L'Arrabiata and Other Tales. Paul Heyse

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СКАЧАТЬ forgot to send me. Once or twice a year he wrote to me himself; familiarly and kindly, as ever, but never a word of what was most important to me--not a word of what he felt or thought."

      "When he had been about two years away, he wrote to announce his intended marriage with a highborn young lady in Sweden, and to ask for his father's consent. To me he wrote, that he hoped I should not withhold my blessing, as his bride was exactly such as I would have chosen for him myself. And afterwards he sent me her picture;--an angel's face; all gentleness and goodness. Before I had seen it, I used sometimes to torment myself with thinking that he had only made up his mind to marry, in order to set his father's mind at rest. But I knew, those great clear, innocent eyes of hers, must have found their way to his heart."

      "Then came accounts of the wedding, and of their beautiful wedding-tour among the mountains. You will hardly believe it, sir, but even then the young countess found time and thoughts to spare for poor old Flor. She wrote to thank me, for having taken such care of her Ernest all his life, she said. But there was no word of their coming back to Germany, especially after the pair of twins was born--which event was an occasion of great rejoicing here in this castle. The count used to talk of going to Sweden, and taking me along with them; and you will believe that my head was turned by the thoughts of such a journey, and such a meeting."

      "But it is not for us to number our days--many an old cripple, or useless pensioner, has to stand sentinel a weary while, watching for the call, and waiting to be relieved. And other lives, on which a whole world of happiness hangs, are taken--we do not know how or why."

      "One day Count Henry was carried home for dead. He had been thrown from his horse, and had received some internal injury, which no doctor was able to discover. He came to himself again, but only with a faint light of consciousness or memory. He knew the countess and me, but no one else--Pierre he would not suffer in the room at all. He took him for a rat, and cried incessantly; 'Take it away!--catch it!--set a trap for it!--it has gnawed away my wedding-garment. See what a hole it has bitten in it!'"

      "And then he would call upon his son so movingly, it was impossible to hear him without tears. The countess had written immediately to Count Ernest, to tell him the state in which his father was; I only feared he might come too late."

      "Do not ask me, Sir, to describe those days, and the nights we had to live through, nor the heart-rending sight it was to see that young wife, who never uttered one word of complaint, but rather was a support to us all. On the twelfth day, the young count came. We had hardly expected him so soon, and we were almost startled when he entered the sick room."

      "As soon as he heard the door open, my master waked up from the lethargy in which he had been lying, and sat up, and in a voice which I shall hear all my life, he cried: 'Ernest, my son!' and burst into a passion of tears, and wept as though his spirit were passing away through his eyes. After that he became surprisingly cheerful and sensible, and lay quietly, holding his son's hand in his. He talked again without rambling; so for one moment we hoped the worst was over, and the turn taken towards getting better. But ten minutes after, his eyes grew dim again; he gave one look at his countess, and said: 'Ernest will take care of you.' He was going to say something to his son as well, when he fell back and was gone."

      "You must excuse me, Sir, for telling you all this so particularly, but you must let me say a few words more, to tell you how it ended. Alas! the end came soon enough! The very day after the funeral Count Ernest went away again, after having done all that could be done, by seals and documents, to make the countess complete mistress of the whole. For they had found no will. Count Henry knew well enough that he had only to say; 'Ernest will provide for you,' to close his eyes in peace."

      "'If there is anything I can do for you, I beg you to command me in every way;' my dear Count Ernest had said to his stepmother before he went. 'If you should ever find this solitude too much for you, I hope you will remember that my wife is waiting to receive you with open arms.'"

      "She looked at him affectionately, and held out her hand, which he respectfully took and kissed."

      "'You are well cared for;' he said in a low voice; 'I leave you with my own faithful Flor--I only beg you will bring her with you, when you come to Sweden.'"

      "Of course this was more than I could hear with dry eyes. So I threw my apron over my face, and ran away--but in the passage he held me fast, and kissed me quite vehemently, and I felt how his heart was beating, and the hot tears from his eyes came dripping on my grey hairs."

      "'My boy, my Ernest, my dearest master!' I said;--'God bless you for having come! as He has already blessed you for your truth and tenderness. He did not take your father until you had heard from his dying lips, that he well knew what a son he was leaving. Go, and God be with you! Give old Flor's love to your countess, and to the darling children; tell them that Flor has no other wish on earth, but that the whole world might know Count Ernest's heart as she knows it, and then the whole world would be ready to lay their hands beneath your feet, as she is.'"

      "He broke away from me, and ordered his horses to meet him at the top of the walk that leads up the forest--He walked on before, and I heard people say that he had wandered about the forest, taking leave of the spots he loved, and now looked upon for the last time. So even at that time he must have resolved never to return. He could not be happy again in his old home."

      "And so I knew that I had taken leave of him for ever. I would have fretted still more about it, only I was so taken up with my mistress. She pined away; white and quiet, and without a murmur. It was just as if strong hands were dragging her down into her husband's grave. Even dead, that proud man ruled her. When I wrote the sad tidings to Count Ernest--it is hardly a year ago--he answered me immediately; he said I was to go to them, at all events; and the young countess wrote and begged me, as hard as one can beg. My Ernest had given up his post, and settled where they are living still, on a very fine estate among the hills, close by the sea, where I suppose it must be beautiful."

      "'I would come myself to fetch you,' he wrote; 'only I am too conscientious in my duties as a husband and a husbandman, to go from home in harvest-time.'"

      "He did not like to give his real reason. But all this melted me, and I got my bits of things together, and gave over my keys to the new steward. The countess's brother had a pride of his own, and never would have anything to do with her inheritance; and so, one fine morning, I really was quite ready to go, and drove away. But when I got to that road in the hollow, to the place where one can see these chimney tops just peeping above the woods, my heart failed me all at once, and I jumped out of the carriage, and ran home as if the fiends had hunted me. And when I got back into our court, I felt as if I had been a hundred years away."

      "Ah! Sir, it is no good transplanting a rotten tree!--it should be left standing where it grew, waiting for the axe. Heaven knows, I would gladly give the few years I have to live to see my Ernest's children only once; to take them in my arms, and hug those darling babes; but I know I could never be dragged so far. They would have to bury me in the sea, and my ghost would walk the wild salt waves, and never rest in peace."

      "How different here, where our own pleasant woods are shading the graves where my master and mistress are lying side by side. The birds singing among the branches, and the deer grazing peacefully round the two grave-stones that bear their names."

      "When old Flor's weary eyes are closed, and there is no one alive to tend them, they will soon be overgrown with moss and brushwood; and in the woods where these two hid their happiness from the world, their rest is hidden--and there, please God, shall mine be."

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