The Merchant of Berlin Part 17

"De Justi! De Justi!"--with this cry one of the Austrian officers rushed through the street, knocked with his sword violently against the closed house doors, and demanded with savage threats the delivery of this criminal for whose arrest a high premium had been offered.

M. De Justi was indeed a notorious criminal. Not that he had written much or badly, but princ.i.p.ally because he had dared to use his sharp pen against the Austrian empress, and her allies the Russians and Saxons. It was especially three pamphlets which excited the wrath of the victorious enemy. These pamphlets were called: "Proof that the Empress should be deposed;" "Why and wherefore Certain Nations in Europe are disposed to become Anthropophagous," and lastly, "Account of the life of Count Bruhl." He had offended not only the Austrians, but also the Russians and Saxons. It was therefore natural that these three powers reigning in Berlin should wish to take their revenge on the writer of these insulting pamphlets.

But De Justi had been prudent enough to escape from the pursuit of his revengeful enemies. During the siege he had betaken himself to the house of a friend in a more secure street, and had hidden in the cellar, where it was impossible to find him. As they could not get possession of the writer, they were obliged to cool their wrath on his treasonable writings. They were dragged in his stead, as prisoners of state and dangerous criminals, to headquarters at the New Market.

The two other writers, whom the Austrians pursued with furious zeal, were the two newspaper editors, Kretschmer and Krause. These two had no idea of such pursuit; indeed, they did not even know that the Austrians had penetrated into the city. In the safe hiding-place in which both of them had pa.s.sed the night they had only learned that Berlin had surrendered to the Russians, and that General Tottleben had ordered the magistrates to receive him the next morning at the Kottbuss Gate at eight o'clock.

It was intended that the reception should be a brilliant and solemn one, and that the general should be mollified and conciliated by humble subjection; it was also determined to endeavor, by an offering of money made to him individually, to induce him to make the contribution laid on the town moderate and light.

The news was like a thunder-clap to the two editors, for it compelled them to leave their safe hiding-place, and to venture out into the dangerous world. For these gentlemen, editors of such renowned journals, who prided themselves on giving their readers the most recent and important intelligence, would not dare to be absent at the reception of the Russian general. For the love of their country they had to forget their own fears, and, for the honor of their journals, face danger like true heroes.

Day had scarcely dawned, and deep silence and death-like stillness reigned at the Kottbuss Gate. The wings of the gate were closed, and the watchman had withdrawn into his little box, and was resting from the events of the past days. Dawn still lay like a veil over poor, anxious Berlin, and concealed her tears and b.l.o.o.d.y wounds.

The silence was suddenly interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps, and around the nearest corner glided the cowering figure of a man. He remained still for a minute and listened; then, convinced that all around him was quiet and silent, he crept along, keeping anxiously close to the houses, and reached unperceived the pillar on the right side of the gate, in the dark shadow of which he concealed himself. This man was no other than Mr. Kretschmer, the editor of the _Vossian Gazette,_ who made himself comfortable in his hiding-place.

"This is quite nice and right," said he, shoving a stone behind the pillar, in order to raise himself to a higher point of view. "From here I can hear and observe every thing."

So, settling himself on the stone, he leaned back in the corner of the door-pillar, as if it were the leathern arm-chair in his _sanctum_. A comfortable smile stole over his features.

"This time," said he, "at least, I have forestalled my rival, good Mr. Krause. To-morrow the _Vossian Gazette_ will be the only one which will be able to report, from actual observation, on the formal entry of the Russian general. Oh, how vexed _Spener's_ will be! There is seven o'clock striking. In an hour the ceremony will begin. _Spener's Journal_ still sleeps, while the _Vossian Gazette_ wakes and works, and is alert to satisfy the curiosity of Berlin."

Poor, benighted editor of the _Vossian_! You, indeed, could not see him, but the veil of the dawning day, which spread over Berlin, concealed your rival, as well as yourself, in its folds. His drawn-up figure was not visible to your dimmed sight, as he sneaked along the houses, and hid himself behind the pillar on the left of the gate.

