Freud's Mistress Page 18
• • •
The house of Kassel was an old-line family in Frankfurt, and the spinster sisters, Bella and Louisa, were the end of the dynasty. They lived in an elegant, neoclassic manor in the Sachsenhausen district, with three floors, four reception rooms, eight bedrooms, and four baths. It was a handsome, white-painted structure with rectangular multipaned windows capped with elaborate decorative moldings. The overall impression of the structure was of simplicity, proportion, and balance—a philosophy the sisters had discarded long ago. Everything about the place was tasteless but exuberant.
Minna’s accommodations were on the top floor, overlooking the hedges and formal back gardens. After her luggage was deposited on the landing, she was summoned to a reception room, where she found herself in the middle of an overstuffed feminine nest, crowded with a hodgepodge of ornate furnishings. The room was old, grand, and freezing. The walls were a startling ruby red, the windows draped with fringed swags layered over heavy side panels. And she had never seen so much bric-a-brac in one room—photographs, watercolors, statuettes, books, vases, two Turkish helmets used as flowerpots, rococo-gilded mirrors, and a profusion of jade and rose quartz figurines. In addition, most of the artwork consisted of badly rendered imitations of past masters, the kind of things found in pawnshops.
Decor such as this was not uncommon, Minna thought. Her prior employer, the baroness, was the victim of a similar, barely inhabitable craze. In fact, to Minna’s mind, many people of wealth blithely bastardized whatever jumble of styles they fancied in an homage to the nobility of the past.
Minna found the two sisters propped up by fringed pillows on the burled walnut sofa. Louisa, the oldest, was about four foot ten with a pale, severe face and a nervous twitch. She placed a cold, limp hand in Minna’s as she looked at her with nearsighted deprecation.
“Sit down, Fräulein,” she said, motioning to a chair in the corner. No hint of a smile.
Minna reluctantly shrugged out of her coat, but kept it over her shoulders as she sat down next to a cinquecento side table, her knees trembling from the cold. Don’t these women believe in heat? she thought. The woman examined Minna over the top of her spectacles as she lectured her about expectations and conduct (continually referring to herself as “we,” meaning herself and her sister) and admonished her that under no circumstances would they tolerate mediums, communists, vegetarians, or vulgar Venetians. And, oh, yes. No alcoholic beverages were permitted by the staff, enforcement carried out by daily inspections.
The younger sister, Bella, who was heavily made up, had inherited the same sharp nose and chin, but in contrast to her birdlike sister, was doughy and overweight. In addition, Minna found that she had a habit of repeating whatever her sister said, as if it had just occurred to her, or, alternatively, finishing her sentences. Bella let Louisa conduct the initial interview without raising her eyes from her needlework. The needles crossed and crossed, clicked and clicked, up and down, again and again. Thank God, at some point, she stopped the infernal clatter and joined in the conversation.
“Sunday lunch we receive our guests.”
“Respected officials and bankers.”
“One should never associate with people below one’s rank.”
“We detest social climbers and charitable women.”
“They tend to be so cloying.”
“We have card games on alternate days.”
“And we both sing and play the piano.”
“Also on alternate days.”
“Fridays, we have our parlor games.”
“Usually with our most faithful and genial friend, Julian.”
“Cher, trop cher Julian.”
After listening to their silly discourse for over an hour, Minna still had no idea what her duties entailed. But she was told to go to her room, settle in, and begin work in the morning. She assumed she was hired, and that the sisters had looked at the list of references she had sent them, which had included the baroness’s name. Fortunately, however, they did not ask to see the baroness’s actual letter of reference, which, of course, was nonexistent.
Minna climbed the stairs to her room, changed out of her simple gray traveling outfit, and put on her robe. She felt unadorned and thoroughly plain. When she glanced at her reflection, she noticed that her hair was weasel brown, her skin dull and lifeless. It was almost as if she had made it her mission to disappear from herself and create a different Minna in a different world, a moral, proper world where people believed in honor, self-denial, and fidelity.
She lay in bed, facing yet another restless night. Even in this fortress of a house, she could hear leaves rustle under the onslaught of heavy winds. Thunder rolled in the distance and she felt that familiar pang of melancholy. Another home to settle into, another set of rules and perverse restrictions. The job had nothing to recommend it, but she hoped that her discomfort and dismay would subside with time. After all, she had managed to escape her mother’s house and find a place to stay while she tried to decide what to do with her life.
And what was that exactly?
Another blast of wind hit the roof. Minna prayed she could keep her mind tranquil until morning. She would not see him again.
She finally nodded off and was plagued by disturbing dreams. She was abandoned, locked in a vacant house, and no one noticed she was missing. She awoke at five a.m. with a filthy cold, the wind still howling outside, and now she was agonizing over the fact that she had managed to betray the only person who cared about her. She sat up and pushed away such monumental thoughts. It was far easier to complain about physical ailments, and her back did ache and her head throbbed. She got dressed, went down to the kitchen to make some tea, and stood in front of the enormous blackened hearth, which had not yet been lit. She pulled her shawl tighter around her and wondered if there were rules about this, but she was so cold she didn’t care. She lit the fire before the scullery maid arrived and sat there warming herself, awaiting the sisters’ instructions. As the hours passed, she looked around at cabinets brimming with dishes and serving platters and glasses of all sizes and shapes. She noticed copper pots hung from the ceiling and an entire wall of spices, which infused the air with exotic smells from India, China, and other far-off lands. These women must entertain quite a bit, she thought. But who in the world would want to come here?
