International Weekly Miscellany of Literature, Art and Science — Volume 1, No. 2, July 8, 1850
- -
- 100%
- +
"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."
"Oh! Marguerite!" exclaimed Dumiger, "if you were here, what would you counsel?"
"What would she counsel," said the stranger, "except to accept this offer? Remember, if you refuse it you remain here for days, if not weeks. You cannot hope to obtain the preference unless you are enabled to inform any one of the secret of setting the works in motion, and then it would require a hand as steady and experienced as my own to carry out your directions; and I should not undertake to do it except on the conditions which I have named."
"Show me the conditions drawn out," said Dumiger.
The man rolled out slowly one of the long strips of parchment which he held in his hand; he gave it to Dumiger, who drew the lamp near him, and for a few minutes reveled in the ideas of freedom and wealth. He had but to say the word, and he enjoyed all that he had been laboring for through life; but then, at what price? at that which it pained him to contemplate—the citizenship of his native town, where his family had dwelt respected for centuries. No doubt he was selling his birthright; he was parting with all that a man should cling to in adversity as in prosperity—that which is not to be purchased with gold—all his old ties, his affections, his faith. Once signed, the deed was irrevocable; and yet if he did not sign, what had he to hope for?
He leaned his head on his hands, in one of those stern struggles which age a man in a few minutes, as breaths of frost wither the freshest leaves. He invoked the Spirit of Love—he called forth Marguerite, and she stood beside him. He saw her with her cheek paler than when he had parted from her; he saw her bosom heaving with sighs instead of love; he heard her soft whisper in his ear, and he thought that whisper expressed assent—that for him, she too was willing to relinquish the home and the friends of her childhood. Ay, is it not ever so? Invoke whom we may in hours of trial, does not the oracle take its tone from our own wishes? Fond and futile pretense to invoke the Spirit of Love to decide where love is interested! As Marguerite seemed to stand beside Dumiger he lost sight of ambition, and all its pomp and circumstance; all he asked was to be free.
"Give me the paper," he said in a firm voice: "the clock is yours, and the principle of the movement is to be found engraved on a small plate under the mainspring."
If he had seen the smile of triumph which passed over that man's countenance, he would have hesitated.
The deed was done: the man put his materials and his paper into his pocket again.
"Now," he said, rising to go, "the third day's post will find you free; and take my advice, leave Dantzic soon. The people will be irritated at being deprived of their master-piece. I would not have you trust to their render mercies; for that matter, it is well for you that you are safe in prison. Remember this advice, for I know the Dantzickers as well as you do."
"Stay, stay one moment," cried Dumiger, as the stranger was about to leave the cell, "who told you so much about me? How did you obtain this list of debts? How came you to hear of Marguerite, and Carl, and Krantz? Surely," and he passed his hand across his brow like a man who is pained by the intensity of a ray of light after having been long in darkness—"tell me before you go, what does this mean?" And he caught a firm hold of the man's cloak.
"There is no reason why I should not tell you the truth now," said he, buttoning his coat tightly over the papers. "I was sent for by the Grand Master, who engaged me to obtain the sale of your clock at any price. And he gave me good inducements to undertake the job."
The whole scheme broke on Dumiger's mind.
"And with what object?" he gasped forth; "tell me that."
"To get rid of your competition," said the man quietly. "After yours there is no doubt that his son's is the best; and, therefore, when yours is sold to Hambro', his will be prized in Dantzic. As for me, I shall get rewarded for my exertions, both by the Grand Master your noble count, and my own city. Here is the truth of the matter," said he; "now let me go."
"Let you go, miscreant!" exclaimed Dumiger, "never, until you return me that paper. Let you go! I will follow you to death rather. You betrayed me into this act; it was not my own free will. I am the victim of the basest conspiracy. I have been induced to sell my birthright—I prefer to remain in prison—I love my townspeople—I will not be free on these conditions! Give me back my bond!"
"Never!" said the man, putting himself into an attitude of defense.
And he did wisely, for there was desperation in Dumiger's eye. He waited a moment, and then with a maniac's strength he flew at the man, but he found a powerful and vigorous antagonist. The stranger, who had appeared half decrepit and aged, rose up in all the strength of youth. In a moment he had grasped Dumiger's arms, very coolly taken out a handkerchief, and in spite of all Dumiger's efforts bound his hands together. After he had performed this operation he drew the document again from his pocket, so as to be well assured that it was correctly signed, and smiled as he said to Dumiger—
"You know that signature?"
"Scoundrel! miscreant!" were the only words to which Dumiger could give utterance.
"And now, fellow-citizen," said the man, "I bid you farewell. Keep your temper; these sober arts should have taught you this kind of self-command. You will soon be free. As for your arms, I dare not untie them now, but I will send the guard to you. Now, holloa, guard without there!" and he left the cell.
