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Acknowledgments
- Translated by Rachael Huener, Macalester College, Minnesota
- Theodor Fontane
- Afterword by Helen Chambers, University of St Andrews, Scotland
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- Book:
- Mathilde Möhring
- Published by:
- Boydell & Brewer
- Published online:
- 21 February 2024
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- 10 October 2023, pp vii-viii
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Chapter 2
- Translated by Rachael Huener, Macalester College, Minnesota
- Theodor Fontane
- Afterword by Helen Chambers, University of St Andrews, Scotland
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- Mathilde Möhring
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- Boydell & Brewer
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- 21 February 2024
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Summary
The sun shone, the air was mild. Anyone turning into Georgenstraße and seeing, here and there, the trees extending their still full, leafy branches over fences would have thought that it was the beginning of September. But large wagons covered with canvas, bearing the inscription “Fiddichen Furniture Transport, Mauerstraße 17,” stood before several houses, including Counselor Schulze’s. The side railings of several dismantled beds were propped against the wagon, and a basket of kitchenware sat on the curb. Leaning against the basket was a picture in a baroque frame: a woman with a tall powdered wig and a flowered bodice—at least as much of a bodice as there was. The painter had neglected, as far as decency allowed, to complete the bodice and thus had given free rein to that element of nature bound within. It was, in fact, moving day, not the beginning of September, but rather the beginning of October. Moving day much improved Georgenstraße. It wasn't every day that one saw such a wagon and such a portrait, so a number of people stood around the wagon and the picture, including a large group of children.
Among those who examined the picture with interest was a young man of around twenty-six. It was not easy to determine his age, because there was an incongruity between his facial expression and his full, black beard. His expression was youthful, but his beard suggested a man in the prime of life. The beard was in error, however; he was just twenty-six and somewhat above average height, with broad shoulders. According to build and beard, he was a full-grown man, and indeed one that most people would call a good-looking man. He would be considered quite presentable.
When he was done with his examination of the picture, the young man resumed his actual task and, from the street, began to scrutinize, over the curb, the houses on the other side. He was, in fact, looking for lodgings. The gods were with him, for he had hardly glanced at the building directly across the street when he saw a notice over the front door that said: “An elegantly furnished room for rent, third floor on the left.” He nodded, as though saying to himself, “it seems that here is where I will set up my tents.”
Chapter 13
- Translated by Rachael Huener, Macalester College, Minnesota
- Theodor Fontane
- Afterword by Helen Chambers, University of St Andrews, Scotland
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- Book:
- Mathilde Möhring
- Published by:
- Boydell & Brewer
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- 21 February 2024
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- 10 October 2023, pp 73-76
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Summary
Thilde's conversations with Hugo when he returned from the town hall to his residence continued in this manner. As autumn approached, the lamp was lowered every evening and a tallow candle was placed inside it that glowed so wonderfully that no one passed by the house without casting a glance inside. “Berliners have such a sense of style in these things,” was the general verdict. Rebecca Silberstein pressed her father to get something similar, but he was opposed to it. “Rebecca, when he comes, I’m not saying who, then you shall have the lamp. And it will not be rose-colored; it will be ruby, and you will have a heavenly glow when you sleep.”
Rebecca was dissatisfied with this postponement, but she was almost the only dissatisfied person in the town. All the others rejoiced in their new mayor. Silberstein, who read a great deal and always spoke in an educated way, said, “He has initiatives. Anyone can have initiative, but initiatives, that's what distinguishes higher persons from lower persons.”
Isenthal, who always contradicted him, did so in this case too, but Silberstein became quite annoyed and said, “Don't say a word, Isenthal, or you’ll do an injustice and you’ll bring it down on your own head. Is he not like Nathan the Wise? Isn't he the man who has the three rings? Isn't he just, and doesn't he look like an apostle? And his wife, a very cultured lady, spoke of the Trinity and said that the Pope in Rome and Luther and Moses, they should become one. And that this is Prussia, and that she is blessed by that unity. That's what she said, and I’m telling you: Moses stays, Moses has priority.”
