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of the poetic nature； changing with the changing light of heaven
and of woman's eyes。 In the evening she appeared elegantly
dressed； and wearing conspicuously all the birthday presents except
mine。 I looked eagerly at her fingers； but saw no opal。 I had no
opportunity of noticing this to her during the evening； but the
next day； when I found her seated near the window alone； after
breakfast； I said； 〃You scorn to wear my poor opal。 I should have
remembered that you despised poetic natures； and should have given
you coral； or turquoise； or some other opaque unresponsive stone。〃
〃Do I despise it？〃 she answered； taking hold of a delicate gold
chain which she always wore round her neck and drawing out the end
from her bosom with my ring hanging to it； 〃it hurts me a little； I
can tell you；〃 she said； with her usual dubious smile； 〃to wear it
in that secret place； and since your poetical nature is so stupid
as to prefer a more public position； I shall not endure the pain
any longer。〃
She took off the ring from the chain and put it on her finger；
smiling still； while the blood rushed to my cheeks； and I could not
trust myself to say a word of entreaty that she would keep the ring
where it was before。
I was completely fooled by this； and for two days shut myself up in
my own room whenever Bertha was absent； that I might intoxicate
myself afresh with the thought of this scene and all it implied。
I should mention that during these two monthswhich seemed a long
life to me from the novelty and intensity of the pleasures and
pains I underwentmy diseased anticipation in other people's
consciousness continued to torment me； now it was my father； and
now my brother； now Mrs。 Filmore or her husband； and now our German
courier； whose stream of thought rushed upon me like a ringing in
the ears not to be got rid of； though it allowed my own impulses
and ideas to continue their uninterrupted course。 It was like a
preternaturally heightened sense of hearing； making audible to one
a roar of sound where others find perfect stillness。 The weariness
and disgust of this involuntary intrusion into other souls was
counteracted only by my ignorance of Bertha； and my growing passion
for her； a passion enormously stimulated； if not produced； by that
ignorance。 She was my oasis of mystery in the dreary desert of
knowledge。 I had never allowed my diseased condition to betray
itself； or to drive me into any unusual speech or action； except
once； when； in a moment of peculiar bitterness against my brother；
I had forestalled some words which I knew he was going to uttera
clever observation； which he had prepared beforehand。 He had
occasionally a slightly affected hesitation in his speech； and when
he paused an instant after the second word； my impatience and
jealousy impelled me to continue the speech for him； as if it were
something we had both learned by rote。 He coloured and looked
astonished； as well as annoyed； and the words had no sooner escaped
my lips than I felt a shock of alarm lest such an anticipation of
wordsvery far from being words of course； easy to divineshould
have betrayed me as an exceptional being； a sort of quiet
energumen； whom every one； Bertha above all； would shudder at and
avoid。 But I magnified； as usual； the impression any word or deed
of mine could produce on others； for no one gave any sign of having
noticed my interruption as more than a rudeness； to be forgiven me
on the score of my feeble nervous condition。
While this superadded consciousness of the actual was almost
constant with me； I had never had a recurrence of that distinct
prevision which I have described in relation to my first interview
with Bertha； and I was waiting with eager curiosity to know whether
or not my vision of Prague would prove to have been an instance of
the same kind。 A few days after the incident of the opal ring； we
were paying one of our frequent visits to the Lichtenberg Palace。
I could never look at many pictures in succession； for pictures；
when they are at all powerful； affect me so strongly that one or
two exhaust all my capability of contemplation。 This morning I had
been looking at Giorgione's picture of the cruel…eyed woman； said
to be a likeness of Lucrezia Borgia。 I had stood long alone before
it； fascinated by the terrible reality of that cunning； relentless
face； till I felt a strange poisoned sensation； as if I had long
been inhaling a fatal odour； and was just beginning to be conscious
of its effects。 Perhaps even then I should not have moved away； if
