“Father,” said Ernestine, casting herself at Sanders’ feet, “respected author of my days, I beseech you not to deprive me of the hope that my beloved Herman will one day be mine. Since I was a child you have promised me his hand. That thought is my only source of joy and pleasure; to deprive me of it will surely send me to my grave. My heart has been captured by him, secure in the knowledge that you approved of my sentiments. In Herman’s love for me he will find all the necessary courage to resist the blandishments of Madame Scholtz. . . . O Father! do not abandon us!”
“Get up, my child,” the Colonel said. “I love you . . . I adore you . . . since you can only be happy with Herman, and since you both love one another, set your minds at rest, you will never have any save Herman for husband. . . . And in fact, he owes that woman nothing. His honesty . . . his zeal, have more than repaid the gratitude he owes her; he is under no obligation to sacrifice his life in order to please her. . . . But we must manage things so that there is no falling out with anyone. . . .”
“Monsieur,” said Herman, clasping the Colonel in his arms, “you who have granted me the right to call you Father, how can I ever repay you for the promises which you have just made me from the depths of your heart? Yes, I shall be worthy of the gift you are giving me. My every thought and act will be but for you and your beloved daughter. . . . I shall be the pillar and the companion of your declining years. . . . Father, fear not . . . we shall not make any enemies for ourselves, there is no contractual agreement between Madame Scholtz and me. When I present her with a proper accounting of her funds, and reclaim from her merely what she owes me, what can she say?”
“Ah! my boy, you do not know the hearts of those you intend to confront,” the Colonel resumed, prey to a kind of concern he was unable to master. “There is no crime on the face of the earth to which a wicked woman will not stoop when ’tis a question of revenging herself for the charms a lover has spurned. That wretched woman will cause the poisonous effects of her wrath to rain down upon us all, and ’twill not be the roses of happiness you will reap, but the dark cypresses of mourning.”
Ernestine and the man she loved spent the rest of the day calming her father’s fears, allaying his apprehensions, and assuring him of their future happiness, which they painted for him in gentle hues. Nothing is as persuasive as the eloquence of lovers; theirs is a logic of the heart that the mind’s logic can never equal.
Herman dined with his tender friends and left them at an early hour, his soul full to overflowing with hope and joy.
Approximately three months passed in this manner, without the widow ever raising the subject again, and without Herman daring to take the initiative and propose a settlement and separation. The Colonel gave the young man to understand that there was nothing disadvantageous in these delays. Ernestine was young, and her father did not in the least object to adding to the modest dowry which was already hers, in the form of a certain inheritance she could expect to receive from the widow Plorman, her aunt, a native of Stockholm who, already well along in years, might reasonably be expected to die at any moment.
But Madame Scholtz was impatient, and too clever not to detect her young bookkeeper’s embarrassment; ’twas she who first broached the subject again and asked him whether he had reflected upon what they had discussed the last time they had had an opportunity to talk.
“Yes,” replied Ernestine’s lover, “and if ’tis a rendering of accounts and a separation that Madame is referring to, I am at her service.”
“It seems to me, Herman, that was not precisely the topic we discussed.”
“What was it then, Madame?”
“I asked you whether you wished to establish a business of your own, and whether you had chosen a wife who might help you run it.”
“I thought I had replied that I preferred to wait till I had amassed a greater fortune before marrying.”
“’Twas what you said, Herman, but I must confess I did not believe you. And as we talk now, every expression on your face reveals the deceit in your soul.”
“Ah! never has deceit besoiled my heart, Madame, and you know it well. Since childhood I have been close to you; you have vouchsafed to replace the mother I had the misfortune to lose. Have no fear that my gratitude may ever lessen or vanish.”
“You speak constantly of gratitude, Herman. I should have preferred from you a sentiment more tender.”
“But, Madame, can I control my . . .”
