In her little red slippers, Lela creeps quietly to the door and opens it gently. It's still dark inside at Mum's. The curtains are drawn. But the door has squeaked a little, and from the bed comes Frau Käte's sleepy voice, "Yes, sweetheart?", and from the door anxiously: "Mum, may I come to you?" and from over there, "Yes, my darling."
Tiptoeing, in the dim light of the room, Lela feels her way to the bed. The duvet lifts, and like a chick hatches under a hen, Lela crawls into the warmth. Close to Mum who wraps her arm around her. Lela's messy little head lies against her breast.
It is quiet for a while. Then Lela, "Mum, was it nice yesterday?"
"Yes, sweetie, very nice."
"Mummy, were the other ladies as beautiful as you?"
"Oh, much more beautiful, darling!"
"But Mummy, you're beautiful, I know that."
"I'm not beautiful, Lela. I don't want to be. I want to be good."
There is silence for a while; then it comes hesitantly from Lela,
"Yes, Mum . . ."
Outside, there is the patter of horses on the road. A carriage speeds by. Silence in the house. The boys are already at school, and the nanny is in church.
"Mum, why does Fräulein Anna go to church every morning?"
"Because she's Catholic."
"Why do we only go on Sunday mornings?"
"We're Protestants."
"Is Fräulein Anna godlier thans than we are?"
"No, we go sometimes on weekday afternoons."
"Yes, but Mum, it must be beautiful in the morning when it's still dark in the church, or in the evening, when the lights are on."
"God is always there, Lela, even in the daytime."
"Yes, Mum."
The fact that God was always there was a little scary for Lela. He should rather be in the Catholic Church from which she now she could not get rid of.
This Catholic church was the most exciting thing Lela had ever seen in Dünheim. The centre of the small, clean town in southern Germany was the new palace that the Grand Duke had built for himself. In front of it was a large square with trees and promenades. Every noon a military band would play there, and the people who had time would walk up and down. From there a beautiful wide road led to the monument of an old grand duke. Past the court theatre and the old castle one came into the so-called old town. Angular little streets, in the middle of which the market was located. But between the new castle and the part of town where individual houses were surrounded by gardens and also where Manuela's parents' house, was the Catholic church. Lela's way into the town always led past it, or rather, around it. It was a strange round building. The wall was completely bare and windowless. Without any ornamentation. Only thin lines—where one cuboid was on top of the other—were visible. The whole thing was covered by a rather flat dome of cold slate and looked more like a more gasometer or a giant box than a church. If there hadn't been a cross above the modest entrance, one could have mistaken it for some kind of circus.
The impenetrability of this hostile wall, of this windowless, locked house, with the monotonous sound of singing and organ music; if one were very lucky, one could see in the dark candlelight from afar, and it aroused Lela's imagination. Fräulein Anna would certainly take her with herself gladly. But Mum would never, ever allow that. Lela knew that. And she felt it in the tone when Mum answered when Lela asked her about the round church.
Lela inquires as they pass,
"Fräulein Anna, how is it in there?"
"Oh, very, very beautuful, Lela!"
"Fräulein Anna, I would like so terribly, I'd gladly someday. . ."
"Mum won't have it; you have a church too, don't you?"
"Yes, Fräulein Anna."
"Well, you see. And if you're good, Mum will take you to the Garrison Church on Sunday morning, won't she?"
"Yes, Fräulein Anna."
Silently they go home.
The moment they are about to enter the garden, Dad's black stallion is led out, and Dad next to the horse waves, "Lela, Lela!" And Lela throws herself into his arms that lift her up in a giant leap and sit her on the horse. The Arabian prances a little, but Dad calms him down and prepares to lead the horse the horse across the road to the riding arena.
Lela beams. This is what she has always wanted. Fräulein Anna whispers: "Herr Major, Madam . . ." But Meinhardis hears nothing, he is so proud of his daughter; he wants to show her off!"
The riding arena—a large dim hall—is full of people. Ladies in riding clothes are standing around, gentlemen in uniform or red coats are already mounted. Suddenly, an abrupt happy shock—music starts. The Danube Waltz. Somebody leads Lela up to the stand and puts her on the ramp. As if the horses have just been waiting for it, they begin to gallop to the beat of waltz. Pairs are formed—always one gentleman and one lady. They pass very close to Lela. There's Dad, oh, a pretty lady is riding with him! She has thick white pearls in her ears, a little tri-corned hat, very light blonde hair, and red cheeks. The riding dress is buttoned up tight, but it's still very beautiful, Lela thinks, and Dad—he actually doesn't ride at all—he talks and laughs with the lady, and it's as if the laughter were shaking him and not at all the horse on whose back he's serenely following the beat floating along calmly. Both Dad and the lady greet Lela every time they ride by. The horses start to steam. Their hooves beat dully against the planks of the ramp. The nostrils snort. In the middle of the arena a man stands and gives commands. There the horses separate on one side, and then they meet again. They draw circles, large and small, one time fast, one time slow. Lela is like in a dream, and in the middle of it Dad and the beautiful, beautiful lady.