It was late in the evening of the same day. Marguerite and Dumiger
were sitting by the fire together. The fire burnt so brightly that
it was not necessary to light the candles. Marguerite, with her eyes
closed and half reposing in Dumiger's arms, was enjoying all the
happiness which the sense of returning affection gives. The night was
somewhat changed since they first sat there. The rain beat against the
casement, and the wind whistled down the chimney. The more it rained
and blew, the closer crept Marguerite to Dumiger's side. It was
a picture of comfort; of that comfort which, alas! is so easily
destroyed by the breath of tyranny. It was a type of the many hearths
which are covered with ruins when the trumpet sounds through the city
and the tocsin rings to arms; when war or rebellion sweeps like a
pestilence, not alone over the ruins of palaces and of senate-houses,
but over the abodes of the humble, where every room can tell a tale of
affection and toil.
There was a knock at Dumiger's door, which made Marguerite start and
called all the color into her cheeks.
There was something ominous in the knock. It was a short, quick,
clear, and decisive knock. It was the knock of a man in authority; of
one who felt that although standing on the outside of the door, he had
a right to be within. Marguerite and Dumiger both looked at the fire,
as though they could read in its confused shapes the reason of this
interruption; but the result could not have been very satisfactory,
for neither spoke, while reluctantly Dumiger rose to open the dour,
and Marguerite followed his movements with intense anxiety.
The truth is that people are never thoroughly comfortable and happy
without a sense of the uncertainty of human happiness stealing over
them. We speak of those whose lives are not a succession of parties
of pleasure, of soft dreams and golden fulfillments--to such favored
ones all sense of happiness is deadened by satiety--but they who toil
through long, long days, and are blest with a few moments of repose,
value them so highly that they scarcely believe such happiness can
last.
Dumiger opened the door, and uttered a faint cry. Marguerite was in a
moment by his side.
He had, indeed, some cause for alarm. An officer of the Grande Court
de Justice stood there. There was no mistaking his character, for the
uniform of the myrmidons of that court was too well known to all the
inhabitants of Dantzic, and more especially to the poorer classes, who
gazed on them with awe, for they were in general stern, hard-featured,
and hard-hearted men, who did their duty without gentleness, and
rarely deserted a man when once they had him in their clutches.
Dumiger had made acquaintance with them of old on one or two
occasions, and the recollection was anything but agreeable.
The man entered the room very quickly, took his seat in Dumiger's
chair, and drew his missive from his pocket. It was Dumiger's bill to
Hoffman for a very large sum, which had been purchased by the Count.
"What is this?" gasped forth Dumiger; for, at the moment, the debt had
entirely escaped his recollection. "Ach Gott!" exclaimed Dumiger, "is
it possible?" but observing Marguerite standing by, pale, tearful, and
trembling, he restrained his impetuosity.
Dumiger rose and went to a drawer. He counted over, with the eagerness
of a miser, all the dollars which were kept there,--the few which had
remained after the expenses of the last fortnight. For some time past
he had devoted all his energies so entirely to the construction of the
clock, that the smallest receipts of his craft had been despised.
A cold perspiration stood on his forehead as he gazed upon his small
store. He knew too well, that by the laws of Dantzic the debtor was
either dragged to the common prison or all his goods were seized.
Either alternative was terrible. He looked round the room. On one side
stood the clock, the child of his mind and industry, on the other was
Marguerite, beautiful in her grief.
The man had lit a pipe, and was carelessly smoking.
"Come," said the officer at last, as shaking out the ashes of his pipe
and drawing himself to his full stature, so as to give weight to his
authority--"come, we have no time to lose, Herr Dumiger. The money or
the furniture, or to prison. Consult the pretty jungfrau there: but
you must come to a conclusion directly, for time presses and I have
several other little bits of business to perform to-night: so I will
light another pipe while you make up your minds."
It was no easy matter for Marguerite to bring her mind to a decision.
