On the Night of the Seventh Moon (2 page)

My happy childhood was overshadowed only by the visits of the aunts and later the need to go away to school. Then followed holidays and a return to the exciting city which never seemed to change—indeed, said my father, it had been the same for hundreds of years; that was its charm. What I remember from that time is the wonderful sense of security I felt. It had never occurred to me that anything could change. I should always take walks with my father and listen to his accounts of the days when he had been a student; and it was such a joy to listen because although he spoke of them with pride there was no regret. I loved to listen to him as he talked reverently of his days at Balliol; I felt I was as familiar with the college as he was; and I could clearly understand his absorption in the life as he planned to spend the rest of his days there. He would proudly tell me of the famous people who had studied there. My mother talked of her childhood and sang
Lieder
to me, fitting her own words to melodies from Schubert and Schumann which I loved. She made little sketches of the forest and they seemed to have a fairy-tale quality which has always haunted me; she would tell me stories of trolls and woodcutters and some of the old legends which had been handed down from pre-Christian days when people believed in the gods of the North such as Odin the All Father, Thor with his hammer, and the beautiful Goddess Freya after whom Friday was named. I was enthralled by these stories.

Sometimes she would tell me about the
Damenstift
in the pine forest where she had been educated by nuns; she talked sometimes in German so that I became moderately conversant with that language although never quite bilingual.

It was her dearest wish that I should be educated at that convent where she herself had been so happy. “You will love it there,” she told me, “high up in the pine-clad mountains. The air will make you strong and healthy; in the summer mornings you will eat breakfast out of doors—fresh milk and rye bread. It tastes good. The nuns will be kind
to you. They will teach you to be happy and work hard. It is what I have always wanted for you.”

As my father always wanted what she wanted, I went to the
Damenstift
and when I had recovered from my homesickness I began to enjoy it. I was soon under the spell of the forest though I had in fact been so before I had set eyes on it; and as I was at that time the sort of girl who has few inhibitions I was able to accept the new life and my companions with no great difficulty. My mother had prepared me so nothing seemed very strange. There were girls from all over Europe. Six of them were English including myself; there were just over a dozen French and the rest were from the various little German states of which we were in the midst.

We mingled well. We spoke English and French as well as German; the simple life was good for us all; the discipline was intended to be stern but of course there were those indulgent nuns who could be wheedled and we were quick to find them.

I was soon happy in the convent and I spent two contented years passing even the vacations there, because it was too far and too expensive to return home. There were always six or seven of us who did this and some of the happiest times were when the others had left and we decorated the hall with firs from the forest and sang our carols or decorated the chapel for Easter, or took picnics in the forest during the summer.

I had come to accept this new life; Oxford with its towers and spires seemed far away until that day when I heard that my mother was dangerously ill and I was to go home. Fortunately it was in the summer and Mr. and Mrs. Greville, friends of my father, who were traveling in Europe, collected me and took me home. My mother was dead when I arrived.

What a change I found. My father had aged by ten years; he was vague as though he could not drag himself away from a blissful past to face an intolerable present. The aunts had descended upon the household. At great sacrifice, Aunt Caroline told me, they had given up their
comfortable
cottage in Somerset to come and look after us. I
was sixteen years old, time to stop wasting my time on a lot of foreign languages and habits which would be of no use to me; I should make myself useful in the home. They could find plenty for me to do there. Young girls should be able to cook and sew, keep a stillroom and perform other domestic tasks which she doubted were taught at outlandish foreign convents.

But father roused himself from his apathy. It had been my mother's wish that I should complete my education at the
Damenstift
and should stay there until I was eighteen years old.

So I went back and I often thought that if the aunts had had their way that strange adventure would never have taken place.

It happened two years after my mother's death. I had forgotten so much of life in Oxford and only rarely did I think of walking down the Cornmarket to Folly Bridge and St. Aldate's, of the castellated walls of colleges; of the hollow silence of the Cathedral and the fascination of the Murder of St. Thomas à Becket in stained glass in the east window. But the reality was the convent life, the secrets shared with girls as we lay in our cell-like dormitory where a thick stone buttress divided one cell from another.

And so there came that early autumn after which nothing would be the same again.

I was nearly eighteen—perhaps young for my years. I was frivolous yet in a way dreamily romantic. I have no one but myself to blame for what happened.

The most gentle of the sisters was Maria. She should have been a mother of children; perhaps she would have been overindulgent, but how happy she would have been and so would they! But she was a virgin nun and had to content herself with us.

She understood me more than any of the others. She knew that I did not wish to be wayward. I was high spirited; I was impulsive; my sin was thoughtlessness rather than willfulness. I know she had constantly explained this to the Mutter.

It was October—and we were enjoying an Indian summer for the autumn was long coming that year. It was a pity to waste the golden
days, said Schwester Maria, and she was going to choose twelve girls whose conduct warranted the privilege to accompany her on a picnic. We could take the wagonette and go up to the plateau; and there we would make a fire and boil a pan of water and make coffee and Schwester Gretchen had said she would bake a few of her spiced cakes as a special treat.

She chose me to be among the favored twelve rather as a hope that I might mend my ways than because of past good conduct I was sure; but whatever the reason I was in the party on that fateful day. Schwester Maria drove the wagonette as I had seen her so many times before, looking like a big black crow in her flapping black robes, sitting there holding in the horse with a masterly touch which was surprising. Poor old horse, he would have known the road blindfolded, so it did not really need very much skill to lead him there. During his lifetime, he must have taken the wagonette full of girls up to the plateau many times.

