LOVE AND POLITICS.
“At last! at last!” exclaimed Gentz, in a tone of fervid tenderness,
approaching Marianne, who went to meet him with a winning smile. “Do you
know, dearest, that you have driven me to despair for a whole week? Not
a word, not a message from you! Whenever I came to see you, I was turned
away. Always the same terrible reply, ‘Madame is not at home,’ while
I felt your nearness in every nerve and vein of mine, and while my
throbbing heart was under the magic influence of your presence. And then
to be turned away! No reply whatever to my letters, to my ardent prayers
to see you only for a quarter of an hour.”
“Oh, you ungrateful man!” she said, smiling, “did I not send for you
to-day? Did I not give you this rendezvous quite voluntarily?”
“You knew very well that I should have died if your heart had not
softened at last. Oh, heavenly Marianne, what follies despair made me
commit already! In order to forget you, I plunged into all sorts of
pleasures, I commenced new works, I entered upon fresh love-affairs. But
it was all in vain. Amidst those pleasures I was sad; during my working
hours my mind was wandering, and in order to impart a semblance of truth
and tenderness to my protestations of love, I had to close my eyes and
imagine YOU were the lady whom I was addressing-.”
“And then you were successful?” asked Marianne, smiling.
“Yes, then I was successful,” he said, gravely; “but my new lady-love,
the beloved of my distraction and despair, did not suspect that I only
embraced her so tenderly because I kissed in her the beloved of my heart
and of my enthusiasm.”
“And who was the lady whom you call the beloved of your distraction and
despair?” asked Marianne.
“Ah, Marianne, you ask me to betray a woman?”
“No, no; I am glad to perceive that you are a discreet cavalier. You
shall betray no woman. I will tell you her name. The beloved of your
distraction and despair was the most beautiful and charming lady in
Berlin--it was the actress Christel Eughaus. Let me compliment you, my
friend, on having triumphed with that belle over all those sentimental,
lovesick princes, counts, and barons. Indeed, you have improved your
week of ‘distraction and despair’ in the most admirable manner.”
“Still, Marianne, I repeat to you, she was merely my sweetheart for the
time being, and I merely plunged into this adventure in order to forget
you.”
“Then you love me really?” asked Marianne.
“Marianne, I adore you! You know it. Oh, now I may tell you so.
Heretofore you repelled me and would not listen to my protestations of
love because I was a MARRIED man. Now, however, I have got rid of my
ignominious fetters, Marianne; now I am no longer a married man. I am
free, and all the women in the world are at liberty to love me. I am as
free as a bird in the air!”
“And like a bird you want to flit from one heart to another?”
“No, most beautiful, most glorious Marianne; your heart shall be the
cage in which I shall imprison myself.”
“Beware, my friend. What would you say if there was no door in this cage
through which you might escape?”
“Oh, if it had a door, I should curse it.”
“Then you love me so boundlessly as to be ready to sacrifice to me the
liberty you have scarcely regained?”
“Can you doubt it, Marianne?” asked Gentz, tenderly pressing her
beautiful hands to his lips.
“Are you in earnest, my friend?” she said, smiling. “So you offer your
hand to me? You want to marry me?”
Gentz started back, and looked at her with a surprised and frightened
air. Marianne laughed merrily.
“Ah!” she said, “your face is the most wonderful illustration of
Goethe’s poem. You know it, don’t you?” And she recited with ludicrous
pathos the following two lines:
“‘Heirathen, Kind, ist wunderlich Wort,
Hor ich’s, mocht ich gleich wieder fort.’”
“Good Heaven, what a profound knowledge of human nature our great
Goethe has got, and how proud I am to be allowed to call him a friend of
mine--Heirathen, Kind, ist wunderlich Wort.”
“Marianne, you are cruel and unjust, you--”
“And you know the next two lines of the poem?” she interrupted him. “The
maiden replied to him:”
“‘Heirathen wir eben,
Das Ubrige wird sich geben.’”
