menu_book Chapter 2

Section 2 of Celebrated Crimes, Volume 4, Part 1. Karl-Ludwig Zandt by Alexandre Dumas. Translated by George Burnham Ives. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The year 1816 was spent by Zandt in these pious attempts upon his young comrades,

in this ceaseless self-examination and in the perpetual battle which he waged with the desire for death that pursued him. Every day he had deeper doubts of himself, and on the 1st of January, 1817, he wrote this prayer in his diary. Grant to me, O Lord, to me whom thou hast endowed in sending me on earth with free will,

the grace that in this year which we are now beginning, I may never relax this constant attention, and not shamefully give up the examination of my conscience which I have hitherto made. Give me strength to increase the attention which I turn upon my own life, and to diminish that which I turn upon the life of others. Strengthen my will that it may become powerful to command the desires of the body and the waverings of the soul. Give me a pious

conscience entirely devoted to thy celestial kingdom, that I may always belong to thee, or after failing may be able to return to thee. Sand was right in praying to God for the year 1817, and his fears were a presentiment. The skies of Germany, lighted by Leipzig and Waterloo, were once more darkened to the colossal and universal despotism of Napoleon succeeded the individual oppression of those little princes who made up the Germanic diet,

and all that the nations had gained by overthrowing the giant was to be governed by dwarves. This was the time when secret societies were organized throughout Germany. Let us say a few words about them, for the history that we are writing is not only that of individuals, but also that of nations, and every time that occasion presents itself we will give our little picture a wide horizon. The secret societies of Germany, of which, without knowing them, we have all heard,

seem, when we follow them up, like rivers to originate in some sort of affiliation to those famous clubs of the Illumines and the Freemasons, which made so much stir in France at the close of the 18th century. At the time of the Revolution of 89, these different philosophical, political, and religious sects enthusiastically accepted the republican doctrines,

and the successes of our first generals have often been attributed to the secret efforts of the members. When Bonaparte, who was acquainted with these groups, and was even said to have belonged to them, exchanged his general's uniform for an emperor's cloak,

all of them, considering him as a renegade and traitor, not only rose against him at home, but tried to raise enemies against him abroad. As they addressed themselves to noble and generous passions, they found a response,

and princes to whom their results might be profitable seemed for a moment to encourage them. Among others, Prince Louis of Prussia was grandmaster of one of these societies. The attempted murder by Stops,

to which we have already referred, was one of the thunderclaps of the storm, but its morrow brought the peace of Vienna, and the degradation of Austria was the death-blow of the old Germanic organization.

These societies, which had received a mortal wound in 1806 and were now controlled by the French police, instead of continuing to meet in public, were forced to seek new members in the dark. In 1811, several agents of these societies were arrested in Berlin, but the Prussian authorities, following secret orders of Queen Louisa, actually protected them so that they were easily able to deceive the French police about their intentions.

About February 1815, the disasters of the French army revived the courage of these societies, for it was seen that God was helping their cause. The students, in particular, joined enthusiastically in the new attempts that were now begun. Many colleges enrolled themselves almost entire, and chose their principals and professors as captains.

The poet, Koerner, killed in the 18th of October at Leipzig, was the hero of this campaign. The triumph of this national movement, which twice carried the Prussian army, largely composed of volunteers, to Paris, was followed when the treaties of 1850 and the new Germanic constitution were made known

by a terrible reaction in Germany. All these young men, who exiled by their princes, had risen in the name of liberty, soon perceived that they had been used as tools to establish European despotism. They wished to claim the promises that had been made, but the policy of Tarrirand and Metternich weighed on them,

and repressing them at the first words they uttered, compelled them to shelter their discontent and their hopes in the universities, which, enjoying a kind of constitution of their own, more easily escaped the investigations made by the spies of the Holy Alliance. But repressed as they were, these societies continued nevertheless to exist,

and kept up communications by means of traveling students who, bearing verbal messages, traversed Germany under the pretense of botanizing and passing from mountain to mountain, so to broadcast those luminous and hopeful words of which peoples are always greedy and kings always fear.

