Yesterday Was Long Ago: Part One

by Hedy Thalberg James

  He was still holding onto the table and started swaying, taking an unsure step after another towards Victoria’s room. The door was open. Like a plea for mercy, he stuttered in a broken voice, “Whatever I have done or did not do, was always for the good of all of you!”

  She jumped up and finally decided to speak her peace for the first time on behalf of the family and especially in behalf of Oscar. “No, you did not, Father! You only did what was best for you and the name of von Wintersberg!” Before being able to continue, she felt a hard jolt to her face.

  Her father’s bad temper had, as often before, gotten the best of him. Victoria’s daring and rebellious expression of hatred had once again let Oscar’s face appear in front of him. But realizing too late that it was not his son that had spoken to him, he stared bewildered at his obviously trembling hand in disbelief, turning it upside down, not wanting to take responsibility for what had taken place. He had never before struck Victoria, no matter how infuriated he had been.

  Lotte came in, and seeing her daughter holding her small hand to her burning face, who apparently was just as incredulous as he, took control immediately, giving Manfred one of her most venomous looks, which she had acquired through the many years of bitter experience. There was an icy silence, except for the little white canary which was singing his heart out, probably celebrating that the family was back to normal again, after having missed the usual turmoil and noise of the quarrels during the last few weeks.

  Still looking at his hand in a most peculiar way, Manfred was discovering something new. Moments before his aggression, life had not been running exactly to his liking, but now it was completely over. There was no longer any sense in asking to be forgiven, besides the fact that he wouldn’t even know how to go about it. There was no other choice for him but to leave the room, watching his wife and daughter in a tight embrace, hearing Lotte’s clear and loud statement, “We are leaving this crazy man! The sooner the better, for both of us!”

  Victoria only nodded, still stunned, managing a small smile, her red cheek already swollen. Her thoughts, however, were, as they had been so often, on Philip. If only she were able to forget him! A new life in Berlin had been offered at Uncle Friedrich’s estate, and the possibility to find the right suitor there would surely present itself! “On the other hand,” she mused, “my father’s present dilemma might just make him falter and consent to anything, possibly even to leave me in Vienna to marry Philip Reinhardt!”

  “I must talk to Philip, if only for a moment! I believe I owe him that much.”

  “Of course, dear child. But you will want to wait until the swelling has gone down. Come, let me put a cold compress on it.”

  “Yes, Mama. Of course, I will wait.”

  “But I, myself, must talk to the Kronthalers as early as possible. They have to know of our plans.”

  He had heard enough and started with a wobbling gait towards his own room. It was a combination of library and lounge, where he would have his after-dinner drink and smoke, or a nap on the comfortable old leather sofa. He stood there now, looking intently at a photograph in a heavy silver frame that bore the images of his austere-looking, middle-aged parents who were long gone now. They were staring back at him unrelentingly, and for the first time, it occurred to him how well they matched his sparsely furnished room. The furniture belonged to the German Embassy, just as everything else in the house.

  The place itself was a charming Viennese apartment house with all the lovely, ornamental work one would find in just about any of the finer Viennese homes. It had a lovely view of the city, which to Manfred was of no meaning, it being an eyesore ever since he had been transferred here. He kept his windows closed most of the time since the noise of the Ringstraβe did not make him very happy. He looked at the two paintings of Lotte and Victoria which had been given to him as a birthday present a couple years past, and which were meant to make him happy. And now, for a few short moments, their images almost succeeded. A picture of Oscar could not be found here since he had obstinately refused to ever have a picture taken of himself in uniform, and Manfred would not have accepted it any other way. A Count von Wintersberg would always wear a uniform, or not be worthy of the family name.

  He tried to steady himself to get a bit more comfortable and thought that soon he would have to go back to his office. He glanced, once again, over to his parent's picture, which, against his will, kept him staring and seeing visions of his father as he had been when he was alive. An assortment of memories swam in front of his still unbalanced head. His tall, unforgiving father now became even more visible to him. He was every inch a Count! Even without monocle, pipe, and horsewhip. “He had made sure that his large household was coordinated to perfection and his wishes, always in the habit of giving unsolicited advice,” Manfred mused. He could still hear his command, “Manfred! Always be prepared to stand up, and if necessary, to die for your country and principles. Never bend or you’ll live like a serf! There’s neither glory nor honor in being one. The way my family always saw it, it’s a step below a dog! And the same is true for women. Once you marry them, you own them. Never even think of giving in to them or they’ll make you their slave! There’s no honor in being a slave either. History has taught us that much! Use the whip when necessary! Just like the good book says, ‘Don’t spare the rod!’”

