Read Ebook: Iolanthe's Wedding by Sudermann Hermann Seltzer Adele Szold Translator

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 830 lines and 27484 words, and 17 pages

I laid down my terms. Firstly, immediate withdrawal from the army. Secondly, his personal management of the estate. Thirdly, the settlement of the lawsuit.

This lawsuit was against Krakow of Krakowitz, and had been going on for years. It had been my old friend's favourite sport. Like all such things, it turned, of course, upon a question of inheritance, and had swallowed up three times as much as the whole business was worth.

Krakow was a boor, so the dispute took on a personal colour, and led to intense hate, at least on Krakow's side, because P?tz was phlegmatic and always took a slightly humorous view of the affair. But Krakow had openly declared and sworn that if any member or servant of the P?tz family set foot on his place, he would sick his dogs on him.

Well, those were my terms. And the boy agreed to them. Whether willingly or unwillingly, I did not enquire.

I made up my mind to take the first steps myself toward an understanding with Krakow, although I had every reason to believe his threat applied to me, too. I had had several tilts with him in the county council.

But I--look at me--I don't mean to boast--I can fell a bull with this fist of mine. So a few curs don't need to make me take to my heels.

Well, then.

So I let three days pass, gentlemen, to sleep on the matter--then my two coach-horses into the harness--my yellow trap--and heigho for Krakowitz. Beautiful bit of property, no denying that. Somewhat run down, but full of possibilities. Lots of black fallow--might do for winter kale or something of the sort. The wheat so-so. The cattle splendid.

The Krakowitz yard was a little of all this. Bright, clean barns, miserable wagons, fine drains for the stables, but the stalls badly placed. An air of whimsicality about the whole place, with a touch of stinginess or lack of means. From appearances it is difficult to distinguish between the two. The manor-house--two stories, red brick faced with yellow stones and overgrown with ivy. In a word, not bad, something unstudied about it--well, you know what I mean.

"Is the Baron at home?"

"Yes. What name shall I give?"

"Hanckel, Baron Hanckel--Ilgenstein."

"Step in, sir."

So I walked in--everything old--old furniture, old pictures--worm-eaten, but cosy.

I heard some one begin to curse and swear in the adjoining room.

"Pleasant reception," I thought.

Women's voices joined in.

"Papa, papa!"

"Good Lord! All right! All right!"

Then he came in--gentlemen, if I hadn't just heard it with my own ears!--holding out his hands, his old sinner's face beaming, his dachs eyes blinking slily, but with a beam of pleasure in them.

"My dear sir, delighted."

"See here, Krakow," I said, "look out. I heard every word just now."

"What did you hear, what did you hear?"

"The epithets you bestowed on me--dirty blackguard and heaven knows what else."

Gentlemen, who could take offence? I couldn't. Perhaps I'm too thick--skinned? But I couldn't.

What did he look like?

The fellow danced about me like wild.

Don't for a moment suppose, gentlemen, that I was taken in by his goings-on. I had known him long enough. I saw through and through him. But--call me a simpleton if you will--I couldn't help it--I liked him. And I liked his surroundings.

As I said, altogether comfortable and cosy.

We sat down in the corner, and a maid brought cigars.

The cigars were no good, but the smoke curled so merrily in the sunshine that I did not pay much attention to their burning away like matches.

I wanted to begin to talk about my business, but Krakow laid his hand on my shoulder and said:

"After the coffee!"

"If you please, Krakow," I said.

"After the coffee!"

I courteously enquired about his farming and pretended great interest in his innovations, about which he boasted extravagantly, though they were as old as the hills to me.

Then the Baroness came in.

A fine old piece. A slender dame. Long narrow blue eyes, silver hair under a black lace cap, a melancholy smile, fine yellow hands. A bit too dainty for a country gentlewoman, and especially for such a boor of a husband.

She welcomed me with great propriety--while the old man kept screaming as if possessed.

"Krakow!" I said, completely taken aback. "Don't joke that way about an old blade like me."

And the Baroness saved me by saying very neatly:

"Don't worry, Baron. We mothers gave you up as hopeless years ago."

"But the girl can come in at any rate," screamed the old fellow.

And finally she came.

Gentlemen, take off your hats! I stood there as if somebody had knocked me on the head. A thoroughbred, gentlemen, a thoroughbred! A figure like a young queen's, her hair loose, in a thousand wavelets and ringlets, golden brown, like the mane of a Barbary steed. Her throat full, white and voluptuous. Her bosom not too high, and broad and curving at the sides. In a horse, we call it a lion's chest. And when she breathed, her whole body seemed to breathe along with her lungs, so strongly did the air pulsate through that glorious young body.

Gentlemen, you don't have to go in for breeding animals as a passionate pursuit to know how much toil and effort it costs to produce a perfect specimen, no matter of what species. And I'm not a woman connoisseur, and one doesn't have to be, to fold one's hands at the sight of so perfect a creature and pray, "O Lord, I thank Thee for allowing such a thing to walk the earth. For as long as such bodies are created we need have no fear for our souls."

The one thing I did not quite like at first was her eyes. Too pale a blue, too languishing for such an abundance of life. They seemed to be soaring towards heaven, and yet, when they narrowed, a searching, lowering look came into them, the sort of look surly dogs get from being beaten too often.

Old Krakow caught her by both shoulders and began to brag outrageously.

She tried to shake him off and turned scarlet.

Aha, ashamed of him.

Then the ladies got the table ready for coffee. Fresh brown waffles, preserves after the Russian fashion, gleaming damask, knives and spoons with buckhorn handles, the fine blue smoke of charcoal puffing up from the chimney of the brass coffee machine, making everything still cosier.

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet