PRUSSIA’S DECLARATION OF WAR.
King Frederick William III. had not yet left his cabinet to-day. He had
retired thither early in the morning in order to work. Maps, plans of
battles, and open books lay on the tables, and the king sat in their
midst with a musing, careworn air.
A gentle rap at the door aroused him from his meditations. The king
raised his head and listened. The rap was repeated.
“It is Louisa,” he said to himself, and a smile overspread his features
as he hastened to the door and opened it.
He had not been mistaken. It was the queen who stood before the door.
Smiling, graceful, and merry as ever, she entered the cabinet and gave
her hand to her husband.
“Are you angry with me, my dear friend, because I have disturbed you?”
she asked, tenderly. “But, it seemed to me, you had worked enough for
the state to-day and might devote a quarter of an hour to your Louisa.
You know whenever I do not see you in the morning, my day lacks its
genuine sunshine, and is gray and gloomy. For this reason, as you have
not yet come to me to-day, I come to you. Good-morning, my king and
husband!”
“Good-morning, my queen!” said the king, imprinting a kiss on the white,
transparent forehead of the queen. “Add to it, good-day, my dear Louisa,
for a wish from so beautiful and noble lips I hope will exorcise all
evil spirits, and cause this day to become a really good one. I hope
much from it.”
The king’s forehead, which the queen’s appearance had smoothed a little,
became clouded again, and he assumed a grave and sombre air.
The queen saw it, and gently placed her hand on his shoulder.
“You are downcast, my friend,” she said, affectionately. “Will you not
let me have my share of your grief? Is not your wife entitled to it?
Or will you cruelly deprive me of what is my right? Speak to me, my
husband. Let me share your grief. Confide to me what is the meaning of
those clouds on your noble brow, and what absorbs your soul to such an
extent that you even forgot me and your children, and deprived us of
your kind morning greeting.”
But even these tender words of the queen were unable to light up the
king’s forehead; he avoided meeting her beautiful, lustrous eyes, which
were fixed on him inquiringly, and averted his head.
“Government affairs,” he said, gravely. “Nothing interesting and worthy
of being communicated to my queen. Let us not embitter thereby the happy
minutes of your presence. Let us sit down.”
The queen knew her husband’s peculiarities to perfection. She knew that
no one was allowed to contradict him whenever he assumed this
forbidding tone, and that it was best then not to take any notice of his
moroseness, or, if possible, to dispel it.
She, therefore, followed him silently to the sofa and sat down, inviting
him, with a charming smile, to take a seat by her side.
The king did so, and Louisa leaned her head tenderly against his
shoulder. “How sweet it is to lean one’s weak head against the breast of
a strong man!” she said. “It seems to me, as long as I am near you, no
misfortune can befall me, and I cling to you trustingly and happily,
like the ivy covering the strong oak.”
“The comparison is not correct,” said the king. “Ivy does not bloom, nor
is it fragrant. But you are a peerless rose, the queen of flowers!”
“What! my king condescends to flatter me?” said the queen, laughing
merrily, while she raised her head from the king’s shoulder and looked
archly at him. “But, my king, your comparison is not correct either.
Roses have thorns, and wound whosoever touches them. But I would not
pain and wound you for all the riches of the world! Were I a rose, I
should shake off all my fragrant leaves to make of them a pillow on
which your noble head should repose from the toils and vexations of the
day, and on which you should find dreams of a happy future.”
“Only DREAMS of a happy future,” said Frederick William, musingly. “You
may be right; our hopes for a happy future may be but a dream.”
“No,” exclaimed the queen, raising her radiant eyes toward heaven, “I
firmly believe in the happiness of our future; I believe and know that
God has selected you, the most generous and guiltless of princes, to
break the arrogance of that daring tyrant, who would like to chain the
whole world to his despotic yoke, and who, in his ambitious thirst after
conquest, raises his hands against the crowns of all the sovereigns.
YOUR crown he shall not touch! It is the rock on which his power will
be wrecked, and at the feet of which his proud waves will be broken.
