the church, which was just opposite my window, and began to toll two
bells. The belfry is built separate from the church, and commands a view
into the room of the inn that was my bedroom. I could see the small boy
walking leisurely from bell to bell, giving each a pull, and then
refreshing himself by leaning out and staring hard at me. I got my
opera-glasses and examined him with equal care, trying to stare him out
of countenance; but though a small he was also a bold boy and not to be
abashed, and as I would not give in either we stared at each other
steadily between the tolls till nine o'clock, when the bell-ringing
ceased, service began, and he reluctantly went down into the church,
where I suppose he had to join in the singing of the tune to which in
England the hymn beginning 'All glory, laud, and honour,' is sung, for
it presently floated out into the quiet little market-place, filling it
with the feeling of Sunday. While I lingered at the window listening to
this, I saw Mrs. Harvey-Browne emerge from the inn door in her Sunday
toque, and, crossing the market-place followed by Brosy, go into the
church. In an instant I had whisked into my hat, and hurrying downstairs
to the Professor who was strolling up and down a rose-bordered path in
the garden at the back of the house, informed him breathlessly that the
Harvey-Brownes might now be looked upon as circumvented.
'What, already? Thou art truly a wonderful ally!' he exclaimed in great
glee.
'Oh _that's_ nothing,' I replied modestly; as indeed it was.
'Let us start at once then,' he cried briskly; and we accordingly
started, slipping out of the house and round the corner down to the
quay.
The sun was shining, the ground was drying, there was a slight breeze
from the east which ought, the landlord said, to blow us gently to
Hiddensee if it kept up in about four hours. All my arrangements had
been made the night before with the aid of August and Gertrud, and the
brig _Bertha_, quite an imposing-looking craft that plied on week-days,
weather permitting, between Wiek and Stralsund, had been hired for the
day at a cost of fifteen marks, including a skipper with one eye and
four able seamen. The brig _Bertha_ seemed to me very cheap. She was to
be at my disposal from dawn till as far into the night as I wanted her.
All the time the bell-boy and I were exchanging increasingly sarcastic
stares she was lying at the quay ready to start at any moment. She had
been chartered in my name, and for that one day she, her skipper, and
her four able seamen, belonged entirely to me.
Gertrud was waiting on board, and had arranged a sort of nest of rugs
and cushions for me. The landlady and her servant were also there, with
a basket of home-made cakes, and cherries out of the inn garden. This
landlady, by the way, was quite ideal. Her one aim seemed to be to do
things like baking cakes for her visitors and not putting them in the
bill. I met nothing else at all like her or her husband on my journey
round Rügen or anywhere else. Their simple kindness shall not go unsung;
and therefore do I pause here, with one foot on the quay and the other
on the brig _Bertha_, to sing it. But indeed the traveller who does not
yearn for waiters and has no prejudices against crawling up a staircase
so steep that it is practically a ladder when he wants to go to bed, who
loves quiet, is not insensible to the charms of good cooking, and thinks
bathing and sailing agreeable pastimes, could be extremely happy at a
very small cost at Wiek. And when all other pleasures are exhausted he
can hire the _Bertha_ and go to Hiddensee and study sea-birds.
'Thou takest the excellent but unprepossessing Gertrud with thee?'
inquired the Professor in a slightly displeased voice, seeing her
immovable and the sails being hoisted.
'Yes. I don't like being sick without her.'
'Sick! There will hardly be a sufficiency of wind for the needs of the
vessel--how wilt thou be sick in a calm?'
'How can I tell till I have tried?'
Oh gay voyage down the Wieker Bodden, over the little dancing waves,
under the serene summer sky! Oh blessed change from the creaking of a
carriage through dust to rippling silence and freshness! The Professor
was in such spirits that he could hardly be kept from doing what he
called manning the yards, and had to be fetched down when he began to
clamber by the alarmed skipper. Gertrud sat watching for the first
glimpse of our destination with the intentness of a second Brangäne. The
wind could hardly be said to blow us along, it was so very gentle, but
it did waft us along smoothly and steadily, and Wiek slipped into
distance and its bells into silence, and the occasional solitary farms
on the flat shores slid away one after the other, and the farthest point
ahead came to meet us, dropped astern, became the farthest point behind,
and we were far on our way while we were thinking we could hardly be
moving. The reader who looks at the map will see the course we took, and
how with that gentle wind it came to be nearly twelve before we rounded
the corner of the Wieker Bodden, passed a sandbank crowded with hundreds
of sea-gulls, and headed for the northern end of Hiddensee.
