THE DOWNFALL
Bettina was tired, indeed, when one day before noon they drew near a
great city on the banks of the Elbe, its splendid cathedral rising
against the sky, the snow falling and melting on its strong walls and
fortifications.
When Hans saw the colour of the flags flying over this city, he cried
out in horror.
"Gott im Himmel!" he exclaimed, "but the French have taken Magdeburg!"
In all Prussia there was no stronger fortress. On it had rested the
whole hope of the country.
For a few moments Hans felt quite stunned. Then, taking Bettina's hand,
he turned into a path leading to a red-roofed farmhouse standing in the
fields some distance from the walls of Magdeburg.
All along the way they had heard of defeats and misfortunes. Like the
houses of cards children build, all the strongholds and forts of Prussia
had fallen at the mere breath of Napoleon.
But Magdeburg!
"Ach Gott," Hans cried, "but I cannot, nien, I cannot believe it."
As for Bettina, she was so tired that her feet moved without her any
longer feeling them.
"Poor child!" cried the farmer's wife, when Hans begged for admission.
"Come in! come in!" And she refused to answer a question of Hans until
she had fed Bettina on warm milk and tucked her to rest under a huge
feather bed. Then, giving Hans a chair, she went for her husband.
He was busy in his barn, hiding all the corn from the French in a hole
he had dug beneath its floor, and covered with fire wood. His wife's
steps startled him, and his keen, money-loving face appeared at the
door.
"It is I, Herman; Magda," she called, and then told him of Hans and
Bettina.
"He seems half crazy to me, Herman, the old man. I've put the child to
bed. She's half dead from walking. He says they've come from Jena, where
the mother and father were killed after the battle. It's an awful story.
He's taking the child to an aunt in East Prussia."
The farmer made no movement to go into the kitchen.
"He can pay for everything, Herman."
His face brightened.
"Ach ja," he said, "but that is different. A moment, dear Magda, and I
shall be with you."
Following her to the kitchen, he seated himself opposite Hans, pulling a
table between them.
"Beer, Magda!" he commanded, and she set bottle and glasses on the
table.
"Ja wohl, friend," he said, "Magdeburg is Napoleon's."
Then he filled the glasses, and, clinking with Hans, proposed the
downfall of the Emperor.
"Three times, a thousand times over," said Hans, and he begged for the
news.
"The King's hope was in Magdeburg. Ja wohl," said the farmer. His voice
was loud and he roared instead of talking. "And why not? What fortress
in Europe is stronger? There were twenty-four thousand soldiers here;
Kleist was in command, and both the King and Queen stopped here in their
flight to implore the garrison to be true to Prussia. And then," his
face darkened, and he paused for a sip of his beer, "the French Marshal
Ney appeared and shot a few projectiles and the Magdeburgers took to
tears and appeared before Kleist, begging him to surrender and spare
them the horrors of a siege."
"The cowards!" Hans struck the table with his fist.
The farmer sipped his beer, quite unexcited.
"Why fight when one must, in the end, be conquered?" He set down his
glass. "They gave up the keys without a breach in the wall, or a single
cannon being taken; twelve thousand troops under arms, six hundred
pieces of cannon, a pontoon complete, immense magazines of all sorts,
and only an equal force without the walls," roared on the farmer.
"Cowards!" And Hans thumped again.
"We are conquered, man," said the farmer, "and the good God knows this
war is expensive."
Then he told Hans that he had heard that the King of Prussia had written
a letter to Napoleon from Sondershausen, where he had fled after the
defeat at Auerstaedt.
"And the answer?" Hans' hand, holding his beer glass, trembled with
eagerness.
The farmer, shrugging his shoulders, thrust out his under lip in a queer
way he had.
"There has been none that I know of," he roared. Then he refilled their
glasses, his eyes gleaming as the beer foamed.
Hans thought that he cared much more for this same beer than for his
country's troubles, since he drank it with such pleasure while roaring
how Napoleon, with a splendid procession, had entered Berlin. He had
heard that the Berliners sat at their windows weeping. Napoleon had
ransacked all the palaces and was stealing and sending to Paris all the
art treasures of the Berliners. Only at Potsdam had he shown reverence.
The Prussians had fled so hastily that they had left the cordon of the
Black Eagle, the scarf and sword of Frederick the Great on the tomb in
the garrison church.
When Napoleon saw them his eyes fired.
"Gentlemen," and he turned to the officers who accompanied him, "this
is one of the greatest commanders of whom history has made mention."
Then he traced an "N" on the tomb in the dust.
"If he were alive now I would not stand here," he said.
And because of his respect for the great Frederick he saved Potsdam from
all annoyance from the war.
What else had happened the farmer did not know, only that the brave
Bluecher, with tears streaming down his cheeks, had been forced to
surrender Luebeck.
