Newspaper Page Text
pleasure, he lulled that voice of conscience,
which sometimes ventured to breathe its
warning in his ear.
The marriage of Count Miloknerr with the
fair widow was celebrated four months after,
at the lady’s castle. The most distinguished
families from the surrounding country, were
invited on that occasion; and according to
the fashion of the times, every guest, as well
as the vassals on both sides, brought presents
to the bride; which, whether large or small,
of greater or less value, were displayed on
long tables in the hall, for the inspection of
visitors. With his heart and eyes completely
engrossed with the dazzling charms of his
lately won Bertha, the Count hardly noticed
this varied array, till at his bride’s earnest re
quest, on the day subsequent to the ceremony,
he accompanied her to the hall, where his
greatest enjoyment lay in beholding Bertha’s
delight, as she held up for inspection, some
tasteful or costly article among the presents.
Presently he was startled by beholding among
them an alabaster lamp, so exactly resembling
the one possessed by Ladika, that he exam
ined it more carefully, and was astonished to
find a perfect sac simile; nay ! he seemed
struck by an electric shock, as he discovered
the peculiar vein in the alabaster, which ran
through eac]i of the seven sculptures, and
which he had often watched, during whole
hours, in Ladika’s lamp. Could nature have
twice played the same freak ? Could there
be two so precisely similar ? And if not, how
was this one brought to the Castle ? With
as an indifferent tone as he could assume,
the Knight turned to his companion, enqui
ring who had presented her this gift.
“Ah !” cried Bertha, “lam glad you re
called the circumstance to my mind ; this
lamp belongs to you.”
“To me'?” he repeated in alarm.
“ Yes, to you, and you shall explain the
matter to me,” she added, tapping him play
fully on the cheek! “About midnight, and
while our guests were engrossed in noise and
merriment, a servant came to say that some
one, bearing a marriage gift, desired to speak
with me. On going to the great hall, there
stood a maiden clad in white, and deadly
pale, with this lamp in her hands. Present
ing it to me, she said in a low, hollow voice,
“this is for Count Miloknerr, he is now the
possessor of the lamp then quickly disap
peared. Now tell me, dear husband, who is
the maiden, and how did she come by your
property ?’ 1
Miloknerr became deadly pale, but seeking
to recover himself, he muttered, “it is a jest
which I will explain to you some other time.”
“No!” said Bertha seriously, “let it be as
you wish. Ourexistence begins from to-day !
What happened before belongs not to me,
and from me you need fear no reproach.”
“ But you shall hear the whole truth,”
cried Miloknerr, “this evening I will tell you
the story, even though it may be against me.”
Throughout the morning the Count tor
mented himself to decide, whether he should
reveal to Bertha the real state of affairs, till
when seated together in the evening, the
bride placed the lamp on the table, playfully
observing, “In the face of this you shall
make your confession.”
“ Nay! send it away,” rejoined Miloknerr;
“ or, better yet, throw it out of the window.”
“ That would be a pity,” cried his wife:
“do you know I have taken a fancy to this
singular article; so let it stand, and begin
your story at once.”
Fearful that Ladika, or even Bohoraz him
self, might at some future time present them
selves and place the matter in its true light,
Miloknerr deemed it safest to employ no pre
varication, and accordingly revealed every
circumstance of his sickness; his ill-advised
attachment and subsequent engagement, only
resting the reason of his want of good faith,
on the enchantment produced on his mind,
by his bride’s loveliness. During his narra
tion, Bertha regarded, him smilingly from
§®©lFoaS[EKl Ha a?BIE AIE ¥ ®&8BT Ts G& •
time to time, till when he had ended, she laid
her white hand on his glowing cheek, and
softly observed, “do not be anxious, Milok
nerr, such things have happened a thousand
times before, and as far as concerns me, I
cannot reproach you, since it would be acting
against my heart’s interest. And this is really
a magical lamp,” she added, “handed down
from Libussa herself. Wonderful! highly
wonderful! I shall carefully preserve it, and
will light it at once, so as to see, whether the
statues will make faces at me or not.”
With a merry laugh, Bertha applied a
match to the wick, and scarcely did it flame
up, when her companion, with a loud cry,
sprang from his seat, and with the aspect of
insanity shrieked, “ there! look there ! Ber
tha, for Heaven's sake extinguish the lamp.”
And even after she had done so, his limbs
trembled, and he sat with his hands over his
eyes.
“Tell me what ails you?” was his wife’s
anxious inquiry.
“ Put away the lamp and I will tell you,”
he rejoined in tones of exhaustion; and im
mediately she locked it up in the cupboard.
