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him　who　had　been　the　occasion　of　it。　　The　Frenchman　was　silenced；
the　general　verdict　of　the　company　was　too　obviously　on　our　side。
From　this　time　the　conversation　continued　between　Bourgonef　and
myself；　and　he　not　only　succeeded　in　entirely　dissipating　my　absurd
antipathywhich　I　now　saw　to　have　been　founded　on　purely　imaginary
grounds；　for　neither　the　falseness　nor　the　furtiveness　could　now　be
detectedbut　he　succeeded　in　captivating　all　my　sympathy。　　Long
after　dinner　was　over；　and　the　salle　empty；　we　sat　smoking　our
cigars；　and　discussing　politics；　literature；　and　art　in　that
suggestive　desultory　manner　which　often　gives　a　charm　to　casual
acquaintances。

It　was　a　stirring　epoch；　that　of　February；　1848。　　The　Revolution；
at　first　so　hopeful；　and　soon　to　manifest　itself　in　failure　so
disastrous；　was　hurrying　to　an　outburst。　　France　had　been　for　many
months　agitated　by　cries　of　electoral　reform；　and　by　indignation　at
the　corruption　and　scandals　in　high　places。　　The　Praslin　murder；
and　the　dishonor　of　M。　Teste；　terminated　by　suicide；　had　been
interpreted　as　signs　of　the　coming　destruction。　　The　political
banquets　given　in　various　important　cities　had　been　occasions　for
inflaming　the　public　mind；　and　to　the　far…seeing；　these　banquets
were　interpreted　as　the　sounds　of　the　tocsin。　　Louis　Philippe　had
become　odious　to　France；　and　contemptible　to　Europe。　　Guizot　and
Duchatel；　the　ministers　of　that　day；　although　backed　by　a
parliamentary　majority　on　which　they　blindly　relied；　were
unpopular；　and　were　regarded　as　infatuated　even　by　their　admirers
in　Europe。　　The　Spanish　marriages　had　all　but　led　to　a　war　with
England。　　The　Opposition；　headed　by　Thiers　and　Odillon　Barrot；　was
strengthened　by　united　action　with　the　republican　party；　headed　by
Ledru　Rollin；　Marrast；　Flocon；　and　Louis　Blanc。

Bourgonef　was　an　ardent　republican。　　So　was　I；　but　my　color　was　of
a　different　shade　from　his。　　He　belonged　to　the　Reds。　　My　own
dominant　tendencies　being　artistic　and　literary；　my　dream　was　of　a
republic　in　which　intelligence　would　be　the　archon　or　ruler；　and；
of　course；　in　such　a　republic；　art　and　literature；　as　the　highest
manifestation　of　mind；　would　have　the　supreme　direction。　　Do　you
smile；　reader？　　I　smile　now；　but　it　was　serious　earnest　with　me
then。　　It　is　unnecessary　to　say　more　on　this　point。　　I　have　said　so
much　to　render　intelligible　the　stray　link　of　communion　which
riveted　the　charm　of　my　new　acquaintance's　conversation；　there　was
both　agreement　enough　and　difference　enough　in　our　views　to　render
our　society　mutually　fascinating。

On　retiring　to　my　room　that　afternoon　I　could　not　help　laughing　at
my　absurd　antipathy　against　Bourgonef。　　All　his　remarks　had
disclosed　a　generous；　ardent；　and　refined　nature。　　While　my
antipathy　had　specially　fastened　upon　a　certain　falseness　in　his
smilea　falseness　the　more　poignantly　hideous　if　it　were
falseness；　because　hidden　amidst　the　wreaths　of　amiabilitymy
delight　in　his　conversation　had　specially　justified　itself　by　the
truthfulness　of　his　mode　of　looking　at　things。　　He　seemed　to　be
sincerity　itself。　　There　was；　indeed；　a　certain　central　reserve；
but　that　might　only　he　an　integrity　of　pride；　or　it　might　be
connected　with　painful　circumstances　in　his　history；　of　which　the
melancholy　in　his　face　was　the　outward　sign。

That　very　evening　my　constructive　imagination　was　furnished　with　a
detail　on　which　it　was　soon　to　be　actively　set　to　work。　　I　had　been
rambling　about　the　old　fortifications；　and　was　returning　at
nightfall　through　the　old　archway　near　Albert　Durer's　house；　when　a
man　passed　by　me。　　We　looked　at　each　other　in　that　automatic　way　in
which　men　look　when　they　meet　in　narrow　places；　and　I　felt；　so　to
speak；　a　start　of　recognition　in　the　eyes　of　the　man　who　passed。
Nothing　else；　in　features　or　gestures；　betrayed　recognition　or
surprise。　　But　although　there　was　only　that；　it　flashed　from　his
eyes　to　mine　like　an　electric　shock。　　He　passed。　　I　looked　back。
He　continued　his　way　without　turning。　　The　face　was　certainly　known
to　me；　but　it　floated　in　a　mist　of　confused　memories。

I　walked　on　slowly；　pestering　my　memory　with　fruitless　calls　upon
it；　hopelessly　trying　to　recover　the　place　where　I　could　have　seen
the　stranger　before。　　In　vain　memory　traveled　over　Europe　in
concert…rooms；　theaters；　shops；　and　railway　carriages。　　I　could　not
recall　the　occasion　on　which　those　eyes　had　previously　met　mine。
That　they　had　met　them　I　had　no　doubt。　　I　went　to　bed　with　the
riddle　undiscovered。