She thought on the one hand of the lonely nights she might have to
pass; on the other, of the irreparable loss the clock would be to
Dumiger. Dumiger clasped her hands in his own, and as his lips clung
to hers he exclaimed, "Perish all things but love." He rose--he was
on the point of desiring the man to take away the clock in payment
of the debt, in the hope that he might redeem it on the morrow, when
the sudden thought struck him that the Count was the instigator of
this act. He caught hold of the man by one arm, which was hanging
listlessly over the back of the chair, and exclaimed--
"Tell me who sent you on this mission."
The man only looked round with an expression of astonishment at his
presumption, and without deigning any reply, he resumed his pipe.
"Was it the Grand Master?" asked Dumiger.
"Obey my orders and ask no questions," said the man. "You had better
follow my example. I have told you already that there is no time to
spare. Tell me what course you intend to take. Give up some articles
in this room--there is that clock, which will do more than pay the
bill--or follow me immediately. There is no other alternative."
The whole conversation with the Grand Master occurred to Dumiger.
There could be no doubt that the clock would go into his possession;
that it was a deep-laid scheme to spoil him of the result of all his
labor. Better, far better, that Marguerite should bear the pain of
separation, than that the clock should be endangered, and by such a
man.
"Marguerite," said Dumiger, in a low voice, after a long pause, "it is
fixed. We must part for a short time. I will write from my prison to
some of my friends; they will not desert me in this necessity. A few
short hours, and I shall return to you, my own Marguerite."
But Marguerite had fainted, and the lips which touched his cheek were
cold and pale.
Slowly she opened those large blue eyes, and although her lips
faltered, the look and the voice were both earnest as she bade him go.
"Yes, Dumiger, you are right: ambition such as yours is a less selfish
passion than love like mine. Leave me for a time. I know the interval
will be short. It is another step toward the greatness to which you
are aspiring."
The man looked at them with a vague and vacant look. He had been
witness to this description of scene so frequently, that he began
to believe it to be a part of the debtor's craft. As some people can
regard the most beautiful varying tints of heaven, the lights and
shadows which flit across the face of nature, and see nothing more in
them than a part of that vast and complicated machinery that governs
the world--so he, in these lights and shadows of life, only beheld the
natural workings of the human mind.
With a pale cheek but a firm step Dumiger departed. The last sound
that fell upon his ear as he left his door, was the blessing murmured
by his bride. Again he felt disposed to turn back and sacrifice all
for his affection; but already one of the city guard stood behind him,
and the rattle of arms on the pavement told him that his arrest had
not been lightly planned or carelessly conducted.
The castle toward which Dumiger and his guards directed their steps
was the Grimshaus, formerly a citadel and an important point of
defense for the town of Dantzic, though now converted into a prison
for political offenders and debtors. The reader may be aware that
the laws against debtors in the great free commercial cities were
intolerably severe. Some men were permitted to groan away their whole
lives in hopeless misery. The creditor was in general without pity,
and the debtor unpitied. He was entirely at the mercy of the jailer,
who had it in his power to load him with chains, and even on the
slightest pretext of insubordination to execute summary justice
upon him. These laws, however, had as yet little affected Dumiger;
though threatened with arrest on one or two previous occasions his
difficulties had always been arranged. But the present debt was more
serious than any which had as yet been pressed for, and he could not
but feel that friends might be less willing to become surety.
They arrived at the square in which the Grimshaus was situated. It
was a wild, unhealthy, stern, fantastic pile, which stood, in point
of fact, upon an island, for a wide, wet ditch surrounded it, except
where a drawbridge connected it with the square. The towers and
ramparts had in some places mouldered away, and huge bars of iron
were introduced in different parts of the wall to give strength to the
building by binding the yawning mason-work together.
