Chapter V (1)

The Imperial army advanced without interruption, almost without striking a blow, while Anhalt drew back with his troops to the White-mountain close by Prague. He had barely entrenched his camp, when news arrived that the Duke Maximilian was approaching with his division, and that Boucquoi was following with the remainder of the Imperialists, Anhalt summoned a council of war. Mathias Thurn advised that they should attack the Duke immediately on his approach, before the wearied troops should have time to refresh themselves, and before he could unite himself with Boucquoi. John Bubna, Schlick, Styrum and others supported his proposal, and the Commander-in-chief Prince Anhalt seemed already won over to this view, when Hohenlohe pronounced himself violently against any offensive operation. "We must," he opined, "try and avoid any open battle with a superior force under the command of illustrious generals: the result of battles is uncertain, and a crown is not to be lightly hazarded. We have a strong impregnable position on the heights and the enemy will not venture to assault us." Hohenlohe's plan was adopted, and Mathias Thurn left the council in a state of the highest indignation.--So dawned the morning of the 8th of November, a day destined to have a decisive influence for centuries to come.

Encouraged by Frederick's example who did not allow himself to be the least disturbed in his wonted pleasures and amusements, the people in Prague did not give way to fear, and even in camp on the White-mountain they believed themselves so secure and so little expected an attack, that on that very day--it happed to be Sunday--many of the officers and common soldiers had gone into Prague to see their families.

Gabriel had passed the eight days since his nocturnal visit to Blume in a state of feverish excitement. He greeted the morning of this day, the anniversary of his betrothal, with singular feelings. But one short space of time divided him from the long looked for moment of revenge!

It was forenoon, he was sitting in his room in Reb Schlome Sachs' house sunk in deep thought, and gazing earnestly before him. Feelings most various and violent were preying upon him. He permitted, as he was often wont to do for his own torment, his gaze to hover over his past life. He saw himself a boy, full of peace and faith in the house of his grandfather, in the house of his mother. He saw himself a youth by the side of his grandfather in the presence of his exquisitely lovely bride all glowing with becoming modesty he called to remembrance the golden dreams of his youth, how in blissful hope he purposed to obtain a rapturous world to come by a life dedicated to virtue and faith.... And then how that was all suddenly, oh how suddenly, changed--his dying mother--that feast of atonement when he stood in despair before Blume. And now, now, he was about to take vengeance, fearful vengeance!... He knew that it would be impossible to inflict a more painful wound on Blume, that chaste pure woman, that he could not more deeply degrade her--and yet he did not doubt that the noble faithful woman would make a sacrifice of her honour, her soul's peace to her husband. Sometimes it seemed to him as if the minutes that separated him from midnight were rolling on too quickly, too hurriedly, as if he would enjoy the expectation of the near approaching moment of revenge, more than the moment itself? Generally, however, each second seemed infinitely long, and he could not control his impatience. The thought of his father too, as it always did when he was violently excited, had associated itself with all these recollections, with all these unwonted emotions. Swiftly succeeding feelings of alternate love and hate towards him, the natural desire to learn to know him, perhaps that too which we call the voice of nature, all this together had constantly aroused in his heart an indescribable strange desire. At this instant he doubted whether he would ever find him. One thing that he had striven after for years, he believed that he had attained: but it was impossible that Blume should escape him, he had always been sure, though perhaps years might be consumed in the search, that he must sooner or later discover her. But his father? Of him he knew absolutely nothing, he had not the smallest ground to go upon, not the faintest shadow of a conjecture dawned on him.--Where could he seek him; where could he find _him_?

The hurried opening of the door roused Gabriel suddenly out of the confused chaos of his thoughts, he turned round. Before him stood the boy, the ordinary messenger of the armourer in the Platnergasse.--

"Gracious Sir!" cried the boy, "Captain Schlemmersdorf, is waiting for you at home, he is urgently desirous to speak with you speedily"--Gabriel hesitated.

"Say, you could not find me, young one," he replied after a short reflection: "I wish to remain undisturbed till to-morrow."

"Gracious Sir! It must be about some most weighty matters. The captain was beside himself at not finding you at home, he wished to follow me. I was to tell you, that life, honour, everything was at stake."

Gabriel now rose hastily but with a dissatisfied air and obvious reluctance. Shortly afterwards he had arrived in the manner now well-known to us, at his house in the Marienplatz, where Schlemmersdorf was waiting for him with terrible impatience.

"Where have you been staying so long General?" he cried out to him as he entered, "quick, make haste, take your arms, to horse, to horse.--I pray you haste!"

"What has happened?" enquired Gabriel.

"Nothing pleasant, at least not for the present.... Early this morning the advanced guard of the Bavarian column was seen at the further end of the street. The Prince once again summons the few officers present in camp, to advise whether now at any rate it would not be prudent to receive the advancing troops with an attack: but Hohenlohe absolutely refuses to quit the secure position upon the heights, and whilst he is saying all he can in favour of his view, it is announced that Tilly with his Bavarians has crossed the river by a small bridge without hindrance.--The propitious moment for an attack is lost to us. Duke Maximilian is deploying in the centre his whole well-formed array; Boucquoi, who must have followed close upon the Duke, is taking up a position on the right wing, and we have the entire main-body of the enemy opposed to us.--The Prince, who is expecting every moment to be attacked by the Imperialists, is endeavouring in the greatest haste to range his troops in order of battle. He has despatched Habernfield to the king with a request that he will adjourn the ill-timed banquet that he gives to the English ambassadors, and come to the camp, in order to cheer the low spirits of the troops. Styrum is looking for Mathias Thurn and I have hastened to you--but General! don your armour at once. Why tarry you?"

