INSNARED.

Anton was fastening a new order upon Ottmar's court dress, when the

latter violently pulled his bell.

"It's unbearable!" grumbled the old servant as he took the last stitch

and hurried in with the uniform.

_Heinrich_ was striding impatiently up and down the room. "Are you

ready at last? Give it to me; make haste, and let me get off. I have no

time to lose."

The dressing was quickly finished. "The new star is magnificent," said

Anton.

_Heinrich_ looked at his image in the mirror with the satisfaction of a

man who knows he is handsome, and reckons his beauty among his own

merits, as if he had compelled nature to give him the form he desired.

"I must go to Cornelia after dinner and show myself to her. She

understands and values my beauty better than any one else," he thought,

pushing the order straight. "Besides, it will do no harm to let her see

some of my importance as a courtier; old Veronica takes the matter too

easily. It is not I, but she, who lulls the dear creature into dreams

for which I am not responsible. It is not I who deceive her, but

Veronica, when she assumes as a matter of course assurances I never

gave; and yet I cannot, by a premature contradiction, destroy my whole

happiness. I would far rather resolve to verify them, if there could be

no other arrangement." A ray of sunlight fell upon the diamonds in his

order and made them glitter. "Do you wish to warn me, you star of

honor, that you sparkle so? No, I will not forget you. Let others yearn

for the stars of you unattainable distance; my earthly wishes depend

upon you, that you may not pale before the sun, but with your rays make

your chosen one shine forth from the darkness of obscurity, and

distinguish him from the masses. With you on my heart, and Cornelia's

love within it, what do I need more?"

A servant announced that the carriage was waiting.

_Heinrich_ took his gold-embroidered hat, and smiling, threw himself

upon the soft cushions. The beautiful white horses tossed their heads,

and dashed away through sunlit avenues and crowds of gayly-dressed

foot-passengers.

The dinner, the first which had been given since the marriage, was

magnificent. The court displayed its greatest splendor. Ottilie herself

was one of the most stately personages who ever graced a throne.

Although no smile rested upon her lips, she did the honors in a most

winning manner, and was gracious even to _Heinrich_, although no more

so than to all others. The prince, however, treated him with marked

distinction, and once whispered, casting a well-pleased glance at

Ottilie, "You were right; she is a real princess." The princes,

princesses, and courtiers who were present followed their master's

example and loaded Ottmar with civilities; had never been so attractive

or so much admired. He stood at the zenith of his favor at court; and

when, after the dinner was over, he drove to Cornelia, he scarcely saw

that it was already dusk, so brightly did the lights, the white necks,

the sparkling glances, the diamonds, and the gold-embroidered uniforms

still gleam before his eyes; glittering silken robes rustled around

him; smiling faces looked forth longingly from behind costly bouquets.

The material comfort of the moment was too great not to rouse the other

half of his nature. _Henri_ alighted when the carriage stopped. He

pulled the bell, and the door of the silent house slowly opened. The

staircase was dark. The black form of a servant glided by and ushered

him into the anteroom. The salon stood open; he entered. It, too, was

dark and empty; everything was in disorder: the furniture was pushed

back, and there were no roses blooming on the flower-stand. _Henri_

felt strangely oppressed. The gloomy silence ill suited his mood. A

glimmer of light and a dull murmur of voices penetrated through a door

which was partly ajar. He opened it, and stood as if rooted to the

spot. Several women were engaged in dressing a corpse. _Henri_ pressed

his hand to his brow; was he awake, or did some dream torture him with

its sudden changes, in order to show him in a single hour the splendor

of the world and the end of all lives? Just at that moment Cornelia,

who had been completely absorbed in her mournful occupation, suddenly

perceived him, came forward in her mourning robes, looking very pale

and languid, and drew him aside.

"My dear Cornelia," said _Henri_, kissing her tearful eyes, "what has

happened since yesterday? I can scarcely trust my senses. What a

contrast!"

"Ah, _Heinrich_ thank God, you have come at last! Ever since early this

morning I have borne this terrible sorrow alone, longing in vain for

your warm heart. Alas, how heavily such an unexpected blow falls!"

"My poor, sweet love, you are trembling as if in an ague-fit! Who would

have thought of this? Kind Veronica dead!"

She nestled timidly in his arms. "_Heinrich_, my heart aches terribly,

and besides I feel this horror of death. You do not know what it is to

dress a cold body which is no longer the dear one it personates."

