The Merchant of Berlin Part 10

It consisted of more than six thousand men, moving down the "Linden"

in deep silence, unbroken even by a word of command. To see this dark and silent column pa.s.sing along the gloomy and deserted street, was calculated to produce a feeling of awe in the spectator. Any one inclined to be superst.i.tious might have imagined this warlike force, marching through the streets at the hour of midnight, noiseless and silent as the grave, to be, not living soldiers, but the large and daily increasing cohort of spirits of those fallen in battle, taking its way through the dying town, as birds of prey fly with prophetic wing in circles round the fields of death.

And now the head of the column reaches the Brandenburg Gate. The sentinel stands to arms and challenges. The leader steps up to the officer of the guard and whispers a few words in his ear. This officer bows deeply and respectfully, and gives his sentinel a short order in an under-tone. He then steps back to his command and presents arms.

The leaves of the gate then turned creaking on their hinges, and in solemn silence the column marched out. This long, dark procession, lasted nearly an hour; the gate then closed, and the same quiet resumed its sway in the streets.

Berlin was dreaming or sleeping, praying or weeping, but knew not that in this hour fresh misfortune had fallen upon it; knew not that the Prince of Wurtemberg had just left the town, and retired upon Spandau with his regiments, feeling himself too weak to resist an enemy three times his number. And furthermore, it was not aware that the Austrian Count Lacy, who had already occupied Potsdam and Charlottenburg, with his division of ten thousand men, would in a few hours be at the gates of Berlin.

In serious consultation, in anxious and wavering expectation, the city fathers were a.s.sembled in the town-hall, which they had not quitted for two days. But, at this moment, a pause seemed to have occurred in their deliberations, for both the chief burgomaster, Von Kircheisen, and the aldermen were leaning back in their high, carved chairs, in sleepy repose, contemplating the wax-lights in their silver candelabras, which shed a dim and uncertain light into the more distant parts of the hall. One or the other occasionally threw an inquiring glance toward the door, and leaned forward as if to listen. After a while, steps were heard in the antechamber, and the countenances of the honorable members of the Council lighted up.

"At last he comes," said the chief burgomaster, raising himself with an effort in his chair, and arranging the chain on his breast, which had got a little out of order.

The door now opened, and the merchant Gotzkowsky entered.

He approached the a.s.sembly with a firm and hurried step. The light of the candles shone upon his countenance, and in his pale, worn features you could read the traces of the hardships, the efforts and dangers he had undergone during the last two unfortunate days; only his eye still shone with its mild and yet fiery glance, and in his breast there beat still a brave and cheerful heart.

"Ye have called me, honorable gentlemen, and, as ye see, I have not delayed in answering your call."

"Yes, we have summoned you," answered the chief burgomaster. "The Council desire your advice."

A slight, mocking smile played about Gotzkowsky's lips. "It is not the first time," he said, "that the Council have done me this honor."

Herr von Kircheisen plucked uneasily at his golden chain, and frowned.

Gotzkowsky's answer had wounded his pride. "Yes, you gave us your advice yesterday, and it was only by your urgent appeal that we were induced to feed and lodge the Prince of Wurtemberg's troops. We might have spared ourselves the trouble, and our forty oxen remained unslaughtered."

"The Prince of Wurtemberg has left us, I know," said Gotzkowsky, sorrowfully, "and we are thrown again on our own resources. Oh, I could weep over it! Two days and nights have the citizens of Berlin fought with the courage of a lioness defending her young, and all in vain. So much n.o.ble blood shed in vain!"

"We must surrender, then?" said Kircheisen, turning pale.

"Unless the honorable Council can sow dragons' teeth and reap armed men, unless we can mould cannon and create gunners to serve them, we must, indeed, surrender!" said Gotzkowsky, in a sad tone. "Yes, if we had a dozen cannon like the two at the Kottbuss Gate served by the brave artillerist, Fritz, there might be some hope for us. Those were beautiful shots. Like the sickle of death did they mow down the ranks of the enemy, and whole rows fell at once. Fritz is a hero, and has built himself a monument with the dead bodies of the Russians--and all this for nothing!"

"For nothing! do you say?" sighed the chief burgomaster. "On the contrary, I rather think it will cost us a mint of money. The Austrians have sent Prince Lowenstein in with a flag of truce, to demand the surrender of the town. The Russians have also sent in a flag of truce with the same demand. Now comes the important question, To which of these two powers shall we surrender? Which will give us the best bargain?" and as the burgomaster stammered out this question, he seized a large goblet of wine which stood before him and emptied it at a draught. He then ordered the servant, who stood at the door, to replenish it with Johannisberger.

The aldermen and senators looked significantly at each other, and the second burgomaster ventured timidly to suggest that the heavy wine might possibly be injurious to the health of his honor the chief burgomaster.

"Wine makes a man brave," he drawled out, "and as long as the city fathers have good wine in their cellars, the citizens of Berlin may sleep in peace, for so long will the Council have the courage to brave the enemy! Let me have wine, then, and be brave!" and again he emptied the replenished goblet. He then stared complacently at the ceiling, and seemed lost in contemplation of the laurel-wreath painted above.

