CHAPTER XXIII

UNHAPPINESS

As Bertha saw her father approach, she flew towards him, and wrapping her arms around him, she laid her head on his bosom saying,--

"Now, then, I may freely indulge my joy that I still behold you, after your being so nearly torn from me;--dear, dear father, the very idea of losing you seems too horrible for my brain to bear, and in my delight of thus knowing you safe, I seem unable to remember the peril you have run. But how was it, dearest father, that no whisper of my own heart warned me of your danger; surely a father cannot be snatched from his child, and no deadly shudder run through her veins to forebode that her heart-strings are about to be snapped asunder?"

"Calm yourself, my beloved child, Providence has taken pity on us; no foreboding was permitted to agitate your breast, because it was the will of a merciful Creator that my life should still be spared; you see," said Pierre Raimond, with a mournful smile, "that you are rendering me almost as superstitious as yourself; however, my daughter, let nothing ever make us unmindful of all we owe the generous stranger."

"Oh, never--never shall I cease to cherish the grateful recollection. I only fear, lest my ardent thankfulness to our unknown friend should be swallowed up in the deep joy I experience at still beholding you, my dear, my excellent father! for now," said Bertha, bursting into tears, "you are all I have in the world."

Pierre Raimond tenderly pressed the hand of his child within his own, and then said, in a tone of bitterness,--

"What fresh sorrows have you to relate, my poor girl?"

"He loves me no longer," said poor Bertha, weeping bitterly; "he hates me, and finds me a burden to him!"

"Oh, my predictions!" cried the old man, mournfully.

"Father, have pity on me!"

"Alas! my child, I meant it not reproachfully; it was but an involuntary cry of bitter triumph at finding how truly I foretold all this; my love for you did not mislead me as to the consequences of your marriage; but what fresh grievance have you met with?"

"You are aware, that after the painful scene which took place here the very day after our arrival in Paris, Charles's temper became daily more soured, especially after the evening we went to the theatre together. Up to that period he had observed some restraint, he had even expressed regret at having acted so harshly towards you; but from the date of that unfortunate visit to the play, I say unfortunate, because the very next day fresh miseries broke out for me."

"And yet you concealed them from me; wherefore did you not tell me when you came to visit me on Sunday?"

"I feared so much to grieve you, but now my strength is exhausted, I can bear no more. Oh, if you only knew,--if you but knew!"

"Take courage, my poor girl! take courage, explain yourself without fear; let your father know all."

"Indeed, I will. Well, dearest father, after the night of our being together at the play, my husband, who had hitherto been irritable and violent, became gloomy, sullen, and unkind. I scarcely ever saw him, he was out all day, and only returned late at night, or rather morning; at meal-time, he was silent and abstracted, two or three times he left the dinner-table ere the cloth was withdrawn, and went to shut himself up in his own room. If I questioned him upon the vexations he appeared to have, he coldly replied, that it did not concern me, and frowned so angrily, that I durst not mention the subject again. This morning, however, seeing him look more cheerful than usual, I ventured to remark, 'You seem better to-day, Charles, than you have been lately that is all I said, dear father,--indeed, indeed it is. I did not utter another syllable--on my honour, I said no more than that."

"Poor child! but go on!"

"Immediately his features became overcast, and he exclaimed in a bitter tone, 'What is the use of my being better? what have I to hope for? if I could only look forward to any thing better than the wretched life I lead! But when I see you for ever before my eyes like a chain, to which I am eternally bound. Oh, accursed was the day in which I was weak enough to make you my wife, and to fall, like a fool, into the snare you and your father had laid for me."

The old man repressed a movement of rage, then said in a firm voice, "And then, my child?"

"This reproach, so cruel and so unexpected, took from me all power of reply, and I burst into tears, my husband rose violently from his chair, exclaiming, 'Oh, what a bitter lot is mine! oh, my liberty--my liberty!' and yet Heaven knows I never intrude upon him in any way, and the only thing I ask of him is permission to come and see you."

"Oh, patience! grant me patience, Heaven!" cried the engraver, in a voice of forced calmness.

