"Invest it?"
"It's usual to put the dot into the son-in-law's business."
"Oh."
"They're quite ready to set him up in one."
"It is their tendency," said Jeanne.
"My dear!"
The two women laughed.
"They mentioned Max's bank. Melanie got to hear of that. One can see how. The way the servants don't have to stoop to keyholes in that house. . . . She's dead against it. So is Edu for that matter."
"So are you," said Jeanne.
"In this case. Ordinarily I rather like to see a man work. My brothers do."
"It has its advantages," said Jeanne.
"Friedrich's idea was to settle the dot on Jules, and let him and Melanie spend the interest. The trouble with that is that a million at two or three per cent—the kind of investment they're thinking of—would give them something between twenty or thirty thousand marks a year. It's not enough, Jeanne. Their clothes alone'd come to that."
"Did you point that out?"
"It wouldn't do to be too precise. Emil has seen the truth all the time, and Markwald has sniffed it out. The old people are vaguely puzzled. I really think that if everybody weren't so very vague there wouldn't be a marriage."
"You and I are not vague."
"Jeanne— why are you for it?"
"I don't know that I am. A middle-aged woman's instinct for matchmaking. An exile's affection for her country and someone connected with it. A woman's feeling for another woman. A woman's feeling for a handsome man in distress. My feelings about Friedrich's parents."
"/ could have stopped it," Sarah said. "I could still stop it. And by doing nothing."
"No woman can stop another from getting her man for the right reason."
Sarah said, "She can help her for the wrong ones."
"Of course he'll make her a wretched husband. There are worse things. What makes you think the girl will ever choose better? Or have the chance?"
"She might subside into her own tradition."
"About that money—Sarah, you could make them let him have it outright, you know you could."
"I'm not at all sure that I want to. A million is a great deal of money. I should hate not to see them decently provided for, but capital is capital."
"Yes," said Jeanne, "I've been brought up to believe in savings too."
"What I am out to get for them is an allowance, a big allowance. I suggested seventy-five and I think they're going to make it sixty thousand a year. I'm sure that's best for them—it's comfortable, and it's safe. Edu and I will give them the price of a house for a wedding present."
"Very comfortable. All the same, Sarah—I don't like the sound of an allowance."
"Only until the old people die. Melanie's share, even if left to her in trust, which of course it will be, is going to be enough for her and Jules to be extremely well off on the interest."
"I see you worked it all out," said Jeanne.
"Yes," Sarah said, "I have."
Grandmama Merz eventually put two and two together.
"Is Melanie going to live in a house with monkeys?"
Fraulein von Tschernin, who had had a glimpse also of Julius, confirmed that this was part of her daughter's radiant prospects.
"We're not going to allow it," said Grandmama.
"Herr Geheimrat is fond of them too."
"Monkeys are all right for bachelors," said Grandpapa.
"I asked him whether he was going to have those brutes about for the rest of his life," said Markwald; "and you know what he told me? Alas, very likely not, although they did live longer than dogs."
"Dogs too?" said Grandmama.
"Flora's Max brought one," said Friedrich.
"Not in the house," said Grandmama. "Flora told me."
"What does one do with unwanted monkeys?" said Emil.
Grandmama pondered this. "He must give them away," she said. "Hasn't he any poor relations?"
Again Clara walked into a room. She seldom sat down. "I feel I must go myself. I am certain of it."
"You've not been at all well," said her brother. "Besides there's our repository for Corpus Christi."
"Those decorations are not important. I always think they are too elaborate. It distracts attention. And Gus-tavus can see to them just as well."
"I don't agree," said Count Bernin. "The children of Mary expect you to help them; and it is important—the mistress of Sigmundshofen has always done the repository, hundreds of people will come in the procession to look at it."
"And there's the Bishop," said Gustavus.
"I do not see it in that way," said Clara.
The first sign that Julius had got down to reading Clara's letters came from Friedrich. Julius had to report once a week at a Police station and Friedrich accompanied him there again on the first Monday in June. Afterwards he dropped in at Jeanne's very cross, and found Sarah.
"I think your precious Felden must be pulling all our legs. You know what he said to me today, in that southern voice of his, 'Your niece is a Catholic?' "
"He didn't. What did you say?"