The square was deserted. The cry of the sentinel at the most distant
of the landward posts sounded ominous, like that of a lost bird
at night. Although the moon shone brightly, it was difficult to
distinguish the whole outline of the building, on account of the
pestiferous vapors which arose from the moat, and hung like a pall
over the recently flooded plain. Through these mists the city chimes
sounded muffled and melancholy. It was solitude--of all solitude the
most fearful--a prison solitude in the neighborhood of a great town.
The very escort appeared to feel the influence of their melancholy
and lonely scene, for the jests stopped as the foot of the vanguard
clanged on the drawbridge. This was merely the effect of discipline;
but to Dumiger it appeared a part of the drama, and it added to his
sense of fear.
They were detained some time upon the drawbridge while the sergeant
was holding some conversation with the officer of the watch.
"By the Holy Mary!" exclaimed the functionary who had arrested
Dumiger, "there must be something more than a mere debt in all this.
I never saw such a fuss made about the receipt of the body of a debtor
in all my life. And then, it was rather strange my being ordered to
take a file of my guard instead of honest Jean, who would have held
him just as firm in his grasp, and not kept my poor fellows shivering
out all night in this unhealthy atmosphere. No, no, there is something
more than a debt due: it is a case of political crime. Is it not so,
my lad?" he exclaimed, giving Dumiger a thump on his back which made
the chain-bridge rattle.
"Is it not what?" said Dumiger, who was quite taken by surprise. He
had been gazing on the water, and the purest drops in it were the
two tears which had fallen from his eyes. "I have heard nothing," he
replied. "What does all this mean, and why am I kept here?"
"Ah, that's just what I wish to know!" answered the man, "and no one
can tell us better than yourself. It is not merely for a case of debt
that I was sent to your house to-night. No, no, I am wiser than that.
Come now, tell us the real truth. What conspiracy have you entered
into, what political offense have you committed, to entitle you to be
escorted with such honor, and be made the subject of so many forms?
There is no use denying it," he continued, for Dumiger's astonished
countenance was quite a sufficient protestation against any such
inference. "Look here; the lieutenant of the tower has been called up,
and the guard is reinforced."
It was quite true. Had Dumiger been a state prisoner of the highest
rank, he could not have been received with more ceremony. The guard
turned out, and the rattle of the muskets was heard as the massive
gates rolled ponderously upon their axes. The one light in the
entrance gave an awful but not unpicturesque appearance to the scene,
for it was reflected on the glittering steel. It cast its wild gleams
on the bronzed cheeks of the guards, while the length and height of
the hall were lost in the gloom.
"Forward!" was the word, and tramp, tramp, tramp, mingled with the
rattle of the chains of the bridge. Dumiger was now placed in the
center of the guard.
The soldiers presented arms to the burghers: the burghers carried
theirs as they passed. The single drum beat, and its echo vibrated
through the building. The gates closed behind them--bolt after bolt
was drawn, and Dumiger was separated from the world.
His heart sank within him, and well it might; for as the moon shone
into the courtyard beyond the hall where he was standing, he could see
that the windows which looked into it were all trebly barred. Besides,
the building looked throughout so miserably damp and wretched; and
there was an entire absence of care for the comfort of its inmates,
which chilled his blood.
The lieutenant of the tower, after the conference with Dumiger's
officer had lasted some time, approached him. He took him gently by
the arm, and brought him to the broken, rotten, creaking stairs,
which led to the upper rooms, or rather cells, from which they were
separated by two large, massive iron doors.
The lieutenant himself opened the locks, while two soldiers, standing
on either side with flambeaux, gave Dumiger a full view of the
desolate stair which he had to ascend. The passage to which it led had
been taken out of the thickness of the walls, so massive were they.
They passed through a large hall where a huge fire was blazing, about
which some soldiers slept, with their cloaks drawn tightly round them
to ward off the draughts which came in strong gusts beneath the doors
and even through the shutters; one or two with handkerchiefs tied
round their heads, to serve the purpose of night-caps, were sitting
by the fire smoking. They took the pipes from their lips to salute the
lieutenant as he passed, but beyond this notice paid no attention
to the object of his visit. It was evidently an event of no uncommon
occurrence. More passages, more bars, more doors battered by age and
mended by slabs of iron, and at last Dumiger arrived at the room, or
rather the cell, which had been prepared for him. The preparations,
it must however be admitted, were of the very simplest character.
