Читать книгу The Sign of Flame - E. Werner - Страница 5

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In the meantime, Hartmut and Willibald had reached the forest belonging to the estate. The Burgsdorf pond, a lonely water bordered by rushes in the midst of the forest, lay motionless, shining in the sunlight of the quiet morning hour.

The young lord found for himself a shady place upon the bank, and devoted himself comfortably and persistently to the interesting occupation of fishing, while the impatient Hartmut roamed around, starting a bird here, plucking rushes and flowers there, and finally indulging in gymnastics upon the trunk of a tree which lay half in the water.

"Can you never be quiet in one place? You scare off all the fishes," said Willy, displeased. "I have not caught a thing to-day."

"How can you sit for hours in one spot waiting for the stupid fishes--but, of course, you can roam through field and forest all the year round whenever you like. You are free--free!"

"Are you imprisoned?" asked Willy. "Are not you and your companions out of doors every day?"

"But never alone--never without restraint and supervision. We are eternally on duty, even in the hours of recreation. Oh, how I hate it--this duty and life of slavery!"

"But, Hartmut, what if your father should hear that?"

"He would punish me again, then, as usual. He has nothing for me but severity and punishment. I don't care--it's all the same to me."

He threw himself upon the grass, but harsh and disagreeable as his words sounded, there was in them something like a pained, passionate complaint.

Willy only shook his head deliberately fastening a new bait to his hook meanwhile, and deep silence reigned for a few moments.

Suddenly something dashed down from on high, lightning-like; the water, just now so motionless, splashed and foamed, and in the next moment a heron rose high in the air, carrying the struggling, silver-shining prey in his bill.

"Bravo! that was a splendid shot," cried Hartmut, starting up, but Willy scolded vexedly. "The con---- robber strips our whole pond. I shall tell the forester to keep an eye on him."

"A robber!" repeated Hartmut, as his eyes followed the heron, which now disappeared behind the tree-tops. "Yes, surely; but it must be beautiful--such a free robber's life high up in the air. To dash down from the heights like a flash of lightning--to grab the booty, then soar high with it again where no one can follow--that is worthy of the chase."

"Hartmut, I actually believe you have a good notion to lead such a robber's life," said Willy, with the deep horror of a well-raised boy for such inclinations.

His companion laughed, but it was again that harsh, strange laugh which had in it nothing youthful.

"And if I should have it, they would know how to get it out of me at the cadets' school. There is obedience--discipline--the Alpha and Omega of all things, and one finally learns it, too. Willy, have you never longed for wings?"

"I? Wings?" ejaculated Willy, whose full attention was again directed to hook and line. "Nonsense! who could wish for impossibilities?"

"I wish I had some," cried Hartmut, flaming up. "I wish I were one of the falcons of which we hear. Then I would soar high up into the blue air--always higher and higher toward the sun, and would never, never come back."

"I think you are crazy," said the young lord calmly; "but I have not caught anything yet; the fish will not bite at all to-day. I must try another spot."

He gathered up his fishing paraphernalia and went to the other side of the pond.

Hartmut threw himself upon the ground again.

How could he expect that the stolid, matter-of-fact Willibald should harbor thoughts of flying!

It was one of those autumn days which seem to charm back the summer for a few short hours--the sunshine was so golden, the air so mild, the woods so fresh and fragrant. Thousands of brilliant sparkles danced upon the water; the rushes whispered low and mysteriously as the air breathed through them.

Hartmut lay quite motionless, listening to this mystery of whispering and fluttering. The wild, passionate flame, which had flared up almost uncannily when he spoke of the bird of prey, had disappeared from his eyes. Now they were riveted dreamily upon the shining blue of the sky, with a consuming longing in their depths.

Light footsteps drew near, almost inaudible on the soft forest soil; the bushes rustled as if brushed by a silken garment, and parted; a female figure emerged noiselessly and stopped short, fixing an intent look upon the young dreamer.

"Hartmut!"

He started and sprang up quickly. He did not know the voice, nor the stranger, but it was a lady, and he bowed chivalrously.

"Gracious lady----"

A slender and trembling hand was laid hastily and warningly upon his arm.

"Hush--not so loud--your companion might hear us, and I must speak with you, Hartmut--with you alone."

She stepped back again and motioned him to follow. Hartmut hesitated a moment. How came this stranger, whose face was closely veiled, but who, to judge by her dress, belonged to the highest class, at this lonely forest pond? And what was the meaning of the familiar "thou" from her to him, whom she saw now for the first time? But the mystery of the encounter began to interest him, and he followed her.

