Friedemann’s brow kindled, he stamped fiercely with his foot, and muttered—“Hypocrite, liar, coward! and all for the sake of a coquette!”
“Your passion makes you unjust and weak,” said Natalie, with displeasure. “I am no coquette. Is not the story of my education familiar to you? My parents died early; they were poor, but descended from one of the oldest families in the land; my proud uncle, whose nobility was younger, surrounded me with all the state and splendor his power could command. I will not indulge in self-commendation, for that I early perceived the worthlessness of all this magnificence; but it is something, that I yielded not to temptation, which, in the midst of pomp and luxury, approached me in a thousand enticing shapes. It is much; I dare commend myself therefor, and be proud; for I had no loving, careful mother, to teach me the lessons of virtue. I grew thus to womanhood, flattered by puppets, by venal slaves, by smiling fools; for I had not yet seen a man. I saw you—I loved you. Must I excuse to you my too mighty love?”
“Ah! Natalie! what must I think? You love me, yet scorn to be my true and wedded wife! You love me, and will marry the creature of your uncle, whom you regard with indifference—with aversion? Must I never know what to make of you?”
“You must know that interest impels me not to this step, but a sense of duty.”
“Sense of duty?”
“Yes! and towards you. I feel that as your wife I could never make you happy—could never be happy myself. You are a great artist, can accomplish much; but you cannot rise beyond a certain sphere—and I—think you it would be so easy for a princely maiden to fulfil the duties of a quiet citizen’s wife? And were I willing to sacrifice all for you, where should we find a refuge from the pursuit of my incensed uncle? Nay—if we even found that, in some desert solitude, how long could the high-minded, ambitious artist endure this inglorious concealment?” Friedemann looked mournfully on the ground, and was silent; the lady continued,—“If I knew you discontented, could I be happy? Or you, if you saw my grief? I will do all for you that a woman in my circumstances can do for her beloved; my uncle’s minion can never obtain any portion of my heart. I will live for you alone! And you—live for your art and me!”
“And must I enjoy your affection as a dishonorable thief?” asked Friedemann, angrily.
“Our regard cannot remain concealed—yet, for your sake, I will bear the condemnation of the world!”
“And the world’s scorn? No—you shall not! The woman whom I love—for whom I am miserable—for whose sake I have deceived father, brother, friends—that woman shall none dare to scorn! Farewell, Natalie! we never meet again! Be what your future husband is not—be noble and true. And believe me, low as I am sunk, all virtuous resolution has not yet left my heart! I must be unhappy, but no longer utterly wretched, for you shall esteem me!”
“Friedemann!” cried the maiden, and threw herself weeping on his breast, “I honor, I admire you!”