The broad sheet of ice between the main land and the island had been for many a week an immense bridge. People no longer reflected that they were walking on frozen water, and that the hoofs of the horses were ringing so loud because they were trotting over a vast abyss. What fear they might feel was easily dispersed as they looked at the gigantic blocks of ice which the fishermen had placed as warning-posts around the large holes cut for the fish, provided they did not carelessly drive or walk right into them, which was not likely, at least in the daytime. And as long as the slanting rays of the sun shone on the bright ice, which covered the sound for miles and miles east and west of the town, there were crowds of pedestrians to be seen among numerous sleighs, which were often drawn by two and not unfrequently even by four horses. But when the sun had set and the mists were thickening, the moving black thread which connected by day the town with the little village of Ferrytown became thinner and thinner. The fishermen, who have been out fishing miles away, come in on their low sledges; or, standing upright on their sleighs, and pushing them with a long iron-shod pole, they sweep by, one by one, drifting with marvellous swiftness through the gray fog, like ghosts of the desert, like spirits from the northern regions. And now lights are seen on both sides of the sound: a few on the island, many more on the side of the town; now the stars also, which until now have peeped stealthily here and there only through the dark evening sky, begin to sparkle and shine in groups, so that the eye cannot see enough of their great splendor. But no one minds them. The moving black thread is no longer seen; only here and there a belated wanderer, who hastens his steps, although knowing full well that nothing can happen to him if he but follows the path; or a sleigh, one of those small, light one-horse sleighs which are fitted up in vast numbers during winter by fishermen and ferrymen in order to serve the restless public.
Such a sleigh was just trotting past through the dim twilight as night was sinking lower and lower every moment, and fogs and mists began to cover the fields of ice. There was but a single passenger sitting in the sleigh by the side of the driver; he had a fur cap drawn low over his face, and the collar of his cloak was drawn up high.
As long as they were meeting near the harbor sleighs and foot-passengers on their return, not a word was said by passenger or driver; but when they rode out on the wild desert of ice, when the lights in town were looking dim, and the trot of the crop-eared hack was sounding loud and clear, the gentleman raised himself in his corner and said:
"All in order, Claus?"
"Yes, sir," replied the handsome youth, turning, half round on his seat.
"Have you heard from your cousin?"
"I saw him yesterday myself. He will be on the strand near Barow punctually at five. He has his two best horses. They will trot with you until to-morrow at the same hour."
"That is more than I want, if you know the track to Barow?"
"If I know it? I drive it every day. But I should not advise any one who does not know it as well as I do to drive alone."
"Why not?"
"The Barow people have cut hole upon hole into the ice; and where they stop the Ferrytown holes begin. You see nothing but blue water on your right and on your left. Cheer up, Fox!"
The crop-eared horse went faster, and the two men relapsed into silence. Both listened carefully, but with very different feelings. Claus Lemberg enjoyed the adventure, because it stirred up his strong nerves most delightfully, and brought out his cunning and his courage, the two qualities which he was proudest of in his whole nature. The other man looked at it more thoughtfully. He knew he was taking a step which he could never retrace, a step which was to decide not only his own fate--that mattered little--but also the fate of another being, a woman, who had won a right to his love by her own sacrificing love, a woman who had given up rank and riches, and every advantage which her birth and her social position gave her, for the sole purpose of being his, and who now was waiting for him in anxiety and anguish on yonder shore, from which the lights began to beckon to him. His heart was naturally full of anxious care. He had broken off the bridge behind him; he was hastening toward a future as black as the night by which he was surrounded, but by no means lighted up by as many bright, sparkling stars. But no matter--the die is cast; he cannot go back. Forward then, forward! What is that? A sleigh coming behind us?
Oswald raised himself and listened, but Claus's sharp ears had already discovered the direction from which the sound came.
"It is a two-horse sleigh from over yonder," he said, turning a little to the right. "They have fine horses; they'll be here directly."
Almost at the same moment they saw the sleigh--a dark mass, which slipped through the darkness like a flash of lightning. As they passed each other the driver checked the horses a moment, and a voice asked:
"This is the track, isn't it?"
"Straight ahead?" was Claus's reply.
Then again the same voice:
"The ice is strong enough for two horses?"
