and that they were playing a delicious game—this strange man and
+she. Very gently she turned the door-handle, screwing up her face and
+biting her lip as the lock snapped back. Of course, there he
+was—leaning against the banister rail. He wheeled round as she slipped
+into the passage.
+
+“Da,” she muttered, folding her gown tightly around her, “I must go
+downstairs and fetch some wood. Brr! the cold!”
+
+“There isn’t any wood,” volunteered the strange man. She gave a little
+cry of astonishment, and then tossed her head.
+
+“You again,” she said scornfully, conscious the while of his merry eye,
+and the fresh, strong smell of his healthy body.
+
+“The landlady shouted out there was no wood left. I just saw her go out
+to buy some.”
+
+“Story—story!” she longed to cry. He came quite close to her, stood
+over her and whispered:
+
+“Aren’t you going to ask me to finish my cigarette in your room?”
+
+She nodded. “You may if you want to!”
+
+In that moment together in the passage a miracle had happened. Her room
+was quite changed—it was full of sweet light and the scent of hyacinth
+flowers. Even the furniture appeared different—exciting. Quick as a
+flash she remembered childish parties when they had played charades,
+and one side had left the room and come in again to act a word—just
+what she was doing now. The strange man went over to the stove and sat
+down in her arm-chair. She did not want him to talk or come near her—it
+was enough to see him in the room, so secure and happy. How hungry she
+had been for the nearness of someone like that—who knew nothing at all
+about her—and made no demands—but just lived. Viola ran over to the
+table and put her arms round the jar of hyacinths.
+
+“Beautiful! Beautiful!” she cried—burying her head in the flowers—and
+sniffing greedily at the scent. Over the leaves she looked at the man
+and laughed.
+
+“You are a funny little thing,” said he lazily.
+
+“Why? Because I love flowers?”
+
+“I’d far rather you loved other things,” said the strange man slowly.
+She broke off a little pink petal and smiled at it.
+
+“Let me send you some flowers,” said the strange man. “I’ll send you a
+roomful if you’d like them.”
+
+His voice frightened her slightly. “Oh no, thanks—this one is quite
+enough for me.”
+
+“No, it isn’t”—in a teasing voice.
+
+“What a stupid remark!” thought Viola, and looking at him again he did
+not seem quite so jolly. She noticed that his eyes were set too closely
+together—and they were too small. Horrible thought, that he should
+prove stupid.
+
+“What do you do all day?” she asked hastily.
+
+“Nothing.”
+
+“Nothing at all?”
+
+“Why should I do anything?”
+
+“Oh, don’t imagine for one moment that I condemn such wisdom—only it
+sounds too good to be true!”
+
+“What’s that?”—he craned forward. “What sounds too good to be true?”
+Yes—there was no denying it—he looked silly.
+
+“I suppose the searching after Fräulein Schäfer doesn’t occupy all your
+days.”
+
+“Oh no”—he smiled broadly—“that’s very good! By Jove! no. I drive a
+good bit—are you keen on horses?”
+
+She nodded. “Love them.”
+
+“You must come driving with me—I’ve got a fine pair of greys. Will
+you?”
+
+“Pretty I’d look perched behind greys in my one and only hat,” thought
+she. Aloud: “I’d love to.” Her easy acceptance pleased him.
+
+“How about to-morrow?” he suggested. “Suppose you have lunch with me
+to-morrow and I take you driving.”
+
+After all—this was just a game. “Yes, I’m not busy to-morrow,” she
+said.
+
+A little pause—then the strange man patted his leg. “Why don’t you come
+and sit down?” he said.
+
+She pretended not to see and swung on to the table. “Oh, I’m all right
+here.”
+
+“No, you’re not”—again the teasing voice. “Come and sit on my knee.”
+
+“Oh no,” said Viola very heartily, suddenly busy with her hair.
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“I don’t want to.”
+
+“Oh, come along”—impatiently.
+
+She shook her head from side to side. “I wouldn’t dream of such a
+thing.”
+
+At that he got up and came over to her. “Funny little puss cat!” He put
+up one hand to touch her hair.
+
+“Don’t,” she said—and slipped off the table. “I—I think it’s time you
+went now.” She was quite frightened now—thinking only: “This man must
+be got rid of as quickly as possible.”
+
+“Oh, but you don’t want me to go?”
+
+“Yes, I do—I’m very busy.”
+
+“Busy. What does the pussy cat do all day?”
+
+“Lots and lots of things!” She wanted to push him out of the room and
+slam the door on him—idiot—fool—cruel disappointment.
+
+“What’s she frowning for?” he asked. “Is she worried about anything?”
+Suddenly serious: “I say—you know, are you in any financial difficulty?
+Do you want money? I’ll give it to you if you like!”
+
+“Money! Steady on the brake—don’t lose your head!”—so she spoke to
+herself.
+
+“I’ll give you two hundred marks if you’ll kiss me.”
+
+“Oh, boo! What a condition! And I don’t want to kiss you—I don’t like
+kissing. Please go!”
+
+“Yes—you do!—yes, you do.” He caught hold of her arms above the elbows.
+She struggled, and was quite amazed to realise how angry she felt.
+
+“Let me go—immediately!” she cried—and he slipped one arm round her
+body, and drew her towards him—like a bar of iron across her back—that
+arm.
+
+“Leave me alone! I tell you. Don’t be mean! I didn’t want this to
+happen when you came into my room. How dare you?”
+
+“Well, kiss me and I’ll go!”
+
+It was too idiotic—dodging that stupid, smiling face.
+
+“I won’t kiss you!—you brute!—I won’t!” Somehow she slipped out of his
+arms and ran to the wall—stood back against it—breathing quickly.
+
+“Get out!” she stammered. “Go on now, clear out!”
+
+At that moment, when he was not touching her, she quite enjoyed
+herself. She thrilled at her own angry voice. “To think I should talk
+to a man like that!” An angry flush spread over his face—his lips
+curled back, showing his teeth—just like a dog, thought Viola. He made
+a rush at her, and held her against the wall—pressed upon her with all
+the weight of his body. This time she could not get free.
+
+“I won’t kiss you. I won’t. Stop doing that! Ugh! you’re like a dog—you
+ought to find lovers round lamp-posts—you beast—you fiend!”
+
+He did not answer. With an expression of the most absurd determination
+he pressed ever more heavily upon her. He did not even look at her—but
+rapped out in a sharp voice: “Keep quiet—keep quiet.”
+
+“Gar-r! Why are men so strong?” She began to cry. “Go away—I don’t want
+you, you dirty creature. I want to murder you. Oh, my God! if I had a
+knife.”
+
+“Don’t be silly—come and be good!” He dragged her towards the bed.
+
+“Do you suppose I’m a light woman?” she snarled, and swooping over she
+fastened her teeth in his glove.
+
+“Ach! don’t do that—you are hurting me!”
+
+She did not let go, but her heart said, “Thank the Lord I thought of
+this.”
+
+“Stop this minute—you vixen—you bitch.” He threw her away from him. She
+saw with joy that his eyes were full of tears. “You’ve really hurt me,”
+he said in a choking voice.
+
+“Of course I have. I meant to. That’s nothing to what I’ll do if you
+touch me again.”
+
+The strange man picked up his hat. “No thanks,” he said grimly. “But
+I’ll not forget this—I’ll go to your landlady.”
+
+“Pooh!” She shrugged her shoulders and laughed. “I’ll tell her you
+forced your way in here and tried to assault me. Who will she
+believe?—with your bitten hand. You go and find your Schäfers.”
+
+A sensation of glorious, intoxicating happiness flooded Viola. She
+rolled her eyes at him. “If you don’t go away this moment I’ll bite you
+again,” she said, and the absurd words started her laughing. Even when
+the door was closed, hearing him descending the stairs, she laughed,
+and danced about the room.
+
+What a morning! Oh, chalk it up. That was her first fight, and she’d
+won—she’d conquered that beast—all by herself. Her hands were still
+trembling. She pulled up the sleeve of her gown—great red marks on her
+arms. “My ribs will be blue. I’ll be blue all over,” she reflected. “If
+only that beloved Casimir could have seen us.” And the feeling of rage
+and disgust against Casimir had totally disappeared. How could the poor
+darling help not having any money? It was her fault as much as his, and
+he, just like her, was apart from the world, fighting it, just as she
+had done. If only three o’clock would come. She saw herself running
+towards him and putting her arms round his neck. “My blessed one! Of
+course we are bound to win. Do you love me still? Oh, I have been
+horrible lately.”
+
+
+
+
+A BLAZE
+
+
+“Max, you silly devil, you’ll break your neck if you go careering down
+the slide that way. Drop it, and come to the Club House with me and get
+some coffee.”
+
+“I’ve had enough for to-day. I’m damp all through. There, give us a
+cigarette, Victor, old man. When are you going home?”
+
+“Not for another hour. It’s fine this afternoon, and I’m getting into
+decent shape. Look out, get off the track; here comes Fräulein Winkel.
+Damned elegant the way she manages her sleigh!”
+
+“I’m cold all through. That’s the worst of this place—the mists—it’s a
+damp cold. Here, Forman, look after this sleigh—and stick it somewhere
+so that I can get it without looking through a hundred and fifty others
+to-morrow morning.”
+
+They sat down at a small round table near the stove and ordered coffee.
+Victor sprawled in his chair, patting his little brown dog Bobo and
+looking, half laughingly, at Max.
+
+“What’s the matter, my dear? Isn’t the world being nice and pretty?”
+
+“I want my coffee, and I want to put my feet into my pocket—they’re
+like stones.... Nothing to eat, thanks—the cake is like underdone
+india-rubber here.”
+
+Fuchs and Wistuba came and sat at their table. Max half turned his back
+and stretched his feet out to the oven. The three other men all began
+talking at once—of the weather—of the record slide—of the fine
+condition of the Wald See for skating.
+
+Suddenly Fuchs looked at Max, raised his eyebrows and nodded across to
+Victor, who shook his head.
+
+“Baby doesn’t feel well,” he said, feeding the brown dog with broken
+lumps of sugar, “and nobody’s to disturb him—I’m nurse.”
+
+“That’s the first time I’ve ever known him off colour,” said Wistuba.
+“I’ve always imagined he had the better part of this world that could
+not be taken away from him. I think he says his prayers to the dear
+Lord for having spared him being taken home in seven basketsful
+to-night. It’s a fool’s game to risk your all that way and leave the
+nation desolate.”
+
+“Dry up,” said Max. “You ought to be wheeled about on the snow in a
+perambulator.”
+
+“Oh, no offence, I hope. Don’t get nasty.... How’s your wife, Victor?”
+
+“She’s not at all well. She hurt her head coming down the slide with
+Max on Sunday. I told her to stay at home all day.”
+
+“I’m sorry. Are you other fellows going back to the town or stopping on
+here?”
+
+Fuchs and Victor said they were stopping—Max did not answer, but sat
+motionless while the men paid for their coffee and moved away. Victor
+came back a moment and put a hand on his shoulder.
+
+“If you’re going right back, my dear, I wish you’d look Elsa up and
+tell her I won’t be in till late. And feed with us to-night at Limpold,
+will you? And take some hot grog when you get in.”
+
+“Thanks, old fellow, I’m all right. Going back now.”
+
+He rose, stretched himself, buttoned on his heavy coat and lighted
+another cigarette.
+
+From the door Victor watched him plunging through the heavy snow—head
+bent—hands thrust in his pockets—he almost appeared to be running
+through the heavy snow towards the town.
+
+
+Someone came stamping up the stairs—paused at the door of her
+sitting-room, and knocked.
+
+“Is that you, Victor?” she called.
+
+“No, it is I... can I come in?”
+
+“Of course. Why, what a Santa Claus! Hang your coat on the landing and
+shake yourself over the banisters. Had a good time?”
+
+The room was full of light and warmth. Elsa, in a white velvet
+tea-gown, lay curled up on the sofa—a book of fashions on her lap, a
+box of creams beside her.
+
+The curtains were not yet drawn before the windows and a blue light
+shone through, and the white boughs of the trees sprayed across.
+
+A woman’s room—full of flowers and photographs and silk pillows—the
+floor smothered in rugs—an immense tiger-skin under the piano—just the
+head protruding—sleepily savage.
+
+“It was good enough,” said Max. “Victor can’t be in till late. He told
+me to come up and tell you.”
+
+He started walking up and down—tore off his gloves and flung them on
+the table.
+
+“Don’t do that, Max,” said Elsa, “you get on my nerves. And I’ve got a
+headache to-day; I’m feverish and quite flushed.... Don’t I look
+flushed?”
+
+He paused by the window and glanced at her a moment over his shoulder.
+
+“No,” he said; “I didn’t notice it.”
+
+“Oh, you haven’t looked at me properly, and I’ve got a new tea-gown on,
+too.” She pulled her skirts together and patted a little place on the
+couch.
+
+“Come along and sit by me and tell me why you’re being naughty.”
+
+But, standing by the window, he suddenly flung his arm across his eyes.
+
+“Oh,” he said, “I can’t. I’m done—I’m spent—I’m smashed.”
+
+Silence in the room. The fashion-book fell to the floor with a quick
+rustle of leaves. Elsa sat forward, her hands clasped in her lap; a
+strange light shone in her eyes, a red colour stained her mouth.
+
+Then she spoke very quietly.
+
+“Come over here and explain yourself. I don’t know what on earth you
+are talking about.”
+
+“You do know—you know far better than I. You’ve simply played with
+Victor in my presence that I may feel worse. You’ve tormented me—you’ve
+led me on—offering me everything and nothing at all. It’s been a
+spider-and-fly business from first to last—and I’ve never for one
+moment been ignorant of that—and I’ve never for one moment been able to
+withstand it.”
+
+He turned round deliberately.
+
+“Do you suppose that when you asked me to pin your flowers into your
+evening gown—when you let me come into your bedroom when Victor was out
+while you did your hair—when you pretended to be a baby and let me feed
+you with grapes—when you have run to me and searched in all my pockets
+for a cigarette—knowing perfectly well where they were kept—going
+through every pocket just the same—I knowing too—I keeping up the
+farce—do you suppose that now you have finally lighted your bonfire you
+are going to find it a peaceful and pleasant thing—you are going to
+prevent the whole house from burning?”
+
+She suddenly turned white and drew in her breath sharply.
+
+“Don’t talk to me like that. You have no right to talk to me like that.
+I am another man’s wife.”
+
+“Hum,” he sneered, throwing back his head, “that’s rather late in the
+game, and that’s been your trump card all along. You only love Victor
+on the cat-and-cream principle—you a poor little starved kitten that
+he’s given everything to, that he’s carried in his breast, never
+dreaming that those little pink claws could tear out a man’s heart.”
+
+She stirred, looking at him with almost fear in her eyes.
+
+“After all”—unsteadily—“this is my room; I’ll have to ask you to go.”
+
+But he stumbled towards her, knelt down by the couch, burying his head
+in her lap, clasping his arms round her waist.
+
+“And I _love_ you—I love you; the humiliation of it—I adore you.
+Don’t—don’t—just a minute let me stay here—just a moment in a whole
+life—Elsa! Elsa!”
+
+She leant back and pressed her head into the pillows.
+
+Then his muffled voice: “I feel like a savage. I want your whole body.
+I want to carry you away to a cave and love you until I kill you—you
+can’t understand how a man feels. I kill myself when I see you—I’m sick
+of my own strength that turns in upon itself, and dies, and rises new
+born like a Phœnix out of the ashes of that horrible death. Love me
+just this once, tell me a lie, _say_ that you do—you are always lying.”
+
+Instead, she pushed him away—frightened.
+
+“Get up,” she said; “suppose the servant came in with the tea?”
+
+“Oh, ye gods!” He stumbled to his feet and stood staring down at her.
+
+“You’re rotten to the core and so am I. But you’re heathenishly
+beautiful.”
+
+The woman went over to the piano—stood there—striking one note—her
+brows drawn together. Then she shrugged her shoulders and smiled.
+
+“I’ll make a confession. Every word you have said is true. I can’t help
+it. I can’t help seeking admiration any more than a cat can help going
+to people to be stroked. It’s my nature. I’m born out of my time. And
+yet, you know, I’m not a _common_ woman. I like men to adore me—to
+flatter me—even to make love to me—but I would never give myself to any
+man. I would never let a man kiss me... even.”
+
+“It’s immeasurably worse—you’ve no legitimate excuse. Why, even a
+prostitute has a greater sense of generosity!”
+
+“I know,” she said, “I know perfectly well—but I can’t help the way I’m
+built.... Are you going?”
+
+He put on his gloves.
+
+“Well,” he said, “what’s going to happen to us now?”
+
+Again she shrugged her shoulders.
+
+“I haven’t the slightest idea. I never have—just let things occur.”
+
+
+“All alone?” cried Victor. “Has Max been here?”
+
+“He only stayed a moment, and wouldn’t even have tea. I sent him home
+to change his clothes.... He was frightfully boring.”
+
+“You poor darling, your hair’s coming down. I’ll fix it, stand still a
+moment... so you were bored?”
+
+“Um-m—frightfully.... Oh, you’ve run a hairpin right into your wife’s
+head—you naughty boy!”
+
+She flung her arms round his neck and looked up at him, half laughing,
+like a beautiful, loving child.
+
+“God! What a woman you are,” said the man. “You make me so infernally
+proud—dearest, that I... I tell you!”
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1472 ***
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+<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of In a German Pension, by Katherine Mansfield</title>
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+<body>
+<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1472 ***</div>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:55%;">
+<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="cover" />
+</div>
+
+<h1>In a German Pension</h1>
+
+<h2 class="no-break">by Katherine Mansfield</h2>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>Contents</h2>
+
+<table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap01">GERMANS AT MEAT</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap02">THE BARON</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap03">THE SISTER OF THE BARONESS</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap04">FRAU FISCHER</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap05">FRAU BRECHENMACHER ATTENDS A WEDDING</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap06">THE MODERN SOUL</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap07">AT &ldquo;LEHMANN&rsquo;S&rdquo;</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap08">THE LUFT BAD</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap09">A BIRTHDAY</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap10">THE CHILD-WHO-WAS-TIRED</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap11">THE ADVANCED LADY</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap12">THE SWING OF THE PENDULUM</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap13">A BLAZE</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+</table>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap01"></a>GERMANS AT MEAT</h2>
+
+<p>
+Bread soup was placed upon the table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; said the Herr Rat, leaning upon the table as he peered into
+the tureen, &ldquo;that is what I need. My &lsquo;magen&rsquo; has not been in
+order for several days. Bread soup, and just the right consistency. I am a good
+cook myself&rdquo;&mdash;he turned to me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How interesting,&rdquo; I said, attempting to infuse just the right
+amount of enthusiasm into my voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh yes&mdash;when one is not married it is necessary. As for me, I have
+had all I wanted from women without marriage.&rdquo; He tucked his napkin into
+his collar and blew upon his soup as he spoke. &ldquo;Now at nine o&rsquo;clock
+I make myself an English breakfast, but not much. Four slices of bread, two
+eggs, two slices of cold ham, one plate of soup, two cups of tea&mdash;that is
+nothing to you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He asserted the fact so vehemently that I had not the courage to refute it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All eyes were suddenly turned upon me. I felt I was bearing the burden of the
+nation&rsquo;s preposterous breakfast&mdash;I who drank a cup of coffee while
+buttoning my blouse in the morning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing at all,&rdquo; cried Herr Hoffmann from Berlin. &ldquo;Ach, when
+I was in England in the morning I used to eat.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He turned up his eyes and his moustache, wiping the soup drippings from his
+coat and waistcoat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do they really eat so much?&rdquo; asked Fräulein Stiegelauer.
+&ldquo;Soup and baker&rsquo;s bread and pig&rsquo;s flesh, and tea and coffee
+and stewed fruit, and honey and eggs, and cold fish and kidneys, and hot fish
+and liver? All the ladies eat, too, especially the ladies.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly. I myself have noticed it, when I was living in a hotel in
+Leicester Square,&rdquo; cried the Herr Rat. &ldquo;It was a good hotel, but
+they could not make tea&mdash;now&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, that&rsquo;s one thing I <i>can</i> do,&rdquo; said I, laughing
+brightly. &ldquo;I can make very good tea. The great secret is to warm the
+teapot.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Warm the teapot,&rdquo; interrupted the Herr Rat, pushing away his soup
+plate. &ldquo;What do you warm the teapot for? Ha! ha! that&rsquo;s very good!
+One does not eat the teapot, I suppose?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He fixed his cold blue eyes upon me with an expression which suggested a
+thousand premeditated invasions.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So that is the great secret of your English tea? All you do is to warm
+the teapot.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I wanted to say that was only the preliminary canter, but could not translate
+it, and so was silent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The servant brought in veal, with &ldquo;sauerkraut&rdquo; and potatoes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I eat sauerkraut with great pleasure,&rdquo; said the Traveller from
+North Germany, &ldquo;but now I have eaten so much of it that I cannot retain
+it. I am immediately forced to&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A beautiful day,&rdquo; I cried, turning to Fräulein Stiegelauer.
+&ldquo;Did you get up early?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;At five o&rsquo;clock I walked for ten minutes in the wet grass. Again
+in bed. At half-past five I fell asleep, and woke at seven, when I made an
+&lsquo;overbody&rsquo; washing! Again in bed. At eight o&rsquo;clock I had a
+cold-water poultice, and at half past eight I drank a cup of mint tea. At nine
+I drank some malt coffee, and began my &lsquo;cure.&rsquo; Pass me the
+sauerkraut, please. You do not eat it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, thank you. I still find it a little strong.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is it true,&rdquo; asked the Widow, picking her teeth with a hairpin as
+she spoke, &ldquo;that you are a vegetarian?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, yes; I have not eaten meat for three years.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Im&mdash;possible! Have you any family?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There now, you see, that&rsquo;s what you&rsquo;re coming to! Who ever
+heard of having children upon vegetables? It is not possible. But you never
+have large families in England now; I suppose you are too busy with your
+suffragetting. Now I have had nine children, and they are all alive, thank God.
+Fine, healthy babies&mdash;though after the first one was born I had
+to&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How <i>wonderful!</i>&rdquo; I cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wonderful,&rdquo; said the Widow contemptuously, replacing the hairpin
+in the knob which was balanced on the top of her head. &ldquo;Not at all! A
+friend of mine had four at the same time. Her husband was so pleased he gave a
+supper-party and had them placed on the table. Of course she was very
+proud.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Germany,&rdquo; boomed the Traveller, biting round a potato which he had
+speared with his knife, &ldquo;is the home of the Family.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Followed an appreciative silence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The dishes were changed for beef, red currants and spinach. They wiped their
+forks upon black bread and started again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How long are you remaining here?&rdquo; asked the Herr Rat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do not know exactly. I must be back in London in September.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course you will visit München?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am afraid I shall not have time. You see, it is important not to break
+into my &lsquo;cure.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But you <i>must</i> go to München. You have not seen Germany if you have
+not been to München. All the Exhibitions, all the Art and Soul life of Germany
+are in München. There is the Wagner Festival in August, and Mozart and a
+Japanese collection of pictures&mdash;and there is the beer! You do not know
+what good beer is until you have been to München. Why, I see fine ladies every
+afternoon, but fine ladies, I tell you, drinking glasses so high.&rdquo; He
+measured a good washstand pitcher in height, and I smiled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If I drink a great deal of München beer I sweat so,&rdquo; said Herr
+Hoffmann. &ldquo;When I am here, in the fields or before my baths, I sweat, but
+I enjoy it; but in the town it is not at all the same thing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Prompted by the thought, he wiped his neck and face with his dinner napkin and
+carefully cleaned his ears.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A glass dish of stewed apricots was placed upon the table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, fruit!&rdquo; said Fräulein Stiegelauer, &ldquo;that is so necessary
+to health. The doctor told me this morning that the more fruit I could eat the
+better.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She very obviously followed the advice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Said the Traveller: &ldquo;I suppose you are frightened of an invasion, too,
+eh? Oh, that&rsquo;s good. I&rsquo;ve been reading all about your English play
+in a newspaper. Did you see it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo; I sat upright. &ldquo;I assure you we are not afraid.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, then, you ought to be,&rdquo; said the Herr Rat. &ldquo;You have
+got no army at all&mdash;a few little boys with their veins full of nicotine
+poisoning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be afraid,&rdquo; Herr Hoffmann said. &ldquo;We don&rsquo;t
+want England. If we did we would have had her long ago. We really do not want
+you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He waved his spoon airily, looking across at me as though I were a little child
+whom he would keep or dismiss as he pleased.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We certainly do not want Germany,&rdquo; I said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This morning I took a half bath. Then this afternoon I must take a knee
+bath and an arm bath,&rdquo; volunteered the Herr Rat; &ldquo;then I do my
+exercises for an hour, and my work is over. A glass of wine and a couple of
+rolls with some sardines&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They were handed cherry cake with whipped cream.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is your husband&rsquo;s favourite meat?&rdquo; asked the Widow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I really do not know,&rdquo; I answered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You really do not know? How long have you been married?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Three years.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But you cannot be in earnest! You would not have kept house as his wife
+for a week without knowing that fact.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I really never asked him; he is not at all particular about his
+food.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A pause. They all looked at me, shaking their heads, their mouths full of
+cherry stones.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No wonder there is a repetition in England of that dreadful state of
+things in Paris,&rdquo; said the Widow, folding her dinner napkin. &ldquo;How
+can a woman expect to keep her husband if she does not know his favourite food
+after three years?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mahlzeit!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mahlzeit!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I closed the door after me.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap02"></a>THE BARON</h2>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who is he?&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;And why does he sit always alone, with
+his back to us, too?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; whispered the Frau Oberregierungsrat, &ldquo;he is a
+<i>Baron</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She looked at me very solemnly, and yet with the slightest possible
+contempt&mdash;a &ldquo;fancy-not-recognising-that-at-the-first-glance&rdquo;
+expression.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But, poor soul, he cannot help it,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;Surely that
+unfortunate fact ought not to debar him from the pleasures of intellectual
+intercourse.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+If it had not been for her fork I think she would have crossed herself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Surely you cannot understand. He is one of the First Barons.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+More than a little unnerved, she turned and spoke to the Frau Doktor on her
+left.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My omelette is empty&mdash;<i>empty</i>,&rdquo; she protested,
+&ldquo;and this is the third I have tried!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I looked at the First of the Barons. He was eating salad&mdash;taking a whole
+lettuce leaf on his fork and absorbing it slowly, rabbit-wise&mdash;a
+fascinating process to watch.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Small and slight, with scanty black hair and beard and yellow-toned complexion,
+he invariably wore black serge clothes, a rough linen shirt, black sandals, and
+the largest black-rimmed spectacles that I had ever seen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Herr Oberlehrer, who sat opposite me, smiled benignantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It must be very interesting for you, gnädige Frau, to be able to
+watch... of course this is a <i>very fine house</i>. There was a lady from the
+Spanish Court here in the summer; she had a liver. We often spoke
+together.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I looked gratified and humble.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, in England, in your &lsquo;boarding &rsquo;ouse&rsquo;, one does
+not find the First Class, as in Germany.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, indeed,&rdquo; I replied, still hypnotised by the Baron, who looked
+like a little yellow silkworm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Baron comes every year,&rdquo; went on the Herr Oberlehrer,
+&ldquo;for his nerves. He has never spoken to any of the
+guests&mdash;<i>yet</i>.&rdquo; A smile crossed his face. I seemed to see his
+visions of some splendid upheaval of that silence&mdash;a dazzling exchange of
+courtesies in a dim future, a splendid sacrifice of a newspaper to this Exalted
+One, a &ldquo;danke schön&rdquo; to be handed down to future generations.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At that moment the postman, looking like a German army officer, came in with
+the mail. He threw my letters into my milk pudding, and then turned to a
+waitress and whispered. She retired hastily. The manager of the pension came in
+with a little tray. A picture post card was deposited on it, and reverently
+bowing his head, the manager of the pension carried it to the Baron.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Myself, I felt disappointed that there was not a salute of twenty-five guns.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the end of the meal we were served with coffee. I noticed the Baron took
+three lumps of sugar, putting two in his cup and wrapping up the third in a
+corner of his pocket-handkerchief. He was always the first to enter the
+dining-room and the last to leave; and in a vacant chair beside him he placed a
+little black leather bag.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the afternoon, leaning from my window, I saw him pass down the street,
+walking tremulously and carrying the bag. Each time he passed a lamp-post he
+shrank a little, as though expecting it to strike him, or maybe the sense of
+plebeian contamination....
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I wondered where he was going, and why he carried the bag. Never had I seen him
+at the Casino or the Bath Establishment. He looked forlorn, his feet slipped in
+his sandals. I found myself pitying the Baron.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That evening a party of us were gathered in the salon discussing the
+day&rsquo;s &ldquo;kur&rdquo; with feverish animation. The Frau
+Oberregierungsrat sat by me knitting a shawl for her youngest of nine
+daughters, who was in that very interesting, frail condition.... &ldquo;But it
+is bound to be quite satisfactory,&rdquo; she said to me. &ldquo;The dear
+married a banker&mdash;the desire of her life.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There must have been eight or ten of us gathered together, we who were married
+exchanging confidences as to the underclothing and peculiar characteristics of
+our husbands, the unmarried discussing the over-clothing and peculiar
+fascinations of Possible Ones.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I knit them myself,&rdquo; I heard the Frau Lehrer cry, &ldquo;of thick
+grey wool. He wears one a month, with two soft collars.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And then,&rdquo; whispered Fräulein Lisa, &ldquo;he said to me,
+&lsquo;Indeed you please me. I shall, perhaps, write to your
+mother.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Small wonder that we were a little violently excited, a little expostulatory.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly the door opened and admitted the Baron.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Followed a complete and deathlike silence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He came in slowly, hesitated, took up a toothpick from a dish on the top of the
+piano, and went out again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the door was closed we raised a triumphant cry! It was the first time he
+had ever been known to enter the salon. Who could tell what the Future held?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Days lengthened into weeks. Still we were together, and still the solitary
+little figure, head bowed as though under the weight of the spectacles, haunted
+me. He entered with the black bag, he retired with the black bag&mdash;and that
+was all.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last the manager of the pension told us the Baron was leaving the next day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; I thought, &ldquo;surely he cannot drift into
+obscurity&mdash;be lost without one word! Surely he will honour the Frau
+Oberregierungsrat or the Frau Feldleutnantswitwe <i>once</i> before he
+goes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the evening of that day it rained heavily. I went to the post office, and as
+I stood on the steps, umbrellaless, hesitating before plunging into the slushy
+road, a little, hesitating voice seemed to come from under my elbow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I looked down. It was the First of the Barons with the black bag and an
+umbrella. Was I mad? Was I sane? He was asking me to share the latter. But I
+was exceedingly nice, a trifle diffident, appropriately reverential. Together
+we walked through the mud and slush.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, there is something peculiarly intimate in sharing an umbrella.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It is apt to put one on the same footing as brushing a man&rsquo;s coat for
+him&mdash;a little daring, naïve.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I longed to know why he sat alone, why he carried the bag, what he did all day.
+But he himself volunteered some information.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I fear,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that my luggage will be damp. I
+invariably carry it with me in this bag&mdash;one requires so little&mdash;for
+servants are untrustworthy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A wise idea,&rdquo; I answered. And then: &ldquo;Why have you denied us
+the pleasure&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I sit alone that I may eat more,&rdquo; said the Baron, peering into the
+dusk; &ldquo;my stomach requires a great deal of food. I order double portions,
+and eat them in peace.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Which sounded finely Baronial.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And what do you do all day?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I imbibe nourishment in my room,&rdquo; he replied, in a voice that
+closed the conversation and almost repented of the umbrella.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When we arrived at the pension there was very nearly an open riot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I ran half way up the stairs, and thanked the Baron audibly from the landing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He distinctly replied: &ldquo;Not at all!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was very friendly of the Herr Oberlehrer to have sent me a bouquet that
+evening, and the Frau Oberregierungsrat asked me for my pattern of a
+baby&rsquo;s bonnet!
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>
+Next day the Baron was gone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sic transit gloria German mundi.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap03"></a>THE SISTER OF THE BARONESS</h2>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There are two new guests arriving this afternoon,&rdquo; said the
+manager of the pension, placing a chair for me at the breakfast-table. &ldquo;I
+have only received the letter acquainting me with the fact this morning. The
+Baroness von Gall is sending her little daughter&mdash;the poor child is
+dumb&mdash;to make the &lsquo;cure.&rsquo; She is to stay with us a month, and
+then the Baroness herself is coming.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Baroness von Gall,&rdquo; cried the Frau Doktor, coming into the room
+and positively scenting the name. &ldquo;Coming here? There was a picture of
+her only last week in <i>Sport and Salon</i>. She is a friend of the Court: I
+have heard that the Kaiserin says &lsquo;du&rsquo; to her. But this is
+delightful! I shall take my doctor&rsquo;s advice and spend an extra six weeks
+here. There is nothing like young society.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But the child is dumb,&rdquo; ventured the manager apologetically.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bah! What does that matter? Afflicted children have such pretty
+ways.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Each guest who came into the breakfast-room was bombarded with the wonderful
+news. &ldquo;The Baroness von Gall is sending her little daughter here; the
+Baroness herself is coming in a month&rsquo;s time.&rdquo; Coffee and rolls
+took on the nature of an orgy. We positively scintillated. Anecdotes of the
+High Born were poured out, sweetened and sipped: we gorged on scandals of High
+Birth generously buttered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They are to have the room next to yours,&rdquo; said the manager,
+addressing me. &ldquo;I was wondering if you would permit me to take down the
+portrait of the Kaiserin Elizabeth from above your bed to hang over their
+sofa.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, indeed, something homelike&rdquo;&mdash;the Frau Oberregierungsrat
+patted my hand&mdash;&ldquo;and of no possible significance to you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I felt a little crushed. Not at the prospect of losing that vision of diamonds
+and blue velvet bust, but at the tone&mdash;placing me outside the
+pale&mdash;branding me as a foreigner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We dissipated the day in valid speculations. Decided it was too warm to walk in
+the afternoon, so lay down on our beds, mustering in great force for afternoon
+coffee. And a carriage drew up at the door. A tall young girl got out, leading
+a child by the hand. They entered the hall, were greeted and shown to their
+room. Ten minutes later she came down with the child to sign the
+visitors&rsquo; book. She wore a black, closely fitting dress, touched at
+throat and wrists with white frilling. Her brown hair, braided, was tied with a
+black bow&mdash;unusually pale, with a small mole on her left cheek.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am the Baroness von Gall&rsquo;s sister,&rdquo; she said, trying the
+pen on a piece of blotting-paper, and smiling at us deprecatingly. Even for the
+most jaded of us life holds its thrilling moments. Two Baronesses in two
+months! The manager immediately left the room to find a new nib.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To my plebeian eyes that afflicted child was singularly unattractive. She had
+the air of having been perpetually washed with a blue bag, and hair like grey
+wool&mdash;dressed, too, in a pinafore so stiffly starched that she could only
+peer at us over the frill of it&mdash;a social barrier of a pinafore&mdash;and
+perhaps it was too much to expect a noble aunt to attend to the menial
+consideration of her niece&rsquo;s ears. But a dumb niece with unwashed ears
+struck me as a most depressing object.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They were given places at the head of the table. For a moment we all looked at
+one another with an eena-deena-dina-do expression. Then the Frau
+Oberregierungsrat:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hope you are not tired after your journey.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said the sister of the Baroness, smiling into her cup.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hope the dear child is not tired,&rdquo; said the Frau Doktor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not at all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I expect, I hope you will sleep well to-night,&rdquo; the Herr
+Oberlehrer said reverently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The poet from Munich never took his eyes off the pair. He allowed his tie to
+absorb most of his coffee while he gazed at them exceedingly soulfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Unyoking Pegasus, thought I. Death spasms of his Odes to Solitude! There were
+possibilities in that young woman for an inspiration, not to mention a
+dedication, and from that moment his suffering temperament took up its bed and
+walked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They retired after the meal, leaving us to discuss them at leisure.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There is a likeness,&rdquo; mused the Frau Doktor. &ldquo;Quite. What a
+manner she has. Such reserve, such a tender way with the child.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pity she has the child to attend to,&rdquo; exclaimed the student from
+Bonn. He had hitherto relied upon three scars and a ribbon to produce an
+effect, but the sister of a Baroness demanded more than these.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Absorbing days followed. Had she been one whit less beautifully born we could
+not have endured the continual conversation about her, the songs in her praise,
+the detailed account of her movements. But she graciously suffered our worship
+and we were more than content.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The poet she took into her confidence. He carried her books when we went
+walking, he jumped the afflicted one on his knee&mdash;poetic licence,
+this&mdash;and one morning brought his notebook into the salon and read to us.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The sister of the Baroness has assured me she is going into a
+convent,&rdquo; he said. (That made the student from Bonn sit up.) &ldquo;I
+have written these few lines last night from my window in the sweet night
+air&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, your <i>delicate</i> chest,&rdquo; commented the Frau Doktor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He fixed a stony eye on her, and she blushed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have written these lines:
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Ah, will you to a convent fly,<br/>
+    So young, so fresh, so fair?<br/>
+Spring like a doe upon the fields<br/>
+    And find your beauty there.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nine verses equally lovely commanded her to equally violent action. I am
+certain that had she followed his advice not even the remainder of her life in
+a convent would have given her time to recover her breath.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have presented her with a copy,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;And to-day we
+are going to look for wild flowers in the wood.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The student from Bonn got up and left the room. I begged the poet to repeat the
+verses once more. At the end of the sixth verse I saw from the window the
+sister of the Baroness and the scarred youth disappearing through the front
+gate, which enabled me to thank the poet so charmingly that he offered to write
+me out a copy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But we were living at too high pressure in those days. Swinging from our humble
+pension to the high walls of palaces, how could we help but fall? Late one
+afternoon the Frau Doktor came upon me in the writing-room and took me to her
+bosom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She has been telling me all about her life,&rdquo; whispered the Frau
+Doktor. &ldquo;She came to my bedroom and offered to massage my arm. You know,
+I am the greatest martyr to rheumatism. And, fancy now, she has already had six
+proposals of marriage. Such beautiful offers that I assure you I wept&mdash;and
+every one of noble birth. My dear, the most beautiful was in the wood. Not that
+I do not think a proposal should take place in a drawing-room&mdash;it is more
+fitting to have four walls&mdash;but this was a private wood. He said, the
+young officer, she was like a young tree whose branches had never been touched
+by the ruthless hand of man. Such delicacy!&rdquo; She sighed and turned up her
+eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course it is difficult for you English to understand when you are
+always exposing your legs on cricket-fields, and breeding dogs in your back
+gardens. The pity of it! Youth should be like a wild rose. For myself I do not
+understand how your women ever get married at all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She shook her head so violently that I shook mine too, and a gloom settled
+round my heart. It seemed we were really in a very bad way. Did the spirit of
+romance spread her rose wings only over aristocratic Germany?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I went to my room, bound a pink scarf about my hair, and took a volume of
+Mörike&rsquo;s lyrics into the garden. A great bush of purple lilac grew behind
+the summer-house. There I sat down, finding a sad significance in the delicate
+suggestion of half mourning. I began to write a poem myself.
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+&ldquo;They sway and languish dreamily,<br/>
+And we, close pressed, are kissing there.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It ended! &ldquo;Close pressed&rdquo; did not sound at all fascinating.
+Savoured of wardrobes. Did my wild rose then already trail in the dust? I
+chewed a leaf and hugged my knees. Then&mdash;magic moment&mdash;I heard voices
+from the summer-house, the sister of the Baroness and the student from Bonn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Second-hand was better than nothing; I pricked up my ears.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What small hands you have,&rdquo; said the student from Bonn.
+&ldquo;They are like white lilies lying in the pool of your black dress.&rdquo;
+This certainly sounded the real thing. Her high-born reply was what interested
+me. Sympathetic murmur only.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;May I hold one?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I heard two sighs&mdash;presumed they held&mdash;he had rifled those dark
+waters of a noble blossom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Look at my great fingers beside yours.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But they are beautifully kept,&rdquo; said the sister of the Baroness
+shyly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The minx! Was love then a question of manicure?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How I should adore to kiss you,&rdquo; murmured the student. &ldquo;But
+you know I am suffering from severe nasal catarrh, and I dare not risk giving
+it to you. Sixteen times last night did I count myself sneezing. And three
+different handkerchiefs.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I threw Mörike into the lilac bush, and went back to the house. A great
+automobile snorted at the front door. In the salon great commotion. The
+Baroness was paying a surprise visit to her little daughter. Clad in a yellow
+mackintosh she stood in the middle of the room questioning the manager. And
+every guest the pension contained was grouped about her, even the Frau Doktor,
+presumably examining a timetable, as near to the august skirts as possible.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But where is my maid?&rdquo; asked the Baroness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There was no maid,&rdquo; replied the manager, &ldquo;save for your
+gracious sister and daughter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sister!&rdquo; she cried sharply. &ldquo;Fool, I have no sister. My
+child travelled with the daughter of my dressmaker.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tableau grandissimo!
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap04"></a>FRAU FISCHER</h2>
+
+<p>
+Frau Fischer was the fortunate possessor of a candle factory somewhere on the
+banks of the Eger, and once a year she ceased from her labours to make a
+&ldquo;cure&rdquo; in Dorschausen, arriving with a dress-basket neatly covered
+in a black tarpaulin and a hand-bag. The latter contained amongst her
+handkerchiefs, eau de Cologne, toothpicks, and a certain woollen muffler very
+comforting to the &ldquo;magen,&rdquo; samples of her skill in candle-making,
+to be offered up as tokens of thanksgiving when her holiday time was over.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Four of the clock one July afternoon she appeared at the Pension Müller. I was
+sitting in the arbour and watched her bustling up the path followed by the
+red-bearded porter with her dress-basket in his arms and a sunflower between
+his teeth. The widow and her five innocent daughters stood tastefully grouped
+upon the steps in appropriate attitudes of welcome; and the greetings were so
+long and loud that I felt a sympathetic glow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What a journey!&rdquo; cried the Frau Fischer. &ldquo;And nothing to eat
+in the train&mdash;nothing solid. I assure you the sides of my stomach are
+flapping together. But I must not spoil my appetite for dinner&mdash;just a cup
+of coffee in my room. Bertha,&rdquo; turning to the youngest of the five,
+&ldquo;how changed! What a bust! Frau Hartmann, I congratulate you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Once again the Widow seized Frau Fischer&rsquo;s hands. &ldquo;Kathi, too, a
+splendid woman; but a little pale. Perhaps the young man from Nürnberg is here
+again this year. How you keep them all I don&rsquo;t know. Each year I come
+expecting to find you with an empty nest. It&rsquo;s surprising.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Frau Hartmann, in an ashamed, apologetic voice: &ldquo;We are such a happy
+family since my dear man died.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But these marriages&mdash;one must have courage; and after all, give
+them time, they all make the happy family bigger&mdash;thank God for that....
+Are there many people here just now?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Every room engaged.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Followed a detailed description in the hall, murmured on the stairs, continued
+in six parts as they entered the large room (windows opening upon the garden)
+which Frau Fischer occupied each successive year. I was reading the
+&ldquo;Miracles of Lourdes,&rdquo; which a Catholic priest&mdash;fixing a
+gloomy eye upon my soul&mdash;had begged me to digest; but its wonders were
+completely routed by Frau Fischer&rsquo;s arrival. Not even the white roses
+upon the feet of the Virgin could flourish in that atmosphere.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;... It was a simple shepherd-child who pastured her flocks upon the
+barren fields....&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Voices from the room above: &ldquo;The washstand has, of course, been scrubbed
+over with soda.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;... Poverty-stricken, her limbs with tattered rags half
+covered....&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Every stick of the furniture has been sunning in the garden for three
+days. And the carpet we made ourselves out of old clothes. There is a piece of
+that beautiful flannel petticoat you left us last summer.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;... Deaf and dumb was the child; in fact, the population considered her
+half idiot....&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, that is a new picture of the Kaiser. We have moved the
+thorn-crowned one of Jesus Christ out into the passage. It was not cheerful to
+sleep with. Dear Frau Fischer, won&rsquo;t you take your coffee out in the
+garden?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is a very nice idea. But first I must remove my corsets and my
+boots. Ah, what a relief to wear sandals again. I am needing the
+&lsquo;cure&rsquo; very badly this year. My nerves! I am a mass of them. During
+the entire journey I sat with my handkerchief over my head, even while the
+guard collected the tickets. Exhausted!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She came into the arbour wearing a black and white spotted dressing-gown, and a
+calico cap peaked with patent leather, followed by Kathi, carrying the little
+blue jugs of malt coffee. We were formally introduced. Frau Fischer sat down,
+produced a perfectly clean pocket handkerchief and polished her cup and saucer,
+then lifted the lid of the coffee-pot and peered in at the contents mournfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Malt coffee,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Ah, for the first few days I wonder
+how I can put up with it. Naturally, absent from home one must expect much
+discomfort and strange food. But as I used to say to my dear husband: with a
+clean sheet and a good cup of coffee I can find my happiness anywhere. But now,
+with nerves like mine, no sacrifice is too terrible for me to make. What
+complaint are you suffering from? You look exceedingly healthy!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I smiled and shrugged my shoulders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, that is so strange about you English. You do not seem to enjoy
+discussing the functions of the body. As well speak of a railway train and
+refuse to mention the engine. How can we hope to understand anybody, knowing
+nothing of their stomachs? In my husband&rsquo;s most severe illness&mdash;the
+poultices&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She dipped a piece of sugar in her coffee and watched it dissolve.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yet a young friend of mine who travelled to England for the funeral of
+his brother told me that women wore bodices in public restaurants no waiter
+could help looking into as he handed the soup.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But only German waiters,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;English ones look over
+the top of your head.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;now you see your dependence on Germany.
+Not even an efficient waiter can you have by yourselves.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I prefer them to look over your head.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And that proves that you must be ashamed of your bodice.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I looked out over the garden full of wall-flowers and standard rose-trees
+growing stiffly like German bouquets, feeling I did not care one way or the
+other. I rather wanted to ask her if the young friend had gone to England in
+the capacity of waiter to attend the funeral baked meats, but decided it was
+not worth it. The weather was too hot to be malicious, and who could be
+uncharitable, victimised by the flapping sensations which Frau Fischer was
+enduring until six-thirty? As a gift from heaven for my forbearance, down the
+path towards us came the Herr Rat, angelically clad in a white silk suit. He
+and Frau Fischer were old friends. She drew the folds of her dressing-gown
+together, and made room for him on the little green bench.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How cool you are looking,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;and if I may make the
+remark&mdash;what a beautiful suit!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Surely I wore it last summer when you were here? I brought the silk from
+China&mdash;smuggled it through the Russian customs by swathing it round my
+body. And such a quantity: two dress lengths for my sister-in-law, three suits
+for myself, a cloak for the housekeeper of my flat in Munich. How I perspired!
+Every inch of it had to be washed afterwards.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Surely you have had more adventures than any man in Germany. When I
+think of the time that you spent in Turkey with a drunken guide who was bitten
+by a mad dog and fell over a precipice into a field of attar of roses, I lament
+that you have not written a book.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Time&mdash;time. I am getting a few notes together. And now that you are
+here we shall renew our quiet little talks after supper. Yes? It is necessary
+and pleasant for a man to find relaxation in the company of women
+occasionally.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed I realise that. Even here your life is too strenuous&mdash;you
+are so sought after&mdash;so admired. It was just the same with my dear
+husband. He was a tall, beautiful man, and sometimes in the evening he would
+come down into the kitchen and say: &lsquo;Wife, I would like to be stupid for
+two minutes.&rsquo; Nothing rested him so much then as for me to stroke his
+head.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Herr Rat&rsquo;s bald pate glistening in the sunlight seemed symbolical of
+the sad absence of a wife.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I began to wonder as to the nature of these quiet little after-supper talks.
+How could one play Delilah to so shorn a Samson?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Herr Hoffmann from Berlin arrived yesterday,&rdquo; said the Herr Rat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That young man I refuse to converse with. He told me last year that he
+had stayed in France in an hotel where they did not have serviettes; what a
+place it must have been! In Austria even the cabmen have serviettes. Also I
+have heard that he discussed &lsquo;free love&rsquo; with Bertha as she was
+sweeping his room. I am not accustomed to such company. I had suspected him for
+a long time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Young blood,&rdquo; answered the Herr Rat genially. &ldquo;I have had
+several disputes with him&mdash;you have heard them&mdash;is it not so?&rdquo;
+turning to me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A great many,&rdquo; I said, smiling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Doubtless you too consider me behind the times. I make no secret of my
+age; I am sixty-nine; but you must have surely observed how impossible it was
+for him to speak at all when I raised my voice.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I replied with the utmost conviction, and, catching Frau Fischer&rsquo;s eye,
+suddenly realised I had better go back to the house and write some letters.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was dark and cool in my room. A chestnut-tree pushed green boughs against
+the window. I looked down at the horsehair sofa so openly flouting the idea of
+curling up as immoral, pulled the red pillow on to the floor and lay down. And
+barely had I got comfortable when the door opened and Frau Fischer entered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Herr Rat had a bathing appointment,&rdquo; she said, shutting the
+door after her. &ldquo;May I come in? Pray do not move. You look like a little
+Persian kitten. Now, tell me something really interesting about your life. When
+I meet new people I squeeze them dry like a sponge. To begin with&mdash;you are
+married.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I admitted the fact.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then, dear child, where is your husband?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I said he was a sea-captain on a long and perilous voyage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What a position to leave you in&mdash;so young and so
+unprotected.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She sat down on the sofa and shook her finger at me playfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Admit, now, that you keep your journeys secret from him. For what man
+would think of allowing a woman with such a wealth of hair to go wandering in
+foreign countries? Now, supposing that you lost your purse at midnight in a
+snowbound train in North Russia?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I haven&rsquo;t the slightest intention&mdash;&rdquo; I began.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t say that you have. But when you said good-bye to your dear
+man I am positive that you had no intention of coming here. My dear, I am a
+woman of experience, and I know the world. While he is away you have a fever in
+your blood. Your sad heart flies for comfort to these foreign lands. At home
+you cannot bear the sight of that empty bed&mdash;it is like widowhood. Since
+the death of my dear husband I have never known an hour&rsquo;s peace.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I like empty beds,&rdquo; I protested sleepily, thumping the pillow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That cannot be true because it is not natural. Every wife ought to feel
+that her place is by her husband&rsquo;s side&mdash;sleeping or waking. It is
+plain to see that the strongest tie of all does not yet bind you. Wait until a
+little pair of hands stretches across the water&mdash;wait until he comes into
+harbour and sees you with the child at your breast.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I sat up stiffly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I consider child-bearing the most ignominious of all
+professions,&rdquo; I said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a moment there was silence. Then Frau Fischer reached down and caught my
+hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So young and yet to suffer so cruelly,&rdquo; she murmured. &ldquo;There
+is nothing that sours a woman so terribly as to be left alone without a man,
+especially if she is married, for then it is impossible for her to accept the
+attention of others&mdash;unless she is unfortunately a widow. Of course, I
+know that sea-captains are subject to terrible temptations, and they are as
+inflammable as tenor singers&mdash;that is why you must present a bright and
+energetic appearance, and try and make him proud of you when his ship reaches
+port.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This husband that I had created for the benefit of Frau Fischer became in her
+hands so substantial a figure that I could no longer see myself sitting on a
+rock with seaweed in my hair, awaiting that phantom ship for which all women
+love to suppose they hunger. Rather, I saw myself pushing a perambulator up the
+gangway, and counting up the missing buttons on my husband&rsquo;s uniform
+jacket.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Handfuls of babies, that is what you are really in need of,&rdquo; mused
+Frau Fischer. &ldquo;Then, as the father of a family he cannot leave you. Think
+of his delight and excitement when he saw you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The plan seemed to me something of a risk. To appear suddenly with handfuls of
+strange babies is not generally calculated to raise enthusiasm in the heart of
+the average British husband. I decided to wreck my virgin conception and send
+him down somewhere off Cape Horn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then the dinner-gong sounded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come up to my room afterwards,&rdquo; said Frau Fischer. &ldquo;There is
+still much that I must ask you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She squeezed my hand, but I did not squeeze back.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap05"></a>FRAU BRECHENMACHER ATTENDS A WEDDING</h2>
+
+
+<p>
+Getting ready was a terrible business. After supper Frau Brechenmacher packed
+four of the five babies to bed, allowing Rosa to stay with her and help to
+polish the buttons of Herr Brechenmacher&rsquo;s uniform. Then she ran over his
+best shirt with a hot iron, polished his boots, and put a stitch or two into
+his black satin necktie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Rosa,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;fetch my dress and hang it in front of the
+stove to get the creases out. Now, mind, you must look after the children and
+not sit up later than half-past eight, and not touch the lamp&mdash;you know
+what will happen if you do.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, Mamma,&rdquo; said Rosa, who was nine and felt old enough to manage
+a thousand lamps. &ldquo;But let me stay up&mdash;the &lsquo;Bub&rsquo; may
+wake and want some milk.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Half-past eight!&rdquo; said the Frau. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll make the father
+tell you too.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Rosa drew down the corners of her mouth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But... but....&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here comes the father. You go into the bedroom and fetch my blue silk
+handkerchief. You can wear my black shawl while I&rsquo;m out&mdash;there
+now!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Rosa dragged it off her mother&rsquo;s shoulders and wound it carefully round
+her own, tying the two ends in a knot at the back. After all, she reflected, if
+she had to go to bed at half past eight she would keep the shawl on. Which
+resolution comforted her absolutely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, then, where are my clothes?&rdquo; cried Herr Brechenmacher,
+hanging his empty letter-bag behind the door and stamping the snow out of his
+boots. &ldquo;Nothing ready, of course, and everybody at the wedding by this
+time. I heard the music as I passed. What are you doing? You&rsquo;re not
+dressed. You can&rsquo;t go like that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here they are&mdash;all ready for you on the table, and some warm water
+in the tin basin. Dip your head in. Rosa, give your father the towel.
+Everything ready except the trousers. I haven&rsquo;t had time to shorten them.
+You must tuck the ends into your boots until we get there.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nu,&rdquo; said the Herr, &ldquo;there isn&rsquo;t room to turn. I want
+the light. You go and dress in the passage.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dressing in the dark was nothing to Frau Brechenmacher. She hooked her skirt
+and bodice, fastened her handkerchief round her neck with a beautiful brooch
+that had four medals to the Virgin dangling from it, and then drew on her cloak
+and hood.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here, come and fasten this buckle,&rdquo; called Herr Brechenmacher. He
+stood in the kitchen puffing himself out, the buttons on his blue uniform
+shining with an enthusiasm which nothing but official buttons could possibly
+possess. &ldquo;How do I look?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wonderful,&rdquo; replied the little Frau, straining at the waist buckle
+and giving him a little pull here, a little tug there. &ldquo;Rosa, come and
+look at your father.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Herr Brechenmacher strode up and down the kitchen, was helped on with his coat,
+then waited while the Frau lighted the lantern.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, then&mdash;finished at last! Come along.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The lamp, Rosa,&rdquo; warned the Frau, slamming the front door behind
+them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Snow had not fallen all day; the frozen ground was slippery as an icepond. She
+had not been out of the house for weeks past, and the day had so flurried her
+that she felt muddled and stupid&mdash;felt that Rosa had pushed her out of the
+house and her man was running away from her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wait, wait!&rdquo; she cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. I&rsquo;ll get my feet damp&mdash;you hurry.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was easier when they came into the village. There were fences to cling to,
+and leading from the railway station to the Gasthaus a little path of cinders
+had been strewn for the benefit of the wedding guests.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Gasthaus was very festive. Lights shone out from every window, wreaths of
+fir twigs hung from the ledges. Branches decorated the front doors, which swung
+open, and in the hall the landlord voiced his superiority by bullying the
+waitresses, who ran about continually with glasses of beer, trays of cups and
+saucers, and bottles of wine.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Up the stairs&mdash;up the stairs!&rdquo; boomed the landlord.
+&ldquo;Leave your coats on the landing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Herr Brechenmacher, completely overawed by this grand manner, so far forgot his
+rights as a husband as to beg his wife&rsquo;s pardon for jostling her against
+the banisters in his efforts to get ahead of everybody else.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Herr Brechenmacher&rsquo;s colleagues greeted him with acclamation as he
+entered the door of the Festsaal, and the Frau straightened her brooch and
+folded her hands, assuming the air of dignity becoming to the wife of a postman
+and the mother of five children. Beautiful indeed was the Festsaal. Three long
+tables were grouped at one end, the remainder of the floor space cleared for
+dancing. Oil lamps, hanging from the ceiling, shed a warm, bright light on the
+walls decorated with paper flowers and garlands; shed a warmer, brighter light
+on the red faces of the guests in their best clothes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the head of the centre table sat the bride and bridegroom, she in a white
+dress trimmed with stripes and bows of coloured ribbon, giving her the
+appearance of an iced cake all ready to be cut and served in neat little pieces
+to the bridegroom beside her, who wore a suit of white clothes much too large
+for him and a white silk tie that rose halfway up his collar. Grouped about
+them, with a fine regard for dignity and precedence, sat their parents and
+relations; and perched on a stool at the bride&rsquo;s right hand a little girl
+in a crumpled muslin dress with a wreath of forget-me-nots hanging over one
+ear. Everybody was laughing and talking, shaking hands, clinking glasses,
+stamping on the floor&mdash;a stench of beer and perspiration filled the air.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Frau Brechenmacher, following her man down the room after greeting the bridal
+party, knew that she was going to enjoy herself. She seemed to fill out and
+become rosy and warm as she sniffed that familiar festive smell. Somebody
+pulled at her skirt, and, looking down, she saw Frau Rupp, the butcher&rsquo;s
+wife, who pulled out an empty chair and begged her to sit beside her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fritz will get you some beer,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;My dear, your
+skirt is open at the back. We could not help laughing as you walked up the room
+with the white tape of your petticoat showing!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But how frightful!&rdquo; said Frau Brechenmacher, collapsing into her
+chair and biting her lip.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Na, it&rsquo;s over now,&rdquo; said Frau Rupp, stretching her fat hands
+over the table and regarding her three mourning rings with intense enjoyment;
+&ldquo;but one must be careful, especially at a wedding.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And such a wedding as this,&rdquo; cried Frau Ledermann, who sat on the
+other side of Frau Brechenmacher. &ldquo;Fancy Theresa bringing that child with
+her. It&rsquo;s her own child, you know, my dear, and it&rsquo;s going to live
+with them. That&rsquo;s what I call a sin against the Church for a free-born
+child to attend its own mother&rsquo;s wedding.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The three women sat and stared at the bride, who remained very still, with a
+little vacant smile on her lips, only her eyes shifting uneasily from side to
+side.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Beer they&rsquo;ve given it, too,&rdquo; whispered Frau Rupp, &ldquo;and
+white wine and an ice. It never did have a stomach; she ought to have left it
+at home.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Frau Brechenmacher turned round and looked towards the bride&rsquo;s mother.
+She never took her eyes off her daughter, but wrinkled her brown forehead like
+an old monkey, and nodded now and again very solemnly. Her hands shook as she
+raised her beer mug, and when she had drunk she spat on the floor and savagely
+wiped her mouth with her sleeve. Then the music started and she followed
+Theresa with her eyes, looking suspiciously at each man who danced with her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Cheer up, old woman,&rdquo; shouted her husband, digging her in the
+ribs; &ldquo;this isn&rsquo;t Theresa&rsquo;s funeral.&rdquo; He winked at the
+guests, who broke into loud laughter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I <i>am</i> cheerful,&rdquo; mumbled the old woman, and beat upon the
+table with her fist, keeping time to the music, proving she was not out of the
+festivities.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She can&rsquo;t forget how wild Theresa has been,&rdquo; said Frau
+Ledermann. &ldquo;Who could&mdash;with the child there? I heard that last
+Sunday evening Theresa had hysterics and said that she would not marry this
+man. They had to get the priest to her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where is the other one?&rdquo; asked Frau Brechenmacher. &ldquo;Why
+didn&rsquo;t he marry her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The woman shrugged her shoulders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gone&mdash;disappeared. He was a traveller, and only stayed at their
+house two nights. He was selling shirt buttons&mdash;I bought some myself, and
+they were beautiful shirt buttons&mdash;but what a pig of a fellow! I
+can&rsquo;t think what he saw in such a plain girl&mdash;but you never know.
+Her mother says she&rsquo;s been like fire ever since she was sixteen!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Frau Brechenmacher looked down at her beer and blew a little hole in the froth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s not how a wedding should be,&rdquo; she said;
+&ldquo;it&rsquo;s not religion to love two men.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nice time she&rsquo;ll have with this one,&rdquo; Frau Rupp exclaimed.
+&ldquo;He was lodging with me last summer and I had to get rid of him. He never
+changed his clothes once in two months, and when I spoke to him of the smell in
+his room he told me he was sure it floated up from the shop. Ah, every wife has
+her cross. Isn&rsquo;t that true, my dear?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Frau Brechenmacher saw her husband among his colleagues at the next table. He
+was drinking far too much, she knew&mdash;gesticulating wildly, the saliva
+spluttering out of his mouth as he talked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she assented, &ldquo;that&rsquo;s true. Girls have a lot to
+learn.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Wedged in between these two fat old women, the Frau had no hope of being asked
+to dance. She watched the couples going round and round; she forgot her five
+babies and her man and felt almost like a girl again. The music sounded sad and
+sweet. Her roughened hands clasped and unclasped themselves in the folds of her
+skirt. While the music went on she was afraid to look anybody in the face, and
+she smiled with a little nervous tremor round the mouth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But, my God,&rdquo; Frau Rupp cried, &ldquo;they&rsquo;ve given that
+child of Theresa&rsquo;s a piece of sausage. It&rsquo;s to keep her quiet.
+There&rsquo;s going to be a presentation now&mdash;your man has to
+speak.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Frau Brechenmacher sat up stiffly. The music ceased, and the dancers took their
+places again at the tables.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Herr Brechenmacher alone remained standing&mdash;he held in his hands a big
+silver coffee-pot. Everybody laughed at his speech, except the Frau; everybody
+roared at his grimaces, and at the way he carried the coffee-pot to the bridal
+pair, as if it were a baby he was holding.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She lifted the lid, peeped in, then shut it down with a little scream and sat
+biting her lips. The bridegroom wrenched the pot away from her and drew forth a
+baby&rsquo;s bottle and two little cradles holding china dolls. As he dandled
+these treasures before Theresa the hot room seemed to heave and sway with
+laughter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Frau Brechenmacher did not think it funny. She stared round at the laughing
+faces, and suddenly they all seemed strange to her. She wanted to go home and
+never come out again. She imagined that all these people were laughing at her,
+more people than there were in the room even&mdash;all laughing at her because
+they were so much stronger than she was.
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>
+They walked home in silence. Herr Brechenmacher strode ahead, she stumbled
+after him. White and forsaken lay the road from the railway station to their
+house&mdash;a cold rush of wind blew her hood from her face, and suddenly she
+remembered how they had come home together the first night. Now they had five
+babies and twice as much money; <i>but</i>&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Na, what is it all for?&rdquo; she muttered, and not until she had
+reached home, and prepared a little supper of meat and bread for her man did
+she stop asking herself that silly question.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Herr Brechenmacher broke the bread into his plate, smeared it round with his
+fork and chewed greedily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good?&rdquo; she asked, leaning her arms on the table and pillowing her
+breast against them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But fine!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He took a piece of the crumb, wiped it round his plate edge, and held it up to
+her mouth. She shook her head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not hungry,&rdquo; she said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But it is one of the best pieces, and full of the fat.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He cleared the plate; then pulled off his boots and flung them into a corner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not much of a wedding,&rdquo; he said, stretching out his feet and
+wriggling his toes in the worsted socks.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;N&mdash;no,&rdquo; she replied, taking up the discarded boots and
+placing them on the oven to dry.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Herr Brechenmacher yawned and stretched himself, and then looked up at her,
+grinning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Remember the night that we came home? You were an innocent one, you
+were.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Get along! Such a time ago I forget.&rdquo; Well she remembered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Such a clout on the ear as you gave me.... But I soon taught you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, don&rsquo;t start talking. You&rsquo;ve too much beer. Come to
+bed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He tilted back in his chair, chuckling with laughter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s not what you said to me that night. God, the trouble you
+gave me!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the little Frau seized the candle and went into the next room. The children
+were all soundly sleeping. She stripped the mattress off the baby&rsquo;s bed
+to see if he was still dry, then began unfastening her blouse and skirt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Always the same,&rdquo; she said&mdash;&ldquo;all over the world the
+same; but, God in heaven&mdash;but <i>stupid</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then even the memory of the wedding faded quite. She lay down on the bed and
+put her arm across her face like a child who expected to be hurt as Herr
+Brechenmacher lurched in.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap06"></a>THE MODERN SOUL</h2>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good-evening,&rdquo; said the Herr Professor, squeezing my hand;
+&ldquo;wonderful weather! I have just returned from a party in the wood. I have
+been making music for them on my trombone. You know, these pine-trees provide
+most suitable accompaniment for a trombone! They are sighing delicacy against
+sustained strength, as I remarked once in a lecture on wind instruments in
+Frankfort. May I be permitted to sit beside you on this bench, gnädige
+Frau?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He sat down, tugging at a white-paper package in the tail pocket of his coat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Cherries,&rdquo; he said, nodding and smiling. &ldquo;There is nothing
+like cherries for producing free saliva after trombone playing, especially
+after Grieg&rsquo;s &lsquo;Ich Liebe Dich.&rsquo; Those sustained blasts on
+&lsquo;liebe&rsquo; make my throat as dry as a railway tunnel. Have
+some?&rdquo; He shook the bag at me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I prefer watching you eat them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, ha!&rdquo; He crossed his legs, sticking the cherry bag between his
+knees, to leave both hands free. &ldquo;Psychologically I understood your
+refusal. It is your innate feminine delicacy in preferring etherealised
+sensations.... Or perhaps you do not care to eat the worms. All cherries
+contain worms. Once I made a very interesting experiment with a colleague of
+mine at the university. We bit into four pounds of the best cherries and did
+not find one specimen without a worm. But what would you? As I remarked to him
+afterwards&mdash;dear friend, it amounts to this: if one wishes to satisfy the
+desires of nature one must be strong enough to ignore the facts of nature....
+The conversation is not out of your depth? I have so seldom the time or
+opportunity to open my heart to a woman that I am apt to forget.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I looked at him brightly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;See what a fat one!&rdquo; cried the Herr Professor. &ldquo;That is
+almost a mouthful in itself; it is beautiful enough to hang from a
+watch-chain.&rdquo; He chewed it up and spat the stone an incredible
+distance&mdash;over the garden path into the flower bed. He was proud of the
+feat. I saw it. &ldquo;The quantity of fruit I have eaten on this bench,&rdquo;
+he sighed; &ldquo;apricots, peaches and cherries. One day that garden bed will
+become an orchard grove, and I shall allow you to pick as much as you please,
+without paying me anything.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I was grateful, without showing undue excitement.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Which reminds me&rdquo;&mdash;he hit the side of his nose with one
+finger&mdash;&ldquo;the manager of the pension handed me my weekly bill after
+dinner this evening. It is almost impossible to credit. I do not expect you to
+believe me&mdash;he has charged me extra for a miserable little glass of milk I
+drink in bed at night to prevent insomnia. Naturally, I did not pay. But the
+tragedy of the story is this: I cannot expect the milk to produce somnolence
+any longer; my peaceful attitude of mind towards it is completely destroyed. I
+know I shall throw myself into a fever in attempting to plumb this want of
+generosity in so wealthy a man as the manager of a pension. Think of me
+to-night&rdquo;&mdash;he ground the empty bag under his heel&mdash;&ldquo;think
+that the worst is happening to me as your head drops asleep on your
+pillow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Two ladies came on the front steps of the pension and stood, arm in arm,
+looking over the garden. The one, old and scraggy, dressed almost entirely in
+black bead trimming and a satin reticule; the other, young and thin, in a white
+gown, her yellow hair tastefully garnished with mauve sweet peas.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Professor drew in his feet and sat up sharply, pulling down his waistcoat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Godowskas,&rdquo; he murmured. &ldquo;Do you know them? A mother and
+daughter from Vienna. The mother has an internal complaint and the daughter is
+an actress. Fräulein Sonia is a very modern soul. I think you would find her
+most sympathetic. She is forced to be in attendance on her mother just now. But
+what a temperament! I have once described her in her autograph album as a
+tigress with a flower in the hair. Will you excuse me? Perhaps I can persuade
+them to be introduced to you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I said, &ldquo;I am going up to my room.&rdquo; But the Professor rose and
+shook a playful finger at me. &ldquo;Na,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;we are friends,
+and, therefore, I shall speak quite frankly to you. I think they would consider
+it a little &lsquo;marked&rsquo; if you immediately retired to the house at
+their approach, after sitting here alone with me in the twilight. You know this
+world. Yes, you know it as I do.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I shrugged my shoulders, remarking with one eye that while the Professor had
+been talking the Godowskas had trailed across the lawn towards us. They
+confronted the Herr Professor as he stood up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good-evening,&rdquo; quavered Frau Godowska. &ldquo;Wonderful weather!
+It has given me quite a touch of hay fever!&rdquo; Fräulein Godowska said
+nothing. She swooped over a rose growing in the embryo orchard, then stretched
+out her hand with a magnificent gesture to the Herr Professor. He presented me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is my little English friend of whom I have spoken. She is the
+stranger in our midst. We have been eating cherries together.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How delightful,&rdquo; sighed Frau Godowska. &ldquo;My daughter and I
+have often observed you through the bedroom window. Haven&rsquo;t we,
+Sonia?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sonia absorbed my outward and visible form with an inward and spiritual glance,
+then repeated the magnificent gesture for my benefit. The four of us sat on the
+bench, with that faint air of excitement of passengers established in a railway
+carriage on the qui vive for the train whistle. Frau Godowska sneezed. &ldquo;I
+wonder if it is hay fever,&rdquo; she remarked, worrying the satin reticule for
+her handkerchief, &ldquo;or would it be the dew. Sonia, dear, is the dew
+falling?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fräulein Sonia raised her face to the sky, and half closed her eyes. &ldquo;No,
+mamma, my face is quite warm. Oh, look, Herr Professor, there are swallows in
+flight; they are like a little flock of Japanese thoughts&mdash;nicht
+wahr?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where?&rdquo; cried the Herr Professor. &ldquo;Oh yes, I see, by the
+kitchen chimney. But why do you say &lsquo;Japanese&rsquo;? Could you not
+compare them with equal veracity to a little flock of German thoughts in
+flight?&rdquo; He rounded on me. &ldquo;Have you swallows in England?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I believe there are some at certain seasons. But doubtless they have not
+the same symbolical value for the English. In Germany&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have never been to England,&rdquo; interrupted Fräulein Sonia,
+&ldquo;but I have many English acquaintances. They are so cold!&rdquo; She
+shivered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fish-blooded,&rdquo; snapped Frau Godowska. &ldquo;Without soul, without
+heart, without grace. But you cannot equal their dress materials. I spent a
+week in Brighton twenty years ago, and the travelling cape I bought there is
+not yet worn out&mdash;the one you wrap the hot-water bottle in, Sonia. My
+lamented husband, your father, Sonia, knew a great deal about England. But the
+more he knew about it the oftener he remarked to me, &lsquo;England is merely
+an island of beef flesh swimming in a warm gulf sea of gravy.&rsquo; Such a
+brilliant way of putting things. Do you remember, Sonia?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I forget nothing, mamma,&rdquo; answered Sonia.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Said the Herr Professor: &ldquo;That is the proof of your calling, gnädiges
+Fräulein. Now I wonder&mdash;and this is a very interesting
+speculation&mdash;is memory a blessing or&mdash;excuse the word&mdash;a
+curse?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Frau Godowska looked into the distance, then the corners of her mouth dropped
+and her skin puckered. She began to shed tears.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ach Gott! Gracious lady, what have I said?&rdquo; exclaimed the Herr
+Professor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sonia took her mother&rsquo;s hand. &ldquo;Do you know,&rdquo; she said,
+&ldquo;to-night it is stewed carrots and nut tart for supper. Suppose we go in
+and take our places,&rdquo; her sidelong, tragic stare accusing the Professor
+and me the while.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I followed them across the lawn and up the steps. Frau Godowska was murmuring,
+&ldquo;Such a wonderful, beloved man&rdquo;; with her disengaged hand Fräulein
+Sonia was arranging the sweet-pea &ldquo;garniture.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A concert for the benefit of afflicted Catholic infants will take place
+in the salon at eight-thirty P.M. Artists: Fräulein Sonia Godowska, from
+Vienna; Herr Professor Windberg and his trombone; Frau Oberlehrer Weidel, and
+others.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+This notice was tied round the neck of the melancholy stag&rsquo;s head in the
+dining-room. It graced him like a red and white &ldquo;dinner bib&rdquo; for
+days before the event, causing the Herr Professor to bow before it and say
+&ldquo;good appetite&rdquo; until we sickened of his pleasantry and left the
+smiling to be done by the waiter, who was paid to be pleasing to the guests.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On the appointed day the married ladies sailed about the pension dressed like
+upholstered chairs, and the unmarried ladies like draped muslin dressing-table
+covers. Frau Godowska pinned a rose in the centre of her reticule; another
+blossom was tucked in the mazy folds of a white antimacassar thrown across her
+breast. The gentlemen wore black coats, white silk ties and ferny buttonholes
+tickling the chin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The floor of the salon was freshly polished, chairs and benches arranged, and a
+row of little flags strung across the ceiling&mdash;they flew and jigged in the
+draught with all the enthusiasm of family washing. It was arranged that I
+should sit beside Frau Godowska, and that the Herr Professor and Sonia should
+join us when their share of the concert was over.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That will make you feel quite one of the performers,&rdquo; said the
+Herr Professor genially. &ldquo;It is a great pity that the English nation is
+so unmusical. Never mind! To-night you shall hear something&mdash;we have
+discovered a nest of talent during the rehearsals.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you intend to recite, Fräulein Sonia?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She shook back her hair. &ldquo;I never know until the last moment. When I come
+on the stage I wait for one moment and then I have the sensation as though
+something struck me here,&rdquo;&mdash;she placed her hand upon her collar
+brooch&mdash;&ldquo;and... words come!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bend down a moment,&rdquo; whispered her mother. &ldquo;Sonia, love,
+your skirt safety-pin is showing at the back. Shall I come outside and fasten
+it properly for you, or will you do it yourself?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, mamma, please don&rsquo;t say such things,&rdquo; Sonia flushed and
+grew very angry. &ldquo;You know how sensitive I am to the slightest
+unsympathetic impression at a time like this.... I would rather my skirt
+dropped off my body&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sonia&mdash;my heart!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A bell tinkled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The waiter came in and opened the piano. In the heated excitement of the moment
+he entirely forgot what was fitting, and flicked the keys with the grimy table
+napkin he carried over his arm. The Frau Oberlehrer tripped on the platform
+followed by a very young gentleman, who blew his nose twice before he hurled
+his handkerchief into the bosom of the piano.
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+&ldquo;Yes, I know you have no love for me,<br/>
+And no forget-me-not.<br/>
+No love, no heart, and no forget-me-not.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+sang the Frau Oberlehrer, in a voice that seemed to issue from her forgotten
+thimble and have nothing to do with her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ach, how sweet, how delicate,&rdquo; we cried, clapping her soothingly.
+She bowed as though to say, &ldquo;Yes, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo; and retired, the
+very young gentleman dodging her train and scowling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The piano was closed, an arm-chair was placed in the centre of the platform.
+Fräulein Sonia drifted towards it. A breathless pause. Then, presumably, the
+winged shaft struck her collar brooch. She implored us not to go into the woods
+in trained dresses, but rather as lightly draped as possible, and bed with her
+among the pine needles. Her loud, slightly harsh voice filled the salon. She
+dropped her arms over the back of the chair, moving her lean hands from the
+wrists. We were thrilled and silent. The Herr Professor, beside me, abnormally
+serious, his eyes bulging, pulled at his moustache ends. Frau Godowska adopted
+that peculiarly detached attitude of the proud parent. The only soul who
+remained untouched by her appeal was the waiter, who leaned idly against the
+wall of the salon and cleaned his nails with the edge of a programme. He was
+&ldquo;off duty&rdquo; and intended to show it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What did I say?&rdquo; shouted the Herr Professor under cover of
+tumultuous applause, &ldquo;tem-per-ament! There you have it. She is a flame in
+the heart of a lily. I know I am going to play well. It is my turn now. I am
+inspired. Fräulein Sonia&rdquo;&mdash;as that lady returned to us, pale and
+draped in a large shawl&mdash;&ldquo;you are my inspiration. To-night you shall
+be the soul of my trombone. Wait only.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To right and left of us people bent over and whispered admiration down Fräulein
+Sonia&rsquo;s neck. She bowed in the grand style.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am always successful,&rdquo; she said to me. &ldquo;You see, when I
+act <i>I am</i>. In Vienna, in the plays of Ibsen we had so many bouquets that
+the cook had three in the kitchen. But it is difficult here. There is so little
+magic. Do you not feel it? There is none of that mysterious perfume which
+floats almost as a visible thing from the souls of the Viennese audiences. My
+spirit starves for want of that.&rdquo; She leaned forward, chin on hand.
+&ldquo;Starves,&rdquo; she repeated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Professor appeared with his trombone, blew into it, held it up to one eye,
+tucked back his shirt cuffs and wallowed in the soul of Sonia Godowska. Such a
+sensation did he create that he was recalled to play a Bavarian dance, which he
+acknowledged was to be taken as a breathing exercise rather than an artistic
+achievement. Frau Godowska kept time to it with a fan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Followed the very young gentleman who piped in a tenor voice that he loved
+somebody, &ldquo;with blood in his heart and a thousand pains.&rdquo; Fräulein
+Sonia acted a poison scene with the assistance of her mother&rsquo;s pill vial
+and the arm-chair replaced by a &ldquo;chaise longue&rdquo;; a young girl
+scratched a lullaby on a young fiddle; and the Herr Professor performed the
+last sacrificial rites on the altar of the afflicted children by playing the
+National Anthem.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now I must put mamma to bed,&rdquo; whispered Fräulein Sonia. &ldquo;But
+afterwards I must take a walk. It is imperative that I free my spirit in the
+open air for a moment. Would you come with me as far as the railway station and
+back?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well, then, knock on my door when you&rsquo;re ready.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus the modern soul and I found ourselves together under the stars.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What a night!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Do you know that poem of Sappho
+about her hands in the stars.... I am curiously sapphic. And this is so
+remarkable&mdash;not only am I sapphic, I find in all the works of all the
+greatest writers, especially in their unedited letters, some touch, some sign
+of myself&mdash;some resemblance, some part of myself, like a thousand
+reflections of my own hands in a dark mirror.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But what a bother,&rdquo; said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do not know what you mean by &lsquo;bother&rsquo;; is it rather the
+curse of my genius....&rdquo; She paused suddenly, staring at me. &ldquo;Do you
+know my tragedy?&rdquo; she asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I shook my head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My tragedy is my mother. Living with her I live with the coffin of my
+unborn aspirations. You heard that about the safety-pin to-night. It may seem
+to you a little thing, but it ruined my three first gestures. They
+were&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Impaled on a safety-pin,&rdquo; I suggested.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, exactly that. And when we are in Vienna I am the victim of moods,
+you know. I long to do wild, passionate things. And mamma says, &lsquo;Please
+pour out my mixture first.&rsquo; Once I remember I flew into a rage and threw
+a washstand jug out of the window. Do you know what she said? &lsquo;Sonia, it
+is not so much throwing things out of windows, if only you
+would&mdash;&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Choose something smaller?&rdquo; said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No... &lsquo;tell me about it beforehand.&rsquo; Humiliating! And I do
+not see any possible light out of this darkness.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you join a touring company and leave your mother in
+Vienna?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What! Leave my poor, little, sick, widowed mother in Vienna! Sooner than
+that I would drown myself. I love my mother as I love nobody else in the
+world&mdash;nobody and nothing! Do you think it is impossible to love
+one&rsquo;s tragedy? &lsquo;Out of my great sorrows I make my little
+songs,&rsquo; that is Heine or myself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, well, that&rsquo;s all right,&rdquo; I said cheerfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But it is not all right!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I suggested we should turn back. We turned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sometimes I think the solution lies in marriage,&rdquo; said Fräulein
+Sonia. &ldquo;If I find a simple, peaceful man who adores me and will look
+after mamma&mdash;a man who would be for me a pillow&mdash;for genius cannot
+hope to mate&mdash;I shall marry him.... You know the Herr Professor has paid
+me very marked attentions.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, Fräulein Sonia,&rdquo; I said, very pleased with myself, &ldquo;why
+not marry him to your mother?&rdquo; We were passing the hairdresser&rsquo;s
+shop at the moment. Fräulein Sonia clutched my arm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You, you,&rdquo; she stammered. &ldquo;The cruelty. I am going to faint.
+Mamma to marry again before I marry&mdash;the indignity. I am going to faint
+here and now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I was frightened. &ldquo;You can&rsquo;t,&rdquo; I said, shaking her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come back to the pension and faint as much as you please. But you
+can&rsquo;t faint here. All the shops are closed. There is nobody about. Please
+don&rsquo;t be so foolish.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here and here only!&rdquo; She indicated the exact spot and dropped
+quite beautifully, lying motionless.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;faint away; but please hurry over
+it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She did not move. I began to walk home, but each time I looked behind me I saw
+the dark form of the modern soul prone before the hairdresser&rsquo;s window.
+Finally I ran, and rooted out the Herr Professor from his room. &ldquo;Fräulein
+Sonia has fainted,&rdquo; I said crossly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Du lieber Gott! Where? How?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Outside the hairdresser&rsquo;s shop in the Station Road.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Jesus and Maria! Has she no water with her?&rdquo;&mdash;he seized his
+carafe&mdash;&ldquo;nobody beside her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where is my coat? No matter, I shall catch a cold on the chest.
+Willingly, I shall catch one.... You are ready to come with me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; I said; &ldquo;you can take the waiter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But she must have a woman. I cannot be so indelicate as to attempt to
+loosen her stays.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Modern souls oughtn&rsquo;t to wear them,&rdquo; said I. He pushed past
+me and clattered down the stairs.
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>
+When I came down to breakfast next morning there were two places vacant at
+table. Fräulein Sonia and Herr Professor had gone off for a day&rsquo;s
+excursion in the woods.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I wondered.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap07"></a>AT &ldquo;LEHMANN&rsquo;S&rdquo;</h2>
+
+<p>
+Certainly Sabina did not find life slow. She was on the trot from early morning
+until late at night. At five o&rsquo;clock she tumbled out of bed, buttoned on
+her clothes, wearing a long-sleeved alpaca pinafore over her black frock, and
+groped her way downstairs into the kitchen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Anna, the cook, had grown so fat during the summer that she adored her bed
+because she did not have to wear her corsets there, but could spread as much as
+she liked, roll about under the great mattress, calling upon Jesus and Holy
+Mary and Blessed Anthony himself that her life was not fit for a pig in a
+cellar.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sabina was new to her work. Pink colour still flew in her cheeks; there was a
+little dimple on the left side of her mouth that even when she was most
+serious, most absorbed, popped out and gave her away. And Anna blessed that
+dimple. It meant an extra half-hour in bed for her; it made Sabina light the
+fire, turn out the kitchen and wash endless cups and saucers that had been left
+over from the evening before. Hans, the scullery boy, did not come until seven.
+He was the son of the butcher&mdash;a mean, undersized child very much like one
+of his father&rsquo;s sausages, Sabina thought. His red face was covered with
+pimples, and his nails indescribably filthy. When Herr Lehmann himself told
+Hans to get a hairpin and clean them he said they were stained from birth
+because his mother had always got so inky doing the accounts&mdash;and Sabina
+believed him and pitied him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter had come very early to Mindelbau. By the end of October the streets were
+banked waist-high with snow, and the greater number of the &ldquo;Cure
+Guests,&rdquo; sick unto death of cold water and herbs, had departed in nothing
+approaching peace. So the large salon was shut at Lehmann&rsquo;s and the
+breakfast-room was all the accommodation the café afforded. Here the floor had
+to be washed over, the tables rubbed, coffee-cups set out, each with its little
+china platter of sugar, and newspapers and magazines hung on their hooks along
+the walls before Herr Lehmann appeared at seven-thirty and opened business.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As a rule his wife served in the shop leading into the café, but she had chosen
+the quiet season to have a baby, and, a big woman at the best of times, she had
+grown so enormous in the process that her husband told her she looked
+unappetising, and had better remain upstairs and sew.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sabina took on the extra work without any thought of extra pay. She loved to
+stand behind the counter, cutting up slices of Anna&rsquo;s marvellous
+chocolate-spotted confections, or doing up packets of sugar almonds in pink and
+blue striped bags.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll get varicose veins, like me,&rdquo; said Anna.
