Her Enigma.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume XLVII, Issue 7999, 9 December 1905, Page 4

Her Enigma.

Adapted from tha Polish.

Ona beautiful d»j in spring thejr nut oa Me principal street of the citjr. Tha mirror showeasa of the ttoie before which the/ llMfed reflected their itatcly figure*—the Bttb knuiet with violets on her golden h&ir, snifh* •mall bouquet of the tame flowers h the lapel of his neat coat. It wu a meetspring and the beginning of summer, *er ayes, like drop* of morning dew, gaj and elear, gazed at him with bright lustre, wbiie h<* black eye* looked ai though already ■omewhat befogged by life, which assail; •asts shadows over all that is deep. She wa» a fthild of a distant, quiet country place; he a son of this great eity, filled with pride and fame and conscious of a great folate. "Isit possible? You here? Are voagoing to bUt here long? Yon hare left, then, toe earthly paradise—the paradise wherein I iad been each a happy guest not long ago ?" "Oh, no, not for tag. Only a week." Now, as the; waUn! through the large to, elbowing the passers by and being jostlea tj them, they noticed no one save themmltm, and recollections of the beantifnl days they had spent together filled them with joy. She felt ai though they were surrounded by a wreath of flowers which had not a single thorn for her. And ai for him, ■e oo longer thought of thorns, now that be had met her—he no longer thought of anyI thing that wu not eaoneoted with her. •"Inall my life I have not seen such * beautiful April aa this year—in your Tillage. Tell me, does that old near tree in jour gardan still wear its bridid attire?" "Ah, yoa remember it? Do tou remember the apple trees which looked lii« bridesmaids in their pale pink drees ? " "Oh,y«e, I remember them. But now, I Kippoae, thay are no longer pale pink. What a pity that the qriag lowers should (all from the trees I" " That's noiMog; tkey an replaced by ether flowers; now the garden, the field, and the meadows an filled with flowers." "An yoa not sorry tor the floweii at thfch m mad to look tnmfchir ? " " I aboold like to look jitb tou at the low«n (hat art blottoaiog after them." Ha gased at her—her ejes were east down, and a peaaive smile plajea oa her lips. "Abe," said he, "the dooraolparadise are not opea ererj daj 1" '* Oh, the doon of oar home are always fpen (or oar friends." . "Who, Bufortaflatelr, cannot cross the IhndtoldT" " Why? " " What a queer question 1 Has God grant* ed me the happiness to grow op in your Tillage? I came there as a stranger, a wanderer from the world of misery, straggle, and toil ■*- 11 a " Why do yoa compare toil with miseiy? Toil, it is true, is straggle, hot not misery; and from struggle a man grows stronger. Is it misery to sow the seeds of beautiful and noble thoughts throoghoot the world? Is it not a triumph to realise that you bare enlightened a multitude of people, that yoa hare broaghi them consolation end inspiration, that yoa hare conquered Fame ? " 14 Tou could have consoled Dante himself in purgatory. But to day I need no consolation -I am so happy! " Bis voice shook. She replied jestingly: "And II What is going on within me? A puvincial girl in a greet city 1 lam all Icy!" " Do you like the eity so much ? " She thought a while. " I lotc both the eity and the Tillage. Do foa know, it seems to me that I love everything in the world. When I enter the city my heart begins to throb faster. I wish I xmld burst into all lhi3 btutle and noise, like a bird—to see everything, to hear everything—the houses, the conversations, the paintings, tk* mu-ic——" The exhibition* in the slonv?, thousands of Hats, samples of dresn gooU ? " *' Yes, je>l An<l tho hata. I always hear people spenk of lliem as of soap bubbles; but I also lore vMp-buhblr*, brciu.se thpy ire so light, and the colour;? of the rainbow ehange in them so wonderfully. And when, returning to the village I see our house, the oaks, the fields, the memlowi, 1 am again seised with a quiet, soinowhat sa«l, but profound I that if the ciiv reflects within it the color* of the rainbr-v,. then the vilh«*e is itseft tli? great rainbow hanging o\fr all the world!" She grew silent. lie waited a while, &n£ asked softly: " Tell me. pray, what else do you love ? Plcr.se speak on. Let Sadness turn clown; hj« wings before the sons of the lark." She felt confused and maintained silence; Then he a?k»d again: " Do you love music ? " "Ilove every kind of music. Two years ago I travelled a little *rith my mother. T I heard magnificent orchestras, wondcrfu.'

