Part 20 (1/2)
”I did not know that you had written to his majesty at all, dear mother.”
The mother cast a furious glance at the gentle, decided face of her daughter. ”You already forget my command and your promise to listen without interrupting me. I did, indeed, write to his majesty, but it is not necessary to tell you what I, or rather your father, solicited, as you will hear it in the answer from our most gracious king. It runs thus: 'My faithful subject: I have received your pet.i.tion, and I was glad to learn by this occasion that you are well, and that you now lead a steady, reasonable life. Formerly you gave good cause of complaint; for it is well known to me that you led a dissolute life, and your family suffered want and misfortune from your abominable chance-games.
You know that I have twice paid your debts; that at the second time I gave you my royal word of a.s.surance that I would never pay a groschen for you again. If you gave yourself up to the vice, and made gambling-debts, I would send you to the fortress at Spandau, and deprive you of your pension. Nevertheless you played again, and commenced your vicious life anew. Notwithstanding which, I did not send you to prison as I threatened, and as you deserved, because I remembered that you had been a brave soldier, and did me a good service at the battle of Leuthen. For this reason I now also grant your request, that, as you have no son, your name and coat-of-arms may descend to your son-in-law.
The name of Werrig-Leuthen is well worthy to be preserved, and be an example to succeeding generations. I give my permission for Ludwig Ebenstreit, banker, to marry your daughter and only child, and--'”
Marie uttered a cry of horror, and sprang from her seat. ”Mother!--”
”Be still! I commanded you not to interrupt me, but listen, with becoming respect, to the end, to the words' of his majesty.” And, with a louder voice, occasionally casting a severe, commanding glance at her daughter, she read on: ”'And call himself in future Ludwig Werrig von Leuthen. I wish that he should honor the new name, and prove himself a true n.o.bleman. Ludwig Ebenstreit must give up, or sell, without delay, his banking business, as I cannot permit a n.o.bleman to continue the business of citizen, and remain a merchant. A n.o.bleman must either be a soldier or a landed proprietor; and if your future son-in-law will not be either, he can live upon his income, which must indeed be ample. But I command him to spend it in the country, not go to foreign countries to spend what he has gained in the country. If he should do it, it will not be well with him, and he shall be brought back by force. You may communicate this to him, and he can judge for himself. I will have the letters of n.o.bility made out for him, for which he shall pay the sum of one hundred louis d'ors to the 'Invalids' at Berlin. It depends upon him whether as a true n.o.bleman he will not give my poor 'Invalids' a greater sum. The marriage shall not take place until the letters of n.o.bility have been published in the Berlin journals, for I do not wish the daughter of a general, and a countess, to marry beneath her. You can prepare every thing for the wedding, and let them be married as soon as publication has been made. I will give the bride a thousand thalers for a dowry, that she may not go to her rich husband penniless; the money will be paid to your daughter from the government treasury at her receipt. As ever I remain your well-disposed king, FREDERICK.'
”And here on the margin,” continued the general's wife, looking over to her husband with malicious pleasure, ”the king has written a few lines in his own hand: 'I have given orders that the money shall be paid to your daughter in person, with her receipt for the same, for I know you, and know that you do not play, not because you have not the money, but the gout. If you had the cash and not the gout, you would play your daughter's dowry to the devil, and that I do not wish, for a n.o.ble maiden should not marry a rich husband as poor as a church mouse.
FREDERICK.'”
A profound stillness prevailed when the reading was finished. The general busied himself, as usual, rubbing his gouty leg with the palm of his hand. Marie sat with her hands pressed upon her bosom, as if she would force back the sighs and sobs which would break forth. Her great, black eyes were turned to her mother with an expression of painful terror, and she searched with a deathly anxiety for a trace of sympathy and mercy upon her cold, immovable face.
