The Great Loneliness.

Chapter VI.

When the death angel slew all the first-born of Egypt, there was sorrow there, far & near there was mourning. But was this But what was even this heavy stroke beside the desolation of Hamelin? For out of the Egyptian family only one child was taken, the others spared; but here, all were taken, all were swept forever from the sight & hearing of them that loved them, save only such as were too weak & little to walk, & so could not follow their mates to that mysterious & swift death whereto they were beguiled. Yes, there were parents who lost three, four, five—all they had; all—think of it—every one. Now was the woe in the city very great; so great, so heavy, that one cannot tell it, neither imagine it. And the loneliness—ah, who shall describe that?—the loneliness & the silence! For all sound was gone; all noise of traffic, of brisk footsteps coming & going along the pavement, of cheery salutation & reply, & of banter, & jest, & laugh; no catches of song & music came out of open windows, no faces appeared in them; the pleasant buzz & drone of labor was gone, & a blank Sabbath stillness was in its place. When the clocks struck, the brooding people started, the strokes seemed so unfamiliarly strong & near. And lonesomest of all, was the great school, & that wide green playground behind it. What rush, & whirl, & tumult of boisterous young life there, yesterday—& oh, such where are they now? where are they ◊◊◊◊ now, whither are they gone? That harsh old man that hated the children for their noise, & could not abide that noise, & cursed daily when it clamored up to him out of that playground, even he is desolate—& sits long at his window, looking down at that wide emptiness, & mutters by & by, “Yes, I cursed them, the innocent children—Lord Christ send them back to me!” In the school, the master stood in his place & looked out over the wide stretch of empty vacant empty benches; stood so, many hours; & forgot himself in his thinkings, & n knew not where he was, nor what he did; & so stood till one came softly, & led him away; he going without word, & vacantly, like one who dreams & has his faculties sealed up.

And in the houses, also, as everywhere, was the great loneliness & silence. ; & there was no creature in all the city but missed the There sat the desolate mothers, with quivering lips, & flowing swimming eyes, kissing fondling the poor toys & trifles of their lost darlings. And out of drawers tumbled & disordered small chests & drawers they took wee frocks & jackets, & held them up & worshipped them glimpsed them through a sudden great rush of tears, & then covered them with frantic kisses, moaning out “Ach Gott, erbarme Dich meiner, I cannot live without them!” Parents sat strickenⒶemendation & silent at meat; & their hands fell idle, because the minds were away; & they did not eat, & yet did not know whether they did or did not, or care; for unconsciously they listened for voices they should not hear again, & footsteps that should come no more. There were no words: when their eyes met, they spoke, & the hearts understood. Oh, truly, when they eyes wandered to the vacant chairs, & met again, then they spoke!

In many a chamber stood a row of little beds, but the deep hush was there, too, & the loneliness. In the night, mothers woke out of their troubled sleep, & dragged themselves so that up the stairs, & pushed open the door gently, & called a name timidly—& then another—& another; and turned away again, saying, “Ah, dear God, if it could have been but a dream!”