"_To His Lordship, Baron Boleslav_
_von Schranden, of Castle Schranden_.
"_Your Hochwohlgeboren is requested to appear in person on January 3rd,
anni futuri, at two o'clock in the afternoon, at Herr Merckel's
official residence, and to bring the requisite papers relating to your
Hochwohlgeboren's attachment, or non-attachment, to the Prussian
Landwehr._
"(Signed) Royal Landrath V. Krotkeim,
_Representative of Military Affairs
for the District_."
Boleslav found this communication in the drawbridge letter-box on New
Year's morning. The threatening nature of its contents did not at once
strike him; he was only staggered at the authorities taking the trouble
to investigate his case. He had resolved, on again adopting his
father's name, to let the waters of oblivion close over Lieutenant
Baumgart. He had discharged his duty to his country unconditionally;
bolder and more self-sacrificing than thousands of others, he had gone
to face death. Now that there was peace, and he had taken a great
burden of inherited guilt on his shoulders, he had wished to avoid
being involved in any way with official red-tapism.
Only gradually did he realise the new dangers that were gathering on
his horizon. Pride in his past as a soldier, afforded him the one prop
and stay in his present ruined life, and he felt that slipping from
under his feet. He stood defenceless in face of imminent peril. It
would need only a little _malice prepense_ to make him out a deserter
from the flag, and the fact of his having borne a false name would go
far to establish his guilt.
The son of Baron von Schranden had no reason to hope that justice would
be tempered with mercy in his case. He would also have no reason to
complain of harsh measures, if he were put under arrest on the spot,
and brought before a court-martial of the standing branch of his
regiment.
For a moment he entertained thoughts of flight, but afterwards thrust
the idea from him in scorn. He had too often valued his life cheaply,
to now think seriously of stealing into Poland to end his wretched
career in safety.
But what would become of Regina?
At the thought of her, his heart smote him. She had no suspicion of the
new troubles with which he was encompassed. Since Christmas night he
had not addressed a single word to her that was not absolutely
necessary, and even then his voice had been imperious and severe. The
thought of her now seemed interwoven with a presentiment of coming
calamity, which oppressed him like a nightmare.
At night he tossed about restlessly among his pillows. She never
stirred in her corner. Apparently she fell asleep the moment she lay
down. But her soft, quick, regular breathing was sometimes broken by a
sigh. Perhaps, after all, she was not sleeping, but watching,
listening, as he listened....
And then the day dawned on which Boleslav's fate was to be decided.
Towards morning he had fallen into an uneasy sleep, and was first
awakened by the smoke that poured into the room from the vestibule,
where he had erected a temporary fireplace, which would have to do as a
makeshift till milder weather made the repairing of the glass root
practicable. It was a clear, frosty morning. The sunshine jewelled the
hoar-frost on the twigs, and dark purple shadows crept along the
dazzling sheets of snow.
He spent the morning in arranging his papers. All that was compromising
to his father's memory should be destroyed, for were he put under
arrest, as seemed likely, strangers' hands would meddle in this vortex.
He held the sorted letters in his hand ready to burn in the stove, when
he thought better of it. If he really were serious in his intentions of
bearing his father's guilt, he ought to conceal or destroy nothing in
order to lighten the burden. It was not worth while purchasing truth
with falsehood. Rather die in disgrace, than live in honour founded on
lies and deceit.
When Regina brought him his midday meal he vacillated an instant, as to
whether he should tell her all or nothing. But he shrank from a
touching scene, and decided on the latter course. A letter would serve
the same purpose. So he wrote: "If I am not back at dusk, probably you
will have difficulty in seeing me again. Inquire at the Landrath's
office in Wartenstein. There they will tell you what has become of me.
I advise you to leave Schranden at once. The draft I gave you will
supply your wants. What else remains shall all be yours later.
Good-bye, and accept my thanks."
He left the note in a conspicuous place, so that, when she cleared
away, she would find it. He was in a hard and embittered mood, and in
no humour for a sentimental farewell.
But as he passed Regina in the vestibule where she was occupied with
the fire, he felt a strong impulse to press her hand. For her sake, as
much as for his own, he went out without giving her a word or a look. A
group of staring louts, who appeared to be waiting for him, were
loafing near the drawbridge. When they saw him coming, they ran off
helter-skelter with loud exclamations, to the inn.
"My heralds," he said, and laughed.
Long before the stated hour the parlour of the Black Eagle could not
hold all the customers that poured in, anxious to secure a foremost
place for the proceedings. There was an overflow that extended as far
as the churchyard square. Every one was eager to witness with his own
eyes the final degradation of the last of the Barons of Schranden.
Three months had passed since the petition had been sent to the
judicial authorities of the province, and even the most zealous
patriots had begun to despair of its producing any results. Then at
last had come the delightful intimation from the office of the
Landrath, that a day had been appointed to wind up the case of the
Crown _v_. Schranden, _alias_ Baumgart, and the presence of the
petitioners was urgently requested at the inquiry.
The Schrandeners had armed themselves in a way worthy of the occasion.
For three days they had been busy polishing up their accoutrements.
Those among the disbanded Landwehr-men who still possessed their
_Litewka_ had donned it, and pikes and sabres were seen in the crowd.
Possibly they might be called upon to help in an instantaneous
administration of justice.
The Landrath's sleigh had entered the village at one o'clock, and, as
was customary, put up at the parsonage stable, where Herr Merckel and
his son stood ready to welcome the high functionary. There was no
gendarme on the box, which greatly mystified the Schrandeners. But
perhaps the services of one were not required when they could be
depended on to despatch the criminal at the first signal.
