Blue Glass

Kunigunde(Baroness v. Richthofen)

Night falls over Schweidnitz. In the dark stillness of the night, the inhabitants of the white house on Striegauer Strasse are all in deep slumber—all but me.
The floorboards creak under my feet, encased in homemade house shoes, as I ascend the stairs to the upper floor. It is not preferable to turn lights on at night nowadays in Germany, the reason being that having blackouts at night saves power. But although we citizens responded with unquestioning obedience, I am sure not one of us doesn't wish for the good old days of peacetime, filled with games of chess and bridge that while away into the wee hours of the morning.
I pause at the door to my eldest son's room—a veritable trophy room. My hand lingers on the doorknob as my mind is suddenly assailed with memories of him: his calm, clear blue eyes, his resolute face, the mouth that was still able to smile childishly despite the omnipresent stern look on his face.
I've ridden him hard all these years, and admit it freely. He's assumed the mantle or whatever position I asked him to fill without a hitch. He had been everything my husband was not, and for that I will always be eternally indebted to him—to all of my children, in fact. In Manfred, I found the compensation for my financial and emotional woes after my marriage, in Lothar I found the pride of having raised such a handsome young man, whom girls throw themselves at. In Bolko, I find the carefree youth, the effervescence that comes with raising a young child in old age, and in Ilse, I found the daughter that all girls dream of having.
But Manfred is and will always be of paramount importance to me. I can't depend on my husband for anything—I had to learn that the hard way. I can only be grateful he had such a solid, well-rounded soldiers' upbringing—even if I had been against it from the start.
Wahlstatt clearly played a great role in shaping his character. In that academy, one had to learn to be physically and mentally strong and forbearing, characteristics which are at the forefront of Manfred's personality. Despite his soldiers' demeanor, it delights me that he is still able to have fun and retain some level of gaiety in him. He is the happy medium personified, dignity and carefreeness in equal parts.
The door creaks open as I push it inward, enter, and close the door behind me. I am surrounded by trophies of Manfred's aerial conquests. I feel a heady rush of pride as I gaze upon the serial numbers plastered on the walls, the machine gun parts and animal heads, and, of course, the collection of silver trophy cups on his mantel.
I walk over to the mantel to examine the cups in close scrutiny. Each one was made of pure sterling silver, and had the date of the victory as well as the type of plane it had been engraved into it.
I ease myself down on the edge of his bed, raising my head to look at the stuffed stag's head above the headboard. Manfred was an avid hunter—I recalled that one could wake him up at any time with the word "hunt" alone.
I am going to need to let him go one day. One day, after the war, I will need to make up my mind to relinquish his support, his attention, his affection, and his devotion to another woman, the one who will one day be his wife. My gaze falls to my lap, to my folded hands, to my wrist, which is graced by a thin silver bracelet. It had been a gift to me from Manfred on my birthday. I remember how his eyes shone with pride and satisfaction as I thanked him.
It will be hard for me to give him up. The idea of seeing him standing at the altar with a young woman is absolutely distasteful to me. But I can't keep him at home with me forever. He will one day need to start a family of his own, and raise his own children, my grandchildren, who will be every bit as strong willed and obedient as he.
I must be careful with whom I allow him to marry, though. Wahlstatt has instilled in its cadets a certain indifference to women, something I noticed in Manfred as he grew older and I was constantly on the lookout for an undesirable romance between him and a young Fraulein his age. My fears were unfounded—there was no such romance. I would have been inwardly dismayed had Manfred found the love of his life at such a young age. Brides these days were so protective of their husbands, doing all they could to push them away from their mothers, nitpicking every little favor they bestowed on them. I cannot have a daughter-in-law who would do that, not ever. I need one who knows her place, who knows to be subservient, who will allow Manfred to serve me and her equally. I need one who allows herself to be molded, not one who attempts to mold my son.
I have been discreet in my search and so far have come up empty handed. I have spoken to my daughter Ilse about it, who laughingly tells me my criteria is too specific for a woman Manfred's age.
Times are changing, she said once. Women are becoming more and more inclined to liberate themselves, especially with the onset of war.
There has to be someone, though, is my constant reply.
She jokingly suggested I put up an ad, and offered a mightily funny example of one.
Applicants shall appeal to me first and foremost. My son is a soldier; he follows orders well.
It was laughable and yet it hit the mark so well. Ilse never failed to make me smile, even when my spirits were low.
I would have given up my search and resigned myself to accepting that my son would remain a bachelor for the rest of his life and I would have to be the buffer between him and countless other undesirable girls who want him only for his status as a war hero. They disgust me, these lowborn girls, who swarm him in the street like flies, who clutter the platform of his train, and who occasionally come knocking at our door. I won't see any of them, and see to it that they are escorted out.
Manfred has never objected. I don't think marriage is on his mind now. He is my eldest son—I would know if he was in love. But all I can see in his eyes now is pain, sadness, and suffering which the mask of a soldier, of a hero, can barely conceal.
But I have been diligent in my search, and I came to the decision that I must turn to the members of my family in search of a suitable bride, and, if push comes to shove, to his childhood playmates. One girl stood out in my mind—a young, blonde beauty with the face of an angel. I made all the necessary enquiries albeit discreetly, through family members who truly understand where I stand about Manfred. They know how much he means to me, that he is indispensable to me, and seek to help me find the most suitable girl to relinquish him to.
She is one of Manfred's playmates—Adele von Wallenberg. She comes from a military family, much like mine, and if I remember correctly, her eldest brother Karl-Anton Gotthard was another playmate of my son's. She looks pretty, judging by that photos I have seen of her, and I have yet to put her through the most important test of subservience, of undying obedience, and most of all, deference to me. For that I delegated Ilse to get to know Adele, to get close to her, and observe her behavior and personality as discreetly as possible, and report back to me. The things I heard from my daughter were most favorable.
That was in 1912 going on into 1913. I would have married Manfred off to her a long time ago if it hadn't been for the war.
But in the hopes that both of my sons survive the war and peacetime will come soon, I have faith that this choice of mine will prove beneficial to me as it will to my son. Adele is a noblewoman, from a good family, and society would smile upon their marriage.
Peacetime. I smile almost nostalgically as I rise to my feet and walk unobtrusively to the door, pausing to look around the room one last time at the remnants of the conquests of my boy, my eldest son Manfred, the only thing that saves me from going crazy in an utterly failed marriage. I back out the door and close it gently behind me. Now inexplicably tired, i continue up the stairs to my own room.
Peacetime sounds like such a distant dream...