The General had listened to Schlemmersdorf in silence and in spite of his urgency without the least movement.

"What should I do in camp?" he now enquired.

"A strange question, Sir General," replied Schlemmersdorf excitedly, "as far as one could hastily gather in the camp," he added hurriedly resuming, "you were to take charge of the Hungarian cavalry on the left, instead of Bornemissa, who is lying sick."

"Never, never, Sir Captain," cried the General indignantly, "I will never undertake the command of a detachment unaccustomed to discipline, whose language I do not even know, to whom I could not make my orders intelligible. I am obliged to the Prince for the honour and glory, which might have been obtained with the command.--However, Sir Captain, I cannot be of much use in the camp. I am unacquainted with the state of the army that is drawn up here, I am informed neither as to the strength of the divisions, nor the capacity of their officers; I am entirely ignorant of the plan of proceedings.... Sir Captain, you must yourself allow, it would be an unparalleled event in the history of military operations, if I resolved to accept a command under such circumstances."

Schlemmersdorf could not contest the justice of these observations, he was silent.

"I can therefore render no service outside there," continued Gabriel, "except with my sword, like any other common trooper.... but as the Prince did not choose to invite me to the council, though all the other superior officers here present took part in it, I think he will do very well without an individual officer of Mannsfield's in the battle-field.... Make then my excuses to the Prince, if I stay here, where, precisely to-day urgent business, that admits of no postponement, detains me."

"There is no more urgent duty than honour," burst forth Schlemmersdorf. "I know, General, that you have been badly treated," he added, in a conciliatory tone, "badly treated in many ways, it was wrong of the Prince.... but now you are needed, the Prince summons you, after a victory you shall have full satisfaction...."

Gabriel paced the chamber unquietly in deep emotion; a strange horror that he had never before had a presentiment of, thrilled through him.... that he should that very day be summoned to the battlefield! that very day on the anniversary of his betrothal to Blume, that very day, when he desired to take vengeance, to accomplish his long matured plan!...

Schlemmersdorf was in despair, he was willing to make any concession to gain his object. "General," he said at length stepping close up to Gabriel, "time presses, resolve quickly whilst we are here idly babbling away the time, the Imperialists are perhaps assaulting our lines. This day may decide the fate of Frederick's crown, of Bohemia. Consider; it would be an eternal ineffaceable blot upon your name, if you withdrew at the commencement of a battle.--What would your own age, what would even your friend Mannsfield say?"

Schlemmersdorf had touched Gabriel's weak point. His honour as a soldier and Mannsfield's esteem were his highest possessions. Regard for his honour, and a wild thirst for battle drew him into the field, and yet he on the other hand felt himself chained fast to Prague by brazen bonds.--He had looked death in the face unmoved a thousand times, but to-day, just to-day, so near the goal.... to perish to-day on the battle-field, perhaps to die unavenged, perhaps to die without having retaliated the unspeakable woe that had stricken him, perhaps to die without having achieved one single aim.... that was a thought that filled him with fearful unutterable dismay. It seemed to him as if he must strain every nerve to preserve his life for his revenge, for this night--a discord full of torment rent his heart. For a moment he remained undecided, but when Schlemmersdorf wrapped his cloak about him and without a word of farewell turned his back contemptuously upon him and stepped towards the door, he made a sudden resolution, "I go with you, Schlemmersdorf!" he exclaimed, "go with you ... but I will not fall to-day!"--Schlemmersdorf looked in Gabriel's face with surprise. He knew that it was no expression of mere cowardice that escaped him; but time was too precious for further enquiries, he urged him to make all haste, and shortly afterwards the two were spurring at full speed through the Strahower gate towards the camp. Outside the town they encountered Styrum who had gone in vain quest for Mathias Thurn. _Mathias Thurn was not to be found that day_.

* * *

The two hosts were drawn up opposite one another. The Imperial-Bavarian army, over 30,000 strong, was in good order and eager for battle. The Bohemian, scarcely numbering 20,000, was surprised, and in spite of the favourable ground which it occupied was drawn up in a great hurry by Anhalt without any fixed principle. The Prince had brought up all the artillery that he had on to the heights that covered his right wing.--This therefore, commanded by the young Prince Anhalt, was ranged in the line of its own fire, the trajectory of which would pass over its head. Hohenlohe commanded the centre under Anhalt, Bornemissa who had had himself carried to the field in spite of his illness, the left.--The Duke himself commanded the Imperial army in chief, under him Lichtenstein the centre, Tilly the left, Boucquoi, who in spite of the wound that he had received at Rakonitz was again on horse, the right wing.

