A Waitress Dance
HE went on and on through the firs and hemlocks, on the right bank of the Elbe, then down toward the city. A multitude of convictions, reflections, impressions, flocked in his brain. After awhile he seemed to send them all scattering by exclaiming, "I'll be damned!"
They turbulently regathered. There was the sensual ape Von Tielitz—they would marry her to him. She could love him, polluted and swinish in the low sinks of womankind. There was the flatulent Jim Deming with his money—she could quickly marry him. And at last the ideals Gard had nourished about her had finally tumbled to the ground that day in her mother's crude offer of bargain and sale.
These Germans! They were outside the pale. They were the midway people between barbaric Asia and the civilized West. America, millions, pigs, morals, love, brutality, erudition, proficiency, obscenity—the Teuton race mixed them all up hopelessly, without rime or reason.
Gard walked and walked without realizing he was becoming tired. As he neared the city he burst out again with, "I'll be damned!" It was all the résumé he could arrive at. He found himself finally hungry and made his way to Fritzi's little inn. He felt almost beaten out. Was he really well?
The middle of the afternoon had come. There she was fresh, free, like a hardy wild flower. She trotted back and forth, curtseying, chattering, with her merry heels clicking on the tiling. The hot sausages and Lebkuchen and a stein were hastened in, and she switched her short skirts down cosily on a bench in front of him to knit and look out after his needs. He had encouraged such opportunities for the practice of conversation.
"I've been looking for you to come in," she lisped.
"Why?"
"I wanted to ask you to buy a ticket for our Waitress Dance, and I did not know at all where you lived." It was a long sentence for her and she giggled.
"Number 5, Wiesenstrasse, Loschwitz."
"Gott im Himmel! That's way off."
"When is your dance?"
"It's to-night. And it's only twelve marks." She fumbled out a ticket from beneath her white apron with a maid's agitation.
"I'll take it," said Gard.
"But you have to promise to go. They want every ticket holder to go."
"Are you going?"
"Of course I'm going. It's all us waitresses. And it's only once a year. The waiters have theirs twice a year."
"And are you going to dance?"
"Of course I'm going to dance. I always dance." She perked up her head with her young red mouth open in almost childish puzzlement, as much as to say, "Why, what are balls for?"
Gard looked down on his fattening supply of smoking sausages and honey cakes. A servants' ball might be just the thing to cure his disgust with Loschwitz—with himself—with everything. He had heard Friedrich, Messer and Jim Deming exclaim enthusiastically about these popular fêtes. They should not, it appeared, be missed if one wanted to see the real German nature let loose.
"Well, if you're going to dance, I'll go," he promised.
"You bet your life I'm going to dance!" Fritzi cried out in the Saxon dialect's equivalent as she sprang up, and wheeled off to wait on a new visitor. When she had served him she sidled back to Gard's table with a doubting, half-disappointed air.
"You're fooling me." She stuck her tongue out on her upper lip in peasant bashfulness.
"No, I'll be there as sure as I'm now paying for the ticket." He filled her fat hand with the coins which it could hardly hold. She went away happy.
The ball did not begin until ten, to give the young ladies time to finish their dining-room duties and dress. Kirtley went to a café and watched the billiards until after dark, then slipped out to Villa Elsa, jumped into his evening clothes, and slipped away again. He had seen the royalty dance. Now he would see the common people. This bustling about was cheering. He was glad to go.
The ball room was big, barn-like, with green branches and cheap flowers strung about. Aprons, napkins, table cloths, bills of fare, and other insignia of the waitress profession filled in the local color of the decorations on the walls. There was not one of the everlasting Verbotens to be seen. Alcoves containing tables and chairs ranged around.
The entertainment was in full fling when Gard arrived. As the night was warm the doors and windows were open wide, and fully as many people seemed outside as inside. The throng included a number of students. The dancing was everywhere—on the grass, in the doorways, in the dressing rooms, on the stage by the orchestra. How free and easy compared with the Court affair!
Kirtley took refuge in an alcove. He fancied he would before long spy Fritzi. She would be the only person he knew. But she discovered him first. She tripped up to him with a green cavalier redolent of salad oil and beer. She was very proud to be able to claim Herr Kirtley for one of her "sales." Foreigners are always distinguished. The music struck up again and off she was whisked without saying Aufwiedersehen.
She next came up hanging on to the arms of two dancers. More introductions. All were getting sweaty and thirsty. Gard invited them to sit and he provided Schultheiss.
Fritzi soon settled upon this spot as headquarters, twirling off into the figures and returning with different companions. She brought a girl whom she wanted specially to meet the Herr. The girls dived into the alcove, then out, back again, and hung about flustered, by turns bold or backward. They did not know whether it was proper to see that he danced. He was, of course, high above their class, but if he didn't wish to dance, why had he come? Fritzi wanted to be polite but the situation was above her etiquette. He had been so kind as to buy a ticket, and how could he have a good time without joining in the festivities? The girls nudged each other, balked and snickered.
Gard saw Fritzi's awkward restraint and set her at rest by saying:
"I can't dance the German way."
"The German way?" she echoed bluntly. "Why, I thought everybody in the world danced alike."
"We don't whirl round and round as you do," Gard explained.
"Well, I'll swear!" she clucked incredulously, her tongue in her cheek as if saying, "What sort of dancing can that be!"
The dust and streams of perspiration began to affect everyone, but the music and revolving exertions grew more rapid and vigorous as the hours advanced. Beetles and bugs sailed through the air along with the familiar German odors that greeted Kirtley's nostrils. Everyone became freer. Enjoyment ran higher. Men shed their coats and women made themselves equally comfortable. It was beer, beer, beer.
When Fritzi had seen that her Herr was not to take part, she began to behave toward him with a more bluff unconventionality. She made him acquainted with all her partners and girl friends. She confided to him the little jingling trinkets she wore. Her face ablaze, her hair tousled, her feet keeping on the floor with difficulty, she looked to Gard like a flaming mænad. She had come in cheap satin, and also in silk hose which she particularly doted on. But like all thrifty German maids, after two or three dances she divested herself of these and put on stouter stuffs which she had brought along and which could stand the wear and tear. The possession of those finer things had first to be shown to gratify vanity. Then recourse was had to a practical basis for physical pleasure.
Gard mused over the seething picture before him. He knew it had been pointed out that while the Germans are lewd, they are not dissolute. They do not let their duties suffer. Their ample physiques can stand hard strains, and a night of revelry is followed next day by a prompt resumption of tasks. These young folk, tearing about like disheveled satyrs and nymphs, would be at their jobs in the morning.
The Teuton does not waste his patrimony in riotous living or lead a lawless existence. To this extent the influence of the Government, in its way, was felt. While it recognized that the forceful animal spirits of its people must be indulged to keep them contentedly in control, it set its face against waste of time and of belongings in any prolonged habits of dissipation. Thus the strength and material resources, the plodding industry and economy, of the race were conserved as well as energized.
As for the German women, they are not naturally passionate in the ordinary emotional and imaginative acceptation of this word. Their passions are not extended by any radical complications of romance or ideality. In a sense, they keep their heads in any indulgence.