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THE WISH 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 BY 
 
 HERMANN SUDERMANN 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 
 LILY HENKEL 
 
 WITH A BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION BY 
 
 ELIZABETH LEE 
 
 UNIVER^ 
 
 N eV^Yo'r K 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 
tAOfBTt 
 
 A Mthorized Edition. 
 
59^3 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Since the beginning of time men have been ac- 
 customed to regard the end of a century as a period 
 of decadence. The waning nineteenth century is no 
 more fortunate than its predecessors. We are con- 
 timially being invited to speculate on the signs around 
 us of decay in politics^ in religion^ in art^ in the 
 whole social fabric. It is not for us to inquire lure 
 concerning the truth or the ethics of that belief But\ 
 as far as literature is concerned^ it is very certain 
 that the last years of the present century will be 
 remembered for the extraordinary talent shown by 
 a few young novelists and dramatists in most of the 
 countries of Europe. In England, we can point to 
 Mr, Rudyard Kipling and Mr. f M, Barrie ; in 
 I ranee ^ to M. Paul Margueritte and M, Marcel 
 Prevost ; in Belgium^ to M, Maurice Maeterlinck ; 
 
 157672 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 in Germany^ to Gerhard Haitptmann, Ludwig Fulda^ 
 and Her^nann Stiderrnann, 
 
 The events of Siidennann s life are few ; a7td he 
 has the good sense to prefer to be known through his 
 works rather than through the medium of the pro- 
 fessional interviewer. The facts here set down^ hoiv- 
 ever^ we ozve to the courtesy of Suderniann himself 
 a circumstance that lends them an additional interest. 
 
 Hermann Suderma?in zvas born September 30, 
 1857, ^/ Matzicken, a poor village in Heydekrug, a 
 district of East Prussia, situated on the Russian 
 frontier. It is not unlikely that the following 
 passage taken from one of his novels bears some 
 resemblarice to the place : — 
 
 " The estate that my father far^med was situated 
 on a high hill close to the Prussian frontier ; an 
 uncultivated, wild park sloping gently towards the 
 open fields formed one side of the hill, zvhile the 
 other sank steeply down to a little river. On the 
 farther side of the stream you could see a dirty little 
 Polish frontier village. 
 
 " Standing at the edge of the precipice you looked 
 down on the ruinous shingle roofs ; the smoke came 
 up through the rifts in them. You looked right into 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the midst of the miserable life of the dirty streets 
 zvhere half naked children wallowed in the filthy 
 where the ivomen squatted idly on the threshold^ 
 a?id where the men in torn sinocks^ with spade on 
 shoulder^ betook themselves to the alehouses, 
 
 " There was nothing attractive about the tozvn, 
 and the rabble of frontier Cossacks ^ who galloped 
 here and there on their catlike ^ drowsy nags^ did not 
 increase the charm'' 
 
 Sudermann began his education at the school of 
 Elbing, But his parents were in poor circumstances ^ 
 and at the age of fourteen he found it necessary to 
 think about earning a living, and was apprenticed to 
 a chemist. He conti^iued his studies in his leisure 
 time with such good results that he returned to 
 school, this time at Tilsit, In 1875 he zvent to the 
 university of Kdnigsberg, and in 1877 to that of 
 Berlin. His first intentioii zvas to become a teaclier, 
 and while still pursuing his studies undertook for a 
 fezv months the duties of tutor in the house of tlie 
 poet Hans Hopfen. But in 1881, after six years 
 spent in studying history, philosophy, literature, and 
 modern languages {Sudermann understands English 
 perfectly), he turned to journalism, and edited 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the Deutsches Reichsblatt, a political weekly. He 
 soon threw aside newspaper work for true literature^ 
 for what the Germans call belletristik, and he has 
 become famous through his novels^ short stories^ and 
 plays. He is good-looking^ with a dark melancholy 
 face that lights up with a most remarkable and 
 expressive smile when he speaks ; nothing could be 
 more unaffected than his manner^ nor more charm- 
 ing than his whole personality. As yet there is no 
 Sudermann Society for the discussion of the author's 
 works, but in Berlin^ ivhere he has many admiring 
 friends, Sudermann occasionally reads to them his 
 productions while they are yet unpublished. The 
 little story called lolanthe's Hochzeit was first 
 heard in that way. 
 
 Although Sudermann' s zvork is in all its aspects 
 essentially modern, indeed all the conditions and 
 problems of modern life have the highest interest 
 for him, he belongs to no class, ranges himself with 
 neither realists nor idealists, and bows to the yoke 
 of no literary fashion. In common with all great 
 artists, Sudermann paints his own age, but while 
 portraying men and women as he knows them, in 
 the nineteenth century, he gives them, at least in his 
 
INTRODUCTION, 
 
 novels and tales^ the human nature that is the same 
 through all time. He has lived in Berlin, and his 
 dramas give us life in that city both among the 
 proletariat and the rich middle class. He has lived 
 in East Prussia, and there is laid the scene of his 
 longer novels. He is familiar with other parts of Ger- 
 many^ with Italy, and with Paris, and everyivhere he 
 has used his gift of keen observation to good purpose, . 
 A certain melancholy, a feeling of the ^Hnevitableness'' 
 of things, if we may be allowed the expression, runs 
 through all his writings, and may perhaps be traced 
 to the effect on his sensitive and high-strung nature 
 of the East Prussian landscape, amid which he spent 
 his boyhood. The meadow-fiats and corn-lands, the 
 meagre pine-woods, and dark, lonely pools of his 
 native district, form the background of most of his 
 tales. Numerous passages might be quoted which 
 would serve to show the melancholy and loneliness 
 of the landscape. As an example we may take : — 
 " Thick and heavy as if you could grasp them 
 with your hands, the clouds spread over the flat land. 
 Here and there the trunk of a willow stretched 
 forth its rugged knots to the air, heavily laden with 
 moisture. The tree was soaked with damp, and 
 
T 
 
 INTRODUCTION, 
 
 glistened with the drops thai had hung in rows on 
 
 the bare boughs. The wheels sank deep into the 
 
 boggy road that ran between withered reeds and sedge. 
 ***** 
 
 " The moon stood high in tJte heavens and shed 
 her calm^ bluish light far over the sleeping heath. 
 The clumps of alders on tlu moor bore wreaths of 
 lights and from the slender silvery trunks of the 
 birches which bordered the broad straight road in 
 endless rows, came a sparkle and brightness that 
 m.ade the road seem as if lost far below in the 
 silvery distance. 
 
 " Silence all around. The birds had long ceased 
 singing, A stillness of the late summer time, the 
 complacent stillness of departing life lay over the 
 broad plain. You scarcely heard the sound of a 
 cricket in the ditches, or a field-mouse disturbed in 
 its slumbers, gliding through the tall grass with its 
 low chipping whistle'^ 
 
 Such pictures constantly meet us in the pages of 
 Sudermann's books ; taken in connection with their 
 setti?tg, they are often of great force and beauty. 
 Nothing, however, is obtruded ; there is no search- 
 ing after a dramatic background, or undue word- 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 paintiitg ; everything is in keeping with and subordi- 
 nate to the main interest of the tale. 
 
 With such surronndingSy Sudennann cleverly 
 assimilates his characters. They are mostly the 
 victims of circumstances which they are moj'e or less 
 unable to overcome. In some cases the fault, as with 
 Leo Sellenthin in Es war, Sudermanris latest novel, 
 lies in the weakness or sinfidness of the man ; in 
 others, in siirroundings and events for which the 
 man is not himself directly responsible. Sometimes 
 the noble unselfish love aiid devotion of a woman 
 make a happier state of things possible ; Sudermann 
 is a firm believer in the power and infliience of good 
 zvomen in human life. His women a7'e not so sharply 
 outlined as Ibsen's^ but he recognises in tJie sex, 
 though much more vaguely, like possibilities. For 
 example y Leonore in Die Eh re sees the folly and 
 emptiness of fashionable life and has the courage to 
 give her hand where she loves, to a man zvho, by her 
 sety would be co?isidered far beneath her, Magda, 
 in Heimat, refuses to desert her child. And his 
 young girls ai^e even more charnmig, more natural 
 than those of Ibsen. Eager-hearted Dina Dorf with 
 her desire for a larger life in the world ; hard- 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 working Petra Stockman with her delight in her 
 work and her unfliiiching truth and honesty ; Bolette 
 W angel with her desire for knowledge^ ^^ to know 
 something about everything " are^ as everybody 
 knowSy among Ibsen's most delightful creations. 
 In Es War Sudermann gives us as perfect and 
 natural a study of a young girl as we have met with 
 in fiction or the drama for a very long while, 
 Hertha cherishes a secret love for a man much older 
 than herself but has reason to fear that his ajfections 
 are set on a married woman, the wife of his best 
 friend. To Herthds innocent and unworldly mind 
 this is a great puzzle ; to her the sacredness of 
 love between husband and wife seems a matter of 
 course. 
 
 " Certainly the beautiful woman was a thousand 
 times lovelier than poor Hertha — and sh^ was, more- 
 over, much cleverer. . . . But could she — and therein 
 lay the great puzzle, the invincible contradiction that 
 knocked all suspicion on the head — could she as a 
 married woman possibly be an object of love to a 
 man other than her husband? Wives were loved 
 by their husbands — that is why they are 7fiarried — 
 and by no one else in the world.' 
 
INTRODUCTION, 
 
 But Hertha determines to take such means as are 
 within her power of discovering if stick things are 
 possible^ if such things exist She first consults her 
 books — books^ of course^ suited to a young girl's 
 library. She goes through her novels^ but nothing 
 in them points to the enormity. Then she turns to 
 the classics^ to Schiller ! 
 
 " A malie was a young girl — so was Luise — hut 
 then there was the queen of Spain ! However^ in 
 that case it was clear as noonday how little poets 
 deserved to be trusted^ for that a man should fall in 
 love with his stepmother could only take place in the 
 world of imagination where genius^ drawn away 
 from the earthy intoxicated with inspiration ^ soars 
 aloft. Not in vain had she^ a year and a half 
 before^ written a school composition on * Genius and 
 Reality^ in which she had treated the question in 
 a most exhaustive manner'^ 
 
 She next tries her friend Elly^ a girl of her own 
 age^ but much more experienced in the ways of the 
 world, 
 
 " * Listen^ dear^ I want to ask you a very impor- 
 tant question. You're in love, aren't you ? ' 
 
 '''Yes; replied Elly. 
 
INTRODUCTION, 
 
 " ^ And you're sure the man's in love with you P* 
 
 " ' Why do you say " man " ? ' asked Elly. * Czii't 
 is my ideal. A little time ago it zvas Bruno — and 
 before that it was Alfred — but now it's Curt, Yet 
 he's not a man! 
 
 " ' What is he, then ? * 
 
 " * He's a young man' 
 
 " * Oh I that's it, is it ? No, he's certainly not a 
 man! A nd Hertha's eyes shone : she knezv what 
 a ' man ' looked like, * Well, darling! she went on, 
 ' do you think that a " man',' or a young 7nan — it's 
 all the same — coidd possibly love a married %vo7nan ? * 
 
 " * Of course — naturally he woidd! replied Elly, 
 with perfect calmness. 
 
 " Hertha smiled indulgently at such want of in- 
 telligence. 
 
 " * Noy no, little one! she said. * / dont viean 
 his own zvife, but a woman who is the wife of 
 another ? ' 
 
 " * So do I! replied Elly. 
 
 " * A nd that seems to you quite a matter of 
 course ? ' 
 
 " * My dear child, I didn't think you were so 
 innocent! said Elly ; ' everybody knows as much as 
 
INTRODUCTION. ii 
 
 that. A 7td formerly it was even worse. A true 
 knight always loved another man's wife : it was a 
 great crime to love his own wife. He would cut 
 off his right hand for the strangers sake, and would 
 die for her, pressing her blue favour to his lips ; for 
 you see at that time they always wore her blue favour. 
 You'll find it in every history of literature! 
 
 ^^ Hertha became very thoughtful. * Ah ! in those 
 day si ' she said, with the ghost of a smile ; * in those 
 days men went to tournaments and stabbed each other 
 in sport zvith their lances! 
 
 ^^^ And to-day,' whispered Elly, * men shoot each 
 other dead with pistols! 
 
 " Hertha felt as if she had been stabbed to the heart, 
 and the little pink and white daughter of Eve con- 
 tinued, ' I think it mtist be quite delightful when one 
 is married to knozv that some one is hopelessly in 
 love with you. It's quite cei^tain that most unhappy 
 love affairs arise in that way! 
 
 " The next day Hertha questioned her grandmother. 
 
 " * Grandmother, I'm grown up now, arent I ?' 
 
 " * Yes — so, so,' answered the old lady. 
 
 " * And probably I shall soon be 7narried ? * 
 
 You I ' shouted Jier grandmother^ in deadly 
 
 <t t 
 
12 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 terror. Doubtless the wretched child had come to 
 confide in her the addresses of some booby of a 
 neighbour, 
 
 " * Yes^^ continued Hertha^ inarticulately and with 
 great hesitation; ^ with my big fortune I am not 
 likely to be an old maid' 
 
 "* Child I' exclaimed the old lady, ^ of whom are 
 you thinking ? ' 
 
 ^'Hertha blushed to her neck. * / P ' she stammeredy 
 trying to preserve an indifferent tone of voice^ ^ of 
 nobody.' 
 
 " * Ohy then you were merely talking generally ? ' 
 
 " * Of course ; I only meant generally' 
 
 " * Well, and what do you want to know ? * 
 
 " * / want to know — how it is with — you under- 
 stand — zvith love when one * 
 
 " * When one * 
 
 " * Welly when one is married? * 
 
 " * Then you go on loving just as you did before) 
 replied her grandmother y lightly. 
 
 " * YeSy I know that. But suppose you love anothet 
 man to whom you aren't married? ' 
 
 " * Wha — / / ' In her terror the old lady let her 
 spectacles fall off her nose, * What other? ' 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ^^ Hertha suddenly felt as if she must collapse. She 
 had to summon all her courage and pull herself 
 together in order to go on, 
 
 " * Can't it happen, grandmother dear, that some 
 one to zvhom you're not married takes it into his 
 head ' 
 
 " * My dear child' replied the grandmother, * never 
 come to me with such foolish questions. You cannot 
 understand such things. Now give me a kiss and 
 get your knitting' " 
 
 So that plan did not answer. There was stilt 
 one further possibility of discovery. Hertha had a 
 school friend who had lately got ^narried. She woula 
 ask her,- So she began : — 
 
 " * Wives love their husbands, that goes without 
 saying. But do you think it possible that wives can 
 be loved by other 7ne7i ? ' 
 
 " * How odd you are', replied Meta. * You can't 
 prevent people loving' 
 
 " * / know that. But a man, don't you see, who 
 would ' 
 
 " * Well, that sort of thing does happen* 
 
 " * What ! is some one in love with you ? * 
 
 " Meta blushed, * I don't bother about it. It's 
 
14 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 quite enough that Hans loves me^ and of course I 
 should very politely forbid anything of the sort' 
 
 " * Then people do forbid such things ? * 
 
 " * Certainly, if they're told of it' 
 
 " * What ! you might be told ? ' 
 
 " * Sometimes, if the man who is in love with 
 you is very bold' 
 
 " * Good gracious', said Hertha, shocked, ^ If a7iy- 
 one behaved like that to me, I shoidd box his ears! 
 But in great anxiety she continued, * Do you think 
 it likely that there are ivomen who have a different 
 opinion ? ' 
 
 " * Oh, yes ! ' said Meta, 
 
 " * Who — in the end— return the bold mans love ?' 
 
 « * Even so: " 
 
 Then Meta repeats certain gossip that confirms 
 Hertha's worst fears. The whole chapter should be 
 read in order to appreciate rightly the charm and 
 pathos and naturalness of the delightful piece of 
 character drawing, 
 v^' Like Ibsen and Zola, Sudermann does not hesitate to 
 set the truth before us even when it is terrible or brutal 
 or revolting. But he differs from them in having 
 a less gloomy outlook, in firmly believing that, at the 
 
INTRODUCTION. 15 
 
 same time as human 7iaUire is coarse and brutal, 
 stupid and violent^ it is loinng^- capable of sacrifice 
 and of deep feeliit^. He sees the strange not to say- 
 the inexplicable mixture of good and evil in all things 
 human, and knows man to be neither all gold nor all 
 alloy. This we take it is the true realism. 
 
 To make Sudermann's point of view clear to 
 English readers there is perhaps no better nor moi^e 
 direct way than to give a brief account of his works. 
 They are three novels, Frau Sorge (Dame Care), 
 published in 1886, Der Katzensteg (the name of a 
 small wooden bridge over a waterfall that plays a 
 prominent part in the story), 1888, Es war f// Was), 
 1^93/ three volumes of short tales, Geschwister 
 (Brothers and Sisters), first published in the Berliner 
 Tageblatt in 1884 and 1886 respectively (one of the 
 stories, Der Wunsch, appears in the present volume), 
 Im Zwielicht (In the Twilight), novelettes written 
 in various newspapers, and lolanthe's Hochzeit 
 (lolafithe's Wedding), 1892; and three dramas. Die 
 Ehre (Honour), Sodom's Ende {The Destruction of 
 Sodom), and Heimat (The Paternal Hearth). 
 
 The most perfectly artistic of his longer novels, 
 and that most deeply impregnated with the peculiar 
 
i6 INTRODUCTION, 
 
 characteristics of East Prussian landscape is Frau 
 Sorge. Paul^ the hero, is born just at the moment 
 when his father's difficulties 7nake it necessary for 
 him to sell his house and land : this gloomy circum- 
 stance overshadows the whole of Paul's life. While 
 his brothers and sisters in spite of the family povei^ty 
 are, in their careless, unthinkijtg way, happy and 
 even prosperous, wilfidly blind to the fact that they 
 owe all to the industry atid continual self-sacrifice of 
 Paul, his life is one long toil and struggle, one long 
 fidelity to duty as he conceives it, one long effacement 
 and suppression of self For this he receives no 
 thanks, no acknowledgment. His spirit becomes 
 crushed, almost extinguished. After long years of 
 toili7ig, struggling, afid suffering, he is redeemed 
 through the love of a woman, but only when he 
 has sacrificed to " Dame Cai^e " all he held most 
 precious, and when the capacity in him for joy and 
 hope has been well-nigh destroyed. The character 
 portrayed with perfect art is, at tJte same time, 
 faithful to fiature: such men are rare, perhaps, but 
 it is well that the novelist shoidd remind us of their 
 existence, and thus help us to recognise the potency 
 for good that dwells in mankiftd. 
 
INTRODUCTION, 17 
 
 Der Katzensteg is more powerful but less artistic 
 than Frau Sorge. The German critics^ however^ 
 consider it to be not only the most important of 
 Sudermann's writings^ but the finest novel produced 
 in Germany during this century. The character of 
 the heroine^ Regine^ a veritable child of nature^ in 
 whom savagery and lack of intelligence and educa- 
 tion exist side by side with the nobility and power 
 of sacrifice^ of which nature in the rough is often 
 capable^ forms the main interest of the tale, and is 
 a marvellous and original conception. There is one 
 scene that for realism, intensity, and horror has 
 scarcely been surpassed in any novel of modern times, " 
 
 Before turning to the short tales in which we find 
 some of Sudermann's best and most characteristic 
 work, it would be well to point 021 1 one of his chief 
 titles to genius. He has the gift of being able to 
 describe terrible and heart-stirring scenes, joyful or 
 pathetic or humorous scenes, with the utmost sim- 
 plicity of style. In a few words of the simplest sort 
 he brings before our eyes living pictures. Each 
 sentence palpitates with life. As we read, we seem 
 to live with the men and women of his creation 
 through their agony ; zve suffer as they do, and 
 
i8 INTRODUCTION, 
 
 rejoice with them zvhen they are glad : at times zve 
 are breathless as they are with suspense and excite- 
 me7it. And this is done without any of the analyti- 
 cal introspection with which we have become only too 
 familiar in recent novels. The characters^ at least in 
 the novels and taleSy are not mere nervous orgaiiisms, 
 but livings loving^ erring^ feelings human beings. The 
 gift of terse narration joined to great simplicity of 
 language is found in French writers like Flaubert 
 and Maupassant y but it is new to Germany. It is, 
 then, perhaps^ Sudermann's highest praise that zve 
 can say of him that he possesses the strength without 
 the unpleasantness of the great French writers of 
 our day, and combines their artistic feeling, their 
 power and their fine wit with all that is soundest 
 and best in the Teutonic 7nind and character. 
 
 Many of the short tales are of a less specially 
 German cast, and possess an interest that is 
 universal. Der Wunsch {The Wish), for instance, is 
 a powerful psychological study, set forth with 
 wonderful directness and simplicity. Although the 
 tale deals with the old theme of a woman who falls 
 in love with her sister's husband, it is instinct with 
 passion and original in treatment. Olga loved her 
 
INTRODUCTION, 19 
 
 sister Martha dearly^ and had^ indeed, brought about 
 Martha's marriage with Robert Helliftger almost by 
 her own efforts, but in so doing had herself, though 
 unconsciously, fallen in love with Robert, Martha, 
 always frail and delicate, after the birth of her child, 
 falls danger 021s ly ill Olga goes to her to nurse her, 
 and love for her sick sister and passion for Robert 
 struggle for mastery in her soul. Thus, into a 
 character entirely good, noble, and self-sacrificing, 
 steals the wish, " if only she ivere to die 1 " In the 
 event Martha does die. Then Robert's eyes are 
 opened ; he knows that he loves — has all along loved 
 Olga, and he asks her to be his wife. At first sJie 
 refuses, then consents ; but the same night, having 
 felt all the while that the zvish for Martha's death, 
 though never expressed by sign or word, makes her in 
 a sense her sister^ s murderer, she puts an end to her 
 life. She hei^self relates all the circumstances in a 
 document written to explain her act to her old friend 
 the physician, A couple of quotations will give 
 a better idea of Sudermann's style than pages of 
 criticism. In a few marvellous strokes he paints 
 tlie effect on Robert of his first sight of Olgds 
 corpse : — 
 
20 INTRODUCTION, 
 
 " When the elder Hellinger entered the room he 
 sazv a picture that froze the blood iri his veins, 
 
 " His son's body lay stretched on the floor. In 
 falling he must have clung to the posts of the bier on 
 which they had placed the dead woman, thus bring- 
 ing down the whole erection zvith him, for on top of 
 him — among the h'oken boards — lay the corpse in its 
 long white shroud, the stiffened face on his face, the 
 bare arms thrown over his headr 
 
 The scenes in Martha's sick room are portrayed 
 with an art that makes them live in our memory. 
 Here is one of the^n, Martha lies in bed sick unto 
 death. Olga and Robert, wearied out with sleepless 
 nights and with their terrible anxiety, are zvatching her, 
 
 " There was absolute silence in the half-darkened 
 room; only the wind with gentle rustling, swept 
 past the window, and the mice scratched among the 
 rafters of the ceiling. 
 
 " Robert buried his face in his hands and listened 
 to Martha! s disinal ravings. Gradually he seemed 
 to grow calmer ; his breathing became slower and 
 more regular ; now and again his head inclined 
 to 07ie side, but the next moinent he drew it up 
 again. 
 
INTRODUCTION, 21 
 
 " Sleep overpowered him, I wanted to persuade 
 him to go to bed but I was feared at the sound of 
 my own voice and kept silent, 
 
 " The upper part of his body lea^ied over 7nore and 
 more frequently to one side ; at times his hair 
 touched my cheeky and groping he sought a support, 
 
 ^^And then suddenly his head sank dozvn on my 
 shoulder and remained theix. 
 
 " My body trembled as if an incredible happiness 
 had befallen me, I was seized with an irresistible 
 desire to stroke the bushy hair that fell over my face. 
 Close to my eyes I saw a few silver threads. * He 
 is beginning to get grey 1 1 thought^ * it is high time 
 that ]u should know what happiness meansl and 
 then I actually stroked his hair. 
 
 " He sighed in his sleep and tried to place his head 
 more comfortably, 
 
 " * He is lying uncomfortably I I said to myself 
 *you must get close to him! I did so. His shoulder 
 lay against mine^ and his head sank dowfi on my 
 bosom. 
 
 " * You must put your arm round himl something 
 within me cried outy * otherwise he cannot find 
 rest! 
 
INTRODUCTION, 
 
 " Twice, thrice, I tried to do so, but as often drew 
 back, 
 
 " If Martha should suddenly wake I But her 
 eyes saw nothing, her ears heard nothing, 
 
 '' And I did it, 
 
 " Then a wild joy took possession of me, and 
 stealthily I pressed him to me ; something within me 
 shouted joyously : * Oh / how I would cherish and 
 protect you ; how I would kiss away the furrows 
 misery has made i7i your brow, and the cares from 
 your sold I How I would toil for you with all my 
 young strength, and never rest till your eyes were 
 fill of gladness, and your heart of sunshine. But to 
 do that ' 
 
 *'/ glanced over at Martha, Yes, she lived, 
 still lived. Her bosom rose and sank in short, quick 
 sobs. She seemed more alive than ever, 
 
 " And suddenly there flamed before me, and it was 
 as if I read written clearly on the wall the words : 
 
 " * If only she were to die ! ' 
 
 " * Yes, that was it, that was it. Oh ! if only she 
 were to die ! Oh I if only she zvere to die /' 
 
 We have only to read fean Ricard's Soeurs, 
 a novel lately published in Paris, and dealing 
 
INTRODUCTION, 23 
 
 with the same theme^ to recogiiise how very far 
 superior is Stcdermann's treatment of it. 
 
 The volume of short tales entitled Im Zwielicht 
 is of a somewhat diffei^ent character. Though 
 coloured to some extent by the melancholy and 
 ** inevitableness " of the longer novels, those qualities 
 are less intense, aiid we have lively touches of satire 
 and brilliant flashes of wit that reinind us of the 
 sprightliness of French writers. The tales are told 
 in the twilight by one or other of two friends, a 
 man a7id a woman, between whom tJiere exists 
 merely an intellectual bond of sympathy and 2m ion. 
 The stories laugh good-naturedly at narrow-minded- 
 ness and silly prejudice, an evil that Sudermann 
 wisely recognises as existing everywhere, in the big 
 city as in the small village. Women's social aspira- 
 tions, their immense delight in e7itertaining celebrities, 
 and their belief that in so doing they are moving in 
 the stream of the world's history, are satirised with 
 keenness and truth. He strikes a deeper note in 
 the tale that sets forth the difficulties of friendship 
 and love between a woman of mature years and a 
 young man, a subject ably treated by Jean Richepin 
 in his fine novel, Madame Andr6, and it is very 
 
24 INTRODUCTION, 
 
 interesting to note the coincidence of view of the 
 French and German writer. Perhaps Suder- 
 marines views may help towards a satisfactory 
 solution of that ever-recurring will-d -the-wisp — 
 platonic affection. His heroine declares that to 
 turn friendship into love^ or love into friendships is 
 impossible s because wlere such a transformation does 
 take place s there mtisty in the first instaitce^ have been 
 either not frieftdship or not love, " F7 om the day 
 on which we reap love zvhere we sowed friendships 
 the magic charm would be broken^' she says, " Till 
 then I was all and everything — then I should be 
 merely one more!' And again ^ ^'^ Love begins in 
 the ijitoxication of the senses^ and ends in the 
 peace of calm friendships that is^ marHage ; the 
 contrary is not forbidden^ but it leads — to the 
 desert!^ 
 
 In lolanthe's Hochzeit, Sudermann proves hiin- 
 self the possessor of the humour that borders on 
 pathos. The little story has no tendency ^ it preaches 
 no sermon, Onkel Hanckel^ " a good fellow (ein 
 guter Kerl) by profession^' relates how he had to 
 live up to the title^ and how^ at the mature age of 
 forty-seven^ he lecamCy almost against his willy 
 
INTRODUCTION. 25 
 
 engaged to a young girl. His feeliyigs at the 
 wedding ceremony^ his horror and shyness at the 
 notion of being left alone with his bride afterwards^ 
 form a most delightful piece of comedy. Piiiz^ a 
 surly ^ grasping^ miserly^ rich old man; Lothar, a 
 dashing young lieutenant of dragoons ; the maiden 
 sister ; and lolanthe herself— are portrayed with a 
 quaint humour of which the earlier works gave 
 little indication^ while the vigour^ simplicity^ and 
 directness of the narrative are as fine as ever. 
 The East Prussian dialect L nis the original a local 
 colour that would be difficult to reproduce in a 
 translation. 
 
 I In his dramas Sudennanji treats life very much 
 frofn the same standpoint as Ibsen does. His 
 characters talk a great deal, and do next to nothing. 
 He wages war against shams, thinks people should 
 live out their ozvn lives and develop their individu- 
 ality at all hazards. He preseftts abnormal types, 
 men and women who would be abnormal anywhere, 
 in civilised society or the reverse, and who must ?iot 
 be taken as representative of modern life. Each of 
 the three dramas he has as yet given us presents a 
 moral problem to the consideration of the spectators. 
 
26 INTRODUCTION, 
 
 Die Ehre was first performed at the Lessing 
 Theatre in BerltUy on November 27, 1889, and 
 had an immense success. The dramatist ruthlessly 
 and boldly draws aside the curtain from the false 
 ideas of honour held by high and low alike, not 
 only by the middle class and proletariat of Berlin, 
 but by civilised men in general : such social con- 
 ventions, according to Sudermann, tend to make 
 mo7tey -getting the sole aim of the citizen, and help 
 to undermine the peace and happiness of family 
 life. The revelation is undoubtedly unpleasing, but 
 all the same a great truth underlies it, and in 
 the end of the play the virtuous are not sacrificed 
 to the wicked. In the speeches of Count Trast, the 
 good angel, the god from the machine of the drama, 
 it is not perhaps altogether fanciful to see the 
 beliefs and opinions of Sudermann himself T^^asfs 
 conclusion is that we shall do better to substitute 
 duty for the many and vaiHed sorts of honour 
 recognised by society, 
 
 Sodom's Ende is a startling play. Even the 
 Berlin censorship required alterations before it 
 could permit the production of the drama on the 
 stage of the Lessing Theatre. It still cojitains one 
 
INTRODUCTION. 27 
 
 scene that would effectually pi^event its performance 
 in an English playhouse. The drama takes its 
 name from the title of a picture painted by 
 Willy fanowskiy who bids fair to become a great 
 artist. But he has fallen under the influence of 
 Adah Barcinowski^ a cold^ heartless^ pleasure-loving 
 woman, the wife of a wealthy stockbroker. That 
 connection and his own weak nature have ruined 
 Willy mentally, morally, and physically. He ceases 
 to work, leads a life of self-indulgence, heedless of 
 the hurt he does to others. The character, unpleasing 
 as it is, is consistently drawn by the dramatist, for 
 even in the pangs of death Willy does 7iot cease to 
 note the artistic pose taken by the dead body of the 
 girl he has injured and betrayed. Never, per haps, has 
 the worst side of Jut section of frivolous idle society 
 we are accustoined to call ^^ smart^' been more ably 
 pai7tted: its foolish vapidity, its utter futility, and 
 its elegant wickedness and sinfulness, are boldly 
 displayed. Unfortunately men and women without 
 conscience, without comprehension of duty, have always 
 existed and still exist, but we doubt if their evil in- 
 fluence is as far-reaching and all-important as latter- 
 day novelists and dratnatists would have us believe. 
 
28 INTRODUCTION, 
 
 In his latest play^ Heimat, produced January 
 7, 1893, Sudermaim takes for theme the duty 
 owed by the child to the parent^ and that due 
 from parent to child, A high-spirited and talented 
 girl, daughter of coinmonplace, conventional parents, 
 to the scandal of all concerned, leaves her home 
 to carve for herself a career in the world, and by 
 reason of her fine voice becomes a celebrated singer. 
 After an absence of many years chance brings her 
 professionally to her native town, and a very natural 
 desire is awakened in her to revisit her parents 
 and her home. Her father, whose health had been 
 destroyed through the effects of her former dis- 
 obedience, zvishes her to come back provided she 
 renounces for ever the life she has been leading. 
 This she has no desire to do, but for her father's 
 sake she is not all unwilling to yield. When, 
 however, she is further required to break with 
 certain ties very dear to her, she refuses, and the 
 father dies from the shock. Now when we care- 
 fully read the play, or see it acted by competent 
 artists, it is clear that much might be said on both 
 sides. But as there is nothing in the world more 
 beautiful and holy than the tie that binds parent 
 
INTRODUCTION, 29 
 
 and child ^ so is the contemplation of conjiict between 
 them always unlovely. We grant that in the storm 
 and stress of modern life such conflict is at times 
 unavoidable, but it is scarcely the stuff' of which 
 works of art should be formed. 
 
 A new play, a comedy^ Schmetterling-Schlacht 
 (Butterfly Battle)^ is to be p7'oduced shortly at the 
 Hojburg Theatre in Vienna, Again a moral problem 
 is to be presented to the consideration of the public. 
 The three heroines, honest working girls, paint but- 
 terflies on fans for a living. Two of the girls, tired 
 of being sweated, give up fan painting ; they take to 
 pai7iting their faces instead, and practice other 
 abominations. The third girl contimies her work, 
 and remains virtuous. The play chiefly consists of a 
 series of discussions between the girls as to which 
 way of life is preferable. 
 
 Like his contemporaries, Ibsen and Bjornson, 
 
 Zola and Tolstoi, Sudermann would transfer the 
 
 sermon from the pulpit to the stage : he sets before 
 
 us certain phases of life that have come under his 
 
 notice in all their 2igli?iess and brutality, and zvould 
 
 have us forthwith leave the theatre sworn enemies 
 
 of the evils he denoimces. But his characters are 
 3 
 
 ^ 
 
30 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 contented to preach and discuss^ they never feel that 
 they are called np07i to act. Thus they lack life and 
 reality, we have little sympathy with them, and are 
 never profoundly touched. 
 
 As a writer of fiction, hozvever, Sndermann's high 
 position is unassailable. He ranks with the great 
 masters ifi all coimtries who have sought, and are 
 still seeking, to set before us modern life in its 
 ma7iifold aspects, in its complexity and its diffi- 
 culties, but zvho, unlike the more pronounced school 
 of naturalists, remember fouberfs maxim that 
 ^^ fictio7i has no business to exist unless it is more 
 beautifzd tJian reality^ 
 
 August, 1894. v^ 
 
THE WISH. 
 
 I. 
 
 In the old doctor's bedroom a cheerful fire was 
 flickering. He himself still lay a-bed, quite pene- 
 trated by the delightful sensation of a man who 
 knows his life's work is completed. When one has 
 been sitting half a century through, for twelve long 
 hours every day, in the rumbling conveyance of a 
 country doctor, thumped and bumped along over 
 stones and lumps of clay, one may now and again 
 lie in bed till daylight, especially when one knows 
 one's work is safe in younger hands. 
 
 He stretched and straightened his stiff old limbs, 
 and once more buried in the pillows his weather- 
 beaten, yellowish-grey face, covered with white 
 stubble like granite with Iceland moss. But habit, 
 
32 THE WISH, 
 
 that austere mistress, who had for so many years 
 driven him forth from his bed before dawn, whether 
 it was necessary or not, would not let him rest even 
 now. 
 
 He sighed, he yawned, he abused his laziness, 
 and then reached for the bell standing on the 
 little table at his bedside. 
 
 His housekeeper, an equally grey, tumble-down 
 specimen of humanity, appeared on the threshold. 
 
 " What time is it, Frau Liebetreu ? '' he called 
 out to her. 
 
 Since the day on which the young assistant 
 arrived in Gromowo, the old Black Forest clock 
 hanging at the doctor's bedside, and whose rattling 
 alarum had often unpleasantly jarred upon his 
 morning slumbers, was no longer wound up. " So 
 that I know that my life too henceforth stands 
 still," as he was wont to say. 
 
 " A quarter to eight, doctor," the old woman 
 answered, beginning meanwhile to busy herself 
 about the stove. 
 
 " For shame ! for shame ! " cried he, raising 
 himself up, " what a lazybones I am getting to be ! 
 I say, have any letters come ? " 
 
THE WISH. 33 
 
 "Yes, a few by post, and one that young Mr. 
 Hellinger brought himself two hours ago." 
 
 " Two hours ago ! Why, it was dark yet at that 
 time ! " 
 
 " Yes ; he said he had to drive out to the 
 manor farm, and could wait no longer. Yester- 
 day evening, too, when you were at the * Black 
 Eagle,' sir, he called, and sat here for about two 
 hours." 
 
 " Why didn't you send for me ? " cried the 
 doctor, in the blustering tone of voice of old, good- 
 natured grumblers. 
 
 " Well, and hadn't he forbidden us to do so ? " 
 cried his housekeeper, in exactly the same tone of 
 voice, which seemed, however, more an echo of her 
 master's manner than personal defiance. " He was 
 sitting in the study till ten o'clock — or rather he 
 was not sitting, he raced about like a madman, and 
 laughed and talked to himself — I hardly knew the 
 calm, quiet man again ; and then I brought him 
 beer — six bottles — he drained them all ; and I had 
 to drink with him. As I tell you, he was quite 
 beside himself" 
 
 "Ah, indeed, indeed," muttered the old man 
 
34 THE WISH. 
 
 smiling to himself with satisfaction. "I should 
 say Olga had something to do with that. Perhaps 
 
 after all she . Well, do you intend bringing 
 
 me my letters to-day, or not ? " he suddenly 
 shouted, as if he were goodness knows how wild, 
 but his face laughed the w^hile. And when his 
 housekeeper had grumblingly done his bidding, he 
 drew out with a sure hand from the little heap of 
 letters one without a stamp, not deigning to look 
 at the others at all. His hands trembled with 
 happy excitement as he unfolded the paper ; and 
 he read, while his grey face beamed with pleasure : 
 
 " Dear old Uncle,— You shall be the first to 
 know it. If only I had you with me, that I might 
 press your dear old hands and tell you face to face 
 what is in my heart ! I do not realise it yet — my 
 head whirls when I think of it ! Uncle, you were 
 at my side in the days of darkest trouble, helping 
 and protecting. You were the only one to take 
 Martha's part when all — even my parents — 
 turned their backs on her with coldness and sus- 
 picion. 
 
 " You could not save her for me, uncle — the Lord 
 
THE WISH. 35 
 
 asked her back of me. But when, at the bedside 
 of my dead wife, my reason threatened to ^\nq 
 way, you took my poor head between your hands 
 and spoke to me — as a preacher speaks. And you 
 were right. Of course I do not beHeve that I can 
 ever quite revive and become again as I was before 
 the cares of existence and my longing for Martha 
 made my head dull and heavy ; for even Martha — 
 even my wife — could not accomplish that in the 
 three years of our quiet happiness. But life seems 
 about to give me whatever it has left for me yet 
 of joy and peace. You know, uncle, how in the 
 midst of my sorrow for my dead wife, I learnt to 
 love her sister. Cousin Olga, more and more. I 
 confessed all to you, and sought comfort with you 
 when tortured by self-reproach at the thought 
 that I was breaking my troth to my wife already 
 in the year of mourning. And you said to me at 
 that time : * If the dead woman might seek a 
 second mother for her child, whom else w^ould she 
 choose but the sister whom, next to you, she loved 
 best in the world ? ' I was startled to the very 
 depths of my soul, for I should never have dared to 
 raise my eyes to her. But you never ceased to 
 
36 THE WISH, 
 
 encourage me, until, a week ago, I took heart and 
 begged her to share my fortunes. 
 
 " You know she refused me. 
 
 " She grew deathly pale — then gave me her 
 hand, and standing up rigidly said to me : * Put it 
 from your thoughts, Robert, for I can never be 
 your wife.' Then I slunk away, and thought to 
 myself, * It serves you right for your presumption.' 
 
 And now, to-day . Uncle, I cannot put it on 
 
 paper ! — my hand fails me. This happiness is too 
 great — it came so unexpectedly, it almost over- 
 powers me ! To-morrow, uncle — to-morrow I will 
 tell you all. 
 
 " I have to go out early to the manor farm. At 
 mid-day I shall return, and then forthwith shall 
 undertake the dreaded visit to my parents. My 
 mother suspects nothing as yet. Her plans have 
 once again been frustrated, and Olga will have to 
 suffer heavily enough for it. I fear she may even 
 turn her out of the house. If only I had her 
 already under my own roof! 
 
 " It is three o'clock in the morning. Enough for 
 to-day. Your grateful and happy 
 
 "Robert Hellinger." 
 
THE WISH, 37 
 
 The old doctor wiped a tear from his cheek. 
 
 " The dear boy," he murmured. " How his 
 emotions crowd each other in his over-heated brain ; 
 and how simple, how honest everything is to 
 the last jot ! In truth, he deserves you, my brave, 
 proud girl ; he is the only one to whom I do not 
 grudge you. And now I will put you to the test, 
 and see if you too put confidence in your old 
 uncle. Straightway I will do it." 
 
 Laughing and growling he burrowed with his 
 head in the pillows. And then he suddenly 
 shouted with a voice resounding through the house 
 like thunder : 
 
 " Confound it, where are my trousers ? " 
 
 The trousers were brought, and five minutes 
 later the old man stood quite ready before his 
 glass, all except his greyish-yellow wig. 
 
