Anarchistbanjo's World

Madame Bluebeard by Karl Hans Strobl and translated by Joe E Bandel

Helmina and Gegely stepped onto the balcony
alone. Below, white villas with green shutters lazed
in the sun; across the tangled valleys, Dreieichen’s
pilgrimage church gleamed. The land breathed
calmly, steeped in strong confidence.
“You’re in a foul mood today,” the poet said.
“Oh… I’ve had troubles. Silly matters. Thinking
about them only gives me a headache. Money issues,
losses that hit me.”
She leaned her arms on the balustrade, gazing at
the landscape. Fritz Gegely grew feverishly aroused.
Her beauty glowed, deep as a southern sea. As
always, when poised to surrender to desire, he felt:
Am I not a poet? The rightful owner of all beauty?
“Why not confide in me?” he asked, trembling,
stepping close.
She looked at him, surprised. “Why should you
claim special trust? I have Ruprecht to tell, if I felt
the need to speak.”
Gegely waved a hand, as if to erase the name just
spoken. “Why hold that against me? I don’t believe
you. I’m a psychologist. I see you and Ruprecht are
fundamentally estranged. He’s a man of straight
lines. But you’re multifaceted, vibrant, not summed
up in a word.”
“If I didn’t want to confide in Ruprecht… I have
Hugo and the Major. Old friends. Don’t you think
they’d be thrilled…?” She smiled deeply into his
gaze.
“Nonsense!” he snapped, angry. “Those two… do
they even count? I insist I’m the only one… don’t
you see? What proof do you need…? I haven’t
known you as long as your other friends. But does
that matter? Some wrestle a lifetime for insight. For
others, it comes in a flash.”
Helmina brushed her forehead. Something new
stood before her. She saw her power over this man
she disdained—a firm foothold, a hook for a rope.
She needed time.
“Be quiet,” she said hastily. “They’re coming.
We’ll talk later. Tonight, in the birch grove behind
the castle. I’ll see if I can trust you.”
After the tour, they reunited in the tournament
courtyard and dined outdoors. Old Johann had
packed the car’s provision basket to the brim—
enough for a week. Two bottles of champagne were
included. The group’s mood didn’t quite harmonize.
Each clung to a private world, sharply walled from
neighbors. Hedwig was quietly, blissfully pensive,
smiling to herself. Ruprecht was serious, thoughtful,
his gaze resting on Hedwig, but his ease was gone.
He startled occasionally, scanning for mocking or
envious glances. Helmina seemed pensive too, but
restless, her effort to hide it making her moodier and
more demanding than usual. Fritz Gegely played his
poet-Browning role poorly, flaunting his grandeur to
Helmina, while Ernst Hugo watched suspiciously,
unable to shake the sense they’d already reached an
understanding. Only the children and the Major
frolicked freely across divides. Miss Nelson sat by,
slender, discreet, silent, adjusting the children’s
dresses or offering a quiet admonition.
The champagne was drunk. No one knew to
whose honor until Ernst Hugo called, “What we love
shall live!”
“Not original,” Fritz Gegely said, “but always
good. Let’s toast!”
Hugo thought he caught a subtle wink, a fleeting
spark in their eyes—an optical telegraph between
Helmina and Gegely. He wanted to pull Ruprecht
aside, warn him of the false friend. But he couldn’t.
He had no proof beyond jealous instinct. Hugo was in
poor spirits. His jubilee anthology wasn’t gaining
expected acclaim, overshadowed by other works. The
praise amounted to a dim flicker, not the blazing
fame he’d hoped for. Somehow, this disappointment
fused with his dislike of Gegely, as if he alone bore
the blame.
The afternoon passed lazily, marked by
hammocks. Helmina and Hedwig lay in swaying nets,
the men beside them. Time flowed. Toward evening,
the Major suggested walking to the train station.
“Watch—it’ll be fun. It’s Saturday. The husbands
arrive from Vienna… You must see how eagerly
they’re awaited. It might do some marriages—or
life—good if spouses met only weekly.”