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s what the Frau&rsquo;s got, too. No wonder the baby
+doesn&rsquo;t come! All her swelling&rsquo;s got into her legs.&rdquo; And Hans
+was immensely interested.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+During the morning business was comparatively slack. Sabina answered the shop
+bell, attended to a few customers who drank a liqueur to warm their stomachs
+before the midday meal, and ran upstairs now and again to ask the Frau if she
+wanted anything. But in the afternoon six or seven choice spirits played cards,
+and everybody who was anybody drank tea or coffee.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sabina... Sabina....&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She flew from one table to the other, counting out handfuls of small change,
+giving orders to Anna through the &ldquo;slide,&rdquo; helping the men with
+their heavy coats, always with that magical child air about her, that
+delightful sense of perpetually attending a party.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How is the Frau Lehmann?&rdquo; the women would whisper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She feels rather low, but as well as can be expected,&rdquo; Sabina
+would answer, nodding confidentially.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Frau Lehmann&rsquo;s bad time was approaching. Anna and her friends referred to
+it as her &ldquo;journey to Rome,&rdquo; and Sabina longed to ask questions,
+yet, being ashamed of her ignorance, was silent, trying to puzzle it out for
+herself. She knew practically nothing except that the Frau had a baby inside
+her, which had to come out&mdash;very painful indeed. One could not have one
+without a husband&mdash;that she also realised. But what had the man got to do
+with it? So she wondered as she sat mending tea towels in the evening, head
+bent over her work, light shining on her brown curls. Birth&mdash;what was it?
+wondered Sabina. Death&mdash;such a simple thing. She had a little picture of
+her dead grandmother dressed in a black silk frock, tired hands clasping the
+crucifix that dragged between her flattened breasts, mouth curiously tight, yet
+almost secretly smiling. But the grandmother had been born once&mdash;that was
+the important fact.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As she sat there one evening, thinking, the Young Man entered the café, and
+called for a glass of port wine. Sabina rose slowly. The long day and the hot
+room made her feel a little languid, but as she poured out the wine she felt
+the Young Man&rsquo;s eyes fixed on her, looked down at him and dimpled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s cold out,&rdquo; she said, corking the bottle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Young Man ran his hands through his snow-powdered hair and laughed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t call it exactly tropical,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;But
+you&rsquo;re very snug in here&mdash;look as though you&rsquo;ve been
+asleep.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Very languid felt Sabina in the hot room, and the Young Man&rsquo;s voice was
+strong and deep. She thought she had never seen anybody who looked so
+strong&mdash;as though he could take up the table in one hand&mdash;and his
+restless gaze wandering over her face and figure gave her a curious thrill deep
+in her body, half pleasure, half pain.... She wanted to stand there, close
+beside him, while he drank his wine. A little silence followed. Then he took a
+book out of his pocket, and Sabina went back to her sewing. Sitting there in
+the corner, she listened to the sound of the leaves being turned and the loud
+ticking of the clock that hung over the gilt mirror. She wanted to look at him
+again&mdash;there was a something about him, in his deep voice, even in the way
+his clothes fitted. From the room above she heard the heavy dragging sound of
+Frau Lehmann&rsquo;s footsteps, and again the old thoughts worried Sabina. If
+she herself should one day look like that&mdash;feel like that! Yet it would be
+very sweet to have a little baby to dress and jump up and down.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fräulein&mdash;what&rsquo;s your name&mdash;what are you smiling
+at?&rdquo; called the Young Man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She blushed and looked up, hands quiet in her lap, looked across the empty
+tables and shook her head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come here, and I&rsquo;ll show you a picture,&rdquo; he commanded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She went and stood beside him. He opened the book, and Sabina saw a coloured
+sketch of a naked girl sitting on the edge of a great, crumpled bed, a
+man&rsquo;s opera hat on the back of her head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He put his hand over the body, leaving only the face exposed, then scrutinised
+Sabina closely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; she asked, knowing perfectly well.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, it might be your own photograph&mdash;the face, I
+mean&mdash;that&rsquo;s as far as I can judge.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But the hair&rsquo;s done differently,&rdquo; said Sabina, laughing. She
+threw back her head, and the laughter bubbled in her round white throat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s rather a nice picture, don&rsquo;t you think?&rdquo; he
+asked. But she was looking at a curious ring he wore on the hand that covered
+the girl&rsquo;s body, and only nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ever seen anything like it before?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, there&rsquo;s plenty of those funny ones in the illustrated
+papers.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How would you like to have your picture taken that way?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Me? I&rsquo;d never let anybody see it. Besides, I haven&rsquo;t got a
+hat like that!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s easily remedied.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again a little silence, broken by Anna throwing up the slide.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sabina ran into the kitchen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here, take this milk and egg up to the Frau,&rdquo; said Anna.
+&ldquo;Who&rsquo;ve you got in there?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Got such a funny man! I think he&rsquo;s a little gone here,&rdquo;
+tapping her forehead.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Upstairs in the ugly room the Frau sat sewing, a black shawl round her
+shoulders, her feet encased in red woollen slippers. The girl put the milk on a
+table by her, then stood, polishing a spoon on her apron.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing else?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Na,&rdquo; said the Frau, heaving up in her chair. &ldquo;Where&rsquo;s
+my man?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s playing cards over at Snipold&rsquo;s. Do you want
+him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dear heaven, leave him alone. I&rsquo;m nothing. I don&rsquo;t
+matter.... And the whole day waiting here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her hand shook as she wiped the rim of the glass with her fat finger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Shall I help you to bed?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You go downstairs, leave me alone. Tell Anna not to let Hans grub the
+sugar&mdash;give him one on the ear.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ugly&mdash;ugly&mdash;ugly,&rdquo; muttered Sabina, returning to the
+café where the Young Man stood coat-buttoned, ready for departure.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll come again to-morrow,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t
+twist your hair back so tightly; it will lose all its curl.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, you are a funny one,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Good-night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By the time Sabina was ready for bed Anna was snoring. She brushed out her long
+hair and gathered it in her hands.... Perhaps it would be a pity if it lost all
+its curl. Then she looked down at her straight chemise, and drawing it off, sat
+down on the side of the bed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wish,&rdquo; she whispered, smiling sleepily, &ldquo;there was a great
+big looking-glass in this room.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lying down in the darkness, she hugged her little body.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t be the Frau for one hundred marks&mdash;not for a
+thousand marks. To look like that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And half-dreaming, she imagined herself heaving up in her chair with the port
+wine bottle in her hand as the Young Man entered the café.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Cold and dark the next morning. Sabina woke, tired, feeling as though something
+heavy had been pressing under her heart all night. There was a sound of
+footsteps shuffling along the passage. Herr Lehmann! She must have overslept
+herself. Yes, he was rattling the door-handle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;One moment, one moment,&rdquo; she called, dragging on her stockings.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bina, tell Anna to go to the Frau&mdash;but quickly. I must ride for the
+nurse.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, yes!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Has it come?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But he had gone, and she ran over to Anna and shook her by the shoulder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Frau&mdash;the baby&mdash;Herr Lehmann for the nurse,&rdquo; she
+stuttered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Name of God!&rdquo; said Anna, flinging herself out of bed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No complaints to-day. Importance&mdash;enthusiasm in Anna&rsquo;s whole
+bearing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You run downstairs and light the oven. Put on a pan of
+water&rdquo;&mdash;speaking to an imaginary sufferer as she fastened her
+blouse&mdash;&ldquo;Yes, yes, I know&mdash;we must be worse before we are
+better&mdash;I&rsquo;m coming&mdash;patience.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was dark all that day. Lights were turned on immediately the café opened,
+and business was very brisk. Anna, turned out of the Frau&rsquo;s room by the
+nurse, refused to work, and sat in a corner nursing herself, listening to
+sounds overhead. Hans was more sympathetic than Sabina. He also forsook work,
+and stood by the window, picking his nose.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But why must I do everything?&rdquo; said Sabina, washing glasses.
+&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t help the Frau; she oughtn&rsquo;t to take such a time
+about it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Listen,&rdquo; said Anna, &ldquo;they&rsquo;ve moved her into the back
+bedroom above here, so as not to disturb the people. That was a
+groan&mdash;that one!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Two small beers,&rdquo; shouted Herr Lehmann through the slide.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;One moment, one moment.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At eight o&rsquo;clock the café was deserted. Sabina sat down in the corner
+without her sewing. Nothing seemed to have happened to the Frau. A doctor had
+come&mdash;that was all.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ach,&rdquo; said Sabina. &ldquo;I think no more of it. I listen no more.
+Ach, I would like to go away&mdash;I hate this talk. I will not hear it. No, it
+is too much.&rdquo; She leaned both elbows on the table&mdash;cupped her face
+in her hands and pouted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the outer door suddenly opening, she sprang to her feet and laughed. It was
+the Young Man again. He ordered more port, and brought no book this time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t go and sit miles away,&rdquo; he grumbled. &ldquo;I want to
+be amused. And here, take my coat. Can&rsquo;t you dry it
+somewhere?&mdash;snowing again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s a warm place&mdash;the ladies&rsquo; cloak-room,&rdquo;
+she said. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll take it in there&mdash;just by the kitchen.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She felt better, and quite happy again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll come with you,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll see where
+you put it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And that did not seem at all extraordinary. She laughed and beckoned to him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In here,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Feel how warm. I&rsquo;ll put more
+wood on that oven. It doesn&rsquo;t matter, they&rsquo;re all busy
+upstairs.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She knelt down on the floor, and thrust the wood into the oven, laughing at her
+own wicked extravagance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Frau was forgotten, the stupid day was forgotten. Here was someone beside
+her laughing, too. They were together in the little warm room stealing Herr
+Lehmann&rsquo;s wood. It seemed the most exciting adventure in the world. She
+wanted to go on laughing&mdash;or burst out
+crying&mdash;or&mdash;or&mdash;catch hold of the Young Man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What a fire,&rdquo; she shrieked, stretching out her hands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s a hand; pull up,&rdquo; said the Young Man. &ldquo;There,
+now, you&rsquo;ll catch it to-morrow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They stood opposite to each other, hands still clinging. And again that strange
+tremor thrilled Sabina.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Look here,&rdquo; he said roughly, &ldquo;are you a child, or are you
+playing at being one?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&mdash;I&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Laughter ceased. She looked up at him once, then down at the floor, and began
+breathing like a frightened little animal.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He pulled her closer still and kissed her mouth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Na, what are you doing?&rdquo; she whispered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He let go her hands, he placed his on her breasts, and the room seemed to swim
+round Sabina. Suddenly, from the room above, a frightful, tearing shriek.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She wrenched herself away, tightened herself, drew herself up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who did that&mdash;who made that noise?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>
+In the silence the thin wailing of a baby.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Achk!&rdquo; shrieked Sabina, rushing from the room.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap08"></a>THE LUFT BAD</h2>
+
+<p>
+I think it must be the umbrellas which make us look ridiculous.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When I was admitted into the enclosure for the first time, and saw my
+fellow-bathers walking about very nearly &ldquo;in their nakeds,&rdquo; it
+struck me that the umbrellas gave a distinctly &ldquo;Little Black Sambo&rdquo;
+touch.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ridiculous dignity in holding over yourself a green cotton thing with a red
+parroquet handle when you are dressed in nothing larger than a handkerchief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There are no trees in the &ldquo;Luft Bad.&rdquo; It boasts a collection of
+plain, wooden cells, a bath shelter, two swings and two odd clubs&mdash;one,
+presumably the lost property of Hercules or the German army, and the other to
+be used with safety in the cradle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And there in all weathers we take the air&mdash;walking, or sitting in little
+companies talking over each other&rsquo;s ailments and measurements and ills
+that flesh is heir to.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A high wooden wall compasses us all about; above it the pine-trees look down a
+little superciliously, nudging each other in a way that is peculiarly trying to
+a <i>débutante</i>. Over the wall, on the right side, is the men&rsquo;s
+section. We hear them chopping down trees and sawing through planks, dashing
+heavy weights to the ground, and singing part songs. Yes, they take it far more
+seriously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On the first day I was conscious of my legs, and went back into my cell three
+times to look at my watch, but when a woman with whom I had played chess for
+three weeks cut me dead, I took heart and joined a circle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We lay curled on the ground while a Hungarian lady of immense proportions told
+us what a beautiful tomb she had bought for her second husband.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A vault it is,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;with nice black railings. And so
+large that I can go down there and walk about. Both their photographs are
+there, with two very handsome wreaths sent me by my first husband&rsquo;s
+brother. There is an enlargement of a family group photograph, too, and an
+illuminated address presented to my first husband on his marriage. I am often
+there; it makes such a pleasant excursion for a fine Saturday afternoon.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She suddenly lay down flat on her back, took in six long breaths, and sat up
+again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The death agony was dreadful,&rdquo; she said brightly; &ldquo;of the
+second, I mean. The &lsquo;first&rsquo; was run into by a furniture wagon, and
+had fifty marks stolen out of a new waistcoat pocket, but the
+&lsquo;second&rsquo; was dying for sixty-seven hours. I never ceased crying
+once&mdash;not even to put the children to bed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A young Russian, with a &ldquo;bang&rdquo; curl on her forehead, turned to me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Can you do the &lsquo;Salome&rsquo; dance?&rdquo; she asked. &ldquo;I
+can.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How delightful,&rdquo; I said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Shall I do it now? Would you like to see me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She sprang to her feet, executed a series of amazing contortions for the next
+ten minutes, and then paused, panting, twisting her long hair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t that nice?&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;And now I am perspiring
+so splendidly. I shall go and take a bath.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Opposite to me was the brownest woman I have ever seen, lying on her back, her
+arms clasped over her head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How long have you been here to-day?&rdquo; she was asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, I spend the day here now,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;I am making my
+own &lsquo;cure,&rsquo; and living entirely on raw vegetables and nuts, and
+each day I feel my spirit is stronger and purer. After all, what can you
+expect? The majority of us are walking about with pig corpuscles and oxen
+fragments in our brain. The wonder is the world is as good as it is. Now I live
+on the simple, provided food&rdquo;&mdash;she pointed to a little bag beside
+her&mdash;&ldquo;a lettuce, a carrot, a potato, and some nuts are ample,
+rational nourishment. I wash them under the tap and eat them raw, just as they
+come from the harmless earth&mdash;fresh and uncontaminated.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you take nothing else all day?&rdquo; I cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Water. And perhaps a banana if I wake in the night.&rdquo; She turned
+round and leaned on one elbow. &ldquo;You over-eat yourself dreadfully,&rdquo;
+she said; &ldquo;shamelessly! How can you expect the Flame of the Spirit to
+burn brightly under layers of superfluous flesh?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I wished she would not stare at me, and thought of going to look at my watch
+again when a little girl wearing a string of coral beads joined us.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The poor Frau Hauptmann cannot join us to-day,&rdquo; she said;
+&ldquo;she has come out in spots all over on account of her nerves. She was
+very excited yesterday after having written two post-cards.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A delicate woman,&rdquo; volunteered the Hungarian, &ldquo;but pleasant.
+Fancy, she has a separate plate for each of her front teeth! But she has no
+right to let her daughters wear such short sailor suits. They sit about on
+benches, crossing their legs in a most shameless manner. What are you going to
+do this afternoon, Fräulein Anna?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; said the Coral Necklace, &ldquo;the Herr Oberleutnant has
+asked me to go with him to Landsdorf. He must buy some eggs there to take home
+to his mother. He saves a penny on eight eggs by knowing the right peasants to
+bargain with.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you an American?&rdquo; said the Vegetable Lady, turning to me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then you are an Englishwoman?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, hardly&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You must be one of the two; you cannot help it. I have seen you walking
+alone several times. You wear your&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I got up and climbed on to the swing. The air was sweet and cool, rushing past
+my body. Above, white clouds trailed delicately through the blue sky. From the
+pine forest streamed a wild perfume, the branches swayed together,
+rhythmically, sonorously. I felt so light and free and happy&mdash;so childish!
+I wanted to poke my tongue out at the circle on the grass, who, drawing close
+together, were whispering meaningly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps you do not know,&rdquo; cried a voice from one of the cells,
+&ldquo;to swing is very upsetting for the stomach? A friend of mine could keep
+nothing down for three weeks after exciting herself so.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I went to the bath shelter and was hosed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As I dressed, someone tapped on the wall.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you know,&rdquo; said a voice, &ldquo;there is a man who <i>lives</i>
+in the Luft Bad next door? He buries himself up to the armpits in mud and
+refuses to believe in the Trinity.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+The umbrellas are the saving grace of the Luft Bad. Now when I go, I take my
+husband&rsquo;s &ldquo;storm gamp&rdquo; and sit in a corner, hiding behind it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Not that I am in the least ashamed of my legs.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap09"></a>A BIRTHDAY</h2>
+
+<p>
+Andreas Binzer woke slowly. He turned over on the narrow bed and stretched
+himself&mdash;yawned&mdash;opening his mouth as widely as possible and bringing
+his teeth together afterwards with a sharp &ldquo;click.&rdquo; The sound of
+that click fascinated him; he repeated it quickly several times, with a
+snapping movement of the jaws. What teeth! he thought. Sound as a bell, every
+man jack of them. Never had one out, never had one stopped. That comes of no
+tomfoolery in eating, and a good regular brushing night and morning. He raised
+himself on his left elbow and waved his right arm over the side of the bed to
+feel for the chair where he put his watch and chain overnight. No chair was
+there&mdash;of course, he&rsquo;d forgotten, there wasn&rsquo;t a chair in this
+wretched spare room. Had to put the confounded thing under his pillow.
+&ldquo;Half-past eight, Sunday, breakfast at nine&mdash;time for the
+bath&rdquo;&mdash;his brain ticked to the watch. He sprang out of bed and went
+over to the window. The venetian blind was broken, hung fan-shaped over the
+upper pane.... &ldquo;That blind must be mended. I&rsquo;ll get the office boy
+to drop in and fix it on his way home to-morrow&mdash;he&rsquo;s a good hand at
+blinds. Give him twopence and he&rsquo;ll do it as well as a carpenter.... Anna
+could do it herself if she was all right. So would I, for the matter of that,
+but I don&rsquo;t like to trust myself on rickety step-ladders.&rdquo; He
+looked up at the sky: it shone, strangely white, unflecked with cloud; he
+looked down at the row of garden strips and backyards. The fence of these
+gardens was built along the edge of a gully, spanned by an iron suspension
+bridge, and the people had a wretched habit of throwing their empty tins over
+the fence into the gully. Just like them, of course! Andreas started counting
+the tins, and decided, viciously, to write a letter to the papers about it and
+sign it&mdash;sign it in full.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The servant girl came out of their back door into the yard, carrying his boots.
+She threw one down on the ground, thrust her hand into the other, and stared at
+it, sucking in her cheeks. Suddenly she bent forward, spat on the toecap, and
+started polishing with a brush rooted out of her apron pocket.... &ldquo;Slut
+of a girl! Heaven knows what infectious disease may be breeding now in that
+boot. Anna must get rid of that girl&mdash;even if she has to do without one
+for a bit&mdash;as soon as she&rsquo;s up and about again. The way she chucked
+one boot down and then spat upon the other! She didn&rsquo;t care whose boots
+she&rsquo;d got hold of. <i>She</i> had no false notions of the respect due to
+the master of the house.&rdquo; He turned away from the window and switched his
+bath towel from the washstand rail, sick at heart. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m too
+sensitive for a man&mdash;that&rsquo;s what&rsquo;s the matter with me. Have
+been from the beginning, and will be to the end.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a gentle knock at the door and his mother came in. She closed the
+door after her and leant against it. Andreas noticed that her cap was crooked,
+and a long tail of hair hung over her shoulder. He went forward and kissed her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good-morning, mother; how&rsquo;s Anna?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The old woman spoke quickly, clasping and unclasping her hands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Andreas, please go to Doctor Erb as soon as you are dressed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;is she bad?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Frau Binzer nodded, and Andreas, watching her, saw her face suddenly change; a
+fine network of wrinkles seemed to pull over it from under the skin surface.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sit down on the bed a moment,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Been up all
+night?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. No, I won&rsquo;t sit down, I must go back to her. Anna has been in
+pain all night. She wouldn&rsquo;t have you disturbed before because she said
+you looked so run down yesterday. You told her you had caught a cold and been
+very worried.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Straightway Andreas felt that he was being accused.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, she made me tell her, worried it out of me; you know the way she
+does.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again Frau Binzer nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh yes, I know. She says, is your cold better, and there&rsquo;s a warm
+undervest for you in the left-hand corner of the big drawer.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Quite automatically Andreas cleared his throat twice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;Tell her my throat certainly feels
+looser. I suppose I&rsquo;d better not disturb her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, and besides, <i>time</i>, Andreas.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be ready in five minutes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They went into the passage. As Frau Binzer opened the door of the front
+bedroom, a long wail came from the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That shocked and terrified Andreas. He dashed into the bathroom, turned on both
+taps as far as they would go, cleaned his teeth and pared his nails while the
+water was running.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Frightful business, frightful business,&rdquo; he heard himself
+whispering. &ldquo;And I can&rsquo;t understand it. It isn&rsquo;t as though it
+were her first&mdash;it&rsquo;s her third. Old Schäfer told me, yesterday, his
+wife simply &lsquo;dropped&rsquo; her fourth. Anna ought to have had a
+qualified nurse. Mother gives way to her. Mother spoils her. I wonder what she
+meant by saying I&rsquo;d worried Anna yesterday. Nice remark to make to a
+husband at a time like this. Unstrung, I suppose&mdash;and my sensitiveness
+again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When he went into the kitchen for his boots, the servant girl was bent over the
+stove, cooking breakfast. &ldquo;Breathing into that, now, I suppose,&rdquo;
+thought Andreas, and was very short with the servant girl. She did not notice.
+She was full of terrified joy and importance in the goings on upstairs. She
+felt she was learning the secrets of life with every breath she drew. Had laid
+the table that morning saying, &ldquo;Boy,&rdquo; as she put down the first
+dish, &ldquo;Girl,&rdquo; as she placed the second&mdash;it had worked out with
+the saltspoon to &ldquo;Boy.&rdquo; &ldquo;For two pins I&rsquo;d tell the
+master that, to comfort him, like,&rdquo; she decided. But the master gave her
+no opening.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Put an extra cup and saucer on the table,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;the
+doctor may want some coffee.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The doctor, sir?&rdquo; The servant girl whipped a spoon out of a pan,
+and spilt two drops of grease on the stove. &ldquo;Shall I fry something
+extra?&rdquo; But the master had gone, slamming the door after him. He walked
+down the street&mdash;there was nobody about at all&mdash;dead and alive this
+place on a Sunday morning. As he crossed the suspension bridge a strong stench
+of fennel and decayed refuse streamed from the gulley, and again Andreas began
+concocting a letter. He turned into the main road. The shutters were still up
+before the shops. Scraps of newspaper, hay, and fruit skins strewed the
+pavement; the gutters were choked with the leavings of Saturday night. Two dogs
+sprawled in the middle of the road, scuffling and biting. Only the public-house
+at the corner was open; a young barman slopped water over the doorstep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fastidiously, his lips curling, Andreas picked his way through the water.
+&ldquo;Extraordinary how I am noticing things this morning. It&rsquo;s partly
+the effect of Sunday. I loathe a Sunday when Anna&rsquo;s tied by the leg and
+the children are away. On Sunday a man has the right to expect his family.
+Everything here&rsquo;s filthy, the whole place might be down with the plague,
+and will be, too, if this street&rsquo;s not swept away. I&rsquo;d like to have
+a hand on the government ropes.&rdquo; He braced his shoulders. &ldquo;Now for
+this doctor.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Doctor Erb is at breakfast,&rdquo; the maid informed him. She showed him
+into the waiting-room, a dark and musty place, with some ferns under a
+glass-case by the window. &ldquo;He says he won&rsquo;t be a minute, please,
+sir, and there is a paper on the table.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Unhealthy hole,&rdquo; thought Binzer, walking over to the window and
+drumming his fingers on the glass fern-shade. &ldquo;At breakfast, is he?
+That&rsquo;s the mistake I made: turning out early on an empty stomach.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A milk cart rattled down the street, the driver standing at the back, cracking
+a whip; he wore an immense geranium flower stuck in the lapel of his coat. Firm
+as a rock he stood, bending back a little in the swaying cart. Andreas craned
+his neck to watch him all the way down the road, even after he had gone,
+listening for the sharp sound of those rattling cans.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;H&rsquo;m, not much wrong with him,&rdquo; he reflected.
+&ldquo;Wouldn&rsquo;t mind a taste of that life myself. Up early, work all over
+by eleven o&rsquo;clock, nothing to do but loaf about all day until milking
+time.&rdquo; Which he knew was an exaggeration, but he wanted to pity himself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The maid opened the door, and stood aside for Doctor Erb. Andreas wheeled
+round; the two men shook hands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, Binzer,&rdquo; said the doctor jovially, brushing some crumbs from
+a pearl-coloured waistcoat, &ldquo;son and heir becoming importunate?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Up went Binzer&rsquo;s spirits with a bound. Son and heir, by Jove! He was glad
+to have to deal with a man again. And a sane fellow this, who came across this
+sort of thing every day of the week.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s about the measure of it, Doctor,&rdquo; he answered,
+smiling and picking up his hat. &ldquo;Mother dragged me out of bed this
+morning with imperative orders to bring you along.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gig will be round in a minute. Drive back with me, won&rsquo;t you?
+Extraordinary, sultry day; you&rsquo;re as red as a beetroot already.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Andreas affected to laugh. The doctor had one annoying habit&mdash;imagined he
+had the right to poke fun at everybody simply because he was a doctor.
+&ldquo;The man&rsquo;s riddled with conceit, like all these
+professionals,&rdquo; Andreas decided.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What sort of night did Frau Binzer have?&rdquo; asked the doctor.
+&ldquo;Ah, here&rsquo;s the gig. Tell me on the way up. Sit as near the middle
+as you can, will you, Binzer? Your weight tilts it over a bit one
+side&mdash;that&rsquo;s the worst of you successful business men.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Two stone heavier than I, if he&rsquo;s a pound,&rdquo; thought Andreas.
+&ldquo;The man may be all right in his profession&mdash;but heaven preserve
+me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Off you go, my beauty.&rdquo; Doctor Erb flicked the little brown mare.
+&ldquo;Did your wife get any sleep last night?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No; I don&rsquo;t think she did,&rdquo; answered Andreas shortly.
+&ldquo;To tell you the truth, I&rsquo;m not satisfied that she hasn&rsquo;t a
+nurse.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, your mother&rsquo;s worth a dozen nurses,&rdquo; cried the doctor,
+with immense gusto. &ldquo;To tell you the truth, I&rsquo;m not keen on
+nurses&mdash;too raw&mdash;raw as rump-steak. They wrestle for a baby as though
+they were wrestling with Death for the body of Patroclus.... Ever seen that
+picture by an English artist. Leighton? Wonderful thing&mdash;full of
+sinew!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There he goes again,&rdquo; thought Andreas, &ldquo;airing off his
+knowledge to make a fool of me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now your mother&mdash;she&rsquo;s firm&mdash;she&rsquo;s capable. Does
+what she&rsquo;s told with a fund of sympathy. Look at these shops we&rsquo;re
+passing&mdash;they&rsquo;re festering sores. How on earth this government can
+tolerate&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They&rsquo;re not so bad&mdash;sound enough&mdash;only want a coat of
+paint.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The doctor whistled a little tune and flicked the mare again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I hope the young shaver won&rsquo;t give his mother too much
+trouble,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Here we are.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A skinny little boy, who had been sliding up and down the back seat of the gig,
+sprang out and held the horse&rsquo;s head. Andreas went straight into the
+dining-room and left the servant girl to take the doctor upstairs. He sat down,
+poured out some coffee, and bit through half a roll before helping himself to
+fish. Then he noticed there was no hot plate for the fish&mdash;the whole house
+was at sixes and sevens. He rang the bell, but the servant girl came in with a
+tray holding a bowl of soup and a hot plate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been keeping them on the stove,&rdquo; she simpered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, thanks, that&rsquo;s very kind of you.&rdquo; As he swallowed the
+soup his heart warmed to this fool of a girl.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, it&rsquo;s a good thing Doctor Erb has come,&rdquo; volunteered the
+servant girl, who was bursting for want of sympathy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;H&rsquo;m, h&rsquo;m,&rdquo; said Andreas.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She waited a moment, expectantly, rolling her eyes, then in full loathing of
+menkind went back to the kitchen and vowed herself to sterility.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Andreas cleared the soup bowl, and cleared the fish. As he ate, the room slowly
+darkened. A faint wind sprang up and beat the tree branches against the window.
+The dining-room looked over the breakwater of the harbour, and the sea swung
+heavily in rolling waves. Wind crept round the house, moaning drearily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We&rsquo;re in for a storm. That means I&rsquo;m boxed up here all day.
+Well, there&rsquo;s one blessing; it&rsquo;ll clear the air.&rdquo; He heard
+the servant girl rushing importantly round the house, slamming windows. Then he
+caught a glimpse of her in the garden, unpegging tea towels from the line
+across the lawn. She was a worker, there was no doubt about that. He took up a
+book, and wheeled his arm-chair over to the window. But it was useless. Too
+dark to read; he didn&rsquo;t believe in straining his eyes, and gas at ten
+o&rsquo;clock in the morning seemed absurd. So he slipped down in the chair,
+leaned his elbows on the padded arms and gave himself up, for once, to idle
+dreaming. &ldquo;A boy? Yes, it was bound to be a boy this time....&rdquo;
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s your family, Binzer?&rdquo; &ldquo;Oh, I&rsquo;ve two girls
+and a boy!&rdquo; A very nice little number. Of course he was the last man to
+have a favourite child, but a man needed a son. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m working up the
+business for my son! Binzer &amp; Son! It would mean living very tight for the
+next ten years, cutting expenses as fine as possible; and then&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A tremendous gust of wind sprang upon the house, seized it, shook it, dropped,
+only to grip the more tightly. The waves swelled up along the breakwater and
+were whipped with broken foam. Over the white sky flew tattered streamers of
+grey cloud.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Andreas felt quite relieved to hear Doctor Erb coming down the stairs; he got
+up and lit the gas.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mind if I smoke in here?&rdquo; asked Doctor Erb, lighting a cigarette
+before Andreas had time to answer. &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t smoke, do you? No
+time to indulge in pernicious little habits!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How is she now?&rdquo; asked Andreas, loathing the man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, well as can be expected, poor little soul. She begged me to come
+down and have a look at you. Said she knew you were worrying.&rdquo; With
+laughing eyes the doctor looked at the breakfast-table. &ldquo;Managed to peck
+a bit, I see, eh?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hoo-wih!&rdquo; shouted the wind, shaking the window-sashes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pity&mdash;this weather,&rdquo; said Doctor Erb.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, it gets on Anna&rsquo;s nerves, and it&rsquo;s just nerve she
+wants.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Eh, what&rsquo;s that?&rdquo; retorted the doctor. &ldquo;Nerve! Man
+alive! She&rsquo;s got twice the nerve of you and me rolled into one. Nerve!
+she&rsquo;s nothing but nerve. A woman who works as she does about the house
+and has three children in four years thrown in with the dusting, so to
+speak!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He pitched his half-smoked cigarette into the fireplace and frowned at the
+window.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now <i>he&rsquo;s</i> accusing me,&rdquo; thought Andreas.
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the second time this morning&mdash;first mother and now
+this man taking advantage of my sensitiveness.&rdquo; He could not trust
+himself to speak, and rang the bell for the servant girl.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Clear away the breakfast things,&rdquo; he ordered. &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t
+have them messing about on the table till dinner!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be hard on the girl,&rdquo; coaxed Doctor Erb.
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s got twice the work to do to-day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At that Binzer&rsquo;s anger blazed out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll trouble you, Doctor, not to interfere between me and my
+servants!&rdquo; And he felt a fool at the same moment for not saying
+&ldquo;servant.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doctor Erb was not perturbed. He shook his head, thrust his hands into his
+pockets, and began balancing himself on toe and heel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re jagged by the weather,&rdquo; he said wryly, &ldquo;nothing
+else. A great pity&mdash;this storm. You know climate has an immense effect
+upon birth. A fine day perks a woman&mdash;gives her heart for her business.
+Good weather is as necessary to a confinement as it is to a washing day. Not
+bad&mdash;that last remark of mine&mdash;for a professional fossil, eh?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Andreas made no reply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;ll be getting back to my patient. Why don&rsquo;t you take
+a walk, and clear your head? That&rsquo;s the idea for you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;I won&rsquo;t do that; it&rsquo;s too
+rough.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He went back to his chair by the window. While the servant girl cleared away he
+pretended to read... then his dreams! It seemed years since he had had the time
+to himself to dream like that&mdash;he never had a breathing space. Saddled
+with work all day, and couldn&rsquo;t shake it off in the evening like other
+men. Besides, Anna was interested&mdash;they talked of practically nothing else
+together. Excellent mother she&rsquo;d make for a boy; she had a grip of
+things.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Church bells started ringing through the windy air, now sounding as though from
+very far away, then again as though all the churches in the town had been
+suddenly transplanted into their street. They stirred something in him, those
+bells, something vague and tender. Just about that time Anna would call him
+from the hall. &ldquo;Andreas, come and have your coat brushed. I&rsquo;m
+ready.&rdquo; Then off they would go, she hanging on his arm, and looking up at
+him. She certainly was a little thing. He remembered once saying when they were
+engaged, &ldquo;Just as high as my heart,&rdquo; and she had jumped on to a
+stool and pulled his head down, laughing. A kid in those days, younger than her
+children in nature, brighter, more &ldquo;go&rdquo; and &ldquo;spirit&rdquo; in
+her. The way she&rsquo;d run down the road to meet him after business! And the
+way she laughed when they were looking for a house. By Jove! that laugh of
+hers! At the memory he grinned, then grew suddenly grave. Marriage certainly
+changed a woman far more than it did a man. Talk about sobering down. She had
+lost all her go in two months! Well, once this boy business was over
+she&rsquo;d get stronger. He began to plan a little trip for them. He&rsquo;d
+take her away and they&rsquo;d loaf about together somewhere. After all, dash
+it, they were young still. She&rsquo;d got into a groove; he&rsquo;d have to
+force her out of it, that&rsquo;s all.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He got up and went into the drawing-room, carefully shut the door and took
+Anna&rsquo;s photograph from the top of the piano. She wore a white dress with
+a big bow of some soft stuff under the chin, and stood, a little stiffly,
+holding a sheaf of artificial poppies and corn in her hands. Delicate she
+looked even then; her masses of hair gave her that look. She seemed to droop
+under the heavy braids of it, and yet she was smiling. Andreas caught his
+breath sharply. She was his wife&mdash;that girl. Posh! it had only been taken
+four years ago. He held it close to him, bent forward and kissed it. Then
+rubbed the glass with the back of his hand. At that moment, fainter than he had
+heard in the passage, more terrifying, Andreas heard again that wailing cry.
+The wind caught it up in mocking echo, blew it over the house-tops, down the
+street, far away from him. He flung out his arms, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m so damnably
+helpless,&rdquo; he said, and then, to the picture, &ldquo;Perhaps it&rsquo;s
+not as bad as it sounds; perhaps it is just my sensitiveness.&rdquo; In the
+half light of the drawing-room the smile seemed to deepen in Anna&rsquo;s
+portrait, and to become secret, even cruel. &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he reflected,
+&ldquo;that smile is not at all her happiest expression&mdash;it was a mistake
+to let her have it taken smiling like that. She doesn&rsquo;t look like my
+wife&mdash;like the mother of my son.&rdquo; Yes, that was it, she did not look
+like the mother of a son who was going to be a partner in the firm. The picture
+got on his nerves; he held it in different lights, looked at it from a
+distance, sideways, spent, it seemed to Andreas afterwards, a whole lifetime
+trying to fit it in. The more he played with it the deeper grew his dislike of
+it. Thrice he carried it over to the fireplace and decided to chuck it behind
+the Japanese umbrella in the grate; then he thought it absurd to waste an
+expensive frame. There was no good in beating about the bush. Anna looked like
+a stranger&mdash;abnormal, a freak&mdash;it might be a picture taken just
+before or after death.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly he realised that the wind had dropped, that the whole house was still,
+terribly still. Cold and pale, with a disgusting feeling that spiders were
+creeping up his spine and across his face, he stood in the centre of the
+drawing-room, hearing Doctor Erb&rsquo;s footsteps descending the stairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He saw Doctor Erb come into the room; the room seemed to change into a great
+glass bowl that spun round, and Doctor Erb seemed to swim through this glass
+bowl towards him, like a goldfish in a pearl-coloured waistcoat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My beloved wife has passed away!&rdquo; He wanted to shout it out before
+the doctor spoke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, she&rsquo;s hooked a boy this time!&rdquo; said Doctor Erb.
+Andreas staggered forward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Look out. Keep on your pins,&rdquo; said Doctor Erb, catching
+Binzer&rsquo;s arm, and murmuring, as he felt it, &ldquo;Flabby as
+butter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A glow spread all over Andreas. He was exultant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, by God! Nobody can accuse <i>me</i> of not knowing what suffering
+is,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap10"></a>THE CHILD-WHO-WAS-TIRED</h2>
+
+<p>
+She was just beginning to walk along a little white road with tall black trees
+on either side, a little road that led to nowhere, and where nobody walked at
+all, when a hand gripped her shoulder, shook her, slapped her ear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, oh, don&rsquo;t stop me,&rdquo; cried the Child-Who-Was-Tired.
+&ldquo;Let me go.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Get up, you good-for-nothing brat,&rdquo; said a voice; &ldquo;get up
+and light the oven or I&rsquo;ll shake every bone out of your body.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With an immense effort she opened her eyes, and saw the Frau standing by, the
+baby bundled under one arm. The three other children who shared the same bed
+with the Child-Who-Was-Tired, accustomed to brawls, slept on peacefully. In a
+corner of the room the Man was fastening his braces.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you mean by sleeping like this the whole night
+through&mdash;like a sack of potatoes? You&rsquo;ve let the baby wet his bed
+twice.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She did not answer, but tied her petticoat string, and buttoned on her plaid
+frock with cold, shaking fingers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There, that&rsquo;s enough. Take the baby into the kitchen with you, and
+heat that cold coffee on the spirit lamp for the master, and give him the loaf
+of black bread out of the table drawer. Don&rsquo;t guzzle it yourself or
+I&rsquo;ll know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Frau staggered across the room, flung herself on to her bed, drawing the
+pink bolster round her shoulders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was almost dark in the kitchen. She laid the baby on the wooden settle,
+covering him with a shawl, then poured the coffee from the earthenware jug into
+the saucepan, and set it on the spirit lamp to boil.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sleepy,&rdquo; nodded the Child-Who-Was-Tired, kneeling on the
+floor and splitting the damp pine logs into little chips. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s
+why I&rsquo;m not awake.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The oven took a long time to light. Perhaps it was cold, like herself, and
+sleepy.... Perhaps it had been dreaming of a little white road with black trees
+on either side, a little road that led to nowhere.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then the door was pulled violently open and the Man strode in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here, what are you doing, sitting on the floor?&rdquo; he shouted.
+&ldquo;Give me my coffee. I&rsquo;ve got to be off. Ugh! You haven&rsquo;t even
+washed over the table.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She sprang to her feet, poured his coffee into an enamel cup, and gave him
+bread and a knife, then, taking a wash rag from the sink, smeared over the
+black linoleumed table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Swine of a day&mdash;swine&rsquo;s life,&rdquo; mumbled the Man, sitting
+by the table and staring out of the window at the bruised sky, which seemed to
+bulge heavily over the dull land. He stuffed his mouth with bread and then
+swilled it down with the coffee.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Child drew a pail of water, turned up her sleeves, frowning the while at
+her arms, as if to scold them for being so thin, so much like little stunted
+twigs, and began to mop over the floor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Stop sousing about the water while I&rsquo;m here,&rdquo; grumbled the
+Man. &ldquo;Stop the baby snivelling; it&rsquo;s been going on like that all
+night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Child gathered the baby into her lap and sat rocking him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ts&mdash;ts&mdash;ts,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s cutting his eye
+teeth, that&rsquo;s what makes him cry so. <i>And</i> dribble&mdash;I never
+seen a baby dribble like this one.&rdquo; She wiped his mouth and nose with a
+corner of her skirt. &ldquo;Some babies get their teeth without you knowing
+it,&rdquo; she went on, &ldquo;and some take on this way all the time. I once
+heard of a baby that died, and they found all its teeth in its stomach.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Man got up, unhooked his cloak from the back of the door, and flung it
+round him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s another coming,&rdquo; said he.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&mdash;a tooth!&rdquo; exclaimed the Child, startled for the first
+time that morning out of her dreadful heaviness, and thrusting her finger into
+the baby&rsquo;s mouth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said grimly, &ldquo;another baby. Now, get on with your
+work; it&rsquo;s time the others got up for school.&rdquo; She stood a moment
+quite silently, hearing his heavy steps on the stone passage, then the gravel
+walk, and finally the slam of the front gate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Another baby! Hasn&rsquo;t she finished having them <i>yet?</i>&rdquo;
+thought the Child. &ldquo;Two babies getting eye teeth&mdash;two babies to get
+up for in the night&mdash;two babies to carry about and wash their little piggy
+clothes!&rdquo; She looked with horror at the one in her arms, who, seeming to
+understand the contemptuous loathing of her tired glance, doubled his fists,
+stiffened his body, and began violently screaming.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ts&mdash;ts&mdash;ts.&rdquo; She laid him on the settle and went back to
+her floor-washing. He never ceased crying for a moment, but she got quite used
+to it and kept time with her broom. Oh, how tired she was! Oh, the heavy broom
+handle and the burning spot just at the back of her neck that ached so, and a
+funny little fluttering feeling just at the back of her waistband, as though
+something were going to break.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The clock struck six. She set the pan of milk in the oven, and went into the
+next room to wake and dress the three children. Anton and Hans lay together in
+attitudes of mutual amity which certainly never existed out of their sleeping
+hours. Lena was curled up, her knees under her chin, only a straight,
+standing-up pigtail of hair showing above the bolster.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Get up,&rdquo; cried the Child, speaking in a voice of immense
+authority, pulling off the bedclothes and giving the boys sundry pokes and
+digs. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been calling you this last half-hour. It&rsquo;s late,
+and I&rsquo;ll tell on you if you don&rsquo;t get dressed this minute.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Anton awoke sufficiently to turn over and kick Hans on a tender part, whereupon
+Hans pulled Lena&rsquo;s pigtail until she shrieked for her mother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, do be quiet,&rdquo; whispered the Child. &ldquo;Oh, do get up and
+dress. You know what will happen. There&mdash;I&rsquo;ll help you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the warning came too late. The Frau got out of bed, walked in a determined
+fashion into the kitchen, returning with a bundle of twigs in her hand fastened
+together with a strong cord. One by one she laid the children across her knee
+and severely beat them, expending a final burst of energy on the
+Child-Who-Was-Tired, then returned to bed, with a comfortable sense of her
+maternal duties in good working order for the day. Very subdued, the three
+allowed themselves to be dressed and washed by the Child, who even laced the
+boys&rsquo; boots, having found through experience that if left to themselves
+they hopped about for at least five minutes to find a comfortable ledge for
+their foot, and then spat on their hands and broke the bootlaces.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+While she gave them their breakfast they became uproarious, and the baby would
+not cease crying. When she filled the tin kettle with milk, tied on the rubber
+teat, and, first moistening it herself, tried with little coaxing words to make
+him drink, he threw the bottle on to the floor and trembled all over.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Eye teeth!&rdquo; shouted Hans, hitting Anton over the head with his
+empty cup; &ldquo;he&rsquo;s getting the evil-eye teeth, I should say.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Smarty!&rdquo; retorted Lena, poking out her tongue at him, and then,
+when he promptly did the same, crying at the top of her voice, &ldquo;Mother,
+Hans is making faces at me!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s right,&rdquo; said Hans; &ldquo;go on howling, and when
+you&rsquo;re in bed to-night I&rsquo;ll wait till you&rsquo;re asleep, and then
+I&rsquo;ll creep over and take a little tiny piece of your arm and twist and
+twist it until&mdash;&rdquo; He leant over the table making the most horrible
+faces at Lena, not noticing that Anton was standing behind his chair until the
+little boy bent over and spat on his brother&rsquo;s shaven head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, weh! oh, weh!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Child-Who-Was-Tired pushed and pulled them apart, muffled them into their
+coats, and drove them out of the house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hurry, hurry! the second bell&rsquo;s rung,&rdquo; she urged, knowing
+perfectly well she was telling a story, and rather exulting in the fact. She
+washed up the breakfast things, then went down to the cellar to look out the
+potatoes and beetroot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Such a funny, cold place the coal cellar! With potatoes banked on one corner,
+beetroot in an old candle box, two tubs of sauerkraut, and a twisted mass of
+dahlia roots&mdash;that looked as real as though they were fighting one
+another, thought the Child.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She gathered the potatoes into her skirt, choosing big ones with few eyes
+because they were easier to peel, and bending over the dull heap in the silent
+cellar, she began to nod.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here, you, what are you doing down there?&rdquo; cried the Frau, from
+the top of the stairs. &ldquo;The baby&rsquo;s fallen off the settle, and got a
+bump as big as an egg over his eye. Come up here, and I&rsquo;ll teach
+you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It wasn&rsquo;t me&mdash;it wasn&rsquo;t me!&rdquo; screamed the Child,
+beaten from one side of the hall to the other, so that the potatoes and
+beetroot rolled out of her skirt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Frau seemed to be as big as a giant, and there was a certain heaviness in
+all her movements that was terrifying to anyone so small.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sit in the corner, and peel and wash the vegetables, and keep the baby
+quiet while I do the washing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Whimpering she obeyed, but as to keeping the baby quiet, that was impossible.
+His face was hot, little beads of sweat stood all over his head, and he
+stiffened his body and cried. She held him on her knees, with a pan of cold
+water beside her for the cleaned vegetables and the &ldquo;ducks&rsquo;
+bucket&rdquo; for the peelings.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ts&mdash;ts&mdash;ts!&rdquo; she crooned, scraping and boring;
+&ldquo;there&rsquo;s going to be another soon, and you can&rsquo;t both keep on
+crying. Why don&rsquo;t you go to sleep, baby? I would, if I were you.
+I&rsquo;ll tell you a dream. Once upon a time there was a little white
+road&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She shook back her head, a great lump ached in her throat and then the tears
+ran down her face on to the vegetables.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s no good,&rdquo; said the Child, shaking them away.
+&ldquo;Just stop crying until I&rsquo;ve finished this, baby, and I&rsquo;ll
+walk you up and down.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But by that time she had to peg out the washing for the Frau. A wind had sprung
+up. Standing on tiptoe in the yard, she almost felt she would be blown away.
+There was a bad smell coming from the ducks&rsquo; coop, which was half full of
+manure water, but away in the meadow she saw the grass blowing like little
+green hairs. And she remembered having heard of a child who had once played for
+a whole day in just such a meadow with real sausages and beer for her
+dinner&mdash;and not a little bit of tiredness. Who had told her that story?
+She could not remember, and yet it was so plain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The wet clothes flapped in her face as she pegged them; danced and jigged on
+the line, bulged out and twisted. She walked back to the house with lagging
+steps, looking longingly at the grass in the meadow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What must I do now, please?&rdquo; she said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Make the beds and hang the baby&rsquo;s mattress out of the window, then
+get the wagon and take him for a little walk along the road. In front of the
+house, mind&mdash;where I can see you. Don&rsquo;t stand there, gaping! Then
+come in when I call you and help me cut up the salad.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When she had made the beds the Child stood and looked at them. Gently she
+stroked the pillow with her hand, and then, just for one moment, let her head
+rest there. Again the smarting lump in her throat, the stupid tears that fell
+and kept on falling as she dressed the baby and dragged the little wagon up and
+down the road.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A man passed, driving a bullock wagon. He wore a long, queer feather in his
+hat, and whistled as he passed. Two girls with bundles on their shoulders came
+walking out of the village&mdash;one wore a red handkerchief about her head and
+one a blue. They were laughing and holding each other by the hand. Then the sun
+pushed by a heavy fold of grey cloud and spread a warm yellow light over
+everything.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps,&rdquo; thought the Child-Who-Was-Tired, &ldquo;if I walked far
+enough up this road I might come to a little white one, with tall black trees
+on either side&mdash;a little road&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Salad, salad!&rdquo; cried the Frau&rsquo;s voice from the house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Soon the children came home from school, dinner was eaten, the Man took the
+Frau&rsquo;s share of pudding as well as his own, and the three children seemed
+to smear themselves all over with whatever they ate. Then more dish-washing and
+more cleaning and baby-minding. So the afternoon dragged coldly through.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Old Frau Grathwohl came in with a fresh piece of pig&rsquo;s flesh for the
+Frau, and the Child listened to them gossiping together.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Frau Manda went on her &lsquo;journey to Rome&rsquo; last night, and
+brought back a daughter. How are you feeling?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I was sick twice this morning,&rdquo; said the Frau. &ldquo;My insides
+are all twisted up with having children too quickly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I see you&rsquo;ve got a new help,&rdquo; commented old Mother
+Grathwohl.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, dear Lord&rdquo;&mdash;the Frau lowered her
+voice&mdash;&ldquo;don&rsquo;t you know her? She&rsquo;s the free-born
+one&mdash;daughter of the waitress at the railway station. They found her
+mother trying to squeeze her head in the wash-hand jug, and the child&rsquo;s
+half silly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ts&mdash;ts&mdash;ts!&rdquo; whispered the &ldquo;free-born&rdquo; one
+to the baby.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As the day drew in the Child-Who-Was-Tired did not know how to fight her
+sleepiness any longer. She was afraid to sit down or stand still. As she sat at
+supper the Man and the Frau seemed to swell to an immense size as she watched
+them, and then become smaller than dolls, with little voices that seemed to
+come from outside the window. Looking at the baby, it suddenly had two heads,
+and then no head. Even his crying made her feel worse. When she thought of the
+nearness of bedtime she shook all over with excited joy. But as eight
+o&rsquo;clock approached there was the sound of wheels on the road, and
+presently in came a party of friends to spend the evening.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then it was:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Put on the coffee.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bring me the sugar tin.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Carry the chairs out of the bedroom.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Set the table.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And, finally, the Frau sent her into the next room to keep the baby quiet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a little piece of candle burning in the enamel bracket. As she walked
+up and down she saw her great big shadow on the wall like a grown-up person
+with a grown-up baby. Whatever would it look like when she carried two babies
+so!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ts&mdash;ts&mdash;ts! Once upon a time she was walking along a little
+white road, with oh! such great big black trees on either side.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here you!&rdquo; called the Frau&rsquo;s voice, &ldquo;bring me my new
+jacket from behind the door.&rdquo; And as she took it into the warm room one
+of the women said, &ldquo;She looks like an owl. Such children are seldom right
+in their heads.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you keep that baby quiet?&rdquo; said the Man, who had
+just drunk enough beer to make him feel very brave and master of his house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you don&rsquo;t keep that baby quiet you&rsquo;ll know why later
+on.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They burst out laughing as she stumbled back into the bedroom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t believe Holy Mary could keep him quiet,&rdquo; she
+murmured. &ldquo;Did Jesus cry like this when He was little? If I was not so
+tired perhaps I could do it; but the baby just knows that I want to go to
+sleep. And there is going to be another one.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She flung the baby on the bed, and stood looking at him with terror.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+From the next room there came the jingle of glasses and the warm sound of
+laughter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And she suddenly had a beautiful marvellous idea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She laughed for the first time that day, and clapped her hands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ts&mdash;ts&mdash;ts!&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;lie there, silly one; you
+<i>will</i> go to sleep. You&rsquo;ll not cry any more or wake up in the night.
+Funny, little, ugly baby.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He opened his eyes, and shrieked loudly at the sight of the
+Child-Who-Was-Tired. From the next room she heard the Frau call out to her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;One moment&mdash;he is almost asleep,&rdquo; she cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then gently, smiling, on tiptoe, she brought the pink bolster from the
+Frau&rsquo;s bed and covered the baby&rsquo;s face with it, pressed with all
+her might as he struggled, &ldquo;like a duck with its head off,
+wriggling&rdquo;, she thought.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She heaved a long sigh, then fell back on to the floor, and was walking along a
+little white road with tall black trees on either side, a little road that led
+to nowhere, and where nobody walked at all&mdash;nobody at all.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap11"></a>THE ADVANCED LADY</h2>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you think we might ask her to come with us,&rdquo; said Fräulein
+Elsa, retying her pink sash ribbon before my mirror. &ldquo;You know, although
+she is so intellectual, I cannot help feeling convinced that she has some
+secret sorrow. And Lisa told me this morning, as she was turning out my room,
+that she remains hours and hours by herself, writing; in fact Lisa says she is
+writing a book! I suppose that is why she never cares to mingle with us, and
+has so little time for her husband and the child.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, <i>you</i> ask her,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;I have never spoken to
+the lady.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elsa blushed faintly. &ldquo;I have only spoken to her once,&rdquo; she
+confessed. &ldquo;I took her a bunch of wild flowers, to her room, and she came
+to the door in a white gown, with her hair loose. Never shall I forget that
+moment. She just took the flowers, and I heard her&mdash;because the door was
+not quite properly shut&mdash;I heard her, as I walked down the passage, saying
+&lsquo;Purity, fragrance, the fragrance of purity and the purity of
+fragrance!&rsquo; It was wonderful!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At that moment Frau Kellermann knocked at the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you ready?&rdquo; she said, coming into the room and nodding to us
+very genially. &ldquo;The gentlemen are waiting on the steps, and I have asked
+the Advanced Lady to come with us.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Na, how extraordinary!&rdquo; cried Elsa. &ldquo;But this moment the
+gnädige Frau and I were debating whether&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, I met her coming out of her room and she said she was charmed with
+the idea. Like all of us, she has never been to Schlingen. She is downstairs
+now, talking to Herr Erchardt. I think we shall have a delightful
+afternoon.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is Fritzi waiting too?&rdquo; asked Elsa.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course he is, dear child&mdash;as impatient as a hungry man listening
+for the dinner bell. Run along!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elsa ran, and Frau Kellermann smiled at me significantly. In the past she and I
+had seldom spoken to each other, owing to the fact that her &ldquo;one
+remaining joy&rdquo;&mdash;her charming little Karl&mdash;had never succeeded
+in kindling into flame those sparks of maternity which are supposed to glow in
+great numbers upon the altar of every respectable female heart; but, in view of
+a premeditated journey together, we became delightfully cordial.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;For us,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;there will be a double joy. We shall be
+able to watch the happiness of these two dear children, Elsa and Fritz. They
+only received the letters of blessing from their parents yesterday morning. It
+is a very strange thing, but whenever I am in the company of newly-engaged
+couples I blossom. Newly-engaged couples, mothers with first babies, and normal
+deathbeds have precisely the same effect on me. Shall we join the
+others?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I was longing to ask her why normal deathbeds should cause anyone to burst into
+flower, and said, &ldquo;Yes, do let us.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We were greeted by the little party of &ldquo;cure guests&rdquo; on the pension
+steps, with those cries of joy and excitement which herald so pleasantly the
+mildest German excursion. Herr Erchardt and I had not met before that day, so,
+in accordance with strict pension custom, we asked each other how long we had
+slept during the night, had we dreamed agreeably, what time we had got up, was
+the coffee fresh when we had appeared at breakfast, and how had we passed the
+morning. Having toiled up these stairs of almost national politeness we landed,
+triumphant and smiling, and paused to recover breath.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And now,&rdquo; said Herr Erchardt, &ldquo;I have a pleasure in store
+for you. The Frau Professor is going to be one of us for the afternoon.
+Yes,&rdquo; nodding graciously to the Advanced Lady. &ldquo;Allow me to
+introduce you to each other.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We bowed very formally, and looked each other over with that eye which is known
+as &ldquo;eagle&rdquo; but is far more the property of the female than that
+most unoffending of birds. &ldquo;I think you are English?&rdquo; she said. I
+acknowledged the fact. &ldquo;I am reading a great many English books just
+now&mdash;rather, I am studying them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nu,&rdquo; cried Herr Erchardt. &ldquo;Fancy that! What a bond already!
+I have made up my mind to know Shakespeare in his mother tongue before I die,
+but that you, Frau Professor, should be already immersed in those wells of
+English thought!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;From what I have read,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I do not think they are
+very deep wells.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He nodded sympathetically.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;so I have heard.... But do not let us
+embitter our excursion for our little English friend. We will speak of this
+another time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nu, are we ready?&rdquo; cried Fritz, who stood, supporting Elsa&rsquo;s
+elbow in his hand, at the foot of the steps. It was immediately discovered that
+Karl was lost.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ka&mdash;rl, Karl&mdash;chen!&rdquo; we cried. No response.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But he was here one moment ago,&rdquo; said Herr Langen, a tired, pale
+youth, who was recovering from a nervous breakdown due to much philosophy and
+little nourishment. &ldquo;He was sitting here, picking out the works of his
+watch with a hairpin!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Frau Kellermann rounded on him. &ldquo;Do you mean to say, my dear Herr Langen,
+you did not stop the child!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Herr Langen; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve tried stopping him before
+now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Da, that child has such energy; never is his brain at peace. If he is
+not doing one thing, he is doing another!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps he has started on the dining-room clock now,&rdquo; suggested
+Herr Langen, abominably hopeful.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Advanced Lady suggested that we should go without him. &ldquo;I never take
+my little daughter for walks,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I have accustomed her to
+sitting quietly in my bedroom from the time I go out until I return!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There he is&mdash;there he is,&rdquo; piped Elsa, and Karl was observed
+slithering down a chestnut-tree, very much the worse for twigs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been listening to what you said about me, mumma,&rdquo; he
+confessed while Frau Kellermann brushed him down. &ldquo;It was not true about
+the watch. I was only looking at it, and the little girl never stays in the
+bedroom. She told me herself she always goes down to the kitchen,
+and&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Da, that&rsquo;s enough!&rdquo; said Frau Kellermann.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We marched <i>en masse</i> along the station road. It was a very warm
+afternoon, and continuous parties of &ldquo;cure guests&rdquo;, who were giving
+their digestions a quiet airing in pension gardens, called after us, asked if
+we were going for a walk, and cried &ldquo;Herr Gott&mdash;happy journey&rdquo;
+with immense ill-concealed relish when we mentioned Schlingen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But that is eight kilometres,&rdquo; shouted one old man with a white
+beard, who leaned against a fence, fanning himself with a yellow handkerchief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Seven and a half,&rdquo; answered Herr Erchardt shortly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Eight,&rdquo; bellowed the sage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Seven and a half!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Eight!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The man is mad,&rdquo; said Herr Erchardt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, please let him be mad in peace,&rdquo; said I, putting my hands
+over my ears.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Such ignorance must not be allowed to go uncontradicted,&rdquo; said he,
+and turning his back on us, too exhausted to cry out any longer, he held up
+seven and a half fingers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Eight!&rdquo; thundered the greybeard, with pristine freshness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We felt very sobered, and did not recover until we reached a white signpost
+which entreated us to leave the road and walk through the field
+path&mdash;without trampling down more of the grass than was necessary. Being
+interpreted, it meant &ldquo;single file&rdquo;, which was distressing for Elsa
+and Fritz. Karl, like a happy child, gambolled ahead, and cut down as many
+flowers as possible with the stick of his mother&rsquo;s parasol&mdash;followed
+the three others&mdash;then myself&mdash;and the lovers in the rear. And above
+the conversation of the advance party I had the privilege of hearing these
+delicious whispers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fritz: &ldquo;Do you love me?&rdquo; Elsa: &ldquo;Nu&mdash;yes.&rdquo; Fritz
+passionately: &ldquo;But how much?&rdquo; To which Elsa never
+replied&mdash;except with &ldquo;How much do <i>you</i> love <i>me?</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fritz escaped that truly Christian trap by saying, &ldquo;I asked you
+first.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It grew so confusing that I slipped in front of Frau Kellermann&mdash;and
+walked in the peaceful knowledge that she was blossoming and I was under no
+obligation to inform even my nearest and dearest as to the precise capacity of
+my affections. &ldquo;What right have they to ask each other such questions the
+day after letters of blessing have been received?&rdquo; I reflected.
+&ldquo;What right have they even to question each other? Love which becomes
+engaged and married is a purely affirmative affair&mdash;they are usurping the
+privileges of their betters and wisers!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The edges of the field frilled over into an immense pine forest&mdash;very
+pleasant and cool it looked. Another signpost begged us to keep to the broad
+path for Schlingen and deposit waste paper and fruit peelings in wire
+receptacles attached to the benches for the purpose. We sat down on the first
+bench, and Karl with great curiosity explored the wire receptacle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I love woods,&rdquo; said the Advanced Lady, smiling pitifully into the
+air. &ldquo;In a wood my hair already seems to stir and remember something of
+its savage origin.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But speaking literally,&rdquo; said Frau Kellermann, after an
+appreciative pause, &ldquo;there is really nothing better than the air of
+pine-trees for the scalp.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, Frau Kellermann, please don&rsquo;t break the spell,&rdquo; said
+Elsa.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Advanced Lady looked at her very sympathetically. &ldquo;Have you, too,
+found the magic heart of Nature?&rdquo; she said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That was Herr Langen&rsquo;s cue. &ldquo;Nature has no heart,&rdquo; said he,
+very bitterly and readily, as people do who are over-philosophised and
+underfed. &ldquo;She creates that she may destroy. She eats that she may spew
+up and she spews up that she may eat. That is why we, who are forced to eke out
+an existence at her trampling feet, consider the world mad, and realise the
+deadly vulgarity of production.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Young man,&rdquo; interrupted Herr Erchardt, &ldquo;you have never lived
+and you have never suffered!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, excuse me&mdash;how can you know?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I know because you have told me, and there&rsquo;s an end of it. Come
+back to this bench in ten years&rsquo; time and repeat those words to
+me,&rdquo; said Frau Kellermann, with an eye upon Fritz, who was engaged in
+counting Elsa&rsquo;s fingers with passionate fervour&mdash;&ldquo;and bring
+with you your young wife, Herr Langen, and watch, perhaps, your little child
+playing with&mdash;&rdquo; She turned towards Karl, who had rooted an old
+illustrated paper out of the receptacle and was spelling over an advertisement
+for the enlargement of Beautiful Breasts.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The sentence remained unfinished. We decided to move on. As we plunged more
+deeply into the wood our spirits rose&mdash;reaching a point where they burst
+into song&mdash;on the part of the three men&mdash;&ldquo;O Welt, wie bist du
+wunderbar!&rdquo;&mdash;the lower part of which was piercingly sustained by
+Herr Langen, who attempted quite unsuccessfully to infuse satire into it in
+accordance with his&mdash;&ldquo;world outlook&rdquo;. They strode ahead and
+left us to trail after them&mdash;hot and happy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now is the opportunity,&rdquo; said Frau Kellermann. &ldquo;Dear Frau
+Professor, do tell us a little about your book.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ach, how did you know I was writing one?&rdquo; she cried playfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Elsa, here, had it from Lisa. And never before have I personally known a
+woman who was writing a book. How do you manage to find enough to write
+down?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is never the trouble,&rdquo; said the Advanced Lady&mdash;she took
+Elsa&rsquo;s arm and leaned on it gently. &ldquo;The trouble is to know where
+to stop. My brain has been a hive for years, and about three months ago the
+pent-up waters burst over my soul, and since then I am writing all day until
+late into the night, still ever finding fresh inspirations and thoughts which
+beat impatient wings about my heart.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is it a novel?&rdquo; asked Elsa shyly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course it is a novel,&rdquo; said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How can you be so positive?&rdquo; said Frau Kellermann, eyeing me
+severely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Because nothing but a novel could produce an effect like that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ach, don&rsquo;t quarrel,&rdquo; said the Advanced Lady sweetly.
+&ldquo;Yes, it is a novel&mdash;upon the Modern Woman. For this seems to me the
+woman&rsquo;s hour. It is mysterious and almost prophetic, it is the symbol of
+the true advanced woman: not one of those violent creatures who deny their sex
+and smother their frail wings under... under&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The English tailor-made?&rdquo; from Frau Kellermann.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I was not going to put it like that. Rather, under the lying garb of
+false masculinity!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Such a subtle distinction!&rdquo; I murmured.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Whom then,&rdquo; asked Fräulein Elsa, looking adoringly at the Advanced
+Lady&mdash;&ldquo;whom then do you consider the true woman?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She is the incarnation of comprehending Love!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But my dear Frau Professor,&rdquo; protested Frau Kellermann, &ldquo;you
+must remember that one has so few opportunities for exhibiting Love within the
+family circle nowadays. One&rsquo;s husband is at business all day, and
+naturally desires to sleep when he returns home&mdash;one&rsquo;s children are
+out of the lap and in at the university before one can lavish anything at all
+upon them!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But Love is not a question of lavishing,&rdquo; said the Advanced Lady.
+&ldquo;It is the lamp carried in the bosom touching with serene rays all the
+heights and depths of&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Darkest Africa,&rdquo; I murmured flippantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She did not hear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The mistake we have made in the past&mdash;as a sex,&rdquo; said she,
+&ldquo;is in not realising that our gifts of giving are for the whole
+world&mdash;we are the glad sacrifice of ourselves!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; cried Elsa rapturously, and almost bursting into gifts as she
+breathed&mdash;&ldquo;how I know that! You know ever since Fritz and I have
+been engaged, I share the desire to give to everybody, to share
+everything!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How extremely dangerous,&rdquo; said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is only the beauty of danger, or the danger of beauty&rdquo; said the
+Advanced Lady&mdash;&ldquo;and there you have the ideal of my book&mdash;that
+woman is nothing but a gift.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I smiled at her very sweetly. &ldquo;Do you know,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;I, too,
+would like to write a book, on the advisability of caring for daughters, and
+taking them for airings and keeping them out of kitchens!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I think the masculine element must have felt these angry vibrations: they
+ceased from singing, and together we climbed out of the wood, to see Schlingen
+below us, tucked in a circle of hills, the white houses shining in the
+sunlight, &ldquo;for all the world like eggs in a bird&rsquo;s nest&rdquo;, as
+Herr Erchardt declared. We descended upon Schlingen and demanded sour milk with
+fresh cream and bread at the Inn of the Golden Stag, a most friendly place,
+with tables in a rose-garden where hens and chickens ran riot&mdash;even
+flopping upon the disused tables and pecking at the red checks on the cloths.
+We broke the bread into the bowls, added the cream, and stirred it round with
+flat wooden spoons, the landlord and his wife standing by.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Splendid weather!&rdquo; said Herr Erchardt, waving his spoon at the
+landlord, who shrugged his shoulders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What! you don&rsquo;t call it splendid!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As you please,&rdquo; said the landlord, obviously scorning us.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Such a beautiful walk,&rdquo; said Fräulein Elsa, making a free gift of
+her most charming smile to the landlady.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I never walk,&rdquo; said the landlady; &ldquo;when I go to Mindelbau my
+man drives me&mdash;I&rsquo;ve more important things to do with my legs than
+walk them through the dust!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I like these people,&rdquo; confessed Herr Langen to me. &ldquo;I like
+them very, very much. I think I shall take a room here for the whole
+summer.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, because they live close to the earth, and therefore despise
+it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He pushed away his bowl of sour milk and lit a cigarette. We ate, solidly and
+seriously, until those seven and a half kilometres to Mindelbau stretched
+before us like an eternity. Even Karl&rsquo;s activity became so full fed that
+he lay on the ground and removed his leather waistbelt. Elsa suddenly leaned
+over to Fritz and whispered, who on hearing her to the end and asking her if
+she loved him, got up and made a little speech.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We&mdash;we wish to celebrate our betrothal by&mdash;by&mdash;asking you
+all to drive back with us in the landlord&rsquo;s cart&mdash;if&mdash;it will
+hold us!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, what a beautiful, noble idea!&rdquo; said Frau Kellermann, heaving a
+sigh of relief that audibly burst two hooks.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is my little gift,&rdquo; said Elsa to the Advanced Lady, who by
+virtue of three portions almost wept tears of gratitude.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Squeezed into the peasant cart and driven by the landlord, who showed his
+contempt for mother earth by spitting savagely every now and again, we jolted
+home again, and the nearer we came to Mindelbau the more we loved it and one
+another.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We must have many excursions like this,&rdquo; said Herr Erchardt to me,
+&ldquo;for one surely gets to know a person in the simple surroundings of the
+open air&mdash;one <i>shares</i> the same joys&mdash;one feels friendship. What
+is it your Shakespeare says? One moment, I have it. The friends thou hast, and
+their adoption tried&mdash;grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But,&rdquo; said I, feeling very friendly towards him, &ldquo;the bother
+about my soul is that it refuses to grapple anybody at all&mdash;and I am sure
+that the dead weight of a friend whose adoption it had tried would kill it
+immediately. Never yet has it shown the slightest sign of a hoop!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He bumped against my knees and excused himself and the cart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My dear little lady, you must not take the quotation literally.
+Naturally, one is not physically conscious of the hoops; but hoops there are in
+the soul of him or her who loves his fellow-men.... Take this afternoon, for
+instance. How did we start out? As strangers you might almost say, and
+yet&mdash;all of us&mdash;how have we come home?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In a cart,&rdquo; said the only remaining joy, who sat upon his
+mother&rsquo;s lap and felt sick.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We skirted the field that we had passed through, going round by the cemetery.
+Herr Langen leaned over the edge of the seat and greeted the graves. He was
+sitting next to the Advanced Lady&mdash;inside the shelter of her shoulder. I
+heard her murmur: &ldquo;You look like a little boy with your hair blowing
+about in the wind.&rdquo; Herr Langen, slightly less bitter&mdash;watched the
+last graves disappear. And I heard her murmur: &ldquo;Why are you so sad? I too
+am very sad sometimes&mdash;but&mdash;you look young enough for me to dare to
+say this&mdash;I&mdash;too&mdash;know of much joy!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you know?&rdquo; said he.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I leaned over and touched the Advanced Lady&rsquo;s hand. &ldquo;Hasn&rsquo;t
+it been a nice afternoon?&rdquo; I said questioningly. &ldquo;But you know,
+that theory of yours about women and Love&mdash;it&rsquo;s as old as the
+hills&mdash;oh, older!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+From the road a sudden shout of triumph. Yes, there he was again&mdash;white
+beard, silk handkerchief and undaunted enthusiasm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What did I say? Eight kilometres&mdash;it is!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Seven and a half!&rdquo; shrieked Herr Erchardt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, then, do you return in carts? Eight kilometres it must be.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Herr Erchardt made a cup of his hands and stood up in the jolting cart while
+Frau Kellermann clung to his knees. &ldquo;Seven and a half!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ignorance must not go uncontradicted!&rdquo; I said to the Advanced
+Lady.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap12"></a>THE SWING OF THE PENDULUM</h2>
+
+<p>
+The landlady knocked at the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come in,&rdquo; said Viola.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There is a letter for you,&rdquo; said the landlady, &ldquo;a special
+letter&rdquo;&mdash;she held the green envelope in a corner of her dingy apron.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thanks.&rdquo; Viola, kneeling on the floor, poking at the little dusty
+stove, stretched out her hand. &ldquo;Any answer?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No; the messenger has gone.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, all right!&rdquo; She did not look the landlady in the face; she was
+ashamed of not having paid her rent, and wondered grimly, without any hope, if
+the woman would begin to bluster again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;About this money owing to me&mdash;&rdquo; said the landlady.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, the Lord&mdash;off she goes!&rdquo; thought Viola, turning her back
+on the woman and making a grimace at the stove.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s settle&mdash;or it&rsquo;s go!&rdquo; The landlady raised her
+voice; she began to bawl. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m a landlady, I am, and a respectable
+woman, I&rsquo;ll have you know. I&rsquo;ll have no lice in my house, sneaking
+their way into the furniture and eating up everything. It&rsquo;s cash&mdash;or
+out you go before twelve o&rsquo;clock to-morrow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Viola felt rather than saw the woman&rsquo;s gesture. She shot out her arm in a
+stupid helpless way, as though a dirty pigeon had suddenly flown at her face.
+&ldquo;Filthy old beast! Ugh! And the smell of her&mdash;like stale cheese and
+damp washing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well!&rdquo; she answered shortly; &ldquo;it&rsquo;s cash down or I
+leave to-morrow. All right: don&rsquo;t shout.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was extraordinary&mdash;always before this woman came near her she trembled
+in her shoes&mdash;even the sound of those flat feet stumping up the stairs
+made her feel sick, but once they were face to face she felt immensely calm and
+indifferent, and could not understand why she even worried about money, nor why
+she sneaked out of the house on tiptoe, not even daring to shut the door after
+her in case the landlady should hear and shout something terrible, nor why she
+spent nights pacing up and down her room&mdash;drawing up sharply before the
+mirror and saying to a tragic reflection: &ldquo;Money, money, money!&rdquo;
+When she was alone her poverty was like a huge dream-mountain on which her feet
+were fast rooted&mdash;aching with the ache of the size of the thing&mdash;but
+if it came to definite action, with no time for imaginings, her dream-mountain
+dwindled into a beastly &ldquo;hold-your-nose&rdquo; affair, to be passed as
+quickly as possible, with anger and a strong sense of superiority.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The landlady bounced out of the room, banging the door, so that it shook and
+rattled as though it had listened to the conversation and fully sympathised
+with the old hag.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Squatting on her heels, Viola opened the letter. It was from Casimir:
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;I shall be with you at three o&rsquo;clock this afternoon&mdash;and must
+be off again this evening. All news when we meet. I hope you are happier than
+I.&mdash;C<small>ASIMIR</small>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Huh! how kind!&rdquo; she sneered; &ldquo;how condescending. Too good of
+you, really!&rdquo; She sprang to her feet, crumbling the letter in her hands.
+&ldquo;And how are you to know that I shall stick here awaiting your pleasure
+until three o&rsquo;clock this afternoon?&rdquo; But she knew she would; her
+rage was only half sincere. She longed to see Casimir, for she was confident
+that this time she would make him understand the situation.... &ldquo;For, as
+it is, it&rsquo;s intolerable&mdash;intolerable!&rdquo; she muttered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was ten o&rsquo;clock in the morning of a grey day curiously lighted by pale
+flashes of sunshine. Searched by these flashes her room looked tumbled and
+grimed. She pulled down the window-blinds&mdash;but they gave a persistent,
+whitish glare which was just as bad. The only thing of life in the room was a
+jar of hyacinths given her by the landlady&rsquo;s daughter: it stood on the
+table exuding a sickly perfume from its plump petals; there were even rich buds
+unfolding, and the leaves shone like oil.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Viola went over to the washstand, poured some water into the enamel basin, and
+sponged her face and neck. She dipped her face into the water, opened her eyes,
+and shook her head from side to side&mdash;it was exhilarating. She did it
+three times. &ldquo;I suppose I could drown myself if I stayed under long
+enough,&rdquo; she thought. &ldquo;I wonder how long it takes to become
+unconscious?... Often read of women drowning in a bucket. I wonder if any air
+enters by the ears&mdash;if the basin would have to be as deep as a
+bucket?&rdquo; She experimented&mdash;gripped the washstand with both hands and
+slowly sank her head into the water, when again there was a knock on the door.
+Not the landlady this time&mdash;it must be Casimir. With her face and hair
+dripping, with her petticoat bodice unbuttoned, she ran and opened it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A strange man stood against the lintel&mdash;seeing her, he opened his eyes
+very wide and smiled delightfully. &ldquo;Excuse me&mdash;does Fräulein Schäfer
+live here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No; never heard of her.&rdquo; His smile was so infectious, she wanted
+to smile too&mdash;and the water had made her feel so fresh and rosy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The strange man appeared overwhelmed with astonishment. &ldquo;She
+doesn&rsquo;t?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;She is out, you mean!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, she&rsquo;s not living here,&rdquo; answered Viola.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But&mdash;pardon&mdash;one moment.&rdquo; He moved from the door lintel,
+standing squarely in front of her. He unbuttoned his greatcoat and drew a slip
+of paper from the breast pocket, smoothing it in his gloved fingers before
+handing it to her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, that&rsquo;s the address, right enough, but there must be a mistake
+in the number. So many lodging-houses in this street, you know, and so
+big.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Drops of water fell from her hair on to the paper. She burst out laughing.
+&ldquo;Oh, <i>how</i> dreadful I must look&mdash;one moment!&rdquo; She ran
+back to the washstand and caught up a towel. The door was still open.... After
+all, there was nothing more to be said. Why on earth had she asked him to wait
+a moment? She folded the towel round her shoulders, and returned to the door,
+suddenly grave. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry; I know no such name,&rdquo; in a sharp
+voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Said the strange man: &ldquo;Sorry, too. Have you been living here long?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Er&mdash;yes&mdash;a long time.&rdquo; She began to close the door
+slowly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well&mdash;good-morning, thanks so much. Hope I haven&rsquo;t been a
+bother.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good-morning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She heard him walk down the passage and then pause&mdash;lighting a cigarette.
+Yes&mdash;a faint scent of delicious cigarette smoke penetrated her room. She
+sniffed at it, smiling again. Well, that had been a fascinating interlude! He
+looked so amazingly happy: his heavy clothes and big buttoned gloves; his
+beautifully brushed hair... and that smile.... &ldquo;Jolly&rdquo; was the
+word&mdash;just a well-fed boy with the world for his playground. People like
+that did one good&mdash;one felt &ldquo;made over&rdquo; at the sight of them.
+<i>Sane</i> they were&mdash;so sane and solid. You could depend on them never
+having one mad impulse from the day they were born until the day they died. And
+Life was in league with them&mdash;jumped them on her knee&mdash;quite rightly,
+too. At that moment she noticed Casimir&rsquo;s letter, crumpled up on the
+floor&mdash;the smile faded. Staring at the letter she began braiding her
+hair&mdash;a dull feeling of rage crept through her&mdash;she seemed to be
+braiding it into her brain, and binding it, tightly, above her head.... Of
+course that had been the mistake all along. What had? Oh, Casimir&rsquo;s
+frightful seriousness. If she had been happy when they first met she never
+would have looked at him&mdash;but they had been like two patients in the same
+hospital ward&mdash;each finding comfort in the sickness of the
+other&mdash;sweet foundation for a love episode! Misfortune had knocked their
+heads together: they had looked at each other, stunned with the conflict and
+sympathised... &ldquo;I wish I could step outside the whole affair and just
+judge it&mdash;then I&rsquo;d find a way out. I certainly was in love with
+Casimir.... Oh, be sincere for once.&rdquo; She flopped down on the bed and hid
+her face in the pillow. &ldquo;I was not in love. I wanted somebody to look
+after me&mdash;and keep me until my work began to sell&mdash;and he kept
+bothers with other men away. And what would have happened if he hadn&rsquo;t
+come along? I would have spent my wretched little pittance, and then&mdash;Yes,
+that was what decided me, thinking about that &lsquo;then.&rsquo; He was the
+only solution. And I believed in him then. I thought his work had only to be
+recognised once, and he&rsquo;d roll in wealth. I thought perhaps we might be
+poor for a month&mdash;but he said, if only he could have me, the stimulus....
+Funny, if it wasn&rsquo;t so damned tragic! Exactly the contrary has
+happened&mdash;he hasn&rsquo;t had a thing published for months&mdash;neither
+have I&mdash;but then I didn&rsquo;t expect to. Yes, the truth is, I&rsquo;m
+hard and bitter, and I have neither faith nor love for unsuccessful men. I
+always end by despising them as I despise Casimir. I suppose it&rsquo;s the
+savage pride of the female who likes to think the man to whom she has given
+herself must be a very great chief indeed. But to stew in this disgusting house
+while Casimir scours the land in the hope of finding one editorial open
+door&mdash;it&rsquo;s humiliating. It&rsquo;s changed my whole nature. I
+wasn&rsquo;t born for poverty&mdash;I only flower among really jolly people,
+and people who never are worried.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The figure of the strange man rose before her&mdash;would not be dismissed.
+&ldquo;That was the man for me, after all is said and done&mdash;a man without
+a care&mdash;who&rsquo;d give me everything I want and with whom I&rsquo;d
+always feel that sense of life and of being in touch with the world. I never
+wanted to fight&mdash;it was thrust on me. Really, there&rsquo;s a fount of
+happiness in me, that is drying up, little by little, in this hateful
+existence. I&rsquo;ll be dead if this goes on&mdash;and&rdquo;&mdash;she
+stirred in the bed and flung out her arms&mdash;&ldquo;I want passion, and
+love, and adventure&mdash;I yearn for them. Why should I stay here and
+rot?&mdash;I am rotting!&rdquo; she cried, comforting herself with the sound of
+her breaking voice. &ldquo;But if I tell Casimir all this when he comes this
+afternoon, and he says, &lsquo;Go&rsquo;&mdash;as he certainly
+will&mdash;that&rsquo;s another thing I loathe about him&mdash;he&rsquo;s under
+my thumb&mdash;what should I do then&mdash;where should I go to?&rdquo; There
+was nowhere. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want to work&mdash;or carve out my own path.
+I want ease and any amount of nursing in the lap of luxury. There is only one
+thing I&rsquo;m fitted for, and that is to be a great courtesan.&rdquo; But she
+did not know how to go about it. She was frightened to go into the
+streets&mdash;she heard of such awful things happening to those women&mdash;men
+with diseases&mdash;or men who didn&rsquo;t pay&mdash;besides, the idea of a
+strange man every night&mdash;no, that was out of the question. &ldquo;If
+I&rsquo;d the clothes I would go to a really good hotel and find some wealthy
+man... like the strange man this morning. He would be ideal. Oh, if I only had
+his address&mdash;I am sure I would fascinate him. I&rsquo;d keep him laughing
+all day&mdash;I&rsquo;d make him give me unlimited money....&rdquo; At the
+thought she grew warm and soft. She began to dream of a wonderful house, and of
+presses full of clothes and of perfumes. She saw herself stepping into
+carriages&mdash;looking at the strange man with a mysterious, voluptuous
+glance&mdash;she practised the glance, lying on the bed&mdash;and never another
+worry, just drugged with happiness. That was the life for her. Well, the thing
+to do was to let Casimir go on his wild-goose chase that evening, and while he
+was away&mdash;What! Also&mdash;please to remember&mdash;there was the rent to
+be paid before twelve next morning, and she hadn&rsquo;t the money for a square
+meal. At the thought of food she felt a sharp twinge in her stomach, a
+sensation as though there were a hand in her stomach, squeezing it dry. She was
+terribly hungry&mdash;all Casimir&rsquo;s fault&mdash;and that man had lived on
+the fat of the land ever since he was born. He looked as though he could order
+a magnificent dinner. Oh, why hadn&rsquo;t she played her cards
+better?&mdash;he&rsquo;d been sent by Providence&mdash;and she&rsquo;d snubbed
+him. &ldquo;If I had that time over again, I&rsquo;d be safe by now.&rdquo; And
+instead of the ordinary man who had spoken with her at the door her mind
+created a brilliant, laughing image, who would treat her like a queen....
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s only one thing I could not stand&mdash;that he should be
+coarse or vulgar. Well, he wasn&rsquo;t&mdash;he was obviously a man of the
+world, and the way he apologised... I have enough faith in my own power and
+beauty to know I could make a man treat me just as I wanted to be
+treated.&rdquo;... It floated into her dreams&mdash;that sweet scent of
+cigarette smoke. And then she remembered that she had heard nobody go down the
+stone stairs. Was it possible that the strange man was still there?... The
+thought was too absurd&mdash;Life didn&rsquo;t play tricks like that&mdash;and
+yet&mdash;she was quite conscious of his nearness. Very quietly she got up,
+unhooked from the back of the door a long white gown, buttoned it
+on&mdash;smiling slyly. She did not know what was going to happen. She only
+thought: &ldquo;Oh, what fun!&rdquo; and that they were playing a delicious
+game&mdash;this strange man and she. Very gently she turned the door-handle,
+screwing up her face and biting her lip as the lock snapped back. Of course,
+there he was&mdash;leaning against the banister rail. He wheeled round as she
+slipped into the passage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Da,&rdquo; she muttered, folding her gown tightly around her, &ldquo;I
+must go downstairs and fetch some wood. Brr! the cold!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There isn&rsquo;t any wood,&rdquo; volunteered the strange man. She gave
+a little cry of astonishment, and then tossed her head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You again,&rdquo; she said scornfully, conscious the while of his merry
+eye, and the fresh, strong smell of his healthy body.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The landlady shouted out there was no wood left. I just saw her go out
+to buy some.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Story&mdash;story!&rdquo; she longed to cry. He came quite close to her,
+stood over her and whispered:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Aren&rsquo;t you going to ask me to finish my cigarette in your
+room?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She nodded. &ldquo;You may if you want to!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In that moment together in the passage a miracle had happened. Her room was
+quite changed&mdash;it was full of sweet light and the scent of hyacinth
+flowers. Even the furniture appeared different&mdash;exciting. Quick as a flash
+she remembered childish parties when they had played charades, and one side had
+left the room and come in again to act a word&mdash;just what she was doing
+now. The strange man went over to the stove and sat down in her arm-chair. She
+did not want him to talk or come near her&mdash;it was enough to see him in the
+room, so secure and happy. How hungry she had been for the nearness of someone
+like that&mdash;who knew nothing at all about her&mdash;and made no
+demands&mdash;but just lived. Viola ran over to the table and put her arms
+round the jar of hyacinths.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Beautiful! Beautiful!&rdquo; she cried&mdash;burying her head in the
+flowers&mdash;and sniffing greedily at the scent. Over the leaves she looked at
+the man and laughed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are a funny little thing,&rdquo; said he lazily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why? Because I love flowers?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;d far rather you loved other things,&rdquo; said the strange man
+slowly. She broke off a little pink petal and smiled at it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let me send you some flowers,&rdquo; said the strange man.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll send you a roomful if you&rsquo;d like them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His voice frightened her slightly. &ldquo;Oh no, thanks&mdash;this one is quite
+enough for me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, it isn&rsquo;t&rdquo;&mdash;in a teasing voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What a stupid remark!&rdquo; thought Viola, and looking at him again he
+did not seem quite so jolly. She noticed that his eyes were set too closely
+together&mdash;and they were too small. Horrible thought, that he should prove
+stupid.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you do all day?&rdquo; she asked hastily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing at all?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why should I do anything?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, don&rsquo;t imagine for one moment that I condemn such
+wisdom&mdash;only it sounds too good to be true!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s that?&rdquo;&mdash;he craned forward. &ldquo;What sounds
+too good to be true?&rdquo; Yes&mdash;there was no denying it&mdash;he looked
+silly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose the searching after Fräulein Schäfer doesn&rsquo;t occupy all
+your days.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh no&rdquo;&mdash;he smiled broadly&mdash;&ldquo;that&rsquo;s very
+good! By Jove! no. I drive a good bit&mdash;are you keen on horses?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She nodded. &ldquo;Love them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You must come driving with me&mdash;I&rsquo;ve got a fine pair of greys.
