"Who told you?"
"I thought of it myself. Ottilie imposed inviolable secrecy upon
Roeschen; what motive induced her to do so if she did not love you? What
duty led Princess Ottilie to spare Herr von Ottmar except a tender
obligation of the heart? All this, however, might be explained; but I
was at the harbor when you arrived, I saw the princess turn pale, saw
you approach anxiously and whisper a few words, perceived how, with a
glance at you, she composed herself, how earnestly you watched her, and
at last sprang to her assistance as if the whole responsibility of
caring for her devolved upon you alone. I saw this lady was
experiencing some great inward conflict; and your anxiety showed that
you were aware of it. I felt there was some silent, mutual bond between
you,--in what it exists I know not, but it does exist; and if I make it
agree with what you have just said, then, _Heinrich_, I fear you have
great cause for self-reproach."
"You have watched me with the eyes of love, and formed a tolerably
clear idea of the true state of affairs. It would be useless to deny
your guess, you would still believe it. In such matters one can deceive
the world, but not the instinct of a clever woman. What shall I say to
you?--spare me further particulars concerning things which are not my
secret. I will freely confess that, with the exception of yourself, she
was my only friend,--that I owe her much and shall always pity her."
"Poor lady!" said Cornelia, softly. "If she loves you, she is greatly
to be pitied, for she can never forget you,--never be happy again!"
"Does your own heart tell you that, Cornelia?"
"Yes. Whoever has once felt the magic of your nature can never love
another, and is bound to you for life; the whole world contains nothing
nobler than yourself."
_Heinrich_ took her hands and pressed them to his breast. "Dearest, you
are my happiness and my salvation! Cornelia, I love you. I would fain
breathe forth my life in those few words: 'I love you!" Cornelia felt
that tears were dimming her eyes, and tried to conceal them. "Oh, do
not be ashamed of these tears! Happy is the human being who can weep.
Teach me the lesson too, and you will have accomplished what not even
God could do!"
"And if I should succeed, _Heinrich_, it would still be only by the
help of God, who blessed my efforts. He will let me find means to do
so, if he wishes to raise you by my hand. Do not smile. I cannot help
calling the power to which you give a thousand titles by the name of
God; cannot intentionally fail in my duty to him. I cannot live without
this God,--may not deny him. When I was a child he stood beside my bed
and I could talk to him. I associated with him all my thoughts of my
father; my mother appeared to me beautiful and radiant in his heavenly
majesty, I have so often folded my little hands reverently and thought
he heard me; and am I now to believe the soulless air wafted my fervent
prayer away,--that so much love, so much devotion, was lavished an a
phantom? Oh, my childish faith has increased with my growth!--it has
somewhere become part of my nature; for if I try to separate from it, a
pang passes through my soul, and I feel that some spiritual nerve, the
connecting link between God and myself, is wounded."
"You are a woman, Cornelia, and it would be wicked to cast a word of
doubt into the sanctuary of your pious heart. We have already spoken of
this matter once, and you almost made me an enthusiast."
"Is it really so?" interrupted Cornelia. "Oh, if you confess that, much
is gained, and I shall henceforth work upon your 'enthusiasm'! You
know, _Heinrich_, that natures like ours are always set apart from the
rest of mankind. Life often becomes unendurable; reverses of fortune
may occur which even philosophy can no longer help us to bear, and we
can nowhere find a home. Then it is fortunate if we can flee from earth
to that wonderland of fancy, our inalienable home. There are sorrows,
too, _Heinrich_, which cannot endure the classical training of an empty
doctrine, and which, destroying everything in their course, dash wildly
over us. Then the soul grasps for some support, and in its agony
shrieks for a God; and if there were none, it would create him for
itself, that its cry for help might not echo back from an empty void.
But such a self-created God gives no comfort, but jeers at you
mockingly, like the spectre of your own agony, and melts away before
your eyes, while the true God cannot approach to comfort you, for you
do not believe in him, and only by faith does he work his miracles."
Cornelia paused; for _Heinrich_ was on his knees before her with his
face buried in her lap.
"If in such an hour I still have you, I need no God!" he exclaimed,
fairly beside himself.
"Do not blaspheme!" pleaded Cornelia "And suppose you did not have
me? Suppose it should be God's will to separate us, and you were
alone,--entirely alone?"
"Cornelia, how can you think of such a thing while you clasp me in your
arms? If we should lose each other, what should I become? An embodied
negation, separated from all connection with mankind, withered in mind
and body,--a living corpse, to which the world is only a grave."