Everything went well. Only the district administrator remained cool, and it was quite obvious that he was not particularly pleased, neither about the “initiative” that was eclipsing his own light nor about Hugo's Nathan-like qualities and his equal treatment of the Three Faiths. There were encounters in which Hugo was snubbed, particularly by the wife of the district administrator.
Frontmatter
- Translated by Rachael Huener, Macalester College, Minnesota
- Theodor Fontane
- Afterword by Helen Chambers, University of St Andrews, Scotland
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- Mathilde Möhring
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- Boydell & Brewer
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- 21 February 2024
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Chapter 8
- Translated by Rachael Huener, Macalester College, Minnesota
- Theodor Fontane
- Afterword by Helen Chambers, University of St Andrews, Scotland
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- Mathilde Möhring
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Summary
Hugo's thoughts proceeded in this direction from that point on, and two weeks before Christmas, when he was once again installed in his own room (something which brought the elder Möhring a degree of satisfaction, since she could not see beyond the present), Hugo was certain that Thilde was the woman who suited him. As much as he believed himself to be a person of aesthetic feeling, and one equipped with latent poetic strengths, he was nonetheless in actuality very modest, almost humble. He had no real faith in his knowledge and abilities. “I’m a useless bread eater,” he had said to Rybinski, who had comforted him with the laughing assertion that “Precisely those people enjoy their food most.” Hugo had accepted that assertion with a certain melancholy. His self-assessment was accurate, and because it was accurate, it was also correct that Thilde suited him. She possessed exactly what he lacked: she was quick, resourceful and practical. He wanted to assure himself of her consent before Christmas. Her consent was certain, of that he had no doubt. He was, after all, a full-bearded son of a mayor— whereas Thilde (this much was clear to him) came from very modest circumstances.
“Fräulein Thilde,” he said, as she brought him tea with sliced ham on his first evening back in his room, “Fräulein Thilde, you are consistently kind to me. Because you believe that everything is still difficult for me, you have already cut my ham in pieces. You have taken care of me and indulged me and have shown me for the first time, in the course of all these weeks, how happy one can be. A loving hand is what one needs most in life. But do first set the tea tray down. And now, give me your dear small hand, for it is a small hand, and cross with me to the window. Look with me at the picture there, that cloud that passes over the moon and is brightened in its passing. One could perhaps interpret this, but even without that, I ask you if I might continue to hold your small hand, for it is a small hand, a long time, my entire life long.”
She did not answer immediately and instead busied herself instead with lowering the window shade.
Chapter 6
- Translated by Rachael Huener, Macalester College, Minnesota
- Theodor Fontane
- Afterword by Helen Chambers, University of St Andrews, Scotland
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- Book:
- Mathilde Möhring
- Published by:
- Boydell & Brewer
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- 21 February 2024
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Summary
The Möhrings waited up until midnight and twice added water to the teapot. But when their tenant still had not arrived, the old woman said, “Thilde, why should we burn so much kerosene? He’ll not be coming home tonight. And if he does, he’ll probably not be wanting us to see him in his condition. He's probably in Toepfer's Hotel, down there in the Bierkeller; that's where they all sit around.”
So they went to bed and lay quietly and did not speak. But there was no question of sleeping. Thilde reflected upon Hugo's behavior over the entire evening and upon this sitting around in a pub at night, which lay far beyond her calculations. The old woman was still preoccupied with the play. It was already striking one when she sat up and said softly, “Thilde, are you asleep?”
“No, Mother.”
“That's good, Child. I’m so scared. Is it from the tea? But I have such palpitations and keep seeing the old man …”
“Oh, Mother, do let the old man be. He's been asleep for two hours and you have to sleep, too.”
“But the only thing is, the red-haired man …”
“Yes, he's learned his lesson.”
“And what happened to the poor little mite, the young girl—what was her name?”
“Amalie.”
