Cihlar & Egeler - The Saint and her Fool

At first, the Earl had feared the fact of having another mouth to feed, but there seemed to be a magic power in this homeland. He had hardly been able to afford life in Berlin on his own, but it was indeed now possible to nourish both of them and with time, he was even able to pay Mart a small wage, so that he could stay.

It was their second winter together. The one pair of doves had multiplied into a swarm of wings, gracefully turning their circles over grey walls and dark forest peaks. Mart’s loving dedication was only for the white feathered doves; any colourful creature would mercilessly end up in his cooking pot, for Mart was now responsible for preparing the sparse food for the two ruin inhabitants. There was always work for him to do; splitting wood until way into the night was also one of these deeds, which his master shared with him in the beginning. A kitchen was built around one of the half-damaged, giant fire-places located next to the courtyard-room and the stables were repaired; now the home of a good-natured brown cow named Selma, and a stray, almost starved fawn Mart had found, wandering aimlessly around through the rubble and had nursed it with a bottle.

They were fed with the grass of the castle moats and meadows, where Mart and his master made hay. Since Selma’s nourishing milk was a supplement to Mart’s cooking, the two men were looking healthier by the day. Mart’s sinister expression also looked much brighter. He retained his airs and graces towards his master, as he had done towards his father, the old colonel, and he left the ruin only for urgent errands. Sunday afternoons were always dedicated to the improvement of his home. The spindle stairs, only to be used by the sure-footed, still led steeply up, but a pipe could now be seen sticking out of the wall where smoke emerged on winter Sundays. Then, a roaring fire burned in the old stove and enlightened and warmed up the whitewashed, high room, leaving the pigeons cooing softly with content. Mart sat there with his pipe and some craftwork in his hands, imaging a picture of complete contentment.

Mart appears with a case from former times, still showing the name of the regiment. He takes out the Earl’s only suit and it is quite noticeable to be the only presentable suit, in comparison to his usual plain clothes. Some elaborate brush strokes by Mart and the Thorsteiner constrains himself into the unusual clothing with a sigh. At that moment, he remembers little Saint Rose’s broken doll; should he go and search for a compensation for the broken little Lilla? For this, he would need to go to the village; maybe some shops would still be open for those who needed a gift at last minute. He packs wax-remains and various items, throws on a cape over his magnificence and entrusts his castle to the awestruck looking Mart.

Mart usually takes the way across the forest and down the icy hill, but this was not possible anymore, so the Earl has to follow the road, an almost two-hour walk. After one hour, the long-stretched mountain with the castle appears in front of him and a beautiful park, now snow-covered in the dark, winds around the castle. Between two round towers a fine renaissance gable is seen, a jumble of large and small roofs built toward the castle walls over the centuries, as a necessity or for architectural reasons, it shows now a friendly and lively setting in comparison to a former dull scene. It is now a gentle gleaming silver band of snow-covered roofs and towers. Under the grey sky, out of where snowflakes float down, the castle looks so far away from life, so fairy tale-like, that characters of Grimm’s Fairytale book, such as all the golden haired Princesses, the faithful and foolish sons of Kings, bad Kings, smart Queens, could have lived there.

With the eyes of an artist, he takes in the elegant architectural styles of various epochs. On an extremely plain looking, modern tower, the blue and white banner is fluttering, announcing the presence of the Duke. Where would Saint Rose’s little empire be? How beautifully she fits into this castle; the final touch of elegance, a fine blossom, maybe too delicate to come out of such a dignified old branch of dynasty. Did she find the proper words today? He was sure she would not be punished; on the contrary, the Duke was just greatly relieved to have his daughter back, almost proud of the boldness she had demonstrated. Who wouldn’t have given her credit for this? However, it had surely been helpful that Mart’s good news had arrived before the bad news.

Now the way winds up ancient steps, one of those that make us wonder how people and horses could ever have possibly used this route. Then snow-covered gardens and a quiet street appear, surrounded by tall narrow-gabled houses. An ancient gate-tower can be seen next to a baroque house, where centuries ago the knitting guard Serenissimi, as the painting from Spitzweg shows, had sat. Opposite the cute shop of Georg Haring, to the delight of the town’s youth, where promising boxes with tin soldiers , a jumping jack and a tiny cardboard carrousel are waiting for a buyer. The tall Thorsteiner has to stoop down to enter the shop and a friendly woman welcomes him with a look of surprise.

He looks squarely at her. „I am in search of a doll.”

„Sir, we are out of dressed dolls and the other ones are not noble enough for ladies and gentlemen!” She has only one, but unfortunately an accident had happened, explains the woman and regretfully pulls out a beautiful doll from a box, with lovely blond curls, but the little nose is badly damaged.

Harro of Thorstein beams. „Splendid, I will take it. Only this unsightly gown, which this poor wench is wearing, is quite plain. You cannot visit the palace in this condition, little doll-without-nose.” But then he remembers Seamstress-Rose, with all her sisters and brothers.The box under his arm, he walks along the street, where a sign hangs over stone-steps, an unfortunate looking ox with an axe stuck in his head. Here he finds a warm, comfortable corner, where a friendly woman offers him to sit down. She herself returns into her steaming kitchen, to govern over numerous pots and pans.

“You are joining the other gentlemen for dinner, Milord?” she calls up to him.

„I shall eat up here.” He does not desire the company of the old-established sophisticated men such as the Postal Administrator, the Notary Public Commissioner and the District Court Judge, whose daily mid-noon reunion is a single boredom. The woman’s smile is bitter-sweet and she promises to do her best.

It is good that little Rose is not able to watch the following task, a quite cannibalistic work of art. With his pocket-knife, Harro crushes the doll’s silly-laughing face so that the eyes of small beads fall onto the table.His black coat hinders him and the contents of the box he opens, could ruin it. He discards himself of the coat and now, in white shirtsleeves, he busily works with a fine cutter on a slice of boxwood. Half an hour later, this gentle giant of a man, in his shirt sleeves, appears before the startled mistress with a small frying pan – which also came out of the box – to melt his glue next to the roasting goose. „Well, Madam, aren’t men’s cooking simple? How fortunate we are to have you as a cook; the goose smells delicious, by the way.”

The excited innkeeper, today there are many guests due to a big funeral, opens the door, sees the man in shirt sleeves in the kitchen and shouts: „This is the last time I have let Martin go home on Christmas Eve! Hey, you there, carry up this suitcase to room number seventeen. Standing around in the kitchen is forbidden!”

„Yes, Sir, immediately. Madam, please take care that the glue does not boil over, the smell would be quite unsuitable for your kitchen.”

Before the eyes of the gaping servants, the Thorsteiner Lord shoulders the suitcase of Herr Lohrmann, noodle manufacturer from Offenbach am Main, and carries it up to room number seventeen, where he delivers the suitcase with a friendly smile to him.