The Merchant of Berlin Part 31

A regiment of Russian soldiers marched past the corner of the Bishop Street, toward the market-place. They ranged themselves in two long lines, leaving a lane between them, just wide enough for a man to pa.s.s through. Then came two provost-marshals, and walked slowly down the lane, delivering to each soldier one of the long slender rods they carried under their arms.

The Russian soldiers were now armed, and awaited the victims they were to chastise. These were dragged out of the guard-house. First came tottering the gray-headed Mr. Krause, slowly and sadly; then came Mr.

Kretschmer, formerly the brave, undaunted hero of the quill--now a poor, trembling, crushed piece of humanity. They stood in the middle of the square, and, bewildered with terror, their help-imploring looks swept over the gaping, silent mult.i.tude, who gazed at them with eager countenances and malicious joy, and would have been outrageously mad if they had been denied the enjoyment of seeing two of their brother-citizens scourged by the enemy's soldiers.

"I cannot believe it!" whimpered Mr. Krause; "it is impossible that this is meant in earnest. They cannot intend to execute so cruel a sentence. What would the world, what would mankind say, if two writers were scourged for the articles they had written? Will the town of Berlin suffer it? Will no one take pity on our distress?"

"No one," said Mr. Kretschmer, mournfully. "Look at the crowd which is staring at us with pitiless curiosity. They would sooner have pity on a murderer than on a writer who is going to be flogged. The whole town has enjoyed and laughed over our articles, and now there is not one who would dare to beg for us."

At this moment another solemn procession came down the Bishop Street toward the square. This was the Town Council of Berlin. Foremost came the chief burgomaster Von Kircheisen, who had recovered his speech and his mind, and was memorizing the well-set speech in which he was to offer to the general the thanks of the town and the ten thousand ducats, which a page bore alongside of him on a silken pillow.

Behind the Council tottered trembling and broken-hearted the elders of the Jews, including those of the mint, in order to receive their final condemnation or release from General Tottleben.

The people took no notice of the Council or of the Jews. They were busy staring with cruel delight at the journalists, who were being stripped by the provost-marshals of their outer clothing, and prepared for the b.l.o.o.d.y exhibition. With a species of barbarous pleasure they listened to the loud wailing of the trembling, weeping Krause, who was wringing his hands and imploring the Russian officer who had charge of the execution, for pity, for mercy.

The Russian officer was touched by the tears of sorrow of the editor; he did have pity on the gray hairs and bowed form of the old man, or perhaps he only acted on instructions received from General Tottleben.

He motioned to the provosts to lead the other editor to the lane first, and to spare Mr. Krause until Mr. Kretschmer had been chastised. The provost seized hold of Mr. Kretschmer and dragged him to the terrible lane; they pushed him in between the rows of soldiers, who, with rude laughter, were flourishing the rods in their hands.

Already the first, the second, the third blow has fallen on the back of the editor of the _Vossian Gazette_, when suddenly there sounds a powerful "Halt!" and General Count von Tottleben appears, with Gotzkowsky at his side, and followed by his brilliant staff.

With a wild scream Kretschmer tears himself loose from the hands of the provost-marshals, and rushes toward the general, crying out aloud; Mr. Krause awakens from his heavy, despairing brooding, and both editors sink down before the Russian general.

With a mischievous smile, Tottleben looked at Mr. Kretschmer's bleeding back, and asked, "Who are you?"

"I am the _Vossian Gazette_" whined out Mr. Kretschmer, "whom you have accused of such cruel things. Ah! we have suffered great injustice, and we have been represented as worse than we really are. Oh, believe me, your excellency, I have been belied. I never hated Russia!"

"You are both of you accused of libel," said Tottleben, sternly.

"If we are guilty of libel, it is without our knowledge," said Mr.

Krause. "Besides, we are very willing to recall every thing. I confess we were in error. We did not know you and your army, and we spoke ignorantly, as the blind man does about colors. Now we are better able to judge. You are the n.o.blest among n.o.ble men, and finer soldiers than the Russians, and a chaster woman than the Empress Elizabeth, are not to be found anywhere. Oh, yes, your excellency, _Spener's Journal_ is ready to eat its words. Only don't let me be flogged, sir, and I will sing your praises everlastingly, and proclaim to all the world that the Prussian has no better friend than the Russian, and that G.o.d has ordained them to be brothers."

"Only don't let us be flogged," implored Mr. Kretschmer, rubbing his sore back, "I promise your excellency that the _Vossian Gazette_ shall be as tame as a new-born infant. It shall never indulge in bold, outspoken language; never have any decided color. I swear for myself and my heirs, that we will draw its fangs. Have, therefore, mercy on us!"

The general turned away with a smile of contempt. "Enough, gentlemen,"

said he, roughly, and laying his hand on Gotzkowsky's shoulder, he continued: "I pardon you, not in consequence of your idle talk, but for the sake of this n.o.ble gentleman, who has begged for you. You are free, sirs!" As the two editors were about to break out into expressions of gratefulness, Tottleben said to them, "It is Gotzkowsky alone that you have to thank for your liberty."

They threw themselves into Gotzkowsky's arms; with solemn oaths they vowed him eternal, inviolable grat.i.tude; they called him their savior, their liberator from shame and disgrace.

Gotzkowsky smiled at their glowing protestations of friendship, and withdrew himself gently from their ardent embraces. "I did not do it for the sake of your thanks, and personally you owe me therefore no grat.i.tude."

