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Updated: June 18, 2025
I was astonished, for I imagined complete isolation here. Frau Bornsted says, though, that this only happens on Sundays.
He was very jovial indeed, seemed fond and proud of his lieutenant, Herr von Inster, slapped the Oberforster every now and then on the back, which made him nearly faint with joy each time, and wished it weren't breakfast and only coffee, because he would have liked to drink our healths, "The healths of these two delightful young roses," he said, bowing to Frau Bornsted and me, "the Rose of England long live England, which produces such flowers and the Rose of Germany, our own wild forest rose."
A pair of antlers is nailed over the door, proud relic of an enormous stag the Oberforster shot on an unusually lucky day, and Frau Bornsted was sewing in the porch beneath honeysuckle when we arrived. It was just like the Germany one had in one's story books in the schoolroom days. It seemed too good to be true after the Lutzowstrasse.
"Ah, but she is delightful, delightful, your little Englanderin," he said gaily to Frau Bornsted, who listened to his badinage with grave and respectful indulgence; and he said a lot more things about England and its products and exports, meaning compliments to me what can he be like after dinner? and went off, jovial to the last, clicking his heels and kissing first Frau Bornsted's hand and then mine, in spite, as he explained, of its being against the rules to kiss the hand of a junges Madchen, but his way was never to take any notice of rules, he said, if they got between him and a charming young lady.
They have an active cow who does all the curds and whey and cream and butter and milk-soup, besides keeping on having calves without a murmur, "She is an example," said Frau Bornsted, who wants to talk English all the time, which will play havoc, I'm afraid, with my wanting to talk German. She took me to a window and showed me the cow, pasturing, like David, beside still waters.
It's because I've had so much time. Really it's because I've been in a sort of sleep of loveliness. I've been doing nothing except be happy. Not a soul has been near us since Sunday, and Frau Bornsted says not a soul will, till next Sunday.
So you can imagine how heavenly it was to get into this beautiful forest, away from all that, into the quiet, the holiness. Frau Bornsted, who learned English at school, told me all the farms, including hers, are worked by Russians and Poles who are fetched over every spring in thousands by German overseers. "It is a good arrangement," she said.
So we had the happiest morning wandering about the forest, he driving and letting the horses go as slowly as they liked while we talked, and after our sandwiches he took me back to the Bornsteds, and I showed Frau Bornsted the Grafin's letter.
Frau Bornsted sat twisting her wedding ring on her finger till I was quiet again. She does this whenever I emit anything that can be called an idea. It reminds her that she is married, and that I, as she says, am nur ein junges Madchen, and therefore not to be taken seriously. When I had finished about the pendulum, she said, "All this will be cured when you have a husband."
I laughed, and Frau Bornsted looked sedately indulgent, I suppose because he is a great man, this staff officer, who helps work out all the wonderful plans that are some day to make Germany able to conquer the world; but, as she explained to me the other day when I said something about her eyelashes being so long and pretty, prettiness is out of place in her position, and she prefers it not mentioned.
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