The Merchant of Berlin Part 38

"Well, when I found them deaf to the voice of honor, I let them hear the words of cowardly prudence. I painted to them the horrors awaiting them if the enemy perchance should return as conquerors, and what a fearful revenge they would take on the perjured city. I reminded them that the enemy would immediately attack all our property in Courland, Dantzic, and Livonia, and that at the Russian headquarters they had threatened me that they would publish, us in all the open commercial marts as issuers of false bonds."

"You were then in the Russian camp?"

"A fortnight ago, sire. The Council of Berlin requested me to undertake this journey to complete the transactions left unfinished by the rapid retreat of General von Tottleben."

"And did you finish them?"

"I was obliged to give General Tottleben a written agreement that I would return in four weeks to the Russian camp to carry out the transactions in the name of these merchants."

"I have been told that the Russian general would not accept the bonds for the war-tax unless you indorsed them. Is that true, too?"

"It is true."

"And what did you do?"

"I indorsed them."

The king's eye lighted up with friendship and kindness. "D'Argens is right," said he. "Cornelius Nepos and Livy would have mentioned you in their writings." And he paced up and down the room in deep thought.

A long pause ensued. Finally, Gotzkowsky was bold enough to break it.

"And the tax, your majesty, may we pay it?"

The king stopped in front of him. "The tax shall be paid," said he curtly; but, as Gotzkowsky was about to break out in loud expressions of grat.i.tude, the king waved him off with his hand. "That is," said he, "I myself will pay it, if it cannot be otherwise. Go back into the Russian camp, as you have promised. Endeavor to get some abatement of the amount, or some other profitable terms; but if you do not succeed, well, I will have to pay this million and a half for Berlin. But in return you must grant me a favor."

"What, sire? Whatever it may be," cried Gotzkowsky, ardently, "I am ready to perform any service for your majesty, even to the sacrifice of my life."

The king smiled. "Oh, no! not quite so bad as that, although the service I ask of you is more difficult to most men than dying--I mean _keeping silence_." And as he laid his hand affectionately on Gotzkowsky's shoulder, he continued: "Betray to no one what I have said to you, and only at the very last moment, if it is absolutely necessary, take the Council into your confidence."

"How, sire?" said Gotzkowsky, painfully. "You wish to deprive your Berlin citizens of the gratification of expressing to you their grat.i.tude, their infinite affection. Berlin may not even know how kind, how gracious your majesty has been to her!"

"I don't like the jingling of words, nor the throwing of wreaths. The very people who throw laurel-wreaths would be only too glad if the laurels were hard enough to break our heads. You pay the contribution, that is to say, you advance it, and I'll return it to you.[4] That's all, and now don't say another word about it." At the same time, as if fearful that Gotzkowsky might yet venture to act contrary to his wishes, he continued more rapidly: "Now tell me a little about Berlin, and above all things about our gallery at Sans-Souci. How does it fare?"

"It is finished, sire, and the people flock to see it."

"I only, like a fugitive or a Don Quixote, am driven about," said the king to himself, "and cannot even enter my own house, and they call that royal happiness!" Turning to Gotzkowsky, he remarked aloud: "Have you seen the gallery since the enemy took up his quarters in it?"

"Yes, sire! Prince Esterhazy was this n.o.ble enemy. He protected Sans-Souci like something sacred. When he left he only took one single small picture with him, as a souvenir."

The king gave a friendly nod. "I know it," said he, "and that is the only pleasure I have had for a long time. Once more I will see my t.i.tians and Correggios, my Rubenses and Vandycks, which you bought for me. Now tell me about Charlottenburg. But mind, give me the truth. I have noticed that no one will speak out about it, n.o.body will tell the truth. They are afraid of my anger. But you are a brave man, you are not even afraid of the Cossacks. You will have the courage to let your king know the facts. How is it with Charlottenburg? The Saxons have quartered there--what did they do?"

And now Gotzkowsky, often interrupted by the violent and angry exclamations of the king, told of the barbarous and cruel vandalism committed by the Saxons at Charlottenburg, their unbridled destructiveness and unsparing barbarity.

"And the Polignac collection?" asked the king, breathlessly.