"Oh, for four!" replied Claus.
"Thanks!"
"Welcome!"
And the sleigh moved on swiftly again.
"Strange!" murmured Oswald; "I thought I heard Oldenburg's voice. What strange tricks our fancy can play us!"
The rest of the journey to Ferry town was accomplished in silence. They reached it in a few minutes, rights were shining in the houses up on the bluffs. Below, near the ferry, where an inn was standing, there was much life; the windows were bright; music was heard; sleighs were standing before the door.
Claus stopped; Oswald got out.
"I'll drive along the beach as far as our house," said Claus, "and wait for you there. But make haste. In half an hour the moon rises, and then they can see us two miles on the ice."
"Don't be afraid. We shall not keep you waiting."
Oswald went past the inn, up the steep village street; then he turned to the right and hastened along the low cottages, which there line the beach, until he came to the last of the row. Through a crack in the shutters which protected the low window there came a faint ray of light. Oswald gave three measured knocks against the shutter. Immediately the door was opened cautiously. Oswald slipped in. In the hall he was met by an old woman of tall stature and large frame, holding a light in her hand; by her side stood a frail, youthful person, who fell into Oswald's arms as he entered.
"At last! at last!"
"At last! Emily? Why, I come at the minute!"
"Maybe! I am nearly dead with impatience."
"Is everything ready?"
"Yes."
"Did anybody see you when you left?"
"No one, except Jager's wife; she insisted upon coming with me. I could not get rid of her. She is in the room there."
"The fool!"
"Don't scold her. We owe her much; be kind to her!"
"She will show our enemies the way."
"I am not afraid of that. Cloten is quite unsuspicious. I told I him I would not be back till night. Come in!"
Emily drew Oswald into the little low room, where Primula was standing by a table, making tea. As soon as she saw Oswald she rushed into his arms.
"Oswald!" she cried, "this is the last moment! A cup of tea, some rum, and you must go! Be brave and firm!"
"Time is precious," said Oswald, disengaging himself from Primula's embrace. "We must go, Emily."
"Not without having drained this cup," said Primula, pouring the tea into a cup. "You know, Oswald, it is cold without, and in the night air we shiver; even we immortal gods."
Primula's effort to be jocular was a failure; tears drowned her voice, she sat down on a settee, pressed her hand on her face, and sobbed. But a moment and she jumped up again.
"No womanly weakness, Primula," she cried; "we must be strong now. Drink, friends, drink; and then out into the dark night and the star-crowned life!"
"Come, Oswald," said Emily, who stood there ready for the journey; "Mrs. Jager is right; a cup of tea will do no harm, and a few minutes more or less can make no difference."
"I wish we were off," said Oswald, taking the cup she was offering him from her hand.
He had hardly uttered these words when somebody knocked violently against the shutter.
All looked at each other frightened.
"Hallo!" cried a voice.
"For heaven's sake! That is Arthur!" said Emily. "We are lost."
"Farewell, my friends!" cried Primula, and dashed into the adjoining chamber, after having in vain tried to break open the door of a huge wardrobe.
"Hush!" said the old woman. "We are not so easily caught here in Ferry town. Not a word!"
She went to the window and said, "Who is there?"
"Is the Baroness Cloten here? I have important news for her."
The old woman turned round and whispered, "Make haste and get away; I will try to keep him here. What do you want of her?"
Oswald and Emily did not hear the reply. They slipped stealthily, holding each other's hand, through the hall to the back door, which opened upon the sea. A flight of steps led down to the beach. Below was the sleigh. Once in the sleigh they were safe.
"Stay behind me," said Oswald when they came to the door.
The door was closed by an iron clasp. Oswald opened it cautiously. Everything was quiet. The wintry sky looked down with its bright stars.
"There is nobody here," whispered Oswald. "Come!"
They had no sooner stepped out than the door was closed violently and with a bang, evidently by somebody who had been standing behind it, who now, as if to cut off the retreat of the fugitives, was leaning against it with his broad shoulders.
In such moments the mind acts promptly, and Oswald recognized instantly by the aid of the starlight and the sheen of the snow that the broad-shouldered form before him was that of Baron Barnewitz.
