The day at last arrived for the triennial exhibition of the
productions of Dantzic art, on which day the council had agreed that
the prize for the clock was to be adjudged. It was a great _fête_ for
the town. At an early hour of the morning the inhabitants began to
decorate their houses with tapestry, and to hang garlands over the
door-posts. All classes prepared their dresses of brightest colors,
and their gayest, happiest smiles. And none was happier than
Marguerite, for Dumiger had written to tell her that on the next day
he was certain to be free; but he had not ventured to inform her that
the clock was sold to Hamburgh. Still, although the deed of sale was
irrevocable, his feelings would not permit him to believe that the
excellence of his work would remain unknown to his towns-people; he
felt convinced that the strangers vanity would induce him to make
use of the secret confided to him, so he wrote to Marguerite that
all would go right. Carl and Krantz arrived early in the morning to
accompany her to the great hall. She had within her a secret which she
would not have disclosed to the universe,--the secret of her husband's
success, of his fame and future happiness. So far Dumiger had informed
her that there was an intrigue against him, in which the Grand Master
was the principal: he explained to her that the object the Grand
Master had in view was to obtain the prize and its accompanying honors
for his own son. Carl and Krantz undertook to protect her through
the crowd, and it was with an abundant feeling of confidence that she
dressed for the ceremonial.
She wore her hair braided round her head; a bodice, which showed the
beauty and shape of her form, of scarlet cloth, attached by threads
of gold across the shirt, which was of the softest and most delicate
material; the short blue petticoat, which reached some way below the
knee, but did not descend so far as to conceal the ankle, the symmetry
of which was well-defined by the silk stocking. The shoe might have
stirred the envy of any _grisette_ in Paris--a class which was, even
in those days, supposed to enjoy a monopoly of taste and refinement.
There was a modesty combined with refinement and strength of character
in the appearance of Marguerite which would have distinguished her in
any crowd. She was a being for love and sunshine; but one who, at
the same time, would have dared much for him she loved. The kind and
generous are ever gallant, and rarely are the beautiful unworthy.
Carl and Krantz were also dressed out in their gayest costumes. It
would have been hard to have decided which was the predominant color
in the dresses of these two worthy citizens; they would have rivaled
any tulip bed in a Dutch garden, and perfectly dazzled Marguerite when
they entered the room.
At length the last touch was given to the toilette, and they sallied
forth. Already the streets were so crowded that it was difficult to
move through them; but Carl and Krantz were determined, energetic
fellows, and what with their elbows and Marguerite's bright smiles,
after incurring a few risks of some jokes on Carl's extravagant
appearance, they reached the great hall.
The street in front of the Courthouse was lined with the burgher
guard, stationed there to keep back the crowd; but Marguerite had
an order for admittance at a private entrance, so, escorted by her
cavalier, she ascended the staircase.
When she entered the hall she was struck with awe and astonishment.
The whole of that enormous space, with the exception of the portion
railed off for the competitors and the dais where the council were
sitting, was crowded by a dense mass of people: along the sides of the
vast edifice, and up to the very roof, were arranged all the various
productions of national art. Nothing can be pictured more beautiful
than the combination of rich and varied colors, or more curious than
the forms which art and genius had given them: here were dyes which
might have rivaled those of Tyre, and fabrics of finer texture than a
Penelope could have woven. At one end, toward which Marguerite's eyes
were most anxiously turned, the models of the clocks were arranged.
Dumiger's was placed in the center, for it was at the same time
the largest model, and contained the most elaborate and complicated
machinery; but, alas! the works remained still, while all the others
were in motion, and showed in the smallest space the movements of the
heavenly bodies, and the progress of time. If Dumiger's meant anything
more than a confused mass of machinery, it could not for a moment be
doubted that it was the work of highest genius exhibited, but in its
quiescent state it contrasted disadvantageously with the admirable
systems revolving round it. Marguerite held her breath while she
gazed; neither did she perceive how much attention she herself had
awakened--the moment for vanity had passed, her present interests lay
far deeper. Immediately above her the Grand Council, with the Grand
Master, were sitting, dressed in their robes of state. The Count
Albrecht wore his cordon of the Fleece, and looked every inch a grand
master; the anxiety for his son's success was apparent in the nervous
glances which he cast around him. Behind, and amid the retainers,
stood the dark, designing-looking stranger, who held in his hand the
fate of Dumiger.