II

THE　ECHOES　OF　MURDER


Next　morning　Nuremberg　was　agitated　with　a　horror　such　as　can
seldom　have　disturbed　its　quiet；　a　young　and　lovely　girl　had　been
murdered。　　Her　corpse　was　discovered　at　daybreak　under　the　archway
leading　to　the　old　fortifications。　　She　had　been　stabbed　to　the
heart。　　No　other　signs　of　violence　were　visible；　no　robbery　had
been　attempted。

In　great　cities；　necessarily　great　centers　of　crime；　we　daily　hear
of　murders；　their　frequency　and　remoteness　leave　us　undisturbed。
Our　sympathies　can　only　be　deeply　moved　either　by　some　scenic
peculiarities　investing　the　crime　with　unusual　romance　or　unusual
atrocity；　or　else　by　the　more　immediate　appeal　of　direct　neighborly
interest。　　The　murder　which　is　read　of　in　the　Times　as　having
occurred　in　Westminster；　has　seldom　any　special　horror　to　the
inhabitants　of　Islington　or　Oxford　Street；　but　to　the　inhabitants
of　Westminster；　and　especially　to　the　inhabitants　of　the　particular
street　in　which　it　was　perpetrated；　the　crime　assumes　heart…shaking
proportions。　　Every　detail　is　asked　for；　and　every　surmise　listened
to；　with　feverish　eagerness　is　repeated　and　diffused　through　the
crowd　with　growing　interest。　　The　family　of　the　victim；　the
antecedents　of　the　assassin；　if　he　is　known；　or　the　conjectures
pointing　to　the　unknown　assassin；are　eagerly　discussed。　　All　the
trivial　details　of　household　care　or　domestic　fortunes；　all　the
items　of　personal　gossip；　become　invested　with　a　solemn　and
affecting　interest。　　Pity　for　the　victim　and　survivors　mingle　and
alternate　with　fierce　cries　for　vengeance　on　the　guilty。　　The　whole
street　becomes　one　family；　commingled　by　an　energetic　sympathy；
united　by　one　common　feeling　of　compassion　and　wrath。

In　villages；　and　in　cities　so　small　as　Nuremberg；　the　same
community　of　feeling　is　manifested。　　The　town　became　as　one　street。
The　horror　spread　like　a　conflagration；　the　sympathy　surged　and
swelled　like　a　tide。　　Everyone　felt　a　personal　interest　in　the
event；　as　if　the　murder　had　been　committed　at　his　own　door。　　Never
shall　I　forget　that　wail　of　passionate　pity；　and　that　cry　for　the
vengeance　of　justice；　which　rose　from　all　sides　of　the　startled
city。　　Never　shall　I　forget　the　hurry；　the　agitation；　the　feverish
restlessness；　the　universal　communicativeness；　the　volunteered
services；　the　eager　suggestion；　surging　round　the　house　of　the
unhappy　parents。　　Herr　Lehfeldt；　the　father　of　the　unhappy　girl；
was　a　respected　burgher　known　to　almost　every　one。　　His　mercer's
shop　was　the　leading　one　of　the　city。　　A　worthy；　pious　man；
somewhat　strict；　but　of　irreproachable　character；　his　virtues；　no
less　than　those　of　his　wife；　and　of　his　only　daughter；　Lieschen
now；　alas；　for　ever　snatched　from　their　yearning　eyeswere
canvassed　everywhere；　and　served　to　intensify　the　general　grief。
That　such　a　calamity　should　have　fallen　on　a　household　so
estimable；　seemed　to　add　fuel　to　the　people's　wrath。　　Poor
Lieschen！　her　pretty；　playful　waysher　opening　prospects；　as　the
only　daughter　of　parents　so　well　to　do　and　so　kindher　youth　and
abounding　lifethese　were　detailed　with　impassioned　fervor　by
friends；　and　repeated　by　strangers　who　caught　the　tone　of　friends；
as　if　they；　too；　had　known　and　loved　her。　　But　amidst　the　surging
uproar　of　this　sea　of　many　voices　no　one　clear　voice　of　direction
could　be　heard；　no　clue　given　to　the　clamorous　bloodhounds　to　run
down　the　assassin。

Cries　had　been　heard　in　the　streets　that　night　at　various　parts　of
the　town；　which；　although　then　interpreted　as　the　quarrels　of
drunken　brawlers；　and　the　conflicts　of　cats；　were　now　confidently
asserted　to　have　proceeded　from　the　unhappy　girl　in　her　death…
struggle。　　But　none　of　these　cries　had　been　heard　in　the　immediate
neighborhood　of　the　archway。　　All　the　inhabitants　of　that　part　of
the　town　agreed　that　in　their　waking　hours　the　streets　had　been
perfectly　still。　　Nor　were　there　any　traces　visible　of　a　struggle
having　taken　place。　　Lieschen　might　have　been　murdered　elsewhere；
and　her　corpse　quietly　deposited　where　it　was　found；　as　far　as　any
evidence　went。

Wild　and　vague　were　the　conjectures。　　All　were　baffled　in　the
attempt　to　give　them　a　definite　direction。　　The　crime　was
apparently　prompted　by　revengecertainly　not　by　lust；　or　desire　of
money。　　But　she　was　not　known　to　stand　in　any　one's　way。　　In　this
utter　blank　as　to　the　assignable　motive；　I；　perhaps　alone　among　the
furious　crowd；　had　a　distinct　suspicion　of　the　assassin。　　No　sooner
had　the　news　reached　me；　than　with　the　specification　of　the　theater
of　the　crime　there　at　once　flashed　upon　me　the　intellectual　vision
of　the　criminal：　the　stranger　with　the　dark　beard　and　startled　eyes
s