Two years had passed since Frederick von Trenck entered the fortress of
Magdeburg. Two years! What is that to those who live, work, strive, and
fight the battle of life? A short space of time, dashing on with flying
feet, and leaving nothing for remembrance but a few important moments.
Two years! What is that to the prisoner? A gray, impenetrable eternity,
in which the bitter waters of the past fall drop by drop upon all
the functions of life, and hollow out a grave for the being without
existence, who no longer has the courage to call himself a man.
Two years of anxious waiting, of vain hopes, of ever-renewing
self-deception, of labor without result.
This was Trenck’s existence, since the day the doors of the citadel
of Magdeburg closed upon him as a prisoner. He had had many bitter
disappointments, much secret suffering; he had learned to know human
nature in all its wickedness and insignificance, its love of money and
corruption, but also in its greatness and exaltation, and its constancy
and kindness.
Amongst the commandants and officers of the fortress whose duty it was
to guard Trenck, there were many hard and cruel hearts, which exulted
in his tortures, and who, knowing the king’s personal enmity to him,
thought to recommend themselves by practising the most refined cruelties
upon the defenceless prisoner. But he had also found warm human souls,
who pitied his misfortunes, and who sought, by every possible means,
to ameliorate his sad fate. And, after all, never had the night of his
imprisonment been utterly dark and impenetrable. The star of hope, of
love, of constancy, had glimmered from afar. This star, which had thrown
its silver veil over his most beautiful and sacred remembrances, over
his young life of liberty and love, this star was Amelia. She had never
ceased to think of him, to care for him, to labor for his release; she
had always found means to supply him with help, with gold, with active
friends. But, alas! all this had only served to add to his misfortunes,
to narrow the boundaries of his prison, and increase the weight of his
chains.
Treachery and seeming accident had, up to this time, made vain every
attempt at escape, and destroyed in one moment the sad and exhausting
labors of many long months. The first and seemingly most promising
attempt at flight had miscarried, through the treason of the faithless
Baron Weingarten, who had offered to communicate between Trenck and the
princess.
For six long months Trenck had worked with ceaseless and incomparable
energy at a subterranean path which would lead him to freedom; all was
prepared, all complete. The faithful grenadier, Gefhart, who had been
won over by the princess, had given him the necessary instruments, and
through the bars of his prison had conveyed to him such food as would
strengthen him for his giant task.
Nothing was now wanting but gold, to enable Trenck, when he had escaped,
to hire a little boat, which would place him on the other side of the
Elbe--gold, to enable him to make a rapid flight.
Gefhart had undertaken to deliver Trenck’s letter to the princess,
asking for this money. This letter, written with his own blood upon
a piece of linen, had been forwarded through Gefhart’s mistress, the
Jewess Rebecca, to Weingarten. He delivered it to the princess, and
received, through Pollnitz, two thousand thalers, which he did not hand
over to Rebecca, but retained for himself, and betrayed to the king
Trenck’s intended flight.
This was but a short time before Weingarten’s own flight; and while he
was enjoying the fruit of this base fraud in security and freedom,
poor Trenck was forced to descend still lower in the citadel, and take
possession of that frightful prison which, by special command of the
king, had been built and prepared for him, in the lowest casemates of
the fortress.
The king was greatly exasperated at these never-ending attempts of
Trenck to escape; his courage and endurance made him an interesting and
admired martyr to the whole garrison at Magdeburg.
Frederick wished to give to this garrison, and to all his soldiers, a
terrible example of the relentless severity with which insubordination
should be punished, to prove to them that mortal daring and mortal
energy were vain to escape the avenging hand of royal justice.
Trenck, who, in the beginning, had only been condemned to arrest in
Glatz for six months, had, by his constant attempts at escape, and
the mad and eloquent expression of his rage, brought upon himself the
sentence of eternal imprisonment, in a subterranean cell, which, by
express command of the king, was so prepared, that neither guards nor
soldiers were necessary to his detention. A jailer only was needed, to
lock the four doors of the corridor which led to Trenck’s cell. It was
as little dangerous to guard this poor prisoner as to approach the lion
bound by chains and hemmed in by iron bars.