Shortly before two, the Landrath, accompanied by the old pastor, left
the parsonage and entered the inn by a side door, where Herr Merckel,
senior, again was to the fore to receive him, while Felix slouched in
the background, piqued at not being treated with what he considered
sufficient respect by the civilian.
The Landrath von Krotkeim was a tall, extremely slender man, whose
hoary leonine head rose with great effect from his contracted, sloping
shoulders. There was something awe-inspiring in its pose. He wore, in
defiance of the fashion of the period, long whiskers, which flowed
behind his ears, mingling with his thick iron-grey mane.
His part in the formation of defences for the Fatherland had been an
important and distinguished one. Two years before he had sat as a
deputy for the knighthood in the famous _Land-tag_ to which Germany
owed the foundation of the Landwehr. He had hailed old York with
cheers, and helped to draw up the address to the King. Afterwards he
had hastened back to his native place to set the organisation on foot,
and had achieved results which made his district the brilliant model
that excited the admiring emulation of the whole country. Then arose
those marauders attendant on success, vanity and egoism. What at first
had been a labour of noble disinterestedness, gradually degenerated
into a peg for self-advertisement and a means of memorialising his own
fame. For the rest, and long before the treachery of the Cats' Bridge
incident had been generally made known to the world, Herr von Krotkeim
had by repute been a bitter enemy of the house of Schranden. To hope
any favour at his hands would therefore be over-sanguine indeed. But
Boleslav had abandoned hope of any kind as he entered the square in
front of the church. He advanced composed, and almost indifferent,
towards the crowd that formed a cordon round the inn. He had, on his
way, cast one shy glance at the parsonage, where in a window he fancied
he had seen a fair face which withdrew into shadow directly he smiled
up at it. He was received by a murmur of malignant tongues, but the
cordon let him through, understanding enough to know that, without him,
the game they were anticipating with such keen relish could not be
played.
At the entrance to the best parlour, he stood face to face with the
great man with the lion's mane, on either side of whom sat the old
pastor and Herr Merckel. Felix lounged in the window-sill, trying to
assume an air of nonchalance. He now considered his former playmate too
inferior an object on which even to bestow his hate. But the old
landlord greeted Boleslav with a benign smile. Had he come there with
the purpose of treating every one present to a bottle of the celebrated
Muscat wine, the smile could not have been more smugly servile.
Lightning-flashes irradiated from beneath the prominent brows of the
old pastor, and the Landrath sat coolly contemplating his fingers,
which were white and bony as a skeleton's. Boleslav felt his bosom
swell proudly. "His hand against every man; every man's hand against
him." It was the old story!
A voice from the crowd hiccoughed out some unflattering remark. The
Schrandeners received it with laughter.
"It's the poor father, the unhappy father," old Merckel whispered to
the Landrath, with a melancholy elevation of his eyebrows.
"As you have summoned me here," exclaimed Boleslav, "I demand your
protection from the insults of the mob!"
The Landrath drooped his eyelids and bowed.
"Silence, dear people!" he commanded, stroking his clean-shaven chin,
and then he added, "I shall have any person who makes a disturbance
ejected."
He consulted a green portfolio that lay spread before him on the table.
Behind him a little man in grey was energetically trying goose quills.
Probably he was the reporter.
The examination began. With frigid politeness the Landrath put the
usual questions.
"Where have you resided hitherto?"
Boleslav enumerated several places.
"Your word is of course to be trusted, _Herr Baron_, but have you
proofs?"
"No."
"Up to what date does your answer hold good?"
"Till the spring of the year '13."
"After that?"
"I entered the army."
"Have you proofs to support that statement?"
"No."
"I regret to say that the name von Schranden is not to be found in the
army list."
"I enlisted under another."
"Under the name of Baumgart?"
"Yes."
"For what reason?"
There was silence. Boleslav bit his lips.
"Ha, ha!" came triumphantly from the window. The exclamation put
Boleslav on his mettle.
"To have borne my real name would have involved me in difficulties."
"Why?"
"Because, through a rumour which I was powerless to contradict, there
was a blot on that name."
"What rumour?"
It was clear this man intended to humiliate him to the dust before
passing on him the inevitable sentence.
"You know it," he murmured faintly between his closed teeth.
The Landrath bowed. "Nevertheless I must ask for information on the
subject."
"I decline to give it."
The mob sent up a shout of scornful laughter.
"Do for him at once! put him in chains!" roared the same hiccoughing
voice that had made use of an abusive epithet earlier in the
proceedings.
The Landrath gracefully waved his long white hands.
"A note has been made of that refusal?" he asked without turning round.
A small quavering pipe behind him, which greatly amused the
Schrandeners, answered in the affirmative.
Then he continued with imperturbable politeness.
"May I ask you, then, to tell me to which company you were attached?"
Boleslav did so, and also gave the names of his Heide comrades.
The Landrath turned over the leaves of his portfolio with an air of
ennui. The concerns of the volunteer Jaegers evidently had no interest
for him.
"You were elected officer?"
"Yes."
"I do not doubt your word, _Herr Baron_, but have you proofs to back
_this_ statement?"
"No."
"A note must be made of that negative. And then you entered the
Landwehr?"
"Yes."
"Your reason?"
Boleslav indicated, with a motion of his head, the companion of his
boyhood.
"Because I did not wish to meet that man."
Felix gave a scoffing laugh, and exclaimed, "Else the swindle
would----" A sign from the Landrath silenced him.
"Your Landwehr regiment, if you please?"
Boleslav cited the commandant's name.
The Landrath bowed low over the portfolio till his shock of hair almost
concealed his faded shrunken face.
