The Goose Man
wash or comb her hair; she sat crouched up in the kitchen with her long,
dishevelled, unwashed hair falling in loose locks down over her neck and
shoulders.
A feeling of consuming vengeance seethed in her heart; the patience she
was forced to practise, much against her will, petrified in time into a
mien of hypocritic sottishness.
Suddenly she took to dressing up again and sauntering through the
streets in the afternoon. Her loud ribbons awakened the mocking laughter
of young and old.
She had learned that Eleanore Jordan was attending the lectures in the
Cultural Club. She went too; she always crowded up close to Eleanore,
but she could not attract her attention. One time she sat right next to
Eleanore. A strolling pastor delivered a lecture on cremation.
Philippina took out her handkerchief, and pressed it to her eyes as
though she were weeping. Eleanore, somewhat concerned, turned to her,
and asked her what was the matter. She said that it was all so sad what
the old gentleman was saying. Eleanore was surprised, for nothing the
speaker had said was sad or in any way likely to bring tears to the eyes
of his auditors.
At the end of the lecture she left the hall with Eleanore. When the
ugly, disagreeable creature told her of the wretchedness of her life,
how she was abused by her parents and brothers, and that there was not a
soul in the world who cared for her, Eleanore was moved. The fact that
Philippina was Daniel's blood cousin made her forget the aversion she
felt, and drew from her a promise to go walking with her on certain
days.
Eleanore kept her promise. She was not in the least disconcerted by the
queer looks cast at her by the people they met. With perfect composure
she walked along by the side of this strapping, quackish young woman
dressed in the oddest garments known to the art of dress-making. At
first they strolled in broad daylight through the park adjoining the
city moat. Later Eleanore arranged to have the walks, which were to take
place two or three times a month, postponed until after sunset.
This was quite agreeable to Philippina. She threw out a hint every now
and then that there was a mysterious feud between the Schimmelweis
family and the Nothaffts, and implored Eleanore never to let Daniel know
that she was taking these walks with her. It was painful to Eleanore to
have Philippina make such requests of her. The lurking manner in which
she would turn the conversation to the affairs of Daniel and Gertrude
had an element of offensive intrusiveness in it. She wanted to know
first this, then that. She even had the impudence to ask about
Gertrude's dowry; and finally she requested that Eleanore bring her
sister along some time when they went walking.
Eleanore came to have a feeling of horror at the sight or thought of
Philippina; she was dismayed too when, despite the darkness, she noticed
the shrewish look of incorrigible wickedness in Philippina's face. An
ineluctable voice put her on her guard. In so far as she could do it
without grievously offending Philippina, she withdrew from further
association with her. And even if she had not promised her absolute
silence, a feeling half of fear and half of shame would have prevented
her from ever mentioning Philippina's name in Daniel's presence.
She never once suspected that Philippina was spying on her. Philippina
soon found out just when, how often, and where Daniel and Eleanore met;
and wherever they went, she followed at a safe distance behind them. Why
she did this she really did not know; something forced her to do it.
What she had succeeded in doing with Eleanore she now wished to do with
Gertrude. She would bob up all of a sudden in the butcher shop, at the
vegetable market, in the dairy, anywhere, stare at Gertrude, act as
though she were intensely interested in something, and make some such
remarks as: "Lord, but beans are dear this year"; or "That is a nasty
wind, it is enough to give you the colic." But Gertrude was far too lost
to the world and much too sensitive about coming in contact with
strangers to pay any attention to her awkward attempts at approach.
"Just wait," thought Philippina, enraged, "the penalty of your arrogance
will some day descend upon your head."
X
On that Monday so fatal for the Jordan family, Philippina had another
violent quarrel with her mother. Theresa was still shrieking, when Jason
Philip came up from the shop to know what could be wrong.
"Don't ask," cried Theresa at the top of her shrill voice, "go teach
your daughter some manners. The wench is going to end up in jail; that's
what I prophesy."
Philippina made a wry face. Jason Philip, however, was little inclined
to play the role of an avenging power: he had something new on the
string; his face was beaming.
"I met Hornbusch," he said, turning to Theresa, "you know him, firm of
Hornbusch heirs, bloody rich they are, and the man tells me that young
Jordan has embezzled some money from the Prudentia and left the country.
I went at once to the Prudentia, and Zittel told me the whole story,
just as I had heard it. It is almost four thousand marks! Jordan has
been requested to make good the deficit; but he hasn't a penny to his
name and is in a mighty tight place, for Diruf is threatening to send
him to jail. You know, Diruf is hard-boiled in matters of this kind.
What do you think of that?"
Theresa wrapped her hands in her apron, and looked at Jason Philip out
of the corner of her eye. She guessed at once the cause of his joy, and
hung her head in silence.
Jason Philip smirked to himself. Leaning up against the Dutch tiles of
the stove, he began to whistle in a happy-go-lucky mood. It was the
"Marseillaise." He whistled it partly out of forgetfulness and partly
from force of habit.
