Withered Leaves: A Novel. Vol. 2 (of 3)

by Rudolf von Gottschall

He began, too, to care more about political matters, the progress of which latterly he had only silently watched. His conviction gained strength that, despite all obstacles, the Prussian State would obtain a constitution, and all the provinces be united by one common bond. Then a political career would be opened to him once again; he should no longer be dependant upon the judgment of his equals in this district; he could then stand before the population of the entire province as a candidate for election.

That the continuance of the provincial assemblies in their present state could not last much longer was his fixed opinion, but in order to gain distinct views of the new course which the future should disclose to him, he must make his name known in more extensive circles; he must be called the champion of the political movement. A welcome opportunity for it was offered to him by the assemblies of the citizens in the provincial capital, which assemblies had been recently formed, and he did not hesitate to intimate to the committee that he should deliver a lecture upon the French organisation and the July dynasty.

Meanwhile, in the newspapers he read an announcement of an operatic performance in which Signora Bollini should again take part; thus he inferred that she had returned from Riga. He immediately ordered his four black horses to be harnessed, and hastened to the capital by the shortest route. He arrived there amid a violent downfall of snow and terribly boisterous wind. He prepared to visit Giulia at once; his road led him past a churchyard, through the gateway of which a little funeral procession was passing. Closely concealed as the faces were in cloaks and furs, some of them appeared very familiar to him; they were the companions of those times, the late effects of which had prepared such bitter pain for him. He recognised them again, greatly as they were altered; not only was it the snow falling from heaven, it was also the snow of age that silvered their hair. He believed that he perceived amongst the followers the Breaker of the Seal, the former minister of the community, who was now deposed from his office of teacher. Whom did they bear to the tomb? Curiosity drove him to join the procession. When it had drawn near to the open grave, Blanden asked the person next to him who was being buried?

"Frau Hamptmann Salden," was the hoarse reply.

At that moment they began to sing beside the tomb; a violent gust of wind shook the snow from the cypresses, and whirled it up from every grave, which had been softly bedded in its lap. The shivering assembly seemed to be animated but by the one desire that the burial ceremony might soon be over.

Blanden rested his head upon a lofty tombstone, his tears flowed unrestrainedly. How deserving of tears every human life seems to be, when a thoughtful mind sums up its years in as many seconds! How mournful are his short-lived joys, and how many terrors does the span of time contain! No funeral oration disturbed his reflections; the ministers who would gladly have spoken beside this grave, dared not perform their office, and from the others accusations were feared which might have disturbed the peacefulness of the tomb.

While the wind buried in its gusts the sounds of the choral singing, Blanden thought of the youthful, beautiful Pauline; he thought of lovely Eva! Mother and daughter were blended in one picture; it was a shadowy portrait in which their features became united. But the one reposed in the ocean's lap, the other in wintry earth!

Already the clods fell with a hollow sound upon the coffin, thrown in hastily by half-frozen hands, and, after a hurried performance of the last verse of the hymn, the assembly rushed away as if carried off by the bride of the storm, which, howling hoarsely, swept over the lonely graves.

Blanden had maintained his concealment behind the monument and cypresses; now he stepped forth; sadly he cast the hard clods of earth upon the coffin; his soul was one thought of love--one prayer for forgiveness, because dark self-accusations were stirred in his heart. Deeply buried in meditation, he did not observe that the wind had become a hurricane, cracking the boughs of the trees on every side, casting one weeping-willow to the ground, that the earth groaned, and hardly permitted him to stand upright. The grave-diggers had already laid their spades aside, and taken refuge in the dead-house.

Suddenly something struggled before him through the snow; he saw a fluttering cloak, and a bare-headed girl upon her knees in front of him; stars of snow nestled in her tangled hair, glassy eyes stared up at him, and glowing kisses covered his hands.