The delightful season of spring had now once more returned. Every
morning the birds serenaded me at the window of my lodgings, which were
in a garden-house, near a street called the Parterre, not far from the
river. Doubtless, the year is never so delightful and interesting as
when all things are yet undeveloped, and in their prime; when the
gardener is yet going about, with his hatchet, and bill-hook, and large
sheers, lopping the branches, though the flourishing boughs are already
redolent of green buds, that give out their fresh odours in the warm
sun. One says to himself--Let the gardener, or pruner, do his worst--let
him remove every unprofitable branch, so that the daylight may fall into
the most secret recesses, where the loves of a former year have been
celebrated and are gone by, yet the trees will, ere long, be in their
full luxuriance--all that he has lopped away will soon be more than
amply replaced.
It is the season of hope and bright anticipations. Every new flower that
rises from the teeming earth, and every bright green leaf that breaks
forth along the southern slope of the forest, calls forth responsive
feelings of buoyancy and delight in the soul.
Thus it happened, that one morning the vernal sun darted his unclouded
golden gleams into my chamber. Sweet odours of flowers streamed through
the open window, for the wind was in the south-west. The birds, as
usual, cheered me with their songs.
An irresistible longing urged me to go forth, and wander at will through
the open country. Despising, therefore, the directions of my physician,
I dressed, went down stairs, and betook myself, in the first place, to
the Prince's park. There the trees and shrubs, rustling with their
new-born green leaves, greeted the weakly convalescent. It seemed as if
I had just awoke from a long and heavy dream; and deep sighs were the
inexpressive tokens of rapture which I breathed forth, amid the joyous
carolling of birds, the humming of insects, and gladness of all nature.
Ay, life itself now appeared to me like a heavy and frightful dream, not
only for the time lately passed, but through the whole interval since I
had left the convent. I now found myself in a walk, shaded by dark
platanus trees, which give out their green leaves very early in the
year; and gradually I became lost in reverie. Methought I was once more
in the garden of the Capuchin Convent at Koenigswald. Out of the distant
thickets rose already the well-known lofty crucifix, at which I had so
often prayed with fervent devotion for strength to resist all
temptation.
The cross seemed to me to be now that only goal, after which I ought to
strive; _there_, prostrate in the dust, to do penance for the sinful
dreams in which I had indulged, for the guilty delusions into which I
had been led by the Arch-fiend. I stepped forward, therefore, with my
clasped hands lifted up, and with my eyes fixed upon the cross.
Methought I heard the pious hymns of the monks borne upon the air; but
it was only the mysterious voice of the woods, where the wind was up
amid the yet dry branches and the verdant foliage.
Its influence was more than in my weakly condition I could yet bear. I
was soon obliged to support myself against a tree, and even to lie down
on the turf: yet I never lost sight of the cross, but collecting my
whole strength, rose again, and tottered on. However, I could only reach
a rustic moss-seat, in front of the consecrated thicket, where, like a
weak old man, I sat languidly down, and in hollow groans tried to
lighten the anguish of my oppressed heart.
How long I remained in this situation, I know not. But at last I heard a
rustling, and the sounds of light steps on the walk. Instinctively, I
knew whom I was to expect--AURELIA! Scarcely had I formed the thought,
when, turning the corner of an opposite walk leading towards the seat,
she stood visibly before me!
Description here fails me, nor indeed have I in this narrative often
attempted to describe. Tears glistened in her heavenly blue eyes; but
through those tears gleamed a kindling light of love, which was,
perhaps, foreign to the saint-like character of Aurelia. This
expression, however, reminded me at once of that mysterious visitant of
the confessional, whom in my cherished dreams I had so often beheld.
Aurelia advanced towards me. She accepted my proffered hand. "Can you,"
said she in a low voice--"Can you ever forgive me?"
Then losing all self-possession, I threw myself on the ground before
her. I seized her hand, and bathed it with my tears.--"Aurelia,
Aurelia!" cried I, "for thy sake, gladly would I endure martyrdom!--I
would die a thousand deaths!" I felt myself gently lifted up. It was
Aurelia who raised me, and who afterwards sunk into my arms. I scarcely
know how these moments passed. Probably our interview was short, for I
remember only these words--"All my best hopes are now fulfilled--all the
mysterious fears that have haunted me are at an end!--But see! we are
observed." She quickly disengaged herself from my embrace, and I saw the
Princess coming up one of the walks. Not wishing at present to venture
an interview with one whom I had never dared to look on as a friend, I
retired into the thicket, where I discovered that the object which I had
mistaken for a crucifix, was only the grey withered stem of an old
pollard willow.
