The forsaken, the ruined Gotzkowsky celebrated this day a splendid triumph.  The jubilant voice that thus did him homage was that of the people—­and the voice of the people is the voice of God!

[Footnote 1:  With these words Gotzkowsky closes his autobiography.]

* * * * *

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE AUCTION.

All was now over—­the curtain had fallen:  Gotzkowsky had run his brilliant career, and retired into oblivion.  His fall was for some days the topic of conversation of the good Berliners; but it was soon superseded by some other novelty, and without either sympathy or ill-feeling they passed by the deserted house with the closed windows which had once been Gotzkowsky’s residence.  The king had purchased it, in order to carry on, at the expense of the royal government, the porcelain factory which Gotzkowsky had founded.

Months had passed by.  How many changes had taken place in this short space of time!  How many tears had been shed there, how many hopes destroyed!

Elise had become Bertram’s wife; and she lived with him in the small, quiet residence which they had selected in the most remote quarter of the town.  The three had entered the low, narrow rooms, which were to be their home, with the firm determination not to let themselves be annoyed by such slight material privation as they might have to endure, but to pass them over with cheerful equanimity and proud indifference, consoling themselves with the conviction that no one could rob them of their great and pure love.  And besides this, their honor and their reputation were untouched, for every one was acquainted with Gotzkowsky’s fate, every one knew that he had not fallen through his own fault, but through the force of circumstances, and the baseness of mankind.

He might have cause of complaint against the world, it had none against him.  With his creditors he had been honest.  All that he possessed he had given up to them, and they were all satisfied.  With proud step and unbent head could he pass through the streets, for no one dared to follow him with insulting words.  Nor had he need to be ashamed of his poverty, for it was in itself a proof not only of his unmerited misfortune, but of his integrity.  All this he said and repeated to himself daily, and yet it pained him to go through the streets, feeling solitary and downcast.  His eyes even filled with tears, as one day passing by his house he saw the gates open, and equipages, as in former days, at his door, while genteel and rich people, with cold, apathetic countenances, were entering his house as they had done of yore.  Formerly they came to Gotzkowsky’s splendid dinners, now they had come to the auction.  The fauteuils and velvet-covered sofas, the carpets and gold-embroidered curtains, the chandeliers of bronze and rock crystal, the paintings and statuary, the silver table-ware, and the costly porcelain service, all these were now exposed for sale.