The minister of foreign affairs sat in his office alone. Stray, feeble
rays from the winter sun fell through the window and gleamed upon a
heap of documents and papers with huge seals; but the minister's eyes
did not rest upon them, they were fixed absently on vacancy. From time
to time he dipped his pen in the ink, only to let it fall again unused,
upon a diplomatic dispatch which had just been commenced. At last he
started up and went to the door. His figure was not so elegant, nor his
bearing so haughty, as in former days: his hair and beard were
neglected, his eyes and cheeks sunken. Was it work or sorrow that had
thus shaken this noble frame? He seemed aged, even ill. Anton brought
in some letters, which he hastily seized, then threw them all but one
upon the table.
"God grant it may be some good news!" said Anton, casting a troubled
glance at his master's haggard features as he left the room.
"God grant it!" repeated _Heinrich_; and his breath came quickly and
anxiously as he read:
"Your Excellency,--In reply to your highly esteemed favor of the 15th,
I have the honor to say that I must positively reject the denunciation
it contains against our reverend brother in Christ, Father Severinus:
namely, that without my knowledge he had secretly fled with a young and
beautiful lady, and kept her concealed for several months against her
will. Father Severinus is a pattern to the whole order for humble
obedience and the strictest devotion to all. No false appearances can
render his blameless and immovable purity suspicions in our eyes. His
relation to that lady is one well pleasing to God and the order, and
his course has my entire approval. This I must permit myself to say in
correction of your Excellency's erroneous suspicion.
"I have no right to inform your Excellency of the residence of Father
Severinus and the lady in question until your Excellency has given us
the most satisfactory proofs of your right to the possession of the
young lady's person.
"With all due respect to your Excellency, etc.,
"Father R----
"_General of the Holy Congregation of the Fathers of Jesus_.
"Rome, -- 20, 18--."
_Heinrich_ sank upon the sofa with the paper in his hand. "This failed
too! All, all in vain!" he murmured, crushing the letter convulsively
in his clinched fingers. "What is to be done now? Shall I give notice
to the embassies of every country? Shall I add to this consuming
anguish the disgrace that I am pursuing an adventuress, who is rambling
about with a Jesuit? Cornelia! Cornelia! Have these pious fathers or
have you obtained so much mastery over yourself that you can inflict
this upon me? It is not possible that they have subdued your free
will. You are not one of these natures which allow themselves to
be ruled. You have done the most difficult, the most unprecedented
thing,--conquered me and yourself in a moment when passion was most
aroused. You would not suffer the arts of these men to obtain dominion
over you! Noble, wonderful woman! By what cords do you hold me that I
will go to utter ruin rather than forget you?"
He rested his head wearily upon his hand. His whole life passed before
him. He thought of all the unhappy creatures who had clung to him with
the same ardor he now felt for Cornelia, and been repulsed as he was
now by her. Again Ottilie's image rose before him. The sorrow gnawing
at his heart made him for the first time understand the tortures she so
silently, so patiently, bore for him, and for the first time he
experienced the true human sympathy he had never felt while grief was
unknown to him. "Poor Ottilie! We are now companions in suffering!"
A low knocking roused him from his gloomy thoughts. It was his private
secretary, to ask whether Ottmar had prepared the dispatch for the
court of R----. "Oh! good heavens, no!" he exclaimed, in great
impatience, and sat down to finish it. Thrice he began, erased the
words, and then flung the pen aside with a sigh of the bitterest
despondency. "I am not in the mood," he said, at last. "My head aches
too violently. I cannot give myself up to work now."
"Allow me to remind your Excellency that you will be expected at the
council of ministers at twelve o'clock," said the young man, timidly.
"You are right: thanks! Remind me of it again at eleven."
With the most painful effort of self-control he applied himself to the
preparation of the document, and then hurried away to dress.
"Your Excellency ought to get a long leave of absence," said Anton, as
he assisted him to make his toilet. "You cannot live on so."
"Very likely, Anton. It is an existence which is becoming more and more
unendurable to me. But I cannot take a leave now. I must either
disappear from the scene entirely or remain at my post."
He left the room with a slow step and drooping head. Anton looked after
him sadly. "Poor master! It must have been bad news again. No doubt the
young lady has good cause for her acts; but I pity him, for he never
loved so before."
