The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 11

Chapter XXII

Much had changed for the worse during the illness of Candidate Unwirrsch. It was only slowly that he came to realize how the conditions in the house of the Privy Councillor Götz had shifted and become more complicated; but at the first glance he saw with a start that autumn had come. The lawn and the paths under the trees of the park were already covered with fallen leaves; the park itself began to look like a ragged rug with many moths in it; it might almost have been regarded as fortunate that Hans had no time to think about this.

Dr. Théophile Stein had won a complete victory over the beautiful and spirited girl, Kleophea. She loved this man with all the passion of which a nature like hers was capable. It required very delicate perception to discern the fire that glowed beneath a soil so gay with flowers, but it was there and for the moment it made the garden bloom with even greater brilliance; – it was very sad, it was a matter for tears!

Since Hans had been on his feet again the Privy Councillor had become as unapproachable to him as he had formerly been; his wife had spoken and he – submitted to this higher power. Hans realized that this man could not avert the danger that threatened his house and that no warning could help, perhaps might even do harm and make the matter worse. So cleverly had Théophile prepared his way with the Privy Councillor's wife that not the slightest assistance was to be looked for in that direction; and Kleophea, proud, magnificent Kleophea would have repulsed with the deepest scorn any attempt to interfere in these, her most private, intimate affairs. She had laughed too often with Théophile at the "Hunger Pastor" to allow herself to be warned by the latter. Duplicity and impudent egoism, lamentable weakness, obstinate stupidity and pharisaical arrogance, frivolity, conceit, exuberant wantonness, scorn and mockery on all sides; – it was indeed a world to make one hunger, hunger for innocence, for loyalty, for gentleness, for love.

Oh, Fränzchen, Fränzchen Götz, what a sweet, gentle light surrounded your chaste figure in the midst of this grimacing throng! Where else could peace, refuge and rest be found but with you? Oh, Fränzchen, Fränzchen, how could it be that you caused poor Hans such strange pain? How could it be that you had to bear such strange pain on his account? How could you both torment each other so and moreover entirely against the will and the good intentions of Lieutenant Rudolf Götz?

Alas, Lieutenant Rudolf had no place in the council of Providence either, he was often hard pressed enough himself; destiny takes its own course and every time of trial must come to an end in its own way in this hungry turmoil of life.

Since the tutor had recovered, Fränzchen no longer avoided him so shyly. The more power Dr. Théophile Stein acquired in the house, the more the poor niece realized that the relation between the doctor and the good Hans could not be altogether as she had at first imagined, and not without justification. On the day on which her aunt gave the candidate notice that his services as preceptor would not be much longer needed, Fränzchen sat in her room and wept tears of joy and murmured her mother's name as such poor, orphaned little things do when they meet with a great unexpected piece of happiness. And then she dried her tears and laughed in the midst of her last sob and into her damp handkerchief.

"Oh, thank you, thank you, my dear Uncle Rudolf! Do you see – no, yes – thank you, thank you!"

Then she came down to take her place at the luncheon table and although the mental atmosphere during this meal was even more oppressive than usual and her aunt made more maliciously pointed remarks than ever, still, Fränzchen's dear little heart had not beat so free and light for a long, long time. And Candidate Unwirrsch seemed to feel that in a moment. He too looked at the people about him with less embarrassment and more cheerfulness; their doings and sayings no longer had their former bad influence on him; Fränzchen Götz no longer avoided his eyes, and he could breathe freely.

It could not be otherwise; – what had dragged on so long in monotonous unpleasantness had at last to show itself in all its nakedness and disconsolateness. The crisis was near at hand, and if, for the present, the evil went on without tangible, outward manifestations, yet the electric shock which was to throw the quiet, elegant household of the Privy Councillor into the greatest possible confusion and to make it the topic of conversation all over the town, could not fail to come. The threatening fist was clenched and struck menacingly at the door to put an end not only to all delusions, but to peaceful sleep as well.

After the long, dreary rain, a few days followed at the beginning of October, when nature seemed to regret her bad humor and to endeavor to make up for it by being doubly amiable. The sun broke through the clouds, for thirty-six short hours the year showed itself in its matronly beauty and whoever could and would make use of the blessed moment had to hasten; for it is, after all, but seldom that such a change of heart is entirely to be trusted.

