THE OATH AT THE GRAVE OF FREDERICK THE GREAT.
The wishes of the queen had rapidly been fulfilled; public opinion had
declared in Berlin with rare energy and emphasis against France, and the
people had received the news of the violation of Prussia’s neutrality
with a unanimous cry of rage and horror. The inhabitants of Berlin,
usually so peaceable and addicted to pleasure, seemed all at once
transformed into heroes grave and eager for war, who no longer knew any
other aim than to avenge as speedily as possible the insult offered to
them, and to call France to account for the outrage she had committed
against Prussia.
“War! war!” That was the word of jubilee and supplication now resounding
on every street, and in every house; like one exulting prayer of the
whole nation, it rose to the windows of the royal palace, and seemed
to rap gently at them, so that the king might open them and let it
penetrate into his heart.
The people spoke everywhere of this one great affair; they asked each
other, in conversation: “Shall we take up arms? Shall we declare war
against France?”
Those who answered these questions in the negative were treated in the
most contemptuous manner; the people turned their backs on them, with
angry glances and threatening murmurs: to those, however, who replied in
the affirmative, they offered their hands joyfully and greeted them as
friends and allies.
Minister von Haugwitz was known to be an adherent of the French and
an opponent of the war; the people rushed to his house and broke his
windows, shouting loudly and angrily, “We do not want peace! Let all the
French and friends of the French perish!”
Minister von Hardenberg, on the other hand, was hailed by the people
with the most enthusiastic applause wherever he made his appearance; and
on their return from the house of Minister von Haugwitz, they hurried to
Hardenberg’s humble residence in order to cheer him and to shout, “War!
war! We want war with France!”
Not only the people in the streets, however, but also the best classes
of the public participated in this general enthusiasm, and did not
hesitate to give vent to it in public. Even the royal functionaries
found suddenly sufficient energy to show themselves as German patriots,
and it was certainly not unintentional that “Wallenstein’s Camp,” by
Schiller, was to be performed at the Royal Theatre during those days of
general excitement.
Everybody wished to attend this performance; all Berlin rushed to the
Royal Theatre, and the fortunate persons who had succeeded in obtaining
tickets were envied by the thousands unable to gain admission. The
theatre was crowded; the pit was a surging sea, the gallery was filled
to suffocation, and in the boxes of the first and second tiers the
aristocratic, elegant, educated, and learned world of all Berlin seemed
to have met. All faces were glowing, all lips were smiling, all eyes
were sparkling; every one was aware that this was to be a political
demonstration, and every one was happy and proud to participate in it.
When Prince Louis Ferdinand made his appearance in the small royal
proscenium-box, all eyes turned immediately toward him, and when he bent
forward from his box, and seemed to greet the audience with his merry
eyes and winning smile, there arose a storm of applause as though a
favorite singer had just concluded an aria di bravura and received the
thanks of the enraptured listeners. Suddenly, however, the loud applause
died away, perhaps because the prince had waved his hands as if he
wished to calm this roaring sea--perhaps because the attention of the
audience was attracted by somebody else. The eyes of the crowd turned
from the prince toward an adjoining box. Four gentlemen, in brilliant
uniforms, had just entered it; but these uniforms were not those of the
Prussian army, and the broad ribbons which these gentlemen wore across
their breasts, were not the ribbons of Prussian orders. The newcomers,
who had entered the box, were the members of the French embassy--General
Lefevre, with his attaches, and General Duroc, whom Napoleon had
recently again sent to Berlin in order to strengthen the friendly
relations of France and Prussia. It was certainly a mere accident that
Prince Louis Ferdinand, just at the moment when these gentlemen
intended to salute him, turned to the opposite side, and did not see and
acknowledge their greetings; it was certainly a mere accident that the
audience, which had just now shouted and applauded jubilantly, all at
once commenced hissing loudly.
The members of the French embassy took good care not to refer this
hissing to themselves; they took their seats quietly near the balustrade
of the box, and seemed to take no notice of the loud murmurs and the
threatening glances of the audience.
The band now struck up the overture. It was a skilfully arranged medley
of well-known popular war-songs, interlarded with the Dessauer and
Hohenfriedberger march, as if the enthusiasm of the audience were to be
carried to the highest pitch by brilliant reminiscences of the heroic
deeds and imperishable glory of Prussia.
All at once a joyful murmur spread through the pit, the boxes, and
the gallery. “The king, the queen!” whispered everybody, and all those
hundreds of faces turned toward the small proscenium-box which the royal
couple had just entered.
The queen, radiantly beautiful, with rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes,
greeted the audience with an enchanting smile; the king, whose brow
seemed unusually gloomy and clouded, cast only a hesitating and anxious
glance over the house, and then withdrew behind the crimson curtain of
the box.
