Читать книгу The Saint and her Fool - Cihlar & Egeler - Страница 7

The sky seems flawless in its clear blue color, the pigeons are sunning themselves on the wall and the first yellow buttercups peep out between the stone blocks. Mart has swept the courtyard; clean enough to defy any inspection. A bouquet of snowdrops, the timid harbingers of spring, decorates the windowsill of the quite presentable living room. The teakettle is sparkling, all the rolls of wallpaper have disappeared – the ruin awaits a Princess. The carriage rolls up and Harro helps his little lady out. Her eyes shine at how nice the ruin looks, having been there in her thoughts almost daily.

„Oh, Harro, the well! It is wearing a splendid green velvet coat. Please, let the well sing for me!”

He pulls out a harmonica and begins to play the song - Who is your creator, you beautiful forest - in a quite inartistic manner, and the well begins to sing.

The tones reverberate, omitting the false ones, and catches a fine sound, creating a melodious song that sounds like the fingers of elves playing on silver strings.

Rosemarie claps her hands. „Oh, how wonderful – I knew it would sound this way!”

Frau von Hardenstein is sitting on a chair that Harro has brought outside for her. Her eyes see the ruin quite differently than those of the Princess. The high walls, the windows peeking over piles of rubble; it all seems more like a dark dungeon to her.

Finally, the pleasures of the courtyard are exhausted and they go inside. Little Rose peels off her coat and dips her nose deep into the fragrance of the bouquet of snowdrops.

„It smells so wonderful here, Harro!”

„Does it? I thought it smells of turpentine and old rags.”

„Oh, no. The strongest scent comes from those.” She points at the fresh pine branches, some of them sagging from the weight of large cones.

„Ah, the decoration! I freshen it up every week. I should have some benefit from owning a whole forest.” He gestures to the seating. „The American armchair is for Frau von Hardenstein and for you, my delicate Rose, Mart has made a chair measured out for your size and has painted it red.”

The child rejoices, as she hurries to the chair. She sits down and bounces up again, circling it in awe. It seems hardly possible, how much the child has changed in the last weeks. She seems so full of life and this will surely intensify, with spring on its way. Harro is also in a resplendent mood. She tucks a snowdrop into a buttonhole of his brand new looking jacket and they begin to make plans; summoned by the scent of snowdrops and pine needles. Of how Saint Rose will live on the linden tree, when the foliage sprouts and she will be sheltered in the safety of the leaves.

In able to celebrate each coming festivity with expectation, she shall enjoy a surprise along the ramparts. Between the stone slabs, one can find a sturdy string with a loop. It is held down by a stake, hidden amidst the ivy. Saint Rose shall tug on it for the first time tomorrow; not every time will there be something found, often it is pulled in vain, but there are other wonderful findings. From the first of April, little Rose must look for a surprise every day and when she least thinks of finding something, there will be the branch of a blooming blackthorn, signaling the first celebration of the spring season, even if it snows.

And how is this celebrated? When the branch is put into water and the eyes are closed, a delicate scent ascends and you suddenly find yourself on a flourishing mound, covered with white blossoms over grey stones.The second Spring Festival is celebrated outdoors. This is signaled by the finding of the fresh, green twig of a beech tree, wrapped in a bouquet of primroses. The bridle path that leads to the Roman meadow must be followed, along a grassy forest trail. Fir trees stretch their long arms over the way and in between, are the beech trees in their festive, bright green apparel. The sunshine leads the way with golden specks and a butterfly, a swallowtail, flutters slowly ahead, like a blessed soul on its way to heaven.

The month of May celebrates the Flower Festival. There is a glade in the midst of old oak trees, where huge bouquets can be picked and brought home to enlighten each room. Then, the Summer Festival follows. The fields are golden and there is a path to follow; one walks between the highly grown corn and wheat, as if in a rustling tunnel. The summer celebration can only begin, when the Princess has found this trail, which changes with every year. In these golden fields, red poppies, blue cornflowers and sturdy, purple carnations stand out, not tolerating other flowers between them. Saint Rose must wear a wreath of cornflowers. Reaching a secret hiding place, there is nothing visible but the golden harvest, seemingly touching the blue-grey sky. An ancient stone lies there, with the engraving of a proud stag with majestic antlers and when Saint Rose arrives, there will be a small tin jug waiting for her, shining in dull silver, filled with cider. As well as a basket with sweet gooseberries, fresh bread and butter, all wrapped in green cabbage leaves. What a feast! The Princess must bring along her own silver cup and on arrival, also must hang her little cornflower wreath on the string, as a sign that she has found the golden house.

