"It is a relic of my sentimental youth," replied Veronica, "and is really closely connected with a portion of my life."
"Why, that is very interesting! What air is it playing?"
"A choral I often sang in my young clays. Tell Herr von Ottmar the words, Cornelia, or he will think you have forgotten how to speak."
Cornelia repeated the well-known strophe:
"Schau hin nach Golgotha!
Dort schwebt am Kreuzes-stamm"
Im Todeskampf dein Jesus, Mit deiner Schuld beladen.
Schau hin nach Golgotha!
Er neigt sein sterbend Haupt, Es bricht sein Herz, Selbst Engel weinen: Der Welterloser todt!"
"It is a beautiful choral, but it does not suit a gay social circle,"
said Cornelia, evidently deeply moved. She had felt that her voice grew tremulous during the recital, and thought herself obliged to apologize.
"The profound melancholy of that sublime death overwhelms me in those few lines. They conjure up the whole picture of the saddest hour earth has ever known, and I cannot refrain from tears."
"While you spoke I saw only the angels who were weeping there,"
whispered _Heinrich_, gazing at her with delight, "and yet your trembling voice touched me strangely. Who gave you this prophetic inspiration, which, after the lapse of centuries, feels agonies perhaps never endured? All the sufferings of Christ were mirrored in your eyes."
"Oh, who could help feeling them?" replied Cornelia. "Who that truly entered into them could help being thrilled with the deepest grief?
What a sacrifice, to make himself the bleeding example of his teachings! What a love, which devotes itself to secure the happiness of a world! When I read the history of the pa.s.sion, it seems as if I had a thousand hearts, so keenly, so painfully, do I feel the death-agony of the One Heart that bore in itself the sorrows of all, suffered for all, bled for all, loved all,--even those who betrayed it,--and was understood and valued by so few. I see him turn pale, and feel how Mary counts his last sighs and dies ten deaths with him. The breezes pause in their course and are silent: the clouded sky bends heavily towards the earth; all creation is frozen with terror, and listens for the fearful moment when the G.o.d-man shall die,--when the monstrous murder of the Guiltless One shall be completed. And now he bends his head, and all is over. It is done, and the long-repressed woe breaks forth. The storm rages over the earth, rends the veil, bursts the false temple.
The world groans; and the Lord himself, touched even in his unapproachable divinity, extends his arms to his beloved Son to receive him to his heart. Oh, my friend, who can read or hear this story without being moved to the very depths of his soul? Even if you deny this great event and prove that it never existed, and even reveal who invented it,--who subjected a world to the might of this thought,--he too was inspired by a higher power,--he too came from G.o.d and has performed a miracle; a miracle that no one can deny, for it uplifts itself in gigantic structures of stone in every land; it stamps its impress upon every grave; it receives the new-born infant with a holy ordinance; it is the last consolation of the dying; nay, at this very moment it fills your own breast with silent veneration: I can see it in you."
_Heinrich_ could scarcely breathe; he did not know what had befallen him. Was it a supernatural creature who was speaking to him? He was obliged to start up and go to the window, so strangely did his thoughts pulse through his brain. Was it the artistic impression of her powerful, eloquent words, her animated play of expression, the capacity for suffering in her nature bodingly revealed in this description, or the effect of the words themselves? He knew not, but he felt as much agitated as if Christianity had just been revealed to him for the first time.
"You could do more good than many preachers," he said, at last, returning to his seat. "You understand how to obtain a hold upon the soul, and I am amazed at your religious enthusiasm. I should have supposed you to have more tendency towards rationalism. Are you a Protestant?"
