More than three months had passed away since Boleslav von Schranden had
turned his back on the inheritance of his fathers.
In the meantime spring had come. Moss, starred with anemones, grew
amongst the short-bladed grass; the ditches were full of a luxuriant
growth of bindweed and nettles; and at every breeze the boughs rained a
shower of crumbling catkins. The plough left a trail of smooth, black
furrows on the bosom of the awakening earth, and seed-cloths were
already being put out to air.
It was the first spring for many and many a long year that had begun in
peace, and of which there were hopes of its ending in peace.
Europe's evil genius was vanquished. Like Prometheus he lay chained to
his barren sea-girt rock; and so the sword was hung up to rust, and the
ploughshare and harrow resumed their sway.
What had taken place on the shores of the Mediterranean in the month of
March, the inhabitants of quiet country towns and out-of-the-way
moorland villages had as yet no suspicion. Not a breath had reached
them of that interrupted quadrille at Prince Metternich's ball, of the
fury and consternation of sovereigns and potentates; they knew nothing
of foam-bespattered proscriptions issued against the escaped rebel, of
re-arming and rumours of war.
The lark's carolling in the sky seemed a jocund invitation to resume
labour in the fields, the womb of the earth opened with yearning for
the crops from which it had fasted so long.
One day towards the end of April, a curious regiment was seen on the
king's highroad approaching the county town of Wartenstein, which
excited the wondering interest of all whom they passed by the way.
It was not easy to decide at once whether they were soldiers or
workmen. Most of them were armed, but side by side with the gun on
their shoulders was a spade, and from the red bundles slung across
their backs peeped whetstones and scythe-blades. Ten or twelve of them
were mounted, but behind came as baggage a stream of rough waggons,
composed of about twenty axle wheels, loaded with bursting sacks of
corn and implements of every description. Altogether the regiment
numbered about a hundred and fifty, marching in half military fashion
in double file. It consisted of muscular youths, for the most part fair
and of ruddy complexions, with thickset figures. Their faces were broad
and bony, not German, and still less Polish, in type. They spoke a
language unknown in the neighbourhood, and sang songs of which no one
knew the tune. Notwithstanding, their leader was German, and so was the
discipline which had trained their limbs and given to their movements a
certain dignity of bearing.
At the head of the procession rode one to whom they looked up with awe
and affection, and whose brief and not unfriendly words of command they
obeyed with almost childlike zeal. It was Boleslav, who came with this
little army to reconquer his own territory.
He had recruited it far away in the Lithuanian East, on the remotest
border of the province, whither neither good nor evil reports of the
name of Schranden had ever penetrated. During his five years' previous
intercourse with this people, he had become intimately acquainted with
their habits and customs, and took care to choose his pioneers from
those who had been in the war, and become accustomed to the rigours of
a soldier's life, but who were still unfamiliar enough with the German
tongue to have their minds poisoned by the Schrandeners' gossip.
Now he had every hope that the fate of his father, who had failed to
find either serf or labourer to bind himself to work for him, would not
be his. And should the Schrandeners offer fight to these workpeople, as
they had done to the Polish serfs whom his father had been obliged to
call to his assistance, so much the worse for the Schrandeners; they
would only be sent home with bleeding noses.
In proud self-reliance he looked coming events in the face. He would
willingly have returned home earlier, only, to prosecute his enterprise
on the scale it demanded, he was forced to wait till the time in which
he could claim his aunt's legacy, and so have the necessary means at
his disposal.
He had lived through hard times since that January night, when, to
flee the coercion of his hot young blood, he had dashed out into the
snow-clad, moon-illumined landscape, followed by the cries of the
unhappy woman who could not understand what ailed him.
It was long before the furnace within him abated, and her beseeching,
frightened eyes became dimmer in his memory. In Koenigsberg, where he
had gone direct from home, he had meditated obtaining, through boldly
seeking a trial, that justice long denied to his house. But though the
cross on his breast compelled the doors that had been shut on his
father to open to him, the polite shrug of the shoulders with which the
judges promised to see what could be done, and then coolly referred him
to one Court of Appeal after another, taught him that the passionate
self-surrender he had dreamed of would be here ill-timed and out of
place.
So he again packed up his father's correspondence, which of his own
free will he had desired to make public in order to clear up every
shadow of mystery, and felt he must keep it till a more favourable
opportunity offered itself. Besides, he had destroyed too much that
might have had a vindicating effect, and to court the risk of his own
condemnation might after all be acting unfairly to his father's memory.
