GAVIN sat up, rubbed his eyes, remained silent for some minutes, while
St. Arnaud berated him, winding up with:
“Two hours later, and you would have been hanged.”
“I thought so, too,” replied Gavin. “Dreisel, the captain, was bent on
it. But how came you here?”
“By following you, of course. I left the concert early, and went to
our quarters, to find you gone and your letter on the table. I gave
the alarm immediately, not knowing what trouble you might get into.
I suspected at once that you would try the river, as there was less
chance of your being stopped, and we--Captain Bohlen and I--were after
you in a boat within an hour after you took to the water. We found
the boat and your papers in it--I have the papers with me--and had no
difficulty in tracking you to the place where you were captured. There
we had some delay. Several small bodies of men were moving about that
night, and we lost some hours in finding which one had bagged you.
As soon as we discovered that your friend, Captain Dreisel, was the
man, we lost not a moment, for he has openly said he means to hang
an Austrian officer. They were still debating when we arrived; the
young sublieutenants showed more courage than Dreisel counted on, and
threatened to refuse to obey orders if you were sentenced to be hanged.
You should have seen them when Bohlen and I walked in on them. Dreisel
was perfectly cool and collected; he saw that he was balked, and
probably ruined for life, as Bohlen will lay the whole matter before
the King. The three lieutenants nearly had hysterics from joy. Bohlen
means to ask promotion for them, since they saved the Prussian army the
disgrace of hanging an Austrian officer. When we asked for you, behold,
you were asleep! What a fellow you are!”
Gavin sprang up, and seizing St. Arnaud around the neck, they kissed
and embraced.
At that moment Gavin glanced up. Bohlen, Von Bulow, and the other two
lieutenants were entering the room. They crowded around him and wrung
his hand, and Von Bulow, fairly bursting into tears, embraced him.
They all laughed at Von Bulow; but every man of them felt shaken by the
crisis each had passed through. Turning to the soldiers, especially
the sentry and the sergeant, Gavin emptied his pockets, and then with
one accord all the officers went out of the house that still sheltered
Dreisel.
“I breathe better,” cried Von Bulow, snuffing the chill, clear air,
“out of the quarters of that wretch.”
“Think what we have endured since this morning,” added his brother
lieutenant. “We would have died where we sat rather than have
acquiesced in murder; but we did not know whether our men would obey us
or Dreisel.”
“Never mind, gentlemen,” quietly remarked Bohlen, “wait until I make my
report to his Majesty. Dreisel then will rue the day he was born.”
It was late in the cold March afternoon, and the village inn looked
very inviting. In it they went, and spent a long evening together.
Great was the jollity of all of them, except Gavin, in whom all saw
the signs of a reaction. He sat silent for the most part, and his
eyes, when they met those of the others, were filled with tears of
gratitude. When they separated for the night, St. Arnaud demanded
but one room for himself and Gavin. Alone together, Gavin broke down
utterly. St. Arnaud spent the night soothing and cheering him. And this
was the man who had gone calmly to sleep while the question of hanging
him was being debated!
Next morning, St. Arnaud announced that they would return to Breslau,
for the purpose of expressing their thanks to the King and saying
farewell. As for the report of the affair, Bohlen might be trusted
to attend faithfully to that. Gavin submitted to the delay without a
word. They reached Breslau in the afternoon, went straight to their
old quarters, and at eight o’clock--the King’s usual hour for seeing
them--they were sent for. Frederick received them with more than his
usual grace; but neither St. Arnaud nor Gavin justly appreciated until
then the true extent to which this man should be feared. He said but
little of Dreisel; but the tones of his ringing voice and the sombre
fire that shone in his steel-blue eyes would have made a braver man
than Dreisel tremble. Frederick did not long dwell on the subject,
which was necessarily a painful and embarrassing one for him, and soon
turned the conversation into lighter and more playful channels.
