Читать книгу: «International Weekly Miscellany of Literature, Art and Science — Volume 1, No. 2, July 8, 1850», страница 6

CHAPTER IV

It was late in the evening of the same day. Marguerite and Dumiger were sitting by the fire together. The fire burnt so brightly that it was not necessary to light the candles. Marguerite, with her eyes closed and half reposing in Dumiger's arms, was enjoying all the happiness which the sense of returning affection gives. The night was somewhat changed since they first sat there. The rain beat against the casement, and the wind whistled down the chimney. The more it rained and blew, the closer crept Marguerite to Dumiger's side. It was a picture of comfort; of that comfort which, alas! is so easily destroyed by the breath of tyranny. It was a type of the many hearths which are covered with ruins when the trumpet sounds through the city and the tocsin rings to arms; when war or rebellion sweeps like a pestilence, not alone over the ruins of palaces and of senate-houses, but over the abodes of the humble, where every room can tell a tale of affection and toil.

There was a knock at Dumiger's door, which made Marguerite start and called all the color into her cheeks.

There was something ominous in the knock. It was a short, quick, clear, and decisive knock. It was the knock of a man in authority; of one who felt that although standing on the outside of the door, he had a right to be within. Marguerite and Dumiger both looked at the fire, as though they could read in its confused shapes the reason of this interruption; but the result could not have been very satisfactory, for neither spoke, while reluctantly Dumiger rose to open the dour, and Marguerite followed his movements with intense anxiety.

The truth is that people are never thoroughly comfortable and happy without a sense of the uncertainty of human happiness stealing over them. We speak of those whose lives are not a succession of parties of pleasure, of soft dreams and golden fulfillments—to such favored ones all sense of happiness is deadened by satiety—but they who toil through long, long days, and are blest with a few moments of repose, value them so highly that they scarcely believe such happiness can last.

Dumiger opened the door, and uttered a faint cry. Marguerite was in a moment by his side.

He had, indeed, some cause for alarm. An officer of the Grande Court de Justice stood there. There was no mistaking his character, for the uniform of the myrmidons of that court was too well known to all the inhabitants of Dantzic, and more especially to the poorer classes, who gazed on them with awe, for they were in general stern, hard-featured, and hard-hearted men, who did their duty without gentleness, and rarely deserted a man when once they had him in their clutches. Dumiger had made acquaintance with them of old on one or two occasions, and the recollection was anything but agreeable.

The man entered the room very quickly, took his seat in Dumiger's chair, and drew his missive from his pocket. It was Dumiger's bill to Hoffman for a very large sum, which had been purchased by the Count.

"What is this?" gasped forth Dumiger; for, at the moment, the debt had entirely escaped his recollection. "Ach Gott!" exclaimed Dumiger, "is it possible?" but observing Marguerite standing by, pale, tearful, and trembling, he restrained his impetuosity.

Dumiger rose and went to a drawer. He counted over, with the eagerness of a miser, all the dollars which were kept there,—the few which had remained after the expenses of the last fortnight. For some time past he had devoted all his energies so entirely to the construction of the clock, that the smallest receipts of his craft had been despised.

A cold perspiration stood on his forehead as he gazed upon his small store. He knew too well, that by the laws of Dantzic the debtor was either dragged to the common prison or all his goods were seized. Either alternative was terrible. He looked round the room. On one side stood the clock, the child of his mind and industry, on the other was Marguerite, beautiful in her grief.

The man had lit a pipe, and was carelessly smoking.

"Come," said the officer at last, as shaking out the ashes of his pipe and drawing himself to his full stature, so as to give weight to his authority—"come, we have no time to lose, Herr Dumiger. The money or the furniture, or to prison. Consult the pretty jungfrau there: but you must come to a conclusion directly, for time presses and I have several other little bits of business to perform to-night: so I will light another pipe while you make up your minds."

