by P. G. Glynn
Otto searched his mind for a true description of her. Fritz had likened her to Marie but then he had been likening beauty with beauty – which in Lenka’s case was deceptive. While her colouring and Marie’s were similar and while they were both possessors of looks that turned countless heads, there their similarities ended. In some strange way he could almost liken Lenka to Fritz, since there was a devilish element in both of them. The dark side to their characters first attracted, then repelled. This darkness could be an alarming thing, as he had seen after cancelling his and Lenka’s wedding. She had come at him like a fiend from hell and had actually frightened him. Did she sometimes frighten Ludwig? Otto rather hoped she did. Who better than Lenka for Ludwig to have married?
His thoughts turned to his other brother and to fat Anna. Was it true that Rudolf had spent the war in his mistress’s cellar? Otto would not put that past him! Rudolf might be married to Anna, but lived for his mistresses and his music: Otto wasn’t sure in which order. Certainly, Rudolf would not willingly have gone to war. He would not have wanted to be parted from his violin. Prague would probably have been the place for him, since he loved the city, seeing it as more musical than Vienna. While Otto associated Prague with bells ringing incessantly across the rooftops, Rudolf linked it intrinsically with Mozart, whose FIGARO had met with a rapturous reception there. So rapturous had this been that arias were sung in the streets - Rudolf perpetuating the singing as he strolled through Prague giving renditions to anyone willing to listen. Women listened more than men and then he bedded them. One woman he had bedded before the war took his attentions more seriously than he meant them and put her head in a gas oven after he left her. Dear Rudolf and poor neglected Anna: it would be good to see them again!
By the time their train trundled into Trautenau station Marie was beyond caring about anything. She ached all over from having had to sit on such a hard seat and was too tired and angry to speak. They had left Prague virtually at dawn and now night enveloped them. She would never forgive Otto his deceitfulness. Anything would have been better than the journey just ending – yes, even staying in Vienna with Fritz!
“You seem a bit … stiff,” Otto said as he helped her down the steps on to the platform, half-eclipsed by clouds of smelly steam. “That’ll soon wear off now that we’re on home territory. I wonder where Herr Beck is.”
The coachman quickly materialised: a big, bear-like man, both tall and broad, with black hair swept straight back from his face and dramatic dark eyes that lit up at the sight of Otto. Bounding over to him with a loud and exuberant whoop he clasped him in a prolonged hug saying: “Gruess Gott, Herr Otto … und willkommen!” Then, after breaking apart, he shook Marie’s hand, telling her in carefully rehearsed English: “This is a happy day indeed. Please, come with me.”
They went where directed and met Herr Raiman, the other coachman, who was there to transport their luggage on his carriage. Then all three men seemed to see a need to assist Marie up to her seat, wrapping her knees with a thick blanket. Once Otto was similarly seated and wrapped, Herr Beck hoisted himself up on to his high perch behind two black stallions and with a flourish cracked his whip.
So began the final phase of their journey and Marie conceded inwardly that at least the clopping of hooves was a more restful sound than the clacking of wheels. “Herr Beck is almost one of the family,” Otto said. “When I was a boy he let me help him groom his horses and then, later, went with me on my army service. I’ve always preferred him to Herr Raiman, who came with Mama as part of her retinue when she married my father.”
“Is any of this supposed to interest me?” Marie asked snappily. “I’d ask you how far it is to the castle but for my certainty that you’d fob me off with tommyrot. Had I known before we left Prague what kind of journey lay ahead I’d never have left. It’s a wonder I haven’t suffered a miscarriage thanks to your selfishness.”
“You’re far hardier than you think – and we saw some spectacular scenery, didn’t we? Speaking of which, since reaching the Carpathian foothills, have you noticed how similar Bohemia is to Monmouthshire? We could almost be in Wales, couldn’t we, except that here our castles are still intact and each of our straggling villages seems to be attached to a textile mill or factory? You must see that our mountains share similarities.” He began singing softly: “‘Blaue Berge, gruene Taeler, mitten drin ein Hauschen klein, herrlich ist dies Stueckchen Erde und ich bin ja dort daheim.’” The song he was singing was the Riesengebirglers’ Heimatlied and as he reached the refrain ‘O my beloved Giant Mountains’ Herr Beck vigorously joined in.
