Heinrichwent to the palace that very day and requested a private audience. The prince, a young man with stern features and aristocratic bearing, received him in his study. He had just risen from his writing-table, which was covered with a pile of papers, and upon his lofty brow still rested the shadows of thought, which began slowly to disappear at the sight of Ottmar. The large blue eyes seemed wearied with toil, and gazed earnestly into vacancy, as if in search of some ideal country that could be better governed than his own. Long, fair whiskers framed his delicate face. His youthful, earnest character confined itself rigidly to the strict forms of unapproachable dignity. Words flowed from his lips as purely, readily, and smoothly as a cool breeze, and any one who saw him for the first time would be chilled by the frigid reserve which pervaded his whole appearance. He was the very type of the aristocrat by birth and education, who had polished his manners into an impalpable shield against the common herd. The foundation of all aristocratic deportment is economy of time. The aristocrat husbands all personal exertion as far as possible. He chooses the shortest, most indispensable forms of speech, limits his voice to the lowest tone that can be heard, and his gestures to those absolutely unavoidable. He considers this a duty towards himself and others; he speaks curtly and rapidly, because he is always in a hurry himself and is not sure that others may not be also; uses a low tone, because he does not know whether it will be agreeable to others to hear more of his voice than may be necessary to comprehend his meaning; makes few or no gestures, because he does not wish to compel the eyes of others to follow aimless courses and bendings. In intercourse with his superiors or equals, modesty forbids him to intrude more of his personal character than is indispensably connected with the affair, and pride withholds him from revealing to his inferiors anything more than is unavoidable. Thus alone the aristocrat acquires the self-control and delicacy that distinguish him. Only by this silent accommodation to forms, limited to the lowest minimum of personal exertion, does he when a courtier regain the time of which the necessary ceremonials rob him, and only this extreme indulgence and careful use of his physical strength gives him the endurance demanded by the exactions of court-life.
The young prince was a perfect type of these precepts. Whether a warm or cold heart throbbed beneath that smooth exterior, evenHeinrich, his confidant, did not venture to decide.
"You have come at a very opportune moment, my dear Ottmar," said he. "I was about to send for you."
Heinrichbowed low, in answer to this greeting.
"See, here are a pile of papers and letters which I wish to share with you. So much has come at the same time."
"You know, my prince, that you have no more devoted servant than I. Let me bear a part of your burden," saidHeinrich, in his most persuasive tones, for his power of imitating the expression of what he did not possess was most masterly.
"I know that you have often proved it. If I can find truth anywhere it is in you. You alone are impartial, and see clearly, while the circle of vision in most men is limited by personal interests and prejudices."
"I have the good fortune to have my prosperity secured by perfectly independent circumstances, and therefore can follow my convictions; but this falls to the lot of very few. Do not judge them too harshly, your Highness, for the majority of mankind are fettered by anxieties concerning their means of livelihood."
"It may be so, but they lack the essential thing,--genius,--the clean, far-seeing gaze which no lessons in state-craft can supply; besides, those who do understand anything rarely possess the art of telling the truth without wounding others or becoming brutal. One cannot well have any dealings with such people.
"There is the new press-law again. Good Minister B---- once took it into his head to carry it through. You know his blunt manner of urging a decision. I must confess that this preliminary, which almost entirely abolishes the right of censorship, is contrary to my feelings and conscience. Shall I permit every revolutionary wretch to scatter poison among my thoughtless, credulous people? Ought I to do so, as a prince, whose duty it is to watch over the nation intrusted to his care as a father watches his children?"
"This question presents only two different points of view, your Highness. Do you prefer to win, by this act of clemency, a transient gratitude? or, by persistently following your better convictions, obtain lasting satisfaction? If the former, make the desired concessions; yet consider that this first favor will draw an immeasurable number of consequences in its train. From the moment this new freedom of the press is fairly established, you will regret having undertaken obligations which you cannot execute without inaugurating a totally differentrégime. Your Highness knows that the intoxication of freedom, caused by the victorious revolution, has penetrated here also, and the fire now and then still glimmers beneath the ashes. Will you, by means of the press, permit air to reach the scarcely suffocated flames?"
"May God have mercy upon my poor country!" murmured the prince, under his breath.
"Must not a moment come when your Highness's duty will compel you to check the progress of this seditious literature? and will you not then have broken your promise and forfeited the transient gratitude which would be paid you?"
"Very true."
"Well, what withholds your Highness from following your convictions, which you have already so often tested, that your own feelings were always the best guides?"
"The doubt whether I can silence and conciliate the discontented masses in a way that will be beneficial to them,--the doubt regarding the means I ought to employ," said the prince, thoughtfully, rubbing his brow.
"But surely this is not the right expedient, your Highness. By granting the freedom of the press you only afford discontented people an opportunity of making their useless complaints and wishes public, and thus making them still more persuaded of hardships, while you neither can, nor desire to, remove their causes. Will not this bring you into a thousand conflicts between your heart and your most sacred convictions in regard to popular education?"
"Certainly."
"If I might venture to give your Highness my humble counsel, I should say that the freedom of the press is the last thing that ought to be granted to a nation. The people must first be contented; then they may be allowed to speak. Pardon my frankness, your Highness; you know I am always truthful."
"That is the very quality I prize in you; but since you are now in the mood to express your opinions even more sincerely than usual, I should also like to hear by what means you propose to content the country."
