As Ottomar's steps died away upon the creaking stairs and across the
hall, Ferdinanda sprang up, and wringing her hands, paced two or three
times up and down the little room; then she threw herself down again as
Ottomar had last seen her--her face in her hands, her head leaning
against the back of the sofa. But she had not cried then, neither did
she cry now; she had no tears to shed; she had no hope left, no wish
save one--to die for him since she could not live for him, since her
life could only be a burden and a torment to him. Why had she not
believed his brother officer, with the clear brow and keen, pitiful
eyes, who had said to her:
"You deceive yourself, my dear young lady! Your flight with Ottomar is
no deliverance for him from his difficulties, but another complication,
and that the most fatal. The worst point for Ottomar is the terrible
wound to his honour as an officer. Appearances at least must be saved
here, and this is still possible according to the arrangements I have
made. At the best his life can only be half a life, one which I do not
know how he will bear. I doubt even if he can bear it; but in such a
case as this one may perhaps stifle one's better judgment. There can be
no doubt, however, that if you now fly with him, and the circumstance
becomes known--as it must be--there will be no longer any possibility
for us, his friends, to save even appearances. That an officer should
be forced to retire from the service on account of debts, that his
betrothal should on this account be broken off, that he should even in
his delicate position neglect to call to account the gossips and
scandal-bearers--all this may occur, does occur unfortunately only too
often. But at the same time, forgive me for saying so, the door is open
wide for scandal. A man who at such a moment can think of anything but
of saving what still is possible out of the shipwreck of his honour,
or, if there is nothing left to save, of giving up with dignity perhaps
even life itself--who instead of this drags down with him another
person whom he professes to love, a stainless woman, a lady who has
always been highly respected--that man has thrown away every claim to
sympathy or fellow-feeling. Ottomar himself must see this sooner or
later. This journey of his to Warnow is, in my eyes, absolute folly.
What does he mean to do there? Call Giraldi to account? The Italian
will answer, 'You are no child, you must have known what you were
about.' Call out the Count? For what cause, when he travels with you?
But let him go if he will, only alone! only not with you! I conjure
you, not with you! Believe me, the love in whose power you trust to
save Ottomar from all his difficulties will prove itself absolutely
impotent, even worse; it will finally break down the remains of the
strength which Ottomar might otherwise still possess. For his sake--if
you will not think of yourself--do not go with him!"
Strange, when he had drawn her on one side at the last moment, while
Ottomar and Bertalda in the next room were arranging a few last things,
and spoken to her thus--hastily, yet so clearly--his words had passed
by her like an empty sound; she had hardly known what he was speaking
of; and now it all came back upon her memory word for word! It was all
coming true already, word for word! All-powerful love! Good heavens,
what a mockery! What answer had he had for the pictures of the future
which she had painted for him in colours whose glow was drawn from her
overflowing heart, but a sad, gloomy smile, or monosyllabic absent
words, evidently only spoken because he must say something, while his
spirit was weighed down with the burden of his thoughts about his angry
father, his pitiful or scornful brother officers, and of the
possibility of forcing a duel upon Herr von Wallbach or Count Golm. His
very caresses when, with a heart full of unutterable fear, she put her
arms round him--as a mother round her child whom she is carrying from
the flames--his very caresses made her shiver as she thought, "He
treats me like a love-sick girl, who must be humoured, like a mistress
whom he has taken on his journey, and from whom he wishes to hide that
he is weary of her before their first station is passed."
She! she! who had once dreamed that her love was an inexhaustible
spring, and had blamed herself that she had been so chary with it, and
had turned away her suitor from her door, had left him without in the
barren wilderness of life to despair and perish without her! She who
had been so proud! so proud, because she knew that she had boundless
wealth to give; that her love was like the storm now raging without,
throwing down all that was not stronger than itself--like the flood
rushing by, destroying, devouring all that did not rise into the
clouds!