“You mock me,” exclaimed Gentz, smiling, “and yet you know the maiden’s
assurance would not prove true in our case, and that there is something
rendering such a happiness, the prospect of calling you my wife, an
utter impossibility. Unfortunately, you are no Christian, Marianne.
Hence I cannot marry you.” [Footnote: Marriages between Christians and
Jews were prohibited in the German states at that period.]
“And if I were a Christian?” she asked in a sweet, enchanting voice.
He fixed his eyes with a searching glance upon her smiling, charming
face.
“What!” he asked, in evident embarrassment. “If you were a Christian?
What do you mean, Marianne?”
“I mean, Frederick, that, I have given the highest proof of my love to
the man who loves me so ardently, constantly, and faithfully. For
his sake I have become a Christian, Yesterday I was baptized. Now, my
friend, I ask you once more, I ask you as a Christian woman: Gentz, will
you marry me? Answer me honestly and frankly, my friend! Remember that
it is ‘the beloved of your heart and of your enthusiasm,’ as you called
me yourself a few moments ago, who now stands before you and asks for
a reply. Remember that this moment will be decisive for our
future--speedily, nay, immediately decisive. For you see I have removed
all obstacles. I have become a Christian, and I tell you I am ready to
become your wife in the course of the present hour. Once more, then,
Gentz, will you marry me?”
He had risen and paced the room in great excitement. Marianne followed
him with a lurking glance and a scornful smile, but when he now stepped
back to her, she quickly assumed her serious air.
“Marianne,” he said, firmly, “you want to know the truth, and I love you
too tenderly to conceal it from you. I will not, must not, cannot marry
you. I WILL not, because I am unable to bear once more the fetters of
wedded life. I MUST not, because I should make you unhappy and wretched.
I CANNOT, while, doing so, I should act perfidiously toward a friend of
mine, for you know very well that the Prince von Reuss is my intimate
friend.”
“And _I_ am his mistress. You wished to intimate that to me by your last
words, I suppose?”
“I wished to intimate that he loves you boundlessly, and he is a
generous, magnanimous man, whose heart would break if any one should
take you from him.”
“For the last time, then: you will not marry me?”
“Marianne, I love you too tenderly--I cannot marry you!”
Marianne burst into a fit of laughter. “A strange reason for rejecting
my hand, indeed!” she said. “It is so original that in itself it might
almost induce me to forgive your refusal. And yet I had counted so
firmly and surely upon your love and consent that I had made already
the necessary arrangements in order that our wedding might take
place to-day. Just look at me, Gentz. Do you not see that I wear a
bridal-dress?”
“Your beauty is always a splendid bridal-dress for you, Marianne.”
“Well said! But do you not see a myrtle-wreath, my bridal-wreath, on the
table there? Honi soit qui mal y pense! The priest is already waiting
for the bride and bridegroom in the small chapel, the candles on the
altar are lighted, every thing is ready for the ceremony. Well, we must
not make the priest wait any longer. So you decline being the bridegroom
at the ceremony? Well, attend it, then, as a witness. Will you do so?
Will you assist me as a faithful friend, sign my marriage-contract, and
keep my secret?”
“I am ready to give you any proof of my love and friendship,” said
Gentz, gravely.
“Well, I counted on you,” exclaimed Marianne, smiling, “and, to tell
you the truth, I counted on your refusal to marry me. Come, give me
your arm. I will show you the same chapel which the Prince von Reuss has
caused to be fitted up here in the building of the Austrian embassy.
The servants will see nothing strange in our going there, and I hope,
moreover, that we shall meet with no one on our way thither. At the
chapel we shall perhaps find Prince Henry--that will be a mere accident,
which will surprise no one. Come, assist me in putting on this long
black mantilla which will entirely conceal my white silk dress. The
myrtle-wreath I shall take under my arm so that no one will see it. And
now, come!”
“Yes, let us go,” said Gentz, offering his arm to her. “I see very well
that there is a mystification in store for me, but I shall follow you
wherever you will take me, to the devil or--”
“Or to church,” she said, smiling. “But hush now, so that no one may
hear us.”
