A GERMAN BOOKSELLER AND MARTYR.
It was long after nightfall; in the narrow, gloomy streets of the
ancient free city of Nuremberg all noise had long since died away, and
all the windows of the high houses with the gable-ends were dark. Only
on the ground-floor of the large house in the rear of St. Sebald’s
church a lonely candle was burning, and the watchman, who was just
walking past with his long horn and iron pike, looked inquisitively into
the window, the shutters of which were not entirely closed.
“H’m!” he said to himself in a low voice, “the poor woman is kneeling
and weeping and praying; I am sure it is for her husband. In her grief
she did not notice, perhaps, that it is already midnight. I will remind
her of it, so that she may go to bed.”
He placed himself on the street in front of the house, blew his horn
noisily, and then sang in a ringing voice:
“Hort, Ihr Herren, und lasst euch sagen, Die Glock hat zwolf geschlagen;
Ein Jeder bewahr sein Feuer und Licht, Dass dieser Stadt kein Harm
geschicht!”
[Footnote: The ancient song of the German watchman.--“Listen, gentlemen,
and let me tell you: the clock has struck twelve; every one must take
care of his fire and light, that no harm may befall this city!”]
“So, now she knows it,” muttered the watchman; “now she will go to bed.”
And he sauntered down the long and tortuous street, to repeat his song
on the next corner.
He had really accomplished his purpose; his song had interrupted the
prayer of the young wife, and she had risen from her knees.
“Midnight already!” she murmured, in a low voice. “Another day of
anguish is over, and a new one is beginning. Oh, would to God I could
sleep, always sleep, so as to be at least unconscious of the dangers
that are menacing HIM! Oh, my God, my God! protect my poor, beloved
husband, preserve the father of my children! And now I will go to bed,”
she added, after a pause. “God will have mercy on me, perhaps, and grant
me a few hours of rest!”
She took the brass candlestick, on which a taper was burning, and went
slowly and with bowed head to the adjoining room. When she had entered
it, her face became calmer and more joyful, and a gentle smile lighted
up her charming features when she now approached the small bed, in which
her two little girls lay arm-in-arm, sweetly slumbering with rosy cheeks
and half-opened crimson lips.
“God preserve to you your peace and innocence,” whispered the young
mother, after contemplating her children long and tenderly. “God, I
fondly trust, will cause this cloud to glide past without your hearing
the thunder roll, and being shattered by the lightning. Good-night, my
children!”
She nodded smilingly to the slumbering girls, and then glided
noiselessly to her couch. She commenced undressing--slowly and sighing,
but when she was just about to open the silver buckle of her sash, she
paused and looked anxiously toward the window.
It seemed to her as though she had heard a soft rapping at this window,
which opened upon the garden in the rear of the house, and as though a
low voice has uttered her name.
Sure enough, the sound was repeated, and she now heard the voice say
quite distinctly: “Open the window, Anna.”
She rushed toward the window and opened it, pale, breathless, and almost
out of her wits.
“Is it you, Palm?” she cried.
“It is I,” said a low, male voice; and now an arm became visible, it
encircled the crosswork of the window; in the next second the whole form
of a gentleman appeared, and vaulted cautiously into the room.
“God be praised, I am with you again!” he said, drawing a deep breath;
“it seems to me as if all danger were past when I am again in our quiet
house with you and the children.”
“No, my beloved husband, it is just here that dangers are threatening
you,” said the young wife, sinking into the open arms of her husband,
and reposing her head on his breast. “My God, why did you return?”
“Because I was afraid when I was far from you, while I feel here with
you courageous enough to brave the whole world,” said her husband,
almost cheerfully, imprinting a glowing kiss on the forehead of his
young wife. “Believe me, Anna, a husband always lacks the right kind of
courage when he believes his wife and children to be in danger. For six
days I have been separated from you; well, in these six days, which I
have spent in perfect security at Erlangen, I have not passed a minute
without feeling the painful palpitation of my heart, nor have I slept a
minute. I always thought of and trembled for you.”
“But we are in no danger, while YOU are, my beloved,” said the young
wife, sighing. “Our house is closely watched, you may depend upon it. I
have seen French gens-d’armes hidden behind the pillars of the church,
and staring for hours at our street-door. Oh, if they knew that you were
here, they would arrest you this very night!”
“They would not dare to arrest me!” exclaimed Palm, loudly. “We do not
yet belong to France, although the Emperor of France has assumed the
right of giving the ancient free city of Nuremberg to Bavaria, as
though she were nothing but a toy got up in our factories. We are still
Germans, and no French gens-d’armes have any right to penetrate into
our German houses. But look, the children are moving; little Sophy is
opening her eyes. What a barbarian I am to speak so loudly, and not even
to respect the slumber of our little ones!”
