CASTLE WILDENSTEIN
When Mäzli and Lippo were neatly washed and dressed the next morning,
they came downstairs to the living-room chattering in the most lively
manner. Mäzli was just telling Lippo her plans for the afternoon when he
should be back from school. The mother, after attending to some task,
followed the children, who were standing around the piano.
As soon as she entered, Kurt broke out into a frightened cry. "Oh,
mother, we have forgotten all about the poor people whose houses burnt
down and we were supposed to take the things with us this morning."
"Yes, the teacher told us twice that we must not forget it," Lippo
complained, "but I didn't forget it."
"Don't worry, children, I have attended to it," said the mother. "Kathy
has just gone to the school with a basket full of things. It was too
heavy for you to carry."
"Oh, how nice and convenient it is to have a mother," Kurt said quite
relieved.
The mother sat down at the piano.
"Come, let us sing our morning song, now," she said. "We can't wait for
uncle, because he might come back too late from his walk." Opening the
book, she began to sing "The golden sun--with joy and fun."
The children taking up the melody sang it briskly, for they knew it well.
Mäzli was singing full of zeal, too, and wherever she had forgotten the
words, she did not stop, but made up some of her own.
Two stanzas had been sung when Kurt said, "We must stop now or it will
get too late. After breakfast it is time to go to school."
The mother, assenting, rose and went to the table to fill their cups.
But Lippo broke into a loud wail. Pulling his mother back, he cried,
"Don't go! Please don't! We must finish it. We have to finish it. Come
back, mother, come back."
She tried to loosen the grip of the boy's firm little fingers on her
dress and to calm him, but she did not succeed, and he kept on crying
louder and louder: "Come back! You said one must not leave anything half
done. We didn't finish the song and we must do it."
Kurt now began to cry out, too: "Let go your pincher-claws--we'll get to
school late."
Mea's voice joined them with loud exclamation against Lippo, who was
trying hard to pull his mother back, groaning loudly all the time.
Uncle Philip entered at this moment.
"What on earth is going on here?" he cried loudly into the confusion.
Everybody began to explain.
Lippo let go his grip at last and, approaching his uncle, solicited his
help. Kurt's voice, however, was the loudest and he got the lead in
telling about Lippo's obstinacy.
"Lippo is right," the uncle decided. "One must finish what one has
begun. This is a splendid principle and ought to be followed. Lippo has
inherited this from his god-father and so he shall also have his help.
Come Lippo, we'll sit down and finish the song to the last word."
"But, Uncle Philip, the song has twelve stanzas, and we have to go to
school. Lippo must go, too," Kurt cried out in great agitation. "He
can't get an excuse for saying that he had to finish his morning song."
"That is true, Kurt is right," said the uncle. "You see, Lippo, I know a
way out. When you sing to-night, mother must promise me to finish the
song. Then you will have sung it to the end."
"We can't do that," Lippo wailed. "This is a morning song and we can't
sing it at night. We must finish it now. Wait, Kurt!" he cried aloud,
when he saw that the boy was taking up his school-bag.
"What can we do? Where is your mother? Why does she run away at such a
moment?" Uncle Philip cried out helplessly. "Call for your mother! You
mustn't go on like that."
Lippo had run back to the piano and, leaning against it, was crying
bitterly. Kurt, after opening the door, called loudly for his mother in
a voice that was meant to bring her from a distance. This exertion
proved unnecessary, as she was standing immediately behind the door.
Bruno, in order to question her about something, had drawn her out with
him.
"Oh, mother, come in!" Kurt cried in milder accents. "Come and teach our
two-legged law-paragraph here to get some sense. School is going to
start in five minutes."
The mother entered.
"Maxa, where did you go?" the brother accosted her. "It is high time to
get this boy straightened out. Just look at the way he is clutching the
piano in his trouble. He ought to be off. Kurt is right."
The mother, sitting down on the piano-stool, took the little boy's hand
and pulled him towards her.
"Come, Lippo, there is nothing to cry about," she said calmly. "Listen
while I explain this. It is a splendid thing to finish anything one has
begun, but there are things that cannot be finished all at once. Then
one divides these things into separate parts and finishes part first with
the resolution to do another part the next day, and so on till it is
done. We shall say now our song has twelve stanzas and we'll sing two of
them every morning; in that way we can finish it on the sixth day and we
have not left it unfinished at all. Can you understand, Lippo? Are you
quiet now?"
"Yes," said the little boy, looking up to his mother with an expression
of perfect satisfaction.
The leave-taking from the uncle had to be cut extremely short. "Come
soon again," sounded three times more from the steps, and then the
children started off.
The mother, looking through the window, followed them with her eyes. She
was afraid that Kurt and Mea would leave the little one far behind on
account of having been kept too long already, and it happened as she
feared. She saw Lippo trudging on behind with an extraordinarily full
school-bag on his back.
"Can you see what Lippo is carrying?" she asked her brother.
The lid of the bag was thrust open and a thick unwieldy object which did
not fit into it was protruding.
"What is he carrying along, I wonder? Can you see what it is?"
"I can only see a round object wrapped up in a gray paper," her brother
replied. "I am sure it must be something harmless. I have to say that
Lippo is a wonderfully obedient and good boy and full of the best sense.
