Gertrude

  Although life continues independent of such reflections, sincere thoughts and resolutions leave the soul more at peace and help one to bear the unalterable. At least, it subsequently appeared to me that since I had become resigned and indifferent toward my personal fate, life had treated me more gently.

  That one sometimes unexpectedly achieves without effort what one has previously been unable to attain, despite all endeavors and good will, I soon learned through my mother. I wrote to her every month, but had not heard from her for some time. If there had been anything wrong, I should have learned about it, so I did not give her much thought and continued to write my letters, brief notes as to how things were going for me, in which I always included kind regards to Miss Schniebel.

  These greetings were recently no longer delivered. The two women had done as they desired but their friendship had not survived the fulfillment of their wishes. Improved conditions had inflated Miss Schniebel's ego. Immediately after my departure she triumphantly occupied the seat of conquest and settled down in our house. She now shared the house with her old friend and cousin and, after long years of want, regarded it as a well-deserved turn of luck to be able to reign and give herself airs as one of the mistresses of a dignified household. She did not acquire expensive habits or prove wasteful--she had been in straitened circumstances and semi-poverty too long to do that. She neither wore more expensive clothes nor slept between finer linen sheets. On the contrary, she really began to scrimp and collect only now that it was worthwhile and there was something to save--but she would not renounce authority and power. The two maids had to obey her no less than my mother, and she also dealt with servants, workmen and postmen in an imperious manner. And very gradually, since passions are not extinguished by their fulfillment, she also extended her domineering sway over things that my mother would not so readily concede. She wanted my mother's visitors to be her visitors too and would not suffer my mother to receive anyone except in her presence. She did not want only to hear extracts from letters that were received, particularly those from me, but wanted to read the letters herself. Finally, she formed the opinion that many things in my mother's house were not looked after and conducted as she thought they ought to be. Above all, she considered that the discipline of the domestic servants was not strict enough. If a maid went out in the evening, or talked too long to the postman, or if the cook asked for a free Sunday, she strongly reproved my mother for her leniency and delivered long lectures to her on the correct way to conduct a household. Furthermore, it hurt her very much to see how often her rules of economy were grossly ignored. Too much coal was ordered, and too many eggs were unaccounted for by the cook! She bitterly opposed things of that nature, and that was how discord arose between the friends.

  Until then my mother had taken the line of least resistance although she did not agree with everything, and was in many ways disappointed with her friend, whose relationship toward her she had imagined to be different. Now, on the other hand, when old respected customs in the house were in danger, when her everyday comforts and the peace of the house were at stake, she could not refrain from objecting and putting up some resistance, which, however, she could not do as forcefully as her friend. There were differences of opinion and little arguments in a friendly way, but when the cook gave notice--and it was only with difficulty, after many promises and almost apologies, that my mother persuaded her to stay--the question of authority in the house began to lead to a real battle.

  Miss Schniebel, proud of her knowledge, experience, thrift and organizing abilities, could not understand why all these qualities were not appreciated, and she felt justified in criticizing the previous household economy, in finding fault with my mother's housekeeping and in showing her disdain for the customs and traditions of the house. Then my mother mentioned my father, under whose management everything in the house had gone so well for many years. He had not tolerated trivialities and petty economies; he had given the servants freedom and privileges; he had hated disputes with the maids and incidents of a disagreeable nature. But when my mother mentioned my father, whom she had previously criticized occasionally, but who since his death had become holy to her, Miss Schniebel could no longer contain herself and reminded my mother pointedly how she had often expressed her opinion about the deceased; it was high time to abandon the old ways and let reason reign. Out of consideration for her friend, Miss Schniebel had not wanted to spoil her memory of the deceased, but now that he had been mentioned, she had to confess that many things which were unsatisfactory in the house were due to the old master, and she did not see why, now that my mother was free, things should continue in the same way.

  That was a blow which my mother could never forgive her cousin. Previously it had been a need and pleasure to grumble to her confidential friend and find fault with the master of the house; now she would not suffer the slightest shadow to be cast upon his sacred memory. She began to feel that the incipient revolution in the house was not only disturbing but, above all, a sin against the deceased.

  This state of affairs continued without my knowledge. When for the first time my mother mentioned in a letter this lack of harmony, even though she did so carefully and discreetly, it made me laugh. In my next letter I omitted greetings to the spinster but did not refer to my mother's allusions. I thought that the women would settle the affair better without me. Besides, there was another matter which was occupying my mind much more.

  October had arrived and the thought of Gertrude's forthcoming marriage was constantly on my mind. I had not been to her house again and had not seen her. After the wedding, when she would be away, I thought of making contact with her father again. I also hoped that in time a good, friendly relationship would be established between Gertrude and me. We had been too close to each other to be able to cancel out the past so easily, but I did not yet have the courage for a meeting which, knowing her, she would not have tried to avoid.

  One day someone knocked at my door in a familiar way. Full of misgivings, I jumped up and opened it. Heinrich Muoth stood there and held out his hand to me.

