CHAPTER XII
ALL SAINTS
Sunday was always an interesting day, for there were many things to do. The little American church near the Odeonsplatz was a homelike place where once a week, at least, one could imagine himself at home, so familiar was the service in one's own tongue, and here the family generally went. After church it was the custom to promenade up and down the Parada, and with the rest of the citizens to listen to the music of the band which played upon the balcony of the Feldernhalle.
But there was one Sunday when the morning service was unattended by any from Pension Bauer, for all took their way to the cemetery. This was the day of All Saints, and every grave, even the humblest, was decorated, lights were set to burn, and the whole place looked like a great garden of blossoms. There were many persons walking quietly around, old women were stationed to watch the tall candles or to replenish the swinging lamps.
"It is very solemn and very beautiful," said Nan to Dr. Woods, with whom she was walking. "I never imagined anything quite like this, but I think it is a beautiful custom."
"The royal tombs are decorated to-day, too," said Dr. Woods. "We ought to go to St. Michael's, for in the crypt there King Ludwig II and a number of others are buried. A great many persons visit the place every year, for this is the only day upon which the place is opened to the public. If you all are not too tired we might go there from here."
Nan agreed and they passed on to where Jean and Jack were standing whispering together.
"Look, Nan," said Jack, "at that little girl over there. She is putting that one little candle and that tiny bunch of flowers on a grave. She looks so poor. I wonder whose grave it is? I hope it is not her mother's."
"See, she is coming away," said Nan. "Don't watch her so closely, dear; it doesn't seem kind."
The two children turned quickly away, but could not forbear watching the little girl as she slowly passed out the gate.
"I wish I knew about her," said Jack following the departing figure with sympathetic glances.
"Let's go, Nan," said Jean; "it is so sad here."
"I don't think you twinnies ought to have come," Nan told them.
"Oh, yes, we ought. We like the flowers and the lights, but we don't like little girls like that to be so poor as not to have more flowers and candles," Jack returned.
They now came up to the rest of the party and proposed the walk to see the royal tombs, but Mrs. Corner decided that she was too tired to go and, therefore, the twins went home with her while the others continued to the church. Here a long procession of persons passed steadily in and out of the crypt, where masses of flowers and brilliant lights surrounded the tombs of dead royalty.
"I'd like to know more about King Ludwig II," said Nan to her companion. "The Bavarian succession is so mixed up in my mind I never do get it straight."
"There is a little history of Bavaria that I saw somewhere. I shall be glad to bring it to you, if you would care to look it over. You will find this a most interesting kingdom, full of romance as well as of solid fact. The unfortunate Ludwig II was son of Maximilian II and grandson of Ludwig I. The present Prince Regent is a son of Ludwig I and a brother of Maximilian II. He is, therefore, uncle of Ludwig II and of the poor mad king Otto, the actual king."
"I will write that all down, and then I can remember it better," said Nan. This she proceeded to do. "I should like very much to see the history, thank you, and get all these Ludwigs and Maximilians straightened out. It will make the places named after them so much more interesting. I did get a sort of half idea from all those wonderful castles we have been making trips to see, but I am not yet quite exact."
"I think you will like the legend called 'Weibtreue' which tells of an event away back in the twelfth century."
"Tell me it."
"The story goes that Welf VI with his wife and followers were besieged by Konrad, the Hohenstaufen. After a long time they said they would yield, but Konrad was so angry at the long resistance that he declared that every man should be killed, though he consented to allow the women to go out first, each being allowed to take with her the thing she valued the most. Finally when the city gates were flung open out came a long train of women, and what do you think they had on their backs?"
Nan's eyes were bright as stars. She loved this sort of legend. "What?" she asked.
"The Countess Ida, Welf's wife, came first and on her back she carried her husband. Each of the women following carried either a husband, father, lover, son or brother."
"Good!" Nan's hands came together. "And what did Konrad do?"
"His soldiers were furious at the trick, but Konrad himself was so struck by the women's devotion that he forgave them every one."
Nan laughed. "Now I know why the women of Germany have such mighty strong backs. They began their training away back in the twelfth century and evidently have kept it up ever since, for they carry such loads as I never saw."
Dr. Paul laughed, and the two, having passed through the Karlsthor and up the wide Lenbach-platz, waited for the others who had lagged a little behind.
