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 Commander 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 proceeded 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.
For it was no longer a fight for Silesia, a strip of territory, which
was to be fought, but a struggle between intellect and brute power,
between civilization and barbarism, the inevitable companion of the
Russian hordes. Prussia represented Germany, and on her waving 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 Russians. 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 Russians, 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 scarcely 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 Russians, 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 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 Aeneases
sought to save from the ruins of the threatened town. All ranks and
conditions were confounded; 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, breathless and
trembling in every limb, toward the town gates. They reached the goal;
they stood before the gates beyond 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 workman who now stood as sentinel at the gates.
In this moment 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 intrusted the keys of a town; and
the town gates were not opened to these bands of cowards. They were
condemned to remain, condemned to the torture of trembling 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 refreshment for the
weary. The fire-balls and bomb-shells still 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
Russians attempt to storm the gates, the brave defenders drove them
back again and again. Suddenly the cannon ceased firing, and the enemy
drew back.
"What is the meaning of this?" asked the combatants 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 approaching. 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 possible 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 danger 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--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 warriors, 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 Wurtemberg as they marched in, and
he had read in the dull countenances of the soldiers, staggering
and sinking 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 entered the town. He demanded for them nourishment
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 lowered 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 preparation to a great and solemn feast. Forty of the
largest and fattest oxen were slaughtered, to afford a strengthening
meal to those so much in need of nourishment. About mid-day, a strange
procession moved down the König'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 joyous music were wanting. Nor did it
wend its way toward 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
thousands of loaves in large wagons. Then followed the white-capped
cooks, bringing the smoking beef in large caldrons. The rear was
finally brought up by the butlers, with large baskets of wine.
And the beautiful and resplendent temple of art was thrown open to the
reception of all these things, although 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 _vivandières_, and on the
same stage on which once Galiari and Barbarini, Ostroa and Sambeni
enchanted the public with their marvellous singing, 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 neatly 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.
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