Heinrichwas astonished by this question. He perceived that he had gone incautiously near the verge of truth, and felt he must return, for to-day he had more cause than ever to desire to win the prince's favor, while strangely enough he had never taken less pleasure in deceit.
"Your Highness," he said, at last, "do not ask me whether your subjects are contented, for you must yourself answer the question with a 'no,' without being able to alter the state of affairs. If you ask whether they are prosperous, I may be permitted to reply 'yes.' To make a nation prosperous is within the power of princes; to keep them contented depends upon the power of time. Your country, your Highness, is prospering admirably under your august sceptre. The causes of discord do not come from within, but from without. They do not result from your government, but from the tempest of freedom which roars from foreign frontiers. When this tempest subsides the nation will once more perceive its prosperity. To await this time quietly and indulgently seems to me the only counsel a conscientious man is permitted to lay at the feet of your Highness."
"You are right, Ottmar. I have already said the same thing to myself. If every prince had a friend like you ('Who apparently contradicts him while telling him the very thing he wants to hear,'Heinrichmentally interposed), matters would not proceed so far," said the sovereign, extending three fingers of his slender hand toHeinrich. "I shall not sign the press-law. I hope my throne, which has outlasted the storms of so many centuries, will also be strong enough to withstand the pressure of these times. If I perceived that these innovations would produce happiness, I certainly would not withhold them from my country. But I cannot. Other nations possibly may be ripe for freedom; my people are not. The men called 'patriots' may say what they like; their intentions are doubtless good, but they wish to raise the masses to a position of which they are not and never will be worthy. No one can see into this matter more clearly than the priests. We must ask them, if we wish to learn to know the people, and the ideal we have imagined will soon vanish. If freedom can be given to these rough natures, it is emancipation from evil by the perception of good, and this only religion and her representatives can bestow. Therefore, my dear Ottmar, I will scorn to purchase a cheap popularity by frivolous concessions, and content myself with fulfilling the duties God imposed upon me with the holy oil. I do not desire to hold the highest place, I only wish to be the protector and guide of the nation intrusted to my care: so, as you have very justly observed, away with all inconsequent and aimless innovations!"
The prince carelessly pushed away the papers and drew out several letters. "Here is this marriage business again. You must do me a favor which no one else can bestow. I have the privilege of choosing between two charming princesses, neither of whom I know, as one has just entered society and the other resides at a court I have never visited. You are prudent and skillful,--a connoisseur in female beauty and character; you must take a private pleasure trip, and make the acquaintance of one of the ladies, that you may be able to give me exact information concerning her, and thus perhaps save me the trouble of a useless journey in search of a wife. But more of this hereafter. I see you wish to tell me something, and have been indiscreet in delaying you so long."
"I have nothing to say which could be more important than listening to you, my prince. However, as you command, I must obey; besides, the matter does not concern me, but an unfortunate man, who is suffering unjustly for my fault, and whom I feel it my duty to aid. Will your Highness graciously condescend to permit me to appeal from the prince to the man, to make a confession which not the prince, but the man, should hear?"
"Speak frankly."
"Five years ago a certain Albert Preheim was sentenced to ten years' imprisonment in irons for having committed a murderous assault upon the present assistant and former prefect of the Collegium Germanicum, who was spending a few days in H----."
"Oh, yes; I remember," interrupted the prince. "The man defended himself by the incredible statement that he had mistaken him for a rival, but could prove nothing and was sentenced."
"Well, your Highness, the man is too severely punished. He is no murderer, and his statements are true. He acted without premeditation, when almost unaccountable for his deeds and under the impulse of the blindest jealousy. The act he committed concerns me, since he had reason to believe me the seducer of his betrothed bride."
The prince drew his breath through his shut teeth like a person whose sensitive feelings have been rudely jarred, and made no reply.Heinrichnoticed it and possessed sufficient tact to represent the whole affair as if he had himself been the victim of accident. The nocturnal visit he had induced the young girl to make he prudently omitted, and ascribed everything else to the simplicity of an inexperienced maiden, who, in the agony roused by the stings of conscience, had represented the matter to her deceived lover in a very vague and exaggerated manner. In this case, as usual, he succeeded in convincing the prince.
"Make no further apologies about so natural an indiscretion," said he. "True, I confess that, for my own part, I cannot understand how the most tempting opportunity can ever obtain the mastery over the will. As a prince, everything is at my command, but my wishes have never led me to the pleasures of mere sensuality; still, I judge no man who thinks and feels differently in regard to these matters,--you least of all; therefore do not consider it any token of disfavor if I am compelled to request you to make amends for your error, for such it is, yourself. Unfortunately, I am unable to be of any assistance to you."
"Your Highness!" exclaimedHeinrich, in astonishment, "will you not pardon the unfortunate man?"
"You ask a pardon for Severinus's would-be murderer. I cannot believe that you have maturely considered this matter. Severinus still suffers from the effects of that dangerous wound, and ought I to release the man who dealt it? Severinus is the soul of the whole reverend order of Jesuits. He has relations with the leading ecclesiastics in my domains. The order, nay, even the whole church, was greatly agitated by this unprecedented crime, whose punishment my confessor thought far too light, and now, after five years, I am to perform a most unusual act of clemency. Tell me yourself, how would it be received? how would it be looked upon by the whole priesthood, which was then deeply offended because I would not make the criminal a terrible example? If you so firmly believe the man's deposition, leave the matter to the regular course of the law; then he will not need my pardon."
