Nothing had remained quite the same since they had moved into the new castle and the countess, who had been brought up by Herrnhuter [1] and was, in any case, of a highly emotional nature, had had such a strong premonition of this change that she would have much preferred to see the old castle renovated and enlarged so that they might have continued to live there. The count, however, was obstinately set on his “castle by the sea.” On the first occasion when he mentioned the subject to his wife, he declaimed:
“Hast Du das Schloss gesehen,
Das hohe Schloss am Meer?
Golden und rosig wehen
Die Wolken drüben her—”[2]
a quotation which had exactly the opposite effect on the countess whom it was intended to impress and thus win over to the new building, for it merely aroused in her a somewhat malicious bewilderment. Holk was not a very literary man and no one knew this better than the countess.
“Where did you unearth that quotation, Helmut?”
“At Arnewieck, of course. There’s an engraving hanging on the wall in your brother’s house and it was written underneath. And I must confess, Christine, that I was very much taken by it. A castle by the sea! I think it would be a splendid thing and make us both very happy.”
“If people are happy they should not try to become any happier. And do you realize how strange it is that you should quote that? I think you only know the beginning of that song which, by the way, is by Uhland, I hope you don’t mind my telling you … but it does not go on at all in the way it begins. At the end, it becomes very sad:
“Die Winde, die Wogen alle
Lagen in tiefer Ruh',
Einem Klagelied aus der Halle
Hörte ich mit Tränen zu … [3]
Yes, Helmut, that is how it ends.”
“Excellent, Christine. I like it too,” laughed Holk. “And it is by Uhland, you say? Highest regard for him. But you surely don’t expect me not to build my castle by the sea merely because ‘a song of mourning’ resounded from the hall of an imaginary castle by the sea—even if it was imagined by Uhland?”
“No, Helmut, I hardly expect that. But I confess that I would rather stay down here in the old stone house in spite of its lack of comfort—and its ghost. The ghost doesn’t affect me but I do believe in premonitions, even if the Herrnhuter refuse to have anything to do with them and are probably right. Nevertheless, we are all subject to human weakness and so we’re often anxious about things that we cannot put out of our minds, however hard we try.”
After this conversation, the subject was not raised again except on one occasion when, after sundown, the couple had climbed on to the dune to look at the new building which had been started meanwhile. When they reached the top, Holk smiled and pointed at the clouds which were, at that very moment, “golden and pink.”
“Yes, I know what you mean,” said the countess.
“And?”
“In the meantime, I have resigned myself. When you first spoke to me about the new building, I was feeling sad; you know why. I could not forget our child and I wanted to be near the spot where he was buried.”
He kissed her hand and then confessed that what she had said on the last occasion had upset him as well. “And now you are so good and kind. And how lovely you look in this beautiful evening light. I think that we are going to be very happy here, don’t you, Christine?”
She hung tenderly on his arm. But she made no reply.
All this had taken place the year before the completion of the building and soon afterwards, because the old castle in the village was becoming less and less habitable, Holk agreed with his brother-in-law to send Christine and the children to Arnewieck and to leave them there until the following Whitsun when everything should be ready; and now Whitsun was drawing near and the day had come to move into the new castle. True, the garden which sloped down at the rear of the dune was only half-planted and there was still much left uncompleted. But one thing had been finished: the narrow façade facing seawards. Here, there were already small shrubberies and circular flower-beds and in front, where the dune sloped downwards, a flight of steps led from the terrace to the beach and was continued by a pier built out to sea, which was also intended as a jetty for the steamers plying between Glücksburg and Copenhagen.
Christine was filled with admiration and joy far beyond her expectations and when, after going round the house, she walked up on to the flat roof and looked out over the splendid view spread before her, she forgot all the worries and forebodings that had continued to plague her even after she had accepted the idea of the new building; she called to the children still standing on the terrace to come up and share her pleasure. Holk saw how deeply she was moved and was just about to speak and thank her when she forestalled him: “Helmut, it’s almost a year since we last stood here on the dune and you asked me whether I would be happy here. I didn’t want to reply then.”
“And now?”
“Now I say yes, I am.”
[1] A strict pietistic Protestant sect founded in the eighteenth century, of which the English equivalent, very roughly, would be the Plymouth Brethren.
[2] Have you seen the castle? It towers by the sea. The clouds above drift by, all golden and pink.
[3] The winds and the waves all lay in deep peace. In tears I listened to a song of mourning from the hall.
2
Some weeks later, an old friend from her boarding-school days at Gnadenfrei, Julie von Dobschütz, also arrived. She was a young woman in somewhat straitened circumstances, originally invited to stay the summer. Soon, however, the countess felt that it would be pleasant to have her as a companion, friend, and governess, a feeling shared by Holk, since he was rather concerned at Christine’s isolation in the new castle. So Fräulein Dobschütz stayed on as governess to Asta and Axel, the two children. Asta was left entirely in her charge; but Axel changed his teacher when a young ordinand, by the name of Strehlke, joined the household.
