CHAPTER XV.

THE VICTORIA OF THE BRANDENBURG GATE.

Without waiting for further permission to withdraw, the prince hastily

opened the door and went out. For a moment he sat down in the anteroom,

for his feet were trembling so as to be scarcely able to support him,

and such a pallor overspread his cheeks that Colonel Gerard, who had

been waiting, hastened to him in dismay, and asked whether he would

permit him to call a physician. Prince Augustus smilingly shook his

head. "The physician of whom I stand in need is in my mother's kitchen,"

he said, "and your emperor has permitted me to seek him." Just then the

grand marshal entered the room, and, making a sign to Gerard, whispered

a few words into his ear.

"Your royal highness is delivered from the burden of my company," said

the colonel to the prince when Duroc had withdrawn. "Permit me, however,

to conduct you to the carriage that is to convey you to the palace of

Prince Ferdinand."

In the court-yard below, an imperial carriage was waiting, and Colonel

Gerard himself hastened to open the door to assist the prince in

entering. But the latter waved his hand deprecatingly, and stepped back.

"I am unworthy of entering the imperial carriage," he said. "See, even

the coachman, in his livery, looks elegant compared with me; and all

Berlin would laugh, if it should see me ride in the emperor's

magnificent coach. Let me, therefore, walk off quite humbly and modestly

and enter the first conveyance I meet. Farewell, colonel, and accept my

thanks for the great attention and kindness you have manifested toward

me."

The prince kindly shook hands with him and then hastily walked across

the court-yard of the palace toward the place in front of it--the

so-called _Lustgarten_. He crossed this place and the wide bridge, built

across an arm of the Spree, without meeting with any vehicle. But the

fresh air, and the sense that he was free, agreed with him so well that

he felt strong enough to proceed on foot to his father's palace.

"No one recognizes me in this miserable costume," he said, smiling--"no

notice will be taken of me, and I will be able to reach my home without

being detained." And he walked vigorously across the Opera Place toward

the Linden. This neighborhood, generally so lively and frequented, was

strangely deserted--no promenaders--none of the contented and happy

faces, formerly to be met with on the Opera Place and under the Linden,

were to be seen to-day. Only a few old women were mournfully creeping

along here and there; and, when the prince passed the guard-house, he

saw French soldiers standing in the front, who looked arrogantly and

scornfully at the Prussian officer, and did not think of saluting him.

"Ah, my brother," muttered Prince Augustus to himself, "your prophecy

has been quickly fulfilled! The drums are no longer beaten when we ride

out of the gate and pass the guard-house. Well, I do not care. I would

gladly do without such honors, if Prussia herself only were

honored--if--" A noise, proceeding from the lower end of the Linden,

interrupted his soliloquy. He advanced more rapidly to see what was

going on. The shouts drew nearer and nearer, and a dark, surging crowd

was hastening from the entrance of the Linden through the Brandenburg

Gate. Soon the prince was able to discern more distinctly the character

of the multitude approaching. They were French soldiers, marching up the

street, and on the sidewalk, as well as in the middle of the Linden; the

people and the citizens belonging to the national guard accompanying

them--the latter in the brilliant uniform which they had put on with the

consent of the French authorities, who, now that there were no Prussian

troops in Berlin, had permitted them to mount guard together with the

French. But the people and the national guard did not accompany the

French soldiers quietly; on the contrary, the bewildered prince

distinctly heard the sneers, the derisive laughter, and jeers of the

crowd; even the boys in the tree-tops were casting down their abusive

epithets. When the procession drew nearer, and the people surrounded the

prince, he discovered the meaning of these outbursts of scorn and

derision.

A strange and mournful procession was moving along in the midst of the

splendidly uniformed French soldiers. It consisted of the captured

officers of the Prussian guard, who had been obliged to walk from

Prenzlau to Berlin, and whom the French grenadiers had received outside

of the city limits and escorted by the walls to the Brandenburg Gate, so

that, in accordance with the emperor's orders, they might make their

entry through that way. Two months before, they had marched out of the

same gate in full uniform, proud and arrogant, looking down

superciliously on the civilians, whose humble greetings they scarcely

condescended to return. Two months before, General von Rüchel had been

able to exclaim: "A Prussian officer never goes on foot." The Prussian

guard had really believed that it would be scarcely worth while to draw

their swords against the French--that it would be sufficient merely to

march against them. But now the disastrous days of Jena had taught the

officers how to walk--now they did not look down scornfully from their

horses on poor civilians, and faith in their own irresistibility had

utterly disappeared. They marched with bowed heads, profoundly

humiliated, and compelled to suppress the grief overflowing their

hearts. Their uniforms were hanging in rags on emaciated forms, and the

colors of the cloth and the gold-lace facings were hidden beneath the

mud that covered them. Their boots were torn, and robbed of the silver

spurs; and, as in the case of Prince Augustus of Hohenzollern, many wore

wooden shoes. But in spite of this miserable and heart-rending

spectacle, the populace had no pity, but accompanied the melancholy

procession with derisive laughter and insulting shouts!

"Just look at those officers," exclaimed a member of the national guard,

approaching the soldiers--"look at those high-born counts! Do you

remember how proud they used to be? How they despised us at the balls,

in the saloons, and everywhere else? How we had always to stand aside in

the most submissive manner, in order not to be run down by them? They

will not do so again for some time to come."

"No," cried the crowd, "they won't hurt anybody now! Their pomp and

circumstance have vanished!"

"Just look at Baron von Klitzing!" exclaimed another. "See how the wet

rim of his hat is hanging down on his face, as though he were a modest

girl wishing to veil herself. Formerly, he used to look so bold and

saucy; seeming to believe the whole world belonged to him, and that he

needed only to stretch out his hand in order to capture ten French

soldiers with each finger."

"Yes, yes, they were tremendous heroes on marching out," shouted

another; "every one of the noble counts and barons had already his

laurel in his pocket, and was taking the field as though it were a

ball-room, in order to put his wreath on his head. Now they have come

back, and the laurels they have won are not even good enough to boil

carps with." A roar of laughter followed this hit, and all eyes turned

again in ridicule toward the poor officers, who were marching along,

mournfully and silently, with downcast yet noble bearing.

Filled with anger and shame, Prince Augustus pressed through the crowd.

He could not bear this disgraceful scene; he had to avert his head in

order not to see the unfortunate Prussian officers; he hurried away,

that he might hear no more the cruel taunts of the populace. The ranks

became less dense, and this terrible procession passed by--the street

was once more unobstructed. The prince rushed onward regardless of the

direction he was taking, crushed as he was by the disgrace and

wretchedness brought upon Prussia. He was again suddenly in front of a

large gathering. He looked about him wonderingly and in dismay. Without

knowing it, he had gone down to the large square in front of the

Brandenburg Gate, where was a dense crowd.

But the thousands here did not utter sneers or praises--they were sad

and silent; there was no malicious sparkle in their eyes as they rushed

in one direction to the Brandenburg Gate.

The prince beheld an inclined scaffold erected near the lofty Grecian

pillars of the gate, and reaching up to the cast-iron goddess of

victory, standing in her triumphal car, and holding the reins of her

horses. He saw the ropes, pulleys, and chains, attached to her form, and

it seemed to him as if they were around his own breast, and choking his

voice. He had to make an effort to utter a word, and, turning to a man

standing by, he asked in a low voice, "What is going on here? What are

they doing up there?"

The man looked at him long and mournfully. "The French are removing the

'Victoria' from the gate," he said, with suppressed anger. "They believe

the state no longer suitable to Berlin, and the emperor is sending it to

Paris, whither he has already forwarded the sword and clock of Frederick

the Great."

The prince uttered a groan of despair. At that moment a loud French

command was heard by the gate, and as if the "Victoria" were conscious,

and obedient to the orders of the emperor, a tremor seemed to seize the

goddess. She rose as the horses began to descend, and her figure bent

forward as if greeting Berlin for the last time. A loud noise resounded

above the heads of the crowd--the "Victoria" had glided safely to the

ground. The prince uttered a cry, and, as if paralyzed, closed his eyes.

When he opened them again the beautiful pillars of the Brandenburg Gate

had been deprived of their ornament, and the "Victoria," with her

triumphal horses, stood deposed from her lofty throne.

Prince Augustus raised his tearful eyes to heaven and whispered, "Oh, my

brother, I envy you your death, for it was not permitted you to behold

the humiliation and sorrow of Prussia!"

BOOK II.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE TREATY OF CHARLOTTENBURG.

Queen Louisa was pacing her room in great excitement. At times she stood

still at the window, and looked anxiously into the street as if

expecting the arrival of some one. But that street--the main one in

Osterode, in which city the royal couple had spent the last few

days--remained silent and deserted. Large snow-flakes were falling from

the cheerless, lead-colored sky, and the November storm was now sweeping

them into little mounds, and again dispersing them in clouds of white

dust. The queen beheld nothing but this winter scene; she sighed and

returned to her room to pace it as rapidly as before.

But she was constantly drawn to the window, gazing into the street and

listening breathlessly to any noise that reached her ears. "If he should

not come," she muttered anxiously, "or if too late, all would be lost,

and the cowards and babblers would be able once more to persuade my

husband to yield to their clamor for peace. Heaven have mercy on our

unhappy country and on ourselves!"

Suddenly she started up, and leaned closer to the window in order to see

better. Yes, she had not been mistaken. In the lower part of the street

a carriage was to be seen. The storm prevented her from hearing the

noise of the wheels, but she saw it--it drew nearer and nearer, and

finally stopped in front of the house. The queen stepped back, and,

drawing a deep breath, she raised her eyes to heaven. "I thank Thee, my

God! Thou hast had mercy on my anguish," she whispered with a gentle

smile. She then walked slowly and faintly across the room toward the

divan and sank down on it. "Ah," she muttered, "this eternal anxiety,

this unrelieved suspense and excitement are consuming my strength--nay,

my life. My feet are trembling; my heart stands entirely still at times,

and then beats again as violently as if it would burst from my breast.

But, no matter! I am quite willing to die if I only live to see the

deliverance of my country and the preservation of my house." She dropped

her head on the cushions and gazed with dilated eyes at the sky. But, on

hearing a low rap at the door, she slowly rose and called out in her

full, sonorous voice, "Come in!" The door opened, and Madame von Berg

entered.

"Well, Caroline, he has arrived, I suppose?" asked the queen.

"No, your majesty," said Madame von Berg, smiling, "_they_ have arrived.

The two ministers, Baron von Stein and Count von Hardenberg request your

majesty to grant them an audience."

"Hardenberg!" exclaimed Louisa joyfully, and her pale face brightened.

"Oh, let them come in--immediately!"

The queen quickly left the divan and walked toward the door. But Madame

von Berg hastened to reach it before her and opened it. "Come in,

gentlemen," she said; "her majesty is waiting for you!"

"Yes, I am waiting for you," exclaimed Louisa, meeting them, and with a

sweet smile extending both her hands.

The ministers bowed and kissed her hand. Madame von Berg had in the mean

time locked the door leading into the small anteroom, and withdrew

softly by the opposite door.

"Then you received the message the king sent you?" asked the queen,

turning toward Baron von Stein. "And you did not hesitate a moment to

come here? And you, count," added she, turning toward Hardenberg, "you

did the same as this faithful friend? Having heard that the decisive

moment had come, you did not hesitate to offer your services to your

king? Oh, I thank you, gentlemen; I thank you in the name of my husband,

of my children, and of our country! In these days of danger and

distress, when all are wavering and fearful, it does my heart good to

meet with unswerving fealty and devotion. Ah, so many have proved

faithless and deserted us!"

"But so many also have remained faithful, your majesty," said

Hardenberg, "so many have proved true and loyal!"

