delicious whispers.
Fritz: "Do you love me?" Elsa: "Nu--yes." Fritz
passionately" target="_blank" title="ad.多情地;热烈地">
passionately: "But how
much?" To which Elsa never replied--except with "How much do YOU love ME?"
Fritz escaped that truly Christian trap by
saying, "I asked you first."
It grew so confusing that I slipped in front of Frau Kellermann--and walked
in the
peaceful knowledge that she was
blossoming and I was under no
obligation to inform even my nearest and dearest as to the
precise capacity
of my affections. "What right have they to ask each other such questions
the day after letters of
blessing have been received?" I reflected. "What
right have they even to question each other? Love which becomes engaged
and married is a
purely affirmative affair--they are usurping the
privileges of their betters and wisers!"
The edges of the field frilled over into an
immense pine forest--very
pleasant and cool it looked. Another signpost begged us to keep to the
broad path for Schlingen and
deposit waste paper and fruit peelings in wire
receptacles attached to the benches for the purpose. We sat down on the
first bench, and Karl with great
curiosity explored the wire receptacle.
"I love woods," said the Advanced Lady, smiling pitifully into the air.
"In a wood my hair already seems to stir and remember something of its
savage origin."
"But
speaking literally," said Frau Kellermann, after an appreciative
pause, "there is really nothing better than the air of pine-trees for the
scalp."
"Oh, Frau Kellermann, please don't break the spell," said Elsa.
The Advanced Lady looked at her very sympathetically. "Have you, too,
found the magic heart of Nature?" she said.
That was Herr Langen's cue. "Nature has no heart," said he, very bitterly
and
readily, as people do who are over-philosophised and underfed. "She
creates that she may destroy. She eats that she may spew up and she spews
up that she may eat. That is why we, who are forced to eke out an
existence at her trampling feet, consider the world mad, and realise the
deadly vulgarity of production."
"Young man," interrupted Herr Erchardt, "you have never lived and you have
never suffered!"
"Oh, excuse me--how can you know?"
"I know because you have told me, and there's an end of it. Come back to
this bench in ten years' time and repeat those words to me," said Frau
Kellermann, with an eye upon Fritz, who was engaged in counting Elsa's
fingers with
passionate fervour--"and bring with you your young wife, Herr
Langen, and watch, perhaps, your little child playing with--" She turned
towards Karl, who had rooted an old illustrated paper out of the receptacle
and was
spelling over an
advertisement for the enlargement of Beautiful
Breasts.
The
sentence remained
unfinished. We
decided to move on. As we plunged
more deeply into the wood our spirits rose--reaching a point where they
burst into song--on the part of the three men--"O Welt, wie bist du
wunderbar!"--the lower part of which was piercingly sustained by Herr
Langen, who attempted quite unsuccessfully to infuse
satire into it in
accordance with his--"world outlook". They
strode ahead and left us to
trail after them--hot and happy.
"Now is the opportunity," said Frau Kellermann. "Dear Frau Professor, do
tell us a little about your book."
"Ach, how did you know I was
writing one?" she cried playfully.
"Elsa, here, had it from Lisa. And never before have I
personally known a
woman who was
writing a book. How do you manage to find enough to write
down?"
"That is never the trouble," said the Advanced Lady--she took Elsa's arm
and leaned on it
gently. "The trouble is to know where to stop. My brain
has been a hive for years, and about three months ago the pent-up waters
burst over my soul, and since then I am
writing all day until late into the
night, still ever
finding fresh inspirations and thoughts which beat
impatient wings about my heart."
"Is it a novel?" asked Elsa shyly.
"Of course it is a novel," said I.
"How can you be so positive?" said Frau Kellermann, eyeing me severely.
"Because nothing but a novel could produce an effect like that."
"Ach, don't quarrel," said the Advanced Lady
sweetly. "Yes, it is a novel
--upon the Modern Woman. For this seems to me the woman's hour. It is
mysterious and almost
prophetic, it is the
symbol of the true
advancedwoman: not one of those
violent creatures who deny their sex and smother
their frail wings under...under--"
"The English tailor-made?" from Frau Kellermann.
"I was not going to put it like that. Rather, under the lying garb of
false masculinity!"
"Such a subtle distinction!" I murmured.
"Whom then," asked Fraulein Elsa, looking adoringly at the Advanced Lady--