"How it happened?" she asked. "I cannot find words to tell you. I

reenacted the part of Penelope. Every night I tried to fasten a coat of

mail around my heart--to protect it as with a net-work of virtue and

duty. But your letters were the wooers that destroyed in the day the

resolutions of the night. Your complaints rent my heart; your reproaches

tortured my soul. I felt at last that I was irretrievably lost--that I

loved you boundlessly, and that I was anxious to prove it to you. But my

husband watched me with lynx-eyed vigilance; he was constantly at my

side, now threatening, in the fury of his jealousy, to assassinate me

should I leave him, and now imploring me with tearful eyes to spare his

honor and pity his love. I felt that I would have either to die, or

renounce my married life, and enter upon a new existence--an existence

of true happiness if you love me, but of suffering and self-reproach if

you despise, me!"

"I love you," said Napoleon, with a proud and confident air. "Proceed."

"I have finished," she said. "My trusty lady's maid prepared every thing

for my escape, and four days ago, when my husband believed me at church,

I and my maid entered a travelling-coach and continued our journey day

and night until we arrived at Castle Finkenstein."

"And this disguise?" asked Napoleon, pointing at the costume she was

wearing.

Mary blushed and smiled. "I had it made by a tailor at Warsaw, who

prepared the suits the imperial pages wore at that ball. I had not

sufficient courage to enter this castle as a lady, only men living in it

at the present time. I desired to enter your room without recognition or

insult. I left my carriage at the neighboring village, and walked hither

on foot. At the castle-gate, I inquired for Constant, your _valet de

chambre_, and requested the servants to call him. I confided my secret

to him, and he conducted me to this room. And thus, my beloved friend, I

am here; I am lying at your feet, and imploring you to kill me if you do

not love me, for I cannot live without your love!" She glided from the

divan to the floor, and looked up to the emperor with clasped hands and

imploring eyes.

Napoleon bent over her and drew her smilingly into his arms. "You shall

live," he said, "for I love you and pledge you my imperial word that I

will never desert you!"

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE DANTZIC CHOCOLATE.

On the following day the emperor's face did not retain a trace of the

gloom which had filled his marshals with so much uneasiness. His

features were radiant with happiness, and a strange fire was burning in

his dark-blue eyes. He ordered his guard to be drawn up in line in the

castle-yard, and to the delight of the soldiers it was announced that

Napoleon himself would command at the parade. Loud cheers and the

constantly-repeated shout of "_Vive l'empereur_!" received him when,

surrounded by his marshals, and with a smiling face, he walked down the

broad steps of the palace.

"These soldiers are foolish children," said he, turning to Marshal

Lannes. "Why are they cheering incessantly, as if they had not seen me

for a year? Have I not been among them every day?"

"No, sire," said the marshal, who had regained his former good-humor and

merry face, "no, sire; those brave boys really have not seen your

majesty for a long while, and they are perfectly right to manifest their

joy. The great Napoleon, whose face was our sun in so many battles and

in so many countries, and whose smile, when we were hungry and thirsty,

often satisfied our hunger and quenched our thirst, really was not here.

In his place we have had during the last few weeks a grave and taciturn

emperor, whom every one feared."

Napoleon laughed. "Were you also afraid, my old comrade?" he asked.

"I cannot say that I was," said Lannes, gayly, "but, nevertheless, I

feel to-day as though a heavy burden had been removed from my heart. I

can breathe more freely, inasmuch as I have back my excellent Napoleon

in place of that morose emperor. The sun has risen once more for all of

us!"

"Was I really as you pretend?" asked Napoleon, who was always delighted

at the unceremonious words of his old comrade, and who permitted to

Lannes that bluntness which he would not have tolerated in another.

The marshal bent closer to the emperor's ear. "Sire, your majesty will

permit me to tell you that you were shockingly morose and surly. We were

beginning to feel anxious and weary. But it is all over now, and when I

look at you to-day my heart is as glad as that of a lover who sees his

sweetheart after a long separation. I should like to know what miracle

has happened since yesterday, and what magician has arrived to dispel

your discontent. I should be exceedingly grateful to your majesty if you

would show him to me!"

"What an inquisitive fellow!" said the emperor, turning his eyes

involuntarily to the window of the castle. He nodded almost

imperceptibly, and laid his hand on his heart for a moment. The

marshal's eyes had followed the glances of his master, and he beheld a

strange object at one of the windows of the emperor's rooms. The curtain

was cautiously drawn aside, and the beautiful head of a young lady was

seen behind it.

"_Mort de ma vie_!" ejaculated Lannes, loudly and impetuously.

"Well, what is the matter?" asked Napoleon, turning hastily to him.

Lannes was still staring up at the window; but the charming person had

already disappeared, and the curtains were closed again.

"Sire," faltered Lannes, in confusion, "sire, I believe I myself am

bewitched; I beheld an apparition just now."

"Did your good wife appear to you?" asked Napoleon, laughing.

"Would she were such a fair-haired angel!" exclaimed Lannes, heaving a

sigh. "But in that case, sire, I should very earnestly oppose her

appearance at the windows of the imperial rooms--"

"Hush, you old babbler!" said Napoleon, laughing; "is it necessary,

then, to confess every thing one has dreamed?" And, as he liked to do

when in good-humor, he pulled the marshal's ear so violently that Lannes

made a very wry face.

The emperor turned with a grave bearing to his soldiers, and the parade

commenced. After it was over, he repaired to the castle, to work with

his adjutant-general in his cabinet. Before doing so, however, he said

to Marshal Lannes: "I wish you to dine with me to-day, and to-night I

will play a game of _vingt-et-un_ with you, Talleyrand, and Duroc; I

must get even with you for yesterday. Do not forget, marshal--we shall

dine together to-day!"

"Sire," said Lannes, joyfully, "were you to place a dish of the boiled

ears of the Russians before me, I would eat them with great relish if

you look at me as kindly as you are doing now!"

Napoleon laughed and ascended the palace staircase. An hour later a

dusty carriage rolled into the yard of Castle Finkenstein. It was

Marshal Lefebvre, who, agreeably to the emperor's invitation, had

arrived. The marshal felt somewhat embarrassed and anxious. This order

of Napoleon to set out immediately on receipt of the dispatch, and

repair to his headquarters at Finkenstein, had filled the conqueror of

Dantzic with some apprehension, lest the emperor had summoned him to

rebuke him for having granted such honorable terms to the Prussian

garrison, and for permitting them to march out with their arms, instead

of making them prisoners of war. The marshal therefore entered the

anteroom with a face somewhat pale, and requested the officer in waiting

to announce him.

"His majesty is at work in his cabinet," said the officer. "On such

occasions no one is permitted to disturb him, unless he be a bearer of

important dispatches."

"The emperor ordered me to report to him immediately on my arrival. Go,

therefore, and announce me." The officer obeyed hesitatingly.

Napoleon was seated at a desk covered with maps and papers. Pointing at

a map spread out on the table, he was just turning eagerly to his

adjutant-general, Marshal Berthier. "Here--this is the point whither we

have to drive the Russians; and there, on the banks of the Alle, they

shall fearfully atone for the battle of Eylau. Well," he said, turning

to the officer who had just entered, "what do you want?"

"Sire, Marshal Lefebvre asks your majesty to grant him an audience. He

says your majesty summoned him here from Dantzic."

"He is right," said Napoleon, "and I am glad that the duke does not keep

me in waiting. Tell the Duke of Dantzic that he is to dine with me."

"Sire," said the officer, "it is not a Duke of Dantzic, but Marshal

Lefebvre, who applies for an audience."

The emperor darted one of his withering glances at him. "It seems, sir,"

he said gravely, "that you deem me incapable of creating a duke. Go," he

added, "and inform the duke of my invitation. In fifteen minutes we

shall dine."

The officer returned to the anteroom. "Well?" asked Lefebvre, quickly.

"Does the emperor await me? May I enter?"

"Duke, his majesty invites you to dine with him, and requests you to

wait only fifteen minutes."

Lefebvre, in his confusion, had not heard the title by which he was

addressed. His mind was absorbed in the single thought whether or not

the emperor was angry with him. He wished these fifteen minutes to pass

quickly, and yet his heart trembled at what might be in store for him.

Precisely at the time appointed Grand Marshal Duroc entered to conduct

Marshal Lefebvre to the dining-room. Lefebvre followed in silence. The

heart of the brave soldier beat more violently than it had ever done in

the battle-field.

The emperor had already taken his seat when Duroc and Lefebvre entered.

Near him, behind their chairs, stood Marshal Lannes, the Prince de

Benevento, and Marshal Berthier. Napoleon greeted Lefebvre with a

friendly wave of his hand. "Welcome, duke," he exclaimed, "sit down here

at my side!"

Lefebvre advanced and took the seat his majesty designated. The others

sat down also. Dinner commenced: Napoleon ate his soup in silence, as he

always did. Fixing his eyes with a smiling expression on a large pie, in

the shape of a fortress, that was standing before him, "Do you recognize

this, Duke of Dantzic?" he asked.

Lefebvre heard the ducal title this time, and looked bewildered at the

emperor, whose anger he still feared. "Did your majesty speak to me?" he

asked, bashfully.

"To be sure; did I not address you with the title of Duke of Dantzic?"

replied Napoleon, laughing. "Well, tell me, now, do you know the

fortress which this pie is intended to represent?"

"I believe," said the new duke, "the fortress of Dantzic."

"See, gentlemen, how familiar the duke is with his dear Dantzic,"

exclaimed Napoleon. "It is true, he ought to know it, for he had to take

extraordinary pains to reduce it. Now let us eat little Dantzic as

Lefebvre ate big Dantzic a few days ago."

The steward took the pie and presented it to the emperor. "Oh, no," said

Napoleon, with a pleasant smile; "Duke of Dantzic, it behooves you to

carve it, for it is your conquest."

Lefebvre's face beamed with joy, and he thanked the emperor with a

grateful look. "Sire," he said, almost solemnly, plunging his knife into

the pie, "I should like to be commissioned soon by your majesty to take

another fortress. I should then remember this hour, and take it by

assault or die!"

"Ah, you will not die so soon," exclaimed Napoleon; "let us take this

fortress by assault. The Duke of Dantzic having opened the first breach,

we will boldly follow." Turning to Lefebvre: "Do you like to eat

chocolate, duke?" he asked.

Lefebvre looked at him, amazed at the strange question. "I do not know,"

he faltered, "I believe I like it."

"Well, then, I will give you a pound of Dantzic chocolate," said the

emperor, smiling, "for as you took that city it is but equitable that

you should receive a little souvenir of it. Roustan, bring me the small

package lying on my desk."

Roustan, who at dinner always stood behind the emperor's chair, soon

returned with a small oblong package. Napoleon took it, and, handing it

to Lefebvre, said, "Take this, duke--small gifts keep up friendly

feelings."

Lefebvre took the package, and, warmly thanking the emperor, put it into

his pocket. A few minutes afterward Napoleon rose from the table.

"Sire," said Marshal Lannes, approaching him, "your majesty, perhaps,

does not know all my failings. You are not aware that I am very

inquisitive, and withal very fond of sweet things. Now I am anxious to

know whether Dantzic chocolate is as good as Paris chocolate--I should

like to taste it. Will not your majesty be so kind as to order the Duke

of Dantzic to open his package of chocolate and let us taste it?"

Napoleon laughed. "Why, I cannot order him to give away what I have just

given him," he said. "But a glance at the outside may show you whether

it is good or not. If he will open it and let you see it, I have no

objection."

