THE MOUTH OF HELL, page 21
Then the conquerors smashed windows and doors.
After which they amused themselves, wise precaution, with destroying part of the prison.
Whilst they gave themselves up to this diverting form of exercise, a messenger came to. warn them that the academical council had assembled and was about to pass judgment on the leaders of the revolt.
“Ah! the academical council is sitting in judgment on us,” said Samuel. “Very well! we shall sit in judgment on the academical council. Ho! there!” cried he, “foxes and finches, guard the entrance-gates. The convention of ‘seniores’ is going to deliberate.”
The “seniores “assembled in a hall attached to the prison.
Samuel immediately addressed the assembly. This time his harangue was short, to the point, Tacitus-like, and in harmony with the sound of the tumult, and the distant beat of drums; his remarks did not meet with a single interruption from those Conscript Fathers of twenty summers.
“Listen. We have no time to lose. I hear the beat to arms. The troops will soon be here. It is wise, to decide on a course of action at once. This is my advice:
“All manner of schemes have been suggested. The setting on fire of Muhldorfs house, the sacking of the town; etc. Each one of these methods of revenge has its charm, I do not deny. But that would entail an engagement with the troops, the shedding of blood, and the loss of valued friends. Would it not be better to obtain the same result without bloodshed?
“What is it we want? To punish the tradespeople. Well! there is a more terrible method of punishing them than by smashing a few shop-fronts and setting fire to the frame-work. We can ruin Heidelberg in a quarter of an hour. All we have to do is to take ourselves off.
“Upon what does Heidelberg live, if not upon us? Who give her tailors the wherewithal to live? Those who wear their clothes. Who give the shoemakers work to do? Those who wear their boots. Who puts money in the butcher’s pocket? Those who eat meat.
“Therefore, deprive the tradesmen of their customers, the professors of their pupils, and, instantly, professors and tradesmen no longer exist. Heidelberg without us is a body without a soul. It is dead.
“What; a tradesman has dared to refuse his merchandise to a student? Well! all the students will leave all the merchandise to all the merchants. And we shall see what they will do with it! One of these has refused to supply one of us. Very well! they will no longer supply any of us! I propose to make one of those striking examples which mark the history of the Students’ Guild, and become the rule of the ‘studentes’ and a lesson to the Philistines for the future. I propose the emigration in a body of the University, and the interdict of the town of Heidelberg.”
Samuel’s words were drowned in a thunder of applause.
The departure was unanimously voted.
CHAPTER XLI.
THE WISDOM OF THE SERPENT AND THE STRENGTH OF THE LION.
THE “seniores” went among the crowd and announced the decision arrived at, which excited enthusiastic cheers from everyone.
It was decided that the students would have the remainder of the day in which to complete their arrangements, that they would mention the proposed scheme to no one and that they would leave the town quietly and silently during the night, in order that the townsmen, on their waking, would be unexpectedly struck with stupor and remorse.
Just as all this was arranged, a young fox rushed in breathless.
A clerk of the court, who had been present at the assembly of the academical council, and who was related to him, had told him the result of the sitting.
This is what had been decided:
If the students resisted, the troops had orders to fire on them, and, at any cost, compel them to submit.
If they dispersed quietly, an amnesty to all, except Samuel, who had killed a soldier, and who was looked upon as the ringleader of all this uproar, and the instigator of Trichter, his favourite fox. Samuel was the only one blamed. An order of arrest had been issued against him, and the troops must even now be on their way to secure him.
A universal cry arose.
“War to the knife rather than give up the King!
Trichter in particular was loud in his expressions of indignation:
“Ah! upon my honour! let them but try to lay a finger on my ‘senior,’ on him who has just rescued me, the King of the students, Samuel Gelb, a fine thing, indeed! Rascally council! we shall soon see!”
And he stood in front of Samuel, like a bull-dog before his master, grinding his teeth and growling to himself.
During the uproar, Samuel said a few words to a student, who ran off hurriedly.
“A fight! a fight!” cried the crowd.
“No! there must be no fighting!” said Samuel.
“The University has proved its valour. Our comrades are free; so our honour is safe. The ‘Taboo ‘has gone forth. To put it into execution, you have no need of me.”
“Do you want us to let them arrest you?” asked Trichter in consternation.’
“Oh! “Samuel rejoined, smiling, “they have not got me yet, never fear! I shall know how to keep out of their clutches unaided.
“Now, is it quite understood? to-morrow morning Heidelberg will no longer be in Heidelberg, but where I am. As to the customary formalities of departure, Trichter knows them as well as he does his ‘Code.’ For myself, I am going on ahead to have quarters prepared for you at our ‘Mons Aventinus.’ You will find the flag of the University ready set up.”
“Where?” asked several voices.
“At Landeck! “Samuel replied.
Murmurs rose from the crowd.
“At Landeck? Make for Landeck? Where is Landeck? Never mind! Landeck is nothing now, Landeck Will be for us. Hurrah for Landeck!”
“Good!” rejoined. Samuel. “But make way. Here comes my horse.”
The student to whom he had whispered, rode up. He dismounted. Samuel sprang into the saddle.
“Give me the flag?” said he.
