Читать книгу The Dutch Maiden - Marente De Moor - Страница 10

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MAASTRICHT, 10 SEPTEMBER 1936

Dear Egon,

This letter requires no postage stamp and will surely not go unread, as I am entrusting it to my daughter, who will make sure you open it. I have long since given up expecting a reply from you but my heart rejoices at the thought that you will make the acquaintance of that which is most precious to me in this life: Janna, born in a period you dismissed as a failure. No doubt you will laugh, with the cynical snigger of someone who has forgotten what laughter is for, to hear that my daughter of all people has been possessed by the insane passion you call a life-enhancing art. Killing to enhance life: no one but you could dream up such a notion. My daughter has dealt me an unsettling blow. Could it be true that the ground where war has raged can only bring forth conflict? Janna was conceived at the site of the battle, an admission that leaves me somewhat shamefaced. Was this an act of desecration on my part? If so, it was not my intention. By then peace had returned to the land. The wounds had healed, the scars were gone, the grass had grown back thick and lush. The weather was mild and the air smelled fresh. The scent of life carrying on regardless.

The weather was not as warm as it had been then. In the wake of the battle, no one understood where that sudden heat had come from; was it the sun beating down or the fresh blood steaming from the soil? Perhaps I am mistaken and it was not the same field, but it was certainly a place ripe for planting new life in a warm-blooded woman—a woman who later, once the dust had settled, would withdraw into a fixed and deathly chill.

I went there with another purpose, of course. Do not think I have forgotten. Believe me, Egon, I searched high and low. I questioned farmers, blacksmiths, coachmen but none of them could tell me anything. I have explained all this to you, but you have never deemed my explanations worthy of an answer. I tried my best. I did not find your horse.

And now my daughter shares your passion for combat. I have tried to dissuade her. As you can imagine, I did not stand a chance. My own dear headstrong girl belongs to a breed you often see nowadays; she is a girl with no desire to become a woman. Do you understand that I am trying to make amends? First and foremost I am presenting you, the maître d’armes, with perhaps the best pupil you will ever have. Janna has real talent! Secondly, my friend, I offer you my doubts—the same doubts I kept from you when you had such need of them. Many men grow strong by feeding on the doubts of other men. Perhaps swordsmanship is the one essential art about which I understand nothing. These days, I am wise enough to admit that I cannot know anything with certainty.

But this is not all. Once you have finished gloating, it may please you to know that I have immersed myself in the art of swordsmanship. Not that I have ever held a weapon. A doctor does not need to contract the disease to make his diagnosis. Before I came across the enclosed engraving, I had no intention of sending Janna to you. But things can change. Please study it closely. It comes from a rare edition of Bredero’s Low German verses.

‘Oh new man of arms so able and refined / who Wise Art with strength in unity combines.’

This engraving is not simply a curiosity. This is lost learning with the power to save lives. If you are interested, there is more to be found on this subject, not least the method itself, beautifully illustrated. I sat in a deserted library in Amsterdam, turning pages with gloved hands, taking notes. It is a remarkable book. This is the science of swordsmanship. They call it a secret, the clandestine knowledge of inviolability, but let us leave those mysteries for what they are. You know my views on such matters. It is merely the science of not conceding a hit—probably far from simple, but a subject that can nonetheless be studied. Do so, Egon. Protect yourself, your country, the whole world for that matter, protect them from even more misery. The peace is no older than my daughter, no older than you were when you decided to enlist as a soldier. I hope, no, I believe beyond all doubt that …

The Dutch Maiden

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