Theodor Fontane (1819–1898). Trials and Tribulations.
The Harvard Classics Shelf of Fiction. 1917.
Chapter XIX
B
Lena was sitting by her, holding her hand, and when she saw that her mother kept looking in the same direction, she said: “Shall I make a fire, mother? I thought that you were lying warm in bed and it is such a hot day…”
The old woman did not speak, but it seemed to Lena as if she would like it. So she went and knelt down and lit a fire.
When she came back to the bed, the old woman smiled contentedly and said: “Yes, Lena, it is hot. But you know, I always want to see it. And when I do not see it, I think everything is gone and there is not a spark of life left. And there is so much trouble here.…”
And she pointed to her breast and heart.
“Ah, mother, you are always thinking about dying. And yet it has passed away so many times already.”
“Yes, child, it has passed away often, but it must come sometime and at seventy it may come any day. I wish you would open the other window too, so that there will be more air and the fire will burn better. Just look, it isn’t burning well, it smokes so…”
“The sun does that, it is shining right on it.…”
“And then give me the green drops that Frau Dörr brought me. They always help me a little.”
Lena did as she was asked and when the sick woman had taken the drops, she really seemed to be a little better and easier around her heart. She propped herself up with her hands and raised herself higher, and when Lena had put another cushion behind her back, she said:
“Has Franke been here lately?”
“Yes, he was here early to-day. He always stops to inquire before he goes to the factory.”
“He is a very good man.”
“Yes, he is that.”
“And about the Conventiclers.…”
“It may not be so bad. And I almost believe that he gets his good principles from them. Do you believe so?”
The old woman smiled. “No, Lena, they come from the good God. And one has them and another has not. I don’t believe very much in learning and training.… And has not he said anything yet?”
“Yes, yesterday evening.”
“And how did you answer him?”
“I told him that I would accept him, because I thought he was an honorable and trustworthy man, who would not only take care of me, but of you too.…”
The old woman nodded her approval.
“And,” Lena went on, “when I had told him that, he took my hand and exclaimed cheerfully: ‘So then, Lena, it is all settled!’ But I shook my head and said, not quite so fast, because I still had something to confess to him. And when he asked what it was, I told him that I had had two love affairs: First … there, mother, you know all about it … and the first I liked very much and the other I loved dearly and still cared for him. But he was now happily married and I had never seen him again but just once, and I did not want to seen him again. But, since he was so good and kind to us, I felt obliged to tell him everything, because I would not deceive anyone, and certainly not him.…”
“My Lord, my Lord,” whimpered the old woman, while Lena was speaking.
“And directly afterwards he got up and went back to his own rooms. But I could see plainly that he was not angry. Only he would not let me go to the door with him as usual.”
Frau Nimptsch was evidently anxious and uneasy, although indeed one could not tell whether the cause was what Lena had told her or the struggle for breath. But it almost seemed as if it were her breathing, for suddenly she said: “Lena, child, I am not high enough. You will have to put the song book under me too.”
Lena did not contradict her, but went and got the song book. But when she brought it, her mother said: “No, not that one, that is the new one. I want the old one, the thick one with the two clasps.” And when Lena came back with the thick song book, she went on: “I used to have to bring that same book to my mother too when I was not much more than a child and my mother was not yet fifty; and she suffered here too, and her great frightened eyes kept looking at me so. But when I put the Porst song book, that she had got when she was confirmed, under her, she grew perfectly quiet and fell peacefully asleep. And I want to do that too. Ah, Lena. It isn’t death… but dying.… There, now. Ah, that helps me.”
Lena wept softly to herself and since she now saw plainly that the good old woman’s last hour was very near, she sent word to Frau Dörr, that “her mother was in a bad way and would not Frau Dörr come.” She sent word back, “Yes, she would come.” Toward six o’clock she arrived, bustling noisily in, for she knew nothing about being quiet, even with sick people. She tramped about the room so that everything on or near the hearth shook and rattled, and at the same time she scolded about Dörr, who was always in town when he ought to be at home, and always at home when she wished he was in Jericho. Meanwhile she took the sick woman’s hand and asked Lena, “whether she had given her plenty of the drops?”
“Yes.”
“How many have you given her?”
“Five … five every two hours.”
That was not enough, Frau Dörr assured her, and after bringing to light all her medical knowledge she added: “She had let the medicine draw in the sun for a fortnight, and if one took it properly the water would go away as if it were pumped out. Old Selke at the Zoological had been just like a cask, and for more than four months he could never go to bed, but had to be propped up straight in a chair with all the windows wide open, but when he had taken the medicine for four days, it was just as if you squeezed a pig’s bladder: haven’t you seen how everything goes out of it and it is all soft and limp again!”
While she was telling all this, the vigorous Frau Dörr forced the sick woman to take a double dose from her thimble.
Lena, whose anxiety was only too justly redoubled by these heroic measures, took her shawl and made ready to go for a doctor. And Frau Dörr, who was not usually in favor of doctors, had nothing to say against it this time.
“Go,” said she, “she can’t hold out much longer. Just look here (and she pointed to the nostrils), that means death.”
Lena started; but she could scarcely have reached the square in front of Michael’s church, when the old woman, who had been lying in a half doze sat upright and called: “Lena…”
“Lena is not here.”
“Who is here then?”
“I, Mother Nimptsch. I, Frau Dörr.”
“Ah, Frau Dörr, that is right. Come here; sit on the footstool.”
Frau Dörr, who was not accustomed to receiving orders, hung back a little, but was too good-natured not to do as she was asked. And so she sat down on the stool.
And immediately the old woman began: “I want a yellow coffin and blue trimmings. But not too much.…”
“Yes, Frau Nimptsch.”
“And I want to be buried in the new Jacob’s churchyard, behind the Rollkrug and quite far over on the road to Britz.”
“Yes, Frau Nimptsch.”
“And I saved up enough for all that is needed, long ago, when I was still able to save up. And it is in the top drawer. And the chemise and short gown are there and a pair of white stockings marked with N. And it is lying among the other things.”
“Yes, Frau Nimptsch. Everything shall be done just as you say. And is there anything more?”
But the old woman did not seem to have heard Frau Dörr’s question, and without answering, she merely folded her hands, looked up toward the ceiling with a pious and peaceful expression and prayed: “Dear Father in heaven, protect her and reward her for all that she has done for a poor old woman.”
“Ah, Lena,” said Frau Dörr to herself and then she added: “The good Lord will do that too, Frau Nimptsch, I know him, and I have never seen any one come to grief that was like Lena and that had such a heart and such hands as she has.”
The old woman nodded and one could see that some pleasant picture was in her mind.
So the minutes passed away and when Lena came back and knocked on the door of the corridor, Frau Dörr was still sitting on the footstool and holding her old friend’s hand. And only when she heard Lena knock did she lay down Frau Nimptsch’s hand and go to open the door.
Lena was still out of breath. “He will be here right away.… He is coming at once.”
But Frau Dörr only said: “Oh Lord, the doctors!” and pointed to the dead woman.