+Will you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pretty I&rsquo;d look perched behind greys in my one and only
+hat,&rdquo; thought she. Aloud: &ldquo;I&rsquo;d love to.&rdquo; Her easy
+acceptance pleased him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How about to-morrow?&rdquo; he suggested. &ldquo;Suppose you have lunch
+with me to-morrow and I take you driving.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After all&mdash;this was just a game. &ldquo;Yes, I&rsquo;m not busy
+to-morrow,&rdquo; she said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A little pause&mdash;then the strange man patted his leg. &ldquo;Why
+don&rsquo;t you come and sit down?&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She pretended not to see and swung on to the table. &ldquo;Oh, I&rsquo;m all
+right here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, you&rsquo;re not&rdquo;&mdash;again the teasing voice. &ldquo;Come
+and sit on my knee.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh no,&rdquo; said Viola very heartily, suddenly busy with her hair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want to.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, come along&rdquo;&mdash;impatiently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She shook her head from side to side. &ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t dream of such a
+thing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At that he got up and came over to her. &ldquo;Funny little puss cat!&rdquo; He
+put up one hand to touch her hair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t,&rdquo; she said&mdash;and slipped off the table.
+&ldquo;I&mdash;I think it&rsquo;s time you went now.&rdquo; She was quite
+frightened now&mdash;thinking only: &ldquo;This man must be got rid of as
+quickly as possible.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, but you don&rsquo;t want me to go?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, I do&mdash;I&rsquo;m very busy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Busy. What does the pussy cat do all day?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lots and lots of things!&rdquo; She wanted to push him out of the room
+and slam the door on him&mdash;idiot&mdash;fool&mdash;cruel disappointment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s she frowning for?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;Is she worried
+about anything?&rdquo; Suddenly serious: &ldquo;I say&mdash;you know, are you
+in any financial difficulty? Do you want money? I&rsquo;ll give it to you if
+you like!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Money! Steady on the brake&mdash;don&rsquo;t lose your
+head!&rdquo;&mdash;so she spoke to herself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll give you two hundred marks if you&rsquo;ll kiss me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, boo! What a condition! And I don&rsquo;t want to kiss you&mdash;I
+don&rsquo;t like kissing. Please go!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes&mdash;you do!&mdash;yes, you do.&rdquo; He caught hold of her arms
+above the elbows. She struggled, and was quite amazed to realise how angry she
+felt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let me go&mdash;immediately!&rdquo; she cried&mdash;and he slipped one
+arm round her body, and drew her towards him&mdash;like a bar of iron across
+her back&mdash;that arm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Leave me alone! I tell you. Don&rsquo;t be mean! I didn&rsquo;t want
+this to happen when you came into my room. How dare you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, kiss me and I&rsquo;ll go!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was too idiotic&mdash;dodging that stupid, smiling face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I won&rsquo;t kiss you!&mdash;you brute!&mdash;I won&rsquo;t!&rdquo;
+Somehow she slipped out of his arms and ran to the wall&mdash;stood back
+against it&mdash;breathing quickly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Get out!&rdquo; she stammered. &ldquo;Go on now, clear out!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At that moment, when he was not touching her, she quite enjoyed herself. She
+thrilled at her own angry voice. &ldquo;To think I should talk to a man like
+that!&rdquo; An angry flush spread over his face&mdash;his lips curled back,
+showing his teeth&mdash;just like a dog, thought Viola. He made a rush at her,
+and held her against the wall&mdash;pressed upon her with all the weight of his
+body. This time she could not get free.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I won&rsquo;t kiss you. I won&rsquo;t. Stop doing that! Ugh!
+you&rsquo;re like a dog&mdash;you ought to find lovers round
+lamp-posts&mdash;you beast&mdash;you fiend!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He did not answer. With an expression of the most absurd determination he
+pressed ever more heavily upon her. He did not even look at her&mdash;but
+rapped out in a sharp voice: &ldquo;Keep quiet&mdash;keep quiet.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gar-r! Why are men so strong?&rdquo; She began to cry. &ldquo;Go
+away&mdash;I don&rsquo;t want you, you dirty creature. I want to murder you.
+Oh, my God! if I had a knife.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be silly&mdash;come and be good!&rdquo; He dragged her
+towards the bed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you suppose I&rsquo;m a light woman?&rdquo; she snarled, and swooping
+over she fastened her teeth in his glove.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ach! don&rsquo;t do that&mdash;you are hurting me!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She did not let go, but her heart said, &ldquo;Thank the Lord I thought of
+this.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Stop this minute&mdash;you vixen&mdash;you bitch.&rdquo; He threw her
+away from him. She saw with joy that his eyes were full of tears.
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve really hurt me,&rdquo; he said in a choking voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course I have. I meant to. That&rsquo;s nothing to what I&rsquo;ll do
+if you touch me again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The strange man picked up his hat. &ldquo;No thanks,&rdquo; he said grimly.
+&ldquo;But I&rsquo;ll not forget this&mdash;I&rsquo;ll go to your
+landlady.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pooh!&rdquo; She shrugged her shoulders and laughed. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll
+tell her you forced your way in here and tried to assault me. Who will she
+believe?&mdash;with your bitten hand. You go and find your Schäfers.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A sensation of glorious, intoxicating happiness flooded Viola. She rolled her
+eyes at him. &ldquo;If you don&rsquo;t go away this moment I&rsquo;ll bite you
+again,&rdquo; she said, and the absurd words started her laughing. Even when
+the door was closed, hearing him descending the stairs, she laughed, and danced
+about the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What a morning! Oh, chalk it up. That was her first fight, and she&rsquo;d
+won&mdash;she&rsquo;d conquered that beast&mdash;all by herself. Her hands were
+still trembling. She pulled up the sleeve of her gown&mdash;great red marks on
+her arms. &ldquo;My ribs will be blue. I&rsquo;ll be blue all over,&rdquo; she
+reflected. &ldquo;If only that beloved Casimir could have seen us.&rdquo; And
+the feeling of rage and disgust against Casimir had totally disappeared. How
+could the poor darling help not having any money? It was her fault as much as
+his, and he, just like her, was apart from the world, fighting it, just as she
+had done. If only three o&rsquo;clock would come. She saw herself running
+towards him and putting her arms round his neck. &ldquo;My blessed one! Of
+course we are bound to win. Do you love me still? Oh, I have been horrible
+lately.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap13"></a>A BLAZE</h2>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Max, you silly devil, you&rsquo;ll break your neck if you go careering
+down the slide that way. Drop it, and come to the Club House with me and get
+some coffee.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve had enough for to-day. I&rsquo;m damp all through. There,
+give us a cigarette, Victor, old man. When are you going home?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not for another hour. It&rsquo;s fine this afternoon, and I&rsquo;m
+getting into decent shape. Look out, get off the track; here comes Fräulein
+Winkel. Damned elegant the way she manages her sleigh!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m cold all through. That&rsquo;s the worst of this
+place&mdash;the mists&mdash;it&rsquo;s a damp cold. Here, Forman, look after
+this sleigh&mdash;and stick it somewhere so that I can get it without looking
+through a hundred and fifty others to-morrow morning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They sat down at a small round table near the stove and ordered coffee. Victor
+sprawled in his chair, patting his little brown dog Bobo and looking, half
+laughingly, at Max.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter, my dear? Isn&rsquo;t the world being nice and
+pretty?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I want my coffee, and I want to put my feet into my
+pocket&mdash;they&rsquo;re like stones.... Nothing to eat, thanks&mdash;the
+cake is like underdone india-rubber here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fuchs and Wistuba came and sat at their table. Max half turned his back and
+stretched his feet out to the oven. The three other men all began talking at
+once&mdash;of the weather&mdash;of the record slide&mdash;of the fine condition
+of the Wald See for skating.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly Fuchs looked at Max, raised his eyebrows and nodded across to Victor,
+who shook his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Baby doesn&rsquo;t feel well,&rdquo; he said, feeding the brown dog with
+broken lumps of sugar, &ldquo;and nobody&rsquo;s to disturb him&mdash;I&rsquo;m
+nurse.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the first time I&rsquo;ve ever known him off colour,&rdquo;
+said Wistuba. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve always imagined he had the better part of this
+world that could not be taken away from him. I think he says his prayers to the
+dear Lord for having spared him being taken home in seven basketsful to-night.
+It&rsquo;s a fool&rsquo;s game to risk your all that way and leave the nation
+desolate.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dry up,&rdquo; said Max. &ldquo;You ought to be wheeled about on the
+snow in a perambulator.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, no offence, I hope. Don&rsquo;t get nasty.... How&rsquo;s your wife,
+Victor?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s not at all well. She hurt her head coming down the slide
+with Max on Sunday. I told her to stay at home all day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry. Are you other fellows going back to the town or
+stopping on here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fuchs and Victor said they were stopping&mdash;Max did not answer, but sat
+motionless while the men paid for their coffee and moved away. Victor came back
+a moment and put a hand on his shoulder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you&rsquo;re going right back, my dear, I wish you&rsquo;d look Elsa
+up and tell her I won&rsquo;t be in till late. And feed with us to-night at
+Limpold, will you? And take some hot grog when you get in.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thanks, old fellow, I&rsquo;m all right. Going back now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He rose, stretched himself, buttoned on his heavy coat and lighted another
+cigarette.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+From the door Victor watched him plunging through the heavy snow&mdash;head
+bent&mdash;hands thrust in his pockets&mdash;he almost appeared to be running
+through the heavy snow towards the town.
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>
+Someone came stamping up the stairs&mdash;paused at the door of her
+sitting-room, and knocked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is that you, Victor?&rdquo; she called.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, it is I... can I come in?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course. Why, what a Santa Claus! Hang your coat on the landing and
+shake yourself over the banisters. Had a good time?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The room was full of light and warmth. Elsa, in a white velvet tea-gown, lay
+curled up on the sofa&mdash;a book of fashions on her lap, a box of creams
+beside her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The curtains were not yet drawn before the windows and a blue light shone
+through, and the white boughs of the trees sprayed across.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A woman&rsquo;s room&mdash;full of flowers and photographs and silk
+pillows&mdash;the floor smothered in rugs&mdash;an immense tiger-skin under the
+piano&mdash;just the head protruding&mdash;sleepily savage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was good enough,&rdquo; said Max. &ldquo;Victor can&rsquo;t be in
+till late. He told me to come up and tell you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He started walking up and down&mdash;tore off his gloves and flung them on the
+table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t do that, Max,&rdquo; said Elsa, &ldquo;you get on my nerves.
+And I&rsquo;ve got a headache to-day; I&rsquo;m feverish and quite flushed....
+Don&rsquo;t I look flushed?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He paused by the window and glanced at her a moment over his shoulder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t notice it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, you haven&rsquo;t looked at me properly, and I&rsquo;ve got a new
+tea-gown on, too.&rdquo; She pulled her skirts together and patted a little
+place on the couch.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come along and sit by me and tell me why you&rsquo;re being
+naughty.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But, standing by the window, he suddenly flung his arm across his eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t. I&rsquo;m done&mdash;I&rsquo;m
+spent&mdash;I&rsquo;m smashed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Silence in the room. The fashion-book fell to the floor with a quick rustle of
+leaves. Elsa sat forward, her hands clasped in her lap; a strange light shone
+in her eyes, a red colour stained her mouth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then she spoke very quietly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come over here and explain yourself. I don&rsquo;t know what on earth
+you are talking about.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You do know&mdash;you know far better than I. You&rsquo;ve simply played
+with Victor in my presence that I may feel worse. You&rsquo;ve tormented
+me&mdash;you&rsquo;ve led me on&mdash;offering me everything and nothing at
+all. It&rsquo;s been a spider-and-fly business from first to last&mdash;and
+I&rsquo;ve never for one moment been ignorant of that&mdash;and I&rsquo;ve
+never for one moment been able to withstand it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He turned round deliberately.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you suppose that when you asked me to pin your flowers into your
+evening gown&mdash;when you let me come into your bedroom when Victor was out
+while you did your hair&mdash;when you pretended to be a baby and let me feed
+you with grapes&mdash;when you have run to me and searched in all my pockets
+for a cigarette&mdash;knowing perfectly well where they were kept&mdash;going
+through every pocket just the same&mdash;I knowing too&mdash;I keeping up the
+farce&mdash;do you suppose that now you have finally lighted your bonfire you
+are going to find it a peaceful and pleasant thing&mdash;you are going to
+prevent the whole house from burning?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She suddenly turned white and drew in her breath sharply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t talk to me like that. You have no right to talk to me like
+that. I am another man&rsquo;s wife.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hum,&rdquo; he sneered, throwing back his head, &ldquo;that&rsquo;s
+rather late in the game, and that&rsquo;s been your trump card all along. You
+only love Victor on the cat-and-cream principle&mdash;you a poor little starved
+kitten that he&rsquo;s given everything to, that he&rsquo;s carried in his
+breast, never dreaming that those little pink claws could tear out a
+man&rsquo;s heart.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She stirred, looking at him with almost fear in her eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;After all&rdquo;&mdash;unsteadily&mdash;&ldquo;this is my room;
+I&rsquo;ll have to ask you to go.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But he stumbled towards her, knelt down by the couch, burying his head in her
+lap, clasping his arms round her waist.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And I <i>love</i> you&mdash;I love you; the humiliation of it&mdash;I
+adore you. Don&rsquo;t&mdash;don&rsquo;t&mdash;just a minute let me stay
+here&mdash;just a moment in a whole life&mdash;Elsa! Elsa!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She leant back and pressed her head into the pillows.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then his muffled voice: &ldquo;I feel like a savage. I want your whole body. I
+want to carry you away to a cave and love you until I kill you&mdash;you
+can&rsquo;t understand how a man feels. I kill myself when I see
+you&mdash;I&rsquo;m sick of my own strength that turns in upon itself, and
+dies, and rises new born like a Phœnix out of the ashes of that horrible
+death. Love me just this once, tell me a lie, <i>say</i> that you do&mdash;you
+are always lying.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Instead, she pushed him away&mdash;frightened.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Get up,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;suppose the servant came in with the
+tea?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, ye gods!&rdquo; He stumbled to his feet and stood staring down at
+her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re rotten to the core and so am I. But you&rsquo;re
+heathenishly beautiful.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The woman went over to the piano&mdash;stood there&mdash;striking one
+note&mdash;her brows drawn together. Then she shrugged her shoulders and
+smiled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll make a confession. Every word you have said is true. I
+can&rsquo;t help it. I can&rsquo;t help seeking admiration any more than a cat
+can help going to people to be stroked. It&rsquo;s my nature. I&rsquo;m born
+out of my time. And yet, you know, I&rsquo;m not a <i>common</i> woman. I like
+men to adore me&mdash;to flatter me&mdash;even to make love to me&mdash;but I
+would never give myself to any man. I would never let a man kiss me...
+even.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s immeasurably worse&mdash;you&rsquo;ve no legitimate excuse.
+Why, even a prostitute has a greater sense of generosity!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I know,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I know perfectly well&mdash;but I
+can&rsquo;t help the way I&rsquo;m built.... Are you going?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He put on his gloves.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;what&rsquo;s going to happen to us
+now?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again she shrugged her shoulders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t the slightest idea. I never have&mdash;just let things
+occur.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All alone?&rdquo; cried Victor. &ldquo;Has Max been here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He only stayed a moment, and wouldn&rsquo;t even have tea. I sent him
+home to change his clothes.... He was frightfully boring.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You poor darling, your hair&rsquo;s coming down. I&rsquo;ll fix it,
+stand still a moment... so you were bored?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Um-m&mdash;frightfully.... Oh, you&rsquo;ve run a hairpin right into
+your wife&rsquo;s head&mdash;you naughty boy!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She flung her arms round his neck and looked up at him, half laughing, like a
+beautiful, loving child.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;God! What a woman you are,&rdquo; said the man. &ldquo;You make me so
+infernally proud&mdash;dearest, that I... I tell you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1472 ***</div>
+</body>
+
+</html>
+
+
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #1472 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1472)
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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of In a German Pension, by Katherine Mansfield
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
+will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
+using this eBook.
+
+Title: In a German Pension
+
+Author: Katherine Mansfield
+
+Release Date: August 22, 2008 [eBook #1472]
+[Most recently updated: January 6, 2022]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+Produced by: Sue Asscher
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN A GERMAN PENSION ***
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+In a German Pension
+
+by Katherine Mansfield
+
+Contents
+
+ GERMANS AT MEAT
+ THE BARON
+ THE SISTER OF THE BARONESS
+ FRAU FISCHER
+ FRAU BRECHENMACHER ATTENDS A WEDDING
+ THE MODERN SOUL
+ AT “LEHMANN’S”
+ THE LUFT BAD
+ A BIRTHDAY
+ THE CHILD-WHO-WAS-TIRED
+ THE ADVANCED LADY
+ THE SWING OF THE PENDULUM
+ A BLAZE
+
+
+
+
+GERMANS AT MEAT
+
+
+Bread soup was placed upon the table.
+
+“Ah,” said the Herr Rat, leaning upon the table as he peered into the
+tureen, “that is what I need. My ‘magen’ has not been in order for
+several days. Bread soup, and just the right consistency. I am a good
+cook myself”—he turned to me.
+
+“How interesting,” I said, attempting to infuse just the right amount
+of enthusiasm into my voice.
+
+“Oh yes—when one is not married it is necessary. As for me, I have had
+all I wanted from women without marriage.” He tucked his napkin into
+his collar and blew upon his soup as he spoke. “Now at nine o’clock I
+make myself an English breakfast, but not much. Four slices of bread,
+two eggs, two slices of cold ham, one plate of soup, two cups of
+tea—that is nothing to you.”
+
+He asserted the fact so vehemently that I had not the courage to refute
+it.
+
+All eyes were suddenly turned upon me. I felt I was bearing the burden
+of the nation’s preposterous breakfast—I who drank a cup of coffee
+while buttoning my blouse in the morning.
+
+“Nothing at all,” cried Herr Hoffmann from Berlin. “Ach, when I was in
+England in the morning I used to eat.”
+
+He turned up his eyes and his moustache, wiping the soup drippings from
+his coat and waistcoat.
+
+“Do they really eat so much?” asked Fräulein Stiegelauer. “Soup and
+baker’s bread and pig’s flesh, and tea and coffee and stewed fruit, and
+honey and eggs, and cold fish and kidneys, and hot fish and liver? All
+the ladies eat, too, especially the ladies.”
+
+“Certainly. I myself have noticed it, when I was living in a hotel in
+Leicester Square,” cried the Herr Rat. “It was a good hotel, but they
+could not make tea—now—”
+
+“Ah, that’s one thing I _can_ do,” said I, laughing brightly. “I can
+make very good tea. The great secret is to warm the teapot.”
+
+“Warm the teapot,” interrupted the Herr Rat, pushing away his soup
+plate. “What do you warm the teapot for? Ha! ha! that’s very good! One
+does not eat the teapot, I suppose?”
+
+He fixed his cold blue eyes upon me with an expression which suggested
+a thousand premeditated invasions.
+
+“So that is the great secret of your English tea? All you do is to warm
+the teapot.”
+
+I wanted to say that was only the preliminary canter, but could not
+translate it, and so was silent.
+
+The servant brought in veal, with “sauerkraut” and potatoes.
+
+“I eat sauerkraut with great pleasure,” said the Traveller from North
+Germany, “but now I have eaten so much of it that I cannot retain it. I
+am immediately forced to—”
+
+“A beautiful day,” I cried, turning to Fräulein Stiegelauer. “Did you
+get up early?”
+
+“At five o’clock I walked for ten minutes in the wet grass. Again in
+bed. At half-past five I fell asleep, and woke at seven, when I made an
+‘overbody’ washing! Again in bed. At eight o’clock I had a cold-water
+poultice, and at half past eight I drank a cup of mint tea. At nine I
+drank some malt coffee, and began my ‘cure.’ Pass me the sauerkraut,
+please. You do not eat it?”
+
+“No, thank you. I still find it a little strong.”
+
+“Is it true,” asked the Widow, picking her teeth with a hairpin as she
+spoke, “that you are a vegetarian?”
+
+“Why, yes; I have not eaten meat for three years.”
+
+“Im—possible! Have you any family?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“There now, you see, that’s what you’re coming to! Who ever heard of
+having children upon vegetables? It is not possible. But you never have
+large families in England now; I suppose you are too busy with your
+suffragetting. Now I have had nine children, and they are all alive,
+thank God. Fine, healthy babies—though after the first one was born I
+had to—”
+
+“How _wonderful!_” I cried.
+
+“Wonderful,” said the Widow contemptuously, replacing the hairpin in
+the knob which was balanced on the top of her head. “Not at all! A
+friend of mine had four at the same time. Her husband was so pleased he
+gave a supper-party and had them placed on the table. Of course she was
+very proud.”
+
+“Germany,” boomed the Traveller, biting round a potato which he had
+speared with his knife, “is the home of the Family.”
+
+Followed an appreciative silence.
+
+The dishes were changed for beef, red currants and spinach. They wiped
+their forks upon black bread and started again.
+
+“How long are you remaining here?” asked the Herr Rat.
+
+“I do not know exactly. I must be back in London in September.”
+
+“Of course you will visit München?”
+
+“I am afraid I shall not have time. You see, it is important not to
+break into my ‘cure.’”
+
+“But you _must_ go to München. You have not seen Germany if you have
+not been to München. All the Exhibitions, all the Art and Soul life of
+Germany are in München. There is the Wagner Festival in August, and
+Mozart and a Japanese collection of pictures—and there is the beer! You
+do not know what good beer is until you have been to München. Why, I
+see fine ladies every afternoon, but fine ladies, I tell you, drinking
+glasses so high.” He measured a good washstand pitcher in height, and I
+smiled.
+
+“If I drink a great deal of München beer I sweat so,” said Herr
+Hoffmann. “When I am here, in the fields or before my baths, I sweat,
+but I enjoy it; but in the town it is not at all the same thing.”
+
+Prompted by the thought, he wiped his neck and face with his dinner
+napkin and carefully cleaned his ears.
+
+A glass dish of stewed apricots was placed upon the table.
+
+“Ah, fruit!” said Fräulein Stiegelauer, “that is so necessary to
+health. The doctor told me this morning that the more fruit I could eat
+the better.”
+
+She very obviously followed the advice.
+
+Said the Traveller: “I suppose you are frightened of an invasion, too,
+eh? Oh, that’s good. I’ve been reading all about your English play in a
+newspaper. Did you see it?”
+
+“Yes.” I sat upright. “I assure you we are not afraid.”
+
+“Well, then, you ought to be,” said the Herr Rat. “You have got no army
+at all—a few little boys with their veins full of nicotine poisoning.”
+
+“Don’t be afraid,” Herr Hoffmann said. “We don’t want England. If we
+did we would have had her long ago. We really do not want you.”
+
+He waved his spoon airily, looking across at me as though I were a
+little child whom he would keep or dismiss as he pleased.
+
+“We certainly do not want Germany,” I said.
+
+“This morning I took a half bath. Then this afternoon I must take a
+knee bath and an arm bath,” volunteered the Herr Rat; “then I do my
+exercises for an hour, and my work is over. A glass of wine and a
+couple of rolls with some sardines—”
+
+They were handed cherry cake with whipped cream.
+
+“What is your husband’s favourite meat?” asked the Widow.
+
+“I really do not know,” I answered.
+
+“You really do not know? How long have you been married?”
+
+“Three years.”
+
+“But you cannot be in earnest! You would not have kept house as his
+wife for a week without knowing that fact.”
+
+“I really never asked him; he is not at all particular about his food.”
+
+A pause. They all looked at me, shaking their heads, their mouths full
+of cherry stones.
+
+“No wonder there is a repetition in England of that dreadful state of
+things in Paris,” said the Widow, folding her dinner napkin. “How can a
+woman expect to keep her husband if she does not know his favourite
+food after three years?”
+
+“Mahlzeit!”
+
+“Mahlzeit!”
+
+I closed the door after me.
+
+
+
+
+THE BARON
+
+
+“Who is he?” I said. “And why does he sit always alone, with his back
+to us, too?”
+
+“Ah!” whispered the Frau Oberregierungsrat, “he is a _Baron_.”
+
+She looked at me very solemnly, and yet with the slightest possible
+contempt—a “fancy-not-recognising-that-at-the-first-glance” expression.
+
+“But, poor soul, he cannot help it,” I said. “Surely that unfortunate
+fact ought not to debar him from the pleasures of intellectual
+intercourse.”
+
+If it had not been for her fork I think she would have crossed herself.
+
+“Surely you cannot understand. He is one of the First Barons.”
+
+More than a little unnerved, she turned and spoke to the Frau Doktor on
+her left.
+
+“My omelette is empty—_empty_,” she protested, “and this is the third I
+have tried!”
+
+I looked at the First of the Barons. He was eating salad—taking a whole
+lettuce leaf on his fork and absorbing it slowly, rabbit-wise—a
+fascinating process to watch.
+
+Small and slight, with scanty black hair and beard and yellow-toned
+complexion, he invariably wore black serge clothes, a rough linen
+shirt, black sandals, and the largest black-rimmed spectacles that I
+had ever seen.
+
+The Herr Oberlehrer, who sat opposite me, smiled benignantly.
+
+“It must be very interesting for you, gnädige Frau, to be able to
+watch... of course this is a _very fine house_. There was a lady from
+the Spanish Court here in the summer; she had a liver. We often spoke
+together.”
+
+I looked gratified and humble.
+
+“Now, in England, in your ‘boarding ’ouse’, one does not find the First
+Class, as in Germany.”
+
+“No, indeed,” I replied, still hypnotised by the Baron, who looked like
+a little yellow silkworm.
+
+“The Baron comes every year,” went on the Herr Oberlehrer, “for his
+nerves. He has never spoken to any of the guests—_yet_.” A smile
+crossed his face. I seemed to see his visions of some splendid upheaval
+of that silence—a dazzling exchange of courtesies in a dim future, a
+splendid sacrifice of a newspaper to this Exalted One, a “danke schön”
+to be handed down to future generations.
+
+At that moment the postman, looking like a German army officer, came in
+with the mail. He threw my letters into my milk pudding, and then
+turned to a waitress and whispered. She retired hastily. The manager of
+the pension came in with a little tray. A picture post card was
+deposited on it, and reverently bowing his head, the manager of the
+pension carried it to the Baron.
+
+Myself, I felt disappointed that there was not a salute of twenty-five
+guns.
+
+At the end of the meal we were served with coffee. I noticed the Baron
+took three lumps of sugar, putting two in his cup and wrapping up the
+third in a corner of his pocket-handkerchief. He was always the first
+to enter the dining-room and the last to leave; and in a vacant chair
+beside him he placed a little black leather bag.
+
+In the afternoon, leaning from my window, I saw him pass down the
+street, walking tremulously and carrying the bag. Each time he passed a
+lamp-post he shrank a little, as though expecting it to strike him, or
+maybe the sense of plebeian contamination....
+
+I wondered where he was going, and why he carried the bag. Never had I
+seen him at the Casino or the Bath Establishment. He looked forlorn,
+his feet slipped in his sandals. I found myself pitying the Baron.
+
+That evening a party of us were gathered in the salon discussing the
+day’s “kur” with feverish animation. The Frau Oberregierungsrat sat by
+me knitting a shawl for her youngest of nine daughters, who was in that
+very interesting, frail condition.... “But it is bound to be quite
+satisfactory,” she said to me. “The dear married a banker—the desire of
+her life.”
+
+There must have been eight or ten of us gathered together, we who were
+married exchanging confidences as to the underclothing and peculiar
+characteristics of our husbands, the unmarried discussing the
+over-clothing and peculiar fascinations of Possible Ones.
+
+“I knit them myself,” I heard the Frau Lehrer cry, “of thick grey wool.
+He wears one a month, with two soft collars.”
+
+“And then,” whispered Fräulein Lisa, “he said to me, ‘Indeed you please
+me. I shall, perhaps, write to your mother.’”
+
+Small wonder that we were a little violently excited, a little
+expostulatory.
+
+Suddenly the door opened and admitted the Baron.
+
+Followed a complete and deathlike silence.
+
+He came in slowly, hesitated, took up a toothpick from a dish on the
+top of the piano, and went out again.
+
+When the door was closed we raised a triumphant cry! It was the first
+time he had ever been known to enter the salon. Who could tell what the
+Future held?
+
+Days lengthened into weeks. Still we were together, and still the
+solitary little figure, head bowed as though under the weight of the
+spectacles, haunted me. He entered with the black bag, he retired with
+the black bag—and that was all.
+
+At last the manager of the pension told us the Baron was leaving the
+next day.
+
+“Oh,” I thought, “surely he cannot drift into obscurity—be lost without
+one word! Surely he will honour the Frau Oberregierungsrat or the Frau
+Feldleutnantswitwe _once_ before he goes.”
+
+In the evening of that day it rained heavily. I went to the post
+office, and as I stood on the steps, umbrellaless, hesitating before
+plunging into the slushy road, a little, hesitating voice seemed to
+come from under my elbow.
+
+I looked down. It was the First of the Barons with the black bag and an
+umbrella. Was I mad? Was I sane? He was asking me to share the latter.
+But I was exceedingly nice, a trifle diffident, appropriately
+reverential. Together we walked through the mud and slush.
+
+Now, there is something peculiarly intimate in sharing an umbrella.
+
+It is apt to put one on the same footing as brushing a man’s coat for
+him—a little daring, naïve.
+
+I longed to know why he sat alone, why he carried the bag, what he did
+all day. But he himself volunteered some information.
+
+“I fear,” he said, “that my luggage will be damp. I invariably carry it
+with me in this bag—one requires so little—for servants are
+untrustworthy.”
+
+“A wise idea,” I answered. And then: “Why have you denied us the
+pleasure—”
+
+“I sit alone that I may eat more,” said the Baron, peering into the
+dusk; “my stomach requires a great deal of food. I order double
+portions, and eat them in peace.”
+
+Which sounded finely Baronial.
+
+“And what do you do all day?”
+
+“I imbibe nourishment in my room,” he replied, in a voice that closed
+the conversation and almost repented of the umbrella.
+
+When we arrived at the pension there was very nearly an open riot.
+
+I ran half way up the stairs, and thanked the Baron audibly from the
+landing.
+
+He distinctly replied: “Not at all!”
+
+It was very friendly of the Herr Oberlehrer to have sent me a bouquet
+that evening, and the Frau Oberregierungsrat asked me for my pattern of
+a baby’s bonnet!
+
+
+Next day the Baron was gone.
+
+Sic transit gloria German mundi.
+
+
+
+
+THE SISTER OF THE BARONESS
+
+
+“There are two new guests arriving this afternoon,” said the manager of
+the pension, placing a chair for me at the breakfast-table. “I have
+only received the letter acquainting me with the fact this morning. The
+Baroness von Gall is sending her little daughter—the poor child is
+dumb—to make the ‘cure.’ She is to stay with us a month, and then the
+Baroness herself is coming.”
+
+“Baroness von Gall,” cried the Frau Doktor, coming into the room and
+positively scenting the name. “Coming here? There was a picture of her
+only last week in _Sport and Salon_. She is a friend of the Court: I
+have heard that the Kaiserin says ‘du’ to her. But this is delightful!
+I shall take my doctor’s advice and spend an extra six weeks here.
+There is nothing like young society.”
+
+“But the child is dumb,” ventured the manager apologetically.
+
+“Bah! What does that matter? Afflicted children have such pretty ways.”
+
+Each guest who came into the breakfast-room was bombarded with the
+wonderful news. “The Baroness von Gall is sending her little daughter
+here; the Baroness herself is coming in a month’s time.” Coffee and
+rolls took on the nature of an orgy. We positively scintillated.
+Anecdotes of the High Born were poured out, sweetened and sipped: we
+gorged on scandals of High Birth generously buttered.
+
+“They are to have the room next to yours,” said the manager, addressing
+me. “I was wondering if you would permit me to take down the portrait
+of the Kaiserin Elizabeth from above your bed to hang over their sofa.”
+
+“Yes, indeed, something homelike”—the Frau Oberregierungsrat patted my
+hand—“and of no possible significance to you.”
+
+I felt a little crushed. Not at the prospect of losing that vision of
+diamonds and blue velvet bust, but at the tone—placing me outside the
+pale—branding me as a foreigner.
+
+We dissipated the day in valid speculations. Decided it was too warm to
+walk in the afternoon, so lay down on our beds, mustering in great
+force for afternoon coffee. And a carriage drew up at the door. A tall
+young girl got out, leading a child by the hand. They entered the hall,
+were greeted and shown to their room. Ten minutes later she came down
+with the child to sign the visitors’ book. She wore a black, closely
+fitting dress, touched at throat and wrists with white frilling. Her
+brown hair, braided, was tied with a black bow—unusually pale, with a
+small mole on her left cheek.
+
+“I am the Baroness von Gall’s sister,” she said, trying the pen on a
+piece of blotting-paper, and smiling at us deprecatingly. Even for the
+most jaded of us life holds its thrilling moments. Two Baronesses in
+two months! The manager immediately left the room to find a new nib.
+
+To my plebeian eyes that afflicted child was singularly unattractive.
+She had the air of having been perpetually washed with a blue bag, and
+hair like grey wool—dressed, too, in a pinafore so stiffly starched
+that she could only peer at us over the frill of it—a social barrier of
+a pinafore—and perhaps it was too much to expect a noble aunt to attend
+to the menial consideration of her niece’s ears. But a dumb niece with
+unwashed ears struck me as a most depressing object.
+
+They were given places at the head of the table. For a moment we all
+looked at one another with an eena-deena-dina-do expression. Then the
+Frau Oberregierungsrat:
+
+“I hope you are not tired after your journey.”
+
+“No,” said the sister of the Baroness, smiling into her cup.
+
+“I hope the dear child is not tired,” said the Frau Doktor.
+
+“Not at all.”
+
+“I expect, I hope you will sleep well to-night,” the Herr Oberlehrer
+said reverently.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+The poet from Munich never took his eyes off the pair. He allowed his
+tie to absorb most of his coffee while he gazed at them exceedingly
+soulfully.
+
+Unyoking Pegasus, thought I. Death spasms of his Odes to Solitude!
+There were possibilities in that young woman for an inspiration, not to
+mention a dedication, and from that moment his suffering temperament
+took up its bed and walked.
+
+They retired after the meal, leaving us to discuss them at leisure.
+
+“There is a likeness,” mused the Frau Doktor. “Quite. What a manner she
+has. Such reserve, such a tender way with the child.”
+
+“Pity she has the child to attend to,” exclaimed the student from Bonn.
+He had hitherto relied upon three scars and a ribbon to produce an
+effect, but the sister of a Baroness demanded more than these.
+
+Absorbing days followed. Had she been one whit less beautifully born we
+could not have endured the continual conversation about her, the songs
+in her praise, the detailed account of her movements. But she
+graciously suffered our worship and we were more than content.
+
+The poet she took into her confidence. He carried her books when we
+went walking, he jumped the afflicted one on his knee—poetic licence,
+this—and one morning brought his notebook into the salon and read to
+us.
+
+“The sister of the Baroness has assured me she is going into a
+convent,” he said. (That made the student from Bonn sit up.) “I have
+written these few lines last night from my window in the sweet night
+air—”
+
+“Oh, your _delicate_ chest,” commented the Frau Doktor.
+
+He fixed a stony eye on her, and she blushed.
+
+“I have written these lines:
+
+“‘Ah, will you to a convent fly,
+    So young, so fresh, so fair?
+Spring like a doe upon the fields
+    And find your beauty there.’”
+
+
+Nine verses equally lovely commanded her to equally violent action. I
+am certain that had she followed his advice not even the remainder of
+her life in a convent would have given her time to recover her breath.
+
+“I have presented her with a copy,” he said. “And to-day we are going
+to look for wild flowers in the wood.”
+
+The student from Bonn got up and left the room. I begged the poet to
+repeat the verses once more. At the end of the sixth verse I saw from
+the window the sister of the Baroness and the scarred youth
+disappearing through the front gate, which enabled me to thank the poet
+so charmingly that he offered to write me out a copy.
+
+But we were living at too high pressure in those days. Swinging from
+our humble pension to the high walls of palaces, how could we help but
+fall? Late one afternoon the Frau Doktor came upon me in the
+writing-room and took me to her bosom.
+
+“She has been telling me all about her life,” whispered the Frau
+Doktor. “She came to my bedroom and offered to massage my arm. You
+know, I am the greatest martyr to rheumatism. And, fancy now, she has
+already had six proposals of marriage. Such beautiful offers that I
+assure you I wept—and every one of noble birth. My dear, the most
+beautiful was in the wood. Not that I do not think a proposal should
+take place in a drawing-room—it is more fitting to have four walls—but
+this was a private wood. He said, the young officer, she was like a
+young tree whose branches had never been touched by the ruthless hand
+of man. Such delicacy!” She sighed and turned up her eyes.
+
+“Of course it is difficult for you English to understand when you are
+always exposing your legs on cricket-fields, and breeding dogs in your
+back gardens. The pity of it! Youth should be like a wild rose. For
+myself I do not understand how your women ever get married at all.”
+
+She shook her head so violently that I shook mine too, and a gloom
+settled round my heart. It seemed we were really in a very bad way. Did
+the spirit of romance spread her rose wings only over aristocratic
+Germany?
+
+I went to my room, bound a pink scarf about my hair, and took a volume
+of Mörike’s lyrics into the garden. A great bush of purple lilac grew
+behind the summer-house. There I sat down, finding a sad significance
+in the delicate suggestion of half mourning. I began to write a poem
+myself.
+
+“They sway and languish dreamily,
+And we, close pressed, are kissing there.”
+
+
+It ended! “Close pressed” did not sound at all fascinating. Savoured of
+wardrobes. Did my wild rose then already trail in the dust? I chewed a
+leaf and hugged my knees. Then—magic moment—I heard voices from the
+summer-house, the sister of the Baroness and the student from Bonn.
+
+Second-hand was better than nothing; I pricked up my ears.
+
+“What small hands you have,” said the student from Bonn. “They are like
+white lilies lying in the pool of your black dress.” This certainly
+sounded the real thing. Her high-born reply was what interested me.
+Sympathetic murmur only.
+
+“May I hold one?”
+
+I heard two sighs—presumed they held—he had rifled those dark waters of
+a noble blossom.
+
+“Look at my great fingers beside yours.”
+
+“But they are beautifully kept,” said the sister of the Baroness shyly.
+
+The minx! Was love then a question of manicure?
+
+“How I should adore to kiss you,” murmured the student. “But you know I
+am suffering from severe nasal catarrh, and I dare not risk giving it
+to you. Sixteen times last night did I count myself sneezing. And three
+different handkerchiefs.”
+
+I threw Mörike into the lilac bush, and went back to the house. A great
+automobile snorted at the front door. In the salon great commotion. The
+Baroness was paying a surprise visit to her little daughter. Clad in a
+yellow mackintosh she stood in the middle of the room questioning the
+manager. And every guest the pension contained was grouped about her,
+even the Frau Doktor, presumably examining a timetable, as near to the
+august skirts as possible.
+
+“But where is my maid?” asked the Baroness.
+
+“There was no maid,” replied the manager, “save for your gracious
+sister and daughter.”
+
+“Sister!” she cried sharply. “Fool, I have no sister. My child
+travelled with the daughter of my dressmaker.”
+
+Tableau grandissimo!
+
+
+
+
+FRAU FISCHER
+
+
+Frau Fischer was the fortunate possessor of a candle factory somewhere
+on the banks of the Eger, and once a year she ceased from her labours
+to make a “cure” in Dorschausen, arriving with a dress-basket neatly
+covered in a black tarpaulin and a hand-bag. The latter contained
+amongst her handkerchiefs, eau de Cologne, toothpicks, and a certain
+woollen muffler very comforting to the “magen,” samples of her skill in
+candle-making, to be offered up as tokens of thanksgiving when her
+holiday time was over.
+
+Four of the clock one July afternoon she appeared at the Pension
+Müller. I was sitting in the arbour and watched her bustling up the
+path followed by the red-bearded porter with her dress-basket in his
+arms and a sunflower between his teeth. The widow and her five innocent
+daughters stood tastefully grouped upon the steps in appropriate
+attitudes of welcome; and the greetings were so long and loud that I
+felt a sympathetic glow.
+
+“What a journey!” cried the Frau Fischer. “And nothing to eat in the
+train—nothing solid. I assure you the sides of my stomach are flapping
+together. But I must not spoil my appetite for dinner—just a cup of
+coffee in my room. Bertha,” turning to the youngest of the five, “how
+changed! What a bust! Frau Hartmann, I congratulate you.”
+
+Once again the Widow seized Frau Fischer’s hands. “Kathi, too, a
+splendid woman; but a little pale. Perhaps the young man from Nürnberg
+is here again this year. How you keep them all I don’t know. Each year
+I come expecting to find you with an empty nest. It’s surprising.”
+
+Frau Hartmann, in an ashamed, apologetic voice: “We are such a happy
+family since my dear man died.”
+
+“But these marriages—one must have courage; and after all, give them
+time, they all make the happy family bigger—thank God for that.... Are
+there many people here just now?”
+
+“Every room engaged.”
+
+Followed a detailed description in the hall, murmured on the stairs,
+continued in six parts as they entered the large room (windows opening
+upon the garden) which Frau Fischer occupied each successive year. I
+was reading the “Miracles of Lourdes,” which a Catholic priest—fixing a
+gloomy eye upon my soul—had begged me to digest; but its wonders were
+completely routed by Frau Fischer’s arrival. Not even the white roses
+upon the feet of the Virgin could flourish in that atmosphere.
+
+“... It was a simple shepherd-child who pastured her flocks upon the
+barren fields....”
+
+Voices from the room above: “The washstand has, of course, been
+scrubbed over with soda.”
+
+“... Poverty-stricken, her limbs with tattered rags half covered....”
+
+“Every stick of the furniture has been sunning in the garden for three
+days. And the carpet we made ourselves out of old clothes. There is a
+piece of that beautiful flannel petticoat you left us last summer.”
+
+“... Deaf and dumb was the child; in fact, the population considered
+her half idiot....”
+
+“Yes, that is a new picture of the Kaiser. We have moved the
+thorn-crowned one of Jesus Christ out into the passage. It was not
+cheerful to sleep with. Dear Frau Fischer, won’t you take your coffee
+out in the garden?”
+
+“That is a very nice idea. But first I must remove my corsets and my
+boots. Ah, what a relief to wear sandals again. I am needing the ‘cure’
+very badly this year. My nerves! I am a mass of them. During the entire
+journey I sat with my handkerchief over my head, even while the guard
+collected the tickets. Exhausted!”
+
+She came into the arbour wearing a black and white spotted
+dressing-gown, and a calico cap peaked with patent leather, followed by
+Kathi, carrying the little blue jugs of malt coffee. We were formally
+introduced. Frau Fischer sat down, produced a perfectly clean pocket
+handkerchief and polished her cup and saucer, then lifted the lid of
+the coffee-pot and peered in at the contents mournfully.
+
+“Malt coffee,” she said. “Ah, for the first few days I wonder how I can
+put up with it. Naturally, absent from home one must expect much
+discomfort and strange food. But as I used to say to my dear husband:
+with a clean sheet and a good cup of coffee I can find my happiness
+anywhere. But now, with nerves like mine, no sacrifice is too terrible
+for me to make. What complaint are you suffering from? You look
+exceedingly healthy!”
+
+I smiled and shrugged my shoulders.
+
+“Ah, that is so strange about you English. You do not seem to enjoy
+discussing the functions of the body. As well speak of a railway train
+and refuse to mention the engine. How can we hope to understand
+anybody, knowing nothing of their stomachs? In my husband’s most severe
+illness—the poultices—”
+
+She dipped a piece of sugar in her coffee and watched it dissolve.
+
+“Yet a young friend of mine who travelled to England for the funeral of
+his brother told me that women wore bodices in public restaurants no
+waiter could help looking into as he handed the soup.”
+
+“But only German waiters,” I said. “English ones look over the top of
+your head.”
+
+“There,” she cried, “now you see your dependence on Germany. Not even
+an efficient waiter can you have by yourselves.”
+
+“But I prefer them to look over your head.”
+
+“And that proves that you must be ashamed of your bodice.”
+
+I looked out over the garden full of wall-flowers and standard
+rose-trees growing stiffly like German bouquets, feeling I did not care
+one way or the other. I rather wanted to ask her if the young friend
+had gone to England in the capacity of waiter to attend the funeral
+baked meats, but decided it was not worth it. The weather was too hot
+to be malicious, and who could be uncharitable, victimised by the
+flapping sensations which Frau Fischer was enduring until six-thirty?
+As a gift from heaven for my forbearance, down the path towards us came
+the Herr Rat, angelically clad in a white silk suit. He and Frau
+Fischer were old friends. She drew the folds of her dressing-gown
+together, and made room for him on the little green bench.
+
+“How cool you are looking,” she said; “and if I may make the
+remark—what a beautiful suit!”
+
+“Surely I wore it last summer when you were here? I brought the silk
+from China—smuggled it through the Russian customs by swathing it round
+my body. And such a quantity: two dress lengths for my sister-in-law,
+three suits for myself, a cloak for the housekeeper of my flat in
+Munich. How I perspired! Every inch of it had to be washed afterwards.”
+
+“Surely you have had more adventures than any man in Germany. When I
+think of the time that you spent in Turkey with a drunken guide who was
+bitten by a mad dog and fell over a precipice into a field of attar of
+roses, I lament that you have not written a book.”
+
+“Time—time. I am getting a few notes together. And now that you are
+here we shall renew our quiet little talks after supper. Yes? It is
+necessary and pleasant for a man to find relaxation in the company of
+women occasionally.”
+
+“Indeed I realise that. Even here your life is too strenuous—you are so
+sought after—so admired. It was just the same with my dear husband. He
+was a tall, beautiful man, and sometimes in the evening he would come
+down into the kitchen and say: ‘Wife, I would like to be stupid for two
+minutes.’ Nothing rested him so much then as for me to stroke his
+head.”
+
+The Herr Rat’s bald pate glistening in the sunlight seemed symbolical
+of the sad absence of a wife.
+
+I began to wonder as to the nature of these quiet little after-supper
+talks. How could one play Delilah to so shorn a Samson?
+
+“Herr Hoffmann from Berlin arrived yesterday,” said the Herr Rat.
+
+“That young man I refuse to converse with. He told me last year that he
+had stayed in France in an hotel where they did not have serviettes;
+what a place it must have been! In Austria even the cabmen have
+serviettes. Also I have heard that he discussed ‘free love’ with Bertha
+as she was sweeping his room. I am not accustomed to such company. I
+had suspected him for a long time.”
+
+“Young blood,” answered the Herr Rat genially. “I have had several
+disputes with him—you have heard them—is it not so?” turning to me.
+
+“A great many,” I said, smiling.
+
+“Doubtless you too consider me behind the times. I make no secret of my
+age; I am sixty-nine; but you must have surely observed how impossible
+it was for him to speak at all when I raised my voice.”
+
+I replied with the utmost conviction, and, catching Frau Fischer’s eye,
+suddenly realised I had better go back to the house and write some
+letters.
+
+It was dark and cool in my room. A chestnut-tree pushed green boughs
+against the window. I looked down at the horsehair sofa so openly
+flouting the idea of curling up as immoral, pulled the red pillow on to
+the floor and lay down. And barely had I got comfortable when the door
+opened and Frau Fischer entered.
+
+“The Herr Rat had a bathing appointment,” she said, shutting the door
+after her. “May I come in? Pray do not move. You look like a little
+Persian kitten. Now, tell me something really interesting about your
+life. When I meet new people I squeeze them dry like a sponge. To begin
+with—you are married.”
+
+I admitted the fact.
+
+“Then, dear child, where is your husband?”
+
+I said he was a sea-captain on a long and perilous voyage.
+
+“What a position to leave you in—so young and so unprotected.”
+
+She sat down on the sofa and shook her finger at me playfully.
+
+“Admit, now, that you keep your journeys secret from him. For what man
+would think of allowing a woman with such a wealth of hair to go
+wandering in foreign countries? Now, supposing that you lost your purse
+at midnight in a snowbound train in North Russia?”
+
+“But I haven’t the slightest intention—” I began.
+
+“I don’t say that you have. But when you said good-bye to your dear man
+I am positive that you had no intention of coming here. My dear, I am a
+woman of experience, and I know the world. While he is away you have a
+fever in your blood. Your sad heart flies for comfort to these foreign
+lands. At home you cannot bear the sight of that empty bed—it is like
+widowhood. Since the death of my dear husband I have never known an
+hour’s peace.”
+
+“I like empty beds,” I protested sleepily, thumping the pillow.
+
+“That cannot be true because it is not natural. Every wife ought to
+feel that her place is by her husband’s side—sleeping or waking. It is
+plain to see that the strongest tie of all does not yet bind you. Wait
+until a little pair of hands stretches across the water—wait until he
+comes into harbour and sees you with the child at your breast.”
+
+I sat up stiffly.
+
+“But I consider child-bearing the most ignominious of all professions,”
+I said.
+
+For a moment there was silence. Then Frau Fischer reached down and
+caught my hand.
+
+“So young and yet to suffer so cruelly,” she murmured. “There is
+nothing that sours a woman so terribly as to be left alone without a
+man, especially if she is married, for then it is impossible for her to
+accept the attention of others—unless she is unfortunately a widow. Of
+course, I know that sea-captains are subject to terrible temptations,
+and they are as inflammable as tenor singers—that is why you must
+present a bright and energetic appearance, and try and make him proud
+of you when his ship reaches port.”
+
+This husband that I had created for the benefit of Frau Fischer became
+in her hands so substantial a figure that I could no longer see myself
+sitting on a rock with seaweed in my hair, awaiting that phantom ship
+for which all women love to suppose they hunger. Rather, I saw myself
+pushing a perambulator up the gangway, and counting up the missing
+buttons on my husband’s uniform jacket.
+
+“Handfuls of babies, that is what you are really in need of,” mused
+Frau Fischer. “Then, as the father of a family he cannot leave you.
+Think of his delight and excitement when he saw you!”
+
+The plan seemed to me something of a risk. To appear suddenly with
+handfuls of strange babies is not generally calculated to raise
+enthusiasm in the heart of the average British husband. I decided to
+wreck my virgin conception and send him down somewhere off Cape Horn.
+
+Then the dinner-gong sounded.
+
+“Come up to my room afterwards,” said Frau Fischer. “There is still
+much that I must ask you.”
+
+She squeezed my hand, but I did not squeeze back.
+
+
+
+
+FRAU BRECHENMACHER ATTENDS A WEDDING
+
+
+Getting ready was a terrible business. After supper Frau Brechenmacher
+packed four of the five babies to bed, allowing Rosa to stay with her
+and help to polish the buttons of Herr Brechenmacher’s uniform. Then
+she ran over his best shirt with a hot iron, polished his boots, and
+put a stitch or two into his black satin necktie.
+
+“Rosa,” she said, “fetch my dress and hang it in front of the stove to
+get the creases out. Now, mind, you must look after the children and
+not sit up later than half-past eight, and not touch the lamp—you know
+what will happen if you do.”
+
+“Yes, Mamma,” said Rosa, who was nine and felt old enough to manage a
+thousand lamps. “But let me stay up—the ‘Bub’ may wake and want some
+milk.”
+
+“Half-past eight!” said the Frau. “I’ll make the father tell you too.”
+
+Rosa drew down the corners of her mouth.
+
+“But... but....”
+
+“Here comes the father. You go into the bedroom and fetch my blue silk
+handkerchief. You can wear my black shawl while I’m out—there now!”
+
+Rosa dragged it off her mother’s shoulders and wound it carefully round
+her own, tying the two ends in a knot at the back. After all, she
+reflected, if she had to go to bed at half past eight she would keep
+the shawl on. Which resolution comforted her absolutely.
+
+“Now, then, where are my clothes?” cried Herr Brechenmacher, hanging
+his empty letter-bag behind the door and stamping the snow out of his
+boots. “Nothing ready, of course, and everybody at the wedding by this
+time. I heard the music as I passed. What are you doing? You’re not
+dressed. You can’t go like that.”
+
+“Here they are—all ready for you on the table, and some warm water in
+the tin basin. Dip your head in. Rosa, give your father the towel.
+Everything ready except the trousers. I haven’t had time to shorten
+them. You must tuck the ends into your boots until we get there.”
+
+“Nu,” said the Herr, “there isn’t room to turn. I want the light. You
+go and dress in the passage.”
+
+Dressing in the dark was nothing to Frau Brechenmacher. She hooked her
+skirt and bodice, fastened her handkerchief round her neck with a
+beautiful brooch that had four medals to the Virgin dangling from it,
+and then drew on her cloak and hood.
+
+“Here, come and fasten this buckle,” called Herr Brechenmacher. He
+stood in the kitchen puffing himself out, the buttons on his blue
+uniform shining with an enthusiasm which nothing but official buttons
+could possibly possess. “How do I look?”
+
+“Wonderful,” replied the little Frau, straining at the waist buckle and
+giving him a little pull here, a little tug there. “Rosa, come and look
+at your father.”
+
+Herr Brechenmacher strode up and down the kitchen, was helped on with
+his coat, then waited while the Frau lighted the lantern.
+
+“Now, then—finished at last! Come along.”
+
+“The lamp, Rosa,” warned the Frau, slamming the front door behind them.
+
+Snow had not fallen all day; the frozen ground was slippery as an
+icepond. She had not been out of the house for weeks past, and the day
+had so flurried her that she felt muddled and stupid—felt that Rosa had
+pushed her out of the house and her man was running away from her.
+
+“Wait, wait!” she cried.
+
+“No. I’ll get my feet damp—you hurry.”
+
+It was easier when they came into the village. There were fences to
+cling to, and leading from the railway station to the Gasthaus a little
+path of cinders had been strewn for the benefit of the wedding guests.
+
+The Gasthaus was very festive. Lights shone out from every window,
+wreaths of fir twigs hung from the ledges. Branches decorated the front
+doors, which swung open, and in the hall the landlord voiced his
+superiority by bullying the waitresses, who ran about continually with
+glasses of beer, trays of cups and saucers, and bottles of wine.
+
+“Up the stairs—up the stairs!” boomed the landlord. “Leave your coats
+on the landing.”
+
+Herr Brechenmacher, completely overawed by this grand manner, so far
+forgot his rights as a husband as to beg his wife’s pardon for jostling
+her against the banisters in his efforts to get ahead of everybody
+else.
+
+Herr Brechenmacher’s colleagues greeted him with acclamation as he
+entered the door of the Festsaal, and the Frau straightened her brooch
+and folded her hands, assuming the air of dignity becoming to the wife
+of a postman and the mother of five children. Beautiful indeed was the
+Festsaal. Three long tables were grouped at one end, the remainder of
+the floor space cleared for dancing. Oil lamps, hanging from the
+ceiling, shed a warm, bright light on the walls decorated with paper
+flowers and garlands; shed a warmer, brighter light on the red faces of
+the guests in their best clothes.
+
+At the head of the centre table sat the bride and bridegroom, she in a
+white dress trimmed with stripes and bows of coloured ribbon, giving
+her the appearance of an iced cake all ready to be cut and served in
+neat little pieces to the bridegroom beside her, who wore a suit of
+white clothes much too large for him and a white silk tie that rose
+halfway up his collar. Grouped about them, with a fine regard for
+dignity and precedence, sat their parents and relations; and perched on
+a stool at the bride’s right hand a little girl in a crumpled muslin
+dress with a wreath of forget-me-nots hanging over one ear. Everybody
+was laughing and talking, shaking hands, clinking glasses, stamping on
+the floor—a stench of beer and perspiration filled the air.
+
+Frau Brechenmacher, following her man down the room after greeting the
+bridal party, knew that she was going to enjoy herself. She seemed to
+fill out and become rosy and warm as she sniffed that familiar festive
+smell. Somebody pulled at her skirt, and, looking down, she saw Frau
+Rupp, the butcher’s wife, who pulled out an empty chair and begged her
+to sit beside her.
+
+“Fritz will get you some beer,” she said. “My dear, your skirt is open
+at the back. We could not help laughing as you walked up the room with
+the white tape of your petticoat showing!”
+
+“But how frightful!” said Frau Brechenmacher, collapsing into her chair
+and biting her lip.
+
+“Na, it’s over now,” said Frau Rupp, stretching her fat hands over the
+table and regarding her three mourning rings with intense enjoyment;
+“but one must be careful, especially at a wedding.”
+
+“And such a wedding as this,” cried Frau Ledermann, who sat on the
+other side of Frau Brechenmacher. “Fancy Theresa bringing that child
+with her. It’s her own child, you know, my dear, and it’s going to live
+with them. That’s what I call a sin against the Church for a free-born
+child to attend its own mother’s wedding.”
+
+The three women sat and stared at the bride, who remained very still,
+with a little vacant smile on her lips, only her eyes shifting uneasily
+from side to side.
+
+“Beer they’ve given it, too,” whispered Frau Rupp, “and white wine and
+an ice. It never did have a stomach; she ought to have left it at
+home.”
+
+Frau Brechenmacher turned round and looked towards the bride’s mother.
+She never took her eyes off her daughter, but wrinkled her brown
+forehead like an old monkey, and nodded now and again very solemnly.
+Her hands shook as she raised her beer mug, and when she had drunk she
+spat on the floor and savagely wiped her mouth with her sleeve. Then
+the music started and she followed Theresa with her eyes, looking
+suspiciously at each man who danced with her.
+
+“Cheer up, old woman,” shouted her husband, digging her in the ribs;
+“this isn’t Theresa’s funeral.” He winked at the guests, who broke into
+loud laughter.
+
+“I _am_ cheerful,” mumbled the old woman, and beat upon the table with
+her fist, keeping time to the music, proving she was not out of the
+festivities.
+
+“She can’t forget how wild Theresa has been,” said Frau Ledermann. “Who
+could—with the child there? I heard that last Sunday evening Theresa
+had hysterics and said that she would not marry this man. They had to
+get the priest to her.”
+
+“Where is the other one?” asked Frau Brechenmacher. “Why didn’t he
+marry her?”
+
+The woman shrugged her shoulders.
+
+“Gone—disappeared. He was a traveller, and only stayed at their house
+two nights. He was selling shirt buttons—I bought some myself, and they
+were beautiful shirt buttons—but what a pig of a fellow! I can’t think
+what he saw in such a plain girl—but you never know. Her mother says
+she’s been like fire ever since she was sixteen!”
+
+Frau Brechenmacher looked down at her beer and blew a little hole in
+the froth.
+
+“That’s not how a wedding should be,” she said; “it’s not religion to
+love two men.”
+
+“Nice time she’ll have with this one,” Frau Rupp exclaimed. “He was
+lodging with me last summer and I had to get rid of him. He never
+changed his clothes once in two months, and when I spoke to him of the
+smell in his room he told me he was sure it floated up from the shop.
+Ah, every wife has her cross. Isn’t that true, my dear?”
+
+Frau Brechenmacher saw her husband among his colleagues at the next
+table. He was drinking far too much, she knew—gesticulating wildly, the
+saliva spluttering out of his mouth as he talked.
+
+“Yes,” she assented, “that’s true. Girls have a lot to learn.”
+
+Wedged in between these two fat old women, the Frau had no hope of
+being asked to dance. She watched the couples going round and round;
+she forgot her five babies and her man and felt almost like a girl
+again. The music sounded sad and sweet. Her roughened hands clasped and
+unclasped themselves in the folds of her skirt. While the music went on
+she was afraid to look anybody in the face, and she smiled with a
+little nervous tremor round the mouth.
+
+“But, my God,” Frau Rupp cried, “they’ve given that child of Theresa’s
+a piece of sausage. It’s to keep her quiet. There’s going to be a
+presentation now—your man has to speak.”
+
+Frau Brechenmacher sat up stiffly. The music ceased, and the dancers
+took their places again at the tables.
+
+Herr Brechenmacher alone remained standing—he held in his hands a big
+silver coffee-pot. Everybody laughed at his speech, except the Frau;
+everybody roared at his grimaces, and at the way he carried the
+coffee-pot to the bridal pair, as if it were a baby he was holding.
+
+She lifted the lid, peeped in, then shut it down with a little scream
+and sat biting her lips. The bridegroom wrenched the pot away from her
+and drew forth a baby’s bottle and two little cradles holding china
+dolls. As he dandled these treasures before Theresa the hot room seemed
+to heave and sway with laughter.
+
+Frau Brechenmacher did not think it funny. She stared round at the
+laughing faces, and suddenly they all seemed strange to her. She wanted
+to go home and never come out again. She imagined that all these people
+were laughing at her, more people than there were in the room even—all
+laughing at her because they were so much stronger than she was.
+
+
+They walked home in silence. Herr Brechenmacher strode ahead, she
+stumbled after him. White and forsaken lay the road from the railway
+station to their house—a cold rush of wind blew her hood from her face,
+and suddenly she remembered how they had come home together the first
+night. Now they had five babies and twice as much money; _but_—
+
+“Na, what is it all for?” she muttered, and not until she had reached
+home, and prepared a little supper of meat and bread for her man did
+she stop asking herself that silly question.
+
+Herr Brechenmacher broke the bread into his plate, smeared it round
+with his fork and chewed greedily.
+
+“Good?” she asked, leaning her arms on the table and pillowing her
+breast against them.
+
+“But fine!”
+
+He took a piece of the crumb, wiped it round his plate edge, and held
+it up to her mouth. She shook her head.
+
+“Not hungry,” she said.
+
+“But it is one of the best pieces, and full of the fat.”
+
+He cleared the plate; then pulled off his boots and flung them into a
+corner.
+
+“Not much of a wedding,” he said, stretching out his feet and wriggling
+his toes in the worsted socks.
+
+“N—no,” she replied, taking up the discarded boots and placing them on
+the oven to dry.
+
+Herr Brechenmacher yawned and stretched himself, and then looked up at
+her, grinning.
+
+“Remember the night that we came home? You were an innocent one, you
+were.”
+
+“Get along! Such a time ago I forget.” Well she remembered.
+
+“Such a clout on the ear as you gave me.... But I soon taught you.”
+
+“Oh, don’t start talking. You’ve too much beer. Come to bed.”
+
+He tilted back in his chair, chuckling with laughter.
+
+“That’s not what you said to me that night. God, the trouble you gave
+me!”
+
+But the little Frau seized the candle and went into the next room. The
+children were all soundly sleeping. She stripped the mattress off the
+baby’s bed to see if he was still dry, then began unfastening her
+blouse and skirt.
+
+“Always the same,” she said—“all over the world the same; but, God in
+heaven—but _stupid_.”
+
+Then even the memory of the wedding faded quite. She lay down on the
+bed and put her arm across her face like a child who expected to be
+hurt as Herr Brechenmacher lurched in.
+
+
+
+
+THE MODERN SOUL
+
+
+“Good-evening,” said the Herr Professor, squeezing my hand; “wonderful
+weather! I have just returned from a party in the wood. I have been
+making music for them on my trombone. You know, these pine-trees
+provide most suitable accompaniment for a trombone! They are sighing
+delicacy against sustained strength, as I remarked once in a lecture on
+wind instruments in Frankfort. May I be permitted to sit beside you on
+this bench, gnädige Frau?”
+
+He sat down, tugging at a white-paper package in the tail pocket of his
+coat.
+
+“Cherries,” he said, nodding and smiling. “There is nothing like
+cherries for producing free saliva after trombone playing, especially
+after Grieg’s ‘Ich Liebe Dich.’ Those sustained blasts on ‘liebe’ make
+my throat as dry as a railway tunnel. Have some?” He shook the bag at
+me.
+
+“I prefer watching you eat them.”
+
+“Ah, ha!” He crossed his legs, sticking the cherry bag between his
+knees, to leave both hands free. “Psychologically I understood your
+refusal. It is your innate feminine delicacy in preferring etherealised
+sensations.... Or perhaps you do not care to eat the worms. All
+cherries contain worms. Once I made a very interesting experiment with
+a colleague of mine at the university. We bit into four pounds of the
+best cherries and did not find one specimen without a worm. But what
+would you? As I remarked to him afterwards—dear friend, it amounts to
+this: if one wishes to satisfy the desires of nature one must be strong
+enough to ignore the facts of nature.... The conversation is not out of
+your depth? I have so seldom the time or opportunity to open my heart
+to a woman that I am apt to forget.”
+
+I looked at him brightly.
+
+“See what a fat one!” cried the Herr Professor. “That is almost a
+mouthful in itself; it is beautiful enough to hang from a watch-chain.”
+He chewed it up and spat the stone an incredible distance—over the
+garden path into the flower bed. He was proud of the feat. I saw it.
+“The quantity of fruit I have eaten on this bench,” he sighed;
+“apricots, peaches and cherries. One day that garden bed will become an
+orchard grove, and I shall allow you to pick as much as you please,
+without paying me anything.”
+
+I was grateful, without showing undue excitement.
+
+“Which reminds me”—he hit the side of his nose with one finger—“the
+manager of the pension handed me my weekly bill after dinner this
+evening. It is almost impossible to credit. I do not expect you to
+believe me—he has charged me extra for a miserable little glass of milk
+I drink in bed at night to prevent insomnia. Naturally, I did not pay.
+But the tragedy of the story is this: I cannot expect the milk to
+produce somnolence any longer; my peaceful attitude of mind towards it
+is completely destroyed. I know I shall throw myself into a fever in
+attempting to plumb this want of generosity in so wealthy a man as the
+manager of a pension. Think of me to-night”—he ground the empty bag
+under his heel—“think that the worst is happening to me as your head
+drops asleep on your pillow.”
+
+Two ladies came on the front steps of the pension and stood, arm in
+arm, looking over the garden. The one, old and scraggy, dressed almost
+entirely in black bead trimming and a satin reticule; the other, young
+and thin, in a white gown, her yellow hair tastefully garnished with
+mauve sweet peas.
+
+The Professor drew in his feet and sat up sharply, pulling down his
+waistcoat.
+
+“The Godowskas,” he murmured. “Do you know them? A mother and daughter
+from Vienna. The mother has an internal complaint and the daughter is
+an actress. Fräulein Sonia is a very modern soul. I think you would
+find her most sympathetic. She is forced to be in attendance on her
+mother just now. But what a temperament! I have once described her in
+her autograph album as a tigress with a flower in the hair. Will you
+excuse me? Perhaps I can persuade them to be introduced to you.”
+
+I said, “I am going up to my room.” But the Professor rose and shook a
+playful finger at me. “Na,” he said, “we are friends, and, therefore, I
+shall speak quite frankly to you. I think they would consider it a
+little ‘marked’ if you immediately retired to the house at their
+approach, after sitting here alone with me in the twilight. You know
+this world. Yes, you know it as I do.”
+
+I shrugged my shoulders, remarking with one eye that while the
+Professor had been talking the Godowskas had trailed across the lawn
+towards us. They confronted the Herr Professor as he stood up.
+
+“Good-evening,” quavered Frau Godowska. “Wonderful weather! It has
+given me quite a touch of hay fever!” Fräulein Godowska said nothing.
+She swooped over a rose growing in the embryo orchard, then stretched
+out her hand with a magnificent gesture to the Herr Professor. He
+presented me.
+
+“This is my little English friend of whom I have spoken. She is the
+stranger in our midst. We have been eating cherries together.”
+
+“How delightful,” sighed Frau Godowska. “My daughter and I have often
+observed you through the bedroom window. Haven’t we, Sonia?”
+
+Sonia absorbed my outward and visible form with an inward and spiritual
+glance, then repeated the magnificent gesture for my benefit. The four
+of us sat on the bench, with that faint air of excitement of passengers
+established in a railway carriage on the qui vive for the train
+whistle. Frau Godowska sneezed. “I wonder if it is hay fever,” she
+remarked, worrying the satin reticule for her handkerchief, “or would
+it be the dew. Sonia, dear, is the dew falling?”
+
+Fräulein Sonia raised her face to the sky, and half closed her eyes.
+“No, mamma, my face is quite warm. Oh, look, Herr Professor, there are
+swallows in flight; they are like a little flock of Japanese
+thoughts—nicht wahr?”
+
+“Where?” cried the Herr Professor. “Oh yes, I see, by the kitchen
+chimney. But why do you say ‘Japanese’? Could you not compare them with
+equal veracity to a little flock of German thoughts in flight?” He
+rounded on me. “Have you swallows in England?”
+
+“I believe there are some at certain seasons. But doubtless they have
+not the same symbolical value for the English. In Germany—”
+
+“I have never been to England,” interrupted Fräulein Sonia, “but I have
+many English acquaintances. They are so cold!” She shivered.
+
+“Fish-blooded,” snapped Frau Godowska. “Without soul, without heart,
+without grace. But you cannot equal their dress materials. I spent a
+week in Brighton twenty years ago, and the travelling cape I bought
+there is not yet worn out—the one you wrap the hot-water bottle in,
+Sonia. My lamented husband, your father, Sonia, knew a great deal about
+England. But the more he knew about it the oftener he remarked to me,
+‘England is merely an island of beef flesh swimming in a warm gulf sea
+of gravy.’ Such a brilliant way of putting things. Do you remember,
+Sonia?”
+
+“I forget nothing, mamma,” answered Sonia.
+
+Said the Herr Professor: “That is the proof of your calling, gnädiges
+Fräulein. Now I wonder—and this is a very interesting speculation—is
+memory a blessing or—excuse the word—a curse?”
+
+Frau Godowska looked into the distance, then the corners of her mouth
+dropped and her skin puckered. She began to shed tears.
+
+“Ach Gott! Gracious lady, what have I said?” exclaimed the Herr
+Professor.
+
+Sonia took her mother’s hand. “Do you know,” she said, “to-night it is
+stewed carrots and nut tart for supper. Suppose we go in and take our
+places,” her sidelong, tragic stare accusing the Professor and me the
+while.
+
+I followed them across the lawn and up the steps. Frau Godowska was
+murmuring, “Such a wonderful, beloved man”; with her disengaged hand
+Fräulein Sonia was arranging the sweet-pea “garniture.”
+
+
+“A concert for the benefit of afflicted Catholic infants will take
+place in the salon at eight-thirty P.M. Artists: Fräulein Sonia
+Godowska, from Vienna; Herr Professor Windberg and his trombone; Frau
+Oberlehrer Weidel, and others.”
+
+This notice was tied round the neck of the melancholy stag’s head in
+the dining-room. It graced him like a red and white “dinner bib” for
+days before the event, causing the Herr Professor to bow before it and
+say “good appetite” until we sickened of his pleasantry and left the
+smiling to be done by the waiter, who was paid to be pleasing to the
+guests.
+
+On the appointed day the married ladies sailed about the pension
+dressed like upholstered chairs, and the unmarried ladies like draped
+muslin dressing-table covers. Frau Godowska pinned a rose in the centre
+of her reticule; another blossom was tucked in the mazy folds of a
+white antimacassar thrown across her breast. The gentlemen wore black
+coats, white silk ties and ferny buttonholes tickling the chin.
+
+The floor of the salon was freshly polished, chairs and benches
+arranged, and a row of little flags strung across the ceiling—they flew
+and jigged in the draught with all the enthusiasm of family washing. It
+was arranged that I should sit beside Frau Godowska, and that the Herr
+Professor and Sonia should join us when their share of the concert was
+over.
+
+“That will make you feel quite one of the performers,” said the Herr
+Professor genially. “It is a great pity that the English nation is so
+unmusical. Never mind! To-night you shall hear something—we have
+discovered a nest of talent during the rehearsals.”
+
+“What do you intend to recite, Fräulein Sonia?”
+
+She shook back her hair. “I never know until the last moment. When I
+come on the stage I wait for one moment and then I have the sensation
+as though something struck me here,”—she placed her hand upon her
+collar brooch—“and... words come!”
+
+“Bend down a moment,” whispered her mother. “Sonia, love, your skirt
+safety-pin is showing at the back. Shall I come outside and fasten it
+properly for you, or will you do it yourself?”
+
+“Oh, mamma, please don’t say such things,” Sonia flushed and grew very
+angry. “You know how sensitive I am to the slightest unsympathetic
+impression at a time like this.... I would rather my skirt dropped off
+my body—”
+
+“Sonia—my heart!”
+
+A bell tinkled.
+
+The waiter came in and opened the piano. In the heated excitement of
+the moment he entirely forgot what was fitting, and flicked the keys
+with the grimy table napkin he carried over his arm. The Frau
+Oberlehrer tripped on the platform followed by a very young gentleman,
+who blew his nose twice before he hurled his handkerchief into the
+bosom of the piano.
+
+“Yes, I know you have no love for me,
+And no forget-me-not.
+No love, no heart, and no forget-me-not.”
+
+
+sang the Frau Oberlehrer, in a voice that seemed to issue from her
+forgotten thimble and have nothing to do with her.
+
+“Ach, how sweet, how delicate,” we cried, clapping her soothingly. She
+bowed as though to say, “Yes, isn’t it?” and retired, the very young
+gentleman dodging her train and scowling.
+
+The piano was closed, an arm-chair was placed in the centre of the
+platform. Fräulein Sonia drifted towards it. A breathless pause. Then,
+presumably, the winged shaft struck her collar brooch. She implored us
+not to go into the woods in trained dresses, but rather as lightly
+draped as possible, and bed with her among the pine needles. Her loud,
+slightly harsh voice filled the salon. She dropped her arms over the
+back of the chair, moving her lean hands from the wrists. We were
+thrilled and silent. The Herr Professor, beside me, abnormally serious,
+his eyes bulging, pulled at his moustache ends. Frau Godowska adopted
+that peculiarly detached attitude of the proud parent. The only soul
+who remained untouched by her appeal was the waiter, who leaned idly
+against the wall of the salon and cleaned his nails with the edge of a
+programme. He was “off duty” and intended to show it.
+
+“What did I say?” shouted the Herr Professor under cover of tumultuous
+applause, “tem-per-ament! There you have it. She is a flame in the
+heart of a lily. I know I am going to play well. It is my turn now. I
+am inspired. Fräulein Sonia”—as that lady returned to us, pale and
+draped in a large shawl—“you are my inspiration. To-night you shall be
+the soul of my trombone. Wait only.”
+
+To right and left of us people bent over and whispered admiration down
+Fräulein Sonia’s neck. She bowed in the grand style.
+
+“I am always successful,” she said to me. “You see, when I act _I am_.
+In Vienna, in the plays of Ibsen we had so many bouquets that the cook
+had three in the kitchen. But it is difficult here. There is so little
+magic. Do you not feel it? There is none of that mysterious perfume
+which floats almost as a visible thing from the souls of the Viennese
+audiences. My spirit starves for want of that.” She leaned forward,
+chin on hand. “Starves,” she repeated.
+
+The Professor appeared with his trombone, blew into it, held it up to
+one eye, tucked back his shirt cuffs and wallowed in the soul of Sonia
+Godowska. Such a sensation did he create that he was recalled to play a
+Bavarian dance, which he acknowledged was to be taken as a breathing
+exercise rather than an artistic achievement. Frau Godowska kept time
+to it with a fan.
+
+Followed the very young gentleman who piped in a tenor voice that he
+loved somebody, “with blood in his heart and a thousand pains.”
+Fräulein Sonia acted a poison scene with the assistance of her mother’s
+pill vial and the arm-chair replaced by a “chaise longue”; a young girl
+scratched a lullaby on a young fiddle; and the Herr Professor performed
+the last sacrificial rites on the altar of the afflicted children by
+playing the National Anthem.
+
+“Now I must put mamma to bed,” whispered Fräulein Sonia. “But
+afterwards I must take a walk. It is imperative that I free my spirit
+in the open air for a moment. Would you come with me as far as the
+railway station and back?”
+
+“Very well, then, knock on my door when you’re ready.”
+
+Thus the modern soul and I found ourselves together under the stars.
+
+“What a night!” she said. “Do you know that poem of Sappho about her
+hands in the stars.... I am curiously sapphic. And this is so
+remarkable—not only am I sapphic, I find in all the works of all the
+greatest writers, especially in their unedited letters, some touch,
+some sign of myself—some resemblance, some part of myself, like a
+thousand reflections of my own hands in a dark mirror.”
+
+“But what a bother,” said I.
+
+“I do not know what you mean by ‘bother’; is it rather the curse of my
+genius....” She paused suddenly, staring at me. “Do you know my
+tragedy?” she asked.
+
+I shook my head.
+
+“My tragedy is my mother. Living with her I live with the coffin of my
+unborn aspirations. You heard that about the safety-pin to-night. It
+may seem to you a little thing, but it ruined my three first gestures.
+They were—”
+
+“Impaled on a safety-pin,” I suggested.
+
+“Yes, exactly that. And when we are in Vienna I am the victim of moods,
+you know. I long to do wild, passionate things. And mamma says, ‘Please
+pour out my mixture first.’ Once I remember I flew into a rage and
+threw a washstand jug out of the window. Do you know what she said?
+‘Sonia, it is not so much throwing things out of windows, if only you
+would—’”
+
+“Choose something smaller?” said I.
+
+“No... ‘tell me about it beforehand.’ Humiliating! And I do not see any
+possible light out of this darkness.”
+
+“Why don’t you join a touring company and leave your mother in Vienna?”
+
+“What! Leave my poor, little, sick, widowed mother in Vienna! Sooner
+than that I would drown myself. I love my mother as I love nobody else
+in the world—nobody and nothing! Do you think it is impossible to love
+one’s tragedy? ‘Out of my great sorrows I make my little songs,’ that
+is Heine or myself.”
+
+“Oh, well, that’s all right,” I said cheerfully.
+
+“But it is not all right!”
+
+I suggested we should turn back. We turned.
+
+“Sometimes I think the solution lies in marriage,” said Fräulein Sonia.
+“If I find a simple, peaceful man who adores me and will look after
+mamma—a man who would be for me a pillow—for genius cannot hope to
+mate—I shall marry him.... You know the Herr Professor has paid me very
+marked attentions.”
+
+“Oh, Fräulein Sonia,” I said, very pleased with myself, “why not marry
+him to your mother?” We were passing the hairdresser’s shop at the
+moment. Fräulein Sonia clutched my arm.
+
+“You, you,” she stammered. “The cruelty. I am going to faint. Mamma to
+marry again before I marry—the indignity. I am going to faint here and
+now.”
+
+I was frightened. “You can’t,” I said, shaking her.
+
+“Come back to the pension and faint as much as you please. But you
+can’t faint here. All the shops are closed. There is nobody about.
+Please don’t be so foolish.”
+
+“Here and here only!” She indicated the exact spot and dropped quite
+beautifully, lying motionless.
+
+“Very well,” I said, “faint away; but please hurry over it.”
+
+She did not move. I began to walk home, but each time I looked behind
+me I saw the dark form of the modern soul prone before the
+hairdresser’s window. Finally I ran, and rooted out the Herr Professor
+from his room. “Fräulein Sonia has fainted,” I said crossly.
+
+“Du lieber Gott! Where? How?”
+
+“Outside the hairdresser’s shop in the Station Road.”
+
+“Jesus and Maria! Has she no water with her?”—he seized his
+carafe—“nobody beside her?”
+
+“Nothing.”
+
+“Where is my coat? No matter, I shall catch a cold on the chest.
+Willingly, I shall catch one.... You are ready to come with me?”
+
+“No,” I said; “you can take the waiter.”
+
+“But she must have a woman. I cannot be so indelicate as to attempt to
+loosen her stays.”
+
+“Modern souls oughtn’t to wear them,” said I. He pushed past me and
+clattered down the stairs.
+
+
+When I came down to breakfast next morning there were two places vacant
+at table. Fräulein Sonia and Herr Professor had gone off for a day’s
+excursion in the woods.
+
+I wondered.
+
+
+
+
+AT “LEHMANN’S”
+
+
+Certainly Sabina did not find life slow. She was on the trot from early
+morning until late at night. At five o’clock she tumbled out of bed,
+buttoned on her clothes, wearing a long-sleeved alpaca pinafore over
+her black frock, and groped her way downstairs into the kitchen.
+
+Anna, the cook, had grown so fat during the summer that she adored her
+bed because she did not have to wear her corsets there, but could
+spread as much as she liked, roll about under the great mattress,
+calling upon Jesus and Holy Mary and Blessed Anthony himself that her
+life was not fit for a pig in a cellar.
+
+Sabina was new to her work. Pink colour still flew in her cheeks; there
+was a little dimple on the left side of her mouth that even when she
+was most serious, most absorbed, popped out and gave her away. And Anna
+blessed that dimple. It meant an extra half-hour in bed for her; it
+made Sabina light the fire, turn out the kitchen and wash endless cups
+and saucers that had been left over from the evening before. Hans, the
+scullery boy, did not come until seven. He was the son of the butcher—a
+mean, undersized child very much like one of his father’s sausages,
+Sabina thought. His red face was covered with pimples, and his nails
+indescribably filthy. When Herr Lehmann himself told Hans to get a
+hairpin and clean them he said they were stained from birth because his
+mother had always got so inky doing the accounts—and Sabina believed
+him and pitied him.
+
+Winter had come very early to Mindelbau. By the end of October the
+streets were banked waist-high with snow, and the greater number of the
+“Cure Guests,” sick unto death of cold water and herbs, had departed in
+nothing approaching peace. So the large salon was shut at Lehmann’s and
+the breakfast-room was all the accommodation the café afforded. Here
+the floor had to be washed over, the tables rubbed, coffee-cups set
+out, each with its little china platter of sugar, and newspapers and
+magazines hung on their hooks along the walls before Herr Lehmann
+appeared at seven-thirty and opened business.
+
+As a rule his wife served in the shop leading into the café, but she
+had chosen the quiet season to have a baby, and, a big woman at the
+best of times, she had grown so enormous in the process that her
+husband told her she looked unappetising, and had better remain
+upstairs and sew.
+
+Sabina took on the extra work without any thought of extra pay. She
+loved to stand behind the counter, cutting up slices of Anna’s
+marvellous chocolate-spotted confections, or doing up packets of sugar
+almonds in pink and blue striped bags.
+
+“You’ll get varicose veins, like me,” said Anna. “That’s what the
+Frau’s got, too. No wonder the baby doesn’t come! All her swelling’s
+got into her legs.” And Hans was immensely interested.
+
+During the morning business was comparatively slack. Sabina answered
+the shop bell, attended to a few customers who drank a liqueur to warm
+their stomachs before the midday meal, and ran upstairs now and again
+to ask the Frau if she wanted anything. But in the afternoon six or
+seven choice spirits played cards, and everybody who was anybody drank
+tea or coffee.
+
+“Sabina... Sabina....”
+
+She flew from one table to the other, counting out handfuls of small
+change, giving orders to Anna through the “slide,” helping the men with
+their heavy coats, always with that magical child air about her, that
+delightful sense of perpetually attending a party.
+
+“How is the Frau Lehmann?” the women would whisper.
+
+“She feels rather low, but as well as can be expected,” Sabina would
+answer, nodding confidentially.
+
+Frau Lehmann’s bad time was approaching. Anna and her friends referred
+to it as her “journey to Rome,” and Sabina longed to ask questions,
+yet, being ashamed of her ignorance, was silent, trying to puzzle it
+out for herself. She knew practically nothing except that the Frau had
+a baby inside her, which had to come out—very painful indeed. One could
+not have one without a husband—that she also realised. But what had the
+man got to do with it? So she wondered as she sat mending tea towels in
+the evening, head bent over her work, light shining on her brown curls.
+Birth—what was it? wondered Sabina. Death—such a simple thing. She had
+a little picture of her dead grandmother dressed in a black silk frock,
+tired hands clasping the crucifix that dragged between her flattened
+breasts, mouth curiously tight, yet almost secretly smiling. But the
+grandmother had been born once—that was the important fact.
+
+As she sat there one evening, thinking, the Young Man entered the café,
+and called for a glass of port wine. Sabina rose slowly. The long day
+and the hot room made her feel a little languid, but as she poured out
+the wine she felt the Young Man’s eyes fixed on her, looked down at him
+and dimpled.