We have seen that Zand, carried away by the general movement, had gone through the campaign of 1815 as a volunteer, although he was then only nineteen years old. On his return, he, like others, had found his golden hopes deceived, and it is from this period that we find his journal assuming the tone of mysticism and sadness which our readers must have remarked in it. He soon entered one of these associations, the Teutonia,

and from that moment, regarding the great cause which he had taken up as a religious one, he attempted to make the conspirators worthy of their enterprise, and thus arose his attempts to inculcate moral doctrines, in which he succeeded with some, but failed with the majority. Zand had succeeded, however, in forming around him a certain circle of Puritans, composed of about sixty to eighty students, all belonging to the group of the Böschenschaft,

which continued its political and religious course despite all the jeers of the opposing group, the Landmannschaft. One of his friends called Dittmar, and he were pretty much the chiefs, and although no election had given them their authority, they exercised so much influence upon what was decided, that in any particular case their fellow adepts were sure spontaneously to obey any impulse that they might choose to impart. The meetings of the Berschen took place

upon a little hill crowned by a ruined castle, which was situated at some distance from Erlangen, and which Sand and Dittmar had called Rötli in memory of the spot where Walter I, Melchdal, and Stalfacher had made their vow to deliver their country. There, under the pretense of students' games, while they built up a new house with the ruined fragments, they passed alternately from symbol to action and from action to symbol.

Meanwhile, the association was making such advances throughout Germany that not only the kings and princes of the German Confederation, but also the great European powers began to be uneasy. France set agents to bring home reports, Russia paid agents on the spot, and the persecutions that touched a professor and exasperated a whole university often arose from a note sent by the

cabinet of the Tulleries or of St. Petersburg. It was amid the events that began thus that Zand, after commending himself to the protection of God, began the year 1817 in the sad mood in which we have just seen him, and in which he was kept rather by a disgust for things as they were than by a disgust for life. On the 8th of May, prayed upon by this melancholy which he cannot conquer, and which comes from the disappointment of all his political helps, he writes in his diary,

I shall find it impassable to set seriously to work, and this idle temper, this humour of hypochondria which casts its black veil over everything in life, continues and grows in spite of the moral activity which I imposed on myself yesterday. In the holidays, fearing to burden his parents with any additional expense, he will not go home, and prefers to make a walking tour with his friends. No doubt this tour, in addition to its recreative side, had a political

aim. Be that as it may, Sand's diary during the period of his journey shows nothing but the names of the towns through which he passed. That we may have a notion of Sand's dutifulness to his parents, it should be said that he did not set out until he had obtained his mother's permission. On their return, Sand, Dittmar, and their friends, the Bershin, found their Rutli sacked by their enemies of the landmandschaft. The house that they had built was demolished and its fragments

dispersed. Zand took this event for an omen, and was greatly depressed by it. It seems to me, oh my God, he says in his journal, that everything swims and turns around me. My soul grows darker and darker. My moral strength grows less instead of greater. I work and cannot achieve. Walk towards my aim and do not reach it. Exhaust myself and do nothing great. The days of life flee one after another, cares and uneasiness increase. I see no haven

anywhere for our sacred German cause. The end will be that we shall fall, for I myself waver. O Lord and Father, protect me, save me, and lead me to that land from which we are forever driven back by the indifference of wavering spirits. About this time a terrible event struck Zahn to the heart. His friend Dittmar was drowned. This is what he wrote in his diary on the very morning of the occurrence. Oh, almighty God, what is going to become of me? For the last fortnight

I have been drawn into disorder, and have not been able to compel myself to look fixedly either backward or forward in my life, so that from the fourth of June up to the present hour my journal has remained empty. Yet every day I might have had occasion to praise thee, O my God, but my soul is in anguish. Lord, do not turn from me. The more are the obstacles, the more the need is there of strength. In the evening he added these few words to the lines that he had written in the morning.

Desolation, despair, and death over my friend, over my very deeply loved Dittmar. This letter which he wrote to his family contains the account of the tragic event. You know that when my best friends A, C, and Z were gone, I became particularly intimate with my well-beloved Dittmar of Ansbach. Dittmar, that is to say, a true and worthy German, an evangelical Christian, something more in short than a man. An angelic soul always turned toward

the good, serene, pious, and ready for action. He had come to live in a room next to mine in Professor Grönle's house. We loved each other, upheld each other in our efforts, and, well or ill, bear our good or evil fortune in common. On this last spring evening, after having worked in his room and having strengthened ourselves anew to resist all the torments of life and to advance toward the aim that we desired to attain, we went about seven in the evening to the baths of Radvitz.