"I thought, your Highness, in consideration of the certainty that the unhappy man did not wish to kill Severinus----"
"That is all very fine, my dear fellow," interrupted the prince, with somewhat more animation than usual; "but who knows it? And if I should bring it forward as the cause of my clemency, who will believe it? Can I prove that my private opinion is the correct one, and a sufficient cause for remitting a punishment universally considered to be well merited? My individual opinion ought not voluntarily to take sides with Severinus's assailant, and decide a matter so complicated. Only the calm, unanimous judgment of a court of justice can determine the true meaning of the act, and free him by the power of the law. If you are convinced of the truth of your assertion, you will certainly succeed in persuading the court to believe it, and you doubtless feel that the duty of bearing the punishment for your error rests with you rather than me."
The prince said all this in a low, rapid tone, with a most friendly smile, yet every word fell uponHeinrich'ssoul like a blow. He clinched his teeth even while he smiled, mentally called the prince a smooth, cold egotist, and was convinced that he was a martyr of self-sacrifice in comparison with this man. When two egotists meet, each, with mournful self-satisfaction, considers himself the victim of the other. This was the case with the prince, who also reflected upon the selfishness ofHeinrich'sexpectations, and thought himself very noble because he forgave him.
"Your Highness," saidHeinrich, with the frankness which was his most dangerous mask, "if I avoided adopting the means you mentioned, it was because as a member of the court and council of state I dared not venture to compromise myself by any public transactions in regard to this delicate matter. I thought I was obliged to honor your Highness's servant in myself as well as in any one else. I did not suppose that a powerful prince like my most gracious ruler need fear the anger of the priesthood for performing such a truly Christian deed, and therefore most humbly beg pardon for my indiscreet petition."
"You know you are indispensable to me, Ottmar, and can ask a great deal; but, even though you may feel angered, I cannot grant this request. Even if, as you apparently wished to intimate just now, I need not fear the anger of the priests, I will not rouse it uselessly. If I am the head, the priesthood is the heart of my body politic; shall I wound it if it can be avoided? Of course, something must be done for the poor man; but if one of us is to make a sacrifice for him, it is surely better and more natural for you to do it than for me. Give the information therefore, and after his release I will grant him every favor you may ask."
"So your Highness really commands the affair to be made public?"
"Say yourself. Will it not become so under any circumstances? You know that I could only pardon Albert Preheim by convincing all as well as myself that he was not guilty of the murderous assault upon Severinus. To attain this object should I not be compelled to reveal your acts, first to the priests, and afterwards, for their satisfaction, to the public? You would then be quite as much exposed as if you appeared before a court of justice, and much more harshly judged than if you atoned for your indiscretion by a frank confession in favor of Preheim."
"Of course," saidHeinrich, bitterly.
"Although the affair will then attract attention, which will be as disagreeable to me as to you, it will in any event be forgotten in the course of a few months. You must take the journey which I just mentioned to you at once,--and when you return no one will give it another thought."
"So, your Highness, it is your wish that a man whom you openly honor with your confidence, who has a voice in the council, and with whom you deign to share your cares concerning the weal and woe of the state, should appear before a court of justice and a curious public to make confession of his youthful errors?"
"Oh," said the prince, "I leave it entirely to your conscience to decide whether you do not consider a man whom you thought worthy of my protection sufficiently deserving for you to perform an act of magnanimity in his behalf. If you are perfectly satisfied that he is too severely punished, I know your sense of honor well enough to be sure that you will act for him. If you are not, you need not expose yourself for him any more than you will ask me to grant his pardon. Give this matter careful consideration; I hope you will not force upon me the alternative of making an innocent man suffer unjustly, or offending those members of my state whom I esteem most highly." He looked at his watch. "It is eight o'clock: I must dress. Shall I see you this evening at the princess mother's?"
"I am at your service, your Highness."
"A pity that it is so small a company. I can have no further conversation with you about that affair of the marriage to-day."
"I deeply regret that I have not better employed the precious moments your Highness condescended to bestow."
"Well,au revoir," said the prince, rising, and dismissingHeinrichwith a gracious wave of the hand.
Heinrichhad required all his self-control to avoid making several subtle rejoinders that hovered on his tongue. He was furiously enraged by the failure of his plan and the prince's terror of the priesthood, as he called it. He perceived that the young, strictly religious man was right from his point of view, but rejected his whole standard of measurement with indescribably bitter irony. For the first time since he had lived in N---- this trait in the prince's character had become personally detrimental, and he felt anew the full severity of the fate which had forced him to bend to this hated system.
His longing to win the Prison Fairy and his sense of right struggled violently with his pride. Should he give up the whole affair now? Could he rest satisfied with a single, useless effort, without being ashamed of himself, lowered in the eyes of the prince, and, above all, in the opinion of the Prison Fairy? Must not her pure, noble soul withdraw from him forever, after she had obtained this glimpse of his nature? Was she not the only joy for which he hoped in his cheerless life, and was he to lose it just as he had found it?
Then he asked himself whether she was really what she seemed, whether she deserved the sacrifice he was making for her sake. With deep loathing he saw himself standing before the court, in the presence of the malicious public; his pride struggled against the thought with all its power, and amid these painful considerationsHenrieven allowed himself to be influenced by the fear that, after the confession of his error, the ladies of the court would be implacably lost to him. Would the Prison Fairy outweigh all this toHeinrichas well asHenri? Would a smile from her have power to compensateHeinrichfor the sneering laugh on the faces which had hitherto shown only fawning affability? Was her esteem more than the admiration of the court, which would now have nothing for him save the scornful shrug of the shoulders?