“That's right, Amalie. But now she's more or less orphaned. Even if they did get the old fellow out, he won't be around for long.”
“No, that he won’t, Mother. But now I’m going to get you a glass of water and then you’ll turn over on your other side.”
“All right, I’ll count to a hundred.”
It was assumed that Hugo would get up late, but the opposite was true. He rang earlier than usual and had to wait some ten minutes for his breakfast. Thilde attempted to excuse the lateness, but he said it was of no consequence. He himself should apologize, coming home at four and breakfast at seven—that was almost unnatural.
Introduction
- Translated by Rachael Huener, Macalester College, Minnesota
- Theodor Fontane
- Afterword by Helen Chambers, University of St Andrews, Scotland
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- Book:
- Mathilde Möhring
- Published by:
- Boydell & Brewer
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- 21 February 2024
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Summary
Aprominent Berlin bookseller recently posted this employee recommendation above Theodor Fontane's novel Mathilde Möhring: “Try something different by Fontane!” (“Versuch mal was anderes von Fontane!”) Different indeed. Other novels of society by Theodor Fontane (1819–98) take place among the landed aristocracy and the nouveau riche, but Mathilde Möhring (1891/1896) begins in a noisy Berlin neighborhood in a lower-middle-class apartment. Marriage is often an unavoidable and sometimes unbearable social contract in Fontane novels that frustrates, bores, or annoys his protagonists, particularly the women—some of them to death. But for “Thilde,” as we come to know her in the novel, marriage is Plan B. It is, however, quite nice while it lasts. And although for every other Fontane female protagonist, looks and sexual attractiveness seem necessary to achieving marriage, Thilde's average (or, in her future husband Hugo's words, “rather odd”) looks are far less important than her intelligence, energy, and self-confidence. These latter gifts are what enable her to engineer her social and economic advancement through marriage, and beyond it.
This clearly unusual novel by the nineteenth-century master of German “Poetic” Realism has led a double life. Never published in the author's lifetime, it is technically unfinished, yet it has been in nearly constant publication since it first appeared in book form in 1908. Many literary scholars have viewed this last work by Fontane with puzzlement or even suspicion. Why, they have asked, didn't the author sign off on a novel so close to completion? Why is it so different from his other novels? Why does it begin among people struggling with poverty? Why is Mathilde so unlike other Fontane female protagonists? But while the literary scholars debate, readers keep reading Mathilde. The Theodor- Fontane-Archiv in Potsdam lists sixty-three published versions of the novel, including translations into Spanish, French, Italian, and Polish, and Mathilde Möhring has been filmed more frequently—five times— than any other Fontane work, including his famous Effi Briest.
At the center of the novel is Mathilde's plan to achieve economic security and social advancement for her mother and for herself. At the start, the plot seems to follow familiar contours. Perhaps it's a mix of Cinderella and a novel of education (Bildungsroman)?
Chapter 5
- Translated by Rachael Huener, Macalester College, Minnesota
- Theodor Fontane
- Afterword by Helen Chambers, University of St Andrews, Scotland
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- Book:
- Mathilde Möhring
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- Boydell & Brewer
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- 21 February 2024
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Summary
The next days passed quietly. In the mornings, Hugo had his review sessions, then he went to lunch, then out to the district of Wilmersdorf. In the evening he was at home, at least most of the time. All in all, he was a model of respectability. Only his studies puzzled Mathilde. From everything she saw and gathered from what he mentioned, she inferred that he was preparing for an examination. Every morning when he left, he tucked a book or a notebook under his arm. Nevertheless, it was also clear to her that, when he returned to his room, he was doing nothing related to studying. Two fat tomes did indeed lie on the standing desk he had purchased that stood at the window, but every morning they had a thin layer of dust, proof enough that he had not touched them in the course of the previous evening. What he read were novels and plays, a number of which he brought home every two or three days. They were the little Reclam editions, of which several always lay on the coffee table, the covers bent and with notations or with underlining in pencil. Mathilde could monitor precisely what had pleased him or what he had found questionable, for there were also the occasional passages marked by exclamation points or even three question marks. But of those, there were only a few. Life Is a Dream had the most markings and marginal notes and appeared to have interested him the most.
