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 time _Heinrich_ and _Henri_ pursued 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. _Heinrich_ knew
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 his _protege_. 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 role 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. _Heinrich_ hoped 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, when _Heinrich_ appeared. 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. While _Heinrich_ was speaking he scanned the galleries, and
_Henri_ gazed 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; she _must_ be
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 Fraeulein Veronica von Albin.
"Oh, you must seek her out!" he exclaimed when _Heinrich_ answered 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, _Heinrich_ expressed 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. _Heinrich_ pulled 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, and _Heinrich_, 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 moments
_Heinrich_ had 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, and
_Heinrich_ entered 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,
Fraeulein 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, Fraeulein?" 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.
_Heinrich_ found 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 Fraeulein," 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 that _Heinrich_ gazed 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?" asked _Heinrich_, 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, Fraeulein," said _Heinrich_,--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?" asked _Heinrich_. "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 that _Heinrich_, 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 not _come_ into heaven for the first
time when you die, but _remain_ in it always."
"My dear Fraeulein'," pleaded _Heinrich_, "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," 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 assure 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,
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?" 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, 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;" 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 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. _Heinrich_ scoffed at
_Henri_, and _Henri_ derided _Heinrich_. An impulse of rejoicing over
something, he knew not what, overpowered him.