Fräulein Schmidt and Mr. Anstruther

  'It is, madam,' said Papa, looking very pleasant, as became a man in hisown house confronted by a female visitor. 'We have re-christened him.And no array of words with which I am acquainted will express theexactness of his resemblance to that useful but unintelligent beast.'

  'Oh really,' said Frau von Lindeberg, not yet recovered.

  'The ass, madam, is conspicuous for the narrowness of its understanding.So is Mr. Collins. The ass is exasperating to persons of normal brains.So is Mr. Collins. The ass is lazy in regard to work, and obstinate. Sois Mr. Collins. The ass is totally indifferent to study. So is Mr.Collins. The ass has never heard of Goethe. Neither has Mr. Collins. Theass is useful to the poor. So is Mr. Collins. The ass, indeed, is thepoor man's most precious possession. So, emphatically, is Mr. Collins.'

  'Oh really,' said Frau von Lindeberg again.

  'Is there anything more you wish to know?' Papa inquired politely, forshe seemed unable immediately to go on.

  She cleared her throat. 'In what way--in what way is he useful?' sheasked.

  'Madam, he pays.'

  'Yes--of course, of course. You cannot--' she smiled--'be expected toteach him German for nothing.'

  'Far from doing that I teach him German for a great deal.'

  'Is he--do you know anything about his relations? You understand,' sheadded, 'that it is not altogether pleasant for a private family likeours to have a strange young man living under the same roof.'

  'Understand?' cried Papa. 'I understand it so thoroughly that I mostpositively refused to have him under this one.'

  'Ah--yes,' said Frau von Lindeberg, a Dammerlitz expression coming intoher face. 'The cases are not--are not quite--pray tell me, who and whatis his father?'

  'A respectable man, madam, I should judge.'

  'Respectable? And besides respectable?'

  'Eminently worthy, I should say from his letters.'

  'Ah yes. And--and anything else?'

  'Honorable too, I fancy. Indeed, I have not a doubt.'

  'Is he of any family?'

  'He is of his own family, madam.'

  'Ah yes. And did you--did you say he was well off?'

  'He is apparently revoltingly rich.'

  An electric shock seemed to make Frau von Lindeberg catch her breath.'Oh really,' she then said evenly. 'Did he inherit his wealth?'

  'Made it, madam. He is an ironmonger.'

  Another electric shock made Frau von Lindeberg catch her breath again.Then she again said, 'Oh really.'

  There was a pause.

  'England,' she said after a moment, 'is different from Germany.'

  'I believe it is,' admitted Papa.

  'And ironmongers there may be different from ironmongers here.'

  'It is at least conceivable.'

  'Tell me, what status has an ironmonger in England?'

  'What status?'

  'In society.'

  'Ah, that I know not. I went over there seven and twenty years ago forthe purpose of marrying, and I met no ironmongers. Not consciously, thatis.'

  'Would they--would they be above the set in which you then foundyourself, or would they--' she tried to conceal a shiver--'be below it.'

  'I know not. I know nothing of society either there or here. But I doknow that money, there as here, is very mighty. It is, I should say,merely a question of having enough.'

  'And has he enough?'

  'The man, madam, is I believe perilously near becoming that miserableand isolated creature a millionaire. God help the unfortunate Joey.'

  'But why? Why should God help him? Why is he unfortunate? Does not heget any share?'

  'Any share? He gets it all. He is the only child. Now I put it to you,what chance is there for an unhappy youth with no brains-'

  'Oh, I must really go. I have taken up an unwarrantable amount of yourtime. Thank you so very much, dear Herr Schmidt--no, no, do not disturbyourself I beg--your daughter will show me the way--'

  'But,' cried Papa, vainly trying to detain this determinedly retreatingfigure, 'about his character, his morals--we have not yet touched--'

  'Ah yes--so kind--I will not keep you now. Another time perhaps--'

  And Frau von Lindeberg got herself out of the room and out of the house.Scarcely did she say good-by to me, in so great and sudden a fever wasshe to be gone; but she did turn on the doorstep and give me a curiouslyintense look. It began at my eyes, travelled upward to my hair, downacross my face, and from there over my whole body to my toes. It was avery odd look. It was the most burningly critical look that has evershrivelled my flesh.