As for the King, the farmer had heard that he had gone to Custrin; but
he also had heard that Custrin was among the forts which had
surrendered. At all events, the beer being now at an end, he had no more
time to talk, but arose to return to his barn.
Hans asked him to let Bettina remain until in the afternoon, when he
would return for her. Then off he departed also.
The farmer's wife touched her head.
"Grief has crazed him," she said to herself. "It is cruel to drag that
child about this country."
Bettina ate a nice warm dinner with the farmer and his wife, and then
was put back to bed again.
"A queer little thing," said the wife to her husband. "Poor little
lamb!" The tears filled her eyes. "She thinks old Frederick Barbarossa
will come from his cave to save us!"
The farmer laughed and told his wife what to charge Hans, for he might
not see him again.
It was in the late afternoon when the old man returned.
"We must be off at once," he announced.
The farmer's wife protested.
"The little one," and she set her lips hard, "is too tired."
But Hans was positive.
"We must go, my good woman, and at once," he announced again, and most
positively.
Poor little Bettina did not want to go. The farmer's wife had been as
kind to her as her mother; but her grandfather took no notice.
"Come, Liebling," he said, "say good-bye and thank the good Frau, and
quickly, for we must be starting."
"Auf wiedersehen," said Bettina shyly. She hoped that some time she
might see this good Frau Magda again.
Then Hans paid the bill, and off they went and trudged on their way
until, late that evening, they came to an inn, where Hans announced they
would remain until morning.
Bettina went to bed, but Hans returned to the big room where the men
sat, and presently, just as Bettina was dreaming a fine dream about
Willy Schmidt and her brothers in Thuringia, he returned with great news
and awoke her.
The Emperor, he announced, had offered terms of peace to Prussia. All
the troops, not wounded or prisoners, must be drawn up in northeast
Prussia; the great cities of the kingdom, including Dantzic and Breslau,
must be surrendered; all the Russians marching to the aid of Prussia
must be sent back, and the King of Prussia must join with Napoleon in
war on his friend, Alexander of Russia, should Napoleon command it.
"I am beaten," answered the poor, good King; "my kingdom is taken from
me, but never will I save myself by fighting against a friend. Let the
war go on."
Hans' face glowed as he told Bettina this answer.
The little girl was happy to see her grandfather smiling again, but she
was too sleepy to understand what he was talking about, and so, when his
voice ceased, she went back to her dreams and the old man poured over
maps until midnight.
Next day they marched on, keeping out of the way of the army, eating at
the farmhouses and hiding often in the forests. Soldiers sometimes
stopped them. More than once they searched Hans, but when they
questioned Bettina and saw the tears which always came when she heard of
Jena they let them pass on.
Once Hans persuaded the driver of a carriage to take them a part of
their journey. The carriage belonged to a great person and the man had a
passport, and Hans and Bettina could pass as servants.
"For the sake of the child, ja," said the driver. But it may have been
for the sake of Hans' gold, which he readily gave him. It was queer that
a wild-looking old man, wandering about the country, had gold, but in
war times people do not ask too many questions.
It was when in this carriage that Bettina was sure she saw again the
Herr Lieutenant.
It was at a place where the driver showed his papers.
At the window of a house surrounded by soldiers a man was gazing
gloomily from the window.
Behind him were other faces, and one, Bettina declared, was that of her
dear Herr Lieutenant.
"And he knew me, dear grandfather; I know that he did, only he could not
dream that his Bettina was here in Prussia, could he?"
"Indeed, no," said her grandfather, and then went to sleep. It was not
often that he had such a soft bed as the carriage cushions, and he
meant to make the most of it. And so they came to Custrin.
"Now," said Hans, his face full of joy, "we shall see the King!"
But, alas!
Certainly, the King had been there; the Queen, also.
An old peasant woman outside the walls, whom Hans questioned, knew all
about it.
The King had come first and gone straight to a house in the Market.
"It is a sad event that brings me here," he had said. And then, later,
had come the Queen. "They were here some time," said the old woman. "Her
Majesty, wrapped in a travelling cloak, used to walk on the walls and
try to put some courage into the soldiers. Foolish work," she added;
"you might as well try to fill broken bottles; all she put in their
hearts went out at their heels, and Custrin surrendered without
fighting."
The King and Queen, she said, were at Graudenz, on the Vistula.
"We will follow," announced Hans.
Poor little Bettina! Would the journey never end?
Her grandfather set out at once. Travel now had become very dangerous.
The French were everywhere, and often they must answer questions. They
heard how Napoleon had stolen and sent to Paris the splendid statue of
"Victory," the pride of Berlin; how he had read all the Queen's letters
to the King, which he had found in the palace, and of awful things he
had written of Her Majesty.
