“As my mother grew old, she became more anxious to show her family pictures from the days she lived in Maasbree, Limburg. Raised in an aristocratic family, she was a beautiful and quite lively girl, especially with the boys in town. Her family were descendants of an old Circassian aristocratic family that had migrated from the Black Sea in the early half of the nineteenth century. The boys in town sought after my mother, being the Circassian beauty that she was. Her free spirit caused a lot of shame to the family. To spare further embarrassment, her parents sent her to Marianna Habers at Castle Lindendale. One morning, they simply sent her off in a horse-drawn carriage with a large sum of money and a letter of introduction to her aunt in Mill. That was the reason why she came to live here,” Clara concluded.
Reality dawned on her that here stood the son of her estranged brother. How far was she prepared to go to tell Manus the whole truth about the goings on at Lindendale Castle? She could not resist asking, “Are you going to tell your father that you visited Lindendale Castle? It is up to him to fill you in on the family history.”
“I must tell my father about the beautiful portrait in the Grand Hall; he will be fascinated,” Manus answered.
“Before leaving, I’d like to give you some exciting information about Gustav Habers I. He was the Duke of Saxony. In the second half of the nineteenth century, the Russians expelled most of the Circassian aristocrats from their homeland. With his family, he migrated to Germany, where they became part of the German aristocracy. Thanks to their connections with the elite Federation of Circassians living in the diaspora and paying large sums of money, the German Emperor Wilhelm I bestowed him with the title of Duke.
Clara paused, studying Manus’ face and wondering whether to keep revealing long-held family secrets. As she stood up to get more tea, her cheeks turned to a rosy blush. Back in her chair, she re-arranged her bonnet and pondered how to proceed. Manus became restless.
“I should go now,” Manus told her.
“You haven’t explained why you came here in the first place,” Clara said.
“I received my first major commission for the Stations of the Cross for the parish church. The planning commission requires life-size stations for the park behind the church in the Via Dolorosa. I need to carve fourteen stations out of large granite blocks, about 3 meters long, 2 deep and 2 high,” he demonstrated with his arms. “Unfortunately, I have run out of space for my atelier at my parents’ home. Fourteen large granite blocks are on order, and I have no room to have them delivered. I am depending on this delivery to start my commission.” Clara turned to pour another cup of tea. She pictured fourteen Stations of the Cross under construction in her Hall of Knights. It would fill her with pride to have the sculptor of these monuments on the premises. She adjusted her apron.
“As you can see, I am the only one living here, and I have a lot of open space,” she told Manus, gesturing with pride at the kitchen and bakery oven. Manus had never given much thought to cooking or washing dishes. He found it beneath his dignity to exchange his sculptor’s tools for a dish rag. “It would be an honor to have you on the premises.” Manus had his doubts about sharing the kitchen with her. “Perhaps we can work out an arrangement that will make it possible for you to transfer the atelier from your parents’ home. Will the Hall of Knights suffice for the delivery of the granite blocks?”
Quickly estimating in his head, he declared, “Yes, there is adequate room for the delivery.” He could hardly believe his luck, but there was still a problem, as he explained to Clara. “This is my first commission, and I’ve already spent the advance on purchasing the granite for the project.” Clara squinted, looking away from Manus before returning to face him.
“You have no money for rent?” she inquired, forcing Manus to admit to the raw truth about his financial situation.
Downcast, he murmured, “I shall be leaving now.” Clara was not ready to let an opportunity slip through her fingers without trying.
“Let me suggest something that may appeal to you,” she offered. “You are a sculptor, and if you agree to my terms, you may stay here free of rent. I have been planning my funeral arrangements. I need someone to make a tombstone and death mask. Besides, I would like a statue of Mary and Jesus on my grave.” Manus was inclined to accept this arrangement. However, he was not so sure it was wise for him to work for Clara. He had to talk with his father first.
