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Authors: Mary Jane Staples
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more than the Viennese. We take it for granted, we’re seldom fully aware of the jewel the emperors have laid at our feet. One day I shall complete a volume of poems on Vienna and have it published, and everyone will say here is an exquisite appreciation of everything we see and pass by daily without giving thanks. James is an artist, I wonder if he’d like to look at some of my poetry? No, I can’t ask him to, he must ask me. It’s a great mistake to press one’s poetry into the hands of one’s friends. It’s a self-inflicted defeat from the start. Either they’re flattered that you want their opinion and so only give you the highest praise, or they know you want their highest praise and do nothing about it, knowing they’re going to force you in the end to ask what has become of my poems you’ve had for a year? Oh, my poor Sophie, I quite forgotall about them, do forgive me. But you can’t forgive them, your artistic soul is too wounded. So no, I shan’t ask James to look at any of my poems. He’d probably paraphrase his criticisms in motor-car terms and tell me my metre has a flat tyre and my stanzas are out of gear. What
is
out of gear?
He’s getting on very well with Anne, I think. I wonder if they would suit each other? Anne is so happy with life’s blessings and James, I fancy, has just enough of the devil in him to keep her interested, happy but not disturbed. Ludwig would make a very cheerful husband, probably, if she chose him. Myself, I’m sure I’d want more from a husband than simple cheerfulness. I’d like him to be intellectual, conversational and extremely fond of my poetry. I should wish to like him very much but not be off my head about him, as I think that is too unsettling for a wife. What is Anne saying to James now?
Anne was asking James if he had been to Oxford or Cambridge. James, held by her blue-green eyes, came out of an agreeably mesmerized state to say, ‘At Edinburgh University no one’s ever heard of Oxford or Cambridge. Would you care to dance, fairest of Vienna’s blossoms?’
‘How can I say no to that?’ said Anne.
They glided away, melting into the whirling kaleidoscope of movement and colour, prompting Ludwig to offer his arm to Sophie.
‘Thank you, Ludwig,’ she smiled, ‘how timely. Anne and James have launched themselves into perpetual motion, and we must fly after them.’
They flew. Into the gyrational gaiety of the waltz.
‘What did Sophie mean by that?’ asked Helene of Carl.
Carl, putting out his slim, gold-tipped cigarette, said, ‘Nothing painful, dear girl. May I have the pleasure?’
‘Oh, that would be nice,’ said Helene and was on her feet in an eager gush of frothy pink. She adored Carl. But then she adored most of the young men she knew. She had no brains at all but was of such a generous disposition that her mental vacuity was always forgivable. She was due to be adored herself by a senior army officer who considered brains in a woman entirely undesirable and who accordingly decided Helene would make an eminently suitable wife. And she did. But at the moment, in this summer of 1914, she was flirtatiously and archly happy in company with Carl and the others.
Anne was warmly vivacious to dance with and James, whirling around with her, was frankly captivated by the atmosphere she and all his new friends created. True, they were without serious responsibilities, they did not have to work, to toil, to labour, they only had to live, and they lived fully, gaily and extravagantly. The von Korvacs were among the leading families of Vienna, and around Sophie and Anne moved the most eligible men. They were not always at home when he and Carl were tinkering with the Benz in the evenings, they were out at summer balls.He had no false ideas about his own eligibility. He was a friend of the family and it stopped at that. He had nothing to offer an aristocratic Austrian woman which he would not have to work for. His father would not make him more
is
out of gear?
He’s getting on very well with Anne, I think. I wonder if they would suit each other? Anne is so happy with life’s blessings and James, I fancy, has just enough of the devil in him to keep her interested, happy but not disturbed. Ludwig would make a very cheerful husband, probably, if she chose him. Myself, I’m sure I’d want more from a husband than simple cheerfulness. I’d like him to be intellectual, conversational and extremely fond of my poetry. I should wish to like him very much but not be off my head about him, as I think that is too unsettling for a wife. What is Anne saying to James now?
Anne was asking James if he had been to Oxford or Cambridge. James, held by her blue-green eyes, came out of an agreeably mesmerized state to say, ‘At Edinburgh University no one’s ever heard of Oxford or Cambridge. Would you care to dance, fairest of Vienna’s blossoms?’
‘How can I say no to that?’ said Anne.
They glided away, melting into the whirling kaleidoscope of movement and colour, prompting Ludwig to offer his arm to Sophie.
‘Thank you, Ludwig,’ she smiled, ‘how timely. Anne and James have launched themselves into perpetual motion, and we must fly after them.’
They flew. Into the gyrational gaiety of the waltz.
‘What did Sophie mean by that?’ asked Helene of Carl.
Carl, putting out his slim, gold-tipped cigarette, said, ‘Nothing painful, dear girl. May I have the pleasure?’
‘Oh, that would be nice,’ said Helene and was on her feet in an eager gush of frothy pink. She adored Carl. But then she adored most of the young men she knew. She had no brains at all but was of such a generous disposition that her mental vacuity was always forgivable. She was due to be adored herself by a senior army officer who considered brains in a woman entirely undesirable and who accordingly decided Helene would make an eminently suitable wife. And she did. But at the moment, in this summer of 1914, she was flirtatiously and archly happy in company with Carl and the others.
Anne was warmly vivacious to dance with and James, whirling around with her, was frankly captivated by the atmosphere she and all his new friends created. True, they were without serious responsibilities, they did not have to work, to toil, to labour, they only had to live, and they lived fully, gaily and extravagantly. The von Korvacs were among the leading families of Vienna, and around Sophie and Anne moved the most eligible men. They were not always at home when he and Carl were tinkering with the Benz in the evenings, they were out at summer balls.He had no false ideas about his own eligibility. He was a friend of the family and it stopped at that. He had nothing to offer an aristocratic Austrian woman which he would not have to work for. His father would not make him more
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