“Mother,” said Thilde, “If some miracle doesn't occur, he’ll never do it.”
“Won't do what, Thilde?”
“The examination. That could be all right for us. The longer it takes, the longer he stays. And if he takes it and fails, he’ll still stay. Where’s he going to go? He doesn't seem to have many acquaintances. Even the gentleman with the Polish cap hasn't been here again.”
That was quite true. Rybinski had not appeared again since his first visit. But on the evening of the same day Thilde Möhring made this observation, he did come. He found his friend Hugo at home.
Mathilde Möhring
- Translated by Rachael Huener
- Theodor Fontane
- Afterword by Helen Chambers
-
- Published by:
- Boydell & Brewer
- Published online:
- 21 February 2024
- Print publication:
- 10 October 2023
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The first English translation of Fontane's late, posthumously published novel, featuring the eponymous, complex heroine and confronting issues regarding gender roles and marriage that still resonate today.
Chapter 9
- Translated by Rachael Huener, Macalester College, Minnesota
- Theodor Fontane
- Afterword by Helen Chambers, University of St Andrews, Scotland
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- Book:
- Mathilde Möhring
- Published by:
- Boydell & Brewer
- Published online:
- 21 February 2024
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- 10 October 2023, pp 41-46
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Summary
The twenty-fourth came and went, the engagement was announced, and the six persons who comprised the entire party enjoyed themselves, without exception. Even Schulze, who in response to Thilde's invitation appeared in the Möhrings’ flat with the air of a Turkish prince condescending to indulge his people, stayed for a full half hour. Though abstaining from anything in the form of food and drink offered him, he behaved all the more familiarly with Rybinski's fiancée. Rybinski himself laughed, and insisted now and then that he would have to call the counselor out, since he had never been faced with such a challenge to his sacred rights. In the end, he promised to pay a social call on the counselor and his wife around New Year, at the latest, but without his fiancée. “One can never know how your wife would respond,” he whispered to his new friend Schulze. Schulze winked.
The architect cousin made the toast to the newly engaged couple. One should not be surprised—thus began the toast—if he, as a man of buildings, were to also see marriage, for which one might consider engagement to be the antechamber, as a kind of building. “The foundation, ladies and gentlemen, is love. That we have this here has been proven. The mortar that holds the building together for all eternity, that mortar is faithfulness.”
Schulze nodded. Rybinski cried “bravo!” and cautioned his fiancée, who stood next to Schulze, by making a stabbing gesture with his finger, as though warning Schulze to stay in his place. The architect cousin resumed:
“The mortar, I say! Yet, given the shocks that life brings, even the best-constructed building requires braces and supports, and these braces and supports, they are the friends, they are us. A good house also has ornamentation, and in its recesses and alcoves we find all sorts of dear small figures; the Italians say ‘putti,’ we Germans call them Putten. I know I anticipate the future, but in this merry hour, you will allow me a merry glance into the future. Long live the bridal pair, long live the future, long live the Putten!”
Rybinski embraced the speaker and said something about the mysterious charm of the talent for pleasing oratory.
Chapter 3
- Translated by Rachael Huener, Macalester College, Minnesota
- Theodor Fontane
- Afterword by Helen Chambers, University of St Andrews, Scotland
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- Mathilde Möhring
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- 21 February 2024
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Summary
His things arrived, a suitcase and a large crate. When mother and daughter had pushed the crate up against the window and had placed the suitcase on a luggage rack, they withdrew to their parlor, which lay to the left of the vestibule. It was very tidy and not at all shabby. A rose-patterned carpet lay in front of the high-backed sofa, and on either side of the cheval glass with the crack down the middle stood a stand holding a flowerpot—one held a red geranium and the other, a white one. A large bouquet of dried flowers stood on a mahogany cabinet, and next to the cabinet was a set of hanging shelves with scalloped beadwork. The white stove gleamed; its brass door shone even brighter; and between the stove and the door, on the long wall opposite the high-backed couch, stood a chaise longue that had been recently acquired at an auction of a junior envoy's goods. This piece was now the most impressive object in the apartment. Next to it stood a very small table, on top of which was a pendulum clock with an oddly loud tick.