As soon as one says the right word to him, he comes 'round. Why did you
wait so long though, Maxa, before saying it to him?" was Uncle Philip's
rather reproachful question. "Why did you run away and leave him crying
and moaning? He needed your help. What he wanted was perfectly correct
but was not just suitable at that moment, and he needed an explanation.
How could you calmly run away?"
"It was just as necessary to hear Bruno's question," the sister said. "I
knew that Lippo was in good hands. I thought naturally that you would be
able to say the right word to him. You know yourself how he respects
you."
"Oh, yes, that is right," Uncle Philip admitted. "It is not always easy
to say the right word to a little fellow who has the right on his side
and needs to have the other side shown to him, too; he is terribly
pedantic besides, and says that one can't sing a morning song in the
evening, and when he began to wail in his helplessness, it made me
miserable. How should one always just be able to say the right word?"
His sister smiled.
"Do you admit now, Philip, that bringing up children is not a very simple
matter?"
"There is a truth in what you say. On the other hand, it does not look
very terrible, either," the brother said with a glance at Mäzli, who was
quietly and peacefully sitting at the table, eating her bread and milk in
the most orderly fashion.
She had been compelled to stop in the middle of breakfast by the
excitement caused by Lippo. It had been very thrilling, but now she
could calmly finish.
Uncle Philip suddenly discovered that the tune set for his departure was
already past. Taking a rapid leave of his sister, he started to rush
off, but she held him for a moment.
"Please, Philip, try to find out for me about the little girl, to whom
she belongs, and with whom she is travelling," she begged him eagerly.
"Please do that for me! If your supposition, that she is Leonore's child
is right, I simply must see her. Nobody can prevent me from seeing her
once at least."
"We'll see, we'll see," the brother answered hurriedly, and was gone the
next moment.
The day had started with so much agitation and it had all taken so much
time that Mrs. Maxa had her hands full now in order to complete the most
necessary tasks before the children came back from school.
Mäzli was very obedient to-day and had settled down on her little chair.
She was virtuously knitting on a white rag, which was to receive a bright
red border and was destined to dust Uncle Philip's desk. It was to be
presented to him on his next birthday as a great surprise. Mäzli had in
her head this and many other thoughts caused by the morning's scene, so
she did not feel the same inclination to set out on trips of discovery as
usual, and remained quietly sitting on her chair. Her mother was
extremely preoccupied, as could easily be seen. Her thoughts had nothing
to do with either the laundry or the orders she was giving to Kathy, nor
the cooking apples she had sorted out in the cellar. Her hand often lay
immovably on these, while she absently looked in front of her. Her
thoughts were up in the castle-garden with the lovely young Leonore, and
in her imagination she was wandering about with her beloved friend,
singing and chattering under the sounding pine trees.
Her brother's news had wakened all these memories very vividly. Then
again she would sigh deeply and another communication filled her full of
anxiety. Bruno had asked her not to wait for him at dinner, as he had
resolved to stop his comrades from a wicked design and therefore would
surely be a trifle late. What this was and what action he meant to
prevent the boy had not had time to say, for Kurt had opened the door at
that moment calling for her with his voice of thunder. All she had been
able to do was to beg Bruno, whatever happened, not to let his anger
become his master. Sooner than the mother had expected Kurt's steps
could be heard hurriedly running into the house followed by a loud call
for her.
"Here I am, Kurt," sounded calmly from the living-room, where his mother
had finally settled down after her tasks, beside Mäzli's chair. "Come in
first before you try to make your announcements; or is it so dreadfully
urgent?"
Kurt had already reached his mother's side.
"Oh, mother, when I come home from school I'm never sure if you are in
the top or the bottom of the house," he said, "so I have to inquire in
plenty of time, especially when there is so much to tell you as there is
to-day. Now listen. First of all, the teacher thanks you for the
presents for the poor people. He lets you know that if you think it
suitable to send them a helmet of cardboard with a red plume, he will put
it by for the present. Or did you have a special intention with it?"
"I do not understand a word of what you say, Kurt," the mother replied.
That moment Lippo opened the door. He was apt to come home after the
older boy, for Kurt was not obliged to wait for him after school.
"Here comes the one who will be able to explain the precious gift you
sent, mother," said Kurt.
Lippo, trotting cheerfully into the room, had bright red cheeks from his
walk. The mother began by asking, "Tell me, Lippo, did you take
something to school this morning in your school-bag for the poor people
whose houses were burnt?"
"Yes, mother, my helmet from Uncle Philip," Lippo answered.
"I see! You thought that if a poor little chap had no shirt, he would be
glad to get a fine helmet with a plume for his head," Kurt said laughing.
"You don't need to laugh!" Lippo said, a little hurt. "Mother told us
that we must not only send things we don't want any more. So I gave the
helmet away and I should have loved to keep it."
"Don't laugh at him, Kurt; I really told him that," the mother affirmed.
"He wanted to do right but he did not quite find the right way of doing
it. If you had told me your intention, Lippo, I could have helped you to
do some positive good. Next time you want to help, tell me about it, and
we'll do it together."
"Yes, I will," Lippo said, quite appeased.
"Oh, mother, listen!" Kurt was continuing. "I have to tell you something
you won't like and we don't like either. Just think! Loneli had to sit
on the shame-bench to-day. But all the class is on Loneli's side."
