The Merchant of Berlin | Page 9

the entire treasure of her pure, full heart, and all the fanciful and
dreamy thoughts of her young virgin soul were perceptible; then he had
participated in her joys, her little sorrows, every feeling which agitated
her breast.
And now, why was it all so different?
A deep, painful melancholy took possession of him, and made him
overcome his fear of her decision. He sat down resolutely at her side,
and took her hand.
"Elise," said he, "do you still remember what you said to me three years
ago, as I took leave of you?"
She shook her head and turned her eyes toward him. These eyes were

full of tears, and her countenance was agitated with painful emotion.
Bertram continued: "You then said to me, 'Farewell, and however far
you may travel my heart goes with you, and when you return I will be
to you the same loving, faithful sister that I now am.' These were your
words, Elise; you see that I have preserved them in my memory more
faithfully than you, my sister."
Elise shuddered slightly. Then she said, with a painfully subdued voice,
"You were so long absent, Bertram, and I was only a child when you
left."
"The young woman wishes, then, to recall the words spoken by the
child?"
"No, Bertram, I will always love you as a sister."
Bertram sighed. "I understand you," said he, sadly; "you wish to erect
this sisterly love into an impassable barrier separating me from you,
and to pour this cool and unsubstantial affection like a soothing balm
upon my sufferings. How little do you know of love, Elise; of that
passion which desires every thing, which is satisfied with nothing less
than extreme happiness, or, failing that, extreme wretchedness, and will
accept no pitiful compromise, no miserable substitute!"
Elise looked at him firmly, with beaming eyes. She too felt that the
decisive hour had come, and that she owed the friend of her youth an
open and unreserved explanation.
"You are mistaken, Bertram," said she. "I know this love of which you
speak, and for that very reason, because I know it, I tell you I will
always love you as a sister. As a true sister I bid you welcome."
She offered him her hand; but as she read in his pale face the agony
which tormented his soul, she turned her eyes away and drew her hand
back.
"You are angry with me, Bertram," said she, sobbing.

He pressed his hand convulsively to his heart, as if he would suppress a
cry of agony, then held it firmly to his eyes, which were scalded by his
hot tears. He wrestled with his sufferings, but he wrestled like a hero
and a man who would not be subjugated, but is determined to conquer.
As his hand glided from his face his eyes were tearless, and nothing
was visible in his countenance but an expression of deep earnestness.
"Well, then," said he, recovering himself, "I accept this sisterly love as
a sick man accepts the bitter medicine which he will not cast away lest
he commit suicide. I accept you as my sister, but a sister must at least
have confidence in her brother; she must not stand before him like a
sealed book whose contents he is ignorant of. If I am to be your brother,
I demand also the rights of a brother. I demand truth and trust."
"And who says that I will deny you either?" asked she, quickly.
"You, yourself, Elise; your whole conduct, your shyness and reserve,
the manner in which you avoid me, the intentional coldness with which
you meet me. Oh! even at this moment you would withdraw from me,
but I will not let you, Elise; I will compel your heart to reveal itself to
me. I will move you with my devotion, my tender anxiety, so that the
cruel crust will fall from your gentle and pure heart, and you will
become again my candid and confiding sister. Oh, Elise, have
compassion on me! tell me what secret, mysterious charm has suddenly
seized you; what wicked, hurtful demon has suddenly converted this
bright ingenuous girl into a pale, sad, serious woman. Have courage
and trust me, and let me read as in those happier days."
Elise looked at his noble countenance with a deep and painful emotion,
and met his inquiring look with unabashed eye.
"Well, then," said she, "I will trust you, Bertram. I will tell you what I
have confided to no human ear. Know, then, that my heart also has felt
the pains which affect yours. Know that an ardent, hopeless love burnt
my soul."
"A hopeless love?" asked Bertram.

"Yes, hopeless," said she, firmly; "for never can I hope for my father's
blessing on this love,