IN BERLIN.
The utmost uneasiness and suspense prevailed in Berlin. Several rumors
had already reached the capital. It was reported that, on the 14th of
October, a battle had taken place between the Prussians and French
forces. To-day was the 18th, and no news had been received; nothing
definite was known about the result of the battle. But the people said,
if it had been favorable to the Prussians, the couriers, to whom joy
would have lent wings, would have reached the capital long since; and
this continued silence and incertitude seemed to the inhabitants of
Berlin more discouraging than any positive intelligence, however
disastrous it might be.
No one had the heart to work longer--no one could be prevailed upon to
follow his usual avocation; all felt paralyzed by a secret terror; and
hastened into the street, as though they hoped some decisive news would
fly through the air and put an end to this dreadful suspense.
All Berlin seemed to have met in the streets on the morning of this 18th
October, and the people hastened in vast crowds toward the house of the
governor of the capital; they consisted to-day not only of the lower
classes of society but the noblest and best had united with them. Men of
mind and education, the representatives of art and science, were to be
seen among them. There was no distinction of rank or position--every one
felt that he was united with his fellow-citizens by the same care,
anxiety, and affection; every one knew that all the thousands
surrounding him entertained the same wishes and apprehensions, and thus
social distinctions were unnoticed. The high-born and the rich, the poor
and the lowly, all felt only that they were Prussians--that they were
Germans; all were animated by one desire; to learn what had been the
result of the battle, and whether the Prussians, faithful to their
ancient military glory, had defeated the enemy, or, like the other
nations, succumbed to Napoleon.
Thousands hastened, therefore, to the residence of the governor of
Berlin, Count von Schulenburg, and called vociferously for him. When the
count appeared on the balcony and asked what the crowd wanted, hundreds
of voices shouted in thundering chorus: "We want to know whether the
army has fought a battle, and whether it was defeated!"
Count Schulenburg shrugged his shoulders, and amid the silence that
ensued his ringing voice was heard to say: "I have not yet received any
definite intelligence; but so soon as I have it, I shall deem it
incumbent upon me to communicate it to the citizens of Berlin."
The governor returned with tottering steps into his house. For a moment
the people remained silent, and seemed still to listen to the words they
had just heard; but suddenly a loud, powerful voice shouted: "If the
governor does not know any thing, perhaps Professor Lange does. He has
established a newspaper for the special purpose of communicating to us
the latest news from the seat of war; let us go to his house and ask him
what the _Telegraph_ says."[8]
[Footnote 8: The _Telegraph_ was a journal founded by a certain
Professor Lange, on the day when the Prussian army left Berlin. In his
prospectus he spoke in the most fulsome terms of the "invincible army of
Frederick the Great," and promised to publish always the latest news
from the seat of war.]
"Yes, yes, let us go to his house and ask him what the _Telegraph_
says!" yelled the crowd. "Where does Professor Lange live? Who can guide
us to him?"
"I can do so," said the same voice that had spoken before. "Professor
Lange lives at 22 Leipsic Street."
"Come, come, let us go to Professor Lange! Let us hear what the
_Telegraph_ says!" shouted the crowd, and hastened across the Opera
Place and Gensdarmes Market down Charlotte Street to the residence of
the journalist.
"The _Telegraph_! the _Telegraph_!" yelled the people. "We want to know
what the _Telegraph_ says! Professor Lange, give us the news from the
seat of war!"
A window on the first floor was hastily opened, and the pale, frightened
face of a gentleman looked out. "What do you want to see me for?" asked
a tremulous and hollow voice. "Why do you mention the _Telegraph_?"
"We want news from the army! We want to know whether it is true that we
have lost a battle!"
"God forbid!" said the gentleman at the window. "I have not received any
news whatever for the last three days; I know only one thing, and that
is, that Cabinet Counsellor Lombard, who was at the headquarters of the
army in Weimar, returned last night to Berlin, and is now at his
residence. Counsellor Lombard, therefore, would be the man to whom you
ought to apply."
"Lombard! Lombard!" shouted the crowd, accompanying the name with bitter
imprecations. When this name was heard, all faces turned gloomy, and
every voice assumed an angry and threatening tone.
"Lombard is to blame for every thing!" grumbled a few here and there,
and "Lombard is to blame for every thing!" was repeated louder and
louder. The excitement was as when a storm, sweeping over the sea,
lashes its waves, until, rising higher and higher, they foam with fury.
"Lombard sides with the French!" reiterated the surging mass. "He has
secretly informed the enemy of all the operations of our army, and if
the Prussians are defeated, he will be glad of it. We will go to
Lombard, and he must tell us all he knows. But woe to him if the news
should be bad!"