It was no easy matter for Marguerite to bring her mind to a decision. She thought on the one hand of the lonely nights she might have to pass; on the other, of the irreparable loss the clock would be to Dumiger. Dumiger clasped her hands in his own, and as his lips clung to hers he exclaimed, "Perish all things but love." He rose—he was on the point of desiring the man to take away the clock in payment of the debt, in the hope that he might redeem it on the morrow, when the sudden thought struck him that the Count was the instigator of this act. He caught hold of the man by one arm, which was hanging listlessly over the back of the chair, and exclaimed—

"Tell me who sent you on this mission."

The man only looked round with an expression of astonishment at his presumption, and without deigning any reply, he resumed his pipe.

"Was it the Grand Master?" asked Dumiger.

"Obey my orders and ask no questions," said the man. "You had better follow my example. I have told you already that there is no time to spare. Tell me what course you intend to take. Give up some articles in this room—there is that clock, which will do more than pay the bill—or follow me immediately. There is no other alternative."

The whole conversation with the Grand Master occurred to Dumiger. There could be no doubt that the clock would go into his possession; that it was a deep-laid scheme to spoil him of the result of all his labor. Better, far better, that Marguerite should bear the pain of separation, than that the clock should be endangered, and by such a man.

"Marguerite," said Dumiger, in a low voice, after a long pause, "it is fixed. We must part for a short time. I will write from my prison to some of my friends; they will not desert me in this necessity. A few short hours, and I shall return to you, my own Marguerite."

But Marguerite had fainted, and the lips which touched his cheek were cold and pale.

Slowly she opened those large blue eyes, and although her lips faltered, the look and the voice were both earnest as she bade him go.

"Yes, Dumiger, you are right: ambition such as yours is a less selfish passion than love like mine. Leave me for a time. I know the interval will be short. It is another step toward the greatness to which you are aspiring."

The man looked at them with a vague and vacant look. He had been witness to this description of scene so frequently, that he began to believe it to be a part of the debtor's craft. As some people can regard the most beautiful varying tints of heaven, the lights and shadows which flit across the face of nature, and see nothing more in them than a part of that vast and complicated machinery that governs the world—so he, in these lights and shadows of life, only beheld the natural workings of the human mind.

With a pale cheek but a firm step Dumiger departed. The last sound that fell upon his ear as he left his door, was the blessing murmured by his bride. Again he felt disposed to turn back and sacrifice all for his affection; but already one of the city guard stood behind him, and the rattle of arms on the pavement told him that his arrest had not been lightly planned or carelessly conducted.

The castle toward which Dumiger and his guards directed their steps was the Grimshaus, formerly a citadel and an important point of defense for the town of Dantzic, though now converted into a prison for political offenders and debtors. The reader may be aware that the laws against debtors in the great free commercial cities were intolerably severe. Some men were permitted to groan away their whole lives in hopeless misery. The creditor was in general without pity, and the debtor unpitied. He was entirely at the mercy of the jailer, who had it in his power to load him with chains, and even on the slightest pretext of insubordination to execute summary justice upon him. These laws, however, had as yet little affected Dumiger; though threatened with arrest on one or two previous occasions his difficulties had always been arranged. But the present debt was more serious than any which had as yet been pressed for, and he could not but feel that friends might be less willing to become surety.

They arrived at the square in which the Grimshaus was situated. It was a wild, unhealthy, stern, fantastic pile, which stood, in point of fact, upon an island, for a wide, wet ditch surrounded it, except where a drawbridge connected it with the square. The towers and ramparts had in some places mouldered away, and huge bars of iron were introduced in different parts of the wall to give strength to the building by binding the yawning mason-work together.

The square was deserted. The cry of the sentinel at the most distant of the landward posts sounded ominous, like that of a lost bird at night. Although the moon shone brightly, it was difficult to distinguish the whole outline of the building, on account of the pestiferous vapors which arose from the moat, and hung like a pall over the recently flooded plain. Through these mists the city chimes sounded muffled and melancholy. It was solitude—of all solitude the most fearful—a prison solitude in the neighborhood of a great town. The very escort appeared to feel the influence of their melancholy and lonely scene, for the jests stopped as the foot of the vanguard clanged on the drawbridge. This was merely the effect of discipline; but to Dumiger it appeared a part of the drama, and it added to his sense of fear.

They were detained some time upon the drawbridge while the sergeant was holding some conversation with the officer of the watch.