He had not noticed how Philippina had listened to every syllable that
fell from his lips; how she was holding her breath; that her features
were lighted up from within by a terrible flame of fire. He did notice,
however, that she got up at the close of his remarks and left the room
with rustling steps.
Five minutes later she was standing before Jordan's house. She sent a
small boy in with the request that Fraeulein Eleanore come down at once.
The boy came back, and said that Fraeulein Eleanore was not at home. She
took her position by the front gate, and waited.
XI
Driven by the torment of her soul, Eleanore had gone to Martha Ruebsam's
only to hear that her father had been there three hours earlier. From
the confused and embarrassed conduct of her friend she learned that her
father had made a request of Judge Ruebsam, and a fruitless one at that.
Then she stood for a while on one of the leading streets, and stared in
bewilderment at the throngs of people surging by. It was all so cruelly
real.
She thought of whom she might go to next. A wave of purple flashed
across her face as she thought of Eberhard. Involuntarily she made a
passionate, deprecating gesture, as if she were saying: No, no, not to
him! The first ray of this hope was also the last. Her conscience struck
her; but she was helpless. Here was a feeling impervious to reason;
armed ten times over against encouragement. Anyhow, he was not at home.
She thought of this with a sigh of relief.
Would Daniel go to the Baroness? No; that could not be thought of for a
minute.
She could no longer endure the city nor the people in it. She walked
through the park out into the country. She could not stand the sight of
the sky or the distant views; she turned around. She came back to The
Fuell, entered the Carovius house, and rang Frau Benda's bell. She knew
the old lady was away, and yet, as if quite beside herself, she rang
four times. If Benda would only come; if the good friend were only
sitting in his room and could come to the door.
But there was not a stir. From the first floor the sounds of a piano
floated out the window; it was being played in full chords. Down in the
court Caesar was howling.
She started back home with beating heart. At the front gate she saw
Philippina.
"I have heard all about your misfortune," said Philippina in her shrill
voice. "Nobody can help you but me."
"You? You can help?" stammered Eleanore. The whole square began to move,
it seemed, before her.
"Word of honour--I can. I must simply have a talk with Daniel first.
Let's lose no time. Is he upstairs?"
"I think he is. If not, I will get him."
"Let's go up, then."
They went up the stairs.
XII
Jason Philip had been invited to a sociable evening in the Shufflers'
Club. He was now enjoying his siesta after his banquet by reading an
editorial in the _Kurier_. One of Bismarck's addresses had been so
humorously commented on that every now and then Jason Philip emitted a
malevolent snarl of applause.
He had brought a lemon along home with him; it was lying on a plate
before him, sliced and covered with sugar. From time to time he would
reach over, take a piece and stick it in his mouth. He smacked his
tongue with the display of much ceremony of his kind, and licked his
lips after swallowing a piece. His two sons gaped at his hand with
greedy eyes and likewise licked their lips.
Willibald was groaning over an algebraic equation. In his pale, pimpled
face were traces of incapability and bad humour. Markus, owing to his
physical defect, was not allowed to study by artificial light. He helped
his mother shell the peas, and in order to make her angry at Philippina,
kept making mean remarks about her staying out so long.
Just as the last piece of the lemon disappeared behind Jason Philip's
moustache, the door bell rang.
"There is a man out there," said Markus, who had gone to the door and
was now standing on the threshold, stupidly staring with his one
remaining eye.
Jason Philip stretched his neck. Then he got up. He had recognised
Daniel standing in the half-lighted hall.
"I have something to say to you," said Daniel, as he entered the room.
His eyes gazed on the walls and at the few cheap, ugly, banal objects
that hung on them: a newspaper-holder with embroidered ribbons; a corner
table on which stood a beer mug representing the fat body of a monk; an
old chromic print showing a volunteer taking leave of his big family as
he starts for the front. These things appealed to Daniel somewhat as an
irrational dream. Then, taking a deep breath, he fixed his eyes on Jason
Philip. In his mind's eye he looked back over many years; he saw himself
standing at the fountain in Eschenbach. Round about him glistened the
stones and cross beams of the houses. Jason Philip was hurrying by at a
timid distance. There was bitterness in his face: he seemed to be
fleeing from the world, the sun, men, and music.
"I have something to say to you," he repeated.
Theresa felt that the worst of her forebodings were about to be
fulfilled. With trembling knees she arose. She did not dare turn her
eyes toward the place in the room where Daniel was standing. She did not
see, she merely sensed Jason Philip as he beckoned to her and his sons
to leave the room. She took Markus by the hand and Willibald by the
coat-sleeve, and marched out between the two.
"What's the news?" asked Jason Philip, as he crossed his arms and looked
at the pile of beans on the table. "You have a--what shall I say?--a
very impulsive way about you. It is a way that reminds me of the fact
that we have a law in this country against disturbing the peace of a
private family. Your stocks must have gone to the very top of the market
recently. Well, tell me, what do you want?"
He cleared his throat, and beat a tattoo on the elbows of his crossed
arms with his fingers.