The queen gazed at him long and mournfully. "Few," she said, "alas, very

few! You say so only in your magnanimity, because you do not care to

make your loyalty appear as something extraordinary. But, look around in

Prussia--look at our fortresses! Everywhere treachery and

cowardice--everywhere perfidy! I will not speak to you of Stettin, of

Küstrin, of Spandau, of Anclam, and Erfurt! You know already that we

have lost them. But have you learned the dreadful tidings we received

yesterday? Do you know that Magdeburg has surrendered?"

"Magdeburg!" ejaculated Stein and Hardenberg, at the same time.

Louisa nodded sadly, and her eyes filled with tears. "It was our last

bulwark," she said, "and it is gone, too! I have wept much since

yesterday. Now I will be calm, and force my grief back into my heart.

But as Mary, Queen of England, said at the capture of Calais, 'If my

heart were opened, you would find on it the name of _Magdeburg_ in

bloody letters!'"[25]

[Footnote 25: Louisa's own words.--Vide "Queen Louisa," p. 316.]

"It is true," said Hardenberg, gloomily, "it is a great disaster. A

fortress so well supplied with every thing, and a garrison of more than

ten thousand men!"

"If your majesty will permit me, I ask, how did this intelligence

impress the king?" said Baron von Stein.

"He bore it with resignation, and that calm courage which never leaves

him in these days of affliction," said Louisa, quickly. "But his

so-called friends and advisers, Messrs. von Haugwitz, Köckeritz, Voss,

and Kalkreuth, received the heart-rending news with secret satisfaction.

I read it in their faces, notwithstanding the sadness they assumed. They

regard the fall of Magdeburg as an ally of their intentions and schemes.

They desire peace with France--peace at any price--and hope that the

king will now approve their views. Hence, Minister von Stein, Madame von

Berg had to give a letter to the courier yesterday, in which I urged you

to comply with the king's orders, and to come here immediately. Hence,

Count von Hardenberg, I am glad that you have come too. Oh, I know very

well what it must have cost your noble heart to come without being

expressly requested; but you did so for the sake of the crushed and

prostrate fatherland--I know it very well--and not for Prussia, not for

us, but for Germany, on whose neck the tyrant has placed his foot, and

which he will strangle unless the good and the brave unite their whole

strength and hurl him off."

"I came here," said Hardenberg, "because I remembered that hour when

your majesty permitted me to give an oath of unwavering fealty and

devotion--that hour when you condescended to accept my hand for our

league against France, and when you vowed to exert yourself to the best

of your ability to maintain the policy Prussia had entered into, and not

to suffer her king ever to accept the perfidious friendship of France!"

"I have never forgotten that hour," said the queen, gravely. "He who

joined us in taking that pledge at the solemn moment you refer to,

Prince Louis Ferdinand, has sealed his vow with his death: he is

sleeping on the field of honor. But I feel convinced that he is looking

down on us from heaven; and, if it be given to the spirits of the

blessed to influence the affairs of mortals, he will instill his ardor

into our breast, and assist us in reaching the true goal. But what is

that goal? and what the true way? My short-sighted eye is not able to

discern it. When I behold the tremendous successes of the conqueror, I

am perplexed, and ask myself whether it be not evident that God will

make him master of the world, and whether, consequently, it be not in

vain to struggle against him? Oh, my soul is at times engaged in

terrible conflict with itself, and gloomy doubts frighten it. But I feel

now that we are on the eve of the crisis, and that the present day will

decide our whole future. Grand-Marshal Duroc will reach this city

to-day; Colonel von Rauch, who preceded him, has already arrived. He

delivered to the king the treaty of peace, which M. de Zastrow and

Lucchesini concluded with Talleyrand at Charlottenburg. Napoleon has

already signed it. Only the king's signature is wanting, and, as soon as

he affixes it, we are the friends and vassals of the emperor of France,

and must either lay the sword aside, or, if he should command us to do

so, draw it against Russia, our present ally. A stroke of the pen will

determine the future of Prussia and the fate of my children. Now, help

me and all of us!--now, advise me as to what ought to be done! Tell me

your honest opinion as freely and sincerely as though you were standing

before God! Count von Hardenberg, pray, speak first! Do you believe it

to be necessary for the welfare of Prussia, of my children, and, above

all, of my husband, that the king should approve the treaty?"

"Your majesty is aware that I never advised the king to form an alliance

with France," said Hardenberg, "and that my most sacred conviction will

ever prevent me from doing so. But, in order to pass an opinion on the

treaty of Charlottenburg, I ought to know its provisions, and your

majesty is aware that the king has not permitted me of late to take part

in the negotiations. I do not know what the treaty contained."

"Nor I either," said Baron von Stein, when the queen turned toward him

with an inquiring glance. "But I know those who concluded it; I know

that M. de Lucchesini and M. de Zastrow believe no sacrifice, no

humiliation too great, if they can thereby succeed in making peace with

France. I know that Talleyrand is wily enough to profit by their

weakness, their cowardice, and lack of true honor; and I know, finally,

that if Napoleon signs a treaty of peace with Prussia now, it cannot but

be advantageous to him, and humiliating to Prussia."

"I will tell you what the treaty contains," said a grave voice behind

them.

"The king!" exclaimed Louisa, rising quickly and hastening to him.

He greeted her cordially, and gave her his hand. "I wished to see you in

your cabinet," he said, smiling, "and thus overheard the last words of

the secret council which is held here."

Louisa blushed slightly; the king noticed it, and shook his head a

little. "It is quite agreeable to me," he said, turning toward the two

ministers, "that the queen informs herself of the state of our affairs

and of politics generally, consulting men in whose loyalty and devotion

she reposes confidence. We must know our fate accurately and thoroughly,

in order to look it courageously in the face, and decide on such

measures as are most conducive to our welfare. Moreover, the queen has

hitherto bravely shared all our dangers and hardships; it is, therefore,

but just that she should take part in our consultations."

"Oh, my king and husband," exclaimed Louisa pressing his hand against

her bosom, "I thank you for your kindness and generosity. I thank you

for not sending me back into the narrow sphere of woman; for permitting

me to look beyond the threshold of my apartments, and to have a heart

for the calamities of our country."

The king nodded kindly to her, and then turned to the two ministers, who

had respectfully withdrawn toward the door. "I invited you to come here,

M. Minister von Stein," he said, "that you might participate in a

meeting of the cabinet, at which our course in regard to the treaty of

Charlottenburg is to be decided. I am glad that you have come. And,"

added he, addressing Hardenberg, "I am glad also that you are here. I

like men who, conscious of their worth, are not irritated at being

seemingly neglected. I know how to appreciate the fact that you are

standing by us in these times of adversity, and not looking out only for

your own quiet and comfort. I am fully aware that you are not pursuing

this course from selfish motives, and that you are rich enough to live

without any public position--richer, perhaps, than your king! Well, the

queen requested you to give her your opinion about the treaty of

Charlottenburg, and I came in and interrupted you."

"Your majesty heard that these gentlemen assured me they were ignorant

of the contents of the treaty," said the queen, fixing her beaming eyes

on the calm, grave face of her husband; "your majesty, on entering the

room, were kind enough to say you would communicate the contents to us."

"I will do so, to keep the gentlemen posted," said the king--"not,

however, as king, but as a friend, whom you, Louisa, will authorize to

take part in the deliberations of this secret council of state. Hence,

let us proceed without any regard to etiquette. I did not want to

preside over, but merely to attend your consultation, and to tell you

what you are ignorant of. Resume your seats, therefore."

"And you, dear husband!" asked the queen, sitting down again on the

divan, "will you be so kind as to take a seat by my side?"

The king nodded, and sat down by her side, while the ministers took

seats opposite. "Listen, then, to the terms of peace," said the king.

"The Emperor Napoleon demands the whole territory situated on the right

bank of the Vistula, from the point where the river enters the Prussian

states, to its mouth. Besides, he demands the surrender of the

fortresses of Kolberg, Hameln, Nienburg, Glogau, and Breslau; the

cession of the whole of Silesia, on the right bank of the Oder, with the

greater part of the section of this province lying on the left bank of

that river. He, moreover, demands the city and fortress of Graudenz; he

requires all the Prussian forces to withdraw to Königsberg and its

environs, and that the Russian troops shall evacuate our states

immediately. After all these conditions have been complied with in the

most scrupulous manner, either side is to be at liberty to resume

hostilities ten days after giving due notice thereof."[26]

[Footnote 26: Vide "Prussia in the Years 1806 and 1807"--a Diary, by

H.V. Schladen, p. 57.]

The queen, no longer able to suppress her agitation, uttered a cry, and

turned toward her husband with glowing cheeks and flashing eyes. "And

what does he offer us in return for all these humiliations?" she asked.

"How is he going to reward us for selling to him our provinces, our

fortresses, and our honor?"

"In return," said the king, slowly, laying stress on every word--"in

return, he holds out to us the prospect of marching soon as his ally

against Russia, and of supporting the Ottoman Porte. A second note,

which Talleyrand drew up in the name of his master, and communicated to

our envoy, was added. This note stated that, inasmuch as France, owing

to constantly renewed wars, as well as her allies, Spain and Holland,

had lost their most flourishing colonies in Asia and in the West Indies,

and were compelled, for the fourth time, to fight in their own defence,

justice and reason authorized the emperor to seek compensations on this

side of the seas for the losses he and his allies had suffered, and to

look for these compensations in those countries which, by virtue of his

victories, he had the power to dispose of in such a manner as he deemed

best. The greatest evil which Prussia had brought about by the last war,

for which she alone was responsible, was the fact that the Ottoman Porte

had been deprived thereby of its independence; for, owing to the

insulting and threatening demands of the Emperor of Russia, two princes,

who had been justly banished from the possessions of the Sultan, had

been placed at the head of the government of the Danubian

principalities, so that Moldavia and Wallachia were at present nothing

else than Russian provinces. 'Accordingly,' concludes Talleyrand's note,

'so long as the Sultan should not have recovered the legitimate

sovereignty over these provinces, the emperor would not consent to give

up any countries which the fortune of war had placed in his hands, or

which he might conquer hereafter.'"[27]

[Footnote 27: "Mémoires d'un Homme d'État," vol. ix., p. 341.]

"That is to say," exclaimed the queen, passionately, "that Napoleon

declares war against Russia, and, if we make peace with him, we must

take up arms against that empire."

"That will be inevitable," said the king, composedly. "Besides this

note, Talleyrand communicated some important information to our

ambassadors. He told them that Napoleon, before setting out from Berlin,

would issue a decree, absolutely prohibiting all commerce with England,

and ordering, further, that all letters coming from or going to that

country, addressed to an Englishman, or written in English, were to be

stopped at the post-office; that all goods, the produce of English

manufactures, or of English colonies, were to be confiscated, not only

on the coast, but in the interior, in the houses of the merchants by

whom they should be retained; that every vessel, having only touched at

the English colonies, or at any of the ports of the three kingdoms,

should be forbidden to enter French ports, or ports under subjection to

France, and that every Englishman whatsoever, seized in France, or in

the countries under subjection to her arms, should be declared a

prisoner of war.[28] Now," added he, in a subdued tone, "I have finished

my communication. You know the treaty of peace, and every thing

belonging to it. You will be able to form a definite opinion with regard

to it; you can, accordingly, fulfil the queen's wish, and tell her

whether you would advise me to sign it. Speak! and remember that here,

in this room, I am not the king, but only the queen's friend, happening

to be present at your consultation. It, therefore, behooves me to be

silent, and to listen."

[Footnote 28: Thiers, "Consulat et Empire," vol. vii., p. 880.]

CHAPTER XVII.

THE SECRET COUNCIL OF STATE.

