A Twofold Life Part 3

That you may win such a being is the hope and desire of my soul."

"Princess," cried _Heinrich_, whom Ottilie's lovely enthusiasm had deeply charmed, "if I now say that I find such a being in you, that there is no woman to whom I will intrust my life except you--"

"No, my friend," said Ottilie calmly, though she turned pale. "You are deceived in yourself at this moment. You do not love it is the longing for the right which, thank G.o.d, always lives in you, which attracts you to my--I may be allowed to say it--pure soul. This is not love; I know it, and would never strengthen you in an error which would defraud you of the best portion of your life. Yet I thank you for your confession.

It makes you appear still more lovable in my eyes; not because you have made it to me, but to the ideal to which I would so gladly see you rise."

"Ottilie, let me thank you on my knees for the light you have poured into my darkened soul, and let me swear I will do everything good and great of which I may be capable in your name, your spirit!" _Heinrich_ impulsively threw himself at her feet and clasped her hands. "Oh, my soul loves you, Ottilie, with a love which--"

"Which is not of this world," interrupted Ottilie, bending over him.

"Another love will enter your heart, and you will bless me for having had strength to refuse what does not belong to me! And now I entreat you to rise and leave me to myself."

_Heinrich_ rose and started back as he looked at Ottilie. She was standing proudly erect, struggling for breath, as her tears flowed more and more violently; her eyes were closed, her delicate lips firmly compressed, she was a most touching picture of agonizing self-sacrifice.

"Poor heart! you love me, and yet are n.o.ble enough to reject me?" asked _Heinrich_.

"Yes, my friend," murmured Ottilie, "so truly as G.o.d will sustain me in my last hour, so truly I desire your happiness more than my own, so truly I resign you. You must be free, and choose freely. G.o.d grant you may find the right!"

"After this vow I have nothing more to hope," said _Heinrich_.

"Farewell, my friend! One who has power to exercise such self-restraint has also strength to conquer her sorrow." He kissed her cold, pale brow, and hastily left the room.

"Thank G.o.d it has turned out so!" whispered _Henri_; and _Heinrich_ also uttered a sigh of relief: he felt that he had escaped a great danger. He had been hurried on by a momentary impulse and Ottilie's unconcealed love to a step which he would have bitterly repented; for he was equally convinced that no one would ever understand him like Ottilie, and also that her appreciation alone would not satisfy him. As _Henri_ desired more sensual, _Heinrich_ demanded greater intellectual, charms. He wished to be excited, kept in a state of suspense, enlivened, amused: Ottilie's uniform, quiet earnestness would not have afforded him this, and he thanked her for having rightly understood his hasty enthusiasm and been generous enough to reject him.

Meantime, the queenly Ottilie stood motionless in the glittering apartment, her hand pressed to her heart and her eyes raised towards heaven. "Which of us is most to be pitied, he or I?"

V.

MASTER AND PUPIL.

On his way home, Ottmar remembered that he had appointed this very hour for a tender meeting, and gradually the solemn impression made by the last few moments faded before the charming picture which now obtained the mastery over his soul. When he returned home his old valet, who had served him from childhood, met him with a pale, sleepy face, and slowly lighted the candles.

"Has not the little girl come yet?" asked _Henri_.

"Who?"

"Who should it be? Roschen," he added.

"Roschen, Marten the beadle's daughter, do you expect her?"

"Of course I do; I persuaded her to meet me in the garden. Keep watch at the window, and when she comes take her into the pavilion," he said, absently, throwing himself into a chair.

"Permit me to warn you, Herr Baron," said the old man with sorrowful earnestness. "Roschen is an innocent maiden, the only daughter of an honest, poor man, whose sole joy is in this child. Have you considered this?"

"Don't bore me with your reproaches, man!" cried _Henri_. "Don't grudge me this little pleasure; life with these frivolous, coquettish women is already gradually becoming so shallow that it is no longer endurable. I must have something pure and simple, which can refresh my mind and interrupt the everlasting sameness; and she is really a charming creature!" he murmured, admiringly.

"Herr Baron," said the old man, with deep emotion, "I promised your dying mother to watch over you as far and as long as it was in my power. In former days my influence often prevailed; but since your severe illness and residence in France you have become a different person; still, I did all that was possible in my limited sphere to keep you from evil of every kind. Of late I have feared more for the safety of your soul than your bodily welfare. I have had occasion to perform services of which I have been ashamed. To carry letters and attend light-minded ladies home is not the business of a respectable man; yet I did it out of affection for you, and because no innocent person suffered. You gave me no thanks for my obedience, but took it as a proof that I shared your views, and probably secretly despised me for it. I bore all patiently and did my duty. But today, Herr Baron, it is time to hold you back from the path on which you have entered. To ruin an innocent girl is a crime of which I would not have believed you capable, and to which I will lend no aid."

"Old fool!" muttered _Henri_, looking at the clock, "if you were not so useful I would have dismissed you to some quiet place long ago. Don't pretend to be more silly than you are, Anton. I've already heard so much morality to-day that I was on the point of doing a very foolish thing. Do you suppose I shall begin again with my valet? Go, and let me alone!"