A very black storm was rising in the sky, but only as yet appeared on the horizon. E, who was with us, proposed to go home, but Dittmar persisted, saying that the canal was but a few steps away. God permitted that it should not be I who replied with these fatal words, so he went on. The sunset was splendid.

I still see it. Its violet clouds all fringed with gold, for I remember the smallest detail of that evening. Dittmar went down first. He was the only one of us who knew how to swim,

so he walked before us to show us the depth. The water was about up to our chests, and he who preceded us was up to his shoulders, when he warned us not to go farther, because he was ceasing to feel the bottom.

He immediately gave up his footing and began to swim, but scarcely had he made ten strokes, when, having reached the place where the river separates in the two branches, he uttered a cry, and as he was trying to get a foothold, disappeared. We ran at once to the bank, hoping to be able to help him more easily, but we had neither poles nor ropes within reach,

and as I have told you, neither of us could swim. Then we called for help with all our might. At that moment Dittmar reappeared, and by an unheard of effort seized the end of a willow branch that was hanging over the water. But the branch was not strong enough to resist, and our friend sank again, as though he had been struck by apoplexy. Can you imagine the state in which we were, we his friends, bending over the river, our fixed and haggard eyes trying to pierce

its depth? My God, my God, how was it we did not go mad? A great crowd, however, had run at our cries. For two hours they sought for him with boats and drag-hooks, and at last they succeeded in drawing his body from the gulf. Yesterday we bore it solemnly to the field of rest. Thus, with the end of this spring has begun the serious summer of my life. I greeted it in a grave and melancholy mood, and you behold me now, if not consoled,

at least strengthened by religion, which, thanks to the merits of Christ, gives me the assurance of my meeting with my friend in heaven, from the heights of which he will inspire me with strength to support the trials of this life. And now I do not desire anything more except to know you free from all anxiety in regard to me. Instead of serving to unite the two groups of students in a common grief,

This accident, on the contrary, did but intensify their hatred of each other. Among the first persons who ran up at the cries of Zand and his companion was a member of the Landmannschaft, who could swim, but instead of going to Dittmar's assistance he exclaimed, It seems that we shall get rid of one of these dogs of Bershon, thank God. Notwithstanding this manifestation of hatred, which indeed might be that of an individual and

not of the whole body, the Bershon invited their enemies to be present at Dittmar's funeral. A brutal refusal and a threat to disturb the ceremony by insults to the corpse formed their sole reply. The Bershin then warned the authorities who took suitable measures, and all Dittmar's friends followed his coffin sword in hand. Beholding this calm but resolute demonstration, the Landemanschaft did not dare to carry out their threat, and contended themselves

with insulting the procession by laughs and songs. Zand wrote in his journal, Dittmar is a great loss to all of us, and particularly to me. He gave me the overflow of his strength in life. He stopped, as it were, with an embankment, the part of my character that is irresolute and undecided. From him it is that I have learned not to dread the approaching storm, and to know how to fight and die. Some days after the funeral Zand had a quarrel about Dittmar with

one of his former friends, who had passed over from the Burschen to the Landemandschaft, and who had made himself conspicuous at the time of the funeral by his indecent hilarity. It was decided that they should fight the next day, and on the same day Zand wrote in his journal, Tomorrow I am to fight with P. G., yet thou knowest, O my God, what great friends we formerly were, except for a certain mistrust with which his coldness always inspired me. But on this

occasion his odious conduct has caused me to descend from the tenderest pity to the profoundest hatred. My God, do not withdraw thy hand either from him or from me, since we are both fighting like men. Judge only by our two causes, and give the victory to that which is the more just, If thou shouldst call me before thy supreme tribunal, I know very well that I should appear burdened with an eternal malediction, and indeed it is not upon myself that I reckon,

but upon the merits of our Saviour, Jesus Christ. Come what may, be praised and blessed, O my God. My dear parents, brothers, and friends, I commend to you the protection of God. Zand waited in vain for two hours next day. His adversary did not come to the meeting place. The loss of Dittmar, however, by no means produced the result upon Zand that might have been expected, and that he himself seems to indicate in the regrets he expressed for him. Deprived of

that strong soul upon which he rested, Zand understood that it was his task, by redoubled energy, to make the death of Dittmar less fatal to his party. And indeed he continued singly the work of drawing in recruits which they had been carrying on together, and the patriotic conspiracy was not for a moment impeded. The holidays came, and Zand left Erlangen to return no more.

