Irretrievable by Theodor Fontane Read Free Book Online

German, not Prussian, that is what we must become. I am a Schleswig-Holsteiner through and through and I ask you gentlemen to drink to it with me. You too, Helmut, if your position as gentleman-in-waiting permits you to. And see over there, Dr. Schwarzkoppen, the moon is rising as if it wanted to bring peace to the whole world. Yes, peace is the best thing of all; ever since I was a child, I have always believed that. My father used to say that we are not merely born under a certain star but, in the book of heaven, against our names, there is always a special sign written, ivy or laurel or palm. I hope there is a palm against mine.”
    Old Petersen took her hand and kissed it: “Yes, Christine. Blessed are the peace-makers.”
    He had spoken quietly and casually, with no thought that his words might affect the countess in any way deeply, yet this is what in fact occurred. She had been almost boasting of her peacefulness or at least expressing her firm belief in it and yet, at the very moment that old Petersen seemed to be almost promising it to her, suddenly she became aware that she did not possess it. In spite of having the best of husbands whom she loved as much as he loved her, she yet did not possess that peace for which she longed; in spite of all their love, his easy-going temperament was no longer in harmony with her melancholy, as recent arguments had proved to her more than once to an ever-increasing degree and even though she would strive with all her might to resist her tendency to disagree. Hence Petersen’s well-meant words found no response amongst the others, indeed they all stared silently in front of them and only Arne dared to look down the table through the high French-windows out over the sea, shimmering and silvery beneath the moon.
    At this moment full of uneasiness and oppression, Asta suddenly came out of the next room and whispered to her mother: “Elizabeth wants to sing something. May she?”
    â€œCertainly she may. But who is going to accompany her?”
    â€œI shall. It’s very easy and we have just been through it. I think it will be all right. And even if I break down, it won’t be a disaster.”
    She went back to the grand piano, leaving the big dividing doors open. The music was already open on the piano, the lights were on, and they both began. But what they had feared happened: voice and accompaniment failed to keep pace and they both burst out laughing, half embarrassed. However, they started again at once and Elizabeth’s high, clear voice, still almost that of a child, rang through the two rooms. Everyone listened in silence. The countess seemed particularly moved and at the end of the last verse, she rose from her chair and went over to the piano. Then, picking up the song still lying open on the music-rest, without saying a word to anyone, she left the room. This did not cause undue surprise, since everyone knew how sensitive she was. Holk merely asked Elizabeth who had written the words.
    â€œWaiblinger, whom I had never heard of till now.”
    â€œNor me,” said Holk. “And the title?”
    â€œâ€˜The churchyard.’”
    â€œThat must be why.”
    A quarter of an hour later, the Arnewieck carriage arrived and Arne insisted on Petersen’s accompanying him as far as the vicarage; Schnuck would be able to keep up alongside. After some discussion, the offer was accepted and Arne took the back seat while Elizabeth, who was fond of chatting with the coachman, climbed up on the box. Barely was she ensconced than she found herself being told at length about his sick wife and the “sympathy” which had proved once again to be more help than the doctor who always merely prescribed things without looking properly to see what was wrong and particularly without discovering whether her spleen was in order. For the trouble definitely lay in the spleen.
    This conversation was short-lived, for in less than ten minutes