"Then leave the others to finish the task, and stay with me, my angel."

"We have finished it, and they want to bring her in here. You must go

into the tea-room, or they will see you."

"Willingly. But now leave everything to these women and come with me.

You are completely worn out."

"Yes, I will stay with you. I can no longer be a witness," said

Cornelia; then gave the necessary orders to the servants, and went into

the tea-room with _Henri_. They had scarcely entered it when they heard

pieces of furniture pushed aside, and the creaking of the coffin,

which, when once heard, is never forgotten. Cornelia trembled

violently, sank down beside _Henri_, and bursting into tears, hid her

face upon his breast until the noise was over. Then she looked up. "You

think me very weak, do you not? I have kept up all day, but now my

strength is exhausted; terror has overpowered me."

_Henri_ gently raised her and drew her on his knee. She made no

resistance, but threw her arms around his neck; her head sank wearily

upon his shoulder, and joy and sorrow, deadly horror and sweet content,

began to mingle strangely.

"Oh, do not give way!" said _Henri_ to himself, while his throbbing

heart seemed ready to burst. He cradled her in his arms as if she had

been a child, and breathed upon her cold hands.

Gradually her tears ceased, and warmth returned to her cheeks and

hands. Never is a woman more grateful or more susceptible to love than

when a great sorrow has broken her strength, and she gropes helplessly

for some support. At this moment Cornelia could have worshiped her

lover as some superior being; all suspicion was forgotten, she clung to

him as if he were some consoling angel.

"Cornelia, are you happy now that you are clasped to my heart?"

whispered _Henri_.

"Oh, infinitely happy!" she murmured. "What should I be without you, my

life? Now I am cast wholly upon you, you will never forsake your

orphaned love?"

_Henri_ strained her to his breast with almost suffocating violence,

and exclaimed from his inmost heart, with the utmost sincerity, "If I

ever forsake you, accursed be the hour when I was born, the couch on

which I rest, the air I breathe, the lips with which I kiss! I raise my

hand and call upon all the powers of evil to witness against me if I

break my oath."

Cornelia laid her finger on his lips. "Do not be so violent; that is no

oath, but a curse."

"Is it not equally binding?"

"Certainly; but it makes me anxious: as if there would be no blessing

upon it; as if you felt the possibility of becoming faithless, and your

better self was threatening you with punishment."

"You angel! Look me in the eyes; do you no longer believe in your

_Heinrich_, and yet love him still?"

"Ah, _Heinrich_, forgive my distrust! I feared to lose you, because

you are the dearest thing in the would to me. I cannot think clearly

to-day, I am so bewildered and worn out by grief. How contemptible I

must seem to you!"

"If you knew how lovely you are in your weakness! You are not

contemptible, you are only a true, tender woman, and therein lies your

charm. Do you suppose firm muscles, large bones, and nerves of steel

are attractive to men? It is your very helplessness that rouses our

magnanimity; your delicacy demands our indulgence. To support a

beautiful, trembling woman on his strong arm, and defend her from real

or fancied terrors, is a sweet joy to a man,--sweeter than admiration

of an abnormal strength, which woman attains only at the cost of her

charms."

Cornelia listened to his words with increasing delight.

"Do you suppose," he continued, "that you were ever dearer to me than

at this hour, when I am permitted to cradle your weary form upon my

knees and fondly caress you? when your strong mind succumbs to the laws

of womanly nature and you fly to me in your horror of death? You have

trusted yourself to me more than ever before, and in your sorrow are

sacred. You have nestled confidingly to this heart, and it shall never

deceive you."

"_Heinrich_! _Heinrich_ What a magic you exert! You banish all griefs

with a single glance of love, and your words fill my soul with peace.

Ah, it is beautiful to love in happiness! But we only know what we

are to each other when we need each other. No language can express what

you have been to me in this hour. A dark, starry sky arches over me in

your eyes and invites me to repose; it extends over my whole soul and

seems as if it enthroned the God to whom I bewail my sorrows, in

whom I trust, to whom I shall send up my nightly prayer, and then

rest--sleep!" She closed her eyes as if exhausted, and laid her head

upon his breast.

_Henri_ clasped her closely in his arms. "Oh, bear this happiness! bear

it firmly!" he murmured to himself.

She sat upright again. "I cannot lean upon you; your hard orders hurt

me."

"Then rest on the other side," he pleaded.