Mathilde stood before the mirror to smooth the part in her hair somewhat, for her hair was very thin and tended to fall into sections. Mother Möhring sat down on the sofa, ramrod straight, and looked at the picture on the opposite wall. In it an Italian street musician sat on his rock, played his bagpipes, and gazed fatuously and happily out at the world. Mathilde saw in the mirror how her mother sat there so stiffly and upright. Without turning around, she asked her, “Why are you sitting on that hard sofa again, where you can't lean on anything? Why do we even have the chaise longue if not for sitting?”
“Well, certainly not for sitting!”
“Of course for sitting! Of course, and it didn't even cost that much. You think you’ll ruin it and make a big dent in it where you sit. I saved up for it and was happy when I could get it for you.”
“Yes, yes, Thilde, you mean well.”
“And you’ve got a bad back and are always complaining, but you won't even lie down on it.
Mathilde Möhring
- Translated by Rachael Huener, Macalester College, Minnesota
- Theodor Fontane
- Afterword by Helen Chambers, University of St Andrews, Scotland
-
- Book:
- Mathilde Möhring
- Published by:
- Boydell & Brewer
- Published online:
- 21 February 2024
- Print publication:
- 10 October 2023, pp xliii-xliv
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Chapter 16
- Translated by Rachael Huener, Macalester College, Minnesota
- Theodor Fontane
- Afterword by Helen Chambers, University of St Andrews, Scotland
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- Book:
- Mathilde Möhring
- Published by:
- Boydell & Brewer
- Published online:
- 21 February 2024
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- 10 October 2023, pp 90-93
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Summary
Thilde arrived at the Friedrichstraße station with the eight o’clock train early Saturday morning. She handed her valise to the baggage porter, together with her claim check, and requested that everything be brought to her apartment over there at Schulze’s, third floor. “Yes, Fräulein.” He corrected himself quickly, however, for he was an old neighbor and knew her quite well, and he promised to be there in a half hour. As she left, he looked after her for a moment. “What some good hard cash don't do! Hasn't she turned out fancy! Downright dashing— and a spyglass!” As these comments followed her, she stepped over the curb to the street and gazed at the building and up to the third floor. Nothing had changed, yet everything seemed quite different. A peculiar feeling crept over her, until she said to herself, “Be glad that it is as it is; it could be much worse. The way it was two years ago when I still had to do everything myself.” She crossed over to the right side of the street and looked up to the third floor, to see whether she might find the old lady at the window. But she saw nothing, nor anything on the other floors; everywhere the shades were still drawn. She was glad to be entirely unobserved, but in fact she was not. As she stepped up onto the curb, the counselor's wife, who had risen from the breakfast table and made a peephole in the window shade, said to her spouse, “How can you just sit there with the newspaper? You don't see something like this every day. Only her gloves are black, and she looks like she's taking a trip to Dresden and the Saxon mountains. A raincoat and a spyglass— the only thing missing is a walking stick!”
“Oh, you always have some kind of comment, Luise. If she arrived with a long mourning flag, that wouldn't suit you either.”
Thilde climbed the stairs slowly. The higher she came, the more slowly she climbed, for she dreaded seeing the old woman. Runtschen stood on the last landing and took her umbrella since she had nothing else with her. “Hello, Runtschen; how are you?”
