by Georg Ebers
CHAPTER XXX.
Just before sunrise Georg sprang from his couch, drew out his knapsack,and filled it with his few possessions; but this time the little bookfound no place with the other articles.
The musician Wilhelm also entered the court-yard at a very early-hour,just as the first workmen were going to the shops. The Junker saw himcoming, and met him at the door.
The artist's face revealed few traces of the want he had endured, buthis whole frame was trembling with excitement and his face changed colorevery moment, as he instantly, and in the utmost haste, told Georg thepurpose of his early visit.
Shortly after the arrival of the city messengers, a Spanish envoy hadbrought Burgomaster Van der Werff a letter written by Junker NicolasMatanesse, containing nothing but the tidings, that Henrica's sisterhad reached Leyderdorp with Belotti and found shelter in the elder BaronMatanesse's farm-house. She was very ill, and longed to see her sister.The burgomaster had given this letter to the young lady, and Henricahastened to the musician without delay, to entreat him to help herescape from the city and guide her to the Spanish lines. Wilhelm wasundergoing a severe struggle. No sacrifice seemed too great to see Annaagain, and what the messenger had accomplished, he too might succeedin doing. But ought he to aid the flight of the young girl detained ashostage by the council, deceive the sentinels at the gate, desert hispost?
Since Henrica's request that Georg would escort her sister from Luganoto Holland, the young man had known everything that concerned thelatter, and was also aware of the state of the musician's heart.
"I must, and yet I ought not," cried Wilhelm. "I have passed a terriblenight; imagine yourself in my place, in the young lady's."
"Get a leave of absence until to-morrow," said Georg resolutely. "Whenit grows dark, I'll accompany Henrica with you. She must swear to returnto the city in case of a surrender. As for me, I am no longer bound byany oath to serve the English flag. A month ago we received permissionto enter the service of the Netherlands. It will only cost me a wordwith Captain Van der Laen, to be my own master."
"Thanks, thanks; but the young lady forbade me to ask your assistance."
"Folly, I shall go with you, and when our goal is reached, fight my waythrough to the Beggars. Our departure will not trouble the council, for,when Henrica and I are outside, there will be two eaters less inLeyden. The sky is grey; I hope we shall have a dark night. Captain VanDuivenvoorde commands the guard at the Hohenort Gate. He knows us both,and will let us pass. I'll speak to him. Is the farm-house far insidethe village?"
"No, outside on the road to Leyden."
"Well then, we'll meet at Aquanus's tavern at four o'clock."
"But the young lady--"
"It will be time enough, if she learns at the gate who is to accompanyher."
When Georg came to the tavern at the appointed hour, he learned thatHenrica had received another letter from Nicolas. It had been given tothe outposts by the Junker himself, and contained only the words "Untilmidnight, the Spanish watch-word is 'Lepanto.' Your father shall knowto-day, that Anna is here."
After the departure from the Hohenort Gate had been fixed for nineo'clock in the evening, Georg went to Captain Van der Laen and thecommandant Van der Does, received from the former the discharge herequested, and from Janus a letter to his friend, Admiral Boisot. Whenhe informed his men, that he intended to leave the city and make his wayto the Beggars, they declared they would follow, and live or die withhim. It was with difficulty that he succeeded in restraining them.Before the town-hall he slackened his pace. The burgomaster was alwaysto be found there at this hour. Should he quit the city without takingleave of him? No, no! And yet--since yesterday he had forfeited theright to look frankly into his eyes. He was afraid to meet him, itseemed as if he were completely estranged from him. So Georg rushedpast the town-hall, and said defiantly: "Even if I leave him without afarewell, I owe him nothing; for I must pay for his kindness with cruelsuffering, perhaps death. Maria loved me first, and what she is, andwas, and ever will be to me, she shall know before I go."
He returned to his room at twilight, asked the manservant to carry hisknapsack to Captain Van Duivenvoorde at the Hohenort Gate, and thenwent, with his little book in his doublet, to the main building to takeleave of Maria. He ascended the staircase slowly and paused in the upperentry.
The beating of his heart almost stopped his breath. He did not know atwhich door to knock, and a torturing dread overpowered him, so thathe stood for several minutes as if paralyzed. Then he summoned up hiscourage, shook himself, and muttered: "Have I become a coward!" Withthese words he opened the door leading into the dining-room and entered.Adrian was sitting at the empty table, beside a burning torch, with somebooks. Georg asked for his mother.
"She is probably spinning in her room," replied the boy.
"Call her, I have something important to tell her." Adrian went away,returning with the answer that the Junker might wait in his father'sstudy.
"Where is Barbara?" asked Georg.
"With Bessie."
The German nodded, and while pacing up and down beside the dining-room,thought, "I can't go so. It must come from the heart; once, once moreI will hear her say, that she loves me, I will--I will--Let it bedishonorable, let it be worthy of execration, I will atone for it; Iwill atone for it with my life!"
While Georg was pacing up and down the room, Adrian gathered his bookstogether, saying: "B-r-r-r, Junker, how you look to-day! One might beafraid of you. Mother is in there already. The tinder-box is rattling;she is probably lighting the lamp."
"Are you busy?" asked Georg. "I've finished."
"Then run over to Wilhelm Corneliussohn and tell him it is settled:we'll meet at nine, punctually at nine."
"At Aquarius's tavern?" asked the boy.
"No, no, he knows; make haste, my lad."
Adrian was going, but Georg beckoned to him, and said in a low tone:"Can you be silent?"
"As a fried sole."
"I shall slip out of the city to-day, and perhaps may never return."
"You, Junker? To-day?" asked the boy.