A few hours afterward the prince entered his wife's apartments. "My
dear Ottilie, I must entreat you to grant me a favor. You did not wish
to see any one on account of your indisposition, but I beseech you to
make one exception."
"It shall be as you wish, Alfred," said Ottilie, in a faint voice.
She was reclining upon a couch under an arbor of dense exotic plants,
which made one forget the cold, wintry landscape without. The prince
took a chair and sat down beside her. "The matter concerns Ottmar," he
began, breaking a withered leaf from a gum-tree, and thus not observing
how Ottilie started. "I do not know what I am to do with the man.
Something is wrong with him; I cannot discover what. He seems entirely
changed. The youngest attache could not make so many diplomatic
blunders as he. He brought to the council to-day the rough sketch of a
dispatch to R----, which was totally useless. He, our most talented
statesman! It is incomprehensible! He is apathetic and reserved; nay,
he even permits himself to fail in the personal respect which, as his
prince, I am entitled to demand, and whose punctilious observance has
hitherto endeared him to me. I do not think this proceeds from any
diminution in his loyalty,--he has so often assured me that I was his
only friend,--but is the result of some secret disturbance, some
physical or mental suffering. All my efforts to obtain his confidence
are fruitless, so I thought of applying to my charming wife and calling
her to my aid in this, to me, very important affair."
"But how can I be of any assistance?" asked Ottilie, in astonishment.
"You shall speak to him, my dear. You are mistress of the art of
assuming a condescending manner which induces people to give their
confidence freely without forgetting in whose presence they stand. I
confess that in this respect you far surpass me. You remove my
subjects' awe of the grandeur of your position, and substitute
reverence for your person. Thus you succeed in being affable without
forfeiting any portion of your dignity, and people, open their hearts
to you without overstepping the bounds prescribed by etiquette. It is a
great art, for which not only intellect and heart, but the unusual
queenliness of air that distinguishes you, are requisite."
"But it is an 'art' which, at all events, I practice very
unconsciously," interposed Ottilie, smiling. "Yet I thank you, Alfred,
for this praise; it makes me very proud. And now I shall try to earn it
by attempting to prove my skill upon Ottmar."
"There is no praise you have not already fully earned. But I will beg
you to subdue this reserved diplomat with your--if I may so call
it--diplomacy of the heart, and discover what is really the matter with
him."
"But have we a right to interfere, my prince?"
"It is not only a right, but a duty. If he merely neglected me, I would
ignore it; but he neglects the obligations of his high position, and
thereby injures the interests he ought to defend. This cannot continue,
so we must discover the cause of Ottmar's trouble and try to remove it.
If this does not succeed, then----" The prince rose with the shrug of
the shoulders he always used to express what was not yet sufficiently
decided to put into words. "At the present critical moment, when
everything is crowding upon us, we need men who are thoroughly in
earnest, and will hold the reins with a firm hand," said he, continuing
his interrupted chain of ideas. "It is no time for personal
considerations and indulgent delays. Every moment brings and demands
important decisions, which should not be permitted to suffer from the
absence of mind of any individual. There must be a change soon. I
cannot lecture him like a school-boy, but you can say many things as a
proof of friendly sympathy, which, from my lips, would sound like an
implied reproach."
"I will try; although I do not expect much from the interview. I can
scarcely flatter myself that I shall be able to win from him what he
withholds from you, and perhaps the secret may be of such a nature that
he cannot confide it to us. Perhaps--he has some love-sorrow."
"Oh, my dear! Would a polished man of the world, a thorough diplomat,
give himself up to such sentimentality?"
The glance that Ottilie cast at the prince had a shade of compassionate
contempt. "You call it sentimentality because you have never felt the
power of a passionate emotion. You must consider that the moderation
inculcated into the minds of royal personages, that they may be able to
rule themselves and others, is an almost exclusive prerogative of their
rank, which no one else shares----"
"Except the priests," interposed the prince.