"Oh, do not ask whether I am Catholic or Protestant! I am a Christian,--that is the princ.i.p.al thing. By faith and education I am a Protestant; but I belong to no creed, for I have no faith in miracles,--at least the miracles the church teaches. I recognize too entirely the divinity of the laws of the universe to believe that G.o.d must remove Nature from her usual course to reveal himself. Every deviation from natural laws is an abnormal condition, and therefore unlovely, for all beauty consists in the harmony of each individual part with the whole; but I can accept and reverence nothing that is not beautiful,--far less consider G.o.d, the soul of the system of the world, as the author of an anomaly. Herein I am a rationalist. I hate those who bar the progress of science, because they fear the natural explanation of things may destroy the dogma of revelation; but I also hate those who think that by the natural explanation of things they can deny the existence of a higher power. G.o.d reveals himself indirectly in the laws of nature, and directly in the soul. The n.o.blest man is to me the greatest wonder of creation; and if I believe Christ to be the son of Joseph, I adore him none the less as the true Son of G.o.d, spirit of his Spirit, proceeding from and returning to him. Thus I am a Christian with my whole soul, and, with ardent love, bear my Saviour in my heart as my highest model. What would all my acts be if I had not this fundamental principle of Christianity? if I did not perform my charitable deeds in the spirit of self-sacrifice Christ taught us, what should I be? A sentimental adventuress, a heroine of romance, who has one eccentric caprice today and another to-morrow; is always playing a part, and constantly unhappy because she has no object, no purpose, in life; for selfishness leaves us always empty and unsatisfied, while Christianity is its most powerful opponent."
_Heinrich_ sat for some time in silence, with his eyes fixed upon the floor; when he looked up Cornelia was gazing into his grave countenance with an expression of affectionate inquiry,--she felt that her last words had touched some sensitive point. _Heinrich_ pa.s.sed his hand through his hair as if he wished to banish the obtrusive thoughts that crowded upon him.
"The poetry of Christianity has excited and enchained your fancy. It would be useless to convince you by scientific proofs, since you have formed a religion which is not dependent upon them."
"Certainly," laughed Cornelia.
"You _wish_ to believe, and therefore you do. You are fortunate! You have produced a wonderful harmony between your skeptical reason and enthusiastic heart. I admire you; for this theory of spiritual revelation by natural means, which can go hand in hand with science, is the best that a talented woman can appropriate. Who taught you all this?"
"Her own harmonious soul," said Veronica. "She has a keen intellect, and a soft, feeling heart; therefore she does not believe unconditionally, as we are obliged to do, and yet is full of religious devotion. Thus she found that harmony, as you call it, and restored peace to her mind. When you know her better, you will be astonished at the wonderful symmetry of her nature."
"I am already!" exclaimed _Heinrich_; "I never had any intellectual pleasure which could be compared to my intercourse with you. I could listen forever in rapturous delight to the thousand turns her thoughts take. Tell me, Cornelia, from what n.o.ble union of wondrous hearts did you spring, to be mentally and bodily so beautiful,--so beautiful?"
Cornelia looked at Veronica. The latter pa.s.sed _Heinrich_ a cup. "Take some tea, and I will tell you the story of my musical urn, which interested you so much just now. You will thereby learn our whole history, if you care to know it."
"Oh. pray tell me whatever I may be permitted to hear. You do not know how eagerly I desire it."
"I have already told you," began Veronica, "that Cornelia is the child of my adopted daughter. This adopted daughter, the wife of the political martyr Erwing, was thrown upon my hands by a singular destiny, and I thank G.o.d, that, through her and afterwards through Cornelia, he gave my life a purpose and meaning. I enjoyed a mother"s pleasures without being compelled to suffer her pains; for when G.o.d took my dear adopted daughter from me, my grief would have been infinitely greater if the lost one had been mine by birth. But Cornelia has, as yet, given me nothing but joy. She was difficult to educate, but even the toil of reducing these chaotic talents to order was a pleasure. That I have succeeded in doing so is a wonder to myself, for I never had an opportunity to study these powerful characters. My mother, to the day of her death, had a childlike heart. She was only sixteen years older than I, and seemed like a friend and playmate rather than a mother. The governess my father procured for me really educated the mamma at the same time with the little daughter! This gay, innocent youth has been the foundation of my character. My grandfather was a Danish n.o.bleman, who became a widower at my mother"s birth, and lived a solitary life upon his estates at Soroe, though he opened his house to all the n.o.bility in the neighborhood. It chanced that an acquaintance one day introduced a friend named Albin, a native of Holstein, who was traveling through the country. Herr von Albin, a handsome, attractive man of fifty, was seated at dinner next to my mother, who at that time was not quite fifteen, and she particularly remembered that when some magnificent strawberries were served at dessert, the gentleman a.s.sured her that much larger and finer ones grew on his estate. This greatly astonished my mother, for she had always believed the strawberries in her garden the best in the world.