 " My hat, cloak, stick!'* he shouted out into the 
 corridor. 
 
 " But the breakfast," the old woman shouted 
 back, if possible louder still, from the kitchen. 
 
 "Well, then, hurry up," he blustered. "Before 
 I have read these letters I must have it here." 
 
 With an impatient oath he set to work upon the 
 
38 THE WISH. 
 
 little heap that had so far been lying unnoticed on 
 the pedestal. Offers of wine — profitable invest- 
 ments — a poor, blind father with a new-born 
 infant — and then suddenly he stopped short, 
 while once more a satisfied smile overspread his 
 features. 
 
 ** Upon my word ! I should not have expected 
 this,'' he growled, contentedly. " She, too, could 
 not rest without confiding her happiness to her old 
 uncle. That is nice of you, children ! You shall 
 have your reward for this." 
 
 With the same happy haste with which he had 
 opened Hellinger's letter, he tore this envelope 
 asunder. 
 
 But hardly had he commenced reading when 
 with a low moaning cry he staggered back two 
 paces, like one who has been dealt a treacherous 
 blow. His grey face became ashy pale ; his eyes 
 started from their sockets, and like claws his old 
 withered fingers clutched the fluttering paper. 
 
 When his housekeeper brought in the coffee, 
 she found her master sitting as stiff as a log in the 
 corner of the sofa, his forehead covered with great 
 drops of perspiration, and staring with fixed lustre- 
 
THE WISH. 39 
 
 less eyes at the paper which his hands still held as 
 if in a cramp. 
 
 " Gracious heavens, doctor ! " she cried, and let 
 the tray drop clattering on to the table. Her 
 lamentations brought him back to consciousness. 
 He asked for water, and drank two long eager 
 draughts, wetted his forehead and temples with 
 the remainder, and signed to his housekeeper to 
 leave him. 
 
 Hereupon he bolted the door, picked up the 
 letter from the floor, and read with trembling, 
 choking voice : 
 
 ** My dear, my Fatherly Friend,— When you 
 read these lines I shall have ceased to live. The 
 draughts of morphium which you gave me when 
 I had forgotten how to sleep after Martha's death 
 were carefully collected and kept by me ; I trust 
 they will be powerful enough to give me peace. 
 
 " You who have watched over me like a second 
 father, you shall be the only one to learn why I 
 have decided to take this terrible step. In long 
 winter nights, when the storm shook my gable- 
 roof and I could not sleep, I wrote down every- 
 
40 THE WISH. 
 
 thing that has been tormenting me for so long, 
 and will not let me be at rest till I fall asleep for 
 ever. On my bookshelf, hidden behind some 
 volumes of Heine, you will find a blue exercise- 
 book. Take it with you, without letting the others 
 notice. And when you have read all, go out to my 
 grave and there say a prayer for my soul. 
 
 *' See that I am laid to rest at Martha^s side. 
 
 " I loved her dearly. It is she who is calling me 
 to her. 
 
 " You will understand all when you have read 
 my story. Perhaps you know more of my secret 
 than I suspect. I suppose I must have spoken 
 evil words during the delirium of my illness, else 
 why should you have sent away my relations from 
 my bedside ? 
 
 " Did you shudder at the things that my 
 wretched tongue brought to light? 
 
 " Do you pity me ? Do you despise me ? No, 
 surely you do not despise me ; or how could you 
 have bestowed so much love upon me ? And now 
 read. Everything is set down there. It was not 
 originally intended for you. I meant to send it 
 after many years — when we young ones too should 
 
THE WISH. 41 
 
 have grown old — to the man to whom my whole 
 being belongs, so that he might know why I once 
 denied myself to him. 
 
 " Things have gone differently. To-day, in a 
 moment of forgetfulness, I threw myself upon his 
 neck. Too late I comprehended that now escape 
 from him was no longer possible. But, rather 
 than be his, I will seek death. 
 
 " And I have yet another request in my heart. 
 It is the request of one about to die — if you can, 
 I know you will fulfil it. 
 
 " Keep secret from the world, and especially 
 from the man I love, that I took my own life. 
 Let him believe that my happiness killed me. 
 I shall destroy everything that might point to 
 suicide ; there will only be indications that I died 
 of syncope or apoplexy. 
 
 " From the depths of my heart I implore you to 
 grant me this one last favour. I die gladly and 
 have no fear. It is so long since I slept well, that 
 I have need of rest. " Olga Bremer." 
 
 The old man felt himself in a state of utter 
 helplessness. 
 
42 THE WISH, 
 
 He staggered, clenched his fists, beat his brow, 
 and then once more he fell back in his chair. 
 
 "This is madness, utter madness," he groaned, 
 wiping the cold perspiration from his forehead. 
 "Child, what were you thinking of? What could 
 cloud your reason like this ? My poor, poor, 
 darling child ? " 
 
 Then he once more jumped up and groped with 
 trembling fingers for his hat and cloak. 
 
 " To help ! To help 1 " He must wrest this 
 victim even yet from death's hand ! That was 
 what absorbed his whole mind at present. For a 
 moment the thought came to him that perhaps 
 after all she had not carried out her serious inten- 
 tion, but he dismissed it forthwith. He must have 
 had a different knowledge of her character, to 
 credit her with a feeling of fear or a failing of 
 energy. 
 
 But possib'y the dose she had taken was too 
 small, perhaps the long period of time — for it was 
 more than a year since Martha died in child-bed, 
 and it was then he had given her the sleeping 
 draughts — perhaps the long period of time that 
 had elapsed since then had weakened the efficacy 
 
THE WISH. 43 
 
 of the poison. Yes, yes, it was so ; it must be so ! 
 When badly preserved, morphia decomposes and 
 becomes ineffectual. 
 
 So forward to the rescue ! To save what can be * 
 saved ! 
 
 He ran about the room in search of something : 
 he hardly knew what he was seeking. Then once 
 more he grasped the letter. 
 
 " And what do you ask of me ? Child, child, do 
 you think it is such a light matter to perjure one's 
 self? To throw aside like rotten eggs the duties 
 to which one has been faithful for half a century ? 
 Child, you do not realise what you are asking of 
 an honest man ! " He Held the paper up close to 
 his eyes, and once more read the passage : " It is 
 the request of one about to die. . . . From the 
 depths of my heart I implore you to grant me this 
 one last favour." 
 
 Heavy tears rolled down his weather-beaten 
 cheeks. 
 
 " It cannot be, child, it cannot be done, however 
 well you may know how to plead. And even if I 
 wished to do it, I should betray myself. I am an 
 old, weak wreck ; I no longer have such control 
 
44 THE WISH, 
 
 over my features. They would notice it at the 
 first glance. But so that you may not have asked 
 it — of your old uncle — in vain — I will — at least 
 attempt it — for your own sake and Robert's sake 
 you must first of all be saved. Confound it all, 
 old fellow, for once more in your life be a man — 
 you must save her — you must — must — must ! " 
 
 And as quickly as his stiff old legs would carry 
 him, he rushed out — past his housekeeper, who 
 stood listening at the keyhole — out into the wintry 
 morning air which a cold drizzling mist filled with 
 damp, prickling crystals. 
 
IL 
 
 A VERY picture of perfect serenity and peace of 
 mind the couple Hellinger senr. made, as they sat 
 at the breakfast-table. Out of the spout of the 
 brass coffee-machine on the brightly-polished body 
 of which the fire-flames produced a purple reflec- 
 tion, there rose up thin, bluish steam which sank 
 down towards the table in little clouds, cast a film 
 over the silver sugar-basin and wreathed the coffee- 
 cups with delicate, tiny dewdrops, 
 
 Mr. Hellinger, with his snow-white, carefully 
 trimmed beard, and handsome, rosy, boyish face 
 beaming with good nature and the pleasure of 
 living, was leaning back comfortably in the blue 
 chintz armchair, his Turkish dressing-gown pulled 
 over his knees, and apparently awaiting with 
 calmest resignation whatever fate, in the shape 
 of his wife, might be about to bestow upon him. 
 
 She (his wife) was just throwing a pinch of soda 
 
 4 • 45 
 
46 THE WISH, 
 
 into the little coffee-pot, whereupon she circum- 
 stantially wiped her powdery fingers on her white 
 damask apron, which was edged in Russian fashion 
 with broad red and many coloured stripes. Her 
 white matron's cap, the ribbons of which were 
 tightly knotted together like a chin strap under 
 her fleshy chin, had shifted somewhat towards the 
 left ear, and from out its frilly frame there shone, 
 full of energy and enterprise, her coarse, comfort- 
 able, sergeant-like face, whose features were rather 
 puffed out, as is often observable in old women 
 who like to share their husband's glass of brandy. 
 
 One could see that she was accustomed to rule 
 and to subdue, and even the smile of constant 
 injured feeling that played about her broad mouth 
 went to prove how inconsiderately she was wont to 
 carry through her plans. 
 
 So that she might not sit unoccupied while wait- 
 ing for the coffee to draw, she took up her coarse 
 woollen knitting, which, in her capacity of presi- 
 dent of the ladies' society and directress of the 
 charity organisation, was never allowed to leave 
 her hands, and the needles ran with remarkable 
 rapidity through her bony, work- used fingers. 
 
THE WISH. 47 
 
 " Have you heard nothing from Robert, Adal- 
 bert ? " she asked, with a hard metallic voice, 
 which must have penetrated the house to its last 
 corner. 
 
 The question appeared to be unpleasant to the 
 old man. He shook his head as if he would shake 
 it off; it disturbed his morning tranquillity. 
 
 " An affectionate son, one must say," she con- 
 tinued, and the injured smile grew in intensity. 
 "Since a week we have neither heard nor seen 
 anything of him ; if he lived in the moon he could 
 not come more rarely." 
 
 Mr. Hellinger muttered something to himself, 
 and busied himself with his long pipe. 
 
 " It looks as if something were brewing again in 
 that quarter," she began anew ; " he has altogether 
 been so peculiar lately ; come slinking round me 
 without a word to say for himself It seems to me 
 there is some debt hanging over him again that he 
 can't satisfy." 
 
 " Poor fellow," said the old man, and smacked 
 his lips, perhaps to get rid of the unpleasant idea 
 by this means. 
 
 " Poor fellow, indeed ! " she mocked him ; " I 
 
48 THE WISH. 
 
 suppose you pity him into the bargain ; perhaps 
 even you have been helping him on the sly ? " 
 
 He raised up his white, well-kept hands in pro- 
 test and defence of himself, but he had not the 
 courage to look her in the face. 
 
 " Adalbert," she said, threateningly, " I make it 
 a condition that such a thing does not happen 
 again. Whatever you give him, you take from us 
 and from our other children. And if at least he 
 deserved it ! but he that will not hear advice must 
 suffer. If he is ruined, with his obstinacy and 
 stubbornness " 
 
 " Allow me, Henrietta," he interrupted her 
 timidly. 
 
 "I allow nothing, Adalbert, my dear," replied 
 she. " * He that will not hearken to advice must 
 suffer ! ' say I ; and if through his abominable 
 ingratitude his poor mother, who is only anxious 
 for his welfare, and who bothers and worries herself 
 whole nights through, thinking " 
 
 With the many-coloured border of her apron she 
 rubbed her eyes as if there were tears there to be 
 wiped away. 
 
 " But, Henrietta," he began again. 
 
THE WISH, 49 
 
 " Adalbert, do not contradict me ! You know 
 I close an eye to all your follies. I allow you to 
 sit as long as ever you like at the ' Black Eagle ' ; 
 I let you drink as much as ever you can do with 
 of that bad, expensive claret I even put your 
 supper ready for you when you come home late 
 though it is hardly necessary that you should on 
 such occasions upset three chairs, as you did 
 yesterday. I consider altogether that you have 
 very little regard for the feelings of your old and 
 faithful wife. But — yes, what I was going to say 
 is — that, once for all, I will not have you meddle 
 with my plans : as it is you understand nothing 
 of such matters. Have you, altogether, any idea 
 of all I have done already for that good-for-nothing 
 Robert ? I have run about, and driven about, 
 made calls, and written letters, and Heaven knows 
 what else. Five or six well-to-do — nay, very 
 wealthy girls I have, so to say, brought ready 
 to his hand, any of whom he could have had 
 for the taking. But what did he do? Well, 
 I should think you still remember how I was 
 seized with convulsions when, four years 
 ago, he arrived with that miserable, delicate 
 
50 THE WISH, 
 
 creature, Martha ? My whole illness dates from 
 then." 
 
 " But, Henrietta ! " 
 
 " My dear Adalbert, I beg of you, do not again 
 harp upon the same old string about her being my 
 own flesh and blood ! If she wished to be a loving 
 and grateful niece to me, why did she not bring 
 the necessary dowry with her ? She had nothing 
 — of course she had nothing ! My departed 
 brother died as poor as a church mouse. Is that 
 fitting for one of my family? But after all — he 
 had a right to do as he liked with his own — what 
 business is it of mine ? Only he need not have 
 saddled us with his daughter." 
 
 " Well, but she is dead now," remarked Herr 
 Hellinger. 
 
 "Yes, she is dead," replied she, and folded her 
 hands. " It were a sin to say, thank God for that. 
 But as our Lord has so ordained it, I will at least 
 profit by the circumstance, and endeavour to rectify 
 his folly of then. While you were sitting in the 
 * Black Eagle,' drinking your claret, I was once 
 more toiling and moiling and inquiring round, so 
 that he has but to pick and choose. There is 
 
51 
 
 Gertrude Leuzmann ; will get fifty thousand cash 
 down and as much more when the old man dies. 
 There is that little von Versen ; very young yet 
 certainly — only just confirmed — but she will get 
 even more ! And besides these, at least three or 
 four others ! But what do you imagine he will say 
 to it all ? * Mother/ he will say, * if you start that 
 theme again, you will never more set sight on me.' 
 Was ever such a thing heard of? He has only to 
 marry the second sister now in place of the other 
 one, to bring his good old mother to her grave ! 
 By the by where can the young lady be to-day ? 
 It is nearly nine o'clock, and she has not yet 
 appeared. In my brother's Bohemian home it 
 may very probably have been the fashion to lie 
 a-bed till noon ; but in my well-ordered household, 
 I beg to say, most emphatically and politely, I will 
 not have it, Adalbert." 
 
 " I cannot conceive, dear Henrietta," he said, 
 "why you heap reproaches upon me which are 
 meant for your niece ! " 
 
 " If only for once you would not take her part, 
 Adalbert. But, of course, there is nothing left for 
 me to say. I am duped and betrayed in my own 
 
52 THE WISH. 
 
 house ! However, I shall very soon put an end 
 to the matter. I have kept her here now for a 
 whole year ; now she begins to be very much de 
 tropy 
 
 " But does she not toll and moil in Robert's 
 household from early morn till late at night? 
 Does a day pass on which she does not betake 
 herself to the manor farm? Do not be unjust 
 towards her, Henrietta." 
 
 She gave him a pitying look. 
 
 " If you had not remained such a child, Adalbert, 
 one might talk reason to you. Don't you see that 
 that is just where the danger lies? Don't you 
 imagine that she has her reasons for flaunting 
 about every day at the manor and for behaving 
 herself as mistress there before him and the 
 servants ? Ah — she — she is a deep one — is my 
 niece Olga. Be sure she has done her part towards 
 getting him accustomed to the idea that she — and 
 she alone — has a right to the place of her dead 
 sister. What else should she be looking for, day 
 after day, at the manor, if it is not that ? " 
 
 " I should think Martha's child is sufficient 
 explanation." 
 
THE WISH, 53 
 
 " Of course, of course ! Any nursery tale is 
 good enough to impose upon you ! She knows 
 exactly why she behaves as she does, and why she 
 IS almost ready to eat up the poor little mite for 
 very love. She knows exactly how to find the 
 way to its father's heart ! " 
 
 " But perhaps she does not love him at all," old 
 Hellinger interposed. 
 
 She laughed out loud. 
 
 ** My dear Adalbert, a man who owns an estate 
 just outside the town-gates is always loved by a 
 poor girl, and if I do not make an end now and 
 send her about her business, it may very possibly 
 come to pass that our dear Robert will take her by 
 the hand one fine day and say to us, * Here, papa 
 and mamma, now be good enough to give us your 
 blessing/ And rather than live to see that, 
 Adalbert " 
 
 At this moment the sound of lumbering male 
 steps was audible in the entrance-hall ; directly 
 after these came a loud and violent knock at 
 the door. 
 
 " Well ! " said Mrs. Hellinger, " some one is 
 making a noise as if the bailiffs were outside — 
 
54 THE WISH, 
 
 we have not got as far as that yet." And very 
 slowly and deliberately she said, " Come in." 
 
 The old doctor stepped into the room. His 
 hat sat awry at the back of his head, his necktie 
 hung loose over his shoulders, and his chest 
 heaved as with breathless running. He forgot 
 his "Good-morning" greeting, and only gave a 
 wild, searching glance around. 
 
 "Good heavens, doctor!" cried Mr. Hellinger, 
 sen., hastening towards him, "why, you burst in 
 upon us like a bull into a china-shop." 
 
 Mrs. Hellinger once more assumed her injured 
 air, and muttered something about pot-house 
 manners. 
 
 When the old doctor saw the undisturbed 
 breakfast-table and the astonished, every-day 
 faces of his friends, he let himself drop into an 
 armchair with a sigh of relief. Then it had not 
 taken place after all — this terrible thing ! But next 
 moment his fears took possession of him anew. 
 
 "Where is Olga?" he faltered, and fixed his 
 gaze on the door as if he might see her enter there 
 any moment. 
 
 "Olga?" said Mrs. Hellinger, shrugging her 
 
THE WISH. 55 
 
 shoulders. " My goodness, she probably will be 
 here shortly. Are you in such a hurry ? " 
 
 ** God be praised ! '' cried he, folding his hands. 
 " Then she has been down already ? '* 
 
 " No — not so," remarked Mrs. Hellinger, " her 
 ladyship thinks well to sleep somewhat long this 
 morning." 
 
 " For God's sake," he cried, " has no one looked 
 after her ? Does no one know anything of her ? " 
 
 " Doctor, what ails you ? " cried old Hellinger, 
 who was now beginning to be alarmed. 
 
 The physician may at this moment have recol- 
 lected the request with which Olga's letter of 
 farewell had closed. He felt that in this way his 
 desire to comply with her request would, from the 
 very first, become impossible, and made a last 
 wretched attempt to preserve the secret. 
 
 " What ails me ? " he faltered, with a miserable 
 laugh. " Nothing ails me ! — What should ail 
 me ? Confound it all ! " And then, casting aside 
 all dissimulation, he cried out : " My God ! my 
 God ! Thou hast permitted this terrible thing ! 
 Thou hast withdrawn Thy hand from her." And 
 he was about to sink down weeping, but he once 
 
56 THE WISH, 
 
 more gathered up all the energy still remaining in 
 his rickety old body, raised himself bolt upright, 
 and — " Come to Olga," he said, " and do not be 
 terrified — however — you may — find her/* 
 
 Old Hellinger grew pale, and his wife com- 
 menced to scream and sob ; she clung to the 
 doctor's arm, and wished to know what had 
 happened ; but he spoke no further word. 
 
 So they all three climbed up the stairs leading 
 to Olga's gable-room, and in the entrance-hall the 
 servants collected and stared after them with 
 great, inquisitive eyes. 
 
 Before Olga's door Mrs. Hellinger was seized 
 with a paroxysm of despair. 
 
 " You knock, doctor," she sobbed, " I cannot." 
 
 The old man knocked. 
 
 All remained quiet. 
 
 He knocked again, and put his ear to the keyhole. 
 
 As before. 
 
 Then Mrs. Hellinger began to scream : 
 
 " Olga, my beloved, my dear child, do open — 
 we are here — your uncle and aunt and old uncle 
 doctor are here. You may open without fear, my 
 love." 
 
THE WISH, 57 
 
 The physician pressed the latch ; the door was 
 locked. He looked through the key-hole ; it was 
 stopped up. 
 
 " Have the locksmith fetched, Adalbert," he 
 said. 
 
 " No," cried Mrs. Hellinger, suddenly casting all 
 sorrow to the winds, " that I shall not permit — 
 that will on no account be done. The disgrace 
 would be too great : I could never survive it — 
 such a disgrace — such a disgrace ! " 
 
 The doctor gave her a look of unmistakable 
 loathing and contempt. She took little notice of 
 it. 
 
 "You are strong, Hellinger," she said, ^' bear up 
 against the door; perhaps you may succeed in 
 breaking the lock." 
 
 Mr. Hellinger was a giant. He set one of his 
 powerful shoulders against the woodwork, which 
 at the first pressure began to crack in its joints. 
 
 " But softly," his wife admonished, " the servants 
 are standing in the entrance-hall. Be off with you 
 into the kitchen, you lazy beggars ! " she shouted 
 scolding down the stairs. 
 
 Down below doors banged. A second push — 
 
58 THE WISH. 
 
 one of the boards broke right through the middle. 
 Through the splintry chink a bright ray of day- 
 light broke through into the semi-dark corridor. 
 
 "Let me look through," said the doctor, who 
 now, in anticipation of the worst, was calm and 
 collected. 
 
 Hellinger broke off a few splinters, so that 
 through the aperture the whole room could be 
 overlooked. 
 
 Opposite the door, a ^qw paces removed from 
 the window, stood the bed. The coverlet was 
 dragged up, and formed a white hillock behind 
 which a strip of Olga's light brown hair shone 
 forth. A small portion of the forehead was also 
 visible — white as the bed-clothes it gleamed. The 
 feet were uncovered ; they seemed to have been 
 firmly set against the foot end of the bed and then 
 to have relaxed. 
 
 By the pillow, on a chair, lay her clothes neatly 
 folded. Her skirts, her stockings, were laid one 
 upon the other in perfect symmetry, and on the 
 carpet stood her slippers, with their heels turned 
 towards the bed, so as to be quite ready for 
 slipping into on rising. 
 
THE WISH. 59 
 
 On the marble slab of the pedestal, half leaning 
 against the lamp, lay a book, still open, as if it had 
 been placed there before extinguishing the light. 
 Over everything there seemed to rest a shimmer 
 of that serene, unconscious peace which irradiates 
 a pure maiden's soul. She who dwelt here had 
 fallen asleep yesterday with a prayer on her lips, 
 to awaken to-day with a smile. 
 
 After the physician had held silent sui-vey, he 
 stepped back from the aperture. 
 
 " Put your arm through, Adalbert," he said, 
 " and try to reach the lock. She has bolted the 
 door from the inside." 
 
 But Mrs. Hellinger squeezed herself up against 
 the door, and with loud cries implored her sweet 
 one to wake up and draw the bolt herself. At 
 last it was possible to push her on one side, and 
 the door was opened. The three stepped up to 
 the bedside. 
 
 A marble-white countenance, with lustreless, 
 half-open eyes, and an ecstatic smile on its lips, 
 met their gaze. The beautiful head, with its 
 classic, refined features, was slightly bowed 
 towards the left shoulder, and the unbound hair 
 
6o THE WISH, 
 
 fell down in great shining waves upon the regal 
 bust, over which the nightdress was torn. A 
 white button with a shred of linen attached, which 
 hung in the buttonhole, was the only sign that a 
 state of excitement must have preceded slumber. 
 
 " My sweet one, you are sleeping, are you not ? " 
 sobbed Mrs. Hellingen "Say that you are 
 sleeping ! You cannot have brought such dis- 
 grace upon your aunt, your dear aunt, who cared 
 for you and watched over you like her own child." 
 With that she seized the unconscious girl's pale, 
 pendant, white hand, and endeavoured to drag her 
 up by it. 
 
 Her tender-hearted husband had covered his 
 face with his hands, and was weeping. The 
 physician gave himself no time for emotion. He 
 had pulled out his instruments, pushed Mrs. 
 Hellinger aside with scant politeness, and was 
 bending over the bosom, which with one rapid 
 touch he entirely freed of its covering. 
 
 When he rose up, every drop of blood had left 
 his face. 
 
 " One last attempt," he said, and made a quick 
 incision straight across the upper arm, where an 
 
THE WISH, 6i 
 
 artery wound itself in a bluish line through the 
 white, gleaming flesh. The edges of the wound 
 gaped open without filling with blood ; only after 
 some seconds a few sluggish, dark drops oozed 
 forth. 
 
 Then the old man threw the shining little knife 
 far from him, folded his hands and — struggling 
 with his tears — uttered a prayer. 
 
III. 
 
 On the afternoon of the same day, a light one- 
 horse cabriolet sped over the common which 
 extends across country for several miles north- 
 wards of Gromowo, and in the direction of the 
 little town. 
 
 Dark and lowering, as if within reach of one's 
 hand, the clouds lay over the level plain. Here 
 and there a willow stump stretched its gnarled 
 excrescences into the fog-laden air, all saturated 
 with moisture and glistening with the drops which 
 hung in long rows on its bare branches. The 
 wheels sank deep into the boggy road, winding 
 along between withered reed-grass, and often the 
 water splashed up as high as the box-seat. 
 
 The man who held the reins took little heed of 
 the surrounding landscape ; quite lost in thought 
 he sat huddled up, only occasionally starting up 
 when the reins threatened to slip from his careless 
 
 62 
 
THE WISH, 63 
 
 finders. Then the herculean build of his Hmbs 
 became apparent, and his broad, high-arched 
 chest expanded as if it would burst the coarse 
 grey cloak which stretched across it in scanty 
 folds. 
 
 The man's stature was similar to that of old 
 Hellinger, perhaps even superior, and the face, too, 
 bore an undeniable family resemblance ; but what 
 had there remained pleasing and soft and undefined 
 even in old age, had here developed into harsh, 
 impressive lines, testifying to defiance and gloomy 
 brooding. A curly, terribly-neglected beard in 
 dark disorder encompassed the firm-set jaw, 
 assumed a lighter dye near the corners of the 
 mouth, and fell upon the breast in two fair points. 
 
 This was Robert Hellinger, the owner of Gro- 
 mowo manor, Olga's betrothed. Of the happiness 
 that had come to him yesterday there was little 
 written in his face. His grey, half-veiled eyes 
 stared moodily into the distance, and the wrinkles 
 between his eyebrows never for one moment dis- 
 appeared. He well knew that hard work was in 
 store for him before he could lead home his bride 
 — hours of bitterest struggle were imminent, and 
 
64 THE WISH, 
 
 even victory would bring him nothing but care and 
 anxiety. His thoughts travelled back over the 
 dark times that lay in the past, and that had 
 hardly ever been illumined by a ray of light. 
 
 It was now six years since his father had solemnly 
 made over to him, as eldest son, the old family 
 inheritance, the manor, and had himself retired to 
 a comfortable quiet life in the little town. On this 
 day his period of suffering had commenced, for he 
 was burdened with a yoke so heavy that even his 
 herculean shoulders threatened to break under its 
 weight ; everything he gained by the work of his 
 sinewy hands — everything of which he positively 
 f pinched himself — melted away and was swallowed 
 L up by the claims which his family laid upon him. 
 He had no right to complain. Was it not all 
 according to strict law? The inheritance had 
 been exactly divided to the very last farthing 
 among him and his six brothers and sisters, not 
 counting the reserve which his parents claimed for 
 themselves. 
 
 Every brick of his house, every clod of his land, 
 was encumbered — on every ear of corn ripening in 
 his fields his mother's suspicious gaze was fixed, for 
 
THE WISH, 65 
 
 she kept strict watch lest the interests should come 
 in a minute late. And was she not justified in so 
 doing ? Had he a right to claim more love from 
 her than she gave to her other children? There 
 were brothers who wanted to make their way in 
 the world ; sisters who had only been married for 
 the sake of their dowry : they all looked anxiously 
 and eagerly towards him as the promoter and pre- 
 server of their happiness. 
 
 The interests ! That was the dreadful word that 
 henceforth hour by hour droned in his ears, that 
 by night startled him from his sleep and filled his 
 dreams with wild visions. The interests ! How 
 often on their account he had beaten his brow with 
 clenched fists ! How often he had run without 
 sense or feeling through the loamy fields, to escape 
 from this host of glinting, gleaming devils ! How 
 often in a blind fit of rage he had smashed to 
 pieces some tool, a ploughshare, a waggon-pole> 
 with his fist, as if he did not mind with what weapon 
 he fought them ! But they did not leave him. All 
 the more tenaciously did they fasten themselves on 
 to his heels; all the more thirstily did thev suck the 
 marrow from his young bones. 
 
66 THE WISH, 
 
 What good was it that he sometimes succeeded 
 in mastering them ? This hydra everlastingly 
 brought forth new heads ; from quarter to quarter 
 it stood there before his terrified gaze, more and 
 more monstrous, more and more gigantic, growing 
 and swelling, ready to pounce upon him and crush 
 him with the weight of its body. Thus from one 
 reprieve to the next his life had dragged along 
 since that day which was so merrily celebrated at 
 the " Black Eagle " with drinking of claret and 
 champagne. 
 
 If only his mother had exercised some leniency!"^ 
 But she did not even exempt him from the stipu- 
 lated asparagus in spring, nor even from the loan 
 of the carriage for drives during harvest-time 
 when the horses were so badly wanted in the 
 fields. 
 
 "He that will not hearken to advice must suffer," 
 she was wont to say, and he would not hearken ; 
 no, indeed not ! With one short, simple " yes " h^ 
 might have put a stop to all his misery, might have 
 lived in the lap of luxury to the end of his days ; 
 and because he would not do it, out of sheer, incon- 
 ceivable stubbornness, because all her wife-hunting 
 
 \ 
 
THE WISH. 67 
 
 had been to no purpose — that was why his mother 
 could not forgive him. 
 
 Thus two years passed away. Then he began 
 to feel that such a life must sooner or later make a 
 wreck of him. This anxiety and worry was ex- 
 hausting him more and more ; he decided to put 
 an end to it all and to demand of fate that modest 
 share of happiness which was pledged and promised 
 to him by a pair of faithful blue eyes, and a pale, 
 gentle mouth. Then came a day when he brought 
 home, as wife to his hearth, the love of his youth, 
 who had shortly become orphaned and homeless. 
 
 It was a dreary, sad November day, and dark 
 clouds sped like birds of ill omen across the sky. 
 Trembling and pale, in her black mourning dress, 
 the frail, delicate creature hung on his arm and 
 quaked beneath every half-compassionate, half- 
 contemptuous glance with which the strange 
 people examined her. 
 
 As for his mother, she had received her with 
 reproaches and maledictions, and a year had 
 elapsed before tolerable relations were established 
 between the two. 
 
 Martha had kept up bravely, and in spite of her 
 
68 THE WISH, 
 
 delicate health, had worked from morn to night in 
 order to set to rights what had all gone topsy-turvy 
 during the master's long bachelorhood. 
 
 And when, after three years of quiet, cheering 
 companionship. Heaven was about to bless their 
 union, she had — even when her condition already 
 required the greatest care — always been up and 
 doing, working and ordering in kitchen, attic, and 
 cellar. 
 
 It almost seemed as if thus by labour she wanted 
 to give an equivalent for her missing dowry. 
 
 Then — two days after the birth of a child — Olga 
 had suddenly arrived in Gromowo. He had not 
 seen her since his marriage. At first sight of her he 
 was almost startled. She came towards him with an 
 expression of such proud reserve and bitterness; 
 she had blossomed forth to such regal beauty. 
 
 And this woman he was to-day to call his own ! 
 Yet what a world of suffering, how many days of 
 gloomiest brooding and despair, how many nights 
 full of horrible visions lay between now and then ! 
 
 He shuddered ; he did not like to recall it any 
 more. To-day everything seemed to have turned 
 out well ; Martha's glorified image smiled down in 
 
THE WISH, 69 
 
 peace and benediction, and, like a flower sprung 
 from her grave, happiness was blooming anew for 
 him. 
 
 Nearer and nearer came the turrets of the little 
 town ; higher and higher they stretched up behind 
 the alder thickets. And a quarter of an hour later 
 the carriage drove into the roughly-paved street. 
 
 Soon after entering the gates Robert made the 
 discovery that people who met him to-day behaved 
 towards him in the most peculiar manner. Some 
 avoided him, others in evident confusion doffed 
 their caps and then as quickly as possible fled 
 from his presence. On the other hand, the windows 
 of every house past which the carriage drove, filled 
 with heads that stared at him gravely and dis- 
 appeared hurriedly behind the curtains at his 
 greeting. 
 
 He shook his head doubtfully. But as his mind 
 was so full of the approaching struggle, he took not 
 much notice, and henceforth looked neither to the 
 right nor to the left. At the corner of the market- 
 place, where there used to be the little excise-office, 
 stood his uncle's, the doctor's, old housekeeper, 
 holding her hands hidden under her blue apron, 
 
70 THE WISH, 
 
 and with an expression on her face hke that of 
 an undertaker. 
 
 As the carriage approached, she signed to him 
 to stop. 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Liebetreu," he said, amused, " you 
 at least do not take to your heels at my approach 
 to-day." 
 
 The old woman gazed up at the sky, so that she 
 might not have to look him in the face. 
 
 " Oh ! young master," said she — he was always 
 called "young master," to distinguish him from 
 his father, though he was long past thirty — " the 
 doctor wishes me to ask if you will kindly just 
 step round there first ; he has something to say 
 to you." 
 
 " Is what he has to say to me very pressing ? " 
 
 The woman was very much terrified, for she 
 thought the unhappy intelligence would now fall 
 to her lot to tell. 
 
 " Oh, gracious m.e ! " she said ; " he only put it 
 like that." 
 
 " Well, then, give my kindest regards to my 
 uncle the doctor, and the message, that I only just 
 wanted first to have a little talk with my parents — 
 
THE WISH, 71 
 
 he knows what about — and will then come round 
 to him at once." 
 
 The old woman muttered something, but the 
 words stuck in her throat. The carriage rolled on 
 in the direction of old Hellinger's villa, that lay- 
 there under mighty old lime-trees, as if resting 
 beneath a canopy. The bright plate-glass win- 
 dows greeted him cheerily, the shining tiled roof 
 gleamed in the light, the tranquillity of a well- 
 provisioned old age rested, as usual, over all. He 
 tied his horse to the garden-railings, and strode 
 with heavy, noisy tread up the small flight of 
 steps, on the parapet of which, in wide-bellied 
 urns, half-faded aster plants mournfully drooped 
 their heads. 
 
 The hall-bell sounded in shrill tones through the 
 house, but no one put in an appearance to receive 
 him. He threw down his rain-soaked cloak on 
 one of the oak chests in which his mother's linen 
 treasures were hidden away. Then he stepped 
 into the sitting-room — it was empty. 
 
 " The old people are probably taking their 
 afternoon nap," he muttered ; " and I think it will 
 be advisable to let them have their sleep out to-day." 
 
72 THE WISH, 
 
 He flung Kimself into a corner of the sofa, and 
 gazed towards the door ; for he privately hoped 
 that Olga might have noticed his conveyance in 
 front of the house, and would come down to shake 
 hands with him. 
 
 He began to get impatient. " Can she have 
 gone out to the manor ? " he asked himself But, 
 no — she would not do that ; for she knew he 
 would come to speak to his parents. 
 
 "I will knock at her door," he decided, and got up. 
 
 He smiled anxiously, and stretched his mighty 
 limbs. After having longed for her incessantly 
 since yesterday evening, now, at the moment of 
 beholding her again, he was filled with a peculiar 
 fear of facing her. The feeling of humble rever- 
 ence, which always took possession of him in her 
 presence, now again made itself evident. Was it 
 possible that this woman had yesterday hung upon 
 his neck } And what if she regretted it to-day — if 
 she went back from her word ? 
 
 But at this moment all his defiance awoke with- 
 in him. He opened his arms wide, and with a 
 smile which reflected the memory of happy hours 
 recently lived through, he cried : 
 
THE WISH, 73 
 
 " Let her but dare such a thing ! With these 
 hands of mine I will lift her up and carry her to my 
 home ! If Martha gives her consent, I wonder 
 who should object." 
 
 On tip-toe, so as not to wake his parents, he 
 climbed up the stairs, which nevertheless creaked 
 and groaned under the weight of his body. 
 
 Before Olga's door he started back, for he saw 
 the gleam of light which fell through the broken 
 panel on to the corridor. 
 
 No one answered to his knockino^. Neverthe- 
 less, he entered. 
 
 ***** 
 
 A moment later the whole house trembled in its 
 foundations, as if the roof had fallen in. 
 
 The two old people, who had retired to their 
 bedroom to recuperate their strength after those 
 trying hours of the forenoon, started up in terror. 
 They called the maids. But these had run off, so 
 that the town should no longer be kept in ignor- 
 ance of the newest details about the sad occur- 
 rence. 
 
 " You go up," said the energetic woman to her 
 husband, and tremblingly put out her hand for the 
 
74 THE WISH, 
 
 little bottle of sulphuric ether which she always 
 kept at hand. It was the first time in her life that 
 she felt frightened. 
 
 When old Hellinger entered the gable-room, 
 he saw a sight which froze the blood in his 
 veins. 
 
 His son's body lay stretched on the ground. 
 As he fell he must have clutched the supports of 
 the bier on which the dead girl had been placed, 
 and dragged down the whole erection with him ; 
 for on the top of him, between the broken planks, 
 lay the corpse, in its long white shroud, its 
 motionless face upon his face, its bared arms 
 thrown over his head. 
 
 At this moment he regained consciousness, and 
 started up. The dead girl's head sank down from 
 his, and bumped on to the floor. 
 
 " Robert, my boy ! " cried the old man, and 
 rushed towards him. 
 
 With wide-open, glassy eyes, Robert stared 
 about him. He seemed not yet to have recovered 
 his senses. Then he perceived one of the arms, 
 which, as the body dropped sidewards, had fallen 
 right across his chest. His gaze travelled along it 
 
THE WISH. 75 
 
 up to the shoulder, as far as the neck — as far as 
 the white rigidly-smiling face. 
 
 Supported by the old man's two arms, he raised 
 himself up. He tottered on his legs like a bull 
 that has received a blow from an axe. 
 
 " Good God, boy, do come to your senses ! " 
 cried his father, taking him by his shoulders. 
 " The misfortune has taken place ; we are men, 
 we must keep our composure." 
 
 His son looked at him vacantly, helplessly as a 
 child. Then he bent over the dead body, lifted it 
 up, and laid it across the bed, pushing the frag- 
 ments of the bier to one side with his foot. 
 
 Then he seated himself close to her on the 
 pillow, and mechanically wound a coil of her flow- 
 ing hair round his finger. 
 
 The old man began to entertain fears of his 
 son's sanity. 
 
 " Robert," he said, coming close up to him 
 again, " pull yourself together. Come away from 
 here ; you cannot bring her back to life again." 
 
 Then he broke into a laugh so shrill and hor- 
 rible, that it froze the very marrow in his father's 
 bones. 
 
76 THE WISH, 
 
 All of a sudden his stupor left him ; he jumped 
 up, his eyes glowed, and on his temples the veins 
 swelled up. 
 
 " Where is mother ? " he screamed, advancing 
 towards the old man. 
 
 He sought to pacify him. 
 
 " Good heavens ! do have patience ! We will 
 tell you all." 
 
 The old lady, who had already been standing 
 for a long time listening on the stairs, at this 
 moment put in her head at the door. 
 
 He rushed past his father and at her as if about 
 to strangle her ; but he had at least so much 
 reason left as to be sensible of the monstrousness 
 of his proceeding. His arms fell down limp at 
 his sides — he set his teeth as if to choke down 
 his pent-up rage. " Mother," said he, " you shall 
 account to me for this. I demand an explanation 
 of you. Why did she die ? " 
 
 The old woman came towards him with tender 
 compassion, and made as if she would burst into 
 tears upon his neck. 
 
 With a rough movement he shook her 
 off. 
 
THE WISH, 77 
 
 "Leave that, mother" he said, "I claim her 
 from you ! " 
 
 " But, Robert," whined the old woman, " is 
 this the way for a son to treat his mother \ 
 Adalbert, just tell him how he ought to treat 
 his mother ! " 
 
 He took hold of the old man's hands. " You 
 keep out of the game, father," he said. " The 
 account which I have to settle to-day with my 
 mother concerns us two alone. Mother, I ask 
 you once more : why did she die ? " He was 
 leaning against the wall and stared at her with 
 half-closed, blood-shot eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Hellinger had meanwhile commenced to 
 cry. 
 
 "Do you suppose I know?" she sobbed; "do 
 you suppose anybody at all knows } We found 
 her in her bed, that is all. She has brought dis- 
 grace upon our house, the miserable creature, in 
 return for " 
 
 " Do not abuse her, mother," he said, wildly, 
 
 speaking in an angry undertone ; " you know 
 
 very well that she was my bride ! " 
 
 His mother gave vent to a cry of astonish- 
 6 
 
78 THE WISH. 
 
 ment, and her husband too made a movement of 
 surprise. 
 
 " What ! you do not know that ? Mother," he 
 cried, and pressed both his fists to his temples, 
 " did she say nothing to you ? Did she not come 
 to you last night, and tell you what had taken 
 place between her and me during the day?" 
 
 *' Heaven forbid ! " groaned the old woman. 
 " Scarce a syllable did she speak to me, but went 
 and locked herself up in her room." 
 
