The Merchant of Berlin Part 25

Outside the officers raged still louder, and demanded with more violent cries the opening of the door. Feodor still looked around him for a secret place. Nowhere was there a possibility of hiding her, or letting her escape unnoticed. His infuriated companions threatened to break the door in.

Feodor now with determination seized the large shawl which had previously enveloped Elise's form, and threw it over her face. "Well then," said he, "let them come; but woe to him who touches this cloth!"

He pressed the veiled maiden down in a chair, and, hastening to the door, drew back the bolt.

CHAPTER IX.

MISTRESS OR MAID.

As Feodor opened the door, his comrades rushed screaming and laughing uproariously into the room, spying round eagerly for the poor woman, the n.o.ble game which they had hunted down.

When they perceived Elise seated in a chair, veiled and motionless just as they had left her, they gave vent to a cry of delight, and began to explain to the colonel in a most confused jumble, often interrupted by bursts of laughter and merry e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns, the cause of their stormy interruption. A young man, they said, had just come inquiring after a young lady who had been carried off by the Cossacks.

He had insisted upon seeing Colonel Feodor von Brenda, in order to offer a ransom for the captive lady.

"We have come to inform you of this," said Lieutenant von Matusch, "so that you may not let her go too cheap. This is the richest haul we have made yet."

"The daughter of the rich Gotzkowsky!" cried another officer.

"She'll have to pay a tremendous ransom," shouted Major von Fritsch.

Feodor exclaimed, with a.s.sumed astonishment, "That woman there the daughter of Gotzkowsky! Why, don't you know, my friends, that I lived for a long time in Berlin, and am intimately acquainted with the beautiful and brilliant daughter of the rich Gotzkowsky? I can a.s.sure you that they do not resemble each other in a single feature."

The officers looked at one another with amazement and incredulity.

"She is not Gotzkowsky's daughter? But the young man told us that he came from Mr. Gotzkowsky."

"And from that you draw the conclusion that this is his daughter whom you have caught," cried Feodor, laughing. "Where is this man?"

Lieutenant von Matusch opened the door, and on the threshold appeared the serious figure of Bertram. He had fulfilled the vow which he had made to himself, and carefully and attentively watched and guarded every step of Elise; and while Gotzkowsky was absent from home night and day faithfully serving his country, Bertram had been a vigilant sentinel over his daughter. Indeed, Gotzkowsky's house had been, to all appearance, perfectly safe; it was the sanctuary and refuge of all the unfortunate, the only secure place where they could bestow their valuables. Russian sentinels stood before the house, and Tottleben's adjutant had his residence in it. But this security only applied to the _house_. As long as Elise kept herself within-doors, Bertram had no fear. But there was the large garden in which she loved to roam for hours together, and especially her favorite resort at the extreme end of the same, not far from the wall, which was so easy to climb.

Bertram had not ventured to restrain Elise from visiting this solitary and secluded spot, but he had followed her on her visits to it. There, hidden behind some tree he had, with the patience and perseverance of which love alone is capable, watched the young girl, who was neither desirous of nor grateful for guardians.h.i.+p. This very day he had followed her softly and unperceived into the garden. Then, when he had ascertained whither she directed her steps, he had returned into the house to complete some important business of Gotzkowsky. But impelled by anxious and unaccountable restlessness, he had hastened back into the garden; at a distance he heard Elise's cry for help, and, rus.h.i.+ng forward, had come up just in time to see her raised over the wall by the Cossacks.

Stunned by horror at this sight, Bertram stood for a moment motionless. He then felt but one desire, one resolve, and that was--to rescue her. He hurried to the house for the purpose of proceeding to General Tottleben and invoking his a.s.sistance and support. But a sudden and painful thought arrested his steps.

Suppose that Elise had not gone against her will? Suppose that this had been a preconcerted abduction to which the semblance of violence had only been given in order, in case of failure, to maintain Elise's reputation free from stain?

With a sigh of anguish he recalled to mind when Elise had hidden her lover in her bedchamber that night when Gotzkowsky had delivered Feodor over to the Austrians. Since then father and daughter had not met, and no word of reproach had pa.s.sed Elise's lips. But Bertram understood that Gotzkowsky's cruel and relentless sacrifice of her lover had forever estranged the heart of his daughter from him; that this hard though just deed had torn asunder the last link which bound her to him.