"We are betrayed," he whispered; "but they shall pay for it. Quick Emily, step into the sleigh; I'll follow."
"But not just now!" said Barnewitz, leaping upon Oswald, and seizing him by the shoulders with both hands.
Oswald tore himself away, and jumping back a little distance, so as to have elbow-room, he seized one of the iron-shod pikes which the fishermen use in propelling their sleds, and of which several were standing in the corner. He struck his adversary with it so terrible a blow that the latter, in spite of his gigantic size and enormous strength, fell down without uttering a sound.
In an instant Oswald had overtaken Emily, and putting his arm around her waist he bore her down the steep steps.
Below, on the snow of the narrow beach, stood the sleigh.
He put Emily in and followed her.
"We are betrayed, Claus," he said; "drive fast. It is a matter of life and death."
Claus clacked his tongue and the crop-eared hack went off.
"Thought so!" said Claus, turning half round. "A minute ago a sleigh came and stopped not a hundred yards from here. I saw two men get out and climb up the bluff. I was just going to follow them and to warn you, when you were coming out a the door. Now it's all right. I should like to see the horses that can overtake Claus Lemberg and his Fox."
"You might soon have that satisfaction," said Oswald who had been looking behind; "there they are coming. It seems these bulls do not fall at one blow, and want to make the acquaintance of a bullet. Where is the box I gave you, Claus?"
"Just behind you, in the straw."
Oswald opened the box, took one of the two pistols that were in it, and cocked it.
"For Heaven's sake, Oswald, what are you going to do?" said Emily, who had not uttered a word since they were in the sleigh.
"Shoot down the first man who dares touch you."
"Oh, God! oh, God!"
"For whom do you tremble; for me? or for him? You have time yet. He will forgive you, I am sure, if you turn back now;--perhaps lecture you a little in Barnewitz's presence."
"How can you talk so? I turn back? Rather dead at the bottom of the sea!"
"That may come too," murmured Oswald.
Oswald thought the crop-eared hack, however swiftly he cut with his rough-shod shoes into the ice, could certainly not long keep up the speed so as to escape from the two thoroughbreds before the sleigh of his pursuers. He had a start of a few thousand yards, but that could not avail much, as the distance from Ferrytown to the village of Barow was over a mile. There they were to find another sleigh, provided by one of Claus's cousins, who was overseer on one of the Breesen estates, and ready to do and to risk anything in the world for Miss Emily.
"Once more, Emily: what do you want me to do if they overtake us?" asked Oswald, bending down to the little woman, who sat there silently, wrapped up in her furs.
"Defend yourself like a man!"
"And if I succumb?"
"Then I jump into the first air-hole we meet with! Better at the bottom of the sea than in his power!"
"Are you quite sure?"
"As sure as I live, and as I love you."
Oswald bent down and kissed the beautiful, pale face.
"Now it is all right," he said; "now come what may." Those were terrible minutes, and the gloomy surroundings only heightened the impressive character of the situation. All was perfectly silent around them; nothing was heard but the ceaseless striking of hoofs on the ringing ice, and that peculiar sound, resembling a long-drawn sigh, which is produced when an object moves with great rapidity over a plain of ice. As far as the eye reached nothing but the fearful solitude of a plain covered with a thin layer of snow, and the dark night lowering over it like a leaden cover. Even the stars were now hid by a light, drizzling fog, and yet it began to be lighter and lighter every moment. A reddish streak on the gray sky announced the rising moon. The sleigh of the pursuers could already be seen more distinctly, like a great black spot, which grew every instant greater and blacker as the light on the sky grew brighter.
Only a few minutes had passed since they had left Ferrytown, but they appeared to Oswald an eternity. He looked ahead for the shore, but nothing could be seen yet; he looked behind at the pursuers, and the great black spot bad again grown larger and blacker.
"We can't do it, Claus," said Oswald.
"What will you bet, sir?" replied Claus. "I will eat Fox alive if he does not win. Why, sir, there is no such horse to be found far and near. We are some twenty sleigh-owners in Ferrytown, and thirty over in Grunwald, and all of us have good horses in our sleighs, but Fox beats them all. Eh, Fox?"
And, as if Fox had been cheered by the praise of his master, he shook his cropped mane, and cut with his sharp hoofs faster and faster into the clear ice.
