A Twofold Life Part 22

"Where are you going?"

"To attend the marriage ceremonies between Princess Ottilie and our prince. Only a few weeks more, and I shall be wholly yours."

"But you will write to me now?"

"Every day. My sweet one, did my long silence grieve you?"

"Oh, deeply!" sighed Cornelia, and her eyes filled with tears. "How I have wept for you!"

"Poor angel! If I had known how you love me, I would never have tortured you so; but I will make amends for it. Do you believe I can?"

"A thousandfold!" laughed Cornelia, amid her tears.

"And now come, Cornelia; I will accompany you home, for I must prepare for my journey."

"No, _Heinrich_; I cannot appear before others with you now. Go alone, and leave me here a half-hour longer, until I have collected my thoughts; such sweet sounds must echo through the stillness."

"You are right. Oh, if I could only stay with you! Farewell. Do not look at me with that earnest gaze, or I cannot turn away. I feel as if I were a banished man, let me press you to my heart once more. Now send me away, or I cannot leave you!"

There was a rustling in the branches. "Hark! What was that? Has any one been watching us?"

"It was the evening breeze that warns you to go if you must set out on your journey to-day. Go, my beloved; think of our meeting, not of our farewell. I will shut my eyes, that they may not detain you."

"Then, farewell, until I have discharged my duty to the prince. Do not fly away to heaven, my angel!"

When Cornelia again raised her eyes, _Henri_ had departed. She watched him striding rapidly along, then clasped her hands upon her breast, as if to conceal the overwhelming burden of her happiness. A deep stillness surrounded her; the sun had set, the birds were silent.

Suddenly a dark figure appeared as if it had started from the earth, a tall, handsome man with a broad scar upon his brow, clad in the long coat of a priest. He fixed his dark eyes upon Cornelia for a moment, and then walked silently on.

"Who was that?" she murmured, in terror. "Why did he look at me so strangely? What had the gloomy apparition to do with this bright hour?"

She now felt the chill of the night air for the first time, shivered, and overwhelmed by a haunting dread, hurried swiftly between the graves towards home.

XV.

A ROYAL MARRIAGE.

"H--, May 15th.

"You ask me, my Cornelia, whether our love is to remain a secret. Yes, I entreat you to keep it so. Let no one, no matter who it may be, touch the tender plant which is budding in our hearts. So young an affection needs concealment until it is strong enough to withstand all storms; and believe me, my angel, they will not be spared you. I am far too well known, have too often had occasion to thrust others aside, not to have obtained the ill-will of persons who will take pleasure in casting poison into your heart merely out of malice towards me. That I have given them sufficient cause, I will frankly confess; for until a character like mine is complete within itself, it must fall into a thousand errors, contradictions, and inconsistencies. No man of real ability escapes this crisis of development. The more variously and richly he is endowed by nature, the more severe a process of purification he must endure; and this cannot be accomplished without expelling, by a violent fermentation, the dross which indelibly sullies his outward life, if, like me, he has been exposed to the eyes of the public. The private citizen experiences such epochs in silence; he is not watched, and therefore his errors are not observed; the false step taken in a position as lofty as mine is visible to the whole world, it is imprinted not only upon the personal _chronique scandaleuse_ but upon the history of the times, and receives an official character.

Therefore beware, Cornelia, of wishing to become acquainted with my nature through any other person than myself; beware of exposing the chaste secret of your heart to curiosity, malice, perhaps even envy. Do not think that foolish vanity makes me use this word, for the present inordinate thirst for marriage it is only natural that envy should be excited in all circles, when a young girl is loved by so prominent a man. Keep aloof from all these profaning influences. Believe me, I know woman's nature, with its thousand delicate threads of feeling and consequent excitability and sensitiveness, and I warn you to conceal my image in your inmost soul. We do not at first perceive the injury such a tie sustains by a rude touch; but as a fruit beaten by the hail continues to grow and shows the blemish and bitterness only when eaten, so the sore spot our hearts disturbs our happiness, and at last develops a bitterness all our love cannot soften. I make the greatest sacrifice because I can only see you clandestinely; but the time will come when our love will dare to show itself openly before the world, when we can no longer lose each other, and then you will perceive that I was right and thank me for my present self-sacrifice.