“Traitor! Is this your reward for all my loving care? Your ingratitude is most enlightening, that I can see. . . . I have been devoting myself to a monster. . . . Since I have become a widow, Herman, ’tis to your hand and heart I aspired, I can no longer conceal it. . . . The manner wherein I managed your affairs, the way I made your money grow and prosper . . . my conduct regarding you . . . even my eyes, which doubtless betrayed me . . . all this, false-hearted creature, all this, could not have failed to persuade you of my passion . . . and is this my reward? I am to be paid back with indifference and contempt? Herman, you do not know the heart of the woman you are insulting. No, you have no idea of the things whereof she is capable . . . you will learn only after it is too late. . . . Now, leave me, yes, leave me forthwith and prepare your books, Herman. I intend to do the same, and we shall go our separate ways. Yes, we shall separate. You will have no difficulty finding a roof for yourself; Sanders’ house is doubtless open and waiting.”
Madame Scholtz’s state was such that our young lover had no difficulty perceiving that it was essential that he conceal his true feelings in order not to bring down upon the Colonel the full force of this dangerous creature’s wrath and desire for vengeance. Herman therefore followed the dictum that a soft answer turneth away wrath, told his protectress that she was quite mistaken in her assumptions, and reminded her that the fact that he did not wish to marry until he had measurably increased his fortune surely belied her contention he had plans to marry the Colonel’s daughter.
“My friend,” Madame Scholtz replied to that, “I know your heart as though ’twere my own. I know that ’tis impossible you could have grown so distant were your heart not aflame for someone else. Although I may not be in the first flush of youth, do you think that I am still not attractive enough to find another husband? Yes, Herman, ’tis clear indeed: you would love me were it not for that creature whom I loathe, and upon whom I shall revenge myself for your indifference.”
At these words Herman shuddered. Colonel Sanders, not wholly at home in his new land, and retired from service, was far from enjoying the powerful influence in Norrköping which Madame Scholtz could command. Her influence was as far-reaching as it was overwhelming, whereas the Colonel had virtually dropped out of the public eye and lost contact with those personages who, in Sweden as elsewhere in the world, hold in esteem only those who impress them by their favor or wealth; the Colonel, I say, was no longer considered as more than an ordinary individual whom influence and gold could easily crush, and Madame Scholtz, as with all scurvy souls, was not long in perceiving the truth of this situation.
Herman, therefore, made the decision to declare himself much more openly, albeit hypocritically, than he ever had done before. He cast himself at the knees of Madame Scholtz, besought her to calm her fears, reassured her that his heart contained no sentiment which could in any wise prove harmful to her from whom he had received so many blessings, and he begged her not to consider any further for the moment the idea of the separation with which she had threatened him. Realizing full well the young man’s state of mind at that time, Madame Scholtz decided that this was the most she could expect; she placed all her hopes in a combination of her own charms and the beneficent effects of time, and quickly regained her composure.
Herman did not fail to inform the Colonel of this most recent conversation, and this wise and worthy man, still fearful of the possible vexations and dangerous character of Madame Scholtz, again tried to persuade the young man that he would be better off yielding to the designs of his patro
ness than persisting in his desire to marry Ernestine. But both lovers mustered every argument at their command to remind the Colonel of the promises he had made them and to make him pledge that he would never forswear them.
Things had been in this pass for about six months when Count Oxtiern, this villain whom you saw in irons a short while ago in these mines—irons to which he has been confined for more than a year and to which he is condemned to spend the rest of his days—Count Oxtiern, I say, was obliged to come from Stockholm to pay a visit to Norrköping. The object of his visit was to withdraw certain funds invested with Madame Scholtz by his father, whose fortune the Count had just inherited. Madame Scholtz, full aware of her visitor’s importance—he was the son of a Senator and a Senator himself—had prepared her best chambers for him, and prepared to receive him with the full luxury that her wealth permitted.
