What the Swallow Sang: A Novel

by Friedrich Spielhagen

Had he understood her?

It was in the middle of the night, when Gotthold started from a troubled sleep, that the meaning of the mystery had appeared before his soul, as if born of the darkness: there was one thing, and only one, which she could not, dared not do: go while her child remained, remained in the power of this fiend; and by this one thing the fiend had forced her to obey his will. And force her to go he can and will, will apply for the dissolution of a marriage bond she has broken--or would she, the proud woman, deny it? Deny upon oath, in a court of justice, that she had ever rested in the arms of her friend? Repeat in the court-room, before the world, the yes which in his presence she had long since changed to an inflexible no? Very well, then the breach of faith was proved, the marriage dissolved, the child would be taken from the guilty parent, and given to the one who was innocent of blame!

Then, with a sneering laugh, he had repeated to her the shameful formula, with which the next morning, in the presence of her lover, she was to degrade herself to a level with the lowest--must do so if he did not see through the fiendish plot, if he did not understand her!

Thank God, he understood her now! But how she must have suffered! How she must suffer still!

And was this state of things to continue? Never, never. Now that he had at last penetrated his enemy's base game, he must win the victory. If he had allowed himself to be paid with money for the shame of knowing that his wife's heart belonged to another, how far would not his venality extend? But he would sell everything--honor, wife, and child. Why had he not disposed of all at once, since he knew any price would be paid that came within the means of the buyer? Did he wish to increase the value of his wares by selling them separately? Or was there, even for him, a limit which he could not pass? Inconceivable. Or was his hatred towards his rival greater than his avarice? Did he carry the refinement of cruelty so far as only to mutilate his victim, in order to exult in her agony?

It was certainly very probable from such a man, but how long would this spendthrift and gambler remain in a situation to be able to afford himself so costly a luxury? How soon would necessity compel him to sell off his wares? What had the purchaser to do, except practise a little patience and keep the money ready?

The property which Gotthold had hitherto considered of so little importance, suddenly acquired a priceless value in his eyes, and he felt sorely troubled by the thought that he had entrusted the greater part of it to persons whose honesty was by no means beyond question; at least Wollnow, even when their intercourse had been limited to letter-writing, had repeatedly made such hints, and finally in plain words warned him against the house in Stettin; but Gotthold, out of indifference towards the property, and respect for the name of his dead relative, which had been retained by the firm, had not heeded the warning until Wollnow had recently spoken on this point even more urgently, and said that he must withdraw his money, and there was danger in delay. The banker in Sundin who discounted Wollnow's notes had confirmed the statement of his business acquaintance, and offered him his services, but said it would be better to withdraw it to-day than to-morrow.

Gotthold had intended to do so, but his next visit had been to his protégé, the young artist Bruggberg, whom he found dying, and in the duties of friendship he had forgotten everything else. Then days and weeks of the most sorrowful emotions had followed, during which he could form no resolution. Now he did not need to form any; now he was eager to make up for the delay; but it was too late.

When he entered the banker's office, the latter came to meet him with a very grave face. News had just come from Stettin that Lenz & Co. had failed, in a most unprecedented, scandalous manner; the creditors would not receive five per cent. "I am sincerely sorry," said Herr Nathanson; "I lose a small sum myself, if one can be said to lose what one has given up all hopes of getting long ago; but you are very heavily involved, if I understand you rightly. Did you not have fifty thousand thalers invested there?"

A short time before Gotthold would merely have shrugged his shoulders at such news, and gone back to his work. Now it came upon him like a thunder-clap. By the sum recently borrowed of Wollnow and his present loss, his property was reduced to about one-fourth of its original amount, and even this, strictly speaking, no longer belonged to him. Nay, he need not even be overstrict; it was only necessary not to be faithless to the obligations into which he had entered--obligations to struggling young artists, who had based their hopes of the future on his friendship, to widows and children of his deceased companions in art, who but for him would sink into poverty. What was left him if he paid these debts, as his honor, his heart bade him? Nothing! Nothing except the income from his labor. It was enough and more than enough for himself--but for the insatiate avarice of that spendthrift! He would not be put off with promises, nor accept payments on account, not he!