The lady of the house commanded her lord to get leave for one or two days and carried him and her precious Aimé off to the not too distant country house of some friends who most probably rejoiced exceedingly over the long announced visit.

Kleophea had refused to be carried off; she thoroughly hated the country, and the agricultural family to whom her parents were going perhaps even more. And if she had little fondness for the beauties of nature she had just as little taste for the marriageable eldest son of that worthy family, who succeeded only in boring the beautiful girl to death with his shining, healthy, but unfortunately somewhat protruding eyes, and his unsuccessful attempts at conversation. Kleophea Götz, who was not accustomed to give any account of her whims and moods, of her comings and goings, stayed at home, saw her parents drive away with a sigh of satisfaction, suffered all the afternoon with a nervous headache, declined to see Dr. Théophile and in the evening, with a family of her acquaintance, went to the opera where she could not decline to see Dr. Théophile. She came home with a violent headache and locked herself in her room after having, strangely enough, given her cousin a kiss and called her a "poor, good child." She must really have passed a very restless night, for the next morning she appeared very late and very exhausted and nervous. When Fränzchen sympathetically called her attention to the sunshine she declared that she didn't care about it and called her cousin a "dull little thing who had no will of her own except to suffer." At the same time she began to cry, but a moment later sat down at the piano to lose herself in a succession of the most piercing arias. Toward noon she became almost recklessly cheerful and at lunch she challenged Hans to confess that at the beginning of their acquaintance he had been terribly in love with her but that his simple uprightness had gradually found a more suitable object of admiration and so had turned to "gentle Fränzchen." Her cheeks were very hot and she laughed very loudly at the confusion into which she threw her companions. She spoke of her mother with very unfilial shrugs of the shoulders, called her father a "poor worm" and her brother a "worm" without any qualifying adjective. She begged her cousin to confess that this house had been a "hell" to her and asked the tutor to say frankly that he knew of more comfortable places in which "to breathe." She was indescribably sharp to the butler and finally drove him out of the room only to confess that she was a very "naughty girl" and that Franziska was a "poor darling." She drank to Hans and Fränzchen and begged them to be indulgent with her. Then her indisposition came on once more and she bolted herself again into her room. Toward five o'clock, when it was already getting dusk, she went out.

All the afternoon Hans sat at his window unable to make up his mind to do anything sensible. He opened a book, laid it down again however, filled his pipe, which he had unearthed from the bottom of his trunk, with secret trembling, but it soon went out again as if it too knew that no smoking was allowed in that house. As usual he looked down on the throng of passing riders, pedestrians and carriages and tried to concentrate his attention on the old organ-grinder with the fierce moustache and the Waterloo medal; but he did not succeed well even in that. Everything drew him back again and again into the house itself and an irresistible power compelled him to listen to the faintest sounds in the corridors and on the stairs.

Her light footstep?.. No, no, it was only a maid creeping by who, together with the much-belaced Jean, had received orders to keep a sharp eye on the tutor and on Miss Franziska so that they might later give a report of any incident that occurred.

Her sweet voice?.. Foolishness; it was an old woman outside in the avenue offering smoked herrings to those who liked them.

Oh, if sighs could improve the world it would have become incapable of further improvement long since. Oh, how often and how deeply did Candidate Unwirrsch sigh on that unblessed afternoon! He gazed at the door of his room and thought of all those pleasant nursery tales in which the fairy, invoked or not invoked, always appears at the right moment. When she did not come and he had told himself a hundred times that he was a fool he went back to the window for the fiftieth time to gaze down again at the merry life below. He laid his forehead against the window pane and stood there long in that position; but suddenly he jumped back and looked out again more sharply. A shadow glided through the gay throng, a black, pale shadow. From underneath the trees a poorly clad, emaciated young woman came out and walked in front of the Privy Councillor's house, where she stopped, looking up at its windows. Hans recognized this woman, although he had only seen her twice and although she had changed very much since then.