+
+“It’s cold out,” she said, corking the bottle.
+
+The Young Man ran his hands through his snow-powdered hair and laughed.
+
+“I wouldn’t call it exactly tropical,” he said. “But you’re very snug
+in here—look as though you’ve been asleep.”
+
+Very languid felt Sabina in the hot room, and the Young Man’s voice was
+strong and deep. She thought she had never seen anybody who looked so
+strong—as though he could take up the table in one hand—and his
+restless gaze wandering over her face and figure gave her a curious
+thrill deep in her body, half pleasure, half pain.... She wanted to
+stand there, close beside him, while he drank his wine. A little
+silence followed. Then he took a book out of his pocket, and Sabina
+went back to her sewing. Sitting there in the corner, she listened to
+the sound of the leaves being turned and the loud ticking of the clock
+that hung over the gilt mirror. She wanted to look at him again—there
+was a something about him, in his deep voice, even in the way his
+clothes fitted. From the room above she heard the heavy dragging sound
+of Frau Lehmann’s footsteps, and again the old thoughts worried Sabina.
+If she herself should one day look like that—feel like that! Yet it
+would be very sweet to have a little baby to dress and jump up and
+down.
+
+“Fräulein—what’s your name—what are you smiling at?” called the Young
+Man.
+
+She blushed and looked up, hands quiet in her lap, looked across the
+empty tables and shook her head.
+
+“Come here, and I’ll show you a picture,” he commanded.
+
+She went and stood beside him. He opened the book, and Sabina saw a
+coloured sketch of a naked girl sitting on the edge of a great,
+crumpled bed, a man’s opera hat on the back of her head.
+
+He put his hand over the body, leaving only the face exposed, then
+scrutinised Sabina closely.
+
+“Well?”
+
+“What do you mean?” she asked, knowing perfectly well.
+
+“Why, it might be your own photograph—the face, I mean—that’s as far as
+I can judge.”
+
+“But the hair’s done differently,” said Sabina, laughing. She threw
+back her head, and the laughter bubbled in her round white throat.
+
+“It’s rather a nice picture, don’t you think?” he asked. But she was
+looking at a curious ring he wore on the hand that covered the girl’s
+body, and only nodded.
+
+“Ever seen anything like it before?”
+
+“Oh, there’s plenty of those funny ones in the illustrated papers.”
+
+“How would you like to have your picture taken that way?”
+
+“Me? I’d never let anybody see it. Besides, I haven’t got a hat like
+that!”
+
+“That’s easily remedied.”
+
+Again a little silence, broken by Anna throwing up the slide.
+
+Sabina ran into the kitchen.
+
+“Here, take this milk and egg up to the Frau,” said Anna. “Who’ve you
+got in there?”
+
+“Got such a funny man! I think he’s a little gone here,” tapping her
+forehead.
+
+Upstairs in the ugly room the Frau sat sewing, a black shawl round her
+shoulders, her feet encased in red woollen slippers. The girl put the
+milk on a table by her, then stood, polishing a spoon on her apron.
+
+“Nothing else?”
+
+“Na,” said the Frau, heaving up in her chair. “Where’s my man?”
+
+“He’s playing cards over at Snipold’s. Do you want him?”
+
+“Dear heaven, leave him alone. I’m nothing. I don’t matter.... And the
+whole day waiting here.”
+
+Her hand shook as she wiped the rim of the glass with her fat finger.
+
+“Shall I help you to bed?”
+
+“You go downstairs, leave me alone. Tell Anna not to let Hans grub the
+sugar—give him one on the ear.”
+
+“Ugly—ugly—ugly,” muttered Sabina, returning to the café where the
+Young Man stood coat-buttoned, ready for departure.
+
+“I’ll come again to-morrow,” said he. “Don’t twist your hair back so
+tightly; it will lose all its curl.”
+
+“Well, you are a funny one,” she said. “Good-night.”
+
+By the time Sabina was ready for bed Anna was snoring. She brushed out
+her long hair and gathered it in her hands.... Perhaps it would be a
+pity if it lost all its curl. Then she looked down at her straight
+chemise, and drawing it off, sat down on the side of the bed.
+
+“I wish,” she whispered, smiling sleepily, “there was a great big
+looking-glass in this room.”
+
+Lying down in the darkness, she hugged her little body.
+
+“I wouldn’t be the Frau for one hundred marks—not for a thousand marks.
+To look like that.”
+
+And half-dreaming, she imagined herself heaving up in her chair with
+the port wine bottle in her hand as the Young Man entered the café.
+
+Cold and dark the next morning. Sabina woke, tired, feeling as though
+something heavy had been pressing under her heart all night. There was
+a sound of footsteps shuffling along the passage. Herr Lehmann! She
+must have overslept herself. Yes, he was rattling the door-handle.
+
+“One moment, one moment,” she called, dragging on her stockings.
+
+“Bina, tell Anna to go to the Frau—but quickly. I must ride for the
+nurse.”
+
+“Yes, yes!” she cried. “Has it come?”
+
+But he had gone, and she ran over to Anna and shook her by the
+shoulder.
+
+“The Frau—the baby—Herr Lehmann for the nurse,” she stuttered.
+
+“Name of God!” said Anna, flinging herself out of bed.
+
+No complaints to-day. Importance—enthusiasm in Anna’s whole bearing.
+
+“You run downstairs and light the oven. Put on a pan of water”—speaking
+to an imaginary sufferer as she fastened her blouse—“Yes, yes, I
+know—we must be worse before we are better—I’m coming—patience.”
+
+It was dark all that day. Lights were turned on immediately the café
+opened, and business was very brisk. Anna, turned out of the Frau’s
+room by the nurse, refused to work, and sat in a corner nursing
+herself, listening to sounds overhead. Hans was more sympathetic than
+Sabina. He also forsook work, and stood by the window, picking his
+nose.
+
+“But why must I do everything?” said Sabina, washing glasses. “I can’t
+help the Frau; she oughtn’t to take such a time about it.”
+
+“Listen,” said Anna, “they’ve moved her into the back bedroom above
+here, so as not to disturb the people. That was a groan—that one!”
+
+“Two small beers,” shouted Herr Lehmann through the slide.
+
+“One moment, one moment.”
+
+At eight o’clock the café was deserted. Sabina sat down in the corner
+without her sewing. Nothing seemed to have happened to the Frau. A
+doctor had come—that was all.
+
+“Ach,” said Sabina. “I think no more of it. I listen no more. Ach, I
+would like to go away—I hate this talk. I will not hear it. No, it is
+too much.” She leaned both elbows on the table—cupped her face in her
+hands and pouted.
+
+But the outer door suddenly opening, she sprang to her feet and
+laughed. It was the Young Man again. He ordered more port, and brought
+no book this time.
+
+“Don’t go and sit miles away,” he grumbled. “I want to be amused. And
+here, take my coat. Can’t you dry it somewhere?—snowing again.”
+
+“There’s a warm place—the ladies’ cloak-room,” she said. “I’ll take it
+in there—just by the kitchen.”
+
+She felt better, and quite happy again.
+
+“I’ll come with you,” he said. “I’ll see where you put it.”
+
+And that did not seem at all extraordinary. She laughed and beckoned to
+him.
+
+“In here,” she cried. “Feel how warm. I’ll put more wood on that oven.
+It doesn’t matter, they’re all busy upstairs.”
+
+She knelt down on the floor, and thrust the wood into the oven,
+laughing at her own wicked extravagance.
+
+The Frau was forgotten, the stupid day was forgotten. Here was someone
+beside her laughing, too. They were together in the little warm room
+stealing Herr Lehmann’s wood. It seemed the most exciting adventure in
+the world. She wanted to go on laughing—or burst out crying—or—or—catch
+hold of the Young Man.
+
+“What a fire,” she shrieked, stretching out her hands.
+
+“Here’s a hand; pull up,” said the Young Man. “There, now, you’ll catch
+it to-morrow.”
+
+They stood opposite to each other, hands still clinging. And again that
+strange tremor thrilled Sabina.
+
+“Look here,” he said roughly, “are you a child, or are you playing at
+being one?”
+
+“I—I—”
+
+Laughter ceased. She looked up at him once, then down at the floor, and
+began breathing like a frightened little animal.
+
+He pulled her closer still and kissed her mouth.
+
+“Na, what are you doing?” she whispered.
+
+He let go her hands, he placed his on her breasts, and the room seemed
+to swim round Sabina. Suddenly, from the room above, a frightful,
+tearing shriek.
+
+She wrenched herself away, tightened herself, drew herself up.
+
+“Who did that—who made that noise?”
+
+
+In the silence the thin wailing of a baby.
+
+“Achk!” shrieked Sabina, rushing from the room.
+
+
+
+
+THE LUFT BAD
+
+
+I think it must be the umbrellas which make us look ridiculous.
+
+When I was admitted into the enclosure for the first time, and saw my
+fellow-bathers walking about very nearly “in their nakeds,” it struck
+me that the umbrellas gave a distinctly “Little Black Sambo” touch.
+
+Ridiculous dignity in holding over yourself a green cotton thing with a
+red parroquet handle when you are dressed in nothing larger than a
+handkerchief.
+
+There are no trees in the “Luft Bad.” It boasts a collection of plain,
+wooden cells, a bath shelter, two swings and two odd clubs—one,
+presumably the lost property of Hercules or the German army, and the
+other to be used with safety in the cradle.
+
+And there in all weathers we take the air—walking, or sitting in little
+companies talking over each other’s ailments and measurements and ills
+that flesh is heir to.
+
+A high wooden wall compasses us all about; above it the pine-trees look
+down a little superciliously, nudging each other in a way that is
+peculiarly trying to a _débutante_. Over the wall, on the right side,
+is the men’s section. We hear them chopping down trees and sawing
+through planks, dashing heavy weights to the ground, and singing part
+songs. Yes, they take it far more seriously.
+
+On the first day I was conscious of my legs, and went back into my cell
+three times to look at my watch, but when a woman with whom I had
+played chess for three weeks cut me dead, I took heart and joined a
+circle.
+
+We lay curled on the ground while a Hungarian lady of immense
+proportions told us what a beautiful tomb she had bought for her second
+husband.
+
+“A vault it is,” she said, “with nice black railings. And so large that
+I can go down there and walk about. Both their photographs are there,
+with two very handsome wreaths sent me by my first husband’s brother.
+There is an enlargement of a family group photograph, too, and an
+illuminated address presented to my first husband on his marriage. I am
+often there; it makes such a pleasant excursion for a fine Saturday
+afternoon.”
+
+She suddenly lay down flat on her back, took in six long breaths, and
+sat up again.
+
+“The death agony was dreadful,” she said brightly; “of the second, I
+mean. The ‘first’ was run into by a furniture wagon, and had fifty
+marks stolen out of a new waistcoat pocket, but the ‘second’ was dying
+for sixty-seven hours. I never ceased crying once—not even to put the
+children to bed.”
+
+A young Russian, with a “bang” curl on her forehead, turned to me.
+
+“Can you do the ‘Salome’ dance?” she asked. “I can.”
+
+“How delightful,” I said.
+
+“Shall I do it now? Would you like to see me?”
+
+She sprang to her feet, executed a series of amazing contortions for
+the next ten minutes, and then paused, panting, twisting her long hair.
+
+“Isn’t that nice?” she said. “And now I am perspiring so splendidly. I
+shall go and take a bath.”
+
+Opposite to me was the brownest woman I have ever seen, lying on her
+back, her arms clasped over her head.
+
+“How long have you been here to-day?” she was asked.
+
+“Oh, I spend the day here now,” she answered. “I am making my own
+‘cure,’ and living entirely on raw vegetables and nuts, and each day I
+feel my spirit is stronger and purer. After all, what can you expect?
+The majority of us are walking about with pig corpuscles and oxen
+fragments in our brain. The wonder is the world is as good as it is.
+Now I live on the simple, provided food”—she pointed to a little bag
+beside her—“a lettuce, a carrot, a potato, and some nuts are ample,
+rational nourishment. I wash them under the tap and eat them raw, just
+as they come from the harmless earth—fresh and uncontaminated.”
+
+“Do you take nothing else all day?” I cried.
+
+“Water. And perhaps a banana if I wake in the night.” She turned round
+and leaned on one elbow. “You over-eat yourself dreadfully,” she said;
+“shamelessly! How can you expect the Flame of the Spirit to burn
+brightly under layers of superfluous flesh?”
+
+I wished she would not stare at me, and thought of going to look at my
+watch again when a little girl wearing a string of coral beads joined
+us.
+
+“The poor Frau Hauptmann cannot join us to-day,” she said; “she has
+come out in spots all over on account of her nerves. She was very
+excited yesterday after having written two post-cards.”
+
+“A delicate woman,” volunteered the Hungarian, “but pleasant. Fancy,
+she has a separate plate for each of her front teeth! But she has no
+right to let her daughters wear such short sailor suits. They sit about
+on benches, crossing their legs in a most shameless manner. What are
+you going to do this afternoon, Fräulein Anna?”
+
+“Oh,” said the Coral Necklace, “the Herr Oberleutnant has asked me to
+go with him to Landsdorf. He must buy some eggs there to take home to
+his mother. He saves a penny on eight eggs by knowing the right
+peasants to bargain with.”
+
+“Are you an American?” said the Vegetable Lady, turning to me.
+
+“No.”
+
+“Then you are an Englishwoman?”
+
+“Well, hardly—”
+
+“You must be one of the two; you cannot help it. I have seen you
+walking alone several times. You wear your—”
+
+I got up and climbed on to the swing. The air was sweet and cool,
+rushing past my body. Above, white clouds trailed delicately through
+the blue sky. From the pine forest streamed a wild perfume, the
+branches swayed together, rhythmically, sonorously. I felt so light and
+free and happy—so childish! I wanted to poke my tongue out at the
+circle on the grass, who, drawing close together, were whispering
+meaningly.
+
+“Perhaps you do not know,” cried a voice from one of the cells, “to
+swing is very upsetting for the stomach? A friend of mine could keep
+nothing down for three weeks after exciting herself so.”
+
+I went to the bath shelter and was hosed.
+
+As I dressed, someone tapped on the wall.
+
+“Do you know,” said a voice, “there is a man who _lives_ in the Luft
+Bad next door? He buries himself up to the armpits in mud and refuses
+to believe in the Trinity.”
+
+The umbrellas are the saving grace of the Luft Bad. Now when I go, I
+take my husband’s “storm gamp” and sit in a corner, hiding behind it.
+
+Not that I am in the least ashamed of my legs.
+
+
+
+
+A BIRTHDAY
+
+
+Andreas Binzer woke slowly. He turned over on the narrow bed and
+stretched himself—yawned—opening his mouth as widely as possible and
+bringing his teeth together afterwards with a sharp “click.” The sound
+of that click fascinated him; he repeated it quickly several times,
+with a snapping movement of the jaws. What teeth! he thought. Sound as
+a bell, every man jack of them. Never had one out, never had one
+stopped. That comes of no tomfoolery in eating, and a good regular
+brushing night and morning. He raised himself on his left elbow and
+waved his right arm over the side of the bed to feel for the chair
+where he put his watch and chain overnight. No chair was there—of
+course, he’d forgotten, there wasn’t a chair in this wretched spare
+room. Had to put the confounded thing under his pillow. “Half-past
+eight, Sunday, breakfast at nine—time for the bath”—his brain ticked to
+the watch. He sprang out of bed and went over to the window. The
+venetian blind was broken, hung fan-shaped over the upper pane....
+“That blind must be mended. I’ll get the office boy to drop in and fix
+it on his way home to-morrow—he’s a good hand at blinds. Give him
+twopence and he’ll do it as well as a carpenter.... Anna could do it
+herself if she was all right. So would I, for the matter of that, but I
+don’t like to trust myself on rickety step-ladders.” He looked up at
+the sky: it shone, strangely white, unflecked with cloud; he looked
+down at the row of garden strips and backyards. The fence of these
+gardens was built along the edge of a gully, spanned by an iron
+suspension bridge, and the people had a wretched habit of throwing
+their empty tins over the fence into the gully. Just like them, of
+course! Andreas started counting the tins, and decided, viciously, to
+write a letter to the papers about it and sign it—sign it in full.
+
+The servant girl came out of their back door into the yard, carrying
+his boots. She threw one down on the ground, thrust her hand into the
+other, and stared at it, sucking in her cheeks. Suddenly she bent
+forward, spat on the toecap, and started polishing with a brush rooted
+out of her apron pocket.... “Slut of a girl! Heaven knows what
+infectious disease may be breeding now in that boot. Anna must get rid
+of that girl—even if she has to do without one for a bit—as soon as
+she’s up and about again. The way she chucked one boot down and then
+spat upon the other! She didn’t care whose boots she’d got hold of.
+_She_ had no false notions of the respect due to the master of the
+house.” He turned away from the window and switched his bath towel from
+the washstand rail, sick at heart. “I’m too sensitive for a man—that’s
+what’s the matter with me. Have been from the beginning, and will be to
+the end.”
+
+There was a gentle knock at the door and his mother came in. She closed
+the door after her and leant against it. Andreas noticed that her cap
+was crooked, and a long tail of hair hung over her shoulder. He went
+forward and kissed her.
+
+“Good-morning, mother; how’s Anna?”
+
+The old woman spoke quickly, clasping and unclasping her hands.
+
+“Andreas, please go to Doctor Erb as soon as you are dressed.”
+
+“Why,” he said, “is she bad?”
+
+Frau Binzer nodded, and Andreas, watching her, saw her face suddenly
+change; a fine network of wrinkles seemed to pull over it from under
+the skin surface.
+
+“Sit down on the bed a moment,” he said. “Been up all night?”
+
+“Yes. No, I won’t sit down, I must go back to her. Anna has been in
+pain all night. She wouldn’t have you disturbed before because she said
+you looked so run down yesterday. You told her you had caught a cold
+and been very worried.”
+
+Straightway Andreas felt that he was being accused.
+
+“Well, she made me tell her, worried it out of me; you know the way she
+does.”
+
+Again Frau Binzer nodded.
+
+“Oh yes, I know. She says, is your cold better, and there’s a warm
+undervest for you in the left-hand corner of the big drawer.”
+
+Quite automatically Andreas cleared his throat twice.
+
+“Yes,” he answered. “Tell her my throat certainly feels looser. I
+suppose I’d better not disturb her?”
+
+“No, and besides, _time_, Andreas.”
+
+“I’ll be ready in five minutes.”
+
+They went into the passage. As Frau Binzer opened the door of the front
+bedroom, a long wail came from the room.
+
+That shocked and terrified Andreas. He dashed into the bathroom, turned
+on both taps as far as they would go, cleaned his teeth and pared his
+nails while the water was running.
+
+“Frightful business, frightful business,” he heard himself whispering.
+“And I can’t understand it. It isn’t as though it were her first—it’s
+her third. Old Schäfer told me, yesterday, his wife simply ‘dropped’
+her fourth. Anna ought to have had a qualified nurse. Mother gives way
+to her. Mother spoils her. I wonder what she meant by saying I’d
+worried Anna yesterday. Nice remark to make to a husband at a time like
+this. Unstrung, I suppose—and my sensitiveness again.”
+
+When he went into the kitchen for his boots, the servant girl was bent
+over the stove, cooking breakfast. “Breathing into that, now, I
+suppose,” thought Andreas, and was very short with the servant girl.
+She did not notice. She was full of terrified joy and importance in the
+goings on upstairs. She felt she was learning the secrets of life with
+every breath she drew. Had laid the table that morning saying, “Boy,”
+as she put down the first dish, “Girl,” as she placed the second—it had
+worked out with the saltspoon to “Boy.” “For two pins I’d tell the
+master that, to comfort him, like,” she decided. But the master gave
+her no opening.
+
+“Put an extra cup and saucer on the table,” he said; “the doctor may
+want some coffee.”
+
+“The doctor, sir?” The servant girl whipped a spoon out of a pan, and
+spilt two drops of grease on the stove. “Shall I fry something extra?”
+But the master had gone, slamming the door after him. He walked down
+the street—there was nobody about at all—dead and alive this place on a
+Sunday morning. As he crossed the suspension bridge a strong stench of
+fennel and decayed refuse streamed from the gulley, and again Andreas
+began concocting a letter. He turned into the main road. The shutters
+were still up before the shops. Scraps of newspaper, hay, and fruit
+skins strewed the pavement; the gutters were choked with the leavings
+of Saturday night. Two dogs sprawled in the middle of the road,
+scuffling and biting. Only the public-house at the corner was open; a
+young barman slopped water over the doorstep.
+
+Fastidiously, his lips curling, Andreas picked his way through the
+water. “Extraordinary how I am noticing things this morning. It’s
+partly the effect of Sunday. I loathe a Sunday when Anna’s tied by the
+leg and the children are away. On Sunday a man has the right to expect
+his family. Everything here’s filthy, the whole place might be down
+with the plague, and will be, too, if this street’s not swept away. I’d
+like to have a hand on the government ropes.” He braced his shoulders.
+“Now for this doctor.”
+
+“Doctor Erb is at breakfast,” the maid informed him. She showed him
+into the waiting-room, a dark and musty place, with some ferns under a
+glass-case by the window. “He says he won’t be a minute, please, sir,
+and there is a paper on the table.”
+
+“Unhealthy hole,” thought Binzer, walking over to the window and
+drumming his fingers on the glass fern-shade. “At breakfast, is he?
+That’s the mistake I made: turning out early on an empty stomach.”
+
+A milk cart rattled down the street, the driver standing at the back,
+cracking a whip; he wore an immense geranium flower stuck in the lapel
+of his coat. Firm as a rock he stood, bending back a little in the
+swaying cart. Andreas craned his neck to watch him all the way down the
+road, even after he had gone, listening for the sharp sound of those
+rattling cans.
+
+“H’m, not much wrong with him,” he reflected. “Wouldn’t mind a taste of
+that life myself. Up early, work all over by eleven o’clock, nothing to
+do but loaf about all day until milking time.” Which he knew was an
+exaggeration, but he wanted to pity himself.
+
+The maid opened the door, and stood aside for Doctor Erb. Andreas
+wheeled round; the two men shook hands.
+
+“Well, Binzer,” said the doctor jovially, brushing some crumbs from a
+pearl-coloured waistcoat, “son and heir becoming importunate?”
+
+Up went Binzer’s spirits with a bound. Son and heir, by Jove! He was
+glad to have to deal with a man again. And a sane fellow this, who came
+across this sort of thing every day of the week.
+
+“That’s about the measure of it, Doctor,” he answered, smiling and
+picking up his hat. “Mother dragged me out of bed this morning with
+imperative orders to bring you along.”
+
+“Gig will be round in a minute. Drive back with me, won’t you?
+Extraordinary, sultry day; you’re as red as a beetroot already.”
+
+Andreas affected to laugh. The doctor had one annoying habit—imagined
+he had the right to poke fun at everybody simply because he was a
+doctor. “The man’s riddled with conceit, like all these professionals,”
+Andreas decided.
+
+“What sort of night did Frau Binzer have?” asked the doctor. “Ah,
+here’s the gig. Tell me on the way up. Sit as near the middle as you
+can, will you, Binzer? Your weight tilts it over a bit one side—that’s
+the worst of you successful business men.”
+
+“Two stone heavier than I, if he’s a pound,” thought Andreas. “The man
+may be all right in his profession—but heaven preserve me.”
+
+“Off you go, my beauty.” Doctor Erb flicked the little brown mare. “Did
+your wife get any sleep last night?”
+
+“No; I don’t think she did,” answered Andreas shortly. “To tell you the
+truth, I’m not satisfied that she hasn’t a nurse.”
+
+“Oh, your mother’s worth a dozen nurses,” cried the doctor, with
+immense gusto. “To tell you the truth, I’m not keen on nurses—too
+raw—raw as rump-steak. They wrestle for a baby as though they were
+wrestling with Death for the body of Patroclus.... Ever seen that
+picture by an English artist. Leighton? Wonderful thing—full of sinew!”
+
+“There he goes again,” thought Andreas, “airing off his knowledge to
+make a fool of me.”
+
+“Now your mother—she’s firm—she’s capable. Does what she’s told with a
+fund of sympathy. Look at these shops we’re passing—they’re festering
+sores. How on earth this government can tolerate—”
+
+“They’re not so bad—sound enough—only want a coat of paint.”
+
+The doctor whistled a little tune and flicked the mare again.
+
+“Well, I hope the young shaver won’t give his mother too much trouble,”
+he said. “Here we are.”
+
+A skinny little boy, who had been sliding up and down the back seat of
+the gig, sprang out and held the horse’s head. Andreas went straight
+into the dining-room and left the servant girl to take the doctor
+upstairs. He sat down, poured out some coffee, and bit through half a
+roll before helping himself to fish. Then he noticed there was no hot
+plate for the fish—the whole house was at sixes and sevens. He rang the
+bell, but the servant girl came in with a tray holding a bowl of soup
+and a hot plate.
+
+“I’ve been keeping them on the stove,” she simpered.
+
+“Ah, thanks, that’s very kind of you.” As he swallowed the soup his
+heart warmed to this fool of a girl.
+
+“Oh, it’s a good thing Doctor Erb has come,” volunteered the servant
+girl, who was bursting for want of sympathy.
+
+“H’m, h’m,” said Andreas.
+
+She waited a moment, expectantly, rolling her eyes, then in full
+loathing of menkind went back to the kitchen and vowed herself to
+sterility.
+
+Andreas cleared the soup bowl, and cleared the fish. As he ate, the
+room slowly darkened. A faint wind sprang up and beat the tree branches
+against the window. The dining-room looked over the breakwater of the
+harbour, and the sea swung heavily in rolling waves. Wind crept round
+the house, moaning drearily.
+
+“We’re in for a storm. That means I’m boxed up here all day. Well,
+there’s one blessing; it’ll clear the air.” He heard the servant girl
+rushing importantly round the house, slamming windows. Then he caught a
+glimpse of her in the garden, unpegging tea towels from the line across
+the lawn. She was a worker, there was no doubt about that. He took up a
+book, and wheeled his arm-chair over to the window. But it was useless.
+Too dark to read; he didn’t believe in straining his eyes, and gas at
+ten o’clock in the morning seemed absurd. So he slipped down in the
+chair, leaned his elbows on the padded arms and gave himself up, for
+once, to idle dreaming. “A boy? Yes, it was bound to be a boy this
+time....” “What’s your family, Binzer?” “Oh, I’ve two girls and a boy!”
+A very nice little number. Of course he was the last man to have a
+favourite child, but a man needed a son. “I’m working up the business
+for my son! Binzer & Son! It would mean living very tight for the next
+ten years, cutting expenses as fine as possible; and then—”
+
+A tremendous gust of wind sprang upon the house, seized it, shook it,
+dropped, only to grip the more tightly. The waves swelled up along the
+breakwater and were whipped with broken foam. Over the white sky flew
+tattered streamers of grey cloud.
+
+Andreas felt quite relieved to hear Doctor Erb coming down the stairs;
+he got up and lit the gas.
+
+“Mind if I smoke in here?” asked Doctor Erb, lighting a cigarette
+before Andreas had time to answer. “You don’t smoke, do you? No time to
+indulge in pernicious little habits!”
+
+“How is she now?” asked Andreas, loathing the man.
+
+“Oh, well as can be expected, poor little soul. She begged me to come
+down and have a look at you. Said she knew you were worrying.” With
+laughing eyes the doctor looked at the breakfast-table. “Managed to
+peck a bit, I see, eh?”
+
+“Hoo-wih!” shouted the wind, shaking the window-sashes.
+
+“Pity—this weather,” said Doctor Erb.
+
+“Yes, it gets on Anna’s nerves, and it’s just nerve she wants.”
+
+“Eh, what’s that?” retorted the doctor. “Nerve! Man alive! She’s got
+twice the nerve of you and me rolled into one. Nerve! she’s nothing but
+nerve. A woman who works as she does about the house and has three
+children in four years thrown in with the dusting, so to speak!”
+
+He pitched his half-smoked cigarette into the fireplace and frowned at
+the window.
+
+“Now _he’s_ accusing me,” thought Andreas. “That’s the second time this
+morning—first mother and now this man taking advantage of my
+sensitiveness.” He could not trust himself to speak, and rang the bell
+for the servant girl.
+
+“Clear away the breakfast things,” he ordered. “I can’t have them
+messing about on the table till dinner!”
+
+“Don’t be hard on the girl,” coaxed Doctor Erb. “She’s got twice the
+work to do to-day.”
+
+At that Binzer’s anger blazed out.
+
+“I’ll trouble you, Doctor, not to interfere between me and my
+servants!” And he felt a fool at the same moment for not saying
+“servant.”
+
+Doctor Erb was not perturbed. He shook his head, thrust his hands into
+his pockets, and began balancing himself on toe and heel.
+
+“You’re jagged by the weather,” he said wryly, “nothing else. A great
+pity—this storm. You know climate has an immense effect upon birth. A
+fine day perks a woman—gives her heart for her business. Good weather
+is as necessary to a confinement as it is to a washing day. Not
+bad—that last remark of mine—for a professional fossil, eh?”
+
+Andreas made no reply.
+
+“Well, I’ll be getting back to my patient. Why don’t you take a walk,
+and clear your head? That’s the idea for you.”
+
+“No,” he answered, “I won’t do that; it’s too rough.”
+
+He went back to his chair by the window. While the servant girl cleared
+away he pretended to read... then his dreams! It seemed years since he
+had had the time to himself to dream like that—he never had a breathing
+space. Saddled with work all day, and couldn’t shake it off in the
+evening like other men. Besides, Anna was interested—they talked of
+practically nothing else together. Excellent mother she’d make for a
+boy; she had a grip of things.
+
+Church bells started ringing through the windy air, now sounding as
+though from very far away, then again as though all the churches in the
+town had been suddenly transplanted into their street. They stirred
+something in him, those bells, something vague and tender. Just about
+that time Anna would call him from the hall. “Andreas, come and have
+your coat brushed. I’m ready.” Then off they would go, she hanging on
+his arm, and looking up at him. She certainly was a little thing. He
+remembered once saying when they were engaged, “Just as high as my
+heart,” and she had jumped on to a stool and pulled his head down,
+laughing. A kid in those days, younger than her children in nature,
+brighter, more “go” and “spirit” in her. The way she’d run down the
+road to meet him after business! And the way she laughed when they were
+looking for a house. By Jove! that laugh of hers! At the memory he
+grinned, then grew suddenly grave. Marriage certainly changed a woman
+far more than it did a man. Talk about sobering down. She had lost all
+her go in two months! Well, once this boy business was over she’d get
+stronger. He began to plan a little trip for them. He’d take her away
+and they’d loaf about together somewhere. After all, dash it, they were
+young still. She’d got into a groove; he’d have to force her out of it,
+that’s all.
+
+He got up and went into the drawing-room, carefully shut the door and
+took Anna’s photograph from the top of the piano. She wore a white
+dress with a big bow of some soft stuff under the chin, and stood, a
+little stiffly, holding a sheaf of artificial poppies and corn in her
+hands. Delicate she looked even then; her masses of hair gave her that
+look. She seemed to droop under the heavy braids of it, and yet she was
+smiling. Andreas caught his breath sharply. She was his wife—that girl.
+Posh! it had only been taken four years ago. He held it close to him,
+bent forward and kissed it. Then rubbed the glass with the back of his
+hand. At that moment, fainter than he had heard in the passage, more
+terrifying, Andreas heard again that wailing cry. The wind caught it up
+in mocking echo, blew it over the house-tops, down the street, far away
+from him. He flung out his arms, “I’m so damnably helpless,” he said,
+and then, to the picture, “Perhaps it’s not as bad as it sounds;
+perhaps it is just my sensitiveness.” In the half light of the
+drawing-room the smile seemed to deepen in Anna’s portrait, and to
+become secret, even cruel. “No,” he reflected, “that smile is not at
+all her happiest expression—it was a mistake to let her have it taken
+smiling like that. She doesn’t look like my wife—like the mother of my
+son.” Yes, that was it, she did not look like the mother of a son who
+was going to be a partner in the firm. The picture got on his nerves;
+he held it in different lights, looked at it from a distance, sideways,
+spent, it seemed to Andreas afterwards, a whole lifetime trying to fit
+it in. The more he played with it the deeper grew his dislike of it.
+Thrice he carried it over to the fireplace and decided to chuck it
+behind the Japanese umbrella in the grate; then he thought it absurd to
+waste an expensive frame. There was no good in beating about the bush.
+Anna looked like a stranger—abnormal, a freak—it might be a picture
+taken just before or after death.
+
+Suddenly he realised that the wind had dropped, that the whole house
+was still, terribly still. Cold and pale, with a disgusting feeling
+that spiders were creeping up his spine and across his face, he stood
+in the centre of the drawing-room, hearing Doctor Erb’s footsteps
+descending the stairs.
+
+He saw Doctor Erb come into the room; the room seemed to change into a
+great glass bowl that spun round, and Doctor Erb seemed to swim through
+this glass bowl towards him, like a goldfish in a pearl-coloured
+waistcoat.
+
+“My beloved wife has passed away!” He wanted to shout it out before the
+doctor spoke.
+
+“Well, she’s hooked a boy this time!” said Doctor Erb. Andreas
+staggered forward.
+
+“Look out. Keep on your pins,” said Doctor Erb, catching Binzer’s arm,
+and murmuring, as he felt it, “Flabby as butter.”
+
+A glow spread all over Andreas. He was exultant.
+
+“Well, by God! Nobody can accuse _me_ of not knowing what suffering
+is,” he said.
+
+
+
+
+THE CHILD-WHO-WAS-TIRED
+
+
+She was just beginning to walk along a little white road with tall
+black trees on either side, a little road that led to nowhere, and
+where nobody walked at all, when a hand gripped her shoulder, shook
+her, slapped her ear.
+
+“Oh, oh, don’t stop me,” cried the Child-Who-Was-Tired. “Let me go.”
+
+“Get up, you good-for-nothing brat,” said a voice; “get up and light
+the oven or I’ll shake every bone out of your body.”
+
+With an immense effort she opened her eyes, and saw the Frau standing
+by, the baby bundled under one arm. The three other children who shared
+the same bed with the Child-Who-Was-Tired, accustomed to brawls, slept
+on peacefully. In a corner of the room the Man was fastening his
+braces.
+
+“What do you mean by sleeping like this the whole night through—like a
+sack of potatoes? You’ve let the baby wet his bed twice.”
+
+She did not answer, but tied her petticoat string, and buttoned on her
+plaid frock with cold, shaking fingers.
+
+“There, that’s enough. Take the baby into the kitchen with you, and
+heat that cold coffee on the spirit lamp for the master, and give him
+the loaf of black bread out of the table drawer. Don’t guzzle it
+yourself or I’ll know.”
+
+The Frau staggered across the room, flung herself on to her bed,
+drawing the pink bolster round her shoulders.
+
+It was almost dark in the kitchen. She laid the baby on the wooden
+settle, covering him with a shawl, then poured the coffee from the
+earthenware jug into the saucepan, and set it on the spirit lamp to
+boil.
+
+“I’m sleepy,” nodded the Child-Who-Was-Tired, kneeling on the floor and
+splitting the damp pine logs into little chips. “That’s why I’m not
+awake.”
+
+The oven took a long time to light. Perhaps it was cold, like herself,
+and sleepy.... Perhaps it had been dreaming of a little white road with
+black trees on either side, a little road that led to nowhere.
+
+Then the door was pulled violently open and the Man strode in.
+
+“Here, what are you doing, sitting on the floor?” he shouted. “Give me
+my coffee. I’ve got to be off. Ugh! You haven’t even washed over the
+table.”
+
+She sprang to her feet, poured his coffee into an enamel cup, and gave
+him bread and a knife, then, taking a wash rag from the sink, smeared
+over the black linoleumed table.
+
+“Swine of a day—swine’s life,” mumbled the Man, sitting by the table
+and staring out of the window at the bruised sky, which seemed to bulge
+heavily over the dull land. He stuffed his mouth with bread and then
+swilled it down with the coffee.
+
+The Child drew a pail of water, turned up her sleeves, frowning the
+while at her arms, as if to scold them for being so thin, so much like
+little stunted twigs, and began to mop over the floor.
+
+“Stop sousing about the water while I’m here,” grumbled the Man. “Stop
+the baby snivelling; it’s been going on like that all night.”
+
+The Child gathered the baby into her lap and sat rocking him.
+
+“Ts—ts—ts,” she said. “He’s cutting his eye teeth, that’s what makes
+him cry so. _And_ dribble—I never seen a baby dribble like this one.”
+She wiped his mouth and nose with a corner of her skirt. “Some babies
+get their teeth without you knowing it,” she went on, “and some take on
+this way all the time. I once heard of a baby that died, and they found
+all its teeth in its stomach.”
+
+The Man got up, unhooked his cloak from the back of the door, and flung
+it round him.
+
+“There’s another coming,” said he.
+
+“What—a tooth!” exclaimed the Child, startled for the first time that
+morning out of her dreadful heaviness, and thrusting her finger into
+the baby’s mouth.
+
+“No,” he said grimly, “another baby. Now, get on with your work; it’s
+time the others got up for school.” She stood a moment quite silently,
+hearing his heavy steps on the stone passage, then the gravel walk, and
+finally the slam of the front gate.
+
+“Another baby! Hasn’t she finished having them _yet?_” thought the
+Child. “Two babies getting eye teeth—two babies to get up for in the
+night—two babies to carry about and wash their little piggy clothes!”
+She looked with horror at the one in her arms, who, seeming to
+understand the contemptuous loathing of her tired glance, doubled his
+fists, stiffened his body, and began violently screaming.
+
+“Ts—ts—ts.” She laid him on the settle and went back to her
+floor-washing. He never ceased crying for a moment, but she got quite
+used to it and kept time with her broom. Oh, how tired she was! Oh, the
+heavy broom handle and the burning spot just at the back of her neck
+that ached so, and a funny little fluttering feeling just at the back
+of her waistband, as though something were going to break.
+
+The clock struck six. She set the pan of milk in the oven, and went
+into the next room to wake and dress the three children. Anton and Hans
+lay together in attitudes of mutual amity which certainly never existed
+out of their sleeping hours. Lena was curled up, her knees under her
+chin, only a straight, standing-up pigtail of hair showing above the
+bolster.
+
+“Get up,” cried the Child, speaking in a voice of immense authority,
+pulling off the bedclothes and giving the boys sundry pokes and digs.
+“I’ve been calling you this last half-hour. It’s late, and I’ll tell on
+you if you don’t get dressed this minute.”
+
+Anton awoke sufficiently to turn over and kick Hans on a tender part,
+whereupon Hans pulled Lena’s pigtail until she shrieked for her mother.
+
+“Oh, do be quiet,” whispered the Child. “Oh, do get up and dress. You
+know what will happen. There—I’ll help you.”
+
+But the warning came too late. The Frau got out of bed, walked in a
+determined fashion into the kitchen, returning with a bundle of twigs
+in her hand fastened together with a strong cord. One by one she laid
+the children across her knee and severely beat them, expending a final
+burst of energy on the Child-Who-Was-Tired, then returned to bed, with
+a comfortable sense of her maternal duties in good working order for
+the day. Very subdued, the three allowed themselves to be dressed and
+washed by the Child, who even laced the boys’ boots, having found
+through experience that if left to themselves they hopped about for at
+least five minutes to find a comfortable ledge for their foot, and then
+spat on their hands and broke the bootlaces.
+
+While she gave them their breakfast they became uproarious, and the
+baby would not cease crying. When she filled the tin kettle with milk,
+tied on the rubber teat, and, first moistening it herself, tried with
+little coaxing words to make him drink, he threw the bottle on to the
+floor and trembled all over.
+
+“Eye teeth!” shouted Hans, hitting Anton over the head with his empty
+cup; “he’s getting the evil-eye teeth, I should say.”
+
+“Smarty!” retorted Lena, poking out her tongue at him, and then, when
+he promptly did the same, crying at the top of her voice, “Mother, Hans
+is making faces at me!”
+
+“That’s right,” said Hans; “go on howling, and when you’re in bed
+to-night I’ll wait till you’re asleep, and then I’ll creep over and
+take a little tiny piece of your arm and twist and twist it until—” He
+leant over the table making the most horrible faces at Lena, not
+noticing that Anton was standing behind his chair until the little boy
+bent over and spat on his brother’s shaven head.
+
+“Oh, weh! oh, weh!”
+
+The Child-Who-Was-Tired pushed and pulled them apart, muffled them into
+their coats, and drove them out of the house.
+
+“Hurry, hurry! the second bell’s rung,” she urged, knowing perfectly
+well she was telling a story, and rather exulting in the fact. She
+washed up the breakfast things, then went down to the cellar to look
+out the potatoes and beetroot.
+
+Such a funny, cold place the coal cellar! With potatoes banked on one
+corner, beetroot in an old candle box, two tubs of sauerkraut, and a
+twisted mass of dahlia roots—that looked as real as though they were
+fighting one another, thought the Child.
+
+She gathered the potatoes into her skirt, choosing big ones with few
+eyes because they were easier to peel, and bending over the dull heap
+in the silent cellar, she began to nod.
+
+“Here, you, what are you doing down there?” cried the Frau, from the
+top of the stairs. “The baby’s fallen off the settle, and got a bump as
+big as an egg over his eye. Come up here, and I’ll teach you!”
+
+“It wasn’t me—it wasn’t me!” screamed the Child, beaten from one side
+of the hall to the other, so that the potatoes and beetroot rolled out
+of her skirt.
+
+The Frau seemed to be as big as a giant, and there was a certain
+heaviness in all her movements that was terrifying to anyone so small.
+
+“Sit in the corner, and peel and wash the vegetables, and keep the baby
+quiet while I do the washing.”
+
+Whimpering she obeyed, but as to keeping the baby quiet, that was
+impossible. His face was hot, little beads of sweat stood all over his
+head, and he stiffened his body and cried. She held him on her knees,
+with a pan of cold water beside her for the cleaned vegetables and the
+“ducks’ bucket” for the peelings.
+
+“Ts—ts—ts!” she crooned, scraping and boring; “there’s going to be
+another soon, and you can’t both keep on crying. Why don’t you go to
+sleep, baby? I would, if I were you. I’ll tell you a dream. Once upon a
+time there was a little white road—”
+
+She shook back her head, a great lump ached in her throat and then the
+tears ran down her face on to the vegetables.
+
+“That’s no good,” said the Child, shaking them away. “Just stop crying
+until I’ve finished this, baby, and I’ll walk you up and down.”
+
+But by that time she had to peg out the washing for the Frau. A wind
+had sprung up. Standing on tiptoe in the yard, she almost felt she
+would be blown away. There was a bad smell coming from the ducks’ coop,
+which was half full of manure water, but away in the meadow she saw the
+grass blowing like little green hairs. And she remembered having heard
+of a child who had once played for a whole day in just such a meadow
+with real sausages and beer for her dinner—and not a little bit of
+tiredness. Who had told her that story? She could not remember, and yet
+it was so plain.
+
+The wet clothes flapped in her face as she pegged them; danced and
+jigged on the line, bulged out and twisted. She walked back to the
+house with lagging steps, looking longingly at the grass in the meadow.
+
+“What must I do now, please?” she said.
+
+“Make the beds and hang the baby’s mattress out of the window, then get
+the wagon and take him for a little walk along the road. In front of
+the house, mind—where I can see you. Don’t stand there, gaping! Then
+come in when I call you and help me cut up the salad.”
+
+When she had made the beds the Child stood and looked at them. Gently
+she stroked the pillow with her hand, and then, just for one moment,
+let her head rest there. Again the smarting lump in her throat, the
+stupid tears that fell and kept on falling as she dressed the baby and
+dragged the little wagon up and down the road.
+
+A man passed, driving a bullock wagon. He wore a long, queer feather in
+his hat, and whistled as he passed. Two girls with bundles on their
+shoulders came walking out of the village—one wore a red handkerchief
+about her head and one a blue. They were laughing and holding each
+other by the hand. Then the sun pushed by a heavy fold of grey cloud
+and spread a warm yellow light over everything.
+
+“Perhaps,” thought the Child-Who-Was-Tired, “if I walked far enough up
+this road I might come to a little white one, with tall black trees on
+either side—a little road—”
+
+“Salad, salad!” cried the Frau’s voice from the house.
+
+Soon the children came home from school, dinner was eaten, the Man took
+the Frau’s share of pudding as well as his own, and the three children
+seemed to smear themselves all over with whatever they ate. Then more
+dish-washing and more cleaning and baby-minding. So the afternoon
+dragged coldly through.
+
+Old Frau Grathwohl came in with a fresh piece of pig’s flesh for the
+Frau, and the Child listened to them gossiping together.
+
+“Frau Manda went on her ‘journey to Rome’ last night, and brought back
+a daughter. How are you feeling?”
+
+“I was sick twice this morning,” said the Frau. “My insides are all
+twisted up with having children too quickly.”
+
+“I see you’ve got a new help,” commented old Mother Grathwohl.
+
+“Oh, dear Lord”—the Frau lowered her voice—“don’t you know her? She’s
+the free-born one—daughter of the waitress at the railway station. They
+found her mother trying to squeeze her head in the wash-hand jug, and
+the child’s half silly.”
+
+“Ts—ts—ts!” whispered the “free-born” one to the baby.
+
+As the day drew in the Child-Who-Was-Tired did not know how to fight
+her sleepiness any longer. She was afraid to sit down or stand still.
+As she sat at supper the Man and the Frau seemed to swell to an immense
+size as she watched them, and then become smaller than dolls, with
+little voices that seemed to come from outside the window. Looking at
+the baby, it suddenly had two heads, and then no head. Even his crying
+made her feel worse. When she thought of the nearness of bedtime she
+shook all over with excited joy. But as eight o’clock approached there
+was the sound of wheels on the road, and presently in came a party of
+friends to spend the evening.
+
+Then it was:
+
+“Put on the coffee.”
+
+“Bring me the sugar tin.”
+
+“Carry the chairs out of the bedroom.”
+
+“Set the table.”
+
+And, finally, the Frau sent her into the next room to keep the baby
+quiet.
+
+There was a little piece of candle burning in the enamel bracket. As
+she walked up and down she saw her great big shadow on the wall like a
+grown-up person with a grown-up baby. Whatever would it look like when
+she carried two babies so!
+
+“Ts—ts—ts! Once upon a time she was walking along a little white road,
+with oh! such great big black trees on either side.”
+
+“Here you!” called the Frau’s voice, “bring me my new jacket from
+behind the door.” And as she took it into the warm room one of the
+women said, “She looks like an owl. Such children are seldom right in
+their heads.”
+
+“Why don’t you keep that baby quiet?” said the Man, who had just drunk
+enough beer to make him feel very brave and master of his house.
+
+“If you don’t keep that baby quiet you’ll know why later on.”
+
+They burst out laughing as she stumbled back into the bedroom.
+
+“I don’t believe Holy Mary could keep him quiet,” she murmured. “Did
+Jesus cry like this when He was little? If I was not so tired perhaps I
+could do it; but the baby just knows that I want to go to sleep. And
+there is going to be another one.”
+
+She flung the baby on the bed, and stood looking at him with terror.
+
+From the next room there came the jingle of glasses and the warm sound
+of laughter.
+
+And she suddenly had a beautiful marvellous idea.
+
+She laughed for the first time that day, and clapped her hands.
+
+“Ts—ts—ts!” she said, “lie there, silly one; you _will_ go to sleep.
+You’ll not cry any more or wake up in the night. Funny, little, ugly
+baby.”
+
+He opened his eyes, and shrieked loudly at the sight of the
+Child-Who-Was-Tired. From the next room she heard the Frau call out to
+her.
+
+“One moment—he is almost asleep,” she cried.
+
+And then gently, smiling, on tiptoe, she brought the pink bolster from
+the Frau’s bed and covered the baby’s face with it, pressed with all
+her might as he struggled, “like a duck with its head off, wriggling”,
+she thought.
+
+She heaved a long sigh, then fell back on to the floor, and was walking
+along a little white road with tall black trees on either side, a
+little road that led to nowhere, and where nobody walked at all—nobody
+at all.
+
+
+
+
+THE ADVANCED LADY
+
+
+“Do you think we might ask her to come with us,” said Fräulein Elsa,
+retying her pink sash ribbon before my mirror. “You know, although she
+is so intellectual, I cannot help feeling convinced that she has some
+secret sorrow. And Lisa told me this morning, as she was turning out my
+room, that she remains hours and hours by herself, writing; in fact
+Lisa says she is writing a book! I suppose that is why she never cares
+to mingle with us, and has so little time for her husband and the
+child.”
+
+“Well, _you_ ask her,” said I. “I have never spoken to the lady.”
+
+Elsa blushed faintly. “I have only spoken to her once,” she confessed.
+“I took her a bunch of wild flowers, to her room, and she came to the
+door in a white gown, with her hair loose. Never shall I forget that
+moment. She just took the flowers, and I heard her—because the door was
+not quite properly shut—I heard her, as I walked down the passage,
+saying ‘Purity, fragrance, the fragrance of purity and the purity of
+fragrance!’ It was wonderful!”
+
+At that moment Frau Kellermann knocked at the door.
+
+“Are you ready?” she said, coming into the room and nodding to us very
+genially. “The gentlemen are waiting on the steps, and I have asked the
+Advanced Lady to come with us.”
+
+“Na, how extraordinary!” cried Elsa. “But this moment the gnädige Frau
+and I were debating whether—”
+
+“Yes, I met her coming out of her room and she said she was charmed
+with the idea. Like all of us, she has never been to Schlingen. She is
+downstairs now, talking to Herr Erchardt. I think we shall have a
+delightful afternoon.”
+
+“Is Fritzi waiting too?” asked Elsa.
+
+“Of course he is, dear child—as impatient as a hungry man listening for
+the dinner bell. Run along!”
+
+Elsa ran, and Frau Kellermann smiled at me significantly. In the past
+she and I had seldom spoken to each other, owing to the fact that her
+“one remaining joy”—her charming little Karl—had never succeeded in
+kindling into flame those sparks of maternity which are supposed to
+glow in great numbers upon the altar of every respectable female heart;
+but, in view of a premeditated journey together, we became delightfully
+cordial.
+
+“For us,” she said, “there will be a double joy. We shall be able to
+watch the happiness of these two dear children, Elsa and Fritz. They
+only received the letters of blessing from their parents yesterday
+morning. It is a very strange thing, but whenever I am in the company
+of newly-engaged couples I blossom. Newly-engaged couples, mothers with
+first babies, and normal deathbeds have precisely the same effect on
+me. Shall we join the others?”
+
+I was longing to ask her why normal deathbeds should cause anyone to
+burst into flower, and said, “Yes, do let us.”
+
+We were greeted by the little party of “cure guests” on the pension
+steps, with those cries of joy and excitement which herald so
+pleasantly the mildest German excursion. Herr Erchardt and I had not
+met before that day, so, in accordance with strict pension custom, we
+asked each other how long we had slept during the night, had we dreamed
+agreeably, what time we had got up, was the coffee fresh when we had
+appeared at breakfast, and how had we passed the morning. Having toiled
+up these stairs of almost national politeness we landed, triumphant and
+smiling, and paused to recover breath.
+
+“And now,” said Herr Erchardt, “I have a pleasure in store for you. The
+Frau Professor is going to be one of us for the afternoon. Yes,”
+nodding graciously to the Advanced Lady. “Allow me to introduce you to
+each other.”
+
+We bowed very formally, and looked each other over with that eye which
+is known as “eagle” but is far more the property of the female than
+that most unoffending of birds. “I think you are English?” she said. I
+acknowledged the fact. “I am reading a great many English books just
+now—rather, I am studying them.”
+
+“Nu,” cried Herr Erchardt. “Fancy that! What a bond already! I have
+made up my mind to know Shakespeare in his mother tongue before I die,
+but that you, Frau Professor, should be already immersed in those wells
+of English thought!”
+
+“From what I have read,” she said, “I do not think they are very deep
+wells.”
+
+He nodded sympathetically.
+
+“No,” he answered, “so I have heard.... But do not let us embitter our
+excursion for our little English friend. We will speak of this another
+time.”
+
+“Nu, are we ready?” cried Fritz, who stood, supporting Elsa’s elbow in
+his hand, at the foot of the steps. It was immediately discovered that
+Karl was lost.
+
+“Ka—rl, Karl—chen!” we cried. No response.
+
+“But he was here one moment ago,” said Herr Langen, a tired, pale
+youth, who was recovering from a nervous breakdown due to much
+philosophy and little nourishment. “He was sitting here, picking out
+the works of his watch with a hairpin!”
+
+Frau Kellermann rounded on him. “Do you mean to say, my dear Herr
+Langen, you did not stop the child!”
+
+“No,” said Herr Langen; “I’ve tried stopping him before now.”
+
+“Da, that child has such energy; never is his brain at peace. If he is
+not doing one thing, he is doing another!”
+
+“Perhaps he has started on the dining-room clock now,” suggested Herr
+Langen, abominably hopeful.
+
+The Advanced Lady suggested that we should go without him. “I never
+take my little daughter for walks,” she said. “I have accustomed her to
+sitting quietly in my bedroom from the time I go out until I return!”
+
+“There he is—there he is,” piped Elsa, and Karl was observed slithering
+down a chestnut-tree, very much the worse for twigs.
+
+“I’ve been listening to what you said about me, mumma,” he confessed
+while Frau Kellermann brushed him down. “It was not true about the
+watch. I was only looking at it, and the little girl never stays in the
+bedroom. She told me herself she always goes down to the kitchen, and—”
+
+“Da, that’s enough!” said Frau Kellermann.
+
+We marched _en masse_ along the station road. It was a very warm
+afternoon, and continuous parties of “cure guests”, who were giving
+their digestions a quiet airing in pension gardens, called after us,
+asked if we were going for a walk, and cried “Herr Gott—happy journey”
+with immense ill-concealed relish when we mentioned Schlingen.
+
+“But that is eight kilometres,” shouted one old man with a white beard,
+who leaned against a fence, fanning himself with a yellow handkerchief.
+
+“Seven and a half,” answered Herr Erchardt shortly.
+
+“Eight,” bellowed the sage.
+
+“Seven and a half!”
+
+“Eight!”
+
+“The man is mad,” said Herr Erchardt.
+
+“Well, please let him be mad in peace,” said I, putting my hands over
+my ears.
+
+“Such ignorance must not be allowed to go uncontradicted,” said he, and
+turning his back on us, too exhausted to cry out any longer, he held up
+seven and a half fingers.
+
+“Eight!” thundered the greybeard, with pristine freshness.
+
+We felt very sobered, and did not recover until we reached a white
+signpost which entreated us to leave the road and walk through the
+field path—without trampling down more of the grass than was necessary.
+Being interpreted, it meant “single file”, which was distressing for
+Elsa and Fritz. Karl, like a happy child, gambolled ahead, and cut down
+as many flowers as possible with the stick of his mother’s
+parasol—followed the three others—then myself—and the lovers in the
+rear. And above the conversation of the advance party I had the
+privilege of hearing these delicious whispers.
+
+Fritz: “Do you love me?” Elsa: “Nu—yes.” Fritz passionately: “But how
+much?” To which Elsa never replied—except with “How much do _you_ love
+_me?_”
+
+Fritz escaped that truly Christian trap by saying, “I asked you first.”
+
+It grew so confusing that I slipped in front of Frau Kellermann—and
+walked in the peaceful knowledge that she was blossoming and I was
+under no obligation to inform even my nearest and dearest as to the
+precise capacity of my affections. “What right have they to ask each
+other such questions the day after letters of blessing have been
+received?” I reflected. “What right have they even to question each
+other? Love which becomes engaged and married is a purely affirmative
+affair—they are usurping the privileges of their betters and wisers!”
+
+The edges of the field frilled over into an immense pine forest—very
+pleasant and cool it looked. Another signpost begged us to keep to the
+broad path for Schlingen and deposit waste paper and fruit peelings in
+wire receptacles attached to the benches for the purpose. We sat down
+on the first bench, and Karl with great curiosity explored the wire
+receptacle.
+
+“I love woods,” said the Advanced Lady, smiling pitifully into the air.
+“In a wood my hair already seems to stir and remember something of its
+savage origin.”
+
+“But speaking literally,” said Frau Kellermann, after an appreciative
+pause, “there is really nothing better than the air of pine-trees for
+the scalp.”
+
+“Oh, Frau Kellermann, please don’t break the spell,” said Elsa.
+
+The Advanced Lady looked at her very sympathetically. “Have you, too,
+found the magic heart of Nature?” she said.
+
+That was Herr Langen’s cue. “Nature has no heart,” said he, very
+bitterly and readily, as people do who are over-philosophised and
+underfed. “She creates that she may destroy. She eats that she may spew
+up and she spews up that she may eat. That is why we, who are forced to
+eke out an existence at her trampling feet, consider the world mad, and
+realise the deadly vulgarity of production.”
+
+“Young man,” interrupted Herr Erchardt, “you have never lived and you
+have never suffered!”
+
+“Oh, excuse me—how can you know?”
+
+“I know because you have told me, and there’s an end of it. Come back
+to this bench in ten years’ time and repeat those words to me,” said
+Frau Kellermann, with an eye upon Fritz, who was engaged in counting
+Elsa’s fingers with passionate fervour—“and bring with you your young
+wife, Herr Langen, and watch, perhaps, your little child playing with—”
+She turned towards Karl, who had rooted an old illustrated paper out of
+the receptacle and was spelling over an advertisement for the
+enlargement of Beautiful Breasts.
+
+The sentence remained unfinished. We decided to move on. As we plunged
+more deeply into the wood our spirits rose—reaching a point where they
+burst into song—on the part of the three men—“O Welt, wie bist du
+wunderbar!”—the lower part of which was piercingly sustained by Herr
+Langen, who attempted quite unsuccessfully to infuse satire into it in
+accordance with his—“world outlook”. They strode ahead and left us to
+trail after them—hot and happy.
+
+“Now is the opportunity,” said Frau Kellermann. “Dear Frau Professor,
+do tell us a little about your book.”
+
+“Ach, how did you know I was writing one?” she cried playfully.
+
+“Elsa, here, had it from Lisa. And never before have I personally known
+a woman who was writing a book. How do you manage to find enough to
+write down?”
+
+“That is never the trouble,” said the Advanced Lady—she took Elsa’s arm
+and leaned on it gently. “The trouble is to know where to stop. My
+brain has been a hive for years, and about three months ago the pent-up
+waters burst over my soul, and since then I am writing all day until
+late into the night, still ever finding fresh inspirations and thoughts
+which beat impatient wings about my heart.”
+
+“Is it a novel?” asked Elsa shyly.
+
+“Of course it is a novel,” said I.
+
+“How can you be so positive?” said Frau Kellermann, eyeing me severely.
+
+“Because nothing but a novel could produce an effect like that.”
+
+“Ach, don’t quarrel,” said the Advanced Lady sweetly. “Yes, it is a
+novel—upon the Modern Woman. For this seems to me the woman’s hour. It
+is mysterious and almost prophetic, it is the symbol of the true
+advanced woman: not one of those violent creatures who deny their sex
+and smother their frail wings under... under—”
+
+“The English tailor-made?” from Frau Kellermann.
+
+“I was not going to put it like that. Rather, under the lying garb of
+false masculinity!”
+
+“Such a subtle distinction!” I murmured.
+
+“Whom then,” asked Fräulein Elsa, looking adoringly at the Advanced
+Lady—“whom then do you consider the true woman?”
+
+“She is the incarnation of comprehending Love!”
+
+“But my dear Frau Professor,” protested Frau Kellermann, “you must
+remember that one has so few opportunities for exhibiting Love within
+the family circle nowadays. One’s husband is at business all day, and
+naturally desires to sleep when he returns home—one’s children are out
+of the lap and in at the university before one can lavish anything at
+all upon them!”
+
+“But Love is not a question of lavishing,” said the Advanced Lady. “It
+is the lamp carried in the bosom touching with serene rays all the
+heights and depths of—”
+
+“Darkest Africa,” I murmured flippantly.
+
+She did not hear.
+
+“The mistake we have made in the past—as a sex,” said she, “is in not
+realising that our gifts of giving are for the whole world—we are the
+glad sacrifice of ourselves!”
+
+“Oh!” cried Elsa rapturously, and almost bursting into gifts as she
+breathed—“how I know that! You know ever since Fritz and I have been
+engaged, I share the desire to give to everybody, to share everything!”
+
+“How extremely dangerous,” said I.
+
+“It is only the beauty of danger, or the danger of beauty” said the
+Advanced Lady—“and there you have the ideal of my book—that woman is
+nothing but a gift.”
+
+I smiled at her very sweetly. “Do you know,” I said, “I, too, would
+like to write a book, on the advisability of caring for daughters, and
+taking them for airings and keeping them out of kitchens!”
+
+I think the masculine element must have felt these angry vibrations:
+they ceased from singing, and together we climbed out of the wood, to
+see Schlingen below us, tucked in a circle of hills, the white houses
+shining in the sunlight, “for all the world like eggs in a bird’s
+nest”, as Herr Erchardt declared. We descended upon Schlingen and
+demanded sour milk with fresh cream and bread at the Inn of the Golden
+Stag, a most friendly place, with tables in a rose-garden where hens
+and chickens ran riot—even flopping upon the disused tables and pecking
+at the red checks on the cloths. We broke the bread into the bowls,
+added the cream, and stirred it round with flat wooden spoons, the
+landlord and his wife standing by.
+
+“Splendid weather!” said Herr Erchardt, waving his spoon at the
+landlord, who shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“What! you don’t call it splendid!”
+
+“As you please,” said the landlord, obviously scorning us.
+
+“Such a beautiful walk,” said Fräulein Elsa, making a free gift of her
+most charming smile to the landlady.
+
+“I never walk,” said the landlady; “when I go to Mindelbau my man
+drives me—I’ve more important things to do with my legs than walk them
+through the dust!”
+
+“I like these people,” confessed Herr Langen to me. “I like them very,
+very much. I think I shall take a room here for the whole summer.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“Oh, because they live close to the earth, and therefore despise it.”
+
+He pushed away his bowl of sour milk and lit a cigarette. We ate,
+solidly and seriously, until those seven and a half kilometres to
+Mindelbau stretched before us like an eternity. Even Karl’s activity
+became so full fed that he lay on the ground and removed his leather
+waistbelt. Elsa suddenly leaned over to Fritz and whispered, who on
+hearing her to the end and asking her if she loved him, got up and made
+a little speech.
+
+“We—we wish to celebrate our betrothal by—by—asking you all to drive
+back with us in the landlord’s cart—if—it will hold us!”
+
+“Oh, what a beautiful, noble idea!” said Frau Kellermann, heaving a
+sigh of relief that audibly burst two hooks.
+
+“It is my little gift,” said Elsa to the Advanced Lady, who by virtue
+of three portions almost wept tears of gratitude.
+
+Squeezed into the peasant cart and driven by the landlord, who showed
+his contempt for mother earth by spitting savagely every now and again,
+we jolted home again, and the nearer we came to Mindelbau the more we
+loved it and one another.
+
+“We must have many excursions like this,” said Herr Erchardt to me,
+“for one surely gets to know a person in the simple surroundings of the
+open air—one _shares_ the same joys—one feels friendship. What is it
+your Shakespeare says? One moment, I have it. The friends thou hast,
+and their adoption tried—grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel!”
+
+“But,” said I, feeling very friendly towards him, “the bother about my
+soul is that it refuses to grapple anybody at all—and I am sure that
+the dead weight of a friend whose adoption it had tried would kill it
+immediately. Never yet has it shown the slightest sign of a hoop!”
+
+He bumped against my knees and excused himself and the cart.
+
+“My dear little lady, you must not take the quotation literally.
+Naturally, one is not physically conscious of the hoops; but hoops
+there are in the soul of him or her who loves his fellow-men.... Take
+this afternoon, for instance. How did we start out? As strangers you
+might almost say, and yet—all of us—how have we come home?”
+
+“In a cart,” said the only remaining joy, who sat upon his mother’s lap
+and felt sick.
+
+We skirted the field that we had passed through, going round by the
+cemetery. Herr Langen leaned over the edge of the seat and greeted the
+graves. He was sitting next to the Advanced Lady—inside the shelter of
+her shoulder. I heard her murmur: “You look like a little boy with your
+hair blowing about in the wind.” Herr Langen, slightly less
+bitter—watched the last graves disappear. And I heard her murmur: “Why
+are you so sad? I too am very sad sometimes—but—you look young enough
+for me to dare to say this—I—too—know of much joy!”
+
+“What do you know?” said he.
+
+I leaned over and touched the Advanced Lady’s hand. “Hasn’t it been a
+nice afternoon?” I said questioningly. “But you know, that theory of
+yours about women and Love—it’s as old as the hills—oh, older!”
+
+From the road a sudden shout of triumph. Yes, there he was again—white
+beard, silk handkerchief and undaunted enthusiasm.
+
+“What did I say? Eight kilometres—it is!”
+
+“Seven and a half!” shrieked Herr Erchardt.
+
+“Why, then, do you return in carts? Eight kilometres it must be.”
+
+Herr Erchardt made a cup of his hands and stood up in the jolting cart
+while Frau Kellermann clung to his knees. “Seven and a half!”
+
+“Ignorance must not go uncontradicted!” I said to the Advanced Lady.
+
+
+
+
+THE SWING OF THE PENDULUM
+
+
+The landlady knocked at the door.
+
+“Come in,” said Viola.
+
+“There is a letter for you,” said the landlady, “a special letter”—she
+held the green envelope in a corner of her dingy apron.
+
+“Thanks.” Viola, kneeling on the floor, poking at the little dusty
+stove, stretched out her hand. “Any answer?”
+
+“No; the messenger has gone.”
+
+“Oh, all right!” She did not look the landlady in the face; she was
+ashamed of not having paid her rent, and wondered grimly, without any
+hope, if the woman would begin to bluster again.
+
+“About this money owing to me—” said the landlady.
+
+“Oh, the Lord—off she goes!” thought Viola, turning her back on the
+woman and making a grimace at the stove.
+
+“It’s settle—or it’s go!” The landlady raised her voice; she began to
+bawl. “I’m a landlady, I am, and a respectable woman, I’ll have you
+know. I’ll have no lice in my house, sneaking their way into the
+furniture and eating up everything. It’s cash—or out you go before
+twelve o’clock to-morrow.”
+
+Viola felt rather than saw the woman’s gesture. She shot out her arm in
+a stupid helpless way, as though a dirty pigeon had suddenly flown at
+her face. “Filthy old beast! Ugh! And the smell of her—like stale
+cheese and damp washing.”
+
+“Very well!” she answered shortly; “it’s cash down or I leave
+to-morrow. All right: don’t shout.”
+
+It was extraordinary—always before this woman came near her she
+trembled in her shoes—even the sound of those flat feet stumping up the
+stairs made her feel sick, but once they were face to face she felt
+immensely calm and indifferent, and could not understand why she even
+worried about money, nor why she sneaked out of the house on tiptoe,
+not even daring to shut the door after her in case the landlady should
+hear and shout something terrible, nor why she spent nights pacing up
+and down her room—drawing up sharply before the mirror and saying to a
+tragic reflection: “Money, money, money!” When she was alone her
+poverty was like a huge dream-mountain on which her feet were fast
+rooted—aching with the ache of the size of the thing—but if it came to
+definite action, with no time for imaginings, her dream-mountain
+dwindled into a beastly “hold-your-nose” affair, to be passed as
+quickly as possible, with anger and a strong sense of superiority.
+
+The landlady bounced out of the room, banging the door, so that it
+shook and rattled as though it had listened to the conversation and
+fully sympathised with the old hag.
+
+Squatting on her heels, Viola opened the letter. It was from Casimir:
+
+“I shall be with you at three o’clock this afternoon—and must be off
+again this evening. All news when we meet. I hope you are happier than
+I.—CASIMIR.”
+
+
+“Huh! how kind!” she sneered; “how condescending. Too good of you,
+really!” She sprang to her feet, crumbling the letter in her hands.
+“And how are you to know that I shall stick here awaiting your pleasure
+until three o’clock this afternoon?” But she knew she would; her rage
+was only half sincere. She longed to see Casimir, for she was confident
+that this time she would make him understand the situation.... “For, as
+it is, it’s intolerable—intolerable!” she muttered.
+
+It was ten o’clock in the morning of a grey day curiously lighted by
+pale flashes of sunshine. Searched by these flashes her room looked
+tumbled and grimed. She pulled down the window-blinds—but they gave a
+persistent, whitish glare which was just as bad. The only thing of life
+in the room was a jar of hyacinths given her by the landlady’s
+daughter: it stood on the table exuding a sickly perfume from its plump
+petals; there were even rich buds unfolding, and the leaves shone like
+oil.
+
+Viola went over to the washstand, poured some water into the enamel
+basin, and sponged her face and neck. She dipped her face into the
+water, opened her eyes, and shook her head from side to side—it was
+exhilarating. She did it three times. “I suppose I could drown myself
+if I stayed under long enough,” she thought. “I wonder how long it
+takes to become unconscious?... Often read of women drowning in a
+bucket. I wonder if any air enters by the ears—if the basin would have
+to be as deep as a bucket?” She experimented—gripped the washstand with
+both hands and slowly sank her head into the water, when again there
+was a knock on the door. Not the landlady this time—it must be Casimir.
+With her face and hair dripping, with her petticoat bodice unbuttoned,
+she ran and opened it.
+
+A strange man stood against the lintel—seeing her, he opened his eyes
+very wide and smiled delightfully. “Excuse me—does Fräulein Schäfer
+live here?”
+
+“No; never heard of her.” His smile was so infectious, she wanted to
+smile too—and the water had made her feel so fresh and rosy.
+
+The strange man appeared overwhelmed with astonishment. “She doesn’t?”
+he cried. “She is out, you mean!”
+
+“No, she’s not living here,” answered Viola.
+
+“But—pardon—one moment.” He moved from the door lintel, standing
+squarely in front of her. He unbuttoned his greatcoat and drew a slip
+of paper from the breast pocket, smoothing it in his gloved fingers
+before handing it to her.
+
+“Yes, that’s the address, right enough, but there must be a mistake in
+the number. So many lodging-houses in this street, you know, and so
+big.”
+
+Drops of water fell from her hair on to the paper. She burst out
+laughing. “Oh, _how_ dreadful I must look—one moment!” She ran back to
+the washstand and caught up a towel. The door was still open.... After
+all, there was nothing more to be said. Why on earth had she asked him
+to wait a moment? She folded the towel round her shoulders, and
+returned to the door, suddenly grave. “I’m sorry; I know no such name,”
+in a sharp voice.
+
+Said the strange man: “Sorry, too. Have you been living here long?”
+
+“Er—yes—a long time.” She began to close the door slowly.
+
+“Well—good-morning, thanks so much. Hope I haven’t been a bother.”
+
+“Good-morning.”
+
+She heard him walk down the passage and then pause—lighting a
+cigarette. Yes—a faint scent of delicious cigarette smoke penetrated
+her room. She sniffed at it, smiling again. Well, that had been a
+fascinating interlude! He looked so amazingly happy: his heavy clothes
+and big buttoned gloves; his beautifully brushed hair... and that
+smile.... “Jolly” was the word—just a well-fed boy with the world for
+his playground. People like that did one good—one felt “made over” at
+the sight of them. _Sane_ they were—so sane and solid. You could depend
+on them never having one mad impulse from the day they were born until
+the day they died. And Life was in league with them—jumped them on her
+knee—quite rightly, too. At that moment she noticed Casimir’s letter,
+crumpled up on the floor—the smile faded. Staring at the letter she
+began braiding her hair—a dull feeling of rage crept through her—she
+seemed to be braiding it into her brain, and binding it, tightly, above
+her head.... Of course that had been the mistake all along. What had?
+Oh, Casimir’s frightful seriousness. If she had been happy when they
+first met she never would have looked at him—but they had been like two
+patients in the same hospital ward—each finding comfort in the sickness
+of the other—sweet foundation for a love episode! Misfortune had
+knocked their heads together: they had looked at each other, stunned
+with the conflict and sympathised... “I wish I could step outside the
+whole affair and just judge it—then I’d find a way out. I certainly was
+in love with Casimir.... Oh, be sincere for once.” She flopped down on
+the bed and hid her face in the pillow. “I was not in love. I wanted
+somebody to look after me—and keep me until my work began to sell—and
+he kept bothers with other men away. And what would have happened if he
+hadn’t come along? I would have spent my wretched little pittance, and
+then—Yes, that was what decided me, thinking about that ‘then.’ He was
+the only solution. And I believed in him then. I thought his work had
+only to be recognised once, and he’d roll in wealth. I thought perhaps
+we might be poor for a month—but he said, if only he could have me, the
+stimulus.... Funny, if it wasn’t so damned tragic! Exactly the contrary
+has happened—he hasn’t had a thing published for months—neither have
+I—but then I didn’t expect to. Yes, the truth is, I’m hard and bitter,
+and I have neither faith nor love for unsuccessful men. I always end by
+despising them as I despise Casimir. I suppose it’s the savage pride of
+the female who likes to think the man to whom she has given herself
+must be a very great chief indeed. But to stew in this disgusting house
+while Casimir scours the land in the hope of finding one editorial open
+door—it’s humiliating. It’s changed my whole nature. I wasn’t born for
+poverty—I only flower among really jolly people, and people who never
+are worried.”
+
+The figure of the strange man rose before her—would not be dismissed.
+“That was the man for me, after all is said and done—a man without a
+care—who’d give me everything I want and with whom I’d always feel that
+sense of life and of being in touch with the world. I never wanted to
+fight—it was thrust on me. Really, there’s a fount of happiness in me,
+that is drying up, little by little, in this hateful existence. I’ll be
+dead if this goes on—and”—she stirred in the bed and flung out her
+arms—“I want passion, and love, and adventure—I yearn for them. Why
+should I stay here and rot?—I am rotting!” she cried, comforting
+herself with the sound of her breaking voice. “But if I tell Casimir
+all this when he comes this afternoon, and he says, ‘Go’—as he
+certainly will—that’s another thing I loathe about him—he’s under my
+thumb—what should I do then—where should I go to?” There was nowhere.
+“I don’t want to work—or carve out my own path. I want ease and any
+amount of nursing in the lap of luxury. There is only one thing I’m
+fitted for, and that is to be a great courtesan.” But she did not know
+how to go about it. She was frightened to go into the streets—she heard
+of such awful things happening to those women—men with diseases—or men
+who didn’t pay—besides, the idea of a strange man every night—no, that
+was out of the question. “If I’d the clothes I would go to a really
+good hotel and find some wealthy man... like the strange man this
+morning. He would be ideal. Oh, if I only had his address—I am sure I
+would fascinate him. I’d keep him laughing all day—I’d make him give me
+unlimited money....” At the thought she grew warm and soft. She began
+to dream of a wonderful house, and of presses full of clothes and of
+perfumes. She saw herself stepping into carriages—looking at the
+strange man with a mysterious, voluptuous glance—she practised the
+glance, lying on the bed—and never another worry, just drugged with
+happiness. That was the life for her. Well, the thing to do was to let
+Casimir go on his wild-goose chase that evening, and while he was
+away—What! Also—please to remember—there was the rent to be paid before
+twelve next morning, and she hadn’t the money for a square meal. At the
+thought of food she felt a sharp twinge in her stomach, a sensation as
+though there were a hand in her stomach, squeezing it dry. She was
+terribly hungry—all Casimir’s fault—and that man had lived on the fat
+of the land ever since he was born. He looked as though he could order
+a magnificent dinner. Oh, why hadn’t she played her cards better?—he’d
+been sent by Providence—and she’d snubbed him. “If I had that time over
+again, I’d be safe by now.” And instead of the ordinary man who had
+spoken with her at the door her mind created a brilliant, laughing
+image, who would treat her like a queen.... “There’s only one thing I
+could not stand—that he should be coarse or vulgar. Well, he wasn’t—he
+was obviously a man of the world, and the way he apologised... I have
+enough faith in my own power and beauty to know I could make a man
+treat me just as I wanted to be treated.”... It floated into her
+dreams—that sweet scent of cigarette smoke. And then she remembered
+that she had heard nobody go down the stone stairs. Was it possible
+that the strange man was still there?... The thought was too
+absurd—Life didn’t play tricks like that—and yet—she was quite
+conscious of his nearness. Very quietly she got up, unhooked from the
+back of the door a long white gown, buttoned it on—smiling slyly. She
+did not know what was going to happen. She only thought: “Oh, what
+fun!” and that they were playing a delicious game—this strange man and
+she. Very gently she turned the door-handle, screwing up her face and
+biting her lip as the lock snapped back. Of course, there he
+was—leaning against the banister rail. He wheeled round as she slipped
+into the passage.
+
+“Da,” she muttered, folding her gown tightly around her, “I must go
+downstairs and fetch some wood. Brr! the cold!”
+
+“There isn’t any wood,” volunteered the strange man. She gave a little
+cry of astonishment, and then tossed her head.
+
+“You again,” she said scornfully, conscious the while of his merry eye,
+and the fresh, strong smell of his healthy body.
+
+“The landlady shouted out there was no wood left. I just saw her go out
+to buy some.”
+
+“Story—story!” she longed to cry. He came quite close to her, stood
+over her and whispered:
+
+“Aren’t you going to ask me to finish my cigarette in your room?”
+
+She nodded. “You may if you want to!”
+
+In that moment together in the passage a miracle had happened. Her room
+was quite changed—it was full of sweet light and the scent of hyacinth
+flowers. Even the furniture appeared different—exciting. Quick as a
+flash she remembered childish parties when they had played charades,
+and one side had left the room and come in again to act a word—just
+what she was doing now. The strange man went over to the stove and sat
+down in her arm-chair. She did not want him to talk or come near her—it
+was enough to see him in the room, so secure and happy. How hungry she
+had been for the nearness of someone like that—who knew nothing at all
+about her—and made no demands—but just lived. Viola ran over to the
+table and put her arms round the jar of hyacinths.
+
+“Beautiful! Beautiful!” she cried—burying her head in the flowers—and
+sniffing greedily at the scent. Over the leaves she looked at the man
+and laughed.
+
+“You are a funny little thing,” said he lazily.
+
+“Why? Because I love flowers?”
+
+“I’d far rather you loved other things,” said the strange man slowly.
+She broke off a little pink petal and smiled at it.
+
+“Let me send you some flowers,” said the strange man. “I’ll send you a
+roomful if you’d like them.”
+
+His voice frightened her slightly. “Oh no, thanks—this one is quite
+enough for me.”
+
+“No, it isn’t”—in a teasing voice.
+
+“What a stupid remark!” thought Viola, and looking at him again he did
+not seem quite so jolly. She noticed that his eyes were set too closely
+together—and they were too small. Horrible thought, that he should
+prove stupid.
+
+“What do you do all day?” she asked hastily.
+
+“Nothing.”
+
+“Nothing at all?”
+
+“Why should I do anything?”
+
+“Oh, don’t imagine for one moment that I condemn such wisdom—only it
+sounds too good to be true!”
+
+“What’s that?”—he craned forward. “What sounds too good to be true?”
+Yes—there was no denying it—he looked silly.
+
+“I suppose the searching after Fräulein Schäfer doesn’t occupy all your
+days.”
+
+“Oh no”—he smiled broadly—“that’s very good! By Jove! no. I drive a
+good bit—are you keen on horses?”
+
+She nodded. “Love them.”
+
+“You must come driving with me—I’ve got a fine pair of greys. Will
+you?”
+
+“Pretty I’d look perched behind greys in my one and only hat,” thought
+she. Aloud: “I’d love to.” Her easy acceptance pleased him.
+
+“How about to-morrow?” he suggested. “Suppose you have lunch with me
+to-morrow and I take you driving.”
+
+After all—this was just a game. “Yes, I’m not busy to-morrow,” she
+said.
+
+A little pause—then the strange man patted his leg. “Why don’t you come
+and sit down?” he said.
+
+She pretended not to see and swung on to the table. “Oh, I’m all right
+here.”
+
+“No, you’re not”—again the teasing voice. “Come and sit on my knee.”
+
+“Oh no,” said Viola very heartily, suddenly busy with her hair.
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“I don’t want to.”
+
+“Oh, come along”—impatiently.
+
+She shook her head from side to side. “I wouldn’t dream of such a
+thing.”
+
+At that he got up and came over to her. “Funny little puss cat!” He put
+up one hand to touch her hair.
+
+“Don’t,” she said—and slipped off the table. “I—I think it’s time you
+went now.” She was quite frightened now—thinking only: “This man must
+be got rid of as quickly as possible.”
+
+“Oh, but you don’t want me to go?”
+
+“Yes, I do—I’m very busy.”
+
+“Busy. What does the pussy cat do all day?”
+
+“Lots and lots of things!” She wanted to push him out of the room and
+slam the door on him—idiot—fool—cruel disappointment.
+
+“What’s she frowning for?” he asked. “Is she worried about anything?”
+Suddenly serious: “I say—you know, are you in any financial difficulty?
+Do you want money? I’ll give it to you if you like!”
+
+“Money! Steady on the brake—don’t lose your head!”—so she spoke to
+herself.
+
+“I’ll give you two hundred marks if you’ll kiss me.”
+
+“Oh, boo! What a condition! And I don’t want to kiss you—I don’t like
+kissing. Please go!”
+
+“Yes—you do!—yes, you do.” He caught hold of her arms above the elbows.
+She struggled, and was quite amazed to realise how angry she felt.
+
+“Let me go—immediately!” she cried—and he slipped one arm round her
+body, and drew her towards him—like a bar of iron across her back—that
+arm.
+
+“Leave me alone! I tell you. Don’t be mean! I didn’t want this to
+happen when you came into my room. How dare you?”
+
+“Well, kiss me and I’ll go!”
+
+It was too idiotic—dodging that stupid, smiling face.
+
+“I won’t kiss you!—you brute!—I won’t!” Somehow she slipped out of his
+arms and ran to the wall—stood back against it—breathing quickly.
+
+“Get out!” she stammered. “Go on now, clear out!”
+
+At that moment, when he was not touching her, she quite enjoyed
+herself. She thrilled at her own angry voice. “To think I should talk
+to a man like that!” An angry flush spread over his face—his lips
+curled back, showing his teeth—just like a dog, thought Viola. He made
+a rush at her, and held her against the wall—pressed upon her with all
+the weight of his body. This time she could not get free.
+
+“I won’t kiss you. I won’t. Stop doing that! Ugh! you’re like a dog—you
+ought to find lovers round lamp-posts—you beast—you fiend!”
+
+He did not answer. With an expression of the most absurd determination
+he pressed ever more heavily upon her. He did not even look at her—but
+rapped out in a sharp voice: “Keep quiet—keep quiet.”
+
+“Gar-r! Why are men so strong?” She began to cry. “Go away—I don’t want
+you, you dirty creature. I want to murder you. Oh, my God! if I had a
+knife.”
+
+“Don’t be silly—come and be good!” He dragged her towards the bed.
+
+“Do you suppose I’m a light woman?” she snarled, and swooping over she
+fastened her teeth in his glove.
+
+“Ach! don’t do that—you are hurting me!”
+
+She did not let go, but her heart said, “Thank the Lord I thought of
+this.”
+
+“Stop this minute—you vixen—you bitch.” He threw her away from him. She
+saw with joy that his eyes were full of tears. “You’ve really hurt me,”
+he said in a choking voice.
+
+“Of course I have. I meant to. That’s nothing to what I’ll do if you
+touch me again.”
+
+The strange man picked up his hat. “No thanks,” he said grimly. “But
+I’ll not forget this—I’ll go to your landlady.”
+
+“Pooh!” She shrugged her shoulders and laughed. “I’ll tell her you
+forced your way in here and tried to assault me. Who will she
+believe?—with your bitten hand. You go and find your Schäfers.”
+
+A sensation of glorious, intoxicating happiness flooded Viola. She
+rolled her eyes at him. “If you don’t go away this moment I’ll bite you
+again,” she said, and the absurd words started her laughing. Even when
+the door was closed, hearing him descending the stairs, she laughed,
+and danced about the room.
+
+What a morning! Oh, chalk it up. That was her first fight, and she’d
+won—she’d conquered that beast—all by herself. Her hands were still
+trembling. She pulled up the sleeve of her gown—great red marks on her
+arms. “My ribs will be blue. I’ll be blue all over,” she reflected. “If
+only that beloved Casimir could have seen us.” And the feeling of rage
+and disgust against Casimir had totally disappeared. How could the poor
+darling help not having any money? It was her fault as much as his, and
+he, just like her, was apart from the world, fighting it, just as she
+had done. If only three o’clock would come. She saw herself running
+towards him and putting her arms round his neck. “My blessed one! Of
+course we are bound to win. Do you love me still? Oh, I have been
+horrible lately.”
+
+
+
+
+A BLAZE
+
+
+“Max, you silly devil, you’ll break your neck if you go careering down
+the slide that way. Drop it, and come to the Club House with me and get
+some coffee.”
+
+“I’ve had enough for to-day. I’m damp all through. There, give us a
+cigarette, Victor, old man. When are you going home?”
+
+“Not for another hour. It’s fine this afternoon, and I’m getting into
+decent shape. Look out, get off the track; here comes Fräulein Winkel.
