CHAPTER II.
If it be a grateful sight to behold the young and happy when all life is bright before them, when the soil which they tread on is covered with flowers, and the only murmurs which they hear are the murmurs of soft breezes, and the only sighs are sighs of passion; not less beautiful is it to see the young linked together in love, struggling with adversity; to see two beings whose sole object in life it is to alleviate the daily toil of each other; to whom every effort of self-denial through the object of its exercise becomes a blessing; to whom the future is full of promise, because exertion gives confidence, and self-confidence is the source of all hope. There is something very touching in the sight of those whom the world deserts, or to whose interests the world is at best indifferent, arousing all their energies to battle with adverse circumstances. Then every little addition to the daily comforts is prized, as the result of independence and of honorable exertion—in a word, as the reward of labor: every holiday arrives fraught not merely with enjoyment, but with blessing. To such there are sources of happiness, which the gay, the wealthy, the children of life's sun know nothing of, but which in their noonday career of splendor and greatness they might well stop to envy.
On such an existence Marguerite had entered. Hers was a simple history, told in few words, but connected with long previous chapters of passions and regrets; for she was the child of love, begotten in tears, and brought up in one of those admirable foundling establishments which prevail in Germany, and are at once the incentives to love and the protection of its offspring. She left it a year previously to the period when we are writing, to enter a family of distinction as a humble friend and teacher. There Dumiger chanced to meet her. When first he met he loved; and like all men of earnest purpose, he loved with no common passion. The family were of that kind so frequently met with in society—affecting great consideration for those whom fate has placed beneath them, but expressing consideration in such terms as made it almost an offense, and proving their vanity in the very manner in which they affected humility. She at once accepted Dumiger, though some months elapsed before it was possible for them to marry. At last, by dint of great exertion, they laid aside sufficient money to commence the world with. Dumiger had the small apartment, within whose narrow limits his mind expanded to the contemplation of the vast field of inquiry on which he presumed to enter, and he transported Marguerite to her new home; there to indulge in imaginations of love, boundless and visionary, as his were of ambition.
The day following that which we have described there was a great annual fête at Dantzic. The free city for the time donned its freest and most joyous manners; it was one of those days in which honest burghers, and most especially honest burghermasters, delight, because they are then enabled to put on their greatness with their broadcloths; and every flag and inscription in the streets is a tribute to their past, and an incentive to their renewed exertions. Fortunately the day rose in more than ordinary brightness; the Mottlaw and the Radaw, two streams which flow through the center of Dantzic, reflected the variegated masses of colors worn by those who thronged their banks; Commerce had for that day deserted the lofty mart and still loftier warehouse to muse by the side of the river which bore her richest freights; processions from the neighboring villages marched with music at their head into the city, bearing the devices of their various trades, and when the crowd separated to let them pass, the captains of companies and humbler officials drew themselves up as they traversed the rude, ill-fashioned pavement of the picturesque and antique gabled city. It was the fête of the patron saints of the town,—strange evidence of a future state, even among those who reflect but little; for there as ever all men turn alike to some mysterious guardian for protection, and like this city are consecrated to some faith. In the midst of these happy groups, which were collected at every corner and filled every gasthof, moved Dumiger and Marguerite, most blessed and happy where all looked smiling and contented. Marguerite was the envy of all brides, and of those who wished to become so; and there was not a young burgher of distinction who had not at some time or another looked upon her with admiring gaze, and followed her to the palace in which she dwelt, and loitered under her window,—where, however, the thin slight curtain was rarely if ever drawn aside to satisfy the vanity of the gazer or to kindle her own. She was of a very admirable beauty, as perfect as is commonly found in nature, which fancy can at will outwork,—tall, of excellent symmetry, with a clear, noble brow, the proudest type of Nature's glory. There were few in town who did not know her at all events, from reputation, and that reputation was spotless. Of Dumiger's appearance we cannot say as much: he would have been decidedly plain but for the indications of genius which his countenance afforded. His forehead was marked with the lines of patient and anxious thought; but these evidences, if they did not serve to please the gazer, at least commanded his respect. He was somewhat bent by premature exertion; the hair, even at that early age, was thin and scanty on the temples; his step was slightly enfeebled by want of proper exercise. Altogether he was a very remarkable man from the intellectual power which every lineament expressed; yet altogether he was scarcely such a person as would have been considered likely to awaken a strong passion in a young girl like Marguerite. For it is too true that, to use the expression of a writer of that age, il avait l'air d'un âme qui avait recontré par hasard un corps et qui s'en tirait comme il pouvait.
And yet—so strange a being is woman!—desirous like the Hindoo wife to sacrifice herself on whatever altar she raises in her heart, Marguerite, in order to marry Dumiger, had refused the greatest offers,—amongst others, no less a person than the son of that house into which she had been received. But irrespective of the affection which she felt for Dumiger, she was in her nature proud and haughty, and she would not have consented, even under other and less favorable circumstances, to have entered where she was despised by the rest of the family. It may be imagined how great indignation was excited in this man by her refusal, the more especially as, like Dumiger, he thought himself a proficient in science and the mechanical arts, and was one of those who in his way was laboring for the prize so soon to be awarded by the city. If merit was to be the test of success, he had but little chance; but where is that man and where are those minds with whom rank and power have not their weight? He was, therefore, if not the most formidable by intellect, at all events by circumstance, the one of Dumiger's competitors the most to be dreaded, for his father was the president of that council which presided over the destinies of Dantzic, and who usurped more than imperial authority. He belonged to the ancient house of Albrect, Grand Master of the Teutonic Knights, and oldest freeman of the Hanseatic League. A strange, proud man, who when he learned indirectly that his son Frederick was in love with Marguerite, indulged in a storm of fearful indignation, until he found from her that on no account did she intend to accept the suit; and then, in spite of his gratification at the certainty that his son could not make a marriage which he thought so discreditable, his vanity was wounded at her decision, and even while he praised Marguerite's disinterested conduct, in his heart he was garnering up hatred against her. A blow to vanity is terrible, and it is a blow which the humblest and weakest can give as well as the most powerful, in the contempt or even the indifference expressed for the pursuit in which we are interested, or for the object which we have attained. So much of our opinion of the value of an object depends on the price which others set upon it, that it is sufficient to know others are indifferent to it for ourselves to undervalue it. But Marguerite went forward in her career of happiness, quite ignorant of the dislike she was leaving behind her. She told Frederick the truth, that she loved Dumiger, and kindly added, that but for this circumstance she might one day have loved him; and then with a light heart she left the splendid palace for the abode of poverty.