"A few weeks after a servant summoned her to her father"s room, and the latter informed her that she would soon be married. She said, "As you please, dear father," and went sorrowfully back to her governess. When, however, on the following day Herr von Albin was presented to her as her future bridegroom, she was greatly delighted, for she thought of the wonderful strawberries that grew on the kind gentleman"s estate.
"This Herr von Albin was my father. He loved my mother with touching tenderness, and did everything in his power to prevent her from feeling the great difference in their ages. He took journeys with her, and as German society pleased her far better than the formal Danish etiquette of those days, lived by turns upon his Holstein estates in summer, and the North German City of B---- in winter. Thus it happens that my whole nature is thoroughly North German, and I have also inculcated some of it into Cornelia"s mind. When I was in my fourteenth year I lost my father, and my mother, then scarcely thirty, was still very girlish in her appearance, and equally so in character. The death of the kind husband whom she had loved with childlike reverence was the first sorrow of her life.
"With the same obedience with which she had formerly married Herr von Albin she now, at her father"s command, wedded a second husband; but this time she did not rejoice over beautiful strawberries.
"My stepfather, an attache of the Danish Emba.s.sy in N----, was very rich; and as my father"s estates were entailed an male heirs, and my mother had also inherited little or nothing, my grandfather, whose property likewise reverted to the crown at his death, wished by this marriage to secure his daughter a future free from care. But whether my mother was happy with this man I will leave you to decide. He was a cold aristocrat, chose society which was distasteful to us, and left us much alone at a retired country seat, where we led a life devoted to books and belles-lettres.
"Chance made me acquainted with a young officer, who, despite his youth, was already a widower, and the father of a little two-year-old daughter. We loved each other, and he asked for my hand; but my stepfather refused his consent, because the marriage did not suit his plans for me, and perhaps, also, because he had no inclination to give me a dowry. What a nature that young man possessed! Alas! he bore the doom of an early death. During our stay at our country seat my mother sometimes permitted him to visit us. She became constantly sadder and paler, and the only hours that she seemed more animated and joyous were those we all spent together. I sang and played upon the piano pa.s.sably well, and the choral we have just mentioned, which was peculiarly in harmony with my Edmund"s religious feelings, I sang for him again and again. We spent many such evenings as this together, and were never happier than when a.s.sembled around the steaming tea-urn in North German fashion. My friend often said it would be charming if its confused humming could be transformed into a distinct melody, for he found all the charm of northern sentimentality in its mysterious music.
"Just at this time my stepfather suddenly died, leaving my mother a large fortune, and there was now no further impediment to our marriage.
We wished to have my betrothed husband resign from the army at once; but he would not consent. He wished to take part in the last great campaign against Napoleon before he resigned himself to the happiness of private life. We parted as betrothed lovers; I took his little daughter from her boarding-school to my own home, to be a mother to her, for I loved the child; but my mother clung to the little one with peculiar affection. After the departure of my affianced husband, she was often confined to her bed, but her still youthful and beautiful features beamed with almost superhuman love when she clasped the little girl in her arms. She was then thirty-eight years old, and I two-and-twenty. Alas! it was only later that I first suspected the true cause of my mother"s quiet illness. Her poor heart had never known love,--let me be silent." The speaker"s bright eyes suddenly grew dim, and tears ran down her pale cheeks.
"Oh, G.o.d!" murmured _Heinrich_, involuntarily.