"But those are uncommon horses."
Claus laughed.
"And that's exactly why I don't trouble myself. They can't stand it; and then they are afraid of the air-holes. In a few minutes you will see they will fall behind, or I will eat Fox alive."
Perhaps Fox was afraid of the terrible fate with which he was threatened if he should allow himself to be overtaken, and made desperate efforts; perhaps Cloten's horses began really to be tried by this unusual chase on the smooth ice, or to be frightened by the black water of the air-holes; at all events, Clauses prophecy began to become true almost as soon as he had uttered it. Although it was dawning brighter and brighter on the horizon, the black spot became perceptibly smaller and less distinct; and when at last the full moon rose over the gray edge of the ice, and poured her pale light over the vast level plain, the black spot was no longer to be seen on the white surface.
"Well, didn't I tell you?" asked Claus, turning round and showing his white teeth, "that there isn't a horse that can overtake Fox? Up, Fox!"
Claus had turned round towards his horse. On, on they flew, with the swiftness of an arrow, over the low thundering abyss, past the weird glittering of waters, on which the pale moon cast an uncanny sheen. The icy north wind whistled around their ears as it swept mournfully and plaintively over the snow-covered fields. Oswald and Emily held each other in close embrace. Glad to have escaped the danger, they enjoyed the bliss of a love whose sweet flowers they were gathering on the brink of a fearful abyss, and willingly forgot for a few moments how deep that abyss was, and how full of unspeakable horrors.
It was March. On the twenty-fourth of February the Republic had been proclaimed in France. The grand event spread its effect in concentric circles over the whole of the civilized earth. Berlin too had been excited, and a feverish agitation had prevailed for a few days in all circles of society--a kind of confusion, of nervous trembling, such as befalls men when they are suddenly roused from deep sleep by a dazzling light, and do not know exactly where to find their head; and at the same time they feel a secret horror of the night in which they have so long slept an unnatural sleep--a confused idea that, after all, the golden light of the sun is a very precious thing; a hopeful expectant stretching and moving in all their limbs, so that the watchmen, who have kept and guarded the gigantic sleeper in his dreams, become anxious to begin to converse with each other. "We will have to put him in iron chains," they whisper, "or he may actually rise; and then, woe unto us!"
There was a lively time one fine bright evening at the "Booths," the principal resort of respectable citizens, who were in the habit of amusing themselves here on Sunday afternoons with wife and child by enjoying a mixture of music, beer, and sausages; but any one who had at all followed the events of the last days in the great city might have doubted for a moment whether this was a political meeting or a popular entertainment. Perhaps it meant both. Work, that strict task-master, had been cheated out of an hour only; and the simple fact that such masses were here assembled, which no police constable would readily dare interrupt or trouble, aroused in the assembled crowds a sense of exuberant self-respect, a very unusual festive excitement. Then the blue sky of early spring looked so lovely; the slender, leafless branches and twigs of the trees in the park were so clearly defined against the clear background, and the evening sun was shining warm and hopeful down upon the thousands who crowded the vast open space between the coffee-houses and the river on one side, and the park on the other side. The pressure was especially great near the wooden stand on the edge of the park, which was ordinarily occupied by a band, but from whence to-day a very novel kind of music was heard--a music which was so strange to the people, and perhaps on that account far more attractive than all the waltzes of Lanner or Strauss. Further off, towards the coffee-houses, where the speakers could no longer be heard distinctly, people seemed to be merrier. Here the waiters could scarcely hurry up as many glasses of the favorite white beer as thirsty gullets were clamoring for. Itinerant venders offered rolls and sausages, half-grown boys praised their cigars with gosling voices, and even jugglers and acrobats played their tricks.
