CHAPTER IX. THE LADY FROM VIENNA
Two more aborigines have appeared. One of them is a lady aborigine. Theymade their entrance at supper and I forgot to eat, watching them. Thenew-comers are from Vienna. He is an expert engineer and she is a womanof noble birth, with a history. Their combined appearance is calculatedto strike terror to the heart. He is daringly ugly, with a chin thatcurves in under his lip and then out in a peak, like pictures of Punch.She wore a gray gown of a style I never had seen before and never expectto see again. It was fastened with huge black buttons all the way downthe breathlessly tight front, and the upper part was composed of thatpre-historic garment known as a basque. She curved in where she shouldhave curved out, and she bulged where she should have had "lines." Abouther neck was suspended a string of cannon-ball beads that clanked as shewalked. On her forehead rested a sparse fringe.
"Mein Himmel!" thought I. "Am I dreaming? This isn't Wisconsin. This isNurnberg, or Strassburg, with a dash of Heidelberg and Berlin thrown in.Dawn, old girl, it's going to be more instructive than a Cook's tour."
That turned out to be the truest prophecy I ever made.
The first surprising thing that the new-comers did was to seatthemselves at the long table with the other aborigines, the ladyaborigine being the only woman among the twelve men. It was plain thatthey had known one another previous to this meeting, for they becamevery good friends at once, and the men grew heavily humorous about therebeing thirteen at table.
At that the lady aborigine began to laugh. Straightway I forgot theoutlandish gown, forgot the cannon-ball beads, forgot the sparse fringe,forgave the absence of "lines." Such a voice! A lilting, melodiousthing. She broke into a torrent of speech, with bewildering gestures,and I saw that her hands were exquisitely formed and as expressive asher voice. Her German was the musical tongue of the Viennese, possessingnone of the gutturals and sputterings. When she crowned it with the gaylittle trilling laugh my views on the language underwent a lightningchange. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to see her openthe flat, silver case that dangled at the end of the cannon-ball chain,take out a cigarette, light it, and smoke it there in that little Germandining room. She wore the most gracefully nonchalant air imaginable asshe blew little rings and wreaths, and laughed and chatted brightly withher husband and the other men. Occasionally she broke into French, heraccent as charmingly perfect as it had been in her native tongue.There was a moment of breathless staring on the part of the respectablemiddle-class Frauen at the other tables. Then they shrugged theirshoulders and plunged into their meal again. There was a certain littlehigh-born air of assurance about that cigarette-smoking that no amountof staring could ruffle.
Watching the new aborigines grew to be a sort of game. The ladyaborigine of the golden voice, and the ugly husband of the peaked chinhad a strange fascination for me. I scrambled downstairs at meal time inorder not to miss them, and I dawdled over the meal so that I neednot leave before they. I discovered that when the lady aborigine wasanimated, her face was that of a young woman, possessing a certainhigh-bred charm, but that when in repose the face of the lady aboriginewas that of a very old and tired woman indeed. Also that her husbandbullied her, and that when he did that she looked at him worshipingly.
Then one evening, a week or so after the appearance of the newaborigines, there came a clumping at my door. I was seated at mytypewriter and the book was balkier than usual, and I wished that theclumper at the door would go away.
"Come!" I called, ungraciously enough. Then, on second thought:"Herein!"
The knob turned slowly, and the door opened just enough to admit the topof a head crowned with a tight, moist German knob of hair. I searched mymemory to recognize the knob, failed utterly and said again, this timewith mingled curiosity and hospitality:
"Won't you come in?"
The apparently bodiless head thrust itself forward a bit, disclosing anapologetically smiling face, with high check bones that glistened withfriendliness and scrubbing.
"Nabben', Fraulein," said the head.
"Nabben'," I replied, more mystified than ever. "Howdy do! Is thereanything--"
The head thrust itself forward still more, showing a pair of plumpshoulders as its support. Then the plump shoulders heaved into the room,disclosing a stout, starched gingham body.
"Ich bin Frau Knapf," announced the beaming vision.
Now up to this time Frau Knapf had maintained a Mrs. Harris-likemysteriousness. I had heard rumors of her, and I had partaken of certaincrispy dishes of German extraction, reported to have come from her defthands, but I had not even caught a glimpse of her skirts whisking arounda corner.