"I said we were no Christians if that was what he meant. And he said, yes, no, of course, but did I mean that she was definitely not a member of the Church?"
"Oh dear," said Sarah. "I don't think he can mind."
"Mind?" said Friedrich. "I mind. I can see why those railway people thought he was impertinent."
"It's that he's used to everybody being Catholic," said Jeanne. "It is like that where he comes from. My father belonged to La Libre Pensee and I am what you might call relapsed, but we're all Catholics."
"He thought / was a Christian," said Friedrich.
Sarah was seeing Julius that afternoon, and they had a talk which drove her to dine at Voss Strasse.
"It might be advisable not to broach anything until afterwards, ma'am," Gottlieb said to her in the hall.
Sarah ignored him, but not his warning. Edu had left for London; Jules had felt entitled to excuse himself that night; she sat almost silent through the cream of chicken, the crayfish in aspic, the vol-au-vent, the calf's tongue and currants in Madeira, the chartreuse of pigeon and the mousseline of artichokes, and it was only after the Nessel-rode pudding and Melanie sent upstairs that she disclosed that Jules Felden appeared to think it necessary for his wife to share his religion.
"He wants her to get baptized."
"The young man with the monkeys wants our daughter baptized".
"Who does he think we are?"
"Even Max never suggested anything of the kind!"
"I told you he was a goy in disguise."
"The poor child."
"Please, Emil—" said Sarah.
"Well," he said, "of all the cold-blooded, ungentlemanly suggestions—"
Sarah, deciding to let it blow over, had gone home. Next morning she saw Julius again, then Friedrich, then the old man. She had asides with Markwald. The Merzes were glad to vent their feelings but refused to discuss the subject, and during the week that followed nobody budged an inch.
"It's like fighting featherbeds," Sarah said to Jeanne. "And it shows how wrong one can be. The old lady and Jules. I never expected any trouble from those two; they're the worst. Jules finds it odd that Melanie wasn't christened, it alarms him. Just says he couldn't marry someone who wasn't a Catholic—it wasn't done—nobody did. Over and over again. Just sticks to that. He might have thought of it before. Really now, I'm going to wash my hands. I can see the Merzes' point. Do you understand him at all?"
"Oh quite," said Jeanne.
"It isn't as though he'd ever showed himself the least bit pratiquant."
"Nor do the Merzes for that matter. Friedrich goes to nothing—except funerals—and there isn't even the pretence of keeping the Sabbath at Voss Strasse, or not eating lobsters or ham—"
"It is peculiar," Sarah said; "theological deadlock between nonpractising members of two religions."
Edu returned from Epsom and heard some hard words
. Jules no longer lunched at Voss Strasse; Sarah talked of summer plans. One evening Melanie put on a thick veil and slipped out with her maid, Hedwig. They entered the Matheus Kirche by a side door. Hedwig was a well-
known face in the congregation; Melanie carried a small purse with gold; Paster Voller was aged. So it was after only a brief interview that she was led into the empty church where water was sprinkled on her forehead and she spoke the words taught to her by Gottlieb, signed the register and was received a member of the Reformed Evangelical Church of Germany.
She returned to Voss Strasse, late, in high excitement, two red circles burning on her cheeks.
The family was worried but already in the dining-room. She faced them.
"It is done," she announced: "I am Jules's."
"The cad," said Markwald.
"What?" said Grandmama.
"Nothing can separate us now."
"Have they eloped?" said Grandmama.
"Worse," said Markwald and her husband.
"Worse!" said Emil.
"Our treasure has been baptized," said Gottlieb.
The same night Edu and Friedrich called at the Kaiser-hof demanding immediate marriage. Julius was sitting up, puzzling over the hotel charges. Edu was embarrassed, and spluttered; Friedrich was grim.
He spoke about dishonour.
Julius found his attitude most Prussian, but he consented and the two men withdrew.
A date was fixed for the end of June. The old Merzes, unwilling to see their daughter deprived of pin-money as well as Christian, stated that they would make her an annual allowance of fifty thousand marks.