All this had taken place seven years ago. The count and the countess had settled in at the new castle and were enjoying in actual fact the “happy days” that they had hoped to spend there. The love and affection that had bound them together over the years continued and although they sometimes had differences of opinion over educational and religious matters, they were not of so serious a nature as to endanger the peace of the household. It is true that recently, since the children had grown older, there had been no lack of such differences, which was hardly surprising in view of the diversity of character of the count and his wife. Holk, though a kind and excellent husband, was none the less a man of rather ordinary gifts and in any case markedly inferior to his wife, who was a far more talented woman. Of this there could be no doubt; but that it was so—and no one saw it more clearly than Holk himself—was nevertheless somewhat galling for him and there were times when he suffered from Christine’s virtues and wished for a rather less outstanding wife. At first, this had been only an unspoken feeling, one which he hardly admitted even to himself; but for some time now this feeling had been put into words; frequent disputes arose and although Julie Dobschütz had great diplomatic gifts and did not find much difficulty in smoothing things over, the fact remained that Christine, who had foreseen all this, began to think nostalgically of the old days when such things never, or hardly ever, occurred.
It was now the end of September 1859, and the harvest had long been gathered in. The swallows that nested round the arcades had left, a breeze was rising and the flag on the flat roof fluttered lazily to and fro. They were sitting under the front terrace overlooking the sea, with the big dining-room behind them; Julie was preparing the coffee. The countess was sitting at a near-by table talking to Schwarzkoppen, the principal of the seminary at Arnewieck, who had walked over, half an hour ago, with Baron Arne, to take advantage of the beautiful day and partake of Holk’s hospitality. Arne himself was strolling to and fro on the paved floor with his brother-in-law, stopping every now and then, entranced by the scene before his eyes:
fishing-boats were setting out, the sea was gently rippling and overhead the sky hung blue, without a cloud to be seen, unless it were the black plume of smoke of a steamer on the horizon.
“You were right after all,” said Arne, “when you moved up here and built your ‘temple’ on this spot. I was against it then because moving and changing house seemed to me something improper, something modern that …”
“That was only suitable for the proletariat or a petty civil servant, you said.”
“Yes, I imagine that I must have said something of the sort. But meanwhile I have undergone conversion in many things, including that. However, be that as it may, one thing I do know is that, even if I am the same in politics or religion or agriculture, which are after all the most important things for people like ourselves, I still have to admit that it is quite delightful up here, so airy and healthy. I really think, Holk, that when you moved up here, you must have added fifteen years to your life.”
At that moment coffee was handed round by an old retainer wearing gaiters who had been in service with the count’s father. Both of them took it and drank.
“Quite delicious,” said Arne, “to tell you the truth, almost too delicious, especially for you, Holk. Coffee like that will take five years off the fifteen that I just promised you and those dull dogs who believe in homeopathy—highly respectable people, of course, but strongly against either Moka or Costa Rican—would perhaps subtract a little more. Apropos of homeopathy, have you heard of the homeopathic veterinary surgeon who has been in Lille-Grimsby for the last few weeks?”
And walking slowly up and down, the two brothers-in-law continued their conversation.
Meanwhile the countess was discussing quite another matter with Schwarzkoppen, who had left his parish in Wernigerode many years ago to come to Schleswig-Holstein on appointment as principal of the seminary. He had the reputation—and appearance—of a solid churchman, but—what was of almost greater importance for the countess—he was at the same time an authority on educational matters, matters which had recently become burning questions for the countess, as Asta was sixteen and Axel almost fifteen years old. Schwarzkoppen was now being consulted yet again on these delicate questions—and was making the most circumspect replies. When the countess perceived that, perhaps out of consideration for Holk, he was not prepared to give her his whole-hearted support, she let the matter drop and turned to another of her favourite projects, which she had also frequently discussed with the Principal, the erection of a family vault.
“What is happening about it?” asked Schwarzkoppen, glad to leave the question of education.
“I still haven’t dared discuss the matter,” said the countess, “because I am afraid my husband will refuse.”
“That is a mistake, my dear countess. Such a fear is always wrong, because, although it is intended to foster good relations, it always leads to discord and conflict. And there is no need for either. If you can’t find better motives, you must play on his foibles. After all, as you have yourself often told me, he has a passion for building.”
“That is true enough,” replied the countess, “and this castle is living proof of it, for it was hardly necessary; rebuilding the other would have been quite sufficient. But however much he likes building, he still has his own preferences and what I’m planning to do is not likely to appeal to him. I am quite sure that he would rather build a badminton court or one of those fashionable roller-skating rinks or anything rather than a building connected with the Church. And as for building a vault, well, he hates the idea of death and he always wants to postpone what the Scriptures call so beautifully ‘setting your house in order.’”
“I know,” said Schwarzkoppen. “But you ought not to forget that all his likeable qualities as well depend on just such weaknesses.”
