Eduard von Keyserling - "You are the Baroness von Buttlär, are you not, and I am the widow of General von Palikow, and that means we are both fortresses, admitting no one who is not of our rank; and so we can sleep easy tonight, as if Madame Grill did not exist. We simply decree, Madame Grill does not exist."

Eduard von Keyserling, Waves, Trans. by Gary Miiler, Dedalus, 2019.


First published on the eve of the First World War, Keyserling's masterpiece offers a vivid portrait of a society on the verge of dissolution.
A group of German aristocrats gathers at a seaside village on the Baltic Sea for a summer holiday in the early years of the twentieth century. The characters represent a cross-section of the upper classes of imperial Germany: a philandering baron, his jealous wife, a gallant cavalry officer, the elderly widow of a general, a cynical government official, a lady’s companion. Their lives, even on holiday, are regulated by rigid protocol and archaic codes of honour.
But their quiet, disciplined world is thrown into disarray by the unexpected presence of Doralice, a young countess who has rebelled against social constraints by escaping from an arranged marriage and running away with a bourgeois artist.


In trying to source all the greatest novels of the 1910s (that I can read), I have had to turn to the magnificent Interlibrary Loan system for translations into English that have fallen so far out of print that Amazon is no help. The first ILL book that arrived was Eduard von Keyserling's 1911 Wellen, which the 1929 translation I read rendered Tides but which would be literally (and more thematically appropriately) translated Waves.
Eduard von Keyserling was a member of the decaying Baltic German aristocracy: his family held land in what was then the Russian Empire and is now Estonia, and Tides is set in a community on the Baltic Sea, where a wealthy German estate overlooks the humble fishing cottages of the local peasantry. I have no spoilers to give -- it's the kind of book that should be experienced exactly as written: like a tone poem, the minute distinctions of coloration fading into each other as the melody gradually unfolds -- but the fact that the book is not principally about the aristocracy (although the aristocracy, its power and judgment, hangs over practically every glance and gesture) was rather a relief to me.
In fact, the whole thing was a pleasant surprise; I am given to reading contemporary reviews when I can get my hands on them, and the American literary journals of the twenties rather scolded Keyserling (who died in 1918) for being so bleak and pessimistic. But I didn't find Tides bleak at all: it's full of vibrancy and color, and if it grinds rather fatalistically toward an obvious death at the end, that just seems European rather than depressing. Several other of Keyserling's novels and novellas were translated in the same period, and all are just as thoroughly out of print, but I'm interested in reading them all now; and curious too about those that never made it into English at all. - Jonathan Bogart
https://www.jonathanbogart.net/tides/




Waves is set in a Baltic Sea resort town, and the story begins with a large family beginning to settle in for a summer vacation. The family matriarch, the widow of General von Palikow, has rented out a whole inn to put them all up in. The Generalin had arrived a few days early, with her companion and friend Fräulein Bork, a cook, and a maid, to prepare things, and when the novel opens the bulk of the family has just followed -- specifically, the Generalin's daughter, the Baroness von Buttlär, and her three children, grown girls Lolo and Nini, and fifteen-year-old son Wedig. The Baron is expected later -- as is Lolo's fiancé, Hilmar.
       It is, however, an outsider who is the dominating figure in the novel, a woman from the same circles as the family who has, however ... gone a different way. The beautiful young Countess Doralice Köhne-Jasky shocked society by leaving her husband the ambassador and running away with ... an artist. Fräulein Bork has the dirt, explaining to the Baroness that Doralice is in this resort-town as well, staying in a local house: "with ... well, let's call him her husband".
       The Generalin tries to be above it all, figuring they can just ignore the wayward woman -- she isn't one of them any longer, after all, she isn't the Countess Doralice, but rather:

The beach is wide enough that we can walk past each other, past a stranger named Frau Grill. Her artist, I believe, is named Hans Grill.

       Indeed, she reassures her daughter:

You are the Baroness von Buttlär, are you not, and I am the widow of General von Palikow, and that means we are both fortresses, admitting no one who is not of our rank; and so we can sleep easy tonight, as if Madame Grill did not exist. We simply decree, Madame Grill does not exist.