Contact with the outer world cooled and damped in a singular way his
ardour; and the feverish tension of his emotions gradually relaxed,
giving place to a more normal state of mind. He was confronted with
reasoning instead of anathemas, courteous words instead of threats--and
this worked a soothing and beneficial influence on his nature. He
projected plans, and prepared himself with composure and deliberation
for what the future might have in store for him.
At the same time the magic fascination the wild girl had exercised on
him was becoming dimmer in his recollection. Every new face, every new
thought, alienated him further from her. Gradually he ceased to
reproach himself for having acted with merciless cruelty towards her,
and the mastery she had acquired over his senses was now
incomprehensible to him. Nevertheless, often when he sat alone at dusk
in his private room at the hostelry, he saw those eyes again flashing
soft fire, and felt her presence thrill through his veins. Then it
seemed as if the scar, that furrowed horizontally his under lip, began
to burn like an inflammatory record of that kiss, the only one that the
lips of a woman had ever imprinted on his, for his shy and reserved
manner had all his life repelled, and kept women at a distance. At such
times his whole existence seemed compressed into that one moment's
ecstasy. But of course this was only a freak, illusive reverie played
his senses, which lamplight and work soon dispelled.
He had written to her once or twice in order to set her mind at rest on
the subject of his sudden departure, or rather flight--had asked for an
answer, and promised a speedy return.
Once he had had news of her--a letter written in bold characters and
correctly expressed. After all these years of bondage, the lessons she
had learnt in the old pastor's school still evidently stood her in good
stead.
In prospect of his near approach to his home, he drew the sheet from
his pocket, and read sitting in the saddle the lines, which, in spite
of himself, he almost knew by heart.
"My dear Master,--Don't be anxious on my account. No one will do
anything to me. They do not know down in the village that you are gone
away, and they are frightened of the wolf-traps, for no one has told
them that we cleared them away. Every night I see to the pistols and
guns in case they should come; but they won't come. As for the wound, I
have quite forgotten it. The grocer at Bockeldorf gave me some English
sticking-plaster, and when it peeled off, it was entirely healed. The
thaw and floods are now over, thank God. For several days I was obliged
to go with very little food, because the water was too high on the
meadows for me to wade through, and I would rather have died than go
down to Herr Merckel. Ah! dear master, I am so glad that you are coming
home soon; for I seem to have nothing to live for, when I have not you
to wait upon. I climb up on the Cats' Bridge very often and wait for
you there, so that when you come you shall not find it drawn up. Please
don't come in the night, nor on Thursday before seven, because then I
shall be going to Bockeldorf. The snow is all gone now, and the grass
is beginning to get quite green. Yesterday I heard the swallows
twittering in the nest they have built in the eaves; but I haven't seen
them yet. Now and then I suffer from stitch in my side, and giddiness,
and I have not much appetite. I believe it comes from being so much
alone, which I cannot bear. But I don't know why I should tell you all
this. Perhaps it is because you were always so kind to me. I can't help
always remembering your great kindness to me.--Your _Hochgeboren's_
humble servant,
"Regina Hackelberg."
This letter had filled him with pleasure and satisfaction, for it
showed on the one hand that she had very reasonably bowed to the
inevitable, and that there was no cause for his anxiety; and on the
other, that she still faithfully clung and belonged to him heart and
soul. And glad as he might be to feel his blood purged of the
unwholesome excitement with which she had inspired it, he could not
help being pleased at this proof of her remaining ever his true and
willing servant.
His belief in Helene's sacred influence on his destiny had, he
imagined, received a new impetus, since her note had saved him in an
hour of imminent danger. He wore it gratefully as a talisman on his
heart, even if he did not read it so often, and with such delight, as
he read Regina's.
Soon after his arrival in the capital, an intense yearning had drawn
him to the Cathedral, where he had sought out the old altar-piece,
which contained her living image. He experienced a bitter
disappointment. The Madonna amidst her lilies and roses appeared
absolutely ridiculous. She looked to him now as if she had been baked
out of _Marzepan_, and the flowers, with their stiff stalks and
drooping heads, appeared as unnatural and insipid as their doll
custodian.
And this was what he had carried about with him for years, as the
_facsimile_ of his beloved! Certainly it was high time she appeared in
her own person before his bodily eyes, otherwise he would be in danger
of loving a mere phantom.
