The Romance of the Canoness: A Life-HistoryHeyse, Paul
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The Romance of the Canoness: A Life-History
Heyse, Paul
German fiction -- Translations into English
At last, very much displeased with myself, I rose and tried to reach my
hotel by the shortest cut. Even the desire to question the postmaster
had deserted me. I would gladly have driven the Canoness--who was now
associated with a humiliating remembrance--entirely out of my mind,
and, in fact, at that time I was to learn nothing more about her. My
light carriage stood waiting in front of the house, but the landlord
had been suddenly called away on some business; so I remained no longer
than to drink a little wine and seltzer-water, for my tongue was
parched, and then urged the driver to hurry that I might reach my
destination before night.
Even at my friend's house I did not mention my experiences in St. ----.
As he had only lived in the neighborhood a short time, and was
completely engrossed by his immediate duties and occupations, he had
scarcely had an opportunity to become familiar with the local history
of the place. Only it chanced to be mentioned that the dismantled
coasting-steamer had belonged to a bankrupt firm and been taken by one
of the creditors, who had hoped to sell it again for the value of the
material. As it did not immediately find a purchaser, he had had the
worn-out invalid brought to the inland lake, where it was now enjoying
rest from its labors.
I spent a few refreshing days in my friend's pretty house, which
unfortunately was situated in a most prosaic neighborhood, and when I
returned to Berlin the memory of the hour in the cemetery had already
become considerably fainter.
But, like every reminder of our weaknesses and follies, it never wholly
vanished. So no one will marvel that I was most agreeably surprised
when, a year afterward, I received by mail a heavy parcel, accompanied
by the following lines:
MOST HONORED SIR: Unfortunately, I am not so happy as to be able to
present myself as a total stranger. For I must commence my letter by
apologizing for an offense committed more than a year ago, when I had
the honor of making your acquaintance, if this word can be applied to a
meeting in which both persons remained wholly unknown to each other.
True, I am ignorant whether you have retained any recollection of the
uncourteous person who had no other reply to a friendly question than
to quit you so abruptly. You are living in the current of the world,
which washes away so many trivial things, and effaces old impressions
with a thousand new ones. An inhabitant of the provinces, of my
temperament, has nothing to interrupt him in the unpleasant task of
thrusting still deeper into his flesh, in the endeavor to withdraw
them, the thorns implanted by a fleeting moment.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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