Immensee Page 4

  The time is Christmas Eve. Before the close of the afternoon Reinhardand some other students were sitting together at an old oak table in theRatskeller.[2]

  [2] The basement of the Rathaus or Town Hall. This, in almost everyGerman town of importance, has become a restaurant and place ofrefreshment.

  The lamps on the wall were lighted, for down here in the basement it wasalready growing dark; but there was only a thin sprinkling of customerspresent, and the waiters were leaning idly up against the pillars letinto the walls.

  In a corner of the vaulted room sat a fiddler and a fine-featuredgipsy-girl with a zither; their instruments lay in their laps, andthey seemed to be looking about them with an air of indifference.

  A champagne cork popped off at the table occupied by the students."Drink, my gipsy darling!" cried a young man of aristocraticappearance, holding out to the girl a glass full of wine.

  "I don't care about it," she said, without altering her position.

  "Well, then, give us a song," cried the young nobleman, and threw asilver coin into her lap. The girl slowly ran her fingers through herblack hair while the fiddler whispered in her ear. But she threw backher head, and rested her chin on her zither.

  "For him," she said, "I'm not going to play."

  Reinhard leapt up with his glass in his hand and stood in front ofher.

  "What do you want?" she asked defiantly.

  "To have a look at your eyes."

  "What have my eyes to do with you?"

  Reinhard's glance flashed down on her. "I _know_ they are false."

  She laid her cheek in the palm of her hand and gave him a searchinglook. Reinhard raised his glass to his mouth.

  "Here's to your beautiful, wicked eyes!" he said, and drank.

  She laughed and tossed her head.

  "Give it here," she said, and fastening her black eyes on his, sheslowly drank what was left in the glass. Then she struck a chord andsang in a deep, passionate voice:

  To-day, to-day thou think'st me Fairest maid of all; To-morrow, ah! then beauty Fadeth past recall. While the hour remaineth, Thou art yet mine own; Then when death shall claim me, I must die alone.

  While the fiddler struck up an allegro finale, a new arrival joinedthe group.

  "I went to call for you, Reinhard," he said, "You had already goneout, but Santa Claus had paid you a visit."

  "Santa Claus?" said Reinhard. "Santa Claus never comes to me now."

  "Oh, yes, he does! The whole of your room smelt of Christmas tree andginger cakes."

  Reinhard dropped the glass out of his hand and seized his cap.

  "Well, what are you going to do now?" asked the girl.

  "I'll be back in a minute."

  She frowned. "Stay," she said gently, casting an amorous glance athim.

  Reinhard hesitated. "I can't," he said.

  She laughingly gave him a tap with the toe of her shoe and said: "Goaway, then, you good-for-nothing; you are one as bad as the other, allgood-for-nothings." And as she turned away from him, Reinhard wentslowly up the steps of the Ratskeller.

  Outside in the street deep twilight had set in; he felt the coolwinter air blowing on his heated brow. From some window every here andthere fell the bright gleam of a Christmas tree all lighted up, nowand then was heard from within some room the sound of little pipes andtin trumpets mingled with the merry din of children's voices.

  Crowds of beggar children were going from house to house or climbingup on to the railings of the front steps, trying to catch a glimpsethrough the window of a splendour that was denied to them. Sometimestoo a door would suddenly be flung open, and scolding voices woulddrive a whole swarm of these little visitors away out into the darkstreet. In the vestibule of yet another house they were singing an oldChristmas carol, and little girls' clear voices were heard among therest.

  But Reinhard heard not; he passed quickly by them all, out of onestreet into another. When he reached his lodging it had grown almostquite dark; he stumbled up the stairs and so gained his apartment.

  A sweet fragrance greeted him; it reminded him of home; it was thesmell of the parlour in his mother's house at Christmas time. Withtrembling hand he lit his lamp; and there lay a mighty parcel on thetable. When he opened it, out fell the familiar ginger cakes. On someof them were the initial letters of his name written in sprinkles ofsugar; no one but Elisabeth could have done that.