She waited there, dozing off and on, until eleven, when the sisters rang for her. She went up to the parlor to find them on the sofa, preparing to go upstairs for a nap. She soon discovered that sleeping was the sisters’ foremost pastime and most constant complaint. Daily discussions would revolve around the lack of sleep the night before, how many hours they did manage to sleep, and at what time they would go to their rooms during the day to “reflect,” which meant a nap. Minna was instructed to dispense pills, medical prescriptions, and pepsin, as well as figure out how much infusion from the pharmacy bag was just the right amount for a satisfactory night’s sleep. The sisters would talk about sleep from morning to well into the night, and they were always suffering from a state of “inertia,” an affliction they attributed to lack of sleep rather than their unwillingness to leave the house. Throughout the day, Louisa would talk softly to herself in an undertone, even as she was nodding off, usually on the parlor sofa. Bella would soon follow, her needlework a clump of mangled yarn in her lap.
Minna found that her daily duties were nothing unusual—getting the sisters up in the morning, and running errands in the afternoon while the sisters were resting. They never accompanied her anywhere, fearing it would tire them. This proved fortuitous, for some days she could slip away for a short time, go to a local pub, and drink a beer or two before she had to return.
On Friday, as she arrived home from an errand, Louisa informed her that a letter had arrived in the morning post and the maid had taken it up to her room. The moment she saw the envelope, she knew it wasn’t from him.
Vienna, F
ebruary 22, 1896
My dearest Minna,
I can’t tell you how shocked and disappointed I was when I heard you left Mother’s house last week and took a position in Frankfurt. I received her postcard yesterday, which informed me of your new address, and, I must say, you might have told me of your plans, especially since the children and I have missed you so much and we were expecting you to return within the month.
Sophie was particularly sad to hear you’re not coming home. She has reverted to her old sleep patterns and is distraught much of the night. Sigmund seems to think you’re intent on earning an income and that you possibly felt you were a burden on our household. But I can assure you, from my perspective, it is quite the opposite.
We all belong together. Please reconsider your decision, and if you must, make your stay in Frankfurt a temporary affair. I can only beg you so much, my dear sister, and then hope you will decide in our favor.
It occurred to me that Mother may have influenced you to take this position with the Kassel sisters, and that it was under her advice that you agreed to do so. If that’s the case, then I can only remind you that, as Sigmund says, she often pays little attention to our happiness. Although he can be rather severe with her, as you well know.
By the way, this morning as I was returning from the florist, I bumped right into Eduard, who apparently had finished his rounds at the hospital. He walked with me a bit and we chatted away amiably, catching up on the gossip. Did you know his Thoroughbred will be racing this summer in Dresden? He also told me he had just come back from Florence, and raved about some wonderful ceiling frescoes at the Uffizi. When he inquired after you and I informed him of your new position, he seemed a bit taken aback.
“Why Frankfurt of all places?” he asked.
“That I cannot answer,” I responded. Because I couldn’t.
But what an attractive man! With exquisite manners. He asked for your new employer’s address, hoping it wasn’t too presumptuous and that he hadn’t overestimated your enthusiasm. I assured him that you would welcome a note from him, which, I assume, will arrive shortly.
What more shall I write? The children’s schedule is hectic. Anna is teething, Martin and Ernst have tonsillitis, and Edna is sick, if you can believe her. God give me strength. Sigmund has been ensconced in his study as usual, but he did come out briefly last night to play the children’s favorite travel game with them, One Hundred Journeys Through Europe. He sends you his best.
I’m enclosing Sophie’s letter to you. She asks for you every day. I cling to the hope that you will reconsider your decision and join us soon.
Your loving sister,
Martha
Minna was overcome with emotion by Martha’s innocent appeal for her to return home. She had managed to get through the past week by resolving not to repeat her transgressions and to get herself thoroughly away from Sigmund. But deep inside, there had been an unrelenting desire to see him again. But no more. The burning question rolled in once again, like a tidal wave. How could she have done this to her sister? The Seventh Commandment seemed to be a law that was broken indiscriminately. How often had she heard that “this one” or “that one” was having an affair. It was almost an epidemic. But Minna’s unique set of circumstances trumped this national phenomenon. Blut ist dicker als Wasser.
23
A few days later, while Minna was struggling with her response to Martha, a short note from Eduard did indeed arrive.
Vienna, 26 Feb, 1896
Dear Minna,
Your sister, Martha, kindly gave me your address. How fortuitous that you are in Frankfurt. I happen to be traveling there next month for the annual Thoroughbred sales at the Frankfurter Rennklub in Niederrad, just a few kilometers south of the city. The track is modeled after the one in Paris, turrets, towers, so forth, and there’s a marvelous restaurant nearby. Perhaps you could join me.