 *' Mother," he said, and stepped close up to 
 her. *' When she had confessed all to you, did 
 you not work upon her conscience ? Did you not 
 impress it upon her that if she truly loved me 
 she must give me up, that she would bring 
 misfortune upon me, and Heaven knows what 
 besides ! Mother, did you not do this ? " 
 
 " My own son does not believe me ! My own 
 son gives me the lie," whimpered the old woman. 
 " These are the thanks that I get from my 
 children to-day." 
 
 He grasped her right hand. " Mother," he said, 
 "you have done me many a wrong in all these 
 years. The worst and bitterest I ever experienced 
 came to me through you." 
 
THE WISH. 79 
 
 " Merciful Heavens," shrieked the old woman, 
 " these are the thanks — these are the thanks ! " 
 
 "But all the evil you did to me and Martha 
 I will forgive you, mother," he continued, "nay, 
 more even ! On my bended knees I will ask 
 your forgiveness for ever having harboured a 
 bitter thought against you ; but one thing you 
 must do for me — here by her dead body you 
 must swear that you knew of nothing, that in 
 all things you were speaking the truth." And 
 he dragged her to the corpse that stared up at 
 him with its ecstatic smile — a bride's smile to 
 her bridegroom. 
 
 " That such a thing should be necessary between 
 us," complained the old woman, and cast a glance 
 of bitter hatred at him out of her swollen eyes. 
 But she sufferied him to lay her right hand on 
 the dead girFs forehead ; she stroked it and 
 sobbed, " I swear it, my sweet one, you know 
 best that I knew nothing and never required any- 
 thing wrong of you." Thereupon she gave a sigh 
 of relief, as if she had suddenly come to under- 
 stand what a gain this tragic deed would mean 
 for her and her family. Sincere gratitude lay 
 
8o THE WISH. 
 
 in the tender caress with which she fondled the 
 dead face. 
 
 At this moment the old physician came rushing 
 into the room. He had hoped to overtake Robert 
 and prepare him for the worst, and saw in terror 
 that he had come too late. 
 
 Old Hellinger hurried towards him and 
 whispered in his ear : " Take him away, he is 
 out of his senses ! We can do nothing with him 
 here!" 
 
 Robert stood there clutching at the bed-posts, 
 his chest heaving, his face as if turned to stone 
 with gloomy, tearless misery. 
 
 The old doctor rubbed his stubbly grey beard 
 against his shoulder, and growled in that roughly 
 compassionate way which goes quickest to the 
 hearts of strong men. 
 
 " Come aw^ay, my boy ; don*t do anything 
 foolish ; do not disturb her rest." 
 
 Robert started and nodded several times. 
 
 Then suddenly — as if overpowered by his 
 misery — he fell down in front of the bed and 
 cried out, "Wherefore didst thou die?" 
 
IV. 
 
 Wherefore had she died ? 
 
 This question henceforth puzzled the whole 
 town completely. In the streets — at the tea- 
 table, on the alehouse benches — it was the one 
 topic for discussion. People indulged in the most 
 out-of-the-way surmises, the most hazardous con- 
 jectures were put forward, and still no one was 
 one whit the wiser. Some spoke of an unhappy, 
 others of an over- happy love affair, and others 
 again declared that they had always predicted 
 that she would not come to a good end. 
 
 During her life-time already, her proud, taciturn, 
 reserved nature had been a riddle to the good 
 homely townfolk ; now her death was a still 
 greater riddle to them. 
 
 Meanwhile it had got about that the physician 
 had been the first to receive news of the suicide, 
 and the only one to whom she herself had confided 
 
 8i 
 
82 THE WISH, 
 
 her intention. People crowded up to him ; they 
 almost stormed his house ; but he persisted in his 
 silence. With all the bluffness of which he was 
 so particularly capable, he sent the importunate 
 questioners about their business. Olga's letter 
 he had on the very same day committed to the 
 flames, for he feared that a court of law might 
 require it of him. As for the rest, the cause of 
 death was so evident that even a post-mortem 
 examination could be dispensed with. As might 
 have been expected, the dead girl had not 
 succeeded in absolutely removing every trace of 
 her deed. In the glass standing on her night- 
 table were found, adhering to its sides, drops of 
 a fluid whose flavour proved, even to a non- 
 expert, that here a solution of morphia was in 
 question. The chain of evidence became com- 
 plete when in the garden, embedded under some 
 hawthorn bushes, were found fragments of glass 
 bottles, to the necks of which a portion of the 
 poisonous solution still adhered in white crystal- 
 lised streaks. They had evidently been thrown 
 out of the window, and still bore labels giving the 
 date of the prescription and directions for taking. 
 
THE WISH. 83 
 
 As matters stood, it would have been simple 
 madness on the doctor's part if he had dared to 
 attempt to hush up the suicidal intention ; for 
 even carelessness in taking the sleeping draught 
 was quite out of the question. 
 
 Nevertheless, he was tormented by the idea that 
 he had been unable to carry out the dying girFs 
 last request, and he faithfully promised himself 
 that he would all the more truly at least keep the 
 secret which she had wrapped round her motives 
 for the unhappy deed. 
 
 If only he himself could see his way clear at 
 last ! The days passed by, however, and still he 
 could not succeed in taking possession of the 
 legacy which Olga had left to him. 
 
 Mrs. Hellinger, senior, mistrusted him ; she told 
 him openly to his face that he had always had 
 some secret understanding with the dead girl, and 
 behind his back she added that if he had not 
 prescribed such unreasonably strong solutions of 
 morphia, Olga would have been alive and happy 
 for a long time to come. She almost went so far 
 as to ascribe the blame of her niece's death to their 
 old family friend. 
 
84 THE WISH, 
 
 At any rate she did not permit him henceforth 
 to remain for one second alone in the dead girl's 
 room. She kept the door carefully locked, and 
 declared she would not suffer the dead girl's 
 belongings, which to her were sacred relics, to be 
 defiled by the touch of strange hands, or by 
 strange glances. 
 
 Thus from hour to hour there was increasing 
 danger that the book, in which Olga had written 
 down her confessions, might fall into the old 
 woman's hands. 
 
 She need only take it into her head one day to 
 to rummage among the little collection of volumes 
 which filled the book-shelf, and the mischief was 
 done. 
 
 Added to this anxiety, which drove the old 
 doctor daily to the Hellingers* house, came his 
 growing uneasiness about Robert who, since that 
 disastrous hour, had fallen a prey to blank, despair- 
 ing lethargy. He seemed absolutely deprived of 
 the power of speech, would endure no one near 
 him, and even taciturnly shunned and avoided him, 
 his old friend ; by day he roamed about in the 
 
THE WISH. 85 
 
 fields, by night he sat by his child's cot, and stared 
 down upon it with burning, reddened eyes. 
 
 So said the servants, who three times had found 
 him in the morning in this position. 
 
V. 
 
 The lights round Olga's coffin had burnt down. 
 
 The guests, who for so long had surrounded the 
 bier in solemn silence, began to move to and fro, 
 and to look round for refreshments. 
 
 Mrs. Hellinger, who was receiving condolences, 
 and at the same time, with a great profusion of 
 tears and pocket handkerchiefs, extolling the virtues 
 of the deceased, suddenly, in the midst of her grief, 
 proved herself an attentive and liberal hostess. 
 The guests gave a sigh of relief when the doors of 
 the dining-room were thrown open, and from the 
 resplendent table a sweet odour of roast meats, 
 compotes and herring salad greeted them. 
 
 Mr. Hellinger, senior, praised the Lord, and with 
 a few privileged friends, drank the specially fine 
 claret which he set before them \n honour of the 
 occasion. They were not yet agreed whether an 
 innocent game of cards would be disparaging to 
 
 86 
 
THE WISH. 87 
 
 the general mourning, and decided to send dele- 
 gates to the hostess to obtain her permission. 
 
 There was plenty of life and bustle in the Hel- 
 lingers' house — one might have imagined one were 
 at a wedding. 
 
 The physician, who dropped in late upon this 
 merry company, looked about anxiously for Robert. 
 He was nowhere to be seen. 
 
 Thereupon he took one of the guests aside and 
 inquired after him. Yes, he had been there, had 
 looked about him with startled ^y^s, and had 
 silently moved aside when any one wanted to 
 shake hands with him. But after a very few 
 minutes his disappearance had been noticed. 
 
 The physician went into the entrance-hall, and 
 hunted among the guests' wraps for Robert's cloak. 
 It was lying there yet. 
 
 With the freedom of an old friend of the family, 
 he then commenced his search through the back 
 rooms of the house, which were quiet and de- 
 serted ; for the servants were busy waiting at 
 table. 
 
 In a narrow, dark chamber, where disused furni- 
 ture was piled up, he found him sitting on an over- 
 
THE WISH. 
 
 turned wooden case, brooding with his head in his 
 hands. 
 
 " Robert, my boy, what are you doing here ? " he 
 cried out to him. 
 
 He raised his head slowly and said, " I suppose 
 there are merry goings-on in the other part of the 
 house?" 
 
 The physician laid his hands on his shoulders : 
 
 " I am anxious about you, my boy. Since three 
 days you grudge a word to any of us ; you are on 
 the road to madness, if you go on like this." 
 
 " What do you want ? " answered Robert, with a 
 sigh that broke from him like a cry of anguish. 
 " I am calm, quite calm." Then he once more 
 rested his bushy head upon his two hands, and fell 
 again to brooding. 
 
 The old man sat down at his side and began to 
 remonstrate with him. He forgot no single thing 
 that one is won't to say in such cases, and added 
 many a comforting, strengthening word of his own 
 making. Robert sat there motionless, he hardly 
 gave any sign of interest. But when the old man 
 came to no stop, he interrupted him, and said : 
 
 " Leave that, uncle, that is sweet stuff for little 
 
THE WISH, 89 
 
 children. To the one question on which for me 
 depends Hfe and death, you, too, can ^w^ me no 
 answer." 
 
 "What question?" 
 
 " Uncle, see, I am calm now — wonderfully calm — 
 no fever, no frenzy is upon me as I speak, and so 
 you will believe me when I tell you that I do not 
 know — how I shall live through this night ! " 
 
 *' For God's sake, what are you about to do ? " 
 
 Robert shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " I do not know/' he said, " whatever suggests 
 itself at the moment will do for me. I am only 
 sorry for the poor little mite that will have to go 
 on living without a father — perhaps I shall take it 
 with me on my journey — I do not know. I only 
 know the one thing, that I cannot go on like this 
 any longer 1 " 
 
 The old man, trembling with fear in every limb, 
 heaped reproaches upon him. That would be 
 cowardly, that would be unmanly, and only worthy 
 of a miserable weakling. 
 
 Robert listened to him calmly, then he said : 
 
 "You would be right, uncle, if it were her 
 death w^hich made me despair of myself and of 
 
90 THE WISH, 
 
 my happiness ! But, good heavens ! " — he laughed 
 y harshly and bitterly — " I have long since accus- 
 \ tomed myself to lay no claim to happiness. As 
 I for me, I would quietly bear my affliction, — (I 
 jhave experience in that, as you know, for I have 
 already lowered one loved being into the grave), — 
 and go on raking and scraping money together, 
 as I have been doing for so long, and doing in 
 the midst of the deepest sorrow ; for the interests, 
 you know, they take little notice of the state of 
 one's feelings, and even if one's hand grows numb 
 with pain and despair— they have to be paid ! 
 But that is not what makes my brain so dis- 
 organised — for I am disorganised, you may 
 believe me ; before my eyes sparks are con- 
 stantly dancing, my body is convulsed, and my 
 blood rushes like fire through my veins. And 
 yet I am quite calm with it all, and see every- 
 thing all around as clearly as if I could look 
 right through it. Only the one thing I cannot 
 comprehend — it haunts me like a terrible phantom 
 by day and by night, and when I seek to grasp 
 it, it escapes me — this one thing : Wherefore did 
 she die ? " — ...^^— ^ 
 
THE WISH. , 91 
 
 The old man started. He thought of the 
 letter and the promise that the dead girl had 
 therein required of him. 
 
 Robert continued : " There is a voice which 
 constantly screams into my ears, * It is your 
 fault ! ' Hozv so I do not know ; for however 
 much I probe the depths of my soul, I find no 
 wrong there that I did her; and yet the voice 
 will not be silenced. I tell myself, — *This is a 
 fixed idea.' I tell myself, * You are tormenting 
 yourself ; you are a fool and wicked — wicked 
 towards yourself and your child ;' but it is no 
 good, uncle ! — it will not be silenced. And, after 
 all, there may be something in it, uncle t Would 
 Olga not be alive yet, if it were not for me? If, 
 on the preceding evening, things had not hap- 
 pened " 
 
 He stopped, shuddering, and covered his face 
 with his hands. Tearless sobs shook his mighty 
 frame. Then he said : " Uncle, I cannot — I dare 
 not think of it ; it drives me out of my senses. 
 I feel — as if I must break and dash to pieces 
 everything with these fists." 
 
 " And yet you must pull yourself together, my 
 
92 THE WISH, 
 
 boy," said the old man, *'and tell me everything 
 successively ; for that is the only way to throw 
 light upon the mystery." 
 
 There ensued a silence in the dark room. The 
 old man trembled in every limb. He saw the 
 outlines of the massive figure that stood out 
 darkly against the light window of the chamber ; 
 he saw the heaving of the chest which rose and 
 sank and panted and groaned like the crater of 
 a volcano ; he felt on his skin the hot waves 
 of breath from Robert's mouth. 
 
 " Pull yourself together, my boy," he repeated 
 softly. 
 
 Robert waged a conflict within himself Then 
 he stretched himself as if with newly awakening 
 energy and said : 
 
 " All right, uncle ; you shall know all. . . , 
 
 " Since the day on which she so proudly and 
 coldly refused my offer I had not met her again. 
 It is true she came as before to the manor to 
 look after the child and the household. I know 
 now that it was for Martha's and not for my 
 sake ; but there was a silent understanding 
 between us, so that we avoided meeting each 
 
THE WISH, 93 
 
 Other. She chose the hours when she knew I 
 was busy out in the sheds and stables, and I did 
 not return to the house until I had seen her 
 disappear through the gate. 
 
 " On Tuesday, as it happened, I was obliged 
 to go out to the manor farm ; but half a mile 
 outside the town, on that bad road, my axle 
 broke. As I had taken no driver with me, and 
 far and wide there was no one in sight, I myself 
 mounted the harnessed horse and rode back to 
 fetch help. At the manor the overseer told me 
 that the young lady had gone home some time 
 before. It was, in fact, already beginning to grow 
 very dark. * Well, then there's no danger,' I 
 think to myself, and walk into the house. 
 
 "When I open the door of the sitting-room, I 
 see in the dusk a dark shadow that flits hur- 
 riedly out of the room. 
 
 " ' Who may that be ? ' I think, and follow in 
 pursuit. 
 
 "In the child's room I find — her — just as she 
 is trying hard to unbolt the door leading to the 
 corridor, which, as you know, is always kept 
 locked on account of the draught. 
 
94 THE WISH, 
 
 "Then, uncle, it comes over me as if I must 
 rush towards her ; but just in time I recollect 
 who she is — and who I am. 
 
 " I see how her hands are trembling. * Do 
 not be angry with me, Olga,' I said, stammer- 
 ing ; * I did not wish to do you any harm. I 
 am only here by chance. I will henceforth 
 arrange so that you may never meet me.' 
 
 " Then she lets her hands drop, and gives me 
 a look that makes me feel hot and cold all over. 
 
 * Martha never looked at me like that,* I think 
 to myself. I want to speak, but the words will 
 not come, for I am so confused and embarrassed. 
 She stands pressing her tall figure close up to 
 the door, as if to take refuge there from me. I 
 hear her heavy, feverish breathing. * Olga,' I say, 
 
 * it was presumption on my part that I ever 
 dared to think of gaining your hand ; I know 
 very well that I am not worthy of you. I beg 
 of you, forget all about it ; I will never remind 
 you of it' 
 
 " And at this moment, uncle — how shall I 
 describe it to you ? — leave me for a second — 
 the memory — yet what boots it ? — I will be 
 
THE WISH, 95 
 
 strong, uncle — I will pull myself together — at 
 this moment she rushes towards me, clasps me 
 round, covers my face with kisses, and then 
 suddenly she sinks down with a sigh and lies 
 there at my feet as if felled by a stroke. I gaze 
 down upon her like one in a dream. 
 
 ***It is not true,' I cry to myself; *it is mad- 
 ness. You were ready to look up to her as to 
 a goddess, and now she throws herself away on 
 one who is not worthy of her.' 
 
 "I hardly dared to touch her; but I had to 
 raise her up ; and when I held her in my arms 
 she began to sob bitterly, as if she would cry 
 her very soul out. * Olga, why are you crying?* 
 say I. *A11 is well now.' But even I, giant of 
 a fellow as I am, start crying like a little child. 
 
 " * Forgive, me, Robert 1 ' I hear her voice at 
 my ear ; * I have grieved you sorely, but I will 
 never — never do so again.* 
 
 " * And will you always love me now ? ' I ask ; 
 for even now I cannot realise it yet. 
 
 "*0h, you — you,' she says, *I love you more 
 than anything else in the world,' and hides her 
 face upon my neck. 
 
96 THE WISH. 
 
 " But now, uncle, hear what followed ! When 
 I see her dark head of curls lying so submis- 
 sively upon my shoulder the question arises 
 within me : * Is this the same Olga who, a few 
 days ago, turned from you so calmly and 
 proudly when you modestly and humbly asked 
 her consent?' 
 
 "So I said to her: * Olga,' said I, 'how could 
 you torture me so? Have I become a different 
 man in this short space of time ? ' Then I see 
 her grow as white as the chalk on the walls, and 
 hear her voice in my ear : ' Do not question me ; 
 for God's sake do not question me ! ' 
 
 " A feeling of terror awakens within me lest I 
 may perhaps lose her to-morrow — as I have won 
 her to-day. 
 
 " ' Olga,' say I, * if you are so changeable in 
 your decisions, who will give me surety ?' 
 
 " I stop short, for in her face lies something 
 which commands silence. She tears herself away 
 from me and flings herself into a chair. 
 
 "'As you wish to know,' she says, and the 
 while with darkening brows stares upon the 
 ground — ' I was afraid — I doubted your love, 
 
THE WISH, 97 
 
 and thought you might let me feel that I came 
 to you without a penny ' 
 
 "And with that the lie makes her face all 
 aflame. 
 
 " * Olga/ I cry out, * could you think that of 
 
 me ? Do you remember ' What I reminded 
 
 her of was one night on her father's estate when 
 I came wooing Martha and thought to return 
 sadly with a refusal ; for Martha was ready to 
 sacrifice herself and her happiness, so that I 
 might marry another. Then she — Olga— had 
 come to me in the middle of the night, and 
 had opened my eyes for me, blind fool that I 
 was, and spoken words to me, words full of con- 
 tempt for mammon, which sounded like Love's 
 song of triumph in my ears. Those words I 
 spoke to her now ; for each one was indelibly 
 stamped on my memory. 
 
 " 'At that time, then — you had such brave and 
 generous thoughts — when you spoke on Martha's 
 behalf,' I cried out to her, * and now — when they 
 
 apply to yourself ' I look into her face, 
 
 which is trying to smile and ever smiling ; but 
 this smile grew rigid, and in the midst of it she 
 
98 THE WISH, 
 
 closed her eyes and fell down fainting, like a log 
 of wood. 
 
 " It was trouble enough to bring her back to 
 life; for I did not care to call in any help. 
 Quite a quarter of an hour she lay there — not 
 much otherwise than she is lying now — then she 
 opened her eyes, and for a long time gazed 
 silently into my face — so sorrowfully, so wearily 
 and hopelessly, that I quite trembled for her. 
 And thereupon she folded her hands and spoke 
 up to me softly and imploringly : 
 
 " * Give me time, Robert ; I have overtaxed my 
 strength. I must first grow accustomed to it ' 
 
 "I, however, was so filled with the exuberance 
 of my new happiness that I believed I could by 
 force compel her too to be happy. ' If we love 
 each other, Olga,' I cried, * and the deceased 
 says " Yes " and "Amen '' to our union, I should 
 like to see who could object ! Therefore be 
 brave and cheerful, my child ! ' But she was 
 anything but brave or cheerful. And not till 
 now — when she is dead — have I realised how 
 utterly miserable and broken down she was as 
 she lay there on the cushions — she who as a rule 
 
THE WISH. 99 
 
 was so proud and severe in her behaviour to 
 herself and others. It was as if some intense 
 sorrow had cut the innermost nerve of her life 
 in twain. That is all clear to me now, but then 
 I did not see it — I would not see it ; and I 
 w^ent on remonstrating with her, comforting her 
 as I thought. She listened to me, but said 
 nothing ; only now and then she nodded her 
 head, and a smile of unutterable sadness and 
 weariness played about her lips. 
 
 " I put it all down to the excitement of the 
 moment and to the sadness of the last few years, 
 which must rise up once more all the mightier 
 within her, now that, for her too, a new happi- 
 ness was dawning to supplant it. 
 
 " ' And the first thing we do,' said I, * Olga, 
 shall be to visit the churchyard. When we have 
 stood at Martha's grave, my mother's resistance 
 and the ill-will of the whole world need no 
 longer affect us.' 
 
 " Then she let her hands drop from her face, 
 looked at me with great terror-stricken eyes, and 
 asked in a perfectly toneless voice : * You want 
 to go to the churchyard with me ? ' 
 
THE WISH, 
 
 " ' Yes, with you/ I answered ; * and now, at 
 once, if you are willing.' 
 
 *'Then a shudder ran through her frame, and 
 in a strangely hoarse tone she said : * Have 
 patience till to-morrow ; to-morrow I will do 
 what you wish/ 
 
 *'' Yes, my dear, good 'child,' I then said ; *put 
 all foolish fancies out of your head by to- 
 morrow, and think to yourself that she is not 
 angry with us. We shall certainly not forget 
 her ! And must not our mutual grief for her 
 bind us all the more closely together for the 
 whole of our lives? Her memory will always 
 be with us ; and do you not also believe that 
 from her whole heart she would bless our union 
 if she could look down upon us from heaven ? 
 Has she not left us her child as a legacy, that 
 we might watch over it together, and not sur- 
 render it to any stranger ? ' 
 
 " Then she threw herself down in front of the 
 little cot, in which the little creature lay blissfully 
 dozing, and pressed her face against its little head. 
 
 "Thus she lay for a long time, and I let 
 her lie. 
 
THE WISH, loi 
 
 "When she rose up, the rigid calm once more 
 rested upon her face that we were wont to see 
 there. She gave me her hand, and said : * Go, 
 my friend ; leave me alone/ And I went, for I 
 was ready in all things to do her bidding ; I did 
 not even embrace her. 
 
 "A quarter of an hour later I saw her cross 
 the courtyard. I waited at the window ; but 
 she did not look back any more. 
 
 " Next morning — well, you know, uncle, how 
 I found her then. And at that moment I was 
 as if struck by lightning. Uncle, I may grow 
 old and grey — that moment will destroy every 
 pleasure, and every laugh will die away from my 
 lips as its consequence. But at least I might 
 live. I might drag on this miserable existence, 
 so that my child should not be deprived of its 
 modest share of happiness. Only that one thing 
 I must know — I must be freed from that one 
 horrible idea, else I cannot go on— I cannot, 
 however hard I try. Else I shall rot away alive. 
 . . . Some one must arise, even if it be from the 
 other side of the grave, and must tell me where- 
 le died !'' 
 
THE WISH. 
 
 Once more there was silence in the dark room. 
 Nothing was audible but the heavy breathing of 
 the two men and the rustling of a rat, which 
 had accompanied Robert's story with the mono- 
 tonous, hollow music of its gnawing, 
 ^ihe old man struggled hard within himself. 
 Should he treacherously disclose the secret of her 
 life as he had already betrayed the secret of her 
 death? But was there not, in this case, a good 
 deed to be done? Did it not mean freeing him 
 whom she had loved above all things, from the 
 torments to which — either a mistaken idea or a 
 secret consciousness of guilt — condemned him ? 
 It seemed like a miracle, like special heavenly 
 grace, that the mouth which seemed closed for 
 ever, should once more be permitted to open, to 
 bring peace to the loved one. 
 
 The old man gave a deep sigh. He had taken 
 his resolution. " And supposing she should have 
 taken thought, Robert," he said, "to give an 
 account to you from beyond the grave } " 
 
 Robert uttered a cry, and clutched his wrists. 
 
 "What do you mean by that, uncle?" 
 
 " If you had not burrowed in your grief like a 
 
THE WISH, 103 
 
 mole, and taken flight before every human face, 
 you would have known long ago what is in every 
 one's mouth, namely, that on the morning of her 
 death I received a letter from her " 
 
 " You — uncle — from her ? " 
 
 " Goodness, my boy, you are breaking the bones 
 in my body. Do first listen to me patiently" — 
 and he told him the contents of the letter. 
 
 Robert had started to his feet and was ner- 
 vously running his fingers through his hair. 
 His eyes, which were staring down upon the 
 old man, gleamed through the darkness. 
 
 " And the book — give it to me — where is it ? " 
 
 The old man informed him how great was the 
 danger in which Olga's secret was hovering, and 
 what anxiety he had himself passed through on 
 its account. 
 
 " Wait, I will fetch it," cried Robert, and hurried 
 towards the door. 
 
 The old man held him back. " Your mother 
 has the key — take care that her suspicion is not 
 aroused." 
 
 " The door is half broken, I will smash it 
 entirely." 
 
I04 THE WISH, 
 
 "They will hear you downstairs." 
 
 " They are enjoying themselves much too 
 well ! " answered Robert, and laughed grimly. 
 " Come, we will go together." 
 
 And through a back door, along the dark 
 corridor, up the creaking stairs, the two men 
 crept like two thieves who have come to take 
 advantage of some festive occasion. 
 
 Opening the door proved even easier than they 
 had hoped. The loosened hinge of the lock 
 moved out of its joints almost without pressure. 
 
 At the door both stopped, overcome with 
 emotion, as the dark room, faintly illumined by 
 the starry clearness of the night, lay before their 
 eyes. All traces of death had been removed : 
 the empty bedstead — whose supports stood out 
 darkly against the grey wall — alone indicated 
 that its occupant had sought another resting- 
 place. The odour of her dresses, the faint scent 
 of her soap, still filled the room with their 
 fragrance. Even the towels on which she had 
 dried herself were still hanging, in fantastic white- 
 ness, near the black Dutch stove. 
 
 Robert, unable to keep himself upright, dropped 
 
THE WISH. 105 
 
 down upon a chair, and in long, eager breaths, 
 which resembled a sobbing, he drank in the 
 fragrance of the room. It was as if he were 
 trying to absorb into his being the very last 
 trace of her life. 
 
 A short, dazzling gleam of light darted through 
 the room, danced along the walls, strayed with a 
 yellow flicker across the writing-desk, and made 
 the white-draped dressing-table stand out from 
 the darkness like some crouching phantom. 
 
 The old man had struck a match and was 
 groping by its aid for the little green-shaded 
 lamp which had lighted Olga's sleepless nights. 
 It stood on the pedestal, in the same place where 
 Olga had extinguished it when about to plunge 
 into eternal night. Its glass bowl was yet nearly 
 full of petroleum. She had been in a hurry to 
 get to rest. 
 
 Carefully he lifted down the globe and lighted 
 the wick. With a peaceful twilight glow the 
 veiled flame cast its light across the silent 
 chamber. Then he stepped up to the book- 
 shelf, where the gilded volumes were ranged in 
 rows and gleamed in the light. His hand for a 
 
io6 THE WISH. 
 
 little while groped along the wall and then pulled 
 out to the light some blue, roUed-up object. 
 
 " We have it, Robert," he cried, triumphantly ; 
 " come away ! " 
 
 The latter shook his head in silence. The old 
 man urged him again ; then he said : " We will 
 read here, uncle — here — where she wrote it." 
 
 "What if any one should surprise us?" cried 
 the old man, fearfully. 
 
 Robert shrugged his shoulders and pointed to 
 the floor 
 
 The old man was satisfied ; they softly drew up 
 their chairs within light of the lamp. After this 
 nothing was audible but the rushing of the winter 
 wind as it swept through the leafless lime-tops, 
 and the monotonously hoarse voice of the reader, 
 accompanied from time to time by the chorus of 
 the funeral party — now swelling up loudly, now 
 dying away to a whisper. 
 
VI. 
 
 " Forgive me, sister, for invoking from the grave 
 your transfigured shade. In remembrance of the 
 deep love you bore me, of the warmth with 
 which my heart beat for you, suffer it, if I attempt 
 to expiate the guilt that weighs so heavily upon 
 me^and whose yoke I must drag along with me 
 to the end^oTmy^days I Let me once more live 
 through all theTove and kindness you bestowed 
 upon me, and in the memory thereof forget the 
 horrors of loneliness that, like the breath of your 
 tomb, chill my very bones. 
 
 " What a fool, what a wicked creature I was, to 
 feel lonely while you yet dwelt on earth ! Your 
 love was the very air that I breathed ! t Your 
 smile was the sunshine that animated me, your 
 comforting, exhorting words were like the voice 
 of God within us, to which we hearken reverently 
 without understanding. ' And how did I thank 
 
io8 THE WISH, 
 
 you, sister ? I grew a stranger to you — in sorrow 
 and misery I have to think of you, and the con- 
 sciousness of guilt appals me when the soughing 
 wind whispers your name in my ear. Between 
 us there stands a wild phantom with flaming 
 eyes — terrible and distorted, its hair encircled by 
 snakes — stretching out its claw-like hands towards 
 me, and separating me from you for ever. If it 
 were no phantom, but flesh and blood, if what 
 I committed were a sin, a crime, I would wrestle 
 with it, I would overcome it with the last strength 
 of my failing energy, or allow myself to be 
 strangled in its bloody grip. But it is intangible, 
 it melts away into empty air — a spectre that 
 mocks me, a mist that clouds my reason, and by 
 its poison is slowly destroying me. A wish ! 
 ._ " A wish — it is nothing more ! 
 
 "I wonder if you recognised it? I wonder if it 
 was reflected in your dying gaze? I wonder if 
 at your bedside, when you, good, noble soul, 
 gave up the last breath of a life that was all 
 love, you saw this spectre — a spectre born of envy 
 and ingratitude, which I — miserable creature — 
 dragged^H^o your pure habitation? 
 
THE WISH, 109 
 
 " If I had still my lisping ^hildish beliefs, I 
 would pour out the wretchedness of my soul 
 before God, the Great and Merciful ; but there 
 is no one on earth or in heaven to take pity on 
 me, none but your glorified image. 
 
 " Woe is me ! — that, too, turns away from me. 
 Weeping, it veils itself, when yonder demon 
 approaches my soul ! [ And yet, was it not human 
 to feel as I did ? Why are we not heavenly j- 
 bodies, void of desire, pure and ethereal ? Why 
 are we born of dust, why do we cleave to dust, 
 eat dust and return to dust when we have thrown 
 off this great fraud of life ? The great fraud of ^ 
 my life I will write down here — the fraud 
 towards myself — towards you, and towards a •' 
 third as well, who was pure and good — and who J 
 yet was the cause of it all. ^ 
 
 " I was a quiet, lonely child. 
 
 "He who is always surrounded by love, and 
 
 who has never known anything but love, often 
 
 learns most easily to suffice to himself. And yet 
 
 in my heart, too, there lay an inexhaustible store 
 
 of love. I squandered it on dumb creatures, 
 8 
 
no THE WISH. 
 
 petted the dogs, kissed the cats, and hugged the 
 geese. One of my passions was to play in the 
 stable : there I lolled about on the soft, warm 
 straw, under the very hoofs of my special pets, 
 that never did me any harm ; or I climbed into 
 the manger, where I could sit for hours and gaze 
 lovingly into my friends' great brown eyes. But 
 my favourite place was in the dog-kennel. There 
 they often found me asleep at midday, and it was 
 no easy matter to get me out again : for Nero, 
 who was as a rule so quiet and good, showed 
 his teeth to any one, even to his master, who 
 came within reach of his chain on such occasions. 
 My tender affection extended also to the vege- 
 table kingdom. The rose-trees appeared to me 
 like enchanted princesses, whose fate I bitterly 
 bewailed ; the sunflowers were Catholic priests 
 in full canonicals, and the dahlias Polish maid- 
 servants with red head-dresses. Thus I succeeded 
 in assembling around me in the garden the whole 
 human world, and found the counterfeit present- 
 ment preferable to the original, for it submitted 
 
 in silence when I ordained its fate. 
 
 * * * * « 
 
THE WISH. Ill 
 
 " The estate that my father had rented was the 
 old feudal possession of a Polish magnate, which 
 lay close to the Prussian frontier, on a hill whose 
 one side sloped down gradually in a weed-grown 
 park towards barren fields, while the other dropped 
 down precipitately towards a rivulet, on whose 
 opposite bank lay a dirty little Polish frontier 
 village. 
 
 "When one stood on the brink cf the precipice 
 one looked down upon the tumble-down shingle 
 roofs, through the crevices of which smoke issued 
 forth, and could see right into the midst of the 
 wretched traffic of the miry street, where half- 
 naked children wallowed in the gutter, women 
 crouched idly on the doorsteps, and the men in 
 ragged fustian coats trooped, with their spades 
 on their shoulders, towards the alehouse. 
 
 " Verily there was little that was attractive about 
 this small town, and the rabble of frontier 
 Cossacks, that trotted to and fro sleepily on 
 their cat-like nags, did not enhance its charms. 
 But yet, to my childish ^y^s>, it was enveloped 
 in inexpressible glamour, the sensation of which 
 creeps over me even to-day, when I picture to 
 
THE WISH. 
 
 myself how, bewitched by all these wonderful 
 visions, I sat for hours motionless on the grass, 
 and stared down upon the throng in which the 
 figures were no larger than the wooden dolls in 
 my box of toys. 
 
 " I had been forbidden to go down, nor had I 
 any desire to do so, since I had once been almost 
 crushed to death between two wheels in the 
 crowd of the weekly market to which my father 
 had taken me. 
 
 -""^ It was only delightful when from up there, 
 raised high above the dirt and screaming, one 
 could gaze down upon this world of ants, which 
 seemed so tiny that, like the Creator Himself, one 
 could command it with a look, but which grew 
 larger and larger, and assumed weird, giant pro- 
 portions the more one attempted to penetrate 
 into it. ^ 
 
 " It is remarkable that just of those persons 
 who were most closely connected with me through- 
 out my life, I have preserved but a vague recol- 
 lection as they were at that time. Possibly 
 
THE WISH. 113 
 
 because later impressions effaced these earliest 
 ones. 
 
 " My father was a small, sturdy man, of thick- 
 set stature, with close- cut black beard and hair, 
 clad in high, brightly blacked boots, and a 
 greyish-green shaggy jacket, who laughed at me 
 when he saw me, gave me a friendly slap on the 
 back, or pinched my arm, and then was gone 
 again. He was always busy, poor papa ; as long 
 as he lived I never saw him give himself a 
 moment's rest. 
 
 " Mama was then already very stout, was con- 
 stantly eating sweet-stuff, and loved her afternoon 
 nap ; but she, too, was at work from morning 
 till night, though she only reluctantly betook 
 herself from place to place, and did not like 
 one to hang on to her, or to bother her with 
 questions. 
 
 " At that time another member of the family 
 was Cousin Robert, who had been sent over by 
 our Prussian relations to learn farming from papa ; 
 a big fellow, broad-shouldered and thick-necked, 
 with fair tufts of beard, which I was wont to 
 pull when he took me on his knee to instil the 
 
114 THE WISH. 
 
 ABC into me by means of bent liquorice 
 sticks. I think we were always good friends, 
 though he probably was no more to me than the 
 other articled pupils ; for his picture, as he was 
 then, has become hazy, exactly like all the 
 others. 
 
 " Only one scene do I remember distinctly, 
 when on a summer evening he had caught hold 
 of Martha by her fair plaits and was racing after 
 her, laughing and screaming, through the yard, 
 and the house, and the garden. 
 
 " * What are you up to with Martha, you rascal ? ' 
 cried papa to him. 
 
 " ' She has been vexing me,' he answered, without 
 letting go of her, while she kept on screaming. 
 
 " * When I was your age I knew better how to 
 revenge myself on a girl,' laughingly said papa, 
 who always liked to have his little joke. 
 
 "'Well, how?' he asked. 
 
 "*0h, if you don't know that yourself!' replied 
 papa. 
 
 " ' One just gives her a kiss. Master Robert,' said 
 an old gardener, who happened to be passing with 
 a watering-can. 
 
THE WISH, 115 
 
 " Then I can see him yet, how he suddenly let the 
 plaits drop from his hands, stood there suffused 
 with blushes and did not know where to look. 
 Papa shook with laughter and Martha ran off as 
 fast as she could. When I tried her door, she had 
 locked herself in. Not till supper-time did she put 
 in an appearance again. Her hair hung in disorder 
 over her forehead, and beneath it she looked out 
 dreamily and scared. 
 
 "When, to-day, I compare the pale, thin, little 
 suffering face that fills my whole soul, with yonder 
 rosy, chubby, roguish countenance as it gleams 
 upon me sometimes from my earliest childhood, I 
 can hardly realise that both can have belonged to 
 one and the same being. 
 
 " How her long fair plaits fluttered in the wind ! 
 With what precodgus, Jhousewifely care her eyes 
 scanned the long table where we all sat together, 
 with apprentices and inspectors, waiting to be filled 
 — a whole collection of hungry mouths. And how 
 lustily each one helped himself, when, with her 
 merry smile, she offere d th e dishes. 
 
 " Now only do I begin to understand what a pil- 
 grimage of suffering she had to make, now that I 
 
ii6 THE WISH, 
 
 am myself preparing for the long, sad journey, at 
 the end of which a lonely grave awaits me, more 
 lonesome even than hers. 
 f " In those days I was a child and looked up un- 
 i^ suspectingly to her, who became my teacher when 
 \ she herself had hardly put off childish ways. 
 / " It was at that time that our affairs began to take 
 a downward course. Papa had to struggle against 
 debts ; failure of crops, and floods — for three years 
 in succession — destroyed any hope of improvement, 
 and monetary cares gathered thicker and thicker 
 around our home. 
 
 "In the household everything not absolutely 
 necessary was dispensed with, our intercourse with 
 the neighbouring estate owners was restricted, and 
 even the old governess who had educated Martha 
 and was now to have fulfilled her mission upon me, 
 had to leave the estate. 
 
 " Martha, who was seven years older than I and 
 just preparing to grow into her first long dress, 
 stepped into her place. In this way, purely sisterly 
 relations could not grow into existence between us. 
 She was the protectress and I was the ward, until 
 after we exchanged our roles. 
 
THE WISH. 117 
 
 ** I may have been about fourteen years old, when 
 it struck me for the first time that Martha had 
 strangely altered in manner and appearance. I 
 ought, indeed, to have noticed it before, for I was 
 accustomed to look about me with open eyes, but 
 in the slow monotony of everyday life one easily 
 ' overlooks the destruction that sorrow and time are 
 working around us. 
 
 " Now I took heed, and saw her face grow thinner 
 and thinner, saw that the colour faded more and 
 more from her cheeks, and that her eyes sank 
 deeper and deeper into dark hollows. Nor did she 
 any longer sing, and her laugh had a peculiar tired, 
 hoarse sound that hurt my ears so, that I was some- 
 times on the point of calling out to her * Do not 
 laugh ! ' 
 
 "At the same time she began to sicken; she 
 complained of headache and spasms, and only with 
 difficulty dragged herself about the house. Then, 
 of course, papa and mama were bound to notice 
 her condition too ; they packed her up in warm 
 wraps, and, in spite of her remonstrance, drove w^ith 
 her to Prussia to consult a doctor. He shrugged 
 his shoulders, prescribed steel pills and advised a 
 change of air. 
 
ii8 THE WISH, 
 
 "Something else, too, he must have advised, which 
 greatly disturbed my parents, at least papa ; for 
 mama, since a long time already, was not to be 
 roused from her phlegmatic composure. When 
 she dreamily gazed out into the distance, he often 
 looked at her askance, shook his head, sighed, and 
 slammed the door after him. 
 
 " But however much she might be suffering, she 
 would not give up her work. As long as I can remem- 
 ber, I have never seen her idle even for a moment. 
 As a child already she stood with her lesson-book 
 at the cooking-stove, or had an eye on the wash- 
 kitchen, while she wrote her German composition. 
 Since she was grown up, she combined the duties 
 of my instruction with all the cares which a large 
 household imposes upon its manager. Mama 
 had quite retired \x\ virtue of her age, and allow^ed 
 lier to do and dispose as she pleased, if only the 
 ^compotes and other dainties won her approval. 
 
 " I, who was spoilt beyond measure by everyone 
 in the house, was ashamed of my inactivity, and 
 endeavoured to take a part of the responsibility off 
 Martha's shoulders ; but with gentle remonstrance 
 she dissuaded me. 
 
THE WISH, 119 
 
 *' * Leave that, child/ she said, stroking my 
 cheeks ; * you happen to be the princess of the 
 house, you had better remain so.' 
 