From that moment, I no longer felt any effects of my severe illness, far
less any influence of melancholy. The kiss of reconciliation which I had
thus received from Aurelia, inspired me with new life; and it seemed as
if, for the first time, I enjoyed the mysterious raptures of which even
this our terrestrial existence is susceptible. For the first time, I
knew the happiness of mutual love! I stood upon the highest pinnacle of
worldly fortune, and my path must, from henceforth, lead downwards, in
order to conduct me to that goal which the powers of darkness had seemed
to mark out for my final destination.
It was a dream of happiness like this to which I alluded, when I before
painted the delights of my first meeting again with Aurelia at the
Prince's court. Then I addressed myself to thee, oh stranger! who may
one day read these pages. I requested thee to recall the bright sunny
days of thy first love, and to imagine that dark disappointment had
annihilated every prospect painted for thee by the fairy hands of
Hope--then would'st thou be able to sympathize with the unhappy monk,
who, in his solitary prison, moaning over the remembrance of his early
visions, lay the victim of despair. Yet once more I beg of you to
recall that happy time--but now let there be no thought nor apprehension
of disappointment--and I need not then attempt to describe to thee the
supernatural light that was now shed on my path by my fortunate love. No
gloomy thoughts had longer any influence over my mind; I began even to
entertain a firm conviction that I was not the reckless criminal who, at
the Baron's castle, had killed Hermogen and Euphemia, but that it was
actually the delirious monk whom I had met at the _forst-haus_, that had
been the culprit.
All, therefore, that I had said to the physician appeared to me no
longer the fiction of my own brain, but the true narrative of events
which to myself remained mysterious and inexplicable. The Prince had
received me with the utmost kindness as a valued friend, whom he had
believed lost, and by whose unexpected return he had been greatly
rejoiced. This conduct of the Sovereign naturally gave the tone to that
of all my former acquaintances at court; only the Princess seemed still
to look upon me with coldness and reserve.
I had now the opportunity of daily meetings with Aurelia, nor did any
one venture remarks on our attachment. Many times our interviews were
without witnesses; but on these occasions her saint-like purity,
mildness, and timidity of character, which I could not but observe,
inspired me with an involuntary awe and reverence. I felt that she
placed in me implicit confidence, and with no one, not even with the
nearest relation, could such meetings have been more safe.
* * * * *
For several days I had not seen Aurelia. She had gone with the Princess
to a neighbouring summer-house in the forest. At last I could not bear
her absence, but determined on a pedestrian excursion thither.
When I arrived, it was already late in the evening. The sun had declined
in red effulgence in the west. The air was filled with the odoriferous
breath of young leaves and flowers, and the woods resounded with the
sweetest notes of unnumbered nightingales. The approach to the
Princess's country-house was through a very long avenue of magnificent
pine-trees, whose massy down-hanging branches swept the ground, waving
in the balmy evening breeze with a mysterious murmur; and,
notwithstanding all the enchantments of the hour and scene, methought I
almost heard a warning voice pronounce the word, "Beware!" whereupon I
only quickened my pace, and with a beating heart arrived at the
garden-gate of the summer-house.
In the garden I met with one of the maids of honour, who pointed out to
me the wing of the chateau in which were Aurelia's apartments, for I by
no means wished to encounter the Princess. Softly I opened the door of
the anti-room, from which the warm breath of flowers and exotic plants
greeted me with their almost too-powerful fragrance. Remembrance was
busy with her dim illusions. "Is not this," said I, "the _identical_
chamber of Aurelia at the Baron's castle, where, on that fatal
night----" Scarcely had I formed this idea, when methought a dark form
reared itself up in gigantic height behind me, and, with terror that
shook my inmost heart, I heard a voice pronounce the name, "Hermogen!"
Losing all self-possession, I tottered onwards. I intended to knock, but
the door of the cabinet was ajar, and I saw Aurelia kneeling at a
_tabourett_, on which there was an open book, and above it a crucifix. I
looked back trembling, to see if the spectre was yet there, but it was
now vanished; then, in a tone of rapture, though not such as to alarm
her, I called out, "Aurelia--Aurelia!" "Is it possible," said she,
softly--"Leonard, my beloved, how came you hither?" She arose, and in
the next moment was folded in my arms. Her luxuriant hair hung
dishevelled over my head and shoulder. I felt her heart beat, and saw
her eyes gleam with unwonted fire; but at that moment there was a noise
behind us as if from the strong and powerful beating of wings. A moan
like the death-cry of one mortally wounded, sounded through the chamber.
"Hermogen!" cried Aurelia, and sunk fainting out of my arms. I placed
her on the sofa, but, in a voice of horror, she cried to me,
"Away--away! I command, I beseech you, begone!"