She pushed her hair back from her brow, looked sadly at the flashing

decorations, and rose. "It is late, Heinrich; you must leave me now."

_Henri_ cursed the diamond stars with sincere vexation. What had they

availed him? They had destroyed the happiest moment of his life; and

the magic night of love, with all its sweet dreams and illusions, which

Cornelia's weary soul had spread around herself and him, had melted in

their rays.

He rose and extended his hands imploringly to Cornelia. "My darling,

you shall never again be parted from the place where you belong. I

promise you. I shall never wear them in your presence."

"Ah, yes, put them away; they have hurt my cheek, but wounded my heart

still more."

"Cornelia, are you angry with me?"

"I angry with you? Ah, Heinrich, I love you only too well! Tell me,

where is this to end? If I am away from your side a moment, I feel as

if the cold breath of the grave floated over me, and a throb of pain

thrills my frame as if I had torn away a part of my own nature.

Heinrich,--beloved, terrible Heinrich,--where is this to end?"

"In a happy, ardent love," cried _Henri_, radiant with joy. "You shall

not miss me often. I will spend every leisure hour with you. But say,

my angel, shall you still be accessible to me? Does Veronica's death

make no change in your situation?"

"Oh, I had entirely forgotten that. Old Herr Linderer is my guardian,

and the executor of Veronica's will. He proposed that I should reside

in his family for the future."

"What! would you do that?" cried _Henri_.

"It would be very painful to me, and I might remain, for through

Veronica's generosity the house and everything she possessed is mine;

but a young girl ought not to live so entirely alone, without

protection."

"And have you not a moral protection in yourself, and a personal one in

your servants?"

"Certainly."

"That I cannot visit you when you are living with Herr Linderer is a

matter of course. Our intercourse must be broken off, for it cannot

exist under the watchful eyes of that family; so you have but one

choice, my darling,--either to remain here and be the happiest of

betrothed brides, or dispense with my society for the sake of a world

that will not thank you for the sacrifice."

Cornelia clung closely to him. "Do without you? Oh, _Heinrich_, how

could I?"

"Well, promise me you will take courage and refuse Linderer's proposal;

then, Cornelia, I shall first believe in the strength of your love."

"But the world,--how would it judge of such a plan?"

"Cornelia, I should have thought you philosopher enough to despise the

world and its judgments."

"Perhaps,--but custom--"

"You may offend against custom, but not morality. Our love bears the

highest consecration in itself. If you are thoroughly pervaded with its

influence, you may trust yourself to it without fear. But what am I

talking about? Ask your own heart whether you will make me of less

importance than consideration for the opinion of the world,--whether

you can inflict this sorrow upon yourself and your _Heinrich_."

"And do you not take the same precautions, _Heinrich_? Do you not deny

me before society for the sake of 'its despicable prejudices'?"

_Henri_ was embarrassed for a moment; then he said, calmly, "If I now

make confessions to the influential circles which have the decision of

my fate, it will be done while I am not compelled to be deprived of

you. If I had only the choice of leaving you or giving up my plans, I

should not hesitate a moment to do the latter. If you go to Herr

Linderer's, you will place me in this alternative. I must either give

you up for a long time, or prematurely acknowledge our relations and

destroy my hopes for the future. Speak, my angel! If you demand the

latter, be proud to prove that I love you better than you do me, and

can make greater sacrifices."

"No, no, my dearest! You shall not think me so selfish; I should be

ashamed to accept such an one from you. I will stay in this house and

refuse Herr Linderer's offer. People may say what they please; better

they should suspect me than that you should doubt my love."

"Those words were worthy of you, Cornelia!" cried _Henri_. "What

gratitude can reward you as you deserve?"

Cornelia gazed into his eyes long and earnestly. "Justify my

confidence, _Heinrich_, and you will give me the highest, the only

reward I ask. And now farewell for to-day."

"Must I leave you? Ah, one moment more!"

Cornelia shook her head sadly. "No, it cannot be; it is late, and I

must rest; but you can go through the room with me,--will you?"

"Yes, my angel, I will go with you to the threshold of your room; and

then turn away from the door of heaven like a condemned spirit."

"Come," said Cornelia; and slowly entered the room leaning on his arm.

There lay the corpse in the coffin, a wreath of blossoming myrtle on

the head, and Cornelia's red roses on the heart. Her tears flowed

again, her grief burst forth anew, as she looked down on the silent,

pale, old bride.

