The mouth of hell, p.32
THE MOUTH OF HELL, page 32
The baron returned to Berlin, and Christiane relapsed into the monotony of her despair. From time to time she received letters from Julius, who was detained from week to week by the fluctuating condition of his uncle’s health. She struggled bravely with herself to write him a few short, sad lines, in which she made no mention of her condition, trustfully leaving in God’s hands the “dénouement “of the drama.
Thus the winter slipped by.
In the middle of April a sad event gave a fresh turn to Christiane’s anxieties.
Wilhelm was taken seriously ill.
The old doctor from Berlin was at the castle. For the first two weeks the child’s illness did not appear to be of a serious nature.
Christiane nursed and tended this dearly loved boy with the love, the devotion, the passion of a mother to whom her child has cost more than life.
But suddenly other symptoms appeared. This time no medical skill was wanting. In addition to the clever old doctor, three or four of his most famous confrères from Frankfort and Heidelberg were summoned in consultation. All their efforts were of no avail.
On the twenty-fifth day of the malady, Wilhelm died.
When the doctor announced the mournful news to Christiane, who, for some days, had known that he could not recover, she said not a word, but looked at the clock.
The hands pointed to a quarter before midnight.
“That’s it,” murmured Christiane; “the very hour of the compact. He was to die at this hour. That was a bargain with hell which God could not sanction.”
And she fell heavily to the floor beside the cot, to kiss for the last time the cold forehead of her little one.
Whether it was the result of the fall, she knew not — but, as the shock vibrated through her whole being, she felt a stirring of life within her.
“Already,” she thought, turning pale. “Yes, quite possible; it’s already seven months ago.”
As she rose, trembling, from her knees, the baron, to whom the doctor had written to Berlin, arrived in great haste. In his hand was a letter.
“You come too late, father,” said Christiane, pointing to her dead child. “He is just gone.”
“But I bring you consoling news, my dear daughter; Julius will soon be home.”
Christiane sprang to her feet.
“Julius!” said she, turning white as death.
“Look, read this,” said the Baron, — and he gave her the letter.
Julius wrote that his uncle Fritz was dead. He would leave for home immediately after the funeral; and arrive at Landeck about the 15th of May.
This was the 13th.
“Ah! startling news indeed!”
And she fell backwards in a swoon.
CHAPTER LXV.
NAPOLEON AND GERMANY.
WHILE these sorrows and fears were agitating the heart of a woman, great and formidable events were convulsing Europe.
Napoleon, after having hesitated a long time, had raised the grand army, and declared war against Russia. He had started from Paris on the 9th of May for that epic campaign of 1812, and at the same time as Christiane, half distracted, wondered what fate was going to make of her, the astonished world watched what Napoleon was going to make of fate.
On the 11th of May the Emperor had arrived at Mayence, where, on the 12th, he inspected the troops, visited the fortifications and received the Grand Duke of Hesse Darmstadt.
During the night of the 12th and 13th there was a meeting of the Tugendbund, in the secret hall of the Double-Castle.
On this occasion, the Seven who had attended the first meeting, were present.
They were masked, although they met alone. As soon as they had all taken their seats around the table, the president addressed them:
“Friends and brothers,” said he, “I enter without preamble on the subject in hand, for time is short. You see for yourselves, everything appears to turn against us. We waited for-the day when Napoleon would recommence the war, convinced that our princes would seize that great opportunity to separate themselves from his cause and join forces with his enemies. Well! this rising in arms, which we hoped would be the signal of an insurrection throughout Germany, Napoleon has turned it into a formidable and unprecedented triumph, and the German princes do not march against him but with him. The vanquished of Wag-ram, of Jena, and of Madrid, swell the ranks of the conquering army against Russia. Napoleon has expressed the wish that our kings should come to do him homage as he passes through; not one will fail to comply with this command. At Dresden he will find himself surrounded by a Court of Crowned Heads. Saxony, Wurtemberg, Austria, Prussia, Bavaria, Austria, and Naples, each will vie with the other in forming part of this humble and dazzling procession. This is the degradation to which we have sunk! So much for our kings. Let us pass on to the people.”