Mrs. Hoyt's sitting-room was more of a rendezvous on a rainy Sunday afternoon than at any other time, and when the chill mists had resolved themselves into a persistent drizzle, the young people gathered in the cheery place to forget outside conditions and to get rid of the blues. Here, after dinner, Nan found Mary Lee and Jo with the Hoyt family and two or three of Maurice's schoolfellows. Mrs. Hoyt was dispensing toasted buns, Lebkücken and chocolate, and it was the coziest of companies.
"Just in time," Mrs. Hoyt told her. "Sit right down wherever you can find a place, Nan. We have none too many chairs, as you see."
Maurice jumped to his feet and gave Nan his place while he took a position on the floor by Jo, who was seated on a sofa cushion by the window.
"This is nice," said Nan in a satisfied tone. "It is so much like home, and one does get tired of foreign doings once in a while."
"I thought we'd better stay in this drizzly afternoon," remarked Mrs. Hoyt. "Juliet, for one, should not go out, for she has already taken cold."
"If she has taken cold give her quinine; if she has taken anything else, give her thirty days," advised Maurice, between bites of Lebkücken. And of course everybody laughed, as he meant they should.
"This is the best Lebkücken I ever ate," said Nan. "It is much better than any we have had."
"That is because it is the real Nuremburg article," Mrs. Hoyt told her. "There is none quite so good. Have you been to Nuremburg, Nan?"
"No, but perhaps we shall go before it gets too cold. Aunt Helen was speaking of it only yesterday. I want so much to see the Hans Sachs house, the old streets and the Burg."
"There is really a great deal to see there, and it is a convenient point from which to go to Rothenburg, which, if anything, is even more picturesque. If you like an old mediæval town you will have it there."
"Then I hope we can go to both places. I particularly want to see Nuremburg on account of its being the scene of the Meistersinger. I love that street scene, and I hope the real thing looks just like it," replied Nan, who by this time had heard several operas.
"It is quite exact," Mrs. Hoyt told her. "Boys, stop demolishing those cushions; this is not a dormitory for a pillow fight. Do be sensible."
"We would be if we could, Mrs. Hoyt," replied Henry Olcott, whom the boys dubbed Heinz, as a German contraction of Heinrich.
"I don't see what Mr. Mann does with such a lot of animal spirits," continued Mrs. Hoyt.
"There are fifty-seven varieties," remarked Jo, "and they are all pickles."
"Not all, please, Miss Jo," said Henry prostrating himself at Jo's feet. "Thy servant is a baked bean with tomato sauce; try Heinz."
"I can vouch for the sauce," retorted Jo. "Get up, silly, I am not a heathen idol."
Just as Henry was rising to make a dignified salaam, one of the other boys gave him a push and down he went again on his knees, to the detriment of his new trousers.
"I say, this is too much rough-house," exclaimed Henry. "Mrs. Hoyt, call these fellows to order."
"Come, boys," cried Mrs. Hoyt, "you are getting too obstreperous. We shall have to sing hymns to sober you down."
In a few minutes they were all standing at the piano singing "Onward Christian Soldiers" with all the vim their youthful voices possessed, Nan accompanying. They sang for an hour, the boys coming out strong on the hymn of the St. Andrew's brotherhood, and all those with any sort of martial spirit. As a fitting close, Mrs. Hoyt selected "For all the saints who from their labors rest," since this was All Saints day.
The lads had entirely quieted down by the time this was ended, and Dick Langham, the most exuberant of them all, had actual tears in his eyes as he whispered to Mrs. Hoyt at parting, "I just wish my mother were here, Mrs Hoyt; I'd like to play baby and get in her lap. Those old hymns took me right back home."
"Come to us whenever you want to be mothered," Mrs. Hoyt responded. "I won't promise to take you on my lap, Dick, but I will do my best to cheer you up."
"Thank you, I'll come," said Dick, bending low and kissing her hand.
The boys trooped out as darkness settled down on the outer world. The electric lights showed shining reflections on the wet street. Maximilianplatz looked quiet and empty. The "honk-honk" of an automobile once in a while speeding along, and the noise of a passing tram-car alone interrupted the quiet till the bells of the Frauenkirche pealed out the angelus.