WhileHenriwas charming the ladies at the courtsoiréeby his shallow gallantries, these considerations ceaselessly occupiedHeinrich'sthoughts, and he resolved, cost what it might, to see the Prison Fairy again on the following day.
Heinrichexcused himself from the evening gathering on the plea of illness, and went to the prison. Here be ordered Albert to be removed to another, as he asserted, healthier cell, and remained in his stead in the narrow, gloomy dungeon, which, according to his opinion, the young girl would doubtless visit first. He also gave the most positive orders that nothing should be said to her about his presence or the change that had been made in Albert's cell, and thus hoped that she could not escape him. At eight o'clock in the morning he was listening in the greatest suspense to every step that approached his door. All passed by. His expectation increased to impatience,--his impatience to longing. He, who was accustomed to command, to whom all hastened, sat in a lonely cell like a poor criminal, and was forced to wait patiently until the moment of deliverance approached. He, who had so often been ardently expected behind silken curtains and flowers, now gazed through the iron bars of a little grated window at a the patch of sky, as if imploring that he might be granted what he desired. He had not even thought of taking a book with him, and the most terrible ennui was added to the monotony of the one thought that occupied his mind. The clocks in the various steeples struck the quarter and half hours; to count the near and distant strokes was the sole interruption of his dull reverie. And he had submitted to all this for the sake of a coy young girl, a stranger to him, though he did not even know who and what she was, or what she could ever be to him! He voluntarily put himself in the place of the prisoners, especially that of Albert, who had probably listened with a beating heart for days to hear if she were coming,--she, the only thing he still possessed in the eternal monotony of his imprisonment. His excited fancy pictured more and more vividly how the prisoner must live, year after year, exposed to the most terrible ennui, with only the sight of his four bare walls and his gnawing thoughts; how the only signs of human life that could reach him were a dull roar and the sound of the bells, and the only change in his slowly dragging days the transition from light to darkness. "I can open this door when I choose,--can go out when I please; only the necessity of gratifying an idle whim detains me; and yet the thought of being compelled to spend twenty-four hours here chills my breast, to say nothing of three hundred and sixty-five days and nights, andfivetimes,--tentimes as many!" He drew a long breath, and, merely to employ his thoughts, began to calculate with nervous eagerness how many hours this would be. How often Albert must already have reckoned it! What does such a manthinkduring the long years? The soul needs nourishment as well as the body. Albert would doubtless have become imbecile had it not been for the Prison Fairy. She is the one thought that keeps his soul awake. The clock struck eleven. "I have been waiting three hours already. Suppose she should not come? What must it be to the prisoner, when she remains away all day, and he has waited through the twenty-four hours in vain!"
Worn out by involuntary idleness, he sinks upon his couch at night, looks up to the little window, and watches for the thousandth time the motions of the clouds and the gathering darkness; perhaps even greets a twinkling star as a joyful event, compares it to the eyes of the Prison Fairy, and wonders why she did not come to-day, and whether she will come to-morrow, until he falls into his feverish slumber. He wakes early in the morning longing for her, would gladly hasten the hours with his panting breath, urge on the strokes of the clocks by the pulsations of his heart, and yet he has no resource but patience,--continual patience. His soul rises and falls between fear and hope, his head burns, his limbs ache under the pressure of his chains. The sun sends its wandering rays into the cell and shines upon the door; suddenly it springs open, and, as if allured by the rays, bathed in the splendor, the beautiful figure stands in the entrance in all the brightness of her living, loving presence, greeted by a cry of joy as piercing as I heard yesterday from Albert's lips. "Prison Fairy!" She approaches him; she touches the fetters with her flower-white hands, and they become light; her breath cools his feverish brow; she speaks to him a tone thrilling with the melody of enthusiastic feeling; she looks at him with her mysterious eyes, and on her brow is throned that dignity which no bold desire, no injustice, dare approach.
Oh, how longingly he must await such consolation! how he must----
The door opened: a female figure was about to enter; he turned, and the painful suspense escaped in a shrill exclamation,--"Prison Fairy!" The door was closed, and light footsteps rapidly retreated. As in a dream we often vainly strive to reach something with trembling haste, the width of the little space he must pass to pursue the fugitive seemed far too great for Ottmar. His hands trembled so violently in his hurry that he opened the heavy old lock with difficulty, and when he emerged she had disappeared.
"Where is she?" he asked of a jailer who was just coming up the passage.
"Does your lordship mean the Prison Fairy? I have not seen her to-day."
"That is a lie! She was here just now."
"Yes, your lordship, it may be so; she always bids the Herr Inspector good-morning before she goes to the prisoners."
"Call the inspector here," saidHeinrich, returning to the cell.
The official, an elderly man, with honest features, obeyed the summons.
"Herr Inspector," saidHeinrich, sternly, "you have for several years allowed a lady secret access to the prisoners."
"Yes, Herr Geheimrath," said the man, with dignified composure.
"Have you ever received permission to do so from any higher authority?"
"No, Herr Geheimrath."
"And yet you have exceeded the limits of your instructions?"
"I must bear the punishment patiently."
"Are you so courageous?"
"Herr Geheimrath," said the old man, modestly, "I have done what my own heart dictated, and was aware that in following my convictions of Christian duty I was violating only the letter, not the spirit, of my office."
"A prison official, and possessed of a heart! The two do not harmonize, Herr Inspector."