So we arrived; we made the fire (so useful for the girls to learn these things); we boiled the water, made the coffee and ate the spiced cakes. We washed the cups in the nearby stream and packed them away; we wandered around until Schwester Maria clapped her hands to call us to her. We were leaving in half an hour, she told us, and we must all assemble at that time. We knew what this meant. Schwester Maria was going to lean against the tree under which she was sitting and for half an hour take a well-earned nap.

And so she did while we wandered off, and the feeling of excitement which being in the pine forests always gave me began to creep over me. In such a setting Hansel and Gretel were lost and came upon their gingerbread house; in such a wood the lost babes had wandered to lie down and sleep and be covered by the leaves. Along the river, although we could not see them here, castles would appear to hang on the edge of the hillside—castles such as the one in which the Beauty slept for one hundred years before she was awakened by the kiss of a Prince. This was the forest of enchantment, of woodcutters, trolls, princes in disguise and princesses who must be rescued, of giants and dwarfs; it was the fairy-tale land.

I had wandered away from the others; no one was in sight. I must watch the time. Pinned to my blouse was a little watch with blue enamel decorations which had been my mother's. It would not be fair to be late and upset dear kind Schwester Maria.

Then I started to brood on what I had found when I last returned home: the aunts in possession and my father grown indifferent to what went on around him; and it occurred to me that I would have to go back soon for girls did not stay after nineteen at the
Damenstift.

The mist comes suddenly in the mountainous forests. We were very high above sea level. When we went into the little town of Leichenkin, which was the nearest to the
Damenstift,
we went downhill all the way. And as I sat thinking of home and wondering vaguely about the future, the mist descended and when I got to my feet I could only see a few yards ahead of me. I looked at my watch. It was time to be going. Schwester Maria would already be rousing from her slumbers, clapping her hands and peering about for the girls. I had climbed a little and the mist might be less thick where she was resting, but in any case the fact that it was there would alarm her and she would certainly decide that we must leave at once.

I started off in what I thought was the direction in which I had come; but I must have been wrong, for I could not find the road. I was not unduly alarmed, I had five minutes or so to spare and I had not wandered very far. But my concern grew when I still could not find the way. I believed I could be wandering round in circles but I kept assuring myself that soon I would come upon the clearing where we had had our picnic. I would hear the voices of the girls. But there was no sound in the mist.

I called out: “Cooee!” as we did when we wished to attract each other's attention. There was no response.

I did not know which way to turn and I knew enough of the forest to realize that one could be deceived by direction in a mist such as this one. A horrible panic came to me. It might thicken. It might not lift all night. If so how could I find my way back to the clearing. I called again. There was no answer.

I looked at my watch. I was five minutes overdue. I pictured Schwester Maria fussing. “Helena Trant again!” she would say. “Of course she didn't mean it. She was just not thinking . . .”

How right she was. I must find my way back. I could not worry poor Schwester Maria.

I started off again, calling: “Coo-ee. It's Helena. Here!”

But no answer came out of the implacable gray mist. The mountain and forests are beautiful but they are also cruel, which is why there is always a hint of cruelty in the fairy tales of the forest. The wicked witch is forever waiting to spring, the spellbound trees are waiting to turn into the dragons they become when darkness falls.

But I was not really frightened although I knew I was lost. The wise thing was to stay where I was and call. So I did.

I looked at my watch. Half an hour had passed. I was frantic. But at least they would be searching for me.

I waited. I called. I abandoned my decision to remain where I was and began to walk frantically in several directions. An hour had passed since the time for our rendezvous.

It must have been half an hour after that. I had called until I was hoarse; and then I was alert for the sound of a displaced stone rolling and the crackle of undergrowth indicated that someone was near.

“Cooee!” I called with relief. “I'm here.”

He loomed up out of the mist like a hero of the forest on his big white horse. I went toward him. He sat for one second regarding me, then he said in English: “It was you who called. So you're lost.”

I was too relieved to be surprised that he spoke in English. I began to talk quickly: “Have you seen the wagonette? And Schwester Maria and the girls? I must find them quickly.”

He smiled slowly. “You're from the
Damenstift.
”

“Why, yes, of course.”

He leaped down from his horse. He was tall, broad, and immediately I was aware of what I could only describe then as authority. I was delighted. I wanted someone who could get me back to Schwester Maria with all speed and he gave an impression of invincibility.

“I'm lost,” I said. “There was a picnic.”

“And you strayed away from the fold.” His eyes gleamed. They were very bright topaz color, I thought, but perhaps that was the strange light due to the mist. His mouth which was firm and full turned up at the corners; he had not taken his eyes from me and I was a little embarrassed by his scrutiny.

“Sheep who stray from the fold deserve to be lost,” he said.

“Yes, I suppose so, but I didn't exactly stray far. But for the mist I should have found them easily.”

“One must always expect mist at these heights,” he reproved.

“Well, yes, of course, but will you take me back to them? I'm sure they are still searching for me.”

“If you can tell me where they are, most certainly. But if you knew that important fact you would not need my help.”

“Couldn't we try and find them? They can't be far.”

“How could we find anyone in this mist?”

“It's more than an hour since I was supposed to be there.”

“Depend upon it. They've gone back to the
Damenstift.
”

I looked at the horse. “It's five miles. Could you take me there?”

I was rather startled to be promptly lifted up and set sideways on the horse. He leaped into the saddle.

“Go on Schlem,” he said in German.

The horse walked cautiously forward while the stranger kept one arm about me; he held the reins with the other. I could feel my heart beating very fast. I was so excited I had stopped worrying about Schwester Maria.

I said: “Anyone could get lost in the mist.”

“Anyone,” he agreed.

“You were lost I suppose?” I asked.