"But why, Kurt? The poor child!" the mother exclaimed. "What did she do?
I am afraid that her honest old grandmother will take it terribly to
heart. She'll be in deep sorrow about it and will probably punish Loneli
again."
"No, indeed, she must not do that," Kurt said eagerly. "The teacher said
himself that he hated to put Loneli there, as she was a good and obedient
child, but that he had to keep his word. He had announced that he was
tired of the constant chattering going on in the school. To stop it he
had threatened to put the first child on the shame-bench that was caught.
So poor Loneli had to sit there all by herself and she cried so terribly
that we all felt sorry. But of course, mother, a person doesn't talk
alone, and Loneli should not have been obliged to stay there alone. The
teacher had just asked: 'Who is talking over there? I can hear some
whispering. Who is it?' Loneli answered 'I' in a low voice, so she had
to be punished. One of her neighbors should have said 'I,' too, of
course; it was perfectly evident that there was another one."
"Loneli might have asked somebody a question which was not answered," his
mother suggested.
"Mea will know all about it, for she followed Loneli after school. Now
more still, mother," Kurt continued. "Two boys from my class were beaten
this morning by Mr. Trius. Early this morning they had climbed over the
castle hedge to inspect the apples on the other side of the hedge. But
Mr. Trius was already about and stood suddenly before them with his
heavy stick. In a jiffy they had a real Trius-beating, for the hedge is
high and firm and one can't get across it quickly. Now for my fourth
piece of news. Farmer Max who lives behind the castle has told everybody
that when his father came back late yesterday night from the cattle-fair
in the valley, he saw a large coach, which was right behind his own,
drive into the castle-garden. He was quite certain that it went there,
but nobody seems to know who was in it. So you are really listening at
last, mother! I noticed that you have been absentminded till now.
Farmer Max told us something else about his father that you wouldn't like
me to repeat, I know."
"You would not say so if it were not wrong; you had better not repeat it,
Kurt," said the mother.
"No, indeed, it is not bad, but very strange. I can tell you though,
because I don't believe it myself. Max told that his father said there
was something wrong about the coach and that he went far out of its way.
The coachman looked as if he only had half a head, and his coat-collar
was rolled up terribly high in order to hide what was below. He was
wildly beating the horses so that they fairly flew up the castle-hill,
while sparks of fire were flying from their hoofs."
"How can you tell such rubbish, Kurt? How should there be something
unnatural in such a sight?" the mother scolded him. "I am sure you think
that the Wildenstein ghost is wandering about again. You can see every
day that horses' hoofs give out sparks when they strike stone, and to see
a coachman with a rolled up collar in windy weather is not an unusual
sight either. In spite of all I say to you, Kurt, you seem to do nothing
but occupy yourself with this matter. Can't you let the foolish people
talk without repeating it all the time?"
Kurt was very glad when Mea entered at that moment, for he had really
disobeyed his mother's repeated instructions in the matter. But he
comforted himself with the thought that he was only acting according to
her ideas if he was finally able to prove to the people that the whole
thing was a pure invention and could get rid of the whole thing for good.
"Why are your eyes all swollen?" he accosted his sister.
Mea exploded now. Half angry and half complaining, she still had to
fight against her tears. "Oh, mother, if you only knew how difficult it
is to stay friends with Elvira. Whenever I do anything to offend her,
she sulks and won't have anything to do with me for days. When I want to
tell her something and run towards her, speaking a little hurriedly, she
is hurt. Then she always says I spoil the flowers on her hat because I
shake them. And then she turns her back on me and won't even speak to
me."
"Indeed! I have seen that long ago," Kurt broke in, "and I began a song
about her yesterday. It ought to be sung to her. I'll recite it to you:
A SONG ABOUT A WELL KNOWN YOUNG LADY.
I know a maiden fair of face,
Who mostly turns her back.
All noise she thinks a great disgrace,
But tricks she does not lack.
"No, Kurt, you mustn't go on with that song," Mea cried with indignation.
"Mea is right when she doesn't want you to celebrate her friends in that
way, Kurt," said the mother, "and if she asks you to, you must leave
off."
"But I am her brother and I do not wish to see my sister being tyranized
over and treated badly by a friend. I certainly wouldn't call her a real
friend," Kurt eagerly exclaimed. "I should be only too glad if my song
made her so angry that she would break the friendship entirely. There
would be nothing to mourn over."
Mea, however, fought passionately for her friend and never gave way till
Kurt had promised not to go on with his ditty. But her mother wanted to
know now what had given Mea such red eyes. So she told them that she had
followed Loneli in order to comfort her, for she was still crying.
Loneli had told her then about being caught at chattering. Elvira, who
was Loneli's neighbor, had asked her if she would be allowed to go to
Sils on dedication day, next Sunday, and Loneli had answered no. Then
Elvira wanted to know why not, to which Loneli had promised to give her
an answer after school, as they were not allowed to talk in school. That
moment the teacher had questioned them and Loneli had promptly accused
herself.
"Don't you think, mother, that Elvira should have admitted that she asked
Loneli a question? Then Loneli would not have had to sit on the
shame-bench alone. He might have given them both a different
punishment," Mea said, quite wrought up.