It was a beautiful fresh winter's day. The Imperialists seemed for some time to be in doubt whether they should advance. At length, between twelve and one o'clock in the afternoon, the two lines of which the extreme wings were made up, set themselves in motion, and pushed forward with drums rolling and loud shouting. Anhalt at once commenced a cannonade from all his guns, but they were pointed too high, and the balls passed far over the heads of the Imperialists without killing even a single man. The right wing of the Bohemians was now impetuously attacked and thrown back: but young Anhalt, supported by Bubna and young Thurn, broke suddenly (according to the enemies' own account) like thunder and lightning in amongst the Imperial cavalry, and his extraordinarily fierce onset in spite of the most obstinate, heroic resistance forced it slowly to give ground. The Imperialists lost three standards, and Captain Preuner was taken prisoner. Victory seemed inclining towards Frederick's side. But at this decisive moment reinforcements arrived for the hard pressed Imperialists. Godfrey of Pappenheim came up with his cuirassiers just in time to prevent young Anhalt's further advance. At sight of the youthful sparkling hero the Imperialists again stood firm, and a terrible hand to hand contest ensued. For a quarter of an hour the fate of the battle in this portion of the field was in suspense.--At that moment the three young men, Gabriel, Schlemmersdorf and Styrum reached the White-mountain. Gabriel had only one personal friend, John Bubna, upon the field. He was on the right wing and thither Gabriel turned his fiery steed. His discontent vanished at sight of the battle-field. The hot fight, the blast of the trumpets, the rattle of musketry, the thunder of cannon, all this made him for a moment forgetful of his resolution. Thus had he often stood at Mannsfield's side. On the battle-plain he had won for himself a new name, respected and terrible. His lust of combat was kindled to a wild heat, he drew his sword, spurred his horse to a mad gallop, and flew swift as an arrow over the level ground that separated him from the field of battle.

"Ah, thou here, young friend!" cried the elder Bubna who had withdrawn for a moment from the thickest pressure, to staunch the blood that was flowing from a flesh-wound.--"That's right of you to come, the sight of you has a wonderfully strengthening effect upon me. How fares it with the other wing?"

"I do not know, Bubna," replied Bitter.... "I am but just arrived.--You hold out bravely against a superior force...."

"We had just got the upper hand, when this Pappenheim came up with his cuirassiers, and made the issue of the fight again doubtful.... Do you see him there with raised visor on a grey horse how he is animating his troopers? he seems to stamp on the ground and call up ever fresh masses of death-defying cuirassiers--but forward, friend!"

Gabriel on his black horse pressed irresistibly forward. The troop of horsemen, that followed his waving plume, advanced deepest into the fray. His gigantic form, overtopping all about him, and the unwearied strength of his arm, that scattered his enemies like stubble, attracted Pappenheim's attention. He had hitherto encouraged his Walloons by the brandishing of his glittering sabre, and the thunder of his voice, that was perfectly audible over the roar of battle; but at sight of the bold onward movement of this enemy's officer he suddenly resolved, like a Grecian hero of antiquity, once more to assay the oft-proved might of his sword. His afterwards world-renowned youthful rashness carried him where the throng was densest, and Mannsfield's out-lawed General was soon confronted by Count Pappenheim, the most zealous servant of his Emperor, the most ardent champion of his faith.--Both men were of gigantic stature, both felt, that by one well-aimed stroke a loss might be inflicted on the opposite party which would with difficulty be repaired. Gabriel heeded not his fixed intention, nor Pappenheim the duty of a leader; forgetful of every other consideration it seemed as if each of them desired but to achieve the object immediately before him or die.--A life and death combat ensued between the two officers, a combat such as most rarely occurs in modern warfare. Each gazed for a second motionlessly in the other's face. Pappenheim observed with astonishment a bright streak of purple, like a sacrificial flame, on the forehead of his antagonist, while Gabriel stared at the crossed swords on Pappenheim's brow.--That was the Pappenheim, that was the mark, of which the student, nine days ago at the dinner-table of his landlord, Reb Schlome Sachs' had spoken, the same student who had reminded him of his father and mother.--All the past, the immediate future, passed with the infinite-swiftness of thought before his mental vision. He desired to live, to live for his revenge. The mournful presentiment, that to-day, so near the longed for goal, he must die without having attained it, the mournful presentiment, with which he had once before on this day been imbued, sprung up with redoubled violence in his breast. That an adverse destiny should have led him to-day, this very day, against the doughtiest champion of the Imperial army!... He would gladly have retreated, but again he had gone too far, it was no longer possible to withdraw. Pappenheim stormed against him with all the mad audacity of youthful ardour, a terrible combat began. Both were unusually powerful men, both were accomplished swordsmen. Pappenheim had expected to encounter an opponent skilful as himself, but he found his master. The foreboding of death which had passed over Gabriel, had not dispirited but had made him cautious, he had acted for some time on a system of defence, but suddenly spied a weak point in his adversary's too impetuous attack and, raising himself suddenly in saddle, planted a masterly thrust which his knightly foe could not parry with sufficient rapidity.... Pappenheim dropped lifeless from his horse.... Gabriel drew a deep breath, and the Bohemian cavalry pressed bravely forward, while the cuirassiers discouraged by the presumed death of their leader began to give ground. Suddenly, however, a rumour flies through the ranks. That young Anhalt has been thrown from his horse wounded, and has fallen into the hands of the Imperialists. Gabriel heard it, and shortly afterwards orders ring out in Bubna's sonorous voice, who had succeeded to the command in place of young Anhalt--Still there is hope of victory: but the whole aspect of affairs is speedily changed.

