Part 7

"But now I became the sport of other feelings, which were more dangerous to me,--I grew jealous. My beloved suddenly seemed changed. She became timid, absent-minded, embarrassed, and day by day colder. I spoke to her father. The old man asked me whether I doubted the virtue of his child. The fever of jealousy and suspicion increased. I had no thoughts for anything else, and no longer knew what I was doing. Then one day my employers dismissed me. They had grown weary of my indolence and absence of mind, and I was penniless. With an agonized soul I hurried through the gathering twilight to seek my betrothed. I wished to find her heart once more,--the heart for which I had sacrificed and lost all. She was deeply moved when I told her of my misfortune and the tortures I had suffered for her sake; and as in decisive moments a long-concealed truth is often revealed, her innocent breast in this agitation could no longer hide its secret. She confessed, amid tears of agony and remorse, that she was on the point of being lost to me forever; that an aristocratic, handsome, brilliant gentleman had tempted her, and she was too weak to withstand him; that he had loaded her and her father with favors of all kinds, and she had thought gratitude made it her duty to obey him; nay, he had even persuaded her to come to his garden, but there, heaven be praised! she had been saved from disgrace by his old valet. The gentleman must have gone away an a journey, for she had heard nothing more from him.

"So I had sacrificed everything, and this was my reward. I stood silent, trembling from head to foot, as I leaned against the window in the little dark room on the ground-floor. I was not accustomed to say much, but I felt all the more. A cold perspiration trickled down my forehead; my clammy hands clinched the sill; the lights out-of-doors cast strange, unsteady shadows into the room, and dim, restless shadows settled upon my brain. At last I asked with difficulty, 'Who is the scoundrel?' The young girl had been standing beside me pale and trembling, with her eyes fixed intently upon the street. Suddenly she screamed and retreated from the window alarm. There he comes! so he hasn't gone yet! It is he! he is coming!' I saw a tall, slight figure, closely wrapped in a cloak approach the house; heard that it was he! The blood rushed to my brain! I seized an axe that was lying near the stove, dashed out, and felled the approaching figure to the ground! The young girl ran after me terror, saw the wounded man, and screamed, Jesus Maria! it is not he! You have killed an innocent person!' I felt bewildered and unable to move. Just then the man opened his eyes, looked at me, and gasped my name. My heart seemed to stop beating! I had killed Father Severinus!"

A long pause ensued. The prisoner was living over these scenes again, and needed a moment to collect his thoughts.

_Heinrich_ gazed fixedly at the floor in silence. The Prison Fairy, in her dark dress, leaned calmly against the wall, her eyes resting on _Heinrich's_ agitated face.

"What is the young girl's name?" asked _Heinrich_.

"Roeschen, the daughter of Martin the beadle," replied Albert.

"And you do not know the name of your rival?"

"I have never learned it," continued Albert "I said no more to Roeschen that terrible evening. She was the first to regain composure, and made me understand I must go home. Her father returned immediately after, and procured assistance for the wounded man, who did not again recover his consciousness while in his house. The old man stated that he had found him in the street. He could swear to this deposition, for he did not suspect the true state of affairs. So no one thought of me except Roeschen. She thought he would never open his eyes again to betray me, and before the police came to Martin's house, to avoid a possible cross-examination, went to one of Princess Ottilie's maids. The latter instantly took her to the princess--"

"What, to Ottilie?" eagerly interrupted _Heinrich_.

"Certainly," replied Albert; "the princess has known her for a long time through the maid, who was well disposed towards Roeschen, and often gave her work. The princess, gracious and benevolent as she always is, had once told her if she had anything to ask to come to her. So on this terrible day Roeschen told the noble lady all her troubles, and the princess induced her to take an oath never to reveal to me nor any one else who her tempter was."

"Did Roeschen mention his name to her?" asked _Heinrich_.

"Yes; and the princess must have been very kindly disposed towards the gentleman,--she insisted so earnestly that it should remain concealed. Then she gave Roeschen money to aid me to escape and enable me to support myself for a long time, and promised to take her under her protection. In the firm conviction that Severinus could not survive the blow, I was mad enough to fly to N----, my native country. But although the doctors gave him up, he recovered his senses sufficiently to denounce me as the criminal. He expressed the most positive suspicion that I had made the murderous assault solely from revenge towards him because he had been the first in the college to declare me useless. A warrant was issued, and I was arrested and brought up for trial."