The rain continued with greater force the next day, and Jean, who had taken cold through staying too long in the cemetery, was kept at home from school. She found it rather dreary, for there were none of the accustomed pets which at home helped to beguile the hours, nor had she her favorite story-books. She was usually a patient little body and able to amuse herself, but to-day time hung heavily and she looked many times at the clock, saying mournfully, "It is such a long morning; I wish Jack would come. What can I do, mother, to pass away the time?"
At last having exhausted all her resources, Mrs. Corner was obliged to think up some new entertainment. "You can stand there by the window," she said, "and tell me what things you see that you don't see at home."
This struck Jean's fancy at once and she stationed herself where she could look up and down the street. "I see four Dienst– do you say mannen?"
"No, I think it would be Dienstmänner."
"Then I see four Dienstmänner with red caps on."
"That is one thing. Write it down. Here is a paper and pencil."
"Dienstmänner on corner," wrote Jean. "I see two soldiers not a bit like ours."
"That makes two things."
"And a man wearing a cloak, a man on a wheel, and the cloak flies out behind in the funniest way. Nobody wears cloaks at home and all the men, women and children do here." She wrote this down carefully and then looked out again.
"What do you see, Sister Anne?" asked her mother after a while.
"I didn't see anything creer for a few minutes, but now I see something: the man and the dog pulling the cart together. That will be a fine thing to write down. Now I see two of those great big horses Nan likes so much; they are pulling a long wagon piled up with beer kegs, and there's another horse harnessed to one side the pole like you were talking about the other day. That is crite different from the things they do at home. Oh, and there is an old woman with a load of wood on her back. She carries it in a sort of rack. It looks like a lot for such an old woman to carry; she is all bent over with the weight of it."
"That you would scarcely see at home."
Jean was silent for a time. "There are a great many dogs," she said after a while, "dachshunds more than any other kind; but those you see at home, though not so many. I reckon I won't put them down. Now I see something," she began after a pause. "It is the woman that turns the switch there by the car track; she has that funny hat on, and a cloak. There goes a man and a little boy and both are dressed differently from any one we see at home. The man has on a Jäger costume, and I suppose the little boy's is meant to be the same. He has black velvet trousers embroidered with green, and a little jacket. His stockings come below the knees so the knees are bare. He has a hat on with a long feather sticking up in the back, and some edelweiss at the side." She wrote this all down carefully and surveyed her work with pride. "I think that is a great deal to see," she told her mother, "and I suppose if I stayed long enough I would see crauntities of other things. I am going to take this home with me and show it to my friends." She watched for some time, but saw nothing more of unusual interest.
"Suppose we vary it a little," said her mother, seeing the amusement was beginning to lose its zest. "See how many things you know the German names of; that will be an excellent exercise, and will be an interesting way of studying."
Jean found that she knew much more than she supposed, though she did not always know how to spell the words, and soon became rather weary of looking them up in the dictionary, but she had really passed a long time at the window, and was relieved to find that very soon it would be time for Jack to come in. So she sat down to watch for her.
But Jack seemed unusually late, and Jean became actually impatient before she saw the little figure in red coat skipping across the street with her Aunt Helen, who had gone to the school for her. Jack came in with her usual impetuosity. She carried a small package, and this she thrust into Jean's hand. "It is for you," she said. "We stopped to get it, and that is why we were so late. We got it at that lovely toy shop on the Karlsplatz."
The windows of the toy shops were a never failing source of entertainment to even the older girls, for they held miracles of ingenuity in the way of toys. To Jack and Jean it seemed that such a kitchen as one window displayed, or such a wedding-party as another showed, it would be the height of bliss to possess. Jean especially admired the tiny dishes which contained make-believe articles of food of every kind and description, all so natural that it seemed hard to believe they were not good to eat. Jack liked the kitchen with its array of cooking utensils, its dust-pan and brush, and its basket of marketing which stood ready for the cook's attention.
Jean opened her package with pleased anticipation on her face, and found a pretty little doll and two of the tiny plates of make-believe food. The doll was one she had admired the last time she and Jack had stood before the shop-window. "It is a darling," she said, "and I just love the little dishes. Did you buy them yourself, Jack, with your own money? It was lovely of you, if you did."
