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 noble 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 Fraeulein 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 passion, 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 pronouncing a decree of liberation;
permit me to give you the assurance 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 multitude had assembled 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 noble 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 gratitude 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 noble 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 noble, 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 noble, 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 passed 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
assembled in Fraeulein 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,
unobserved, 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 space 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 anticipated 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,
Fraeulein 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."
"It is certainly very unexpected," replied the girl.
"Allow me to hope, Fraeulein, that at least it was not _undesired_?"
"Oh, no," said Veronica, laughing, as Cornelia made no answer. "You may
be sure that she belongs to the ranks of your greatest adorers; but she
is an obstinate little thing, and never pays any one a compliment
willingly." A glance of earnest entreaty from the Prison Fairy silenced
her enthusiastic kindliness.
"Fraeulein," said _Henri_, firmly, "you have hitherto eluded me in so
remarkable a manner that you will not be angry if I now implore you to
grant me a few words of explanation? You will not refuse this
satisfaction to the man who rejoices in the favor of your honored
foster-mother?"
"Do you permit it?" asked Cornelia.
"What would I not permit to you, my dear child?" replied Veronica.
"Speak on; I shall not disturb you, for I must go back to my guests."
The two were left alone. A violent struggle now arose in Ottmar as to
_which_ of his two individualities should rule this scene. It urged
_Henri_ irresistibly towards the sofa upon which the beautiful figure
had sank, while _Heinrich_ was unwilling to lose any of the precious
moments he had longed for during the last weeks. The two natures had
never struggled with each other so obstinately before. At last _Henri_
drew back that _Heinrich_ might, so to speak, do him credit with the
talented girl. _Heinrich_ seated himself in an arm-chair near the sofa,
and tried to collect his thoughts after _Henri's_ fierce revolt.
"So I have found you at last, wonderful, wilful creature!" he began.
"Speak, why have you made it so difficult for me to do so?"
"I would tell you if I did not fear offending you."
"You cannot offend me, for I intend to learn from you how to become a
different person; of course the change must begin with my faults."
"Well, then," she said, firmly, "some years ago there was a great deal
said here about a certain Herr von Ottmar, whose rapid rise in a
foreign country excited general astonishment. People were delighted
with his talents, but hated him for the use he made of them, and feared
him as the most zealous instrument of the despotic system of our
government. They admired his personal qualities, but blamed the want of
principle with which he sought to make them win the hearts of women. I
never wished to see this gentleman; for, after all I had heard, I felt
a deep repugnance towards him. Suddenly a man appears before me in the
prison, whose manner and language stir my inmost soul with sympathetic
emotion. Without the slightest restraint I yield to this impression as
I do to everything good and beautiful,--and learn that this man, with
the lofty, noble brow, the earnest, expressive glance, is the notorious
Ottmar; learn it at the moment when, voluntarily, in mere arrogance, he
confesses one of the crimes so often imputed to him. It wounded me all
the more because I thought I had discovered at the first glance
something rare, ideal, in your character. I had therefore in your case
lost the balance which usually aids my intercourse with men. I became
deceived, bewildered, almost irresolute, and wavered between my
previous conviction and the impression produced by your personal
attributes. The former had its sure foundations; the latter I believed
to be treacherous, and therefore avoided you so anxiously. I would not
allow myself to be bribed by your manners to excuse and forget what my
better judgment must condemn."
"And the step towards the right path which you afterwards saw me take?"
asked _Heinrich_.
"Increased my sympathy for you, and at the same time my doubts. A
secret power urged me to defend you when you were attacked, and yet I
did not believe what I said myself. This is why my adopted mother
classed me among your adorers, and thought to give me pleasure by
inviting you here; but I do not at all approve of such a step. You are
the petted hero of the day; every one is crowding around you. It is
bitter to me to be compelled to think that you could charge us with
obtrusiveness."
"I understand you, Fraeulein," said _Heinrich_; "but you seem to be in
error. Fraeulein von Albin had an excellent reason for inviting me, for
I called upon her yesterday."
"What! did you do that?" exclaimed Cornelia, an expression of joy
flashing over her face.
"Did you not know it?"
"No! I suppose Veronica said nothing about it on purpose to surprise
me. She certainly desires nothing but to give pleasure, and her simple
nature chooses every conceivable means of doing so. But how did you
happen to come to this quiet home?"
"Because I was seeking _you_."
"And why?"
"Because I am superstitious enough to see in our meeting the hand of
fate, and had an irresistible impulse to follow the hint; because I
expect to receive from you the only salvation I can still obtain;
because--ah, let me speak frankly!--because you please me infinitely."
"You have probably said that to a great many persons," replied
Cornelia, coldly.
_Heinrich_ looked her steadily and frankly in the face. "Certainly I
have. Why should I not? I did not say that you _alone_ please me."