And, addressing one of the Seven, who had a packet of letters in front of him:
“Read the reports,” added the president.
He to whom the chief spoke, opened a first letter and read as follows: —
“MAYENCE.
“Napoleon has been received with enthusiasm. Offers to accommodate his escort pour in from all sides. People fraternise at every step. Civilians and soldiers — all are wildly excited. It is a state of universal adoration. The Emperor is a God here.”
“But,” interrupted the president, “that only relates to French Germany. Read the other.”
The reader opened the second despatch, and read: —
“WURTZBURG.
“At the news that Napoleon is to pass through on the evening of the 13th, the people from the towns and surrounding country are pouring in, all eager to see him. At the gates are triumphal arches erected in his honour. A military concert will be offered him, and, this morning, the crowd, that stands listening to the rehearsal, loudly applauds the French airs which the band performs. Everything is ‘en fête.’ Illumination lamps are at a premium. The whole town is to be illuminated,”
“At Wurtzburg,” said the chief, “we are not yet at the heart of Germany. We may perhaps feel it pulsate at Dresden.”
The reader took up a third report: —
“DRESDEN.
“The King and Queen of Saxony are making their preparations to welcome the Emperor Napoleon. The town will follow the King’s lead, and, swelled by the population from twenty leagues round about, will go out to meet the great man. We have here a crush of princes and kings, a ‘mêlée’ of thrones, an assembly of crowned heads. As to the people, they are dazzled; enthusiasm knows no bounds. Napoleon will be deafened with acclamations. At the theatre, a play adapted to the circumstances is in course of preparation, in which he is lauded to the skies. The King has read the manuscript and conferred the Legion of Honour on the author. All the seats are booked....”
“Enough!” interrupted the president. “Let us turn our eyes away from this humiliation of our country. This is the manner in which Germany receives a master! She licks the feet of the man who tramples her in the dust! This man goes out to war as a conqueror returns from it; he triumphs in advance, so certain is he of success!”
The president added, not without pride:
“We, however, remain; the Tugendbund still exists.”
And he turned to another of the Seven:
“Tell us the state of the Tugendbund.”
“Alas!” this one replied, “in all parts our members are demoralised. This universal acclamation which follows the steps of the conqueror, appears to them to confirm the consecration of Providence, which has raised him from his humble position and placed him on this pedestal. Superstition is rife. Many have sent in requests to withdraw. Nearly every one believes that God is with Napoleon, and that it is impious to fight against him.”
“That is the conclusion of the whole matter,” resumed the chief. “So, everywhere, we find cowardice, pusillanimity, self-abasement. Not one soul that will avenge human nature, and, in the general prostration, refuse to bow down. Every one cringes at his feet. The clanking of the spurs of the passing despot strikes fear into all these once gallant hearts, that grovel in the dust and allow themselves to be crushed without a murmur. Ah! has Germany indeed come to this. Must we give up our independence? Must we renounce the work and say: ‘Since you wish to be slaves, be it so! Will no one come forward for the good of all? Is there not a man to be found?”
As the president uttered these despondent words, a bell resounded feebly above the seat he occupied.
“What is that noise?” asked one of the Seven.
“That is our host, Samuel Gelb,” said the chief. “He asks admittance.”
“Admit him!” they all rejoined. “He is perhaps the bearer of better news.”
The chief rang a bell.
“I was asking if no man could be found,” said he. “Who knows if God is not answering my prayer? Samuel is a strong and courageous champion who might indeed be the very man needed for the country and freedom.”
CHAPTER LXVI.
SAMUEL IS FOR IMITATING JOSHUA.
A MINUTE later Samuel entered the secret chamber of the council of the Union.
