What the Swallow Sang: A NovelSpielhagen, Friedrich
General
What the Swallow Sang: A Novel
Spielhagen, Friedrich
Fiction
She paused suddenly, rose, went to the window, came back again, and
standing before Gotthold with her arms folded across her breast, said:
"When I procured still larger supplies for his avarice, when I would
have suffered myself and my child to be sold, though you would have
been compelled to sacrifice the last penny of your fortune to buy our
freedom--"
"You might have done so, and did not!" exclaimed Gotthold, in the most
painful agitation.
"I might, and did not," replied Cecilia, "but certainly not because I
doubted, for an instant, that you would, without hesitation, sacrifice
all, all; such a doubt is inconceivable to a woman who knows herself
beloved, nay, she would, under similar circumstances, go begging for
her lover; but--it is useless, Gotthold, I shall never find words. Ah!
the misery that is even denied the relief of expressing its agony,
which must consume away in silent torture."
She wandered up and down the room, wringing her hands. Gotthold's
mournful eyes followed her as she paced to and fro, and a feeling of
intense bitterness welled up in his heart. There had been a
possibility, but she had not seized it, and now it was too late.
He told her so, and why it was now too late, and that even if, by the
income from his labor, he could satisfy the claims which others already
had upon the small remnant of property that now remained, it would be a
mere nothing to her husband's avarice, a sum which, if any one offered
him, he would hurl back into his face with a scornful laugh.
Cecilia, pausing in the centre of the room, had listened eagerly,
gasping for breath. "My poor Gotthold," said she; "but for me--it is
better so, even the temptation cannot assail me now, and the matter is
decided. Yes, Gotthold, it is decided; besides, perhaps it was only a
momentary thirst for money, which the deadly hatred he bore you has
long since swallowed up. He will not release me; I have not chosen,
will not choose death as long as the last possibility of deliverance,
flight, remains. Let me fly, Gotthold, before it is too late; do not
detain me. You wish to save me, and are only driving me into the arms
of death."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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