A Twofold Life Part 12

"I do not doubt it," said _Heinrich_; "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 a.s.sure you beforehand: you will find only _good_ men 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, una.s.suming character (now, unfortunately, so rarely found) take pleasure in my simple nature."

"Who could be so unfeeling as to find no charm in you?" said _Heinrich_.

"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, G.o.d!

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;" thought _Heinrich_, 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 made _Heinrich_ a confused apology for having chattered so long.

_Heinrich_ could do nothing but take leave, and was compelled to defer receiving the ardently desired a.s.surance 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 embarra.s.sment, 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. _Heinrich_ scoffed at _Henri_, and _Henri_ derided _Heinrich_. An impulse of rejoicing over something, he knew not what, overpowered him.

X.

PROGRESS.

Early the following day there was a fresh crowd and bustle in the hall where the court held its session. The pressure was so violent that it was already necessary to have police stationed before the building to preserve order. At last all became quiet, for the judges entered.

Ottmar, with his eyes fixed intently upon the gallery, looked handsomer than ever. His stern bearing seemed more gentle, his slight figure more elastic, the harsh, rigid outline youthfully soft, and around the delicately modeled lips played an irresistible smile. His dark hair was brushed back, and the peace of a quiet conscience seemed to rest upon his n.o.ble brow. His eyes were fixed constantly on the same spot with a remarkably friendly glance, until at last all eagerly followed the direction of the look, but to their great surprise saw no one except old Fraulein von Albin, with several elderly ladies and gentlemen.

"What has he to do with her?" they asked each other.

The examination lasted only a short time. Old Anton arrived and confirmed his master's deposition. The court withdrew to deliberate upon the sentence. An expectant stillness greeted its reappearance. All eyes were fixed upon Albert, who awaited the announcement of the sentence with feverish suspense.

It found him guilty of the attempt to murder while in a pa.s.sion, and deserving of three years' imprisonment; but, as the accused had already endured a longer and more severe punishment, ordered his immediate release.

Albert seemed confused and did not appear to understand anything.

"You are free!" cried _Heinrich_. But Albert with a deep sigh sank senseless into the arms of the bystanders like a somnambulist suddenly aroused from a heavy slumber. Ere long, however, he opened his eyes and threw himself at _Heinrich's_ feet, murmuring, "Forgive me!"

"We have both forgiven each other long ago," replied _Heinrich_, raising him kindly from the ground.

The presiding officer approached him, saying, "Herr von Ottmar, allow me in the name of the whole court to thank you for having given us an opportunity to rescind an undeserved sentence, and changed the sad duty of condemnation to the joy of p.r.o.nouncing a decree of liberation; permit me to give you the a.s.surance that I have become your sincere friend."

_Heinrich_ took a cordial farewell of the worthy man, whose eyes beamed with heartfelt esteem. But when he came out of the building to enter his carriage the mult.i.tude had a.s.sembled before it, and for the first time in his life a loud cheer of universal approbation greeted him.

_Heinrich_ felt every nerve thrill pleasantly at the unwonted sound, and as he raised his hat in acknowledgment murmured, with joyful emotion, "Prison Fairy, I thank you!"

He had intended to play a part; but the seriousness of the matter had laid hold upon him and converted acting to reality. He perceived this fact with a throb of strange elation; and if the joy he felt sprang more from the result than the act itself, the pleasure was so pure, the vanity so legitimate, that even he could scarcely distinguish it from the emotions of an unselfish, satisfied conscience. Enough: he had done a n.o.ble deed, felt the happier for it, and formed the resolution to take advantage of every opportunity of procuring this delight again.

But of course he thought only of those occasions which would secure him a similar popular recognition; he did not think of the unfortunates he might aid, but of the grat.i.tude he should receive from them and the public. To his heartless egotism no other course of reflection was possible, yet even this was a great advance towards better things.

There are natures which, incited by the love of applause, first do good merely from vanity; but the more frequently this occurs, the more they become accustomed to it, and at last do it, with or without success, from habit. But inasmuch as every habit gradually becomes a necessity, so it is with this, until at last they do right from a secret need.

Ottmar was such a man. Amid all his great faults and errors, it was not the opposition between right and wrong that was the point of controversy in his nature, but that between the heart and intellect.

The cause of all the dissensions about right and wrong into which _Heinrich_, as well as _Henri_, had fallen, was that his heart and intellect opposed each other, instead of harmonizing. All _Heinrich's_ errors were rooted solely in the selfishness of his cold intellect, as _Henri's_ were founded upon the egotism of his material nature. If any great influence could succeed in uniting the two extremes he would become the most n.o.ble and estimable of men. Society, therefore, is not so far wrong when it allows itself to be dazzled by the ideal nimbus which such persons understand how to diffuse around them; for beneath it there is always an instinct of good by means of which they may really become what they seem.

There are also n.o.ble, sensitive souls which understand such men, and wish to aid them in reaching the right path. The extent of their success of course depends upon their own capacity.

