Short Stories From Austria- Ferdinand Von Saar

by Ferdinand Ludwig Adam

  He got up, took off his hat and overcoat, and started to leave.

  “And did not you hear anything from the woman?” I asked.

  “Nothing, certainly. At first it was said that the couple had turned to Pest. Then they wanted to know that they were in Paris, while others claimed that they had not gotten over Vienna at all. It does not matter now. Who knows if they are still together? Things like that do not last.”

  He shook my hand and recommended himself. But I remained seated and looked out through the new mirrors into the street, which at the moment was little animated. A sharp north wind had risen and swept away withered leaves from the Coffeehouse garden trees over the plaster. “Yes,” I said quietly to myself, “that is the way of the world.”

  A group of children, who, after finishing school lessons, the books on their backs, merrily rolled past the window woke me from my thoughts.

  IV.

  Since then almost a year has passed when one morning a knock on my door and a younger writer entered, who enjoyed no particular popularity with his professional colleagues. Not without talent, he entered the literature very early on, he had tried in all sorts of areas and worked, since the success did not meet his expectations, lately almost only as a critic. In this capacity, as a precursor to today's “newest school", he maintained as a guiding principle the assertion that all that has been done so far is outdated and no longer fits into our time. He himself felt quite “modern", always spoke of a literature of the future and, as a result, turned out to be very forgiving and encouraging to beginners, especially if they belonged to the female sex. So he was also in great standing with some women writers and those who wanted to become one. They sent him their works, consulted him, and, as has been said, always took the opportunity to enter into more intimate relations with one or the other of these ladies, whom he found to his liking. On the other hand, he did not want to succeed in establishing a firm and undisputed literary position, which drove him, vain and self-confident as he was, into an illusory arrogance. I myself had been pleasing to him on some occasion, and since then he has visited me more often than I have been wished. For, despite the gracious acknowledgment he gave me, So he was also in great standing with some women writers and those who wanted to become one. They sent him their works, consulted him, and, as has been said, always took the opportunity to enter into more intimate relations with one or the other of these ladies, whom he found to his liking. On the other hand, he did not want to succeed in establishing a firm and undisputed literary position, which drove him, vain and self-confident as he was, into an illusory arrogance. I myself had been pleasing to him on some occasion, and since then he has visited me more often than I have been wished. For, despite the gracious acknowledgment he gave me, So he was also in great standing with some women writers and those who wanted to become one. They sent him their works, consulted him, and, as has been said, always took the opportunity to enter into more intimate relations with one or the other of these ladies, whom he found to his liking. On the other hand, he did not want to succeed in establishing a firm and undisputed literary position, which drove him, vain and self-confident as he was, into an illusory arrogance. I myself had been pleasing to him on some occasion, and since then he has visited me more often than I have been wished. For, despite the gracious acknowledgment he gave me, in great esteem. They sent him their works, consulted him, and, as has been said, always took the opportunity to enter into more intimate relations with one or the other of these ladies, whom he found to his liking. On the other hand, he did not want to succeed in establishing a firm and undisputed literary position, which drove him, vain and self-confident as he was, into an illusory arrogance. I myself had been pleasing to him on some occasion, and since then he has visited me more often than I have been wished. For, despite the gracious acknowledgment he gave me, in great esteem. They sent him their works, consulted him, and, as has been said, always took the opportunity to enter into more intimate relations with one or the other of these ladies, whom he found to his liking. On the other hand, he did not want to succeed in establishing a firm and undisputed literary position, which drove him, vain and self-confident as he was, into an illusory arrogance. I myself had been pleasing to him on some occasion, and since then he has visited me more often than I have been wished. For, despite the gracious acknowledgment he gave me, which he found to his liking to enter into more intimate relationships. On the other hand, he did not want to succeed in establishing a firm and undisputed literary position, which drove him, vain and self-confident as he was, into an illusory arrogance. I myself had been pleasing to him on some occasion, and since then he has visited me more often than I have been wished. For, despite the gracious acknowledgment he gave me, which he found to his liking to enter into more intimate relationships. On the other hand, he did not want to succeed in establishing a firm and undisputed literary position, which drove him, vain and self-confident as he was, into an illusory arrogance. I myself had been pleasing to him on some occasion, and since then he has visited me more often than I have been wished. For, despite the gracious acknowledgment he gave me, and since then, he visited me more often than I was desired. For, despite the gracious acknowledgment he gave me, and since then, he visited me more often than I was desired. For, despite the gracious acknowledgment he gave me, He could not help but to let it flow constantly, how much he felt superior to me and my achievements.

  “Although you do not care about me, I have to go to your hermitage again,” he said now, shaking my hand and removing his worn-out hat. Then he shook his long, tight hair and looked around the room. “My God! how can you bury yourself like that! But you have a nice view, “he added, stepping out of the window. “But what good is that? At the same time, one remains only a romantic, an elegiac Lorenz child. Today the poet must stand in the midst of the struggle of life, must have a keen eye, always ready ears for the signs and demands of the time-otherwise he will rightly be left aside.”