"Almost entirely destroyed."

The king started up from his easy-chair, his eyes flashing with rage.

He was no longer the philosopher of Sans-Souci, no longer the poet; he was now the warrior panting for battle and b.l.o.o.d.y vengeance. "Tell me, tell me! I wish to know all," said the king, laboring out each word, and taking long strides up and down.

But as Gotzkowsky gave him a more detailed account, and related the sacrilegious barbarity which did not spare even the sacred art-treasures, the king's brow became more darkened, and for a moment a burning flush of anger shot across his pale cheek. At one time he raised his arm threateningly, as if he would bring down the thunderbolts of heaven upon such wickedness and ruthlessness.

As Gotzkowsky finished, the king said, curtly and vehemently, "Good, very good!" and traversing the room with hasty steps, he threw open the door which led into the antechamber, and called out, "Saldern!"

Immediately General von Saldern appeared at the open door. The king commanded him to enter and shut the door; then, addressing him in a short, decisive tone: "Go to-morrow, quietly, with a detachment of infantry and cavalry, to Hubertsburg, take possession of the castle, and have all the valuable furniture carefully inventoried and packed up. I will have none of it. The money obtained from its ransom will be turned over to the Lazaretto, and I will not forget you."

There was a pause. General von Saldern remained at the door motionless, in stiff military att.i.tude.

The king looked at him with astonishment. "Well! did you hear?"

"Yes, your majesty, I heard. But, may it please your majesty, this is against my honor and my oath."

The king compelled himself to be composed, for he loved General Saldern as a brave and n.o.ble officer. "You would be right," said he, "if I did not use this desperate means to a good object. But let me tell you, the head of the great lord does not feel it if you tear out the hair of his subjects. You must hit, then, where it hurts him; and that I intend to do. The Elector of Saxony shall find out how it feels when one's most cherished possession is destroyed. We will teach him to be humane, and behave himself. Go, therefore, to Hubertsburg, and do as I told you."

General von Saldern turned pale, and his countenance was expressive of deep suffering, as he answered gravely and firmly: "Your majesty may send me right off to attack the enemy and his batteries, and I will obey with my whole heart; but against my honor, my oath, and my duty, I cannot, dare not act."

The king stamped with his foot, and his eye flashed with threatening anger.

"You must obey, as is your duty; you are bound to obey no other voice than that of your king who commands you," said he with a voice of thunder.

General Saldern answered, calmly: "But, sire, I must obey the voice of my honor! Your majesty can easily transfer this commission to another."

The king turned from him with an involuntary frown, and, walking up and down hastily, he stopped near Saldern, and laid his hand gently on his shoulder. "Look ye, Saldern, obey--go to Hubertsburg."

"I cannot, sire!"

"You do not desire to enrich yourself?" said the king, as he turned away. "Do you wish your discharge? I have no use for soldiers who do not consider obedience their first duty."

"I herewith ask for my discharge, sire!"

"You have it--go!"[5]

Without saying a word, General von Saldern made a military obeisance, and left the room.

"You go too!" said the king to Gotzkowsky, who had been a silent, involuntary spectator of this scene--"go and tell my adjutant to send Quintus Icilius to me."

In a few minutes Major Quintus Icilius entered. "Go to Hubertsburg with a detachment of infantry and cavalry, and clear out the castle."

Major Quintus Icilius took good heed not to contradict the king. He had already, in the antechamber, heard of General von Saldern's fate, and he was not indisposed to execute the king's commission.

"Only a hundred thousand dollars you hand over to the Lazaretto, the rest you can keep for yourself."

"As you command, sire! Shall I proceed at once?"

The king cast a look of disgust on him. "Are you in such a hurry to be rich?" said he. "Go--I will appoint the time and the hour more particularly."[6]

When the king was alone again, he paced up and down the room in deep thought. At one time he stopped at the window, and his bright blue eyes were turned mournfully toward heaven. "Poor fools that we are!"

said he, with a sigh. "We have only a moment to live, and we make this moment as bitter as possible to each other. We take pleasure in destroying the master-pieces of industry and art, at the same time we are erecting an accursed monument to our own devastation and our cruelty."[7]