 "That hurt me. I could bear anything rather 
 than to be repulsed, when I came with my heart 
 full to overflowing ofgenerous resolves. * "*^ 
 
 " One evening I saw her crying. I slunk out into 
 the garden and fought a hard battle. I almost V 
 choked with my longing to help, but I could not so ^ 
 far conquer myself as to go up to her and put my ^ 
 arms consolingly about her neck. When I lay in 
 bed, my desire to comfort her came upon me with 
 renewed force ; I got up, and in my nightdress, just 
 as I was, I slipped out into the dark corridor. 
 
 " For a long time I stood outside her door, trem- 
 bling with cold and with fear, and with my hand 
 on the door-knob. At last I took heart and crept r^- 
 in softly. 
 
 " She knelt before her bed with her head pressed 
 into the pillows. She seemed to be praying. ^ 
 
 " I stopped at the door, for I did not venture to/\ 
 disturb her. ^ 
 
 " At last she turned round, and at sight of me 
 started up abruptly. 
 
THE WISH, 
 
 " * What do you want ? ' she stammered. 
 
 " I clung to her, and sobbed fit to soften the heart 
 of a stone. 
 
 " * Child— for Heaven's sake — what is the matter 
 with you } ' she cried. 
 V " I was incapable of uttering a word. She, in her 
 
 motherly way, took a large woollen shawl, wrapped 
 me in it, and drew me down upon her knee, though 
 I was then already bigger than she. 
 
 "* Now confess, my darling, what ails you ? * she 
 asked, stroking my face. 
 
 " I gathered up all my strength, and hiding my 
 face upon her neck, I sobbed, * Martha — I want — 
 to help — you.' 
 
 " A long silence ensued, and when I raised up my 
 face I saw an unutterably bitter, sorrowful smile 
 playing about her lips. And then she took my 
 ! ''^^ head between her hands, kissed my brow and said : 
 \\ " * Come, I will put you to bed, child ; there is 
 
 nothing the matter with me — but you — you seem 
 to be in a perfect fever.' 
 
 " I jumped up : * For shame, that is horrid of you, 
 Martha,' I cried ; * I will not be sent away like this. 
 I am not ill, nor am \ so stupid that I cannot see 
 

 c^ 
 
 THE WISH. 
 
 how you are pining away, and how each day you 
 gulp down some new sorrow. If you have no 
 confidence in me, I shall conclude that you do not 
 wish to have anything to do with me, and all will 
 be over between us/ 
 
 "She folded her hands in astonishment, and 
 
 looked, at me. 
 
 " * What has possessed you, child ? ' she said, * I 
 do not know you thus/ 
 
 " I turned away and bit my lips defiantly. 
 
 " * Come, come, I will put you to bed,' she urged 
 again. 
 
 " * I don't want — I can go alone,' I said. Then 
 she seemed to feel that a word of explanation must 
 be vouchsafed to the child. 
 
 " ' See, Olga,' she said, drawing me down to her, 
 * you are quite right, I have many a sorrow, and if 
 you were older and could understand, you would 
 certainly be the first in whom I sk©uid CQnfide. 
 But first you too must learn to know life .' 
 
 " * What more do you know of life than I ? ' I 
 cried, still defiantly. 
 
 "She only smiled. It cut me to the heart, this .^ 
 half-painful, half-ecstatic smile. A dull dawning 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 >A^ 
 
122 THE WISH, 
 
 presentiment awoke within me, such as one might 
 experience in face of closed temple gates or 
 distant palm-wafted islands. And Martha con- 
 tinued : 
 
 " * Till then, however — and that will be long ! — I 
 must bear what oppresses me alone. Hearty 
 thanks, sister, for your good intention ; I would love 
 you twice as much for it, if that were possible ; 
 and now go, have your sleep out, we have much to 
 learn to-morrow.' 
 
 ** With that she pushed me out of the door. 
 
 " Like an exile I stood outside on the landing and 
 stared at the door which had closed behind me so 
 cruelly. Then 1 leant my head against the wall 
 and wept silently and bitterly. 
 
 " Martha was henceforth doubly kind and affec- 
 tionate towards me, but I would not see it. I grew 
 reserved towards her, as she had been towards me, 
 and deeper and deeper the bitter feeling became 
 graven on my soul that the world did not require my 
 love. Of course it was not this one occurrence alone 
 which acted decisively upon my disposition. Such 
 a young creature as I was, is too easily carried 
 away by the tide of new impressions to be lastingly 
 
^H^ ^: 
 
 THE WISH.^y^^^jifu^i 123 
 
 influenced by a few such moments ; and, as a 
 matter of fact, it was not long: before I had for- 
 gotten that evening. But what I did not forget 
 
 was the idea that no one dwelton earthwko was 
 
 willing to share his sorrows with me, and that I 
 was thrown back upon myself and my booEsuntil 
 such day as I should be declared ripe to take part I 
 in the life of the living. I 
 
 "Deeper and deeper I dived down into the 
 treasures of the poets, of whom none drove me 
 from his holy of holies. I learnt to feel wretched 
 and exalted with Tasso ; I knew what Manfred 
 sought on icy Alpine snowfields ; with Thekla I 
 mourned the loss of the earthly happiness I had 
 enjoyed, of the life and love that I had out-lived 
 and out-loved. But, above all, Iphigenia was my 
 heroine and my ideal. 
 
 " Through her my young, lonely soul was filled 
 with all the charm of being unintelligible ; it 
 seemed to be the mission of my life to go forth 
 like her upon earth as a blessed priestess, sub- 
 limely void of earthly desire ; and if to this end 
 I might have donned yon white Grecian robes 
 whose noble draperies would so splendidly have 
 
124 THE WISH. 
 
 suited my early-developed figure, my bliss would 
 have been complete 4 
 
 " Outwardly I was in those years an obstinate, 
 supercilious creature, who was lavish with rude 
 answers, and fond of getting up from table in the 
 middle of a meal if anything did not suit her 
 taste. 
 
 " In spite of all this — or perhaps just for this 
 reason — I was petted by- all, and my will, in so far 
 as a child's will can be taken into account, was 
 considered authoritative by the whole house. At 
 fifteen I was as tall and as big as to-day, and 
 already there was found here and there some 
 gallant squire's son who would say that I was 
 much, much better looking than all the others, 
 especially than Martha. That made me indignant, 
 for my vanity was not yet fully developed. 
 ^'' "'About that time, I dreamt one night that Martha 
 had died. When I woke, my pillows were wet 
 through with tears. Like a criminal on that day 
 I crept round my sister. I felt as if I had some 
 heavy offence against her on my conscience. - 
 
 "After dinner she had gone to lie down for a 
 little on the sofa, for she was suffering again from 
 
 \ 
 
THE WISH. 125 
 
 her headache ; and when I entered the room and 
 saw her waxen -pale face with closed eyes, hanging 
 across the sofa-ledge, I started as if struck. 
 
 *' I felt as if I really saw her already as a corpse 
 before me. 
 
 " I dropped down in front of the sofa and covered 
 her lips and brow with kisses. Quite radiantly 
 she opened her eyes and stared at me, as if she 
 saw a vision; only as consciousness returned did 
 her face grow serious and sad, as before. 
 
 "'Well, well, my girl, what is the matter with 
 you ? ' she said. * This is not your usual 
 behaviour ! ' 
 
 "And gently she pushed me away, so that once 
 more 1 stood alone with my overflowing heart ; 
 but as I was slinking away she came after me, and 
 whispered — - > t ^ • 
 
 " ' I love you very much, my darling sister ! * 
 
 **0n the evening of the same day I noticed that 
 she constantly kept smiling to herself. Papa was 
 struck by it too, for as a rule it never occurred. 
 He took her head between his two hands, and said — 
 
 " * What has come over you, Margell ? Why 
 you are blooming like a flower to-day/ 
 
126 THE WISH. 
 
 " Then she blushed a deep red, while I secretly 
 clasped her hand under the table, and thought to 
 myself, * We know very well what makes us so 
 happy.' 
 
 " Next morning papa came to the breakfast- table 
 with an open letter in his hand. 
 
 " * A strange bird is about to fly into our nest,' 
 he said, laughing ; * now guess what his name is ! ' 
 And with that he looked quite peculiarly across at 
 Martha. She appeared to me to have grown even 
 a shade paler, and the coffee-cup which she held in 
 her hand shook audibly. 
 
 " * Has the bird been in our nest before ? ' she 
 asked slowly and softly, and did not raise her eyes. 
 
 " * I should think so indeed ! ' laughed papa. 
 
 "*Then it is — Robert Hellinger,' she said, and 
 sighed deeply, as if after a hard effort. 
 
 "*Upon my word, girl, you are one to guess/ 
 said papa, and shook his finger at her. 
 
 " But she was silent, and walked from the room 
 with slow, dragging steps — nor did she appear 
 again that morning. For my part I kept pretty 
 cool over our cousin's approaching visit. * His 
 image of former days, as it dimly hovered in my 
 
THE WISH, 127 
 
 memory, was not such as to inspire a romantic 
 imagination of fifteen years with ardent dreams for 
 its sake. 
 
 " But Martha's behaviour had struck me. Next 
 day, in the early morning, I heard her walking up 
 and down with long strides in the guest-rooms. 
 
 " I followed her, for I was anxious to know what 
 she was busying herself about in these usually 
 closed apartments. 
 
 " She had opened all the windows, uncovered the 
 beds, let down the curtains, and now in her wooden 
 shoes was running amidst all this confusion from 
 one room to the other. Her hands she held 
 pressed to her face, and kept laughing to herself; 
 but the laugh sounded more like crying. 
 
 " When I asked her, * What are you doing here, 
 Martha ? ' she gave a start, looked at me quite 
 confused, and seemed as if she must first think 
 where she was. 
 
 " * Don't you see — I am covering the beds/ she 
 stammered after a while. 
 
 "* For whom, pray?' I asked.- 
 
 " * Don't you know we are going to have a 
 visitor ? ' she answered. 
 
 OFTHE ^ 
 
128 THE WISH. 
 
 " * I suppose you are awfully pleased at the 
 prospect?' I said, and slightly shrugged my 
 shoulders. 
 
 " * Why should I not be pleased ? ' she replied, 
 * It is our cousin/ 
 
 "'And nothing more?' I asked, shaking my 
 finger at her as I had seen papa do the day 
 before. 
 
 " Then she suddenly grew very grave, and looked 
 at me with her big, sad eyes so strangely and 
 reproachfully that I felt how all the blood rushed 
 to my face. I turned away, and as I could no 
 longer keep up my superiority, I slunk out of the 
 door. 
 
 *' From this moment Cousin Robert caused me 
 many a thought. It seemed clear to me that the 
 two loved each other, and seized by the mysterious 
 awe with which the idea of the great Unknown fills 
 half-grown children of my age, I began to picture 
 to myself how such a love might have taken shape. 
 I ran through the wild-growing shrubs of the park, 
 and said to myself, * Here they enjoyed their 
 secret walks.' I slipped inside the dusky arbours, 
 and said to myself, * Here in the moonlight was 
 
THE WISH, 129 
 
 their trysting-place.' I sank down upon the mossy 
 turf-bank, and said to myself, * Here they held 
 sweet converse together/ The whole garden, the 
 house, the yard, everything that I had known since 
 the beginning of my life suddenly appeared re- 
 splendent in a new light. A purple sheen was 
 spread over all. Wondrous life seemed to have 
 awakened therein. I had so completely absorbed 
 myself in these phantasies, that finally I believed 
 that I myself had lived through this love. When 
 I saw Martha again I did not dare to raise my 
 eyes to her, as if I cherished the secret in my 
 bosom and she were the one who must not 
 guess it. 
 
 "But next morning when I reflected that Martha ^ 
 had positively experienced everything that I after 
 all had only dreamt about, I felt quite awed by the 
 thought, and from out of a dark corner I contem- 
 plated her fixedly with shy, inquiring looks, as if \ 
 she were a being from some strange world. ^"^ 
 
 " I was well aware that every five minutes she 
 found something to busy herself about on the 
 verandah, from whence one could look across 
 towards the courtyard -gate ; but to-day I took 
 
130 THE WISH. 
 
 good care not to put any pert questions to her. 
 Now I felt like a confidante — like an accomplice. 
 It was a beautiful clear September day. Over 
 woodland and meadow was spread a rosy veil, 
 silver threads floated softly through the air, the 
 river carried a cover of vapour, and far and wide 
 it was as silent as in a church. I went into the 
 wood, for I could never have excess of solitude to 
 satiate myself with dreams. In the birch-trees 
 faded leaves already rustled ; the bracken drooped 
 like a wounded human being that can barely keep 
 upright. 
 
 " I grew very sad. * Now there will be a great 
 dying,' I said : * ah, that one might die too ! ' 
 
 " And then I remembered what I had heard and 
 read in derision of sentimental autumn thoughts. 
 *For shame, how wicked!' I thought. * They 
 shall not deride me, for I shall know how to 
 conceal myself and my feelings. It is no one's 
 business what I do feel. /And for all I care they 
 may think me cold and heartless, if only I have 
 the consciousness that my heart beats warmly and 
 full of love for mankind.' 
 
 "Yes, that was a delightful, foolish day, and bliss- 
 
THE WISH, 131 
 
 fully would I sacrifice what yet remains to me of 
 life, if it might once more be granted to me. In 
 the evening — I can see it all as if it were to-day — 
 the windows stood open, the tendrils of the wild 
 vine swayed in the breeze, and from the distance a 
 stamping of hoofs, a clashing of lances and swords 
 greeted my ears. I could see nothing, for the 
 darkness devoured it all, but I knew that it was 
 a band of Cossacks patrolling along the frontier 
 ditch. And then I closed my eyes and dreamt 
 that a troop of knights were coming riding along 
 at full speed — led by a fair, handsome prince, 
 mounted on a milk-white charger. But I was the 
 chatelaine sitting in the turret-room of the old 
 castle, and the fame of my beauty had penetrated 
 to every land, so that the prince had set forth 
 surrounded by a company of picked horsemen, to 
 seek me out and ask my hand in marriage of the 
 old nobleman my father. 
 
 "And then I remembered Martha; and whether, 
 as the elder, she would not be preferred. But she 
 loves her Robert, I comforted myself, she wants no 
 prince. And then I pictured to myself what I 
 would give to each member of my family when 
 
132 THE WISH, 
 
 I had mounted the throne : to Martha wonderful 
 jewellery, to papa an iron chest full of gold, and to 
 mama a box of pine-apple sweets. 
 
 "The clashing of lances died away in the 
 distance —and my dream was at an end. 
 
 " Next day he came. 
 
 " When the carriage that brought him rolled in 
 at the courtyard gate, Martha was busy in the 
 kitchen. I ran to her, and beaming with pleasure 
 I whispered into her ear, * Martha, I believe he is 
 here.' But she forthwith apprised me that I was 
 not her confidante. She looked at me vaguely 
 for a time, then asked absently, * Whom do you 
 mean ? ' 
 
 " * Whom else but our cousin ? ' 
 
 " * Why do you tell me that in a whisper ? * she 
 asked. And when, in answer, I shrugged my 
 shoulders, she once more took up the kitchen 
 spoon she had put down, and went on stirring. 
 
 " * Is that the extent of your pleasure, Martha ? ' 
 I asked, while I contemptuously pursed my lips. 
 
 " But she pushed me aside with her left hand 
 
THE WISH. 133 1 
 
 \ 
 
 and said, more passionately than was her wont, 1 
 
 * Child, I beg of you, go ! ' \ 
 
 " And thus it came about that I received Cousin \ 
 
 Robert in her stead. i 
 
 " As I stepped out on to the verandah, he was \ 
 
 just alighting from his carriage. \ 
 
 " * He does not look much better than papa,' | 
 
 that was my first thought. A great strong man \ 
 
 like a giant, with broad chest and shoulders, his j 
 
 face sun-burnt, with little blue eyes in it, and I 
 
 framed by a shaggy beard, such a beard as the | 
 
 * lancequenets ' used to wear. \ 
 
 ** * Only the chin-strap is wanting,* I thought to \ 
 
 myselfl I 
 
 " He came jumping up the steps laughing | 
 
 towards me. cX MaA^^^^ ^ 
 
 " * Well, good morning, Martha ! ' he cried. ^""^Wl^^ ^ 
 
 ** And then suddenly he stopped short, measured 
 me from head to foot and stood there, half-way up 
 the stairs, as if petrified. 
 
 "*My name is not Martha, but Olga!' I re- \ 
 marked, somewhat dejectedly. "^^: 
 
 " * Ah, that accounts for it ! ' he cried, shaking \ 
 
 with laughter, stepped up to me and offered me J 
 
134 THE WISH. 
 
 */\i 
 
 Nt 
 
 a red, horny hand, quite covered with cracks and 
 weals. 
 
 " * What an uncouth fellow ! ' I thought in my 
 
 town mind. And when we had entered the room 
 
 he looked me up and down again and said, * You 
 
 were quite a little thing yet, Olga, when I went 
 
 k away from here ; now it seems like a wonder to 
 
 ^ me that you should be so like Martha ! * 
 
 , , " * I like Martha,' thought I, * when was I ever in 
 
 \ the least like Martha } ' 
 
 \ *' * But no,' he continued, ' she was not so tall, and 
 .X her hair was fairer, and she did not stand there so 
 \. haughtily — and — and — did not make such serious 
 eyes. 
 
 "*Ah, good Heavens,' thought I, *you first look 
 into Martha's eyes ! ' 
 
 " At this moment the kitchen door opened quite, 
 quite slowly, and through a narrow aperture she 
 squeezed herself in. She had not taken off her 
 white apron. Her face was as white as this apron, 
 and her lips trembled. 
 
 " * Welcome, Robert ! ' she said softly behind his 
 back, for he had turned towards me. 
 
 " At the first sound of her voice he veered round 
 
THE WISH. 135 
 
 like lightning, and then for about a minute they 
 stood facing each other without moving, without 
 uttering a word. 
 
 " I trembled. For two days I had lain in wait 
 for this moment, and now it fell so wretchedly 
 short of my expectations. Then they slowly 
 approached each other, and kissed. This kiss 
 too did not satisfy me. He could not have 
 kiss ed me differently; * only that he did not 
 attempt that at all,' I added mentally. And 
 then""'tEey Eothwere silent again. My heart 
 beat so wildly that I had to press both hands 
 to my bosom. 
 
 " At last Martha said, * Won't you take a seat, 
 Robert?' 
 
 " He nodded and threw himself into the sofa- 
 corner so that all its joints creaked. He looked at 
 her again and again, then after a long time he 
 remarked, * You are very much changed, Martha ! ' 
 
 " I felt as if he had given me a slap in the face. 
 
 " An unutterably sad smile played about 
 Martha's lips. 
 
 " * Yes, I suppose I am changed,' she then said. 
 
 " Renewed silence. It seemed as if a long time 
 
136 THE WISH. 
 
 were necessary for him to put a thought into \ 
 
 words. \ 
 
 "'Why did I never hear that you were ailing?* | 
 
 he began again at length. \ 
 
 " * That I do not know/ she replied, with bitter \ 
 
 affability. \ 
 
 I 
 
 " * Could you not write to me about it ? ' \ 
 
 " ' Are we in the habit of writing to each other ? ' \ 
 
 she asked in return. I 
 
 " He gave the table an angry shove. I 
 
 " ' But if one is not well — then — then — ' \ he did | 
 
 not know how to proceed. J 
 
 " I pressed my fists together. I should so have | 
 
 I 
 
 liked to finish his sentence for him. I 
 
 " * Never mind/ said Martha, * one often knows | 
 
 1 
 
 least one's self when one is not well* \ 
 
 " * I should think one ought to know that best I 
 
 one's self^' he replied. | 
 
 " ' What if one does not think it worth while to \ 
 
 take any notice of it ? ' This time she spoke with- \ 
 
 out bitterness, modestly and quietly as she always \ 
 
 spoke, and yet every word cut me to the quick. ] 
 
 " (* Oh, Martha, why did you repulse me ?' a voice j 
 within me cried.) 7^J-C/^^ 
 
THE WISH, 137 
 
 "And thereupon she broke into a short laugh, \ 
 
 and asked how things were at home, and whether \ 
 
 uncle and aunt were well. \ 
 
 " ' First I should like to know how my uncle and \ 
 
 my aunt are,' he said, and looked into the four j 
 
 corners of the room. \ 
 
 " I was so glad to see the strained mood giving \ 
 
 way, that I burst into a loud laugh at his comical | 
 
 I 
 
 search. \ 
 
 \ 
 
 " Both looked at me in astonishment as if they I 
 
 only just remembered my presence. i 
 
 " * And what do you say to our child ? ' asked '\ 
 
 Martha, taking my hand in motherly fashion, * does 
 
 she please you ? ' f /'f^-^L^ \ 
 
 " ' Better now already,' he said, scrutinising me, | 
 
 * before, she was too stiff for me.' / 
 
 *" I could hardly put my arms round your neck . /J 
 
 at once? ' L replied. -^ 
 
 " * Why not ? ' he asked, smiling complacently, ^^i 
 
 * do you think there is no room for you there ? ' | 
 
 " * No,' said I, to let him know at once how to \ 
 
 take me, ' that room is not the place for me.' \ 
 
 " He looked at me quite taken aback, and then \ 
 
 remarked, nodding his head — I 
 
138 THE WISH. 
 
 " *By Jingo, the little woman is pretty sharp.' 
 
 " I was going to reply something, but at that 
 moment papa entered the room. 
 
 " At table I constantly kept my eye on the two, 
 without however being able to notice anything 
 suspicious. 
 
 " Their eyes hardly met. 
 
 " * Afterwards when the old people are taking 
 their nap,' I thought to myself, * they are sure to 
 try and make their escape/ But I was mistaken. 
 They quietly remained in the sitting-room, and 
 did not even seem anxious to get me out of the 
 way. He sat in the sofa-corner smoking, she, 
 five paces away at the window, with some needle- 
 work. 
 
 " * Perhaps they are too shy,' I thought, ' and 
 are waiting till an opportunity presents itself.' I 
 marked a few signs and slipped out. Then for 
 half an hour I crouched in my room with a 
 beating heart and counted the minutes till I might 
 go back again. 
 
 " ' Now he will go up to her,' I said to myself, 
 * will take her hands and look long into her eyes. 
 " Do you still love me ? " he will ask ; and she, 
 
THE WISH. 139 
 
 blushing rosy red, will sink with tear-dimmed gaze 
 upon his breast.' 
 
 " I closed my eyes and sighed. My temples 
 were throbbing ; I felt more and more how my 
 fancies intoxicated me, and then I went on. 
 picturing to myself how he would drop on his 
 knees before her and, with ardent looks, stammer 
 forth glowing declarations of love and faithfulness. 
 
 ** I knew by heart everything that he was saying 
 to her at this moment, no less than what she was 
 answering. I could have acted as prompter to 
 them both. When the half-hour was over, I held 
 counsel with myself whether I should grant them 
 a few moments longer. / I was at present their fate 
 and as such I smilingly showered my favours upon 
 them. 
 
 " * Let them drain their cup of bliss to the last 
 drop ! ' said I, and resolved to take a walk through 
 the garden yet. But curiosity overpowered me so 
 that I turned back half-way. 
 
 " Softly I crept up to the door, but hardly did 
 I find courage to turn the handle. The thought 
 of what I was about to see almost took my breath 
 away. 
 
I40 THE WISH, 
 
 " And what did I see now, after all ? 
 
 " There he still sat in his sofa-corner as before, 
 and had smoked his cigar down to a tiny stump ; 
 but in her embroidery there was a flower which 
 had not been there before. 
 
 " ' Why do you shrug your shoulders so con- 
 temptuousl)^ ? ' asked Martha, and Robert added, 
 * It seems I do not meet with her ladyship's 
 gracious approval/ 
 
 "*So,' thought I, * for all my kindness I get 
 sneers into the bargain,' and went out slamming 
 the door after me. That same night, I, foolish 
 young creature that I was, lay awake till nearly 
 morning, and pictured to myself how I, Olga 
 Bremer, would have behaved had I been in the 
 place of those two. First I was Robert, then 
 Martha ; I felt, I spoke, I acted for them, and 
 through the silence of my bedroom there 
 sounded the passionate whisperings of ardent, 
 world-despising love. 
 
 "As things were much too straightforward to 
 please me, I invented a number of additional 
 obstacles — our parents' refusal, nocturnal meetings 
 at the frontier trench, surprise by the Cossacks, 
 
THE WISH, 141 
 
 imprisonment, paternaL^j^ialedictions, flight, and 
 finally death together inTKe waves ; for only 
 hereby, so it seemed to me, could true love be 
 worthily sealed and confirmed. ~r-- --— -~ •-^~"*^ 
 
 " When I got up in the morning my head 
 whirled, and yellow and green lights danced before 
 my eyes. 
 
 " Martha clasped her hands in horror at my 
 appearance, and Robert, who was sitting again for 
 a change in a sofa-corner, and once again sending 
 forth clouds of smoke all around, remarked — 
 
 " * Have you been crying or dancing all night ? ' 
 
 " * Dancing,' I replied, * on the Brocken, with 
 other witches.' 
 
 " ' One positively cannot get a sensible word 
 out of the girl,' he said, shaking his head. 
 
 "* As you cry into the wood,' replied I. 
 
 " * Oh ! I am as still as a mouse already,' he 
 remarked, laughing, * else I shall get such a dish 
 of aspersion to begin the day with, as I have never 
 swallowed in all my life.' 
 
 " Martha looked at me reproachfully, and I ran 
 out into the park where it was darkest and hid my 
 burning face in the cool mass of leaves. 
 
142 THE WISH. 
 
 " I was near crying. 
 
 "* So Jthjs„i3.iny..^fe^ I moaned, *to be mis- 
 understood by the whole world, to stand there 
 alone and despised though my heart is full of 
 passionate love, to wither unheeded in some 
 corner, while every other being finds its companion 
 and stills its longings in an ardent embrace.' 
 
 " Yes, I had so vividly pictured to myself 
 Martha's love that I had finally come to think 
 myself the heroine of it. 
 
 *' Thus, of course, disenchantment could not fail 
 to come. 
 
 " And if only the two had made some further 
 efTort to keep pace with the flights of my imagina- 
 tion ! But the longer Robert remained in our 
 house, the more I watched Martha's intercourse 
 with him, the more did I become convinced that 
 all interest was unnecessarily wasted upon them. 
 
 " She — the type of a timid, insipid, housewife, 
 sj^tj-ect to any fata lity ofevery-d^ life. "^ 
 
 " He — a clumsy, dull, work-a-day fellow, in- 
 capable of any degree of emotion. 
 
 "In this strain I philosophised as long as the 
 bitter feeling that I was unnoticed and superfluous 
 
THE WISH, 143 
 
 wholly filled my soul. Then there came an event 
 which not only disposed me to be more lenient, 
 but also gave a new direction to my ideas about 
 this stranger cousin. 
 
 " It was on the fourth day of his visit when he 
 unexpectedly stepped up to me and said : 
 
 " * Little one, I have a request to make to you. 
 Will you come out for a ride with me ? * 
 
 " * What an honour,' replied I. 
 
 " * No, you must not begin again like that,* said 
 ^he, laughing, though annoyed. *We will try for 
 once to be good comrades just for half an hour. 
 Agreed ? * 
 
 " His cordiality pleased me. I gave him my 
 hand upon it. 
 
 " As we rode out of the courtyard gate Martha 
 stood at the kitchen window and waved to us with 
 her white apron. 
 
 "*See here, Martha,* I thought in my mind, 
 * this is how I would ride out into the wide world 
 with him if I were his paramour.' 
 
 " For my ideas as to what a ' paramour ' is 
 
144 THE WISH. 
 
 were as yet very vague, and I did not hesitate to \ 
 
 ascribe this dignity to Martha. 1 
 
 "*He rides well/ I went on thinking; * my \ 
 
 i 
 
 prince could not do better.' j 
 
 " And then I caught myself throwing myself back j 
 
 proudly and joyously in my saddle, swayed by an ] 
 
 undefined sense of well-being that made all my i 
 
 nerves tingle. i 
 
 " He said nothing, only now and again turned 1 
 
 towards me and nodded at me smilingly, as if he 
 
 thought well to secure our compact anew every | 
 
 five minutes. It was needless trouble, for nothing \ 
 
 was further from my thoughts than to break it. j 
 
 " When we had ridden for half an hour at a sharp \ 
 
 trot he pulled up his chestnut and said : 
 
 "* Well, little one?' , ^ 
 
 " * \^hat is your pleasure, big one ? ' Uji/J^^ Hj^ 
 
 "*Shall we turn back?' ^ ^ 
 
 " * Oh, no.' 1 
 
 " I was absolutely not willed to give up so ; 
 
 quickly what filled me with such intense satis- ^ 
 
 faction. j 
 
 "*WelI, then, to the Illowo woods,' said he, j 
 
 i 
 
 pointing to the bluish wall which bordered the j 
 
 distant horizon. 1 
 
THE WISH, 145 
 
 " I nodded and gave my horse the whip, so that it 
 reared up high and plunged along in wild bounds. 
 
 " * Very creditable for a young lady of fifteen/ I 
 heard his voice behind me. 
 
 " * Sixteen, if you please ! ' cried I, half turning 
 round towards him. * By the bye, if you again 
 reproach me with my youth, there's an end to our 
 good fellowship.' 
 
 " * Heaven forbid ! * he laughed, and then we rode 
 on in silence. 
 
 "The wood of lUowo is intersected by a small 
 rivulet, whose steep banks are so close together 
 that the alder branches from either side intertwine 
 and form a high-vaulted, green dome over the 
 surface of the water, terminating at each bend in 
 a dense wall of foliage, behind which it builds 
 itself up anew. Down there, close to the water's 
 edge, I had known, since my childhood, many a 
 secluded nook, where I had often sat for hours, 
 reading or dreaming to myself, while my horse 
 peacefully grazed up in the wood. 
 
 "As we now rode slowly along between the 
 trees, a desire seized me to show him one of 
 my sanctuaries. 
 
146 THE WISH. 
 
 " * I want to dismount,' I called out to him ; 
 ' help me out of my saddle.* 
 
 " He jumped off his horse and did as I had bid. 
 
 " * What do you intend to do ? ' he then asked. 
 
 " * You will see shortly/ said I. * First of all, let 
 the horses go.' 
 
 " * I should think so, indeed,' he laughed. * You 
 seem to be one of those who catch their hares by 
 putting salt on their tails.* 
 
 "And he set about tying the bridles to a tree. 
 
 " * Let loose,' I commanded ; and as he did not 
 obey, I gave the horses a lash of the whip, so that 
 before he thought of catching hold of the reins 
 tighter, they were already galloping about at 
 liberty in the wood. 
 
 " * What now } ' said he, and put his hands in his 
 pockets. * Do you think they will let themselves 
 be caught ? ' 
 
 " * Not by you ! ' laughed I, for I was sure of my 
 favourites. 
 
 "And when at a low whistle from my lips they 
 both came racing along from the distance and 
 snuffled about affectionately at my neck with 
 their nostrils, my heart swelled with pride that 
 
THE WISH. 147 
 
 there were creatures on earth, though only dumb 
 animals, who bowed to my might and jwere sub- 
 ject to me through love ; and triumphantly I 
 looKdTJp at him as if now he must know me as I 
 really was, and what I required of the world. 
 
 " But I could see that even now I had not 
 impressed him. * Well done, little one ! ' he 
 said, nothing more, patted me on the shoulder 
 in fatherly meaner, and then threw himself down 
 carelessly upon the grass. The sun's rays, which 
 broke through the foliage, glittered in his beard. 
 l£ke_a_hero in repose he appeared to me, like 
 those described in northern saga. -JL^^^,>fi^NX^ ' 
 *^1But just as I was about to grow absorbed iti 
 my romancing, he began to yawn most fearfully, so 
 that I was very quickly and rudely transferred to 
 prose. 
 
 " ' But we are not going to stay here. Sir Cousin.' 
 
 " * Don't be foolish, little one,' said he, closing his 
 eyes ; * do like me, let us sleep.' 
 
 " Then a frolicsome mood possessed me, and I 
 stepped up to him and shook him soundly by 
 the collar. 
 
 " He snatched at my dress, but I evaded him, so 
 
148 THE WISH, 
 
 that he jumped to his feet and attempted to lay hold 
 of me. Then I walked quietly to meet him and 
 said, * That's right, now come along.' And then 
 I led him right through a dense thicket of thorns, 
 down the steep slope, at the foot of which the deep 
 water lay like a dark mirror. Down there broad- 
 leaved convolvuli and creepers had formed a 
 natural bower above a projecting block of stone, 
 in which even at high noon one could sit almost 
 in the dark. 
 
 " Thither I led him. 
 
 " ' Upon my word, it is delightful here, little one,' 
 he said, and comfortably stretched himself upon 
 the stone, so that his feet hung down to the water. 
 ' Come, sit down at my side ; . . . there is room 
 for us both.' 
 
 " I did as he wished, but seated myself so that I 
 could look down upon him. 
 
 " He pretended to be sleeping, and now and 
 again blinked up at me through half-closed lids. 
 
 " Then the thought suddenly came to me, * Now, 
 if you were Martha, what should you do ? ' and I 
 was so startled by it that my blood gushed up 
 hotly into my face. 
 
 V-^^OAyi^ 
 
THE WISH, 149 
 
 " * Are you easily frightened, little one ? ' he 
 asked. 
 
 " I shook my head. 
 
 *' * Then come here 1 ' 
 
 " * I am here at your side.* 
 
 " * Place yourself in front of me.' 
 
 " I did so. My feet almost touched the flat edge 
 of the stone. 
 
 " Suddenly he raised himself, clasped me as 
 quick as lightning about the waist, and at the same 
 moment I felt myself suspended in mid-air above 
 the water. I looked at him and laughed. 
 
 " * Let me tell you/ said he, * that it is not by 
 any means a laughing matter. If I let you 
 drop ' 
 
 " * I shall be drowned — so let me drop.' 
 
 " * No, first you must make a confession to me.' 
 
 " * What confession ? ' 
 
 " * Why you^do,^QL.likg moL.^ • 
 
 " I drewa deep breath. At the same time I felt 
 that the soles of my feet were already being wetted 
 by the surface of the water. He must not let me 
 sink any lower. A delicious feeling of po^erless- 
 ness came over me. 
 
ISO THE WISH, 
 
 " * I do like you/ I said. j 
 
 " * Then why do you give me such disagreeable I 
 
 answers ? I 
 
 " ■ Because I am a disagreeable creature.' \ 
 
 " ' That is certainly plausible/ laughed he, and \ 
 
 with rapid swing lifted me up like a feather so that j 
 
 I came to stand once more upon the stone. 
 
 * There, now sit down, we will talk sensibly.' Then \ 
 
 he took my hand and continued : * See, I am a ] 
 
 simple fellow, have worked hard and given little 1 
 
 thought to sharpening my wit. You with your \ 
 
 quick little brain always kill me at the very first \ 
 
 thrust, so that I have grown positively afraid of \ 
 
 talking to you. I know you mean no harm, for it \ 
 
 is not in our blood to be ill-natured ; but all the 
 
 same, it is not the proper thing. I am nearly \ 
 
 twelve years older than you, and you almost a child j 
 
 yet. Am I right ? ' \ 
 
 " * You are right/ said I, dejectedly, wondering ' 
 
 privately where my defiance had departed to. ^ \ 
 
 " ' Then why did you do it ? ' .txm^i 
 
 '* * Because I wanted to gain your approval/ said ^ 
 
 I, and drew a deep breath. 
 
 " He looked into my eyes amazed. 
 
 </i 
 
THE WISH. 151 
 
 " * Because I wanted to show you that I was not 
 a silly thing, that my head was in its right place, 
 
 that I / I stopped short and grew ashamed of 
 
 myself. 
 
 " He chewed his beard and looked meditatively 
 before him. 
 
 " * Indeed, now,' he said, * I was in a fair way to 
 get quite a wrong idea of your character. What a 
 good thing that I followed Martha's advice ! ' 
 
 "* Martha's?' I exclaimed. *What did she 
 advise you ? ' 
 
 "*Take her aside alone some time,' she said, 
 *and have it out with her. Whomever she does 
 not love she hates, and it would pain me if she did . 
 not grow to love you.' J {/^ y\Aj ^ AA'^*^^ 
 
 "*Did she say thatTVasked I, and tears came 
 into my eyes. * Oh, yoffgood sister, you noble soul ! * 
 
 " * Yes, she said that and much more besides, in 
 order to explain and vindicate your disposition. 
 And as I love Martha ' 
 
 " ' Do you ? ' I interrupted him, eager to learn 
 more. 
 
 " * Yes, very dearly,' he replied reflectively, and 
 looked down into the water beneath him. 
 
152 THE WISH. 
 
 " My heart beat so violently that I could hardly 
 
 draw my breath. So he, he took me into his con- 
 
 Vfidence, he made a confederate of me. I could 
 
 ^ hay« embraced him there and then, so grateful did 
 
 I feel towards him. 
 
 " * And does she know it .^ ' I inquired. 
 
 " * I daresay she knows it,' he remarked ; * a 
 thing of that sort cannot be concealed ' 
 
 " What — then — you have not — told her t * I 
 stammered. 
 
 " He shook his head sadly. 
 
 " I was awakened from all my illusions. So the 
 arbours of our garden had never afforded shelter to 
 two lovers, the moon as it shone through the 
 branches had never been the witness of clandestine 
 kisses ? And all my romancing had proved itself 
 nothing but idle imagination ? But in the midst of 
 my disillusion a deepcompassion seized me for 
 this giant, crouching beside me as helpless as a 
 child. Surely, I vowed to myself, he shall not in 
 vain have put his trust in me ! 
 
 " * Why did you remain silent ? ' I inquired 
 further. 
 
 " He looked somewhat suspiciously at my im- 
 
THE WISH, 153 
 
 mature youth, and then began, heaving a deep 
 breath : — 
 
 "*You see, at that time I was a silly young 
 fellow, and could not pluck up courage to speak ; 
 in the years of one's youth one is already so 
 supremely happy if one can only now and again 
 secure a secret pressure of the hand, that one 
 thinks marriage can have no further bliss to offer. 
 
 But ^you really cannot understand all these 
 
 things/ 
 
 *'*Who knows?* replied I, in my innocence; * I 
 have read a great deal on the subject already/ 
 
 ** * The short and the long of it is/ he continued, 
 *that I was then nearly as foolish as you are at 
 present. And now, you see, if I speak to her now, 
 every word binds me with iron fetters to all eternity.' 
 
 "* And don't you wish to bind yourself?' I asked 
 in astonishment 
 
 " * I may not,' he cried ; ' I dare not, for I do not 
 know if I can make her happy.' 
 
 " * Well, of course, if you do not know that,' said 
 I, drawing up my lips contemptuously, and in my 
 heart I inferred further: *Then he c?innot love her 
 
154 THE WISH. 
 
 " But he started up with sparkling eyes : * Under- 
 stand me aright, little one/ he cried ; * if it only 
 depended on me, I would ask nothing better all my 
 life, than to carry her in my arms, lest her foot 
 might dash against a stone. But — oh, this misery 
 — this misery ! ' And he tore his hair, so that I 
 grew quite frightened of him. Never should I 
 have thought it possible for this quiet, reflective 
 man to behave so passionately. 77 - 
 
 " * Confide in me, Robert,' said I, placing my 
 hand on his shoulder ; * I am only a foolish girl, 
 but it will unburden your heart' 
 
 " ' I cannot,' he groaned, ' I cannot ! ' 
 
 "* Why not.?' 
 
 " ' Because it would be humiliating — for you too. 
 Only this much I will tell you : Martha is a 
 delicate, tender, sensitive creature ; she would 
 never be able to hold her own against the flood of 
 cares and misfortune which must pour down upon 
 her there. She would be broken like a weak blade 
 of corn at the first onset of the storm. And what 
 good would it be, if a few years after our wedding 
 I had to carry her to her grave 1 ' 
 
 " A cold shudder runs through me, when I think 
 
THE WISH. " 155 
 
 how that word of presage came to be so terribly- 
 realised ; but at that moment there was nothing to 
 warn me. I only felt the ardent desire to give as 
 romantic a turn as possible to this, to my mind, 
 much too prosaic love affair. Unfortunately there 
 was not much to be done at present. So at least I 
 assumed a knowing air, and sought in my memory 
 for some of the phrases with which worthy sibyls 
 and father confessors are wont to feed the soul of 
 unhappy lovers. 
 
 "And he, this big^child, drank in the foolish 
 words of comfort like one dying of thirst. 
 
 " ' But wiir she have patience ? ' he asked, and 
 showed signs of becoming disheartened again. 
 
 " ' She will ! Depend upon it,' I cried, eagerly ; 
 * as she has waited so long, she will wait for another 
 year or two. You will see how gladly she will 
 submit' 
 
 " * And what if even later nothing should come of 
 it?' he objected, * if I should have disappointed 
 her hopes, have played the fool with her heart ? 
 No, I will not speak ; they may drag my tongue 
 out of my mouth, but I will not speak ! ' 
 
 " ' If you did not intend to speak, why then did 
 
156 THE WISH. 
 
 you come?' asked I. Heaven knows how this 
 two-edged idea got into my foolish young girl's 
 head. I felt darkly that I was committing a 
 cruelty when I put it into words, but now it was 
 too late. I saw how his face grew pale, I felt how 
 his breath swelled up hot and heavy and poured 
 itself forth upon me in a sigh. 
 