  "Muoth!" I cried, and gripped his hand tightly, but I could not look into his eyes without everything coming back to me and hurting me. I again saw the letter lying on his table, the letter in Gertrude's handwriting, and saw myself taking leave from her and wanting to die. Now he stood there looking at me keenly. He seemed a little thinner but as handsome and proud as ever.

  "I did not expect you," I said quietly.

  "Didn't you? I know that you do not go to Gertrude's house any more. As far as I am concerned--let us not talk about it! I have come to see how you are and also how your work is progressing. How is the opera going?"

  "It is finished. But first of all, how is Gertrude?"

  "She is well. We are being married soon."

  "I know."

  "Well, aren't you going to visit her sometime soon?"

  "Later. I first want to see if things go well for her in your hands."

  "Hm..."

  "Heinrich, forgive me, but sometimes I cannot help thinking about Lottie, whom you treated so badly."

  "Forget about Lottie. It served her right. No woman is beaten if she doesn't want to be."

  "Oh! About the opera, I don't really know where I should submit it first. It would have to be a good theater, although I don't know, of course, whether it will be accepted."

  "Oh, yes, it will. I wanted to talk to you about that. Bring it to Munich. It will most likely be accepted there; people are taking an interest in you. If necessary, I will risk my job for you. I don't want anyone else to sing my part before I do."

  That was very helpful. I gladly agreed and promised to arrange for copies to be made as soon as possible. We discussed details and continued to talk with some embarrassment, as if it were a matter of life and death to us, and yet we only wanted to pass the time and close our eyes to the chasm that had appeared between us.

  Muoth was the first to bridge the gap.

  "Do yo
u remember the first time you took me to the Imthors?" he said. "It is a year ago now."

  "I know," I said. "You don't need to remind me. It would be better if you went now!"

  "No, not yet, my friend. So you still remember. Well, if you were in love with the girl then, why didn't you say: 'Leave her alone, leave her for me!' It would have been enough. I would have understood the hint."

  "I couldn't do that."

  "You couldn't? Why not? Who told you to look on and say nothing until it was too late?"

  "I did not know whether she cared for me or not. And then--if she prefers you, I can't do anything about it."

  "You are a child! She might have been happier with you. Every man has the right to woo a woman. If you had only said a word to me at the beginning, if you had just given me a hint, I should have kept away. Afterwards, it was naturally too late."

  This conversation was painful to me.

  "I think differently about it," I said, "but you need not worry. Now leave me in peace! Give her my regards and I will come and visit you in Munich."

  "Won't you come to the wedding?"

  "No, Muoth, that would be in bad taste. But--are you being married in church?"

  "Yes, of course, at the church."

  "I am glad about that. I have composed something for the occasion, an organ piece. Don't worry, it is quite short."

  "You are a good fellow! It's hell for me to bring you so much bad luck!"

  "I think you should say 'good luck,' Muoth."

  "Well, we won't quarrel. I must go now; there are still things to buy and goodness knows what to do. You will send the opera soon, won't you? Send it to me and I will take it to the right people myself. And before the wedding the two of us must spend an evening together. Perhaps tomorrow! Yes? Well, goodbye."

  So I was drawn into the old circle again and passed the night with thoughts and sorrows that had recurred a hundred times. The following day I visited an organist whom I knew and asked him to play my music at Muoth's wedding. In the afternoon I went through my overture with Teiser for the last time, and in the evening I went to the inn where Heinrich was staying.

  I found a room prepared for us with an open fire and candles. There was a white cloth on the table with flowers and silver plate. Muoth was already there waiting for me.

  "Now, my friend, this is a farewell celebration, more for me than for you. Gertrude sends her regards. Today we shall drink to her health."

  We filled our glasses and silently emptied the contents.

  "Now let us think only about ourselves. Youth is slipping away, my dear friend, don't you feel it also? It should be the best time of one's life. I hope that is false, like all these well-known sayings. The best should still lie ahead, otherwise the whole of life isn't worthwhile. When your opera is produced, we'll talk again."

  We relaxed and drank some heavy Rhine wine. Afterwards, we sank back into the easy chairs with cigars and champagne, and for an hour it reminded us both of old times when we used to take pleasure in discussing plans and chatting lightly. We looked at each other pensively but frankly and felt happy to be in each other's company. At times like these, Heinrich was kinder and more gracious than usual. He knew how fleeting these pleasures were and clung to them fondly as long as his mood endured. Quietly, with a smile, he talked to me about Munich, told me little incidents about the theater, and practiced his old art of describing people and situations in a few concise words.

  After he had sketched his conductor, his future father-in-law and others amusingly and clearly but without malice, I drank to his health and said: "What about me? Can you describe people of my type, too?"

  "Oh, yes," he said calmly with a nod and gazed at me with his dark eyes. "You are the artist type in every way. The artist is not, as ordinary people think, a gay sort of person who flings off works of art here and there out of sheer exuberance. Unfortunately he is usually a poor soul who is being suffocated with surplus riches and therefore has to give some of them away. It is a fallacy that there are happy artists; that is just philistines' talk. Lighthearted Mozart kept up his spirits with champagne and was consequently short of bread, and why Beethoven did not commit suicide in his youth instead of composing all that wonderful music, no one knows. A real artist has to be unhappy. Whenever he is hungry and opens his bag, there are only pearls inside it."