The student who carried the University flag handed it to him. Samuel wound it round the staff, strapped it to the saddle, armed himself with two pairs of pistols and a sword, and saying, “At Landeck, to-morrow,”
He set spurs to his horse and galloped off.
At the first winding of the road he encountered a detachment of police, which he hustled aside. One of their numbers evidently recognised him, for he heard an exclamation, then several bullets whizzed round him. Samuel paid back such things; he turned round and, without stopping, discharged two of his pistols. But the police officers were on foot. In a few seconds, Samuel was out of reach, and, taking the least frequented byways, he soon found himself galloping along the main road.
Samuel had not hurried away too soon, for almost immediately after his departure the troops arrived.
In a moment the exits were guarded. Twelve constables advanced, supported by a platoon of soldiers, and one of them solemnly demanded that Samuel Gelb be delivered over to them, promising an amnesty to all on that condition.
The crowd offered no resistance, but simply said: “Find him.”
The search began. It had lasted ten minutes, when an order arrived from the academical council. One of the police officers whom Samuel had jostled had brought the news of his having left the town. The council accepted this departure as sufficient satisfaction for the present, and demanded but one thing more: that the students should quietly disperse.
The order was read. The students dispersed and returned quietly to their rooms.
The council was delighted although surprised at this quick and peaceful ending. The remainder of the day only strengthened their delight and surprise. Not a challenge, not a quarrel, not a threat. To all appearances the students had entirely forgotten the uproar of the morning.
Night came. The townspeople retired proudly to rest. At ten o’clock, as usual, all the town was snugly asleep.
But, at midnight, had anyone been awake, they would have seen a strange sight.
CHAPTER XLII.
SHAKING THE DUST FROM OFF THEIR FEET.
AT midnight the doors of the students’ quarters opened mysteriously; one student appeared, then a second, then a third; the majority were on foot, others on horseback, some in carriages, and all, walking in the shadow, bent their steps towards the University Square.
When they came across a street lamp they unhooked it noiselessly.
The crowd began to grow dense on the University Square and increased every moment. The shadows moving about there, greeted each other with a shake of the hand and a few words in an undertone. One of the most energetic was our friend Trichter, who had an enormous pipe in his mouth, and a graceful girl hanging on his arm.
Oh! frailty! thy name is woman! This girl was Lolotte, the former mistress of Franz Ritter. Triumphant Trichter had not only robbed Dormagen of his fox, but also Ritter of his sweetheart. One fine morning, taking advantage of a quarrel between the jealous swain and the flirt, he had supplanted Franz.
At about two o’clock, Trichter went up to a group:
“The torches,” said he.
Suddenly twenty torches, were lighted.
Trichter took one, waved it furiously about, called for silence and attention, and turning solemnly towards the centre of the town, pronounced the following imprecation in the true ancient lyric style:
“Cursed! cursed! thrice cursed town!
“Since your tailors have become blind to the honour of seeing their cloth converted into graceful habiliments for the student corps.
“Since your shoemakers are no longer content that their leather should pleasantly define our instep.
“Since your pork butchers cherish for their pigs a fate other than that of making that rich blood in our veins which aroused in us such noble ideas. Since, instead of paying us for these many advantages, they demand that we should pay them; very well! let them keep their shoes, their clothes, their meat! May their avarice ruin them. Their cloth will become the shroud of their fortune. To eke out their incomes they will be reduced to wearing our shoes themselves, and their wives will wear our boots. Their uneaten sausages will become tainted and give them the plague. Weep citizens, tradesmen, merchants of every kind! Henceforth, for you, no more money, no more festivities. No more will you have the pleasure of seeing us pass beneath your windows, joyous, dressed in bright attire, pleasant for the eye to rest upon and gaily singing ‘Viva vallera’; no more will you be wakened at night by the stones which we amused ourselves with throwing at your windows. No more will your daughters be kissed by us. Weep, citizens, weep!
“Especially you, ungrateful taverners, the entire hope of your purse will follow on our heels. You may die of starvation through excess of victuals. And you may perish with thirst, but never again shall we drink your wine.”
Here, Trichter quickly turned his torch upside down on the pavement, and said:
“I extinguish the life of Heidelberg with the light of this torch.”
The nineteen other torch-bearers did the same, and repeated:
“I extinguish the life of Heidelberg with the light of this torch.”
Darkness reigned once more.
The extinction of the torches was the signal for departure.
The crowd therefore set out and was soon on the road to Neckarsteinach.
The rising sun shone with an astonished ray on this strange band. It was a medley of men, dogs, foils, pipes, hatchets, women, horses and carriages. Pale, tired, dressed in slovenly fashion, the students carried away with them their most precious and most necessary possessions, flasks of brandy, a little linen, and no books.
Although the flight had taken place so secretly, it had been impossible to prevent the stable boys from the Inns, and a few early-rising tradesmen from witnessing it. So, at the tail of the procession, there was already a file of barrows and small carts laden with bread, meat, spirits, and all kinds of provisions. Trichter, who marched at the head, turned round, recognized a taverner, and suppressed a smile of content.
“Ah! a few ‘Vivandiers! said he in as careless a tone as possible.
