Cihlar & Egeler - The Saint and her Fool

Why have you done this to us? Look, your father and I have sought you anxiously and Jesus simply replied to them, why is it that you sought me? Do you not know that I must be in my Father's house? Maria said sadly, hardly understanding his words: Shall I be without you ? So Jesus went home with her. Maria constantly had to think of what he had said; that this was not his home and in her mind this thought went over and over.”

The Pastor sits completely immersed; he has hardly looked at her during her story, yet, the way he bows his head and looks at his hands, one can feel that he has heard every word. He now looks up and his gaze does no longer pity, no, not at all.

„Rosemarie, you must never change the words of this story, for they have risen in your heart. Please hold on tight to these words, we must reflect the words that Luther or other great translators have left us. Should you ever hear the St. Matthew Passion by Bach, which I wish for you, it will open a whole new world; you will hear Jesus’ words that are sung, always accompanied by the most delicate violin tones, shrouded as if with gold. Your innocent heart has found the most intimate expression of devotion and love. Always remember this, when you repeat a word of Jesus. These words bring their own heavenly melody with them, we can only spoil them.You have quite accurately quoted the verse from Luke 2:49: Do you not know that I must be in my Father's house?“

Rosemarie repeats the words: “Do you not know that I must be in my Father's house?“

„And now we should make a plan for you to learn, what the old Jewish rabbis have delivered to us.”

In the evening, Rosemarie says her father good-night.

„So, my daughter, how did it go along this morning?”

„I seemed quite uneducated at first and Herr Pastor was very sorrowful. Then I recited a story for him about Jesus when he was a child; one I once wrote in my blue booklet. This book is not for Herr Pastor to read and I can write whatever makes me happy. Each time, when Harro comes, he reads in it and asks: What is new in your little blue booklet ?Harro is very wise, Father, but he has never mentioned how little I know about religion.”

„But Herr Pastor no doubt did. How fortunate, Rosemarie, that now someone seems more aspiring than your tall friend! I had thought that no one could arise the praise you have of his knowledge.”

Father and daughter are in the Duke’s favorite room; the summer room, which is so named because of its beautiful stucco ceiling. In this plaster ceiling is a particular scene; a handsome young man with an ear of corn and a sickle, representing the atmosphere of summer time in the style of the eighteenth century. The summer room faces the valley and offers beautiful scenery of the village below, the gentle river with its winding course, as well as the spectacular forest hills. Over the Duke`s desk hangs a painting of Rosemarie as a young child; she seems so much grown up now that the image of her in this portrayal has become increasing valuable to her father.

„Harro knew nothing about the celestial melody.”

„So, Herr Pastor has found numerous things to remind you that your idolized Harro does not know everything. Now I know how one must be to keep your attention. The Herr Pastor has managed to impress you, so that you find faults of your old friends.”

Rosemarie’s eyes are full of tears. „Have I done so?”

„You mustn’t be so sensitive, my dear daughter, Harro is unassailable in your heart and I am pleased that the lessons do not frighten you. Would you also let me see your blue booklet?”

„I also have a red booklet and that is all for me alone.”

„And not even Harro is allowed to read it?“

„If he wanted to, yes, but he does not wish so. He does not want to hear anything about it, neither does Frau von Hardenstein.”

„Of the red booklet?”

„No... of its contents.”

„And me? Do I also not want to hear of it?”

Saint Rose looks at her father doubtfully. „Maybe you will be upset!”

The Duke laughs: „Please bring me your red booklet which not even Harro has read, if you think I am trustworthy. Your deepest secret!”

„Yes, Father, but you must not laugh. It hurts me.”

„I will not laugh, I promise. I feel very honored, to take part in your thoughts. Just lay your red booklet on my desk. Now go, my dear, the dinner bell has chimed.”

Chapter 12

The Duchess’ fingers restlessly rustle the pages of the novel on her lap, at the same time suppressing a yawn of boredom. Such ways of entertainment surreptitiously fade away during quiet evenings in the seclusion of the country. If she had been in Berlin, she could have gone to the opera today; maybe even a circus would be performing or she could have invited guests. In Brauneck, the evenings seem endless and tedious.

She arises with a sigh of annoyance. She could read in bed and if she falls asleep, the purpose of the novel would be fulfilled. This old castle is only endurable when all the guest beds are occupied; on such dark, autumn days this dwelling seems to transmit a quite melancholic atmosphere.

„I will retire. I wish to ride out tomorrow morning.”

The Duke gets up from his chair and politely holds the door open, though regret resonates in his voice. „So early?“

„You know how it will be in Berlin. One must sleep in advance.”

The Duke stands still at the door, watching her resplendent appearance disappear. He immediately switches off all the lights and walks down the long hallway to his own quarters. It had seemed like an escape.

„All this new furnishing,“ he murmurs, as his eyes wander, „makes one feel like a furniture dealer. Fortunately, the walls cannot be replaced.”

Arriving at his room, he lights a cigarette. On his desk, his eyes catch the sight of a red booklet; a green ribbon tied around it with shiny, red maple leaf peeking out. He laughs contentedly: Rosemarie`s secrets. He feels good knowing to be the only recipient. Of course, only because Harro had not wished to read it, but he no longer thinks of this. With a closer look, he notices a golden ribbon under the green one. What a little lady! Something very valuable must be in this booklet and his brows crease a bit at the thought of what might be written inside.

His thoughts are a bit troubled of what he might read...this friendship with the tall Thorsteiner – she is thirteen years now. Heaven, already thirteen! He often forgets her age when looking at her childlike features….some young ladies already initiate romantic feelings at that age.

Had not he himself, at the age of fifteen, thrown sweets that he had saved and wrapped in finest paper, over the castle wall to impress the thirteen year old forester`s daughter? If her secrets turn out to be an exposure of unsuitable thoughts of her friend, the Earl of Thorstein, he would be forced to bring the relationship to an end. Something which he would deplore to do, but yet surely would, for it was nevertheless best in such a situation. He takes the book in his hand...well, we will see.

The title was – The Friends - meticulously written in a clear handwriting and framed by ornaments of delicate blades of grass and mossy little twigs, glued onto the paper.

There is a secret. Not everyone knows of it. Some say it is falsehood, some laugh, some are frightened. There are people in the castle, walking on very light feet and they do not cast shadows. Only the very wise and perceptive know it is true. These beings are similar to regular people, though they glow with beauty and friendliness. Those, who catch sight of them, claim to have seen nothing and when a child affirms the appearance, they scold it a liar. Others call them ghosts. Ghosts, however, are deceased people, lying stiff and white in their coffins, which have done evil and therefore cannot sleep peacefully until God wakes them up again. Oh, how afraid we should be of them! Just the thought makes you shiver; ghosts are dreadful and one is terrified, when walking along dark hallways, where the eyes from the paintings peer down on you. This is not how the friends are.