Part 49 (2/2)
”Ah, I have tried every thing,” said he; and even in this moment her very touch darted through him like a flash of delight. ”I have implored him with tears in my eyes to accept the little I possess, to allow me the sacred right of a son. But he refused me. He will not, he says, allow a stranger to sacrifice himself for his sake. He calls me a stranger! I know that my fortune cannot save him, but it may delay his fall, or at least cancel a portion of his debt, and he refuses me.
He says that if I were his son, he would consent to what he now denies me. Elise,” he continued, putting aside, in the pressure of the moment, all consideration and all hesitation, ”I have asked him for your hand, my sister, that I may in reality become his son. I know that you do not love, but you might esteem me; for the love I bear your father, you might, as a sacrifice to your duty as a daughter, accept my hand and become my bride.”
He ceased, and looked anxiously and timidly at the young girl, who sat blus.h.i.+ng and trembling by his side. She felt that she owed him an answer; and as she raised her eyes to him, and looked into his n.o.ble, faithful face, which had never changed, never altered--as she thought that Bertram had always loved her with the same fidelity, the same self-sacrifice--with a love which desired nothing, wished for nothing but her happiness and contentment, she was deeply moved; and, for the first time, she felt real and painful remorse. Freely and gracefully she offered him her hand.
”Bertram,” she said, ”of all the men whom I know, you are the most n.o.ble! As my soul honors you, so would my heart love you, if it were mine.”
Bertram bent over her hand and kissed it; but as he looked at her, his eye accidentally caught sight of the sparkling jewels which adorned her arms and neck, and aware for the first time of her unusually brilliant toilet, he asked in surprise the occasion for it.
”Oh, do not look at it,” cried Elise; ”tell me about my father. What did he answer you when you asked him for my hand?”
”That he would never accept such a sacrifice from his daughter, even to save himself from death.”
”And is his fall unavoidable?” asked Elise thoughtfully.
”I almost fear it is. This morning already reports to that effect were current in the town, and your father himself told me that if Russia insisted on payment, he was lost irretrievably. Judge, then, of my horror, when I have just received from a friend in St. Petersburg the certain intelligence that the empress has already sent a special envoy to settle this business with the most stringent measures. This half a million must be of great importance to the empress, when, for the purpose of collecting it, she sends her well-known favorite, Prince Stratimojeff!”
Elise started from her seat in horror, and stared at Bertram. ”Whom did she send?”
”Her favorite, Stratimojeff,” repeated Bertram, calmly.
Elise shuddered; her eyes flashed fire, and her cheeks burned. ”Who has given you the right to insult the Prince Stratimojeff, that you call him the favorite of the adulterous empress?”
Bertram looked at her in astonishment. ”What is Prince Stratimojeff to you?” said he. ”The whole world knows that he is the favorite of Catharine. Read, then, what my correspondent writes me on the subject.” He drew forth a letter, and let Elise read those pa.s.sages which alluded especially to the mission of the imperial favorite.
Elise uttered a scream, and fell back fainting on the sofa; every thing swam before her; her blood rushed to her heart; and she muttered faintly, ”I am dying--oh, I am dying!” But this momentary swoon soon pa.s.sed over, and Elise awoke to full consciousness and a perception of her situation. She understood every thing--she knew every thing. With a feeling of bitter contempt she surveyed all the circ.u.mstances--her entire, pitiable, sorrowful misfortune. ”Therefore, then,” said she to herself, almost laughing in scorn, ”therefore this hasty wedding, this written consent of the empress--I was to be the cloak of this criminal intercourse. Coming from her arms, he was anxious to present me to the world. 'Look! you calumniate me! this is my wife, and the empress is as pure as an angel!'” She sprang up, and paced the room with hasty steps and rapid breathing. Her whole being was in a state of excitement and agitation. She shuddered at the depth of pitiable meanness she had discovered in this man, who not only wished to cheat and delude her, but was about, as if in mockery of all human feeling, to make herself the scapegoat of her imperial rival.
She did not notice that Bertram was looking at her in all astonishment, and in vain seeking a clew to her conduct. ”This is too much!” cried she, half soliloquizing. ”Love cannot stand this! Love!
away with the word--I would despise myself if I could find a spark of this love in my heart!” She pressed her hands to her breast, as if she wished thereby to extinguish the flames which were consuming her ”Oh!”
she cried, ”it burns fearfully, but it is not love! Hate, too, has its fires. I hate him! I know it now--I hate him, and I will have vengeance on the traitor! I will show him that I scorn him!” Like an infuriated tigress she darted at the myrtle-wreath which lay on the table. ”The bond of love is broken, and I will destroy it as I do this wreath!” she exclaimed, wildly; but suddenly a gentle hand was laid upon her extended arm, and Bertram's soft and sympathizing voice sounded in her ear.
What he said, what words he used--he who now understood all, and perceived the fulness of her grief--with what sincere, heart-born words he sought to comfort her, she neither knew nor understood. But she heard his voice; she knew that a sympathizing friend stood at her side, ready to offer a helping hand to save her from misery, and faithfully to draw her to his breast. She would have been lost, she would have gone crazy, if Bertram had not stood at her side. She felt it--she knew it. Whenever she had been threatened with calamity, he was always near, to watch and s.h.i.+eld, to afford her peace and comfort.
”Bertram! Bertram!” she cried, trembling in every limb, ”protect me.
Do not shut me out from your heart! have pity on me!” She leaned her head on his breast and wept aloud. Now, in her sorrow, she felt it to be a blessing that he was present, and for the first time she had a clear consciousness that G.o.d had sent him to her to be a helping friend, a guardian angel.
The illusions and errors of her whole life fell from before her eyes like a veil, and she saw in a clear light both herself and Bertram.
And now, as she leaned her head upon his breast, her thoughts became prayers, and her tears thank-offerings. ”I have entertained an angel unawares,” said she, remembering, unintentionally, the language of Holy Writ. When Bertram asked the meaning of her words, she answered, ”They mean that an erring heart has found the right road home.”
She wiped away her tears with her long locks. She would no longer weep, nor shed a single tear for the false, intriguing traitor, the degenerate scion of a degenerate race. He was not worthy of a sigh of revenge, not even of a reproach. A mystery had slept in her breast, and she thought to have found the true solution in the word ”Feodor!”
but she was mistaken, and G.o.d had allowed this long-mourned, long-desired man to return to her, that she might be allowed to read anew the riddle of her heart more correctly, to find out its deceitful nature, its stubborn pride, and to conquer them. Thus thinking, she raised her head from Bertram's breast, and looked at him ”You asked my father for my hand. Do you still love me?”
Bertram smiled. This question seemed so strange and singular! ”Do I love you?” asked he. ”Can he ever cease to love who has once loved?”
”Do you still love me?” she repeated.
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