"You are right. But Ottmar does not belong to that class, but to one of
great privileges and few duties, who are accustomed to drop the reins
of self-control; and these men often lack all support against their
passions. I have already told you that I do not consider Ottmar a
genuine diplomat. He has talent, and will therefore for a time
skillfully accomplish whatever he undertakes, but he is far too great
an enthusiast to be a good statesman. For this he lacks calmness,
firmness of conviction, perseverance in labor, and sooner or later the
contradiction between his nature and his profession must appear."
"Lord C---- made the same remark about him several years ago. Your
knowledge of human nature shows itself more and more, and I daily
perceive with gratitude what wise counsels I am always sure of
receiving from you. Then you will make the sacrifice for me, and speak
to Ottmar?"
"I should be deserving of great blame if I refused my husband's
request. Under what pretext do you wish the interview to take place?"
"I think we will give a family dinner to-morrow, and invite him to it.
Do you feel well enough for such an effort? In my opinion, it would be
the most fitting opportunity."
"I agree with you, and think my strength will enable me to do the
honors."
"I thank you in advance, my dearest, and hope I have not imposed any
very disagreeable task upon you."
"On the contrary, I so rarely have the happiness of being permitted to
do you a favor, that I----"
"Oh, do not say so; your whole life is a succession of kindnesses and
self-sacrificing amiability towards me. How ignoble it would be for me
to require more than you voluntarily bestow! Pray take care of
yourself; the anxiety you feel is felt for me. Au revoir." He pressed a
hasty kiss upon Ottilie's small white hand and left the room.
Ottilie looked after him quietly. Not a feature in her pale face
altered. She gratefully perceived that the prince tried to give her at
least civility, even deference; instead of love. She had never asked
more; and now it was easier than ever to resign it. She was no longer
solitary, the life that stirred under her heart filled her with
blissful promises of an infinite love never known before. This new and
cheering emotion aided her to bear more resolutely than before even the
thought of being again thrown into Ottmar's society. The outward world
passed by her like a dream: there was but one reality to her,--the
approaching fulfillment of her mission as a woman; all her powers were
exerted for this great end, and peace brooded over her soul.
Thus, on the following day, she met Ottmar. The strength of her soul
conquered her physical weakness; and when the dinner was over and the
prince was conversing with the other guests, she calmly approached
Ottmar with an air of quiet dignity.
"The prince has commissioned me to speak to you, count," she whispered,
almost inaudibly.
"His Highness?" asked _Heinrich_, in astonishment.
"Yes; but I do not do so in his name, but my own. We are anxious about
you, for we both see that you are suffering. Your manner reveals it to
me, while he notices the change by the decreasing interest you take in
your business."
"I know it!" exclaimed _Heinrich_.
"He now wishes to obtain some explanation through me; he hopes you will
be more open than with him; but fear nothing, I shall not degrade
myself to become a spy upon you; nor should I need to do so, for I know
the cause of your anguish, and shall guard it as a sacred secret. Yet I
consented to the conversation the prince desired because I believed the
wish to be a sign from God. Besides, I wanted to speak to you once more
about some of the last events in your life; perhaps I may finally
produce some good result."
_Heinrich_ gazed at her in the greatest astonishment.
"Will you permit a friend of many years' standing to meddle with your
secrets? Will you trust me?" she asked, with all her former winning
grace.
"Oh, my princess!" cried _Heinrich_, in delight. "How long it is since
you have bestowed any such words upon me! how your returning favor
soothes and cheers me!"
"God is my witness that my favor was never withdrawn from you, count."
She raised her sparkling blue eyes, and her lips parted to say more;
then she recollected herself: her lids drooped again, and she was
silent. After a pause she began, in an altered tone, "The prince wishes
through me to learn the cause of the change in you, that he may help
you; but I can aid you without telling him your secret, and thus save
both, and betray no one. Is that right?"
"Perfectly! But, my beloved, noble princess, how can you help me?"
"You have been deserted by the young girl you loved. Is it not so?"
"Yes, yes; but how do you know?"
"The unhappy fate that has come between you is a secret to me, and one
I do not wish to fathom. The fault, my friend,--pardon my usual
frankness,--must be with you; for I know her, and will answer for it
that you were loved with a rare, pure, and fervent affection."
"Oh, your Highness, you cut me to the heart!"