They walked silently through the rooms, then down a long corridor,
and after descending a narrow secret staircase, they entered a small
apartment where three gentlemen were waiting for them.
One of them was a Catholic priest in his vestments, the second the
Prince von Reuss, Henry XIII., and the third the first attache of the
Austrian embassy.
The prince approached Marianne, and after taking her hand he saluted
Gentz in the most cordial manner.
“Every thing is ready,” he said; “come, Marianne, let me place the
wreath on your head.”
Marianne took off her mantilla, and, handing the myrtle-wreath to the
prince, she bowed her head, and almost knelt down before him. He took
the wreath and fastened it in her hair, whereupon he beckoned the
attache to hand to him the large casket standing on the table. This
casket contained a small prince’s coronet of exquisite workmanship and
sparkling with the most precious diamonds.
The prince fastened this coronet over Marianne’s wreath, and the
diamonds glistened now like stars over the delicate myrtle-leaves.
“Arise, Marianne,” he then said, loudly. “I have fastened the coronet of
your new dignity in your hair; let us now go to the altar.”
Marianne arose. A strange radiance of triumphant joy beamed in her face;
a deep flush sufused used her cheeks, generally so pale and transparent;
a blissful smile played on her lips. With a proud and sublime glance
at Gentz, who was staring at her, speechless and amazed, she took the
prince’s arm.
The priest led the way, and from the small room they now entered the
chapel of the embassy. On the altar, over which one of Van Dyck’s
splendid paintings was hanging, large wax-tapers were burning in costly
silver chandeliers. On the carpet in front of the altar two small
prie-dieus for Marianne and the prince were placed, and two arm-chairs
for the witnesses stood behind them. Opposite the altar, on the other
side of the chapel, a sort of choir or balcony with an organ had been
fitted up.
But no one was there to play on that organ. All the other chairs and
benches were vacant; the ceremony was to be performed secretly and
quietly.
Gentz saw and observed every thing as though it were a vision, he could
not yet make up his mind that it was a reality; he was confused and
almost dismayed, and did not know whether it was owing to his surprise
at what was going on, or to his vexation at being so badly duped by
Marianne. He believed he was dreaming when he saw Marianne and the
prince kneeling on the prie-dieus, Marianne Meier, the Jewess, at the
right hand of the high-born nobleman, at the place of honor, only to
be occupied by legitimate brides of equal rank; and when he heard the
priest, who stood in front of the altar, pronounce solemn words of
exhortation and benediction, and finally ask the kneeling bride and
bridegroom to vow eternal love and fidelity to each other. Both uttered
the solemn “Yes” at the same time, the prince quietly and gravely,
Marianne hastily and in a joyful voice. The priest thereupon gave
them the benediction, and the ceremony was over. The whole party then
returned to the anteroom serving as a sacristy. They silently received
the congratulations of the priest and the witnesses. The attache then
took a paper from his memorandum-book; it contained the minutes of the
ceremony, which he had drawn up already in advance. Marianne and the
prince signed it; the witnesses and the priest did the same, the latter
adding the church seal to his signature. It was now a perfectly valid
certificate of their legitimate marriage, which the prince handed to
Marianne, and for which she thanked him with a tender smile.
“You are now my legitimate wife,” said the Prince von Reuss, gravely;
“I wish to give you this proof of my love and esteem, and I return my
thanks to these gentlemen for having witnessed the ceremony; you might
some day stand in need of their testimony. For the time being, however,
I have cogent reasons for keeping our marriage secret, and you have
promised not to divulge it.”
“And I renew my promise at this sacred place and in the presence of the
priest and our witnesses, my dear husband,” said Marianne. “No one shall
hear from me a word or even an intimation of what has occurred here.
Before the world I shall be obediently and patiently nothing but your
mistress until you deem it prudent to acknowledge that I am your wife.”
