The Merchant of Berlin Part 44

Catharine felt almost inclined to withdraw her orders and request him to remain, but she was woman enough to be able to read pride and defiance in his face. She therefore contented herself with wis.h.i.+ng him a speedy return to his duty. Publicly, in the presence of the whole court and her new favorite, she afforded Prince Stratimojeff a fresh triumph: she bade him kneel, and taking a golden chain to which her portrait was attached, she threw the links around his neck. Kissing him gently on the forehead, with a gracious smile full of promise, she said to him only, "_Au revoir_!"

CHAPTER IX.

OLD LOVE--NEW SORROW.

Elise was in her room. Her face expressed a quiet, silent resignation, and her large dark eyes had a dreamy but bright look. She sat in an easy-chair, reading, and whoever had seen her with her high, open forehead and calm looks, would have thought her one of those happy and fortunate beings whom Heaven had blessed with eternal rest and cheerful composure, who was unacquainted with the corroding poison of pa.s.sionate grief. No trace of the storm which had raged through her life could be seen on her countenance. Her grief had eaten inwardly, and only her heart and the spirit of her youth had died; her face had remained young and handsome. The vigor of her youth had overcome the grief of her spirit, and her cheeks, although colorless and transparent in their paleness, were still free from that sallow, sickly pallor, which is the herald of approaching dissolution. She was apparently healthy and young, and only sick and cold at heart. Perhaps she only needed some sunbeams to warm up again her chilled heart, only some gleam of hope to make her soul young again, and strong and ready once more to love and to suffer. She had never forgotten, never ceased to think of the past, nor of him whom she had loved so unspeakably, whom her soul could not let go.

The memories of the past were the life of the present to her. The tree in the garden which he had admired, the flowers he had loved and which since then had four times renewed their bloom, the rustling of the fir-trees which sounded from the wall, all spoke of him, and caused her heart to beat, she knew not whether with anger or with pain. Even now, as she sat in her room, her thoughts and fancies were busy with him. She had been reading, but the book dropped from her hand. From the love-scenes which were described in it her thoughts roamed far and wide, and awakened the dreams and hopes of the past.

But Elise did not like to give herself up to these reveries, and at times had a silent horror even of her own thoughts. She did not like to confess to herself that she still hoped in the man who had betrayed her. She had, as it were, a sympathizing pity with herself; she threw a veil over her heart, to hide from herself that it still quivered with pain and love. Only at times, in the quiet and solitude of her chamber, she ventured to draw aside the veil, to look down into the depths of her soul, and, in agonizing delight, in one dream blend together the present and the past. She leaned back in her chair, her large dark eyes fixed on vacancy. Some pa.s.sage in the book had reminded her of her own sad love, had struck on her heart like the hammer of a bell, and in response it had returned but one single note, the word "Feodor."

"Ah, Feodor!" she whispered to herself, but with a shudder at the name, and a blush suffused her otherwise pale cheeks for a moment.

"It is the first time my lips have spoken his name, but my heart is constantly repeating it in hopeless grief, and in my dreams he still lives. I have accepted my fate; to the world I have separated from him; to myself, never! Oh, how mysterious is the heart! I hate and yet I love him." She covered her face with her hands, and sat long silent and motionless. A noise at the door aroused her. It was only Marianne, her maid, who came to announce that a strange gentleman was outside, who earnestly requested to speak to her. Elise trembled, she knew not why. A prophetic dread seized her soul, and in a voice scarcely audible she asked the name of her visitor.

"He will not give his name," answered the maid. "He says the name is of no consequence. He had a letter to deliver from the Countess Lodoiska, of St. Petersburg."

Elise uttered a cry, and sprang from her seat--she knew all. Her heart told her that he was near. It must be himself. She felt as if she must hasten to her father for protection and safety; but her feet refused to carry her. She trembled so, that she was obliged to hold on to the arm of a chair to keep herself from falling. She motioned with her hand to deny him admittance, but Marianne did not understand her; for, opening the door, she invited the stranger in, and then left him.

And now they stood in presence of each other, silent and breathless--Elise trembling with excitement and bitter feeling, wrestling with her own emotion, and deeply abashed by the meeting.

