Berlin and Sans-Souci Part 67

Barbarina was in the same saloon where we last saw her, surrounded with dukes and princes--wors.h.i.+ppers at her shrine! To-day she was alone; no one was by her side but her faithful sister Marietta. She lay stretched upon the divan, with her arms folded across her bosom; her head was thrown back upon the white, gold-embroidered cus.h.i.+on, and her long, black curls fell in rich profusion around her; with wide-open eyes she stared upon the ceiling, completely lost in sad and painful thoughts. At a small table by her side sat her sister Marietta, busily occupied in opening and reading the letters with which the table was covered.

And now she uttered a cry of joy, and a happy smile played upon her face. "A letter from Milan, from the impressario, Bintelli," said she.

Barbarina remained immovable, and still stared at the ceiling.

"Binatelli offers you a magnificent engagement; he declares that all Italy languishes with impatience to see you. that every city implores your presence, and he is ambitious to be the first to allure you back to your fatherland."

"Did you write to him that I desired an engagement?" said Barbarina.

"No, sister," said Marietta, slightly blus.h.i.+ng; "I wrote to him as to an old and valued friend; I described the restless, weary, nomadic life we were leading, and told him you had left the London stage forever."

"And does it follow that I will therefore appear in Milan? Write at once that I am grateful for his offer, but neither in Milan nor any other Italian city will I appear upon the stage."

"Ah, Barbarina, will we never again return to our beautiful Italy?"

said Marietta, tearfully.

"Did I say that, sister? I said only, I would not appear in public."

"But, Barbarina, he entreats so earnestly, and he offers you an enormous salary!"

"I am rich enough, Marietta."

"No! no one is rich enough! Money is power, and the more millions one has to spend, the more is one beloved."

"What care I for the love of men? I despise them all--all!" cried Barbarina, pa.s.sionately.

"What! all?" said Marietta, with a meaning smile; "all--even Cocceji?"

Babarina raised herself hastily, and leaning upon her elbow, she gazed with surprise upon her sister. "You think, then, that I love Cocceji?"

"Did you not tell me so yourself?"

"Ah! I said so myself, did I?" said Barbarina, contemptuously, and sinking back into her former quiet position.

"Yes, sister, do you not remember," said Marietta, eagerly; "can you not recall how sad you were when we left Berlin a year ago? You sobbed and wept, and looked ever backward from the carriage, then lightly whispered, 'My happiness, my life, my love remain in Berlin!' I asked you in what your happiness, your love, your life consisted. Your answer was, 'Do you not know, then, that I love Cocceji?' In truth, good sister I did not believe you! I thought you left Berlin because the mother of Cocceji implored you to do so. I know you to be magnanimous enough to sacrifice yourself to the prayers and happiness of another, and for this reason alone you went to London, where Lord Stuart McKenzie awaited us."

"Poor lord!" said Barbarina, thoughtfully. "I sinned greatly against him! He loved me fondly; he waited for me with constancy; he was so truly happy when I came at last, as he hoped, to fulfil my promise, and become his wife! G.o.d knows I meant to be true, and I swore to myself to make him a faithful wife; but my will was weaker than my heart. I could not marry him, and on my wedding-day I fled from London. Poor Lord Stuart!"

"And on that day, when, bathed in tears, you told me to prepare to leave London with you secretly; on that day you said to me, 'I cannot, no, I cannot wed a man I do not love. The air chokes me, Marietta; I must return to Berlin; he is there whom I love, whom I will love eternally!' I said again, 'Whom do you love, my sister?'

and you replied, 'I love Cocceji!' And now you are amazed that I believe you! In it possible that I can doubt your word? Is it possible that Barbarina tells an untruth to her fond and faithful sister? that she shrouds her heart, and will not allow Marietta to read what is written there?"

"If I did that," said Barbarina, uneasily, "it was because I shrank from reading my own heart. Be pitiful, Marietta, do not lift the veil; allow my poor heart to heal its wounds in peace and quiet."

"It cannot heal, sister, if we remain here," said Marietta, trembling with suppressed tears. "Let us fly far, far away; accept the offer of Binatelli; it is the call of G.o.d. Come, come, Barbarina, we will return to our own Italy, to beautiful Rome.