"Pardon me, I did not know it. I cherish the belief that our wise government desires to have the criminal justly not cruelly treated; and to serve the arm of justice is an office which a man who has a heart can hold, although it sometimes falls heavily upon it."
"These are the subtle reasonings of the Prison Fairy, as she is called here. Yet I am disposed to pass over the affair if you will instantly tell me the lady's name, social position, and residence."
"Herr Geheimrath," said the inspector, smiling, "I think if my offense deserves pardon you will be sufficiently just to grant it without conditions, for I cannot possibly fulfill those you have just mentioned."
"Herr Inspector!"
"Herr Geheimrath, I give you my word of honor that I do not know who the lady is, nor where she lives."
"I must believe you; but in that case your course is all the more inexplicable."
"I see, Herr Geheimrath, that I owe you a detailed account of the matter, and am ready to confirm each of my statements upon oath."
"Well?" saidHeinrich, with ill-repressed curiosity.
"When, five years ago, the jail was filled with political prisoners, a young man named Reinhold was brought in who excited my compassion in the highest degree. He had taken part in the conflicts in the Province of B----, but seemed so feeble and gentle that I could not understand how he had been concerned in such deeds. He was sentenced to death, but the prince commuted the decree to an imprisonment of twenty years. His winning, lovable character aroused the sympathy of all who saw him. Day by day the unfortunate man grew paler and more feeble; but he said nothing. No one heard a word of complaint from his lips, and he always had the same gentle smile for all who entered his cell. Even the jailers pitied this quietly endured, silent suffering, and remarked to each other that the prisoner seemed ill. I went to him, and urgently pressed him to tell me what was the matter. He thanked me and protested that he was quite well; his heart was heavy, but no one could help him there except the one whose coldness had made him rush into his crime and misfortune, and whom he must love till the day of his death. I did not wish to press him with any further questions, because the recollection seemed to exhaust him. One day the young lady of whom we are speaking came to me and implored me through her tears to procure her an interview with the prisoner, Reinhold. I refused. The next day she came again, as she said, to inquire after the prisoner's health, and begged me to allow her to do so daily. This, of course, I could not deny her. She appeared in my little room regularly every afternoon at a certain hour, and I must confess that the young girl soon became as dear to me as if she had been my own child. She did not tell me who she was, but her whole conduct showed that she must belong to a good family, and be perfectly pure in heart; besides, I was too modest to ask what she did not tell me of her own free will. One day I could give her no good news about the prisoner's health. His weakness had greatly increased. She received my communication with so much sorrow that I could no longer doubt some close tie bound her to Reinhold, and that she was the very person for whom he was grieving so bitterly. She clasped my hands in agony and implored me only to let her look at him a moment through the open door of his cell. I could not refuse the poor child this. I led her to the spot, went to the prisoner, and left the door slightly ajar, that she, concealed behind it, might look in. But who can depend upon the unruly heart of seventeen? Scarcely had I addressed two words to Reinhold when she rushed in, and, with a cry of agony, threw herself upon his breast. Neither could speak, and my own tears flowed freely. The unhappy man was so weak that he could not endure this tempest of joy, but fell from her arms pale and lifeless. She sank on the floor beside him and silently took his head in her lap. There she sat as if the Virgin had appeared in bodily form with the dead Christ. Herr Geheimrath, no one worthy of the name of man could have separated them; it would have seemed to me like sacrilege!"
"Go on," saidHeinrich, in the greatest suspense.
"When Reinhold had partially recovered, a touching scene ensued,--a scene which may be felt but not described. They had never spoken to each other before; she did not even seem to have returned his affection, and implored his forgiveness for her want of love which had driven him out into the world to his ruin. But she would make amends. She called me to witness that she solemnly betrothed herself to him, and implored me in the name of the God before whom I should one day have to stand in the great and final account, to give her once for all free admittance to her betrothed husband's cell. I perceived how she had outwitted me by so completely captivating me during her daily visits, that I could no longer refuse her anything. I was convinced that the prisoner had in her one who would faithfully care for his soul, for she is pure and gentle as a child, wise and firm as a man. So I granted her desire, and up to this moment have never repented it; she has brought a better spirit into the institution, and exerts a remarkable power over the prisoners."
"And the betrothed bridegroom 2" askedHeinrich.
"She thought she could still save him by her affection, and nursed him with admirable tenderness. He was happy; but even as grief had once threatened to destroy him, so it was now with love,--he slowly languished.
"After a time she perceived it and attributed it to prison life. She found that the greatest suffering a man can feel is loss of freedom, bore in her heart the deepest compassion, not only for him but his companions in misfortune, and several times assured me that if she did not need all her time for Reinhold she would gladly visit the other prisoners, but she did not wish to deprive him of a moment."
"Just then a political criminal who had been sentenced to fifteen years' imprisonment was brought in, so infuriated by his fate that he tore at his chains with his teeth, and tried to dash out his brains against the heavy irons like Caius Cœlius, as he said; in short, he behaved like a madman. No one could obtain any influence over him; he cursed all who approached him and scoffed at the priests. Then I thought I would ask the Prison Fairy--her lover had jestingly called her so because she forbade him to mention her real name--if she would not try to bring the lunatic to reason. She went to him with the utmost readiness, and the man was so charmed by her beauty and courage that he yielded to her and obeyed her with the greatest devotion. If he ever regain freedom, he will owe it to that girl that he is not lunatic or a reprobate.
