Hoffman, the silversmith, whom the count desired to see, was one
of those men who have existed at all times and in all countries,
who trade on the exertions of those who possess more energy and
perseverance than themselves, and who really do seem essential to
the great mechanism of society. He had from time to time rendered
assistance to Dumiger, who, unfortunately at the present moment
owed him a large sum of money, which it would take a long time to
liquidate. The count also had dealings with the silversmith; for
in the _quartier Juif_ all classes meet and jostle each other. But
Hoffman was a superior man of his order, he knew the secret history
of most of the important burghers, was consulted on many very delicate
subjects, and could have published more scandal than any Sunday
Chronicle of these more modern days. The count was like all other
counts, incessantly in debt; so, when Hoffman was ordered to attend on
the Grand Master, he did not doubt that the mandate originated in the
ordinary necessity, and he prepared himself accordingly to evade or
concede. Some time previously the count had found it necessary to part
with a great portion of his old family plate, and as it was during the
passion of his son for Marguerite, and after Dumiger had carried off
the prize, he had discovered from the loquacious goldsmith all the
particulars relative to Dumiger, and amongst others the account of
his pecuniary obligations, and that Hoffman had a bond from him for a
very large sum in his possession. The object of the count's present
interview with Hoffman was to know on what terms he could purchase the
bond; and when the jeweler arrived, the bargain was soon concluded.
Hoffman thought the bond would never be paid, and so the count
purchased it for three times its apparent value.
On the previous evening Dumiger returned flushed and excited to his
house. The moment his friends had left him, he began to regret the
confidence he had placed in them, and the frankness with which he
had expressed himself. He retained but a very slight recollection of
all that he had said, but he thought it was quite sufficient to
have aroused the ridicule of those around him. Most painful of all
sensations, the vague sense of a folly committed, the extent and the
consequences of which are alike unknown to us! As he approached
his home it seemed to him that he had profaned his affection for
Marguerite by mentioning her name in that rude society, and broken
her confidence by alluding to his hopes and his fears. While his
secret had been confined to his own breast, or communicated only
to Marguerite, his confidence in himself had never for a moment
been weakened; but now that others were made acquainted with his
convictions and his hopes, they seemed to him exaggerated and
unfounded. He had for a moment forgotten that the chief secret
of success in all undertakings in life is Silence. Silence in the
scheming, silence in the execution, silence in the fulfillment; half
the charm that had given him strength was lost now that he had opened
his breast and disclosed its secrets to others. And it was with a
feeling approaching to disgust that he entered his workroom, and saw
all the material of his great enterprise scattered about the floor.
He went to Marguerite's room. She was sleeping with all the freshness
of youthful dreams glowing on her cheek; after the tumult of the day
the stillness of that room soothed his spirit. He reflected how little
satisfactory were all these pursuits compared to the tranquillity of
home, but then, even as he sat by the bedside, and with her hand in
his, pondered on the past and future--a pageant as it were, robed in
cloth of gold and purple, and laurel-crowned, swept by him; and the
glory of being preëminent among his fellow-men flashed upon his soul.
If he should fail--. A cold damp settled on his brow at the thought,
for in that event all his time had been thrown away, and there was
no possibility of his meeting his various engagements. It was not one
Hoffman but many that beset him, although Hoffman was truly the most
avaricious of his tribe, where all were greedy. And then, as he gazed
on the lovely countenance by his side, he thought of the affection
which had resigned all luxury, and, far above all luxury, that
consideration which women so prize, for him, and that he had brought
her to a home where she had to deny herself many of those comforts
to which she had been accustomed. He regretted the deed. Still more
did he regret the time that he had that night wasted, and the money
that he had squandered; but it was too late for repentance. All
that he could now do was to nerve his energies for the toil of
the morrow--that morrow which comes to all men, the faith of the
procrastinator, the hope of the sufferer, the mercy of the unbeliever.
He awoke in the morning with renewed resolution, but his brow was
still heated with the dissipation of the previous night, and his hand
shook as he applied himself to his work. After a couple of hours,
however, when Marguerite had taken her place by his side, he forgot
Dantzic, Carl, and Krantz, all the annoyances which threatened him. He
was absorbed in his pursuit, and Marguerite was looking over with her
attention not less absorbed than his own, when to their astonishment
the magnificent carriage, with the heavy, sleek, overfed horses, of
the Count Albrecht, rolled up to the door.