The stage-curtain rose; the performance commenced. The audience followed
it with the most ardent sympathy; every word referring to the liberty
and independence of Germany, was hailed with thunders of applause,
and jubilant shouts resounded at every allusion to foreign tyranny and
despotism. The actors had now reached the last part of the piece, the
merry, soul-stirring horseman’s song concluding the whole. “WOHLAUF,
KAMERADEN AUF’S PFER, AUF’S PFERD!” sang the chorus on the stage,
and the audience followed every verse, every line, with breathless
attention. All at once people looked in great surprise at each other,
and then listened with the utmost suspense to the singers, who had
added to the merry horseman’s song a verse which had not been heard
heretofore. And when the last words of this verse had died away, the
whole audience shouted and roared, “DA CAPO! DA CAPO!” In the pit, in
the boxes, in the gallery, in short, every one rose to their feet, and
all eyes again turned to the box in which the members of the French
embassy were seated, and thus, standing, in a jubilant tone and with
threatening glances, the whole audience joined the chorus of the actors
on the stage; for they knew already the words of the additional verse by
heart, and sang in a thundering voice:
“Wohlauf, Kameraden, zur Schlacht, zum Krieg,
In’s Feld, in die Freibeit gezogen.
Zur blutigeu Schlacht, zum rachenden Sieg
Uber den, der uns Freundsehaft gelogen!
Und Tod und Verderhen dem falschen Mann,
Der treulos den Frieden brechen kann!”
[Footnote: “On, comrades, to battle, to war--let us march into the field
and fight for liberty! To bloody battle, to avenging victory over him
who has lied friendship to us! And death and destruction to the false
man who has perfidiously broken the peace!”
This whole scene is strictly in accordance with history; and the
additional verse, if not literally the same, renders at least the
sentiment of the lines which were sung on that memorable evening.--Vide
“Memoires d’un Homme d’Etat,” vol. viii., p. 496, and “Napoleon; a
Memoir,” by--, vol. ii., p. 73.]
And the audience repeated once more the last two lines
“Und Tod und Verderben dem falschen Mann, Der treulos den Frieden
brechen kann!”
All eyes then turned to the royal box. The king was still hidden
behind the small curtain. The queen had risen. Folding her hands, as
if praying, she had raised her eyes to heaven, and two tears ran slowly
down her cheeks.
Prince Louis Ferdinand bent toward Minister von Hardenberg, who had just
entered his box. “Do you see the queen?” he said, in a low voice. “Does
she not look really like a genius praying for Prussia?”
“Ah, and, perhaps, weeping for Prussia!” whispered Hardenberg--“But let
us not give way now to gloomy anticipations. I am the bearer of good and
unexpected news. Listen to me. The king and the queen will rise in a few
minutes in order to leave the box, and who knows whether the audience
will be patient and calm enough to witness the whole ballet, which is
just commencing? I see some of my agents already below in the pit, where
they have made their appearance in order to circulate my news.”
“I beseech your excellency, be here your own agent, and communicate the
news to me.”
Minister Hardenberg bent closer to the prince’s ear. “I suppose you know
that, thanks to the influence of the queen, I have induced the king
to sign a tolerably warlike and threatening note to the Emperor of the
French?”
“But will this note really be forwarded to Napoleon?”
“It has already been forwarded. But I had sent also a messenger to the
Emperor of Russia with a copy of this note, and the emperor, it seems,
has understood my mission, for--But, just look, my prophecy commences
being fulfilled. The king and the queen rise and leave their box; and
notice, too, the migration beginning in the pit, and among the occupants
of the orchestra-stalls. The beautiful ballet-girls will soon dance
before empty benches.”
“But do not let me die with curiosity, your excellency. Tell me at
length what has occurred.”
“A surprise, prince. The Emperor Alexander will reach Berlin within an
hour!”
“Are you not jesting? Do you speak in earnest?”
“In dead earnest, prince. The emperor comprehends that the favorable
hour must be improved, and he comes in order to conquer the friendship
of Frederick William, and to overcome his indecision, so that they may
then vanquish the French invader with their united forces. The emperor
is a very sagacious man, and being half a German, he knows doubtless the
German proverb, ‘Strike while the iron is hot.’ Our noble queen, with
both of us and our excellent people, will help the emperor to strike
the iron. Look, the people commence striking already. They rush from the
theatre in order to receive the Emperor Alexander at the gate, and to
cheer him while he is riding to the palace. Let us follow the example of
the people of Berlin. Let us go to receive the Emperor Alexander--if
it please God, our ally--at the gate.” [Footnote: The Emperor Alexander
arrived in Berlin quite unexpectedly on October 23, 1805; the courier
who had announced his arrival had reached the Prussian capital only a
few hours previously.]
