A Twofold Life Part 16

A NEW LIFE.

After _Henri_ had written his letter, the exhausted body imperiously demanded rest, and while it slept _Heinrich_ hastened to Cornelia and hovered round her slumbering soul as if it were the petals of a folded rosebud. She did not know, but she suspected it; the magic of the soul revealed his presence, and she felt his spiritual kiss.

When Ottmar awoke the following morning he thought he had not slept well, and had been dreaming a great deal of the Prison Fairy. Yet neither had been dreaming; although their bodies slept, their souls were together. _Heinrich_ remained in bed some time. He was in the best of humors, and compared this awakening with the one six years before, when he had resolved to yield to the power of the Jesuits. At that time he was in the act of beginning a new but worse life, as to-day he had awakened to a new and better one. He thought of Cornelia with grateful reverence. Through her he obtained a peace of which he had long been deprived; for, while in himself there was naught save opposition and contrast, in her he found the complement of his nature and the full satisfaction of h.o.m.ogeneousness. Thus _Heinrich_ already preferred to dwell upon her harmonious character rather than the struggles in his own breast, and this was one step, though scarcely perceptible, towards liberation from the egotism that was constantly throwing him back upon himself. Even _Henri_, the night before, had rejected the pleasure of the moment, and yielded to an ardent love for an object he could never expect to obtain his way. Even in this hopeless submission there was a slight contest with his usual selfish pursuit of pleasure. It was with a certain feeling of abhorrence that he compared the base pa.s.sions of the past with his longing for Cornelia's intellectual charms, and fell into this temporary self-sacrifice. Thus egotism sooner or later defeats itself. The true egotist ends with a feeling of loathing and disgust, not only towards the world, but himself. Unmistakable tokens of this state were already visible both in _Heinrich_ and _Henri_; but, fortunately for him, he was at an age when fresh buds can shoot forth and supply the places of those that are dead. These germs now began to stir with life. Intellect and feeling, with equal power, drew _Heinrich_ and _Henri_ towards a being whose bodily and mental gifts were equal. In this the two extremes already began to approach; but they did not yet understand each other, and their meeting must still produce conflict instead of reconciliation.

Ottmar lay for a long time absorbed in meditations upon his strange twofold nature. A servant entered to wake him. He remembered how he had expected old Anton to come in that morning, and, for the first time, a strange face appeared instead. "Good old Anton, no doubt he was right,"

thought _Heinrich_; "and how shamefully he was treated! Now he would certainly have no occasion to be angry about such faults. He was the best servant I ever had. I will take him back again." He rose, ordered a message to be sent to the inn for old Anton, and sat down to write to Cornelia.

"Her name is Erwing," said he; "that is the name of the famous democrat. Can she be his daughter? If so, she can scarcely have known her father, for Erwing must have fled from North Germany to America at least twenty years ago. It must be so. That is why she concealed her name in the prison; she probably knew it would be no letter of recommendation. That accounts for her relations with Reinhold, too. It is decidedly unpleasant! I shall not get much honor at court by the acquaintance. But it need never be known there. It is winter, night shuts in at four o'clock; I shall only go to her house in the evening, so the whole affair can be concealed from the eyes of the jeering aristocracy. My occasional appearance in literary circles will not be misconstrued, as I have the reputation of unusual erudition." He began to write: "Cornelia!" He paused. "Cornelia! It was a lofty spirit that gave her this proud name; is she a true child of this spirit? I almost believe it. That she glides into the cells of the lowest criminals does not spring from humility,--it is the defiance of compa.s.sion against the harshness of force, and the consciousness of the joy-giving power of her own individuality. Woe to him who ventured to wound her pride! He would have lost her."

Just at that moment Anton was announced. He threw aside his pen and went forward to meet him. It seemed, as he rejoiced over the return of the old servant, as if some kind of companions.h.i.+p was now a necessity.

"Welcome, faithful companion of my past!" he cried. "Will you share my future?"

"I don't come to force myself upon you as a servant, Herr Baron," said Anton, whose voice trembled with emotion, "but I must give you one parting hint before my return,--it seems to be intended that I am to keep watch for you."

"Well?"

"Your beautiful estates at H----, Herr Baron, really need your oversight again. The steward and inspector are both in league to let everything go to ruin and fill their own pockets."

"What, what! How do you know that? Do you know that during the last few years my income from the estates has lessened so materially that it has caused me serious anxiety, and were it not for my salary I should find it difficult to live?"