Simultaneously with the attack upon the Bohemian right wing the Duke upon his own right had made a feigned false attack of Poles and Cossacks against the Hungarian cavalry drawn up opposite to them, an attack however soon repelled and dissipated by the resistance it encountered. The Hungarians, whose chief Bornemissa was unable to sit on horseback, allowed themselves to be deceived by this stratagem; they pursued the fugitives and looking upon themselves as already masters of the field, broke their serried ranks to seek for plunder. Duke Maximilian and Lichtenstein, who had been watching for this favourable moment, advanced with fresh choice troops against the Hungarians. Anhalt saw the danger that threatened his left, and sent reinforcements from Hohenlohe's cavalry in the centre to the aid of the hard-pressed troops. But Lichtenstein received them with a well-directed fire of cannon and musketry, the front ranks fell, and Hohenlohe's cavalry took to sudden flight without having struck a blow. A panic terror seized the Hungarians, they followed the bad example that had been given them, turned their backs upon the enemy and burst through the ranks of their own infantry. Every effort to stop the flight of the Hungarians, was vain, they threw themselves into the valley near Motol, and endeavoured to cross the Moldau by swimming; but the river was swollen, and most of them found their grave under its waves. The infantry, thrown into disorder, deserted by the cavalry and without artillery, was itself also now obliged to make up its mind for a speedy retreat.--The left wing and centre of the Bohemian army was beaten, Lichtenstein and Boucquoi had no longer an enemy before them. The Duke also made a sweep round with his right wing and main-body to the left and occupied the heights, on which Anhalt had planted the whole of his artillery, and from which his troops had advanced too far. In a short time it was in the hands of the Duke, and Frederick's soldiers were exposed to the fire of their own cannon. This happened exactly at the moment when Pappenheim had fallen, Anhalt had been taken prisoner by the Imperialists and Bubna had succeeded to the command.--Bubna ordered a retreat to be sounded. The troops, in rear exposed to the fire of the artillery, in front to the terrible onset of the Imperial cavalry, now as their services were no longer needed elsewhere united in one body,--retired in as good order as the unfavourable circumstances would admit of.--A bit of high ground to which they had fought their way between two fires revealed to them the comfortless aspect of the field of battle.... Corpses and arms that had been cast away strewed the plain. The centre and left wing was discovered in full flight. A determination had to be quickly taken. It was necessary to separate. Bubna decided that he would endeavour to conduct the horse back to Prague, so as at least to preserve the remnant of his cavalry for Frederick. Schlick and his Moravian infantry is firmly resolved to die rather than fly, and while Bubna accompanied by Gabriel turns in the direction of Prague, the Moravian regiments in serried ranks press through the victorious Imperial army, and fighting their way reach the wood of Stern, where they again make a stand, but soon succumb valiantly resisting to the last....

The victory of the Imperialists was complete, and achieved in less than an hour.--Four thousand Bohemians, among them one Count and several noblemen, had fallen. Young Anhalt, young Schlick and other superior officers were prisoners, all the artillery and camp had fallen into the enemy's hands. The loss of the Imperial-Bavarian army had been proportionally small. Count Meggau, Rechberg, and fourteen other officers had remained dead on the field, Godfrey of Pappenheim was afterwards found, alive but badly wounded, under a heap of slain.

Considering the complete overthrow of the Bohemian army, the Duke had held all pursuit of the fugitives unnecessary, and close to Prague, on the highroad, several battalions of infantry that Schlemmersdorf was leading back to Prague united themselves to Bubna's orderly masses of horse.--Schlemmersdorf held out his hand sadly to Bubna and Gabriel: all three rode in silence through the Strahower Gate. As they entered the city they saw the Palatine. He was clad, as for a feast, in satin. Habernfield had not succeeded in persuading him to come to the battle-field, he would not ride out fasting, had purposed that very day to give an entertainment, and would not betake himself to camp till the cloth was drawn. Tidings of the complete overthrow of his troops interrupted the ill-timed banquet, he hurried to the gates, where his Generals, Prince Anhalt and Count Hohenlohe were already coming to meet him. The first was without a helmet and terribly excited.

"Gracious Sire. You have lost the battle, and I my only son on the field!" he cried to him with the agitated grief of an inconsolable father: "all is lost!"

Frederick was for a moment unable to answer, violent emotion deprived him of the power of speech.--"I now know what I am," he said at length, "there are virtues which only misfortune can teach us, and we Princes discover in adversity alone, what manner of men we are."

"Gracious Sire!" now said Schlemmersdorf, who at that moment rode through the gate, in a tone of mournful reproach. "You were sitting joyously and cheerfully at table, while your army let itself be shot down before the gates in your cause."

"And you have made a fruitless sacrifice of yourselves," said Frederick sorrowfully, and a tear filled his eyes: "I am undone!"

"God forbid," cried Schlemmersdorf; "we are bringing the remnant of the army about seventeen battalions to you; the fugitives at the first blast of the trumpet will return to their standards, Mannsfield's flying division stands ready for battle in rear of the enemy, eight thousand fresh troops in support have arrived from Hungary and have already reached Brandeis.... Only give orders for the gates to be shut, and for the burghers to arm and the city can hold out against a long siege."

"What do _you_ think, Prince?" Frederick turned to Anhalt. He shrugged his shoulders. "Advise me, gentlemen, advise me, what is your opinion?" cried Frederick almost imploringly, "what should be done?"

"First of all," observed Bubna with a side glance at Anhalt, "a brave general must be nominated to conduct the defence of the city...."

"You have requested my advice, gracious Sire!" Anhalt now continued, "well then, the open street is a bad place for a serious consultation: permit me to accompany you to the castle, there we will think the matter over...."

