Next, I blocked Ganna’s monthly payments. Hornschuch informed her of my step by letter. She protested in a blazing forty-word telegram. A second, even longer telegram went to her brother-in-law Heckenast. He in turn addressed a lordly and insulting telegram to me, and another to Hornschuch. Hornschuch wrote to Dr Fingerling that he was astounded that he, Fingerling, had not only allowed his client to absent herself during a crucial phase of the talks, but had seen fit to send her money abroad. Fingerling wrote a piqued letter on the high-handedness of his client to Heckenast. Heckenast wrote a cross letter to Ganna, summoning her home. Ganna wired back saying she wouldn’t think of it; she wasn’t going to allow herself to be violated. I was surprised the lines between Nice and Berlin and Nice and Ebenweiler didn’t self-combust with her pathetic ranting. In the meantime, she was running out of money. She couldn’t pay the hotel bill and was forced to borrow money from strangers. The strangers became suspicious when she didn’t keep her repayment date and threatened her with disagreeable steps. She wired, threatening to take legal action against me. Ganna letters and Ganna wires were raining down like shrapnel in a battle. Our little post office had its work cut out.
While this whole crazy fuss was going on, the deed was being worked out. Beset by her lawyer, who in turn was being pressed by Hornschuch, Ganna saw herself forced to quit the Côte d’Azur. Hornschuch travelled to Vienna to meet Heckenast in Dr Fingerling’s office. I was told to keep myself available and be ready to go to Vienna at a moment’s notice. The signal came and I went.
The scene: Heckenast’s hotel room. Dramatis personae: Heckenast, Hornschuch, Dr Fingerling and I. The burden of the drama: the big haggle. We haggled over every single point. There were so many points that, at the end of three hours, there was still no end in sight. My brother-in-law Heckenast was a man of Prussian laconism. He gave us to feel that by his presence he was dignifying all Austria, which was such a small, poor country. He was as passionless as a paperknife. Although considerably younger than I, he behaved towards me like an uncle swelled with his own moral rectitude, dismissing a naughty nephew from his affections; his bourgeois sensibility was lastingly offended by the reprehensible behaviour of this runaway from the kraal. Cold and impermeable, he placed himself before the rights of his sister-in-law Ganna like a wall. He was utterly objective. Ever allow the implacably objective to come to power, and that will spell the end of compassion and imagination on earth.
Dr Fingerling was a gaunt, red-haired, polite gentleman who would have liked to settle the case to the satisfaction of all. Furthermore, he was anxious to trouser his fee. Ten thousand schillings had been agreed for him, quite a chunk of change. From time to time he beckoned Hornschuch over to whisper something in his ear. He, keen-eyed, alert, brisk in attack and on guard, reminded me of a foil fencer. More like a student than a fully fledged lawyer, it wasn’t hard for him to back the rigid Prussian into a corner, though admittedly that had little effect on the toughness of the conditions. Even though he was seeking to secure a deal for me somewhere at the upper limit of what I could bear, I still thought he disastrously overestimated my circumstances and resources. But there was nothing I could do. Things had gone too far. It was like a landslide: if you try to push against it, you’ll be crushed.
I stood the whole time leaning against the window and allowed the hail of paragraphs, figures and punitive clauses to pass over me. My thoughts followed one of two tracks. One was remote from this slaughterhouse, in which I was playing the bullock; what is all this to do with me, I thought, this chain-rattle of punishments, what is it to do with me, it’s just money, let them have it, I’ll chuck it in their faces, let them fight each other over my hide, they won’t get my soul, that’s for sure. But the other track was black with worry, the question kept coming up: where am I going to get it from, all this money, year after year, welded to a contract that’s more like a guillotine than a piece of paper, my whole life a coolie’s service, my whole future fenced in with sanctions and reparations, my own personal Versailles; how can I prevent the work of my mind and imagination being diminished to an endless series of instalment payments and personal guarantees for Ganna?
At last there was agreement. The notary was standing by. Heckenast ordered up some brandy, we all formally shook hands and as I walked down the stairs with Hornschuch he said:
‘I think congratulations are in order.’
‘It’s by no means certain that Ganna will sign,’ I replied cagily.
Hornschuch said he thought Heckenast didn’t look as though he would stand for any more monkey business, while Master Fingerling was pretty hard up. On the pavement he took my hand and said with a strange giggle, because he really was proud of his triumph:
‘Pack money in your wallet! Lots of money! Money for Fingerling, money for Goldenthal, money for Ganna’s debts, blood money, ransom money … Have you got enough? I am at your service.’
‘I’ve scraped together everything I’ve got,’ I said.
This conversation took place at two in the afternoon. At four, as arranged, Ganna came to Fingerling’s office with her brother-in-law in tow. The notary had been summoned. One might have supposed the formalities would be over in minutes. In the event it took five hours before Ganna, with floods of tears and sobs, set her name to the document. ‘It was like an amputation,’ said Dr Fingerling when he told his colleague Hornschuch about the scene. As late as five o’clock, Ganna had shouted that she wouldn’t agree under any circumstances. After everyone had talked at her for an hour, she seemed to be on the point of passing out and a cordial was brought. At seven o’clock she demanded a series of changes. Not possible, she was told, they had committed themselves as fiduciaries by handshake and word. She swore on the lives of her children she wouldn’t sign any deed that made her the unhappiest woman in the world. She accused her brother-in-law of being bribed by Bettina and me. She threatened to take an overdose. She claimed to be the victim of blackmail. The sweat was beading on Dr Fingerling’s brow. For the first time Heckenast lost control, grabbed her by the shoulders and roared that if she didn’t see sense he would have her committed. At that she turned very quiet. With shyly fluttering eyelids and lowered head, she sat down at the desk and signed. Then, once she had signed, she heaved up a groan like a dying person from the deepest recesses of her heart, flung herself on the sofa and howled for twenty minutes in such tones that the three men present looked into one another’s pale faces and didn’t know what to do.
The following day, the day of the court appearance, I turned fifty-three. In the anteroom of the assizes Ganna walked up to me and said in dulcet tones and with the charming innocent smile of her girlhood days: ‘I’m giving you a divorce for your birthday, Alexander.’