  Next came to view a little parcel containing neatly embroidered linen,handkerchiefs and cuffs; and finally letters from his mother andElisabeth. Reinhard opened Elisabeth's letter first, and this is whatshe wrote:

  "The pretty sugared letters will no doubt tell you who helped with thecakes. The same person also embroidered the cuffs for you. We shallhave a very quiet time at home this Christmas Eve. Mother always putsher spinning-wheel away in the corner as early as half-past nine. Itis so very lonesome this winter now that you are not here.

  "And now, too, the linnet you made me a present of died last Sunday.It made me cry a good deal, though I am sure I looked after it well.

  "It always used to sing of an afternoon when the sun shone on itscage. You remember how often mother would hang a piece of cloth overthe cage in order to keep it quiet when it sang so lustily.

  "Thus our room is now quieter than ever, except that your old friendEric now drops in to see us occasionally. You told us once that he wasjust like his brown top-coat. I can't help thinking of it every timehe comes in at the door, and it is really too funny; but don't tellmother, it might easily make her angry.

  "Guess what I am giving your mother for a Christmas present! You can'tguess? Well, it is myself! Eric is making a drawing of me in blackchalk; I have had to give him three sittings, each time for a wholehour.

  "I simply loathed the idea of a stranger getting to know my face sowell. Nor did I wish it, but mother pressed me, and said it would verymuch please dear Frau Werner.

  "But you are not keeping your word, Reinhard. You haven't sent me anystories. I have often complained to your mother about it, but shealways says you now have more to do than to attend to such childishthings. But I don't believe it; there's something else perhaps."

  After this Reinhard read his mother's letter, and when he had readthem both and slowly folded them up again and put them away, he wasovercome with an irresistible feeling of home-sickness. For a longwhile he walked up and down his room, talking softly to himself, andthen, under his breath, he murmured:

  I have err'd from the straight path, Bewildered I roam; By the roadside the child stands And beckons me home.

  Then he went to his desk, took out some money, and stepped down intothe street again. During all this while it had become quieter outthere; the lights on the Christmas trees had burnt out, theprocessions of children had come to an end. The wind was sweepingthrough the deserted streets; old and young alike were sittingtogether at home in family parties; the second period of Christmas Evecelebrations had begun.

  As Reinhard drew near the Ratskeller he heard from below the scrapingof the fiddle and the singing of the zither girl. The restaurant doorbell tinkled and a dark form staggered up the broad dimly-lightedstair.

  Reinhard drew aside into the shadow of the houses and then passedswiftly by. After a while he reached the well-lighted shop of ajeweller, and after buying a little cross studded with red corals, hereturned by the same way he had come.

  Not far from his lodgings he caught sight of a little girl, dressed inmiserable rags, standing before a tall door, in a vain attempt to openit.

  "Shall I help you?" he said.

  The child gave no answer, but let go the massive door-handle. Reinhardhad soon opened the door.

  "No," he said; "they might drive you out again. Come along with me,and I'll give you some Christmas cake."

  He then closed the door again and gave his hand to the little girl,who walked along with him in silence to his lodgings.

  On going out he had left the light burning.
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  "Here are some cakes for you," he said, pouring half of his wholestock into her apron, though he gave none that bore the sugar letters.

  "Now, off you go home, and give your mother some of them too."

  The child cast a shy look up at him; she seemed unaccustomed to suchkindness and unable to say anything in reply. Reinhard opened thedoor, and lighted her way, and then the little thing like a bird flewdownstairs with her cakes and out of the house.

  Reinhard poked the fire in the stove, set the dusty ink-stand on thetable, and then sat down and wrote and wrote letters the whole nightlong to his mother and Elisabeth.

  The remainder of the Christmas cakes lay untouched by his side, but hehad buttoned on Elisabeth's cuffs, and odd they looked on his shaggycoat of undyed wool. And there he was still sitting when the wintersun cast its light on the frosted window-panes, and showed him a pale,grave face reflected in the looking-glass.

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