The king Christian was as good as its word; punctually at ten o’clock it came in sight and ten minutes later moored at the landing-stage. The count was already there, his cases beside him, on which Axel and Asta were sitting, with shot-guns over their shoulders. He said good-bye to his children and climbed on board behind two of the crew carrying his luggage. Captain Brödstedt called down to the engine-room, the quartermaster let the wheel run through his fingers, and with heavy thuds, for it was still a paddle-steamer, the ship left the jetty and headed east towards the open sea. Meanwhile Holk had climbed up to the captain on the bridge and was watching the pier where the two children were still eagerly waving while Axel even fired a farewell shot from his gun. The countess and Fräulein Dobschütz were standing on the top step of the terrace and then moved up to the tall colonnaded gallery to follow the ship more easily. At the same time they were able to look down on to the pier where the two children were now coming back in lively conversation. When they reached the beach they parted, and while Axel turned off into the dunes, bent on some gull-shooting, Asta climbed up to the terrace.
When she arrived, she pushed a footstool close to her mother’s chair, took her hand and tried to joke: “It was the handsome Captain Brödstedt on the boat who, according to Philip, has a very pretty wife whom he is supposed to have taken from the Bornholm lighthouse. It really is a shame that just because of prejudice one can’t marry a man like Captain Brödstedt.”
“But Asta, how can you say such a thing?”
“It’s quite simple, Mama. After all, everybody has eyes in their head and hears all sorts of things and makes comparisons. Now just take Dr. Schwarzkoppen who married into the aristocracy; it’s true he’s a widower now. But you must admit, Mama, that the Principal is not half as good-looking as Brödstedt. And Schwarzkoppen might be a possibility, but Herr Strehlke …”
They both laughed, and as her mother said nothing, Fraülein Dobschütz said: “Asta, you are behaving just like a young filly and I see to my horror that you need some schooling. And what were you saying exactly, as if there was a difference socially speaking between a man like Brödstedt and a man like Strehlke.”
“Certainly there is a difference. That is to say, not for me, quite definitely not for me, I assure you. But for others there is a difference. Just look around us. And I have never heard of a marriage between a ship’s captain and the daughter of a count; but if I were to add up all the tutors and curates around here who …”
“Please let us try to avoid comparisons, Asta.”
“All right,” she laughed, “but to be a lighthouse-keeper’s daughter and then be taken from a lighthouse by Captain Brödstedt is very charming and really a sort of real-life fairy story. And I adore anything to do with fairy stories, I have a passion for them and I like Andersen’s tale about the brave tin soldier much, much better than the whole of the Seven Years’ War!” And with these words she jumped up from her footstool and went off to play the piano, leaving the two women alone. Immediately afterwards, one of Chopin’s Études could be heard, played rather unevenly and with many mistakes.
“How did Asta come to make such a remark? Is it just high spirits or what? What put such strange ideas into her head?”
“Nothing that you need to be afraid of,” said Fräulein Dobschütz. “If that were so, then she would keep quiet about it. I spend more time with her than you and I can guarantee her commonsense. Asta has a lively mind and a lively imagination.”
“Which is always a danger …”
“Yes. But often a blessing as well. A lively imagination can often turn ugliness into something else and then it is a shield and protection.”
The countess stared straight ahead without replying and when, a little later, she looked out again over the sea, there was nothing to be seen of the ship except a thin wisp of smoke along the horizon, growing paler and paler. She seemed very pensive and when Fräulein Dobschütz gave her a furtive glance, she saw that her eyes were full of tears.
“What is it, Christine?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“And yet you seem so moved …”
“Nothing,” repeated the countess, “or at least nothing definite. But I have a vague fear and if I didn’t dislike fortune-telling and interpreting dreams as being something godless and a source of trouble, I would tell you of a dream that I had last night. And it wasn’t even a particularly horrifying dream, merely sad and melancholy. It was a funeral procession, just you and I and Helmut in the distance. And then all at once it was a wedding procession and I was in it and then it was a funeral procession again. I cannot put it out of my thoughts. The strange thing about it was that I was not frightened by it during the dream, but only when I woke up. It was for that reason that I was so disturbed by what Asta said. Yesterday I should merely have been amused at it, for I know the children and know that she is exactly as you said …. And then, frankly, this journey makes me afraid. Look, the smoke has disappeared now …”
“But Christine, you will get over it; it’s like being afraid of falling off a chair or of the ceiling falling in. Ceilings do fall in and houses as well, and ships founder too, between Glücksburg and Copenhagen but, thank God, only once every hundred years …”
“And when it does happen, someone suffers and who can say who that someone will be? But it is not that, Julie. I’m not afraid of an accident on the way. What is worrying me is quite different. As you know, I was looking forward to this period of quiet that was going to be such a busy time as well, yet ever since this morning I’m not looking forward to it at all.”
“Have you changed your mind about the children?”
