"I must have got it contradicting Gustavus. You haven't heard the half of it yet. He suggested—I admit he hummed and hawed—that we should call the boy Landeney, that's a title they have, at least during his minority, and as we were about it I was to change my name, too; he said I
ought to call myself Baroness Landeney. He said I would find it more comfortable."
"A pity he can't offer it to Edu," said Sarah.
"I don't think I'll let the horses go to Sigmundshofen."
At the end of the week, she said, "Have you ever heard of lawyers as slow as mine?"
Sarah said, "I still don't see why my father-in-law—"
"You know there can be no question of that," said Caroline.
"Then I wish you would let me"
"There seems to be a run on buying a place for Jules. My turn."
"At least, let me do some investing for you. Try a few thousands, I'll double them for you in a month. I could— oh never mind."
Caroline said, "I am grateful. Very. But again it has to be no."
"And I'm so good at it," said Sarah.
Instead, Caroline let her find them a flat.
"Here? Yes, I suppose so. Why not? No point in moving to anywhere in particular now. I have to think of Jules, he doesn't know I'Affaire is over. Nobody knows how to tell him. Darling, do get us something quick."
After Caroline's child was born, Jeanne went in to her. "Do not upset her," said Jules. "Try not to let her talk," said Sarah. Caroline said weakly, "Is it all right?"
"Yes," Jeanne said, pianissimo.
"Yes?"
"Shsh . . . Yes."
"Ten toes and all?"
"Yes, yes."
"It was a boy?"
"No. Yes."
"Which?"
"You must rest, dear," said Jeanne.
"It is alive?"
"Oh yes."
"oh my god, what is it?" "A girl." "Rather a mercy?" said Caroline.
Ten minutes later she opened half an eye. "We won't have to call it Julius Augustus then," she said.
At the end of a few weeks, she said, "This place is not one of your best efforts, Sarah. And look at these." The sofa was covered with estimates. "They are waiting for the spring to look at the roof, it beats English workmen. Meanwhile we'd better all move back to the fleshpots."
"Can you bear that?"
"It'll please the old things to have us a bit longer. One really couldn't do less after the way they stuck to us."
By the time their own place was ready, Julius had procured a motor-car, and Caroline an English nanny.
"They're pretty good sport," Edu said.
"I think of it more for travelling," said Julius.
"My dear chap, you won't find the time."
This was of little moment in the years that followed, and Julius was able to keep to his original idea. During the whole of its existence this car had no function other than that of conveying Julius, and Julius and his man alone, bi-annually, to and from Voss Strasse and his country home. In the intervals between this accomplishment the vehicle was out of mind, indeed of sight, resting on its elegant high wheels on the premises of a mechanic at Colmar.
Caroline and the two children always took the train.
When she had begun to think of Henrietta's coming out and her own baby was just under three, Corporal Schaale suddenly turned up and was rearrested. His story was simple. He had not been spirited away. Terrified by the prospect of his trial he had broken out of the cells he knew quite well, having guarded them himself, and skipped into Switzerland where under another name he found
employment and obscurity. His return was a visit due to homesickness. He was tried by the military at once, almost overnight. Putnitz again denied having cried out for help ("I cried out because I was startled"), Faithful George was a very damaging witness ("The Captain never hurt a fly"), there was no evidence that Johannes had been dangerous, indeed, no doctor having seen him, no proof of his insanity, and Schaale was sentenced to death.
There was an immediate flare-up. The story was revived, and for a week emotion blazed again. Caroline was in Berlin then; she was driving out with her small daughter and the nurse, in the Lenee Strasse crowds recognized her coupe and some stones were flung at them. Two days later the Kaiser reprieved Schaale by commutation.
The Corporal was taken to the fortress where he was to serve a life sentence. Popular conscience was appeased.
Schaale's parents, some private advocates and the League for Human Rights tried for an appeal. Disliked by the authorities, suspected by the people and their fellow champions, bereft of aid or comfort from their husbands, Clara and Caroline joined them.
It looked rather hopeless from the first. They were kept dangling; nothing new was coming up about the case. As reasonable people put it—a man had got rattled and shot another, it was pretty certain that that man had been a lunatic, even so, if it was not exactly murder, it was hardly a reaction to be condoned altogether by society; the man who had pulled the trigger was a soldier and ought to have known better, besides detention in a fortress was not the same as penal servitude.
Sarah rather subscribed to that opinion, but she gave a cheque to Caroline.
After two years the appeal was finally turned down.
"We can never drop it," Caroline said to Clara. "That man is still in prison."