The battle lost had not diminished Anhalt's influence over the feeble Frederick. The Palatine turned his horse, and accompanied by Anhalt, Hohenlohe and Schlemmersdorf, rode to the Hradschin. Bubna looked after them in bitter wrath.

"What do you think of doing, Bitter?" enquired Bubna after a long and painful pause.

"At all events I shall remain to-night in the city," replied Gabriel, "to-morrow we shall hear, what sort of a plan Frederick's council has hatched, and I shall guide myself accordingly.... It is settled that our Mannsfield shall continue the war, even if Frederick concludes a peace. Whatever happens, I intend to share Mannsfield's fate."

"You are no Bohemian, Bitter! you are free.... but I, I, ... I love not Frederick, I esteem him not:--but the diet has elected him: if he is obliged to leave Prague a fugitive, I must go with him, I cannot act otherwise. Only when he has obtained a secure retreat, shall I join Mannsfield--therefore Bitter, farewell!"

Gabriel pressed Bubna's hand, but suddenly the old soldier threw his arms passionately round Gabriel's neck and kissed him repeatedly with impetuosity. "You saved my life at the skirmish of Netolitz," he said, "I have never thanked you for doing it. I always believed that I should some day repay the old debt. But our paths divide--Bitter! we are approaching a period, insecure, and prolific of disorder: ... The immediate future may bring death to us, I do not know whether we shall ever meet again. Bitter! I feel as if I shall never see thee more.... I thank thee.... farewell!"

Bubna tore himself away by a violent effort, his rough powerful voice shook, large tears flowed slowly over his powder-blackened face. Without leaving Gabriel time to reply, he spurred off in the direction of the Hradschin. But once more he halted and making a signal with his hand, cried, "farewell, Bitter, for ever!"

Gabriel could make no answer from emotion, and was obliged almost to cling to his horse's neck to prevent rocking in his seat.--That strange flutter within him of a sad presentiment of death, when Schlemmersdorf called him to the field, had disappeared in the heat of the fight, but was again powerfully excited when he had stood in single combat against the awful Pappenheim. For a moment he had given himself up as lost beyond redemption. But he had conquered, he had returned without a wound, safe and sound to Prague: it seemed to him as though he had risen superior to destiny. A bold violent feeling of self-confidence in his strength attained to its highest pitch, and spite of bitter discontent for the lost battle, he still smiled within himself at the childish terrors to which he had given way. But Bubna's leave-taking, the gloomy presentiment, which the aged, gallant veteran steeled in many a battle had undoubtedly given voice to, and which Gabriel had involuntarily referred to himself, had once again violently shaken him. In swift course, as though to leave his gloomy thoughts behind, he spurred over the bridge into the Altstadt, and first held rein in the Marienplatz before his residence. His devoted armourer was waiting for him impatiently at the gate.

"Thank God, gracious Sir, you live; you are not wounded.... The battle is lost, is it not?"

Gabriel hurried, without heeding the armourer's words up the steps and beckoned him to follow. Gabriel threw himself into an arm chair, the armourer stood straight as a taper before him, expecting his orders.

"Martin!" began the General after a long reflection; "you have always been faithful to me, from my heart I thank you for it--you must do me one more service, perhaps the last. This night will decide the fate of Prague, of the whole country. I do not doubt that Frederick will follow the whispered suggestions of his council, will fly; ... in that case the ensuing morning must not find me in Prague.... I dare not fall alive into the hands of the Imperialists...."

"Only, gracious Sir, fly," interposed Martin, rubbing the back of his hand across his moist eyes; "don't lose a moment!"

"No, Martin! I must stay here to-night, I _must_ Martin!" he repeated impetuously, as if the man had contradicted him; then rapidly paced the chamber, and said softly to himself. "How, if Frederick were cowardly and wicked enough to open at once and instantly the gates of Prague for the entrance of the enemy.--How if I, the outlaw, should fall alive into the hands of the Imperialists, if I, born in ignominy, should die ignominiously by the hand of the executioner, should die without having avenged myself; ... No, no, I stay in Prague at all hazards, I _must_ revenge myself.... and then?... surely I have a trusty sword, I will never fall alive into the hands of my enemy.... Martin!" he said aloud, "in every event let two of the dragoons who accompanied me to Prague, wait for me to-morrow morning early at the Schweinthor well armed and with a saddled horse. If in the course of the night the city is put into a state of defence, it will be announced to the burghers and you will hear of it. If this is not the case, we must conclude that Frederick gives up all idea of resistance, surrenders his crown.--The best plan will be for you to go to the Hradschin and watch carefully whether the Palatine takes flight. No carriage can pass out of the city unperceived. To-morrow at daybreak you come to the gate and make your report to me. If the city is given up, I shall go to Brandeis to meet the Hungarian reinforcements, endeavour to form a junction between them and Mannsfield, and the war begins anew.--If the Imperialists march in, they will seek me; say that I escaped with the Palatine."

"Gracious Sir!" cried Martin, "fly at once, tarry not a moment. I will fly with you, I will never forsake you."

"What is the matter with you?" said Gabriel, moved in spite of the disorder of his spirits by the armourer's proposal. "You are now a domiciled citizen of Prague, no one will trouble himself about you, and when the first storm, which will only touch lofty heads, has blown itself out, you can go on with your business in peace. Consider, old man! you have only one leg, you are no longer young, a soldier's life is no longer suitable for you.... or are you afraid lest they should pay you out for your fidelity to me? No, Martin! there is no fear of that, they do not know of it, and even if they did know!..."