“Bohlen tells me you wish to start very early to-morrow morning,” he
said to St. Arnaud. “I can well believe that this young gentleman is a
vast responsibility. I wish to express to you the pleasure I have had
in the company of both, but especially of Captain St. Arnaud. I fear
that history will say of me that I took no pleasure in anything but
beating my enemy in the field. How great a mistake! I was formed for
the pursuits of a peaceful but not inactive life. The reorganization of
my country, the improvement of my people, a steady progress of the arts
and sciences, a little recreation in the way of poetry and music, and
the society of accomplished men--these would constitute my happiness. I
have known but little of it. Instead I spend my summers in the saddle
and my winters in planning for the summer campaign. Did but the Empress
Queen command her armies in the field, as I do, she would make peace
with me forever.”
St. Arnaud, not caring to discuss the only terms on which Frederick
would make peace, contented himself with replying:
“The world, your Majesty, is loath to credit a man with more than one
kind of excellence, and because you are a master of the art of war, it
will always grudgingly admit what you have done or might do in the arts
of peace. I can, sire, tell you truly, without the smallest flattery,
that the hours I have spent with your Majesty are among the most
valuable of my life; for I never failed to learn something from you
that I did not know before.”
Frederick smiled graciously; he knew St. Arnaud to be a sincere man,
and that his phrases, although courtier-like, were from an honest
heart. And when, as they shook hands cordially, St. Arnaud said:
“And have I no message for the Prince of Bevern?”
“None, but that I have received his letter, and I am under great
obligations to him for making me acquainted with so agreeable a man as
yourself.”
Gavin then advancing, Frederick said:
“Farewell. I have not had much speech with you, but I perceive you to
be no ordinary man.”
And Gavin, meaning to make a very conventional and correct reply, said
earnestly:
“Your Majesty, I have been in your company now several times, and
I never was ennuyéed for one single moment when your Majesty was
speaking!”
“Take care of him,” cried the King to St. Arnaud, both of them
laughing. “You have an original there, and he may either be exiled or
become Prime Minister.”
The return journey to Vienna was made rapidly, and on a pleasant
spring night their travelling chaise rattled up to the house in the
Teinfeltstrasse. They were received with open arms by Lady Hamilton and
Madame Ziska and her family. St. Arnaud and Gavin had agreed to say
nothing for the present about Gavin’s little adventure with Captain
Dreisel, and Lady Hamilton thought their journey had been one of
unmixed pleasure, except for the trifling accident to Gavin’s leg.
Next morning they went to the palace, and were summoned before the
Empress Queen and the Emperor. St. Arnaud gave an account of their
mission, together with the ill success of it for the poor Prince of
Bevern. Marie Theresa listened with a scornful smile. Frederick of
Prussia was not only to her the enemy of her country, but an object of
the deepest personal dislike, and nothing good, in her opinion, could
be expected of him.
“The conduct of the King of Prussia in this affair does not surprise
me in the least,” she said; “and so much was it expected by me, that,
with the Emperor’s consent, I had already determined upon my course
toward the Prince of Bevern. He shall be released at once and allowed
to return to his country, with no condition beyond that of not serving
against us during the present war. If the King of Prussia has no
merciful impulses toward his officers, who, though brave, may meet with
misfortunes, I and the Emperor feel much sympathy for them; and we will
do for the Prince of Bevern what his own sovereign refuses to do. Have
you anything else of moment to tell me?”
“Nothing, madam, except an adventure of Lieutenant Hamilton’s, which
may interest you.” And St. Arnaud, with inimitable archness, told the
story of Gavin’s bringing Frederick through the flooded garden on his
back, and the conversation that ensued.
The Empress Queen and the Emperor laughed so much that Gavin, who was
very red and embarrassed in the beginning, began to feel seriously
disconcerted. He recovered his good humour, however, when the Empress
Queen desired to see Frederick’s memorandum, and after reading it cried:
“I cannot do less than the King of Prussia expects. You shall have two
steps in promotion instead of one!” At which Gavin only blushed the
more while stammering out his thanks.
When, a few moments after, St. Arnaud and Gavin left the Empress
Queen’s closet, St. Arnaud whispered:
“The release of poor Bevern is caused by two motives--one, to benefit a
brave but unfortunate man; the other, to chagrin the King of Prussia.”