"So far that coincides with my information," he said, and then read:
"There was a Lieutenant Baumgart, who at the time of the armistice
entered the regiment. Besides him there were four other officers of
this name in the army. The one in question, however, met his death
between the 1st and 3rd of March on the Marne."
"How did you learn that, _Herr Landrath_?"
"It is in the Gazette, _Herr Baron_. He is said to have been sent on a
special mission, and shot by grenadiers in General Marmont's corps."
Boleslav felt his blood mount swiftly to his brow. The proudest and
most arduous moments of his life rose vividly before him. "That is a
mistake," he cried; "Lieutenant Baumgart fell into the hands of the
enemy severely wounded, but escaped with his life."
"And it is your desire to be identified with that fallen emissary?"
"I believe I have clearly shown that it is my desire."
"Very well, that being so, you will of course be able to relate the
incidents of the special mission."
"Certainly."
"Please proceed."
"The volunteers had been charged to get a message delivered to General
von Kleist. Some days before a skirmish had taken place on the
banks of a river, Therouanne by name, through which the General and his
corps were cut off from communication with the main army. A reunion
was not to be effected owing to Marmont's and Mortier's troops, to
which Napoleon himself was said to be marching, stopping the way.
Field-Marshal Bluecher suddenly resolved to retreat, in order, I
believe, to pick up reinforcements, and therefore it was, under the
circumstances, urgent to let General von Kleist know at once, in case
he should find himself entirely isolated. It was necessary for the
messenger to evade the enemy's outposts at night-time. Among those who
volunteered to go on the mission, choice fell on me. Major von Schaek
led me to the Field-Marshal, who entrusted me with a letter----"
"One moment, please," interrupted the Landrath, searching diligently
among his papers; then he added casually, "And the letter of course
contained the necessary command."
"No."
"What, then?"
"The letter was designed to deceive the enemy in case I should be shot
from my horse on the way. The Field-Marshal desired me to give his
command by word of mouth. I had to learn it by heart."
"How did it run?"
"As follows: 'If on the morrow the enemy attacks us on the right flank,
General von Kleist is not to join in the engagement, but to seize the
opportunity of gaining the command of the Marne from the south, so that
he may bring himself in touch with me. _En route_ several bridges are
to be destroyed.'"
The Landrath nodded. "And then--Lieutenant?"
"I succeeded in delivering the message."
"You managed to evade the enemy and reach your goal?"
"I hope you have found proofs of it, _Herr Landrath_, in the history of
the war----"
"Hum! When were you wounded?"
"On the way back."
"Why did you not remain where you were?"
"Because I had undertaken to bring the Field-Marshal an answer."
"You might have spared yourself this second act of daring."
"I might have spared myself the first also."
"You wanted to achieve fame?"
"I wanted among other things to escape the privilege of this
cross-examination."
The Landrath straightened himself and threw back his mane. "Permit me
to draw your attention to the fact that you stand before the
representative of your king, Herr Baron von Schranden."
"Barefaced impudence!" muttered the voice at the window.
"I stand before my undoer," replied Boleslav, looking steadily into the
Landrath's eyes.
He fixed them on his papers again, with a suppressed smile. "I have now
come to the last stage of my investigation," he continued. "It cannot
be denied that your statements bear a strong resemblance to the facts,
and that your claim to be one and the same person as the Lieutenant
Baumgart who served in the Silesian Landwehr under Major von Wolzogen
has gained in probability. Only this admission has to be weighed in the
scale against the impossibility of an honourable officer, as the said
Baumgart seems to have been, turning his back on the army in which he
had won honours and wounds, and deserting its standard. He must have
known a company of soldiers could not be dispersed like a flock of
sparrows. And to think that the Landwehr"--his chest swelled and he
tossed his mane,--"the glorious Landwehr, that has always stood in the
first rank for courage, love of order, and discipline, should have thus
been hoodwinked! Freiherr von Schranden, I fervently hope that
Lieutenant Baumgart was not guilty of this transgression, and am
therefore bound to wish that he met his death."
Boleslav felt the crisis was approaching. He glanced round him and saw
everywhere eyes flaming with hate and thirst for vengeance. Felix
Merckel had laid his hand on the handle of his sabre, as if in another
moment he would raise it. From the throngs behind him came a clash and
din of arms. Malignant satisfaction beamed on the face of the old host
of the Black Eagle. Only the pastor sat with his dishevelled head bowed
in his hands, staring despondently on the floor.
"It is not my fault, _Herr Landrath_, that the dead man has been
brought to life. He did his duty, I think. Why should he not have been
allowed to rest in peace?"
The Landrath shrugged his shoulders.
"A public indictment cannot be ignored."
"An indictment!" cried Boleslav, his anger blazing up, and his eye met
young Merckel's.
There he read, in unmistakable characters, the story of the shameless
plot against him. He smiled in disgust.
"I see that I am answerable to a military tribunal," he said. "I was
prepared for it. I beg you now to arrest me."
The mob pushed forward as if anxious to take him at his word without
delay. Boleslav, who all this time had been standing on the threshold
of the inner parlour, was hurled forward against the table, within a
hair's-breadth of the Landrath, while the fists of his enemies touched
his neck from behind.
"Patience, my dear friends," said the Landrath in an amicable tone.
"The first who lays hands on him will himself be put in chains. One
more question, _Herr Baron_. If you were taken prisoner, as you
maintain, how was it that later, when the disbanding followed, you were
not registered and discharged in the regular order?"
"The French, in their hurried flight, left me lying on the field, as I
was badly wounded. I was picked up by some peasants, in whose house I
lay for months at death's door. When I was able to leave my rescuers,
peace had been concluded, and there were no allies in the
neighbourhood."
