No Way Back

Five miles south of Gliicksburg, on a dune that ran right down to the sea, stood Schloss Holkenas, the family residence of Count Holk; to the occasional strangers who passed through the region, at this time stili very much off the beaten track, it presented a remarkable sight. It was a building designed after Italian models, with just hint enough of classical Greece to allow the Count's brother-in-law, Baron Arne von Arnewiek, to speak of 'a latter-day tempie at Paestum'. Quite ironically, of course. And yet with some justification. For what one saw from the sea was indeed an oblong formation of columns, behind which the !ower part of the actual house with its living quarters and reception rooms was concealed, while the upper storey, which appeared to be set considerably further back, rose just over a man's height above the screen of columns which formed a portico on all four sides. It was this screen of columns that really gave the whole a Mediterranean fee!; there were stone benches covered with rugs all round the portico, and there, day after day, the summer months were spent, except when it was prefcrred to climb up to the fiat roof, which was less an actual roof than a broad terrace running round the whole upper storey. On this broad, fiat roof-cum-terrace which rested on the columns of the ground floor stood potted cacti and aloes, and herc, even on the hottest days, comparatively cool fresh air was to be enjoyed. If a breeze from the sea chanced to blow, it would catch the flag that hung limp on a flagstaff, making it swing back and forth with a heavy slap, adding a little to the slight movement of the air.

Schloss Holkenas had not always stood on this dune. When seventeen years earlier the present Count married the beautiful Baroness Christine Arne, youngest sister of the neighbouring landowner Arne, he had moved into the modcst quarters of the original old Schloss Holkenas, which lay further inland in the large village of Holkeby, just opposite the fieldstone church which had neither choir nor tower. The ald Schloss, like the church, datcd back to the fourteenth ccntury, and a new building had been planncd by the Count's grandfather. But it took the prcsent Count, who among an array of minor passions had a passion for building, to revive the project, and soon afterwards he built the much discussed and mocked, though admittcdly also much admired castlc on the dunc, which was not only grander but above all mare comfortable to live in. The Countess, howcver, had a persistcnt preference for the okl Schloss, naw reduced to the rank of bailiff's house, a prefcrence so powerful that she never passcd it without thinking with a touch of melancholy of the days spent there. For those had bcen her happiest timcs, the ycars when the two had always lived for love and had never known a differencc of opinion. Herc in the ald Schloss oppo­ site the church their three children had been born, and the death of the youngest, a boy who had been christened Estrid, had only brought the handsome youthful couple closer and increased their sense of belonging to one another.

All this had not entirely survivcd the move to the new Schloss, and the Countess, who had bccn educatcd by the Moravian Brethren and was of a sensitive disposition, had had a strong premonition of it, so strong she would have far preferred a reconstruction and cxtension of the old Schloss so that they could stay on there. The Count however was stubbornly enthusiastic at the prospect of his 'castle by the sea', and the very first time he discussed it with the Countess, rccited the lines:

'Hast thou behcld the castle?
The castle by the sea?
Clouds of gołd and crimson
Glide over it silently ... '

a quotation that produced quite the opposite effect on the person it was intendecl to win over, besides occasioning a certain derisive astonishmcnt. For Holk was quite unliterary, and nobody knew this better than the Countess.

'Where did you pick that up, Hclmuth?'

'At Arnewiek, where else? There's an engraving banging on the wali at your brother's, and that was under it. And I have to say, Christine, I thought it was first-ratc. A castle by the sea! I think it'll be splendid, a joy for us both.'

'If one is happy, one shouldn't wish to be happier stili. And then, Helmuth, to choose that quotation of all things. You only know the first lincs of the Uhland pocm I imagine forgive me, that's who it's by, Uhland but it doesn't go on the way it begins, and there's so much sadness to come at the end:

"The stormwinds and the waves
In tranquil slumber slcpt;
I heard within its cham bers
A funera! dirge, and wept..... "

You sec, Hclmuth, that's how it ends.'

'Exccllent, Christine, I like that too,' Holk laughed. 'And by Uhlami you say. Weil, good for bim. But you're not going to ask that I don't build my castle by the sea just because of a funeral dirge drifting from the chambers of a castle in a pocm, even if it is by Uhland?'

'No Helmuth, I'm not asking that. But I have to confcss I would rather stay down herc in the old stone house with all its inconven­ iences and its ghost. I don't mim! about the ghost, but I do bclieve in premonitions, even though the Moravians have no time for them, and they'rc probably right. But in spite of that, we all havc our human weaknesses, and some things lingcr in the mind, so that try as we may, we can't shake them off.'

That was how the conversation had gone and it had never been refcrrcd to again, except for one occasion when both of them climbed up the dune (the sun had already set) to take a look at the new building that was going up. And when they reachcd the top Holk smilcd and pointcd to the clouds which at that moment stood 'gołd and crimson' directly abovc them.

'I know what you're thinking,' said the Countess. 'And ... '

'l've had to ... I've put aside my other preference now. At the time, when you first talked about the new building, I was in low spirits, you know why. I couldn't forget the child, and I wanted to be close to the place where he lay.'

He kissed her hand and confessed that her words during that conversation really had made an impression on him. 'And now you 're being so generous. And how beautiful you look in the golden sunset. I think, Christine, we'll be happy herc. Is that your wish too?'

And she clung tenderly to his ann. But she said nothing.

That had been the year before the completion of the building, and soon afterwards, because the old Schloss in the village below was becoming less and less habitable, Holk had arranged with his brother-in-law to send Christine and the childrcn to Arnewiek where they werc to stay until Whitsun, by which time everything would be finished.

And so it had been.

And now Whitsun was approaching, and the day of the move into the new Schloss was upon them. The garden on the rear slope of the dune was only half-planted, and in generał a good deal of work was stili in progress. But one thing had been completed, the narrow colonnaded front facing the sea. Herc shrubberies and round flower beds had been laid out, and furthcr down, where the slope of the dune began, a stepped terrace descended to the bcach and continued as a pier, built far out into the sea to serve as a landing-stage for the steamer that plied between Gli.icksburg and Copenhagen.

Christine was filled with admiration and delight far beyond her own expectations, and when, after walking round the house, she climbed up to the flat roof, the splendid panorama that spread before her dispelled all the worries and premonitions that had continued to assai! her soul ever since she had reconciled herself to the new building the previous year; and she called to the children, stili down by the terrace, to come up and sharc her dclight. Holk could see how deeply she was moved and wanted to speak, to thank her. But she anticipated him.

'lt will soon be a year, Helmuth, since we last stood here on the dune, and you asked me whether I wished to be happy here. I said nothing then ... '

'And now?'

'Now I'll say yes.'