The Serapion Brethren, Vol. II

by E. T. A. Hoffmann

"I told him what had happened during the 'seize.' His eyes sparkled with delight. 'That was delicious!' he cried over and over again. 'That was most delicious, indeed, Herr Baron! Tell me what your "tour" consisted of, dear Baronetto.' I danced this 'tour' for him, and remained pausing in the position which I described to you long since. 'Charming; charming, indeed, my angelic friend!' he cried, and ringing the bell, he shouted, 'Cochenille, Cochenille!'

"When Cochenille came in I had to sing him the music of my 'seize,' which was composed by myself. 'Get your flageolet, Cochenille,' said the Count, 'and play what the Baron has been singing.' Cochenille did so tolerably correctly. I had to dance with the Count, taking the lady's part, and I should not have believed it of the old gentleman, while poising himself on his right tiptoe he whispered into my ear, 'Most incomparable of barons, my daughter Victorine is yours.'

"The lovely Victorine behaved rather coyly, as young ladies are apt to do under such circumstances. She was reserved and silent, formal and stiff, said neither 'Yes' nor 'No,' and on the whole behaved to me in such a way that my hopes began to sink again. Besides, it so happened that I just then, for the first time, found out that on the celebrated occasion, when I put my arm round the cousin instead of Victorine in the 'seize,' those two girls had planned this practical joke on purpose just to make me the victim of a contemptible mystification. I really was terribly distressed and annoyed, and could almost have cried, to think that it had formed a part of the mutual interdependence of things that I should be led about by the nose in this sort of way. But those doubts were vain. Ere I knew where I was, wholly unexpectedly the heavenly 'Yes' came trembling from her beautiful lips just when I had fallen into the deepest dejection. It was only then that I found out what a constraint Victorine had been putting upon herself before, for she was now so wildly happy and in such amazing spirits that anything like this condition had never been seen in her before. No doubt it was only maidenly coyness that made her refuse to allow me to take her hand or to kiss it, or to indulge in any kind of innocent little endearment. Many of my friends did try to put a quantity of absurd nonsense into my head. But the day before our wedding was destined to drive the last shadow of doubt from my mind. Early on that morning I hastened to her. Some papers were lying on her work-table. I glanced at them; they were in her own handwriting. I began reading. It was a diary. Oh, heavens! Oh, all ye Gods! Each day's entries gave me fresh proof how dearly, with what unspeakable fondness Victorine had loved me all along. The most trifling incidents were recorded, and always there came, 'You do not comprehend this heart of mine. Cold and unfeeling, must I cast aside all maidenly reserve in the wildness of my despair, throw myself at your feet, and tell you that without your love life is only death to me?' And it went on in this strain. On the night when I fancied myself so wildly in love with the little Spanish girl she had written, 'All is lost and done. He loves her; nothing can be, more certain. Mad creature, don't you know that the eye of the woman who loves is all-seeing?' Just as I was reading this aloud in came Victorine. I threw myself at her feet with the diary in my hand, crying, 'No, no; I never was in love with that strange child. You, you alone, were always my idol!'

"Victorine fixed a gaze on me, cried out in a screaming sort of tone, which rings in my ears still, 'Unfortunate fellow, it was not you I meant,' and rushed from the room. Now could you have imagined that maidenly coyness would have been capable of being carried so far?"

Here Nettchen came in to enquire on the Baroness's part why the Baron did not bring the visitor to see her, inasmuch as she had been expecting him for the last half hour. "A splendid model wife," cried the Baron with much emotion, "always sacrificing herself to my wishes." It astonished Euchar not a little to find the Baroness very much dressed as if for company.

"Here is our dear old Euchar!" the Baron cried. "We have got him back again." But when Euchar approached and took her hand she was seized with a violent trembling, and, with a faint cry of "Oh, God," fell back on her couch fainting.

Euchar could not bear the pain of the situation, and he left the room as quickly as possible. "Unfortunate fellow," he cried, "it was, indeed, not you she meant." He understood now the fathomless depth of misery into which his friend's incredible vanity had plunged him--he knew now upon whom Victorine's love had been bestowed, and felt himself strangely moved and touched. He comprehended now, and only now, the significance of many things which his own simple straightforwardness had prevented him from seeing before. Now, and only now, he saw through and through the impassioned Victorine, and could scarcely explain to himself how he had failed to discover that it was with him she was in love. The occasions on which her fondness for him had led her to give expression to it, almost in defiance of all considerations, rose more clearly before his mental sight, and he distinctly remembered that just on those very occasions some strange unaccountable antipathy to her had caused a curious, inexplicable irritation of feeling towards her. This feeling of angry irritation he now brought to bear upon himself, filled as he was by the profoundest pity for the poor girl, whose destiny seemed to have been ruled by such an evil star.

It so happened that on this very evening the self-same party to which Euchar had told the story of Edgar's adventures in Spain, two years previously, were assembled at Madame Veh's. He was greeted with the greatest warmth, but an electric thrill went through him when he saw Victorine, as he had not thought he would meet her there. There was no trace of illness about her. Her eyes shone as brilliantly as of old, and a carefully-chosen costume of great tastefulness enhanced her loveliness and charm. Euchar, distressed by her presence, was depressed and put out, contrary to his usual wont. Victorine so managed matters as to be able to approach him, and suddenly seizing his hand, drew him aside, saying gravely and calmly--

"You know my husband's pet theory of the mutual interdependence of things? I believe what constitutes the real 'mutual interdependence of things' in our lives to be the follies which we commit, repent of, and commit again and again. So that our lives appear to consist of a process of being wildly hunted hither and thither by a species of enchantment beyond our control, which drives us on before it till it mocks and dashes us into death. I know all, Euchar; I know whom I am going to see this evening. It was not you who brought those bitter, hopeless sorrows upon me; not you, but an evil fate. The demon was laid and vanished at the moment when I saw you again. May peace and rest be upon us, Euchar."

"Yes, Victorine," Euchar answered, "may rest and peace be upon us. However miscomprehended a life may be, the Eternal Power does not leave it without hope."