"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 ambassador
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-glass shades
beside her bed, whose silken curtains waved slowly to and fro as
Ottilie passed 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 impassable 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 nobles 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, God! my God! 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' breasts, 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
God 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 God 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 God, 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
Roeschen 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, God! 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."
Roeschen 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, Roeschen, and then send for Countess Carlstein. I
will drive for an hour; I need the sun and air. Ah, Roeschen," 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,
Roeschen, 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 Roeschen, 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 Roeschen, 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 God 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 God 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 Roeschen'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 Roeschen'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
prick you?" asked Roeschen, anxiously.
"Yes, take it out; it hurts me," said Ottilie, and thought, "Ah, if you
only could!"
"Your Highness, your heart is beating violently! Your Highness is
certainly suffering from that pain in the breast again! If you would
only tell the doctor about it!"
"My good girl, he can do me no good." A short cough interrupted her,
and she glanced smilingly at Roeschen's troubled face. "Be calm, my
child, people do not die of such things; and if I should, I shall leave
you a legacy which will support you all your life."
"Your Highness!" exclaimed Roeschen, with a deep blush, while the
tears rushed into her eyes. "If your Highness thinks it is only for
that,"--she could say no more.
"My dear Roeschen, have I hurt your feelings? Indeed, I did not intend
to do so. Then there is one heart that loves me for myself. God will
reward you for it far better than I. Do not cry: give me my dress."
Roeschen smiled through her tears, threw the dress over Ottilie's
shoulders, knelt down, and pulled the folds straight. Then she gazed
with childish admiration at her mistress's tall, stately figure. "Ah,
how beautiful your Highness looks now! I cannot imagine that any one
can be handsomer or more noble. Your Highness is so--what shall I call
it?--such a holy apparition."
Ottilie smiled involuntarily. "Oh, how delighted your Highness's proud
husband will be when he sees he has obtained such a beautiful wife!"
"Do you think so?"
"Of course; he must be pleased. He has chosen your Highness without
knowing you. Even if you were ugly, he would still be compelled to keep
you; but if you are beautiful, it is a real piece of good fortune,--a
true gain to him. He will undoubtedly rejoice."
For the first time in many days, Ottilie felt tempted to laugh. "You
are a perfect child," said she. "May God preserve your innocence! You
are like a fresh spring day to my soul, and that is of great value to
me. But do you know we have spent two hours in curling hair and
dressing?"
"Yes, your Highness; but I can't help it," replied Roeschen,
apologetically.
"No, no; I know it. Tell me, Roeschen, how would you feel if you were
obliged to meet a stranger and greet him as your husband?" asked
Ottilie, with as much apparent unconcern as possible.
"Oh, dear me! It must be strange, I think. No doubt it is very hard for
a royal lady that she cannot have her own free choice and take the one
she wants; but she must bear something in return for the many
advantages over others which she enjoys, or she would have everything
quite too pleasant; and every human being must have one sorrow, or he
will not deserve heaven."
"Very true; but what would you do if you were in my place?"
"Why, your Highness, if matters had gone so far that I couldn't change
anything, then I would in God's name reconcile myself to them, and make
every effort to become as fond of my betrothed as I could, that I might
have some pleasure in him myself, for it must be terrible to belong to
a man whom one doesn't love."
"But if you cannot love him?" asked Ottilie, with interest.
"Why should one not love the husband to whom one is wedded in the sight
of God? One can become fond of any worthy man, if one has a kind heart,
like your Highness: and the prince is said to be both handsome and
good. It is better for any one who can choose freely not to betroth
herself to a man whom she doesn't love, or to a stranger; but if one
must take him, and can't get rid of it, one ought to meet him
trustfully and lovingly, that it may be not only outwardly but inwardly
a true Christian marriage."
"Yes, we must question the oracle of a simple heart, if in our
over-refinement we wish to find the way to truth and nature," murmured
Ottilie. Her toilet was now complete, and she thought that she looked
better than usual. "If the Lord so wills, he can speak from the lips of
a child!" she thought to herself, for she had received unexpected
consolation from the simple girl who was so greatly her inferior.
Just at that moment the chamberlain announced the ambassador
extraordinary, Count Ottmar, who requested a private audience to
communicate the wishes of his prince.
Ottilie started at the sound of his name, but moved on with a firm step
to the reception-room where _Heinrich_ awaited her.
"Pardon me, princess, for having ventured to request permission to
speak to you once more alone."
"My future husband's messenger must always be welcome to me," said
Ottilie, with stately courtesy.
