Cihlar & Egeler - The Saint and her Fool

„It’s the well, the singing well! Look!” she whispers.

But the well is not murmuring; it is asleep. There is a light glowing through grey stones; a large room opens up as they step in and absorb the cosy warmth and delightful scents. A huge, impressive Christmas tree is set up in a bed of moss and stones and under the tree there is something wonderful, something to make a child’s heart jump. Now he gently lets her slip down. A tall servant is standing there in front of his master, looking at him like a faithful dog calculating his every move in advance. The Lord of the Manor hastily takes two sheets of paper and scribbles down a message.

„Make it before eight o’clock if you can, Mart!”

As the man leaves in a hurry, he lets Frau Scheiterlein in, holding Peter’s stockings.

„My dear Frau Scheiterlein, how does one feel to be a lady-in-waiting? Would you please dress the Princess?”

Gesturing wildly with her arms and spouting incomprehensible words, the woman accompanies the child into the salon with its four window niches. There, in one of them, the girl sits down and puts on Peter’s stockings under massive protest, however, for the stockings are scratchy, and in the meanwhile the Earl washes up in the only other room. She doesn’t really look more elegant in these stockings: They literally seem to be standing on their own. And Peter’s shoes are found to be too small and thus deemed unnecessary.

Now the next question is raised. „Frau Scheiterlein, what can one cook?”

A match is struck and a blue flame heats up the kettle. Frau Scheiterlein knows how to cook a lot of things quickly, like pancakes or egg dishes; but she recommends a good, hearty porridge – simply the best in all life’s difficult situations, whatever their ups and downs. She does a curtsy, then rushes out and soon the crackling of a fire can be heard.

The brown shawl, having now been peeled off and carried outside for a good airing, a very frail maiden appears, dressed in a blue velvet smock with traditional lace around her fine neck. However, no matter what she were to wear, people would only notice the flowing mane of pale golden hair that drape both sides of her face.

„If you become as heavy as your hair, you will be just fine, my little Rose. Some warm tea is on its way.”

But she does not want anything. Her pale cheeks are flushed and her eyes are shining eagerly. Yes, she has arrived in the Christkind ’s Kingdom and here under the Christmas tree is something so unbelievably beautiful. She moves towards the tree as well as she can in her thick, grey stockings, but he holds her back.

„One moment, little Rose! Close your eyes tightly.”

There she stands, perhaps for the first time in her young life, a blissful child full of expectation. For all these years she has only had the very latest and prized achievements of the highly developed German toy industry bestowed upon her. Now, for the first time, all the Christmas bells are ringing in her heart all at once and she keeps her eyes closed so desperately, so tightly that she has to make a fist with her fine little hands. A match crackles and a fine, luscious scent of wax fills the room.

„Open your eyes!”

There stands the tree in the radiance of ten candles, for it does not have any other decoration. Under the tree the work of wonder shines out in the gentle red light: a manger, not in a stable but in a miniature ruin built of grey stones, a stone slab for a roof, the cracks stuffed with moss. And bathed in a gentle pink that glows through a ruby-coloured fragment of glass, embedded into the stones, are the holy figures. They are made of coloured wax and modelled by the blessed hands of an artist. The Princess lets out a deep sigh of delight.

„The Christkind ! Does my brother lie like Baby Jesus in the arms of my mother in her silver coffin?”

Under the gentle pink glow, Mother Mary can be seen lying peacefully on a bed of silky-soft thistle down with her new-born child in her arms. She seems to be sleeping and the small, rosy head is snuggled against her breast. With one hand she is covering the child with her soft, light hair, as if this is a curtain for the cradle. Joseph is bending down over them with the most splendid expression of love and devoted care. A boy and a small maiden in rags are set up along a path of moss and grey lichen leading to the entrance. A grey donkey and a red-brown cow are peering out of the shed.

Little Saint Rose kneels down in front of all this magnificence and marvels at its splendour. Standing behind her, the Earl of Thorstein seems to be enjoying his piece of work, too, through the eyes of the child.

„There should be angels as well, but I had difficulty with the feathers. Now where exactly do their wings grow out from, I wonder?”

„Did you make this?”

„It was a great waste of time, no doubt, but there must be a present for everyone at Christmas. All these past years there has been nothing for Christmas but pure misery. But now I am the lord of my own castle again and I want to be generous to myself. In addition, it is the same as in Dürer’s case: The Child of the World also lies in ruins.”

Now the kettle is whistling.

„Oh, please, let me stay here. I cannot take my eyes off Mary,” she whispers and hugs her knees tightly. Sitting on the old, woollen carpet, the child seems to be celebrating her most treasured Christmas ever. The Earl also kneels down, then stretches to his full length on the floor next to her, a steaming teapot beside him; an image of utter contentment. The child is huddled up, nearly motionless, her shining hair almost touching the floor, her elbows on her knees. She perceives everything with total delight; she doesn’t have time to drink tea. This is a special day in her life, like none before, so wonderful and so long lasting, as if it could never end. The actual time is seven, and glancing at his watch, he calculates the possibility of the good news arriving before the bad.

„Whom did you made this for?”

„Well, for me and my children.”

„But you do not have children and you do not need any.”

„I see. Why do I not need children?”

„Look at beautiful Mary. When children come, they are noisy and they touch Mother Mary. And when they are gone, I am sure your dear cow will only have three legs left.”

„You do not trust me to keep order with my children?” he asks, stretching out a long, powerful arm and flexing his muscles.

„You do not need children for you have me.” She is half fearful, half defiant as she speaks these words and her voice wavers.

„I shall only have you another hour, my little Rose.” A shadow has fallen upon this wondrous Christmas joy. „One more hour and then I hope that your father will be here, your dear father.”

She flinches as her brows draw together in a frown and her eyes become clouded. „You have called for him.”

„They are very concerned about you.”

„Now he will be angry, angrier than he has ever been before. And then he will say what he always says: All she does is cause pain and sorrow, the poor little one.”

„No, he will surely not say that anymore. You are so much joy to him, dear Rose, I am sure of that. This time you will find the right words and make him understand.”

„Will I?”

„I am certain you will. You now know the right words, the ones you need to express what you feel. He will understand.”

„Is it because you have found the right name for me? Please tell him that my name is Saint Rose, but tell him when I am not present. You are so much wiser than all the others. Please tell me, does Mary know about her child’s future when she holds him so tenderly in her arms, covering him with her hair? If I should have a baby, I shall do the same so evil people cannot see my child. Do you think she knew what would happen to him?”