"That is not for us to think of. We cannot know the reason. It may preserve him from great temptation. It is
our duty to work for his remission. We need not decide about the result."
Gradually the revisionists lost heart. The Corporal's parents refused to sign any more papers, the advocates dropped out. At last only a bishop—a man of charity who trusted Clara, a clerk in the office of the League, Kastell-Aniline money, Caroline and Clara kept the movement going; Caroline with almost superstitious fervour.
"I believe I am supporting the entire League for Human Rights," said Sarah; "they cannot remember having ever been so prosperous."
"Well, good,'* said Caroline.
"It comes expensive," said Sarah.
"Darling, go and play the market," said Caroline.
"I could just as well have paid Edu's debts; it might have come cheaper."
"I suppose one could manage an escape?" said Caroline.
"I shouldn't advise it."
"It wouldn't be the same."
"A pardon," said Jeanne.
"What I want is full legal release," said Caroline.
Jeanne said, "The papers are your only hope. Couldn't you get them to take it up again?"
"There's nothing new. Clara tried the Swiss doctor he lived with for some time; he's dead. One of his daughters remembers something about it."
"That's not enough," said Sarah.
"Get them to stir up something," said Jeanne.
"With Quintus Narden for our Zola!"
"I would go to Narden, if it were any good," said Caroline.
"My dear," Sarah said, "the Felden Scandal is as dead as mutton."
"That's rather a long story, duck," my mother said. "Perhaps one day— Some of it— I'm afraid I don't come out of it very well."
A
t the end of our sixth winter at Voss Strasse, Grandpapa Merz died. He died in his sleep. In the morning knowledge of it seeped throughout the house in the same soft stealthy way. My mother was sent for. The house was full of women; governesses, the companion, housemaids, nanny, Henrietta, Marie, but as it happened my mother was the only grown-up woman of the family. She went in alone to the old man and his wife, into the ground floor bedroom none of us had ever seen.
Later on we were all bidden to go downstairs. But first my mother came to me in the nursery. Henrietta was with
her in a tight dark dress; she looked frightened. I was already in my hat and overcoat.
"It is sad, duck," my mother said, and kissed me. "One always feels it is. But he had a long life and liked it."
"That is good?" I said.
"For some people."
"We are going to spend a nice long day at Frau Edu's, ma'am," nanny said. "I telephoned."
"Her father is already there."
"Won't the garden be lovely!"
"I don't see any need for that," my mother said. "Come down and sit with your Grandmama Merz, duck; she's specially asked for you."
I turned to nanny. "Will I have to say anything to her?"
"You'd better look after Henrietta, nanny," my mother said, "she says she has a headache. Would you like to stay here?"
"Yes please, Caro," Henrietta said.
Grandmama was in her drawingroom, sitting in her usual chair, wearing her usual garb. Her hands were in her lap, but there were thick, slow, round tears rolling down her face, seemingly without her knowledge as she did nothing to wipe or stop them, and the spectacle fascinated me. I settled on the floor.
"Something young is best," she said, patting my cheek but looking at my mother.
After a while, she said, "Where are the gentlemen?" My mother signed me to ring the bell.
Gottlieb came in, his eyes were swollen and his voice was unrecognizable. "The gentlemen are breakfasting with the mourners, ma'am.
"Ah yes."
After another while she said, "Bring your chair a little nearer, dear." My mother obeyed.
"You are fidgeting," my mother said to me.
"Yes."
"Didn't you bring a toy?"
"In the Presence of Death?'* but I did not say it aloud.
"Here we are all three and none of us has been taught to knit," my mother said. "I've often regretted it. Have you?"
"Knitting is very dull," said Grandmama.
"It's not too late for you to learn, duck," my mother said.
"Too late," said I.
"Shall we try a hand of demon?" My mother had introduced this briefer game some years ago.
"Not before luncheon, dear," said Grandmama.
Later on, I managed to slip out. The Herrenzimmer was filled with people. Most of them were men, and many of them were crying. They were sitting round Friedrich who was hunched on a chair, weeping bitterly into a handkerchief. Emil and Cousin Markwald were sitting next to him, and Markwald also was convulsed with sobs. Gottlieb stood by the door, announcing more people.
"Herr Kommerzienrat Veilchenfeldt!"
"Herr Doktor Herzberg; Herr Prokurist Stern!"
"Herr Schiffahrts-Direktor Warburgl"
"Herr Rechtsanwalt Wolff!"
"Herr und Frau Schwabach; Herr Bank-Direktor Reichenheim!"
"Herr Sanitatsrat Goldschmitt!"