"No, it is not that, gracious Sir," replied Martin; "I only fear on your account. Why will you pass this night in Prague?... fly at once!"

"I _cannot_, Martin! I _cannot_," said Gabriel; "it will be time enough to fly to-morrow.... I adhere to the directions that I have given. Now leave me alone, I have still matters to think over.--We shall see one another to-morrow."

Martin lingered yet another moment. "Gracious Sir!" he said.

"Do you still wish to say anything?... Yes, I recollect, I must reward you for your faithful service, and to-morrow in my hurry I might forget it ..." Gabriel began to unlock a cabinet.

"For God's sake. Sir! How could you misunderstand me so? that is not what I desire, I am rich enough:--but grant me this favour--fly to-day, fly at once...."

Martin's obstinacy was striking. "What reason have you? Have you any information? Do you think that a rising in favour of the Imperialists will break out in the city? speak!

"No, by God Almighty, I have no information, gracious Sir!... but," he added in a low unsteady voice, "I fear, I know not why, that I shall never see you alive again to-morrow."

Gabriel gave an involuntary shudder. The words of the honest armourer accorded so exactly with Bubna's farewell.--

"Martin!" he said, after he had recovered his self-possession, "your love to me makes you take a gloomy view of everything.... I cannot set off today, I _must stay here_--my resolution is immovable!"

Martin bowed himself over the hand, which Gabriel extended to him, and wetted it with his tears.

"My resolve is unshakeable!" repeated Gabriel once more when he was alone.... this was the last word that he had addressed to Blume.... He paced the room with long strides. Physical exhaustion, unusual but easily to be accounted for, increased his intense mental excitement. His stirring life had been always full of manifold vicissitudes, but to-day in the short space of a few hours an infinity of events had been compressed. Once awakened and kept alive by suggestion, from many quarters, he could not quite banish from his soul the thought that he should die _to-day this very day_. He had often been near to death, the enemies' balls had often whistled about him, hostile daggers had threatened him, he might often before have fallen, and unavenged, and without having accomplished his design:--_But he had never been so near it_--on the faintest doubt of the success of his plan he suffered the tortures, which legend attributes to Tantalus: only more woeful.... _If he should die to-day without having revenged himself, if he should die, behind him a desolate, empty, aimless existence, before him an unknown future, then there must be a Providence, then he must have ruined more than one human life, more than one existence_.--He struggled with the whole strength of his powerful intellect against the thought that would keep rising from the depths of his soul. But the thought was intangible, irrefutable. He might assure himself thousands of times, that there was no ground for these terrors, but for the very reason that he found no sensible foundation for his apprehensions, this inexplicable coincidence of his own sensations with that of his friend Bubna, of his devoted Martin, caused him a feeling of uneasy astonishment.--But his strong mind gradually with many a struggle composed itself. He could not in truth annihilate the painful thought, but he overcame it.

"Blume's fate, her husband's life is still in my hands," he said to himself. "The immediate future may cause an alteration in our relative positions.... the grey dawn of to-morrow must not find me in Prague.... I do not know whether I shall ever see Blume again--the favourable moment for revenge must be made use of!"

One hour later Gabriel was about to step out of the back-door of his house. He was again in the dress of a student, but he had this time thrown a broad cloak about him.

"What do you want, Martin?" he enquired in surprise, as he saw the armourer, who caught him hurriedly by the arm.

"Sir," cried he, "do not enter the Jews' quarter, fly, quit the silly passion.... he entreated; what signify Jewish women to you?... do not go into the Jews' town, they are well affected to the Emperor there."

"Martin! you mean well ... but I cannot follow your advice--See," he unfolded his cloak, under which flashed a scabbard and three pistols, "I am armed, there is nothing to be afraid of. Leave me, you know me, you are aware that my resolution is immovable.--Remember, to-morrow early at the Schweinsthor."

Gabriel stepped out and hastened to the Jews' street. Martin gazed after him as long as he was in sight, then closed the postern and murmured with a sigh: "surely I shall never see him again."

* * *

The news of Fredericks complete overthrow had soon spread over the whole city, and the highest excitement prevailed everywhere. The burghers of the Altstadt had sent up to the castle, to ask what they should do, and offered themselves to enlist troops and defend the city if Frederick would remain in Prague. Frederick's answer, which he communicated to the burghers by Anhalt's advice: "that they should endeavour to make terms with the enemy, for himself he would depart at daybreak" was not as yet known. The inhabitants of the Altstadt, well disposed to Frederick, were overwhelmed, the population of the Kleinseite on the other hand, being for the most part devoted to the Emperor, rejoiced at the victory which Duke Maximilian had won. Great excitement too prevailed in the Jews' town. Numerous groups in the open street were whispering the latest intelligence; all were of the Imperial faction. Gabriel hurried through this throng. At the corner of a street he happened to run against a crowd of students. He recognised them, they were in the habit of attending the lecture room of the Assessor Reb Lippmann Heller, the same which Gabriel, in order to keep up at least the outward appearance of a student, had attended.

"How do you do Reb Gabriel;" one of the students turned quickly round, "How do you do? a pity you were not at lecture this morning, it was a lecture! I tell you, you can only hear one like it in Prague--wonderful!"

