The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1906-08-29
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"A YOUNG POET.szl
" Story Of Two Reflections and "
q an Acceptance. u
TX Translated From the German y;
" by LOUISE WARING. III
n VI
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what it meant for him. This was the
end of so rluch JOY in creative work
of such boundless hopes! Regret
not available for us" The letters
grinned at him derisively. He hasti-
ly slipped the fatal paper into port
folio, but ever before him fitted
those gray. cold words. mot avail
able" All through the air they
danced; the walls OF his room were
dotted with them. lie could contain
himself no longer within these walls,
which had witnessed his inspiration
and hopes, and on which were now
written in black letters, Regret. not
available"
He rushed out. Life, and all it
contained was hateful to him; he
hated the whole universe: the plain
''bourgeoise" pushing her offspring
along in a go-cart; the young men
and girls with their tennis racquets-
was there ever a sillier game?-the
old ladies knitting and munching
Kaffeekuchen (coffee cake); old men
Strolling along, their eager talk in
terrupted now and then by little
coughing spell; and then those sweet
hearts with their mien of blissful
imbecility. All of them he despised,
the whole conceited lot Of them. The
pax was filled with these ridiculous
people, vho were enjoying the early
spring and seemed glad to live, not
knowing what it was to have ones
work returned with ''regret, not
available"
The mall was one trembling mass
of glitter. The tender fresh green
of the lindens was as yet not too
dense to prevent the sun from filter
ing through, making bolden blotches
on the blond heads Of young girls
and glorifyinE the shabby black
gowns of the old ladies.
A general disgust filled the young
poet. He turned into side path.
Here about the fish pond walked pa
.tient governesses with their rich
charges; on every bench sat pair Of
lovers, on every tree nightingale.
He stared into the water as IL eager
to murder the poor little goldfish
disporting themselves on the sun
fiecked surface. Oh, if that pond
were not so shallow. harmlessly shall
low like the ordinary German read
ing public, he would not have be-
grudged them the pleasure Of haul
ing his dead body out of the water;
they might then understand that
once more Indifference and lack of
appreciation had friven a poet to
his death. He walked on rapidly,
regardless of those who came in his
way. Those whom he jostled rough
ly looked angrily at him. This
pleased him, for he felt himself at
war with the whole world.
The heavy laden spring air soon
Uverpowered him, and he looked
about for place to rest. All the
seats were taken. At last he found
a bench with but one occupant, a
young girl. He sat down on the ex-
treme end. Resting his arms on his
elbows he buried his head in his
hands and gave himself up to brood
ings. He did not care to see the
laughing sunlight.
Just along the line of vision, out
of the corner of his eye, he saw a
small foot, shod in gray gaiter; a
dainty foot, which moved slightly,
but regularly. He followed the
movement mechanically. Something
quieting to his nerves seemed to en-
anate from it. His tempestuous
mood soon gave way to one Of mel
ancholy. All pain seemed to have
vanished, and he was conscious of
but one wish, and that was that that
little gray body might keep on sway
ing Indefinitely. Gradually he got a
glimpse Of blue skirt, then very
slim waist, and finally delicate pro-
file. The lips quivered, and tears
were visible on the long lashes. He
dropped his eyes, and resumed watch
ing that moving foot.
Here, at last, was woman who
was not giggling and chattering like
the rest of them. She was sufferer
like himself. Birds we're jubilant,
and from the distance came sounds
of voices from the merry throng
which thought life good and nature
benign.
-, The sound of a suppressed SOB
aroused him. Involuntarily, he
turned towards her. The girl, over
come by grief. was pressing her hand
kerchief to her eyes; wiping her
tears, she looked at him askance.
He could contain himself no long
er Moving closer, he addressed her
in modest, respectful terms: Don't
put any restraint on your feeling;
I. too, know what sorrow is. Gould
I perchance be Of any assistance to
you? To be sure, we are strangers,
but misery loves companionship."
Il thank you," she answered in a
childlike way, scrutinizing him close
ly; mo one can help me. 1 am So
unhappy" And again her tears be-
gan to flow.
You are right he said sadly.
''Who can help another? No one"
''In order that you may not think
me foolish" she began hesitatingly,
cor think Heaven knows what of me-
((he had in reality thought Heaven
knows what of herr Il will tell you
all. got letter which disappointed
me drcadfully, letter of refusal"
Indeed"