Читать книгу: «International Weekly Miscellany of Literature, Art and Science — Volume 1, No. 2, July 8, 1850», страница 5

CHAPTER III

Hoffman, the silversmith, whom the count desired to see, was one of those men who have existed at all times and in all countries, who trade on the exertions of those who possess more energy and perseverance than themselves, and who really do seem essential to the great mechanism of society. He had from time to time rendered assistance to Dumiger, who, unfortunately at the present moment owed him a large sum of money, which it would take a long time to liquidate. The count also had dealings with the silversmith; for in the quartier Juif all classes meet and jostle each other. But Hoffman was a superior man of his order, he knew the secret history of most of the important burghers, was consulted on many very delicate subjects, and could have published more scandal than any Sunday Chronicle of these more modern days. The count was like all other counts, incessantly in debt; so, when Hoffman was ordered to attend on the Grand Master, he did not doubt that the mandate originated in the ordinary necessity, and he prepared himself accordingly to evade or concede. Some time previously the count had found it necessary to part with a great portion of his old family plate, and as it was during the passion of his son for Marguerite, and after Dumiger had carried off the prize, he had discovered from the loquacious goldsmith all the particulars relative to Dumiger, and amongst others the account of his pecuniary obligations, and that Hoffman had a bond from him for a very large sum in his possession. The object of the count's present interview with Hoffman was to know on what terms he could purchase the bond; and when the jeweler arrived, the bargain was soon concluded. Hoffman thought the bond would never be paid, and so the count purchased it for three times its apparent value.

On the previous evening Dumiger returned flushed and excited to his house. The moment his friends had left him, he began to regret the confidence he had placed in them, and the frankness with which he had expressed himself. He retained but a very slight recollection of all that he had said, but he thought it was quite sufficient to have aroused the ridicule of those around him. Most painful of all sensations, the vague sense of a folly committed, the extent and the consequences of which are alike unknown to us! As he approached his home it seemed to him that he had profaned his affection for Marguerite by mentioning her name in that rude society, and broken her confidence by alluding to his hopes and his fears. While his secret had been confined to his own breast, or communicated only to Marguerite, his confidence in himself had never for a moment been weakened; but now that others were made acquainted with his convictions and his hopes, they seemed to him exaggerated and unfounded. He had for a moment forgotten that the chief secret of success in all undertakings in life is Silence. Silence in the scheming, silence in the execution, silence in the fulfillment; half the charm that had given him strength was lost now that he had opened his breast and disclosed its secrets to others. And it was with a feeling approaching to disgust that he entered his workroom, and saw all the material of his great enterprise scattered about the floor.

He went to Marguerite's room. She was sleeping with all the freshness of youthful dreams glowing on her cheek; after the tumult of the day the stillness of that room soothed his spirit. He reflected how little satisfactory were all these pursuits compared to the tranquillity of home, but then, even as he sat by the bedside, and with her hand in his, pondered on the past and future—a pageant as it were, robed in cloth of gold and purple, and laurel-crowned, swept by him; and the glory of being preëminent among his fellow-men flashed upon his soul. If he should fail—. A cold damp settled on his brow at the thought, for in that event all his time had been thrown away, and there was no possibility of his meeting his various engagements. It was not one Hoffman but many that beset him, although Hoffman was truly the most avaricious of his tribe, where all were greedy. And then, as he gazed on the lovely countenance by his side, he thought of the affection which had resigned all luxury, and, far above all luxury, that consideration which women so prize, for him, and that he had brought her to a home where she had to deny herself many of those comforts to which she had been accustomed. He regretted the deed. Still more did he regret the time that he had that night wasted, and the money that he had squandered; but it was too late for repentance. All that he could now do was to nerve his energies for the toil of the morrow—that morrow which comes to all men, the faith of the procrastinator, the hope of the sufferer, the mercy of the unbeliever.

He awoke in the morning with renewed resolution, but his brow was still heated with the dissipation of the previous night, and his hand shook as he applied himself to his work. After a couple of hours, however, when Marguerite had taken her place by his side, he forgot Dantzic, Carl, and Krantz, all the annoyances which threatened him. He was absorbed in his pursuit, and Marguerite was looking over with her attention not less absorbed than his own, when to their astonishment the magnificent carriage, with the heavy, sleek, overfed horses, of the Count Albrecht, rolled up to the door.

