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P
Pia
Guest
What does a blue moon face mean?
RacingRodent
Consul
If brevity is a virtue then my reply is positively puritanical.
I was expressing alarm at the events overtaking Tristana
Sorry PK
P
Pia
Guest
I adore it, i am just naive! Tolerate me!If brevity is a virtue then my reply is positively puritanical.
I was expressing alarm at the events overtaking Tristana
Sorry PK
P
Pia
Guest
She is Tristan and she is waiting for Isolde!But I didn't want her to die, too soon
(in her young life, and in pk's story)
P
Pia
Guest
I’ve no idea what day it is, or what time it is or why I am alive because I am not supposed to be alive; after all, if you push a knife into yourself it means something, you know. I want not to be here. How hard is that? I want to be with my Gisela and she is cut away from me so I don’t want to be here at all. I’m slowly waking up. It’s sunny and I love the sun on my face. But I don’t want to be so sad. What am I to do. I’m waking up. It’s strange. I’m feeling strange. I want Gisela. I’m waking up and I can see the room around me and the shadows from the shutters and the plaster cornice around the ceiling’s edge and the dark, creeping green of the plant in the corner and I am feeling so small and it’s all so crowded.
I’m hurting a lot. In my chest. It’s not burning, it’s just tearing at me. It hurts and I did it. I know why. It hurts so much. When I try to lift myself it tears into me. But I wanted to die. So I suppose it had to hurt. And it hurts so much. And I want to die still if I can’t be with my Gisela. I want to die. I want to. And I’m looking at the table by my bed and at the glass tumbler full of water and at the dark brown bottle with a label. “Bayer – Veronal”. It sounds a nice word. Veronal. It sounds tranquil. I think it sounds nice. I’m looking at the label, it tells me how many grains to use. Maybe I might use a few more. I tip the bottle into my glass. Not too much, but a few grains. I stir it with my finger. I watch my finger turn slowly in the glass. It’s like a dark pool. I like seeing my finger turn. But it’s time to stop. I take the glass. The liquid’s a bit cloudy. I sip it. It’s bitter; I drink it. I am feeling really tired now. Really sleepy and I think I need to lie down. I hope I sleep for a long, long time. I love sleep. I am so tired.
The clock in the hallway ticks, the only sound in the villa. Outside the late summer heat reflects from the setts of the street, the leaves of the lindens hang limp, exhausted by the sun. At two the doctor calls; Konstanze takes his hat and follows him up the staircase to Tristana’s room. She lies sprawled on the bed, the sheets tangled around her, one arm stretched out, her fingers still wrapped around the glass tumbler, her mouth hanging open, the dressing over her breast stained red.
Konstanze falls back against the door, her hand over her face, tears welling in her eyes. The doctor quickly listens to Tristana’s chest, checks her eyes, lifts her up, forces his fingers into her mouth, hits her on the back. He pushes her head forward and squeezes her hard beneath her ribs.Konstanze has turned her head to the wall and she is crying.
There’s a sound, a cough, a gasp. Another gasp. Tristana vomits, coughing up water and blood, her mouth rimmed with a froth of spittle, her head rocking as her chest heaves, her fingers grasping the sheets tightly.
The paroxism subsides, her breathing becomes calm, her lips hang open, her distant eyes slowly focus.
“Silly girl. It’s lucky I came when I did you know. Another hour and...”
“I...I...I would be where I want to be... I...”
“Don’t be such a silly girl. Look at you! You're a pretty thing. You’ve all your life ahead. Why do this? It’s too stupid! I can’t be here to save you every hour you know! I want you to promise me. No more stupidity, yes? Promise me!”
“I...I can’t... I... I’m sorry! I don’t mean to hurt anyone. I’m just so sad! I... I... Oh, I just don’t know anything! I want to be with... Oh! I don’t know. I promise. I promise. There. I promise. Oh Konstanze! I’m so sorry! I am such a useless person. I am so stupid. I’m sorry...”
He shakes his head slowly. “Young women” he thinks to himself. “I just don’t understand them”. Konstanze wipes her eyes and goes to the linen cupboard, returning with new sheets. Carefully they lift Tristana from her bed and make it again, crisp and fresh and white. They lay her back, her head propped on the pillows, clean her face and her chest, wipe the beads of sweat from her brow. The doctor changes her dressings, checks her pulse once more. Shakes his head again.
“So, now you’ll be a good patient, yes? No more nonesense, are we agreed? Good. Now..”
