UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES GIFT OF C. G De Gurmo FEODOR'S VISIT TO THE GARDEN. THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN Qln historical Novel BY L MUHLBACH AUTHOR OF JOSEPH II. AND HIS COURT TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY AMORY COFFIN, M. D. NEW YORK A. L. F'OWLE, PUBLISHER 1905 COPYRIGHT, 1866, Br D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. HAD! rr THE WERNER COMPANY AKRON, OHIO CONTENTS BOOK I. PAOB . I. The Festival, . . . . .5 II. The Workman's Holiday, ... 17 III. Brother and Sister, . . . . .24 IV. Feodor von Brenda, .... 31 V. Mr. Kretschraer, of the " Vossian Gazette," . 38 VI. The Cowards' Race, .... 46 VIL The Interrupted Festival, . . . .51 VIIL The Leader of the People, ... 57 IX. The Russian is at the Gates, . . . .62 X. Be Prudent, 66 XL The Night of Horrors, . . . .73 XII. Russians and Austrians, .... 80 XIIL A Maiden's Heart, 87 XIV. A Faithful Friend, .... 98 XV. An Unexpected Meeting, .... 102 XVI. The Fugitive, 109 XVIL The Eavesdropper, . . . . .114 XVIII. The Two Cannoneers, .... 119 XIX. Father Gotzkowsky, . . . . .127 BOOK II. CHAP. L The Two Editors, . . . . .135 IL The Chief Magistrate of Berlin, . . 143 III. The Russian, the Saxon, and the Austrian, in Berlin, ...... 150 IV. The Cadets, .157 V. The Explosion, ..... 164 iii 4GOG21 iv CONTENTS. PAOR VI. John Gotzkowsky, . . . . .176 VII. The Horrors of War, . . .181 VIII. By Chance, . . . . . .190 IX. Mistress or Maid t . . . .197 X. An Unexpected Ally, .... 207 XL The Jew Ephraim, .... 215 XII. The Russian General and the German Man, . 222 XIII. The Execution, ..... 240 XIV. Bride and Daughter, . . . .247 XV. The Rivals, 258 XVI. The Punishment, . . . . .264 XVII. The Banquet of Gratitude, . . .271 XVIII. A Royal Letter, 278 BOOK III. CHAP. I. Frederick the Great at Meissen, . . . 284 II. The Winter-quarters in Leipsic, . . 302 III. The Friend in Need, . . . . .305 IV. Gratitude and Recompense, . . . 314 V. Four Years' Labor, . . . . .317 VI. Days of Misfortune, .... 320 VII. Confessions, . . . . . .329 VIII. The Russian Prince, .... 334 IX. Old Love New Sorrow, . . . .342 X. The Magistracy of Berlin, ... 354 XL The Jews of the Mint, . . . .362 XII. The Leipsic Merchant, .... 366 XIII. Ephraim the Tempter, . . . .872 XIV. Elise 382 XV. The Rescue, 392 XVI. Retribution, 397 XVII Tardy Gratitude, 401 XVIIL The Auction, 408 ILLUSTKATIONS. FACING PAGE Feeder's Visit to the Garden .... Frontispiece The Merchant draws Feodor from his Hiding-place . . 119 The Rich Jews appeal to Gotzkowsky 219 The Great Frederick examining the Porcelain Cup . . 308 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. BOOK I. CHAPTEE I. THE FESTIVAL. THE sufferings of the long war still continued; still stood Frederick the Great with his army in the field; the tremendous struggle between Prussia and Austria was yet undecided, and Silesia was still the apple of dis- cord for which Maria Theresa and Frederick II. had heen striving for years, and for which, in so many bat- tles, the blood of German brothers had been spilt. Everywhere joy seemed extinguished; the light jest was hushed; each one looked silently into the future, and none could tell in whose favor this great contest would finally be decided, whether Austria or Prussia would be victorious. The year 1760, the fifth of the war, was particularly sad for Prussia; it was marked in the history of Germany with tears and blood. Even Berlin which, up to that time, had suffered but little from the unhappy calami- ties of war, assumed now an earnest, mournful aspect, and it seemed as if the bright humor and sarcastic wit which had always characterized the inhabitants of this good city had now entirely deserted them! " Going through the wide and almost empty streets there were to be met only sad countenances, women clothed in black 5 6 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. who mourned their husbands or sons fallen in one of the many battles of this war, or mothers who were looking with anxiety into the future and thinking of their dis- tant sons who had gone to the army. Here and there was seen some wounded soldier wea-' rily dragging himself along the street, but hearty, healthy men were seldom to be met, and still more sel- dom was seen the fresh countenance of youth. Berlin had been obliged to send not only her men and youths, but also her boys of fourteen years to the army, which, according to the confession of Frederick the Great, consisted, in the campaign of the year 1760, only of renegades, marauders, and beardless boys. For these reasons it seemed the more strange to hear at this time issuing from one of the largest and hand- somest houses on the Leipsic Street the unwonted sounds of merry dance-music, cheerful singing and shouting, which reached the street. The passers-by stopped and looked with curiosity up to the windows, at which could be seen occasionally a flushed joyous man's face or pretty woman's head. But the men who were visible through the panes evidently did not belong to the genteeler classes of society; their faces were sunburnt, their hair hung down carelessly and unpowdered upon the coarse and unfashionable cloth coat, and the attire of the maidens had little in common with the elegance and fashion of the day. "The rich Gotzkowsky gives a great feast to his workmen to-day," remarked the people in the street to one another; and as they passed on they envied with a sigh those who were able at the same time to enjoy a merry day in the rich and brilliant halls of the great manufacturer, and admire the splendor of the rich man's house. THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 7 The mansion of Gotzkowsky was indeed one of the handsomest and most magnificent in all Berlin, and its owner was one of the richest men of this city, then, despite the war, so wealthy and thriving. But it was not the splendor of the furniture, of the costly silver ware, of the Gobelin tapestry and Turkish carpets which distinguished this house from all others. In these re- spects others could equal the rich merchant, or even sur- pass him. But Gotzkowsky possessed noble treasures of art, costly paintings, which princes and even kings might have envied. Several times had he travelled to Italy by commission from the king to purchase paintings, and the handsomest pieces in the Royal Gallery had been brought from the land of art by Gotzkowsky. But the last time he returned from Italy the war of 1756 had broken out, and the king could then spare no money for the purchase of paintings: he needed it all for his army. Therefore Gotzkowsky was obliged to keep for him- self the splendid originals of Raphael, Rubens, and other great masters which he had purchased at enormous prices, and the wealthy manufacturer was just the one able to afford himself the luxury of a picture gallery. The homely artisans and workmen who this day had dined in Gotzkowsky's halls felt somewhat con- strained and uncomfortable, and their countenances did not wear a free, joyous expression until they had risen from table, and the announcement was made that the festival would continue in the large garden imme- diately adjacent to the house, to which they at once re- paired to enjoy cheerful games and steaming coffee. Bertram, Gotzkowsky's head book-keeper, had been commissioned by him to lead the company, consisting of more than two hundred persons, into the garden, where g THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. Gotzkowsky would follow them, having first gone in search of his daughter. With lively conversation and hearty laugh the peo- ple retired, the halls were emptied, and now the deep silence of these state-apartments was only interrupted hy the gentle ticking of the large clock which stood over the sofa on its handsomely ornamented stand. When Gotzkowsky found himself at last alone, he breathed as if relieved. The quiet seemed to do him good. He sank down into one of the large chairs cov- ered with gold-embroidered velvet, and gazed earnestly and thoughtfully before him. The expression of his countenance was anxious, and his large dark eyes were not as clear and brilliant as usual. John Gotzkowsky was still a handsome man, despite his fifty years; his noble intellectual countenance, his tall proud figure, his full black hair, which, contrary to the custom of that period, he wore unpowdered, made an imposing and at the same time pleasing impression. And certainly it was not because of his personal ap- pearance that Gotzkowsky, notwithstanding the early death of his wife, had never contracted a second mar- riage, but had preferred to remain a solitary widower. Nor did this occur from indifference or coldness of heart, but solely from the love for that little, helpless, love- needing being, whose birth had cost his young wife her life, to whom he had vowed at the bedside of her dead mother to stand in stead of that mother, and never to make her bend under the harsh rule of a step-mother. Gotzkowsky had faithfully fulfilled his vow; he had con- centrated all his love on his daughter, who under his careful supervision had increased in strength and beauty, so that with the pride and joy of a father he now styled her the handsomest jewel of his house. THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 9 Where then was this daughter whom he loved so dearly? Why was she not near him to smile away the wrinkles from his brow, to drive with light chat serious and gloomy thoughts from his mind? She it was, doubt- less, whom his wandering glance sought in these vast, silent rooms; and finding her not, and yearning in vain for her sweet smiles, her rosy cheeks, he sighed. Where was she then? Like her father, Gotzkowsk/s daughter sat alone in her room her gaze, as his, fixed upon empty space. The sad, melancholy expression of her face, scarcely tinged with a delicate blush, contrasted strangely with her splendid dress, her mournful look with the full wreath of roses which adorned her hair. Elise was the daughter of the wealthiest man in Berlin, the world proclaimed her the handsomest maiden, and yet there she sat solitary in her beautiful chamber, her eyes clouded with tears. Of a sudden she drew a golden case from her bosom and pressed it with deep feeling to her lips. Looking timidly at the door she seemed to listen; convinced that no one approached, she pressed a hidden spring of the medallion; the golden cover flew open and disclosed the portrait of a handsome man in Kussian uniform. The young girl contemplated this portrait with a strange mixture of delight and melancholy, and then, completely overpowered by its aspect, she approached it to her lips. " Feodor! " murmured she, so softly that it sounded almost like a sigh, and stretching out the hand which held the medallion, in order to be able better to contemplate the picture, she continued " Feodor, why did we meet, to be separated forever again? Why did not Fate allpw me to be born as a poor serf upon one of thy estates, giving to thee the right to 10 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. possess me, to me the sweet duty of loving thee? Heaven, why art thou an enemy of my country, or why am I a German? Men call me happy; they envy me my father's wealth; they know not how wretched and forsaken I am." She bowed her head upon her breast and wept bit- terly. Suddenly steps were heard quite close to her door. She started, and concealed the medallion quick- ly in her breast. " My father," murmured she, and dry- ing her tears she arose to open the door. She was right, it was her father. He held out his hand to her. She took it and pressed it to her lips respectfully, but she did not see the look of almost passionate tenderness with which he regarded her, for she had cast down her eyes and did not dare to look at him. " I have come, Elise, to lead you to our garden fes- tival. You will go with me, my child? " " I am ready," said she, taking her hat and shawl. "But why in such a hurry, my child?" asked her father. "Let us leave these good people yet a little while to themselves. We will still be in time to witness their games. I would like to stay a quarter of an hour with you, Elise." Without answering, she rolled an arm-chair to the window, and laid aside her hat and shawl. " It is very seldom, father, that you make me such a present," said she. " What present, my child? " " A quarter of an hour of your life, father." "You are right," said he, thoughtfully. "I have little time for pleasure, but I think so much the more of you." She shook her head gently. " No," said she, " you have no time to think of me. THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. H You are too busy. Hundreds of men claim your atten- tion. How could you have time, father, to think of your daughter? " Gotzkowsky drew a dark-red case from his breast pocket and handed it to her. " Look, Elise! see if I have not thought of you. To-day is your birthday, and I have celebrated it as I have done every year by giving my workmen a festival, and endowing a poor bridal pair who on this day become betrothed. Their prayers and tears constitute the most beautiful thank-offering to you, and being happy they bless you, the authoress of their happiness. But how is this? You have not yet opened the case. Are you so little like other girls that diamonds cause you no pleas- ure ?" She opened the case, and contemplated the jewels with weary looks and scarcely concealed indifference. " How wonderfully they shine and sparkle, and what tempting promises their brilliant colors hold forth! But this is a princely present, father; your poor Elise it not worthy to wear this diadem and collar." " Oh, you are worthy to wear a crown! " cried her father with tender pride. "And let me tell you, my child, you have only to choose whether you will place on this beautiful hair an earl's coronet or a prince's diadem. And this, my child, is the reason of my visit to-day." "On business," murmured she, almost inaudibly, with a bitter smile. Gotzkowsky continued " Young Count Saldem applied to me yesterday for your hand." "Count Saldem?" asked Elise. "I hardly know him. I have only spoken to him twice in the saloon of Countess Herzberg." 12 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. " That does not prevent him from loving you ardent- ly/' said Gotzkowsky, with scarcely perceptible irony. " Yes, Elise, he loves you so ardently that he would overcome all obstacles of rank and make you a genuine countess, if I will only promise to endow you with half a million." The habitually pale countenance of Elise suddenly assumed life and color. She drew herself up and threw her head proudly back. " Do you wish to sell me, father? Do you wish to give some value to this noble nonentity by the present of half a million, and will his lordship be kind enough in return to take the trifling burden of my person into the bargain?" Her father gazed at her glowing countenance with eyes beaming with joy; but he quickly suppressed this emotion, and reassumed a serious air. " Yes," he said, " the good count, in consideration of half a million, will consent to raise the manufacturer's daughter to the rank of a countess. But for a whole million we can obtain still more; we can rise yet higher in the scale. If I will advance his uncle, Prince Saldem, half a million to redeem his mortgaged estates, the prince promises to adopt the nephew, your suitor, as his son. You would then be a princess, Elise, and I would have the proud satisfaction of calling a prince my son." "As if the king would consent to a nobleman thus demeaning himself! " cried Elise; " as if he would graciously allow the count so far to degrade himself! " " Oh, the king will consent," continued her father in a light tone. "You know that he is fond of me. Only say whether you consent to become Countess Sal- dem." " Never! " cried she proudly. " I am no chattel to THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 13 be bartered, and this miserable title of princess has no charms for me. You can command me, father, to re- nounce the man I love, but you can never compel me to give my hand to a man I do not love, were he even a king I Her father clasped her vehemently in his arms. " That is blood of my blood, and spirit of :uy spirit," cried he. " You are right, my child, to despise honors and titles; they are empty tinsel, and no one believes in them any longer. We stand at the portal of a new era, and this era will erect new palaces and create new princes; but you, my child, will be one of the first prin- cesses of this new era. Manufactories will be the new palaces, and manufacturers the new princes. Instead of the sword, money will rule the world, and men will bow down before manufacturers and merchants as they are wont to do before generals. Therefore I say you are right in refusing Prince Saldem's offer, for I promise you, you shall be a princess, even without the title, and the great and noble shall bow as low before your riches as if they were a ducal diadem." Elise shook her head with a melancholy smile: "I have no desire for such homage, and I despise the base metal with which you can buy everything." " Despise it not! " cried her father, " prize it rather! Gold is a holy power; it is the magic wand of Moses which caused springs to gush forth from the sterile rock. See, my child I, who despise all the rank and honors which the world can offer me, I tell you gold is the only thing for which I have any respect. But a man must perceive and understand the secret of this magic power. He who strives for wealth only to possess it is a heartless fool, and his fate will be that of Midas he will starve in the midst of his treasures. But he who 14: THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. strives for wealth for the purpose of giving, he will dis- cover that money is the fountain of happiness; and in his hands the dead metal is transformed into a living blessing. You may believe your father, who knows the world, and who has drunk the bitter cup of poverty." " You were once poor? " asked Elise, looking at her father with astonishment. Gotzkowsky smiled, and sank back in his chair, mus- ing and silent. After a pause he resumed: " Yes, I was poor. I have endured all the horrors of poverty. I have hungered and thirsted, suffered misery and priva- tion, even as a little boy. Thus lay I once, wretched and forsaken, in a ditch by the highway, and raised my hands to God on high, praying but for a drop of water, but for a morsel of bread. Ah! so strong was the be- lief of the goodness of God in my heart, that I was con- vinced He would open the heavens, and reach to me with His own hand the food for which I prayed. I waited and waited, in despairing anxiety, but the heavens were not opened, and not even a drop of rain came to cool my parched lips. But the cloud, which I had looked for in vain in the sky, was seen at last on the highway, and, as I saw this whirling cloud of dust, in the midst of which a splendid equipage came rolling on, I said to myself: * Here comes God! ' and then I found strength enough to raise myself from my knees, to hurry toward the rapidly passing vehicle, and to cry with a voice which was almost overpowered by the noise of the wheels, 1 Pity! pity! give me a morsel of bread, a drop of water! Have pity on me! ' A hand was stretched toward me out of the cloud of dust, and I saw a small, brightly shin- ing object drop. The carriage rolled on, and disappeared in its cloud. But I sank on my knees and searched the dust for the piece of money, for in this coin lay for THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 15 me life, health, and strength. I was obliged to hunt in the dust for a long time with hands tremulous with anx- iety, and finally, when I found it, I rejoiced aloud and thanked God. Then I hurried with fleet steps toward the neighboring town, to the same baker's shop near the gate, where, shortly before, they had refused to my en- treaties a bit of bread. Now, willingly and with smiles, they handed me a loaf, for I had money to pay for it. In that hour I said to myself: ' I must seek money, even if I have to grovel in the dust for it; for money is life, and poverty is death! ' The hand which, from the cloud of dust threw me that piece of money, decided my whole future, for it taught me that even dust was not to be despised, as therein money might be found; but it taught me something more it taught me compassion and charity. Then, as I crouched down with bleeding feet at the street-corner and devoured my loaf, I vowed to myself that I would become rich, and when I had grown rich, to be to each poor and needy one the helping hand stretched forth out of the cloud of dust." Elise had listened to her father with deep emotion, and in the depth of her heart she at this moment ab- solved him from many a silent reproach, and many a suspicion, which her soul had harbored against him. " You have kept your word, my father! " cried she. "How did you contrive to become a rich man from a beggar? " Gotzkowsky laughed. "How did I contrive that?" said he. " I worked, that is the whole secret worked from sunrise until late in the night, and by work alone have I become what I am. But no, I had one friend who often helped me with his sympathy and valuable counsel. This friend was the king. He protected me against my malicious enemies, who envied me every little 16 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. piece of fortune. He cheered me on. Frederick's eye rested on me with pleasure, and he was delighted to see my manufactories thrive and increase. The king's satis- faction was for many years the only spur to my exertions, and when he looked on me with smiling benevolence, it seemed to me as if a sunbeam of fortune shone from his large blue eyes into my heart. I have learned to love the king as a man, and because I love mankind I love the king. It is said that he likes the French better than he does us, and prefers every thing that comes from them; but, indeed, he was the first to supply his wants from my manufactories, and in that way to encourage me to new undertakings.* Mankind, in general, do not like to see others favored by fortune in their enterprises, and they hate him who succeeds where they have failed. I have experienced that often in life. I knew that men hated me because I was more fortunate than they were, and yet I saw how they cringed before me, and flat- tered me. Oh, my child, how many bitter and painful experiences do I not owe to my wealth! In wealth lies "Wisdom, if one would only listen to her. It has humbled and subdued me, for I said to myself, ' How quickly would all these men who now surround me with atten- tion and flattery, disappear if I became suddenly poor! ' These princes and counts, who now invite me as a guest to their tables, would no longer know me if I appeared before them as a poor man. Wealth is rank and worth; and no prince's title, no star of honor, shines so brightly as golden coin. But we must learn how to use it, and *"Gotzkowsky founded the first large velvet and silk manufac- tories in Berlin. He was also the first to attend the Leipsic fair with domestic groods. and thus open the commerce with Poland and Russia." History of a Patriotic Merchant of Berlin. 1768, pages 10-12. THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. 17 not convert the means of fortune into the end. We must also learn to despise men, and yet to love mankind. My philosophy may be condensed into a few sentences. Strive for gold; not to take, but to give. Be kind and faithful to all men; most faithful, however, to thyself, thy honor, and thy country." Elise looked at him with a strange expression: " You love all mankind! Do you then include our country's enemies? " " The enemies of our country are the only men whom I hate," cried Gotzkowsky quickly. " Even were they noble and good? " asked Elise with reproachful tone. Gotzkowsky looked at her with astonishment and curiosity, and a cloud flitted across his brow. Then, as if shocked at his own thoughts, he shook his head, and murmured in a low tone, " No, that were too terrible! " He rose and paced the room in thoughtful mood. Sud- denly a burst of lively music and gleeful shouts were heard from the garden. Gotzkowsky's brow brightened immediately, and he extended his hand with a tender look. " Come, my child," exclaimed he, " come, and see how happy you have made men! Come, and see the power of wealth! " CHAPTER II. THE WORKMAN'S HOLIDAY. THE garden, which stretched from behind Gotz- kowsky's house to the limits of the city, was really of artistic beauty, and he had spent thousands in creating a 18 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. park out of this dead level of sand. Now, his work waa completed, and all Berlin spoke with praise and admira- tion of this garden, which ranked among the lions to be visited by every traveller. The most splendid groups of trees were seen here and there, interspersed among green plats of grass, ornamented by marble statues or graceful fountains; in other places, trimmed hedges stretched along, and from the conservatories exotic plants filled the air with perfume. On this day, however, the garden presented a pe- culiarly lively spectacle. On the lawn, the young girls and lads were dancing to the music of a fiddle and bass- viol, while the older workmen and their wives had seated themselves around tables, on which all kinds of refresh- ments were spread. At the largest of these tables, ornamented with flow- ers, was seated the betrothed couple, the workman Bal- thazar and Gretchen his young bride, who bashfully and affectionately clung to his side. They had loved each other long and faithfully in silence, but without hope, for they were both poor, and had to support themselves and their parents by the work of their hands. But Gotz- kowsky had come to them as a helping benefactor; he had given Balthazar a considerable sum of money, and his daughter Elise had bestowed a dower upon the bride. On this day, Elise's eighteenth birthday, was to be cele- brated the marriage of the happy couple. No wonder, then, that they regarded Gotzkowsky with feelings al- most of adoration, and that this young girl appeared to them as a benevolent angel. Elise had just come into the garden with her father, and had taken her seat at the table of the bridal pair. Next to her sat a young man, whose mild and noble countenance seemed to be lighted up with happiness THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 19 and adoration whenever he looked upon her. He fol- lowed every one of her motions with watchful eyes, and the most trifling shade, the slightest change in the ex- pression of her countenance, did not escape him. At times he sighed, reading perhaps in her features the secret thoughts of her soul, and these thoughts saddened him, and clouded his bright clear eye. This young man, who sat at Elise's side, was Ber- tram, Gotzkowsky's head book-keeper. From his ear- liest youth he had been in the house of the rich manu- facturer, who had adopted the poor orphan, and treated him as a tender father would have done, and Bertram loved him with all the affection of a son. And never by the lips of a true son was the name of father pronounced with more warmth and tenderness than by this son, adopted and won by deeds of generosity. But Bertram, who called Gotzkowsky father, had never ventured to call Gotzkowsky's daughter sister. Brought up together, they had in their childhood shared their games, their childish joys and sorrows with one another; he had been a protecting brother to her, she an affectionate sister to him. But ever since Bertram had returned from a journey of three years, which Gotz- kowsky had caused him to make, all this had changed. Elise, whom he had left almost a child, he found on his return a blooming young woman, and a feeling of joy- ous emotion flashed through him as he stood blushing before her; while she, perfectly collected, with a quiet look bade him welcome. Under the charm of this look he had lived several weeks of rapture and yet of anxiety. He soon felt that he loved this young girl passionately, but he also felt that she returned his passion with the lukewarm affec- tion of a friend or a sister, and that she had no suspicion 20 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN, of the tumult and pain, the joy and ecstasy which filled his breast. And yet he had a right to strive for the prize of her love; and if he raised his eyes to the daugh- ter of his benefactor, it was not presumption, it was Gotzkowsky himself who emboldened him to do so. He had said to him, " Seek to win the love of my daughter, and I will cheerfully bid you welcome as my son, for I know that in your hands Elise's happiness is safe." Thus he had the consent of her father, but Elise's love was wanting, and how could he ever deserve this love, how win this heart which shone as bright and clear, as hard and cold as rock crystal? Of what avail was it that he worked indefatigably in the service of his benefactor? how did it help him that the money, which Gotzkowsky had given to him as a boy, had borne rich interest and made him a man of means, and even, if he chose, of independence? What did it profit him that all men loved him, if this one being, by whom he so ardently longed to be loved, always remained the same, unchanged toward him, always affectionate and friendly, always open and candid, never abashed, never blushing, never casting her eyes down before him? "It must at last be decided," thought Bertram, aa he sat next Elise; "I must at last know whether she returns my love, or whether that be true which I have heard whispered since my return. I must at least have certainty, even if it annihilates all my wishes." At this moment there sounded near him merry shouts and laughter. Gotzkowsky had accosted the bridal pair with a jest, and the grateful audience had taken up this jest with delight. "Long life to the bridal pair! " cried he, raising his glass on high. "Health, wealth, and happiness to them! " A perfect uproar followed this appeal, and THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 21 brought tears of delight into the eyes of the blushing little bride, who stood up with the bridegroom and bowed her thanks. Balthazar laughed, and, as soon as every thing had become quiet, replied: " There, that will do! you have hurrahed enough. I don't wish for wealth; health, happiness, and content are enough for me with my little Gretchen; but for these blessings I have to thank, we have all to thank, our lord and master, our father Gotz- kowsky. Therefore, you boys up there, stop your clat- ter and dancing, and listen to what I have to say to you." Balthazar's loud clear voice overpowered the music which now ceased, and the lads and maidens crowded around him. "Balthazar is going to make a speech!" cried one with hearty laughter, in which the others joined lustily. " Silence, silence! Balthazar is going to make a speech. Come, Balthazar, out with it! It's a failing he has." "Well, why shouldn't I? " said Belthazar, laughing; " many a great lord does nothing else all his life but make pretty speeches. Why shouldn't I play the great lord on this my wedding-day?" He drew himself up, cleared his throat, and continued: " I want to talk to you about our master, who turned us from good-for- nothing drones into industrious workmen, who gave us bread when nobody else had bread for us. Nobody, I say, not even our mayor, who is a very good mayor, but who cannot help the poor, feed the hungry, and give bread and work to hands willing to work. Who ia able to do that, and who does it? Who in Berlin is the rich, the good man, who gives work to all, and in his large and celebrated mills procures us food and wages? Who is it?" 22 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. " Gotzkowsky, our father Gotzkowsky! " cried the crowd unanimously. Balthazar waved his hat joyfully in the air. " There- fore, say I, long live Gotzkowsky our father! " cried he with stentorian voice. And loud shouts and cheers fol- lowed this appeal. Men and women surrounded Gotz- kowsky and offered him their hand, and thanked him with those simple and plain words which never fail to reach the heart, because they come from the heart. All hailed him as friend and father, benefactor and master. Gotzkowsky stood in their midst, proud and erect. A deep emotion was evident in his noble features, and he raised his beaming, radiant face to heaven, thanking God in the humbleness of his heart for the proud joy of this hour. " Long live Gotzkowsky, our father"! " reiterated the happy multitude. He lowered his eyes, and glanced with friendly looks at the cheerful assemblage. " Thank you, my children/' said he, " but I beg you not to overrate my merits. You are of as much service to me as I am to you. He who gives work is nothing without the worker; the one has need of the other, to in- crease and thrive. Of what avail would my looms and my money be if I had not your industrious hands and your good will to serve me? Money alone will not do it, but the good will and love of the workmen carry the day. I thank you all for your good will and your love; but above all," continued he, turning to Bertram, " above all things I must thank you, my friend. You have stood by me and helped me bravely, and it is full time that I should try to reward you. Children, one more sur- prise have I in reserve for you to-day. I appoint Mr. Ber- tram my partner and sole director of the silk factory." THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 23 " That's right, that's noble! " cried the workmen. Bertram said nothing. He only turned his eyes, clouded with tears, toward Gotzkowsky, and the latter read in his looks his deep emotion and affectionate grati- tude. " My son/' said he, opening his arms. "My father, oh my dear, noble father," cried the young man, throwing himself, with streaming eyes, on Gotzkowsky's breast. The workmen stood round, deep- ly moved, and in silence; and in their hearts they sent up quiet prayers to God on high for their employer. At last Gotzkowsky raised himself from Bertram's arms and sought his daughter with his eyes. She was still sitting, silent and pensive, at the table, and did not ap- pear to have observed what was going on around her. A light cloud crossed his brow as he took Bertram's hand and approached Elise. " Well, Elise, have you no word of congratulation for him?" She shuddered, as if awaking from a dream. " Oh," said she, "my good brother Bertram knows that I re- joice in his fortune." "Brother! still brother?" murmured Gotzkowsky impatiently. "And why should she not give me that sweet name? " asked Bertram, quickly. " Have you not often called me son, and allowed me to call you father? " " Oh, I would like indeed to be your father, my son, without Elise's having to call you brother. But we will speak of this another time," said he, interrupting him- self; and turning to his workmen, continued: " Come, let us be merry, and of good cheer. Who knows how long Heaven will grant us sunshine? Come, you young folks, I have caused a target to be set up in the court. 24 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. Let us go there. He who makes the best shot shall get a new coat. Come, bride Greta, take my arm; I will be your groomsman to-day. Bertram, you and Elise follow us. Now, music, strike up a song for the bride." Gotzkowsky offered his arm to the bride and led her out. Cheerfully the motley crowd followed him, and soon there was heard in the distance their happy laugh- ter and the merry sound of the music. CHAPTER III. BEOTHER AND SISTER. ELISE did not follow the joyous multitude. She still sat musing, unaware that Bertram was standing opposite to her, considering her attentively. At last he ventured to pronounce her name softly. She looked up at him with perfect composure. " You do not go with them, Elise? " asked he. " Do you not take any part in the general rejoicing? " She tried to smile. " Oh yes," said she, " I am glad to see how much these good people love my father. And he deserves it too. The welfare of his workmen is his only thought, and the only fame for which he strives." " You are too modest in your estimate of your father, Elise," cried Bertram. " Gotzkowsky's fame extends far beyond the walls of this town. All Germany, yes, even Holland and England, are familiar with his name, and the Prussian merchant is as much a hero on ' 'Change ' as the Prussian king is on the battle-field." " Only my father's victories are less bloody," said Elise, smiling. THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 25 A pause ensued. Both felt anxious and embarrassed, and neither dared to break the silence. It was the first time, since Bertram's return from his grand tour, that she had found herself in his presence without witnesses, for she had carefully avoided being alone with him. This had not escaped Bertram's notice, and he had there- fore determined to take advantage of the present oppor- tunity to have his fate decided. But yet he did not venture to speak, and the words died away on his lips as he remarked her silent, indifferent composure. As he contemplated her, memories of former days rose up before him. He saw her as, half child, half maiden, she clung trustingly and affectionately to his side, and with charming blushes listened to the teasing jokes of her father. Then her whole soul lay open and clear before him; then she disclosed to him the entire treas- ure of her pure, full heart, and all the fanciful and dreamy thoughts of her young virgin soul were perceptible; then he had participated in her joys, her little sorrows, every feeling which agitated her breast. And now, why was it all so different? A deep, painful melancholy took possession of him, and made him overcome his fear of her decision. He sat down resolutely at her side, and took her hand. " Elise," said he, " do you still remember what you said to me three years ago, as I took leave of you? " She shook her head and turned her eyes toward him. These eyes were full of tears, and her countenance was agitated with painful emotion. Bertram continued: "You then said to me, ' Fare- well, and however far you may travel my heart goes with you, and when you return I will be to you the same lov- ing, faithful sister that I now am.