What did all this mean? A mystery seemed to be encircling Dumiger which he could not penetrate. He knew there was danger near him, but was unable to define its extent. Only one thing was now certain—he had sold that clock on which years of toil had been bestowed, and not in vain. He had but a few days since contemplated certain success, now how far it was from him! And Hamburgh—to be great and ennobled there, what did that signify to him? How long would it not take for him, the inhabitant of the great rival city, to be admitted into this new society? No, he had made an error which could never be recalled; he had broken the ties which were once so dear to him. Dumiger now learned the great truth, that it is only the opinion of the few with whom we are most intimate that we care for. It is nothing to be great amongst those with whom we have no sympathies, no affections in common. The kind word from one lip which we love is far more to be prized than the loudest acclamations of thousands to whom we are indifferent.
CHAPTER V
The day at last arrived for the triennial exhibition of the productions of Dantzic art, on which day the council had agreed that the prize for the clock was to be adjudged. It was a great fête for the town. At an early hour of the morning the inhabitants began to decorate their houses with tapestry, and to hang garlands over the door-posts. All classes prepared their dresses of brightest colors, and their gayest, happiest smiles. And none was happier than Marguerite, for Dumiger had written to tell her that on the next day he was certain to be free; but he had not ventured to inform her that the clock was sold to Hamburgh. Still, although the deed of sale was irrevocable, his feelings would not permit him to believe that the excellence of his work would remain unknown to his towns-people; he felt convinced that the strangers vanity would induce him to make use of the secret confided to him, so he wrote to Marguerite that all would go right. Carl and Krantz arrived early in the morning to accompany her to the great hall. She had within her a secret which she would not have disclosed to the universe,—the secret of her husband's success, of his fame and future happiness. So far Dumiger had informed her that there was an intrigue against him, in which the Grand Master was the principal: he explained to her that the object the Grand Master had in view was to obtain the prize and its accompanying honors for his own son. Carl and Krantz undertook to protect her through the crowd, and it was with an abundant feeling of confidence that she dressed for the ceremonial.
She wore her hair braided round her head; a bodice, which showed the beauty and shape of her form, of scarlet cloth, attached by threads of gold across the shirt, which was of the softest and most delicate material; the short blue petticoat, which reached some way below the knee, but did not descend so far as to conceal the ankle, the symmetry of which was well-defined by the silk stocking. The shoe might have stirred the envy of any grisette in Paris—a class which was, even in those days, supposed to enjoy a monopoly of taste and refinement. There was a modesty combined with refinement and strength of character in the appearance of Marguerite which would have distinguished her in any crowd. She was a being for love and sunshine; but one who, at the same time, would have dared much for him she loved. The kind and generous are ever gallant, and rarely are the beautiful unworthy.
Carl and Krantz were also dressed out in their gayest costumes. It would have been hard to have decided which was the predominant color in the dresses of these two worthy citizens; they would have rivaled any tulip bed in a Dutch garden, and perfectly dazzled Marguerite when they entered the room.
At length the last touch was given to the toilette, and they sallied forth. Already the streets were so crowded that it was difficult to move through them; but Carl and Krantz were determined, energetic fellows, and what with their elbows and Marguerite's bright smiles, after incurring a few risks of some jokes on Carl's extravagant appearance, they reached the great hall.
The street in front of the Courthouse was lined with the burgher guard, stationed there to keep back the crowd; but Marguerite had an order for admittance at a private entrance, so, escorted by her cavalier, she ascended the staircase.
When she entered the hall she was struck with awe and astonishment. The whole of that enormous space, with the exception of the portion railed off for the competitors and the dais where the council were sitting, was crowded by a dense mass of people: along the sides of the vast edifice, and up to the very roof, were arranged all the various productions of national art. Nothing can be pictured more beautiful than the combination of rich and varied colors, or more curious than the forms which art and genius had given them: here were dyes which might have rivaled those of Tyre, and fabrics of finer texture than a Penelope could have woven. At one end, toward which Marguerite's eyes were most anxiously turned, the models of the clocks were arranged. Dumiger's was placed in the center, for it was at the same time the largest model, and contained the most elaborate and complicated machinery; but, alas! the works remained still, while all the others were in motion, and showed in the smallest space the movements of the heavenly bodies, and the progress of time. If Dumiger's meant anything more than a confused mass of machinery, it could not for a moment be doubted that it was the work of highest genius exhibited, but in its quiescent state it contrasted disadvantageously with the admirable systems revolving round it. Marguerite held her breath while she gazed; neither did she perceive how much attention she herself had awakened—the moment for vanity had passed, her present interests lay far deeper. Immediately above her the Grand Council, with the Grand Master, were sitting, dressed in their robes of state. The Count Albrecht wore his cordon of the Fleece, and looked every inch a grand master; the anxiety for his son's success was apparent in the nervous glances which he cast around him. Behind, and amid the retainers, stood the dark, designing-looking stranger, who held in his hand the fate of Dumiger.
The heralds proclaimed silence, and then the Grand Master rose to read the decision of the council. It commenced with reciting the list of the competitors, and when it mentioned Dumiger's name, it said, "the work is imperfect, and therefore must be withdrawn."
"It is not imperfect," cried two stentorian voices from the farther end of the hall.
The voices proceeded from Carl and Krantz, whose excitement could no longer be retained.
"No! it is not imperfect," said the gentler voice of Marguerite.
All eyes were turned toward the spot whence that voice proceeded. Marguerite nearly fainted to find herself the object of so much attention.