And now, in this the hour of home-coming, it was not she at all with
whom he looked forward to a joyous meeting; his senses saw only the
picture of a girl waiting and watching for him, whose fresh and
unbounded loveliness was no myth.
It was early morning and the sun was shining. He had made his last
halt, the night before, at a hamlet not far from Wartenstein, as he
proposed to pass rapidly through the town, to avoid being gaped at, and
exciting idle curiosity. Once there he was within three miles and a
quarter of home, and hoped to enter his native village at the hour for
vespers, for his stalwart followers were used to rapid marching. As he
rode up to the moss-grown ramparts, eight sounded from the belfries of
Wartenstein, and he counted on being able to quit the town quite early,
and so escape awkward questions.
Thus, he was little prepared for the surprises awaiting him within its
gates. The sentinel, instead of stopping him and demanding his
passport, shouted up to a window in the gateway tower--
"Ring the bells! ring the bells! The first detachment is here!"
Then he saluted with his pike, while a merry peal clashed from the
watch-towers of Wartenstein to announce Boleslav's arrival.
"What can be the meaning of it?" he asked himself, shaking his head;
and his astonishment increased, when on riding through the streets he
found them thronged with crowds of men, women, and children, who waved
their caps and handkerchiefs, and welcomed him with resounding cheers.
His Lithuanians, who had been accustomed on their triumphal marches to
being received everywhere with open arms, took the present ovation as a
matter of course, and responded to the hurrahs with lusty lungs.
But to Boleslav it was plain that there was some misunderstanding,
which in the next few minutes would be explained.
As he entered the market-place, which, like the streets, was filled
with an enthusiastic crowd, the Landrath, at the head of an impressive
procession, consisting of the Burgomaster, Corporation, and other
magnates of the town, advanced to meet him. He laid his delicate, bony
hand on his breast, and cleared his throat with a rasp, preparatory to
speaking.
When he recognised Boleslav, who had quickly sprung from his horse, he
drew back in embarrassment. Nevertheless he began--
"I congratulate you, Freiherr von Schranden, on your being the first
who has hastened here with your troops----"
"Not so fast, _Herr Landrath_," Boleslav interrupted. "There is an
error somewhere. These people are workmen, whom I have recruited in
Lithuania for domestic use. I am on my way with them to Schranden."
An amused smirk passed through the ranks of the town magnates. They
enjoyed seeing the Landrath make a fool of himself, even if they
themselves were made to look foolish in the process.
"And you really haven't heard yet?" he stammered out, concealing his
annoyance.
"I have come straight from the remotest corner of Prussia, _Herr
Landrath_."
"You haven't heard that Napoleon has escaped from Elba, and that the
King has again appealed to his gallant Prussian subjects to arm?"
Boleslav felt a rush of mingled horror and joy flood his heart.
So once more the world's history had absorbed the solution of his
career in its own, and he would be saved further self-doubt and
suspense with regard to it. His vast schemes, the work to which he was
to consecrate his life, lay shattered at his feet scarcely begun, and
now ended perhaps for ever. But away with all regrets and fears. Did
not the Fatherland, _his_ Fatherland, call him?
"Thank you, _Herr Landrath_," he said, while he endeavoured to still
his wildly beating heart. "I feel honoured at your thinking so well of
me and my contingent of Schrandeners. We will prove ourselves worthy of
your high opinion, and in four-and-twenty hours be in readiness."
The Landrath held out his hand. He retreated a step or two, and was in
the act of repaying the Landrath in his own coin for the insult he had
not long ago subjected him to.
Then he reflected. The Fatherland calls you, and what is your petty
hate or love weighed in the balance? And he seized the bony hand, which
its owner, offended, had already withdrawn, and shook it heartily.
Then he learnt further particulars. The evening before the King's
proclamation, dated April 7, had reached Wartenstein. All night the
administration had been hard at work getting the decrees ready for
local heads of departments, and arranging to send out special mounted
messengers to distribute them.
"Will one be sent to Schranden?" asked Boleslav.
"Certainly," was the answer.
"Then may I add a military order?"
"Yes, if you wish."
He tore a sheet of paper from his pocket-book and hastily scribbled the
following lines:--
"At five o'clock in the afternoon all troops liable to service are to
muster in the churchyard square, bringing with them accoutrements and
canteens. The hour for marching will then be stated.