Elise could have learned just as well as Bertram had that Feodor had been accidentally saved. Her lover himself could have sent her this information, and she, who in the bitterness of her grief had torn herself loose from her father, might not have had the strength to withstand his ardent prayers. Perhaps in her sense of bereavement, trusting to her love, she might have found the sad courage to brave not only her father, but the judgment and scorn of the world, in order to be united to her lover.

Such thoughts as these arrested Bertram's steps, and compelled him to reflection. Only one thing was positive--he must save her at every hazard, even against her will, even if he should reap, as the sole reward of his devoted love, her aversion; he must save her from her own pa.s.sionate, foolish heart, or from the wild l.u.s.t of the unprincipled man to whom she trusted her innocence, her youth, and beauty.

But this duty he had to perform alone; he dared not trust any one with his secret, for fear of thereby defeating the object he had in view, and, instead of saving, bringing disgrace upon her. His resolve was formed. He must seek her out. He must penetrate to where she was, even if hid behind a wall of Russian soldiers. Faithful and unselfish as ever, she should find him at her side, ready to protect her against every attack, every danger, even from her own inexperience or the reckless pa.s.sion of her lover. Especially above all things, her abduction must remain a secret. To her maidens, therefore, Bertram said, that their young mistress had withdrawn into her room, and shut herself in, in order, after so many sleepless nights, to enjoy a little rest. The same information he left behind for Gotzkowsky, and, providing himself with weapons, he betook himself to the search for Elise. In the first place, he naturally directed his steps to the dwelling of Colonel von Brenda. Here he learned that the latter was not at home, but had gone to an entertainment at the mess-room of his regiment. Thither he hastened, firmly resolved to overcome all obstacles, and in spite of every refusal to see the colonel, and read in his countenance whether he were an accomplice of the crime committed, or whether Elise had followed him of her own free will.

At first, he had been obstinately refused admittance; then in his despair and anguish he had made use of Gotzkowsky's name, a golden key to open the doors, as he well knew. In fact, scarcely had the gold-greedy Russian officers ascertained that the young stranger came as a messenger from Gotzkowsky and wished to inquire of Count von Brenda, after a young lady who had been carried off by the Cossacks, than with a yell of delight they rushed toward the door of the room in which were Feodor and the captured maiden. Bertram had, therefore, to thank the avarice of the Russian officers that the door was opened and he was allowed to enter.

As Bertram appeared on the threshold of the room a scream escaped the lips of the female, and he was enabled, notwithstanding the concealment, to recognize her whom he sought. His heart was convulsed with pain, and his impulse for a moment was, to rush upon this audacious, dissolute young man who stood next to Elise, to murder him, and revenge in his blood the disgrace he had brought upon her. But remembering the sacred duty he had undertaken of protecting Elise and concealing her flight as far as possible, he controlled his anger and grief, and forced himself to appear calm and collected.

Elise, in the mean while, with joyful emotion recognized Bertram. His unexpected and unlooked-for appearance did not surprise her, it seemed so natural to her that whenever danger threatened he should appear as her protector and savior. She had such confidence in Bertram's appearance whenever she stood in need of him, that when she saw him, she looked upon herself as saved, and protected from every danger which threatened her. She motioned Feodor to her side, and with a touch of triumphant pride, said to him, "It is Bertram, the friend of my youth. He has risked his life to save me from dishonor." Feodor felt the reproof which lay in the intonation of these words, and his brow grew dark. But he overcame this momentary irritation, and turning to Bertram, who was approaching him with a firm and determined step, asked him, "Well, sir, whom do you seek?"

"A young girl who has been carried off by force," replied Bertram, and he regarded the young man with angry looks. But Feodor met his glance with firmness and composure. "It is true," said he, "such an outrage has been committed; some Cossacks kidnapped a young girl in a garden and brought her here. I myself will inform the general of this dishonorable deed, for you understand, sir, that this outrage is an insult to us as well as to yourself. I have promised my protection to this young person, and I am ready to defend her against any one who dares to touch her honor or to doubt her virtue. Come, now, sir, and see whether this he the same young girl whom you seek."