* These were your 26 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. words, Elise; you see that I have preserved them in ray memory more faithfully than you, my sister." Elise shuddered slightly. Then she said, with a painfully subdued voice, " You were so long absent, Ber- tram, and I was only a child when you left." " The young woman wishes, then, to recall the words spoken by the child? " " No, Bertram, I will always love you as a sister." Bertram sighed. "I understand you," said he, sad- ly* "you wish to erect this sisterly love into an impas- sable barrier separating me from you, and to pour this cool and unsubstantial affection like a soothing balm upon my sufferings. How little do you know of love, Elise; of that passion which desires every thing, which is satisfied with nothing less than extreme happiness, or, failing that, extreme wretchedness, and will accept no pitiful compromise, no miserable substitute! " Elise looked at him firmly, with beaming eyes. She too felt that the decisive hour had come, and that she owed the friend of her youth an open and unreserved ex- planation. " You are mistaken, Bertram," said she. " I know this love of which you speak, and for that very reason, because I know it, I tell you I will always love you as a sister. As a true sister I bid you welcome." She offered him her hand; but as she read in his pale face the agony which tormented his soul, she turned her eyes away and drew her hand back. "You are angry with me, Bertram," said she, sob- bing. He pressed his hand convulsively to his heart, as if he would suppress a cry of agony, then held it firmly to his eyes, which were scalded by his hot tears. He wrestled with his sufferings, but he wrestled like a hero THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 27 and a man who would not be subjugated, but is deter- mined to conquer. As his hand glided from his face his eyes were tearless, and nothing was visible in his countenance but an expression of deep earnestness. " Well, then," said he, recovering himself, " I accept this sisterly love as a sick man accepts the bitter medi- cine which he will not cast away lest he commit suicide. I accept you as my sister, but a sister must at least have confidence in her brother; she must not stand before him like a sealed book whose contents he is ignorant of. If I am to be your brother, I demand also the rights of a brother. I demand truth and trust." " And who says that I will deny you either? " asked she, quickly. " You, yourself, Elise; your whole conduct, your shyness and reserve, the manner in which you avoid me > the intentional coldness with which you meet me. Oh! even at this moment you would withdraw from me, but I will not let you, Elise; I will compel your heart to reveal itself to me. I will move you with my devotion, my tender anxiety, so that the cruel crust will fall from your gentle and pure heart, and you will become again my candid and confiding sister. Oh, Elise, have com- passion on me! tell me what secret, mysterious charm has suddenly seized you; what wicked, hurtful demon has suddenly converted this bright ingenuous girl into a pale, sad, serious woman. Have courage and trust me, and let me read as in those happier days." Elise looked at his noble countenance with a deep and painful emotion, and met his inquiring look with unabashed eye. " Well, then," said she, " I will trust you, Bertram. I will tell you what I have confided to no human ear. Know, then, that my heart also has felt the pains which 28 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. affect yours. Know that an ardent, hopeless love burns my soul." "A hopeless love?" asked Bertram. " Yes, hopeless," said she, firmly; " for never can I hope for my father's blessing on this love, and never, without it, will I leave my father's house to follow the man I love." " The man you love! " cried Bertram, painfully. " Does he also then love you, and does he know that you love him?" She looked at him with astonishment. " Can one then love without being beloved ? " asked she, with the unconscious pride of a young girl. "You are right," said Bertram; "I was a fool to ask this question of you. But why do you doubt your father's consent? Why do you not go confidingly to him and confess your love? But how? Is this love such that it dare not face the light, and must conceal itself from the eyes of your father? " " Yes, Bertram, it is such a love; but yet you must not doubt me, you must not think that this love which conceals itself from the eyes of my father need therefore fear the light of the world. My father would, perhaps, if he knew my secret, declare me unworthy of him; but never, be assured, never would I commit any act un- worthy of myself, and for which I would have to blush. It is possible that not only my father but the whole world would pronounce me guilty if it knew my love; but, believe me, that in the consciousness of my recti- tude I would have the courage to brave the verdict of the whole world, provided that my own heart acquitted me, and that I am guilty of no other crime than this accidental one, which fate, and not my own will and trespass, imposes on me. Love allows itself neither to THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 29 be given nor taken, and when it cannot command for- tune, it can at least lighten misfortune. More I cannot tell you, my brother, and what is the use of words? Only depend on what I assure you, I will never be faith- less to my honor nor my love. You may think," con- tinued she, proudly and passionately, " that my love is a crime, but never that I could love unworthily, or that I could bow my head under the disgrace of a dishonor- able love." She looked beautiful in her proud, flashing maiden- hood; and Bertram felt, as he looked on her handsome, glowing countenance, that he had never loved her so sincerely, and at the same time so painfully, as at this moment. " Elise," said he, grasping her hand, " will you not have entire confidence in your brother? Will you net tell me the name of your lover? " She shook her head earnestly. " Only God and my heart dare know it/' " Elise," continued he more urgently, " shall I tell you what has been whispered in my ear as I returned from a long absence? Shall I tell you what your ene- mies for your youth and beauty and your father's wealth have made you enemies shall I tell you what your enemies whisper to each other with malicious joy? " "No, no!" said she anxiously, "how would it help me to know it? " Bertram continued inexorably, "They say that the captive Kussian, General Sievers, was welcomed by your father into his house as a friend, and that he over- whelmed the noble prisoner with kind attention." Elise breathed more freely. " It was with the con- sent and by the wish of the king that my father was kind to the captive Eussian general." 30 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. " And was it also by the wish of the king that Gotz- kowsky's daughter accepted the homage of the Kuasian general's adjutant?" A slight shudder ran through Elise's whole frame, and her cheeks became crimson. " Ah," cried Bertram sadly, " I see you understand me. You will not tell me the name of your lover let me tell it to you. It is Feodor von Brenda." " No, no! " cried Elise, looking around in alarm, and fearful lest some treacherous ear had heard the dan- gerous secret. " Yes," said Bertram, " his name is Feodor von Bren- da; he serves as a colonel in the Russian army; he fights against our brothers and our king; he is the enemy of our country." " You have no pity on me," cried Elise, wringing her hands, her eyes streaming with tears. " You wish to kill me with your cruel words." " I wish to show to the daughter of the noblest and truest patriot, I wish to point out to the young, inexperi- enced, credulous maiden, to my sister, that she stands at the edge of an abyss. I wish to open her eyes that she may be aware of the danger which threatens her. I wish to draw her back from this abyss which threatens to engulf her." " It is too late," said Elise, rising proudly and drying her tears. " I know it all, Bertram; I stand at the edge of this abyss with open eyes, conscious of the danger; but I will not, cannot draw back, for my heart holds me fast." Elise took leave of him with a sad smile, and hurried rapidly down the dark walk which led to the retired and unfrequented parts of the garden. Bertram looked after her until her pink dress disap- peared behind the dark foliage of the hedge. THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 31 "She loves him," murmured he, letting his head drop upon his breast, " it is certain she loves him." CHAPTER IV. FEODOB VON BEENDA. ELISE directed her hasty steps toward the now re- tired parts of the garden. She longed to be alone. Her soul, agitated by painful emotions, required silence and solitude, in order to settle down again gently to rest and peace. Slowly, and with bowed head, she traversed thfe dark, silent garden-walks. Her thoughts wandered afar off, and she sought some little comfort, some relief from the privations of the present, in the sweet and blissful recollections of bygone days. "What can keep him?" asked she of herself; and as she thought of him, her countenance assumed a cheer- ful, almost happy expression. " He swore to brave every danger, every difficulty, in order to let me hear from him; and now, alas! ten weeks have passed, and no news, no token, from him. My God! is it possible that in all this long time he could have found no opportunity to write to me? or perhaps his love has not survived the test of separation and silence." At this thought she stopped, as if stunned, and pressed her hand to her breast. A sharp pain shot through her, and her heart seemed to cease to pulsate. But, in a moment, her countenance brightened up, and she murmured, with a gentle smile, " Oh, to doubt his love were a greater treason than to love my country's enemy. Oh, no! Feodor, my heart does not doubt you; 32 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. and notwithstanding your silence, I know that your heart answers mine, and that we are forever and insep- arably united." With rapid step and cheerful mind she continued her wandering. She had now arrived at the darkest and most secluded part of the garden. Nothing stirred around her, and there was only heard the rustling of the dark fir-tree moved by the wind, or the melodious note of some bird hidden in the foliage. The garden, elsewhere so carefully and artistically tended, stretching from the Leipsic Street to the Pali- sades, which surrounded the town in lieu of a wall at that time, was here overgrown with underwood, protecting the more beautiful parts like a quickset hedge. But this bush was, besides, surrounded by a high wall, running immediately next to the Palisades, and bounding the whole back part of the garden. It was seldom that any one wandered in this neighborhood, and Elise was cer- tain, therefore, that no inquisitive eye could watch her, no treacherous ear listen to her half -whispered words. She seated herself on a bench under a tree, not far from the wall, and looked up dreamingly and thought- fully at the patches of blue sky visible through the tree- tops. Her whole soul was sunk in reminiscence. Ah, how often had she sat here, but not alone not with this painful longing in her heart, but in the fullest content- ment of happiness, listening with delighted ear to words spoken by him who sat next to her, holding her hand in his, and gazing on her with looks which made her heart tremble with happiness! Here, on this spot, he had taken leave of her, and since then it had become, as it were, the temple of her recollections, to which she daily made her pilgrimage to offer up her devout, sincere, and ardent prayer of love. THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 33 She sat and looked up to heaven, and her ear, dwell- ing on words which had died away long ago, did not hear sounds which were perceptible on the other side of the wall. It appeared as if some one were striving to climb it, and indeed there could be now seen a hand feeling about, and then a man's figure rising above the wall. Cautiously spying around, large flashing eyes looked into the garden. One moment the figure rested upon the wall, as if exhausted by the exertion, or listening for some sound. It was a young man, in the garb of a peasant, who sat upon the wall; but the heavy, black mustache little suited this peaceful dress, and his bold air, verging on insolence, seemed to challenge the dan- gers which surrounded him. He rested for a moment on the wall, and listened attentively. Then he drew a pistol from his breast, and examined carefully its lock and barrel. He then cocked it, and holding it in one hand, began carefully and noiselessly to descend. With one leap he sprang to the ground; the leaves rustled under his feet, and again he stood motionless in a listening attitude. His glance was as keen and bright as that of an eagle, and it seemed to penetrate the dark foliage. Suddenly a light flashed across his countenance, and a smile of delight played about his lips. He had seen the young girl, who was seated on the bench lost in deep thought, and that he had recognized her was letrayed by his animated ex- pression. Quietly, carefully, he drew nearer, ever and again standing still and listening. Then he stood close behind her at the tree. Again he listens, but every thing is silent and hushed. Now he calls her softly by name, and whispers almost inaudibly, " Elise! " She started and looked up, but saw no one, and as 34 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. she recovered herself, she sighed gently, and said: "I was mistaken, it was only the wind." But again he whispered: " Start not, Elise; do not utter a word or cry! " " God! " murmured she in a low tone, trembling in all her limbs. An ardent embrace, a glowing kiss upon her brow, and a well-beloved voice whispered her name. " Feodor! " uttered she faintly. Overcome by the sudden violence of her feelings, her head dropped lan- guidly on his breast. Then, drawing herself up, she gazed at him, and her eager, loving look encountered his flashing eye. She was, as it were, fascinated happy as in a dream, and yet conscious of the most delicious waking. " Do you know me, Elise ? Do you recognize your Feodor in spite of his disguise ? " " Oh, speak again," said she as he ceased. " It is so long since I have heard your voice! " " Ten weeks have passed," said he, pressing her still closer to his heart, " without my being able to see you or convey to you any information. I could endure it no longer. I said to myself, ' God is the friend of lovers/ and so I disguised myself as you see me, and ventured here." Elise started up and gazed at him anxiously. Awak- ing from her ecstasy of delight, she just began to be con- scious of the present. " Good heavens! " she cried, " danger threatens you." " Death, if I am found here! " said he, solemnly " death, if it is known in the Eussian camp why I came here! " She uttered a cry, and clung anxiously to him. " You should not have come here/' said she, trembling. THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 35 " My God, if my fathe^r should find you here! It was cruel of you to come." " It would have been more cruel," said he, smiling, " if, being so near you, I had not come at all. I have watched and yearned so long for this meeting; I have longed so to read in your eyes that you have not for- gotten me! Why do you cast them down, Elise? " " Because, Feodor, you have already read too much in them, more than my father would ever forgive." " Your father was always kind and friendly toward me, but at that time I was his prisoner, now he regards me only as the enemy of his country; and yet, Elise, my object here is any thing but that of an enemy. It is not only the desire but also the anxiety of love which brings me here. Listen to me my time is limited, and I am lost if I linger too long; but I had to see you to warn you, to avert the danger which threatens you, and all of you. Listen, therefore. Your father is the most power- ful and influential man in Berlin. His influence will go far with the council and the citizens. Entreat him, Elise, to use all his influence to avert a terrible bloodshed from this city." Elise shook her head seriously and sadly. Her sweet dream was dissipated; she was now no longer the dream- ing, loving girl, but a conscious, reasoning, collected woman. "How can my father do that?" said she, doubt- "He must persuade the citizens to yield without fighting." " That my father will never do," said she, warmly. " Yes, he will do it," replied her lover, " when he learns that all fighting is useless. Let him have com- passion on his native town, on himself. You are all 36 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. lost if you fight. Already twelve thousand of our men, under General Tottleben, stand before the gates. At this moment, while I am speaking, Tschernitscheff, with twenty thousand regulars, is approaching from the other side. Count Lacy, too, with his Austrians, is drawing near. All this tell your father. Tell him, also, that General Tottleben has promised our Empress Elizabeth to take Berlin, if he has to lay it in ruins and ashes. Use all your influence, implore him to do all in his power to persuade the citizens to a peaceful surrender." " I have no influence over my father," said she, sadly, " and if I had I would not abuse it. Such a surrender, without a fight, would be cowardice." "But a fight, with the assured certainty of defeat, would be madness. Your father does not know the number of troops massed around Berlin. Do you tell him." She looked at him mournfully. "And shall I tell him, too, from whom I received this information? " After a little reflection, he replied: " Yes, if it can- not be otherwise, tell him. Your father will not betray me." "No, but he will curse his daughter," cried Elise, painfully " curse her for having had intercourse with our country's enemy, while the Eussian cannon threaten our town. No, no, Feodor, it were no use to warn him. My father would not listen to me." " So Berlin will run toward its ruin, and I cannot prevent it," said the colonel, sadly. " I have done all in my power. I wish to requite your father for all the kindness he has shown me, and for that reason I risked my life in order to warn him." " Believe me, Feodor, I will never forget you for it," said she, offering him both her hands. " However angry THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 37 my father may be, my heart still remains yours. Love doe's not recognize any national hatred. It yields itself without reserve to him who has won it." She leaned her head upon his breast, and he im- printed a kiss upon her forehead. " Thank you for these words/' said he; " wherever I go they shall be my talisman." " Are you going already ? " asked she, anxiously. " I must go, Elise," replied he. " Oh, Feodor, I dare not bid you stay. I tremble at the thought of my father seeing you," sighed she; "but when, my beloved, when shall we see each other again? " He looked at her a long time with a steady, pierc- ing glance. He then exclaimed, almost rudely: " You have sworn me love and constancy till death. Do you remember it ? " " I remember it, and never will I be faithless to my vow," whispered she, smiling through her tears. " You swore to me never to belong to any one but me. Have you forgotten that? " " No, I have not." "Well, then," said he, rising, "we shall soon see each other again." " When, Feodor, when? " "When Berlin is in our hands," said he, smiling proudly; " when we enter your gates as conquerors." She shuddered painfully. He saw it, and a hateful, mocking expression passed across his features; but this lasted only a moment, and his changeable countenance appeared again bright and loving. He took Elise's hand and pressed it to his lips. " Will you, even at such a time, allow me to see you? Will you, faithful to your vow, remember that my Elis 4GGG21 38 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. has sworn by God and her love never to turn a deaf ear to my call ? Will you expect me ? " asked he, coax- " I will," answered she, in a low voice. "And I will come," cried he, passionately, "if the way to you leads over mountains of dead hodies! " She threw herself into his open arms, and nestled like a timid dove on his breast. " Oh! " cried she, " when danger threatens you, then I think I would like to be a man to share it with you." He covered her lips and eyes with kisses. " Fare- well, farewell, Elise; and if it is God's will, we will meet again." One last kiss, one last embrace, and he tore himself from her arms and hurried toward the wall. Now he climbs it, and throws his last greetings to her, then de- scends on the other side. " He is gone, he is gone! " she shrieked, and, falling on her knees, raised her hands to heaven. " God, have mercy on me, have pity on my love! " It seemed as if God did grant her prayer, for a thick veil sank over her eyes, and a swoon robbed her of con- sciousness. . CHAPTEK Y. ME. KRETSCHMEB, OF THE VOSSIAN GAZETTE. THE editor of the Vossian Gazette, Mr. Kretschmer, sat at his desk, busily writing. That he was a learned man was seen by his earnest, care-worn forehead, his large, well-powdered wig, and above all by the disorder and confusion which reigned in the whole room. Be- THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 39 sides which, Mr. Kretschmer wore a dressing-gown, thickly sprinkled with ink-spots, the official robe of his literary dignity. And whosoever beheld him in this robe, his long pipe in his mouth, filling the room with a thick blue smoke, seated on his high tripod before his desk, could not but believe that Mr. Kretschmer was a learned man. But more than this, he was a great politician. There- to testified the numerous journals which lay scattered about on the floor, but more especially the nineteen quarto volumes, which stood above on the book-shelf, lettered in gold on the back, " VOSSIAN GAZETTE," and under that the number of the year, from 1740 to 1759. The Vossian Gazette was then a young, blooming rose, of scarcely nineteen summers. It could still pass for a vigorous, handsome, and perhaps even innocent young maiden; and Mr. Kretschmer was the editor of the Vossian Gazette. Had he not, then, a right to be re- garded as a great politician ? Mr. Kretschmer was at this moment occupied in writing an article for the next morning's paper, and as he had just received news " by special courier " of an- other battle, subsequent to that of Liegnitz, which had re- sulted favorably for the Prussians, he was composing, with the courage of a lion, an extra, which fairly glowed with ardent hatred against the oppressors and cannibals, namely, the Russians and the Austrians; and declared that the salvation of all Germany depended on the su- preme dominion of Prussia. The bold editor of the Vossian Gazette in this article called upon the people to fly to arms against the "in- cendiary oppressors of Freedom and the people's rights," as he called the Russians; he exhorted even the women and girls to fight, and called upon them to grasp the THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. sword in their tender hands instead of the needle. Fi<- nally, he entreated all Berlin, if ever the incendiary ene- my should approach the gates, rather to let the whole city be destroyed by fire, and bury themselves in the ruins before they submitted to the foe. Mr. Kretschmer then laid his pen down, and revised with a satisfied look what he had written. " That will have an effect," said he, ruhbing his hands together, delighted. " When his majesty, our heroic king, returns victorious to Berlin, I will send him this sheet of the Vossian Gazette, and I know that he will be satisfied with my heroism." He looked again at the paper. " Beautiful, beauti- ful! " exclaimed he, with a self-satisfied smile. " My pen has shot nothing less than bomb-shells and grape, and my ink has turned into whole streams of the ene- my's blood. And why should I not be bold, it being perfectly safe, since the king must certainly be victori- ous, and the enemy has no idea of visiting Berlin? Tschernitscheff and Tottleben are quietly encamped on the other side of the Oder; Soltikoff with his army is near Frankfort; and Count Lacy with his Austrians is wait- ing an opportunity to give battle to our king. Thus, as I said, I can safely exhort the good citizens of Berlin to defend themselves heroically against the infamous spoiler. How beautifully this peroration sounds: l Peo- ple of Berlin! rather let yourselves be buried under the ruins of your burning city than submit to an incendiary enemy! ' Incendiary" repeated he thoughtfully, "that is rather a strong expression, and if the Eussians do come, they will revenge themselves for it; but, pshaw! the Russians are not coming, and I can safely send this article to the press. And, furthermore, did not the king himself stigmatize the Eussians as such? Yes, I THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. . 41 remember last year, after the unfortunate invasion of the Eussians, he looked down from the steeple in Frankfort upon the devastation of the country, and cried out with angry indignation, ' Incendiaries! incendiaries! ' The expression is at least official, and can therefore re- main." Mr. Kretschmer seized the bell-rope, and began to ring violently. Immediately the door opened, and a small boy entered with a portfolio under his arm. " Devil," said Mr. Kretscjimer, majestically, " here is my article; run as fast as you can to the printing-office with it, and impress upon the compositor the necessity of haste, and, above all things, not to make such mis- takes as he did lately, when, in speaking of the Eussians, he put 'friends' instead of 'fiends/ which was an un- pardonable and most treasonable error of expression." The little boy took the paper and laid it in his port- folio. " The printer told me to ask you," said he, " if you had written nothing yet for the f Miscellaneous.' Spener's Journal had yesterday such a beautiful 'Mis- cellaneous,' and told about a woman who had four chil- dren at a birth, and a stork which had arrived and built its nest, although it was the month of October." Mr. Kretschmer frowned. " Spender's Journal al- ways has some wonderful news, and amuses the Berlin people with all kinds of stupid gossip," grumbled he. " The rivalry of such a paper is unbearable." "Well, how about the miscellaneous intelligence?" asked the printer's boy. Mr. Kretschmer stamped his foot angrily. " Go to the devil! " said he. At this moment there was heard a loud crying and shouting; and while the printer's boy pitched out of the 42 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. door, Mr. Kretschmer hurried to the window to find out the cause of the uproar. A heaving, noisy crowd filled the street below, and had halted right under the editor's window. In the midst thereof was seen the tall, lank figure of a man, whose extraordinary appearance enchained the attention of the multitude, and excited afresh their shouts and de- risive laughter. And, in fact, nothing could be more striking or fantastic than this man. Notwithstanding the cool October weather, his gigantic figure was clothed from head to foot in gray linen, harmonizing strangely with the gray color of his skin and hair, which latter fell in long locks from his uncovered head down on his shoulders, and gave to the apparition the semblance of a pyramidical ash-heap, out of which his eyes shone like two burning coals. Around his shoulders hung a long cloak of gray linen, which, in addressing the multitude, he sometimes threw around him in picturesque folds, sometimes spread out wide, enveloping his long arms in it, so that he looked like an expanded bat. "Ah! it is Pfannenstiel, our prophetic linen- weaver," said Mr. Kretschmer, smiling, as he opened his window, and exchanged a look of recognition with the man who was gazing up at him. The linen-weaver and prophet had rapidly acquired some renown in Berlin by his prophecies and predictions. The people believed in his mystic words and soothsayings and mistaken fanaticism. He related to them his vi- sions and apparitions; he told about the angels and the Lord Jesus, who often visited him; about the Virgin Mary, who appeared in his room every night, and in- spired him with what he was to say to the people, and gave him pictures whose mystic signification he was to interpret to them. The prophet possessed more than a THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 43 hundred of these pictures, given him by celestial appari- tions. He had them carefully pasted together, and rolled up always with him. These pictorial sheets, roughly painted on coarse paper, served the linen-weaver in lieu of cards or coffee-grounds, for the purpose of prophesying to the people and announcing the future to them; and the good folks of Berlin believed in these prophecies with firm faith, and listened with devout confidence to the words of their prophet. Pfannenstiel was in the act of unrolling his pictures, and the multitude, which, just before, had been shouting and screaming, became suddenly silent, and gazed up at the weaver with intense expectation. A breathless silence ensued, and, far down the street, sounded the prophet's loud and sonorous voice. He pointed to the last of his pictures, which, in coarse, clumsy drawing, represented a town, from the houses of which flames arose in the most variegated colors. "Behold! behold!" cried the prophet, "and fall on your knees and pray! Yes, pray! for I tell you the Holy Ghost appeared to me, His wings dripping with blood, and in His burning and flaming beak He held this picture which I now show you." " Well, then, how is it that the picture is not burnt too, if the Holy Ghost held it in His burning beak? " asked an impudent shoemaker's boy. A low laugh ran through the crowd, but this was soon suppressed by angry, threatening voices, command- ing silence and quiet. The prophet turned with an air of majestic com- posure toward the questioner: "Why was not this pic- ture burnt? Because God wished to perform a miracle, to manifest Himself to me in His glory, and to prove to me that this vision was from Him, and not from the 44 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. devil. Yes, indeed, God gave me this picture that we might be warned not to terrify us. Listen, therefore, to my voice, and learn what God announces to you from my mouth." " I would like indeed to hear what the stupid rascal is going to announce to these poor foolish devils/' mut- tered Mr. Kretschmer, leaning out of the window and listening attentively. Pfannenstiel continued: " Behold these columns of fire rising from the houses of this town. This town is Berlin, and the fire will burst out of the roofs of your houses. Woe! woe! will sound in your streets, and weep- ing and lamentation will fill the air. I say unto you, watch and pray! Strew ashes on your heads, and fall down on your knees and pray to God for mercy, for the enemy is before your gates, and ere the sun sets the Bus- sians will enter your town! I say unto you, verily I say unto you, God spoke to me in a voice of thunder, and said, ' The Eussians are coming! ' Fall down and pray, for the Eussians are coming! " " The Eussians are coming! " cried the terrified mul- titude and some among them turned pale. The weep- ing women folded their hands in prayer; the men looked around timidly, and the frightened children clung to their mothers in dread of the Eussians, whose name was synonymous with that of savages and cannibals. Even Kretschmer could not help feeling somewhat terrified. He drew back thoughtfully from the window, mutter- ing with a shudder, " The Eussians are coming! " The people crowded around the prophet in still nar- rower circles, and in more piercing tones wept and cried out: " What shall we do? What shall we do to be saved? Have mercy, God! Have mercy on Berlin, for the Eussians are coming! " THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 45 " Yes, they are coming! " cried Pfannenstiel. " God told me so in the roll of His thunder and the lightning of His eyes; and he said to me: e Go and say to the peo- ple of Berlin, " The Eussians are coming! " and thou shalt see in the same hour how their hearts will shrink, and how cast down they will be; how their eyes will run tears, and their lips utter prayers, for the Eussian is the sworn enemy of the Berlin people; and as often as the cry, " The Eussians are coming/' sounds through the streets of Berlin, there will be wailing and lamentation in every house and every heart; and they will bow down in timid contrition and abject obedience. Speak, there- fore, to them, and say, " The Eussians are coming! " that they may become humble and quiet; that the proud word may be silenced on their lips, and that they may submit in peace/ " " What shall we do? " asked the people. " Help us, advise us, for thou art our prophet." Pfannenstiel drew himself up to his utmost height, and an expression of triumphant cunning sparkled in his eyes. " Do you not understand the voice of God? God commands you to withdraw in silence and peace to your own dwellings, to weep and pray. Go, then! Let the word of your mouth and the rebelliousness of your hearts be silent. Go home to your huts, shut the doors and windows, and do not venture out, for without, death and the Eussians await you! " Obedient to the voice of their prophet, the crowd separated in different directions, and dispersed quietly. Pfannenstiel looked after them with a smile of scorn; then silently rolled up his pictures, threw his gray cloak over his shoulders, and, casting a serious and significant look up at Mr. Kretschmer's window, strode down the street slowly and with an air of majestic dignity. 