"Your word of honour is of course sacred, _Herr Baron_, but perhaps you
can substantiate this with proof?"
"Only with my scars, _Herr Landrath_."
"Ah!... Make a note of that----" He pushed back his leonine locks from
his brow, and seemed to be bracing himself for an impressive summing
up--
"My friends! Indomitable defenders of your country, and inhabitants of
Schranden! The founding of the Landwehr was the rising of a new sun,
which has never ceased to cast new lustre on the fame of Prussia. Let
us congratulate ourselves that we have been born in a time when such
great things have been demanded of us, and that we have proved
ourselves worthy of, and equal to the demand. Especially in this
district, and foremost in this district the parish of Schranden. If we
look round us, we see a very different spectacle in other quarters. Not
everywhere did the King's appeal meet with such a warm and spontaneous
echo.
"Oh, my friends, our hearts bleed when we hear of how, in the districts
of Konitz and Stargard, for example, to escape serving, men took refuge
in the woods, and lay full-length amongst the wheat till they had to be
baited like bulls. Thousands took flight across the frontier, and thus
shirked the conscription altogether. And often what had been
beautifully drilled companies overnight, by the morning were
transformed into a shapeless mass of panic-stricken deserters. But not
in the district that I have had the pleasure of mobilising.
"In less than two weeks, friends and comrades, the Landwehr of the
Wartenstein district was ready drilled and armed from top to toe. The
levies were double in strength what the government had required of us,
and eighty per cent, consisted of volunteers. From the parish of
Schranden came only volunteers."
The crowd set up loud hurrahs, and the pastor nodded and smiled in grim
satisfaction. He knew whose work that had been.
"I must admit," continued the Landrath, with a chilling sidelong glance
at Boleslav, "that the parish of Schranden has one hideous stain on its
reputation"--(several loud imprecations were audible)--"a stain which
in spite of all its deeds of bravery will never be dissociated from it"
(renewed curses); "but if it is the King's pleasure to overlook it, and
only to see the brighter side, his graciousness is due to those who, in
defending his realm, have rendered him such able services, whose leader
I am happy and proud to call myself. The King's favour--('Why does he
harp thus on the King's favour,' thought Boleslav, 'when he might wind
up the case and be done with it')--has been abundantly lavished on us,
and we are almost overpowered with his blessings. Yet let all who reap
the fruits of the harvest remember they owe it to the men of the
Landwehr, and not least to their organiser, who sowed for them the
seeds of undying fame."
Again he began to turn over the leaves of his portfolio, then he went
on: "Take your caps off, intrepid inhabitants of Schranden. Attention,
my brave men! Gentlemen, if you please, rise! Whoever keeps his cap on
at the back there will be ejected. I am commissioned to read over to
you an order of the Cabinet of supreme import. It is as follows:
'Should it prove true that the Freiherr von Schranden of Schloss
Schranden and Lieutenant Baumgart of the 15th Regiment of the
Silesian Landwehr, be one and the same person, and that, as was
naturally supposed of so fearless an officer, he had no real intentions
of deserting, I appoint him to a captaincy in my Landwehr, and entrust
him with the command of the company in his division. I also bestow on
him, in recognition of his extraordinary valour and distinguished
service, the iron cross of the first class. The Landrath for the
district shall invest him with these honours in the presence of his
accusers.--Friedrich Wilhelm Rex.'"
The proclamation was received in profound silence. The patriotic
Schrandeners stood glowering at each other in consternation. Felix
Merckel had sunk back on the window-seat. His fingers clutched
convulsively at the cross that shone between the black froggings on his
coat. Boleslav felt a buzzing sensation in his head. He was obliged to
cling to the door for support, for he feared he might swoon. Not joy,
only infinite bitterness, welled up within him. He bit his lips hard to
keep back his tears.
The Landrath drew a small black case from the depths of his coat
pocket, and presented it to Boleslav with an exaggeratedly obsequious
bow. The cover sprang back. The black smoothly polished scrap of iron,
on its background of blue velvet, seemed surrounded by a halo of
shimmering light. Boleslav grasped it with one hand in growing
excitement, while he offered his other to the Landrath. The latter
retreated a step or two, closely regarding his long, white, skinny
hands, as if the act of handing over the case had done them some
injury. Then he deliberately hid them behind his back.
"_Herr Landrath_, I offered you my hand," cried Boleslav threateningly,
flushing darkly at this new insult.
"According to his Majesty's wishes I have discharged my duty. My
instructions did not include a shake of the hand."
At this moment a cross, like the one Boleslav had just received, flew
through the air and alighted at his feet Felix Merckel had torn it from
his breast. Swelling with righteous indignation, he swaggered up to the
official, whom he now felt sure he had no reason to be afraid of, and
cried--
"There it may lie. I don't want it now. Any decent soldier would be
ashamed to wear it when such as _he_ is decorated with it."
A cry of mingled pain and fury escaped Boleslav's lips, and with raised
fists he turned fiercely on his enemy.
Felix Merckel unsheathed his sabre, as if with the intention of hewing
down the unarmed man. But the old landlord threw his corpulent form
between them. The Landrath confined himself to waving his hands
soothingly; and the pastor vigilantly kept watch on his Schrandeners.
He knew his flock, and read murder in their glance.
"Back there! keep back!" he shouted to the tumultuous throng in a voice
of brass. With outstretched arms he sprang into the doorway, where
already a line of pikes appeared, ready to fell the victim from behind.
Boleslav looked round and saw with a shudder how near he stood to
death.
