A legacy; a novel

by Bedford, Sybille

  "What is it?" said Sarah.

  "Only that I must not make him go to Ireland with me now to gain time. I feel I must keep things between him and me intact; if I plot now I should lose—I can't explain —call it the sense of Tightness between us. So I must not lie now—I see how much lying it would have to be. Oh God, I may even come to feel that I must tell him what I know. Is it not frightful? Is it nonsense? Would you? Sarah, would you tell him?"

  "Yes," Sarah said, "I would. For my own sake."

  "I was afraid you would see it in that way. Thank you, Sarah, you always understand."

  Sarah turned away.

  Caroline said, "I want to ask you something. I should

  like him to see your pictures. I want him to see the Monet, the wonder. Would it be possible? Soon?"

  "Bring him any day this week; at tea time. I shall not be in."

  "Sarah," Caroline said once more, "you always understand."

  A few weeks later Caroline told Sarah over the telephone that she had decided to marry Jules.

  Have you a prejudice against baptism?" said Jules.

  "It can hardly be a marked one," said Caroline. "I remember the ado about it among Papa's cronies. But that was in the Nineties."

  "No prejudice yourself?"

  "Well—no. As long as it isn't those wretched heathens. I'm sure it's more convenient. What is your view? I love you to have views, Jules."

  "Then you would not mind?"

  "Are you being cryptic about something, Cher? What is it? I hope you are not thinking of our children? When I haven't decided whether we are going to have any. In fact I have decided. You are such a wonderful father to Henrietta, it could hardly be duplicated."

  "Henrietta is getting older," said Jules.

  "Not noticeably," said Caroline.

  "It is not the same," said Jules.

  "So you were talking of our children!"

  "No, no," said Jules, "of baptism."

  "Whose?"

  "To find out whether you had the prejudice. I rather thought you might not."

  "Not?"

  "Have the prejudice. It is very strong in some people."

  "What prejudice?"

  "Against baptism."

  "Oh Jules, do begin in the middle."

  "Only because it has always been like that. We have al-

  ways had the same. So perhaps you would not mind being baptized?"

  "The same religion as one's wives. You see?"

  "Oh clearly. But my dear Jules, are you an Anabaptist?"

  "Oh, no. At least I don't think so? Clara would know about the theories."

  "Such an odd sect for the sister of the German Foreign Secretary. With us it doesn't have quite the same stand-ing."

  "I believe poor Conrad's father had some difficulties. Can it have been with Bismarck?"

  "Jules—I cannot see you walking to the fount."

  "I was taken when I was a week old."

  "So was I," said Caroline.

  "You mean, you were —?"

  "Goodness, yes," said Caroline.

  "Then you are a Catholic."

  "My mama would have said so. She was an Anglican. Very keen on the Apostolic Succession."

  "I don't think we have that," said Jules.

  "We?"

  "Hasn't Sarah told you?"

  "Perhaps she didn't think it was sufficiently to your disadvantage. Whatever it is?"

  "We have always been Catholics."

  "Oh darling! good old R.C.s? I should have known. I thought it had to be Lutheran. You know, Elisabeth and her German Garden. Discovery on discovery. . . . It's getting better and better—an R.C. foreigner, what would my poor mother have said? And now you want me to enter your church. That's always de rigueur, I know. To be received into the Church of Rome. ... It sounds rather well. That's what you'd like me to do, isn't it?"

  "Yes," said Jules with an air of having unburdened himself.

  "I have no objection," said Caroline. "My father was

  an Agnostic, if the word is familiar. I shall look forward to my Instruction. I must have a Jesuit. . . . I'm sure Sarah will be able to produce the very best. No—Sarah is being so unhelpful. We will go to Clara; your sister-in-law is our woman. Oh Lord, I suppose it all means getting married in Westminster Cathedral—not the Brompton Oratory, you think?—well it'll be a change. . . ."