Two men were slowly making their way arm in arm through the heaving crowd. Their appearance was signally different from that of the mass of the people, which consisted mainly of men, especially young men, of the lower classes. One of the two was very tall and thin; his gray eyes looked so keen and bright from under the heavy brows, and around the well-shaped straight nose there was so much life and meaning, that one could very easily supply the lower part of the face, which was completely covered with a close black beard. His carriage was careless, like that of a man who is too busy with his thoughts to lay much stress upon external forms; and his clothes, which were made after the last fashion, and of the very best material, hung so easily and comfortably on his spare form that one could easily see the owner believed in the doctrine that clothes were made for men, and not men for clothes. The appearance of his companion was perhaps even more striking. He was nearly a head shorter than his tall friend, but much broader in the shoulders. And yet he stooped like a man who has spent half of his life in reading books. His large well-shaped brow, and his deep, meek, dreamy eyes, also bespoke the scholar, the thinker. His hair, which he wore rather long, was already nearly gray, and so were the bushy eyebrows, and the beard, which flowed in abundant masses from cheeks, lips, and chin, down to his waist. He glanced restlessly at the crowd, and communicated his observations to his companion with a passionate energy, which characterized his whole manner; the other simply smiling, nodded his head, or replied in a few short words to the point.
"Well, how do you like it?" asked the man of the broad shoulders.
"Not so badly," replied the tall one.
"But do you think this people will ever dare venture upon a revolution?"
"Why not?"
"Look at these stupid faces, listen to these miserable jokes with which they try to drown their instinct of the grave nature of the situation, and the painful feeling of their own insignificance. See how the people, at the very hour when they hear liberty and justice eloquently discussed, still have time and relish forpanem et circenses, and you see enough to smother the last spark of hope that these men will ever talk of freedom, much less fight for it."
"You are still a pessimist, Berger! and in spite of the golden sunlight which at last shines once more after so many dark years of your life."
"It is this very sunlight which fills my heart with such impatience. During the gray winter days we think it quite natural that the trees raise their bare branches to the sky; but when the first balmy air of spring plays around us, and the sky is blue once more, we long to see the green ocean of leaves twittering and rustling in the breeze; and above all, when the winter has been so long and so hard that it has taken all our strength from us, and we have no right to hope to live into summer!"
"The dead travel fast! You have seen that in Paris."
"At that moment a man approached them who had for some time looked at the two gentlemen as if he did not quite trust his own eyes, and said to Berger,
"Is this really you, professor?"
"Why, see there! my old friend!" replied Berger, letting go Oldenburg's arm, and offering his hand to the new-comer. "How did you get here?"
"Alas!" said the man, "that is a sad story. If you will come with me a little way--I would rather speak to you alone."
"Excuse me a moment," said Berger to Oldenburg, and went aside with the man.
Oldenburg looked at the latter not without astonishment. His was a powerful body, with a broad, well-developed chest and long arms, while the head appeared not less massive. In the coarse, bloated features one might read, by the side of much good-nature, and jovial humor also, not a little cunning, but of a perfectly harmless nature. To judge by his appearance the man was not exactly well-to-do. His gray felt hat had evidently seen many a stormy day before it had been reduced to its forlorn condition. The black velvet coat, very shabby and covered with rusty-looking frogs, had evidently seen better days; so also the large linen trousers, the color of which was not easily distinguished, and the boots, which began to burst in a threatening manner. A red-silk handkerchief, boldly twisted around the sunburnt, muscular neck, completed the expression of reduced artistic merit which the whole person bore in all its features.
Berger spoke a few minutes earnestly with the man; then they went a little further aside, and Oldenburg's sharp eye saw how Berger pulled out his purse and pressed a few pieces of money in the hands of the stranger. Then they separated; the man disappeared in the crowd, the professor came back.
"Who was that strange person?"
"A man of whom I have often spoken to you: Director Caspar Schmenckel, of Vienna."
"Ah!" exclaimed Oldenburg; "why did you not tell me so at once. I should like to make the acquaintance of a man with whom Czika has lived so long."
"He will call upon us in a few days. The poor man is in despair since Xenobia and Czika have left him; he has met with nothing but misfortune. First, his clown died; then his first artist ran away; and the others he has been compelled to dismiss on account of chronic want of money. Now he lounges about in all the inns of the city, and gives performances on his own account."
"We must take care of him," said Oldenburg. "He has treated Czika well, and I am under obligations to him. Besides, he seems to be a good fellow. But let us go home. The thing here comes to nothing, as I expected, at least for to-day."