"Look here, Dumiger," exclaimed Marguerite, running to the window with a woman's curiosity flushing her cheek. "Here is the Grand Master's carriage—what can he be doing at this house?"

"He must be calling on the new arrivals who took the apartments on the first-floor yesterday," said Dumiger, scarcely looking up from his work, on which all his attention was concentrated.

"They are beautiful horses, and the manes and tails are decorated with ribands which would furnish me with sashes for a whole life," thought Marguerite; but she avoided giving utterance to her feeling, lest Dumiger should interpret it into an expression of regret at having given up the prospect of ever obtaining all these luxuries.

Marguerite had just left the window when a heavy step was heard on the stair, and loud knock at the door roused Dumiger from his fit of abstraction, nearly making him jump from his chair. The impulsive "Come in!" which he uttered, was immediately succeeded by the appearance of the Count.

Dumiger, like most men of deep thought and habits of abstraction, was diffident. He stood for some moments thunderstruck without performing any of the usual courtesies of society. Marguerite in her surprise imagined that she must have been guilty of some great negligence while residing in the palace, with which the Count now came to reproach her.

The silence was broken by the Count himself, who nodded kindly, almost familiarly to Marguerite, and without any further ceremony took the chair from which Dumiger had just risen.

"I called to see whether you were comfortable, Marguerite, in your new abode. It is small," continued the Count, as lolling back in his chair he touched the wall with the back of his head: "I suppose, however, that you will some day be able to afford a larger. I do not wish to trespass upon your confidence, but as I have the liveliest gratitude for the admirable manner in which you, Marguerite, discharged all your duties while you were with me, you must let me evince my recollection of them by a small wedding present." And the Count laid a rouleau of gold pieces on the table.

"Oh, sir!" exclaimed Dumiger, seizing the Count's hand with effusion, "you are so kind but I can assure you that we are quite happy here. When one is truly attached to another, the little sacrifices of life become a pleasure," and Dumiger's eyes so filled with tears, that he did not perceive the quiet, cold sneer on the Count's upper lip; but Marguerite remarked it. Moreover, she knew the Count well—his vast ambition, his supercilious pride; she had caught the inflection of his tone when he spoke to Dumiger, and she knew that when he affected that winning, cajoling manner, he was always the most dangerous, and most to be suspected. So her only answer or acknowledgment was a low courtesy, and the blood mantled in her cheek, but whether from gratitude or some sterner feeling the Count was unable to divine.

He looked at her for some time under his long gray eyelash; Marguerite met the look calmly and composedly. Dumiger was bustling about quite in an ecstacy of delight, and for the time entirely forgot the clock and the Dom. Not so the Count, he was curiously scanning all the various parts of the complicated machinery which were lying round him. He waited until Marguerite should retire before he judged it right to commence speaking to Dumiger on the subject that was next his heart, but Marguerite did not seem at all disposed to give him the opportunity.

Woman's prescience of danger for those she loves is wonderful. Without being able to assign any definite reason, Marguerite felt that the man's presence boded her no good; and it was therefore with a troubled spirit that she heard the Count, after looking several times at his watch, suggest that he wished to speak to Dumiger alone.

Dumiger looked at Marguerite, who thought it wiser at once to take the hint than to allow the Count to suppose that she at all questioned the sincerity of the kind interest which he affected to take in her. He waited until the door was fairly closed, and then drew his chair near to Dumiger's. The latter, quite unaccustomed to the neighborhood of so great a man, immediately withdrew his seat to a more deferential distance; but the dimensions of the room speedily put a stop to the retrogression and his modesty by arresting his chair.

"Don't be afraid," said the Count to Dumiger, in a somewhat harsher tone than he had yet used, for he was an impatient and testy old man. "Don't draw your chair back in that way. I wish to speak to you privately and confidentially."

Dumiger held his breath. What could the Grand Master of the Teutonic Knights have to say to him? for, whatever might be his future greatness, at all events its promise could be known but to few others.

"You were out last night," continued the Count. "You went to a wine-shop—you spoke loudly—you drank deeply."

As the Count continued Dumiger's cheeks glowed. The Count must have heard all that he said. His heart sank within him as he recalled his weakness; but his mind was soon settled on that point by the Count.