Chapter 12
- Translated by Rachael Huener, Macalester College, Minnesota
- Theodor Fontane
- Afterword by Helen Chambers, University of St Andrews, Scotland
-
- Book:
- Mathilde Möhring
- Published by:
- Boydell & Brewer
- Published online:
- 21 February 2024
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- 10 October 2023, pp 67-72
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Summary
Frau Schmädicke did, in fact, get the announcement, for all came about exactly as Thilde had predicted, and on St. John the Baptist day the wedding celebration was held in a very small reception room in the English House. Pastor Hartleben, who performed the ceremony, was persuaded to also attend the small celebratory meal afterward. He gave a sentimental, humorous speech that was better than the wedding homily in the church. He sat across from the bride, between Hugo's mother and sister who had come from Owinsk with two female cousins, each of whom had at one time held certain expectations regarding Hugo. But because both were half Polish and very beautiful, neither's hopes were particularly dashed. When the initial solemnity was past, the cousins toasted Hugo, and each gave him a cousinly kiss as loud as clapping a tree leaf down on a cupped hand. They declared, in a genial threat to Thilde, that “old love doesn't rust away.” Thilde tolerated all of this with great peace of mind. Hugo's past troubled her very little—there couldn't have been much—and the future troubled her even less. Besides, it was seventy miles from Owinsk to Woldenstein. When coffee was served, the cousins sat on either side of Pastor Hartleben and regaled him with tales of Catholic life in Owinsk. He smiled benevolently as first the Catholic and then the Protestant clergyman were run through the two pretty girls’ gossip gristmill. But when he left, he felt quite strengthened in his long-standing conviction about the superiority of those children of this world who embrace life so enthusiastically. There was no one there with whom he could share these views. But after he descended the stairs and warmly greeted the porter, whom he knew from many previous weddings, he recalled his favorite saying concerning the superiority of such worldlings: “There is an odd thing about piety: very few can stand it. But in its opposite, in this careless trust in the divine which doesn't claim to be anything or mean anything, there's something better than in the certainty and entitlement of those who are quite sure that they have done something for their God.
Chapter 17
- Translated by Rachael Huener, Macalester College, Minnesota
- Theodor Fontane
- Afterword by Helen Chambers, University of St Andrews, Scotland
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- Mathilde Möhring
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- Boydell & Brewer
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Summary
Among Thilde's particular talents since she was a child was the ability to adapt to any circumstance, to find her way in every given situation. Had Hugo lived and remained in office (which was not to be assumed but was also not impossible), and had he completed his term in office in Woldenstein (again, something rather difficult to imagine), and had he then been elected to the position of head mayor of a provincial capital (owing to his proven competence), there is no doubt that his wife would have performed her official duties with satisfactory skill. In any case, she would have exhibited natural ease and grace, whether faced with the visit of a state president or even an Imperial parade. Now, as she found herself, after a brief success, set back to the level at which she began, Thilde once again found her bearings in the situation. She took up her old life without any prolonged reflection and without complaint. The situation was thus and so; therefore, one must do this and that. Just no useless rumination. There was not a moment's thought about reversing her situation, only about making the best of the situation as it was, and this she did with great deliberation and, in her own way, with consideration for others, yet decisively. As far as possible, Thilde was inexhaustible in small good deeds and attentions to the old woman. She obliged her to the extent that she once again, as before, shared the small alcove of a bedroom with her mother. She was no longer willing to listen the entire day to conversations about going into an old people's home or such things, however, or to answer questions that nearly always concerned her private life in Woldenstein. This she was no longer willing to do, and she categorically declared that, during the day, she must be alone. “There must be an end to renting the room,” she declared. And with that, she established herself “over there.” As the old woman saw that Thilde wrote a great deal and buried herself in books and maps, and that when she came to the table—Runtschen had to go get the food—her cheeks were often flushed from studying, her mother could guess what Thilde was planning.
Chapter 10
- Translated by Rachael Huener, Macalester College, Minnesota
- Theodor Fontane
- Afterword by Helen Chambers, University of St Andrews, Scotland
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- Book:
- Mathilde Möhring
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- Boydell & Brewer
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- 21 February 2024
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Summary
Oh my, this holiday week! Thilde was hardly recognizable and seemed to have become quite the spendthrift.
