Meantime Cornelia awaited him in her quiet salon, where the roses
always bloomed like eternal lamps of love. She was alone. Veronica's
health had become somewhat delicate of late, and she was taking an
afternoon nap in her room. Cornelia hoped to receive _Heinrich's_ first
glance unobserved. She had spent the three days since Ottilie's arrival
in idle dreams, longings, and expectations, and had sought solitude
that Veronica might not perceive her indolence. It was impossible for
her to fix her attention upon anything except the one thought,--"He
will soon arrive." She had never believed that any one could spend
three whole days in such complete inaction. She did not go out, even to
visit the prison, lest she should miss him, and thanked God when any
one rang the bell, because she had the pleasure of fancying for a
moment that it was he. To-day this satisfaction had fallen to her lot
very rarely; the street and house were silent, and she walked
impatiently up and down the smooth inlaid floor, played with the roses,
made an old mandarin nod his head, incessantly looked into the glass to
see whether she would please her lover, threw herself on the yellow
sofa, and fancied he was beside her; thought of a thousand things she
wanted to tell him, took up one of the faded velvet-covered albums,
turned the leaves without reading a word, and at last started up in
joyful surprise, for the bell was now really pulled, and so violently,
so impatiently,--it must be he. She hurried into the antechamber.
"I'll tell you if any one comes," said the old servant, as sulkily as
if he knew whom Cornelia expected, and walked slowly on to open the
door.
Cornelia retired in great embarrassment, and waited behind the
folding-doors. Yes, it was the well-known step upon the stairs, along
the corridor; he was approaching. The blissful certainty overwhelmed
her with suffocating violence, and now she could see nothing, for two
eager arms had clasped her and pressed her closely to a throbbing
heart.
There was a moment of silence, a moment when the world seemed to be
hushed, and divinity itself listened in delight to the sweetest
language given to the human heart,--the mute language of love. Then
_Henri's_ lips sought her own, and softly, softly she whispered a
thousand sweet names; but every word died in a kiss; and thus words and
caresses struggled long in a secret conflict for the mastery.
"Let me look at you," said Cornelia, at last; and drawing back, took
his head between her hands and raised it. "You have grown handsomer;
you look milder, graver, and yet happier."
"It is my love for you, Cornelia. If the features take the impress of
the soul, I must become more and more like you. You are so perfect,
Cornelia, that your Creator in his delight over his work wished to make
a copy of you; and see, he chose me! My soul is nothing more than the
background upon which the finger of God has engraved your image."
"Ob, noble spirit, you always give the fairest expression of every
feeling,--earth and heaven are open to your flight! Will you now linger
with me? Do I hold this dear head clasped in my hands? Dare I call you
mine, and kiss the brow on which you are enthroned?" asked Cornelia, in
dreamy delight.
"Yes, yes, Cornelia, the spirit is yours, for you have been the first
to awaken it. Lay the head that contains it on your breast, let your
hand rest lovingly upon it, and it will disdain heaven and earth, and
linger here, here on this one sweet spot forever, forever!"
He stooped and pressed a kiss upon Cornelia's heart. Blushing deeply,
she laid her clasped hands upon his dark hair and raised her eyes in an
ecstasy of love. "Oh, God, one who had denied thee throughout a whole
lifetime must acknowledge thee in such an hour!"
"You pious priestess, priestess of a religion whose blessings I
gratefully feel at this moment, shall I tell you how I pray to
you,--yes, pray fervently and devoutly? I know that in you I possess
the greatest blessing earth can offer, and that I do not deserve it. If
I had not found it I should have gone to destruction; but you will lead
me back from the exhausted pleasures of the world to pure nature, to
truth and simplicity of heart. A new day breaks upon me through
you,--an Easter-day,--for in you my better self celebrates its
resurrection. Your breath is the fresh air of morning, the dawn glows
upon your cheeks, and in your eyes beams the sunrise of a happiness
never known before. Come, let me inhale your breath. Ah, youth, purity,
and strength emanate from you to revive and cheer!" He again pressed
his lips to hers for a moment. "Now," he continued, "the whole man is
exclusively and entirely yours, yours forever; do with him whatever you
choose, for he has no longer any claim to a life which you alone
preserved to him, and which without you would have been lost."
"What shall, what can, I say to you in return for such words? Not I,
but you yourself took the new flight which has made you so dear to me.
What could I be to you? What influence could the few moments we have
spent together exert?"
"And if I should ask you the same question, and inquire how you could
love me in so short a time, what would you reply?"
"Why, that love and mutual understanding do not depend upon time."
"The case is precisely the same with me, my child. Years of study and
intercourse are not necessary to understand a superior nature. A few
traits enable it to be characterized, single extremes allow its full
compass to be measured, and as one accord contains the elements of
music, so it can easily reveal to the observer the keynotes of its
soul; and you did this. Wherever I struck, it echoed. I know the whole
scale of your nature, although a thousand sweet harmonies which may be
formed from it are still concealed from me."
"Tell me, _Heinrich_, how long have you loved me?"
"Since, since--permit me to answer you with the most common of all
forms of speech,--since the first time I saw you."
"Since our meeting in the prison?"
