AT TILSIT
It was while the children were in charge of Marianne that something very
important happened at the town of Tilsit, on the river Niemen.
On that twenty-fifth day of June, in the dreadful year of 1807, all the
people of the place were gathered on the river banks in high
excitement. Actually their faces looked joyful, a thing which had not
happened since Napoleon had entered Prussia.
"Now we shall have peace. Congratulations!" they exclaimed one to the
other, gazing at a raft gay with flags, anchored midway between the
shores of the river.
"They have bought every bright rag in Tilsit," said a fat, jolly-faced
merchant, nodding in congratulation.
"Ach ja," returned a friend, "God be praised! It is many a day since
there has been selling in Prussia."
Then, "Look! look! Napoleon! Napoleon!" as a man, heavy now to fatness,
stepped into a boat most gorgeously decorated.
"The monster! the upstart!" muttered the people. But that was of no
concern to the conqueror, whose eyes wandered restlessly from shore to
shore and whose mouth pressed its lips to cruel firmness. Behind him
followed marshals and generals, gay in scarlet, gold, and white, and
blue.
A boat decorated with the colours of France awaited their coming.
"The Czar!" cried the people, as a second cavalcade approached. "Our
ally, Alexander!"
There was no handsomer man in Europe. Tall, majestic in appearance, in
every way a contrast to Napoleon, the ruler of Russia approached a
second boat, opposite Napoleon's, and brilliant with yellow and black.
The monarch was followed by his brother, Grand Duke Constantine, by his
generals and many Russian lords.
At a signal and amid the cries of the people, off pushed the boats.
The first to arrive was Napoleon, who sprang to the raft, and with his
own hands opened the door of the pavilion and turned to welcome his
guest.
Cannon announced the arrival of the Czar, and the two monarchs stood
hand in hand in full view of the allied and French armies, lined up on
both banks, and of the people of Tilsit, who stared at each other in
surprise.
"Where is our King?" they asked. "Is he to have no voice in the making
of peace?" And their eyes searched everywhere.
Alone, on his horse, his face troubled and anxious, they saw the one
they sought. There was no boat to bear him to the raft. Prussia's
colours appeared nowhere. The two emperors were to settle the affairs of
Europe. The King of Prussia was conquered and not wanted. Joy faded from
the East Prussian faces.
"Our King is a good man," they said. "We do not find it good that he is
so neglected."
The King himself looked neither to the left nor the right. He rode
forward, his splendid figure outlined now against the sky, now hid by
the soldiers. At a certain point he turned. Back he rode, and then
turned again.
"Our poor King!" said the people, and while cannon roared and soldiers
cheered, their hearts began to beat fiercely against both Alexander and
Bonaparte.
For an hour the two emperors conferred, the generals waiting in their
boats, Frederick William pacing back and forth on his horse.
Then presently it began to rain, at first lightly, and then suddenly in
torrents, as if Heaven itself was weeping over blood-stained Europe.
The King of Prussia rode to and fro, not minding the downfall, but
thinking only of the cruelty of the man who had shut him out of the
conference.
Everything was against him; he had lost his kingdom, his friend the Czar
was deserting him, and yet, as his wife the Queen wrote her father, he
was "the best man in the world," a King who lived only to help his
subjects; a King who loved right and hated wrong, who believed in good
and tried to do it.
But, like the Queen, he trusted in God, and even as he rode up and down,
shut out in the rain from the conference, he knew that Napoleon and
wrong could not always have their day, that right and justice always
conquer. But Frederick William, good as he was, had a foe worse even
than Napoleon. At no time in his life could he decide a thing quickly,
or at just the right moment. He must think things over, he must look at
both sides, and while he wavered in came the enemy and took the prize.
When an hour had passed there came a change. Napoleon summoned all the
generals and counsellors, who, drenched and dripping, entered the door
of the pavilion.
For two hours more they talked, the King still riding in the rain.
Surely, he thought, the peace which they were making must be favourable
to poor Prussia. His friend, the Czar, must see to it. He himself had
stood by Alexander; now let Alexander be true to him.
Had they not sworn an eternal friendship; was not his little daughter
named Alexandrina, and was not the Czar also the friend of the Queen and
the old Countess, to whom he had promised many things?
When Alexander of Russia entered the pavilion in the Niemen he had at
heart the welfare of Prussia only. In one hour Napoleon did much. Always
he studied citadels, or men, and discovered what we call the weak point.
On it he turned his battery.
"We all know," he said to Alexander, "that no monarch in Europe has such
thoughts as your Majesty for the welfare of mankind."
Alexander's face softened. He was truly a philanthropist.
After a few moments' talk along this line Napoleon mentioned the word
"England."
The Czar's eyes flashed.
Napoleon abused that country with vigour.
Alexander drew nearer.
"I dislike the English as much as you do," he said, "and am ready to
second you in all your enterprises against them."
