REFLECTIONS
Wholly absorbed by the surprise and terror awakened by the accusations
of her husband, Madame de Hansfeld, during the late conversation between
herself and the prince, had thought only of clearing herself from the
foul charges brought against her; but, once left to her own thoughts,
she began deeply and profoundly to reflect upon the events of the last
hour. Her first feeling was that of strong indignation against the man
who could for one instant have believed her capable of crimes so
heinous; but this first burst of displeasure soon gave place to a
grateful sense of the generous forbearance which had so carefully
concealed her supposed guilt from the world. A mind less noble and
considerate would have blazoned forth those suspicions, to which a train
of singular circumstances lent so apparent a reality. And then, by a
sudden change of ideas, the words of M. de Morville rose to her
recollection, as though for ever and indelibly impressed on her brain,--
"_There can be nothing propitious in my love for you, until I dare hope
to obtain your hand._"
In the present state of Madame de Hansfeld's mind, these words appeared
to have a deep, strange, and thrilling connexion with the terrible
accusations of her husband.
Supposing that the mysterious attempts upon the prince's life had
succeeded, she would then have been free--free to bestow herself upon
the object of her ardent passion, and by so doing secure his happiness
as well as her own.
As yet the heart of Paula had cherished no sentiment unworthy her
position as a wife; but how frequently have the purest-minded, the
noblest-hearted persons allowed themselves to be tempted and beguiled,
for a short period, by thoughts which, without assuming the form of
desires, but merely presenting themselves as _suppositions_, would, if
realised, have assuredly produced the blackest crimes!
How many gentle and resigned females, constrained to bear the most cruel
and brutal usage from husbands, who might well be won to better conduct
by the angelic patience of their heart-broken partners, have
involuntarily exclaimed, "Ah me! why did I not choose a generous,
noble-minded man, instead of such a tyrant as fate has given me?" There
is nothing murderous in this perhaps involuntary regret, which expresses
neither the hope nor expectation of seeing an end to the daily tortures
the unoffending victim endures; and yet in this simple sentiment is
contained the germ of passions that might lead to crime--even to murder
itself; it is the natural instinct of self-preservation, aware of
imminent danger from which it seeks the means of escaping.
With many, whose trials and sufferings have called forth the bitter
exclamation before alluded to, the burst of feeling ends there; they
submit to their destiny, which henceforth presents one long unbroken
path of sighs and tears.
While others, endowed either with more acute and susceptible feelings,
or a smaller share of resignation, relieve their oppressed hearts by
crying, "Oh were I but free from my chains and him who thus enforces my
slavery!"
While some, more desperate or more outraged, will call upon the friendly
aid of death to release them from the thraldom of their tyrant!
Let the consequences--the full import of these several laments be fully
analysed--let these _wishes_ be thoroughly examined, and it will
invariably be found that, in a smaller or lesser degree, they all point
to _murder_!
And what was it but a stern and fatal _necessity_ which led Macbeth on,
step by step, to commit the gradual increase of crime to which he at
last arrived?
And how many well-meaning persons have looked back, with astonishment
and fright, at the numerous guilty acts they have committed under the
influence of what at first appeared to them a right and justifiable
motive!
As regarded Paula, her preponderating idea, as she reviewed her recent
conference with M. de Hansfeld, was, "The husband to whom I am bound for
life, whom I love not, and whom I married merely to escape importunity,
whose opinion of me is so infamous, that he believes me capable of
thrice endeavouring to murder him, has been at the very extremest point
of danger; and by his death I should have been at liberty to reward the
affection of one who adores me with an ardour equal to that I feel for
him!"
In vain did Paula, who foresaw the dangerous consequences of indulging
in this reflection, attempt to fly from its fatal influence;
continually, and almost unconsciously, did she return to its fresh
consideration, after the manner in which persons, wandering in the mazes
of a labyrinth, find themselves perpetually and unwillingly back to the
point from which they at first started.
To this idea succeeded a second, equally important to develope. The
individual who had pursued M. de Hansfeld with such determined ferocity
of purpose must, necessarily, be well acquainted with the arrangements
of the family,--was, probably, one of its members. What could be the
exciting cause for desiring the death of the prince?
After several moments of deep meditation, a fresh light seemed to break
upon Paula. Recalling certain mysterious words spoken by Iris; the
blind, almost savage attachment of the mulatto towards herself; the
hatred she had occasionally manifested towards the prince when she
(Paula) had expressed her regrets at having espoused so capricious and
eccentric a person as himself,--all, all convinced her, the more she
reflected, that she had discovered the real author of the crime. Her
first impulse was judicious. Terrified at the ferocious perseverance
with which Iris had pursued her murderous intent, and much dreading that
she would never pause till she had accomplished her fell design, she
determined to question and circumvent her evil machinations.
An hour after the prince's departure, a summons from her mistress
brought Iris into the apartment of the princess.