Part 39 (2/2)
They had left the fields, over which scattered threads of gossamer floated in the red light of the setting sun, and entered the dark, silent forest. No sound was heard except the rustling of the withered leaves at their feet, and, as Cecilia paused, the mournful song of a solitary bird.
But Gotthold heard no interruption; it seemed to him as if the piteous notes of the bird only prolonged the wail of the human voice.
”Alone, alone,” he said, ”always alone, and so you wish to remain, poor love! Can a human being be alone? And are you quite alone? Granted that I am--which I am not--the strong hero who can by constant labor struggle along his solitary path to the golden table of the father, is there not your child, from whom you must shut out the bright, sunny world? You, who turn away from life with veiled head in mute despair!
what virtues will you teach it when you are yourself so wholly dest.i.tute of the cheerfulness, in which alone the virtues thrive; nay, when you no longer believe in that which is the best and highest of all, which makes us what we are, makes us human beings--love? Who pities yonder little bird, which, concealed amid the autumnal foliage, perhaps wounded and maimed, is left behind to perish miserably? None of its brothers and sisters, its husband or its children; they have all flown away, unheeding, and left it behind--alone, alone! They obey the immutable law that governs their coming and going, their life and death, and so they do not, cannot sin; but we can and do, if we do not obey the law that governs us, if we do not obey love. It is the all-powerful tie that has bound and will bind together all races of men, from the beginning to the end; the all-powerful sun beneath whose pure light spring must return to the darkest, saddest hearts: and so with my love I will hold you, dearest, however you may struggle; will open your heart, however you may try to close it against me: for I am more powerful than you, can lend you my strength, and yet have enough for myself, and you, and your child--our child, Cecilia!”
She had paused, trembling in every limb; pale as death, and with her dark eyes dim with tears, she extended her hands imploringly.
”Have mercy, Gotthold, have mercy! I can bear no more; I can bear no more.”
A hasty step came down the narrow path that led to the giant's grave.
”Thank G.o.d! I was coming to meet you, dear madam--I think--I know you are not like other ladies--”
”He is dead!” cried Cecilia.
”I fear we shall not find him alive, though he had strength enough to send me back. I did not like to leave him, but he was so very, very anxious to see you, to see you both.”
They ran up the path through the underbrush, over the hill, to the giant's grave, whose huge ma.s.s stood forth in dark relief against the bright western sky.
The old man was sitting on a moss-covered stone, with his back resting against one of the larger blocks, his hands lying in his lap, and an expression of the most profound peace on his pale, venerable face, gazing silently towards the west, from whence brilliant sunset hues streamed over fields, forest, moorland, and sea. Cecilia sank upon the broom at his feet, pressing her lips to his cold hand.
At the touch, a slight s.h.i.+ver ran through the limbs of the dying man.
His glance turned slowly away from the distant sky, and rested upon the beautiful, pale, tear-wet face before him. A happy smile gleamed over his features. ”Ulrica,” he whispered. The name fell from the white lips softly, almost inaudibly, and then lips and eyelids closed.
Cecilia's head sank upon Gotthold's breast; the Prince, who during the whole scene had discreetly remained at a distance, turned away, and gazed steadily at the golden sunset.
And the golden hues of sunset glowed upon fields and woods, and the churchyard of Rammin, in which the old man had just been laid to rest with his children and children's children. Only a small, very small company had stood around the grave when the coffin was lowered, and they had needed no priest to consecrate the place which would henceforth be sacred to them. Then Frau Wollnow embraced Cecilia, and whispered: ”Don't allow yourself to be disconcerted by any narrow-minded creature you may meet,” and Cecilia answered: ”Have no fear, I know what I am doing.” Then Ottilie kissed Gretchen; the Prince and Herr Wollnow took leave of Cecilia with a few cordial words, and the Prince's light carriage rolled towards his castle, and the Wollnow's heavy equipage along the road to Prora.
At the other end of the village, where the road leads to Neuenfahr and Sundin, stood a travelling carriage, and they now walked silently through the little hamlet, arm-in-arm; while the child ran before them, and s.n.a.t.c.hed at the swallows when they came too near.
Otherwise the swallows had a free course. Up and down they darted in their arrowy flight, now grazing the earth, now rising in graceful curves, anon flying in a straight line and then zigzag, chirping, twittering, and fluttering their long wings unweariedly.
For them, too, it was probably the last evening, and to-morrow they would fly towards the South, and not return till spring.
Gotthold thought of this, and then of the evening when he had walked through the deserted village-street, and the swallows' song brought tears of sorrow to his eyes, and how empty his home and the whole beautiful world had been to him, and how the whole beautiful world now seemed to him like home; and as he gazed into the dark eyes of his beloved wife, and pressed the little warm hand of the child, now his, he knew ”what the swallow sang.”
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: Dumpling.]
[Footnote 2: The second person singular is used throughout this conversation, but I have thought it better to adopt the English mode of address.--Tr.]
THE END.
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