“No, no, there is something to what you say,” replied Hilmar, “it is possibly sadness, though perhaps it shouldn’t be, because it isn’t natural. Stibbe doesn’t feel it at all, but nature on this scale makes us drunk and drunkenness weakens us, something you, Madame, obviously wouldn’t know anything about.”
Doralice nodded: “Yes, yes, that could well be it.”
“And of course,” continued Hilmar, happy that he had been encouraged to speak, “it’s not simply drunkenness, it’s… it’s… almost a grand infatuation that we feel for nature, or to be more precise, it is the same uneasiness, the same painful feeling of closely belonging to something, and the most important thing is the strong desire to impress, because when we are in love, we want to impress, that is symptomatic of the condition. I have had this experience myself.”
“You are also engaged,” interjected Doralice.
“Certainly, that too,” continued Hilmar, “but you see, Madame, just now in the boat the desire to impress was so strong, to impress either the sea or the fishermen, it made no difference, because they are the representatives of the sea, that I climbed out onto the prow of the boat and I balanced there without using my hands. I am fairly proficient at tricks of that sort. But I did not accomplish my purpose, because Andree Stibbe said to me drily: ‘If the gentleman falls into the water while he is fooling around, somebody else besides us is going to have to pull him out.’ I had failed to achieve my effect. But I still had to do it.”
“That is strange,” said Doralice thoughtfully.
“Not so strange really,” replied Hilmar, “the wild cock, when he spreads his tail feathers and crows, also wants to impress the forest and the meadow as well as the little grey hen, and he is just as much in love with the forest and the meadow as he is with the little grey hen.”
Doralice laughed: “That’s a lovely notion – yes, one would like to be there, to be part of that.”
Hilmar bowed slightly: “You, Madame, look as if you wholly belong here. You look as if you are completely at home in this setting.”
Doralice blushed, and it annoyed her that she did so, but Hilmar finished with a sigh: “You see, when everything around us is so beautiful, we feel a burning desire to be decorative as well.”
The boat was now riding through the surf over white hills of foam and into the grey-green valleys between the waves. Hans came and sat down on the bench next to Hilmar. He rubbed his hands and seemed very cheerful. “That was quite a night, glorious, glorious, what do you think, darling? Are you cold? You also seem to be cold, Baron, yes, such a morning out at sea! At home we will make a warm pot of tea, that will perk us up. Won’t you have a cup with us, Baron? That will be all right, won’t it, darling, you will make us some tea?”
“Doralice looked at Hans with some surprise, but then said: “Of course.” Hilmar bowed.
The boat was now grounded on the sand and they began to disembark. Hans took Doralice in his arms and carried her to dry land. But the fishermen’s wives, with fluttering kerchiefs and skirts, rushed down from the dunes towards the boats like greedy gulls.
In their sitting room Hans hurried to light the lamp. “We need more than the dawn,” he said. Then he readied the tea kettle and carried in some cups, bringing some rum at the same time. “Right then, this will do us some good, hot tea, yes, we have earned it, I must say, we have really earned this.” He spoke eagerly to himself, as if he wanted to warm himself and the others with the cosiness of his words: “Will the lady and gentleman please be seated.” They sat around the table silently and listened to the singing of the tea kettle, staring straight ahead with the fixed eyes of the very weary. Finally Hilmar, feeling he had to say something, remarked: “It was very beautiful.”
“It was so beautiful,” replied Doralice, raising her eyebrows, “that it would be better to not speak of it at all.” That sounded unfriendly, almost hostile. She now held it against Hilmar that his presence in the boat had been so welcome to her. Hilmar leaned back in his chair and smoked. But Hans laughed.
“There you are, this is the way my wife always behaves when something greatly pleases her – now we can’t talk about it, now it is sacred and no one else can touch it. Come now, pour us some tea.”