That had been her fear all this time, that he too, even he, would never
quite understand her; there would always remain a gaping breach between
the real and the ideal, and she ought not therefore to sacrifice the
ideal, however yearningly her heart might throb, however stormily the
warm blood might rush through her veins. She had but this one best
thing to lose, to be for ever after poorer than the poorest beggar, she
for whom inexorable experience had once for all destroyed the fair
dream of so many years--that of being an artist by the grace of God!
How she had fought! how she had struggled through so many weary days,
so many wakeful nights passed in gloomy brooding, in writhing despair!
days and nights whose terrors would long since have brought even her
strength low, if his beloved, fascinating image had not flitted through
her feverish morning dreams, alluring her on to other weary days, to
other tortured nights.
It was no longer his image now, it was himself; no longer fascinating,
but still beloved as ever!
And oh, how dearly loved! more than ever! immeasurably more in his
helpless misery than in his brighter days.
If she could only help him! For herself she had no wish, no desires;
God was her witness! And if to-night she lay in his arms, and he in
hers, she could think of it without one more heart-beat, without for a
moment losing the despairing thought that weighed down her heart: "He
will breathe no new strength, no new life from my kisses! He will rise
from his bridal couch a weary, broken-down man!" How could she maintain
strength and courage to live--no longer for herself alone--for both of
them now?
If not strength and courage to live, then at least to die!
If she could die for him! could say to him with her dying lips: "See,
death is bliss and joy to me, if I can hope that from this hour you
will despise life, and because you despise it, will live a noble and
beautiful life, like one who lives only that he may die nobly and
gloriously!"
But to his weak soul even this would be no spur, no check, only one
more dark shadow amongst all the dark shadows that had fallen upon his
path; and upon that gloomy path he would wander feebly on, inactive,
inglorious, to an early and an inglorious grave! Thus she lay, sunk in
the depth of her grief, heedless of the howling of the storm, which
perpetually shook the house from roof to cellar; deaf to the noisy
uproar of the drunken guests just under her room, hardly raising her
head as her landlady now came in. The landlady came to ask her
ladyship--as the gentlefolks must mean to spend the night here now--how
she would like to have the beds arranged in the next room; but at the
strange expression of the beautiful pale face, which raised itself from
the sofa and looked at her so oddly, the question died away on the tip
of her tongue, and she only succeeded in bringing out her second
question: whether she should make a cup of tea for her ladyship? Her
ladyship did not seem to understand the question; at any rate she did
not answer, and the landlady thought to herself, "She will ring if she
wants anything," and went into the bedroom with the candle which she
had in her hand, half closing the door--which always took several
efforts to shut it--so as not to disturb her ladyship, and then took
the candle to the windows, to see if they were properly fastened. One
of them was not, the upper bolt had stuck fast, and as she pulled up
the lower one, the wind blowing through the narrow opening put the
candle out, which she had set upon the window-sill. "I can find my way,
however," thought the landlady, and turned in the dim light towards the
beds, but stopped as she came near the door, and heard the lady give a
faint cry. "Good gracious!" thought the landlady, "it is almost worse
with these fine people than it is with us." For the gentleman, who had
come in again, had begun to speak at once, not loudly but evidently
warmly. "What could be the matter between the two young people?"
thought the landlady, and glided on tiptoe to the door. But she could
understand nothing, whether of the many words spoken by the gentleman,
or the few interposed by the lady; and then it struck the landlady that
it was not the gentleman's clear voice, and that they were neither of
them speaking German; and she put her eye to the keyhole, and to her
astonishment and terror saw an absolutely strange man standing by the
lady in the next room, who as she looked let his brown cloak fall from
his shoulders without noticing it, while he violently gesticulated with
both arms, and talked faster, and louder and louder, in his
incomprehensible jargon--like a madman, thought the terrified landlady.
"I will not turn back," cried Antonio, "after I have run almost all the
way like a dog after his owner who has been carried away by robbers,
and the rest of the way have been lying crouched in the straw in a cart
like a beast led to slaughter. I will no longer be a dog, I will no
longer suffer worse than a beast. I know all now--all--all! how he was
faithless to you, the dishonourable coward, that he might go to
another, and again from her to you, and lay at your door whimpering for
mercy while they settled it for him--his mistress and that accursed
Giraldi, whose neck I will wring when and wherever I meet him again, so
surely as my name is Antonio Michele! I know all--all--all! And that
you will give your fair self to him, as you have given him your soul
already!"