While you were rejoicing over the long sleep of _Spener's Journal_, its editor, Mr. Krause, was standing opposite to you, behind the pillar, whither he had come, notwithstanding his sixty-eight years, like you, to witness the entrance of the Russians. And happy was he in spirit at this victory obtained over his rival, the editor of the _Vossian Gazette_, and it made him very proud indeed to think that this once he had forestalled Mr. Kretschmer, and consequently would have the monopoly of describing in the morning's paper, to the people of Berlin, the magnificent and pompous entrance of the Russians!

The editor of the _Vossian Gazette_ had no idea of the vicinity of his rival. He continued to congratulate himself on the advantage he had obtained, and proceeded cheerfully in his soliloquy. "It makes me laugh to think of _Spener's Journal_. I, myself, advised Mr. Krause to conceal himself, and the good man faithfully followed my advice.

Perhaps the little old gentleman dreams that I am at this moment sitting by my fireside, while there is so much matter for my newspaper here. Good matter, too, that can be moulded into an interesting article, is not so common that it can be carelessly squandered. Sleep, therefore, sleep, good _Spener_--the _Vossian_ wakes."

But _Spener_ did not sleep. He was at the opposite pillar, smirking and saying to himself, "How lucky it is that I have antic.i.p.ated the _Vossian_!" He then was silent, but his thoughts were active, and in the bottom of his heart he inst.i.tuted some very serious reflections upon the superfluousness of a second newspaper, how perfectly unnecessary it was in fact.

"This _Vossian Gazette_ is perfectly intolerable," thought he.

"There ought to be a law prohibiting the publishing of more than one newspaper in each town. Then the public would always get reliable news, and draw its political opinions from one source, which would be undoubted, and it would accept as true what we gave forth for truth.

If the government would follow this plan, and allow only one newspaper to each town, and conciliate this one with money or patronage, mankind would be much happier and more contented, and less liable to be distracted by the most opposite political views and information. What profits the existence of this _Vossian Gazette_? What does it do but rob me of my subscribers? By Heavens! I wish the Russian would exterminate it thoroughly."

While Mr. Krause was thus speaking to himself, Mr. Kretschmer had followed the same course of thought, and, very naturally, arrived at a similar conclusion. He, too, had to confess that _Spener's Journal_ was very inconvenient, and hated its editor from the bottom of his heart. In the vehemence of his vexation, he overlooked the necessary precaution, and cried out, "Cursed be this rival, this man who has the presumption to imagine he can compete with me!"

Mr. Krause shuddered at the sound of this voice, which seemed to him as it were the echo of his own unspoken thoughts, but he mastered his alarm, and cried aloud, "Did any one speak?" "Did any one speak?"

sounded back again, and two heads were seen protruding from the pillars on each side of the gate, the eyes in them inquiringly peering at each other. The morning in the mean while had become lighter, and, with an inward shudder, the two gentlemen recognized each other.

"It is _Spener's_! May the devil take him!" thought Mr. Kretschmer.

"It is the _Vossian_! d.a.m.n the fellow!" thought Mr. Krause.

But while they thought this to themselves, they rushed forward and embraced each other, with greetings and a.s.surances of friendship, to all appearances warm and sincere.

"I am not mistaken! It is my dear friend Krause."

"Oh, what happiness! my dear Kretschmer!"

And they shook each other's hands and repeated their a.s.severations of friendship and esteem, but, at the same time, breathed in their hearts their curses and execrations. But the two editors were not the only persons who had sought the Kottbuss Gate at this early hour. An Austrian officer with a guard of soldiers, in his search after the two editors, had also reached the spot, and was marching with his men from the corner near the gate, looking eagerly right and left and up at all the windows. His eye fell upon these two men who were shrinking from his sight, uttering pious e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns to Heaven. The officer approached them and demanded their names. Neither answered. The officer repeated his question, and accompanied it with such threats as convinced Mr. Krause of the imperative necessity of answering it. He bowed, therefore, respectfully to the officer, and pointing to his friend, said, "This is Mr. Kretschmer, the editor of the _Vossian Gazette_."

Kretschmer cast upon him a look full of hatred and revenge. "And this," said he, with a wicked smile, "is Mr. Krause, editor of _Spener's Journal_."