A palliasse thrown down in the corner, a rickety chair, and the
strangest apology for a table, were the whole furniture of the place.
Without one word of explanation the lieutenant motioned him into his
new abode. In vain Dumiger stormed and raved, and desired to know
whether this was the way in which free citizens were treated in the
free city of Dantzic. The lieutenant only shrugged his shoulders,
gave orders to the soldiers to withdraw, and Dumiger was left to his
melancholy meditations.
A heavy weight, such as magnetic influence affects the brain with,
oppressed his forehead; he threw himself on the palliasse, and
endeavored to recall the events of the last few hours: but so rapid
and intense had they been, that they already seemed to be numbered
amongst the visions of the past. When the heart is oppressed with
suffering, and above all, with the most painful of all suffering,
anxiety, solitude and sleep are the only consolations. But then the
sleep is not the light, happy, joyous slumber, from which we awake
refreshed and strengthened; it is a leaden, sullen, sodden trance,
from which we awake with the sensation that the whole weight of the
atmosphere has been concentrated on our brows. This was the case with
Dumiger: the flickering, dreary light of the lamp kept waving before
his eyes as he lay there. He felt like a man whose limbs have been
paralyzed by some grievous accident. At last be breathed heavily, and
the load of oppression fell from his eyelids. Such was the sleep we
have described.
When he awoke in the morning the light had gone out; but a few
pale, melancholy gleams of morning pierced the prison-bars, which
were so far above him that it was not possible for him to reach
them. He strove to remember where he was; his eyes fell on the
grotesquely-painted figures which covered the walls, and which
had escaped his observation on the preceding night. These were the
handicraft of some man who had evidently endeavored to wile away his
time in prison by caricaturing his persecutors; and certainly he
had succeeded in the attempt. Nothing more absurd than some of these
pictures could be imagined; every possible deformity was ascribed to
the originals, and the sketches were surrounded by pasquinades and
quaint devices. Here and there might be found expressions of deeper
and more fearful import, if indeed anything could be more fearful than
the contrast between the ridiculous and such a dungeon. "_Non omnis
moriar_," wrote one man in a yellow liquid, which too evidently
was discolored blood. "_Justum et tenacem recti virum_," scrawled
another, immediately followed by a portrait of the "_vultis instantis
tyranni_," who had, if we may judge by the chain suspended from his
neck, once been a famous Grand Master. On one part of the wall might
be deciphered a whole romance scrawled with an old nail, in which the
prisoner had arrived at such excellence, that the letters were like
the most admirable type. It was a long, and doubtless melancholy tale;
so much so, that the kind guardians of the place had scratched it with
their knives to prevent its being easily deciphered. In fact, that
little cell had evidently contained an Iliad of romances; and if the
walls could have spoken, or even the scrawls been deciphered, some
strange tales, and perhaps many mysterious events, would have come to
light. Dumiger gazed on these sad records of prior existences with a
melancholy interest. In vain he endeavored to explain to himself the
cause of his being treated with such unparalleled severity. He could
not recall any crime such as might excuse his incarceration in such
an abominable place. He buried his face in his hands. He thought of
Marguerite and the clock, and then, happily for him, he wept, as the
young alone can weep when they are in sorrow, and when their sorrow is
unselfish.
He was roused by an unbolting of bars, the turning of huge, unwieldy
keys, and the lieutenant of the castle stood before him.
Dumiger was in that state of mind when whatever of pride belongs
to the consciousness of innocence loses its strength. Though there
was little to invite confidence in the outward demeanor of the
functionary, he ran toward him, seized him by both hands, and
exclaimed, "Have pity upon me, sir; tell me why I am here!"