He stepped toward Bertram, and as he led him to Elise, he whispered rapidly in a low tone. "Be silent, and do not betray her name, for Elise's honor is at stake."

He raised the veil, and, pointing to Elise's abashed and blus.h.i.+ng countenance, he asked, with a derisive laugh, "Well, now, do you recognize her? Will you swear that this is Gotzkowsky's daughter?"

Bertram looked at him with a.s.sumed surprise. "Gotzkowsky's daughter?"

asked he, shrugging his shoulders. "Why, it is the young lady herself who sent me, and no one is looking for her."

Colonel Feodor turned with a laugh of triumph toward his comrades.

"Did I not tell you so?" cried he. "You credulous fools were hoping to get half a million ransom, and I have been bargaining with her for the last hour for a hundred dollars. She swears, with tears in her eyes, that she is not worth a hundred pence. Gotzkowsky's daughter, indeed!

Do you imagine that she goes about in a plain white dress, without any ornament or any thing elegant about her? She is just as fond of dress as our own princesses and pretty women, and, like them, the daughter of the rich Gotzkowsky is never visible except in silk and velvet, with pearls diamonds. Oh! I would like myself to catch the millionnaire's daughter, for then we might bargain for a decent ransom."

"But who, then, is this woman?" roared the disappointed officers. "Why does the rich Gotzkowsky send after her, if she is not his daughter?"

"Who is she?" cried Feodor, laughing. "Well, I will tell you, as you attack so much importance to it. You have been served like the seekers after hidden treasure. You have been seeking for gold, and, instead, you have only found coals to burn your fingers. You sought after the millionnaire, the rich heiress, and, instead of her, you have only caught her--chambermaid."

"A chambermaid!" growled out his comrades, and turning their dark, lowering looks on Bertram, they inquired of him whether this woman were only a chambermaid in Gotzkowsky's house, and a.s.sailed him with reproaches and curses because he had deluded them into the belief that Gotzkowsky's daughter had been captured.

"If we had not thought so, we would not have let you in," cried Lieutenant von Matusch. "It was not worth while making so much fuss about a little chambermaid."

"It was just for that very reason," replied Bertram, "and because I knew that you would not otherwise help me, that I let you believe it was Gotzkowsky's daughter whom you had captured; otherwise you would never have let me come near Colonel von Brenda. And Mademoiselle Gotzkowsky had expressly directed me to apply to that gentleman, and I did so. You can understand my doing so, when I inform you that this young girl is my sister!"

Feodor turned himself to Elise with an expression of anger on his countenance. "Is this true?"

"It is true!" cried she, reaching her hand out to Bertram, with a look of heartfelt grat.i.tude. "He is my brother, my faithful brother!"

But, as she read in Feeder's darkened countenance the marks of ill-concealed anger and jealousy, she turned toward her lover with a rare, sweet smile. "Oh," said she, "there is nothing n.o.bler, nothing more sacred and unselfish, than the love of a brother."

Feodor's searching look seemed to penetrate into the inmost recesses of her heart. Perhaps he read all the love, innocence, and strength that lay therein, for his brow cleared up, and his looks resumed their open cheerfulness. Quickly he took Bertram's hand and laid it in Elise's. "Well, then," said he, "you happy pair, take each other's hands, and thank G.o.d that the danger is over. We have nothing to do with young and pretty girls--we only want rich ones. Go!"

"No, no," cried the officers, "not at all, not without ransom!" Saying which, they pressed noisily and angrily nearer, raising their clinched fists. "She must pay, or we will keep her!"

"Dare one of you touch her?" cried Feodor, drawing his sword, and placing himself in front of Elise.

"I have come to fetch my sister," said Bertram, turning to the officers, "but I knew very well that you would not let her go unless her ransom were paid. I therefore brought all my little portion with me. Take this purse full of ducats, and let it pay for her."

A cry of triumph was the answer from the soldiers as they drew Bertram toward the table that he might count out the money. While they were dividing it among themselves, talking loudly and laughing merrily, Feodor remained standing at Elise's side, neither daring to break the impressive silence. Their souls communed with each other, and they needed not words nor outward signs. At last, after a long pause, Feodor asked--

"Are you satisfied now, Elise?"

She answered him with a sweet smile, "I am thine forever!"

"And will you never forget this hour?"