The Washington times. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1902-1939, 1918-03-28
THE WHITE MORNING
=. By GERTRUDE ATHERTON

sion OF an avenEinE army. They knew
the average German male. His. in
nate subserviency to power would
turn him automatically about to the
party whose power was supreme.
And the soldiers hated their officers.
On Friday night Gisela left her
apartment in the Koniginstrasse,
where she had slept for a few hours
after a visit to the principal cities Of
the empire, and walked out to
Schwabing. that picturesqe Village"
that looked like a bit OF the Alps
transferred to the edge OF Munich.
She had not forgotten the man she
had sacrificed, and at the end of the
FIRST day of the revolution she. had
learned that his body had been caught
under the Schwabing bridge, rescued,
and placed temporarily in the vault OF
the little church.
1t was a bright starlight night, and
the old white church with its Dubious
tower. last outpost OF Turkey in her
heyday, looked like a lone 'mourner
for the dream of Mittel-Europa.
Gisela climbed the mound and en-
tered the quiet Enclosure. She had
met no one in the peaceful suburb,
although she had heard the deep gut
tural voices OF elderly men still
at the tables in the beer gardens
She had sent orders to leave the door
Of the church unlocked. and she entered
the barren room, guiding herself with
her electro torch TO the stair that led
down to the vault. Fear OF any sort
had long since been crowded out Of her,
but 1t was a lonely pilgrimage she hard
ly would have undertaken ten days ago
She descended the short fight OF
steps and flashed her light about the
vault. 1t was a small room, oppress-
lively musty and humid. All Schwab-
ing Is damp but the Isar itself might
have washed the walls OF this dripping
sepulcher.
The coffin stood on a rough trestle
in the center of the chamber. and 1t
was covered with the military cloak
that, with his sword and helmet, she
had ordered sent from his hotel.
She stood beside the coffin, trying
to visualize the man who lay
within, wondering II the orders
still bulged above the hilt of the
dagger she had driven in with so arm
hand or. IL they had taken
the time 20 remove IL or IL
that symbol of Germany's freedom
would be found ages hence in a
handful OF dust when the man who
had taught her all she would ever
know OF love or living was long for
gotten.
But in moment these vagrant
fancies. drifting from a tired brain.
took flight, her reluctant Mind TO-
cused itself. and she knelt beside the
bier, pressing the folds OF the cloak
about her face and weeping heavily.
1t was her final tribute to her wom-
anhood. That she had rescued her
country and incidentally the world,
making democracy and liberty safe
for the first time in it's history, mat
tered nothing to her then. Nor her
immortal fame.
To regret was impossible. Strong
souls are inaccessible to regret But
she hated life and her bitter destiny,
for she had sacrificed the life that
gave meaning to her own. and she
wished that the implacabie powers
that rule the destinies OF individuals
and nations had foreborne their ac-
customed irony and presented her
gifts TO some woman mercifully lack
ing her own terrible power to love
and suffer-and the imagination
which would keep for ever vivid in
her mind the poignant happiness that
had been hers, and that she had immo-
lated on the cold altar Of duty.
She was still young, and her sole
hope, glimmering at the end OF an in
termInable perspective. was that Il
would be her privilege to lie at last
in the grave with this man; who had
been her other part and whose heart
and hers she had slain.
(The End.) ----
Copyright. 1918. Gertrude Atherton.