4 46 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. CHAPTER VI. ^ THE COWABDS' EACE. THE warning sounded loud and threatening in Mr. Kretschmer's ears " The Russians are coming! " A cold chill ran through him, and he could not prevent an involuntary shudder. But he tried to rouse himself from this despondency, and laughed at himself for this credulous fear. " This Pf annenstiel is a fool, and I would be a great- er one if I believed his nonsense," said he. " No, no, my information is warranted and authentic. The king has had a sharp skirmish with the Russians near Reit- wan, and driven them back, and then proceeded quietly to Meissen. Thus there is no ground for anxiety, and I can safely let off my bomb-shells against the Rus- sians." Mr. Kretschmer felt his courage return and his heart grow warm. " Now I see the whole game," cried he, laughing. Pfannenstiel wishes the Vossian Gazette to take notice of him. He wants to be talked about, and wishes the newspapers to spread his reputation. For that reason he stationed himself right under my window, for that reason he cast such significant looks at me, for that reason he addressed the crowd and poured forth his non- sense right here. Yes, that's it! He wishes to prove to me how great his power is over this people which believes in him, even when he utters the most incredible and un- heard-of things. Well, we* can help the man," con- tinued he, laughing, as he stepped to his desk. " The desired article for the 'Miscellaneous' is found, and I think that the prophetic linen-weaver, Pfannenstiel, is THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 47 well worth more than the four children at a birth and the miserable stork's nest of yesterday's Spener's Jour- nal. Let's write it off quickly." Kretschmer began to write most industriously, when he was suddenly interrupted by a violent knocking at the door. It opened, and a stately old gentleman entered, with well-powdered wig and long queue. " Mr. Krause, my worthy colleague! " exclaimed Kretschmer, jumping up and hastening toward the old man. But Mr. Krause had no word of greeting. He sank sighing into a chair. " Do you know the news? " asked he, in a whining tone, folding his trembling hands, and looking at Kretschmer timidly, as he stood before him. " Know what ? " demanded the latter in reply, feel- ing his heart sink. " The Russians are coming! " sighed Mr. Krause. "That is a silly tale," cried Kretschmer peevishly, with an impatient gesture. "Would to God it were!" groaned Krause; "but the news is, alas, but too true, and it can no longer be doubted! " " Man of misfortune," cried Mr. Kretschmer, " who told you so?" " Pfannenstiel." "Pfannenstiel?" repeated Kretschmer, laughing heartily; " oh, yes! Pfannenstiel prophesied it just now in the streets, under my window. Now don't distress yourself, dearest friend and colleague. That was only a clumsy trick of the scoundrel to get me to write an article about him in the Vossian Gazette. I have already grati- fied his wish." " You are mistaken," said Krause, mournfully. " I sent Pfannenstiel into the streets, to quiet the people, 48 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. and to admonish them to behave peaceably and soberly, even if the Russians should come." " Oh! you believe in all these dreams of Pfannen- stiel?" "I believe in the truth, and in what I know! " ex- claimed Krause emphatically. " Pfannenstiel has for a long time been my agent, and for a considerable stipend, paid every month, informs me of all that happens, is talked and thought of in the town. He is a very useful man, peculiarly suited to this service." " The approach of the Russians is then town-talk, and nothing more? " asked Kretschmer, who was still anxious to throw doubt on the bad news. "No, it is a fact," said Krause seriously. "Pfan- nenstiel is, as you know, not only a prophet, but also a quack doctor, and his herbs and decoctions are certainly often of astonishing efficacy. He always gathers the plants for his mixtures himself, and roams about in search of them in the neighborhood of Berlin for days together. Last evening he was outside the town, on one of these tramps, intending to pass the night sleeping under a tree. He was awoke by the sound of troops marching, and as he looked carefully around, he could plainly distinguish in the bright moonlight the uniforms of the Russian army. It was a long column of many thousand men. They halted not far from the place where Pfannenstiel lay, and he crept carefully nearer. He then ascertained from their conversation that this was only a small division of the army, which had ad- vanced by forced marches from Frankfort, and was commanded by General Tottleben." " By Tottleben! " cried Kretschmer in dismay. "Yes, by Tottleben," whimpered Krause, and they both looked in silence on the ground. " Yes, his ven- THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 49 geance will be terrible," said Krause, after a long and anxious pause. " Have you not heard/' continued he in a whisper " have you not heard the sad story of what occurred last year in Erlangen? The editor of the Erlangen Gazette admitted into his columns an article abusive of our great king. A Prussian officer came in person to Erlangen to call the editor to account. And what do you think he did? He caused the unfortunate and pitiable journalist to be beaten with cudgels, and then gave him a receipt for the bastinado he had gotten." " Horrible! " cried Mr. Kretschmer, wringing his hands. Mr. Krause continued: "When a refined Prussian officer can behave in this way, what have we to expect from these rough, uncivilized enemies, the Eussians? Oh! they will murder us, for we, too, have ventured to write boldly and energetically against them." " Yes, you particularly," said Mr. Kretschmer quick- ly. " Do you recollect the famous article in your paper, in which you called General Tottleben a notorious adven- turer, who had deserted to the enemy after having en- joyed the unmerited favor of our king? This was, cer- tainly, rather strong; it might even be called indiscreet." " Not as indiscreet as your ' Earnest and Confidential Country Talk,' " cried Krause sharply. "I never avowed myself the author of that pam- phlet," said Kretschmer quickly. " But every one knows that you are, and you never denied it," replied Krause maliciously. " This ' Coun- try Talk ' is more than indiscreet, it is foolhardy. In it you nicknamed Maria Theresa, Aunt Tilla; the Elec- tor of Saxony, Brother Osten; the Empress of Russia, Cousin Lizzy; and our king, Neighbor Flink. And don't you remember what words you put into Cousin 50 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. Lizzie's mouth, and how you made neighbor Flink ridi- cule her? Ah, I am afraid you will pay dearly for this piece of boldness." " It is not quite so bad as your calling Tottleben a notorious adventurer; for the princes are not here, but Tottleben is before the gates of Berlin, and will revenge himself." " I am afraid our prospects are equally bad, and for that reason I have come to you, that we might consult together as to what we had best do, to avert this threat- ening blow from our heads." "You are right," said Kretschmer, drawing nearer to his brother editor. " Let us consider. Above all things, no exciting calls, no appeals to the people to per- form deeds of heroic valor. Berlin is too weak for de- fence; why, then, should we irritate the enemy by use- less opposition?" " You, too, are right," said Krause thoughtfully; " let us rather advise the citizens of Berlin to be quiet; let us wheel boldly round, and speak in our journals with respect and deference of our worthy enemy." "Besides which, it would be well to consult with some of the principal men who have an influence on the people. For example, let us go to Gotzkowsky," said Kretschmer. " Gotzkowsky gives a great holiday to his workmen to-day." " So much the better, for then he can immediately use his influence on his workmen. Come, let us go at once to Gotzkowsky, this Crresus of Berlin, who bought for our .king three hundred thousand dollars' worth of pictures in Italy, without having been paid for them up to this day, and yet is able to take a contract for commis- sary stores to the amount of eight millions. Let us go THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 51 to him; and, hark ye! it would be as well to take Pfan- nenstiel with us to back us." " Yes/' said Krause, raising himself quickly by the arm of his younger friend, " let us go to Gotzkowsky with Pfannenstiel, and preach mildness and submission to him and his workmen." They both prepared to go. Suddenly Kretschmer stopped as if struck by lightning, and sank down on a chair stunned. " My article, my article! " moaned he. "I am a lost man! " " What article do you mean, my dearest friend? " " The leading article in to-morrow's paper," whim- pered Kretschmer. " Oh, it was a beautiful article, full of inspiration, but it is not suitable to the times or the circumstances. I wrote it under the erroneous impres- sion that our armies had gained a victory, and in it I spoke with great contempt of the incendiary enemy." " My God, what rashness! " exclaimed Krause, clasping his hands in despair. Kretschmer flew from his stool, and grasped his hat. " My article! I must have my article back. The printer must give it up to me. Wait for me in the street. I come either with my article or not at all." Bidding Krause a hasty farewell, he hurried out. CHAPTEK THE INTERKUPTED FESTIVAL. GOTZKOWSKY had as yet received no intelligence of the danger which threatened the town, and was enjoying the festival in his garden in the midst of his people. 52 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. They were all collected on a grass-plat for target- shooting. In the midst of the plat rose a pole with a target. The women and girls were standing around, attentively and curiously watching the men, who, col- lected under a tent, were shooting with crossbows at the target. Every lucky shot was greeted with a cheer, every unlucky one with derisive laughter; and the prizes which were assigned to the fortunate marksmen only served to increase the joy and merriment of the happy crowd. Suddenly loud cries of weeping and lamentation were heard from a distance. The people looked at each other with anxiety and alarm. The dismal noise came nearer and still nearer, and then appeared at the en- trance gate near by the strange and wild figure of the linen-weaver, accompanied by the two editors, Krause and Kretschmer. "Pfannenstiel! it is Pfannenstiel, our prophet!" shouted the crowd, while they hastened with joyous laughter and words of greeting toward their beloved seer. The linen-weaver strode forward with a serious and majestic air, answering the greetings of the workmen with patronizing nods, and from time to time stretch- ing out his hand as if to bless them. The multitude crowded around him, and seemed to look upon the ad- vent of the prophet as part of the programme of the entertainment. But Gotzkowsky hastened toward the two editors with a cheerful smile, bidding them a courte- ous welcome. They responded to his friendly greeting with a solemn earnestness, and requested a conference with a mysterious and important air. Gotzkowsky looked at them with astonishment; but as he read in their countenances an expression of deep and anxious THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 53 concern, he motioned to them and preceded them to a summer-house on the other side of the lawn. " Here we can talk without being observed," said he, casting a look across at his workmen. " You see my guests are still busy with the scarecrow which you brought here; and what business has this man, indeed, among merry people ? " " He maintains that God ordered him to come to you, to warn you in His name, and call upon you to protect Berlin/' said Krause. "Yes," continued Kretschmer, "and he entreated us to accompany him, trusting to our influence with our dear friend." Gotzkowsky looked at both of the men with aston- ishment. " Tell me, my worthy friends, which of us is crazy ? " asked he, smiling, partly in derision, partly in pity. " I am called on to protect Berlin, and from what?" " Because the Eussians are coming," said Mr. Krause, solemnly. Gotzkowsky shrugged his shoulders. " That is an idle rumor," said he; " two days ago they were still in Frankfort. You see, therefore, that some wag has amused himself by teasing you and frightening you a little for the thunderbolts which you two, and particu- larly the Vossian Gazette, have launched against the Russians." Mr. Kretschmer shuddered and turned pale. " I beg you," cried he, " do not speak of it! Good Heavens! the Vossian Gazette is the organ of the popular mind, and it is its duty to take each day the exact tone of public opinion. I abused the Russians, therefore, be- cause " " Because they were still a hundred miles from Ber- 54 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. lin. Oh, yes! we know you, gentlemen of the press. You are full of courage as long as no enemy is in the field, but as soon as you scent him and see the points of his lances, you become quite humble and mild; and when he comes threateningly down upon you, assure him of your respect and swear to him that you love him," in- terrupted Gotzkowsky. " You are pleased to jest," said Mr. Krause, casting a rapid glance of hatred at Gotzkowsky; " it is well, in- deed, that the rich and powerful Gotzkowsky is so cheer- ful. I will notice it in my journal. It is news for 'Change, and the funds will rise when people hear that Gotzkowsky has laughed." Gotzkowsky's countenance became sad and serious. " You may tell the world," said he, " that my lips laugh; but how my heart feels, that you gossips and newspapers know nothing about." " God be praised," said Kretschmer, ironically, " you are now talking earnestly, and I can request you to listen to our serious representations. It is no idle rumor that I have told you. The Eussians are already at the gates of Berlin. They have hurried thither by forced marches. This news is no longer a secret. All Berlin knows it, and it is only accidentally that you have not learned it earlier." " Oh, Heavens! " sobbed Krause, wringing his hands, " what a terrible fate awaits our unfortunate town! " Gotzkowsky looked at him with a gloomy frown. " You are, it is true, an old man," said he, " but even old men should, at such a time, possess some manhood. But you, Mr. Kretschmer, are young and hearty; what do you say to this approach of the Russians? " " I say," replied Kretschmer, sharply, " I say that it THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. 55 would be madness to excite the wrath of the enemy by resistance. I say, that those citizens who call on the people to fight are rash fools." " Oh! " cried Gotzkowsky, joyfully, " if there be any such rash fools, then all is not lost! " " Can you comprehend such madness? " whispered Krause, " to wish to oppose an overwhelming force while all our capable men and youths are with the army in Silesia, and we have no troops but the sick and maimed; no artillery save two old rusty cannon? " " A people willing to fight for liberty," cried Gotz- kowsky, " such a people have the strength of a giant even without cannon and bayonets. God has given them hands and paving-stones. If we cannot shoot down the enemy who threatens our liberty, we can beat him down." "What do you say?" stammered Krause, looking with amazement at'Gotzkowsky's glowing countenance. " I say," said Gotzkowsky, " that you have mistaken your man. I will not advise the brave Berlin people to yield without having at least fought for their freedom." " But only reflect! " exclaimed Kretschmer, while Krause paced up and down, wringing his hands and moaning in a low tone; " have you forgotten that the Russian generals have proclaimed that the empress has commanded them to leave nothing but air and earth to the inhabitants of every conquered town and province of Prussia? " "Oh, pshaw!" cried Gotzkowsky, laughing, "they will have to conclude to leave us something more." " And did you hear London's terrible threat? He has said his soldiers should massacre every one, and not spare even the child in its mother's womb." " And did you not hear the brave Schwerin's answer 56 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. to this Austrian bravado?" asked Gotzkowsky. "He said, 'My soldiers are not with child, neither am I/ Well, our men of Berlin are not with child, and there- fore they need not be afraid." " But you must be afraid! " whined Krause. " It is disgraceful madness not to be afraid. How! You can be so unreasonable as to advise war? But war is the most bitter enemy of prosperity, and threatens property above all things." " Then shame on the proprietors," cried Gotzkowsky, "if their property is to make cowardly poltroons of them! Liberty is our greatest possession, and all else must yield to it." At this moment loud cries and sounds of wailing were heard in the garden from the collected workmen, who surrounded the prophet in a dense group, and lis- tened to his prophecies with anxious wonder as he ut- tered them from a high bench. Gotzkowsky frowned. "Ah, I understand!" said he, "this good linen-weaver is your accomplice, my brave gentlemen, and as you wish to convert me, so does he wish to convert my honest workmen into old women. Let us see first in what sort of gibberish he preaches his wisdom to these good people." Without taking any further notice of the two editors, Gotzkowsky left the summer-house rapidly and ap- proached the listening multitude. THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 57 CHAPTER VIII. THE LEADER OF THE PEOPLE. THE inspired prophet stood on a bench, and, as he unrolled his pictures, he endeavored to explain these mystical paintings to his devout gazers and listeners in equally mystical language. Gotzkowsky hastened to- ward this group, and pressed in silent observation close up to Pfannenstiel's side. The linen-weaver, wholly possessed by his prophetic god, L-ad in the mean while unrolled another picture, and holding it up high with solemn countenance, ex- claimed with a screaming voice: " The day of judgment is at hand, and destiny is at your door! In my dream I saw a face like unto no other face, and I heard a voice, and the voice was like unto no other voice! " " And yet you heard it! What ears you must have! " said Gotzkowsky, laughing. The prophet answered calmly, " Yes! for then were seen invisible things, and then were heard inaudible sounds! " And showing a fresh picture to the crowd, he continued: "Look at this picture, which I found this morning on my sheet. It contains the history of your future, and God announced it to me as I sat at my loom weaving. I heard a voice crying, ' Pfannenstiel, my beloved son, dost thou hear me? ' And I fell on my knees and answered, 'Yes, I hear.' < Dost thou know what thou art weaving?' asked the voice. * Yes,' said I, ' it is linen shirting for the almshouse.' * No,' said the voice, ' it is a cloth of weeping for the town of Ber- lin, for the daughters of your fathers will shed tears, and there will be moaning and weeping.' ' J 58 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. These last words he accompanied with a sobbing and plaintive howl, in which his trembling hearers joined. They assured each other in uncomfortable whispers that Pfannenstiel's prophecies usually came true, and that, even before the war, he had predicted the coming of this day of terror. But soon Pfannenstiel raised his voice, and its hoarse croaking sounded above the loud conversation and anx- ious cries of the multitude. " Woe unto Berlin! " cried he, with shrieking pathos. " Blood will flow within her walls! The voice said unto me, 'I will look upon red, but it will not be a scarlet cloak, and when the red ban- ner waves thrones will tremble, and there will be no end to the lamentation. And the cock will crow, and the heavens will shine blood-red, and everywhere and in all places men will cry, " Blood! blood is the drink of new life; blood makes young what is old; blood wipes out sworn debts; blood makes the proud humble. Let us drink blood! " ' " Here the prophet was interrupted by the loud cries and wailing of the multitude. The women broke out in tears, sank on their knees and prayed, or clung trem- bling and weeping to their moody-looking husbands. Pfannenstiel looked with an air of proud triumph on this evident effect of his speech, and then continued in a more subdued tone: " But the voice said to me, ' Hope, and every thing will turn out well, and the blood which flows will transform itself into a purple robe, and men will call it freedom. Out of death will arise life.' Therefore fall down on your knees, for the hour of judg- ment has come, and prayer alone, but not the sword, can save you." The multitude, carried away by the deception, were in the act of obeying this order, when Gotzkowsky, who THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 59 could no longer restrain himself, stepped rapidly for- ward, his countenance radiant, and his eyes sparkling with anger. " Listen not to this hypocritical set, this lying prophet, my people! " cried he, with a voice of thunder. " He will make cowards of you all, cowards who will sub- mit to the yoke, howling and whining. You would not have this ignominy put upon you. You will be men, who will defend their liberty with noble courage to the last drop of their blood, against the invading hordes of barbarians. For the barbarians are coming, and their fierce wrath threatens your wives and children. Will you submit to the Kussians with a humble whine? " " No, no! " cried the men, and many a clinched fist was raised, and many a wild but muttered oath was heard. At this moment there arose in the street a confused sound of screams and yells, then the hollow roll of the drum, and the deep clang of the alarm-bell, which sum- moned the citizens to the town-hall. The garden gates were now violently thrown open, and a band of stout workmen was seen hastening in wild disorder toward Gotzkowsky. These were the workmen from Gotzkowsky's facto- ries, industrious men, who had preferred working in the factory, and not losing their time, to the enjoyment of the day's festival, and to whom Gotzkowsky had ordered double wages to be paid, that they might not lose their share in the celebration of his daughter's birthday. " The Kussians are at the gates! " cried they. " All the citizens are arming themselves. We have no arms. Give us arms, master! " The cry was taken up by those who had just been listening to Pfannenstiel's words. " Yes, give us arms, give us arms. We are no cowards, we will fight! " 60 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. Gotzkowsky's flashing eye flew across the multitude, and he saw in the earnest countenances of the men that they were serious in their demand, and in their desire to fight. " Well, then, if you will fight, you shall not want for weapons," cried he, joyfully. " I have, as you know, in my house, a collection of costly arms. Follow me, my children; we will go to the armory, and each one shall take what he likes best. On such a day as this, arms do not belong to any one in particular, but are the property of him who can find and make use of them. That is the sacred right of manhood. The country is in danger! Come to my armory and arm yourselves! " The men shouted for joy at Gotzkowsky's words, and pushed after him with wild impetuosity into the house, and the large hall, in which the costly weapons were tastefully grouped and ornamentally arranged against the walls. With eager haste the men possessed themselves of these arms, and Gotzkowsky saw with glad pride his rare Damascus blades, his delicately carved silver-mounted pistols, his daggers inlaid with gold, his costly ornamented sabres and guns in the hands of his warlike workmen. He then armed himself, and his men, always accustomed to look upon him cheerfully and willingly as their leader, fell into line behind him in a long military procession. " Now, then, my children," cried he, " let us go to the town-hall and offer our services to the magistrates." And at the head of his workmen he left the house. Soon deep silence reigned in these rooms, so lately filled with noise and tumult. The garden, too, had become deserted and empty. Pfannenstiel alone remained in his elevated position, gazing pensively, as in a dream, on his collection of pictures. After this silence had lasted some time, Krause and THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. 61 Kretschmer crept, cautiously looking around them, out of the summer-house in which they had secreted them- selves up to this* moment. Their countenances were pale and angry. " Gotzkowsky is a puffed-up fool," exclaimed Krause, with a dark frown. " With his swaggering phrases he has seduced these workmen away from us, to rush into the fight like wounded wild boars, and to bring the Eus- sians down upon us." " We must not give up all hope," said Kretschmer; " the people are timid and fickle, and whoever will give them the sweetest words wins them over to his side. Come, let us try our luck elsewhere. Every thing de- pends upon our being beforehand with this braggart Gotzkowsky, and getting first the ear of the people. You, Pfannenstiel, come with us, and get up your words strong and spirited, so that the stupid people may be- lieve you." Pfannenstiel clapped up his picture-book, and threw his cloak with majestic dignity over his lean shoulders. " The people are like a flock of sheep," said he; " they want a leader, never mind who. Only the leader must be there at the right hour; and if God has bestowed upon him the gift of eloquence, he can lead them either into the church to contrite prayer, or to the slaughter- field to bloody combat. The people are a flock of sheep, nothing more! " " Come, then," cried Kretschmer pathetically; " come and be their bellwether, and lead the people into the church." 62 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. CHAPTER IX. THE RUSSIAN IS AT THE GATES. IN a few minutes quiet, peaceful, industrious Berlin was transformed into an open encampment. From all the streets there poured throngs of armed men toward the town-hall, where the wise magistrates were consult- ing on the possibility of resistance, or toward the com- mander of Berlin, General Rochow, who had the streets patrolled, and called upon the citizens, by beat of drum, to assemble with arms, and assist in the defence of the town. " The Eussian is at the gates! " This cry of terror seemed to cure the sick and feeble, and give courage and strength to the wavering. The old national hatred of the German toward the Russian broke out in its entire vigor; and vehemence made even the faint-hearted fly to arms, and caused words of imprecation to rise to the lips of those who were in the habit of uttering prayers and timid complaints. The council of war was assembled at the com- mander's office, and, strange to say, it consisted of only old men and invalids. There were present the infirm veteran general and commander, Rochow, and the eighty-year-old Field-Marshal Lehwald, the severely- wounded General Seidlitz, and General Knoblauch, also wounded. These four composed the whole council, and fully aware of the danger and of the smallness of their forces, were debating whether they should yield to the demand of the Russian troops, and give up the town without any defence, or, with twelve hundred garrison troops, two rusty cannon, a few thousand wounded THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 63 soldiers, and an inefficient body of citizens, give bat- tle to the twelve thousand irregular troops of General Tottleben, who would soon be reenforced by the army of General Tschernitscheff, twenty thousand strong, and fourteen thousand Austrians under Count Lacy, who, as they well knew, were coming on by forced marches. But so great was the heroic exasperation and eagerness for the fight of these noble and war-worn veterans, that not one of them advised submission; but, on the con- trary, they unanimously determined to defend Berlin as long as a drop of blood flowed in their veins. As these brave generals had no army to lead into the fight, they would defend the town, not as com- manders of high rank, but as fighting soldiers, and waiving their military rank and dignity to their noble love of country, like other soldiers, they would each one defend his intrenchment or redoubt. But while the military commanders were adopting these heroic resolutions, the Town Council was engaged in secret session at the town-hall. The wise fathers were staring at each other with terror in their counte- nances, and considering, in pusillanimous faint-hearted- ness, whether they would really assume the heavy re- sponsibility of engaging the peaceful citizens in a fight, which, after all, would be, in all probability, useless and without result. "I vote for submission," stammered out the chief burgomaster, Herr von Kircheisen, with heavy tongue, as he wiped off the big drops of sweat which stood upon his brow with his silk handkerchief. " I vote for sub- mission. The honorable citizens of this town are not called on to spill their blood in useless fighting, nor to irritate the wrath of the enemy by resistance. And be- sides, the enemy will doubtless lay a war tax on us, and 64 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. this will certainly be lighter if we submit at once than if we resist. Further, it is the sacred duty of a prudent magistrate to protect and preserve, to the best of his ability, the property of the citizens. It is therefore my opinion that, in order to save the hard-earned possessions of the poor citizens of Berlin, already sufficiently op- pressed, we submit at once to an overwhelming force." By the brightening countenances of the worthy councilmen it could be plainly perceived that the elo- quence of the chief burgomaster had told powerfully upon them, and that the question of money which he had raised would prove a powerful and decisive argu- ment in favor of submission at this momentous period. The assistant burgomaster had already expressed his entire concurrence in the views of Herr von Kircheisen, and the first alderman was in the act of opening his mouth to do the same, when the patriotic deliberations of the worthy gentlemen were interrupted by shouts and cries from the street below, which drove them in ter- ror from their seats. They hastened to the windows, and, carefully concealed behind the curtains, ventured to peep down into the street. , Down there they beheld a much more lively sight men and youths, old men and boys streamed toward the town-hall, and, raising their eyes and arms to the win- dows, demanded from the city fathers, with genuine enthusiasm, weapons and ammunition. Perhaps, in- deed, it was only fear which had suddenly made these peaceful citizens of Berlin so bold and lion-hearted: one thing is certain, that is, that at this moment they were all animated by one sentiment, one impulse, and that their deadly hatred against Russian and Austrian rendered peaceable submission impossible. The tailor threw away his needle and grasped the sword, the shoe- THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 65 maker exchanged his awl for a dagger, and all these quiet, humble citizens had been transformed by hatred and fear, anger and terror, into most belligerent heroes. " Give us arms! " was the reiterated cry. An heroic tailor climbed up on the shoulders of a hunchback shoemaker, and sawing the air violently with his arms, cried out: " The people of Berlin demand their rights; they will fight for their liberty. Give the people of Berlin their due. Give them arms arms! " " Arms! " roared the crowd. " We will have arms! " " And what do you want with arms ? " cried sudden- ly a shrill, piercing voice. All eyes were turned toward the spot whence the voice proceeded, and there was seen the meagre figure of the linen-weaver, who had leaped tfpon a bench, and from his elevated position was look- ing down upon the people with the confident air of a conqueror. But Pfannenstiel observed, to his dismay, that this time his appearance did not produce the de- sired effect; on the contrary, angry looks were cast upon him, and occasionally a threatening fist was raised against the divinely-inspired prophet. "What do you want with arms?" cried he once more. "Prayer is the only weapon becoming peaceful citizens." A burst of scornful laughter was the answer. " Down with the linen- weaver! Tear him to pieces! " roared the crowd, becoming infuriated. " We mean to fight, and not to pray," cried the valor- ous tailor. " We want none of your poltroonery, you blackguard of a linen-weaver! " " The tailor is right! Pfannenstiel is a false prophet! " cried another voice. " Hang him! " 66 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. " He wants to make cowards of us! " The crowd raged still more furiously, and pressed toward the spot where Pfannenstiel stood. Threatening hands were raised against him, and the situation of the prophet of peace began to be uncomfortable enough, when suddenly two new figures rose near him, and, by their unexpected appearance, restrained for a moment the wrath of the people. CHAPTER X. BE PBUDENT. THESE two men, who so unexpectedly appeared at the side of the prophetic weaver, were none else than the two editors, Kretschmer and Krause, who came to sup- port him in his exhortations in favor of peace, and to use their eloquence on the multitude assembled in front of the town-hall. Mr. Krause opened: "Listen to me, good citizens of Berlin; look at my gray hairs. Age has the advantage, if not of wisdom, at least of experience. Listen to my advice. You who wish to fight for liberty, be at least prudent and moderate." "None of your moderation!" cried the tailor. " We won't be moderate! " "But you will be reasonable and prudent, won't you?" cried Mr. Kretschmer, with his clear, penetrat- ing voice, raising himself on tiptoe, and casting his large, light-blue eyes over the crowd. "You will be reason- able, certainly, and in reason you can tell me what you wish, and we can deliberate, and decide whether that which you wish is reasonable." THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 67 " We want arms." " But why do you want arms ? " " To fight the enemy/' cried the shoemaker, whom the crowd seemed tacitly to recognize as their mouth- piece. "You really wish, then, to fight?" asked Mr. Kretschmer. " You wish to precipitate yourselves into a fight, with the certainty of being defeated. You wish to put yourselves in opposition to an enemy who out- numbers you ten times; who, with sneering pride, will drive your little band of warriors, with his cannon, to destruction! Consider what you are about to do! Twelve thousand Eussians are now before your gates; their cannon pointed against your walls, your houses, your churches, and they are awaiting only an opportu- nity of springing upon you like a tiger on his prey. And what have we to oppose them? Our little garrison con- sists of invalids and wounded men; for our young men, able to fight, are all with the king on the bloody fields of Silesia, and only a small band of worthy citizens re- mains here. Can they fight against an overwhelming enemy, ten times their number? Can they wish to do it?" No one answered this question. The countenances became thoughtful, and the redness of anger grew paler on their cheeks. " Yes," cried one of the people, " we are very weak." "We cannot think of gaining a victory," grumbled out another. Mr. Kretschmer perceived, by the darkening faces and downcast look of his audience, that the prudence he was preaching had already commenced to press the courage of the poor people into the background, and raising his voice still higher he continued: 68 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. "Your fighting will be a species of suicide. Your wives and children will curse you for having killed their husbands and fathers. Worthy citizens! be pru- dent, and remember that work and not war is your calling. Go home, then, and mind your business; take care of your wives and children, and bow your heads in humbleness, for necessity will teach you pru- dence." Mr. Kretschmer stopped, and the silent assembly seemed to be considering whether they should listen to his prudent advice. Even the heroic tailor had climbed down from the hump of the shoemaker, and remained thoughtful and silent. " The man is right," cried the shoemaker, in his grumbling, bass voice. " Yes, indeed," said his gossip, the glover; " why should we sacrifice our legs and arms? We can't beat them anyhow." " Now, my friends," whispered Kretschmer to his associates, " now is your turn to speak. My breath is exhausted. You speak now and finish the good work I commenced. Admonish the people to be moderate." " I will make them perfectly enthusiastic in the cause of peace and quiet," said Mr. Krause, in a low voice. " You shall see how irresistible the stream of my eloquence will be," and striding forward with pathetic mien, and raising both arms as if to implore the people, he exclaimed in a loud voice: " You say so, and it is so! We cannot be victorious. Now, my opinion is, that as we cannoj beat the enemy, we ought not to fight him, and in that way we can cheat him out of his victory. For where there is no fight, there can be no victory. Resist the armed bands with the quiet obstacle of mental fortitude. Do not act, but submit. Submit with a de- THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. 