They moved on together, those two young and loving beings, and so intent were they on their own happiness, so concentrated in each other, that they did not observe how the crowd through which they passed fell back in admiration: but at last Dumiger caught the expressions of their faces, and saw the glance which accompanied them, and then he almost looked nobly born, so proud became his step and steadfast his gaze. The long market (surrounded with its fantastic gables, strange, rickety, and picturesque, which looked us though they retained the expression of the angular, quaint, rococo faces of those by whom the houses were formerly tenanted) was crowded with all that was gay and animated in Dantzic; around the fountains, somewhat rude in their execution but admirable in their models, the peasants from the neighborhood were congregated. Presently the crowd, which had momentarily become greater and still greater, swayed backward and forward like the tide in a harbor when a noble vessel enters its gates. They made place for a herald, who rode on horseback surrounded by his deputies, and gave notice in an audible voice that on that day week the Supreme Council would meet to decide on the merits of the different pieces of mechanism which were to be submitted to their judgments, and which were to be sent in three days previously. Then the herald recited the rewards which the great and free city offered to the most successful competitors: they were worthy of the great League of which Dantzic was the head:—A house to be kept up at the expense of the State, to be styled the "most honorable," a ring of honor, but above all, a laurel wreath, and to have precedence immediately after the Supreme Council itself. Such was the attachment of the inhabitants of Dantzic to their town and its glories that its embellishment was dearer to them than any personal or material advantages. But it is probable that these honors would not have been so great on the present occasion had the Grand Master not been fully impressed with the belief that his own son would succeed in the contest, and add another and the greatest to the honors which belonged to his house. Marguerite and Dumiger pressed forward through the crowd to hear the proclamation read, and the blood flowed in their cheeks as they listened. Dumiger turned to look at Marguerite, her eyes were moist with love and admiration; he pressed her arm fondly, and said in a low voice,—
"Now, Marguerite, will you forgive me the hours passed in solitude, in selfish silence, when you know how highly the city estimates this work to which my nights and days have been devoted?"
Her only answer was a glance of affection which thrilled through his frame.
It was night, they were tired of wandering about, and entered one of the numerous cafés which had been temporarily erected in celebration of the day. In the center of the Grande Place a stage was built for dancing, and when the band played its liveliest tunes the bright-eyed dancers swept round in admirable time; the variegated lamps which hung around the square checkered the pavement with every variety of hue, cast such a glory on the fountain that its outline was worked as it were with threads of gold. All these different colors and shapes were reflected in the rippling waves of the ever-rolling waters. Youths in the gayest dresses strutted away their proud hour of triumph with that graceful vanity of pretension which youth so well becomes, or flirted with the tender maidens, who in silver-laced bodice and scarlet skirt, with their brows encircled with interwoven wild flowers, sat round the brink of the fountain, where the murmurs of the ever-falling waters could best conceal the murmurs of love. And above all this gorgeous tumult and bright excitement the moon from her throne of silver clouds rose like a virgin queen; the bold architecture of the Dom stood in clear relief, some parts as though sculptured out of heaven's light, while the depths of the arches were buried in mysterious shade, emblematic of the faith to which it was dedicated,—in part clear to the fresh comprehension of the youngest child, and again full of deep and fathomless mysteries. Athwart the flood of light which filled the square, the deep shade of this noble Dom was thrown, like the dark visions of the future which sometimes fall upon the heart in its hours of brightest enjoyment. If one had stood that night on the lofty tower and looked forth on the vast multitude, he need not, Asmodeus-like, have unroofed the houses to read the history of human life or the passions of the human heart, for life and passion had gone forth that night from many a tranquil abode to revel in publicity. One so standing above the wild hum of tumultuous enjoyment would in silent thought have marveled at the strange drama performing as it were at his feet,—the sad and fearful mixture of the shadows and lights of life and death, the market-place, and close at hand the burial-ground. Talk of contemplation in the wild solitudes of the country, how much more is there room for contemplation in the crowded mart and the bustling thoroughfare! Where is the river whose current is so rapid as the current of life, or at time so dangerous and treacherous? Where is the tide whose ebb and flow is so uncertain as the ebb and flow of existence? Where are to be found winds and waves more boisterous than those which agitate the human heart? Where is the shore so strewn with wrecks as the heart with the broken memorials of passion which may have long since swept over it? If Nature in its solitude affords calm enjoyment, in its human development it affords matter for deeper thought; if the view from the mountain-top, extending over hill and dale, expand the mind, to stand above the wild tumult of a town equally exalts the imagination and conveys knowledge, even while it compels the gazer to pass out of himself.
As they approached a coffee-house on the same side of the street as the Dom, Marguerite proposed to Dumiger to remain there, where they could best see the dancing, and she drew a chair toward her.