University of Virginia Library

5. CHAPTER V.
THE WHITE LADY'S SLIPPER AND THE PASSION-FLOWER.

That night Emma of Ilmenau went to her
chamber with a heavy heart, and her dusky eyes
were troubled with tears. She was one of those
gentle beings, who seem created only to love and
to be loved. A shade of melancholy softened her
character. She shunned the glare of daylight
and of society, and wished to be alone. Like the
evening primrose, her heart opened only after sunset;
but bloomed through the dark night with sweet
fragrance. Her mother, on the contrary, flaunted
in the garish light of society. There was no sympathy
between them. Their souls never approached,
never understood each other, and words were
often spoken which wounded deeply. And therefore

Emma of Ilmenau went to her chamber that
night with tears in her eyes.

She was followed by her French chamber-maid,
Madeleine, a native of Strassburg, who had grown
old in the family. In her youth, she had been
poor,—and virtuous because she had never been
tempted; and, now that she had grown old, and
seen no immediate reward for her virtue, as is
usual with weak minds, she despaired of Providence,
and regretted she had never been tempted.
Whilst this unfortunate personage was lighting the
wax tapers on the toilet, and drawing the bed-curtains,
and tattling about the room, Emma threw
herself into an arm-chair, and, crossing her hands
in her lap, and letting her head fall upon her
bosom, seemed lost in a dream.

“Why have these gentle feelings been given
me!” said she in her heart. “Why have I been
born with all these warm affections,—these ardent
longings after what is good, if they lead only to
sorrow and disappointment? I would love some
one;—love him once and forever;—devote myself

to him alone,—live for him,—die for him,—
exist alone in him! But alas! in all this wide
world there is none to love me, as I would be
loved,—none whom I may love, as I am capable
of loving. How empty, how desolate, seems
the world about me! Why has Heaven given me
these affections, only to fall and fade!”

Alas! poor child! thou too must learn like others,
that the sublime mystery of Providence goes
on in silence, and gives no explanation of itself,—
no answer to our impatient questionings!

“Bless me, child, what ails you?” exclaimed
Madeleine, perceiving that Emma paid no attention
to her idle gossip. “When I was of your
age—”

“Do not talk to me now, good Madeleine.
Leave me, I wish to be alone?”

“Well, here is something,” continued the maid,
taking a billet from her bosom, “which I hope will
enliven you. When I was of your age—”

“Hush! hush!” said Emma, taking the billet

from the hard hand of Madeleine. “Once more
I beg you, leave me! I wish to be alone!”

Madeleine took the lamp and retired slowly,
wishing her young mistress many good nights and
rosy dreams. Emma broke the seal of the note.
As she read, her face became deadly pale, and
then, as quick as thought, a crimson blush gleamed
on her cheek, and her hands trembled. Tenderness,
pity, love, offended pride, the weakness
and dignity of woman, were all mingled in her
look, changing and passing over her fine countenance
like cloud-shadows. She sunk back in
her chair, covering her face with her hands, as if
she would hide it from herself and Heaven.

“He loves me!” said she to herself; “loves
me; and is married to another, whom he loves
not! and dares to tell me this! O, never,—
never,—never! And yet he is so friendless and
alone in this unsympathizing world,—and an exile,
and homeless! I can but pity him;—yet I hate
him, and will see him no more!”

This short reverie of love and hate was broken

by the sound of a clear, mellow voice, which, in
the universal stillness of the hour, seemed almost
like the voice of a spirit. It was a voice, without
the accompaniment of any instrument, singing
those sweet lines of Goethe;

Emma knew the voice and started. She rushed
to the window to close it. It was a beautiful
night, and the stars were shining peacefully over
the mountain of All-Saints. The sound of the
Neckar was soft and low, and nightingales were
singing among the brown shadows of the woods.
The large red moon shone, like a ruby, in the
horizon's ample ring; and golden threads of
light seemed braided together with the rippling
current of the river. Tall and spectral stood the
white statues on the bridge. The outline of the

hills, the castle, the arches of the bridge, and the
spires and roofs of the town were as strongly
marked as if cut out of pasteboard. Amid this
fairy scene, a little boat was floating silently down
the stream. Emma closed the window hastily,
and drew the curtains close.

“I hate him; and yet I will pray for him,”
said she, as she laid her weary head upon that pillow,
from which, but a few months before, she
thought she should never raise it again. “O,
that I had died then! I dare not love him, but I
will pray for him!”

Sweet child! If the face of the deceiver comes
so often between thee and Heaven, I tremble for
thy fate! The plant that sprang from Helen's
tears destroyed serpents;—would that from thine
might spring up heart's-ease;—some plant, at
least, to destroy the serpents in thy bosom. Believe
me, upon the margin of celestial streams
alone, those simples grow, which cure the heartache!

And this the silent stars beheld, looking down

from heaven, and told it not again. This, likewise,
the Frau Himmelhahn beheld, looking from
her chamber-window, and was not so discreet as
the silent stars.