+Damned elegant the way she manages her sleigh!”
+
+“I’m cold all through. That’s the worst of this place—the mists—it’s a
+damp cold. Here, Forman, look after this sleigh—and stick it somewhere
+so that I can get it without looking through a hundred and fifty others
+to-morrow morning.”
+
+They sat down at a small round table near the stove and ordered coffee.
+Victor sprawled in his chair, patting his little brown dog Bobo and
+looking, half laughingly, at Max.
+
+“What’s the matter, my dear? Isn’t the world being nice and pretty?”
+
+“I want my coffee, and I want to put my feet into my pocket—they’re
+like stones.... Nothing to eat, thanks—the cake is like underdone
+india-rubber here.”
+
+Fuchs and Wistuba came and sat at their table. Max half turned his back
+and stretched his feet out to the oven. The three other men all began
+talking at once—of the weather—of the record slide—of the fine
+condition of the Wald See for skating.
+
+Suddenly Fuchs looked at Max, raised his eyebrows and nodded across to
+Victor, who shook his head.
+
+“Baby doesn’t feel well,” he said, feeding the brown dog with broken
+lumps of sugar, “and nobody’s to disturb him—I’m nurse.”
+
+“That’s the first time I’ve ever known him off colour,” said Wistuba.
+“I’ve always imagined he had the better part of this world that could
+not be taken away from him. I think he says his prayers to the dear
+Lord for having spared him being taken home in seven basketsful
+to-night. It’s a fool’s game to risk your all that way and leave the
+nation desolate.”
+
+“Dry up,” said Max. “You ought to be wheeled about on the snow in a
+perambulator.”
+
+“Oh, no offence, I hope. Don’t get nasty.... How’s your wife, Victor?”
+
+“She’s not at all well. She hurt her head coming down the slide with
+Max on Sunday. I told her to stay at home all day.”
+
+“I’m sorry. Are you other fellows going back to the town or stopping on
+here?”
+
+Fuchs and Victor said they were stopping—Max did not answer, but sat
+motionless while the men paid for their coffee and moved away. Victor
+came back a moment and put a hand on his shoulder.
+
+“If you’re going right back, my dear, I wish you’d look Elsa up and
+tell her I won’t be in till late. And feed with us to-night at Limpold,
+will you? And take some hot grog when you get in.”
+
+“Thanks, old fellow, I’m all right. Going back now.”
+
+He rose, stretched himself, buttoned on his heavy coat and lighted
+another cigarette.
+
+From the door Victor watched him plunging through the heavy snow—head
+bent—hands thrust in his pockets—he almost appeared to be running
+through the heavy snow towards the town.
+
+
+Someone came stamping up the stairs—paused at the door of her
+sitting-room, and knocked.
+
+“Is that you, Victor?” she called.
+
+“No, it is I... can I come in?”
+
+“Of course. Why, what a Santa Claus! Hang your coat on the landing and
+shake yourself over the banisters. Had a good time?”
+
+The room was full of light and warmth. Elsa, in a white velvet
+tea-gown, lay curled up on the sofa—a book of fashions on her lap, a
+box of creams beside her.
+
+The curtains were not yet drawn before the windows and a blue light
+shone through, and the white boughs of the trees sprayed across.
+
+A woman’s room—full of flowers and photographs and silk pillows—the
+floor smothered in rugs—an immense tiger-skin under the piano—just the
+head protruding—sleepily savage.
+
+“It was good enough,” said Max. “Victor can’t be in till late. He told
+me to come up and tell you.”
+
+He started walking up and down—tore off his gloves and flung them on
+the table.
+
+“Don’t do that, Max,” said Elsa, “you get on my nerves. And I’ve got a
+headache to-day; I’m feverish and quite flushed.... Don’t I look
+flushed?”
+
+He paused by the window and glanced at her a moment over his shoulder.
+
+“No,” he said; “I didn’t notice it.”
+
+“Oh, you haven’t looked at me properly, and I’ve got a new tea-gown on,
+too.” She pulled her skirts together and patted a little place on the
+couch.
+
+“Come along and sit by me and tell me why you’re being naughty.”
+
+But, standing by the window, he suddenly flung his arm across his eyes.
+
+“Oh,” he said, “I can’t. I’m done—I’m spent—I’m smashed.”
+
+Silence in the room. The fashion-book fell to the floor with a quick
+rustle of leaves. Elsa sat forward, her hands clasped in her lap; a
+strange light shone in her eyes, a red colour stained her mouth.
+
+Then she spoke very quietly.
+
+“Come over here and explain yourself. I don’t know what on earth you
+are talking about.”
+
+“You do know—you know far better than I. You’ve simply played with
+Victor in my presence that I may feel worse. You’ve tormented me—you’ve
+led me on—offering me everything and nothing at all. It’s been a
+spider-and-fly business from first to last—and I’ve never for one
+moment been ignorant of that—and I’ve never for one moment been able to
+withstand it.”
+
+He turned round deliberately.
+
+“Do you suppose that when you asked me to pin your flowers into your
+evening gown—when you let me come into your bedroom when Victor was out
+while you did your hair—when you pretended to be a baby and let me feed
+you with grapes—when you have run to me and searched in all my pockets
+for a cigarette—knowing perfectly well where they were kept—going
+through every pocket just the same—I knowing too—I keeping up the
+farce—do you suppose that now you have finally lighted your bonfire you
+are going to find it a peaceful and pleasant thing—you are going to
+prevent the whole house from burning?”
+
+She suddenly turned white and drew in her breath sharply.
+
+“Don’t talk to me like that. You have no right to talk to me like that.
+I am another man’s wife.”
+
+“Hum,” he sneered, throwing back his head, “that’s rather late in the
+game, and that’s been your trump card all along. You only love Victor
+on the cat-and-cream principle—you a poor little starved kitten that
+he’s given everything to, that he’s carried in his breast, never
+dreaming that those little pink claws could tear out a man’s heart.”
+
+She stirred, looking at him with almost fear in her eyes.
+
+“After all”—unsteadily—“this is my room; I’ll have to ask you to go.”
+
+But he stumbled towards her, knelt down by the couch, burying his head
+in her lap, clasping his arms round her waist.
+
+“And I _love_ you—I love you; the humiliation of it—I adore you.
+Don’t—don’t—just a minute let me stay here—just a moment in a whole
+life—Elsa! Elsa!”
+
+She leant back and pressed her head into the pillows.
+
+Then his muffled voice: “I feel like a savage. I want your whole body.
+I want to carry you away to a cave and love you until I kill you—you
+can’t understand how a man feels. I kill myself when I see you—I’m sick
+of my own strength that turns in upon itself, and dies, and rises new
+born like a Phœnix out of the ashes of that horrible death. Love me
+just this once, tell me a lie, _say_ that you do—you are always lying.”
+
+Instead, she pushed him away—frightened.
+
+“Get up,” she said; “suppose the servant came in with the tea?”
+
+“Oh, ye gods!” He stumbled to his feet and stood staring down at her.
+
+“You’re rotten to the core and so am I. But you’re heathenishly
+beautiful.”
+
+The woman went over to the piano—stood there—striking one note—her
+brows drawn together. Then she shrugged her shoulders and smiled.
+
+“I’ll make a confession. Every word you have said is true. I can’t help
+it. I can’t help seeking admiration any more than a cat can help going
+to people to be stroked. It’s my nature. I’m born out of my time. And
+yet, you know, I’m not a _common_ woman. I like men to adore me—to
+flatter me—even to make love to me—but I would never give myself to any
+man. I would never let a man kiss me... even.”
+
+“It’s immeasurably worse—you’ve no legitimate excuse. Why, even a
+prostitute has a greater sense of generosity!”
+
+“I know,” she said, “I know perfectly well—but I can’t help the way I’m
+built.... Are you going?”
+
+He put on his gloves.
+
+“Well,” he said, “what’s going to happen to us now?”
+
+Again she shrugged her shoulders.
+
+“I haven’t the slightest idea. I never have—just let things occur.”
+
+
+“All alone?” cried Victor. “Has Max been here?”
+
+“He only stayed a moment, and wouldn’t even have tea. I sent him home
+to change his clothes.... He was frightfully boring.”
+
+“You poor darling, your hair’s coming down. I’ll fix it, stand still a
+moment... so you were bored?”
+
+“Um-m—frightfully.... Oh, you’ve run a hairpin right into your wife’s
+head—you naughty boy!”
+
+She flung her arms round his neck and looked up at him, half laughing,
+like a beautiful, loving child.
+
+“God! What a woman you are,” said the man. “You make me so infernally
+proud—dearest, that I... I tell you!”
+
+
+
+
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+<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of In a German Pension, by Katherine Mansfield</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
+at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you
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+country where you are located before using this eBook.
+</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: In a German Pension</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Katherine Mansfield</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: August 22, 2008 [eBook #1472]<br />
+[Most recently updated: January 6, 2022]</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Sue Asscher</div>
+<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN A GERMAN PENSION ***</div>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:55%;">
+<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="cover" />
+</div>
+
+<h1>In a German Pension</h1>
+
+<h2 class="no-break">by Katherine Mansfield</h2>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>Contents</h2>
+
+<table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap01">GERMANS AT MEAT</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap02">THE BARON</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap03">THE SISTER OF THE BARONESS</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap04">FRAU FISCHER</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap05">FRAU BRECHENMACHER ATTENDS A WEDDING</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap06">THE MODERN SOUL</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap07">AT &ldquo;LEHMANN&rsquo;S&rdquo;</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap08">THE LUFT BAD</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap09">A BIRTHDAY</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap10">THE CHILD-WHO-WAS-TIRED</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap11">THE ADVANCED LADY</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap12">THE SWING OF THE PENDULUM</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap13">A BLAZE</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+</table>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap01"></a>GERMANS AT MEAT</h2>
+
+<p>
+Bread soup was placed upon the table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; said the Herr Rat, leaning upon the table as he peered into
+the tureen, &ldquo;that is what I need. My &lsquo;magen&rsquo; has not been in
+order for several days. Bread soup, and just the right consistency. I am a good
+cook myself&rdquo;&mdash;he turned to me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How interesting,&rdquo; I said, attempting to infuse just the right
+amount of enthusiasm into my voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh yes&mdash;when one is not married it is necessary. As for me, I have
+had all I wanted from women without marriage.&rdquo; He tucked his napkin into
+his collar and blew upon his soup as he spoke. &ldquo;Now at nine o&rsquo;clock
+I make myself an English breakfast, but not much. Four slices of bread, two
+eggs, two slices of cold ham, one plate of soup, two cups of tea&mdash;that is
+nothing to you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He asserted the fact so vehemently that I had not the courage to refute it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All eyes were suddenly turned upon me. I felt I was bearing the burden of the
+nation&rsquo;s preposterous breakfast&mdash;I who drank a cup of coffee while
+buttoning my blouse in the morning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing at all,&rdquo; cried Herr Hoffmann from Berlin. &ldquo;Ach, when
+I was in England in the morning I used to eat.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He turned up his eyes and his moustache, wiping the soup drippings from his
+coat and waistcoat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do they really eat so much?&rdquo; asked Fräulein Stiegelauer.
+&ldquo;Soup and baker&rsquo;s bread and pig&rsquo;s flesh, and tea and coffee
+and stewed fruit, and honey and eggs, and cold fish and kidneys, and hot fish
+and liver? All the ladies eat, too, especially the ladies.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly. I myself have noticed it, when I was living in a hotel in
+Leicester Square,&rdquo; cried the Herr Rat. &ldquo;It was a good hotel, but
+they could not make tea&mdash;now&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, that&rsquo;s one thing I <i>can</i> do,&rdquo; said I, laughing
+brightly. &ldquo;I can make very good tea. The great secret is to warm the
+teapot.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Warm the teapot,&rdquo; interrupted the Herr Rat, pushing away his soup
+plate. &ldquo;What do you warm the teapot for? Ha! ha! that&rsquo;s very good!
+One does not eat the teapot, I suppose?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He fixed his cold blue eyes upon me with an expression which suggested a
+thousand premeditated invasions.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So that is the great secret of your English tea? All you do is to warm
+the teapot.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I wanted to say that was only the preliminary canter, but could not translate
+it, and so was silent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The servant brought in veal, with &ldquo;sauerkraut&rdquo; and potatoes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I eat sauerkraut with great pleasure,&rdquo; said the Traveller from
+North Germany, &ldquo;but now I have eaten so much of it that I cannot retain
+it. I am immediately forced to&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A beautiful day,&rdquo; I cried, turning to Fräulein Stiegelauer.
+&ldquo;Did you get up early?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;At five o&rsquo;clock I walked for ten minutes in the wet grass. Again
+in bed. At half-past five I fell asleep, and woke at seven, when I made an
+&lsquo;overbody&rsquo; washing! Again in bed. At eight o&rsquo;clock I had a
+cold-water poultice, and at half past eight I drank a cup of mint tea. At nine
+I drank some malt coffee, and began my &lsquo;cure.&rsquo; Pass me the
+sauerkraut, please. You do not eat it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, thank you. I still find it a little strong.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is it true,&rdquo; asked the Widow, picking her teeth with a hairpin as
+she spoke, &ldquo;that you are a vegetarian?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, yes; I have not eaten meat for three years.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Im&mdash;possible! Have you any family?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There now, you see, that&rsquo;s what you&rsquo;re coming to! Who ever
+heard of having children upon vegetables? It is not possible. But you never
+have large families in England now; I suppose you are too busy with your
+suffragetting. Now I have had nine children, and they are all alive, thank God.
+Fine, healthy babies&mdash;though after the first one was born I had
+to&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How <i>wonderful!</i>&rdquo; I cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wonderful,&rdquo; said the Widow contemptuously, replacing the hairpin
+in the knob which was balanced on the top of her head. &ldquo;Not at all! A
+friend of mine had four at the same time. Her husband was so pleased he gave a
+supper-party and had them placed on the table. Of course she was very
+proud.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Germany,&rdquo; boomed the Traveller, biting round a potato which he had
+speared with his knife, &ldquo;is the home of the Family.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Followed an appreciative silence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The dishes were changed for beef, red currants and spinach. They wiped their
+forks upon black bread and started again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How long are you remaining here?&rdquo; asked the Herr Rat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do not know exactly. I must be back in London in September.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course you will visit München?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am afraid I shall not have time. You see, it is important not to break
+into my &lsquo;cure.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But you <i>must</i> go to München. You have not seen Germany if you have
+not been to München. All the Exhibitions, all the Art and Soul life of Germany
+are in München. There is the Wagner Festival in August, and Mozart and a
+Japanese collection of pictures&mdash;and there is the beer! You do not know
+what good beer is until you have been to München. Why, I see fine ladies every
+afternoon, but fine ladies, I tell you, drinking glasses so high.&rdquo; He
+measured a good washstand pitcher in height, and I smiled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If I drink a great deal of München beer I sweat so,&rdquo; said Herr
+Hoffmann. &ldquo;When I am here, in the fields or before my baths, I sweat, but
+I enjoy it; but in the town it is not at all the same thing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Prompted by the thought, he wiped his neck and face with his dinner napkin and
+carefully cleaned his ears.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A glass dish of stewed apricots was placed upon the table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, fruit!&rdquo; said Fräulein Stiegelauer, &ldquo;that is so necessary
+to health. The doctor told me this morning that the more fruit I could eat the
+better.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She very obviously followed the advice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Said the Traveller: &ldquo;I suppose you are frightened of an invasion, too,
+eh? Oh, that&rsquo;s good. I&rsquo;ve been reading all about your English play
+in a newspaper. Did you see it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo; I sat upright. &ldquo;I assure you we are not afraid.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, then, you ought to be,&rdquo; said the Herr Rat. &ldquo;You have
+got no army at all&mdash;a few little boys with their veins full of nicotine
+poisoning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be afraid,&rdquo; Herr Hoffmann said. &ldquo;We don&rsquo;t
+want England. If we did we would have had her long ago. We really do not want
+you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He waved his spoon airily, looking across at me as though I were a little child
+whom he would keep or dismiss as he pleased.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We certainly do not want Germany,&rdquo; I said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This morning I took a half bath. Then this afternoon I must take a knee
+bath and an arm bath,&rdquo; volunteered the Herr Rat; &ldquo;then I do my
+exercises for an hour, and my work is over. A glass of wine and a couple of
+rolls with some sardines&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They were handed cherry cake with whipped cream.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is your husband&rsquo;s favourite meat?&rdquo; asked the Widow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I really do not know,&rdquo; I answered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You really do not know? How long have you been married?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Three years.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But you cannot be in earnest! You would not have kept house as his wife
+for a week without knowing that fact.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I really never asked him; he is not at all particular about his
+food.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A pause. They all looked at me, shaking their heads, their mouths full of
+cherry stones.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No wonder there is a repetition in England of that dreadful state of
+things in Paris,&rdquo; said the Widow, folding her dinner napkin. &ldquo;How
+can a woman expect to keep her husband if she does not know his favourite food
+after three years?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mahlzeit!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mahlzeit!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I closed the door after me.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap02"></a>THE BARON</h2>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who is he?&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;And why does he sit always alone, with
+his back to us, too?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; whispered the Frau Oberregierungsrat, &ldquo;he is a
+<i>Baron</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She looked at me very solemnly, and yet with the slightest possible
+contempt&mdash;a &ldquo;fancy-not-recognising-that-at-the-first-glance&rdquo;
+expression.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But, poor soul, he cannot help it,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;Surely that
+unfortunate fact ought not to debar him from the pleasures of intellectual
+intercourse.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+If it had not been for her fork I think she would have crossed herself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Surely you cannot understand. He is one of the First Barons.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+More than a little unnerved, she turned and spoke to the Frau Doktor on her
+left.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My omelette is empty&mdash;<i>empty</i>,&rdquo; she protested,
+&ldquo;and this is the third I have tried!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I looked at the First of the Barons. He was eating salad&mdash;taking a whole
+lettuce leaf on his fork and absorbing it slowly, rabbit-wise&mdash;a
+fascinating process to watch.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Small and slight, with scanty black hair and beard and yellow-toned complexion,
+he invariably wore black serge clothes, a rough linen shirt, black sandals, and
+the largest black-rimmed spectacles that I had ever seen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Herr Oberlehrer, who sat opposite me, smiled benignantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It must be very interesting for you, gnädige Frau, to be able to
+watch... of course this is a <i>very fine house</i>. There was a lady from the
+Spanish Court here in the summer; she had a liver. We often spoke
+together.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I looked gratified and humble.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, in England, in your &lsquo;boarding &rsquo;ouse&rsquo;, one does
+not find the First Class, as in Germany.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, indeed,&rdquo; I replied, still hypnotised by the Baron, who looked
+like a little yellow silkworm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Baron comes every year,&rdquo; went on the Herr Oberlehrer,
+&ldquo;for his nerves. He has never spoken to any of the
+guests&mdash;<i>yet</i>.&rdquo; A smile crossed his face. I seemed to see his
+visions of some splendid upheaval of that silence&mdash;a dazzling exchange of
+courtesies in a dim future, a splendid sacrifice of a newspaper to this Exalted
+One, a &ldquo;danke schön&rdquo; to be handed down to future generations.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At that moment the postman, looking like a German army officer, came in with
+the mail. He threw my letters into my milk pudding, and then turned to a
+waitress and whispered. She retired hastily. The manager of the pension came in
+with a little tray. A picture post card was deposited on it, and reverently
+bowing his head, the manager of the pension carried it to the Baron.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Myself, I felt disappointed that there was not a salute of twenty-five guns.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the end of the meal we were served with coffee. I noticed the Baron took
+three lumps of sugar, putting two in his cup and wrapping up the third in a
+corner of his pocket-handkerchief. He was always the first to enter the
+dining-room and the last to leave; and in a vacant chair beside him he placed a
+little black leather bag.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the afternoon, leaning from my window, I saw him pass down the street,
+walking tremulously and carrying the bag. Each time he passed a lamp-post he
+shrank a little, as though expecting it to strike him, or maybe the sense of
+plebeian contamination....
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I wondered where he was going, and why he carried the bag. Never had I seen him
+at the Casino or the Bath Establishment. He looked forlorn, his feet slipped in
+his sandals. I found myself pitying the Baron.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That evening a party of us were gathered in the salon discussing the
+day&rsquo;s &ldquo;kur&rdquo; with feverish animation. The Frau
+Oberregierungsrat sat by me knitting a shawl for her youngest of nine
+daughters, who was in that very interesting, frail condition.... &ldquo;But it
+is bound to be quite satisfactory,&rdquo; she said to me. &ldquo;The dear
+married a banker&mdash;the desire of her life.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There must have been eight or ten of us gathered together, we who were married
+exchanging confidences as to the underclothing and peculiar characteristics of
+our husbands, the unmarried discussing the over-clothing and peculiar
+fascinations of Possible Ones.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I knit them myself,&rdquo; I heard the Frau Lehrer cry, &ldquo;of thick
+grey wool. He wears one a month, with two soft collars.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And then,&rdquo; whispered Fräulein Lisa, &ldquo;he said to me,
+&lsquo;Indeed you please me. I shall, perhaps, write to your
+mother.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Small wonder that we were a little violently excited, a little expostulatory.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly the door opened and admitted the Baron.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Followed a complete and deathlike silence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He came in slowly, hesitated, took up a toothpick from a dish on the top of the
+piano, and went out again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the door was closed we raised a triumphant cry! It was the first time he
+had ever been known to enter the salon. Who could tell what the Future held?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Days lengthened into weeks. Still we were together, and still the solitary
+little figure, head bowed as though under the weight of the spectacles, haunted
+me. He entered with the black bag, he retired with the black bag&mdash;and that
+was all.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last the manager of the pension told us the Baron was leaving the next day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; I thought, &ldquo;surely he cannot drift into
+obscurity&mdash;be lost without one word! Surely he will honour the Frau
+Oberregierungsrat or the Frau Feldleutnantswitwe <i>once</i> before he
+goes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the evening of that day it rained heavily. I went to the post office, and as
+I stood on the steps, umbrellaless, hesitating before plunging into the slushy
+road, a little, hesitating voice seemed to come from under my elbow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I looked down. It was the First of the Barons with the black bag and an
+umbrella. Was I mad? Was I sane? He was asking me to share the latter. But I
+was exceedingly nice, a trifle diffident, appropriately reverential. Together
+we walked through the mud and slush.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, there is something peculiarly intimate in sharing an umbrella.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It is apt to put one on the same footing as brushing a man&rsquo;s coat for
+him&mdash;a little daring, naïve.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I longed to know why he sat alone, why he carried the bag, what he did all day.
+But he himself volunteered some information.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I fear,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that my luggage will be damp. I
+invariably carry it with me in this bag&mdash;one requires so little&mdash;for
+servants are untrustworthy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A wise idea,&rdquo; I answered. And then: &ldquo;Why have you denied us
+the pleasure&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I sit alone that I may eat more,&rdquo; said the Baron, peering into the
+dusk; &ldquo;my stomach requires a great deal of food. I order double portions,
+and eat them in peace.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Which sounded finely Baronial.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And what do you do all day?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I imbibe nourishment in my room,&rdquo; he replied, in a voice that
+closed the conversation and almost repented of the umbrella.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When we arrived at the pension there was very nearly an open riot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I ran half way up the stairs, and thanked the Baron audibly from the landing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He distinctly replied: &ldquo;Not at all!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was very friendly of the Herr Oberlehrer to have sent me a bouquet that
+evening, and the Frau Oberregierungsrat asked me for my pattern of a
+baby&rsquo;s bonnet!
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>
+Next day the Baron was gone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sic transit gloria German mundi.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap03"></a>THE SISTER OF THE BARONESS</h2>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There are two new guests arriving this afternoon,&rdquo; said the
+manager of the pension, placing a chair for me at the breakfast-table. &ldquo;I
+have only received the letter acquainting me with the fact this morning. The
+Baroness von Gall is sending her little daughter&mdash;the poor child is
+dumb&mdash;to make the &lsquo;cure.&rsquo; She is to stay with us a month, and
+then the Baroness herself is coming.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Baroness von Gall,&rdquo; cried the Frau Doktor, coming into the room
+and positively scenting the name. &ldquo;Coming here? There was a picture of
+her only last week in <i>Sport and Salon</i>. She is a friend of the Court: I
+have heard that the Kaiserin says &lsquo;du&rsquo; to her. But this is
+delightful! I shall take my doctor&rsquo;s advice and spend an extra six weeks
+here. There is nothing like young society.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But the child is dumb,&rdquo; ventured the manager apologetically.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bah! What does that matter? Afflicted children have such pretty
+ways.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Each guest who came into the breakfast-room was bombarded with the wonderful
+news. &ldquo;The Baroness von Gall is sending her little daughter here; the
+Baroness herself is coming in a month&rsquo;s time.&rdquo; Coffee and rolls
+took on the nature of an orgy. We positively scintillated. Anecdotes of the
+High Born were poured out, sweetened and sipped: we gorged on scandals of High
+Birth generously buttered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They are to have the room next to yours,&rdquo; said the manager,
+addressing me. &ldquo;I was wondering if you would permit me to take down the
+portrait of the Kaiserin Elizabeth from above your bed to hang over their
+sofa.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, indeed, something homelike&rdquo;&mdash;the Frau Oberregierungsrat
+patted my hand&mdash;&ldquo;and of no possible significance to you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I felt a little crushed. Not at the prospect of losing that vision of diamonds
+and blue velvet bust, but at the tone&mdash;placing me outside the
+pale&mdash;branding me as a foreigner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We dissipated the day in valid speculations. Decided it was too warm to walk in
+the afternoon, so lay down on our beds, mustering in great force for afternoon
+coffee. And a carriage drew up at the door. A tall young girl got out, leading
+a child by the hand. They entered the hall, were greeted and shown to their
+room. Ten minutes later she came down with the child to sign the
+visitors&rsquo; book. She wore a black, closely fitting dress, touched at
+throat and wrists with white frilling. Her brown hair, braided, was tied with a
+black bow&mdash;unusually pale, with a small mole on her left cheek.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am the Baroness von Gall&rsquo;s sister,&rdquo; she said, trying the
+pen on a piece of blotting-paper, and smiling at us deprecatingly. Even for the
+most jaded of us life holds its thrilling moments. Two Baronesses in two
+months! The manager immediately left the room to find a new nib.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To my plebeian eyes that afflicted child was singularly unattractive. She had
+the air of having been perpetually washed with a blue bag, and hair like grey
+wool&mdash;dressed, too, in a pinafore so stiffly starched that she could only
+peer at us over the frill of it&mdash;a social barrier of a pinafore&mdash;and
+perhaps it was too much to expect a noble aunt to attend to the menial
+consideration of her niece&rsquo;s ears. But a dumb niece with unwashed ears
+struck me as a most depressing object.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They were given places at the head of the table. For a moment we all looked at
+one another with an eena-deena-dina-do expression. Then the Frau
+Oberregierungsrat:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hope you are not tired after your journey.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said the sister of the Baroness, smiling into her cup.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hope the dear child is not tired,&rdquo; said the Frau Doktor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not at all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I expect, I hope you will sleep well to-night,&rdquo; the Herr
+Oberlehrer said reverently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The poet from Munich never took his eyes off the pair. He allowed his tie to
+absorb most of his coffee while he gazed at them exceedingly soulfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Unyoking Pegasus, thought I. Death spasms of his Odes to Solitude! There were
+possibilities in that young woman for an inspiration, not to mention a
+dedication, and from that moment his suffering temperament took up its bed and
+walked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They retired after the meal, leaving us to discuss them at leisure.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There is a likeness,&rdquo; mused the Frau Doktor. &ldquo;Quite. What a
+manner she has. Such reserve, such a tender way with the child.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pity she has the child to attend to,&rdquo; exclaimed the student from
+Bonn. He had hitherto relied upon three scars and a ribbon to produce an
+effect, but the sister of a Baroness demanded more than these.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Absorbing days followed. Had she been one whit less beautifully born we could
+not have endured the continual conversation about her, the songs in her praise,
+the detailed account of her movements. But she graciously suffered our worship
+and we were more than content.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The poet she took into her confidence. He carried her books when we went
+walking, he jumped the afflicted one on his knee&mdash;poetic licence,
+this&mdash;and one morning brought his notebook into the salon and read to us.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The sister of the Baroness has assured me she is going into a
+convent,&rdquo; he said. (That made the student from Bonn sit up.) &ldquo;I
+have written these few lines last night from my window in the sweet night
+air&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, your <i>delicate</i> chest,&rdquo; commented the Frau Doktor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He fixed a stony eye on her, and she blushed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have written these lines:
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Ah, will you to a convent fly,<br/>
+    So young, so fresh, so fair?<br/>
+Spring like a doe upon the fields<br/>
+    And find your beauty there.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nine verses equally lovely commanded her to equally violent action. I am
+certain that had she followed his advice not even the remainder of her life in
+a convent would have given her time to recover her breath.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have presented her with a copy,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;And to-day we
+are going to look for wild flowers in the wood.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The student from Bonn got up and left the room. I begged the poet to repeat the
+verses once more. At the end of the sixth verse I saw from the window the
+sister of the Baroness and the scarred youth disappearing through the front
+gate, which enabled me to thank the poet so charmingly that he offered to write
+me out a copy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But we were living at too high pressure in those days. Swinging from our humble
+pension to the high walls of palaces, how could we help but fall? Late one
+afternoon the Frau Doktor came upon me in the writing-room and took me to her
+bosom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She has been telling me all about her life,&rdquo; whispered the Frau
+Doktor. &ldquo;She came to my bedroom and offered to massage my arm. You know,
+I am the greatest martyr to rheumatism. And, fancy now, she has already had six
+proposals of marriage. Such beautiful offers that I assure you I wept&mdash;and
+every one of noble birth. My dear, the most beautiful was in the wood. Not that
+I do not think a proposal should take place in a drawing-room&mdash;it is more
+fitting to have four walls&mdash;but this was a private wood. He said, the
+young officer, she was like a young tree whose branches had never been touched
+by the ruthless hand of man. Such delicacy!&rdquo; She sighed and turned up her
+eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course it is difficult for you English to understand when you are
+always exposing your legs on cricket-fields, and breeding dogs in your back
+gardens. The pity of it! Youth should be like a wild rose. For myself I do not
+understand how your women ever get married at all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She shook her head so violently that I shook mine too, and a gloom settled
+round my heart. It seemed we were really in a very bad way. Did the spirit of
+romance spread her rose wings only over aristocratic Germany?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I went to my room, bound a pink scarf about my hair, and took a volume of
+Mörike&rsquo;s lyrics into the garden. A great bush of purple lilac grew behind
+the summer-house. There I sat down, finding a sad significance in the delicate
+suggestion of half mourning. I began to write a poem myself.
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+&ldquo;They sway and languish dreamily,<br/>
+And we, close pressed, are kissing there.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It ended! &ldquo;Close pressed&rdquo; did not sound at all fascinating.
+Savoured of wardrobes. Did my wild rose then already trail in the dust? I
+chewed a leaf and hugged my knees. Then&mdash;magic moment&mdash;I heard voices
+from the summer-house, the sister of the Baroness and the student from Bonn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Second-hand was better than nothing; I pricked up my ears.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What small hands you have,&rdquo; said the student from Bonn.
+&ldquo;They are like white lilies lying in the pool of your black dress.&rdquo;
+This certainly sounded the real thing. Her high-born reply was what interested
+me. Sympathetic murmur only.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;May I hold one?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I heard two sighs&mdash;presumed they held&mdash;he had rifled those dark
+waters of a noble blossom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Look at my great fingers beside yours.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But they are beautifully kept,&rdquo; said the sister of the Baroness
+shyly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The minx! Was love then a question of manicure?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How I should adore to kiss you,&rdquo; murmured the student. &ldquo;But
+you know I am suffering from severe nasal catarrh, and I dare not risk giving
+it to you. Sixteen times last night did I count myself sneezing. And three
+different handkerchiefs.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I threw Mörike into the lilac bush, and went back to the house. A great
+automobile snorted at the front door. In the salon great commotion. The
+Baroness was paying a surprise visit to her little daughter. Clad in a yellow
+mackintosh she stood in the middle of the room questioning the manager. And
+every guest the pension contained was grouped about her, even the Frau Doktor,
+presumably examining a timetable, as near to the august skirts as possible.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But where is my maid?&rdquo; asked the Baroness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There was no maid,&rdquo; replied the manager, &ldquo;save for your
+gracious sister and daughter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sister!&rdquo; she cried sharply. &ldquo;Fool, I have no sister. My
+child travelled with the daughter of my dressmaker.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tableau grandissimo!
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap04"></a>FRAU FISCHER</h2>
+
+<p>
+Frau Fischer was the fortunate possessor of a candle factory somewhere on the
+banks of the Eger, and once a year she ceased from her labours to make a
+&ldquo;cure&rdquo; in Dorschausen, arriving with a dress-basket neatly covered
+in a black tarpaulin and a hand-bag. The latter contained amongst her
+handkerchiefs, eau de Cologne, toothpicks, and a certain woollen muffler very
+comforting to the &ldquo;magen,&rdquo; samples of her skill in candle-making,
+to be offered up as tokens of thanksgiving when her holiday time was over.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Four of the clock one July afternoon she appeared at the Pension Müller. I was
+sitting in the arbour and watched her bustling up the path followed by the
+red-bearded porter with her dress-basket in his arms and a sunflower between
+his teeth. The widow and her five innocent daughters stood tastefully grouped
+upon the steps in appropriate attitudes of welcome; and the greetings were so
+long and loud that I felt a sympathetic glow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What a journey!&rdquo; cried the Frau Fischer. &ldquo;And nothing to eat
+in the train&mdash;nothing solid. I assure you the sides of my stomach are
+flapping together. But I must not spoil my appetite for dinner&mdash;just a cup
+of coffee in my room. Bertha,&rdquo; turning to the youngest of the five,
+&ldquo;how changed! What a bust! Frau Hartmann, I congratulate you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Once again the Widow seized Frau Fischer&rsquo;s hands. &ldquo;Kathi, too, a
+splendid woman; but a little pale. Perhaps the young man from Nürnberg is here
+again this year. How you keep them all I don&rsquo;t know. Each year I come
+expecting to find you with an empty nest. It&rsquo;s surprising.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Frau Hartmann, in an ashamed, apologetic voice: &ldquo;We are such a happy
+family since my dear man died.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But these marriages&mdash;one must have courage; and after all, give
+them time, they all make the happy family bigger&mdash;thank God for that....
+Are there many people here just now?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Every room engaged.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Followed a detailed description in the hall, murmured on the stairs, continued
+in six parts as they entered the large room (windows opening upon the garden)
+which Frau Fischer occupied each successive year. I was reading the
+&ldquo;Miracles of Lourdes,&rdquo; which a Catholic priest&mdash;fixing a
+gloomy eye upon my soul&mdash;had begged me to digest; but its wonders were
+completely routed by Frau Fischer&rsquo;s arrival. Not even the white roses
+upon the feet of the Virgin could flourish in that atmosphere.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;... It was a simple shepherd-child who pastured her flocks upon the
+barren fields....&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Voices from the room above: &ldquo;The washstand has, of course, been scrubbed
+over with soda.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;... Poverty-stricken, her limbs with tattered rags half
+covered....&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Every stick of the furniture has been sunning in the garden for three
+days. And the carpet we made ourselves out of old clothes. There is a piece of
+that beautiful flannel petticoat you left us last summer.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;... Deaf and dumb was the child; in fact, the population considered her
+half idiot....&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, that is a new picture of the Kaiser. We have moved the
+thorn-crowned one of Jesus Christ out into the passage. It was not cheerful to
+sleep with. Dear Frau Fischer, won&rsquo;t you take your coffee out in the
+garden?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is a very nice idea. But first I must remove my corsets and my
+boots. Ah, what a relief to wear sandals again. I am needing the
+&lsquo;cure&rsquo; very badly this year. My nerves! I am a mass of them. During
+the entire journey I sat with my handkerchief over my head, even while the
+guard collected the tickets. Exhausted!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She came into the arbour wearing a black and white spotted dressing-gown, and a
+calico cap peaked with patent leather, followed by Kathi, carrying the little
+blue jugs of malt coffee. We were formally introduced. Frau Fischer sat down,
+produced a perfectly clean pocket handkerchief and polished her cup and saucer,
+then lifted the lid of the coffee-pot and peered in at the contents mournfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Malt coffee,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Ah, for the first few days I wonder
+how I can put up with it. Naturally, absent from home one must expect much
+discomfort and strange food. But as I used to say to my dear husband: with a
+clean sheet and a good cup of coffee I can find my happiness anywhere. But now,
+with nerves like mine, no sacrifice is too terrible for me to make. What
+complaint are you suffering from? You look exceedingly healthy!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I smiled and shrugged my shoulders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, that is so strange about you English. You do not seem to enjoy
+discussing the functions of the body. As well speak of a railway train and
+refuse to mention the engine. How can we hope to understand anybody, knowing
+nothing of their stomachs? In my husband&rsquo;s most severe illness&mdash;the
+poultices&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She dipped a piece of sugar in her coffee and watched it dissolve.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yet a young friend of mine who travelled to England for the funeral of
+his brother told me that women wore bodices in public restaurants no waiter
+could help looking into as he handed the soup.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But only German waiters,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;English ones look over
+the top of your head.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;now you see your dependence on Germany.
+Not even an efficient waiter can you have by yourselves.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I prefer them to look over your head.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And that proves that you must be ashamed of your bodice.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I looked out over the garden full of wall-flowers and standard rose-trees
+growing stiffly like German bouquets, feeling I did not care one way or the
+other. I rather wanted to ask her if the young friend had gone to England in
+the capacity of waiter to attend the funeral baked meats, but decided it was
+not worth it. The weather was too hot to be malicious, and who could be
+uncharitable, victimised by the flapping sensations which Frau Fischer was
+enduring until six-thirty? As a gift from heaven for my forbearance, down the
+path towards us came the Herr Rat, angelically clad in a white silk suit. He
+and Frau Fischer were old friends. She drew the folds of her dressing-gown
+together, and made room for him on the little green bench.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How cool you are looking,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;and if I may make the
+remark&mdash;what a beautiful suit!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Surely I wore it last summer when you were here? I brought the silk from
+China&mdash;smuggled it through the Russian customs by swathing it round my
+body. And such a quantity: two dress lengths for my sister-in-law, three suits
+for myself, a cloak for the housekeeper of my flat in Munich. How I perspired!
+Every inch of it had to be washed afterwards.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Surely you have had more adventures than any man in Germany. When I
+think of the time that you spent in Turkey with a drunken guide who was bitten
+by a mad dog and fell over a precipice into a field of attar of roses, I lament
+that you have not written a book.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Time&mdash;time. I am getting a few notes together. And now that you are
+here we shall renew our quiet little talks after supper. Yes? It is necessary
+and pleasant for a man to find relaxation in the company of women
+occasionally.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed I realise that. Even here your life is too strenuous&mdash;you
+are so sought after&mdash;so admired. It was just the same with my dear
+husband. He was a tall, beautiful man, and sometimes in the evening he would
+come down into the kitchen and say: &lsquo;Wife, I would like to be stupid for
+two minutes.&rsquo; Nothing rested him so much then as for me to stroke his
+head.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Herr Rat&rsquo;s bald pate glistening in the sunlight seemed symbolical of
+the sad absence of a wife.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I began to wonder as to the nature of these quiet little after-supper talks.
+How could one play Delilah to so shorn a Samson?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Herr Hoffmann from Berlin arrived yesterday,&rdquo; said the Herr Rat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That young man I refuse to converse with. He told me last year that he
+had stayed in France in an hotel where they did not have serviettes; what a
+place it must have been! In Austria even the cabmen have serviettes. Also I
+have heard that he discussed &lsquo;free love&rsquo; with Bertha as she was
+sweeping his room. I am not accustomed to such company. I had suspected him for
+a long time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Young blood,&rdquo; answered the Herr Rat genially. &ldquo;I have had
+several disputes with him&mdash;you have heard them&mdash;is it not so?&rdquo;
+turning to me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A great many,&rdquo; I said, smiling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Doubtless you too consider me behind the times. I make no secret of my
+age; I am sixty-nine; but you must have surely observed how impossible it was
+for him to speak at all when I raised my voice.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I replied with the utmost conviction, and, catching Frau Fischer&rsquo;s eye,
+suddenly realised I had better go back to the house and write some letters.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was dark and cool in my room. A chestnut-tree pushed green boughs against
+the window. I looked down at the horsehair sofa so openly flouting the idea of
+curling up as immoral, pulled the red pillow on to the floor and lay down. And
+barely had I got comfortable when the door opened and Frau Fischer entered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Herr Rat had a bathing appointment,&rdquo; she said, shutting the
+door after her. &ldquo;May I come in? Pray do not move. You look like a little
+Persian kitten. Now, tell me something really interesting about your life. When
+I meet new people I squeeze them dry like a sponge. To begin with&mdash;you are
+married.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I admitted the fact.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then, dear child, where is your husband?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I said he was a sea-captain on a long and perilous voyage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What a position to leave you in&mdash;so young and so
+unprotected.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She sat down on the sofa and shook her finger at me playfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Admit, now, that you keep your journeys secret from him. For what man
+would think of allowing a woman with such a wealth of hair to go wandering in
+foreign countries? Now, supposing that you lost your purse at midnight in a
+snowbound train in North Russia?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I haven&rsquo;t the slightest intention&mdash;&rdquo; I began.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t say that you have. But when you said good-bye to your dear
+man I am positive that you had no intention of coming here. My dear, I am a
+woman of experience, and I know the world. While he is away you have a fever in
+your blood. Your sad heart flies for comfort to these foreign lands. At home
+you cannot bear the sight of that empty bed&mdash;it is like widowhood. Since
+the death of my dear husband I have never known an hour&rsquo;s peace.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I like empty beds,&rdquo; I protested sleepily, thumping the pillow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That cannot be true because it is not natural. Every wife ought to feel
+that her place is by her husband&rsquo;s side&mdash;sleeping or waking. It is
+plain to see that the strongest tie of all does not yet bind you. Wait until a
+little pair of hands stretches across the water&mdash;wait until he comes into
+harbour and sees you with the child at your breast.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I sat up stiffly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I consider child-bearing the most ignominious of all
+professions,&rdquo; I said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a moment there was silence. Then Frau Fischer reached down and caught my
+hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So young and yet to suffer so cruelly,&rdquo; she murmured. &ldquo;There
+is nothing that sours a woman so terribly as to be left alone without a man,
+especially if she is married, for then it is impossible for her to accept the
+attention of others&mdash;unless she is unfortunately a widow. Of course, I
+know that sea-captains are subject to terrible temptations, and they are as
+inflammable as tenor singers&mdash;that is why you must present a bright and
+energetic appearance, and try and make him proud of you when his ship reaches
+port.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This husband that I had created for the benefit of Frau Fischer became in her
+hands so substantial a figure that I could no longer see myself sitting on a
+rock with seaweed in my hair, awaiting that phantom ship for which all women
+love to suppose they hunger. Rather, I saw myself pushing a perambulator up the
+gangway, and counting up the missing buttons on my husband&rsquo;s uniform
+jacket.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Handfuls of babies, that is what you are really in need of,&rdquo; mused
+Frau Fischer. &ldquo;Then, as the father of a family he cannot leave you. Think
+of his delight and excitement when he saw you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The plan seemed to me something of a risk. To appear suddenly with handfuls of
+strange babies is not generally calculated to raise enthusiasm in the heart of
+the average British husband. I decided to wreck my virgin conception and send
+him down somewhere off Cape Horn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then the dinner-gong sounded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come up to my room afterwards,&rdquo; said Frau Fischer. &ldquo;There is
+still much that I must ask you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She squeezed my hand, but I did not squeeze back.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap05"></a>FRAU BRECHENMACHER ATTENDS A WEDDING</h2>
+
+
+<p>
+Getting ready was a terrible business. After supper Frau Brechenmacher packed
+four of the five babies to bed, allowing Rosa to stay with her and help to
+polish the buttons of Herr Brechenmacher&rsquo;s uniform. Then she ran over his
+best shirt with a hot iron, polished his boots, and put a stitch or two into
+his black satin necktie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Rosa,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;fetch my dress and hang it in front of the
+stove to get the creases out. Now, mind, you must look after the children and
+not sit up later than half-past eight, and not touch the lamp&mdash;you know
+what will happen if you do.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, Mamma,&rdquo; said Rosa, who was nine and felt old enough to manage
+a thousand lamps. &ldquo;But let me stay up&mdash;the &lsquo;Bub&rsquo; may
+wake and want some milk.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Half-past eight!&rdquo; said the Frau. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll make the father
+tell you too.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Rosa drew down the corners of her mouth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But... but....&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here comes the father. You go into the bedroom and fetch my blue silk
+handkerchief. You can wear my black shawl while I&rsquo;m out&mdash;there
+now!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Rosa dragged it off her mother&rsquo;s shoulders and wound it carefully round
+her own, tying the two ends in a knot at the back. After all, she reflected, if
+she had to go to bed at half past eight she would keep the shawl on. Which
+resolution comforted her absolutely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, then, where are my clothes?&rdquo; cried Herr Brechenmacher,
+hanging his empty letter-bag behind the door and stamping the snow out of his
+boots. &ldquo;Nothing ready, of course, and everybody at the wedding by this
+time. I heard the music as I passed. What are you doing? You&rsquo;re not
+dressed. You can&rsquo;t go like that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here they are&mdash;all ready for you on the table, and some warm water
+in the tin basin. Dip your head in. Rosa, give your father the towel.
+Everything ready except the trousers. I haven&rsquo;t had time to shorten them.
+You must tuck the ends into your boots until we get there.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nu,&rdquo; said the Herr, &ldquo;there isn&rsquo;t room to turn. I want
+the light. You go and dress in the passage.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dressing in the dark was nothing to Frau Brechenmacher. She hooked her skirt
+and bodice, fastened her handkerchief round her neck with a beautiful brooch
+that had four medals to the Virgin dangling from it, and then drew on her cloak
+and hood.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here, come and fasten this buckle,&rdquo; called Herr Brechenmacher. He
+stood in the kitchen puffing himself out, the buttons on his blue uniform
+shining with an enthusiasm which nothing but official buttons could possibly
+possess. &ldquo;How do I look?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wonderful,&rdquo; replied the little Frau, straining at the waist buckle
+and giving him a little pull here, a little tug there. &ldquo;Rosa, come and
+look at your father.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Herr Brechenmacher strode up and down the kitchen, was helped on with his coat,
+then waited while the Frau lighted the lantern.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, then&mdash;finished at last! Come along.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The lamp, Rosa,&rdquo; warned the Frau, slamming the front door behind
+them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Snow had not fallen all day; the frozen ground was slippery as an icepond. She
+had not been out of the house for weeks past, and the day had so flurried her
+that she felt muddled and stupid&mdash;felt that Rosa had pushed her out of the
+house and her man was running away from her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wait, wait!&rdquo; she cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. I&rsquo;ll get my feet damp&mdash;you hurry.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was easier when they came into the village. There were fences to cling to,
+and leading from the railway station to the Gasthaus a little path of cinders
+had been strewn for the benefit of the wedding guests.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Gasthaus was very festive. Lights shone out from every window, wreaths of
+fir twigs hung from the ledges. Branches decorated the front doors, which swung
+open, and in the hall the landlord voiced his superiority by bullying the
+waitresses, who ran about continually with glasses of beer, trays of cups and
+saucers, and bottles of wine.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Up the stairs&mdash;up the stairs!&rdquo; boomed the landlord.
+&ldquo;Leave your coats on the landing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Herr Brechenmacher, completely overawed by this grand manner, so far forgot his
+rights as a husband as to beg his wife&rsquo;s pardon for jostling her against
+the banisters in his efforts to get ahead of everybody else.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Herr Brechenmacher&rsquo;s colleagues greeted him with acclamation as he
+entered the door of the Festsaal, and the Frau straightened her brooch and
+folded her hands, assuming the air of dignity becoming to the wife of a postman
+and the mother of five children. Beautiful indeed was the Festsaal. Three long
+tables were grouped at one end, the remainder of the floor space cleared for
+dancing. Oil lamps, hanging from the ceiling, shed a warm, bright light on the
+walls decorated with paper flowers and garlands; shed a warmer, brighter light
+on the red faces of the guests in their best clothes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the head of the centre table sat the bride and bridegroom, she in a white
+dress trimmed with stripes and bows of coloured ribbon, giving her the
+appearance of an iced cake all ready to be cut and served in neat little pieces
+to the bridegroom beside her, who wore a suit of white clothes much too large
+for him and a white silk tie that rose halfway up his collar. Grouped about
+them, with a fine regard for dignity and precedence, sat their parents and
+relations; and perched on a stool at the bride&rsquo;s right hand a little girl
+in a crumpled muslin dress with a wreath of forget-me-nots hanging over one
+ear. Everybody was laughing and talking, shaking hands, clinking glasses,
+stamping on the floor&mdash;a stench of beer and perspiration filled the air.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Frau Brechenmacher, following her man down the room after greeting the bridal
+party, knew that she was going to enjoy herself. She seemed to fill out and
+become rosy and warm as she sniffed that familiar festive smell. Somebody
+pulled at her skirt, and, looking down, she saw Frau Rupp, the butcher&rsquo;s
+wife, who pulled out an empty chair and begged her to sit beside her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fritz will get you some beer,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;My dear, your
+skirt is open at the back. We could not help laughing as you walked up the room
+with the white tape of your petticoat showing!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But how frightful!&rdquo; said Frau Brechenmacher, collapsing into her
+chair and biting her lip.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Na, it&rsquo;s over now,&rdquo; said Frau Rupp, stretching her fat hands
+over the table and regarding her three mourning rings with intense enjoyment;
+&ldquo;but one must be careful, especially at a wedding.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And such a wedding as this,&rdquo; cried Frau Ledermann, who sat on the
+other side of Frau Brechenmacher. &ldquo;Fancy Theresa bringing that child with
+her. It&rsquo;s her own child, you know, my dear, and it&rsquo;s going to live
+with them. That&rsquo;s what I call a sin against the Church for a free-born
+child to attend its own mother&rsquo;s wedding.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The three women sat and stared at the bride, who remained very still, with a
+little vacant smile on her lips, only her eyes shifting uneasily from side to
+side.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Beer they&rsquo;ve given it, too,&rdquo; whispered Frau Rupp, &ldquo;and
+white wine and an ice. It never did have a stomach; she ought to have left it
+at home.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Frau Brechenmacher turned round and looked towards the bride&rsquo;s mother.
+She never took her eyes off her daughter, but wrinkled her brown forehead like
+an old monkey, and nodded now and again very solemnly. Her hands shook as she
+raised her beer mug, and when she had drunk she spat on the floor and savagely
+wiped her mouth with her sleeve. Then the music started and she followed
+Theresa with her eyes, looking suspiciously at each man who danced with her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Cheer up, old woman,&rdquo; shouted her husband, digging her in the
+ribs; &ldquo;this isn&rsquo;t Theresa&rsquo;s funeral.&rdquo; He winked at the
+guests, who broke into loud laughter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I <i>am</i> cheerful,&rdquo; mumbled the old woman, and beat upon the
+table with her fist, keeping time to the music, proving she was not out of the
+festivities.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She can&rsquo;t forget how wild Theresa has been,&rdquo; said Frau
+Ledermann. &ldquo;Who could&mdash;with the child there? I heard that last
+Sunday evening Theresa had hysterics and said that she would not marry this
+man. They had to get the priest to her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where is the other one?&rdquo; asked Frau Brechenmacher. &ldquo;Why
+didn&rsquo;t he marry her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The woman shrugged her shoulders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gone&mdash;disappeared. He was a traveller, and only stayed at their
+house two nights. He was selling shirt buttons&mdash;I bought some myself, and
+they were beautiful shirt buttons&mdash;but what a pig of a fellow! I
+can&rsquo;t think what he saw in such a plain girl&mdash;but you never know.
+Her mother says she&rsquo;s been like fire ever since she was sixteen!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Frau Brechenmacher looked down at her beer and blew a little hole in the froth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s not how a wedding should be,&rdquo; she said;
+&ldquo;it&rsquo;s not religion to love two men.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nice time she&rsquo;ll have with this one,&rdquo; Frau Rupp exclaimed.
+&ldquo;He was lodging with me last summer and I had to get rid of him. He never
+changed his clothes once in two months, and when I spoke to him of the smell in
+his room he told me he was sure it floated up from the shop. Ah, every wife has
+her cross. Isn&rsquo;t that true, my dear?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Frau Brechenmacher saw her husband among his colleagues at the next table. He
+was drinking far too much, she knew&mdash;gesticulating wildly, the saliva
+spluttering out of his mouth as he talked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she assented, &ldquo;that&rsquo;s true. Girls have a lot to
+learn.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Wedged in between these two fat old women, the Frau had no hope of being asked
+to dance. She watched the couples going round and round; she forgot her five
+babies and her man and felt almost like a girl again. The music sounded sad and
+sweet. Her roughened hands clasped and unclasped themselves in the folds of her
+skirt. While the music went on she was afraid to look anybody in the face, and
+she smiled with a little nervous tremor round the mouth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But, my God,&rdquo; Frau Rupp cried, &ldquo;they&rsquo;ve given that
+child of Theresa&rsquo;s a piece of sausage. It&rsquo;s to keep her quiet.
+There&rsquo;s going to be a presentation now&mdash;your man has to
+speak.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Frau Brechenmacher sat up stiffly. The music ceased, and the dancers took their
+places again at the tables.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Herr Brechenmacher alone remained standing&mdash;he held in his hands a big
+silver coffee-pot. Everybody laughed at his speech, except the Frau; everybody
+roared at his grimaces, and at the way he carried the coffee-pot to the bridal
+pair, as if it were a baby he was holding.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She lifted the lid, peeped in, then shut it down with a little scream and sat
+biting her lips. The bridegroom wrenched the pot away from her and drew forth a
+baby&rsquo;s bottle and two little cradles holding china dolls. As he dandled
+these treasures before Theresa the hot room seemed to heave and sway with
+laughter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Frau Brechenmacher did not think it funny. She stared round at the laughing
+faces, and suddenly they all seemed strange to her. She wanted to go home and
+never come out again. She imagined that all these people were laughing at her,
+more people than there were in the room even&mdash;all laughing at her because
+they were so much stronger than she was.
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>
+They walked home in silence. Herr Brechenmacher strode ahead, she stumbled
+after him. White and forsaken lay the road from the railway station to their
+house&mdash;a cold rush of wind blew her hood from her face, and suddenly she
+remembered how they had come home together the first night. Now they had five
+babies and twice as much money; <i>but</i>&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Na, what is it all for?&rdquo; she muttered, and not until she had
+reached home, and prepared a little supper of meat and bread for her man did
+she stop asking herself that silly question.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Herr Brechenmacher broke the bread into his plate, smeared it round with his
+fork and chewed greedily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good?&rdquo; she asked, leaning her arms on the table and pillowing her
+breast against them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But fine!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He took a piece of the crumb, wiped it round his plate edge, and held it up to
+her mouth. She shook her head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not hungry,&rdquo; she said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But it is one of the best pieces, and full of the fat.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He cleared the plate; then pulled off his boots and flung them into a corner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not much of a wedding,&rdquo; he said, stretching out his feet and
+wriggling his toes in the worsted socks.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;N&mdash;no,&rdquo; she replied, taking up the discarded boots and
+placing them on the oven to dry.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Herr Brechenmacher yawned and stretched himself, and then looked up at her,
+grinning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Remember the night that we came home? You were an innocent one, you
+were.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Get along! Such a time ago I forget.&rdquo; Well she remembered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Such a clout on the ear as you gave me.... But I soon taught you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, don&rsquo;t start talking. You&rsquo;ve too much beer. Come to
+bed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He tilted back in his chair, chuckling with laughter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s not what you said to me that night. God, the trouble you
+gave me!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the little Frau seized the candle and went into the next room. The children
+were all soundly sleeping. She stripped the mattress off the baby&rsquo;s bed
+to see if he was still dry, then began unfastening her blouse and skirt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Always the same,&rdquo; she said&mdash;&ldquo;all over the world the
+same; but, God in heaven&mdash;but <i>stupid</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then even the memory of the wedding faded quite. She lay down on the bed and
+put her arm across her face like a child who expected to be hurt as Herr
+Brechenmacher lurched in.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap06"></a>THE MODERN SOUL</h2>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good-evening,&rdquo; said the Herr Professor, squeezing my hand;
+&ldquo;wonderful weather! I have just returned from a party in the wood. I have
+been making music for them on my trombone. You know, these pine-trees provide
+most suitable accompaniment for a trombone! They are sighing delicacy against
+sustained strength, as I remarked once in a lecture on wind instruments in
+Frankfort. May I be permitted to sit beside you on this bench, gnädige
+Frau?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He sat down, tugging at a white-paper package in the tail pocket of his coat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Cherries,&rdquo; he said, nodding and smiling. &ldquo;There is nothing
+like cherries for producing free saliva after trombone playing, especially
+after Grieg&rsquo;s &lsquo;Ich Liebe Dich.&rsquo; Those sustained blasts on
+&lsquo;liebe&rsquo; make my throat as dry as a railway tunnel. Have
+some?&rdquo; He shook the bag at me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I prefer watching you eat them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, ha!&rdquo; He crossed his legs, sticking the cherry bag between his
+knees, to leave both hands free. &ldquo;Psychologically I understood your
+refusal. It is your innate feminine delicacy in preferring etherealised
+sensations.... Or perhaps you do not care to eat the worms. All cherries
+contain worms. Once I made a very interesting experiment with a colleague of
+mine at the university. We bit into four pounds of the best cherries and did
+not find one specimen without a worm. But what would you? As I remarked to him
+afterwards&mdash;dear friend, it amounts to this: if one wishes to satisfy the
+desires of nature one must be strong enough to ignore the facts of nature....
+The conversation is not out of your depth? I have so seldom the time or
+opportunity to open my heart to a woman that I am apt to forget.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I looked at him brightly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;See what a fat one!&rdquo; cried the Herr Professor. &ldquo;That is
+almost a mouthful in itself; it is beautiful enough to hang from a
+watch-chain.&rdquo; He chewed it up and spat the stone an incredible
+distance&mdash;over the garden path into the flower bed. He was proud of the
+feat. I saw it. &ldquo;The quantity of fruit I have eaten on this bench,&rdquo;
+he sighed; &ldquo;apricots, peaches and cherries. One day that garden bed will
+become an orchard grove, and I shall allow you to pick as much as you please,
+without paying me anything.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I was grateful, without showing undue excitement.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Which reminds me&rdquo;&mdash;he hit the side of his nose with one
+finger&mdash;&ldquo;the manager of the pension handed me my weekly bill after
+dinner this evening. It is almost impossible to credit. I do not expect you to
+believe me&mdash;he has charged me extra for a miserable little glass of milk I
+drink in bed at night to prevent insomnia. Naturally, I did not pay. But the
+tragedy of the story is this: I cannot expect the milk to produce somnolence
+any longer; my peaceful attitude of mind towards it is completely destroyed. I
+know I shall throw myself into a fever in attempting to plumb this want of
+generosity in so wealthy a man as the manager of a pension. Think of me
+to-night&rdquo;&mdash;he ground the empty bag under his heel&mdash;&ldquo;think
+that the worst is happening to me as your head drops asleep on your
+pillow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Two ladies came on the front steps of the pension and stood, arm in arm,
+looking over the garden. The one, old and scraggy, dressed almost entirely in
+black bead trimming and a satin reticule; the other, young and thin, in a white
+gown, her yellow hair tastefully garnished with mauve sweet peas.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Professor drew in his feet and sat up sharply, pulling down his waistcoat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Godowskas,&rdquo; he murmured. &ldquo;Do you know them? A mother and
+daughter from Vienna. The mother has an internal complaint and the daughter is
+an actress. Fräulein Sonia is a very modern soul. I think you would find her
+most sympathetic. She is forced to be in attendance on her mother just now. But
+what a temperament! I have once described her in her autograph album as a
+tigress with a flower in the hair. Will you excuse me? Perhaps I can persuade
+them to be introduced to you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I said, &ldquo;I am going up to my room.&rdquo; But the Professor rose and
+shook a playful finger at me. &ldquo;Na,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;we are friends,
+and, therefore, I shall speak quite frankly to you. I think they would consider
+it a little &lsquo;marked&rsquo; if you immediately retired to the house at
+their approach, after sitting here alone with me in the twilight. You know this
+world. Yes, you know it as I do.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I shrugged my shoulders, remarking with one eye that while the Professor had
+been talking the Godowskas had trailed across the lawn towards us. They
+confronted the Herr Professor as he stood up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good-evening,&rdquo; quavered Frau Godowska. &ldquo;Wonderful weather!
+It has given me quite a touch of hay fever!&rdquo; Fräulein Godowska said
+nothing. She swooped over a rose growing in the embryo orchard, then stretched
+out her hand with a magnificent gesture to the Herr Professor. He presented me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is my little English friend of whom I have spoken. She is the
+stranger in our midst. We have been eating cherries together.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How delightful,&rdquo; sighed Frau Godowska. &ldquo;My daughter and I
+have often observed you through the bedroom window. Haven&rsquo;t we,
+Sonia?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sonia absorbed my outward and visible form with an inward and spiritual glance,
+then repeated the magnificent gesture for my benefit. The four of us sat on the
+bench, with that faint air of excitement of passengers established in a railway
+carriage on the qui vive for the train whistle. Frau Godowska sneezed. &ldquo;I
+wonder if it is hay fever,&rdquo; she remarked, worrying the satin reticule for
+her handkerchief, &ldquo;or would it be the dew. Sonia, dear, is the dew
+falling?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fräulein Sonia raised her face to the sky, and half closed her eyes. &ldquo;No,
+mamma, my face is quite warm. Oh, look, Herr Professor, there are swallows in
+flight; they are like a little flock of Japanese thoughts&mdash;nicht
+wahr?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where?&rdquo; cried the Herr Professor. &ldquo;Oh yes, I see, by the
+kitchen chimney. But why do you say &lsquo;Japanese&rsquo;? Could you not
+compare them with equal veracity to a little flock of German thoughts in
+flight?&rdquo; He rounded on me. &ldquo;Have you swallows in England?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I believe there are some at certain seasons. But doubtless they have not
+the same symbolical value for the English. In Germany&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have never been to England,&rdquo; interrupted Fräulein Sonia,
+&ldquo;but I have many English acquaintances. They are so cold!&rdquo; She
+shivered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fish-blooded,&rdquo; snapped Frau Godowska. &ldquo;Without soul, without
+heart, without grace. But you cannot equal their dress materials. I spent a
+week in Brighton twenty years ago, and the travelling cape I bought there is
+not yet worn out&mdash;the one you wrap the hot-water bottle in, Sonia. My
+lamented husband, your father, Sonia, knew a great deal about England. But the
+more he knew about it the oftener he remarked to me, &lsquo;England is merely
+an island of beef flesh swimming in a warm gulf sea of gravy.&rsquo; Such a
+brilliant way of putting things. Do you remember, Sonia?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I forget nothing, mamma,&rdquo; answered Sonia.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Said the Herr Professor: &ldquo;That is the proof of your calling, gnädiges
+Fräulein. Now I wonder&mdash;and this is a very interesting
+speculation&mdash;is memory a blessing or&mdash;excuse the word&mdash;a
+curse?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Frau Godowska looked into the distance, then the corners of her mouth dropped
+and her skin puckered. She began to shed tears.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ach Gott! Gracious lady, what have I said?&rdquo; exclaimed the Herr
+Professor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sonia took her mother&rsquo;s hand. &ldquo;Do you know,&rdquo; she said,
+&ldquo;to-night it is stewed carrots and nut tart for supper. Suppose we go in
+and take our places,&rdquo; her sidelong, tragic stare accusing the Professor
+and me the while.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I followed them across the lawn and up the steps. Frau Godowska was murmuring,
+&ldquo;Such a wonderful, beloved man&rdquo;; with her disengaged hand Fräulein
+Sonia was arranging the sweet-pea &ldquo;garniture.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A concert for the benefit of afflicted Catholic infants will take place
+in the salon at eight-thirty P.M. Artists: Fräulein Sonia Godowska, from
+Vienna; Herr Professor Windberg and his trombone; Frau Oberlehrer Weidel, and
+others.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+This notice was tied round the neck of the melancholy stag&rsquo;s head in the
+dining-room. It graced him like a red and white &ldquo;dinner bib&rdquo; for
+days before the event, causing the Herr Professor to bow before it and say
+&ldquo;good appetite&rdquo; until we sickened of his pleasantry and left the
+smiling to be done by the waiter, who was paid to be pleasing to the guests.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On the appointed day the married ladies sailed about the pension dressed like
+upholstered chairs, and the unmarried ladies like draped muslin dressing-table
+covers. Frau Godowska pinned a rose in the centre of her reticule; another
+blossom was tucked in the mazy folds of a white antimacassar thrown across her
+breast. The gentlemen wore black coats, white silk ties and ferny buttonholes
+tickling the chin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The floor of the salon was freshly polished, chairs and benches arranged, and a
+row of little flags strung across the ceiling&mdash;they flew and jigged in the
+draught with all the enthusiasm of family washing. It was arranged that I
+should sit beside Frau Godowska, and that the Herr Professor and Sonia should
+join us when their share of the concert was over.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That will make you feel quite one of the performers,&rdquo; said the
+Herr Professor genially. &ldquo;It is a great pity that the English nation is
+so unmusical. Never mind! To-night you shall hear something&mdash;we have
+discovered a nest of talent during the rehearsals.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you intend to recite, Fräulein Sonia?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She shook back her hair. &ldquo;I never know until the last moment. When I come
+on the stage I wait for one moment and then I have the sensation as though
+something struck me here,&rdquo;&mdash;she placed her hand upon her collar
+brooch&mdash;&ldquo;and... words come!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bend down a moment,&rdquo; whispered her mother. &ldquo;Sonia, love,
+your skirt safety-pin is showing at the back. Shall I come outside and fasten
+it properly for you, or will you do it yourself?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, mamma, please don&rsquo;t say such things,&rdquo; Sonia flushed and
+grew very angry. &ldquo;You know how sensitive I am to the slightest
+unsympathetic impression at a time like this.... I would rather my skirt
+dropped off my body&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sonia&mdash;my heart!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A bell tinkled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The waiter came in and opened the piano. In the heated excitement of the moment
+he entirely forgot what was fitting, and flicked the keys with the grimy table
+napkin he carried over his arm. The Frau Oberlehrer tripped on the platform
+followed by a very young gentleman, who blew his nose twice before he hurled
+his handkerchief into the bosom of the piano.
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+&ldquo;Yes, I know you have no love for me,<br/>
+And no forget-me-not.<br/>
+No love, no heart, and no forget-me-not.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+sang the Frau Oberlehrer, in a voice that seemed to issue from her forgotten
+thimble and have nothing to do with her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ach, how sweet, how delicate,&rdquo; we cried, clapping her soothingly.
+She bowed as though to say, &ldquo;Yes, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo; and retired, the
+very young gentleman dodging her train and scowling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The piano was closed, an arm-chair was placed in the centre of the platform.
+Fräulein Sonia drifted towards it. A breathless pause. Then, presumably, the
+winged shaft struck her collar brooch. She implored us not to go into the woods
+in trained dresses, but rather as lightly draped as possible, and bed with her
+among the pine needles. Her loud, slightly harsh voice filled the salon. She
+dropped her arms over the back of the chair, moving her lean hands from the
+wrists. We were thrilled and silent. The Herr Professor, beside me, abnormally
+serious, his eyes bulging, pulled at his moustache ends. Frau Godowska adopted
+that peculiarly detached attitude of the proud parent. The only soul who
+remained untouched by her appeal was the waiter, who leaned idly against the
+wall of the salon and cleaned his nails with the edge of a programme. He was
+&ldquo;off duty&rdquo; and intended to show it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What did I say?&rdquo; shouted the Herr Professor under cover of
+tumultuous applause, &ldquo;tem-per-ament! There you have it. She is a flame in
+the heart of a lily. I know I am going to play well. It is my turn now. I am
+inspired. Fräulein Sonia&rdquo;&mdash;as that lady returned to us, pale and
+draped in a large shawl&mdash;&ldquo;you are my inspiration. To-night you shall
+be the soul of my trombone. Wait only.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To right and left of us people bent over and whispered admiration down Fräulein
+Sonia&rsquo;s neck. She bowed in the grand style.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am always successful,&rdquo; she said to me. &ldquo;You see, when I
+act <i>I am</i>. In Vienna, in the plays of Ibsen we had so many bouquets that
+the cook had three in the kitchen. But it is difficult here. There is so little
+magic. Do you not feel it? There is none of that mysterious perfume which
+floats almost as a visible thing from the souls of the Viennese audiences. My
+spirit starves for want of that.&rdquo; She leaned forward, chin on hand.
+&ldquo;Starves,&rdquo; she repeated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Professor appeared with his trombone, blew into it, held it up to one eye,
+tucked back his shirt cuffs and wallowed in the soul of Sonia Godowska. Such a
+sensation did he create that he was recalled to play a Bavarian dance, which he
+acknowledged was to be taken as a breathing exercise rather than an artistic
+achievement. Frau Godowska kept time to it with a fan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Followed the very young gentleman who piped in a tenor voice that he loved
+somebody, &ldquo;with blood in his heart and a thousand pains.&rdquo; Fräulein
+Sonia acted a poison scene with the assistance of her mother&rsquo;s pill vial
+and the arm-chair replaced by a &ldquo;chaise longue&rdquo;; a young girl
+scratched a lullaby on a young fiddle; and the Herr Professor performed the
+last sacrificial rites on the altar of the afflicted children by playing the
+National Anthem.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now I must put mamma to bed,&rdquo; whispered Fräulein Sonia. &ldquo;But
+afterwards I must take a walk. It is imperative that I free my spirit in the
+open air for a moment. Would you come with me as far as the railway station and
+back?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well, then, knock on my door when you&rsquo;re ready.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus the modern soul and I found ourselves together under the stars.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What a night!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Do you know that poem of Sappho
+about her hands in the stars.... I am curiously sapphic. And this is so
+remarkable&mdash;not only am I sapphic, I find in all the works of all the
+greatest writers, especially in their unedited letters, some touch, some sign
+of myself&mdash;some resemblance, some part of myself, like a thousand
+reflections of my own hands in a dark mirror.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But what a bother,&rdquo; said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do not know what you mean by &lsquo;bother&rsquo;; is it rather the
+curse of my genius....&rdquo; She paused suddenly, staring at me. &ldquo;Do you
+know my tragedy?&rdquo; she asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I shook my head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My tragedy is my mother. Living with her I live with the coffin of my
+unborn aspirations. You heard that about the safety-pin to-night. It may seem
+to you a little thing, but it ruined my three first gestures. They
+were&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Impaled on a safety-pin,&rdquo; I suggested.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, exactly that. And when we are in Vienna I am the victim of moods,
+you know. I long to do wild, passionate things. And mamma says, &lsquo;Please
+pour out my mixture first.&rsquo; Once I remember I flew into a rage and threw
+a washstand jug out of the window. Do you know what she said? &lsquo;Sonia, it
+is not so much throwing things out of windows, if only you
+would&mdash;&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Choose something smaller?&rdquo; said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No... &lsquo;tell me about it beforehand.&rsquo; Humiliating! And I do
+not see any possible light out of this darkness.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you join a touring company and leave your mother in
+Vienna?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What! Leave my poor, little, sick, widowed mother in Vienna! Sooner than
+that I would drown myself. I love my mother as I love nobody else in the
+world&mdash;nobody and nothing! Do you think it is impossible to love
+one&rsquo;s tragedy? &lsquo;Out of my great sorrows I make my little
+songs,&rsquo; that is Heine or myself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, well, that&rsquo;s all right,&rdquo; I said cheerfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But it is not all right!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I suggested we should turn back. We turned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sometimes I think the solution lies in marriage,&rdquo; said Fräulein
+Sonia. &ldquo;If I find a simple, peaceful man who adores me and will look
+after mamma&mdash;a man who would be for me a pillow&mdash;for genius cannot
+hope to mate&mdash;I shall marry him.... You know the Herr Professor has paid
+me very marked attentions.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, Fräulein Sonia,&rdquo; I said, very pleased with myself, &ldquo;why
+not marry him to your mother?&rdquo; We were passing the hairdresser&rsquo;s
+shop at the moment. Fräulein Sonia clutched my arm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You, you,&rdquo; she stammered. &ldquo;The cruelty. I am going to faint.
+Mamma to marry again before I marry&mdash;the indignity. I am going to faint
+here and now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I was frightened. &ldquo;You can&rsquo;t,&rdquo; I said, shaking her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come back to the pension and faint as much as you please. But you
+can&rsquo;t faint here. All the shops are closed. There is nobody about. Please
+don&rsquo;t be so foolish.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here and here only!&rdquo; She indicated the exact spot and dropped
+quite beautifully, lying motionless.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;faint away; but please hurry over
+it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She did not move. I began to walk home, but each time I looked behind me I saw
+the dark form of the modern soul prone before the hairdresser&rsquo;s window.
+Finally I ran, and rooted out the Herr Professor from his room. &ldquo;Fräulein
+Sonia has fainted,&rdquo; I said crossly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Du lieber Gott! Where? How?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Outside the hairdresser&rsquo;s shop in the Station Road.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Jesus and Maria! Has she no water with her?&rdquo;&mdash;he seized his
+carafe&mdash;&ldquo;nobody beside her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where is my coat? No matter, I shall catch a cold on the chest.
+Willingly, I shall catch one.... You are ready to come with me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; I said; &ldquo;you can take the waiter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But she must have a woman. I cannot be so indelicate as to attempt to
+loosen her stays.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Modern souls oughtn&rsquo;t to wear them,&rdquo; said I. He pushed past
+me and clattered down the stairs.
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>
+When I came down to breakfast next morning there were two places vacant at
+table. Fräulein Sonia and Herr Professor had gone off for a day&rsquo;s
+excursion in the woods.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I wondered.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap07"></a>AT &ldquo;LEHMANN&rsquo;S&rdquo;</h2>
+
+<p>
+Certainly Sabina did not find life slow. She was on the trot from early morning
+until late at night. At five o&rsquo;clock she tumbled out of bed, buttoned on
+her clothes, wearing a long-sleeved alpaca pinafore over her black frock, and
+groped her way downstairs into the kitchen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Anna, the cook, had grown so fat during the summer that she adored her bed
+because she did not have to wear her corsets there, but could spread as much as
+she liked, roll about under the great mattress, calling upon Jesus and Holy
+Mary and Blessed Anthony himself that her life was not fit for a pig in a
+cellar.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sabina was new to her work. Pink colour still flew in her cheeks; there was a
+little dimple on the left side of her mouth that even when she was most
+serious, most absorbed, popped out and gave her away. And Anna blessed that
+dimple. It meant an extra half-hour in bed for her; it made Sabina light the
+fire, turn out the kitchen and wash endless cups and saucers that had been left
+over from the evening before. Hans, the scullery boy, did not come until seven.
+He was the son of the butcher&mdash;a mean, undersized child very much like one
+of his father&rsquo;s sausages, Sabina thought. His red face was covered with
+pimples, and his nails indescribably filthy. When Herr Lehmann himself told
+Hans to get a hairpin and clean them he said they were stained from birth
+because his mother had always got so inky doing the accounts&mdash;and Sabina
+believed him and pitied him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter had come very early to Mindelbau. By the end of October the streets were
+banked waist-high with snow, and the greater number of the &ldquo;Cure
+Guests,&rdquo; sick unto death of cold water and herbs, had departed in nothing
+approaching peace. So the large salon was shut at Lehmann&rsquo;s and the
+breakfast-room was all the accommodation the café afforded. Here the floor had
+to be washed over, the tables rubbed, coffee-cups set out, each with its little
+china platter of sugar, and newspapers and magazines hung on their hooks along
+the walls before Herr Lehmann appeared at seven-thirty and opened business.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As a rule his wife served in the shop leading into the café, but she had chosen
+the quiet season to have a baby, and, a big woman at the best of times, she had
+grown so enormous in the process that her husband told her she looked
+unappetising, and had better remain upstairs and sew.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sabina took on the extra work without any thought of extra pay. She loved to
+stand behind the counter, cutting up slices of Anna&rsquo;s marvellous
+chocolate-spotted confections, or doing up packets of sugar almonds in pink and
+blue striped bags.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll get varicose veins, like me,&rdquo; said Anna.
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s what the Frau&rsquo;s got, too. No wonder the baby
+doesn&rsquo;t come! All her swelling&rsquo;s got into her legs.&rdquo; And Hans
+was immensely interested.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+During the morning business was comparatively slack. Sabina answered the shop
+bell, attended to a few customers who drank a liqueur to warm their stomachs
+before the midday meal, and ran upstairs now and again to ask the Frau if she
+wanted anything. But in the afternoon six or seven choice spirits played cards,
+and everybody who was anybody drank tea or coffee.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sabina... Sabina....&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She flew from one table to the other, counting out handfuls of small change,
+giving orders to Anna through the &ldquo;slide,&rdquo; helping the men with
+their heavy coats, always with that magical child air about her, that
+delightful sense of perpetually attending a party.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How is the Frau Lehmann?&rdquo; the women would whisper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She feels rather low, but as well as can be expected,&rdquo; Sabina
+would answer, nodding confidentially.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Frau Lehmann&rsquo;s bad time was approaching. Anna and her friends referred to
+it as her &ldquo;journey to Rome,&rdquo; and Sabina longed to ask questions,
+yet, being ashamed of her ignorance, was silent, trying to puzzle it out for
+herself. She knew practically nothing except that the Frau had a baby inside
+her, which had to come out&mdash;very painful indeed. One could not have one
+without a husband&mdash;that she also realised. But what had the man got to do
+with it? So she wondered as she sat mending tea towels in the evening, head
+bent over her work, light shining on her brown curls. Birth&mdash;what was it?
+wondered Sabina. Death&mdash;such a simple thing. She had a little picture of
+her dead grandmother dressed in a black silk frock, tired hands clasping the
+crucifix that dragged between her flattened breasts, mouth curiously tight, yet
+almost secretly smiling. But the grandmother had been born once&mdash;that was
+the important fact.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As she sat there one evening, thinking, the Young Man entered the café, and
+called for a glass of port wine. Sabina rose slowly. The long day and the hot
+room made her feel a little languid, but as she poured out the wine she felt
+the Young Man&rsquo;s eyes fixed on her, looked down at him and dimpled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s cold out,&rdquo; she said, corking the bottle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Young Man ran his hands through his snow-powdered hair and laughed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t call it exactly tropical,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;But
+you&rsquo;re very snug in here&mdash;look as though you&rsquo;ve been
+asleep.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Very languid felt Sabina in the hot room, and the Young Man&rsquo;s voice was
+strong and deep. She thought she had never seen anybody who looked so
+strong&mdash;as though he could take up the table in one hand&mdash;and his
+restless gaze wandering over her face and figure gave her a curious thrill deep
+in her body, half pleasure, half pain.... She wanted to stand there, close
+beside him, while he drank his wine. A little silence followed. Then he took a
+book out of his pocket, and Sabina went back to her sewing. Sitting there in
+the corner, she listened to the sound of the leaves being turned and the loud
+ticking of the clock that hung over the gilt mirror. She wanted to look at him
+again&mdash;there was a something about him, in his deep voice, even in the way
+his clothes fitted. From the room above she heard the heavy dragging sound of
+Frau Lehmann&rsquo;s footsteps, and again the old thoughts worried Sabina. If
+she herself should one day look like that&mdash;feel like that! Yet it would be
+very sweet to have a little baby to dress and jump up and down.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fräulein&mdash;what&rsquo;s your name&mdash;what are you smiling
+at?&rdquo; called the Young Man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She blushed and looked up, hands quiet in her lap, looked across the empty
+tables and shook her head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come here, and I&rsquo;ll show you a picture,&rdquo; he commanded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She went and stood beside him. He opened the book, and Sabina saw a coloured
+sketch of a naked girl sitting on the edge of a great, crumpled bed, a
+man&rsquo;s opera hat on the back of her head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He put his hand over the body, leaving only the face exposed, then scrutinised
+Sabina closely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; she asked, knowing perfectly well.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, it might be your own photograph&mdash;the face, I
+mean&mdash;that&rsquo;s as far as I can judge.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But the hair&rsquo;s done differently,&rdquo; said Sabina, laughing. She
+threw back her head, and the laughter bubbled in her round white throat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s rather a nice picture, don&rsquo;t you think?&rdquo; he
+asked. But she was looking at a curious ring he wore on the hand that covered
+the girl&rsquo;s body, and only nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ever seen anything like it before?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, there&rsquo;s plenty of those funny ones in the illustrated
+papers.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How would you like to have your picture taken that way?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Me? I&rsquo;d never let anybody see it. Besides, I haven&rsquo;t got a
+hat like that!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s easily remedied.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again a little silence, broken by Anna throwing up the slide.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sabina ran into the kitchen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here, take this milk and egg up to the Frau,&rdquo; said Anna.
+&ldquo;Who&rsquo;ve you got in there?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Got such a funny man! I think he&rsquo;s a little gone here,&rdquo;
+tapping her forehead.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Upstairs in the ugly room the Frau sat sewing, a black shawl round her
+shoulders, her feet encased in red woollen slippers. The girl put the milk on a
+table by her, then stood, polishing a spoon on her apron.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing else?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Na,&rdquo; said the Frau, heaving up in her chair. &ldquo;Where&rsquo;s
+my man?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s playing cards over at Snipold&rsquo;s. Do you want
+him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dear heaven, leave him alone. I&rsquo;m nothing. I don&rsquo;t
+matter.... And the whole day waiting here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her hand shook as she wiped the rim of the glass with her fat finger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Shall I help you to bed?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You go downstairs, leave me alone. Tell Anna not to let Hans grub the
+sugar&mdash;give him one on the ear.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ugly&mdash;ugly&mdash;ugly,&rdquo; muttered Sabina, returning to the
+café where the Young Man stood coat-buttoned, ready for departure.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll come again to-morrow,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t
+twist your hair back so tightly; it will lose all its curl.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, you are a funny one,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Good-night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By the time Sabina was ready for bed Anna was snoring. She brushed out her long
+hair and gathered it in her hands.... Perhaps it would be a pity if it lost all
+its curl. Then she looked down at her straight chemise, and drawing it off, sat
+down on the side of the bed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wish,&rdquo; she whispered, smiling sleepily, &ldquo;there was a great
+big looking-glass in this room.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lying down in the darkness, she hugged her little body.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t be the Frau for one hundred marks&mdash;not for a
+thousand marks. To look like that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And half-dreaming, she imagined herself heaving up in her chair with the port
+wine bottle in her hand as the Young Man entered the café.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Cold and dark the next morning. Sabina woke, tired, feeling as though something
+heavy had been pressing under her heart all night. There was a sound of
+footsteps shuffling along the passage. Herr Lehmann! She must have overslept
+herself. Yes, he was rattling the door-handle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;One moment, one moment,&rdquo; she called, dragging on her stockings.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bina, tell Anna to go to the Frau&mdash;but quickly. I must ride for the
+nurse.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, yes!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Has it come?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But he had gone, and she ran over to Anna and shook her by the shoulder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Frau&mdash;the baby&mdash;Herr Lehmann for the nurse,&rdquo; she
+stuttered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Name of God!&rdquo; said Anna, flinging herself out of bed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No complaints to-day. Importance&mdash;enthusiasm in Anna&rsquo;s whole
+bearing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You run downstairs and light the oven. Put on a pan of
+water&rdquo;&mdash;speaking to an imaginary sufferer as she fastened her
+blouse&mdash;&ldquo;Yes, yes, I know&mdash;we must be worse before we are
+better&mdash;I&rsquo;m coming&mdash;patience.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was dark all that day. Lights were turned on immediately the café opened,
+and business was very brisk. Anna, turned out of the Frau&rsquo;s room by the
+nurse, refused to work, and sat in a corner nursing herself, listening to
+sounds overhead. Hans was more sympathetic than Sabina. He also forsook work,
+and stood by the window, picking his nose.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But why must I do everything?&rdquo; said Sabina, washing glasses.
+&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t help the Frau; she oughtn&rsquo;t to take such a time
+about it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Listen,&rdquo; said Anna, &ldquo;they&rsquo;ve moved her into the back
+bedroom above here, so as not to disturb the people. That was a
+groan&mdash;that one!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Two small beers,&rdquo; shouted Herr Lehmann through the slide.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;One moment, one moment.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At eight o&rsquo;clock the café was deserted. Sabina sat down in the corner
+without her sewing. Nothing seemed to have happened to the Frau. A doctor had
+come&mdash;that was all.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ach,&rdquo; said Sabina. &ldquo;I think no more of it. I listen no more.
