Morphium: Novellen

In a quiet Berlin cemetery, the day’s preparations for the Marian feast turn the burial ground into a bustling scene of rust‑colored wreaths, wilted palms, and the clatter of an old, blind horse hauling away the debris. Two elderly women, their hands gnarled and faces weary, scrape away the remnants of past offerings while nuns in simple habits kneel before a weather‑worn statue of the Virgin, lighting candles for the faithful. Into this solemn choreography steps a slender, pale lady in an elegant summer dress, her calm smile belying a restless gaze that lingers on the stone of her father’s grave.

The newcomer, a secret councilor of the city, appears more concerned with a private prayer than with the ceremonial gifts surrounding her. Her eyes, unusually wide and unfocused, hint at a lingering unease that the ritual cannot soothe. As the sun sinks, the novella gently unfolds a portrait of social contrast—wealth and devotion, duty and hidden suffering—suggesting that the woman’s solace may lie beyond the holy incense, perhaps in the quiet escape of a morphine‑induced reverie.