"Pooh, pooh," replied the bronzed old Cerberus: "be a man."
"Be a man!" shrieked Dumiger, "I am a man: and it is because I am
a man, a free man of Dantzic, that I appeal against this monstrous
treatment. Be a man! why, I appeal to you, sir, to be a man, and
to give up that situation, if it can only be retained by cruelty to
others. I say again, be you a man, and cease to torture me."
The lieutenant continued looking at him with the most perfect
indifference. He whistled a tune, took the only two turns in the cell
which its extent permitted, and then, as if a sudden recollection had
struck him, put two letters into Dumiger's hands.
"Come, you are not very ill treated, young man, when you are allowed
to read."
Dumiger felt a glow of delight thrill through his frame. Everything
is by comparison, and after the pain be had endured, the sight of two
letters, the one in the handwriting of Marguerite, the other of Carl,
made his heart leap with joy. They seemed to him to be the guarantees
of immediate safety.
The lieutenant still remained near him. Dumiger would not open the
letters in his presence. At last the officer, after some minutes'
delay, and having sung sundry snatches of martial airs, gave Dumiger
a contemptuous, indignant glance, and stalked out of the cell, taking
care to rattle the bolts and bars as a punishment to Dumiger for not
gratifying his curiosity. Poor devil, it was his only amusement to pry
into the prisoners' secrets.
"How is the lad?" asked the second in command when his commander
appeared.
"Better than he will be when he knows the charges for which he is shut
up. At present he is under the impression it is only for debt; but
when he learns it is for treason, he will whimper and whine even more
than he has been doing."
"What, so young and a traitor!" exclaimed the subaltern, who was
evidently the kinder spirit of the two. "It is almost incredible."
"It may be," continued the lieutenant. "I have directions from the
Grand Master and Council to keep a strict watch over him. They say
that he is a most dangerous character. But I never trouble myself much
about these kind of fellows. I do my duty quietly. Meanwhile, I have
given him letters which won't add to his happiness much when he reads
them, if I am to believe what the inspector told me, who of course
read them and sealed them again."
The moment the lieutenant had left the cell, Dumiger eagerly tore open
Marguerite's letter, without remarking that it had been opened ere
it reached him. He read it through with that rapidity of glance and
mental discernment which fear and love combined can alone give. It
was with a groan of horror that he allowed the letter to drop from his
hands, for the full extent of the difficulties of his situation now
broke upon him. She told him that the same evening, the moment his
arrest was known in the neighborhood, bills had poured in from all
quarters; that she had seen his friends Carl and Krantz, who called
early on that morning, and who found it impossible to obtain one-tenth
of the sum now required for his release. All they could do, therefore,
was to take charge of the wonderful model, and carry it to the
Court-house, where it would have to remain until the decision of the
Council should be proclaimed. The second letter, which was from Carl,
was still more appalling, for he told Dumiger how essential it was
for him to make any sacrifice in order to put the whole machinery
in order, so that his work might appear to the judges in the most
favorable point of view. He undertook, however, to engage the best
mechanist in Dantzic, in the event of Dumiger not being able to obtain
his release before the appointed day.
What was to be done? Dumiger felt himself driven almost to frenzy. He
thought of Marguerite, of his clock, of his friends; he then began to
think that be had acted very foolishly in refusing the offer of the
Grand Master, who, he felt assured, although the lieutenant would
not admit it to him, was the cause of all his misery. The more he
reflected on the past, the more desperate he became; he rolled on the
ground in agony; the whole day passed in efforts to reach the window,
whence at least he might perceive the situation of his house, or to
shake the bars of the strongly-ironed door. Toward evening a soldier
brought him some refreshment, but preserved an obstinate silence.