From von Seedl he was to proceed to Jena, in order to complete his theological studies there. After some days spent with his family, and indicated in his journal as happy, Zand went to his new place of abode,

where he arrived some time before the festival of the Wattburg. This festival, established to celebrate the anniversary of the Battle of Leipzig, was regarded as a solemnity throughout Germany, and although the princes well knew that it was a centre for the annual renewal of affiliation to the various societies, they dared not forbid it.

Indeed, the manifesto of the Teutonic Association was exhibited at this festival and signed by more than two thousand deputies from different universities in Germany. This was a day of joy, Versand, for he found in the midst of new friends a great number of old ones. The government, however, which had not dared to attack the association by force, resolved to undermine it by opinion.

Monsieur de Stauden published a terrible document attacking the societies and founded, it was said, upon information furnished by Kotzebue. This publication made a great stir, not only at Jena, but throughout all Germany. Here is the trace of this event that we find in Zahn's journal. 24th November Today, after working with much ease and assiduity, I went out about four with E.

As we crossed the marketplace, we heard Kotzebue's new and venomous insult read, By what a fury that man is possessed against the Bershon and against all who love Germany. Thus, for the first time, and in these terms, Zand's journal presents the name of the man who, eighteen months later, he was to slay. On the twenty-ninth in the evening, Zand writes again,

Tomorrow I shall set out courageously and joyfully from this place for a pilgrimage to von Seidel. There I shall find my large-hearted mother and my tender sister, Julia. There I shall cool my head and warm my heart. Probably I shall be present at my good Fritz's marriage with Luisa, and at the baptism of my very dear Der Schmiff's firstborn. God, O my father, as thou hast been with me during my sad

course, be with me still on my happy road. This journey did in fact greater cheersand. Since Dittmar's death his attacks of hypochondria had disappeared. While Dittmar lived he might die. Dittmar being dead it was his part to live. On the eleventh of December he left von Seedl to returned to Jaina, and on the thirty-first of the same month he wrote this prayer in his journal. Oh, merciful Saviour, I began this year with prayer, and in these last days I have been

subject to distraction and ill-disposed. When I look backward, I find, alas, that I have not become better, but I have entered more profoundly into life, and should occasion present, I now feel strength to act. It is because thou hast always been with me, Lord, even when I was not with thee. If our readers have followed with some attention the different extracts from the journal that we have placed before them, they must have seen Zahn's resolution gradually growing stronger and his brain becoming excited.

From the beginning of the year 1818, one feels his view, which long was timid and wandering, taking in a wider horizon and fixing itself on a nobler aim. He is no longer ambitious of the pastor's simple life, or of the narrow influence which he might gain in a little community, and which in his juvenile modesty had seemed the height of good fortune and happiness.

It is now his native land, his German people, nay, all humanity, which he embraces in his gigantic plans of political regeneration. Thus, on the fly-leaf of his journal for the year 1818, he writes, Lord, let me strengthen myself in the idea that I have conceived of the deliverance of humanity by the holy sacrifice of thy Son.

Grant that I may be a Christ of Germany, and that, like and through Jesus, I may be strong and patient in suffering. But the anti-Republican pamphlets of Kotzebue increased in number and gained a fatal influence upon the minds of rulers. Nearly all the persons who were attacked in these pamphlets were known and esteemed at Jena, and it might be easily comprehended what effects were produced by such

insults upon these young heads and noble hearts, which carried conviction to the point of blindness and enthusiasm to that of fanaticism. Thus, here is what Zand wrote in his diary on the 5th of May. Lord, what causes this melancholy anguish which has again taken possession of me? But a firm and constant will surmounts everything, and the idea of the country gives joy and courage to the saddest and the weakest. When I think of that, I am always amazed that there is none among

us found courageous enough to drive a knife into the breast of Kotzebue, or of any other traitor. Still dominated by the same thought, he continues thus on the 18th of May. A man is nothing in comparison with a nation. He is a unity compared with millions, a minute compared with a century. A man who nothing proceeds and nothing follows, is born, lives, and dies in a longer or shorter time,

which, relatively to eternity, hardly equals the duration of a lightning flash. A nation, on the contrary, is immortal. From time to time, however, amid these thoughts that bear the impress of that political fatality which was driving him towards the deed of bloodshed, the kindly and joyous youth reappears. On the 24th of June he writes to his mother,