       But these are fin de siècle times, and nobility is no longer the secure, dependable bastion it once was, and even as everyone has a general sense of their place, the borders and bounds have become much more indistinct (as even chirpy young maid Ernestine's behavior shows). Matters aren't helped by the fact that Doralice is such a stunning beauty that all are drawn to -- notably the Baron, when he joins the family, who can't just walk by her, be she Countess or mere Frau Grill; engaged -- and hence on the cusp of true adulthood, including that mysterious world of sex -- Lolo; and, eventually and unsurprisingly, Lolo's fiancé, Hilmar. For all the Generalin's imperious attempts at treating Doralice and husband Hans as literal non-entities, reality proves more awkward:

     "To be sure, replied Baroness von Buttlär with raised eyebrows, "this couple seems to be unavoidable for us, our inevitable fate."

       Of course, it works both ways: Doralice escaped the city and a stultifying life with a much older husband for the would-be complete freedom of being an artist's inspiration and companion only to find:

All of a sudden Privy Counsellor Knospelius is standing in front of me on the strand, and over there Generalin von Palikow and Baroness Buttlär are moving into the Bull's Inn -- my old life at every turn.

       The other major entity in this seaside novel is, of course, the sea. It always beckons, and several characters succumb to its call: the shore and its firm ground suggests stability, but also brings everything too close together, while the bordering great expanse of water suggest the promise of complete freedoms. The realistic Doralice isn't completely pulled in by the sea -- as others will be -- but she wants to find a balance, an in-between world between the staid foundations of the old guard like the Generalin (who, of course, has nothing to do with the water) and the complete freedom of an idealized art-world that Hans (almost) represents. An ideal, as Doralice pictures it, is to: "hang in a hammock out there over the sea, just high enough so that that the waves did not reach it, but close enough so that if I allowed my hand to dangle I could touch the white foam". Hans tries to oblige her, holding her in his arms above the waves -- but of course he can only do so briefly. Still, she praises his efforts:

"We don't belong in the sea, of course. But you must be very strong, to be able to hold me that way."
     "Aren't I," replied Hans proudly, "and you know, the way I was holding you, when I think about it, that was actually symbolic, in the middle of the waves, and I was holding you."
     But Doralice replied tiredly: "Oh no, it would be better if it were not symbolic."

       Of course, there's a lot more that is symbolic in the novel is, too -- especially to do with the water. So also, Hans has difficulty painting the sea, suggesting:

I can paint your blue dress, nothing is easier than that, but to paint it so that everyone can see that you are there under the blue -- that is art. With the sea there is also something there, just under the transparency and the greenness, which lives and moves, and that is precisely the sea.

       Keyserling proves himself the artist with his portrait of Doralice, building up revealing layers of the character not so much in focusing on her but on her effect on those around her and their (re)actions. Like the sea, she, like every human, is unfathomable in all her depths, and yet the story neatly captures her and her tragedy.
       Much of Waves is observational, its characters not so much voyeurs but watchers. At one point, Privy Counsellor Knospelius is presented standing at the window of a cottage, "holding opera glasses to his eyes and looking out at the beach", and Keyserling has him narrate -- murmuring to himself -- what he sees as his gaze sweeps across the beach and water (which includes others observing, too -- Nini "bathing under the watchful eye of Baroness Buttlär", for example). From the fishermen's wives who watch the sea, waiting for their husband's returns, to the Baroness' children making a game of watching and waiting to catch sight of Doralice and Hans, to some peeking into windows, so many of the characters are so often involved in watching and observing; indeed, Knospelius isn't even the only one who gazes over the scenes through opera glasses (themselves, of course, also symbols of a particular class and life, and used not to look at real life but a staged representation thereof ...) .....
       The action in the novel is fairly limited and simple. There is some in the water -- some swimming-dips that take dramatic and unexpected turns, and a variety of excursions on boats, often with local fishermen, and often at night. There is a party that Knospelius holds, which he manages to invite everyone to, bringing them all together. But mostly this seems to be a leisurely summer-vacation tale, the characters happy enough amble and drift about.
       The appearance of Lolo's fiancé stirs things up. Hilmar is a lieutenant in the Brunswick Hussars, and prides himself on his reckless abandon:

To want only one thing, to see only one thing and to chase after it, that is really the only way to live.