The duke took the package from his pocket; he himself was desirous to

discover what it contained; Lannes, Duroc, Talleyrand, and Berthier,

surrounded him. The emperor stood at some distance, and looked smilingly

at the group. Lefebvre broke the string and unfolded the wrapper. It

contained nothing but a number of small printed papers; but these were

valuable, being bank-notes to the amount of a hundred thousand dollars.

Lefebvre, overjoyed, looked at the emperor. Duroc and Talleyrand smiled

also, but Lannes exclaimed in a loud voice, "Forsooth, I should also

like to have a pound of this Dantzic chocolate![32] Sire, is there not

somewhere another Prussian fortress manufacturing such an excellent

article? Send me thither, and, I pledge you my word, I shall get my

chocolate!"

[Footnote 32: This scene is strictly historical. The army knew in what

manner the emperor had rewarded Marshal Lefebvre, and it became a

cant-phrase for soldiers who wished to borrow money of their comrades:

"Have you any Dantzic chocolate?"]

Napoleon shrugged his shoulders. "No," he said, "there are really no

Prussian fortresses that we can take; all are in our hands; only Colberg

and Graudenz are holding out, and who knows how soon they will

surrender? You will have no chance to obtain your chocolate in Prussia,

Lannes, but I will give you and all my marshals an opportunity, I hope,

on the battle-field."

"Ah," they exclaimed in joyful chorus, "then there will be a battle

soon?"

"Yes," said Napoleon, gravely. "Let the fall of Dantzic be only a signal

of fresh victories for us! The time of inaction is past. Let us invite

the Emperor of Russia to a war-dance on the territory of his ally the

King of Prussia. Possibly, the beautiful queen may take part in it, for

she is said to be a fine dancer, and to have delighted the young

officers of the guard at the balls given in the palace of Berlin. She

is, moreover, a heroine, who, when her king had an army, witnessed the

parade of the troops in the costume of an Amazon. I am, indeed,

inquisitive, like Marshal Lannes--not, however, as to the quality of

the chocolate, but as to this queen, who is said to be the most

beautiful and amiable woman of all Germany. I am desirous to find out

whether the rumor is true, and to see her face to face. But in order to

do so a battle--a victory is necessary. Afterward I shall invite her to

meet me, and I suppose she will bow to the conqueror of her country,

notwithstanding her pride, and accept the invitation. Ah, she shall

accustom herself to recognize me, whom she calls a usurper, as emperor,

and peer of other sovereigns. Gentlemen, I count on your active

co-operation. You, marshals, and my brave army, are to be the

_postillions d'amour_, to conquer for me an interview with the beautiful

queen! You are to wake up the Russians from their winter sleep, and

bring them our morning greeting with cannon! All the preparations are

completed. The Confederation of the Rhine, Italy, Spain, and France,

have furnished us with troops, and we have now two hundred thousand

enthusiastic and invincible soldiers, while Russia and Prussia together

are scarcely possessed of half as many. They are, moreover, exhausted

and demoralized. Let us renew the struggle; and when I say struggle, it

means _victory_!"

BOOK III.

CHAPTER XXVII.

TILSIT.--NAPOLEON AND ALEXANDER.

A cry of dismay resounded in the camp of the Prussians and Russians--of

exultation in that of the French. Another battle had been fought, and

Napoleon had won a brilliant victory. On the 14th of June, 1807, a

decisive action had taken place between the French and the united

army--the battle of Friedland had gained Napoleon a new laurel-wreath,

and brought an overwhelming defeat upon unhappy Prussia. The Russians,

enraged at the loss of the battle, furiously denounced Prussia, for the

sake of which Russia had been involved in this war; they asked the

Emperor Alexander to put an end to the disastrous and self-sacrificing

war by making peace with France.

The same measure was urged by the adherents of the French party in the

camp and in the suite of King Frederick William. They asserted that

only unconditional submission, however humiliating it might be, could

save what was still to be saved; that the king ought to throw himself at

the feet of the victor of Friedland and implore him to restore his

crown. Such was the advice of the discouraged and despairing--of those

who always had regarded the war against France as a fatal mistake, and

who now, amidst the general consternation, were overjoyed that their

predictions had been fulfilled.

"Peace! peace with France!" was the cry resounding in the ears of the

Emperor Alexander and of King Frederick William. Alexander promised that

he would comply with the request. Frederick William listened to it in

sullen silence. The queen, who had remained at Memel, and was no longer

with her husband, veiled her head and wept.

But Napoleon triumphantly thanked his army for this new and decisive

victory.

"Soldiers," he said, "we are victorious. On the 5th of June we were

attacked in our cantonments by the Russian army. The enemy had mistaken

our inactivity. He perceived too late that our repose was that of the

lion: he repents of having disturbed it. In the battles of Guttstadt and

Heilsberg, and in that ever-memorable one of Friedland, in a campaign of

ten days, we have taken one hundred and twenty pieces of cannon, and

seven colors. The killed, wounded, or made prisoners, are sixty thousand

Russians. We have taken all the magazines, hospitals, ambulances, the

fortress of Königsberg, the three hundred vessels which were in that

port, laden with military stores, and one hundred and sixty thousand

muskets, which England had sent to arm our enemies.

"From the Vistula to the Niemen we have come with the flight of the

eagle. You celebrated at Austerlitz the anniversary of the coronation;

this year, you celebrate that of the battle of Marengo, which put an end

to the war of the second coalition.

"Frenchmen, you have been worthy of yourselves and of me. You will

return to France crowned with laurels, and, after obtaining a glorious

peace, which carries with it the guaranty of its duration, it is high

time for our country to repose, protected from the malignant influence

of England. My bounties shall prove to you my gratitude, and the extent

of the love I feel for you."

Napoleon thus promised peace to his army, while thanking it for the new

victory. And he had a right to do so, for peace and its conditions were

now in his grasp. Alexander and Frederick William felt this, and hence

they were under the necessity of making advances to the conqueror; they

were obliged to sacrifice their pride and to conciliate their powerful

enemy. Frederick William was still hesitating. The tears of his wife,

the prayers and remonstrances of Hardenberg restrained him; he was

unwilling to listen to the urgent appeals of Generals von Köckeritz and

Zastrow, and of Field-Marshal von Kalkreuth, who, now that Dantzic had

fallen, believed unconditional submission to be the only means of

safety.

Alexander determined first on taking a decisive step. On the 24th of

June he sent Prince Labanoff to the victor of Friedland, and expressed

his desire for an interview with him. Napoleon complied with this

request, and sent Grand-Marshal Duroc to the Emperor Alexander to inform

him that he would meet him on the following day, the 25th of June, at

noon. But the two emperors did not wish to see each other on a soil red

with the blood of their soldiers, nor were the peace negotiations to be

held on a territory hostile to the Emperor of the French. A river, whose

waves buried in their depths the reminiscences of the past, was to be

the neutral place of their meeting.

It was a clear midsummer-day; the earth was clad in the freshest

verdure; not a cloud floated in the sky; not a breath of wind stirred

the air, or ruffled the limpid waters of the Niemen. The river was

silent, as though it was conscious of its importance, and felt that a

great historical event was to take place on its tranquil surface. A

large raft was moored by General Lariboissière, of the artillery,

equidistant from and within sight of both banks. A pavilion was

constructed with all the rich stuffs to be procured in the little town

of Tilsit, for the reception of the two monarchs. This gorgeous pavilion

seemed a palace descended from some fairy realm, and thousands of

spectators gazed at it in surprise.

The two armies were ranged along the Niemen, their arms and uniforms

flashing in the sun. On one bank were the lifeguards of Alexander, with

their bearded faces and savage features; on the other, the guards of

Napoleon, with their scarred faces, telling the story of many a victory.

In the rear of the soldiers were thousands more, who had hastened to the

banks of the Niemen to witness the interview of the two emperors.

Shouts, laughter, and songs, resounded on both sides; the air was filled

with a humming sound as from two immense swarms of bees. At times,

greetings were sent across the river in a language mutually

unintelligible. Suddenly, all this noise died away; the guards on both

sides presented arms; the drums were beaten, and the bands played the

national hymns of Russia and France. Amidst these jubilant notes the two

emperors with their brilliant suites approached.

That small, vigorous man, whose delicate hand is holding firmly the

bridle of his spirited white charger--he with the pale face and

expansive forehead, crowned with light-brown hair; with impenetrable

features, a cold, compressed mouth, and large, gloomy eyes--that man is

Napoleon, Emperor of the French. Duroc, Berthier, Bessières, and

Caulaincourt, form his suite, and follow him at a full gallop to the

bank of the river.

That slender young man on the richly caparisoned black horse--that tall

figure with smiling and handsome face, full of vigor, health, and

vivacity--with soft, restless features; blue eyes radiant with

enthusiasm, and crimson lips--is Alexander, Emperor of Russia. The

Grand-duke Constantine, Generals Benningsen and Ouwaroff, Prince

Labanoff, and Count Lieven, accompany him.

The two emperors dismount at the same time, and embark with their suites

in the gondolas that are to convey them to the pavilion. The oarsmen

keep time with their oars and the boats approach each other, reaching

simultaneously the two staircases leading from the platform to the

water. The two monarchs disembark at the same moment. Alexander and

Napoleon stand face to face. For a moment they look at each other with

inquiring glances, and then embrace in the most cordial manner.

This testimony of a frank reconciliation excited vehement applause among

the spectators who lined the river; the French as well as the Russians

stretched out their arms toward their newly-won friends on the other

bank. "Peace!" shouted thousands. "Hail, ye friends and brethren! our

enmity is over; our emperors have affectionately embraced each other,

and like them their subjects will meet in love and peace! No more

shedding of blood! Peace! peace!" The music joined with the exultant

cries of the two nations, and the emperors stepped, keeping time with

the bands, through the doors leading into the pavilion. They were alone.

Only the eye of God could behold them. For a few moments they stood face

to face, silent, and undecided which of them was to speak first, while

the echoes of the music penetrated the heavily-curtained walls of the

pavilion. Each of them seemed to be anxious to read the thoughts of the

other in his face, and to look into the depths of his soul.

Napoleon's sonorous voice was the first to break the silence. "Why are

we at war?" he asked with an inimitable smile, offering his hand to

Alexander.

"It is true," exclaimed Alexander, as if awaking from a dream; "why are

we at war? If your grudge is against England, and against her alone--if

your majesty hates me only because I am the friend of that country, I

can sever the alliance, and we shall easily agree, for I have as much

reason to complain of her as you have, and shall readily support you in

every thing your majesty may decide upon undertaking against her."

"In that case," said Napoleon, quickly, "everything can be arranged, and

peace is a matter of certainty. England alone stood between

us--perfidious, egotistic England, that is always interested only for

herself, and is ready at any time to sacrifice her faithful and generous

allies!"

"I have allowed England to deceive me a long while," exclaimed

Alexander, vehemently; "for I once regarded that nation of traders as a

nation of men, heroes, and profound diplomatists. But I was terribly

undeceived. Those selfish shop-keepers amused me with fair but false

promises; they care neither for my welfare nor for that of Europe, but

only for their commerce. The egotism of Great Britain is equalled only

by her narrow-minded avarice. I asked the British cabinet to guarantee a

Russian loan, and they were impudent enough to refuse me, although they

knew very well that I wished to negotiate it for the sole purpose of

equipping an army, with which I intended to take the field more in the

interest of England and Prussia, than in that of Russia. Faithful to my

word, and to the treaties I had concluded, I nevertheless equipped my

army and marched it into the field in order to join them. But where were

my allies? Prussia could not add to my forces a single army, but a few

corps, utterly demoralized by their misfortunes, and the assistance

promised by England came so late that it failed in saving Dantzic. The

English had taken their own time in appearing before that fortress; they

had other matters to attend to in the Baltic; they had to make money by

hunting up the merchant-vessels of other nations, and, in their

brutality and avarice, they did not shrink from laying their rapacious

hands even upon Russian ships! But while the English were taking unarmed

vessels, and calculating their profits, and the Prussians were bewailing

their misfortunes and dressing their wounds, I alone had to wage war and

ingloriously to shed the blood of my poor soldiers for a cause that was

hardly the cause of Russia. Ah, sire, I shall never forgive England for

deserting me in the hour of danger, and for basely deceiving me by false

promises!"