"She was constantly thinking of what we could do to surprise Edmund on his return," continued Veronica. "One day she said she would like to have him find on our table an urn constructed exactly as he had desired, and that the toy, whose idea she suggested to me, should play his favorite choral, "Schau hin nach Golgotha!" As I saw how greatly she had set her heart upon it, I instantly gave the order to the celebrated mechanician, Gebhardt, and in the course of a few months the work was completed. Alas! it afforded her the last pleasure she ever knew. It played for the first time one dreary autumn evening. She sat up in bed with her arm around the little girl, and listened with childlike devotion. "May you solemnize a beautiful service of love with this organ!" said she. "Make his home-life bright and pleasant, that he may always be glad to stay with you; believe me, a solitary wife is a most wretched creature. Make him happy, my Veronica; he deserves it."
"Grandmamma," lisped the child, throwing her little arms lovingly around the neck of the fair, youthful "grandmother." Her cheeks flushed feverishly, and she concealed her tears upon the neck of the "little angel." Do you know, Veronica, that I have begun to write poetry in my old age!" she said, suddenly, with a mournful smile. Yesterday I composed these verses:
"Thank thy G.o.d, oh, happy mortal!
Love"s thy portion here below, And, glorified in death by love, Thy immortal part shall glow.
"Love suffered for thee on the cross, Upon Golgotha died for thee; Is ever near, though far away He whom thou lov"st may be.
"Cheer thee, my heart, though here on earth Thou seekest love in vain; Feel that there is no lack with G.o.d; Cry blessings on his name.
""Oh, mother!" I exclaimed, deeply touched, "why is this? Do you lack love? Do we not all love you most tenderly?" Weeping bitterly, I pressed her to my heart. Just at that moment a letter was brought in.
From him she exclaimed, broke the seal, and sank back senseless upon the pillows. I tore the letter from her rigid hands,--it was the notice of my lover"s death. I rushed into the next room to conceal the outbreak of my anguish from my mother, and, throwing myself upon my knees, prayed for strength. Suddenly I heard strange sounds, which made me start up, and, at the same time, the child screamed aloud. In mortal terror I hurried back to find my mother in her death-agony. "Mother, mother," I shrieked, despairingly, "do not leave me alone in my misery!" With a look of inexpressible love, she placed the little one in my arms; I clasped them both in a wild embrace; felt the last breath of her pure lips, and then sank back senseless, dimly hearing, as if from another world, the air "Schau hin nach Golgotha!" Spare me the description of my sufferings. For a year I struggled with a disease of the lungs, but my strong, youthful const.i.tution obtained the victory.
Yet one tiny flower of happiness bloomed for me upon my lover"s grave: his little daughter,--his own flesh and blood,--a part of himself. I had not wholly lost him,--was not entirely alone. Nay, the child resembled him so much that with silent delight I saw his living image always before me, but the double blow had so crushed my soul that I needed and sought seclusion. I purchased a small estate in the province of R----, where I devoted myself entirely to the sorrowful pleasure of educating my Antonie and cherishing memories of my lover,--let people say what they chose,--and shut myself up in my little world of feeling.
I read everything new that appeared in the kingdom of literature, and in all found myself and my own grief. By degrees I became not only calm but happy; the lonely life I led caused all the pictures of my memory to a.s.sume so tangible a form that my lover and my dear mother appeared before me,--I was surrounded by all whom I loved. Thus the dead became alive to me, and the living, with the exception of my child, dead. The happier I felt in these dreams the more anxiously I avoided all contact with reality, that the delicate webs of my fancy might not be torn asunder by its rude touch. Nor was this difficult, for no one troubled themselves about the stranger. Beautiful scenes of nature entranced me with their ever-varying charms; an excellent servant managed my little household; and thus for fourteen years I lived entirely apart from the world with my adopted daughter, my books, and my dead. This is the reason why I seem too young for my age,--I stood still for many years of my life. But when Antonie grew up, I perceived that I ought not to make the bright, blooming young girl a hermit. My parents" house in N---- was empty, and I resolved to move here and introduce my adopted child to society; but how was I astonished to find it so entirely different from what I had left it! Since peace had once more smiled upon the country,--since no universal sorrow impressed its deep seal upon every soul,--men seemed to me more selfish, more material. They doubtless still coquetted with a certain sentimentality, but it seemed to me that with true sorrow true feeling had also vanished. Time had advanced, while during my long seclusion I had remained standing still; I felt that I did not understand this world, and was even allowed to perceive that I no longer suited it. As through my extensive course of reading Antonie and I had obtained knowledge, and also, probably, formed some opinions, several literary people became interested in us, and thus, with Antonie"s full consent, I again withdrew from society, to collect around me a circle of men and women who possessed similar tastes. The unfortunate republican, Erwing, then a quiet, much-respected man and a distinguished author, was also introduced to me. He loved and married Antonie; Cornelia was born the following year.