"And when you spoke," continued he, you talked very wildly of becoming a great man; of obtaining more enduring fame than any of our noblest citizens. By the bye, you did me the honor to class me amongst those you were destined to triumph over."

"It was a wild, idle thought," said Dumiger, faltering forth a thousand apologies. "I did not know what I said. Two friends led me into this error. I am sure you will forgive me, sir: I was excited; my brain was in that state I really did not know what I said. Who ever could have repeated this to your Excellency?"

"No one repeated it." said the Count, "so you need not entertain any mistrust of your friends. One of my household overheard you; and his ear having caught the sound of my name, he listened attentively, that is all. But what does it signify? You did just as all young men—ay, and the best of our young men, do—drank deep of the Rhenish. I like you the better for it. And then, by all accounts, you had some cause for excitement, for you believe you are to win the greatest prize that Dantzic has ever proposed for one of her citizens."

The scene of the last night passed from Dumiger's memory when the hope of fame and the prospect of success were mentioned. His whole countenance changed, his eye brightened, and the nostril dilated.

"You heard that, also, your Excellency!" he said. "Well, then, I need not scruple to tell you the truth. Yes, I have labored night and day, and I hope to obtain the reward of all this self-sacrifice; and now I draw near the goal my blood is excited—I am fevered by my hopes. Look here, sir," and forgeting all his fears and etiquettes, he took the Count by the arm and led him to a curtain which was drawn across a corner of the room where the model-clock was placed. "Here is the work; it approaches completion; is it not worthy of the prize?"

Even to the most unpracticed eye this model of a great work appeared to be of admirable skill. So complicated was the machinery, that the marvel seemed to be how it was possible so nicely to have arranged its various parts, that they could find sufficient space for working. Massive weights were regulated by springs of such fine texture, that it was surprising how they could possibly have been made by a man's rude hand. The movement was perfectly noiseless, so beautifully were the balances arranged around the principal works of the clock itself: the heavenly bodies were moving in harmony and regularity; the face of the clock had not yet been affixed, so the whole of the interior operations of the machinery were apparent. The Count gazed astonished at the result of long perseverance and indomitable energy. Dumiger stood beside him holding the massive curtain aside, and delighting in the Count's amazement. At length he allowed it to fall, exclaiming, with pardonable self-love, "Surely this must succeed!"

The Count resumed his seat, and, for some time, was unable to regain the composure which he had lost by the sight which he had seen. Dumiger sat buried in thought.

"And when you have succeeded, Dumiger," said the Count, in a voice which he intended to be very kind, but whose inflection manifested a bitter disappointment,—"and when you have succeeded, will you be happier? Do you think, Dumiger, that greatness adds to happiness? Ah, you know little of the world if you believe this. Besides, remember, you may fail, and then how bitter your disappointment will be!"

Dumiger was seated with his arms folded, and scarcely paying any attention to the Count's observations: his mind was wandering amid the planets.

"Look, Dumiger, you are attached to Marguerite."

At the name of Marguerite, Dumiger raised his head and concentrated all his attention.

"You love her better than all the world?"

"Far better," said Dumiger.

"For her, like a man of heart, you would sacrifice everything!" continued the wily Count.

Dumiger nodded his head in assent.

"Even the clock?"

A glow mantled over Dumiger's cheek; he was about to answer in the affirmative, when he remembered that the clock had been his companion for five years past. He had lived with it, breathed his own life into its movements,—should he renounce the clock? It, as well as Marguerite, had become a part of himself; it had long stood him in the place of family, of love, of all those enjoyments which youth so wantonly and earnestly clings to. The results of success, ambition, honors, wealth,—all this he would give up for Marguerite; but his clock—he hesitated.

The Count repeated the question.

At that moment a sweet voice might be heard caroling one of those simple national airs which are dear to all nations and all times. Marguerite had a soft, winning voice, well adapted to the song she was singing. The Count, as well as Dumiger, paused in his conversation; the color rose again to Dumiger's face as he thought how nearly he was on the point of sacrificing his faith, and loving the work of his own hands more than the admirable work of Nature which had been bestowed upon him, and, as he listened, he lowered his voice and said,—

"For her I would sacrifice even the clock!"