The king leaned back, and, supporting his head on his arms, shaded his

face with his hands, as if it were a screen that was to conceal the

expression of his features. The queen turned with a sweet smile toward

the two gentlemen. "My husband having permitted it," she said, "pray,

speak. Let me hear your views. And as I deem the opinions of both of you

equally important, I do not know whom to request to commence. Let the

oldest speak first."

"Then, your majesty, I must speak," said Hardenberg, bowing low, "I know

that I am seven years older than Baron von Stein. He surpasses me in

wisdom as I do him in years."

"Well, speak," said Louisa. "What do you think of this treaty?"

"I think it is a new proof of the reckless pride of Bonaparte," said

Hardenberg. "In order to appreciate it correctly it is necessary for us

to look back into the past, and to remember how this war arose, which

the emperor asserts to have been provoked by Prussia. But the king, our

most gracious master, never desired war; on the contrary, he withstood,

for a long while, the wishes of his ministers, his court, his people,

and his army. He would have avoided the war, if Napoleon had allowed him

to form a Confederation of the North, conservative in its tendencies,

but not hostile to the Confederation of the Rhine. Deceived, menaced,

insulted, the king continued negotiating to the last moment, and did not

cease hoping that France would acknowledge that she was wrong, and yield

to the remonstrances and wishes of Prussia. The king was arming, it is

true, but only for the purpose of supporting his just and strictly

pacific demands by such a military demonstration. Compelled by Napoleon,

he had to obey the dictates of honor at last and draw his sword. The

fortunes of war decided against him; he was defeated. He commenced

negotiating again; for the sake of the welfare of his people he

submitted to the most rigorous terms which the conqueror imposed on him;

but Napoleon, instead of appreciating this, became only the more

arrogant and insatiable in his demands. The king's willingness to accept

those terms was of no avail; the conditions which had been imposed on

him were repudiated and nullified. Every new triumph, every new

capitulation of a fortress, caused the emperor to render his demands

more rigorous; and he dares now to offer a treaty, which would reduce

the kingdom of Prussia to a single province--which could not but render

the king's position even more precarious, and would be the depth of

humiliation, without offering the least prospect of a speedy and lasting

recovery from our past disasters. If Prussia should accept this utterly

illusory compact, she would thereby deliver herself completely into the

hands of an insatiable enemy, whose ambitious schemes are well known,

and deprive herself of the only support still remaining. She would

betray Russia and not save herself by this treachery, but only

accelerate her own utter ruin. No one can dare to advise the king to

sign such a paper, and, least of all, myself, after constantly opposing

an alliance with France, even at a time when it would seemingly have

been advantageous to Prussia. Your majesty ordered me to express my

opinion, and I have done so to the best of my conviction."

The queen thanked him by a slight bow, and then turned toward Baron von

Stein. "And you?" she asked, "will you communicate to me your views

about this treaty which our envoys have already signed at

Charlottenburg?"

"Your majesty," said Baron von Stein, quickly, "I lack the wise

composure and smiling calmness of Count von Hardenberg. It was not given

me to weigh the interests and the conduct of friends and foes with

prudent tranquillity and magnanimous impartiality. I am no polished

courtier, but only a blunt, upright German, and as such your majesty

must allow me to speak to you. Well, my honest German heart revolts at

what M. Napoleon is pleased to call a treaty of peace, and what, it

seems to me, would be but a pact with degradation, dishonor, and

disgrace. If I had been in the place of Messrs. de Zastrow and

Lucchesini, I would have allowed my right hand to be cut off rather than

to be prevailed upon to sign any thing so ignominious; I would have died

rather than surrender at discretion in so humiliating a manner. I know

full well that these gentlemen have done so only in order to save the

political existence of the king and his state. But how little do they

know the intentions and schemes of our powerful adversary, whom only the

most determined and obstinate resistance can induce to be moderate in

his exactions, and who, so soon as he has nothing to fear, shrinks from

nothing! As soon as the king, according to these stipulations, has

surrendered to him his fortresses and Silesian possessions, Napoleon

will give notice that he resumes hostilities within ten days, and the

king having not sufficient power to offer him any resistance, the loss

of his last and only possessions would be the natural consequence.

Napoleon would even manage matters in such a way as to leave it to

other hands to carry out this last spoliation. It is well known what

prospects he held out in Berlin to the deputation of the Poles, and by

what words and promises he instigated them to rise. He now demands the

removal of our troops from Graudenz and its environs, that is to say

from Prussian Poland. He wishes to promote the insurrection in Poland,

and to assist the Poles as efficiently as possible, so that we should

lose these provinces during the cessation of hostilities. His majesty,

moreover, is unable to enter into an engagement concerning the

withdrawal of the Russian troops, and the last fortresses, therefore,

would be sacrificed in vain. But it is just as little in the power of

the king to induce the Emperor of Russia to waive his just claims

against the Porte, or to deprive the Hospodars of Moldavia and Wallachia

of the protection pledged to them. The Russian emperor has already

marched his troops into Moldavia. The struggle with the Porte has begun,

and his honor will not permit him to recede from the stand he has taken.

Up to this hour he has remained unwaveringly faithful, in words as well

as in actions, to his Prussian ally. A large Russian army is already

approaching our frontier, and it is said the Czar himself is

accompanying it in order to join the Prussian forces and then attack

Napoleon. By signing the treaty of Charlottenburg, however, the King of

Prussia would not only have to reject the assistance offered him, but be

compelled to turn his sword against him who, in his generous friendship,

is coming to help him fight for the preservation of his states.

"This so-called treaty of peace would raise up two new enemies against

Prussia, and without changing her old foe, France, into a firm and

reliable friend. The first of these is Russia, which Prussia would have

deserted in the most perfidious manner; the second is Great Britain,

which would wage war against the ally of France as well as against

France herself. Napoleon, by that decree against English goods,

property, and subjects, throws down a new gauntlet to Great Britain, for

it is the beginning of a blockade of the entire continent; and William

Pitt, the great and heroic minister of King George, will assuredly

accept the challenge. It will kindle anew the whole fire of his hatred

and vengeance, and he will urge the full power of England against

France. Now, Talleyrand has declared loudly that Napoleon would allow

Prussia to maintain her existence as an independent state, only if

England and Russia should make peace with him on acceptable terms.

Neither, however, will do this, and Prussia, consequently, would be

irretrievably lost by accepting these conditions; for she would then

have three enemies and not a single ally. Not only honor, but also

prudence commands us to reject the treaty. Not to obey the dictates of

those two powers would be to hurl Prussia into an abyss of

wretchedness, where she would not hear the sympathetic lamentations of

a single ally, but the scornful laughter of the world. I hope that the

king may preserve Prussia from such consequences, and graciously permit

us to maintain, amid our disasters and sorrows, a clear conscience and

erect head, as it behooves men more willing to die than give up honor

and liberty!

"Your majesty must pardon me if I have spoken too freely and

unreservedly. But you commanded me to express my honest opinion. I have

done so, and pray you to forgive me if my words have not been

sufficiently delicate and well chosen."

"I have nothing to pardon, only to thank you," said the queen, "as well

as Count von Hardenberg. Both of you have permitted me to look into the

innermost recesses of your hearts. You have spoken according to your

honest conviction: I thank you!" And turning her radiant eyes toward the

king, Louisa added in a tone of profound emotion, "Your majesty, we have

lost Magdeburg! But are not such men as these worth more than a

fortress? Fortresses may fall, but so long as we shall have such men by

our side, Prussia will not be lost!"

The king, who had been sitting all the while in the same attitude, his

head supported on his arm, and his face hidden behind his hand, slowly

dropped it and looked long and inquiringly at the queen. "It is your

turn now to express your opinion," he said, calmly. "I believe you owe

it to your advisers to tell them what you think of it. You thank those

who speak to you honestly and truthfully, by answering them in the same

manner. I, therefore, request the queen now to speak in her turn, and to

tell us what she thinks of this treaty."

"I think, my king and husband, that I would rather be killed by the

first cannon-ball discharged against France than sanction this

ignominious treaty," exclaimed the queen, with glowing cheeks, and with

passionate impetuosity. "I think that, in case you sign it, I should

never dare to set foot again in the palace of Charlottenburg, because it

would seem to me as though I were not allowed to raise my eyes either to

man or to God, for the human heart turns away from the perfidious and

dishonored, and God Himself has no mercy on them. I should think the

walls of this house would fall upon us to hide our shame--I should

shrink shudderingly from every table, because that treaty might have

been signed on it which is to render us recreant to duty, and to steal

our unsullied honor. No! let us be humiliated, and succumb with a clear

conscience, rather than accept the friendship and alliance of the

Corsican, at the expense of principle!"

"Ah!" muttered the king, bowing his head, "if words could be transformed

into swords, you would win battles for me to-day. Unfortunately,

however, soldiers are necessary for that purpose, and I have no army.

Your words may be the dragons' teeth from which armed warriors may

spring, but they might turn against ourselves and annihilate us!" He

paused and looked down musingly. The queen dared not disturb his

reflections, and gazed at him in silence and with an air of tender

sympathy. The two ministers looked no less grave, and waited until he

would interrupt the silence and address them.

The king raised his head and looked at the clock. "Four o'clock," he

said, rising more hastily than usual. "I have ordered the ministers and

generals to assemble at the rooms of Minister von Haugwitz, and told

them that I should be present. I like to be punctual. Let us go then,

gentlemen; it is time for us to be at the conference."

The two ministers rose to take leave of the queen. Louisa gave each of

them her hand, which they kissed, and she dismissed them with a grateful

glance. The king kindly waved his hand, and, after they had left the

room, turned to the queen. "Farewell, dear Louisa," he said, offering

his hand to her; "official duties are calling me, and so long as I am

king I must not neglect them. I came to you in order to dispel my cares

a little by chatting with you, and instead of doing so I had to be

present at a meeting of a secret council of state. The unfortunate have

no time for recreation, and that may be useful and salutary, after all.

Farewell, then; I must go to Haugwitz's rooms."

He was about to leave, but the queen grasped his hand, and gazed with an

imploring glance searchingly at his calm and impenetrable countenance.

"Oh, my husband," she said, in a voice tremulous with emotion; "you are

going to leave me thus? You do not utter a word of consolation and

assurance?"

The king kissed her on the forehead, and pointed to the clock. "It is

high time for me to go to the conference," he said, and gently

disengaging his hand hastened away.

Louisa gazed after him until he had disappeared; she then raised her

hands and eyes to heaven. "O my God," she whispered, "direct his

resolutions, and cause him to choose what is right! Oh, give me strength

to bear my misfortunes patiently, and not to despair and murmur, even

though the king should decide on another course than the one my heart

longs for, and my reason believes to be right." On casting down her

eyes, she happened to see the open piano, and hastening to it her white

hands commenced playing a soul-moving melody. She then sang, with

tearful eyes and fervent voice: "_Wer nur den lieben Gott lässt walten,

und hoffet auf ihn alle Zeit_--"

Scarcely an hour had elapsed--the queen was still singing at the piano

when the door behind her softly opened, and the king again entered. The

carpet and the full notes of the piano prevented her hearing his

footsteps. The king walked rapidly to his wife, and laid his hand on her

shoulder. She started, and looked up to her husband with an inquiring,

anxious glance, and rose slowly from her chair.

"Louisa," said the king, solemnly, "I have just returned from the

conference of the ministers at Haugwitz's rooms. Besides Prince Henry

and myself, ten ministers, generals, and cabinet councillors were

present. Seven advocated the ratification of the treaty of

Charlottenburg; four were opposed to it. The majority; therefore, were

in favor of it."

The queen turned pale, and the painful quivering of her lips betrayed

her inward emotion. "There were eleven present besides you," said she,

breathlessly. "Seven voted for ratifying the treaty; four were opposed

to it! But what did the king say, who had to decide every thing? Did my

beloved husband side with the majority?"