And the multitude with savage yells hastened down the street, back to
the Linden, and toward the residence of Cabinet Counsellor Lombard.
All the window-blinds of his house were closed, as they had been for the
last two weeks, since this well-known favorite of Minister von Haugwitz
had repaired to the headquarters of the army at Weimar. But Professor
Lange had stated, perhaps for the sole purpose of diverting the general
attention from himself, and of directing it toward the unpopular cabinet
counsellor, that Lombard had returned, and the people believed him.
"Lombard! Lombard!" shouted hundreds of voices. Eyes which had hitherto
looked only sad and anxious became threatening; many a fist was lifted
up to the closed windows, and many an imprecation uttered.
"If a disaster has taken place, it is Lombard's fault," cried one of the
crowd.
"If it is his fault, he shall and must atone for it," exclaimed another.
"He has no heart for Prussia's honor," said a third. "He is a
German-Frenchman, and would not object if the whole of Prussia should
become a French province. If he knew how to do it, he certainly would
not shrink from it, even should he bring captivity and distress upon the
king and the queen!"
"He has already done much mischief," shouted another. "The Russian army
which was to support ours ought to have been here long ago, but he
detained the dispatches in which the king informed the czar that our
army had advanced against the French. It is his fault that the Russians
have not yet arrived."
"It is his fault that the Russians have not yet arrived!" roared the
wild chorus, and the furious men began to rush toward the house. Many
armed themselves with stones, hurled them at the walls and broke the
windows; others commenced striking with vigorous fists at the closed
door.
"Open the door! open the door! We want to see Lombard! He shall account
for what he has done!" exclaimed the enraged men. "Woe to him if it be
true that we have lost a battle! Woe to him if--"
"Silence! silence!" suddenly thundered a loud, imperious voice. "See,
there is a courier!"
"A courier! A courier!" and all rushed back from the house into the
street; every eye turned toward the horseman, who approached at full
gallop.
As if obeying a military command, the multitude made way for him, but at
every step they closed behind him, and, pressing him on all sides, his
progress was exceedingly slow.
But the courier, with his gloomy mien and pale cheeks, looked like a
bearer of bad news, and when the people had scanned his features, they
murmured, "He brings bad news! A disaster is written on his forehead!"
"Let me pass," he said in an imploring voice; "in the name of the king,
let me pass!" And as he spurred his horse, the bystanders fell back in
alarm.
"'In the name of the king!' the king, then, is still alive?"
"Yes, the king is alive!" replied the courier, sadly. "I have dispatches
from him for the Governor of Berlin and Cabinet Counsellor Lombard."
"And what do these dispatches contain?" asked a thousand voices.
"I do not know, and even though I did, I am not at liberty to tell you.
The governor will communicate the news to the inhabitants of Berlin."
"Tell us the news!" demanded the people.
"I cannot do so; and, moreover, I do not know any thing about it,"
replied the courier, who had now reached Lombard's house, and whose
horse was again so closely surrounded that it was scarcely able to move
its feet.
"Do not detain me, my friends, I beseech you--let me dismount here,"
said the courier. "I must deliver my dispatches to Cabinet Counsellor
Lombard."
"Oh, let him deliver his dispatches. We can afterward compel M. Lombard
to communicate their contents."
"Yes; let him deliver his dispatches," said all; "Lombard shall
presently tell us what they contain."
The crowd stood back on both sides of the door, and busy hands were
ready to assist the rider in dismounting. But before he had been able to
do so, a voice from the rear was heard: "Ask him where the queen is at
present!"
"Yes, yes, where is the queen? where is the queen?"
"The queen?" said he. "I passed her fifteen minutes ago near the city
and delivered dispatches to her, too. The queen? Look there!" And he
pointed to the Brandenburg gate.
A carriage, drawn by six horses, was seen rapidly approaching.
"The queen! It is the queen!" joyfully shouted every one, and the
thousands who had been a moment before so anxious to learn the news, and
to call Lombard to account, rushed toward the carriage. Meantime the
courier, whose presence seemed to be entirely forgotten, dismounted, and
rapped softly at the door. It was at once opened in a cautious manner,
and a voice whispered: "Take your horse into the house. You can
afterward ride through the garden, and out of the back gate to the
governor's residence."
The door was hastily thrown open, and closed as soon as the courier had
entered with his horse. No notice was taken of this movement, for every
one thought only of the queen, and looked anxiously through the closed
coach windows.
"The queen! It is the queen!" exclaimed the people, greeting the beloved
lady in the most rapturous manner. All arms were raised in sign of
respect, and every voice uttered a welcome of "Long live the queen!"
