The Merchant of Berlin Part 13

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 a.s.signed the painful duty of deciding to which of the enemies they should surrender. And yet the decision was imperative, and Berlin had to be surrendered to the Russians.

In gloomy sadness, hardly casting a pa.s.sing 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, sinking 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 breathless on the chair near the door.

Gotzkowsky raised his head, and his eyes sought his daughter. As he perceived her, a gentle and pleased expression pa.s.sed 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 permitted to remember that I am a father. I had almost 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 refreshment, 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 hurrying to and fro, serving up breakfast, Gotzkowsky reclined 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. Gotzkowsky 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 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 possessed, and who, never tiring, without rest or relaxation, gent death into the ranks of the enemy. Be a.s.sured, my son, you have fought these two days like a hero, and it cannot be G.o.d's wish that, as a reward for your bravery, you should fall into the hands of the enemy."

"They pursue me everywhere," said the artilleryman. "Hunted by De Lacy's cha.s.seurs like a wild beast, I fled down the street hither. You told me yesterday that if ever I wanted a friend in need, you would be one to me. Therefore have I come to you. The Austrians have sworn vengeance on the cannoneer, whose b.a.l.l.s 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 Russian 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 defend 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 tearful. They have sworn to kill me. But you will not give me up! and should they come here and find me, 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 Gotzkowsky?"

"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 daughter's chamber is a safe hiding-place. The mirror on the wall covers a secret door, behind which is a s.p.a.ce 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 flas.h.i.+ng. 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.

"Remember, father," stammered she, blus.h.i.+ng, "I--"

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 paleness and 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 recognized 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 a.s.sistance of his distressed sister. He approached her father, and laid his hand lightly on his shoulder.

"Elise is right," said he, entreatingly. "Respect her maiden hesitation."

Gotzkowsky turned round upon him with an impatient 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 hesitation. You have spoken wisely, Bertram. Listen: you know the part.i.tion 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 pa.s.sionately 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. 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 approached Gotzkowsky, and whispered softly: "Be lenient, 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.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE EAVESDROPPER.

Elise was now alone with her father. She had sunk down near the fatal door, and her colorless lips murmured faint prayers.

Gotzkowsky stood there, still relentless; but his agitated countenance, his lowering brow, his flas.h.i.+ng eyes, betrayed the deep and pa.s.sionate emotion of his soul. Struck and wounded fatally in his most sacred feelings, he felt no pity, no compa.s.sion for this poor trembling girl, who followed his every motion with a timid, anxious 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 closed. No one could intrude, no one interrupt this fearful dialogue.

Elise was terribly conscious of this, and could only whisper, "Pity, pity, merciful G.o.d! 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 hoa.r.s.e, harsh voice. "Answer me, now. Who is concealed there in your room?"

"No one, my father."