+Ach, I would like to go away&mdash;I hate this talk. I will not hear it. No, it
+is too much.&rdquo; She leaned both elbows on the table&mdash;cupped her face
+in her hands and pouted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the outer door suddenly opening, she sprang to her feet and laughed. It was
+the Young Man again. He ordered more port, and brought no book this time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t go and sit miles away,&rdquo; he grumbled. &ldquo;I want to
+be amused. And here, take my coat. Can&rsquo;t you dry it
+somewhere?&mdash;snowing again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s a warm place&mdash;the ladies&rsquo; cloak-room,&rdquo;
+she said. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll take it in there&mdash;just by the kitchen.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She felt better, and quite happy again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll come with you,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll see where
+you put it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And that did not seem at all extraordinary. She laughed and beckoned to him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In here,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Feel how warm. I&rsquo;ll put more
+wood on that oven. It doesn&rsquo;t matter, they&rsquo;re all busy
+upstairs.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She knelt down on the floor, and thrust the wood into the oven, laughing at her
+own wicked extravagance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Frau was forgotten, the stupid day was forgotten. Here was someone beside
+her laughing, too. They were together in the little warm room stealing Herr
+Lehmann&rsquo;s wood. It seemed the most exciting adventure in the world. She
+wanted to go on laughing&mdash;or burst out
+crying&mdash;or&mdash;or&mdash;catch hold of the Young Man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What a fire,&rdquo; she shrieked, stretching out her hands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s a hand; pull up,&rdquo; said the Young Man. &ldquo;There,
+now, you&rsquo;ll catch it to-morrow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They stood opposite to each other, hands still clinging. And again that strange
+tremor thrilled Sabina.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Look here,&rdquo; he said roughly, &ldquo;are you a child, or are you
+playing at being one?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&mdash;I&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Laughter ceased. She looked up at him once, then down at the floor, and began
+breathing like a frightened little animal.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He pulled her closer still and kissed her mouth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Na, what are you doing?&rdquo; she whispered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He let go her hands, he placed his on her breasts, and the room seemed to swim
+round Sabina. Suddenly, from the room above, a frightful, tearing shriek.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She wrenched herself away, tightened herself, drew herself up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who did that&mdash;who made that noise?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>
+In the silence the thin wailing of a baby.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Achk!&rdquo; shrieked Sabina, rushing from the room.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap08"></a>THE LUFT BAD</h2>
+
+<p>
+I think it must be the umbrellas which make us look ridiculous.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When I was admitted into the enclosure for the first time, and saw my
+fellow-bathers walking about very nearly &ldquo;in their nakeds,&rdquo; it
+struck me that the umbrellas gave a distinctly &ldquo;Little Black Sambo&rdquo;
+touch.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ridiculous dignity in holding over yourself a green cotton thing with a red
+parroquet handle when you are dressed in nothing larger than a handkerchief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There are no trees in the &ldquo;Luft Bad.&rdquo; It boasts a collection of
+plain, wooden cells, a bath shelter, two swings and two odd clubs&mdash;one,
+presumably the lost property of Hercules or the German army, and the other to
+be used with safety in the cradle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And there in all weathers we take the air&mdash;walking, or sitting in little
+companies talking over each other&rsquo;s ailments and measurements and ills
+that flesh is heir to.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A high wooden wall compasses us all about; above it the pine-trees look down a
+little superciliously, nudging each other in a way that is peculiarly trying to
+a <i>débutante</i>. Over the wall, on the right side, is the men&rsquo;s
+section. We hear them chopping down trees and sawing through planks, dashing
+heavy weights to the ground, and singing part songs. Yes, they take it far more
+seriously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On the first day I was conscious of my legs, and went back into my cell three
+times to look at my watch, but when a woman with whom I had played chess for
+three weeks cut me dead, I took heart and joined a circle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We lay curled on the ground while a Hungarian lady of immense proportions told
+us what a beautiful tomb she had bought for her second husband.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A vault it is,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;with nice black railings. And so
+large that I can go down there and walk about. Both their photographs are
+there, with two very handsome wreaths sent me by my first husband&rsquo;s
+brother. There is an enlargement of a family group photograph, too, and an
+illuminated address presented to my first husband on his marriage. I am often
+there; it makes such a pleasant excursion for a fine Saturday afternoon.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She suddenly lay down flat on her back, took in six long breaths, and sat up
+again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The death agony was dreadful,&rdquo; she said brightly; &ldquo;of the
+second, I mean. The &lsquo;first&rsquo; was run into by a furniture wagon, and
+had fifty marks stolen out of a new waistcoat pocket, but the
+&lsquo;second&rsquo; was dying for sixty-seven hours. I never ceased crying
+once&mdash;not even to put the children to bed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A young Russian, with a &ldquo;bang&rdquo; curl on her forehead, turned to me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Can you do the &lsquo;Salome&rsquo; dance?&rdquo; she asked. &ldquo;I
+can.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How delightful,&rdquo; I said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Shall I do it now? Would you like to see me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She sprang to her feet, executed a series of amazing contortions for the next
+ten minutes, and then paused, panting, twisting her long hair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t that nice?&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;And now I am perspiring
+so splendidly. I shall go and take a bath.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Opposite to me was the brownest woman I have ever seen, lying on her back, her
+arms clasped over her head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How long have you been here to-day?&rdquo; she was asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, I spend the day here now,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;I am making my
+own &lsquo;cure,&rsquo; and living entirely on raw vegetables and nuts, and
+each day I feel my spirit is stronger and purer. After all, what can you
+expect? The majority of us are walking about with pig corpuscles and oxen
+fragments in our brain. The wonder is the world is as good as it is. Now I live
+on the simple, provided food&rdquo;&mdash;she pointed to a little bag beside
+her&mdash;&ldquo;a lettuce, a carrot, a potato, and some nuts are ample,
+rational nourishment. I wash them under the tap and eat them raw, just as they
+come from the harmless earth&mdash;fresh and uncontaminated.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you take nothing else all day?&rdquo; I cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Water. And perhaps a banana if I wake in the night.&rdquo; She turned
+round and leaned on one elbow. &ldquo;You over-eat yourself dreadfully,&rdquo;
+she said; &ldquo;shamelessly! How can you expect the Flame of the Spirit to
+burn brightly under layers of superfluous flesh?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I wished she would not stare at me, and thought of going to look at my watch
+again when a little girl wearing a string of coral beads joined us.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The poor Frau Hauptmann cannot join us to-day,&rdquo; she said;
+&ldquo;she has come out in spots all over on account of her nerves. She was
+very excited yesterday after having written two post-cards.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A delicate woman,&rdquo; volunteered the Hungarian, &ldquo;but pleasant.
+Fancy, she has a separate plate for each of her front teeth! But she has no
+right to let her daughters wear such short sailor suits. They sit about on
+benches, crossing their legs in a most shameless manner. What are you going to
+do this afternoon, Fräulein Anna?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; said the Coral Necklace, &ldquo;the Herr Oberleutnant has
+asked me to go with him to Landsdorf. He must buy some eggs there to take home
+to his mother. He saves a penny on eight eggs by knowing the right peasants to
+bargain with.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you an American?&rdquo; said the Vegetable Lady, turning to me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then you are an Englishwoman?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, hardly&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You must be one of the two; you cannot help it. I have seen you walking
+alone several times. You wear your&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I got up and climbed on to the swing. The air was sweet and cool, rushing past
+my body. Above, white clouds trailed delicately through the blue sky. From the
+pine forest streamed a wild perfume, the branches swayed together,
+rhythmically, sonorously. I felt so light and free and happy&mdash;so childish!
+I wanted to poke my tongue out at the circle on the grass, who, drawing close
+together, were whispering meaningly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps you do not know,&rdquo; cried a voice from one of the cells,
+&ldquo;to swing is very upsetting for the stomach? A friend of mine could keep
+nothing down for three weeks after exciting herself so.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I went to the bath shelter and was hosed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As I dressed, someone tapped on the wall.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you know,&rdquo; said a voice, &ldquo;there is a man who <i>lives</i>
+in the Luft Bad next door? He buries himself up to the armpits in mud and
+refuses to believe in the Trinity.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+The umbrellas are the saving grace of the Luft Bad. Now when I go, I take my
+husband&rsquo;s &ldquo;storm gamp&rdquo; and sit in a corner, hiding behind it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Not that I am in the least ashamed of my legs.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap09"></a>A BIRTHDAY</h2>
+
+<p>
+Andreas Binzer woke slowly. He turned over on the narrow bed and stretched
+himself&mdash;yawned&mdash;opening his mouth as widely as possible and bringing
+his teeth together afterwards with a sharp &ldquo;click.&rdquo; The sound of
+that click fascinated him; he repeated it quickly several times, with a
+snapping movement of the jaws. What teeth! he thought. Sound as a bell, every
+man jack of them. Never had one out, never had one stopped. That comes of no
+tomfoolery in eating, and a good regular brushing night and morning. He raised
+himself on his left elbow and waved his right arm over the side of the bed to
+feel for the chair where he put his watch and chain overnight. No chair was
+there&mdash;of course, he&rsquo;d forgotten, there wasn&rsquo;t a chair in this
+wretched spare room. Had to put the confounded thing under his pillow.
+&ldquo;Half-past eight, Sunday, breakfast at nine&mdash;time for the
+bath&rdquo;&mdash;his brain ticked to the watch. He sprang out of bed and went
+over to the window. The venetian blind was broken, hung fan-shaped over the
+upper pane.... &ldquo;That blind must be mended. I&rsquo;ll get the office boy
+to drop in and fix it on his way home to-morrow&mdash;he&rsquo;s a good hand at
+blinds. Give him twopence and he&rsquo;ll do it as well as a carpenter.... Anna
+could do it herself if she was all right. So would I, for the matter of that,
+but I don&rsquo;t like to trust myself on rickety step-ladders.&rdquo; He
+looked up at the sky: it shone, strangely white, unflecked with cloud; he
+looked down at the row of garden strips and backyards. The fence of these
+gardens was built along the edge of a gully, spanned by an iron suspension
+bridge, and the people had a wretched habit of throwing their empty tins over
+the fence into the gully. Just like them, of course! Andreas started counting
+the tins, and decided, viciously, to write a letter to the papers about it and
+sign it&mdash;sign it in full.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The servant girl came out of their back door into the yard, carrying his boots.
+She threw one down on the ground, thrust her hand into the other, and stared at
+it, sucking in her cheeks. Suddenly she bent forward, spat on the toecap, and
+started polishing with a brush rooted out of her apron pocket.... &ldquo;Slut
+of a girl! Heaven knows what infectious disease may be breeding now in that
+boot. Anna must get rid of that girl&mdash;even if she has to do without one
+for a bit&mdash;as soon as she&rsquo;s up and about again. The way she chucked
+one boot down and then spat upon the other! She didn&rsquo;t care whose boots
+she&rsquo;d got hold of. <i>She</i> had no false notions of the respect due to
+the master of the house.&rdquo; He turned away from the window and switched his
+bath towel from the washstand rail, sick at heart. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m too
+sensitive for a man&mdash;that&rsquo;s what&rsquo;s the matter with me. Have
+been from the beginning, and will be to the end.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a gentle knock at the door and his mother came in. She closed the
+door after her and leant against it. Andreas noticed that her cap was crooked,
+and a long tail of hair hung over her shoulder. He went forward and kissed her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good-morning, mother; how&rsquo;s Anna?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The old woman spoke quickly, clasping and unclasping her hands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Andreas, please go to Doctor Erb as soon as you are dressed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;is she bad?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Frau Binzer nodded, and Andreas, watching her, saw her face suddenly change; a
+fine network of wrinkles seemed to pull over it from under the skin surface.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sit down on the bed a moment,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Been up all
+night?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. No, I won&rsquo;t sit down, I must go back to her. Anna has been in
+pain all night. She wouldn&rsquo;t have you disturbed before because she said
+you looked so run down yesterday. You told her you had caught a cold and been
+very worried.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Straightway Andreas felt that he was being accused.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, she made me tell her, worried it out of me; you know the way she
+does.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again Frau Binzer nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh yes, I know. She says, is your cold better, and there&rsquo;s a warm
+undervest for you in the left-hand corner of the big drawer.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Quite automatically Andreas cleared his throat twice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;Tell her my throat certainly feels
+looser. I suppose I&rsquo;d better not disturb her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, and besides, <i>time</i>, Andreas.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be ready in five minutes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They went into the passage. As Frau Binzer opened the door of the front
+bedroom, a long wail came from the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That shocked and terrified Andreas. He dashed into the bathroom, turned on both
+taps as far as they would go, cleaned his teeth and pared his nails while the
+water was running.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Frightful business, frightful business,&rdquo; he heard himself
+whispering. &ldquo;And I can&rsquo;t understand it. It isn&rsquo;t as though it
+were her first&mdash;it&rsquo;s her third. Old Schäfer told me, yesterday, his
+wife simply &lsquo;dropped&rsquo; her fourth. Anna ought to have had a
+qualified nurse. Mother gives way to her. Mother spoils her. I wonder what she
+meant by saying I&rsquo;d worried Anna yesterday. Nice remark to make to a
+husband at a time like this. Unstrung, I suppose&mdash;and my sensitiveness
+again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When he went into the kitchen for his boots, the servant girl was bent over the
+stove, cooking breakfast. &ldquo;Breathing into that, now, I suppose,&rdquo;
+thought Andreas, and was very short with the servant girl. She did not notice.
+She was full of terrified joy and importance in the goings on upstairs. She
+felt she was learning the secrets of life with every breath she drew. Had laid
+the table that morning saying, &ldquo;Boy,&rdquo; as she put down the first
+dish, &ldquo;Girl,&rdquo; as she placed the second&mdash;it had worked out with
+the saltspoon to &ldquo;Boy.&rdquo; &ldquo;For two pins I&rsquo;d tell the
+master that, to comfort him, like,&rdquo; she decided. But the master gave her
+no opening.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Put an extra cup and saucer on the table,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;the
+doctor may want some coffee.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The doctor, sir?&rdquo; The servant girl whipped a spoon out of a pan,
+and spilt two drops of grease on the stove. &ldquo;Shall I fry something
+extra?&rdquo; But the master had gone, slamming the door after him. He walked
+down the street&mdash;there was nobody about at all&mdash;dead and alive this
+place on a Sunday morning. As he crossed the suspension bridge a strong stench
+of fennel and decayed refuse streamed from the gulley, and again Andreas began
+concocting a letter. He turned into the main road. The shutters were still up
+before the shops. Scraps of newspaper, hay, and fruit skins strewed the
+pavement; the gutters were choked with the leavings of Saturday night. Two dogs
+sprawled in the middle of the road, scuffling and biting. Only the public-house
+at the corner was open; a young barman slopped water over the doorstep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fastidiously, his lips curling, Andreas picked his way through the water.
+&ldquo;Extraordinary how I am noticing things this morning. It&rsquo;s partly
+the effect of Sunday. I loathe a Sunday when Anna&rsquo;s tied by the leg and
+the children are away. On Sunday a man has the right to expect his family.
+Everything here&rsquo;s filthy, the whole place might be down with the plague,
+and will be, too, if this street&rsquo;s not swept away. I&rsquo;d like to have
+a hand on the government ropes.&rdquo; He braced his shoulders. &ldquo;Now for
+this doctor.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Doctor Erb is at breakfast,&rdquo; the maid informed him. She showed him
+into the waiting-room, a dark and musty place, with some ferns under a
+glass-case by the window. &ldquo;He says he won&rsquo;t be a minute, please,
+sir, and there is a paper on the table.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Unhealthy hole,&rdquo; thought Binzer, walking over to the window and
+drumming his fingers on the glass fern-shade. &ldquo;At breakfast, is he?
+That&rsquo;s the mistake I made: turning out early on an empty stomach.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A milk cart rattled down the street, the driver standing at the back, cracking
+a whip; he wore an immense geranium flower stuck in the lapel of his coat. Firm
+as a rock he stood, bending back a little in the swaying cart. Andreas craned
+his neck to watch him all the way down the road, even after he had gone,
+listening for the sharp sound of those rattling cans.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;H&rsquo;m, not much wrong with him,&rdquo; he reflected.
+&ldquo;Wouldn&rsquo;t mind a taste of that life myself. Up early, work all over
+by eleven o&rsquo;clock, nothing to do but loaf about all day until milking
+time.&rdquo; Which he knew was an exaggeration, but he wanted to pity himself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The maid opened the door, and stood aside for Doctor Erb. Andreas wheeled
+round; the two men shook hands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, Binzer,&rdquo; said the doctor jovially, brushing some crumbs from
+a pearl-coloured waistcoat, &ldquo;son and heir becoming importunate?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Up went Binzer&rsquo;s spirits with a bound. Son and heir, by Jove! He was glad
+to have to deal with a man again. And a sane fellow this, who came across this
+sort of thing every day of the week.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s about the measure of it, Doctor,&rdquo; he answered,
+smiling and picking up his hat. &ldquo;Mother dragged me out of bed this
+morning with imperative orders to bring you along.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gig will be round in a minute. Drive back with me, won&rsquo;t you?
+Extraordinary, sultry day; you&rsquo;re as red as a beetroot already.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Andreas affected to laugh. The doctor had one annoying habit&mdash;imagined he
+had the right to poke fun at everybody simply because he was a doctor.
+&ldquo;The man&rsquo;s riddled with conceit, like all these
+professionals,&rdquo; Andreas decided.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What sort of night did Frau Binzer have?&rdquo; asked the doctor.
+&ldquo;Ah, here&rsquo;s the gig. Tell me on the way up. Sit as near the middle
+as you can, will you, Binzer? Your weight tilts it over a bit one
+side&mdash;that&rsquo;s the worst of you successful business men.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Two stone heavier than I, if he&rsquo;s a pound,&rdquo; thought Andreas.
+&ldquo;The man may be all right in his profession&mdash;but heaven preserve
+me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Off you go, my beauty.&rdquo; Doctor Erb flicked the little brown mare.
+&ldquo;Did your wife get any sleep last night?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No; I don&rsquo;t think she did,&rdquo; answered Andreas shortly.
+&ldquo;To tell you the truth, I&rsquo;m not satisfied that she hasn&rsquo;t a
+nurse.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, your mother&rsquo;s worth a dozen nurses,&rdquo; cried the doctor,
+with immense gusto. &ldquo;To tell you the truth, I&rsquo;m not keen on
+nurses&mdash;too raw&mdash;raw as rump-steak. They wrestle for a baby as though
+they were wrestling with Death for the body of Patroclus.... Ever seen that
+picture by an English artist. Leighton? Wonderful thing&mdash;full of
+sinew!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There he goes again,&rdquo; thought Andreas, &ldquo;airing off his
+knowledge to make a fool of me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now your mother&mdash;she&rsquo;s firm&mdash;she&rsquo;s capable. Does
+what she&rsquo;s told with a fund of sympathy. Look at these shops we&rsquo;re
+passing&mdash;they&rsquo;re festering sores. How on earth this government can
+tolerate&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They&rsquo;re not so bad&mdash;sound enough&mdash;only want a coat of
+paint.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The doctor whistled a little tune and flicked the mare again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I hope the young shaver won&rsquo;t give his mother too much
+trouble,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Here we are.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A skinny little boy, who had been sliding up and down the back seat of the gig,
+sprang out and held the horse&rsquo;s head. Andreas went straight into the
+dining-room and left the servant girl to take the doctor upstairs. He sat down,
+poured out some coffee, and bit through half a roll before helping himself to
+fish. Then he noticed there was no hot plate for the fish&mdash;the whole house
+was at sixes and sevens. He rang the bell, but the servant girl came in with a
+tray holding a bowl of soup and a hot plate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been keeping them on the stove,&rdquo; she simpered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, thanks, that&rsquo;s very kind of you.&rdquo; As he swallowed the
+soup his heart warmed to this fool of a girl.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, it&rsquo;s a good thing Doctor Erb has come,&rdquo; volunteered the
+servant girl, who was bursting for want of sympathy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;H&rsquo;m, h&rsquo;m,&rdquo; said Andreas.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She waited a moment, expectantly, rolling her eyes, then in full loathing of
+menkind went back to the kitchen and vowed herself to sterility.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Andreas cleared the soup bowl, and cleared the fish. As he ate, the room slowly
+darkened. A faint wind sprang up and beat the tree branches against the window.
+The dining-room looked over the breakwater of the harbour, and the sea swung
+heavily in rolling waves. Wind crept round the house, moaning drearily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We&rsquo;re in for a storm. That means I&rsquo;m boxed up here all day.
+Well, there&rsquo;s one blessing; it&rsquo;ll clear the air.&rdquo; He heard
+the servant girl rushing importantly round the house, slamming windows. Then he
+caught a glimpse of her in the garden, unpegging tea towels from the line
+across the lawn. She was a worker, there was no doubt about that. He took up a
+book, and wheeled his arm-chair over to the window. But it was useless. Too
+dark to read; he didn&rsquo;t believe in straining his eyes, and gas at ten
+o&rsquo;clock in the morning seemed absurd. So he slipped down in the chair,
+leaned his elbows on the padded arms and gave himself up, for once, to idle
+dreaming. &ldquo;A boy? Yes, it was bound to be a boy this time....&rdquo;
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s your family, Binzer?&rdquo; &ldquo;Oh, I&rsquo;ve two girls
+and a boy!&rdquo; A very nice little number. Of course he was the last man to
+have a favourite child, but a man needed a son. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m working up the
+business for my son! Binzer &amp; Son! It would mean living very tight for the
+next ten years, cutting expenses as fine as possible; and then&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A tremendous gust of wind sprang upon the house, seized it, shook it, dropped,
+only to grip the more tightly. The waves swelled up along the breakwater and
+were whipped with broken foam. Over the white sky flew tattered streamers of
+grey cloud.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Andreas felt quite relieved to hear Doctor Erb coming down the stairs; he got
+up and lit the gas.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mind if I smoke in here?&rdquo; asked Doctor Erb, lighting a cigarette
+before Andreas had time to answer. &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t smoke, do you? No
+time to indulge in pernicious little habits!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How is she now?&rdquo; asked Andreas, loathing the man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, well as can be expected, poor little soul. She begged me to come
+down and have a look at you. Said she knew you were worrying.&rdquo; With
+laughing eyes the doctor looked at the breakfast-table. &ldquo;Managed to peck
+a bit, I see, eh?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hoo-wih!&rdquo; shouted the wind, shaking the window-sashes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pity&mdash;this weather,&rdquo; said Doctor Erb.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, it gets on Anna&rsquo;s nerves, and it&rsquo;s just nerve she
+wants.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Eh, what&rsquo;s that?&rdquo; retorted the doctor. &ldquo;Nerve! Man
+alive! She&rsquo;s got twice the nerve of you and me rolled into one. Nerve!
+she&rsquo;s nothing but nerve. A woman who works as she does about the house
+and has three children in four years thrown in with the dusting, so to
+speak!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He pitched his half-smoked cigarette into the fireplace and frowned at the
+window.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now <i>he&rsquo;s</i> accusing me,&rdquo; thought Andreas.
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the second time this morning&mdash;first mother and now
+this man taking advantage of my sensitiveness.&rdquo; He could not trust
+himself to speak, and rang the bell for the servant girl.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Clear away the breakfast things,&rdquo; he ordered. &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t
+have them messing about on the table till dinner!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be hard on the girl,&rdquo; coaxed Doctor Erb.
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s got twice the work to do to-day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At that Binzer&rsquo;s anger blazed out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll trouble you, Doctor, not to interfere between me and my
+servants!&rdquo; And he felt a fool at the same moment for not saying
+&ldquo;servant.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doctor Erb was not perturbed. He shook his head, thrust his hands into his
+pockets, and began balancing himself on toe and heel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re jagged by the weather,&rdquo; he said wryly, &ldquo;nothing
+else. A great pity&mdash;this storm. You know climate has an immense effect
+upon birth. A fine day perks a woman&mdash;gives her heart for her business.
+Good weather is as necessary to a confinement as it is to a washing day. Not
+bad&mdash;that last remark of mine&mdash;for a professional fossil, eh?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Andreas made no reply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;ll be getting back to my patient. Why don&rsquo;t you take
+a walk, and clear your head? That&rsquo;s the idea for you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;I won&rsquo;t do that; it&rsquo;s too
+rough.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He went back to his chair by the window. While the servant girl cleared away he
+pretended to read... then his dreams! It seemed years since he had had the time
+to himself to dream like that&mdash;he never had a breathing space. Saddled
+with work all day, and couldn&rsquo;t shake it off in the evening like other
+men. Besides, Anna was interested&mdash;they talked of practically nothing else
+together. Excellent mother she&rsquo;d make for a boy; she had a grip of
+things.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Church bells started ringing through the windy air, now sounding as though from
+very far away, then again as though all the churches in the town had been
+suddenly transplanted into their street. They stirred something in him, those
+bells, something vague and tender. Just about that time Anna would call him
+from the hall. &ldquo;Andreas, come and have your coat brushed. I&rsquo;m
+ready.&rdquo; Then off they would go, she hanging on his arm, and looking up at
+him. She certainly was a little thing. He remembered once saying when they were
+engaged, &ldquo;Just as high as my heart,&rdquo; and she had jumped on to a
+stool and pulled his head down, laughing. A kid in those days, younger than her
+children in nature, brighter, more &ldquo;go&rdquo; and &ldquo;spirit&rdquo; in
+her. The way she&rsquo;d run down the road to meet him after business! And the
+way she laughed when they were looking for a house. By Jove! that laugh of
+hers! At the memory he grinned, then grew suddenly grave. Marriage certainly
+changed a woman far more than it did a man. Talk about sobering down. She had
+lost all her go in two months! Well, once this boy business was over
+she&rsquo;d get stronger. He began to plan a little trip for them. He&rsquo;d
+take her away and they&rsquo;d loaf about together somewhere. After all, dash
+it, they were young still. She&rsquo;d got into a groove; he&rsquo;d have to
+force her out of it, that&rsquo;s all.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He got up and went into the drawing-room, carefully shut the door and took
+Anna&rsquo;s photograph from the top of the piano. She wore a white dress with
+a big bow of some soft stuff under the chin, and stood, a little stiffly,
+holding a sheaf of artificial poppies and corn in her hands. Delicate she
+looked even then; her masses of hair gave her that look. She seemed to droop
+under the heavy braids of it, and yet she was smiling. Andreas caught his
+breath sharply. She was his wife&mdash;that girl. Posh! it had only been taken
+four years ago. He held it close to him, bent forward and kissed it. Then
+rubbed the glass with the back of his hand. At that moment, fainter than he had
+heard in the passage, more terrifying, Andreas heard again that wailing cry.
+The wind caught it up in mocking echo, blew it over the house-tops, down the
+street, far away from him. He flung out his arms, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m so damnably
+helpless,&rdquo; he said, and then, to the picture, &ldquo;Perhaps it&rsquo;s
+not as bad as it sounds; perhaps it is just my sensitiveness.&rdquo; In the
+half light of the drawing-room the smile seemed to deepen in Anna&rsquo;s
+portrait, and to become secret, even cruel. &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he reflected,
+&ldquo;that smile is not at all her happiest expression&mdash;it was a mistake
+to let her have it taken smiling like that. She doesn&rsquo;t look like my
+wife&mdash;like the mother of my son.&rdquo; Yes, that was it, she did not look
+like the mother of a son who was going to be a partner in the firm. The picture
+got on his nerves; he held it in different lights, looked at it from a
+distance, sideways, spent, it seemed to Andreas afterwards, a whole lifetime
+trying to fit it in. The more he played with it the deeper grew his dislike of
+it. Thrice he carried it over to the fireplace and decided to chuck it behind
+the Japanese umbrella in the grate; then he thought it absurd to waste an
+expensive frame. There was no good in beating about the bush. Anna looked like
+a stranger&mdash;abnormal, a freak&mdash;it might be a picture taken just
+before or after death.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly he realised that the wind had dropped, that the whole house was still,
+terribly still. Cold and pale, with a disgusting feeling that spiders were
+creeping up his spine and across his face, he stood in the centre of the
+drawing-room, hearing Doctor Erb&rsquo;s footsteps descending the stairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He saw Doctor Erb come into the room; the room seemed to change into a great
+glass bowl that spun round, and Doctor Erb seemed to swim through this glass
+bowl towards him, like a goldfish in a pearl-coloured waistcoat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My beloved wife has passed away!&rdquo; He wanted to shout it out before
+the doctor spoke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, she&rsquo;s hooked a boy this time!&rdquo; said Doctor Erb.
+Andreas staggered forward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Look out. Keep on your pins,&rdquo; said Doctor Erb, catching
+Binzer&rsquo;s arm, and murmuring, as he felt it, &ldquo;Flabby as
+butter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A glow spread all over Andreas. He was exultant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, by God! Nobody can accuse <i>me</i> of not knowing what suffering
+is,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap10"></a>THE CHILD-WHO-WAS-TIRED</h2>
+
+<p>
+She was just beginning to walk along a little white road with tall black trees
+on either side, a little road that led to nowhere, and where nobody walked at
+all, when a hand gripped her shoulder, shook her, slapped her ear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, oh, don&rsquo;t stop me,&rdquo; cried the Child-Who-Was-Tired.
+&ldquo;Let me go.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Get up, you good-for-nothing brat,&rdquo; said a voice; &ldquo;get up
+and light the oven or I&rsquo;ll shake every bone out of your body.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With an immense effort she opened her eyes, and saw the Frau standing by, the
+baby bundled under one arm. The three other children who shared the same bed
+with the Child-Who-Was-Tired, accustomed to brawls, slept on peacefully. In a
+corner of the room the Man was fastening his braces.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you mean by sleeping like this the whole night
+through&mdash;like a sack of potatoes? You&rsquo;ve let the baby wet his bed
+twice.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She did not answer, but tied her petticoat string, and buttoned on her plaid
+frock with cold, shaking fingers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There, that&rsquo;s enough. Take the baby into the kitchen with you, and
+heat that cold coffee on the spirit lamp for the master, and give him the loaf
+of black bread out of the table drawer. Don&rsquo;t guzzle it yourself or
+I&rsquo;ll know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Frau staggered across the room, flung herself on to her bed, drawing the
+pink bolster round her shoulders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was almost dark in the kitchen. She laid the baby on the wooden settle,
+covering him with a shawl, then poured the coffee from the earthenware jug into
+the saucepan, and set it on the spirit lamp to boil.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sleepy,&rdquo; nodded the Child-Who-Was-Tired, kneeling on the
+floor and splitting the damp pine logs into little chips. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s
+why I&rsquo;m not awake.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The oven took a long time to light. Perhaps it was cold, like herself, and
+sleepy.... Perhaps it had been dreaming of a little white road with black trees
+on either side, a little road that led to nowhere.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then the door was pulled violently open and the Man strode in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here, what are you doing, sitting on the floor?&rdquo; he shouted.
+&ldquo;Give me my coffee. I&rsquo;ve got to be off. Ugh! You haven&rsquo;t even
+washed over the table.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She sprang to her feet, poured his coffee into an enamel cup, and gave him
+bread and a knife, then, taking a wash rag from the sink, smeared over the
+black linoleumed table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Swine of a day&mdash;swine&rsquo;s life,&rdquo; mumbled the Man, sitting
+by the table and staring out of the window at the bruised sky, which seemed to
+bulge heavily over the dull land. He stuffed his mouth with bread and then
+swilled it down with the coffee.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Child drew a pail of water, turned up her sleeves, frowning the while at
+her arms, as if to scold them for being so thin, so much like little stunted
+twigs, and began to mop over the floor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Stop sousing about the water while I&rsquo;m here,&rdquo; grumbled the
+Man. &ldquo;Stop the baby snivelling; it&rsquo;s been going on like that all
+night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Child gathered the baby into her lap and sat rocking him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ts&mdash;ts&mdash;ts,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s cutting his eye
+teeth, that&rsquo;s what makes him cry so. <i>And</i> dribble&mdash;I never
+seen a baby dribble like this one.&rdquo; She wiped his mouth and nose with a
+corner of her skirt. &ldquo;Some babies get their teeth without you knowing
+it,&rdquo; she went on, &ldquo;and some take on this way all the time. I once
+heard of a baby that died, and they found all its teeth in its stomach.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Man got up, unhooked his cloak from the back of the door, and flung it
+round him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s another coming,&rdquo; said he.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&mdash;a tooth!&rdquo; exclaimed the Child, startled for the first
+time that morning out of her dreadful heaviness, and thrusting her finger into
+the baby&rsquo;s mouth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said grimly, &ldquo;another baby. Now, get on with your
+work; it&rsquo;s time the others got up for school.&rdquo; She stood a moment
+quite silently, hearing his heavy steps on the stone passage, then the gravel
+walk, and finally the slam of the front gate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Another baby! Hasn&rsquo;t she finished having them <i>yet?</i>&rdquo;
+thought the Child. &ldquo;Two babies getting eye teeth&mdash;two babies to get
+up for in the night&mdash;two babies to carry about and wash their little piggy
+clothes!&rdquo; She looked with horror at the one in her arms, who, seeming to
+understand the contemptuous loathing of her tired glance, doubled his fists,
+stiffened his body, and began violently screaming.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ts&mdash;ts&mdash;ts.&rdquo; She laid him on the settle and went back to
+her floor-washing. He never ceased crying for a moment, but she got quite used
+to it and kept time with her broom. Oh, how tired she was! Oh, the heavy broom
+handle and the burning spot just at the back of her neck that ached so, and a
+funny little fluttering feeling just at the back of her waistband, as though
+something were going to break.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The clock struck six. She set the pan of milk in the oven, and went into the
+next room to wake and dress the three children. Anton and Hans lay together in
+attitudes of mutual amity which certainly never existed out of their sleeping
+hours. Lena was curled up, her knees under her chin, only a straight,
+standing-up pigtail of hair showing above the bolster.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Get up,&rdquo; cried the Child, speaking in a voice of immense
+authority, pulling off the bedclothes and giving the boys sundry pokes and
+digs. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been calling you this last half-hour. It&rsquo;s late,
+and I&rsquo;ll tell on you if you don&rsquo;t get dressed this minute.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Anton awoke sufficiently to turn over and kick Hans on a tender part, whereupon
+Hans pulled Lena&rsquo;s pigtail until she shrieked for her mother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, do be quiet,&rdquo; whispered the Child. &ldquo;Oh, do get up and
+dress. You know what will happen. There&mdash;I&rsquo;ll help you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the warning came too late. The Frau got out of bed, walked in a determined
+fashion into the kitchen, returning with a bundle of twigs in her hand fastened
+together with a strong cord. One by one she laid the children across her knee
+and severely beat them, expending a final burst of energy on the
+Child-Who-Was-Tired, then returned to bed, with a comfortable sense of her
+maternal duties in good working order for the day. Very subdued, the three
+allowed themselves to be dressed and washed by the Child, who even laced the
+boys&rsquo; boots, having found through experience that if left to themselves
+they hopped about for at least five minutes to find a comfortable ledge for
+their foot, and then spat on their hands and broke the bootlaces.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+While she gave them their breakfast they became uproarious, and the baby would
+not cease crying. When she filled the tin kettle with milk, tied on the rubber
+teat, and, first moistening it herself, tried with little coaxing words to make
+him drink, he threw the bottle on to the floor and trembled all over.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Eye teeth!&rdquo; shouted Hans, hitting Anton over the head with his
+empty cup; &ldquo;he&rsquo;s getting the evil-eye teeth, I should say.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Smarty!&rdquo; retorted Lena, poking out her tongue at him, and then,
+when he promptly did the same, crying at the top of her voice, &ldquo;Mother,
+Hans is making faces at me!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s right,&rdquo; said Hans; &ldquo;go on howling, and when
+you&rsquo;re in bed to-night I&rsquo;ll wait till you&rsquo;re asleep, and then
+I&rsquo;ll creep over and take a little tiny piece of your arm and twist and
+twist it until&mdash;&rdquo; He leant over the table making the most horrible
+faces at Lena, not noticing that Anton was standing behind his chair until the
+little boy bent over and spat on his brother&rsquo;s shaven head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, weh! oh, weh!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Child-Who-Was-Tired pushed and pulled them apart, muffled them into their
+coats, and drove them out of the house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hurry, hurry! the second bell&rsquo;s rung,&rdquo; she urged, knowing
+perfectly well she was telling a story, and rather exulting in the fact. She
+washed up the breakfast things, then went down to the cellar to look out the
+potatoes and beetroot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Such a funny, cold place the coal cellar! With potatoes banked on one corner,
+beetroot in an old candle box, two tubs of sauerkraut, and a twisted mass of
+dahlia roots&mdash;that looked as real as though they were fighting one
+another, thought the Child.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She gathered the potatoes into her skirt, choosing big ones with few eyes
+because they were easier to peel, and bending over the dull heap in the silent
+cellar, she began to nod.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here, you, what are you doing down there?&rdquo; cried the Frau, from
+the top of the stairs. &ldquo;The baby&rsquo;s fallen off the settle, and got a
+bump as big as an egg over his eye. Come up here, and I&rsquo;ll teach
+you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It wasn&rsquo;t me&mdash;it wasn&rsquo;t me!&rdquo; screamed the Child,
+beaten from one side of the hall to the other, so that the potatoes and
+beetroot rolled out of her skirt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Frau seemed to be as big as a giant, and there was a certain heaviness in
+all her movements that was terrifying to anyone so small.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sit in the corner, and peel and wash the vegetables, and keep the baby
+quiet while I do the washing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Whimpering she obeyed, but as to keeping the baby quiet, that was impossible.
+His face was hot, little beads of sweat stood all over his head, and he
+stiffened his body and cried. She held him on her knees, with a pan of cold
+water beside her for the cleaned vegetables and the &ldquo;ducks&rsquo;
+bucket&rdquo; for the peelings.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ts&mdash;ts&mdash;ts!&rdquo; she crooned, scraping and boring;
+&ldquo;there&rsquo;s going to be another soon, and you can&rsquo;t both keep on
+crying. Why don&rsquo;t you go to sleep, baby? I would, if I were you.
+I&rsquo;ll tell you a dream. Once upon a time there was a little white
+road&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She shook back her head, a great lump ached in her throat and then the tears
+ran down her face on to the vegetables.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s no good,&rdquo; said the Child, shaking them away.
+&ldquo;Just stop crying until I&rsquo;ve finished this, baby, and I&rsquo;ll
+walk you up and down.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But by that time she had to peg out the washing for the Frau. A wind had sprung
+up. Standing on tiptoe in the yard, she almost felt she would be blown away.
+There was a bad smell coming from the ducks&rsquo; coop, which was half full of
+manure water, but away in the meadow she saw the grass blowing like little
+green hairs. And she remembered having heard of a child who had once played for
+a whole day in just such a meadow with real sausages and beer for her
+dinner&mdash;and not a little bit of tiredness. Who had told her that story?
+She could not remember, and yet it was so plain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The wet clothes flapped in her face as she pegged them; danced and jigged on
+the line, bulged out and twisted. She walked back to the house with lagging
+steps, looking longingly at the grass in the meadow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What must I do now, please?&rdquo; she said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Make the beds and hang the baby&rsquo;s mattress out of the window, then
+get the wagon and take him for a little walk along the road. In front of the
+house, mind&mdash;where I can see you. Don&rsquo;t stand there, gaping! Then
+come in when I call you and help me cut up the salad.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When she had made the beds the Child stood and looked at them. Gently she
+stroked the pillow with her hand, and then, just for one moment, let her head
+rest there. Again the smarting lump in her throat, the stupid tears that fell
+and kept on falling as she dressed the baby and dragged the little wagon up and
+down the road.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A man passed, driving a bullock wagon. He wore a long, queer feather in his
+hat, and whistled as he passed. Two girls with bundles on their shoulders came
+walking out of the village&mdash;one wore a red handkerchief about her head and
+one a blue. They were laughing and holding each other by the hand. Then the sun
+pushed by a heavy fold of grey cloud and spread a warm yellow light over
+everything.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps,&rdquo; thought the Child-Who-Was-Tired, &ldquo;if I walked far
+enough up this road I might come to a little white one, with tall black trees
+on either side&mdash;a little road&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Salad, salad!&rdquo; cried the Frau&rsquo;s voice from the house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Soon the children came home from school, dinner was eaten, the Man took the
+Frau&rsquo;s share of pudding as well as his own, and the three children seemed
+to smear themselves all over with whatever they ate. Then more dish-washing and
+more cleaning and baby-minding. So the afternoon dragged coldly through.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Old Frau Grathwohl came in with a fresh piece of pig&rsquo;s flesh for the
+Frau, and the Child listened to them gossiping together.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Frau Manda went on her &lsquo;journey to Rome&rsquo; last night, and
+brought back a daughter. How are you feeling?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I was sick twice this morning,&rdquo; said the Frau. &ldquo;My insides
+are all twisted up with having children too quickly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I see you&rsquo;ve got a new help,&rdquo; commented old Mother
+Grathwohl.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, dear Lord&rdquo;&mdash;the Frau lowered her
+voice&mdash;&ldquo;don&rsquo;t you know her? She&rsquo;s the free-born
+one&mdash;daughter of the waitress at the railway station. They found her
+mother trying to squeeze her head in the wash-hand jug, and the child&rsquo;s
+half silly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ts&mdash;ts&mdash;ts!&rdquo; whispered the &ldquo;free-born&rdquo; one
+to the baby.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As the day drew in the Child-Who-Was-Tired did not know how to fight her
+sleepiness any longer. She was afraid to sit down or stand still. As she sat at
+supper the Man and the Frau seemed to swell to an immense size as she watched
+them, and then become smaller than dolls, with little voices that seemed to
+come from outside the window. Looking at the baby, it suddenly had two heads,
+and then no head. Even his crying made her feel worse. When she thought of the
+nearness of bedtime she shook all over with excited joy. But as eight
+o&rsquo;clock approached there was the sound of wheels on the road, and
+presently in came a party of friends to spend the evening.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then it was:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Put on the coffee.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bring me the sugar tin.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Carry the chairs out of the bedroom.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Set the table.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And, finally, the Frau sent her into the next room to keep the baby quiet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a little piece of candle burning in the enamel bracket. As she walked
+up and down she saw her great big shadow on the wall like a grown-up person
+with a grown-up baby. Whatever would it look like when she carried two babies
+so!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ts&mdash;ts&mdash;ts! Once upon a time she was walking along a little
+white road, with oh! such great big black trees on either side.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here you!&rdquo; called the Frau&rsquo;s voice, &ldquo;bring me my new
+jacket from behind the door.&rdquo; And as she took it into the warm room one
+of the women said, &ldquo;She looks like an owl. Such children are seldom right
+in their heads.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you keep that baby quiet?&rdquo; said the Man, who had
+just drunk enough beer to make him feel very brave and master of his house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you don&rsquo;t keep that baby quiet you&rsquo;ll know why later
+on.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They burst out laughing as she stumbled back into the bedroom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t believe Holy Mary could keep him quiet,&rdquo; she
+murmured. &ldquo;Did Jesus cry like this when He was little? If I was not so
+tired perhaps I could do it; but the baby just knows that I want to go to
+sleep. And there is going to be another one.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She flung the baby on the bed, and stood looking at him with terror.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+From the next room there came the jingle of glasses and the warm sound of
+laughter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And she suddenly had a beautiful marvellous idea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She laughed for the first time that day, and clapped her hands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ts&mdash;ts&mdash;ts!&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;lie there, silly one; you
+<i>will</i> go to sleep. You&rsquo;ll not cry any more or wake up in the night.
+Funny, little, ugly baby.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He opened his eyes, and shrieked loudly at the sight of the
+Child-Who-Was-Tired. From the next room she heard the Frau call out to her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;One moment&mdash;he is almost asleep,&rdquo; she cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then gently, smiling, on tiptoe, she brought the pink bolster from the
+Frau&rsquo;s bed and covered the baby&rsquo;s face with it, pressed with all
+her might as he struggled, &ldquo;like a duck with its head off,
+wriggling&rdquo;, she thought.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She heaved a long sigh, then fell back on to the floor, and was walking along a
+little white road with tall black trees on either side, a little road that led
+to nowhere, and where nobody walked at all&mdash;nobody at all.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap11"></a>THE ADVANCED LADY</h2>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you think we might ask her to come with us,&rdquo; said Fräulein
+Elsa, retying her pink sash ribbon before my mirror. &ldquo;You know, although
+she is so intellectual, I cannot help feeling convinced that she has some
+secret sorrow. And Lisa told me this morning, as she was turning out my room,
+that she remains hours and hours by herself, writing; in fact Lisa says she is
+writing a book! I suppose that is why she never cares to mingle with us, and
+has so little time for her husband and the child.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, <i>you</i> ask her,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;I have never spoken to
+the lady.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elsa blushed faintly. &ldquo;I have only spoken to her once,&rdquo; she
+confessed. &ldquo;I took her a bunch of wild flowers, to her room, and she came
+to the door in a white gown, with her hair loose. Never shall I forget that
+moment. She just took the flowers, and I heard her&mdash;because the door was
+not quite properly shut&mdash;I heard her, as I walked down the passage, saying
+&lsquo;Purity, fragrance, the fragrance of purity and the purity of
+fragrance!&rsquo; It was wonderful!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At that moment Frau Kellermann knocked at the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you ready?&rdquo; she said, coming into the room and nodding to us
+very genially. &ldquo;The gentlemen are waiting on the steps, and I have asked
+the Advanced Lady to come with us.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Na, how extraordinary!&rdquo; cried Elsa. &ldquo;But this moment the
+gnädige Frau and I were debating whether&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, I met her coming out of her room and she said she was charmed with
+the idea. Like all of us, she has never been to Schlingen. She is downstairs
+now, talking to Herr Erchardt. I think we shall have a delightful
+afternoon.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is Fritzi waiting too?&rdquo; asked Elsa.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course he is, dear child&mdash;as impatient as a hungry man listening
+for the dinner bell. Run along!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elsa ran, and Frau Kellermann smiled at me significantly. In the past she and I
+had seldom spoken to each other, owing to the fact that her &ldquo;one
+remaining joy&rdquo;&mdash;her charming little Karl&mdash;had never succeeded
+in kindling into flame those sparks of maternity which are supposed to glow in
+great numbers upon the altar of every respectable female heart; but, in view of
+a premeditated journey together, we became delightfully cordial.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;For us,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;there will be a double joy. We shall be
+able to watch the happiness of these two dear children, Elsa and Fritz. They
+only received the letters of blessing from their parents yesterday morning. It
+is a very strange thing, but whenever I am in the company of newly-engaged
+couples I blossom. Newly-engaged couples, mothers with first babies, and normal
+deathbeds have precisely the same effect on me. Shall we join the
+others?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I was longing to ask her why normal deathbeds should cause anyone to burst into
+flower, and said, &ldquo;Yes, do let us.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We were greeted by the little party of &ldquo;cure guests&rdquo; on the pension
+steps, with those cries of joy and excitement which herald so pleasantly the
+mildest German excursion. Herr Erchardt and I had not met before that day, so,
+in accordance with strict pension custom, we asked each other how long we had
+slept during the night, had we dreamed agreeably, what time we had got up, was
+the coffee fresh when we had appeared at breakfast, and how had we passed the
+morning. Having toiled up these stairs of almost national politeness we landed,
+triumphant and smiling, and paused to recover breath.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And now,&rdquo; said Herr Erchardt, &ldquo;I have a pleasure in store
+for you. The Frau Professor is going to be one of us for the afternoon.
+Yes,&rdquo; nodding graciously to the Advanced Lady. &ldquo;Allow me to
+introduce you to each other.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We bowed very formally, and looked each other over with that eye which is known
+as &ldquo;eagle&rdquo; but is far more the property of the female than that
+most unoffending of birds. &ldquo;I think you are English?&rdquo; she said. I
+acknowledged the fact. &ldquo;I am reading a great many English books just
+now&mdash;rather, I am studying them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nu,&rdquo; cried Herr Erchardt. &ldquo;Fancy that! What a bond already!
+I have made up my mind to know Shakespeare in his mother tongue before I die,
+but that you, Frau Professor, should be already immersed in those wells of
+English thought!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;From what I have read,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I do not think they are
+very deep wells.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He nodded sympathetically.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;so I have heard.... But do not let us
+embitter our excursion for our little English friend. We will speak of this
+another time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nu, are we ready?&rdquo; cried Fritz, who stood, supporting Elsa&rsquo;s
+elbow in his hand, at the foot of the steps. It was immediately discovered that
+Karl was lost.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ka&mdash;rl, Karl&mdash;chen!&rdquo; we cried. No response.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But he was here one moment ago,&rdquo; said Herr Langen, a tired, pale
+youth, who was recovering from a nervous breakdown due to much philosophy and
+little nourishment. &ldquo;He was sitting here, picking out the works of his
+watch with a hairpin!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Frau Kellermann rounded on him. &ldquo;Do you mean to say, my dear Herr Langen,
+you did not stop the child!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Herr Langen; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve tried stopping him before
+now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Da, that child has such energy; never is his brain at peace. If he is
+not doing one thing, he is doing another!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps he has started on the dining-room clock now,&rdquo; suggested
+Herr Langen, abominably hopeful.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Advanced Lady suggested that we should go without him. &ldquo;I never take
+my little daughter for walks,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I have accustomed her to
+sitting quietly in my bedroom from the time I go out until I return!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There he is&mdash;there he is,&rdquo; piped Elsa, and Karl was observed
+slithering down a chestnut-tree, very much the worse for twigs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been listening to what you said about me, mumma,&rdquo; he
+confessed while Frau Kellermann brushed him down. &ldquo;It was not true about
+the watch. I was only looking at it, and the little girl never stays in the
+bedroom. She told me herself she always goes down to the kitchen,
+and&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Da, that&rsquo;s enough!&rdquo; said Frau Kellermann.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We marched <i>en masse</i> along the station road. It was a very warm
+afternoon, and continuous parties of &ldquo;cure guests&rdquo;, who were giving
+their digestions a quiet airing in pension gardens, called after us, asked if
+we were going for a walk, and cried &ldquo;Herr Gott&mdash;happy journey&rdquo;
+with immense ill-concealed relish when we mentioned Schlingen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But that is eight kilometres,&rdquo; shouted one old man with a white
+beard, who leaned against a fence, fanning himself with a yellow handkerchief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Seven and a half,&rdquo; answered Herr Erchardt shortly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Eight,&rdquo; bellowed the sage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Seven and a half!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Eight!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The man is mad,&rdquo; said Herr Erchardt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, please let him be mad in peace,&rdquo; said I, putting my hands
+over my ears.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Such ignorance must not be allowed to go uncontradicted,&rdquo; said he,
+and turning his back on us, too exhausted to cry out any longer, he held up
+seven and a half fingers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Eight!&rdquo; thundered the greybeard, with pristine freshness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We felt very sobered, and did not recover until we reached a white signpost
+which entreated us to leave the road and walk through the field
+path&mdash;without trampling down more of the grass than was necessary. Being
+interpreted, it meant &ldquo;single file&rdquo;, which was distressing for Elsa
+and Fritz. Karl, like a happy child, gambolled ahead, and cut down as many
+flowers as possible with the stick of his mother&rsquo;s parasol&mdash;followed
+the three others&mdash;then myself&mdash;and the lovers in the rear. And above
+the conversation of the advance party I had the privilege of hearing these
+delicious whispers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fritz: &ldquo;Do you love me?&rdquo; Elsa: &ldquo;Nu&mdash;yes.&rdquo; Fritz
+passionately: &ldquo;But how much?&rdquo; To which Elsa never
+replied&mdash;except with &ldquo;How much do <i>you</i> love <i>me?</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fritz escaped that truly Christian trap by saying, &ldquo;I asked you
+first.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It grew so confusing that I slipped in front of Frau Kellermann&mdash;and
+walked in the peaceful knowledge that she was blossoming and I was under no
+obligation to inform even my nearest and dearest as to the precise capacity of
+my affections. &ldquo;What right have they to ask each other such questions the
+day after letters of blessing have been received?&rdquo; I reflected.
+&ldquo;What right have they even to question each other? Love which becomes
+engaged and married is a purely affirmative affair&mdash;they are usurping the
+privileges of their betters and wisers!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The edges of the field frilled over into an immense pine forest&mdash;very
+pleasant and cool it looked. Another signpost begged us to keep to the broad
+path for Schlingen and deposit waste paper and fruit peelings in wire
+receptacles attached to the benches for the purpose. We sat down on the first
+bench, and Karl with great curiosity explored the wire receptacle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I love woods,&rdquo; said the Advanced Lady, smiling pitifully into the
+air. &ldquo;In a wood my hair already seems to stir and remember something of
+its savage origin.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But speaking literally,&rdquo; said Frau Kellermann, after an
+appreciative pause, &ldquo;there is really nothing better than the air of
+pine-trees for the scalp.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, Frau Kellermann, please don&rsquo;t break the spell,&rdquo; said
+Elsa.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Advanced Lady looked at her very sympathetically. &ldquo;Have you, too,
+found the magic heart of Nature?&rdquo; she said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That was Herr Langen&rsquo;s cue. &ldquo;Nature has no heart,&rdquo; said he,
+very bitterly and readily, as people do who are over-philosophised and
+underfed. &ldquo;She creates that she may destroy. She eats that she may spew
+up and she spews up that she may eat. That is why we, who are forced to eke out
+an existence at her trampling feet, consider the world mad, and realise the
+deadly vulgarity of production.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Young man,&rdquo; interrupted Herr Erchardt, &ldquo;you have never lived
+and you have never suffered!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, excuse me&mdash;how can you know?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I know because you have told me, and there&rsquo;s an end of it. Come
+back to this bench in ten years&rsquo; time and repeat those words to
+me,&rdquo; said Frau Kellermann, with an eye upon Fritz, who was engaged in
+counting Elsa&rsquo;s fingers with passionate fervour&mdash;&ldquo;and bring
+with you your young wife, Herr Langen, and watch, perhaps, your little child
+playing with&mdash;&rdquo; She turned towards Karl, who had rooted an old
+illustrated paper out of the receptacle and was spelling over an advertisement
+for the enlargement of Beautiful Breasts.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The sentence remained unfinished. We decided to move on. As we plunged more
+deeply into the wood our spirits rose&mdash;reaching a point where they burst
+into song&mdash;on the part of the three men&mdash;&ldquo;O Welt, wie bist du
+wunderbar!&rdquo;&mdash;the lower part of which was piercingly sustained by
+Herr Langen, who attempted quite unsuccessfully to infuse satire into it in
+accordance with his&mdash;&ldquo;world outlook&rdquo;. They strode ahead and
+left us to trail after them&mdash;hot and happy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now is the opportunity,&rdquo; said Frau Kellermann. &ldquo;Dear Frau
+Professor, do tell us a little about your book.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ach, how did you know I was writing one?&rdquo; she cried playfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Elsa, here, had it from Lisa. And never before have I personally known a
+woman who was writing a book. How do you manage to find enough to write
+down?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is never the trouble,&rdquo; said the Advanced Lady&mdash;she took
+Elsa&rsquo;s arm and leaned on it gently. &ldquo;The trouble is to know where
+to stop. My brain has been a hive for years, and about three months ago the
+pent-up waters burst over my soul, and since then I am writing all day until
+late into the night, still ever finding fresh inspirations and thoughts which
+beat impatient wings about my heart.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is it a novel?&rdquo; asked Elsa shyly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course it is a novel,&rdquo; said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How can you be so positive?&rdquo; said Frau Kellermann, eyeing me
+severely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Because nothing but a novel could produce an effect like that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ach, don&rsquo;t quarrel,&rdquo; said the Advanced Lady sweetly.
+&ldquo;Yes, it is a novel&mdash;upon the Modern Woman. For this seems to me the
+woman&rsquo;s hour. It is mysterious and almost prophetic, it is the symbol of
+the true advanced woman: not one of those violent creatures who deny their sex
+and smother their frail wings under... under&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The English tailor-made?&rdquo; from Frau Kellermann.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I was not going to put it like that. Rather, under the lying garb of
+false masculinity!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Such a subtle distinction!&rdquo; I murmured.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Whom then,&rdquo; asked Fräulein Elsa, looking adoringly at the Advanced
+Lady&mdash;&ldquo;whom then do you consider the true woman?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She is the incarnation of comprehending Love!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But my dear Frau Professor,&rdquo; protested Frau Kellermann, &ldquo;you
+must remember that one has so few opportunities for exhibiting Love within the
+family circle nowadays. One&rsquo;s husband is at business all day, and
+naturally desires to sleep when he returns home&mdash;one&rsquo;s children are
+out of the lap and in at the university before one can lavish anything at all
+upon them!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But Love is not a question of lavishing,&rdquo; said the Advanced Lady.
+&ldquo;It is the lamp carried in the bosom touching with serene rays all the
+heights and depths of&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Darkest Africa,&rdquo; I murmured flippantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She did not hear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The mistake we have made in the past&mdash;as a sex,&rdquo; said she,
+&ldquo;is in not realising that our gifts of giving are for the whole
+world&mdash;we are the glad sacrifice of ourselves!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; cried Elsa rapturously, and almost bursting into gifts as she
+breathed&mdash;&ldquo;how I know that! You know ever since Fritz and I have
+been engaged, I share the desire to give to everybody, to share
+everything!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How extremely dangerous,&rdquo; said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is only the beauty of danger, or the danger of beauty&rdquo; said the
+Advanced Lady&mdash;&ldquo;and there you have the ideal of my book&mdash;that
+woman is nothing but a gift.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I smiled at her very sweetly. &ldquo;Do you know,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;I, too,
+would like to write a book, on the advisability of caring for daughters, and
+taking them for airings and keeping them out of kitchens!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I think the masculine element must have felt these angry vibrations: they
+ceased from singing, and together we climbed out of the wood, to see Schlingen
+below us, tucked in a circle of hills, the white houses shining in the
+sunlight, &ldquo;for all the world like eggs in a bird&rsquo;s nest&rdquo;, as
+Herr Erchardt declared. We descended upon Schlingen and demanded sour milk with
+fresh cream and bread at the Inn of the Golden Stag, a most friendly place,
+with tables in a rose-garden where hens and chickens ran riot&mdash;even
+flopping upon the disused tables and pecking at the red checks on the cloths.
+We broke the bread into the bowls, added the cream, and stirred it round with
+flat wooden spoons, the landlord and his wife standing by.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Splendid weather!&rdquo; said Herr Erchardt, waving his spoon at the
+landlord, who shrugged his shoulders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What! you don&rsquo;t call it splendid!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As you please,&rdquo; said the landlord, obviously scorning us.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Such a beautiful walk,&rdquo; said Fräulein Elsa, making a free gift of
+her most charming smile to the landlady.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I never walk,&rdquo; said the landlady; &ldquo;when I go to Mindelbau my
+man drives me&mdash;I&rsquo;ve more important things to do with my legs than
+walk them through the dust!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I like these people,&rdquo; confessed Herr Langen to me. &ldquo;I like
+them very, very much. I think I shall take a room here for the whole
+summer.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, because they live close to the earth, and therefore despise
+it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He pushed away his bowl of sour milk and lit a cigarette. We ate, solidly and
+seriously, until those seven and a half kilometres to Mindelbau stretched
+before us like an eternity. Even Karl&rsquo;s activity became so full fed that
+he lay on the ground and removed his leather waistbelt. Elsa suddenly leaned
+over to Fritz and whispered, who on hearing her to the end and asking her if
+she loved him, got up and made a little speech.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We&mdash;we wish to celebrate our betrothal by&mdash;by&mdash;asking you
+all to drive back with us in the landlord&rsquo;s cart&mdash;if&mdash;it will
+hold us!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, what a beautiful, noble idea!&rdquo; said Frau Kellermann, heaving a
+sigh of relief that audibly burst two hooks.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is my little gift,&rdquo; said Elsa to the Advanced Lady, who by
+virtue of three portions almost wept tears of gratitude.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Squeezed into the peasant cart and driven by the landlord, who showed his
+contempt for mother earth by spitting savagely every now and again, we jolted
+home again, and the nearer we came to Mindelbau the more we loved it and one
+another.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We must have many excursions like this,&rdquo; said Herr Erchardt to me,
+&ldquo;for one surely gets to know a person in the simple surroundings of the
+open air&mdash;one <i>shares</i> the same joys&mdash;one feels friendship. What
+is it your Shakespeare says? One moment, I have it. The friends thou hast, and
+their adoption tried&mdash;grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But,&rdquo; said I, feeling very friendly towards him, &ldquo;the bother
+about my soul is that it refuses to grapple anybody at all&mdash;and I am sure
+that the dead weight of a friend whose adoption it had tried would kill it
+immediately. Never yet has it shown the slightest sign of a hoop!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He bumped against my knees and excused himself and the cart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My dear little lady, you must not take the quotation literally.
+Naturally, one is not physically conscious of the hoops; but hoops there are in
+the soul of him or her who loves his fellow-men.... Take this afternoon, for
+instance. How did we start out? As strangers you might almost say, and
+yet&mdash;all of us&mdash;how have we come home?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In a cart,&rdquo; said the only remaining joy, who sat upon his
+mother&rsquo;s lap and felt sick.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We skirted the field that we had passed through, going round by the cemetery.
+Herr Langen leaned over the edge of the seat and greeted the graves. He was
+sitting next to the Advanced Lady&mdash;inside the shelter of her shoulder. I
+heard her murmur: &ldquo;You look like a little boy with your hair blowing
+about in the wind.&rdquo; Herr Langen, slightly less bitter&mdash;watched the
+last graves disappear. And I heard her murmur: &ldquo;Why are you so sad? I too
+am very sad sometimes&mdash;but&mdash;you look young enough for me to dare to
+say this&mdash;I&mdash;too&mdash;know of much joy!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you know?&rdquo; said he.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I leaned over and touched the Advanced Lady&rsquo;s hand. &ldquo;Hasn&rsquo;t
+it been a nice afternoon?&rdquo; I said questioningly. &ldquo;But you know,
+that theory of yours about women and Love&mdash;it&rsquo;s as old as the
+hills&mdash;oh, older!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+From the road a sudden shout of triumph. Yes, there he was again&mdash;white
+beard, silk handkerchief and undaunted enthusiasm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What did I say? Eight kilometres&mdash;it is!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Seven and a half!&rdquo; shrieked Herr Erchardt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, then, do you return in carts? Eight kilometres it must be.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Herr Erchardt made a cup of his hands and stood up in the jolting cart while
+Frau Kellermann clung to his knees. &ldquo;Seven and a half!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ignorance must not go uncontradicted!&rdquo; I said to the Advanced
+Lady.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap12"></a>THE SWING OF THE PENDULUM</h2>
+
+<p>
+The landlady knocked at the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come in,&rdquo; said Viola.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There is a letter for you,&rdquo; said the landlady, &ldquo;a special
+letter&rdquo;&mdash;she held the green envelope in a corner of her dingy apron.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thanks.&rdquo; Viola, kneeling on the floor, poking at the little dusty
+stove, stretched out her hand. &ldquo;Any answer?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No; the messenger has gone.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, all right!&rdquo; She did not look the landlady in the face; she was
+ashamed of not having paid her rent, and wondered grimly, without any hope, if
+the woman would begin to bluster again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;About this money owing to me&mdash;&rdquo; said the landlady.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, the Lord&mdash;off she goes!&rdquo; thought Viola, turning her back
+on the woman and making a grimace at the stove.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s settle&mdash;or it&rsquo;s go!&rdquo; The landlady raised her
+voice; she began to bawl. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m a landlady, I am, and a respectable
+woman, I&rsquo;ll have you know. I&rsquo;ll have no lice in my house, sneaking
+their way into the furniture and eating up everything. It&rsquo;s cash&mdash;or
+out you go before twelve o&rsquo;clock to-morrow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Viola felt rather than saw the woman&rsquo;s gesture. She shot out her arm in a
+stupid helpless way, as though a dirty pigeon had suddenly flown at her face.
+&ldquo;Filthy old beast! Ugh! And the smell of her&mdash;like stale cheese and
+damp washing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well!&rdquo; she answered shortly; &ldquo;it&rsquo;s cash down or I
+leave to-morrow. All right: don&rsquo;t shout.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was extraordinary&mdash;always before this woman came near her she trembled
+in her shoes&mdash;even the sound of those flat feet stumping up the stairs
+made her feel sick, but once they were face to face she felt immensely calm and
+indifferent, and could not understand why she even worried about money, nor why
+she sneaked out of the house on tiptoe, not even daring to shut the door after
+her in case the landlady should hear and shout something terrible, nor why she
+spent nights pacing up and down her room&mdash;drawing up sharply before the
+mirror and saying to a tragic reflection: &ldquo;Money, money, money!&rdquo;
+When she was alone her poverty was like a huge dream-mountain on which her feet
+were fast rooted&mdash;aching with the ache of the size of the thing&mdash;but
+if it came to definite action, with no time for imaginings, her dream-mountain
+dwindled into a beastly &ldquo;hold-your-nose&rdquo; affair, to be passed as
+quickly as possible, with anger and a strong sense of superiority.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The landlady bounced out of the room, banging the door, so that it shook and
+rattled as though it had listened to the conversation and fully sympathised
+with the old hag.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Squatting on her heels, Viola opened the letter. It was from Casimir:
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;I shall be with you at three o&rsquo;clock this afternoon&mdash;and must
+be off again this evening. All news when we meet. I hope you are happier than
+I.&mdash;C<small>ASIMIR</small>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Huh! how kind!&rdquo; she sneered; &ldquo;how condescending. Too good of
+you, really!&rdquo; She sprang to her feet, crumbling the letter in her hands.
+&ldquo;And how are you to know that I shall stick here awaiting your pleasure
+until three o&rsquo;clock this afternoon?&rdquo; But she knew she would; her
+rage was only half sincere. She longed to see Casimir, for she was confident
+that this time she would make him understand the situation.... &ldquo;For, as
+it is, it&rsquo;s intolerable&mdash;intolerable!&rdquo; she muttered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was ten o&rsquo;clock in the morning of a grey day curiously lighted by pale
+flashes of sunshine. Searched by these flashes her room looked tumbled and
+grimed. She pulled down the window-blinds&mdash;but they gave a persistent,
+whitish glare which was just as bad. The only thing of life in the room was a
+jar of hyacinths given her by the landlady&rsquo;s daughter: it stood on the
+table exuding a sickly perfume from its plump petals; there were even rich buds
+unfolding, and the leaves shone like oil.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Viola went over to the washstand, poured some water into the enamel basin, and
+sponged her face and neck. She dipped her face into the water, opened her eyes,
+and shook her head from side to side&mdash;it was exhilarating. She did it
+three times. &ldquo;I suppose I could drown myself if I stayed under long
+enough,&rdquo; she thought. &ldquo;I wonder how long it takes to become
+unconscious?... Often read of women drowning in a bucket. I wonder if any air
+enters by the ears&mdash;if the basin would have to be as deep as a
+bucket?&rdquo; She experimented&mdash;gripped the washstand with both hands and
+slowly sank her head into the water, when again there was a knock on the door.
+Not the landlady this time&mdash;it must be Casimir. With her face and hair
+dripping, with her petticoat bodice unbuttoned, she ran and opened it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A strange man stood against the lintel&mdash;seeing her, he opened his eyes
+very wide and smiled delightfully. &ldquo;Excuse me&mdash;does Fräulein Schäfer
+live here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No; never heard of her.&rdquo; His smile was so infectious, she wanted
+to smile too&mdash;and the water had made her feel so fresh and rosy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The strange man appeared overwhelmed with astonishment. &ldquo;She
+doesn&rsquo;t?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;She is out, you mean!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, she&rsquo;s not living here,&rdquo; answered Viola.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But&mdash;pardon&mdash;one moment.&rdquo; He moved from the door lintel,
+standing squarely in front of her. He unbuttoned his greatcoat and drew a slip
+of paper from the breast pocket, smoothing it in his gloved fingers before
+handing it to her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, that&rsquo;s the address, right enough, but there must be a mistake
+in the number. So many lodging-houses in this street, you know, and so
+big.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Drops of water fell from her hair on to the paper. She burst out laughing.
+&ldquo;Oh, <i>how</i> dreadful I must look&mdash;one moment!&rdquo; She ran
+back to the washstand and caught up a towel. The door was still open.... After
+all, there was nothing more to be said. Why on earth had she asked him to wait
+a moment? She folded the towel round her shoulders, and returned to the door,
+suddenly grave. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry; I know no such name,&rdquo; in a sharp
+voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Said the strange man: &ldquo;Sorry, too. Have you been living here long?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Er&mdash;yes&mdash;a long time.&rdquo; She began to close the door
+slowly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well&mdash;good-morning, thanks so much. Hope I haven&rsquo;t been a
+bother.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good-morning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She heard him walk down the passage and then pause&mdash;lighting a cigarette.
+Yes&mdash;a faint scent of delicious cigarette smoke penetrated her room. She
+sniffed at it, smiling again. Well, that had been a fascinating interlude! He
+looked so amazingly happy: his heavy clothes and big buttoned gloves; his
+beautifully brushed hair... and that smile.... &ldquo;Jolly&rdquo; was the
+word&mdash;just a well-fed boy with the world for his playground. People like
+that did one good&mdash;one felt &ldquo;made over&rdquo; at the sight of them.
+<i>Sane</i> they were&mdash;so sane and solid. You could depend on them never
+having one mad impulse from the day they were born until the day they died. And
+Life was in league with them&mdash;jumped them on her knee&mdash;quite rightly,
+too. At that moment she noticed Casimir&rsquo;s letter, crumpled up on the
+floor&mdash;the smile faded. Staring at the letter she began braiding her
+hair&mdash;a dull feeling of rage crept through her&mdash;she seemed to be
+braiding it into her brain, and binding it, tightly, above her head.... Of
+course that had been the mistake all along. What had? Oh, Casimir&rsquo;s
+frightful seriousness. If she had been happy when they first met she never
+would have looked at him&mdash;but they had been like two patients in the same
+hospital ward&mdash;each finding comfort in the sickness of the
+other&mdash;sweet foundation for a love episode! Misfortune had knocked their
+heads together: they had looked at each other, stunned with the conflict and
+sympathised... &ldquo;I wish I could step outside the whole affair and just
+judge it&mdash;then I&rsquo;d find a way out. I certainly was in love with
+Casimir.... Oh, be sincere for once.&rdquo; She flopped down on the bed and hid
+her face in the pillow. &ldquo;I was not in love. I wanted somebody to look
+after me&mdash;and keep me until my work began to sell&mdash;and he kept
+bothers with other men away. And what would have happened if he hadn&rsquo;t
+come along? I would have spent my wretched little pittance, and then&mdash;Yes,
+that was what decided me, thinking about that &lsquo;then.&rsquo; He was the
+only solution. And I believed in him then. I thought his work had only to be
+recognised once, and he&rsquo;d roll in wealth. I thought perhaps we might be
+poor for a month&mdash;but he said, if only he could have me, the stimulus....
+Funny, if it wasn&rsquo;t so damned tragic! Exactly the contrary has
+happened&mdash;he hasn&rsquo;t had a thing published for months&mdash;neither
+have I&mdash;but then I didn&rsquo;t expect to. Yes, the truth is, I&rsquo;m
+hard and bitter, and I have neither faith nor love for unsuccessful men. I
+always end by despising them as I despise Casimir. I suppose it&rsquo;s the
+savage pride of the female who likes to think the man to whom she has given
+herself must be a very great chief indeed. But to stew in this disgusting house
+while Casimir scours the land in the hope of finding one editorial open
+door&mdash;it&rsquo;s humiliating. It&rsquo;s changed my whole nature. I
+wasn&rsquo;t born for poverty&mdash;I only flower among really jolly people,
+and people who never are worried.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The figure of the strange man rose before her&mdash;would not be dismissed.
+&ldquo;That was the man for me, after all is said and done&mdash;a man without
+a care&mdash;who&rsquo;d give me everything I want and with whom I&rsquo;d
+always feel that sense of life and of being in touch with the world. I never
+wanted to fight&mdash;it was thrust on me. Really, there&rsquo;s a fount of
+happiness in me, that is drying up, little by little, in this hateful
+existence. I&rsquo;ll be dead if this goes on&mdash;and&rdquo;&mdash;she
+stirred in the bed and flung out her arms&mdash;&ldquo;I want passion, and
+love, and adventure&mdash;I yearn for them. Why should I stay here and
+rot?&mdash;I am rotting!&rdquo; she cried, comforting herself with the sound of
+her breaking voice. &ldquo;But if I tell Casimir all this when he comes this
+afternoon, and he says, &lsquo;Go&rsquo;&mdash;as he certainly
+will&mdash;that&rsquo;s another thing I loathe about him&mdash;he&rsquo;s under
+my thumb&mdash;what should I do then&mdash;where should I go to?&rdquo; There
+was nowhere. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want to work&mdash;or carve out my own path.
+I want ease and any amount of nursing in the lap of luxury. There is only one
+thing I&rsquo;m fitted for, and that is to be a great courtesan.&rdquo; But she
+did not know how to go about it. She was frightened to go into the
+streets&mdash;she heard of such awful things happening to those women&mdash;men
+with diseases&mdash;or men who didn&rsquo;t pay&mdash;besides, the idea of a
+strange man every night&mdash;no, that was out of the question. &ldquo;If
+I&rsquo;d the clothes I would go to a really good hotel and find some wealthy
+man... like the strange man this morning. He would be ideal. Oh, if I only had
+his address&mdash;I am sure I would fascinate him. I&rsquo;d keep him laughing
+all day&mdash;I&rsquo;d make him give me unlimited money....&rdquo; At the
+thought she grew warm and soft. She began to dream of a wonderful house, and of
+presses full of clothes and of perfumes. She saw herself stepping into
+carriages&mdash;looking at the strange man with a mysterious, voluptuous
+glance&mdash;she practised the glance, lying on the bed&mdash;and never another
+worry, just drugged with happiness. That was the life for her. Well, the thing
+to do was to let Casimir go on his wild-goose chase that evening, and while he
+was away&mdash;What! Also&mdash;please to remember&mdash;there was the rent to
+be paid before twelve next morning, and she hadn&rsquo;t the money for a square
+meal. At the thought of food she felt a sharp twinge in her stomach, a
+sensation as though there were a hand in her stomach, squeezing it dry. She was
+terribly hungry&mdash;all Casimir&rsquo;s fault&mdash;and that man had lived on
+the fat of the land ever since he was born. He looked as though he could order
+a magnificent dinner. Oh, why hadn&rsquo;t she played her cards
+better?&mdash;he&rsquo;d been sent by Providence&mdash;and she&rsquo;d snubbed
+him. &ldquo;If I had that time over again, I&rsquo;d be safe by now.&rdquo; And
+instead of the ordinary man who had spoken with her at the door her mind
+created a brilliant, laughing image, who would treat her like a queen....
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s only one thing I could not stand&mdash;that he should be
+coarse or vulgar. Well, he wasn&rsquo;t&mdash;he was obviously a man of the
+world, and the way he apologised... I have enough faith in my own power and
+beauty to know I could make a man treat me just as I wanted to be
+treated.&rdquo;... It floated into her dreams&mdash;that sweet scent of
+cigarette smoke. And then she remembered that she had heard nobody go down the
+stone stairs. Was it possible that the strange man was still there?... The
+thought was too absurd&mdash;Life didn&rsquo;t play tricks like that&mdash;and
+yet&mdash;she was quite conscious of his nearness. Very quietly she got up,
+unhooked from the back of the door a long white gown, buttoned it
+on&mdash;smiling slyly. She did not know what was going to happen. She only
+thought: &ldquo;Oh, what fun!&rdquo; and that they were playing a delicious
+game&mdash;this strange man and she. Very gently she turned the door-handle,
+screwing up her face and biting her lip as the lock snapped back. Of course,
+there he was&mdash;leaning against the banister rail. He wheeled round as she
+slipped into the passage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Da,&rdquo; she muttered, folding her gown tightly around her, &ldquo;I
+must go downstairs and fetch some wood. Brr! the cold!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There isn&rsquo;t any wood,&rdquo; volunteered the strange man. She gave
+a little cry of astonishment, and then tossed her head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You again,&rdquo; she said scornfully, conscious the while of his merry
+eye, and the fresh, strong smell of his healthy body.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The landlady shouted out there was no wood left. I just saw her go out
+to buy some.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Story&mdash;story!&rdquo; she longed to cry. He came quite close to her,
+stood over her and whispered:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Aren&rsquo;t you going to ask me to finish my cigarette in your
+room?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She nodded. &ldquo;You may if you want to!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In that moment together in the passage a miracle had happened. Her room was
+quite changed&mdash;it was full of sweet light and the scent of hyacinth
+flowers. Even the furniture appeared different&mdash;exciting. Quick as a flash
+she remembered childish parties when they had played charades, and one side had
+left the room and come in again to act a word&mdash;just what she was doing
+now. The strange man went over to the stove and sat down in her arm-chair. She
+did not want him to talk or come near her&mdash;it was enough to see him in the
+room, so secure and happy. How hungry she had been for the nearness of someone
+like that&mdash;who knew nothing at all about her&mdash;and made no
+demands&mdash;but just lived. Viola ran over to the table and put her arms
+round the jar of hyacinths.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Beautiful! Beautiful!&rdquo; she cried&mdash;burying her head in the
+flowers&mdash;and sniffing greedily at the scent. Over the leaves she looked at
+the man and laughed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are a funny little thing,&rdquo; said he lazily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why? Because I love flowers?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;d far rather you loved other things,&rdquo; said the strange man
+slowly. She broke off a little pink petal and smiled at it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let me send you some flowers,&rdquo; said the strange man.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll send you a roomful if you&rsquo;d like them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His voice frightened her slightly. &ldquo;Oh no, thanks&mdash;this one is quite
+enough for me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, it isn&rsquo;t&rdquo;&mdash;in a teasing voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What a stupid remark!&rdquo; thought Viola, and looking at him again he
+did not seem quite so jolly. She noticed that his eyes were set too closely
+together&mdash;and they were too small. Horrible thought, that he should prove
+stupid.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you do all day?&rdquo; she asked hastily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing at all?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why should I do anything?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, don&rsquo;t imagine for one moment that I condemn such
+wisdom&mdash;only it sounds too good to be true!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s that?&rdquo;&mdash;he craned forward. &ldquo;What sounds
+too good to be true?&rdquo; Yes&mdash;there was no denying it&mdash;he looked
+silly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose the searching after Fräulein Schäfer doesn&rsquo;t occupy all
+your days.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh no&rdquo;&mdash;he smiled broadly&mdash;&ldquo;that&rsquo;s very
+good! By Jove! no. I drive a good bit&mdash;are you keen on horses?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She nodded. &ldquo;Love them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You must come driving with me&mdash;I&rsquo;ve got a fine pair of greys.
+Will you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pretty I&rsquo;d look perched behind greys in my one and only
+hat,&rdquo; thought she. Aloud: &ldquo;I&rsquo;d love to.&rdquo; Her easy
+acceptance pleased him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How about to-morrow?&rdquo; he suggested. &ldquo;Suppose you have lunch
+with me to-morrow and I take you driving.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After all&mdash;this was just a game. &ldquo;Yes, I&rsquo;m not busy
+to-morrow,&rdquo; she said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A little pause&mdash;then the strange man patted his leg. &ldquo;Why
+don&rsquo;t you come and sit down?&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She pretended not to see and swung on to the table. &ldquo;Oh, I&rsquo;m all
+right here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, you&rsquo;re not&rdquo;&mdash;again the teasing voice. &ldquo;Come
+and sit on my knee.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh no,&rdquo; said Viola very heartily, suddenly busy with her hair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want to.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, come along&rdquo;&mdash;impatiently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She shook her head from side to side. &ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t dream of such a
+thing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At that he got up and came over to her. &ldquo;Funny little puss cat!&rdquo; He
+put up one hand to touch her hair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t,&rdquo; she said&mdash;and slipped off the table.
+&ldquo;I&mdash;I think it&rsquo;s time you went now.&rdquo; She was quite
+frightened now&mdash;thinking only: &ldquo;This man must be got rid of as
+quickly as possible.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, but you don&rsquo;t want me to go?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, I do&mdash;I&rsquo;m very busy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Busy. What does the pussy cat do all day?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lots and lots of things!&rdquo; She wanted to push him out of the room
+and slam the door on him&mdash;idiot&mdash;fool&mdash;cruel disappointment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s she frowning for?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;Is she worried
+about anything?&rdquo; Suddenly serious: &ldquo;I say&mdash;you know, are you
+in any financial difficulty? Do you want money? I&rsquo;ll give it to you if
+you like!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Money! Steady on the brake&mdash;don&rsquo;t lose your
+head!&rdquo;&mdash;so she spoke to herself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll give you two hundred marks if you&rsquo;ll kiss me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, boo! What a condition! And I don&rsquo;t want to kiss you&mdash;I
+don&rsquo;t like kissing. Please go!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes&mdash;you do!&mdash;yes, you do.&rdquo; He caught hold of her arms
+above the elbows. She struggled, and was quite amazed to realise how angry she
+felt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let me go&mdash;immediately!&rdquo; she cried&mdash;and he slipped one
+arm round her body, and drew her towards him&mdash;like a bar of iron across
+her back&mdash;that arm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Leave me alone! I tell you. Don&rsquo;t be mean! I didn&rsquo;t want
+this to happen when you came into my room. How dare you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, kiss me and I&rsquo;ll go!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was too idiotic&mdash;dodging that stupid, smiling face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I won&rsquo;t kiss you!&mdash;you brute!&mdash;I won&rsquo;t!&rdquo;
+Somehow she slipped out of his arms and ran to the wall&mdash;stood back
+against it&mdash;breathing quickly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Get out!&rdquo; she stammered. &ldquo;Go on now, clear out!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At that moment, when he was not touching her, she quite enjoyed herself. She
+thrilled at her own angry voice. &ldquo;To think I should talk to a man like
+that!&rdquo; An angry flush spread over his face&mdash;his lips curled back,
+showing his teeth&mdash;just like a dog, thought Viola. He made a rush at her,
+and held her against the wall&mdash;pressed upon her with all the weight of his
+body. This time she could not get free.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I won&rsquo;t kiss you. I won&rsquo;t. Stop doing that! Ugh!
+you&rsquo;re like a dog&mdash;you ought to find lovers round
+lamp-posts&mdash;you beast&mdash;you fiend!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He did not answer. With an expression of the most absurd determination he
+pressed ever more heavily upon her. He did not even look at her&mdash;but
+rapped out in a sharp voice: &ldquo;Keep quiet&mdash;keep quiet.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gar-r! Why are men so strong?&rdquo; She began to cry. &ldquo;Go
+away&mdash;I don&rsquo;t want you, you dirty creature. I want to murder you.
+Oh, my God! if I had a knife.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be silly&mdash;come and be good!&rdquo; He dragged her
+towards the bed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you suppose I&rsquo;m a light woman?&rdquo; she snarled, and swooping
+over she fastened her teeth in his glove.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ach! don&rsquo;t do that&mdash;you are hurting me!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She did not let go, but her heart said, &ldquo;Thank the Lord I thought of
+this.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Stop this minute&mdash;you vixen&mdash;you bitch.&rdquo; He threw her
+away from him. She saw with joy that his eyes were full of tears.
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve really hurt me,&rdquo; he said in a choking voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course I have. I meant to. That&rsquo;s nothing to what I&rsquo;ll do
+if you touch me again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The strange man picked up his hat. &ldquo;No thanks,&rdquo; he said grimly.
+&ldquo;But I&rsquo;ll not forget this&mdash;I&rsquo;ll go to your
+landlady.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pooh!&rdquo; She shrugged her shoulders and laughed. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll
+tell her you forced your way in here and tried to assault me. Who will she
+believe?&mdash;with your bitten hand. You go and find your Schäfers.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A sensation of glorious, intoxicating happiness flooded Viola. She rolled her
+eyes at him. &ldquo;If you don&rsquo;t go away this moment I&rsquo;ll bite you
+again,&rdquo; she said, and the absurd words started her laughing. Even when
+the door was closed, hearing him descending the stairs, she laughed, and danced
+about the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What a morning! Oh, chalk it up. That was her first fight, and she&rsquo;d
+won&mdash;she&rsquo;d conquered that beast&mdash;all by herself. Her hands were
+still trembling. She pulled up the sleeve of her gown&mdash;great red marks on
+her arms. &ldquo;My ribs will be blue. I&rsquo;ll be blue all over,&rdquo; she
+reflected. &ldquo;If only that beloved Casimir could have seen us.&rdquo; And
+the feeling of rage and disgust against Casimir had totally disappeared. How
+could the poor darling help not having any money? It was her fault as much as
+his, and he, just like her, was apart from the world, fighting it, just as she
+had done. If only three o&rsquo;clock would come. She saw herself running
+towards him and putting her arms round his neck. &ldquo;My blessed one! Of
+course we are bound to win. Do you love me still? Oh, I have been horrible
+lately.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap13"></a>A BLAZE</h2>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Max, you silly devil, you&rsquo;ll break your neck if you go careering
+down the slide that way. Drop it, and come to the Club House with me and get
+some coffee.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve had enough for to-day. I&rsquo;m damp all through. There,
+give us a cigarette, Victor, old man. When are you going home?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not for another hour. It&rsquo;s fine this afternoon, and I&rsquo;m
+getting into decent shape. Look out, get off the track; here comes Fräulein
+Winkel. Damned elegant the way she manages her sleigh!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m cold all through. That&rsquo;s the worst of this
+place&mdash;the mists&mdash;it&rsquo;s a damp cold. Here, Forman, look after
+this sleigh&mdash;and stick it somewhere so that I can get it without looking
+through a hundred and fifty others to-morrow morning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They sat down at a small round table near the stove and ordered coffee. Victor
+sprawled in his chair, patting his little brown dog Bobo and looking, half
+laughingly, at Max.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter, my dear? Isn&rsquo;t the world being nice and
+pretty?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I want my coffee, and I want to put my feet into my
+pocket&mdash;they&rsquo;re like stones.... Nothing to eat, thanks&mdash;the
+cake is like underdone india-rubber here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fuchs and Wistuba came and sat at their table. Max half turned his back and
+stretched his feet out to the oven. The three other men all began talking at
+once&mdash;of the weather&mdash;of the record slide&mdash;of the fine condition
+of the Wald See for skating.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly Fuchs looked at Max, raised his eyebrows and nodded across to Victor,
+who shook his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Baby doesn&rsquo;t feel well,&rdquo; he said, feeding the brown dog with
+broken lumps of sugar, &ldquo;and nobody&rsquo;s to disturb him&mdash;I&rsquo;m
+nurse.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the first time I&rsquo;ve ever known him off colour,&rdquo;
+said Wistuba. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve always imagined he had the better part of this
+world that could not be taken away from him. I think he says his prayers to the
+dear Lord for having spared him being taken home in seven basketsful to-night.