While Alexander was speaking, Napoleon had steadfastly fixed his eyes

on him; he had looked through the restless, quivering face of the

youthful emperor, into the recesses of his heart; and while Alexander,

wholly absorbed in his wrongs, and alternately blushing and turning pale

with indignation and grief, was uttering his reproaches, Napoleon said

to himself, "Two sentiments of the speaker are predominant, and ought,

therefore, to be flattered: spleen against allies, burdensome like

Prussia, or selfish like England; and a very sensitive and deeply

mortified pride. I must profit by them."

As soon as Alexander paused, Napoleon said in a mournful voice: "Your

allies have taken advantage of your magnanimity, sire! They knew very

well that the heir of Peter the Great was also the heir of his fiery

spirit, and that it was only necessary to talk of a field of battle, and

let him hear a warlike flourish, to make him draw the sword. Ah, sire,

why was I not so fortunate as to be at your side? Why did we not take

the field together! What heroic deeds would you have already performed!

What laurels would not now adorn a head designed by Providence to wear

them! It was your majesty's misfortune that you were united with allies

who duped you for their own purposes--they were a king without a country

and without soldiers, and a nation composed of greedy traders and

stock-brokers, calculating whether glory would be profitable to them in

pounds, shillings, and pence; and whether stocks would not fall if they

fulfilled their engagements. Your majesty alone displayed nobleness,

energy, and courage, in this triumvirate; but your friends were unworthy

of your honorable conduct. Your majesty's mistake is to be solely

attributed to generous sentiments carried to excess, and to

misconceptions to which ministers, incompetent and bribed, have given

rise. You were wrong to persist in patronizing ungrateful and jealous

neighbors like the Germans; or in serving the interests of mere traders,

like the English. God and history have intrusted a much more exalted

task to you, and for this purpose such large and warlike forces have

been given you. I and my marshals, I can assure you, are filled with

admiration at the bravery of your soldiers, every one of whom fought

like a hero."

"Ah," exclaimed Alexander, "this praise uttered by you, sire, is a balm

for my wounds!"

Napoleon laid his hand softly on the shoulder of the young emperor, and

looked him full in the face. "Sire," he said, "if we were to unite these

two armies, which fought so valiantly against one another at Austerlitz,

at Eylau, at Friedland, but who behaved like giants fighting

blindfold--if we were to take the field hand in hand at their head, we

might divide the world between us, for its own peace and welfare. By

waging war with France, Russia is spending her strength without any

possible compensation; whereas, if the two unite in subjecting the East

and the West, on land and sea, she would gain as much glory, and

certainly more profit. Yes, sire, you would attain the glory which you

have hitherto been vainly seeking with those who led you into a path in

which you have met with nothing but defeats and disappointments. Heaven

intended, perhaps, that you should pass through a school of suffering to

make you see your false friends in their true character, and then cause

you to turn to new friendships with the whole strength of your heroic

soul. Sire, I offer you my hand, and, if you will accept it, I will lead

you into a career as brilliant as the star-spangled firmament, and as

fragrant as the laurels of the south. You shall see at least half the

world at your feet. Sire, will you follow me?"

He fixed his fascinating glance on Alexander, and an unearthly radiance

seemed to beam from his countenance. Alexander, dazzled by his

aspect--carried away by the vigor of his language, and flattered also by

hearing Napoleon give utterance to reflections on his allies which so

well agreed with his own secret thoughts, extended his hands toward

Napoleon.

"Here I am," he exclaimed, "lead me! Show me the career I am to pursue!"

Napoleon hastily seized the proffered hands, and, shaking them

cordially, said with an energy which caused Alexander's heart to

flutter, "Come, the world is ours!" He conducted Alexander quickly and

silently to the round-table in the middle of the pavilion, on which

several rolls of paper were lying. Unfolding the largest, and spreading

it on the table, he said, "Sire, look here. This is a map of the world.

There is Asia, which is placed at the side of Russia, like a pillow on

which to rest your head; there is Persia, with her treasures; the vast

Chinese empire, with its industry and commerce; there is Hindustan, with

her immense wealth, and a population sighing for deliverance from the

British yoke. Here below you behold Africa, with her dreary deserts, and

the three Barbary states, which lately again plundered French vessels,

and upon which I have sworn to inflict summary punishment. I shall not

now speak of America and Australia. That is a world which has first to

pass through the children's disease of republicanism; after it has

recovered from it, both of us will be ready to inoculate it with

monarchical principles. But here is Europe! Your majesty, look at this

motley chaos of colors and states, of big and little thrones, lying

between France and Russia. We are their bulwarks on the east and west;

why should we not rule over them? We are able to do so by joining hands

over the heads of all these states. If Russia desires to be the sincere

ally of France, nothing will be more easy; we shall change the face of

this part of Europe; we shall break the chains separating these states

and nations from each other in the east as well as in the west. There

will be but one shepherd and one flock, and the Emperor of the Occident

and the Emperor of the Orient will give laws to the world!"

"Ah," exclaimed Alexander, enthusiastically, "the will of my ancestor,

Peter the Great, revives in the mouth of Napoleon the Great!"

Napoleon smiled. "And what Catharine the Great planned," he said, "will

be accomplished by Alexander the Great--the consolidation of the empire

of the East! Sire, a courier brought me important news this morning. My

ally and friend, Sultan Selim, has been hurled from his throne by the

daggers of conspirators. His overthrow has just set me at liberty in

regard to my alliance with the Porte."

"I also heard this intelligence to-day," said Alexander, smiling; "the

sultan's throne is vacant; Turkey awaits a new sovereign."

"Yes," exclaimed Napoleon, "but it is not necessary that this sovereign

should be a Mussulman. The crescent on St. Sophia's accuses the

Christian powers of cowardice and perfidy, and it is time to reëstablish

the cross on it. I did think that one might make something of those

Turks, restore to them some energy, teach them to make use of their

national courage; but it was an illusion. It is time to put an end to an

empire which can no longer hold together, and to prevent its spoils from

contributing to increase the power of England. I ask but a small part of

Turkey for myself; she is too remote from France, she does not belong to

the empire of the Occident. But I remember that Catharine the Great had

placed her on the map of the new world she was constructing, and I read

in the eyes of your majesty that you have not forgotten that map!"

"Sire, you not only read in my eyes, but you look also into my heart!"

exclaimed Alexander; "like a magician, you lay your hands on the secrets

of my thoughts, that never found words; you teach them to assume a

definite shape, and impart the faculty of speech to them."

"I show you the way of glory, which your allies had taken pains to

conceal," said Napoleon, smiling. "Your majesty anxiously desires to

see it, and those perfidious men tried to mislead you. The portal opens

to you now, sire, and I already behold the noble Alexander entering it."

"Oh," murmured Alexander, placing his hands on his head, "my brain turns

dizzy; it seems to me as though it were on fire."

"Sire," exclaimed Napoleon, in a powerful voice, "we are destined to

give everlasting peace to the world, and woe to those who try to hinder

us! England would like to do so as to myself, and Turkey desires as much

in regard to you. Sire, let us unite, therefore, against these two

enemies, and give efficiency to our alliance. We must enlarge our

territory. I see in the north an obstacle to your progress; Sweden is

watching your majesty with a jealous eye, and will regard an alliance

with me as a declaration of war. Well, then, wage war against Sweden!"

"Sire," said Alexander, in dismay, and confused by those novel ideas

passing so brilliantly before him, "the King of Sweden is my

brother-in-law and ally!"

"For that reason, let him follow the changes of your policy," replied

Napoleon, "or let him take the consequences. Sweden may be an ally for

the moment, but she is your geographical enemy. St. Petersburg is too

near the frontiers of Finland. The fair Russians of St. Petersburg must

not again hear from their palaces the cannon of the Swedes. Proclaim war

against the Swedish king, and take Finland as a compensation. And as you

must be strong in the south as well as in the north, take also at once

some portion of the provinces of the Danube. However, as it is probable

that the Turks will not give up any thing, let us wage war against them.

I will assist you, and afterward the partition will take place. Look

here," added Napoleon, quickly, drawing with his finger a line across

the map, "this is the inheritance that Turkey will leave us. You take

Bessarabia, Moldavia, Wallachia, and Bulgaria, as far as the Balkan. I

should naturally wish for the maritime provinces, such as Albania,

Thessaly, Morea, and Candia. It is true Austria would object to such an

arrangement, but we should offer her indemnities in Bosnia and Servia,

to be made the appanage of one of her archdukes. I have thus laid before

you a rapid sketch of our new world, sire; the question now is whether

you like it--what you think of it."

"Your majesty," exclaimed Alexander, enthusiastically, "I feel like a

man who has looked at the sun, and whose eyes are dazzled. But I shall

become accustomed to this brilliant light, and then be able to look more

reasonably at the wonderful picture which your majesty has unrolled.

But, then, I shall need your explanations and assistance, and I

therefore request you not to let to-day's interview be the last, but

rather the commencement of many happy hours!"

"We have to settle many things yet," said Napoleon, gravely; "it is,

therefore, my heart-felt desire that we see each other as often as

possible; hence, I should like to ask a favor of your majesty."

"Ah, sire, then you will overwhelm me with kindness," exclaimed

Alexander; "will you permit me, your vanquished foe, to confer a favor

upon you?"

"I should like to request your majesty to leave the miserable hamlet

where you are now living, and establish yourself in the little town of

Tilsit. It is true I am residing there, and I am said to be your enemy;

but we may neutralize the town, that your majesty may be there also, and

that I may be so happy as to see you every day."

"Sire, I shall transfer my quarters to Tilsit in the course of the day,"

replied Alexander, joyfully.

"But I have made only half my request. It is not enough for you to

reside at Tilsit; you must also _live_ there. I have been informed that

your household is not with you. I, therefore, ask your majesty to let me

be your host, and to permit me to receive you as a guest at my table."

"I accept your hospitality," said Alexander, smiling. "I hope it will be

the beginning of a true and lasting friendship. But," he added, in an

embarrassed manner, "I have to ask a favor of you. Sire, when I accept

your generous hospitality, it must extend to the unfortunate King of

Prussia. He is my ally; in an hour of rashness and sentimental

enthusiasm, perhaps, I swore faithful and lasting friendship to him."

"At the tomb of Frederick the Great, in presence of the beautiful

queen," said Napoleon, shrugging his shoulders. "It was the dream of a

generous heart, sire."

"But I must realize at least a part of this dream, sire. The King of

Prussia is with me at my headquarters; he is waiting for the decision of

his fate."

"He has brought it upon himself; let him bear it now," exclaimed

Napoleon, sternly. "I do not expect, hope, or ask any thing of him. He

is able neither to help nor to injure me. The waves of his destiny are

rolling over him; they will engulf him, and I do not mean to save him."

"But I do," exclaimed Alexander; "I must, for my honor is at stake. I

cannot allow the king to be utterly ruined without dishonoring myself.

Before passing from one system of politics to another, it is incumbent

upon me to secure my ally and to protect his crown."

