Part 46 (1/2)
”My dear husband! In my haste I can only inform you that I shall be unable to come out immediately to arrange Josepha's journey. I have been appointed mistress of ceremonies to the queen and must obey the summons. Meanwhile, let Josepha prepare for the trip, I will send the directions for the journey and the money to-day. Give the boy my love, kiss him for me, and comfort him with the promise that I will visit him in the Riviera when I can. Amid the new scenes he will soon forget me and cease waiting and expecting. The Southern climate will benefit his health, and we shall have all the more pleasure in him afterward. He must remain there at least a year to regain his strength.
”I write hastily, for many business matters and ceremonies must be settled within the next few days. It is hard for me to accept this position, which binds me still more closely in the fetters I was on the eve of stripping off! But to make the king and queen my enemies at the very moment when I need powerful friends more than ever, would be defying fate! It will scarcely be possible for me now to come out as often as I promised you to-day. But, if you become too lonely, you can occasionally come in as my 'steward,' ostensibly to bring me reports--in this way we shall see each other and I will give orders that the steward shall be admitted to me at any time, and have a suitable office and apartments a.s.signed to him 'as I shall now be unable to look after the estates so much myself.'
”If I cannot receive you at once, you will wait in your room until your wife, freed from the restraint and duties of the day, will fly to your arms.
”Is not this admirably arranged? Are you at last satisfied, you discontented man?
”You see that I am doing all that is possible! Only do not be angry with me because I also do what reason demands. I must secure to my child the solid foundations of a safe and well-ordered existence, since we must not, for the sake of sentiment, aimlessly shatter our own destiny. How would it benefit the sick child if I denounced myself and was compelled to give up the whole of my private fortune to compensate my first husband's relatives for what I have spent illegally since my second marriage? I could not even do anything more for my son's health, and should be forced to see him pine away in some mountain hamlet--perhaps Ammergau itself, whither I should wander with my household goods and you, like some vagrant's family. The boys there would stone him and call him in mockery, the 'little Count.' The snow-storms would lash him and completely destroy his delicate lungs.
”No, if I did not fear poverty for _myself_, I must do so for _you_.
How would you endure to have the Ammergau people--and where else could you find employment--point their fingers at you and say: 'Look, that is Freyer, who ran away with a countess! He did a fine thing'--and then laugh jeeringly.
”My Joseph! Keep your love for me, and let me have judgment for you, then all will be well. In love, Your M.”
She did not suspect, when she ended her letter, very well satisfied with her dialectics, that Freyer after reading it would throw the torn fragments on the floor.
This cold, frivolous letter--this change from the mood of yesterday--this act after all her promises! He had again been deceived and disappointed, again hoped and believed in vain. All, all on which he had relied was destroyed, the moral elevation of his beloved wife, which would at last restore to her husband and child their sacred rights--was a lie, and instead, by way of compensation, came the offer--of the position of a lover.
He was to seek his wife under the cover of the darkness, as a man seeks his inamorata--he, her husband, the father of her child! ”No, Countess, the steward will not steal into your castle, in order when you have enjoyed all the pleasures of the day, to afford you the excitement of a stolen intrigue.
”Though the scorn and derision of the people of my native village would wound me sorely, as you believe--I would rather work with them as a day-laborer, than to play before your lackeys the part which you a.s.sign me.” This was his only answer. He was well aware that it would elicit only a shrug of the shoulders, and a pitying smile, but he could not help it.
It was evening when the countess' letter reached him, and while, by the dim light of the hanging lamp, in mortal anguish he composed at the bedside of the feverish child this clumsy and unfortunately mis-spelled reply, the folding-doors of the brilliantly lighted dining-room in the Wildenau palace, were thrown open and the prince offered his arm to the countess.
She was her brilliant self again. She had taken a perfumed bath, answered the royal letter, made several sketches for new court costumes and sent them to Paris.
She painted with unusual skill, and the little water-color figures which she sent to her modistes, were real works of art, far superior to those in the fas.h.i.+on journals.
”Your Highness might earn your bread in this way”--said the maid flatteringly, and a strange thrill stirred the countess at these words.
She had made herself a costume book, in which she had painted all the toilettes she had worn since her entrance into society, and often found amus.e.m.e.nt in turning the leaves; what memories the sight of the old clothes evoked! From the heavy silver wrought brocade train of old Count Wildenau's young bride, down to the airy little summer gown which she had worn nine years ago in Ammergau. From the stiff, regulation court costume down to the simple woolen morning gown in which she had that morning spent hours of torture on account of that Ammergau ”delusion.” But at the maid's words she shut the book as if startled and rose: ”I will give you the dress I wore this morning, but on condition that I never see it.”
”Your Highness is too kind, I thank you most humbly,” said the delighted woman, kissing the sleeve of the countess' combing-mantle--she would not have ventured to kiss her hand.
The dinner toilette was quickly completed, and when the countess looked in the gla.s.s she seemed to herself more beautiful than ever. The melancholy expression around her eyes, and a slight trace of tears which she had shed, lent the pale tea-rose a tinge of color which was marvellously becoming.
The day was over, and when the prince came to dinner at six o'clock she received him with all her former charm.
”To whom do I owe this--Prince?” she said smiling, holding out the official letter.
”Why do you ask me?”
”Because _you_ only can tell!”
”I?”
”Yes, you. Who else would have proposed me to their Majesties? Don't try to deceive me by that air of innocence. I don't trust it. You, and no one else would do me this friendly service, for everything good comes through you. You are not only a great and powerful man--you are also a good and n.o.ble one--my support, my Providence! I thank you.”
She took both his hands in hers and offered him her forehead to kiss, with a glance of such sincere admiration and grat.i.tude, that in his surprise and joy he almost missed the permitted goal and touched her lips instead. But fortunately, he recollected himself and almost timidly pressed the soft curls which quivered lightly like the delicate tendrils of flowers.
”I cannot resist this grat.i.tude! Yes, my august cousin, the queen, did have the grace to consider my proposal as 'specially agreeable' to her.