+It&rsquo;s a fool&rsquo;s game to risk your all that way and leave the nation
+desolate.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dry up,&rdquo; said Max. &ldquo;You ought to be wheeled about on the
+snow in a perambulator.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, no offence, I hope. Don&rsquo;t get nasty.... How&rsquo;s your wife,
+Victor?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s not at all well. She hurt her head coming down the slide
+with Max on Sunday. I told her to stay at home all day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry. Are you other fellows going back to the town or
+stopping on here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fuchs and Victor said they were stopping&mdash;Max did not answer, but sat
+motionless while the men paid for their coffee and moved away. Victor came back
+a moment and put a hand on his shoulder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you&rsquo;re going right back, my dear, I wish you&rsquo;d look Elsa
+up and tell her I won&rsquo;t be in till late. And feed with us to-night at
+Limpold, will you? And take some hot grog when you get in.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thanks, old fellow, I&rsquo;m all right. Going back now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He rose, stretched himself, buttoned on his heavy coat and lighted another
+cigarette.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+From the door Victor watched him plunging through the heavy snow&mdash;head
+bent&mdash;hands thrust in his pockets&mdash;he almost appeared to be running
+through the heavy snow towards the town.
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>
+Someone came stamping up the stairs&mdash;paused at the door of her
+sitting-room, and knocked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is that you, Victor?&rdquo; she called.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, it is I... can I come in?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course. Why, what a Santa Claus! Hang your coat on the landing and
+shake yourself over the banisters. Had a good time?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The room was full of light and warmth. Elsa, in a white velvet tea-gown, lay
+curled up on the sofa&mdash;a book of fashions on her lap, a box of creams
+beside her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The curtains were not yet drawn before the windows and a blue light shone
+through, and the white boughs of the trees sprayed across.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A woman&rsquo;s room&mdash;full of flowers and photographs and silk
+pillows&mdash;the floor smothered in rugs&mdash;an immense tiger-skin under the
+piano&mdash;just the head protruding&mdash;sleepily savage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was good enough,&rdquo; said Max. &ldquo;Victor can&rsquo;t be in
+till late. He told me to come up and tell you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He started walking up and down&mdash;tore off his gloves and flung them on the
+table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t do that, Max,&rdquo; said Elsa, &ldquo;you get on my nerves.
+And I&rsquo;ve got a headache to-day; I&rsquo;m feverish and quite flushed....
+Don&rsquo;t I look flushed?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He paused by the window and glanced at her a moment over his shoulder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t notice it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, you haven&rsquo;t looked at me properly, and I&rsquo;ve got a new
+tea-gown on, too.&rdquo; She pulled her skirts together and patted a little
+place on the couch.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come along and sit by me and tell me why you&rsquo;re being
+naughty.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But, standing by the window, he suddenly flung his arm across his eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t. I&rsquo;m done&mdash;I&rsquo;m
+spent&mdash;I&rsquo;m smashed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Silence in the room. The fashion-book fell to the floor with a quick rustle of
+leaves. Elsa sat forward, her hands clasped in her lap; a strange light shone
+in her eyes, a red colour stained her mouth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then she spoke very quietly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come over here and explain yourself. I don&rsquo;t know what on earth
+you are talking about.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You do know&mdash;you know far better than I. You&rsquo;ve simply played
+with Victor in my presence that I may feel worse. You&rsquo;ve tormented
+me&mdash;you&rsquo;ve led me on&mdash;offering me everything and nothing at
+all. It&rsquo;s been a spider-and-fly business from first to last&mdash;and
+I&rsquo;ve never for one moment been ignorant of that&mdash;and I&rsquo;ve
+never for one moment been able to withstand it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He turned round deliberately.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you suppose that when you asked me to pin your flowers into your
+evening gown&mdash;when you let me come into your bedroom when Victor was out
+while you did your hair&mdash;when you pretended to be a baby and let me feed
+you with grapes&mdash;when you have run to me and searched in all my pockets
+for a cigarette&mdash;knowing perfectly well where they were kept&mdash;going
+through every pocket just the same&mdash;I knowing too&mdash;I keeping up the
+farce&mdash;do you suppose that now you have finally lighted your bonfire you
+are going to find it a peaceful and pleasant thing&mdash;you are going to
+prevent the whole house from burning?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She suddenly turned white and drew in her breath sharply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t talk to me like that. You have no right to talk to me like
+that. I am another man&rsquo;s wife.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hum,&rdquo; he sneered, throwing back his head, &ldquo;that&rsquo;s
+rather late in the game, and that&rsquo;s been your trump card all along. You
+only love Victor on the cat-and-cream principle&mdash;you a poor little starved
+kitten that he&rsquo;s given everything to, that he&rsquo;s carried in his
+breast, never dreaming that those little pink claws could tear out a
+man&rsquo;s heart.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She stirred, looking at him with almost fear in her eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;After all&rdquo;&mdash;unsteadily&mdash;&ldquo;this is my room;
+I&rsquo;ll have to ask you to go.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But he stumbled towards her, knelt down by the couch, burying his head in her
+lap, clasping his arms round her waist.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And I <i>love</i> you&mdash;I love you; the humiliation of it&mdash;I
+adore you. Don&rsquo;t&mdash;don&rsquo;t&mdash;just a minute let me stay
+here&mdash;just a moment in a whole life&mdash;Elsa! Elsa!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She leant back and pressed her head into the pillows.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then his muffled voice: &ldquo;I feel like a savage. I want your whole body. I
+want to carry you away to a cave and love you until I kill you&mdash;you
+can&rsquo;t understand how a man feels. I kill myself when I see
+you&mdash;I&rsquo;m sick of my own strength that turns in upon itself, and
+dies, and rises new born like a Phœnix out of the ashes of that horrible
+death. Love me just this once, tell me a lie, <i>say</i> that you do&mdash;you
+are always lying.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Instead, she pushed him away&mdash;frightened.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Get up,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;suppose the servant came in with the
+tea?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, ye gods!&rdquo; He stumbled to his feet and stood staring down at
+her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re rotten to the core and so am I. But you&rsquo;re
+heathenishly beautiful.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The woman went over to the piano&mdash;stood there&mdash;striking one
+note&mdash;her brows drawn together. Then she shrugged her shoulders and
+smiled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll make a confession. Every word you have said is true. I
+can&rsquo;t help it. I can&rsquo;t help seeking admiration any more than a cat
+can help going to people to be stroked. It&rsquo;s my nature. I&rsquo;m born
+out of my time. And yet, you know, I&rsquo;m not a <i>common</i> woman. I like
+men to adore me&mdash;to flatter me&mdash;even to make love to me&mdash;but I
+would never give myself to any man. I would never let a man kiss me...
+even.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s immeasurably worse&mdash;you&rsquo;ve no legitimate excuse.
+Why, even a prostitute has a greater sense of generosity!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I know,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I know perfectly well&mdash;but I
+can&rsquo;t help the way I&rsquo;m built.... Are you going?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He put on his gloves.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;what&rsquo;s going to happen to us
+now?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again she shrugged her shoulders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t the slightest idea. I never have&mdash;just let things
+occur.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All alone?&rdquo; cried Victor. &ldquo;Has Max been here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He only stayed a moment, and wouldn&rsquo;t even have tea. I sent him
+home to change his clothes.... He was frightfully boring.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You poor darling, your hair&rsquo;s coming down. I&rsquo;ll fix it,
+stand still a moment... so you were bored?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Um-m&mdash;frightfully.... Oh, you&rsquo;ve run a hairpin right into
+your wife&rsquo;s head&mdash;you naughty boy!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She flung her arms round his neck and looked up at him, half laughing, like a
+beautiful, loving child.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;God! What a woman you are,&rdquo; said the man. &ldquo;You make me so
+infernally proud&mdash;dearest, that I... I tell you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN A GERMAN PENSION ***</div>
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+The Project Gutenberg Etext of In a German Pension, by Mansfield
+#2 in our series by Katherine Mansfield
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+In a German Pension
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+*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END*
+
+
+
+
+
+This etext was prepared by Sue Asscher <asschers@aia.net.au>
+
+
+
+
+
+IN A GERMAN PENSION
+by Katherine Mansfield
+
+
+
+
+Contents.
+
+1.  Germans at Meat.
+2.  The Baron.
+3.  The Sister of the Baroness.
+4.  Frau Fischer.
+5.  Frau Brechenmacher attends a Wedding.
+6.  The Modern Soul.
+7.  At Lehmann's.
+8.  The Luft Bad.
+9.  A Birthday.
+10.  The Child-Who-Was-Tired.
+11.  The Advanced Lady.
+12.  The Swing of the Pendulum.
+13.  A Blaze.
+
+
+
+
+1.  GERMANS AT MEAT.
+
+Bread soup was placed upon the table.  "Ah," said the Herr Rat, leaning
+upon the table as he peered into the tureen, "that is what I need.  My
+'magen' has not been in order for several days.  Bread soup, and just the
+right consistency.  I am a good cook myself"--he turned to me.
+
+"How interesting," I said, attempting to infuse just the right amount of
+enthusiasm into my voice.
+
+"Oh yes--when one is not married it is necessary.  As for me, I have had
+all I wanted from women without marriage."  He tucked his napkin into his
+collar and blew upon his soup as he spoke.  "Now at nine o'clock I make
+myself an English breakfast, but not much.  Four slices of bread, two eggs,
+two slices of cold ham, one plate of soup, two cups of tea--that is nothing
+to you."
+
+He asserted the fact so vehemently that I had not the courage to refute it.
+
+All eyes were suddenly turned upon me.  I felt I was bearing the burden of
+the nation's preposterous breakfast--I who drank a cup of coffee while
+buttoning my blouse in the morning.
+
+"Nothing at all," cried Herr Hoffmann from Berlin.  "Ach, when I was in
+England in the morning I used to eat."
+
+He turned up his eyes and his moustache, wiping the soup drippings from his
+coat and waistcoat.
+
+"Do they really eat so much?" asked Fraulein Stiegelauer.  "Soup and
+baker's bread and pig's flesh, and tea and coffee and stewed fruit, and
+honey and eggs, and cold fish and kidneys, and hot fish and liver?  All the
+ladies eat, too, especially the ladies."
+
+"Certainly.  I myself have noticed it, when I was living in a hotel in
+Leicester Square," cried the Herr Rat.  "It was a good hotel, but they
+could not make tea--now--"
+
+"Ah, that's one thing I CAN do," said I, laughing brightly.  "I can make
+very good tea.  The great secret is to warm the teapot."
+
+"Warm the teapot," interrupted the Herr Rat, pushing away his soup plate. 
+"What do you warm the teapot for?  Ha! ha! that's very good!  One does not
+eat the teapot, I suppose?"
+
+He fixed his cold blue eyes upon me with an expression which suggested a
+thousand premeditated invasions.
+
+"So that is the great secret of your English tea?  All you do is to warm
+the teapot."
+
+I wanted to say that was only the preliminary canter, but could not
+translate it, and so was silent.
+
+The servant brought in veal, with sauerkraut and potatoes.
+
+"I eat sauerkraut with great pleasure," said the Traveller from North
+Germany, "but now I have eaten so much of it that I cannot retain it.  I am
+immediately forced to--"
+
+"A beautiful day," I cried, turning to Fraulein Stiegelauer.  "Did you get
+up early?"
+
+"At five o'clock I walked for ten minutes in the wet grass.  Again in bed. 
+At half-past five I fell asleep, and woke at seven, when I made an
+'overbody' washing!  Again in bed.  At eight o'clock I had a cold-water
+poultice, and at half past eight I drank a cup of mint tea.  At nine I
+drank some malt coffee, and began my 'cure.'  Pass me the sauerkraut,
+please.  You do not eat it?"
+
+"No, thank you.  I still find it a little strong."
+
+"Is it true," asked the Widow, picking her teeth with a hairpin as she
+spoke, "that you are a vegetarian?"
+
+"Why, yes; I have not eaten meat for three years."
+
+"Im--possible!  Have you any family?"
+
+"No."
+
+"There now, you see, that's what you're coming to!  Who ever heard of
+having children upon vegetables?  It is not possible.  But you never have
+large families in England now; I suppose you are too busy with your
+suffragetting.  Now I have had nine children, and they are all alive, thank
+God.  Fine, healthy babies--though after the first one was born I had to--"
+
+"How WONDERFUL!" I cried.
+
+"Wonderful," said the Widow contemptuously, replacing the hairpin in the
+knob which was balanced on the top of her head.  "Not at all!  A friend of
+mine had four at the same time.  Her husband was so pleased he gave a
+supper-party and had them placed on the table.  Of course she was very
+proud."
+
+"Germany," boomed the Traveller, biting round a potato which he had speared
+with his knife, "is the home of the Family."
+
+Followed an appreciative silence.
+
+The dishes were changed for beef, red currants and spinach.  They wiped
+their forks upon black bread and started again.
+
+"How long are you remaining here?" asked the Herr Rat.
+
+"I do not know exactly.  I must be back in London in September."
+
+"Of course you will visit Munchen?"
+
+"I am afraid I shall not have time.  You see, it is important not to break
+into my 'cure.'"
+
+"But you MUST go to Munchen.  You have not seen Germany if you have not
+been to Munchen.  All the Exhibitions, all the Art and Soul life of Germany
+are in Munchen.  There is the Wagner Festival in August, and Mozart and a
+Japanese collection of pictures--and there is the beer!  You do not know
+what good beer is until you have been to Munchen.  Why, I see fine ladies
+every afternoon, but fine ladies, I tell you, drinking glasses so high." 
+He measured a good washstand pitcher in height, and I smiled.
+
+"If I drink a great deal of Munchen beer I sweat so," said Herr Hoffmann. 
+"When I am here, in the fields or before my baths, I sweat, but I enjoy it;
+but in the town it is not at all the same thing."
+
+Prompted by the thought, he wiped his neck and face with his dinner napkin
+and carefully cleaned his ears.
+
+A glass dish of stewed apricots was placed upon the table.
+
+"Ah, fruit!" said Fraulein Stiegelauer, "that is so necessary to health. 
+The doctor told me this morning that the more fruit I could eat the
+better."
+
+She very obviously followed the advice.
+
+Said the Traveller:  "I suppose you are frightened of an invasion, too, eh? 
+Oh, that's good.  I've been reading all about your English play in a
+newspaper.  Did you see it?"
+
+"Yes."  I sat upright.  "I assure you we are not afraid."
+
+"Well, then, you ought to be," said the Herr Rat.  "You have got no army at
+all--a few little boys with their veins full of nicotine poisoning."
+
+"Don't be afraid," Herr Hoffmann said.  "We don't want England.  If we did
+we would have had her long ago.  We really do not want you."
+
+He waved his spoon airily, looking across at me as though I were a little
+child whom he would keep or dismiss as he pleased.
+
+"We certainly do not want Germany," I said.
+
+"This morning I took a half bath.  Then this afternoon I must take a knee
+bath and an arm bath," volunteered the Herr Rat; "then I do my exercises
+for an hour, and my work is over.  A glass of wine and a couple of rolls
+with some sardines--"
+
+They were handed cherry cake with whipped cream.
+
+"What is your husband's favourite meat?" asked the Widow.
+
+"I really do not know," I answered.
+
+"You really do not know?  How long have you been married?"
+
+"Three years."
+
+"But you cannot be in earnest!  You would not have kept house as his wife
+for a week without knowing that fact."
+
+"I really never asked him; he is not at all particular about his food."
+
+A pause.  They all looked at me, shaking their heads, their mouths full of
+cherry stones.
+
+"No wonder there is a repetition in England of that dreadful state of
+things in Paris," said the Widow, folding her dinner napkin.  "How can a
+woman expect to keep her husband if she does not know his favourite food
+after three years?"
+
+"Mahlzeit!"
+
+"Mahlzeit!"
+
+I closed the door after me.
+
+
+
+2.  THE BARON.
+
+"Who is he?" I said.  "And why does he sit always alone, with his back to
+us, too?"
+
+"Ah!" whispered the Frau Oberregierungsrat, "he is a BARON."
+
+She looked at me very solemnly, and yet with the slightest possible
+contempt--a "fancy-not-recognising-that-at-the-first-glance" expression.
+
+"But, poor soul, he cannot help it," I said.  "Surely that unfortunate fact
+ought not to debar him from the pleasures of intellectual intercourse."
+
+If it had not been for her fork I think she would have crossed herself.
+
+"Surely you cannot understand.  He is one of the First Barons."
+
+More than a little unnerved, she turned and spoke to the Frau Doktor on her
+left.
+
+"My omelette is empty--EMPTY," she protested, "and this is the third I have
+tried!"
+
+I looked at the First of the Barons.  He was eating salad--taking a whole
+lettuce leaf on his fork and absorbing it slowly, rabbit-wise--a
+fascinating process to watch.
+
+Small and slight, with scanty black hair and beard and yellow-toned
+complexion, he invariably wore black serge clothes, a rough linen shirt,
+black sandals, and the largest black-rimmed spectacles that I had ever
+seen.
+
+The Herr Oberlehrer, who sat opposite me, smiled benignantly.
+
+"It must be very interesting for you, gnadige Frau, to be able to watch....
+of course this is a VERY FINE HOUSE.  There was a lady from the Spanish
+Court here in the summer; she had a liver.  We often spoke together."
+
+I looked gratified and humble.
+
+"Now, in England, in your 'boarding 'ouse', one does not find the First
+Class, as in Germany."
+
+"No, indeed," I replied, still hypnotised by the Baron, who looked like a
+little yellow silkworm.
+
+"The Baron comes every year," went on the Herr Oberlehrer, "for his nerves. 
+He has never spoken to any of the guests--YET!  A smile crossed his face. 
+I seemed to see his visions of some splendid upheaval of that silence--a
+dazzling exchange of courtesies in a dim future, a splendid sacrifice of a
+newspaper to this Exalted One, a "danke schon" to be handed down to future
+generations.
+
+At that moment the postman, looking like a German army officer, came in
+with the mail.  He threw my letters into my milk pudding, and then turned
+to a waitress and whispered.  She retired hastily.  The manager of the
+pension came in with a little tray.  A picture post card was deposited on
+it, and reverently bowing his head, the manager of the pension carried it
+to the Baron.
+
+Myself, I felt disappointed that there was not a salute of twenty-five
+guns.
+
+At the end of the meal we were served with coffee.  I noticed the Baron
+took three lumps of sugar, putting two in his cup and wrapping up the third
+in a corner of his pocket-handkerchief.  He was always the first to enter
+the dining-room and the last to leave; and in a vacant chair beside him he
+placed a little black leather bag.
+
+In the afternoon, leaning from my window, I saw him pass down the street,
+walking tremulously and carrying the bag.  Each time he passed a lamp-post
+he shrank a little, as though expecting it to strike him, or maybe the
+sense of plebeian contamination...
+
+I wondered where he was going, and why he carried the bag.  Never had I
+seen him at the Casino or the Bath Establishment.  He looked forlorn, his
+feet slipped in his sandals.  I found myself pitying the Baron.
+
+That evening a party of us were gathered in the salon discussing the day's
+"kur" with feverish animation.  The Frau Oberregierungsrat sat by me
+knitting a shawl for her youngest of nine daughters, who was in that very
+interesting, frail condition..."But it is bound to be quite satisfactory,"
+she said to me.  "The dear married a banker--the desire of her life."
+
+There must have been eight or ten of us gathered together, we who were
+married exchanging confidences as to the underclothing and peculiar
+characteristics of our husbands, the unmarried discussing the over-clothing
+and peculiar fascinations of Possible Ones.
+
+"I knit them myself," I heard the Frau Lehrer cry, "of thick grey wool.  He
+wears one a month, with two soft collars."
+
+"And then," whispered Fraulein Lisa, "he said to me, 'Indeed you please me. 
+I shall, perhaps, write to your mother.'"
+
+Small wonder that we were a little violently excited, a little
+expostulatory.
+
+Suddenly the door opened and admitted the Baron.
+
+Followed a complete and deathlike silence.
+
+He came in slowly, hesitated, took up a toothpick from a dish on the top of
+the piano, and went out again.
+
+When the door was closed we raised a triumphant cry!  It was the first time
+he had ever been known to enter the salon.  Who could tell what the Future
+held?
+
+Days lengthened into weeks.  Still we were together, and still the solitary
+little figure, head bowed as though under the weight of the spectacles,
+haunted me.  He entered with the black bag, he retired with the black
+bag--and that was all.
+
+At last the manager of the pension told us the Baron was leaving the next
+day.
+
+"Oh," I thought, "surely he cannot drift into obscurity--be lost without
+one word!  Surely he will honour the Frau Oberregierungsrat of the Frau
+Feldleutnantswitwe ONCE before he goes."
+
+In the evening of that day it rained heavily.  I went to the post office,
+and as I stood on the steps, umbrellaless, hesitating before plunging into
+the slushy road, a little, hesitating voice seemed to come from under my
+elbow.
+
+I looked down.  It was the First of the Barons with the black bag and an
+umbrella.  Was I mad?  Was I sane?  He was asking me to share the latter. 
+But I was exceedingly nice, a trifle diffident, appropriately reverential. 
+Together we walked through the mud and slush.
+
+Now, there is something peculiarly intimate in sharing an umbrella.
+
+It is apt to put one on the same footing as brushing a man's coat for
+him--a little daring, naive.
+
+I longed to know why he sat alone, why he carried the bag, what he did all
+day.  But he himself volunteered some information.
+
+"I fear," he said, "that my luggage will be damp.  I invariably carry it
+with me in this bag--one requires so little--for servants are
+untrustworthy."
+
+"A wise idea," I answered.  And then:  "Why have you denied us the
+pleasure--"
+
+"I sit alone that I may eat more," said the Baron, peering into the dusk;
+"my stomach requires a great deal of food.  I order double portions, and
+eat them in peace."
+
+Which sounded finely Baronial.
+
+"And what do you do all day?"
+
+"I imbibe nourishment in my room," he replied, in a voice that closed the
+conversation and almost repented of the umbrella.
+
+When we arrived at the pension there was very nearly an open riot.
+
+I ran half way up the stairs, and thanked the Baron audibly from the
+landing.
+
+He distinctly replied:  "Not at all!"
+
+It was very friendly of the Herr Oberlehrer to have sent me a bouquet that
+evening, and the Frau Oberregierungsrat asked me for my pattern of a baby's
+bonnet!
+
+...
+
+Next day the Baron was gone.
+
+Sic transit gloria German mundi.
+
+
+
+3.  THE SISTER OF THE BARONESS.
+
+"There are two new guests arriving this afternoon," said the manager of the
+pension, placing a chair for me at the breakfast table.  "I have only
+received the letter acquainting me with the fact this morning.  The
+Baroness von Gall is sending her little daughter--the poor child is
+dumb--to make the 'cure.'  She is to stay with us a month, and then the
+Baroness herself is coming."
+
+"Baroness von Gall," cried the Frau Doktor, coming into the room and
+positively scenting the name.  "Coming here?  There was a picture of her
+only last week in 'Sport and Salon.'  She is a friend of the court:  I have
+heard that the Kaiserin says 'du' to her.  But this is delightful!  I shall
+take my doctor's advice and spend an extra six weeks here.  There is
+nothing like young society."
+
+"But the child is dumb," ventured the manager apologetically.
+
+"Bah!  What does that matter?  Afflicted children have such pretty ways."
+
+Each guest who came into the breakfast-room was bombarded with the
+wonderful news.  "The Baroness von Gall is sending her little daughter
+here; the Baroness herself is coming in a month's time."  Coffee and rolls
+took on the nature of an orgy.  We positively scintillated.  Anecdotes of
+the High Born were poured out, sweetened and sipped:  we gorged on scandals
+of High Birth generously buttered.
+
+"They are to have the room next to yours," said the manager, addressing me.
+"I was wondering if you would permit me to take down the portrait of the
+Kaiserin Elizabeth from above your bed to hang over their sofa."
+
+"Yes, indeed, something homelike"--the Frau Oberregierungsrat patted my
+hand--"and of no possible significance to you."
+
+I felt a little crushed.  Not at the prospect of losing that vision of
+diamonds and blue velvet bust, but at the tone--placing me outside the
+pale--branding me as a foreigner.
+
+We dissipated the day in valid speculations.  Decided it was too warm to
+walk in the afternoon, so lay down on our beds, mustering in great force
+for afternoon coffee.  And a carriage drew up at the door.  A tall young
+girl got out, leading a child by the hand.  They entered the hall, were
+greeted and shown to their room.  Ten minutes later she came down with the
+child to sign the visitors' book.  She wore a black, closely fitting dress,
+touched at throat and wrists with white frilling.  Her brown hair, braided,
+was tied with a black bow--unusually pale, with a small mole on her left
+cheek.
+
+"I am the Baroness von Gall's sister," she said, trying the pen on a piece
+of blotting-paper, and smiling at us deprecatingly.  Even for the most
+jaded of us life holds its thrilling moments.  Two Baronesses in two
+months!  The manager immediately left the room to find a new nib.
+
+To my plebeian eyes that afflicted child was singularly unattractive.  She
+had the air of having been perpetually washed with a blue bag, and hair
+like grey wool--dressed, too, in a pinafore so stiffly starched that she
+could only peer at us over the frill of it--a social barrier of a
+pinafore--and perhaps it was too much to expect a noble aunt to attend to
+the menial consideration of her niece's ears.  But a dumb niece with
+unwashed ears struck me as a most depressing object.
+
+They were given places at the head of the table.  For a moment we all
+looked at one another with an eena-deena-dina-do expression.  Then the Frau
+Oberregierungsrat:
+
+"I hope you are not tired after your journey."
+
+"No," said the sister of the Baroness, smiling into her cup.
+
+"I hope the dear child is not tired," said the Frau Doktor.
+
+"Not at all."
+
+"I expect, I hope you will sleep well to-night," the Herr Oberlehrer said
+reverently.
+
+"Yes."
+
+The poet from Munich never took his eyes off the pair.  He allowed his tie
+to absorb most of his coffee while he gazed at them exceedingly soulfully.
+
+Unyoking Pegasus, thought I.  Death spasms of his Odes to Solitude!  There
+were possibilities in that young woman for an inspiration, not to mention a
+dedication, and from that moment his suffering temperament took up its bed
+and walked.
+
+They retired after the meal, leaving us to discuss them at leisure.
+
+"There is a likeness," mused the Frau Doktor.  "Quite.  What a manner she
+has.  Such reserve, such a tender way with the child."
+
+"Pity she has the child to attend to," exclaimed the student from Bonn.  He
+had hitherto relied upon three scars and a ribbon to produce an effect, but
+the sister of a Baroness demanded more than these.
+
+Absorbing days followed.  Had she been one whit less beautifully born we
+could not have endured the continual conversation about her, the songs in
+her praise, the detailed account of her movements.  But she graciously
+suffered our worship and we were more than content.
+
+The poet she took into her confidence.  He carried her books when we went
+walking, he jumped the afflicted one on his knee--poetic licence, this--and
+one morning brought his notebook into the salon and read to us.
+
+"The sister of the Baroness has assured me she is going into a convent," he
+said.  (That made the student from Bonn sit up.)  "I have written these few
+lines last night from my window in the sweet night air--"
+
+"Oh, your DELICATE chest," commented the Frau Doktor.
+
+He fixed a stony eye on her, and she blushed.
+
+"I have written these lines:
+
+"'Ah, will you to a convent fly,
+   So young, so fresh, so fair?
+  Spring like a doe upon the fields
+   And find your beauty there.'"
+
+Nine verses equally lovely commanded her to equally violent action.  I am
+certain that had she followed his advice not even the remainder of her life
+in a convent would have given her time to recover her breath.
+
+"I have presented her with a copy," he said.  "And to-day we are going to
+look for wild flowers in the wood."
+
+The student from Bonn got up and left the room.  I begged the poet to
+repeat the verses once more.  At the end of the sixth verse I saw from the
+window the sister of the Baroness and the scarred youth disappearing
+through the front gate, which enabled me to thank the poet so charmingly
+that he offered to write me out a copy.
+
+But we were living at too high pressure in those days.  Swinging from our
+humble pension to the high walls of palaces, how could we help but fall? 
+Late one afternoon the Frau Doktor came upon me in the writing-room and
+took me to her bosom.
+
+"She has been telling me all about her life," whispered the Frau Doktor.
+"She came to my bedroom and offered to massage my arm.  You know, I am the
+greatest martyr to rheumatism.  And, fancy now, she has already had six
+proposals of marriage.  Such beautiful offers that I assure you I wept--and
+every one of noble birth.  My dear, the most beautiful was in the wood. 
+Not that I do not think a proposal should take place in a drawing-room--it
+is more fitting to have four walls--but this was a private wood.  He said,
+the young officer, she was like a young tree whose branches had never been
+touched by the ruthless hand of man.  Such delicacy!"  She sighed and
+turned up her eyes.
+
+"Of course it is difficult for you English to understand when you are
+always exposing your legs on cricket-fields, and breeding dogs in your back
+gardens.  The pity of it!  Youth should be like a wild rose.  For myself I
+do not understand how your women ever get married at all."
+
+She shook her head so violently that I shook mine too, and a gloom settled
+round my heart.  It seemed we were really in a very bad way.  Did the
+spirit of romance spread her rose wings only over aristocratic Germany?
+
+I went to my room, bound a pink scarf about my hair, and took a volume of
+Morike's lyrics into the garden.  A great bush of purple lilac grew behind
+the summer-house.  There I sat down, finding a sad significance in the
+delicate suggestion of half mourning.  I began to write a poem myself.
+
+"They sway and languish dreamily,
+ And we, close pressed, are kissing there."
+
+It ended!  "Close pressed" did not sound at all fascinating.  Savoured of
+wardrobes.  Did my wild rose then already trail in the dust?  I chewed a
+leaf and hugged my knees.  Then--magic moment--I heard voices from the
+summer-house, the sister of the Baroness and the student from Bonn.
+
+Second-hand was better than nothing; I pricked up my ears.
+
+"What small hands you have," said the student from Bonn.  "They are like
+white lilies lying in the pool of your black dress."  This certainly
+sounded the real thing.  Her high-born reply was what interested me.
+Sympathetic murmur only.
+
+"May I hold one?"
+
+I heard two sighs--presumed they held--he had rifled those dark waters of a
+noble blossom.
+
+"Look at my great fingers beside yours."
+
+"But they are beautifully kept," said the sister of the Baroness shyly.
+
+The minx!  Was love then a question of manicure?
+
+"How I should adore to kiss you," murmured the student.  "But you know I am
+suffering from severe nasal catarrh, and I dare not risk giving it to you.
+Sixteen times last night did I count myself sneezing.  And three different
+handkerchiefs."
+
+I threw Morike into the lilac bush, and went back to the house.  A great
+automobile snorted at the front door.  In the salon great commotion.  The
+Baroness was paying a surprise visit to her little daughter.  Clad in a
+yellow mackintosh she stood in the middle of the room questioning the
+manager.  And every guest the pension contained was grouped about her, even
+the Frau Doktor, presumably examining a timetable, as near to the august
+skirts as possible.
+
+"But where is my maid?" asked the Baroness.
+
+"There was no maid," replied the manager, "save for your gracious sister
+and daughter."
+
+"Sister!" she cried sharply.  "Fool, I have no sister.  My child travelled
+with the daughter of my dressmaker."
+
+Tableau grandissimo!
+
+
+
+4.  FRAU FISCHER.
+
+Frau Fischer was the fortunate possessor of a candle factory somewhere on
+the banks of the Eger, and once a year she ceased from her labours to make
+a "cure" in Dorschausen, arriving with a dress-basket neatly covered in a
+black tarpaulin and a hand-bag.  The latter contained amongst her
+handkerchiefs, eau de Cologne, toothpicks, and a certain woollen muffler
+very comforting to the "magen," samples of her skill in candle-making, to
+be offered up as tokens of thanksgiving when her holiday time was over.
+
+Four of the clock one July afternoon she appeared at the Pension Muller.  I
+was sitting in the arbour and watched her bustling up the path followed by
+the red-bearded porter with her dress-basket in his arms and a sunflower
+between his teeth.  The widow and her five innocent daughters stood
+tastefully grouped upon the steps in appropriate attitudes of welcome; and
+the greetings were so long and loud that I felt a sympathetic glow.
+
+"What a journey!" cried the Frau Fischer.  "And nothing to eat in the
+train--nothing solid.  I assure you the sides of my stomach are flapping
+together.  But I must not spoil my appetite for dinner--just a cup of
+coffee in my room.  Bertha," turning to the youngest of the five, "how
+changed!  What a bust!  Frau Hartmann, I congratulate you."
+
+Once again the Widow seized Frau Fischer's hands.  "Kathi, too, a splendid
+woman; but a little pale.  Perhaps the young man from Nurnberg is here
+again this year.  How you keep them all I don't know.  Each year I come
+expecting to find you with an empty nest.  It's surprising."
+
+Frau Hartmann, in an ashamed, apologetic voice:  "We are such a happy
+family since my dear man died."
+
+"But these marriages--one must have courage; and after all, give them time,
+they all make the happy family bigger--thank God for that...Are there many
+people here just now?"
+
+"Every room engaged."
+
+Followed a detailed description in the hall, murmured on the stairs,
+continued in six parts as they entered the large room (windows opening upon
+the garden) which Frau Fischer occupied each successive year.  I was
+reading the "Miracles of Lourdes," which a Catholic priest--fixing a gloomy
+eye upon my soul--had begged me to digest; but its wonders were completely
+routed by Frau Fischer's arrival.  Not even the white roses upon the feet
+of the Virgin could flourish in that atmosphere.
+
+"...It was a simple shepherd-child who pastured her flocks upon the 
+barren fields..."
+
+Voices from the room above:  "The washstand has, of course, been scrubbed
+over with soda."
+
+"...Poverty-stricken, her limbs with tattered rags half covered..."
+
+"Every stick of the furniture has been sunning in the garden for three
+days.  And the carpet we made ourselves out of old clothes.  There is a
+piece of that beautiful flannel petticoat you left us last summer."
+
+"...Deaf and dumb was the child; in fact, the population considered her
+half idiot..."
+
+"Yes, that is a new picture of the Kaiser.  We have moved the thorn-crowned
+one of Jesus Christ out into the passage.  It was not cheerful to sleep
+with.  Dear Frau Fischer, won't you take your coffee out in the garden?"
+
+"That is a very nice idea.  But first I must remove my corsets and my
+boots.  Ah, what a relief to wear sandals again.  I am needing the 'cure'
+very badly this year.  My nerves!  I am a mass of them.  During the entire
+journey I sat with my handkerchief over my head, even while the guard
+collected the tickets.  Exhausted!"
+
+She came into the arbour wearing a black and white spotted dressing-gown,
+and a calico cap peaked with patent leather, followed by Kathi, carrying
+the little blue jugs of malt coffee.  We were formally introduced.  Frau
+Fischer sat down, produced a perfectly clean pocket handkerchief and
+polished her cup and saucer, then lifted the lid of the coffee-pot and
+peered in at the contents mournfully.
+
+"Malt coffee," she said.  "Ah, for the first few days I wonder how I can
+put up with it.  Naturally, absent from home one must expect much
+discomfort and strange food.  But as I used to say to my dear husband: 
+with a clean sheet and a good cup of coffee I can find my happiness
+anywhere.  But now, with nerves like mine, no sacrifice is too terrible for
+me to make.  What complaint are you suffering from?  You look exceedingly
+healthy!"
+
+I smiled and shrugged my shoulders.
+
+"Ah, that is so strange about you English.  You do not seem to enjoy
+discussing the functions of the body.  As well speak of a railway train and
+refuse to mention the engine.  How can we hope to understand anybody,
+knowing nothing of their stomachs?  In my husband's most severe illness--
+the poultices--"
+
+She dipped a piece of sugar in her coffee and watched it dissolve.
+
+"Yet a young friend of mine who travelled to England for the funeral of his
+brother told me that women wore bodices in public restaurants no waiter
+could help looking into as he handed the soup."
+
+"But only German waiters," I said.  "English ones look over the top of your
+head."
+
+"There," she cried, "now you see your dependence on Germany.  Not even an
+efficient waiter can you have by yourselves."
+
+"But I prefer them to look over your head."
+
+"And that proves that you must be ashamed of your bodice."
+
+I looked out over the garden full of wall-flowers and standard rose-trees
+growing stiffly like German bouquets, feeling I did not care one way or the
+other.  I rather wanted to ask her if the young friend had gone to England
+in the capacity of waiter to attend the funeral baked meats, but decided it
+was not worth it.  The weather was too hot to be malicious, and who could
+be uncharitable, victimised by the flapping sensations which Frau Fischer
+was enduring until six-thirty?  As a gift from heaven for my forbearance,
+down the path towards us came the Herr Rat, angelically clad in a white
+silk suit.  He and Frau Fischer were old friends.  She drew the folds of
+her dressing-gown together, and made room for him on the little green
+bench.
+
+"How cool you are looking," she said; "and if I may make the remark--what a
+beautiful suit!"
+
+"Surely I wore it last summer when you were here?  I brought the silk from
+China--smuggled it through the Russian customs by swathing it round my
+body.  And such a quantity:  two dress lengths for my sister-in-law, three
+suits for myself, a cloak for the housekeeper of my flat in Munich.  How I
+perspired!  Every inch of it had to be washed afterwards."
+
+"Surely you have had more adventures than any man in Germany.  When I think
+of the time that you spent in Turkey with a drunken guide who was bitten by
+a mad dog and fell over a precipice into a field of attar of roses, I
+lament that you have not written a book."
+
+"Time--time.  I am getting a few notes together.  And now that you are here
+we shall renew our quiet little talks after supper.  Yes?  It is necessary
+and pleasant for a man to find relaxation in the company of women
+occasionally."
+
+"Indeed I realise that.  Even here your life is too strenuous--you are so
+sought after--so admired.  It was just the same with my dear husband.  He
+was a tall, beautiful man, and sometimes in the evening he would come down
+into the kitchen and say:  'Wife, I would like to be stupid for two
+minutes.'  Nothing rested him so much then as for me to stroke his head."
+
+The Herr Rat's bald pate glistening in the sunlight seemed symbolical of
+the sad absence of a wife.
+
+I began to wonder as to the nature of these quiet little after-supper
+talks.  How could one play Delilah to so shorn a Samson?
+
+"Herr Hoffmann from Berlin arrived yesterday," said the Herr Rat.
+
+"That young man I refuse to converse with.  He told me last year that he
+had stayed in France in an hotel where they did not have serviettes; what a
+place it must have been!  In Austria even the cabmen have serviettes.  Also
+I have heard that he discussed 'free love' with Bertha as she was sweeping
+his room.  I am not accustomed to such company.  I had suspected him for a
+long time."
+
+"Young blood," answered the Herr Rat genially.  "I have had several
+disputes with him--you have heard them--is it not so?" turning to me.
+
+"A great many," I said, smiling.
+
+"Doubtless you too consider me behind the times.  I make no secret of my
+age; I am sixty-nine; but you must have surely observed how impossible it
+was for him to speak at all when I raised my voice."
+
+I replied with the utmost conviction, and, catching Frau Fischer's eye,
+suddenly realised I had better go back to the house and write some letters.
+
+It was dark and cool in my room.  A chestnut tree pushed green boughs
+against the window.  I looked down at the horsehair sofa so openly flouting
+the idea of curling up as immoral, pulled the red pillow on to the floor
+and lay down.  And barely had I got comfortable when the door opened and
+Frau Fischer entered.
+
+"The Herr Rat had a bathing appointment," she said, shutting the door after
+her.  "May I come in?  Pray do not move.  You look like a little Persian
+kitten.  Now, tell me something really interesting about your life.  When I
+meet new people I squeeze them dry like a sponge.  To begin with--you are
+married."
+
+I admit the fact.
+
+"Then, dear child, where is your husband?"
+
+I said he was a sea-captain on a long and perilous voyage.
+
+"What a position to leave you in--so young and so unprotected."
+
+She sat down on the sofa and shook her finger at me playfully.
+
+"Admit, now, that you keep your journeys secret from him.  For what man
+would think of allowing a woman with such a wealth of hair to go wandering
+in foreign countries?  Now, supposing that you lost your purse at midnight
+in a snowbound train in North Russia?"
+
+"But I haven't the slightest intention--" I began.
+
+"I don't say that you have.  But when you said good-bye to your dear man I
+am positive that you had no intention of coming here.  My dear, I am a
+woman of experience, and I know the world.  While he is away you have a
+fever in your blood.  Your sad heart flies for comfort to these foreign
+lands.  At home you cannot bear the sight of that empty bed---it is like
+widowhood.  Since the death of my dear husband I have never known an hour's
+peace."
+
+"I like empty beds," I protested sleepily, thumping the pillow.
+
+"That cannot be true because it is not natural.  Every wife ought to feel
+that her place is by her husband's side--sleeping or waking.  It is plain
+to see that the strongest tie of all does not yet bind you.  Wait until a
+little pair of hands stretches across the water--wait until he comes into
+harbour and sees you with the child at your breast."
+
+I sat up stiffly.
+
+"But I consider child-bearing the most ignominious of all professions," I
+said.
+
+For a moment there was silence.  Then Frau Fischer reached down and caught
+my hand.
+
+"So young and yet to suffer so cruelly," she murmured.  "There is nothing
+that sours a woman so terribly as to be left alone without a man,
+especially if she is married, for then it is impossible for her to accept
+the attention of others--unless she is unfortunately a widow.  Of course, I
+know that sea-captains are subject to terrible temptations, and they are as
+inflammable as tenor singers--that is why you must present a bright and
+energetic appearance, and try and make him proud of you when his ship
+reaches port."
+
+This husband that I had created for the benefit of Frau Fischer became in
+her hands so substantial a figure that I could no longer see myself sitting
+on a rock with seaweed in my hair, awaiting that phantom ship for which all
+women love to suppose they hunger.  Rather I saw myself pushing a
+perambulator up the gangway, and counting up the missing buttons on my
+husband's uniform jacket.
+
+"Handfuls of babies, that is what you are really in need of," mused Frau
+Fischer.  "Then, as the father of a family he cannot leave you.  Think of
+his delight and excitement when he saw you!"
+
+The plan seemed to me something of a risk.  To appear suddenly with
+handfuls of strange babies is not generally calculated to raise enthusiasm
+in the heart of the average British husband.  I decided to wreck my virgin
+conception and send him down somewhere off Cape Horn.
+
+Then the dinner-gong sounded.
+
+"Come up to my room afterwards," said Frau Fischer.  "There is still much
+that I must ask you."
+
+She squeezed my hand, but I did not squeeze back.
+
+
+
+5.  FRAU BRECHENMACHER ATTENDS A WEDDING.
+
+Getting ready was a terrible business.  After supper Frau Brechenmacher
+packed four of the five babies to bed, allowing Rosa to stay with her and
+help to polish the buttons of Herr Brechenmacher's uniform.  Then she ran
+over his best shirt with a hot iron, polished his boots, and put a stitch
+or two into his black satin necktie.
+
+"Rosa," she said, "fetch my dress and hang it in front of the stove to get
+the creases out.  Now, mind, you must look after the children and not sit
+up later than half-past eight, and not touch the lamp--you know what will
+happen if you do."
+
+"Yes, Mamma," said Rosa, who was nine and felt old enough to manage a
+thousand lamps.  "But let me stay up--the 'Bub' may wake and want some
+milk."
+
+"Half-past eight!" said the Frau.  "I'll make the father tell you too."
+
+Rosa drew down the corners of her mouth.
+
+"But...but..."
+
+"Here comes the father.  You go into the bedroom and fetch my blue silk
+handkerchief.  You can wear my black shawl while I'm out--there now!"
+
+Rosa dragged it off her mother's shoulders and wound it carefully round her
+own, tying the two ends in a knot at the back.  After all, she reflected,
+if she had to go to bed at half past eight she would keep the shawl on. 
+Which resolution comforted her absolutely.
+
+"Now, then, where are my clothes?" cried Herr Brechenmacher, hanging his
+empty letter-bag behind the door and stamping the snow out of his boots. 
+"Nothing ready, of course, and everybody at the wedding by this time.  I
+heard the music as I passed.  What are you doing?  You're not dressed.  You
+can't go like that."
+
+"Here they are--all ready for you on the table, and some warm water in the
+tin basin.  Dip your head in.  Rosa, give your father the towel. 
+Everything ready except the trousers.  I haven't had time to shorten them. 
+You must tuck the ends into your boots until we get there."
+
+"Nu," said the Herr, "there isn't room to turn.  I want the light.  You go
+and dress in the passage."
+
+Dressing in the dark was nothing to Frau Brechenmacher.  She hooked her
+skirt and bodice, fastened her handkerchief round her neck with a beautiful
+brooch that had four medals to the Virgin dangling from it, and then drew
+on her cloak and hood.
+
+"Here, come and fasten this buckle," called Herr Brechenmacher.  He stood
+in the kitchen puffing himself out, the buttons on his blue uniform shining
+with an enthusiasm which nothing but official buttons could possibly
+possess.  "How do I look?"
+
+"Wonderful," replied the little Frau, straining at the waist buckle and
+giving him a little pull here, a little tug there.  "Rosa, come and look at
+your father."
+
+Herr Brechenmacher strode up and down the kitchen, was helped on with his
+coat, then waited while the Frau lighted the lantern.
+
+"Now, then--finished at last!  Come along."
+
+"The lamp, Rosa," warned the Frau, slamming the front door behind them.
+
+Snow had not fallen all day; the frozen ground was slippery as an icepond. 
+She had not been out of the house for weeks past, and the day had so
+flurried her that she felt muddled and stupid--felt that Rosa had pushed
+her out of the house and her man was running away from her.
+
+"Wait, wait!" she cried.
+
+"No.  I'll get my feet damp--you hurry."
+
+It was easier when they came into the village.  There were fences to cling
+to, and leading from the railway station to the Gasthaus a little path of
+cinders had been strewn for the benefit of the wedding guests.
+
+The Gasthaus was very festive.  Lights shone out from every window, wreaths
+of fir twigs hung from the ledges.  Branches decorated the front doors,
+which swung open, and in the hall the landlord voiced his superiority by
+bullying the waitresses, who ran about continually with glasses of beer,
+trays of cups and saucers, and bottles of wine.
+
+"Up the stairs--up the stairs!" boomed the landlord.  "Leave your coats on
+the landing."
+
+Herr Brechenmacher, completely overawed by this grand manner, so far forgot
+his rights as a husband as to beg his wife's pardon for jostling her
+against the banisters in his efforts to get ahead of everybody else.
+
+Herr Brechenmacher's colleagues greeted him with acclamation as he entered
+the door of the Festsaal, and the Frau straightened her brooch and folded
+her hands, assuming the air of dignity becoming to the wife of a postman
+and the mother of five children.  Beautiful indeed was the Festsaal.  Three
+long tables were grouped at one end, the remainder of the floor space
+cleared for dancing.  Oil lamps, hanging from the ceiling, shed a warm,
+bright light on the walls decorated with paper flowers and garlands; shed a
+warmer, brighter light on the red faces of the guests in their best
+clothes.
+
+At the head of the centre table sat the bride and bridegroom, she in a
+white dress trimmed with stripes and bows of coloured ribbon, giving her
+the appearance of an iced cake all ready to be cut and served in neat
+little pieces to the bridegroom beside her, who wore a suit of white
+clothes much too large for him and a white silk tie that rose halfway up
+his collar.  Grouped about them, with a fine regard for dignity and
+precedence, sat their parents and relations; and perched on a stool at the
+bride's right hand a little girl in a crumpled muslin dress with a wreath
+of forget-me-nots hanging over one ear.  Everybody was laughing and
+talking, shaking hands, clinking glasses, stamping on the floor--a stench
+of beer and perspiration filled the air.
+
+Frau Brechenmacher, following her man down the room after greeting the
+bridal party, knew that she was going to enjoy herself.  She seemed to fill
+out and become rosy and warm as she sniffed that familiar festive smell. 
+Somebody pulled at her skirt, and, looking down, she saw Frau Rupp, the
+butcher's wife, who pulled out an empty chair and begged her to sit beside
+her.
+
+"Fritz will get you some beer," she said.  "My dear, your skirt is open at
+the back.  We could not help laughing as you walked up the room with the
+white tape of your petticoat showing!"
+
+"But how frightful!" said Frau Brechenmacher, collapsing into her chair and
+biting her lip.
+
+"Na, it's over now," said Frau Rupp, stretching her fat hands over the
+table and regarding her three mourning rings with intense enjoyment; "but
+one must be careful, especially at a wedding."
+
+"And such a wedding as this," cried Frau Ledermann, who sat on the other
+side of Frau Brechenmacher.  "Fancy Theresa bringing that child with her. 
+It's her own child, you know, my dear, and it's going to live with them. 
+That's what I call a sin against the Church for a free-born child to attend
+its own mother's wedding."
+
+The three women sat and stared at the bride, who remained very still, with
+a little vacant smile on her lips, only her eyes shifting uneasily from
+side to side.
+
+"Beer they've given it, too," whispered Frau Rupp, "and white wine and an
+ice.  It never did have a stomach; she ought to have left it at home."
+
+Frau Brechenmacher turned round and looked towards the bride's mother.  She
+never took her eyes off her daughter, but wrinkled her brown forehead like
+an old monkey, and nodded now and again very solemnly.  Her hands shook as
+she raised her beer mug, and when she had drunk she spat on the floor and
+savagely wiped her mouth with her sleeve.  Then the music started and she
+followed Theresa with her eyes, looking suspiciously at each man who danced
+with her.
+
+"Cheer up, old woman," shouted her husband, digging her in the ribs; "this
+isn't Theresa's funeral."  He winked at the guests, who broke into loud
+laughter.
+
+"I AM cheerful," mumbled the old woman, and beat upon the table with her
+fist, keeping time to the music, proving she was not out of the
+festivities.
+
+"She can't forget how wild Theresa has been," said Frau Ledermann.  "Who
+could--with the child there?  I heard that last Sunday evening Theresa had
+hysterics and said that she would not marry this man.  They had to get the
+priest to her."
+
+"Where is the other one?" asked Frau Brechenmacher.  "Why didn't he marry
+her?"
+
+The woman shrugged her shoulders.
+
+"Gone--disappeared.  He was a traveller, and only stayed at their house two
+nights.  He was selling shirt buttons--I bought some myself, and they were
+beautiful shirt buttons--but what a pig of a fellow!  I can't think what he
+saw in such a plain girl--but you never know.  Her mother says she's been
+like fire ever since she was sixteen!"
+
+Frau Brechenmacher looked down at her beer and blew a little hole in the
+froth.
+
+"That's not how a wedding should be," she said; "it's not religion to love
+two men."
+
+"Nice time she'll have with this one," Frau Rupp exclaimed.  "He was
+lodging with me last summer and I had to get rid of him.  He never changed
+his clothes once in two months, and when I spoke to him of the smell in his
+room he told me he was sure it floated up from the shop.  Ah, every wife
+has her cross.  Isn't that true, my dear?"
+
+Frau Brechenmacher saw her husband among his colleagues at the next table. 
+He was drinking far too much, she knew--gesticulating wildly, the saliva
+spluttering out of his mouth as he talked.
+
+"Yes," she assented, "that's true.  Girls have a lot to learn."
+
+Wedged in between these two fat old women, the Frau had no hope of being
+asked to dance.  She watched the couples going round and round; she forgot
+her five babies and her man and felt almost like a girl again.  The music
+sounded sad and sweet.  Her roughened hands clasped and unclasped
+themselves in the folds of her skirt.  While the music went on she was
+afraid to look anybody in the face, and she smiled with a little nervous
+tremor round the mouth.
+
+"But, my God," Frau Rupp cried, "they've given that child of Theresa's a
+piece of sausage.  It's to keep her quiet.  There's going to be a
+presentation now--your man has to speak."
+
+Frau Brechenmacher sat up stiffly.  The music ceased, and the dancers took
+their places again at the tables.
+
+Herr Brechenmacher alone remained standing--he held in his hands a big
+silver coffee-pot.  Everybody laughed at his speech, except the Frau;
+everybody roared at his grimaces, and at the way he carried the coffee-pot
+to the bridal pair, as if it were a baby he was holding.
+
+She lifted the lid, peeped in, then shut it down with a little scream and
+sat biting her lips.  The bridegroom wrenched the pot away from her and
+drew forth a baby's bottle and two little cradles holding china dolls.  As
+he dandled these treasures before Theresa the hot room seemed to heave and
+sway with laughter.
+
+Frau Brechenmacher did not think it funny.  She stared round at the
+laughing faces, and suddenly they all seemed strange to her.  She wanted to
+go home and never come out again.  She imagined that all these people were
+laughing at her, more people than there were in the room even--all laughing
+at her because they were so much stronger than she was.
+
+...
+They walked home in silence.  Herr Brechenmacher strode ahead, she stumbled
+after him.  White and forsaken lay the road from the railway station to
+their house--a cold rush of wind blew her hood from her face, and suddenly
+she remembered how they had come home together the first night.  Now they
+had five babies and twice as much money; BUT--
+
+"Na, what is it all for?" she muttered, and not until she had reached home,
+and prepared a little supper of meat and bread for her man did she stop
+asking herself that silly question.
+
+Herr Brechenmacher broke the bread into his plate, smeared it round with
+his fork and chewed greedily.
+
+"Good?" she asked, leaning her arms on the table and pillowing her breast
+against them.
+
+"But fine!"
+
+He took a piece of the crumb, wiped it round his plate edge, and held it up
+to her mouth.  She shook her head.
+
+"Not hungry," she said.
+
+"But it is one of the best pieces, and full of the fat."
+
+He cleared the plate; then pulled off his boots and flung them into a
+corner.
+
+"Not much of a wedding," he said, stretching out his feet and wriggling his
+toes in the worsted socks.
+
+"N--no," she replied, taking up the discarded boots and placing them on the
+oven to dry.
+
+Herr Brechenmacher yawned and stretched himself, and then looked up at her,
+grinning.
+
+"Remember the night that we came home?  You were an innocent one, you
+were."
+
+"Get along!  Such a time ago I forget."  Well she remembered.
+
+"Such a clout on the ear as you gave me...But I soon taught you."
+
+"Oh, don't start talking.  You've too much beer.  Come to bed."
+
+He tilted back in his chair, chuckling with laughter.
+
+"That's not what you said to me that night.  God, the trouble you gave me!"
+
+But the little Frau seized the candle and went into the next room.  The
+children were all soundly sleeping.  She stripped the mattress off the
+baby's bed to see if he was still dry, then began unfastening her blouse
+and skirt.
+
+"Always the same," she said--"all over the world the same; but, God in
+heaven--but STUPID.
+
+Then even the memory of the wedding faded quite.  She lay down on the bed
+and put her arm across her face like a child who expected to be hurt as
+Herr Brechenmacher lurched in.
+
+
+
+6.  THE MODERN SOUL.
+
+"Good-evening," said the Herr Professor, squeezing my hand; "wonderful
+weather!  I have just returned from a party in the wood.  I have been
+making music for them on my trombone.  You know, these pine-trees provide
+most suitable accompaniment for a trombone!  They are sighing delicacy
+against sustained strength, as I remarked once in a lecture on wind
+instruments in Frankfort.  May I be permitted to sit beside you on this
+bench, gnadige Frau?"
+
+He sat down, tugging at a white-paper package in the tail pocket of his
+coat.
+
+"Cherries," he said, nodding and smiling.  "There is nothing like cherries
+for producing free saliva after trombone playing, especially after Grieg's
+'Ich Liebe Dich.'  Those sustained blasts on 'liebe' make my throat as dry
+as a railway tunnel.  Have some?"  He shook the bag at me.
+
+"I prefer watching you eat them."
+
+"Ah, ha!"  He crossed his legs, sticking the cherry bag between his knees,
+to leave both hands free.  "Psychologically I understood your refusal.  It
+is your innate feminine delicacy in preferring etherealised sensations...Or
+perhaps you do not care to eat the worms.  All cherries contain worms. 
+Once I made a very interesting experiment with a colleague of mine at the
+university.  We bit into four pounds of the best cherries and did not find
+one specimen without a worm.  But what would you?  As I remarked to him
+afterwards--dear friend, it amounts to this:  if one wishes to satisfy the
+desires of nature one must be strong enough to ignore the facts of
+nature...The conversation is not out of your depth?  I have so seldom the
+time or opportunity to open my heart to a woman that I am apt to forget."
+
+I looked at him brightly.
+
+"See what a fat one!" cried the Herr Professor.  "That is almost a mouthful
+in itself; it is beautiful enough to hang from a watch-chain."  He chewed
+it up and spat the stone an incredible distance--over the garden path into
+the flower bed.  He was proud of the feat.  I saw it.  "The quantity of
+fruit I have eaten on this bench," he sighed; "apricots, peaches and
+cherries.  One day that garden bed will become an orchard grove, and I
+shall allow you to pick as much as you please, without paying me anything."
+
+I was grateful, without showing undue excitement.
+
+"Which reminds me"--he hit the side of his nose with one finger--"the
+manager of the pension handed me my weekly bill after dinner this evening. 
+It is almost impossible to credit.  I do not expect you to believe me--he
+has charged me extra for a miserable little glass of milk I drink in bed at
+night to prevent insomnia.  Naturally, I did not pay.  But the tragedy of
+the story is this:  I cannot expect the milk to produce somnolence any
+longer; my peaceful attitude of mind towards it is completely destroyed.  I
+know I shall throw myself into a fever in attempting to plumb this want of
+generosity in so wealthy a man as the manager of a pension.  Think of me
+to-night."--he ground the empty bag under his heel--"think that the worst
+is happening to me as your head drops asleep on your pillow."
+
+Two ladies came on the front steps of the pension and stood, arm in arm,
+looking over the garden.  The one, old and scraggy, dressed almost entirely
+in black bead trimming and a satin reticule; the other, young and thin, in
+a white gown, her yellow hair tastefully garnished with mauve sweet peas.
+
+The Professor drew in his feet and sat up sharply, pulling down his
+waistcoat.
+
+"The Godowskas," he murmured.  "Do you know them?  A mother and daughter
+from Vienna.  The mother has an internal complaint and the daughter is an
+actress.  Fraulein Sonia is a very modern soul.  I think you would find her
+most sympathetic.  She is forced to be in attendance on her mother just
+now.  But what a temperament!  I have once described her in her autograph
+album as a tigress with a flower in the hair.  Will you excuse me?  Perhaps
+I can persuade them to be introduced to you."
+
+I said, "I am going up to my room."  But the Professor rose and shook a
+playful finger at me.  "Na," he said, "we are friends, and, therefore, I
+shall speak quite frankly to you.  I think they would consider it a little
+'marked' if you immediately retired to the house at their approach, after
+sitting here alone with me in the twilight.  You know this world.  Yes, you
+know it as I do."
+
+I shrugged my shoulders, remarking with one eye that while the Professor
+had been talking the Godowskas had trailed across the lawn towards us. 
+They confronted the Herr Professor as he stood up.
+
+"Good-evening," quavered Frau Godowska.  "Wonderful weather!  It has given
+me quite a touch of hay fever!"  Fraulein Godowska said nothing.  She
+swooped over a rose growing in the embryo orchard then stretched out her
+hand with a magnificent gesture to the Herr Professor.  He presented me.
+
+"This is my little English friend of whom I have spoken.  She is the
+stranger in our midst.  We have been eating cherries together."
+
+"How delightful," sighed Frau Godowska.  "My daughter and I have often 
+observed you through the bedroom window.  Haven't we, Sonia?"
+
+Sonia absorbed my outward and visible form with an inward and spiritual
+glance, then repeated the magnificent gesture for my benefit.  The four of
+us sat on the bench, with that faint air of excitement of passengers
+established in a railway carriage on the qui vive for the train whistle. 
+Frau Godowska sneezed.  "I wonder if it is hay fever," she remarked,
+worrying the satin reticule for her handkerchief, "or would it be the dew. 
+Sonia, dear, is the dew falling?"
+
+Fraulein Sonia raised her face to the sky, and half closed her eyes.  "No,
+mamma, my face is quite warm.  Oh, look, Herr Professor, there are swallows
+in flight; they are like a little flock of Japanese thoughts--nicht wahr?"
+
+"Where?" cried the Herr Professor.  "Oh yes, I see, by the kitchen chimney. 
+But why do you say 'Japanese'?  Could you not compare them with equal
+veracity to a little flock of German thoughts in flight?"  He rounded on
+me.  "Have you swallows in England?"
+
+"I believe there are some at certain seasons.  But doubtless they have not
+the same symbolical value for the English.  In Germany--"
+
+"I have never been to England," interrupted Fraulein Sonia, "but I have
+many English acquaintances.  They are so cold!"  She shivered.
+
+"Fish-blooded," snapped Frau Godowska.  "Without soul, without heart,
+without grace.  But you cannot equal their dress materials.  I spent a week
+in Brighton twenty years ago, and the travelling cape I bought there is not
+yet worn out--the one you wrap the hot-water bottle in, Sonia.  My lamented
+husband, your father, Sonia, knew a great deal about England.  But the more
+he knew about it the oftener he remarked to me, 'England is merely an
+island of beef flesh swimming in a warm gulf sea of gravy.'  Such a
+brilliant way of putting things.  Do you remember, Sonia?"
+
+"I forget nothing, mamma," answered Sonia.
+
+Said the Herr Professor:  "That is the proof of your calling, gnadiges
+Fraulein.  Now I wonder--and this is a very interesting speculation--is
+memory a blessing or--excuse the word--a curse?"
+
+Frau Godowska looked into the distance, then the corners of her mouth
+dropped and her skin puckered.  She began to shed tears.
+
+"Ach Gott!  Gracious lady, what have I said?" exclaimed the Herr Professor.
+
+Sonia took her mother's hand.  "Do you know," she said, "to-night it is
+stewed carrots and nut tart for supper.  Suppose we go in and take our
+places," her sidelong, tragic stare accusing the Professor and me the
+while.
+
+I followed them across the lawn and up the steps.  Frau Godowska was
+murmuring, "Such a wonderful, beloved man"; with her disengaged hand
+Fraulein Sonia was arranging the sweet pea "garniture."
+
+...
+
+"A concert for the benefit of afflicted Catholic infants will take place in
+the salon at eight-thirty P.M.  Artists:  Fraulein Sonia Godowska, from
+Vienna; Herr Professor Windberg and his trombone; Frau Oberlehrer Weidel,
+and others."
+
+This notice was tied round the neck of the melancholy stag's head in the
+dining-room.  It graced him like a red and white dinner bib for days before
+the event, causing the Herr Professor to bow before it and say "good
+appetite" until we sickened of his pleasantry and left the smiling to be
+done by the waiter, who was paid to be pleasing to the guests.
+
+On the appointed day the married ladies sailed about the pension dressed
+like upholstered chairs, and the unmarried ladies like draped muslin
+dressing-table covers.  Frau Godowska pinned a rose in the centre of her
+reticule; another blossom was tucked in the mazy folds of a white
+antimacassar thrown across her breast.  The gentlemen wore black coats,
+white silk ties and ferny buttonholes tickling the chin.
+
+The floor of the salon was freshly polished, chairs and benches arranged,
+and a row of little flags strung across the ceiling--they flew and jigged
+in the draught with all the enthusiasm of family washing.  It was arranged
+that I should sit beside Frau Godowska, and that the Herr Professor and
+Sonia should join us when their share of the concert was over.
+
+"That will make you feel quite one of the performers," said the Herr
+Professor genially.  "It is a great pity that the English nation is so
+unmusical.  Never mind!  To-night you shall hear something--we have
+discovered a nest of talent during the rehearsals."
+
+"What do you intend to recite, Fraulein Sonia?"
+
+She shook back her hair.  "I never know until the last moment.  When I come
+on the stage I wait for one moment and then I have the sensation as though
+something struck me here,"--she placed her hand upon her collar
+brooch--"and...words come!"
+
+"Bend down a moment," whispered her mother.  "Sonia, love, your skirt
+safety-pin is showing at the back.  Shall I come outside and fasten it
+properly for you, or will you do it yourself?"
+
+"Oh, mamma, please don't say such things," Sonia flushed and grew very
+angry.  "You know how sensitive I am to the slightest unsympathetic
+impression at a time like this...I would rather my skirt dropped off my
+body--"
+
+"Sonia--my heart!"
+
+A bell tinkled.
+
+The waiter came in and opened the piano.  In the heated excitement of the
+moment he entirely forgot what was fitting, and flicked the keys with the
+grimy table napkin he carried over his arm.  The Frau Oberlehrer tripped on
+the platform followed by a very young gentleman, who blew his nose twice
+before he hurled his handkerchief into the bosom of the piano.
+
+"Yes, I know you have no love for me,
+ And no forget-me-not.
+ No love, no heart, and no forget-me-not."
+
+sang the Frau Oberlehrer, in a voice that seemed to issue from her
+forgotten thimble and have nothing to do with her.
+
+"Ach, how sweet, how delicate," we cried, clapping her soothingly.  She
+bowed as though to say, "Yes, isn't it?" and retired, the very young
+gentleman dodging her train and scowling.
+
+The piano was closed, an arm-chair was placed in the centre of the
+platform.  Fraulein Sonia drifted towards it.  A breathless pause.  Then,
+presumably, the winged shaft struck her collar brooch.  She implored us not
+to go into the woods in trained dresses, but rather as lightly draped as
+possible, and bed with her among the pine needles.  Her loud, slightly
+harsh voice filled the salon.  She dropped her arms over the back of the
+chair, moving her lean hands from the wrists.  We were thrilled and silent. 
+The Herr Professor, beside me, abnormally serious, his eyes bulging, pulled
+at his moustache ends.  Frau Godowska adopted that peculiarly detached
+attitude of the proud parent.  The only soul who remained untouched by her
+appeal was the waiter, who leaned idly against the wall of the salon and
+cleaned his nails with the edge of a programme.  He was "off duty" and
+intended to show it.
+
+"What did I say?" shouted the Herr Professor under cover of tumultuous
+applause, "tem-per-ament!  There you have it.  She is a flame in the heart
+of a lily.  I know I am going to play well.  It is my turn now.  I am
+inspired.  Fraulein Sonia"--as that lady returned to us, pale and draped in
+a large shawl--"you are my inspiration.  To-night you shall be the soul of
+my trombone.  Wait only."
+
+To right and left of us people bent over and whispered admiration down
+Fraulein Sonia's neck.  She bowed in the grand style.
+
+"I am always successful," she said to me.  "You see, when I act I AM.  In
+Vienna, in the plays of Ibsen we had so many bouquets that the cook had
+three in the kitchen.  But it is difficult here.  There is so little magic. 
+Do you not feel it?  There is none of that mysterious perfume which floats
+almost as a visible thing from the souls of the Viennese audiences.  My
+spirit starves for want of that."  She leaned forward, chin on hand.
+"Starves," she repeated.
+
+The Professor appeared with his trombone, blew into it, held it up to one
+eye, tucked back his shirt cuffs and wallowed in the soul of Sonia
+Godowska.  Such a sensation did he create that he was recalled to play a
+Bavarian dance, which he acknowledged was to be taken as a breathing
+exercise rather than an artistic achievement.  Frau Godowska kept time to
+it with a fan.
+
+Followed the very young gentleman who piped in a tenor voice that he loved
+somebody, "with blood in his heart and a thousand pains."  Fraulein Sonia
+acted a poison scene with the assistance of her mother's pill vial and the
+arm-chair replaced by a "chaise longue"; a young girl scratched a lullaby
+on a young fiddle; and the Herr Professor performed the last sacrificial
+rites on the altar of the afflicted children by playing the National
+Anthem.
+
+"Now I must put mamma to bed," whispered Fraulein Sonia.  "But afterwards I
+must take a walk.  It is imperative that I free my spirit in the open air
+for a moment.  Would you come with me as far as the railway station and
+back?"
+
+"Very well, then, knock on my door when you're ready."
+
+Thus the modern soul and I found ourselves together under the stars.
+
+"What a night!" she said.  "Do you know that poem of Sappho about her hands
+in the stars...I am curiously sapphic.  And this is so remarkable--not only
+am I sapphic, I find in all the works of all the greatest writers,
+especially in their unedited letters, some touch, some sign of myself--some
+resemblance, some part of myself, like a thousand reflections of my own
+hands in a dark mirror."
+
+"But what a bother," said I.
+
+"I do not know what you mean by 'bother'; is it rather the curse of my
+genius..."  She paused suddenly, staring at me.  "Do you know my tragedy?"
+she asked.
+
+I shook my head.
+
+"My tragedy is my mother.  Living with her I live with the coffin of my
+unborn aspirations.  You heard that about the safety-pin to-night.  It may
+seem to you a little thing, but it ruined my three first gestures.  They
+were--"
+
+"Impaled on a safety-pin," I suggested.
+
+"Yes, exactly that.  And when we are in Vienna I am the victim of moods,
+you know.  I long to do wild, passionate things.  And mamma says, 'Please
+pour out my mixture first.'  Once I remember I flew into a rage and threw a
+washstand jug out of the window.  Do you know what she said?  'Sonia, it is
+not so much throwing things out of windows, if only you would--'"
+
+"Choose something smaller?" said I.
+
+"No...'tell me about it beforehand.'  Humiliating!  And I do not see any
+possible light out of this darkness."
+
+"Why don't you join a touring company and leave your mother in Vienna?"
+
+"What!  Leave my poor, little, sick, widowed mother in Vienna!  Sooner than
+that I would drown myself.  I love my mother as I love nobody else in the
+world--nobody and nothing!  Do you think it is impossible to love one's
+tragedy?  'Out of my great sorrows I make my little songs,' that is Heine
+or myself."
+
+"Oh, well, that's all right," I said cheerfully.
+
+"'But it is not all right!"
+
+I suggested we should turn back.  We turned.
+
+"Sometimes I think the solution lies in marriage," said Fraulein Sonia. 
+"If I find a simple, peaceful man who adores me and will look after mamma
+--a man who would be for me a pillow--for genius cannot hope to mate--I
+shall marry him...You know the Herr Professor has paid me very marked
+attentions."
+
+"Oh, Fraulein Sonia," I said, very pleased with myself, "why not marry him
+to your mother?"  We were passing the hairdresser's shop at the moment. 
+Fraulein Sonia clutched my arm.
+
+"You, you," she stammered.  "The cruelty.  I am going to faint.  Mamma to
+marry again before I marry--the indignity.  I am going to faint here and
+now."
+
+I was frightened.  "You can't," I said, shaking her.
+
+"Come back to the pension and faint as much as you please.  But you can't
+faint here.  All the shops are closed.  There is nobody about.  Please
+don't be so foolish."
+
+"Here and here only!"  She indicated the exact spot and dropped quite
+beautifully, lying motionless.
+
+"Very well," I said, "faint away; but please hurry over it."
+
+She did not move.  I began to walk home, but each time I looked behind me I
+saw the dark form of the modern soul prone before the hairdresser's window. 
+Finally I ran, and rooted out the Herr Professor from his room.  "Fraulein
+Sonia has fainted," I said crossly.
+
+"Du lieber Gott!  Where?  How?"
+
+"Outside the hairdresser's shop in the Station Road."
+
+"Jesus and Maria!  Has she no water with her?"--he seized his carafe--
+"nobody beside her?"
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"Where is my coat?  No matter, I shall catch a cold on the chest. 
+Willingly, I shall catch one...You are ready to come with me?"
+
+"No," I said; "you can take the waiter."
+
+"But she must have a woman.  I cannot be so indelicate as to attempt to
+loosen her stays."
+
+"Modern souls oughtn't to wear them," said I.  He pushed past me and
+clattered down the stairs.
+
+...
+When I came down to breakfast next morning there were two places vacant at
+table.  Fraulein Sonia and Herr Professor had gone off for a day's
+excursion in the woods.
+
+I wondered.
+
+
+
+7.  AT LEHMANN'S.
+
+Certainly Sabina did not find life slow.  She was on the trot from early
+morning until late at night.  At five o'clock she tumbled out of bed,
+buttoned on her clothes, wearing a long-sleeved alpaca pinafore over her
+black frock, and groped her way downstairs into the kitchen.
+
+Anna, the cook, had grown so fat during the summer that she adored her bed
+because she did not have to wear her corsets there, but could spread as
+much as she liked, roll about under the great mattress, calling upon Jesus
+and Holy Mary and Blessed Anthony himself that her life was not fit for a
+pig in a cellar.
+
+Sabina was new to her work.  Pink colour still flew in her cheeks; there
+was a little dimple on the left side of her mouth that even when she was
+most serious, most absorbed, popped out and gave her away.  And Anna
+blessed that dimple.  It meant an extra half-hour in bed for her; it made
+Sabina light the fire, turn out the kitchen and wash endless cups and
+saucers that had  been left over from the evening before.  Hans, the
+scullery boy, did not come until seven.  He was the son of the butcher--a
+mean, undersized child very much like one of his father's sausages, Sabina
+thought.  His red face was covered with pimples, and his nails
+indescribably filthy.  When Herr Lehmann himself told Hans to get a hairpin
+and clean them he said they were stained from birth because his mother had
+always got so inky doing the accounts--and Sabina believed him and pitied
+him.
+
+Winter had come very early to Mindelbau.  By the end of October the streets
+were banked waist-high with snow, and the greater number of the "Cure
+Guests," sick unto death of cold water and herbs, had departed in nothing
+approaching peace.  So the large salon was shut at Lehmann's and the
+breakfast-room was all the accommodation the cafe afforded.  Here the floor
+had to be washed over, the tables rubbed, coffee-cups set out, each with
+its little china platter of sugar, and newspapers and magazines hung on
+their hooks along the walls before Herr Lehmann appeared at seven-thirty
+and opened business.
+
+As a rule his wife served in the shop leading into the cafe, but she had
+chosen the quiet season to have a baby, and, a big woman at the best of
+times, she had grown so enormous in the process that her husband told her
+she looked unappetising, and had better remain upstairs and sew.
+
+Sabina took on the extra work without any thought of extra pay.  She loved
+to stand behind the counter, cutting up slices of Anna's marvellous
+chocolate-spotted confections, or doing up packets of sugar almonds in pink
+and blue striped bags.
+
+"You'll get varicose veins, like me," said Anna.  "That's what the Frau's
+got, too.  No wonder the baby doesn't come!  All her swelling's got into
+her legs."  And Hans was immensely interested.
+
+During the morning business was comparatively slack.  Sabina answered the
+shop bell, attended to a few customers who drank a liqueur to warm their
+stomachs before the midday meal, and ran upstairs now and again to ask the
+Frau if she wanted anything.  But in the afternoon six or seven choice
+spirits played cards, and everybody who was anybody drank tea or coffee.
+
+"Sabina...Sabina..."
+
+She flew from one table to the other, counting out handfuls of small
+change, giving orders to Anna through the "slide," helping the men with
+their heavy coats, always with that magical child air about her, that
+delightful sense of perpetually attending a party.
+
+"How is the Frau Lehmann?" the women would whisper.
+
+"She feels rather low, but as well as can be expected," Sabina would
+answer, nodding confidentially.
+
+Frau Lehmann's bad time was approaching.  Anna and her friends referred to
+it as her "journey to Rome," and Sabina longed to ask questions, yet, being
+ashamed of her ignorance, was silent, trying to puzzle it out for herself. 
+She knew practically nothing except that the Frau had a baby inside her,
+which had to come out--very painful indeed.  One could not have one without
+a husband--that she also realised.  But what had the man got to do with it? 
+So she wondered as she sat mending tea towels in the evening, head bent
+over her work, light shining on her brown curls.  Birth--what was it?
+wondered Sabina.  Death--such a simple thing.  She had a little picture of
+her dead grandmother dressed in a black silk frock, tired hands clasping
+the crucifix that dragged between her flattened breasts, mouth curiously
+tight, yet almost secretly smiling.  But the grandmother had been born
+once--that was the important fact.
+
+As she sat there one evening, thinking, the Young Man entered the cafe, and
+called for a glass of port wine.  Sabina rose slowly.  The long day and the
+hot room made her feel a little languid, but as she poured out the wine she
+felt the Young Man's eyes fixed on her, looked down at him and dimpled.
+
+"It's cold out," she said, corking the bottle.
+
+The Young Man ran his hands through his snow-powdered hair and laughed.
+
+"I wouldn't call it exactly tropical," he said, "But you're very snug in
+here--look as though you've been asleep."
+
+Very languid felt Sabina in the hot room, and the Young Man's voice was
+strong and deep.  She thought she had never seen anybody who looked so
+strong--as though he could take up the table in one hand--and his restless
+gaze wandering over her face and figure gave her a curious thrill deep in
+her body, half pleasure, half pain...She wanted to stand there, close
+beside him, while he drank his wine.  A little silence followed.  Then he
+took a book out of his pocket, and Sabina went back to her sewing.  Sitting
+there in the corner, she listened to the sound of the leaves being turned
+and the loud ticking of the clock that hung over the gilt mirror.  She
+wanted to look at him again--there was a something about him, in his deep
+voice, even in the way his clothes fitted.  From the room above she heard
+the heavy dragging sound of Frau Lehmann's footsteps, and again the old
+thoughts worried Sabina.  If she herself should one day look like
+that--feel like that!  Yet it would be very sweet to have a little baby to
+dress and jump up and down.
+
+"Fraulein--what's your name--what are you smiling at?" called the Young
+Man.
+
+She blushed and looked up, hands quiet in her lap, looked across the empty
+tables and shook her head.
+
+"Come here, and I'll show you a picture," he commanded.
+
+She went and stood beside him.  He opened the book, and Sabina saw a
+coloured sketch of a naked girl sitting on the edge of a great, crumpled
+bed, a man's opera hat on the back of her head.
+
+He put his hand over the body, leaving only the face exposed, then
+scrutinised Sabina closely.
+
+"Well?"
+
+"What do you mean?" she asked, knowing perfectly well.
+
+"Why, it might be your own photograph--the face, I mean--that's as far as I
+can judge."
+
+"But the hair's done differently," said Sabina, laughing.  She threw back
+her head, and the laughter bubbled in her round white throat.
+
+"It's rather a nice picture, don't you think?" he asked.  But she was
+looking at a curious ring he wore on the hand that covered the girl's body,
+and only nodded.
+
+"Ever seen anything like it before?"
+
+"Oh, there's plenty of those funny ones in the illustrated papers."
+
+"How would you like to have your picture taken that way?"
+
+"Me?  I'd never let anybody see it.  Besides, I haven't got a hat like
+that!"
+
+"That's easily remedied."
+
+Again a little silence, broken by Anna throwing up the slide.
+
+Sabina ran into the kitchen.
+
+"Here, take this milk and egg up to the Frau," said Anna.  "Who've you got
+in there?"
+
+"Got such a funny man!  I think he's a little gone here," tapping her
+forehead.
+
+Upstairs in the ugly room the Frau sat sewing, a black shawl round her
+shoulders, her feet encased in red woollen slippers.  The girl put the milk
+on a table by her, then stood, polishing a spoon on her apron.
+
+"Nothing else?"
+
+"Na," said the Frau, heaving up in her chair.  "Where's my man?"
+
+"He's playing cards over at Snipold's.  Do you want him?"
+
+"Dear heaven, leave him alone.  I'm nothing.  I don't matter...And the
+whole day waiting here."
+
+Her hand shook as she wiped the rim of the glass with her fat finger.
+
+"Shall I help you to bed?"
+
+"You go downstairs, leave me alone.  Tell Anna not to let Hans grub the
+sugar--give him one on the ear."
+
+"Ugly--ugly--ugly," muttered Sabina, returning to the cafe where the Young
+Man stood coat-buttoned, ready for departure.
+
+"I'll come again to-morrow," said he.  "Don't twist your hair back so
+tightly; it will lose all its curl."
+
+"Well, you are a funny one," she said.  "Good night."
+
+By the time Sabina was ready for bed Anna was snoring.  She brushed out her
+long hair and gathered it in her hands...Perhaps it would be a pity if it
+lost all its curl.  Then she looked down at her straight chemise, and
+drawing it off, sat down on the side of the bed.
+
+"I wish," she whispered, smiling sleepily, "there was a great big
+looking-glass in this room."
+
+Lying down in the darkness, she hugged her little body.
+
+"I wouldn't be the Frau for one hundred marks--not for a thousand marks. 
+To look like that."
+
+And half-dreaming, she imagined herself heaving up in her chair with the
+port wine bottle in her hand as the Young Man entered the cafe.
+
+Cold and dark the next morning.  Sabina woke, tired, feeling as though
+something heavy had been pressing under her heart all night.  There was a
+sound of footsteps shuffling along the passage.  Herr Lehmann!  She must
+have overslept herself.  Yes, he was rattling the door-handle.
+
+"One moment, one moment," she called, dragging on her stockings.
+
+"Bina, tell Anna to go to the Frau--but quickly.  I must ride for the
+nurse."
+
+"Yes, yes!" she cried.  "Has it come?"
+
+But he had gone, and she ran over to Anna and shook her by the shoulder.
+
+"The Frau--the baby--Herr Lehmann for the nurse," she stuttered.
+
+"Name of God!" said Anna, flinging herself out of bed.
+
+No complaints to-day.  Importance--enthusiasm in Anna's whole bearing.
+
+"You run downstairs and light the oven.  Put on a pan of water"--speaking
+to an imaginary sufferer as she fastened her blouse--"Yes, yes, I know--we
+must be worse before we are better--I'm coming--patience."
+
+It was dark all that day.  Lights were turned on immediately the cafe
+opened, and business was very brisk.  Anna, turned out of the Frau's room
+by the nurse, refused to work, and sat in a corner nursing herself,
+listening to sounds overhead.  Hans was more sympathetic than Sabina.  He
+also forsook work, and stood by the window, picking his nose.
+
+"But why must I do everything?" said Sabina, washing glasses.  "I can't
+help the Frau; she oughtn't to take such a time about it."
+
+"Listen," said Anna, "they've moved her into the back bedroom above here,
+so as not to disturb the people.  That was a groan--that one!"
+
+"Two small beers," shouted Herr Lehmann through the slide.
+
+"One moment, one moment."
+
+At eight o'clock the cafe was deserted.  Sabina sat down in the corner
+without her sewing.  Nothing seemed to have happened to the Frau.  A doctor
+had come--that was all.
+
+"Ach," said Sabina.  "I think no more of it.  I listen no more.  Ach, I
+would like to go away--I hate this talk.  I will not hear it.  No, it is
+too much."  She leaned both elbows on the table--cupped her face in her
+hands and pouted.
+
+But the outer door suddenly opening, she sprang to her feet and laughed. 
+It was the Young Man again.  He ordered more port, and brought no book this
+time.
+
+"Don't go and sit miles away," he grumbled.  "I want to be amused.  And
+here, take my coat.  Can't you dry it somewhere?--snowing again."
+
+"There's a warm place--the ladies' cloak-room," she said.  "I'll take it in
+there--just by the kitchen."
+
+She felt better, and quite happy again.
+
+"I'll come with you," he said.  "I'll see where you put it."
+
+And that did not seem at all extraordinary.  She laughed and beckoned to
+him.
+
+"In here," she cried.  "Feel how warm.  I'll put more wood on that oven. 
+It doesn't matter, they're all busy upstairs."
+
+She knelt down on the floor, and thrust the wood into the oven, laughing at
+her own wicked extravagance.
+
+The Frau was forgotten, the stupid day was forgotten.  Here was someone
+beside her laughing, too.  They were together in the little warm room
+stealing Herr Lehmann's wood.  It seemed the most exciting adventure in the
+world.  She wanted to go on laughing--or burst out crying--or--or--catch
+hold of the Young Man.
+
+"What a fire," she shrieked, stretching out her hands.
+
+"Here's a hand; pull up," said the Young Man.  "There, now, you'll catch it
+to-morrow."
+
+They stood opposite to each other, hands still clinging.  And again that
+strange tremor thrilled Sabina.
+
+"Look here," he said roughly, "are you a child, or are you playing at being
+one?"
+
+"I--I--"
+
+Laughter ceased.  She looked up at him once, then down at the floor, and
+began breathing like a frightened little animal.
+
+He pulled her closer still and kissed her mouth.
+
+"Na, what are you doing?" she whispered.