Her mother slowly folded the letter, and laid it upon the table. ”You know all now, Marie--that, as it becomes parents, we have disposed of your future and your hand. You will submit to their wishes without murmuring or opposition, as it becomes an obedient, well-brought-up daughter, and receive the husband we have chosen for you. He will come today to hear your consent, and you from this day forth are the betrothed of the future Herr von Werrig. Of course from this very hour you will cease the highly improper and ungenteel business which you have pursued. You must not make any more flowers, or give any more lessons.
The time of such degradation and humiliation is past, and my daughter can no longer be a school-mistress. You have only to write the receipt to-day, and I will go with you to the treasury to get the money.”
”I will not write the receipt,” said Marie, gently but firmly. Her mother, in the act of rising, sank back upon the divan; and the general, apparently quite occupied with his leg, stopped rubbing, and raised his red, bloated face to his daughter in astonishment. ”Did I understand rightly your words, that you would not write the receipt?”
”Yes, mother, I said so; I cannot and will not write it,” replied Marie, gently.
”And why cannot you, and will you not write it?” said her mother, scornfully.
”Because I have no right to the money, and cannot take it, mother, as I will never be the wife of the man you intend me to marry.”
The general sprang with a savage curse from his arm-chair, and would have rushed to his daughter, but his wife pushed him back into his seat, and approached Marie, who rose, regarding her mother with a firm, sad expression. ”Why can you not be the wife of the man we have chosen for you? Answer me, WHY you cannot?”
”You know, mother,” she replied, and gradually her voice a.s.sumed a more decided tone, her cheeks reddened, and an inspired expression beamed from her eyes, and pervaded her whole being--”you know, mother, that I can never be the wife of Herr Ebenstreit, for I do not love him. I despise and abominate him, because he is a man without honor; he knows that I do not love him, and yet he insists upon marrying me. If it were not so, if I did not despise and abominate him, I would not receive his suit and marry him.”
”Why not?” cried the general, shaking his fist at his daughter.
”Why not?” cried the mother, with a cold, icy glance, void of pity or anger.
Marie encountered these looks with beaming eyes. ”Because I am betrothed to another,” and the words came like a cry of joy from her heart--”because I am engaged to my beloved Moritz!”
”Shameless, obstinate creature, have we not forbidden it?” cried her father.
”Stop!” interrupted his wife, with a commanding wave of her hand, which silenced the obedient husband immediately. ”It belongs to me to question her, for I am her mother, and my daughter owes me submission and obedience above all things.--Answer me, Marie, did you not know that we had forbidden you to speak to this man, or have any communication with him? Did you not know that I, your mother, had menaced you with a curse if you married this man, or even spoke to the miserable, pitiable creature?”
”Mother,” cried Marie, vehemently, ”he is not a poor, miserable creature. You may hate him, but you dare not outrage the n.o.ble, the good, and just man!”
”He is a good-for-nothing fellow,” cried her father; ”he has tried to win a minor behind the parents' back. He is a shameful, good-for-nothing seducer.”
”He is dishonorable,” cried the general's wife--”a dishonorable man, who has misused our confidence. We confided to him our daughter to teach, and paid him for it. He improved the opportunity to make a declaration of love, and stole the time from us to infatuate the heart of our daughter with flattery, and from his pupil win a bride.”
”Oh, unworthy, shameful slander!” cried Marie, her eyes flas.h.i.+ng with anger. ”You well know that it is a vile scandal, that Moritz was no paid teacher. If he had been--if he had felt obliged to yield to the sad necessity of being paid for his valuable time, because he was poor, and forced to live by his intellect, he was a free man, and had the right to love whom he chose. He loves me, and I have accepted his love as the most precious, most beautiful, and most glorious gift of my life. Ah!
do not look so angry with me, father; I cannot say otherwise. I cannot crush or deny the inmost life of my life.--Oh, mother, forgive me that I cannot change it! You know that otherwise I have been a most obedient daughter to you in all things, although you have never taught me the happiness of possessing a loving mother; though neither of you could ever forgive your only child for not being a son, who could inherit your name, and win a brilliant position, yet I have always loved you tenderly and truly, and never complained that the unwelcome daughter received neither love nor tenderness, only indifference and coldness from her parents.”