Prussia will avenge the disgrace of Germany; I am sure of it, and for
this reason I am so happy and confident since you, my king and husband,
have cast off the mask of that false friendship for the tyrant, and have
shown him your open, angry, and hostile face. A heavy cloud weighed
down my heart so long as we still continued mediating, occupying neutral
ground, trying to maintain peace, and hoping to derive advantages from
that man so devoid of honesty, sincerity, and fidelity.”
“Still, who knows whether I was right, after all, in taking such a
course!” sighed the king. “Peace is a very precious thing, and the
people need it for their prosperity.”
“But your people do not want peace!” exclaimed the queen. “They are
enthusiastic and clamorous for war, and long for nothing so much as to
see an end put to this deplorable incertitude. You have now caused
your army to be placed on the war footing, and all faces have already
brightened up, and all hearts feel encouraged; announce to your people
that you will declare war against the usurper, and all Prussia will rise
jubilantly and hasten to the battlefield, as if it were a festival of
victory.”
“You refer to the army, but not to the people,” said the king. “It is
true, the army is ready for the fray, and it is satisfied also that it
will conquer. But who can tell whether it may not be mistaken? It
is long since we have waged war, while the armies of Napoleon are
experienced and skilled, and ready to take the field at any moment.”
“The army of Frederick the Great, the army of my king has nothing
to fear from the hordes of the barbarian!” exclaimed the queen, with
flaming eyes.
The king shrugged his shoulders. “I stand in need of allies,” he said;
“alone I am not able to sustain such a struggle. If the courts of
Northern Germany should comply with my invitation, if they should ally
themselves with me, finally, if Austria should accept my proposition and
unite with me, in that case I should hope for success. All this will
be decided to-day, for I am now looking for the return of two important
envoys--for the return of Hardenberg, who has delivered my propositions
in Vienna, and for the return of Lombard, whom I have sent to the
smaller German courts to offer them an offensive and defensive alliance
in opposition to Napoleon’s Confederation of the Rhine. I confess to
you, Louisa, I await their replies tremblingly; I cannot think of any
thing else; this feeling has haunted me all day, and now you know why
I even forgot to greet you this morning. I intended not to betray
the uneasiness filling my heart, but who is able to withstand such an
enchantress as you? Now you know every thing!”
“And do you know already the new misdeed which the tyrant has
committed?” asked the queen. “Do you know that he is ruling and
commanding on German soil as if Germany were nothing but a French
province, and all princes nothing but his vassals? In a time of peace
he has caused a German citizen to be dragged from his house; in a German
state he has ordered a court-martial to meet, and this court-martial has
dared to pass sentence of death upon a German citizen merely because
he, a German bookseller, had circulated a pamphlet deploring Germany’s
degradation!”
“I have already known it for three days,” said the king, gloomily. “I
concealed it from you in order not to grieve you.”
“But public opinion now-a-days conceals nothing,” exclaimed Louisa,
ardently, “and public opinion throughout Germany cries for vengeance
against the tyrant who is murdering German honor and German laws in this
manner! In every city subscriptions have been opened for Palm’s family,
for his young wife and his little girls. The poor as well as the rich
hasten to offer, according to their means, gifts of love to the widow
and orphans of the martyr; and believe me, the money which Germany is
now collecting for Palm’s family will be dragon’s seeds from which armed
warriors will spring one day, and Germany’s vengeance will blossom from
this blood so unjustly shed. Permit me, my friend, to contribute my
share to these seeds of love and vengeance. They brought to me this
morning a list on which the most distinguished families had subscribed
considerable sums for Palm’s family, and I was asked whether my ladies
of honor and the members of my household would be allowed to subscribe
for the same purpose. I should like to allow it and do even more--I
should like to contribute my mite, too, to the subscriptions. Will you
permit me to do so?”
“They will take that again for a demonstration,” said the king,
uneasily; “they will say we were stirring up strife and discontent
among the Germans. I believe it would be prudent not to make a public
demonstration prematurely, but to wait and keep quiet till the right
time has come.”