"You shall," exclaimed the Count.

"I shall!" said Dumiger, starting from his seat. "Now in what way do you mean, my Lord Count?"

"You know," said the Count, "the value of the prize which is offered by the town. It is worth little in money. The honor is considered sufficient. Then you are to be given high place amongst the good citizens, a laurel crown, to ride a white horse, and sundry other trumperies."

The Count looked at Dumiger while he applied the word trumperies to those results which the latter had so impatiently striven for,—for which he had been laboring night and day. These outward signs of the results of great ambition,—these to be called trumperies! Dumiger looked at the Count with astonishment.

"And yet," said he, "it is for such trumperies men sacrifice their lives, sometimes their characters."

The old Count colored slightly as he gave a glance at the riband and star which he wore. Men did sometimes say that the Grand Master had not obtained all his honors without sundry sacrifices of one kind and another. Dumiger had not intended any allusion to these rumors, and he was surprised at the Count's change of color, for which, at the moment, he was unable to assign a reason.

"Well," said the Count hesitatingly, "as you say you prefer Marguerite's love even to your ambition, let us suppose, that in one moment you were able to attain certain wealth, to place her in a position worthy of her high qualities, to be at once on an equality with those of her fellow-citizens, who have hitherto—pardon me the word—treated her as an inferior; let us suppose that by some extraordinary powers all this could be immediately realized;—then let me ask you, would you sacrifice your clock?"

Dumiger marveled as he listened. He pictured Marguerite adorned with all those incidents which lend a new charm even to beauty like hers. He thought, with that vanity which clings to all men,—he thought if she were so much admired in her rustic dress, what would she be if she could rival in luxury and grace the chief ladies of Dantzic? He looked round the room; and instead of the rudely-carved, worn-out chairs, he pictured the most graceful and luxurious sofas; instead of two small, and, in spite of all Marguerite's taste and exertion, rather dusty and ungraceful-looking rooms, a suite of magnificent apartments, where he could gratify every taste and find people willing to come and applaud it. All this passed through his mind, and he did not perceive how curiously the Count was regarding him; but at last Dumiger was recalled to himself, and he thought how little occasion there was for him to draw such pictures, as they could never be realized; and why should he annoy himself by considering this proposition, which could only be made to him in joke.

"But why," he said to the count, "do you make me such a suggestion, when I can never hope to obtain this?"

The Count paused a moment, as though to examine Dumiger's countenance still more attentively, and then said,—

"You shall obtain this wealth, and much more."

"I!" exclaimed Dumiger, with astonishment.

"Yes," said the Count; "at a great price, I know; at a price, however, which I think you will still be willing to pay for it—for your clock."

"My clock worth that!" said Dumiger, "who will give it to me?"

It was the first time that Dumiger had tested, by the opinion of another, the value of the great work which he had achieved, and it gratified him to hear the magnificent offer.

"I," said the Count, "I will give you all that I have said; nay, more, I will use all my influence to have you placed high on the great book of the citizens. You shall have everything to make life happy. Give me the clock; sign me a paper, making over this clock to me; declaring, at the same time, that it is your free act and deed, and that you never completed it, and I will immediately settle that fortune upon you."

"And yet my clock," thought Dumiger; "all the honors I have anticipated, the gratification of my ambition, that greatness I have dreamed of; can I forget all this?"

He was about to reply, when the door opened and Marguerite entered. The length of time that the conversation lasted had made her impatient; besides, she mistrusted the Count.

He looked annoyed at her appearance, for he imagined that Dumiger was on the point of acceding to his terms.

"Marguerite, I am so rejoiced you have come!" exclaimed Dumiger, as though a sudden light had burst upon him. "The Lord Count has offered to buy my clock, and to make us rich beyond all expectation; to have us placed high among the first class of the citizens; in fact to enable us at once to secure all that men pass their lifetimes in striving to attain, if I will give up my clock and declare that I failed in its execution. What do you say, Marguerite?"

"What do I say!" she exclaimed, and as she spoke she drew herself up to her full height, her brow contracted, the color glowed in her cheek. "And did you hesitate what reply to make?"

"I thought of you, Marguerite."

