Friedemann’s pale face became crimson, and in a subdued voice, which had something in it absolutely terrific, from the deep sorrow and the wild passion it expressed, he replied—“What shall I—what can I say to you? Look at me, and enjoy your triumph! You have made me wretched—but I conjure you, let me have the only consolation that remains—the conviction that I alone am to bear the wrath and curse of offended heaven!”
“Friedemann!” cried the maiden, shocked, and she turned again to him, her eyes suffused with tears—“spare me; master this agitation, I entreat you!”
“I will not!” returned the young man, impetuously, “I will not spare you! you have yourself torn open, in cruel sport, the wounds of this heart! Look, how it bleeds! and yet, oh, fate, cannot cease to beat! I will not spare you! you are the only being on earth, to whom I dare unveil myself; I have purchased that right with my happiness here and hereafter; and this only, last right none shall tear from me! I gave you all! truth for falsehood—pure, undying love, for frivolous, heartless mockery!”
“I mocked you not!” protested Natalie, looking earnestly at him. “Believe me, I meant well.”
“With me? Did you love me?”
“Ask me not.”
“Natalie, answer! Did you love me?”
“How can it help, if I tell you I loved you? Are we not parted for ever?”
“No! by my soul! no! If you love me, nothing on earth shall part us! For the sake of your love, mark me—I would not spare even the heart of my father, though it should cost his life! But I must know—if you have loved—if you yet love me! If you have not, if you do not, I will ask—woman! wherefore did you tempt the free-hearted youth, who lived but for his art, with encouraging looks and flattering words? Wherefore did you give yourself—”
“Hold, unhappy man!”