The Merchant of Berlin Part 48

"De Neufville has fallen--that is a hard blow," muttered Gotzkowsky; and as his wandering eye met Ephraim's, he added with an expression of complete prostration: "Enjoy my suffering; you have succeeded--I am hurt unto death!"

"Listen to me, Gotzkowsky," said Ephraim, approaching nearer to him; "I mean well by you."

"Oh, yes!" said Gotzkowsky, bitterly; "after you have hastened my downfall, you condescend to love me. Yes, indeed! I believe in your friendship; for none but a friend would have had the heart to bring such a Job's message."

Ephraim shook his head. "Listen to me," said he; "I will be quite candid with you. Formerly I hated you, it is true, for you were more powerful and richer than I was; you were renowned for being honest and punctual, and that hurt me. If a large bargain was to be made, they were not satisfied unless Gotzkowsky was concerned in it, and if your name stood at the bottom of a contract, every one was pleased. Your name was as good as gold, and that vexed me."

"And for that reason you wished to overthrow me, and worked unceasingly for my downfall; because you knew that I expected this remittance of light money from Hamburg!"

"I procured the decision that the light money should be declared uncurrent, that is true. I succeeded. From this hour I am more powerful and richer than you. You shall see that I only hated your house, not yourself; I have come to help you. You must indeed fail; that I am aware of, and that if you were to put forth all your power, you could not stand this blow, You must and will fail, and that this very day."

Gotzkowsky muttered some unintelligible words, and covered his face with his hands. "Yes," he cried, piteously, "I and all my hopes have suffered shipwreck."

Ephraim laid his hand suddenly upon his shoulder. "Seek, then, to save some plank from the wreck, on which you may swim. You can no longer save your creditors; save yourself."

Gotzkowsky removed his hands slowly from his face, and looked at him with astonishment and wonder.

Ephraim met his look with a smiling and mysterious expression, and bending down to Gotzkowsky's ear, whispered: "I think you will not be such a fool as to give up all you have to your creditors, and to go out of your house a poor man. Intrust me with your important papers, and all that you possess of money and valuables, and I will preserve them for you. You do not answer. Come, be reasonable; do not allow the world the pleasure of pitying you; it does not deserve it. Believe me, mankind is bad; and he is a fool who strives to be better than his fellows." He stopped, and directed an inquiring look toward Gotzkowsky.

The latter regarded him proudly and with contempt. "This, then, is your friendship for me? You wish to make me a cheat!"

"Every man cheats his neighbor," cried Ephraim, shrugging his shoulders; "why should you alone be honest?"

"Because I do not wish to be ashamed of myself. It is the fault of others that I fall to-day. It shall not be said that Gotzkowsky is guilty of any crime of his own."

"It will be said, nevertheless," interrupted Ephraim; "for whoever is unfortunate, is in the wrong, in the eyes of men. And if he can help himself at the expense of others, and does not do it, do you think men will admire him for it? No! believe me, they will only laugh at him.

I have often been sorry for you, Gotzkowsky; for, with all your good sense, your whole life through has been a miscalculation--"

"Or rather say," said Gotzkowsky, sadly, "I have not calculated enough, and from all the experiences of my life I have not drawn the sum total."

"You miscalculated," said Ephraim, "for you calculated on grat.i.tude.

That is a bad investment which does not bear interest. Mankind cannot be grateful, and when any one tries to be so he must sink, for others are not so. Whoever wishes to succeed in this world, must think only of himself, and keep his own interest in sight."

"You wise men of the world are right!" cried Gotzkowsky, with a hoa.r.s.e laugh.

Unhindered by Gotzkowsky's vehement and scornful bearing, Ephraim continued: "If I had thought as you did, I would not have been able to operate against you, nor could I have brought the mint ordinance to bear on you. Then, to be sure, I would have been grateful, but it would not have been business-like. Therefore I thought first of my own welfare, and after that I came here to serve you, and show you my grat.i.tude."

"I do not desire any grat.i.tude. Let me go my way--you go yours."

Ephraim looked at him almost pityingly. "Be reasonable, Gotzkowsky; take good advice. The world does not thank you for being honorable.

Mankind has not deserved the pleasure of laughing at you. And they will laugh!"

"Leave me, I tell you!" cried Gotzkowsky; "you shall not deprive me of my last possession, my conscience!"

"Conscience!" sneered Ephraim. "You will starve on that capital."

Gotzkowsky sighed deeply and dropped his head on his breast. At this moment there were heard from without loud hurrahs and jubilant sounds, mingled with the tones of martial music.

King Frederick II. was returning this day to Berlin, after a long absence, and the happy and delighted Berliners had prepared for him a pompous and brilliant entry. They had built triumphal arches, and the guilds had gone forth to accompany him into the city, now adorned for festivity. The procession had to pa.s.s by Gotzkowsky's house, and already were heard the sounds of the approaching music, while the shouts and cries of the people became louder and shriller.

Ephraim stepped to the window, opened it, and pointing down into the street, he said, with a mocking laugh: "Just look, Gotzkowsky! There is the true test of your beautiful, high-toned principles. How often has Berlin not called you her benefactor, and yet she is overjoyed on the very day you are going to ruin! The whole town of Berlin knows that Gotzkowsky fails to-day, and yet they pa.s.s by your house with merry music, and no one thinks of you."

"He is right," murmured Gotzkowsky, as the huzzas sounded under his window. "He is right! I was a fool to love mankind."

Ephraim pointed down into the street again. "See," said he, "there comes Count Salm, whom you saved from death when the Russians were here. He does not look up here. Ah, there goes the banker, Splittyerber, whose factories in Neustadt Eberswald you saved at the same time. He, too, does not look up. Oh! yes, he does, and laughs.