Trenck was indeed manacled like a wild beast. A chain clanked upon his
feet, an iron girdle was around his waist, to which hung a heavy chain,
fastened to a thick iron bar built in the wall; manacles were made fast
to each end of an iron bar, to which his hands were bound. The most
cruel wild beast would not have been so tortured; some one would have
had pity on him, and mercifully ended his life. But this creature, thus
tortured, groaning and clanking his heavy chains--this creature was a
man, therefore there was no pity. It would have been considered a crime
to put an end to his life; but slowly, day by day, to murder him, was
only justice.
The king had made it the personal duty of the commandant, Bruckhausen,
to guard Trenck. He declared that if he allowed Trenck to escape, he
should not only lose his place and rank, but take Trenck’s place in his
fearful cell. This was a frightful menace to the ambitious and harsh
commandant, Bruckhausen, and, of course, led him to take the severest
precautions. It was he, therefore, who had bound Trenck, and, whenever
he visited the poor prisoner in his cell, he rejoiced in the artistic
construction of his chains, and looked proudly upon his work. He saw
with delight that Trenck was scarcely able to drag his heavy chains two
feet to the right or left, or to raise the tin cup to his parched lips,
with his hands thus fastened to an iron bar; and as often as he left the
cell, he exclaimed, with an expression of malicious joy:
“I have tamed him forever! he will not escape me!”
But Trenck was not tamed, his courage was not broken. In this crushed
and wasted form dwelt a strong soul, a bounding heart; he had been bound
in chains thought to be indissoluble. Trenck alone did not believe this;
he trusted still in the magic power of his will, in his good star, which
had not yet been quenched in darkness.
In the wall to which the chain was fastened, his name was built, in
red tiles; a gravestone marked the spot upon which his feet moved, upon
which a death’s head and the name of Trenck was engraved. Under this
stone there was a vault, and when one looked at the moist walls, from
which the water constantly trickled, and at the dark cell, which for six
months had not been cheered by one ray of light, they might well suppose
that the gravestone would soon be lifted, and the vault opened to
receive the poor prisoner, upon whose grave no other tears would flow.
These dark walls were, as it appeared, softer and more pitiful than the
hearts of men.
Trenck was not subdued; the death’s head and his name upon the
gravestone did not terrify him! It was nothing more to him than a
constant reminder to collect his courage and his strength, and to oppose
to his daily menace of death a strong conviction of life and liberty.
If his prison were dark, and warmed by no ray of sunshine, he leaned his
head against the wall, closed his eyes, and his vivid imagination and
glowing fancy was the slave of his will, and painted his past life in
magic pictures.
The prisoner, clad as a convict, with his hands and feet chained, became
at once the child of fortune and love; the exalted favorite of princes,
the admired cavalier, the envied courtier, and the darling of lovely
women.
When hunger drove him to eat the coarse bread which was his only
nourishment, and to satisfy his thirst with the muddy water in the tin
pitcher at his side, he thought of the meals, worthy of Lucullus,
of which he had partaken, at the Russian court, by the side of the
all-powerful Russian minister Bestuchef; he remembered the fabulous pomp
which surrounded him, and the profound reverence which was shown him, as
the acknowledged favorite of the prime minister of the empress.
When no one whispered one word of consolation or of sympathy, for all
trembled at the ceaseless watchfulness of the commandant--when the rude
silent jailer came daily and placed his bread and water before him and
left him without word or greeting--then Trenck recalled the sacred,
consecrated hours in which love had whispered sweet names and tender
words. This love still lived--it watched over and shone down upon
him--it was a star of hope. Why should Trenck despair, when love lived
and lived only for him? No, he would not die--he would never be buried
under this gravestone. Beyond these thick, damp walls lay the world--the
living, active, blooming world. It was only necessary to break these
chains, to open the five heavy doors which confined him to his dark
prison, and life, liberty, the world, honor, love, belonged to him!
“Is not my will stronger than chains and bolts?” he said. “Has not the
spirit wings by which she can take flight, mocking at prisons and at
torture?”
