The Song Of Songs Part 105

A line of lindens, hundreds of years old, bordered the stream and stifled every ray of light in its dark halls.

Perhaps this was where the marble bust was hidden. Lilly peered into every recess, though furtively, so as to reserve the pleasure of discovery for him.

They now approached the daintily arched bridge they had seen from afar in the daytime.

It did not lead to Walhalla, but from a spiraea bush to a hemp bush, and beneath it slept a pair of swans, who awoke at the stroke of the oars and with outspread wings swam behind the boat begging for bread.

"Swans! The one thing lacking!" Lilly rejoiced softly, and sought in vain for a crumb. She turned to look after the swans and her neck touched his knees.

"May I stay this way?" she asked a little anxiously.

"If you're comfortable," he answered. There was a yielding tone in his voice which ran warm through her body.

She unpinned her hat, and laid it on the back seat. Now she was free to lean her head lightly against him. With sweet alarm she felt his hand quietly stroke her head.

But he seemed taciturn and self-absorbed, as if a burden were weighing upon him which he was not strong enough to shoulder.

And again she felt, as ofttimes, that a veil hung between them, a veil seldom lifted aside, which obscured the true features of his being, no matter how closely her love drew her to him.

"Oh, if only he were gay!"

The park came to an end.

The red evening glow, no longer shadowed by a ma.s.s of foliage, shone upon them insistently. The magic spell threatened to be broken. The world took on its ordinary aspect.

"Come, turn," she asked softly.

He rowed back again into the blissful night.

Now he had to strive against the current, and could not avoid the sound of splas.h.i.+ng.

"If only they don't catch us," he said.

"Oh, they are too happy," rejoined Lilly, "they wouldn't do anything to a happy person."

"It seems almost like an enchanted castle, but who can tell--it may be a delusion."

"Why?"

"Oh, the most grievous wound may be hidden under powers, and many a man hides himself behind beauty because he has buried his powers."

The doubt displeased Lilly.

"But they should be happy," she exclaimed softly. "Those who can spare so much as they have given us to-day have enough left for themselves."

"Illogical conclusion, darling," he replied. "You can enrich a beggar and still remain as poor as a church-mouse."

"Are _we_ beggars?" she asked, raising herself up to him tenderly.

"No, by G.o.d, we are _not_ beggars," he replied drawing a deep breath.

There was silence for a time. Then it seemed to Lilly something warm and moist fell upon her forehead.

For G.o.d's sake! He was crying! Crying with happiness. How had she deserved it--she, Lilly Czepanek--she--?

To hide her own tears she crouched down again. It was in overflowing measure--unendurable. She wanted to sob, cry aloud, kiss his hands. Yet she was forced to clench her fists and stuff her gloves between her teeth, to keep him from seeing what was going on within her. It was a G.o.d-send that as they slowly approached the castle again, the sound of a woman's singing reached them. Full ringing tones, which in the ascending notes struck her heart like a lash.

What was she singing? Wasn't it from Tristan? Lilly had never heard the opera, but it could only be from Tristan.

She raised her head questioningly.

"Isolde's _Liebestod_," Konrad whispered in her ear.

He turned the boat toward the sh.o.r.e in the deepest darkness. They must not lose a note.

Up there on the terrace the laughing and talking had ceased. The nightingale alone, in the linden thicket, would not be silenced, and mingled its sweet ecstasy with the exultation in death of the woman who like no other creation of G.o.d or man teaches us that the desire not to be is the most exalted affirmation of to be.

Lilly, her whole body quivering, put her hand over her shoulder to grasp his. She had to hold on to him. Otherwise she felt she would sink into the void. She did not grow easier until she felt his warm fingers between hers.

The song ended. The mighty arpeggios of the accompaniment died away.

There was no applause. Each of the merry guests had realised his indebtedness to the occasion.

Konrad pressed her hand and withdrew his, and took up the oars again.

The forbidden garden began to disappear.

The reddish dusk of night lay upon the meadows. Not sound far or near.

Nevertheless the world seemed filled with the music of harps and ringing songs.

"We haven't _seen_ your marble woman," Lilly whispered, stroking his knees, "but I keep thinking that was her voice."

"I, too," he burst out pa.s.sionately. "And she wasn't singing for the good folk up there, but just for us."

"Oh, if only I could sing it like her," sighed Lilly.

"Try."

She remembered bits here and there, but was unable to gather them into a whole. Besides something else forced its way between, which now gushed up mightier than all else.

With the Song of Songs of the greatest and richest her own poor Song of Songs mingled, undesired, uncalled.

And she sang into the deep silence:

Tell me, O thou whom my soul loveth, Where thou feedest?

Where lettest thou thy flock rest at noon?

For why should I appear like a vailed mourner--

She stopped.