"Oho! Now she sent Loneli to the shame-bench besides, and Loneli is a
friend of mine!" Kurt threw in. "Now she'll get more verses after all."
"Elvira should certainly have done so," the mother affirmed.
"Yes, and listen what happened afterwards," Mea continued with more ardor
than before. "I ran from Loneli to Elvira, but I was still able to hear
poor Loneli's sobs, for she was awfully afraid to go home. She knew that
she had to tell her grandmother about it and she was sure that that would
bring her a terrible punishment. When I met Elvira, I told her that it
was unfair of her not to accuse herself and to let Loneli bear the
punishment alone. That made her fearfully angry. She said that I was a
pleasant friend indeed, if I wished this punishment and shame upon her.
She should not have said that, mother, should she? I told her that the
matter was easy enough for her as it was all settled for her, but not for
Loneli. I asked to tell the teacher how it all happened, so that he
could say something in school and let the children know what answer
Loneli had given her. Then he would see that she was innocent. But
Elvira only grew angrier still and told me that she would look for
another friend, if I chose to preach to her. She said that she didn't
want to have anything to do with me from now on and, turning about, ran
away."
"So much the better!" Kurt cried out. "Now you won't have to run humbly
after Elvira any more, as if you were always in the wrong, the way you
usually do to win her precious favor."
"Why shouldn't Mea meet her friend kindly again if she wants to, Kurt?"
said the mother. "Elvira knows well enough who has been offended this
time and has broken off the friendship. She will be only too glad when
Mea meets her half-way."
Kurt was beginning another protest, but it was not heard. Lippo and
Mäzli arrived at that moment, loudly announcing the important news that
Kathy was going to serve the soup in a moment and that the table was not
even set.
The mother had put off preparations for dinner on purpose. During the
foregoing conversation she had repeatedly glanced towards the little
garden gate to see if Bruno was not coming, but he could not be seen yet.
So she began to set the table with Mea, while Lippo, too, assisted her.
The little boy knew exactly where everything belonged. He put it there
in the most orderly fashion, and when Mea put a fork or spoon down
quickly a little crookedly, he straightway put them perfectly straight
the way they belonged.
Kurt laughed out loud, "Oh, Lippo, you must become an inn-keeper, then
all your tables will look as if they had been measured out with a
compass."
"Leave Lippo alone," said the mother. "I wish you would all do your
little tasks as carefully as he does."
Dinner was over and the mother was looking out towards the road in
greater anxiety, but Bruno had not come.
"Now he comes with a big whip," Kurt shouted suddenly. "Something must
have happened, for one does not usually need a whip in school."
The younger boy opened the door, full of expectation. Bruno could not
help noticing his mother's frightened expression, despite the rage he was
in, which plainly showed in his face.
He exclaimed, as he entered, "I'll tell you right away what happened,
mother, so that you won't think it was still worse. I have only whipped
them both as they deserved, that is all."
"But, Bruno, that is bad enough. You seem to get more savage all the
time," the mother lamented. "How could you do such a thing?"
"I'll explain it right away and then you will have to admit that it was
the only thing to do," Bruno assured her. "The two told me last Saturday
that they had a scheme for to-day in which I was to join. They had
discovered that the lovely plums in the Rector's garden were ripe and
they meant to steal them. When the Rector is through with his lessons at
twelve o'clock he always goes to the front room and then nobody knew what
is going on in the garden. Their plan was to use this time to-day in
order to shake the tree and fill their pockets full of plums. I was to
help them. I told them what a disgrace it was for them to ask me and I
said that I would find means to prevent it. So they noisily called me a
traitor and told me that accusing them was worse than stealing plums. I
said that it wasn't my intention to tell on them, but I would come and
use my whip as soon as they touched the tree. So they laughed and
sneered at me and said that they were neither afraid of me nor of my
whip. As soon as our lessons were done at twelve o'clock, they ran to
the garden and, getting the whip I had hidden in the hallway, I ran after
them. Edwin was already half way up the tree and Eugene was just
beginning to climb it. First I only threatened and tried in that way to
force Edwin down and keep Eugene from going further. But they kept on
sneering at me till Edwin had reached the first branch and was shaking it
so hard that the lovely plums came spattering to the ground. I got so
furious at that that I began to beat first the boy higher up and then the
lower one. First, Edwin tumbled down on top of Eugene and then they both
ran away moaning, while I kept on striking them. They left the plums on
the ground and I followed them."
"It is terrible, Bruno, that such scenes have to come up between you all
the time," the mother lamented. "You are always the one who gets wild
and loses control. It is hard to excuse that, even if your intention is
good, Bruno. I wish I could keep you boys apart."
"It was a good thing he became furious at them to-day, mother," Kurt
remarked. "You see it shows that even two can't get the better of him.
If he had not been so mad, the two would have been stronger, and our poor
Rector would have lost his plums."
It was hard to tell if this explanation comforted the mother. She had
gone out with a sign to attend to Bruno's belated lunch. The time was
already near at hand when all the children had to get back to school.
When that same evening the little ones were happily playing and the big
children were busy with their school work, Kurt stole up to his mother's
chair and asked her in a low voice, "Shall we have the story to-day?"