He hastened to the small bed, and bending over it, nodded smilingly a
greeting to the little girl, who was staring at him, still half asleep.
The child whispered, in a low voice: “Dear, dear father!” and fell
quietly asleep again.
“Come, Anna,” whispered Palm, “let us go to your room, in order not to
disturb the children.”
“But the spying eyes of our enemies might see you there,” said his
wife, anxiously. “No, let us stay here, even though we should awaken
the little girls. They will not cry, but be happy to see their beloved
father, and what we are speaking to each other they cannot understand.
Come, let us sit down here on the small sofa, and permit me to place the
screen before it; then I am sure nobody will be able to see you.”
She conducted Palm to the small sofa in the corner of the room, and
placed the screen as noiselessly as possible before it.
“So,” she said, nestling in his arms, “now we are here as if in a little
cell, where only God’s eye can find us. So long as we are in this cell I
shall not be afraid.”
“I believe it is unnecessary for you to be afraid at all,” said Palm,
smiling. “We carry our apprehensions to too great a length, you may
depend upon it, and because we see M. Bonaparte putting whole states
into his pocket, we believe it would be easy for him likewise to put
a respectable citizen and bookseller of Nuremberg into it. But, be it
spoken between us, that is rather a haughty idea, and M. Bonaparte has
to attend to other things than to take notice of a bookseller and
his publications. Remember, my child, that he has just got up the
Confederation of the Rhine, and, moreover, is said to be preparing for a
war with Prussia. How should he, therefore, have time to think of a poor
bookseller?”
“Do you think, when the lion is going to meet his adversary and to
struggle with him, he will leave the wasp which he has met on his way,
and which has stung him in the ear, unpunished, because he has more
important things to attend to?”
“But I did not sting him at all,” said Palm, smiling. “Let us calmly
consider the whole affair, dearest Anna, and you will see that I have in
reality noting to fear, and that only the accursed terror which this M.
Bonaparte has struck into the souls of all Germans has caused us this
whole alarm. A few months ago I received by mail, from a person unknown
to me, a large package of books, enclosing a letter, in which the
stranger requested me to send the copies of the pamphlet contained in
the package immediately to all German booksellers, and to give it as
wide a circulation as possible. The letter contained also a draft for
one thousand florins, drawn by a banker of Vienna, Baron Franke, on a
wealthy banking-house of our city. This sum of one thousand florins,
said the letter, was to be a compensation for my trouble and for the
zeal with which, the writer stated, he felt convinced I would attend to
the circulation of the pamphlet.”
“But the very mystery connected with the whole transaction ought to have
aroused your suspicion, my beloved.”
“Why! Are not we Germans now under the unfortunate necessity of keeping
secret our most sublime thoughts and our most sacred sentiments? And
ought not, therefore, every one of us to take pains to honor and protect
this secrecy, instead of suspecting it?”
“But the very title of this pamphlet was dangerous, ‘Germany in her
Deepest Degradation.’ You might have guessed whom this accusation was
aimed at.”
“At Germany, I thought, at our infamy and cowardice, at the perfidy of
our princes, at the torpid, passive indifference of our people. It
is high time that Germany, which is now tottering about like a
somnambulist, should be aroused by a manful word from her slumber, so
as to take heart again and draw the sword. The title told me that the
pamphlet contained such words; hence, I was not at liberty to keep
it out of circulation. It would have been a robbery perpetrated upon
Germany, a theft perpetrated upon him who sent me the money, and to whom
I could not return it, because I was not aware of his name.”
“You ought to have thought of your wife and your children,” murmured
Anna, sighing.
“I thought of you,” he said, tenderly; “hence, I did not read the
pamphlet, in order not to be shaken in what I thought my duty. First, I
had to fulfil my duty as a citizen and man of honor; then only I was at
liberty to think of you and my personal safety. I sent, therefore, in
the first place, a certain number of copies of the pamphlet to M. Stage,
the bookseller, and requested him to circulate them an speedily as
possible among his customers.”
“And, God knows, he has done so,” sighed Anna, “and, like you, he was
not deterred by the title.”
“He did his duty, like myself, and sent the pamphlets to lovers
of books. In this manner it reached a preacher in the country, and
unfortunately there were two French officers at his house; they
understood German, read the pamphlet, and informed their colonel of its
character. The latter paid a visit to the preacher, and learned from him
that M. Stage, the bookseller of Augsburg, had sent him the pamphlet.
The colonel thereupon repaired to Augsburg and saw M. Stage.”
“And Stage was cowardly and perfidious enough to betray your name and
to denounce you as being the bookseller who had sent him the pamphlet,”
exclaimed Anna, her eyes flashing with indignation. “Your friend, your
colleague betrayed you!”