“And when will the right time come, if it has not come now?” exclaimed
the queen, mournfully. “Remember, my beloved husband, all the
mortifications and humiliations which you have received of late at the
hands of this despot, and which, in your noble and generous resignation,
did not resent in order to preserve peace to your people. Remember
that he alone prevailed on you to occupy Hanover, that he warranted its
possession to you, and then when your troops had occupied it, applied
secretly, and without saying a word to you, to England, offering to make
peace with her by proposing to restore Hanover to her.”
“It was a grievous insult,” exclaimed the king, with unusual vivacity;
“I replied to it by placing my army on the war footing.”
“But our armies remain inactive,” said the queen, sadly, “while General
Knobelsdorf is negotiating for peace with Bonaparte in Paris.”
“He is to negotiate until I am fully prepared,” said Frederick
William--“until I know what German princes will be for and against me.
Above all, it is necessary to know our forces in order to mature our
plans. Hence, I must know who is on my side.”
“God is on your side, and so is Germany’s honor,” exclaimed the queen;
“moreover, you may safely rely at least on one faithful friend.”
“You refer to the Emperor of Russia?” asked the king. “True, I received
yesterday a letter from the emperor, in which he announced ‘that he
would come to my assistance with an army of seventy thousand men under
his personal command, as a faithful friend and neighbor, and appear in
time on the battle-field, no matter whether it be on the Rhine or beyond
it.’”
“Oh, the noble and faithful friend!” exclaimed the queen, joyfully.
“Yes,” said the king, thoughtfully, “he promises a great deal, but
Russian promises march more rapidly than Russian armies. I am afraid
events will carry us along so resistlessly that we cannot wait until
the Emperor of Russia has arrived with his army. As soon as Napoleon
suspects that my preparations are meant for him, he will himself declare
war against me. He is always prepared; his army is always ready for war.
Whatever he may be, we cannot deny that he is a brave and great general;
and I do not know,” added the king, in a low voice, “I do not know
whether we have got a general able to cope with him. Oh, Louisa, I
envy your courage, your reliance on our cause. Do you feel then, no
uneasiness whatever?”
“Uneasiness?” exclaimed the queen, with a proud smile. “I believe and
feel convinced that now only one thing remains to be done. We must
struggle with the monster, we must crush it, and then only will we be
allowed to speak of uneasiness! [Footnote: The queen’s own words--Vide
Gentz’s “Writings,” vol. iv., p. 169.] I believe, besides, in divine
Providence--I believe in you, my noble, high-minded, and brave king and
husband, and I believe in your splendid army, which is eager for war! I
believe in the lucky star of Prussia!”
“Oh, it seems to me that many clouds are veiling that star,” said the
king, mournfully.
“The thunder of battle will dispel them!” exclaimed Louisa,
enthusiastically. “The smoke of powder purifies the air and destroys its
noxious vapors.”
Just then the door opened, and the king’s valet de chambre entered.
“Your majesty,” he said, “his excellency, Minister Baron von Hardenberg,
requests you to grant him an audience.”
“You see the decision is drawing near,” said the king, turning to his
wife. “I shall request the minister to come in directly.”
The valet de chambre withdrew. The king paced the room several times,
his hands folded on his back, and without uttering a word. Louisa dared
not disturb him, but her radiant eyes followed him with an expression of
tender anxiety and affectionate sympathy.
All at once, the king stopped in the middle of the room and drew a deep
breath. “I do not know,” he said, “I feel almost joyful and happy now
that the decisive moment is at hand. Francis von Sickingen was right
in saying, ‘Better an end with terror, than a terror without end!’”
[Footnote: The motto of the celebrated knight, Francis von Sickingen:
“Besser ein Ende mit Schrecken, als ein Schrecken ohne Ende!”]
“Oh,” exclaimed the queen, joyfully, “now I recognize my noble and brave
husband. When no longer able to avert terrors by mild words and gentle
prudence, he raises his chivalrous arm and crushes them. But as we must
not keep your minister waiting, I will withdraw. One word more. Will you
permit me to add my subscription to the list of contributions for
Palm’s widow? I do not wish to do so as Queen of Prussia, but as a woman
sympathizing with the misfortunes of one of her German sisters, and
anxious to comfort her in her distress. I shall not mention my name,
but cause our dear mistress of ceremonies to subscribe for me. Will you
permit it, my friend?”
