The next morning a messenger came breathlessly to Steinbach. With
gloomy obstinacy he refused to gratify the domestic's urgent questions.
He desired to speak personally with the Baron.
Erwin came. He was fearfully startled at the messenger's communication.
Then as with distressed slowness he crossed the corridor to Elsa's
room, she met him, pale as death, but calm. "A messenger has come from
Traunberg. Felix has taken his life," she said in a hollow voice, with
eyes fixed upon Erwin. She had guessed. With hand on her heart, her
eyes closed, she remained for a moment speechless. Erwin feared a
swoon, and with gentle force tried to lead her back to her room, but
she resisted. "Order the carriage," she begged with almost inaudible
voice; "I should like to go over there."
Erwin accompanied her.
An uneasy quiet, broken by the mysterious whispers of the domestics,
pervaded Castle Traunberg. The servants all stood around in solemn
idleness. Mrs. Stifler and the valet were busied with the corpse. They
withdrew when Elsa entered the chamber of death.
Slowly she approached the bed. There he lay--Felix!--his corpse.
His head rested gently on the pillow; one saw that a lovely dream had
helped the dying man across the threshold of eternity. The original
beauty of his features, which life, with its shattering conflicts, had
almost destroyed, death had restored again.
Elsa kissed the corpse; she wept quietly and bitterly; she reproached
herself a thousand times with not having shown her brother love enough,
with not having helped him bravely enough to bear the heavy burden of
his life.
Then she noticed a letter, addressed to her, upon the table beside the
bed.
A quarter of an hour later she joined Erwin, who waited for her in the
adjoining room. There were still tears on her cheeks, but in her eyes
shone a kind of solemn pride. She handed Erwin the open letter. He
read:
Dear Elsa:
You will be startled at what I have done. Forgive me this, as you have
already forgiven me so much. I die not as a cowardly suicide, but as a
man who has sentenced himself to death.
The conviction has strengthened in my mind, that my life is of use and
pleasure to no one. My own child begins to be saddened by the
oppressive atmosphere which surrounds me. My shadow has long darkened
your existence.
After my death you will reproach yourself, dear, good heart; will fancy
that you could have been better and more considerate to me than you
have already been. Do not torment yourself. I remember nothing of you
but unwearied love and tender compassion. May God bless you a thousand
times, you and yours.
Take my poor child to your home. Erwin will bring the boy up better
than I could have done. Do not show my corpse to him, and put no
mourning on him. I do not wish to be the cause of a single bitter hour
to his poor little heart. Tell him I have gone on a journey. He will
forget me.
Never tell him, I beg you, of my disgrace, and if he learns of it
through strangers, then--then tell him that I loved him beyond
everything, and that I took my life so that I need never blush before
him.
Lay the little lock of golden hair which I cut from his head in Rome
upon my breast. You will find it in the upper left drawer of my
writing-desk, and put the old soldier's coat which I wore at Sadowa
upon me. (Stifler knows where it is.) It is the only article of
clothing in which I dare stretch myself out beside my ancestors for
eternal rest, or appear before them for eternal reconciliation; who
knows!