Men and women were inside, many faces
Familiar to me. Still sorrow lay on all,
And secret painful grief. They gazed at me
With odd emotion and looks of pity,
And my own soul was pervaded with terror,
As though foreboding some unknown disaster.
I recognized old Margaret right away,
Gaze at her fixedly, yet she spoke not.
« Where is Maria? » said I, yet she spoke not.
But gently seized my hand and guided me
Through many long and brightly-lighted chambers,
Where splendor, pomp and deathlike silence prevailed,
And finally brought me to a darksome room,
And, averting her face from me, pointed
To a still form that sat on the sofa.
« Are you Maria? » asked I. Inwardly,
I was myself amazed at the harshness
With which I spoke. A voice sounded hollow
And stone-hard « That is the name they call me. »
I was pierced by a freezing agony,
For that cold and hollow tone was nothing
But the once enchanting voice of Maria!
And that woman there in pale lilac dress,
In negligent attire and trembling bosom,
With fixed glassy eyes and muscles as hard
As leather on the cheeks of her pure white face,
Alas! that woman upon a time was
The lovely, sweet, blooming and kind Maria!
« Your travels have been long » said she aloud
In a cold, harsh and yet familiar tone.
« You no longer look languishing, my friend,
You look healthy, your loins and calves
Witness your solidity. » a sweetish smile
Quivered around her yellow, pallid mouth.
In my confusion I uttered these words:
« I have been told that you are married now? »
« Oh yes! » said she, loud, casual and laughing,
« I have a stick of wood that is covered
With leather, who calls himself husband. Still,
Wood is but wood! » And then she laughed adversely
Till chilling anguish ran throughout my soul,
And I was seized by doubt: are those the lips,
Flowery and modest of my Maria?
But she suddenly rose, quickly picked up
Her cashmere shawl from the chair, and threw it
Around her neck, she then hung on my arm,
Drew me away through the open house door,
And led me through fields, bushes and meadows.

The sun's red glowing disk was already
Descending, and its purple rays were cast
Over the trees, the flowers, and the river
That flowed majestically far away.
« Do you see the large golden eye floating
In the blue water? » cried Maria quickly.
« Quiet, you poor soul! » said I , and I spied
A wondrous motion in the twilight.
Figures of mist arouse from the fields,
And embraced each other with soft white arms;
The violets eyed each other tenderly,
With yearning, the lily cups bent together;
In every rose, a loving glow was beaming,
Carnations yearned to burn in their own breath;
All flowers reveled in blissful fragrance,
And every one shed silent tears of rapture,
And all cheerfully shouted: Love! Love! Love!
The butterflies were fluttering, and the shining
Gold beetles hummed their fine fairy songs,
The evening winds whispered, and the oak-trees
Rustled, and the nightingale sang tenderly;
And amid all the whispering, rustling, singing,
The withered woman hanging on my arm
Chatted with her harsh, hollow and cold voice:
« I know you nightly drive to the castle;
The long shadow is but a poor wretch,
That nods and signs exactly as one desires;
The blue coat is an angel; but the red coat
With his shining sword, is your enemy. »
And she continued to say many things,
In her strange way, till, tired at last
She sat down with me on the mossy bank
That stood under the old and noble oak-tree.

We sat together, in silence and sadness,
And, gazing at each other, we grew sadder.
The oak murmured, as with a dying sigh,
The nightingale sang down with deep grief.
But a red light pierced down through the leaves,
Flickering round Maria's pallid face,
And seemed to lure a glow out of her star eyes,
And with her old sweet darling voice she spoke:
« How did you know that I am so wretched?
I read it lately in your strange wild verse. »

An ice-cold feeling ran through my bosom,
I shuddered at my own delirium which
Could peep into the future, my brain grew dark,
And through absolute terror, I woke up.