"The king," said Frederick William, slowly, "decided in favor of the

minority."

Louisa uttered a cry, and, seizing his hand, bent over and imprinted a

warm kiss on it. "Oh, my dear husband, you did not accept the

ignominious Charlottenburg bargain?" she asked, joyfully. "You did not

yield to the majority? My God! I thank Thee, for Thou hast fulfilled the

most fervent wishes of my soul! Oh, my dear husband, if there were in my

heart still a spot which love for you had not consecrated, it would be

now! My whole heart is filled with pride, delight, and esteem for you.

We shall not make peace, then, with the tyrant, or accept the

hypocritical friendship of our mortal foe--we shall remain faithful to

ourselves, to our honor, and to our ally."

"Yes, we shall reject that treaty," said the king. "We shall try to

carry on the war. But let us not yield to illusions; let us not endeavor

to deceive ourselves by indulging in sanguine hopes! In again drawing

the sword, we have to struggle for our existence, and we may possibly

fail."

"Better to be buried under the ruins of the throne than to sit on it

with the stigma of perfidy and dishonor!" exclaimed the queen. "Even the

crown would not cover such a stain!"

"We may lose our state and our crown, and be compelled to flee as

nameless beggars across the Russian frontier. Are you prepared for it?"

Louisa passionately encircled her husband's neck with her arms, and

looked him in the face with-an air of unutterable tenderness. "I am

prepared for every thing, provided I may stay with you," she said,

affectionately. "Let the worst befall us, it will find me calm and

courageous, for I shall share it with you. Where you go I go. And though

we should have to flee from our invincible enemy into the remotest wilds

of Russia, my heart would be glad, for honor would accompany us, and

love would be our comfort!"

The king laid his hand on her head, as if blessing her, and clasped her

in his arms. "You are a noble and heroic woman," he said, "and I thank

God from the bottom of my heart for having given me such a wife. Pray

for me, Louisa; pray for all of us! I will now go to receive the envoy

of Napoleon, M. Duroc, and tell him that I must reject the treaty of

Charlottenburg." He pressed a kiss on the queen's brow, and then crossed

the room arm-in-arm with her. When about to go, he stood still and

tenderly looked at her. "Ah, Louisa," he said, "I forgot to tell you

something. After informing the conference that I should not ratify the

treaty, but continue the war, I commissioned Haugwitz to draw up a

manifesto by which I would announce to my people the step I had resolved

upon. Count von Haugwitz, however, said he was unable to draw up such a

manifesto, and offered his resignation, owing to his enfeebled health,

and the disease of the eyes from which he is suffering."

The queen smiled, and an emotion of joy illuminated her countenance.

"You have accepted his resignation?" she asked, breathlessly.

"I have accepted it. He will set out to-day for his estates. I must at

once appoint his successor; for, in times such as these, I cannot do

without a minister of foreign affairs. Can you recommend any one to me

whom you would deem especially qualified for the position, and in whom

you have confidence?"

The queen looked in surprise at her husband, and cast down her eyes, as

if she feared he would read in them thoughts conflicting with her words.

"It does not behoove me to advise my sagacious and prudent husband,"

she said. "His wisdom will always be able to find the right man for the

right place, and to appoint a minister competent to promote the

interests of Prussia and her noble king."

"Then you do not know of any one whom you would recommend to me?" asked

he.

Louisa looked down, and silently shook her head.

The king smiled. "Well," he said, "in that case I myself must make the

selection, and I have already done so. Baron von Stein is the man whom I

will appoint minister of foreign affairs." He did not give his wife time

to reply, but left the room quickly, and closed the door.

The queen gazed after him, her eyes radiant with joy. "Oh," she said,

"what a great and noble heart! He who conquers himself is a hero indeed.

The king has overcome his own reluctance, and, contrary to his

inclination, selected the man whom his head appreciates, but whom his

heart does not love."

CHAPTER XVIII.

BARON VON STEIN.

On the same day, after the king had given an audience to Grand-Marshal

Duroc, and informed him that he rejected the treaty of Charlottenburg,

he instructed Köckeritz and Beyme to offer the department of foreign

affairs to Baron von Stein. But the baron had declined, declaring he was

unable to fill so difficult a position--that he lacked the necessary

knowledge of affairs and forms and the requisite skill in applying them

so as to discharge the duties of so high an office in an efficient

manner. The king, however, did not accept this refusal. He caused new

offers to be made to him--requesting him to take charge of the

department at least temporarily, and promising him a large salary,

besides eight thousand dollars annually for household expenses. But

Baron von Stein did not allow himself to be tempted by the brilliancy of

the position, or the large compensation. He adhered to his

determination, and declined a second time, proposing to the king to

appoint in his place, as minister of foreign affairs, Count von

Hardenberg, that experienced and skillful statesman.

The king shook his head indignantly, and bit his lips, as he was

accustomed to do whenever he was angry. "Tell Baron von Stein to come to

me," he said to General von Köckeritz. "I will speak to him myself."

General von Köckeritz hastened away, and an hour afterward Baron von

Stein entered the king's cabinet. Frederick William was slowly pacing

his room, with his hands joined behind him. He apparently did not notice

the baron's arrival, and passed him repeatedly without greeting or even

looking at him. The minister, who at first had stood respectfully near

the door, waiting to be accosted by the king, tired of this long

silence, turned to the paintings hanging on the wall, and, while

contemplating them, passing from one to another, happened to push

against a chair, which made a loud noise.

The king was aroused from his meditation. He stood still before Baron

von Stein, and looked with a stern air into his manly face. "I offered

you twice the department of foreign affairs," he said, in his dry,

abrupt manner. "Why did you not accept it?"

"Your majesty, because I did not feel capable of filling it," replied

Stein, calmly, "and because there are worthier men who are better

qualified for it."

The king shook his head. "Subterfuges!" he said. "Firm and bold men,

such as you, do not undervalue their own importance, but appreciate it

correctly. In days so grave as these, it is necessary for every one to

be sincere. I want to be informed why you reject my offer. I have a

right to insist on knowing your reasons. I am king still, and I believe

my functionaries owe me an explanation when refusing to undertake a task

which I ask them to perform. Speak, and tell me your reasons. I command

you to do so."

"Your majesty," said Stein, with cold, proud equanimity, "suppose, in

order to comply with your command, I should allege some pretext or other

in lieu of my real reasons, and, like Count von Haugwitz, base my

refusal on my pretended ill-health? How would your majesty be able to

know whether I was sincere or not? Even kings are not capable of looking

into the hearts of men, and no orders can reveal secrets if we desire to

conceal them. But I do not wish to hide my thoughts from your majesty.

In compliance with your request, I will lay my reasons freely and

sincerely before you. But, before doing so, I must ask your majesty to

grant me two things."

"Well, what are they?" inquired the king, quickly.

"In the first place, I beg leave to be seated, for I have been ill, and

am still weak."

The king sat down on the divan and pointed to an easy-chair standing

near. "Take a seat, and tell me your second request."

"I must beg your majesty graciously to pardon my frankness, in case my

words should not meet with your approval or should appear too bold and

rash."

"I wish to know the truth, and must, therefore, have the courage to hear

it," said the king. "Why did you decline?"

"Your majesty, my first reason, though you refused to believe it, is and

remains, that I regard Count von Hardenberg as much better qualified

than myself to take charge of the department of foreign affairs, because

he enjoys the confidence of those courts with which your majesty intends

keeping up friendly relations. Count von Hardenberg, moreover, has the

confidence of your people, who, wherever they are permitted to do so,

are loudly expressing themselves in his favor, and would consider this

salutary appointment a consolation and hope for the future. It seems

unbecoming in me to accept an office that should be intrusted to a

minister distinguished for his faithful services in this department,

and, under the present circumstances perhaps, highly influential already

by his very name."

"Go on, go on," said the king, impatiently. "Say no more about

Hardenberg. Tell me your other reasons."

"Sire, my second reason is that, even though I accept the position, I

should be unable to accomplish in it what I should deem necessary for

the welfare of the state. Your majesty, so long as there is no free and

direct intercourse between you and your ministers--so long as there is a

cabinet government in existence, separating the king from his ministers,

and exercising an injurious influence on the relations of the latter

toward the subordinate officers in their departments, your ministers

cannot hope to promote the welfare of the state, and to introduce and

carry out such measures as they deem indispensable for the best

interests of the people. Your majesty's ministers have long since

recognized and felt the disastrous influence of this government which is

watching with the utmost jealousy at the door of your cabinet, and

keeping every minister from it and from direct intercourse with you.

They were silent so long as Prussia appeared to be in prosperous

circumstances, and the inward germs of her degeneracy and decay could

be concealed by a semblance of justice. But now every illusion of this

character has been rudely dissipated, and it is time to beseech your

majesty to abolish a system during the existence of which the calamitous

condition of our state has constantly and hopelessly increased. Fearful

events have followed in quick succession, and the Prussian states have

been plunged into disasters from which they can be restored only by the

united strength of the whole people. But although the ministers are

fully conscious of this state of affairs, and though they hold in their

hands the remedies that might save the kingdom, they never would be sure

that they can profit by them, for they see between them and the king a

power without any well-defined functions, and without responsibility,

meddling with every thing and directing nothing--this power can foil the

plans of the ministers at any time, reverse their measures, and

counteract their advice."

"I know very well," said the king, angrily, "that, like Hardenberg, you

are constantly on bad terms with Köckeritz, Beyme, and Lombard, the

members of my cabinet."

"Sire, I do not attack persons, but privileges," said Stein, gravely.

"If your majesty dismiss those gentlemen and select others, there would

be no change for the better. If you do not permit the ministers to

consult you directly concerning the affairs of their departments--if you

do not reëstablish the council of state, and abolish the irresponsible

cabinet, the position of your minister of foreign affairs would remain

as it is now--an empty shadow. But if your majesty should gather your

ministers around you as a regular council of state, and direct their

loyal plans and counsels with that fatherly love for your subjects which

you have manifested at all times, such a step would strengthen the

confidence of your allies, restore the courage of the oppressed nation,

inspire the conquered provinces with the determination of shrinking from

no danger in order to deliver themselves from the yoke of the oppressor,

and counteract, in the countries remaining as yet intact, that

discouragement which cannot but prevent the people from making any

heroic efforts in self-defence. Such, sire," added Stein, drawing a deep

breath, "are my honest opinions and convictions. I lay them before your

majesty with the sincerity and earnestness which the threatening state

of affairs renders it incumbent on me to manifest. My determination to

share the fate of the monarchy, and of your majesty's house, whatever

may be in store for them, is well known. But if you are unwilling to

give up a system that I am satisfied has already brought so many

calamities upon the country, and will continue to do so--if the cabinet

is to remain, and if the council of state, without which I believe

Prussia cannot be saved, is not organized--I most humbly beg your

majesty to accept my refusal."

"You want to threaten me!" exclaimed the king. "You think, perhaps, you

are alone able to save Prussia?"

"No, your majesty," said Stein, looking the king in the face; "no, I

only believe that the present cabinet government is destined to ruin

her."

The king looked down for a while musingly. "Well, what is your idea

about the new council of state which you propose?" he asked after a

pause. "Who is to belong to it? What is to be its object?"

"Its object is to be the intermediate voice between the people and the

king; to lay before him the laws and ordinances, in order to obtain his

approval and signature; to publish such of them as he has sanctioned,

and to be responsible to him for the administration of the country. But

for all these reasons it would be indispensable that the ministers

should be admitted to the king at any time, and be consulted as to any

resolutions which he would take and in reference to any changes he would

decide upon in the general policy of the government. The ministers of

foreign affairs, of war, and of finance, would form the nucleus of this

council, and be as much as possible near the king's person. If your

majesty should travel, one of them at least would have to accompany

you."

