GERMAN NEW GUINEA
always called her, and deep indeed was the wound ingratitude dealt her.
Her gifted sister, Margarethe, and her two brothers, Kuno and Albrecht, met tragic fates, and I fear her own life was a tragedy in itself, but her death came as an unwelcome thing to very many. For many years—indeed, from the first day I met her in that old Hanoverian castle—I enjoyed her friendship, and we corresponded on many subjects of interest, particularly political ones, just as I corresponded for years with her cousin, Marie von Bülow (now Madame von Scala), daughter of the former Prussian Ambassador to the Vatican at Rome. The Bülow family seems to have more than its share of intellect.]
I can see Frieda von Bülow now coming intothe Gobelin Zimmer in that dear old Hanoverian schloss and asking directly, giving you no loop-hole for escape, “Do you think there is such a thing as free will?”
The beautiful old schloss—why, it is winter there now, and snow is deep everywhere, in the Hof, on the lovely old gables, all over the porch. The moat is frozen, and they are skating. I can hear the jangle of sleigh-bells—it is the Baron coming home from the Wild Schwein Jagd, his old green fur-lined coat well up over his ears, and Luke the Cocher is clapping his arms over his chest to restore the circulation, and nodding a cheery “Schönes Tag, Herr Baron” to you as you lean out of the window. It is always “Schönes Tag,” and you are always “Herr Baron,” whether you are or not, to Luke, if he likes you—but I am havering! There is no old snow-covered castle here—it but made me cool for the moment to recall it. I dare say they are speaking of me at this minute—my rooms are vacant, my seat is vacant—but they little dream I am in a German colony amidst savage