  Manfred banged his head, trying to get rid of the screams of loud voices, coming always closer, and he could finally make out that they were the cries of his three sisters who were frantically looking for a place to hide, his father calling them one by one to get their daily thrashing. Manfred was always the last one to be called, when his unprovoked anger had already subsided. His poor, helpless mother looked on and was not even allowed to cry for them. His thoughts were swirling like crazy and he again looked at his hand, still seeing Lotte’s and Victoria’s bewildered faces, her face changing into Oscar's as he had seen him at the hospital, and at the same time having the delusion that his son had recognized him in the last hours of his life, and then again hearing the physician telling him, “Count von Wintersberg, your son has lost his will to live. It’s an important factor in getting well again!” This was the phrase that had been on his mind all the way from Berlin to Vienna. Now the shouting and screaming around him became so unbearable that he could not take it any longer, convinced that Oscar was already haunting him. “Purgatory! I am experiencing it already!” He opened his desk drawer, confused, gazing at the pistol it hid, as the old grandfather clock struck two, a daily reminder to get back to work; or rather, to perform his duty as a German.

  He did not recall how he got to the Embassy, but he suddenly heard an aide announce, “His Excellency would like to see you, Count von Wintersberg!” Manfred followed wordlessly.

  “I’m looking under this pile of papers which urgently requires your signature,” the Ambassador muttered, nervously rummaging through a stack of papers. “Take a seat Count von Wintersberg!” he instructed gently. Seeing no response, he looked up. “My Lord! What happened to you?” he confronted the ashen-faced man, who was staring unseeingly and motionless before him.

  As the Ambassador came over to take a closer look at him, and as Manfred finally recognized him, his teeth started to rattle and his body shook, all the while wanting to tell the Ambassador that Lotte and Victoria refused to go to Spain, but his voice would not come out and he was unable to form the words. Seeing Manfred’s eyes protruding, again viewing his right hand harshly, the now fearful Ambassador rang for his aide who stated dryly, “He’s snapped! He needs a doctor before he goes berserk! I don’t trust this man!”

  “Get me Consul Kronthaler! It must be a delayed reaction to his son’s death.”

  “The Vice-Consul needs a doctor and he needs one fast!” Kronthaler repeated the aide’s suggestion.

  “First, let’s think about it. His reputation, his dignity and that of the Embassy are at stake! If not him, it has to be protected at any cost! Even if the most trivial incident reaches
the paper You realize that I am responsible for every German in this country!” the Ambassador boasted, looking importantly at the increasingly growing assembled staff around him.

  “The Samaritan Hospital is the nearest to reach,” one of the aides ventured to suggest. “It’s run by nuns and a staff of caring Catholic doctors.”

  The Ambassador smiled. “The word Samaritan reminds me of poverty.”

  “Maria Theresa Hospital has a special wing and excellent doctors, well versed in nervous disorders, and it’s not too far from here,” Consul Kronthaler advised, looking around for better suggestions.

  “Alright, that sounds better. Get my coat!” the Ambassador commanded. “In a case like this, I will have to personally involve myself. Watch the Count, and keep him from falling! All the poor man needs is some rest,” he repeated to Kronthaler. “You and your wife go to see the Countess and break this unforeseen tragedy as gently as possible. Tell her that I am taking care of things personally, that everything will be alright. Why such calamities always happen to perfectly harmonious couples is beyond me!” he uttered before leaving.

  Kronthaler just nodded, repulsed by the sight of both men. He walked away, preparing to see Lotte and Victoria, but not before conferring with his wife.

  “We’ll need at least two more men.” The coachman, who was returning with one of the aides, looked at von Wintersberg, still in a frozen position.

  “Alright, let’s all give our Vice Consul a hand!” von Ritter requested, returning to his inner office and lighting a cigar, watching from the window as Manfred was carried off like a sack of flour and dumped into an open coach. His aides returned, exchanging animated gestures and chuckles.

  It was clear that Count Manfred von Wintersberg would never be able to brag or boast that anyone in this world had cared for him, and it had only taken a whole lifetime to achieve that.

  Lotte did not show the slightest indication of being upset or sadly affected when Kronthaler and his wife Irma, who had rushed to her side, told her what had happened. It probably would not have made any impression on her had they told her that her husband had dropped dead. She just asked them to make themselves comfortable while she fetched her daughter.

  “Why don’t you take the compress off your face, Victoria, so our friends can appreciate what your father is capable of doing,” she said with a deep sigh. “With Oscar out of his way, we might just be his next victims.”

  The Kronthalers were appalled, and at first, they were completely petrified. When he finally got his speech back, the Consul said, “You can see how shocked we are! Can we now hear what has been going on here?”

  “I am finally ready to talk openly to you about the years of enduring his cruelty, him fully aware that we had no way out and nowhere to go.” Lotte gave an account of most of their unhappy lives under the Count’s whip and also told them of the newly developed situation that they had finally seen as their way out, and what had finally ensued that afternoon. Even though they had always known that Manfred von Wintersberg had been an odd and peculiar man, both Kronthalers were only able to shake their heads incredulously over what they had learned.

  “With your permission, I would like to inform the Ambassador. I feel, and I’m sure Irma is with me on this, that he should know about this in order to act on it.”

  “I’ll leave that up to you entirely. To us, it doesn’t matter anymore. As I told you before, my brother would only be too happy to welcome us into his household.”

  “We are so very happy for you, although it is rather sad to see you leave. We shall miss you terribly! Our very best friends!” the Consul said, nervously searching for his wife’s hand.