“No doubt, you will think me out of my
senses, but it is the simple truth which I am
about to unfold,” said the Count; “hardly
had you lit the lamp, when out of a light
cloud, which seemed to overshadow it, ap
peared anew sculpture, resembling Ladika,
with her eyes closed, her features rigid, and
her whole expression like that of a corpse.”
“ Impossible!” cried Bertha, as her husband
ceased speaking. “ What you saw was only
the effect of fancy-”
“ Never! it was too real; I pray you,
Bertha, if you love me, throw away that
lamp.”
“ How foolish ! Miloknerr, unless lit, it can
produce in you no disquiet.”
But again he pleaded so earnestly, that,
seizing it, she tossed it from the window on
the cliff below, where no doubt could be en
tertained, but that it was shattered to pieces.
What was their surprise, when, on the next
morning, it was seen uninjured, on the table,
and in answer to their enquiries, a servant
said, “ that he had found it in a cleft among
the rocks, where it had been probably secre
ted by some thief, who had stolen it from the
Castle.”
“ Ah! the Slipper of Abul Kasem,” ob
served the Count playfully, as the reader laid
aside the manuscript. “ Fair Cousin, your
tale deals rather too much in the marvellous
to he interesting to me. Such may do for a
legend, but according to my notion, a . tale
should possess some historical ground-work ;
at least the principal circumstances should be
possible.”
“My dear Cousin !” rejoined the lady, riv
etting her dark eyes on her companion’s face,
“ even if you regard the matter as somewhat
allegorical, yet the chief incidents of my story
take place daily. You shake your head;
you say that there was never such a magical
lamp ; but I reply, that every man possesses
such a one, and although not always kept
burning, yet, when once kindled, its wick of
ten flames up in a startling and mysterious
way. This lamp, my lord, is named con
science.
Ladislaw tried to laugh, but could not suc
ceed ; and still looking steadfastly at him,
she continued, “ Only renounce the marvel
lous in my story, and surely you will allow
that it is not a strange one. For instance,
a young man from the world of fashion,
meets in some rural seclusion, with an unso
phisticated maiden, who, accepting all his
flatteries as real coin, yields to him the affec
tions of her innocent heart, and even enters
into an engagement, which he at first intends
fully to ratify. Soon, however, objections
force themselves on his mind, and he ques
tions whether, with her obscure birth and un
fashionable manners, he can venture to in
troduce her into his little world; till, to get
rid of her, he marries another. No doubt
that her image will force itself sometimes on
his memory, if the lamp of conscience be not
altogether extinguished: and at such time, if
he be not thoroughly worthless, can he es
cape the well-deserved pangs of a troubled
conscience? till ”
“Till which, cousin?” exclaimed Ladis
law, while his brow became damp and chill
ed from depressed agitation.
“ Till he becomes miserable, and causes
misery to another. Here lies the moral that
forms the ground-work of my tale, and such
things happen every day. Yes! depend up
on it, Count, you cannot enter a churchyard,
beneath whose tombstones could not be found
some heart which was wounded and broken
in this way. But let me continue my read
ing
“ Miloknerr’s marriage with Bertha proved
anything but a happy one. The latter knew
too well the worth of her beauty and wealth,
not to be elevated by them beyond her femi
nine rights; and, not long after her union,
she gave her husband to understand that
nothing but momentary caprice had caused
her to prefer him among the crowd of noble
admirers, who had sued for her hand, and
that, therefore, she. had a right to expect the
utmost deference and compliance with all her
wishes. In spite of his endeavours to gratify
her every whim, the hapless Count soon dis
covered that Bertha's authoritative temper
could brook no opposition or restraint; and
one day, particularly, when, on being tried
beyond all bounds of patience, he loudly de
clared that he was determined not to yield,
his wife sprang up angrily, exclaiming: “ I
know one way by which to bend you to my
will;” and commenced lighting the magical
lamp. With a cry of anguish he rushed out
of the chamber; when, finding that absence
afforded no relief, so long as the lamp contin
ued to burn, he was obliged to return and en
treat her to extinguish it. Such scenes be
came of daily occurrence, and in the course
of a few months, the strong, active and for
merly light-hearted Count fell into a deep
melancholy, which only ended with his life.
‘The lamp will soon be yours,’ he sorrowful
ly observed to his wife, a few minutes before
his decease; and a fearful gift did it prove to
the haughty woman, whose a'fter life was em
bittered by its mysterious influence, till, in a
fit of delirum, she threw herself from the tow
er of her own castle.”