Dumiger allowed the refreshment to remain untasted on the ground; he
could not touch it. The evening grew on apace, the merry chimes from
the Dom of the city came across the water; it struck him that they
had never chimed so musically before, or with so much meaning. Another
long, long night of agony was to be passed, and where and how was
suspense to end?
Time swept on, but this night they brought him no lamp, so that he had
no means of measuring its progress; he could only judge how heavily
the hours rolled by the tramp of the guards as they marched over the
drawbridge to the several reliefs. At ten o'clock he heard the bugles
sounding the retreat, and then when he pictured to himself his gentle
young bride, so sweet, so lovely--when he remembered how greatly he
had neglected her for his ambition--he loathed himself for what he
used to consider laudable, but now felt to have been mere selfishness.
It was still very early, for the gray cold streaks of morning had
not pierced the prison-bars, when Dumiger was roused from his uneasy
slumber by the rattling of the lock of his door. He looked up and saw
with surprise a man who was not dressed in uniform.
"Who are you? What do you want?" exclaimed Dumiger, "for there is such
a thing as intrusion even in a prison."
The man whom he addressed only replied by taking possession of the
single chair which stood by the bedside; he then very quietly and
coolly took a tinder-box from his pocket, struck a light in the
most deliberate manner, and lit the small lamp which had remained
unreplenished from the preceding evening. Dumiger had then an
opportunity of examining his visitor.
He was a little, jesuitical, sly, crafty, leering person, with a
quick, intelligent, practical eye--a man who was evidently conversant
with the world; and to judge from the sensual expression of his mouth
and the protuberance at the nape of the neck, whose world was of the
worst description--a phrenologist or physiognomist would have hung him
at once. It is fortunate for some men that these sciences are not more
extensively understood, or a great many persons would suffer for their
natural and cerebral conformation.
"You will soon be free, my son."
"Free! thank God!" exclaimed Dumiger, throwing himself back on his
pillow and clasping his hands in gratitude.
"You are too quick, young man," continued the stranger. "I said you
would soon be free, if--you see there is an _if_. It is for you to
remove it."
"If--if what? I will do anything you tell me," almost shrieked
Dumiger, so terrified was he at the possibility of his hopes deserting
him.
"Well," continued the little man, putting on his spectacles and
examining the roll of his papers, "I will commence by telling you that
I am a native of Hamburgh and like yourself, a great mechanist. I was
sent for by the Council last evening, to examine all the models which
have been received. I do not hesitate to say to you that yours is by
far the best."
"God be praised, Marguerite, Marguerite!" ejaculated Dumiger.
"Yes," quickly remarked the mysterious visitor, "yours is by far
superior to all the rest, but it will not win the prize."
"Not win the prize!" said Dumiger; for now all his ambition had
returned to him.
"Certainly not," was the reply; "you know as well as I do that the
machinery requires some directing power. No one knows how to apply it:
no one knows the secret."
"Yes, there is a secret," said the youth, his face brightening even
through the cold, clammy prison atmosphere.
"And you cannot get out to tell it, or to arrange your own work,
for here I have a schedule of the judgments for debt which have been
lodged against you;" and he held out a list some twelve inches in
length.
Dumiger groaned. "And are there no means of paying this?"
"You can answer that question as well as myself," replied the man. "I
will tell you that there are none for the present; but there is one
way in which the clock may still be the admiration of Dantzic, and
yourself free with a great independence in three days."
"What way? what way? tell me quickly!" cried Dumiger, gasping with
anxiety.
"Be still, young man, be still; we have plenty of time: let's proceed
quietly," said the stranger.
"Well, well, but be quick," continued Dumiger, in anything but a quiet
tone of voice.
"I have told you," said the man, quietly readjusting his spectacles,
which Dumiger had slightly disturbed by the violence with which he
seized his arm, "I have told you that I am a native of Hambro', a
mechanician; that I have seen your clock, admired it, and taken the
trouble to obtain a list of your liabilities,--here it is again."
Dumiger gave another groan.