Both uttered an inward prayer--but how different were their two aspirations!

"Now, G.o.d or devil!" thought Feodor, "give my words power, lend enchantment to my tongue, that I may win Elise!"

Elise prayed to herself: "Have mercy on me, O G.o.d! Take this love from me, or let me die."

In sad silence these two, so long separated, stood opposite to each other--both hesitating, he knowing that he was guilty, she ashamed of the consciousness of her love. But finally he succeeded in breaking the silence. He whispered her name, and as she, alarmed and shuddering, looked up at him, he stretched out his arms imploringly toward her. And then she felt, thought, knew nothing but him. She uttered a cry, and rushed forward to throw herself in his arms. But suddenly she stopped. Her dream was at an end, and now awaking from the first ecstasy of seeing him again, she collected herself, and stood before him in the whole pride and dignity of her offended honor. She found courage to sacrifice her own heart, and, with cold, constrained manner, bowing to him, she asked, "Colonel von Brenda, whom do you wish to see?"

The prince sighed deeply, and let his arms drop. "It is over," said he; "she no longer loves me!"

Low as these words had been spoken, Elise had seized their purport, and they touched her to the quick. "What do you wish?" she continued.

"Nothing!" said he, despondently. "I have made a mistake. I expected to find a faithful heart, a woman like an angel, ready in the hour of meeting to forget all else, and take refuge in this heart; to forgive, and, with her blessing, to wipe out the curse of my existence. This is what I sought. But G.o.d is just, and I did not deserve such happiness.

I submit."

"Oh, my G.o.d!" said Elise to herself, "it is the same voice which once charmed me." She no longer found strength in herself to bid him go.

She would have given her life blood to be able always to be thus near him.

"This time, young lady," said Feodor, "I come only as a messenger, the executor of the will of one who is dead." He took a letter from his bosom and handed it to Elise. "I bring you," he said solemnly, "the last will of my wife, Countess Lodoiska."

"She is no longer alive?" cried Elise, and involuntarily an almost joyful tone pervaded her voice.

This did not escape the prince. "I will win her," said he to himself.

His eyes shone brighter, his countenance looked prouder, and his heart beat higher with triumphant joy. Elise had taken the letter, and still held it in her hand. "Will you not read it?" asked he, gently, and her heart trembled at the pleading tone of his voice.

"Yes, I will read it," she answered, as if awaking from a dream, and breaking the seal hastily.

The prince fixed his sharp, piercing eyes on her, and seemed to wish to read in her looks her inmost thoughts, and feeling them favorable to him, he approached still closer to her.

The letter was short and hastily written, but every word entered her soul and brought tears to her eyes. It ran thus:

"My dear Elise, when you receive this letter I shall be no more, and the heart which has suffered so much will be at rest. But when I have found repose in the grave, do you fulfil my trust. I leave you the dearest legacy that I possess. I give you back your property, the heart and love of Feodor, which never ceased to belong to you. I never have been able to win this love to myself. He gave me his hand, his heart remains yours, and that is killing me. Take it then, it is my legacy to you; and if you accept it my purified spirit will bless your reunion.

LODOISKA."

The letter dropped from her hand; completely overpowered by deep and solemn emotions, she sank in her chair, and hid her tears with her hands. Feodor felt that she was again his, that he had regained his sway over her. He rushed toward her, falling at her feet, and pa.s.sionately s.n.a.t.c.hing her hands from her face, he exclaimed, "Elise!

in this moment her spirit is hovering over us. She blesses this love which she has already forgiven. Oh, if you only knew what I have suffered for you, you would, at least, not be angry with me. You would pardon me for the sake of what I have undergone."

"Have I then not suffered also?" she asked, turning her face, covered with tears, toward him.

"Oh! leave me here at your feet," he continued. "Look upon me as a poor pilgrim who has wandered to the holy Sepulchre in order to cleanse his heart of its sins at the sanctuary by sincere repentance and prayers for forgiveness. You are my sanctuary, to you my heart bends; the poor pilgrim has come to you to confess and be shrived before he dies. Will you, my Madonna, hear him? May I tell you what I have endured, how much I have suffered?"

