Part 35 (1/2)

CHAPTER XVII.

THE BANQUET OF GRAt.i.tUDE.

Berlin had recovered from the terrors it had undergone. It was eight days since the enemy had left, and every thing was quiet and calm. But on this day the quiet was to be interrupted by a public merry-making.

Berlin, which had suffered so much, was to rejoice again.

The festival which was to be celebrated, was intended for none else than John Gotzkowsky, the Merchant of Berlin, the man whom all looked upon as their guardian angel and savior. He had cheerfully borne hards.h.i.+p and toil, danger and injustice, for the good of his fellow-men; he had always been found helping and ready to serve, unselfish and considerate. The whole town was under obligation to him; he had served all cla.s.ses of society, and they all wished to evince their grat.i.tude to him.

Gotzkowsky had been requested to remain at home on the morning of the festal day, but to hold himself in readiness to receive several deputations. They were to be succeeded by a grand dinner, given by the citizens of Berlin in his honor. They were to eat and drink, be merry, and enjoy themselves to his glorification; they were to drink his health in foaming gla.s.ses of champagne, and Gotzkowsky was to look upon it all as a grand festival with which the good citizens of Berlin were glorifying him, while they themselves were enjoying the luscious viands and fragrant wines.

In vain did Gotzkowsky refuse to accept the proffered festival.

At first he tried to excuse himself on the plea of his daughter's illness, alleging that he could not leave her bedside. But information had been obtained from her physician, who reported her out of danger, and that Gotzkowsky might leave her for several hours without risk.

Gotzkowsky being able to find no other excuse, was obliged to accept.

Elise was indeed sick. The grief and despair of her betrayed and deceived heart had prostrated her; and her wild, fever-dreams, her desponding complaints, the reproachful conversations she carried on with her lover--unseen but nevertheless present in her delirium--had betrayed her secret to her father. Full of emotion, he thanked G.o.d for her happy escape, and felt no resentment against this poor, misguided child, who had taken refuge from the loneliness of her heart, in his love, as in a haven of shelter. He only reproached his own want of discernment, as he said to himself: ”Elise had cause to be angry with me and to doubt my affection. I bore solitude and the constant separation from my daughter because I thought I was working for her, but I forgot that at the same time she was solitary and alone, that she missed a father's tenderness as I did my child's love. I wished to make her rich, and I have only made her poor and wretched.”

He kissed her burning, feverish forehead, he bedewed it with tears, and forgave her, from the bottom of his heart, her misplaced love, her errors and transgressions. She was with him; she had returned to his heart. In her despair she had fled to the bosom of her father, and sought support and a.s.sistance from him.

The dark clouds had all rolled over, and the heavens were again bright and clear. Berlin was freed from the enemy. Elise was convalescent, and the town of Berlin, was preparing for her n.o.blest citizen a banquet of grat.i.tude.

The appointed hour had arrived for Gotzkowsky to receive the deputations, and he betook himself to the hall next the garden. A thundering hurrah received him. It proceeded from his workmen, who had come in procession through the garden, and were waving their hats and caps. They were followed by a mult.i.tude of women in black. This day they had laid aside the tears and griefs for their husbands and sons fallen in battle, in order to thank Gotzkowsky with a smile for the magnanimous kindness with which he had taken their part and secured their future.

Following these women came the poor orphans, with mourning-c.r.a.pe on their arms. They rushed forward joyously toward Gotzkowsky, stretching out their little hands to him, and, at a word from the head operative, Balthazar, they stretched open their small mouths, and gave out such a shrill and cras.h.i.+ng hurrah that the windows rattled, and many a stout workman stopped his ears and felt a ringing in his head.

”One more hurrah!” cried the enthusiastic Balthazar; and ”hurrah!”

screamed and squeaked the children.

”And now for a third--”

But Gotzkowsky seized hold of Balthazar's arm which he was about to move again, and with a look of comical terror, exclaimed: ”But, man, don't you know that I have further use for my ears to-day? You deafen me with your screaming. That's enough.”

Balthazar struggled himself free from the strong grasp of his master, and placed himself in a theatrical position opposite to him. He was able this day to indulge in his pa.s.sion for eloquence, for the workmen had chosen him for their orator, and he had a right to speak. As he spoke, it could be seen by his sparkling eyes, and by his fiery enthusiasm, that his words had not been learned by rote, but proceeded from his heart.

”Sir, allow me to speak and express my joy, for it is a joy to have a n.o.ble master. Look at these children, dear master. Three days ago they had fathers who could work and care for them. But the cannon-b.a.l.l.s deprived them of their fathers, and G.o.d sent them a father, and you are he. You adopted these children when they were forsaken by all else. You said: 'G.o.d forbid that the children of these brave men, who had fallen in defence of the liberty of Berlin, should be orphans! I will be their father.' Yes, sir, that is what you said, and all the weeping mothers and all your workmen heard it and wrote it down in their hearts. Ask these widows for whom they pray to G.o.d. Ask the poor who were without bread and whom you fed. Ask the whole town who it is whom they bless and praise. They will all name the name of Gotzkowsky; with one voice they will all cry out: ”Long live our friend and father! Long live Gotzkowsky!”

Unanimously did all join in this cry, shouting out, ”Long live Gotzkowsky!”

Deeply moved, Gotzkowsky stretched out his hands to the workmen, and accepted, with cordial gratification, the flowers offered by the children. ”Thank you, thank you,” cried he, in a voice of deep emotion. ”You have richly recompensed me, for I perceive that you love me, and nothing can be more beautiful than love.”

”Diamonds!” cried out Ephraim, as he made his way through the crowd with Itzig and a deputation of the Jews, toward the hero of the day--”diamonds are more valuable than love, Gotzkowsky. Look at this brilliant, which sparkles and s.h.i.+nes more brightly than ever did a look of love from any human eye.”

He presented to Gotzkowsky a costly _solitaire_ diamond, and continued: ”Be so kind and grant us the favor of accepting this present. It is a diamond of the first water.”