The mother nodded. "As soon as the little ones are in bed." At this
Mäzli pricked up her ears.
When all the work was done in the evening, all the family usually played
a game together. Kurt, who was usually the first to pack up his papers,
was still scribbling away after Mea had laid hers away. Looking over his
shoulder into the note-book, she exclaimed, "He is writing some verses
again! Who is the subject of your song, Kurt?"
"I'll read it to you, then you can guess yourself," said the boy. "The
first verse is already written somewhere else. Now listen to the
second."
She stares about with stately mien:
"O ho, just look at me!
If I am not acknowledged queen,
I surely ought to be."
Her friend agrees with patient air
And fastens up her shoes.
Then queenie thinks: That's only fair,
She couldn't well refuse.
But if the friend should try to show
The queen her faults, look out!
She'd break the friendship at a blow
And straightway turn about.
Mea had been obliged to laugh a little at first at the description of the
humble behaviour which did not seem to describe her very well. Finally,
however, sad memories rose up in her.
"Do you know, mother," she cried out excitedly, "it is not the worst that
she shows me her back, but that one can't ever agree with her. Every
time I find anything pleasant and good, she says the opposite, and when I
say that something is wrong and horrid, she won't be of my opinion
either. It is so hard to keep her friendship because we always seem to
quarrel when I haven't the slightest desire to."
"Just let her go. She is the same as her brothers," said Bruno. "I
never want their friendship again, and I wish I might never have anything
more to do with them."
"It is better to give them things, the way you did to-day," Kurt
remarked.
"I can understand Mea," said the mother. "As soon as we came here she
tried to get Elvira's friendship. She longs for friendship more than you
do."
"Oh, mother, I have six or eight friends here, that is not so bad," Kurt
declared.
"I couldn't say much for any of them," Bruno said quickly.
"It must hurt Mea," the mother continued, "that Elvira does not seem to
be capable of friendship. You only act right in telling her what you
consider wrong, Mea. If you show your attachment to her and try not to
be hurt by little differences of opinion, your friendship might gradually
improve."
As Lippo and Mäzli felt that the time for the general game had come, they
came up to their mother to declare their wish. Soon everybody was
merrily playing.
It happened to-day, as it did every day, that the clock pointed much too
soon to the time which meant the inexorable end of playing. This usually
happened when everybody was most eager and everything else was forgotten
for the moment. As soon as the clock struck, playing was discontinued,
the evening song was sung and then followed the disappearance of the two
little ones. While the older children put away the toys, the mother went
to the piano to choose the song they were to sing.
Mäzli had quickly run after her. "Oh, please, mama, can I choose the
song to-day?" she asked eagerly.
"Certainly, tell me which song you would like to sing best."
Mäzli seized the song-book effectively.
"But, Mäzli, you can't even read," said the mother. "How would the book
help you? Tell me how the song begins, or what lines you know."
"I'll find it right away," Mäzli asserted. "Just let me hunt a little
bit." With this she began to hunt with such zeal as if she were seeking
a long-lost treasure.
"Here, here," she cried out very soon, while she handed the book proudly
over to her mother.
The latter took the book and read:
"Patience Oh Lord, is needed,
When sorrow, grief and pain"--
"But, Mäzli, why do you want to sing this song?" her mother asked.
Kurt had stepped up to them and looked over the mother's shoulder into
the book. "Oh, you sly little person! So you chose the longest song you
could find. You thought that Lippo would see to it that we would sing
every syllable before going to bed."
"Yes, and you hate to go to bed much more than I do," said Mäzli a little
revengefully. It had filled her with wrath that her beautiful plan had
been seen through so quickly. "When you have to go, you always sigh as
loud as yesterday and cry: 'Oh, what a shame! Oh, what a shame!' and you
think it is fearful."
"Quite right, cunning little Mäzli," Kurt laughed.
"Come, come, children, now we'll sing instead of quarrelling," the mother
admonished them. "We'll sing 'The lovely moon is risen.' You know all
the words of that from beginning to end, Mäzli."
They all started and finished the whole song in peace.
When the mother came back later on from the beds of the two younger
children, the three elder ones sat expectantly around the table, for Kurt
had told them of their mother's promise to tell them the story of the
family of Wallerstätten that evening. They had already placed their
mother's knitting-basket on the table in preparation of what was to come,
because they knew that she would not tell them a story without knitting
at the same time.
Smilingly the mother approached. "Everything is ready, I see, so I can
begin right away."
"Yes, and right from the start, please; from the place where the ghost
first comes in."
The mother looked questioningly at Kurt. "It seems to me, Kurt, that you
still hope to find out about this ghost, whatever I may say to the
contrary. I shall tell you, though, how people first began to talk about
a ghost in Wildenstein. The origin of these rumors goes back many, many
years."
"There is a picture in the castle," the mother began to relate, "which I
often looked at as a child and which made a deep impression upon me. It
represents a pilgrim who wanders restlessly about far countries, despite
his snow-white hair, which is blowing about his head, and despite his
looking old and weather-beaten. It is supposed to be the picture of the
ancestor of the family of Wallerstätten. The family name is thought to
have been different at that time.
"This ancestor is said to have been a man extremely susceptible to
violent outbreaks. In his passion he was supposed to have committed many
evil deeds, on account of which his poor wife could not console herself.
