It was the rare time when life has its transit through a superterrestrial sun. Albano and Linda accompanied each other with holy eyes, and their looks softly disengaged themselves from each other again; they gazed into the world, and into the heart, and expressed nothing. Linda turned softly round and walked silently onward.
Just then, all at once, one of the prattling maidens behind them called out: "There is really an earthquake coming; I actually feel it; good night!" It was Agata. "God grant one," said Albano. "O why?" said Linda, eagerly, but in a low tone. "All that the infinite mother wills and sends is to me to-day childishly dear, even death;—are not we, too, part and parcel of her immortality?" said he. "Yes, man may feel and believe this in joy; only in sorrow let him not speak of immortality; in such impotency of soul he is not worthy of it."
Albano's spirit here rose up from its princely seat to greet its lofty kinswoman, and said, "Immortal one! and though no one else were so!" She silently smiled and went on. His heart was an asbestos-leaf written over and cast into the fire, burning, not consuming; his whole former life went out, the leaf shone fiery and pure for Linda's hand.
When they reached the last eminence below which Linda's and Julienne's dwelling lay, and they stood near each other on the point of separation, then the maiden suddenly cried out below: "An earthquake!" Out of hell a thunder-car rolled on in the subterranean ways,—a broad lightning flapped its wings up and down in the pure heaven under the stars,—the earth and the stars trembled, and affrighted eagles flew through the lofty night. Albano had grasped the hands of the tottering Linda. Her face had faded before the moon to a pale, godlike statue of marble. By this time it was all over; only some stars of the earth still shot down out of the steadfast heavens into the sea, and wondrous clouds went up round about from below. "Am I not very timid?" said she, faintly. Albano gazed into her face livingly and serenely as a sun-god in morning-redness, and pressed her hands. She would have drawn them away violently. "Give them to me forever!" said he, earnestly. "Bold man," said she, in confusion, "who art thou? Dost thou know me? If thou art as I, then swear and say whether thou hast always been true!" Albano looked toward Heaven, his life was balanced; God was near him; he answered softly and firmly: "Linda, always!" "So have I!" said she, and inclined modestly her beautiful head upon his breast, but immediately raised it again, with its large moist eyes, and said, hurriedly: "Go now! Early to-morrow come, Albano! Adio! Adio!"
The maidens came up. Albano went down, his bosom filled with living warmth, with living radiance. Nature breathed with fresher perfumes out of the gardens; the sea murmured again below; and on Vesuvius burned a Love's-torch, a festal fire of joy. Through the night-skies some eagles were still sailing toward the moon, as toward a sun; and against the arch of heaven the Jacob's-ladder stood leaning with golden rounds of stars.
As Albano was walking along so solitary in his bliss, dissolved in the rapture of love, the fragrance of the vales, the radiance of the heights, dreaming, hovering, he saw birds of passage flying across the sea in the direction of the Apennines, on their way to Germany, where Liana had lived. "Holy One above!" cried his heart, "thou desiredst this joy; appear and bless it!" Unexpectedly he stood before a chapel niche wherein the Holy Virgin stood. The moon transfigured the pale statue,—the Virgin took life beneath the radiance, and became more like Liana,—he knelt down, and ardently gave God his prayers of gratitude and Liana his tears. When he rose, turtle-doves were cooing in dreams, and a nightingale warbled; the hot fountains smoked glimmering, and the happy singing of far-off people came up to his ears.