69 fiant air. Do not use your weapons, but do not yield them up to the enemy. Keep your hands on the hilts of your swords, and be quiet. When they mock and abuse you, be silent; but let them read your defiance in your countenances; when they press upon you with sword and cannon, retire with a proud smile, and do not defend yourselves, and we will see whether they are brutal enough to attack peaceful non-combatants. Act in this way, and the moral victory is yours, and you then will have conquered the enemy by your moral greatness, even if you are physically subdued. Against cannon and bayonets a people cannot defend themselves except by passive resistance, by submission, with secret and si- lent hatred in their hearts. Use no other weapons than this passive resistance, and posterity will praise you, and say of you, with admiration, that you were no heroes of fight, but heroes of passive resistance. Your country will be proud of you! " Mr. Krause paused, and leaned, worn out, on the shoulder of the prophetic linen-weaver. " You may be in the right," said the tailor, still re- bellious at heart; " all that sounds right and reasonable, but still it don't suit me, and I don't see hew the country can be proud of us, if we behave like cowards, and let ourselves be bamboozled this way." " Do you hush, tailor! " cried the hunchbacked shoe- maker. " The chap thinks because he can manage a sharp needle, he must be able to yield a broadsword; but let me tell you, my brave boy, that a stick with a sword hurts worse than a prick with a needle. It is not only written, ' Shoemaker, stick to your last,' but also. ' Tai- lor, stick to your needle.' Are we soldiers, that we must fight? No, we are respectable citizens, tailors and shoe- makers, and the whole concern is no business of ours. 70 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. And who is going to pay us for our legs and arms when they have been cut off? " " Nobody, nobody is going to do it! " cried a voice from the crowd. " And who is going to take care of our wives and children vrhen we are crippled, and can't earn bread for them? Perhaps they are going to put us in the new almshouse, which has just been built outside of the King's Gate, and which they call the Oxen-head." " No, no, we won't go into the Oxen-head! " screamed the people. " We won't fight! let us go home." " Yes, go home, go home! " cried Krause and Kretschmer, delighted, and Pfannenstiel repeated after them "Let us go home! " And indeed the groups began to separate and thin out; and the two editors, who had descended from their bench, mixed with the crowd, and enforced their peace- ful arguments with zealous eloquence. But it seemed as if Fortune did not favor them, for now down the neighboring street came Gotzkowsky with his bartd of armed workmen. He drew them up in front of the town-hall. The sight of this bold company of daring men, with determined countenances and flashing eyes, exercised a magical influence on the people; and when Gotzkowsky addressed them, and with overpower- ing eloquence and burning words implored them to re- sist, when with noble enthusiasm he summoned them to do their duty, and to remember their honors as men, the versatile crowd began again to cry out " Arms, arms! give us arms! " But the humpbacked shoemaker still remained cowed and timid, and the threatenings of the preachers of peace still sounded in his ears. He threw up his arms and THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 71 cried out: " Children, remember what the gentlemen told us. Have nothing to do with fighting. Be wise and prudent! " " The devil take your prudence! " cried Gotzkowsky. In an hour like this we have no need of prudence; we want courage! Won't you fight?" " JSTo, we won't! " cried the shoemaker, resolutely. " We want to keep our arms and legs." " We don't want to go to the Oxen-head! " exclaimed another. Gotzkowsky broke out impetuously: " Are you men, who dare to talk in this way? You are afraid of losing your limbs, and you are not afraid of losing, by your cowardice, your most valuable possessions, your liberty and your honor. Even if you do crawl through our streets as cripples, your wives and children will point to you with pride, and men will whisper to each other, ' He too was one of the heroes who fought for liberty, one of the brave men who, when Berlin was besieged, met the enemy, and fought bravely for our rights.' " " That's fine," cried the tailor, carried away by Gotz- kowsky's fiery words. "Yes, let us be heroes, let us fight! " At the windows of the town-hall above, hid behind the curtains, the wise members of the city Council still stood and listened with anxious hearts to what was go- ing on below. The countenance of the chief burgo- master became ashy pale, and drops of cold sweat stood on his brow. " This Gotzkowsky will ruin us all," sighed he heavily. " He does not think what he is do- ing. His foolhardiness will compel us all to be brave. But we will have to pay for our liberty, not only with our blood, but with our fortunes. And this man, who cal- culates so badly, pretends to be a merchant! But we 72 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. must yield to this rash mob, for to oppose an excited people might bring even the honorable Council into danger. Good Heavens! " cried he, interrupting him- self, " what is this again? " To the sound of martial music, there was seen com- ing down the street a band of scar-covered veterans, the invalids of the first years of the war. Some limped, others carried their arms in slings, others again had their heads bound up; but one could perceive, by their serious, determined faces, that they were animated by a high and cheerful courage, which placed them above physical suffering. In their midst, on a litter, was borne the brave General von Seidlitz. whose wounds, received in the battle of Kunersdorf, had not yet healed; but the danger which threatened Berlin had roused him from a bed of suffering, and, as he could not walk, he had him- self carried to the battery at the Kottbuss Gate, the de- fence of which he had undertaken. As the hero turned to the people with a friendly greeting, and exhorted them to courage, with short and appropriate words, there sounded from a thousand voices an enthusiastic " Hurrah! " The people waved their hats, and cried loudly and tumultuously up at the win- dows of the Council, " Give us arms arms! " At the window above stood the chief burgomaster, with trembling limbs and livid face. " It is decided," said he, softly; " the people of Berlin are determined to die as heroes, or purchase their liberty with all the wealth of the town," and, with a weak cry of grief, he sank fainting into the arms of the head alderman. The assistant burgomaster opened the window and cried out: "You shall have arms. We will defend Berlin with our last breath, and to the last drop of our blood! " THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 73 CHAPTER XI. THE NIGHT OF HORRORS. THUS, once more, had the impetuous boldness of the patriots carried the day against braggart cowardice. The Council, yielding to necessity, had resolved to be brave. The chief burgomaster, who had revived, donned his robe of office, adorned himself with his golden chain, and followed by the councillors, proceeded to Command- er Rochow, to ask for arms for the citizens of Berlin. This petition was readily granted; the armory was thrown open, and there were seen, not only men and youths, old men and boys, but even women and girls, arming themselves for the sacred fight for fatherland and freedom. As if on a pilgrimage, the people proceed- ed to the armory in a long, solemn procession, silent and devout, a noble determination, a brave and cheerful but subdued expression observable in every face. No loud cries, not a rude word, nor boisterous laughter was heard from this crowd. Each one spoke in low and earnest tones to his neighbor; every one was conscious of the deep significance of the hour, and feared to interrupt the religious service of the country by a word spoken too loud. In silent devotion they crossed the threshold of the armory, with light and measured steps the crowd circulated through the rooms, and with solemn calmness and a silent prayer in their hearts, the people received from the hands of the veteran soldiers the weapons for the defence of their country. And the flags which hung around on the walls as shining mementoes of former victories, seemed to greet the people as patriots who were arming themselves for the holy fight against the enemy of their country, the destroyer of liberty. 74: THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. For it was no longer a fight for Silesia, a strip of territory, which was to be fought, but a struggle be- tween intellect and brute power, between civilization and barbarism, the inevitable companion of the Eussian hordes. Prussia represented Germany, and on her wav- ing banner she bore the civilization, refinement, science, and poetry of Germany. Her opponent was no longer the German brother, sprung from the same stock; it was the Austrian, who had called in the assistance of foreign barbarians, and who was fighting the Germans, the Prussians, with the help of the Eussians. For that reason, the hatred against the Austrian was among the Prussian troops much more bitter and bloody than the hatred and abhorrence of the Eussians, the sworn enemy of the German; and when, therefore, the Berlin citizens learned that the Austrians, too, were approaching under Count Lacy, this news was considered by these soldier- citizens as a consecration of their arms. "Better be buried under the walls of Berlin than yield to the Austrian! " was the war-cry of the people, who flocked in constantly renewed streams to the armory for weapons, the watchword of the brave militia who hastened to all the gates to defend them against the enemy. But all the streets did not offer so lively or proud an appearance. Whilst the citizens and the warriors scarce- ly recovered from their wounds, whilst the people were arming themselves to defend wife and child, and the sacred liberty of fatherland; whilst these brave troops were hurrying toward the Dresden and Kottbuss Gates to meet the Eussians, others were seen hastening down the Linden and Frederick Streets. But these crowds were unarmed, though not empty-handed; their faces were pale, and their eyes were gloomy and dull. These THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 75 were the faint-hearted and irresolute, who, in fear and trembling, were turning their backs on a town in which was to be fought the fight for the noblest possessions of mankind. This was the crowd of boasting, versatile flatterers and parasites, who worshipped no other God but fortune, and possessed no other faith than that of property and personal safety. Berlin might be reduced to ashes, barbarism and slavery might conquer, a foreign ruler might erect his throne in the midst of the down- fallen city, what did they care, provided their own lives and money were safe? At this time they were hurrying along, pale with fright, death and terror in their distracted countenances. Women of the highest nobility, whose silken-shod feet had never before trod the rough pavement, fled with hasty steps down the street; shoulders which had never borne the least burden of life or sorrow, were now laden with treasures, and gold was the parent whom these modern ^Eneases sought to save from the ruins of the threatened town. All ranks and conditions were con- founded; no longer servant and master, fear had made brothers of them all. Countesses were seen smiling on their valets, in order to obtain the assistance of their arm to a more rapid flight; high-born gentlemen were seen laden down, like the meanest of their servants, with gold and silver ware, which they were seeking to save from the beleaguered city. What did these people care whether Berlin fell, and was taken or not? What did they care if the throne of the house of Hohenzollern was overthrown? They had but one thought, one object safety in flight. So they hurried down the street, moaning and wailing, breath- less and trembling in every limb, toward the town gates. They reached the goal; they stood before the gates be- 76 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. yond which were escape and safety. But these gates were closed, and the soldiers who guarded them declared that none should pass them, that the men must stay to defend the town, the women to nurse the wounded and dying. All begging and pleading were in vain; in vain did the Jew Ephraim, who had become a millionnaire by the farming of the mint, offer the sentinel thousands to open the gates; in vain did the gentlemen, once so proud, entreat; in vain did the beautiful countesses wring their white hands before the poor despised work- man who now stood as sentinel at the gates. In this mo- ment this poor man was richer than the Hebrew mint- farmer Ephriam, for he was rich in courage; mightier than the proudest countess, for to his hands were in- trusted the keys of a town; and the town gates were not opened to these bands of cowards. They were con- demned to remain, condemned to the torture of trem- bling fear, cowardly, inactive supplication. Howling and whining, they fled back again into the town, in order at least to bury their treasures, and hold themselves in readiness to meet the victor, whoever he might be, with flags of peace and hymns of welcome. But before they had reached their houses, bombs had commenced to fly into the town, and here and there mortar-shells were heard whizzing through the air; with the cries of the flying and the wounded, and the screams of the dying, was now heard the moaning toll of the alarm-bell, telling that to the terrors of the siege were added those of the elements. Like gigantic torches of a funeral procession shone the flames of the burning houses, and covered the heavens with crimson as deep as the blood of those wounded unto death. At last night set in, but brought no rest for the sick, no refresh- ment for the weary. The fire-balls and bomb-shells still THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 77 flew into the town, the alarm-bells still continued their mournful toll, the burning houses still flamed up to the sky; but yet the courage of the besieged did not sink. They still held their ground intrepidly, and they still bade an heroic defiance to the attacks of the enemy. In vain did the Eussians attempt to storm the gates, the brave defenders drove them back again and again. Sud- denly the cannon ceased firing, and the enemy drew back. " What is the meaning of this? " asked the com- batants at the gates. " The meaning is/' said Gotzkowsky, who had just arrived from another part of the town with a squad of his workmen " the meaning is that help is approach- ing. It means that God is on our side, and succors our noble and righteous cause. The Prince of Wurtemberg has just arrived from Pasewalk with his division, and General Huelsen is hastening hither as rapidly as pos- sible from Koswig." The brave warriors received this news with a loud hurrah, and embraced each other with tears in their eyes and thanksgiving in their hearts. " We are saved ! " cried they to each other; " Berlin will not be surrendered, Berlin will be victorious, for help has arrived." And then they sank down on the pavement, to rest for an hour on this hard bed, after the fatigue of the fierce combat. But Gotzkowsky could not rest. For him there was no leisure, no sleep; neither was there any fear or dan- ger for him. As he had left his house, his daughter, and his riches unguarded, with the same unconcern did he move among the rain of balls and the bursting of shells. He did not think of death nor of danger! He only thought of his country, and one great, lofty idea 6 78 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. the idea of liberty burned in his heart and animated his whole being. The Council, knowing his influence over the citizens, had, therefore, as soon as the Prince of Wurtemberg had arrived with his regiment in Berlin, communicated this intelligence to the brave patriot, and commissioned him to acquaint his men with the fact. With glistening eye and beaming countenance did he announce this significant intelligence to his brave war- riors, reviving their courage, and redoubling their strength as they drove the enemy back from the gates and silenced his cannon. But yet in his soul Gotzkowsky was sad and full of care. He had seen the regiments of the Prince of Wur- temberg as they marched in, and he had read in the dull countenances of the soldiers, staggering and sink- ing from fatigue, that they were not able, nor even in a condition, to hold a sword. But yet his heart did not fail him. The elasticity of his courage seemed only to increase with the danger. Perhaps a short rest, strengthening food, refreshing wine, might restore to these men their lost strength. And now for the first time since the attack of the enemy did Gotzkowsky turn toward his home; but not to visit his daughter, not to inquire after his property, but to open his wine-cellars, and to let his cashier fill his pockets with gold. He then returned rapidly down the street directly to the town-hall, where the Council were in session, and had invited the most venerable citizens to consult with them. Appearing before this august body, Gotzkowsky painted, with glowing eloquence and impressive words, the destitute condition of the regiments which had en- tered the town. He demanded for them nourishment THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 79 and support; he entreated the Council to give these weary troops shelter and rest. " First let them eat and sleep/' said he, " and then they will fight for us and conquer. We cannot expect courage from a tired and starved man." From the Council he hastened to the rich merchants and factory lords. The rich man went begging for his hungry brethren, and his pride did not feel itself low- ered by the petition. No one could resist his impetuous eagerness; every one was carried away by his unselfish and impulsive magnanimity. For the moment, even earthly treasures lost their value, for more valuable possessions were at stake, namely, liberty and honor. Every one gave cheerfully and most liberally. And now it was a glorious sight to see how, in a few hours, the whole city changed its appearance. As the night before had been full of horrors and dread events, the next morning and day were like a festival, the prepa- ration to a great and solemn feast. Forty of the largest and fattest oxen were slaughtered, to afford a strengthen- ing meal to those so much in need of nourishment. About mid-day, a strange procession moved down the Kb'nig's Street and across the Palace Square. And what was the meaning of it? It was not a funeral, for there were no mourning-wreaths and no hearse; it was not a bridal procession, for the bridal paraphernalia and joy- ous music were wanting. Nor did it wend its way to- ward the church nor the churchyard, but toward the new and handsome opera-house, recently erected by the king, whose gates were opened wide to receive it. It looked like a feast of Bacchus at one time, from the enormous tuns driven along; at another time like a festival of Ceres, as in solemn ranks came the bakers bringing thou- sands of loaves in large wagons. Then followed the 80 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. white-capped cooks, bringing the smoking beef in large caldrons. The rear was finally brought up by the but- lers, with large baskets of wine. And the beautiful and resplendent temple of art was thrown open to the reception of all these things, al- though they only served for material nourishment, and in the magnificent hall in which formerly Frederick the Great, with his generals and chosen friends, listened to the magic strains of Gluck, there sounded now a wild confusion of discordant cries. The butlers stood by the wine-casks, filling the bottles which were carried out by the nimble and active vivandieres, and on the same stage on which once Galiari and Barbarini, Ostroa and Sam- beni enchanted the public with their marvellous sing- ing, were seen now large caldrons of beef; and, instead of the singers, the performance was conducted by cooks, who drew the meat out of the pots, and arranged it neat- ly on enormous dishes. Gotzkowsky had attained his object, and Berlin fed this day the exhausted and hungry troops of the Prince of Wurtemberg. The merchant of Berlin had given his choicest and best wines to the banquet of patriotism. CHAPTER XII. RUSSIANS AND AU8TRIANS. AFTEE so many horrors and so many hours of anx- iety, at last, on the evening of the second day of the siege, a momentary suspension of hostilities occurred. Berlin rested after the excitement and turmoil, and even the besiegers seemed to be reposing. Shells and fire-balla THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 81 no longer hissed through the groaning air, and the thun- der of the cannon had died away. Peace the peace arising from disabling exhaustion on the part of the combatants, reigned for a short while, and the belliger- ents rested for a few hours to invigorate themselves for a renewal of the fight. The streets of Berlin, lit by the dull lamplight, were forsaken and empty, and only oc- casionally from the dark houses was heard wailing and moaning, either the death-struggle of a wounded man or the lamentations of his mourning friends. This death-like silence prevailed for several hours, when it was broken by a peculiar noise, sounding like the dull, muffled beat of drums, followed by the measured tread of marching troops. The sound approached nearer and nearer, and by the dim light of the street lamps one could distinctly recognize a column of men marching in close order from the opera-house down the Linden Street. 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 passing along the gloomy and deserted street, was cal- culated to produce a feeling of awe in the spectator. Any one inclined to be superstitious might have im- agined 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 in- creasing cohort of spirits of those fallen in battle, tak- ing 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 Bran- denburg Gate. The sentinel stands to arms and chal- lenges. The leader steps up to the officer of the guard 82 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. and whispers a few words in his ear. This officer bowa deeply and respectfully, and gives his sentinel a short order in an under-tone. He then steps back to his com- mand 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 weep- ing, 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 ene- my three times his number. And furthermore, it was not aware that the Austrian Count Lacy, who had al- ready 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 ex- pectation, the city fathers were assembled 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 Kir- cheisen, 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 lis- ten. 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, rais- ing himself with an effort in his chair, and arranging THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 83 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 assembly with a firm and hurried step. The light of the candles shone upon his counte- nance, 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 Coun- cil have done me this honor." Herr von Kircheisen plucked uneasily at his golden chain, and frowned. Gotzkowsky's answer had wound- ed his pride. " Yes, you gave us your advice yesterday, and it was only by your urgent appeal that we were in- duced 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 noble blood shed in vain! " "We must surrender, then?" said Kircheisen, turn- ing pale. "Unless the honorable Council can sow dragons' 84 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. teeth and reap armed men, unless we can mould cannon and create gunners to serve them, we must, indeed, sur- render! " 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 Kussians and all this for nothing! " " For nothing! do you say? " sighed the chief burgo- master. " On the contrary, I rather think it will cost us a mint of money. The Austrians have sent Prince Low- enstein 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 sur- render? 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 Johannis- berger. The aldermen and senators looked significantly at each other, and the second burgomaster ventured timid- ly to suggest that the heavy wine might possibly be in- jurious to the health of his honor the chief burgo- master. " Wine makes a man brave," he drawled out, " and aa 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 com- THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 85 placently at the ceiling, and seemed lost in contempla- tion 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 principal councillors to one of the more remote window-seats. With a slight motion of the hand and a compassionate 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 de- lirium 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." " A.nd 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 Eussians and Austrians both summon us to surrender, and the Council of Berlin wish your advice, Gotzkowsky, as to which of these two ene- mies 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 Eussian, the northern bar- barian, whose delight it is to trample every human right in the dust! Let me consider a little while, for it is a sad 86 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 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 de- termination. On the contrary, Austria allies herself to Eussia, the sworn enemy of Germany, and with the as- sistance of this enemy fights against her German broth- ers. 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, gaz- ing 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 Eussian." "The Eussian is a capital fellow!" stammered the chief burgomaster. " The Russian has a great deal of money, and spends it freely. I esteem the Russian as- tonishingly; and my decided opinion is, that we sur- render to the Russian." THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 87 CHAPTER XIII. A MAIDEN'S HEAKT. ELISE had passed 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 shell burst near the house, and shattered the window-panes of the ground floor. " Oh, if this ball 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 fa- ther'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 sex, she could not com- prehend the greatness, the noble 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 88 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. 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 heloved! " 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 hend 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 free- dom of happy ignorance, hefore 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 person- ally,, 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 simi- larity, 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 noble 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 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 89 died while she was young, and the child was left to the care of strangers. Her father could seldom find time t* be with his daughter; but, though seldom personall) present, yet his whole soul was faithfully, unalterably devoted to her. Elise did not suspect this, and in conse^ quence 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 emancipate 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: " L%ve 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 daugh- ter, 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 90 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 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 wel- come. 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 of- fices. It was, therefore, but natural that all debtors would hasten to pay their creditors in this coin which had im- parted to it so sudden and unexpected a value. Gotz- kowsky had received from his debtors upward of eight THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 91 hundred thousand dollars in this light coin, while his foreign creditors absolutely refused to take them, and de- manded the payment of their debts in good money. Gotzkowsky, who, in consequence of his large and exten- sive connections abroad, had about three hundred thou- sand 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 humilia- tion. Gotzkowsky lost in this hour, not only the three hun- dred 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, luke- warm 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. 92 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. 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 un- bounded confidence of innocence, she gave her whole heart up to this new sensation. And, indeed, this young colonel was a very brilliant and imposing personage. He was one of those Kussian aristocrats who, on the Continent, in their intercourse with the noblest and most exclusive society of Germany and France, acquire that external adroitness and social refinement, that brilliant graceful polish, which so well conceals the innate barbarism and cunning of the natu- ral character of the Russian. He was a bright companion, sufficiently conversant with arts and sciences to talk on every subject, without committing himself. He knew how to converse on all topics fluently enough, without betraying the superficial character of his knowledge and his studies. Educated at the court of the Empress Elizabeth, life had appeared to him in all its voluptuousness and fulness, but at the same time had soon been stripped of all its fancies and .illusions. For him there existed no ideals and no inno- cence, no faith, not even a doubt which in itself implies a glimmer of faith; for him there was nothing but the plain, naked, undeceivable disenchantment, and pleas- ure was the only thing in which he still believed. This pleasure he pursued with all the energy of his originally noble and powerful character; and as all his divinities had been destroyed, all holy ideals had dis- solved into myths and hollow phantoms, he wished to THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 93 secure one divinity, at least, to whom he could raise an altar, whom he could worship: this divinity was Pleasure. Pleasure he sought everywhere, in all countries; and the more ardently and eagerly he sought it, the less was he able to find it. Pleasure was the first modest, coy woman who cruelly shunned him, and the more he pur- sued her, the more coldly did she seem to fly him. And now he converted his whole life into an ad- venture, a kind of quixotic pursuit of the lost loved one, Pleasure. In the mean time, his heart was dead to all the better and nobler feelings. But, at one time, it seemed as if a higher and more serious inclination prom- ised permanently to enchain this dreaded rival of all husbands and lovers. Feodor von Brenda, the most blase, witty, insolent cavalier at the court of his empress, became suddenly serious and silent. On his proud countenance was seen, for the first time, the light of a soft and gentle feeling, and when he approached his beautiful bride, the Count- ess Lodoiska von Sandomir, there beamed from his dark eyes a glow holier and purer than the fire of sensuality. Could he have fled with her into some desert, could he have withdrawn into the stillness of his mountain castle, he would have been saved; but life held him with its thousand minute, invisible threads, and the experiences of his past years appeared to mock him for his credulity and confidence. Besides this woman, whom he adored as an angel, arose the demon of skepticism and mistrust, and regard- ed him with mocking smiles and looks of contempt; but still Feodor von Brenda was a name of honor, a cavalier to whom his pledged word was sacred, and who was ready to pay the debt of honor which he had incurred 94: THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. toward his betrothed; and this love for the Countess Lodoiska, although cankered by doubt and gnawed by the experiences of his own life, still had sufficient power over him to cause the future to appear not gloomy but full of promise, and to allow him to hope, if not for happiness, at least for rest and enjoyment. The war-cry roused him from these dreams and doubts of love. Elizabeth had united with Maria Theresa against Frederick of Prussia, and the Empress of Russia was about to send an army to the support of her ally. Feodor awoke from the sweet rest into which his heart had sunk, and, like Rinaldo, had torn asunder the rosy chains by which his Armida had sought to fetter him. He followed the Eussian colors, and accompanied General Sievers as his adjutant to Germany. As to him all life was only an adventure, he wished also to enjoy the exciting pastime of war. This, at least, was something new, a species of pleasure and amusement he had not yet tried, and therefore the young colonel gave himself up to it with his whole soul, and an ardent desire to achieve deeds of valor. But it was his fate to be carried early from the theatre of war as a prisoner, and in this character he arrived with General Sievers at Berlin. But his durance was light, his prison the large and pleasant city of Berlin, in which he could wander about perfectly free with the sole restriction of not going beyond the gates. General Sievers became accidentally acquainted with Gotzkowsky, and this acquaintance soon ripened into a more intimate friendship. He passed the greater part of his days in Gotzkowsky's house. As a lover of art, he could remain for hours contemplating the splendid pictures which Gotzkowsky had bought for the king in Italy, and which had not yet been delivered at Sans THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 95 Souci; or, by the side of the manufacturer he traversed the large halls of the factory in which an entirely new life, a world of which he had no idea, was laid open to him. And then again Gotzkowsky would impart to him the wide and gigantic plans which occupied his mind; and this disclosed to him a view into a new era which arose beyond the present time, an era when industry would command and raise the now despised workman into the important and respected citizen. While Gotzkowsky and his friend the general were discussing these extensive plans, and speculating about the future of industry, the young people, Elise and the adjutant, were dreaming about the future of their love. The colonel had only commenced this love-affair with the daughter of the rich manufacturer as a new adventure. It was so piquant to go through all the stages of a romantic, dreamy German love, with a pure, innocent German girl, and to let himself be led by her through the sacred mazes of innocent romance, holy transports, and chaste affection it was so pleasant a diversion of his captivity, why should he not enjoy it? This attachment to Elise was for him at first only a temporary amusement, and he toyed with his vows and wooing, until, imperceptibly, he found his heart entangled in his own net. The ardent yet innocent love of the young girl touched his feelings. It was something new to be the object of so chaste and devoted an affection. He was ashamed of himself in his inmost soul to perceive with what childish trust, what sacred se- curity and humble resignation this young, rich, and beautiful maiden gave herself up to him. For the first time, he experienced an ardent desire to be worthy of so noble an affection, and to resemble, at least in some slight degree, the ideal picture which Elise 96 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. had formed of him to be something of the hero, th knight, the noble being whom Elise worshipped in him. At the same time it was so surprising and strange to meet a girl, who, all submission and devoted love, yet re- mained firm and immovable in her purity and chastity, so bright and proud that even he felt respect for this in- nocence which surrounded the beloved one like a halo, and his lips refused to utter words at which her pure soul might tremble. With his fiery and mercurial temperament, he had, with a kind of passionate curiosity, adopted the role of a Platonic lover, and the libertine in his character had been subdued by the love of the eccentric. He had con- verted this love into a kind of adoration. He placed Elise upon the altar, and worshipped her as a saint to whom he had turned from the turmoil and wild lust of life, and in the contemplation and worship of whom he could obtain forgiveness of all his sins and errors. It affected him to think that Elise was praying for him while he, perhaps, forgot her in the whirlpool of pleas- ure; that she believed in him so devotedly and truly, that she looked up to him so lovingly and humbly to him who was so far her inferior. And in the midst of his wild life of pleasure he felt the need of some saint to intercede for forgiveness for him. All these new and unaccustomed feelings only enchained him the more closely, and made him consider the possession of her as the most desirable and only worthy object of his life. She must be his; he was determined to wear this brilliant diamond, the only one he had ever found genuine and without flaw, as his most costly possession; to become, in spite of all difficulties and impossibilities, unmindful of his betrothed bride and his solemn vows, THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 97 the husband of this beautiful German maiden, who had given herself to him heart and soul. In proportion to the difficulties that opposed such a union, increased his fierce determination to overcome them. He was betrothed, and the Empress Elizabeth herself had blessed the betrothal. He could not, there- fore, retract his vows without exciting the anger of his mistress, and history had more than one example to show how violent and annihilating this anger could be. In like wise, Elise dared not hope ever to obtain the con- sent of her father to her union with a man who was the enemy of her country. She was obliged to conceal this love with anxious care from his eyes, if she did not wish to expose herself to the danger of being separated from her lover forever. She knew that her father, in every thing else uniformly kind and yielding toward her, was on this one subject implacable, and that no tears, no pleading, were capable of moving the firm and energetic will of the ardent patriot. Both were obliged, therefore, to preserve their love a secret, and in this concealment lay for Feodor a new charm which bound him to her, while it estranged Elise' s heart still more from her father, and chained it in un- bounded devotion to her lover. In the mean while the time arrived for Feodor to leave Berlin with General Sievers. He swore eternal love and fidelity to Elise, and she vowed to him cheer- fully never to become the wife of another, but in pa- tience and trust to await his return, and to hope for the end of the war and the coming of peace, which would solve all difficulties, and remove the opposition of her father. That besides her father there could be any obstacle, ah did not suspect; Feodor had so often sworn that she 98 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. was his first and only love, and she, young and inexperi- enced as she was, believed him. CHAPTEK XIV. A FAITHFUL FBIEND. ELISE'S father had not yet returned. She was still alone, but in her soul there was neither fear nor trem- bling, but only a defiant grief at this apparent indiffer- ence to the danger which had threatened her, in common with the rest of Berlin, for the last two days. She had shut herself up in her room, not that she anticipated any danger, but because she wished to be alone, because she wished to avoid Bertram, the faithful friend, who had watched over her during this time with the most attentive devotion. Truthfully had he remained in the house, deserted by her father, as a careful watchman; had never left its door; but, armed with dagger and pistol, he had stationed himself as a sentinel in the antechamber, ready to hasten at the slightest call of Elise, to defend her with his life against any attack or any danger, and Elise felt herself bound to him in gratitude, and yet this duty of gratitude was a burden to her. It was distressing and painful to her to see Bertram's quiet and mournful countenance, to read in his dimmed eyes the presence of a grief so coura- geously subdued. But yet she had endeavored to over- come this feeling, and she had often come to him lately to chat with him about past times and to reward him with her society for his protection and faithful presence. And yet Bertram's tender conscience was well aware of THE MERCHANT OF BEELIN. 