"I bought the doll and Aunt Helen the dishes. Oh, Jean, what do you think we did? We stopped at the Kiosk on our way home and Aunt Helen bought tickets for the loveliest fairy play that we are all going to next week. It is for children and it is called 'The Princess Herzlieb'; that means the Princess Heartlove. Isn't it a lovely name?"
"It is lovely and I do hope I can go," returned Jean ecstatically. She loved fairy stories above everything.
"Of course you can go. It isn't for about ten days, and you are not really ill, you know."
"I'm sort of ill," said Jean putting on a lackadaisical expression; "mother thought I had fever last night." It would never do to have her condition underrated, of course.
"Well, you will surely be well in ten days."
Jean admitted that she might be well by that time, and after deciding to call the doll Princess Herzlieb, the two went off together to play.
"I saw that little girl again this morning," Jack remarked when they were established in a corner. "The little girl we saw yesterday in the cemetery, the poor little girl."
"Oh, and did you speak to her?"
"No, I only smiled. I am thinking, Jean, that it would be nice to do something for her at Christmas. We have always done something for somebody then, you know."
"But you don't know where she lives nor anything about her."
"No, but maybe I shall see her again. I will watch for her. I saw her this morning as I was going to school."
"What was she doing? Just walking along?"
"She was talking to the woman who turns the switch near our school."
"Then maybe the woman would know."
"I thought of that, and if we don't see the little girl again before Christmas we might ask the woman or get some one else to do it. I know Nan would."
"Did she look very poor?" asked Jean trying to settle the doll before a table of books she had built.
"Poorer than ever, for she hadn't her Sunday clothes on."
"Maybe mother will let us give her some of our things."
"Maybe she will. I don't suppose she will have any Christmas tree, do you?"
"I don't suppose she will."
"I heard Mrs. Hoyt say that everybody does have a tree in Germany."
"Everybody?"
"Oh, I suppose there are some who are too poor. Maybe the switch woman is the little girl's mother, and it was her father she was putting the candle and flowers for."
"I am going to ask her when we know her."
"Oh, Jean!"
"Yes, I am. I don't think it would be anything at all. Jack, we ought to be saving up for Christmas, and here you've been spending money for me."
"Because you had to stay in and have a stupid time." There was nothing worse to Jack than to be deprived of her time out-of-doors.
"It wasn't very stupid. Mother made up some nice creer plays. I'll show you what I did." She produced her paper and informed her sister that she intended to add to her list of unusual things and to play the same play on rainy days in every new city she chanced to visit.
Jack quite approved of the play, and at first wanted to copy the paper, but finally decided that she would rather pick out the things herself.
"I think I will get a little blank book," she said, "and then I can keep them all together."
Jean thought this a good plan, and they concluded that some of their next allowance should be spent in this way.
By this time it was getting too dark to continue their play, and the Princess Herzlieb had finished her meal so they bore her into the sitting-room, where Nan had just finished practicing, and where Jo and Mary Lee were struggling over their German grammar.
CHAPTER XIII
THE FAIRY PLAY AND ITS CONSEQUENCES
As the time for the fairy play approached the children grew more and more eager. Even the elder members of the party were going; the Hoyts, too, had taken tickets.
"Do let us have our own tickets, mother," begged Jack before they started. "It seems so nice to really own them, and so much more important than if some one else gave them in. We will take good care of them. I'll put mine in my pocketbook, and I'll promise not to lose it."
"It will be to your own sorrow if you do," her mother told her. "Here it is. Perhaps it is a good plan to let you have this much responsibility, for it will give you a chance of depending upon your own wits."
Jack stowed away her ticket safely, giving only stealthy peeps at it once in a while during the time they were on the street-cars which would take them to the Gärtnerplatz theatre. At the last moment before they entered she looked to see if it were there, and held it tightly as she was about to follow the others. Miss Helen was in front, the older girls came next, Jean was just ahead of Jack. Suddenly Jack's eye fell upon a forlorn little figure by the door, wistfully watching the faces of the many happy children who were entering the door. Jack paused, and gave a long look at the child to make sure she was the same they had seen in the cemetery on All Saints day. She had not met her since the morning she saw her talking to the switch-tender, but she was very sure that she was not mistaken in believing her to be the one in whom she and Jean were interested. She stood smiling at the little girl and received a timid smile in return.