“Follow your noble and generous heart, Louisa,” said the king,
“contribute for the relief of the poor woman!”
“Thanks, my friend, a thousand thanks,” exclaimed Louisa, offering her
hand to her husband. He kissed it tenderly, and then accompanied the
queen to the door.
Louisa wanted here to withdraw her hand from him and open the door, in
order to go out, but her husband kept her back, and his features assumed
an air of embarrassment.
“I want you to do me a favor,” he said, hastily. “When you have caused
the mistress of ceremonies to subscribe in your name, please order your
grand-marshal to contribute the same sum. I will return it to him from
my privy purse.” [Footnote: Palm’s widow received large sums of money,
which were subscribed for her everywhere in Germany, England, and
Russia. In St. Petersburg the emperor and empress headed the list.--Vide
“Biography of John Philip Palm,” Munich, 1842.]
The queen made no reply; she encircled the king’s neck with her
beautiful white arms, and imprinted a glowing kiss on his lips; she then
hastily turned around and left the room, perhaps, in order not to let
her husband see the tears that filled her eyes.
The king, who had gazed after her with a long and tender look, said in
a low voice to himself: “Oh, she is the sunshine of my life. How dreary
and cold it would be without her! But now I will see the minister.”
He hastened to the opposite door and opened it. “Request Minister von
Hardenberg to come in,” he said to the valet de chambre, waiting in the
anteroom.
After a few minutes Hardenberg entered. The king went forward to meet
him, and looked at him inquiringly.
“Good news?” he asked.
“Your majesty, ‘good’ has a very relative meaning,” replied Hardenberg,
shrugging his shoulders. “I believe an open and categorical reply to be
good.”
“Then you are the bearer of such a reply,” said the king, quietly;
“first tell me the result of your mission. You may afterward add the
particulars of the negotiations.”
“I shall comply with your majesty’s order. The result is that Austria
wants to remain neutral, and will, for the present, engage in no further
wars. Her finances are exhausted, and her many defeats have demoralized
and discouraged her armies. Napoleon has vanquished Austria, not only
militarily, but also morally. The Austrian soldiers look on the Emperor
of the French and his victorious armies with an almost superstitious
terror; the emperor is discouraged and downcast, and his ministers
long for nothing more ardently than a lasting peace with France. His
generals, on the other hand, are filled with so glowing an admiration
for Napoleon’s military genius, that the Archduke Charles himself has
said: ‘he would deem it a crime to continue the war against Napoleon,
instead of courting his friendship.’” [Footnote: Vide “Libensbilder aus
dem Befreiungskriege,” vol. iii.]
“He may be right,” said the king, “but he ought to have called it an
imprudence instead of a crime. I know very well that we are unable to
retrace our steps, and that the logic of events will compel us to draw
the sword and risk a war, but I do not close my eyes against the serious
dangers and misfortunes in which Prussia might be involved by taking up
arms without efficient and active allies. I have taken pains for years
to save Prussia from the horrors and evils of war, but circumstances are
more powerful than I, and I shall have to submit to them.”
“On the contrary, circumstances will have to submit to your majesty and
fate.”
“Fate!” the king interrupted him, hastily. “Fate is no courtier, and
never flattered me much.”
“Your majesty, I was going to imitate fate,--I did not want to flatter
you, either,” said Hardenberg. “I was merely going to say that fate
seems to favor us suddenly. I have received letters from Mr. Fox, the
English minister. King George the Third, now that he sees that Prussia
is in earnest, and is preparing for war, is more inclined to form an
alliance with Prussia. The first favorable symptom of this change of
views is the fact that England has raised the blockade of the rivers of
northern Germany; a British envoy will soon be here to make peace with
Prussia, and to conclude an alliance, by virtue of which England will
furnish us troops and money.”