Hardenberg’s predictions were to be fulfilled this time. Thanks to the
powerful allies who were fighting for his policy and for Prussia, the
king summoned up sufficient courage to take a decisive resolution. Those
allies of Hardenberg and Prussia were now not only the queen, Prince
Louis Ferdinand, and public opinion, but they were joined by the Emperor
Alexander, who had arrived from Poland, and the Archduke Anthony, whom
the Emperor of Austria had sent to Berlin at the same time for the
purpose of winning the friendship of the king. But still another ally
suddenly and unexpectedly entered the lists for Hardenberg’s policy
and for the coalition, and this ally was the good fortune and genius of
Napoleon.
Dreadful tidings reached Berlin simultaneously with the arrival of
Archduke Anthony. Napoleon had gained another victory; he had defeated
the Austrians at Ulm; [Footnote: October 20, 1805] twenty-three thousand
Austrians had laid down their arms at the feet of the Emperor of the
French, and then started as prisoners of war for France. Surrounded by a
brilliant staff, Napoleon made the humiliated, vanquished Austrians
file off before him, between the French army, which was drawn up in two
lines. When they laid down their arms, and when this flashing pile rose
higher and higher, Napoleon’s face, which, amidst the hail of bullets
and the dangers of the battle, had preserved its marble, antique
calmness, became radiant, as if lighted up by a sunbeam, and he turned
with a gracious smile toward the Austrian generals and officers, who
approached him humbly and with lowered heads, in order to thank him for
giving them permission to return to Austria, and for not compelling them
to accompany their soldiers as prisoners of war to France.
But this smile disappeared rapidly from the emperor’s countenance, which
now became threatening and angry. In a voice rolling like thunder
over the heads of the humiliated Austrians, the emperor said: “It is a
misfortune that men so brave as you, whose names are honorably
mentioned wherever you have fought, should now become the victims of
the stupidities of a cabinet which only dreams of senseless schemes,
and does not hesitate to endanger the dignity of the state and of
the nation. It was an unheard-of proceeding to seize me by the throat
without a declaration of war; but it is a crime against one’s own people
to bring about a foreign invasion; it is betraying Europe, to draw
Asiatic hordes into our combats. Instead of attacking me without any
good reason whatever, the Austrian cabinet ought to have united with
me for the purpose of expelling the Russian army from Germany. This
alliance of your cabinet is something unheard of in history; it cannot
be the work of the statesmen of your nation; it is, in short, the
alliance of the dogs and shepherds with the wolf against the sheep. Had
France succumbed in this struggle, you would have speedily perceived
the mistake you have committed.” [Footnote: “Memoires du Duc de Rovigo,”
vol. 11., p. 159.]
Such were the tidings which Archduke Anthony had brought with him from
Vienna; such was the new ally Hardenberg had won for his policy and for
Prussia.
This new victory, this new conquest Napoleon had made in Germany, loomed
up before the king as a danger which menaced himself, and compelled
him to take up arms for his own defence. The threatening and defiant
language of the French emperor sounded truly revolting to the heart
of the German king, and instead of being intimidated by this new and
unparalleled triumph, by this threatening language Napoleon had made use
of, he was only provoked to offer him resistance; he perceived all at
once that he could only be the servant and slave of this powerful man,
or his enemy, and that Napoleon never would tolerate any one as an equal
at his side. What were those three German princes who had found three
crowns on the battle-field of Ulm? Those new Kings of Wurtemberg and
Bavaria, that Grand-duke of Baden, were only vassals and servants of the
Emperor of France, who had first given, and then PERMITTED them to wear
these crowns.
King Frederick William needed no such crown. A genius stood at his side
and breathed with a heavenly smile into his ear: “It is better to die
in an honorable struggle for freedom than to live in splendor and
magnificence, but with a stain on your honor.”
And the king listened to the voice of his genius: he listened to the
voice of his minister, who implored him to defend the integrity of his
state for the sake of the honor and welfare of Prussia and Germany;
he listened to the voice of his people, who demanded war loudly and
ardently; he listened to the voice of the Emperor Alexander, who vowed
to him eternal love and eternal friendship; he listened, finally, to the
voice of his own heart, which was the heart of a true German, and felt
deeply the insult offered to him.
King Frederick William listened to all these voices, and resolved at
length on war against France.
On the 3d of November the Emperor Alexander and King Frederick William
signed at Potsdam a SECRET treaty, by which Prussia agreed to intervene
between Napoleon and the allies. By virtue of this treaty Prussia was to
summon the Emperor of the French to reestablish the former treaties,
and to restore the former state of affairs; that is to say, to give
up almost all his conquests, to indemnify Sardinia, to recognize
the independence of Naples, of the German empire, of Holland, of
Switzerland, and to separate the crown of Italy from that of France. If
France should not consent to these conditions, Prussia agreed to ally
herself openly and unreservedly with the coalition, and take the field
with an army of 180,000 men. A Prussian negotiator was to lay these
conditions before the Emperor Napoleon, and the term at which Prussia
should be obliged to act should expire four weeks after the date of the
treaty. [Footnote: Hausser’s “History of Germany,” vol. ii., p. 652.]