       Doralice can't help but be somewhat drawn to Hilmar, as even the artist she ran away with clutches to old traditional ways which she had, after all, sought to escape, Hans insisting:

We cannot live in unbounded space. I cannot stand in the moonlight and hold you between sky and the sea forever. And so we must organise our lives, with regular activities and a permanent household. We need ordinary, everyday life

       Hans doesn't want to be jealous, but he can't help it; Doralice doesn't want the attentions of Hilmar, yet part of her is also drawn to it. And, of course, there's also Lolo to consider .....
       It is the Generalin who eventually tries to get Doralice to more decisively come to her senses:

Very well, you ran away from the old Count. One shouldn't do that, if only for the sake of morality, but it was a foolish marriage and you allowed yourself to be carried off by your painter. But now, my dear, enough is enough, you can't allow yourself to be continually abducted. You can't live off of elopements.

       The other most significant character, alongside Doralice, turns out to be Privy Counsellor Knospelius. Also a representative of the old world order and its absolutes and expectations, his appearance already suggests what is becoming of that, as he is a diminutive hunchback. He insinuates himself into the lives of all the others, his role growing in the novel right to the very end. He makes Doralice uneasy at first, yet the strikingly sensible man is ultimately her only hold; he proves to be a remarkable figure, his development in the novel exceptionally well-handled by Keyserling.
       It is Knospelius who, early on, leads Doralice to one of the more disturbing sites by the sea -- an old cemetery too close to the shore, the waves uncovering the dead. Waves is only in parts a decadence-novel -- but at least for this one scene Keyserling goes all-in:

     "But," cried Doralice, "there is a hand there."
     "Certainly," explained the Privy Counsellor, "that is a hand and an arm and there is a skull illuminated in lovely pink and in that dilapidated coffin over there is a whole man. As you see, this is a cemetery, which the sea is slowly sweeping away.

       Knospelius sees it in almost romantic terms -- "And then comes a stormy night and they are carried off on their journey out to sea" -- while Doralice can't help but be a little disturbed ("I think I would have preferred not to have seen it this morning").
       Waves very nicely captures nobility trying still to hold it together, but inevitably fraying. Unsurprisingly, it is Knospelius who comes up with (in this novel published the year before the Titanic ...) the perfect example:

It is the same as what happens when the great passenger steamers suffer an accident but continue to serve dinner punctiliously right up to the very last minute. It is, so to speak, the symbol of moral order.

       And, of course, in this symbol-laden novel, everything is creaking -- or, more appropriately, being washed out from underneath by the relentless pounding of the waves. It's no surprise that the tragic keeps bobbing up -- averted once, twice, but not three times -- but it is remarkable how beautifully Keyserling manages to reach his conclusion.
       There's a great deal of foreshadowing in the novel, and so much of it seems very simple and straightforward, but it's really quite a remarkably intricate picture: unlike Hans, Keyserling really gets to what's beneath with his almost effortless-seeming easy surface brushstrokes. The exchanges of dialogue are excellent, and the atmosphere very well realized.
       Waves is a beautiful novel, appearing, at first glance, to be deceptively simple but in fact astonishingly rich. - M.A.Orthofer
http://www.complete-review.com/reviews/deutsch/keyserling1.htm