Now comes a grand day indeed! It will not be told what may be found on the string-the symbol will be very special on this day. The Day of the Lilies is all the information given about this festival.

The Fall Festival follows. It could be that potatoes are roasted in a fire, creating a picturesque smoke trail into the sky, so that Rose cannot take her eyes off it and her little fingers and the tip of her nose will be sooty from the smoked potatoes.

The end of the seasons is celebrated with the Farewell Festival.

This requires high boots, a raincoat and a green velvet cap. The finding is a linen bag filled with hazelnuts. Only a small part of the world can be seen, as one goes out into the white mist. The fields are bare now, only covered with stubbles, where little mice with moist fur scurry through the remains of once prosperous surroundings. Narrow trails seem vast of life, leaving only the prickly blackberry bushes with their last dark and glossy berries. The world around seems to be secretly veiled in a white haze, bringing life around to a standstill. A meadow appears which shines in an emerald green through the misty air. There still are small groups of autumn flowers, looking a bit lost, but yet still blooming in a bright, amethyst blue. The veil is slightly lifted as the forest wall is seen, guarded by two tall, dark pines.

The feast enhances in beauty. Now, a gold tone shimmers, a clutter of beech trees can be seen, shining through the fog like matt golden feathers. Each tree seems to be enchanted, as if by magic. The dark green has turned into sparkling yellow and red and these colors tear the misty veil apart, as a flash of sunlight glares onto the path, leaving it covered with pearls and diamonds. The birch swishes in its pure gold color, the maple is as red as blood. Between the almost black pine branches glows a sky of blue. The path is sprinkled with golden leaves, which allow you to walk so softly that not even the deer had heard you coming and now look up in astonishment. The way leads on and on, through flaming purple and gold, emerald green meadows and fragrant pine trees until you reach a high, grey wall. The wall is sheltered by a linden tree with a yellow crown, nodding its treetop towards the sunshine. The sky opens up in its brightest blue, shiny as elegant silk.

The path leads through a gate, past an old forester`s house, decorated with deer antlers, until a stone staircase winds its way between dark, ivy covered walls up to the courtyard. Castle Schweigen has been reached; the castle of silence. This castle belongs to Saint Rose. She may enter each room, drink from the golden cups, open the cabinets with silver inlays, perhaps she even can sleep in the four poster bed with the shaky canopy crown and its beautiful silk curtains, embroidered with all the flowers, the real and the imaginative ones. Provided she is not afraid, because such an old canopy always is a bit ghastly. In a vintage mirror, with a greenish bronze frame, she can look at her fine nose, a good way not to let vanity dominate. At an alcove with three windows, the Princess can sit on a high, stiff chair. One window overlooks the crimson golden forest mountains and the other ones face sunrise and sunset. Twines of ivy frame this special seating place; even one branch of ivy has found its way into the room. With this, all the wonderful festivities come to an end.

„Oh, Harro, you never speak of the real world, you only speak of heaven.”

„Don’t be foolish; what do I know about heaven? Beauty is all around us, in our world, you just have to know where to find it!”

The Princess, who is sitting on her red stool with a cup of milk in her hand, comes back to life and nods sadly, tossing her golden mane of hair.

„But when the corn is golden, it is time for studies and when the cider is made, one is not allowed to drink from the pitcher, out of which it tastes best, for that is seen as common; something only peasants do. To eat outside should only be done at a picnic; but here, most people are annoyed at the mosquitoes and angry about what the cook had forgotten to pack in the basket.”

„My dear, you surely do not think you can celebrate these festivities with just anyone? Far from that! If you take the wrong people along, then the mosquitoes will sting and the expensive umbrella will break and the way is too far, much farther than assumed, and behind the raspberry bushes dresses are torn and bracelets are lost, as if swallowed by the earth. Then surely a thunderstorm will come, and only because the wrong people are there. This is something that could have been foreseen. That is my own special knowledge, which I have gained from experience.”