The pastor, clinging to the roof of the doorway, endeavoured to stem
the murderous tide. Would that frail and venerable frame be able to
repulse this onslaught of unmuzzled wolves? Would it not be swept away
on the crest of this bloodthirsty wave? A weak shield to rely on,
indeed! Yet his was the only authority not swamped by the tumult. The
Landrath's protesting hands waved impotently above the seething heads,
like limp towels; the gentle flutelike tones in which he declared the
ringleaders of the disturbance should be turned out and bludgeoned were
totally ignored. His parasite, the little portfolio bearer, had taken
the precaution to creep under the table.
A voice within Boleslav cried, "What! You will let this old man protect
you? Cannot you protect yourself?" And a wild resolve consumed him.
This seemed a moment given him to balance his account with fate--a
moment of all others in which cowardice was to be avoided. He caught
hold of the old pastor in a grip of iron and drew him aside.
"This is my place, reverend sir," he said, and planted himself in the
doorway.
He stretched out his arms above him, as the old man had done, and
offered his breast as a target for the pointed weapons. His eye
penetrated unflinchingly into the heart of the struggling and ramping
mob before him. He felt the foam from their mouths bespatter him, and
their hot, foul breath fan his face.
"Here I stand!" he cried. "I have left my pistols at home; so you can
make short work of me. Any of you who have the courage."
But no one had the courage, for his back was not turned to them now.
Sabres were lowered, pikes dropped.
"I see--you don't wish to assassinate me after all," he said, holding
them with his eyes. "You are going to behave yourselves like men, and
not like wild beasts. Very well, then, I will speak to you as to
reasonable men. Move backwards and keep quiet."
The crowd wavered; the next moment he had the threshold to himself.
"And now--speak! Tell me what you want with me?"
There was no answer, no sound in the room except the laboured
breathing of excited lungs.
"You hate me. You would like to take my life. Tell me why? Here in the
presence of a representative of the King whom we all serve and fear, in
the presence of a representative of the God in whom I believe and you
too--tell me what I have done? I submit myself to their judgment. Now
is your opportunity of charging me."
But the silence continued. Only one spluttering voice arose for a
moment and died away in a gurgle, as if it were being stifled by force.
"You are dumb. You cannot say what my offence has been,--and you,
gentlemen! Won't you come to the assistance of these poor, speechless
people? There on the ground lies a cross, the mark of honour our nation
cherishes more highly than any other, which some one threw away,
because through my possessing one like it, he considered it
contaminated. Some one else declined to shake hands with me just now, a
common act of courtesy which no man of honour refuses another unless he
be a blackguard. It does not matter, _Herr Landrath_, if in this
instance judges and accusers unite in a common cause. Accuse me of what
you like, condemn me! I am prepared."
Another long pause. The Landrath twisted his whiskers in embarrassment.
"And you, _Herr Pastor_--it is hardly fitting that I should call the
instructor of my youth to account--but some months ago you showed me
the door in your own house. Could you not be spokesman now for your
parishioners?"
The old man's jaws worked, his lips moved, but no sound issued from
them. He appeared to have exhausted his strength, but the wild, fiery
glance he darted from beneath his bushy brows boded no good to
Boleslav.
With a laugh he went on. "Then I must be my own accuser." He felt
intoxicated with his own courage. "Your hand against every man, and
every man's hand against you," cried jubilantly within him. "You think
you ought to visit the sins of the fathers on me; empty the vials of
your wrath on my head because you cannot reach the dead. Very well. I
am his heir. I take his guilt upon me, and do not refuse to do penance,
when right and justice demand it of me. But why were no steps taken
against the dead man himself? Why was he not tried? Why not dragged to
the scaffold when he deserved it? _Herr Landrath_, I ask you, as the
embodiment of the law, why did the State remain silent and suffer these
gallant men who smarted under wrong to take revenge into their own
hands? And such a revenge! So childish, so cruel, that one would have
thought it could only have occurred to the primitive brain of
bloodthirsty savages. Revenge for a deed which at this hour I neither
admit nor deny, because it lies shrouded in mystery. Which of you can
say how it happened, or whether it happened at all? And in spite of
this uncertainty, you have damned and defamed him and his race,
deprived them of honour and justice. Is that fair play? Now I ask you
to put us on our trial, me, and the dead man, and----" He paused,
shocked at the thought that he had nearly let fall Regina's name.
The pastor's eagle eye flashed ominously. Then collecting himself, he
continued: "Inquire, speak out unravel the mystery, clear up the
matter, and then judge and pass sentence. But at the same time sit in
judgment and pass sentence on that other crime, the crime that has
wrecked my property, and leaves me only uninhabitable ruins to live in,
a crime that cries aloud to Heaven for vengeance. On the subject of
other outrages and indignities I will be silent--threats of murder to
me and mine; the blocking of the churchyard entrance to my father's
funeral cortege--all that shall pass. But the fire, _that_ I swear
shall be avenged! If till to-day justice has been blind to my wrongs,
its eyes shall be wrenched open. I will not rest day or night till I
have dragged the skulking authors of that cowardly, atrocious deed into
the light of day, and may God have mercy on those who attempt to screen
or defend them."
Again the mob showed signs of uneasiness. Its foremost ranks pressed
back on the others, as if to fly from the vengeance of the wrathful man
who had addressed them in words of such burning indignation. Again from
the neighbourhood of the window came hoarse, stuttering laughter that
was choked off as before.
The occupants of the best parlour made an effort to appear as if they
had not been listening to Boleslav. The Landrath, who was really
painfully affected, busied himself with more zeal than ever in looking
through his papers. Old Merckel had picked up the discarded cross, and
was trying to persuade his son, who resisted sulkily, to wear it again.