An expression of joyous triumph shone in the countenance of the officer: "You are my prisoners, gentlemen," said he, as he beckoned to his soldiers to arrest them.

Pale did Mr. Krause grow as he drew back a step. "Sir, this must be a mistake. We are quiet, peaceable citizens, who have nothing to do with the war, but only busy ourselves with our pens."

"Our arrest is contrary to all national law," cried Mr. Kretschmer, at the same time endeavoring to defend himself from the weapons which were pointed at him.

The officer laughed. "In war we know no national law. You are my prisoners." And disregarding their struggles and cries for help, they dragged the two editors as prisoners to the guard-house at the New Market.

CHAPTER II.

THE CHIEF MAGISTRATE OF BERLIN.

After a short interval of quiet and lonesomeness at the Kottbuss Gate, there appeared, first far down the street, then approaching nearer and nearer, a solemn procession. Foremost staggered the chief burgomaster, Von Kircheisen, in full uniform, adorned with his golden chain, which rustled as it rose and sank with his hurried, feverish respiration.

He was followed by the second burgomaster, with the Town Council, and deputation of merchants, headed by Gotzkowsky. With solemn, serious air, these gentlemen took up their position at the gate.

The chief burgomaster then beckoned Gotzkowsky to his side. "Stand by me, my friend," said he, with a groan, and offering his hand to Gotzkowsky with a dismal air. "I am suffering terribly, and even the two bottles of Johannisberger are not sufficient to inspire me with courage. Is it not terrible that the honorable Council should be obliged to attend in person? It is an unheard-of indignity!"

"Not only for you, but for the Berlin citizen is the insult equally great," said Gotzkowsky.

Herr von Kircheisen shook his head in a most melancholy manner. "Yes,"

said he, "but the Berlin citizen does not feel it so deeply. It does not affect his honor as it does that of the magistracy."

Gotzkowsky smiled scornfully. "Do you think," asked he, "that the magistrates possess a different kind of honor from that of any citizen of the town? The sense of honor is keener among the people than it is among the n.o.blest lords."

The chief burgomaster frowned. "These are very proud words," replied he, with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Pride belongs to the citizen!" cried Gotzkowsky. "But believe me, n.o.ble sir, my heart to-day is not as proud as my words. It is sore with pain and grief over our deep, unmerited degradation."

"Silence, silence!" whispered the chief magistrate, leaning tremblingly on Gotzkowsky's arm. He heard a noise behind the closed gates, and his mind misgave him that the dreaded enemy was at hand.

Suddenly there sounded on the other side of the walls the loud notes of a trumpet, and the warder hastened to throw open the gate. A rare and motley mixture of Russian uniforms now came in sight. There were seen Cossacks, with their small horses and sharp lances; body-guards, with their gold-adorned uniforms; hussars, in their jackets trimmed with costly furs, all crowding in in confused tumult and with deafening screams and yells, that contrasted strangely with the silence inside the gates, with the noiseless, deserted streets, the closed windows of the houses, whose inhabitants scorned to be witnesses to the triumphal entry of the enemy. Only the ever-curious, ever-sight-loving, always-thoughtless populace, to whom the honor has at times been accorded of being called "the sovereign people," only this populace had hurried hither from all the streets of Berlin to see the entry of the Russians, and to hurrah to the conqueror, provided he paraded right handsomely and slowly in. And now a deep silence took place in the ranks of the enemy; the crowd opened and formed a lane, through which rode the Russian General Bachmann and his staff. As he reached the gate he drew in his horse and asked, in a loud, sonorous voice, in French, whether the magistrates and deputation of merchants were present.

The chief magistrate felt unable to answer; his knees tottered and his teeth chattered convulsively. He could only wag his head in silence and point with trembling hand to his companions.

"Is the merchant, John Gotzkowsky, one of your deputation?" asked the general.

Gotzkowsky stepped out of the crowd and approached the general with a proud step. "I am he, sir."

"I am glad to meet you," said the general, with a gracious smile. "I bring you greetings from General Sievers. He commissioned and ordered me to show you all possible favor. If I can be of service to you in any possible way, pray command me. I am General von Bachmann, and during our presence here have been appointed to the command of Berlin."