  "It isn't—" said Jules, "it isn't that I don't think—" He left the window sill against which he had been leaning. "Ce n'est pas que vous ne soyez pas parfaite, Caroline/' He raised her hand and kissed it. "Vous etes parfaite/'

  He took a breath. "You know, I believe I should not mind at all what you are. It is only because of Clara. She can be difficult about these things."

  "How I long to meet her! Are you afraid of her, my pet?"

  "No. But one does what she wants when she really wants it."

  "Like me?"

  "Different," he said, and there was a smile on his face.

  "Like Sarah?"

  "Not like Sarah. One is afraid of Sarah, but one does not always do what she wants."

  "You are coming on, darling," said Caroline. "Though your theology is a disappointment. I believed all members of your church, except Trappists, were accomplished casuists. Did you really think one had to be baptized?"

  "It is necessary," said Jules.

  "No, my oaf, it's not. Christian baptism never comes off and it's good for all the branches. If you change, you are received; not rebaptized."

  "I'm afraid you are wrong," he said politely. "I know. I've been through it."

  "How?"

  "When—Henrietta's mother."

  "My predecessor! Oh Jules. Was she? Oh of course, I see. How did you bring her to do that? How did you put it to

  her? Oh, I wish we'd call her by her name. You ought to talk about her; you really ought. Do. What was she like? How did you feel about her? Speak."

  Jules remained silent.

  "Why can't you speak of her? What is the matter? Jules! please."

  He made a tremendous effort. "Because," he said, "because she is dead."

  "Oh my dear. You know that is no reason. One day I'll make you see it. Nous devons changer tout cela. Let us begin. How did you talk to her?"

  Jules looked puzzled.

  "Well, easily? did you make jokes? did you talk to her about yourself?"

  "We talked."

  "In what language?"

  "In French."

  "Was her French good?"

  "Very good."

  "As good as mine?"

  Jules considered this. "Melanie's accent was better."

  "Bravo. Bravo, Jules. But — was it? Her accent? What's wrong with mine?"

  "It is not so French. But I like it. I told you, you are perfect."

  "Ah, my pet, far from it. Far from it. All the same, do you know, oddly enough, I shall try my best."

  "You will be pleased to hear—there may be a valid impediment." Sarah sighed. "Money." "Ah, well."

  "Is that all you've got to say about it?" "What's the use of my saying anything," said Sarah. "It's rather serious," said Caroline. "Yes?"

  "It appears that he's entirely dependent on his parents-in-law. Your parents-in-law."

  Sarah attended to her flowers.

  "They won't be his much longer."

  Sarah said nothing.

  "I wish you'd stop looking as if you'd seen the Medusa," said Caroline. "Whose raft is it? Have you any idea what Jules is going to do?"

  "Has he?"

  "I wouldn't know. I suppose I ought to talk to him about it; I don't feel like it."

  "The whole thing's preposterous!"

  "Not at all," said Caroline.

  "Because you choose not to see it."

  "Sarah, please/'

  "What will you do?"

  "There you are."

  "You have money," said Sarah.

  "Oh that, yes. Not what you'd call money. Enough."

  "Enough," said Sarah.

  "I'
m sure Jules's not thinking of it!"

  "Thinking is not the sole approach to money."

  "He'll be ruined, in a sense, by marrying me."

  "Ruined?"

  "Lose his independence."

  "Jules's independence. . . ."

  "Relative independence. It matters to me."

  "You surprise me," said Sarah.

  "Must I say it? If one's going to marry a man because one cannot get the other one, it doesn't feel at all the same, does it, if he also hasn't got a penny. Do you see? Oh Sarah, what is it now?"

  "Nothing. I thought I was reminded of something. Everything seems to remind me of something."

  "You take it too much to heart," said Caroline.

  "You don't know—"

  "There's nothing more to know," said Caroline quickly.

  "I have written to Berlin."

  "Have you?"

  "A letter/' said Jules.

  "Indeed," said Sarah.

  "I thought I had better."

  "Very likely," said Sarah.

  "Because of the new expenses."

  "Yes?"