“His likeable qualities,” she repeated. “Yes, he has plenty of those, almost too many, if you can ever have too many likeable qualities. And he would certainly be an ideal husband—if he had any ideals at all of his own. Forgive my play on words, but I cannot help it, because it is the truth and I must say it again, he thinks only of the present and never of the future. He refuses to face anything that might remind him of it. Ever since Estrid’s funeral he has not once been back to the vault. That is why he doesn’t even realize that it is completely dilapidated, although it is, and a new vault will have to be built. I say ‘have to be,’ and if I did not make every effort to avoid personal or offensive remarks, I would point out to him that it’s not a question of fearing that he might be the first, that I should like to be …”
Schwarzkoppen tried to interrupt, but Christine paid no attention and went on: “I want to be the first; but I insist, for my part, that my last resting-place must be one that I like and not a crumbling and tumble-down …. But there’s no point in surmising what I would or would not say. For the moment I’m more interested in showing you some water-colour sketches of my design which Fräulein Dobschütz recently did for me, at my request. She is so good at drawing. It is a small covered forecourt with Gothic arches and the paved floor forms the roof of the vault. What I think most important, although this little sketch doesn’t, of course, show it properly, is the paintings to decorate the walls and ceiling. The sidewalls with a Dance of Death, possibly in the style of the one in Lübeck, and angels and palm-leaves on the curved surface of the groins. The lovelier the better. And if we can’t afford the best artists, then we shall have to be content with ones who are less good: after all, it is the thought that counts. Dear Julie, excuse my troubling you but will you please fetch us that sheet of paper …”
Meanwhile, Holk and Arne had continued their stroll and eventually reached the gravel path which wound its way to the near-by steps of the terrace leading down to the sea. Here there was a bower of cypresses and bay-trees with a marble seat in front and the two men sat down to smoke their cigars in peace, something which the countess did not really allow indoors, although she never forbade it. Surprisingly enough, their conversation was still about the amazing veterinary surgeon, which can only be explained by the fact that Holk, in addition to his love of building, possessed a passion for fine cattle. He was not a great farming man like his brother-in-law and, indeed, made a point of not being one; but he was fond of his cattle, almost as a sort of hobby, and enjoyed seeing them admired and telling stories of fabulous yields of milk. For this reason, the new veterinary surgeon was an important person for him, but he was continually being assailed by doubts as to the latter’s homoeopathic methods. Arne was reassuring him: the most interesting thing was, he said, not that the new man was making successful cures—others were able to do that—but how and with what methods he was achieving such cures. It all amounted to nothing more nor less than the final triumph of a new principle and, through the treatment of animals, the success of homoeopathy had at last been proved beyond all doubt. Until now, all the old quacks had always been able to talk of the power of the imagination, meaning, of course, that it was not the minute doses themselves that were effecting the cure; but, thank God, a Schleswig cow could hardly be accused of possessing any imagination and if she were cured, it was by the drugs and not by faith. Arne enlarged on this point, at the same time emphasizing that there were other factors, not directly connected with allopathy or homoeopathy, in the cures effected by this new surgeon who had recently arrived from somewhere in Saxony to stay in Schleswig for a while. Amongst these factors was the most meticulous cleanliness, verging on luxury, so that one must have modern cow-sheds and in some cases one even needed to use marble mangers and racks made of nickel. Holk was almost in ecstasies at hearing this and was so anxious to tell Christine all about it that he threw away his cigar and rejoined the others.
“I have just been hearing the most interesting things, Christine. Your brother has been telling me about the homoeopathic cures of the new veterinary surgeon from Saxony who studied in Leipzig. I stress Leipzig, because it is the stronghold of homoeopathy. Really marvellous cures! Tell me, Schwa
rzkoppen, what’s your opinion on the matter? Homoeopathy has something mysterious about it, something mystic. It is certainly most fascinating and by its mystic quality, just the thing for Christine.”
Schwarzkoppen smiled: “As far as I know, homoeopathy has nothing to do with anything mysterious or even very wonderful. It’s simply a question of small or large quantities and whether you can do as much with a grain as with half a hundredweight.”
“Obviously,” said Holk, “and then there is the expression ‘similia similibus’ which everyone can interpret as he likes. And a lot of people refuse to interpret it at all—our enlightened sly old vet included, I have no doubt. He merely dispenses his tiny doses and apart from that he is mainly concerned with cleanliness in the cow-sheds and marble mangers—I dare say even that the troughs have to be kept as clean as a font.”
“Helmut, I do think that you might show more consideration in your choice of metaphors, even for my sake but particularly as Dr. Schwarzkoppen is here.”
“I agree. Incidentally, they were the exact words used by your brother when he was quoting the wonder doctor himself, although no doubt it cannot be denied that even a doctor is ill-advised to use such expressions, especially if he is a Jewish convert—his name, by the way, is Lissauer.”
Schwarzkoppen and the countess exchanged glances.
“If he happens to come up to the farm, incidentally, I shall invite him to lunch in the bailiff’s house. His presence here in the castle …”
“Can easily be dispensed with.”
“I’m well aware of that and you have no need to worry. But I give him credit for having his own ideas and the courage to express them. As far as the marble mangers are concerned, it’s rather stupid and I think we need only give him credit for a rather charming oriental metaphor. But he’s completely right in his insistence on general cleanliness. My cow-stalls date from the end of the last century and they must go. I’m only too pleased to have an excuse for putting an end to that dreadful state of affairs at last.”
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