"But how did you happen to receive so severe a punishment, when Severinus escaped with his life and you had no premeditated design?" asked _Heinrich_.

"But I had no means of proving the fact!" cried Albert, despairingly. "I could do nothing but protest that I did not wish to punish Severinus, but the man who had tempted my betrothed bride. I could not tell who this tempter was, for I did not know; and I wished to conceal the name of my betrothed, for I would have died rather than bring the hitherto blameless girl into a disgraceful trial and brand her for life. Thus I could not prove the circumstances which might have placed my act in a more favorable light, and consequently my whole defense was rejected as a mere subterfuge. The statements of the angry Severinus were far more clear and positive than mine, so I was sentenced to ten years' imprisonment in irons, and would gladly bear my misery, nay, even death," he added, gnashing his teeth, "if I had only struck down that scoundrel of a seducer instead of the innocent Severinus, or at least could ever discover who he is!"

"Who he is? Look at me, Albert!" cried _Heinrich_. "I am that _scoundrel_!"

"Sir, you only tell me so because I stand before you in chains," cried Albert, starting like a wounded animal. His veins swelled, his fingers tore at his fetters, his breast heaved convulsively.

"Do you think so, unhappy man?" cried _Heinrich_. "Now let us see whether you will venture to lay hands upon me."

With these words he led the young girl out of the cell, and ordered the jailer to remove the irons at once.

"I command it, and will be responsible," he said, imperiously, as they hesitated, "and then lock us both in from the outside." The fetters were taken off, and the turnkeys withdrew, locking the door behind them.

"Now summon up your courage; you see that I am unarmed and your chains are removed," said _Heinrich_, standing directly before him, and gazing at him with an unwavering glance.

The unhappy roan stood motionless for a moment, engaged in a most violent struggle with his emotions. At last his whole frame trembled, his hands fell as if weighed down by fetters of double weight, and he sank at _Heinrich's_ feet, unable to utter a word.

The latter gazed at him a moment in silence, and then knocked on the door. The turnkeys came in anxiously and raised Albert, but his knees still trembled so violently that he was obliged to sit down on his bed. The Prison Fairy, with a sublime expression of sympathy, stroked his burning brow, and gazed at _Heinrich_ with imploring expectation.

The latter quietly approached the group. "Albert, I have convinced myself that you can subdue your passions. You are worthy of the freedom I shall now help you secure. You shall no longer suffer for my frivolity, and both you and this lady shall be convinced that I am no scoundrel. Farewell for to-day."

Albert suddenly clasped his hands over his brow, and a flood of tears relieved his oppressed heart. _Heinrich_ looked for a long time at the young girl, who, with pallid face, was gazing silently at the floor, then begged her to follow him, and left the cell.

When they were outside, he asked, "What do you think of me now?"

"If you go on and give yourself up to the law, as the best proof of Albert's deposition, I shall think well of you."

"I have determined to do something of the kind," said _Heinrich_, "and I hope you will then be convinced that I am not so entirely destitute of all enthusiasm."

"I shall be very glad, for the sake of my prisoners."

"Only for your prisoners? Why not for your own sake too?"

"Because it will principally concern the welfare of the unfortunate men who are now apparently dependent upon your compassion. I, thank God, have nothing to hope from you."

"Indeed!" said _Heinrich_, in an irritated tone. "But if, after those words, I refuse you permission to go to your _proteges_ again?"

"You will not do that," replied the young girl, firmly. "If you really feel compassion, you will not, merely from an irritable whim, deprive the prisoners of the only comfort that can be afforded them in their cheerless situation."

"Fraeulein," said _Heinrich_, with his usual winning courtesy, "you certainly do very little to bribe the government official; yet this very course wins me still more, and I do not merely permit, I entreat you to return and accept me as your assistant."

"So long as you are with the prisoners, sir, they will not need me. Permit me to come here at a time when you are absent."

"You have become suspicious of me; we are farther apart now than at the first moment of meeting. My candor in your presence was over-hasty. Forgive me, and mingle a little of your kindness of heart with the austerity of your youthful ideas of virtue, that you may not utterly condemn. Will you? You forgive, and try to reform even criminals: reform me too. Why are you so intolerant to me alone?"