"Look here, Dumiger," exclaimed Marguerite, running to the window with
a woman's curiosity flushing her cheek. "Here is the Grand Master's
carriage--what can he be doing at this house?"
"He must be calling on the new arrivals who took the apartments on
the first-floor yesterday," said Dumiger, scarcely looking up from his
work, on which all his attention was concentrated.
"They are beautiful horses, and the manes and tails are decorated with
ribands which would furnish me with sashes for a whole life," thought
Marguerite; but she avoided giving utterance to her feeling, lest
Dumiger should interpret it into an expression of regret at having
given up the prospect of ever obtaining all these luxuries.
Marguerite had just left the window when a heavy step was heard on
the stair, and loud knock at the door roused Dumiger from his fit
of abstraction, nearly making him jump from his chair. The impulsive
"Come in!" which he uttered, was immediately succeeded by the
appearance of the Count.
Dumiger, like most men of deep thought and habits of abstraction, was
diffident. He stood for some moments thunderstruck without performing
any of the usual courtesies of society. Marguerite in her surprise
imagined that she must have been guilty of some great negligence while
residing in the palace, with which the Count now came to reproach her.
The silence was broken by the Count himself, who nodded kindly, almost
familiarly to Marguerite, and without any further ceremony took the
chair from which Dumiger had just risen.
"I called to see whether you were comfortable, Marguerite, in your new
abode. It is small," continued the Count, as lolling back in his chair
he touched the wall with the back of his head: "I suppose, however,
that you will some day be able to afford a larger. I do not wish to
trespass upon your confidence, but as I have the liveliest gratitude
for the admirable manner in which you, Marguerite, discharged all your
duties while you were with me, you must let me evince my recollection
of them by a small wedding present." And the Count laid a rouleau of
gold pieces on the table.
"Oh, sir!" exclaimed Dumiger, seizing the Count's hand with effusion,
"you are so kind but I can assure you that we are quite happy here.
When one is truly attached to another, the little sacrifices of life
become a pleasure," and Dumiger's eyes so filled with tears, that he
did not perceive the quiet, cold sneer on the Count's upper lip; but
Marguerite remarked it. Moreover, she knew the Count well--his vast
ambition, his supercilious pride; she had caught the inflection of
his tone when he spoke to Dumiger, and she knew that when he affected
that winning, cajoling manner, he was always the most dangerous, and
most to be suspected. So her only answer or acknowledgment was a
low courtesy, and the blood mantled in her cheek, but whether from
gratitude or some sterner feeling the Count was unable to divine.
He looked at her for some time under his long gray eyelash; Marguerite
met the look calmly and composedly. Dumiger was bustling about quite
in an ecstacy of delight, and for the time entirely forgot the clock
and the Dom. Not so the Count, he was curiously scanning all the
various parts of the complicated machinery which were lying round him.
He waited until Marguerite should retire before he judged it right
to commence speaking to Dumiger on the subject that was next his
heart, but Marguerite did not seem at all disposed to give him the
opportunity.
Woman's prescience of danger for those she loves is wonderful. Without
being able to assign any definite reason, Marguerite felt that the
man's presence boded her no good; and it was therefore with a troubled
spirit that she heard the Count, after looking several times at his
watch, suggest that he wished to speak to Dumiger alone.
Dumiger looked at Marguerite, who thought it wiser at once to take the
hint than to allow the Count to suppose that she at all questioned the
sincerity of the kind interest which he affected to take in her. He
waited until the door was fairly closed, and then drew his chair near
to Dumiger's. The latter, quite unaccustomed to the neighborhood of
so great a man, immediately withdrew his seat to a more deferential
distance; but the dimensions of the room speedily put a stop to the
retrogression and his modesty by arresting his chair.
"Don't be afraid," said the Count to Dumiger, in a somewhat harsher
tone than he had yet used, for he was an impatient and testy old
man. "Don't draw your chair back in that way. I wish to speak to you
privately and confidentially."
Dumiger held his breath. What could the Grand Master of the Teutonic
Knights have to say to him? for, whatever might be his future
greatness, at all events its promise could be known but to few others.
"You were out last night," continued the Count. "You went to a
wine-shop--you spoke loudly--you drank deeply."
As the Count continued Dumiger's cheeks glowed. The Count must have
heard all that he said. His heart sank within him as he recalled his
weakness; but his mind was soon settled on that point by the Count.
