THE WORKMAN'S HOLIDAY.
The garden, which stretched from behind Gotzkowsky's house to the
limits of the city, was really of artistic beauty, and he had spent
thousands in creating a park out of this dead level of sand. Now, his
work was completed, and all Berlin spoke with praise and admiration
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 peculiarly 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
refreshments were spread.
At the largest of these tables, ornamented with flowers, was seated
the betrothed couple, the workman Balthazar 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 Gotzkowsky 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 celebrated the
marriage of the happy couple. No wonder, then, that they regarded
Gotzkowsky with feelings almost 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 and adoration whenever he looked upon her. He followed every
one of her motions with watchful eyes, and the most trifling shade,
the slightest change in the expression 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 Bertram, Gotzkowsky's
head book-keeper. From his earliest youth he had been in the house of
the rich manufacturer, 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 Gotzkowsky 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 joyous 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 affection of a friend or a sister, and that she had no
suspicion 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 daughter 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, as 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 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 Gotzkowsky. Therefore, you
boys up there, stop your clatter 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 Balthazar, 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 is 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?"
"Gotzkowsky, our father Gotzkowsky!" cried the crowd unanimously.
Balthazar waved his hat joyfully in the air. "Therefore, say I, long
live Gotzkowsky our father!" cried he with stentorian voice. And
loud shouts and cheers followed this appeal. Men and women surrounded
Gotzkowsky 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
increase 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 surprise
have I in reserve for you to-day. I appoint Mr. Bertram my partner
and sole director of the silk factory." "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 gratitude.
"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, deeply 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 appear 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 rejoice 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 himself; 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. 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 laughter and the merry sound of the music.
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