_Heinrich_ looked at her in astonishment. It was difficult for him to
find the precise tone that would harmonize with this address. He was
unaccustomed to such coldness from Ottilie, and felt confused. This did
not escape her delicate feelings, and to fill up the little pause of
embarrassment she motioned him to be seated.
Meantime _Heinrich_ had regained his composure, and began, in a firm,
grave tone: "Your Highness, permit me to speak to you once more in the
language in which I formerly had the happiness of making myself
understood; for the point in question does not merely concern a
commission from the prince, but private relations of a delicate nature
with which it is connected, and which I can only discuss with your
Highness if you will permit me once more, and for the last time, to
approach you as your friend."
"Count Ottmar," replied Ottilie, in a low but firm voice, "you may be
assured that I am not contemptible enough to seek to deny the existence
of 'relations of a delicate nature' between you and myself, but I must
also expect that you will be considerate enough to say no more about
them than is absolutely necessary."
"You may be sure of that, princess. I regret that my introduction to
this conversation should have given you cause to fear the reverse."
"Tell me my bridegroom's message. What can he ask to which I would not
consent in advance?"
"Then I will discharge my duty. The reason I have used so much
circumlocution you will perceive without any further explanation. You
are aware of the misfortune that has befallen Prince Edward. I
telegraphed at once to N----, as my office required, and have just
received from the prince the dispatch I now have the honor to deliver
to you."
Ottilie took the paper, went to the window, and read: "Impossible to
defer the marriage. All the preparations are completed. The whole
country in readiness to give a brilliant reception. Unadvisable to
disappoint the expectations of the nation. If agreeable to the
princess, I appoint Count Ottmar proxy on Prince Edward's place. Count
Ottmar will inform the court at once, etc." Ottilie could read no more:
the remainder concerned only matters of etiquette; the words lost their
meaning, the letters swam before her eyes. She stood motionless as if
struck by a thunderbolt. Every tinge of color faded from her cheeks,
she seemed frozen into a marble statue. She must exchange rings with
Ottmar, be wedded to the man for whom she longed, only to belong to
another; she must vow to be faithful to her husband, and she loved his
proxy. The forms which would have sealed her life-long happiness, had
they been true, now only served to sanction the lie at the thought of
which her heart bled. And yet ought she, as the betrothed bride of
another, to make the humiliating confession to _Heinrich_ that she felt
too weak to bear his presence at the altar?--ought she to give way to
such weakness herself?
_Heinrich_ read these thoughts reflected upon her brow. "I knew this
news must affect you unpleasantly, princess, and therefore preferred to
give you the information privately, that you might be able to tell me
frankly whether it would be agreeable to you to stand before the altar
with me or not. I hope you will understand my 'consideration' now; for
if the inquiry had been made officially, you would not have been able
to offer before the eyes of the world the insult of refusing to accept
me as a substitute. But here, alone, you can tell me if it will be
painful to you to have me beside you; and I will not take the
acknowledgment as a humiliation, but receive it as a sacred confidence,
and find means to delay the progress of affairs without mentioning your
name."
Ottilie struggled with her feelings for a moment, and then held out her
hand to him. "I thank you, my friend. Your forbearance is kind and
noble, but it is unnecessary. How could I meet the prince, my husband,
if I had not done with--everything?--if I shrank from this last drop in
the bitter cup? What has been begun must be finished. If I have the
courage to accomplish the great falsehood of my life, it ought not to
fail me in this short, painful comedy. Ought I to rob an expectant
country of its festival of joy, leave its garlands to wither, suffer
its good-will to be transformed into anger, on account of the cowardice
of a sore heart? Ought I not, as the mother of the country, to
understand my duties better? No, no, Ottmar; I am stronger than you
thought. I will go with you to the marriage ceremony; I will think only
of my people, pray for them alone,--my kind people, who are hopefully
expecting me: that will give me strength to bear the mockery of fate
which places my hand in yours,--to part me from you forever." Here
emotion suffocated her voice: she motioned to Ottmar to withdraw, and
turned away.
"Oh, princess," he cried, "if you knew what grief I feel at the sight
of your silent suffering, at the thought that I am its author, and can
now do nothing, nothing to lessen it! I am an unhappy man, who always
acts solely from egotism, and yet is not bad enough to be able to
witness the result of his deeds coldly and without remorse. No, God is
my witness that I am now speaking the truth, and not acting a part!" He
threw himself on his knees before her. "Forgive me, princess; I have
committed a terrible crime against you!"
She laid her band gently on his head. "I forgive you all, Ottmar. May
God bless and guide you in the right path!"
"I thank you!" cried _Heinrich_, springing up. "Then I am to give the
court notice that the marriage will take place?"
