What the Swallow Sang: A NovelSpielhagen, Friedrich
General
What the Swallow Sang: A Novel
Spielhagen, Friedrich
Fiction
Yet he was compelled to acknowledge to himself, and did so again and
again, that there was no sensible reason for his haste, that nothing
depended upon one hour more or less, nay, that another hour, which
might perhaps mature some definite resolution in his mind, would be
welcome. Yet, even while he said so, he leaned forward to shout to the
driver that the road was perfectly smooth here, and he might drive
faster.
Then he leaned back again into the corner of his little damp prison,
drew out Wollnow's letter and gazed at it as if he could not believe
any one could write such words as those in a hand so firm, characters
so large and clear. And for the second time he read:
"What I have to tell you to-day, my dear friend, is so bad that the
most skilful preamble would not make it better. So without any
introduction: the upsetting of the carriage on the moor was no unlucky
accident, but a shameful crime, of which Brandow was the instigator.
Secondly, the money was stolen. The originator of the theft, which
might be termed murder, was Brandow again; he was probably present at
the time, or else appeared on the scene directly after; at any rate,
the fruits of the robbery fell into his hands. Whether the two crimes
may to a certain extent be considered one--I mean whether the first was
committed that the second might be executed, or whether the second was
perpetrated on the spur of the moment, after the first had been
performed--I do not know, and probably no one ever will, since it is to
be feared that a third terrible crime has resulted from the first two.
"Who betrayed this horror to me? That which is so often the betrayer of
crimes--chance.
"A chance than which nothing could be more accidental.
"The money in the packet consisted of hundred, fifty, and twenty-five
thaler notes. I had myself, as you know, counted and put up the amount;
but of course that would not enable me to positively swear to the
identity of any one of the bills, even if it came back to me again.
With one, however, I am in a position to do so; the note is once more
in my hands, and I can prove in whose possession it has been in the
mean time.
"I was obliged to pay out this bill ten years ago at a very critical
time--it was the last money I possessed, and in a humorous freak I
marked on it the words, 'a lucky journey,' and the date in small,
almost microscopical characters, on the upper right-hand corner of its
face. Four years ago this same note came back to me. I honored my old
friend with the word 'welcome,' which, together with the date, I
wrote on the left-hand upper corner of the back, and gave it, as a
luck-penny, a place in my pocket-book, where it remained until three
weeks ago. You will remember that ready money was rather scarce with
me, and I took advantage of the opportunity to punish myself for my
superstitious feelings by adding this note to the rest.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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