  When I answered these often heard remarks with a silence that he could interpret as he liked, he went on, turning back to me, in his sermon: “But that's how you are, gentlemen of the old school! You can not get rid of your traditional ideals. That's where the women are doing better. They have the courage to break with the past and have the right instinct for the needs of the present. Just look what I get in my hand!”

  He pulled out of the pocket of his overcoat a rather voluminous notebook, which was folded in the middle, and handed it to me. I unfolded it and read the title: “The novel of a woman, by Elsa Röber".

  I looked up thoughtfully.

  He did not notice and threw himself into the next chair in his eagerness. “Terrific, I tell you! The grip of a lioness! Here the traditional mischievous chatter about the sanctity of marriage is thoroughly cleared up and the gospel of free love is preached most emphatically. The relevant passages and descriptions are all the more striking, when they come from the pen of a woman. Quite as it is here, “he continued after a pause,” history, of course, is not necessary. The form is very poor; also the author stands with the grammar and every now and then with the spelling on a rather tense foot. But with proper tutoring, the novel can make a splash when it appears.”

  “And is the author personally known to you?” I asked out of my thoughts.

  “Of course. After examining the manuscript she had sent to me by second hand, I immediately introduced myself to her. A beautiful woman! In the most interesting age - so in the beginning of the thirties. Maybe she is not foreign to you; because if I'm not mistaken, she used to live here in Dobling during the marriage she describes.”

  “And now?” I asked, as more and more definite guesses appeared in me.

  “Now? Now she lives in the city.”

  “Alone?”

  “Not at all. With her lover, whom she calls her husband; but I do not think they are married. He is an agent or something like that; they do not seem to be feeling well. “He looked at the clock. “Hell, already twelve! I have to
leave you there. I am to go over to the wine-house at table, where relatives of mine spend the summer. Have taken the opportunity to make a detour to you. You know what? I leave the manuscript here. You'll do me a favor if you look through it. I am sure of my cause; but it would be of great value to me to hear your judgment. If it suits you, I'll pick it up for you in the evening.”

  Since my suspicions had now become almost certainty, so now I was very interested in the whole thing, and I told him that he would certainly find me home after five o'clock.

  No sooner had he stepped out of the room than I sat down and picked up the notebook. Elsa Röber! There could be no doubt! Röber was the name of the man for whose sake Mrs. Stadler had left home and family. Everything was true: she was the author!

  I started to read. It was not easy for me; for the writing was uneven and confused, in some places so fleeting that I could barely decipher individual words. Nevertheless, the more leaves I turned, the more I had to agree in a certain sense with the opinion of the enthusiastic discoverer. Not that the work seemed as important to me as it was to him. Rather, it turned out to be quite a pupil-like imitation of a narrative that appeared a few years ago under the title “Die Geschiedene” and was written by a highly talented author who, as the actual opener of this direction, had introduced a strongly naturalistic eroticism into modern German literature. And the short poems, which interspersed now and then, immediately recalled the brilliant songs of the Ada Christians. Nevertheless, in addition to many plates and ordinary - moving portrayals; in addition to many false and false things, beside raw and hurtful - sounds of a deep, peculiar sensation, shattering cries of pain and pleasure, which had to elicit powerful reverberations, especially in unsatisfied female hearts. -

  I dropped the booklet. Strange! So then was this once so ponderous woman, distancing herself from any higher spiritual stimulation, who, grown as a genuine, enjoyable Viennese child, years ago scoffed the nose when she learned that I was a poet: at last also from the literary urge of the time and the power of her destinies had put the pen into her hands!

  * *

  *

  At about six o'clock, the new woman praise (I had quietly settled this name for myself for a long time) reappeared.

  His first word was, “Did you read?”

  “Certainly,” I confirmed.

  “Well, what do you say?” He urged.

  “I agree with you,” I replied without restriction, knowing that he would not accept a single one.

  “Bravo!” He exclaimed, raising his head proudly. Then he added condescendingly: “What a triumph for the poetess, that you too - -”

  I thought for a moment. There could be no doubt, as I said, but I wanted the most complete conviction. From the novel itself, this could not be obtained directly. As with most novice work, the local colors were purposely blurred, the characters fairly general, the events far-fetched. So I said, “I just want to confess that I think I know the author in fact. That is, very superficial - in a sense, only by sight. Nevertheless, I can be wrong. So tell me more about them - describe me their appearance -”

  “For what? Look at the lady and it will show if you were on the right track.”

  “How should that happen?”

  “Very easily. I'm expected to have tea there tonight - and I'll take you with me. The favorable judgment that pleases you, the beautiful woman will be pleased twice if she hears it from her own mouth.”