"Von Schranden, _Landwehr Captain_.
"To the local administrator."
"And what will become of Regina?" was a question that rose warningly
within him.
But he would not listen to it. He was almost delirious. The fever for
action possessed him.
He called his workpeople together, explained to them that he no longer
needed their services, and bade each to return as quickly as possible
to his native place, from there to join his respective company. He paid
them off, and took leave of them with a shake of the hand and a
blessing.
The stalwart youths, who had lost their hearts to him, kissed the hem
of his coat, and went their way with tears in their eyes. Then he found
a place of safety for the waggons, whose freight alone represented no
small capital, made arrangements for the sale of the seed and
provender, and left the horses at the disposal of a dealer.
Only the one on whose back he rode did he keep for his own use.
It was half-past two before he had transacted his business, and was
free to start on his homeward road.
He had seen hanging up for sale in a tailor's shop an undress
state-uniform, which, as the officers of the Landwehr were forbidden
any gorgeous display of ornament, and it happened to fit him exactly,
he purchased promptly, first having the braided collar replaced by a
plain scarlet strip.
Thus respectably fitted out, he was ready to confront his Schrandeners,
whom he now saw delivered into his hand in a rather different manner
from the one he had anticipated.
* * * * *
While Boleslav was riding home, Lieutenant Merckel was pacing up and
down the back parlour of the Black Eagle in furious excitement.
"I won't, no, I won't submit to being under the command of that
scoundrel," he roared at his father, who, to soothe him, had the best
wine in his cellar (the best was sour enough) set on the table, and
never wearied of refilling the raving youth's glass.
"Felixchen," he supplicated, "be sensible. If the King has ordered it
so, and the authorities demand----"
"But what if my honour demands the contrary, father?" cried his son,
angrily twirling the ends of his moustache. "I am an officer, father; I
have some sense of honour, and my sense of honour bids me die by
putting a bullet through my body with my own hand, rather than follow
and serve under that son of a traitor."
"But if the King----" repeated the old man in desperation.
"The King! what does he know about it? He has been taken in, deceived,
kept in the dark. But I, _I_ will open his eyes. I will say to him,
'Here, your Majesty, are thirty brave soldiers, and an honourable,
upright officer, who would rather----'"
"Drink, Felixchen," entreated the old man, and wiped the sweat of
anxiety from his brow; "this wine cost me, to begin with, a thaler the
bottle. Nowhere else in the world could you get anything to compare
with it."
"The devil take your swipes!" exclaimed the dutiful son, smashing the
bottle with his sabre-hilt. "I don't intend to sacrifice my honour for
any Judas reward. My honour is not to be bribed into silence. My honour
dictates that I should tear the hound's heart out of his breast. And
I'll do it. The Fatherland must be rid of such a scandalous reproach
once for all. This plague-spot in the Prussian staff of officers must
and shall be branded out. I'll see that it is. So sure as I am a brave
soldier I will do it, even if I die for honour's sake.... Good-bye for
the present, father; I must go now and bid my little sweetheart
farewell." And rounding his lips for a defiant whistle, the
half-inebriated young man swaggered out, his sabre-blade clanking the
ground at every step.
Boleslav, as he entered the village shortly after four, found the
street full of women and old people, who ran from under the horse's
hoofs, maintaining a glum silence, and then followed like evil spirits
in his wake. He felt for the pistols in his side pockets, and loosened
the scabbard of his sabre; then he fully expected a skirmish of some
sort. "Even if they have no other officer with a soldier's coat on,
they may be planning to attack me from the front this time," he
reflected, and his breast expanded proudly at the thought.
The crowd was denser in the churchyard square, and he was obliged to
rein in his horse to give it time to get out of his way. Here and there
a smothered laugh or a half-whispered imprecation fell on his ear.
Otherwise total silence was the order of the day. Close to the church,
some twenty paces from its flight of stone steps, he saw the troops
drawn up in double line, about fifteen or sixteen squadrons in
strength.
Lieutenant Merckel was parading up and down, giving first one and then
another--as it seemed--a word of encouragement. His face was aflame,
his gait uncertain; once or twice his cavalry sabre got entangled with
his legs and nearly tripped him up.
Boleslav cast one rapid, searching glance at the parsonage. Its windows
were closely curtained, and in the garden too there was no sign of
life.
