Page:Poet Lore, volume 35, 1924.pdf/515

Ann.—In particular to the one mentioned in a certain letter written to Mr. Fable.

Hans.—So you know about that?

Ann.—Only this afternoon the notary paid us a visit. Of course, he was most discreet; he came when conditions were entirely favorable. I served out my sentence of despair this afternoon. Bitterness came only tonight.

Hans.—Bitterness? What do you expect me to reply to that? It is true that I came only out of one motive, the one mentioned in the letter.

Ann.—In that case your friend should have received some such letter long ago. (Softly) Some one else, too, might have received a line or two. As it is you have let the years slip by without taking the slightest interest in that matter.

Hans.—I couldn’t! I swear to you, I couldn’t! Not that I forgot. Not entirely. Not the Polish battlefields, not the Russian transport, not the horrors of Sakhalin were sufficient to make me forget. When I found myself at liberty again, I imagined the memories were less insistent, but they kept calling The last five years in America! They were worse than the rebellion, worse than the prison. On my honor, I never had a half day’s peace. All this time I felt upon my chest the weight of an alien fist. I had to fight to ward it off—to break through the handicap of my foreign birth. When I boarded the ship, I began to hear more and more clearly the bells on our village church. And when I landed at Havre, I could see the village tower. From Paris I wrote to Fable, but even before my letter reached the postoffice, I was seized with uncontrollable longing. I forgot all at once my government office, and the same train that carried my letter carried me. The train crawled! My heart kept climbing into my throat, I was so impatient.

Ann.—Impatient! And yet you arrived on foot.

Hans.—Yes. On the Bavarian border I was smitten with a fear that all my hopes were vain. I left the train and walked the rest of the day. Even when I arrived on the outskirts of the village I dared not come here at once. I caught sight of Granny in the woods, but she took fright at my voice.

Ann.—Are you sure that your disappointment is as sore as it might have been?

Hans.—Quite! What a blow! I am not sentimental, but what I found here would shake a backwoodsman. Ann, dead to