  "Caroline."

  "Yes?"

  "I shall need money for Caroline."

  "Jules, what did you tell them?"

  "You see, I thought I'd better write because of my allowance/'

  Sarah said almost humbly, "Don't ask me to help you. Don't ask me to do anything."

  "I don't think that will be at all necessary," said Jules; "I only asked them to be good enough to increase my allowance as I was getting married."

  They were married shortly after Easter; and they were married in Berlin. A friend of Caroline's aunt's children came down with measles in their London house a fortnight before the settled date. Caroline called it providence. "I'm not going to have it put off, and I'm not going to be married from my own ex-home as they're now suggesting. My first reprieve— You don't know how I dreaded it. Berlin will be different; I find myself positively looking forward to Berlin. Only think of meeting all those wonderful Merzes. Sarah—I'm afraid you've got to marry me from your house. It's inevitable. You remember how you used to press me to stay with you? Now I'm asking you for the shelter of your roof."

  "I never thought it would be that one."

  But Sarah returned to Berlin, summoned Edu and reopened her house.

  Jeanne came to her during the first hour.

  "How I've missed you!"

  Sarah started.

  "It's been a long eighteen months here. I envied you. Now that you are back, have you come to stay?"

  "Yes . . ." Sarah said. "I suppose I shall stay."

  "You'll find some changes."

  "I thought I saw a great many uniforms on the streets."

  "I haven't noticed. They say there's rather more of that."

  "How is Friedrich?" said Sarah.

  "The same."

  "Edu's arriving tomorrow." Sarah took stock of her old

  friend. Jeanne had always been a pleasure to look at; now she looked much like everybody else. An elderly lady, smart.

  "Little we thought," said Jeanne, "when you left, that you'd be coming back to this house for a wedding."

  "I must see about getting the presents out of the customs. I must make lists. Where are those addresses? Where do I keep my paper? I seem to have forgotten my own house."

  "You can count on me," said Jeanne. "But first I must hear all about it. What is she like? Is she pretty? Is she taken with Jules? How is he bearing up? Was it all your doing? They met at your house, didn't they."

  "By accident," said Sarah.

  "That was enough," said Jeanne. "Our Jules is a creature of habit. They call her The Englishwoman at Voss Strasse; they don't know what to expect. Gottlieb and Henrietta are ready to worship her, Emil says she was quite a well-known actress. It's taken ten years off his age. Markwald's convinced she is a governess. And of course they're all in a state about the child, they'll do anything for her as long as she won't take Henrietta away from them."

  "They're not helpless," said Sarah.

  "Friedrich says Jules has been quite unlike himself this year. Sarah, where is it going to be?"

  "Berlin Cathedral."

  "Ah, yes. . . ." said Jeanne. "A big wedding."

  "Her uncle's coming over to give her away; and I don't know who else. Jules's asked Bernin to be his best man."

  "Does Jules know what he's let you in for? Do you? Sarah dear, forgive my asking, is it wise? A function of this kind? so soon?"

  "What do you mean?" said Sarah. "Oh I know; I shan't be allowed to forget it. The house of an undischarged bankrupt. It happens to be my house. It never belonged to Edu."

  "There's so much bad blood in this town," said Jeanne.

  "Always was," said Sarah. "I don't see what they've got to complain about; there's been no undeserved hardship. Edu's not my sole obligation. I'm not going to spend the rest of my life in a mouse hole. And I will not think of everything."

  Jeanne looked at her quietly.

  "I shall have to think of whether to have Henrietta or not, and of getting her something to wear."

  "They have left it all to you," said Jeanne. "Is she helpless, too? You know that you haven't told me a single thing. Is it true that she is quite fast? Is it true that she's been to Italy alone with Jules? I don't even know whether she's thirty or seventeen. Voss Strasse believes both."

  "If you will listen to Voss Strasse."

  "I don't," said Jeanne. "I can't. You know I only hear what Friedrich tells me."

  Sarah softened. "You will like her," she said.