opera singers, and I thought that when I re turned home my musical pleasures would come to tin end. lint when I came there 1 went out into the field and hoard some oih play a pipe. A little shepherd was plating IS far. Ear away, near the forest, in the aafumo mi.-:. There were only three notes, plaintive, drawn-out, under the cloud-cov-ered sky, over the bare fields. One would think what could there be in such music ? Yet I know not why. I have convinced myself then that I love the shepherd's music no less than the operas and symphonies* Yoq must r?me ont to us in the autumn to - hear (he little shepherd play." 9' Autumn .reans clouds, rain, mud " " Oh, excuse me! And the yellow and

red. flowers; and the fine drizzling rain, which sprends over the oak prove like a cur-

tain of lace. I lore autumn and winter, morning and evening, sunshine and rain." They walked on and on, both radiant with happiness. They heeded not fatigue or hunger. They felt as though they were winged creatures, f<ee from every day care. Presently they found themselves in a sm»l1 r beautiful public park. There were but fetepeople there at this time ; quiet reigned supreme, and everywhere around them were bashes of jasmine. " I am sure that my friend to whom I wns going when I met yoa often comes to this ehanning part of the city. To-morrow we will all come oat here, yoa, she, and I." 44 I would prefep to have it just as to day, for a third person, like the tongue in fable, could be cither the best or the worst thing. I feel that the one you are speaking of, even though she be the very best, would be to me the very worst." " She is the best woman on earth." Regarding her with a smile, he said: " That's impossible." " Compared with her I am insignificant as im\. lam speaking of Yanina Sherskaya." If she had looked at him at this moment, ♦he would have noticed how the mention of this name had thrown him into great confusion. 44 The well-known painter," she added. When she lifted htr eye?, she thought to herself: " What is this? Why has he (urn* ed pale?" But she immediately thought that she was mistaken. His face had not *cn raid before, and perhaps it was the reflection of the jasmine. ' Dnr.'t you#know Yanina Sherskaya? Have you never met her? " she asked. He did not reply at once. His head was lowered, 1113 eyes stared fixedly at the ground •ad his lips quivered.