"He seems to hate her, poor lady," said Hans; "but why, no one can say."
At Graudenz there were the French also. The King and the Queen and the
court had been there, certainly, but one day in had rushed citizens,
crying "The French! the French!" And pell-mell over the bridge had come
Prussians, pursued by French cavalry.
Bang! Up went the bridge, blown to atoms by the citizens. But the French
were not to be stopped; and on had fled the King, Queen, and the Court
of Prussia.
So Bettina and her grandfather trudged on to Marienwerder.
Never had they seen a place so muddy and dirty. The King and Queen had
stayed there ten days. The landlord showed them the room they had lived
in, and Bettina, listening, heard how they had eaten, dressed, and slept
in one room, and that not a fine one.
"And our poor King," a woman told Hans, "had to take long walks if the
Queen wished to dress, or the servants lay the table."
The Maids of Honour had been forced to sleep in a tiny, dirty closet,
and the five gentlemen of the flying court in one room, with beds for
two and straw on the floor for the others.
"And they changed about," said the landlady. "There was an Englishman,
Mr. Jackson, with them, who was pleasant about everything. But our
Queen! She is an angel!"
"On every hand someone had good to tell of her; how sweet she was, how
patient, how she cheered the whole party and only laughed when she went
up to her knees in mud, and declared that she was not thirsty when they
could get no wine and the water was not fit to be drunk by anybody."
On one of the windows of the inn the landlady showed Hans some words the
Queen had cut there with a diamond.
The old man repeated them to Bettina. The great poet, Goethe, had
composed them:
"Who never ate his bread in sorrow,
Who never spent the darksome hours
Weeping and watching for the morrow,--
He knows ye not, ye heavenly powers."[1]
[Footnote 1: By many authorities said to have been only written in the
Queen's Journal.]
Bettina looked puzzled.
"And what does it mean, dear grandfather?"
The old man took her on his knee.
He held one little hand in his, and with his other he smoothed her soft
hair.
"It means, dear child," said he very solemnly, "that we never can know
the dear God well until, when all the world is fast asleep, we weep
because of our own troubles. Then it is that it seems that we know best
the dear God who, in the night, seems to comfort us. Do you understand,
my Bettina?"
The little girl nodded.
"I prayed to the good God, dear grandfather, when mother was there," she
shuddered, "and I was with Hans and Baby in the forest. Do you think,
dear grandfather," her lips quivered, "that the poor Queen has such a
trouble? Did that wicked Napoleon kill her dear mother, too?"
Hans' face twitched, and he drew his arm closer about little Bettina.
"The Queen's mother, my child, died when her little girl was six, and
she lived all her child life with her grandmother."
He smoothed Bettina's hair with his hand, but his thoughts were with his
Annchen.
"Grandfather," Bettina patted his cheek with her hand, "grandfather,
tell me, please, what is the trouble of the Queen? Why is she so
unhappy?"
Then the old man explained how a Queen is the mother of all the people
in her country, and of how, when a foe comes and with sword and war
slays these people, it is her trouble and she must weep for her
children.
"Then Queen Louisa, my Bettina, weeps for her poor husband, the King,
who has lost his kingdom, and for her poor children, who are driven from
their home and the palace. And now," he added, "in cold and ice and snow
she has had to fly, as the landlady told you, with not enough to eat and
no fit place to rest in."
Bettina sighed.
"Ach ja, dear grandfather."
Her own feet were very tired and she was certain that she understood
that part of the Queen's trouble.
"Grandfather," she asked, "please, what is a foe?"
"Napoleon, child, Napoleon. He comes to do us harm, to work evil. He is
the foe of the good King and Queen, but especially does he hate our
Queen and seek to do her harm."
Bettina opened her blue eyes.
"Grandfather," she said, "how can he?"
The old man shrugged his shoulders and sat absently stroking her hair.
As for the little girl herself, she was thinking. How anyone could be a
foe of that lovely Queen it was hard to understand. But then, it was so
with all the fairy princesses. There was always an ogre, Bettina
remembered, but it was true, too, that the foes were always conquered by
a knight, or a prince, a dragon, or something.
She remembered the cave of Kyffhaeuser.
"Grandfather," she said, pulling at one of the buttons of his coat, "why
don't the ravens wake Barbarossa? I told one at our Forest House. I
think, dear grandfather, it is time for him to wake up, don't you?" and
she gazed quite anxiously into his face. As for Hans, he laughed for the
first time in days.
"It would surprise the Emperor a little, my Bettina," he said, and then
told her that their journey was ended. "The King, dear child, is at
Koenigsberg, and there we will rest for a long time."
"God be praised," said little Bettina, in the way the Germans do. "I
shall truly be glad, dear grandfather, to sit down and do a little quiet
knitting."