"By the Holy Mary!" exclaimed the functionary who had arrested Dumiger, "there must be something more than a mere debt in all this. I never saw such a fuss made about the receipt of the body of a debtor in all my life. And then, it was rather strange my being ordered to take a file of my guard instead of honest Jean, who would have held him just as firm in his grasp, and not kept my poor fellows shivering out all night in this unhealthy atmosphere. No, no, there is something more than a debt due: it is a case of political crime. Is it not so, my lad?" he exclaimed, giving Dumiger a thump on his back which made the chain-bridge rattle.

"Is it not what?" said Dumiger, who was quite taken by surprise. He had been gazing on the water, and the purest drops in it were the two tears which had fallen from his eyes. "I have heard nothing," he replied. "What does all this mean, and why am I kept here?"

"Ah, that's just what I wish to know!" answered the man, "and no one can tell us better than yourself. It is not merely for a case of debt that I was sent to your house to-night. No, no, I am wiser than that. Come now, tell us the real truth. What conspiracy have you entered into, what political offense have you committed, to entitle you to be escorted with such honor, and be made the subject of so many forms? There is no use denying it," he continued, for Dumiger's astonished countenance was quite a sufficient protestation against any such inference. "Look here; the lieutenant of the tower has been called up, and the guard is reinforced."

It was quite true. Had Dumiger been a state prisoner of the highest rank, he could not have been received with more ceremony. The guard turned out, and the rattle of the muskets was heard as the massive gates rolled ponderously upon their axes. The one light in the entrance gave an awful but not unpicturesque appearance to the scene, for it was reflected on the glittering steel. It cast its wild gleams on the bronzed cheeks of the guards, while the length and height of the hall were lost in the gloom.

"Forward!" was the word, and tramp, tramp, tramp, mingled with the rattle of the chains of the bridge. Dumiger was now placed in the center of the guard.

The soldiers presented arms to the burghers: the burghers carried theirs as they passed. The single drum beat, and its echo vibrated through the building. The gates closed behind them—bolt after bolt was drawn, and Dumiger was separated from the world.

His heart sank within him, and well it might; for as the moon shone into the courtyard beyond the hall where he was standing, he could see that the windows which looked into it were all trebly barred. Besides, the building looked throughout so miserably damp and wretched; and there was an entire absence of care for the comfort of its inmates, which chilled his blood.

The lieutenant of the tower, after the conference with Dumiger's officer had lasted some time, approached him. He took him gently by the arm, and brought him to the broken, rotten, creaking stairs, which led to the upper rooms, or rather cells, from which they were separated by two large, massive iron doors.

The lieutenant himself opened the locks, while two soldiers, standing on either side with flambeaux, gave Dumiger a full view of the desolate stair which he had to ascend. The passage to which it led had been taken out of the thickness of the walls, so massive were they. They passed through a large hall where a huge fire was blazing, about which some soldiers slept, with their cloaks drawn tightly round them to ward off the draughts which came in strong gusts beneath the doors and even through the shutters; one or two with handkerchiefs tied round their heads, to serve the purpose of night-caps, were sitting by the fire smoking. They took the pipes from their lips to salute the lieutenant as he passed, but beyond this notice paid no attention to the object of his visit. It was evidently an event of no uncommon occurrence. More passages, more bars, more doors battered by age and mended by slabs of iron, and at last Dumiger arrived at the room, or rather the cell, which had been prepared for him. The preparations, it must however be admitted, were of the very simplest character. A palliasse thrown down in the corner, a rickety chair, and the strangest apology for a table, were the whole furniture of the place. Without one word of explanation the lieutenant motioned him into his new abode. In vain Dumiger stormed and raved, and desired to know whether this was the way in which free citizens were treated in the free city of Dantzic. The lieutenant only shrugged his shoulders, gave orders to the soldiers to withdraw, and Dumiger was left to his melancholy meditations.