"That is to say, you would depose me," said the king, a deep blush

mantling his cheeks. "The ministers are to govern alone, and I am to

have only the right of being a sort of writing-machine to sign their

decrees."

"No, your majesty, the king is to have the deciding voice in regard to

every thing; but he must graciously refrain from deciding any thing

without having listened to the opinions of his ministers."

"And if I approve your proposition--if I assemble in my cabinet every

day a council of state, consisting of the ministers," said the king,

with seeming calmness, "would you then be inclined to accept the

position I have offered you, and become minister of foreign affairs?"

"Sire," said Stein, firmly, "it would not be enough for your majesty to

appoint new ministers, and hold daily consultations with them, but you

would have also to dismiss, formally and forever, the gentlemen who have

hitherto monopolized your confidence. Unless Count von Haugwitz and

Lombard be dismissed from the civil service--unless Beyme, who is

suspected by and disagreeable to the Russian court, and hated by a very

large majority of our people, be deprived of his present office, the

ministers cannot rely on any certain efficiency in their positions, and

even the council of state would offer them no guaranty whatever against

the continued secret cabinet consisting of Messrs, von Haugwitz,

Lombard, and Beyme."

"Enough," exclaimed the king, rising hastily, and pacing the room. "I

have listened to you to the end, because I wished to see how far your

audacity would go, and to gain a clear insight into your whole

character. I was already prejudiced against you. It is true, I knew you

were a thoughtful, talented, and bold man, but, at the same time, I

believed you to be somewhat eccentric; in short, I regarded you as a man

who, because he always thinks only his own opinion to be correct, is

unable to fill a position in which he would constantly come in conflict

with others, and soon be irritated and discouraged by the clash of

opinions prevailing there. I overcame these prejudices, because I have

always striven to select the servants of the state, not according to the

promptings of personal whims, but of sensible reasons. I was advised to

appoint you minister of foreign affairs; and (please take notice of what

I am about to tell you now) those who advised me to do so--those who

advocated your appointment most strenuously, were precisely the ones

whom you are now attacking, and are bent upon overthrowing. I yielded! I

offered you the department of foreign affairs. You declined the position

on the pretext of not being familiar enough with the details of the

department. Your refusal was greatly embarrassing to me, for I still

believed that your services ought to be preserved to the state and to

myself. I overlooked your ungracious refusal, and sent for you to speak

freely and openly with you. I have conversed with you, and now know you

better!"

The king, walking up and down, uttered these words with increasing

excitement, and in a voice growing louder and louder, without looking

once at Stein, who had risen from his seat, and, drawing himself up to

his full height, listened to this angry outburst. The king stood still

before him, and, fixing his piercing eyes on the calm, cold face of the

baron, added, "I have found out, to my regret, that my original opinion

of your character was not erroneous; that my prejudices against you were

just, and that you ought to be considered an obstinate, refractory, and

disobedient servant of the state, who, boastfully relying on his genius

and talents, so far from aiming at the welfare of his country, is

actuated solely by his whims, his passions, and personal hatred. Such

men are precisely those whose conduct is most injurious to the

interests of the monarchy."

"Your majesty," exclaimed Stein, impetuously, "your majesty, I--"

"Silence," ejaculated the king, in an imperious voice, "silence while I

am speaking! I really feel sorry that you have compelled me to speak to

you so plainly and unreservedly; but as you are always boasting of being

a truthful man, I hare told you my opinion in unvarnished language, and

will add that, if you should be unwilling to change your disrespectful

conduct, the state cannot count very confidently of profiting further by

your services."

"Your majesty, I cannot change my conduct," exclaimed Stein, pale with

hidden anger, which he could no longer repress. "As you believe me to be

an 'obstinate, refractory, and disobedient servant of the state, who,

boastfully relying on his genius and talents, so far from aiming at the

welfare of his country, is actuated solely by his whims, his passions,

and personal hatred--'"

"Ah," interrupted the king, laughing scornfully, "you have an excellent

memory, for I believe you are repeating my own words!"

"Sire, this will show you that my conduct is not always disrespectful,

but that I set so high a value on your royal words that they are

immediately engraved upon my memory," said Baron von Stein, smiling.

"But, inasmuch as I am also of your majesty's opinion that such

officials as you have described me to be are most injurious to the

interests of the monarchy, I must request your majesty to accept my

declination, and I hope it will be granted immediately."

"You have pronounced your own sentence, and I do not know how to add any

thing to it!" replied the king.

Baron von Stein bowed. "I thank your majesty most humbly," he said. "Now

I must beg that my dismissal from the service be communicated to me in

the usual form. I have the honor to take leave of your majesty."

Without waiting for the king's reply, the baron bowed a second time, and

left the room with measured steps. He crossed the anteroom rapidly, and

then entered the apartment contiguous to the hall. A royal _valet de

chambre_ hastened to meet him. "Your excellency," he said, "the queen

begs you to be so kind as to go immediately to her. She instructed me to

wait here till your return from the king, and ordered me to announce

you directly to her majesty."

"Announce me, then," said Baron von Stein, following the footman with a

mournful air.

The queen was in her cabinet, and rose from her divan when Baron von

Stein entered. She offered her hand to the minister with a smile. "I

begged you to come to me," she said, "because I intended to be the first

to wish you--nay, ourselves--joy of your new position. The king has

informed me that he would intrust the office of Count von Haugwitz to

you, and I tell you truly that this is as a beam of light for me in the

gloom of our present circumstances. I know that you are a true and

faithful patriot; that you have the welfare of Prussia, of Germany, and

of our dynasty at heart, and that you have the will and the ability to

help us all--this is the reason why I wish ourselves joy of--"

"Pardon me, your majesty, for daring to interrupt you," said. Baron von

Stein, in a low, melancholy voice; "but I cannot accept your

congratulations. I was not appointed minister of foreign affairs, but

the king has just granted my request to be dismissed from the service."

The queen started, and turned pale. "You did not accept the position

which the king offered to you?" she asked. "Oh, then I was mistaken in

you, too! There is, alas! no more fidelity or constancy on earth!" She

pressed her hand against her aching forehead, and tottered back a few

steps, to sink exhausted on the divan.

Baron von Stein approached, and his face seemed to be radiant with

energy and determination. "No, queen," he said, loudly and firmly--"no;

you were not mistaken in me, and if your majesty hitherto believed me to

be a faithful and reliable man, I am sure you only did me justice.

Fealty does not change, however, and he who has once been found reliable

will be so forever. No; let me repeat once more, your majesty was not

mistaken in me, although I rejected the position offered to me. I

fearlessly and truthfully stated to his majesty the conditions on which

alone I could accept it. The king was unwilling to submit to these

conditions; he was angry at them and reproached me in such a manner as

to leave me no choice but to present him my humble declination, which he

granted immediately. I did not refuse his offer because the situation of

the country frightened me, but because, above all, I had to remain

faithful to myself, and obey the promptings of my conviction. My love,

my fealty, my soul, belong to Prussia and the royal dynasty. I retire

into obscurity, and shall wait for the voice of Prussia and of my king.

When he calls me--when he can profit by services such as I am able

conscientiously to perform--when he permits me to be faithful to myself

and to my principles, that all my energy and faculties may be devoted to

the welfare of my country, I shall gladly be ready to obey his call and

enter upon those services. I would come to him, though from the most

remote regions, and even should death menace me at every step. A true

man does not shrink from danger or death, but from hypocrisy and

falsehood, whether it concerns himself or others; he will not stoop to

the tricks of diplomacy and dally with that which ought to be either

forcibly removed from his path or carefully avoided, but with which he

never ought to enter into compromise or alliance."

"Now I understand you," said the queen, gently and mournfully. "You did

not wish to enter into an alliance with the secret friends of the French

in our suite. The king was unwilling to sacrifice Haugwitz, Beyme, and

Lombard to you, and hence you withdraw from the service. You did right,

and it makes my heart ache to be compelled to admit it. So long as those

three men are here, there will be a policy of continued vacillation and

hesitancy, and what you would do one day those three men would annul the

next. Oh! the king is so generous, so faithful and modest! He believes

in the disinterestedness of Minister von Haugwitz, in his honesty and

sagacity; for this reason, he will not altogether give him up, and he

listens still to his advice, although Haugwitz is no longer at the head

of the foreign department. Because the king himself is taciturn, and

thinks and feels more in his head and heart than is uttered by his lips,

Beyme's eloquence and quick perception fill him with respect; and

because he is so very modest, and always believes others to be more

sagacious than himself, he esteems Lombard's abilities highly, and

wishes to preserve his services to the state. You know what I think of

Lombard, and that at Stettin I was carried away by my anger at his

conduct, more than was compatible with prudence. I caused the man to be

arrested, whom I knew to be ready at that moment to betray me and the

whole of Prussia, and whom I suspected of being in the pay of the French

emperor. But you know also that my act was repudiated, and that

immediate steps were taken to annul it. A special courier was sent to

Stettin to procure the release of Lombard, and to convey him under a

safe-escort to Küstrin; the messenger even took an autograph letter from

the king to him, in which his majesty regretted the occurrence as

arising from mere mistake. I do not tell you this in order to complain

of it, but to show you how deep-rooted is the influence of those men,

and how time is required to destroy it. But the time will come--believe

me, it will--when Prussia will extend her hand toward you, and need your

strong arm and firm will. Promise me that you will wait, and not give up

to despair--that you will not enter the service of another monarch, so

that, when Prussia calls you, you may be at liberty to respond."

"I promise it to your majesty," said Stein, solemnly. "I will wait;

blessed be the hour when Prussia needs me, and when I shall be able to

serve her again!"

"Yes, blessed be that hour!" exclaimed the queen, and, raising her eyes

piously to heaven, she whispered, "God grant that it may come soon, for

then a change in our circumstances will have taken place, and we shall

have passed from present incertitude to firm determination. Oh, how much

distress--how many disappointments and mortifications--until that change

shall come! May we have strength to bear, and courage to overcome them!"

CHAPTER XIX.

THE QUEEN AT THE PEASANT'S COTTAGE.

It was a stormy night. The wind was howling through the pines, and

driving the snow in dense clouds from the highway leading through, the

forest. There was no sound, save that of the winter's gale, and the

trees groaning beneath its power. A solitary light, twinkling as a star

through the dark woods, was shedding its beams on this desolate scene.

It proceeded from a small house near the main road, where the

forest-keeper had peacefully lived with his wife for more than twenty

years. On the hearth in the cottage a merry fire was burning, and

Katharine, the forest-keeper's wife, was industriously occupied with it,

while the young servant-girl, seated on a low cane chair near the

hearth, her hands clasped on her lap, had fallen asleep.

"Martha," exclaimed the old woman, in an angry voice, "--are you asleep

again?"

The girl opened her eyes lazily and yawned. "Why should I not sleep?"

she asked. "It is time to do so, and every Christian has long since gone

to bed. Let me also go to my bedchamber and sleep!"

"No, you must stay here," said Katharine, quickly; "I do not want to be

alone in such a night. The wind is roaring in the chimney so fearfully

that we might almost fancy Old Nick or the French were coming down to

carry us away, or, at any rate, our last piece of bread and meat!"

"Meat!" ejaculated the servant-girl, laughing scornfully. "Old Nick, or

even the French, would be unable to find any meat in your house. Would

that I could only get the wages you owe me for the last six months, I

should leave forthwith this miserable place, where one has so little to

eat, and where it is so dreadfully tiresome!"