“Hugo, this is our honeymoon, if I may use such a word that really doesn't fit our situation yet. But I will allow myself to do so. It is so lovely to have memories of such things, and I think it will be quite nice to be able to speak of such a time when we’re old. So everything must be like sunshine, and we should truly enjoy it.”
Hugo held Thilde's hand and said, “That's right, Thilde; I’m pleased to hear you say that. I thought you didn't have a real appreciation of such things, of joy, of that sweet idleness that is actually the best thing in life.”
Thilde did not think it wise to instruct him otherwise. She smiled pleasantly and remained silent, and Hugo continued: “I thought you were always thinking only of responsibility and order and keeping to a schedule—which, as much as I liked it, made me a bit anxious, since there can also be too much of a good thing. But now I see that I have a gay and cheerful bride. Yes, that is the most important thing for me. Now tell me, what shall we do today? Don't choose cautiously, and don't talk of money or modest circumstances. When you’re engaged, you shouldn't be anxious about anything. We should feel as though we had a magical table-be-set, as though we could have anything we wish.”
“Well then,” she replied, “we should go to the opera and sit in box seats; perhaps the Emperor will be sitting across from us.”
“Oh, Thilde, you shouldn't say such things. A bit of funning is good, it's becoming—but not like that. You’re being maddening again!”
“Well, then we’ll go to Kroll's and watch the Christmas pantomime.”
He agreed, delighted, but asked, “And your mother? Will we have to take her with us?”
“We will have to at least offer to do so. It may well be that she says no.
Contents
- Translated by Rachael Huener, Macalester College, Minnesota
- Theodor Fontane
- Afterword by Helen Chambers, University of St Andrews, Scotland
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- Book:
- Mathilde Möhring
- Published by:
- Boydell & Brewer
- Published online:
- 21 February 2024
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Chapter 4
- Translated by Rachael Huener, Macalester College, Minnesota
- Theodor Fontane
- Afterword by Helen Chambers, University of St Andrews, Scotland
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- Mathilde Möhring
- Published by:
- Boydell & Brewer
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- 21 February 2024
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Summary
Hugo Großmann returned at seven and met Thilde in the vestibule.
“Did anyone call, Fräulein?”
“Yes, a gentleman. He came around five. I told him that you planned to return at eight. He said that he would come back then.”
“Good. And did he give his name?”
“Yes. Von Rybinski, I believe.”
“Ah, Rybinski. That's good.”
The clock had barely struck eight when the doorbell rang. Rybinski had returned and was led in.
“Good day, Großmann.”
“Hello, Rybinski. Sorry you missed me, do have a seat. I’m always out and about in the afternoon.”
“I know,” said Rybinski as he pushed a chair up to the sofa. “You’re quite the Käpernick! When will this eternal running about be over? It doesn't suit you. You definitely have more of the plump dormouse than the rural mail carrier about you. So why are you always going back and forth between Grunewald and Wilmersdorf? Or do you have some other route these days?”
“That remains to be seen, my friend,” replied Hugo. “I’ve only been here twenty-four hours—just arrived early yesterday, over there at the Friedrichstraße station. Thank God I’m back, but then again … Owinsk is certainly hopelessly provincial, and when you get up in the morning, you might as well just go right back to bed. And then there's my mother and sister's endless complaining. Not an ounce of understanding for books or paintings. But if a dancing bear comes to town, it's like a guest appearance by Charlotte Wolter! No, none of that's exactly to my taste. Yet there's one good thing about that kind of sleepy town: you have some leisure, you can spend time with your thoughts if you have any, and you can stop the endless cramming. Oh, Rybinski, now it's starting up again! How are things going with you? When I look at you with your Polish cap on! Don't take this amiss, but you look a bit theatrical—and those high boots! You don't exactly look as if you’re coming directly from a review session.