The miserable man could not understand the half-scornful,
half-melancholy smile which curled the beautiful girl's proud lips.
"Do not laugh!" he shrieked, "or I will kill you!" And then, as she
half rose, not from fear, but to repel the maniac: "Forgive me! oh,
forgive me! I kill you!--you who are my all, the light and joy of my
life; for whom I would let myself be torn in pieces, limb from limb!
for whom I would give every drop of my heart's blood, if you would only
allow me to kiss the hem of your garment, to kiss the ground upon which
you have trod! How often--how often have I done it without your
knowledge--in your studio, the spot where your fair foot has stood, the
tool which your dear hand has touched! I ask for so little; I will wait
for years--as I have waited for years--and will never weary of serving
you, of worshipping you, like the blessed Madonna, till the day comes
when you will listen to my prayers!"
He had fallen on his knees in the place where he stood, his wild eyes,
his quivering hands raised to her.
"Rise!" said she. "You do not know what you say, nor to whom you say
it. I can give you nothing; I have nothing to give. I am so poor, so
poor--far poorer than you!"
She was wandering about the little room and wringing her hands, passing
by the kneeling man, who, as her dress touched his glowing face, sprang
to his feet as though moved by an electric shock.
"I am not poor," he cried; "I am the son of a prince; and more than a
prince--I am Michael Angelo; and a greater than Michael Angelo! I see
them coming in moving crowds, singing hymns in praise of the immortal
Antonio; bearing flowers, twining garlands, to adorn and encircle the
wonderful creations of the divine Antonio! Do you hear? do you hear!
There! there!"
From the broad village street there rose up the confused, tumultuous
cry of the people, who had been alarmed at the news of the advancing
flood, and were hastening to the scene of the catastrophe; from the
tower of the neighbouring church there rang out, broken by the storm,
the clang of the bells, now threateningly near, and again in trembling
distance.
"Do you hear!" cried the maniac. "Do you hear?"
He stood with outstretched arm, smiling; his eyes, lighted with joy and
triumph, fixed upon Ferdinanda, who gazed in terror at him.
Suddenly the smile changed to a fearful grimace, his eyes glared with
deadly hatred, his outstretched arm was withdrawn with a shudder, his
hand convulsively clutched at his breast, as immediately under the
window a voice rose, clear and commanding, above the raging of the
storm and the shouts of the crowd:
"A rope, a strong rope--the longest that you have got! And thinner
cord--as much as possible. There are some people there already! I shall
be there before you!"
A hasty step, taking three or four stairs at once, came up the creaking
staircase. The maniac laughed wildly.
The landlady, too, had heard the clear voice below, and the hasty step
on the stairs. There would be an accident, for sure, if the gentleman
came in now, when that strange, disagreeable man was with the lady! She
burst into the room at the moment when the gentleman opened the door on
the other side.
Uttering a howl of rage, and brandishing high his stiletto, Antonio
rushed upon him. But Ferdinanda had thrown herself between them before
Ottomar could cross the threshold, shielding her lover with outspread
arms, offering her own bosom to the fatal thrust, and falling without a
groan into Ottomar's arms, as the murderer fled past them in cowardly,
mad flight at sight of the crime that he had never intended, and that
had broken through the night of his insanity as if by a flash of
lightning--fled down the stairs, through the crowd below, who had been
summoned by the clang of the alarm-bell and the cries of terror of the
hasty passers-by from the tap-room and all parts of the house, and who
now drew back in terror from the stranger with the wild black hair,
brandishing a knife in his hand--out into the village street,
overthrowing all that came in his way in the confused, shrieking,
shouting crowd without--out into the howling darkness! And "Murder,
murder!" "Stop him!" "Stop the murderer!" rang through the house.