A heavy weight, such as magnetic influence affects the brain with, oppressed his forehead; he threw himself on the palliasse, and endeavored to recall the events of the last few hours: but so rapid and intense had they been, that they already seemed to be numbered amongst the visions of the past. When the heart is oppressed with suffering, and above all, with the most painful of all suffering, anxiety, solitude and sleep are the only consolations. But then the sleep is not the light, happy, joyous slumber, from which we awake refreshed and strengthened; it is a leaden, sullen, sodden trance, from which we awake with the sensation that the whole weight of the atmosphere has been concentrated on our brows. This was the case with Dumiger: the flickering, dreary light of the lamp kept waving before his eyes as he lay there. He felt like a man whose limbs have been paralyzed by some grievous accident. At last be breathed heavily, and the load of oppression fell from his eyelids. Such was the sleep we have described.

When he awoke in the morning the light had gone out; but a few pale, melancholy gleams of morning pierced the prison-bars, which were so far above him that it was not possible for him to reach them. He strove to remember where he was; his eyes fell on the grotesquely-painted figures which covered the walls, and which had escaped his observation on the preceding night. These were the handicraft of some man who had evidently endeavored to wile away his time in prison by caricaturing his persecutors; and certainly he had succeeded in the attempt. Nothing more absurd than some of these pictures could be imagined; every possible deformity was ascribed to the originals, and the sketches were surrounded by pasquinades and quaint devices. Here and there might be found expressions of deeper and more fearful import, if indeed anything could be more fearful than the contrast between the ridiculous and such a dungeon. "Non omnis moriar," wrote one man in a yellow liquid, which too evidently was discolored blood. "Justum et tenacem recti virum," scrawled another, immediately followed by a portrait of the "vultis instantis tyranni," who had, if we may judge by the chain suspended from his neck, once been a famous Grand Master. On one part of the wall might be deciphered a whole romance scrawled with an old nail, in which the prisoner had arrived at such excellence, that the letters were like the most admirable type. It was a long, and doubtless melancholy tale; so much so, that the kind guardians of the place had scratched it with their knives to prevent its being easily deciphered. In fact, that little cell had evidently contained an Iliad of romances; and if the walls could have spoken, or even the scrawls been deciphered, some strange tales, and perhaps many mysterious events, would have come to light. Dumiger gazed on these sad records of prior existences with a melancholy interest. In vain he endeavored to explain to himself the cause of his being treated with such unparalleled severity. He could not recall any crime such as might excuse his incarceration in such an abominable place. He buried his face in his hands. He thought of Marguerite and the clock, and then, happily for him, he wept, as the young alone can weep when they are in sorrow, and when their sorrow is unselfish.

He was roused by an unbolting of bars, the turning of huge, unwieldy keys, and the lieutenant of the castle stood before him.

Dumiger was in that state of mind when whatever of pride belongs to the consciousness of innocence loses its strength. Though there was little to invite confidence in the outward demeanor of the functionary, he ran toward him, seized him by both hands, and exclaimed, "Have pity upon me, sir; tell me why I am here!"

"Pooh, pooh," replied the bronzed old Cerberus: "be a man."

"Be a man!" shrieked Dumiger, "I am a man: and it is because I am a man, a free man of Dantzic, that I appeal against this monstrous treatment. Be a man! why, I appeal to you, sir, to be a man, and to give up that situation, if it can only be retained by cruelty to others. I say again, be you a man, and cease to torture me."

The lieutenant continued looking at him with the most perfect indifference. He whistled a tune, took the only two turns in the cell which its extent permitted, and then, as if a sudden recollection had struck him, put two letters into Dumiger's hands.

"Come, you are not very ill treated, young man, when you are allowed to read."

Dumiger felt a glow of delight thrill through his frame. Everything is by comparison, and after the pain be had endured, the sight of two letters, the one in the handwriting of Marguerite, the other of Carl, made his heart leap with joy. They seemed to him to be the guarantees of immediate safety.

The lieutenant still remained near him. Dumiger would not open the letters in his presence. At last the officer, after some minutes' delay, and having sung sundry snatches of martial airs, gave Dumiger a contemptuous, indignant glance, and stalked out of the cell, taking care to rattle the bolts and bars as a punishment to Dumiger for not gratifying his curiosity. Poor devil, it was his only amusement to pry into the prisoners' secrets.