"You have not suffered hunger as yet, Martha," said the old woman,

deprecatingly. "It is true, we have no meat left; the last ham we had

has been consumed, and our last chickens had to be taken to town to be

sold there--"

"And your husband has taken away your only cow," cried Martha, half

angrily, half sadly; "he is going to sell the good animal that always

gave us such excellent milk and butter. I tell you it is a shame that he

should do so, and I shall never go back to the stable where my dear

cow's lowing will no more greet me!"

"You will, nevertheless, have to go back, Martha, for the two goats are

still there; you must give them fodder, so that they may give us milk.

They are all we have left! Do you think it did not grieve me to part

with our fine cow which I had raised myself? I wept for her all last

night, and would have given away my hand rather than sell her. But no

one would have paid any thing for my old hand. We had to have money to

pay your wages, so as not to be obliged to listen longer to your

continued importunities. That was the reason why my good old man took

the cow to town. It cut him to the quick to hear you dunning us all the

time for a few dollars."

The servant-girl cast down her eyes and blushed. "I did not mean any

harm, Mde. Katharine," she said, in confusion. "It was mere talk; I

always hoped master would take a lesson from me and dun the count in the

same manner for his own wages. But the great lords are living

sumptuously, and do not care whether their servants are starving to

death or not!"

"Our count, Martha, does not live sumptuously," said Katharine, heaving

a sigh. "The French destroyed his palace, and--but hush! Did you not

hear something outside? I thought I heard some one call."

The two women were silent and listened; but nothing was to be heard. The

storm was howling, and rattling the windows. At times an iron hand

seemed to pass across the panes--it was the snow which the wind lashed

against the house as if intending to awaken the inmates from their

slumbers.

"A terrible night!" murmured Katharine, shuddering. "I hope that my dear

old man won't return in such a storm, but stop with one of his friends

at the neighboring village. Heaven preserve any human being out in such

a night as this on the highway, and from--"

A loud knock at the window-panes interrupted her, and a voice outside

shouted imperiously, "Open the door!"

The two women uttered a shrill scream, and Martha clung anxiously and

with both her hands to Katharine's arm.

"I beseech you, Mde. Katharine," she whispered with quivering lips,

"don't open. It is assuredly Old Nick or the French that want to come

in!"

"Fiddlesticks! The devil does not wait for the door to open, but comes

down the flue," said Katharine; "and as to the French, the

_Parlez-vous_, why, they cannot speak German. Just listen how they are

commanding and begging outside. 'Open the door!' Well, yes, yes! I am

coming. No one shall say that old Katharine suffered people to freeze to

death in the forest while she had fire on her hearth." Disengaging

herself from Martha's grasp, she hastened to the door, and opening it

quickly, said, "Whoever you may be, you are welcome!"

The storm rushed in with a terrible noise, driving the snow into the

house, and blowing up the fire on the hearth into a still brighter

blaze.

There appeared on the threshold a tall lady, wrapped in a dark velvet

cloak, trimmed with fur; her head covered with a silken cape, to which a

white lace veil was fastened. Behind her were another richly-dressed

lady, and two men in blue coats, splendidly embroidered with silver.

"You permit us, then, my dear woman, to enter your house and stop here

overnight?" asked the veiled lady, in a gentle, sonorous voice.

Old Katharine stood staring at her. She felt as frightened as if a

sorceress had entered her house. "First let me see your face," she said,

growing bold notwithstanding her inward terror; "I must see who you

are."

An indignant murmur arose among the attendants of the lady, but she

ordered them to be quiet with a wave of her hand. She then turned once

more to Katharine. "Well, my good woman, look at me," she said, drawing

back her veil.

A pale, wondrously beautiful face was visible, and eyes more lustrous

than the old woman had ever seen before, looked at her gently and

kindly.

"Do you know me now?" asked the lady, with a smile full of touching

melancholy.

"No," said Katharine, "I do not know you, but you are as beautiful as

the angels that sometimes appear to me in my dreams, or as the fairies

of whom my mother used to tell me when I was a little child. Come in,

you as well as the others. There is room at the hearth for all who are

cold."

The strange lady smiled and advanced into the cottage; before doing so,

however, she turned around. "M. von Schladen," she said, in French,

"pray, give orders to all not to betray my incognito. I am here the

Countess von Hohenzieritz; please inform the servants of it."

The gentleman, who had just appeared on the threshold, bowed and stepped

back. She and her companion approached the fire; the two servants, in

their gorgeous liveries, stood in silence at the open door. The lady

took off her fur gloves with a hasty motion, and held her small white

hands toward the fire. A ring with large diamonds was sparkling on her

forefinger. Old Katharine had never before seen any thing like it--she

stood staring at the lady, and dreaming again of the fairy-stories of

her childhood, while Martha sat on her cane chair as if petrified, and

afraid lest the slightest noise should dispel the enchanting apparition.

"Oh, how pleasant this is!" said the lady, drawing a deep breath; "my

hands were quite chilled. Countess Truchsess, come here and follow my

example!"

The young lady, who was standing near in a silent and respectful

attitude, approached the fire, and eagerly stretched her small hands

toward it.

"How comfortable, is it not?" asked the lady who had styled herself

Countess von Hohenzieritz. "Oh, after suffering from the cold a whole

day, we learn to appreciate the boon of the fire which otherwise we fear

as a dangerous element." And thoughtfully looking into the warm glow,

she muttered to herself, "We are now wandering about in the cold, and

are chilled; will no hospitable fire warm our hearts again?" She bent

forward without uttering a complaint, or heaving a sigh.

Katharine could not avert her eyes; she gazed at the lady's sparkling

jewels, and then looked at her face. Suddenly she noticed two diamond

drops roll slowly over her transparent cheeks; but they were no diamonds

like those flashing on her hands--they were tears. She shook them off

with an impetuous motion, and turned to old Katharine, who, clasping her

hands, asked herself wonderingly whether angels could weep.

"My good woman," said the countess, "will you permit us to stay here

until daybreak? We have lost our way in the snow-storm. We thought to

reach Königsberg before nightfall, but, I suppose, the city is yet quite

distant?"

"Ten hours, at least," said Katharine, timidly. "You have lost your way,

indeed--probably at the cross-roads, two miles from here. Instead of

following the main one, you took the side-road. Well, such things may

happen to the most skilful driver, in a snow-storm, when he cannot see

his hand before him."

"I believe that such things may happen, and do not blame any one for

what has occurred," said the countess, gently. "Tell me now, have you

room and beds for all of us?"

"The two ladies may sleep in my bed, provided they occupy it together.

But I have no others," said Katharine.

"I need no bed," exclaimed the younger lady, quickly; "I shall content

myself with sitting at the fireside."

"And I," said M. von Schiaden, who had just entered, "I beg leave to be

allowed to pass the night in the travelling-coach."

"You will catch cold in the carriage, sir," said Katharine, "and there

is danger, moreover, that, falling asleep, you might never wake again.

But in the hay-loft it is warm and soft; you and the other gentleman may

sleep there, if you please."

The Countess Hohenzieritz smiled. "Well," she said, "a high-chamberlain

in a hay-loft! That is a melancholy adventure, I should think?"

"No, gracious countess, it sounds quite ludicrous," said the

high-chamberlain, "and if only your--if only the gracious countess had a

good bed, I should have no reason whatever for being melancholy. There

are thousands nowadays sleeping on the hard ground, without a bunch of

hay for a pillow!"

"Our dead of Jena and Auerstadt, for instance," said the countess,

sighing. "But they are well: the dead sleep gently! At times I feel

like envying them, for their rest is more peaceful than that of the

living. Let us not murmur, but rejoice at having found shelter for the

night! We shall remain, then, in this room, and the high-chamberlain

will sleep in the hay-loft. But where shall we place our servants, and

what is to become of our horses?"

"How many horses have you?" asked Katharine.

"Six horses and an outrider," said M. von Schiaden.

"What!" exclaimed Katharine, in dismay. "Six horses! How extravagant in

times so wretched as these, when the king himself would be glad to have

two horses to his carriage, and--"

"Silence!" interrupted the high-chamberlain in great excitement.

"You are right, my dear woman," said the countess, smiling. "The king

will certainly be glad to have two horses left, especially if they

always draw him in the right way. But it was no wanton arrogance on our

part to take so many horses; we did so only on account of the bad roads,

and in order to travel as rapidly as possible."

"Well, the horses can stand in the cow-stable and the wood-shed," said

Katharine. "Go, Martha, light the lanterns, and show the coachman to the

stable, and the gentleman to the hay-loft. I will make the bed for the

ladies." And, drawing back the blue-striped linen curtains covering the

large old family-bed, she muttered to herself: "It is very lucky that my

old man has not come home; otherwise I should really be at a loss where

to place my high-born guests."

Half an hour afterward tranquillity again reigned in the cottage. The

horses, the servants, and the high-chamberlain, had been conducted to

their quarters in the cow-stable, wood-shed, and hay-loft. Katharine and

Martha had withdrawn to the servant-girl's small chamber, and on the

lower floor, which served, at the same time, as a kitchen, hall, and

sitting-room, a couch had been prepared for the two ladies. But the

young Countess von Truchsess could not be prevailed upon to occupy

one-half. She placed the cane chair against the high bedstead, and,

sitting on it as on a tabouret at the foot of a throne, she supported

her head on the cushions of the bed, over which the crimson satin

blanket, lined with fur, that the ladies had wrapped around their feet

in the carriage, had been spread. The Countess von Hohenzieritz was

reposing on this, her noble form still wrapped in the fur robe, falling

down to her feet in ample folds; her head was leaning back on the

cushions, and the crimson of the blanket contrasted strikingly with her

white cheeks and light-brown hair. She had clasped her small, slender

hands on her lap; her large eyes looked upward in devotion, and her lips

uttered fervent words, which no one heard and understood but He to whom

they were addressed.

The fire on the hearth, to which large logs of wood had been added,

continued blazing merrily; at times, when the wind came down the chimney

violently, the flames rose high, and the beautiful figure in the

miserable room was illuminated by the red light as by a halo. Her

countenance was as pale and peaceful as that of the blessed dead, and

yet an ardent vitality was beaming in her unclosed eyes. On the wretched

bed in the peasant's cottage she was dreaming of her former

happiness--of the magnificent days which she had seen, and which, she

believed, would never return. But she did not bewail her departed glory,

and her menaced welfare caused her no regret.

"Preserve to me, merciful God! the love of my husband," she whispered;

"let my children grow great in name and in soul. Oh, if I could purchase

happiness for them by sacrificing my life, I would gladly let my heart's

blood ebb away drop by drop--if by my death I could restore to my

husband his former power, how cheerfully I would die! O my God, save and

protect Prussia: but if such should not be Thy will, teach us how to

fall and die with her in an honorable manner! Preserve us from disgrace

and despondency; teach us how to bear great disasters with dignified

resignation, and grant that we may never be so faint-hearted as to sink

beneath petty calamities!"

She paused, and looked upward with radiant eyes; just then the storm

outside was howling with awful violence, and made the cottage tremble.

"Such a storm without, and peace within! Let it always be so, my God,"

she whispered, gently pressing her hand against her breast. "O peace,

sweet peace, when will it descend to us from heaven!" Gradually the

words died away on her lips; her eyelids drooped. Heaven sent to her the

brother of peace--sleep--that it might comfort her weary eyes and

invigorate her after the troubles and exertions of the previous day. The

storm continued all night long, but the beautiful sleeper heard it only

as a lullaby hushing her to sweet repose.

At daybreak there was a stir in the cottage. Katharine came to rekindle

the extinct fire, and the two ladies rose, chilled and shuddering, to

prepare for their journey. The travelling-coach, drawn by the six

horses, rolled up to the door, and High-chamberlain von Schladen rapped

timidly and begged leave to enter. The countess bade him come in, and

replied with a sweet smile to his inquiries as to her night's rest. "I

have slept," she said, "and feel sufficiently invigorated now to

continue the journey."