The little man in grey had come out from under the table, and was
employing himself in carefully rubbing dust off his knees. Only the old
pastor was on the alert. He had propped his stick against the table;
the thin white hair that floated round his bald skull quivered. He
stood looking, with his vulture profile, and small eyes flashing
beneath his sharply projecting brows, like a bird of prey waiting to
pounce on its booty.
Had Boleslav caught sight of him at that moment, he might have
hesitated to make a fresh challenge. But he wanted to score all along
the line and complete his victory.
"In order that there may be a clear understanding between us," he
cried, "that all may see who has right on his side and who wrong, I
ask, which of you has a charge to prefer against me? To whom have I
done an injury? How have I sinned?"
Then the voice of the old pastor was raised behind him. "Is Hackelberg,
the carpenter, here?"
Boleslav winced. That voice so close to his ear sounded intimidating
and uncanny, and prophetic of coming evil. There was a scuffling and
swaying in the crowd. The ragged figure of the village drunkard, by
means of shoves and kicks, was propelled forward into the front row. He
struggled and beat the air with his hands, and when forced on to the
threshold of the inner parlour, tried to duck beneath the legs of the
men on either side of him.
"There is nothing to be afraid of, Hackelberg," said the pastor. "I
will see that you are not hurt."
Reassured, he drew himself up, and scanned the gentlemen he had been
brought before with a suspicious, glassy eye.
"What creature is this?" inquired the Landrath, scandalised. "Why is he
not put under restraint?"
"Because his condition is owing more to his misfortune than his fault,"
the pastor answered.
Herr Merckel thought it his duty to whisper an explanation to his
superior.
"He is the poor father so much to be pitied," he said, with a mock
pathetic air, "whose sad story I related to your _Hochwohlgeboren_."
At the same time he watched uneasily some Schrandeners, who seemed to
be waiting for a signal to take the drunkard into custody.
"Have you nothing to say, Hackelberg?" asked the pastor.
"What should I have to say, Herr Pastor?" he lisped, beginning to
cringe again, and drawing the lappets of his tattered coat over his
naked breast.
"Have you no accusation to make?"
"Let me go," he growled. "I haven't----"
"Not even against _him_?" and he pointed to Boleslav.
A glimmer of intelligence came into the dull, glazed eyes. He
understood his cue. Old Merckel nodded at him encouragingly, and he
began to play his favourite role. Floods of tears that the besotted
inebriate can always command so easily, poured over his cheeks. He
rubbed his wet face with his black hands, till it resembled some
hideous mask.
"Poor fellow! poor outraged father!" crooned Herr Merckel, senior,
wiping his own eyes.
"What is the meaning of this absurd farce?" asked Boleslav, with a
scornful laugh. But his face had become visibly paler.
"Here we don't enact farces, but sit in judgment," answered the pastor.
Boleslav shrugged his shoulders. "I am pleased to hear it," he said,
and there was a tremor in his voice.
The Schrandeners craned their necks to get a better view of the
edifying scene, of which they now expected to be spectators. In the
momentary calm that ensued, distant whoops and yells were heard from
the crowds who filled the square, having stormed the inn in vain, and
with the noise there seemed to mingle a woman's voice crying for
succour.
What if it were Regina? But it was not possible that it could be she;
and the idea vanished as quickly as it had flashed into his brain.
"My child, my poor wretched child!" howled the carpenter, who now found
himself in more familiar waters.
"What have they done to your child, man?" asked the Landrath, who was
not going to tolerate the conduct of affairs being taken out of his
hands.
"My child was seduced--he ruined her--my fatherly heart is ...
lacerated ... I am a poor beg--gar ... Only one coffin----"
"I fancy I have heard you harp on this string before," the Landrath
interrupted him sharply, "at the time when I examined your daughter
about the Cats' Bridge disaster. If you haven't learnt anything a
little newer than that in five years, you'd better hold your tongue. It
seems," he said, turning with a smile to the pastor, "as if this
ruffian were bent on playing the part of Virginius."
The little man in grey laughed shrilly at this facetious sally on the
part of his chief, and then was overcome with confusion at his own
timerity. But the old pastor was less disposed to appreciate the
Landrath's urbane humour.
"I will speak for you, Hackelberg," he said. "My words must be taken
seriously. I will speak for you and for all of us in the name of our
Heavenly Father, whose commandments were not made to be flouted and set
at nought by aristocrats. Freiherr von Schranden, just now you
challenged me to speak. Will you listen to what I am going to say?"
He assented impatiently. For the second time he fancied he heard that
cry of distress rise above the hubbub outside.
"You have entered into the inheritance of your father?"
"Can there be any doubt in the matter?"
"God knows! None."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean you have only too quickly appropriated that which was his
unlawful possession."
"_Herr Pastor_----" But he could not go on. He felt a choking sensation
in his throat, and a stony horror creep over him.
"Where is your spirit?" he asked himself; "your boasted defiance?"
"You found a woman, _Herr Baron_, on your estate who had been your
father's mistress. You found her degraded, defiled, dragged through the
mire of wickedness and vice. Year-long slavery had robbed her of the
respect of every living creature. She was treated as a mere animal by
animals. This wretched woman belonged to my parish and to me. I reared
her in the way she should go. It was my hand that sprinkled the
baptismal water on her brow; my hand that held the chalice to her lips
at the Holy Sacrament; and I promised and vowed before God, and in
presence of my flock, to watch over this young soul; doubly orphaned,
because he who generated her was not responsible for his actions."
"Ah, my poor orphaned child!" maundered the carpenter. "Only two, only
one other coffin ..."
"I am answerable for her to God and the parish. I could not command
your father to give her up, for, as I told you, I had handed him over
to a heavenly tribunal; but _you_, who have courted this inquiry, I
command to give her up, and, what is more, in the present hour of
reckoning I exhort you to render account of what you have done for her
soul."