She gazed at him with gentle earnestness, and slowly shook her head. "When I enter a prison, I know I shall find a criminal, and am prepared for arguments about sin which are not too difficult to disprove. But with you I am disappointed and embarrassed, for your face promised something better, and I cannot enter into your delicate sophistry. I am an 'enthusiast'; you a 'servant of the government': the two characters are not easily harmonized. Farewell. Allow me to choose the time of my visits here, and forgive the poor jailers whom I have outwitted." With these words she hastily ran up the stone staircase.

_Heinrich_ stamped his foot angrily on the floor. "Willful, haughty witch!" he murmured, as he hurried after her.

She paused on the upper step and nodded to him with all the winning charm of heartfelt emotion. "Be kind to my prisoners, Herr von Ottmar, and I will be kind to you!" Then, turning a corner, she disappeared before _Heinrich_ could follow her. He gazed into vacancy, as if he wished to trace in the air the shadow into which she seemed to have dissolved before his eyes.

The jailers timidly approached him with their petition for pardon. "You shall be forgiven for the sake of this lady's eloquence, which is difficult to resist. But on pain of losing your places let no one hear of what has taken place to-day, or may occur in future," said _Heinrich_, sternly, and left the building.

The two turnkeys looked at each other a long time in silence; at last one said, as the result of his meditations, "It's the Prison Fairy!"

_Heinrich's_ astonishment was raised to the highest pitch by the appearance of this young girl. Even the thought of the strange fatality which had made Severinus the innocent victim of the sensuality he had denounced so bitterly, a few weeks before, could not long fix his attention. He was convinced that Severinus had discovered to what "rose" he had wished to open his doors, and had gone to Martin's house with the intention of obtaining his daughter's confidence, and using it against him. "Poor Severinus!" said he. "You were compelled to pay dearly for your efforts to save souls. The ghost of the artist whose Hebe you so mercilessly shattered has revenged itself upon you; but the innocent tool of this vengeance was the very person whom you had most deeply injured, the poor, rejected Albert! Oh, the wonderful justice of fate!"

Then he returned again to the remarkable apparition of the young girl, which unceasingly occupied his thoughts. She had such a peculiar, changeful temperament that she had pleasantly affected every chord of his being. A deep earnestness gleamed through the naive coquetry by which she had sought to bribe him to favor her _proteges_. He perceived that hers was a kindred spirit, that she too, like himself, was under the influence of supernatural powers, but in her childlike soul had unconsciously united these forces in harmonious, changeful action, instead of, like him, being their sport.

This perception awed him. He felt that he would be understood by this nature if he showed himself openly to her, and rejected a thousand plans to discover who she was. "What strength is it that, in a feeble woman, rules powers which have crushed and conquered me--a man? Would not this strength exert a blissful influence over me also? With what joyous pride she said, 'I am making myself useful.' She is happy in the thought, and wants nothing more. Is it possible? Yet it must be. In her character lies concealed that spirit of martyrdom which dies smiling for its idea.

"There is something strange in a philanthropy which rejoices in making others happy. Hitherto I have not desired to give joy to any one except myself! Perhaps she will teach me her art.

"She joyously collects the tears of her dirty criminals as if they were the most precious pearls. I wear on my breast the jewels of various orders,--and yet all have never given me so much pleasure as a single tear causes her.

"Who knows, perhaps I have not yet done as much to earn my orders as she was compelled to do to win her pearls from the secret depths of those hardened souls. Oh, she is a glorious creature! She has the cleverness of a man, and yet is so thoroughly womanly. She proves conclusively that woman can really rise above her narrow sphere of ideas without becoming unwomanly, and that the true emancipation of the mind has nothing in common with that emancipation from principles and forms which so often repels us in those termed women of genius. Yes, such a woman would be capable of obtaining an influence over me.

"But what shall I do to find her again? First of all, I will do what she desired, I will confess the truth to the prince and obtain Albert's pardon. Noble as she is in thought and feeling, she will be touched and conciliated,--will believe in me. So, when occasion offers, I am doing a good deed once more. The prince is a sensible man. He will see the affair in its true light and not refuse me the little favor."

VII.

AN ARISTOCRAT.

_Heinrich_ went 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, even _Heinrich_, 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."

_Heinrich_ bowed 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," said _Heinrich_, 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 different _regime_. 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."

_Heinrich_ was 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."