Rosenburg station was lively. Women stood in
clusters, children darted among them. The train’s
distant whistle pierced the air—a mix of long trills,
short, wild bursts, and shrill, breathless cries. The
steam whistle raged. The train roared in with a
savage howl. The waiting women smiled and nodded
to each other. The Major laughed heartily. “It’s
always like this,” he said. “The whistles are signals:
one long, two short—Herr Meier’s coming. Three
quick trills—Herr Freudenfeld’s aboard. If Herr…
Kohne, say, is on, the engineer plays an opera. Each
gets a quarter of wine. The wives know at once if
they can rejoice. Yes, my dear, love is inventive.”
Two hands met on the wheelchair’s backrest.
Ruprecht’s gaze asked timidly. Hedwig smiled
wistful calm into his heart.
They returned home, weary from the sun and mild
breeze. The children slept—Lissy on Hedwig’s
shoulder, Nelly in Ruprecht’s lap. Dusk fell.
“In an hour, it’ll be dark,” Helmina said.
Fritz Gegely understood.
They parted at the bridge.
Entering her room, Helmina found Lorenz waiting
in the dark.
“I’m leaving tomorrow,” he said.
“Already?”
“Yes… I resigned, and your husband said I can go
whenever, if I’ve found a better post. I wanted to
smash his face. I’ll end up at him if I stay longer. The
sooner I leave, the better… so tomorrow. There’s
nothing left to do here. I’ll stay nearby, ready when
Anton calls. I’ll fetch you then…”
“You don’t trust me…? Anton wants me
escorted.”
“Ridiculous! But it’s better this way.”
“Don’t bother, my dear. You think I won’t go with
you. But I’m done here. I’m giving up
Vorderschluder. New goals beckon.” In the dark, she
approached the large mirror, trying to see her form in
the glass, faintly lit by fading twilight.
Lorenz was silent a moment. “Helmina,” he said,
“you’re a sensible woman. I’ll admit, we weren’t sure
you’d come. We thought you’d be foolish… I’m glad
we were wrong.” He lit a lamp. If someone entered,
he shouldn’t be found so intimately with Helmina in
the dark.
“I can’t say how Ruprecht bores me. He moons at
that Hedwig’s wheelchair like a slaughtered calf.
Now he compares her to me—I’m the evil spirit,
she’s the bright angel. Damn it, my stomach turns
watching them. Well, it won’t last long… so you’re
leaving tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Then you can do me one last service tonight.”
“What?”
Helmina smiled sweetly. “Be my escort… oh, it’s
a romantic tale, a love adventure, Lorenz! What,
you’re stunned? I have a rendezvous in the birch
grove. You’ll guard a private hour.”
“I truly don’t know what to say,” Lorenz said.
“You’re starting a new love affair. What’s wrong
with that ass of a court secretary? And… it’s
dangerous. If your husband finds out, he might forget
his good manners and get nasty.”
But Helmina cupped Lorenz’s smooth chin. “You
fool! Who’s thinking of the court secretary? It’s
someone else. Yes—gape all you like. Fritz Gegely,
the poet, is at my feet.”
“Him! I thought he was glued to his wife’s
wheelchair.”
“Oh? Fooled you too? God knows, you’re all so
easy to dupe. No, my dear, good Fritz Gegely is an
eagle in a cage. He wants out. Or rather, he’s a
peacock. His life’s purpose is to strut before the
world… with rustling plumage. It won’t take much
effort… and he has heaps of gold. You know, I’d
rather not show up empty-handed.”
Lorenz sank into wide-eyed awe. “That’s
outrageous… brilliant,” he muttered. “You’re a
genius, Helmina! Forgive us for misjudging you. I
must kiss you.”
“No, don’t!” Helmina fended him off. “Why?
Shame on such urges among colleagues! I’m going to
dinner now. In half an hour, I’ll retire. You’ll wait for
me behind the garden. And then—hunter’s luck!”