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ornaments； we all took the opportunity of the splendid jewellers' shops in
that Teutonic Paris to purchase her a birthday present of jewellery。 Mine；
naturally； was the least expensive； it was an opal ringthe opal was my
favourite stone； because it seems to blush and turn pale as if it had a soul。
I told Bertha so when I gave it her； and said that it was an emblem 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。
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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
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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；
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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