Asbein Part 25

They brought flowers, whatever kind they could buy, and placed them in the pretty, pleasant boudoir in which she lay, stretched out on her couch bed. The broad sunbeams slid like a golden veil over the magnolias, violets, and roses.

Dreamily the dying woman let her eyes wander over the fragrant splendor. "How lovely the spring is!" murmured she, and then she added: "How can one fear to die, when the resurrection is so beautiful!" The windows stood wide open; it was afternoon; from without one heard the rattling of carriages which rolled along in the heart of the city.

It sounded like the rolling of a stream which forced its way to the sea.

The night came. Nikolas sat near his mother's bed and watched. She slept uneasily. Frequently she started and listened, then she looked at her watch--it could not yet be! Once Maschenka came in, with little bare feet peeping out from under her long night-dress, and face quite swollen with weeping. On tip-toes she crept up to the dying woman's bed. Since a couple of days Natalie had no longer permitted her to sleep in the adjoining little room, from fear that the child might be awakened by her painful attacks. Maschenka had dreamed that her mother was worse; she wished to see her mother. Natalie opened her eyes just as she entered.

Then the child ran up to her, kneeled down near her, and sobbing hid her little face in the covers. Natalie stroked her little head with weary, weak hand, and asked her to be brave, and lie down and sleep; that would give her the greatest joy.

Then Maschenka stood up, and went with hesitating steps as far as the door; then she turned round, and hurried back to her mother. Natalie made the sign of the cross on her forehead, then kissed her once more, and held her to her thin breast. It should be the last time--the child went.

Natalie looked after her tenderly, sadly.

Toward morning Nikolas fell asleep in the arm-chair in which he watched by his mother's bed. All at once he felt that some one pulled him by both sleeves. He started up; his mother sat half upright in the bed.

"Wake up, your father is coming!" she called quickly and breathlessly.

"But, little mother, it is quite impossible--not before evening can he be here."

With a short, imperious motion she admonished him to silence. Now he heard quite plainly--softly, then louder--the rolling of a single carriage through the deathly-quiet, sleeping city. It came nearer stopped before the house.

"Go to meet him, Kolia; I do not wish him to think we did not expect him."

Kolia went, did, like a machine, whatever was required of him. Natalie sat up, listened--listened. If she had been mistaken--no. Heavy steps came up the stairs. Steps of two men--not of one--and this voice!

rough, deep, going to the heart. She did not understand a word; but it was his voice.

A quite numbing embarra.s.sment and shyness overcame her. She drew the lace cuffs of her night-dress over her thin arms, she arranged her hair; she felt as shy as before a stranger. What should she say to him?

She would be quite calm--calm and friendly. Then the door opened--he entered, dusty, with tumbled, badly arranged gray hair, with fearful furrows in his face, aged ten years since she last had seen him.

What should she say to him?

He did not wait for that; he only gave one look at her pale face, then he hurried up to her and took her in his arms.

Behind the church of Trinit dei Monti there was already a golden light, and the whole room was filled with brilliancy and light.

"Oh, my angel! how could you so repulse me!" are the first words which he speaks.

She says nothing, only lies on his breast, silently, unresistingly.

Through her veins creeps for the last time the feeling of pleasant, animating warmth which has always overcome her in his nearness. She tries to rouse herself, to consider; she had certainly wished to tell him something for farewell. But what was it--what----

Ah, truly!

"Boris," she breathes out softly, "do you know--at that time in your study--in Petersburg--do you still remember how you once said to me I should show you the way to the stars?"

"Yes, my little dove, yes."

"I was not fitted for my task," whispers she, sadly; "forgive!"

For one moment he remains speechless with emotion; then he presses his lips to her mouth, on her poor emaciated hands, on her hair.

"Forgive--I you! O my heart!" murmurs he. "How could you draw me up when I had broken your wings! But now all is well; we will seek our old happiness hand in hand. You shall become well, shall live!"

"Live," whispers she, quite reproachfully; "live," and shakes her head.

He looks at her with a long, tender glance, and is frightened.

Her face is still angel beautiful, but there is nothing left of her lovely form. It pains him to see the sharp, harsh lines which outline her limbs under the covering. That is no longer a living woman who stretches out her arms to him, it is only an angel who wishes to bless him. It is quite clear between them, and also the last shyness, which still held her back from him, has vanished.

"Yes, it is over," whispers she; "only a few more days--how many is that?--three days--five days--oh, perhaps it will last longer--physicians are so often mistaken. We will drive out once more together to see the spring--out there where the almond trees bloom between the ruins--by St. Steven, do you still know?--and until I feel it coming--the last, the end--then you will hold me by the hand, will you not? like a child that fears the dark, you will lead me quite tenderly up to the threshold of eternity--is it not true? No one can be so tender and loving as you. But do not be sad--not now; to-day I feel well, quite well. Ah!----"

What is that? She clutches at her heart--there it is again, the strange fluttering feeling in her heart. Her face changes, her breath fails.

"The doctor, Kolia!" calls Boris beside himself.

Kolia hurries away; at the door his mother calls him back once more.

"Not without a farewell, my brave boy," she says, and kisses him. "G.o.d bless you!"

Then he rushes away down the stairs, to fetch the doctor--there is haste.

No, there is no more haste--the attack is short--only a couple of strange shudders--then the invalid grows calm in Lensky's arms.

"How wonderfully the trees bloom--" murmurs the dying one. "It grows dark--give me your hand--do not grieve--my poor Genius----"

Suddenly her eyes take on a peculiarly longing expression. A last time the Asbein tones glide through her soul, but no longer an inciting, alluring call--but as something elevating, holy. She hears the tones quite high and distinct, as if they vibrated down to her from Heaven, resounding strangely in a sublime, calm harmony that is no longer the devil's succession of tones, that is the music of the spheres.

"Boris," she murmurs, and raising her hand, points upward, "listen ..."

The hand sinks slowly, slowly--when, a little later, the physician enters she is dead. A wonderful smile lies on her countenance, the smile of one set free.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: When the Devil, banished from heaven, resolved on the temptation of mankind, he loved to make use of music which had been made known to him as a heavenly privilege when he still was a member of the eternal hosts. But the Almighty deprived him of his memory, so he could remember but a single strain, and this mysterious, bewitching strain is still called in Arabia "The Devil's Strain--Asbein."--_Arabian Legends_.]