THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN
An Historical Novel
L. MÜHLBACH
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY AMORY COFFIN, M.D.
1910
CONTENTS
BOOK I.
CHAP. I.--The Festival
II.--The Workman's Holiday
III.--Brother and Sister
IV.--Feodor von Brenda
V.--Mr. Kretschmer, of the "Vossian Gazette"
VI.--The Cowards' Race
VII.--The Interrupted Festival
VIII.--The Leader of the People
IX.--The Russian is at the Gates
X.--Be Prudent
XI.--The Night of Horrors
XII.--Russians and Austrians
XIII.--A Maiden's Heart
XIV.--A Faithful Friend
XV.--An Unexpected Meeting
XVI.--The Fugitive
XVII.--The Eavesdropper
XVIII.--The Two Cannoneers
XIX.--Father Gotzkowsky
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BOOK II.
CHAP. I.--The Two Editors
II.--The Chief Magistrate of Berlin
III.--The Russian, the Saxon, and the Austrian, in Berlin
IV.--The Cadets
V.--The Explosion
VI.--John Gotzkowsky
VII.--The Horrors of War
VIII.--By Chance
IX.--Mistress or Maid?
X.--An Unexpected Ally
XI.--The Jew Ephraim
XII.--The Russian General and the German Man
XIII.--The Execution
XIV.--Bride and Daughter
XV.--The Rivals
XVI.--The Punishment
XVII.--The Banquet of Gratitude
XVIII.--A Royal Letter
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BOOK III.
CHAP. I.--Frederick the Great at Meissen
II.--The Winter-quarters in Leipsic
III.--The Friend in Need
IV.--Gratitude and Recompense
V.--Four Years' Labor
VI.--Days of Misfortune
VII.--Confessions
VIII.--The Russian Prince
IX.--Old Love--New Sorrow
X.--The Magistracy of Berlin
XI.--The Jews of the Mint
XII.--The Leipsic Merchant
XIII.--Ephraim the Tempter
XIV.--Elise
XV.--The Rescue
XVI.--Retribution
XVII.--Tardy Gratitude
XVIII.--The Auction
ILLUSTRATIONS
Feodor's Visit to the Garden
The Merchant draws Feodor from his Hiding-place
The Rich Jews appeal to Gotzkowsky
The Great Frederick examining the Porcelain Cup
BOOK I.
CHAPTER 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 discord for which Maria Theresa and Frederick II. had been striving
for years, and for which, in so many battles, 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 calamities 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 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 distant sons who had gone to the army.
Here and there was seen some wounded soldier wearily dragging himself
along the street, but hearty, healthy men were seldom to be met, and
still more seldom 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 handsomest 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 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 respects others could equal the rich
merchant, or even surpass 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 himself 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 constrained 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 immediately adjacent to the house,
to which they at once repaired 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 Gotzkowsky would follow them, having first gone in
search of his daughter.
With lively conversation and hearty laugh the people retired, the
halls were emptied, and now the deep silence of these state-apartments
was only interrupted by 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 covered 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 appearance that
Gotzkowsky, notwithstanding the early death of his wife, had never
contracted a second marriage, 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
concentrated 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.
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, doubtless,
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, Gotzkowsky'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 Russian 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 allow me to be born as a poor serf upon one of thy estates,
giving to thee the right to possess me, to me the sweet duty of loving
thee? O 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 bitterly. Suddenly steps
were heard quite close to her door. She started, and concealed the
medallion quickly in her breast. "My father," murmured she, and
drying 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 festival. 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. You are too busy.
Hundreds of men claim your attention. 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 pleasure?"
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."
"That does not prevent him from loving you ardently," 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 Saldem."
"Never!" cried she proudly. "I am no chattel to be bartered, and this
miserable title of princess has no charms for me. You can command me,
father, to renounce 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!"
Her father clasped her vehemently in his arms.
"That is blood of my blood, and spirit of my 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 princesses 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
strives for wealth for the purpose of _giving_, he will discover 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, musing 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 privation, 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 belief of the goodness of God in my heart, that I
was convinced 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, '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
shining 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 me life, health, and strength. I was
obliged to hunt in the dust for a long time with hands tremulous with
anxiety, 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 entreaties 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 absolved 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 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 satisfaction 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.[1] 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 flattered 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 attention 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 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. Suddenly 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!"
[Footnote 1: "Gotzkowsky founded the first large velvet and silk
manufactories in Berlin. He was also the first to attend the Leipsic
fair with domestic goods, and thus open the commerce with Poland and
Russia."--_History of a Patriotic Merchant of Berlin_, 1768, pages
10-12.]
* * * * *