99 the constraint Elise had put herself under, and the harmless and cheerful chat was to him all the more pain- ful, as it reminded him of past times and hlasted hopes. He had, therefore, with a melancholy smile of resig- nation, requested Elise not to come any more into the hall, as it would be better, by the anticipated occupation of the enemy, to remain in her room, in the upper story of the house, and to lock the door in order to secure her from any possible surprise. Elise had completely understood the delicacy and nobleness of this request, and since then had remained quiet and undisturbed in her room. Thus the second night had commenced. She passed it like the one preceding, wandering up and down, not needing sleep, but kept awake by her thoughts and cares. In the middle of the night she was interrupted in her anxious reveries by Bertram, who came to her door, and in a low and timid voice requested permission to enter. Elise knew very well that she could trust Bertram like a brother, as an unselfish, disinterested friend. Therefore, fearlessly she opened the door, and bade him come in. Bertram entered timidly and confused, almost overpowered by happiness, for this room into which he came was Elise's bedroom, the sanctuary of maidenhood and beauty, and he felt disposed to kneel down and pray, so evidently did this room seem to him a temple of in- nocence. It appeared to him as if his unholy foot was not worthy to tread this ground, nor to approach the bed which, with its white curtains, seemed to wave before his dazzled eyes like a white swan. In soft and gentle words he brought to Elise greeting from her father. He related to her how Gotzkowsky had visited his house, not to take rest, but to see Elise; 100 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. how, scarcely arrived there, a messenger from the Coun- cil had called him back to the town-hall. There he had commissioned Bertram to request his daughter to with- draw from the front rooms of the house, and to retire into those next to the garden, where she would be safer and have less to fear from the enemy as he marched in. " At last, then, my father has consented to think of me," said Elise, with a bitter smile. " His patriotism has allowed him leisure to remember his only daughter, who would have remained solitary and forsaken in the midst of servants and hirelings if my noble and faithful brother had not assumed the duties of my father, and watched over and protected me." She reached out both her hands to Bertram with a look full of gratitude, but he scarcely touched them; he held them for a moment lightly and coldly in his, and then let them go. This slight and transient touch had shot through him like an electric shot, and reawakened all the sorrows of his soul. "You will then leave this room?" asked Bertram, approaching the door. " I will go into the hall immediately next to it." " All alone? " asked Bertram; and then fearing that she might suspect him of wishing to force his company upon her, he added, quickly, " You ought to keep one of your maids near you, Elise." Smilingly she shook her head. "For what pur- pose?" asked she. "Bertram is my protector, and I am quite safe. I have sent my maids to their rooms. They were tired from long watching and weeping; let them sleep. Bertram will watch for all of us. I have no fear, and I would not even leave this room, if it were not that I wished to comply with the rarely expressed and somewhat tardy desire of my father." THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 101 Saying which, she took the silver candelabras from the table and quietly traversed the room in order to proceed to the adjoining hall. At the door she stopped and turned round. The full light of the candles shone on her handsome, expressive face, and Bertram gazed on her with a mixture of delight and anguish. " Bertram," said she gently and timidly, " Bertram, my brother, let me thank you for all your love and con- stancy. Would that I could reward you more worthily! In that case all would be different, and we would not all be so sad and despondent as we now are. But always re- member, my brother, that I will never cease to love you as a sister, and that if I cannot compel my heart to love you otherwise, yet no other power, no other feeling can ever lessen or- destroy my sisterly affection. Eemember this, Bertram, and be not angry with me." She nodded to him with a sweet smile, and retreated through the door. Bertram stood rooted to the floor like one enchanted, and gazed at the door through which this vision of light had departed. He then raised his eyes to heaven, and his countenance shone with excitement. " God grant that she may be happy! " prayed he, softly. " May she never be tormented by the agonies of error or repent- ance; may he whom she loves prove worthy of her! " Overpowered by bitter and painful thoughts, his head sank upon his breast, and tears coursed down his cheeks. But he did not abandon himself long to his sad and anx- ious thoughts, nor did he allow sorrow long to take pos- session of his heart. After a short pause he raised him- self and shook his head, as if to roll off the whole burden of care and grief with all the power of his will. " At least I will always be at her side," said he, his countenance beaming from the noble decision. " I will 102 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. follow her like a faithful, watchful dog, and ward off from her every danger and every misfortune which comes from man and not from God. She has called me her brother! Well, a brother has both rights and duties, and I will perform them! " . CHAPTEE XV. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. THE hall to which Elise had retired, next to her bed- room, was on the garden side of the house, and its glass doors opened on a porch from which handsomely orna- mented bronze steps led winding down into the garden. Notwithstanding the advanced season of the year, the night was mild, and the moon shone brightly. Elise opened the glass doors and stepped out on the porch to cool her burning forehead in the fresh night air; and, leaning on the balustrade, she looked up smiling and dreamily at the moon. Sweet and precious fancies filled the soul of the young maiden, and brought the color to her cheeks. She thought of her lover, who so lately had appeared to her as in a dream; she repeated to herself each one of his words. "With a sweet but trembling emotion she remembered that he had bidden her to await him; that he had sworn to her to come, even if his way should be over dead bodies and through rivers of blood. With all the pride of a loving girl she recalled his bold and passionate words, and she rejoiced in her heart that she could call herself the bride of a hero. Even if this hero was the enemy of her country, what did she THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 103 care? She loved him, and what to her were nationali- ties or the quarrels of princes ? She was his his in love and faith, in purity and innocence; what cared she for aught else? Elise started suddenly from her dreams. She had heard a noise down in the garden, and leaned listening over the balustrade. What was the meaning of this noise? Was it perhaps some thief, who, under cover of the general confusion, had stolen into the garden? Elise remained motionless, and listened. She had not deceived herself, for she distinctly heard footsteps. A feeling of fear took possession of her, and yet she did not dare to move from the spot, nor to cry for help. Might it not be her lover, for whom she had promised to wait? With strained attention she gazed down into the garden; her eye seemed to penetrate the darkness with its sharp, searching look. But she could distinguish nothing; not an object moved through these silent paths, where the yellow sand was sufficiently lighted up by the moon to betray any one sufficiently bold to tread them. Every thing was again quiet; but Elise shuddered at these long, black shadows cast on both sides of the alleys; she was afraid to remain any longer on the porch. She retired into the hall, the door to which she had left open on purpose to - perceive any noise coming from that quarter. Now again she became aware of steps approaching nearer and nearer. She wished to rise, but her feet re- fused their office. She sank back powerless into her chair and closed her eyes. She could not determine whether it was fear or happy expectation which per- vaded her whole being. And now the footsteps ascended into the porch, and came quite near to the window. Would a thief dare 104: THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. to approach these lighted windows? She raised her eyes. He stood before her! he, her beloved, the friend of her heart, her thoughts, her hopes! Feodor von Br.enda stood in the doorway of the hall, and uttered softly her name. She could not rise, her feet trembled so; and in her heart she experienced an uneasy sensation of fear and terror. And yet she stretched her arms out to him, and welcomed him with her looks and her smile. And now she lay in his arms, now he pressed her firmly to his heart, and whispered tender, flattering words in her ear. She pushed him gently back, and gazed at him with a smile of delight. But suddenly her look clouded, and she sighed deeply. Feodor's brilliant Eussian uniform pained her, and reminded her of the danger he might be incurring. He read her fear and anxiety in her countenance. "Do not be afraid, my sweet one," whispered he gently, drawing her into his arms. " No danger threat- ens us. My people are now masters of the town. Ber- lin has surrendered to the Russians. The enemy is now conqueror and master, and no one would dare to touch this uniform. Even your father must now learn to yield, and to forget his hatred." " He will never do it," sighed Elise sadly. " You do not know him, Feodor. His will never bends, and the most ardent prayers would not induce him to grant that to his heart which his judgment does not approve of. He is not accustomed to yield. His riches make him almost despotic. Every one yields to him." " He is the king of merchants," said Feodor, as he passed his fingers playfully through the dark tresses of the young girl, whose head rested on his shoulder. " His money makes him as powerful as a prince." THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 1Q5 " That is exactly my misfortune," sighed Elise. The colonel laughed, and pressed a kiss upon her forehead. " Dreamer," said he, " do you call yourself miserable because you are the daughter of a million- naire? " " Millions alone do not make one happy," said she sadly. " The heart grows cold over the dead money, and my father's heart is cold toward his daughter. He has so many thousand other things to do and think of besides his daughter! The whole world has claims upon him; every one requires his advice, submits to and obeys him. From all parts of the world come letters to be answered, and, when at last, late in the evening, he re- members he is something besides the king on 'Change, the man of speculation, he is so tired and exhausted, that he has only a few dull words for his child, who lives soli- tary in the midst of all this wealth, and curses the mil- lions which make her poor." She had spoken with increasing excitement and bit- terness. Even her love had for a moment been eclipsed by the feeling of an injured daughter, whose grief she now for the first time disclosed to her lover. . As she finished speaking, she laid her arm on Feo- dor's shoulder, and clung still more closely to him, as if to find in his heart protection and shelter against all pain and every grief. Like a poor, broken flower she laid herself on his breast, and Feodor gazed at her with pride and pity. At this moment he wished to try her heart, and discover whether he alone was master of it. For that purpose had he come; for this had he risked this meeting. In this very hour should she follow him and yield herself to him in love and submission. Hie long separation from her, his wild soldier's life had crushed out the last blossoms of tender and chaste affec- 106 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. tion in his heart, and he ridiculed himself for his pure, adoring, timid love. Distrust had resumed power over him, and doubt, like a mildew, had spread itself over his last ideal. Elise was to him only a woman like the rest. She was his property, and as such he wished to do with her as he chose. But yet there was something in her pure, loving being which mastered him against his will, and, as it were, changed his determination. In her presence, look- ing into her clear pure eye, he forgot his dark designs and his dreary doubts, and Elise became again the angel of innocence and purity, the saint to whom he prayed, and whose tender looks shed forgiveness on him. This young girl, resting so calmly and confidingly on his breast, and looking at him so innocently and pure- ly, moved him, and made him blush for himself and his wild, bold desires. Silent and reflecting he sat at her side, but she could read in his looks, in his smile, that he loved her. What further need had she of words? She raised her head from his breast, and looked at him for a long time, and her countenance assumed a bright, happy expression. " Oh," said she, " do I call myself poor when I have you? I am no longer poor since I have known you, but I have been so; and this, my friend, must be the excuse for my love. I stood in the midst of the cold glitter of gold as in an enchanted castle, and all around me was lifeless, stiffened into torpidity by enchantment, and I knew no talisman to break the charm. You came, and brought with you love. The talisman was found; a warm life awoke in me, and all the splendor of gold crumbled into dust. I was rich then, for I loved; now I am rich, for you love me! " THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 107 " Yes, I love you," cried he; " let your father keep his treasures. You, and only you, do I desire." She sprang up startled from his arms. In the over- powering happiness of the hour she had entirely forgot- ten the danger which threatened her lover. She sud- denly remembered, and her cheek paled. " My father! " cried she, " if he should come at this moment! His look alone would be enough to kill me." And anxiously and tremblingly she clung to Feodor. " Fear not, dear one," he whispered, " he is not com- ing. God protects and watches over those who love each other. Do not think of danger. Banish all care, all fear. This hour belongs to us, and as I now fold you in my arms with delight, so let it be always and forever. For you know, precious child, that you are mine, that you can never belong to another; that you have pledged yourself, and at some future time must follow me as your husband." " I know it, I know it," she murmured; and, in bliss- ful self-forgetfulness, she leaned her head on his shoul- der, and listened with beating heart to the burning, pas- sionate words which he poured into her ear. Of a sudden, with the rapidity of lightning, she sprang up, as if an electric shock had pervaded her body, and listened eagerly. As Feodor was about to speak, to inquire the cause of her sudden terror, she quickly pressed her hand to his mouth. " Silence," whispered she softly. " I heard it distinctly. My father is coming hither through the garden! " They both listened in silence. In the quiet of the night Gotzkowsky's voice was now heard. He ordered his servants to shut the garden gates carefully, and watch them well, as the Eussians entering the town would pass by this wall. 108 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. " You are right," said Feodor; " it is your father. Truly this is an unlucky accident." " He will kill me if he finds you here/' murmured Elise, clinging, half fainting, to her lover's arm. " I will protect you with my life," said he, pressing her more firmly to him. " No, no! " cried she breathlessly; " he must not find you here. No one must see you. Oh, Feodor, lis- ten to me. He is not alone; Bertram and his servants are with him. Oh, my God, they will kill you! Save yourself; leave me, Feodor, and conceal yourself! " And drawing him with irresistible strength to the door, she whispered, " In there, in my bedroom conceal yourself." " Never," said he firmly and decidedly. " Never will I hide myself, or sneak away like a coward! " " You must do it," entreated she; and as she saw that he hesitated and drew back unwillingly, she continued: " Not for your sake for the sake of my honor, Feodor. Remember it is night, and I am alone with you." " Yee, you are right," said Feodor sadly. " Hide me; no spot must tarnish your honor." With convulsive haste, Elise drew him to the door of her chamber. Gotzkowsky's voice was heard just out- side the window. " Quick! hasten, they are coming! " said she, pull- ing the door open, and pushing him hurriedly on. " He is saved," cried her heart joyfully, as she closed the door after him, and, sinking down, half fainting in a chair, her lips murmured, " Have mercy, gracious God; have mercy on him and me! " At this moment her father, accompanied by Bertram and the factory workman, Balthazar, entered the room through the door of the balcony. THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 109 CHAPTEK XVI. THE FUGITIVE. GOTZKOWSKY at length returned to his home. Sad and sorrowful was his soul, and his brow, at other times so smooth and clear, was now dark and clouded. He mourned for his country, for the fruitless battles, the blood shed in vain, and, in the bitter grief of his heart, he asked himself what crime he had committed, that to him should be assigned the painful duty of deciding to which of the enemies they should surrender. And yet the decision was imperative, and Berlin had to be sur- rendered to the Russians. In gloomy sadness, hardly casting a passing glance at his daughter, whose anxiety and death-like paleness he did not even perceive, Gotzkowsky entered the hall, Bertram carefully bolting the doors behind him, and then in an undertone gave Balthazar and the servants directions for the protection of the house. " What a dreadful night! " said Gotzkowsky, sink- ing down on a sofa exhausted; " my heart aches as much as my limbs." For a moment he closed his eyes, and lay silent and motionless. Elise was still leaning trembling and breath- less on the chair near the door. Gotzkowsky raised his head, and his eyes sought his daughter. As he per- ceived her, a gentle and pleased expression passed over his face, and his brow grew clearer. He hastened to her and raised her in his arms. " Bless you, Elise, my child! for two days have I been nothing but citizen and soldier; now at last I am per- mitted to remember that I am a father. I had almost 8 HO THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. forgotten it during these wild sad days. Good-evening, my darling child! " Elise kissed his hand respectfully, and muttered a low welcome. Gotzkowsky said in a gentle tone, " This is a comfort which makes me forget all my sufferings. Come, my children, let us for one bright hour put aside all care and trouble, and be happy and cheerful together. Let us have breakfast. This poor, weak body needs refresh- ment, for it reminds me that, for two days, I have been living on prison fare, bread and water. Come, then, let us breakfast. Bertram, sit by my side, and our sweet little housekeeper will help us to coffee." Elise rose with difficulty and gave the necessary orders to the servants; and while the latter were hurry- ing to and fro, serving up breakfast, Gotzkowsky re* clined on the sofa, half asleep from exhaustion; and Bertram and Elise sat opposite to each other in silence. Suddenly there were heard in the distance wild yells, and loud noises and cries. Then hasty steps flew up the staircase; the hall door was pulled open, and a soldier rushed in. With breathless haste he bolted the door behind him, threw off the white cloak which concealed his figure, and the broad-brimmed hat which covered his head, and sank with a loud sigh into a chair. Gotz- kowsky hurried up to him and looked at him attentively. Elise, with an instinctive feeling of the danger which threatened Feodor, turned to the door behind which he was hidden. " The artilleryman, Fritz! " cried Gotzkowsky, with visible astonishment. " Yes, it is me," groaned the soldier. " Save me, Gotzkowsky; do not deliver me up to these barbarians! " Gotzkowsky laid his hand on his shoulder with a THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. m friendly smile. " I would not betray the enemy himself, if he sought refuge in my house; and you ask me not to betray the most valiant and renowned defender of Berlin. Bertram, this man here, this simple cannoneer, has performed miracles of valor, and earned for himself an enviable name in these last unfortunate days. It was he who had charge of the only two cannon Berlin pos- sessed, and who, never tiring, without rest or relaxation, sent death into the ranks of the enemy. Be assured, my son, you have fought these two days like a hero, and it cannot be God's wish that, as a reward for your bravery, you should fall into the hands of the enemy." " They pursue me everywhere," said the artillery- man. " Hunted by De Lacy's chasseurs like a wild beast, I fled down the street hither. You told me yester- day that if ever I wanted a friend in need, you would be one to me. Therefore have I come to you. The Aus- trians have sworn vengeance on the cannoneer, whose balls swept their ranks so murderously, and have set a large price on my head." " Ah! " cried Gotzkowsky, laughing, " the Austrians advertise rewards before they have got the money to pay them. Let them set a thousand ducats on your head, my son. They will have to do without the ducats, and your head too, for Berlin will give them neither. If we must pay the money, the Eussian shall have it; and as for your head, well, I will pay for that with my life. You have fought like a lion, and like lions we will de- fend you." " What have I gained by fighting? " said Fritz, with a mournful shrug of the shoulders. " The enemy have succeeded in getting into the town, and their rage is fearful. They have sworn to kill me. But you will not give me up! and should they come here and find me, 112 THE MERCHANT OF BERIJN. then have pity on me and kill me, but do not give me up to the enemy! " " To kill you, they must kill both of us first! " cried Bertram, taking the brave cannoneer by the hand. " We will hide him in your house; won't we, Father Gotz- kowsky?" " Yes, and so safely that no one will be able to find him! " cried Gotzkowsky, cheerfully, raising the soldier up by the hand. " Follow me, my son. In my daugh- ter's chamber is a safe hiding-place. The mirror on the wall covers a secret door, behind which is a space just large enough to conceal a person. Come." He led the artilleryman toward the door of Elise's room. But before this door Elise had stationed herself, her cheeks burning and her eyes flashing. The danger of her lover lent her courage and determination, and enabled her to meet the anger of her father unflinchingly. " Not in there, father! " said she, in a tone almost commanding; " not into my room! " Gotzkowsky stepped back in astonishment, and gazed at his daughter. " How/' asked he, " do you forbid me the entrance?" " Behind the picture of the Virgin in the large hall is a similar hiding-place/' said Elise, hurriedly; " carry him thither." Gotzkowsky did not answer immediately. He only gazed firmly and inquiringly into Elise's countenance. Dark and dismal misgivings, which he had often with much difficulty suppressed, now arose again, and filled his soul with angry, desperate thoughts. Like Virginius of old, he would have preferred to kill his daughter to delivering her into the hands of the enemy. " And why should he go there, and not remain here? " asked he at last with an effort. THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. H3 " Remember, father," stammered she, blushing, T She stopped as she met the look of her father, which rested on her with penetrating power as she read the rising anger of his soul in the tense swollen veins of his brow, and his pale, trembling lips. Bertram had witnessed this short but impressive scene with increasing terror. Elise's anxiety, her pale- ness arid trembling, the watch which she kept over that door, had not escaped him, even on his entrance, and filled him with painful uneasiness. But as he now rec- ognized in Gotzkowsky's features the signs of an anger which was the more violent for the very reason that he so seldom gave way to it, he felt the necessity of coming to the assistance of his distressed sister. He approached her father, and laid his hand lightly on his shoulder. " Elise is right," said he, entreatingly. " Eespect her maiden hesitation." Gotzkowsky turned round upon him with an im- patient toss of the head, and stared him full in the face. He then broke into a fit of wild, derisive laughter. " Yes," said he, " we will respect her maiden hesita- tion. You have spoken wisely, Bertram. Listen: you know the partition behind the picture of the Madonna in the picture-gallery. Carry our brave friend thither, and take heed that the spring is carefully closed." Bertram looked at him sadly and anxiously. He had never before seen this man, usually so calm, so passion- ately excited. " You will not go with us, father? " asked he. " No," said Gotzkowsky, harshly; " I remain here to await the enemy." He cast on Elise, still leaning against the door, a threatening look, which made her heart tremble. 114: THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. Bertram sighed, and had not the courage to go and forsake Elise in this anxious and critical moment. " Hasten, friend/' said Gotzkowsky, sternly. " The life of a brave man is at stake. Hasten! " The young man dared not gainsay him, but he ap- proached Gotzkowsky, and whispered softly: "Be le- nient, father. See how she trembles! Poor sister! " And with a painful glance at Elise, he took the hand of the artilleryman, and led him out of the room.- CHAPTEK XVII. THE EAVESDBOPPEE. ELISE was now alone with her father. She had sunk down near the fatal door, and her colorless lips mur- mured faint prayers. Gotzkowsky stood there, still relentless; but his agi- tated countenance, his lowering brow, his flashing eyes, betrayed the deep and passionate emotion of his soul. Struck and wounded fatally in his most sacred feelings, he felt no pity, no compassion for this poor trembling girl, who followed his every motion with a timid, anx- ious eye. His whole being was filled with burning rage against his daughter, who, his misgiving heart told him, had trampled his honor in the dust. A long and dreadful pause occurred. Nothing was heard but Gotzkowsky's loud, heavy breathing, and Elise's low-muttered prayers. Suddenly Gotzkowsky drew himself up, and threw his head proudly back. He then walked to the door leading into the balcony, and to the opposite one, and ascertained that they were both THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. H5 closed. No one could intrude, no one interrupt this fearful dialogue. Elise was terribly conscious of this, and could only whisper, " Pity, pity, merciful God! I shall die with terror! " Gotzkowsky approached her, and, seizing her hand, raised her rapidly from the floor. " We are alone now," said he with a hoarse, harsh voice. " Answer me, now. Who is concealed there in your room? " " No one, my father." "No one!" repeated he, sternly. "Why, then, do you tremble? " " 1 tremble because you look at me so angrily," said she, terrified. Her father cast her hand passionately from him. " Liar! " cried he. " Do you wish me to kill him? " He took his sword from the table, and approached the door. " What are you going to do, my father? " cried she, throwing herself in his way. " I am going to kill the thief who stole my daughter's honor," cried Gotzkowsky, his eyes flashing with rage. "Father, father, by the God in heaven I am inno- cent! " cried she, convulsively, striving to hold him back. " Then let me have the proof of this innocence," said he, pushing her back. But she sprang forward with the agility of a gazelle, rushed again to the door, and clung with both hands to the lock. " No, no, father, I remain here. You shall not in- sult yourself and me so much as to believe what is dis- honorable and unworthy of me, and to require a proof of my innocence." THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. This bold opposition of Elise only excited Gotzkow- sky's anger the more, and was to him a fresh proof of her guilt. Hie rage overpowered him; with raised arm and flashing eye he strode up to Elise, and cried out: " Away from the door, or by Heaven I will forget that I am you* father I " " Oh," cried she breathlessly, " you have often for- gotten that, but think now; remember that I am tht daughter of the wife whom you loved! Trust me, father. By the memory of my mother, I swear to you that my honor is pure from any spot; and, however much ap- pearances may be against me, I am nevertheless inno- cent. I have never done any thing of which my father would have to be ashamed. Believe me, father; give me your hand and say to me ' I believe your innocence; I trust you even without proof! ' ; She sank down on her knees, raising her arms im- ploringly to him, while burning tears streamed down her cheeks. Gotzkowsky gazed at her long and silently, and his child's tears touched the father's heart. "Perhaps I do her injustice," said he to himself, looking thoughtfully into her weeping face. " She may be really innocent. Let us try," said he, after a pause, pressing his hands to his burning temples. As he let them drop, his countenance was again calm and clear, and there was no longer visible any trace of his former anger. " I will believe you," said he. " Here, Elise, ia my hand." Elise uttered a cry of joy, sprang up from her knees, rushed toward her father, and pressed her burning lips on his extended hand. " My father, I thank you. I will ever be grateful to you," cried she, fondly. Gotzkowsky held her hand firmly in his own, and while speaking to her approached, apparently by acci- THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. Hf dent, the door so bravely defended by Elise. " You are right, my child; I was a fool to doubt you, but I am jealous of my honor, the most precious property of an honest man. Much can be bought with gold, but not honor. True honor is bright and clear as a mirror, and the slightest breath dims it. Oh, how would this envi- ous, grudging, malignant world rejoice if it could only find a spo 1 ; on my honor! But woe to him who dims it, even if it were my own child! " Elise turned pale and cast down her eyes. Gotzkow- sky perceived it. He still held her hand in his, and ap- proached the door with her, but he compelled his voice to be gentle and mild. " I repeat," said he, " I wronged you, but it was a terrible suspicion which tortured me, and I will confess it to you, my child. The Eussian flag of truce which came into town to negotiate with the authorities was ac- companied by ten soldiers and two officers. While the commissioner was transacting business in the Council- chamber above, they remained below in the lower story of the building. I accompanied the commissioner, as he left the Council, down-stairs, and we found his military escort in a state of anxiety and excitement, for one of the officers had left them two hours before, and had not yet returned, and they had called and hunted for him everywhere. The Russians were furious, and cried out that we had murdered one of their officers. I succeeded in quieting them, but my own heart I could not quiet; it felt convulsively cramped when I heard the name of this missing officer. Need I name him?" Elise did not answer. She looked at her father, with tears in her eyes, and shook her head languidly. Gotzkowsky continued: " It is the name of a man to whom I formerly showed much friendship; toward whom 118 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. I exercised hospitality, and whom I made free of my house, and who now shows his gratitude by stealing the heart of my daughter, like a pitiful thief. Oh, do not attempt to deny this. I know it, Elise; and if I have hitherto avoided speaking to you about this matter, it was because I had confidence in your sound sense, and in the purity of heart of a German girl to sustain you in re- sisting a feeling which would lead you astray from Che path of duty and honor. I do not say that you loved him, but that he wished to seduce you into loving him clandestinely, behind your father's back. That is his gratitude for my hospitality." Speaking thus, Gotzkowsky pressed his daughter's hand more firmly in his own, and continued approaching more closely to the door. " Only think," continued he, " the mad thought crossed my mind ' How if this man should be rash and foolhardy enough to have gone to my daughter? ' But I forgot to tell you his name. Feodor von Brenda was the name of the treacherous guest, and Feodor von Brenda was also the name of the officer who left the commissioner, perhaps in search of some love adventure. But why do you tremble ? " asked he in a loud tone, as her hand quivered in his. " I do not tremble, father," replied she, striving for composure. Gotzkowsky raised his voice still higher till it sound- ed again. "Forgive me this suspicion, my daughter. I should have known that, even if this insolent Eussian dared to renew a former acquaintance^ my daughter would never be so mean, neveV stoop so low as to wel- come him, for a German girl would never throw away her honor on a Eussian boor." "Father," cried Elise, terrified and forgetting all her prudence, " oh, father! do not speak so loud." THE MERCHANT DRAWS FEODOR FROM HIS HIDING-PLACE. THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. H9 " Not so loud? Why, then, some one can hear us? " asked Gotzkowsky, pressing the arm of his daughter. " I will speak loud, I will declare it aloud. He is a scoundrel who conceals himself in a dastardly and dis- honorable manner, instead of defending himself! a coward who would put the honor of a maiden in the scale against his own miserable life. No German would do that. Only a Eussian would be base enough to hide himself, instead of defending his life like a man! " At this moment the door of the bedroom was vio- lently torn open, and the Russian colonel appeared on the threshold, his cheeks burning and his eyes flashing with anger. CHAPTER XVIII. THE TWO CANNONEEKS. ELISE uttered a cry of terror, and stared at her lover with wide-opened eyes. But Gotzkowsky's counte- nance was illuminated with a dark and savage joy. " Ah, at last, then! " said he, letting go the arm of his daughter, and grasping his sword. But the colonel advanced proudly and collectedly to- ward him. " Here am I, sir," said he; " here am I, to defend myself and avenge an insult." " I have driven you out of your hiding-place, as the fox draws the badger out of his kennel," cried Gotzkow- sky, with derisive laughter, purposely calculated to irritate the anger of the young officer to the highest pitch. The two men stood opposite to each other, and gazed at one another with faces full of hatred and rage. 120 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. Elise threw herself between them, and falling on her knees before her father, exclaimed, " Kill me, father; gave your honor kill me! " But Gotzkowsky slung her pitilessly aside. " Away! " cried he, roughly. " What do you here? Make room for us! Here is a man with whom I can fight for my honor." Feodor stepped quickly toward Elise, who was still kneeling on the floor, wringing her hands, and sobbing from intense pain. He raised her up, and whispering a few words in her ear, led her to the sofa. He then turned to Gotzkowsky, and said, " Your honor is pure and unspotted, sir! Whatever you may think of me, you must respect the virtue of your daughter. She is innocent." "Innocent," cried Gotzkowsky derisively, "inno- cent! why, your very presence has polluted the inno- cence of my daughter." " Father, kill me, but do not insult me! " cried she, a dark glow suffusing her cheeks. " Pour out your anger on me," said Feodor ardently. " It is a piece of barbarism to attack a defenceless girl." Gotzkowsky laughed out loud and scornfully: "You speak of barbarism, and you a Eussian ! " An exclamation of rage escaped the colonel; he seized his sword and drawing it quickly advanced to- ward Gotzkowsky. " At last! " cried Gotzkowsky, triumphantly, raising his blade. But Elise, beside herself, and heedless of the flashing steel, threw herself between them. With burn- ing words she entreated Feodor to spare her father, and not to raise his sword against him. But Gotzkowsky's voice overpowered hers. Such wild words of contempt and insulting rage issued from his lips, that the young THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. officer, hurt in his military honor, did not dare to listen to the voice of his beloved. It was he now who pressed Elise back, and with raised arm placed himself opposite to her father. " You must kill me, sir, or wash out this insult with your blood," cried he, preparing himself for the combat. Both were then silent. It was a terrible, unearthly silence, only broken by the clash of their swords or the occasional outcries of anger or savage joy, as one or the other received or gave a blow. Elise raised her head to heaven and prayed; every thing became confused before her eyes, her head swam, and she felt as if she would go crazy. She prayed God that He would release her by madness or death from the suffering of this hour, or that He would point out to her some way of deliverance or es- cape. But in the violence of their dispute and combat, the two men had not heard that there arose suddenly in the house a loud tumult and uproar; they had not perceived that a guard of soldiers was drawn up in the street, and that the commanding officer with a loud voice was demanding the delivery of the cannoneer who had taken refuge in this house. As no attention was paid to the demand, the officer had ordered his soldiers to break open the doors of the house and enter by force. But Bertram had anticipated this proceeding by having the door opened, and request- ing the Austrian officer to search the house with his men, and convince himself that no one was concealed in it. With most industrious energy, and mindful of the price which had been set on the head of the cannoneer, the sol- diers searched every room in the house, and had finally arrived at the closed door of the hall. Just as the combat between the two had reached its greatest violence, it was interrupted by fierce blows at the 122 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. door from butts of muskets, and they were compelled to refrain from their imbittered struggle. They stopped and listened, but Elise sprang from her knees, rushed with a cry of delight to the door and threw it open. An officer of De Lacy's chasseurs entered with some of his soldiers, while the rest of the men filled the entrance hall and passages of the house with noise and con- fusion. With a commanding tone the Austrian officer de- manded the delivery of the cannoneer, who, he asserted, had been seen by all to take refuge in this house, whence it was impossible that he could have escaped, as it had been immediately surrounded. And as no one answered his threats, but only a sullen silence was opposed to his violently repeated demand, he swore that he would burn down the house and let no one escape if the refugee was not given up at once. Gotzkowsky had at first stood like one stunned, and scarcely heard what the officer demanded of him. Gradually he began to recover from his stupefaction and regain strength to turn his attention to things around him. He raised his head from his breast, and, as if awaking from a dream, he looked around with bewil- dered amazement. The Austrian officer repeated his demand still more haughtily and threateningly. Gotz- kowsky had now recovered presence of mind and com- posure, and declared with a determined voice, that no one was concealed in his house. " He is here! " cried the Austrian. " Our men have followed his track thus far, and marked this house well. Deliver him up to us, to avoid bloodshed," and, turning to his soldiers, he continued, "Search all the rooms search carefully. The man is hidden here, and we " Suddenly he interrupted his order, and gazed earnest- THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 123 ly at the door through which his soldiers were press- ing in. " Had not this cannoneer, as he fled thither, a white cloak around him, and did he not wear a broad-brimmed hat ? " asked he. As the soldiers answered affirmatively, the officer stepped toward the door, and drew from under the feet of his men the cloak and hat of the cannoneer. A wild yell of joy broke from the soldiers. " Do you still persist in denying that this man is concealed here? " asked the officer, raising the cloak. Gotzkowsky did not answer, but gazed on the ground absorbed in deep thought. As the soldiers thronged into the room, the young Russian colonel had withdrawn himself to a remote part of the room, and taken the most lively interest in the scene acted before him. A word from him would have brought the whole affair to an end, for, as an invol- untary listener, he had heard all that had transpired concerning the cannoneer. Consequently he knew ex- actly the hiding-place in which the latter had been con- cealed. But it had never come into his mind to play the informer and traitor. He was only intensely inter- ested in the issue of the scene, and firmly determined, if the danger should grow more urgent, to hasten with his weapon to Gotzkowsky's assistance, and to defend him against the fury of the Austrians. Gotzkowsky still stood silent. He was trying to de- vise some plan by which he might save the brave de- fender of Berlin, whose presence, after such positive proof, he could no longer deny. As suddenly as lightning an idea seemed to penetrate his mind, his countenance cleared, and he turned with a singular expression in his eye to Colonel von Brenda. 