Therefore: "Frau Knapf!" I repeated. "Nonsense! There ain't no sichperson--that is, I'm glad to see you. Won't you come in and sit down?"
"Ach, no!" smiled the substantial Frau Knapf, clinging tightly to thedoor knob. "I got no time. It gives much to do to-night yet. Kuchendough I must set, und ich weiss nicht was. I got no time."
Bustling, red-cheeked Frau Knapf! This was why I had never had a glimpseof her. Always, she got no time. For while Herr Knapf, dapper andgenial, welcomed new-comers, chatted with the diners, poured a glass offoaming Doppel-brau for Herr Weber or, dexterously carved fowl forthe aborigines' table, Frau Knapf was making the wheels go round.I discovered that it was she who bakes the melting, golden GermanPfannkuchen on Sunday mornings; she it is who fries the crisp andhissing Wienerschnitzel; she it is who prepares the plump ducklings, andthe thick gravies, and the steaming lentil soup and the rosy sausagesnestling coyly in their bed of sauerkraut. All the week Frau Knapf bakesand broils and stews, her rosy cheeks taking on a twinkling crimson fromthe fire over which she bends. But on Sunday night Frau Knapf sheds herhuge apron and rolls down the sleeves from her plump arms. On Sundayevening she leaves pots and pans and cooking, and is a transformed FrauKnapf. Then does she don a bright blue silk waist and a velvet coatthat is dripping with jet, and a black bonnet on which are perchedpalpitating birds and weary-looking plumes. Then she and Herr Knapfwalk comfortably down to the Pabst theater to see the German play by theGerman stock company. They applaud their favorite stout, blond, Germancomedienne as she romps through the acts of a sprightly German comedy,and after the play they go to their favorite Wein-stube around thecorner. There they have sardellen and cheese sandwiches and a great dealof beer, and for one charmed evening Frau Knapf forgets all about theinsides of geese and the thickening for gravies, and is happy.
Many of these things Frau Knapf herself told me, standing there by thedoor with the Kuchen heavy on her mind. Some of them I got from Ernstvon Gerhard when I told him about my visitor and her errand. The errandwas not disclosed until Frau Knapf had caught me casting a despairingglance at my last typewritten page.
"Ach, see! you got no time for talking to, ain't it?" she apologized.
"Heaps of time," I politely assured her, "don't hurry. But why not havea chair and be comfortable?"
Frau Knapf was not to be deceived. "I go in a minute. But first it issomething I like to ask you. You know maybe Frau Nirlanger?"
I shook my head.
"But sure you must know. From Vienna she is, with such a voice like abird."
"And the beads, and the gray gown, and the fringe, and the cigarettes?"
"And the oogly husband," finished Frau Knapf, nodding.
"Oogly," I agreed, "isn't the name for it. And so she is Frau Nirlanger?I thought there would be a Von at the very least."
Whereupon my visitor deserted the doorknob, took half a dozen stealthysteps in my direction and lowered her voice to a hissing whisper ofconfidence.
"It is more as a Von. I will tell you. Today comes Frau Nirlanger byme and she says: 'Frau Knapf, I wish to buy clothes, aber echtAmerikanische. Myself, I do not know what is modish, and I cannot goalone to buy.'"
"That's a grand idea," said I, recalling the gray basque and thecannon-ball beads.
"Ja, sure it is," agreed Frau Knapf. "Soo-o-o, she asks me was it somelady who would co
me with her by the stores to help a hat and suit anddresses to buy. Stylish she likes they should be, and echt Amerikanisch.So-o-o-o, I say to her, I would go myself with you, only so awfulstylish I ain't, and anyway I got no time. But a lady I know who is gotsuch stylish clothes!" Frau Knapf raised admiring hands and eyes towardheaven. "Such a nice lady she is, and stylish, like anything! And hername is Frau Orme."
"Oh, really, Frau Knapf--" I murmured in blushing confusion.
"Sure, it is so," insisted Frau Knapf, coming a step nearer, and sinkingher, voice one hiss lower. "You shouldn't say I said it, but FrauNirlanger likes she should look young for her husband. He is muchyounger as she is--aber much. Anyhow ten years. Frau Nirlanger does nottell me this, but from other people I have found out." Frau Knapf shookher head mysteriously a great many times. "But maybe you ain't got suchan interest in Frau Nirlanger, yes?"