The second burgomaster then rose gently from his seat, and taking Gotzkowsky's arm, led him with the two princ.i.p.al councillors to one of the more remote window-seats. With a slight motion of the hand and a compa.s.sionate shrug of the shoulders, he pointed across to Herr von Kircheisen.

"Our poor oppressed chief wishes to acquire pot-valor," said he, "and to stimulate himself into a delirium of firmness; but I am afraid that the _delirium tremens_ of fear is the only kind that he will experience. The poor man is very much to be pitied. It is just at such a time, when presence of mind is most requisite, that the good burgomaster regularly loses his head, and his brain rushes off with him like a mad horse to death and destruction."

"And such a man is the chief magistrate of the town of Berlin," said Gotzkowsky, mournfully.

"The citizens chose him, and the king confirmed their choice," said the burgomaster; "so we ought to be satisfied. But now let us come to the subject which induced us to disturb your slumbers, my friend.

We need your counsel. The Russians and Austrians both summon us to surrender, and the Council of Berlin wish your advice, Gotzkowsky, as to which of these two enemies they shall yield."

"That is, by Heavens! a choice that the devil himself must envy us," cried Gotzkowsky, with a sad smile. "To which party shall we surrender? To the Austrian, who wears the imperial German crown, and yet is the enemy of Germany! or to the Russian, the northern barbarian, whose delight it is to trample every human right in the dust! Let me consider a little while, for it is a sad and painful choice." And Gotzkowsky strode up and down, absorbed in the deepest reflection. Then turning to the gentlemen, after a long pause, he asked, "To whom shall we yield? If my brother were among my enemies, I would fear him above all others; for a brother's hatred is most unnatural, and, for that very reason, the most violent. The Austrian is the German brother of the Prussian, and yet they are striving for the right of the first-born, instead of confederating for the general good in unity, in equal authority, equal power, and equal determination. On the contrary, Austria allies herself to Russia, the sworn enemy of Germany, and with the a.s.sistance of this enemy fights against her German brothers. Therefore, my opinion is that, if we really must surrender, and if the Prussian really must yield, let it not be to Austria. Subjection to an equal is doubly humiliating. It is less painful to suffer death at the hand of a barbarian than to be butchered by a brother. I would, then, in this instance, give the preference to Russia."

"That is also my opinion," said the burgomaster, and the councillors agreed with him. They returned to the table, at which the chief burgomaster still sat, gazing stupidly at the wine-cup.

"Gotzkowsky is of our opinion," said the second burgomaster, turning toward him; it would be best to yield to the Russian."

"The Russian is a capital fellow!" stammered the chief burgomaster.

"The Russian has a great deal of money, and spends it freely. I esteem the Russian astonishingly; and my decided opinion is, that we surrender to the Russian."

CHAPTER XIII.

A MAIDEN'S HEART.

Elise had pa.s.sed the last two days and nights in her room; nevertheless she had felt no fear; the thunder of the cannon and the wail of the wounded had inspired her with mournful resignation rather than with fear. As, at one time, she stood at the window, a sh.e.l.l burst near the house, and shattered the window-panes of the ground floor.

"Oh, if this hall had only struck me," cried she, while her cheeks burned, "then all this suffering would have been at an end, this doubt would have been cleared up: and if my father ever again gave himself the trouble to visit his house, and ask after his daughter, my death would be the proper rebuke to his question." Her father's long absence and apparent indifference tormented her and converted her grief into anger.

During these days of danger and mortal peril he had never once entered his house to visit his daughter. With the unmitigated egotism of her s.e.x, she could not comprehend the greatness, the n.o.ble self-denial, the manly firmness which dictated his conduct; she could see in it nothing but indifference and cold-heartedness.

"The most insignificant and unpolished workman is dearer to him than his own child," said she, proudly, drying her tears. "He is now, perhaps, watching in the cabins of his laborers, and does not care if his own house is burned to the ground; but even if he were told that it was so, if he heard that his daughter had perished in the flames, he would calmly say, 'My country demands this sacrifice of me, and I submit.' No tear would dim his eye; his country would not leave him time to mourn for his daughter. Oh, this country! what is it? My country is where I am happy, and where I am beloved!" She sighed deeply, and her thoughts wandered to her lover, her Feodor, the enemy of her country, in whose heart she thought she would find her real country, her true home.

The spoiled child of fortune, always accustomed to see every wish fulfilled, Elise had not learned the power of self-control, nor to bend her will to any higher power. Fortune seemed anxious to spare yet awhile this warm, loving heart, and to allow her a little longer the freedom of happy ignorance, before it initiated her into the painful and tearful mysteries of actual life. Besides this, Elise had inherited from her father a strong will and dauntless courage, and behind her bright, dreamy eyes dwelt a proud and spirited soul. Like her father, her whole soul yearned for freedom and independence; but the difference between them was, that while she only understood freedom as applying to herself personally, Gotzkowsky's more capacious mind comprehended it in its larger and more general sense. She wished for freedom only for herself; he desired it for his country, and he would willingly have allowed his own person to be cast into bonds and fetters, if he could thereby have secured the liberties of the people.