  I confess, this proposal had something tempting. It tempted me to see the woman whose life I had been observing for so long in completely changed circumstances. Nevertheless, I felt the injustice of such an approach, even more so since my recognition was by no means as complete as the self-assured protector presupposed. So I replied, “It will not work - quite simply -”

  “What concerns, honored ones! You can assume that you will be welcome under all circumstances. And then frankly, it is very desirable to me if I can introduce you there. And this because of Röber, despite his fatal attitude is an extremely haughty fellow. He does not in the least value the gifts of his beloved-or his wife; rather, he mocks her aspirations and looks at me with open distrust. At any rate, he believes that I'm going with - God knows what self-serving intentions go. But if he sees that a man like you - -”

  “I do not know why I should impress Herr Röber in particular,” I replied, dismissing the now so sudden high esteem. “And then one more thing. It would actually be very naughty if I would face that woman so completely without any preparation. Because so well I think they have in mind, and will they remember my person and could thus be highly unwelcome reminder of the past.”

  He laughed out loud. “You are wrong, dear friend! Mrs. Elsa has thoroughly settled with everything that lies behind her. That's what the novel should prove to you; she now has only one thing in mind: that it comes into its own. So do not scruple and join us!”

  I wavered for a while; but then curiosity was the decisive factor. I got ready and drove with Frauenlob to the city.

  V.

  The part of town in which Elsa Röber lived was that old, more or less lightless and airless alley that has remained almost untouched by any innovations in the immediate vicinity of St. Stephen's Cathedral. The rent is cheaper in most houses than elsewhere, and so a large proportion of the inhabitants are people living in limited, often dubious circumstances. Arriving in one of the narrowest lanes in front of a tall, gray-washed house with a projecting first floor, we entered - it was September - into a dark, gated driveway. There my guide immediately steered me a few steps to a narrow, unlighted side corridor, where we were facing a single door. He pulled the bell and, since everything was quiet inside, after a while, a second time. At last there was a sound of light footsteps hesitantly approaching the door; a small peephole was opened, and a female voice asked out into the darkness, “Who is there?”

  “It's me, Frau Elsa!” Exclaimed Frauenlob insistently. “Just open up!”

  Inside, while the peephole closed, a slight “Ah!” Sounded very loud: “Please only a moment! I sent the girl away; I have to get the second key first.”

  Soon afterward he turned in the lock, and a diminutive figure made us enter the gloomy twilight of a not very spacious kitchen by opening the door.

  “Oh, forgive me,” she said, turning the key again and pulling away, “that you had to wait so long. I had not expected you so early. But - -”

  As you could see, her eyes lingered on me, alienated and searching.

  “Yes, ma'am, I have brought a visit,” my companion cried solemnly. Then introducing: “My esteemed colleague, the famous” he called my name. “He has read your novel and now wants to know you personally.”

  “Oh, I ask” she replied, confused. “But come into the room. I have not yet turned on the light - I will soon - “And now, with a kerosene lamp near the hearth, we entered a rather broad, low-arched chamber, like those on the ground floors of old Townhouses are commonly encountered. As the window curtains were closed, there was such darkness in the room that the pieces of furniture, except for a round table standing in the middle of the room, on which preparations had already been made for the evening tea, could scarcely be distinguished.

  We stopped to bump nowhere near the door, and now Mrs. Elsa came in, her face lit by the shining lamp she carried before her.

  If Frauenlob had said that she was “beautiful,” it was impossible to agree with this saying any more than the exuberant recognition of the novel. That she had been very beautiful, however, was still evident, and that she was still able to exert an incentive, had to be admitted. But what changes had happened during the last three years! She had become surprisingly slender, even skinny, and indeed she showed that leanness prematurely rapid decay, which makes trains and forms seem limp and stunted. Her hair, previously so immensely thick, had been conspicuously cleared, and the pale gold eyes had darkened to a sharp brown. Nevertheless, it was still attractive eyes, which now seemed so much larger with a lack of facial expression when th
ey were highlighted by visibly blackened eyelashes. But they were also disguised by broad, colored circles, which could be considered as signs of physical - perhaps emotional - exhaustion. She was wearing a simple, not quite fitting woolen dress, and there was no ornament except a cheap, fake brooch in the neck area. Her hands were flushed and, despite the painstaking care with which they were apparently cared for, showed signs of hard domestic work.

  She had put the lamp on the table and was watching me attentively. “May I again ask for the name of this gentleman; I did not quite get it before -”

  Frauenlob repeated him with emphasis.

  “Oh, yes,” she said, sitting down on a small sofa and inviting us to sit as well- “Oh yes, I probably already heard that name. But it feels as if I should know you personally too.”

  Now the embarrassing moment had come, which I had foreseen and feared, despite the assurances of women's praise. So I replied somewhat meekly: “However, we have seen each other many times - in Dobling, where I have been living for a number of years.”

  “Yes, yes, of course - in Dobling,” she answered hastily, while her slightly yellowish complexion slowly turned into a dark blush. “I remember very well. And you certainly know my whole story and you will not be surprised, in quite different circumstances -”

  In the meantime, I had gotten over my head and was trying to get over this subject as quickly as possible, which in all likelihood did not leave her as completely indifferent as Frauenlob had claimed.