“I had not requested him not to mention my name,” said Palm, gravely;
“he had a right to name it, and I do not reproach him with doing so. I
was informed that the French minister in Munich had bitterly complained
of me and demanded that I should be punished; and as we are Bavarians
now, I hastened to Munich in order to defend myself.”
“And while you were there, four strangers came hither,” Anna interrupted
him. “They asked for the pamphlet, penetrated in the most outrageous
manner, in spite of my remonstrances, into your store, searched it,
and left only when they had satisfied themselves that not a copy of the
unfortunate pamphlet was there.”
“You wrote this to me while I was in Munich, and at the same time I
heard that Stage had been arrested in Augsburg. Impelled by my first
terror, I fled from the capital and hastened to Erlangen, which is
situated on Prussian soil, and where neither the Bavarian police nor the
French gens d’armes could lay hands on me. But in Erlangen I reflected
on the matter, and I confess to you I was ashamed of having fled,
instead of confronting an examination openly and freely. My love, my
yearning attracted me toward you; I, therefore, took carriage last night
and rode home to my beloved wife and to my children. This is a plain
statement of the whole affair, and now tell me what should I be afraid
of?”
“You may fear the worst,” exclaimed Anna, sadly; “for our French tyrants
will not shrink from any thing.”
“But fortunately we do not live yet under the French sceptre,” replied
Palm, vividly; “we are Germans, and only German laws are valid for us.”
“No,” said Anna, mournfully, “we are not Germans, but Bavarians, that
is to say, the allies, the humble vassals of France. Not the King of
Bavaria, but the Emperor of France, is ruling over us.”
“Well, even were it so, I could not see what crime I should be charged
with. I neither wrote nor published this pamphlet; I merely circulated
it, and cannot, therefore, be held responsible for its contents.
Possibly, they may arrest me as they have arrested Stage, and may
intend thereby to compel me to mention the name of him who sent me the
pamphlet, as Stage mentioned my own name. Fortunately, however, I am
able to prove that I know neither the author nor the publisher; for I
have got the best proof, of it, viz., the letter which I received with
the package. I shall lay this letter before the court, and the judges
will then perceive that I am entirely innocent. What will remain for
them but to caution me not to circulate henceforth books sent to me
anonymously, and then to release me?”
“But if they should not release you, my beloved husband?” asked his
wife, anxiously clasping him in her arms; “if in their rage at being
unable to lay their hands on the real criminal, they should wreak their
vengeance on you for having circulated the pamphlet first of all, and
punish you as though you were its author?”
“Oh, you go too far,” exclaimed Palm, laughing; “your imagination calls
up before you horrors which belong to the realm of fable. We still live
in a well-regulated state, and however great the influence of France
may be, German laws are still valid here; and as we live in a state
of peace, I can be judged only in accordance with them. Fear not,
therefore, dearest wife. The worst that can befall me will be a
separation for a few days, at the most for a few weeks, if our
authorities should really carry their fawning submission to Bonaparte to
such a length as to call a German citizen to account for having, in his
business as a bookseller, circulated a pamphlet--understand me well, a
German pamphlet, destined only for Germany, and which does not flatter,
perhaps, the Emperor of the French quite as much as is being done by our
German princes and our German governments.”
“Oh my God, my God,” wailed Anna, in a low voice, “the pamphlet is
directly aimed at Napoleon, then?”
“Yes, at him who has placed his heels on the neck of Germany and
trampled her in the dust,” exclaimed Palm. “This pamphlet, called
‘Germany in her Deepest Degradation,’ must have been written against him
alone. Oh, during the days of my sojourn in Erlangen, I have read this
pamphlet, and whatever may befall me, I am glad it was I who circulated
it, for a noble German spirit pervades the whole of it, and it is
truth that raises the scourge in it to lash the guilty parties. It is
a vigorous and glowing description of the condition to which all the
German states have been reduced by Bonaparte’s arbitrary proceedings.
Just listen to this one passage, and then you may judge whether the
pamphlet tells the truth or not.”
He drew a few printed leaves from his side-pocket, and unfolded them.
“You have got a copy of the dreadful pamphlet with you?” asked Anna, in
dismay. “Oh, how imprudent! If they should come now to arrest you, they
would obtain a new proof of your guilt. I implore you, my friend, my
beloved, if you love me, if your children are dear to you, be cautious
and prudent! Burn those terrible leaves, so that they may not testify
against you. Remember that I should die of grief if your life should
be threatened; remember that our poor children then would be helpless
orphans.”