"Of me!" she replied. "Oh, do not think of me; or rather if you do so, think that I would sooner live in the most abject poverty, and suffer any amount of privation, than part with the work, the consummation of which will be the glory of your life. Part with your clock! no, I would sooner sell this hair which you so prize, part with all those qualities which render me dear to you; nay more, I think I would even be content to sacrifice your love rather than see all the results of your patient industry wasted, your noble ambition sacrificed. Think of me, dear Dumiger, but think of me only as a part of yourself, as one who would give up every hope and every future to secure your happiness, that is, your fame."

Dumiger rose from his seat, unmindful in whose presence he stood, he pressed Marguerite in his arms; again the nobility of his mind brightened in his eye and beamed over his countenance. It was another instance amid the thousand which, unknown to them, were passing around them of a man won to noble thoughts by a woman's influence, proving that she is the animating power to save him in all his difficulties; that she invokes and renews all those noble thoughts which are concealed in the recesses of his mind. Hers is the light to dispel the mists which the chill atmosphere of the world hangs around the brightest portions of the mind: great at all times, greatest of all when, in a moment of difficulty, she is called upon to decide between the good and the evil, the just and the unjust, the generous and the mean, the ingenuous and the sophistical; and Marguerite, in one glance, saw all that Dumiger had failed to discover in the Count's appearance and manner,—the dark design, the selfish calculation; her simplicity of mind perceived indications of low, mean purposes, which he failed to discern. Thus it is ever that the first impressions, and, above all other first impressions, the impressions of innocence and youth, are the truest and most to be depended on.

For wherein is it that men—so often men of the shrewdest intelligence and keenest intellect—deceive themselves by their own egregious vanity.—by that vanity which makes them prefer to depend on the refinements and subtle processes of their own intelligence, rather than on the first impressions of the mind which Heaven has bestowed upon them? They are not satisfied with perceiving that a thing is good, but they must learn why it is so. They are not satisfied with knowing that the world is beautiful, that the harmony of this globe and its planets is admirable, but they must know the origin of this beauty, and the cause of the harmony which strikes them with wonder. It is not enough for them to be told they are "fearfully and wonderfully made," but they must attend schools to learn why they live, move, and have their being. Such is man, blinded by his self-conceit; blasted not by the excess, but by the partial light which bursts upon him: whereas woman moves clear in her apprehension, because she believes that "whatever is, is right;" and great in her intelligence, because she knows she is ignorant.

The count saw that all further appeals to Dumiger's interest would now be thrown away, but he was not on that account to be baffled.

"Very well, sir," he said, in an angry voice; "I make you the greatest offer that was ever made to any workman in this city, and you reject it with contempt. The day will come when you shall repent it. I would have saved you for that woman's sake, from the distress and ruin which are impending over you, but you will not be free. Look to it, sir, for there is danger even now. Your success is not so certain. I have it in my power to crush you, and your pride shall be broken."

So saying he took up the rouleau of gold he had given to Marguerite and departed. Dumiger and Marguerite stood side by side, alarmed, but still unbending; and yet the man who spoke to them was of great power. To recite his titles once more:—Grand Master of the Teutonic Knights, President of the City Council; magnificent in his promise, fierce in his resentments, unscrupulous in his means. For a moment Dumiger looked at Marguerite as though he were disposed to yield to the tyranny of that great man, but a glance from her reassured him; and it was with a low but formal reverence that he opened the door to the illustrious visitor, while Marguerite stood proud, haughty, and reserved.

"Did we do wisely?" said Dumiger, when the door closed upon them.

"Wisely!" exclaimed Marguerite; "oh, Dumiger, can you doubt it? I feel myself worthier of you now that I was able to influence you in your moment of uncertainty. I say moment, for I will not believe that, upon reflection, you could have hesitated in your decision. Better risk all and lose all than sacrifice the glorious object which you have in view. Who would not prefer the greatness which must be yours, if you succeed? and the count has at least taught us one thing, that success is almost certain,—who would not prefer this to that wealth of which he is so proud, and that eminence which it makes him giddy to stand on? No, Dumiger, you were in the right; and come what may, you will feel proud of your decision and self-denial."

"It was you who decided for me," replied Dumiger, as he pressed her lips fondly to his own.

He toiled throughout the day, and the dusk was settling over the town when the last wheel was finished and the clock was completed.