Doralice filled the cups. The hot steam and the powerful aroma of the tea seemed to add to their weariness, they all remained silent again for a time. Finally Hans sighed and said: “When all is said and done, it’s a pity that after such a night you end up with a sort of hangover, a hangover from the vastness. The land now seems unbearably cramped. In this case it might be best to darken one’s lair and to creep into it.”
“It’s the law of nature, these emotional ups and downs,” murmured Hilmar absent-mindedly.
“And yet,” Hans went on, “I feel a strange satisfaction. Why? Because we caught so many fish. The work produced a tangible result. If I hold a fat codfish in my hands, then I know what I have. But if I paint a picture, do I know whether or not it is something?”
“And what about me,” Hilmar interrupted him, “when I train recruits for an hour to move like wooden puppets, how can that result bring me any satisfaction?”
“Oh well,” said Hans with a yawn: “It’s too bad that life so seldom pays us in cash.”
There was another pause. Doralice had fallen asleep in her chair, her face, very pale amidst the blue shadows of the morning, was endowed by the peaceful helplessness of sleep with a wonderfully childlike beauty. The two men sat there completely still and gazed reverently at this sleeping face. Finally Hilmar rose, held out his hand to Hans and whispered: “I will leave now, the sun is rising.” Then he slipped quietly out of the house.
Outside it was already broad daylight, the first golden beams were shooting up over the horizon. Hilmar walked very quickly, he wanted to get home before the sun was up. His reaction surprised him. Why did he feel so wretched? Little Lolo had probably been right, this woman was so beautiful that she made one sad, or as the painter had said “a hangover from the vastness, which makes the land and the daylight seem confining to us.” Poor little Lolo, Hilmar could not help it, but when he thought about her now, it seemed to him as if she had something of land and daylight about her.
Chapter Nine
Privy Counsellor Knospelius had come for late afternoon coffee at the Bull’s Inn. He sat comfortably at the long table on the veranda, which was dappled by the flickering patterns of light and shadow cast by the leaves of the runner beans. It smelled of sweat pea bouquets and fresh bread. Smiling to himself, Knospelius looked at the row of young faces at the lower end of the table. “Family meal, family table,” he said to the Generalin, and his wide mouth pronounced these words as if he were slurping an oyster. “For me this is a rare but exquisite pleasure. From time to time I have experienced this pleasure at my sister’s place in Thuringia. There is something sacred about a family meal. It is, if I may say so, the very foundation of the family. As long as all is well with the family meal, then the family itself cannot be doing badly.”
“Well, we have, thank God, some other foundations as well,” replied Baroness Buttlär
“My brother-in-law,” continued the Privy Counsellor, “said to my sister: ‘Karoline, if I should die in the morning, there would be no reason whatsoever for meals not to be served punctually like any other day – to do otherwise would increase the confusion.’ It is the same as what happens when the great passenger steamers suffer an accident but continue to serve dinner punctiliously right up to the very last minute. It is, so to speak, the symbol of moral order.”
Baron Buttlär nodded earnestly and said: “Yes, the family is after all the basis of the state – the family and landed property,” and he gradually turned the discussion to taxes and brandy. But the Privy Counsellor refused to join in, today he wanted to enjoy a success with the young people at the end of the table. He told anecdotes, and as he did so he glanced over at the young people to see if they were laughing. Later he revealed the purpose of his visit. To
morrow he would be throwing a small party in the countryside, and he hoped that all of the ladies and gentlemen present would attend. “The occasion for this celebration,” he said, “is my birthday. Well now, getting older may have its good sides, but when all is said and done it’s not a very good excuse for a party. This world of ours is indeed quite dubious, but we are in no great hurry to leave it, because in the first place the scheme for what follows is not entirely clear, and secondly we are stuck here anyway. No, I celebrate the date of my birth, because being born is actually the strangest moment of our lives, with unforeseeable consequences. Just consider, a world without Knospelius, and a world with Knospelius, for me that is an enormous difference.”
Satisfied with his argument, he now looked at Nini, who blushed in response.
