A Twofold Life

by Wilhelmine von Hillern

"By whom was the picture painted?" asked Heinrich.

"By a B---- artist of the name of Richard."

"Does any one know whom he had for a model?"

"No; he keeps it a profound secret. I could almost believe he has--Heaven knows how!--witnessed such a scene. People don't create such things purely from imagination."

Heinrich made no reply, and his acquaintance, perceiving his strange emotion, withdrew.

Ottmar went from one picture to another; but reflect and consider as he would, one thing only was clear to him, that Cornelia must have sat to these artists herself, for such a resemblance could not be accidental; and although the window-panes in one picture reflected her face but dimly, it was all the more unmistakable in the other,--and Severinus too. So in this way she had consented to make known to the world her connection with Jesuitism! She must consider these relations an honor of which she publicly boasted, and this she could not do unless she had been converted to Catholicism,--unless they had impressed upon her mind the dogma of the supremacy and infallibility of the one saving church. There was a mysterious connection of ideas between the two pictures; and although he would not give way to it, it oppressed his heart with a torturing dread. The words "people don't create such things purely from imagination" still rang in his ears. Suppose the artist had really taken the idea of his work from the fact that Cornelia, whom he perhaps painted a short time before, had entered a convent? In conditions of the soul like that into which he had cast Cornelia, where the whole existence is pervaded with pain, and every foundation is shaken, the seeds of the Jesuits thrive best; in such moods they most easily obtain a mastery over man. Now, for the first time, it occurred to him that her letter had been redolent of that pride of self-sacrifice, which, after great conflicts, chills so many a young heart, and drives it into the nursery of such virtues, the convent. Suppose Cornelia had gone so far? It was not impossible! Her enthusiasm in everything, especially her zealous desire to be of use, the inclination to sacrifice herself for great ideas which she had so often shown, her susceptibility to the poesy of religion,--all this seemed to him material enough to form an agent of the church; and as the psychological fathers would not have ventured to send such a fiery genius into the world, they had perhaps taken advantage of some moment of weakness to imprison her in one of the convents which lead young girls "to the heart of Jesus." The more Heinrich thought of this, the more probable and clear it appeared. Urged on by his agony, he hastened to ascertain the residences of the two artists. He wished to buy the pictures spite of their extremely high price,--wished to learn some particulars about Cornelia. He would and must have some certainty; he could not bear this terrible doubt. He wrote to Richard and A----, but at the same time to Cornelia, addressing the letter to the Ch---- See. Perhaps the people there knew her present residence and could send it to her.

The reply of the artist A---- was extremely unsatisfactory. He would give no account of the manner in which he had succeeded in obtaining the portrait, for he had stolen her features on that first morning by the lake, when Cornelia, thinking herself unobserved, had walked upon the shore with Severinus. Richard wrote: "The lady had been painted from memory, and he had really taken the subject of his picture from the fact that she had entered a convent, where she had been kept rigidly secluded, since no information concerning her had been obtained."

