Cihlar & Egeler - The Saint and her Fool

The glittering red light of the ring disturbs him, here in the midst of all this unfinished work. It looks so festive that he does not feel like working and he decides that he also deserves a day of rest, just as others do. The rolls of wallpaper seem to sullenly rustle their disappointment, as he throws them in the corner. They lay there in their pale, grey color, looking quite unsightly, near an unopened package. Harro has not painted on canvas in a long time; his last painting had not been accepted by the Art Association and was sent back to him in this package. The Christmas tree hides the annoying sight.

Yet, he has to work for his daily bread. Most of what he earns from painting, flows inevitably into the bottomless pit; the renovation of the castle. He never rests. There has hardly been a Sunday afternoon where he takes time for idleness, allowing himself a contemplative cigar and enjoying the company of the only friends he has: the words from a few pages of his favorite books.

His devoted effort is rarely rewarded. He is not able to create a hue of inspiration; his colors seem lifeless, clearly needing a good model to capture some beauty.

He knows where the good models are; in Paris… Rome…no one in this rural idyll would ever model for a painting. But those were impossible thoughts.

„You seem to be very indecisive,” he chides himself. „One can only wish for a certain kind of life and then it should be done with assertiveness. But you stare mesmerized at a heap of rubble and put each of your hard earned pennies into this ruin without seeing an end. For the money you have spent on lime to keep the stones together and wages to have it done, you could have had six weeks in Paris. A man like you, who claims to be an artist of life, living on porridge and prunes! You want to have everything and you succeed in nothing.”

This usually happens, when he comes to rest; two longings inside his breast quarrel over the sense of what he is doing.

„Even the simple task of painting wallpaper cannot be done without your mind wandering! You think of the lake outside and the black pines surrounding it, then you see a woman emerging out of the water, creating shimmering rings with each step…the customers do not want to have water rings on their wallpaper! You don’t want to draw them! So why do you paint that way? People would surely just get dizzy looking at your shimmering rings…to hell with wallpaper…I will surely not put any up on my walls…if they ever get done.” He scoffs at himself. „And surely with inlays of silver and pearl and some gold mosaic…you fool and dreamer!”

But today, the two voices inside of him seem to be peaceful and the master of his artist-soul leads him to a large, empty canvas, which he had set up days ago. It is pulled over four wooden stakes and tightened with nails. He begins his work, starting with chalk, and the more his strokes of color begin to enlighten the canvas, the brighter the fire of passion sparks from his eyes. No, this time he will not ignore the divine inspiration burning inside of him. Lost in his actions, he hardly acknowledges how the short winter day comes to an end. A red flame of receding light encases the castle keep, until only a dull glow penetrates the glass of the window in the room.

Then he hears the clacking of oncoming hooves and Mart hurriedly runs out to open the gate. The Duke rides in and gracefully jumps down from his beautiful brown, almost golden colored thoroughbred. Harro hastily pulls off his linen loincloth and covers his work of art with a sheet. He has hardly glanced at his work himself and surely does not want foreign eyes to fall upon it.

„I do hope I am not interrupting your work, Count Thorstein, you cannot always be diligent; one must also take time to rest.”

„I have just stopped, Your Highness, the light is receding.” He gestures to Mart. „You may trust your horse to my servant; he is an old trooper and knows how to treat such a valuable specimen.”

The Duke looks around. „You surely have enough room here; you should also have a horse.”

„If it could live off empty tubes of paint and torn wallpaper,” sighs Harro wryly.

The Duke takes off his gloves and smiles. „You should come to see my little girl, she is doing much better now and is painfully asking for you.”

Harro doesn’t meet his eyes. „I am very busy...here, please, Your Highness, this is my parlor.”

They have entered the largest finished room in the ruin, having much space for everything the Earl owns on comfortable accessories. An embroidered floor-covering colors the room, in which a small table, covered with a red velvet cloth, stands. On the table is a beautiful silver

tea set, from the old country, which he had been able to salvage. This old silver seems to still have the scent of noble contentment. On the wall hangs a picture, captured in a dark frame; the castle keep of Thorstein, rising over the tree tops, with white doves flying in a swarm through the evening light. The red stone walls seem to breathe out warmth, against the dark, steep roof of the castle in the cold shadows.

„That is wonderful,” exclaims the Duke. „You paint landscapes?”

„Among other things.”

„Portraits?”

„I haven’t yet found a model that would stay still long enough.”

This does not sound very enthusiastic, are the Duke’s thoughts. Then he says: „My little one needs to be cared for. For the moment, she is quite happy with her new doll, which no one is allowed to touch, and this seamstress woman looking after her, but she will need new supervision. I could go mad thinking of the recommendations these women had, only the best, and yet my poor little girl had been at the mercy of their incompetence! I should have let my sister Helen look at these specimens; she surely would have seen through them. Oh, how can I trust the next ones?”

„Maybe a Lady of nobility, who has had children herself.”

The Duke lights a cigarette. „A Lady, of course...not so young, more like a grandmother...from society, friendly...in a black silk dress and bonnet with stories of life and love. She would fit perfectly to my young lady with her old fashions and solemn way of seeing things.”

Harro’s face colors slightly.„If an adult had kept his word of honor under such suffering of this given word, then one should pay special tribute to a child for doing so.”

„Certainly, but you must admit: how should my child get through the world’s pain and injustice, if anyone, who is cunning and unscrupulous enough, may abuse her? There are so many people who depend on us and not all of them have the best intentions.”

Harro’s voice is soft. „The delicate, noble and sensitive ones are always defenseless.”

„Would you know an elderly woman for my little one? I am aware that this is indeed a commitment for a lady, not knowing, if this could work out for both sides.”

„I might know someone suited for the Princess,” answers Harro hesitantly. „She actually isn’t very old and would only be available for a few years.”

„That would surely be enough; the most important years are now to come for the child. Who is it?”

„An officer’s widow of noble gender; her son was my comrade, fell from his horse and was seriously injured. He died after a long time of misery. He was a fine man, had a brave heart, I was sorry to lose him as a friend. His mother tended to him until his death; he had been everything to her. Now she is alone. Her daughter married, immigrated to the colonies for a few years and upon her return, they will live together again. I have no idea if she would accept such a position, but she wrote to me some time ago, that she did not agree with being so alone and asked if I might need a housekeeper in my new castle. Unfortunately, I had to tell her that my castle has not been yet established for women.”