He bowed low, and waited for the chief to question him.
“Samuel Gelb, have you any communication to make?” asked the chief.
“Yes,” replied Samuel. “Speak. What do you know, and what can you do?”
“What do I know? “Samuel said. “I know that the Emperor Napoleon has just entered Germany, and that at this present moment he is but a few miles from here. I know that around him moves an army of 420,000 men, with six pontoon trains, 11,000 forage waggons, 1,372 guns, besides 60,000 Austrians, Prussians, and Spaniards. I know that, on his side, the Emperor Alexander has succeeded in arming 300,000 men, divided into three armies; the army of the East, under Barclay; the army of the West, under Bagration; and the reserve army, under Tormasof. Besides this there are two other army corps, and a vast camp intrenched behind these three armies. I know, in fact, that never has the world beheld a more formidable encounter of empires and of nations. You ask what I can do? I can cause all this terrible commotion to vanish like a soap-bubble.”
“Is it possible?” said the chief. “Tell us how.”
A murmur of surprise and incredulity arose from these impassive and haughty men.
“Ah! this astonishes you?” Samuel rejoined. “You cannot imagine it possible that a humble associate of the second-class can be capable of such a miracle. If, however, I accomplish what I say, will you consider me deserving of some reward, shall I have proved myself worthy of promotion to the first degree of the Union?”
“Do what you say,” answered the chief, “and then ask what you will.”, “You will remember your promise?”
“I give you my oath! But explain what you intend to do. What methods will you employ? Will you act as did Brutus? Have you picked up the dagger of Friedrich Staps from the foot of his blood-stained scaffold?”
“Only to miss my stroke, is that what you think? and thus increase the tyrant’s popularity by giving colour to the idea that Providence watches over him? Not so, my masters. No! I shall not glide through the crowd to pierce Napoleon to the heart, so that his guard may tear me to pieces and that the good people of Germany, whom I wish to rescue, may reward me by trampling me to death. Napoleon will die, and I shall live. From here will I strike him, without leaving this mountain on which we are, from afar, from above, like Jupiter.”
“What do you mean? explain yourself.”
“The time is not yet ripe. You know the end, what matters the means.”
“Are you jesting, sir?” asked the chief severely.
“At the most I am only showing some natural reluctance to reveal my plans,” was Samuel’s rejoinder. “Of course, all you gentlemen here present, are high and important personages, above all suspicion, above all crime. But to save a Napoleon, is a temptation to any one. I should be afraid of its tempting God Himself, if I believed in God. I therefore follow but the dictates of common prudence in asking you to permit me to keep my plan to myself until such time as it becomes impossible to prevent the execution of it.”
“Then why tell us the half of your plan?” asked the president.
“To ascertain in advance if you would be grateful to me. You might easily, like the princes and people of Germany, have become satellites of the sun, and delivered up or punished your deliverer. In the second place, was it not necessary to convince you that you must meet again to-morrow to decide, in case of need, on some course of action? Listen, it is two o’clock in the morning; at this moment Napoleon has left Mayence, and is on his way to Wurtzburg.. To-morrow morning, at ten o’clock, he will halt at Aschaffenburg for breakfast. Aschaffenburg is only a few miles from here. Remain close at hand to-night; and to-morrow, at two o’clock, assemble again in this hall. I will then tell you what I have done. After that we will await the result.”
“How shall we know it?” asked the president.
“At two o’clock,” said Samuel, “one of our men, the traveller of the Neckar, will be here, and will bring the news that what your Providence itself would have hesitated to do, Samuel Gelb has accomplished.”
“Agreed,” said the president, “we will be here, at ten o’clock, and will wait your news.”
CHAPTER LXVII.
IN THE GRIP OF PAIN.
ON that same night, a few paces distant from the meeting of the Seven, Gretchen, who was always in her hut, suddenly heard some one calling outside, and loud knocking at her door.
“Who is there? Is it you, madame?” she asked.
