‘Am Südhang’ (‘On Southern Slopes’) by Eduard Graf von Keyserling (Excerpt)

As promised yesterday in my review, today I’m providing everyone with a sneak peek at my latest translation work in progress, Eduard Graf von Keyserling’s novella Am Südhang (On Southern Slopes).  This is just the first half of what would be the first chapter, but I hope it gives a little taste of what the story’s about 🙂

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Karl Erdman von West-Wallbaum had been promoted to lieutenant, and as he travelled through the summer evening towards his family’s country house, he thought to himself that all those clever, haughty folk who spoke ill of life, indeed, even his own occasional gloomy hours, were unfair to life.  There truly were phases of life that were simply flawless.  And upon what slight foundations our lives often built this happiness.  After all, many young people had been promoted to lieutenant this year, and it was, of course, but a meagre achievement.  Nevertheless, risible as it might be, this lieutenant rank made him happy.  He had a feeling that there was something new inside him; something that made him into someone new, someone who had more of a right to love, admiration and all the good things of the world than the old Karl Erdmann did.  They would understand that back at home.  That’s what made life there so soft and indulging, the fact that everyone got along so effortlessly.  People who understand each other easily know that they can also injure one other easily.  It was perhaps for that reason that there was an exquisite softness to interaction there, which always gave Karl Erdmann the feeling of being something precious, and in need of gentle handling.

He now had two months at home ahead of him, two months completely free of worry, for he had already confessed his debts.  There would be nothing more for him to do than to stroll around the old garden, lie about in the meadow, allow himself to be pampered by his mother and his sisters, smoke his father’s best cigars and allow body and mind to be filled with this sweet mix of pleasure, as is only possible in one’s parents’ old country estate.  It was strange how every little event there was surrounded by an aura of emotions that made it appear as large and colourful as the moon rising through evening mist.

Karl Erdmann had often been in love, as both a private and a sergeant. And many liaisons had played out back at his garrison.  And yet, that was all very different to being in love back home during leave.  There it was a silent, constant, stimulating pursuit.  You could lie in the fields for hours, lost in love, and allow yourself to be cradled by a powerful, sweet, somewhat tiring sensation.  Out in the world, Karl Erdmann could be cynical and cutting, there he became as sensitive and bright as a fruit ripened on southern slopes.  Karl Erdmann had, therefore, always been in love during his holidays, and always with Frau von Bardow.  That was as much a part of the holidays as the glistening of snow at Christmas time or the golden pears in August.

In truth, everyone back home was a little in love with Frau von Bardow, even his father, whenever he spoke to her, fell into his old chivalrous garde du corps manners, which met her approval.  She spoke to all the men as if she desired to turn their heads, or as if there existed between her and each of them a particular relationship.  It was this way with Botho, the captain, Karl Erdmann’s elder brother, with the Legation Councillor Count Ottmar von der Lunck, the fiancé of Karl Erdmann’s sister, Oda; Frau von Bardow even had a certain arousing manner of behaving around the fifteen-year-old Leo and his private tutor, Aristides Dorn.  It was only towards him, Karl Erdmann, that she had always had a sisterly, almost motherly manner.  And yet even as a young boy he had felt the magic of this intriguing, beautiful woman more strongly than anyone else, so strongly that, powerless against his own emotions, he was forced to run off into the meadow, fling himself down onto a pile of hay, press his face deep into the hay and weep.  Frau von Bardow never acted as if she noticed any of this, whereas with all the other men, from the very start, she behaved as if there could be no doubt that they were under her spell.  Well, his new rank of lieutenant would make changes here, too, and this conviction added not a little to Karl Erdmann’s current feeling of happiness.

Daniela von Bardow was divorced from her husband.  Karl Erdmann recalled the strange, clandestine feeling of sympathy that he had felt as a young boy whenever his parents spoke of this indirectly, saying that Bardow was a bad sort, that poor Daniela had suffered so much and was still misjudged and wrongly accused by the world at large.  Frau von West-Wallbaum loved Daniela deeply and always defended her passionately.  “It always hurts,” she tended to say, “when someone suffers through no fault of their own.  But whenever Daniela is insulted and suffers as a result, then it hurts like some unthinking act of cruelty.  It’s as if someone were to insult a flower.”  Karl Erdmann knew exactly what she meant, and now that he would also mean something to Daniela, she was soon to learn how much he felt for her.

He lifted his arms and stretched comfortably, the silk lining of his new uniform crackling agreeably.  So, nothing but blue skies ahead for the next two months, and Karl Erdmann intended to enjoy them to their fullest.  There was the small matter of this duel, but he wouldn’t let that disturb him.  A duel could be thought of as an unavoidable piece of business that needed to be resolved, nothing more.  There had been an ugly scene back at the garrison with a drunken clerk who had uttered certain comments regarding his regiment.  His superiors and comrades had all acknowledged that Karl Erdmann had acted appropriately.  The clerk had, of course, asked for some grace as he had certain affairs to bring to order, civilians always ask for grace and always have affairs to bring to order.  But the duel was due to take place in the coming weeks.  Well, that didn’t disturb Karl Erdmann, quite the opposite, while he wasn’t inclined to look forward to the duel as such, the fact that it was part of the events of this summer lent the summer’s image, lent Karl Erdmann’s figure, an unusual, slightly mystical air.  There was nothing, then, to disturb his joy.

Translation © 2021 by Tony Malone. All rights reserved.

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I hope you enjoyed this first glimpse of Karl Erdmann’s golden summer of adventures.  Rest assured that I’ll let you all know when I manage to get to the end of the story, so let me know if this sounds like something you’d be interested in reading more of 🙂