Old Fritz and the New Era Part 41

She sprang up like a tigress, with her eyes flas.h.i.+ng. "Oh," cried she, "he may even believe that I have been enticed by riches, by a brilliant future! No--no! I cannot consent! May G.o.d have mercy on me if the king will not! I will not break my oath! No one but Moritz shall ever be my husband!"

"Unhappy girl," cried the old man, sadly, "I will give you one last inducement. I know not whether you have any knowledge of Moritz's past life, so tried and painful, which has made him easily excited and eccentric. A danger menaces him worse than imprisonment or death. His unaccustomed life, and the solitude of his dark, damp prison, is causing a fearful excitement in him. He is habituated to intellectual occupation. When he is obliged to put on the prisoner's jacket in the house of correction and spin wool, it will not kill him--it will make him mad!"

A piercing cry was Marie's answer. "That is not true--it is impossible.

He crazy!--you only say that to compel me to do what you will. His bright mind could not be obscured through the severest proofs."

"You do not believe me? You think that an old man, with gray hair, and one foot in the grave, and who loves Moritz, could tell you a shameful untruth! I swear to you by the heads of my children, by all that is holy, that Moritz already suffers from an excitement of the brain; and if he does not soon have liberty and mental occupation, it is almost certain that he will become insane."

Almost convulsed with anguish, Marie seized the old man's hand with fierce pa.s.sion. "He shall not be crazed," she shrieked. "He shall not suffer--he shall not be imprisoned and buried in the house of correction on my account. I will rescue him--I and my love! I am prepared to do what the king commands! I will--marry the man--which--my parents have chosen. But--tell me, will he then be free?"

"To-day even--in three hours, my poor child!"

"Free! And I shall have saved him! Tell me what I have to do. What is the king's will?"

"First sign this doc.u.ment," said the director, as he drew a second paper. "It runs thus: 'I, Marie von Leuthen, that of my own free will and consent I will renounce every other engagement, and will marry Herr Ebenstreit von Leuthen, and be a faithful wife to him. I witness with my signature the same.'"

"Give it to me quickly," she gasped. "I will sign it! He must be free!

He shall not go mad!"

She rapidly signed the paper. "Here is my sentence of death! But he will live! Take it!"

"My child," cried the old man, deeply agitated, "G.o.d will be mindful of this sacrifice, and in the hour of death it will beam brightly upon you.

You have by this act rescued a n.o.ble and excellent being, and when he wins fame from science and art he will owe to you alone the grat.i.tude."

"He shall not thank me!" she whispered. "He shall live and--if he can be happy!--this is all that I ask for! What is there further to be done?"

"To announce to your parents in my presence that you will marry Herr Ebenstreit, and let the ceremony take place as soon as possible."

"You swear that he shall then be released? You are an old man--reflect well; you swear to me that as soon as the marriage takes place, Philip Moritz will be free this very day and that he will be reinstated in an honorable, active occupation?"

"I swear it to you upon my word of honor, by my hope of reward from above."

"I believe you. Call my parents. But first--you are a father, and love your children well. I have never had a father who loved me, or ever laid his hand upon my head to bless me. You say that you love Moritz as a son! Oh, love me for a moment as your daughter, and bless me!"

The old man folded her in his arms, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"G.o.d bless you, my daughter, as I bless you!"

"I dare not tarry," she shuddered. "Let my parents enter."

Slowly the venerable man traversed the room. Marie pressed her hands to her heart, looking to heaven. As the door opened, and the general entered, leaning upon Ebenstreit's arm, followed by his wife, Marie approached them with a haughty, determined manner, who regarded her with astonishment.

"Father," she said, slowly and calmly, "I am ready to follow your wishes. Send for the clergyman: I consent to marry this man to-day, upon one condition."

"Make it known, my dear Marie. Name your condition. I will joyfully fulfil it," said Ebenstreit.

"I demand that we leave to-day for the East, to go to Egypt--Palestine--and remain away from this place for years. Are you agreed to it?"

"To all that which my dear Marie wishes."

"You can now weave the bridal-wreath in my hair, mother. I consent to the marriage."

Three hours later the preparations were completed. Every thing had awaited this for three months.