A red mist floated before Boleslav's eyes, and in this mist the figure
of the venerable priest seemed to grow till it became almost god-like.
He could only stammer forth--
"What should I ...?" And the old man took up the thread of his speech
again--
"To-day you have been honoured before all men by our King; but,
Boleslav von Schranden, look to it that God holds you in equal esteem.
What should you have done, you ask? This impure, abandoned creature
ought to have been more awful, more sacred to you than any other
earthly being. What have you done to atone for the guilt your father
heaped on her? Have you freed her from the bondage into which she had
sunk, loosed her from the chain of her sin? Have you pointed her soul
upwards to God, the All-gracious and All-forgiving? Or have you dragged
her down deeper and deeper into the hell that your own flesh and blood
created for her? Above all, in what fashion have you been living with
her? It is said that, amidst the devastation of your island, there is
only one room habitable. Have you never lost sight of the fact that by
all laws, human and divine, your father's property in this instance was
for you forbidden? Have you taught her to repent and pray, or have you
filled her poor undisciplined senses with fresh poison? And have you
preserved your own blood intact from sinful desires and lust? Or have
you let your passions, like greedy beasts waiting whom they may devour,
keep watch on her, ready to spring in an hour of weakness, thus adding
fresh shame----?"
"Cease!" cried Boleslav. "This is too much!"
Truly scorpions proceeded out of the mouth of this mild Christian
priest, who knew how to reveal and lash secret sins of the imagination,
which till this hour Boleslav never suspected had existed in his.
But now he saw it all. Everything was clear. Now he knew what it was
had sent his blood tearing impetuously through his veins in the long
night vigils, and had made him hold his breath, and listen to hear
whether that other breath did not come faster or slower, showing that
she, too, was sleepless and on guard. It was sinful desire for her
body--the body that had been dishonoured and abused, yet in spite of
all remained so triumphantly beautiful.
Thank God! ah, thank God! that the sin was still confined to his inner
consciousness. There was yet time to lock it behind bolts and bars to
prevent its stealing forth over the fatal threshold. So far he could
claim the right to be his own judge, to stand before the private
judgment-seat of his own conscience.
He looked round him, and his face was distraught and ghastly pale. He
saw triumph flame up again in the eyes that watched him.
"What right have you to impute this crime to me?" he said to the
pastor.
"I did not impute it--I merely asked you," the old man interposed
quickly. "You have become too pale, _Herr Baron_, for us not to observe
your discomfiture."
"Condemned out of his own mouth, unhappy man," murmured Herr Merckel,
senior, with a sigh.
The Schrandeners, in the renewed hope of being allowed to spring at his
throat, set up a fearful howl, and pressed forward once more.
Then above all the din there was distinctly heard from the yard a
shriek of anguish that caused Boleslav's marrow to freeze in his bones.
There could be no mistake now. That _was_ Regina!
"Regina!" he cried, and rushed to the window that opened on the yard.
There the mad chase was in full cry. A crew of furious dishevelled
women were dashing over hedges, ditches, waggons, barrels, and frozen
dunghills, followed by boys armed with clubs. The air was thick with
flying stones.
"Help! help!" shrieked Regina's voice. But she herself was not visible.
But as he wrenched open the back door she flew like a wounded bird into
the dark corridor, followed closely by her would-be assassins whooping
and panting.
He pulled her with a powerful movement of his arm into the room, and
shut the door on the furies in pursuit.
She sank on the floor at his feet and pressed her face against the hem
of his coat.
Her hands relaxed their cramped grasp on two splintered pieces of
wood--all that was left of her tub, the shield with which she had been
in the habit of warding off assaults. Her hair was loose, her dress
torn, the pretty fur-trimming that she had been so proud of, hanging
about her in tatters.
"A charming pair of lovers," said Herr Merckel, rubbing his hands in
keen enjoyment of the scene, while the Schrandeners displayed a strong
disposition to continue the work begun outside by their womankind. The
very sight of Regina was sufficient to excite to an uncontrollable
degree their predilection for "throwing something." With a yell of
delight they looked round them in search of missiles,--and already two
earthenware mugs had been hurled into the gentry's parlour, one of
which struck the carpenter on the shoulder. This instinct for smiting
was now stronger in them than the thirst for a life.
The Landrath wrung his bony hands in despair. All his courtesy and
distinction of manner was lost on this pack of devils.
"_Herr Landrath_," said Boleslav, pointing to the woman cowering almost
insensible at his feet, "I beg you to make a note of this pandemonium.
If you do not feel inclined to interfere, I take the liberty to warn
you that you may have to appear in your own august person as a witness
in a court of law against these gallant people."
Certainly the Landrath seemed hardly aware of the pitiable figure he
was cutting. His splendid mane now hung in shaggy disorder about his
face, which had assumed a peevish expression.
"Merckel," he rasped, "you are mayor. I'll have you superseded, unless
you can maintain order. Order! do you hear, good people. Order! This is
breaking the public peace. You deserve imprisonment--in fact you
_shall_ be sent to prison. Taken with arms in your hand, means three
years, not a day less than three years, good people. Tomorrow I shall
send gendarmes, three gendarmes."
It must have been his good angel that put this threat into his head,
for no other could have had the same effect in bringing the rebels to
their senses. Since the war no gendarmes had been stationed in
Schranden, which was a piece of good fortune not to be scouted at, for
its inhabitants feared gendarmes more than they feared the king.
Herr Merckel, who began to tremble for his office, was now assiduous in
his efforts to restore peace. His son leant back with folded arms in
the corner of the window-seat, affecting to be highly amused at the
proceedings.
