“But a noble, an amiable being,” cried Schiller, passionately; “a being full of innocence and goodness, a fair creature full of heart and feeling, full of gentleness and mildness; moreover, she has a noble heart, and a mind capable of great cultivation. She has understanding for all that is intellectual, reverence for all that is great and beautiful, and is at the same time modest, affectionate, playful, and naïve.”
“In brief, she is an ideal,” said Charlotte, derisively. “But let your thoughts sojourn with me for a moment longer. At my request you have told me the truth, now you shall hear the truth from my lips. We might have spared ourselves all these explanations, but I desired to probe your heart to assure myself that I would not wound you too deeply by telling you what I must now avow. Now that I am no longer uneasy on that score, you shall hear the truth from my lips. My air-castles have vanished also—vanished so long since, that I scarcely have a recollection of them, and can only think of them as of a foolish dream, that neither could nor should have been realized. I have awakened, and I will remain what I am, the wife of Mr. von Kalb, and the mother of my son. I live once more in the present, and the past with all its recollections and follies is obliterated.” [64]
“I am glad to hear this,” said Schiller, in a clear and composed voice, the gaze of his large blue eyes fastened on Charlotte’s cold and haughty countenance with an expression of severity. “I am glad to hear that the past is obliterated from your remembrance, as it is from mine. I can now speak to you freely and openly of the happiness which the future has, as I hope, in store for me. I love Charlotte von Lengefeld, and now that you have discarded me, I am at liberty to ask her to become my wife.”
“Do so,” said she, quietly. “We are about to separate, but my blessing will remain with you; any correspondence between us in the future would, of course, be annoying, and as our letters of the past have become meaningless, I must request you to return mine.”[65]
“As you had already written to me on this subject several times, I took the precaution of bringing these letters with me to-day. Here they are. I have preserved them carefully and lovingly, and I confess that it gives me great pain to part with these relics of the past.”
He handed her the little sealed package which he had drawn from his breast-pocket; she did not take it, however, but merely pointed to the table.
“I thank you, and I will now return your letters.”
She walked into the adjoining room, closing the door softly behind her. With trembling hands she took Schiller’s letters from the little box in which she had kept them. She kissed them, pressed them to her heart and eyes, and kissed them again and again, but when she saw that a tear had fallen on the paper she wiped it off carefully; she then walked rapidly to the door and opened it. On the threshold she stood still, composed, proudly erect.
“Schiller, here are the letters!”
He approached and took them from her hand, which she quickly withdrew. She then returned to the adjoining room, locking the door behind her.