They stopped under the protection of the bushes where they could not be seen from the other side, and the stranger slowly raised her veil.

She was no longer in her youth--a woman still in her thirties--but the face with the dark, flashing eyes possessed a strange fascination, and the same charm was in the voice, which, even in the whisper, was soft and deep, with a foreign accent, as if the German which she spoke so fluently was not her native tongue.

"Hartmut, look at me. Do you really not remember me? Have you not kept some recollection from your childhood that tells you who I am?"

The young man shook his head slowly, and yet there arose in his mind a remembrance, misty and dreamlike, that told him he did not now hear this voice for the first time--that he had seen this face before in times long, long past. Half timidly, half transfixed, he stood there gazing upon the stranger, who suddenly stretched out both arms toward him.

"My son! my only child! do you not know your mother?"

Hartmut retreated, startled.

"My mother is dead," he said in a low tone.

The stranger laughed bitterly; it sounded exactly like that harsh, unchildlike laugh which had come from the lips of the lad only a short while ago.

"So that is it; they have called me dead. They would not leave you even the memory of your mother. But it is not true, Hartmut. I live--I stand before you. Look at me! look at my features, which are yours also. They could not take those from you. Child of my heart, do you not feel that you belong to me?"

Still Hartmut stood motionless, looking into the face in which he saw his own reflected as in a mirror. There were the same features, the same abundant, blue-black hair; the same large, deep black eyes--yes--even the strange demoniac expression which glowed like a flame in the mother's eyes, glimmered as a spark in the eyes of the son. The natural resemblance showed that they were of the same blood, and now the voice of that blood woke up in the young man.

He did not ask for explanations--for proofs; the confused, dream-like recollections suddenly became clear. Only one more second of hesitation, then he threw himself into the arms which were open for him.

"Mother!"

In the exclamation lay the glowing devotion of the lad, who had never known what it was to possess a mother, and who had longed for it with all his passionate nature.

His mother! As he lay in her arms while she overwhelmed him with passionate caresses--with tender, fond names such as he had never heard, all else disappeared in the flood of overwhelming delight.

Several minutes passed thus, then Hartmut disengaged himself from the embrace which would have detained him.

"Why have you never been with me, mamma?" he asked vehemently. "Why did they tell me that you were dead?"

Zalika drew back. In a moment all the tenderness vanished from her face; a light kindled there of wild, deadly hatred, and the answer came hissing from her lips:

"Because your father hates me, my son, and because he did not wish to leave me even the love of my only child when he thrust me from him."

Hartmut was silent with consternation. He knew well that no one dared mention his mother's name in his father's presence--that his father had once silenced him with the greatest harshness when he had ventured to ask for her, but he had been too young to muse over the why.

Zalika did not give him time for it now. She stroked the dark, curly hair back from the high forehead, and a shadow rested on her face.

"You have his brow," she said slowly, "but that is the only thing to remind of him; everything else belongs to me--to me alone. Every feature tells that you are wholly mine. I knew it would be so."

Again she embraced him, overwhelming him with caresses, which Hartmut returned as passionately. It was an intoxication of happiness to him--like one of the fairy tales of which he had so often dreamed, and he gave himself up to the charm unquestioningly and unreservedly.

But now Willy made himself heard on the opposite bank, calling loudly for his friend, and reminding him that it was time to return home.

Zalika started.

"We must part. Nobody must know that I have seen you and spoken with you, particularly your father. When do you return to him?"

"In eight days."

"Not until then?" The tone was triumphant. "I shall see you every day until then. Be here at the pond to-morrow at the same hour. Dispense with your companion under some pretext, so that we may be undisturbed. You will come, Hartmut?"

"Certainly mother, but----"

She did not give him time for an excuse, but continued in the same passionate whisper:

"Above all, be silent to everybody; do not forget that. Farewell, my child, my beloved only son. Au revoir!"

One more fervent kiss upon Hartmut's brow, then she vanished in the bushes as mysteriously as she had appeared. It was quite time, for Willy appeared on the scene, his approach being heralded by his heavy stamping upon the forest ground.

"Why do you not answer?" he demanded. "I have called three times. Did you fall asleep? You look as if you had been startled from a dream."

Hartmut stood as if stunned, gazing upon the bushes in which his mother had disappeared. At his cousin's words he straightened himself and drew his hand across his brow.

"Yes, I have been dreaming," he said, slowly; "quite a wonderful, strange dream."

"You might rather have been fishing," said Willy; "just see what a splendid catch I got over on the other bank. A person ought not to dream in broad daylight. He ought to be properly occupied, my mother says--and my mother is always right."