"I have already said so."
When _Heinrich_ had closed the door behind him, Ottilie gave free
course to her tears. "Oh, God! oh, God! how much can a heart bear
without breaking?"
She had told the truth: hers was not one of those natures in which
grief, by a violent assault, swells the veins to bursting, strains the
nerves to their utmost tension, and excites a wild conflict in the
heart; she belonged to those deep, silent characters, which do not have
the strength to offer the resistance which increases it to despair, or
conquers it, but patiently suffer it to obtain complete possession of
them, and conceal it in the deepest recesses of their souls, where it
gently and gradually gnaws away the roots of life. This proceeds from
no lack of strength or courage. They use all their moral power in the
conscientiousness and capacity for self-sacrifice peculiar to them, in
order to accomplish the tasks of superhuman difficulty which fate most
frequently imposes upon these very natures.
Ottilie performed such a task when on the following day she went to the
altar with _Heinrich_, and succeeded in stifling the thought of his
close proximity by fervent prayer. She did not cast a single glance at
his face, but stood as pale and calm as a corpse adorned for the grave.
All were weeping around her, although they could have given no reason
for it, even to themselves. Her manner after the wedding exerted a
sorrowful influence: it seemed to each person who offered her his
congratulations as if he were uttering a lie, and a thrill of
melancholy ran through his whole frame as she bowed her beautiful head
in acknowledgment. With the firmness to which all royal personages are
trained, she went through all the customary ceremonies; but in saying
farewell she could not restrain her tears, and held her uncle's hand
closely clasped in hers as she thanked him for all his kindness.
The old prince was deeply moved. "Ah, Ottilie," said he, "I fear that
in you my country is losing its good angel. True, I ought not to
complain, since it will obtain great advantages by your marriage; but
they will be no compensation to my heart for you. Farewell! May God
give you happiness!"
The journey was the greatest martyrdom to Ottilie's weakened nerves;
for she now had not a moment in which she was unwatched. She must guard
every word, every look; she dared not yield to any feelings of
exhaustion or depression. Thus passed a day of torture. Fortunately,
when night came, her bodily fatigue was so great that sleep relieved
her for a few hours from her excitement and anxiety.
The following day they reached the frontiers of Ottilie's second home.
Here she received a portion of her new court, and dismissed her former
train, with the exception of those who were appointed to a place among
the ranks of her future attendants. The exchange between the old and
new courtiers was a matter of comparative indifference to her, for she
had never expected to find these men anything more than mere
conventional machines. She welcomed one party with the same affability
that she displayed in bidding farewell to the other, without any
special feeling. The cordial reception given her by the country people
in the first little town on the frontier was a joyful surprise, and
when she at last reached the prince's yacht which lay awaiting her and
gave her a royal salute, when she had entered it with her train, and on
a most lovely day floated down the broad stream, past shores adorned
with tokens of welcome, her heart began to swell with the thought, "You
are the mistress of this country. It belongs to you, and its happiness,
its freedom, will perhaps be in your hands." And this ray of hope
cheered her soul for a moment.
_Heinrich_ watched her with alternate dread and joy, according to the
mood expressed upon her features. It was a great source of anxiety to
him how Ottilie would bear all these exertions. If her strength failed,
if she met the prince as a sickly, feeble woman, all the blame would
fall upon him who had made this match. She still seemed outwardly firm;
but in spite of her faultless bearing it did not escape him that her
breast rose and fell more and more rapidly the nearer she approached
her destination. He would gladly have sustained and animated her spirit
as one seeks to save and protect en expiring light, but the
unapproachable dignity of manner which she had adopted towards him
since her marriage made it impossible, and caused him the greatest
perplexity. The last stage of the journey was reached: he saw her grow
still paler; and she received deputations from the city at which they
had arrived, and some of the highest staff-officers who had come out in
two yachts to meet her, in a voice so faint that the words were
scarcely audible. It was with great anxiety that _Heinrich_ saw the
moment of the meeting between her and the prince approach. And he was
not wrong.
When the three steamers left the last stopping-place and glided, calmly
and majestically, side by side down the broad stream, countless boats
adorned with gay streamers put off from both shores and accompanied the
large vessels; on the right and left, before and behind, they assembled
hundreds; as far as the eye could reach there was nothing to be seen
but a moving stream of fluttering pennons. The mistress of ceremonies
signified to Ottilie that she ought to go on deck and show herself to
the people. Scarcely had she done so when a loud cheer rang from
thousands of throats: a greeting from the students, the most promising
young men in the country. And now music rose from the foremost boats,
like an eagle extending its wings above the confused, brilliant throng.