"His estates belong to me; as to his crown, I will leave it to him,"

said Napoleon, carelessly. "Let him reside at Meinel and review there

his fifteen thousand soldiers. But I comprehend why you in your

generosity intercede for him, and refuse to abandon him. Tell me,

therefore, your majesty, what I am to do for the King of Prussia."

"Above all, sire, I request you to receive him, and to let him lay his

wishes and demands before you."

"Well, then," said Napoleon, "I request your majesty to appear with the

King of Prussia here in this pavilion to-morrow. Let him participate in

our interview. Although he has so long been an implacable enemy of mine,

I shall willingly yield him as much as possible, but I do so only for

your majesty's sake; it is a sacrifice I make to your honor and

magnanimity. Be kind enough to remember this. Sire, I might dissolve

Prussia, and cause her to disappear forever. I shall permit her to

remain a state, because your majesty desires me. But it is true I cannot

grant her the old frontiers; she will have to sacrifice much in order to

retain something."

"She will be content with this something," exclaimed Alexander. "Your

majesty will confer with the king himself as to the extent of his future

states."

"You wish me to do so. The King of Prussia, therefore, may have a part

in our negotiations," said Napoleon. "That is to say, in the official

negotiations, but not in our confidential interviews.--You and I," he

added, "can understand each other better if we treat directly than by

employing our ministers, who frequently deceive or misunderstand us; and

we shall advance business more in an hour than our negotiators in days.

Between you and me there must be no third person, if we are to

accomplish our purpose."

"No one shall be between us," said Alexander, delighted at so skilful a

flattery. The two sovereigns then walked hand in hand to the doors of

the pavilion.

"To-morrow, then," said Napoleon, with a gentle nod.

"To-morrow, I and the King of Prussia will be here," said Alexander,

with a smile.

Both emerged from the pavilion. The guards and the people received them

again with shouts in which the bands joined. Alexander turned to the

Grand-duke Constantine, his brother, and seizing his hand to introduce

him to Napoleon, he exclaimed enthusiastically, "What a man! what a

genius! Ah, my brother, had I but known him sooner, how many blunders he

might have spared me! What great things we might have accomplished

together!"

CHAPTER XXVIII.

QUEEN LOUISA.

While Frederick William repaired with Alexander to the headquarters of

the army, the queen and her faithful attendants remained at Memel. There

she received the news of the battle of Friedland, and bewailed the

misfortunes and disgrace of Prussia. The king was not with her, to

comfort her; he was still at the mill of Puktupöhnen, where, after the

disastrous battle, he and the Emperor Alexander had retired. Alexander

had left for Tilsit. The king had refused to accompany him, preferring

to remain at his humble lodgings, far from the proud conqueror. While

Alexander was the perpetual companion of Napoleon, a daily guest at his

table, without returning this hospitality, indulging with him in

fantastic dreams about the future political system of the world,

Frederick William pursued his lonely path gravely and silently, only

looking for means to relieve as much as possible the sufferings his

subjects were undergoing, and, by remonstrances and arguments, trying to

protect his monarchy from utter destruction.

Never did Frederick William stoop to flatter his enemy--never did he bow

to him in hypocritical submission. He could not help treating him as the

conqueror of his states, but he refused to degrade himself by base

servility. His first interview with Napoleon was short, and not very

pleasant. Frederick William tried to prove to his adversary that it was

he who had brought about the war by invading the territory of Anspach,

and thereby compelling Prussia to declare war. Napoleon listened to this

charge, shrugged his shoulders, and merely replied that the cabinet of

Berlin, often warned to beware of the intrigues of England, had

committed the fault of not listening to his friendly counsel, and that

to this cause alone were to be ascribed the disasters of Prussia. Since

then, Frederick William, like Alexander, was a daily guest at Napoleon's

table, but he sat there in silence, sad, and absorbed in his

reflections, taking but little part in the conversation, and, when he

did so, assuming a cold, formal manner, while Alexander and Napoleon

chatted unreservedly and pleasantly.

The king had also been constantly at the side of the two emperors in

their long rides, and at the reviews, but always as an ominous shadow in

the light of their new friendship--always as the mournful and warning

spirit of memories which Alexander would have forgotten, because now

they were a reproach and an accusation against him. And Frederick

William took no pains to palliate this reproach, or to disguise his

sadness with a veil of politeness. Abrupt in his whole bearing, he did

not condescend for a moment to play the part of courtier. Accompanying

the emperors, the king was by no means ready to comply with their whims;

if they wished to ride at a full gallop, he moved only at a quick trot,

and politeness compelled them to remain with him. When they returned

from their excursions, Napoleon and Alexander vaulted quickly from their

horses, and walked hand-in-hand toward the door, but Frederick William

alighted slowly, and thus obliged Napoleon, whose guest he was, to wait

for him. The king frequently made his crowned companions stand,

regardless of the rain; and it happened more than once that the

emperors, while waiting for him, were thoroughly drenched. When he was

conferring with Napoleon as to the future frontiers of his states,

Frederick William did not assume a suppliant tone, but spoke with the

bearing of an incensed and insulted sovereign, whom his adversary was

robbing of his rights, and who scarcely succeeded in restraining his

indignation.

And the king had sufficient reasons to be sad and irritable. He saw that

the storm which had so long cast its bolts upon Prussia, would utterly

destroy her. Napoleon was about to revenge himself for the unpleasant

hours she had latterly caused him. He was willing, indeed, as he had

pledged himself to Alexander, to leave Frederick William his crown, but

he did not intend to restore him his states. He needed Prussia for the

new kingdom of Westphalia, and for rewarding his friends and allies. The

king was to retain nothing but a small part of the province of Prussia,

and Königsberg was to be his capital.

Frederick William, stricken by this new and terrible humiliation

menacing him, looked anxiously around for assistance. He felt lonely,

deserted, and betrayed; he felt as though there was no comfort, no hope

for him. His soul turned with unutterable yearning toward the queen;

she was the pillar against which he desired to lean, that he might not

sink to the ground; she was his energy, his strength, his determination,

and when she was at his side, he felt strong enough to brave any

calamity. His love longed for her, and political considerations soon

required her presence.

"Beseech the queen to come hither," said Alexander to him; "she alone is

able now to do something for Prussia. Her beauty, her eloquence, her

amiability, and her understanding, will be more likely to obtain

concessions from Napoleon than any thing else. It will touch his

magnanimity that the noble queen, whom he has so often reviled,

condescends to come to him to implore his mercy. This high-minded

resolution will make a deep impression upon his generosity, and he will

grant twenty times more than I am able to obtain by my daily and most

urgent solicitations."

The king still hesitated. Owing to his sense of honor and his

conscientiousness, he shrank from doing what his heart so intensely

desired; and, before making up his mind, he wished to hear the views of

his friends, General von Köckeritz and Field-Marshal Kalkreuth, who were

carrying on the peace negotiations with Talleyrand. Both of them shared

the opinion of the Emperor Alexander; both of them exclaimed: "The queen

is our last hope! She alone is able to make an impression upon the

inexorable conqueror, and Napoleon possibly may not refuse her what he

declined granting to your majesty and to us. It is necessary for the

welfare of Prussia that her majesty should come hither."

The king delayed no longer. He wrote to the queen, and requested her to

come to his headquarters at Puktupöhnen. He told her it was her sacred

duty to make a last effort for the preservation of Prussia--that every

thing would be lost if She failed to move Napoleon by her supplications

and remonstrances. A courier hastened immediately with the letter to

Memel. When Louisa read it, a pallor overspread her features. Uttering a

cry of excruciating anguish, she dropped the paper into her lap, and

buried her face in her hands.

Madame von Berg, who had heard the loud sobs of the queen in the

adjoining room, hastened to console or weep with her. Louisa did not

hear her come; she was still absorbed in grief; only incoherent

lamentations fell from her lips, and her tears fell on the letter lying

in her lap. Madame von Berg knelt, and implored her with the eloquence

of devotedness and affection to let her share her queen's grief--to tell

her what new calamity had occurred.

Louisa looked with sorrowful eyes at the friend kneeling before her.

"You ask me what calamity has befallen me! Read and know!" she said,

handing the letter to her lady of honor, and, at the same time, raising

her from her knees.

While Madame von Berg was reading, the queen rose; and with her head

thrown back, and her eyes turned upward, she commenced slowly pacing the

room. "Well?" she asked, when Madame von Berg, with a deep sigh, had

laid the letter on the table. "Did you read it? And do you comprehend my

grief now?"

"I do, your majesty," she said, mournfully.

"Caroline," exclaimed the queen, in an outburst of despair, "I am to bow

to this man, who has insulted me so infamously! I am to step like a

beggar before him who has slandered my honor before the whole world, who

has crushed my heart, and wounded my soul in such a manner that it can

never, never recover! I tell you, he will be the cause of my death! On

the day when I read those calumnies which he contrived to have printed

about me--on that day I felt a pang in my heart as if a dagger had been

plunged into it! Ah, would I could die this hour, before sinking into

this new humiliation! Ah, my soul is willing to bow to the great, the

beautiful, the sublime--but not to him--not to that proud man who is

trampling mankind in the dust; who has rendered King Frederick William

so wretched, robbing him of his states and of his majesty, slandering

his queen, and oppressing his people. Caroline, think of it! I am to

meet politely him who has robbed my children of their inheritance, and

caused me so many sleepless nights, so many tears, so many pangs! With a

smile I am to conceal my anguish; and, under a magnificent costume, my

wounded heart! As it behooves every lady, though no queen, I am not to

wait for him to come to me, but I am to go to him! I am to force my

visit on him--I am to court his favor! Ah, it is too much--too cruel!"

Raising her arms impetuously to heaven, she exclaimed in the energy of

her grief, "Wilt Thou have no mercy upon me, my God? Ah, let me die! Let

me die, to escape this new disgrace menacing me! I am a poor, tormented

woman! I ask nothing of Thee but death! Wilt Thou refuse me this only

wish?" She sank on her knees, her arms and eyes still raised toward

heaven, as if she expected that her prayer would be granted. She slowly

dropped her arms, and hung her head with a groan. Madame von Berg, in

tears and with folded hands, was praying in a low voice.

A long pause ensued. The queen rose from her knees; her face was calm

and her tears had gone! but around her eyes a quiver was still seen,

and at times a sigh escaped her breast. "It is over now," she said in a

low voice, "the struggle is over! Pardon my impassioned grief, Caroline;

my poor heart sometimes refuses to submit to the bridle of affliction.

But I must be docile and patient, and learn to obey without a murmur."

There was something so touching in the tone and manner in which the

queen uttered these words, in the glance with which she gave her hand to

her friend, that Madame von Berg was unable to conceal her tears. She

took Louisa's hand and pressed it to her lips.

"Do not weep, Caroline," said the queen. "I have paid my tribute to

human nature; I have wept, but now I will be strong and do my duty.

Stand by me, and console me by your calmness and fortitude. I must set

out in an hour; let us reflect, therefore, what preparations ought to be

made."

"Then you will really go, your majesty?" asked Madame von Berg, sadly.

"Majesty!" ejaculated the queen, almost indignantly. "Is this reverence

intended to deride me? Where is my majesty?"