"How is the lad?" asked the second in command when his commander appeared.

"Better than he will be when he knows the charges for which he is shut up. At present he is under the impression it is only for debt; but when he learns it is for treason, he will whimper and whine even more than he has been doing."

"What, so young and a traitor!" exclaimed the subaltern, who was evidently the kinder spirit of the two. "It is almost incredible."

"It may be," continued the lieutenant. "I have directions from the Grand Master and Council to keep a strict watch over him. They say that he is a most dangerous character. But I never trouble myself much about these kind of fellows. I do my duty quietly. Meanwhile, I have given him letters which won't add to his happiness much when he reads them, if I am to believe what the inspector told me, who of course read them and sealed them again."

The moment the lieutenant had left the cell, Dumiger eagerly tore open Marguerite's letter, without remarking that it had been opened ere it reached him. He read it through with that rapidity of glance and mental discernment which fear and love combined can alone give. It was with a groan of horror that he allowed the letter to drop from his hands, for the full extent of the difficulties of his situation now broke upon him. She told him that the same evening, the moment his arrest was known in the neighborhood, bills had poured in from all quarters; that she had seen his friends Carl and Krantz, who called early on that morning, and who found it impossible to obtain one-tenth of the sum now required for his release. All they could do, therefore, was to take charge of the wonderful model, and carry it to the Court-house, where it would have to remain until the decision of the Council should be proclaimed. The second letter, which was from Carl, was still more appalling, for he told Dumiger how essential it was for him to make any sacrifice in order to put the whole machinery in order, so that his work might appear to the judges in the most favorable point of view. He undertook, however, to engage the best mechanist in Dantzic, in the event of Dumiger not being able to obtain his release before the appointed day.

What was to be done? Dumiger felt himself driven almost to frenzy. He thought of Marguerite, of his clock, of his friends; he then began to think that be had acted very foolishly in refusing the offer of the Grand Master, who, he felt assured, although the lieutenant would not admit it to him, was the cause of all his misery. The more he reflected on the past, the more desperate he became; he rolled on the ground in agony; the whole day passed in efforts to reach the window, whence at least he might perceive the situation of his house, or to shake the bars of the strongly-ironed door. Toward evening a soldier brought him some refreshment, but preserved an obstinate silence. Dumiger allowed the refreshment to remain untasted on the ground; he could not touch it. The evening grew on apace, the merry chimes from the Dom of the city came across the water; it struck him that they had never chimed so musically before, or with so much meaning. Another long, long night of agony was to be passed, and where and how was suspense to end?

Time swept on, but this night they brought him no lamp, so that he had no means of measuring its progress; he could only judge how heavily the hours rolled by the tramp of the guards as they marched over the drawbridge to the several reliefs. At ten o'clock he heard the bugles sounding the retreat, and then when he pictured to himself his gentle young bride, so sweet, so lovely—when he remembered how greatly he had neglected her for his ambition—he loathed himself for what he used to consider laudable, but now felt to have been mere selfishness.

It was still very early, for the gray cold streaks of morning had not pierced the prison-bars, when Dumiger was roused from his uneasy slumber by the rattling of the lock of his door. He looked up and saw with surprise a man who was not dressed in uniform.

"Who are you? What do you want?" exclaimed Dumiger, "for there is such a thing as intrusion even in a prison."

The man whom he addressed only replied by taking possession of the single chair which stood by the bedside; he then very quietly and coolly took a tinder-box from his pocket, struck a light in the most deliberate manner, and lit the small lamp which had remained unreplenished from the preceding evening. Dumiger had then an opportunity of examining his visitor.

He was a little, jesuitical, sly, crafty, leering person, with a quick, intelligent, practical eye—a man who was evidently conversant with the world; and to judge from the sensual expression of his mouth and the protuberance at the nape of the neck, whose world was of the worst description—a phrenologist or physiognomist would have hung him at once. It is fortunate for some men that these sciences are not more extensively understood, or a great many persons would suffer for their natural and cerebral conformation.

"You will soon be free, my son."