Praying for him, she lay whole days on her knees in the chapel. She died
suddenly, however, and this shocked the baron so mightily that he could
not remain in the castle. In order to find peace for his restless soul
he became a repentant pilgrim. So he took the emblem of a pilgrim into
his coat of arms and called himself Wallerstätten. Leaving his estate
and his sons, he nevermore returned.
"Later on two of his descendants lived in the castle. Both were well
loved and respected, because they did a great deal to have the land
cultivated for a long distance around and as a result all the farmers
became rich. But both had inherited the violent temper of their
ancestor, and the truth is that there always were members in the family
with that fatal characteristic. Nobody knew what happened between the
brothers, but one morning one of them was found dead on the floor of the
big fencing-hall. All that the castle guard knew about it was that his
two masters had settled a dispute with a duel. The other brother had
immediately disappeared, but was brought back dead to the castle a few
days afterwards.
"Climbing up a high mountain, he had fallen down a precipice and had been
found dead. These events threw all the neighborhood into great
consternation.
"That is when the rumors first spread that the restless spirit of the
brother murderer was seen wandering about the castle. All this happened
many years before my father and your grandfather moved into Nolla as
Rector. The rumor had somewhat faded then and all that we children heard
about it was that my father was very positive in denying all such reports
that reached his ears. Your grandfather was the closest friend of the
master of Wallerstätten, whom everybody called the Baron. I can only
remember seeing him once for a moment, but he made an unusual impression
upon me. I remember him very vividly as a very tall man going with rapid
steps through the courtyard and mounting a horse, which was trying to
rear. He died before I was five years old, and I have often heard my
father say to my mother that it was a great misfortune for the two sons
to have lost their father. I felt so sorry for them that I would often
stop in the middle of play to ask her, 'Oh, mother, can nobody help
them?' To comfort me she would tell me that God alone could help. For a
long time I prayed every night before going to sleep: 'Dear God, please
help them in their trouble!' Both were always very kind and friendly with
me. I was up at the castle a great deal, because the Baroness
Maximiliana of Wallerstätten was my godmother. My father instructed the
two sons and acted as helper and adviser to the Baroness in many things.
He went up to her every morning, holding me by one hand and Philip by the
other. My brother had lessons together with the boys, who were one year
apart in age, while Philip was just between them. Bruno, the elder--"
"I was named after him, mother, wasn't I?" Bruno interrupted here.
"Salo was a year younger--"
"I was called after him," Mea said quickly. "You wanted a Salo so much
and, as I was a girl, you called me Malomea, didn't you?"
The mother nodded.
"And I was called after father," Kurt cried out, in order to prove that
his name also had a worthy origin.
"I went up to the castle because my godmother wished it. She would have
loved to have a little daughter herself, therefore she occupied herself
with me as if I belonged to her. She taught me to embroider and to do
other fine handwork. Whenever she went with me into the garden and
through the estate, she taught me all about the trees and flowers. I was
often allowed to pick the violets that grew in great abundance beneath
the hedges and in the grass at the border of the little woods. Oh, what
beautiful days those were! Soon they were to become more perfect still
for us.
"But I received an impression in those days which remained in my heart
for a long while like a menacing power, often frightening me so that I
was very unhappy. Once my father came down very silently from the
castle. When my mother asked him if anything had happened he replied,
and I still hear his words 'Young Bruno has inherited his ancestor's
dreadful passion. His mother is naturally more worried about this than
about anything else.'"
"Look at him," Kurt said dryly, glancing at Bruno, who was sitting beside
his mother. For answer Bruno's eyes flashed threateningly at his
brother.
"Oh, please go on, mother," Mea urged. She was in no mood to have the
tale interrupted by a fight between her brothers.
"It seemed terrible to me," the mother continued again, "that Bruno, my
generous, kind friend, should have anything in his character to worry his
mother. Often I cried quietly in a corner about it and wondered how such
a thing could be. I had to admit it myself, however. Whenever the three
boys had a disagreement or anybody did something to displease Bruno, he
would get quite beside himself with rage, acting in a way which he must
have been sorry for later on. I have to repeat again, though, that he
had at bottom a noble and generous nature and would never have willingly
harmed anyone or committed a cruel deed. But one could see that his
outbreaks of passion might drive him to desperate deeds.
"Salo, his brother, never became angry, but he had a very unyielding
nature just the same. He was just as obstinate in his way as his
brother, and never gave in. Philip was always on his side, for the two
were the best of friends. Bruno was much more reserved and taciturn than
Salo, who was naturally very gay and could sing and laugh so that the
halls would re-echo loudly with his merriment. The Baroness herself
often laughed in that way, too. That is why Bruno imagined that she
loved her younger son better than him, and because he himself loved his
mother passionately, he could not endure this thought. It was not true,
however. She loved his eldest boy passionately and everybody who was
close to her could see it.
"When I was ten years old and Philip fifteen, an unusually charming girl
was added to our little circle. I above everybody else was enchanted
with her. Our friends at the castle and even Philip, who certainly was
not easily filled with enthusiasm, were extremely enthusiastic about our
new playmate. She was a girl of eleven years old, you see just a year
older than I was. She was far, far above me, though, in knowledge,
ability, and especially in her manners and whole behaviour, so that I was
perfectly carried away by her charm.