The heralds proclaimed silence, and then the Grand Master rose to read
the decision of the council. It commenced with reciting the list of
the competitors, and when it mentioned Dumiger's name, it said, "the
work is imperfect, and therefore must be withdrawn."
"It is not imperfect," cried two stentorian voices from the farther
end of the hall.
The voices proceeded from Carl and Krantz, whose excitement could no
longer be retained.
"No! it is not imperfect," said the gentler voice of Marguerite.
All eyes were turned toward the spot whence that voice proceeded.
Marguerite nearly fainted to find herself the object of so much
attention.
"Keep your courage," whispered Carl. "Tell them that Dumiger will soon
be free, and the works put in motion. I will tell them for you," he
exclaimed, and he began to speak, when the mysterious stranger stepped
forth.
"Stay," he said, "let me touch the works of this clock--the secret is
mine."
He forced his way through the crowd, looked carefully over the
machinery, opened a secret spring, arranged two small wheels, on which
the accurate movement of the whole machinery depended, and immediately
it was all in motion.
The proceeding was watched with intense interest by all. The
stranger's eye gleamed with delight, for he was anxious, with the true
spirit of Hamburg jealousy, that the people of Dantzic should feel the
value of what they were about to lose.
It was indeed a marvelous piece of workmanship: the planets all
revolved in their regular order, figures of exquisite workmanship
appeared and disappeared to mark the seconds, and the dial plate
was of elaborate beauty. The people for some time stood entranced in
wonder. At last they exclaimed, as with one voice--
"It is a work worthy of Dantzic--and Dumiger has won! Dumiger
forever'."
If Marguerite had nearly fainted from fear, she was now pale with
delight.
"Dumiger, Dumiger forever!" again shouted the crowd; "where is the
laurel? where is the triumph? Greatest amongst his citizens, Dumiger
has won!"
But at that moment the stranger came forward with a paper in his hand.
The Count's face, which had been overspread with anger and shame at
these shouts, was again lit up with hope, for after Dumiger's his
son's was evidently the best.
"You mistake, my friends," said this man: "Dumiger is not a citizen of
Dantzic, but of Hamburg, and the clock belongs to that noblest of free
cities."
"Madman! fool!" burst from the astonished crowd; "we all know Dumiger,
his family are eminent in the list of our freemen--you are mad! Grand
Master, proclaim that Dumiger has won the prize, that Dumiger is
great."
Joy thrilled through Marguerite's frame.
The Grand Master rose, and his voice trembled with anxiety and secret
pleasure as he spoke.
"It is too true," he said; "the clock is sold to Hamburg, and Dumiger
has lost his rights of citizenship here by becoming a freeman of that
town. The prize, therefore, in accordance with the decision of the
council, is adjudged to the second--to my son."
Then the anger of the people rose, wild and savage; in one moment,
like the bursting of a thunder-cloud, the whole aspect of the place
had changed.
"Show us the deed!" they exclaimed.
The stranger took it and held it up. There was no mistaking it; it
was headed by the arms of Hamburg, and signed by Dumiger. The storm of
indignation had subsided for a moment, but only as it seemed to gain
additional strength.
"Tear him in pieces--he shall not have the clock. Down with
Dumiger--crucify the man who could prefer the freedom of Hamburg to
the honors of Dantzic. Down with him!"
And the people tore up the benches, drove back the burgher guard;
some of the boldest dashed on the platform; the Grand Council had to
escape, carrying the stranger with them. The mob tore out of the hall,
and told their friends outside--anger led to anger, the passions rose
like the waves at the equinox. Nothing could stop the mob, from so
apparently trifling a cause a tumult was created; the jealousy of the
townsmen now appeared--that jealousy, smothered and subdued for so
many years, burst forth in this madness.
Poor Marguerite had fainted. Carl and Krantz, by herculean exertions,
dragged her through the mob; she was taken to a small room over the
great hall, and laid there until the storm should be appeased.
It did not seem likely to be so. Unfortunately, one of the guards had
in the tumult struck a burgher; in some of the smaller streets they
were even now fighting; but the crowd in the great square seemed
to have a firmer purpose, there was a gradual calm. At last one man
climbed up the statue in the Center of the square.
"Where is Dumiger?" he asked.
And another voice answered, "He is in the debtor's prison."
"We will go and lead him to his triumph," was the dark and threatening
reply of the people, who now moved forward in columns.