THE AMBER MERCHANT.
Blanden had taken up his pilgrim's staff, when the sun was already
bending to its decline, and the heat of the day was over; but his own
feelings were quite fresh as dawn. Those dreams of first love, which
breathed such a wondrous softness over life, had been revived in him
once more; he buried himself completely in those reveries.
His thoughts went back to the time when, as a scholar in the upper
school, he had been in love with the daughter of a Burgomaster in some
country town. He reverted to the emotions which he then felt, as the
rattling post-chaise approached the little town at an early morning
hour, first rolling over the pavement between the barns of the suburb,
then through the empty, sleeping streets, by the lifeless houses, part
closed shutters, until he reached the market-place, where stood the
house belonging to the town's functionary, which, with its faded pink
colouring, blushed more joyously in the morning sunlight.
There, too, an invisible hand pushed the curtain aside, and a little
visible, curly head, around one unfinished side of which curl-papers
still rustled, looked out, smiling so pleasantly, and nodded its
greeting--and the postillion blew a stirring tune, as he stopped before
the Black Eagle of the Post-house.
How happy, how blissful was the schoolboy's heart! That moment in which
the angel's head nodded to him out of its concealment, caused him
greater ecstacies than any happiness of a later extravagant love, and
never had the heart's throbs of expectant longing been more vivid than
in the post-chaise at that time!
Now it seemed to him as if he were capable of similar emotions, as if,
after internal regeneration, the youth's singleness of heart were
returning again for a short period.
The longing for his campanula lent wings to his steps, he saw her
picture vividly before him; the flying shadows of the clouds did not
bear it away with them; the Samland "Palven"[1] which extended on the
left side of the road, that dead heath with its solitary bushes, that
chilling sterility and barrenness of nature did not subdue his spirits,
and the resounding thunder of the surf, sometimes near, sometimes more
distant, stirred the wanderer's heart and steps to move at a merry
pace.
Evening's crimson light sparkled in the valley's ravines and brooks,
which flow on towards the sea; upon the tops of the oaks and beeches,
above the steep, jagged cliffs; in the luxuriant vallies; upon the bare
heights and above the glimpses of the swelling ocean which the eye
discovers either between groups of trees towering up on nigh, or away
over the sand-hills.
This melancholy light, which encourages the mind's return to the past,
to half-forgotten scenes, did not harmonise with the wanderer's mood; a
fresh, sparkling, dewy morning, with a cool breeze from the coast of
the enterprise-loving Scandinavians, or the islands of the old Vikings,
would have satisfied it better.
Blanden wished to break with his past, even drive away all the thoughts
that reminded him of it; his Eva, whom he had found by the woodland
stream, should be to him as the first woman of creation, whom he meets,
to whom yields his undesecrated feelings.
This love should be to him as a draught from a fresh spring,
refreshing, cooling, and at the same time metamorphosing him as if by
mysterious magic.
Was it, then, love? It was in the first instance only a brief meeting;
but it dropped the seed of love into his heart, and it was his will to
nourish and cultivate that seed.
As he walked along, lost in such thoughts, the rays of the evening sun
disappeared suddenly beneath heavy clouds, through which at first it
peeped like a flaming triumphal arch, until the increasing shades of
night enveloped the extinguished glow.
At the same time a storm arose, which burst in the wooded defiles with
furious rapidity, so that the cracking of broken boughs under foot
denoted his path, while the thunder of the sea became louder and more
portentous, and the thousand crests of waves rose higher towards the
heavy, lowering clouds.
Soon the thunder of the sky amalgamated with the thunder of the
billows; lightning glided down the sharp, rugged hills along the coast,
so that their singular profiles gleamed like demons' faces. The lonely
"Palven" bushes shivered in the tempest, and the whole heath seemed to
be in ghost-like motion.
Blanden felt himself refreshed by this magnificent spectacle of Nature;
he thought of the proud grandeur and immutability of the universe.
Just so did the storm sweep over the verdure of the heath, waving to
and fro, just so did the sea cast its foaming surf against the cliffs
when the ancient Prussians still lived here, who in the grove of
Romove, sacrificed to their god Perkunos; when the knights of orders,
their cloaks above their armour, and the black cross upon their white
mantles, rode upon their steeds along the coast, when the Holy Virgin
and the old heathen deity stood opposed in irreconcilable conflict.
Then the din of battle raged above the Baltic shore, as to-day the din
of the unfettered elements; yet, how everything had been changed!
What would the heathens say to the towns abounding with churches, which
had driven out their sacred groves; what the knights of the orders to
the disciplined regiments whose close columns belch forth fire, while
flying batteries hasten to the heights to hurl death forth to a
distance formerly undreamed of? Yet one visible, red thread never
lost, extends through all changes of time. That which energetic and
highly-gifted Masters of Orders had attempted for the cultivation of
the land, when they made the wide plains arable, protected the marshes
against the onslaught of the tide by means of dykes, appointed a secure
bed for the streams, was a heritage to which the Hohenzollern princes
succeeded, and made fruitful unto the present day.