 " * I am an honest man, Olga,' he muttered 
 between his teeth ; * you must not torture me. 
 But as you have asked, you shall have an answer. 
 I came because I could bear life without her no 
 longer, because by a sight of her I wanted to 
 gather up strength and comfort for sad days to 
 come, and because — because in my heart of hearts 
 I still cherished the faint hope that things might 
 be different here, that it might be possible for her 
 to come with me.' 
 
 " * And is it not possible ? ' 
 
 " * No ! Do not ask why ; let it suffice you that 
 I say no.' 
 
 " Then suddenly he bent down towards me, took 
 hold of both my hands, and said, from the very 
 depths of his soul : * See, Olga, more has come of 
 our good fellowship than we both could suspect an 
 
THE WISH. 157 
 
 hour ago. Will you now stand by me faithfully, 
 
 and help me as much as lies in your power ? ' ^ 
 
 " * I will/ said I, and felt very solemn the while. , ] 
 
 " * I know you are no longer a child,' he went on ; . \ 
 
 *you are a sensible and brave girl and do not Qhs^^^^ \ 
 swerve from anything you undertake. Will you /y4/)J/i 
 kee^-W€tteh-over her, so that she does not lose ^ ^ 
 
 heart, even if I now go away again in silence. • ^^^-^^hrC^i 
 Will you?' "" ^^^^ W]^A/X! 
 
 " * I will ! ' I repeated. 4aA/> * OuB^ ff I • 
 
 "* And will you sometimes write to me, to tell cijl^ | 
 me how she is ? Whether she is well, and of good 
 courage ? Will you ? ' 
 
 " ' I will ! ' I said, for the third time. 
 
 " * Then come, give me a kiss, and let us be good 
 friends, now and always/ And he kissed me on 
 my mouth. ... 
 
 " Five minutes later we were on our horses and 
 riding hurriedly towards the home farm ; for it 
 already was beginning to grow dark. 
 
 "'You stayed away a long time,' said Martha, 
 
 who was standing in her white apron on the 
 
 verandah, and smiled at us from afar. When I 
 
 saw her, I felt as if I could never find enough 
 II 
 
158 THE WISH. 
 
 tenderness to pour out upon my sister. I hastened 
 towards her and kissed her passionately, but at 
 the same moment I regretted it, for it appeared 
 to me as if I were thereby wiping his kiss from 
 my lips. 
 
 " Embarrassed, I desisted, and slunk away. At 
 supper I constantly hung upon his eyes, for I 
 thought he must make known our secret under- 
 standing by some sign. But he did not think of 
 any such thing. Only when we shook hands after 
 the meal he pressed mine in quite a peculiar way, 
 as he had never done before. I was as pleased 
 as if I had received some valuable present. 
 
 " On that evening I could hardly await the time 
 when I might go to bed and put out the light ; 
 then I was often wont to stare for an hour at 
 a time into the darkness, dreaming to myself. 
 It was in my power to keep awake as long as I 
 wished, and to go to sleep as soon as I thought it 
 time. I had only to bury my head in the pillows 
 and I was off. To-day I stretched myself in my 
 bed with a sense of well-being such as I had 
 never before in my life experienced. I felt as if 
 every wish of my life had been fulfilled. My 
 
 f4AA h/-'-; 'f^PPk%;. 
 
THE WISH, 159 
 
 cheeks burnt, and on my lips there still distinctly 
 remained the slight tingling sensation of that 
 kiss — the first kiss with which a man,— papa of 
 course did not count — had kissed me. 
 
 "And if, strictly speaking, it had been meant 
 for some one else, what did that matter to me ? I 
 was still so young I could not yet lay claim to 
 anything of the kind for my own self 
 
 " Thereupon I once more fell into my favourite 
 reverie as to what I should do if I were in 
 Martha's place. Thus I had no need to destroy 
 the fancies which to-day had been proved only 
 idle chimera, but could go on spinning them out 
 to my heart's content, and I did spin them out, 
 waking and sleeping, till early morning. 
 
 " Two days later he drove off. A few hours 
 before he took his leave, he had a long con- 
 ference with Martha in the garden. \Vithout^ny 
 feeling of jealousy I saw them disappear together, 
 , and it afforded me unspeakable pleasure to keep 
 watch at the gate so that no one should surprise 
 them. 
 
 " When they appeared again they were both 
 silent, and looked sad and serious. 
 
i6o THE WISH. 
 
 "No, he had not declared himself; that I saw 
 at the first glance, but he had spoken of the 
 future, and probably interspersed many a little 
 word of modest hope. 
 
 " Before he stepped into the carriage, it so 
 happened that he was for a few moments alone 
 with me. Then he took my hand and whispered : 
 
 " * You will not betray one single word, will you ? 
 I can depend upon it ? ' 
 
 " I nodded eagerly. 
 
 " * And you will write to me soon ? * 
 
 " ' Certainly.' 
 
 " * Where shall I send the answer? * 
 
 " I started. I had not in the remotest degree 
 thought of that. But as the moment pressed, I 
 mentioned at haphazard the name of an old 
 inspector who had always been specially attached 
 to me. 
 
 " Time passed. One day followed another in 
 the old way, and yet now how differently, how 
 peculiarly the world had shaped itself for me. 
 
 " I no longer had any need to study love from 
 
THE WISH, i6i 
 
 books, and search for it afar off ; it had stepped 
 bodily into my existence, its sweet mysteries 
 played around me, and I-rr-oh, joy !---I was join- 
 ing in the game. I was entangled head over ears 
 in the intrigue that was to lay the basis of my 
 sister's happiness. 
 
 " It was like a miracle to see how after each of 
 Robert's visits she revived and gained fresh strength 
 and colour and health. Like an invigorating bath 
 those few days of their intercourse had acted upon 
 her, and more even than they, probably, that 
 miraculous fountain of hope from which she had 
 drunk a long and furtive draught. 
 
 "Certainly the sunny cheerfulness of other days 
 did not return to her again, that seemed irretriev- 
 ably lost in those seven years of weary waiting ; 
 no song, no laughter ever issued from her lips, but 
 over her features there lay spread a soft warm glow, 
 as if a light from within her soul irradiated them. 
 Nor did she any longer drag herself about the house 
 with lagging, weary steps, and whoever approached 
 her was sure of a friendly smile. 
 
 " And as her happiness must needs find vent in 
 love, she also attached herself more closely to me, 
 
i62 THE WISH. 
 
 and tried to gain an insight into my hidden and 
 lonely thoughts. I loved her the more dearly for 
 it» I all the more often invoked God's blessing upon 
 her, but I did not give her my confidence. 
 
 " Before she, of her own accord, opened out her 
 whole heart to me, I could not and would not 
 confess how far I had already gazed into its depths. 
 
 " Sometimes I caught myself looking across at 
 her with a motherly feeling — if I may call it so — 
 for since I carried on an active correspondence 
 with Robert, I imagined that it was I who held 
 her happiness in my hands. 
 
 " My vanity made of me a good genius, clad in 
 white raiment, whose hand bore a palm-branch, 
 and whose smile dispensed blessings. And mean- 
 while I counted the days till a letter from Robert 
 came, and ran about with glowing cheeks when at 
 length I carried it near my heart. 
 
 " These letters hr d become such a necessity to 
 me that I could hardy imagine how I should ever 
 be able to exist without them. Under pretext of 
 telling him all about Martha, I most cunningly 
 understood how to prattle away the cares that 
 filled his heart — childishly and foolishly (as men 
 
THE WISH. 163 
 
 like to hear it from us, so that they may feel them- 
 selves our superiors), and again at other times 
 seriously and knowingly beyond my years — ^just as 
 I felt in the mood. He willingly submitted to my 
 chatter in all its different keys, as one submits to 
 the piping of a singing-bird, and more I did not | 
 ask. FoLiwas already so grateful that he allowed 
 me — a silly young girl who had still to leave the 
 room when grown-up people had serious questions 
 to discuss — to participate in his great, grave love. 
 All my dignity and self-consciousness were based 
 upon this role of guardian. And thus I grew up 
 with and by this love, of which never a crumb 
 might fall for me beneath the table. 
 
 ** When the following autumn approached, I 
 noticed that Martha manifested a peculiar rest- 
 lessness. She ran about her room with excited 
 steps, remained for half the nights at the open 
 window, gesticulated and spoke loudly when she 
 thought herself alone, and was violently startled 
 whenever she found herself caught in the act. 
 
 " I faithfully informed Robert of what I saw, 
 
i64 THE WISH. 
 
 and added the question whether he had perhaps 
 held out any hope of his coming at this particular 
 time; for Martha's whole condition seemed to 
 me to be produced through painfully overwrought 
 expectation. 
 
 " I had every reason to be satisfied with the 
 shrewdness of my seventeeen years, for my 
 observations proved correct. 
 
 " Deeply contrite, he wrote to me that he had 
 indeed at parting expressed a hope of being able to 
 return with a cheerful face in the following autumn, 
 but that he had deceived himself, that he was more 
 encumbered by cares and debts than ever before, 
 that he was working like a common labourer, and 
 did not see a ray of hope anywhere. 
 
 " * Then at least release her from the torture of 
 waiting,' I wrote back to him, * and cautiously 
 inform our parents how you are placed.' 
 
 " He did so ; two days later already, papa, in a 
 bad humour, brought the letter along, which I — on 
 account of my childish want of judgment — was not 
 allowed to read. 
 
 " On Martha it operated in a way which terrified 
 and deeply moved me. The excitement of the 
 
THE WISH, i6s 
 
 last weeks there and then disappeared. In its 
 place there showed itself again that despairing list- 
 lessness which once before, in the days preceding 
 Robert's coming, had worn her to a shadow ; once 
 more she fell away ; once more deep blue rings 
 appeared round her eyes ; once more an odour of 
 valerian proceeded from her mouth while she often 
 writhed in pain. Added to this was the constant 
 desire to weep, which at the smallest provocation, 
 found vent in a torrent of tears. 
 
 " This time papa did not send for a doctor. He 
 could make the diagnosis himself. Even mama 
 suffered with the poor girl, as far as her phlegmatic 
 nature permitted, and it did not permit her to stir 
 from her chimney-corner to tender help to her 
 sickening daughter. As for me, I now for the first 
 time found an opportunity of proving to my family 
 that I was no longer a child, and that even in 
 serious matters, my will claimed consideration. I 
 took the burden of housekeeping upon my shoul- 
 ders, and though they all smiled and remonstrated, 
 and though Martha declared time after time that 
 she would never suffer me, the younger one, to 
 usurp her place, I had still in a fortnight, so far 
 
i66 THE WISH, 
 
 gained my point that the entire household danced 
 to my pipe. 
 
 "That was the only time when Martha and I 
 ever came to hard words ; but gradually she neces- 
 sarily perceived that what I did was only done for 
 her sake, and finally she was the first to feel grateful 
 to me. In several other things too, she learnt to 
 submit to me ; but she sought to deceive herself as 
 to my influence by remarking that one must give 
 way to children. 
 
 " Through my intercourse with Robert, I now 
 learnt for the first that one may tell lies for love's 
 sake. I concealed from him the sad effects of his 
 letter, yes, I even unblushingly wrote to him that 
 everything was as well as could be. I acted thus, 
 because I reflected that the truth would plunge him 
 into a thousand new cares and anxieties, which 
 must absolutely crush him, as he was powerless to 
 help. But it was very hard for rne to keep up my 
 light chatty tone, and often some joke seemed to 
 freeze in my pen. 
 
 " And things grew more and more troubled. 
 Papa was despondent because failure of crops had 
 destroyed his best prospects, mama grumbled 
 
THE WISH, 167 
 
 because no one came to amuse her, and Martha 
 faded away more and more. 
 
 " Christmas drew near — such a gloomy one as 
 our llappy home had never before witnessed. 
 
 *' Round the burning Christmas tree which I had 
 this time trimmed and Hghted in Martha's stead, 
 we stood and did not know what to say to each 
 other for very heaviness of heart. And because no 
 one else did so, I had to assume a forced smile and 
 attempt to scare the wrinkles from their brows. 
 But I got very little response indeed, and finally 
 we shook hands and said * good-night,' so that 
 each might retire to his room, for we felt that 
 anyhow we could not get on together. 
 
 "When I came to Martha, who sat silently in a 
 corner, gazing vacantly at the dying candles, a 
 painful feeling darted through my breast, as if I 
 were committing some wrong towards her, which I 
 ought to redress. But I did not know what this 
 wrong could be. 
 
 " She kissed me on my forehead and said : * May 
 
 God ever let you keep your brave heart, my child ; 
 
 I thank you for every joke to which you forced 
 
 ^yourself to-day.' I, however, knew not what to 
 
i68 THE WISH. 
 
 reply, for JJaat-eoTrsctoxisness of guilt, which_Lc-Quld 
 not grasp, was gnawing at my soul When I was 
 alone in my room, I thought to myself, * There, 
 now you will celebrate Christmas/ I took Robert's 
 letters out of the drawer where I kept them care- 
 fully hidden, and determined to read at them far 
 into the night. 
 
 " The storm rattled my shutters, snow-flakes 
 drifted with a soft rustle against the window-panes, 
 and above, there peacefully gleamed the green- 
 shaded hanging lamp. 
 
 "Then, as I comfortably spread out the little 
 heap of letters in front of me, I heard next door, in 
 Martha's room, a dull thud and thereupon an indis- 
 tinct noise that sounded to me like praying and 
 sobbing. 
 ' " * That is how she celebrates Christmas,' I said, 
 / involuntarily folding my hands, and again I felt 
 that pang at my heart, as if I were acting._d£ceit- 
 fully and heartlessly towards my sister. 
 
 " And I brooded over it again till it became clear 
 to me that the letters were to blame. 
 L " * Do I not write and keep silence all for her 
 ' good?' I asked myself; but my conscience would 
 
THE WISH, 169 
 
 not be bribed ; it answered : * No.' Like flames of 
 fire my blood shot up into my face, for I recognised 
 with what pleasure my own heart hung upon those 
 letters. * What would she not give for one of these 
 papers ? ' I went on thinking, * She who perhaps no 
 longer believes in his love, who is wrestling with the 
 fear that he only did not come because he meant to 
 tear asunder the ties that bind him to her heart.' 
 * And you hear her sobbing ? ' the voice within me 
 continued, *you leave her in her anguish, and 
 meanwhile comfort yourself with the knowledge 
 that you share a secret with him, with him who 
 belongs to her alone ? ' -<^ ,4,/v^^JIf 
 
 " I clasped my hands before my face ; shame so 
 powerfully possessed me, that I was afraid of the 
 light which shone down upon me. 
 
 " * Give her the letters ! ' the voice cried suddenly, 
 and cried so loudly and distinctly that I thought 
 the storm must have shouted the words in my ears. 
 
 " Then I fought a hard battle ; but each time 
 my good intention wavered, hard pressed by the 
 fear of breaking my word to him, and by the wish 
 to remain still longer in secret correspondence with 
 him, her sobbing and praying reached me more 
 
I70 THE WISH, 
 
 distinctly and confused my senses so, that I felt 
 like fleeing to the ends of the earth in order to hear 
 no more. 
 
 "And at length I had made up my mind. I 
 carefully packed the letters together in a neat little 
 heap, tied them round with a silk ribbon, and set 
 about carrying them across to her. 
 
 " * That shall be your Christmas present,' said I, 
 for I remembered that this year I had not been 
 able to embroider or crochet anything for her, as 
 had usually been the custom between us. And as 
 he who gives likes to clothe his doings in theatrical 
 garb in order to hide his overflowing heart, I 
 determined first to act a little comedy with 
 her. 
 
 " I crept, half-dressed as I was, down into the 
 sitting-room, where our presents were spread under 
 the Christmas tree, groped in the dark for her 
 plate, gathered up what lay beside it, and on the 
 top of all placed the little packet of letters. Thus 
 laden, I came to her door and knocked. 
 
 " I heard a sound like some one dragging him- 
 self up from the floor, and after a long while — 
 she was probably drying her eyes first— her voice 
 
THE WISH. 171 
 
 was heard at the door, asking who was there and 
 what was wanted of her. 
 
 " * It is I, Martha/ I said, * I come to bring you — 
 your plate — you left it downstairs.' 
 
 " * Take it with you into your room, I will fetch 
 it to-morrow,' she replied, trying hard to suppress 
 the sobs in her voice. 
 
 " * But something else has been added ' said I, 
 and my words too were almost choked with tears. 
 
 " * Then %\w^ it me to-morrow/ she replied, ' I 
 am already undressed.' 
 
 " * But it is from me,' said I. 
 
 " And because, despite her misery, m the kind- 
 ness of her heart she did not want to hurt my 
 feelings, she opened the door. I rushed up to her 
 and wept upon her neck, while I kept tight hold of 
 the plate with my left hand. 
 
 " * Whatever is the matter with you, child ? ' she 
 asked, and patted me. * A little while ago you 
 seemed the only cheerful one, and now ' 
 
 " I pulled myself together, led her under the 
 light, and pointed to the plate. At the first glance 
 she recognised the handwriting, grew as white as a 
 sheet, and stared at me like one possessed, out of 
 eyes that were red with weeping. 
 
172 THE WISH, 
 
 " * Take them, take them ! ' said I. 
 
 " She stretched out her hand, but it shrank back 
 as at the touch of red-hot iron. 
 
 " * See, Martha ! * said I, with the desire to revenge 
 myself for her silence, and at the same time to brag 
 a little, * you had no confidence in me ; you con- 
 sidered me too childish, but I saw through every- 
 thing, and while you were fretting, I was up and 
 doing.* Still she continued to stare at me, without 
 power of comprehension. *You imagine that he 
 no longer cares about you,* I went on, * while all 
 the time I have had to ^\\iq him regular account 
 of your doings and of the state of your health. 
 Every week * 
 
 " She staggered back, seized her head with both 
 her hands, and then suddenly a shudder seemed to 
 pass through her frame. She stepped close up to 
 me, grasped my two hands, and with a peculiarly 
 hoarse voice she said, * Look me in the face, Olga ! 
 \A/] 3ich of you two wrote the first letter ? ' I I 
 
 " * I,' said I, astonished, for I did not yet know 
 what she was driving at. 
 
 " * And. you — you betrayed to him the state of 
 my feelings — you — offered me, Olga ? ' 
 
THE WISH. 173 
 
 " * What puts such an idea into your head ? ' said 
 I. * He himself confessed everything to me when 
 he was here. Oh, he knew me better than you/ I 
 added, for I could not let this small trump slip by. 
 * He was not ashamed to confide in me.' 
 
 " * Thank God ! ' she murmured with a deep sigh, 
 and folded her hands. 
 
 " ' But now come, Martha,' said I, leading her 
 to the table, * now we will celebrate Christmas.' 
 
 " And then we read the letters together, one after 
 the other, and from one and all his heart, faithful 
 and true as gold, shone forth through the simple, 
 awkward words, and spread a warm glow, so that 
 our heavily oppressed souls grew lighter and more 
 cheerful, that we laughed and cried with cheek 
 pressed to cheek, and almost squeezed our hands 
 off in the mutual attempt to make each other feel 
 the pressure which his warm red fist was wont to 
 give. 
 
 " And then suddenly — it was at one place where 
 he specially impressed upon me to be sure and 
 take great care of her and watch over her and 
 protect her for his sake — her happiness over- 
 whelmed her, and — I blush to write it down — 
 
174 THE WISH, 
 
 she fell on her knees before me and pressed her 
 lips to my hand. 
 
 " But, though I was much startkd, I no longer 
 
 felt anything of that pricking and gnawing which 
 
 a little while before, under the Christmas tree, had 
 
 so sorely beset my bosom. I knew that my guilt 
 
 was blotted out, and with a free light heart I 
 
 vowed to myself now indeed to watch like a 
 
 guardian angel over mj^isjber, who was so much 
 
 more feeble and in want of direction than I, the 
 
 foolish and immature .child. And she felt this 
 
 herself, for unresistingly she, who had hitherto 
 
 treated me as a child, submitted to my guidance. 
 
 J/ " At last I had attained the desire of my heart. 
 
 / h\ had a human being whom I could pet and spoil 
 
 / as much as I pleased ; and, now that every barrier 
 
 i between us had fallen, I lavished upon my sister 
 
 / all the tenderness which had for so long been 
 
 '/ stored up unused within me. 
 
 ' " Father and mother were not a little surprised 
 
 ■J at the newly-awakened cordiality of our relations 
 
 to each other, that just latterly had left much to 
 
 be desired, and Martha herself could hardly grow 
 
 accustomed to the change. She contemplated me 
 
THE WISH. I7S 
 
 every day in new astonishment, and often said^ 
 * How could I suspect that there was so much love 
 within you ? ' 
 
 " If she could only have known what a sacrifice 
 it cost me to divulge my secret, she would have put 
 a still higher value upon my love. 
 
 " Yes, I had rightly guessed how it would be : 
 from the moment when Martha had held the letters 
 in her hand, the happiness of my secret understand- 
 ing with Robert was at an end for me. Like a 
 stranger he now appeared to me, and when I sat 
 down to write to him I felt like a mere machine 
 that has to copy other people's thoughts. Often 
 I even passed on a letter unread to Martha as soon 
 as I received it from the inspector's hands. Some- 
 times it worried me that I had abused his confidence 
 to such an extent, for he suspected nothing of her 
 knowledge ; but when I looked at her, saw her 
 newly-awakening smile and the quiet, dreamy 
 happiness that shone forth from her eyes, I con- 
 soled my conscience with the thought that I could 
 not possibly have committed any wrong. So far I 
 had only become his betrayer; soon I was to betray 
 Martha too. 
 
176 THE WISH, 
 
 "Winter and spring passed by swiftly, and the 
 time came for storing the sheaves in the barns. 
 
 " As soon as the harvest was over he intended to 
 come; but before then, he wrote, there was many a 
 hardship to be surmounted. 
 
 " One day papa appeared in the kitchen, where 
 we were, with an apparently indifferent air, snuffled 
 about for a while among the pots and pans, and 
 meanwhile kept on slashing at the long leggings of 
 his water-boots with his riding-whip. 
 
 "*Why you have become a Paul Pry to-day, 
 papa ? ' said I. 
 
 " He gave a short laugh and remarked, * Yes, I 
 have become a Paul Pry/ And when he had for 
 some time longer been running backwards and 
 forwards without speaking, he suddenly stopped 
 in front of Martha and said — 
 
 "*If you should just have time, my child, you 
 might come into the room for a moment. Mama 
 and I have something to say to you.' 
 
 "*Ah, I see,' said I, * that is the reason for this 
 long preliminary. May I come too ? ' 
 
THE WISH, 177 
 
 " * No/ he replied. ' You remain in the 
 kitchen.' 
 
 " Martha gave me a long look, took off her apron, 
 and went with him to the sitting-room. 
 
 " For a while all remained quiet in there. Round 
 about me the steam was hissing, the pots were 
 broiling, and one of the maids was making a great 
 clatter cleaning knives ; but all this noise was sud- 
 denly penetrated by a short, piercing cry which 
 could only proceed from Martha's lips. 
 
 " Trembling I listened, and at the same moment 
 papa came rushing into the kitchen, calling for 
 * Water ! ' I hurried past him, and found my sister 
 lying fainting on the ground with her head in 
 mama's lap. 
 
 "*What have you been doing to Martha?' I 
 cried, throwing myself on my knees beside her. 
 
 "No one answered me. Mama, as helpless as 
 a child, was wringing her hands, and papa was 
 chewing his moustache, to suppress his tears, as it 
 seemed. Then, as I bent down over the poor 
 creature, I saw a blue-speckled sheet of paper 
 lying beside her on the floor, which I immediately, 
 and unobserved by any one, appropriated. 
 
178 THE WISH, 
 
 "Thereupon I quickly did what was most pres- 
 sing : I recalled my sister to consciousness, and led 
 her, while she gazed about with vacant eyes, up to 
 her room. 
 
 "There I laid her upon her bed. She stared up 
 at the ceiling, and from time to time wanted to 
 drink. Her spirit did not yet seem to have 
 awakened again at all. 
 
 " I meanwhile secretly drew the letter from my 
 pocket, and read what I here record verbally ; for 
 I have carefully preserved this monument of 
 motherly and sisterly affection : — 
 
 " * My beloved B150THER ! Dearest Sister- 
 IN-Law ! — A circumstance of a very painful nature 
 compels me to write to you to-day. You are, I 
 am sure, fully convinced how much I love you, and 
 how much my heart longs to be in the closest 
 possible relation to you and your children. All 
 through my life I have only shown you kindness 
 and affection, and received the same from you. 
 Relying on this affection I to-day address a re- 
 quest to you, which is prompted by the anxiety of 
 a mother's heart. To-day my son Robert came to 
 
THE WISH. 179 
 
 us and declared that he intended asking you for 
 your daughter Martha's hand ; begging us at the 
 same time to give our consent, with which, as a 
 good son and also as a prudent man he cannot 
 dispense, as unfortunately he still depends, to a 
 great extent, on our assistance. 
 
 " * If I might have followed the bent of my heart, 
 I would have fallen upon his neck with tears of 
 joy ; but, unhappily, 1 had to keep a clear head 
 for my son and my husband — who are both 
 children — and was forced to tell him that on no 
 account could anything come of this. 
 
 " ' My dear brother, I do not wish to reproach 
 you in any way for not having been able to keep 
 your affairs straight in the course of years — far be 
 it from me to mix myself up in matters that do 
 not concern me ; but as these matters now stand, 
 your estate is encumbered with debts, and, with 
 the exception of — as I would fain believe — an 
 ample * trousseau,' your daughters would not have 
 a farthing of dowry to expect. On the other hand, 
 my son Robert's estate is also heavily embarrassed 
 through the payments which he had to make to us 
 and his sisters and brothers — as well as by the 
 
i8o THE WISH, 
 
 xM 
 
 mortgages which we still hold upon it, and by the 
 interests of which we and my other children have 
 to live — so that marriage with a poor girl would 
 simply mean ruin to him. 
 
 " * I do not take into account that your daughter 
 Martha must — according to your letters — be a 
 weakly and delicate creature, and therefore appears 
 to me utterly unfit to take cheerfully upon herself 
 the cares of this large household and to render 
 my son Robert happy ; the idea that she would 
 come into his house with empty hands is in itself 
 decisive for me, and suffices to convince me that 
 she herself must become unhappy and make him 
 so. 
 
 " ' If your daughter Martha truly loves my son 
 Robert, it will not prove hard for her to renounce 
 all thoughts of a marriage with him in the interests 
 of his welfare, provided, of course, he should still 
 have the courage to propose to her in spite of his 
 parents' opposition — although I do not expect such 
 filial disobedience from him, and absolutely cannot 
 imagine such a thing. I am convinced, my dear 
 relations, that your brotherly and sisterly affection 
 will prompt you to join with me in refusing your 
 
THE WISH, i8i 
 
 consent, now and for ever, to such a pernicious and 
 
 unnatural union, 
 
 " * Yours, with sincere love, 
 
 "* Johanna Hellinger. 
 
 "*P.S. — How have your crops turned out? 
 
 Winter rye with us is good, but the potatoes show 
 
 much disease.' 
 
 ***** 
 
 " Rage at this mean and hypocritical piece of 
 WTiting so possessed me, that loudly laughing, I 
 crumpled the sheet of paper beneath my feet. 
 
 " My laughter probably hurt Martha, for it was 
 her moaning which at length brought me back to 
 my senses. There she lay now, helplessly smitten 
 down, as if shattered by the b low which ^ould 
 have steeled her strength for enhanced resistance. 
 And as I gazed down upon her, tortured by the 
 consciousness of being condemned to look on idly, 
 there once again broke forth from my soul that 
 sigh of former times : * Oh^^^that^youwere — she ! ' 
 But what new meaning it concealed ! What then 
 had been folly and childishness, had now developed 
 into seriousness of purpose, readj^ self-sacrifice, and 
 consciousness of strength. 
 
 [^ 
 
1 82 THE WISH. 
 
 " I determined to act as long as ever there was 
 time yet. First of all, I would go to my parents, 
 tell them what I had done, and that for a long time 
 already I had been initiated into everything — and 
 finally demand of them to assign to me at length 
 that position in the family council which, in spite 
 of my youth, was due to me. 
 
 " But I rejected this idea again. As soon as I 
 participated in the deliberations of my family, it 
 became my duty not to act contrary to whatever 
 they thought good, and only if I apparently took 
 no heed of anything, could I be working for the 
 salvation of my poor sister according to my own 
 plans and my own judgment. 
 
 " I very soon saw how matters lay. Each one 
 had read in the letter what most appealed to his 
 nature. 
 
 " Papa, quite possessed by a poor man's pride, 
 would, after this, have thought it a disgrace to let 
 his child enter a family where she would be looked 
 at disparagingly. Mama, for her part, had been 
 touched by the interspersed professions of affection, 
 and thought that her sister-in-law's confidence 
 ought not to be abused. 
 
THE WISH, 183 
 
 " And my sister ? 
 
 "That same night, as I kept watch at her bed- 
 side, I felt her place her hot hand upon mine and 
 draw me gently towards her with her feeble arm. 
 
 " * I have something to say to you, Olga,' she 
 whispered, still looking up at the ceiling with her 
 sad eyes. 
 
 "*Had we not better leave it till to-morrow?* 
 I suggested. 
 
 " * No,' she said, * else meanwhile that will happen 
 which must not happen. Henceforth all is over 
 between him and me.' 
 
 " * You little know him,' said I. 
 
 " * But I know myself,* said she. * I break it off.' 
 
 " ' Martha ! ' I cried, horrified. 
 
 " * I know very well,' she said, * that I shall die of 
 it, but what does that matter ? I am of very little 
 account. It is better so, than that I should make 
 him unhappy.' 
 
 " * You are talking in a fever, Martha,' I cried, 
 * for I do not think you silly enough to let yourself 
 be baited by the trash of that old hag.' 
 
 " * I feel only too well that she speaks the truth,' 
 said she. A cold shudder passed through me when 
 
1 84 THE WISH. 
 
 I heard her pronounce these despairing and hope- 
 less words as calmly and composedly as if they 
 were a formula of the multiplication table. * Do 
 not gainsay me/ she continued; ^not only since 
 to-day do I know this — I have always felt some- 
 thing of the kind, and ought by rights not to have 
 been startled to-day; but it certainly does upset 
 one, when one so unexpectedly sees in writing 
 before one's eyes the death sentence which hitherto 
 one has scarcely dared to suggest to one's own 
 conscience.' 
 
 " As eloquently as I possibly could, I remon- 
 strated with her. I consigned our aunt to the 
 blackest depths of hell, and proved to a nicety that 
 she (Martha) alone was born to become the good 
 angel in Robert's house. But it was no good, her 
 faith in herself would not be revived ; the blow had 
 fallen upon her too heavily. And finally she ex- 
 pected it of me to write no further letter to him, 
 and to break off our intercourse once and for all. 
 I was alarmed to the depths of my soul, no less 
 for my own than for her sake. I refused, too, with 
 all the energy of which I was capable ; but she 
 persisted in her determination, and as she even 
 
THE WISH, 1 8s 
 
 threatened to betray our correspondence to our 
 parents, I was at length forced to comply, whether 
 I would or no. 
 
 ***** 
 
 "Troubled days were in store. Martha slunk 
 about the house like a ghost. Papa rode like wild 
 through the woods, stayed away at meal-times, and 
 had not a good word for any of us. Mama, our 
 good, fat mama, sat knitting in her corner, and 
 from time to time wiped the tears out of her eyes, 
 while she looked round anxiously, lest any one 
 should notice it. Yes, it was a sad time ! 
 
 " Two urgent letters from Robert had arrived. 
 He wrote that he was in great trouble, and I was 
 to send him tidings forthwith. I told Martha 
 nothing of them, but I kept my promise. 
 
 "A week had passed by, when I noticed that our 
 parents were discussing what answer they would 
 send to aunt. In order to exclude any suspicion 
 of sneaking into a marriage, papa had the intention 
 of binding himself by a final promise, and mama 
 said * yes,' as she said yes to everything that did 
 not concern jellies and sweets. 
 
 "The same day Martha declared that she felt 
 
i86 THE WISH. 
 
 unfit to leave her bed — that she had no pain, but 
 that her limbs would not carry her. 
 
 " Thus I saw misfortune gathering more and 
 more darkly. I dared not hesitate any longer. 
 
 ** * Come ! Redeem your promise before it is too 
 late.* These words I wrote to him. And to be 
 quite sure, I myself ran down into the town, and 
 handed the letter to the postillion who was just 
 preparing to start for Prussia. 
 
 "At the moment when the envelope left my 
 hands, I felt a pang at my heart as if I had thereby 
 surrendered by soul to strange powers. 
 
 " Three times I was on the point of returning to 
 ask my letter back, but when I did so in good 
 earnest the postillion was already far away. 
 
 " When I climbed up the slope leading to the 
 manor house I hid myself in the bushes and wept 
 bitterly. 
 
 " From that hour an agitation possessed me, such 
 as I had never before in my life experienced. I 
 felt as if fever were burning in my limbs — at nights 
 I ran about my room restlessly, all day long I was 
 on the look-out, and every approaching carriage 
 drove all the blood to my heart. 
 
THE WISH, 187 
 
 *' I gave wrong answers to every question, and 
 the very maids in the kitchen began to shake their 
 heads doubtfully. A bride who is expecting her 
 bridegroom could not behave more crazily. 
 
 " This state of things lasted for four days, and it 
 was lucky for me that each member of the family 
 was so engrossed with himself, else suspicion and 
 cross-examination could not have been spared me. 
 
 " This time I did not receive him. When I 
 recognised his figure in the strange, four-horse 
 carriage which, all besplashed with mud, tore 
 through the courtyard gate, I ran up to the attic 
 and hid in the most remote corner. 
 
 "My face was aglow, my limbs trembled, and 
 before my eyes fiery-red mists were dancing, i 
 
 "Downstairs I heard doors banging, heard 
 hurried steps lumber up and down the stairs, heard 
 the servants* voices calling my name — I did not 
 stir. 
 
 "And when all had become quiet, I stole 
 cautiously down the back staircase, out into the 
 park, in the wildest wilderness of which I crouched 
 down. A peculiar feeling of bitterness and shame 
 agitated me. I felt as if I must take to flight, 
 
THE WISH. 
 
 only never again to have to face that pair of eyes 
 for whose coming I yet had so longingly waited. 
 And then I pictured to myself what, during these 
 moments, was most probably taking place in the 
 house. Papa was sure to have been somewhat 
 helpless at sight of him, for he certainly still felt 
 the effects of that wicked letter ; he was sure also 
 to have resisted a little when he heard him utter 
 his proposal ; but then Martha had appeared — how 
 quickly she has found her strength again, poor 
 ailing creature, who but a few moments ago lay 
 tired to death on the sofa, how quickly she will 
 have forgotten everything that the years have 
 brought of sorrow and sadness — and now they will 
 lie in each other's embrace and not remember me. 
 
 " And then suddenly a dark feeling of defiance 
 awoke within me. ^ Why do you hide away ? * 
 cried a voice. * Have you not done your duty ? 
 Is not all this your work 1 * 
 
 " With a sudden jerk I raised myself up, 
 smoothed back my tumbled hair from my fore- 
 head, and with firm tread and set lips I walked 
 towards the house. No sound of rejoicing greeted 
 my ears. All was quiet — quiet as the grave. In 
 
THE WISH, 189 
 
 the Hining-room I found mama alone. She had 
 
 folded her hands and was heaving deep sighs, \ 
 
 while great tears rolled down as far as her white 
 
 double chin. \ 
 
 " * That is the result of her emotion/ thous^ht I 
 to myself^ and sat down facing her. | 
 
 "* Wherever have you been hiding, Olga?' she \ 
 
 said, this time drying her eyes quite leisurely. \ 
 
 * You must have a few young fowls killed for ^ 
 
 supper, and set the good Moselle in a cold place. \ 
 
 Cousin Robert has come.' ; 
 
 " * Ah, indeed,' said I, very calmly, * where may • 
 
 he be ? ' 
 
 " * He is speaking to papa in his study.' 
 
 " * And where is Martha ? ' I asked, smiling. 
 
 " She gave me a disapproving look for my pre- 
 cociousness, and then said, * She is in there, too.' 
 
 " ' Then I suppose I can go at once and offer my 
 congratulations; I remarked. C^rO/^i^ ^.U^^ 
 
 " * Saucy girl,' said she. '' \ 
 
 " But before I could carry out my purpose the ; 
 
 door of the adjoining room opened and in walked 
 slowly, as slowly as if he came from a sepulchre, 
 ^qbert-Ti^Cousin Robert, with ashy pale face and 
 
I90 THE WISH, 
 
 great drops of perspiration on his brow. I felt 
 how, at sight of him, all my blood, too, left my 
 face. A presentiment of evil awoke within 
 me. 
 
 " * Where is Martha ? ' I cried, hastening towards 
 him. 
 
 " * I do not know.' He spoke as if every word 
 choked him. He did not even shake hands. 
 
 " And then papa came too, after him. 
 
 "Mama had got up and all three stood there 
 and silently shook hands like at a funeral. 
 
 " * Where is Martha ? ' I cried once more. 
 
 " * Go and look after her,' said papa, * she will 
 want you.' 
 
 " I rushed out, up the stairs to her room. It was 
 locked. 
 
 " * Martha, open the door ! It is I.' 
 
 " Nothing stirred. 
 
 " I begged, I implored, I promised to make 
 everything right again. I lavished endearing 
 epithets upon her — that, too, was in vain. Nothing 
 was audible except from time to time a deep 
 breath which sounded like a gasp from a half- 
 throttled throat 
 
THE WISH. 191 
 
 " Then rage seized me, that I should be eveiy- 
 whe re repulsed. 
 
 " * I suppose I am just good enough to prepare 
 the mourning repast/ I said, laughing out loud, ran 
 to the maids and had six young chickens killed — 
 and even stood by calmly while the poor little 
 creatures' blood squirted out of their necks. q^^ 
 
 " One of them, a young cockerel, quite desper- 
 ately beat its wings and crowed for very terror oi\ 
 death, while it thrust its spurs at the maid's fingers, 
 
 H 
 
 "'Even a poor, weak animal like this resists ^''Hr^ y | 
 
 when one tries to kill it,' I thought to myself, * but 
 my lady sister humbly kisses the hand that wields 
 the knife against her.' ^fX 
 
 " The death of these innocent beings might 
 almost be called gay in comparison with the meal 
 for which they served. No condemned criminal's 
 last meal could pass more dismally. Every five 
 minutes some one suddenly began to talk, and 
 then talked as if paid for it. The others nodded 
 knowingly, but I could very well see : whoever 
 heard did not know what he heard, whoever talked 
 id not know what he was talking about. 
 
 " Martha had not put in an appearance. When 
 
 "< 
 
192 THE WISH. 
 
 we were about to separate, each one to go to his 
 room, Robert seized both my hands and drew me 
 into a corner. 
 
 " * My thanks to you, Olga,' he said, while his lips 
 twitched, * for having so faithfully taken my part. 
 Now we will mark a long pause at the end of our 
 letters/ 
 
 " * For heaven's sake, Robert,* I stammered, 
 * however did this come about ? * 
 
 " He shrugged his shoulders. * I suppose I kept 
 her waiting too long,* he then said ; * she has 
 grown tired of me.* 
 
 " I was about to cry out : * That is not true — that 
 is not true ! * but behind us stood my father and 
 informed him that, according to his wish, the con- 
 veyance would be ready at daybreak. 
 
 " * Then I am not to see you any more ? * I cried, 
 alarmed. 
 
 " He shook his head. * We had better bid each 
 other good-bye now,* he said, and squeezed my 
 hand. 
 
 "Within me a voice cried that he must not 
 depart thus, that I must speak to him at any price. 
 But I bravely suppressed the words that were 
 
THE WISH, 193 
 
 nearly choking me. And so we once more shook 
 hands and separated. 
 
 " I had several things to do yet in the house, and 
 while I put out some coffee and weighed out flour 
 and bacon for next morning's meal, the words were 
 constantly in my ears : * You must speak to him/ 
 
 " Then, as I went, with my candle in my hand, 
 up to my room, I made a detour past his door, for 
 I hoped I might perhaps meet him on the landing ; 
 but that was empty, and his door was closed. Only 
 the sound of his heav)'' footsteps inside the room 
 was audible throughout the house. 
 
 " In Martha's room it was as silent as death. I 
 put my ear to the keyhole ; nothing was audible. 
 She might as well have been dead or flown. 
 
 "Terror seized me. I knelt down in front of 
 the keyhole, begged and implored, and finally 
 threatened to fetch our parents if she still persisted 
 in giving no sign of life. 
 
 " Then at length she vouchsafed me an answer. 
 I heard a voice : * Spare me, child, just for to-day 
 spare me ! ' And this voice sounded so strange 
 that I hardly recognised it. 
 