Remain no longer in this cold north, by these icy hearts!"

"I cannot, I cannot!" cried Barbarina, with anguish. "I have no fatherland--no home. I am no longer a Roman, no longer an Italian. I am a wretched, homeless wanderer. Why will not my heart bleed and die? Why am I condemned to live, and be conscious of this torture?"

"Stop, stop, my sister!" cried Marietta, wildly; "not another word!

You are right; we will not lift this fearful veil. Cover up your heart in darkness--it will heal!"

"It will heal!" repeated Barbarina, pressing Marietta to her bosom and weeping bitterly.

The entrance of a servant aroused them both; Barbarina turned away to hide her weeping eyes. The servant announced a lady, who desired anxiously to speak with the signora.

"Say to her that Barbarina is unwell, and can receive no one."

In a few moments the servant returned with a card, which he handed to Marietta. "The lady declared she knew the signora would receive her when she saw the card."

"Madame Cocceji," said Marietta.

Barbarina rose up hastily.

"Will you receive her?" asked Marietta.

"I will receive her."

And now a great change pa.s.sed over Barbarina: all melancholy; all languor had disappeared; her eyes sparkled, her cheeks glowed with an engaging smile, as she advanced to greet the proud lady who stood upon the threshold.

"Ah, generous lady, how good you are!" said Barbarina, in a slightly mocking tone. "I have but just returned to Berlin, and you gladden my heart again by your visit, and grant me the distinction and privilege of receiving in my house one of the most eminent and virtuous ladies of Berlin."

Madame Cocceji threw a contemptuous glance upon the beautiful young woman who dared to look in her face with such smiling composure.

"I have not come, madame, to visit you, but to speak to you!"

"I do not see the distinction; we visit those with whom we wish to speak."

"We visit those with whom we wish to speak, and who are trying to evade an interview! I have sent to you twice, signora, and commanded you to come to me, but you have not obeyed!"

"I am accustomed to receive those who wish to see me at my own house," said Barbarina, quietly. "Indeed, madame, I understand your language perhaps but poorly. Is it according to the forms of etiquette to say, 'I have commanded you to come to me?' In my own fair land we give a finer turn to our speech, and we beg for the honor of a visit." As Barbarina said this, she bowed with laughing grace to the proud woman, who gazed at her with suppressed rage.

"This is the second time I have been forced to seek an interview with you."

"The first time, madame, you came with a pet.i.tion, and I was so happy as to be able to grant your request. May I be equally fortunate to-day! Without doubt you come again as a pet.i.tioner,"

said Barbarina, with the cunning manner of a cat, who purrs while she scratches.

The proud Cocceji was wounded; she frowned sternly, but suppressed her anger. Barbarina was right--she came with a request.

"I called upon you a year ago," said she, "and implored you to cure my son of that wild love which had fallen upon him like the fever of madness--which made him forget his duty, his rank, his parents. I besought you to leave Berlin, and withdraw from his sight that magical beauty which had seduced him."

"And I declared myself ready to grant your pet.i.tion," interrupted Barbarina. "Yes, I conformed myself to your wishes, and left Berlin, not, however, I confess, to do you a service, but because I did not love your son; and there is nothing more dull and wearisome than to listen to protestations of love that you cannot return. But look you, gracious lady, that is a misfortune that pursues me at every step. I left Berlin to escape this evil, and fled to London, to find there the same old story of a love I could not return. I fled then from London, to escape the danger of becoming the wife of Lord Stuart McKenzie."

"Why did you return to Berlin?" said Madame Cocceji, in an imperious tone.

Barbarina looked up surprised. "Madame," said she, "for that step I am accountable to no one."

"Yes, you are accountable to me!" cried Madame Cocceji, enraged to the utmost by Barbarina's proud composure. "You are accountable to me--me, the mother of Cocceji! You have seduced him by your charms, and driven him to madness. He defies his parents and the anger of his king, and yields himself up to this shameful pa.s.sion, which covers his family with disgrace."

Barbarina uttered a cry of rage, and advanced a few steps. "Madame,"