The sudden breaking of the tempest even drew Blanden's mind momentarily
from the immediate emotions which had possession of it, but as the
clouds, too, opened their sluices, and thunder followed closely upon
the lightning's footsteps as it leaped dazzlingly across the path, then
the open air became intolerable, and the wanderer turned into the first
tavern.
It was a fisherman's ale-house, whose exterior promised but little
hospitable reception. Yet several carts stood in a half-open shed, and
numerous baskets were piled up, denoting that there was no lack here of
commercial traffic.
Despite the weather, the little windows in the large parlour stood
open, and, in the pauses which the thunder made, a confused noise was
emitted of men's quarrelling voices, between them the high pitched
tones of a woman, who evidently sought to establish quiet in this
uproar.
A rain-drenched trap stood unwatched before the door; the horse, with
limply drooping mane, shied at the lightning without causing the heavy
waggon to move from its position.
Two parties stood opposite one another in the small tavern parlour;
gleaming pieces of amber, of the most beautiful pale-yellow shade, lay
upon the table; on the right-hand, in the background of the room,
several washtubs could be seen, in which the fishermen, with their
brawny, naked arms, sought to cleanse the produce of the pits on the
shore from the soil that clung to it.
But one of the men had just now left this occupation. With menacing
gesture, with clenched fist, he stood erect, his face glowing with
anger, and appeared to be repudiating some accusation that was hurled
against him by a man with a remarkable countenance, who leaned upon the
table containing the pieces of amber. The two other fishermen certainly
continued to wash the primeval resin in their tubs, at the same time,
however, taking part in the dispute with violent words.
The stranger who, with folded arms, opposed an iron determination to
this fury of the Baltic Masanielli, was very uncommon looking. His
dress was slightly Russian. His two companions who stood beside him,
were clad entirely in national costume; but his features betokened a
southern origin.
He had the fiery eye of an Italian; his whole figure might have led one
to take him for one of those _principe_, who, at the feast of _Corpus
Christi_, ride on splendid horses behind the Pope, as his _guardia
nobile_. Only a wilder expression lay in his features, dark overhanging
eye-brows, sharp lines about mouth and nose, told of abundant evil
passionate experiences.
"I counted the pieces accurately in the pit," he cried to the shouting
fishermen, "I looked closely at them. One was large enough to make a
pretty toilet casket, and that piece is missing; it has been suppressed
in washing!"
The fishermen's muscular hands were raised again in denial of this
accusation. The fisherman's wife, in red headkerchief and green woollen
dress, interposed, saying that there should be no disturbance in her
parlour; the piece had, perhaps, fallen from the waggon, and would be
found after all.
"It is a disgrace to accuse honest people falsely!" cried the
ring-leader of the amber-washers, whilst a gleam of yellow lightning
flashed, and a quickly-following clap of thunder awoke the echo of the
cliffs.
Blanden had listened to the dispute at the open door. Then he entered,
and his sudden appearance caused the noise to cease.
"Landlady!" cried he, "a drink to refresh me! And you people, can you
not agree quietly? Do not the heavens make commotion enough? Spirits
and beer for these good people; for to-day they have carted sand, and
washed amber enough--they need refreshment! Hang my coat before the
kitchen stove, best of women! The old Samland gods have washed my
skin!"
"Who are you, my Herr?" cried the amber merchant, "that you issue
orders here, and withhold my washermen from their work?"
"Grant them a short rest," said Blanden, as he seated himself in his
shirt sleeves at the table upon which gleamed the pale yellow gifts of
the East Sea. "Perhaps we, too, may do some business, my good sir; I am
just in the humour to-day to buy the Great Mogul's diamonds."
The Italian became more friendly; still, however, he regarded the
interloper with a distrustful glance. His two companions, with their
slit Calmuck eyes, permitted themselves to grin pleasantly. They looked
meaningly at the fishermen, who were already refreshing themselves with
the liquor which the hostess had given them.
Blanden understood how to acknowledge their friendliness, and
recommended them also to the landlady's care.
Now a deep silence reigned. Blanden examined the pieces of amber; the
dealer looked at him with a keen glance, and once started back as if
startled, when Blanden's features were illumined by a sharp flash of
lightning. It seemed as if some sudden recollection had dawned within
him. The keen glances with which from henceforth he regarded the other,
however, bore no tokens of amity about them.
"You come from Russia?" the nobleman began his enquiries, while he
weighed a large piece of amber in his hands.
"From Wilna, my Herr."
"But you are no Russian?"