Hiddensee lay stretched out from north to south, long and narrow, like a
lizard lying in the sun. It is absolutely flat, a mere sandbank, except
at the northern end where it swells up into hills and a lighthouse.
There are only two villages on it with inns, the one called Vitte, built
on a strip of sand so low, so level with the sea that it looks as if an
extra big wave, or indeed any wave, must wash right over it and clean it
off the face of the earth; and the other called Kloster, where Charlotte
was.
I observe that on the map Kloster is printed in large letters, as though
it were a place of some importance. It is a very pretty, very small,
handful of fishermen's cottages, one little line of them in a green nest
of rushes and willows along the water's edge, with a hill at the back,
and some way up the hill a small, dilapidated church, forlorn and
spireless, in a churchyard bare of trees.
We dropped anchor in the glassy bay about two o'clock, the last bit of
the Vitter Bodden having been slow, almost windless work, and were rowed
ashore in a dinghy, there not being enough water within a hundred yards
to float so majestic a craft as the _Bertha_. The skipper leaned over
the side of his brig watching us go and wishing us _viel Vergnügen_. The
dinghy and the two rowers were to wait at the little landing-stage till
such time as we should want them again. Gertrud came with us, carrying
the landlady's basket of food.
'Once more thou takest the excellent but unprepossessing Gertrud with
thee?' inquired the Professor with increased displeasure.
'Yes. To carry the cakes.'
'Tut, tut.' And he muttered something that sounded irritable about the
_lieber Gott_ having strewn the world with so many plain women.
'_This_ isn't the time to bother about plain women,' I said. 'Don't you
feel in every fibre that you are within a stone's throw of your
Charlotte? I am sure we have caught her this time.'
For a moment he had forgotten Charlotte, and all his face grew radiant
at the reminder. With the alacrity of eighteen he leapt ashore, and we
hurried along a narrow rushy path at the water's edge to the one inn, a
small cottage of the simplest sort, overlooking green fields and placid
water. A trim servant in Sunday raiment was clearing away coffee cups
from a table in the tiny front garden, and of her we asked, with some
trembling after our many disappointments, whether Frau Nieberlein were
there.
Yes, she was staying there, but had gone up on to the downs after
dinner. In which direction? Past the church, up the lighthouse way.
The Professor darted off before she had done. I hastened after him.
Gertrud waited at the inn. With my own eyes I wished to see that he
actually did meet Charlotte, for the least thing would make him forget
what he had come for; and so nimble was he, so winged with love, that I
had to make desperate and panting efforts to get up to the top of the
hill as soon as he did. Up we sped in silence past the bleak churchyard
on to what turned out to be the most glorious downs. On the top the
Professor stopped a moment to wipe his forehead, and looking back for
the first time I was absolutely startled by the loveliness of the view.
The shining Bodden with its bays and little islands lay beneath us, to
the north was the sea, to the west the sea, to the east, right away on
the other side of distant Rügen, the sea; far in the south rose the
towers of Stralsund; close behind us a forest of young pines filled the
air with warm waves of fragrance; at our feet the turf was thick with
flowers,--oh, wide and splendid world! How good it is to look sometimes
across great spaces, to lift one's eyes from narrowness, to feel the
large silence that rests on lonely hills! Motionless we stood before
this sudden unrolling of the beauty of God's earth. The place seemed
full of a serene and mighty Presence. Far up near the clouds a solitary
lark was singing its joys. There was no other sound.
I believe if I had not been with him the Professor would again have
forgotten Charlotte, and lying down on the flowery turf with his eyes on
that most beautiful of views have given himself over to abstractions.
But I stopped him at the very moment when he was preparing to sink to
the ground. 'No, no,' I besought, 'don't sit down.'
'Not sit? And why, then, shall not a warm old man sit?'
'First let us find Charlotte.' At the bare mention of the name he began
to run.
The inn servant had said Charlotte had gone up to the lighthouse. From
where we were we could not see it, but hurrying through a corner of the
pine-wood we came out on the north end of Hiddensee, and there it was on
the edge of the cliff. Then my heart began to beat with mingled
feelings--exultation that I should be on the verge of doing so much
good, fear lest my plan by some fatal mishap should be spoilt, or, if it
succeeded, my actions be misjudged. 'Wait a moment,' I murmured faintly,
laying a trembling hand on the Professor's arm. 'Dear Professor, wait a
moment--Charlotte must be quite close now--I don't want to intrude on
you both at first, so please, will you give her this letter'--and I
pulled it with great difficulty, it being fat and my fingers shaky, out
of my pocket, the eloquent letter I had written in the dawn at
Stubbenkammer, and pressed it into his hand,--'give it to her with my
love--with my very dear love.'