"In that case," said Napoleon, taking note of Alexander's fine head and
the weak lines in his handsome face, and remembering how, when he had
been First Consul, the Emperor of Russia had been his most ardent
admirer, "everything will be easily arranged, and peace already is made.
You and I," he added, with an emphasis very flattering, "understand each
other. It will be better if we do without our ministers, who often
deceive us, or misunderstand us. We shall do more in an hour than our
negotiators would in several days."
Then he talked as if the Czar and he were Atlases of the world and that
all the earth rested upon their shoulders.
Alexander, listening, began to think that after all his allies had been
no good. Prussia had dragged him to defeat; England had done nothing to
help either of them. Surely a monarch must consider his own welfare.
When at last the conference ended and the two mighty emperors came forth
into the sight of the people of Tilsit and their waiting soldiers, their
faces were glowing. Waving their hands again and again, each was rowed
to his own bank of the Niemen. They had formed a friendship--Russia and
France, Alexander and Napoleon--and the whole world was to profit.
When Napoleon stepped on shore the people of Tilsit were deafened by the
cheers of his soldiers.
As for Alexander, he gazed up into the gloomy face of the King of
Prussia and a cloud passed over the sun of his joy.
"The Emperor desires to meet your Majesty to-morrow," said he, and his
eyes fell. "We can go together," he added, and then hastily deserting
the subject, he proposed that they arrange about lodgings, as for the
time they must remain in Tilsit.
"Very well," said Frederick William, and his heart sank.
Next day the King of Prussia was admitted to a second and very different
conference, and his noble dignity under his misfortune so struck
Napoleon that he spoke of it.
"I have nothing to reproach myself with," said the King very simply.
Napoleon's eyes fell, but only for a moment.
He answered with a shrug.
"Nor have I."
The King was silent.
"I warned you," Napoleon looked entirely innocent, "against England. It
is she who has caused your troubles. But France," his tones became most
grandiloquent, "can afford to be generous. In a few days all will be
arranged."
Never was any man treated more cruelly than poor, good, unhappy King
Frederick William. Yet there has never been a King who behaved better in
time of trouble. In peace he had been irresolute and sluggish. In
trouble his figure stands out against a background of woe in outlines of
dignity and nobility.
Napoleon made him feel absolutely alone, taking away his friend as he
had taken away his kingdom. Though he asked him to dinner, when the last
morsel was eaten, the last wine drunk, he bore off the Czar to his
private apartment, excusing both to Frederick William. When they were
abroad the French soldiers called "Vive Napoleon!" "Vive Alexandre!" but
never a cry from the Imperial Guard for the King of Prussia.
"It is better for me to be friendly with Napoleon," said the Czar in
excuse. The King was silent.
As for Napoleon, he utterly refused to have the King near him, unless
absolutely necessary.
"I can't stand his gloomy face," he told Alexander.
The Czar and Napoleon embraced in public. The French and Russian
soldiers became like brothers, leaving the Prussians to humiliation and
solitude. The King, who had always suffered from shyness, felt more and
more uncomfortable, being made always an unwelcome third. He had no
opinion of himself, the Queen was not there to cheer him, and each day
he grew more gloomy and sad.
One day the people of Tilsit saw the three monarchs riding together, the
Czar and Napoleon entirely ignoring the King, who let his horse drop
behind and rode alone.
"Has not our good King been true to the Czar?" they cried, and in their
hearts the fire against Napoleon and Alexander burned fiercer. "In
January," they said to each other, "we could have made peace if our King
had promised to desert Russia. And now the Czar deserts our King."
But in spite of his friendship with Napoleon, the Czar truly loved his
friend and wished to help him. His brother Constantine forced him to
many things, threatening him with the fate of his father, who had been
assassinated, if he did not save Russia at the cost of Prussia.
In the midst of all the great worry an idea entered his head and at once
pleased him.
Of all living women he most admired Queen Louisa, not only for her
wonderful beauty and lovely ways, but for her goodness and her love for
her husband and her people.
"Send to Memel for the Queen," he proposed to Frederick William, for he
knew things which were to come to pass that the King did not. "Napoleon
now is very anxious to see her. Who can tell what good she may do for
Prussia? One so beautiful, so spiritual, so unhappy, may soften his
heart and awaken his noblest feelings."
For a moment or two Frederick William did not answer. Above all things
on earth he loved Queen Louisa. Napoleon had mistreated her. She was
very delicate, like a flower, "the beautiful rose of the King," a poet
called her, and was it right that he ask her to beg favours of her foe?
Of the man who hated her?
"Do, Majesty, do." General Kalreuth pressed near and gazed pleadingly at
the King.
"Perhaps," suggested the Czar, "the Queen may bend the iron will of
Napoleon, may she not?" And he looked flatteringly at her husband.
Frederick William sought pen and ink and wrote Queen Louisa a hasty
letter.
"I will go to Memel, also," proposed General Kalreuth, as the King
delivered the letter to a messenger.
Frederick William nodded.
"Act as escort to the Queen," he commanded, having not a doubt of his
wife's answer.