The next succeeding weeks were entirely different from those which
had preceded the Breslau expedition. The spring campaign was about to
open, and court and people were absorbed in preparations for trying
the fortunes of war once more with Frederick. St. Arnaud was busy
all day and all night with the affairs of his corps. It had been in
cantonments on the outskirts of Vienna during the winter, and was to
march the middle of April. Gavin’s duties as a subaltern compelled
him to take up his quarters with his regiment, and he occupied alone
the tent that was to shelter St. Arnaud and himself on the march. He
applied himself more seriously to the study of military affairs from
the point of an officer, and in this, as in everything he had tried to
study in his life, he had much assistance from his mother. She got him
books in English and French, and helped him in his fluent but somewhat
incorrect German. Nor were his creature comforts forgotten, although
Lady Hamilton never ceased to impress upon him that the equipment of
his mind must always come before the considerations for his body.
Nevertheless, he was well supplied with many little comforts for the
campaign which had been unknown to him before.
Every day he came to the Teinfeltstrasse house to visit his mother, if
only for a few minutes, and to see his cherished friends, Madame Ziska
and her family. It was arranged that Lady Hamilton should remain with
her excellent friends until Gavin could return to Vienna--if ever he
returned. Gavin, however, had perfect confidence in his own return,
for his nature was sanguine to the last degree, and it was always
as surprising as it was unpleasant for things to go wrong with him.
Having escaped hanging by a very narrow margin only gave him increased
confidence in the future--a thing very conducive to both happiness and
success.
He did not again see his father, and really did not know whether Sir
Gavin Hamilton was still in Vienna or not. Gavin’s duties kept him so
closely with his troop, that he no longer had time to frequent palaces
or drawing-rooms, and it was not always easy for him to see his mother
once a day. St. Arnaud was equally busy, and their thoughts and their
talk were all about the coming campaign. They congratulated themselves
daily upon being under General Loudon, the most adventurous of men, and
the making the campaign with each other was peculiarly gratifying to
both.
Daily were they expecting orders to march. Marshal Daun had begun the
concentration of his army at Koniggratz the middle of March, and the
light troops under General Loudon were expected to be on the move to
join him by the middle of April. It was known that General Loudon was
to come to Vienna to receive the Military Order of Maria Theresa--the
highest military order in the Empire, and one justly earned by General
Loudon--and after spending one day there, he was to accompany the very
last brigade to Leutomischl, about fifty miles from Olmutz. Each day
detachments were dispatched, but St. Arnaud’s and Gavin’s regiments
were not among them. It began to be whispered abroad that their
regiment would have the honour of escorting the major-general himself.
One day, as Gavin was toiling over a muddy road, at the head of his
troop of hussars, which had been going through the sword exercise, he
met St. Arnaud galloping along alone. He rode up to Gavin, and called
out loud enough for the men to hear:
“By the day after to-morrow we shall be on the march. Not half a mile
behind me rides General Loudon, and when he comes to Vienna it is for
as short a time as he can stay; and then he goes off like a shot,
hunting for Prussians.”
The men exchanged glances of pleasure, and Gavin, bringing the
detachment down to a slow trot, and talking with St. Arnaud, presently
heard the thunder of hoofs behind them. He looked back, and there,
coming along the highroad, still muddy from the spring rains, was a
small cavalry escort, and in front rode a tall, spare, red-haired man,
whom he surmised to be the celebrated General Loudon.
Gavin, drawing his men up on the side of the road, placed himself
slightly in advance of them, with St. Arnaud. As General Loudon
came up, he stopped and courteously saluted both officers and men,
the latter raising a hearty cheer as he approached. St. Arnaud then
introduced Gavin, pronouncing his name much better than Gavin could.
“Hamilton!” said General Loudon. “That is a Scotch and also an English
name. How comes Lieutenant Hamilton in my command?”
“It is a long story, sir,” responded Gavin; “but, like yourself,
although I am of Scotch and English blood, I am a true soldier, if not
a born subject, of the Empress Queen.”
General Loudon then made a few remarks; but his manner, though polite,
was awkward, and he had by no means the graceful self-possession of St.