"A proof that I speak the truth. On my way here I pa.s.sed by Ottmarsfeld, and a secret impulse led me into the old castle and the gardens where I saw you, Herr Baron, grow to manhood. But it caused me real sorrow to see how everything had changed for the worse. The stately castle is out of repair in many places, the gardens have run wild, and the cattle are miserable beasts. There are only fifteen day-laborers on the estate, and they are lazy and carelessly watched."

"That is certainly shameful!" cried _Heinrich_. "The inspector has put down thirty day-laborers to my account every year, and charged me many hundreds for repairs on the buildings."

"You will convince yourself that you have been deceived, and your splendid property must soon be ruined if matters go on in this way,"

said Anton.

_Heinrich_ paced thoughtfully up and down the room, then turned to Anton and held out his hand. "You are the most faithful soul that I have in the world. Anton, you must enter my service again; surely you cannot yet live without me."

"You know why I left you, Herr Baron," he answered.

"I know," cried _Heinrich_, laughing; "but I don't think you will have any further occasion to fear similar cases. I am not quite so bad as you think, and have become much more steady of late."

"Oh, I can never think my own dear master wicked!" said Anton, deeply touched. "But what suits you--is not quite so proper for me. It may be perfectly natural for an aristocratic young gentleman to follow the inclinations of his heart, while it would be wrong for a sedate old man to lend his a.s.sistance to things which went against his conscience. So I might be placed in a position where I should be compelled to disobey you, and then you would only send me away again. Let me go home,--I cannot promise unconditional obedience."

"And you need not, Anton," said _Heinrich_, gravely. "I do not wish to make a mere machine of you; I will compel you to do nothing that is against your principles, and you shall even tell me your opinion as much as you please, if it should ever prove necessary. It is tiresome for a man to have no one to quarrel with except himself. I have blessed you a thousand times during the last few weeks for having had the boldness to baffle my wishes, and therefore in atonement I will a.s.sure you an inalienable asylum with me as long as you live. Can I do more?"

"Oh, my dear, kind master!" cried Anton, kissing _Heinrich's_ hands with a flood of joyful tears. "After such, generosity it is surely my duty to devote all the rest of my life to you, and serve you in all honesty as long as I can. Ah, I really believe you are going to be the dear little master I had thirty years ago!"

He was interrupted by the entrance of Albert, who looked paler and graver than Ottmar had expected.

"Well," asked _Heinrich_, "have you slept off your first intoxication of joy, and do you now feel somewhat depressed?"

"Yes, dear Herr Baron," replied Albert. "It is strange; yesterday I felt nothing, thought of nothing, except that I was free; to-day I already perceive the necessity for me to act, and as the prison was formerly too narrow, the world is now too wide for me. I totter and know not where I can obtain support. Yesterday I only felt that the dungeon had cast me out; to-day I feel that life has not yet received me, and seem so helpless that I could weep like a lost child."

"I understand that, Albert. You cannot yet feel at ease in your new position. Your strength of will has been asleep during your five years' imprisonment, and now, when you need it, refuses to obey your bidding. This, as a matter of course, makes you anxious; but it is ungrateful to consider yourself deserted. Can a man receive more abundant a.s.sistance than you have had from me?"

"Oh, my n.o.ble, generous patron, my whole life belongs to you! How can you believe me ungrateful? I bless you with every breath of G.o.d's free air I take. But ought I to eat the bread of charity in your house, even if you wished it? Must I not go out into the world and earn something, that I may at last make a home for the unhappy girl who has suffered and atoned so truly? But what am I to do? I can accomplish so little, my superficial knowledge makes me so dependent. Who will trust the murderer?"

"Any one who knows you, Albert," said _Heinrich_, kindly.

Albert's frank brown eyes gazed at him doubtfully. "Do you think so?

Ah, when I was in prison, among the criminals whose fate I unjustly shared, I seemed like a saint; but now I am free and in the society of irreproachable men, I feel for the first time like a criminal, and scarcely venture to raise my shame-dyed face."

"Albert, in spite of your error, you are a man of more delicate and n.o.ble feelings than millions of the irreproachable citizens who pride themselves upon their phlegmatic honesty. That is why there are so few who understand you well enough to disregard your past as I do. I will take you henceforth into my employment. Will you undertake to become my steward?"

"The steward of your estates?" asked Albert, in joyful astonishment.