“No, I shall do what we decided long ago between us and my only uncertainty is where to send Axel. But it will not be difficult to settle that either. No, Julie, what has been preying on my mind since this morning is simply this: I ought not to have let Helmut go or, at least, not alone. I have always been uneasy and unhappy about this strange situation and even although he was compelled to go this time, otherwise it would have seemed an insult not to appear, then all the same I should have gone with him …”
Julie had difficulty in suppressing a smile.
“Jealous?” And as she asked, she took the countess’s hand and felt it trembling. “You don’t reply. So I have guessed right and you really are jealous, otherwise you would have said something and laughed at me. One never stops learning, even about one’s best friend.”
A silence followed, painful for them both but especially for Julie who had aroused all these emotions quite unwittingly and unwillingly; but the embarrassment on both sides could now only be removed by continuing the conversation that had caused it.
“May I say something?”
Christine nodded.
“Well then, Christine, I have been in many homes and seen many things that I would rather not have seen. Ancient families often leave much to be desired. But on the other hand, if I have ever found a secure home, it is yours. Like all beautiful women who are good as well as beautiful, you are an angel, which is something truly rare and I know that, personally, I have never met anyone better than you. But your husband is a really good man, too, and in the matter that we are discussing, he is a paragon. If I had to show a stranger what a German home and German morals can be, I should take his hand and lead him to Holkenäs.”
The countess’s face lit up.
“Yes, Christine, all things considered, you are a very lucky woman. Holk is straightforward and trustworthy and even if one out of every three women in Copenhagen was a Potiphar’s wife, you could still be sure of him. And after all, Christine, even if in spite of everything you still had doubts …”
“Yes?”
“Then you ought to suppress them and use all your affection and common sense to persuade yourself that it is not true. It is trust that makes people happy and kind and restores their confidence, whereas horrible suspicions can spoil everything.”
“Ah, my dear Julie, you can talk like that because, although you know so much about our life and our home, you still don’t properly understand—you were only saying so yourself a moment ago—you don’t understand what is happening inside me. You know everything and yet not enough. I think that only husbands and wives themselves can ever know what a marriage really is and sometimes even they do not know. An outsider sees every moment of pique and hears every argument, for strangely enough married couples don’t generally hide all their disagreements and quarrels from others, yes, it sometimes seems almost as if others are meant to hear them, as if all the most violent things were intended especially for them. But that gives quite a false picture, because as long as some love still remains, marriage always has another side to it. You see, Julie, when I want to talk to Helmut about something and go and look for him in his room and see that he is writing or working on something, I pick up a book and sit down opposite to him and say: ‘Don’t let me disturb you, Helmut, I can wait.’ And then, while I’m reading or pretending to read, I often look over the top of the book and it makes me so happy to see his dear, kind, face and I want to run over to him and say: ‘My darling husband.’ You see, Julie, that happens as well but no one ever sees or hears it.”
“Ah, Christine, I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that out of your own mouth. I have often been worried for you both and for your happiness. But if everything is as you say …”
“It is, Julie, exactly—and sometimes even in spite of myself. But because it is like that, you are still wrong to advise me always to think nothing but good and sometimes even to close my eyes. If you love someone, that is impossible. And then, Julie dear, you are also wrong or half wrong at least, in what you said about Helmut. He is kind and loyal, the best husband in the world, that’s all quite true, but he is still weak and conceited and Copenhagen is not the sort of place to give strength to a weak character. You see, Julie, I know that you are defending him and that you believe in him, but even you spoke of certain possibilities and it is just these possibilities that are preying on my mind at the moment.”
Fräulein Dobschütz was endeavouring to reassure her further when Philip brought a letter which had just arrived by messenger from Arnewieck. The countess assumed that it was from her brother but, glancing at the address, she saw that it came from Schwarzkoppen. She read:
My dear Countess,
Since our meeting of the day before yesterday, I have been examining in greater detail the question that we were discussing and have been studying the educational institutions that might be suitable for Axel. Some of the best are too strict, not only in their discipline but also in their doctrinal position and I have reached the view that the Pädagogium at Bunzlau corresponds most closely with our requirements. I know the headmaster and would consider it an honour to be allowed to write him a few words of introduction. In addition, Gnadenfrei is relatively near so that brother and sister will be able to see each other quite frequently and travel back together for the holidays.
I remain, my dear Countess,
Your sincere and devoted,
Schwarzkoppen
“Now Julie, this has come just at the right time. I rely implicitly on our friend in this question and my husband has given me a free hand. What a good thing it is that we now have some definite plans. We must make a list this very day of what each of the children needs. There will be so many things. And then there will be the journey and of course you must come with us. I am looking forward immensely to seeing my beloved Gnadenfrei again and I know that you will enjoy it, too. And when I think how my brother came and fetched me, oh, so long ago, with Helmut …. It was almost like the lighthouse from which Captain Brödstedt brought home his girl from Bornholm. Yes, it certainly was a lighthouse for me and for you, a real beacon for life and, I hope, till death.”