124 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. " Well! " asked the officer, " do you still deny it? " " No, I cannot deny it any longer," said he, in a de- termined tone. " You are right, sir; the cannoneer who shattered your ranks is here in my house! " The soldiers broke out again in a triumphant roar. But Elise looked at her father with anxious terror, and sought, trembling, to read in his countenance the mean- ing of these words. " Can he possibly be capable of be- traying this man whom he has sworn to protect? " thought Feodor, and yielding to his curiosity he ap- proached the group in the middle of the hall. Sud- denly he felt Gotzkowsky's hand laid on his shoulder, and met his dark eye, full of hatred. " Well," said Gotzkowsky, with a loud, defiant voice, "you are looking for the artilleryman, Fritz. Here he is! " A scream and a burst of laughter were heard. It was Elise who uttered the scream, and the colonel who greeted this unexpected turn with a merry laugh. But Gotzkowsky did not allow himself to be confused by one or the other. He laid his arm on Feeder's neck, and forced his countenance to assume a friendly expression. " Dear friend," said he, " you see it is vain any longer to deny it. Our stratagem has unfortunately failed." " What stratagem? " asked the Austrian and Feodor, simultaneously. Gotzkowsky replied in a sorrowful tone to Feodor: " Do not disguise yourself any longer, my son! you see it is useless/' Then turning to the officer, he continued: " We had hoped that he might escape detection in this Russian uniform, left here by the adjutant of General Sievers, who was formerly a prisoner of war in my house, but unfortunately the hat and cloak have betrayed him." THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 125 Feodor von Brenda looked at Gotzkowsky with ad- miring wonder, and this rapidly invented ruse de guerre pleased him astonishingly. It was a piquant adventure offered him by Gotzkow- sky's hate and cunning, and he did not feel inclined to throw away such an original and interesting chance of excitement. He, the Eussian colonel, and Count von Brenda, the favorite of the empress, degraded to a Prussian cannoneer, whose life was in danger! His wilful and foolhardy imagination was pleased with the idea of playing the part of a criminal condemned to death. " Well," asked the Austrian officer, " do you acknowl- edge the truth of this statement, or do you deny being the cannoneer, Fritz?" "Why should I deny it?" answered Feodor, shrug- ging his shoulders. " This gentleman, who ought to have saved me, has already betrayed me. I am the man whom you seek! " With a scream of surprise, Elise threw herself toward her lover. " No! " cried she, loudly, " no, he is" Her father's hand pressed heavily on her lips. " An- other word, and you are a murderess! " whispered he. The officer looked suspiciously at them. "You do not deny," asked he of Feodor, " that you are he who directed such a murderous fire on our lines? You do not deny that you are the artilleryman, Fritz, and that this cloak and hat belong to you? " " I deny nothing! " replied Feodor, defiantly. The officer called to some of his men and ordered them to shoulder arms, and take the prisoner in their midst; enjoining them to keep a sharp watch on him, and at the first attempt to escape, to shoot him down. 126 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. But when he demanded his sword of the colonel, the latter recoiled, shocked, and resisted. He now became aware of his foolhardiness and rash- ness, and that he had not considered or foreseen the dan- gerous and perhaps dishonorable consequences. How- ever, as he had gone so far, he considered that it would be disgraceful and cowardly to retreat now. He was also desirous of pursuing to the end this adventure which he had begun with so much boldness and daring. He drew his sword, and with considerable strength break- ing it in pieces, he threw them at the feet of the Austrian officer. That officer shrugged his shoulders. "Your inso- lence will only make your situation worse. -Eemember, you are our prisoner." " He must and shall die! " shouted the soldiers, thronging around Feodor, angrily. The officer ordered silence. "He must die," said he, "that is true; but we must first carry him to the general, to obtain the price offered for him." The soldiers surrounded him and shoved him toward the door. But Elise broke through the crowd. With flashing eyes, and cheeks burning with a feverish excite- ment, she rushed toward Feodor. " No! " cried she, with all the ardor of love, "no, I will not leave you. You are going to your death! " Feodor kissed her lightly on the forehead, and re- plied with a smile, " I fear nothing. Fortune does not forsake a brave soldier." He then took her by the hand and led her to her father. Gazing on him with a long and speaking look, he continued: "Here, Father Gotzkowsky, I bring your daughter to you: be a better father to her than you have been a friend to me. These are my farewell words." THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 127 He leaned forward as if to give Gotzkowsky a part- ing embrace, and whispered to him: " I hope we are now quit! I have atoned for my fault. You will no longer wish to punish your daughter for my transgression/' He then threw the white cloak around him, and bid- ding Elise, who leaned half fainting against her father, a tender farewell, he stepped back into the ranks of the guard. "Attention! shoulder arms!" commanded the offi- cer; and the Austrians left the hall with closed ranks, the prisoner in their midst. CHAPTEK XIX. FATHEE GOTZKOWSKY. THE door had closed behind the soldiers and their prisoner. Gotzkowsky and Elise remained behind, si- lent and immersed in the deep sorrows of their souls. Neither spoke a word; both stood motionless and lis- tened. They heard the soldiers hurry down the steps; they heard the house door violently thrown open, and the officer announce in a loud voice to those of his soldiers who were waiting in the street, the lucky capture of the artilleryman. A cry of triumph from the Austrians was the answer; then was heard the loud word of command from the officer, and the roll of the drum gradually receding in the distance until it was no longer audible. Every thing was silent. " Have mercy, Father in heaven, have mercy! They 128 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. are leading him to death! " cried Elise in a heartrend- ing tone, and she sank on her knees in prayer. " The brave cannoneer is saved 1 " murmured Gotz- kowsky in a low voice to himself, and he too folded hia hands in prayer. Was it a prayer of gratitude, or did it proceed from the despairing heart of a father? His countenance had a bright and elevated expres- sion; but as he turned his eyes down on his daughter, still on her knees, they darkened, and his features twitched convulsively and painfully. His anger had evaporated, and his heart was filled with boundless pity and love. He felt nothing but painful, sorrowful com- passion for this young girl who lay deathly pale and trembling with suffering on the floor. His daughter was weeping, and his heart yearned toward her to forgive her every thing, to raise her up and comfort her. Suddenly Elise started up from her knees and strode toward her father. There was something solemn and imposing in her proud bearing, her extraordinary com- posure, which only imperfectly veiled her raging grief and passionate excitement. " Father," said she solemnly, and her voice sounded hoarse and cold, "may God forgive you for what you have done! At this moment, when perhaps he is suffer- ing death, I repeat it, I am innocent." This proud composure fell freezingly on Gotzkow- sky's heart, and drove back all the milder forgiving im- pulses. He remembered only the shame and the in- jured honor of his daughter. " You assert your innocence, and yet you had a man concealed in the night in your bedchamber! " "And yet I am innocent, father!" cried Elise vehemently. " Read it on my forehead, see it in my THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. 129 eyes, which do not fear to meet yours. I am inno- cent! " And completely overpowered by the bitter and des- perate anguish of her soul, she continued, still more ex- cited, " But how does all this concern you? It was not my honor that you were interested in; you did not seek to avenge that. You only wished to punish me for dar- ing to assert my freedom and independence, for daring to love without having asked your leave. The rich man to whom all bend, whom all worship as the priest of the powerful idol which rules the world, the rich man sees with dismay that there is one being not dazzled by his treasures who owns an independent life, a will of her own, and a heart that he cannot command. And be- cause this being does not of her own accord bow down before him he treads it in the dust, whether it be his own child or not." " Elise," cried Gotzkowsky, shocked, " Elise, are you mad? Do you know that you are speaking to your father?" But her tortured heart did not notice this appeal; and only remembering that perhaps at this moment her lover was suffering death through her father's fault, she allowed herself to be carried away by the overpowering force of her grief. She met the flashing eye of her father with a smile of contempt, and said, coldly: " Oh yes, you may look at me. I do not fear your angry glances. I am free; you yourself have absolved me from any fear of you. You took from me my lover, and at the same time deprived yourself of your child." " God! " cried Gotzkowsky in an undertone, " have I deserved this, Father in heaven? " and he regarded his daughter with a touching expression. But she was inexorable; sorrow had unseated her 130 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. judgment, and " Oh! " cried she in a tone of triumph, " now I will confess every thing to you, how I have suf- fered and what I have undergone." " Elise! " cried he painfully, " have I not given you every thing your heart could desire ? " " Yes! " cried she, with a cruel laugh, " you fulfilled all my wishes, and thereby made me poor in wishes, poor in enjoyment. You deprived me of the power of wish- ing, for every thing was mine even before I could de- sire it. It was only necessary for me to stretch out my hand, and it belonged to me. Cheerless and solitary I stood amidst your wealth, and all that I touched was turned into hard gold. The rich man's daughter en- vied the beggar woman in the street, for she still had wishes, hopes, and privations." Gotzkowsky listened to her, without interrupting her by a word or even a sigh. Only now and then he raised his hand to his forehead, or cast a wandering, doubtful look at his daughter, as if to convince himself that all that was passing was not a mad, bewildering dream, but painful, cruel reality. But when Elise, breathless and trembling with ex- citement, stopped for a moment, and he no longer heard her cutting accents of reproach, he pressed both hands upon his breast, as if to suppress a wail over the annihila- tion of his whole life. " God! " muttered he in a low voice, "this is unparalleled agony! This cuts into a father's heart! " After a pause, Elise continued: " I too was a beggar, and I hungered for the bread of your love." " Elise, oh, my child, do you not know then that I love you infinitely? " But she did not perceive the loving, almost imploring looks which her father cast upon her. She could see THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. and think only of herself and her own tormented heart. " Yes," said she, " you love me as one loves a jewel, and has it set in gold in order to make it more brilliant. You loved me as a costly ornament of your rooms, as something which gave you an opportunity of exercising the splendor of your liberality, and to be produced as an evidence of your renowned wealth. But you did not love me as a father; you did not perceive that I wept in secret, or if you did see it, you consoled me with diamonds, with rich dresses, to make me smile. But you did not give me your father's heart. At last the rich man's child discovers a happiness not to be bought with gold or treasures, a happiness that the mil- lions of her father could not purchase for her. This happiness is love. The only possession that I have owned, father, contrary to your will, you have deprived me of, because it was mine against your will. Now, poor rich man, take all your gold, and seek and buy yourself a child with it. Me you have lost! " and staggering back with a sob, she sank fainting on the carpet. A dread silence now reigned in the room. Gotz- kowsky stood motionless, with his eyes directed toward heaven. The cruel, mocking words of his daughter sounded over and over again in his ears, and seemed to petrify the power of his will and chain him fast, as if rooted to the floor. Gradually he recovered from this apathy of grief. The stagnant blood revived in his veins, and shot like burning streams of fire to his heart. He bent over his daughter, and gazing for a long time at her, his features assumed a gentler and softer expression. Tenderly with his hand he smoothed the tresses from her clear, high forehead; and as he did so, he almost smiled 132 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. again, so beautiful and charming did she seem to him in her death-like repose. " She has fainted/' whispered he, low, as if fearful of awakening her. " So much the better for her; and when she recovers, may she have forgotten all the cruel words that she has uttered! " He laid his hand on her head as if to bless her, and love and forgiveness were expressed in his looks. A perfect peace seemed to pervade his whole frame. In this moment he forgave her all the pain, all the suffering she had caused him. He pardoned her those unjust re- proaches and accusations, and with lofty emotion, rais- ing his eyes toward heaven, he exclaimed, "0 God! thou seest my heart. Thou knowest that love alone has pos- session of its very depths, love to my child! and my child has no faith in me. I have worked I am rich I have amassed wealth only for her. I thought of my child as I sat at my desk during the long, weary nights, busied with difficult calculations. I remembered my daughter when I was wearied out and overcome by this laborious work. She should be happy; she should be rich and great as any princess; for this I worked. I had no time to toy or laugh with her, for I was working for her like a slave. And this," continued he with a sad smile, " this is what she reproaches me with. There is nothing in which I believe, nothing but my child, and my child does not believe in me! The world bows down before me, and I am the poorest and most miserable beggar." Overpowered by these bitter thoughts, which crowded tumultuously upon his brain, he leaned his head upon kis hand and wept bitterly. Then, after a long pause, he drew himself up erect, and, with a determined ges- ture, shook the tears from his eyes. "Enough!" said he, loudly and firmly, "enough; THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 133 my duty shall cure me of all this suffering. That I must not neglect." He rang the bell, and ordered the servant-maids, who appeared, to raise up the insensible girl and bear her to her room. But when the maidens called the waiting-man to their assistance to raise their mistress, Gotzkowsky pushed them all aside, and carried her softly and gently, as carefully and tenderly as a mother, to a couch, on which he placed her. He then pressed a fervent kiss upon her brow. Elise began to move, a faint blush over- spread her cheeks, she opened her eyes. Gotzkowsky immediately stepped back, and signed to her maids to carry her into her room. He looked after her until she had disappeared, his eyes dimmed with tears. " My child," said he, in a low voice, " she is lost to me. Oh, I am a poor, pitiable father! " With a deep groan he pressed his hands to his face, and nothing was heard but the painful sobs wrung from the heart of this father wrestling with his grief. Suddenly there arose from without loud lamentations and cries for help. They came nearer and nearer, and at last reached Gotzkowsky's house, and filled its halls and passages. It was not the outcry of a single person. From many voices came the sounds of lamenting and weeping, screams and shrieks: "Help! help! have pity on us, save us! The Aus- triaris are hewing us down they are burning our houses save us! " Gotzkowsky dropped his hands from his face and listened. " What was that? who cries for help? " asked he, dreamingly, still occupied with his own sorrows, scarcely conscious of the reality. But suddenly he start- 134 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. ed, and from his eyes beamed life and courage. " Ah! " cried he aloud, " mankind is suffering, and I am thinking of my own griefs. I know these voices. The wives and children of my workmen, the poor and oppressed of the city are calling me. The people need me. Up, Gotz- kowsky! give them your heart, your life. Endeavor to be a father to the unfortunate, and you will not be poor in children! " Without the wailing and cries for help continued to resound, and the voices of weeping and trembling women and plaintive children cried aloud, " Gotzkowsky, help us! have pity on us, Father Gotzkowsky! " " Father! " cried he, raising his head, his counte- nance beaming with delight. " They call me f ather t and yet I complain. Up! to my children who love me, and who 'need my help! " BOOK II. CHAPTEK I. THE TWO EDITOBS. ON the morning succeeding the night of horrors and confusion in which Berlin had surrendered to the con- queror, the vanguard of the Eussians marched into the town through the Konig's Gate. But the commanding general, Tottleben, wished to make his triumphal entry with his staff and the main body of his army through the Kottbuss Gate, and had ordered the magistracy of the town to meet him there, and to bring with them a depu- tation of the merchants, to determine what contribution should be laid upon them. But before the Russian general could make his entry, the vanguard of De Lacy's army corps had penetrated into the Frederick Street suburb, and were committing the most atrocious acts of cruelty in the New Street. With wild yells they entered the houses to rob and plunder, ill-treating those who re- fused to give up their valuables, and by violent threats of incendiarism, raising forced levies from the frightened inhabitants. But it was not alone this lust of plunder in the sol- diers which spread terror and dismay in each house and in every family. Count De Lacy possessed a list of those persons who, by word, deed, or writing, had declared against Austria or Russia, and he gave it to his officers, with the order that they should not hesitate at any meas- 135 136 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. ures, any threats or acts of violence, to obtain possession of these people. Besides which, he promised a consider- able reward for each " traitor " brought to him; and it was therefore no wonder that these officers, with brutal and avaricious zeal, had scarcely arrived in the city before they commenced the pursuit of these outlaws. With fearful yells they rushed into the houses, shouting out the names of those on the pursuit of whom they were bent, and whose seizure would secure them a golden re- ward. Naturally enough, the writers and journalists were the first on whom the vengeful wrath of the conqueror was poured, for it has ever been the lot of authors to suffer for the misfortunes of the people, to be made re- sponsible for the being and thinking, the will and action of the nation to which they belong. But it is only in days of misfortune that the responsibility of authors and poets commences. They must answer for the ill luck, but are never rewarded for the happiness of the nation. Three names, especially, did De Lacy's chasseurs cry out with a raging howl for vengeance, through the Frederick-Stadt and down the Linden Street, and they searched for their owners in every house. "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 crimi- nal for whose arrest a high premium had been offered. M. De Justi was indeed a notorious criminal. Not that he had written much cr badly, but principally be- cause he had dared to use his sharp pen against the Aus- trian empress, and her allies the Eussians and Saxons. It was especially three pamphlets which excited the wrath of the victorious enemy. These pamphlets were THE MERCHANT OF BEELIN. 137 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 Briihl." He had offended not only the Austrians, but also the Eussians 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 pamph- lets. 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 Aus- trians had penetrated into the city. In the safe hiding- place in which both of them had passed the night they had only learned that Berlin had surrendered to the Eus- eiane, and that General Tottleben had ordered the magis- trates to receive him the next morning at the Kottbuss Gate at eight o'clock. It was intended that the reception should be a bril- liant 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 tke town moderate and light. 138 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. 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 re- cent and important intelligence, would not dare to be absent at the reception of the Eussian 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 with- drawn 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 bloody 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, keep- ing anxiously close to the houses, and reached unper- ceived 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 ob- serve every thing." So, settling himself on the stone, he leaned back in the corner of the door-pillar, as if it were the leathern THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 139 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 he the only one which will be able to re- port, from actual observation, on the formal entry of the Eussian general. Oh, how vexed Spener's will be! There is seven o'clock striking. In an hour the cere- mony will begin. Spener's Journal still sleeps, while the Vossian Gazette wakes and works, and is alert to iatisfy the curiosity of Berlin." Poor, benighted editor of the Vossian! You, in- deed, 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 mo- nopoly of describing in the morning's paper, to the peo- ple 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. 140 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 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 interest- ing 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 anticipated the Vossian ! " He then was silent, but his thoughts were active, and in the bottom of his heart he instituted 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 in- THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. convenient, 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 un- spoken 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! Damn the fellow!" thought Mr. Krause. But while they thought this to themselves, they rushed forward and embraced each other, with greetings and assurances 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 asseverations of friendship and esteem, but, at the same time, breathed in their hearts their curses and execra- tions. 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 10 142 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. the windows. His eye fell upon these two men who were shrinking from his sight, uttering pious ejacula- tions to Heaven. The officer approached them and de- manded their names. Neither answered. The officer repeated his question, and accompanied it with such threats as convinced Mr. Krause of the imperative neces- sity 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 Spends Journal." An expression of joyous triumph shone in the coun- tenance of the officer: " You are my prisoners, gentle- men," 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 de- fend 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. THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 143 CHAPTEK 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 pro- cession. 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 bur- gomaster, with the Town Council, and deputation of mer- chants, 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. Heir von Kircheisen shook his head in a most melan- choly 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 noblest lords." THE MERCHANT OF BEKLIN. The chief burgomaster frowned. " These are very proud words/' replied he, with a shrug of his shoul- ders. " Pride belongs to the citizen! " cried Gotzkowsky. " But believe me, noble 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 Eussian 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 ensmy. Only the ever-curious, ever-sight-loving, always-thought- less populace, to whom the honor has at times been ac- corded of being called " the sovereign people," only this populace had hurried hither from all the streets of Ber- lin to see the entry of the Eussians, 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 Eussian General Bach- mann and his staff. As he reached the gate he drew in his horse and asked, in a loud, sonorous voice, in French, THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 145 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 ap- pointed to the command of Berlin." " Are you a friend of the noble Sievers? " cried Gotzkowsky, his countenance beaming with pleasure. " Oh, then, I need fear nothing for this unfortunate town, for only a noble, high-minded man can be a friend of Sievers. You will have pity on our distress! " "Tell me wherein I can serve you, and how I can oblige you; my word has much influence on our general- in-chief, Count Tottleben." Gotzkowsky was silent. " Beg him to make the contribution as small as pos- sible," whispered Kircheisen in Gotzkowsky's ear. But Gotzkowsky took no notice of him. He fixed his dark eyes on the general, as if he wished to read his soul. " Speak out," said the general. " If it is possible, your wish shall be granted." " Well then, general," cried Gotzkowsky, " this is my request: Spare the poor and needy of this town. Order 14:6 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. your soldiers to be humane, and do not forget mercy. Let your warriors neither murder nor plunder; let them not deride the defenceless and conquered. Give to the world the example of a generous and noble con- queror." The general looked* into Gotzkowsky's noble counte- nance with increasing astonishment, and his features as- sumed a more benevolent expression. " I give you my word that your petition shall be granted," said he; "I will give my soldiers strict orders, and woe be to him who does not obey them! But you have spoken for others, and I would like to oblige you personally. Have you no request to make for yourself? " " Oh, yes, indeed! " cried Gotzkowsky, " I beg you to allow me to hasten to the Council-hall to report to the elders of the citizens your kind promise." General Bachmann nodded affably to him. " Has- ten, then, and return soon." But as Gotzkowsky turned to hasten away, Herr von Kircheisen seized him with a convulsive grasp and drew him back. " My God! you are not going to leave me? " he whined out. " Only think " " That the brave and noble citizens may lay the gen- eral's words as a balm to their wounds that is what I am thinking of," cried Gotzkowsky, tearing himself loose and hurrying away with rapid strides. " And now for you, most worthy burgomaster," said General Bachmann, sternly, "your name, if you please? " Von Kircheisen looked at him gloomily, but made no answer. The general repeated his question in a louder and sterner voice, but the burgomaster still maintained the same obstinate silence. THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 147 " Have you, by some unlucky chance, forgotten your name, sir? " asked the general with a lowering brow. The angry, piercing look he fastened on him, seemed to awaken the burgomaster from his lethargy. " My name is KLrcheisen, Von Kircheisen," stam- mered he, with a heavy tongue. " We came as conquerors, sir," said General Bach- mann; " and it is usual for conquerors to dictate their terms before they enter a captured city. In the name of our general, Count Tottleben, I have to communi- cate to you what sum we demand from you as a war con- tribution. This demand amounts to four millions of dollars in good money." The burgomaster stared at the general with glazed eyes, broke out into a loud laugh, and staggered back on the wall of the gate-warder's house. " I implore you, collect yourself," whispered the sec- ond burgomaster, as he endeavored to support the reel- ing, staggering chief. " Remember our weal or woe depends upon you! " Von Kircheisen grinned an idiotic laugh. "Four millions of dollars! " screamed he aloud. " Four mil- lions of dollars! Hurrah! hurrah for the Russians! " The countenance of the general became still more threatening, and an angry light flashed from his eye. " Do you dare to mock me? " asked he, in a harsh tone. " Beware, sir; and remember that you are the con- quered, and in our power. I demand from you a de- cided answer. You understand my demand, do you not?" But still he answered not. He stared at General Bachmann with a vacant smile, and his head wagged from side to side like the pendulum of a clock. "This is disgraceful conduct," cried the general, 148 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. " conduct which does little honor to the chief magistrate of Berlin. But I warn you, sir, to beware! I have promised the poor and suffering my protection, but I well know how to punish those who abuse our mag- nanimity. If you do not answer me this time, sir, by Heaven I will have you carried oif under arrest and let a court-martial pronounce judgment on you! " The chief magistrate continued dumb. The pale and terror-stricken countenances of those present were turned toward him. The members of the Council im- plored and besought him to put aside this unnatural stubbornness. Von Kircheisen answered their pleadings with a loud-sounding laugh. He then stared at the general, his features worked and struggled, writhed, and finally he opened his mouth. "Ah! God be praised, he is going to speak," cried the second burgomaster. But no, he did not speak; he only distorted his face. A cry of dismay sounded from the lips of the deputation, a cry of anger from the Eussian general, who, turning to his adjutant, ordered him immediately to arrest the bur- gomaster and carry him off. And now there arose an in- describable scene of confusion and terror. Pale with fright, the Council and deputation of merchants had flocked around Von Kircheisen to protect him from the advancing soldiers who sought to arrest him, while he, in the midst of all the horror and tumult, continued to gig- gle and make grimaces. The enraged soldiery had already commenced to push aside Kircheisen's defenders with blows from the butts of their muskets, when a man made his way through the crowd. It was Gotzkowsky, who, with a loud and full voice, demanded the cause of this singular uproar. A hundred voices were ready to answer THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. 