"Herr Baron," replied Anton, firmly, "I am sorry to be obliged to tell you that I must leave your service if you insist upon seeing the girl, and beg you to discharge me to-night."

"Anton," cried _Henri_, in a furious pa.s.sion, "I have borne with you for a long time! You were faithful to me, even resisted the temptations of the Jesuits, and always attended to my welfare. All this I have recognized and rewarded; but I can no longer keep a servant who wishes to set himself up as a judge of my conduct, were he ever so indispensable to me; so remember your place better, or go!"

At that moment the door-bell rang gently. "Ah, she is coming!"

exclaimed _Henri_, exultantly; and forgetting everything else, he turned to Anton, calling, "Lights!"

The old servant did not move, but stood with clasped hands praying, under his breath, "Dear G.o.d, save this young soul!"

_Henri_ rushed down the staircase on which the moonlight lay in broad bars; his hands trembled with joyful impatience. "Wait, my Roschen! my little pink rose! I will admit you, my darling!" he whispered, as he turned the key and threw open the heavy door, half bending forward to embrace his angel; but a tall figure, on which the moon cast a ghostly light, entered and fixed a pair of dark, searching eyes upon the astonished _Henri_.

"Oh, Christ! what is this?" he exclaimed, staggering back as if overwhelmed with terror and disappointed expectation against the door, which he closed again.

"It is not Christ, but one who comes in his name," replied the stranger's deep voice in the purest Italian.

"By all good angels, Father Severinus!" murmured _Henri_, recoiling a step. A low knock sounded from without; the young man's blood mounted to his brow, and he hesitated a moment in the greatest embarra.s.sment.

"Here are my companions," said the Italian. "Allow me to open the door." He threw it back, and two figures, clad in the same dress as his own, entered, accompanied by one of the Jesuits who had spoken to _Henri_ that night at the ball. They greeted him respectfully, and he was man of the world enough to instantly accommodate himself to his painful situation as well as the torturing disappointment of the moment.

"You are welcome, reverend sirs," he said, smiling, and led the way up-stairs.

Old Anton stood upon the landing with a light, and one of the priests saluted him with his "Praised be Jesus Christ."

"Forever, amen!" replied the old man, with a deep sigh, as he placed chairs for the strangers and left the room, casting a sorrowful glance at his master.

"We have been looking for you at the ball, my son," Father Severinus began; "because I only arrived from Rome this evening, and must set out again early tomorrow morning. I am taking a journey through Germany, and thought it my duty to see you, my favorite pupil, and look after the welfare of your soul. But, unfortunately, I was compelled to learn that the soil which so readily received our lessons was a mere sand-heap, whose best harvest is blown away by the wind."

_Heinrich_, who had taken _Henri's_ place, quietly listened to the priest's words with his usual satirical smile. "Reverend sir, I must first observe that I am no longer in the mood to allow myself to be treated like a schoolboy. There are times when a peculiar fatality seems to pursue us; to-day appears to have been set apart for giving me moral lectures, and I a.s.sure you the more of them I hear the less successful they are; so you perceive you will not be able to accomplish much in this way, especially with a man who has returned at one o'clock in the morning, weary and heated, from a ball."

"Perhaps Princess Ottilie also belongs to the number of those whose 'moral lectures' have been so unsuccessful," sneeringly remarked Ottmar's ball-room companion, Geheimrath Schwelling.

"What do you know about that?" exclaimed _Heinrich_.

"Enough, I should think; the n.o.ble lady did not speak so low that any one in the adjoining window corner could not hear everything, and it is really a duty to inform her how useless her admonitions are, that she may not trouble herself vainly in future."

_Heinrich_ cast a glance of inexpressible contempt at the sleek, fat face and restless eyes of the speaker. "Princess Ottilie is the n.o.blest woman I know," he exclaimed, with deep emotion, "and is too lofty to lend her ear to such vulgar insinuations. If, however, you succeed in betraying me to her, remember that you will do me no harm, but only inflict useless pain upon a n.o.ble heart."

"Or heal it," replied the Geheimrath, contemptuously.

"Cease this aimless conversation, gentlemen," said Severinus. "I am astonished, Herr Geheimrath, to hear what language you employ towards a man whose great talents, even as an enemy, should command your respect.

Surely these are not the means worthy of so great an end; and if our affairs in Germany are managed thus, I can understand why the word 'Jesuit' is here used as a bugbear to frighten children. _In majorem Dei gloriam_, never forget that. Unfortunately, I see you men of the world must be reminded of it more frequently than our dead General has done. It was time a more powerful hand should seize the reins; I perceive that more and more at every step I take upon this soil."

He had risen from his seat as he uttered these words, and there was something so menacing and imperious in his bearing that the Geheimrath exclaimed, with mingled fear and anger, "By what authority do you use this language towards me, Father Severinus?"

"By the authority the General, who sends me, gave me over every worldly coadjutor who enjoys the advantages of our alliance without showing himself worthy of them."

The word General and Severinus's majestic bearing utterly crushed the Geheimrath, who sank into a chair in silence, pa.s.sing his hand over a brow bedewed with cold perspiration.