+
+He let go her hands, he placed his on her breasts, and the room seemed to
+swim round Sabina.  Suddenly, from the room above, a frightful, tearing
+shriek.
+
+She wrenched herself away, tightened herself, drew herself up.
+
+"Who did that--who made that noise?"
+
+...
+In the silence the thin wailing of a baby.
+
+"Achk!" shrieked Sabina, rushing from the room.
+
+
+
+8.  THE LUFT BAD.
+
+I think it must be the umbrellas which make us look ridiculous.
+
+When I was admitted into the enclosure for the first time, and saw my
+fellow-bathers walking about very nearly "in their nakeds," it struck me
+that the umbrellas gave a distinctly "Little Black Sambo" touch.
+
+Ridiculous dignity in holding over yourself a green cotton thing with a red
+parroquet handle when you are dressed in nothing larger than a
+handkerchief.
+
+There are no trees in the "Luft Bad."  It boasts a collection of plain,
+wooden cells, a bath shelter, two swings and two odd clubs--one, presumably
+the lost property of Hercules or the German army, and the other to be used
+with safety in the cradle.
+
+And there in all weathers we take the air--walking, or sitting in little
+companies talking over each other's ailments and measurements and ills that
+flesh is heir to.
+
+A high wooden wall compasses us all about; above it the pine-trees look
+down a little superciliously, nudging each other in a way that is
+peculiarly trying to a debutante.  Over the wall, on the right side, is the
+men's section.  We hear them chopping down trees and sawing through planks,
+dashing heavy weights to the ground, and singing part songs.  Yes, they
+take it far more seriously.
+
+On the first day I was conscious of my legs, and went back into my cell
+three times to look at my watch, but when a woman with whom I had played
+chess for three weeks cut me dead, I took heart and joined a circle.
+
+We lay curled on the ground while a Hungarian lady of immense proportions
+told us what a beautiful tomb she had bought for her second husband.
+
+"A vault it is," she said, "with nice black railings.  And so large that I
+can go down there and walk about.  Both their photographs are there, with
+two very handsome wreaths sent me by my first husband's brother.  There is
+an enlargement of a family group photograph, too, and an illuminated
+address presented to my first husband on his marriage.  I am often there;
+it makes such a pleasant excursion for a fine Saturday afternoon."
+
+She suddenly lay down flat on her back, took in six long breaths, and sat
+up again.
+
+"The death agony was dreadful," she said brightly; "of the second, I mean. 
+The 'first' was run into by a furniture wagon, and had fifty marks stolen
+out of a new waistcoat pocket, but the 'second' was dying for sixty-seven
+hours.  I never ceased crying once--not even to put the children to bed."
+
+A young Russian, with a "bang" curl on her forehead, turned to me.
+
+"Can you do the 'Salome' dance?" she asked.  "I can."
+
+"How delightful," I said.
+
+"Shall I do it now?  Would you like to see me?"
+
+She sprang to her feet, executed a series of amazing contortions for the
+next ten minutes, and then paused, panting, twisting her long hair.
+
+"Isn't that nice?" she said.  "And now I am perspiring so splendidly.  I
+shall go and take a bath."
+
+Opposite to me was the brownest woman I have ever seen, lying on her back,
+her arms clasped over her head.
+
+"How long have you been here to-day?" she was asked.
+
+"Oh, I spend the day here now," she answered.  "I am making my own 'cure,'
+and living entirely on raw vegetables and nuts, and each day I feel my
+spirit is stronger and purer.  After all, what can you expect?  The
+majority of us are walking about with pig corpuscles and oxen fragments in
+our brain.  The wonder is the world is as good as it is.  Now I live on the
+simple, provided food"--she pointed to a little bag beside her--"a lettuce,
+a carrot, a potato, and some nuts are ample, rational nourishment.  I wash
+them under the tap and eat them raw, just as they come from the harmless
+earth--fresh and uncontaminated."
+
+"Do you take nothing else all day?" I cried.
+
+"Water.  And perhaps a banana if I wake in the night."  She turned round
+and leaned on one elbow.  "You over-eat yourself dreadfully," she said;
+"shamelessly!  How can you expect the Flame of the Spirit to burn brightly
+under layers of superfluous flesh?"
+
+I wished she would not stare at me, and thought of going to look at my
+watch again when a little girl wearing a string of coral beads joined us.
+
+"The poor Frau Hauptmann cannot join us to-day," she said; "she has come
+out in spots all over on account of her nerves.  She was very excited
+yesterday after having written two post-cards."
+
+"A delicate woman," volunteered the Hungarian, "but pleasant.  Fancy, she
+has a separate plate for each of her front teeth!  But she has no right to
+let her daughters wear such short sailor suits.  They sit about on benches,
+crossing their legs in a most shameless manner.  What are you going to do
+this afternoon, Fraulein Anna?"
+
+"Oh," said the Coral Necklace, "the Herr Oberleutnant has asked me to go
+with him to Landsdorf.  He must buy some eggs there to take home to his
+mother.  He saves a penny on eight eggs by knowing the right peasants to
+bargain with."
+
+"Are you an American?" said the Vegetable Lady, turning to me.
+
+"No."
+
+"Then you are an Englishwoman?"
+
+"Well, hardly--"
+
+"You must be one of the two; you cannot help it.  I have seen you walking
+alone several times.  You wear your--"
+
+I got up and climbed on to the swing.  The air was sweet and cool, rushing
+past my body.  Above, white clouds trailed delicately through the blue sky. 
+From the pine forest streamed a wild perfume, the branches swayed together,
+rhythmically, sonorously.  I felt so light and free and happy--so childish! 
+I wanted to poke my tongue out at the circle on the grass, who, drawing
+close together, were whispering meaningly.
+
+"Perhaps you do not know," cried a voice from one of the cells, "to swing
+is very upsetting for the stomach?  A friend of mine could keep nothing
+down for three weeks after exciting herself so."
+
+I went to the bath shelter and was hosed.
+
+As I dressed, someone tapped on the wall.
+
+"Do you know," said a voice, "there is a man who LIVES in the Luft Bad next
+door?  He buries himself up to the armpits in mud and refuses to believe in
+the Trinity."
+
+The umbrellas are the saving grace of the Luft Bad.  Now when I go, I take
+my husband's "storm" gamp and sit in a corner, hiding behind it.
+
+Not that I am in the least ashamed of my legs.
+
+
+
+9.  A BIRTHDAY.
+
+Andreas Binzer woke slowly.  He turned over on the narrow bed and stretched
+himself--yawned--opening his mouth as widely as possible and bringing his
+teeth together afterwards with a sharp "click."  The sound of that click
+fascinated him; he repeated it quickly several times, with a snapping
+movement of the jaws.  What teeth! he thought.  Sound as a bell, every man
+jack of them.  Never had one out, never had one stopped.  That comes of no
+tomfoolery in eating, and a good regular brushing night and morning.  He
+raised himself on his left elbow and waved his right arm over the side of
+the bed to feel for the chair where he put his watch and chain overnight. 
+No chair was there--of course, he'd forgotten, there wasn't a chair in this
+wretched spare room.  Had to put the confounded thing under his pillow. 
+"Half-past eight, Sunday, breakfast at nine--time for the bath"--his brain
+ticked to the watch.  He sprang out of bed and went over to the window. 
+The venetian blind was broken, hung fan-shaped over the upper pane..."That
+blind must be mended.  I'll get the office boy to drop in and fix it on his
+way home to-morrow--he's a good hand at blinds.  Give him twopence and
+he'll do it as well as a carpenter...Anna could do it herself if she was
+all right.  So would I, for the matter of that, but I don't like to trust
+myself on rickety step-ladders."  He looked up at the sky:  it shone,
+strangely white, unflecked with cloud; he looked down at the row of garden
+strips and backyards.  The fence of these gardens was built along the edge
+of a gully, spanned by an iron suspension bridge, and the people had a
+wretched habit of throwing their empty tins over the fence into the gully. 
+Just like them, of course!  Andreas started counting the tins, and decided,
+viciously, to write a letter to the papers about it and sign it--sign it in
+full.
+
+The servant girl came out of their back door into the yard, carrying his
+boots.  She threw one down on the ground, thrust her hand into the other,
+and stared at it, sucking in her cheeks.  Suddenly she bent forward, spat
+on the toecap, and started polishing with a brush rooted out of her apron
+pocket..."Slut of a girl!  Heaven knows what infectious disease may be
+breeding now in that boot.  Anna must get rid of that girl--even if she has
+to do without one for a bit--as soon as she's up and about again.  The way
+she chucked one boot down and then spat upon the other!  She didn't care
+whose boots she'd got hold of.  SHE had no false notions of the respect due
+to the master of the house."  He turned away from the window and switched
+his bath towel from the washstand rail, sick at heart.  "I'm too sensitive
+for a man--that's what's the matter with me.  Have been from the beginning,
+and will be to the end."
+
+There was a gentle knock at the door and his mother came in.  She closed
+the door after her and leant against it.  Andreas noticed that her cap was
+crooked, and a long tail of hair hung over her shoulder.  He went forward
+and kissed her.
+
+"Good morning, mother; how's Anna?"
+
+The old woman spoke quickly, clasping and unclasping her hands.
+
+"Andreas, please go to Doctor Erb as soon as you are dressed."
+
+"Why," he said, "is she bad?"
+
+Frau Binzer nodded, and Andreas, watching her, saw her face suddenly
+change; a fine network of wrinkles seemed to pull over it from under the
+skin surface.
+
+"Sit down on the bed a moment," he said.  "Been up all night?"
+
+"Yes.  No, I won't sit down, I must go back to her.  Anna has been in pain
+all night.  She wouldn't have you disturbed before because she said you
+looked so run down yesterday.  You told her you had caught a cold and been
+very worried."
+
+Straightway Andreas felt that he was being accused.
+
+"Well, she made me tell her, worried it out of me; you know the way she
+does."
+
+Again Frau Binzer nodded.
+
+"Oh yes, I know.  She says, is your cold better, and there's a warm
+undervest for you in the left-hand corner of the big drawer."
+
+Quite automatically Andreas cleared his throat twice.
+
+"Yes," he answered.  "Tell her my throat certainly feels looser.  I suppose
+I'd better not disturb her?"
+
+"No, and besides, TIME, Andreas."
+
+"I'll be ready in five minutes."
+
+They went into the passage.  As Frau Binzer opened the door of the front
+bedroom, a long wail came from the room.
+
+That shocked and terrified Andreas.  He dashed into the bathroom, turned on
+both taps as far as they would go, cleaned his teeth and pared his nails
+while the water was running.
+
+"Frightful business, frightful business," he heard himself whispering. 
+"And I can't understand it.  It isn't as though it were her first--it's her
+third.  Old Schafer told me, yesterday, his wife simply 'dropped' her
+fourth.  Anna ought to have had a qualified nurse.  Mother gives way to
+her.  Mother spoils her.  I wonder what she meant by saying I'd worried
+Anna yesterday.  Nice remark to make to a husband at a time like this. 
+Unstrung, I suppose--and my sensitiveness again."
+
+When he went into the kitchen for his boots, the servant girl was bent over
+the stove, cooking breakfast.  "Breathing into that, now, I suppose,"
+thought Andreas, and was very short with the servant girl.  She did not
+notice.  She was full of terrified joy and importance in the goings on
+upstairs.  She felt she was learning the secrets of life with every breath
+she drew.  Had laid the table that morning saying, "Boy," as she put down
+the first dish, "Girl," as she placed the second--it had worked out with
+the saltspoon to "Boy."  "For two pins I'd tell the master that, to comfort
+him, like," she decided.  But the Master gave her no opening.
+
+"Put an extra cup and saucer on the table," he said; "the doctor may want
+some coffee."
+
+"The doctor, sir?"  The servant girl whipped a spoon out of a pan, and
+spilt two drops of grease on the stove.  "Shall I fry something extra?" 
+But the master had gone, slamming the door after him.  He walked down the
+street--there was nobody about at all--dead and alive this place on a
+Sunday morning.  As he crossed the suspension bridge a strong stench of
+fennel and decayed refuse streamed from the gulley, and again Andreas began
+concocting a letter.  He turned into the main road.  The shutters were
+still up before the shops.  Scraps of newspaper, hay, and fruit skins
+strewed the pavement; the gutters were choked with the leavings of Saturday
+night.  Two dogs sprawled in the middle of the road, scuffling and biting. 
+Only the public-house at the corner was open; a young barman slopped water
+over the doorstep.
+
+Fastidiously, his lips curling, Andreas picked his way through the water. 
+"Extraordinary how I am noticing things this morning.  It's partly the
+effect of Sunday.  I loathe a Sunday when Anna's tied by the leg and the
+children are away.  On Sunday a man has the right to expect his family. 
+Everything here's filthy, the whole place might be down with the plague,
+and will be, too, if this street's not swept away.  I'd like to have a hand
+on the government ropes."  He braced his shoulders.  "Now for this doctor."
+
+"Doctor Erb is at breakfast," the maid informed him.  She showed him into
+the waiting-room, a dark and musty place, with some ferns under a
+glass-case by the window.  "He says he won't be a minute, please, sir, and
+there is a paper on the table."
+
+"Unhealthy hole," thought Binzer, walking over to the window and drumming
+his fingers on the glass fern-shade.  "At breakfast, is he?  That's the
+mistake I made:  turning out early on an empty stomach."
+
+A milk cart rattled down the street, the driver standing at the back,
+cracking a whip; he wore an immense geranium flower stuck in the lapel of
+his coat.  Firm as a rock he stood, bending back a little in the swaying
+cart.  Andreas craned his neck to watch him all the way down the road, even
+after he had gone, listening for the sharp sound of those rattling cans.
+
+"H'm, not much wrong with him," he reflected.  "Wouldn't mind a taste of
+that life myself.  Up early, work all over by eleven o'clock, nothing to do
+but loaf about all day until milking time."  Which he knew was an
+exaggeration, but he wanted to pity himself.
+
+The maid opened the door, and stood aside for Doctor Erb.  Andreas wheeled
+round; the two men shook hands.
+
+"Well, Binzer," said the doctor jovially, brushing some crumbs from a
+pearl-coloured waistcoat, "son and heir becoming importunate?"
+
+Up went Binzer's spirits with a bound.  Son and heir, by Jove!  He was glad
+to have to deal with a man again.  And a sane fellow this, who came across
+this sort of thing every day of the week.
+
+"That's about the measure of it, Doctor," he answered, smiling and picking
+up his hat.  "Mother dragged me out of bed this morning with imperative
+orders to bring you along."
+
+"Gig will be round in a minute.  Drive back with me, won't you? 
+Extraordinary, sultry day; you're as red as a beetroot already."
+
+Andreas affected to laugh.  The doctor had one annoying habit--imagined he
+had the right to poke fun at everybody simply because he was a doctor. 
+"The man's riddled with conceit, like all these professionals," Andreas
+decided.
+
+"What sort of night did Frau Binzer have?" asked the doctor.  "Ah, here's
+the gig.  Tell me on the way up.  Sit as near the middle as you can, will
+you, Binzer?  Your weight tilts it over a bit one side--that's the worst of
+you successful business men."
+
+"Two stone heavier than I, if he's a pound," thought Andreas.  "The man may
+be all right in his profession--but heaven preserve me."
+
+"Off you go, my beauty."  Doctor Erb flicked the little brown mare.  "Did
+your wife get any sleep last night?"
+
+"No; I don't think she did," answered Andreas shortly.  "To tell you the
+truth, I'm not satisfied that she hasn't a nurse."
+
+"Oh, your mother's worth a dozen nurses," cried the doctor, with immense
+gusto.  "To tell you the truth, I'm not keen on nurses--too raw--raw as
+rump-steak.  They wrestle for a baby as though they were wrestling with
+Death for the body of Patroclus...Ever seen that picture by an English
+artist.  Leighton?  Wonderful thing--full of sinew!"
+
+"There he goes again," thought Andreas, "airing off his knowledge to make a
+fool of me."
+
+"Now your mother--she's firm--she's capable.  Does what she's told with a
+fund of sympathy.  Look at these shops we're passing--they're festering
+sores.  How on earth this government can tolerate--"
+
+"They're not so bad--sound enough--only want a coat of paint."
+
+The doctor whistled a little tune and flicked the mare again.
+
+"Well, I hope the young shaver won't give his mother too much trouble," he
+said.  "Here we are."
+
+A skinny little boy, who had been sliding up and down the back seat of the
+gig, sprang out and held the horse's head.  Andreas went straight into the
+dining-room and left the servant girl to take the doctor upstairs.  He sat
+down, poured out some coffee, and bit through half a roll before helping
+himself to fish.  Then he noticed there was no hot plate for the fish--the
+whole house was at sixes and sevens.  He rang the bell, but the servant
+girl came in with a tray holding a bowl of soup and a hot plate.
+
+"I've been keeping them on the stove," she simpered.
+
+"Ah, thanks, that's very kind of you."  As he swallowed the soup his heart
+warmed to this fool of a girl.
+
+"Oh, it's a good thing Doctor Erb has come," volunteered the servant girl,
+who was bursting for want of sympathy.
+
+"H'm, h'm," said Andreas.
+
+She waited a moment, expectantly, rolling her eyes, then in full loathing
+of menkind went back to the kitchen and vowed herself to sterility.
+
+Andreas cleared the soup bowl, and cleared the fish.  As he ate, the room
+slowly darkened.  A faint wind sprang up and beat the tree branches against
+the window.  The dining-room looked over the breakwater of the harbour, and
+the sea swung heavily in rolling waves.  Wind crept round the house,
+moaning drearily.
+
+"We're in for a storm.  That means I'm boxed up here all day.  Well,
+there's one blessing; it'll clear the air."  He heard the servant girl
+rushing importantly round the house, slamming windows.  Then he caught a
+glimpse of her in the garden, unpegging tea towels from the line across the
+lawn.  She was a worker, there was no doubt about that.  He took up a book,
+and wheeled his arm-chair over to the window.  But it was useless.  Too
+dark to read; he didn't believe in straining his eyes, and gas at ten
+o'clock in the morning seemed absurd.  So he slipped down in the chair,
+leaned his elbows on the padded arms and gave himself up, for once, to idle 
+dreaming.  "A boy?  Yes, it was bound to be a boy this time..."  "What's
+your family, Binzer?"  "Oh, I've two girls and a boy!"  A very nice little
+number.  Of course he was the last man to have a favourite child, but a man
+needed a son.  "I'm working up the business for my son!  Binzer & Son!  It
+would mean living very tight for the next ten years, cutting expenses as
+fine as possible; and then--"
+
+A tremendous gust of wind sprang upon the house, seized it, shook it,
+dropped, only to grip the more tightly.  The waves swelled up along the
+breakwater and were whipped with broken foam.  Over the white sky flew
+tattered streamers of grey cloud.
+
+Andreas felt quite relieved to hear Doctor Erb coming down the stairs; he
+got up and lit the gas.
+
+"Mind if I smoke in here?" asked Doctor Erb, lighting a cigarette before
+Andreas had time to answer.  "You don't smoke, do you?  No time to indulge
+in pernicious little habits!"
+
+"How is she now?" asked Andreas, loathing the man.
+
+"Oh, well as can be expected, poor little soul.  She begged me to come down
+and have a look at you.  Said she knew you were worrying."  With laughing
+eyes the doctor looked at the breakfast-table.  "Managed to peck a bit, I
+see, eh?"
+
+"Hoo-wih!" shouted the wind, shaking the window-sashes.
+
+"Pity--this weather," said Doctor Erb.
+
+"Yes, it gets on Anna's nerves, and it's just nerve she wants."
+
+"Eh, what's that?" retorted the doctor.  "Nerve!  Man alive!  She's got
+twice the nerve of you and me rolled into one.  Nerve! she's nothing but
+nerve.  A woman who works as she does about the house and has three
+children in four years thrown in with the dusting, so to speak!"
+
+He pitched his half-smoked cigarette into the fireplace and frowned at the
+window.
+
+"Now HE'S accusing me," thought Andreas.  "That's the second time this
+morning--first mother and now this man taking advantage of my
+sensitiveness."  He could not trust himself to speak, and rang the bell for
+the servant girl.
+
+"Clear away the breakfast things," he ordered.  "I can't have them messing
+about on the table till dinner!"
+
+"Don't be hard on the girl," coaxed Doctor Erb.  "She's got twice the work
+to do to-day."
+
+At that Binzer's anger blazed out.
+
+"I'll trouble you, Doctor, not to interfere between me and my servants!"
+And he felt a fool at the same moment for not saying "servant."
+
+Doctor Erb was not perturbed.  He shook his head, thrust his hands into his
+pockets, and began balancing himself on toe and heel.
+
+"You're jagged by the weather," he said wryly, "nothing else.  A great
+pity--this storm.  You know climate has an immense effect upon birth.  A
+fine day perks a woman--gives her heart for her business.  Good weather is
+as necessary to a confinement as it is to a washing day.  Not bad--that
+last remark of mine--for a professional fossil, eh?"
+
+Andreas made no reply.
+
+"Well, I'll be getting back to my patient.  Why don't you take a walk, and
+clear your head?  That's the idea for you."
+
+"No," he answered, "I won't do that; it's too rough."
+
+He went back to his chair by the window.  While the servant girl cleared
+away he pretended to read...then his dreams!  It seemed years since he had
+had the time to himself to dream like that--he never had a breathing space. 
+Saddled with work all day, and couldn't shake it off in the evening like
+other men.  Besides, Anna was interested--they talked of practically
+nothing else together.  Excellent mother she'd make for a boy; she had a
+grip of things.
+
+Church bells started ringing through the windy air, now sounding as though
+from very far away, then again as though all the churches in the town had
+been suddenly transplanted into their street.  They stirred something in
+him, those bells, something vague and tender.  Just about that time Anna
+would call him from the hall.  "Andreas, come and have your coat brushed. 
+I'm ready."  Then off they would go, she hanging on his arm, and looking up
+at him.  She certainly was a little thing.  He remembered once saying when
+they were engaged, "Just as high as my heart," and she had jumped on to a
+stool and pulled his head down, laughing.  A kid in those days, younger
+than her children in nature, brighter, more "go" and "spirit" in her.  The
+way she'd run down the road to meet him after business!  And the way she
+laughed when they were looking for a house.  By Jove! that laugh of hers! 
+At the memory he grinned, then grew suddenly grave.  Marriage certainly
+changed a woman far more than it did a man.  Talk about sobering down.  She
+had lost all her go in two months!  Well, once this boy business was over
+she'd get stronger.  He began to plan a little trip for them.  He'd take
+her away and they'd loaf about together somewhere.  After all, dash it,
+they were young still.  She'd got into a groove; he'd have to force her out
+of it, that's all.
+
+He got up and went into the drawing-room, carefully shut the door and took
+Anna's photograph from the top of the piano.  She wore a white dress with a
+big bow of some soft stuff under the chin, and stood, a little stiffly,
+holding a sheaf of artificial poppies and corn in her hands.  Delicate she
+looked even then; her masses of hair gave her that look.  She seemed to
+droop under the heavy braids of it, and yet she was smiling.  Andreas
+caught his breath sharply.  She was his wife--that girl.  Posh! it had only
+been taken four years ago.  He held it close to him, bent forward and
+kissed it.  Then rubbed the glass with the back of his hand.  At that
+moment, fainter than he had heard in the passage, more terrifying, Andreas
+heard again that wailing cry.  The wind caught it up in mocking echo, blew
+it over the house-tops, down the street, far away from him.  He flung out
+his arms, "I'm so damnably helpless," he said, and then, to the picture,
+"Perhaps it's not as bad as it sounds; perhaps it is just my
+sensitiveness."  In the half light of the drawing-room the smile seemed to
+deepen in Anna's portrait, and to become secret, even cruel.  "No," he
+reflected, "that smile is not at all her happiest expression--it was a
+mistake to let her have it taken smiling like that.  She doesn't look like
+my wife--like the mother of my son."  Yes, that was it, she did not look
+like the mother of a son who was going to be a partner in the firm.  The
+picture got on his nerves; he held it in different lights, looked at it
+from a distance, sideways, spent, it seemed to Andreas afterwards, a whole
+lifetime trying to fit it in.  The more he played with it the deeper grew
+his dislike of it.  Thrice he carried it over to the fireplace and decided
+to chuck it behind the Japanese umbrella in the grate; then he thought it
+absurd to waste an expensive frame.  There was no good in beating about the
+bush.  Anna looked like a stranger--abnormal, a freak--it might be a
+picture taken just before or after death.
+
+Suddenly he realised that the wind had dropped, that the whole house was
+still, terribly still.  Cold and pale, with a disgusting feeling that
+spiders were creeping up his spine and across his face, he stood in the
+centre of the drawing-room, hearing Doctor Erb's footsteps descending the
+stairs.
+
+He saw Doctor Erb come into the room; the room seemed to change into a
+great glass bowl that spun round, and Doctor Erb seemed to swim through
+this glass bowl towards him, like a goldfish in a pearl-coloured waistcoat.
+
+"My beloved wife has passed away!"  He wanted to shout it out before the
+doctor spoke.
+
+"Well, she's hooked a boy this time!" said Doctor Erb.  Andreas staggered
+forward.
+
+"Look out.  Keep on your pins," said Doctor Erb, catching Dinzer's arm, and
+murmuring, as he felt it, "Flabby as butter."
+
+A glow spread all over Andreas.  He was exultant.
+
+"Well, by God!  Nobody can accuse ME of not knowing what suffering is," he
+said.
+
+
+
+10.  THE CHILD-WHO-WAS-TIRED.
+
+She was just beginning to walk along a little white road with tall black
+trees on either side, a little road that led to nowhere, and where nobody
+walked at all, when a hand gripped her shoulder, shook her, slapped her
+ear.
+
+"Oh, oh, don't stop me," cried the Child-Who-Was-Tired.  "Let me go."
+
+"Get up, you good-for-nothing brat," said a voice; "get up and light the
+oven or I'll shake every bone out of your body."
+
+With an immense effort she opened her eyes, and saw the Frau standing by,
+the baby bundled under one arm.  The three other children who shared the
+same bed with the Child-Who-Was-Tired, accustomed to brawls, slept on
+peacefully.  In a corner of the room the Man was fastening his braces.
+
+"What do you mean by sleeping like this the whole night through--like a
+sack of potatoes?  You've let the baby wet his bed twice."
+
+She did not answer, but tied her petticoat string, and buttoned on her
+plaid frock with cold, shaking fingers.
+
+"There, that's enough.  Take the baby into the kitchen with you, and heat
+that cold coffee on the spirit lamp for the master, and give him the loaf
+of black bread out of the table drawer.  Don't guzzle it yourself or I'll
+know."
+
+The Frau staggered across the room, flung herself on to her bed, drawing
+the pink bolster round her shoulders.
+
+It was almost dark in the kitchen.  She laid the baby on the wooden settle,
+covering him with a shawl, then poured the coffee from the earthenware jug
+into the saucepan, and set it on the spirit lamp to boil.
+
+"I'm sleepy," nodded the Child-Who-Was-Tired, kneeling on the floor and
+splitting the damp pine logs into little chips.  "That's why I'm not
+awake."
+
+The oven took a long time to light.  Perhaps it was cold, like herself, and
+sleepy...Perhaps it had been dreaming of a little white road with black
+trees on either side, a little road that led to nowhere.
+
+Then the door was pulled violently open and the Man strode in.
+
+"Here, what are you doing, sitting on the floor?" he shouted.  "Give me my
+coffee.  I've got to be off.  Ugh!  You haven't even washed over the
+table."
+
+She sprang to her feet, poured his coffee into an enamel cup, and gave him
+bread and a knife, then, taking a wash rag from the sink, smeared over the
+black linoleumed table.
+
+"Swine of a day--swine's life," mumbled the Man, sitting by the table and
+staring out of the window at the bruised sky, which seemed to bulge heavily
+over the dull land.  He stuffed his mouth with bread and then swilled it
+down with the coffee.
+
+The Child drew a pail of water, turned up her sleeves, frowning the while
+at her arms, as if to scold them for being so thin, so much like little
+stunted twigs, and began to mop over the floor.
+
+"Stop sousing about the water while I'm here," grumbled the Man.  "Stop the
+baby snivelling; it's been going on like that all night."
+
+The Child gathered the baby into her lap and sat rocking him.
+
+"Ts--ts--ts," she said.  "He's cutting his eye teeth, that's what makes him
+cry so.  AND dribble--I never seen a baby dribble like this one."  She
+wiped his mouth and nose with a corner of her skirt.  "Some babies get
+their teeth without you knowing it," she went on, "and some take on this
+way all the time.  I once heard of a baby that died, and they found all
+it's teeth in its stomach."
+
+The Man got up, unhooked his cloak from the back of the door, and flung it
+round him.
+
+"There's another coming," said he.
+
+"What--a tooth!" exclaimed the Child, startled for the first time that
+morning out of her dreadful heaviness, and thrusting her finger into the
+baby's mouth.
+
+"No," he said grimly, "another baby.  Now, get on with your work; it's time
+the others got up for school."  She stood a moment quite silently, hearing
+his heavy steps on the stone passage, then the gravel walk, and finally the
+slam of the front gate.
+
+"Another baby!  Hasn't she finished having them YET?" thought the Child. 
+"Two babies getting eye teeth--two babies to get up for in the night--two
+babies to carry about and wash their little piggy clothes!"  She looked
+with horror at the one in her arms, who, seeming to understand the
+contemptuous loathing of her tired glance, doubled his fists, stiffened his
+body, and began violently screaming.
+
+"Ts--ts--ts."  She laid him on the settle and went back to her floor-
+washing.  He never ceased crying for a moment, but she got quite used to it
+and kept time with her broom.  Oh, how tired she was!  Oh, the heavy broom
+handle and the burning spot just at the back of her neck that ached so, and
+a funny little fluttering feeling just at the back of her waistband, as
+though something were going to break.
+
+The clock struck six.  She set the pan of milk in the oven, and went into
+the next room to wake and dress the three children.  Anton and Hans lay
+together in attitudes of mutual amity which certainly never existed out of
+their sleeping hours.  Lena was curled up, her knees under her chin, only a
+straight, standing-up pigtail of hair showing above the bolster.
+
+"Get up," cried the Child, speaking in a voice of immense authority,
+pulling off the bedclothes and giving the boys sundry pokes and digs. 
+"I've been calling you this last half-hour.  It's late, and I'll tell on
+you if you don't get dressed this minute."
+
+Anton awoke sufficiently to turn over and kick Hans on a tender part,
+whereupon Hans pulled Lena's pigtail until she shrieked for her mother.
+
+"Oh, do be quiet," whispered the Child.  "Oh, do get up and dress.  You
+know what will happen.  There--I'll help you."
+
+But the warning came too late.  The Frau got out of bed, walked in a
+determined fashion into the kitchen, returning with a bundle of twigs in
+her hand fastened together with a strong cord.  One by one she laid the
+children across her knee and severely beat them, expending a final burst of
+energy on the Child-Who-Was-Tired, then returned to bed, with a comfortable
+sense of her maternal duties in good working order for the day.  Very
+subdued, the three allowed themselves to be dressed and washed by the
+Child, who even laced the boys' boots, having found through experience that
+if left to themselves they hopped about for at least five minutes to find a
+comfortable ledge for their foot, and then spat on their hands and broke
+the bootlaces.
+
+While she gave them their breakfast they became uproarious, and the baby
+would not cease crying.  When she filled the tin kettle with milk, tied on
+the rubber teat, and, first moistening it herself, tried with little
+coaxing words to make him drink, he threw the bottle on to the floor and
+trembled all over.
+
+"Eye teeth!" shouted Hans, hitting Anton over the head with his empty cup;
+"he's getting the evil-eye teeth, I should say."
+
+"Smarty!" retorted Lena, poking out her tongue at him, and then, when he
+promptly did the same, crying at the top of her voice, "Mother, Hans is
+making faces at me!"
+
+"That's right," said Hans; "go on howling, and when you're in bed to-night
+I'll wait till you're asleep, and then I'll creep over and take a little
+tiny piece of your arm and twist and twist it until--"  He leant over the
+table making the most horrible faces at Lena, not noticing that Anton was
+standing behind his chair until the little boy bent over and spat on his
+brother's shaven head.
+
+"Oh, weh! oh, weh!"
+
+The Child-Who-Was-Tired pushed and pulled them apart, muffled them into
+their coats, and drove them out of the house.
+
+"Hurry, hurry! the second bell's rung," she urged, knowing perfectly well
+she was telling a story, and rather exulting in the fact.  She washed up
+the breakfast things, then went down to the cellar to look out the potatoes
+and beetroot.
+
+Such a funny, cold place the coal cellar!  With potatoes banked on one
+corner, beetroot in an old candle box, two tubs of sauerkraut, and a
+twisted mass of dahlia roots--that looked as real as though they were
+fighting one another, thought the Child.
+
+She gathered the potatoes into her skirt, choosing big ones with few eyes
+because they were easier to peel, and bending over the dull heap in the
+silent cellar, she began to nod.
+
+"Here, you, what are you doing down there?" cried the Frau, from the top of
+the stairs.  "The baby's fallen off the settle, and got a bump as big as an
+egg over his eye.  Come up here, and I'll teach you!"
+
+"It wasn't me--it wasn't me!" screamed the Child, beaten from one side of
+the hall to the other, so that the potatoes and beetroot rolled out of her
+skirt.
+
+The Frau seemed to be as big as a giant, and there was a certain heaviness
+in all her movements that was terrifying to anyone so small.
+
+"Sit in the corner, and peel and wash the vegetables, and keep the baby
+quiet while I do the washing."
+
+Whimpering she obeyed, but as to keeping the baby quiet, that was
+impossible.  His face was hot, little beads of sweat stood all over his
+head, and he stiffened his body and cried.  She held him on her knees, with
+a pan of cold water beside her for the cleaned vegetables and the "ducks'
+bucket" for the peelings.
+
+"Ts--ts--ts!" she crooned, scraping and boring; "there's going to be
+another soon, and you can't both keep on crying.  Why don't you go to
+sleep, baby?  I would, if I were you.  I'll tell you a dream.  Once upon a
+time there was a little white road--"
+
+She shook back her head, a great lump ached in her throat and then the
+tears ran down her face on to the vegetables.
+
+"That's no good," said the Child, shaking them away.  "Just stop crying
+until I've finished this, baby, and I'll walk you up and down."
+
+But by that time she had to peg out the washing for the Frau.  A wind had
+sprung up.  Standing on tiptoe in the yard, she almost felt she would be
+blown away.  There was a bad smell coming from the ducks' coop, which was
+half full of manure water, but away in the meadow she saw the grass blowing
+like little green hairs.  And she remembered having heard of a child who
+had once played for a whole day in just such a meadow with real sausages
+and beer for her dinner--and not a little bit of tiredness.  Who had told
+her that story?  She could not remember, and yet it was so plain.
+
+The wet clothes flapped in her face as she pegged them; danced and jigged
+on the line, bulged out and twisted.  She walked back to the house with
+lagging steps, looking longingly at the grass in the meadow.
+
+"What must I do now, please?" she said.
+
+"Make the beds and hang the baby's mattress out of the window, then get the
+wagon and take him for a little walk along the road.  In front of the
+house, mind--where I can see you.  Don't stand there, gaping!  Then come in
+when I call you and help me cut up the salad."
+
+When she had made the beds the Child stood and looked at them.  Gently she
+stroked the pillow with her hand, and then, just for one moment, let her
+head rest there.  Again the smarting lump in her throat, the stupid tears
+that fell and kept on falling as she dressed the baby and dragged the
+little wagon up and down the road.
+
+A man passed, driving a bullock wagon.  He wore a long, queer feather in
+his hat, and whistled as he passed.  Two girls with bundles on their
+shoulders came walking out of the village--one wore a red handkerchief
+about her head and one a blue.  They were laughing and holding each other
+by the hand.  Then the sun pushed by a heavy fold of grey cloud and spread
+a warm yellow light over everything.
+
+"Perhaps," thought the Child-Who-Was-Tired, "if I walked far enough up this
+road I might come to a little white one, with tall black trees on either
+side--a little road--"
+
+"Salad, salad!" cried the Frau's voice from the house.
+
+Soon the children came home from school, dinner was eaten, the Man took the
+Frau's share of pudding as well as his own, and the three children seemed
+to smear themselves all over with whatever they ate.  Then more
+dish-washing and more cleaning and baby-minding.  So the afternoon dragged
+coldly through.
+
+Old Frau Grathwohl came in with a fresh piece of pig's flesh for the Frau,
+and the Child listened to them gossiping together.
+
+"Frau Manda went on her 'journey to Rome' last night, and brought back a
+daughter.  How are you feeling?"
+
+"I was sick twice this morning," said the Frau.  "My insides are all
+twisted up with having children too quickly."
+
+"I see you've got a new help," commented old Mother Grathwohl.
+
+"Oh, dear Lord"--the Frau lowered her voice--"don't you know her?  She's
+the free-born one--daughter of the waitress at the railway station.  They
+found her mother trying to squeeze her head in the wash-hand jug, and the
+child's half silly."
+
+"Ts--ts--ts!" whispered the "free-born" one to the baby.
+
+As the day drew in the Child-Who-Was-Tired did not know how to fight her
+sleepiness any longer.  She was afraid to sit down or stand still.  As she
+sat at supper the Man and the Frau seemed to swell to an immense size as
+she watched them, and then become smaller than dolls, with little voices
+that seemed to come from outside the window.  Looking at the baby, it
+suddenly had two heads, and then no head.  Even his crying made her feel
+worse.  When she thought of the nearness of bedtime she shook all over with
+excited joy.  But as eight o'clock approached there was the sound of wheels
+on the road, and presently in came a party of friends to spend the evening.
+
+Then it was:
+
+"Put on the coffee."
+
+"Bring me the sugar tin."
+
+"Carry the chairs out of the bedroom."
+
+"Set the table."
+
+And, finally, the Frau sent her into the next room to keep the baby quiet.
+
+There was a little piece of candle burning in the enamel bracket.  As she
+walked up and down she saw her great big shadow on the wall like a grown-up
+person with a grown-up baby.  Whatever would it look like when she carried
+two babies so!
+
+"Ts--ts--ts!"  Once upon a time she was walking along a little white road,
+with oh! such great big black trees on either side."
+
+"Here you!" called the Frau's voice, "bring me my new jacket from behind
+the door."  And as she took it into the warm room one of the women said,
+"She looks like an owl.  Such children are seldom right in their heads."
+
+"Why don't you keep that baby quiet?" said the Man, who had just drunk
+enough beer to make him feel very brave and master of his house.
+
+"If you don't keep that baby quiet you'll know why later on."
+
+They burst out laughing as she stumbled back into the bedroom.
+
+"I don't believe Holy Mary could keep him quiet," she murmured.  "Did Jesus
+cry like this when He was little?  If I was not so tired perhaps I could do
+it; but the baby just knows that I want to go to sleep.  And there is going
+to be another one."
+
+She flung the baby on the bed, and stood looking at him with terror.
+
+From the next room there came the jingle of glasses and the warm sound of
+laughter.
+
+And she suddenly had a beautiful marvellous idea.
+
+She laughed for the first time that day, and clapped her hands.
+
+"Ts--ts--ts!" she said, "lie there, silly one; you WILL go to sleep. 
+You'll not cry any more or wake up in the night.  Funny, little, ugly
+baby."
+
+He opened his eyes, and shrieked loudly at the sight of the
+Child-Who-Was-Tired.  From the next room she heard the Frau call out to
+her.
+
+"One moment--he is almost asleep," she cried.
+
+And then gently, smiling, on tiptoe, she brought the pink bolster from the
+Frau's bed and covered the baby's face with it, pressed with all her might
+as he struggled, "like a duck with its head off, wriggling", she thought.
+
+She heaved a long sigh, then fell back on to the floor, and was walking
+along a little white road with tall black trees on either side, a little
+road that led to nowhere, and where nobody walked at all--nobody at all.
+
+
+
+11.  THE ADVANCED LADY.
+
+"Do you think we might ask her to come with us," said Fraulein Elsa,
+retying her pink sash ribbon before my mirror.  "You know, although she is
+so intellectual, I cannot help feeling convinced that she has some secret
+sorrow.  And Lisa told me this morning, as she was turning out my room,
+that she remains hours and hours by herself, writing; in fact Lisa says she
+is writing a book!  I suppose that is why she never cares to mingle with
+us, and has so little time for her husband and the child."
+
+"Well, YOU ask her," said I.  "I have never spoken to the lady."
+
+Elsa blushed faintly.  "I have only spoken to her once," she confessed.  "I
+took her a bunch of wild flowers, to her room, and she came to the door in
+a white gown, with her hair loose.  Never shall I forget that moment.  She
+just took the flowers, and I heard her--because the door was not quite 
+properly shut--I heard her, as I walked down the passage, saying 'Purity,
+fragrance, the fragrance of purity and the purity of fragrance!'  It was
+wonderful!"
+
+At that moment Frau Kellermann knocked at the door.
+
+"Are you ready?" she said, coming into the room and nodding to us very
+genially.  "The gentlemen are waiting on the steps, and I have asked the
+Advanced Lady to come with us."
+
+"Na, how extraordinary!" cried Elsa.  "But this moment the gnadige Frau and
+I were debating whether--"
+
+"Yes, I met her coming out of her room and she said she was charmed with
+the idea.  Like all of us, she has never been to Schlingen.  She is
+downstairs now, talking to Herr Erchardt.  I think we shall have a
+delightful afternoon."
+
+"Is Fritzi waiting too?" asked Elsa.
+
+"Of course he is, dear child--as impatient as a hungry man listening for
+the dinner bell.  Run along!"
+
+Elsa ran, and Frau Kellermann smiled at me significantly.  In the past she
+and I had seldom spoken to each other, owing to the fact that her "one
+remaining joy"--her charming little Karl--had never succeeded in kindling
+into flame those sparks of maternity which are supposed to glow in great
+numbers upon the altar of every respectable female heart; but, in view of a
+premeditated journey together, we became delightfully cordial.
+
+"For us," she said, "there will be a double joy.  We shall be able to watch
+the happiness of these two dear children, Elsa and Fritz.  They only
+received the letters of blessing from their parents yesterday morning.  It
+is a very strange thing, but whenever I am in the company of newly-engaged
+couples I blossom.  Newly-engaged couples, mothers with first babies, and
+normal deathbeds have precisely the same effect on me.  Shall we join the
+others?"
+
+I was longing to ask her why normal deathbeds should cause anyone to burst
+into flower, and said, "Yes, do let us."
+
+We were greeted by the little party of "cure guests" on the pension steps,
+with those cries of joy and excitement which herald so pleasantly the
+mildest German excursion.  Herr Erchardt and I had not met before that day,
+so, in accordance with strict pension custom, we asked each other how long
+we had slept during the night, had we dreamed agreeably, what time we had
+got up, was the coffee fresh when we had appeared at breakfast, and how had
+we passed the morning.  Having toiled up these stairs of almost national
+politeness we landed, triumphant and smiling, and paused to recover breath.
+
+"And now," said Herr Erchardt, "I have a pleasure in store for you.  The
+Frau Professor is going to be one of us for the afternoon.  Yes," nodding
+graciously to the Advanced Lady.  "Allow me to introduce you to each
+other."
+
+We bowed very formally, and looked each other over with that eye which is
+known as "eagle" but is far more the property of the female than that most
+unoffending of birds.  "I think you are English?" she said.  I acknowledged
+the fact.  "I am reading a great many English books just now--rather, I am
+studying them."
+
+"Nu," cried Herr Erchardt.  "Fancy that!  What a bond already!  I have made
+up my mind to know Shakespeare in his mother tongue before I die, but that
+you, Frau Professor, should be already immersed in those wells of English
+thought!"
+
+"From what I have read," she said, "I do not think they are very deep
+wells."
+
+He nodded sympathetically.
+
+"No," he answered, "so I have heard...But do not let us embitter our
+excursion for our little English friend.  We will speak of this another
+time."
+
+"Nu, are we ready?" cried Fritz, who stood, supporting Elsa's elbow in his
+hand, at the foot of the steps.  It was immediately discovered that Karl
+was lost.
+
+"Ka--rl, Karl--chen!" we cried.  No response.
+
+"But he was here one moment ago," said Herr Langen, a tired, pale youth,
+who was recovering from a nervous breakdown due to much philosophy and
+little nourishment.  "He was sitting here, picking out the works of his
+watch with a hairpin!"
+
+Frau Kellermann rounded on him.  "Do you mean to say, my dear Herr Langen,
+you did not stop the child!"
+
+"No," said Herr Langen; "I've tried stopping him before now."
+
+"Da, that child has such energy; never is his brain at peace.  If he is not
+doing one thing, he is doing another!"
+
+"Perhaps he has started on the dining-room clock now," suggested Herr
+Langen, abominably hopeful.
+
+The Advanced Lady suggested that we should go without him.  "I never take
+my little daughter for walks," she said.  "I have accustomed her to sitting
+quietly in my bedroom from the time I go out until I return!"
+
+"There he is--there he is," piped Elsa, and Karl was observed slithering
+down a chestnut-tree, very much the worse for twigs.
+
+"I've been listening to what you said about me, mumma," he confessed while
+Frau Kellermann brushed him down.  "It was not true about the watch.  I was
+only looking at it, and the little girl never stays in the bedroom.  She
+told me herself she always goes down to the kitchen, and--"
+
+"Da, that's enough!" said Frau Kellermann.
+
+We marched en masse along the station road.  It was a very warm afternoon,
+and continuous parties of "cure guests", who were giving their digestions a
+quiet airing in pension gardens, called after us, asked if we were going
+for a walk, and cried "Herr Gott--happy journey" with immense ill-concealed
+relish when we mentioned Schlingen.
+
+"But that is eight kilometres," shouted one old man with a white beard, who
+leaned against a fence, fanning himself with a yellow handkerchief.
+
+"Seven and a half," answered Herr Erchardt shortly.
+
+"Eight," bellowed the sage.
+
+"Seven and a half!"
+
+"Eight!"
+
+"The man is mad," said Herr Erchardt.
+
+"Well, please let him be mad in peace," said I, putting my hands over my
+ears.
+
+"Such ignorance must not be allowed to go uncontradicted," said he, and
+turning his back on us, too exhausted to cry out any longer, he held up
+seven and a half fingers.
+
+"Eight!" thundered the greybeard, with pristine freshness.
+
+We felt very sobered, and did not recover until we reached a white signpost
+which entreated us to leave the road and walk through the field path--
+without trampling down more of the grass than was necessary.  Being
+interpreted, it meant "single file", which was distressing for Elsa and
+Fritz.  Karl, like a happy child, gambolled ahead, and cut down as many
+flowers as possible with the stick of his mother's parasol--followed the
+three others--then myself--and the lovers in the rear.  And above the
+conversation of the advance party I had the privilege of hearing these
+delicious whispers.
+
+Fritz:  "Do you love me?"  Elsa:  "Nu--yes."  Fritz passionately:  "But how
+much?"  To which Elsa never replied--except with "How much do YOU love ME?"
+
+Fritz escaped that truly Christian trap by saying, "I asked you first."
+
+It grew so confusing that I slipped in front of Frau Kellermann--and walked
+in the peaceful knowledge that she was blossoming and I was under no
+obligation to inform even my nearest and dearest as to the precise capacity
+of my affections.  "What right have they to ask each other such questions
+the day after letters of blessing have been received?" I reflected.  "What
+right have they even to question each other?  Love which becomes engaged
+and married is a purely affirmative affair--they are usurping the
+privileges of their betters and wisers!"
+
+The edges of the field frilled over into an immense pine forest--very
+pleasant and cool it looked.  Another signpost begged us to keep to the
+broad path for Schlingen and deposit waste paper and fruit peelings in wire
+receptacles attached to the benches for the purpose.  We sat down on the
+first bench, and Karl with great curiosity explored the wire receptacle.
+
+"I love woods," said the Advanced Lady, smiling pitifully into the air. 
+"In a wood my hair already seems to stir and remember something of its
+savage origin."
+
+"But speaking literally," said Frau Kellermann, after an appreciative
+pause, "there is really nothing better than the air of pine-trees for the
+scalp."
+
+"Oh, Frau Kellermann, please don't break the spell," said Elsa.
+
+The Advanced Lady looked at her very sympathetically.  "Have you, too,
+found the magic heart of Nature?" she said.
+
+That was Herr Langen's cue.  "Nature has no heart," said he, very bitterly
+and readily, as people do who are over-philosophised and underfed.  "She
+creates that she may destroy.  She eats that she may spew up and she spews
+up that she may eat.  That is why we, who are forced to eke out an
+existence at her trampling feet, consider the world mad, and realise the
+deadly vulgarity of production."
+
+"Young man," interrupted Herr Erchardt, "you have never lived and you have
+never suffered!"
+
+"Oh, excuse me--how can you know?"
+
+"I know because you have told me, and there's an end of it. Come back to
+this bench in ten years' time and repeat those words to me," said Frau
+Kellermann, with an eye upon Fritz, who was engaged in counting Elsa's
+fingers with passionate fervour--"and bring with you your young wife, Herr
+Langen, and watch, perhaps, your little child playing with--"  She turned
+towards Karl, who had rooted an old illustrated paper out of the receptacle
+and was spelling over an advertisement for the enlargement of Beautiful
+Breasts.
+
+The sentence remained unfinished.  We decided to move on.  As we plunged
+more deeply into the wood our spirits rose--reaching a point where they
+burst into song--on the part of the three men--"O Welt, wie bist du
+wunderbar!"--the lower part of which was piercingly sustained by Herr
+Langen, who attempted quite unsuccessfully to infuse satire into it in
+accordance with his--"world outlook".  They strode ahead and left us to
+trail after them--hot and happy.
+
+"Now is the opportunity," said Frau Kellermann.  "Dear Frau Professor, do
+tell us a little about your book."
+
+"Ach, how did you know I was writing one?" she cried playfully.
+
+"Elsa, here, had it from Lisa.  And never before have I personally known a
+woman who was writing a book.  How do you manage to find enough to write
+down?"
+
+"That is never the trouble," said the Advanced Lady--she took Elsa's arm
+and leaned on it gently.  "The trouble is to know where to stop.  My brain
+has been a hive for years, and about three months ago the pent-up waters
+burst over my soul, and since then I am writing all day until late into the
+night, still ever finding fresh inspirations and thoughts which beat
+impatient wings about my heart."
+
+"Is it a novel?" asked Elsa shyly.
+
+"Of course it is a novel," said I.
+
+"How can you be so positive?" said Frau Kellermann, eyeing me severely.
+
+"Because nothing but a novel could produce an effect like that."
+
+"Ach, don't quarrel," said the Advanced Lady sweetly.  "Yes, it is a novel
+--upon the Modern Woman.  For this seems to me the woman's hour.  It is
+mysterious and almost prophetic, it is the symbol of the true advanced
+woman:  not one of those violent creatures who deny their sex and smother
+their frail wings under...under--"
+
+"The English tailor-made?" from Frau Kellermann.
+
+"I was not going to put it like that.  Rather, under the lying garb of
+false masculinity!"
+
+"Such a subtle distinction!" I murmured.
+
+"Whom then," asked Fraulein Elsa, looking adoringly at the Advanced Lady--
+"whom then do you consider the true woman?"
+
+"She is the incarnation of comprehending Love!"
+
+"But my dear Frau Professor," protested Frau Kellermann, "you must remember
+that one has so few opportunities for exhibiting Love within the family
+circle nowadays.  One's husband is at business all day, and naturally
+desires to sleep when he returns home--one's children are out of the lap
+and in at the university before one can lavish anything at all upon them!"
+
+"But Love is not a question of lavishing," said the Advanced Lady.  "It is
+the lamp carried in the bosom touching with serene rays all the heights and
+depths of--"
+
+"Darkest Africa," I murmured flippantly.
+
+She did not hear.
+
+"The mistake we have made in the past--as a sex," said she, "is in not
+realising that our gifts of giving are for the whole world--we are the glad
+sacrifice of ourselves!"
+
+"Oh!" cried Elsa rapturously, and almost bursting into gifts as she
+breathed--"how I know that!  You know ever since Fritz and I have been
+engaged, I share the desire to give to everybody, to share everything!"
+
+"How extremely dangerous," said I.
+
+"It is only the beauty of danger, or the danger of beauty" said the
+Advanced Lady--"and there you have the ideal of my book--that woman is
+nothing but a gift."
+
+I smiled at her very sweetly.  "Do you know," I said, "I, too, would like
+to write a book, on the advisability of caring for daughters, and taking
+them for airings and keeping them out of kitchens!"
+
+I think the masculine element must have felt these angry vibrations:  they
+ceased from singing, and together we climbed out of the wood, to see
+Schlingen below us, tucked in a circle of hills, the white houses shining
+in the sunlight, "for all the world like eggs in a bird's nest", as Herr
+Erchardt declared.  We descended upon Schlingen and demanded sour milk with
+fresh cream and bread at the Inn of the Golden Stag, a most friendly place,
+with tables in a rose-garden where hens and chickens ran riot--even
+flopping upon the disused tables and pecking at the red checks on the
+cloths.  We broke the bread into the bowls, added the cream, and stirred it
+round with flat wooden spoons, the landlord and his wife standing by.
+
+"Splendid weather!" said Herr Erchardt, waving his spoon at the landlord,
+who shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"What! you don't call it splendid!"
+
+"As you please," said the landlord, obviously scorning us.
+
+"Such a beautiful walk," said Fraulein Elsa, making a free gift of her most
+charming smile to the landlady.
+
+"I never walk," said the landlady; "when I go to Mindelbau my man drives
+me--I've more important things to do with my legs than walk them through
+the dust!"
+
+"I like these people," confessed Herr Langen to me.  "I like them very,
+very much.  I think I shall take a room here for the whole summer."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Oh, because they live close to the earth, and therefore despise it."
+
+He pushed away his bowl of sour milk and lit a cigarette.  We ate, solidly
+and seriously, until those seven and a half kilometres to Mindelbau
+stretched before us like an eternity.  Even Karl's activity became so full
+fed that he lay on the ground and removed his leather waistbelt.  Elsa
+suddenly leaned over to Fritz and whispered, who on hearing her to the end
+and asking her if she loved him, got up and made a little speech.
+
+"We--we wish to celebrate our betrothal by--by--asking you all to drive
+back with us in the landlord's cart--if--it will hold us!"
+
+"Oh, what a beautiful, noble idea!" said Frau Kellermann, heaving a sigh of
+relief that audibly burst two hooks.
+
+"It is my little gift," said Elsa to the Advanced Lady, who by virtue of
+three portions almost wept tears of gratitude.
+
+Squeezed into the peasant cart and driven by the landlord, who showed his
+contempt for mother earth by spitting savagely every now and again, we
+jolted home again, and the nearer we came to Mindelbau the more we loved it
+and one another.
+
+"We must have many excursions like this," said Herr Erchardt to me, "for
+one surely gets to know a person in the simple surroundings of the open
+air--one SHARES the same joys--one feels friendship.  What is it your
+Shakespeare says?  One moment, I have it.  The friends thou hast, and their
+adoption tried--grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel!"
+
+"But," said I, feeling very friendly towards him, "the bother about my soul
+is that it refuses to grapple anybody at all--and I am sure that the dead
+weight of a friend whose adoption it had tried would kill it immediately. 
+Never yet has it shown the slightest sign of a hoop!"
+
+He bumped against my knees and excused himself and the cart.
+
+"My dear little lady, you must not take the quotation literally. 
+Naturally, one is not physically conscious of the hoops; but hoops there
+are in the soul of him or her who loves his fellow-men...Take this
+afternoon, for instance.  How did we start out?  As strangers you might
+almost say, and yet--all of us--how have we come home?"
+
+"In a cart," said the only remaining joy, who sat upon his mother's lap and
+felt sick.
+
+We skirted the field that we had passed through, going round by the
+cemetery.  Herr Langen leaned over the edge of the seat and greeted the
+graves.  He was sitting next to the Advanced Lady--inside the shelter of
+her shoulder.  I heard her murmur:  "You look like a little boy with your
+hair blowing about in the wind."  Herr Langen, slightly less bitter--
+watched the last graves disappear.  And I heard her murmur:  "Why are you
+so sad?  I too am very sad sometimes--but--you look young enough for me to
+dare to say this--I--too--know of much joy!"
+
+"What do you know?" said he.
+
+I leaned over and touched the Advanced Lady's hand.  "Hasn't it been a nice
+afternoon?" I said questioningly.  "But you know, that theory of yours
+about women and Love--it's as old as the hills--oh, older!"
+
+From the road a sudden shout of triumph.  Yes, there he was again--white
+beard, silk handkerchief and undaunted enthusiasm.
+
+"What did I say?  Eight kilometres--it is!"
+
+"Seven and a half!" shrieked Herr Erchardt.
+
+"Why, then, do you return in carts?  Eight kilometres it must be."
+
+Herr Erchardt made a cup of his hands and stood up in the jolting cart
+while Frau Kellermann clung to his knees.  "Seven and a half!"
+
+"Ignorance must not go uncontradicted!" I said to the Advanced Lady.
+
+
+
+12.  THE SWING OF THE PENDULUM.
+
+The landlady knocked at the door.
+
+"Come in," said Viola.
+
+"There is a letter for you," said the landlady, "a special letter"--she
+held the green envelope in a corner of her dingy apron.
+
+"Thanks."  Viola, kneeling on the floor, poking at the little dusty stove,
+stretched out her hand.  "Any answer?"
+
+"No; the messenger has gone."
+
+"Oh, all right!"  She did not look the landlady in the face; she was
+ashamed of not having paid her rent, and wondered grimly, without any hope,
+if the woman would begin to bluster again.
+
+"About this money owing to me--" said the landlady.
+
+"Oh, the Lord--off she goes!" thought Viola, turning her back on the woman
+and making a grimace at the stove.
+
+"It's settle--or it's go!"  The landlady raised her voice; she began to
+bawl.  "I'm a landlady, I am, and a respectable woman, I'll have you know. 
+I'll have no lice in my house, sneaking their way into the furniture and
+eating up everything.  It's cash--or out you go before twelve o'clock to-
+morrow."
+
+Viola felt rather than saw the woman's gesture.  She shot out her arm in a
+stupid helpless way, as though a dirty pigeon had suddenly flown at her
+face.  "Filthy old beast!  Ugh!  And the smell of her--like stale cheese
+and damp washing."
+
+"Very well!" she answered shortly; "it's cash down or I leave to-morrow. 
+All right:  don't shout."
+
+It was extraordinary--always before this woman came near her she trembled
+in her shoes--even the sound of those flat feet stumping up the stairs made
+her feel sick, but once they were face to face she felt immensely calm and
+indifferent, and could not understand why she even worried about money, nor
+why she sneaked out of the house on tiptoe, not even daring to shut the
+door after her in case the landlady should hear and shout something
+terrible, nor why she spent nights pacing up and down her room--drawing up
+sharply before the mirror and saying to a tragic reflection:  "Money,
+money, money!"  When she was alone her poverty was like a huge
+dream-mountain on which her feet were fast rooted--aching with the ache of
+the size of the thing--but if it came to definite action, with no time for
+imaginings, her dream-mountain dwindled into a beastly "hold-your-nose"
+affair, to be passed as quickly as possible, with anger and a strong sense
+of superiority.
+
+The landlady bounced out of the room, banging the door, so that it shook
+and rattled as though it had listened to the conversation and fully
+sympathised with the old hag.
+
+Squatting on her heels, Viola opened the letter.  It was from Casimir:
+
+"I shall be with you at three o'clock this afternoon--and must be off again
+this evening.  All news when we meet.  I hope you are happier than I.--
+CASIMIR."
+
+"Huh! how kind!" she sneered; "how condescending.  Too good of you,
+really!"  She sprang to her feet, crumbling the letter in her hands.  "And
+how are you to know that I shall stick here awaiting your pleasure until
+three o'clock this afternoon?"  But she knew she would; her rage was only
+half sincere.  She longed to see Casimir, for she was confident that this
+time she would make him understand the situation..."For, as it is, it's
+intolerable--intolerable!" she muttered.
+
+It was ten o'clock in the morning of a grey day curiously lighted by pale
+flashes of sunshine.  Searched by these flashes her room looked tumbled and
+grimed.  She pulled down the window-blinds--but they gave a persistent,
+whitish glare which was just as bad.  The only thing of life in the room
+was a jar of hyacinths given her by the landlady's daughter:  it stood on
+the table exuding a sickly perfume from its plump petals; there were even
+rich buds unfolding, and the leaves shone like oil.
+
+Viola went over to the washstand, poured some water into the enamel basin,
+and sponged her face and neck.  She dipped her face into the water, opened
+her eyes, and shook her head from side to side--it was exhilarating.  She
+did it three times.  "I suppose I could drown myself if I stayed under long
+enough," she thought.  "I wonder how long it takes to become
+unconscious?...Often read of women drowning in a bucket.  I wonder if any
+air enters by the ears--if the basin would have to be as deep as a bucket?"
+She experimented--gripped the washstand with both hands and slowly sank her
+head into the water, when again there was a knock on the door.  Not the
+landlady this time--it must be Casimir.  With her face and hair dripping,
+with her petticoat bodice unbuttoned, she ran and opened it.
+
+A strange man stood against the lintel--seeing her, he opened his eyes very
+wide and smiled delightfully.  "Excuse me--does Fraulein Schafer live
+here?"
+
+"No; never heard of her."  His smile was so infectious, she wanted to smile
+too--and the water had made her feel so fresh and rosy.
+
+The strange man appeared overwhelmed with astonishment.  "She doesn't?" he
+cried.  "She is out, you mean!"
+
+"No, she's not living here," answered Viola.
+
+"But--pardon--one moment."  He moved from the door lintel, standing
+squarely in front of her.  He unbuttoned his greatcoat and drew a slip of
+paper from the breast pocket, smoothing it in his gloved fingers before
+handing it to her.
+
+"Yes, that's the address, right enough, but there must be a mistake in the
+number.  So many lodging-houses in this street, you know, and so big."
+
+Drops of water fell from her hair on to the paper.  She burst out laughing. 
+"Oh, HOW dreadful I must look--one moment!"  She ran back to the washstand
+and caught up a towel.  The door was still open...After all, there was
+nothing more to be said.  Why on earth had she asked him to wait a moment? 
+She folded the towel round her shoulders, and returned to the door,
+suddenly grave.  "I'm sorry; I know no such name" in a sharp voice.
+
+Said the strange man:  "Sorry, too.  Have you been living here long?"
+
+"Er--yes--a long time."  She began to close the door slowly.
+
+"Well--good-morning, thanks so much.  Hope I haven't been a bother."
+
+"Good-morning."
+
+She heard him walk down the passage and then pause--lighting a cigarette. 
+Yes--a faint scent of delicious cigarette smoke penetrated her room.  She
+sniffed at it, smiling again.  Well, that had been a fascinating interlude!
+He looked so amazingly happy:  his heavy clothes and big buttoned gloves;
+his beautifully brushed hair...and that smile..."Jolly" was the word--just
+a well-fed boy with the world for his playground.  People like that did one
+good--one felt "made over" at the sight of them.  SANE they were--so sane
+and solid.  You could depend on them never having one mad impulse from the
+day they were born until the day they died.  And Life was in league with
+them--jumped them on her knee--quite rightly, too.  At that moment she
+noticed Casimir's letter, crumpled up on the floor--the smile faded. 
+Staring at the letter she began braiding her hair--a dull feeling of rage
+crept through her--she seemed to be braiding it into her brain, and binding
+it, tightly, above her head...Of course that had been the mistake all
+along.  What had?  Oh, Casimir's frightful seriousness.  If she had been
+happy when they first met she never would have looked at him--but they had
+been like two patients in the same hospital ward--each finding comfort in
+the sickness of the other--sweet foundation for a love episode!  Misfortune
+had knocked their heads together:  they had looked at each other, stunned
+with the conflict and sympathised..."I wish I could step outside the whole
+affair and just judge it--then I'd find a way out.  I certainly was in love
+with Casimir...Oh, be sincere for once."  She flopped down on the bed and
+hid her face in the pillow.  "I was not in love.  I wanted somebody to look
+after me--and keep me until my work began to sell--and he kept bothers with
+other men away.  And what would have happened if he hadn't come along?  I
+would have spent my wretched little pittance, and then--Yes, that was what
+decided me, thinking about that 'then.'  He was the only solution.  And I
+believed in him then.  I thought his work had only to be recognised once,
+and he'd roll in wealth.  I thought perhaps we might be poor for a month--
+but he said, if only he could have me, the stimulus...Funny, if it wasn't
+so damned tragic!  Exactly the contrary has happened--he hasn't had a thing
+published for months--neither have I--but then I didn't expect to.  Yes,
+the truth is, I'm hard and bitter, and I have neither faith nor love for
+unsuccessful men.  I always end by despising them as I despise Casimir.  I
+suppose it's the savage pride of the female who likes to think the man to
+whom she has given herself must be a very great chief indeed.  But to stew
+in this disgusting house while Casimir scours the land in the hope of
+finding one editorial open door--it's humiliating.  It's changed my whole
+nature.  I wasn't born for poverty--I only flower among really jolly
+people, and people who never are worried."
+
+The figure of the strange man rose before her--would not be dismissed. 
+"That was the man for me, after all is said and done--a man without a care
+--who'd give me everything I want and with whom I'd always feel that sense
+of life and of being in touch with the world.  I never wanted to fight--it
+was thrust on me.  Really, there's a fount of happiness in me, that is
+drying up, little by little, in this hateful existence.  I'll be dead if
+this goes on--and"--she stirred in the bed and flung out her arms--"I want
+passion, and love, and adventure--I yearn for them.  Why should I stay here
+and rot?--I am rotting!" she cried, comforting herself with the sound of
+her breaking voice.  "But if I tell Casimir all this when he comes this
+afternoon, and he says, 'Go'--as he certainly will--that's another thing I
+loathe about him--he's under my thumb--what should I do then--where should
+I go to?"  There was nowhere.  "I don't want to work--or carve out my own
+path.  I want ease and any amount of nursing in the lap of luxury.  There
+is only one thing I'm fitted for, and that is to be a great courtesan." 
+But she did not know how to go about it.  She was frightened to go into the
+streets--she heard of such awful things happening to those women--men with
+diseases--or men who didn't pay--besides, the idea of a strange man every
+night--no, that was out of the question.  "If I'd the clothes I would go to
+a really good hotel and find some wealthy man...like the strange man this
+morning.  He would be ideal.  Oh, if I only had his address--I am sure I
+would fascinate him.  I'd keep him laughing all day--I'd make him give me
+unlimited money..."  At the thought she grew warm and soft.  She began to
+dream of a wonderful house, and of presses full of clothes and of perfumes. 
+She saw herself stepping into carriages--looking at the strange man with a
+mysterious, voluptuous glance--she practised the glance, lying on the bed--
+and never another worry, just drugged with happiness.  That was the life
+for her.  Well, the thing to do was to let Casimir go on his wild-goose
+chase that evening, and while he was away--What!  Also--please to remember
+--there was the rent to be paid before twelve next morning, and she hadn't
+the money for a square meal.  At the thought of food she felt a sharp
+twinge in her stomach, a sensation as though there were a hand in her
+stomach, squeezing it dry.  She was terribly hungry--all Casimir's fault--
+and that man had lived on the fat of the land ever since he was born.  He
+looked as though he could order a magnificent dinner.  Oh, why hadn't she
+played her cards better?--he'd been sent by Providence--and she'd snubbed
+him.  "If I had that time over again, I'd be safe by now."  And instead of
+the ordinary man who had spoken with her at the door her mind created a
+brilliant, laughing image, who would treat her like a queen..."There's only
+one thing I could not stand--that he should be coarse or vulgar.  Well, he
+wasn't--he was obviously a man of the world, and the way he apologised...I
+have enough faith in my own power and beauty to know I could make a man
+treat me just as I wanted to be treated."...It floated into her dreams--
+that sweet scent of cigarette smoke.  And then she remembered that she had
+heard nobody go down the stone stairs.  Was it possible that the strange
+man was still there?...The thought was too absurd--Life didn't play tricks
+like that--and yet--she was quite conscious of his nearness.  Very quietly
+she got up, unhooked from the back of the door a long white gown, buttoned
+it on--smiling slyly.  She did not know what was going to happen.  She only
+thought:  "Oh, what fun!" and that they were playing a delicious game--this
+strange man and she.  Very gently she turned the door-handle, screwing up
+her face and biting her lip as the lock snapped back.  Of course, there he
+was--leaning against the banister rail.  He wheeled round as she slipped
+into the passage.
+
+"Da," she muttered, folding her gown tightly around her, "I must go
+downstairs and fetch some wood.  Brr! the cold!"
+
+"There isn't any wood," volunteered the strange man.  She gave a little cry
+of astonishment, and then tossed her head.
+
+"You again," she said scornfully, conscious the while of his merry eye, and
+the fresh, strong smell of his healthy body.
+
+"The landlady shouted out there was no wood left.  I just saw her go out to
+buy some."
+
+"Story--story!" she longed to cry.  He came quite close to her, stood over
+her and whispered:
+
+"Aren't you going to ask me to finish my cigarette in your room?"
+
+She nodded.  "You may if you want to!"
+
+In that moment together in the passage a miracle had happened.  Her room
+was quite changed--it was full of sweet light and the scent of hyacinth
+flowers.  Even the furniture appeared different--exciting.  Quick as a
+flash she remembered childish parties when they had played charades, and
+one side had left the room and come in again to act a word--just what she
+was doing now.  The strange man went over to the stove and sat down in her
+arm-chair.  She did not want him to talk or come near her--it was enough to
+see him in the room, so secure and happy.  How hungry she had been for the
+nearness of someone like that--who knew nothing at all about her--and made
+no demands--but just lived.  Viola ran over to the table and put her arms
+round the jar of hyacinths.
+
+"Beautiful!  Beautiful!" she cried--burying her head in the flowers--and
+sniffing greedily at the scent.  Over the leaves she looked at the man and
+laughed.
+
+"You are a funny little thing," said he lazily.
+
+"Why?  Because I love flowers?"
+
+"I'd far rather you loved other things," said the strange man slowly.  She
+broke off a little pink petal and smiled at it.
+
+"Let me send you some flowers," said the strange man.  "I'll send you a
+roomful if you'd like them."
+
+His voice frightened her slightly.  "Oh no, thanks--this one is quite
+enough for me."
+
+"No, it isn't"--in a teasing voice.
+
+"What a stupid remark!" thought Viola, and looking at him again he did not
+seem quite so jolly.  She noticed that his eyes were set too closely
+together--and they were too small.  Horrible thought, that he should prove
+stupid.
+
+"What do you do all day?" she asked hastily.
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"Nothing at all?"
+
+"Why should I do anything?"
+
+"Oh, don't imagine for one moment that I condemn such wisdom--only it
+sounds too good to be true!"
+
+"What's that?"--he craned forward.  "What sounds too good to be true?" 
+Yes--there was no denying it--he looked silly.
+
+"I suppose the searching after Fraulein Schafer doesn't occupy all your
+days."
+
+"Oh no"--he smiled broadly--"that's very good!  By Jove! no.  I drive a
+good bit--are you keen on horses?"
+
+She nodded.  "Love them."
+
+"You must come driving with me--I've got a fine pair of greys.  Will you?"
+
+"Pretty I'd look perched behind greys in my one and only hat," thought she. 
+Aloud:  "I'd love to."  Her easy acceptance pleased him.
+
+"How about to-morrow?" he suggested.  "Suppose you have lunch with me to-
+morrow and I take you driving."
+
+After all--this was just a game.  "Yes, I'm not busy to-morrow," she said.
+
+A little pause--then the strange man patted his leg.  "Why don't you come
+and sit down?" he said.
+
+She pretended not to see and swung on to the table.  "Oh, I'm all right
+here."
+
+"No, you're not"--again the teasing voice.  "Come and sit on my knee."
+
+"Oh no," said Viola very heartily, suddenly busy with her hair.
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"I don't want to."
+
+"Oh, come along"--impatiently.
+
+She shook her head from side to side.  "I wouldn't dream of such a thing."
+
+At that he got up and came over to her.  "Funny little puss cat!"  He put
+up one hand to touch her hair.
+
+"Don't," she said--and slipped off the table.  "I--I think it's time you
+went now."  She was quite frightened now--thinking only:  "This man must be
+got rid of as quickly as possible."
+
+"Oh, but you don't want me to go?"
+
+"Yes, I do--I'm very busy."
+
+"Busy.  What does the pussy cat do all day?"
+
+"Lots and lots of things!"  She wanted to push him out of the room and slam
+the door on him--idiot--fool--cruel disappointment.
+
+"What's she frowning for?" he asked.  "Is she worried about anything?"
+Suddenly serious:  "I say--you know, are you in any financial difficulty? 
+Do you want money?  I'll give it to you if you like!"
+
+"Money!  Steady on the brake--don't lose your head!"--so she spoke to
+herself.
+
+"I'll give you two hundred marks if you'll kiss me."
+
+"Oh, boo!  What a condition!  And I don't want to kiss you--I don't like
+kissing.  Please go!"
+
+"Yes--you do!--yes, you do."  He caught hold of her arms above the elbows. 
+She struggled, and was quite amazed to realise how angry she felt.
+
+"Let me go--immediately!" she cried--and he slipped one arm round her body,
+and drew her towards him--like a bar of iron across her back--that arm.
+
+"Leave me alone! I tell you.  Don't be mean!  I didn't want this to happen
+when you came into my room.  How dare you?"
+
+"Well, kiss me and I'll go!"
+
+It was too idiotic--dodging that stupid, smiling face.
+
+"I won't kiss you!--you brute!--I won't!"  Somehow she slipped out of his
+arms and ran to the wall--stood back against it--breathing quickly.
+
+"Get out!" she stammered.  "Go on now, clear out!"
+
+At that moment, when he was not touching her, she quite enjoyed herself. 
+She thrilled at her own angry voice.  "To think I should talk to a man like
+that!"  An angry flush spread over his face--his lips curled back, showing
+his teeth--just like a dog, thought Viola.  He made a rush at her, and held 
+her against the wall--pressed upon her with all the weight of his body. 
+This time she could not get free.
+
+"I won't kiss you.  I won't.  Stop doing that Ugh! you're like a dog--you
+ought to find lovers round lamp-posts--you beast--you fiend!"
+
+He did not answer.  With an expression of the most absurd determination he
+pressed ever more heavily upon her.  He did not even look at her--but
+rapped out in a sharp voice:  "Keep quiet--keep quiet."
+
+"Gar--r!  Why are men so strong?"  She began to cry.  "Go away--I don't
+want you, you dirty creature.  I want to murder you.  Oh, my God! if I had
+a knife."
+
+"Don't be silly--come and be good!"  He dragged her towards the bed.
+
+"Do you suppose I'm a light woman?" she snarled, and swooping over she
+fastened her teeth in his glove.
+
+"Ach! don't do that--you are hurting me!"
+
+She did not let go, but her heart said, "Thank the Lord I thought of this."
+
+"Stop this minute--you vixen--you bitch."  He threw her away from him.  She
+saw with joy that his eyes were full of tears.  "You've really hurt me," he
+said in a choking voice.
+
+"Of course I have.  I meant to.  That's nothing to what I'll do if you
+touch me again."
+
+The strange man picked up his hat.  "No thanks," he said grimly.  "But I'll
+not forget this--I'll go to your landlady."
+
+"Pooh!"  She shrugged her shoulders and laughed.  "I'll tell her you forced
+your way in here and tried to assault me.  Who will she believe?--with your
+bitten hand.  You go and find your Schafers."
+
+A sensation of glorious, intoxicating happiness flooded Viola.  She rolled
+her eyes at him.  "If you don't go away this moment I'll bite you again,"
+she said, and the absurd words started her laughing.  Even when the door
+was closed, hearing him descending the stairs, she laughed, and danced
+about the room.
+
+What a morning!  Oh, chalk it up.  That was her first fight, and she'd won
+--she'd conquered that beast--all by herself.  Her hands were still
+trembling.  She pulled up the sleeve of her gown--great red marks on her
+arms.  "My ribs will be blue.  I'll be blue all over," she reflected.  "If
+only that beloved Casimir could have seen us."  And the feeling of rage and
+disgust against Casimir had totally disappeared.  How could the poor
+darling help not having any money?  It was her fault as much as his, and
+he, just like her, was apart from the world, fighting it, just as she had
+done.  If only three o'clock would come.  She saw herself running towards
+him and putting her arms round his neck.  "My blessed one!  Of course we
+are bound to win.  Do you love me still?  Oh, I have been horrible lately."
+
+
+
+13.  A BLAZE.
+
+"Max, you silly devil, you'll break your neck if you go careering down the
+slide that way.  Drop it, and come to the Club House with me and get some
+coffee."
+
+"I've had enough for to-day.  I'm damp all through.  There, give us a
+cigarette, Victor, old man.  When are you going home?"
+
+"Not for another hour.  It's fine this afternoon, and I'm getting into
+decent shape.  Look out, get off the track; here comes Fraulein Winkel. 
+Damned elegant the way she manages her sleigh!"
+
+"I'm cold all through.  That's the worst of this place--the mists--it's a
+damp cold.  Here, Forman, look after this sleigh--and stick it somewhere so
+that I can get it without looking through a hundred and fifty others to-
+morrow morning."
+
+They sat down at a small round table near the stove and ordered coffee. 
+Victor sprawled in his chair, patting his little brown dog Bobo and
+looking, half laughingly, at Max.
+
+"What's the matter, my dear?  Isn't the world being nice and pretty?"
+
+"I want my coffee, and I want to put my feet into my pocket--they're like
+stones...Nothing to eat, thanks--the cake is like underdone india-rubber
+here."
+
+Fuchs and Wistuba came and sat at their table.  Max half turned his back
+and stretched his feet out to the oven.  The three other men all began
+talking at once--of the weather--of the record slide--of the fine condition
+of the Wald See for skating.
+
+Suddenly Fuchs looked at Max, raised his eyebrows and nodded across to
+Victor, who shook his head.
+
+"Baby doesn't feel well," he said, feeding the brown dog with broken lumps
+of sugar, "and nobody's to disturb him--I'm nurse."
+
+"That's the first time I've ever known him off colour," said Wistuba. 
+"I've always imagined he had the better part of this world that could not
+be taken away from him.  I think he says his prayers to the dear Lord for
+having spared him being taken home in seven basketsful to-night.  It's a
+fool's game to risk your all that way and leave the nation desolate."
+
+"Dry up," said Max.  "You ought to be wheeled about on the snow in a
+perambulator."
+
+"Oh, no offence, I hope.  Don't get nasty.  How's your wife, Victor?"
+
+"She's not at all well.  She hurt her head coming down the slide with Max
+on Sunday.  I told her to stay at home all day."
+
+"I'm sorry.  Are you other fellows going back to the town or stopping on
+here?"
+
+Fuchs and Victor said they were stopping--Max did not answer, but sat
+motionless while the men paid for their coffee and moved away.  Victor came
+back a moment and put a hand on his shoulder.
+
+"If you're going right back, my dear, I wish you'd look Elsa up and tell
+her I won't be in till late.  And feed with us to-night at Limpold, will
+you?  And take some hot grog when you get in."
+
+"Thanks, old fellow, I'm all right.  Going back now."
+
+He rose, stretched himself, buttoned on his heavy coat and lighted another
+cigarette.
+
+From the door Victor watched him plunging through the heavy snow--head
+bent--hands thrust in his pockets--he almost appeared to be running through
+the heavy snow towards the town.
+
+...
+Someone came stamping up the stairs--paused at the door of her sitting-
+room, and knocked.
+
+"Is that you, Victor?" she called.
+
+"No, it is I... can I come in?"
+
+"Of course.  Why, what a Santa Claus!  Hang your coat on the landing and
+shake yourself over the banisters.  Had a good time?"
+
+The room was full of light and warmth.  Elsa, in a white velvet tea-gown,
+lay curled up on the sofa--a book of fashions on her lap, a box of creams
+beside her.
+
+The curtains were not yet drawn before the windows and a blue light shone
+through, and the white boughs of the trees sprayed across.
+
+A woman's room--full of flowers and photographs and silk pillows--the floor
+smothered in rugs--an immense tiger-skin under the piano--just the head
+protruding--sleepily savage.
+
+"It was good enough," said Max.  "Victor can't be in till late.  He told me
+to come up and tell you."
+
+He started walking up and down--tore off his gloves and flung them on the
+table.
+
+"Don't do that, Max," said Elsa, "you get on my nerves.  And I've got a
+headache to-day; I'm feverish and quite flushed...Don't I look flushed?"
+
+He paused by the window and glanced at her a moment over his shoulder.
+
+"No," he said; "I didn't notice it."
+
+"Oh, you haven't looked at me properly, and I've got a new tea-gown on,
+too."  She pulled her skirts together and patted a little place on the
+couch.
+
+"Come along and sit by me and tell me why you're being naughty."
+
+But, standing by the window, he suddenly flung his arm across his eyes.
+
+"Oh," he said, "I can't.  I'm done--I'm spent--I'm smashed."
+
+Silence in the room.  The fashion-book fell to the floor with a quick
+rustle of leaves.  Elsa sat forward, her hands clasped in her lap; a
+strange light shone in her eyes, a red colour stained her mouth.
+
+Then she spoke very quietly.
+
+"Come over here and explain yourself.  I don't know what on earth you are
+talking about."
+
+"You do know--you know far better than I.  You've simply played with Victor
+in my presence that I may feel worse.  You've tormented me--you've led me
+on--offering me everything and nothing at all.  It's been a spider-and-fly
+business from first to last--and I've never for one moment been ignorant of
+that--and I've never for one moment been able to withstand it."
+
+He turned round deliberately.
+
+"Do you suppose that when you asked me to pin your flowers into your
+evening gown--when you let me come into your bedroom when Victor was out
+while you did your hair--when you pretended to be a baby and let me feed
+you with grapes--when you have run to me and searched in all my pockets for
+a cigarette--knowing perfectly well where they were kept--going through
+every pocket just the same--I knowing too--I keeping up the farce--do you
+suppose that now you have finally lighted your bonfire you are going to
+find it a peaceful and pleasant thing--you are going to prevent the whole
+house from burning?"
+
+She suddenly turned white and drew in her breath sharply.
+
+"Don't talk to me like that.  You have no right to talk to me like that.  I
+am another man's wife."
+
+"Hum," he sneered, throwing back his head, "that's rather late in the game,
+and that's been your trump card all along.  You only love Victor on the
+cat-and-cream principle--you a poor little starved kitten that he's given
+everything to, that he's carried in his breast, never dreaming that those
+little pink claws could tear out a man's heart."
+
+She stirred, looking at him with almost fear in her eyes.
+
+"After all"--unsteadily--"this is my room; I'll have to ask you to go."
+
+But he stumbled towards her, knelt down by the couch, burying his head in
+her lap, clasping his arms round her waist.
+
+"And I LOVE you--I love you; the humiliation of it--I adore you.  Don't--
+don't--just a minute let me stay here--just a moment in a whole life--Elsa!
+Elsa!"
+
+She leant back and pressed her head into the pillows.
+
+Then his muffled voice:  "I feel like a savage.  I want your whole body.  I
+want to carry you away to a cave and love you until I kill you--you can't
+understand how a man feels.  I kill myself when I see you--I'm sick of my
+own strength that turns in upon itself, and dies, and rises new born like a 
+Phoenix out of the ashes of that horrible death.  Love me just this once,
+tell me a lie, SAY that you do--you are always lying."
+
+Instead, she pushed him away--frightened.
+
+"Get up," she said; "suppose the servant came in with the tea?"
+
+"Oh, ye gods!"  He stumbled to his feet and stood staring down at her.
+
+"You're rotten to the core and so am I.  But you're heathenishly
+beautiful."
+
+The woman went over to the piano--stood there--striking one note--her brows
+drawn together.  Then she shrugged her shoulders and smiled.
+
+"I'll make a confession.  Every word you have said is true.  I can't help
+it.  I can't help seeking admiration any more than a cat can help going to
+people to be stroked.  It's my nature.  I'm born out of my time.  And yet,
+you know, I'm not a COMMON woman.  I like men to adore me--to flatter me--
+even to make love to me--but I would never give myself to any man.  I would
+never let a man kiss me... even."
+
+"It's immeasurably worse--you've no legitimate excuse.  Why, even a
+prostitute has a greater sense of generosity!"
+
+"I know," she said, "I know perfectly well--but I can't help the way I'm
+built...Are you going?"
+
+He put on his gloves.
+
+"Well," he said, "what's going to happen to us now?"
+
+Again she shrugged her shoulders.
+
+"I haven't the slightest idea.  I never have--just let things occur."
+
+...
+"All alone?" cried Victor.  "Has Max been here?"
+
+"He only stayed a moment, and wouldn't even have tea.  I sent him home to
+change his clothes...He was frightfully boring."
+
+"You poor darling, your hair's coming down.  I'll fix it, stand still a
+moment...so you were bored?"
+
+"Um--m--frightfully...Oh, you've run a hairpin right into your wife's head
+--you naughty boy!"
+
+She flung her arms round his neck and looked up at him, half laughing, like
+a beautiful, loving child.
+
+"God!  What a woman you are," said the man.  "You make me so infernally
+proud--dearest, that I...I tell you!"
+
+
+
+
+
+End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of In a German Pension, by Mansfield
+
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