His spirit was free, for he believed in freedom: when his chains clanked
around him, it seemed to him as if they whispered of speedy liberty--as
if they exhorted him in soft, harmonious tones, to cast them off and
become a free and happy man.
At last there came a day when he could no longer resist these alluring
voices. If he could break these chains the first step was taken, and
only the doors remained to be opened. By close observation, he had
discovered that the inner door of his prison was of wood. The faithful
Gefhart had managed to inform him that the other doors were also
of wood. He had also conveyed to him a small, sharp knife, the most
precious of all earthly treasures, for with this he hoped to obtain his
freedom.
“But the chains!” First must the chains be broken--first must his right
hand be free! And it was free. Although the blood was bursting from the
nails Trenck forced his hand through the manacle. Freedom greeted him
with her first rapturous smile. Alas, the handcuff upon the left hand
was too narrow to be removed in this way. With a piece of his chain he
broke off a fragment of stone which he used as a file, and in this way
he liberated his left hand. The iron ring around his waist was fastened
only by a hook to the chain attached to the wall. Trenck placed his feet
against the wall, and bending forward with all his strength, succeeded
in straightening the hook so far as to remove it from the ring. And now
there only remained the heavy wooden chain fastened to his feet, and
also made fast to the wall. By a powerful effort he broke two of the
links of this chain.
He was free--free--at least to stand erect and walk around his miserable
prison. With a feeling of inexpressible joy he raised himself to his
full height--it enraptured him to move his arms, so long and painfully
confined--he extended them widely and powerfully, as if he wished to
clasp the whole outside world to his heart.
Could the commandant Bruckhausen have cast one glance into this
horrible, noiseless cell, he would have trembled with rage and
apprehension. The unchained giant stood with glad smiles, and flaming
eyes, and outstretched arms, as if adjuring the spirits of the
under-world to come to his assistance. But the commandant lay in
careless security upon his soft, white couch; his eyes were closed; they
could not pierce the dark cell where a fellow-man, with loudly-beating
heart, but silent lips, called rapturously to the fair goddess Liberty,
and hastened to clasp her in his arms.
Stepping forward, he sought the door of his prison, and kneeling before
it, he took out his knife. He tried to cut out a small piece and to
ascertain the thickness of the wall; this was short work--the door
opened inside, and it was easy to cut around and remove the lock. It
was made of simple oak boards. Once convinced of this, Trenck prudently
sought his mattress in order to obtain rest and strength. It was
impossible to commence his labor then. The night was far spent, and
every morning at eight o’clock the jailer came to inspect him and bring
his bread and water. His visit must be over before he could begin his
work--he must possess his soul in patience. What were a few hours’
waiting to him who had waited long, dreary years?--a fleeting moment,
scarcely sufficient to accustom him to his new happiness, to enable him
to collect his thoughts and bear quietly the rapturous conviction of
approaching freedom.
“Yes, I will be free; this is the last night of my imprisonment.” But
while waiting in this dreary prison he could enjoy one pleasure long
denied him--he could stretch his limbs upon his bed without being
martyred and crushed by his bonds--without hearing the clank of chains.
With what gladness he now stretched himself upon his poor couch!--how
grateful he was to God for this great happiness!--how sweet his
sleep!--how glorious his dreams!
Trenck awaked in the early morning, revived and strengthened. It was
time to prepare for the daily visitation--to replace his chains, and
take possession of his gravestone. His eyes accustomed to the darkness
soon discovered the broken link of the chain, which he hid in his
mattress. With a piece of his hair-band he fastened the chain to his
feet, hung the second chain to the ring upon his waist, and now it only
remained to place his hands in the manacles fastened to the iron bar. He
had filed the handcuff from his left hand and that was easy to resume,
but it was impossible to force his right hand through the ring; he had
succeeded in removing it by a mighty effort the evening before, but
it was consequently greatly swollen. He took again his little piece of
stone and tried to file it apart, but every effort was in vain. Nearer
and nearer came the hour of visitation, and if his right hand were free
when the jailer came, all would be discovered. It seemed to him as if he
heard already the bolt of the first door. With a last, frightful effort,
he forced his hand in the manacle; his fingers cracked as if the bones
were broken; it was scarcely possible for him to suppress a shriek
of anguish. But the danger was even at the door, and the blessing of
freedom was not too dearly bought even by this anguish; he bore it with
heroic fortitude, and though his whole figure trembled with pain, he
conquered himself. He leaned back breathlessly and almost unconsciously
against the wall; and now the bolt really moved, and the jailer,
followed by two officers, entered.
