Who was happier about this than the prince of Württemberg? He made the necessary purchases for a long residence in Pass Christian, along with several hanging screens, porter chairs, chaises longues with enclosures—in short, everything the prince could imagine useful for the convenience of his countesses. He also did not hesitate to help pack the chests, bags, and palmetto baskets, sneaking in many a present for the countesses to discover after their arrival.
There would be adequate service in Pass Christian, for there were two older mulatto women and three young, healthy cholas used to working, all of them the property of Herr von Seckendorf. But the sisters also wanted a German maid along with them, since they thought such a servant would be more comfortable and discreet for the time of their confinement than any colored person. Urschl, who had been unable to find a place, though she had walked her feet raw going to the German Society, was hired back by the prince and accepted by the sisters after a brief debate.
In the end they felt pity for their saucy cook, although she had recently been condemned in contumaciam for her scandalous conduct—unable to find a new situation, she had been kept in the house. The reward for the sisters’ kindness toward her was that they did not have to waste their time seeking and training a new domestic. Tiberius was to take charge of the kitchen once more, winning new laurels frying eggplants and making banana-tomato salads. When the sisters, accompanied by the prince and the Hungarian, departed from the lovable cottage to board the boat awaiting them, the saucy cook waddled after them, covered with boxes and bags, wearing an expression as satisfied as that of a mother whose baby has used the toilet for the first time. She was truly glad to get going, since Tiberius had made her life hard since their encounter. He had even insulted her a few moments before their departure, sticking out his tongue and thumbing his nose.
That was when the count’s family, Emil’s parents, arrived from Germany. The prince, who was informed of their arrival the day after, did not neglect to visit them right away, since he was an old friend. The reader already knows of the trials and tribulations of the count’s family, and will now understand why the prince of Württemberg was so secretive when he came to speak of Emil and the two sisters. He thought it best to await Jenny’s full recovery from her confinement before leading her and Frida to the arms of her parents-in-law. He wrote a very convincing letter to the two sisters in Pass Christian, and they adopted his suggestions to every detail. The old count was unable to obtain any information about his son or his daughter-in-law because Emil was known there under an entirely different name. The count’s family learned of Frida’s marriage only at the very last, when the prince was about to reunite them.
Jenny’s child, a splendid creature with large, bright blue eyes and dark hair, was taken by the prince to his mansion on Bayou Road. There the baby was cared for as a precious jewel and raised in expectation of the time when conditions would permit returning it to its mother’s arms. Frida, who became a mother almost in the same hour, had to get through sad, hard times in the first few weeks. Her child, a boy, came into the world quite sickly, and his prospects were not thought to be good. He was certainly a remarkable child. He did not have the uncertain, fluid features of almost all newborns, rather they were pronounced, or better, sharply marked. The eyes, the brow, the thin lips, the chin—everything declared the Hungarian, his father. His head showed a thick, dark head of hair, and he also brought five little teeth into the world. At the place on the cheek where his father bore his dreadful scar, there was a gray mark which ran to the corner of his mouth. Frida was overjoyed with the child, precisely because of his striking similarity to his father. She watched this sickly creature day and night with the greatest anxiety, renouncing every comfort for herself. The extent to which the Hungarian loved his child after his spouse had returned to the lovable cottage, however, can be deduced from his conversation in the Hamburg Mill, where he prostituted his wife in the most dreadful terms with his partners in crime. We might add that when he approached his child for the first time, something within him swore and flailed about. Perhaps he was terrified by the gray mark on the innocent child’s cheek, reminding him directly of the murderous scene on Looking-Glass Prairie? Certainly no husband had surer proof of his wife’s fidelity than did Lajos when he beheld his child. Such fidelity!
That is how far matters had come in the lovable cottage when the prince of Württemberg and Countess Gertrude surprised her oppressed parents and then passed the night watching at Aunty Celestine’s bed. As we already know, the Hamburg Mill fell victim to flames the same night. We will rejoin the story as the monster looked back with crossed arms at the fire from the Algiers shore before passing by Thompson’s Foundry on his way to the lovable cottage,30 little Tiberius at his side.
Chapter 8
ONE NIGHT IN THE LIFE OF A YOUNG WOMAN
After their return from Pass Christian, the two sisters at first lived a rather sheltered life. This was partly because they needed to recover from their residence away and partly because they were trying to buy a lot just on the northern border of their garden. With this expansion of their property, they wished to create a proper place for the prospering fowl they had been raising. Frida had resigned her position at the college as soon as she arrived in New Orleans and turned all her attention to her child, since her husband told her he was earning twice as much as before. Jenny’s situation had changed in that she no longer gave piano lessons in the city, but she had a few selected pupils come to her house. That was much better for the good-natured Jenny. The time she had wasted traveling to and from the city could now be applied to her favorite occupations. She only left the lovable cottage twice a week to travel to Bayou Road and the mansion of the prince of Württemberg, to see her child. That was where she first met Gertrude and Constanze, even before their parents had learned of her own and Frida’s presence from the prince. He had brought Gertrude and Constanze to Mistress Evans after the death of Aunty Celestine, and the other members of the family had been taken across the lake.
