Irretrievable by Theodor Fontane Read Free Book Online Page B

yacht or something. Personally I would sooner read David Copperfield or The Three Musketeers . It all leaves me quite cold, these combs and needles they keep digging out of the bog or else some tangled mass that sets Thomsen and Worsaae at loggerheads because they can’t decide whether it is a bundle of roots or some sea-king’s head of hair. As for the royal luncheons where the chief item on the menu is crates of schnapps or else Countess Danner herself, of humble memory—a former milliner, I believe—well, I find all that quite repugnant. In everything else, I try to differ from my sister, even when she is right and makes such a fuss about it, unfortunately; but where this is concerned, I can only agree with her and I cannot understand why Holk persists in keeping on with all that business over in Copenhagen and seems to enjoy strutting about in his gentleman-in-waiting’s uniform. I grant that there is no reason why his feelings as a Schleswig-Holsteiner should stand in his way, since as long as the King is living, he is, after all, our King and Duke. But I think it inexpedient and unwise. After all, life with Countess Danner is hardly conducive to longevity—I mean for the King, of course—and overnight it may be all over. In any case, he’s an apoplectic. And what will happen then?”
    â€œI think that Holk doesn’t ask himself that question. He lives only for the moment and consoles himself with the saying: Après nous le déluge .”
    â€œVery true. He lives only for the moment and the fact that he does this is another thing my sister cannot forgive and here again I must take her side. But let’s not talk about this any more; today I don’t feel like making a list of all my sister’s virtues but rather of les défauts de ses vertus which, my dear Schwarzkoppen, we must combine in opposing or else we are going to witness something very unpleasant, of that I am certain. The only thing of which I am not certain is, who will take the first step—the first step to disaster. Holk is easy-going and modest almost to a fault—he is too respectful and chivalrous and he has become used to playing second fiddle to his wife all the time. It’s natural enough. In the first place, he is impressed by her beauty—she really was very beautiful and still is, in fact. Then he is impressed by her intelligence or what he takes to be intelligence. Finally, and perhaps most of all, he is impressed by her piety. But recently and, I’m afraid, all too rapidly, there has been a change and he has become impatient and touchy and sarcastic. Only this afternoon, it struck me how much his tone has changed. Take that question of the marble mangers. My sister took what was intended more or less as a joke with deadly seriousness and replied half in anger and half sentimentally. Now, three years ago, Holk would have let that pass but today he took it up sharply and made fun of her because she is only happy when she is talking of graves and chapels and painting angels on walls.”
    Schwarzkoppen had punctuated all this with an occasional “only too true” and left no doubt as to his agreement. But when Arne, who wanted something more explicit than mere agreement from Schwarzkoppen, stopped talking, the Principal betrayed little desire to expatiate on the subject, being reluctant to take the bull by the horns. Pointing towards Arnewieck, he said: “How lovely the town looks in the moonlight! And how well the dyke there makes the roofs stand out and the gables between the poplars and willows! And now St. Catherine’s: listen to the sound across the bay. I bless the day that brought me here to your beautiful country.”
    â€œAnd I must thank you for those kind words, Schwarzkoppen, because we all like to hear someone praising our own country. But may I point out that you are evading the issue? Here am I, begging you to stand by me in a very difficult