"Oh, faithful guardian of my childhood!" she sobbed, "will you leave

your Cornelia alone? Open your lips once more and tell me, oh! tell

whether I am doing right in what I have just promised my beloved one!

Ah, speak to me once, only once more, true, pure heart, which has been

my refuge in joy and sorrow!"

"Have you forgotten that I am by your side, Cornelia?" said _Henri_,

reproachfully.

She turned from the body, pressed a fervent kiss upon his lips, and

allowed him to lead her through the apartment to her own room. Here she

paused. "Thanks, dearest Heinrich! farewell!"

"Must I leave you alone with your tears?"

"Oh, the would gush forth again whenever you went, no matter how long

you might remain!"

"Do you not fear your own thoughts while you are in this excited mood?"

"Not in this cheerful chamber. It is protected by all the thousand

dreams of love I have had here. There is your picture; where that is

the icy breath of death cannot enter. Farewell!"

"Ah, if I might only sleep on the threshold before your door, I would

never seek soft pillows!" Again he clasped her in his arms; then, with

an effort, tore himself away. "Good-night!"

"Good-night, Heinrich!" she cried in a tone which revealed all the

wealth of ardent feeling she had repressed with so much difficulty;

then disappeared in her own room and locked the door.

_Henri_ averted his face as he passed the corpse. He had once more

received a solemn lesson, and it was only when his agitated feelings

began to grow calm that he was able to justly comprehend the importance

of the last hour.

He returned home absorbed in thought, and the first thing he did was to

cast aside the star-bedecked uniform. Then he paced up and down his

room, while the most conflicting thoughts whirled through his brain.

Cornelia's sacrifice had shamed him deeply. Was he to misuse it, and

abuse her confidence? Must he not reward her better?

Again he paced up and down the room.

But he would requite her with a thousand joys. Free love was spared the

heavy cares of the married state. He could easily teach her to despise

the social "prejudices of morality," and as soon as she disregarded

them, of what would she be deprived if their relations lacked the legal

stamp? He would never desert her,--he had sworn it; so their union

would contain the fundamental principle of marriage. He would never wed

another. What did she want more? He believed her unconventional enough

to regard the claims of custom lightly. She had already done so to a

certain extent by the promise she had given that day. The first--most

difficult--step was taken. But if he misjudged her, if his plan failed,

and she could not endure the disgrace. If he should lose her! He was

obliged to confess that he could no longer live without her. Did she

not outweigh his triumphs and his prospects at the court? But suppose

the new law did not pass? could not fall a victim to it, as he had made

Veronica suppose, for he was one of its opponents. To whom could the

prince turn, in forming a new ministry, except himself? Suppose, by his

marriage with Cornelia, he should lose the prince's favor, and with it

the portfolio? This turned the scale. This period must be awaited.

The magnanimity of love! How many an innocent, womanly heart has

already been led astray by this will-o'-the-wisp of tender sophistry!

Deeds like Cornelia's sacrifice of a public betrothal, and her promise

to live alone, veil themselves beneath a semblance of such nobility

that an unsuspecting nature does not hesitate to perform them,

believing itself to be yielding to an impulse of generosity, and not

suspecting that it is merely following the guidance of its own passion.

Cornelia was too innocent and inexperienced to penetrate _Henri's_

unprincipled tactics. If doubts again arose they could not give

sufficient proofs of their justice, and were always crushed as "idle

fancies" by the power of her love.

Veronica's funeral took place, and it touched Cornelia deeply that

Heinrich was present; she considered it a fresh proof of his

uprightness.

Old Archivrath Linderer heard with actual tears her refusal to become

one of his family. He ventured a few timid remonstrances, but was far

too courteous to use his right as guardian and compel her to yield to

his views. He could not force himself to be uncivil to any one, and

according to his ideas he would have been so had he attempted to impose

any restraint upon Cornelia. Therefore, when he saw that his timidly

uttered, kindly meant representations were wholly disregarded, he could

only wipe the sweat of anxiety from his brow and take leave of her with

a deeply saddened heart. Even the sulky servant took his leave, to live

upon the legacy Veronica had left him, as soon as he learned that

Cornelia intended to keep up an independent establishment.

