Arne enlarged on this point, at the same time emphasizing that there were other factors, not directly connected with allopathy or homoeopathy, in the cures effected by this new surgeon who had recently arrived from somewhere in Saxony to stay in Schleswig for a while. Amongst these factors was the most meticulous cleanliness, verging on luxury, so that one must have modern cow-sheds and in some cases one even needed to use marble mangers and racks made of nickel. Holk was almost in ecstasies at hearing this and was so anxious to tell Christine all about it that he threw away his cigar and rejoined the others.

“I have just been hearing the most interesting things, Christine. Your brother has been telling me about the homoeopathic cures of the new veterinary surgeon from Saxony who studied in Leipzig. I stress Leipzig, because it is the stronghold of homoeopathy. Really marvellous cures! Tell me, Schwarzkoppen, what’s your opinion on the matter? Homoeopathy has something mysterious about it, something mystic. It is certainly most fascinating and by its mystic quality, just the thing for Christine.”

Schwarzkoppen smiled: “As far as I know, homoeopathy has nothing to do with anything mysterious or even very wonderful. It’s simply a question of small or large quantities and whether you can do as much with a grain as with half a hundredweight.”

“Obviously,” said Holk, “and then there is the expression ‘similia similibus’ which everyone can interpret as he likes. And a lot of people refuse to interpret it at all—our enlightened sly old vet included, I have no doubt. He merely dispenses his tiny doses and apart from that he is mainly concerned with cleanliness in the cow-sheds and marble mangers—I dare say even that the troughs have to be kept as clean as a font.”

“Helmut, I do think that you might show more consideration in your choice of metaphors, even for my sake but particularly as Dr. Schwarzkoppen is here.”

“I agree. Incidentally, they were the exact words used by your brother when he was quoting the wonder doctor himself, although no doubt it cannot be denied that even a doctor is ill-advised to use such expressions, especially if he is a Jewish convert—his name, by the way, is Lissauer.”

Schwarzkoppen and the countess exchanged glances.

“If he happens to come up to the farm, incidentally, I shall invite him to lunch in the bailiff’s house. His presence here in the castle …”

“Can easily be dispensed with.”

“I’m well aware of that and you have no need to worry. But I give him credit for having his own ideas and the courage to express them. As far as the marble mangers are concerned, it’s rather stupid and I think we need only give him credit for a rather charming oriental metaphor. But he’s completely right in his insistence on general cleanliness. My cow-stalls date from the end of the last century and they must go. I’m only too pleased to have an excuse for putting an end to that dreadful state of affairs at last.”

The countess said nothing and merely poked her needle in the ball of silk lying on the table in front of her.

The count was annoyed by her silence. “I thought that you would agree.”

“You know that those are estate matters in which I have no say. If you think mangers of marble or something similar are necessary, then we shall have them, even if they have to be fetched from Carrara.”

“Why do you talk like that, Christine?”

“I’m sorry, Helmut, but you happen to have chosen the wrong moment. I have just been talking with Dr. Schwarzkoppen about matters much closer to my heart, building matters as well, incidentally, and at this very moment you come and talk of building cowsheds …”

“Of course I want to build them. You always forget, Christine, even if, as you’ve just said, you have no say, you always forget that first and foremost I am a farmer and that a farmer has, in fact, to be interested in farming, that it is the main thing for him.”

“No, Helmut, it is not the main thing.”

“Then what is?”

“It makes me very sad and unhappy that where you’re concerned, I always have to point out the obvious.”

“Oh, now I understand. The church needs rebuilding or is it a convent or an orphanage? And after that it will be a Campo Santo and then we shall have to buy up all the pictures of Cornelius and have them made into frescoes for the walls …”

The count rarely descended to the use of such forceful language, but there were some subjects that had the effect of making him lose his temper and forget the good manners on which he normally prided himself. His brother-in-law knew this and so quickly intervened to change the subject, which his imperturbable good humour always enabled him to do.

“Sister, Helmut, my view is that we must do the one and not forget the other. There’s wisdom for you—and peace too. Particularly as you have no idea what the question is about, my dear brother-in-law.”

Holk laughed good-humouredly.

“You have no idea,” continued Arne, “and I have no idea either, although Christine normally lets me into all her secrets. No doubt this will give us the key, unless this is all meant merely to mislead me.” He picked up the water-colour which Fräulein Dobschütz had meanwhile fetched. “Charming, whoever the author of it may be. Gothic arches, angels, palms.