"In your sovereign eyes, Louisa," said Madame von Berg--"in your great

and noble heart, which masters its grief and submits to duty. It beams

gloriously around your head, which, though it may bow to your adversary,

will never be humbled by him. But, consider, are you not about to impose

upon yourself, in your generous devotedness, a sacrifice which is

greater, it may be, than the reward? Napoleon is not a magnanimous man;

he lacks true chivalry, and he would delight, perhaps, to scorn the

august lady who humbles herself so painfully, and who thereby affords

him a triumph. There is a voice in my heart, warning me against this

plan; it is repugnant to my womanly feelings that my noble queen is

suddenly to descend into the petty affairs of politics. I am afraid your

beauty, your understanding, your grace, are to be abused to fascinate

your enemy, and to wrest from him by persuasion what is the sacred right

and property of your king and of your children, and what I believe

cannot be wrested from the conqueror through intercession, but by the

king and his ally, the Emperor Alexander, by means of negotiations, or,

if they should fail, by force and conquest."

"Hush, hush, Caroline," exclaimed the queen anxiously. "Do not repeat to

me my own thoughts; do not give expression to my doubts and fears! I

think and feel like you. But I must go nevertheless; I must do what my

king and husband asks me to do. He wrote me that it is my sacred duty

to control my feelings, and come to him--that every thing is lost if I

do not succeed in influencing Napoleon by my remonstrances. It shall not

be said that I neglected my duty, and refused to yield, when the welfare

of my children and of my husband was at stake. It is a trial imposed

upon me now, and I am accustomed to make sacrifices. God may reward my

children for the sufferings I am now undergoing, the tears of their

mother may remove adversity from them when I am no more. Oh, my children

and my husband, if you are only happy, I shall never regret having

suffered and wept! And who knows," she added, "whether God may not have

mercy upon me, and whether, by the humiliation I am about to make, I may

not really promote the welfare of my king, my children, and my beloved

people? Oh, Caroline, I feel a joyful foreboding that it will be so! It

will touch the proud conqueror to see a lady, a wife, a mother, who was

once a queen, and is now but a sad, afflicted woman, appear before him

and humbly ask him to have mercy on her children and her country. Even

though he should feel no generosity, he will feign it, and, in his

ambition to be admired by the world, he will grant me what he would have

refused under other circumstances. The hearts of men rest in the hands

of God. He will move this man's heart!"

Scarcely touching the floor with her feet, Louisa glided across the room

to the piano. She slowly touched the keys, and with upturned glances she

indicated her thoughts, singing in a joyful voice the hymn commencing

with the words:

In all thy ways--in grief, in fear,

O troubled heart I rely

On that all-faithful, ceaseless care

Of Him who rules the sky.[33]

[Footnote 33:

Befiehl Du Deine Wege

Und was Dein Herze Kränkt,

Der allertreu'sten Pflege

Dess, der den Himmel lenkt.

PAUL GERHARD.

CHAPTER XXIX.

BAD TIDINGS.

Frederick William and Louisa sat hand in hand in the small, wretched

room of the mill at Puktupöhnen. They were not a royal couple, but a

pair of lovers, thanking God that they were again united, and could read

in each other's eyes the love and constancy that animated them. The

king, generally taciturn and laconic, found words at this hour; his

happiness made him eloquent, and he unbosomed himself unreservedly,

telling of his apprehensions and forebodings. "But now," he said,

pressing Louisa's hand to his lips, "now you are here, and affairs will

assume a more hopeful aspect. Your eyes will strengthen and your voice

will encourage me. Alas! I stand greatly in need of your presence, for

my soul is well-nigh crushed. I have no longer sufficient strength to

withstand my misfortunes and humiliations--they oppress my life day and

night, leaving me no rest. At times, when I sat at the dinner-table

between the two emperors, and gazed at the sombre features of Napoleon,

in contrast with the good-natured face of Alexander, and listened to

their jests, I felt as though I ought to interrupt them by an expression

of anger, and say to them, 'It is a shame for you to laugh when

misfortune is in your company, and seated by your side.' But I

suppressed my feelings. Oh, Louisa, I was all alone in my agony. Now you

are here, I am no longer alone!" He threw his arms around the queen's

neck, and pressed her against his heart, as though afraid she might also

be wrested from him. "Oh, beloved Louisa," he whispered, "you are my

consolation and my hope; do not desert me--do not give me up--now that

the whole world seems to desert me!"

The queen encircled his neck in her arms and kissed him. "I shall always

stay with you," she said, smiling in her tears; "so long as my heart

throbs it belongs to you, my king, my beloved husband!" They remained

locked in an embrace. Their thoughts were prayers, and their prayers

love.

A carriage rapidly driving up to the door, and rattling the windows,

roused them. "It is Alexander, who comes to pay you a visit," said the

king, rising. "I will meet him."

But before he had reached the door, it opened, and the Emperor Alexander

appeared. "Ah, I succeeded in surprising both of you," he said, with a

good-humored smile. Bowing respectfully to the queen, he added: "I trust

your majesty will forgive my entering without announcement, but I longed

to see my noble friend Frederick William. God and His saints be praised

that the sun has at length risen on us, and that your majesty has

arrived!"

"Yes, sire, I have arrived," said Louisa, mournfully; "however, I do

not bring the sun with me. Night surrounds us, and it seems to me I

cannot see a single star in the darkness."

Alexander became grave; he gazed long and searchingly at the pale face

of the queen, and a sigh escaped his breast. "Sire," he said, turning to

the king, "can we really make peace with the man who, in the course of a

few weeks, changed into the lily the red rose that once adorned the face

of the noblest and most beautiful lady? Can we really forgive him for

wringing tears from our august queen?"

"Fate does not ask us whether we can," said the king, gloomily. "It

tells us only that we must. In my heart I shall never make peace with

the man who, although a great captain, is no great man; else he would be

less cruel. But God has given him the power, and we must all bow to

him."

"But it is not necessary to humble ourselves before him," exclaimed the

queen. "Amid our misfortunes we must keep ourselves erect; and if we

perish, we ought to do so with unsullied honor."

"But why perish?" said Alexander. "We are shipwrecked, it is true, and

we are now drifting on the waves, but we must save ourselves. Every one

must try, to the best of his ability, to do so; he must grasp at the

first thing that falls into his hands--at a plank, at a straw. Some

fortunate rope may at last save us, and draw us to the shore. We shall

then build a new ship, and man her with fresh hands. Do you agree with

me, my dear fellow-sufferers?"

"Sire," said Louisa, in a low and mournful voice, "you are magnanimous.

You call yourself our fellow-sufferer. And yet the tempest shipwrecked

us alone."

"By no means," exclaimed Alexander; "I have also suffered; all my hopes,

wishes, and ambition went down. But I did not wish to be drowned, and I

stretched out my arms for something to support me. Do you know what I

found to sustain me? The Emperor Napoleon! Oh, he is a strong support."

"I have heard, sire, your majesty has of late become an ardent admirer

of Napoleon," said the queen, in a tremulous voice.

"Yes," exclaimed Alexander, enthusiastically, "Napoleon is a genius, a

demi-god; the great Alexander of antiquity has risen from the dead. He

realizes the myths of the ancient heroes. I repeat it to him every day,

and, thank God, he believes me!"

The queen cast a surprised and inquiring glance on him. A singular smile

played on his lips. "Yes," he repeated, "Napoleon believes me! He is

convinced of the sincerity of my admiration, and he is right. I love him

as my master--as my teacher--as the great ideal that I will endeavor to

imitate!"

"Oh, sire," sighed the queen, reproachfully, "you give me pain!"

"You hate him, then?" asked Alexander, quickly.

"No," replied Louisa, gently, "I do not hate him, but I cannot love and

adore him. Only the good can make the world happy, and Napoleon has no

good intentions toward the nations. In his unmeasured ambition he thinks

of himself and his individual interests only. We may admire, but cannot

love him."

"We must, we can love him!" exclaimed Alexander. "He is an instrument in

the hand of Providence, that seems to have armed him to rule the world.

I love Napoleon," he added, in a whispering tone, "and I am sure he

believes in and returns my love. He overwhelms me with attentions and

favors; we have long conversations every day; we take our meals

together, and make many excursions. A shower surprised us yesterday and

gave us a thorough wetting. How amiably the great Napoleon behaved

toward me! how kindly he took care of me! he would not even let me go to

my quarters to change my dress, but conducted me himself to his room and

lent me his linen and clothing. As a souvenir, he presented me with a

superb dressing-case of gold which I chanced to admire. I shall always

preserve this gift as a token of his friendship."

He paused a moment, and cast a quick glance at the royal couple.

Frederick William had turned toward the window, and seemed to look

intently at the sky. Louisa had cast down her eyes, and her features

expressed a profound melancholy. The same strange smile played on the

emperor's face, but neither the king nor the queen noticed it. He kissed

Louisa's hand and asked: "Will your majesty graciously permit me to show

you that beautiful dressing-case?"

The queen withdrew her hand almost indignantly. "I thank your majesty,"

she said, "I am not very anxious to see the gifts of Napoleon."

Alexander approached nearer to her. "That is right," he whispered

hastily, "be angry with me--regard me as a faithless man--a renegade,

you will yet be undeceived!"

"Sire," said the queen, "sire--"

"Hush!" whispered Alexander, receding from her and approaching the king.

"Your majesty knows how much I have at heart your friendship as well as

your welfare--what pains I take to soften the heart of the conqueror,

and to inspire him with more lenient sentiments toward Prussia. I

improve every opportunity; I try to profit by my private interviews to

obtain better terms for you; as, for instance, I succeeded yesterday in

persuading him to leave you the fortress of Graudenz."

"I thank your majesty," said Frederick William, gravely. "But, as far as

I know, Napoleon did not conquer and occupy that fortress at all; it

held out bravely and faithfully to the day of the armistice; it remained

mine, and I do not see by what right he claims it."

"Oh, your majesty," exclaimed Alexander, carelessly, "the victor claims

the right of taking every thing he pleases. You must remember that, now

and hereafter--yes, hereafter," repeated Alexander, laying stress on the

word. "I was glad, therefore, that I succeeded in preserving Graudenz to

you. Unfortunately, however, I did not succeed in recovering the

frontiers. Our august queen must use her eloquence, and I have no doubt

that the noblest of women will succeed in bringing about what we and our

ministers failed to accomplish. But in order that your majesty may

become fully aware of the important interests that are at stake, of the

dangers menacing Prussia, and how urgently she needs the assistance of

her queen, I have brought the 'ultimatum' of Napoleon. He dictated it

to-day, to Talleyrand in my presence, and I requested him to give me a

copy. Will you permit me, sire, to communicate it to you?"

"It is always better to know our fate, and look it full in the face,"

said the king, slowly. "I request your majesty, therefore, to read it."

"And will you also permit me?" asked Alexander, turning to the queen.

Louisa gently nodded. "The king is right," she said, "we should know the

worst. Let us sit down, if your majesty please."

She took a seat on the sofa; the emperor and her husband occupied the

easy-chairs on the other side of the table.

"I implore your majesties, however, to listen without interrupting me,"

said Alexander, drawing a paper from his bosom. Glancing over it, he

added: "Napoleon demands, above all, that Prussia shall cede to him the

whole territory on the right of the Niemen, the city of Memel, and the

district extending as far as Tilsit, for he asserts that this is the

natural frontier of Russia. He requires your majesty, further, to cede

your whole territory on the left of the Elbe to France, for he regards

the Elbe as also the natural frontier of the Prussian kingdom. He

stipulates expressly that the district of Hildesheim shall not be

included in the territory of your majesty on the right of the Elbe, for

he desires this district to form part of the new kingdom of Westphalia,

which he has resolved to organize. But to compensate you for this loss,

he will prevail upon Saxony to cede to you a territory on the right of

the Elbe, equivalent to the district of Memel. Napoleon demands the

Polish provinces of Prussia for the new kingdom of Poland to be

organized; but your majesty is to keep Pomerelia and the districts of

Kulm, Elbing, and Marienwerder. The district of the Netze, as well as

the canal of Bromberg and Thorn, will be taken from Prussia; Dantzic,

with its surroundings, is to be constituted a free--I believe, a free

German city, under the joint protection of Saxony and Prussia. Russia is

to cede the island of Corfu to France. This is Napoleon's 'ultimatum,'"

said Alexander, laying the paper on the table. "These, queen, are the

conditions which your majesty ought to endeavor to render less rigorous,

and if possible, to cancel altogether. What do you think of them, your

majesty?"