The Count arrived, and the day following his arrival his elegant hostess gave him a sumptuous dinner, followed by a ball, to which all the most beautiful women in town were invited. Ernestine was not forgotten, and ’twas not without some trepidation that Herman saw she was resolved to go. Were it possible for the Count to see someone as beautiful as she without paying her the respects which were due her? What did Herman not have to fear from such a rival: assuming the worst came to pass, would Ernestine have the strength or force of character to refuse the proffered hand of one of the mightiest lords of Sweden? And were she to refuse, would there not be formed against both Herman and Ernestine a league whose chief conspirators would be the powerful Oxtiern and Madame Scholtz? And what misfortunes might then be Herman’s? Could he, with his limited and straitened circumstances, resist the arms of so many enemies conspiring against him?
He informed Ernestine of his apprehensions, and this worthy, sensitive, and delicate girl, fully prepared to sacrifice such frivolous pleasures for the sentiments which burned within her, proposed that Herman immediately tell Madame Scholtz that he was refusing her offer. Herman himself was rather of the same opinion. But since, in this small circle of worthy souls, no decisions were made without the prior consent of Sanders, they sought his advice, and found that he was far from sharing their opinion. He maintained that to refuse Madame Scholtz’s invitation would inevitably result in a rupture with her, that that clever woman would be quick to divine the reasons for their refusal, and in a situation where it was above all essential not to offend her, their proposed course of action was bound to upset her.
At this point Ernestine dared to ask the object of her affections what precisely it was he feared, nor did she conceal from him the sorrow that his suspicions caused her.
“Oh, my dear friend!” said that interesting girl, clasping Herman’s hands in her own, “were the most powerful personages of all Europe present at this soiree, were they all to fall in love with your dear Ernestine, could you for one moment doubt that all their collective flatteries could be aught but a further homage to him who has won her heart? Ah! fear not, Herman, she whom you have captivated could never lose her heart to another. Were I obliged to live with you in a state of slavery, I should prefer it to living with another upon the throne itself; can any boon the earth has to offer hold any meaning for me in the arms of another besides her beloved! . . . Herman, give yourself due credit: can you for one moment fancy that my eye may perceive any mortal at this ball who is your equal? Let my heart be the sole judge of your worth, my friend, and you will be the most amiable of creatures, as you are the most beloved.”
Herman covered his mistress’ hands with a thousand kisses, he desisted from giving any further evidence of his fears, but they none the less remained anchored in his heart. There dwells in the heart of a man in love certain presentiments which are rarely mistaken. Herman felt them, he repressed them, and the beautiful Ernestine appeared at Madame Scholtz’s party like a rose in the midst of lesser flowers. She was attired in the garb of ancient Sweden, in the style of the ancient Scythians, her features noble and proud, singularly heightened by that adornment, her figure delicate and supple, infinitely better outlined beneath this free-falling, unpleated gown which only suggested her gentle forms, her lovely hair cascading down in waves over the quiver slung across her back, and with the bow held in her hand . . . all this made her look like Love itself disguised beneath the features of fair Bellona. It was as though each of the arrows she carried with so much grace was destined, each time it touched the heart of someone present, to enchain it forthwith to that celestial beauty.
If Herman did not see Ernestine enter the room without a feeling of trepidation, Oxtiern, for his part, experienced an emotion so keen that for several minutes he found it impossible to utter a word. You have seen Oxtiern; he is a rather handsome fellow; but what a soul Nature has enclosed within that deceptive exterior! The Count was immensely wealthy and, only recently come into possession of his full fortune, never dreamt for a moment there could be any restraints imposed upon his impassioned desires; whatever reason and circumstance raised as obstacles in his path served only to whet the appetite of his impetuosity. As unprincipled as he was lacking in virtue, still steeped in the prejudices of a corps whose pride had led it to revolt against the King himself, Oxtiern fancied that there was nothing in the world which could act as a bridle to his passions. Now, of all the passions wherewith his ardent soul was inflamed, love was the most impetuous; but this sentiment, which in a noble soul may approximate a virtue, is bound to become the source of many a crime in a heart as corrupt as Oxtiern’s.