There might have been something touching about these two male voices, somewhat off-key, singing the song of their homeland as the horses transported them through the gathering gloom, but Marie felt a cold hand clutch her heart as it hit her that she was surrounded by the very mountains she had first heard about in Kew. She had heard about them feeling an acute sense of déjà vu … and now, like it or not, she was here in Bohemia. It was hard not to feel fear … not to feel that some terrible fate awaited her in Schloss Berger.
Otto was suddenly telling her that their seemingly endless journey was at an end and excitedly pointing ahead. Awed, Marie stared.
His home was so white and well lit that it glowed in the darkness - and it was massive. Why, thirty terraced houses at least could have fitted into it! Marie saw a lighted clock tower to the castle’s far right and pale battlements contrasting with the dark forest behind. This was like looking at the photograph Otto had shown her and having it come alive. Now the horses’ hooves were clopping from the long sweeping drive on to a wide, paved courtyard where a fountain played at the centre of a circular pool … and finally Herr Beck was drawing the reins in and shouting “Whoa!”
“Mama – I’m home!”
Confusion reigned then as both family and servants emerged to welcome them. Marie was conscious solely of a sea of faces and babble of foreign voices raised in greeting. She saw Otto being clasped in a woman’s arms almost before his feet reached the courtyard and then she, too, was clasped. “Come in, my children,” Marta Berger said in English after hugging her son again, “come along in! This is the happiest of homecomings!”
Amidst much handshaking, hugging and kissing they all trooped through to the huge entrance hall, with its marble pillars and floor and tapestried walls. Otto’s attention was allotted chiefly to his mother who, surely, had shrunk since the last time he saw her. She was both shorter and slimmer than he remembered and the hair that had been greying when he went away was now a snowy white. He supposed that at her age seven years was a long time – and the war hadn’t helped of course – but he was surprised to find her so aged and so slight. Come to consider it, she looked somewhat frail. She wasn’t ill, was she … or had she been ill? If so, nobody had told him and her letters had never even hinted at such a thing. Otto knew a moment of terror then. Suppose he were to lose her? He had given little thought to this before. Wherever he was, Mama had invariably been here in Schloss Berger. During the war it had crossed his mind that she could be killed, but he had not considered seriously that she might be. Now he was acutely conscious for the first time of her mortality. She would one day die and go from his life and he could not stop her going, nor could he go with her. The knowledge shocked him to such a degree that he didn’t see Ludwig until his brother said: “So, Otto, the prodigal son is back among us?”
“You always were one for stating the obvious,” Otto commented, looking with distaste at the short, squat individual with the big pot and bulging bullfrog eyes. Lenka must have been desperate, to marry such a monstrosity. Where was she? Fucking with one of the footmen or pantrymen, probably. “I’ve been to see Tonda Palach … so you’ve some explaining to do, and soon!”
“I need explain nothing to you.”
“Come, children, with me!” Mama quickly invited Otto and Marie. “Let me take you to your quarters so that you can start settling in. There’ll be plenty of time later on, for talki
ng. You’re looking tired, Schatzilein. Was it an arduous journey?”
She had spoken to Marie who, grateful for some female perception, said: “Yes – very!”
“Then you won’t thank me initially for putting you at the far end, but I think you’ll ultimately be very comfortable in the Rosenzimmer wing.” She smiled encouragingly. “It’s where Antonin’s mother put us, when he brought me as a bride to Schloss Berger, so I wanted you and Otto to follow in our footsteps. Oh, my dears, I’m so happy to have you here … and to have a new daughter!”