"I must do so, count, if I am to be of use to you; and this is the only
occasion upon which I can. That you love Cornelia Erwing with the first
real passion of your life I see by the deep sorrow expressed in your
outward appearance, as well as your acts and conduct; and I hail this
mood with joy, count, as the gloomy twilight which precedes the dawn of
a new day."
"Princess, you do not know what I suffer. If I ever sinned against a
noble heart, I am now making bitter atonement. Pity me; do not triumph
in my anguish."
"Oh, how greatly you misunderstand me, count I triumph in your anguish!
May God keep me from such a thought! I rejoice because your sorrows are
a proof of a salutary change in your heart! I rejoice that you love
deeply, truly, sadly; because I hope to be able to restore that to
which your heart clings so loyally!"
"Could you do so, your Highness?" whispered _Heinrich_, his eyes
sparkling with new life.
"Cornelia Erwing conceals her residence from you. Have you searched for
her?"
"I have summoned the police of the whole country to my aid, left no
means untried, but all in vain."
"Why did you do that?"
"Why?" asked Ottmar, in astonishment. "Because I wished to win her, to
have her again."
"And will you permit me to ask one more bold question? If you did
succeed in winning her again, what would be her fate?"
Ottmar drew back a step in astonishment and looked doubtfully at
Ottilie. Should he tell her? was she strong enough to hear it? should
he confess the resolution which, during months of agony and exhausting
struggle, had obtained such a powerful influence over him that it
governed his whole character and conduct?
"Would you make Cornelia Erwing your wife?"
"Your Highness!"
"If this is the case, I am ready, on my own responsibility, to tell you
her present residence."
"Noble, royal soul!" murmured Ottmar, involuntarily. "Well, then, yes.
Learn what no one else respects, that I, whom you have so often
reproached for my heartlessness, am subdued by a passion stronger than
my selfishness, stronger than everything, for I feel I could give up my
life rather than this girl, who has become so great a necessity to my
mind and heart. For weeks a letter imploring her hand has been lying in
my portfolio, but I can find no means of sending it to her, and am
almost in despair. Have compassion upon me. If you--ever"--he
hesitated--"ever felt for any one what I now feel for this cruel girl,
you will know how heavily I am punished."
Ottilie would gladly have extended her hand to him; but etiquette must
not be offended in the prince's presence. She turned, so that the rest
of the company could not see her face, and looked at Heinrich with an
inexpressibly loving expression. The old melancholy, yet happy, smile
played around her lips, while tear after tear rolled down her pale
cheeks.
"You see, my dear, dear friend, I can really do something for you.
Cornelia is now living Rome, and as soon as the company have been
dismissed I will send you her address."
"Oh, God, how do I deserve the favor of such a woman? Your Highness,
how shall I thank you?"
"Make Cornelia Erwing happy; this is the best gratitude I can ask, for
it will be the warrant of your own welfare."
"Ah, if I might fall at your feet and kiss the hem of your garments!
No, you are no creature of earth!"
Ottilie involuntarily pressed her hand upon her heart, and thought,
"Who knows how soon he may be right!"
"Do you believe I can succeed in moving the heart of this wonderful,
resolute girl?" asked _Heinrich_.
"Certainly, for I am sure Cornelia still loves you."
"Did she tell you so in her letter?"
"No; but I know how you were beloved, and therefore cannot be
forgotten. Besides, she only wrote to me once that I might know what
had become of her, if I should send for her and hear she had gone away.
She lamented that an unfortunate misunderstanding compelled her to part
from you, and begged me to preserve the strictest silence in regard to
her residence that you might not be able to take any steps to shake
this resolution, which was necessary for the sake of both. I gave the
promise and said nothing; but now I should think it wrong if I did not
contribute, as far as I am able, to reunite two such hearts. I had long
doubted whether any such woman as you need existed; but I recognized
Cornelia as the person whom, in imagination, I had destined for you;
therefore she must belong to you. Do you remember the evening I
predicted that you would feel a new, great love? It has now entered
your heart, and, by the goodness of God, I am permitted to show you the
way to the woman in whom the happiness of your life will bloom. My
prophecy is fulfilled, my mission to watch over your salvation
completed." Tears again glittered in her eyes as she uttered the words,
"May blessing and peace be with you both! Farewell."
