Free The Fiery Angel by Valery Bruisov

shadow tied to her. And never will I forget those frantic rushings from church to church, through every street, that we carried out that day! Not once, but many times, did we comb the whole of Köln from Saint Cunibert to Saint Severin and from the Holy Apostles to the shore of the Rhine, and it became clear that Renata was not for the first time in this city. First of all she dragged me to the Cathedral, but, tarrying there but little, she rushed to the Town Hall, circled round it, scanning the Market and the Square, and past Hürzenich she nearly ran to the ancient Mary of the Capitol. At the leaf of this sumptuous trefoil we wearied silently for some time, Renata with greedy eyes studying every figure as it appeared far away upon the street, and I, at her side, making a supreme effort of will to appear unconcerned and care-free. Then Renata seized me by the hand and dragged me quickly, quickly, either pursuing or fleeing from pursuit, first towards Saint George, where the masons, who were building a new and luxurious porch, gazed at us in astonishment, then to Saint Panteleon. And later still we encountered Saint Gereon with his holy hosts, were sighed after by the eleven thousand immaculate virgins who rest with Saint Ursula, glared at by the huge eye of the Minorites, and at last we came back to the quay side of the Rhine, beneath the shadow of the imposing tower of Saint Martin, where Renata waited with such certainty and confidence as though it were here that she had been foretold a meeting by a voice from Sinai, while I dully watched and studied the bustling life of the docks, saw how the vessels sailed up and away, and the lading and unlading of many-hued barges, marked how men fuss and fret, always busying themselves over something and always hurrying somewhere, and all the time I reflected that they had no concern with two strangers, hiding near a church wall.
    It was, judging by the sun, long past noon, when I at last dared to address a summons to Renata:
    “Should we not return home? You are tired; dinner is prepared for us.”
    But Renata looked at me with contempt and replied: “If you are hungry, Rupprecht, go and dine; I feel no need.”
    Soon again we resumed our disorderly running from street to street, but with each hour it became more disorderly, for Renata herself was losing faith, though with stubbornness and obstinacy she still carried out her purpose: inspecting the passers-by, tarrying at the cross-roads, peering into the windows of houses. Before me flitted familiar buildings—our University, and the Bursaries, where my schoolfellows used to live, Kneck College, Laurence’s, the XVIth. Houses, and other churches again—Saint Clare, Saint Andrew, Saint Peter—and though I knew Köln well before, from this day I know it as though I had both been born in it and spent my whole life only within its walls. I must say that I, a man accustomed to difficult marches across the savannah, and to whom it has happened for whole days on end to pursue a fleeing enemy, or on the contrary myself to retreat from pursuit—I felt myself overcome and nearly falling from tiredness, though Renata seemed tireless and unchanged: she was possessed by some frenzy of seeking, and there was no power to stop her and no means to bring her to reason. I do not recollect after what journeyings and twistings we found ourselves in the evening once more in the neighbourhood of the Cathedral, and there, vanquished at last, Renata sank down upon a stone, leant against the wall and remained motionless.
    I seated myself near by, not daring to speak, and prey to a dull, numb weariness that filled all my limbs like thick lead. Above my eyes towered the grey bulk of the forepart of the Cathedral, with its temporary roof, with towers as yet unbegun, but none the less imposing in the boldness of its design. And strangely enough, at this moment, forgetting my condition and Renata, forgetting weariness and hunger, I began, as I now remember