"Yes; I cannot tell you what a powerful impression I received from you.
I was astonished! Your boldness, your disregard of my dignity, your
philanthropic enthusiasm, so entirely devoid of all affectation and
sentimentality, aroused the greatest admiration, and your beauty
excited my love. Had you been merely beautiful, I should only have
desired you; but since you showed an equal intellect, I love you, and
loved you from the beginning as I never did any other."
"As you never loved any other?" asked Cornelia. She had seated herself
upon the sofa, and he took a chair beside her. She folded her arms upon
the little barrier the broad side of the divan formed between them, and
they gazed lovingly into each other's eyes.
"As I never loved any other," repeated _Henri_. "If you fully realized
your own value, you would not look at me so incredulously. You would
know that you must be loved differently from the commonplace girls with
whom people can only trifle, whose insignificance renders all serious
conversation impossible. There is nothing which continues to keep a
woman interesting to a man except _originality_; and before I knew you
I almost despaired of finding it. The female mind cannot reach the
perception of things by the established, endlessly long path marked out
for it; it has not sufficient perseverance, cannot keep pace with man.
Most women pause half-way, with the goal before their eyes, but unable
to reach it; they then become weary, disgusted with the world, and
consume themselves in idle longings, which they at last permit some
friend to heal. Others turn into by-paths of fruitless scholarship, and
wonder aimlessly to and fro; such persons become utterly disagreeable,
a terror to every man, for they enter into a sort of intellectual
competition with him, which is charmless and a mere waste of time,
because there is no true honorable victory to be obtained in such an
unequal struggle. The true womanly nature knows the extent of her
powers; she does not strive for things too far beyond her, for she
cheerfully makes out her own object and builds her own path to it. This
unthinking exercise of natural instincts, this radiance of free, pure
thought, beaming from a youthful brow, is extremely refreshing, and
while I am with you I regret every moment that I cannot philosophize
with you about everything in earth or heaven. But the mouth which
speaks so wisely is far too sweet, and so my senses are constantly
battling with my intellect. I cannot kiss you without wishing you were
talking, and I cannot hear you speak without wanting to kiss you. Is
not this an unfortunate contradiction?"
"Ought it not to be harmonized? Cannot people be both sensible and
affectionate?" asked Cornelia.
"No, my angel! In your presence I have not the necessary calmness,"
said _Henri_, involuntarily casting down his eyes. "Clearness of
thought requires cool blood; and when I am so near you, when your sweet
breath floats over me, and your warm hand rests in mine, my heart
throbs violently, and sends the blood so quickly through my veins, that
I can think of nothing but you and my ardent love!"
"Oh, do not look at me so fiercely! Your kindling eyes pierce my soul
until I cannot help blushing. You do not know how terribly your glances
flash. I do not fear you, but a strange horror overwhelms me when I see
you thus. I feel myself a match for the spirit that darts menacing
looks from those eyes, and a shudder thrills my soul as the wind
rustles gently through the banners before a battle."
"So you are belligerently disposed towards me, Cornelia?"
"No, indeed; except when you are in your present mood then, I know, I
shall often be compelled to uphold my standard against you."
"And what standard might that be?"
"That of gentleness, truth: in one word, virtue," she said, simply and
firmly.
"Do you think me destitute of them?"
"Yes. Understand me correctly. You have a multitude of great and
lovable qualities which distinguish you from the million,--a multitude
of _virtues_, but not the _virtue_ which we designate by one word, and
in an indivisible sense. A person may not possess nearly as many noble
traits, and yet be far more virtuous than you. Virtue is the pure,
conscious will which unites the scattered capacities for good, and
matures them to moral actions; and this quality you lack."
Ottmar had become very grave. _Henri_ was present no longer: _Heinrich_
had taken his place. Cornelia laid her head upon his hands, and said,
in a tone of the fondest affection: "Now you are so quiet and cold,
have I vexed you?"
"No, my child; but you have given me something to think about, which
makes me grave. You women have a wonderful talent for moralizing. Your
conscience wishes to make up for the too great indulgence of your
hearts, and therefore you are the sternest censors of the man you
love."
"We women? Have you said the same thing to other women?"
"Only one except yourself; but her theories were repellent. She gave me
no proof in her own person that she possessed a cheering power in her
own nature. She was a sad, pale, melancholy vision, so her influence
over me also faded; yet, I shall always hold her memory sacred."
"Who was she? Heinrich, a shadow has fallen upon your mood: who was it
you mourn for as a departed spirit?"
"A poor creature, whose suffering constantly pervades all my joys,
whose misery always appears greater to me the more my own happiness
increases, the more I learn to believe in the might of true feeling.
Yes, yes, Cornelia, you are right; I may have virtues, but they
principally exist in the fact that I can still regret the virtue I
lack. Oh, if I could but cast aside my past with all its errors and
reproaches, like the cocoon of a butterfly, and soar forth in freedom
as a new, winged, purified creature!"
"I will tell you the name of the unhappy woman about whom remorse
is now torturing you," began Cornelia, after a pause of earnest
thought,--"it is Princess Ottilie."
_Heinrich_ started up. "Girl! How did such an idea enter your head?"