No sooner had that dangerous man laid eyes upon our beautiful heroine than he straightway conceived the idea of seducing her. He danced with her a number of times, arranged to be seated next to her at dinner, and in short so clearly demonstrated the sentiments she inspired in him that in a trice the whole town was persuaded that she would soon become either Oxtiern’s wife or his mistress.
’Tis impossible to depict the cruel state of mind which was Herman’s while all this was taking place. He had gone to the ball, but seeing his beloved the center of such ardent attention, were it even conceivable for a moment that he approach her? Ernestine’s sentiments for Herman had most assuredly not changed one whit; but is’t possible for a young girl to protect herself against the sin of pride? Is’t possible for her not to lose her head, were it even for a moment, when such public homage is paid to her? And that vanity wherewith she is flattered and which people play upon—by demonstrating to her that she can be beloved of all—does it not lessen within her the desire she previously felt to be responsive solely to the attentions of a single soul? Ernestine noticed that Herman was concerned; but Oxtiern was full of flattering attentions, the entire gathering had naught but the highest praise for her, and Ernestine, ensnared by pride, did not feel, as she should have, the sorrow she was causing her poor lover.
The Colonel was also the recipient of many marks of esteem on the part of Count Oxtiern, who singled him out especially in the course of his conversations. He offered to help the Colonel in any way he could in Stockholm and assured him that, still far too young to be retired, he should join some army corps and continue his ascent through the ranks until he had reached the high pinnacles to which his birth and talents had destined him. The Count added that he would help him in that matter as in whatsoever else he might desire at the Court, and begged him to take advantage of the offer, saying that he would consider as so many personal pleasures each of the services such a worthy gentleman would enable him to render. The ball ended at dawn, and the guests departed.
At the first opportunity the following day, Senator Oxtiern asked Madame Scholtz to give him further details concerning the young Scythian of the night before, whose ravishing image had remained fixed in his mind since he had first set eyes upon her.
“She is the most beautiful girl in all Norrköping,” the merchant said, delighted to see that the Count, by thwarting Herman’s love, might render her his heart. “In truth, Senator, there’s not a girl in the length and breadth of the country who can compare w
ith our Ernestine.”
“Of the country!” cried the Count, “in all of Europe, Madame. . . . And what does she do . . . what thoughts fill her mind? . . . Who is in love with her . . . who adores this heavenly creature? Who is the man who would dare to vie with me for the possession of her charms?”
“I shall spare you a recital of her birth and background: you know that she is the daughter of Colonel Sanders, a worthy man, a man of quality and high birth. But what you are unaware of perhaps—and the news will grieve you, from what you say about your sentiments toward her—is that she is on the eve of marrying a young bookkeeper who works for me, with whom she is madly in love and who loves her at least as much.”
“A match such as this for Ernestine!” cried the Senator. . . . “This angel, the wife of a bookkeeper! . . . ’Tis out of the question, Madame, the match must not take place; you and I must join forces to make certain it never does. ’Twould be utterly ridiculous; Ernestine was born to grace the Court with her brilliance, and I wish to present her there under my name.”
“But with no fortune, Count. . . the daughter of an impoverished nobleman . . . of a soldier of fortune.”
“She is the daughter of the gods themselves,” said Oxtiern, beside himself, “she must dwell in their abode.”
“Ah! Senator, you will drive the young man I mentioned to despair. Rare is a love as pure and strong as his . . . rare the sentiments as sincere as his for Ernestine.”
“What disturbs me least in the world, Madame, is a rival of this kind. Should I, should my love, be alarmed by this inferior breed of men? I count upon your helping me discover the means whereby we get rid of him . . . send him away. And if he refuses to go of his own free will . . . Leave it to me, Madame Scholtz, leave it to me, we shall rid ourselves of this scurvy fellow.”
Madame Scholtz was inwardly delighted, and far from trying to discourage the Count, she offered him only that kind of argument which is easily overcome and which, when vanquished, serves but to incite love.
The 120 Days of Sodom and Other Writings Page 78