the very dust, I exulted, for their defeat was Poland's vengeance. God was
requiting the wrong they had done to Poland. Since then I have no longer
hated the Prussians, but I despise them."

"And whom do you hate now?" she asked, gazing lovingly at him with her
large, dreamy eyes.

"Him, the traitor, the actor, and liar, the Emperor Napoleon!" he cried,
starting up and pacing excitedly to and fro. "Ah, Leonore, why did you lay
your hand upon the great, ever-aching wound in my heart? Why did you ask
about my hate when I wished to speak to you only of my love? Why do you
wish to see that my heart is bleeding when you ought only to know that it
exults in love? Yet perhaps it is better so; better that you should behold
it wholly without disguise; that you should know it not only loves, but
hates. Leonore, all my love is yours, all my hate Napoleon's. I came to
Vienna by the behest of my hate, and for the first time, I found here what
I had never known--love. Hitherto my heart had belonged to my native land,
now it is yours, Leonore. The poor adventurer, who, under manifold forms,
in manifold disguises, under many names, had wandered through the world,
always in the service of his native land and vengeance, has now found a
home at your feet, and it sometimes happens that he forgets grief for his
country in the joy of his love. And yet, Leonore, yet there are bitter,
sorrowful hours, in which I execrate my love itself; in which I feel that
I will rend it from my heart; that I must escape from it into the hate
which hitherto has guided and fixed my whole existence."

"If you feel and think thus, you do not love me," she said mournfully.

"Yes, I love you, Leonore; love you with rapture, with anguish, with
despair, with joy. Yet I ask myself what will be the goal and end of this