“Before I can accept your gracious offer, I must go home to tell my father the good news.” Foremost, Manus wanted to discuss matters with his father about the family history. He had not worked through the story he had just heard from Clara. Holding her hand out to Manus, Clara shook his hand.
“I understand,” she said with a nod. Taking leave, Manus hurried home to tell his father about his find in the woods.
As he filled his pipe, his father steadied himself by holding onto the back of his chair, as if preparing to deliver a sermon from the pulpit. “For all these years, I have remained silent about the family secret. Castle Lindendale is our family’s ancestral home. There is ample reason for my silence. By turning into the woods outside town, you found my sister, Clara Habers. We have not spoken to each other since mother passed away. What happened within the castle walls has been a secret for sixty-eight years. By revealing the secret, I remind you that our family honor is at stake.
“In 1870, Duke Gustav Habers and Anna Maria Petrovsky met for the first time at Castle Lindendale. She had just arrived from Maasbree with a letter of recommendation addressed to her aunt, Marianna Habers, who resided at the castle. The letter addressed to Professor Gustav Habers pleaded with him to rehabilitate Anna Maria in the Circassian traditions. He was the Professor of Ethnic Populations of Southeastern Europe with an emphasis on Peoples of Circassia. He was an expert on ethnic populations in the Black Sea and Northern Caucasus regions and a guest lecturer at the University of Leyden in Holland. He needed a stopover during the long trip by horse and carriage from the University of Göttingen in Germany.”
Antonius took another puff on his pipe, hesitating for a moment and pondering whether the time had come to reveal what had happened at Castle Lindendale so many years ago.
“It was early February on a cold and foggy day. The professor had been on the road since early morning. He arrived at the castle late at night. Anna Maria was cleaning up after dinner. When she heard the clapper, she hurried to open the gate. After he announced himself, she let the professor’s horse and carriage through the gatehouse. In the kitchen over tea and sandwiches, they became quickly acquainted. He was a distinguished looking individual, debonair and charming. They exchanged views on the cold weather. He told her he lectured in languages unique to the Black Sea Region of the Northern Caucasus.
“That fascinates me because my family comes from that region,” she told him, hearing his story. “Few people are aware of Circassia.” The professor wondered if she was familiar with Adygha, the native tongue of the Circassians.
“Have you heard of the Circassian people?” he asked in Adyghan, exploring this possibility.
“I was raised in a Circassian family and learned to speak the language when I was a child,” she replied in Adyghan. Habers had always dreamt of finding someone with whom he could converse in this uniquely distinct language. However, there was more to his feelings than the love of linguistics. He looked into her beautiful eyes.
“You are an exceptional woman. I’ve often dreamt of meeting a Circassian beauty like you. You are like a dream coming true for me,” he told her. Anna Maria knew that the magic of love had revealed itself.
“I suspect you have lived under the shadow of the Circassian tradition. Time has arrived to unveil yourself,” he continued in his professorial fashion, as he touched her cheek and spoke of her raven black tresses brushing her angelic face. He gently stroked her cheek and called out her name in Adyghan. When he looked into her eyes, he saw her longing to explode in passion
. Anna Maria scarcely believed her rapture, and it empowered her as never before to perform to the fullness of his pleasure. With their act of love, they wittingly sealed their Circassian bond.
A couple of months later, she knew she was pregnant.
When Habers returned to Castle Lindendale, Anna Maria invited him for a walk in the forest. “Much has happened since you were here last,” she told him, no longer able to wait to tell him the news. She looked him in the eyes. “I am carrying your child.” He stopped walking, taking her into his arms and kissing her. He acted like a man in love with his new bride.