Jenny passed many of her free hours when not in Bayou Road sitting next to her sister under the banana tree, where a small bench had been placed. She herself called this place “Jenny’s Rest.” And indeed it did give her heart a great deal of peace to be near the intertwined initials. No one disturbed her here. Once the prince came as she was wrapping her bosom kerchief about the trunk of the banana tree, covering the A and E. She jumped up in confusion and fled like the wind into the cottage. The prince stood speechless for a few moments, unable to make sense of Jenny’s strange conduct. After he’d checked several times whether he was being observed from the residence, he knelt down and unwrapped the kerchief from the tree. When he saw the A and E, Jenny’s distress became clear to him.
“I should be upset with you, banana tree,” the prince whispered to himself. “Until now I thought that Countess Jenny had told only me and her sister her deepest secret, but now I see that she has initiated you as well.”
The prince opened his shirt and tucked the betraying scarf into it. Then he left through the garden door without speaking to the sisters.
Jenny was aflame when she came to her sister and told her that the prince had found her at the banana tree.
“It was good that that happened, dear little sister. Why were you hiding your secret from our old friend? It was often on the tip of my tongue, but I always believed that you would tell him yourself.”
“You are right, sister,” Jenny responded in a confidential tone. “It was a mistake that I kept it from him.”
“The prince is the best father-confessor in the world,” Frida said, “he forgives all sins.”
“He becomes more cherished with every day,” Jenny said, “I love and treasure him like my own father.”
“Who knows?” Frida said jokingly.
“Frida!” her sister commanded, shaking her finger threateningly.
“I have no idea,” Frida responded, “but the prince is not nearly as boring as other men of
his age.”
“La Rochefoucauld once said, ‘There are few men who understand how to be old.’” Jenny recited meaningfully.
“The prince is one of those few,” Frida contributed, with as much meaning as her sister.
The sisters conversed in this manner quite often.
Today Jenny and Frida sat with each other late into the night. Between them stood a little cradle, which they took turns rocking. The little one in the cradle appeared to sleep quite peacefully. Frida placed her right hand over the surface of the little bed, carefully, so that no opening was made in the mosquito netting, since with the least opportunity the mosquitos could flit in and bite the child, awakening him. Both of them wore long, snow-white shirts trimmed as blouses. They had each combed their hair back and fixed it with a simple needle. As always, before they went to bed they had thickly powdered their faces, necks, and bosoms. The climate of Louisiana demands this, and women who ignore it soon see damage to their skin. The sisters never failed to powder themselves or do anything else that had to do with cleanliness when they got ready for bed. Their small, narrow feet were a marvelously alabaster white, and their elegant toenails were tinted with the prettiest pink.
“Your husband is out quite late tonight, dear sister,” Jenny remarked as she looked through the mosquito netting at the sleeping child.
“I was just thinking about that,” Frida responded. “Tiberius has been gone an hour and a half.”
“So long as there has been no accident,” Jenny worried. “Tiberius so often makes mistakes when he rows.”
“Oh, I am not concerned about that, for my husband is an excellent swimmer.”
“That is true, Frida—but tell me, what did your husband tell you last night in bed that made you laugh so loud?”
“Just a moment, Jenny, didn’t you hear what he said?”
“If I had heard it, I would not have asked, dear little sister. It must have been something extraordinary, since you laughed so hard. Isn’t that so?”
“It was, Jenny, and I have to start laughing again when I think about it.”
“So tell me, what was it?”
Instead of answering, Frida was silent, acting in a mysterious manner in order to arouse her sister’s curiosity.
“So tell me, little sister, what was it?”
“I will tell you sometime, Jenny—it is already too late tonight, and my husband could arrive any moment.”
“Then he cannot know?”
“Of course he knows.”
“Then why won’t you tell me?”
“I want to, Jenny—just not tonight.”
“That is pure spite on your part, Frida—it cannot matter to you whether you tell me today or tomorrow. It would be better for you to do it right now, or I will assume you will find some other excuse tomorrow.”
The two sisters suddenly heard something. Frida released her hand from the cradle and looked questioningly at her sister.
“There must be a fire, Frida.” Jenny said.
“Not very close? Come, sister, let’s look out.”
The two sisters left the room arm in arm, but only after they looked in at the child to make sure he was still sleeping.
The wind carried the sound of the fire bells across from New Orleans, so it sounded like they were very close.
When Jenny and Frida reached the porch of the cottage, they looked across to the opposite bank and saw high flames leaping to the heavens.
“That is a big fire!” Jenny cried out. “Look how it spreads, Frida.”
“These continual fires in New Orleans are dreadful. There is hardly a day when one is not jolted out of peaceful sleep once or twice. It is almost as if it were planned that way. It is downright unnatural.”
“That could well be so, Frida—there are enough evil people in New Orleans.”
Beyond the fence that enclosed the garden they saw two men running. They halted at the nearby docks and talked in loud voices.
