On the Heights Part 168

They drove on in silence.

They reached the end of the carriage road, and now continued the journey on horseback.

Soon after the queen's departure, the king and Bronnen returned from the chase. They felt refreshed and invigorated by the sport, and the king inquired whether the queen had already repaired to the waterfall, for she had expressed a desire to sketch there.

For the first time in her life. Countess Brinkenstein was so embarra.s.sed that she almost lost her presence of mind. She, of course, felt a proper sympathy for Irma, but as long as she had lived in concealment she should have died in concealment. Why should she thus agitate them all anew? She shook her head in deprecation of this eccentric being who, long after one had mourned and forgotten her, was not even decently dead.

With faltering voice, she informed the king of what had happened, and scarcely ventured to tell him that on her own responsibility, and contrary to all court regulations, the queen had gone away, attended by no one but Paula and privy councilor Sixtus.

For some moments, the king neither moved nor uttered a word, but stood there with his eyes bent on the ground. The very earth at his feet seemed to tremble. Everything seemed unsteady as if in an earthquake, and terrors and despair overwhelmed him.

All that he had experienced, during long years of suffering and expiation, now rose before him again. He had striven and wrestled and made sacrifices, and no one had thanked him for all this; least of all his own heart, for he was burdened with guilt and yet anxious to do good, and forced to acknowledge, in all humility, that the power to do good was yet left him.

Trembling with agitation, he pressed his clenched hand against his brow. His cheeks burned, while his limbs shook with a feverish chill.

G.o.d be thanked, she still lives! The guilt of death is lifted from my soul; and she, too, will see what I have suffered, and what I have become--

During the last few moments, he had lived the secret torments of past years over again. He now looked about him, as if emerging from another world. There had been no earthquake; the trees, the houses, the mountains still stood in their old places. He looked at Bronnen and, offering his icy cold hand, whispered almost inaudibly:

"And so the presentiment that you expressed at the hunting-seat, is true."

His voice was thick. He ordered fresh saddle-horses and a second carriage to be sent after him.

A few moments later, Bronnen and he were following in the wake of the queen.

CHAPTER XIX.

The queen rode up the mountain, while Walpurga walked on by her side.

The sun was already sinking in the west. Its slanting rays shone through the tree-tops and on the road which Gunther and the little pitchman had taken on the night before, and there were now but few signs of the rivulets that had yesterday traversed the path.

The queen did not utter a word, but she often gazed at Walpurga, and many old memories and a.s.sociations were awakened in her mind. There, walking along beside me, is a woman who was brought from her home at my request. In those days, when, with the king and Gunther, I was sitting under the weeping ash, I was gentle and forgiving toward the fallen, and Gunther said I deserved that thousands should pray for me. Did I really deserve it then? Do I deserve it now? At that time, no one had ever offended or injured me, and it was easy to appear forgiving. But as soon as I was wronged, I gave way to scorn and hatred, and pride in my own virtue, and encouraged myself in that feeling. He changed his whole life, put all that was trivial and vain away from him, and devoted his whole mind to faithful labors for the sake of his people, while I became more and more austere and inflexible just because I was so virtuous. Are you so virtuous, after all? What is the virtue that lives for itself alone? And she who erred so bitterly; has she not expiated still more bitterly? Sinner though she be, she stands far above me. She died for my sake, and yet what has her death profited me?

I have left my husband to achieve his difficult work unaided and alone, deserted him in the hour of greatest need. I have lived for myself alone, for to live for my child was to live for myself. I have had charity for the poor and helpless. But how as to my first duty? I could not conquer myself--and am I the one who dares say that I am capable of the highest, and "if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out?" Gunther was right. No one can save you but yourself, for no one else can so often tell you the truth.

During the many years in which she has been striving to perfect herself, and in which he has strengthened himself in n.o.ble deeds for his people, what have I been doing? It is I who have sinned. You shall not die, Irma! You must still live, so that I can tell you that I am lost if you die without having forgiven me.