The visitation began. In this small cell, which held nothing but a
mattress, a seat built in the wall, and a small table, there was but
little to examine. A fleeting glance at Trenck’s chains, which were
rattling around him, and the search was over, and the jailer and
officers left the prison. Trenck listened in breathless silence till
he heard the bolt of the fifth door rattling, and now life and movement
were in his form and features. It was time to work. But alas! it was
impossible. The swollen, blood-red, throbbing hand could not possibly be
withdrawn from the handcuff. He must control himself--must wait and
be patient. He resolved to do this with a brave heart, in the full
conviction that he would attain his liberty.
At last, after three days, the swelling disappeared, and he found he
could withdraw his hand without difficulty. The visit was no sooner
over, than his chains fell off. For the last time! God grant that for
the last time he had heard them clank!
A herculean work was before him, but Freedom was without and awaiting
him, and he panted to embrace her. Seizing his little pocket-knife,
he stepped to the door and commenced his labor. The first door was not
difficult, it opened from within. In half an hour the work was done, and
Trenck advanced and extended his hands before him till they encountered
another obstacle. This was the second door. But here was indeed a weary
task. The door opened on the outside and a heavy cross-bar besides the
lock secured it. It was necessary to cut entirely through the door above
the bar, and spring over it. Trenck did not despair--bravely, unwearily,
he went to work--the perspiration fell from his brow and mingled with
the blood which trickled from his lacerated hands. Trenck did not regard
it; he felt no pain, no exhaustion. Freedom stood before the frowning
citadel, and awaited his coming. At last it was achieved; with trembling
hands he lifted the upper part of the door from the hinges and sprang
into the outer room.
Here light and sunshine greeted him. Weary months had gone by since
he had seen the sun--the soft light of heaven on the fresh green of
earth--and now all this was his once more. There was a small window in
this corridor, and not too high for him to look abroad. He turned his
eyes, filled with tears of the purest joy, upon the cloudless heavens;
he followed with longing eyes the flight of the doves, who moved like
a black cloud across the sky and disappeared on the horizon. He inhaled
with long-drawn breath the fresh, glad air, which appeared to him laden
with the fragrance of all the flowers of the world. He gave himself
up for a few moments to this first rapturous enjoyment, then conquered
himself and examined his surroundings with a thoughtful, searching eye.
He saw that his prison was built against the first wall of the fortress,
and was exactly opposite an entrance, before which stood a high
palisade; this he must climb before he could reach the outer wall. But
the night was long, and he saw that the guard patrolling upon the
wall disappeared from time to time for more than five minutes; he must
therefore have some distance to walk before he returned to the same
spot. While his back was turned, must Trenck climb the palisade and
wall.
Trenck sprang back upon the floor with a glad and happy heart. What he
had seen of the free, outer world had given him new life. With cheerful
resolution he stepped to the third door. This was constructed like the
first, and gave him but little trouble--it was soon opened, and Trenck
passed on the other side.
The sun went down, and the twilight obscured his view, as this was
completed. And now his strength was exhausted, and his swollen and
bleeding hands, from which the flesh hung in shreds, refused their
service. With inexpressible despair he looked at the fourth door, which
opened from the outside, and it was again necessary to cut through the
whole breadth of the door in order to advance.
