On the Night of the Seventh Moon (36 page)

I gripped his arm in my sudden fear for him.

“Be careful,” I said.

“As never before,” he assured me. “There is so much to live for now. My cousin has returned. He could not find Ilse. She seems to have disappeared completely. No one could give him any news of her.”

“Could she be dead?”

“We should have known if she had been. As soon as I can get away I shall go myself. I shall find out what has become of her and if she is alive I shall have the truth from her.”

“Perhaps it is not so important now that we have found each other.”

“Oh, Lenchen, how I long to have you here with me! When I ride out it is you I want beside me. You will find so much that is ceremonious. It is not an easy way of life.”

“If we are together I shall want nothing more.”

The meeting was over all too soon. It must necessarily be short. I realized that already his position had changed. He was no longer as free as he had been.

We found it difficult to leave each other. He said that he would, if it were possible, come to Klocksburg that night. If he could not we must arrange for Frau Graben to bring me to the ducal
Schloss,
although too frequent visits would give rise to comment and he did not want people to draw the kind of conclusions which they certainly would. He wanted everyone to know that I was his wife, and nothing would content him but that.

It was what I had wanted, but I was aware as he was of the delicacy of the matter and that we must tread with the utmost care.

Frau Graben was waiting for me somewhat impatiently and Sergeant Franck escorted us back to the carriage.

“Tell your wife that I'm happy to hear she came through all right. I've got a bottle of cordial for her. I shall see that she gets it in the next few days.”

Sergeant Franck thanked Frau Graben; and we got into the carriage and rattled down the hillside to the town and then back to Klocksburg.

 

.  .  .

 

In the church the Duke was lying in state. I took the children down to see his catafalque which was displayed in the church. This was draped in black velvet on which the Duke's emblem had been embroidered in gold thread. Candles burned at either end of the coffin and the church was full of the scent of flowers.

The light filtered through the stained-glass windows and in the semi-gloom people filed past the coffin.

The children were suitably solemn and I suspect rather relieved when we came out into the sunshine.

People whispered together.

“How impressive it was!”

“Poor Carl, he was a long time dying.”

“The Prince will have to settle down now that he's Duke.”

“Oh, he was serious enough. Let him enjoy himself while he's young.”

“Women! You all make excuses for him. Oh yes, he'll have to settle down now. If there's war . . .”

My heart was touched with a cold fear at the thought. He would have to go off to fight at the head of his army. I shivered. I could not bear to lose him to war.

The children quickly recovered from the gloom of the church.

“Let's go and look at the shops,” suggested Dagobert.

“Is it present time in England now?” Liesel wanted to know.

I answered that birthdays and Christmas were really time for presents. But there were easter eggs at Easter.

“It's not Easter now,” said Fritz.

I said I would buy them all a safety hat. What about that?

“There was only one magic one,” sighed Fritz sadly. “And Dagobert lost that.”

“I didn't really lose it. A troll came and picked it off my head.”

“There aren't any real trolls are there, miss?” pleaded Fritz.

“Oh no, they disappeared long ago.”

“Dagobert just lost my hat.”

“I want a magic hat,” wailed Liesel.

They should all have one, I said. And perhaps they would all turn out to be magic.

So we went and bought hats—even little Liesel had hers, and the children enjoyed swaggering along with them, glancing sideways at themselves in shop windows. They laughed at each other until I reminded them that the town was in mourning for the dead Duke.

“It's not a real mourning,” Dagobert told me, “because there's a new Duke. He's my uncle in a way.”

“Mine too,” said Fritz.

“And mine,” insisted Liesel.

“Of course,” whispered Dagobert, “it ought to be my Papa who is Duke.”

“Now Dagobert,” I said, “that's treason.”

Fritz looked alarmed but Dagobert was rather delighted with the prospect of treason. I wondered where he had picked up the idea that his father ought to be in Maximilian's place.

When we reached the
Schloss
they played a new game, lying in state. Dagobert thought he ought to be the Duke in the coffin, but that was very dull; he much preferred the game of robbers in the forest.

 

All through the morning the bells tolled. From my room I saw the flags of the royal
Schloss
flying at half mast; our own was lowered in the same way.

The children were excited, though silent. They had been caught up in the general air of solemnity. Frau Graben and I were taking them into the town to see the funeral procession.

“We'll go early,” she said, “you won't be able to move in the town in a few hours' time.”

It had been arranged that we should see the procession from the window of the inn where we had seen that other cavalcade which was to celebrate the return of Maximilian from Berlin.

We all wore black clothes and there was a black rosette on the horse which drew our trap.

Liesel started to sing as we drove on the downhill road but she was reprimanded by Fritz.

“You don't sing at funerals,” he told her, and for once Dagobert joined in to agree with him.

Frau Graben somehow made it seem almost like a festive occasion. She couldn't hide her excitement; her eyes darted everywhere, but she drove with a competence which was surprising.

Crowds were already filling the
oberer Stadtplatz;
they were taking their stand on the steps which led to the fountain in the middle of the square. Strips of black crepe fluttered from the windows, and with the flags at half mast it was clearly a town of mourning.

“We'll get along to the inn while we can,” said Frau Graben, and I was quite relieved when we arrived there. The trap and horse were taken care of and we took our seats in the window as we had before.

The innkeeper came to chat with us and talked about good Duke Carl who was dead and young Duke Carl who had succeeded him.

“Times are troublous,” murmured the innkeeper. “We miss the good old days. Let's hope the young Duke gets a long peaceful reign, though I'm forced to say the signs go against that.”

I felt very uneasy and said: “What is the news?”

“They say Napoleon's getting more and more pugnacious.”

“And you think he'll declare war?”

“That's the way things are going.”

