It is often desperately dark in this world; who can say: "It cannot be
darker now?"
When I reached home there was a running and a calling--something had
happened. An hour before she had rung for me, and I was not to be
found. "She was taken in a dreadful way; but luckily what was most
needed was ready at hand; for the doctor----"
"He is close behind me," I said, and hurried into the room, from which
came the most heart-breaking cries.
"Courage, dearest friend, courage," said the doctor an hour or two
later: "it is a little too soon, and--but there are often worse cases,
I think--but stay here a few minutes and breathe a little fresh air;
you are terribly excited; you cannot bear it."
"She has to bear it," I cried, wringing my hands.
"Of course," he answered. "Come with me."
The day was fine, notwithstanding the cold night and the gray rainy
morning; the March sun had broken gloriously through the clouds, and
shone dazzlingly from the clear-blue sky: the thawing snow was dropping
from all the roofs and pouring from all the rain-spouts, and in the
thick branches of the trees of the garden upon which the windows
opened, birds were fluttering and twittering, proclaiming that winter
was at last over and the spring had come.
But I had no ear for this proclamation: I had no faith in the blue sky
and the running water; I awaited other tidings--awaited them with
fervent prayers and passionate vows, such as men offer in the time of
sore extremity; and the tidings came at sunset, in a tiny piping voice
that seemed to go directly to my heart.
Yes, now it was spring. I saw the spring sunlight in the happy smile of
the pale young mother; I saw the bright spring sky in her blue eyes
that looked smilingly up to me in a soft tremulous light such as I had
never before seen in them, and then were turned with beaming love upon
her babe.
"It is a girl, after all," she whispered. "You will spoil her terribly,
and love her a great deal more than me; but I will not be jealous, I
promise you."
And the next day the sun was shining again, and the heaven still blue
and the birds jubilant.
"If the weather keeps so fine, we can soon go to Zehrendorf," she said.
"It is very well that you have not come to a definite settlement with
the prince. He has been very kind and obliging to us, it is true, but
still I think you had better reconsider the matter with my father. Why
does my father not come? You have written to him, haven't you?"
"Certainly; but he had started on a journey. And you must not talk so
much."
"I feel quite strong: I only wish I could give the little one some of
my strength. Oh me! such a giant as you are, George, and such a tiny
morsel of a babe! But it has your eyes, sir!"
"I hope it has yours, madame."
"Why so?"
"Because then it would have the loveliest in the world."
"What a flatterer! But to come back to Zehrendorf: we will have to keep
it on account of the child, which will need country air, the doctor
says. I can see us both sitting under the great beech which I saved
because you carved your name on it--for somebody else, sir!--and now to
be sitting with wife and child, a prosaic, common-place husband, where
you once stood full of romantic dreams--is it not very comical?"
"Oh yes, it is inexpressibly comical; but now you really must not talk
any more."
"Your commands shall be obeyed, my lord."
And her blue eyes laughed so saucily, and she was so full of life and
hope and happiness, so merry, and full, of mirthful fancies; it cut me
to the heart when I saw and heard her, and had to leave her, under the
pretext of urgent business, to go and bury her father, who had killed
himself to avoid the disgrace of a shameful bankruptcy. And this day
too was a bright golden day of spring; only here and there were these
drops falling from the roofs, for the bright sun and warm air had dried
the moisture; in the sky, making it a still deeper blue, were standing
great white clouds, and the birds in the budding trees were thinking
seriously of setting up housekeeping--who could help looking cheerfully
in spite of all, into the future that was to make all right? Who would
not shake off his winter cares when he saw how everything was springing
and budding and blooming? But--
One night in spring there came a frost;
It nipped the tender blossoms.
Let this sad refrain of the old song say for me what I cannot bring
myself to narrate in words. It needs no comment; nor do the two fresh
graves, one larger and one tiny hillock, close side by side; nor the
flowers which loving hands have strewn above them.
One night in spring there came a frost;
It nipped the tender blossoms.