Volume Ii Part 35 (1/2)

Cyprian read:

PHENOMENA.

When any allusion was made to the last siege of Dresden, Anselmus turned even paler than he ordinarily was. He would fold his hands in his lap--he would gaze before him, lost in melancholy memories--he would murmur to himself,

”G.o.d of Heaven, were I to put my legs into my new riding-boots at the proper time, and run across the bridge towards Neustadt, paying no attention to burning straw, and the bursting sh.e.l.ls, I have no doubt that this great personage and the other would, put his head out of his carriage window and say, with a polite bow, 'Come along, my good sir, without any ceremony. I have room for you.' But there was I shut up and hemmed in in the middle of the accursed Marmot's-burrow, all ramparts, embankments, trenches, star-batteries, covered ways, &c., suffering hunger and misery as much as the best of them. Didn't it come to this, that if one happened to turn over the pages of a Roux's dictionary by way of pa.s.sing the time, and came upon the word 'Eat,' one's exhausted stomach cried out in utter amazement, 'Eat? Now what does that mean?'

People who had once on a time been fat b.u.t.toned their skin over them, like a double-breasted coat, a natural Spencer! Oh, heavens, if only that Master of the Rolls--that Lindhorst--hadn't been there! Popowicz of course wanted to kill me, but the Dolphin sprinkled marvellous life-balsam out of its silver-blue nostrils. And Agafia!” When he spoke this name, Anselmus was wont to get up from his seat, jump just a little, once, twice, three times; and then sit down again. It was always quite useless to ask him what he really meant, on the whole, by those extraordinary sayings and grimaces. He merely answered, ”Can I possibly describe what happened with Popowicz and Agafia without being supposed to be out of my mind?” And every one would laugh gently, as much as to say, ”Well, my good fellow, we suppose that whether or not.”

One drear, cloudy October evening, Anselmus, who was understood to be somewhere a long way off--came in at the door of a friend of his. He seemed to be moved to the depths of his being, he was kindlier and tenderer than at other times--almost pathetic. His humour (often perhaps too wildly discursive, too universally antagonistic) was bowing itself, tamed and bridled, before the mighty Spirit which had possession of his inner soul. It had grown quite dark, the friend wanted to send for lights. But Anselmus, taking hold of both his arms, said: ”If you would, for once, do me a real favour, don't have lights brought. Let's be content with the dim s.h.i.+ning of that Astral lamp which is sending its glimmer from the closet there. You can do what you please--drink tea, smoke tobacco, but don't smash any cups, or throw lighted matches on to my new trousers. Either of those things would not only pain me, but would make an unnecessary noise and disturbance in the enchanted garden into which I have at last managed to get to-day, and in which I am enjoying myself to my soul's content. I shall go and lie on that sofa.”

He did so. After a considerable pause, he began:

”To-morrow morning at eight o'clock it will be exactly two years since Count von der Lobau marched out from Dresden with twelve thousand men and four-and-twenty guns, to fight his way to the Meissner Hills.”

”Well,” said his friend, ”I have been sitting here on the stretch of an expectation, almost of a devout description, thinking I was going to hear of some celestial manifestation, coming hovering out of your enchanted garden--and this is all? What interest do I take in Count von der Lobau and his expedition? And fancy you remembering that there were just twelve thousand men and four-and-twenty guns. When did military details of the sort begin to effect a lodgment in that head of yours?”

”Are those days of mystery and fatality,” said Anselmus, ”which we pa.s.sed through so short a time ago so completely forgotten by you that you no longer recollect the manner in which the armed monster grasped us and drove us? The _noli turbare_ no longer held in check our own exertions of force, and we would not _be_ held in check or protected, for in every heart the demon made deep wounds, and, driven by wild torture, every hand grasped the unfamiliar sword, not for defence, no--for attack, that the hateful ignominy might be atoned for, and revenged, by Death! Even at this hour there comes upon me, in bodily form of flesh and blood, that power which was active in those days of darkness, and drove me forth from art and science into that blood-stained tumult. Was it possible, do you think, for me to go on sitting at my desk? I hurried up and down the streets, I followed the troops when they marched out, as far as I dared, merely to see with my own eyes as much as I could, and from what I Baw to gather some hope, paying no heed to the miserable, deceptive, proclamations and news 'from the seat of war.' Very good. When at length that battle of all battles was fought, when all round us every voice was shouting for joy at new-won freedom, whilst we were still lying in chains of slavery, I felt as if my heart would break. I felt as though I must gain air and freedom, for myself and all who were chained to the stake along with me, by means of some terrible deed. It may seem to you now, and with the knowledge of me which you think you possess, incredible and ludicrous; but I can a.s.sure you that I went about with the idea in my mind, the insane idea, that I would set a match to some fort which I knew the enemy had got well-stocked with powder, and blow it into the air.”