Scarcely knowing what I did, I left the room, and soon afterwards found
myself, unawares, in the entrance-hall of the ground-floor, where I was
met by the Princess. She looked at me gravely and haughtily. "Mr
Leonard," said she, "I am indeed not a little surprised to find you
here--What means this intrusion?" By a violent effort, combating my
distraction, I stammered out some incoherent apologies, by which I
perceived, from the looks of the Princess, that she was by no means
satisfied. On the contrary, I durst not venture to remain longer in the
house, but, after a hasty obeisance, betook myself to the front-gate,
and departed.
As I passed once more through the darkness amid the waving pine-trees,
methought I no longer walked alone! On the contrary, it seemed to me as
if some person ran all the way very near me, keeping time with my steps,
and as if I heard a stammering voice, which pronounced the words,
"Ev-er--ev-er am I with thee! Broth-er--broth-er Me-dar-dus! Go whither
thou wilt, east, north, or south, I am ever with thee!"
Hereupon I paused and looked round me; I became convinced that this
horrible _double_, by whom I was haunted, had his existence only in my
own disturbed imagination. However, I could by no means get rid of the
frightful image; he continued to run along by my side, and to speak with
me at intervals, till at last it seemed to me as if I must actually
enter into conversation, and relate to him the recent adventures of my
life. Accordingly, I confessed that I had just now been very foolish,
and had allowed myself once more to be terrified by the insane Hermogen;
however, that St Rosalia should now very soon be irrevocably mine, and
that, for her sake only, I had become a monk, and received the
investiture and consecration.
Then my detestable _double_ laughed and groaned as he had before done,
and stuttered out--"But lose no time--lose no time--Quick-ly, quick-ly!"
"Nay, have a little patience," said I, "and all will go well. Only, the
blow that I struck Hermogen has not been deep enough. He has got one of
those damned protecting crosses in the throat, even as thou hast, and I
have! But my stiletto, which thou hast preserved for me, is still sharp
and bright!"--"He--he--he!--He--he--he!--Strike him well, then--strike
him well!" Such were the accents of my infernal companion, amid the dark
rushing of the pine-tree woods; nor did they end there. The same
persecution accompanied me almost the whole way homeward into town,
until at last, the fresh morning wind cooled the burning fever of my
brow, and a roseate splendour advancing in the east, announced the dawn
of a new vernal day.
I had enjoyed only about two hours' broken rest at my lodgings, when I
received a summons to attend the Prince. I betook myself immediately to
the palace, where he received me very cordially.
"In truth, Mr Leonard," he began, "you have won my good opinion in the
highest degree. I cannot conceal from you that my prepossessions in your
favour have ripened into real friendship. I should be sorry to lose you,
and would rejoice in contributing to your happiness. Besides, it is our
duty to atone to you as much as possible, for all that you have been
made to suffer among us. By the way, Mr Leonard, do you know what was
the direct cause of the process against you--that is, who first accused
you?"
"No, sire," answered I.
"Baroness Aurelia," said the Prince,--"you are astonished. Nay, it is
very true, Baroness Aurelia, Mr Leonard, mistook you for a
Capuchin."--(He laughed heartily.)--"Now, if you are a Capuchin, you are
certainly the politest and best-favoured of that order that has ever
fallen under my notice. Say, in truth, Mr Leonard, have you ever been a
monk?"
"Sire," answered I, "I know not by what wicked fatality I am always to
be transformed into a monk; but----"
"Well, well!" interrupted the Prince, "I am no inquisitor. It would be a
serious disaster, however, if you were bound by any clerical vows. But
to the point--Would you not like to have your revenge on Aurelia for the
mischief that she has brought on you?"
"In what mortal's breast," said I, "would such a thought as that of
revenge arise against the amiable Baroness?"
"Do you not love Aurelia?" said the Prince.
I was silent, but replied by an expressive gesture, laying my hand on my
heart.
"I know it," resumed his highness. "You have loved this young lady since
that moment when she, for the first time, made her appearance here with
the Princess. Your affection is returned, and indeed with a fervour of
which I scarcely believed the mild Aurelia to be capable. The Princess
has told me all, and I know that she lives only for you. Would you
believe, that after your imprisonment, Aurelia gave herself up to a mood
of utter despondency, and became at last so ill, that we entertained
serious apprehensions for her life? She at that time looked upon you as
the murderer of her brother, and her grief, therefore, appeared to us
unaccountable; but the truth was, that even then she loved you.
"Now, Mr Leonard, or Mr von Krczinski, (for you are by birth noble,) I
shall fix you at the court in a manner that will be agreeable to you.
You shall marry Aurelia, and in a few days we shall solemnize the
betrothment. I myself will act in place of the bride's father.
Meanwhile, adieu!" The Prince, in his usual abrupt manner, then left the
audience-chamber.