_Heinrich_ excused 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, and _five_
times,--_ten_ times 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 man _think_ during 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.