"In four hours we shall be in Königsberg," said M. von Schladen. "It is

a clear morning; the storm is over, and the sun will soon burst forth

from behind the clouds."

"'The sun will soon burst forth from behind the clouds,'" repeated the

countess, musingly. "Those are cheering words; could they but be

fulfilled for all of us! Let us hasten to reach Königsberg; for there at

least will be one sunbeam for me--I shall see my children again, and my

husband also will join us on returning from the Russian camp."

M. von Schladen advanced a few steps, and said in a low and hurried

voice: "The king is already in Königsberg. I have seen a peasant, the

owner of this cottage, who has come from Königsberg. He walked all

night, and left the city just at the moment when the king with his suite

returned."

"And did the man bring other news?" asked the lady, hastily.

"A rumor was in circulation in Königsberg that the French were advancing

from Posen, and, the Russian columns being also on the move, it was

generally believed that a battle would soon take place."

The lady walked rapidly to the door. "Let us set out as soon as

possible," she said; suddenly, however, she turned pale and leaned

against the wall to prevent herself from falling.

"Oh," she murmured faintly, "what weak, pitiful beings we are, after

all! The soul is strong enough to bear the heaviest burden, but the body

is so weak that a twelve hours' fast is sufficient to overpower it!"

Just then Katharine entered the room; on seeing the lady looking so

faint, she hastened to her, and asked sympathizingly for the cause of

her pallor and exhaustion.

"I will tell you, my dear woman," whispered the lady, with a sad smile,

"I am hungry!"

"Oh," sighed M. von Schladen, "and we have no refreshments with us!"

"But I have some for the beautiful lady," said Katharine, proudly. "I

was right in thinking that high-born people must eat sometimes, and are

not refreshed merely by their magnificent dresses and the splendor

surrounding them, but are obliged to put something into their mouths,

like us common people. Look, there is Martha with the breakfast!" And,

in truth, Martha was just entering the door, holding in her hand a

pitcher filled with fresh, smoking milk.

Katharine took an earthen cup from the shelf near the hearth, and filled

it to the brim. "Now drink," she said, handing the cup to the countess;

"it will strengthen you; it is splendid goat's milk, so fine and warm

that city folks never get any thing like it; no fire warmed this milk,

but God, who gave life and warmth to my dear goat. Drink, then, in His

name!"

"No refreshment has ever been presented to me in so cordial a manner,"

said the countess, nodding kindly to the old peasant-woman. "I shall

carefully remember your heart-felt words, and drink the milk in the name

of the good Lord, but only provided you, Countess Truchsess, and you,

too, M. von Schiaden, can likewise have a cup of this splendid milk."

"We shall have some," said the Countess von Truchsess; "please your--,

the gracious countess will please drink her milk." The countess placed

the cup on the window-sill without having touched it with her lips. "You

see I am waiting," she said--"make haste!" She herself then hastened to

the cupboard near the hearth, and took from it two small earthen jars,

which she handed to Katharine to fill with milk.

"And have you not something to eat with the milk, my dear woman?" asked

M. von Schladen, in a low voice.

"I have but a loaf of stale brown bread," said Katharine, "but I am

afraid it will be too hard for the fine teeth of the countess."

"Give it to me at all events," said the countess, "my teeth will be able

to manage it."

Old Katharine took a large loaf of bread from the cupboard, cut off a

thick slice, and presented it on the bright pewter plate, the principal

ornament of her house. The countess broke off a piece, and, leaning

against the window, commenced eating her frugal breakfast.

The Countess von Truchsess and the high-chamberlain had retired to the

hearth to partake of the strange and unwonted food. Katharine and Martha

stood at the door, staring admiringly at the lady who was leaning

against the window, and just lifting the stale brown bread to her

mouth. She did not notice that the two were looking at her; she was

gazing thoughtfully at the large bedstead in which she had passed the

night in tears and prayers. Her glance then turned to the piece of bread

which she held in her hand, and from which she had vainly tried to eat.

The bread and the bed reminded her of an hour long past, when she was a

happy queen--an hour when her mental eye descried the future, and the

words of a beautiful and melancholy song aroused in her anxious

forebodings, and seemed to her a prophecy of her own destiny. As she

thought of those golden days, her eyes filled with tears, which rolled

over her cheeks and trickled down on the bread in her hand. "Oh," she

murmured, "now I shall be able to eat it; I am softening it with my

tears!" And to conceal them she averted her head, and looked out at the

forest, whose lofty pines were adorned with snow-wreaths. Her tears

gradually ceased--she drew the large diamond ring from her finger, and,

using the pointed stone as a pen, wrote rapidly on the window-pane.

Old Katharine and Martha stared at her in dismay; the characters

appearing on the glass filled them with astonishment and superstitious

awe, and they thought the handsome lady who knew how to write with a

precious stone might after all be a fairy, who, persecuted by some evil

sorcerer, had fled thither into the dark forest, and was writing some

exorcising words on the window-pane, lest her enemy should pursue and

have power over her.

The lady replaced the ring on her finger, and turned to the young

countess and the high-chamberlain. "Now, I am ready," she said, "let us

set out." She walked to the door, and shaking hands with old Katharine,

thanked her for the hospitable reception she had met with in her

cottage, and then stepped out of the low door for the carriage, at which

the high-chamberlain was awaiting her.

"I beg leave, gracious countess, to take upon myself the functions of

our outrider. The road is broken and full of holes, and as I have a keen

eye, I shall see them in time, and call the attention of the coachman to

them."

The countess thanked him with a kind glance. "I accept your offer," she

said--"may a time come when I shall be able to thank my faithful friends

for the attachment and devotion they manifest toward me during

affliction, and which are engraven in diamond letters on my heart! But

let us thank the good woman who received us so hospitably last night. I

request you to give this to her in my name." She handed her purse filled

with gold-pieces to the high-chamberlain, and entered the carriage. M.

von Schladen stood still until the carriage rolled away. Before mounting

he hastened into the house.

Old Katharine and Martha stood in the room, and were looking in silent

astonishment at the neat characters on the pane, the meaning of which

they were unable to decipher. "Oh, sir," exclaimed Katharine, when the

high-chamberlain entered the room, "tell us the meaning of this--what

did the lady write here?"

M. von Schladen stepped to the window. When he had read the lines, his

eyes filled with tears, and profound emotion was depicted in his

features. "Enviable inmates of this humble cottage," he said, "from this

hour it has become a precious monument, and, when better times arrive,

the Germans will make a pilgrimage to this spot to gaze with devout eyes

at this historical relic of the days of adversity. Preserve the window

carefully, for I tell you it is worth more than gold and diamonds."

"Is it really, then, an exorcism which the beautiful fairy has written

there?" asked Katharine, anxiously.

"Yes, those are magic words," replied M. von Schladen, "and they read as

follows:

'Who never ate his bread with tears--

Who never in the sorrowing hours

Of night lay sunk in gloomy fears--

He knows ye not, O heavenly powers!'"[29]

[Footnote 29:

"Wer nie sein Brot mit Thränen ass,

Wer nie die kummervollen Nächte

Auf seinem Bette weinend sass,

Der kennt euch nicht. Ihr himmlischen Mächte."

Göthe.

]

"Ah, she ate her bread with tears to-day. I saw it," murmured Katharine.

"But who is she, and what is her name? Tell us, so that we may pray for

her, sir."

"Her name is Louisa," said M. von Schladen, in a tremulous voice. "At

present she is a poor, afflicted woman, who is fleeing from town to town

from her enemy, and eating her bread with tears, and weeping at night.

But she is still the Queen of Prussia, and will remain so if there be

justice in heaven!"

"The Queen of Prussia!" cried Katharine, holding up her hands in dismay.

"She was here and wrote that?"

"Yes, she wrote that, and sends this to you as a reward for your

trouble," said M. von Schladen, emptying the contents of the purse on

the table. The purse itself he placed in his bosom. Without waiting for

the thanks of the surprised woman, he departed, vaulted into the saddle,

and followed the queen at a full gallop.

CHAPTER XX.

COUNT BÜCKLER.

Perfidy and treachery everywhere! Magdeburg, Küstrin, the most important

fortresses of Prussia, had fallen. Not only the hand of the triumphant

conqueror had brought about their downfall, but the timidity and

cowardice prevailing among the Prussians themselves. Magdeburg, although

abundantly supplied with ammunition, and garrisoned by more than ten

thousand men, had surrendered. Küstrin, Hameln, and a large majority of

the other fortresses, had voluntarily capitulated, almost without a show

of resistance, on receiving the first summons to surrender; the first

cities of Prussia were now French; the French were lawgivers everywhere,

and the humiliated Prussians had to bow to the scornful arrogance of the

victors.

Still, there were at this time of sorrow and disgrace shining examples

of courage, of bold energy, and unwavering fidelity--there were

fortresses that had not voluntarily opened their gates to the enemy, and

that, regardless of hunger and privation, were struggling bravely for

honor and victory. As yet Colberg had not fallen; this fortress was

courageously defended by Scharnhorst, the skilful and experienced

colonel, by bold Ferdinand von Schill, and that noble citizen,

Nettelbeck, who by word and deed fired the hearts of the soldiers and

citizens to persist in their patient resistance and in the determined

defence of the place.

Graudenz had not surrendered to the besieging forces. The commander of

this fortress, M. de Courbières, had not yielded either to the threats

or the flatteries of the enemy. "If it be true, as you assure me, that

there is no longer a King of Prussia, I am King of Graudenz, and shall

not surrender," he replied to the bearer of the French flag of truce,

who summoned him in the name of the Duke de Rovigo to capitulate.

Silesia also had remained faithful, notwithstanding the action of

Minister Count Hoym, who, in a public manifesto, had called upon the

Silesians to meet the foe in the most amicable manner in case of an

invasion, and to satisfy as much as possible all the demands of the

hostile troops. The Silesians, more courageous and resolute than their

minister, were unwilling to bend their neck voluntarily under the French

yoke; they preferred to struggle for their honor and independence. It is

true, the fortress of Glogau had fallen, but Breslau and Schweidnitz

were still holding out. Twice had Breslau repulsed Jerome Bonaparte with

his besieging troops--twice had the determination of the courageous in

the place triumphed over the anxiety of the timid and of the secret

friends of the French. At the head of these bold defenders of Breslau

was a man whose glorious example in the hour of danger had inspired

all--infused courage into the timid, and brought comfort to the

suffering. This man was Count Frederick von Pückler. He did not take

time to recover from the wounds he had received in Jena. Faithful to his

oath, he devoted his services to his country, that stood so much in need

of its sons. After a short repose on his estate at Gimmel, he repaired

to the headquarters of King Frederick William at Ortelsburg.

It is true, he could not bring him a regiment, or any material help;

still he was able to assist him with his ideas, and to show him the

means of obtaining efficacious help.

Count Frederick von Pückler believed the king might derive assistance

from the military resources of Silesia. He described to him, in ardent

and eloquent words, the extensive means of defence retained by this rich

province; he assured him its inhabitants were faithful and devoted, and

ready to shed their blood for their king. He told his majesty, freely

and honestly, that the old civil and military bureaucracy alone was to

blame--that Silesia had not long an organized effective system of

resistance--that this government had paralyzed the patriotic zeal of the

citizens, instead of stimulating it--nay, that, by means of its

insensate and ridiculous decrees, it had impeded in every way the

development of the military resources of the province. He had not come,

however, merely to find fault and to accuse, but, in spite of his

sickness and his wounds, performed the long journey to the king's

headquarters in order to indicate to his sovereign the remedies by which

the mischief might be counteracted, and the country preserved from utter

subjugation. He communicated a plan by which new forces might be raised,

and be enabled to take the field in a few days. All the old soldiers

were to be recalled into the service; the forest-keepers and their

assistants were to be armed, and from these elements the _landwehr_ was

to be organized, and intrusted with the special task of defending the

fortresses.