' " Don't yon bow Yanhut Bherskeyaf I know her intimately; she oooaslonally visits us. She is a little older than I am, but we are friends nerertbelMS. Have yoa never met her?" "I know Yanlna Sherskaya, She Is a great artist." " And she is so beautiful, so original 1" 11 es ) yes, she's a remarkable woman." His eyes wandered about the alleys of the park, as if seeking something, or eluding something. And only after two minutes he turned to his companion abruptly and said: "Do you know that there are in life but few such wonderful days of sunshine as today? Have you ever seen how a meteor tears itself away from the stars, outs through with brilliant light the darkness of the night, and, touching earth, is extinguished ? Such ft day as to-day is like a meteor that is born on the peak of Life, and that cuts through its darkness with brilliant light. Let it not fall to earth so soon. Let us guard .ft, as much as we can, from contact with the hard earth. While it exists, let it be unto us the only one, by itself, with no yesterday or tomorrow, without people, and without us, such as we are every day. Let us forget about our friends, about the painters. Let ns think of nothing except that we are so happy to-day. Let ns look into each other's ttul." Whence this storm of passion mingled with sorrow in his voice and face ? thought Cecilia. She could not understand, but, intoxicated with enthusiasm, she said: "Of course, of course. Just now I need no one, and I desire nothing in the world, except to be in this garden, where no one, save the jasmine, stares at us. But do you see how it looks at us with its countless thousands of snow-white, large eves? It seems to me that it is a wonderful dream, that all the world is bathed in golden sun' shine, and from the golden sunshine thousands of similar Bnow-white, large eyes are looking at us." Without lifting his eyes from her, ha rt peated softly: " Yes, a wonderful dream." And he whispered still more softly: "Hush! Let us not wake np from this Jasmine dream." They were silent for a long time, listening to tha slow and sweet lullaby sung to them in the bright' sunshine by their own hearts. She was the first to smile, and looking 0) to him began to speak. " You said, ' Let us look into each other'l soul I 1 Very well. I wish to look into your ■oul. I have talked a great deal about what I love, but you have said nothing. Fray teU me, frankly, what do you love? " He looked at her with delight, and replied : " I am not like you—l cannot say that I love everything in the world. But there are a number of things that I love. At your command I open the window of my soul. Look in!" He paused for a while. "I love those moments of my past in which the sorcaresa of creative inspirations blazed up within me the flame of lofty and strong delights, and I love the high great luminaries toward which this Same is rushing. You already know them, and you love them. He who has a soul loves them; he who does not'love them has no soul. 1 love knowledge because it helps us to disperse tha mist which shrouds our ideals; 1 lore labor, because it weaves the thread which draws these ideals towards earth. I love the movents of stubborn, strenuous labor when my ideals become ever clearer, ever nearer tome, and the moments of struggle against my own powerlefsness, ngninst the weakness of my weapons. These moments are painful, for they are ever accompanied by tha despair ot doubt, but from them I always carry out the laurels of triumph-; I lore my triumphs, because they enable me to place the laurels at the foot of my altar. I love hearts that are as fresh as daivn, which, illumining the beginning of day, know not how the day will turn out. I love sincere and confiding hearts—puro hearts on which not a particle of dust has fallen. I love such hearts because they waft on me wonderful dreams of perfect innocence and give rest to my eyes that are fatigued from looking nt c-imes abont me. 1 love the brow which hns not been troubled by the storms of life. It is like falling snow, like blocks of alabaster on which the hand <•1 (Jnd has ns yet stamped nothing but beamy. I love lips which can speak such soothing words at the whisper of spring, that ripe summer listens to them with dcli"'it. I love the white hand which, lowering it-self upon the gray huir of grandfather, like the wing of an an-jel, drives away from him the bitterness and sorrow of old age " Suddenly Cecilia interrupted his speech; "Tell me now what you do not love 1" " What I despise, do you despise?" sht queried. And he, as though eager to finish hit hymn ot love, went on softly:

44 1 love eyes thai have not yet seen the sins rvivl sufferings of the world. But there are many things I hate. lam opening another window of my soul. I hate snakes, which devour the rays of ideals that are spread on earth. I hate the worms that Hj.):>il the bc*t {lowers and interfere with their growth. I hate masks, scarecrows, absurd gilt, base glitter. . . . I hate enigmas, which entwine the good and the evil in man and sometimes transform him into an enigma unto himself. Oh, those enigmas! How we err when we think that we are pure, that we arc powerful! Suddenly something nameless, and without a visible beginning, awakens within our souls, and with a cry of horror we perceive that we are weak and base I"

Ik rose Abruptly from the bench, and lifted his finger to his forehead.

" I hale my own self I" In the whisper in which he mattered these words rang something like painful shame. She understood nothing save thai he was suffering. She rose, and regarding him with artless compassion in her eyes, touched his hand which, like the wing of an angel, had driven away the bitterness and sorrow of old ag« from the gray head of her grandfather, 41 There is some grave sorrow in your heart. Ido not know what it is, bat yoa have reminded yourself of it iust now. What is it? I should very much like to assist yoa, if I can. Tell it to me. I'll do it.". He bent down and kissed her on the fore* head respectfully. Then he begged her te meet him to-morrow in that same park. 14 Only to morrow. Then you will be carried away by the whirlwind of life, and I shall also be much occupied. But to-mor« row, to-morrow." "Very well. Why not? This park is 80 beautiful, and I have come to the city for a few days to enjoy myself. To-day I Bhall go to see Yanina, and to-morrow you will come up to see us—and we will ail come out here." His eyes again began to wander over the alleys of the park, and he said dryly: 44 There is no use of you going to Yanina Sherskaya. She isn't in town. She has gone away." " Gone away? When? Will she stay •way long?" 44 1 don't know that, bat I know that she has left the city." In the morning the news would ban grieved her, but now she merely said: * I'i» sorry, M and added, looking at the trees: •'Let us go." [to fix CONCLUDED NEXT Wilt]