Swept onward by the wild blast of their passion, blinded to everything, maddened even to frenzy, forgetful of all, and burning with the same mutual flame, they had, in that night of palpable darkness, fled out into the loneliness of the silent waste, about to give themselves to each other entirely, “till death did them part,” and from the very bottom of their souls that were starving with the insatiable hunger of unfulfilled desire.
They were by this time unable to speak, save for a few instinctive cries that welled out of their inmost being—a few strangled whispers, thrown forth as spasmodically, as fitfully, as the flames of a fire—rambling, raving, insane words—with hungry devouring looks, looks of frenzy mixed with haggard terror, looks that betrayed the storm that raged within.—Till at last there swept over him and her a convulsion so irresistible, such an uncontrollable spasm of craving, that, losing their senses completely, they closed with a mad frantic cry … and fell!
And, with them, their whole world reeled and crashed headlong into the abyss!
“Oh, I am beside myself!”
“Be silent, dear, be silent!”
“I cannot; else I should go mad!”
“My heart is bursting asunder!”
“And my blood burns my veins!”
“Death—is it death coming—or a swoon?”
“My own, my own!”
“O Antek!”
Even as those elements which combine to form life wake up in the early months of every year, and—impelled by eternal affinity—set out to seek one another throughout the world, from end to end of earth and sky, until they meet in springtime, and unite, and bring forth to our astonished eyes now flowers, now babes, now huge green trees that murmur in the wind:
So they too, after long days of desire and torment, days of greyness and of void, met, found each other, mingled with an uncontrollable cry, rushing into one another’s arms, and clinging close: Just so may two pine-trees, uprooted by the storm and tossed together in a desperate embrace, strive with might and main, wrestling in a mortal grip, whirling, reeling, rebounding—till they both drop to the ground and die!
And over these two did the night weave her veil of shadows, that the things which were to be might come to pass.
Somewhere among those shadows, partridges were heard to pipe, so near at hand that the passage of the whole covey was distinctly audible. A quick rustling sounded—wings flapping the snow for an upward flight. Other noises, keen and shrill, broke the stillness now and then; and from the village that therefore could hardly be very far away, there came the loud though muffled crowing of cocks.
“It must be late,” she whispered timidly.
“Oh, it is yet long before midnight: ’tis only change of weather makes them crow.”
“A thaw is setting in.”
“Aye, the snow is softer now.”
Some hares, not far from the rock under which they were sitting, then fell to squeaking, playing about and gambolling merrily; and presently a whole band of them darted by, so near them that they shrank in alarm.
“ ’Tis pairing-time; the little beasts are so excited that they fear nothing. … Spring will soon be here.”
“I thought some large creature was rushing at us!”
“Hush!” he hissed in sudden terror. “Crouch low!”
They silently crept close to the rock. Out of the dusk, less black because of the reflecting snow, appeared long shadows, stalking some prey, advancing slowly, slowly, pressed close to the ground, and sometimes completely vanishing—swallowed up, as it were, by the earth; their eyes alone shining greenly phosphorescent, like glowworms in a copse. The creatures were about forty yards away, but soon farther, disappearing into the darkness. … And then, all at once, came the throttled scream of a hare in mortal jeopardy … a scraping and a scuffling of feet … a rattle and a snarl, the sound of crunched bones, a fierce growling; and then once more silence, deep and dreadful, prevailed all around.
“Wolves.—Tearing a hare piecemeal.”
“If they had scented us!”
“They could not: the wind blows towards us.”
“I am afraid. Let us go. I feel cold as ice,” she said with a shudder.
He took her in his arms. She warmed to his kisses, and oblivion of all things came over them once more. With one arm tight round the other’s waist, they both went along their straggling way, swinging and bending to and fro, as trees do, when, too heavily laden with blossoms, they wave restfully to the gentle hum of bees.
They spoke rarely; but their kisses and sighs and passionate ejaculations, their low blissful murmurs and rapturous heartbeats, vibrated above them and around, as the warm air trembles and quivers over a field in springtime. For now they were like those vast plains all in flower, plunged in the radiance and harmony of joy; thus did they glow, with eyes like opening buds; thus did their souls echo back the hot perfumes of meadows basking in the sunbeams, the shimmering of brooks, the low faint twittering of birds. Their beating hearts were in unison with those springtide regions; and the words they uttered—few, full of meaning, and scarce audible—welled forth from their innermost souls, as young shoots burst from the parent tree at the dawn of a May morning; their breaths were like the zephyrs that fondle the sprouting corn, and their souls like a day in the spring season—sunny as the rising blades of wheat, and not less full of the songs of larks, of brightness, of whispering, of dazzling virescence, and the irresistible gladness of life!
Then again they grew silent and stopped short, seized with awe of something they knew not what, which was about to be: as when a cloud floats over the sun, and the world at once waxes still and sad, and darkens with uneasy misgiving.
But they soon shook off
