Cihlar & Egeler - The Saint and her Fool

This is the carpenter’s work shop, he finds out from one of the red-headed children. Since there had been thieves in there, the father always has a loaded gun nearby.

„Should we go there, or are you afraid?“ The red-head girl smiles up at him; this gentleman seems so tall and strong that he surely dares to cope with any thieves, and she knows which key to use. A dark space appears; an epitome of obscurity and it opens up into a large, yet very low room, so that Harro can hardly stand upright. The barred windows give just enough light to illuminate shadows. Old tools are lying in a muddle and the low ceiling is carried by rough wooden beams.

It had surely been impossible to construct anything but coffins here, are Harro’s thoughts.

„My little helper, please go and ask your mother for a candle.”

He walks around, bending down, hands in his pockets.

„Have the demons built this as a confinement for the ghosts? This cannot have been intended for normal people, it is like a chamber from a bad dream, it gets lower and lower, until eventually you have to crawl ... a true nightmare ...ouch!”

Harro sinks to the floor, his head buzzing as if a hundred bees have flown into his ears. A line of blood trickles down his forehead.

„Well, I must say… quite what to expect from demons and ghosts!“

The forester`s little girl comes in with a burning candle, sets it on the floor and begins to whine.

„There are thieves here…you are bleeding!” And she runs back out as fast as her little feet can carry her.

Harro wipes the blood from his forehead. „Where did I hit myself so terribly?“

He picks up the candle. There… the protruding end of the beam; how can one of his height not collide with it! As his eyes begin to adjust to the light, he sees that the end is carved. He stares at the woodcarving in astonishment…Good Lord! Staring back at him is a crouching little man, holding a finger to his lips, still bearing traces of blue paint. As he continues to walk down the row of beams, holding the candle up, he sees that each end bears the sign of the figure; often damaged, only showing pieces of the head or a very faint color of blue. From everywhere, they are now looking at him; threatening, warning, smiling…as they had surely done centuries ago, in the dark, uncanny rooms of Castle Schweigen.

The forester’s wife comes in, accompanied by her two children, who are crying while hiding behind her.

„Gracious Sir, you have injured yourself! You are as white as a sheet; oh, this is such a desolate place to be.”

„Not at all, Madam, it is only important to know how to behave and people who do not use their eyes… hit their head. Thank you for the linen bandage, this will surely stop the bleeding. Do not cry little Klara, the thieves are gone and they will not be back. Once you have finished crying and your noses are cleaned, I will draw a sketching of each of you.”

„Oh…such an honor, Sir.” The woman blushes. „How generous of you! Please, Sir, let me be of assistance with your wound and offer you some hot coffee. Today is such a bleak and cold day; the chill can be felt down to the bones.”

It is pitch black outside by the time he goes, leaving two fine sketchings of the children with the forester’s wife.

„I thank you so much, Sir, and please do visit us anytime you may wish.”

Harro wanders the long way back home through the darkness of the forest. Even though he is dead-tired, he fastens a canvas over the large wooden frame, which Mart has made for the event of the Earl’s next inspiration.

His sleep is restless and before dawn, with an aching head, he stands before the canvas the next morning; still moved by the portent of the blue carvings. Should I tell Saint Rose that I have found her little blue dwarf? She has never been to the old work shop; the forester’s wife had been shocked at his question if anyone from the Royal Family had ever been there.

„I would be most ashamed to show this cryptic place to them, it is like a horrible shrine. Although I had nothing to do with the storage of these things!” she exclaims.

But the Duke should be informed, he certainly has not forgotten the child's behavior. He decides to surreptitiously tell him of his discovery: he would say Castle Schweigen had inspired him to a new painting and that he had discovered the carvings on his visit there, which seemed to refer to the name of the castle.

The child will not be told. No, he must not interfere with Frau von Hartenstein’s pedagogical principles. So, Rosemarie hears nothing about the blue dwarf and Harro does not return to Castle Schweigen, but paints his painting out of the vivid memory of this strange encounter.

It is a quiet winter that descends upon the valley; no storms of snow, just a gentle flutter of white snow stars silently cover the landscape and the Earl of Ruins celebrates his second Christmas. The Duke sees no reason for his daughter to stay alone in Brauneck, now that she has a mother again. But Rosemarie hardly arrives in Berlin, when the children of some servants in the Palace fall ill with diphtheria, and the terrified Duke immediately sends his daughter back to Brauneck. The Duchess is very much his opinion; she is actually quite content with this arrangement. And why should not the girl stay there during the entire winter? This would very much simplify all matters!

Chapter 10

The Duchess has returned to Brauneck. The city of Berlin has been a cure for her moodiness and her appearance is radiant; but she soon considers life in Brauneck as quite monotonous, even during the summer months. It is a promising chance to escape boredom, as she suggests that the Earl of Thorstein should paint a portrait of her.

The Duke sees no haste to do this, but the Duchess pouts and asks if he wishes to wait until she is old and ugly, just for her to fit into the row of unattractive, ghastly looking female ancestors on the wall? The Duke relents and requests the Thorsteiner of his service in this matter. The Earl is reluctant; he has no desire to be the royal jester of Castle Brauneck and searches for a pretext. His time is limited and portraits are not his forte. He surely could not paint a representational image of the Duchess. He would only be able to paint his impression and fears that he could not stylize.

This conversation is held between the two men, after a palatable dinner, during a stroll along the pathway through the fragrant line of rose bushes. Darkness has descended and only the burning, red dots of their cigars can be seen, moving up and down like fireflies.

„It is possible, Count Thorstein, that you are right with your objections; I have no clue as to how to evaluate any performance of an artist. But I do assure you that this portrait will not be a representative painting for the hall of ancestors, but only for the pleasure and privacy of the Duchess...and, of course, mine.

It is actually not custom to have a portrait painted of a woman, before she gives birth to her first son… I would have liked to wait, but ce que femme veut - veut Dieu ; what women wish, is God’s wish…you surely understand. It could be painted in an oval form, such as the picture of my sister in the green room. „Harro finally promises to outline a draft and if the Duchess is pleased, only then to begin with a portrait.”

The discussion of which garment should be worn for this occasion is difficult and tedious. The green hunting dress with leather cuffs and a soft, pliable hat, as suggested by Harro, is much too plain for the Duchess. She pulls out frilly creations made by Madame Lenormand in Wiesbaden, much to the contempt of Harro, which he does not even try to conceal.

The Duchess would have expected a certain degree of responsiveness from this young and vigorous artist and she is tempted to play a harmless game of flirtation with him. He must be vulnerable to some point, this handsome Earl of Ruins. She had observed this many times, when he was together with Rosemarie; he has terribly spoiled the child and even relents to her demands. This could be quite amusing…not at all captious…and so entertaining in the endless monotony of this summer season in Brauneck. The Duchess thus is so docile, even in matters where she usually does not tolerate interference.