“It’s fascinating. I’ve seen many a Schloss during the time I have spent here but I never thought to live in one.”
“The children showed you over it, I hope?”
“Yes, they took me everywhere, I think . . . except one part. It appeared to be locked.”
“Oh the haunted room. There are haunted rooms in most castles, you know.”
“What is the story about this one?”
She hesitated. “Oh, the usual, love . . . ending in tragedy. A young woman threw herself from the window to her death.”
“Why?”
“It was years ago. The present Duke’s great-grandfather, I think, brought her here. She thought she was his wife.”
“And she wasn’t?”
“It was a mock marriage. It was often done—still is. The girl would not give in to him so the marriage was arranged. The so-called priest who performed the ceremony was no priest at all but one of the courtiers so of course the marriage was no true marriage and the girl was tricked. Her scruples were calmed and the honeymoon followed. In these cases when the bridegroom grows tired of the liaison he passes on and the lady realizes the truth. It’s been done many a time.”
“I see. And this girl?”
“Her lover was deeply enamored of her. The story is that he might have married her if he had not been married already—as his position demanded.”
“So he deceived her?”
“Deceiving simple girls was one of their favorite pastimes. It meant more to them than ruling their lands. But he was more involved than was customary with this girl. He brought her to Klocksburg and she lived here thinking herself a countess. At first he came often to visit her and then the visits grew less frequent. From the turret room—the one behind the locked door—so the story goes—she used to look for him. From the window you can see the road winding right down to the town. Day after day she sat there watching and waiting. Then one day he came, but with him he brought his Countess who had insisted on accompanying him. The poor girl wondered who the lady was and when the Count entered Klocksburg the first thing he did was go up to that room to his mistress. The story is that when he told her the truth she wouldn’t believe it. He insisted she keep quiet about their relationship. She must come down to the Randhausburg and behave as though she was here as the châtelaine of the castle to keep it in order for the time when the Count and his Countess should call. When he went away she locked herself in her room and, opening the casement window wide, jumped out to her death. Well, you can see how these stories start from that.”
“Poor girl,” I said.
“She was foolish,” said Frau Graben, pursing her lips. “She could have lived all her days in comfort. The Princes always looked after their favored women.”
“I can well imagine the shock of believing oneself married and finding one was not.”
“They say she haunts the place. Some say they’ve seen her. If she comes back it must be because she realizes that it was a silly thing she did. She could have gone on living in comfort.”
“I understand her feelings.”
“Well, I keep the door locked. I don’t want any of the maids getting hysterics. I go in with one of them once a week to dust and clean; then I see that it’s locked up.”
I couldn’t get out of my mind the thought of that girl’s watching for her lover and learning how he had deceived her. When she had told the story Frau Graben had seemed secretly amused, sly even. I felt for the first time that she might not be the simple warmhearted woman I had imagined her to be. It seemed absurd to say there was something sinister about her—but that was how it seemed.
I quickly dismissed the thought as ridiculous.
I dreamed about that girl. I understood exactly how she felt. My dreams, as dreams so often are, were muddled, and I was the girl; and the man I saw riding up the mountain was Maximilian.
The children were very excited because Pastor Kratz was going to show me the Processional Cross. The road down to the town was about a mile long though there was a path which could only be undertaken on foot or on horseback, which was much shorter. There was a sure-footed little mare in the stables which had been put at my disposal, and the children had their ponies. Frau Graben said that Liesel should not ride all the way down to the town as she was not a practiced enough rider, and as the little girl set up wails of protest at the thought of being excluded from the expedition, she promised to take her down in the horse carriage while I went down on my mare with the boys.
It was a beautiful afternoon; the sun was shining through the trees and one caught glimpses of silver streams glinting among the rocks. Dagobert rode ahead; he liked to see himself as a leader, but Fritz kept by my side as though he were taking care of me. He was ahead of Dagobert in his English and displayed a remarkable ability for remembering the words I taught. Already he had a small vocabulary which was very pleasing.
As the trees grew less thick we could see the distant mountains and my eyes as ever went to the royal castle and I thought of Frau Graben as a young woman in her nursery there with the two boys on whom even now she clearly doted.
Below was the town taking on a definite character as we approached . . . a fairy-tale town with turrets, towers, and red-tiled roofs against a background of trees.
Although the main part of the town was in the valley it was to some extent built on the slope and as we passed first through the oberer Stadtplatz, with its fountain and arcades of shops, I was reminded vividly of Lokenburg, on the Night of the Seventh Moon. We were now in the month of June; very soon it would be the ninth anniversary of that night. I must ask Frau Graben whether the occasion was celebrated here.
We passed through narrow streets which sloped down to the unterer Stadtplatz and here was the church with its baroque dome and Gothic walls.
Dagobert told me that we should stable the horses in the Prince Carl Inn which was close by the church. Delightedly knowledgeable, he led the way. The innkeeper received us with some deference for he knew the boys. Dagobert haughtily accepted this and our horses were taken and we went to the church on foot where Frau Graben and Liesel were already waiting.