"_Heinrich_, dear, dear _Heinrich_! you inspire me with both compassion
and horror! Oh, banish these gloomy spirits from your mind, and become
light-hearted and gentle! Fate is not subdued by threats and
blasphemies; the ground on which happiness willingly builds its nest
must be firm and peaceful, not trembling with volcanic shocks and
rumbling with peals of thunder. Come, be gentle; such wicked words suit
your delicate mouth. Smile again; Veronica will soon wake up, and then
we can no longer express our love in fond caresses."
"Yes, that is true!" cried _Heinrich_; "let us enjoy the moment while
we may." And it was _Henri_ who now threw himself upon the sofa beside
Cornelia and drew her closely to him.
Cornelia looked at him in astonishment. His eyes were beaming with
ardent feeling; a warmer color tinged his cheeks; his mouth,
half-pouted for a kiss was irresistibly alluring. "It often seems as if
you changed places with some one, and in an instant became an entirely
different man. I never saw such sudden alterations of mood."
"Ah, do not speak! kiss me!" pleaded _Henri_. "Darling, how I have
longed for those lips! Many a night have I tossed as if in a fever,
thirsting, yearning for you. Did you think of me when you went to
rest?"
"Yes, a thousand times. I have never fallen asleep without calling
'Good-night, _Heinrich_!' and the words became my nightly prayer. I
shall never forget it."
"How beautiful! What time do you say it?"
"At eleven: when I am in bed."
"In future I shall always say, 'Pleasant dreams, Cornelia!' You will
remember it, won't you, my darling?"
"Of course I shall," she whispered, pressing her cheek close to his.
Light, scarcely audible footsteps approached. Cornelia started up.
"Veronica is coming!"
The door slowly opened, and she entered, kindly as ever, but pale, as
if there was not a drop of blood in her sunken features. Her slender
figure seemed still more shrunken, and there was not a tinge of color
about the ghostly apparition except the light-blue ribbon upon her
white cap. The lovely eyes were more hollow, more lustreless, than in
former days; the silvery curls drooped more negligently about her face.
_Henri_ perceived a change in her, and as it soon became evident that
there was no alteration in her intellectual powers it must be a bodily
one. In such delicate equable natures all secret changes give very
faint external tokens of their existence, and it requires a watchful,
practiced eye to detect them. Cornelia was too mach preoccupied with
her own feelings, the slight, gradual alterations in Veronica's
appearance did not attract her attention; but _Henri_, who had not seen
her for a long time, noticed them at once.
"My dear count, I did not know you were here, or I should not have
yielded to the heavy slumber which always overpowers me now. I must beg
you to excuse me, but I have no doubt Cornelia has entertained you so
well that you have not missed me. Besides, age no longer harmonizes
with youth. It is too dull for the sympathy and susceptibility required
to enter into the rapidly changing details of a conversation."
"Oh, do not say that!" pleaded _Henri_. "With your fresh intellect one
can accommodate one's self to every form of change; but it would be
uncourteous to Fraeulein Cornelia, if I did not say that I am indebted
to her for a most delightful hour." He smilingly took her hand and
pressed it warmly.
Veronica looked earnestly at them both, and _Henri_ noticed it.
"Are you satisfied with my influence over your Cornelia? Is she not
once more as blooming as a rose?"
"Oh, I am very grateful to you for your friendship, my dear count! But,
Cornelia, you are not only blooming, you are fairly glowing to-day. You
must have been talking very earnestly."
Cornelia's blushes grew still deeper at this remark. She glanced at
_Henri_; he was apparently gazing irresolutely into vacancy.
"What is the matter, my child? Does your head ache? You really make me
uneasy."
Cornelia started up and threw herself at Veronica's feet. "No, I cannot
bear it; I could keep silent, but I cannot lie. Veronica, forgive my
past reserve,--it was painful enough to me but now you question me, I
will tell you the truth. Veronica, must I speak plainly? Yes, yes, it
is as you think."
_Henri_ was in a state of painful embarrassment, and thought to
himself, "Who can teach a woman to be silent?"
Veronica sat speechless and clasped her trembling hands. After a pause
_Henri_ approached and touched Cornelia's head. "Here is all the
happiness that earth contains. You will not refuse it to me, my
motherly friend?"
"I have wished and thought that this might be, but now it has happened
I am so greatly startled that I can scarcely speak!" Overpowered by her
emotion, she clasped Cornelia in her arms. "My child, my only one, my
all, whom I have so faithfully cherished, I confide you to the
protection of this noble man, and am perfectly assured that he will
make you happy. Come, my son, and receive my blessing." She laid her
clasped hands upon his brow. "May God be merciful unto you and bless
you, and show you the light of his countenance and be merciful unto
you!"
