Part 16 (1/2)
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?”