"'Kind Gottlieb! Then you pity me? You take an interest in me?'
"'Yes; since I found out that you were a spirit of light.'
"'I am nothing more than you are, Gottlieb. You are mistaken!'
"'I am not mistaken; I have heard you sing!'
"'You like music, then?'
"'I like yours. It is pleasant to God and to my heart!'
"'Your heart is pious, your soul is pure, I see!'
"'I strive to make them so! The angels will aid me, and I will overcome the powers of darkness which weigh on my poor body, but which have no influence on my soul!'
"Gradually, Gottlieb began to speak with enthusiasm, never ceasing, however, to be noble and true to poetical symbolism.
"In fine, what shall I say? This idiot, this madman, reached the tone of true eloquence, when he spoke of God's mercy, of human misery, of the future justice of Providence, of evangelical virtues, of the duties of a true believer, of arts, of music, and poetry. As yet, I have not been able to understand in what religion he vested his ideas and fervent exultation, for he seems to be neither catholic nor protestant, and though he told me he believed in the true religion, he told me nothing except that, unknown to his parents, he belonged to a peculiar sect: I am too ignorant to know what. I will study by-and-bye the mystery, singularly strong and beautiful, singularly sad and afflicted soul; for, in fact, Gottlieb is mad, as in poetry Zdenko was, and as Albert was in his lofty virtue. The madness of Gottlieb reappeared after he had spoken for some time with great animation; his enthusiasm became too strong for him, and then he began to talk in a manner that distressed me, about the bird, the demon-cat, and his mother, who, he said, had allied herself to the evil spirit in him. Finally, he said his father had been changed into stone by a glance of the devil-cat, Belzebub. I was enabled to calm him by leading his attention away from his moody fancies, and asked him about the other prisoners. I had now no personal interest in these details, because the notes, instead of being thrown from the top of the tower into my window, were pushed up by Gottlieb, from below, by means of I know not what simple apparatus. Gottlieb obeyed my inquiries with singular docility, had already ascertained what I wished to know. He told me that the prisoner in the building back of me, was young and beautiful, and that he had seen her. I paid no attention to what he said, until he mentioned her name, which really made me shiver. The prisoner's name was Amelia.