The king listened to the ardent and enthusiastic words of the count with

growing interest, and finally Pückler's joyful confidence and hopeful

courage filled him also with hope and consolation.

"You believe then that we could really obtain, by these new levies,

brave troops for the defence of the fortress?" asked he.

"I am convinced of it," replied Count Pückler. "Ardent love for their

fatherland and their king is glowing in the hearts of the Silesians, and

they will be ready when called upon to defend the fortresses. Hitherto,

however, nobody has thought of appealing to the able-bodied men. Count

Hoym has retired to the most remote part of Silesia, and is now

wandering about from city to city. The military governor of Silesia,

General Lindener, visited all the fortresses and told their commanders

that every thing was lost--that it only remained for them to protect

themselves against a _coup de main_, so as to obtain good terms on their

surrender."

The king started up, and an angry blush mantled his face for a moment.

"If he said that, he is an infamous scoundrel, who ought to lose his

head!" he exclaimed, vehemently.

Count Pückler smiled mournfully. "Alas!" he said, "your majesty would

have to sign many death-warrants if you punish in these days of terror

all who are wavering because their faith and hopes are gone. Possibly,

only an admonishing, soul-stirring word may be required to invigorate

the timid, and to encourage the doubtful. Sire, utter such a word! Send

me back with it to Silesia! Order the governor to accept the

propositions which I had the honor to lay before your majesty, and which

I have taken the liberty to write down in this paper, and instruct him,

in accordance with them, to garrison the fortresses with fresh

defenders. Oh, your majesty, all Silesia is yearning for her king; she

is longingly stretching out her hands toward you; permit her to fight

for you!"

"You imagine, then, that Schweidnitz, and, above all, Breslau, in that

case, would be able to hold out?" asked the king.

"I do not imagine it, I am convinced of it!" exclaimed the count. "I

pledge my life that it is so; I say that Breslau, permitted to defend

itself, would be impregnable; I am so well satisfied of it that I swear

to your majesty that I will die as a traitor if I should be mistaken.

Sire, send me to Breslau--permit me to participate in the organization

of the new levies, and to arouse the zeal and energy of the authorities,

and I swear to your majesty the Silesian fortresses shall be saved!"

"Well, then, I take you at your word," said the king, nodding kindly to

the count. "I will send you to Breslau. Wait; I will immediately draw up

the necessary orders." The king went to his desk and hastily wrote a few

lines, Count Pückler stood near him, and smilingly said to himself, "I

will defend Breslau as Schill is defending Colberg! Both of us,

therefore, will fulfil the oath we have taken!"

"Read!" said the king, handing him the paper--"read it aloud!" Count

Pückler read:

"The enclosed proposition of Count Pückler to reënforce the garrisons of

the Silesian fortresses deserves the most serious and speedy

consideration. Hence, I order you to carry it out without delay, and to

save no expense in doing so. The fortresses must be defended at any

price, and to the last man, and I shall cause such commanders to be

beheaded as fail to do their duty.

"FREDERICK WILLIAM."

"Are you satisfied?" asked the king, when the count had finished.

"I thank your majesty in the name of Silesia," said the count, solemnly.

"Breslau will not fall into the hands of the enemy. I pledge you my head

that it will not. I now request your majesty to let me withdraw."

"When do you intend to set out?"

"This very hour."

"But you told me you had arrived only an hour ago. You ought to take

rest till to-morrow."

"Your majesty, every day of delay exposes your Silesia to greater

dangers. Permit me, therefore, to set out at once."

"Well, do so, and may God be with you!"

The king gazed after the count with a long, musing glance. "Oh," he

sighed, mournfully, "if _he_ had been commander of Magdeburg, it would

be mine still!"

Count Pückler hastened back to Silesia with the king's written order. He

visited all the fortresses and saw all the commanders. The king, to give

more weight to the count's mission, had instructed the provisional

authorities and the chief executive officers of the districts, in a

special rescript, to gather the old soldiers at the headquarters of the

recruiting stations; he had ordered all the commanders to confer

personally with Count Pückler as to the best steps to be taken for the

defence of the fortresses, by the addition of the new soldiers and

riflemen to the regular garrisons.

Count Pückler, therefore, had accomplished his purpose; he was able to

assist his country and to avenge himself for the disastrous day of Jena.

A proud courage animated his heart; his eye was radiant with joy and

confidence; his face was beaming with heroic energy. All who saw him

were filled with his own courage; all who heard him were carried away by

his enthusiasm, and gladly swore to die rather than prove recreant to

the sacred cause of the country. Every one in Breslau knew Count

Pückler, and confided in him. Always active, joyous, and indefatigable,

he was to be found wherever there was danger; he encouraged the soldiers

by standing at their side on the outworks, by toiling with them, and

exposing himself to the balls which the enemy was hurling into the city.

He maintained the enthusiasm of the citizens by patriotic speeches, so

that they did not despair, but bore their sufferings patiently, and

provided compassionately for the men standing on the ramparts in the

storm and cold, in the face of an uninterrupted artillery-fire. A

generous rivalry sprang up among the citizens and soldiers: the former

contributed all they had to provide the troops with food and comforts of

every description; and the latter vowed in their gratitude to fight as

long as there was a drop of blood in their veins, and not suffer the

inhabitants, in return for the privations they had undergone, and for

the sacrifices they had made, to be surrendered to the tender mercies of

the enemy. But this enthusiasm at last cooled. Every one would have

borne days of privation and suffering courageously and joyously enough,

but long weeks of anxiety and distress deadened the devotion of the

besieged.

"Every thing is going on satisfactorily," said Count Pückler, on coming

to the governor of the fortress, General Thile, on the morning of the

30th of December. "We shall hold out till the Prince von Pless, who has

lately been appointed by the king governor-general of Silesia, arrives

with his troops to succor us and to raise the siege of Breslau."

The governor shrugged his shoulders. "There will be no succor for us,

and every thing will turn out wrong," he said.

"But the soldiers are faithful, and the citizens do not waver as yet."

The governor looked almost compassionately at the count. "You see none

but the faithful, and hear none but the undaunted," he said. "I will

show you the reverse of your bright medal!" He took a paper from his

desk and beckoned the count to approach. "Just look at this; it is the

morning report. Do you want to know how many soldiers deserted last

night? Over a hundred, and in order to put a stop to further desertions,

the countersign had to be changed three times."

"The deserters are the perfidious, treacherous Poles!" exclaimed

Pückler, angrily.

"Yes, the Poles were the first to desert, and, unfortunately, more than

half the garrison consists of Poles. They are the old soldiers who were

organized in accordance with your proposition, my dear count. They are

yearning for home, and long to obtain, in place of the scanty rations

they receive here, the fleshpots which the Emperor Napoleon has promised

to happy Poland."

"But they need not starve here; they are provided with sufficient food,"

exclaimed Pückler. "Only yesterday I saw a subscription-paper

circulating among the citizens for the purpose of raising money to

furnish the men on duty on the ramparts with meat, whiskey, and hot

beer."

"How many had signed it?"

"More than a hundred, general."

"Well, I will show you another subscription-paper," said the governor,

taking it from his desk. "A deputation of the citizens were here last

night and presented this to me. It contains a request to give them,

amidst so many sufferings, the hope of speedy succor, lest they be

driven to despair. Over two hundred signed this paper. I could not hold

out any hopes, and had to dismiss them without any consolation

whatever."

"But succor will come," exclaimed Pückler.

"It will not come," said the governor, shrugging his shoulders.

At that moment the door opened, and an orderly entered. "Lieutenant

Schorlemmer, in command of the forces at the Schweidnitz Gate, sent me

here," he said. "He instructed me to inform the governor that the firing

of field and siege artillery was to be heard, and the village of Dürgoy

was burning!"

"The enemy is manoeuvring, and, no doubt, set the village

unintentionally on fire. Tell Lieutenant Schorlemmer that is my reply."

No sooner had the orderly withdrawn than the officer in command of the

engineers entered the room. "Your excellency," he exclaimed, hastily, "I

have just come from the Ohlau Gate. The enemy is hurrying with his

field-pieces and many troops from the trenches toward the Schweidnitz

road, and the firing that began an hour ago is gradually approaching the

fortress."

"The succoring troops are drawing near," exclaimed Count Pückler,

joyfully. "The Prince von Pless at the head of his regiments has

attacked the enemy!"

The governor cast an angry glance on the rash speaker. "It is true you

know all these things a great deal better than old, experienced

soldiers" he said; "you will permit me, however, to be guided by my own

opinion. Now, I think that the enemy is only manoeuvring for the purpose

of decoying the garrison from the city. We shall not be so foolish,

however, as to be caught in such a manner. But I will go and satisfy

myself about this matter. Come, Mr. Chief-Engineer, and accompany me to

the Ohlau Gate. And you, Count Pückler, go to General Lindener to

ascertain his opinion. He has good eyes and ears, and if he view the

matter in the same light as I do, I shall be convinced that we are

right."

Count Pückler hastened away, and while the governor, with the

chief-engineer, was walking very leisurely to the Ohlau Gate, Pückler

rushed into the house of General Lindener, determined to make the utmost

efforts to induce the governor to order a sally of the garrison. But

General Lindener had already left his palace and gone to the Taschen

bastion for the purpose of making his observations. Count Pückler

followed him; he could make but slow headway, for the streets were

densely crowded; every one was inquiring why the enemy had suddenly

ceased shelling the city.

Count Pückler rushed forward toward the Taschen bastion, and the

constantly increasing multitude followed him. General Lindener stood

amidst the superior officers on the rampart of the Taschenberg. He was

scanning the horizon with scrutinizing glances. The officers now looked

at him in great suspense, and now at the open field extending in front

of them. Count Pückler approached, while the people, who had almost

forcibly obtained admission, advanced to the brink and surveyed the

enemy's position. The crowd, however, did not consist of vagabond

idlers, but of respectable citizens--merchants and mechanics--who wished

for the consolation the governor had refused them--the hope of succor!

Gradually their care-worn faces lighted up. They saw distinctly that the

enemy had left the trenches. Here and there they descried straggling

French soldiers running in the direction of the fight in front of the

fortress. They heard the booming of artillery and the rattling of

musketry, and they beheld the shells exchanged between the opposing

troops, exploding in the air. Keen eyes discovered Prussian cavalry in

the neighborhood of the Jewish burial-ground, near the Schweidnitz

suburb, and at this sight tremendous cheers burst from the citizens.

"Succor has come!" they shouted. "The Prince von Pless is coming to

deliver us!"

All now looked to the general, expecting he would utter the decisive

word, and order the garrison to make a sortie. But this order was not

given.

General Lindener turned with the utmost composure to his officers. "I

have no doubt," he said, "that the enemy Is merely manoeuvring for the

purpose of drawing us out of the fortress. It is an ambush in which we

should not allow ourselves to be caught."

"Your excellency," exclaimed Pückler, in dismay, "it is impossible that

you can be in earnest. That is no manoeuvre; it is a combat. The

long-hoped-for succor has come at last, and we must profit by it!"

"Ah," said the general, shrugging his shoulders, "you think because his

majesty permitted you to participate in organizing the defence of the

city, and to confer with the commander in regard to it, you ought to

advise everywhere and to decide every thing!"

"No; I only think that the time for action has come," exclaimed Pückler.

"Opinions and suppositions are out of the question here, for we can

distinctly see what is going on in the front of Breslau. I beg the other

officers to state whether they do not share my opinion--whether it is

not a regular cannonade that we hear, and a real fight between hostile

troops that we behold?"