„But who are the right people?”

„The three of us, of course! Let us make a toast to this with our tea-cups”.

But the child is not yet content. „Oh, Harro, if only this was true, at least one of the festivals! The branch of the blackthorn is true.”

„My Rose, the branch has been adjusted to the cord with so much effort. Should this be in vain?”

„And the Day of the Lilies? Will it really be like that?”

„With each festivity something new is revealed; that is what is so exceptional. You must be surprised with each new gift.”

„Oh, yes, I love surprises!”

„That we will see; it takes quite an imagination to celebrate these surprises! Rest assured, the pitcher full of cider is no fata morgana. To think of it as common! To be in the forest and quarrel over what a cook has forgotten is common! There will surely be flocks of mosquitoes; the gnomes of the forest chase them forward, in order to clear their territory of unwanted guests.”

The child’s laugh is joyous. „I have a silver cup which I will take along.”

„One more thing, my Rose; you must not overjoy yourself, as you once did in the forest. This is something you should not let become a habit!”

The child promises to do her best.

Frau von Hardenstein then says: „I am also anxious about all these things we will do together, but now, Harro, please show us what we have actually come to see. We wish to see the painting!”

Harro reddens slightly. „No one has seen it yet…what anguish for my artist heart! I beg you; please do not criticize right away, for I am yet like an egg without a shell. I will only let others look upon it, when I feel it is perfect. I can endure any amount of praise, but you surely should not shy away from saying the truth. Have you ladies noticed the solemnity that surrounds us? The decoration...” he points at the pine branches, „the flower arrangement...” he nods towards the snowdrops, „and for those who really know me; my attire. Please acknowledge the new green cuffs on my jacket, which indeed indicate something special. Today is also a day of festivity. It is indeed a special day, when dear Mama first sets foot on my fatherly halls. This event, of course, must be celebrated as something special and I declare today to the Festival of Revelation. You, my dear Rose, may unveil the painting by pulling on the cord there; but for heaven’s sake, do pull straight down so that the first glance is not awry.”

Rose is pale with expectation as he stands up; taking her in his arms, he says solemnly: „My dear Saint Rose, I have been able to paint this only because of you; you are my greatest inspiration. Now pull!”

The cover falls. The painting is already in a golden frame, it`s colors shine so deep and warm, ennobling the common room in a festive glow. The child stands in front of the painting and it is almost to be feared that her joy becomes too intense. She shall partake in the magnificence of the painting; she, who had always been pitied as a poor little child, who had only been a burden and grief to everyone.

Frau von Hardenstein pulls her chair forward, until she sits directly in front of the canvas.

„Harro, it is beautiful and yet outlandish...what is the meaning?”

The child turns around and says reproachfully; „That can clearly be seen!”

She wraps her arms around Harro’s strong, hanging arm and leans her golden head against it.

„If you know this with such certainty, darling, then just say it.”

„It can be recognized at once as the Hall of Honor! They are all in it; those asleep in their crypt, who have their paintings watch over them. See the look in their eyes? The gaze of the knights and of the women in silk dresses, holding carnations in their white hands? All these eyes are looking at me. The golden animals on the white pillars listen and hold their breath. They must guard the house and ensure that no one comes into the house who lies or breaks their word. Then, the wandering little soul, who carries a red flame in a silver goblet; she is so fragile and because the bearing is so heavy, the little one seems to suffer. Everyone is watching her, for if she drops the goblet and the red light goes out, then that is the end of everything. This is why the golden animals hold their breath.”

Harro puts his hand on her frail shoulder and gently strokes the golden hair.

„Why does the child stretch out her hands so pleadingly?”

„Well, if no one helps her, she will drop the goblet. That is why she is walking with her red light; barefooted and searching.”

„She will not drop it as long as she lives!”

„Do you think so, Harro? But what if she dies? Then the light comes to an end and all is dark. The animals will fall asleep, never to wake again and anyone who desires to, may get in.”

Harro bends down and breathes a kiss on her crown of golden hair.

„I thank you, my Saint Rose. Now, the painting is hallowed.”

Chapter 6