"Free! thank God!" exclaimed Dumiger, throwing himself back on his pillow and clasping his hands in gratitude.

"You are too quick, young man," continued the stranger. "I said you would soon be free, if—you see there is an if. It is for you to remove it."

"If—if what? I will do anything you tell me," almost shrieked Dumiger, so terrified was he at the possibility of his hopes deserting him.

"Well," continued the little man, putting on his spectacles and examining the roll of his papers, "I will commence by telling you that I am a native of Hamburgh and like yourself, a great mechanist. I was sent for by the Council last evening, to examine all the models which have been received. I do not hesitate to say to you that yours is by far the best."

"God be praised, Marguerite, Marguerite!" ejaculated Dumiger.

"Yes," quickly remarked the mysterious visitor, "yours is by far superior to all the rest, but it will not win the prize."

"Not win the prize!" said Dumiger; for now all his ambition had returned to him.

"Certainly not," was the reply; "you know as well as I do that the machinery requires some directing power. No one knows how to apply it: no one knows the secret."

"Yes, there is a secret," said the youth, his face brightening even through the cold, clammy prison atmosphere.

"And you cannot get out to tell it, or to arrange your own work, for here I have a schedule of the judgments for debt which have been lodged against you;" and he held out a list some twelve inches in length.

Dumiger groaned. "And are there no means of paying this?"

"You can answer that question as well as myself," replied the man. "I will tell you that there are none for the present; but there is one way in which the clock may still be the admiration of Dantzic, and yourself free with a great independence in three days."

"What way? what way? tell me quickly!" cried Dumiger, gasping with anxiety.

"Be still, young man, be still; we have plenty of time: let's proceed quietly," said the stranger.

"Well, well, but be quick," continued Dumiger, in anything but a quiet tone of voice.

"I have told you," said the man, quietly readjusting his spectacles, which Dumiger had slightly disturbed by the violence with which he seized his arm, "I have told you that I am a native of Hambro', a mechanician; that I have seen your clock, admired it, and taken the trouble to obtain a list of your liabilities,—here it is again."

Dumiger gave another groan.

"Your position," continued the stranger, "appears to me to be this—that without my assistance your clock will be worth nothing, while you will remain quietly in prison here, charged besides, as far as I can understand the matter, with some political offense; that Marguerite will either pine away or atone for your loss by amusing herself with some of your friends—Carl and Krantz for instance. You see I am au fait with all your domestic matters."

Oh, jealousy! oh, cowardice of the heart! At the name of Carl the blood flew to Dumiger's temples. It just occurred to him that it was strange that Marguerite should have gone to him for assistance without any direction from himself to do so. Root out the feeling, Dumiger; root it out, or you are lost.

The stranger smiled sarcastically, but affected not to notice his flushed cheek and faltering voice.

"Now there is but one means to relieve yourself from all these risks and this load of misery."

"Again I inquire, what is it?" said Dumiger.

"Sell me your clock: I have come to purchase it on the part of the free city of Hamburgh," was the calm, deliberate reply.

"Sell my clock!" echoed Dumiger.

"The city of Hamburgh," continued the stranger, without appearing to remark Dumiger's exclamation, "authorizes me to offer for the clock of best workmanship, the freedom of her walls, an income of four thousand dollars, a place in the chief council with due precedence, and many other minor advantages. If you accept these terms a large installment of money will be paid within three days,—that is, within the time for the return of post. You will naturally inquire, Why the city of Hambro' should make so extravagant an offer? I will recall to you the extreme jealousy which has always existed between these two great commercial cities. You will remember that this rivalry is unceasing—that it comprehends all things, the smallest as well as the greatest. They attempted to vie with each other in the construction of their doms: Dantzic gained the advantage. The fame and the prize given for excellence in these clocks, and of the unrivaled workmanship which may be expected, has spread throughout Germany. The inhabitants of Hambro' are inferior in science. They wish to obtain a piece of workmanship which shall be unrivaled, in the easiest manner, and I was sent here to negotiate the purchase. Well, I was selected by the Council here as one of the judges. It is an act of treachery—granted: that cannot affect you. All that there is for you to decide on are the terms I have offered you."