Out of this similarity, as well as from this difference of character, arose all the discord which occasionally threatened to disturb the harmony of these two hearts.

Gotzkowsky could not understand the heart of the young maiden, nor Elise that of the n.o.ble patriot. To these two strong and independent natures there had been wanting the gentle, soothing influence of a mother's love, acting conciliatingly on both. Elise's mother had died while she was young, and the child was left to the care of strangers.

Her father could seldom find time to be with his daughter; but, though seldom personally present, yet his whole soul was faithfully, unalterably devoted to her. Elise did not suspect this, and in consequence of seldom seeing or meeting him, and the want of mutual intercourse, the heart of his daughter became estranged from him, and in the soul of this young girl, just budding into life, brought up without companions, in the midst of wealth and plenty, arose at first the doubt, and later the conviction, of the indifference of her father toward his only child. But proud as she was, and full of a feeling of independence, she never met him with a reproach or complaint, but withdrew into herself, and as she believed herself repelled, strove also, on her part, to emanc.i.p.ate herself.

"Love cannot be forced, nor can it be had for the asking," said she, as, yielding sometimes to a natural childish feeling, she felt an irresistible longing to go to her father, whom she had not seen the livelong day; to hunt him up in the midst of his work, to lay herself gently on his breast, and say to him: "Love me, father, for without love we are both so lonely!" Once she had yielded to the impulse of her heart, and had gone down to his work-room, to take refuge with all her love and all her desire in her father's heart. It was on the very day that Gotzkowsky had returned from a most important journey. He had been absent for weeks from his daughter, and yet his first visit had not been to her, but to the work-room, which he had not left since his arrival. But Elise did not know that he had travelled with relays of horses, and that, in spite of the intensely bitter weather, he had driven day and night, allowing himself no rest nor refreshment, in order to reach home as rapidly as possible, solely from desire to see his daughter, whose fair and lovely countenance was the star which lighted his dreary, lonesome hours of toil, and inspired him with courage and cheerfulness. Nor could she know that he had only undertaken this journey because, by the failure of one of the largest mercantile firms in the Netherlands, his own house had been put in danger, and he had been threatened with the loss of his hard-earned wealth.

With palpitating heart, and tears of love in her eyes, she entered his room. Her whole bearing was sublime, full of tenderness and warmth, full of the humble love of a child. But Gotzkowsky scarcely raised his eyes from his books and papers, did not advance to meet her, did not leave the circle of his officials and servants, did not even break off the conversation he was engaged in with the directors of his silk-factory. And yet Elise drew nearer to him, her heart yearned so to bid him welcome. She laid her hand on his shoulder, and whispered an affectionate greeting in his ear. Gotzkowsky only looked at her hastily, and replied almost impatiently, "I pray you, my child, do not disturb me; we are busy with very important matters."

It certainly was business of great importance, which monopolized Gotzkowsky's attention immediately on his return. It was a question of nearly half a million, which he would probably lose in consequence of a royal decree just issued. This decree ordained that the new _Frederick d'ors_ coined by the Jewish farmer of the mint, and which were much too light, should be received at par all over the whole kingdom, and even at the treasury offices. It was, therefore, but natural that all debtors would hasten to pay their creditors in this coin which had imparted to it so sudden and unexpected a value.

Gotzkowsky had received from his debtors upward of eight hundred thousand dollars in this light coin, while his foreign creditors absolutely refused to take them, and demanded the payment of their debts in good money. Gotzkowsky, who, in consequence of his large and extensive connections abroad, had about three hundred thousand dollars in exchange against him, paid his creditors in gold of full weight, and lost by these transactions three hundred thousand dollars in one day.

Just at the moment when this heavy loss befell him, Elise appeared, to welcome him. His heart sank as he beheld her, for as he looked at her this loss appeared in its full magnitude; it seemed as if not he, but his child, had lost a portion of her wealth.

Elise knew and suspected nothing. She only felt that she had been repulsed, and she withdrew, deeply wounded and mortified, with the vow never to run the risk again of such another rebuff, such another humiliation.

Gotzkowsky lost in this hour, not only the three hundred thousand dollars, but, what he valued above all earthly treasures, the affection of his daughter, and both without any fault of his own.

Elise forced herself to close her heart against her father, or at least to conquer her grief at the supposed indifference, or quiet, lukewarm inclination. And yet this ardent heart longed for love, as the plant longs for the sunshine which is to penetrate it, and ripen it into wonderful bloom. Had the friend and companion of her youth, Bertram, been near her, she would have confided all her sorrows to him, and found consolation on his breast. But he had been absent for about a year on his long journey; and Elise's heart, which had always clung to him with a sisterly affection, became more and more alienated from the friend of her youth.

But fate or perhaps her evil destiny ordained that, about this time, she should make the acquaintance of a young man who quickly won the love of her vacant heart, and filled its void.

This young man was Colonel Feodor von Brenda, whom the fortune of war had thrown into Berlin.

Elise loved him. With joy and delight, with the unbounded confidence of innocence, she gave her whole heart up to this new sensation.