Arnaud or the pleasant assurance of Gavin Hamilton.
When he had ridden on St. Arnaud said to Gavin:
“Do you see how cold, how awkward, how slow he is? That man under fire
becomes animated, quicker than lightning, even graceful. It has been
said that he grows actually handsome in the light of battle.”
“He looks like a Calvinist minister with dyspepsia,” was Gavin’s
comment; nevertheless, he knew very well General Loudon’s reputation
as the most dashing leader of light troops in Europe.
As soon as General Loudon’s arrival was known in Vienna, it was
understood that the opening of the campaign was at hand, and there was
the stir and excitement of the actual beginning of warlike events. The
announcement was made that the Empress Queen would invest him with her
great military order on the evening of the next day, and the morning
after, at sunrise, he would be on the march for Leutomischl, with the
last of the hussar regiments.
St. Arnaud and Gavin were in a fever of preparation all that day and
the next; but a duty, not to be omitted, was their presence at the
palace in the evening to see the bestowal of this splendid decoration
on their commander. The Empress Queen, consonant with her lofty and
unquenchable spirit, had commanded a splendid levee on the occasion,
that she might show to all the world the courage and high hopes with
which she renewed the struggle.
Never had Gavin more admired his mother’s courage than during those
last two days. Smiling, hopeful, encouraging, she bore the terrible
heartache of parting, but she did not wholly hide it, even from Gavin.
For himself, he went to war as he went to a festival. He was distressed
at the thought of his mother, but he was too wholly confident of
returning to her to seriously grieve.
“Do this for me, mother--go with me to the palace to-night; let me have
the satisfaction of showing you to all those people, and, besides, it
will divert you and make you forget that I am leaving to-morrow.”
“Very likely,” murmured Lady Hamilton.
“And as for meeting my father, I think he must have left Vienna. No one
has seen him for a month.”
“Then I will go; perhaps the being with you a few hours longer may be
an inducement,” replied his mother in a gayer tone.
“It is every one’s duty, mother, to look gay to-night; for if we meet
the Prussians with downcast hearts, we are already half beaten.”
“Quite true. And as I am the daughter of a soldier, and was the sister
of soldiers, as well as the mother of a soldier, I shall be as brave as
any. But let me tell you, Gavin, the bravest at the levee to-night will
not be the men wearing their swords, but the women who with anxious
hearts and trembling souls give their best beloved to their country.”
Madame Ziska and Kalenga were to sit up until the return of the party
from the palace, and they were to have a farewell supper together, for
St. Arnaud and Gavin must be with their troops before daybreak.
Madame Ziska and little Freda assisted Lady Hamilton with her
toilet--the same severely simple black satin gown she had worn before.
The two women understood and mutually comforted each other, and by
tacit agreement there was no mention of the impending parting until
just as Lady Hamilton was ready, and stood a picture of mature and
womanly grace, Madame Ziska began to weep.
“I am a fool,” she cried. “They will come back--I know they will come
back--but it is hard to let them go, for I, too, love them dearly.”
At this Freda suddenly burst into loud weeping. The mother remained
dry-eyed.
“To-morrow,” she said, “there will be time enough for tears. To-night
I will not show, so much as by the quiver of an eyelash, the pain and
fear that are gnawing at me.”
At that moment they heard Gavin and St. Arnaud in the next room. Madame
Ziska quickly dried her eyes, gently pushed the weeping Freda out of
sight and hearing in the corridor, and appeared smiling calmly before
Gavin and St. Arnaud.
“Now, this is what I wish to see,” cried Gavin--“a pleasant parting,
without any tears or fears. There is no doubt about it, we go to beat
the Prussians; we will return with increased rank and decorations, and
we will be saying among ourselves, ‘How sensible it was to part gayly
as we did!’”
“Quite true,” said his mother, smiling, and taking St. Arnaud’s arm to
lead her to the coach, while Gavin lingered to say a gay farewell to
Madame Ziska, and to call Freda, who remained weeping and invisible on
the landing of the back stairs.
