Hammer and Anvil: A Novel

by Friedrich Spielhagen

"I am a simple workman," I answered; "a blacksmith in a neighboring machine-shop."

"Blacksmith!--machine-shop!--what do you say? Who would have said this that afternoon when I saw you setting out for the hunt with the others, in high hunting-boots and a short velvet coat, with your gun and game-pouch, so tall and stately, the tallest and stateliest of all! What would my father have said? You always sided with him--perhaps you do so still; but believe me, he did not deal well with me; and if I am to blame, and am an outcast and accursed, it all, all falls upon his head. Do you know that the old Prince Prora, when my father grew indignant at his refusal, flung in his face the taunt: 'My son cannot marry your bastard, nor can I fight with a smuggler!' My father sprang at him and would have strangled him--as if that could restore his honor or mine! And you see, George, of all this I knew nothing: I first learned it from Kar--from him when he proposed to abandon me in a foreign country. Can a man know what it is to a girl, when she has loved a man, be he worthy or unworthy--given herself to him wholly, staked her all upon him, like a desperate gamester upon a single card--to be thrust out by him into wretchedness, with mockery and shame? Not into common wretchedness, such as seeks a subsistence by the light of a poor working-lamp, or in the glare of the street-lanterns--I was always surrounded by splendor and luxury, and the Marchese of Serra di Falco was as much richer than he as sunny Sicily is fairer than our foggy native island. And yet it was wretchedness--boundless, glittering wretchedness--which no woman escapes who is deceived in her love, whatever the compensation that may be offered her. I tried hate; but hate is the twin brother of love, and they can not deny their common parentage. There is but one remedy for love, and that is revenge. Avenge me on him! You can do it; you are so strong; you have already once had him in your power--that night when you met him in the woods. He told me about it and asked who the giant was. Why did you let him escape? Why did you not strangle him--brain him?--and then come to me and say, 'I am your lover, for I am stronger than the other,' and take me in your arms and carry me off? But you men never show us that you are men, and you wonder then that we play with you! As if we could do anything else with a creature that we do not see to be stronger than ourselves, and often so much weaker! Show what you can be--what you are! Crush the head of this serpent, and I will fall at your feet and worship you!"

While thus speaking she had let fall the plaid in which I had wrapped her and had risen from the chair, and with her last words she sank upon her knees, holding out her arms to me. The flickering light of the fire played upon her fantastic gypsy dress, gleamed upon her dark hair which hung in dishevelled locks over her cheeks and shoulders, and glowed upon the face which had so fatal a beauty for me. The nameless charm with which she had at first fascinated me overcame me with all the old might: my heart beat as if it would burst from my bosom, and feverish shudders ran over my whole body, but with a vehement effort I collected myself, stretched out my ice-cold hand and raised her, and said:

"You apply to the wrong person. Entrust your vengeance upon the prince to one who has a nearer interest in it: to the young man, for instance, upon whose arm you were leaning when I saw you in the gallery, and who, this very evening, if I am not mistaken, was the personage in the play whom Preciosa made happy with her favor."

Constance had risen slowly, her eyes ever fixed upon mine, and began to pace the room with hasty steps, pausing at intervals before me, and speaking as she walked:

"How base you men are; how horribly base and unfeeling! Was it for this reason--to heap these cruel reproaches upon me--that you enticed me here? Is this your hospitality? Do you think your fire has warmed me too much, that you now drench me with ice-water? But your heart is so cold only because your brain is so dull; because, for instance, you cannot comprehend how a woman who, from childhood up, has been lapped in visions of future splendor, and has seen her life's dream almost realized, when this dream at once scatters like light mist, and she, with her high-wrought feelings and pampered taste, with her cherished pretensions to beauty and luxury, is about to be given over to a coarse, commonplace existence--that such a woman of necessity must catch at the wretched reflection of the brilliant reality that is irrecoverably gone; that the beloved of princes can afterwards be nothing else than a stage princess. And not even this pitiful reflection does he leave me undisturbed! Again he forces himself upon me, and embitters my poor triumph. But why do I speak of all this to a man who understands it not, and can never understand it--who has chosen the happy lot of a modest existence full of labor, and toil, and quiet sleep?"

I had thrown myself into the chair from which she had arisen, and she stood before me, and went on in a strange, soft, trembling voice:

"If I could only sleep! If I could only sleep! Could I but drink from the fountain that daily flows for you, and will flow for that happy woman whom some day you will bring to this peaceful hearth! Could I banish the fever that here burns me, and here allows me no rest"--she pointed with these words to her breast and her head--"no rest--none! Oh to sleep thus, amid the perfumes of rosemary and violets--a sweet sleep upon a strong, true heart!"

And as I sat with bowed head, and heart filled with pain, I felt a pair of soft arms wind about my neck, a swelling bosom pressed to mine, and a pair of glowing lips that sought my own. Had the dream which the enamored, passionate boy had dreamed become reality, or was I really dreaming? And was it only as one who strives to arouse himself from a dream that I pressed her to me, then sprang to my feet and let her glide from my arms, and again caught her to my heart?

The light which had been burning dimly now sank into the socket and expired, but in the flickering glimmer of the fire I saw the outlines of the lovely form that clung and pressed down to my breast, and as if in a dream I heard a voice murmur at my ear: "to sleep sweetly upon a strong, true heart!"