A Twofold Life

by Wilhelmine von Hillern

The magnanimity of love! How many an innocent, womanly heart has already been led astray by this will-o'-the-wisp of tender sophistry! Deeds like Cornelia's sacrifice of a public betrothal, and her promise to live alone, veil themselves beneath a semblance of such nobility that an unsuspecting nature does not hesitate to perform them, believing itself to be yielding to an impulse of generosity, and not suspecting that it is merely following the guidance of its own passion. Cornelia was too innocent and inexperienced to penetrate Henri's unprincipled tactics. If doubts again arose they could not give sufficient proofs of their justice, and were always crushed as "idle fancies" by the power of her love.

Veronica's funeral took place, and it touched Cornelia deeply that Heinrich was present; she considered it a fresh proof of his uprightness.

Old Archivrath Linderer heard with actual tears her refusal to become one of his family. He ventured a few timid remonstrances, but was far too courteous to use his right as guardian and compel her to yield to his views. He could not force himself to be uncivil to any one, and according to his ideas he would have been so had he attempted to impose any restraint upon Cornelia. Therefore, when he saw that his timidly uttered, kindly meant representations were wholly disregarded, he could only wipe the sweat of anxiety from his brow and take leave of her with a deeply saddened heart. Even the sulky servant took his leave, to live upon the legacy Veronica had left him, as soon as he learned that Cornelia intended to keep up an independent establishment.

Several weeks now quietly elapsed in a gentle alternation of joy and sorrow, until the image of the beloved dead receded into the background more and more, and love took exclusive possession of Cornelia's whole existence. At first she did not notice that the number of her acquaintances lessened; and when she at last became aware of it, Henri's influence had already taught her to disregard it. She despised the pitiful souls which only judged from appearances, and clung to the few faithful friends that remained to her. But it was unavoidable that one or another of them should meet Ottmar during his frequent visits. It would not do,--people must not always find him with her; so, if he was present, other visitors were refused. When this happened too frequently, and Cornelia perceived that it must lead to misunderstandings with her best friends, she at last consented that Ottmar should spend the evening hours with her. Thus the meetings with others were prevented; but as his presence had been noticed, his absence was now the cause of comment. Had their interviews ceased, or been deferred until another hour? This must be ascertained. A few zealous friends watched her, and saw him come and go. They sorrowfully confided this incredible thing to each other under the seal of silence, warned her, half openly and half by hints, that her fair fame was endangered, and mourned for her as one dead. Yet she still stood erect and stainless, her girlish brow loftily upraised against the humiliations she endured, and pitied the world for being too corrupt to believe in the purity of anything; her last consolation was her good conscience. She trusted to herself and to her lover, and awaited the day which would solve the mystery before the eyes of men and restore her their lost esteem. This gave her strength to endure the "trial."

Ottmar did everything in his power to employ her time and occupy her thoughts. He was well aware that he could only win this noble woman gradually, and by noble means. He read with her, gave her the most beautiful classical works, explained the thoughts of the ancient and modern philosophers, and perused with her the best of modern literature. Thus she learned to associate with him the impressions made by the noblest productions of the intellect, from which he obtained a certain halo that made him worthy of worship in her eyes. He understood all these grand works, and made them comprehensible to her,--it seemed as great a deed as if he had created them himself. She looked up to him as a superior being, and at last could really neither think, feel, nor live without him. He, in his turn, was delighted with her susceptibility and active mind, and became accustomed to impart everything good and beautiful which came in his way to Cornelia, and enjoy it doubly with her. Thus he unconsciously entangled himself in the net he was weaving for the young girl; she became as great a necessity to him as he to her, and he had never been so happy before. Yet this life was not wholly without discord. His twofold nature often wounded Cornelia; he was either passionately excited, or brilliant and cold. She could not be at ease; one she was forced to repel, the other repelled her. Both prevented the calm happiness of loving intercourse which woman's platonic nature so fully understands and needs. She often took for want of love what was merely lack of sensuous feeling, and the glowing ardor which alternated with the coldness could not supply the place of the uniform warmth of deep affection. Ottmar at last understood what she lacked. He perceived that there was a middle path, that he must be at once less cold and less warm, to obtain entire control over her. During the time that his intellect was in the ascendant, he endeavored to assume a more affectionate tone, and the oftener this happened the better it pleased Heinrich to press his lips to the brow which contained the thoughts that delighted him, and stroke the hair that veiled it, while it afforded him still higher enjoyment to study in her classic form and features the idea of the beautiful. She became a living work of art to him, and as art is the first mediator between mind and matter, he began to rejoice in her physical charms from an artistic stand-point. Henri, on the contrary, ennobled the expression of his love and appropriated more and more of the impulses of Cornelia's soul. Thus intellect began to grow warmer, sensuality to be spiritualized. The separation between them had been lessened by struggling for a common object; if his moral consciousness had ripened in the same proportion as the two extremes approached a normal union, he would have adopted a different course of action. But the individual conflict was not yet entirely settled, and the moral one could not be decided. His mistakes and transgressions had proceeded solely from the gulf in his nature; only when the parts were united in one harmonious whole could they be expelled, for right and truth can only thrive in a soul at peace with itself.

Months elapsed, and the political event which was to decide his own fate and Cornelia's drew near. Ottmar awaited it with eager suspense. He longed to have this uncertain condition of affairs ended. He perceived more and more clearly that to possess Cornelia would outweigh his present position, and made himself familiar with the thought of sacrificing it, if driven to extremities. But the appointment of minister cast a weight into the scale of his ambition which outbalanced the feeble efforts of his conscience; as minister he could not inflict upon himself and the court the disgrace of a politically suspicious mesalliance,--then he would induce Cornelia to make the sacrifice, and he did not doubt that she would do so.

[XVIII.]

CORNELIA AND OTTILIE

Cornelia did not suspect what a sword was hanging over her head, did not question the near or distant future, but lived wholly in the present moment. One thing alone she did not forget,--her visits to the prisoners. She devoted the usual time to them; the place where she first saw Ottmar had become sacred to her, and by her mournful labors for the unfortunate men, her patience with their sufferings and obstinacy, she believed that she was paying fate a tribute for the happiness enjoyed in her love. She rarely appeared in public, for she could not bear the glances that accused her of guilt of which she knew herself to be innocent. She therefore no longer entered a church or theatre; her church was her love, her God in Heinrich's breast, and her studies with him conjured up a world of beauty. She wanted nothing, needed nothing, but him. She made no subtle inquiries and no longer doubted him; he was everything to her, and she knew that with him she should lose all.

Thus it sounded like a voice from another world when one day a "stranger lady" was announced. Who could visit her still? The lady entered, and fixed a half-timid, half-questioning, glance upon Cornelia.