  Now what do you think of this enormous long letter? It has made me quitecheerful just writing it, and I was not very cheerful when I began. Ihope the reading of it will do you as much good. Good-by. Write and tellme you are happy.

  Yours sincerely,

  ROSE-MARIE SCHMIDT.

  Do, do try to be happy!

  LXIII

  Galgenberg, Dec. 22d.

  Dear Mr. Anstruther,--The house is quite good enough for me, I assureyou--the 'setting' I think you call it, suggesting with pleasantflattery that there is something precious to be set. It only has thebruised sort of color you noticed when its background is white withsnow. In summer against the green it looks as white as you please; but athing must be white indeed to look so in the midst of our presentspotlessness. And it is not damp if there are fires enough. And therooms are not too small for me--poky was the adjective you applied tothe dear little things. And I am never lonely. And Joey is very nice,even though he doesn't quite talk in blank verse. I feel a sort of shamewhen you make so much of me, when you persist in telling me that theouter conditions of my life are unworthy. It makes me feel so base, sucha poor thing. Sometimes I half believe you must be poking fun. Anyhow Idon't know what you would be at; do you wish me to turn up my nose at mysurroundings? And do you see any good that it would do? And the detailsyou go into! That coffee-pot you saw and are so plaintive about came togrief only the day before your visit, and will, in due season, bereplaced by another. Meanwhile it doesn't hurt coffee to be poured outof a broken spout, and it doesn't hurt us to drink it after it haspassed through this humiliation. On the contrary, we receive itthankfully into cups, and remain perfectly unruffled. You say, andreally you say it in a kind of agony, that the broken spout, you aresure, is symbolic of much that is invisible in my life. You say--ineffect, though your words are choicer--that if you had your way my lifewould be set about with no spouts that were not whole. If you had yourway? Mr. Anstruther, it is a mercy that in this one matter you have notgot it. What an extremely discontented creature I would become if Ispent my days embedded in the luxury you, by a curious perverseness,think should be piled around me. I would gasp ill-natured epigrams frommorning till night. I would wring my hands, and rend the air with criesof _cui bono_. The broken spout is a brisk reminder of thetransitoriness of coffee-pots and of life. It sets me hurrying about mybusiness, which is first to replace it, and then by every possibleingenuity to make the most of the passing moment. The passing moment iswhat you should keep your eye on, my young friend. It is a slippery,flighty thing; but, properly pounced upon, lends itself fruitfully tosqueezing. The upshot of your last letter is, I gather, that for somestrange reason, some extremity of perverseness, you would have me walkin silk attire, and do it in halls made of marble. It suffocates me onlyto think of it. I love my freedom and forest trampings, my short skirtsand swinging arms. I want the wind to blow on me, and the sun to burnme, and the mud to spatter me. Away with caskets, and settings, andframes! I am not a picture, or a jewel, whatever your poetic eye, misledby a sly and tricky Muse, persists in seeing. It would be quite a goodplan, and of distinctly tonic properties, for you to write to Frau vonLindeberg and beg her to describe me. She, it is certain, would do itvery accurately, untroubled by the deceptions of any Muse.

  How kind of you to ask me what I would like for Christmas, and how funnyof you to ask if you might not give me a trinket. I laughed over that,for did I not write to you
three days ago and give you an account of myconversation with Joey on the subject of trinkets at Christmas? Is itpossible you do not read my letters? Is it possible that, having readthem, you forget them so immediately? Is it possible that proverbs lie,and the sauce appropriate to the goose is not also appropriate to thegander? Give me a book. There is no present I care about but that. Andif it happened to be a volume in the dark blue binding edition ofStevenson to add to my row of him I would be both pleased and grateful.Joey asked me what I wanted, so he is getting me the _Travels with aDonkey_. Will you give me _Virginibus Puerisque_?

  Yours sincerely,

  ROSE-MARIE SCHMIDT.

  If you'd rather, you may give me a new coffee-pot instead.

  Later.

  But only an earthenware one, like the one that so much upset you.

  LXIV

  Galgenberg, Dec. 26th.

