FEODOR VON BRENDA.
Elise directed her hasty steps toward the now retired 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
the 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 cheerful, 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; and notwithstanding your silence, I know
that your heart answers mine, and that we are forever and inseparably
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 Palisades, 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 certain, 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 thoughtfully 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 contentment 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.
She sat and looked up to heaven, and her ear, dwelling 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 dangers 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 betrayed by his
animated expression. 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 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!"
"O 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 languidly 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. Awaking from her ecstasy
of delight, she just began to be conscious 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 Russian camp why I came here!"
She uttered a cry, and clung anxiously to him. "You should not have
come here," said she, trembling. "My God, if my father 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
forgotten 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 powerful 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 dreaming, loving girl, but a
conscious, reasoning, collected woman.
"How can my father do that?" said she, doubtingly.
"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 compassion on his native town, on
himself. You are all 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 cannot 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
Russian 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 my father may be, my heart
still remains yours. Love does 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 imprinted 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, piercing 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 Elise has sworn by God and her
love never to turn a deaf ear to my call? Will you expect me?" asked
he, coaxingly.
"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 bodies!"
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. "Farewell, 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 descends on the other side.
"He is gone, he is gone!" she shrieked, and, falling on her knees,
raised her hands to heaven. "O 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 consciousness.
* * * * *