Pastor Kratz said how pleased he was that he could show me the Cross. Two soldiers from the palace were already standing on guard in the crypt where the oak chest was kept.
“I’m afraid it’s a great deal of trouble,” I said.
“No, no,” cried the Pastor. “We like people to see the Cross. Usually there is a small party of sightseers but you, as a member of the Count’s household, don’t have to wait for that. I should be delighted to show you the church, first.”
This he did. It was a fine old church dating back to the twelfth century; the stained-glass windows were the pride of the town, the Pastor told me gleefully, and they were magnificent; the blues, reds, and golds depicted the story of the Crucifixion and lit by the sun presented a truly magnificent sight. There were memorial tablets on the walls and I read the inscriptions; these were scions of the old families of the district.
“The ducal family does not appear to be represented here,” I said.
“They have their own chapel in the castle,” said Frau Graben.
“They come here, though, for State occasions,” put in the Pastor. “Coronations, royal christenings, and such events.”
“Those would be great occasions for the people,” I added.
“Yes, indeed. Like everyone else we enjoy our ceremonies.”
“ ‘The Family,’ as we call them,” explained Frau Graben, “are not buried here. They have a special burial ground. It’s an island.”
“I want to take Fräulein Trant to the Island of Graves,” announced Dagobert.
“I don’t like it much,” said Fritz.
“You’re afraid,” accused Dagobert.
“Now, now,” put in Frau Graben. “Nobody’s going to take anybody to the Island of Graves that doesn’t want to go.”
“What a strange name,” I said.
“You children run on,” said Fra
u Graben. “Go out and look at the tombstones.”
“It’s not the same as the Island,” said Dagobert.
“It couldn’t be because it’s not an island.”
The boys had stopped to study an effigy in stone. Dagobert spelled out the inscription. Frau Graben drew me aside and I asked: “What is this Island of Graves?”
“You should visit it. I think you’d find it interesting. But I don’t want Liesel to go. She’s too young. It’s rather a morbid spot. But it’s only the Family’s burial ground. The island is in the middle of a lake and there is a ferryman who lives there and rows people back and forth. He looks after the graves.”
“And the members of the ducal family are buried there?”
“The Family and those connected with it.”
“Servants, you mean?”
“No . . . no. People closer than that.”
“Closer?”
“Well, the Dukes, the Counts, they had their friends and sometimes there were children. There is a part of the island which is for people like that—close to the Family you might say and yet not of it.”
The blue light from the stained-glass window fell across her face as she spoke and again I was struck by the slightly mischievous light in her usually calm and simple face.
She went on: “You must visit the Island of Graves. I’ll take you myself.”
“I’d like to see it,” I said.
“We’ll arrange it.”
We were ready to go down to the crypt and I was surprised by the little ceremony.
It was dank in the crypt; Fritz kept close to me and I wondered whether it was for my protection or his own; Dagobert’s swagger was a little less convincing. There certainly was an eeriness about the place, perhaps because of the smell of damp and the dimness of the light. Our footsteps rang out on the stone floor seeming to echo and then I saw the great oak chest on either side of which stood a soldier in the blue and gold uniform of the Duke’s Guards.
They stood at attention while three soldiers approached. One of these held the key.
I was astonished and a little embarrassed that all this ceremony should be for me.
The Pastor took the heavy bunch of keys. Opening the chest took a little time but the operation at length was completed. In it was the treasure of the church—I saw the silver goblets, the chalice and the crosses which were of silver and gold set with semiprecious stones. But the latter were not to be compared with the Processional Cross which was kept separately in its heavy wooden case which again had to be unlocked. It was at length revealed to me.
The children gasped as they gazed on it—lying on black velvet. It seemed to shine with an uncanny light and was intricately wrought in gold, enamel, and precious gems. Each of the large stones which formed the center had, I was told, a story attached to it. Each had been won in battle. In those days the country had been wild and the small dukedoms and principalities were constantly at war with each other. The center diamond and the two rubies on either side had been set in the Cross to emphasize the invincibility of the Dukes of Rochenstein. If the Cross were stolen it was believed that would be the end of the line. This was why it was so guarded, not only because of its value but because of its legendary importance.
I was rather glad when the cross was back in its box and the chest locked; so were the soldiers. They relaxed at once and ceased to look like stone statues. The children changed too; they began to talk in loud voices whereas previously they had whispered.
They appeared to know the soldiers well. One called Sergeant Franck was a particularly jolly fellow.
We came up from the crypt and were soon in the sunshine.
“There,” said Frau Graben, “now you’ve seen the Processional Cross. You’ll see all the sights in time.”
She seemed to be secretly amused and again I wondered whether I really knew her as well as I had thought.
THREE
It was the boys who took me first to the Island of Graves. Each afternoon during my first week at Klocksburg we went out into the forest—they on their ponies, I on my mare. I enjoyed these jaunts for they enabled me to get to know the children better and I was more fascinated by the forest than ever; every time I went out I felt as though I were on the verge of an adventure. As we were in summer the mountainsides seemed to be touched by a blue and pink mist which were the gentians and orchids flourishing there at that time of the year. They were breathtakingly lovely among the green.
