| abstract | - Translated by Kate E. Roberts and Florence L. Call, from the German, for Short Stories 1894 Cilli is in a hurry. It is already dark in the valley, and the first star twinkles in the dark blue sky. There is still much to do in the cottage. Cilli has nimble fingers, but they are no nimbler than her fleeting dreams. Prosaic work and restless eagerness do not agree, — ^what wonder then that Cilli's task is slighted as she works so fast and impatiently ? Over the broad meadow rings a clear yodel in a woman's voice. It is a signal from a neighboring cottage and means : " I am ready, are you ? " Cilli springs to the door and can just distinguish her friend, with a huge bundle on her back, and by her side, another girlish figure carrying an equally large load. The evening wind brings to her ear the light laughter of the two girls. Cilli returned to her task, saying: "I must work faster." Another quarter of an hour, and she is ready. After tying a bundle of faggots together, she hurries to her room to put on her best holiday clothes. How pretty she looks in the dark green skirt and flowered apron, the black velvet bodice and white embroidered gamp. Golden hair frames her charming face, with its red lips and dark blue eyes. It is no wonder that Marti is head over ears in love with her. " One thing more," laughs she, and scrapes the glowing coals into a little heap on the hearth. Then she puts on her leather cap, lifts the faggots to her shoulder and trips lightly from the cottage. It is now so dark she can scarcely see the stones scattered through the fleld. The cows look like black stumps in the grass, but she hears them chewing their cuds, and now and then the tinkle of their bells. With hurrying steps she hastened up the slope where the other girls have gone before her. Suddenly stumbling over a stone, she falls and hurts her knee. With a little cry she recovers herself, but a strange presentiment overcomes her, and she makes the sign of the cross over face and breast. She will gladly fall, yes, — but into the arms of her sweetheart. Dismissing her forebodings with this thought she goes on again. The red hght of a fire pierces its thick smoke, and shines upon her from the height beyond. From this point there is an unobstructed view of the valley, black with night. Below this summit, whose grassy slope descends abruptly to a jagged, rocky wall, lies the broad, wooded basin, through which winds the zigzag footpath to the village. In a few minutes Cilli is on the spot and, with a smiling greeting, drops her burden to the ground. A joking word about the lads so late in coming, then she loosens the string and throws the faggots on the burning pile. The girls laugh and chat, and the rising flames send bright sparks into the darkness. They hear a sound of merry voices below and Cilli springs to the edge of the rocky wall and looks eagerly down, but it is impossible to distinguish any one. At last she hears the voices again, clearer and louder, and a shadow of disappointment flies over her face, for she can distinguish but two voices and neither is Martl's. The lads arrive and there are embraces and kisses, laughing and whispering, without end. Cilli stands apart, nestles her trembling hands in her apron and stares into the fire with shining eyes. Where is Marti, her Marti ? He must have forgotten to come, that is the only excuse she can think of. She would like to ask, but both pairs seem engrossed in themselves, too much so to have patience for questions and explanations. Unheeded, she leaves them and, seating herself by the fire, rests her chin in her hand and gazes out into the dark night with yearning thoughts. A summer night on a mountain so full of secrets and indescribable magic ! You seem to be shut out from all the world by a mighty wall. You scarcely see the mountains, whose peaks are indistinctly outlined against the blue sky. Deep night at your feet, while above, the glinunering stars shine out, like a thousand angels' eyes, and look down with loving care on you — on you alone. The fresh wind plays on your cheek, creeps softly over the grass, and presently you hear it sighing against the rocky wall, whispering secrets to the stunted bushes, and rustling through the tops of the tall trees in the valley below, murmuring to them in their dreams. You listen to these sighings and murmurings, rustlings and whisperings, until they mingle confusedly, vanish from yom: ear, and all around is deep stillness. You forget your surroundings and look into your heart, where pictures in a shadowy train pass before you, A cry wakes you from your dreams. What was it ? You do not know. Was it the wild note of a bird ? Was it a stone, which, loosening itself, has taken another step on its journey to the valley? Was it a human voice, faintly echoing from the deep ? Was it a ghostly whisper, trembling in air — or has old Earth sighed in her sleep ? The wind brightens the fire and catches up soft voices and tender whispers, but Cilli hears nothing. Motionless, lost in herself, she sits there, while the changing lights and shadows play about her. Gazing towards the valley, she thinks and dreams, overcome by the witchery of the night A little light glimmers below like a star fallen to earth. It must be a light in the village, perhaps in her mother's window, or a window in Marti's house. Surely Marti is not there, he must be on the way to her — or — or could he, but no ! She need only think of his good, true eyes to laugh at such a wicked thought. Mard, and not true, not longing for Cilli? She actually laughs, and pictures him just as when he came to the door of her cottage for the first time. She thinks of his tall, manly figure; remembers the friendly smile on his handsome, brown face, and the astonished glance with which he had regarded her. She recalls his cordial manner, bright sayings and gay laugh, and is as much fascinated now as on that first evening. He always comes, always, only not to-night. Heaven grant that no misf ortime has befallen him ! A shout comes up from the pass below."* He comes ! he comes! he comes! " cries she, springing up with a stifled cry. She seizes a burning brand from the fire and runs to the edge of the cliff. Waving the faggot in the air, with an eager shout of welcome, she flings it far out into the darkness. The circling sparks descend, but the cry dies on Cilli's lips. In her excitement, she had stepped too far, and the stones give way under her feet. She loses her footing, wavers, and with a terrified shriek falls over the rocky wall. The two girls, speechless and pale, rush past the lads — and still from below rings a clear, lusty voice. Marti ends his song with a yodel, and as he reaches the summit, lighted by the flickering fire, swings his hat and cries, " Cilli, my darling, where are you ? " But the smile forsakes him as his question remains unanswered, afid he sees the drawn faces around him. "Cilli," he shrieks, leaping to the edge of the cliff, guessing what they dare not say. His knees tremble under him, but he leans far over the edge, calling in passionate tone, " Cillil Cilli! " Still, all still — still and dark, except where, far below, caught between two great boulders, the brand still bums. Marti throws off hat and coat, the lads holding him back with all their force ; but he wrenches himself from them and lets himself down over the rocky wall. The others hurry to the fire and bring flaming brands, which light his perilous way. Though he clings to the crags with both arms, his fearless attempt cannot succeed. It means sure death ; but yet he does succeed, and sees Cilli lying motionless on a grassy plat, played over by the light from above. With a smothered cry he sinks to his knees, lifts her bleeding head to his breast and sees her eyes open. A smile trembles on her lips, which move slightly, as though she would speak ; then she sighs contentedly and her head drops slowly to one side. *** The night runs on and the gray light of morning appears above the mountain and brings help from the living. They come to the rescue with a long rope and a shroud, which Marti had requested. They lower them to him, where he sits leaning against the wall, the dead girl clasped in his arms, her motionless head on his breast. So he had waited the whole night through. Prayers move his lips and great tears roll over his cold cheeks. He presses a last kiss on her lovely mouth and then wraps her in the white shroud, an end of which he knots about his own neck. This done, he ties the rope under her arms, dashes the tears from his eyes and calls to those above — a single word — " Up I"
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