“I shall do so at no distant day,” said the prince. “And you, gentlemen,
will you promise also, will you pledge me your word of honor that you
will faithfully keep our secret?”
“We promise it upon our honor!” exclaimed the two gentlemen.
The prince bowed his thanks. “Let us now leave the chapel separately,
just as we have come,” he said; “if we should withdraw together, it
would excite the attention and curiosity of the servants, some of whom
might meet us in the hall. Come, baron, you will accompany me.” He took
the attache’s arm, and left the small sacristry with him. “And you will
accompany me,” said Marianne, kindly nodding to Gentz.
“And I shall stay here for the purpose of praying for the bride and
bridegroom,” muttered the priest, returning to the altar.
Marianne now hastily took the coronet and myrtle-wreath from her hair
and concealed both under the black mantilla which Gentz gallantly laid
around her shoulders.
They silently reascended the narrow staircase and returned through the
corridor to Marianne’s rooms. Upon reaching her boudoir, Marianne doffed
her mantilla with an indescribable air of triumphant joy, and laid the
coronet and myrtle-wreath on the table.
“Well,” she asked in her sonorous, impressive voice, “what do you say
now, my tender Gentz?”
He had taken his hat, and replied with a deep bow: “I have to say that
I bow to your sagacity and talents. That was a master-stroke of yours,
dearest.”
“Was it not?” she asked, triumphantly. “The Jewess, hitherto despised
and ostracized by society, has suddenly become a legitimate princess;
she has now the power to avenge all sneers, all derision, all contempt
she has had to undergo. Oh, how sweet this revenge will be--how I shall
humble all those haughty ladies who dared to despise me, and who will be
obliged henceforth to yield the place of honor to me!”
“And will you revenge yourself upon me too, Marianne?” asked Gentz,
humbly--“upon me who dared reject your hand? But no, you must always be
grateful to me for that refusal of mine. Just imagine I had compelled
you to stick to your offer: instead of being a princess, you would now
be the unhappy wife of the poor military counsellor, Frederick Gentz.”
Marianne laughed. “You are right,” she said, “I am grateful to you for
it. But, my friend, you must not and shall not remain the poor military
counsellor Gentz.”
“God knows that that is not my intention either,” exclaimed Gentz,
laughing. “God has placed a capital in my head, and you may be sure that
I shall know how to invest it at a good rate of interest.”
“But here you will obtain no such interest,” said Marianne, eagerly,
“let us speak sensibly about that matter. We have paid our tribute to
love and friendship; let us now talk about politics I am authorized--and
she who addresess you now is no longer Marianne Meier, but the wife of
the Austrian ambassador--I am authorized to make an important offer to
you. Come, my friend, sit down in the arm-chair here, and let us hold a
diplomatic conference.”
“Yes, let us do so,” said Gentz, smiling, and taking the seat she had
indicated to him.
“Friend Gentz, what are your hopes for the future?”
“A ponderous question, but I shall try to answer it as briefly as
possible. I am in hopes of earning fame, honor, rank, influence, and a
brilliant position by my talents.”
“And you believe you can obtain all that here in Prussia?”
“I hope so,” said Gentz, hesitatingly.
“You have addressed a memorial to the young king; you have urged him to
give to his subjects prosperity, happiness, honor, and freedom of the
press. How long is it since you sent that memorial to him?”
“Four weeks to-day.”
“Four weeks, and they have not yet rewarded you for your glorious
memorial, although the whole Prussian nation hailed it with the most
rapturous applause? They have not yet thought of appointing you to
a position worthy of your talents? You have not yet been invited to
court?”
“Yes, I was invited to court. The queen wished to become acquainted with
me. Gualtieri presented me to her, and her majesty said very many
kind and flattering things to me.” [Footnote: Varnhagen, “Gallerie von
Bildnissen,” etc., vol. ii.]