The student who had addressed Gabriel was a strange figure.--He was the Nestor of the Prague students.--He had numbered fifty years. Devoted to the continual study of the Talmud he had found it best after a mature deliberation of five and twenty years to renounce all ideas of marriage. In early days these may very well have been wrecked upon his outward appearance, which in fact offered little that was attractive. His unusual height did not in the remotest degree harmonise with a remarkable leanness that served as a foil to an enormous humped back. His dress was moreover calculated to intensify the strange impression produced by his appearance. Of a poor family, and too devoted to study to earn a living by teaching, he was perpetually driven to make use of his friends' cast off clothes. This he did without paying the least attention to their physical stature, and so it came to pass, that his threadbare silken doublet scarce covered his hump, that the much-darned slovenly cloth-breeches turned up their ends at the knee, where they should by right have joined on to the somewhat ragged silk stockings and left a notable gap very imperfectly filled up by a linen band; that the little close fitting cap, whose original black tended towards a very significant red, rested but lightly on his head covered with thick masses of hair, and shook about at the slightest movement of the vivacious man. A grey beard, that hung untended down on his breast, was continually combed out by the fingers of his right hand, and when its bearer was engaged in any animated discussion was forced to submit to have its end turned up artistically into his mouth, and to be bitten, and in fact Reb Mordechai Wag's--that was the student's name--teeth had manifestly thinned this ornamental hair appendage. Notwithstanding this very unattractive exterior, Reb Mordechai Wag was everywhere well received. He had a quick intelligence that readily grasped the essence of Talmud truth, and a good heart. On account of his dialectics, he was a terror to all itinerant teachers who wished to lecture in Prague and a patron of all the humble students who came to the high school there. Often, when as was the custom at that time, he was invited by some member of the community to dinner, he sent some one else in his place, who, less fortunate than himself had found no host that day, and while he gave out that he was ill, chewed his small crust of dry bread at home, and laughed at his own cunning. Study of the Talmud was the one highest aim of his life. It seemed to him impossible that a student could take interest in anything besides a lecture, and even to-day, when everything was in the greatest uproar, it was perfectly indifferent to him, whether the Palatine or the Duke Maximilian gained the victory, and his thoughts ran only in their accustomed track.--It was very unpleasant for Gabriel, just in his present temper, to have fallen into the hands of the sympathetic Reb Mordechai, and yet he was unwilling to draw the attention of the students to himself by making off in too great a hurry. He enveloped himself therefore more closely in the cloak that concealed his arms, and said struggling with his impatience: "I am sorry to have missed to-day's lecture, I shall take the earliest opportunity of asking you to impart to me what the...."

"Why put it of? I will tell you at once: what have we got better to do now?"

"I thought," replied Gabriel forcing a laugh, "a moment when every one looks excitedly forward to see what will happen next, when it will be decided whether the Emperor or the Palatine...."

"What does that matter to us students?" interrupted Reb Mordechai, provoked by Gabriel's opposition.... "The Emperor will be a mild ruler.... the Palatine and the Bohemian nobility have also protected us Jews, but how can that be helped, they haven risen against the government, and you know, that is not right.--But let us leave all that to the Holy one, praised be his name--and occupy ourselves with an exposition of his words.... the master then...."

"Reb Mordechai," now interposed a young man with a dark expressive countenance, whom the others called Reb Michoel; "leave that for the present. It is a fine thing when learning is combined with knowledge of the world.... The affairs of this world are also of importance even though you cannot understand it; you come from outside," he continued turning to Gabriel, "have you perchance heard anything more authentic about the battle? It is reported, that the Hungarian cavalry was at first victorious, but that the heavy artillery of the Imperialists had silenced the fire of the small...."

"What does it signify to a student," asked Reb Mordechai vehemently, "whether the cavalry fired on the infantry, or the infantry on the cavalry, whether they first let off the small firelocks and then the great guns, or contrariwise? What rightly constituted student troubles him about such things? A student may become a Rabbi, or a butcher, or peaceful father of a family, but have you ever seen a student that became a soldier?"

A third youth who had as yet taken no share in the conversation drew nearer. "I have only been a short time in Prague," he said, "I have up to this time been studying at Frankfurt on Main, I am not aware whether the name of Gabriel Suess is known to you.... he was first an able student, and then became a soldier."

Gabriel shrunk within himself; he heard himself thus named for the first time since many years, he made no answer, but Michoel shook his head negatively. "Gabriel Suess.... Suess"--repeated Reb Mordechai thoughtfully, "was not he a bastard? I once heard something about it.... but I have no memory for such trifling matters."

"What happened to him?" asked Michoel inquisitively, "tell us, I pray you."

Reb Nochum--that was the name of the Frankfurt student--complied with Reb Michoel's urgent request, and related Gabriel's history, departing indeed here and there somewhat from the truth, but on the whole correctly enough. His story concluded thus, that Gabriel had once since his baptism been seen by early acquaintances on horseback with several Imperial troopers, but might perhaps, as he had disappeared since that time, have met his death in the Juliers and Cleves war.

"Yes, I have heard something of the kind," said Mordechai, when the Frankfurt student had finished; "but it was not known in Prague that he had become a soldier, it was reported that he had drowned himself; who knows however whether it was true.... Besides you know, he might have been declared legitimate, yes truly," added Mordechai hastily, feeling himself once more on firm ground, "The mothers declaration is worth nothing, Gabriel Suess ought not to be looked upon as a bastard, refer to the Jad-ha-Chasaka cap. 15 &c." ...