  Dear Mr. Anstruther,--We had a most cheerful Christmas, and I hope youdid too. I sent you my blessing lurking in the pages of Frenssen's newand very wonderful book which ought to have reached you in time to putunder your tree. I hope you did have a tree, and were properly festive?The Stevenson arrived, and I found it among my other presents, tied upby Johanna with a bit of scarlet tape. Everything here at Christmas istied up with scarlet, or blue, or pink tape, and your Stevenson lentitself admirably to the treatment. Thank you very much for it, and alsofor the little coffee set. I don't know whether I ought to keep that, itis so very pretty and dainty and beyond my deserts, but--it would breakif I packed it and sent it back again, wouldn't it? so I will keep it,and drink your health out of the little cup with its garlands of tinyflower-like shepherdesses.

  The audacious Joey did give Vicki jewelry, and a necklace if you please,the prettiest and obviously the costliest thing you can imagine. Whathappened then was in exact fulfilment of my prophecy; Vicki gasped withjoy and admiration, he tells me, and before she had well done her gaspFrau von Lindeberg, with, as I gather, a sort of stately regret, tookthe case out of her hands, shut it with a snap, and returned it to Joey.'No,' said Frau von Lindeberg.

  'What's wrong with it?' Joey says he asked.

  'Too grand for my little girl,' said Frau von Lindeberg. 'We are buthumble folk.' And she tossed her head, said Joey.

  'Ah--Dammerlitz,' I muttered, nodding with a complete comprehension.

  'What?' exclaimed Joey, starting and looking greatly astonished.

  'Go on,' said I.

  'But I say,' said Joey, in tones of shocked protest.

  'What do you say?' I asked.

  'Why, how you must hate her,' said Joey, quite awestruck, and staring atme as though he saw me for the first time.

  'Hate her?' I asked, surprised, 'Why do you think I hate her?'

  He whistled, still staring at me.

  'Why do you think I hate her?' I asked again, patient as I always try tobe with him.

  He murmured something about as soon expecting it of a bishop.

  In my turn I stared. 'Suppose you go on with the story,' I said,remembering the hopelessness of ever following the train of Joey'sthoughts.

  Well, there appears to have been a gloom after that over thefestivities. You are to understand that it all took place round theChristmas tree in the best parlor, Frau von Lindeberg in her black silkand lace high-festival dress, Herr von Lindeberg also in black with hisorders, Vicki in white with blue ribbons, the son, come down for theoccasion, in the glories of his dragoon uniform with clinking spurs andsword, and the servant starched and soaped in a big embroidered apron.In the middle of these decently arrayed rejoicers, the candles on thetree lighting up every inch of him, stood Joey in a Norfolk jacket,gaiters, and green check tie. 'I was goin' to dress afterward fordinner,' he explained plaintively, 'but how could a man guess they'd allhave got into their best togs at four in the afternoon? I felt an awfulfool, I can tell you.'

  'I expect you looked one too,' said I with cheerful conviction.

  There appears, then, to have descended a gloom after the necklaceincident on the party, and a gloom of a slightly frosty nature. Vicki,it is true, was rather melting than frosty, her eyes full of tears, herhandkerchief often at her nose, but Papa Lindeberg was steeped in gloom,and Frau von Lindeberg was sad with the impressive Christian sadnessthat does not yet exclude an occasional wan smile. As for the son, hetwirled his already much twirled mustache and stared very hard at Joey.

  When the presents had been given, and Joey found himself staggeringbeneath a waistcoat Vicki had knitted him, and a pair of pink bed-socksFrau von Lindeberg had knitted him, and an empty photograph frame fromPapa Lindeberg, and an empty purse from the son, and a plate piledmiscellaneously with apples and nuts and brown cakes with picturesgummed on to them, he observed Frau von Lindeberg take her husband asideinto the remotest corner of the room and there whisper with himearnestly and long. While she was doing this the son, who knew noEnglish, talked with an air of one who proposed to stand no nonsense toJoey, who knew no German, and Vicki, visibly depressed, slunk round theChristmas tree blowing her nose.

  Papa Lindeberg, says Joey, came out of the corner far more gloomy thanhe went in; he seemed like a man urged on unwillingly from behind, a manreluctant to advance, and yet afraid or unable to go back. 'I beg tospeak with you,' he said to Joey, with much military stiffness about hisback and heels.

  'Now wasn't I right?' I interrupted triumphantly.

  'Poor old beggar,' said Joey, 'he looked frightfully sick.'

  'And didn't you?'

  'No,' said Joey grinning.

  'Most young men would have.'

