Minna/Book 1, Chapter 7
What was to be done? Would it be wiser to confide the circumstances of the case to Miss Jagemann, and ask her to pretend not to know me at all? At first this idea seemed quite impossible, but as time went on it grew upon me, until finally it seemed to be so attractive that I no longer regretted my foolishness.
It was quite an easy matter to meet her on the way, and, when greeting her, I added that I believed we were bound for the same destination. On hearing that I was invited to the Hertzs', she said gaily—
"Well, then at last we are going to be introduced to one another."
"Yes," I answered, "it is just for that reason that I have a rather queer favour to ask of you. Will you pretend not to know me? I mean, will you appear as if we had not met before."
"I can easily do that, but why?"
I told her what had happened, and my explanation was received with laughter.
"Are you always so absent-minded?"
"Not always. But I got so confused when suddenly it became clear to me that I was going to meet you."
She looked at me in a naïve inquiring way, then suddenly blushed and withdrew her eyes, with all of which I was more than satisfied.
"Au revoir, then. I must go up the hill again to fetch my keys, it would not do for us to arrive together," I said.
The old couple had taken the middle house of the three small ones which had been built close to the rock by the Elbe. As I went up the many little stone steps leading up from the bank, I saw the party sitting in the summerhouse, the top of which, like the greater part of the whitewashed, timber-built house, was covered by a vine. The afternoon sun was blazing upon it, but over this corner the fruit trees cast a deep shadow, in which the white table-cloth and the shining kettle formed a bright centre to the little company. Minna was busily making the coffee.
We went through the ceremony of introduction with the usual stiffness; but, in offering me a cup of coffee, her half-hidden smile told me that she, as well as I, enjoyed the harmless way in which we had deceived our host and hostess. This slight confidence between us appeared to me, and possibly also to her, of exaggerated importance; it seemed to whisper the promise that we should also be able to keep a greater and sweeter secret than this acquaintanceship from those around us, and the hope that it would be so.
"By the way, you, too, know some Danish. Why not practise now?" Mrs. Hertz said.
I received this surprising news with as much astonishment as, at the moment, I could muster.
Minna told again the tale about the Danish family in which "there had been an idea" of her being the governess. But her gaiety was suddenly mingled with nervousness, and this confirmed my suspicion that she was concealing something. At the same time I guessed that Mrs. Hertz knew the true state of affairs.
"Then perhaps, Miss Jagemann, you have made yourself acquainted with our literature?" I asked.
To this opening she replied very readily, and we then—almost word for word—reproduced the whole of our conversation at "Wotans Ruhe" about Faust and Aladdin. Only it ran more fluently, as a well-studied scene, and was urged on by an undercurrent of youthful hilarity which now and then brought forth a new and happy idea. Such an improvisation in the rôle on the part of one speaker, gave at once an incentive to the other, who did not care to be surpassed, but also, with a smile expressive of "I'll give you tit for tat," showed a new side to the question. And in this way the discussion got fuller and deeper, though the subject now was indifferent to us, and only a means for coquetry. We, however, made such an impression upon our audience, that Mr. Hertz said to me: "How talkative you have made the little Minna; she is not generally so communicative." And, later on, Minna herself confided in me that Mrs. Hertz had said to her: "There, now you have found one with whom you can talk."
These remarks seemed to breathe a real satisfaction, and I think that the old people, after this meeting, came to the rather hurried conclusion that we were well-matched. As they had taken us both to their hearts, it was easy to understand that they wished us to become better acquainted, and so much the more because they thought that Minna needed to have some sweet, though only too painful, remembrance banished by the awakening of another and fresh interest. This idea, even in those days, I had already grasped, and afterwards it was still further proved to me. And so it came to pass that several times a week we met each other at the little house by the Elbe. Minna could, without difficulty, get off from her duties in the evening, and, with regard to myself, I, of course, never had anything better to do than to be in the place where I could meet her.
Apart from the fact that Minna and I were daily becoming more intimate, each of these meetings was almost the same as the first one, the only variation being that the heat sometimes drew us to one of "the cool glens." As a rule we remained near the river, this being most convenient for Mr. and Mrs. Hertz. When the sun began to steal into the summer-house, it was the signal to take a walk. The shadows from the plateau of Lilienstein gradually grew deeper, and the edges of the stones stood out in high relief, throwing long quivering streaks over the river. Underneath, in the long yellow slates of the quarries, all the cracks and crevices showed violet and purple, like a cuneiform writing relating to industrial achievements. The reflection in the river grew clearer and more distinct. In the middle of it a long raft might be gliding, winding in and out, following the bend of the river, while its oars, four or five in a row, both fore and aft, moved glitteringly. Or a couple of "Ziller," heavily laden barges about the size of a schooner, would come down the stream with the current, their coal-blackened hulls looking like enormous beetles, or with large outspread sails, which shone far away over the fields long after the boat itself was out of sight. Then a chain steamer might come puffing and blowing, and tugging half a dozen of these barges up against the current; while the submarine chain would wind itself round its flat bows with a deafening rattle, which made, however, in the distance an agreeable tinkling sound.
When dusk came the rafts carried small blazing fires, which seemed to float on the water and would light up a couple of hairy faces, or would silhouette a strong figure which bent forward and thrust the slanting pole against its shoulder. Afterwards the tug flotilla would appear like a grand illumination, winding round the point, close under the dark Bastei rock, like a procession of perpendicular staves with large golden knobs on the top led by a ruby and an emerald one.
Nor did life stand still on the other bank of the river, as a train now and then passed from one side or the other, stopping and whistling at the little station. This would continue until about half-past nine, when the express for Prague and Vienna flew by like lightning among the trees, without so much as slackening speed, and always reminded us that it was time to go home. We needed this reminder, because "in the house of the happy the clock does not strike," as Schiller has it.
Moreover, I was not the only one who was happy. The sadness, which had at first overshadowed Minna, gradually wore off and gave place to a youthful gaiety. That some sorrow still remained in the depths of her soul one could only guess from the strange shadows which, now and again, would fall upon her brightest moods. I might, without being too conceited, ascribe to my own influence some part of this change in her. The kindness of the benevolent old couple towards both of us did Minna good; it took the character of the caressing sympathy with which one encourages the convalescent to enjoy life. To me it was rather irritating, but she seemed only to feel comfort in it.
Thus we watched the big stream, with its quaint life passing by, in the same manner that one allows life to drift along in happy days without desiring anything more.
It also gave a topic for our talk. She told me all about the raftsmen's life, especially up in the mountain rivers, where the men have such a constant fight with the currents that until they land in the evening they have no time to snatch a meal. In return I had, as well as I could, to give her a description of the big ships, of the busy traffic in the sea-ports, or the peaceful life of the fishing villages on the coast. Then the quarries, which on both sides were reflected in the river, and sent their blocks down stream in shiploads, made us talk about what the sandstone town of Dresden owed to this little stone region. It struck me that the cut stone used in its beautiful edifices seemed to impart to them some characteristics of their own rock life, so that the rococo town suited the sandstone land, in the same way as the Greek architecture goes with the noble gable-shaped marble mountains, and Egypt's colossal temples with the vast plains and heavily-terraced rocks. Such reflections were of course new to her, for her knowledge of architecture was rather primitive, while I have always been specially attracted by this art, to which, probably, I should have devoted myself, if circumstances had permitted.