"I think that if we cannot avert our fate, we must submit to it,"

replied Frederick William in a hollow voice, "but that recourse ought to

be had to every means to render it less offensive. For if I am compelled

to sign these propositions, I sign the ruin of Prussia."

The queen had listened to the words of the emperor, with breathless

attention, and fixed her eyes inquiringly on her husband. On hearing his

mournful reply, she sank back exhausted, and tears flowed down her

cheeks.

"Your majesty sees how necessary it was that you should come hither,"

said Alexander to the queen. "You have a great task to perform here. You

alone are able to save Prussia!"

Louisa shook her head. "Sire," she said, "he who was arrogant enough to

draw up such an 'ultimatum,' is also cruel enough to withstand all

solicitation. I have come because my king commanded me; faithful to the

duty intrusted to me, I shall try to mitigate our fate, but I do not

hope to be successful."

"In these times, nothing can be promised with any degree of certainty;

we can only hope for the best," said Alexander. "We must not relax in

our efforts to bring about a change in these terms. But I have not yet

communicated to you all the demands of the Emperor Napoleon."

"Indeed!" exclaimed the king, with a bitter laugh. "Then there is

something still left for Napoleon to take from me?"

"Yes, sire, he demands that your majesty dismiss your minister, Von

Hardenberg."

"Hardenberg!" exclaimed the queen, sadly--"the king's most faithful and

devoted servant! Oh, your majesty knows him--the generous zeal that

animates him, and the noble purposes that he pursues."

"I know him and have tried to lessen Napoleon's hostility," said

Alexander, shrugging his shoulders. "But my efforts were unsuccessful.

He insists on Hardenberg's removal, and I cannot but advise your

majesty, urgently, to comply. I cannot conceal from you that the Emperor

Napoleon has declared to me to-day, that he would make no peace, but

wage war with Prussia for forty years rather than consent that

Hardenberg, his implacable adversary, should remain your minister for a

single day."

"That is too much," exclaimed the queen, indignantly. "Let Napoleon

dismember Prussia, since he has the power, but he must not compel us to

select or dismiss our servants according to his _bon plaisir_."

"He must not! but he can do so," said the king gloomily, "and as

Napoleon does every thing he can, of course he compels me to undergo a

fresh humiliation. I must restore peace to my poor, bleeding country; I

cannot continue the war. If, therefore, he insists on Hardenberg's

removal as a first condition of the peace, I must comply."

"But it is impossible to inform such a faithful and devoted servant of

the state so abruptly of his ignominious removal from office," exclaimed

the queen, mournfully.

"No," said Alexander, "that is unnecessary. Minister von Hardenberg will

send in his resignation. I have had a long conference with him, and, in

consequence of it, he has repaired hither to request your majesty to

grant him an audience. May I call him?"

"If your majesty desires me I will receive him in your presence and in

that of the queen," said Frederick William, walking to the door; he

opened it, and cried: "Minister von Hardenberg!"

A few minutes afterward Hardenberg entered the room. The serene

expression of his fine, manly features had not disappeared; calm, and

kindly as usual, he approached their majesties, and bowed to them

respectfully, yet with the pride of a man conscious of his own dignity.

He took the liberty, therefore, to violate etiquette, and to speak

without being spoken to. "Sire," he said, turning to the Emperor

Alexander, "I thank you for being so kind as to procure me an audience

with his majesty, and as I may hope that you have communicated to my

king and master the reason why I applied for it, I shall have but little

to say. Time is precious, and, therefore, I shall be brief."

He approached the king, and, bowing deeply to him, added: "Your majesty

knows that I have devoted my life to the service of Prussia. I have

served her to the best of my ability and energy so long as the

confidence of your majesty permitted me. But circumstances require me

now to prove my devotedness in a different way. I can serve her now only

by retiring from the civil service, and by laying the portfolio that

your majesty intrusted to me, at your feet. I, therefore, request you to

be so gracious as to accept my resignation."

The king made no immediate reply. The queen looked at him, and an

expression of anxious suspense and tender solicitude was to be seen in

her features. The Emperor Alexander stood with folded arms at the side

of the king, and glanced with a smile now at the minister, now at the

royal couple.

"Sire," repeated Hardenberg, since the king was still silent, "I request

your majesty to be so gracious as to accept my resignation."

Frederick William started. "You know very well," he said, hastily, and

almost in a harsh voice, "that it gives me pain to do so. I have to

submit to necessity. I have no power to resist the most arrogant

demands--no army to continue the war. Hence, I must accept the only

terms on which I am able to obtain peace, and must also accept the

resignation you tender. You are free, Minister von Hardenberg; I am not

allowed to attach you to my cause. Accept my thanks for your valuable

services, and, believe me, I regret that I shall have to do without

them." He took the minister's hand and added: "I wish you joy of being

no longer in office; it will not now be necessary for you to sign the

peace which Napoleon offers to us."

"Sire," said Hardenberg, proudly, "I should never have signed that

treaty. It is not a treaty of peace, but of servitude. But I forget that

I have now no right to meddle with the policy of Prussia. I thank your

majesty, and beg leave to depart."

"I have to permit you," said the king; "you are more fortunate than I

am; you are a free man."

"Sire, I have, after all, but that freedom which every honorable man

ought to preserve even in misfortune," said Hardenberg, gently--"the

freedom of not bowing to wrong and injustice, and of perishing rather

than enduring disgrace. I intend to depart in the course of an hour."

"Farewell," said Frederick William, hastily; "and when I say farewell, I

mean that we shall meet again. I hope there will be better times. If I

call you, then, will you come, Hardenberg?"

"I shall never close my ear against the call of your majesty and of

Prussia," said Hardenberg, bowing to the king and the queen. He then

turned to the Emperor Alexander. "Sire," he said, "on taking leave of

you, and being, perhaps, for the last time, so fortunate as to see your

majesty, it is a comfort to me to remember the day when I beheld you

first in the spring of the present year. It was at Kydullen, where your

majesty showed to the King of Prussia your lifeguards that accompanied

you from St. Petersburg to participate in the war against France. When

the soldiers marched past you embraced King Frederick William, and

exclaimed with tearful eyes: 'Neither of us shall fall alone; either

both, or neither!' These words are still resounding in my ears, and in

these disastrous days, when Prussia's honor and existence are at stake,

they are my only consolation. Your majesty has not fallen, and hence,

you will not allow Prussia to fall. You will remember your oath, the

fidelity which Prussia has manifested toward you, and never so stain

your glory as to desert her now and suffer her to fall alone! This is my

hope, and, comforted by it, I leave you."

"Ah," said Alexander, sighing, "how unfortunate I am! You spoke at my

right ear, and you know that there I am deaf. Hence, I did not hear much

of what you said. But I believe you wished to take leave of me; I,

therefore, bid you a heart-felt farewell, and wish you a happy journey."

He offered his hand to Hardenberg, but the deep bow the minister made

just then, prevented him, perhaps, from seeing the extended hand of the

emperor; he did not grasp it, but withdrew in silence, walking backward

to the door.

When he was about to go out, the queen rose from the sofa. "Hardenberg,"

she exclaimed, vehemently, "and you forget to bid _me_ farewell?"

"Your majesty," said the minister, respectfully, "I await your

permission to do so."

The queen hastened to him. Tears glistened in her eyes, and she said in

a voice tremulous with emotion: "You know what I suffer in these times

of humiliation, for you know my sentiments, which can never

change--never prove faithless to the objects which we pursued together.

A time of adversity compels us to bow our heads; but let us lift our

hearts to God, and pray for better times. He will instill courage and

patience into the souls of noble and true patriots, and teach them not

to despair. Hardenberg, I believe in you, and so does Prussia. Work for

the cause in private life, as you are unable to do so in public--prepare

for the new era. This is my farewell--this the expression of my

gratitude for your fidelity. May God protect you, that you may be able

again to be useful to our country! Whenever I pray for Prussia, I shall

remember you! Farewell!" She offered him her hand, and as he bent to

kiss it, he could not refrain from tears. He averted his head as if to

conceal his emotion, and left the room.

Louisa looked at the king, who stood musing with folded arms. "Oh, my

husband!" she exclaimed mournfully, "Napoleon robs you not only of your

states, but of your most faithful friends and advisers. God save

Prussia!"

CHAPTER XXX.

QUEEN LOUISA AND NAPOLEON.

The queen had finished her toilet. For the first time during many

months, she had adorned herself, and appeared again in regal pomp. A

white satin dress, embroidered with gold, surrounded her tall and

beautiful form, and fell behind her in a flowing train. A broad necklace

of pearls and diamonds set off her superb neck; bracelets of the same

kind encircled her arms, that might have served as a model for Phidias.

A diadem of costly gems was glittering on her expansive forehead. It was

a truly royal toilet, and in former days the queen herself would have

rejoiced in it; but to-day no gladness was in her face--her cheeks were

pallid, her lips quivering, and her eyes gloomy.

She contemplated her figure in the mirror with a mournful, listless air,

and, turning to Madame von Berg, who had accompanied her to Puktupöhnen,

and who was to be her companion on her trip to Tilsit, she said:

"Caroline, when I look at myself, I cannot help shuddering, and my heart

feels cold. I am adorned as the ancient Germans used to dress their

victims, when they were about to throw them into the flames to pacify

the wrath of their gods. I shall suffer the same fate. I shall die of

the fire burning in my heart, yet I shall not be able to propitiate the

idol that the world is worshipping. It will be all in vain! With a soul

so crushed as mine, I am incapable of accomplishing any thing. But

complaints are useless, I must finish what I have begun; I must--but

hush! is not that the sound of wheels approaching this house?"

"Yes," said Madame von Berg, hastening to the window; "it is a

carriage--a brilliant court-carriage, drawn by eight horses, and

escorted by French dragoons."

Louisa pressed her hands against her heart, and a low cry burst from her

lips. "Oh," she whispered, "the dagger is again piercing my heart. Oh,

how it aches!"

Owing to the noise with which the imperial coach had driven up Madame

von Berg did not hear the last words of the queen. "Oh," she exclaimed

joyfully, "the Emperor Napoleon really seems to be favorably disposed

toward us. He takes pains at least to receive your majesty with the

respect due to a queen. The carriage is magnificent, and the eight

horses wear a harness of gold and purple. The French dragoons have on

their gala-uniforms and are marching into line to present arms when your

majesty appears. I begin to hope that I was mistaken in Napoleon; he

will not humble her whom he receives with the splendor lavished on the

most powerful crowned heads."

Louisa shook her head. "He has learned a lesson from the ancient

Cæsars," she said. "When Zenobia adorned the triumphal procession of

Aurelian, she was clad in robes of purple and gold; she stood on a

gilded car, surrounded by servants, as it was due to a queen. But

manacles were about her arms; she was, after all, but a prisoner, and

the contrast of the chain with the royal pomp rendered only more

striking the imperial triumph and her own humiliation. But, no matter!

We must go through with it. Come, Caroline, give me my cloak." She

wrapped herself in a small cloak of violet velvet, and casting a last

imploring glance toward heaven, she left the room to drive to Tilsit.