Clara had sorted out her keys and with Gustavus's help —she was never very good at such tasks—unlocked and locked again plate and embroidered cloth. Then she set out for Berlin. She refused to have the express flagged for her, took a local for Karlsruhe instead, where she made
rather a muddle over her changes. She had written a note to Julius, and Count Bernin had telegraphed the Bavarian Legation. (The Badensian Minister was a bachelor, and anyway quite small beer.) Julius booked a suite for her at the Hotel Bristol; at the Legation they prepared a room and sent the carriage to the station. Julius met the same morning train. Clara arrived by a later one. She had sat bolt upright all night in a second-class carriage; now she walked to the exit looking neither right nor left, carrying her own bag, and took the horse-tram to the Grauen Damen in the Stettiner Strasse. There she was in time to assist at the end of mass, changed her linen but resumed her dress, had a short pleasant talk with the Superior and the Sister Porter, and set out again. She took another horse-tram and went straight to Voss Strasse.
She sent her card in to Melanie; Gottlieb announced her without comment.
Clara came swiftly forward, inclined her head to the old lady in the chair, ignored the men, held out her hands. "My child—I had to see you!"
Melanie stood wary. All women were her enemies. But she kept to her pretty ways.
"Tell me? You are being prepared?"
"She is going to be married on the 29th," said Grand-mama.
"The quietest wedding," said Markwald.
"Then your Reception . . . ?"
"It's all been done," said Melanie.
"Dearest child!" Clara, her face radiant, advanced again. Tears stood in her eyes. "So soon! Oh you wonderful girl. The grace. And I, who doubted your readiness. . . . Will you forgive me? What it must mean to your instructor!"
"Pastor Voller—"
"Not Pastor, dear, Father. We call our priests Father."
"Father Voller," said Melanie.
"Do I know him?"
Melanie tendered the certificate she carried in her dress.
Clara, already a little farsighted, held it at arm's length. She looked, frowned, shifted the distance again, looked, her lips moving— Then she emitted a faint hissing sound, and swayed. Gottlieb was in time with the chair.
Grandmama proffered her sal volatile. Clara stirred. "A Protestant," she groaned, and to everyone's consternation slipped from the chair to the floor. "On our knees, my child! and may He have mercy on us."
Grandmama signed to Gottlieb. "Bring the poor lady an egg in port wine."
But Clara, who had taken nothing since the previous day, waved sustenance aside. She rose and said in a strong voice, "It is His Will that you should pass through this abominable trial. I may have been sent to lead you out of it. We must not allow heresy to take root in you, we must send for a priest at once. This is an emergency and I believe you will be received. Instruction can come later."
The gasp this time came from the armchair. "They want to baptize her twice!" cried Grandmama and sank back into the cushions.
Gottlieb turned and presented the eggnog on the tray. Grandmama took it.
The Jesuits at Fasanen Strasse did not see it with Clara's eyes and Melanie was not received into the Church on that day, nor the next. The Merzes rallied their wits; Count Bernin and Gustavus were summoned to Berlin; Edu discovered that his family was the laughingstock of half the town—yet in the general uproar that followed it was Clara's purpose that worked every interest her way. Melanie was instructed and became a Roman Catholic, soon enough for her wedding to be but briefly postponed; the Merzes used the second outrage to bargain for the disappearance of the chimpanzees. Count Bernin, who shared Sarah's financial grasp, was able to increase the pressure. At Hamburg a man called Haagenbeck was doing wonders in a new kind of cageless zoo. Julius met Herr Haagenbeck
and liked him. The two men had some useful talks; Jules made the donation (half of which came from Grandpapa) of a heating apparatus with lamps, already in use in the monkey apartments at Copenhagen, and was only just prevented from accepting the return present of a seal. This disposal of the monkeys had been Edu's idea; Sarah lent her electric brougham, and in this Julius set out on the snail's pace journey to the Hanseatic port where he bade farewell to Robert and to Tzara.