“Words, empty words, my friend! Their actions are more eloquent. The
king has not sent for you, the king has not thanked you. The king does
not want your advice, and as if to show to yourself, and to all those
who have received your letter so enthusiastically, that he intends to
pursue his own path and not to listen to such advice, the king, within
the last few days, has addressed a decree to the criminal court,
peremptorily ordering the prosecuting attorneys to proceed rigorously
against the publishers of writings not submitted to or rejected by the
censors.” [Footnote: F. Foerster, “Modern History of Prussia,” vol. i.,
p. 498.]
“That cannot be true--that is impossible!” exclaimed Gentz, starting up.
“I pardon your impetuosity in consideration of your just indignation,”
said Marianne, smiling. “That I told you the truth, however, you
will see in to-morrow’s Gazette, which will contain the royal decree
I alluded to. Oh, you know very well the Austrian ambassador has good
friends everywhere, who furnish him the latest news, and keep him
informed of all such things. You need not hope, therefore, that the
young king will make any use of your talents or grant you any favors.
Your splendid memorial has offended him instead of winning him; he
thought it was altogether too bold. Frederick William the Third is not
partial to bold, eccentric acts; he instinctively shrinks back from all
violent reforms. The present King of Prussia will not meddle with the
great affairs of the world; the King of Prussia wishes to remain neutral
amidst the struggle of contending parties. Instead of thinking of war
and politics, he devotes his principal attention to the church service
and examination of the applicants for holy orders, and yet he is not
even courageous enough formally to abolish Wollner’s bigoted edict,
and thus to make at least one decisive step forward. Believe
me, lukewarmness and timidity will characterize every act of his
administration. So you had better go to Austria.”
“And what shall I do in Austria?” asked Gentz, thoughtfully.
“What shall you do there?” exclaimed Marianne, passionately. “You shall
serve the fatherland--you shall serve Germany, for Germany is in Austria
just as well as in Prussia. Oh, believe me, my friend, only in Austria
will you find men strong and bold enough to brave the intolerable
despotism of the French. And the leading men there will welcome you most
cordially; an appropriate sphere will be allotted to your genius, and
the position to which you will be appointed will amply satisfy the
aspirations of your ambition. I am officially authorized to make this
offer to you, for Austria is well aware that, in the future, she stands
in need of men of first-class ability, and she therefore desires to
secure your services, which she will reward in a princely manner.
Come, my friend, I shall set out to-day with the prince on a journey to
Austria. Accompany us--become one of ours!”
“Ours! Are you, then, no longer a daughter of Prussia?”
“I have become a thorough and enthusiastic Austrian, for I worship
energy and determination, and these qualities I find only in Austria,
in the distinguished man who is holding the helm of her ship of state,
Baron Thugut. Come with us; Thugut is anxious to have you about his
person; accompany us to him.”
“And what are you going to do in Vienna?” asked Gentz, evasively. “Is it
a mere pleasure-trip?”
“If another man should put that question to me, I should reply in the
affirmative, but to you I am going to prove by my entire sincerity
that I really believe you to be a devoted friend of mine. No, it is no
pleasure-trip. I accompany the prince to Vienna because he wants to get
there instructions from Baron Thugut and learn what is to be done at
Rastadt.”
“Ah, at Rastadt--at the peace congress,” exclaimed Gentz. “The emperor
has requested the states of the empire to send plenipotentiaries to
Rastadt to negotiate there with France a just and equitable peace.
Prussia has already sent there her plenipotentiaries, Count Goertz and
Baron Dohm. Oh, I should have liked to accompany them and participate in
performing the glorious task to be accomplished there. That congress at
Rastadt is the last hope of Germany; if it should fail, all prospects of
a regeneration of the empire are gone. That congress will at last give
to the nation all it needs: an efficient organization of the empire,
a well-regulated administration of justice, protection of German
manufactures against British arrogance, and last, but not least, freedom
of the press, for which the Germans have been yearning for so many
years.”
Marianne burst into a loud fit of laughter. “Oh, you enthusiastic
visionary!” she said, “but let us speak softly, for even the walls must
not hear what I am now going to tell you.”