“A mortal did not conceive you. The spirit of Queen Satanaya is your progenitor, as she is the progenitor of all Circassians, as foretold in the Book of the Nart Sagas,” he told her with joy in his face. Everything was going to be all right. They walked in silence, holding hands. “Of course, I must follow the code of the aristocracy,” he commented, which sounded alarming to Anna Maria. “It is the protocol that I protect the honor and title of my family name. The child cannot be born here at the castle. Do not worry, my dear. I will make the necessary contacts to arrange for a place where you will deliver, without causing any dishonor to my family.” His honor as a duke and distinguished professor was at stake. He could not let his title tarnish his reputation of Duke of Saxony. Anna Maria could not hold back tears. He tried to reassure her. “Everything will be well with you and the child. Soon, you will know where to deliver your baby.” With his handkerchief, he wiped away her tears. Had he said “your” baby? Was it not “ours”? Anna Maria mused.
In the middle of the night, her coachman helped her enter the black carriage with gold trim. She was all alone in the darkness of the richly appointed coach, curtains drawn. The noise of the four horses trundling over the drawbridge in the stillness of the night startled her. She tried to sleep.
As the first rays of the sun rose over the horizon, she peeked through a crack in the curtain. They passed farmers, with their horse-drawn carts loaded with produce on their way to the market. It took several more hours before they arrived in ‘s-Hertogenbosch, where they turned on Duke’s Lane, lined with elegant bourgeois homes. The coach came to a halt at a massive iron gate. The coachman dismounted and pulled the chime of a convent house. A friendly face in a nun’s habit appeared and hurried over to help her down when the coachman announced her arrival. The convent of the Sisters of the Holy Cross was the only delivery hospital in Holland where nobility could drop off their pregnant charges in total anonymity.
Ten days later, she delivered her child, a boy. Sister Amanda provided the nursing care during the delivery. She brought up the birth certificate, filed with the city. Anna Maria had named Duke Gustav Habers I as the father. Sister Amanda needed clarification.
“Are you and Duke Habers married?” Anna Maria turned her head away from Sister Amanda.
“No,” she murmured in shame. Under these circumstances, the city registrar always made the customary entry: “Said child is born out of wedlock.” Anna Maria could not hold back tears. Was she now entirely on her own and abandoned by the professor?
Three days later, Habers visited. He kissed her, then gently cradled the baby in his arms. A glow of happiness came over him, as he admired his son. Anna Maria wiped away a tear. She picked up the birth certificate from the nightstand and handed it to him with a shaky hand. He read the registrar’s notation: “Said child is born out of wedlock.”
He brushed away a tear from her face and kissed her. She looked adorable, yet forlorn. Torn between the urge to protect his family name and his duty as a Circassian, he chose the latter. He went to the registrar’s office that same day and signed his name on the birth certificate as the father of the newborn baby. He had decided to abandon his aristocratic name, giving up all privileges that came with it. He adopted Gustav Habers without a title as his new name.
Three months later, Anna Maria Petrovsky and Gustav Habers were married.
“I can no longer keep the family provenance to myself,” he said. “Anna Maria Petrovsky is my mother.” There it was. Manus now knew who his grandmother was. Left to question the need for all the hush and secrecy, he wanted to hear the rest of the story.
“The day before mother died, she called me to her bedside. She was ailing with pneumonia. In a broken voice, barely audible, she talked of her ancestors. They were members of a well-respected aristocratic family, expelled from Circassia during the war with Russia. They migrated from the Caucasus Mountains to Germany and Holland. As she lay dying, she spoke of the burning desire of Circassian people to one day regain their lost motherland. She looked up at me and said in a strained voice, ‘I will not live to see my beloved Circassia on the Black Sea again.’ Tears welled up in her eyes. In her last words, she directed me to find an important document ‘Go to the attic and look for a wooden box. There you will find your birth certificate. What you read in the margin of the document, you must keep to yourself. In a final gesture, she brought her hands together and started to pray in her native Adyghan.”
“The next day I looked at my birth certificate. I could barely make out the notation in handwriting: ‘Antonius Petrovsky - Born out of wedlock on September 12, 1870, in Hertogenbosch, Holland.’ The certificate showed Gustav von Habers, the father of the child born to Anna Maria Petrovsky.” Manus hugged his father as they silently thought through this brand new revelation about their ancestral lineage.