The carriage window was lowered, and Louisa's beautiful face appeared;
but she looked pale and afflicted; her eyes, generally so radiant,
seemed dimmed and tearful; yet she tried to smile, and bowed repeatedly
to her enthusiastic friends, who rushed impetuously toward her, and, in
their exultation, forgetful of the rules of etiquette, seized the reins
and stopped the horses.
"We want to see our queen! Long live our Queen Louisa!" cried thousands
of voices. Those who stood nearest the carriage, and beheld her
countenance, fell on their knees in the fervor of their love, and eyes
that never before had wept were filled with tears; for she seemed as an
angel of sorrow and suffering. She rose, and, leaning out of the coach
door, returned the affectionate greetings of her faithful subjects, and,
weeping, stretched out her arms as if to bless them.
"Long live the queen! Long live Louisa!" they cried, and those who held
the horses, in order to stop the carriage, dropped the reins, rushed
toward the coach door, threw up their hats, and joined in the welcome
cry. The coachman, profiting by this movement, drove onward. The people,
whose desire had been satisfied in having seen their queen, no longer
resisted, and permitted the carriage to roll away.
Louisa closed her coach window, and, sinking back upon the cushions,
exclaimed in a heart-rending tone, "Alas! it is perhaps the last time
that they thus salute me! Soon, perhaps, I shall be no longer Queen of
Prussia!" She buried her face in her hands, and sobbed aloud.
"Do not weep," whispered Madame von Berg, the queen's intimate friend,
who was sitting by her side, "do not weep. It may be a dispensation of
Providence that the crown shall fall from your head for a moment, but He
will replace it more firmly, and one day you will again be happy."
"Oh, it is not for the sake of my own majesty, and for my little worldly
splendor, that I am lamenting at this moment," said the queen, removing
her hands from her face. "I should gladly plunge into obscurity and
death if my husband and my children were exempted from humiliation, and
if these good people, who love me, and are attached to their king,
should not be compelled to recognize a foreigner as their master, and
bow to him!"
"Even though the people should be subjugated at present," said Madame
von Berg, solemnly, "they will rise one day and avenge their disgrace!"
"Would you were a true prophetess!" exclaimed Louisa. "I hope the people
will remain faithful to us in adversity, and never forget their love for
their king! Yes, I will hope for that day, and pray that it may come
speedily. I will weep no more; but remember that I am a mother, and
shall see my children again--not to leave them, but to hasten with them
to my husband, who is waiting for me at Küstrin. In half an hour we must
continue our journey."
Just then the carriage drove past the main guard-house. The soldiers
presented arms, and the drums beat.
A melancholy smile overspread the queen's features. "Do you remember
what Prince Louis Ferdinand said to his mother, on the eve of his
departure to the army?" she asked in a low voice.
"No, your majesty, I do not remember, and it is possible that I never
heard of it."
"The princess believed a defeat of our army to be utterly impossible,"
said the queen. "She thought Prussia was so strong a bulwark that the
proud assault of the French empire would be in vain. 'You are mistaken,'
exclaimed Prince Louis Ferdinand; 'you think nothing will change, and
the drums will always be beaten when you ride out at the gate? On the
contrary, I tell you, mamma, one day you will ride out of the gate, and
no drums will be beaten!' The same will happen to us, my dear--we will
often ride out of the gate, and no drums will be beaten. But here is our
house, and I must hide my tears. I will show a smiling face to my
children."
The queen's carriage stopped for the first time at the doorsteps of the
palace without meeting there the ladies and gentlemen of the court, the
high dignitaries and functionaries who had formerly never failed to wait
on her. She had come without being expected, but on this day of anxiety
and terror the announcement of her arrival would have made no
difference; for every one thought only of himself, and was occupied with
his own safety. Only a few faithful servants, therefore, received her,
and bade her welcome with tearful eyes.
"Where are my children?" exclaimed the queen, anxiously. "Why are they
not here to receive their mother?"
"Your majesty," said the palace-steward, in a low voice, "a courier,
sent hither by the king, arrived last night, unfortunately having failed
to meet with your majesty on the road. The royal princes and princesses
set out two hours ago to Stettin, and thence to Grandenz. Such were his
majesty's orders."
The queen suppressed the cry of pain which rose to her lips, but a
deadly pallor overspread her cheeks. "In half an hour I shall set out,"
she said faintly. "Pack up only the most indispensable articles for me;
in half an hour I must be ready to enter my carriage. I shall, perhaps,
overtake my children in Stettin." And she retired to her room,
struggling to conceal the emotions that so violently agitated her.