“What you say, my dear Excellency,” remarked the Generalin, “is certainly very clever, but in the process you seem to have left your position on religion a bit unclear.”
Knospelius shrugged his too-high shoulders. “Well, perhaps for that reason the state installed me as an accountant rather than as a preacher. But I return to the subject of my party, there is namely a small detail that must be mentioned. That is Herr and Frau Grill. I cannot avoid inviting this couple. I hope this won’t disturb anyone.”
“To be sure,” replied Baroness Buttlär with raised eye-brows, “this couple seems to be unavoidable for us, our inevitable fate.”
Knospelius laughed: “Fate, very good. Well, this little woman is not a cruel fate. And furthermore, if we are willing to overlook the past, their current situation is perfectly proper. They were married in London.”
“Really, in London?” remarked the Generalin, “one hears that quite often these days, a new discovery. It seems that in London marriages,28 as well as modern factory goods, are produced more quickly.”
Knospelius shrugged. “Home-made goods, my dear Madame, are growing scarce just now. I may assume, then, that you will permit me to invite the Grills.”
Baroness Buttlär leaned back in her chair and sighed: “I won’t say anything. I have no respect for this London marriage, and I cannot overlook the past. But it seems that these views are now old-fashioned.”
Baron Buttlär was annoyed by this. “Dear Bella,” he said testily, “you must admit that these people have in no way pestered us – a simple greeting, later on a friendly word, and now finally some social intercourse during a country outing…”
“Social intercourse during a country outing, bravo!” cried the Privy Counsellor, “that’s the correct expression, the proper formula. The important thing is to find a formula to describe every life situation, everything else then takes care of itself. My party is settled then. I will expect the ladies and gentlemen tomorrow afternoon in the birch grove near the lodge of the forester Zibbe. The sea is out of the question because the sea is not cosy. You will see, everything will proceed without a hitch.” And he happily rubbed his long, pale hands.
On the afternoon of the following day the residents of the Bull’s Inn strolled out to the forester’s lodge. At the front came the Generalin in a voluminous white piqué29 dress, with a big straw hat above her flushed face. Lolo and Nini were wearing white dresses with sea-green sashes. The sunshine bathed in gold the slender white trunks of the birch trees, which, bent towards the land by the sea wind, stood there like maidens leaning forward so that their green veils billowed over their faces.
The Privy Counsellor received his guests; for the Generalin and the Baroness there were wicker chairs, cushions lay on the ground for the others, and a white tablecloth had been laid over the heather.
“Take a seat,” said the Privy Counsellor, rubbing his hands. “The coffee will be here in an instant, perhaps the young ladies will help me a little with the service, my very own Columbines,30 ha, ha!”
Klaus served the coffee, very proper in his tightly-buttoned black coat, serious and melancholy. The conversation could not quite get off the ground; they talked about birch trees vaguely, then Baron Buttlär talked about brandy and monopolies; Hilmar sat next to Lolo, distracted and uncommunicative, and blew rings with the smoke from his cigarette. Mosquitoes danced in the red sunbeams and the fragrance of the warm heather and the warm birch leaves made everyone sleepy. Wedig yawned and commented to Nini: “Well, it’s about time they got here.”
“Whom are you waiting for?” asked Baroness Buttlär sternly. But it was clear that they all perceived the get-together up to this point as a mere prelude. But now at last they were coming up the hill, Hans in the lead, followed by Doralice, who was pale and grave. She had not wanted to come but Hans had grown passionate. “If these people are afraid of us, so be it, but we don’t need to be afraid of anyone.” And so she had put on her pale violet muslin dress – the timeless dress she called it – had hung the string of red coral beads around her neck, put on her broad-brimmed black hat and had come along. The Privy Counsellor was a little nervous as he welcomed his new guests, introduced them, directed them to seats, called for coffee. Doralice sat near the Generalin, still very pale and quiet, like a young girl waiting calmly until she was addressed by her elders.