At the end of the first German Literature Month, Caroline chose Eduard von Keyserling's Wellen (Waves) as her gift to Lizzy, and I decided to follow her recommendation and get a copy for myself.  The blurb claims that Keyserling is "the Baltic (Theodor) Fontane", and anyone who has read any of Ted's work will see the comparisons very quickly.
Wellen takes place on the Baltic coast, part of Germany's former East Prussian territories.  A noble family is going to spend the summer at their traditional family home, and the Baroness' mother is preparing for their imminent arrival.  The visiting party consists of the Baron and Baroness, their three children, and their elder daughter Lolo's fiancé, Hilmar, and the extended family settles down for an enjoyable, relaxing summer.
However, there is a cloud in the sky of their contentment.  Down on the beach, in a little fisherman's cottage, Doralice, a beautiful young woman, is spending her honeymoon with her new husband Hans, a painter.  All well and good, but Doralice is actually well known to her noble neighbours as she used to be one of them - until she left her elderly husband for the painter...
While the Baroness is appalled at the prospect of spending time in the presence of the fallen woman, the rest of her family get over the surprise a little more easily.  The children are entranced by her beauty and follow her around, spying on her whenever possible.  However, it is the interest other members of the party show in Doralice which complicates matters.
Wellen is a beautifully-written (short) novel, and (as mentioned earlier) the comparisons with Fontane are fully justified.  Like Fontane, von Keyserling takes well-off Germans and their trivial woes as his centrepiece, and he develops his characters far more than the many nineteenth-century novella writers did.  There's always a sense of proportion and humour to the writing too, just to balance out the melodrama and romanticism:

"Du sprachst da vorhin wegwerfend von Kartoffelsuppe, ich möchte sagen, kein Leben, auch das idealste, ist möglich, in dem es nicht einige Stunden am Tage nach Kartoffelsuppe riecht."p.25 (dtv, 2011)
"You were talking dismissively before about potato soup, I have to say that no life, even the most perfect, is possible in which, for a few hours a day, it doesn't smell of potato soup." (my translation)

Hans' half-joking remark to Doralice is a little too close to home though - the former Countess is not one to resign herself to a life lacking in romance.
The tragedy of the book (and it is giving little away to indicate that there are problems ahead) is that Doralice's beauty, which shines so brightly that all around her are attracted like moths to the flame, is coupled with a character that needs stimulation, adoration and romance.  The adventure of running off with her painter is fading into history, and she finds it difficult to accept the quiet domesticity that seems to be her lot.  Struggling to settle down (for the second time!) into married life, she shows traces of regret at the comfortable life she left behind.
Matters aren't helped though by the way in which Hans repeats the mistake Doralice's first husband made.  Like the elderly Count, Hans wishes to possess Doralice, form her, mould her into his creation.  Hilmar's comment to Lolo sums up the prevailing sentiment towards wives:

"Willst du mich überraschen?  Wozu?  Nein, unsere Bräute sollen nicht Überraschungen sein, sondern hübsche Notwendigkeiten." (p.67)
"Do you want to surprise me?  What for?  No, our brides shouldn't be surprises but pretty necessities."

The attentive reader can see trouble coming a mile off - which is not to say that this is how matters will play out...
The writing in Wellen is beautiful, even if the description is laid on a little thickly in some places, and the centrepiece of the book, as you may have guessed from the title, is the Baltic Sea itself, the glittering, shimmering backdrop for the story.  In fact, at one point, it is pointed out that the shore is a stage, one on which the many characters parade and act out their drama.  For the most part, the sea is content to remain passive, calm and serene in the background, but there is the occasional reminder that this won't always be the case.  On a walk with another holidaymaker, Doralice comes across an old cemetery and is shown bones poking out of the sand.  The corpses are slowly being claimed by the sea during storms, piece by piece - now if that's not a subtle foreshadowing of events... ;)
I greatly enjoyed Wellen, and I'm happy to have found another classic German author who wrote more than novellas.  Short works are all well and good, but it's nice to have something with a bit more depth, and nineteenth-century German literature can be a bit short(!) on longer novels.  Sadly, as I pointed out at the beginning of the post, if your German's not that hot, you're out of luck.  On the other hand, if you can read in German (and have a Kindle), I have some good news for you - most of von Keyserling's work is available free in electronic form.  You're welcome ;)
tonysreadinglist.blogspot.com/2013/11/wellen-waves-by-eduard-von-keyserling.html