I went out after lunch and lay in the meadow by the water's
edge with a book I didn't read, the same meadow Bernd and I anchored
our fishing boat at only the day before yesterday, but really ten years
ago, and I lay so quiet that the cows forgot me, and came and scrunched
away at the grass quite close to my head. We had tea as usual on the
terrace in the shady angle of the south-west walls, and the Grafin
discoursed placidly on the political situation. She was most
instructive; calmly imparting knowledge to Helena and me; calmly
embroidering a little calm-looking shirt for her married daughter's
baby, with calm, cool white fingers. She seemed very content with the
world, and the way it is behaving. She looked as unruffled as one of
the swans on the Haff. All the sedition and heretical opinions she
must have heard Kloster fling about have slid off her without leaving a
mark. Evidently she pays no attention to anything he thinks, on the
ground that he is a genius. Geniuses are privileged lunatics. I
gather that is rather how she feels. She was quite interesting about
Germany,--her talk was all of Germany. She knows a great deal of its
history and I think she must have told us all she knew. By the time
the servants came to take away the tea-things I had a distinct vision
of Germany as the most lovable of little lambs with a blue ribbon round
its neck, standing knee-deep in daisies and looking about the world
with kind little eyes.

Good-bye darling mother. Saturday is nearly over now. By this time
the time limit for Servia has expired. I wonder what has happened. I
wonder what you in Switzerland are feeling about it. You know, my
dearest one, I'll interrupt my lessons and come to Switzerland if you
have the least shred of a wish that I should; and perhaps if Bernd
really had to go away--supposing the unlikely were to happen after all
and there were war--I'd want to come creeping back close to you till he
is safe again. And yet I don't know. Surely the right thing would be
to go on, whatever happens, quietly working with Kloster till October
as we had planned. But you've only got to lift your little finger, and
I'll come. I mean, if you get thinking things and feeling worried.

Your Chris.

_Koseritz, Sunday evening, July 26th_.

Beloved mother,

I've packed, and I'm ready. We start early tomorrow. The newspapers,
for some reason, perhaps excitement and disorganization, didn't come
toda