The newcomers all made straight for the son of the house, shook hands and spoke something. Edging near, I caught it. "Beileid — herzlichstes Beileid."
A footman and my father's young Alsatian, Plon, were handing trays with coffee, port, sandwiches and cake.
The anterooms were filling too; I went out and took up a stand in the hall.
"Frau von der Waldemar!"
"No, no—I am sure they do not wish to see me today, I only came to put my name down."
But Gottlieb firmly propelled her in. I followed the lady; and saw my mother come out of the inner drawing room to speak to her.
At noon a very old gentleman appeared. He wore a fur-lined coat with silk lapels. He was led straight into Grand-mama's.
"Herr Handelskammer-Prasident Simon!"
"Mein ergebenstes Beileid."
Grandmama said, "Someone had to go first."
It was a free day and at one point of it I found myself in the kitchen. Cook, too, had been crying, but she said it was a time to rejoice. I felt doubtful. As doubtful as I had been feeling all day. "You do know where your grandpa is now?" "Yes," I said, pretending to be interested in the flour bin. I did not say that the answer in my mind was Purgatory.
In the Herrenzimmer once more, a grownup turned me round. "What are you doing here, little girl," he said, "in a blue frock?"
Emboldened, I said, "In the Presence of Death?" aloud this time.
"Why, you wicked child—!"
I fled to my post in the hall.
But when I saw Edu and Sarah coming up the stairs, I hid behind a hanging. Sarah was wearing a short black veil; she was walking very straight; Edu was behind her. He stopped. Gottlieb stepped forward with outstretched hand. Edu seized it in both of his. "Innigstes Beileid," he said. The two men broke down. Sarah walked on.
In the afternoon I met my mother in a passage. "What do you think of it all, duck?" she said.
I thought. "I like it," I said. "I think it is nice. I like the crying. Everybody is kind today."
My mother looked at me. "You're not so wrong," she said.
"Is it always like that?"
"Not at all. And sometimes people aren't there."
"Like if we had been in our other house and only heard by post? Is that more sad?"
"Different."
I usually knew when my mother had done with me, but
now I was too full of it. "Sarah didn't cry. Was she cross?"
"It is not unlikely," said my mother.
"Mummy—"
She waited.
"Henrietta says one death brings on another."
"What rot. She hasn't been reading statistics?"
"Papa told her."
After tea I hoped to unburden myself to Plon. But the day had gone to Plon's head.
I said, "He died without the sacraments."
"He didn't have to-have them. They do it all different here."
"I know," I whispered, "heretics."
"Oh I wouldn't go so far. The catechism doesn't tell you everything. He had this party instead. You see?"
It was the time we usually left for the country, but we postponed it for some weeks.
"There will be changes," Sarah had said to Caroline.
"I suppose so. One doesn't imagine them in this house."
"There soon will be no house," Sarah said; "it is all folly!" She allowed herself a dramatic gesture. "You are aware of the will?"
"One could hardly avoid it," said Caroline.
Grandpapa Merz's will was dated at the time of Edu's bankruptcy. Except for a mounting list of codicils the instrument was straightforward enough. Legacies and annuities to the servants, legacies and annuities to Emil and to Markwald, token legacies to Edu and Sarah's children, a large legacy to Friedrich and a scarcely smaller one to Jules, and a life annuity to each; a hundred thousand marks and some emeralds to Caroline by codicil; the chief of the estate to the old man's wife for life and thereafter to their grandchild Henrietta. The jewellery, also, went to Julius's daughter. Sarah, Sarah's daughters, Caroline and Caroline's own girl, were each to choose a ring.
"They've all got a shock coming to them. I saw it for
years. Do you realize how they've been running things—? I'm not speaking of this house, we all know what that's been costing with the servants positively proud of the princely bills rolling in. Do you know how much they spent a year on butter?"
"It can't be more than what we do on Francesca's cow. I'm prepared to weep, though."
"You saw about all those charities in the obituaries? Edu and I thought it must be a hoax. Not at all. It was Gottlieb. He had a special fund, which he used at his discretion. But I'm not thinking of all that—flea bites—though it's perfectly ludicrous. Do you realize the amount of cash that went out every year in these allowances—? They're not pocket money. Friedrich is most comfortably off, Jules has a rich man's income, a relatively rich man's—"
"He's rather cagey about his affairs," said Caroline.
Sarah told her.
"He took that? Every year?"
"His last raise was when the child was born."
"And / pay nanny. We generally seem to be short— It's supposed to cost two-and-six a week to live down there the way we do, but it doesn't."