'Yes, yes,' said the Professor, impatient of these speeches, and only
desirous of getting on. He crushed the letter unquestioningly into his
pocket and we resumed our hurried walking. The footpath led us across a
flowery slope ending in a cliff that dropped down on the sunset side of
the island to the sea. We had not gone many yards before we saw a single
figure sitting on this slope, its back to us, its slightly dejected head
and shoulders appearing above the crowd of wild-flowers--scabious,
harebells, and cow-parsley, through whose frail loveliness flashed the
shimmering sea. It was Charlotte.
I seized the Professor's hand. 'Look--there she is,' I whispered in
great excitement, holding him back for one instant. 'Give me time to get
out of sight--don't forget the letter--let me get into the wood first,
and then go to her. Now, all blessings be with thee, dearest
Professor--good luck to you both! You'll see how happy you both are
going to be!' And wringing his hand with a fervour that evidently
surprised him, I turned and fled.
Oh, how I fled! Never have I run so fast, with such a nightmare feeling
of covering no ground. Back through the wood, out on the other side,
straight as an arrow down the hill towards the Bodden, taking the
shortest cut over the turf to Kloster--oh, how I ran! It makes me
breathless now to think of it. As if pursued by demons I ran, not daring
to look back, not daring to stop and gasp, away I flew, past the church,
past the parson, who I remember stared at me aghast over his garden
wall, past the willows, past the rushes, down to the landing-stage and
Gertrud. Everything was ready. I had given the strictest private
instructions; and dropping speechless into the dinghy, a palpitating
mixture of heat, anxiety, and rapture, was rowed as fast as two strong
men could row me to the brig and the waiting skipper.
The wind was terribly light, the water terribly glassy. At first I lay
in a quivering heap on the cushions, hardly daring to think we were not
moving, hardly daring to remember how I had seen a small boat tied to a
stake in front of the inn, and that if the _Bertha_ did not get away
soon----
Then Fortune smiled on the doer of good, a gentle puff filled the sails,
there was a distinct rippling across the bows, it increased to a gurgle,
and Kloster with its willows, its downs, its one inn, and its
impossibility of being got out of, silently withdrew into shadows.
Then did I stretch myself out on my rugs with a deep sigh of relief and
allow Gertrud to fuss over me. Never have I felt so nice, so kind, so
exactly like a ministering angel. How grateful the dear old Professor
would be! And Charlotte too, when she had read my letter and listened to
all he had to say; she would have to listen, she wouldn't be able to
help herself, and there would be heaps of time. I laughed aloud for joy
at the success of my plan. There they were on that tiny island, and
there they would have to stay at least till to-morrow, probably longer.
Perhaps they would get so fond of it that they would stay on there
indefinitely. Anyhow I had certainly reunited them--reunited them and
freed myself. Emphatically this was one of those good actions that
blesses him who acts and him who is acted upon; and never did well-doer
glow with a warmer consciousness of having done well than I glowed as I
lay on the deck of the _Bertha_ watching the sea-gulls in great comfort,
and eating not only my own cherries but the Professor's as well.
All the way up the Wieker Bodden we had to tack. Hour after hour we
tacked, and seemed to get no nearer home. The afternoon wore on, the
evening came, and still we tacked. The sun set gloriously, the moon came
up, the sea was a deep violet, the clouds in the eastern sky about the
moon shone with a pearly whiteness, the clouds in the west were gorgeous
past belief, flaming across in marvellous colours even to us, the light
reflected from them transfiguring our sails, our men, our whole boat
into a spirit ship of an unearthly radiance, bound for Elysium, manned
by immortal gods.
Look now how Colour, the Soul's bridegroom, makes
The house of Heaven splendid for the bride....
I quoted awestruck, watching this vast plain of light with clasped hands
and rapt spirit.
It was a solemn and magnificent close to my journey.
THE ELEVENTH DAY
FROM WIEK HOME
The traveller in whose interests I began this book and who has so
frequently been forgotten during the writing of it, might very well
protest here that I have not yet been all round Rügen, and should not,
therefore, talk of closes to my journey. But nothing that the traveller
can say will keep me from going home in this chapter. I did go home on
the morning of the eleventh day, driving from Wiek to Bergen, and taking
the train from there; and the red line on the map will show that, except
for one dull corner in the south-east, I had practically carried out my
original plan and really had driven all round the island.
