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CHAPTER XV

Friends  and  relatives,  and  all  persons  living  in  the  same  house  together,  are

apt,  when  life  is  going  smoothly  and  peacefully  with  them,  to  make  what  they

are doing, or what they are going to do, even more than is right or necessary, a

subject of constant conversation. They talk to each other of their plans and their

occupations,  and,  without  exactly  taking  one  another’s  advice,  consider  and

discuss together the entire progress of their lives. But this is far from being the

case  in  serious  moments;  just  when  it  would  seem  men  most  require  the

assistance  and  support  of  others,  they  all  draw  singly  within  themselves,  every

one to act for himself, every one to work in his own fashion; they conceal from

one  another  the  particular  means  which  they  employ,  and  only  the  result,  the

object, the thing which they realize, is again made common property.

After  so  many  strange  and  unfortunate  incidents,  a  sort  of  silent  seriousness

had passed over the two ladies, which showed itself in a sweet mutual effort to

spare each other’s feelings. The child had been buried privately in the chapel. It

rested there as the first offering to a destiny full of ominous foreshadowings.

Charlotte, as soon as ever she could, turned back to life and occupation, and

here  she  first  found  Ottilie  standing  in  need  of  her  assistance.  She  occupied

herself  almost  entirely  with  her,  without  letting  it  be  observed.  She  knew  how

deeply  the  noble  girl  loved  Edward.  She  had  discovered  by  degrees  the  scene

which  had  preceded  the  accident,  and  had  gathered  every  circumstance  of  it,

partly from Ottilie herself, partly from the letters of the Major.

Ottilie, on her side, made Charlotte’s immediate life much more easy for her.

She was open, and even talkative, but she never spoke of the present, or of what

had  lately  passed.  She  had  been  a  close  and  thoughtful  observer.  She  knew

much, and now it all came to the surface. She entertained, she amused Charlotte,

and the latter still nourished a hope in secret to see her married to Edward after

all.

But  something  very  different  was  passing  in  Ottilie.  She  had  disclosed  the

secret  of  the  course  of  her  life  to  her  friend,  and  she  showed  no  more  of  her

previous restraint and submissiveness. By her repentance and her resolution she

felt  herself  freed  from  the  burden  of  her  fault  and  her  misfortune.  She  had  no

more  violence  to  do  to  herself.  In  the  bottom  of  her  heart  she  had  forgiven

herself solely under condition of the fullest renunciation, and it was a condition

which would remain binding for all time to come.

So  passed  away  some  time,  and  Charlotte  now  felt  how  deeply  house  and

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park,  and  lake  and  rocks  and  trees,  served  to  keep  alive  in  them  all  their  most

painful reminiscences. They wanted change of scene, both of them, it was plain

enough; but how it was to be effected was not so easy to decide.

Were  the  two  ladies  to  remain  together?  Edward’s  previously  expressed  will

appeared  to  enjoin  it  —  his  declarations  and  his  threats  appeared  to  make  it

necessary; only it could not be now mistaken that Charlotte and Ottilie, with all

their good will, with all their sense, with all their efforts to conceal it, could not

avoid  finding  themselves  in  a  painful  situation  toward  each  other.  In  their

conversation  there  was  a  constant  endeavor  to  avoid  doubtful  subjects.  They

were  often  obliged  only  half  to  understand  some  allusion;  more  often,

expressions  were  misinterpreted,  if  not  by  their  understandings,  at  any  rate  by

their  feelings.  They  were  afraid  to  give  pain  to  each  other,  and  this  very  fear

itself produced the evil which they were seeking to avoid.

If  they  were  to  try  change  of  scene,  and  at  the  same  time  (at  any  rate  for  a

while) to part, the old question came up again: Where was Ottilie to go? There

was  the  grand,  rich  family,  who  still  wanted  a  desirable  companion  for  their

daughter, their attempts to find a person whom they could trust having hitherto

proved  ineffectual.  The  last  time  the  Baroness  had  been  at  the  castle,  she  had

urged  Charlotte  to  send  Ottilie  there,  and  she  had  been  lately  pressing  it  again

and  again  in  her  letters.  Charlotte  now  a  second  time  proposed  it;  but  Ottilie

expressly  declined  going  anywhere,  where  she  would  be  thrown  into  what  is

called the great world.

“Do not think me foolish or self-willed, my dear aunt,” she said; “I had better

tell  you  what  I  feel,  for  fear  you  should  judge  hardly  of  me;  although  in  any

other  case  it  would  be  my  duty  to  be  silent.  A  person  who  has  fallen  into

uncommon  misfortunes,  however  guiltless  he  may  be,  carries  a  frightful  mark

upon him. His presence, in every one who sees him and is aware of his history,

excites a kind of horror. People see in him the terrible fate which has been laid

upon him, and he is the object of a diseased and nervous curiosity. It is so with a

house, it is so with a town, where any terrible action has been done; people enter

them with awe; the light of day shines less brightly there, and the stars seem to

lose their lustre.

