On the Night of the Seventh Moon

“You must come over to my island.”

“She wants to see the graves,” said Dagobert.

I was unaware that I had expressed such a wish but it seemed impolite to say so before their keeper.

“It was time you young masters came,” said Franz.

He took my hand to help me into the boat. His was dry, rough and cold.

Something about him made me shiver. I thought of him as Charon, the boatman of the Styx. Fritz was close behind me as though to protect me, I thought; and I was touched.

Dagobert leaped into the boat.

“Are you frightened. Miss?” he asked gleefully, clearly hoping that I was.

“Why do you ask? Did you expect me to be?”

“Franz lives all alone on Graber Insel, don’t you, Franz? Most people are a bit scared when they go there because there’s nobody there but the dead and Franz, of course. I wonder if you will be scared. Franz isn’t scared. He lives there all alone with the dead, don’t you, Franz? “

“For seventy years,” he said.

“Seventy years on the island. My father was keeper before me, and I knew I’d follow on.” He shook his head sadly.

“I’ve no son to follow me.”

“What will they do when you die, Franz?” asked Dagobert.

Old Franz shook his head.

“They’ll bring someone else in. Before, it was handed down from father to son.”

“Oh Franz, the dead won’t like it. I bet they’ll haunt the next one and drive him away.”

“This is a very morbid subject,” I said.

“I’m sure Franz will be the keeper for many years yet.”

Franz looked at me with approval.

“My grandfather lived to ninety. My father to ninety-three. They say that the dead give the gift of long life to their keepers.”

“Oh, but you haven’t got a son to follow you, Franz,” Dagobert reminded him.

“They won’t like that.”

“Why are you so pleased at the prospect, Dagobert?” I asked.

“Well, they’ll come out and haunt the next one, that’s why.”

The oars lapped gently in the water. I could see the island very clearly now. There appeared to be avenues of trees and flowering shrubs. It was very beautiful; and among the trees was a tiny house which reminded me of the gingerbread cottage in Hansel and Gretel. I felt as though I were entering the fairy-tale world again.

The boat came to rest on the shore and we scrambled out.

“First show her the ducal graves,” demanded Dagobert.

“Come this way,” said Franz.

The two boys went off to lay their flowers on their mothers’ graves and I followed Franz into one of the avenues between the flowers and the trees. There were the graves; ‘they were magnificently kept and glowing with flowers; the marble effigies were beautiful; so were the statues of angels guarding the graves and on some were gilded caskets and ornamentations in gilt and wrought iron.

“These are the graves of the family,” Franz told me.

“After the memorial services and the burial ceremonies they are brought over to me to lie in their final resting-place. I tend the shrubs and keep the graves fresh. Members of the Family sometimes come here, but rarely young ones. The young don’t think of death. These two boys come, though. That’s because their mothers lie here though not among the ducal avenues. There are two burial grounds here-that -o the dukes and their legitimate families and those whom they have honoured, as they call it. Some might say dishonoured. The boys come because they like to remind themselves that they are connected with the Family. I will show you the other graves afterwards. First look at these of the Family. This one is Ludwig’s grave. He is the brother of Duke Carl and a traitor. He was killed by the Duke’s friends and just in time for if he had not been killed he would have killed the Duke.”

“I ‘have heard something of Ludwig.”

“He will not easily be forgotten. And there is Count Frederic to follow him. Trouble

trouble

“Why should there be trouble between the Duke and Count Frederic?”

“There is often trouble in families particularly our old German ones. In the old days when the estates were so poor the brothers drew lots to see who should have what there was. An estate divided would have brought very little to brothers if there were many of them and there so often were -so that the only thing was to draw lots and let the winner take all. This has caused trouble through the ages. Those who have not inherited believe they owe their positions at the present day to the ill luck of their ancestors in the past. Many seek to win back by treachery what luck has denied them. Ludwig was such a one. He wanted to unseat Carl and rule Rochenstein himself.”

“And the boys’ father is his son?”

“Yes, Count Frederic will have to be careful. He will have the Prince to answer to. But Frederic is clever. He’ll bide his time.”

“So these are the dead ones,” I said.

“Well, if they suffered when they were alive they have been given due homage here. The graves are lovely.”

“It’s my pride to keep them beautiful,” Franz said, his face lighting with a smile.

“I’ll swear there are no more beautiful graves than mine in the whole of Europe.”

I walked down the line of graves and read the inscriptions. There were the Dukes of Rochenstein and Dorrenig and Counts of Lokenberg.

“Family titles all of them,” murmured Franz. As ever when I read that name I thought of myself back in the hunting lodge and the ceremony when Maximilian had slipped a ring on my finger . a ring which disappeared with my dreams . and the marriage lines which said I was his wife which had no substance either.

There were several avenues, all exquisitely kept-the grass weeded, the flowers blooming to perfection.

I saw the boys who called to me; and old Franz led me over to them. I passed through a gate and was in a walled graveyard. Here the graves were simple mounds with small grey stones at the head of them. I noticed some had no stones at all.

“These are the graves of those who are buried here with the permission of some member of the Family,” Franz explained.

“I’ll show you my mother’s grave,” said Dagobert.

I followed him, stepping cautiously between the graves to one with a headstone rather more elaborate than most of the others. On it was written Countess von Plinschen and the date of her death, 1858.

Dagobert said: “She died when I was born, she died having me.”

“That’s sad,” I murmured, touched to see the reverent manner in which he laid the pink orchids on her grave.

Fritz said: “My mother died too. Can I show you where she is?”

He took my hand and we walked away from the others. I was conscious of the eyes of Franz following me and I thought what a gruesome place this was, and it was a pity that the Family, as they were called, hadn’`t buried their dead in a churchyard like normal people.

I was deeply touched at the sight of Fritz kneeling by that grave. It simply said on it Luisa Freundsberg and nothing more.

“She loved me very much,” said Fritz, ‘but of course I was an embarrassment to her. “

“My dear Fritz,” I said.

“You must have been a great joy to her.”

His eyes were suddenly touched by pain as he said: “I don’t remember her. I only remember Frau Lichen and then there was Frau Graben.”

“Well, I dare say they loved you dearly.”

“Yes,” he admitted shyly, ‘but it is not the same as a mother. “

“There will be others in your life to love you,” I assured him; and that seemed to please him.

We went back and joined the others.

Franz offered us refreshments and we went into his gingerbread-like house to partake of them. We stepped down into a room in which were several flowers in pots. The scent was almost overpowering. We sat at a table and from a cask he drew mugs of what tasted like beer. I didn’`t greatly care for it but the boys drank it with relish.