14.9 him, and explain the scene in confused, unintelligible jargon. But General Bachmann beckoned him to his side. " Tell me, sir, is this chief burgomaster a fool or a drunk- ard, or is he, indeed, so demented as to intend to mock us? " As Gotzkowsky looked at the deathly pale, convulsed countenance of the magistrate, who renewed his shrill, screeching laugh, he comprehended the racking and ter- rible torture which the unfortunate man was suffering. He hastened to him, seized him by the arm, and led the tottering figure toward the general. " This man is neither a fool nor a madman, your excellency; suffering has robbed him of speech, and he laughs, not in derision, but from the convulsion of intense sorrow." And as the offended and angry general would not believe him, and commanded his soldiers anew to arrest the burgomaster, and the soldiers with renewed rage pressed on him, Gotzkowsky placed himself before him, and protected him with his proud and respect-inspiring person. " General Bachmann," cried he, warmly, " I remind you of your oath. You vowed to me to protect the suffering. Well, then, this man is a sufferer, a sick man. I demand, from the noble friend of General Siev- ers, that he have compassion on the sick man, and allow him to be escorted safely and unmolested to his house." " Can you give me your word that this man did not act thus out of arrogance?" asked the general, in a milder tone; " are you convinced that he is sick? " "I swear to you, please your excellency, that the chief magistrate of Berlin has never been a healthy man; 150 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. that, for many years, he has been subject to fits of con- vulsive laughter." General Bachmann smiled. " This is an unfortu- nate disease for the chief magistrate of a city," said he, "and it seems to me as if the citizens of Berlin did wrong in choosing for their burgomaster a man who laughs and cries indifferently, and to whom the misfor- tunes of his fellow-citizens apparently serves only for a joke. But you reminded me of my promise, and you shall see that I will keep it." He beckoned to his soldiers, and ordered them to fetch a litter on which to carry the sick burgomaster home. He then turned, with a smile, to Gotzkowsky, and said : " Sir, the Council of Berlin have cause to be grateful to you; you have saved their chief from death." Herr von Kircheisen did not laugh now. His fea- tures jerked and distorted themselves still, but a stream of tears gushed from his eyes. With an unspeakable expression he seized Gotzkow- sky's hand, and pressed it to his lips, then sank uncon- scious in the arms of his deliverer. CHAPTER III. THE RUSSIAN, THE SAXON, AND THE AUSTRIAN, IN BERLIN. BERLIN was now given up to the enemy, and through ihe once cheerful and pleasant streets could be heard nothing but screams and shrieks of terror, mingled with the wild curses and boisterous laughter of the conqueror, who, not satisfied with attacking the trembling inhabi- tants to rob them of their possessions and property, ill THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 151 treated them out of sheer cruelty, and took delight in hearing their screams and looking at the contortions caused by pain. And who was this enemy, who, in scorn of all human- ity and civilization, tortured the unfortunate and hunted them down? They were not Eussians, nor wild hordes of Cossacks. They were Austrians and Saxons, who, robbing and plundering, murdering and destroying, violating and burning, rushed through Berlin, filling all the inhabi- tants with terror and alarm. General Bachmann kept faithfully the promise he had made to Gotzkowsky, and the Russian army at first not only preserved the strictest discipline, but even pro- tected the inhabitants against the violence of the Aus- trians and Saxons. The terrified citizens had one powerful and benefi- cent friend this was John Gotzkowsky. Yielding to his urgent entreaty,, General von Bachmann's adjutant, Von Brinck, had taken up his quarters in his house, and by his assistance and his own influence with the general, Gotzkowsky was enabled to afford material aid to all Berlin. For those citizens who were able to pay the soldiers he procured a Russian safeguard, and more than once this latter protected the inhabitants of the houses against the vandalism of the Austrians and Saxons. Contrary to the wish of the Russians, the Austrians had forced themselves into the city, and, in spite of the terms of the capitulation agreed upon with the Russians, had quartered themselves upon the citizens, from whom, with the most savage cruelty and threats of ingenious torture, they extorted all the gold and jewels they pos- 152 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. Berlin was now the open camping-ground of Croats, and Austrian hussars, and Eussian Cossacks, and all minds were filled with dread and anxiety. It is true that even the Cossacks forgot the strict dis- cipline which had been commanded them, and entered the houses, robbing and compelling the inhabitants, by blows of the knout, to give them all they wanted. But yet they were less cruel than the Saxons, less barbarous than the Austrians, who, with scoffing and derision, committed the greatest atrocities. Indeed, it was only necessary to complain to the Eussian general in order to obtain justice immediately, and have the Cossacks punished. Eight of them were strung up in one day at the guard-house on the New Market square, as a warning and example to the others, and expiated their robberies by a summary death. But with the Austrians and Sax- ons it was the officers themselves who instigated the sol- diers to acts of revolting barbarity, and who, forgetful of all humanity, by their laughter and applause excited their subordinates to fresh ill-treatment of the inhabi- tants. Disregarding the capitulation, and listening to their national enmity, and their love of plunder, they pressed forward with wild screams into the royal stables, driving away the safeguard of four-and-twenty men, which General von Tottleben had placed there for their protection, and with shameless insolence defiling the Prussian coat-of-arms pictured on the royal carriages. They then drew them out into the open street, and, after they had stripped them of their ornaments and decora- tions, piled them up in a great heap and set them on fire, in order to add to the fright and terror of the bewildered citizens by the threatening danger of conflagration. High blazed the flames, consuming greedily these carriages which had once borne kings and princes. The THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 153 screams and fright of the inmates of the nearest houses, and the crackling of the window-glass broken by the heat, were drowned by the joyous shouts of the Aus- trians, who danced round the fire with wild delight, and accompanied the roaring of the flames with insulting and licentious songs. And the fire seemed only to awaken their inventive powers, and excite them to fresh deeds of vandalism. After the fire had burnt out, and only a heap of ashes told of what were once magnificent royal vehicles, the Austrians rushed back again into the building with terrific outcry, to the apartments of the royal master of the horse, Schwerin, in order to build a new bonfire with his furniture, and fill their pockets with his gold and silver ware. In the royal stalls a great uproar arose, as they fought with each other for the horses that were there. The strongest leaped on them and rode off furiously, to carry into other neighborhoods the terror and dismay which marked the track of the Austrians through Berlin. 'Even the hospitals were not safe from their brutal rage. They tore the sick from their beds, drove them with scoffs and insults into the streets, cut up their beds, and covered them over with the feathers. And all this was committed not by wild barbarians, but by the regular troops of a civilized state, by Austrians, who were spurred on, by their hatred of the Prussians, to deeds of rude cruelty and beastly barbarity. And this unlucky na- tional hatred, which possessed the Austrian and made him forgetful of all humanity, was communicated, like an infectious plague, to the Saxons, and transformed these warriors, who were celebrated for being, next to the Prussians, the most orderly and best disciplined, into rude Jack Ketches and iconoclastic Vandals. In the royal pleasure-palace at Charlottenburg, where 154: THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. Briihl's (Saxon) dragoons had taken up their quarters by force, they set up a new species of dragoonade, which was directed not so much against the living as against marble statues and the sacred treasures of art. All the articles of splendor, brilliancy, and luxury which had been heaped up here, every thing which the royal love of the fine arts had collected of what was beautiful and rare, was sacrificed to their raging love of destruc- tion. Gilded furniture, Venetian mirrors, large porce- lain vases from Japan, were smashed to pieces. The silk tapestry was torn from the walls in shreds, the doors inlaid with beautiful wood-mosaic were broken up with clubs, the most masterly and costly paintings were cut in ribbons with knives. To be sure, it sometimes hap- pened that the officers rescued from the soldiers some costly vase, some rare treasure or painting, and saved it from destruction, but this was not to save the King of Prussia's property, but to appropriate it to themselves, and carry it home with them. Even the art-collection of Count Polignac, embrac- ing the most splendid and rare treasures of art in the palace of Charlottenburg, did not escape this mania of destruction. This collection, containing among other things the most beautiful Greek statues, had been pur- chased in Rome by Gotzkowsky, and had afforded the king peculiar gratification, and was a source of much enjoyment to him. In the eyes of some Saxon officers, to whom this fact was known, it was sufficient reason for its condemnation. They themselves led the most violent and destructive of their soldiers into the halls where these magnificent treasures were exposed, even helped them to break the marble statues, to dash them down from their pedestals, to hew off their heads, arms, and legs, and even carried their systematic malice so far THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 155 as to order the soldiers to grind into powder the frag- ments, so as to prevent any restoration of the statues at a subsequent period. The unfortunate inhabitants of Charlottenburg wit- nessed all this abomination that was perpetrated in the royal palace with fear and trembling, and in order to save their own persons and property from similar out- rage, they offered the enemy a contribution of fifteen thousand dollars. The Saxons accepted the money, but, regardless of every obligation usually considered sacredly binding, they only became more savage and ferocious. With yells of rage they rushed into the houses, and, when the money they demanded was refused them, they stripped the men of their clothes, lashed them until the blood flowed, or cruelly wounded or maimed them with sabre-cuts; and when the women fled from them, they fol- lowed them up, and forced them by brutal ill-treatment to yield themselves. No house in Charlottenburg escaped being plundered; and so cruel were the tortures which the inhabitants suffered, that four of the unfortunate men died a miserable death at the hands of the Saxon soldiers. They were Germans who waged against their brother Germans, against their own countrymen, a brutality and barbarous love of destruction almost unequalled in the annals of modern history. Consequently it seemed but natural that the Russians should be excited by such examples of barbarity, so unstintedly set them by the Austrians and Saxons. No wonder that they, too, at last began to rob and plunder, to break into houses at night, and carry off women and maidens by force, in order to have them released next day by heavy ransom; and that even the severe punishments, inflicted on those whom the people had the courage to complain of to the gen- erals, lost their terror, and were no restraint on these 156 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. sons of the steppes and ice-fields, led away as they were by the other ruffians. Two hundred and eighty-two houses were destroyed and thoroughly plundered in Berlin by the Austrians; the Saxons had devastated the royal palace in Charlot- tenburg, and the whole town. Should not the Russians also leave a memorial of their vandalism? They did so in Schonhausen, the pleasure-palace of the consort of Frederick the Great, who had left it a few days previ- ous, by express command of the king, to take up her residence in Magdeburg. Eight Russian hussars forced themselves into the palace, and, with terrible threats, demanded the king's plate. Only the' castellan and his wife, and a few of the royal servants, had been left be- hind to protect the place, and the only answer they could make to the furious soldiers was, that the booty which they were in search of had been carried with the royal party to Magdeburg. This information excited their fury to the highest pitch. Like the Saxon dragoons of Charlottenburg, they devastated the Schonhausen pal- ace, stripped the castellan and his wife, and, with shouts of wild laughter, whipped them and pinched their flesh with red-hot tongs. And, as if the sight of these bloody and torn human bodies had only increased their desire for blood and torture, they then attacked the two ser- vants, stripped them of their clothes, cut one to pieces like a beast, and threw the other on the red-hot coals, roasting him alive, as formerly the warriors of her Most Christian Majesty of Spain did those whom, in the pride of their civilization, they denominated " the wild heathen." * * The account of all these cruelties and this vandalism is veri- fied in the original, by reference to Von Archenholz : " History of the Seven Years' War," pp. 194-198. TRANSLATOR. THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 157 CHAPTER IV. THE CADETS. THE day following the occupation of Berlin, a strange and singular procession moved down the Linden Street through the Brandenburg Gate, and took the road to Charlottenburg. Briihl's dragoons and De Lacy's chasseurs rode on each side of the line, which would have excited laughter, if pity and sorrow had not overcome the comical element. It was a procession of children decked in uniform, and having nothing military about them but their apparel, nothing manly but the dress- sword at their side. This singular little regiment was the " Corps of Cadets," which had been made prisoners of war by the Austrians and Saxons. The commandant, Von Eochow, did not imagine that the enemy would carry his hard-heartedness to such an extent as to consider these lads of tender age as part of the garrison, and make them prisoners of war in con- sequence. None of these boys exceeded the age of twelve years (the larger and older ones having been drafted into the army to supply the want of officers), and he pre- sumed that their very helplessness and weakness would be their security, and therefore had omitted to mention them specially in the surrender. But the conqueror had no compassion on these little children in uniform, and pronounced them prisoners of war. Even Lilipu- tian warriors might be dangerous! Eemember the pangs suffered by Gulliver, as, lying quietly on the ground, he was suddenly awakened by a violent discharge poured into him from behind the high grass by the Liliputians. 11 158 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. To be sure their weapons were only armed with needles whence we may infer that the Liliputians are the original inventors of the modern Prussian needle-per- cussion rifles but, one can be killed by needle-pricks. Count De Lacy feared, perhaps, the needle weapons of the little Liliputian cadets, and treated the poor, deli- cate, tender children as if they were tough old veterans, accustomed to all the hardships and privations of war. With coarse abuse and blows from the butt of the mus- ket, they were driven out into the highway, and com- pelled to travel on the soft, muddy roads without cloaks, notwithstanding the severe weather, and only the short jackets of their uniforms. Heart-rending was the wail of the poor little ones from whom the war had taken their fathers, and poverty their mothers torn from their home, the refuge of their orphaned childhood, to be driven like a flock of bleating lambs out into the desert wilderness of life. And when their feet grew weary, when their little bodies, unaccustomed to fatigue, gave way, they were driven on with blows from sabres and the butts of mus- kets. When they begged for a piece of bread, or a drop of water for their parched lips, they were laughed at, and, instead of water, were told to drink their own tears, which ran in streams down their childish cheeks. They had already marched the whole day without food or re- freshment of any kind, and they could hardly drag their bleeding feet along. With eyes bright with fever, and parched tongues, they still wandered on, looking in the distance for some friendly shelter, some refreshing spring. At nightfall the little cadets were camped in an open field, on the wet ground. At first, they begged for a little food, a crust of bread; but when they saw that THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 159 their sufferings gave pleasure to the dragoons, and that their groans were to them like a pleasant song, they were silent, and the spirit of their fathers reigned upper- most in the breasts of these little, forsaken, trembling lads. They dried their eyes, and kept their complaints in their little trembling hearts. "We will not cry any more," said little Eamin, who, though only twelve years of age, was yet the oldest of the captives, and recognized as their captain and leader. " We will not cry any more, for our tears give pleasure to our enemies. Let us be cheerful, and that perhaps will vex them. To spite them, and show how little we think of our hunger, let us sing a jolly song." " Come on, let us do it! " cried the boys. " What song shall we sing? " " Prince Eugene," cried young Eamin; and imme- diately with his childish treble struck up " Prince Eu- gene, the noble knight." And all the lads joined in with a sort of desperate enthusiasm, and the song of the noble knight rose from their young lips like a peal of rejoicing. But gradually one little trembling voice after another fell, by degrees the song grew lower and shriller, and be- came lost in a trembling whisper; then it would rise into an unnatural and terrified scream, or sink into a whin- ing sob or trembling wail. Suddenly little Eamin stopped, and a cry of pain, like the sound of a snapped string, burst from his breast. " I cannot sing any more," sighed he. " Hunger is kill- ing me." And he sank down on his knees, and raised his little arms beseechingly to one of the Austrian sol- diers, who was marching beside him, comfortably con- suming a roast chicken. 160 THE MERCHANT OF BE11LIN. " Oh! give me a bit of bread, only a mouthful, to keep me from starving to death." " Have pity on us, do not let us starve! " With similar piteous lamentations, the whole corps of trembling, weeping, starving little cadets threw them- selves on their knees, and filled the air with their cries and prayers. " Well, if you positively insist upon eating, you shall have something to appease your hunger," said the officer who commanded the chasseurs, and he whispered a few words to his corporal, who received them with a loud laugh, and then rode off. "Now, be quiet, and wait," commanded the Aus- trian officer. " I have sent the corporal and some soldiers into the village to get food for you. Only wait now, and be satisfied." And the children dried their eyes, and comforted each other with encouraging words. With what impatience, what painful longing, did they look forward to the promised food! How they thanked God, in the gladness of their hearts, that He had had pity on them, and had not allowed them to die of hunger! They all seemed revived, and strained their hopeful eyes toward the quarter whence the corporal was to re- turn. And now, with one voice, they broke out into a cry of joy; they had espied him returning, accompanied by soldiers who seemed to be bringing a heavy load. They approached nearer and nearer. "Form a ring," commanded the officer, and they obeyed in expect- ant gladness; and around the thickly crowded ring the Austrian officers and the troop of soldiers took their stand. In silent waiting stood the cadets, and their hearts leaped for joy. THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 161 "AtteDtion! your dinner is coming/' cried the officer. The ring opened. Ah! now the corporal and the soldiers are going to bring in the dinner. But no! The dinner came walking along by itself. With a dignified step it marched in and gave utterance to an expressive bleat. It was a live sheep, which was to be given to the poor lads who were faint from hunger. An outburst of boisterous laughter from the Austrians greeted the dignified wether, and drowned the cries of the bitterly disappointed cadets. " A sheep ! " they cried, " and what are we to do with it? " and they began to weep afresh. " Kill him and roast him! " jeered the officer. " You are brave soldiers. Well, you will only have to do what we often do in camp. Be your own cook and butler; none of us will help you. We want to see what sort of practical soldiers you will make, and whether you are as good hands at cooking as at crying and blubber- ing." And the Austrians folded their arms, and looked on idly and with derisive satisfaction at these poor children who stood there with their heads bowed down with help- lessness and grief. At length little Eamin arose. His eyes glistened with fierce defiance^ and an expression of noble cour- age illuminated his pale countenance. " If the sheep belongs to us," said he, " we will eat him." "But he's alive," cried the boys. " We will kill him," answered the little fellow. "We? we ourselves? We are no butchers. We have never done such a thing! " " Have we ever killed a man? " asked Ramin, rolling 162 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. his large bright eyes around the circle of his comrades. " Have we ever deprived a man of his life? " "No!" " Well, then, we will have it yet to do! We hope to be able to kill many an enemy, and to do that we will have to begin with some one. Let us make believe, then, that this wether is the enemy, and that we have to at- tack him. Now, then, down upon him! " " Ramin is right," cried the boys; " let us attack the enemy." " Attention! " commanded Ramin. The boys drew themselves up in military order right opposite the bleating sheep. " Draw swords! " In the twinkling of an eye they had drawn their little rapiers, which looked more like penknives than swords, and which the Austrians had left to their little prisoners of war. " One, two, three! " commanded the little Ramin. " Attention ! Forward ! " Down they charged upon the enemy, who was stand- ing motionless, with staring eyes, bleating loudly. The Austrian soldiers roared and screamed with delight, and confessed, with tears in their eyes, that it was the best joke in the world, and no end of fun to see these poor boys made desperate by hunger. The first feat of arms of the little cadets was com- pleted, the wether was slain. But now came the ques- tion how to dress him, how to convert the dead beast into nice warm roast meat. They were well aware that none of the laughing, mocking soldiers would help them, and therefore they disdained to ask for help. Wood, a roasting-pit, and a kettle were given them means enough to prepare a THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 163 good soup and roast. But how to begin and set about it they themselves hardly knew. But gnawing hunger made them inventive. Had they not often at home skinned many a cunningly caught mole had they not often killed and drawn a rabbit? The only difference was that the sheep was somewhat larger than a mole or a rabbit. Finally, after much toil and trouble, and under the approving laughter of the spectators, they accomplished it. The meat simmered in the kettle, watched by two cadets, two others turning the spit. The work was done; the sheep was converted into soup and roast. And because they showed themselves so industrious and cheerful, one and another of the soldiers softened their hearts and threw them a piece of bread or a can- teen; and the poor boys accepted these alms thrown at them with humble gratitude, and no feeling of resent- ment or defiance remained in their hearts, for hunger was appeased; but appeased only for the moment only to encounter new sufferings, renewed hunger, fresh mockeries. For onward, farther onward must they wan- der. Every now and then one of them sank down, beg- ging for pity and compassion. But what cared the sol- diers, who only saw in the children the impersonation of the hated enemy, to be tortured and worried to death as a sport? More than twenty of these little cadets succumbed to the sufferings of this journey, and died miserably, for- saken and alone, on the high road; and no mother was there to close their eyes, no father to lean over them and bless them with a tear. But over these poor martyr- children watched the love of God, and lulled them to sleep with happy dreams and gentle fancies about their distant homes, their little sister there, or the beautiful 164 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. garden in which they had BO often chased butterflies to- gether. And amidst such fancies and smiling memories they dreamed away their childish souls, beyond the grave, to a holy and happy reawakening. CHAPTER V. THE EXPLOSION. GENERAL VON TOTTLEBEN was alone in his chamber at least he had no visible company; but two invisible companions were there Care and Sorrow. They whis- pered to him uncomfortable and melancholy thoughts, making his countenance serious and sad, and drawing deep and dark lines across his brow. He was a German, and was fighting in the ranks of the enemy against his German fatherland. Therein lay the secret of his care- worn features, the reading of the suppressed sighs; the broken, sorrowful words which he uttered, as with folded arms and bowed head he paced up and down his room. He was a German, and loved his country, which had re- paid his love with that apathy and non-appreciation that have destroyed and killed some of the greatest and noblest men of Germany; while others have taken refuge in foreign countries, to find there that recognition which was denied them at home. General von Tottleben was only a German why, then, should Germany take no- tice of him? Because he possessed information, talent, genius. Germany would have appreciated these if Von Tottleben had been a foreigner; but, as unfortunately he was only a German, Germany took no notice of him, and compelled him to seek in a foreign country the road THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 165 to fame and distinction. He had gone to Eussia. There his talents had been prized and employed. He was now a general in the Eussian army, and the alliance between Eussia and Austria compelled him to fight against his own country. But the Eussian general still preserved his German heart, this heart so strong in suffering, so unfaltering in its faith, so faithful in its love, so great in hope, humble in its obedience, modest in its desires; this German heart of his was the cause of much suffering to him, for it could not adapt itself to his Eussian instructions, and despite his efforts to render it callous, would insist upon overflowing with pity and sympathy. He loved Berlin, for in this city he had passed the best years of his youth. And now he was called on to act as a cruel tyrant, an unfeeling barbarian, to sow broadcast death and destruction in this city, from which he yearned so to win a little love, a little sympathy for her rejected son. But now his German heart was forced into silence by the exigencies of Eussian discipline, and the general had to obey the orders of his superior officer, General von Fermore. His chief had ordered him to exercise the utmost severity and harshness, and imposed upon him the task of scourging Berlin like a demon of vengeance. And yet Berlin had committed no other crime than that of remaining faithful to her king, and of not wishing to surrender to the enemy. A fresh dispatch had just arrived from General von Fermore, and its contents had darkened the brow of Tottleben with anxious care. He had received orders to blow up the arsenal in Berlin. This noble and hand- some building, which rose in proud splendor in the midst of a populous town, was to be destroyed without refer- ence to the fact that the blowing up of this colossal 166 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. edifice would scatter death and ruin throughout unfor- tunate Berlin. " I will not do it," said he, pacing up and down the room, and crushing the accursed paper which brought the cruel order in his clinched hand. " I cannot be such a barbarian. Fermore may command me to do bar- barous actions, but I will not accept such commands! I will not obey! No one but myself knows of this order. I will ignore it. The Empress Elizabeth has always been very gracious toward me, and will forgive me for not executing an order which certainly never proceeded from her own kind heart." At this moment the door opened, and the adjutant entering, announced Count de Lacy. Tottleben's countenance assumed a gloomy expres- sion, and, as with hasty step he advanced toward the Austrian general, he muttered to himself, "I perceive the bloodhounds have got the scent, and are eager for blood." In the mean time Count de Lacy approached him with a friendly and gracious smile. He seemed not to be at all aware that Tottleben did not accept the hand which the Austrian general held out to him with a hearty greeting. " I come to chat for a short quarter of an hour with your excellency," said Count de Lacy, in very fluent German, but with the hard foreign accent of a Hunga- rian. " After a battle won, I know nothing pleasanter than to recall with a comrade the past danger, and to revel again in memory the excitement of the fight." " May I request your excellency to remember that the Austrians cannot count the conquest of Berlin in the list of their victories," cried Count Tottleben, with a sarcas- tic smile. " It was the Russian army which besieged Berlin, and Berlin surrendered to us." THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 167 " You are very kind to remind me of it," said Count de Lacy, with his unchangeable, pleasant smile. "In the mean time may I request a more particular explana- tion than this polite reminder? " " You shall have it, sir," cried Tottleben, passionate- ly. " I mean to say that Berlin is not Charlottenburg, and to request that the vandalism which the Austrian troops practised there, may not be transferred to Berlin. Be satisfied with the booty which your soldiers stowed away in their knapsacks at that place, and have the kind- ness to order the Austrian army to learn a little dis- cipline and humanity from the Russians." " From the Russians? " asked Count de Lacy, with ironical astonishment. " Truly one is not accustomed to learn humanity from that quarter. Does your excel- lency mean to say that the Austrians are to learn good manners from the Russians? " "Yes, from the Russians," replied Tottleben " from my soldiers, who neither plunder nor rob, but bear in mind that they are soldiers, and not thieves! " " Sir," cried De Lacy, " what do these words mean? " " They mean that I have promised my protection to the people of Berlin, and that I am prepared to afford it to them, even against our own allies. They mean that I have made myself sufficiently strong to bid you defiance, sir, and to defend Berlin against the cruelty and inhu- manity of the Austrian army. The Russian army will compel it to be humane, and to pause in the cruel rage with which they have desolated unhappy Germany." Count de Lacy shrugged his shoulders. "What is Germany to you, and why do you feel for her? " asked he jeeringly. "I beg you, count, let us not speak of Germany. What to us is this lachrymose, fantastic female Germania, which has been betrothed to so many 168 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. lords and wooers, that she can remain faithful and true to none? Germania will then only be happy when one of her lovers has the boldness to kill off and tread under foot all his rivals and so build himself up an undisputed throne. That is Austria's mission, and our duty is to fulfil it. We are the heralds who go before Germania's Austrian bridegroom, and everywhere illuminate the heavens with the torches of our triumphs. If the torches now and then come too near some piece of humanity and set it on fire, what is that to us? Germany is our enemy, and if we have a puling compassion on our enemy, we become traitors to our own cause. That's all. But what is the use of this strife and these recriminations ? " asked he, suddenly breaking into a smile. " I have only come to ask your excellency when you intend to light these new wedding-torches which are to redden the sky of Ber- lin?" " What wedding-torches? " inquired Tottleben, turn- ing pale. " Well, those which are to burst out from the mint and factory buildings," said De Lacy, with a smile of indifference. " I anticipate with extraordinary pleasure this exhibition of fireworks which the town of Berlin is going to give in honor of our presence." " You mean to say in disgrace of our presence," ex- claimed Tottleben, ardently. Count de Lacy looked at him with a compassionate shrug of the shoulders. " My dear count," said he, with cutting coldness, " when a man becomes a Russian gen- eral, he must have a Russian heart, and not allow himself to be influenced by any German softness or sympathy. Otherwise it might happen that they might make a mis- take, and not being able to deprive you of your German heart, might take your German head instead." THE MEECHANT OF BERLIN. 169 General Tottleben drew back with astonishment, and stared at him. Count de Lacy continued, smiling, and in a quiet tone: "I warn you to guard against your own mildness and your German heart. General Fermore is my friend, and often consults me about the meaning of German words. How would you like it if I should explain the word treason- in a manner dangerous to yourself, and if this explanation should result in translating your excel- lency into Siberia?" " General Fermore is neither my commander nor my master," cried Tottleben, proudly. " But the lord and master of your lady and mistress, the high and mighty Empress Elizabeth remember that. Will your excellency now condescend to inform me at what time the Berlin armory shall rise fluttering in the air like a bird? " "And do you know that, too?" asked Tottleben, with painful astonishment. " I have already told you that the Eussians and Aus- trians are faithful allies, and have no secrets from each other, as far as their designs upon Germany are con- cerned. Oh, it will be a splendid feu de joie for the house of Austria, when the Prussian armory is blown into the air! When are we to enjoy this spectacle, general? " General von Tottleben sank his head in silence on his breast. Count de Lacy regarded him with a cold and piercing glance. Tottleben felt this look, and under- stood its important significance. He knew that his whole future, his freedom, perhaps even his life, hung upon this moment. "In three hours from now the spectacle will take place," said he, with a forced laugh. "In three hours the wedding-torches shall be lighted, and in order to 170 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. make it the pleasanter, we will have the wails of the people of Berlin as a musical accompaniment." " In three hours, then," said Count de Lacy, bowing low; "I hasten to announce it to my officers. I am burning with impatience to witness this rare spectacle." Count de Lacy departed, and General Tottleben was again alone. For a long time did he pace his room in abstract meditation, anger and pity, fear and terror struggling in his soul. He was perfectly aware of the danger which threatened him. He knew that Count Fermore hated him as a dangerous rival for the smiles of the empress, and only waited for a favorable opportunity to over- throw him. He was therefore obliged to yield to this cruel necessity; the Berlin armory must be sacrificed. Suddenly his countenance lighted up, and his fea- tures assumed an expression of joy. He hastened rap- idly to the door and summoned his body servant and slave, Ivan Petrowitsch. " Ivan," said he, with the stern and cold composure of a Eussian " Ivan, I have a commission for you, and if you are successful in its exe- cution, I will not have your son Feodor hung, although I know that yesterday, contrary to my order, he was present at the plundering of a house." " Speak, master, what am I to do? I will save my son, even if it cost my own life." " It will cost your life, Ivan." " I am your property, master, and my life belongs to you," said the serf, sadly. "You can have me whipped to death any time it pleases you. Say, then, what I must do to save my son." "Fifty Cossacks are to ride immediately to the powder-mills to bring powder. You will accompany them." THE MERCHANT OF BEELIN. Ivan looked at him with astonishment. " Is that all I have to do? " asked he. Tottleben was not yet sufficiently Eussian. His Ger- man heart would assert its rights. As he met the in- quiring look of Ivan, he turned his eye away. He forgot that it was only a serf he was speaking to, and not a human being. But he soon recalled it. "You will accompany these Cossacks to the powder-mills, I say, and as you do so you will smoke your pipe, and see that the tobacco burns well, and that you are burning tinder on top of it." An expression of comprehension shone in Ivan's eyes. " I will smoke, master," said he, sadly. "When you are in the powder-mills, and the Cos- sacks are loading the powder, you will help them, and in doing so you will let the pipe fall out of your mouth," said Tottleben, in an undertone, and his voice trembled ever so little. There was a pause Ivan leaned, pale and trembling, against the wall. General Tottleben had turned away, as if afraid to encounter the pallid, terri- fied countenance of his slave. "If you do not execute my command," said he, finally, " I will have your only son hung, as he deserves to be. If you betray to any one soever a word of my order, I will have your wife whipped to death. Now think of it." Ivan shook as if in an ague. His teeth chattered to- gether. "I will smoke, master," said he, at last, with an effort, "and I will drop my pipe in the powder- mills. Have pity on my son, master, and spare my wife! " "I will do so, Ivan," said Tottleben. "I will give them both their freedom, and a pension." 