"Her name was Leonore. She was related to the baroness and had come down
from the far north, in fact from Holstein, where my godmother came from
and all her connections lived. Leonore, the daughter of one of her
relations, had very early lost her father and mother, as her mother had
died soon after the Baroness decided to adopt the child. She knew that
Leonore would otherwise be all alone in the world, and she hoped that a
gentle sister would have an extremely beneficial influence on the two
self-willed brothers. Now a time began for me which was more wonderful
than anything I could ever have imagined. Leonore was to continue her
studies, of course, and take up new ones. For that purpose a very
refined German lady came to the castle very soon after Leonore's arrival.
Only years afterwards I realized what a splendid teacher she had been.
"My godmother had arranged for me to share the studies with Leonore, and
therefore I was to live all day at the castle as her companion, only
returning in the evenings. So we two girls spent all our time together,
and in bad weather I also remained there for the night. Leonore had a
tremendous influence on me, and I am glad to say an influence for my
good, for I was able to look up to her in everything. Whatever was
common or low was absolutely foreign to her noble nature. This close
companionship with her was not only the greatest enjoyment of my young
years, but was the greatest of benefits for my whole life."
"You certainly were lucky, mother," Mea exclaimed passionately.
"Yes, and Uncle Philip was lucky, too, to have two such nice friends,"
Bruno added.
"I realize that," the mother answered. "You have no idea, children, how
often I have wished that you, too, could have such friends."
"Please go on," Kurt begged impatiently. "Where did they go, mother?
Doesn't anyone know what has become of them?"
"Whenever our brothers, as we called them, were free," the mother
continued, "they were our beloved playmates. We valued their stimulating
company very much and were always happy when through some chance they
were exempt from some of their numerous lessons. They always asked us to
join them in their games and we were very happy that they wanted our
company. Baroness von Wallerstätten had guessed right. Since Leonore
had come into our midst, the brothers fought much more seldom, and
everybody who knew Bruno well could see that he tried to suppress his
outbursts of rage in her presence. Once Leonore had become pale with
fright when she had been obliged to witness such a scene, and Bruno had
not forgotten it. Four years had passed for us in cloudless sunshine
when a great change took place. The young barons left the castle in
order to attend a university in Germany, and Philip also left for an
agricultural school. So we only saw the brothers once a year, during
their brief holidays in the summer. Those days were great feast days
then for all of us, and we enjoyed every single hour of their stay from
early morning till late at night. We always began and ended every day
with music, and frequently whole days were spent in the enjoyment of it.
"Both young Wallerstättens were extremely musical and had splendid
voices, and Leonore's exquisite singing stirred everybody deeply. The
Baroness always said that Leonore's voice brought the tears to her eyes,
no matter if she sang merry or serious songs. It affected me in that
way, too, and one could never grow weary of hearing her. I had just
finished my seventeenth and Leonore her eighteenth year when a summer
came which was to bring grave changes. We did not expect Philip home for
the holidays. Through the Baroness' help he was already filling the post
of manager of an estate in the far north. The young barons had also
completed their studies and were expected to come home and to consult
with their mother about their plans for the future. She fully expected
them to travel before settling down, and after that she hoped sincerely
that one of them would come to live at home with her; this would mean
that he would take the care of the estate on his shoulders with its
troubles and responsibilities. Soon after their arrival the sons seemed
to have had an interview with their mother which clearly worried her, for
she went about silently, refusing to answer any questions. Bruno strode
up and down the terrace with flaming eyes whole hours at a time, without
saying a word. Salo was the only sociable one left, and sometimes he
would come and sit down beside us; but if we questioned him about their
apparent feud, he remained silent. How different this was from our
former gay days! But this painful situation did not last long. On the
fifth or sixth day after their arrival the brothers did not appear for
breakfast. The Baroness immediately inquired in great anxiety if they
had left the castle, but nobody seemed to have noticed them. Apollonie
was the only one who had seen them going upstairs together in the early
morning, so she was sent up to look for them in the tower rooms. When
she found them empty, she opened the door of the old fencing-hall by some
strange impulse. Here Salo was crouching half fainting on the floor. He
told her that it was nothing to worry about, and that he had only lost
consciousness for a moment. She had to help him to get up, however, and
he came downstairs supported on her arm. The Baroness never said a word.
She stayed in her son's chamber till the physician who had been sent for
had gone away again. Then returning to us, she sat down beside Leonore
and me and told us that we ought to know what had happened. Apparently
she was very calm, but I had never seen her face so pale. She informed
us that when she had spoken to her sons about their future plans, she had
discovered that neither of them had ever spoken about it to the other.