The king, who, in his kindness, was anxious to indemnify Minister von
Haugwitz for the coldness with which he had been latterly treated, and
for his broken windows, had commissioned him to deliver a copy of the
treaty of Potsdam to Napoleon, and to negotiate with him. Haugwitz,
therefore, left Berlin in order to repair to the emperor’s headquarters.
It is true, he did not know exactly where to find them, but he was
satisfied that Napoleon would take care to make his whereabouts known
to him by fresh deeds of heroism and victories, and Count Haugwitz,
therefore, set out.
According to the wishes of the King of Prussia, the treaty of Potsdam,
for some time at least, was to be kept secret; only those immediately
concerned should be informed of its contents, but not the public
generally, and no one was to suspect that Prussia had at length given up
her policy of neutrality.
This secrecy, however, was distasteful to the Emperor Alexander;
moreover, it made Minister von Hardenberg fear lest the king, at the
decisive moment, might be once more gained over to his former favorite
policy of neutrality by the French party at court. It would be wise,
therefore, to force the king so far forward as to render it impossible
for him to recede, and to betray so much of the secret of the concluded
alliance as was required to fasten the king to it.
Hence, the emperor, at the hour of his departure for Austria, requested
the Queen and King of Prussia to accompany him to the grave of
Frederick the Great. At midnight, on the 5th of November, they repaired,
therefore, to the garrison church at Potsdam, the lower vault of which
contains the coffin of the great king. A single torch-bearer accompanied
the three august visitors, whose steps resounded solemnly in the silent,
gloomy halls.
Arriving at the king’s coffin, the emperor knelt down; his face, lighted
up by the glare of the torch, was radiant with enthusiasm. On the other
side of the dark vault stood the king and the queen, both with folded
hands; the king with a gloomy and reserved air, the queen with her eyes
turned to heaven, and her face beaming with pious emotion and joy.
Alexander, still remaining on his knees, now raised his folded hands
toward heaven. “At the grave of the most heroic king,” he said in a loud
and solemn voice--“at the grave of Frederick the Great, I swear to my
ally, the King of Prussia, an oath of everlasting love and constancy;
I swear an oath of everlasting constancy and love to the sacred cause
which has united us for the most exalted purpose. Never shall my
constancy waver; never shall my love grow cold! I swear it!”
He kissed the coffin and rose from his knees; his eyes, glistening with
tears, then turned toward the king, as he said:
“It is your turn now, my brother, to swear the oath.”
The king hesitated.
The queen laid her hand gently on his shoulder, and bent her beautiful
face so close to him that he felt her breath, like the kiss of an angel,
on his cheek.
“Swear the oath, my friend, my beloved,” she whispered; “swear to
be faithful to the holy alliance against the French tyrant; swear
everlasting constancy and love to our noble ally.”
The king hesitated no longer; he raised his head resolutely and
approached the coffin. Laying his hand upon it, he repeated in a grave
and calm voice the words which the queen had uttered before, and which
she now whispered with trembling lips.
All three then grasped each other’s hands over the coffin; thus they
stood a long while, deeply moved and silent.
All at once this silence was interrupted by the loud, ringing notes of
the church clock, announcing the first hour of the new day. The sounds
died away, and the chime of the bells now commenced playing in clear and
sweet notes the old German hymn, “Ueb immer Treu und Redlichkeit, bis
an dein kuhles Grab!” [Footnote: Holty’s beautiful hymn, “Be honest and
faithful until they lay thee in thy cool grave.”]
The king inclined his head, as if in silent prayer; an almost
imperceptible, strange smile overspread the noble features of the
emperor. The queen, however, glowing with enthusiasm, exclaimed:
“God and the spirit of Frederick the Great give us the motto of our
alliance: ‘Ueb immer Treu und Redlichkeit, bis an dein kuhles Grab!’ Let
us remember it as long as we live!”
“Let us remember it,” repeated the two sovereigns, with a firm, manly
grasp. They looked at each other, and with their eyes bade each other a
last farewell.
Then they turned silently away and left the royal vault.
Five minutes later, the Emperor Alexander of Russia was on his way to
Olmutz, in order to join there the Emperor Francis of Austria, who had
fled thither from Napoleon and his victorious army.
At Olmutz the plan for the campaign of the third coalition against
Napoleon was to be agreed upon.
THE FALL OF THE GERMAN EMPIRE.