“Yes,” said the voice of Christiane.
Gretchen quickly opened the door.
Christiane came in, half dressed, her hair unbound, looking wild and scared.
“Whatever has happened, madame? “Gretchen asked; “how comes it that you have left your apartments and the castle at this hour?”
“I do not know,” Christiane said at first with a vacant look. “Ah! yes, wait, I remember, I have escaped. No one has seen me. The Baron von Hermelinfeld is there. I fell backwards. And then the pains began; the first pains of childbirth, Gretchen! Gretchen! I am about to be confined.”
“What!” cried Gretchen, half frightened, half glad, “but the time has not expired. Oh! then your child is the child of Herr von Eberbach?”
“No, Gretchen, I am sure not. Oh! if only I could deceive myself, I would deceive the others too. But no! make my life one long falsehood, I would rather die! Gretchen, Wilhelm is dead.... Julius is on his way home.... I fell senseless to the ground.... and all these misfortunes have precipitated the last.... Oh! I suffer! if only I could die!”
All this she said disconnectedly, without sequence, looking half-distracted, and seizing the hands of Gretchen, who appeared equally troubled.
“What is to be done?” said Gretchen. “Ah! I am going for the doctor.”
And she took one step towards the door. Christiane rushed after her and caught her by the arm.
“Will you stay where you are, wretched girl! I have not escaped so as to live, but to die, to hide myself in the bowels of the earth, to destroy myself in some abyss. Dead, my Julius will love me, will respect me, will mourn me. Life! do I want to live? What I want is secrecy! Try to understand what I tell you. I do not know what is the matter with my brain. I must
CHAPTER LXVIII.
TRICHTER DRUNK — WITH FEAR.
THE next morning, the whole town of Aschaffenburg was “en fête.”
Men, women, tiny children, and even old men of over eighty, flocked into the streets of the town and outside the walls. Napoleon was coming. The man of history who filled all minds was about to appear before their eyes. Every one would be able to compare him to the idea they had formed of him.
A tremendous stir agitated this vast sea of heads, like the tide, flowing beneath the compelling influence of the moon.
The crowds hurried by. Everything was forgotten; business, cares of the previous day, affairs in process of settlement. Handsome lads, walking arm-in-arm with pretty lasses, availed themselves of this opportunity to steal a few kisses, which the maidens, it must be confessed, seemed nothing loth to accept, but returned with interest. One solitary being was melancholy in this universal rejoicing.
This was our friend Trichter.
He walked about sad and dejected, with a new acquaintance whom he had just made, and who was none other than the traveller from the Neckar.
“But what in the world is the matter with you?” queried the latter.
“My dear Raumer,” said Trichter, “I am excited.”
“Excited with wine,” the traveller asked judiciously, who, at the sight of Trichter’s flaming nose, had soon recognised in him a drunkard.
“Bah! “Trichter replied with scorn, “for the last fifteen years wine has had no effect upon me. Not that I have abstained from drinking this morning. On the contrary, foreseeing the excitement which, at this very moment, is half choking me, I was anxious to whet my fancy a little; I tried to get drunk. Futile endeavour! I see it now with sorrow, I can make myself ill, I can kill myself with drink, I can. flood, I can drown myself with liquor; but, oh! lamentable weakness! I can ‘no longer get drunk. What helplessness!”
“But,” said Raumer, “why the devil were you so keen on getting drunk today?”
be going mad. But secrecy, secrecy at all costs.”
“Secrecy at all costs!” repeated Gretchen, entirely losing her head, too.
The atrocious physical pain, added to that terrible agony of mind, succeeded in mastering Christiane. She had flung herself on Gretchen’s bed. There she remained for some moments, a prey: to torture and hallucination, but maintaining this one idea fixed in her mind that she must conceal her misery and her shame from all, and biting her handkerchief to smother her cries.
Gretchen was sobbing and hovering restlessly about her, useless, anxious, desperate.
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