“Would to God the envoy would arrive speedily,” sighed the king, “for we
need both, auxiliaries as well as money.” [Footnote: The British envoy,
Lord Morpeth, unfortunately arrived too late; it was only on the 19th
of October that he reached the king’s headquarters at Weimar. But the
French party, Minister Haugwitz, Lombard, and Lucchesini, managed to
prevent him from obtaining an interview with the king; and dismissed him
with the reply, that the results of the negotiations would depend on
the issue of the battle which was about to be fought.--Vide Hausser’s
“History of Germany,” vol. ii., p. 766.]
When Minister von Hardenberg left the king’s cabinet, his face was
radiant with inward satisfaction, and he hastened with rapid steps to
his carriage.
“To Prince Louis Ferdinand,” he said to the coachman. “As fast as the
horses will run!”
Prince Louis Ferdinand was in the midst of his friends in his music-room
when Minister Hardenberg entered. He was sitting at the piano and
playing a voluntary. His fancy must have taken a bold flight to-day, for
in the music he evoked from the keys there was more ardor, vigor, and
enthusiasm than generally, and the noble features of the prince were
radiant with delight. Close to him, her head leaning gently on his
shoulder, sat Pauline Wiesel, the prince’s beautiful and accomplished
friend, and listened with a smile on her crimson lips, and tears in her
eyes, to the charming and soul-stirring melodies. In the middle of
the room there stood a table loaded down with fiery wines and tropical
fruits, and twelve gentlemen, most of them army officers, were seated
around it. They were the military and learned friends of the prince, his
daily companions, who, like Hardenberg, were always allowed to enter his
rooms without being announced.
The minister hastily beckoned the gentlemen who were going to rise and
salute him, to keep their seats, and hurried quickly and softly across
the room toward the prince, whose back was turned to the door, and who
consequently had not noticed his arrival.
“Prince,” he said, gently placing his hand on his shoulder, “it is
settled now: we shall have war!”
“War!” shouted the prince, jubilantly, and rose impetuously to embrace
the minister and imprint a kiss on the lips which had uttered the
precious word.
“War!” exclaimed the gentlemen at the table, and emptied their glasses
in honor of the news.
“War!” sighed fair Pauline Wiesel, and clinging closely to the prince’s
shoulder, she whispered: “War, that is to say, I shall lose you!”
“No, it is to say that I shall gain every thing,” exclaimed the prince,
with flashing eyes. “I beseech you, Pauline, no weakness now, no
sentimentality, no tears. The great moment is come. Let us appreciate
it. At length, at length we shall avenge our disgrace, at length we
shall be able to raise our humiliated heads again, and need not feel
ashamed any longer of saying, ‘I am a German!’”
“Your royal highness will now be able to say, ‘I am a German hero!’”
said Hardenberg.
“Would to God you were right!” exclaimed the prince. “May He grant me
an opportunity to earn a small laurel-wreath, even had I to atone for it
with my blood, nay, with my life! To die for the fatherland is a sublime
death; and should I fall thus, Pauline, you ought not to weep, but sing
jubilant hymns and envy my happy fate. Tell me, friend Hardenberg, when
is the war to commence?”
“As soon as the various army corps can be concentrated,” replied
Hardenberg. “We know positively that Napoleon is arming for the purpose
of attacking us, and that he intends to declare war against us. We shall
hasten and try to outstrip him. Prussia has been insulted too often and
too grievously; hence, the challenge ought to come from her.”
“And we will take revenge on M. Bonaparte,” exclaimed the prince, with
flaming eyes. “It shall be an American duel, and only the death of
either of the duellists shall put an end to it! Friends, take your
glasses and fill them to overflowing. Hardenberg, take this glass;
Pauline shall present it to you. Now, let us drink to the honor of
Prussia and shout with me, three cheers for the war, for an heroic
victory, for an heroic death!”
“Three cheers for the war, for an heroic victory, for an heroic death!”
shouted the friends. They emptied their glasses; the eyes of the men
were radiant, but Pauline’s eyes were filled with tears. [Prince Louis
Ferdinand was killed in the first battle of the war, at Saalfeld, on the
10th of October, 1806.]
