Then he had gone on garrison duty in Berlin and they heard no more of each other. They did not dare to write, and each was uncertain of the other"s affection.
Then came the death of old Putz and my attempt to bring about a reconciliation. When I appeared at Krakowitz, Iolanthe conceived the plan at first of making me a confident of her love. In fact, she hoped to receive a message through me. Nothing of the kind. Instead, I misunderstood her tender glances and played the enamoured swain myself.
Then, when her father"s burst of rage proved clearly that there never would be a bit of hope for her, she decided in her despair to avail herself of the one possible way of at least getting near her beloved.
"Ah, but, my dear, that was really a contemptible thing for you to do."
"But I longed for him so," she answered, as though that made everything right.
"Very good--excellent! But you, my son, why didn"t you come and say, "Uncle, I love her, she loves me, hands off!""
"But I did not know if she still loved me."
"Splendid! You are a precious pair of innocents, you two. When did you finally find out?"
"To-day--while you were asleep."
And now came a terrible story. After dinner, on leaving the table, a single handshake in silence showed each how miserable the other one was, and seeing no way out, they decided to die that very night.
"What! You, too?"
Instead of answering Iolanthe pulled out of her pocket a little bottle from which a human skull grinned at me.
"What"s that?"
"Cyanide of pota.s.sium."
"The devil! Where did you get that from?"
Presented to her some years ago by a friend of hers at the dancing school, a chemist whose head she had turned. She had asked him to give her the pleasant drink.
"And you were going to take that stuff, you little goose, you?"
She looked at me with big glaring eyes and nodded two or three times.
I understood very well, and a shudder pa.s.sed down my back. A fine bridal night it might have been!
"And now? What am I going to do with the two of you now?"
"Save us! Help us! Have mercy on us!"
They were on their knees before me, licking my hands.
And because I, as you know, gentlemen, am a professional good fellow, I devised a means of bringing my failure of a marriage to a speedy end.
John was ordered to hitch up, and fifteen minutes later, without any to-do, I was driving my twelve-hour bride to Gorowen to my sister, under whose protection she was to remain until the divorce had been decreed--under no circ.u.mstances would she return to her father"s house.
Lothar asked me quite navely if he might not go with us.
"You rascal!" I said. "Off home with you!"
At the right time and place, gentlemen, I can be very severe.
It was striking half-past four as I got back to Ilgenstein.
I was beastly tired. My legs were hanging from my body like pieces of dead wood. Everything was quiet, as I had sent the whole household to bed before going.
Walking along the corridor, where the lights were still burning, I saw a door decorated with wreaths. It led to the bridal chamber which my sister had kept locked up till then as a surprise.
Moved by curiosity I opened the door and looked in. I beheld a purple sepulchral vault, a mixture of strange scents almost choked me.
Everything was hung with curtains and draperies, and from the ceiling swung a real lighted church lamp. In the background, on a raised dais, there had been erected a sort of catafalque with golden ornaments and silken covers.
It was there that I should have had to sleep!
"B-r-r-r!" I said and shut the door and ran away as quickly as my limping legs would carry me.
And then I came to my own room and lit my lovely bright students" lamp.
It smiled at me like the sun itself.
In the corner stood my old narrow camp bed with its red-stained posts, the grey straw bag, and the worn deerskin robe.
Well, gentlemen, you can imagine how delicious I felt.
I undressed, lit a good cigar, jumped into bed, and read an interesting chapter of the history of the Franco-Prussian War.
And I can a.s.sure you, gentlemen, that I never slept more soundly than on my bridal night.
THE WOMAN WHO WAS HIS FRIEND
Oh, how tired I am, dear lady! I"ve been writing New Year"s letters the whole day and have disposed of everything that has gone unanswered the entire year. Goodness, what ancient debts turned up! And what an awful lazybones I"ve been! The number of good friends that I"ve insulted through sheer neglect, the number of little thorns I"ve left sticking in people"s flesh! But enough said.
I sent out New Year"s cards, too, and you will also receive my card on New Year"s morning with a stiff "Many wishes for a Happy New Year" and not so much as even a sugary little verse beside the 1/1/86.
Don"t laugh. On second thought 1/1 is a highly significant figure, and we oughtn"t to make fun of it the way I did. The day it designates is a turning-point for people"s hearts. On that day love changes its residence. Not always, of course. Many people have a contract for a number of years, for life even, and it"s a good snug berth that love falls into in homey dwelling-places like that. But the giddy creatures, the b.u.t.terflies--if one may speak of b.u.t.terflies at New Year--the ones that have been evicted and all the others who are looking for new quarters either out of choice or out of necessity--you see them preparing at New Year"s time for moving in or moving out.
Why just at New Year"s time, you ask?
Another season has begun, new relations are entered into, new intrigues are woven, inclinations newly awakened crop up shyly to the surface.
Christmas belonged to the old era still; the happiness comfortably enjoying itself in dressing-gown and slippers still held sway over the discomforts of the new pa.s.sion knocking turbulently at the door. But now, at New Year, there"s a general clearing out, and all worn love-goods are disposed of "previous to removal," as the advertis.e.m.e.nts read.