Reaching the inn at Wiek at ten o'clock on the Sunday night I went
straight and very softly to bed; and leaving the inn at Wiek at eight
o'clock on the Monday morning I might have got away without ever seeing
Mrs. Harvey-Browne again if the remembrance of Brosy's unvarying
kindness had not stirred me to send Gertrud up with a farewell message.
Mrs. Harvey-Browne, having heard all about my day on the _Bertha_ from
the landlady, and how I had come back in the unimpeachability of
singleness, the Professor safely handed over to his wife, forgave the
chin-chucking, forgave the secret setting out, and hurried on to the
landing in a wrapper, warmth in her heart and honey on her lips.
'What, you are leaving us, dear Frau X.?' she called over the baluster.
'So early? So suddenly? I can't come down to you--do come up here. _Why_
didn't you tell me you were going to-day?' she continued when I had come
up, holding my hand in both hers, speaking with emphatic cordiality, an
altogether melted and mellifluous bishop's wife.
'I hadn't quite decided. I fear I must go home to-day. They want me
badly.'
'That I can _quite_ understand--of course they want their little ray of
sunshine,' she cried, growing more and more mellifluous. 'Now tell me,'
she went on, stroking the hand she held, 'when are you coming to see us
all at Babbacombe?'
Babbacombe! Heavens. When indeed? Never, never, never, shrieked my soul.
'Oh thanks,' murmured my lips, 'how kind you are. But--do you think the
bishop would like me?'
'The bishop? He would more than like you, dear Frau X.--he would
positively glory in you.'
'Glory in me?' I faintly gasped; and a gaudy vision of the bishop
glorying, that bishop of whom I had been taught to think as steeped in
chronic sorrow, swam before my dazzled eyes. 'How kind you are. But I'm
afraid you are too kind. I'm afraid he would soon see there wasn't
anything to make him glory and much to make him grieve.'
'Well, well, we mustn't be so modest. Of course the bishop knows we are
all human, and so must have our little faults. But I can assure you he
would be _delighted_ to make your acquaintance. He is a most
large-minded man. Now _promise_.'
I murmured confused thanks and tried to draw my hand away, but it was
held tight. 'I shall miss the midday train at Bergen if I don't go at
once,' I appealed--'I really must go.'
'You long to be with all your dear ones again, I am sure.'
'If I don't catch this train I shall not get home to-night. I really
must go.'
'Ah, home. How charming your home must be. One hears so much about the
charming German home-life, but unfortunately just travelling through the
country one gets no chance of a peep into it.'
'Yes, I have felt that myself in other countries. Good-bye--I absolutely
must run. Good-bye!' And, tearing my hand away with the energy of panic
I got down the ladder as quickly as I could without actually sliding,
for I knew that in another moment the bishop's wife would have invited
herself--oh, it did not bear thinking of.
'And the Nieberleins?' she called over the baluster, suddenly
remembering them.
'They're on an island. Quite inaccessible in this wind. A mere
desert--only sea-birds--and one is sick getting to it. Good-bye!'
'But do they not return here?' she called still louder, for I was
through the door now, and out on the path.
'No, no--Stralsund, Berlin, Bonn--_good_-bye!'
The landlord and his wife were waiting outside, the landlady with a
great bunch of roses and yet another basket of cakes. Brosy was there
too, and helped me into the carriage. 'I'm frightfully sorry you are
going,' he said.
'So am I. But one must ultimately go. Observe the eternal truth lurking
in that sentence. If ever you are wandering about Germany alone, do come
and see us.'
'I should love to.'
And thus with mutual amenities Brosy and I parted.
So ended my journey round Rügen, for there is nothing to be recorded of
that last drive to the railway station at Bergen except that it was
flat, and we saw the Jagdschloss in the distance. At the station I bade
farewell to the carriage in which I had sometimes suffered and often
been happy, for August stayed that night in Bergen, and brought the
horses home next day; and presently the train appeared and swept up
Gertrud and myself, and Rügen knew us no more.
But before I part from the traveller, who ought by this time to be very
tired, I will present him with the following condensed experiences:--
The nicest bathing was at Lauterbach,
The best inn was at Wiek.
I was happiest at Lauterbach and Wiek.
I was most wretched at Göhren.
The cheapest place was Thiessow.
The dearest place was Stubbenkammer.
The most beautiful place was Hiddensee.
And perhaps he may like to know, too, though it really is no business of
his, what became of the Nieberleins. I am sorry to say that I had
letters from them both of a nature that positively prohibits
publication; and a mutual acquaintance told me that Charlotte had
applied for a judicial separation.
When I heard it I was thunderstruck.
THE END