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betrothed where he had been standing on the night when
he got a bullet-hole through his duffel great-coat, and where
the turner’s boy had had his head shot off. The smaller
children cried, because they were not allowed to keep the
rifle-ball they had found; for Erik Lauritzen, who was
also there, said it might be poisoned. He was poking the
half-rotten straw where the barracks had stood, for he
remembered a story of a soldier who had been hanged
outside of Magdeburg, and under whose pillow seven of his
comrades had found so much money that they had deserted
before the official looting of the city began.
The green fields and grayish white roads were dotted
black with people coming and going. They walked about,
examining the well-known spots like a newly discovered
world or an island suddenly shot up from the bottom of
the sea, and there were many who, when they saw the
country stretching out before them, field behind field and
meadow behind meadow, were seized with wanderlust and
began to walk on and on as though intoxicated with the
sense of space, of boundless space.
Toward supper time,however, the crowds turned
homeward, and as moved by one impulse, sought the North
Quarter, where the graveyard of St. Peter’s Church lay
surrounded by spacious gardens; for it was an old-time
custom to take the air under the green trees, after vespers on
summer Sundays. While the enemy was encamped before
the ramparts, the custom naturally fell into disuse, and the
churchyard had been as empty on Sundays as on week days;
but this day old habits were revived, and people streamed
in through both entrances from Nörregade: nobles and
citizens, high and low, all had remembered the full-crowned
linden trees of St. Peter’s churchyard.
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