"Yes, dear lad. Come here, give me a farewell kiss. You must keep thislittle ring to remember me." The boy submitted to the kiss, put the ringon his finger, and said with tearful eyes: "Are you in earnest? Yes,the famine! God knows I'd run after you, if it were not for Bessie andmother. When will you come back again?"
"Who knows, my lad! Remember me kindly, do you hear? Kindly! And nowrun."
Adrian rushed down the stairs, and a few minutes after the Junker wasstanding in Peter's study, face to face with Maria. The shutters wereclosed, and the sconce on the table had two lighted candles.
"Thanks, a thousand thanks for coming," said Georg. "You pronounced mysentence yesterday, and to-day--"
"I know what brings you to me," she answered gently. "Henrica has biddenme farewell, and I must not keep her. She doesn't wish to have youaccompany her, but Meister Wilhelm betrayed the secret to me. You havecome to say farewell."
"Yes, Maria, farewell forever."
"If it is God's will, we shall see each other again. I know what isdriving you away from here. You are good and noble, Georg, and if thereis one thing that lightens the parting, it is this: We can now think ofeach other without sorrow and anger. You will not forget us, and--youknow that the remembrance of you will be cherished here by old andyoung--in the hearts of all--"
"And in yours also, Maria?"
"In mine also."
"Hold it firmly. And when the storm has blown out of your path the poordust, which to-day lives and breathes, loves and despairs, grant it aplace in your memory."
Maria shuddered, for deep despair looked forth with a sullen glowfrom the eyes that met hers. Seized with an anxious foreboding, sheexclaimed: "What are you thinking of, Georg? for Christ's sake! tell mewhat is in your mind."
"Nothing wrong, Maria, nothing wrong. We birds now sing differently.Whoever can saunter, with lukewarm blood and lukewarm pleasures, fromone decade to
another in peace and honor, is fortunate. My blood flowsin a swifter course, and what my eager soul has once clasped with itspolyp arms, it will never release until the death-hour comes. I amgoing, never to return; but I shall take you and my love with me tobattle, to the grave.--I go, I go--"
"Not so, Georg, you must not part from me thus." Then cry: 'Stay!' Thensay: 'I am here and pity you!' But don't expect the miserable wretch,whom you have blinded, to open his eyes, behold and enjoy the beautiesof the world. "Here you stand, trembling and shaking, without a word forhim who loves you, for him--him--"
The youth's voice faltered with emotion and sighing heavily, he pressedhis hand to his brow. Then he seemed to recollect himself and continuedin a low, sad tone: "Here I stand, to tell you for the last time thestate of my heart. You should hear sweet words, but grief and pain willpour bitter drops into everything I say. I have uttered in the languageof poetry, when my heart impelled me, that for which dry prose possessesno power of expression. Read these pages, Maria, and if they wake anecho in your soul, oh! treasure it. The honeysuckle in your garden needsa support, that it may grow and put forth flowers; let these poor songsbe the espalier around which your memory of the absent one can twineits tendrils and cling lovingly. Read, oh! read, and then say once more:'You are dear to me,' or send me from you."
"Give it to me," said Maria, opening the volume with a throbbing heart.
He stepped back from her, but his breath came quickly and his eyesfollowed hers while she was reading. She began with the last poem butone. It had been written just after Georg's return the day before, andran as follows:
"Joyously they march along, Lights are flashing through the panes, In the streets a busy throng Curiosity enchains. Oh! the merry festal night; Would that it might last for aye! For aye! Alas! Love, splendor, light, All, all have passed away."
The last lines Georg had written with a rapid pen the night before. Inthem he bewailed his hard fate. She must hear him once, then he wouldsing her a peerless song. Maria had followed the first verses silentlywith her eyes, but now her lips began to move and in a low, rapid tone,but audibly she read:
"Sometimes it echoes like the thunder's peal, Then soft and low through the May night doth steal; Sometimes, on joyous wing, to Heaven it soars, Sometimes, like Philomel, its woes deplores. For, oh! this a song that ne'er can die, It seeks the heart of all humanity. In the deep cavern and the darksome lair, The sea of ether o'er the realm of air, In every nook my song shall still be heard, And all creation, with sad yearning stirred, United in a full, exultant choir, Pray thee to grant the singer's fond desire. E'en when the ivy o'er my grave hath grown, Still will ring on each sweet, enchanting tone, Through the whole world and every earthly zone, Resounding on in aeons yet to come."
Maria read on, her heart beating more and more violently, her breathcoming quicker and quicker, and when she had reached the last verse,tears burst from her eyes, and she raised the book with both hands tohurl it from her and throw her arms around the writer's neck.
He had been standing opposite to her, as if spellbound, listeningblissfully to the lofty flight of his own words. Trembling withpassionate emotion, he yet restrained himself until she had raised hereyes from his lines and lifted the book, then his power of resistanceflew to the winds and, fairly beside himself, he exclaimed: "Maria, mysweet wife!"
"Wife?" echoed in her breast like a cry of warning, and it seemed as ifan icy hand clutched her heart. The intoxication passed away, and as shesaw him standing before her with out-stretched arms and sparklingeyes, she shrank back, a feeling of intense loathing of him and her ownweakness seized upon her and, instead of throwing the book aside andrushing to meet him, she tore it in halves, saying proudly: "Here areyour verses, Junker von Dornburg; take them with you." Then, maintainingher dignity by a strong effort, she continued in a lower, more gentletone, "I shall remember you without this book. We have both dreamed; letus now wake. Farewell! I will pray that God may guard you. Give me yourhand, Georg, and when you return, we will bid you welcome to our houseas a friend."
With these words Maria turned away from the Junker and only noddedsilently, when he exclaimed: "Past! All past!"