On the evening of that day the king went, as usual, to the queen to take
a cup of tea which she herself served up to him. Notwithstanding the
objections of the mistress of ceremonies, they paid at this hour no
attention to the rules of etiquette, and their intercourse was as
cordial and unceremonious as that of a common citizen’s family.
The queen, therefore, was alone when her husband entered the room. None
of her ladies of honor were allowed to disturb the enjoyment of this
pleasant tea-hour; only when the king wished it, the royal children were
sent for to chat with their parents and to receive their supper at the
hands of their beautiful mother.
The queen went to meet her husband with a pleasant salutation, and
offered him her hands. “Well,” she asked, tenderly, “your brow is
clouded still? Come, let me kiss those clouds away.”
She raised herself on tip-toe, and smiled when she still was unable to
reach up to her husband’s forehead.
“You must bend down to me,” she said, “I am too small for you.”
“No, you are great and sublime, and must bend down to me as angels bend
down to the poor mortals,” said the king. “Ah, Louisa, I am afraid,
however, your kiss will no longer be able to drive the clouds from my
brow.”
“Have you received bad news?” asked the queen. “Have your ambassadors
returned?”
“They have. No assistance from Austria! That is the news brought by
Hardenberg. No league of the princes of Northern Germany! That is
the news brought by Lombard. Every one of them pursues his separate
interests, and thinks only of himself. The Elector of Saxony would like
to be at the head of a Saxon league; the Elector of Hesse promises to
ally himself with us if, above all, we secure to him a considerable
enlargement of his territory; Oldenburg is going to wait and see
what the other states will do; Waldeck and Lippe desire to join the
Confederation of the Rhine, because they might derive greater advantages
from it; and the Duke of Mecklenburg-Schwerin replied, quite haughtily,
he would remain neutral: if he were in danger, he would gratefully
accept the protection of Prussia, but he would have to reject any
application for supplies in the most decided manner.” [Hausser’s
“History of Germany,” vol. ii., p. 770.]
“Oh, those narrow-minded, egotistic men,” exclaimed the queen,
indignantly. “They dare to call themselves princes, and yet there is not
a single exalted thought, not a trace of the spirit of majesty in their
minds. Bad seeds are being sown by the cowardly spirit of the princes.
Woe unto Germany if these seeds should ripen one day in the hearts of
the people! But you did not say any thing about my father; what did
Mecklenburg-Strelitz reply?”
“She is on our side; your father is faithful to us.”
“But, ah, he is able only to give us his great, true heart and brave,
friendly advice!” sighed the queen. “His state is too small to furnish
us any other aid. Oh, my husband, I could now give my heart’s blood if
I only were the daughter of a mighty king, and if my father could hasten
to your assistance with an army.”
“A single drop of your heart’s blood would be too high a price for the
armies of the whole world,” said the king. “Your father has given to
me the most precious and priceless treasure earth contains: a noble,
beautiful wife, a high-minded queen! Your father was the richest prince
when he still had his daughter, and I am the richest man since you are
mine.”
He clasped the queen in his arms, and she clung to him with a blissful
smile.
“For the rest,” said the king, after a pause, “there is at least one
German prince who stands faithfully by us, and that is the Duke of
Saxe-Weimar.”
“The friend of Goethe and Schiller!” exclaimed the queen.
“The duke places his battalion of riflemen at our disposal, and will
accept a command in the war.”
“There will be war, then?” asked the queen, joyfully.
“Yes, there will be war,” said the king, sadly.
“You say so and sigh,” exclaimed Louisa.
“Yes, I sigh,” replied the king. “I am not as happy as you and those who
are in favor of war. I do not believe in the invincibility of my army.
I feel that we cannot be successful. There is an indescribable confusion
in the affairs of the war department; the gentlemen at the head of it,
it is true, will not believe it, and pretend that I am still too young
and do not understand enough about it. Ah, I wish from the bottom of
my heart I were mistaken. The future will soon show it.” [Footnote: The
king’s own words.--Vide Henchel von Donnersmark.]