In the sitting-room, the decorators had quickly built a marriage-altar, and ornamented the walls with garlands of flowers, with festoons of gauze and silk, with flags and standards. The mother wore the costly silk which her rich son-in-law had honored her with for the occasion, and also adorned herself with the gold ornaments which were equally his gift. The father wore his gold-embroidered uniform, and imagined himself a stately figure, as the gout left him the use of his limbs this day.

The invited witnesses began to a.s.semble. Just then Ebenstreit von Leuthen drove up in the handsome travelling-carriage, which was a wedding-gift to his wife, and excited the admiration of the numerous street public.

Old Trude, in her simple dark Sunday dress, had awaited the appearance of the bridegroom, and went to announce his arrival to the bride.

Marie was in her little garret-room, so unlike in its present appearance to its former simplicity and comfort--as unlike as the occupant to the rosy, smiling young girl, who, yonder by the little brown table in the window-niche, taught her pupils, or with busy, skilful hands made the loveliest flowers, the income of which she gave to her parents, joyfully and although she never received thanks or recognition for the same. Now the same little table was covered with morocco cases, whose half-open covers revealed brilliant ornaments, laces, and sweet perfumes; superb silk dresses, cloaks, and shawls, ornamented with lace, lay about upon the bed and chairs.

Herr Ebenstreit von Leuthen had truly given his bride a princely dowry, and her mother had spread the things around room.

Since Marie gave her consent to the marriage, she had followed out their wishes without opposition. She wore a white satin dress, covered with gold lace, her arms, neck, and ears, adorned with diamonds. The coiffeur had powdered and arranged her hair, without her ever casting a glance into the Psyche-mirror which her betrothed had had the gallantry to send to her room. She let him arrange the costly bridal veil; but when he would place the crown of myrtle, she waved him back.

"Your work is finished," she said; "my mother will place that, I thank you."

As Trude entered, Marie was standing in the centre of the room, regarding it with sinister, angry looks.

"There you are, Trude," she said, "I am glad to see you a moment alone, for I have something to tell you. I have spoken with my future husband, demanding that you live with me as long as I live. Immediately after the ceremony you will go to my future home and remain there as house-keeper during my absence."

Sadly the old woman shook her head. "No, that is too important a place for me. I will not lead a lazy life, and play the fine woman. I was made to work with my hands."

"Do what you will in the house," answered Marie. "Only promise me that you will not leave me, and when I return that I shall find you there. If you leave me, I will never come back. Promise me!"

"Then I will promise you, my poor child," sighed Trude.

Marie laughed scornfully. "You call me poor--do you not see I am rich? I carry a fortune about my neck. Go, do not bewail me--I am rich!"

"Marie, do not laugh so, it makes me feel badly," whispered the old woman. "I came to tell you the bridegroom and the clergyman are there."

"The time has arrived for the marriage of the rich and happy bride. Go, Trude, beg my mother to come up and adorn me with the myrtle-wreath."

"Dear Marie, can I not do it?" asked Trude, with quivering voice.

"No, not you; touch not the fatal wreath! You have no part in that! Call my mother--it is time!"

Trude turned sadly toward the door, Marie glancing after her, and calling her back with gentle tone.

"Trude, my dear, faithful mother, kiss me once more." She threw her arms around Marie's neck and imprinted a loving kiss upon her forehead, weeping. "Now go, Trude--we must not give way; you know me; you well understand my feelings, and see into my heart."

The old woman went out, drying her eyes. Marie uttered her last farewell. "With you the past goes forth, with you my youth and hope!

When the door again opens, my future enters a strange, fearful life. Woe to those who have prepared it for me--woe to those who have so cruelly treated me! They will yet see what they have done. The good angel is extinct within me. Wicked demons will now a.s.sume their over me. I will have no pity--I will revenge myself; that I swear to Moritz!"

Her mother rustled in, clothed in her splendid wedding-garments. "Did you send for me, dear Marie?" she whispered.

"Yes, mother--I beg you to put on my myrtle-wreath."

"How! have you no endearment for me?" she asked, smilingly. "Why do you say 'you' instead of 'thou?'"