Now they both declared to her that their full intention had been for
years to come home after the completion of their studies and to live in
Wildenstein with her and Leonore. Bruno was quite beside himself when he
found that Salo had apparently no intention to yield to him in the
matter, so he challenged his brother to a duel in order to decide which
of them was to remain at home. Salo had been wounded and, losing
consciousness, had fallen to the ground. Bruno, fearing something worse,
had disappeared. The doctor had not found Sale's wounds of a serious
nature, but as he had a delicate constitution, great care had to be
taken. When I left the castle that day I felt that all the joy and
happiness I had ever known on earth was shattered, and this feeling
stayed with me a long while after. Soon after that sad event the
Baroness got ready for a journey to the south, where she meant to go with
Salo and Leonore. Salo had not recovered as quickly as she had hoped,
and Leonore, instead of getting more robust in our vigorous mountain-air,
only became thinner and frailer. Only once Bruno sent his mother some
news. In extremely few words he let her know that he was going to Spain,
and that she need not trouble more about him. But the news of his
brother's survival reached him, nevertheless. Now all those I had loved
so passionately had gone away, and I felt it very deeply. There the
castle stood, sad and lifeless, and its lighted windows looked down no
more upon us from the height. All its eyes were closed and were to
remain so."
"Oh, oh, did they never come back?" cried out Kurt with regret.
"No, never," the mother replied. "At that time, too, apparently, all the
reports which had long ago faded were revived as to a ghost who was
supposed to wander about the castle. There were many who asserted they
had seen or heard him, and till to-day the ghost of Wildenstein is
haunting people's heads."
"Look at him," said Bruno dryly, pointing to the lower end of the table
where Kurt was sitting.
"Finish, please, mother," the latter quickly urged. "Where did they all
get to? And where is the brother who disappeared?"
"All I still have to tell you is short and sad," said the mother.
"Leonore faithfully wrote to me. After spending the first winter in the
south it became apparent that the Baroness's health was shattered. She
refused to return to the castle and sent her instructions to Apollonie,
who had married the gardener of Wildenstein, and who now with her husband
became caretaker of the castle, Three years afterwards the Baroness died
without ever having returned. A short time after that Leonore became
Salo's wife, but they were not fated to remain together long. Not more
than three years later Salo died of a violent fever and Leonore followed
him in a few months, but they left a little boy and a little girl. After
Salo's death Leonore was left alone in life, so an aunt from Holstein
came to live with her in Nice. After Leonore's death this aunt took the
two children home with her. I heard this from Apollonie, who had been
sent Leonore's last instructions by this aunt. I never learned anything
further about the two children, and only once did I receive word from
Baron Bruno through Apollonie. Your late father, young Rector Bergmann,
had married me just about the time when we heard of the Baroness's death.
I followed him very gladly to Sils, because Philip had just bought an
estate there and was very anxious to have me close to him. One day
Apollonie came to me in great agitation. Baron Bruno, never once sending
word, had arrived in the castle after an absence of eight years and had
brought with him a companion by the name of Mr. Demetrius. The Baron
had naturally expected to find his mother, his brother and his erstwhile
playmates gathered there as before. When he heard from Apollonie
everything that had happened in his absence, he broke into a violent
passion, because he believed that the news had been purposely kept from
him. Apollonie was able to show him his late mother's letters where she
had given her exact orders in case of his return. He could also see from
them that she wrote to him frequently and had tried to reach him in vain.
Baron Bruno had lived an extremely unsettled existence and all the
letters had miscarried, despite the orders he had left in big cities to
have them forwarded. Full of anger and bitterness the Baron immediately
left, and till the present hour he has not been heard of. Mr.
Demetrius, later on called Mr. Trius by everybody, came back a few years
ago to the deserted castle. Apollonie had meanwhile lost her husband,
had closed up all the rooms at the castle, and had gone to live again in
the former gardener's cottage, where she is living now. From the time
when he reappeared till to-day, Mr. Trius has led a solitary life and
sees no one except Apollonie, and her only when he is in need of her.
However hard Apollonie tried to make him tell about his master, he would
not do it. You know now about my happy life in Wildenstein and will be
able to understand the reason why I moved here again after the death of
your father. Another inducement was that our dear Rector, an erstwhile
friend of my father's, promised to give Bruno instruction which he could
not get at a country school, so that I was able to keep him at home
longer, you see. Now you know why the deserted castle attracts me so
despite its sad aspect, for it brings back to me my most beautiful
memories."
"Oh, please, mother, tell us a little more," Kurt begged eagerly, when
his mother rose.
"Oh, mother," Mea joined in, "tell us more about your friend, Leonore."
"Oh, yes, tell us more, mother," Bruno supplicated. "There must be more
to know still. Did Baron Bruno keep on travelling in Spain?"
"I think most of the time, but I can't tell you for sure," the mother
replied. "I know everything only from Apollonie, who had these reports
from Mr. Trius, but he either does not choose to talk or does not know
very much himself about his master. I have told you everything now and
you must go to bed as quickly as you can. It was your bedtime long ago."
No questions or supplications helped now, and soon the house was silent,
except for the mother's quiet steps as she once more visited the
children's beds. Her eldest, who could become so violent, lay before her
with a peaceful expression on his clear brow. She knew how high his
standard of honor was, but how would he end if his unfortunate trait
gained more ascendancy over him? Soon she would be obliged to send him
away, and how could she hope for a loving influence in strange
surroundings, which was the only thing to quiet him? The mother knew that
she had not the power to keep her children from pain and sin, but she
knew the hand which leads and steadies all children that are entrusted to
it, that can guard and save where no mother's hand or love can avail.
She went with folded hands from one bed to the other, surrendering her
children to their Father's protection in Heaven. He knew best how much
they were in need of His loving care.