172 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. Ivan dropped his head, and a convulsive groan burst from his breast. " Time passes; make haste! " cried the general, with assumed harshness. " I go, master," sighed Ivan. " You will not, then, string up my poor Feodor, nor have my wife whipped? " " If you execute my order strictly and punctually, I will care for them." Two tears coursed slowly down Ivan's brown cheek. " I will carry out your orders, master; I will smoke, and I will drop my pipe. Farewell, master! " He approached his master with slavish humility, and kissed the seam of his garment. " Farewell, master. I thank you, for you have always been a kind master to me," said he, and his tears moistened the general's coat. General Tottleben was as yet unable completely to convert his German heart into a Eussian one. He felt himself touched by this humble and heroic submission of his slave. He felt as if he must give him some com- fort on his fatal road. " Ivan," said he, softly, " your death will save, per- haps, not only the property, but also the lives of many hundred other men." Ivan kissed passionately his proffered hand. " I thank you, master. Farewell, and think sometimes of your poor Ivan." A quarter of an hour afterward was seen a troop of fifty Cossacks, on their swift-footed little horses, racing down Frederick Street. Each man had a powder-sack with him, and seeing them ride by, people whispered to each other, " They are riding to the powder-mills. They have shot away all their own powder, and now, in true Cossack style, they are going to take our Prussian pow- der." At that time Frederick Street did not reach be- THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. 173 yond the river Spree. On the other bank began the faubourgs and the gardens. Even Monbijou was then only a royal country seat, situated in the Oranienburg suburb. The powder-mills, which lay beyond the gar- dens, with a large sandy plain intervening, were suffi- ciently remote from the town to prevent all danger from their possible explosion. Ivan, the serf of Count von Tottleben, rode by the side of the officer of the Cossacks. He pranced his pony about, and was cheerful and jolly like his comrades, the merry sons of the steppe. As they reached the gate they halted their horses, and gazed with evident pleasure on the desert, wild, sandy plain, which stretched out before them. " How beautiful that is! " exclaimed Petrowitsch, the hetman of the Cossacks. "Just look what a hand- some steppe! " " Just such a fine sand steppe as at home in our own country! " sighed one of the Cossacks, beginning to hum a song of his home. " This is the finest scenery I have seen in Germany/' cried another. "What a pleasure it would be to race over this steppe! " " Come on, then, let us get up a race over this splen- did steppe," said a fourth, " and let us sing one of the songs we are used to at home." "Yes, agreed! let us!" cried all, ranging quickly their horses in line. " Wait a moment," cried Ivan; " I can't sing, you all know, and I've only one sweetheart, and that's my pipe. Let me then light my pipe so that I can smoke." He struck fire with his steel, and lighting the tinder, placed it in the bowl of his pipe. No one saw the sad, shud- dering look which he cast at the glowing tinder and his 12 174 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. spark-scattering pipe. " Now forward, boys, and sing us a lively song from home," said Ivan. " Hurrah! hurrah! " They charge over the beautiful plain, and sing in a pealing chorus, the favorite song of the Cossack, at once so soft and sad: " Lovely Minka ! must I leave thee f " Big tears ran down poor Ivan's cheek. No one saw them, no one observed him. He charged with the others over the Berlin steppe, and blew the smoke out of his pipe. No one heard the sad sighs which he uttered as he drew nearer and nearer to the powder-mills. No one heard the sad words of parting which he muttered to himself as his comrades sang: " Lovely Minka ! must I leave thee, Leave my happy, heather plains ? Ah ! this parting does not grieve thee, Though still true my heart remains. Far from thee I roam, Sadly see the sunbeams shining, Lonely all the night I'm pining Far from thee alone." They reach the powder-mills; the Cossacks halt their horses and spring from their saddles. Slowly and hesitatingly does Ivan proceed; he passes about his pipe; he puffs at the tobacco to make it burn, and smoke more freely. And now all's right. The pipe is alight. Like bril- liant eyes of fire the burning tobacco shines out of the bowl. Ivan puts it back in his mouth and blows great clouds of smoke, as he and the Cossacks approach the gates of the powder-mills. The Russian sentinels let them pass, and, joking and THE MERCHANT OF BEKLIN. 175 laughing merrily, the Cossacks carry their bags into the building to fill them with powder for the blowing up of the arsenal. How joyous and careless they are, these sons of the steppe! How calmly does Ivan continue to smoke his pipe, although they are now in the large hall, where casks of powder are ranged in endless rows! And now a cask is opened, and merrily and jestingly the Cossacks begin to load the powder into their sacks. What art thou staring at so wildly, Ivan Petro- witsch? Why do the big drops of sweat run down thy forehead? Why do thy limbs tremble, and why dost thou look so sadly and mournfully at thy comrades? They sing so merrily, they chatter so gayly, all the while pouring the powder into their sacks nimbly and actively! Ivan keeps on blowing furious clouds of smoke out of his pipe. Suddenly he utters a cry, a heart-rending, pitiful cry. The burning pipe drops from his mouth! Then rises a wild yell an awful, horrible report! The earth quakes and trembles, as if about to open, to vomit forth the burning stream of a thundering crater. The sky seems blackened by the fearful smoke which fills the air far and wide. Everywhere may be seen human bodies, single shattered limbs, ruins of the exploded building, flying through the air, and covering the groaning, trembling earth. But no syllable or sound of complaint, no death-rattle is now heard. All is over. The powder-mills have flown into the air, and, though far distant from Berlin, yet this terrible explo- sion was felt in every part of the city.* In the Frederick Street the houses shook as if from an earthquake, and countless panes of glass were shattered. * Archenjiolz : " History of the Seven Years' War," p. 194. 176 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. With darkened brow and a burst of anger did Gen- eral von Tottleben receive the news that the powder- mills had blown up, and fifty Cossacks had lost their lives thereby. He mourned for the unfortunate Cos- sacks and his poor serf, Ivan Petrowitsch. Still more did he lament that it was now impossible to blow up the arsenal in Berlin. But it was not his fault that the commands of his empress could not be executed. The Russians had shot away all their powder, and the stock in the powder-mills having been destroyed, there was none left to carry into execution this grand undertaking. CHAPTEE VI. JOHN GOTZKOWSKT. A SAD and anxious period had the unfortunate city of Berlin yet to pass through. With fear and trembling did the inhabitants await the approach of each morning, and in spiritless despondency they seemed to have lost all capacity for helping themselves. There was but one man who, unterrified and unwa- vering, with the cheerful courage of a noble soul, exposed himself to danger, to suffering and grief, who proposed to himself but one object to help others as far as lay in his power, and to avert fresh misfortune, additional care and anxiety from the too heavily laden inhabitants of Berlin. This one man was John Gotzkowsky, the Merchant of Berlin. In this day of their trouble the inhabitants looked up to him as to a helping angel; the poor prayed to him, the rich fled to him with th.e.ir trea8u.re.Sj with THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 177 him the persecuted found refuge, the hungry shelter and food. For Gotzkowsky there was no rest or leisure, nor did he feel care or sorrow. The tears he had shed about Elise he had buried in his heart, overcoming a father's grief by the power of his will. At this time he only remembered that he was called to the sacred duty of succoring his fellow-men, his suffering brothers to be a father to the needy, a deliverer to the oppressed. The doors of his house were open to all who sought refuge with him. The wives and children and aged parents of his workmen rushed there with screams and loud lamentations, and he received them all, and gave them beds in his splendid halls, and his gilt and silken ottomans served for refreshing places to hungry and freezing poverty. But not the poor alone, the wealthy also found refuge in his house. They knew that Gotzkowsky's word had much influence, not only with General Bachmann, but also with General von Tottleben, and that this latter had ordered that Gotzkowsky should always have free admis- sion to him. In their anxiety and need they put aside the proud bearing of their rank and dignity, and has- tened to him to plead for help and rest, to hide their treasures and place their lives and fortunes under his guardianship. But while hundreds sought refuge and safety there, Gotzkowsky himself was like a stranger in his own house. Day and night was he seen on the streets; where- ever danger and alarm prevailed, he appeared like a rescuing angel; he brought help when all else despaired, and the power of his eloquence and his pleading words silenced even the rough insolence of the enemy's soldiers. A hundred times did he expose his own life to save some 178 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. unfortunate. In the New Frederick Street he rushed through the flames into a burning house to save a child which had been forgotten. Elsewhere he fought singly against twenty Aus- trian soldiers, who were about to carry off two young girls in spite of their heart-rending shrieks and en- treaties. The rescued maidens sank at his feet, and bathed his hand with their tears. Gotzkowsky raised them to his heart, and said, with an indescribable expression : " Should I not have com- passion on you? Am not I a father? Thank my daughter, for it was she who saved you." But now, at last, exhausted Nature demanded her rights. After two days and nights without rest, Gotz- kowsky tottered toward his own house. As he crossed the threshold he asked himself with an anxious heart " Will Elise come to meet me? Has she cared for me? " And trembling with care and love, he went in. Elise did not come to meet him. No one bade him welcome but his servant Peter. Gently at last, indeed almost timidly, he ventured to inquire after his daughter. " She is in the large hall, busy nursing the wounded who have been carried there." Gotzkowsky's countenance expressed great delight and relief at this report. Elise had not, then, buried herself in the solitude of her room in idle complaint, but had sought, like himself, comfort for her suffering in helping and sympathizing with others. In this mo- ment he appreciated the infinity of his love. He yearned to take her to his heart, and pour out to her all his un- appreciated, doubted love, and convince her that she, his daughter, the only child of his wife, was the true end and object of his life. But unhappy, oppressed Berlin left him no time to attend to the soft and THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. 179 gentle dictates of his father's heart. He had scarcely got into his house, when two messengers arrived f ^om the town Council, bringing him six thousand dollars in cash, with the urgent request that he would take charge of this sum, which would be safe only with him. The town messengers had scarcely left him, when there ar- rived the rich manufacturers, Wegeli and Wuerst, with a wagon-load of gold and silver bars which Gotzkowsky had promised to keep in his fire-proof cellars. His house had become the treasury of the whole of Berlin; and if it had been destroyed, with all these gold and silver ingots, these diamonds and silver ware, money and papers, all the Exchanges of Europe would have felt the disastrous consequences. At last, all these treasures were stowed away, and Gotzkowsky addressed himself to rest, when the door of his room was suddenly opened, and General von Bach- mann entered hastily. " Gotzkowsky," said he, " I have come with impor- tant intelligence, and to redeem the promise I made to my friend Sievers." Approaching more closely to Gotz- kowsky, he said to him in an undertone: " General von Tottleben has just received orders to destroy and burn all royal factories and mills." Gotzkowsky turned pale, and inquired with horror, "Why this barbarous proceeding?" General Bachmann shrugged his shoulders. "It is the order of the commander-m-chief, Count von Fer- more," said he; " and Tottleben will have to be all the more particular from the fact that, instead of the arsenal, fifty of our soldiers were blown into the air. Here, in the mean while, take this paper, and see whether, among the factories to be destroyed, one of yours has been in- cluded by mistake." 180 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. Gotzkowsky looked over the list with dismay. " Did not your excellency say that only royal factories were to be destroyed?" " Yes, so runs the order." "But the factories that stand on this list are not royal institutions. The brass-works in Eberwalde, the gold and silver factories, and the warehouse in Berlin, do not belong to the king, and are they going to be so barbarous as to destroy them? That cannot be. I will hasten to General Tottleben, and entreat him to revoke this cruel order." General Bachmann shook his head sadly. "I am afraid it will be in vain," said he. " Besides, you incur great risk in your undertaking. The general is in a very angry, excited mood, and your intercession will only increase his bitterness and anger." "I fear not his anger," cried Gotzkowsky boldly. " If no one else dares to tell him the truth, I will do it; and with argument and entreaty compel him to be hu- mane, and to respect the property of others. Come, sir, let us go to General Tottleben! " "No, sir. I am not going with you," said Bach- mann, laughing. " I am not a man to tremble on the eve of battle, and yet I fear to meet Tottleben's angry looks. In his wrath he is like a Jupiter Tonans, ready to launch his thunderbolts, and dash to pieces all who approach him." " I am not afraid of his thunder! " cried Gotzkow- sky, fervently. " The property and welfare of Berlin are in danger. I must go to the general! " " Then go along," said Bachmann, " and may God give power to your words! I have warned you, and that is all I can do." Gotzkowsky did not answer him. Trembling with THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 181 eagerness and impatience, he dressed himself, and throw- ing his cloak around him, he once more left his house, with the alacrity of a young man. General Bachmann looked after him, smiling thoughtfully. " He is a noble fellow," said he, " and Berlin has good reason to be grateful to him, and to love him. But who knows? perhaps, for that very reason, she will one day hate him. Noble-mindedness is so soon forgotten! It is the solid weight that sinks to the bottom, while light deeds float on top. Mankind is not fond of being grateful. I would like to know whether Berlin will ever show a due appreciation of this noble man? " CHAPTEE VII. THE HOBEOES OF WAS. THE Russians had at last allowed themselves to be carried away by the example set them by the Austrians and Saxons. Like them, they roamed through Berlin, robbing and plundering, unmindful of discipline, and forgetting the severe punishments which Tottleben in- flicted on those whose misdeeds reached his ear. Like the Austrians, the Cossacks entered houses with wanton arrogance, and, under the pretext of being Rus- sian safeguards, they stole, and robbed, and ill-treated in the rudest manner those' who opposed their demands. They had even managed to reduce their robbery and extortion to a kind of system, and to value the human person after a new fashion. It was a sort of mercantile transaction, and the Coesacks were the brokers in this new-fashioned business. Stealthily and unheard, they 182 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. slipped into houses, fell upon the unsuspecting women and children, and dragged them out, not to capture them as the Romans did the Sabine women, but to hold them as so much merchandise, to be redeemed by their friends and relatives at high and often enormous ransoms. But the Cossacks drew but small profit from this hunt after noble human game. They were only ser- vants, acting under orders from their officers. These latter divided the booty, throwing to the Cossacks a small reward for their skill in robbing. Thus, for some days, Berlin was not only subjugated by the enemy, but a prey to robbers and slave-dealers, and moans and lamentations were heard in every house. All the more merrily did the enemy's soldiers carouse and enjoy themselves, laugh and joke. For them Berlin was nothing more than an orange to be squeezed dry, whose life-blood was to be drawn out to add new zest to their own draught of life. The young Russian officers were sitting together in the large room of their barracks. They were drinking and making merry, and striking their glasses noisily to- gether; draining them to the health of the popular, handsome, and brilliant comrade who had just entered their circle, and who was no other than he whom Gotz- kowsky's daughter, in the sorrow of her heart, was mourn- ing as dead! no one else than the Russian colonel, Count Feodor von Brenda. He had been right, therefore, in trusting to Fortune. Fortune had favored him, as She always does those who boldly venture all to win all, and who sport with danger as with a toy. Indeed, it was an original and piquant adventure which the Russian colonel had experienced, the more piquant because it had threatened him with death, and at one moment his life had been in extreme THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 183 danger. It had delighted him for once to experience all the horrors of death, the palpitation, the despair of a condemned culprit; to acquire in his own person a knowledge of the great and overpowering feelings, which he had read so much about in books, and which he had not felt in reality even in the midst of battle. But yet this bold playing with death had, toward the last, lost a little of its charm, and a moment arrived when his courage failed him, and his daring spirit was overpow- ered by his awed physical nature. There was not, as there is in battle, the excitement which conquers the fear of death, and drunk with victory, mocks one to his face; there was not the wild delight which possesses the soldier in the midst of a shower of balls, and makes him, as it were, rush toward eternity with a shout. No, indeed! It was something quite different which Colo- ael von Brenda, otherwise so brave and valiant, now felt. When the Austrian soldiers had pronounced his sen- tence of death, when they formed a ring around him at the Gens-d'Armes Market, and loaded their pieces for his execution, then the haughty Eussian colonel felt a sudden change take place; his blood curdled in his veins, and he felt as if thousands of small worms were creeping through them, gliding slowly, horribly to his heart. At length, in the very despair which oppressed him, he found strength to cast his incubus from his breast, and with a voice loud and powerful as thunder to cry out for help and succor. His voice was heard; it reached the ear of General Bachmann, who came in person to set free the wild young officer, the favorite of his empress, from the hands of the Austrians. This adventure, which had terminated so famously, Count Brenda now related to his friends and comrades. To be sure, the general had punished the mad freak 184 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. with an arrest of four-and-twenty hours. But after undergoing this punishment, he was more than ever the hero of the day, the idol of his comrades, who now cele- brated his release from arrest with loud rejoicing and the cracking of champagne bottles. After they had laughed and joked to their satisfaction, they resorted to the dice. " And what stake shall we play for? " asked Feodor, as he cast a look of ill-concealed contempt on his young companions, who so little understood the art of drinking the cup of pleasure with decency, and rolled about on their seats with lolling tongues and leering eyes. Feodor alone had preserved the power of his mind; his brain alone was unclouded by the fumes of cham- pagne, and that which had made the others mad had only served to make him sad and gloomy. The drunk- enness of his comrades had sobered him, and, feeling satiated with all the so-called joys and delights of life, he asked himself, with a smile of contempt, whether the stammering, staggering fellows, who sat next to him, were fit and suitable companions and associates of a man who had made pleasure a study, and who considered enjoyment as a philosophical problem, difficult of solu- tion. " And for what stake shall we play? " he asked again, as with a powerful grip he woke his neighbor, Lieu- tenant von Matusch, out of the half sleep which had crept over him. " For our share of the booty! " stammered the lieu- tenant. Feodor looked at him with surprise. " What booty? Have we, then, become robbers and plunderers, that you speak of booty? " His comrades burst into a wild laugh. "Just listen to the sentimental dreamer, the cos- THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 185 mopolite," cried Major von Fritsch. " He looks upon it as dishonorable to take booty. I for my part maintain that there is no greater pleasure, and certainly none which is more profitable. Fill your glasses, friends, and let us drink to our hunting. ' Hurrah! hurrah for hu- man game! ' ' They struck their glasses together, and emptied them amidst an uproar of laughter. " Colonel, you shall have your share of the booty! " said Lieutenant von Matusch, laying his heavy, shaky hand on Feodor's shoulder. " We never intended to cheat you out of your portion, but you were not here, and therefore up to this time you could have no share in it." As Feodor pressed him with questions, he related how they had formed a compact, and pledged themselves to have their booty and captives in common. " We have caught more than a dozen head, and they have ransomed themselves handsomely," cried Major von Fritsch. " We have just sent out ten of our men again on the chase." "Oh! I hope they will bring in just such another handsome young girl as they did yesterday," cried Ma- tusch, rubbing his hands with delight. " Ah, that was a pleasant evening! She offered us treasures, diamonds, and money; she promised us thousands if we would only release her at once! She wept like a Madonna, and wrung her snow-white hands, and all that only made her prettier still." Colonel Feodor looked at him in anger. In contact with such coarse and debauched companions his more refined self rose powerful within him, and his originally noble nature turned with loathing from this barren waste of vulgarity and infamy. 186 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. " I hope/' said he, warmly, " that you have behaved as becomes noble gentlemen." Matusch shrugged his shoulders and laughed. " I do not know what you call so, colonel. She was very pretty, and she pleased me. I promised to set her free to- day, for the ransom agreed on, and I have kept my word." As he spoke thus, he burst into a loud laugh, in which his friends joined with glee. But Feodor von Brenda did not laugh. An inex- plicable, prophetic dread overpowered him. What if this young girl, described to him with so much gusto, and who had been so shamefully ill-treated, should prove to be his Elise, his beloved! At this thought, anger and distress took possession of him, and he never loved Elise more ardently and truly than he did at this moment when he trembled for her. "And was there no one," cried he, with flashing eyes, "no one knightly and manly enough to take her part? How! even you, Major von Fritsch, allowed this thing to happen?" " I was obliged to do BO," replied the major. " We have made a law among ourselves, which we have all sworn to obey. It is established that the dice shall de- termine to which of the officers the booty shall belong; and he who throws the highest number becomes the owner of the person. He has to negotiate about the ransom. This, however, of course is divided among his comrades." " But if the person is poor? v asked Feodor, indig- nantly, "if she cannot pay?" " Then she belongs to him who has won her; he must decide on her fate. He is " The major stopped suddenly. The other officers THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 187 raised themselves in their seats, and listened with breath- less attention. "I think I hear the signal/' whispered the major. He had not deceived himself. A shrill, piercing whistle sounded a second time. The officers sprang from their seats, and broke into a loud cry of triumph: " Our Cossacks are coming. They have caught something! Come, come, let us throw the dice." With fierce eagerness, they all rushed to the table, and stretched out their hands for the bones. Imme- diately a deep, expectant silence ensued. Nothing was heard but the rattling of the dice, and the monotonous calling of the numbers thrown. Feodor alone remained at his place, lost in deep thought, and his tortured heart kept asking itself the question, " Could it be her whom the barbarians had captured and ill-used? " This ques- tion burnt in his brain like a red-hot dagger, upsetting his reason, and driving him almost mad with anger and grief. Still the rattling of the noisy dice went on the calling of the numbers. No one took notice of the young man, who, in desperate distress, his clinched fist pressed against his breast, paced up and down the farther end of the room, uttering broken words of anger and grief. No one, as has been said, noticed him, nor did any one remark that at this moment the door in the background of the hall was opened, and six Cossacks entered, bearing a litter on their shoulders. Feodor von Brenda saw them, and, with deep com- passion, he regarded the veiled, inanimate figure lying on the litter, which was set down by the Cossacks. "Colonel von Brenda/' cried Major von Fritsch at this moment, " it is your turn." " Oh, he is too sentimental! " laughed out Matusch. " Is not that the fact, colonel? " 188 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. Feodor remained musing and pensive. " It is a wom- an," said he to himself " perhaps a young and hand- some woman like Elise. How if I should try to save her? I have luck at the dice. Well, I will try." And with a firm step he approached the table. " Give me the bones/' cried he. " I will throw with you for my share of the booty." The dice rattled and tumbled merrily on the table. " Eighteen spots! " " The highest throw! " " Colonel von Brenda has won! " " The woman is mine! " cried Feodor, his counte- nance beaming with joy. His comrades looked at him with astonishment. " A woman! How do you know beforehand that it is a woman?" Feodor pointed silently to the back part of the room. There stood the Cossacks, next to the litter, waiting in solemn silence to be noticed. " A woman! Yes, by Heavens! it is a woman," cried the officers. And, with boisterous laughter, they rushed toward the Cossacks. " And where did you pick her up? " asked Major von Fritsch. " Don't know," answered one of the Cossacks. " We crept along a wall, and when we had climbed to the top, we saw a garden. We got down slowly and carefully, and waited behind the trees, to see if any one would come down the long avenue. We did not have long to wait before this lady came by herself. We rushed on her. and all her struggles, of course, went for nothing. Luckily for her and us, she fainted, for if she had cried out, some one, perhaps, might have come, and then we would have been obliged to gag her." THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 189 The officers laughed. "Well," said the major, " Colonel Feodor can stop her mouth now with kisses." In the mean while, Lieutenant Matusch threw the Cos- sacks a few copper coins, and drove them out of the room, with scornful words of abuse. " And now let us see what we have won," cried the officers, rushing to the litter. They were in the act of raising the cloth which concealed the figure, but Feodor stepped forward with determined countenance and flash- ing eyes. " Let no one dare to raise this veil/' said he haugh- tily. His comrades rushed, with easily aroused anger, on him, and attempted again to approach the veiled woman. " Be on your guard! " cried Feodor, and, drawing his sword from its scabbard, he placed himself before the litter, ready for the combat. The officers drew back. The determined, defiant countenance of the young warrior, his raised and ready sword, made them hesitate and yield. "Feodor is right," said the major, after a pause; " he has fairly won the woman, and it is his business now to settle about the ransom." The others cast their eyes down, perhaps ashamed of their own rudeness. " He is right, she belongs to him," murmured they, as they drew back and approached the door. " Go, my friends, go," said Feodor. " I promise you that I will settle with her about her ransom, and give up beforehand all claim to my share! " The countenances of the Russian officers brightened up. They nodded and smiled toward him as they left the room. Count Feodor von Brenda was now alone with the veiled and insensible woman. 13 190 THE MERCHANT OF UEIILIN. CHAPTEE VIII. BY CHANCE. As soon as the officers had left the room, Feodor hastened to close the door after them carefully, to pre- vent any importunate intrusion. He then searched thoroughly all the corners of the room, and behind the window-curtains, to make sure that no one was concealed there. He wished to be entirely undisturbed with the poor woman whose face he had not yet beheld, but to- ward whom he felt himself attracted by a singular, inex- plicable sensation. As soon as he was convinced that he was quite alone, he went to her with flushed cheeks and a beating heart, and unveiled her. But scarcely had he cast his eyes on her, when he uttered a cry, and staggered back with horror. This woman who lay there before him, lifeless and motionless, pale and beautiful as a broken flower, was none other than Elise Gotzkowsky, his beloved! He stood and stared at her; he pressed his hands to his forehead as if to rouse himself from this spell which had hold of him, as if to open his eyes to truth and reality. But it was no dream, no illusion. It was herself, his own Elise. He approached her, seized her hand, passed his hands over her glossy hair, and looked at her long and anxious- ly. His blood rushed like a stream of fire to his heart, it seethed and burned in his head, in his veins; and, quite overcome, he sank down before her. " It is she," murmured he softly, " it is Elise. Now she is mine, and no one can take her from me. She belongs to me, my wife, my beloved. Fate itself bears her to my arms, and I were a fool to let her escape again." THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 191 With passionate impetuosity he pressed her to his heart, and covered her lips and face with his kisses. But the violence of his affection aroused Elise. Slowly and stunned she raised herself in his arms, and looked around, as if awakened from a dream. " Where am I ? " asked she, languidly. Feodor, still kneeling before her, drew her more closely to his heart. " You are with me," said he, pas- sionately, and as he felt her trembling in his arms, he continued still more warmly: " Fear nothing; my Elise, look not so timidly and anxiously about you. Look upon me, me, who am lying at your feet, and who ask nothing more from Fortune than that this moment should last an eternity." Elise scarcely understood him. She was still stunned still confused by the dreams of her swoon. She passed her hand over her forehead, and let it drop again list- less and powerless. " My senses are confused," whis- pered she in a low voice, " I do not hear; what has hap- pened to me? " " Do not ask, do not inquire," cried Feodor, ardently. " Think only that love has sent an angel to you, on whose wings you have reposed on your passage hither to me. Why will you ask after the nature of the miracle, when the miracle itself brings delight to our eyes and hearts? Therefore, fear nothing, gentle, pure being. Like an angel do you come to me through the deluge of sin. You bear the olive-branch of peace, and love and happiness are before us." But as he was about to press her still more closely to his heart, a shudder pervaded her whole frame. " Oh, now, I recollect," she cried, vehemently; " now I know all! I was alone in the garden. There came those ter- rible men. They seized me with their rude hands, 192 THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. They wounded my heart with their horrible looks, which made me shudder. Whither have they brought me? where am I?" " You are with me," said Feeder, carrying her hand to his lips. For the first time, then, she looked at him for the first time, she recognized him. A deep blush of joy suf- fused her cheeks, and an angelic smile beamed on her lips. She felt, she knew nothing further than that her lover was at her side, that he was not dead that he was not lost to her. With an outcry of delight she threw herself into his arms, and greeted the lost, the found one, with warm and happy words of love. She raised her eyes and hands to heaven. " Oh, my God, he lives! " cried she, exultingly. " I thank Thee, God, I thank Thee. Thou hadst pity on my suffer- ings." "Love protected me," said Feodor, gazing at her passionately. " Love saved me by a miracle. Still more miraculously, it brings you to my arms. Fear not, Elise. No other eye than mine has seen you. No one knows your name. That sweet secret is only known to Lore and ourselves." Elise trembled. This imprudent speech woke her out of the stupor which had so long had possession of her; it recalled her to the world, and dispelled the charm which his presence, his looks, and his words had thrown around her. She was now aroused, and hurried from a state of dreamy delight to one of cruel and dread reality. The ray of joy faded from her cheek, the smile died on her lips, and, extricating herself forci- bly from his arms, she stood before him in her pride and anger. "Feodor," said she, terrified, "you sent those fearful men! You caused me to be kidnapped! " With THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. 193 an angry, penetrating glance, she looked at Feodor, who sank his eyes in confusion to the ground. As she saw this, she smiled contemptuously, and her injured maiden honor overcame her love and tenderness. " Ah! now I understand! " said she, with cutting scorn. " I have been told of the hunt after human beings which is carried on in the town. Colonel Feodor von Brenda plays a worthy part in this game! " Feodor wished to approach her and take her hand, but she repulsed him sternly. " Do not touch me," cried she, haughtily; " do not seek to take my hand. You are no longer he whom I love. You are a kidnap- per. But let me tell you, though you have compelled my body to suffer this dishonorable deed, yet my soul re- mains free, and that despises you! " It was a splendid sight to see her in her noble wrath, which seemed to elevate her whole frame, and drive a deep glow to her cheeks. Feodor looked at her with ardent gaze. Never had he seen her so fascinating, so charmingly beautiful. Even her wrath delighted him, for it was a token of her purity and innocence. He wanted again to draw near to her, to take her to his heart, but she drew back in pride and anger. " Go," said she, " I have nothing to do with a man who violates the most sacred laws of human honor, and like a vile thief sneaks in to destroy innocence." Her voice failed her, her eyes filled with tears, but she shook them from her. " I weep," said she, " but not for grief, nor yet for love; anger it is alone which extorts tears from me, and they are bitter far more bitter than death." And as she thus spoke, she pressed her hands to her face, and wept bitterly. Feodor passed his arm gently around her trembling 1