the rest of the party had not returned to this room； and announced
that they were going to the Belvedere Gallery to settle a bet which
had arisen between my brother and Mr。 Filmore about a portrait。 I
followed them dreamily； and was hardly alive to what occurred till
they had all gone up to the gallery； leaving me below； for I
refused to come within sight of another picture that day。 I made
my way to the Grand Terrace； since it was agreed that we should
saunter in the gardens when the dispute had been decided。 I had
been sitting here a short space； vaguely conscious of trim gardens；
with a city and green hills in the distance； when； wishing to avoid
the proximity of the sentinel； I rose and walked down the broad
stone steps； intending to seat myself farther on in the gardens。
Just as I reached the gravel…walk； I felt an arm slipped within
mine； and a light hand gently pressing my wrist。 In the same
instant a strange intoxicating numbness passed over me； like the
continuance or climax of the sensation I was still feeling from the
gaze of Lucrezia Borgia。 The gardens； the summer sky； the
consciousness of Bertha's arm being within mine； all vanished； and
I seemed to be suddenly in darkness； out of which there gradually
broke a dim firelight； and I felt myself sitting in my father's
leather chair in the library at home。 I knew the fireplacethe
dogs for the wood…firethe black marble chimney…piece with the
white marble medallion of the dying Cleopatra in the centre。
Intense and hopeless misery was pressing on my soul； the light
became stronger； for Bertha was entering with a candle in her hand…
…Bertha； my wifewith cruel eyes； with green jewels and green
leaves on her white ball…dress； every hateful thought within her
present to me 。 。 。 〃Madman； idiot！ why don't you kill yourself；
then？〃 It was a moment of hell。 I saw into her pitiless soulsaw
its barren worldliness； its scorching hateand felt it clothe me
round like an air I was obliged to breathe。 She came with her
candle and stood over me with a bitter smile of contempt； I saw the
great emerald brooch on her bosom； a studded serpent with diamond
eyes。 I shudderedI despised this woman with the barren soul and
mean thoughts； but I felt helpless before her； as if she clutched
my bleeding heart； and would clutch it till the last drop of life…
blood ebbed away。 She was my wife； and we hated each other。
Gradually the hearth； the dim library； the candle…light
disappearedseemed to melt away into a background of light； the
green serpent with the diamond eyes remaining a dark image on the
retina。 Then I had a sense of my eyelids quivering； and the living
daylight broke in upon me； I saw gardens； and heard voices； I was
seated on the steps of the Belvedere Terrace； and my friends were
round me。
The tumult of mind into which I was thrown by this hideous vision
made me ill for several days； and prolonged our stay at Vienna。 I
shuddered with horror as the scene recurred to me； and it recurred
constantly； with all its minutiae； as if they had been burnt into
my memory； and yet； such is the madness of the human heart under
the influence of its immediate desires； I felt a wild hell…braving
joy that Bertha was to be mine； for the fulfilment of my former
prevision concerning her first appearance before me； left me little
hope that this last hideous glimpse of the future was the mere
diseased play of my own mind； and had no relation to external
realities。 One thing alone I looked towards as a possible means of
casting doubt on my terrible convictionthe discovery that my
vision of Prague had been falseand Prague was the next city on
our route。
Meanwhile； I was no sooner in Bertha's society again than I was as
completely under her sway as before。 What if I saw into the heart
of Bertha； the matured womanBertha； my wife？ Bertha； the GIRL；
was a fascinating secret to me still： I trembled under her touch；
I felt the witchery of her presence； I yearned to be assured of her
love。 The fear of poison is feeble against the sense of thirst。
Nay； I was just as jealous of my brother as beforejust as much
irritated by his small patronizing ways； for my pride； my diseased
sensibility； were there as they had always been； and winced as
inevitably under every offence as my eye winced from an intruding
mote。 The future； even when brought within the compass of feeling
by a vision that made me shudder； had still no more than the force
of an idea； compared with the force of present emotionof my love
for Bertha； of my dislike and jealousy towards my brother。
It is an old story； that men sell themselves to the