"Your position," continued the stranger, "appears to me to be
this--that without my assistance your clock will be worth nothing,
while you will remain quietly in prison here, charged besides, as
far as I can understand the matter, with some political offense; that
Marguerite will either pine away or atone for your loss by amusing
herself with some of your friends--Carl and Krantz for instance. You
see I am _au fait_ with all your domestic matters."
Oh, jealousy! oh, cowardice of the heart! At the name of Carl the
blood flew to Dumiger's temples. It just occurred to him that it was
strange that Marguerite should have gone to him for assistance without
any direction from himself to do so. Root out the feeling, Dumiger;
root it out, or you are lost.
The stranger smiled sarcastically, but affected not to notice his
flushed cheek and faltering voice.
"Now there is but one means to relieve yourself from all these risks
and this load of misery."
"Again I inquire, what is it?" said Dumiger.
"Sell me your clock: I have come to purchase it on the part of the
free city of Hamburgh," was the calm, deliberate reply.
"Sell my clock!" echoed Dumiger.
"The city of Hamburgh," continued the stranger, without appearing to
remark Dumiger's exclamation, "authorizes me to offer for the clock of
best workmanship, the freedom of her walls, an income of four thousand
dollars, a place in the chief council with due precedence, and many
other minor advantages. If you accept these terms a large installment
of money will be paid within three days,--that is, within the time
for the return of post. You will naturally inquire, Why the city of
Hambro' should make so extravagant an offer? I will recall to you
the extreme jealousy which has always existed between these two
great commercial cities. You will remember that this rivalry is
unceasing--that it comprehends all things, the smallest as well as the
greatest. They attempted to vie with each other in the construction of
their doms: Dantzic gained the advantage. The fame and the prize given
for excellence in these clocks, and of the unrivaled workmanship which
may be expected, has spread throughout Germany. The inhabitants
of Hambro' are inferior in science. They wish to obtain a piece of
workmanship which shall be unrivaled, in the easiest manner, and I
was sent here to negotiate the purchase. Well, I was selected by the
Council here as one of the judges. It is an act of treachery--granted:
that cannot affect you. All that there is for you to decide on are the
terms I have offered you."
"Oh! Marguerite!" exclaimed Dumiger, "if you were here, what would you
counsel?"
"What would she counsel," said the stranger, "except to accept this
offer? Remember, if you refuse it you remain here for days, if not
weeks. You cannot hope to obtain the preference unless you are enabled
to inform any one of the secret of setting the works in motion, and
then it would require a hand as steady and experienced as my own to
carry out your directions; and I should not undertake to do it except
on the conditions which I have named."
"Show me the conditions drawn out," said Dumiger.
The man rolled out slowly one of the long strips of parchment which he
held in his hand; he gave it to Dumiger, who drew the lamp near him,
and for a few minutes reveled in the ideas of freedom and wealth. He
had but to say the word, and he enjoyed all that he had been laboring
for through life; but then, at what price? at that which it pained him
to contemplate--the citizenship of his native town, where his family
had dwelt respected for centuries. No doubt he was selling his
birthright; he was parting with all that a man should cling to in
adversity as in prosperity--that which is not to be purchased with
gold--all his old ties, his affections, his faith. Once signed, the
deed was irrevocable; and yet if he did not sign, what had he to hope
for?
He leaned his head on his hands, in one of those stern struggles which
age a man in a few minutes, as breaths of frost wither the freshest
leaves. He invoked the Spirit of Love--he called forth Marguerite, and
she stood beside him. He saw her with her cheek paler than when he had
parted from her; he saw her bosom heaving with sighs instead of love;
he heard her soft whisper in his ear, and he thought that whisper
expressed assent--that for him, she too was willing to relinquish the
home and the friends of her childhood. Ay, is it not ever so? Invoke
whom we may in hours of trial, does not the oracle take its tone from
our own wishes? Fond and futile pretense to invoke the Spirit of Love
to decide where love is interested! As Marguerite seemed to stand
beside Dumiger he lost sight of ambition, and all its pomp and
circumstance; all he asked was to be free.
