Part 36 (1/2)
Not a word of this conversation escaped Leonora, and she said to herself: ”I must make the acquaintance of this lady. I will go to her, mid she will enlist me for the German fatherland!”
The travellers continued their conversation, relating that Frederick William had not believed in the success of the first manifesto, in which he called for volunteers; and, for this reason, had not signed the manifesto which Chancellor von Hardenberg had drawn up; that four days afterward the king, who had just explained with unusual vehemence to General Scharnhorst the utter uselessness of this call, was interrupted by a strange noise in the street; and that, anxious to discover what was the cause, he stepped to the window, and General Scharnhorst followed him; that a line of at least eighty wagons had come in sight, and in them none but armed men were seated, who halted in front of the palace, and an aide-de-camp, who entered the room at that moment, informed the king that they were volunteers just arrived from Berlin; that Scharnhorst turned to him, and exclaimed triumphantly: ”Will your majesty be convinced now that your people are ready to fight for you and the fatherland?” and that the king made no reply, but a flood of tears rushed from his eyes, and he smiled amidst his emotion.
At length Leonora arrived at Berlin. She stood alone beside her trunk in the court-yard of the royal post-office building. No notice was taken of her; no one manifested any sympathy for her; but she did not flinch, and her heart was free from doubt or anxiety. She sent for a hackney-coach by one of the boys playing in the court- yard, and then drove away. But she did not order the coachman to convey her to her G.o.dfather, Werkmeister, the merchant on Jager Street. Driving first to Tauben Street, the carriage stopped in front of a large, gloomy house. She alighted, and, begging the coachman to wait for her, slipped into the house. Quickly ascending three narrow flights of stairs, she reached a silent corridor, on both sides of which were small doors, and on each a number had been painted. Knocking at the door of number three, a female voice inquired, ”Who is there?”
”It is I, Leonora Prohaska!”
A loud cry of joy resounded; the door was hastily opened, and a young soldier in full uniform appeared on the threshold. It was now Leonora who uttered a cry, and blus.h.i.+ng drew back. ”Pardon me,” she said, timidly; ”there must be a mistake. I am looking for my friend, a young milliner, named Caroline Peters.”
The young soldier laughed, but it was the fresh, ringing laughter of a girl. ”Then you really do not recognize me, Leonora?” he exclaimed. ”You really take me for what I like to be and am not--a man?”
”Great Heaven! is it you?” exclaimed Leonora. ”You--”
”Hus.h.!.+” whispered the other, hastily drawing her into the room, and carefully locking the door. ”For mercy's sake, let no one hear us!
What a scandal it would be, if it should be discovered that Volunteer Charles Petersen receives the visits of pretty girls at his room! This hotel is entirely occupied by volunteers, and none of them suspect that I am a woman, nor shall they ever find it out. But now welcome, my dear Leonora, and tell me what has brought you to Berlin. Did you receive my letter?”
”Yes, Caroline, I did,” said Leonora, gravely, ”and it gave me pain, for you called me cowardly and dest.i.tute of honor, because I intended to stay at home when my country was in need of the arms of all its children, and when every one of any courage was partic.i.p.ating in this holy struggle.”
”And that is the truth, Leonora,” exclaimed Caroline; ”the fatherland has called us all, and those who do not listen to this call are cowards!”
”But who told you that I did not listen to it?” asked Leonora.
”What!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Caroline, joyously. ”Leonora, you, too--”
”Hus.h.!.+” interrupted Leonora, ”we must talk about all this afterward.
I am in haste now, for there is a hackney-coach waiting for me at the door, and my trunk is on it. Tell me now quickly, Caroline, can I stay with you over night?”
”In female dress, Leonora? That would be hardly prudent.”
”No, in male attire, Caroline.”
”Oh, then you are a thousand times welcome here,” exclaimed Caroline, encircling her with her arms, and drawing her to her heart.
”But I have not yet my male attire,” said Leonora, smiling, ”nor have I money to buy it. Give me, therefore, quickly, the name of some one who buys dresses, for I will drive to him immediately with my trunk, and sell all I have brought with me.”
”Come, Leonora, I will accompany you,” said Caroline. ”I know at the Hospital Bridge a very patriotic and kind-hearted old Jew, to whom I have also sold my wearing apparel, and who paid me a very liberal price for it, when I told him that I wanted to buy a uniform for my brother. Let us drive there, but I will remain in the carriage while you go into the store, for he might recognize me. You will also find men's clothing, which you may purchase for your brother--that is to say, for yourself.”
”Come, then, and let us make haste,” said Leonora, drawing her friend with her.
Fifteen minutes afterward the hackney-coach halted in front of one of the second-hand clothing-stores near the Hospital Bridge, and Leonora alighted, holding in her arms a large package of dresses, shawls, skirts, and ap.r.o.ns, which she had taken from her trunk during the drive. Mr. Hirsch, the dealer in second-hand clothing, who was standing in front of his store, received her with a pleasant greeting, and invited her to enter and tell him what she wanted.
Leonora put the wearing apparel on the counter, and, drawing a deep breath, said in a tone of embarra.s.sment, ”I should like to sell these things, sir.”
The Jew put his spectacles slowly on his nose, and then lifted up the dresses, one after another, contemplating them with scrutinizing glances.
”If he should not give me as much money as I need?” Leonora asked herself, anxiously, ”if these things should not amount to so much that I cannot purchase a uniform?”
And old Hirsch, as if he heard the anxious question of her heart, said, shaking his head: ”I cannot give very much for these few calico dresses and ap.r.o.ns. They are all very nice and well preserved, but of no value whatever.”
”But there is also a silk dress, sir,” said Leonora, in a tremulous voice, ”an entirely new silk dress.”
”New?” asked the Jew, shrugging his shoulders, drawing out the dress, and unfolding it with a sneer. ”The dress is not new, for it is made after such an old fas.h.i.+on that it could be worn only at a masked ball; and the stuff is not worth any thing, either, for it is only half silk. It was just made to look at. It appears like heavy silk, but the oblique threads that make it look so heavy are all cotton. How much do you want for the whole, my pretty miss?”