The echo repeated the strains majestically from the rocky shores; a
fresh breeze ruffled the water, and as if borne along by the sound the
boats dashed on.
Ottilie clung dizzily to the railing of the deck. It seemed as if her
soul must escape from its tenement and soar into eternity upon those
tones, and she gazed with a strange, unearthly expression at the
magnificent spectacle and the sunny air thrilling with the notes of the
music. The sweet sounds blended into a threatening roar, a volley of
artillery! Masts, flags, and steeples appeared in the distance.
"The harbor is close at hand, your Highness," said _Heinrich_. Ottilie
turned pale: the shadow of death rested upon her face. "Take courage;
compose yourself, or all is lost," he whispered.
She still stood erect, and he watched her in painful suspense. The
distant steeples became still more distinct; there was a second roar of
artillery from the accompanying yachts,--a third,--the harbor opened
before Ottilie's eyes, and now began the thunder of a hundred guns,
while the ringing of bells floated athwart them in majestic waves of
sound. The boats fell back with a repeated cheer, and the steamers
slowly entered the harbor. The rigging of the ships that lay at anchor
was filled with sailors, who waved their hats and shouted a wild
"hurrah!" A countless throng of people on the edge of the harbor, at
the windows, and on the roofs of the houses, which were gayly adorned
with flowers and tapestry, sent forth their shouts of welcome to
Ottilie, amid the thunder of cannon and the ringing of bells.
Everything swam before her eyes. The impression was too powerful; all
this produced too violent an emotion in her oppressed heart. Yonder
stood a group of gentlemen, the foremost must be the prince just ready
to enter the boat which was to bear him to the ship; a mist gathered
before her eyes, her heart stopped beating, the blood flowed coldly
through her veins: she laid her damp, icy hand upon the shoulder of the
mistress of ceremonies, and tottered. _Heinrich_ caught her by the arm,
and both carried her down into the cabin, where she sank back utterly
unconscious.
"I thought so," muttered _Heinrich_, and went up to receive the prince,
and if possible detain him.
The mistress of ceremonies knew not what to do, and called the lady's
maid. Roeschen appeared and applied the usual restoratives. Ottilie
breathed faintly, but was unable to raise her head.
"The prince is on board," said a chamberlain.
"Oh, God!" moaned Ottilie; and again she trembled violently.
"Will not your Highness try to rise?" pleaded the mistress of
ceremonies, in the greatest anxiety; for the prince might now enter at
any moment. Roeschen caught her in her arms, the door was thrown open,
and "his Highness" was announced. One last violent effort, and Ottilie
stood erect. The mistress of ceremonies withdrew with Roeschen. The
prince entered. Ottilie bowed with her usual stately grace. The
prince's eyes rested with surprise and pleasure upon the beautiful,
although pallid, face. The aroma of aristocracy which surrounded her
was wonderfully pleasing to the man of forms.
"Allow me to express to your Highness my most heartfelt gratitude for
the confidence with which you intrust your future to me, a stranger;
and receive the assurance that I shall hold so precious a gift as
sacred, and know how to guard it."
Twice Ottilie essayed to speak, and twice her voice failed. At last her
tongue obeyed her will, and she began: "Your Highness, the confidence
for which you compliment me so highly is only a fitting tribute that
every noble-minded person must pay to a prince whose political as well
as private life lies open and blameless before the gaze of all. It is
far different with me. My existence has flowed on in silent seclusion.
You know me only from descriptions and from my letters; the latter
might be dictated, the former invented. I myself, my own character, can
alone win for me your esteem, your friendship. Your Highness will
perceive it is only natural that this consciousness should disturb me,
and pardon my embarrassment. Moreover, the kind and magnificent
reception your Highness and the people of the country have bestowed
upon me has moved and confused me deeply. I am not accustomed to such
things. I am well aware that it is not given to my person, but my
position; but I have so identified myself with my new dignity and its
duties that I cannot help taking these festivities to myself, and
allowing their overmastering impression to influence me."
The prince had listened admiringly to the melody and grace of her
language. "Your Highness is in error if you suppose this reception is
given solely to your position. Certain forms of course are
indispensable on such occasions; but a rumor has preceded you, which
not only secured my esteem, but excited the greatest enthusiasm for you
among the people, and this you must have felt. The reception was a
sincere one, and if you had been known the tokens would have become
still more enthusiastic, for I freely confess that your appearance has
surpassed all our expectations, and must win the heart of every one who
sees you."
"This praise from your lips, your Highness, makes me very proud; for I
believe you far too noble to expect insincere flattery from you in so
solemn an hour."