Chatting animatedly, she led them along a lengthy corridor that was welcomingly warm. With walls three feet thick the castle was comparatively easy to heat, even in the depths of winter with snow lying outside for months and with easterly winds whistling across from neighbouring Russia. The blizzards would soon begin. Otto had timed his arrival well and Marta knew that she could now count on his being here at least until next spring. Because of the fierce winters all windows were double-glazed and all doors solid and snug fitting, while along the corridors there were also small doors set in the walls well above floor-level. These were for the feeding of wood into the tall chimney ovens that heated the castle and were positioned both so that servants could feed the wood in without disturbing the family and so that smoke could not escape into the rooms.
L-shaped, Johann Adam had built his home facing south and west so in summer every room benefited from the sun. On the sunless side of all three storeys a corridor such as this one ran from end to end and the corridor floors were of stone while their walls were decorated with a flat sunny distemper, a hand-painted frieze of flowers lending relief near the top and bottom. Marta had not come to the castle from as far as Marie but from Kruh, which was Czech-speaking and very different from Herrlichbach. She well remembered how it felt to arrive as a bride and be overwhelmed by her new home’s size as well as by Berger exuberance. This family could be quite alarming until one was used to it. She didn’t want Marie to be alarmed. She wanted her to feel quickly at home here. Would it be asking too much, for Otto and Marie to settle permanently in the castle? Marta had long dreamed of the day when Otto would come home to stay, since of her sons he – the youngest – had always been closest to her heart. But as well as having wanderlust he had married a foreigner. Would Marie, by virtue of her nationality, try to stand in the path of Marta’s dream? There was no way, yet, of knowing … but she could continue hoping. “Here we are, at last,” she said, throwing the first floor Rosenzimmer door open.
Marie saw a vast room with walls papered in silk patterned with red roses. There were two large sofas upholstered in matching red velvet and there was an abundance of wooden furniture, all black and – she would later learn – hand-carved. The fine parquet floor was scattered with thick sheepskin rugs. By the wide glass doors that led on to a south-facing balcony was positioned a throne-like chair … with an occupant.
He was a pixie, surely. Marie’s startled gaze absorbed a tiny white-haired man with a beard, ears and shoes that were quite distinctively pointed. His deep blue eyes were brightly inquisitive while his body was so much in miniature that it seemed incongruously clad in a formal brown suit with matching waistcoat, offset by a big crimson bow tie.
“Emil,” exclaimed Marta in the sternest tone she could muster, “whatever are you doing in here?”
“Waiting to see my nephew and new niece,” he told his half-sister squeakily. “I heard their carriage and came straight to this seat.”
“Very sensible of you!” Otto commented, conscious again of time’s passage and the war’s toll as he hurried across to greet his wizened uncle, who rose to his feet. “It was wise to boycott the crush and come straight on up.” Having shaken hands and exchanged pleasantries, he said: “Let me present my wife, Marie.”
Emil, solemnly taking Marie’s hand in his and raising it to his lips, commented in high-pitched English: “Your names are much the same … and you are Marta all over again. Otto has Antonin’s excellent taste. I was just telling Elsa how grand it’ll be to have the whole family together … and how perhaps you will do better than Anna and Lenka.”
“Better than them?” Marie questioned.
“Yes.” He smiled roguishly at her. “It’s time we had a Berger heir. Elsa agrees with me that we should not leave it any longer … nicht wahr, Marta?”
Patting him on the shoulder and looking apologetically at Marie, Marta told him: “No, this is not so … nor is it up to us to decide such things. You’re forgetting as well that Otto and Marie are newly married ... and that Elsa is dead.”
“She can’t be,” he said in evident bewilderment. “She was here, talking to me … wasn’t she?”
“If she was,” Marta said patiently, “it would only have been because she thinks this is still her suite. After dying, people do sometimes linger on where they lived.”
“Shall I?”
“You might. But now it’s time for us to leave Otto and Marie in peace. They’ll be needing to freshen up from their long journey and rest before dinner … and you’ll need to rest, too, if you’re to dine with the family tonight rather than in your room.”
“Yes, I shall,” he agreed happily, letting her lead him by the hand and adding uncertainly as they reached the door, “shan’t I?”