As the two friends were leaving, a young man had just gone up on the stand and demanded to speak. He was of a coarse, thick-set figure, but the handsome, well-shaved face was full of life and cleverness; and as he now took off his hat, brushed his long light hair from his white, well-shaped forehead, he looked more like a precocious boy who has put on spectacles for fun, than like a man who has a right to address thousands. If the finely-cut features had something aristocratic, his more than modest costume placed him far from the privileged classes. His voice was peculiarly high and sharp and clear, and when he became more animated it sounded somewhat like the clang of a trumpet, so that it could be heard all over the large square to the furthest corner.
"Gentlemen," he said, and a smile of irony played around his lips, "what would you say of a man who has a pointed arrow in his quiver, and the strongest bow to shoot that arrow; and who, nevertheless, is good-natured enough to send the sharp arrow, not by means of the strong bow, but with his feeble hand? Well, gentlemen, we are exactly like that foolish man. The arrow in the quiver is the petition with the nine articles, as we modestly call the just demands of a nation; the deputation chosen from among us, which is to present the address to-morrow to the king, is the feeble hand. How far will it send the arrow? To the threshold of the king's palace--no further! I tell you, gentlemen, the feeble hand of the deputation will in vain knock at the gate. His majesty will be graciously pleased to refuse accepting our petition, and the deputation will return without having accomplished anything."
When the orator had finished the phrase, raising his voice very high, a murmur passed through the assembly not unlike a violent gust of wind that sweeps over the sea. A few cried "bravo!" among them the gentleman in the shabby velvet coat, who had pushed his way close to the platform, and who had listened to the speaker with great delight, which he tried to express by nods, grunts, and more violent applause. The majority, however, was evidently opposed to energetic measures. For one who cried bravo, there were a hundred who shook their heads and whispered their misgivings.
The young man was not intimidated by these signs of dissatisfaction. He repeated with great emphasis,
"The deputation will return without having accomplished anything! And it serves us right. Why do we use the hand, when the bow lies idle in the grasp, close by us? Do you want to know who the bow is? We are the bow; I mean the whole assembly. If we went four, five, or six thousand, as many as we are here, in close phalanx, and carried the petition, our speaker ahead, up to the palace, I should like to see the gates that would not open, the menials who would refuse to admit us, the chamberlain who would dare to say: Gentlemen, his majesty is at tea, and cannot see you."
"Bravo! bravo!" cried, the gentleman in the velvet coat, and clapping his hands furiously. But the crowd was not at all pleased with this humorous way of treating so serious a matter. They hissed and whistled and cried from all sides. It was only with great difficulty that the president, a man in a broad-brimmed hat and with a long beard, who looked somewhat like an author, could restore peace by repeatedly knocking with his cane on the table. The orator, quite unconcerned, gathered the whole strength of his clear voice, and trumpeted down upon the assembly:
"I have not offered the resolution to proceed in a body to the palace because I expected it to be adopted, but simply in order to show you what manner of men you are. Pioneers of freedom, my predecessor called you. Yes, indeed! Freedom will be much benefited by you, if you are not even now able to rouse yourself from the sleepy confidence in which you have rested these thirty years----"
Whatever else the young man said could not be heard, for the last words had brought down the storm which had been brewing for some time. "Down with him!" cried those who stood nearest; "Knock him down!" those at a distance.
It is not improbable that the last threat would have been carried out by the insulted men if the powerful man in the velvet coat had not embraced the orator enthusiastically as soon as he came down from the platform, declaring himself thus openly his friend and protector. No one seemed to desire engaging in a fight with a man of such herculean build; at least they allowed the two to leave the assembly unmolested, in spite of the striking minority in which they had found themselves.
The new friends turned into one of the avenues which lead near the stand from the open space of the "Booths" into the park. As soon as they were alone the man in the velvet coat once more shook hands with the young man of the light hair, and said, with great cordiality,
"I am exceedingly delighted to make the acquaintance of such a capital fellow."
"So am I! So am I!" replied the young man, examining his admirer with a quick, sharp glance from his blue eyes, and pushing his spectacles with his finger higher up on his nose in order to be the better able to do so. "With whom have I the honor?"
The gentleman in the velvet coat stepped back, threw his chest out, lifted his much-tried hat, and said,
"I am Director Caspar Schmenckel, from Vienna."