"Interest! I'm eaten up with curiosity. You shan't leave this room aliveuntil you've told me!"
Frau Knapf shook with silent mirth. "Now you make jokings, ain't? Well,I tell you. In Vienna, Frau Nirlanger was a widow, from a family aberhoch edel--very high born. From the court her family is, and friendsfrom the Emperor, und alles. Sure! Frau Nirlanger, she is different fromthe rest. Books she likes, und meetings, und all such komisch things.And what you think!"
"I don't know," I gasped, hanging on her words, "what DO I think?"
"She meets this here Konrad Nirlanger, and falls with him in love. Undher family is mad! But schrecklich mad! Forty years old she is, andfrom a noble family, and Konrad Nirlanger is only a student from auniversity, and he comes from the Volk. Sehr gebildet he is, but nothigh born. So-o-o-o-o, she runs with him away and is married."
Shamelessly I drank it all in. "You don't mean it! Well, then whathappened? She ran away with him--with that chin! and then what?"
Frau Knapf was enjoying it as much as I. She drew a long breath, felt ofthe knob of hair, and plunged once more into the story.
"Like a story-book it is, nicht? Well, Frau Nirlanger, she has already aboy who is ten years old, and a fine sum of money that her first husbandleft her. Aber when she runs with this poor kerl away from her family,and her first husband's family is so schrecklich mad that they try bylaw to take from her her boy and her money, because she has her highbornfamily disgraced, you see? For a year they fight in the courts, and thenit stands that her money Frau Nirlanger can keep, but her boy she cannothave. He will be taken by her highborn family and educated, and he mustforget all about his mamma. To cry it is, ain't it? Das arme Kind! Well,she can stand it no longer to live where her boy is, and not to see him.So-o-o-o, Konrad Nirlanger he gets a chance to come by Amerika wherethere is a big engineering plant here in Milwaukee, and she begs herhusband he should come, because this boy she loves very much--Oh, sheloves her young husband too, but different, yes?"
"Oh, yes," I agreed, remembering the gay little trilling laugh, and theface that was so young when animated, and so old and worn in repose."Oh, yes. Quite, quite different."
Frau Knapf smoothed her spotless skirt and shook her head slowly andsadly. "So-o-o-o, by Amerika they come. And Konrad Nirlanger he is maybea little cross and so, because for a year they have been in the courts,and it might have been the money they would lose, and for money KonradNirlanger cares--well, you shall see. But Frau Nirlanger must not mournand cry. She must laugh and sing, and be gay for her husband. But FrauNirlanger has no grand clothes, for first she runs away with KonradNirlanger, and then her money is tied in the law. Now she has again hermoney, and she must be young--but young!"
With a gesture that expressed a world of pathos and futility Frau Knapfflung out her arms. "He must not see that she looks different as theladies in this country. So Frau Nirlanger wants she should buy here inthe stores new dresses--echt Amerikanische. All new and beautiful thingsshe would have, because she must look young, ain't it? And perhaps herboy will remember her when he is a fine young man, if she is yet youngwhen he grows up, you see? And too, there is the young husband. First,she gives up her old life, and her friends and her family for this man,and then she must do all things to keep him. Men, they are but children,after all," spake the wise Frau Knapf in conclusion. "They war and cryand plead for that which they would have, and when they have won, thensee! They are amused for a moment, and the new toy is thrown aside."
"Poor, plain, vivacious, fascinating little Frau Nirlanger!" I said. "Iwonder just how much of pain and heartache that little musical laugh ofhers conceals?"
"Ja, that is so," mused Frau Knapf. "Her eyes look like eyes that havewept much, not? And so you will be so kind and go maybe to select the sobeautiful clothes?"
"Clothes?" I repeated, remembering the original errand. "But dear lady!How, does one select clothes for a woman of forty who would not wearyher husband? That is a task for a French modiste, a wizard, and a fairygodmother all rolled into one."
"But you will do it, yes?" urged Frau Knapf.
"I'll do it," I agreed, a bit ruefully, "if only to see the face of theoogly husband when his bride is properly corseted and shod."
Whereupon Frau Knapf, in a panic, remembered the unset Kuchen dough andrushed away, with her hand on her lips and her eyes big with secrecy.And I sat staring at the last typewritten page stuck in my typewriterand I found that the little letters on the white page were swimming in adim purple haze.