"Six months had elapsed, when we heard a cry of despair from Reinhold's cell; and when we hurried to it, found her in the same attitude as on their first meeting,--kneeling on the floor supporting her lover's head in her arms. But this time he was not to wake again,--he was dead. The Prison Fairy wept over the pallid face so bitterly that the jailers crept noiselessly out of the cell, that they might not see her grief. The physician attached to the prison was summoned; said that he had had heart disease, and perhaps would have lived no longer under any circumstances. We talked to her as well as we could; and when she saw how deeply her sorrow grieved us, she composed herself and consoledus. But when the prison door opened and the corpse was borne out, she broke down, and shrieked, Poor Reinhold, now you arefree!' The tone still rings in my ears; I shall never forget it as long as I live.
"When we were alone she thanked me with touching affection, and entreated me henceforth to grant her admittance to all the prisoners, to alleviate the mental tortures, which often far exceeded the crime and the purpose of the punishment. After witnessing her success with the furious Sebastian, I could not refuse the noble and benevolent wish in which her soul sought consolation; and you must permit me to believe, Herr Geheimrath, that a blessing follows her wherever she goes."
"But does she seem to be entirely consoled now?" askedHeinrich.
"For two years she mourned deeply; nay, I often watched her with real anxiety; but at last time and her healthful nature asserted their rights. She grew stronger, gradually became calmer, even gay, and for the last year has been the same vivacious child she was five years ago. Now you know all, honored sir, and can judge for yourself."
Heinrichgazed into vacancy long and thoughtfully. At last he said, kindly, "Under such extraordinary circumstances people must of course make exceptions. You are an honest man, Herr Inspector!"
"I thank you, Herr Geheimrath!"
"But now, tell me, has it never occurred to you to send some one after this strange girl, to see what direction she takes?"
"She always went to the stand of hackney-coaches and drove away in one of them. There is a consistency in everything she does, which would sometimes terrify one if he had not learned to know her kind heart."
"I thank you for your report. Farewell, Herr Inspector."Heinrichtook his hat and went out.
"Albert must be free! the Prison Fairy must become mine!" said he, as he left the prison.
Thus his resolution was at last formed. He perceived that Albert's liberation was the only price with which he could again purchase the confidence of the obstinate girl. The impressions he had received during his voluntary confinement in the cell convinced him of the unwarrantable cruelty he should commit if he allowed poor Albert to suffer unjustly any longer. The useless hours of waiting for the Prison Fairy had increased his interest in her to a longing, and the inspector's story gave him the assurance that she was worthy of a sacrifice. The simple experience of this afternoon had destroyed the web of doubt that overpowered him. He intended to treat the whole affair with the ease of a man of the world, and disarm the malicious public by a display of amiable qualities which no one could resist, and which must of course win the heart of the Prison Fairy. He was conscious of the power of his personal attractions, and, after he became accustomed to the thought of a public examination, took pleasure in the idea of making all his advantages sparkle in the light of her delighted glances. Since there was no other way of gaining possession of her, he ordered the investigation of Albert Preheim's murderous assault to be once more taken up by the courts.
A week passed away before the matter was publicly discussed, and during this timeHeinrichandHenripursued but one object: to find the Prison Fairy. But all plans were set at naught by the cunning obstinacy with which she eluded him. Ottmar went daily to the jail and showed the prisoners every conceivable kindness, but none of them could tell him anything more than that she had not come of late. The poor men were almost in despair,--it was the first time for five years that she had remained away so long. No one could explain the cause.Heinrichknew it and wondered at her firmness,--it could not be indifference that made her avoid him so anxiously; and this thought goaded his impatience to its height.
The day of the examination came. Upon this all his hopes were fixed. The galleries of the hall were crowded. Ottmar, the haughty, dreaded aristocrat, enters the lists to defend a poor, persecuted plebeian, and confesses his own error to prove the innocence of hisprotégé. This was the rumor that ran through the whole city. Every one wanted to see it for himself before he believed it; and instead of the malicious public he had expected, appeared a joyful throng, already half conciliated. A crowd of ladies of all ranks and ages had also assembled to see the famous Ottmar in the rôle of a penitent sinner. It is characteristic that women in general will not pardon the smallest error if it is concealed, while, on the contrary, they will forgive the greatest sin if an appeal is made to their generosity by a frank confession.Heinrichhoped to find this experience confirmed by the Prison Fairy, and was persuaded that his conduct on this occasion would completely subdue her defiance. The examination began. All eyes were fixed compassionately upon the pallid Albert, broken down in the flower of his years, as entered the court-room with tottering steps, supported between two gendarmes.
The presiding officer opened the proceedings by a short history of the case, the statements of the absent Severinus were read aloud, and passed on for the assent of the accused and the witnesses. At first no one paid much attention to the course of affairs. They had learned five years ago that the charge against Albert was a heavy one, so they were now only curious about the examination of the witnesses, and that strange, familiar murmur of impatience became distinctly audible after the presiding officer had finished his speech. But, eagerly as the public awaited Ottmar's entrance, he still remained behind the door of the witness-box. At last the presiding officer commanded Baron von Ottmar to be summoned.
A satisfied "ah!" ran through the crowd, as a gust of wind rustles through withered leaves, whenHeinrichappeared. With all the power of his natural and acquired charm of manner he revealed the psychological causes of the event, and with convincing legal acuteness represented them in their relations to the law. He forbearingly concealed the name of Albert's betrothed, and confessed his fault with the dignity of a man who, on the ground of great and noble qualities, feels entitled to rise above the errors of his youth, and has no timidity in acknowledging a wrong if by so doing he can avoid a greater one. WhileHeinrichwas speaking he scanned the galleries, andHenrigazed into many a beautiful, joy-beaming face, but the one both sought was absent.