My dear Minna, perhaps I hadn’t paid enough attention to your wanderlust when we were last together. I admire your adventurous spirit and look forward to seeing you again.
Yours truly,
Eduard
She tossed the postcard in her drawer, where it disappeared into a pile of papers, and reflected on Martha’s ringing endorsement of the man. Her sister was right. Eduard was a brilliant prospect for someone. But considering where her thoughts were at the moment, she couldn’t possibly respond.
When she finally went downstairs, she found the sisters in the reception room, reading a hand-delivered message from their close friend, Julian Barnett, a decorative arts consultant. He had been abroad for some time, but was arriving home that very afternoon. In celebration of his return, they decided to throw an impromptu dinner the next evening, “à huit heures sonnantes.”
The cook, kitchen staff, and housemaids were given their instructions; the hearths scrubbed; furniture dusted and oiled; and Minna was sent to buy candles, flowers, crystallized fruits, pickled nuts, bottles of champagne, and savory forcemeats. At least there would be heat in the house—and alcohol.
The next night, the guest of honor arrived at the stroke of eight, walking into a house that was warm, illuminated, and filled with white roses, the very vision of abundance. Minna had been told by the sisters (more than once) that Julian had an impeccable eye, so they had instructed the staff to hide the ratty shawls and coverlets that were always left like abused pets on the sofas.
“Cher Julian. How we missed you!” the sisters said in unison.
“My two most delicious patrons,” he replied in a soft, reedy voice, handing his silk top hat, silver-tipped cane, and woolen cloak to the footman and then casting a languid eye at Minna, who stood in the hallway. He beamed at the two doting women and elaborately pressed their hands to his lips.
Minna appraised the tall, rail-like man. He had a pale, ghostly pallor; high cheekbones; and immaculate, slicked-back hair. His hands were soft and round, like a woman’s, with a large sapphire ring on his left pinky. They crossed the threshold into the reception room and sat amid the dense bric-a-brac and musty bowls of potpourri.
“As usual, your home is lovely,” he said, looking around the room. “You both have the most impeccable taste.” Ah, yes, if you like mortuaries, Minna thought.
The last-minute party was a small affair with twelve guests, most of whom seemed to know one another and were a mix of public officials, pretty young socialites, and two rather forbidding academics. They were the kind of people one really didn’t like, but who came in handy at dinner parties. Minna marveled at the sisters’ ability to draw such a crowd, even if they did trade endless anecdotes about their ancient Continental adventures and the latest lurid scandals.
“It reminds me of the World’s Fair in Chicago,” said Professor Wertheim, a distant cousin of the Kassels.
“I read that President Cleveland pushed a button and a hundred thousand lights went up in the fairgrounds,” responded Herr Bahr, a former minister of parliament who arrived with a raven-haired young woman, later described by Bella as a “jeune femme fatale.”
“It’s true. . . . I’m converting my whole house.”
“How was your holiday?”
“Wonderful. Don’t you long to be in Paris?”
“I hear the city is filled with Americans.”
“Avoid them like the plague.”
“Speaking of the plague . . . have you heard about this Dreyfus fellow? Poor man, the news gets worse from Paris every day,” said Wertheim. It seemed he had “inside information” about the Dreyfus Affair, a scandalous bit of news that had spread like a pox all over Europe. Some of his more progressive friends were making a public display of support for the Jewish artillery officer, Captain Alfred Dreyfus, who was convicted by the French government of treason, spying for Germany.
“A civilized nation, and look how they behave, degrading him in public, ripping off his medals,” Frau Wertheim added, watching
her husband gulp down several portions of Gruyère and ham from a silver tray. “Poor soul, chained to his bed on Devil’s Island, kept sane apparently by reading Tolstoy and Shakespeare.”
Minna quashed the urge to add her opinion, which was that the whole affair was a complete miscarriage of justice. The evidence was obviously forged. After all, he was the only Jew on the general’s staff . . . so there you have it.
• • •
After the party, Minna retired upstairs to her room and paced the floor like a caged animal. She toyed with the notion of stealing down the back stairs to the now empty parlor to pinch a glass of wine, but the place was so damn cold (the fire had long gone out) that she decided against it. Now she had to focus on the problem at hand. How was she to answer Martha? She must stop procrastinating. She hoped the sisters would sleep through until morning. She had found they were like fitful infants, rarely sleeping through the night, bothering her for a hot water bottle, a cup of tea, an extra blanket or pillow that had to be fetched from the attic, or, worse, instructions to go outside and stop the neighbor’s “infernal” dog from barking. The thought of another knock on her door at two a.m. was simply unbearable.
She lit the candle on her small writing desk, pulled out a piece of paper from her valise, and began writing tentatively, scratching out the first of many drafts. She jumped from subject to subject—from accounts of how lonely she was, how confused she felt, to confessions of how much she missed the children, their idiosyncrasies, their squabbling, their increasing hold over her.
“You must dissuade the nanny from putting Sophie back on laudanum. . . . Perhaps you can look in on her a few times during the night. . . . Has Oliver completed his test for the gymnasium yet? . . . How are the boys feeling? . . . Please check Martin’s room and make sure it’s not too cold.”