The friend could not help smiling a little at the wild heroism of the unwarlike Anselmus. The latter, however, could not see this, as it was dark; and after a few moments' silence he proceeded as follows. ”You have all of you often said that a peculiar planet which presides over me has a manner of bringing marvellous matters about my path on occasions of importance, matters in which people do not believe and which often seem to myself as if they proceeded out of my own inner being, although there they are, outside of me also, taking form as mystic symbols of that element of the marvellous which we find all about us everywhere in life. It was so with me this day two years ago in Dresden. That long day had dragged itself out in dull, mysterious silence; everything was quiet outside the gate--not a shot to be heard.

Late in the evening--it might have been about ten o'clock, I slunk into a coffee house in the old market, where, in an out-of-the-way back room into which none of the hated foreigners were allowed to penetrate, friends of like minds and opinions gave each other rea.s.surance of comfort and hope. It was there where, notwithstanding all the lies which were current, the true news of the engagements at the Katzbach, Culm, &c., were first received, where our R. told us of the victory at Leipzig two days after it happened, though G.o.d knows how he obtained his knowledge of it. My way had led me past the Bruhl Palace, where the Field Marshal was quartered, and I had been struck by the unusual lighting-up of the salons, as well as the stir going on all over the house. I was just mentioning this to my friends, with the remark that the enemy must have something in hand, when R. came hurrying in, breathless, and in great excitement. 'Hear the latest thing,' he began at once. 'There has been a Council of War at the Field Marshal's.

General Mouton (Count von der Lobau) is going to fight his way to Meissen with twelve thousand men and four-and-twenty guns. He marches out this morning.' After a good deal of discussion we at last adopted R.'s opinion that this attack, which, from the unceasing watchfulness of our friends outside, might very probably be disastrous to the enemy, would very likely force the Field Marshal to capitulate, and so put a period to our miseries. ”How,” thought I, as I was going home about midnight, ”can R. have found out what the decision come to was almost at the very moment it was arrived at?” However, I was presently aware of a hollow, rumbling sound making itself audible through the deathly stillness of the night. Guns and ammunition waggons, well loaded up with forage, began pa.s.sing slowly by me in the direction of the Elbe bridge. ”R. was right then,” I had to say to myself. I followed the line of their march and got as far as the centre of the bridge, where there was at that time a broken arch, temporarily repaired with wooden beams and scaffolding. At each side of this construction was a species of fortification, constructed of high palisading and earth-works. Here, close to this fortification, I took up my position, pressing myself close to the bal.u.s.trade of the bridge so as not to be seen. It now seemed to me that the tall palisades began moving backwards and forwards, and bending over towards me, murmuring hollow, unintelligible words. The deep darkness of the cloudy night prevented my seeing anything clearly; but when the troops had crossed, and all was as still as death on the bridge, I could make out that there was a deep, oppressed breathing near me, and a faint, mysterious whimpering or whining--one of the dark, scarcely distinguishable baulks of the timber was rising into a higher position. An icy horror fell upon me, and, like a man tortured in a nightmare dream, firmly fettered by leaded clamps, I could not move a muscle. The night-breeze rose, wafting mists about the hills: the moon sent feeble rays through rents in the clouds.

And I saw, not far from me, the figure of a tall old man with silvery hair and a long beard. The mantle which fell over his haunches he had cast across his breast in numerous heavy folds. With his long, white naked arm he was stretching a staff far out over the river. It was from him that the murmuring and whimpering proceeded. At that moment I heard the sound of marching coming from the town, and I saw the sheen of arms. The old man cowered down, and began to whimper and lament, in a pitiful voice, holding out a cap to those who were coming over the bridge, as if asking for alms. An officer, laughing, cried, ”_Voila St. Pierre, qui veut pecher!_” The one who came next stopped, and said very gravely, ”_Eh bien! Moi, pecheur, je lui aiderai a pecher._”

Several officers and soldiers, quitting the ranks, threw the old man money, sometimes silently, sometimes with gentle sighs, like men in expectation of death; and he, then, always nodded from side to side with his head in a curious way, uttering a sort of hollow cry of a singular description. At length an officer (in whom I recognized General Mouton) came so very close to the old man that I thought his foaming charger would tramp upon him; and, turning quickly to his aide-de-camp, as he thrust his hat more firmly down on to his head, he asked him, in a loud excited voice, ”_Qui est cet homme?_” ”The escort which was in attendance on him stood motionless; but an old, bearded sapper, who was pa.s.sing with his axe on his shoulder, said, calmly and gravely, ”_C'est un pauvre maniaque bien connu ici. On l'appelle St.