"Keep your courage," whispered Carl. "Tell them that Dumiger will soon be free, and the works put in motion. I will tell them for you," he exclaimed, and he began to speak, when the mysterious stranger stepped forth.
"Stay," he said, "let me touch the works of this clock—the secret is mine."
He forced his way through the crowd, looked carefully over the machinery, opened a secret spring, arranged two small wheels, on which the accurate movement of the whole machinery depended, and immediately it was all in motion.
The proceeding was watched with intense interest by all. The stranger's eye gleamed with delight, for he was anxious, with the true spirit of Hamburg jealousy, that the people of Dantzic should feel the value of what they were about to lose.
It was indeed a marvelous piece of workmanship: the planets all revolved in their regular order, figures of exquisite workmanship appeared and disappeared to mark the seconds, and the dial plate was of elaborate beauty. The people for some time stood entranced in wonder. At last they exclaimed, as with one voice—
"It is a work worthy of Dantzic—and Dumiger has won! Dumiger forever'."
If Marguerite had nearly fainted from fear, she was now pale with delight.
"Dumiger, Dumiger forever!" again shouted the crowd; "where is the laurel? where is the triumph? Greatest amongst his citizens, Dumiger has won!"
But at that moment the stranger came forward with a paper in his hand. The Count's face, which had been overspread with anger and shame at these shouts, was again lit up with hope, for after Dumiger's his son's was evidently the best.
"You mistake, my friends," said this man: "Dumiger is not a citizen of Dantzic, but of Hamburg, and the clock belongs to that noblest of free cities."
"Madman! fool!" burst from the astonished crowd; "we all know Dumiger, his family are eminent in the list of our freemen—you are mad! Grand Master, proclaim that Dumiger has won the prize, that Dumiger is great."
Joy thrilled through Marguerite's frame.
The Grand Master rose, and his voice trembled with anxiety and secret pleasure as he spoke.
"It is too true," he said; "the clock is sold to Hamburg, and Dumiger has lost his rights of citizenship here by becoming a freeman of that town. The prize, therefore, in accordance with the decision of the council, is adjudged to the second—to my son."
Then the anger of the people rose, wild and savage; in one moment, like the bursting of a thunder-cloud, the whole aspect of the place had changed.
"Show us the deed!" they exclaimed.
The stranger took it and held it up. There was no mistaking it; it was headed by the arms of Hamburg, and signed by Dumiger. The storm of indignation had subsided for a moment, but only as it seemed to gain additional strength.
"Tear him in pieces—he shall not have the clock. Down with Dumiger—crucify the man who could prefer the freedom of Hamburg to the honors of Dantzic. Down with him!"
And the people tore up the benches, drove back the burgher guard; some of the boldest dashed on the platform; the Grand Council had to escape, carrying the stranger with them. The mob tore out of the hall, and told their friends outside—anger led to anger, the passions rose like the waves at the equinox. Nothing could stop the mob, from so apparently trifling a cause a tumult was created; the jealousy of the townsmen now appeared—that jealousy, smothered and subdued for so many years, burst forth in this madness.
Poor Marguerite had fainted. Carl and Krantz, by herculean exertions, dragged her through the mob; she was taken to a small room over the great hall, and laid there until the storm should be appeased.
It did not seem likely to be so. Unfortunately, one of the guards had in the tumult struck a burgher; in some of the smaller streets they were even now fighting; but the crowd in the great square seemed to have a firmer purpose, there was a gradual calm. At last one man climbed up the statue in the Center of the square.
"Where is Dumiger?" he asked.
And another voice answered, "He is in the debtor's prison."
"We will go and lead him to his triumph," was the dark and threatening reply of the people, who now moved forward in columns.
CHAPTER VI
The two days which elapsed since the interview with the stranger had been passed by Dumiger in great misery. He blamed himself deeply for having been so easily entrapped into what he feared would prove a snare, and very foolishly, as we have seen, he wrote to Marguerite that she had everything to hope, as he still retained the desire of being honored by his fellow-townsmen, although they were not to enjoy the fruit of his labors.
On the eventful morning which has been described, Dumiger arose full of hope, his triumph was to be secured; and in the evening he even entertained a secret impression and belief that the people would not permit the clock to be removed, and that the error he had made might be retrieved by their energetic wills. He heard the bands of music playing in the distance. The merry chimes floated over the water, and bade him good speed. He thought that he could even discern the buzz of enjoyment, and the shout of anticipated triumph. He took out the last letter which Marguerite had written to him, and pressed it to his heart; that day, he thought, was to see them united never to be parted again.
What sound was that?—Was it the wind? No, the murmur of many voices, the tramp of a thousand feet, shook the drawbridge. He heard his own name called out. Yes, it is! it surely cannot be an error; it is Dumiger they are invoking. Now there can be no mistake, the crowd unite in one loud cry,—
"Where is Dumiger?"
"I am here, I am here," he shrieks out; "Open the gates."
What could it mean? the guards were resisting. There is a shot fired—is this the way in which a triumph is conducted? There is a pause—a parley.
"We want the man Dumiger, the prisoner," exclaims one.