He turns to Konstanze
“Now, you must stay with her as much as you can, do you understand? She will recover, but she must take care. It’s essential that she stays in bed, still. I want you to administer the Veronal, just the correct dose. Her pain will come and go, it’s normal. When she sleeps, check her breathing. She can eat a little, maybe some broth, nothing more. Read to her. Keep her company. Yes? You understand? It is very important. If she tries to move too much the wound may reopen. Then there will be little more I can do. It’s essential she stays still. I will call later, in the evening. If you do as I say then she will recover well. Understand? Good.”
I’m hurting a lot. In my chest. It’s not burning, it’s just tearing at me. It hurts and I did it. I know why. It hurts so much. When I try to lift myself it tears into me. But I wanted to die. So I suppose it had to hurt. And it hurts so much. And I want to die still if I can’t be with my Gisela. I want to die. I want to. And I’m looking at the table by my bed and at the glass tumbler full of water and at the dark brown bottle with a label. “Bayer – Veronal”. It sounds a nice word. Veronal. It sounds tranquil. I think it sounds nice. I’m looking at the label, it tells me how many grains to use. Maybe I might use a few more. I tip the bottle into my glass. Not too much, but a few grains. I stir it with my finger. I watch my finger turn slowly in the glass. It’s like a dark pool. I like seeing my finger turn. But it’s time to stop. I take the glass. The liquid’s a bit cloudy. I sip it. It’s bitter; I drink it. I am feeling really tired now. Really sleepy and I think I need to lie down. I hope I sleep for a long, long time. I love sleep. I am so tired.
The clock in the hallway ticks, the only sound in the villa. Outside the late summer heat reflects from the setts of the street, the leaves of the lindens hang limp, exhausted by the sun. At two the doctor calls; Konstanze takes his hat and follows him up the staircase to Tristana’s room. She lies sprawled on the bed, the sheets tangled around her, one arm stretched out, her fingers still wrapped around the glass tumbler, her mouth hanging open, the dressing over her breast stained red.
Konstanze falls back against the door, her hand over her face, tears welling in her eyes. The doctor quickly listens to Tristana’s chest, checks her eyes, lifts her up, forces his fingers into her mouth, hits her on the back. He pushes her head forward and squeezes her hard beneath her ribs.Konstanze has turned her head to the wall and she is crying.
There’s a sound, a cough, a gasp. Another gasp. Tristana vomits, coughing up water and blood, her mouth rimmed with a froth of spittle, her head rocking as her chest heaves, her fingers grasping the sheets tightly.
The paroxism subsides, her breathing becomes calm, her lips hang open, her distant eyes slowly focus.
“Silly girl. It’s lucky I came when I did you know. Another hour and...”
“I...I...I would be where I want to be... I...”
“Don’t be such a silly girl. Look at you! You're a pretty thing. You’ve all your life ahead. Why do this? It’s too stupid! I can’t be here to save you every hour you know! I want you to promise me. No more stupidity, yes? Promise me!”
“I...I can’t... I... I’m sorry! I don’t mean to hurt anyone. I’m just so sad! I... I... Oh, I just don’t know anything! I want to be with... Oh! I don’t know. I promise. I promise. There. I promise. Oh Konstanze! I’m so sorry! I am such a useless person. I am so stupid. I’m sorry...”
He shakes his head slowly. “Young women” he thinks to himself. “I just don’t understand them”. Konstanze wipes her eyes and goes to the linen cupboard, returning with new sheets. Carefully they lift Tristana from her bed and make it again, crisp and fresh and white. They lay her back, her head propped on the pillows, clean her face and her chest, wipe the beads of sweat from her brow. The doctor changes her dressings, checks her pulse once more. Shakes his head again.
“So, now you’ll be a good patient, yes? No more nonesense, are we agreed? Good. Now..”
He turns to Konstanze
“Now, you must stay with her as much as you can, do you understand? She will recover, but she must take care. It’s essential that she stays in bed, still. I want you to administer the Veronal, just the correct dose. Her pain will come and go, it’s normal. When she sleeps, check her breathing. She can eat a little, maybe some broth, nothing more. Read to her. Keep her company. Yes? You understand? It is very important. If she tries to move too much the wound may reopen. Then there will be little more I can do. It’s essential she stays still. I will call later, in the evening. If you do as I say then she will recover well. Understand? Good.”
P
Pia
Guest
Tristana sips from a glass of water, her dark curls falling over her eyes.
“I’m hungry Konstanze, please get me something, And then maybe you can read to me? Hmmm. Not this one. I’m not sure I should read that now.”