"Ah," replied the other, lightly; "glad to make your acquaintance. My name is Timm, Albert Timm."
"You are not an artist?" said Mr. Schmenckel, confidentially.
"How so?" asked Mr. Timm, evasively.
Director Schmenckel imitated the gesture of one who throws a very heavy object with both hands straight up in the air, in order to let it fall again upon the neck.
"Aha!" said Mr. Timm, who quickly understood in which region of the fine arts the director had been gathering his laurels; "pardon me that I was not personally acquainted with a man of your distinction; but I have only been here a few days."
"Well, I thought so," replied Mr. Schmenckel, as they proceeded arm in arm. "You are a noble fellow; very different from these poor creatures hereabouts. You speak as you think; as you feel in your heart. Caspar Schmenckel likes such fellows, and if he can be of any service to you say the word and it's done."
"Much obliged, director. Delighted to have the honor of your acquaintance. I presume you are performing here in the capital with your troupe?"
"Performing?--Hem! hem!" said Mr. Schmenckel, clearing his throat. "To tell the truth, you do not see Director Schmenckel just nowin floribus, I have been compelled by many reasons to disband my old troupe, and I am just now engaged in forming a new one--a task which has its difficulties, as you may imagine. In the meantime----"
"You are living in private?"
"In a certain way, yes; that is to say, I perform from time to time before a few friends; but, you know, only to keep my hand in, that is all."
"Of course."
"Thus I am in a certain way engaged to perform to-night in a very noble locality, where I meet the very best society; and if you will do me the honor----"
"You are very kind."
"You will find very nice people there; perfectly free and easy; all of them democrats to the core, although they drink prodigiously little water, I should think. Ha, ha, ha! I have been a daily guest at the 'Dismal Hole' ever since the winter began, and yet I have never liked it so well as since we have gotten a new landlady. She has been there about a week."
"Indeed!"
"I shall be proud to make you acquainted with her. Mrs. Rose Pape is a model of a woman."
"What did you say?" suddenly asked Mr. Timm, with great animation.
"I said Mrs. Rose Pape is a capital woman."
"Did you not say she had taken the business quite lately?"
"Yes; for she used to be a midwife. The French revolution has made her an innkeeper."
"That is original."
"Isn't it? But then Mrs. Rose is an original, too. She has a wonderful knack for business; and when the trouble commenced in Paris, she said: 'Now golden days are coming for beer-houses with female waiters!' The next day she had rented the 'Dismal Hole.'"
"I am exceedingly anxious to make the acquaintance of the excellent lady."
During this conversation the friends had followed little frequented paths in the park, and were now near the magnificent gate which leads on this side straight from the park into the city. The crowd at the Booths must have dissolved immediately after they had left it, for the head of an immense procession coming from that direction had just reached the gate. Here they met the crowd that were still coming from the city into the park. It could not be avoided; the crowds met and filled the narrow passages of the great gate immediately before the guard-house, where a company of soldiers was standing with arms grounded. The people gazed and wondered at the unusual sight. Others pushed their way up to see what was the matter. In an instant the guard-house was surrounded by hundreds of men standing in a semi-circle, which was steadily growing smaller and smaller. The captain in command of the company, a tall officer with a savage expression in his sharply-marked features, cast furious glances at the multitude, but did not deign to say a word. It was easy to see what was going on in his soul. Suddenly he gave an order with an angrily-shrill voice: "Attention! Eyes right! Shoulder arms! Attention! Load!"
The ramrods rattled, and in an instant the order was obeyed.
It had been intended as a warning merely for the crowd; but, as it will happen in such cases, it produced exactly the opposite effect to what had been intended. Those who stood nearest could not move back, and those behind had only become more curious to know what the noise of the ramrods meant. A fatal encounter between the soldiers and the people seemed unavoidable.
Just then a tall man pushed his way between the idlers and walked up to the captain.
"Allow me to say a word to you."
"What do you want?"
"My name is Oldenburg. I have the honor to address Count Grieben?"
The officer touched his helmet to salute. "Glad to see you again, baron, after so many years. Come in time; shall be compelled to fire upon the rabble."
"It was to prevent that that I begged leave to introduce myself. You have a simple and infallible means to induce these people to move on, and thus to prevent an irreparable calamity."