Pierre Pecheur._” On that the force pa.s.sed on across the bridge, not as at other times, full of foolish jesting, but in dispirited ill-temper and gloom. As the last sound of them died away, and the last gleam of their arms disappeared, the old man slowly reared himself up, and stood with uplifted head and staff outstretched, like some miraculous saint ruling the stormy water. The waves of the river rose into mightier and mightier billows, as if stirred from their depths. And I seemed to hear a hollow voice, coming up from amidst those rus.h.i.+ng waters, and saying in the Russian language.

”Michael Popowicz! Michael Popowicz! Do you not see the fireman?”

The old man murmured to himself. He seemed to be praying. But suddenly he cried out, ”Agafia!” And at that moment his face glowed in blood-red fire which seemed to be shooting up at him out of the Elbe. On the Meissner Hills great fluttering flames blazed up into the sky; their reflection shone into the river, and upon the old man's face. And now, close beside me upon the bridge, there began to be audible a sort of plas.h.i.+ng and splas.h.i.+ng, and I saw a dim form climbing up arduously, and presently swing itself over the bal.u.s.trade with marvellous dexterity.

”Agafia?” the old man cried.

”Girl! Dorothea! In the name of heaven,” I was beginning, but in an instant I felt myself clasped hold of, and forcibly drawn away. ”Oh, for Christ's sake keep silence, dearest Anselmus, or you are a dead man,” whispered the creature who was standing close to me, trembling and s.h.i.+vering with cold. Her long black hair hung down dripping, her sodden garments were clinging to her slender body. She sank down exhausted, saying, in tones of gentle complaining, ”Oh, it is so cold down there! Do not say another word, Anselmus dearest, or we must certainly die.”

The light of the flames was glowing upon her face, and I saw that she was Dorothea, the pretty country girl who had taken asylum with my landlord when her native village was plundered, and her father killed.

He employed her as a servant, and used to say that her troubles had quite stupefied her, or otherwise she would have been a nice enough little thing. And he was right there. She scarcely spoke, except to utter a few words which sounded like incoherent nonsense, whilst her face, which would otherwise have been beautiful, was marred by a strange unmeaning smile. She used to bring my coffee into my room every morning, and I remarked that her figure, complexion, &c., were not at all those of a peasant girl. ”Ah,” my landlord used to say, ”you see she's a farmer's daughter, and a Saxon.”

As this girl was thus lying, rather than kneeling before me, half dead, dripping, I quickly pulled off my cloak and wrapped her in it, whispering to her, ”Warm yourself, dear, oh, warm yourself, darling Dorothea, or you will die! What were you doing in the cold river?”

”Oh, keep silent!” she said, throwing back the hood of her mantle, and combing her dripping hair back with her fingers. ”What I implore you to do is to keep silent. Come to that stone seat yonder. Father is speaking with Saint Andrew, and can't hear us.”

We crept cautiously to the stone seat. Utterly carried away by the most extraordinary sensations, overmastered by fear and rapture, I clasped the creature in my arms. She sat down in my lap without hesitation, and threw her arms about my neck. I felt the icy water from her hair running down my neck; but as drops sprinkled on fire only increase its flaming, love and longing only seethed up within me the more vehemently.

”Anselmus,” she whispered, ”I believe you are good and true. When you sing it goes right through my heart, and you have charming ways. You won't betray me. Who would get you your coffee if you did? And, listen, when you are all starving (and you soon will be), I'll come to you at night, all alone, when n.o.body can know, and bake you nice cakes. I have flour, fine flour, hidden away in my little room. And we'll have bridecake, white and lovely!” At this she began to laugh, but immediately sobbed and wept. ”Ah me! like those in Moskow. Oh! my Alexei! my Alexei! Beautiful dolphin, swim! Swim through the waves! Am I not waiting for you, your faithful love?” She drooped her little head, her sobs grew fainter, and she seemed to sink into a slumber, her bosom heaving and falling in sighs of longing. I looked at the old man.

He was standing with outstretched arms, and saying, in hollow tones, ”He gives the signal! See how he shakes his fiery locks of flame; how eagerly he treads into the ground those fiery pillars on which he traverses the land! Hear ye not his step of thunder? Feel ye not the vivifying breath which wreathes before him like a gleaming incense cloud? Hither! hither! mighty brethren!”

The sound of the old man's words was like the hollow roar of the approaching whirlwind, and while he spoke, the fire upon the Meissner Hills blazed brighter and brighter. ”Help, Saint Andrew!” the girl cried in her sleep. And suddenly she sprung up as if possessed by some terrible idea, and throwing her left arm more closely round me, whispered into my ear, ”Anselmus! it would be better that I killed you,” and I saw a knife gleaming in her right hand. I repulsed her in terror, with a loud cry of, ”Mad creature! What would you do?” Then she screamed out, ”Ah, I cannot do it! But all is over with you now!” At that moment the old man cried, ”Agafia, with whom are you speaking?”