As soon as the prince saw Ottilie's farewell bow, he approached
_Heinrich_, and, after doing the honors to the company a short time
longer, the noble pair withdrew. The prince supported his wife with a
strong arm, for she tottered as she left the room.
Ottmar had scarcely reached home when Ottilie's groom of the chambers
brought him a sealed envelope. It contained Cornelia's address, written
with an unsteady hand.
_Heinrich_ immediately sent a proposal of marriage to Cornelia,
overflowing with the ardor of unrestrained passion and the most
sincere, humble repentance. Great as was his sense of what he had lost
in her, it was equaled by his self-accusation, his impetuous pleading
for her pardon, her hand; and the whole letter bore the impress of
spiritual purification and bitter, heart-felt remorse. A few days after
Cornelia's answer arrived.
"Rome, February, 18--.
"You ask for my hand, Heinrich. I have read the words with tears of
grateful surprise. You bear a beautiful and noble testimony, both to
yourself and me; and in spirit I fall upon my knees before you, and
implore your pardon for the reproaches and upbraidings hurled at your
dear head on that terrible evening of our parting. Your letter reveals
all the wealth of your deep heart, and shows me that you undervalued
yourself when you wished to commit a deed so unworthy of you. Forgive
me that I too then believed you worse than you are. I thank God for the
merciful kindness with which he restored my only treasure, esteem for
you; for nothing humiliates a woman more deeply than to feel affection
for a man she must despise. I frankly confess, Heinrich, that I could
not cease to love you, even for a moment, that I was torn by the most
torturing struggle between heart and my consciousness of right. Now,
since I have, received your letter and know you deserve my love, I am
once more at peace with myself. I write this that you may not think me
prompted by anger or bitterness when I refuse your hand. My eyes grow
dim at the sight of these cruel words, the fingers that guide the pen
are paralyzed; I must pause a moment and collect my thoughts.
"I cannot become your wife after what has passed between us,--I dare
not. You have wounded my womanly honor too deeply, shown with too
little consideration what a great sacrifice you would make if you
raised me to the position of your wife, for me to be able to reconcile
my conscience or my pride to its acceptance. I cannot belong to a man
who found me in a station so far below him that he thought he could
degrade me to the lowest ignominy; although a nobler emotion or an
unconquerable affection afterwards leads him to atone for the wrong. I
should always fear that, according to the opinions you have often
declared, you would consider your marriage with me a mesalliance.
Besides, you have described my position as the plebeian wife of Count
Ottmar too clearly and distinctly for me not to shrink from the picture
with dread and horror; while even if I could myself suffer the
humiliations the pride of your aristocratic circle would prepare, I
could not bear that you, as my husband, should be compelled to share
them with me; for even if your love at first helped you to endure them,
they would only too soon stifle it. There would be a perpetual conflict
between your heart and the prejudices the world in which you live has
stamped upon you. This must banish peace from your breast, and sooner
or later make you as miserable as before. Love would yield, and
prejudice conquer, for society would neglect no opportunity of bringing
new and painful proofs of the justice of its views before your eyes,
and then what would be left me in return for all the humiliations I had
suffered? Your scorn! Oh, I was foolish ever to permit myself to be so
blinded as to believe that happiness for yourself or me could ever be
expected to result from a marriage with Count Ottmar! The extent of my
folly you first taught me to know in that hour of agony. Do not rebuke
the application I have made of your lessons as exaggerated. It might,
perhaps, be so in regard to a man who stood further above the views and
demands of a narrow-minded circle than you. But with you, Heinrich, it
is the direct result of your whole character. You are far too much
fettered by the ideas of those who surround you, cling too closely to
the false lustre of brilliant positions, accidental aristocratic
prerogatives, and personal distinction, to long retain your love for a
woman who would constantly inflict the most painful wounds upon your
aristocratic vanity. Believe me, love has no worse enemy than doubt of
the equality of its chosen object; and even if you thought me worthy of
you in intellect, the inferiority of my birth, and the want of esteem
shown by society, would weigh heavily against me. You must become
another man for me to accept your hand; and--forgive me if I am
harsh--your letter gave me no proof of this, although it revealed a
depth of feeling for which, since our separation, I had not given you
credit. But you are and will remain the minister, Count Ottmar, the
court favorite; I can only make him unhappy, as he would me. If you
were once more yourself, Heinrich von Ottmar, my Heinrich, who has
nothing in common with that unprincipled aristocracy,--if you openly
acknowledged what I taught you, what I believe requisite to true manly
dignity and greatness,--then, then you should learn how I love you.