 " I went on my way now, but my fear increased 
 
194 THE WISH, 
 
 lest he might set forth with anger and disappoint- 
 ment in his hearty without a v/ord of explanation, 
 without ever having suspected the greatness of 
 Martha's love. 
 
 *' A very fever burnt within my brain, and every 
 pulsation of my veins cried out to me : * You must 
 speak to him — you must speak to him ! ' 
 
 " I half undressed and threw myself on the sofa. 
 The clock struck eleven — it struck half-past eleven. 
 Still his footsteps resounded through the house. 
 But the later it was, the more did it grow impos- 
 sible for me to carry out my resolve. 
 
 ** What if a servant should spy upon me — should 
 see me stealing into our guest's room 1 My heart 
 stood still at the thought. 
 
 " The clock struck twelve. I opened the 
 window and looked out upon the world. Every- 
 thing seemed asleep, even from Robert's and 
 Martha's rooms no light shone forth. Both were 
 burying their sorrow and anguish in the lap of 
 darkness. 
 
 " With the night wind that beat against the 
 casement, the words droned in my ears : * You 
 must — you must ! ' And like a soft sweet melody 
 
THE WISH. 195 
 
 it coaxed and cajoled at intervals : 'Thus you will 
 see him again — will feel his hand in yours — will 
 hear his voice — perhaps even his laugh ; do you 
 not want to bring him happiness — the happiness 
 of his life?' 
 
 " With a sudden impulse I shut the casement, 
 wrapped myself in my dressing-gown, took my 
 slippers in my hand and stole out into the dark 
 corridor. 
 
 " Ah, how my heart beat, how my blood coursed 
 through my temples ! I staggered — I was obliged 
 to support myself by the walls. 
 
 " Now I stood outside his door. Even yet his 
 footsteps shook the boards. But the noise of 
 his heavy tread had ceased. He had evidently 
 divested himself of his boots. 
 
 " * You must not knock ! ' it struck me suddenly, 
 * that would not escape Martha.* 
 
 "My hand grasped the door-handle. I shud- 
 dered. I do not know how I opened the door. 
 I felt as if some one else had done it for 
 me. 
 
 " Before me the outline of his mighty figure . 
 
 " A low cry from his lips — a bound towards me. 
 
196 THE WISH. 
 
 Then I felt both my hands clutched — felt a hot 
 wave of breath near my forehead. 
 
 "At the first moment the mad idea may have 
 darted through his brain, that Martha had in such 
 impetuous manner bethought herself of her old 
 love — in the next he had already recognised me. 
 " * For Heaven's sake, child,' he cried, * whatever 
 has possessed you ? What brings you to me ? 
 Has no one possibly seen you, say — has no one 
 seen you ? ' 
 
 " I shook my head. He still evidently thinks 
 you very stupid, I thought to myself, and drew a 
 deep breath, for I felt the terrors of my venture 
 were disappearing from my soul. 
 
 " He set me free and hastened to make a light. 
 I groped my way to the sofa, and dropped down 
 in a corner. 
 
 "The light of the candle flared up — it dazzled 
 me. I turned towards the wall and covered my 
 face. A feeling of weakness, a longing to cling 
 to something, had come over me. I was so glad 
 to be with him, that I forgot all else. 
 
 "*01ga, my dear, good child,' he urged, 'speak 
 out, tell me Avhat you want of me ? ' 
 
THE WISH, 197 
 
 " I looked up at him. I saw his swarthy, 
 serious face, in which the day's trouble had graven 
 deep furrows, and became lost in its contempla- 
 tion. 
 
 " * What do you want } Do you bring me news 
 of Martha ? ' 
 
 " Yes, of course, Martha ! ' I pulled myself 
 together. Away with this sentimental self- 
 abandon ! In my limbs I once more felt the 
 firm strength of which I was so proud. * Listen, 
 Robert,' said I, * you will not set out at daybreak 
 already.' 
 
 « * Why should I not do so ? ' said he, setting his 
 lips. 
 
 " * Because I do not wish it ! * 
 
 " * All due respect to your wishes, my dear 
 child ! * replied he, with a bitter laugh, * but they 
 alter nothing in my resolve/ 
 
 " * So you want to lose Martha for ever? * 
 ^" Now I felt myself once more so strong and 
 joyous in my role of guardian, that I would have 
 taken up fight with the whole world to bring these 
 two together. Foolish, unsuspecting creature that 
 I was! '^ 
 \ 
 
198 THE WISH. 
 
 " * Have I not already lost her ? ' he replied, and 
 stared into vacancy. 
 
 " * What did she say to you to-day ? * 
 
 " * Why should I repeat it ? She spoke very 
 wisely and very staidly, as one can only speak if 
 one has ceased to love a person/ 
 
 " * And you really believe that ? ' I asked. 
 
 " * Must I not believe it ? And after all, what 
 does it signify ? Even if she had retained a 
 remnant of her affection for me, she did well to 
 get rid of it thoroughly on this occasion ; it is 
 better thus, for her as well as for me. I have 
 nothing to offer her ; no happiness, no joy, not 
 even some little paltry pleasure, nothing but work, 
 and trouble, and anxiety — from year's end to 
 year's end. And added to that, a mother-in-law 
 who is hostile to her, who would make her feel it 
 keenly, that she had come with empty hands/ 
 
 " I felt how my blood rushed to my face. I was 
 ashamed, but not for Martha or myself — for I was 
 of course just as poor as she ; no, for him, that 
 he should have to speak thus of his own mother. 
 
 " * And now say yourself, my girl,' he went on, 
 * is she not wiser, with such prospects before her, 
 
THE WISH, 199 
 
 to remain in the shelter of her warm nest, and 
 to send me about my business, as I could never 
 give her anything but unhappiness ? ' 
 
 " He dishevelled his hair and ran about the 
 room the while like a hunted animal. 
 
 " * Robert,' said I, * you are deceiving yourself/ 
 
 "He stopped, looked at me and laughed out 
 loud : * What is it you want of me ? Am I 
 perhaps to demand a written confirmation of her 
 refusal, before I betake myself off ? * 
 
 " * Robert,' I continued, without allowing myself 
 to be put out, * tell me candidly whether you love 
 her?' 
 
 "* Child,' he replied, 'should I be here if I did 
 not love her ? ' 
 
 " With his huge arms outspread he stood before 
 me. I felt as if I must be crushed between them 
 if they closed around me — everything danced 
 before my eyes — I squeezed myself further into 
 my corner. And then there came into my 
 thoughts what I had pictured to myself now and 
 for years before ; how I would love him if I were 
 Martha, and how I should want him to love me in 
 return. 
 
THE WISH. 
 
 " * See, Robert/ I said, * taking me altogether, I \ 
 
 am a foolish creature. But as regards love, I do ] 
 
 know about that, not only through the poets ; I ] 
 
 have felt it in myself for a long time/ | 
 
 " * Do you love some one then ? ' he asked. ^ 
 
 *' I blushed and shook my head. 
 
 " * How else can you feel it within you .^ ' he i 
 
 went on. . ' y>iA^ j 
 
 / "*It came as an inspiration from Heaven,' I 
 
 replied, lowering my gaze to the ground, *but I | 
 
 know I would not love like you two. I would not 
 
 :" be downcast, I would not steal away as you are 
 
 doing and say : " It is better so ! " I would 1 
 
 compel her with the ardour of my soul ; I would j 
 
 conquer her with the strength of my arms ; I \ 
 
 would clasp her to my breast and carry her away \ 
 
 with me, no matter whither ! Out into the night, 
 
 ) into the desert, if no sun would shine upon us, no 
 
 / house give us shelter. I would starve with her at . 
 
 1 the roadside, rather than give fair words to the \ 
 
 world — the world that sought to separate me \ 
 
 from her. Thus, Robert, I would act if I were 1 
 
 -1 
 you ; and if I were she, I would laughingly throw 
 
 myself upon your breast, and would say to you : \ 
 
THE WISH. 
 
 " Come, I will go a-begging for you if you have 
 no bread, my lap shall be your resting-place if 
 you have no bed, your wounds I will heal with 
 my tears — I will suffer a thousand deaths for your 
 sake, and thank God that it is vouchsafed to me 
 to do so." You see, Robert, that is how I imagine 
 love, and not pasted^ together out of fear of 
 mothers-in-law and unpaid interests.' 
 
 " I had talked myself into a passion. I felt 
 how my cheeks were a-glow, and then suddenly 
 shame overwhelmed me at the thought that I had 
 thus laid bare to him my innermost being. I 
 pressed my hands to my face, and struggled with 
 my tears. 
 
 " When I dared to look up again, he was stand- 
 ing before me with glistening eyes and staring at 
 me. 
 
 " * Child,' he said, * where in all the world did 
 you get that from? Why it sounded Hke the 
 Song of Songs.' 
 
 " I set my teeth and was silent. I did not 
 know myself how it had come to me. 
 
 " He then seated himself at my side and seized 
 both my hands. 
 
202 THE WISH. 
 
 " ' Olga/ he went on, ' what you just said was 
 not exactly practical, but it was beautiful and 
 true, and has stirred up the very depths of my 
 soul. It seemed to me as if I were listening to a 
 voice from some other world, and I am almost 
 ashamed of having been faint-hearted and 
 cowardly. But even if I braced myself up and 
 thought as you do : what good would it all be, 
 seeing that she no longer cares for me?* 
 
 *' ' She not care for you ? ' I cried, * she will die 
 of it, if you leave her, Robert ! ' 
 
 "*01ga!' 
 
 " I saw how a joyful doubt illumined his 
 countenance, and I felt as if a strange hand were 
 gripping at my throat ; but I would not let 
 myself be deterred from my purpose, and gather- 
 ing together all my defiance, I continued : * I 
 know, Robert, that you will despise me when you 
 have heard what I am about to tell you ; but I 
 must do it, so that you may understand that 
 you cannot depart. I have played a false game 
 towards you, Robert, I have betrayed your confi- 
 dence. ' 
 
 "And with bated breath, gasping forth the 
 
THE WISH, 203 
 
 words, I told him what I had done with his 
 letters. 
 
 " I had not nearly finished when I suddenly felt 
 myself seized in his arms and clasped to his breast. 
 
 " * Olga, and this is true ? ' he cried, quite beside 
 himself with joy, * can you swear to me that it is 
 the truth?' 
 
 "I nodded affirmatively, for the tremor that ran 
 deliciously through my veins had robbed me of 
 speech. 
 
 " ' God bless you for this, you wise, brave girl,* 
 he cried, and pressed me so firmly to his breast 
 that I could hardly draw my breath. I let my 
 head drop upon his shoulder and closed my eyes. 
 And then I started as I felt his lips upon mine. 
 It seemed to me as if a flame had touched me. 
 And again and again he kissed me, quite senseless 
 with gratitude and happiness. 
 
 " I kept thinking : * Oh, that this moment might 
 never end ! ' And tremor upon tremor shook my 
 frame ; quite limp I hung in his arms. Only once 
 the idea darted through my mind : * May you re- 
 turn his kisses ? ' But I did not dare to do so. 
 
 " How long he held me thus I do not know, I 
 
204 THE WISH. 
 
 only felt my head suddenly fall heavily against the 
 sofa-ledge. Then the pain awakened me as from 
 a deep, deep dream. 
 
 " I lay there motionless and gasped for breath. 
 He noticed it and cried in alarm, * You are grow- 
 ing quite pale, child ; have you hurt yourself?' 
 
 " I nodded, and remarked that it was nothing, 
 and would soon pass over. Ah ! I knew too well 
 that it would not pass over, that it would be graven 
 in flaming letters upon my heart and upon my senses, 
 that on many a long, cold, winter's night I should 
 I find warmth in the glow of this moment, in this 
 glow which was only the reflection of love for 
 airi^the^ 
 
 " I knew all that, and felt as if I must succumb 
 beneath the weight of this consciousness, but I 
 braced myself up, for I had sufficiently learnt to 
 keep myself under control 
 
 " * Robert,' said I, * I want to g\v^ you a piece of 
 advice, and then let me go, for I am tired ! ' 
 
 " * Speak, speak ! ' he cried, * I will blindly do 
 whatever you wish.' 
 
 " Then, as I looked at him, it made me sigh with 
 mingled pain and bliss, for the thought kept coming 
 
THE WISH. 205 
 
 to me : * He has held you in his arms.* I should 
 have liked best of all to sink back once more with 
 closed eyes into the sofa-corner, and simulate faint- 
 ing a little longer, but I pulled myself together and 
 said : * I am pretty certain that Martha will not 
 close her eyes to-night, but be on the watch to see 
 you go. She will want to look after you ; and as 
 her room lies towards the garden she will either go 
 into yours or the one adjoining. When you get 
 downstairs wait a little while, and then do as if 
 you had forgotten something, and then — and 
 
 then * I could not go on, for all too mighty 
 
 within me was the sobbing and rejoicing : * He has 
 held you in his arms.' 
 
 " I feared that I should no longer be able to 
 master my excitement — without a word of fare- 
 well I turned to take to flight precipitately. When 
 I opened the door — Martha stood before me. She 
 stood there, barefooted, half-dressed, as pale as 
 death, and trembling. She was unable to stir ; 
 her strength probably failed her. 
 
 " And at the same moment I heard behind me 
 
 a glad cry, saw him rush past me and clasp her 
 
 tottering form in his arms. 
 14 
 
2o6 THE WISH. 
 
 "* Thank God, now I have you ! * That was the 
 last I heard ; then I fled to my room as if pursued 
 by furies, locked and bolted everything, and wept, 
 wept bitterly. 
 
 " Over the days that now followed, with their 
 crushing blows of fate, with their lingering sorrow, 
 I will pass with rapid stride. In them I became 
 matured: I became a woman. 
 
 " Eight months after that night papa was carried 
 home on a waggon-rack. He had fallen from his 
 horse and sustained grave internal injuries. Three 
 days later he died. In the misery that now beset 
 the household, I was the only one who kept a clear 
 head. Martha broke down feebly, and mama — 
 oh, our poor dear mama ! She had been sitting 
 for so many years comfortably and placidly in the 
 chimney-corner, knitting stockings and chewing 
 fruit-jujubes the while, that she would not and 
 could not realise that it must be different now. 
 She spoke not a single word, she hardly shed a 
 tear, but internally the sore spread, and even had 
 the brain fever, which attacked her four weeks 
 
THE WISH, 207 
 
 later, spared her, her sorrow would still have 
 broken her heart. 
 
 ** There, now, those two lay in the churchyard, 
 and we two orphans were left helpless in our deso- 
 late home, and waited for the time when we should 
 be driven forth. I, for my part, knew which way 
 my path lay, and knew that the future would have 
 nothing to offer me but the hard bread of service ; 
 I did not despair and did not quarrel with my fate. 
 I knew that I possessed sufficient strength and 
 pride to hold my own even among strangers, but 
 it was for Martha — who now less than ever could 
 dispense with love and consolation — that I 
 trembled. 
 
 " Her marriage still lay in the far distance ; 
 Robert must not let her wait much longer or she 
 might easily waste away in her misery and one 
 morning silently die out like a little lamp in which 
 the oil is consumed. 
 
 " I was not deceived in him. To the funerals he 
 had not been able to come ; but his words of con- 
 solation had been there at all times, and had helped 
 Martha over the most trying hours. For me, too, 
 there was sometimes a crumb of comfort, and I 
 eagerly seized upon it like one starving. 
 
2o8 THE WISH. 
 
 " One day he himself arrived. * Now I have 
 come to fetch you home,' he cried out to Martha. 
 She sank upon his breast and there wept her fill. 
 The happy creature ! I meanwhile crept away into 
 the darkest arbour, and wondered whether my heart 
 would ever find a home prepared for it, where it 
 might take refuge in hours of trouble or hours of 
 happiness ! I very well felt that these were idle 
 dreams, for the only place in the world — in short, 
 a feeling of defiance awoke within me, of bitter- 
 ness so great, so galling to my whole nature, that I 
 harshly and gloomily fled my dear ones* embrace, 
 and grew cold and reserved in solitary sadness. 
 
 " I was to go with them, was to share the rem- 
 nant of happiness that still remained for them, and 
 to make a permanent home for myself at my 
 brother-in-law's hearth ; but coldly and obstinately 
 I repudiated his offer. '^""^ " ' " 
 
 " In vain both of them strove to solve the riddle 
 of my behaviour, and Martha, who fretted because 
 none of her happiness was to fall to my share, often 
 came at nights to my bedside and wept upon my 
 neck. Then I felt ashamed of my hard disposition, 
 spoke to her caressingly as to a child, and did not 
 
THE WISH, 209 
 
 allow her to leave me till a smile of hope broke 
 through her trouble. 
 
 " For a week Robert worked hard in every direc- 
 tion to dispose of our belongings and find pur- 
 chasers for them. Very little remained over for us ; 
 but then we did not require anything. 
 
 " Then, quite quietly, the wedding took place. I 
 and the old head-inspector were the witnesses, and 
 instead of a wedding breakfast we went out to the 
 churchyard and bade farewell to the newly-made 
 graves, whose yellow sand the ivy was beginning 
 to cover scantily with thin trails, 
 
 " During the last weeks I had been looking out 
 for a suitable situation. I had received several 
 offers ; I had only to choose. And when Robert, 
 with grave and solemn looks, placed himself in 
 front of me and solicitously asked, * What is to 
 become of you now, child ? ' with a calm smile I 
 disclosed to him my plans for the future, so that 
 he clapped his hands in admiration and cri ed 
 * Upon my word I envy you ; you understand how 
 to make your way.' 
 
 "And Martha too envied me, that I could see by 
 the sad looks which she fastened on me and 
 
2IO THE WISH, 
 
 Robert. She herself wished that she might once 
 more have all my unbroken, youthful strength to 
 lay it upon his altar of sacrifice. I kissed her and 
 told her to keep up her spirits, and her eyes with 
 which she looked imploringly up at Robert said : 
 * I give yon all that I am ; forgive me that it is not 
 more.' 
 
 " Next morning we set forth ; the young couple 
 to their new home — I to go among strangers. 
 
 "Of the next three years I will say nothing 
 ,t all. What I suffered during that time in the 
 Wy of mortification and humiliation is graven 
 with indelible lines upon my soul ; it has finally 
 Achieved the hardening of my disposition, and 
 made me cold and suspicious towards every living 
 human being. I have learnt to despise their 
 hatred and still more their love. I have learnt 
 to smile when anguish was tearing with iron grip 
 at my soul. I have learnt to carry my head 
 erect, when I could have hidden it in the dust 
 for very shame. 
 
 " The leaden heaviness of dreary, loveless days, 
 
THE WISH. 211 
 
 the terrible weight of darkness in sleepless nights, 
 the loathsome dissonance of lascivious flattery, the 
 endless, oppressive silence of strangers' jealousy 
 — with all these I became familiar. 
 
 " It was indeed a hard crust of bread that I ate 
 among strangers, and often enough I moistened 
 it with my tears. 
 
 "The only comfort, the only pleasure that re- 
 mained to me, were Martha's letters. She wrote 
 often, at times even daily, and generally there 
 was a postscript in Robert's scrawling, awkward 
 handwriting. Oh, how I pounced upon it ! How 
 I devoured the words ! Thus I lived through 
 their whole life with them. It was not cheerful — 
 no, indeed not ! But still it was life ! Often the 
 waves of trouble closed over them ; then both of 
 them, strong Robert and weak Martha, were 
 defenceless and helpless like two children, and I 
 had to intervene and tender advice and encourage- 
 ment 
 
 " Finally, I had become so well acquainted with 
 their household that I could have recognised the 
 voice and face of each of their servants, of every 
 one of their friends and acquaintances. 
 
212 THE WISH. 
 
 ** Aunt Hellinger I hated with my most ardent 
 hatred, the old physician I loved with my most 
 ardent love, the insipid set of Philistines who had 
 such a spiteful way of looking at everything, and 
 so exactly reckoned out on their fingers the 
 progress of decay on Robert's estate, I held in 
 iciest contempt. * Oh that I were in her place ! ' 
 I often muttered between my set teeth, when 
 Martha plaintively described the little trials of 
 their social intercourse, * how I would send them 
 about their business, these cold, haughty shop- 
 keepers ! how they should crawl in the dust before 
 me, subdued by my scorn and mockery ! ' 
 
 " But her little joys I also shared with her. I 
 saw her ordering and disposing as mistress in 
 and out of the house, saw the little band of 
 willing servants around her, and wished I could 
 have been still gentler and more helpful than 
 she — this angel in human shape. I saw her 
 seated on the sunny balcony, bending over her 
 needlework. I saw her taking her afternoon rest 
 under the great branches of the limes in the 
 garden. I saw her, as she sat waiting for his 
 appearance, dreamily gazing out upon the whirling 
 
THE WISH. 213 
 
 snow-flakes, when, outside, his deep voice re- 
 sounded across the courtyard, and inside, the 
 coffee-machine was cosily humming. 
 
 " Thus I lived their life with them, while for 
 me one lonely and joyless day joined on to the 
 next like the iron links of an endless chain. 
 
 " It was in the third year that Martha con- 
 fessed to me that Robert's ardent wish and her 
 own silent prayer was to be fulfilled — that she 
 was to become a mother. But at the same time 
 her terror grew, lest her weak, frail body should 
 not be equal to the trial which was in store for 
 her. I hoped and feared w^ith her, and perhaps 
 more than she, for loneliness and distance dis- 
 torted the visions of my imagination. Many a 
 night I woke up bathed in tears; for in my 
 dreams I had already seen her as a corpse before 
 me. A memory of my earliest girlhood returned 
 to me, when I had found her one day, rigid and 
 pale, like one dead, upon the sofa. 
 
 " This vision did not leave me. The nearer the 
 decisive term approached, the more was I con- 
 sumed with anxiety. I began to suffer bodily 
 from the misgivings of my brain, and the strangers 
 
214 THE WISH, 
 
 among whom I dwelt — I will not mention them 
 by name, for they are not worth naming in these 
 pages — grew to be mere phantoms for me. 
 
 " Martha's last letters sounded proud and full 
 of joyful hope. Her fear seemed to have dis- 
 appeared ; she already revelled in the delights of 
 approaching maternity. 
 
 " Then followed three days in which I remained 
 without news, three days of feverish anxiety, and 
 then at length came a telegram from my brother- 
 in-law — * Martha safely delivered of a boy, wants 
 you. Come quickly.' 
 
 " With the telegram in my hand, I hastened to 
 my mistress and asked for the necessary leave 
 of absence. It was refused me. I, in wildly 
 aroused fury, flung my notice to quit in her face, 
 and demanded my freedom instantly. 
 
 " They tried to find excuses, said I could not be 
 spared just then, that I must at least make up 
 my accounts, and formally hand over my manage- 
 ment ; the long and the short of it was, that by 
 means of despicable pretexts they delayed me for 
 two days, as if to make the dependant, who had 
 always behaved so proudly, feel once more to the 
 full the degradation of her humble position. 
 
THE WISH. 215 
 
 " Then came a night full of dull stupefaction in 
 the midst of the sense-confusing noise of a railway 
 carriage, a morning of shivering expectation spent 
 amidst trunks and hat-boxes in a dreary waiting- 
 room, where the smell of beer turned one faint. 
 Then a further six hours, jammed in between a 
 commercial traveller and a Polish Jew, in the 
 stuffy cushions of a postchaise, and at last — at 
 last in the red glow of the clear autumn evening, 
 the towers of the little town appeared in view, 
 near the walls of which those dearest to me — the 
 only dear ones I possessed in the world — had built 
 their nest. 
 
 "The sun was setting when I alighted from 
 the postchaise, between the wheels of which dead 
 leaves were whirling about in little circles. 
 
 "With fast beating heart I looked about me. 
 I thought I saw Robert's giant figure coming 
 towards me ; but only a few stray idlers were 
 loafing around, and gaped at my strange appari- 
 tion. I asked the conductor the way, and, relying 
 for the rest upon Martha's description, I set forth 
 alone on my search. 
 
 " In front of the low shop doors, groups were 
 
2i6 THE WISH, 
 
 
 standing gossiping, and people out for a walk 
 sauntered leisurely towards me. At my approach 
 they stopped short, staring at me like at some 
 wonderful bird ; and when I had passed, low 
 whispers and giggles sounded behind me. A 
 \ horror seized me at this miserable Philistinism. 
 
 " Not until I saw the town gate with its tower- 
 ike walls rise up before me, did my mind grow 
 easier. I knew it quite well. Martha in her letters 
 was wont to call it the 'Gate of Hell,' for through 
 it she had to pass when an invitation from her 
 I mother-in-law summoned her into the town. 
 
 "As I walked through the dark vaulting, I 
 suddenly saw on the other side of the archway, 
 framed as it were in a black frame, the ' Manor ' 
 before my eyes. 
 
 " It lay hardly a thousand paces away from me. 
 The white walls of the manor house gleamed 
 across waving bushes, flooded by the purple rays 
 of the setting sun. The zinc-covered roof glistened 
 as if a cascade of foaming water were gliding down 
 over it. From the windows flames seemed to be 
 bursting, and a storm-cloud hung like a canopy 
 of black curdling smoke over the coping. 
 
THE WISH, 217 
 
 ** I pressed my hands to my heart ; its beating 
 almost took my breath, so deeply did the sight 
 affect me. For a moment I had a feeling as if I 
 must turn back there and then, and hasten away 
 precipitately from this place, never stopping or 
 staying till the distance gave me shelter. All my 
 anxiety for Martha was swallowed up in this 
 mysterious fear, which almost strangled me. I 
 rebuked myself for being foolish and cowardly, 
 and, gathering together all my strength, I pro- 
 ceeded along the country road in which half-dried- 
 up puddles gleamed like mirrors in the cart- 
 ruts. Through the crests of the poplars above 
 me there passed a hoarse rustling, which accom- 
 panied me till I reached the courtyard gate. Just 
 as I entered it, the last sunbeam disappeared 
 behind the walls of the manor and the darkness 
 of the mighty lime trees, which spread from the 
 park across the path, so suddenly enveloped me 
 that I thought night had come on. 
 
 " To the right and left tumble-down brickwork, 
 overgrown with half- withered celandine, jutted out 
 above ragged thorn-bushes — the remains of the 
 old castle, upon the ruins of which the manor 
 
2i8 THE WISH, 
 
 house had been erected. An atmosphere of death 
 and decay seemed to h'e over it all. 
 
 " I spied fearfully across the vast courtyard, 
 which the dusk of evening was beginning to cloak 
 in blue mists. At every sound I started ; I felt 
 as if Robert's mighty voice must shout a welcome 
 to me. The courtyard was empty, the silence of 
 the vesper hour rested upon it. Only from one of 
 the stable-doors there came the peculiar hissing 
 sound which the sharpening of a scythe produces. 
 A scent of new-mown hay filled the air with its 
 peculiarly sweet, pungent aroma. 
 
 " Slowly and timidly, like an intruder, I crept 
 along the garden railings towards the manor house, 
 that seemed to look down upon me grimly and 
 forbiddingly, with its granite pillars and its weather- 
 beaten turrets and gables. Here and there the 
 stucco had crumbled away, and the blackish bricks 
 of the wall appeared beneath it. It looked as if 
 time, like a long illness, had covered this venerable 
 body with scars. The front door stood ajar. A 
 large dark hall opened before me, from which a 
 peculiar odour of fresh chalk and damp fungi 
 streamed towards me — through small coloured 
 
THE WISH, 219 
 
 glass windows, placed like glowing nests close 
 under the ceiling and all covered with cobwebs, 
 a dim twilight penetrated this space, hardly suf- 
 ficient to bring into light the immense cupboards 
 ranged along the walls. A brighter gleam fell 
 upon a broad flight of stairs worn hollow, the steps 
 of which rested upon stone pilasters. High vaulted 
 oaken doors led to the inner apartments, but I did 
 not venture to approach one of them. They 
 seemed to me like prison gates. I was still 
 standing there, timidly trying to find my way, 
 when the front door was torn open and through 
 the wide aperture two great yellow-spotted hounds 
 rushed upon me. 
 
 " I uttered a cry. The monsters jumped up at 
 me, snuffed at my clothes, and then raced back to 
 the door, barking and yellmg, 
 
 " * Who is there ? ' cried a voice, whose deep- 
 sounding modulations I had so often fancied I 
 heard in waking and dreaming. The aperture 
 was darkened. There he stood. 
 
 " Red mists seemed to roll before my eyes. I 
 felt as if my feet were rooted to the ground. 
 Breathing heavily, I leant against the stair columa 
 
THE WISH, 
 
 " * Who the deuce is there ? ' he cried once more, 
 while he vainly tried to pierce the darkness with 
 his eyes. 
 
 " I gathered up all my defiance. Calmly and 
 proudly, as I had bid him farewell years before, 
 would I meet him again to-day. What need for 
 him to know how much I had suffered since then ! 
 
 " * Olga — really — Olga — is it you ? ' The sup- 
 pressed delight that penetrated through his words 
 gave me a warm thrill of pleasure. I felt for a 
 moment as if I must throw myself upon his breast 
 and weep out my heart there, but I kept my 
 composure. 
 
 "*Were you not expecting me?* I asked, me- 
 chanically stretching out my hand to him. 
 
 " Oh, yes — of course — we have been expecting 
 you every hour for the last two days — that is, we 
 began to think " 
 
 " He had clasped my hand in both his, and was 
 trying to look into my face. A peculiar mixture 
 of cordiality and awkwardness lay in his manner. 
 It seemed as if he were vainly trying to discover 
 traces of his former good friend in me. 
 
 " * How is Martha ? ' I asked. 
 
THE WISH. 
 
 "* You will see for yourself/ he replied. " I do 
 not understand these things. To me she appears 
 so weak and so fragile that I tell myself it will be 
 a miracle if she survives it. But the doctor says 
 she is getting on well, and I suppose he must know 
 best.'* 
 
 " ' And the child ? ' I asked further. 
 
 " A low, suppressed laugh sounded down to me 
 through the semi-obscurity. 
 
 " * The child — h'm — the child * and instead 
 
 of completing his sentence, he gave the dogs a 
 kick, which sent them tearing out of the house 
 forthwith, 
 
 " * Come,* he then said, * I will show you the 
 way.' 
 
 " We went upstairs, silently, without looking at 
 each other. 
 
 " * You have grown a stranger to him ! ' I thought 
 to myself, and terror arose within me, as if I had 
 lost some long-cherished happiness. 
 
 " ' Wait a moment,' he said, pointing to one of 
 
 the nearest doors. * I should like to say a word to 
 
 her to prepare her ; the excitement, else, might 
 
 hurt her.' 
 15 
 
222^ THE WISH, 
 
 " Next moment I stood alone in a dark, high- 
 vaulted corridor, at the further end of which the 
 rays of the departing day shone in dark glowing 
 flames, and cast a long streak of light upon the 
 shining flags of the flooring. Undefined sounds, 
 like the singing of a child's voice, floated past my 
 ears, when the draught caught in the arches. 
 
 "A low cry of joy, which penetrated to me 
 through the door, made me start up. My blood 
 welled hotly to my heart : I felt as if its rushing 
 must choke me. Then the door opened, Robert's 
 hand groped for me in the darkness. Quite dazed, 
 I allowed myself to be pulled forward, and only 
 recovered myself when I had dropped on my 
 knees at a bedside, burying my face in the 
 pillows, while a moist, hot hand lovingly stroked 
 my head. A feeling of homeliness, soft and\sooth- 
 ing, such as I had not known for years, cajoled my 
 senses. I feared to raise my eyes, for I thought it 
 must all be lost to me again if I did. 
 
 " Like a blessing from above the hand rested upon 
 my head. Supreme gratitude filled my breast. I 
 seized the hand which trembled in mine and pressed 
 my lips upon it long and passionately. 
 
THE WISIL ^223 
 
 " * What are you doing there, sister — what are 
 you doing ? ' I heard her tired, slightly veiled 
 voice. 
 
 " I raised myself up. There she lay before me, 
 pale and thin-faced, with dark hollows round her 
 eyes, in which tears were glistening. Like a flake 
 of snow she lay there, so delicate and so white ; 
 blue, swollen veins were traceable on her wan neck, 
 and on her forehead, which seemed to shine as 
 with a light from within, there stood beads of 
 perspiration. She was aged and w^orn since I had 
 last seen her, and it did not seem as if the crisis of 
 the birth alone had acted destructively upon her. 
 But her smile remained the same as of old, that 
 loving, comforting, blessing-dispensing smile, with 
 which she helped every one, even though she her- 
 self might be utterly helpless. 
 
 " * And now you will not go away again,* she 
 said, looking at me as if she could never gaze her 
 fill ; * you will stay with us — for always. Promise 
 it me — promise it me now at once ! ' 
 
 " I was silent. Happiness had come upon me, 
 burning like a fire from heaven. It tortured me, 
 it hurt me. 
 
224 THE WISH. 
 
 " * Do help me to entreat her, Robert/ she began 
 anew. 
 
 " I started. I had entirely forgotten him, and 
 now his presence acted upon me like a reproach. 
 
 " * Give me time to consider it — till to-morrow/ 
 I said, raising myself up. A dark presentiment 
 awoke within me that here would be no abiding- 
 place for me for long. Such happiness would have 
 been too great for me, unhappy being, whom fate 
 mercilessly drove among strangers. 
 
 " I saw that Martha was anxious to spare my 
 feelings. 
 
 "*Till to-morrow, then/ she said softly, and 
 squeezed my hand ; * and to-morrow you wuU have 
 found out how necessary you are to us, and that 
 we should be crazy if we let you go away again ; 
 isn't it so, Robert ? ' 
 
 " * Of course — why, of course ! * he said, and with 
 that burst into a laugh which sounded to me 
 strangely forced. He evidently did not feel com- 
 fortable in the presence of us two. And soon after 
 he took up his cap and showed signs of going off 
 quietly. 
 
 "'Won't you show her our child?' whispered 
 
THE WISH. 225 
 
 Martha, and a smile of unutterable bliss spread 
 over her wasted features. 
 
 " * Come/ he said, * it sleeps in the next room.' 
 
 " He preceded me. With difficulty he pushed 
 his huge figure through the half-open door. 
 
 "There stood the cradle, lit up by the red 
 rays of the setting sun. From among the pillows 
 there peeped a little copper-coloured head, hardly 
 larger than an apple. The wrinkled eyelids were 
 closed, and in the little mouth was stuck one of 
 the tiny fists, its fingers contracted, as if in a 
 cramp. 
 
 " My glance travelled stealthily up from the child 
 to its father. He had folded his hands. Devoutly 
 he looked down upon this little human being. 
 An uncertain smile, half-pleased, half-embarrassed, 
 played about his lips. 
 
 "Now, for the first time, I was able to con- 
 template him calmly. The purple evening rays 
 lay bright upon his face, and brought to light, 
 plainly and distinctly, the furrows and wrinkles 
 which the three last years had graven upon it. 
 Shades of gloomy care rested upon his brow, his 
 eyes had lost their lustre, and round about his 
 
226 THE WISH, 
 
 mouth a twitching seemed to speak to me of dull 
 submission and impotent defiance. 
 
 " Unutterable pity welled up within me. I felt 
 as if I must grasp his hands and say to him, 
 * Confide in me — I am strong; let me share your 
 trouble.' Then, when he raised his eyes, I was 
 terrified lest he should have noticed my glance, 
 and hastily kneeling down in front of the cradle, 
 I pressed my lips upon the little face, which 
 started as if in pain at my touch. 
 
 " When I got up I saw that he had left the room, 
 
 "Martha's eyes shone in anxious expectation when 
 she saw me. She wanted to hear her child admired. 
 
 " * Isn't it pretty ? ' she whispered, and stretched 
 out her weak arms towards me. 
 
 " And when her mother's heart was satiated 
 with pride, she bade me sit down beside her on 
 the pillows and nestled with her head up to my 
 knee, so that it almost came to lie in my lap. 
 
 " * Oh, how cool that is ! ' she murmured, closed 
 her eyes, and breathed deeply and quietly as if 
 asleep. With my handkerchief I wiped the pers- 
 piration from her forehead. 
 
 " She nodded gratefully, and said : * I am just 
 
THE WISH. 227 
 
 a little exhausted yet, and my limbs feel as if 
 they were broken ; but I hop^'to be able to get 
 up again to-morrow, and look after the household/ 
 
 " * For heaven's sake, what are you dreaming 
 of?' I cried, horrified. 
 
 " She sighed. * I must — I must. It does not 
 let me rest.' 
 
 " * What does not let you rest ? * 
 
 "She did not answer, and then suddenly she 
 began to weep bitterly. 
 
 " I calmed her, I kissed the tears from her lashes 
 and cheeks, and implored her to pour out her 
 heart to me. * Are you not happy ? Isn't he 
 good to you ? ' 
 
 " * He is as good to me as God's mercy ; but — 
 I am not happy — I am wretched, sister; so 
 wretched that I cannot describe it to you.' 
 
 " * And why, in all the world ? ' 
 
 " * I am afraid ! ' 
 
 «' Of what?' 
 
 " * That I — make him unhappy ; that I am not 
 the right one for him.' 
 
 " A sudden icy coldness ran through me. It 
 seemed to emanate from her body upon mine. 
 
228 THE WISH, 
 
 " * You see, you feel it too ! ' she whispered, 
 and looked up at me with great frightened eyes. 
 
 " * You are foolish/ I said, and forced myself to 
 laugh ; but the chillness did not leave my limbs. 
 A dark suspicion told me that perhaps she might 
 be right But now it was for me to comfort her ! 
 
 " * However could you give way to such silly 
 self-torture ? ' I cried. * Does not his behaviour at 
 all times prove to you how wrong you are ?* 
 
 " * I know, what I know,' she answered, softly ; 
 with that obstinacy of endurance which is given as 
 a weapon to the weak. * And what I am now telling 
 you, does not date from to-day — the fear is years 
 old ; I had it in my heart already before I was 
 engaged to him, and I quite well knew at that 
 time why I refused him — for very love ! ' 
 
 " * Martha, Martha ! ' I cried, reproachfully ; * it 
 seems to me that you concealed a great deal from 
 me.' 
 
 " * At that time I did tell you everything,' she 
 replied. * You only would not believe me ; you 
 wanted to make me happy by force, and later — 
 why should I say anything ? On paper everything 
 sounds so different from what one means ; you 
 
THE WISfi, 229 
 
 might even have thought you discovered a re- 
 proach against him or even^gainst yourself, and 
 naturally I could not risk such a misunderstanding 
 growing up. My misery already began on the 
 first day when we arrived here. I saw how he 
 and his mother fell out, and a voice within me 
 cried : " You are the cause of it." I saw how 
 he grew sadder and gloomier from day to day, and 
 again and again I said in my heart : " You are 
 the cause of it." At nights I lay awake at his 
 side, and tortured myself with the thought : why 
 are you so dull and so depressing, and why can 
 you do nothing but cling to him weeping, and 
 suffer doubly when you see him suffering? Why 
 have you not learnt to greet him with a song as 
 soon as he comes in, and with a laugh to kiss 
 away the wrinkles from his brow ? And more 
 than this. Why are you not proud, and strong, 
 and wise, and why can you not say to him : Take 
 refuge with me, when you are fainthearted — from 
 me you shall derive new strength, and I will take 
 care that you do not stumble. This is how you 
 would have done, sister — no — do not contradict 
 me ; often enough I have imagined how you would 
 
230 THE WISH, 
 
 have stood there with your tall figure, and would 
 have opened out your arms to him so that he 
 might seek shelter within them, like in a harbour 
 where storms do not dare to enter. . . . But look 
 at 7nel — and she cast a pitiable glance at her poor, 
 delicate frame, the haggard outlines of which 
 were traceable beneath the coverlet — * would it not 
 sound ridiculous if I were to say anything of the 
 sort ? I, who am almost submerged in his arms, 
 so small and weak am I, — I am only here to seek 
 shelter ; to give shelter is not in my power. . . . 
 Do you see ; all this I have thought out in the 
 long, dark nights, and have grown more and more 
 despondent. And in the mornings I forced myself 
 to laugh, and tried to pass for a sort of cheerful, 
 happy little bird, for this role, I thought to myself, 
 is the most suitable one for you, and is most likely 
 to please him ; but song and laughter stuck in my 
 throat, and I daresay he could see it too, for he 
 smiled pitifully to it all, so that I felt doubly 
 ashamed.' 
 
 " She stopped exhausted, and hid her face in my 
 dress, then she continued : 
 
 " * And as that would not do, I tried at least to 
 
THE WISH, 231 
 
 compensate him in other ways. You know that 
 all my life I have toiled and moiled, but never 
 have I worked so hard as in these three years. 
 And when I felt myself growing faint and my 
 knees threatened to give way under me, the 
 thought spurred me on again : "Show that at least 
 you are of some good to him ; do not ever let 
 him become conscious of how little he possesses 
 in you. . . . But of what avail is it all ! My 
 efforts are not the least good. Everything goes 
 topsy-turvy all the same, as soon as ever I turn 
 my back. I am constantly m terror lest one 
 day my management should no longer suffice 
 him." 
 
 " Thus the poor creature lamented, and I felt 
 positively frightened at so much misery. 
 
 " * Listen, I have a favour to ask of you,* she 
 begged at last, and clutched my hands ; * do try 
 and sound him as to whether he is — is satisfied 
 with me, and then come and tell me.' 
 