"And when you spoke," continued he, you talked very wildly of becoming
a great man; of obtaining more enduring fame than any of our noblest
citizens. By the bye, you did me the honor to class me amongst those
you were destined to triumph over."
"It was a wild, idle thought," said Dumiger, faltering forth a
thousand apologies. "I did not know what I said. Two friends led me
into this error. I am sure you will forgive me, sir: I was excited;
my brain was in that state I really did not know what I said. Who ever
could have repeated this to your Excellency?"
"No one repeated it." said the Count, "so you need not entertain any
mistrust of your friends. One of my household overheard you; and his
ear having caught the sound of my name, he listened attentively, that
is all. But what does it signify? You did just as all young men--ay,
and the best of our young men, do--drank deep of the Rhenish. I like
you the better for it. And then, by all accounts, you had some cause
for excitement, for you believe you are to win the greatest prize that
Dantzic has ever proposed for one of her citizens."
The scene of the last night passed from Dumiger's memory when the
hope of fame and the prospect of success were mentioned. His whole
countenance changed, his eye brightened, and the nostril dilated.
"You heard that, also, your Excellency!" he said. "Well, then, I need
not scruple to tell you the truth. Yes, I have labored night and day,
and I hope to obtain the reward of all this self-sacrifice; and now I
draw near the goal my blood is excited--I am fevered by my hopes. Look
here, sir," and forgeting all his fears and etiquettes, he took the
Count by the arm and led him to a curtain which was drawn across a
corner of the room where the model-clock was placed. "Here is the
work; it approaches completion; is it not worthy of the prize?"
Even to the most unpracticed eye this model of a great work appeared
to be of admirable skill. So complicated was the machinery, that the
marvel seemed to be how it was possible so nicely to have arranged
its various parts, that they could find sufficient space for working.
Massive weights were regulated by springs of such fine texture, that
it was surprising how they could possibly have been made by a man's
rude hand. The movement was perfectly noiseless, so beautifully were
the balances arranged around the principal works of the clock itself:
the heavenly bodies were moving in harmony and regularity; the face
of the clock had not yet been affixed, so the whole of the interior
operations of the machinery were apparent. The Count gazed astonished
at the result of long perseverance and indomitable energy. Dumiger
stood beside him holding the massive curtain aside, and delighting in
the Count's amazement. At length he allowed it to fall, exclaiming,
with pardonable self-love, "Surely this must succeed!"
The Count resumed his seat, and, for some time, was unable to regain
the composure which he had lost by the sight which he had seen.
Dumiger sat buried in thought.
"And when you have succeeded, Dumiger," said the Count, in a voice
which he intended to be very kind, but whose inflection manifested
a bitter disappointment,--"and when you have succeeded, will you be
happier? Do you think, Dumiger, that greatness adds to happiness? Ah,
you know little of the world if you believe this. Besides, remember,
you may fail, and then how bitter your disappointment will be!"
Dumiger was seated with his arms folded, and scarcely paying any
attention to the Count's observations: his mind was wandering amid the
planets.
"Look, Dumiger, you are attached to Marguerite."
At the name of Marguerite, Dumiger raised his head and concentrated
all his attention.
"You love her better than all the world?"
"Far better," said Dumiger.
"For her, like a man of heart, you would sacrifice everything!"
continued the wily Count.
Dumiger nodded his head in assent.
"Even the clock?"
A glow mantled over Dumiger's cheek; he was about to answer in the
affirmative, when he remembered that the clock had been his companion
for five years past. He had lived with it, breathed his own life
into its movements,--should he renounce the clock? It, as well as
Marguerite, had become a part of himself; it had long stood him in
the place of family, of love, of all those enjoyments which youth so
wantonly and earnestly clings to. The results of success, ambition,
honors, wealth,--all this he would give up for Marguerite; but his
clock--he hesitated.
The Count repeated the question.
At that moment a sweet voice might be heard caroling one of those
simple national airs which are dear to all nations and all times.
Marguerite had a soft, winning voice, well adapted to the song she was
singing. The Count, as well as Dumiger, paused in his conversation;
the color rose again to Dumiger's face as he thought how nearly he was
on the point of sacrificing his faith, and loving the work of his own
hands more than the admirable work of Nature which had been bestowed
upon him, and, as he listened, he lowered his voice and said,--
"For her I would sacrifice even the clock!"
"You shall," exclaimed the Count.