All hearts yearned towards Ottmar; only she for whom all had been done unsympathizingly avoided the sole opportunity which might show him in a more favorable light. And yet he could not believe it; shemustbe there, and had probably only concealed herself from his gaze.
This doubt aroused the greatest agitation. Almost mechanically he continued to play his part as a noble man. He had spoken so admirably that there was very little left for Albert's lawyer to say; but his thoughts were not fixed upon Albert, but the gallery; and the more firmly he was convinced that the Prison Fairy was not there, the more his joy in his good deed disappeared; he no longer dared hope to gain access to the obstinate fairy by any such means.
The court had summoned old Anton from his home to give his testimony; but he had not yet arrived, so another session must be called. If she did not appear then, he had lost the game.
Just at that moment a thought entered his mind which might place him on the right track. She could have obtained her remarkable education only in scientific circles, and had probably been reared in a very intellectual family. Ottmar proposed to make a round of visits to all the prominent literary and scientific people in N----. "She is not a native of this capital, her German is too correct for that, so I will begin with the strangers," he thought. He had hitherto confined himself exclusively to the court circle, and was entirely unknown in the society he now proposed to seek.
Sunday intervened between the first and second session of the court, and Ottmar availed himself of it. He drove around the city in his elegant carriage all the morning, and was everywhere cordially received. Many, beautiful and ugly, forward and retiring, simple and highly educated young ladies were introduced to him. She was nowhere to be found.
When he paid the last visit on his list, and there also met only unfamiliar, commonplace faces, he asked the friendly head of the household, in an under-tone, whether he could mention any particularly interesting people whom a stranger in N---- ought to know.
The old gentleman reflected a short time, and finally inquired whether he had yet heard nothing of old Fräulein Veronica von Albin.
"Oh, you must seek her out!" he exclaimed whenHeinrichanswered his question in the negative. "She is a perfect original, a petrifaction of the period of sentimentality, and withal a really intellectual person, in whose salon you will find every one who has any pretensions to fame, and is enrolled under the banner of poetry and sensibility."
Wearied by his minute explanation,Heinrichexpressed his thanks, inquired the way to her dwelling, and drove thither. He had made it a duty to follow every suggestion of destiny, but knew in advance that he should not find what he sought in the home of a sentimental old maid.
The carriage stopped before a massive stone house. Two colossal figures on the right and left of the door held lanterns adorned with intricate iron scroll-work in the fashion of the last century. The lower windows were grated with thick wrought-iron bars, and the heavy oaken door did not lack the shining brass lion's head, with the ring in its mouth. Above the door was a somewhat weather-beaten coat-of-arms, carved in stone, overshadowed by a tiny balcony provided with manifold sculptured ornaments and iron scrolls.Heinrichpulled the bell. The door was opened, and when he entered a statue placed in a niche in the staircase extended its arms as if in welcome.
A pleasant subdued light fell upon the stone stairs through a tall pointed window, andHeinrich, most agreeably impressed by this old-fashioned but massive luxury, mounted the broad stone steps.
A precise, respectable servant was standing on the landing, and silently ushered him into a little antechamber. Ottmar gave him his card, and he went forward on tip-toe to announce him. For a few momentsHeinrichhad time to admire the few but costly articles of furniture, rich carpet, and Chinese vases in the anteroom. His hopes began to sink. The quiet, pedantic spirit which breathed from these carefully preserved relics of a former century could not have trained the original, modern, enthusiastic nature of the Prison Fairy.
At last a pair of richly-carved folding-doors were thrown open. The old servant, with a low bow, silently motioned to him to approach, andHeinrichentered a large apartment, furnished in the ancient French style, with silken curtains, and a polished, inlaid floor. The sofas and chairs were of richly inlaid walnut, covered with faded but heavy yellow damask. An old-fashioned screen, ornamented with an embroidered coat-of-arms, stood before a huge stove adorned with Chinese designs. On the clumsy carved tables lay magnificent velvet, covered albums, faded and time-worn, as well as small new books of every description. A gilt eagle extended its wings over an immense mirror, and a pair of sphinxes supported a marble pier-table, bearing a clock. Family portraits, centuries old, stared solemnly from the walls, and fresh roses breathed their rich fragrance over this peaceful image of bygone days.
Almost at the same moment Ottmar entered, the lady of the house, Fräulein Veronica von Albin, advanced through a pair of folding-doors directly opposite to him. She had a slight ethereal figure, whose movements still retained the elasticity of youth, and a pair of beautiful blue eyes sparkled in a wrinkled face, over which at least seventy years had passed. Thin white curls were carefully arranged around the kindly old forehead, and an old-fashioned but dazzlingly white morning dress rustled softly around her. She advanced, or rather floated, towards Ottmar, and held out both hands.
"You are most welcome, Herr von Ottmar," she said, with so cordial an expression that the latter bowed low in astonishment. "You wonder at my affectionate address, do you not?" she continued, offering him a chair. "It is because we always think those whom we know so well must know us. Since the public legal investigation you have become common property, and indeed such property as every one would most gladly appropriate to himself."
"Have you been present at the examination, Fräulein?" asked Ottmar.
"Certainly; and I can assure you that I became very mach attached to you in the few hours I saw and heard you. Nothing could have afforded me greater pleasure than to receive this visit. Thank God, I am old enough to be able to tell you so without embarrassment," she continued, smiling.