In a little while they were at the palace, where a great crowd of
persons, military and civil, had assembled to do honour to the army,
through General Loudon. Kaunitz was there, superbly dressed as usual,
with his eagle eye fixed on the French ambassador, to make sure that he
noted the loyalty and enthusiasm of all present. The young archdukes
and archduchesses, from the Crown Prince, a handsome young man of
seventeen, standing behind his mother’s chair, down to the pretty
little princesses, with their governesses, grouped in a gallery
overlooking the splendid scene, were all present.
St. Arnaud and Gavin with Lady Hamilton secured a good place of
observation in the grand salon, where the ceremony of bestowing the
order was to take place. The Empress Queen and the Emperor sat in
gilded arm-chairs upon the same daïs that they had occupied at the
first royal levee Gavin had attended. The Empress Queen looked even
more superb than Gavin had yet seen her. Fearful as had been the blows
that had befallen her armies, she was ready again, with lion-like
courage, to meet her ancient enemy. Every heart in Austria and Hungary
might grow faint, but Maria Theresa knew not what fear meant. She
was talking with great animation to those around her, with her fine,
expressive eyes flashing, and her full, red lips wreathed in smiles.
When danger was at hand, then was she most full of vivid life. The
Emperor at her side showed equal cheerfulness. Occasionally, the
Empress Queen would turn to him and make a smiling remark, to which
he would respond in kind. At length, a hush fell upon the company;
General Loudon had entered the hall. He was entirely unaccompanied, and
dressed in a very splendid uniform. Immediately way was made for him,
and he proceeded up the aisle thus formed to the daïs. At the sight of
his countenance an involuntary smile went around. His naturally rugged
features looked still more homely under the embarrassment of so much
notice. He ambled along with the utmost awkwardness, glanced around
desperately when he reached the foot of the daïs, as if looking for a
place to run away; and when the Empress Queen, with her characteristic
grace, pinned the magnificent decoration on his breast, he almost fell
over the royal footstool in his attempt to kneel and kiss her hand.
“Never mind,” whispered St. Arnaud. “Wait until you see him leading
the charge up a hill, with Prussians well posted at the top. He never
falters or palters then, nor falls over anything, nor looks around to
see if there is any chance of running away.”
The air of hope and encouragement worn by the Empress Queen was
infectious. All were under the influence of excitement, and it brought
brightness to the eyes and a ringing echo to the voices of all. Never
had Gavin passed a gayer evening, nor had St. Arnaud. As for Lady
Hamilton, many mothers and wives and sisters were present who were
no less brave than she; but if she had been asked to name one of the
periods of most exquisite misery in her life, it would have been the
night of that brilliant levee, when, with a head proudly erect and a
smiling face, she walked through the stately splendours of a palace.
Before midnight they were home again. Madame Ziska had a delicious
supper waiting for them, and Kalenga’s chair was already drawn
up to the table. Amid laughter and toasts and the most dazzling
anticipations, on Gavin’s part, of the campaign, an hour was passed.
Then they heard the tramping of horses at the door, as the orderly
brought them trotting down the stony street.
The children were supposed to be in bed, as Gavin and St. Arnaud were
giving some last messages and little presents for them, when a door
opened, and Freda and Gretchen, with the two boys, all fully dressed,
walked in.
“We knew you were going away,” cried Freda, trying not to cry; “so
after we had been put to bed we agreed to get up and dress ourselves
when you came home from the levee--and--and--”
Freda broke down, immediately followed by Gretchen and the two little
boys, who considered it a mark of affection for Gavin and St. Arnaud
to bawl at the top of their lungs. The two departing ones hastily
kissed the children all around, and Gavin was forced to gently
disentangle Freda’s arms from about his neck; and wringing Kalenga’s
hand, they went to the door, accompanied by Lady Hamilton and Madame
Ziska. Farewells, heartfelt, but silent and swift, were exchanged, and
a moment after, when Gavin and St. Arnaud were clattering down the
street, Gavin said in a low voice:
“The Prussians cannot make us suffer more than in parting from those we
love. That last kiss of my mother’s--oh, St. Arnaud, I can never, never
forget it!”