Yes, and half an hour had barely elapsed when there would be a gentle knock at the door. “Pardon me, madam, but I have to report that she’s exposing herself,” old Elias announced.
And indeed, when the two ladies rushed each to her window, there sat the poor homeless creature on the curbstone, her blouse unbuttoned, feeding the youngest fruit of her sins.
“Jutta, we cannot take the responsibility of this new scandal,” her mistress would sigh. And Jutta would remark obscurely: “Wasps do not attack bad fruit,” which Frau von Teschow then regarded as approval of her intentions.
“No, Elias, I’ll go myself,” she would say hurriedly, for although Elias was now well in his sixties it was uncertain whether he was a match for such a temptation. So old Frau von Teschow personally went down to the sinner who, when she saw madam step out, quickly did up her blouse. For her mistress might perhaps notice that it was only stageplay; Black Minna couldn’t feed any of her children, and had brought them all up on the bottle. That, however, was something madam did not need to know.
Then Minna and her mistress would go to the almshouse, the old woman walking beside the ridiculous barrow-load of furniture, the idea never entering her head that people would sneer or laugh. She had softened and humbled her heart, reminding herself how even she had almost yielded to temptation forty years ago when smart Lieutenant von Pritzwitz had wanted to kiss her behind the door—at a time when she was as good as engaged to Horst-Heinz.
And when she had accompanied Black Minna across the threshold of the almshouse, she was at the stage of understanding and forgiving all. Even if she were not quite so silly as to take the sinner’s tears at their face value, she nevertheless thought in her heart: She does mean it a little, after all, and she’s a tiny bit sorry—how do I know how much repentance God demands of us?
That, then, was how old Frau von Teschow thought and acted—and even Amanda Backs would have regarded it as nice and kind, if only madam’s good heart had been inclined as lovingly and forgivingly to all sinners. But man’s heart is strange—and why should an old woman’s heart be any different? What she forgave an artful female like Minna ten times, she would not once overlook in a young girl.
And in Amanda Backs least of all. For Amanda was brazen and shameless in her speech; she smiled joyously at all men; wore skirts so short that they were hardly skirts at all; never wept over a mistake; never repented, and never sang a hymn, only popular songs such as “What are you doing with your knee, dear Hans?” and “What a woman dreams in spring” …
No, Amanda knew quite well what was in store for her at the prayer meeting. But that Black Minna should have been assigned as her supervisor roused her to especial anger, and for a moment she seriously considered whether she should lock the two women up in the coop and slip off to her little Hans—it would be a glorious joke.
But however forward and impudent Amanda was with her tongue, she was prudent and circumspect in deed—which a poultry maid, of course, has to be above all things. For poultry are the most difficult creatures in the world, ten times more temperamental than a circus full of wild beasts, and obey only levelheaded persons. Yes, out of Meier’s window yesterday evening Amanda in her rage had talked big and threatened to leave madam—but all the same (the human heart is indeed strange) she was fond of her little blubber-lipped Hans Meier, and even the Garden of Eden itself would have appeared desolate without him.
So she didn’t slam the door of the hen house but contented herself with chasing out the two wingless hens, and brought her subjects to roost with a click and a cluck, counted their heads and found that none was missing. “There, you old hens,” she said emphatically, “since you have helped me so wonderfully I’ll scrub your pots for you in return.”
“Lor’, Amanda,” groaned the fat cook, her whalebone corset creaking, “if one didn’t know you were only joking …”
“And how do you know that?” asked Amanda Backs very aggressively. Aggressively she walked between the two women, who had now fallen silent, aggressively she bounced along in her short skirt. For she was very young, and the bitter experiences of her childhood had not been able to rob her of an appetite for life or of the freshness of youth; to be young was good fun and rows were fun and love amused her—if her mistress imagined she could rob her of this fun by hymns and prayers, then she was very much mistaken.
Such thoughts as Amanda’s might well carry one over the scrubbing of the sootiest pot, but they were not quite suitable for evening prayers in the Manor. By this time people had been sitting there quite a while—the usual crowd, a rather imposing assembly. For madam saw to it that not only those who were in her service came to these meetings, complete with chick and child, but that any villager who wanted a little firewood from the forest in the winter, or to gather berries and mushrooms there in summer, obtained permission for this only by sitting through many a service. Pastor Lehnich often did not have so many parishioners in the church of a Sunday as the old lady did evening after evening in her chapel.
“And you, Amanda?” she had asked. Amanda, starting out of her sinful thoughts, had stared around, and knew nothing of what was happening. The little geese on the back benches, the ones in their early ‘teens who laughed at everything, had of course begun to snigger. Madam, however, spoke quite mildly. “And your verse, Amanda?”
Oh, yes, they were having “singing in turns.” That meant that everybody had to name from the hymn book a verse which was then sung by all; which often led to a medley of vesper songs, dirges, hymns, penitential chants, hymns of the Passion, hymns of Jesus, and christening hymns. But it entertained them and livened up the wearisome evening. Even the old lady at her organ got red in the face, so quickly did she have to turn over the pages of her music book and leap from one melody to another.
“ ‘Commit thy ways unto the Lord,’ ” Amanda called out hurriedly before the sniggering could turn into laughter.
Madam nodded. “Yes, you should do that, Amanda.”
Amanda bit her lips for mentioning a first line that had given her mistress such an opening. She was rather flushed as she sat down.
But at least there was no pause, for Frau von Teschow knew this hymn by heart. The organ struck up at once and all joined in immediately. And then it was the turn of Black Minna, who was sitting next to Amanda—that hypocrite chose, of course, “Out of my deep anguish I cry to Thee.”
And they were singing again.
Amanda Backs, however, allowed herself no more day-dreams, but sat there erect and watchful; she did not want to be laughed at again. For quite a while nothing happened. All went on with their singing—in the end without any enthusiasm, because they grew bored and the old lady had become tired and more and more frequently struck a wrong note or didn’t keep time. Then the organ started to whistle strangely and groan; the little geese on the back benches sniggered again, and Frau von Teschow turned crimson.
She’s getting tired, thought Amanda. There’s not much left of her, actually. Perhaps she doesn’t feel disposed to make a long story about me, and I can quickly get to my Hans!
Amanda Backs had no idea how the sins of others can warm up an old woman, how the errors of her sisters can revive her. For one moment it looked as if the mistress wanted to make an end of the meeting. But she changed her mind. Stepping before her little flock, she cleared her throat and said, rather hurriedly and somewhat embarrassed: “Yes, dear children, now we can say the Benediction and go quietly home, every one of us, and sleep with a good conscience in that we have ended our day well. But is that true of us all?”
The old woman, no longer embarrassed, looked from one face to the other. She had stilled the motions of that conscience which warned her that she was about to do something strictly prohibited.