Count Bernin indited a statement to the judicature, and the charges against Julius were dismissed. Sarah and Clara were going through the invitations together, and Clara, very simply, told her about Johannes. "There is another brother. Did you not know? He was ill for a long time because of a mistake that had been made. He got better but the doctor said he would never be like other people. The doctor wanted to keep him, but my father wished him to be in the world and have as nearly the kind of life he would have had as possible. He could not live with us as he must not meet his brothers. It is part of the illness. Jules went to him the first year, it was very dreadful. Gustavus never tried. So you see there wasn't much open to him; the doctor said he ought to be kept active, and my father thought of the Army. Papa knew a few people and our old Grand Duchess was very much attached to the family and there was nothing else for him to do. So they got him a commission in the Body Dragoons. Of course he wears no uniform, and he didn't have any training. But he's on the Army list; and he draws pay like everyone else. Not that he needs it—his share of his father's estate was put aside for him and my father left him quite a large legacy, he doesn't seem to spend anything, poor boy—but apparently you cannot do things halfway with the military."
She reached for a fresh box of envelopes. "He was put in charge of an Army stud farm and he's been a great success with the horses. He sits up with them when they're ill. They say he's never lost a foal. Of course there are sergeants and people on the place who run things for him. The farm's the other side of the Black Forest, he is quite alone with them out there; and of course he has his own house. Her Highness died, as you know, but the Grand Ducal family are being very kind. The colonel is a friend; he doesn't bother him. He hasn't got to report or salute, or see anyone or dine in mess. And everybody is very pleased about the horses. He's a captain now. Papa did not think it wise. But Conrad says it attracts less attention to do things in the usual way; he was due for promotion, being over thirty-five. He doesn't speak; though they say he sometimes does. He looks well, quite healthy and splendid really. He will n
ot eat meat. It is all very sad. He cannot go to mass as he cannot stand being indoors with people, but I'm sure God loves him. I think we'll send him an invitation—his orderly will read it and know he's thought of and put it away."
Clara slid a card into an envelope and addressed it in her rapid, careless hand. "Curious thing," she said, looking up, "we all thought Jean was going to be as tall as Gus-tavus and Jules, and do you know, he stayed quite short. Stocky-short; more like a farmhand. You really think we ought to seal all these? It seems an unnecessary expense." She held an open flap. "Perhaps Jules and Melanie will have a son," she said.
"Do you think that a good thing?" said Sarah.
Her and Edu's cheque was large. The other presents came in. Distressing china from Merz cousins, the Landen plate relinquished by Gustavus, the boxful of jewels that had belonged to Julius's and Gustavus's mother which Clara now insisted on sharing with Melanie. Melanie found the settings pretty, just out of date enough to be wearable again; the rest of the Merzes told each other that the stones did not amount to much. Clara also gave a thin medal blessed by Leo XIII; and Jeanne—who was not asked and thus did not meet Melanie—sent a fan and a mother-of-pearl rosary that was supposed to have belonged to the original of the heroine of Adolphe. Both fan and rosary were exquisite. Julius, when reminded of the custom, gave Melanie his father's ring, a topaze so large, deep and clear that for many years the old Baron had not been able to bring himself to disturb that limpid surface by a banal incision, and when at last he had come upon, and sketched himself, a Chinese bird, he found, perhaps to his relief, that the craftsmen capable of executing such intaglio had died out. On his death Gustavus had assigned the crestless stone to Julius who, it having become too ornamental for the men of his day, always carried it in his pocket. Edu had it sent to Friedlander's, where it was competently carved with the Felden arms.
Grandmama parted with some diamonds. The girls' trousseaus—cambric, linen, lace—had been ready for years except for the initials; these with the German Baron's seven-pointed coronet were being rushed through the embroidery department at Braun's. Melanie, single-handed, turned down the nearby spa selected for their journey; the South, she stated, was where she wished to go. Julius had told her Spain; one place abroad was as bad as another; again her parents gave in. Gustavus declared he would be seen dead sooner than in Berlin Cathedral with the Merzes; this and other awkwardnesses at the ceremony were forestalled by Count Bernin's arranging with a Dean of his acquaintance to have the marriage service held at Voss Strasse, a convenience not usually afforded by their own religion which almost reconciled the old Merzes to its taking place. They now said they would give the couple forty-five thousand marks a year, and Grandmama, in a movement of attendrissement, lent her own maid Marie for her daughter's going away.
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