"'O, father, my father, and did you not hear,
The Erl-king whisper so close in my ear?'
'Be still, my loved child, be at ease,
'T was but the wild blast as it howls through the trees."
Then Uhlhart sings with wonderful beseeching:
"'O, wilt thou go with me, thou loveliest boy?
My daughter shall tend thee with care and with joy,
She shall bear thee so lightly through wet and through wild,
And hug thee and kiss thee and sing to my child.'"
With thrilling pathos Sibylla asks:
"'O father, my father, and saw you not plain,
The Erl-king's pale daughter glide past in the rain?'
And the answer comes soothingly:
"'O no, my heart's treasure, I knew it full soon
It was the gray willow----'"
Wherewith Uhlhart bends low on the music page, his breath upon
Sibylla's neck, while, half-menacingly, he cries:
"'I love thee, I love thee; no longer delay;
Or else, foolish child, I shall drag thee away.'"
The instrument wails loudly, and Sibylla shrieks as if in wild
despair:
"'My father, my father, now, now keep your hold;'"
And then as if exhausted she adds:
"'The Erl-king has seized me, his grasp is so cold!'"
The entire company had drawn near the singers. All were entranced,
fascinated. There was a fearful, dramatic force in the music. Never
had "The Erl-king" been sung with so much expression before. The
listeners felt as though they must spring to the rescue. Then in the
most agonizing dismay is sung:
"Sore trembled the father; he spurred through the wild,
Clasping close to his arms his shuddering child;
He reaches his dwelling, in doubt end in dread;
But, clasped to his bosom the child was dead."
With the words "clasped to his bosom" the music was softened; then
followed an unearthly stillness, and with "the child was dead,"
Sibylla grew so pale she began to fall from the piano-stool. Lady
Von Kahring hurried to her side. But Sibylla was no admirer of
sentimental scenes; she drew herself up, and with a strong effort
said smilingly: "It is nothing; this music always affects me; the
accompaniment is also difficult, and it is so warm here."
Seating herself by an open window, she begged to be allowed to rest a
moment. Soon the hearers had recovered from the impression produced
by the music; and at length Sibylla, too, had overcome her emotions.
All partook of refreshments, and she permitted Uhlhart to serve her
and to sit beside her. She was alone with him in a window-niche; but
she was satisfied to have it so, for she felt that an end would come
to the affair this evening, and she desired to see the result as
speedily as possible. It was one consolation that so many were near,
and she should not be in the doctor's power. Sibylla had guessed
rightly. Uhlhart was excited with wine and music, and desired to
know his fate:
"_Rouge ou noir?_" he said.
He spoke to her in unmistakable language. Sibylla understood him,
and was silent. She had expected it, and had prepared herself to
reply to him; but now her tongue was tied, and fear repressed her
words. Upon this fear, Dr. Uhlhart had reckoned. He became more
passionately moved, and it seemed as if Sibylla had been led to the
verge of a precipice where she would cling to something which proved
to be grasping the air; now the tempter seized her, and she had no
power to resist. Uhlhart regarded this as a favorable sign, and
attempted to draw his arm around the frightened girl. This dispelled
the illusion. She thrust him indignantly back. He felt he had
overreached himself, and at once recovered his poise. Words fell
from his lips like siren tones. O Sibylla, steer your bark with a
firm hand; the waves are enveloping thee! Sweeter and more ardent
became his protestations--now entreating, now expostulating for her
consent; but he could gain no reply. She sat as one in rigid spasm;
she saw and heard, but could neither speak nor move. Encouraged by
her silence, he murmured tenderly:
"I love thee, I love thee; no longer delay,
Or else, foolish child, I shall drag thee away!"
The charm was broken.
"Never, never!" exclaimed Sibylla; "die rather!"
"Then die," snarled Uhlhart; "but die with me."
At this moment Arnold Von Kahring stepped before them. He was not
aware of what had been taking place; but he saw that Sibylla was
about to swoon away, and that the doctor stood ready to care for her.
With one glance at Arnold she cried, "Help!" and slipped from her
chair.
The ladies present soon surrounded her, with an abundance of tears
and sympathy. "Poor child!" "The frightful performance!" "And
sitting by this open window!" "Young people are so imprudent!"
Sibylla soon recovered, but she went home. As she lay in bed, the
frightful face of Uhlhart bent over her. O, she had, indeed, read
his eyes! Love or hate--no medium for him. But, in spite of all
weakness, rather a battle between life and death than to become his
wife. The feeble girl with the passionate man!
Sibylla folded her hands helplessly. Did she cry out to her sacred
Art to sustain his disciple? Begged she the eternal essence of
Beauty to uphold her?