Cihlar & Egeler - The Saint and her Fool

„I can surely be of help to you, Count Thorstein, if you need specific things for the structure of your new home.”

Harro seems uncomfortable. „Thank you, Your Highness, I need no help...there is no hurry, my plans are not finished yet.”

„When you are finished with your planning, do let me know“, urges the Duke. „I would also be grateful, if you could ask your acquaintance to consider the position. I would still need an Englishwoman, it would be a shame to let the child forget the language she has learned so well, but she needs a confidante above all.”

„I will, although I am not sure if it is the sort of position she was thinking of.”

„Well, we will see.” The Duke pauses shortly. „Come to dinner tomorrow, Count Thorstein, and we may discuss this further.”

„I must decline, Your Highness, I need the day tomorrow for my work, having been so idle today, but I will surely come by soon to see how the Princess is doing and will let you know the answer of my acquaintance.”

„My dear Count, are you always so guarded?”

Now, he is alone again, lighting a cigar and inhaling the smoke with deep breaths. The thought of taking offered loans makes him shudder. No, he would rather spend the rest of his days between rubble, before his pride would let him accept charity.

„What would happen, if these old walls kept you incarcerated until your death? The world does not need you.”

It is a sorrowful thought in this dark winter night, which is now accompanied by the howl of mournful wind. The small lamp illuminates only one corner of the dark chamber. There is no thinking about continuing his new work of art and he knows, he mustn’t do so in this doleful mood. His inner flames have extinguished and he now realizes that he had not had lunch and is quite hungry. Mart has gone to town and he has no wish to prepare anything just for himself, so he decides to drink a tea to chase the coldness away. He strikes up a blue flame, just as the door bell chimes through the winds of the storm. The Lord of the castle must open himself and finds the postman standing outside; today he has a registered letter with him. He signs the receipt under the flickering light of the entrance door, which seems to puff out in anger as he slams the door. Harro gropes his way back to the room in darkness, his fingers touching unfinished and unpleasant things he had tended to ignore. Angrily, he comes back to his room, where even his blue flame has stopped burning.

Harro flings himself into his chair, leaving the mail aside on the table, and mutters: „Dreadful....what a damp, cold and dark home I have created for myself; the most pleasant scent is the cigar smoke.” He reaches for the mail. A small amount sent for a whole series of wallpaper designs falls out of an envelope and he snorts: „I should have saved the time for better things...to fabricate wax dolls would be more profitable.“ Then a newspaper, an offer from a life insurance company, which he flings into the corner with an unruly laugh, and a thick letter, the writing uneven and simple; the writing of a child’s hand.

My dear Harro,

I am writing to you so that you know I am fine. Seamstress Rose is sewing a silver dress for your Snow White.I wanted a dress made of real silver, but she said that cannot be done. Maybe in Paris. I am very fond of Snow White; I saw right away that you had made her, she looks almost as beautiful as the Mother Mary you made.You could have played Joseph, Father would have understood.

Everyone is gone. Miss Whart, Fräulein Braun and Babette must stay in the sewing room.As soon as I am better, I will visit you to hear the singing well and pet the roebuck.We do not have a singing well and not such a nice manger, but we have a linden tree. Did you hear it, when I was sick? If the tree is angry, it thrusts its branches against my window and swishes and hisses and then goes back to sleep.In the spring, it wakes up again. It has a thousand hearts; soft, green ones and they too swish and swoosh softly when the wind comes and the sunshine lives there in the green-golden house. Then it takes on yellow tufts that swing and everything around comes to visit. It is like a wedding; the tufts swing and the hearts beat and it sounds, as if violins are playing and even the ants put on white wings that they need not work anymore and dance along. The moon rises when the sunshine is asleep in the green-yellow house, then I am not allowed to visit, but I did once. You know how it was? The wedding guests had gone to bed, the violins were still and you know what the linden tree was doing? It was crying! With all its hearts and tufts and the moonshine cut into the tears and everything turned silver. Had you known the tree this way? I had to tell you this so you will also know the secret. I am telling you, because you believed in me and knew I do not tell lies. That is why you are my friend, dear Harro, and I can tell you that I know there is a dress made of silver and there are golden shoes. The linden tree knows it too, but it also cries out the truth when it is alone with the moon at night.

This is my story of the beautiful linden tree.Your Saint Rose

His anger dissolves, the great room is no longer dark and the scent around him seems to be sweet. It is as if the linden tree is all around and the night is bright, he feels delicate little arms wrap themselves around his neck und can hear the fine, tinkling voice. „Why do you cry, my linden tree?”

Harro gets up and paces in long strides through the room, up and down. Mart has fed the large stove with a great portion of wood and comfortable warmth spreads out while the wail of the outside winds harp their songs between the huge fir trees. The lamp casts a glowing light and peeping out of the corner are the beautiful black eyes of the small roebuck that came inside with Mart, twitching its fine nose. The kettle whistles its willingness to warm from inside and all this enchantment encloses Harro as he stares at the bare wall, a picture slowly appearing before his inner eyes. This picture takes possession of his inner soul, which had been chased today in breathless haste.

The image of a large trophy room with white pillars appears in his mind; a strange, golden beast squats with a blurred coat of arms in its claws. Ceremonial walls present themselves with figures of knights and ladies, vague shadows, only the eyes seem to embody life. At the end of this hall of fame, a distant light source illuminates the form of a frail child with wide, dreamy eyes. A cloud of pale hair, falling like floods of water around the face and narrow shoulders, it stands on pale, bare feet, the hands raised beseechingly, yearning to be held. The child bears a strange jewel, from which a stinging red light penetrates his mind. A deep breath ...and the image is gone.

Harro closes his eyes and gropes his way back to his seat in the dark corner of the room. There, he rests his head on his arms, an ardent desire filling his heart. I must succeed! If there is a God, he should hear my plea; but with one God for the millions on earth, what can a tiny earthworm be to him! Lonely is the heart in his chest and left powerless, when the wild roar of emotions leave again. He groans. So much to comply with! The arms of his soul reach out into the dark night...where...how...Then he straightens up. I am a fool; as if ever an answer would come from blind pleading; not even knowing what this plea is for. It is time to grit your teeth; you are an ambivalent man and you must find out what you want. The stones around you are wailing and you have a gift...given by whom? Search deep, the answer is inside of you. I know now, what must be done and I must do it with fervor.

The realization that he would be able to reach his goal makes his breast swell up with bliss. A Catholic would light a candle for the Saint, who has given him this insight. He needs to thank someone.