Ottilie was one of these souls, but Ottmar knew that the Prison Fairy would become more, infinitely more, to him if he could succeed in approaching her. That which in the fading, suffering Ottilie had failed to make any deeper impression upon him, because it had appeared in a form too sentimental, too little akin to his own nature, kindled an ardent enthusiasm in him when he encountered it in the energetic, vivacious Prison Fairy. Ottilie seemed to him a distant, glorified ideal; her self-denial, her capacity for self-sacrifice, appeared superhuman, and only rooted in the indifference of a spirit striving to cast off its earthly nature; it never entered his mind to try to imitate, greatly as he admired it. The Prison Fairy, while possessing Ottilie's ideal character, was also in every respect congenial to him, and thus he _could_ follow her. He had seen the former suffer from her ideas, which repelled him; but the latter was happy, and attracted him.

In a word, the princess gave him the _theory_, the Prison Fairy the _practice_.

He owed Ottilie nothing save a fruitless knowledge of himself; but to the impression the unknown girl had made upon him he was already indebted for this first hour of happiness, and all his hopes were fixed upon this n.o.ble, womanly apparition.

Albert, whom he had taken home with him, as he had no friends in the city, gave all the information he could bestow, which was only that she came to his cell very early in the morning of the day before the court held its session and took leave of him, as she was sure he would be liberated. She gave him several louis-d'or to supply his immediate wants, and told him to write a letter containing news of himself every week, addressed to the initial B., _poste restante_. He was obliged to repeat the simple story to _Heinrich_ every half-hour. Thus the afternoon pa.s.sed away, and Ottmar went to dress,--the time appointed for the tea-party had almost arrived. Will she be there?--or will she not?--was the axis around which all his thoughts revolved.

A merry company engaged in eager conversation about Ottmar had a.s.sembled in Fraulein von Albin's salon. Veronica was unusually bright.

She wore a tight dress of light yellow satin, richly trimmed with old lace, kid mitts, and a cap with a light yellow ribbon. When she sat down she could scarcely be distinguished from the sofa, which had a covering of the same hue; and when she walked she looked like one of the oblique rays of light that fall through old church windows.

"Come, pray do me the favor to stop talking about Ottmar," she said, uneasily. "Can't you speak of something else?"

"Ah! what subject could we have that would be more interesting?"

murmured the young girls.

Veronica sent them into an adjoining room, and the ladies and gentlemen discussed a wider range of topics. Just then the folding-doors were thrown wide open, and with his usual haughty bearing the much-talked-of Ottmar entered. A murmur of pleasure ran through the astonished company, but as yet the young girls in the adjoining room noticed nothing.

Veronica received her visitor with the pride with which one sees an agreeable surprise prepared for one's guests safely enter upon the scene. After the first introductions and remarks, _Heinrich's_ eyes wandered hastily around the room. She was not there.

"Will you not present me to your young friends also?" he said, at last, turning beseechingly to Veronica.

The latter led him triumphantly into the "second salon," where, un.o.bserved, he paused a few moments in the doorway and scanned the company.

The young girls were playing "Guess by the dancing." One of them was obliged to stand in the centre of the circle, dance blindfolded with a gentleman, and guess his name by his dancing. A young girl whose wonderful figure aroused _Henri's_ astonishment was now within the ring. She wore a thin white dress embroidered with crimson flowers, her rich curling hair was arranged in two heavy braids, and a spray of crimson blossoms fell upon her beautiful neck.

_Henri_ would gladly have seen the face concealed under the broad handkerchief. A gentleman was to be led up to her: Veronica took Ottmar's hand, motioned to the company to say nothing, and drew him forward to the young girl. _Henri_ threw his arm around her, and they swept round the room in rapid circles. Delighted with the grace and ease of her dancing, he drew the soft, pliant figure more closely to him; her breath fanned his cheek, and his gently stirred the hair upon her brow. The narrow s.p.a.ce visible under the bandage became suffused with a deep blush; a magnetic bond was being woven between them. She paused and released herself from his clasp.

"Well, who is it?" cried Veronica.

"I don't know," replied the young girl, panting for breath. "It is none of the gentlemen who were here before."

_Henri_ stood as if spell-bound; surely he ought to know that soft, rich voice, and he removed the bandage himself. "Prison Fairy," he murmured, as a pair of large, dark eyes gazed at him as if in a dream.

She was so much startled that she turned pale and tottered. _Henri_ supported her, and the others rushed forward. "Oh, it is nothing," said she; "dancing with my eyes bandaged makes me dizzy." Then thanking _Henri_ with a slight bow, she begged to be excused till she had recovered her breath, and went into an adjoining room, where it was cool and quiet.

_Henri_ sought Veronica to request her to introduce him to the charming young girl. "Certainly," said she; "I have antic.i.p.ated this moment with great pleasure."

They found the Prison Fairy in the tea-room leaning against an open window. She was gazing thoughtfully into the darkness, and did not feel the cold night air that blew over her white shoulders.

"Cornelia," cried Veronica, "you will take cold. How can people be so careless?" The young girl closed the window and turned towards the approaching pair.

"Herr von Ottmar," said Veronica, presenting him. "This is the child of my dead adopted daughter, and therefore my adopted granddaughter, Fraulein Cornelia Erwing. The one sole treasure I still possess in this world!"

Both bowed in silence.

"See, my child," said the old lady, joyously; "this is the surprise I told you about yesterday."