At last a court ball was given, and _Henri_,--for it was _Henri_ who
went to balls,--who was always the star that dazzled all eyes, found
himself as much neglected as ever. Only the members of the court who
were suspected of ultramontanism approached him with mysterious
cordiality; and whenever a number of observers were present, some
persons whom he knew to belong to the ranks of his worst enemies cast
strange glances at him which could scarcely fail to be noticed.
Infuriated by this irritating and to him incomprehensible conduct, he
turned to the young girls to pass away a few moments in their society;
but the first whom he approached, a distant relative, drew back with
mingled sorrow and alarm. He laughingly seized the little finger of her
outstretched hand and drew her into a window corner. "Why do you avoid
me, little Elsie? What have I done to harm you?" he asked.
"Oh, go away, you are a Jesuit!" whispered the girl, half timidly, half
sullenly.
"Ah!" A flush slowly mounted into _Henri's_ face, but without the
slightest change of countenance he pushed a gold bracelet which had
slipped down to the young girl's wrist so far up the rounded limb that
for the first time in her life she shrank from the sight of her bare
arm.
"Do you know that a Jesuit is something so very bad?"
"No," was the embarrassed reply. "I only know it is--must be--something
you ought not to be; or else you would not do it so secretly." The
young girl paused.
"Well, and who told you this?" asked _Henri_, in the greatest suspense,
gazing so steadily and firmly into the large childlike eyes, that she
continued in the greatest bewilderment.
"Why, Herr von Neuenburg told my mother so, and she was very unhappy
about it, and they both said you could not be trusted any more. Now you
know, let me go. Oh, dear, I ought not to have said anything about it!"
With these words she ran away, and his smiles fled with her. It was no
longer the careless, jesting _Henri_, but _Heinrich_ who stood
haughtily erect in the alcove surveying the assembly with cold,
contemptuous glances.
"These people wish to be diplomats, and discuss such important matters
before children! Fortunately, I know you well enough to perceive that
this rumor proceeds from you Jesuits. Oh, to be chained to such a life!
to be forced to sacrifice all one's power for an honor the miserable
breath of a liar's lips can blow away like dust! Is this life worth the
trouble?"
"Not this life," murmured the fiend who was to help him "obtain." "You
must enter a wider field, and mount higher and higher to a sphere where
these petty intrigues can have no power over you; then only will you
find rest."
These reflections, which were not by any means the first of the kind,
were disturbed by the rustle of a dress, and when he looked up Princess
Ottilie was standing before him. She gazed at him for a long time in
silence, while he bowed low, murmuring a few words of apology for his
absence of mind.
"Not so, Herr von Ottmar," she interrupted; "we already know that even
when surrounded by the bustle of a crowd, you sometimes hold
intercourse with your own thoughts; in any case, a much greater source
of entertainment than society could offer you."
"Ah, your Highness, if society consisted of the elements united in my
gracious princess, it would be the highest enjoyment to devote to it
every power; but when people are compelled, like me, to wander
perpetually, held aloof and misunderstood, through this labyrinth of
pretensions, disappointments, and prejudices, they are sometimes glad
to take refuge in the unsubstantial world of thought."
"But why do you not release yourself from surroundings so distasteful?"
asked the princess. "Why do you not find strength to withdraw, if not
to the world of spirits, at least to that of the intellect?"
"Your Highness," replied Ottmar, after a slight pause, "if I could take
with me to that realm what has hitherto chained me to the court, how
gladly would I resign this whirl of society! But so long as the object
of my holiest longing is still clasped in the arms of the world, so
long I will at least maintain a place near her, and fill it as well as
I am able."
With these words he cast upon the princess one of the glances whose
power he had so often tried. She involuntarily turned her head to see
if any one could hear her.
"Herr von Ottmar," said she, and her voice became lower, her expression
more sympathetic, "may I speak to you frankly?"
"Oh, my most gracious, benevolent friend!" murmured _Heinrich_, in a
tone whose submissive devotion produced an irresistible influence upon
the impressionable soul of the princess.
"Do not imagine that I have not perceived your design of winning me by
flattery; I have read that, as well as your whole character. I am
gracious enough to forgive you for placing the same estimate upon me as
upon every other woman whom you may have misled by similar speeches. I
forgive you, because I believe you to be greater than such arts would
make you appear; you possess no false nature, and if you deceive it is
only in cases which have no connection with your secret life, and no
reality for you. Where you have to answer for yourself, your own
established convictions, you will be true. I have this confidence in
you, and therefore can calmly look on and see you make sport of the men
and circumstances which, from your lofty stand-point, must appear so
small; nay, I can even see you test your superiority over myself; and
while I know all you say is false, am unable, I frankly confess, to
resist the charm which your masterly acting exerts over me, and feel
attracted towards you as the ignorant man is drawn to the artist whose
skill he admires. Do not deny the truth of my assertion. Be noble; or,
better still, show yourself to me as you really are, and confess I am
right."
