Fräulein Schmidt and Mr. Anstruther

Name: Fräulein Schmidt and Mr. Anstruther
Author: Von Arnim, Elizabeth

Von Arnim, Elizabeth

British -- Germany -- Fiction; Epistolary fiction; Germany -- Fiction; Love stories; Young women -- Fiction

'All through the years of his strength, certainly.'

'What for?'

'My dear young lady, have you been living again on vegetables lately?'

'Why?'

'Your words sound as though your thoughts were watery.'

A nettled silence fell upon me, and while I was arranging how best to
convince him of their substance he was shaking his head and saying that
it was strange how the most intelligent women are unable really to
think. 'Water,' he continued, 'is indispensable in its proper place and
good in many others where, strictly, it might be done without. I have
nothing to say against watery emotions, watery sentiments, even watery
affections, especially in ladies, who would be less charming in
proportion as they were more rigid. Ebb and flow, uncertainty,
instability, unaccountableness, are becoming to your sex. But in the
region of thought, of the intellect, of pure reason, everything should
be very dry. The one place, my dear young lady, in which I will endure
no water is on the brain.'

I had no answer ready. There seemed to be nothing left to do but to go
home. I did go a few steps up the orchard, reflecting on the way men
have of telling you you cannot think, or are not logical, at the very
moment when you appear to yourself to be most unanswerable--a
regrettable habit that at once puts a stop to interesting
conversation,--and presently, as I was nearing our fence, he called
after me. 'Fräulein Rose-Marie,' he called pleasantly.

'Well?' said I, looking down at him over a displeased shoulder.

'Come back.'

'No.'

'Come back and dine with us.'

'No.'

'There is mutton for dinner, and before that a soup full of the
concentrated strength of beasts. Up there I know you will eat carrots
and stewed apples, and I shall never be able to make you see what I
see.'

'Heaven forbid that I ever should.'

'What, you do not desire to be reasonable?'

'I don't choose to argue with you.'

'Have I done anything?'

'You are not logical enough for me,' said I, anxious to be beforehand
with the inevitable remark.

'Come, come,' said he, his face crinkling into smiles.

'It's true,' said I.

'Come back and prove it.'

'Useless.'

'You cannot.'

'I will not.'

'It is the same thing.'

I went on up the hill.

'Fräulein Rose-Marie!'

'Well?'

'Come back.'

'No.'

'Come back, and tell me why you think I ought to give up my work and sit
for the rest of my days with hanging hands.'

I turned and looked down at him. 'Because,' I said, 'are you not fifty?
And is not that high time to begin and get something out of life?'

He adjusted his spectacles, and stared up at me attentively. 'Continue,'
he said.

'I look at your life, at all those fifty years of it, and I see it
insufferably monotonous.'

'Continue.'

'Dull.'

'Continue.'

'Dusty.'

'Continue.'

'Dreary.'

'Continue.' He nodded his head gently at each adjective and counted them
off on his fingers.

'I see it full of ink-spots, dog-eared grammars, and little boys.'

'Continue.'

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

Opening the text

Fräulein Schmidt and Mr. AnstrutherVon Arnim, Elizabeth

General

Fräulein Schmidt and Mr. Anstruther

Von Arnim, Elizabeth

British -- Germany -- Fiction; Epistolary fiction; Germany -- Fiction; Love stories; Young women -- Fiction

'All through the years of his strength, certainly.'

'What for?'

'My dear young lady, have you been living again on vegetables lately?'

'Why?'

'Your words sound as though your thoughts were watery.'

A nettled silence fell upon me, and while I was arranging how best to
convince him of their substance he was shaking his head and saying that
it was strange how the most intelligent women are unable really to
think. 'Water,' he continued, 'is indispensable in its proper place and
good in many others where, strictly, it might be done without. I have
nothing to say against watery emotions, watery sentiments, even watery
affections, especially in ladies, who would be less charming in
proportion as they were more rigid. Ebb and flow, uncertainty,
instability, unaccountableness, are becoming to your sex. But in the
region of thought, of the intellect, of pure reason, everything should
be very dry. The one place, my dear young lady, in which I will endure
no water is on the brain.'

I had no answer ready. There seemed to be nothing left to do but to go
home. I did go a few steps up the orchard, reflecting on the way men
have of telling you you cannot think, or are not logical, at the very
moment when you appear to yourself to be most unanswerable--a
regrettable habit that at once puts a stop to interesting
conversation,--and presently, as I was nearing our fence, he called
after me. 'Fräulein Rose-Marie,' he called pleasantly.

'Well?' said I, looking down at him over a displeased shoulder.

'Come back.'

'No.'

'Come back and dine with us.'

'No.'

'There is mutton for dinner, and before that a soup full of the
concentrated strength of beasts. Up there I know you will eat carrots
and stewed apples, and I shall never be able to make you see what I
see.'

'Heaven forbid that I ever should.'

'What, you do not desire to be reasonable?'

'I don't choose to argue with you.'

'Have I done anything?'

'You are not logical enough for me,' said I, anxious to be beforehand
with the inevitable remark.

'Come, come,' said he, his face crinkling into smiles.

'It's true,' said I.

'Come back and prove it.'

'Useless.'

'You cannot.'

'I will not.'

'It is the same thing.'

I went on up the hill.

'Fräulein Rose-Marie!'

'Well?'

'Come back.'

'No.'

'Come back, and tell me why you think I ought to give up my work and sit
for the rest of my days with hanging hands.'

I turned and looked down at him. 'Because,' I said, 'are you not fifty?
And is not that high time to begin and get something out of life?'

He adjusted his spectacles, and stared up at me attentively. 'Continue,'
he said.

'I look at your life, at all those fifty years of it, and I see it
insufferably monotonous.'

'Continue.'

'Dull.'

'Continue.'

'Dusty.'

'Continue.'

'Dreary.'

'Continue.' He nodded his head gently at each adjective and counted them
off on his fingers.

'I see it full of ink-spots, dog-eared grammars, and little boys.'

'Continue.'

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

Fräulein Schmidt and Mr. Anstruther

Fräulein Schmidt and Mr. Anstruther

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