“I think that’s Johnson’s big warehouse,” the sisters heard one of them say.
“It can’t be that—Johnson’s warehouse is another block further back. If I’m not wrong, that’s the Hamburg Mill,” the other responded.
“It’s no loss if that’s ruined. One hears so much, and if the half is true, then it deserves to go up in flames. ’Tis just a band of loafers that lives there.”
“If only the band of loafers burns up with it, the neighborhood could be happy—but decent people have to suffer as well,” the first responded.
“You could be right,” the other said. “Look at the long lick of blue flames. That’s alcohol burning.”
“Now do you think it’s the big warehouse?”
“Yes. That much alcohol and liquor could never have been in the Hamburg Mill—look, look, the blue flames get longer and more numerous every moment. There, they rise behind as well—and yet it’s got to be the mill. Look over there, where the wind carries the smoke away, you can see the neighboring buildings quite clearly. I can imagine they are quite close to the mill—look, look, it’s even clearer now.”
“That could well be, I never paid that much attention.”
The men left the dock and walked further down along the riverbank.
Jenny, who, like her sister, had distinctly heard every word the men had said, said: “Didn’t the men say that the … what did they call that thing?”
“Hamburg Mill, I believe.”
“That must be a dreadful nest, according to what the men said about it. You will have to ask your husband, Frida, when he comes back. The name sounds mysterious—I would be curious to learn more about it.”
“It depends on whether my husband knows anything about it, or if he has even heard the name.”
“It is quite possible he knows, for I have never met a man who knows so much of the place—he is a living directory.”
What is going on in Jenny’s head at this moment? Are those not the dulled eyes of a quiet madwoman? Frida, Frida, wrap your arm around your sister’s slender body so she doesn’t fall over the balustrade in her fit of joy! I beg you on my knees, Frida, pull the arrows out of Cupid’s quiver before he shoots all of them into your poor sister’s heart. For the one she loves is too far away to form his lips into a kiss; he is over there, over there across the wide river, standing in the middle of the flames, mocking the destructive fire. Isn’t that a vision? Is your imagination simply following an enticing but misleading beacon? Could that handsome man with the singed hair and the glowing face who stands on the highest gable of the Hamburg Mill to fulfill his duty as a fireman, could he really be your Albert? And you are sure that you recognize him, Jenny? It is a long way from Algiers across to New Orleans, but I believe you, for I know that the eye of love sees a long way.
The cool breeze played with the curled hair of a goddess.
Blue-eyed Frida embraced her sister as she leaned over the balustrade of the porch, reaching her arms out in tempestuous desire at the raging firestorm.
“Frida, good, good sister, don’t you see my Albert?” Jenny cried out, as loud as if she were alone on this earth with her sister.
“Jenny, dear good little sister, be reasonable, what is the matter with you? I beg you, for heaven’s sake, little sister—O God, my God, those eyes—little sister, you terrify me—what is the matter with you, then?”
“Don’t you see my Albert? There, there, don’t you see him, standing in the midst of the flames—O God, let them do him no harm. Look, look, now he is going higher up—O God—will the ladder hold him? Oh, look at him, just like Emil!”
They actually saw the slender figure of a fireman on a roof timber that had been spared from the flames. He was directing a hose with a practiced hand on the flames beneath him. He stood securely, as if he were not in the slightest peril but on solid ground. His profile rose out of the glowing coals, and it was only erased when the thick smoke rose and covered the roof.
It was high time for the fireman to leave his perilous post. Indeed, at
the same instant he darted down his ladder, the cross-timber fell down into the smoking ruins and glowing coals.
Jenny saw the fireman retreat, and she waved her handkerchief in his direction, as if she were convinced he could see her.
Was it really Albert?
Frida did not want to concede this to her sister at first, but in the end she believed it, since that was what Jenny wanted.
A merry jingle at the garden gate told the sisters that someone was entering.
“That is your husband, Frida,” Jenny said. “I am going to my bedroom; I am in no condition to see him. Wish him good night in my name, and do not forget to ask him about the Hamburg Mill.”
The two sisters gave each other their usual goodnight kiss, and Frida whispered in her sister’s ear, “But don’t eavesdrop again, dear little sister!”
“Quit that, Frida!” Jenny responded quickly, rushing away.
Jenny was right. It was Lajos who came down the garden path. He was followed by little Tiberius, who was whistling to himself his old song, “Susannah don’t you cry.”
Frida left the porch and went to meet her husband halfway.
He barely raised his eyes from the ground as she gave him her hand in greeting. He thanked her curtly and did not even offer her his arm, which he had never failed to do before. In silence, he helped her carry the cradle into the bedroom. “I am tired” was all Frida could get out of him when they arrived in the bedroom, which, as we know, adjoined Jenny’s little room. The door that connected them was only lightly closed during the night. That was Jenny’s wish; she did not want to feel she was alone.
The Mysteries of New Orleans (The Longfellow Series of American Languages and Literatures) Page 54