She bent over the table, drawing nearer to Gentz, and fixing her large,
flaming eyes upon him, she asked in a whisper, “I suppose you love
Germany? You would not like to see her devoured by France as Italy was
devoured by her? You would not like either to see her go to decay and
crumble to pieces from inherent weakness?”
“Oh, I love Germany!” said Gentz, enthusiastically. “All my wishes,
all my hopes belong to her. Would to God I could say some day, all my
talents, my energy, my perseverance are devoted to my fatherland--to
Germany!”
“Well, if you really desire to be useful to Germany,” whispered
Marianne, “hasten to Rastadt. If Germany is to be saved at all, it
must be done at once. You know the stipulations of the treaty of Campo
Formio, I suppose?”
“I only know what every one knows about them.”
“But you do not know the secret article. I will tell you all about
it. Listen to me. The secret article accepted by the emperor reads as
follows: ‘The emperor pledges himself to withdraw his troops from Mentz,
Ehrenbreitstein, Mannheim, Konigstein, and from the German empire in
general, twenty days after the ratification of the peace, which has
to take place in the course of two months.’” [Footnote: Schlosser’s
“History of the Eighteenth Century,” vol. v., p. 43.]
“But he thereby delivers the empire to the tender mercies of the enemy,”
exclaimed Gentz, in dismay. “Oh, that cannot be! No German could grant
and sign such terms without sinking into the earth from shame. That
would be contrary to every impulse of patriotism--”
“Nevertheless, that article has been signed and will be carried out to
the letter. Make haste, therefore, Germany is calling you; assist her,
you have got the strength. Oh, give it to her! Become an Austrian just
as Brutus became a servant of the kings; become an Austrian in order to
save Germany!”
“Ah, you want to entice me, Delilah!” exclaimed Gentz. “You want to show
me a beautiful goal in order to make me walk the tortuous paths which
may lead thither! No, Delilah, it is in vain! I shall stay here; I shall
not go to Austria, for Austria is the state that is going to betray
Germany. Prussia may be able to save her; she stands perhaps in need of
my arm, my pen, and my tongue for that purpose. I am a German, but first
of all I am a Prussian, and every good patriot ought first to serve his
immediate country, and wait until she calls him. I still hope that the
king will prove the right man for his responsible position; I still
expect that he will succeed in rendering Prussia great and Germany free.
I must, therefore, remain a Prussian as yet and be ready to serve my
country.”
“Poor enthusiast! You will regret some day having lost your time by
indulging in visionary hopes.”
“Well, I will promise, whenever that day comes, whenever Prussia
declares that she does not want my services, then I will come to
you--then you shall enlist me for Austria, and perhaps I may then still
be able to do something for Germany. But until then, leave me here. I
swear to you, not a word of what you have just told me here shall be
betrayed by my lips; but I cannot serve him who has betrayed Germany.”
“You cannot be induced, then, to accept my offer? You want to stay here?
You refuse to accompany me to Vienna, to Rastadt, in order to save what
may yet be saved for Germany?”
“If I had an army under my command,” exclaimed Gentz, with flaming eyes,
“if I were the King of Prussia, then I should assuredly go to Rastadt,
but I should go thither for the purpose of dispersing all those
hypocrites, cowards, and scribblers who call themselves statesmen, and
of driving those French republicans who put on such disgusting airs,
and try to make us believe they had a perfect right to meddle with the
domestic affairs of Germany--beyond the Rhine! I should go thither
for the purpose of garrisoning the fortresses of the Rhine--which the
Emperor of Germany is going to surrender to the tender mercies of the
enemy--with my troops, and of defending them against all foes from
without or from within. That would be my policy if I were King of
Prussia. But being merely the poor military counsellor, Frederick Gentz,
and having nothing but some ability and a sharp pen, I shall stay here
and wait to see whether or not Prussia will make use of my ability and
of my pen. God save Germany and protect her from her physicians who are
concocting a fatal draught for her at Rastadt: God save Germany!”
FRANCE AND GERMANY.