  “Oh! In all of this excitement, I almost forget to give you Philip Reinhardt’s letter, Victoria.” Irma opened her purse to fetch the letter, asking with concern in her voice, “Whatever are we going to tell this nice, persistent young man?”

  “Mother and I have already talked about it. As soon as this swelling has subsided, I shall try to see him. The way matters stand at the moment, I am planning to go back to Berlin with mother. The more I think about it, this is probably the best service I will be doing for myself. I feel he’s just a bit too handsome and too rich for his own benefit, and I might, because of this, never be the only one for him.”

  Irma Kronthaler reached over, smiling, and patted her hand. “If I know men, this young one, regardless of good looks or riches, has never entertained any intentions of letting you slip through his fingers. And now that your father will not be able to intervene, who knows what good things will come your way!”

  “If only this were the only problem I had to worry about,” Victoria sighed. “There is also the opposition of his mother. He wrote me a lengthy letter in which he candidly explained all of the problems he himself was confronted with. I thought it very forthright and honest of him, considering that he did not really owe me any explanation as of yet,” Victoria voiced very carefully.

  “Well, I’ve gotten to know him very well, and I can only tell you that he’s very much his own man and very capable of making his own decisions. What’s more is that he’s trying to amend his relationship with his family and is already back on good terms with his father! As far as his mother is concerned—” She smiled, pointing at Ernst Kronthaler. “His mother still does not like me very much! But then, one does not marry the mother!” Irma laughed quietly. Being a former diplomat’s daughter, and presently being the wife of one, she was in a position to be a matchmaker without ever being faulted for it by anyone.

  ∼

  Manfred, still shaken, but otherwise aware of his predicament as well as his surroundings, had not lost his anger. If he had thought before that he was experiencing purgatory, he became more and more conscious of momentarily landing in hell. Even though he had been in a frozen state of stupor, nothing had escaped his consciousness from the time he had been thrown into that coach to be transported so thoughtlessly to this God forsaken place, which he was now trying to get away from. He was therefore very compliant, however harboring a great hate for the Ambassador whom he would never forgive for acting so heartlessly towards him. He had resolved to resign his position as soon as he was released, again being sane enough to realize that there was no other choice for him anyhow. “A mad Vice-Consul is not really something that any Embassy would strive to have, even in the most far-removed country!” he considered, observing three feisty old nuns reciting their continuous prayers, while their two half-drunk aides who were standing nearby were swearing shamelessly in their abhorrent Austrian dialect.

  The nuns were now proceeding to undress him on a long wooden table, the assistant doubtless waiting to take over from there on. His assumption was right. They carried him over to a half-filled wooden tub to which iron cuffs had been attached to serve as a warning to troublemakers. Since he was not the only one to be inserted into the tub, they sat him in a squeaky wheeled chair and covered his nakedness with a towel, which, from the dirty condition that it was in, had probably been used on quite a few others before him. The place was badly heated, and he was freezing and shivering.

  “If you scream,” one of them forewarned him sternly. “we’ll put those handcuffs on you. And if that is not enough,” He clanged threateningly with a chain. “we have this to keep you quiet.” They all smirked oddly through their rotten teeth. Knowing that they were not playing any games, he took every word seriously and nodded obediently in agreement.

  “The cold water will relax you,” a nun passing by promised. “It’ll only take an hour.”

  After this seemingly everlasting ordeal, his next shock was nearing in the form of an old, bearded, Jewish doctor who introduced himself as Dr. Finkelstein, and who was helping the nuns in drying off his quivering body, and in their endeavor to steady him on his one leg.

  “I’ve just come back out of my retirement!” the doctor announced with relish in his voice. “I’ve found that I’d rather be in the hospital than anywhere else. Or, to put it more appropria
tely, I enjoy helping people in need more than anything else in the world.”

  After taking one look at him, Manfred felt that with this, the end was near for certain. His family’s strict Prussian upbringing came to mind. “Jews are bloodthirsty hounds that have always been after us God-fearing Christians to kill us. Read the bible, son!” his father had always emphasized, and he had always made sure that he understood this, constantly testing his knowledge on it. The von Wintersberg teachings were clear that there was not one decent Jew in this world. And now he was at the total mercy of one!

  “In case I haven’t introduced myself before, I am Jakob Finkelstein,” the doctor murmured through his beard again, carefully reading through the temporary medical chart that had been given to him, the data having come from the Ambassador. “I see here that you are Count Manfred von Wintersberg! A diplomat! Born in Berlin….married.” He stopped instantaneously, with an astounded sigh. “You had two children, and just lost your son! Now I understand the reason for your being here. But you are still a very lucky man. You still have your wife and daughter. All I have left is a little dog.”

  “And all I have is a little canary!” Manfred thought, only to be interrupted by the doctor’s next question. “When did you lose your leg, Count von Wintersberg?” Manfred’s teeth began to clatter anew as he tried to speak. “Nevermind.” The doctor smiled kindly. “I’ll soon have a bed ready for you, and then I will give you a nice strong sleeping potion. You certainly could use a long, relaxing rest. After that, you’ll feel much better. We’ll have our little talk then.”