Novels, Tales, Journeys

Yesterday I got out of bed and was following the coffin; but I suddenly felt ill. I knelt down, so as to take leave of him from a distance. Frau Rothberg said: “What an actress!” Just imagine, dear Anya, those words gave me back my strength. I followed the coffin with astonishing ease. In the church it seemed extremely bright to me, and everything around me swayed. I did not weep. I felt suffocated, and kept wanting to laugh.

He was carried to the cemetery behind St. Jacob’s church, and in my presence was lowered into the grave. I suddenly wanted to dig it up then, because I had not finished taking leave of him. But many people were still walking about the cemetery, and I was afraid that Frau Rothberg would say again: “What an actress!”

How cruel not to allow a daughter to take leave of her dead father as she wishes…

On returning home, I found some strangers, who told me it was necessary to seal all of my late father’s possessions and papers. They left me my little room, after taking everything out of it except the bed and one chair. Tomorrow is Sunday. I shall not wear your shawl, but I thank you very much for it. I send my regards to your husband, and kiss Frank and Mina. Good-bye.

I write standing at the window, and have borrowed an inkstand from the neighbors.

MARIA SCHONING TO ANNA HARLIN

Dear Anna,

Yesterday an official came to me and announced that all of my late father’s possessions must be put up for auction for the benefit of the town treasury, because he had not been assessed for his true worth and the inventory of his possessions showed he was much richer than had been thought. I understand none of it. Lately we had been spending a great deal on medicines. I have only 23 thalers left for expenses—I showed them to the officials, who said, however, that I could keep the money, because the law had no claim to it.

Our house will be sold next week; and I do not know what to do with myself. I went to the herr burgomeister. He received me well, but to my appeals replied that he could do nothing for me. I do not know where to find employment. If you need a maidservant, write to me; you know that I can help you with the housework and the handwork, and besides that I will look after the children and Fritz, if he falls ill. I have learned how to care for the sick. Please write if you have need of me. And do not be embarrassed. I am sure that this will not change our relations in the least and that you will remain for me the same kind and indulgent friend.

Old Schoning’s little house was full of people. They crowded around the table, which was presided over by the auctioneer. He shouted: “Flannelette waistcoat with brass buttons…* * * thalers. Going once, going twice…—No higher bidder?—Flannelette waistcoat * * * thalers—sold.” The waistcoat went to the hands of its new owner.

The buyers inspected with disparagement and curiosity the objects put up for auction. Frau Rothberg examined the dirty underwear, which had not been washed after Schoning’s death; she fingered it, shook it out, repeating, “Trash, rags, tatters,” and raised her bids by pennies. The tavern owner Hirtz bought two silver spoons, a half-dozen napkins, and two china cups. The bed on which Schoning had died was bought by Karolina Schmidt, a heavily rouged girl with a modest and humble air.

Maria, pale as a ghost, stood there, silently watching the plundering of her poor chattels. She held * * * thalers in her hand, prepared to buy something, and did not have the courage to outbid the other buyers. People were leaving, carrying off their acquisitions. Two little portraits in fly-specked and once-gilt frames remained unsold. One portrayed Schoning as a young man in a red kaftan. The other Christina, his wife, with a little dog in her arms. Both portraits were painted boldly and brightly. Hirtz wanted to buy them as well, to hang in the corner room of his tavern, because its walls were too bare. The portraits had been appraised at * * * thalers. Hirtz took out his purse. At that moment Maria overcame her timidity and in a trembling voice raised the price. Hirtz cast a scornful glance at her and began to bargain. The price gradually went up to * * * thalers. Maria finally bid * * * thalers. Hirtz gave up, and the portraits remained with her. She handed over the money, put what was left in her pocket, took the portraits, and left the house without waiting for the end of the auction.

When Maria stepped outside with a portrait in each hand, she stopped in perplexity: where was she to go?…

A young man in gold-rimmed spectacles came up to her and very politely offered to carry the portraits wherever she liked…

“I’m very grateful to you…I really don’t know.” And Maria wondered where she could take the portraits, when she herself had no place to go.

The young man waited a few seconds, then went on his way, and Maria decided to take the portraits to Dr. Költz.

Notes

THE MOOR OF PETER THE GREAT (1827–1828)