"Yes; I know you studied agriculture with a landowner in V---- before you turned to the career of a priest, and came to the college. However, if you did not learn enough there, I will send you to the agricultural school at C---- for six months to perfect your education; and then I think you will become a faithful manager of my property. You can marry your Roschen; and the steward's house is so large that in the course of a few years you can tell a number of children the story of the Prison Fairy."

A deep blush suffused Albert's face, and he clasped his hands with an involuntary sigh. "Oh, the Prison Fairy, Herr Baron! You and the Prison Fairy are the n.o.blest human beings the Lord ever made! What shall I say to you? I can give you no better thanks than the wish that destiny may unite you!" With these words he hurried from the room.

_Heinrich_ gazed after him for a long time in silence. "So that is the greatest blessing you can desire for me? Poor fellow! You too, without knowing it, love the Prison Fairy. It is because you must be deprived of her that freedom itself seems cold and barren; and yet she is so far above you that you do not venture to raise your eyes towards her. To me alone you will not grudge her, whom you consider the essence of everything admirable. And I? Does not the blood mount into my cheeks when I think how little I deserve what you wish me; and how, like a thief, I steal the semblance of virtues I do not possess!"

Veronica and Cornelia were sitting in their little tea-room, engaged in needle-work. "Cornelia, you sew very little, and talk still less," said Veronica to the young girl, who was sitting silent and motionless, gazing at the green shade that covered the lamp.

"I can neither sew nor talk: I am thinking of Ottmar," she answered, frankly. "Is not such a soul, which approaches ours for the first time and opens a new world to us, worthy of being received with quiet solemnity? Are we to rest on that day which commemorates a miracle that happened long ago and has never been fully proved? and when the Deity reveals one of its greatest wonders to our eyes, ought we to grudge our souls a time of sabbath repose in which to receive this lofty guest?

You must not reproach me if, under this impression, I spend a few days longer in idle dreams. It is my nature!"

"You are just what I wish to see you, my Cornelia. G.o.d grant that you may remain so! Give yourself up to your own thoughts undisturbed. Put aside your work and remain silent. People do not hold communion with each other only when they talk."

Another pause followed, and nothing was to be heard except the clicking of Veronica's knitting-needles. But the old lady was not silent long.

"You have a deep mind, Cornelia: I could not reflect so long upon any subject; and in spite of my years I enjoy life more unquestioningly than you. What approaches me lovingly I believe in, and when I trust I enter into no subtle inquiries."

Cornelia smiled but made no reply, for these words showed her that Veronica only partially understood her mood; and she did not feel disposed to disclose her feelings any further, though she could not have given a reason for it even to herself. Her large eyes rested affectionately upon the old lady, and she merely asked, "Dear Veronica, are people investigating a subject when they are silently enjoying it?"

"Make the tea, my little angel," said Veronica; "the organ will suit your solemn mood."

Cornelia arranged the tea-table, lighted the wick under an old-fas.h.i.+oned silver tea-kettle, and then sat down to listen to the charming music that instantly became audible. At first one could only distinguish the different tones of boiling water, but by degrees they became more melodious, and blended together not into a confused bubbling, but the notes of the choral song, "Blick hin nach Golgotha!"

It was a wonderfully artistic plaything, concealed in the lid, and set in motion by a gla.s.s roller, by the pressure of steam. The tones of course were louder or fainter as the water boiled more or less violently, and thus the whole sounded like the singing of a tea kettle, transformed into melody by some invisible fairy.

This tender, mysterious music did indeed harmonize with Cornelia's mood, and she looked up as if roused from a dream when the stiff, precise old servant entered, and, with a doubtful mien, said that Herr von Ottmar wished to see the ladies.

"He is very welcome," said Veronica, joyfully; and the old man, casting a sullen glance at Cornelia's blus.h.i.+ng face, opened the door.

_Heinrich_ entered. He apologized for the late hour of his visit by saying that he had received a note from the prince, directing him to prepare for a journey, and expect further orders the following day.

Thus it might happen that he would be compelled to set out at once without having any time for farewells.

Veronica a.s.sured him that no apology was necessary, and begged him to take tea with them. The old servant, to his great disgust, was ordered to bring another plate, and sternly placed a chair for _Heinrich_ beside Veronica, pressing it violently on the floor, as if he would like to make it grow there; but _Heinrich_ involuntarily pushed it towards Cornelia, and the old man withdrew, shaking his head.

Cornelia said nothing, and _Heinrich_ looked at her inquiringly. In the silence that followed he noticed the singing of the tea-kettle.

"What strange little organ have you there?" he asked, in surprise.