On this particular day the boys had led me onto the downward slopes and as the land grew flat we came to a little wood in which the trees grew so close that the branches caught at us as we rode beneath them. We came to a clearing and there to my astonishment was a lake, in the middle of which was an island. On the shore were two boats fitted with oars.
They had made up their minds to bring me here, I guessed, and were about to show me something of which they were rather proud.
We tethered our horses to one of the trees and both boys set about gathering the leaves and flowers which grew close to the water.
Then Dagobert cupped his hands about his mouth and shouted: “Franz! Franz.”
I asked whom they were calling and they both exchanged secret glances. Dagobert said: “Wait and see, miss.”
I replied that I wanted to know what they were about and appealed to Fritz.
He pointed toward the island in the middle of the lake and I saw a boat being pushed out. A man jumped into it and began rowing toward us.
“That’s Franz,” Fritz told me.
Dagobert was determined to be the one who disclosed the secret.
“Franz,” he said, “is the keeper of the Gräber Insel. He is coming to take us over so that we can put flowers on our mothers’ graves. You can row over yourself but Franz likes you to call him.”
The distance between the Island of Graves and the shore was, I guessed, less than a quarter of a mile. The man in the boat was very old and bent; his gray hair grew long about his face which was almost covered by his beard so that little more than his eyes were visible and they were imbedded in wrinkles.
“Franz,” called Dagobert, “we want to show Miss Trant the Island.”
Old Franz brought the boat on the shore.
“Well, young masters,” he said, “I was expecting you.” His voice had a hollow ring; he wore a long black robe like a monk’s and on his head was a tiny black skullcap. The little eyes were on me now.
“I heard you were here, Fräulein,” he said. “You must come over to my Island.”
“She wants to see the graves,” said Dagobert.
I was unaware that I had expressed such a wish but it seemed impolite to say so before their keeper.
“It was time you young masters came,” said Franz.
He took my hand to help me into the boat. His was dry, rough, and cold. Something about him made me shiver. I thought of him as Charon, the boatman of the Styx. Fritz was close behind me as though to protect me, I thought, and I was touched.
Dagobert leaped into the boat. “Are you frightened, miss?” he asked gleefully, clearly hoping that I was.
“Why do you ask? Did you expect me to be?”
“Franz lives all alone on Gräber Insel, don’t you, Franz? Most people are a bit scared when they go there because there’s nobody there but the dead and Franz, of course. I wonder if you will be scared. Franz isn’t scared. He lives there all alone with the dead, don’t you, Franz.”
“For seventy years,” he said. “Seventy years on the island. My father was keeper before me, and I knew I’d follow on.” He shook his head sadly. “I’ve no son to follow me.”
“What will they do when you die, Franz?” asked Dagobert.
Old Franz shook his head. “They’ll bring someone else in. Before it was handed down from father to son.”
“Oh, Franz, the dead won’t like it. I bet they’ll haunt the next one and drive him away.”
“This is a very morbid subject,” I said. “I’m sure Franz will be the
keeper for many years yet.”
Franz looked at me with approval. “My grandfather lived to ninety. My father to ninety-three. They say that the dead give the gift of long life to their keepers.”
“Oh, but you haven’t got a son to follow you, Franz,” Dagobert reminded him. “They won’t like that.”
“Why are you so pleased at the prospect, Dagobert?” I asked.
“Well, they’ll come out and haunt the next one, that’s why.”
The oars lapped gently in the water. I could see the island very clearly now. There appeared to be avenues of trees and flowering shrubs. It was very beautiful; and among the trees was a tiny house which reminded me of the gingerbread cottage in Hansel and Gretel. I felt as though I were entering that fairy-tale world again.
The boat came to rest on the shore and we scrambled out.
“First show her the ducal graves,” demanded Dagobert.
“Come this way,” said Franz.
The two boys went off to lay their flowers on their mothers’ graves and I followed Franz into one of the avenues between the flowers and the trees. There were the graves. They were magnificently kept and glowing with flowers; the marble effigies were beautiful; so were the statues of angels guarding the graves and on some were gilded caskets and ornamentations in gilt and wrought iron.
“These are the graves of the Family,” Franz told me. “After the memorial services and the burial ceremonies they are brought over to me to lie in their final resting place. I tend the shrubs and keep the graves fresh. Members of the Family sometimes come here, but rarely young ones. The young don’t think of death. These two boys come though. That’s because their mothers lie here . . . though not among the ducal avenues. There are two burial grounds here—that of the Dukes and their legitimate families and those whom they have honored, as they call it. Some might say dishonored. The boys come because they like to remind themselves that they are connected with the Family. I will show you the other graves afterwards. First look at these of the Family. This one is Ludwig’s grave. He is the brother of Duke Carl and a traitor. He was killed by the Duke’s friends and just in time for if he had not been killed he would have killed the Duke.”
On the Night of the Seventh Moon Page 17