“What’s wrong with him?” Marie asked Otto once they were alone.
“I don’t know. He was very close to Tante Elsa. Perhaps her death has left him a little … confused.”
“How long has she been dead?”
“Since 1913.”
“Then he isn’t likely to get over his confusion, is he?”
“No,” Otto conceded sadly. “Poor Onkel Emil must miss his sister terribly.”
“He isn’t missing her if he thinks she’s still here.”
Otto brightened, saying: “Maybe I’ll be able to think Mama’s still here when she … isn’t.”
“Quite probably! From what I’ve seen, madness undoubtedly runs in your family.”
“I prefer the term ‘eccentricity’. Shall I show you over the rest of our suite?”
This consisted of two big bedrooms leading off the Rosenzimmer, one with an adjoining spacious bathroom. The master bedroom had been extensively refurbished since Elsa’s death, with rose pink the predominant colour and with a thick carpet replacing the rugs she had favoured. Eying the enormous bed, Otto suggested: “We could test its springs.”
“You’re insatiable! If you think for one minute I’d be interested in lovemaking, when I’m aching all over from that hateful train, then …” Instead of finishing her sentence, Marie said: “On the general subject of loving and its consequences, your uncle is going to get his wish sooner than he thinks, isn’t he, in a manner of speaking?”
“He is,” Otto grinned.
“Except that the baby won’t be an heir, exactly … and won’t be born in Schloss Berger.”
“Don’t be too sure that he won’t be born here.”
She stared at him in horror. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’ve never been more sure of anything than that my baby will be born in Britain.”
“He will be … our finances permitting. Until I’ve spoken to Ludwig I won’t know where we stand financially, or how we’re fixed for living anywhere other than Schloss Berger, at least for the time being.”
“Don’t do this to me, Otto. Don’t joke! I’m not living here, even if the alternative is to walk back to England. I’m prepared to stay for a month at most. I’ll need a couple of weeks or so to recover from that train-ride. Once I’ve recovered, though, and we’ve done our duty by your mother, I’m going home … with or without you.”
“You seem to be forgetting that for me this is home.”
“I’m not forgetting anything, least of all your promises … and nor must you forget that you said we could live anywhere I wished.”
“That was said when I thought I was rich.”
“You can hardly be poor,” Marie gave a wide sweep of her arm,
“not with all this.”
“Schloss Berger isn’t mine. By rights, as he’s the eldest, it will go to Ludwig … before going, ultimately, to our son if Lenka remains barren.”
“I meant assets in general rather than the castle specifically. But what a blessing it is that the family seat will be Ludwig’s! I wouldn’t want it – not if inheriting meant living in such a God-forsaken country. I’ll never live in Bohemia – do you hear me? – never, never, never!”
“Oh dear …!”
“I can utter the word ‘never’, in this instance, without fear. Speak to your brother, Otto, and put your finances in order so that we can leave. I mean it when I say I’m not staying here a second longer than necessary … and that if you won’t go with me I’ll go alone.”
Thinking that travelling would soon be hindered by snow, Otto told her: “I’ll speak to Ludwig immediately.”
++++++
Ludwig could not recall a time when he had liked Otto. He seemed to have loathed him ever since his brother was born and the loathing had grown. Mama could not be blamed for this but she was part of it because she had always favoured her ‘baby’, who in her view could do no wrong. Was it because Otto was blessed with good looks that the sun unfailingly shone on him and he had such luck in everything he did? Looks had been denied Ludwig along with the luck that Otto took for granted. And whereas Ludwig somehow repelled potential friends, Otto effortlessly attracted them. It was all too galling for words – and even his plan to see Otto dead had not worked.
Sending that telegram in Mama’s name had seemed at the time like an inspiration. If there was anyone Otto loved better than himself it was Mama and he would do anything for her. So the theory had been that if she wanted him home he would return immediately. And the theory had come so tantalisingly close to working in practice! Yet events had again conspired to protect Otto, keeping him in the relative safety of England instead of on a horse in war-torn Austria.