"Gehen zie in theatre?" asked Jack in her best German.
"Nein," answered the child.
"Warum?" inquired Jack.
"Ich habe kein billet."
Jack hesitated but a moment before she thrust her ticket into the hand of the child who looked astounded. "Here," said Jack, and then she rushed tumultuously away leaving the child gazing from the ticket to the fast disappearing figure of the little girl who hurried off.
Jack had a good bump of locality and knew exactly what car to take in order to return home, and thither she went, not without some regrets at her impetuous generosity, it must be confessed, but on the whole quite satisfied with herself. It seemed a very long afternoon, but she went bravely through it, occupying the time by writing to her friend Carter Barnwell, and by doing such things as were not encouraged when her elders were at home. It was a fine opportunity to pick out tunes on the piano, for example, and to leap from chair to chair pretending that there was only water between. She could also rummage and dress up, choosing Nan's frocks for the latter performance, since these would trail further on the ground. She put a suit of Mary Lee's on a pillow and pretended it was another person while she, herself, was the Princess Herzlieb, so after all the time did not go slowly.
She was standing by the window watching when the family returned.
"Jack Corner, you are the most surprising child I ever saw," began Nan.
"Oh, but you missed it," cried Jean. "You never saw anything so lovely."
"Hush, Jean," said Mrs. Corner. "Jack, dear, I want to know how it happened the little girl had your place."
"We were so surprised when she came in," said Mary Lee. "We thought you were right behind us, and that the little girl had taken the wrong seat for there were two empty just the other side, though they were filled later, but no indeed, there was the number all right. You never saw such an amazed child as she was in all your life. I don't suppose she had ever been in such a place before."
"Tell us about it, Jack," said her mother taking the child's hands in hers.
"I saw her standing on the steps watching the people go in, and she looked so poor and miserable, and I thought of the candle and the flowers and that maybe she never did have any good times, so I asked her if she were going in and she said no, she hadn't any ticket, so I said here, and I gave her mine and ran."
"You impulsive little child," said her mother. "Why, dearie, rather than have had you give, up the play I would gladly have let you take my place. Indeed, as soon as we had inquired of the little girl how she came to have the ticket I did go out to find you, but you were nowhere to be seen."
Jack looked a little regretful. "What did the little girl say?" she asked. "What did you all talk to her about?"
"Your Aunt Helen asked if she had found the ticket, for she thought you must have dropped it. But the little girl said, no, a mädchen, a gnädiges fräulein gave it to her, and then we knew."
Jack turned eagerly to Jean. "Did you ask her name, Jean, and where she lived?"
"I forgot. I was so excited about the play, but Aunt Helen asked, didn't she, mother?"
"Yes, her name is Bertha Metzger, and she lives over the other side of the market. Did I understand you to say, Jack, that you had seen her before?"
"Why, yes, didn't Jean tell you? She is the little girl we saw in the cemetery that Sunday, the one who had only a little candle and such a measly tiny bunch of flowers."
"And that is why you felt like doing this for her, I see."
"Of course that was it."
"Oh, Jack," exclaimed Jean again rapturously, "it was so lovely. The Princess Herzlieb was bee-yutiful, and the prince so handsome. It was like a real fairy-land with roses and things, and the fairy godmother lived in a cunning house, and had the dearest boy pigeons to carry her messages. They would flap their wings just like real pigeons, only they were people dressed up to look like pigeons. Then there was a funny fat old cook that made everybody laugh; you ought to have seen him, he was so ridiculous."
"I don't care," said Jack with pretended indifference.
"And the brother of the princess was changed into stone because he was a very bad boy, and the princess could break the spell only by going into the king's kitchen and working like a servant for a year, and in all that time she couldn't speak a word; if she did there would be no chance of her freeing her brother from the spell. Oh, it was so exciting I was so afraid she would have to speak."
"I don't care," said Jack, not quite so bravely.