"Princess," cried Ottmar, "you are right. I grant that you have
understood me; but I must oppose you in one thing, that I have been
hypocritical to you. Ten minutes ago you might perhaps have termed me a
flatterer, but now everything I said has become simple truth, and I
should have far more to say to you if time and opportunity favored me."
"I fear this is the last opportunity I shall have of speaking to you
undisturbed, and therefore I speak now. I know you will not remain here
under existing circumstances, and was not willing to have you go
without taking with you on your weary way a word of conciliation,
perhaps of warning; for you do not deserve the sentence passed upon
you, and it grieves me deeply to see a noble, great-hearted man so
misunderstood through his own fault."
"Has it already gone so far?" asked Ottmar, in surprise.
"Unfortunately, yes, my friend. You are considered a very dangerous
man. Your enemies have decried you as a secret agent of the Jesuits,
and at last placed before the prince proofs that you spent a year as a
student in the Jesuit college at Rome. Your whole secret is betrayed."
"And do they not suppose," replied Ottmar, "that the Jesuits would know
how to guard such a secret better, unless it suited their interests to
reveal it?"
"You must consider that you are at a _Protestant_ court. You have
hitherto passed for a free-thinker, now you are discovered to be a
pupil of the Jesuits. Thus one or the other must be false; people find
themselves mistaken in you, and are so blindly enraged that they will
believe your enemies rather than you. They consider everything you have
done and are doing against the Jesuits to be merely a mask. The
cordiality which several gentlemen, who are known to be adherents of
the order, showed you this evening confirmed the prince still more in
his opinion. You know his passionate temper; I have just heard a
conversation between him and the minister which I have neither time nor
inclination to repeat; but my conscience urged me to warn you, and--"
"And your heart, princess; it tells you that, spite of the equivocal
part you see me play, I am a man of honor, who at any moment can cast
aside hypocrisy and deceit as contemptible tools, and whom you can
trust."
"I know not whether I may venture to do so. You were sincere with none,
and I can only entreat you always to remember that falsehood is as
dangerous as a poisonous dye, by means of which men often color things
of trifling value, but which by constant use so pervades the atmosphere
that they at last can no longer breathe in it themselves."
"Your Highness," whispered _Heinrich_, "let me at least know why, in
spite of my faults, you can still feel so much sympathy for me."
"Because I have recognized your great talents, the conflict, the want
of peace, in your soul; because I know that the contradictions which
make you suspected by the world at large are rooted in the contrasts of
your own nature; and because I cannot help feeling the deepest
compassion for you," she said, at last, with an outburst of feeling,
laying her hand carelessly upon his. Her voice rang upon _Heinrich's_
ear in tones of strange warning, and tears were glittering in her deep
blue eyes as she continued: "Oh, there is something so noble, so
godlike, in a true human soul, that when I see one struggling and
battling in the prison of this earthly body, ensnared and tortured, my
heart bleeds and I would fain extend my hands protectingly over the
wildly fluttering wings, until the hour when it can free itself and
soar away unfettered! We are observed. God be with you! Farewell!" She
glided away and disappeared among the crowd.
"My Ideal spoke from her lips," said Ottmar, gazing after her.
A strange conflict now ensued between the opposing elements in his
breast.
"She loves me; she, this noble creature, so full of intellect and
feeling," said _Heinrich_. "She could not speak more distinctly, and
what she concealed I read in her eyes, which absorbed my image in their
blue depths and reflected it again, as the sun paints a Fata Morgana
upon the clouds."
"And I," _Henri_ rejoined, "I feel ashamed and miserable when in her
presence, for I can give her nothing in return for the treasures she
brings me. I do not love her."
"And why not?" asked _Heinrich_. "Can she not make a man happy for his
whole life? Does she not hold a lofty position, is she not as noble as
she is intellectual, and has she not sufficient strength of mind to
accept my hand, if I offer it, in spite of all intrigues?"
"True," replied _Henri_; "but she is neither young nor blooming, and is
an invalid. How can I bind myself forever to one who has not the
slightest personal charm for me? A beautiful soul and noble mind are
phantoms, but a sickly body is the most comfortless reality, and a
burden which I must drag about with me during my whole life. No: so
long as I am still young I wish to enjoy this miserable life; when I am
old and decrepit I shall have enough to do to bear my own ailments
without the addition of an invalid wife."