Dagobert cocked an imaginary gun. “Bang! Bang!” he cried. “You're dead.”

“Let's hope it won't come to that,” said the innkeeper.

Dagobert started to march up and down, singing the National Anthem and saluting as he came past us. Fritz fell in behind and Liesel joined them.

“Now, children,” said Frau Graben comfortably, “we're not at war yet, you know.”

“I'm going to the war,” said Dagobert. “Bang! I shall lead you all into battle. My father will go.”

“He's not the Commander-in-Chief,” said Fritz.

“Oh yes, he is really.”

“No, he's not. That's the Duke.”

“He is really only he lets the Duke pretend. He could be Duke if he wanted to.”

“Now, children,” said Frau Graben, “don't let's have nonsense!”

“It's not nonsense, Graben. My father . . .”

“We'll have no more guns or wars or Dukes or it will be no funeral procession for you. Now, Liesel, you'd better come over here with me or you won't see a thing there.”

We arranged ourselves at the window and the innkeeper brought wine for Frau Graben and me; the children had a sweet drink.

The guns booming from the tower of the royal
Schloss
announced that the procession was about to begin. Slowly the cavalcade descended the mountain into the town on its way to the church where the late Duke had been lying in state.

There was the carriage on which the coffin would be placed and taken to the shores of the lake when Charon would row it over. Only a few of the nearest relatives would cross to the Island, led by Maximilian and Count Frederic.

There was the Processional Cross glittering in the sun as I had seen it before, and there was Maximilian remote as a hero of the forest seated in his carriage wearing his robes of state—purple velvet edged with ermine and as I gazed at him I said to myself: Is he really my husband? But when he looked up, for he knew I should be at the window, and smiled he was no longer remote, and not even the sound of the ominous funeral march nor the guards with black feathers in their hats in place of the habitual blue ones, could curb my joy. Slowly they filed past.

“There's my father,” said Dagobert in an awed whisper.

And there he was, the Count himself, in military uniform, medals glistening on his chest, a black feather in his helmet.

He too looked up at the window and I fancied there was a supercilious smile about his lips.

The duration of the church service seemed interminable to the children; they fidgeted and Dagobert wanted Fritz's seat because he thought it was better than his own and as the eldest he should have it. He tried to jostle Fritz out of it, but Frau Graben in her comfortable way controlled them.

At length the service was over. The coffin was laid in the carriage for its last journey to the Island. The band struck up a Dead March, and slowly the horses caparisoned in heavy black velvet, black plumes waving on their heads, drew the carriage through the streets. On either side marched the soldiers.

The crowds were silent as the cavalcade went winding its way through the town toward the forest and lake. When it came back the carriage which had contained the coffin would be empty, and the chief mourners would no longer be there; the Processional Cross would be taken back to the church and locked away in the crypt.

Dagobert announced that he wanted to go to the Island to see his mother's grave.

“Now you know nobody is allowed on the Island today,” said Frau Graben. “If you're very good I'll take you to see the Duke's grave.”

“When?” Dagobert wanted to know.

“Not today because you wouldn't be allowed. This is the day of the burial.”

“When my father dies it'll be a better funeral than this,” said Dagobert.

“Good gracious alive what a thing to talk of.”

“I didn't want him dead,” said Dagobert, ashamed, “only I wanted him to have a better funeral.”

“There's not a better funeral than the Duke's,” said Fritz.

“There can be,” insisted Dagobert.

“Now no more talk of funerals or there'll be no trip to the Duke's grave for some people.”

That quieted them but they were restive.

I suggested a guessing game which we played with moderate concentration until the Processional Cross was brought back and the crowds started to disperse.

Frau Graben thought we might be leaving soon, but when we descended to the inn parlor it was to find the crowds were so thick that we could scarcely move.

“We'll make our way to the stables,” said Frau Graben. “By the time we're ready to leave it'll be less congested.”

Dagobert slipped out of the inn yard to look at the crowds and I was anxious because of what had happened to him in the forest. I followed him, calling him.

I then saw Sergeant Franck who had caught Dagobert by the arm. He pulled him round and indicated me.

I went up.

Sergeant Franck clicked his heels and bowed.

“It's too crowded out there,” he said. “Give them ten minutes and it'll be considerably less crowded. You want to be careful no one picks your pockets in a crowd like this. All the beggars and thieves come in for miles around. It's a field day for them.”

Frau Graben came up.

Again he clicked and bowed. “I was just telling the Fräulein here that it would be better to wait for a few minutes. Why don't you pop in and see Gretchen and the children? She'd be glad to see you.”

Frau Graben said it was a good idea, and she wished that she had brought the cordial she'd promised.

“Never mind, she'll be better pleased to see you than all the cordial in Rochenstein.”

“I don't know that that's very polite to my cordial,” beamed Frau Graben.

“Better still,” I said, “it's very complimentary to you.”

Sergeant Franck made a way for us through the crowd and we left the main street. There was a small side alley made very pretty by window boxes on the sills; it was like a little court.

Frau Graben told me that the married guards had their homes in
little squares like this throughout the town, though the single ones were in barracks close to the
Schloss.

The door of one of the houses was open; one stepped straight into a living room. There were two children sitting on the floor—one, about six years old, drawing, the other, about four, was playing with bricks.

“Visitors, Gretchen,” said Sergeant Franck; “and now it's back to duty for me. You'll make the introductions, Frau Graben, I know.”

“You can trust me,” said Frau Graben. And she said something which I didn't hear. For I could only gaze in shocked amazement at Gretchen Franck, for I recognized her at once. She was Gretchen Swartz whom I had met in the clinic when I was going to have my baby; the girl who had been in great distress and whom they told me was dead.