Heinrichfound the youthful old Lady possessed very good taste, and involuntarily thought "women are really attractive only at the beginning and end of life."
"My dear Fräulein," he began, "you do not know how happy your kindness makes me. I am a stranger here, and seek those who will understand me. The empty life of the court no longer satisfies me. I long for something else, and come to you because I was told that I should here find what I sought; and indeed I hope if I meet with it anywhere it will be here."
"I think you may be right," said she, looking at him with winning affection. Old age, by relaxing the lids, had drawn a veil over the bright blue eyes, but a glance so full of soul, and pure youthful emotion, beamed from them thatHeinrichgazed at her with increasing admiration. "Not that I imagine you could find amusement in an old woman like me, but I have the pleasure of drawing young and brilliant people around me, in whom you will surely find something to please you."
"You certainly have some relations?" askedHeinrich, expectantly.
"Not exactly relations," she said, shortly; "but it is a great mercy that God gave me the faculty of living with young persons, and that there is at least nothing repulsive in my old age. The young people cling to me, and daily bring new joys into my quiet house."
"Permit me to ask you one question, Fräulein," saidHeinrich,--then hesitated a moment, and continued in a very different tone: "How is it possible that time has passed you by without leaving more traces?"
"Yes, it is singular. I have really remained twenty years behind my true age. The machinery continued to move, but the hands were stopped by a great shock, and never overtook the time. It is a strange, sorrowful story, and some day when we are sitting by my cozy, singing tea-urn I will tell you about it."
"A sorrowful story?" askedHeinrich. "I should have thought you were very happy and contented."
"Yes, I am now. Time effaces everything, and I seem to myself like a transfigured spirit. I have no longer anxieties or wishes, look upon life calmly and impartially, and love all men. My body, as you see, is no very heavy burden, and thus, thank God, I am not so widely separated from the angels."
There was such a depth of earnestness concealed under these jesting words thatHeinrich, strangely moved, passed his hand over his brow. It seemed as if a good genius with a gentle smile had raised him to a height from whence he could view at a single glance all the perishableness and emptiness of life. "Oh, who could bring heaven so near as you?" he said, at last.
"Dear friend," she replied, with a winning glance, "there is also a heaven upon earth in our own breasts. Do not seek it without, but within your heart; then you will notcomeinto heaven for the first time when you die, butremainin it always."
"My dear Fräulein'," pleadedHeinrich, "permit me now and then to linger a short time in yours until I have created one of my own. Will you?"
"Certainly; with the greatest pleasure. It does you honor that, without any other design, you can take pleasure in spending a few hours with an old lady like myself; and I assure you that your good intention will be rewarded,--rely upon it."
"I do not doubt it," saidHeinrich; "but I ask no other reward than your favor and counsel in many things that oppress my heart."
"I will tell you,"--Veronica cast a hasty glance at the great clock. "Come and take tea with me to-morrow evening. Some of my chosen friends will be here, and I am curious to see how they will please you. One thing I can positively assure you beforehand: you will find onlygoodmen with me. Old and independent as I am, I need not receive any except those whom I love; and only such as have preserved a childlike, unassuming character (now, unfortunately, so rarely found) take pleasure in my simple nature."
"Who could be so unfeeling as to find no charm in you?" saidHeinrich.
"Who? Alas! unfortunately there are many. Believe me, our young people are now very old. When I think how it used to be in my time! There are no longer any illusions,--any enthusiasms. I have often talked to young people who seemed so old that I have asked myself with shame, 'Oh, God! am I really so childlike, or already so childish, that the young people of the present day are so much wiser and more steady?' And that is not the worst. I have always seen that the childlike or childish old woman is much happier in her simple existence than all these hopeful young persons, upon whom life still smiles with rosy hues; and it makes me feel sad."
"She might have educated the Prison Fairy;" thoughtHeinrich, and at last determined to ask her; but Veronica, without allowing herself to be interrupted, continued, with the loquacity of age: "I know they call me the Sensitive Plant, because I have preserved my quick feelings and ready tears; but I do not think they are mocking me, for they know I play no sentimental comedy, but rejoice with those who rejoice, and even follow with sincere interest the struggles of the age, although they do not please me. To me the only true voices are those that speak from sentiment and in its behalf; therefore I must confess that I prefer them to the modern spirit of speculation, piquant as it is, and shall listen to them devoutly until death some day solves for me the mystery of life." She again glanced at the clock and madeHeinricha confused apology for having chattered so long.
Heinrichcould do nothing but take leave, and was compelled to defer receiving the ardently desired assurance until the morrow; he bowed as low and as frequently as possible, and withdrew from the apartment as slowly as he could. The lock of the door stuck in his hand as if it were bewitched, and he was so absentminded that he was obliged to pause some time in the ante-chamber to remember which was the way out; he did not know where he was or what he was doing. Meantime bitter reflections upon his hasty dismissal, his own strange embarrassment, which had made the harmless question falter on his lips more and more the longer he delayed it, until at last he could no longer utter it; upon the old lady's loquacity, which had not allowed him to speak: in short, the striking of a large cuckoo-clock, which also seemed to jeer at him, first made him aware that he must at last leave the house. With a despairing glance at the different doors he went away, and on reaching the carriage could not help laughing at himself.Heinrichscoffed atHenri, andHenrideridedHeinrich. An impulse of rejoicing over something, he knew not what, overpowered him.