The last words died upon her lips; the emotion was too great. She sank
back, while _Henri_ and Cornelia affectionately supported her. The
latter was deeply agitated. She now perceived, for the first time, in
what a frail shell this beloved life was contained, by what feeble
threads it was still bound to earth, and hot tears rolled down her
cheeks. _Henri_ himself was not wholly destitute of sympathy. He
esteemed Veronica, and understood Cornelia's feeling. At last she
regained her consciousness, and gazed at them with her loving eyes.
"Have I alarmed you? I most sincerely regret it; but my life has long
flowed an so calmly and equably that I am unaccustomed to all emotion.
But, dear Cornelia, you must remember the possibility of my leaving
you. Do not weep; let the consciousness that you have never cost me a
single sorrowful hour console you. You have developed a lofty, free,
and noble nature, and yet always given me the submissive heart of a
child; have spared my weaknesses, and never permitted me to feel how
far you had risen above me. God will reward you for it. And now that my
last wish is fulfilled, and I know you are safe in the arms of your
betrothed, I can cheerfully depart to my sainted lover."
"Oh, do not talk so, Veronica!" pleaded Cornelia. "You are strewing
wormwood over this blissful hour."
"Why, my child? You do not grudge me the peace contained in the thought
of death, and I feel that the time which separates me from my betrothed
is drawing to a close. If you only knew how I rejoice over it! We have
been obliged to wait for long years,--he there and I here; but a human
life is but a short span compared to eternity. We shall meet again, and
our temporary separation will only be an interruption, not the
destruction of our intercourse."
Cornelia gazed silently into vacancy. The grave conversation had
brought _Heinrich_ into _Henri's_ place. "It is a beautiful and
enviable faith," said he.
"Which you do not share, because you are a man, and still young; but, I
assure you, the older we grow the thinner becomes the partition our
earthly bodies form between our immortal souls and eternity, and single
rays from the other shore often fall through. This gives to us old
people the religious trust at which you young philosophers smile."
"I do not laugh at it, Veronica," said _Heinrich_; "but I think you
have yet many years to enjoy life and our happiness."
"Well, it is as God wills. I will gladly live and gladly die,--both are
welcome to me."
_Heinrich_ looked at her in astonishment. "Fortunate is the person who
can say that, and contemplate with equal serenity the day and night of
existence."
"Enough of this grave subject; tell me, my son, how soon you wish to
take Cornelia away? I shall miss her so terribly that I dread the
thought of losing her, and really do not know how I am to live without
her."
_Heinrich_ bit his lips. "Calm yourself; unfortunately, I cannot call
her mine as soon as I would gladly do, and must even request you to
keep our engagement a secret for the present. My position at the court
is just now in a very important crisis. This must first be decided
before I can establish a home here. There are a thousand things to be
considered, a thousand little difficulties to remove, and six months
may elapse before my affairs are settled. So you will have Cornelia
longer than I like, for if it depended only upon myself I would take
her in my arms to-morrow, and show her to the envious world as my
dearest possession."
"I understand, dear Ottmar," said Veronica; "but I only wonder that
you, who have stood so firmly in your office, should suddenly find
yourself in a crisis."
"Unfortunately it is so. The ministry is now engaged upon new laws,
which, if unapproved, will lead to a change of ministers, and perhaps I
may also fall a victim. This is an important time in my life, which
claims all my activity and attention."
"Thank God that I am permitted to keep my angel so long! You are very
sensible, my son, to wish to wait until after this epoch. Besides, a
marriage made outside the limits of the most aristocratic circles will
not be very favorably received at court, and it is, therefore, best to
keep the matter secret until your position has been confirmed anew."
The conversation was beginning to be painful to _Heinrich_, and the
striking of the great clock afforded him a welcome pretext for rising
and pleading the necessity of attending a court soiree. He bade
Veronica farewell, and begged Cornelia to accompany him to the door.
The young girl was grave and quiet.
"Do not grieve about Veronica, my child," he said, in the antechamber;
"it is the way of all old people, to talk continually about dying,--she
may live a long time still."
"I think so too," replied Cornelia; "but I feel oppressed. It is like
the plants whose leaves droop after being exposed to too much sunlight.
I was too happy just now,--there must be a reaction."
"But what troubles you, my angel?"
