Soon the winter was gone. Men and women came to the sun’s aid with
hatchet and pick-axe, hacking and chopping and chipping the frozen mass,
glittering diamonds flying in the air and catching the genial rays of
the early spring sun. There was joy in every heart and even greater joy
in Albert’s breast. As soon as all the ice was gone and the road dried
his father was to take him to Frankfort. His heart thrilled at the sound
of the running waters, washing away the last traces of the hoary winter.
He helped clear away the ice in the shadowy part of the yard which the
sunbeams could not reach. He desired to hasten the arrival of spring,
the day on which he could start on the great journey.
On the evening before his departure he and Christian took their last
stroll. It was early in the evening, a young moon in the sky, the scents
of spring in the air, from afar the rumbling sound of the awakening
Rhine, and the gurgling of running waters. Two shadows, so clearly
outlined on the ground, preceded them like bodyguards; one was taller
than the other. The streets were dark save for the moonlight and the
occasional glimmer from a window.
Albert’s voice, like the running waters, never ceased. He was talking of
Frankfort, of his journey, of his future. While he knew he was to be
apprenticed to a banker, the duties of such apprenticeship were not
clear in his mind. He made the duties fit his dreams.
They had now reached the river, which had spread, as it always did at
this time of the year, and had risen higher, and was flowing with
increased speed. There was a glow like a milky-way along the midstream
where the moonbeams rested lightly upon the rippling waters.
Albert halted his speech and his step. The river claimed his attention.
He was not far from the cloister where the stream chattered noisily
among the rocks and purred like a cat further down where there was a
very narrow, low waterfall, descending like a huge corkscrew. For the
moment Albert forgot everything, even Frankfort. The vast shadow of the
Franciscan monastery, the moonlight above it, the rushing river, the
earth-and-water scent in the air—they all overwhelmed him. It all found
expression in a contraction of his eyelids and in an exultant cry of
“Ah! Christian!”
His husky cry echoed in Christian’s heart. Albert was going far, far
away—Frankfort seemed to Christian at an endless distance and the
memories of their close friendship crowded in upon him. His association
with Albert had made the boyish years so wonderful. Hardly a day but he
had walked and talked with Albert, and listened to his strange chatter;
and when they were alone Albert was full of mirth and pranks and
laughter. Albert had such a peculiar way of making fun of people. And
every book he read he discussed with Christian, though at times
Christian could scarcely follow his comrade.
“Ah, Albert!” he echoed and rested his hand upon his friend’s arm.
There were tears in Christian’s eyes.
They remained standing silently for a moment, silhouetted in the
moonlight against the vast shadow of the cloister. Then with a
simultaneous impulse they were clasped in each other’s arms.
“Will you remember me when you become a great man?”
“Ah! Christian! Can I ever forget you!”
“Albert!”
“Christian!”