At the hotel, where the king was staying, he received his consort and

conducted her up-stairs to the room prepared for her. They said little;

the immense importance of this hour made them taciturn; they spoke to

each other only by glances, by pressing each other's hands, and by a few

whispered words indicative of their profound anxiety and suspense.

Scarcely fifteen minutes had elapsed when one of Napoleon's aides

appeared, to inform her that the emperor was already on his way to see

her. The king kissed his wife's hand. "Farewell, Louisa," he said, "and

may God give you strength to meet your adversary!"

Louisa retained him. "You will not stay with me?" she asked,

breathlessly. "You will leave me at this painful moment?"

"Etiquette requires me to do so," said the king. "You know very well

that I care nothing for these empty forms; but it seems that Napoleon,

to whom they are still new, deems them necessary for upholding the

majesty of the new-fangled empire. The emperor pays a visit to the queen

alone; hence, you must receive him alone. Only your lady of honor is

allowed to remain in the adjoining room, the door of which will be left

open. Napoleon's companion--Talleyrand, I believe--will also remain

there. Farewell, Louisa; I shall come only when the emperor expressly

asks for me. Do you hear the horses in front of the house? Napoleon is

coming! I go." He nodded pleasantly, and left the room.

"Oh, my children!" muttered the queen; "I am doing this for you--for

your sake I will speak and humble my heart!"

She heard the sound of footsteps on the staircase, and Madame von Berg

appeared in the adjoining room to announce that his majesty the Emperor

Napoleon was approaching. Louisa nodded, and, quickly crossing the

anteroom, she went out into the corridor. Napoleon was just ascending

the stairs. His face was illuminated with a triumphant expression, and a

sinister fire was burning in his eyes, which he fixed on the queen with

a strange mixture of curiosity and sympathy. Louisa looked at him

calmly; a touching smile played on her lips; her beautiful face beamed

with energy and courage, and an air of pious solemnity was visible in

her whole appearance. Napoleon felt involuntarily moved in the presence

of a lady so queen-like and yet so gentle, and bowed more respectfully

to her than he had ever done to any other woman.

"Sire," said Louisa, conducting him into the room, "I am sorry that your

majesty had to ascend so miserable a staircase."

"Oh," exclaimed Napoleon, "if the way leading to you was inconvenient,

madame, the reward is so desirable that one would shrink from no trouble

to obtain it."

"It seems there is nothing too inconvenient for your majesty," said the

queen, gently. "Neither the sands of Egypt nor the snows of our north

impede the career of the hero. And yet I should think our cold climate

an obstacle difficult to overcome. Did your majesty not have this

opinion sometimes last winter?"

"It is true," said Napoleon. "Your Prussia is somewhat cold. She is too

close to Russia, and allows herself to be fanned too much by its icy

breezes!"

Louisa feigned not to understand this allusion to the policy of Prussia,

and, turning to the emperor, she requested him to take a seat on the

sofa. Napoleon offered her his hand and conducted her to it. "Let us sit

down," he said, with a tinge of irony. Turning to her, he added: "You

have hated me so long that you ought to give me now a slight token of

the change in your sentiments, and permit me to sit at your side."

Bending over, he looked her full in the face and seemed to wait for her

to renew the conversation.

The queen felt her heart tremble--that the critical moment had come, and

she concentrated her courage and determination that that moment might

not pass unimproved. She raised her eyes slowly, and, with an affecting

expression, she said in a low, tremulous voice, "Will your majesty

permit me to tell you why I have come hither?"

Napoleon nodded, and continued looking steadily at her.

"I have come," added the queen, "to beg your majesty to grant Prussia a

more favorable peace. Sire, I use the word 'beg!' I will not speak of

our rights, of our claims, but only of our misfortunes; I will only

appeal to the generosity of your majesty, imploring you to lessen our

calamities, and have mercy on our people!"

"The misfortunes we suffer are generally the consequences of our own

faults," exclaimed Napoleon, harshly; "hence, we must endure what we

bring upon ourselves. How could you dare to wage war against me?"

The queen raised her head, and her eyes flashed. "Sire," she said,

quickly and proudly, "the glory of the great Frederick induced us to

mistake our strength, if we were mistaken."

"You were mistaken, at least in your hopes that you could vanquish me,"

exclaimed Napoleon, sternly. But, as if struck by a sudden recollection,

and meaning to apologize for his rudeness, he bowed, and added in a

pleasant tone: "I refer to Prussia and not to you, queen. Your majesty

is sure to vanquish every one. I was told that you were beautiful, and I

find that you are the most charming lady in the world!"

"I am neither so vain as to believe that, nor so ambitious as to wish

it," said the queen. "I have come hither as consort of the king, as

mother of my children, and as representative of my people!"

"Ah," exclaimed Napoleon, politely, "Prussia may well be proud of so

noble a representative."

"Sire, Prussia cannot be proud," replied the queen, sighing. "She weeps

over her sons fallen on the fields of battle that brought laurels to

you; to us nothing but defeat. She has lost her prosperity; her fields

are devastated; her supplies consumed. She is looking despondingly

toward the future, and all that remains to her is hope. Sire, let not

this hope be in vain! Pardon us for not having feared your all-powerful

genius and your victorious heroism! It was a terrible misfortune for us

to have mistaken our strength; but we have been humbled for it. Let it

be enough! You have made us feel the conqueror's hand; let us now feel

and acknowledge your magnanimity! Your majesty cannot intend to trample

in the dust those whom fortune has already so humbled. You will not take

revenge for our errors--you will not deride and revile our majesty--for

majesty, sire, is still enthroned on our heads. It is the sacred

inheritance which we must bequeath to our children."

"Ah, your majesty will comprehend that I cannot feel much respect for

such sacred inheritance," said Napoleon, sneeringly.

"But your majesty will respect our misfortunes," exclaimed Louisa.

"Sire, adversity is a majesty, too, and consecrates its innocent

children."

"Prussia has to blame none but herself for her calamities!" said

Napoleon, vehemently.

"Does your majesty say so because we defended our country when we were

attacked?" asked the queen, proudly. "Do you say so because, faithful to

the treaties which we had sworn to observe, we refused to desert our

ally for the sake of our own profit, but courageously drew the sword to

protect his and our frontiers? Heaven decreed that we should not be

victorious in this struggle, and our defeats became a new laurel-wreath

for your brow. But now you will deem your triumphs sufficient, and will

not think of taking advantage of our distress. I am told that your

majesty has asked of the king, as the price of peace, the largest and

best part of his states--that you intend taking from him his fortresses,

cities, and provinces, leaving to him a crown without territory, a title

without meaning--that you wish to distribute his subjects and provinces,

and form of them new nations. But your majesty knows well that we cannot

with impunity rob a people of their inalienable and noblest rights--of

their nationality--give them arbitrary frontiers, and transform them

into new states. Nationality is a sentiment inherent in the human heart,

and our Prussians have proud hearts. They love their king, their

country--"

"And above all their august queen," interrupted Napoleon, who wished to

put an end to this appeal, and direct the conversation into less

impetuous channels. "Oh, I know that all Prussia idolizes her beautiful

queen, and henceforth I shall not wonder at it. Happy those who are

permitted to bear your chains!"

She cast on him a glance so contemptuous that Napoleon shrank, and

lowered his eyes. "Sire," she said, "no one who bears chains is happy,

and your majesty--who once said to the Italians, 'You need not fear me,

for I have come to break your chains and to deliver you from degrading

servitude!'--will not now reduce a state to servitude. For to wrest it

from its legitimate sovereign, and to compel it to submit to another

prince is chaining it--to distribute a people like merchandise, is

reducing them to slavery. Sire, I dare beg your majesty to leave us our

nationality and our honor! I dare beg you in the name of my children to

leave them their inheritance and their rights."

"Their rights?" asked Napoleon. "Only he has them who knows how to

maintain them. What do you call the rights of your children?"

"Sire, I refer to their birth, their name, and history. By their birth,

God conferred on them the right to rule over Prussia. And the Prussian

monarchy is rooted in the hearts of the people. Oh, your majesty, do not

overthrow it! Honor in us the crown adorning your own victorious head!

Sovereigns ought to respect each other, that their people may never lose

the respect due to them; sovereigns ought to support and strengthen each

other, to enable them to meet their enemies now carried away by the

insane ideas of a so-called new era--ideas that brought the heads of

Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette to the scaffold. Sire, princes are not

always safe, and harmony among them is indispensable; but it is not

strengthening one's own power to weaken that of others--it is not adding

lustre to one's own crown to tarnish another's. O sire; in the name of

all monarchies--nay, in the name of your own, now shedding so radiant a

light over the whole world, I pray for our crown, our people, and our

frontiers!"

"The Prussians," said Napoleon, rising, "could not have found a more

beautiful and eloquent advocate than your majesty!"

He paced the room several times, his hands folded behind him. The queen

had also risen, but she stood still, and looked in breathless suspense

at Napoleon, whose cold face seemed to warm a little with humane

emotion. He approached, and fixed his eyes in admiration on her sad but

noble countenance. "Your majesty," he said, "I believe you have told me

many things which no one hitherto has ventured to tell me--many things

which might have provoked my anger--some bitter words, and prophetic

threats have fallen from your lips. This proves that you at least

respect my character, and that you believe I will not abuse the position

to which the fortune of war has elevated me. I will not disappoint you,

madame. I will do all I can to mitigate your misfortunes, and to let

Prussia remain as powerful as is compatible with my policy and with my

obligations to my old and new friends. I regret that she refused to

enter into an alliance with me, and that I vainly offered my friendship

to her more than once. It is no fault of mine that your majesty has to

bear the consequences of this refusal, but I will try to ameliorate them

as much as I can. I cannot restore your old frontiers; I cannot deliver

your country entirely from the burdens and calamities of war, and

preserve it from the tribute which the conqueror must impose upon the

vanquished, in order to receive some compensation for the blood that was

shed. I will always remember that the Queen of Prussia is not only the

most fascinating, but also the most high-minded, courageous, and

generous lady in the world, and that one cannot do homage enough to her

magnanimity and intelligence. I promise your majesty that I am quite

willing to comply with all your wishes as far as I can. Inform me,

therefore, of them; it will be best for you to be quite frank with me.

We shall try to become good friends, and, as a token of this friendship,

I take the liberty to offer you this flower, which bears so striking a

resemblance to you." He took a full-blown moss-rose from the porcelain

vase standing on the table, and presented it to her. "Will you accept

this pledge of friendship at my hands?"

The queen hesitated. It was repugnant to her noble and proud heart to

receive so sentimental a gift from him to whom her heart never could

grant true friendship. She slowly raised her eyes and looked almost

timidly into his smiling face. "Sire," she said in a low voice, "add to

this pledge of your friendship still another, that I may accept the

rose."

The smile faded from Napoleon's face, and anger darkened his forehead.

"Remember, madame," he said harshly, "that it is I who command, and that

you have but the choice to decline or to accept. Will you accept this

rose?"

"Sire," said the queen, with quivering lips and tearful eyes, "give it

to me with another pledge of your friendship. Give me Magdeburg for my

children."

Napoleon threw the rose on the table. "Ah, madame," he said, vehemently,

"Magdeburg is no toy for children!" He turned around and paced the room

repeatedly, while Louisa hung her head, and looked resigned as a martyr

ready to suffer death. Napoleon glanced at her as he passed, and the

spectacle exhibited by this aggrieved, and yet so dignified and gentle a

queen, touched him; for it reminded him of Josephine. He stood still in

front of her. "Forgive my impulsiveness," he said; "I cannot give you

Magdeburg, but you may rest assured that I will do all I can to lessen

your calamities, and to fulfil your request. The Emperor Alexander is

aware of my wishes; he knows that I am desirous to serve the King of

Prussia. I should like to repeat this to your husband himself if he were

here."