He drew a deep breath, and rode into the heart of the crowd, which
closed behind him.
Once again he stood single-handed, face to face with the Schrandener
wolves, but this time he was master.
The sense of iron calm and perfect coolness, which he had always
experienced at moments of life and death issues, did not forsake him
now.
"I am waiting for your salute, _Herr Lieutenant_" he cried in a
threatening tone.
He was answered by a drunken, jeering laugh.
So they intended to mutiny! His suspicions had not been ill founded.
He tore his sabre from the scabbard. "Halt!" he commanded.
There was a murmur of dissent. Two or three stepped out of the ranks,
and Lieutenant Merckel, with an abusive epithet, drew his sabre and
rushed at Boleslav.
This was a moment in which hesitation would have been fatal. A flash of
steel, a whiz, and Lieutenant Merckel sank howling on the sandy earth.
The ranks broke their line, made as if they would spring on him: but
surprise and terror petrified them.
"Halt!" The command came forth for the second time in a voice of
thunder; and no one dared move an eyelash.
Boleslav drew a pistol from the saddle-pocket, and, holding it with the
trigger cocked in his left hand, he let the reins slip into his armed
right.
"Men of the Landwehr!" he shouted in a voice that reverberated through
the square, "you know that during the last six hours you are bound in
obedience by a war-decree, and that the slightest attempt at
insubordination will cost you your lives. What has taken place up to
this moment I will overlook, but whoever does not instantly comply with
my commands without grumbling will find that I shall not scruple to
send a bullet through his brain on the spot."
Felix Merckel, who was bleeding copiously from a wound in his head,
regained consciousness, and tried to raise himself. But the blood that
streamed over his face blinded him.
"Take away his sabre and bind him!" were Boleslav's instructions.
The men exchanged glances; they had nothing to bind him with.
Again to hesitate would be to lose the day; so with a quick resolve he
sprang off his horse, tore the bridle from its bit, and handed the
thongs to the fluegelman on his left.
"Set to work, and two others help."
Reluctantly, and with evil sidelong glances, they obeyed. The prostrate
man hit out with hands and feet, and endeavoured to wipe the blood out
of his eyes with his sleeve, but his struggles were in vain; the reins
bound his wrists, and the foam-spattered curb served as a gag.
Meanwhile the spirited black charger had broken away, and was rearing
among the terrified rabble.
Boleslav saw, as he looked behind him, that the church door stood open
for a farewell service, and that the key was in the lock.
"Put him in the church," he commanded; and at the same moment the old
landlord of the inn appeared on the scene, whimpering and wringing his
hands.
"Felixchen!" he yelled, "what are they doing to you? Don't give in; cry
for help. Help him, dear people. I order you to help him. I am your
mayor. I insist--I command you."
"It is my place to issue commands here," exclaimed Boleslav loftily.
Then the old man changed his tactics, and, by cringing, tried to soften
the disciplinarian's heart.
"_Herr Captain_, have compassion on a wretched father. I have known you
since you were a little boy, who sat on my knee, and I always, always
was fond of you. Isn't it true, you people? Wouldn't any of us have
willingly given our lives for the _Junker_?"
Had his corpulency permitted, he would have thrown himself at
Boleslav's feet. On seeing his son hustled away, he ran after him in
despair, and made a futile attempt to hold him back by the coattails.
But the door was promptly closed on him.
"Give me the key!" shouted Boleslav.
The old man hurled himself on the steps, and pounded the oak panels of
the door with his fists.
The key was delivered up by the fluegelman and his companions.
"Your name?"
"Michael Grossjohann!" the Schrandener answered curtly.
"And yours," turning to the two others. "Franz Malky."
"Emil Rosner."
He entered the names in his pocket-book.
"You three will keep watch on the prisoner through the night, and are
answerable for him with your heads."
Old Merckel, finding the church door did not yield to his furious
onslaughts, came to his senses, and squinting askance at Boleslav,
sneaked off in the direction of the parsonage. The latter thought he
knew what he wanted there.
"Three more of you," he continued, "will kindly guard the vestry door,
the key of which I have not got in my possession, and take care that no
one goes in and out except the barber, who is to bandage the prisoner's
wound."
Three voices quivering with suppressed anger assured him his orders
should be obeyed.
"Now then, to business!" he exclaimed. "According to the lists the
village of Schranden is capable of supplying troops to the number----."
And the mobilisation began.