"That's all very well, Reb Mordechai," replied Michoel, "but you forget, it was a dying mother, a dying mother will not part from her child with a lie.... and moreover she had ever till then, as this story is told, loved her son.... besides, what would be the use to him? Will any one, will any one person doubt, that he is a bastard? If you had a sister or daughter, would you give her to him to wife? think of that, Reb Mordechai: _No power on earth could establish the legality of his birth before our inward convictions!_"

Michoel's glance chanced to rest upon Gabriel's face, he noticed the fiery red, and deadly pallor that coursed in quick succession over Gabriel's features.--"_Not before inward conviction_," echoed Gabriel, feebly.--Reb Mordechai had no answer to make, and a pause ensued. Gabriel might now have got away, but he would not, the conversation was too interesting to him not to hear the end of it.

"The law: that a bastard may not enter into the congregation of the Lord," began Reb Nochum again, "is unreasonable. Why should the innocent be punished for the sins of his parents? Why is he cast forth from the closest, loveliest union? Why may he never lead home a loving woman as wife? Why may he not be happy in the circle of his family? Yet consider, even in this law the spirit of the Lord comes to light, which breathes upon the faithful out of every word of Holy Scripture. Contemplate this bastard, this Gabriel Suess.... he cursed his inanimate mother: ... only a bastard could do that, no man could perpetrate such an iniquity, unless he were born in sin.... The transgression, that called him into life, urges him ever farther forward, and involuntarily he trod the paths of sin.... therefore the Lord in his wisdom may...."

"You are a thinker," Michoel interrupted the speaker, "and I am glad to have met you: such are not often found among students.... _A firm faith in God is not shaken by reasonable speculations, if they are kept properly subordinate_. But you are in error friend! God forbid, that any man should be obliged to follow a path absolutely fixed beforehand, the path of sin.--Where would his free will be? that is not so. You may not give a daughter or sister to a bastard as wife, so the commentaries enjoin us--but only that and nothing further is declared by the Talmud--that is a command, like many others, a command of the Lord's, obscure and inexplicable to man's mind.... but a bastard may be noble, great, a shining light to his people. Are you not acquainted with the article 'a bastard profoundly versed in scripture is superior in dignity to a high priest who is less deserving.' Is it not true," Michoel turned to Mordechai, "that it is so. Gabriel Suess ought not to have despaired, ought not to have acted as he did. The Lord had blessed him with earthly wealth, had endued him with a powerful intellect: he might have been a benefactor of the poor, a staff to the infirm, a teacher of his people, an example of humble submission. In the enjoyment of the highest mental activity, the undisturbed study of God's word, in strivings for a future state, he might have found consolation, and peace even in this world. _His fate was in his own hands.... it was his own fault that he perished_."

Gabriel felt as if a blazing thunderbolt had fallen in the depths of his soul. He pressed his hands spasmodically against his heart and was forced to sit down upon the curb-stone. Mordechai, whose understanding was not transcendent enough to appreciate the force of what had just been said, observed this as little as Reb Nochum, whose attention remained entirely fixed upon Michoel's words. It was only the sharp glance of this latter that noticed Gabriel's emotion, which he was incapable of controlling.--_The state of frightful excitement_, of feverish expectation in which he found himself, _had still more intensified and exaggerated the impression of those words_. He felt at this moment with the whole power of his comprehension that in the most decisive events of his life the torch of his wild hatred had been his only light, that everything had come grinning to meet him distorted by its gloomy dismal rays.... The words which might once have fallen like assuaging balsam upon his bleeding heart now struck him with the whole weight of their convincing truth. The thought, that might once have saved him, now filled him with nameless unutterable woe. The audacious confidence with which he had believed himself irresponsible for all that he had done was broken--Michoel had shown him what he might have been--how different had he become!

A pause had again ensued. Mordechai now observed with horror that he was almost too late for evening-prayer, and hurried with Reb Nochum into the nearest synagogue. Michoel remained standing before Gabriel who seemed nearly to have lost consciousness. At last he asked, recovering himself, in a dull voice: "Who are you and what is your name?"

"I am Michoel Glogau, I was born in Silesia, and have finished here my course of Talmudic study. I have been summoned to Breslau as preacher--and what is your name?"

"I am called Gabriel Mar," he replied to the interrogation in a trembling unsteady voice.

"Gabriel Mar, Mar, Mar," echoed Michoel quite softly and thoughtfully, his eyes fast fixed on Gabriel: "strange!... are you unwell, that you sit there thus languidly on the stones?"

"Yes.... no.... rather--I shall soon be better. Why do you gaze at me so fixedly? only go away, Reb Michoel, do not be disturbed on my account.... I am often wont.... to suffer so. Away, I pray you, away, away...."

Michoel went off, stopping from time to time to look round after Gabriel. He sat for some minutes as if changed to stone, but--whether it was recovered self-possession, or whether the heavy snow which began to fall had roused him--he got up suddenly, wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and looked motionlessly at the spot where Michoel had stood, as if to convince himself, that they were not fantastic dreams which hovered over him, then hurriedly strode to his dwelling. As he arrived at the end of the narrow lane that led out of the Jews-town to the Old-synagogue, he suddenly heard his old name Gabriel Suess called. Taken by surprise he involuntarily turned his head--he saw no one and hastened with redoubled speed to his house by the Old-synagogue.

"It is he!" said Michoel stepping from behind the corner of a wall that had concealed him from Gabriel's sight, "my suspicion was correct, Gabriel Mar--is Gabriel Suess. I must speak with him."

* * *