She lifts the slim volume - “Der Tod in Venedig” – and replaces it on the table beside her bed.
“Maybe this. It will remind me of Zoppot. Yes read from this for me Konstanze.”
“What is it Tristana? - “Wellen” – Eduard von Keyserling... I don’t think I’ve heard of him. Is it a new story?”
“Not that new. It came out a couple of years ago I think. I’ve not started it, so we can read from the beginning. But can I have some soup first please? I promise to be good while you’re downstairs. Honestly. I promise.”
Tristana smiles; the spoon rings against the bowl as she scoops the last of the warm chicken broth. She places the tray on the edge of the bed and wipes her lips with a napkin.
“Konstanze. Can I ask you something? I know you said you wouldn’t send a letter, but that...that was before. I really need to see Gisela. You know I do. Please Konstanze, send her a telegram. Please tell her I need to see her, ask her to come. Don’t say anything about...about... You know. Please Konstanze. I’ll be good if you do, I promise.”
“I can’t Tristana. You know I can’t...”
“You can! It’s so easy Konstanze. Just fill in the form, we have lots in the study. Please! I just want to see her so much. I really will be good, but I need to see her. No-one need know. Just you and me. She can come and go back in a day, you know she can. Please! I really need you to help me Konstanze!”
“Well... I really shouldn’t.... I promised Master Markus and he’d...”
“But he wouldn’t need to know! No-one would! Just us Konstanze! Please!”
“I.... I suppose...I suppose I could. But you must promise me to be good! You must do as the doctor says. And you mustn’t tell anyone else. Do you promise Tristana?”
“I promise a thousand times Konstanze! Oh thank you so much! You are so good to me! Thank you Konstanze! Will you do it now? Tell her to come tomorrow, on the morning train yes? I will be good I promise you! Oh thank you Konstanze! Thank you!”
With a trembling hand she writes the telegram:
She places the message in the tiny brown envelope. Then sighs. And opens the pad again.
The postman calls and collects the two brown envelopes and Konstanze pays the small fee. Then returns upstairs, her face flushed, sits by Tristana, opens the book and reads.
“I’m hungry Konstanze, please get me something, And then maybe you can read to me? Hmmm. Not this one. I’m not sure I should read that now.”
She lifts the slim volume - “Der Tod in Venedig” – and replaces it on the table beside her bed.
“Maybe this. It will remind me of Zoppot. Yes read from this for me Konstanze.”
“What is it Tristana? - “Wellen” – Eduard von Keyserling... I don’t think I’ve heard of him. Is it a new story?”
“Not that new. It came out a couple of years ago I think. I’ve not started it, so we can read from the beginning. But can I have some soup first please? I promise to be good while you’re downstairs. Honestly. I promise.”
Tristana smiles; the spoon rings against the bowl as she scoops the last of the warm chicken broth. She places the tray on the edge of the bed and wipes her lips with a napkin.
“Konstanze. Can I ask you something? I know you said you wouldn’t send a letter, but that...that was before. I really need to see Gisela. You know I do. Please Konstanze, send her a telegram. Please tell her I need to see her, ask her to come. Don’t say anything about...about... You know. Please Konstanze. I’ll be good if you do, I promise.”
“I can’t Tristana. You know I can’t...”
“You can! It’s so easy Konstanze. Just fill in the form, we have lots in the study. Please! I just want to see her so much. I really will be good, but I need to see her. No-one need know. Just you and me. She can come and go back in a day, you know she can. Please! I really need you to help me Konstanze!”
“Well... I really shouldn’t.... I promised Master Markus and he’d...”
“But he wouldn’t need to know! No-one would! Just us Konstanze! Please!”
“I.... I suppose...I suppose I could. But you must promise me to be good! You must do as the doctor says. And you mustn’t tell anyone else. Do you promise Tristana?”
“I promise a thousand times Konstanze! Oh thank you so much! You are so good to me! Thank you Konstanze! Will you do it now? Tell her to come tomorrow, on the morning train yes? I will be good I promise you! Oh thank you Konstanze! Thank you!”
With a trembling hand she writes the telegram:
Come to Berlin. Tomorrow - early train. Tell no-one. Meet at station.
K
She places the message in the tiny brown envelope. Then sighs. And opens the pad again.
Master Markus. Tristana ill. Come tomorrow.
Konstanze
The postman calls and collects the two brown envelopes and Konstanze pays the small fee. Then returns upstairs, her face flushed, sits by Tristana, opens the book and reads.