"Ah, I could love her!" said _Heinrich_. "You should not extend your
arms to me vain, beautiful soul; I would foster and cherish you as my
most sacred possession; but it is impossible. Even if I should give her
this man, what would she possess? A cold intellect and a sensuality
which this poor ethereal nature would be unable to attract, and by
which she would sooner or later be betrayed." Absorbed in these
thoughts, he walked through the rooms to take his leave. He wished to
go home, for he had lost all inclination for the entertainment. When he
reached the last apartment a new dance had just commenced and drawn
every one into the large salons. The room was silent and empty, only
the lights in the candelabra burned with a low crackle; fans and
withered bouquets lay scattered over the tables, and cloaks that had
been carelessly cast aside were thrown upon the sofas. Everything bore
witness to the bright and joyous life that had reigned here a few
minutes before, and now the deserted chamber with its marble columns
and gilded arches seemed like a mausoleum, where the soul might take a
last farewell. He paused an instant. "Ottilie!" he murmured, half
unconsciously, and the solemn mood he had felt a short time before
again overmastered him. It seemed as if beneficent spirits were
floating in the waves of light that surrounded him and trying to
whisper something, but he could no longer understand them. Just then he
suddenly heard a low rustle: some living creature was near. He looked
around him and saw the princess standing in the doorway gazing at him
with deep earnestness.
"Ottilie," cried _Heinrich_, "God has sent you here! The angel of my
life called me, but I could no longer understand his words; for in the
tumult of the world I have grown deaf to his spirit voice. He dwells
in you; become his oracle, let him speak to me through your lips."
"Herr von Ottmar, my heart is filled with the thought of your welfare,
but bow to help you I know not. I will pray your good angel to show me
some means of fathoming the trouble in your soul. I know of no way
unless"--she hesitated, less from embarrassment than to seek the right
word,--"unless you can find a nature which will understand and have for
you the patience of true love. Only the anxiety of a heart entirely
devoted to you will discover the means of restoring your lost peace.
That you may win such a being is the hope and desire of my soul."
"Princess," cried _Heinrich_, whom Ottilie's lovely enthusiasm had
deeply charmed, "if I now say that I find such a being in you, that
there is no woman to whom I will intrust my life except you--"
"No, my friend," said Ottilie calmly, though she turned pale. "You are
deceived in yourself at this moment. You do not love it is the longing
for the right which, thank God, always lives in you, which attracts you
to my--I may be allowed to say it--pure soul. This is not love; I know
it, and would never strengthen you in an error which would defraud you
of the best portion of your life. Yet I thank you for your confession.
It makes you appear still more lovable in my eyes; not because you have
made it to me, but to the ideal to which I would so gladly see you
rise."
"Ottilie, let me thank you on my knees for the light you have poured
into my darkened soul, and let me swear I will do everything good and
great of which I may be capable in your name, your spirit!" _Heinrich_
impulsively threw himself at her feet and clasped her hands. "Oh, my
soul loves you, Ottilie, with a love which--"
"Which is not of this world," interrupted Ottilie, bending over him.
"Another love will enter your heart, and you will bless me for having
had strength to refuse what does not belong to me! And now I entreat
you to rise and leave me to myself."
_Heinrich_ rose and started back as he looked at Ottilie. She was
standing proudly erect, struggling for breath, as her tears flowed
more and more violently; her eyes were closed, her delicate lips
firmly compressed, she was a most touching picture of agonizing
self-sacrifice.
"Poor heart! you love me, and yet are noble enough to reject me?" asked
_Heinrich_.
"Yes, my friend," murmured Ottilie, "so truly as God will sustain me in
my last hour, so truly I desire your happiness more than my own, so
truly I resign you. You must be free, and choose freely. God grant you
may find the right!"
"After this vow I have nothing more to hope," said _Heinrich_.
"Farewell, my friend! One who has power to exercise such self-restraint
has also strength to conquer her sorrow." He kissed her cold, pale
brow, and hastily left the room.
"Thank God it has turned out so!" whispered _Henri_; and _Heinrich_
also uttered a sigh of relief: he felt that he had escaped a great
danger. He had been hurried on by a momentary impulse and Ottilie's
unconcealed love to a step which he would have bitterly repented; for
he was equally convinced that no one would ever understand him like
Ottilie, and also that her appreciation alone would not satisfy him. As
_Henri_ desired more sensual, _Heinrich_ demanded greater intellectual,
charms. He wished to be excited, kept in a state of suspense,
enlivened, amused: Ottilie's uniform, quiet earnestness would not have
afforded him this, and he thanked her for having rightly understood his
hasty enthusiasm and been generous enough to reject him.
Meantime, the queenly Ottilie stood motionless in the glittering
apartment, her hand pressed to her heart and her eyes raised towards
heaven. "Which of us is most to be pitied, he or I?"