"Give me the paper," he said in a firm voice: "the clock is yours, and
the principle of the movement is to be found engraved on a small plate
under the mainspring."
If he had seen the smile of triumph which passed over that man's
countenance, he would have hesitated.
The deed was done: the man put his materials and his paper into his
pocket again.
"Now," he said, rising to go, "the third day's post will find you
free; and take my advice, leave Dantzic soon. The people will be
irritated at being deprived of their master-piece. I would not have
you trust to their render mercies; for that matter, it is well for
you that you are safe in prison. Remember this advice, for I know the
Dantzickers as well as you do."
"Stay, stay one moment," cried Dumiger, as the stranger was about to
leave the cell, "who told you so much about me? How did you obtain
this list of debts? How came you to hear of Marguerite, and Carl, and
Krantz? Surely," and he passed his hand across his brow like a man who
is pained by the intensity of a ray of light after having been long in
darkness--"tell me before you go, what does this mean?" And he caught
a firm hold of the man's cloak.
"There is no reason why I should not tell you the truth now," said
he, buttoning his coat tightly over the papers. "I was sent for by the
Grand Master, who engaged me to obtain the sale of your clock at any
price. And he gave me good inducements to undertake the job."
The whole scheme broke on Dumiger's mind.
"And with what object?" he gasped forth; "tell me that."
"To get rid of your competition," said the man quietly. "After yours
there is no doubt that his son's is the best; and, therefore, when
yours is sold to Hambro', his will be prized in Dantzic. As for me,
I shall get rewarded for my exertions, both by the Grand Master your
noble count, and my own city. Here is the truth of the matter," said
he; "now let me go."
"Let you go, miscreant!" exclaimed Dumiger, "never, until you return
me that paper. Let you go! I will follow you to death rather. You
betrayed me into this act; it was not my own free will. I am the
victim of the basest conspiracy. I have been induced to sell my
birthright--I prefer to remain in prison--I love my townspeople--I
will not be free on these conditions! Give me back my bond!"
"Never!" said the man, putting himself into an attitude of defense.
And he did wisely, for there was desperation in Dumiger's eye. He
waited a moment, and then with a maniac's strength he flew at the man,
but he found a powerful and vigorous antagonist. The stranger, who had
appeared half decrepit and aged, rose up in all the strength of youth.
In a moment he had grasped Dumiger's arms, very coolly taken out a
handkerchief, and in spite of all Dumiger's efforts bound his hands
together. After he had performed this operation he drew the document
again from his pocket, so as to be well assured that it was correctly
signed, and smiled as he said to Dumiger--
"You know that signature?"
"Scoundrel! miscreant!" were the only words to which Dumiger could
give utterance.
"And now, fellow-citizen," said the man, "I bid you farewell. Keep
your temper; these sober arts should have taught you this kind of
self-command. You will soon be free. As for your arms, I dare not
untie them now, but I will send the guard to you. Now, holloa, guard
without there!" and he left the cell.
What did all this mean? A mystery seemed to be encircling Dumiger
which he could not penetrate. He knew there was danger near him, but
was unable to define its extent. Only one thing was now certain--he
had sold that clock on which years of toil had been bestowed, and not
in vain. He had but a few days since contemplated certain success, now
how far it was from him! And Hamburgh--to be great and ennobled there,
what did that signify to him? How long would it not take for him,
the inhabitant of the great rival city, to be admitted into this new
society? No, he had made an error which could never be recalled;
he had broken the ties which were once so dear to him. Dumiger now
learned the great truth, that it is only the opinion of the few with
whom we are most intimate that we care for. It is nothing to be
great amongst those with whom we have no sympathies, no affections
in common. The kind word from one lip which we love is far more to
be prized than the loudest acclamations of thousands to whom we are
indifferent.