Several weeks now quietly elapsed in a gentle alternation of joy and

sorrow, until the image of the beloved dead receded into the background

more and more, and love took exclusive possession of Cornelia's whole

existence. At first she did not notice that the number of her

acquaintances lessened; and when she at last became aware of it,

_Henri's_ influence had already taught her to disregard it. She

despised the pitiful souls which only judged from appearances, and

clung to the few faithful friends that remained to her. But it was

unavoidable that one or another of them should meet Ottmar during his

frequent visits. It would not do,--people must not always find him with

her; so, if he was present, other visitors were refused. When this

happened too frequently, and Cornelia perceived that it must lead to

misunderstandings with her best friends, she at last consented that

Ottmar should spend the evening hours with her. Thus the meetings with

others were prevented; but as his presence had been noticed, his

absence was now the cause of comment. Had their interviews ceased, or

been deferred until another hour? This must be ascertained. A few

zealous friends watched her, and saw him come and go. They sorrowfully

confided this incredible thing to each other under the seal of silence,

warned her, half openly and half by hints, that her fair fame was

endangered, and mourned for her as one dead. Yet she still stood erect

and stainless, her girlish brow loftily upraised against the

humiliations she endured, and pitied the world for being too corrupt to

believe in the purity of anything; her last consolation was her good

conscience. She trusted to herself and to her lover, and awaited the

day which would solve the mystery before the eyes of men and restore

her their lost esteem. This gave her strength to endure the "trial."

Ottmar did everything in his power to employ her time and occupy her

thoughts. He was well aware that he could only win this noble woman

gradually, and by noble means. He read with her, gave her the most

beautiful classical works, explained the thoughts of the ancient and

modern philosophers, and perused with her the best of modern

literature. Thus she learned to associate with him the impressions made

by the noblest productions of the intellect, from which he obtained a

certain halo that made him worthy of worship in her eyes. He understood

all these grand works, and made them comprehensible to her,--it seemed

as great a deed as if he had created them himself. She looked up to him

as a superior being, and at last could really neither think, feel, nor

live without him. He, in his turn, was delighted with her

susceptibility and active mind, and became accustomed to impart

everything good and beautiful which came in his way to Cornelia, and

enjoy it doubly with her. Thus he unconsciously entangled himself in

the net he was weaving for the young girl; she became as great a

necessity to him as he to her, and he had never been so happy before.

Yet this life was not wholly without discord. His twofold nature often

wounded Cornelia; he was either passionately excited, or brilliant and

cold. She could not be at ease; one she was forced to repel, the other

repelled her. Both prevented the calm happiness of loving intercourse

which woman's platonic nature so fully understands and needs. She often

took for want of love what was merely lack of sensuous feeling, and the

glowing ardor which alternated with the coldness could not supply the

place of the uniform warmth of deep affection. Ottmar at last

understood what she lacked. He perceived that there was a middle path,

that he must be at once less cold and less warm, to obtain entire

control over her. During the time that his intellect was in the

ascendant, he endeavored to assume a more affectionate tone, and the

oftener this happened the better it pleased _Heinrich_ to press his

lips to the brow which contained the thoughts that delighted him, and

stroke the hair that veiled it, while it afforded him still higher

enjoyment to study in her classic form and features the idea of the

beautiful. She became a living work of art to him, and as art is the

first mediator between mind and matter, he began to rejoice in her

physical charms from an artistic stand-point. _Henri_, on the contrary,

ennobled the expression of his love and appropriated more and more of

the impulses of Cornelia's soul. Thus intellect began to grow warmer,

sensuality to be spiritualized. The separation between them had been

lessened by struggling for a common object; if his moral consciousness

had ripened in the same proportion as the two extremes approached a

normal union, he would have adopted a different course of action. But

the individual conflict was not yet entirely settled, and the moral one

could not be decided. His mistakes and transgressions had proceeded

solely from the gulf in his nature; only when the parts were united in

one harmonious whole could they be expelled, for right and truth can

only thrive in a soul at peace with itself.

Months elapsed, and the political event which was to decide his own

fate and Cornelia's drew near. Ottmar awaited it with eager suspense.

He longed to have this uncertain condition of affairs ended. He

perceived more and more clearly that to possess Cornelia would outweigh

his present position, and made himself familiar with the thought of

sacrificing it, if driven to extremities. But the appointment of

minister cast a weight into the scale of his ambition which outbalanced

the feeble efforts of his conscience; as minister he could not inflict

upon himself and the court the disgrace of a politically suspicious

mesalliance,--then he would induce Cornelia to make the sacrifice, and

he did not doubt that she would do so.