"Oh, it is nothing that can be changed. The thought of being so much
your inferior that such strict secrecy is needful grieves me. To
conceal from the world the beautiful emotion that fills my breast,
perhaps even often be compelled to profane it by a falsehood, is
painful; but do not let it grieve you,--I shall soon conquer this
mood."
_Heinrich_ drew her to his breast, and stroked her luxuriant hair. "My
own sweet love, I understand you. But consider that this burdensome
constraint is only imposed upon us for a _short_ time, and that it also
has its good side. I can say no more than I wrote in my letter. As
regards making the affair public, you see, by what Veronica says, the
necessity of the precautions I am compelled to take. Come, love, smile
upon me again; do not let me go with the knowledge that you are
sorrowful." He took her hand and placed it on his heart. "Do you feel
that its every throb is yours?"
Cornelia threw her arm around his neck, and gazed intently into his
face; but he closed her eyes with kisses, and left the house. She went
to the window and watched her lover's tall figure as he strode away. No
one could bear himself more proudly, no one could hold his head more
haughtily erect. Now he met an acquaintance, removed his hat slowly and
condescendingly, and continued his way without glancing up, for he
seemed to have noticed that the gentleman was looking after him. It
wounded Cornelia, and when the latter raised his eyes to the window she
blushed with a strange feeling of shame and retreated. She would not go
to Veronica; something in her mood demanded solitude, so she leaned
back on one of the ancient carved chairs and gazed thoughtfully at the
dark oak wainscoting on the walls. Twilight spread its shadows over
her,--twilight also brooded over her soul, and she knew not whether it
would change into night or day. Why should she feel ashamed because
that stranger looked after Ottmar and then glanced at her? why should
it cause her pain because Ottmar passed on without looking? Secrecy
made this caution necessary. It required that he should deny her in the
presence of the first chance-comer, that she should steal a glance at
her lover like a thief in the night, and blush if surprised in the act,
as if she were doing wrong. How painful! how humiliating! But was this
secrecy really needful? Were the reasons he alleged sufficient and
strong enough not to be vanquished by the strength of a genuine, manly
love? Ought he not to sacrifice everything to spare her such a
humiliation? How far would his marriage with her, with their mutual
fortunes, be dependent upon a crisis in office? What induced the ardent
lover to consent to this patient waiting? Could his private relations
exert a disturbing influence upon his position as a servant of the
government? What made him so timid, if it was not the fear of
forfeiting his place at court by a mesalliance with a plebeian, the
daughter of a republican? But what would the delay of a few months
avail?--would not the marriage be precisely the same at whatever time
it occurred? If he feared that, he would _never_ dare to wed her. She
fell into a deep reverie. Suddenly her eyes flashed, and she held
her breath as if the very air was poisoned. Suppose he should be
false?--suppose the dread of prejudicing himself should be stronger
than his integrity? She could not doubt his love, for his ardor had
already made her tremble. Suppose he wished to plunge her into the same
abyss that had engulfed so many others? suppose the reports concerning
him were true, and he should prove false, terribly, fiendishly false?
Yet scarcely was the suspicion born ere her whole nature rose against
it in all its strength. What a monster you are to have the thought of
such baseness arise in your young brain! Is your imagination so corrupt
that the most sacred thing is not too holy to be thus sullied? Her
horror was now not of him, but of herself. He was not the traitor, but
she,--she who could cherish so disgraceful a doubt, whose love was not
strong enough to crush it in the bud; she had betrayed him in her own
heart.
She started up, rushed into her room, and lighted a lamp; then in the
anguish of her soul threw herself on the floor before his picture,--the
same one she had received from Fraeulein Hedwig. Her eyes wandered over
the sketch and strove to animate the mute features and unravel their
mystery; in vain, the solution was concealed in her own breast, and
everything there was confused and gloomy. Thus, tortured by doubts of
him and of herself, she was at last attracted towards the pure,
faithful heart of her foster-mother. She entered the tea-room and found
Veronica sitting with her clasped hands resting in her lap, absorbed in
sorrowful thought.
"Are you come at last, my darling? You have left your old Veronica
alone a long time. But I understand it. In this solemn hour you must
first be at peace with yourself. You happy, fortunate child!"
Cornelia threw herself upon a stool at Veronica's feet, and asked,
cautiously, for she did not wish this unprejudiced mind to catch a
glimpse of her troubled soul, "Do you believe in _Heinrich_ as firmly
as I do?"
"Certainly," replied Veronica. "I think he has given us sufficient
proof that he is a man of honor."
