The exotic beads of nectar-fragrance which hung in five white calyxes,
crowned as it were with brown leaf-work, seized the fancy. The odors
from the spring of a hotter clime drew it away into remote dreams. Liana
only stroked with a soft finger, as one glides over eyelids, the little
incense-vases, without touching with predatory hand the full little
garden of tender stamina which crowded together in the cup. "How lovely,
how very tender!" said she, with childlike happiness. "What a cluster of
five little evening stars! Why come they only by night,--the dear, shy
little flowers?" Charles seemed to be on the point of breaking one. "O
let it live!" she begged; "to-morrow they will all have died of
themselves. Charles! thus does so much else fade," she added, in a lower
tone. "Everything!" said he, sharply. But the mother, against Liana's
will, had heard it. "Such death-thoughts," said she, "I love not in
youth; they lame its wings." "And then," replied Liana, with a
maiden-like turning of the tables, "it just stays with us, that's all,
like the crane in Kleist's fable, whose wings they broke, so that he
could not travel with the rest into the warm land."
This gay, motley veil of deep earnestness was not transparent enough for
our friend. But by and by the good maiden took pains to look just as the
careful mother wished. The benumbing lily which the earth wears on her
breast, the moon; and the whole dazzling Pantheon of the starry heavens;
and the city, with its pierced-work of night-lights; and the high,
majestic, dark avenues; and on meadows and brooks the milk-white
lunar-silver, wherewith the earth spun itself into an evening-star; and
the nightingales singing out of distant gardens;--did not all this stir
omnipotently every heart, till it would fain confess with tears its
longing? And the softest heart of all which beat at this moment below
the stars, could it have succeeded in wholly veiling itself? Almost! She
had accustomed herself, before her mother, to dry away with her eye, so
to speak, the tear, before it grew big enough to fall.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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