Worn out and trembling, he seated himself near the door and leaned his
aching head against the cool wood. He sat thus a long time, till he felt
that his blood was flowing more calmly, and the wild, quick beating
of his pulse had subsided--till the pain in his hands and limbs was
quieted, and he had won new strength. He then rose from the floor, took
his knife, and recommenced his work. He moved more slowly than before,
but his work progressed. It could scarcely be midnight, and half the
door was cut through. The moon shed her peerless rays through the little
window and lighted his work, and showed him what remained to be done. In
two hours he would finish, and then remained only the fifth door which
opened on the wall, and which Gefhart assured him was not difficult.
In three hours the work would be done--in three hours he might stand
without, in the fresh, free air of heaven, himself a free and happy man.
With renewed courage and renewed strength, after a short rest, he
went again to work. He thrust his knife into the opening and pressed
powerfully against the wood. Suddenly his hand seemed paralyzed--on the
other side of the door he heard a light clang, and with a hollow cry of
woe, Trenck sank upon the floor. The blade of the knife was broken and
had fallen on the other side. Now he was lost! There was no longer hope
of escape! He rushed to the window; would it not be possible to escape
in that way? No, no! It was not possible to pass through this small
opening.
Trenck sank upon his knees before the window and stared into the
heavens. His pallid lips murmured low words. Were they prayers?--were
they curses?--or was it the death-rattle of dead hopes and dying
liberty? At last he rose from his knees; his face, which had been that
of a corpse, now assumed an expression of firm resolve. Staggering and
creeping along by the wall, he returned to his prison, which he had left
so short a time before full of happy hopes. He reached his bed and laid
down upon it, holding the broken knife in his hand. Not to sleep, not
to rest, but to die! He could think of no other hope--no other way than
this. “Yes, I will die!” His life’s courage, his life’s energy, was
exhausted. He had closed his account with the world. Slowly he raised
his hand aloft with the broken knife, and collecting all his strength
for one last, decisive blow, he bowed and cut the vein of his left foot,
then raised his head with a smile of triumph, and stretching out his
left arm he forced the stump of his knife deep into the large vein of
his elbow. The deed was done! He felt the warm blood flowing from his
veins--he felt that with it also was sweeping by the miserable
remnant of his buried existence. His thoughts wandered, and a happy
insensibility overpowered him, and now his blessed spirit floated
chainless and free beyond this drear prison. The necessities of this
poor life and its tortures were overcome.
But what was that? Who called his name lightly from without, and made
the air of this living grave tremble with unwonted tones?
When this call was repeated the second time, Trenck felt a light
trembling in his whole frame. The whisper of his name had called back
his fleeting spirit. The godlike dream of release was at an end; Trenck
lived again, a suffering, defenceless man. For the third time he heard
his name called--for the third time a voice, as if from heaven, rang,
“Trenck! Trenck!”
Trenck gathered all his little strength, and replied:
“Who calls me?”
“It is I,” said the faithful Gefhart; “have I not sworn to bring you
help? I have crept over the wall only to say to you that I think of
you--that you must not despair--that help is nigh, even at the door. An
unknown friend has sent you a greeting by me; he has given me a roll
of gold to be useful in your flight. Come near, I will throw it to you
through the window.”
“It is too late, Gefhart, all is too late! I lie bathed in my blood;
to-morrow they will find me dead!”
“But why die?” cried the fresh, strong voice of Gefhart; “why wish for
death, now when escape is possible? Here there are no guards, and I
will soon find a way to furnish you with tools. Try only to break your
prison--for the rest I will remain responsible.”
“Alas, I tried to-night and I failed!” said Trenck. A few tears stole
from his eyes and rolled slowly over his hollow cheeks.
“You will succeed better another time, Baron Trenck; whenever I am on
guard here I will seek an opportunity to speak with you, and we will
arrange all. Do not despair. I must go, the sun is rising, and I may be
seen. Do not despair! God will help you--trust fully in me.” [Footnote:
“Frederick von Trenck’ Important Memoire.”]
The voice had long since died away, but Trenck listened still for those
tones, which seemed like the greeting of one of God’s angels; they
illuminated his prison and gave strength to his soul. No, no, now he
would not die! He felt his courage revive. He would defy fate, and
oppose its stern decrees by the mighty power of his will.