It was the little French girl, once so merry, whom he had met in Dr. Stein's rooms and it was as if in sorrowful helplessness her eyes were seeking him, Hans Unwirrsch. A strange feeling of anxiety came over him; – he had taken his hat and was already on the stairs before he could explain these feelings to himself. He went out of the house, passed quickly round the fountain and the lawn and crossed the driveway to the trees of the park; but the black shadow had vanished and Hans looked about for it in vain. Had his imagination led him astray again? He stood a moment in doubt; but the sun was shining, the air was so refreshing, – he did not return to the house but went slowly on under the trees. Soon, of course, he forsook the broad promenades where most of the people were walking. He sought the lonely, winding paths among the bushes, the paths on which all those are most frequently found who walk with bent heads and have a way of standing still for no particular reason. But on that day scarcely any path was altogether deserted. Everyone was out of doors – everyone. There were the people who had dined and those who had dined too well and those who had not dined at all. There were the people who were able to drive and those who were obliged to go on crutches. There were the would-be-old children who thought it beneath their dignity any longer to jump through a hoop and the childish old men who would gladly have done so but could not and instead of that sent admiring glances after the young girls that passed. It was very difficult to find an unoccupied bench. In the seats which everyone could see sat people who had nothing to conceal, or perhaps even something to show, while the seats in the hidden nooks were occupied by loving couples or people who were ashamed of their shabby clothes; and when finally Hans did find an empty bench a badly spelt notice on the back of it frightened him away. Scribbled in pencil were the words:

"As I can't stand it no longer on account of Louise I am going to America and if Berger of Coblenz comes here and reeds this here notice it would be friendly of him if he would break the news to my folks in Bell Lane so they wont make no fuss about it and keep supper waiting for me."

Now there was indeed no real reason why Candidate Unwirrsch should take it to heart if the ne'er-do-weel ran off and Berger of Coblenz broke the news in Bell Lane; – but he did so nevertheless. After thinking for some time whether it was not his own duty to ask in Bell Lane whether Berger had been there and whether the old parents were not still waiting supper for their lost son, Hans jumped up to look for another seat. He could not endure it on that bench any longer.

A short path led him to those romantic expanses of water, those greasy green canals which adorn the more remote part of the park and which must fill with delight the hearts of all lovers of the microscope and infusoria; they certainly every spring provide whole Pharoanic armies of frogs with all they need for joyful and melodious existence.

There he found a place where no loving couples would sit down, a bench in front of a deep pool out of which more than one corpse had been dragged before this, a thoroughly hidden bench, in a thoroughly damp and dank place, a bench which was not so easy to find even at this season when so many trees and bushes were already losing their leaves. It suddenly came into view at a turn of the narrow path round a dense, thorny clump of shrubbery, just before it ended at the water's edge; and nothing was lacking to complete the miserable, melancholy impression but a black post with a black arm pointing into the stagnant, swampy pool.

With bent head Hans followed the narrow path and stepped out from behind the shrubbery to stand suddenly still, amazed and startled; close before him on the half-rotten bench sat the figure that he was seeking against his own will, the figure that had drawn him out of Councillor Götz's house, – the shadow of the little French girl who once, in Théophile's room, had laughed so merrily at his embarrassment.

It was she undoubtedly, and yet scarcely anything remained of her former appearance. She seemed to be ill, very ill, she still wore gloves but they were torn, as were her once so dainty little shoes. The shawl which she had wrapped round her shivering body was worn and faded; – alas, she was altogether the poor little cricket of her compatriot Monsieur Jean de la Fontaine!

And she recognized Hans Unwirrsch immediately, for she rose quickly, drew her shawl together and hastily reached for the handkerchief that lay on the bench beside her. With fearful, somewhat theatrical anger she looked at Candidate Unwirrsch.

"Ah, ce monsieur!"

She tried to pass him but he stepped in front of her and calmly met the contemptuous glance of her black eyes.

"Monsieur, your friend is a canaille!" she cried, clenching her fist. "Let me past – vill you?"

"I beg your pardon," said Hans Unwirrsch gently and sadly. "Dr. Théophile Stein is not my friend. Now won't you listen to me?"

"I vill not hear you more! I vill not see you more! I vill not see nozing of ze world more, but ma figure in zis water 'ere!"