Theodora here laid aside the manuscript,
and a pause of some moments ensued.
“Yes! even if its ornaments are fanciful,
there lies an inner truth at its ground-work.
Have you never met with such instances,
Count?” she asked, with a serious and pene
trating glance.
“Oh! my friend!” he exclaimed, unable to
preserve the assumed indifference, beneath
which he sought to conceal his own feelings,
“I cannot help confessing that I have had a
personal share in a circumstance somewhat
similar. That, through an unfortunate suc
cession of events, I was perhaps unjust
to ”
“Sophia?” enquired the Baroness in anx
ious tones.
“Gracious heavens! you know ”
“Every thing.”
“Then I entreat you to speak. I would
learn how great has been my offence; wheth
er I have been deceived, or caused sorrow to
the innocent. But listen first to my story. —
As you are aware, my aunt, the rich Count
ess 8., took such a fancy to the little Sophia,
as not only to direct her education at her own
expense but even to chose her for a compan
ion. Having no children of her own she
had, from my birth, declared me her only
heir; and when, on obtaining a furlough, I
was absent from the regiment for several
months, my whole time was past in the soci
ety of the maiden, who had grown up grace
ful, accomplished and very beautiful. Fa
miliar with her from my earliest years, our
friendly intercourse soon ripened into love;
and before my return to the regiment, I had
declared my attachment, and learned that it
was fully reciprocated. Earlier than we in
tended, my aunt discovered the state of af
fairs, and, in the first excitement of passion,
she turned Sophia out of her house and up
braided me violently; when I openly declared
that I was positively engaged, and that noth
ing should prevent me from marrying the
maiden. Tears, prayers, and threats of an
alteration in her will, all failed in turning me
from my purpose; and a constant intercourse
by letter was kept up with my betrothed, who
was now living at some distance. In the
course of time Sophia’s epistles became few
er and colder in their tone. I reproached her
for the same, to which she made no reply in
her answers; and, vexed by her treatment, I
too, in time, wrote less frequently, particular
ly as I heard several persons remark, on the
light and frivolous manner in which she had
behaved, after my departure. One day my
aunt entered my chamber, (I was then on a
visit at her country seat,) with an open letter
in her hand, which I yet possess. It was
from a lady who had been formerly her house
keeper, and with whom Sophia was now
hoarding. In it she asserted that her lodger’s
manners had become so flighty, and her be
haviour so reprehensible, as to cause her to
fear that she would be obliged to request her
to leave her house. Greatly excited and as
tonished by this account, I immediately wrote
to Sophia, urging her, in perhaps a rather
harsh manner, to explain away these reports ;
hut received no answer, and thus all commu
nication ceased. Several years elapsed, when
accident led me to the old neighborhood,
where I one day heard the maiden’s name in
cidentally mentioned. Without revealing our
intimacy, I made careful inquiry concerning
her; and, on hinting my suspicions respect
ing her, the person indignantly declared that
I had been totally misinformed, since he was
certain that she was universally respected—
and was then conducting a school for young
ladies. I could not venture to intrude on her,
but hastened to seek out the woman with
whom she had formerly boarded, but was dis
appointed to find that she was dead. Since
then, dear friend, I have heard nothing more
of Sophia, until I learned from you that she
was in this neighborhood. What would 1
not give to know whether I have been un
just towards her, or whether she has proved
unworthy of my love ? I have ever feared
the latter, since she has returned no answer to
my letter.”
“All shall soon be explained,” observed
the Baroness with a serious expression, when
leaving the room for a moment. She soon
returned with a letter, which Ladislaw eag
erly received. It was from the lady with
whom Sophia had formerly boarded, and was
directed to her, as from a dying person, who
sought her forgiveness. The writer declared
that her benefactress, Countess 8., had one
day summoned her to her presence, to inform
her of the engagement, which, as she said,
would bring such distress to the whole fami
ly, that she had determined to use every
means to prevent it, and at length induced
the writer, not only to intercept their mntuai
letters, but also to address the one to herself,
which had been the means of casting a shade
over the maiden’s blameless conduct. On her
death-bed, however, she could not be happy
without revealing the whole truth, and be
seeching Sophia’s forgiveness.
“ You see Count,” said the Baroness, “how
readily you fell into the net, and how entire
ly you were deceived. When I lately met
Sophia at the bathing place, where she leads
a very retired life, and supports herself by
giving private lessons, I was struck with the
expression of melancholy which rested on her
formerly animated face; and after repeated
interviews, in which I succeeded in unfolding
the deep interest which I really felt, she open
ed to me her heart, and accidentally revealed t
19