Look there! There goes the king with his staff. You have caused his majesty much pleasure. You accomplished his favorite wish--you founded the porcelain factory. You travelled at your own expense into Italy, and bought pictures for him. You preserved his capital from pillage by the Austrians and Russians. The Dutch amba.s.sador, who at that time interfered in favor of Berlin with the Austrians, him has the king in his grat.i.tude created a count. What has he done for you? What Verelse did was but a trifle in comparison with your services, yet he, forsooth, is made a count. What has the king done for you? See, the king and his staff has pa.s.sed by, and not one of them has looked up here. Yesterday they would have done so, for yesterday you were rich; but to-day they have forgotten you already: for to-day you are poor, and the memory of the people is very short for the poor. Ah! look down again, Gotzkowsky--so many gentlemen, so many high-born people are pa.s.sing! Not one looks up!"

Against his will Gotzkowsky had been drawn to the window, and, enticed by Ephraim's words, he had looked down anxiously and mournfully at the brilliant procession which was pa.s.sing by. How much would he not have given if only one of the many who had formerly called themselves his friends had looked up at him, had greeted him cordially? But Ephraim was right. No one did so. No one thought of him who, with a broken heart, was leaning beside the window, asking of mankind no longer a.s.sistance or help, but a little love and sympathy. But, as he looked down into the street again, his countenance suddenly brightened up.

He laid his hand hastily on Ephraim's shoulder, and pointed to the procession.

"You are right," said he; "the respectable people do not look up here, but here comes the end of the procession, the common people, the poor and lowly, the workmen. Look at them! See how they are gazing at me.

Ah, they see me, they greet me, they wave their hats! There, one of them is putting his hand to his face. He is a day-laborer who formerly worked in my factory. This man is weeping, and because he knows that I have been unfortunate. See! here come others--poor people in ragged clothes--women with nurslings in their arms--tottering old men--they all bend dewy eyes on me. Do you see? they smile at me. Even the children stretch up their arms. Ah, they love me, although I am no longer rich."

And turning with a beaming face and eyes moistened with tears toward Ephraim, he exclaimed: "You tell me that I have miscalculated. No!

you are mistaken. I calculated on the kernel of humanity, not on the degenerate sh.e.l.l. And this n.o.ble kernel of humanity resides in the people, the workmen, and the poor. I trusted in these, and they have not betrayed my confidence."

Ephraim shrugged his shoulders. "The people are weatherc.o.c.ks; they will stone to-morrow the same men whom they bless to-day. Only wait until public opinion has condemned you, and the people, too, will forsake you. Protect yourself, then, against men. When you were rich, every one partook of your liberality; now that you are poor, no one will be willing to share your misfortune. Therefore save yourself, I tell you. Collect whatever papers and valuables you may have. Give them to me. By the G.o.d of my fathers I will preserve them faithfully and honestly for you!"

Gotzkowsky repulsed him with scorn, and indignant anger flashed from his countenance. "Back from me, tempter!" cried he, proudly. "It is true you possess the wisdom of the world, but one thing is wanting in your wisdom--the spirit of honor. I know that this does not trouble you much, but to me it is every thing. You are right: I will be a beggar, and men will point at me with their finger, and laugh me to scorn. But I will pa.s.s them by proudly, nor will I bend my head before them, for my dignity and honor as a man are unconnected with gold or property. These are my own, and when I die, on my tomb will be written--'He died in poverty, but he was an honorable man.'"

"Fool that you are!" exclaimed Ephraim, laughing in contempt. "You are speculating on your epitaph, while the fortune of your life slips away from you. Take my advice: there is yet time to secure your future."

"Never, if it is to be accomplished by frauds!"

"Think of your daughter."

A painful quivering flitted across Gotzkowsky's face. "Who gives you a right to remind me of her?" asked he angrily. "Do not soil her name by p.r.o.nouncing it. I have nothing in common with you."

"Yes, you have, though," said Ephraim with a wicked smile. "You have done me a good deed, and I am thankful. That is something in common."

Gotzkowsky did not answer him. He crossed the room hastily, and stepped to his writing-table, out of a secret drawer of which he drew a dark-red case. He opened it and s.n.a.t.c.hed out the diamond ring that was contained in it.

"I do not wish your grat.i.tude," said he, turning to Ephraim, anger flashing from his countenance--"and if you could offer me all the treasures of the world, I would throw them to the earth, as I do this ring!" And he cast down the costly jewel at Ephraim's feet.

The latter raised it coolly from the ground and examined it carefully.

He then broke out into a loud, scornful laugh. "This is the ring which the Jews presented to you when you procured our exemption from the war-tax. You give it to me?"

"I give it to you, and with it a curse on the tempter of my honor!"

"You repulse me, then? You will have none of my grat.i.tude?"

"Yes; if your hand could save me from the abyss, I would reject it!"

"Let it be so, then," said Ephraim; and his face a.s.sumed an expression of hatred and malice--for now it could be perceived that the rich Ephraim was again overcome by Gotzkowsky, although the latter was a poor and shattered man. His sympathy and his help had only met with a proud refusal from him whom he had not succeeded in humbling and dragging down to the dust.

"Let it be so, then!" he repeated, gnashing his teeth. "You will not have it otherwise. I take the ring," and looking at Gotzkowsky maliciously, he continued: "With this ring I will buy you a place in the churchyard, that the dishonored bankrupt may, at least, find an honorable grave, and not be shovelled in like De Neufville the suicide!"

"What do you say--De Neufville is dead?" cried Gotzkowsky, hurrying after him as he neared the door, and seizing him violently by the arm.