This was spoken with such vehemence, such wildness, that Hans involuntarily caught her arm to prevent her jumping into the pool; but she tore herself away, laughed bitterly and then covered her face with both hands and began to cry as bitterly.

"Do let me tell you," exclaimed Hans, "you have spoken hard words to me, you have troubled me very much. I am not conscious of any guilty act toward you and I will help you if I can; – I repeat, I am not Dr. Stein's friend; – I am no longer his friend!"

Slowly she let her hands fall and looked again into Hans' eyes.

"You too accuse him whom you have just mentioned? Tell me what part of his guilt I must take upon myself!" said Hans, softly, and she – she looked him over from head to foot and then, – it was so strange – and then a slight smile crossed her sick, sorrowful features.

"You are not 'is friend?" she asked.

"Not any longer, and it is a great sorrow to me."

Now the French girl took the candidate's hand and her fingers were like iron.

"Monsieur le curé, I am a poor girl and all alone in a strange countree. I am ill, and I am not honnête. I 'ave 'ad a leetle child, but it is dead; – I am all left alone in a strange countree! Oh, Monsieur, 'e is a bad, vicked man and if you are not 'is friend forgive me vat I 'ave said —je n'ai plus rien à dire."

Hans could not understand her broken German well, nor her quick French at all, but her gestures and her expression enabled him to comprehend her. He led her back to the bench and she let him keep her hand when he sat down beside her and talked to her gently and soothingly. It was five o'clock, the sun sank behind the trees, a white mist rose from the ponds; it was cold and gray – it was the hour when the beautiful Kleophea Götz left her father's house.

Hans told the French girl as well as he could all that was necessary about his relation to Dr. Stein and then gradually he learnt the sad story of her life and the evil part that Moses Freudenstein of Kröppel Street had played in it.

Henriette Trublet was not made to keep a perfectly straight course through life and in this respect it was probable that Dr. Théophile had altered her fate but little. She carried an adventurous little head on her shoulders and lived only in the present. She had been a dressmaker's apprentice in Paris and there Théophile had met and won her. She had not really loved him but he had pleased her, and his Parisian friends and the way in which he enjoyed life appealed to her. She was the scintillating streamer on a very gay, bright wreath and when, as usually happens, the latter broke and Dr. Théophile had gone back to Germany she soon began to long for him. She had heard all sorts of marvelous tales of poor good Allemagne. The people there were so honest and so musical and so blond; – to be sure, they probably were also a little backward in civilization and somewhat simple; but still they were much better than tall silly Englishmen. And they bought all their hats and caps and their artificial flowers and their champagne in Paris – those good Germans; and any pretty, clever child of Belle France must be able to make her fortune there among them in spite of the fog, ice and snow, in spite of all the wolves and polar bears, Erl kings, nixies and other monsters. One morning Henriette arrived at the Strassburg railway station with a leather trunk and a tremendous number of boxes of all shapes and sizes, – and she found pleasant traveling companions to the Rhine too —allons enfants de la patrie, onward to Homburg, Baden-Baden and so on —où le drapeau, là est la France, ubi bene, ibi patria! And one fine morning Dr. Théophile Stein heard a gentle tapping at his door and a soft giggle outside it; Henriette Trublet had found him again.

So far this was all very well and neither could reproach the other with anything; but from then on under other skies their relation was changed. Poor Henriette, deserted, helpless and not knowing what to do found herself entirely delivered over to Théophile; she became a despised, abused plaything and the light, gay bloom that had covered her frivolous butterfly wings was soon rubbed off and blown away. Dr. Stein had a reputation to sustain now and if he was weak enough not to be able to thrust the poor little Parisian away from him he had sufficient strength to hold her down low enough so that she was obliged to serve and obey him without being in any way able to interfere with his plans and hopes. It was his fault and owing to his intrigues that she was prevented from making use of her skilful hands. Only when she was entirely dependent on him could he exert complete tyranny over her. When he grew tired of her, he believed her much too broken to harm him, and so with no further thought he closed his door to her and left her to her fate. Her child was born in the hospital toward the middle of September and died on the second of October. It was an evil place, this bench beside the stagnant green pool, where, on the fourth of October Candidate Unwirrsch found poor Henriette Trublet sitting.