“Lovely weather, don’t you think?” said the Generalin. “It is nice to see that you are also doing so well. We always see you bathing – though you swim, I think, a little too boldly.” While the Generalin chatted away unselfconsciously in her motherly voice, the others remained silent, Baroness Buttlär’s face turned red, Fräulein Bork smiled ecstatically and the two girls, parting their lips, trained their bright brown eyes unblinkingly on Doralice – one could see that admiration for the beautiful woman was taking their breath away a little. Then suddenly Baron Buttlär joined in the conversation, cheerful and gallant. Addressing his words exclusively to Doralice, he began, quite abruptly, to talk about Paris and the Bois de Boulogne.31 Hilmar also became livelier, telling some story to Nini and Lolo, making them laugh; he felt it important that his little corner of the gathering was merry. The Privy Counsellor, who was conversing with Hans, looked with satisfaction at his guests, who finally seemed to be coming to life.
Thin, bouncy music rang out from behind the birches. The coastguard was playing the harmonica and the lame tailor from the village the fiddle.
The Privy Counsellor sprang to his feet and cried: “It is time for dancing, if you please. Baron Buttlär, would you please open the ball, the fête champêtre.32 The sun is going down, so we have the correct illumination. Baron Hamm, please do not forget that the conviviality of the German Empire rests on the lieutenants.”
Baron Buttlär led his wife out to dance, but only after she resisted for a moment: “But Buttlär, aren’t we the old folk?” Hilmar danced with Lolo, and Wedig, so red-faced and excited that it looked as if he were on the verge of tears, asked Doralice for a dance. Hair twirled there in the open space; red, gently trembling light penetrated through the trees and flooded over them. Behind the birches, though, something seemed to be burning, it was the sea glittering in the sunset.
“Very pretty,” said Knospelius to the Generalin, as he regarded the scene before him with an almost greedy attentiveness. “This will certainly improve the mood of our little celebration. Nothing is more suitable for that purpose than dancing. You don’t talk, you don’t think, you communicate with your feet, it releases the proper electricity.”
“What do you mean by communication? What do you mean by electricity?” replied the Generalin. “It always pleases me to see young people so cheerful, but we don’t need your communication or your electricity.”
“And then,” continued the Privy Counsellor thoughtfully, “I have noticed that whenever a foreign element enters into a social group, it triggers a reaction like citric acid in soda. Each person regards the newcomer as an audience. Aha! The Baron is dancing with the Countess. Look how he smiles, confident in his victory. And our painter is getting on well with the Baroness. Bravo! Our fizzy drink powder is complete.”
“Your little Frau Köhne,” replied the Generalin, “
is such a sweet and pretty thing. It’s such a shame.”
“Why is it a shame?” asked Knospelius. “Perhaps now she will develop into something far more precious than anything old Count Köhne could have ever fashioned.”
But the Generalin was having none of this. “Ah, my dear Excellency, once a woman steps out of line that blatantly, she is never able to regain a foothold. It is like a chain stitch on a sewing machine; if you unpick a single stitch the whole seam comes apart.”
The Privy Counsellor smiled: “That doesn’t reflect well on the chain stitch. Aha! Here comes the quadrille,33 very good. The waltz has put them in the proper mood. Look how expressive, how eloquent the legs of the gentlemen have become.”
The quadrille was certainly very animated. Hilmar danced with Doralice opposite Lolo and her father. Doralice’s face was quite pink and she laughed whenever she and Hilmar, at full gallop, as he said, skipped across the red-lit sand. The dancing, these people, all of this gave Doralice the impression that she was back in that world which for the past year she had known only in her dreams. She forgot that she was an outsider here and enjoyed throwing herself into the merriment without a second thought, like the parties in the old days on those occasions when she had not felt as if she were being monitored by her husband. And what an agile, easygoing comrade in mirth the lieutenant was, she danced with him so naturally, so easily, as if they had danced with each other their whole lives. She talked and laughed with him so effortlessly, as if they had been talking and laughing with each other for their whole lives.
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