"Gotzkowsky, have you entirely forgotten us?" said a plaintive voice near him. It was Itzig, one of the rich Jews of the mint, to whom Gotzkowsky had promised a.s.sistance.

"Ask the general," said the latter, smiling.

"He has spoken for you, and his intercession has freed you from the special tax," said Count Tottleben.

"He has saved us, the great Gotzkowsky has had pity on our wretchedness," cried the Jews, crowding around Gotzkowsky to press his hand, to embrace him, and with tears of grateful emotion to promise him their unalterable attachment.

"You have saved my life," said Itzig, "for I had determined to die rather than pay any more money. For what is life to me without money?

If the Jew has not money, he is n.o.body. In saving my money you saved my life. If ever you should be without money, Gotzkowsky, come to me; I will lend you some at very low interest."

"I will lend it to you gratis," said Ephraim, pressing his hand affectionately in his own.

Gotzkowsky answered sadly: "If it ever came to pa.s.s that I were obliged to borrow, you would not remember this day, and I would not be the man to remind you of it."

"Remind us of it," protested Ephraim, "and you shall see that we keep our word. Come to us and say, 'Remember the tax that I freed you from,' and you shall see all that you desire shall be fulfilled."

"G.o.d grant that I may never have need to remind you of it!" said Gotzkowsky, pressing back the excited Jews, and approaching General Tottleben.

"You forget, sir, that you summoned the honorable Council of Berlin hither, and that these gentlemen are awaiting your orders."

The general seemed to awaken out of a deep reverie. "Yes," said he, as if to himself, "the German dream is finished, and now I must be a Russian again." He then turned quickly to Gotzkowsky and offered him his hand. "Gotzkowsky," said he, gently and persuasively, "consider it once more--come with me and be my teacher."

"What I can teach you is but little. It is an easy lesson for him who has a heart, an impossible one for him who has none. Learn to love mankind. That is all my wisdom, and my farewell."

The general sighed. "You will not go with me? Well, then, farewell!"

And as if to disperse the painful and bitter feelings which a.s.sailed his German heart, he turned away and called, in Russian, to his adjutant: "Let us break up, gentlemen. To horse, to horse!"

But in the midst of the confusion of the soldiers, and the tramping of horses, the chief burgomaster made a way for himself. He had to sustain the honor of the Council, and p.r.o.nounce the beautifully worded oration which had cost him two sleepless nights to compose; he had to place in the hands of the general the offering of Berlin grat.i.tude.

At last he succeeded in reaching the general, and he began his speech.

Full and powerful did his voice sound through the New Market, and the delighted people rejoiced over the oratorical talent of their chief magistrate, and gazed with pride and admiration at his golden chain of office--that chain which had gone through so much, had endured so much, without growing pale or dim.

But General Tottleben did not accept the present which the city of Berlin offered him. He said: "If the town believed that its fate was rendered more tolerable by my discipline than it otherwise would have been, let it thank the express orders of my empress. The honor of having been commander of Berlin for three days is sufficient reward for me."

Three hours later Berlin was freed from Russians and Austrians.

Gotzkowsky, who had finally succeeded in freeing himself from the tumultuous expressions of grat.i.tude of the Council, the editors, and the Jews, returned to his home, of which he himself says: "My house resembled more a cow-house than a dwelling, having been filled for a while, night and day, with Russians."

CHAPTER XIV.

BRIDE AND DAUGHTER.

At the mere announcement of the approach of the king toward Berlin, the Russian army had left the city and withdrawn to Frankfort. But no inconsiderable number of officers had stayed behind; some of them to organize the withdrawal of the troops, while others, detained by personal affairs, had merely obtained short leave of absence. To the latter belonged Colonel Feodor von Brenda. General Bachmann had given him two days' leave, under the impression that he would avail himself of the time to enjoy, undisturbed, the society of his bride, the Countess Lodoiska von Sandomir.

The general knew nothing of the difference between the colonel and his betrothed. He did not know that, according to her agreement with Bertram, Lodoiska had not informed Feodor of her arrival in Berlin.

But, nevertheless, Feeder had heard of it. The countess's own chambermaid, knowing the liberality of the young count, had gone to him, and for a golden bribe had betrayed to him her presence, and communicated all that she knew of her plans and intentions.

This news detained the colonel in Berlin. The unexpected arrival of his affianced pressed upon him the necessity of a decision, for he was aware of the impossibility of tearing asunder the firm and heart-felt bond which attached him to Elise, to unite himself to a wife to whom he was only engaged by a given promise, a pledged word.

Feodor would probably have given up his whole fortune to pay a debt of honor; would have unhesitatingly thrown his life into the scale if it had been necessary to redeem his word. But he was not ashamed to break the vow of fidelity which he had made to a woman, and to desert her to whom he had promised eternal love. Besides, his pride was wounded by the advent of the countess, which appeared to him as a restraint on his liberty and an espionage on his actions.

She had concealed her arrival from him, and he consequently concluded that she was acquainted with his faithlessness, and nursed some plan of removing the obstacles which lay between her and her lover. His pride was irritated by the thought that he should be compelled to maintain an engagement which he could no longer fulfil from love, but only from a sense of duty. Such a restraint on his free will seemed to him an unparalleled hardship. He felt a burning hatred toward the woman who thus forcibly insisted on fastening herself upon him, and an equally ardent love toward the young girl of whom they wished to deprive him.

Doubly charming and desirable did this young, innocent, lovely girl appear to him when he compared her with the mature, self-possessed, worldly woman of whom he could only hope that he might be her last love, while he knew that he was Elise's first.