But the old pastor's gaze never wavered from the pair, and seemed to be
searching the innermost recesses of their hearts.
"Stand up, Regina," said Boleslav to the kneeling girl. "They shall not
hurt you. I will defend you."
But she remained huddled at his feet, still quaking with fear.
"It's not true, _Herr_, that they are going to take you away?" she
sobbed. "If it is, I will starve myself and freeze to death."
"No, it's not true; but get up, Regina."
"Master; ah, my dear, dear master!" and she pressed her forehead
against his knee.
"Boleslav von Schranden, do you deny it now?"
"Deny what?" he asked. "That this poor unhappy girl whom you have
denounced and ostracised regards me as her rescuer and saviour, because
I am the first who for years has spoken a kind word to her? Or would
you have me deny that this same unhappy girl has endeared herself to
me, because she is the only human being on God's earth who has clung to
me in my hour of need, when every one else has forsaken me? I should be
an ungrateful ruffian if I did not value her after all she has done for
me. I never asked her to share my solitude among the ruins. It is not
so comfortable or lively up there, and all my goodness to her has
consisted in my allowing her to sacrifice herself for me. I have not
been able to supply her with pleasures. There has been no unlawful
intimacy between us. If she prefers to be my body-slave to being stoned
and harried to death, that is no concern of any one's in the world,
least of all of you Schrandeners, and of that despicable drunkard who
prostituted his own flesh and blood."
Gently prompted by old Merckel, the carpenter recommenced playing the
role of injured father.
"Oh my daughter! my poor, misguided daughter!" he groaned.
"Do your duty," urged the landlord; "reclaim her."
"Come, my child; come back to your brokenhearted, deserted father. He
has taken to drink through grief ... driven to it. He will only make
two more coffins; one for himself and one for----"
He stretched out his dirty hand to her, which, shuddering, she
violently repulsed.
"Do not distress yourself further," said Boleslav. "She belongs to me
as I belong to her."
"Nevertheless, I demand her from you this day, Boleslav von Schranden,"
said the old pastor, placing his hand on Regina's head. She cowered,
but let it lie there.
"That you may be able to stone her better?"
"I promise you that no harm shall come to her. I will confide her to
the care of one of my spiritual brethren, who will see to her wants for
this side of the grave and the other. If you oppose her redemption, you
will only be knitting the chain of your sin the closer."
Boleslav was silent. A thousand thoughts rushed through his brain. This
old man's word was to be relied on; he was no cheat. And what lawful
claim had he to this woman lying helpless at his feet? How could he
make it worth her while to perpetually risk her life for him?
Then the Landrath, who had partially recovered from his panic, put in
his word. "Is the young person of age?" he asked.
The pastor calculated a moment, and replied in the affirmative.
"The _vis paterna_ therefore cannot be enforced against her wishes,
otherwise she might be sent to a penitentiary, where----"
The rest of his speech was cut short by a burst of ironical laughter
from Boleslav.
"She may decide for herself. Does that satisfy you, _Herr Baron_?"
"I shall not influence her one way or the other," he muttered, and he
felt the form at his feet vibrate. He bent over her. "Regina, do you
hear what the pastor promises to do for you? You know your future is
monetarily provided for. Will you leave the rest, and go with him."
Then she lifted her glowing face streaming with tears to his, and
sobbed out, "Please, _Herr_, don't make fun of me."
"You wish to stay with me?"
"Ah, _Herr_, you know I wish it. Why do you ask?"
"Stand up then, and we will go."
The pastor barred their way. He had become ashy pale, and his vulture
gaze pierced Boleslav through and through. He laid his hand solemnly on
his shoulder as he had done the day he had demonstrated to him his
father's guilt.
"My son," he said, "you too I received into holy baptism, and taught
you to lisp God's name, and opened your eyes to the marvels of His
creation. You were to me as my own child, and more, because you were
the son of my terrestrial lord and master. I have to answer for you too
before the throne of God. You have not been able to clear yourself of
the suspicion that rests upon you, and if I read your soul aright--
don't cast down your eyes--I think I am not mistaken. Therefore, I
again command you to give up this woman. I command and exhort you to do
so in the name of your father, the name of the parish, the name of our
Master in heaven who is the Father of all orphans and irresponsible
children who sin unconsciously. Give her up--and you shall be acquitted
as blameless, and go your way in peace."
Regina had raised herself, and now clung to his arm, trembling from
head to foot.
"Come!" Boleslav said. "It is to be hoped they will let us pass," and
he made a motion as if he were going to push by the old man. But he
planted himself again in their way, and holding his arms aloft, said--
"Then you are worthy of your father. And as I once cursed him, I curse
you to-day, you and this woman together. You shall be like Cain, whom
the Lord banished from His sight.... You shall be a fugitive and an
outcast on the earth, and your home shall lie in ruins for evermore.
There you shall abide with this woman.... Now go! Make room for them
there! and who lifts a hand against either of them or lays a finger on
them shall be cursed, as they are cursed."
Boleslav uttered a sound that broke discordantly on the solemn
silence--
"Come!" he said, and took Regina's hand in his; "let the old man curse,
it seems to be his trade;" but he felt a cold shiver run through him.
He saw a lane open which reached to the door, in the densely-packed
tap-room. Hand in hand he and Regina walked down it.
No one laughed, no one sneered, no one stirred. A superstitious awe
seemed to have struck the onlookers dumb. The breath of the winter
evening met their faces with an icy tooth. Had some one spread the news
of what had happened within, among the crowd that waited outside, or
had they divined it by instinct? Here too was profound silence; here
too a path was made for them, which they followed, bending their
footsteps riverwards with bowed heads.