  "But if he desires a little pleasure and warmth and sympathy in life, a dozen operas and trios and things like that don't help him much."

  "I suppose not. An hour like this with a glass of wine and a friend, if he has one, and a pleasant chat about this remarkable life is about the best thing he can expect. That's how it is, and we should be glad to have that at least. Just think how long it takes a poor devil to make a good sky-rocket, and the pleasure it gives scarcely lasts a minute! In the same way, one has to conserve joy and peace of mind and a good conscience to enrich a pleasant hour here and there. Good health, my friend!"

  I did not at all agree with his philosophy, but what did it matter? I was glad to spend an evening like this with the friend I feared I was going to lose and who was equally uncertain about me, and I meditated upon the past that still lay so close to me and yet encircled my youth with its carefree days that would return no more.

  Eventually the evening came to an end and Muoth offered to walk home with me, but I told him not to trouble. I knew that he did not like walking with me outside; my slow, halting walk irritated him and made him bad-tempered. He did not like being inconvenienced and little things like that are often the most annoying.

  I was pleased with my organ piece. It was a kind of prelude, and for me it was a detachment from the past, thanks and good wishes to the betrothed couple and an echo of happy times spent with both of them.

  On the day of the wedding I went to the church early and, concealed by the organ, looked down at the ceremony. When the organist began to play my music, Gertrude looked up and smiled at her fiance. I had not seen her all this time and she looked even taller and slimmer than usual in her white dress. Gracefully, with a serious expression on her face, she walked along the narrow, adorned path to the altar by the side of the proud-looking, erect man. It would not have made such a splendid picture if instead of him, I, a cripple with a crooked leg, had walked along this solemn path.

  Chapter Seven

  IT WAS ORDAINED that I should not dwell for long on my friends' wedding and that my reflections, desires and self-torture should not be directed along this channel.

  I had given little thought to my mother during this time. I knew, indeed, from her last letter that the peace and comfort of the house was not all that it might be, but I had neither reason nor desire to interfere in the strife between the two ladies and accepted it, just a little maliciously, as one of those things in which my judgment was unnecessary. Since then I had written to her without receiving any reply. I had enough to do with the provision and examination of copies of my opera without thinking about Miss Schniebel.

  Then I received a letter from my mother which surprised me by its unusual bulk alone. It was a letter of distress, complaining of her companion, whose transgressions in the house and against my mother's peace of mind I now learned about in detail. She found it hard to write to me about the matter but did so with dignity and discretion. It was simply a confession of the disillusionment she had suffered in connection with her old friend and cousin.

  Now my mother not only completely understood why my late father and I disliked Miss Schniebel, but she was agreeable to the sale of the house if I still wished it; she would go and live somewhere else, if only to escape from this Schniebel woman.

  "It might be a good thing for you to come here. Lucie, of course, already knows what I am thinking and planning--she is very sharp--but relations are too strained for me to be able to tell her what I have to say without offending her. She ignores my hints that I would prefer to be alone in the house again and that I could manage without her, and I do not want an open quarrel. I know that she would
reproach me and put up a strong resistance if I asked her outright to leave. It would therefore be better if you would come and deal with the matter. I do not want any unpleasantness and I do not want her to be put to any expense, but she must clearly and definitely be told to go."

  I would even have been prepared to slay the dragon if my mother had desired it. With great amusement I made preparations for the journey and set off for home. As soon as I entered the old house, I was aware of the invasion of a new spirit. The large, comfortable sitting room, in particular, had assumed a gloomy, cheerless and impoverished appearance. Everything looked carefully guarded and tended to. There were so-called "runners" on the old solid floor, long, dark strips made from cheap, ugly material, to protect the floorboards and save cleaning. The old piano that had stood unused in the drawing room for years was also enveloped in a protective cover, and although my mother had tea and cakes ready for me and had tried to make things look as pleasant as possible, there was such an atmosphere of old maid's meticulousness and naphthalene about the place that as soon as I came in I smiled at my mother and wrinkled up my nose. She understood immediately.

  I had hardly sat down when the dragon came in, trotted along the runners toward me and did me the honor of asking at great length how I was getting on. I inquired in detail as to how she was keeping and apologized for the old house that did not perhaps offer every comfort to which she was accustomed. Taking the lead in the conversation away from my mother, she adopted the role of mistress of the house, saw to the tea, eagerly replied to my polite remarks and seemed rather flattered, but also uneasy and distrustful, by my excessive friendliness. Her suspicions were aroused but she had no option but to accept my courtesies and respond with her own store of somewhat antiquated polite phrases. Displaying apparent mutual devotion and esteem, we went on throughout the evening. We heartily wished each other a good night's sleep and left each other like diplomats of the old school. Yet, despite the sweetmeat, I think the demon did not sleep much that night, while I rested contentedly, and my poor mother, after perhaps many nights passed in a state of annoyance and depression, again slept for the first time with a feeling of being the sole mistress in her own house.