CHAPTER XXXVI
PEISSENBERG
Once back in Moscow, we resumed our usual mode of life. My husband is working very hard, and I see him only during our meals. Our doctor finds repose and change of air necessary for us both, and sends us to make a cure in the sanatorium of the famous Wunderfrau Ottilie Hohenmeister, at Peissenberg, in the Bavarian mountains. Our journey occupied three days. I grew rather excited as we neared our destination, and when the train steamed into the station of Peissenberg, I felt downcast and nervous at the thought that we should have to undergo a serious cure here. We drove in a carriage sent by Frau Hohenmeister to her sanatorium—beautifully situated on the slope of a hill—and followed her head-manager into a parlour where a fire was burning brightly. After having put our names down in the register-book, we climbed to the top-floor by a creaking staircase of seventy steep steps which led to our apartment, consisting of two rooms high up in the attic. Our turret bedroom was close under the roof, and our eyes were above the tree-tops. It had a window in its sloping ceiling through which stars might be studied at night. And we are first-class boarders at the sanatorium! How are the second-class tenants lodged, I wonder? In return we have a beautiful view from our sitting-room window, looking on to the vast forest and on snowy hill-tops in the background.
After having ordered a fire to be lit in our room, we went to present ourselves to the Wunderfrau, who lives in a private house close to the sanatorium. A number of people, coming from all parts of the world, sat about waiting in the drawing-room. Frau Hohenmeister has wide-world fame and works wonders. The doctoress welcomed us affably and gave me a friendly pat, calling me all the time, “Mein Kind, mein Schatz.” She is a short and fat woman, with a round face and round black eyes—in short, she is round everywhere. My German being very elementary, I called to my help all the German words I knew to answer the Wunderfrau’s questions. That night, before going to bed, we devoured a whole box of caviare which we had brought from Moscow, as we were to be put on diet the following day.
Our cure began at six o’clock in the morning. First came a little wizen old woman, badly named “Greti” (diminutive of Margaret), who brought us a nasty drug which we swallowed with a grimace. At half-past six we had to undergo a massage performed by Fräulein Zenzi, Frau Hohenmeister’s pretty niece; at seven came the knock of the bathman (Herr Bademeister) announcing that our baths were ready. The water in the bath was dark, and smelt just like Grete’s mixture. We had to lie down in bed for twenty minutes after our bath, and at eight o’clock Fräulein Zenzi reappeared bringing a bottle bearing the inscription “Medicine,” and we had to swallow a tablespoonful of that horrid physic every two hours. It was only at ten o’clock that I got a cup of beef-tea, whilst Sergy (lucky man) was allowed a cup of coffee. At eleven o’clock repetition of the same broth with an egg, and a small roll in addition. At seven we went down to dinner after the table-d’hôte, and returned to our attic feeling very hungry, for the soup had been uneatable and the following dishes quite tasteless, as our doctoress strictly forbids seasoning of any kind. At nine o’clock we were obliged to go to bed, and at ten the gas was turned out all over the house.
Sergy was not a very docile patient, and felt rebellious to the authority of a person of the feeble sex, but I did all that the Wunderfrau ordered me to do without protest.
The village of Peissenberg—set upon a hill—is very picturesque. It is inhabited mostly by mine-workers. In the daytime the male population lives underground. When we went out for our every-day walk, the women on their doorsteps dropped us a curtsey with a muttered “Grüss Gott.” Sergy goes out on excursions sometimes. One afternoon he went to Steinberg, where he took the boat plying on the Lake Wurm. He met on board a very pretty and stylish woman, the Countess Dürkheim née Princess Bobrinsky, a compatriot of ours, who had married an aide-de-camp of the King of Bavaria. The Countess expressed her desire to make my acquaintance and wrote a note to me asking us to dine on the following day at Rothenbuch, the Dürkheims’ beautiful estate at two hours’ drive from Peissenberg. I scribbled off a line to say that I regretted I was unable to accept her amiable invitation, not being very well, but if she would come to see me, I should be very pleased. And the Countess came the next day. At the end of the week, we drove down to Rothenbuch to return her call. On approaching their estate, there came a sound of music from the forest surrounding the fine old mansion. The Countess and her husband came to meet us on the verge of the forest, and led us over a velvet lawn to a nook under a group of old trees where there was tea and cakes and all sorts of things laid on a long table, at which sat numerous guests, including the priest of the parish and the schoolmaster. The whole company went afterwards to shoot at targets near the brewery, where we saw a huge barrel filled with beer. The pencil drawings on the walls of the brew-house, of life-sized faces, depict every drunken emotion that the human face is capable of expressing, and represent red-nosed drunkards belonging to all classes of society, with a constable and a monk in the number. The young Count in shooting get-up, with his gun on the shoulder, looked very sportsmanlike. He is the best shot in the country, and now he carried off the first prize—a good fat goose. Then our hosts led us to inspect their magnificent property. The “Schloss” is a formidable square building with rounded towers at the four corners, full of mediæval reminiscences. The grounds around are beautifully kept.
As we were driven back to Peissenberg, we were overtaken by a terrible storm; the thunder rolled, preceded by dazzling lightning, and rain began to fall heavily. We came home drenched to the skin; my dress had the heavy soapy look that bathing-suits have, and my hat looked a sad object with its plume hanging lamentably, and rivulets of water falling from its brim.
Every year on her birthday the Wunderfrau gives a village entertainment followed by a rural ball. She invited us to a grand dinner during which a military band, imported from Munich, played marches and lively airs. After the repast we went to see the country-dance on the common. The merry-go-round was in all activity. The Wunderfrau, surrounded by her guests, was sitting on the grass, dowdily dressed and loaded with false jewellery; her black silk dress was fastened at the throat by a brooch the size of a saucer, which contained the effigy of her late husband. There was a long file of tables laid out with dishes and bottles. Village youths and maidens had come from all around, dressed in their Sunday best. The lads, their vests hanging on one shoulder and their large-brimmed hats cocked on one ear, sat before large bocks, filling themselves steadily with beer and flirting with their sweethearts, talking and laughing uproariously. When it began to get dark there were dances in the big barn. Our cook and laundress opened the ball, swinging round the three-step waltz to the music of Ach mein lieber Augustin played by rural musicians. After them the whole company began whirling and twirling with shrill shrieks of merriment. We were very much amused by the gambols of these rustics. The lads in their thick boots and country clothes, carrying their partners clasped to their bosom like packets, were careering round, stamping the floor loudly with their nailed heels. We were much surprised to see among the dancers our doctoress, red and panting, turning round like a weather-cock, embraced by a ruddy-faced youth. All of a sudden the boys, brisked up by some glasses of wine, separated from the girls and began to turn somersaults, tapping themselves noisily on the thighs, at which Countess Platen, a Swedish lady who lived in our Sanatorium and gave tone to everything, gathered up her skirts majestically and swept out queen-like, bearing her head high and stepping as though she was mistress of the whole fair earth, followed by her satellites.