Later that morning, a Jewish family arrived at the Habers’ home. Judging by the Star of David sewn on their coats, they were German refugees. The husband, wife, and their three children looked hungry and desolate, having slept in the fields for several cold nights. The man explained how they had crossed the German border on foot, penniless and with only one small satchel of clothing. Before granting their exit visa, the Germans had demanded they sign over all their belongings, including money, jewelry, and artwork to a “trusted attorney” in anticipation of their eventual return. These “attorneys” were traitors who worked as collaborators with the Gestapo. Gertle in Eschenbach, who had helped Arie with his spy work a year earlier, was asking for a return favor. She had given the family the Habers’ address in the hopes they might find shelter in Mill. The Habers took them in, giving them food and a place to sleep. The next day, Manus moved from his parents’ home to Castle Lindendale to make room for the Jewish family.
Chapter 11
Invasion
All was quiet in the castle. It was 10 a.m. when he stretched in bed. He pulled the cover up and rolled over on his side to continue snoozing. After a few minutes, he opened his eyes and noticed the old Linden tree in the window shade, branches waving in the wind, as if coaxing him to get up. The image on the window shade reminded him of the stained-glass window by Tiffany “The Magnolias.” He decided to make a quick sketch of this unique scene.
He was so pleased with his work that he decided to find room in his drawing of the Garden of Gethsemane, in the first sculpture of the Stations of the Cross.
The sputtering of Arie’s motorcycle broke the serenity of the spring season in the forest as he steered his vehicle between the broken boards of the castle drawbridge. He let the clapper down with a loud bang. When Manus did not appear immediately, he banged the clapper a second time with more conviction. Manus hurried to the gate and opened it, as Arie rode his motorcycle inside the courtyard. Manus left the gate open as he often did in his careless way. Arie had come to warn his brother. Although he knew how naïve Manus was about world politics, he still cared for him enough not to wallop him into reality. His visit was short and to the point.
“Manus, you must listen carefully. I have a message of great importance. It has to do with your friends Jope and Joris. You must stop meeting with them right away. You have no choice in the matter.”
“Why are you ordering me around?” Manus asked, with a surprised frown.
Arie was not accustomed to sharing his sources of intellige
nce with anyone, but he made an exception for his brother. “Yesterday, at the Intelligence Office I found their names on the list of the NSB as sympathetic to Hitler’s policies. You have probably never heard of the organization. It operates in secrecy, collaborating with the Nazis in Germany. Once Holland is invaded and occupied by the Germans, they will spring into the open and become the core cadre in Holland of the German Regime, which, I promise, will be installed soon after the invasion.”
Manus was shocked. That they were German sympathizers was unthinkable. He vaguely recalled a few passing remarks by them about the Jews. “I am not entirely surprised,” Manus said, after a brief pause. “Their casual remarks about the Jews did not register well with me. There were times when they hinted at their hatred for Jews and how they would like to see them expelled from Holland.” Arie intercepted him.
“Let me clarify … they were not ‘hinting about the Jews’ … they spoke their beliefs. You need to see them for who they are. They will try to recruit you, and before you know it, you will fall into their clutches,” Arie warned. The second reason for Arie’s visit was to tell Manus the invasion was imminent. “To show you how imminent the war is, let me tell you about an incident that happened last week. British and German military officers gathered in secrecy in the town of Venlo. They are part of a plot to overthrow Hitler. General Schellenberg of the German Army insisted on including an agent from the German Intelligence Office at the next meeting. I had been suspecting that Schellenberg was a double agent, working directly for Hitler. Before the meeting could take place, Germans ambushed the car in which the British agents were traveling and promptly hauled them off to a concentration camp in Germany.” Manus sat quietly through Arie’s account of the incident. He looked at his brother with a degree of respect for his position as a spy with the Dutch Army.
“You were fortunate that the Germans did not execute you as well,” Manus told him.
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