It
was a dark, fathomless mystery upon which she gazed, but she had no
longer any fear.
"Let us end this interview," she said, earnestly. "You will seek no
second one, I believe that; but one word more before we part. You are a
poet. I have felt that in spite of everything, as I have learned to know
your work. But poets are teachers of mankind, and can lead to good or to
ill. The wild flame of your 'Arivana' springs from a life which you,
yourself, seem to hate. Look yonder," and she pointed to the distant
heavens inflamed now with the lightning's play. "Those are also flaming
brands, but their beginnings are from above and they point out another
way--and now farewell!"
Long after she had disappeared, Hartmut stood on the same spot as if
rooted to the ground. He had answered no word, made no comment, only
gazed where she had pointed, with fixed, hopeless eyes.
Flash after flash of lightning was now rending the heavens and the whole
landscape was enveloped in a lurid glare which reflected itself in that
little sheet of water so like the Burgsdorf fish pond; the long reeds
and grasses swayed and bent above the water and the mist from the meadow
rose above it all.
Under just such long, waving grass the boy had lain long ago and dreamed
of the day when he should mount like the falcon from which his race had
taken their name, always higher and higher into boundless freedom toward
the sun, and now on a similar spot the sentence had fallen upon him like
a judgment from heaven, and the will-o'-the-wisp on this lowering autumn
night seemed in its spectral flashes to dance over the grave of false
hopes and falser aspirations.
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