"I shall!" said Dumiger, starting from his seat. "Now in what way do
you mean, my Lord Count?"
"You know," said the Count, "the value of the prize which is offered
by the town. It is worth little in money. The honor is considered
sufficient. Then you are to be given high place amongst the good
citizens, a laurel crown, to ride a white horse, and sundry other
trumperies."
The Count looked at Dumiger while he applied the word trumperies to
those results which the latter had so impatiently striven for,--for
which he had been laboring night and day. These outward signs of the
results of great ambition,--these to be called trumperies! Dumiger
looked at the Count with astonishment.
"And yet," said he, "it is for such trumperies men sacrifice their
lives, sometimes their characters."
The old Count colored slightly as he gave a glance at the riband and
star which he wore. Men did sometimes say that the Grand Master had
not obtained all his honors without sundry sacrifices of one kind and
another. Dumiger had not intended any allusion to these rumors, and
he was surprised at the Count's change of color, for which, at the
moment, he was unable to assign a reason.
"Well," said the Count hesitatingly, "as you say you prefer
Marguerite's love even to your ambition, let us suppose, that in
one moment you were able to attain certain wealth, to place her in a
position worthy of her high qualities, to be at once on an equality
with those of her fellow-citizens, who have hitherto--pardon me
the word--treated her as an inferior; let us suppose that by some
extraordinary powers all this could be immediately realized;--then let
me ask you, would you sacrifice your clock?"
Dumiger marveled as he listened. He pictured Marguerite adorned with
all those incidents which lend a new charm even to beauty like hers.
He thought, with that vanity which clings to all men,--he thought if
she were so much admired in her rustic dress, what would she be if she
could rival in luxury and grace the chief ladies of Dantzic? He looked
round the room; and instead of the rudely-carved, worn-out chairs, he
pictured the most graceful and luxurious sofas; instead of two small,
and, in spite of all Marguerite's taste and exertion, rather dusty and
ungraceful-looking rooms, a suite of magnificent apartments, where
he could gratify every taste and find people willing to come and
applaud it. All this passed through his mind, and he did not perceive
how curiously the Count was regarding him; but at last Dumiger was
recalled to himself, and he thought how little occasion there was for
him to draw such pictures, as they could never be realized; and why
should he annoy himself by considering this proposition, which could
only be made to him in joke.
"But why," he said to the count, "do you make me such a suggestion,
when I can never hope to obtain this?"
The Count paused a moment, as though to examine Dumiger's countenance
still more attentively, and then said,--
"You shall obtain this wealth, and much more."
"I!" exclaimed Dumiger, with astonishment.
"Yes," said the Count; "at a great price, I know; at a price, however,
which I think you will still be willing to pay for it--for your
clock."
"My clock worth that!" said Dumiger, "who will give it to me?"
It was the first time that Dumiger had tested, by the opinion of
another, the value of the great work which he had achieved, and it
gratified him to hear the magnificent offer.
"I," said the Count, "I will give you all that I have said; nay, more,
I will use all my influence to have you placed high on the great book
of the citizens. You shall have everything to make life happy. Give me
the clock; sign me a paper, making over this clock to me; declaring,
at the same time, that it is your free act and deed, and that you
never completed it, and I will immediately settle that fortune upon
you."
"And yet my clock," thought Dumiger; "all the honors I have
anticipated, the gratification of my ambition, that greatness I have
dreamed of; can I forget all this?"
He was about to reply, when the door opened and Marguerite entered.
The length of time that the conversation lasted had made her
impatient; besides, she mistrusted the Count.
He looked annoyed at her appearance, for he imagined that Dumiger was
on the point of acceding to his terms.
"Marguerite, I am so rejoiced you have come!" exclaimed Dumiger, as
though a sudden light had burst upon him. "The Lord Count has offered
to buy my clock, and to make us rich beyond all expectation; to have
us placed high among the first class of the citizens; in fact to
enable us at once to secure all that men pass their lifetimes in
striving to attain, if I will give up my clock and declare that I
failed in its execution. What do you say, Marguerite?"
"What do I say!" she exclaimed, and as she spoke she drew herself
up to her full height, her brow contracted, the color glowed in her
cheek. "And did you hesitate what reply to make?"
"I thought of you, Marguerite."