"Say nothing, even to Veronica; age is garrulous; I sincerely respect her, but I cannot acquit her of this peculiarity of her years; you have already made her so accustomed to your independent habits, you dear little piece of obstinacy, that she will not think it strange if you keep this letter from her as well as the others. It will be the last I shall write from here, for Prince Edward, who is to marry Ottilie as a proxy, arrived day before yesterday; the ceremony will be performed day after tomorrow, and then we shall set out at once. As the princess's health is somewhat delicate, and a journey by rail exhausts her more than to travel by ship, I shall bring her from B---- by water. We shall arrive on the 21st. Be sure to be at the harbor; the papers will give you all the particulars. Then, Cornelia, I will lay my weary head upon your breast, and rest peacefully after the thousand miserable anxieties of diplomacy and etiquette, which torture a poor amba.s.sador extraordinary. Yes, you may be right when you say I was born for something higher than to be the servant of a prince. When I read such words, something stirs within me like an awakening power, which only needs the impulse to cast off its chains, to shake itself free by one mighty effort. Whether and from whence this will come to me, from without or from within, I know not; but this I do know, that only you can rouse the ideal powers which a misdirected life has lulled to sleep.

"Farewell till we meet, my angel.

"Your own _Heinrich_."

It was late at night when _Heinrich_ finished this letter, and while he went calmly to rest and fell asleep with Cornelia's name upon his lips, the princess was wandering up and down her chamber like a restless ghost. The lamps were burning brightly in their ground-gla.s.s shades beside her bed, whose silken curtains waved slowly to and fro as Ottilie pa.s.sed them.

"It is impossible; I cannot do it," she said, as she leaned for a moment against the window. "If it were only day! The night makes all anxieties rise before us like impa.s.sable mountains! Or, if sleep would overpower me! But now it has been wholly put to flight by the thought that I have but one more day of freedom,--freedom to love and suffer; and then--then I must tear my heart from all to which it clings so fondly,--forget, cease to feel: and woe betide me if I do not wholly succeed in doing so! To see him daily, to be obliged to distinguish him from among the n.o.bles of my country as my husband's favorite, and yet force back what my own heart feels; to feign an indifference which makes the forms of courtesy--the true expression of my opinions--a lie!

And you could undertake such a task, unhappy one? You could allow yourself to be so confused and persuaded that you did not shrink from the tortures your consent would impose? If it were only suffering!--alas! I am accustomed to that. It is the fear of guilt that terrifies me. It is not only in act that we can sin, but in thought.

Each thought that steals back to that time of quiet, patient longing is a robbery of what I owe my husband,--a crime against my vow. Woe betide me if those ardent dark eyes, which beam only with love, even upon those for whom he does not feel it, should ever rest in all their power on mine! Shall I be able to prevent absorbing death from them with ardent longing? And if at such a moment my husband should approach, secure in my affection----"

She threw herself on her knees and hid her blushing face in her hands.

"Oh, G.o.d! my G.o.d! thou who knowest better than I whether I am right in thy sight, have mercy upon me and deliver me from this night of doubt and anguish! Thou hast placed me in this lofty station! Give me the strength, the coldness, the dignity,--not only the outward, but the inward dignity,--which raises the reigning princess above ordinary women. Let me not be compelled to expiate it so terribly, because I willfully cherished an affection for a man whom thou didst not destine for me. Have mercy, have mercy, oh, Father, thou who hast been the only one to extend thine arms lovingly in answer to my search!--thou to whom alone I could fly when, like a lost child, I despaired in this cold world! I have brought thee my tears, complained to thee of the sorrows other children weep out on their mothers' b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and to-day--to-day for the first time--thou wilt not permit thyself to be found."

She rose and saw that a bar of light was bordering the horizon.

Her glance fell upon the mirror and showed her a face so pale, so tear-stained, that she was almost startled at the sight of her own image. She gasped for breath, and, utterly exhausted, at last threw herself upon her bed and fell asleep. When she awoke the sun was already high in the heavens. The deep slumber had strengthened her, and she rose with a feeling of new life. With the light of day more calmness and clearness of judgment had returned. She collected the last remnant of her strength, and felt ashamed of her weakness.