"You are perfectly right, princess; the hour in which two human beings,
who are united for life, see each other for the first time, is a very
solemn one, for it holds the key of our whole future. I am therefore
the more joyfully surprised to find in you a nature which opens to me
the hope of a happy marriage. Permit me to believe that at least you do
not feel the contrary to be the case?"
Ottilie tried to speak.
"Do not answer me," interrupted the prince. "How could I be so
ungallant as to seek to call forth complimentary assurances from a
lady? No, you shall not tell me so; you shall only allow me to feel it.
I shall eagerly await the moment when your eyes will tell me that your
heart has confirmed the choice which destiny imposed."
"Your Highness," replied Ottilie, "receive the assurance that I have no
other wish than that of making you and your people happy. I will be an
obedient, and faithful wife, and never ask anything of you except
indulgence. Be assured that I shall never claim any tokens of love from
you. No feeling of affection has united us who are total strangers to
each other; we both yielded to the commands of political necessity. It
depends upon ourselves to lend value to such a tie, to form a more or
less cordial bond of friendship, but not to conjure up emotions which
the heart receives only as revelations. I tell you this, your Highness,
that in your noble chivalrousness you may not think it necessary to
delude yourself and me by the expression of such feelings. I shall have
attained the highest goal of my hopes if you will some day bear witness
that I have not entered your life as a disturbing element, but to bring
a blessing."
"I understand your Highness's delicacy of feeling. Your every word
affords me a fresh proof of the treasure I possess in you, and I hope a
bond will be developed between us higher and firmer than one founded on
mere chance sympathy,--a bond of mutual comprehension and unchanging
esteem. Shall it not be so, my Ottilie?"
"May God grant it, your Highness!"
"Etiquette commands that I should now leave your Highness. To-morrow at
the cathedral I shall take pride in presenting you to the nation as its
princess,--as a true princess. Yes, I am proud of my noble wife," he
added, emphasizing the words, while a cold smile gleamed over his
smooth features. He pressed his lips lightly to Ottilie's hand and
withdrew. She stood motionless and exhausted; tears no longer dimmed
her eyes: her destiny was fixed. She now knew the man to whom she
belonged, and what she had to expect from him.
The mistress of ceremonies entered, and again she was forced to add
another link to the chain of self-denial which already rested so
heavily upon her weary shoulders. _Heinrich_ breathed more freely when
the prince's own lips expressed his satisfaction with his choice;
although he regretted his deed, he must still desire it to be crowned
with complete success, since his whole destiny depended upon it.
Moreover, his remorse was not so sincere as he had made Ottilie believe
in their last interview, or even as he had believed himself. It had
unconsciously been heightened by the selfish fear that he had
sacrificed Ottilie uselessly,--uselessly for himself, for he could no
longer doubt that he had been mistaken in her character. She was wholly
changed from what she had been in former days; with the same greatness
of soul which had led her to show her love for him when free, she
concealed it now that she was bound. He perceived that she possessed
one of those deep natures which seize upon all that they believe to be
their appointed destiny with silent, unassuming tenacity of purpose,
and hold it steadfastly to the end. So had she clung to him when she
believed herself marked out for no other fate than to love and suffer;
and now she seemed to cleave with the same self-denial, if not to her
husband, to the duties of her new vocation. Here was the solution of
his false reckoning; and he now quickly came to the conclusion that he
had nothing more to hope from her for the furtherance of his ambition
than any other; that she would even consider it a needful victory
over herself not to favor him. Thus he had now accomplished an act
which he must despise as one of the most horrible results of his
selfishness,--robbed himself of a friend to whom he might have fled in
every vicissitude of life; he had solved so many difficult problems in
politics and love, ruled the most reserved and haughtiest women,
struggled victoriously with the first intellects of his court, but by
the simple greatness of her character his plan was baffled,--because he
knew only the strength of her love, not the power of her virtue.
Ottilie was a complete contrast to himself; with all his intellect he
could not understand a character destitute of all, even the most
necessary selfishness; and thus he was at last compelled to confess
himself vanquished by the power of a goodness in which he had never
believed. He pitied Ottilie as the martyr of exaggerated ideas, and
felt that across the barriers of this loyal "prejudice" no sympathizing
intercourse could ever take place between them. He was now thrown
entirely upon himself and Cornelia; he did not possess even one friend,
for he lacked the only foundations of friendship,--unselfishness and
confidence. Cornelia alone now captivated his sensual as well as his
intellectual nature. She was the last and only thing left him, and the
secretly lonely and dissatisfied man clung to her with all the strength
of his life. The hours during which he was compelled to attend the
marriage festivities dragged slowly and painfully.