"Of me!" she replied. "Oh, do not think of me; or rather if you do so,
think that I would sooner live in the most abject poverty, and suffer
any amount of privation, than part with the work, the consummation
of which will be the glory of your life. Part with your clock! no, I
would sooner sell this hair which you so prize, part with all those
qualities which render me dear to you; nay more, I think I would even
be content to sacrifice your love rather than see all the results of
your patient industry wasted, your noble ambition sacrificed. Think
of me, dear Dumiger, but think of me only as a part of yourself, as
one who would give up every hope and every future to secure your
happiness, that is, your fame."
Dumiger rose from his seat, unmindful in whose presence he stood,
he pressed Marguerite in his arms; again the nobility of his mind
brightened in his eye and beamed over his countenance. It was another
instance amid the thousand which, unknown to them, were passing around
them of a man won to noble thoughts by a woman's influence, proving
that she is the animating power to save him in all his difficulties;
that she invokes and renews all those noble thoughts which are
concealed in the recesses of his mind. Hers is the light to dispel
the mists which the chill atmosphere of the world hangs around the
brightest portions of the mind: great at all times, greatest of all
when, in a moment of difficulty, she is called upon to decide between
the good and the evil, the just and the unjust, the generous and
the mean, the ingenuous and the sophistical; and Marguerite, in one
glance, saw all that Dumiger had failed to discover in the Count's
appearance and manner,--the dark design, the selfish calculation; her
simplicity of mind perceived indications of low, mean purposes, which
he failed to discern. Thus it is ever that the first impressions, and,
above all other first impressions, the impressions of innocence and
youth, are the truest and most to be depended on.
For wherein is it that men--so often men of the shrewdest intelligence
and keenest intellect--deceive themselves by their own egregious
vanity.--by that vanity which makes them prefer to depend on the
refinements and subtle processes of their own intelligence, rather
than on the first impressions of the mind which Heaven has bestowed
upon them? They are not satisfied with perceiving that a thing is
good, but they must learn why it is so. They are not satisfied with
knowing that the world is beautiful, that the harmony of this globe
and its planets is admirable, but they must know the origin of
this beauty, and the cause of the harmony which strikes them with
wonder. It is not enough for them to be told they are "fearfully
and wonderfully made," but they must attend schools to learn why
they live, move, and have their being. Such is man, blinded by his
self-conceit; blasted not by the excess, but by the partial light
which bursts upon him: whereas woman moves clear in her apprehension,
because she believes that "whatever is, is right;" and great in her
intelligence, because she knows she is ignorant.
The count saw that all further appeals to Dumiger's interest would now
be thrown away, but he was not on that account to be baffled.
"Very well, sir," he said, in an angry voice; "I make you the greatest
offer that was ever made to any workman in this city, and you reject
it with contempt. The day will come when you shall repent it. I would
have saved you for that woman's sake, from the distress and ruin which
are impending over you, but you will not be free. Look to it, sir, for
there is danger even now. Your success is not so certain. I have it in
my power to crush you, and your pride shall be broken."
So saying he took up the rouleau of gold he had given to Marguerite
and departed. Dumiger and Marguerite stood side by side, alarmed, but
still unbending; and yet the man who spoke to them was of great power.
To recite his titles once more:--Grand Master of the Teutonic Knights,
President of the City Council; magnificent in his promise, fierce
in his resentments, unscrupulous in his means. For a moment Dumiger
looked at Marguerite as though he were disposed to yield to the
tyranny of that great man, but a glance from her reassured him; and
it was with a low but formal reverence that he opened the door to
the illustrious visitor, while Marguerite stood proud, haughty, and
reserved.
"Did we do wisely?" said Dumiger, when the door closed upon them.
"Wisely!" exclaimed Marguerite; "oh, Dumiger, can you doubt it? I feel
myself worthier of you now that I was able to influence you in your
moment of uncertainty. I say moment, for I will not believe that, upon
reflection, you could have hesitated in your decision. Better risk
all and lose all than sacrifice the glorious object which you have in
view. Who would not prefer the greatness which must be yours, if you
succeed? and the count has at least taught us one thing, that success
is almost certain,--who would not prefer this to that wealth of which
he is so proud, and that eminence which it makes him giddy to stand
on? No, Dumiger, you were in the right; and come what may, you will
feel proud of your decision and self-denial."
"It was you who decided for me," replied Dumiger, as he pressed her
lips fondly to his own.
He toiled throughout the day, and the dusk was settling over the town
when the last wheel was finished and the clock was completed.