I have received your long and beautiful letter, accompanied by the very complete and well-chosen outfit which you send me. The sight of this fine linen gave me back one of the joys of my childhood. These are fresh benefits. My prayers never remain unfulfilled, and I have continual calls to thank you and God. I receive all at once shirts, two pairs of fine sheets, a present of your work and of Julia's and Carolina's work, dainties and sweetmeats, so that I am still

jumping with joy, and I turned three times on my heels when I opened the little parcel, received the thanks of my heart, and share as giver in the joy of him who has received. Today, however, is a very serious day, the last day of spring and the anniversary of that on which I lost my noble and good Edithmar. I am a prey to a thousand different and confused feelings, but I have only two passions left in me which remain upright,

and like two pillars of brass support this whole chaos, the thought of God and the love of my country. During all this time, Zahn's life remains apparently calm and equal. The inward storm is calmed, he rejoices in his application to work and his cheerful temper.

However, from time to time, he makes great complaints to himself of his propensity to love dainty food, which he does not always find it possible to conquer. Then, in his self-contempt, he calls himself Fig Stomach or Cake Stomach.

But amid all this, the religious and political exaltation and visits all the battlefields near to the road that he follows. On the 18th of October, he is back at Jena, where he resumes his studies with more application than ever. It is among such university studies that the year 1818 closes for him,

and we should hardly suspect the terrible resolution which he has taken, were it not that we find in his journal this last note, dated the 31st of December. I finished the last day of this year, 1818, then in a serious and solemn mood, and I have decided that the Christmas feast, which has just gone by, will be the last Christmas feast that I shall

celebrate. If anything is to come of our efforts, if the cause of humanity is to assume the upper hand in our country, if in this faithless epic any noble feelings can spring up afresh and make way, it can only happen if the wretch, the traitor, the seducer of youth, the infamous Kotzebue Falls. I am fully convinced of this, and until I have accomplished the work upon which I have resolved, I shall have no rest. Lord, thou who knowest that I have devoted my life to this great action,

I only need, now that it is fixed in my mind, to beg of the true firmness and courage of soul. Here Zahn's diary ends. He had begun it to strengthen himself. He had reached his aim. He needed nothing more. From this moment he was occupied by nothing but this single idea, and he continued slowly to mature the plan in his head, in order to familiarize himself with its execution. But all the impressions arising from this thought remained in his own mind,

and none was manifested on the surface. To everyone else he was the same, but for some little time past a complete and unaltered serenity, accompanied by a visible and cheerful return of inclination towards life, had been noticed in him. He had made no change in the hours or the duration of his studies, but he had begun to attend the anatomical classes very assiduously. One day he was seen to give even more than his customary attention to a lesson in which the professor was demonstrating the various function of the heart.

He examined with the greatest care the place occupied by it in the chest, asking to have some of the demonstrations repeated two or three times. And when he went out, questioning some of the young men who were following the medical courses, about the susceptibility of the organ which cannot receive ever so slight a blow without death ensuing from that blow. All this with so perfect an indifference and calmness that no one about him conceived any suspicion. Another day, A.S., one of his friends, came into his room.

Zand, who had heard him coming up, was standing by the table with a paper knife in his hand, waiting for him. Directly the visitor came in, Zand flung himself upon him, struck him lightly on the forehead, and then, as he put up his hands to ward off the blow, struck him rather more violently in the chest. Then, satisfied with this experiment, said, You see, when you want to kill a man, that is the way to do it.

You threaten the face. He puts up his hands. and while he does so, you thrust the dagger into his heart. The two young men laughed heartily over this murderous demonstration, and A.S. related it that evening at the wine shop as one of the peculiarities of character that were common in his friend.