"What is that?"
"Let your men retire into the guard-house."
"What are you thinking of! to make such a concession to the rabble? Besides, it is against orders."
"Then at least call upon the people to go home."
"I have no desire to open negotiations with thecrapule."
"Will you permit me to do so?"
"As you like," replied the officer, leaving Oldenburg with cold politeness.
Oldenburg advanced a few steps towards the close semi-circle and said, speaking as loud as he could,
"Gentlemen, you are in some danger if you remain standing here. Many of you have been in the army, and know that the soldier has to obey orders, and no questions allowed. Don't, therefore, force your fellow-citizens, who are here under arms, to turn against you. Let us avail ourselves of our right to go where we choose to go. It is a bore to remain standing so long on the same spot."
"He is right," said a square-shouldered citizen from the head of the crowd. "I will begin to scramble off!"
The people laughed. And as the shrill voice of a cigar-dealer began to sing, "Move slowly, slowly, good Austrians, now!" the dense crowd gradually got into motion, especially as at that moment cries and other noises arose in a different direction and attracted the curious among them.
Some distance higher up the Lindens--for Unter den Linden is the name of the superb street which leads from the gate to the palace--a collision had taken place between the people and one of the numerous patrols which had been marching up and down for some hours between the palace and the gate. Unfortunately there had been no Oldenburg here to interfere and prevent the mischief. The commander of the patrol--a second detachment was marching on a level on the opposite side of the street--was an officer of gigantic stature, whose dark, threatening mien announced the firm determination to punish the slightest resistance instantly and without mercy. Everybody had so timidly given way before him, as he marched down at the head of his men, that he seemed to be justified in smiling contemptuously whenever such an event occurred. But now he came to a place where a narrow but much frequented side street opened upon the Lindens. This passage was crammed full of people, who wanted to see what was going on in the main street. From the Lindens others came who wished to go down that passage. Thus an immense mass of people had been crowded together here, and the confusion, great as it was, became still more awkward, when the patrol marched straight down upon them.
"Make way!" ordered the officer, marching into the crowd without looking right or left.
Those who stood nearest gave way to the side, but others pressed back upon them. A short confusion arose, during which the officer was cut off from his men.
"Make way!" repeated the officer, in still harsher tones.
"Make way yourself!" cried a young man in the crowd.
He had no sooner uttered the words than the officer rushed upon him, seized him by the collar and tossed him, by a slight effort of his powerful arm, into the midst of his men, saying:
"Arrest the rascal!"
The soldiers seized the young man, who tried in vain to free himself.
"Knock the dog down if he resists!" cried the officer.
Who knows but the soldiers would have done his bidding if at that moment Mr. Schmenckel had not suddenly appeared before the officer, crying out:
"Let the man go, your excellency, or ten thousand----"
The officer of the Life Guards and the man of the people stood a few moments opposite each other, both of them men of gigantic size, surprisingly alike in their tall figure, their full chest and ample shoulders, with long, muscular arms; yes, as they stared at each other with fierce passion, there was some resemblance even in the massive, coarse features.
But it was only a moment during which they stood thus; at the next moment the officer had hit the man with all his strength upon his chest in order to gain room to draw his sword. But he might as well have tried to move a rock from its place as the man in the velvet-coat. The blow sounded dull on the broad chest--that was all; but at the same time the man extended his powerful arms, seized the officer around the waist, lifted him sheer from the ground, and threw him with such violence against the soldiers, who had their hands full in holding the young man, that officer, men, and prisoner all rolled together in a heap.
"Hurrah!" cried the delighted crowd, admiring the display of physical strength. "Hurrah! At them! Down with the soldiers!"
Mr. Schmenckel probably did not expect much assistance from the courage of the crowd. He drew the prisoner with one great effort from out of the confused heap of men, and before the officer could regain his feet both had disappeared in the crowd, who readily opened to let them pass.
It was high time, for the two detachments had been able in the meantime to break through the crowd and to unite their forces.
The officer started up and ordered with a voice shrieking with rage: "Left Wheel! Forward! Charge bayonets!"
"Hurrah! hurrah!" cried the soldiers, pressing with lowered bayonets into the crowd. The people scattered, crying and howling.