  A week later Caroline arrived. She was met by Jules and Clara. "I am very glad to see you," Clara said in a tone that held no regard for a station platform. Caroline lunched with the Feldens and Count Bernin at the Wil-helmstrasse. Clara apologized for their not being alone— she was merely her brother's housekeeper. The guests, three or four men one of whom Caroline knew in London, seemed to have no apparent connection with each other. She sat between Bernin and an old boy determined to talk compliments to her in English. Bernin was extremely agreeable, conveyed an easy welcome, seemed to know exactly who she was and did not ask a single question about England. It could have been anywhere in the world; except in a private house. She saw Bernin keeping a light hand on the table, saw Clara taking no notice of anything, yet being part of it all the same by providing the note of detachment; she saw Jules and Gustavus sitting side by side at the other end, and saw the kind of likeness that is always disconcerting. The food was almost ostentatiously perfunctory and, if it was not, appeared skimpy. Caroline, used to this kind of occasion, was now indifferent to her own relation with it, or effect; she, too, was quite detached; the spring to seize, connect, relate, had become slack, and she received the scene before her, the room, the lives, the people, not shaped in terms of judgement or analysis, Thackeray or Trollope, but as an integral and direct impression of something composed of several levels—smoothness lying over painstaking elaboration, an order covering and engendering chaotic agitation and beyond it nothing. The impression was without words or thought and it was as solid as a cannon ball, and it was extraordinarily disagreeable. She turned to Jules, and he was outside; from him there came immobility, not stillness, the immobility of someone asleep and yet at bay. It lasted but a flash. Clara addressed her and she was pulled back by personal antipathy, yet a sense of malaise persisted. After luncheon Bernin took her to see his office. There he asked her to remind Frau Merz that he was sending out a secretary to settle details of the seating at the ceremony and the nuptial mass. He was afraid there had to be some slight alterations in the music. "Of course you don't know St.-Hedwig's? It's not Chartres. Though you will find it large. I advise you to have a look at it. Tomorrow morning? Eleven?" He made a note. "Someone will expect you in the main sacristy; east entrance." Then he mentioned her uncle.

  Something made her say, "Only by marriage, you know. He married my mother's sister."

  "But he is coming over?"
/>
  "Oh yes," she said.

  "I always read his speeches."

  "I heard oner

  "I wonder whether he realizes that fundamentally he and I are of the same party?"

  "You have so many. . . ."

  "The Centre is the actual liberal party."

  "I thought there was a Liberal Party."

  "There is a party of that name."

  "We haven't got the room," she said, "members would have to stand in the middle of the floor."

  "The Reichstag is more accommodating," said Count Bernin. "Do you think there is any chance now of Jules's wanting to come back to us?"

  "To you?"

  "The Foreign Office."

  "Did you find him so suitable?"

  "That was a long time ago. I never had anything to do with him then." He added, "You must be aware that you could make any man's career?"

  "I'm not so sure that I hold with careers," she said, "though this is hardly the place to say it."

  "There are careers," said Count Bernin, "and there is service. This place has seen both. Jules nearly did come back once. He was a bit at a loose end at the time; we got him a secretaryship in Paris, the very thing he'd like one would have thought, he seemed rather pleased, then he turned it down. You know why? It had occurred to him that he would be representing Germany in France, and he said he couldn't do that. Not Germany, not in France. He has strange ideas about Germany."

  "I'm afraid he's not unique."

  "I believe Jules really hates it. He asked whether he might not be given another country to represent. Like a commercial agency."

  "Did Jules really do that?"

  "He's an obstinate fellow. Not that there isn't something in that notion of his. One does one's job where one happens to be placed, one does one's best for the firm, but the firm itself is subordinate to the general economy. I changed firms. Like my father I began by representing the corner of the earth I was born in, Baden; later it was Germany. But whether Germany or France or Montenegro, the true

  statesman is a steward entrusted with the welfare of the larger whole."

  "Has this ever been a working concept in international politics?"