"Seeing him go on thus," resumed Bertha, "I exclaimed, 'Charles, do you wish to leave me? if I am a burden to you, say so!' 'Yes,' cried he furiously, 'yes, you are a nuisance, and a burden I am tired of enduring. I tell you, I hate and detest you!--you have constrained me to entangle myself in a marriage as absurd as inimical to my happiness, and never will I forgive you for it.' 'But,' said I, 'what have I done? and with what do you reproach me?' 'Oh, with nothing,' said he, 'you are too good a manager for that; you dare not betray me, because you know that, if you were, I would kill both yourself and your paramour; it is not virtue, which makes you respect your duty as a wife, but fear;' and with these words, he dashed out of the room; and your poor broken-hearted child has come to pour her sorrows into the bosom of her father, and to say," added Bertha, sobbing as though her heart would break, "that she has none to love her, or pity, or protect her, but her own beloved parent."

"There could be no other result," said Pierre Raimond; "that selfish heart, and haughty, obstinate spirit, were sure to make you pay dearly,--oh, how dearly one day or other, for the sacrifices he had imposed on himself in order to obtain your hand, for which he would then have paid any price. However, things cannot go on in this manner; you must see the propriety of my interfering to prevent this bad man from torturing the heart of my beloved child, who has behaved like an angel towards him: he shall not trample you under foot as the mere plaything of his whim and caprice!"

"But what will you do? how can you alter my husband's conduct?"

"Oh, make yourself perfectly easy, that I will compel a change on his part; thank God! I have still sufficient strength and energy left."

"For mercy's sake, dear father, let us have no violent scenes!"

"Fear not, my child, I shall oppose, not violence, but firmness to his tyranny and oppression; besides, I have both justice and reason on my side, and I stand up to defend the cause of my child: you see, Bertha, how quiet and composed I am! But, in the first place, we must quit this roof; fortunately I have lived so frugally upon what you made me accept, that I have managed to lay by a trifling sum, and that, added to the small amount the sale of my poor furniture will bring, will suffice to obtain my admission into Sainte Perine."

"Oh, dearest father! never, never."

"Bertha, my child, you know my opinion respecting those asylums, so fitly provided for and offered to honest poverty; and, besides, do you think, that under present circumstances I can accept the most trifling assistance from your husband?"

"Certainly not! Oh, not for worlds, after all those cruel and degrading reproaches!"

"Well, then, what must I do? how contrive to live?"

"Listen, father. Since the painful scene which occurred here some days since, when my husband presumed to taunt you with the aid he rendered you, I have reflected much and deeply on your situation, and I think I have found a good way to improve it, if you will only assist me."

"Speak, speak!"

"Alas! I am unfortunately as poor as yourself, but, thank God, I still possess the talent I received from you, and which formerly helped to support us; since my marriage it has been my only solace amid the many sorrows by which I have been surrounded, and now in this our day of trouble it will and shall be our resource."

"My beloved Bertha, what do you mean?"

"Charles has left me at liberty to devote to you every Thursday and Sunday morning, what is there to hinder me from receiving pupils here, as I used to do? I can attend to them in the little bed-room you have so carefully preserved, I will beg of some of my old pupils to procure me fresh ones; and to prevent my husband's pride from taking the alarm, I will give my lessons under my maiden name, and in this manner, my dearest father, I shall be able to prevent your wanting for any thing."

Pierre Raimond interrupted Bertha by tenderly pressing her in his arms.

"No, no, my dearest child," said he, "I cannot suffer you to add the fatigues of study and instruction to your other cares."

"Oh, but, dear father, on the contrary the occupation will be to me the most delicious consolation. Now, then, let us see, whether you can have the heart to refuse me, perhaps the only happiness I am able to enjoy!"

"No, my beloved child, I will not oppose your pious purpose, on the contrary your determination is good, and great, and worthy of yourself, to accept it is to appreciate it as such an act should be estimated."

"Then you consent?" cried Bertha, with inexpressible delight.

"I do, and this fresh mark of the elevation of your soul imposes on me more than ever the duty of insisting upon your husband treating you with proper respect, as well as evincing towards you the attention and care you require; and as certainly as my name is Pierre Raimond, I will not only demand, but obtain it!"