"Be a princess, be proud, Ottilie! Worthily fill the place for which G.o.d has appointed you. Pay the debt you owe him for the gifts he has bestowed, and which you have held at so cheap a rate because they were valueless to one. Perceive that it is the call of G.o.d that rouses you from this selfish melancholy. Obey it, fulfill your destiny like all other created beings; and if your strength fails, what can befall you worse than the death for which you are always longing? Life will never be so dear to you that you cannot hail it as a last blessing. My Lord and G.o.d, I lay my broken heart, my hopes, my wishes at thy feet, and make but one prayer,--grant that, in return for all my sacrifices, I may not be denied the joy of fulfilling my task and making others truly happy."

She stood erect, as if surrounded by a halo of self-abnegation, when Roschen suddenly begged permission to enter. "I most humbly pray your Highness's pardon for having come without being summoned," said the young girl, "but the chamberlain has just brought your Highness the news that Prince Edward was thrown from his horse this morning and so dangerously injured that he cannot appear at the wedding as proxy."

"What? Oh, G.o.d! is it possible?" exclaimed Ottilie.

"Will your Highness deign to receive the chamberlain's news in person?"

"No, no! But ask him whether the marriage will be deferred, or if some one else will take the place of the prince."

Roschen withdrew, and came back with the reply that the wedding would, in all probability, be deferred. Count Ottmar had already sent a telegram to N----, and they were now awaiting an answer.

Ottilie seemed to be animated with new life. A delay,--a respite,--although only a short one, enabled her to breathe more freely. "Dress me, Roschen, and then send for Countess Carlstein. I will drive for an hour; I need the sun and air. Ah, Roschen," she continued, as the young girl was arranging her toilet, "how will you feel in a foreign country?"

"Oh, I shall be contented anywhere, if I am with your Highness; especially as you have graciously given my father a place in your train. We shall still be able to see each other when I have any spare time."

"Good, contented little one," smiled Ottilie. "Tell me frankly, Roschen, has your heart no need of love? Do you not regret that you have rejected Albert, and must go through life alone?"

"No, your Highness," exclaimed Roschen, cheerily; and two charming little dimples appeared in her plump, rosy cheeks. "Life in your service is so pleasant, and I love you and my father so dearly, that I haven't the slightest wish for the constant restlessness and feverish excitement of a betrothal."

Ottilie stood thoughtfully before her. "Tell me, my child, how did you succeed in forgetting Herr von Ottmar so easily, since you love no one else?"

"Oh, your Highness, I did not forget him easily," said Roschen, raising her large, childlike, blue eyes frankly to Ottilie's face. "I cried a great deal at first, and thought I should die; but by degrees I saw that it is a sin to covet anything we know the dear G.o.d does not intend for us; besides, my confessor, Herr Lorenz, represented how hard it would be for my old father if he was compelled to see his daughter waste away thus. Then I felt ashamed of myself, went busily to work again, and broke myself of my useless longing and sighing. Ah, work is good for everything: it leaves one no time to weep, and at night one is so tired that sleep conquers all grief. So I soon began to take pleasure in living again, and thanked G.o.d that he had punished my sin so mildly. Anxiety about poor Albert was the only thing that troubled me, and now I am relieved even from this. He is a happy man."

The princess felt the reproof contained in the young girl's artlessly prattled philosophy. Her glance fell upon the mirror, and, as if reflecting the reproach in Roschen's words, it showed cheeks paled by her long-nourished sorrow, in the sharpest contrast to the bright, blooming face of the waiting-maid.

"Yes, yes, you are right," she murmured, at last, gazing at Roschen's image in the mirror. After a long pause she began, in an almost expressionless tone, "Have you learned no particulars from Albert as to whether an acknowledged love exists between the count and the young girl called the Prison Fairy?"

"Albert does not know it positively, your Highness, but he is almost sure of it; for ever since the count came back from N---- he has written to her very often, and seems entirely different from what he used to be,--much more cheerful and happy."

Ottilie compressed her lips, and involuntarily laid her hand upon her heart, as if she felt a sudden pang.

"Does anything hurt you, your Highness? Does the pin I put in there p.r.i.c.k you?" asked Roschen, anxiously.

"Yes, take it out; it hurts me," said Ottilie, and thought, "Ah, if you only could!"