"And," Jean went on still intent upon her tale, "there was a great big Christmas tree at the last and the king and the king's brother – he was the prince who loved the princess – and a lot of the court were all there, then afterward the prince found the princess and she had served her time as a servant so she could free her brother, so she did, and oh, it was fine. There were so many lovely things. There was a fairy who appeared and disappeared like magic, and – oh, yes, I forgot, there was such a funny dance – "
"I – don't care," said Jack in a broken voice and rushing from the room. After all, her sacrifice had not seemed to mean much. Every one had been entertained and had not missed her greatly. Even Jean, her own twin, had not said she was sorry that her little sister was not there, but seemed, on the contrary, rather to triumph over her. They had not said much about Bertha, and – well the tears began to run down her cheeks as she stood alone in the dark by the window of the room where she and Jean slept.
Presently the door opened softly and some one came in. "Is that you here in the dark, Jacksie?" It was Nan who spoke. "I am so sorry you missed the play. I couldn't half enjoy it for thinking about you. But, honey, you did the loveliest thing for little Bertha, and you are a real little Princess Herzlieb yourself, because poor Bertha is shut out from everything, from all the lovely things and the comforts you have and you broke the spell by making a sacrifice, just as the Princess Herzlieb did in the play."
"Oh, Nan, did I?"
"Of course, for you gave her such a wonderful pleasure. I wish you could have seen her great eyes and her happy little face. She will remember this afternoon all her life, I am sure. Aunt Helen and I talked to her as we were coming out, and we are going to find out more about her. Her mother is dead and she doesn't know where her father is. She lives with an aunt who has a great many children and I think must be very poor."
"Maybe she is the switch woman."
"Very likely. At any rate we shall find out soon, and we are going to see about a jolly good Christmas for them all. Do you remember last year and little Christine? You did that, too, little Princess Heartlove. Your old Nan understands, doesn't she? I know you can't help being half sorry, but when you see how it will all turn out for Bertha, you will be glad you served without speaking."
"You are so nice, Nan," said Jack, giving her sister a close hug. "You always do understand, and you never think I am half as bad as other people think."
"You are anything but bad. Sometimes you do thoughtless things, but you don't really mean to be naughty."
"I forget."
"I know you do, and after a while you will learn to remember. You don't do half as many wrong things as you used to. I know something else; I know if you hadn't spent your money for Jean's doll you would have had enough to buy a ticket for Bertha and could have kept your own."
"How did you know?" said Jack a little embarrassed.
"Because I know what your allowance is, and I know you had only a tiny bit left after you bought the doll."
"I had just car fare to take me home."
"Exactly what I thought. Any one of us older ones would have been glad to help you out, but like the reckless little body that you are, you rushed off and didn't give us a chance. If you had waited a few minutes you might have known we'd come out to hunt you up."
"I wanted Bertha to have the ticket and I thought I'd better go, so she wouldn't try to give it back to me."
"Oh, of course, I know exactly why you did it, but next time give the rest of us a chance too. We could all have chipped in and have bought her a ticket, that is supposing there were any to be had. They were very cheap, anyhow, so you could both have had your fun."
Jack gave a little sigh. She realized that she had rather overstepped the mark in her effort to be generous, but now she did not regret it, for Jean had only seen a Princess Herzlieb, and Nan had said she was one herself; that was much better, and Nan had missed her, whether any one else did or not. It was worth while to have done something that no one else had thought of doing, and for which Nan had praised her.
True to their word Miss Helen and Nan did go to hunt up Bertha Metzger, and found that she really did live with the switch-tender in a little back street. The place was poor but respectable enough. Frau Pfeffer, the aunt, worked very hard to support her five small children and Bertha, too, and it was hard to earn enough for food and clothing for all. Bertha's father had suddenly disappeared, and had not been heard of for a long time. He had been nearly crazed by the loss of his wife, and about the same time had lost his place in a factory. Frau Pfeffer, herself, had come from the country after the death of her husband and had tried to find her brother, whom she believed to be in Munich, but had not been able to learn anything about him. He had gone away to look for work, his neighbors said, and had promised to return for his little girl whom he had sent to her aunt.
There was nothing of the whining beggar about Frau Pfeffer. She told her tale simply as a matter of course, and did not hint at her needs. She worked hard, but not so hard as many others, for she could sit down much of the time, and though it was often cold, still that was nothing when one was used to it, and she considered herself very fortunate to have the work to do. Bertha could help a great deal. She was to be relied upon, and did not let the children get into any harm. The father's name was Hans Metzger, and she was sure if he were alive he would come back.