After the event, the pantomime explained itself. The month of March arrived, Zand became day by day calmer, more affectionate and kinder. It might be thought that in the moment of leaving his friends forever, he wished to leave them in ineffaceable remembrance of him.

At last he announced that on account of several family affairs he was about to undertake a little journey, and set about all his preparations with his usual care, but with a serenity never previously seen in him. Up to that time he had continued to work as usual,

not relaxing for an instant, for there was a possibility that Kotzebue might die or be killed by somebody else before the term that Sand had fixed to himself, and in that case he did not wish to have lost time.

On the 7th of March he invited all his friends to spend the evening with him, and announced his departure for the next day but one, the ninth. All of them then proposed to him to escort him for some leagues, but Zand refused.

He feared lest this demonstration, innocent though it were, might compromise them later on. He set forth alone, therefore, after having hired his lodgings for another half year, in order to obviate any suspicion, and went by way of Erfurt and Eisenach,

in order to visit the Wattburg. From that place he went to Frankfurt, where he slept on the 17th, and on the morrow he continued his journey by way of Darmstadt. At last, on the 23rd, at nine in the morning, he arrived at the top of the little hill,

where we found him at the beginning of this narrative. Throughout the journey, he had been the amiable and happy young man whom no one could see without liking. Having reached Mannheim, he took a room at the Weinberg and wrote his name as Henry in the visitors' list.

He immediately inquired where Coltbue lived. The councillor dwelt near the church of the Jesuits, his house was at the corner of a street, and though Zand's informants could not tell him exactly the letter, they assured him it was not possible to mistake the house.

At Mannheim, houses are marked by letters, not by numbers. Zand went at once to Kotzebue's house. It was about ten o'clock. He was told that the councillor had went on a walk for an hour or two every morning in the park of Mannheim.

Zand inquired about the path in which he generally walked and about the clothes he wore, for never having seen him he could only recognize him by the description. Coltbue chanced to take another path. Zand walked about the park for an hour,

but seeing no one who corresponded to the description given him, went back to the house. Coltbue had come in, but was at breakfast and could not see him. Zand went back to the Weinberg and sat down to the midday Table d'Hote, where he dined with an appearance of such calmness and even of such happiness

that his conversation, which was now lively, now simple, and now dignified, was remarked by everybody. At five in the afternoon, he returned a third time to the house of Kotzebue, who was giving a great dinner that day, but orders had been given to admit Zand. He was shown into a little room, opening out of the ante-room, and a moment after, Kotzebue came in.

Zand then performed the drama which he had rehearsed upon his friend A.S. Kotzebue, finding his face threatened, put his hands up to it and left his breast exposed. Zand at once stabbed him to the heart. Kotzebue gave one cry, staggered, and fell back into an armchair. He was dead.

At the cry, little girl of six years old ran in, one of those charming German children with the faces of cherubs, blue-eyed with long flowing hair. She flung herself upon the body of Kotzebue, calling her father with piercing cries.

Zand, standing at the door, could not endure this sight, and without going farther he thrust the dagger, still covered with Kotzebue's blood, up to the hilt into his own breast. Then, seeing to his surprise that notwithstanding the terrible wound he had just given himself, he did not feel the approach of death.

And not wishing to fall alive into the hands of the servants who were running in, he rushed to the staircase. The persons who were invited were just coming in. They, seeing a young man, pale and bleeding, with a knife in his breast, uttered loud cries and stood aside instead of stopping him.

Zand therefore passed down the staircase and reached the street below. Ten paces off, a patrol was passing, on the way to relieve the sentinels at the castle. Zand thought these men had been summoned by the cries that followed him. He threw himself on his knees in the middle of the street and said,

Father, receive my soul. Then drawing the knife from the wound, he gave himself a second blow below the former and fell insensible. Zond was carried to the hospital and guarded with the utmost strictness. The wounds were serious, but thanks to the skill of the physicians

who were called in were not mortal. One of them even healed eventually, but as to the second the blade having gone between the costal plura and the pulmonary plura, and a fusion of blood occurred between the two layers,

so that instead of closing the wound, it was kept carefully open in order that the blood extravasated during the night might be drawn off every morning by means of a pump, as is done in the operation for epiemia. Notwithstanding these cares, Zand was for three months between life and death.

End of Section 2 Recording by John Van Stan, Savannah, Georgia