Frederick the Great and His Family [255]
mixed with hatred and admiration.
"Marietta," he said, gently. She trembled at the sound of his voice. He perceived this, and smiled. "Marietta," he repeated, "you have betrayed me; you have revenged your love! I do not reproach you, my anaconda, but I pray you to tell me one thing; did you send the last letters which I gave you to the post?"
"No," she replied, compelling her eyes, with a mighty effort, to meet his.
"Wretch! What did you do with them."
"I sent them to the King of Prussia."
Ranuzi uttered a shriek, and fell back a step. "Then I am indeed lost," he murmured, "as well as that unhappy creature, who pines for light and freedom. Poor Trenck! Poor Amelia! All is lost; all through the jealousy of this wretched woman. I tell you, Marietta," he continued aloud, as he placed his hand heavily on her shoulder, "it is not necessary that I should curse you, you will do that yourself. This hour will act as deadly poison on your heart, of which you will die. It is true, you have revenged yourself. Today you rejoice in this, for you believe that you hate me, but tomorrow you will repent; to-morrow grief will overtake you, and it will grow with every day--you will feel that you must love me for ever and ever; you must love me, because you have wrought my ruin. Yes, you are right--you have discovered the means to keep yourself in my remembrance. In my dungeon I will think of you. I will do so, and curse you; but you also will think of me; and when you do, you will wring your hands and curse yourself, for revenge will not kill the love in your heart. Be that your punishment. Farewell!"
He passed before her, and quietly approached the policemen. "Come, gentlemen, I am quite ready to follow you; and that you may be entirely at ease I will leave my pistol here. It is my legacy to that lady--my last souvenir. Perhaps she may use it in the future."
He placed the pistol upon her writing-table and hastily approached the door. "Come, gentlemen; I am your prisoner!"
He signed to them to follow him, and walked proudly through the hall.
Marietta stood there trembling and deadly pale--her eyes dilated, her lips opened, as if to utter a shriek. Thus she watched him, breathless, and as if enchained with horror.
Now she saw him open the door of the hall, and throwing back at her one cold, flashing glance, he went out, followed by the police and the soldiers.
"He is gone! he is gone!" she shrieked, as if in a frenzy. "They are leading him to imprisonment--perhaps to death. Oh, to death! It is I who have murdered him. He is right. I am indeed cursed. I have murdered him, and I love him." And with a wild shriek she sank fainting to the ground.
CHAPTER IX.
TRENCK.
Trenck still lived; neither chains nor years of loneliness had broken his strength or bowed his spirit. His tall, gigantic form had shrunk to a skeleton; his hair had whitened and hung around his hollow face like an ashen veil. Heavy chains clasped his feet and his throat, a broad iron band encircled his waist, which was attached to the wall by a short chain--a thick bar held his hands apart; but still he lived. For years he had paced, with short, restless steps, this little space that covered his grave; but he smiled derisively at the coarse stone which bore his name.
Trenck still lived. He lived because he had a fixed desire, a grand aim in view--he thirsted for freedom, and believed it attainable. Trenck could not die, for without was liberty, the sun, life, and honor. He would not die; for to be willing to die, he must first have lived. His life had been so short--a few fleeting years of youth, of careless enjoyment--a joyous dream of love and ambition! This had been his fate. Then came long, weary years of imprisonment- -a something which he knew not, but it was not life--had crept to him in his prison, and with a cruel hand marked years upon his brow- -years through which he had not lived, but suffered. And still he remained young in spite of gray hairs and wrinkles. He glowed with hope and defiance, his sluggish blood was warmed
"Marietta," he said, gently. She trembled at the sound of his voice. He perceived this, and smiled. "Marietta," he repeated, "you have betrayed me; you have revenged your love! I do not reproach you, my anaconda, but I pray you to tell me one thing; did you send the last letters which I gave you to the post?"
"No," she replied, compelling her eyes, with a mighty effort, to meet his.
"Wretch! What did you do with them."
"I sent them to the King of Prussia."
Ranuzi uttered a shriek, and fell back a step. "Then I am indeed lost," he murmured, "as well as that unhappy creature, who pines for light and freedom. Poor Trenck! Poor Amelia! All is lost; all through the jealousy of this wretched woman. I tell you, Marietta," he continued aloud, as he placed his hand heavily on her shoulder, "it is not necessary that I should curse you, you will do that yourself. This hour will act as deadly poison on your heart, of which you will die. It is true, you have revenged yourself. Today you rejoice in this, for you believe that you hate me, but tomorrow you will repent; to-morrow grief will overtake you, and it will grow with every day--you will feel that you must love me for ever and ever; you must love me, because you have wrought my ruin. Yes, you are right--you have discovered the means to keep yourself in my remembrance. In my dungeon I will think of you. I will do so, and curse you; but you also will think of me; and when you do, you will wring your hands and curse yourself, for revenge will not kill the love in your heart. Be that your punishment. Farewell!"
He passed before her, and quietly approached the policemen. "Come, gentlemen, I am quite ready to follow you; and that you may be entirely at ease I will leave my pistol here. It is my legacy to that lady--my last souvenir. Perhaps she may use it in the future."
He placed the pistol upon her writing-table and hastily approached the door. "Come, gentlemen; I am your prisoner!"
He signed to them to follow him, and walked proudly through the hall.
Marietta stood there trembling and deadly pale--her eyes dilated, her lips opened, as if to utter a shriek. Thus she watched him, breathless, and as if enchained with horror.
Now she saw him open the door of the hall, and throwing back at her one cold, flashing glance, he went out, followed by the police and the soldiers.
"He is gone! he is gone!" she shrieked, as if in a frenzy. "They are leading him to imprisonment--perhaps to death. Oh, to death! It is I who have murdered him. He is right. I am indeed cursed. I have murdered him, and I love him." And with a wild shriek she sank fainting to the ground.
CHAPTER IX.
TRENCK.
Trenck still lived; neither chains nor years of loneliness had broken his strength or bowed his spirit. His tall, gigantic form had shrunk to a skeleton; his hair had whitened and hung around his hollow face like an ashen veil. Heavy chains clasped his feet and his throat, a broad iron band encircled his waist, which was attached to the wall by a short chain--a thick bar held his hands apart; but still he lived. For years he had paced, with short, restless steps, this little space that covered his grave; but he smiled derisively at the coarse stone which bore his name.
Trenck still lived. He lived because he had a fixed desire, a grand aim in view--he thirsted for freedom, and believed it attainable. Trenck could not die, for without was liberty, the sun, life, and honor. He would not die; for to be willing to die, he must first have lived. His life had been so short--a few fleeting years of youth, of careless enjoyment--a joyous dream of love and ambition! This had been his fate. Then came long, weary years of imprisonment- -a something which he knew not, but it was not life--had crept to him in his prison, and with a cruel hand marked years upon his brow- -years through which he had not lived, but suffered. And still he remained young in spite of gray hairs and wrinkles. He glowed with hope and defiance, his sluggish blood was warmed