Chapter 11
- Translated by Rachael Huener, Macalester College, Minnesota
- Theodor Fontane
- Afterword by Helen Chambers, University of St Andrews, Scotland
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- Book:
- Mathilde Möhring
- Published by:
- Boydell & Brewer
- Published online:
- 21 February 2024
- Print publication:
- 10 October 2023, pp 58-66
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Summary
Hugo wasn't sure whether he should be glad or displeased. He wasn't so weak that he failed to see that Thilde was molding him according to her wishes. And he wasn't so entirely lacking in insight that he was not aware of the very unheroic aspects of his situation. Thilde did with him as she pleased and pointed him to the left or to the right, whichever was best. Yes, that was not as it should be. But these moods did not last long; in fact, he was glad to have someone there to point him to the left or to the right, whichever was best. That it was well-meant and that it helped him to move forward, this he felt at every moment. What helped him get over his occasional ill-humor was observing the methods Thilde employed with him. Given his aesthetic sensibilities, which could take delight in finesse, he not only rejoiced in how her pedagogical process eased his burden but also observed Thilde's methods with a degree of artistic satisfaction. For Thilde was determined not to require of him more than he was able to do. Even with the best intentions, his abilities were rather weak, so she saw to it cleverly and tactfully that there were regular pauses, or, as she jokingly put it, “entrefilets,” a word that she had adopted from Hugo's rather journalistic vocabulary. Whenever possible, she examined his knowledge using a quick question-and-answer game. When that became oppressive and there were signs of fatigue on Hugo's face, she brought in a glass of tea or red wine or a bag of ginger candies.
While she offered him some and took a piece or two herself, she chatted about the Molucca Islands, where the best ginger preserves were made, and how they were said to import the large blue floral porcelain jars from China (or perhaps they were just imitations). She would then transition smoothly into matters of the day and read to him about the persecution of Christians in China, or about the French in Cochinchina, or about the war that the Dutch would have to wage against the natives.
Chapter 15
- Translated by Rachael Huener, Macalester College, Minnesota
- Theodor Fontane
- Afterword by Helen Chambers, University of St Andrews, Scotland
-
- Book:
- Mathilde Möhring
- Published by:
- Boydell & Brewer
- Published online:
- 21 February 2024
- Print publication:
- 10 October 2023, pp 84-89
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Summary
The doctor was out in the country and it was nearly morning when he arrived. He had no major objections to Mathilde's treatment for the sick man: bread crusts soaked in vinegar, a remedy passed down from the elder Möhring. “It hasn't hurt him,” he said, “and that's certainly the main thing.” He prescribed a marshmallow tea to loosen Hugo's chest. When Thilde asked if there were cause for alarm, he smiled and said, “To some extent, yes; it is a lung infection. Above all, he needs quiet.”
Thilde was a good nurse, and she gave Hugo his medicine with such precision, it was as though his life depended on the exact minute. She didn't believe that was so, but she didn't want to neglect anything. In the course of the morning, the bedroom was transformed into a sick room. The windows looking out on the courtyard were hung with draperies, while the door to the front room remained open. A single curtain was drawn across the doorway. Thilde looked in often, although the sick man had not requested anything, and then she returned to the front window, which still had an old-fashioned step up and a window mirror left by the former mayor's wife.
The latter was actually superfluous, for there was so little to see that there was nothing to reflect. In the middle of the market square stood the town hall, with a diagonal flight of wooden stairs that led up to the entry floor, then continued as a narrow covered passageway, everything made of wood. Very close to the town hall stood a pair of old market stalls, closed now because of the cold and covered in snow. On the other side of the market square was the Lion Pharmacy, where the owner was yawning, for since preparing the concoction for His Honor the Mayor, his professional assistance had not been required. Next door was a bakery with a large strudel placed at an angle in the show window; several children stood in front, admiring it. The sun lit the cake so brilliantly that Thilde could clearly see the large patches of sugar. Her eyes glided here and there among these sights.