"Then of course there was Edu—I knew they were supplying him in one way or another for years—I'm perfectly aware that Edu has been playing sub rosa; heavily, too. Well, take a thousand one day, and two the next week, and occasional extractions of five from his father, add it all up and you'll see what it means in terms of capital."
"Sarah, I thought they were so very rich," said Caroline.
"What happened is what always happens when people cease to control the sources of their income. All the old man did in Merz & Merz for the last forty years was to vote himself more dividends. The works are still all right, though suffering badly from depreciation. . . . The partners let him do as he pleased, knowing he couldn't last forever. Trouble is he very nearly did; they'll get his shares dirt cheap now. The banks made the same calculation, there is a huge overdraft.
"As for what there is, none of it comes to as much as it looks on paper. My father-in-law made some exceedingly silly investments, and then forgot about them. Moreover, he liked a flutter now and then. Friedrich advised him. Very badly. Friedrich cannot bear to sell anything once he's bought it, whichever way it goes. He hasn't got the temperament, and he always tries. If he's got too little pluck, the old man had too much, and neither of them knew the first thing about it. And they were slow; when I gave them a tip they treated it as something that would keep till after the flood."
"Sarah—were all the Merzes gamblers?"
"Yes. Except Markwald."
"He lost his money too."
"Yes."
"What was it?"
"Lack of suitable occupation," said Sarah.
"What does it all mean now? what you've been telling me?"
"That it cannot go on."
"There is nothing left?" said Caroline.
"We shall have to sell out the shares and some of the other stuff to meet the overdraft and pay those legacies . . . And keep the old lady and all the rest of it going for another five, ten, fifteen years . . . And find the principal for the life annuities. It cannot be done. My dear— Jeanne must not be left in want in her old age.
"Of course I am leaving her something. But that . . . in the normal course of events. . . . And it is not the same. If it ever comes to her it must be a remembrance from a friend—not provision. I believe she has some savings; so has he—if he's kept them—but again that is not the way it should be, or she deserves. So I've got to see that Friedrich gets his inheritance. And naturally the servants; and the two old boys, but that's no problem."
"Jules will refuse his," said Caroline.
"Well —" said Sarah, "if he would take half? That would be a help."
"He will take nothing."
"That's nonsense," Sarah said. "He had a right to expect something. And he couldn't afford it."
"I forgot to say about my own legacy," said Caroline.
"My dear, a mere drop. And it would look so bad. The old man adored you. There is one thing that can be done: we must sell the house. The city's been wanting it for ten years; nobody can afford to live in that kind of house any more."
"Poor old lady."
"She need never know. Nobody will know except you and Friedrich and the lawyers. I am buying it."
Caroline checked a gesture. Presently, she said, "So it will go on."
Sarah said, "I never thought I would come to this one day. I remember coming here for the first time. I was engaged to Edu."
Caroline had a flash. "When I decided about Jules that winter, it was this that was in your mind?"
Sarah said, "I did not want to see you here."
"How you must have hated it; always."
"The house—yes. And you?"
"Another waiting room," said Caroline. Then she added, "So Henrietta will not be an heiress?"
"Well hardly that," Sarah said.
That week nanny left for her holiday. "Where are you going, nanny?" I said.
"Home," said nanny.
She had asked permission to take me with her. My mother seemed to like the idea; hesitated; then said no. "I will take her myself one day." Nanny was annoyed.
I was allowed to see her off, though. After I came back from the station I gave the slip to Marie; I was upset and tried to lose myself in a game I had, called racing. I galloped round the anteroom—one part of it was the straight, the corners had to be taken closely and it was also good to
shut one's eyes. I crashed into something and before I knew where I was yellow china was tumbling about my ears. I had broken one of Papa's cats. I howled.
Servants came; my mother was fetched. I was still sitting in the china when I heard her at the door, "Am I to appear now every time the child breaks something?" She came in and she changed colour. She stood quite still. "Sarah's cats," she cried. "Oh my God. It's the one thing she likes!"
She stooped and picked up bits, trying to hold them together. Then she picked up something else. It was a newspaper, very old and thin and dirty. "What's that?" she said.
"It fell out."
"Where?"
"Out of the poor cat. When it broke."
My mother stood still again. She was turning the newspaper in her hand.
"It was inside?" she said.
"Inside."
She called Gottlieb. "Can we lift the other one?" she said. "I want to see something." Gottlieb called Plon; and they carefully got the cat that was whole off the pedestal, and turned it upside down.
"Do you remember whether they were both the same? All solid? No holes?"
"They were identical pieces, ma'am. We took them off once a year for cleaning."
My mother looked furious. She still had the newspaper.