But, a moment later, under what pretext we know not, he quitted the side of the ambling nag on which he had perched Lolotte, allowed everyone to pass on, went straight up to the wine merchant, ordered himself a large glass of gin, then rejoined his sweetheart.
At Neckarsteinach they halted for a short rest. The walk had sharpened the appetite of the students, and the provisions from Heidelberg which, seeing the urgency of the case, it was agreed to consume yet this once, were swallowed up in a trice. The innkeepers of Neckarsteinach gave up their last chicken and their last bottle of wine.
Thus restored, the students set out again. They walked on nearly four hours longer, then arrived at some cross-roads.
“Now then!” said Trichter, “the road branches off. Must we go to the right or. to the left? I hesitate as did Buridan’s ass between his two pecks of oats.”
Just then, the galloping of a horse was heard in the distance. A cloud of dust was seen flying along the road to the left and approaching rapidly. A second later, the horseman was recognised; it was Samuel.
“Hurrah!” shouted the crowd.
“Which road must we take?” asked Trichter.
“Follow me! “Said Samuel.
CHAPTER XLIII.
MYSTERIES OF A NIGHT AND OF A SOUL.
WHAT had Samuel been doing since the previous day, since his departure from Heidelberg?
The preceding evening, his horse had brought him back to Landeck at about seven o’clock, less than twenty-four hours after he had left it.
Once more he had gained admittance into Gretchen’s hut.
He had left it barely five minutes, when Gretchen returned with her goats. She was bringing them home earlier than usual, not even waiting until night had quite closed in. Since the morning she had felt a strange sense of uneasiness, which had deprived her of sleep and appetite. The whole day long, she had been feverish. She felt at once excited and depressed.
After milking her goats and penning them in for the night, she went into her hut; but she soon came out again; nowhere could she rest.
This July night threatened to be overpoweringly hot. There was not a breath of air. The chirp of the cricket arose from every nook and corner of these sun-scorched fields. By some singular contradiction, Gretchen was as thirsty as this parched land, and yet felt no inclination to drink; she was as sleepy as this heavy atmosphere, and yet had no inclination to sleep.
A sort of mysterious, latent voluptuousness hung over all things. The cooings and flutterings of the birds died away amorously in the nests. A pungent odour rose from the grasses. The stars shone softly through the warm transparent darkness.
Gretchen wanted to go in, and yet she remained seated on the grass, her hands clasping her knees, gazing without seeing, her eyes on the stars, her thoughts nowhere. She suffered in all her being, without knowing why. She longed to cry; it seemed to her that tears would relieve her, and she tried to force them to come, like the parched land entreating for a drop of dew. After a tremendous effort she felt the tears spring to her burning eyes.
What astonished her most of all was that she could not rid her mind of one thought, which, for the last twenty-four hours, had been uppermost, in despite of herself, the thought of Gottlob, that young labourer who, the previous year, had asked her to marry him. Why did she think of this young man? Why did she think of him with mingled pain and pleasure, she, who had always been indifferent to him?
Not a month ago, Gottlob, meeting her one day, had diffidently asked whether she had not changed her mind, if she still loved a solitary life. She had said in answer that her freedom was dearer to her than ever.
Gottlob had told her that his parents wished to force him into a marriage with Rose, a girl living in the neighbourhood. Gretchen had not felt the least jealous. She had warmly advised Gottlob to please his parents, and, far from any feeling of heart-ache or wounded vanity, she had been truly glad to know that this honest fellow would be able to console himself with another and live happily with her.
Since this meeting, her thoughts had often reverted to this marriage of Gottlob’s and always with the same feeling of pleasure.
Why then did she think of it today with mingled bitterness and regret? Why could she not picture this young man in the arms of another, without a sensation of unutterable pain? Why did the remembrance of Gottlob, vainly repulsed, return unceasingly to torment her, like those teasing flies which she brushed away with her hand?
Why on that very day, instead of taking her goats, as she usually did, among the rocks or in the depths of the forest, had she, on the contrary, sought the outskirts of the wood and the borders of the plain? Gottlob had some pieces of ground that way. Why had she stayed in that neighbourhood the whole day, and why, Gottlob not having appeared, had she felt weighed down with some vague sense of sadness?
She had decided to return, not eyen waiting till the close of day. Suddenly she had started; she heard Gottlob’s voice behind her. She had turned round, and at the bend of the road, saw the young man coming home from the fields. But he was not alone. Rose’s father and Rose herself were with him..
He had given his arm to his sweetheart and was talking gaily to her. Gretchen had hidden herself behind the trees, and had not been seen. Why had her heart throbbed painfully? Why had a pang of jealousy shot through her on looking at Rose? Why had she conjured up, for the first time in her life, the passionate mysteries of a nuptial night? Why did the delight of Gottlob and the proud smile on Rose’s face haunt her even to the threshold of her cottage? Why was she sad because her wish had come to pass? Why did the happiness of others bring these hot, burning tears into her eyes — she, who had never harboured an unkind thought of anyone?
To all these questions she could find no answer.
She wanted to distract her thoughts. She stood up. Her eyes and lips were hot and feverish.
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