 "I drew her to me; I lavished loving epithets 
 upon her, and endeavoured to soothe away her 
 fear and trouble. Eagerly she drank in every one 
 of my words ; her feverishly glowing eyes hung 
 
232 THE WISH. 
 
 spellbound upon my lips, and from time to time a 
 feeble sigh escaped her. 
 
 " * Oh, if I had always had you near me ! * she 
 cried, stroking my hands. But then a fresh idea 
 seemed to make her despondent again. I urged 
 her, but she would not put it into words, until at 
 length it came out with stuttering and stammering. 
 
 " * You will do everything a thousand times 
 better than I ; you will show him what he might 
 have had, and what he has. Through you he will 
 finally realise what a miserable creature I am.' 
 
 ** I was alarmed ; then I felt plainly : my dream 
 of possessing a home was already dreamed out. 
 How could I remain in this place, when my own 
 sister was consuming herself with jealous anxiety 
 on my account ? *^^ 
 
 " She felt herself that she had pained me ; 
 stretching up her thin arms to my neck, she said : 
 *You must not misunderstand me, Olga. What 
 I feel is not jealousy; I am so little jealous, that 
 I have no more ardent wish than that you two 
 should become united after my death, and ' 
 
 "* After your death!' I cried, in horror. 'Martha, 
 you are sinning against yourself ! ' 
 
THE WISH. 233 
 
 " She smiled in mournful resignation. 
 
 " * I know that better than you/ she said. * My 
 vital strength has been broken for a long time. 
 The long waiting in those days already undid me. 
 Now, of course, I thought that with this birth all 
 would be nicely at an end, and that is why I 
 longed so for you, because I wanted first to 
 arrange everything clearly between you two. But, 
 however things may turn out, it won't be long 
 before I have to give in and die, and before then I 
 want to feel sure that I am leaving him and the 
 child in good keeping.* 
 
 " I shuddered, and then a sudden lassitude came 
 over me. I felt as if I must throw myself down at 
 the bedside and weep, and weep — weep my very 
 heart out. Then from the next room came the 
 crying of the child, which had woke up and wanted 
 its nurse. I drew a deep breath, and bethought 
 myself of the duty which was imposed upon 
 me. 
 
 " * Do you hear, Martha ? * I cried. * You are 
 ready to despair when Heaven has bestowed on 
 you the greatest blessing that a woman can know } 
 Through your child you will raise yourself up 
 
234 THE WISH, 
 
 anew ; its young life will also bring new strength 
 to yours/ 
 
 " Her eyes shone for an instant, then she sank 
 back and smilingly closed her lids. The feeling 
 of motherhood was the only one capable of wing- 
 ing her hope. 
 
 " Once more she opened her lips, and murmured 
 something. I bent down to her, and asked : * What 
 is it, sister ? ' 
 
 " ' I should like to be of some use in the^world,* 
 she said with a sigh, and with this thought she 
 fell asleep. 
 
 " It had grown pitch dark when Robert entered 
 the room. In sudden fright I started up. A 
 feeling seized me as if I must hide away, and flee 
 from him to the ends of the earth : * He must not 
 find you ; he shall not find you ! ' a voice within 
 me cried. My cheeks were flaming, and a vague 
 fear arose in me lest their tell-tale glow might 
 gleam through the darkness. 
 
 *^ He approached the bed, listened for a while to 
 Martha's quiet breathing, and then said softly : 
 * Come, Olga ! You are tired ; eat something, and 
 go to rest, too.' 
 
THE WISH. 235 
 
 " I should have liked to remonstrate, for I was 
 afraid of being alone with him ; but in order not 
 to wake my sleeping sister, I obeyed silently. 
 
 "The dining-room was a vast, whitewashed 
 apartment, packed full of old-fashioned furniture, 
 which kept guard along the walls like crouching 
 giants. Under the hanging-lamp stood a table 
 with two covers laid. 
 
 " * I let the household finish their meal first,' said 
 Robert, turning towards me, * for I did not want 
 to bother you with strange faces.' With that he 
 threw himself heavily into an arm-chair, rested his 
 chin on his hand, and stared into the salt-cellar. 
 
 " Why, you are not eating anything ! ' he said, 
 after a while. I shook my head. I could not for 
 the life of me have swallowed a morsel, though 
 hunger was gnawing at my entrails. The sight of 
 him positively paralysed me. 
 
 " Renewed silence. 
 
 " * How do you find her ? ' he asked at length. 
 
 " * I do not know,' said I, speaking by main 
 force, * whether I ought to be pleased or anxious ! ' 
 
 " * Why anxious ? ' he asked, quickly, and in his 
 eyes there gleamed an indefinite fear. 
 
236 THE WISH, 
 
 " * She tortures herself ' 
 
 " A look of rapid understanding flew across to 
 me, a look which said : * Do you also know that 
 already ? Then he raised his fist, stretched him- 
 self and sighed. His bushy hair had fallen over 
 his forehead. The bitter lines about his mouth 
 grew deeper. 
 
 "I was alarmed — alarmed at myself. Did not 
 what I had just said sound like an accusation 
 against Martha ; did it not provoke an accusation 
 against her? 
 
 "*She loves you much too much/ I replied, 
 biting my lips. I knew I should pain him, and 
 I meant to do so. 
 
 " He started and looked at me for a while in 
 open astonishment ; then he nodded several 
 times to himself and said, * You are right with 
 your reproach, she does love me much too 
 much.' 
 
 "Then I should already have liked to ask his 
 forgiveness again. Surely he did not deserve my 
 malice! His soul was pure and clear as the 
 sunlight, and it was only within me that there 
 was darkness. I felt as if I must choke with 
 
THE WISH. 237 
 
 suppressed tears. I saw that I could not contain 
 myself any longer, and rose quickly. 
 
 "* Good-night, Robert/ I said, without giving 
 him my hand ; * I am overtired — must go to bed 
 — leave me — one of the servants will show me 
 my way. Leave me — I tell you ! * 
 
 " I screamed out the last words as if in anger, 
 so that he stopped perturbed. In the cool, semi- 
 obscure corridor 1 began to feel calmer. For a 
 time I walked up and down breathing heavily, 
 then I fetched one of the maids to show me 
 the way 
 
 "* Mistress arranged everything in the room 
 herself yet, and gave orders that no one was to 
 touch it. There is a letter, too, for you, miss.' 
 
 " When I was alone, I held survey. My good, 
 
 dear sister! She had faithfully remembered my 
 
 slightest wishes, every one of my little habits 
 
 of formerly, and had thought out everything 
 
 that could make my room as cosy and homely 
 
 as possible. Nothing was wanting of the things 
 
 which I prized in those days. Over the bed 
 
 hung a red-flowered curtain exactly like the one 
 
 beneath the hangings of which I had dreamed 
 16 
 
238 THE WISH. 
 
 my first girlish dreams ; on the window-sill stood 
 geraniums and cyclamen, such as I had always 
 tended, on the walls hung the same pictures 
 upon which my glance had been wont to rest at 
 waking, on the shelves stood the same books 
 from which my soul had derived its first food of 
 love. 
 
 " * Iphigenia,' which in those bright calm days 
 had been my favourite poem, lay open on the 
 table. Ah, good heavens ! how long it already 
 was since I had read in it, for how long already 
 had I passed it by, because the calm dignity of 
 the holy priestess pained my soul. 
 
 " Between the leaves was placed the letter of 
 which the girl had told me. A gentle presenti- 
 ment, a presentiment of new, undeserved love 
 came over me as I tore open the envelope and 
 read : — 
 
 " * My Darling Sister, — When you enter this 
 room I shall not be able to bid you welcome. 
 I shall then be lying ill, and perhaps even my 
 lips will be closed for ever. You will find every- 
 thing as you used to have it at home. It has 
 
THE WISH, 239 
 
 been prepared for you a long time already — 
 everything was awaiting you. Whether sorrow or 
 joy may attend you here, lie down to rest in 
 peace and fall asleep with the consciousness 
 that you have entered your home. Try and 
 learn to love Robert as he will learn to love 
 you. Then all must turn out well yet, whether 
 God leaves me with you or takes me to Himself 
 ** ^ Your sister 
 
 " ' Martha.' 
 
 " It was nothing new that she said to me here, 
 and yet this touchingly simple proof of her love 
 took such powerful hold of me, that at the first 
 moment I only had the one feeling, that I must 
 rush to her bedside and confess to her how un- 
 worthy was the being to whom she offered the 
 shelter of her heart and home. 
 
 " For I was no longer in doubt : the ill-fated 
 passion which I believed I had uprooted from 
 my soul, had once more profusely sprung into 
 growth ; the wounds, healed up long ago, had 
 opened anew at the first sight of him ; I felt 
 as if my warm blood were gushing out from them 
 
240 THE WISH, 
 
 in streams. Hushing-up and concealment were 
 no longer possible ; the vague charm of dawning 
 impressions, the sweet abandon to the intoxication 
 of youth, were things of the past ; the bare, 
 glaring light of matured knowledge, the rigid 
 barriers of strict self-restraint had taken their 
 place. Yes, I loved him, loved him with such 
 ardour, such pain, as only a heart can love which 
 has been steeled by the glow of hatred and 
 suffering. And not since to-day, not since yester- 
 day ! I had grown up with this love, I had clung 
 to it in secret heart's desire, my whole being had 
 derived its strength from it, with it I stood and 
 fell, in it lay my life and my death. 
 
 " What did I care whether he deserved it, 
 whether he understood me ! He was not intended 
 to understand it. And not he, it was I who must 
 gain a right to this love. I knew too well at this 
 hour that I should never be able to banish it from 
 my heart. The question was to submit to it, as 
 one subnsits to eternal fate ; but it must not 
 become a sin. It should live on purely, in a pure 
 heart. 
 
 " And surely I had not been called in vain to 
 
THE WISH, 241 
 
 this house ! A mission, a great holy mission 
 awaited me. Martha should perceive forthwith 
 that a beneficent genius was watching over her 
 home. Through me she should learn actively 
 to utilise the love by which she was consumed, 
 for the good of her loved one ; through me her 
 courage should be revived and her soul receive 
 new strength. How I would support and comfort 
 her in dark despondent hours ! How I would force 
 myself to laugh when a tearful mood troubled 
 the atmosphere ! How I would banish the clouds 
 from their gloomy brows with daring jests, and 
 anxiously take care that there should always 
 remain a last little remnant of sunshine within 
 these walls! 
 
 " My life should pass away void of desire, happy 
 only in the happiness of my loved ones, discreet, 
 resigned and faithful. I need no longer seek to 
 avoid Iphigenia's image, for the holy and dignified 
 office of priestess was awaiting me also. 
 
 " With this pious thought the revolt in my soul 
 disappeared ; with it I fell asleep. 
 
 "When I awoke on the first morning, I felt 
 contented, almost happy, A holy calm had come 
 
242 THE WISH. 
 
 over me, such as I had not known since time 
 immemorial. I knew that henceforth I should 
 not have to fear even meeting him, 
 
 " Martha was still asleep. When I looked 
 through the chink of the door into her room, 
 I saw her lying with her head thrown far back 
 on the pillow, and heard her short heavy 
 breathing. 
 
 " I crept away, quite easy in my mind, to take 
 up my office as housekeeper forthwith. 
 
 " * She shall no longer work herself to death,' 
 I said to myself, and rejoiced in my heart. I 
 spent fully an hour going the round of the 
 premises, during which I formally took the 
 management into my hands. The old house- 
 keeper showed herself willing, and the servants 
 treated me with respect. I should anyhow soon 
 have enforced it for myself. 
 
 " At the breakfast-table I met Robert. A slight 
 palpitation, which overcame me on entering, ceased 
 forthwith when I bethought myself of my yester- 
 day's vow. Calmly, firmly looking into his ^y^s^ 
 I stepped up to him and gave him my hand. 
 
 " * Is Martha still asleep ? ' I asked. 
 
THE WISH. 243 
 
 ** He shook his head. * I have sent for the 
 doctor/ he said, * she has passed a bad night — 
 the excitement of seeing you again seems not to 
 have done her good/ 
 
 " I felt somewhat alarmed ; but my great resolve 
 had so filled me with peace and happiness, that I 
 would not give way to fear. 
 
 " *Will you help yourself?' I asked, *I should 
 meanwhile like to look after her.' 
 
 " When I entered her room, I found her still 
 lying in the same position in which I had left her 
 early in the morning, and as I approached the bed, 
 I saw that she was staring up at the ceiling with 
 wide-opened eyes. 
 
 " I called out her name in terror ; then a feeble 
 smile came over her face, and feebly she turned 
 towards me and looked into my eyes. 
 
 " * Are you not feeling well, Martha ? ' 
 
 " She shook her head wearily, and drew up her 
 fingers slightly. That meant to say: 'Come and 
 sit by me 1 * 
 
 " And when I had taken her head in my arm 
 a shudder suddenly ran through her whole body. 
 Her teeth chattered audibly : * Give me a warm 
 
244 • THE WISH. 
 
 cover/ she whispered, * I am shivering so.' I did 
 as she bade me, and once more sat down at her 
 side. She clutched my hands, as if to warm her- 
 self by them. 
 
 " * Have you slept well ? ' she asked, in the same 
 hoarse falsetto voice which was quite strange to 
 me in her. I nodded, and felt a hot sense of 
 shame burn within me. What was my grand 
 unselfish resolve, compared with this sort of noble 
 self-forgetfulness, which was evident in every act, 
 however great or small, and was inspired by the 
 same love for everything ? And I even prided 
 myself on my lofty sentiments, conceited egotist 
 that I was. 
 
 " * How did you like the arrangement of your 
 room } ' she asked once more, while a gleam of 
 slight playfulness broke from her mild, sad eyes. 
 
 " In lieu of answer, I imprinted a grateful, 
 humble kiss upon her lips. 
 
 " * Yes, kiss me ! Kiss me once more ! ' she 
 said. * Your mouth is so nice and hot, it warms 
 one's body and soul through.' And again she 
 shivered with cold. 
 
 " A little later Robert came in. 
 
THE WISH, ' 245 
 
 " * Get yourself ready, my child/ he said, stroking 
 Martha's cheeks, * our uncle, the doctor, is here.* 
 
 " Then he beckoned to me and I followed him 
 out of the room. By the cradle of the new-born 
 babe I found an old man, with a grey stubbly 
 beard, a red snub nose, and a pair of clever, sharp 
 eyes, with which he examined me smilingly 
 through his shining spectacles. 
 
 " * So this is she ? * he said, and gave me his 
 hand. My blood rushed to my heart ; at the first 
 glance I saw that here was some one who felt as 
 a friend towards me, in whom I might place 
 implicit confidence. 
 
 " * God grant that you have come at a good 
 moment,' he continued, ' and we shall see at once 
 if such is the case. Take me to her, Robert ; I 
 don't suppose it is so bad.' 
 
 " I was left alone with the nurse and the child, 
 which restlessly moved its little fists about. 
 
 " * To your happiness also I will earn a claim/ 
 I thought to myself, and stroked the round bare 
 little head, on which a few hardly visible silky 
 hairs trembled. Yesterday I had hardly had a 
 glance for the little being, to-day, as I gazed at 
 
246 * THE WISH. 
 
 it, my heart swelled with unutterable tenderness. 
 * Thus much purer and better have you grown 
 since yesterday/ I said to myself. 
 
 " A long time, an alarmingly long time elapsed 
 before the door of the adjoining room opened 
 again. It was the doctor who came out from it — 
 he alone. He looked stern and forbidding, and 
 his jaws were working as if he had something to 
 grind between them. 
 
 " * I have sent him away,' he said, * must speak 
 to you alone.' Then he took me by the hand 
 and led me to the dining-room, where the coffee- 
 machine was still steaming. 
 
 " * I have great respect for you, my young lady,' 
 he began, and wiped the drops of perspiration 
 from his forehead ; * according to everything I 
 have heard about you, you must be a capital 
 fellow, and capable of bearing the pain, if a cer- 
 tain cloven hoof gives you a treacherous kick.' 
 
 " * Leave the preface, if you please, doctor/ said 
 I, feeling how I grew pale. 
 
 " * Very well ! Prefaces are not to my taste 
 
 either. Your sister' and now, after all, he 
 
 hesitated. 
 
THE WISH, 24/ 
 
 " * My sister — is — in — danger — doctor 1 ' I had 
 wished to prove myself strong, but my knees 
 trembled under me. I clutched at the edge of the 
 table to keep myself from falling. 
 
 "* That's right — courage — courage!' he mut- 
 tered, laying his hand on my shoulder. * It has 
 come — this unwelcome guest — the fever ; there is 
 no getting away from it any more.' 
 
 " I bit my lips. He should not see me tremble. 
 I had often enough heard of the danger of child- 
 bed fever, even if I could not form for myself any 
 idea of its terrors. 
 
 " * Does Robert know ? ' that was the first thing 
 that entered my mind. 
 
 " He shrugged his shoulders and scratched his 
 head. * I was afraid he would lose his head — I 
 hardly told him half the truth.' 
 
 " * And what is the whole truth ? ' Standing up 
 fully erect I looked into his eyes. 
 
 " He was silent. 
 
 " ' Will she die ? ' 
 
 "When he found that from the first I was pre- 
 pared to face the worst, he gave a sigh of relief. 
 But I did not hear his reply, for after I had, 
 
248 THE WISH. 
 
 apparently calmly, uttered the gruesome words, I 
 suddenly saw once more before my eyes, with 
 terrible vividness, that vision of my girlish days, 
 when I had found Martha lying like a corpse on 
 the sofa. I felt as if the nails of a dead hand 
 were digging themselves into my breast — before 
 my eyes I saw bloody streaks — I uttered a cry — 
 then I felt as if a voice called out to me : — ' Help, 
 save, give your own life to preserve hers ! ' With 
 a sudden jerk I pulled myself together ; I had 
 once more found my strength. 
 
 " * Doctor,' I said, * if she dies, I lose the only 
 thing I possess in the world, and lose myself with 
 her. But as long as you can make use of me I 
 will never flinch. Therefore conceal nothing from 
 me. I must have certainty.' 
 
 " * Certainty, my dear child/ he replied, grasping 
 my hands, * certainty there will not be till her 
 convalescence or her last moments. Even at the 
 worst point there may always be a change for the 
 better yet, how much more then now, when the 
 illness is still in its first stage ! Of course she 
 has not much vital strength left to stake — 
 that is the saddest part of it. But perhaps we 
 
THE WISH, 249 
 
 shall succeed in mastering the evil at its 
 commencement, and then everything would be 
 won/ 
 
 " * What can I do to help ? ' I cried, and 
 stretched out my clasped hands towards him. 
 * Ask of me what you will ! Even if I could only 
 save her with my own life, I should still have 
 much to make amends for towards her/ 
 
 " He looked at me in astonishment. How 
 should he have been able to understand me ! 
 
 " And now I have come to the hardest part of 
 my task. Since a week I keep sneaking round 
 these pages, without venturing to take up my 
 pen. Horror seizes me, when I consider what is 
 awaiting me. And yet it will be salutary for me 
 once more to recall to my memory those fearful 
 three days and nights, especially now, when some- 
 thing of a softer, tenderer feeling seems to be 
 taking root in my heart. Away with it ! Away 
 with every cajoling thought which speaks to me 
 of happiness and peace. I am destined for soli- 
 tude and resignation, and if I should ever forget 
 
2 50 THE WISH, 
 
 this, the history of those three days shall once 
 
 more remind me of it 
 
 ♦ * * * * 
 
 "When I pulled my chair up to my sister's 
 bedside to take up my post as nurse, I found she 
 had dropped off to sleep. But this was not the 
 sleep which invigorates and prepares the way for 
 convalescence ; like a nightmare it seemed to lie 
 upon her and to press down her eyelids by force. 
 Her bosom rose and fell as if impelled from within 
 and repelled from without. The little waxen-pale, 
 blue-lined face lay half buried in the pillows, across 
 which her scanty fair plaits crept like small snakes. 
 I covered my face with my hands. I could not 
 bear the sight. 
 
 " The hours of the day passed by . . . She slept 
 and slept and did not think of waking up. 
 
 " From time to time I heard the servants' foot- 
 steps as they softly crept past outside — everything 
 else was quiet and lonely. Of Robert no trace. 
 
 " At mid-day I felt I must ask after him. They 
 had seen him go out in the morning into the fields, 
 with his dogs following him. So for hours he had 
 been wandering about in the rain. 
 
THE WISH. 251 
 
 " As the clock struck three he entered, streaming 
 wet, with lustreless eyes, and his damp unkempt 
 hair matted on his forehead. He must have been 
 suffering horribly. I was about to approach him, 
 to say a word of comfort to him, but I did not 
 dare to do so. The scared, gloomy look which he 
 cast towards me, said distinctly enough : * What 
 do you want of me ? Leave me alone with my 
 sorrow/ 
 
 " Clutching at one of the bed-posts he stood 
 there, and stared down upon her while he gnawed 
 his lips. Then he went out — silently, as he had 
 come. 
 
 " Again two hours passed in silence and waiting. 
 The carbolic vapours which rose from the bowl 
 before me began to make my head ache. I cooled 
 my brow at the window-panes, and unconsciously 
 watched the play of the dead leaves as they were 
 whirled up in little circles towards the window. 
 
 " It already began to grow dark, when suddenly, 
 outside in the corridor, was heard the lamenting 
 and screaming of a female voice — so loud, that 
 even the sleeper started up painfully for a moment. 
 An angry flush flew to my face. I was on the 
 
252 THE WISH. 
 
 point of hurrying out in order to turn away this 
 disturber of peace, but already at the opened door 
 I came into collision with her. 
 
 " At the first glance I recognised this red, bloated 
 face, these little malicious eyes. Who else could 
 it have been but she, the best of all aunts and 
 mothers ? 
 
 " ' At length,' a voice within me cried — * at 
 length I shall stand face to face with you ! ' 
 
 " * So you are Olga,' she cried, always in the 
 same shrill, whining tones, which seemed to yell 
 through the whole house. * How do you do, my 
 little dear ? Ah, what a misfortune ! Is it really 
 true ? I am quite beside myself ! ' 
 
 " * I beg of you, dear aunt,' said I, folding my 
 arms, *to be beside yourself somewhere else, but 
 to modify your voice in the sick room.' 
 
 "She stopped short. In all my life I shall 
 never forget the venomous look which she gave 
 me. 
 
 " But now she knew with whom she had to deal. 
 She took up the gauntlet at once too. * It is very 
 good of you, my child,' she said, and her voice 
 suddenly sounded as metallic as a war-trumpet, 
 
THE WISH. 253 
 
 * that you are so anxious about my poor, ailing 
 daughter ; but now you can go — you have become 
 superfluous ; I shall stay here myself/ 
 
 " * Wait ; you shall soon know that you have 
 found your match/ I inwardly cried ; and, draw- 
 ing myself up to my full height, I replied, with 
 my most freezing smile : * You are mistaken, dear 
 aunt ; every stranger has been strictly prohibited 
 from visiting my sister. So I must beg of you 
 to withdraw to the next room/ 
 
 " Her face grew ashy pale, her fingers twitched 
 convulsively, I think she could have strangled 
 me on the spot ; but she went, and good, lacka- 
 daisical uncle, who was always dangling three 
 paces behind her, went with her. 
 
 " In sheer triumph I laughed out loud : * What 
 should you want, you mercenary souls, in this 
 temple of pain ? Out with you ! * 
 
 "It grew night. Like a streak of fire the last 
 
 red rays of the setting sun lay over the town, the 
 
 towers of which stood out black and pointed in 
 
 the glow. For a long time I watched the fiery 
 17 
 
254 THE WISH, 
 
 clouds, till darkness had buried them also in its 
 lap. 
 
 " The clock struck nine. Then the old doctor 
 came. He sat for a long time in silence on my 
 chair, stroked my hand at parting, and said : 
 * Continue — carbolic — all night ! ' In answer to 
 my anxiously questioning look, he had nothing 
 but a doubtful shrug of the shoulders. 
 
 " From somewhere, two or three rooms away, 
 I heard Robert's voice talking at the old man. 
 This was the first sign that he too was in the 
 proximity of the sick-bed. * Why ever does he 
 stay outside?' I asked myself; * it really almost 
 seems as if admission were prohibited/ 
 
 " The clock struck ten. Silence all around. 
 The household seemed gone to rest. 
 
 "The wind rattled at the garden railings. It 
 sounded as if some late guest wished to enter. 
 Was death already creeping round the house ? 
 Was he already counting the grains of sand in 
 his hour-glass ? 
 
 " Desperate defiance seized me. Without know- 
 ing what I did, I rushed towards the door, as if to 
 throw myself in the path of the threatening demon. 
 
THE WISH. 255 
 
 " Ill-fated creature, I, that I did not suspect 
 what other demon sat lurking in front of that 
 one, on the threshold ! 
 
 "A few minutes later Robert entered. Not a 
 word, not a greeting — again only that swift, scared 
 look which once already had cut me to the quick. 
 With his heavy, swaying gait he walked up to the 
 bedside, grasped her hand — that hot, wasted hand, 
 with its bluish nails — and stared down upon it. 
 And then he sat down in the darkest corner, 
 behind the stove, and crouched there for two 
 long, long hours. 
 
 " With beating heart I waited for him to address 
 me, but he was as silent as before. 
 
 " Soon after midnight he left the room. For 
 a long time yet I heard him walking up and 
 down outside in the corridor, and, at the muffled 
 sound of his tramping footsteps, another night 
 came into my mind, when I had listened, no less 
 trembling in fear and hope, to the same sound. 
 Worlds lay between then and now, and the 
 young, foolish creature who had then hearkened 
 out into the darkness, burning with the desire to 
 help and to sacrifice herself, now appeared to me 
 
256 THE WISH. 
 
 like a strange, radiant being from some distant, 
 shining planet 
 
 " The footsteps grew less distinct. He had gone 
 back to his room. 
 
 " * Will he return again ? ' I asked myself, putting 
 my ear to the keyhole. * In any case he cannot 
 sleep.' And I started joyfully when the sound 
 once more increased. 
 
 "And then the thought came to me, *What 
 concern is it of yours whether he returns or not } 
 Are you here in this place for his sake ? Is not 
 your happiness, your life, your all, lying here 
 before you?' 
 
 " I fell down by the bedside, and, covering 
 Martha's hands with kisses, I implored her to 
 have mercy — that I wanted to speak to her — that 
 it was bursting my heart-strings — that it was stifling 
 me — that I should suffocate. 
 
 " But she did not wake. Doubled up with pain 
 she lay there, a miserable little heap of bones. On 
 her cheek-bones were little flaming spots. Her 
 breath panted. Once she moved her lips as if to 
 speak, but the words died away in a toneless 
 gurgling. 
 
THE WISH, 2S7 
 
 " What a terrible silence all around ! The clock 
 ticked, along the wall by the casement the wind 
 passed softly moaning, and from the other room 
 sounded the muffled tramp of the wanderer — all 
 else still. 
 
 "And suddenly it seemed to me as if in this 
 stillness I heard the blood in my own body seeth- 
 ing and boiling. I listened. Evidently that was 
 my blood rushing wildly through my veins. 
 
 "*Why is its flow not quiet and well-behaved,' 
 I asked myself, * in accordance with my great 
 resolve ^ Is not this sin torn out with all its 
 roots — burnt out by a thousand purifying fires? 
 Do I not stand here as the priestess, void of desire, 
 pure and blessed ? * 
 
 " And again I listened ! These are hallucina- 
 tions, I told myself, and yet I grew afraid at the 
 gushing and rushing, which seemed to increase 
 with every minute. I saw a stream which carried 
 me away in its torrents — a stream of blood ! A 
 rock with sheer points jutted out from it. Thereon 
 a word stood written with flaming letters, the word 
 * Bloodguiltiness.' 
 
 " The footsteps grew louder. I jumped up. . . . 
 
258 THE WISH, 
 
 He came, seated himself on the pillow, wiped the 
 perspiration from her forehead with the flat of 
 his hand, and passed his fingers through her 
 hair. 
 
 "Stealthily I watched him. I hardly dared to 
 breathe any more. His eyes gleamed bloodshot in 
 their sockets. His lips were pressed together in 
 bitter reproach. He sat there as if petrified with 
 unuttered pain. The desire to approach him shook 
 me like a fit of ague. But when I was on the point 
 of rising, it was as if two iron fists laid themselves 
 upon my shoulders and forced me back on to my 
 chair. 
 
 " At length I spoke his name, and was startled, 
 so strange, so weird did the sound of my own 
 voice appear to me. He turned round and stared 
 at me. 
 
 "* Robert,' I said, ^why do you not speak to me? 
 You will feel easier if you let some one else share 
 what is oppressing you.* 
 
 "Then he jumped up and grasped both my 
 hands. His touch made me feel hot and cold 
 all over. But I forced myself to keep my ground, 
 and firmly looked into his face. 
 
THE WISH, 259 
 
 " * That is the first good word that you have 
 vouchsafed me, Olga/ he said. 
 
 " ' What do you mean by that, Robert ? ' I 
 stammered. * Have I been unkind towards you ? ' 
 
 " ' Only unkind ? ' he repHed. * Like a stranger, 
 like an intruder you have treated me, and have 
 driven me from the bedside of my wife.' 
 
 " * Heaven forbid ! ' I cry, and free myself from 
 him, for I feel I am about to sink upon his breast. 
 
 " And he continues, * Olga, if ever I did you any 
 wrong — I know not what, but it must be so, else 
 your look and manner would not be so stern and 
 forbidding towards me — if I did you any wrong, 
 Olga, it was not my fault. I always meant well 
 towards you. I have — you might always have 
 been here like at home ; you need never have gone 
 among strangers ; and in the presence of that one 
 whom we both love ' 
 
 " Why must he mention her name to me } A 
 wild joy had flamed up within me ; I felt as if I 
 had wings ; then her name struck me like the cut 
 of a whip. I bit my lips till they bled. Indeed 1 
 would be calm, would act the guardian angel. 
 
 "* Robert,' said I,* you have been gravely mis- 
 
26p THE WISH. 
 
 taken about me. I never bore you any ill-will. 
 Only I have grown reserved and defiant among 
 strangers. You must have patience with me — 
 must trust me. Will you?' 
 
 " Then it broke from his eyes like sunshine. * I 
 have so much to thank you for already, Olga,' he 
 said ; * how could I do otherwise than continue to 
 trust you ? You know, since that day when we 
 rode together into the wood, do you remember?' — 
 ah, did I remember indeed! — * since that day I have 
 loved you like a sister, yes, more than all my 
 sisters. And at the same time I looked up to you 
 and revered you like my guardian spirit. That is 
 indeed what you have been to me. You will be so 
 in future, too, won't you ? ' 
 
 " I nodded silently, and pressed both my hands 
 to my bosom ; then, when he noticed it, I let them 
 drop, but I staggered back three paces ; it was a 
 miracle that I kept myself upright. 
 
 " He stepped up to me in alarm. ' I am tired,* 
 I said, and forced myself to smile. * Come, we will 
 sit down ; the night is long yet' 
 
 " So we both sat opposite each other at the foot 
 of the bed, with the narrow bedstead between us, 
 
THE WISH. 261 
 
 rested our arms on the ledge, and looked across at 
 Martha's face, which moved with cramp-like twitch- 
 ings. Her eyelids seemed closed, deep shadows 
 from her lashes fell across her cheeks ; but, on 
 bending down, one could see the whites of the 
 eyes gleaming with a faint sheen, like mother-of- 
 pearl, in their dark sockets. He observed it 
 too. 
 
 " * As if she had already died,' he murmured, and 
 buried his head in his hands. * And if she dies,' he 
 continued, * she will not die through the child, not 
 through this wretched fever ; through my fault 
 alone, Olga, she will perish ! ' 
 
 " * For God's sake, what are you saying? ' I cried, 
 stretching out my arms towards him. 
 
 " He nodded and smiled bitterly. 
 
 " * I have seen it very well, Olga, all through 
 these three years ; over and over again it is my 
 fault First, I left her longing and fearing between 
 hope and despair for seven long years, till the 
 strength was drained in this way from her body 
 and soul — heaven knows she never had much to 
 spare ; and then I dragged her with her sickly 
 body and broken spirit here into this misery, 
 
262 THE WISH, 
 
 where all were hostile to her, and those most 
 hostile who should have held her most dear. And 
 I myself ! — yes, if I myself had been brave and of 
 good cheer, if I could have guarded her that her 
 foot might not dash against any stone, if I had 
 spread sunshine across her path, then perhaps she 
 might have flourished at my side. But I was often 
 rough and surly, stormed and raged in the house 
 and the farm, never thinking how every loud word 
 made her start, so that she already grew pale if I 
 only frowned. Look at this little handful of life, 
 how it lies here ; and then look at me, the great, 
 uncouth, coarse-grained giant ! Sometimes in the 
 night when I woke, I was afraid lest I might pos- 
 sibly crush her in my arms. And, after all, I have 
 crushed her ! What I required was a wife, strong 
 and ' 
 
 " He stopped short, terrified, and cast a glance, 
 which eloquently pleaded for forgiveness, towards 
 Martha's face, but I completed his sentence for 
 myself. 
 
 " When he had left the room a wild feeling of 
 joy seized me. It rushed through my head like a 
 whirlwind ; it confused my senses ; my pride, my 
 
THE WISH, 263 
 
 defiance, my self-respect, everything seemed to be 
 swallowed up in it. 
 
 " The atmosphere of the sick room lay heavily 
 upon me, like a suffocating cloth. My brain was 
 burning with the carbolic vapours which rose up 
 from the bowl in front of me. My breath began 
 to fail me. 
 
 " I fled to the window, and pressing my forehead 
 against the sash, I drank in the cold night air 
 which found its way into the room through the 
 chinks. Morning dawned through the curtains — 
 cold -grey — enveloped in fog. . . . Faintly gleaming 
 clouds slowly heaved upwards on the horizon and 
 threw a fallow sheen over the dripping trees, which 
 seemed to have grown still more bare overnight. 
 
 " What a night ! 
 
 "And how many, worse than this one, are about 
 to follow ? What phantoms, begotten of darkness, 
 born in horror, will rise up before my fevered senses 
 as the nights come on ? 
 
 " Shivering, I crept into a corner. I was afraid 
 of myself. 
 
 " The hours of the morning passed away, and by 
 degrees I grew calmer. The memory of this night, 
 
264 THE WISH. 
 
 with its feverish turmoil and pangs of conscience, 
 waxed dim. What I had experienced and felt 
 became a dream, A leaden weariness took posses- 
 sion of me ; I closed my eyes and thought about 
 nothing. 
 
 " And then came a blissful hour. It was towards 
 ten o'clock when Martha suddenly opened her 
 faithful blue eyes and looked up at me consciously 
 and brightly. 
 
 " I felt as if God's eye had turned, full of pity 
 and forgiveness, towards me, the sinner. A pure, 
 holy joy streamed through me. I fell across my 
 sister's body, and hid my face at her neck. 
 
 "In the midst of her pain she began to smile, 
 with an effort placed her hand upon my head, and 
 murmured, with hardly audible voice, * I suppose I 
 have been giving you all a great fright ? ' 
 
 " The breath of her words enveloped me like a 
 peace-bringing chant, and for a moment I felt as if 
 the burden at my heart must give way — but I was 
 unable to weep. 
 
 " * How do you feel ? ' I asked. 
 
 " * Well, quite well ! * she replied, * only the 
 sheet weighs so heavily upon me ! ' 
 
THE WISH, 265 
 
 " It was the lightest I had been able to find. 
 I told her so ; then she sighed and said she 
 knew she was a fidget, and I was to have 
 patience with her. 
 
 " And then she lay again quite still, and con- 
 stantly looked at me as if in a dream. At 
 length she nodded several times and remarked : 
 * It is well thus — quite well ! ' 
 
 " * What is well ? " I asked. 
 
 " Then she smiled again and was silent. And 
 then the pains returned. She shook all over 
 and clenched her teeth, but she did not utter a 
 complaint. 
 
 " * Shall I call for Robert ? ' I asked, for terror 
 overwhelmed me anew. 
 
 " She nodded. * And bring the child too,' she 
 murmured. 
 
 " I did as she had bid. She had the little 
 creature laid on the bed beside her, and looked 
 down at it for a long time. She also made 
 an attempt to kiss it, but she was too weak 
 to do so. 
 
 "Even before Robert came she had relapsed 
 into her sleep. 
 
266 THE WISH. 
 
 " He gave me a reproachful look, and remarked, 
 * Why did you not send for me sooner ? ' 
 
 "'Believe me, it is better thus,' I answered, 
 Mt would have excited her too much to see 
 you.' 
 
 "*You always seem to know what is best,' 
 said he, and went out, fortunately without notic- 
 ing the glow which suffused my face at his 
 praise. 
 
 " Now she lay there again unconscious — her 
 cheeks red, and her forehead wet with perspira- 
 tion. And added to that, the gruesome play of 
 her lips ! They kept on twitching and smacking. 
 
 "Towards one o'clock the doctor came, took 
 her temperature, and certified a diminution of 
 fever. 
 
 " * That will go up and down many a time 
 yet,' he said ; nor did he enter into our joy 
 over her awakening. *Do not speak to her 
 when she regains consciousness,' he urged, *and 
 above all, do not allow her to speak herself She 
 needs every atom of her strength.' 
 
 "Before he left, he fixed his eyes on me for 
 a long time, and shook his head doubtfully. 1 
 
THE WISH. 267 
 
 felt how the consciousness of guilt drove the 
 blood to my cheeks. It was as if he could look 
 me through and through. 
 
 "... In the afternoon I had fetched myself 
 a book from my room, the first I happened to 
 lay my hands upon and tried to read in it ; but' 
 the letters danced before my eyes, and my head 
 buzzed as if it were full of bats. 
 
 " It was a long time before I could even make 
 out the title. I read * Iphigenia.' Then, seized 
 by sudden terror, I flung the boolc far away from 
 me into a corner, as if I had held a burning coal 
 in my hand. Towards evening Martha's pains 
 seemed to grow more intense. Several times 
 she cried out loud and writhed as if in a 
 cramp. 
 
 "While I was busying myself about her, during 
 an attack of this sort, the old woman suddenly 
 stood at my side. And as I looked at her with 
 her venomous glance, with her studied wringing 
 of hands, and the hypocritical droop of her mouth, 
 the thought suddenly came to me — 
 
 " * Here is one — who is waiting for Martha's 
 death — who is wishing for it' 
 
268 THE WISH, 
 
 " My eyesight seemed dimmed by a red veil, 
 I clenched my fists — I all but flung the accusation 
 in her face. And as I stood in front of her, 
 still quite petrified by the thought, she took hold 
 of my arm, and tried, without much ado, to 
 push me aside, so that she might plant herself 
 at Martha's pillow. Perhaps she hoped to in- 
 timidate me by this unceremonious proceeding. 
 
 " * Dear aunt/ said I, removing her hand from 
 my arm, * I have pointed out to you before 
 already that this is my place, and that no one 
 in the world shall dispute it with me. I urgently 
 beg of you to restrict your visit to the other 
 rooms.' 
 
 " * Indeed ? We will just wait and see, my 
 little one,' she screeched, *we will just ask the 
 master of the house, who has more to say here, 
 his good old mother, or you, vagabond Polish 
 crew 1 ' 
 
 " And still screeching, she departed. 
 
 " In a very fever of rage I paced the room. 
 Even I should not have imagined that this 
 sorrowing mother could so quickly and thoroughly 
 change back again into a fury. It only re- 
 
h ^ ^ THBW,SH. .^'^^^^ 
 
 mained for her to give expression to her inner- 
 most wishes. 
 
 " ' Oh, if it should be true/ I cried, and horror 
 possessed me. * To wish for Martha's death ! 
 Martha, do you hear, to wish for your death ! 
 Whom have you ever hurt ? In whose way 
 have you ever stood ? Who lives in the world 
 who has ever received aught but love and forgive- 
 ness from you? If it were true, if any human 
 being should really be so depraved, and still 
 wander upon earth with impunity — verily, it ^. 
 would make one despair of God and of every- ^ 
 thing good.' 
 
 " Thus I spoke and could not heap enough 
 shame and contumely upon the old woman's , 
 head. 
 
 " And then it struck me that I had been talking 
 myself into a most unworthy passion. 
 
 " But I felt easier through it, I dared to breathe 
 more freely, and when I saw poor, ill-treated 
 *Iphigenia' lying in the dust, I went and picked 
 it up. 
 
 " ' What crime have I, after all, committed ? ' 
 
 I said to myself, * that I should need to hide away 
 i8 
 
270 THE WISH, 
 
 from my ideal ? Have I done anything but bring 
 comfort to one in despair? Has a single look, 
 a single word been exchanged, which my sister 
 might not have seen and heard ? If it seethes 
 and burns in my breast, what concern is that 
 of any one, as long as I keep it carefully to 
 myself? ' 
 
 " Thus I spoke to myself, and considered 
 myself almost justified, even before my own 
 conscience. Blind creature that I was ! 
 
 "And once more the gloaming came, once 
 more the setting sun cast its red light through 
 the windows. 
 