So she had really entered a convent, and there was no possibility of learning any further particulars! Heinrich's condition was pitiable. To wait--to do nothing but wait--with this burning longing and uncertainty in his breast, for an event which perhaps might never occur, to hope for a fortunate dispensation that perhaps was already baffled,--such was his fate! He lived in a feverish dream, but forced himself to enter with all his powers into what would promote the decision of his fate, his election to the parliament. The newspapers mentioned his name connection with those of the most honored patriots; and if Cornelia still had free control over herself, she must at least be touched by the loyalty with which he struggled to reach the prescribed goal; if she were silent, then there could be no doubt that she was lost to him. Just at that time the blow Cornelia had vainly sought to avert suddenly fell upon him. The Jesuits executed their threats, but this time in a different way from that Severinus had adopted years before. The organ of ultramontanism in H---- printed an article headed, "Contributions to the Traits of Character of a New Candidate." This essay contained a biography of Ottmar, from the time of his entrance into the Jesuit college to that of his present change of opinions, which, animosity, distortion of facts, and compromising indiscretions, surpassed everything for which Ottmar had given them credit. The style was in the so-called interests of the nation, so often merely the cloak beneath which partisan writers strive to win the applause of the masses; but the worst part of all was that the author, Geheimrath Schwelling, who years before had played so contemptible a part as Severinus's companion in the interview with Heinrich, offered to exhibit to any one who might desire it written proofs of most of his accusations. There was no lack of credulous and doubtful persons who wished to convince themselves with their own eyes. The Geheimrath's house became the rendezvous of the curious of all parties, and the papers Severinus had returned to the General for a more worthy use passed from hand to hand. The matter made all the greater excitement an account of the great expectations which had been fixed upon Ottmar. The sheet containing the scandalous article had an immense circulation; and although the cultivated portion of the community turned with disgust from its coarse tone, the facts were not to be denied, and people shrugged their shoulders doubtfully. But the lower classes even gave credence to the charges, in consequence of the amusement the commonplace wit of the style afforded them. In vain Ottmar's friends printed articles in his defense; in vain his banker proved that he had spent the greater portion of his property in purchasing expensive agricultural implements, which he allowed all the country people in the neighborhood to use gratis, and for other national purposes; it was now an easy matter for his enemies to convince the suspicious masses that a man who had gone from rationalism to Jesuitism, then back again to the former, next to despotism, and finally to liberalism once more, was not to be trusted in any relation. "Hold psychological discussions about the motives which forced you to deny your convictions, you will be laughed at, and your name will be branded before all parties," Severinus had said contemptuously years before, and now the result proved how completely he had been in the right. The facts spoke against him, and he could not succeed in giving the people a correct understanding of them, because he had only words,--no contradictory proofs at his command. Even the sincerity with which in N---- he had stood forth in behalf of the constitution was no longer acknowledged, for the scandalous article rendered even this deed suspected as a mere prudential measure. He had perceived that he could no longer hold his ground against the progressive party, and therefore took sides with them in time. This belief appeared only too probable in the case of a man whose life had been so full of contradictions. The confidence which had just been obtained was shaken; the voters began to hesitate. Many forgot what they owed him since his return; others made all the acknowledgments of his services as a public benefactor which were his due; but even they did not wish to elect, as the representative of the most important interests, one whose politics were doubtful. The day of decision came and crowned his enemies' labors with success. Ottmar was defeated by a large majority. He saw himself scorned, insulted; all his hopes crushed, his honor lost; and she for whom he suffered such intolerable torments, who alone could repay him for what he had lost,--Cornelia,--was silent! For love of her he had sacrificed everything; for love of her entered the path which was to lead him to find an abundant reward for ignominy in her arms; and day by day elapsed without bringing any tidings, convincing him more and more that she was torn from him,--that he had gained nothing save the fruits of his sins.

Every morning he went to meet the postman, who brought the letters to his estate, and always in vain. Fourteen times since the election he had borne the tortures of renewed and disappointed hope, had rushed towards the postman in breathless haste only to return with empty hands. He had lain awake on his couch all through the long nights, and welcomed the first ray of light as a preserver from his feverish, agonizing impatience. One morning this restlessness drove him out even earlier than usual, for it was the anniversary of the day on which Cornelia had left him. Perhaps she would give herself to him again on this day; perhaps she had waited for it intentionally. One who has hoped and expected so long at last clings to every conceivable possibility. Thus Ottmar's feet were winged with double speed as he hurried through pleasure-grounds and woodlands, to obtain that for which he longed a half-hour earlier. Wearied with his haste, he emerged from the thicket upon the highway. A fresh autumn breeze was rustling through the tops of the poplars, bending their stiff boughs asunder like the fingers of menacing giant hands. The broad, level road, with its dazzling white sand, stretched before him, endless and empty,--the storm had swept it clean; nothing was to be seen on the wide plain, and Ottmar hurried restlessly onward. Just at that moment the dark figure of the postman appeared in the distance, and with a beating heart Heinrich quickened his pace. At last he reached the man, who was already holding out his bag; but again he was disappointed,--it contained nothing but unimportant business letters. The last possibility of hope had now disappeared; now he could no longer doubt that Richard had written the truth, that Cornelia was in a convent.

His measure was full. The Nemesis he had so long seemed to escape had overtaken him, and he must patiently endure her fury with fettered hands. Fortune, love, honor, all were lost, irrevocably lost, and every accusation he wished to heap upon others recoiled upon himself. He was the cause of his own misery, he alone. Fate had given him everything he desired; but he had only demanded that which contained the germ of his ruin. No disaster had befallen him which was not the punishment of a crime. Absorbed in these reflections, the deeply-humbled man slowly returned and reached the wood. The bright rays of the autumn sunlight fell through the branches and made the yellow leaves glitter like gold; the farther he went the more quiet and pleasant it became. The withered foliage, alternated with the dark-green hue of a dense grove of firs; the forest murmured and whispered to him in a soothing tone,--he did not hear it, did not remember that the enchanted ground be entered was his own property; his heart remained closed, no source of comfort could force an entrance. In silent agony the man was collecting his thoughts to pass a stern, hopeless judgment upon himself.