The old servant brought a lamp and the musical urn into the room;
Veronica took out her knitting-work, and as they sat so quietly
together with the sweet melodies circling round them with the rising
steam, the memory of the evening of their first unseen meeting rose
gently before Cornelia's mind with all its magic and blessedness. Her
excited nerves grew calm, her mood dissolved in tears. She remembered
so many lofty words, so many glances full of true nobility of feeling.
All those fair moments passed before her. With what joyful affection he
had met her that day! Can one who has any evil design be so frank, so
confident? Oh, if he should suspect how she had doubted him!
"Do you think it necessary to keep our love a secret?" she asked, at
last.
"Oh, yes, my child," said Veronica, calmly.
"To me it is only very painful," murmured Cornelia.
"That may be; but it is something that happens a thousand times. You
must be reasonable. We cannot know that he is not in the act of
obtaining a higher position, and in that case his engagement with you
would be an obstacle in his way. Therefore he must deny it until the
expected promotion is secured; then only he can venture to defy all the
prejudices of his circle and take you for his wife."
"I do not see what his private relations should have to do with it."
"Why, Cornelia, you speak as if you knew nothing of the world! Are you
not yet aware how much personal matters are taken into consideration in
these circles? Besides, we cannot conceal from ourselves that you bear
a name with which the most unfortunate political associations are
connected. Perhaps he also hopes that in the course of time our noble
princess may exert a softening influence upon our strict aristocracy,
and wishes to await this favorable opportunity. There are a thousand
things to be considered, and it is very delicate in him to conceal them
from us. You are a young, enthusiastic hot-head, and always want to
fight your way through to your ideal; he a steady, experienced man who
takes things as they are, and yields to them with prudent self-control.
I would far rather trust you to such a character than a fanatical
reformer, like your unhappy father."
Cornelia listened with delight to this argument in favor of what she
herself most ardently desired. Veronica was so calm, so confident, and
she was not blinded by love; should not this restore all the peace of
confidence? Oh, if her deeply injured lover were only here, that she
might implore his pardon for the wrong she had done him! How she would
embrace him if he came to-morrow! how happy she would be with him!
Veronica's voice roused her from these thoughts and dreams. "Let us
take tea, Cornelia; I am very tired and would like to get up early
to-morrow morning to go to church. I long to raise my heart to God."
Cornelia silently obeyed. When tea was over Veronica went to bed, and
Cornelia, who had helped her undress, knelt before her. "I thank you,
dear Veronica, for having been so kind to me and _Heinrich_; I thank
you also, at this turning-point of my life, for all the love with which
you have treated me as a daughter, and made me a good and happy
creature. I can never repay you for it, but your clear eyes look into
my heart and see what no words can express." Overpowered by her
emotion, she pressed Veronica's hand to her lips.
"Oh, my child! my dear, dear child! God knows how fully, how richly,
this hour repays me for all I have done! What better things can one
purchase than a hand to close one's eyes, and a warm tear to fall upon
one's grave? This is a happiness which comprehends the joys of a whole
life,--and for this I thank you. Good-night, my child."
Cornelia embraced her and went to her own room with tearful eyes. As
she reached it she heard Veronica call, and went back. The latter held
out her arms. "Let me press you to my heart once more. God bless you,
joy of my old age! Good-night. Wake me to-morrow."
Cornelia remained awake for a long time. Veronica's manner had roused a
feeling of subdued melancholy. Besides, the wonderful day must be lived
over anew, its discords harmonized, its joys and sorrows interwoven
with her inner nature, ere dreams could be permitted to lead her into
another kingdom.
It was broad daylight when, after a short slumber, she rose and went to
wake Veronica.
The little dusky sleeping-room was cosy and silent. Single shafts of
sunlight stole through the closely-drawn green curtains and flickered
over the hangings of Veronica's bed. No sound of breathing, no motion,
disturbed the stillness of this sanctuary of slumber. Cornelia softly
entered and stood for a long time before the bed; she was loth to
disturb the peaceful silence in which Veronica reposed. But she had
requested it, and it must be done. She drew the curtains slowly aside.
There she lay, apparently lost in pleasant dreams, but--was it the
green light?--pallid as a corpse! Cornelia took her hand. Oh, God, how
chill! "Veronica, dear Veronica, wake!" In vain; in her slumber she had
passed into another life. The pale face seemed in death to wear a
smile, to greet the loved one for whom she had always lived and so
confidently expected to meet again. Her death was as peaceful as her
life.
"Wake me to-morrow," were her last words. "Oh, if I could only do so!"
sobbed Cornelia, sinking upon her knees as if utterly crushed.