“Oh, my poor, timid roe,” said Palm, deeply moved, encircling his
weeping young wife with his arms. “How your faithful, innocent heart is
fluttering, as if the cruel hunter were already aiming his murderous arm
at us, and as if we were irretrievably doomed! Calm yourself, dearest, I
pledge you my word that I will comply with your wishes. We will burn the
pamphlet; but previously you shall learn, at least, the spirit in which
this pamphlet, for which your poor husband will have to suffer, perhaps,
a few days’ imprisonment, is written. Just listen to me! The author is
speaking here of Bavaria, and of the oppressions to which she is a prey
since we have concluded an alliance with France. He says: ‘Since that
time the Bavarian states have become the winter quarters, and been
treated in a manner unheard of since the Thirty Years’ War. At that time
the Austrians, under Tilly and Wallenstein, were pursuing precisely the
same course now followed by the French, and if their emperor draws no
other lessons from that war, he has closely copied, at least, the system
of obtaining supplies for an army which was then in use. Trustworthy men
have assured us that the French ruler, when in Munich the most urgent
remonstrances concerning the oppressions under which the people of
Bavaria were groaning were made to him,” replied in cold blood: “My
soldiers have not done so. These are times of war--let me alone, and do
not disturb my plans.” Already in December last the treaty of Presburg
was signed, and from that moment Austria had the prospect of getting rid
of her enemies. Had Bavaria not an equal right to enjoy the advantages
of this treaty? These advantages could be none other than that the
French army left the Bavarian territories and relieved the people
from further oppressions. But just the reverse took place. The French
withdrew from the states of the German emperor to occupy Bavaria, and
celebrate here, by the ruin of all the inhabitants, their victories in
orgies and carousals continued for many months. If I refer to the ruin
of the inhabitants, the words should be taken in their literal meaning,
and not as an expression merely chosen to depict the misery the French
have brought upon Bavaria. It is not yet five years since a hostile army
of the same nation lorded it over that country. And nobody will venture
to assert that the wounds then inflicted upon the inhabitants should
have been healed in so short a time. The farmer, deprived of his
animals, had scarcely commenced to provide himself again with horses
and cattle, when the passage of the French, in every respect equal to
an invasion, took from him again this important portion of his personal
property. Fraud, cunning, and force were alternately resorted to for
this purpose. Tears and the most humble supplications were rejected
with sneers, and even blows. The French called themselves “preservers
of Bavaria.” Forsooth a preservation similar to the fate of the patient
whom one doctor would have sooner sent into the grave, and who is
dying more slowly under the hands of another. If friendship ever was a
mockery, it was so on this occasion. But it is part of Napoleon’s plans
to exhaust Germany to such an extent as to render her incapable of
becoming dangerous for him even in the most remote future. He selected
several highly effective expedients for this purpose. Dynasties, the
ancestors of which date back to the most remote ages, and one of which
long since produced emperors and kings, were united with Bonaparte’s
family by the closest ties of blood, and thus the ruler of France has
already become the relative of the courts of Baden, Bavaria, Sweden, and
Russia. Not content with this, he offered royal crowns to Bavaria and
Wurtemberg, and the German emperor had to assent to this measure in
the treaty of Presburg. Thus Germany has got two new kingdoms, and--’”
[Footnote: From the celebrated pamphlet. “Germany in her Deepest
Degradation.”]
“Oh, I implore you, do not read any further,” exclaimed Anna, suddenly
interrupting her husband. “It frightens me to hear you repeat those
threatening and angry words; they fall upon my heart like a terrible
accusation against you! Believe me, my beloved, if that proud and
ambitious Emperor Napoleon should hear of this terrible pamphlet--if its
contents should be communicated to him, you would be lost: for, having
no one else on whom to wreak his vengeance, he would revenge himself on
you!”
“But he will not have me either,” said Palm, smiling, “for I shall
take good care not to set foot on French territory; I shall not leave
Nuremberg, and thank God, that is German territory.”
“But the French frontier is close to us, for wherever there are French
troops there is France. Napoleon’s arm reaches far beyond her
frontiers, and if he wants to seize you he will do so in spite of all
boundary-posts, German laws, and your own citizenship.”
“There is really something so convincing in your fears that it might
almost infect me!” said Palm, musingly. “It would have been better,
perhaps, after all, for me not to have come back, but to remain in
Prussian Erlangen!”
“Return thither,” exclaimed Anna, imploringly; “I beseech you by our
love, by our children, and by our happiness, return to Erlangen!”
“To-morrow, dearest Anna!” said Palm, smiling, clasping his young wife
in his arms--“to-morrow it will be time enough to think of another
separation. Now let me take a few hours’ rest, and enjoy the unutterable
happiness of being at home again!--at home with my wife and with my dear
little ones!”