“Perhaps  we  ought  to  excuse  it,  but  how  extreme  is  the  indiscretion  with

which people behave toward such unfortunates, with their foolish importunities

and awkward kindness! You must forgive me for speaking in this way, but that

poor girl whom Luciana tempted out of her retirement, and with such mistaken

good nature tried to force into society and amusement, has haunted me and made

me miserable. The poor creature, when she was so frightened and tried to escape,

and  then  sank  and  swooned  away,  and  I  caught  her  in  my  arms,  and  the  party

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came  all  crowding  round  in  terror  and  curiosity!  —  little  did  I  think,  then,  that

the same fate was in store for me. But my feeling for her is as deep and warm

and fresh as ever it was; and now I may direct my compassion upon myself, and

secure myself from being the object of any similar exposure.”

“But, my dear child,” answered Charlotte, “you will never be able to withdraw

yourself where no one can see you; we have no cloisters now: otherwise, there,

with your present feelings, would be your resource.”

“Solitude  would  not  give  me  the  resource  for  which  I  wish,  my  dear  aunt,”

answered Ottilie. “The one true and valuable resource is to be looked for where

we  can  be  active  and  useful;  all  the  self-denials  and  all  the  penances  on  earth

will  fail  to  deliver  us  from  an  evil-omened  destiny,  if  it  be  determined  to

persecute  us.  Let  me  sit  still  in  idleness  and  serve  as  a  spectacle  for  the  world,

and it will overpower me and crush me. But find me some peaceful employment,

where I can go steadily and unweariedly on doing my duty, and I shall be able to

bear the eyes of men, when I need not shrink under the eyes of God.”

“Unless I am much mistaken,” replied Charlotte, “your inclination is to return

to the school.”

“Yes,”  Ottilie  answered;  “I  do  not  deny  it.  I  think  it  a  happy  destination  to

train  up  others  in  the  beaten  way,  after  having  been  trained  in  the  strangest

myself. And do we not see the same great fact in history? some moral calamity

drives  men  out  into  the  wilderness;  but  they  are  not  allowed  to  remain  as  they

had hoped in their concealment there. They are summoned back into the world,

to  lead  the  wanderers  into  the  right  way;  and  who  are  fitter  for  such  a  service,

than  those  who  have  been  initiated  into  the  labyrinths  of  life?  They  are

commanded to be the support of the unfortunate; and who can better fulfil that

command than those who have no more misfortunes to fear upon earth?”

“You  are  selecting  an  uncommon  profession  for  yourself,”  replied  Charlotte.

“I shall not oppose you, how ever. Let it be as you wish; only I hope it will be

but for a short time.”

“Most warmly I thank you,” said Ottilie, “for giving me leave at least to try, to

make the experiment. If I am not flattering myself too highly, I am sure I shall

succeed: wherever I am, I shall remember the many trials which I went through

myself, and how small, how infinitely small they were compared to those which

I afterward had to undergo. It will be my happiness to watch the embarrassments

of the little creatures as they grow; to cheer them in their childish sorrows, and

guide them back with a light hand out of their little aberrations. The fortunate is

not  the  person  to  be  of  help  to  the  unfortunate;  it  is  in  the  nature  of  man  to

require ever more and more of himself and others, the more he has received. The

unfortunate  who  has  himself  recovered,  knows  best  how  to  nourish,  in  himself

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and  them,  the  feeling  that  every  moderate  good  ought  to  be  enjoyed  with

rapture.”

“I have but one objection to make to what you propose,” said Charlotte, after

some  thought,  “although  that  one  seems  to  me  of  great  importance.  I  am  not

thinking of you, but of another person: you are aware of the feelings toward you

of that good, right-minded, excellent Assistant. In the way in which you desire to

proceed,  you  will  become  every  day  more  valuable  and  more  indispensable  to

him. Already he himself believes that he can never live happily without you, and

hereafter,  when  he  has  become  accustomed  to  have  you  to  work  with  him,  he

will be unable to carry on his business if he loses you; you will have assisted him

at the beginning only to injure him in the end.”

“Destiny has not dealt with me with too gentle a hand,” replied Ottilie; “and

whoever loves me has perhaps not much better to expect. Our friend is so good

and so sensible, that I hope he will be able to reconcile himself to remaining in a

simple  relation  with  me;  he  will  learn  to  see  in  me  a  consecrated  person,  lying

under the shadow of an awful calamity, and only able to support herself and bear

up against it by devoting herself to that Holy Being who is invisibly around us,

and alone is able to shield us from the dark powers which threaten to overwhelm

us.”

All  this,  which  the  dear  girl  poured  out  so  warmly,  Charlotte  privately

reflected  over;  on  many  different  occasions,  although  only  in  the  gentlest

manner,  she  had  hinted  at  the  possibility  of  Ottilie’s  being  brought  again  in

contact with Edward; but the slightest mention of it, the faintest hope, the least

suspicion,  seemed  to  wound  Ottilie  to  the  quick.  One  day  when  she  could  not

evade  it,  she  expressed  herself  to  Charlotte  clearly  and  peremptorily  on  the

subject.

