correctly a sweetheart’s letter.’
‘I don’t want correctness, but I should like them a good deal longer,’ said Fritz.
His next letter from Sophie ran: ‘You gave me some of your Hair and I wrapped it nicely in a little Bit of paper and put it in the drawer of a table. The other day when I wanted to take it out neither the Hair nor the Bit of paper was to be seen. Now please have your Hair cut again, and in particular the Hair of your head.’
The next time he was at Gruningen, a strong blonde young woman came into the room, carrying a bucket. ‘God help me, but I’ve forgotten what I meant to do with this,’ she said, slamming it down on the painted wooden floor.
‘This is my elder sister Friederike,’ said Sophie eagerly. ‘She is the Frau Leutnant Mandelsloh.’
She is not like her mother, Fritz thought, and not at all like her sister.
‘Frieke, he wants me to write him another letter.’
Fritz said, ‘No, Frau Leutnant, I want her to write me many hundreds of letters.’
‘Well, the attempt shall be made,’ said the Mandelsloh. ‘But she will need some ink.’
‘Is there none in the house?’ Fritz asked. ‘It is the same with us, we are often short of soap, or some other commodity.’
‘Here there is plenty of everything,’ said the Mandelsloh. ‘And there is ink in my stepfather’s study, and in several other rooms. Everywhere we may take what we like. But Sophgen does not use ink every day.’
Sophie was gone. Left alone with this large-boned, fair-haired creature, Fritz followed his instinct, turning to her at once for advice. ‘Frau Leutnant, would you recommend me to ask your stepfather whether he would consent to an engagement between myself and -‘
‘About that I can’t advise you at all,’ she said calmly.‘You must see how much courage you have. The difficulty is not what to ask people, but when. I suppose your father, too, must be taken into account.’
‘That is so,’ said Fritz.
‘Well, perhaps the two of them will sit down comfortably together and enjoy a good pipe of tobacco.’ Fritz tried, but failed, to imagine this. ‘In that way everything may be settled without tears. My own husband was an orphan. There was no-one he had to consider when he came to discuss matters with my stepfather, except his unmarried sister, whom of course he must support.’
‘I thank you for your advice,’ said Fritz. ‘I think, indeed, that women have a better grasp on the whole business of life than we men have. We are morally better than they are, but they can reach perfection, we can’t. And that is in spite of the fact that they particularise, we generalise.’
‘That I have heard before. What is wrong with particulars? Someone has to look after them.’
Fritz paced the room. Conversation had the same effect on him as music.
‘Furthermore, I believe that all women have what Schlegel finds lacking in so many men, a beautiful soul. But so often it is concealed.’
‘Very likely it is,’ said the Mandelsloh. ‘What do you think of mine?’
Having said this, she looked startled, as though someoneelse had spoken. Fritz, who had reached the point nearest to her and to her bucket, stopped and fixed on her his brilliant, half-wild gaze.
‘Don’t look so interested!’ she cried. ‘I am very dull. My husband is very dull. We are two dull people. I should not have mentioned us. Even to think of us might make you weep from boredom.’
‘But I don’t find -‘
She put her hands over her ears.
‘No, don’t say it! We who are dull accept that intelligent persons should run the world and the rest of us should work six days a week to keep them going, if only it turns out that they know what they are doing.’
‘We are not talking about myself,’ cried Fritz. ‘We are talking about your soul, Frau Leutnant.’
Sophie reappeared, without pen, paper or ink. It seemed that she had been playing with some new kittens in the housemaids’ pantry. ‘So that is where
‘I don’t want correctness, but I should like them a good deal longer,’ said Fritz.
His next letter from Sophie ran: ‘You gave me some of your Hair and I wrapped it nicely in a little Bit of paper and put it in the drawer of a table. The other day when I wanted to take it out neither the Hair nor the Bit of paper was to be seen. Now please have your Hair cut again, and in particular the Hair of your head.’
The next time he was at Gruningen, a strong blonde young woman came into the room, carrying a bucket. ‘God help me, but I’ve forgotten what I meant to do with this,’ she said, slamming it down on the painted wooden floor.
‘This is my elder sister Friederike,’ said Sophie eagerly. ‘She is the Frau Leutnant Mandelsloh.’
She is not like her mother, Fritz thought, and not at all like her sister.
‘Frieke, he wants me to write him another letter.’
Fritz said, ‘No, Frau Leutnant, I want her to write me many hundreds of letters.’
‘Well, the attempt shall be made,’ said the Mandelsloh. ‘But she will need some ink.’
‘Is there none in the house?’ Fritz asked. ‘It is the same with us, we are often short of soap, or some other commodity.’
‘Here there is plenty of everything,’ said the Mandelsloh. ‘And there is ink in my stepfather’s study, and in several other rooms. Everywhere we may take what we like. But Sophgen does not use ink every day.’
Sophie was gone. Left alone with this large-boned, fair-haired creature, Fritz followed his instinct, turning to her at once for advice. ‘Frau Leutnant, would you recommend me to ask your stepfather whether he would consent to an engagement between myself and -‘
‘About that I can’t advise you at all,’ she said calmly.‘You must see how much courage you have. The difficulty is not what to ask people, but when. I suppose your father, too, must be taken into account.’
‘That is so,’ said Fritz.
‘Well, perhaps the two of them will sit down comfortably together and enjoy a good pipe of tobacco.’ Fritz tried, but failed, to imagine this. ‘In that way everything may be settled without tears. My own husband was an orphan. There was no-one he had to consider when he came to discuss matters with my stepfather, except his unmarried sister, whom of course he must support.’
‘I thank you for your advice,’ said Fritz. ‘I think, indeed, that women have a better grasp on the whole business of life than we men have. We are morally better than they are, but they can reach perfection, we can’t. And that is in spite of the fact that they particularise, we generalise.’
‘That I have heard before. What is wrong with particulars? Someone has to look after them.’
Fritz paced the room. Conversation had the same effect on him as music.
‘Furthermore, I believe that all women have what Schlegel finds lacking in so many men, a beautiful soul. But so often it is concealed.’
‘Very likely it is,’ said the Mandelsloh. ‘What do you think of mine?’
Having said this, she looked startled, as though someoneelse had spoken. Fritz, who had reached the point nearest to her and to her bucket, stopped and fixed on her his brilliant, half-wild gaze.
‘Don’t look so interested!’ she cried. ‘I am very dull. My husband is very dull. We are two dull people. I should not have mentioned us. Even to think of us might make you weep from boredom.’
‘But I don’t find -‘
She put her hands over her ears.
‘No, don’t say it! We who are dull accept that intelligent persons should run the world and the rest of us should work six days a week to keep them going, if only it turns out that they know what they are doing.’
‘We are not talking about myself,’ cried Fritz. ‘We are talking about your soul, Frau Leutnant.’
Sophie reappeared, without pen, paper or ink. It seemed that she had been playing with some new kittens in the housemaids’ pantry. ‘So that is where
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