  'But not this one. This one went off with him trippin' on the points ofhis toes, he felt so fit.'

  'Well, what happened then?'

  'Oh, I don't know. He said a lot of things. I couldn't understand 'em,and I don't think he could either, but he was very game and stuck to itonce he'd begun, and went on makin' my head spin and I daresay his owntoo. Long and short of it was that in this precious Fatherland of yoursthe Vickis don't accept valuables except from those about to becometheir husbands.'

  'I should say that the Vickis in your own or any other respectableFatherland didn't either,' said I.

  'Well, I'm not arguin', am I?'

  'Well, go on.'

  'Well, it seemed pretty queer to think I was about to become a husband,but there was nothin' for it--the little girl, you see, couldn't be doneout of her necklace just because of that.'

  'I see,' said I, trying to.

  'On Christmas Day too--day of rejoicin' and that, eh?'

  'Quite so,' said I.

  'So I said I was his man.'

  'And did he understand?'

  'No. He kept on sayin' 'What?' and evidently cursin' the Englishlanguage in German. Then I suggested that Vicki should be called in tointerpret. He understood that, for I waved my arms about till he did,but he said her mother interpreted better, and he would call herinstead. I understood that, and said 'Get out.' He didn't understandthat, and while he was tryin' to I went and told his wife that he'd sentfor Vicki. Vicki came, and we got on first rate. First thing I did wasto pull out the necklace and put it round her neck. 'Pretty as paint,ain't she?' I said to the old man. He didn't understand that either, butVicki did and laughed. 'You give her to me and I give the necklace toher, see?' I said, shoutin', for I felt if I shouted loud enough hewouldn't be able to help understandin', however naturally German he was.'Tell him how simple it is,' I said to Vicki. Vicki was very red butawfully cheerful, and laughed all the time. She explained, I suppose,for he went out to call his wife. Vicki and I stayed behind, and--'

  'Well?'

  'Oh well, we waited.'

  'And what did Frau von Lindeberg say?'

  'Oh, she was all right. Asked me a lot about the governor. Said Vicki'sancestors had fought with the snake in the Garden of Eden, or somebodyfar back like that--ancient lineage, you know--son-in-law must beimpressed. I told her I didn't think my old man would make any seriousobjection to that. 'To what?' she called out, looking quite sc
ared--theyseem frightfully anxious to please the governor. 'He don't likeancestors,' said I. 'Ain't got any himself and don't hold with 'em.' Shepretended she was smilin', and said she supposed my father was anoriginal. 'Well,' said I, goin' strong for once in the wit line, 'anyhowhe's not an aboriginal like Vicki's lot seem to have been.' Pretty goodthat, eh? Seemed to stun 'em. Then the son came in and shook both myhands for about half an hour and talked a terrific lot of German and wasmore pleased about it than any one else, as far as I could see. Andthen--well, that's about all. So I pulled off my little game ratherneatly, what?'

  'Yes, if it was your little game,' said I, with a faint stress on theyour.

  'Whose else should it be?' he asked, looking at me open-mouthed.

  'Vicki is a little darling,' was my prudent reply, 'and I congratulateyou with all my heart. Really I am more delighted about this than I canremember ever being about anything--more purely delighted, without theleast shadow on my honest pleasure.'

  And all Joey vouchsafed as a reward for my ebullition of real feelingwas the information that he considered me quite a decent sort.

  So you see we are very happy up on the Galgenberg just now; the loverslike a pair of beaming babies, Frau von Lindeberg, sobered by the shockof her good fortune into the gentle kindliness that so often follows inthe wake of a sudden great happiness, Papa Lindeberg warmed out of histortoise-in-the-sun condition into much busy letter-writing, and Vicki'sbrother so uproariously pleased that I can only conclude him to be thepossessor of many debts which he proposes to cause Joey to pay. Life isvery thrilling when Love beats his wings so near. There has been a greatwriting to Joey's father, and Papa too has written, at my dictation, aletter rosy with the glow of Vicki's praises. Joey thinks his fatherwill shortly appear to inspect the Lindebergs. He seems to have no fearsof parental objections. 'He's all right, my old man is,' he saysconfidently when I probe him on the point; adding just now to thisinvariable reply, 'And look here, Miss Schmidt, Vicki's all right too,you see, so what's the funk about?'