The queen gladly gave way to these thoughts, for they gradually lightened the burden which had so long exerted a depressing influence upon her.

"Have we much further to go?" she asked Walpurga.

Fear again seized her. If Irma were dead! If it were too late for the meeting that would free them both!--She pressed her hand to her throbbing heart, as if it too must cease to beat when the heart up there had ceased to live. In her mind's eye, she beheld Irma, as if glorified and transfigured, while she herself seemed so pitifully small.

"We'll soon be there," said Walpurga.

A voice above was heard, calling:

"Walpurga!"

The sound was echoed again and again from the mountains.

"That's my husband," said Walpurga to the queen, and, in an equally loud voice, she called out:

"Hansei!"

He answered again from above.

Hansei drew near, and when he saw the grand gentlemen, the ladies on horseback, and the liveried servants, he took off his hat and pa.s.sed his hand over his eyes, as if to satisfy himself that he saw aright.

"How is it with her?" asked Walpurga.

"She's still alive, but she won't last long. I left about an hour ago, and who knows what may have happened since then? The doctor's with her, though."

"We can't ride any farther," said the inspector. The queen and Paula alighted. Sixtus and the servants followed, while they climbed the last hill.

"That's the queen there, in the light silk shawl," said Walpurga, addressing Hansei with a significant gesture.

"It's all the same to me," he answered. "Our Irmgard's better than any of them. What matters the queen? When death comes we're pretty much the same all around. We'll all of us have to die one of these days, and then it won't matter what we've been in these few years."

Bestowing a hurried glance on Hansei, and beckoning Paula to remain behind, the queen hastened forward. She was unattended, but yet, at her right and her left, before and behind her, were the spirits of fear and of deliverance. Fear cried: "Irma is dead; you are too late--" and it seemed as if this would arrest her steps and deprive her of her breath.

Deliverance cried: "Hurry on--why loiter? You are free, you bring freedom with you, and shall gain freedom for yourself."

She put forth her hands, as if to wave off the powers that were contending within and about her.

Fear gained the mastery and, with a wailing shriek for help, she cried out:

"Irma! Irma!" and "Irma, Irma," was echoed again and again from the mountains. The whole world was shouting Irma's name.

Irma was still lying within the room, and Gunther was sitting at her bedside. Her breathing was difficult. She scarcely ever turned her head, and only now and then slightly opened her eyes.

Gunther had taken Eberhard's note-book with him, and found an opportunity to read these words of his to Irma: "May this serve to enlighten me on the day and in the hour when my mind becomes obscured."

When he read the words: "G.o.d yet dwells in that which, to us, seems lost and ruined," Irma raised herself, but she soon leaned back again and beckoned him to proceed. He read: "And should my eye be dimmed in death--I have beheld the eternal One--My eyes have penetrated eternity.

Free from distortion and self-destruction, the immortal spirit soars aloft."

Gunther stopped and laid the note-book on Irma's bed. She rested her hand upon it. After a while she raised her hand and, pressing it to her brow, said, while she closed her eyes:

"And yet he chastised me!"

"Whatever he may have done to you, was not done with his free, pure will. A paroxysm, a relapse into mortality, affected it. In the spirit of your father, and as surely as I hope that truth may dwell with me in my own dying hour, I forgive you. You have achieved your own pardon.

Forgive him, as he has surely forgiven you. He would bless you now, as I bless you. Remember him lovingly, for the sake of the love he bore you."

Irma seized the hand which Gunther had laid upon her brow, and kissed it. Then, without turning around, and as if speaking to herself, she said: "Stay with me," again and again.

For hours, Gunther sat by her bedside. Not a sound was heard but her painful breathing, which was gradually becoming more and more difficult.

And now, when the mountains echoed her name again and again, Irma raised her head and looked to right and left. "Do you hear it, too?"

she asked. "My name--voices, voices everywhere! Voices--" The door opened, and the queen entered the room.