Count Ottmar, who wished to inflict such disgrace upon me, I do not
love, and have sworn never to marry. Farewell! For your happiness and
my own I must avoid you, and leave it to God whether and how he dispose
your heart towards me. If your love is more than the obstinacy of a
passion irritated by resistance, it will unite with your better self
and make you a new man, will remove from our path the obstacles that
separate us, and upon the open way will find me once more; of that you
may be assured. But if it has not the strength to do all this, it would
in the end only make both you and myself miserable,--thrice as
miserable as we are now.
"When you receive this letter, I shall have left Rome for another place
of residence. Do not try to seek me: you will not find me. Do not call
me 'cruel'; in these lines you see only the victory I have obtained
over myself, but not my anguish, my tears. Beloved, I extend my arms to
you, and would fain press you to my aching heart, but only the cold
phantom of womanly duty and honor bends toward me, and breathes an icy
kiss on my burning lips. Oh, it is hard to be cast off by one you love,
and compelled to renounce your most ardent desire! But, Heinrich, it is
still harder to reject him yourself, and voluntarily resign that for
which you long. These, Heinrich, are superhuman victories, and they
strip all blossoms of youth from the heart; but it is better to lose
them than reap the envenomed fruit of eternal remorse. May God keep his
gentle, fatherly hand over you! He can still lead you to happiness, and
he alone.
"Cornelia Erwing."
It was morning when _Heinrich_ read and re-read this letter, until a
sorrow never imagined before made the words swim before his eyes, and
lay like a weight upon his chest, until, with a half-stifled cry of
agony, he bent his head upon the sheet lying before him. He started as
if bewildered, when Anton suddenly appeared, and informed him that a
message had come, summoning him to go to the palace as soon as
possible.
A few hours after, the bells rang, the cannon thundered, and the
populace shouted with joy, for in the palace a new-born child, a
prince, lay in a golden cradle. The hope of the country, whose
fulfillment slumbered in that little heart, stood by its side uttering
a benediction, and the promise of a great future encircled the baby
brow with an invisible crown.
But beside him a precious life was struggling silently and
uncomplainingly with death. Ottilie had fulfilled her last and highest
task, but it had exhausted the remnant of her strength. She felt that
her pulse had but a few more throbs, her breast would rise and fall
only a few more times, and, gazing gently and submissively around the
circle, Said, "Give me my son,"--took him from the arms of the prince
and pressed him closely to her heart. "Oh, God! what do I need more
than the happiness of this moment?" Yet a tear fell from her glazing
eyes as she kissed the little one and softly whispered, "You are so
sweet, so dear! Oh, it must be an immeasurable delight to cradle such a
child in one's arms, protect, foster, and watch the awakening of its
slumbering powers! It is not allotted to me. I must leave you and give
you up to your father. May his soul open itself to _you_! may you
become the innocent mediator between him and his poor people!" She
pressed the boy more and more feebly to her breast. "Farewell! it
grieves me to leave you,--grieves me deeply. Yours was the only heart
an which I relied. But I will not complain. I have _borne_ you,--this,
too, is a mercy from God, and with a kiss upon your rosy lips it is
sweet to die." The child fell from her arm, and her head sank back.
"She is asleep," said the prince, dismissing the bystanders, that he
might not be compelled to show any grief.
That evening the bells rang out another peal, and thousands wept aloud
under the brilliantly-lighted windows of the palace, for behind them,
on a black-draped bed of state, lay the beautiful corpse of the
princess, and her people's love stretched its arms towards her in vain.
With her the last bond that bound the sympathies of the masses to the
throne was sundered, and in the child-like ideas of the nation,
Ottilie's glorified spirit rose from her death-bed as that of a saint,
a martyr, who had vainly struggled and suffered to the end. She hovered
above the mourning country in a halo of glory and grief, and despair
transformed the angel of peace into a goddess of freedom, who with a
mighty power revealed to their oppressed hearts the consciousness of
their crushed rights.