Part 22 (2/2)
”It is impossible; I cannot do it,” she said, as she leaned for a moment against the window. ”If it were only day! The night makes all anxieties rise before us like impa.s.sable mountains! Or, if sleep would overpower me! But now it has been wholly put to flight by the thought that I have but one more day of freedom,--freedom to love and suffer; and then--then I must tear my heart from all to which it clings so fondly,--forget, cease to feel: and woe betide me if I do not wholly succeed in doing so! To see him daily, to be obliged to distinguish him from among the n.o.bles of my country as my husband's favorite, and yet force back what my own heart feels; to feign an indifference which makes the forms of courtesy--the true expression of my opinions--a lie!
And you could undertake such a task, unhappy one? You could allow yourself to be so confused and persuaded that you did not shrink from the tortures your consent would impose? If it were only suffering!--alas! I am accustomed to that. It is the fear of guilt that terrifies me. It is not only in act that we can sin, but in thought.
Each thought that steals back to that time of quiet, patient longing is a robbery of what I owe my husband,--a crime against my vow. Woe betide me if those ardent dark eyes, which beam only with love, even upon those for whom he does not feel it, should ever rest in all their power on mine! Shall I be able to prevent absorbing death from them with ardent longing? And if at such a moment my husband should approach, secure in my affection----”
She threw herself on her knees and hid her blus.h.i.+ng face in her hands.
”Oh, G.o.d! my G.o.d! thou who knowest better than I whether I am right in thy sight, have mercy upon me and deliver me from this night of doubt and anguis.h.!.+ Thou hast placed me in this lofty station! Give me the strength, the coldness, the dignity,--not only the outward, but the inward dignity,--which raises the reigning princess above ordinary women. Let me not be compelled to expiate it so terribly, because I willfully cherished an affection for a man whom thou didst not destine for me. Have mercy, have mercy, oh, Father, thou who hast been the only one to extend thine arms lovingly in answer to my search!--thou to whom alone I could fly when, like a lost child, I despaired in this cold world! I have brought thee my tears, complained to thee of the sorrows other children weep out on their mothers' b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and to-day--to-day for the first time--thou wilt not permit thyself to be found.”
She rose and saw that a bar of light was bordering the horizon.
Her glance fell upon the mirror and showed her a face so pale, so tear-stained, that she was almost startled at the sight of her own image. She gasped for breath, and, utterly exhausted, at last threw herself upon her bed and fell asleep. When she awoke the sun was already high in the heavens. The deep slumber had strengthened her, and she rose with a feeling of new life. With the light of day more calmness and clearness of judgment had returned. She collected the last remnant of her strength, and felt ashamed of her weakness.
”Be a princess, be proud, Ottilie! Worthily fill the place for which G.o.d has appointed you. Pay the debt you owe him for the gifts he has bestowed, and which you have held at so cheap a rate because they were valueless to one. Perceive that it is the call of G.o.d that rouses you from this selfish melancholy. Obey it, fulfill your destiny like all other created beings; and if your strength fails, what can befall you worse than the death for which you are always longing? Life will never be so dear to you that you cannot hail it as a last blessing. My Lord and G.o.d, I lay my broken heart, my hopes, my wishes at thy feet, and make but one prayer,--grant that, in return for all my sacrifices, I may not be denied the joy of fulfilling my task and making others truly happy.”
She stood erect, as if surrounded by a halo of self-abnegation, when Roschen suddenly begged permission to enter. ”I most humbly pray your Highness's pardon for having come without being summoned,” said the young girl, ”but the chamberlain has just brought your Highness the news that Prince Edward was thrown from his horse this morning and so dangerously injured that he cannot appear at the wedding as proxy.”
”What? Oh, G.o.d! is it possible?” exclaimed Ottilie.
”Will your Highness deign to receive the chamberlain's news in person?”
”No, no! But ask him whether the marriage will be deferred, or if some one else will take the place of the prince.”
Roschen withdrew, and came back with the reply that the wedding would, in all probability, be deferred. Count Ottmar had already sent a telegram to N----, and they were now awaiting an answer.
Ottilie seemed to be animated with new life. A delay,--a respite,--although only a short one, enabled her to breathe more freely. ”Dress me, Roschen, and then send for Countess Carlstein. I will drive for an hour; I need the sun and air. Ah, Roschen,” she continued, as the young girl was arranging her toilet, ”how will you feel in a foreign country?”
”Oh, I shall be contented anywhere, if I am with your Highness; especially as you have graciously given my father a place in your train. We shall still be able to see each other when I have any spare time.”
”Good, contented little one,” smiled Ottilie. ”Tell me frankly, Roschen, has your heart no need of love? Do you not regret that you have rejected Albert, and must go through life alone?”
”No, your Highness,” exclaimed Roschen, cheerily; and two charming little dimples appeared in her plump, rosy cheeks. ”Life in your service is so pleasant, and I love you and my father so dearly, that I haven't the slightest wish for the constant restlessness and feverish excitement of a betrothal.”
Ottilie stood thoughtfully before her. ”Tell me, my child, how did you succeed in forgetting Herr von Ottmar so easily, since you love no one else?”
”Oh, your Highness, I did not forget him easily,” said Roschen, raising her large, childlike, blue eyes frankly to Ottilie's face. ”I cried a great deal at first, and thought I should die; but by degrees I saw that it is a sin to covet anything we know the dear G.o.d does not intend for us; besides, my confessor, Herr Lorenz, represented how hard it would be for my old father if he was compelled to see his daughter waste away thus. Then I felt ashamed of myself, went busily to work again, and broke myself of my useless longing and sighing. Ah, work is good for everything: it leaves one no time to weep, and at night one is so tired that sleep conquers all grief. So I soon began to take pleasure in living again, and thanked G.o.d that he had punished my sin so mildly. Anxiety about poor Albert was the only thing that troubled me, and now I am relieved even from this. He is a happy man.”
The princess felt the reproof contained in the young girl's artlessly prattled philosophy. Her glance fell upon the mirror, and, as if reflecting the reproach in Roschen's words, it showed cheeks paled by her long-nourished sorrow, in the sharpest contrast to the bright, blooming face of the waiting-maid.
”Yes, yes, you are right,” she murmured, at last, gazing at Roschen's image in the mirror. After a long pause she began, in an almost expressionless tone, ”Have you learned no particulars from Albert as to whether an acknowledged love exists between the count and the young girl called the Prison Fairy?”
”Albert does not know it positively, your Highness, but he is almost sure of it; for ever since the count came back from N---- he has written to her very often, and seems entirely different from what he used to be,--much more cheerful and happy.”
Ottilie compressed her lips, and involuntarily laid her hand upon her heart, as if she felt a sudden pang.
”Does anything hurt you, your Highness? Does the pin I put in there p.r.i.c.k you?” asked Roschen, anxiously.
”Yes, take it out; it hurts me,” said Ottilie, and thought, ”Ah, if you only could!”
<script>