P
Pia
Guest
Chapter 14
It’s evening and the doctor has visited and changed Tristana’s dressings once again and checked her temperature. He’s pleased. There’s no sign of infection or fever. He gently pinches her cheek and tells her to stay a good girl.
The door-bell rings and Konstanze answers it. It’s the post boy with a reply. Quickly she opens the envelope. It’s from Gisela. She reads it quickly then rushes upstairs.
“She’ll come Tristana! Tomorrow. On the train. She’ll be at the Hauptbahnhof at eleven. I’ll meet her. Are you happy now Tristana?”
“Yes yes yes! I am Konstanze! Thank you so much! I knew she’d come! It’s our secret isn’t it? Our special secret!”
Konstanze bites hard on the inside of her lower lip.
“Yes. Yes. It’s our secret Tristana. Now you should rest. I’ll get the Veronal so you are comfortable. Sleep well. You’ll see her tomorrow. Now you must rest.”
P
Pia
Guest
Thursday the twenty first of August 1913. In Copenhagen, workmen are putting the finishing touches to a tiny bronze statue mounted on a boulder sitting in the sea by the Langalinie Promonade. Den lille havfrue will be unveiled on Saturday by Carl Jacobsen who won’t be able to take his eyes off Ellen Price and will always wonder whether in truth her ballerina’s body was still more beautiful than Eline Eriksen’s. In Den Haag a sea mist has crept in from Scheveningen and Johan van der Steur is pacing the main hall of the Vredespaleis, admiring the stained glass above the grand staircase. He's feeling relaxed; after all, the opening isn't until the twenty eight. In Berlin the day is still and hot, remorselessly hot. The streets are as crowded as ever with throngs of shoppers and businessmen and peddlars and prostitutes.
In Ahornstraße the lindens sleep and Tristana slowly stirs, ringing the bell to call for Konstanze.
“Could you make me some breakfast please? I’m feeling so much better today I may even get up from this bed I think...”
“No. No Tristana! You mustn’t! Remember what the doctor said? Remember what you promised? You must stay still... She...Gisela will be here soon. Just be patient; please please be good Tristana!”
“But I really am feeling better. Look! I can even sit up now and it doesn’t really hurt too much. Not much at all really. I... I think I should go to the station to meet her Konstanze. I’m sure I will be alright. Yes. I think I will. After breakfast you can dress me and order a cab.”
“Tristana! It’s impossible! You must rest and stay in bed! The doctor said you could open the wound if you move too much. She’ll be here soon. You must wait for her, you really must Tristana!”
“I’m going to go. You can help me or I’ll get ready myself. I’ve decided Konstanze. I want to meet her. I have to see her. I’m going to the station, whatever you think. Will you help me? I don’t care, I’m going anyway. I’ve decided. So will you help me?”
In Ahornstraße the lindens sleep and Tristana slowly stirs, ringing the bell to call for Konstanze.
“Could you make me some breakfast please? I’m feeling so much better today I may even get up from this bed I think...”
“No. No Tristana! You mustn’t! Remember what the doctor said? Remember what you promised? You must stay still... She...Gisela will be here soon. Just be patient; please please be good Tristana!”
“But I really am feeling better. Look! I can even sit up now and it doesn’t really hurt too much. Not much at all really. I... I think I should go to the station to meet her Konstanze. I’m sure I will be alright. Yes. I think I will. After breakfast you can dress me and order a cab.”
“Tristana! It’s impossible! You must rest and stay in bed! The doctor said you could open the wound if you move too much. She’ll be here soon. You must wait for her, you really must Tristana!”
“I’m going to go. You can help me or I’ll get ready myself. I’ve decided Konstanze. I want to meet her. I have to see her. I’m going to the station, whatever you think. Will you help me? I don’t care, I’m going anyway. I’ve decided. So will you help me?”
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P
Pia
Guest
Ellen Price as Den lille havfrue
P
Pia
Guest
and Eline Eriksen, the sculptor's wife, who modeled the body of the little statue....
Ellen Price as Den lille havfrue
and Eline Eriksen, the sculptor's wife, who modeled the body of the little statue....
Both are lovely
P
Pia
Guest
Jacobsen wanted the whole sculpture to be based on Ellen, but in the end only the mermaid's face was, as she refused to model in the nude for Eriksen.... Anyway, back to Berlin in the summery warmth!Both are lovely
P
Pia
Guest
A tail's a tale....she was shy about her scales?
she was shy about her scales?
Giggle snort! This is getting way too clever for me.....YOU TWO!!!!