"Speak," she said, half conscious, but eagerly listening to the music of his voice. "Tell me what you have suffered, that I may forget my own sufferings when I gave you up."

"Oh!" he continued, with a shudder, "I shall never forget that fearful moment when I became aware of the deception, and discovered that it was not you, but Lodoiska, whom I held in my arms. A raving madness seized me, which threatened my own life. Lodoiska turned aside the dagger, and p.r.o.nounced your name. That name recalled me to life, to the knowledge of my crime. I submitted to the punishment which I had merited, and which you had imposed upon me. I led Lodoiska to the altar, at which I had hoped to see you. I made her my wife, and my heart p.r.o.nounced _your_ name, while my lips bound me to _her_. It was a terrible hour, a fearful agony raged within me, and it has never left me since. It was there, when Lodoiska pressed me to her heart. It was present in the tumult of battle. Then, however, when death raged around me, when destruction thundered from the enemy's cannon, then I became cheerful, and the pang left me as I rushed amid the enemy's ranks. But even death itself retreated before me--I found on the battle-field only honor and fame, but not the object for which I fought, not death. I lived to suffer and to expiate my crime toward you, Elise. But one hope sustained me, the hope one day to fall at your feet, to clasp your knees, and to sue for forgiveness."

Completely overcome by his own pa.s.sionate description, he bowed his head on her knees, and wept aloud. He had succeeded in rousing his own sympathy; he believed in his own grief. He had so feelingly played the part of a repentant sinner, an ardent lover, that for a moment probability and reality had become blended in one, and he felt himself thoroughly possessed by crus.h.i.+ng repentance.

But Elise believed in him. His voice sounded like music in her ear, and every fibre of her heart thrilled and quivered. The past with its griefs and sorrows was gone forever, he was once more there, with no stranger to come between them, and she only felt that she loved him without bounds.

He embraced her knees, looking pleadingly up in her face. "Elise, forgive me," cried he; "say but one word, 'Pardon,' and I will go away in silence, and never again dare to approach you."

Elise had no longer power to withstand him. She opened her arms, and threw them with pa.s.sionate tenderness around his neck. "Feodor, love does not forgive, it loves," she cried with unspeakable rapture, and tears of delight burst from her eyes.

Feodor uttered a cry of joy, and sprang up to draw her to his breast, to cover her face with kisses, to whisper words of delight, of tenderness, of pa.s.sionate love, in her listening ear. "Oh! now all is right again--now you are again mine. These four years are as if they had not been. It was all a mournful dream--and we are now awake.

Now we know that we love each other, that we belong to each other, forever. Come, Elise, it is the same hour which then called us to the altar. Come, the priest waits. For four long years have I hoped for this hour. Come, my beloved."

He threw his strong arm around her and raised her to his breast to draw her forth with him. As Elise drew herself gently back, he continued still more pa.s.sionately: "I will not let you go, for you are mine. You have betrothed yourself to me for life or death. Come, the priest is waiting, and to-day shall you be my wife. This time no unfriendly hand shall impose itself between us, and Lodoiska no longer lives."

"But my father lives," said Elise, as earnestly and proudly she freed herself from Feodor's arms. "Without his consent I do not leave this threshold. It was for that the Lord punished us. My father's blessing was not upon our love, and I had sinned grievously against him. Now, it is expiated, and Fate is appeased. Let us go hand in hand to my father, and ask his blessing on our love, that love which has remained undiminished through so many years of grief."

"I submit to you. I will obey your will in every thing. But will not your father reject me? I feel that he must hate me for the tears I have caused you to shed."

"He will love you when he sees that you have taught me to smile once more," said she gently. "Come to my father."

She wished to draw him along with her. But his consciousness of guilt held him back. He wanted the daring courage to face this man whom he had been sent to ruin; and involuntarily he shrank back from his own deeds. "I dare not go before him so suddenly and unprepared," said he hesitatingly.

"Then allow me to prepare him for your presence."

"And if he denies his sanction?"

"He will not do it."