"I am an Italian."
"I took you for one. I love the Italians! They are a gifted people!
What a pity that many years of oppression keeps their noble fire in
subjection, so that it only finds vent for itself in petty, malicious
outbreaks, like the flames of their Solfatara! An Italian--and how do
you come to Russia?"
"Business connections. A merchant remains there where he has most
prospect of gain."
"Then the amber trade between these coasts and Russia is probably
flourishing?"
"It depends," said the stranger, with a cunning smile, "whether a man
succeeds in bringing his wares cheaply across the frontier. Besides,
the peasants, who have farmed their royalty from Government, are not
exactly reasonable with their amber, let them dig it out of the earth
with spades, or rescue it from the sea-weed, or obtain it with dragnets
from the sea."
"What reflections might it not awake," said Blanden to himself, and
hardly noticing the others. "The forests of other days have sunk
beneath the earth, and still offer their treasures to the living
race--but what becomes of our sunken hopes? They have nothing, nothing
more to give us! Ah! if any one could dream so deeply, so utterly
deeply, he might hear the rustling of the trees in the submarine
forests, and see sitting there the amber nymph in magnificent jewels of
the deep, in those pale-yellow halls, and singing a song of the old
splendours of the never-penetrated forests, into which the complaints
of men have never yet taken refuge."
And, as he looked more closely at the vision of the amber-nymph, it
bore Eva's features, and he resolved to deck her worthily of his
vision.
"But what shall I do with this rough, raw material?" said he,
petulantly, to the dealer, "I cannot buy any of this from you; at the
most, only the little piece which contains the imprisoned fly. Oh,
happy he, who might sit so firmly in a woman's heart!"
They agreed about the not insignificant price of this rarity; the
dealer then began--
"I see clearly that only the artistically formed produce of the ocean
has any value for you. Yet I know first-rate masters in Wilna to whom I
sell my wares, and who know how to lend every delicate form to them.
Give me commissions! When I return I will certainly bring you
everything that you can wish to your complete satisfaction."
"And when do you return?"
"In a few weeks."
Blanden considered for a moment, then he said--
"Well, then, you shall procure me an outfit for an amber princess;
everything of pale-yellow, most precious material. Take out your
pocket-book, and make notes. First, a tasteful toilet casket, fragrant
as the Oriental beauties love it; then a splendid string of beads--the
beads of our Northern Ocean shall shame the corals of the Southern Sea;
a bracelet; a brooch with two winged doves, or a little Cupid with a
dart. Can the master's art produce any other such perfections that are
fitted for beauty's adornment, even if it does not hover before my own
imagination, here am I, a ready purchaser."
"I should, of course, always find a sale for such goods," said the
dealer, "yet may I ask your name?"
Blanden told his name and that of his castle. The Italian wrote both
down; a triumphant expression lay in the slight smile around the
corners of his mouth, in his piercing glances; he himself gave his
card, upon which stood the name, Carlo Baluzzi, of Wilna.
Blanden's thoughts meanwhile lingered with his campanula: "A
flower-fairy she appeared to me," thought he to himself; "the original
child of Nature! For me she shall become an amber-nymph! All my past
life shall remain deeply buried beneath the high, rising tide; but its
tears shall be made into beads which shall adorn her."
In the meantime the storm without had passed away, but the darkness of
the tempest's clouds had been succeeded by the darkness of the evening.
The fishermen returned to their work; the landlady lighted a few
dripping tallow candles; Baluzzi's eye rested upon the tubs, that not a
piece which he had bought so dearly might be lost to him.
Blanden took leave; notwithstanding the well-meaning coal-stove, his
coat was wet through and through, but no choice remained to him.
"Farewell, Herr von Blanden," said the Italian, with sharp emphasis. "I
am pleased to have renewed my acquaintance with you."
"Renewed?" asked Blanden, astonished.
"Yes, my Herr."
"And where have you seen me?"
"On Lago Maggiore, two years ago."
"I do not recollect--"
"Nor is it possible! The pleasure was entirely on my side! You lived
then in such sunshine of bliss that you did not notice the two shadows
in the background, which hastened quickly past you."
Blanden, while he walked shiveringly along through the chilly evening
air, meditated vainly what connection there could have been between
Baluzzi and himself during his stay by Lago Maggiore.
What did those peculiar looks signify, which he suddenly assumed? What
should the remarkable emphasis mean which he gave to his words--yes,
the enmity which gleamed in his features--in his whole demeanour?
After mature reflection, Blanden came to the conclusion that he must
have been mistaken if he sought to ascribe any special importance to a
chance meeting.
But when Blanden had left the room, the Italian rubbed his hands
together with scornful satisfaction.
"Now I, too, shall learn," said he to himself, "what has become of her,
and my old receipts will flow in once more."