 " Martha's face was bathed in a purple glow, 
 in her hair little lights sparkled, and the hand 
 that lay on the coverlet looked as though illumined 
 from within. 
 
 " I drew the bed-screen closer around her, 
 so that the flimmering rays should not trouble 
 her. 
 
 " Then I saw hanging on the wall a withered 
 ivy wreath, which I had not noticed before, a 
 
THE WISH, 271 
 
 wreath such as I was wont to send on special 
 occasions for our parents' graves. Perhaps that 
 was where this one, too, came from. At the 
 present moment it appeared as if woven of flames, 
 everything about it lived phantastically. And 
 when I looked more closely, it even seemed to 
 me as if it began to revolve, and to emit a 
 a cascade of sparks, like a real wheel of fire. 
 
 " * Dear me, now you are already beginning to 
 see visions,' I said to myself, and tried to gain 
 new strength by pacing up and down. But I felt 
 so dizzy, that I was obliged to hold on to the 
 chairs — I gasped for breath. 
 
 " Oh, this smell of carbolic — this sickly-sweet 
 odour ! It enveloped my senses, it dimmed my 
 thoughts, it spread a presentiment of death and 
 terror all around. 
 
 " Then the old doctor came, looked keenly 
 into my face, and ordered me in his fatherly, 
 gruff manner to go forthwith into the open and 
 get some fresh air. He himself would watch till 
 I returned. And in spite of my remonstrance he 
 pushed me out of the door. 
 
 " If I could have guessed what was awaiting 
 
272 THE WISH, 
 
 me, no power on earth would have moved me to 
 cross the threshold ! 
 
 "Now I drew a deep breath as I stepped out 
 into the courtyard. The evening air refreshed 
 me like a cooling bath. The last gleam of day- 
 light was vanishing, and veiled in bluish vapours 
 the autumn night sank down upon the earth. 
 
 "The two hunting dogs sprang towards me, 
 and then raced off towards the old castle ruins. 
 
 " Unconsciously I followed in their track, 
 walking half in my sleep, for the atmosphere 
 of the sick room was still acting upon my senses. 
 
 " A mouldering scent of fading weeds and 
 weather-beaten stones wafted towards me from 
 the brickwork. An old porch spread its arch 
 over me. I stepped into the interior. The walls 
 towered up black all round me, the dark sky 
 looked down upon them with its bluish lights. 
 
 " Then not far from me I saw a dark figure, the 
 outlines of which I recognised at once, crouching 
 among the loose stones. 
 
 " * Robert ! ' I call out, astonished. 
 
 " He jumped up. * Olga ? ' he cried in answer. 
 * Do you bring bad news ? ' 
 
THE WISH, 273 
 
 ***Not so/ say I, * your uncle, the doctor, sent 
 
 me out, and ' then suddenly I feel as if the 
 
 ground were giving way beneath my feet. 
 
 "*Take care!' I hear his warning voice, but 
 already I am sinking, together with the crumbling 
 stones, about a man's length down into the dark- 
 ness. 
 
 "*For Heaven's sake, do not stir!' he shouts 
 after me, * else you will fall still further down.' 
 
 " Half-dazed, I lean against the side of the pit. 
 At my feet gleams a narrow strip of earth, on 
 which I am standing ; beyond that it goes down 
 into black, unfathomable depths. 
 
 " I see him near me, climbing down after me 
 slowly and carefully on the steps of a flight of 
 stairs as it seems. 
 
 " * Where are you ? ' he shouts, and at the same 
 I feel his hand groping for me. 
 
 "Then I throw myself towards him, and cling to 
 his neck. At the same moment I feel myself lifted 
 hig^h up and resting upon his breast. It appeared 
 to me as if my veins had been opened, as if in 
 delightful lassitude I felt my warm life's blood 
 flowing away over me. 
 
274 THE WISH, 
 
 " His breath wafted hotly into my face. For a 
 moment it seemed to me as if he had softly kissed 
 my forehead. . . . Then we returned to the manor 
 house without speaking. I moved away from his 
 side as far as I could, but in my heart was the 
 jubilant thought, * He has held me in his arms.' 
 
 "On the threshold of the sick room the old 
 physician came towards us, gave us both his hands 
 and said, ^ She is keeping up better, children, than 
 I had expected.' 
 
 " Within my heart was rejoicing, * He has held 
 me in his arms.' 
 
 " And now that night ! Even now every minute 
 stands up like a fury before me, and glares at me 
 with fiery eyes ! That night will I conjure up as 
 one calls up spirits from the grave, that their 
 witness may animate anew long forgotten blood- 
 guiltiness ! What crime did I commit ? None, 
 My hands are clean. And on that great morning, 
 when our works shall be tried in the balance, I 
 might fearlessly step up to the Throne of the Most 
 High and say, ' Clothe me in the whitest raiment, 
 
THE WISH, 27S 
 
 fasten upon my shoulders the most delicate pair of 
 swan's wings, and let me sit in the front row, for I 
 have a good voice, which only requires a certain 
 amount of practice to do honour to Paradise ! ' 
 But there are crimes, unaccomplished, unuttered, 
 which penetrate the soul like the breath of infec- 
 tion, and poison it in its very essence, till the body 
 too perishes under its influence. 
 
 " It was a night almost like the present one. 
 The moist autumn wind swept past the house in 
 short gusts, and caught itself in the half leafless 
 crests of the poplars, which bowed towards each 
 other and entwined amid creaking and rustling. 
 Not a star was in the sky ; but an undefinable 
 gleaming brought into notice dark masses of torn 
 clouds, which sped along as if in rags. The night- 
 light would not burn ; its flickering flame struggled 
 with the shadows which danced incessantly over 
 the bed and the walls. The ivy wreath hung 
 opposite me, looking black and jagged like a 
 crown of thorns. 
 
 " It was about ten o'clock when Martha com- 
 menced to be delirious. 
 
 " She raised herself up in bed and said in a 
 
276 THE WISH. 
 
 clear, audible voice, * I must really get up now — 
 it is too bad ! ' 
 
 " At first joy suffused my face, for I thought she 
 had regained consciousness. * Martha ! * I jumped 
 up and grasped her hand. 
 
 " * I have put everything out in readiness — shirts 
 and stockings and shpes, so that a blind man could 
 find them in his sleep. And you need not take 
 any measurements either — make no compliments 
 — make no compliments.' And all the time she 
 stared at me with glassy eyes, as if she saw a 
 ghost ; then suddenly she uttered a piercing shriek 
 and cried, * RollJ;he stones away from my body — 
 they are crushing me. Why have you buried me 
 under stones ? ' ^^^^ .---«.—'— 
 
 " I took the thinnest sheet I could find and 
 spread it over her in place of the coverlet ; but 
 even that brought her no relief. She screamed 
 and talked incessantly, and between whiles she 
 muttered eagerly to herself, like one who is learn- 
 fng something off by heart. ^|k 
 
 " Like this an hour must have passed. I sat in 
 front of my table and stared at her ; for I was in 
 a ferment of terror lest any moment might bring 
 
THE WISH. 277 
 
 some new, still more horrible development. From 
 time to time, when she calmed down a little, I felt 
 my limbs relax ; then I closed my eyes and let 
 myself sink back, and each time I had the sensa- 
 tion as if I were sinking into Robert's arms. But 
 there hardly remained even a dull feeling, as if I 
 were thereby committing any wrong ; my weari- 
 ness was too intense. I also had a sensation as 
 if bubbles were bursting in my head, and roses 
 opening out and always putting forth new wreaths 
 of blossoms ; then again there was a hissing sound 
 from one ear to the other, as if some one had run 
 a fuse right through my head and lighted it. 
 
 " In this condition of nervous over-excitement, 
 tossed hither and thither between terrified starting 
 up and relaxation, Robert found me, when, towards 
 midnight, he entered the room. He had intended 
 to lie down on his bed for a short time, and then 
 to watch for the rest of the night together with 
 me ; but Martha's screams had scared him too. 
 
 " When I saw him, all my exhaustion was as if 
 wiped away ; I felt how a new stream of blood 
 shot through my body, and I jumped up to go 
 towards him. 
 
278 THE WISH. 
 
 " * Try to rest a little/ he said, looking down at 
 me with tired, swollen eyes ; * you will require all 
 your strength.' 
 
 " I shook my head and pointed to my sister, 
 who was just flinging her hands about, as if in 
 her delirium she were trying to tear me from his 
 side. 
 
 ** * You are right,' he continued. * Who could be 
 calm enough to rest with this picture before his 
 eyes.' And then he planted himself with clasped 
 hands in front of the bed, bent down towards her 
 and imprinted a soft kiss upon her wax-like fore- 
 head. 
 
 " * That is how he kissed me too ! ' a voice within 
 me cried. 
 
 " Thereupon he sat down at the foot of the bed, 
 so close to my chair that the arm which he rested 
 upon the slab of the table almost touched my 
 shoulder. 
 
 " With the gloomy brooding of despair he stared 
 across at her. -^ 
 
 " * Come to yourself, Robert ! ' I whispered to 
 him, * all may be well yet' 
 
 " He laughed grimly. * What do you mean by 
 
THE WISH, 279 
 
 " well "?' he cried ; * that she should remain alive 
 and drag herself about with her sickly frame and 
 crushed spirit, as a burden to herself and to others? 
 Do yau not know that these are the alternatives 
 between which we have to choose ? ' 
 
 " A cold shudder ran through my very marrow. 
 But at the same time I felt as if the walls were 
 giving way and an unbounded, shining vista open- 
 ing out before me. 
 
 " * Were you not going to be a priestess in this 
 house ? ' a warning voice within me remonstrated, 
 but its sounds were deadened by the surging of 
 my blood. 
 
 "*What is the use of struggling against fate?' 
 he continued ; * I have long since learnt to submit 
 quietly when blow after blow falls down upon 
 nae from above. I have become a miserable, 
 weak-minded fellow. I have allowed fate to bind 
 me hand and foot, and now, even if I struggle till 
 the blood spurts from my joints, it is no good ! 
 I am powerless and shall remain so, and there's 
 an end of it ! But I do not care to talk myself 
 into a passion. Such helpless rage is more con- 
 temptible than hypocritical submission.' 
 
28o THE WISH. 
 
 "A desire darted through me to throw myself 
 down in front of him, and to cry out to him, * Do 
 with me what you will : sacrifice me, tread me 
 under-foot, let me die for you ; but be brave and 
 have new faith in your happiness ' then sud- 
 denly a moan from Martha^s lips struck upon my 
 ears, so plaintive, so pitiable that I started as if 
 struck by the lash of a whip. 
 
 ** I felt ready to scream, but fear of him choked 
 my utterance — only a groan escaped my breast, 
 which I forcibly suppressed, when I noticed how 
 anxiously he was looking into my eyes. 
 
 " * Take no heed of me ! ' I said, forcing myself 
 tfo smile ; * the chief thing is for her to get 
 better.' 
 
 " He crossed his arms over his knee and nodded 
 a few times bitterly to himself. And then again 
 the moaning ceased. 
 
 " She had bowed her head upon her breast, and 
 half closed her eyes. One might almost have 
 thought her asleep ; but the muttering and chat- 
 tering continued. There was utter silence in the 
 half-darkened room. Only the wind sped past 
 the window with low soughing, and between 
 
THE WISH, 281 
 
 the planks of the ceiling the mice scampered 
 about. 
 
 " Robert had buried his head in his hands, and 
 was listening to Martha's weird talking. Gradually 
 he seemed to grow quieter, his breath came more 
 regularly and slowly, now and again his head 
 dropped to one side, and next moment jerked up 
 again. 
 
 " His sleepiness had overpowered him. I wanted 
 to urge him to go to rest ; but I was afraid of 
 the sound of my own voice, and therefore was 
 silent. 
 
 " More and more often did the upper part of 
 his body sway to one side, now and again his hair 
 touched my cheek — and he groped about seeking 
 to find some support. 
 
 " And then, suddenly, his head fell upon my 
 shoulder, where it remained lying. My whole 
 body trembled as if I had experienced some great 
 happiness. 
 
 *'An invincible desire possessed me to stroke 
 the bushy hair that fell across my face. Close 
 to my eyes I saw a few silver threads gleaming. 
 
 " * It is already beginning to get grey,' I thought 
 
282 THE WISH. 
 
 to myself, *it is high time that he should taste 
 what happiness is like/ And then I really stroked 
 him. 
 
 " He sighed in his sleep and sought to nestle 
 closer with his head. 
 
 "' He is lying uncomfortably/ I said to myself; 
 ^ you must move up nearer to him.' 
 
 " I did so. His shoulder leant against mine, and 
 his head fell upon my breast. 
 
 " * You must put your arm round him,' a voice 
 within me cried, * otherwise he will still not find 
 rest' 
 
 " Twice or three times I attempted, and as often 
 I drew back. 
 
 " What if Martha should suddenly wake ! Rut 
 even then her eyes saw nothing — her ears heard 
 nothing. 
 
 " And I did it. 
 
 " Then a wild joy seized me : secretly I pressed 
 him to me — and within me there arose the jubilant 
 thought : 'Ah, how I would care for you and watch 
 over you ; how I would kiss those wicked furrows 
 away from your brow, and the troubles from your 
 soul ! How I would fight for you with my virgin 
 
THE WISH. 283 
 
 strength and never rest till your eyes were once 
 more glad, and your heart once more full of sun- 
 shine ! But for that 1 looked across at Martha. 
 
 Yes, she lived, she still lived. Her bosom rose 
 and fell in short, rapid gasps. She seemed more 
 alive than ever. 
 
 " And suddenly it flamed up before me, and the 
 words seemed as if I saw them distinctly written 
 over there on the wall — J 
 
 " * Oh^ that she might die I * 
 
 " Yes, that was it, that was it 
 
 " Oh, that she might die ! Oh, that she might 
 die ! '' 
 
VII. 
 
 Drawing a deep breath, the physician stopped 
 short, and wiped the perspiration from his fore- 
 head. 
 
 Robert had jumped up, stared for a moment at 
 the flaming orb of the lamp, as if dazzled by the 
 light, and then rushed towards the old man as if 
 to tear the paper out of his hands. 
 
 " That does indeed stand there ? '* he stam- 
 mered. 
 
 " Read for yourself! " said the other. 
 
 A long silence ensued. 
 
 The lamp burnt with its quiet, cheery light as if 
 it were illumining a deed of brightest gladsome- 
 ness, and softly, as if with velvety paws, the wind 
 touched the windows. Downstairs everything 
 seemed to be growing quieter. The intervals 
 between the bursts of laughter grew longer and 
 
 longer — the babel of voices changed to a steady, 
 
 284 
 
THE WISH. 285 
 
 dull buzz. The people were getting tired — they 
 were digesting. 
 
 The physician looked round for Robert. He 
 had dropped down once more upon the ledge of 
 the empty bedstead, had buried his face in his 
 hands, and was absolutely motionless. 
 
 Only his heaving breath, which escaped his 
 breast in short, irregular gasps, testified to the 
 turmoil that was raging within him. 
 
 " Come to yourself, my boy," said the physician, 
 laying his hand on Robert's shoulder. 
 
 " Uncle, of course it goes without saying — she 
 was not in her right mind when she wrote 
 this.?" 
 
 " She was never more in her right mind than 
 at that moment 1 " 
 
 " How dare you affirm such a thing? Do not j, 
 insult the dead ! " »- ^^l^-^i-^M^ 1^ 4ULm^A ^"^^ 
 
 ** Nothing is further from my thoughts, dear 
 
 boy. Who shall presume to cast the first stone at 
 
 her ? But if you have been listening attentively, 
 
 you will certainly understand that her whole life 
 
 was nothing more than the maturing of this 
 
 moment. Already in her girlish dreams the seeds 
 19 
 
 
286 THE WISH, 
 
 j/h- 
 
 of this criminal wish lay buried ; they put forth 
 sudden shoots on yonder stone in the wood, and 
 came into blossom at the very hour when she 
 crept into your room to unite you with Martha." 
 
 " Why did she do that, if she herself wished to 
 step into Martha's place ? " 
 
 "She was not conscious of what she wished. 
 All her efforts to make you and Martha happy 
 were nothing further than the secret struggle 
 which her pure honest naturewas^waging with 
 the wish growing up within her, since that day 
 of her girlhood when she had seen you again. _ 
 But she did not know it. Even her love for you 
 did not become clear to her till she entered your 
 house. How much less then could she suspect 
 what was slumbering, as the fruit of this love, 
 within her soul." 
 
 "And yet you say she fought against it and 
 tried to exterminate it ? " 
 I " Not spiritually, not consciously. Her thought 
 remained pure till that terrible midnight hour. It 
 was only her instinct which struggled against the 
 poison. That drew new resources daily from the 
 healthy depths of her strong nature, by which to 
 
 / 
 
 / 
 
THE WISH. 287 
 
 secrete the putrid matter or at least to enclose it 1 
 
 so that it became innocuous. For this reason she \ 
 
 condemned herself to exile, for this reason even \ 
 
 in face of your house she contemplated a hasty \ 
 
 retreat. How little she was, even later, conscious ; 
 
 of the processes which for years had been \ 
 
 developing within her, you may see by the whole \ 
 
 tone of her reminiscences. She absolutely uncon- \ 
 
 sciously dwells upon many unimportant incidents, 
 which have nothing to do with the progress of the 
 story and yet are valuable as showing the gradual ^, jj 
 development of her wish. She knows not why / \ 
 she does so : her feeling alone tells her : this has 
 some connection with my guilt." 
 
 " I believe in no guilt ! " exclaimed Robert, in 
 greatest excitement. " If that wish was not a 
 mere hallucination, not the result of a momen- 
 
 ily morbid, over-strung frame of mind, but had 
 
 lain for a long while dormant in her nature, how C¥^ 
 came it that, only six hours before uttering it, she "^ 
 expressed herself with such indignation about my 
 jTA^ mother because she suspected her of harbouring 
 
 " For my part," replied the old man, " nothing is ^ i^ 
 
 ^\ 
 
 Cy~ 
 
288 THE WISH. 
 
 more convincing for my view of the matter, than 
 this very indignation. To free her own conscience 
 from the burden which she felt resting upon it, she 
 cast every stone which she could take hold of, at 
 your mother. It was terror at her o wn sin ^jvhjdx^ 
 
 drove her to it.^ *^ ■ i,i,i„ii,.,in. ■ 
 
 " And the noble, self-sacrificing resolve which 
 she formed only a few days before } " 
 
 \ v^Over the old man's weather-beaten features 
 there flitted a smile full of understanding and 
 forgiveness. 
 
 Then he said, " The old proverb about the 
 
 ' good intentions with which the path to Hell is 
 paved, may hold good here too ; but it only touches 
 the surface of the matter. This^^jresolve was a 
 last abortive attempt to unite sisterly love with 
 her longing for you, to make a pact between her 
 powerful, burning desire for happiness and the 
 impulse to keep faith towards her sister. It was 
 the most unnatural thing she could hit upon, for 
 silent resignation was not in her line. It was a 
 particularly cruel fate which doomed her, with her 
 noble disposition and powerfulwill, to be forced 
 X into ^ sin which is the most commorx-^rfd most 
 
THE WISH, 289 
 
 cowardly on earth, a sin which 1 have found 
 lurking on countless faces, when I stood at the 
 bedside of people seriously ill. This, my boy, is 
 one of the darkest spots in human nature, a 
 r emnant of bestiality which has managed to find 
 its way into our tamed world ; even such sensitive 
 natures as Olga may fall a prey to it, though of 
 course they perish through it, w^hile coarser souls 
 simply conceal and suppress what is struggling to 
 appear from the darkest depths of their beings. 
 Wait, I will speak more plainly. I once came to 
 the bedside of a rich old man, a landowner, whose 
 last breath was not far off. At the head of his 
 bed stood his eldest son, a man of about forty, 
 who for long years had held the post of inspector 
 on strange estates, and whose intended bride was 
 beginning to grow old and faded with waiting. 
 The son was a good, honest fellow who would not 
 have hurt a fly, who loved his father with all his 
 heart, and would certainly have been ashamed to 
 wish his deadliest enemy any ill ; but in the 
 stealthy, terrified glance with which he watched me, 
 while I bent down my ear towards the old man's 
 breast, I distinctly read the wish ! * Oh, that he 
 
290 THE WISH, 
 
 might die ! ' Another time I was called in to a 
 woman who was very happy in second marriage. 
 
 Only one cloud troubled her new happiness. Her | 
 
 husband could not befriend himself with the child \ 
 
 of her first marriage. He knitted his brows at \ 
 
 . i 
 
 the mere mention of the little creature, and as \ 
 she loved him passionately, she feared he might 
 
 come to hate her on the child's account, and hid '\ 
 
 it away from him as much as ever she could. \ 
 
 The child got scarlet fever. I found the mother ] 
 
 kneeling at its bedside and weeping bitterly. i 
 
 She trembled in fear for the feeble little life. j 
 
 Had she not herself brought it forth ! Then her I 
 
 husband entered the room — she started — and in • 
 
 the restless, wavering glance which she cast \ 
 
 towards the cradle, there stood clearly and legibly : 
 
 written ^^t would be for my happiness, if you died.' j 
 
 I could give yO" innngTi^^ahlp pvamplec; where \ 
 
 jealousy, covetous ness, desire for independence, \ 
 restlessnesspimpulse for libe rty, amoro us longing, 
 
 have matured this terrible, criminal wish, which ^ | 
 
 suddenly rises up dark and gigantic within the I 
 
 human breast, in which hitherto only love and \ 
 
 light have found a place. Happily nowadays it^^ j 
 
 {Jr-L^^:. 
 
\ 
 
 THE WISH. . 291 .;; 
 
 does not do much harm. In olden, more bar- 
 barous times, when the passions were permitted to 
 rage unfettered, the deed aided the thought. And 
 if perchance in the family circle any one happened . ' 
 
 to be in the other's way, poison and the dagger ^^ . . 
 simply claimed their victims. History and litera- ^ ^ 
 ture abound with murders of this kind, and that v * 
 great student of mankind, Shakspeare, for example;^'^ 
 knows hardly any other tragic motive besides 
 murder of kin. To-day people have grown calmer, 
 and if a struggle for existence happens nowadays 
 to creep into the holy family circle, one is content'''^ 
 to wish the obnoxious one, in a dark hour, six feet 
 under the earth. This wish is the ancient murder "^ 
 restrained^^ b^iL^iSSdcnL civilisation. There, my 
 boy, now I have given you a long discourse, and '' 
 if, meanwhile, your blood has cooled down, my 
 object is fulfilled." 
 
 " So you absolutely condemn her ? " Robert 
 anxiously stammered forth. 
 
 " My dear boy, I condemn no one," replied the 
 old man, with a serious smile, " least of all such an 
 honest nature as Olga was. The fact alone that 
 she had the courage to confess to herself and to 
 
292 THE WISH, 
 
 him whom she loved most, what she was guilty of, 
 raises her above the others. For this wish, of 
 which we are speaking, as it is the most hideous 
 spiritual sin of which the human soul can become 
 guilty, so it is also the most secret. No friend con- 
 "0""^^ fides it to a friend, no husband whispers it in the 
 
 Jjt/fi/i darkness of the nocturnal couch to his wife, no 
 y penitent dares to confess it to his spiritual adviser, 
 
 M 
 
 jj* 
 
 even the prayer that struggles upwards to heaven 
 
 out of the depths of contrition, passes it over in 
 
 hypocritical silence. God may have knowledge of 
 
 everything, only not of this baseness. Let this 
 
 perish in shame and silence, as it was brought 
 
 forth in night and horror. And more than this ! 
 
 mm,m>^ , Thls wish is the only crime for which there is com- 
 
 visA^^^f^only no expiation, no punishment either before 
 
 iJ^ ^ the tribunal of the outer world, or one's own con- 
 
 ^jj^ science. This is a case in which even that merci- 
 
 M^ less judge which a man carries about within him 
 
 proves amenable to bribery.! Thousands of people 
 
 who have once been guilty of this baseness go on 
 
 I I* living happily, put on flesh in perfect peace of soul, 
 
 ^ ^ and rejoice in the fulfilment of their wish, which 
 
 O^ they themselves forget as spcctlily as possible, as 
 
THE WISH. 293 
 
 soon as ever it is fulfilled. It becomes absorbed 
 into the soul, just as a germ of disease becomes ^ 
 absorbed as soon as the stimulant of disease has 
 disappeared. It is lost without any trace, it is 
 absolutely blotted out by an abundance of social 
 and personal virtues. I on no account say that 
 I condemn these people. What would become of 
 the world if every one who on looking into the 
 glass discovered a wart on his face, were to cut his 
 throat in despair at the fact } The people I have 
 described to you are the healthy every-day people, 
 whose so-called good constitution can stand a blow, 
 and who care not a rap if now and again something 
 objectionable sticks to them. Olga was moulded^ 
 of finer clay, her nervous system was sensible to 
 lesser shocks, and what only caused others a slight 
 irritation, was to her already a lash of the whip. 
 Such natures are often somewhat morbid, they 
 incline towards melancholy and hysteria, and their 
 soul-life is governed by imaginations, which, in the 
 eyes of others, are apt to assume the character of 
 fixed ideas. And yet everything about them is 
 strictly normal, indeed their organism works even 
 more accurately than that of the ordinary, average 
 
294 THE WISH. 
 
 human being, and if one were to place them, like 
 delicate chemical scales under a glass case, one 
 might see them work wonders. As a rule a certain 
 weakness of purpose cleaves to this class of sensi- 
 tive people, which makes them shyly retreat into 
 themselves at the slightest extraneous touch — and 
 this is lucky for them ; for thus they are saved all 
 violent collision with the outer world, to which 
 they would not, after all, prove equal. But woe to 
 those among them who are driven by some im- 
 petuous desire, some mighty passion, straight 
 among rocks and thorns ! Then it is very possible 
 that an adhering thorn, which others would hardly 
 have noticed, may become to them a poisoned 
 arrow, and corrode their body and soul till they 
 perish in consequence. There, now, I have talked 
 enough. Here lie two or three more sheets. 
 Listen ! Here we shall learn how one may be 
 ruined by a wish." 
 
VIII. 
 
 " Of that which now followed, I have only retained 
 a vague recollection. I remember that I suddenly- 
 uttered a shriek, which made even Martha start up, 
 that I flung myself down at her bedside, clutched 
 her burning hands, and continued to cry out, 
 * Save me ! save me ! wake up ! ' 
 
 "And then again I find myself in a different room, 
 into which Robert has taken me. I remember 
 how, there, in the looking-glass, I recognised my 
 distorted face, bathed in the perspiration of terror, 
 how I burst into a laugh, and, shuddering at my 
 own laughter, sank all in a heap, and how all the 
 while, chuckling and hissing with a thousand 
 covetous voices, there came sounding in my ears 
 the wish : * Oh, that she might die ! ' How shall 
 I describe it all, without being hunted to death by 
 the spectres of that night ? 
 
 " The only clear remembrance that I still retain 
 
 295 
 
296 THE WISH. 
 
 IS that suddenly the doctor's dear old face was 
 bending over me, that I had to drink something 
 that tasted bitter, and — then I know nothing more. 
 
 4c :|c :|e :ic :is 
 
 " When I awoke the pale light of dawn gleamed 
 through the windows. My head ached, I looked 
 around dazed, and then it seemed as if I saw 
 written on the whitewashed wall opposite, the 
 words : * Oh, that she might die ! * 
 
 "I shuddered, and then the thought rose within 
 J me : * Now, if she dies, it will be your wish which 
 has murdered her.' 
 
 " I pulled myself together, and walked up to the 
 looking-glass. 
 
 "* So this is what a w^oman looks like who wishes 
 her sister might die ! ' said I, while my ashen-pale 
 face stared back at me ; and, seized with a sudden 
 loathing, I hit at the glass with my fist My 
 knuckles bled, but it did not break. Fool that I 
 was, not to know that henceforth all the world 
 would only be there to hold up a mirror to my 
 crime ! 
 
 " * But perhaps she may not die ! ' it suddenly 
 darted through my brain. Such radiance seemed 
 
THE WISH. 2()7 
 
 to burst forth from this thought, that I closed my 
 eyes as if dazzled. 
 
 " And then again it cried aloud within me : * She 
 will die ; your wish has murdered her ! ' I ground 
 my teeth, and groping along by the walls, I crept 
 into the sick room. 
 
 " When I stood at the door, and no longer heard 
 any sound from within, the idea took possession of 
 me : 
 
 " * You will find her as a corpse.* 
 
 " No, she still lived, but death had already set his 
 mark upon her face. 
 
 " The bridge of the nose had become more pro- 
 minent, her lips no longer closed over her irregular 
 teeth, her eyes seemed to have sunk right down 
 into their dark sockets. 
 
 "At her feet stood Robert and the old doctor. 
 Robert had pressed his hands to his face. Sobs 
 shook his frame. The old man scrutinised me 
 with a penetrating glance. Again, for a moment, 
 I felt as if he were looking me through and 
 through, as if my guilt were openly exposed before 
 him. But then, as he hastened towards me, who 
 was tottering, and held me upright in his arms, I 
 
298 THE WISH. 
 
 L 
 
 recognised that it was only the physician's glance 
 with which he had examined me. 
 
 " * How long will she live yet ? ' I asked, closing 
 my eyes. 
 
 " * She is dying ! * 
 
 " At that moment something within me grew 
 rigid, turned to stone. At that moment hope died 
 within me, and with it my faith in myself, in 
 happiness, in goodness. A great calm came over 
 me. Death, which hovered over this bed, had 
 spread its dark pinions around my body too. 
 With the clear vision of a prophetess, I saw what 
 yet remained to me of life, spread out unveiled 
 before my eyes. Like one dead I should hence- 
 forth have to wander upon earth, like one dead I 
 should have to cling to life, like one dead see that 
 happiness approach me, which was for ever lost to 
 me. Robert stepped up to me and embraced me. 
 [ calmly suffered it, I felt nothing more. 
 
 " Then I sat down close to my sister's bedside, 
 and looked at her, waiting for her death. 
 
 " Attentively I followed every symptom of her 
 slow expiring. I felt as if my consciousness had 
 separated itself from me, as if I could see myself 
 
THE WISH. 299 
 
 sitting there like a stone figure, staring into the 
 dying woman's face. 
 
 " No feverish illusion, no morbid self-incrimination 
 any longer disturbed the course of my ideas. It 
 was by this time clear to me that my wish could \ 
 not in reality bring death upon her, and yet — for \ 
 me and my conscience it remained the wish alone 
 which had killed her. 
 
 " Thus I sat, as her murderess, at her bedside, 
 and waited for her death which was also mine. 
 
 " It was a long time coming. The hours of the 
 day passed and she still lived. Her pulse had 
 long ceased to beat, her heart seemed to stand 
 still, and yet her breath continued to come and go 
 in short feeble gasps. While I was lying in a 
 morphia sleep, they had given her as a last resource 
 an injection of musk to revive her strength once 
 more. This was what she was existing on now. 
 But the odour of musk, mingling with the carbolic 
 vapours, filled the room like some heavy, tangible 
 body, weighed on my brow and seemed to crush 
 my temples. I felt as if with every breath I were 
 drinking in increasing burdens. 
 
 " In the afternoon Robert's parents came. I, 
 
300 THE WISH. 
 
 who had yesterday shown my aunt only pride and 
 contempt, to-day kissed her hand in humiliation. 
 This was the beginning of the penance which I 
 had mflTcited upon myself at Martha's death-bed, 
 and which shall endure as long as I live. 
 
 "Evening came ^oHr'TiTartFa still continued to 
 breathe. With wide-open mouth, her dead eyes 
 covered with a film, she stared at me. Her body 
 seemed to get smaller and smaller, quite shrunk 
 together she lay there. It almost looked as if in 
 death she did not venture to take up even the 
 small space which she had occupied during her 
 lifetime. 
 
 " Aunt filled the house with her loathsome sob- 
 bing, and the others, too, were weeping ; I alone 
 remained without tears. 
 
 " When towards eleven o'clock she had drawn 
 her last breath, I fell into a delirium. 
 
 He * * * * 
 
 " Just now I have returned from the manor. 
 
 " He was good and kind towards me, and in his 
 eyes there gleamed a half-hidden, bashful tender- 
 ness, which my soul drank in eagerly. I feel as if 
 a new spring-time must be coming, my heart is full 
 
THE WISH, 301 
 
 of smiles and laughter, and when I close my eyes 
 golden sunlight rays seem to be dancing round 
 about me. But now away with this enerv ating 
 dream of happiness ! 
 
 " If he should learn to love me, all the worse for 
 him ! I gave him no occasion — no, indeed not ! 
 I should feel I must despise myself like a very ^ 
 prostitute i f I had done s o. Since my conval- 
 escence I have managed his household for him 
 truly and faithfully, for more than a year, without 
 claiming his approval, without wishing to grow 
 indispensable to him. Even my dear aunt has 
 had to recognise that, who almost forces her hospi- 
 tality upon me, in spite of my being personally so 
 hateful to her. She is much too good a house- 
 keeper herself not to know that, but for me, the 
 household would have gone to rack and ruin in 
 those days, when Robert forgot everything in 
 gloomy mourning for his dead — not even taking 
 any interest in the child, which she had left him 
 as a pledge. But for me, the poor little thing 
 would be lying under the ground long ago. I will 
 not enumerate all I did and worked during this time. 
 
 It is surely not meet for me to play the Pharisee. 
 20 
 
302 THE WISH. 
 
 " Nor will I speak of expiation. How pompous 
 
 the word sounds, and what miserable self-deception 
 
 I generally hides behind it ! How shall I wash away 
 
 I what defiles me ? One may expiate some tragic 
 
 I guilt, one can even expiate some great crime, but 
 
 I a piece of baseness such as I committed, cleaves to 
 
 the soul for ever ! Ah, if I did not know what 
 
 secret desire lurks in the depths of my heart ! 
 
 "Why else should I require to stand there absolved 
 before my own conscience, if not in order that I 
 might one day become his ? As if everlasting fate 
 itself had not reared up a wall between us, reaching 
 up from the depths of her grave as high as the 
 stars. 
 
 " And if some demon should ever whisper into his 
 ear, advising him to stretch out his hand for me, 
 what else could I do but repulse him, as if for his 
 audacity ? But he will never do such a thing. I 
 have succeeded in keeping him at a distance. Let 
 him believe that I have a poor opinion of him, let 
 him believe that I am haughty and unfeeling 
 through self-love. I shall know how to guard my 
 heart's secret. 
 
 " If only one thing were not so ! 
 
THE WISH. 303 
 
 " Sometimes, especially at night, when I am 
 staring into the darkness, a wild, mad longing 
 comes over me with such power, that I feel as if I 
 must succumb to it. It seizes me like a feverish 
 delirium ; it dims my senses, and makes my blood 
 boil in my veins ; it is the longing to lie just for 
 once upon his breast, and there to weep my heart 
 out. For in those nights my tears were dried up. 
 I have never been able to weep since the day when 
 I found Martha lying on her sick-bed. 
 
 ♦ * # * « 
 
 " A fortnight later, 
 " It has come to pass. He loves me. He came 
 to woo me. Now I know that there is an expia- 
 tion ! These tortures must indeed purify ! Jesus, 
 I have lost my childish faith in Thee, but Thou 
 wast a man. Thou hast suffered like me. Thee I 
 implore — no, this is madness! Come to your 
 senses, woman ; pull yourself together. Is there 
 not an everlasting resting-place, whither you may 
 flee by your own free will, if your strength is no 
 longer equal to the misery of this life ? Who is to 
 prevent you ? 
 
 " He loves me. I have attained it. But in order 
 
304 THE WISH, 
 
 that he might love me, Martha had first to perish, 
 I myself had to sink down into an abyss of guilt 
 and shame from which no power in heaven or on 
 earth can save me. 
 
 " I am dead. Dead shall be my desires and my 
 hopes, and my rebellious blood, which wells up 
 seething at thought of him. I will soon compel it 
 to be calm ; and if not . 
 
 "Oh, how he stood before me, timidly stammering 
 forth word by word. How shyly and imploringly 
 his eye sought mine, and yet how he hardly dared 
 to raise his glance from the ground. How, in his 
 awkwardness, he twisted the ends of his beard 
 round his fingers, and stamped his foot when he 
 could not find the right word ! Oh, my^opr dear, 
 big child, did you not see how my every limb was 
 trembling with the desire to rush towards you and 
 hold you tight for all eternity, did you not see how 
 my lips were twitching with the temptation to press 
 themselves upon yours, and to hang there till their 
 last breath ? 
 
 " Did you not see all this ? 
 
 "Did you really believe the words, which half 
 unconsciously I spoke to you? My heart knows 
 
THE WISH, 305 
 
 nothing of them, that I swear to you. ^_JJl2kve 
 loved you ever since I can remember. I know that 
 my last breath will utter your name. 
 
 " And shame on you, if you really had faith in my 
 pretexts ! I leave you for a rich girl ! You, for 
 whom I would gladly beg in the streets, for whom 
 I would work till my eyes grew dim and my 
 fingers sore, if you needed it ! 
 
 "Do you remember that night in our parents' 
 house, when you were wooing Martha ? Do you 
 remember it and dare to insult me by putting faith 
 in my miserable excuses } 
 
 " And when at parting I gave you my hand, why 
 did you look into my eyes so sadly and humbly ? 
 Did you not know that now that look will haunt 
 me day and night like the reproach of some heavy 
 crime I have committed towards you ? 
 
 " No, my friend, you are the only one on earth 
 who have nothing to reproach me with. Towards 
 you I have acted honestly— and most honestly 
 to-day, even though you were never so unutterably 
 deceived as to-day ! If only I might tell you how 
 much I love you ! How gladly would I die in that 
 self-same hour. Only once to lie upon your breast 
 
3o6 THE WISH. 
 
 — only once to hide my head upon your shoulder 
 and weep, weep — weep blood and tears ! 
 
 " You must never again look at me like that, my 
 giant, as if I had had a right to despise you, as if 
 you were too simple and not good enough for me. 
 I do not know what I might not do in that case! 
 Heaven protect you from me and my love ! 
 
 4c ifc 4: ^ He 
 
 ''A week later. 
 
 "And now I have done it after all! I have 
 thrown myself upon his neck ; I have satiated my- 
 self with his kisses; I have wept my fill in his arms! 
 
 "I am calm — quite calm. I have tasted whatever 
 of happiness life had left to offer me, the sinner. 
 
 " But what now ? 
 
 " Since hours I have been face to face with the 
 last great question : * Shall I flee or die ? ' 
 
 " One or the other I must do this very night ; for 
 to-morrow he will come to lead me to Martha's 
 grave. 
 
 " Rather than follow him thither, I will die ! 
 
 " But I will even assume that I could be enough 
 of a hypocrite not to drop down beside the grave 
 and confess all to him, I will assume that I should 
 
THE WISH, 307 
 
 not be choked with loathing of myself, that I should 
 really have enough wretched courage to become 
 his wife ; what sort of a life should I lead at his 
 side? 
 
 "What is the good of clinging to happiness when 
 one has long since forfeited it? Should I not 
 slink about like some poor criminal in her last 
 hours, everlastingly tortured by the fear of betray- 
 ing myself to him, and yet filled with the desire to 
 proclaim my guilt to the whole world ? How 
 could I sleep in the bed out of which I wished her 
 into her grave! How could I wake between the 
 walls on which there still stands written in flaming 
 letters : * Oh, that she might die ! * 
 
 " I will converse quite calmly and sensibly with 
 myself, as is meet for one who is making up the 
 account of her life. That I cannot become his 
 wife I know very well. 
 
 "Shall I flee?— What should I do among 
 strangers ? I know them. I know these people 
 and despise them. They have wrought evil 
 towards me ; they would torment me again in the 
 future. 
 
 "All the faith, all the love, all the hope still 
 
3o8 THE WISH, 
 
 remaining to me, have their foundation in him 
 alone. 
 
 " So I must die ! The bottles of morphia stand, 
 well preserved, in the corner of my cupboard. I 
 had some suspicion that I might want them, when, 
 in defiance of the old doctor, I secretly saved up 
 their contents. The few hours of sleep which I 
 thereby lost, will now be amply compensated 
 for. 
 
 " Only a letter yet to my uncle the doctor ; he 
 shall be my heir and my confidant. Perhaps he 
 can help me to wipe away all traces of my deed, so 
 that Robert may suspect nothing. Not a greeting 
 to him. That is the hardest of all, but it must 
 be so. 
 
 * ♦ * * * 
 
 ** I have run out secretly and posted the letter. 
 The watchman was signalling midnight. How 
 empty, how dark is the whole world ! In the 
 lime-trees the wind is soughing. Here and there 
 a light is sadly gleaming as if to illumine hidden 
 sorrows. A drunken fellow came shouting along 
 the road and made as if to attack me. Darkness, 
 poverty, apd brutality out there — in here guilt and 
 
THE WISH, 309 
 
 unappeasable longing — that would be my future. 
 Verily this life has nothing more to offer me. 
 
 " People talk and write so much about the terror 
 of death. I feel nothing of it. I am content, for 
 I have wept my fill. Those suppressed tears 
 weighed heavily upon me ; and weeping makes 
 one weary, they say. Good- night ! " 
 
 The End. 
 

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