At that time Erwing was already developing his dangerous political tendencies. He was a n.o.ble man, and sacrificed himself to his principles, and, alas! his wife also, who died of grief for him. G.o.d took her from the world; her death broke down all the barriers that had hitherto restrained Erwing, and his sorrow for her increased his political wrath to its height. Soon after, the unhappy man was obliged to fly to America, where he died, leaving the orphan, to whom, since her father"s flight, I have filled a mother"s place, as I did to her mother. In so doing I have fulfilled a sweet and sacred duty to my dead love, who lives and hovers around me in eternal youth, and blesses my efforts in behalf of his granddaughter!"
The old maid paused, with cheeks crimsoned with blushes; she had folded her hands over her knitting, and seemed wholly absorbed in memories of the past. Cornelia sat lost in thought, with her head resting on her hand.
"What a face, so victorious in its calm pride!" said _Heinrich_ to himself; "what hair, what a neck, what an arm! What movements, and lines! What grace! Yes, it is the _soul_ that animates this frame, and warm blood that gleams through it so rosily!"
He laid his open palm before her on the table; she placed her hand in it. There was nothing very singular in the action, but her cheeks glowed; it seemed as if he was drawing her head towards him, as if she must bend forward yet he held her hand calmly in his. Veronica, absorbed in her memories, rose to get _Heinrich_ a picture of her lover. They were alone! A new expression flashed over Ottmar"s face,--_Heinrich_ and _Henri_ had changed places! the moment had tempted the latter irresistibly. He slowly drew Cornelia"s hand towards him, and bent his handsome head to hers; his eyes beamed with inexpressible love, and his voice trembled with fervor as he whispered:
"Poor heart, how mach you must have suffered, must still suffer, in the memory of your unhappy father! Oh, if you could but look into the depths of this soul and know how I feel for you!--oh, love!" He pressed his lips gently upon her hand, and let them rest there, without kissing it.
Cornelia scarcely breathed; the touch thrilled through her whole frame like an electric shock. She felt that a new happiness, never known before, was entering her heart, and yielded to it without the slightest movement. Then the organ slowly played the strophe, "Selbst Engel weinen," and died away. _Henri_ raised his head, and asked, gently, "What do you think of me now?"
She could not speak, but looked into his eyes with an expression so dreamy and ardent that _Henri_ needed no words. His quick ear heard Veronica"s approach, and he leaned back in his chair and attracted the attention of Cornelia, who was completely absorbed in her own feelings.
The old lady showed _Henri_ her lover"s miniature, and found it perfectly natural that after these reminiscences Cornelia should burst into tears. Cornelia herself did not know their cause, for she really had no sorrowful memories; the things we hear in early childhood do not make so vivid an impression; and her youth, under Veronica"s care, had been a happy one. Far less was it the recollection of her first love, for this now seemed to her like a dream. What was it, then? What had happened? He had told her that he pitied her; that was very natural: she had given him her hand and he had kissed it,--no, not even kissed it, he had only allowed his lips to rest upon it; but it was perhaps that very thing,--how strange!
_Henri"s_ accustomed eyes read all these thoughts in Cornelia"s face, and with exultant satisfaction saw the net resting upon the wings of her soul. "Cornelia," he said, softly, while Veronica was counting her st.i.tches, "you are reflecting upon the nature of sympathy again, but you will not fathom it yet!"
"You are right," she answered.