“If  your  resolution  to  renounce  Edward,”  returned  Charlotte,  “is  so  firm  and

unalterable,  then  you  had  better  avoid  the  danger  of  seeing  him  again.  At  a

distance from the object of our love, the warmer our affection, the stronger is the

control  which  we  fancy  that  we  can  exercise  on  ourselves;  because  the  whole

force  of  the  passion,  diverted  from  its  outward  objects,  turns  inward  on

ourselves. But how soon, how swiftly is our mistake made clear to us, when the

thing which we thought that we could renounce, stands again before our eyes as

indispensable  to  us!  You  must  now  do  what  you  consider  best  suited  to  your

circumstances.  Look  well  into  yourself;  change,  if  you  prefer  it,  the  resolution

which  you  have  just  expressed.  But  do  it  of  yourself,  with  a  free  consenting

heart. Do not allow yourself to be drawn in by an accident; do not let yourself be

surprised into your former position. It will place you at issue with yourself and

will be intolerable to you. As I said, before you take this step, before you remove

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from me, and enter upon a new life, which will lead you no one knows in what

direction, consider once more whether really, indeed, you can renounce Edward

for the whole time to come. If you have faithfully made up your mind that you

will do this, then will you enter into an engagement with me, that you will never

admit him into your presence; and if he seeks you out and forces himself upon

you, that you will not exchange words with him?”

Ottilie did not hesitate a moment; she gave Charlotte the promise, which she

had already made to herself.

Now,  however,  Charlotte  began  to  be  haunted  with  Edward’s  threat,  that  he

would  only  consent  to  renounce  Ottilie,  as  long  as  she  was  not  parted  from

Charlotte. Since that time, indeed, circumstances were so altered, so many things

had happened, that an engagement which was wrung from him in a moment of

excitement might well be supposed to have been cancelled. She was unwilling,

however,  in  the  remotest  sense  to  venture  anything  or  to  undertake  anything

which  might  displease  him,  and  Mittler  was  therefore  to  find  Edward,  and

inquire what, as things now were, he wished to be done.

Since  the  death  of  the  child,  Mittler  had  often  been  at  the  castle  to  see

Charlotte,  although  only  for  a  few  moments  at  a  time.  The  unhappy  accident

which  had  made  her  reconciliation  with  her  husband  in  the  highest  degree

improbable, had produced a most painful effect upon him. But ever, as his nature

was,  hoping  and  striving,  he  rejoiced  secretly  at  the  resolution  of  Ottilie.  He

trusted to the softening influence of passing time; he hoped that it might still be

possible to keep the husband and the wife from separating; and he tried to regard

these convulsions of passion only as trials of wedded love and fidelity.

Charlotte,  at  the  very  first,  had  informed  the  Major  by  letter  of  Ottilie’s

declaration. She had entreated him most earnestly to prevail on Edward to take

no  further  steps  for  the  present.  They  should  keep  quiet  and  wait,  and  see

whether the poor girl’s spirits would recover. She had let him know from time to

time whatever was necessary of what had more lately fallen from her. And now

Mittler had to undertake the really difficult commission of preparing Edward for

an  alteration  in  her  situation.  Mittler,  however,  well  knowing  that  men  can  be

brought more easily to submit to what is already done, than to give their consent

to  what  is  yet  to  be  done,  persuaded  Charlotte  that  it  would  be  better  to  send

Ottilie off at once to the school.

Consequently,  as  soon  as  Mittler  was  gone,  preparations  were  at  once  made

for  the  journey.  Ottilie  put  her  things  together;  and  Charlotte  observed  that

neither the beautiful box, nor anything out of it, was to go with her. Ottilie had

said nothing to her on the subject; and she took no notice, but let her alone. The

day of the departure came; Charlotte’s carriage was to take Ottilie the first day as

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far as a place where they were well known, where she was to pass the night, and

on the second she would go on in it to the school. It was settled that Nanny was

to accompany her, and remain as her attendant.

This capricious little creature had found her way back to her mistress after the

death of the child, and now hung about her as warmly and passionately as ever;

indeed  she  seemed,  with  her  loquacity  and  attentiveness,  as  if  she  wished  to

make  good  her  past  neglect,  and  henceforth  devote  herself  entirely  to  Ottilie’s

service. She was quite beside herself now for joy at the thought of traveling with

her, and of seeing strange places, when she had hitherto never been away from

the scene of her birth; and she ran from the castle to the village to carry the news

of her good fortune to her parents and her relations, and to take leave.

Unluckily  for  herself,  she  went,  among  other  places,  into  a  room  where  a

person was who had the measles, and caught the infection, which came out upon

her at once. The journey could not be postponed. Ottilie herself was urgent to go.

She had traveled once already the same road. She knew the people of the hotel

where she was to sleep. The coachman from the castle was going with her. There

could be nothing to fear.

Charlotte  made  no  opposition.  She,  too,  in  thought,  was  making  haste  to  be

clear  of  present  embarrassments.  The  rooms  which  Ottilie  had  occupied  at  the

castle she would have prepared for Edward as soon as possible, and restored to

the old state in which they had been before the arrival of the Captain. The hope

of  bringing  back  old  happy  days  burns  up  again  and  again  in  us,  as  if  it  never

could be extinguished. And Charlotte was quite right; there was nothing else for

her except to hope as she did.

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