"He is here," said the queen, hastily; "and with your majesty's

permission he will be with us immediately."

Napoleon bowed in silence. A sign made by Louisa brought the lady of

honor. "Be so kind as to request the king to come to us," said the

queen, quickly.

"And while we are awaiting the king," said Napoleon, calling Talleyrand

from the anteroom, "your majesty will permit me to introduce my

companion. Madame, I have the honor to present my minister of foreign

affairs, M. de Talleyrand, Prince de Benevento."

"And I deem myself happy to make the acquaintance of the greatest

statesman of the age," said the queen, while Talleyrand's short figure

bowed deeply. "Oh, your majesty is indeed to be envied. You have not

only gained great glory, but are also blessed with high-minded and

sagacious advisers and executors of your will. If the king my husband

had always been equally fortunate, a great many things would not have

happened."

"Well, we have induced him to displace at least one bad adviser,"

exclaimed Napoleon. "That man Hardenberg was the evil genius of the

king; he is chiefly to blame for the misfortunes that have befallen

Prussia, and it was necessary to remove him."

"But he was an experienced statesman," said the queen, whose magnanimous

character found it difficult to listen to any charge against Hardenberg

without saying something in his defence; "he is a very skilful

politician, and it will not be easy for the king to fill the place of

Minister von Hardenberg."

"Ah!" said Napoleon, carelessly; "ministers are always to be found. Let

him appoint Baron von Stein; he seems to be a man of understanding."

An expression of joyful surprise overspread the queen's face. The king

entered. Napoleon met him and offered him his hand. "I wished to give

your majesty a proof of my kind disposition in the presence of your

noble and beautiful consort, and, if you have no objection, to assure

you of my friendship," he said. "I have complied as far as possible with

all your wishes. The Emperor Alexander, in whom you have an ardent and

eloquent friend, will confirm it to you. I also communicated to him my

last propositions, and trust that your majesty will acquiesce in them."

"Sire," said the king, coldly, "the Emperor Alexander laid this

ultimatum before me, but it would be very painful to me if I should be

obliged to accept it. It would deprive me of the old hereditary

provinces which form the largest portion of my states."

"I will point out a way to get compensation for these losses," exclaimed

Napoleon. "Apply to the Emperor Alexander; let him sacrifice to you his

relatives, the Princes of Mecklenburg and Oldenburg. He can also give up

to you the King of Sweden, from whom you may take Stralsund and that

portion of Pomerania of which he makes such bad use. Let him consent

that you should have these acquisitions, not indeed equal to the

territories taken from you, but better situated, and, for my part, I

shall make no objection."

"Your majesty proposes to me a system of spoliation, to which I can

never agree," said the king, proudly. "I complain of the menaced loss of

my provinces, not only because it would lessen the extent of my

territories, but because they are the hereditary states of my house, and

are associated with my ancestors by indissoluble ties of love and

fealty."

"You see that these ties are not indissoluble after all," exclaimed

Napoleon, "for we shall break them, and you will be consoled for the

loss by obtaining compensation."

"Possibly others may be more readily consoled for such losses," said the

king: "those who are only anxious for the possession of states, and who

do not know what it is to part with hereditary provinces in which the

most precious reminiscences of our youth have their root, and which we

can no more forget than our cradle."

"Cradle!" exclaimed Napoleon, laughing scornfully. "When the child has

become a man, he has no time to think of his cradle."

"Yes, he has," said the king, with an angry expression. "We cannot

repudiate our childhood, and a man who has a heart must remember the

associations of his youth."

Napoleon, making no reply, looked grave, while Frederick William fixed

his eyes on him with a sullen and defiant expression. The queen felt

that it was time for her to prevent a more violent outburst of

indignation on the part of her husband. "The real cradle is the tender

heart of a mother," she said gently, "and all Europe knows that your

majesty does not forget it; all are aware of the reverential love of the

great conqueror for Madame Letitia, whom France hails as noble _Madame

Mère_."

Napoleon raised his eyes toward her, and his forbidding expression

disappeared. "It is true," he said, "your sons, madame, ought to be

envied such a mother. They will owe you many thanks, for it is you,

madame, who have saved Prussia by your eloquence and noble bearing. I

repeat to you once more that I shall do what I can to fulfil your

wishes. We shall confer further about it. At present, I have the honor

to take leave of your majesty."

He offered his hand to the queen. "Sire," she said, profoundly

affected, "I hope that, after making the acquaintance of the hero of the

century, you will permit me to remember in you the generous conqueror as

well as the man of genius." Napoleon silently kissed her hand, and,

bowing to the king, left the room.

"Oh!" exclaimed the queen, when she was alone with her husband, "perhaps

it was not in vain that I came hither; God may have imparted strength to

my words, and they may have moved the heart of this all-powerful man, so

that he will acknowledge our just demands, and shrink from becoming the

robber of our property."

In the mean time Napoleon returned to his quarters, accompanied by

Talleyrand. But when the minister, on their arrival at the palace, was

about to withdraw, the emperor detained him. "Follow me into my

cabinet," he said, advancing quickly. Talleyrand limped after him, and a

smile, half scornful, half malicious, played on his thin lips.

"The hero who wants to rule over the world," said Talleyrand to himself,

"is now seized with a very human passion, and I am sure we shall have a

highly sentimental scene." He entered the room softly, and lurkingly

watched every movement of Napoleon. The emperor threw his small hat on

one chair, his gloves and sword on another, and then paced the room

repeatedly. Suddenly he stood still in front of Talleyrand and looked

him full in the face.

"Were you able to overhear my conversation with the queen?" he asked.

"I was, sire!" said Talleyrand, laconically, "I was able to overhear

every word."

"You know, then, for what purpose she came hither," exclaimed Napoleon,

and commenced again pacing the apartment.

"Talleyrand," he said, after a pause, "I have wronged this lady. She is

an angel of goodness and purity, she is a true woman and a true queen.

It was a crime for me to persecute her. Yes, I confess that I was wrong

in offending her. On merely hearing the sound of her voice I felt

vanquished, and was as confused and embarrassed as the most timid of

men. My hand trembled when I offered her the rose. I have slandered her,

but I will make compensation!" He resumed his walk rapidly; a delicate

blush mantled his cheeks, and all his features indicated profound

emotion. Talleyrand, looking as cold and calm as usual, still stood at

the door, and seemed to watch the emperor with the scrutinizing eye of a

physician observing the crisis of a disease.

"Yes," added Napoleon, "I ought certainly to compensate her for what I

have done. She shall weep no more on my account; she shall no more hate

and detest me as a heartless conqueror. I will show her that I can be

magnanimous, and compel her to admit that she was mistaken in me. I will

raise Prussia from the dust. I will render her more powerful than ever,

and enlarge her frontiers instead of narrowing them. And then, when her

enchanting eyes are filled with gladness, I will offer my hand to her

husband and say to him: 'You were wrong; you were insincere toward me,

and I punished you for it. Now let us forget your defeats and my

victories; instead of weakening your power, I will increase it that you

may become my ally, and remain so forever!' Talleyrand, destroy the

conditions I dictated to you; send for Count Goltz; confer with him

again, and grant his demands!"

"Sire," exclaimed Talleyrand, apparently in dismay, "sire, shall

posterity say that you failed to profit by your most splendid conquest,

owing to the impression a beautiful woman made upon you?" The emperor

started, and Talleyrand added: "Sire, has the blood of your soldiers who

fell at Jena, at Eylau, and at Friedland, been shed in vain, and is it

to be washed away by the tears of a lady who now appears to be as

inoffensive as a lamb, but who is to blame for this whole war? Your

majesty ought not to forget that the Queen of Prussia instigated her

husband to begin it--that, at the royal palace of Berlin, you took a

solemn oath to punish her, and to take revenge for her warlike spirit,

and for the oath over the tomb of Frederick the Great! Ah, the queen,

with Frederick William and the Emperor Alexander, would exult at your

tender-heartedness; the world would wonder at the weakness of the great

captain who allowed himself to be duped by the sighs and seeming

humility of the vanquished, and--"

"Enough!" interrupted Napoleon, in a powerful voice--"enough, I say!" He

walked several times up and down, and then stood still again in front of

Talleyrand. "Send immediately for Count Goltz," he said imperiously,

"and inform him of our ultimatum! Tell him in plain words that all I

said to the queen were but polite phrases, binding me in no manner, and

that I am as firmly determined as ever to fix the Elbe as the future

frontier of Prussia--that there was no question of further

negotiations--that I had already agreed with the Emperor Alexander as to

the various stipulations, and that the king owed his lenient treatment

solely to the chivalrous attachment of this monarch, inasmuch as,

without his interference, my brother Jerome would have become King of

Prussia, while the present dynasty would have been dethroned. You know

my resolutions now; proceed in accordance with them, and hasten the

conclusion of the whole affair, that I may be annoyed no more. I demand

that the treaty be signed to-morrow."

Prussia's fate was therefore decided. The great sacrifice which the

queen had made, and with so much reluctance, had been in vain. On the

9th of June, 1807, the treaty of Tilsit was signed by the

representatives of France and Prussia.

By virtue of it King Frederick William lost one-half of his territories,

consisting of all his possessions beyond the Elbe: Old Prussia,

Magdeburg, Hildesheim, Westphalia, Friesland, Erfurt, Eichsfeld, and

Baireuth. The Polish provinces were taken from him, as well as a portion

of West Prussia, the district of Kulm, including the city of Thorn, half

of the district of the Netze, and Dantzic, which was transformed into a

free city. Besides, the king acknowledged the Confederation of the

Rhine, the Kings of Holland and Westphalia, Napoleon's brothers, and

engaged to close his ports against England. And, as was expressly stated

in the document, these terms were obtained only "_in consideration of

the Emperor of Russia_, and owing to Napoleon's sincere desire to attach

both nations to each other by indissoluble bonds of confidence and

friendship."

Russia, which had signed the treaty on the preceding day, gained a large

portion of Eastern Prussia, the frontier district of Bialystock, and

thus enriched herself with the spoils taken from her own ally.

Thus Frederick William concluded peace, losing his most important

territories, and having his ten millions of subjects reduced to five

millions. The genius of Prussia, Queen Louisa, veiled her head and wept!

BOOK IV.

CHAPTER XXXI.

BARON VON STEIN.

Profound sadness reigned for several weeks at the house of Baron Charles

von Stein. Tears were in the eyes of his children, and whenever their

mother came from her husband's room and joined them for a moment, they

seemed in her only to seek comfort and hope. But the anxious face of the

baroness became more sorrowful, and the family physician, who visited

the house several times a day, was more taciturn and grave. Baron von

Stein was ill, and his disease was one of those which baffle the skill

of the physician, because their seat is to be sought less in the body

than in the mind. Prussia's misfortunes had prostrated Stein. Sick at

heart, and utterly broken down, at the commencement of 1807, after the

violent scene with King Frederick William, he left Königsberg, and

travelled slowly toward Nassau. There he met his family, and ever since

lived in retirement. Never in his grief had he uttered a complaint, or

manifested any loss of temper, but his face had become paler, his gait

slower, and indicative of increasing weakness and exhaustion. He yielded

at last to the tears of his wife, and the repeated remonstrances of his

physician, to submit to medical treatment.

But medicine did not restore him; his strength decreased, and the fever

wrecking his body grew more violent. The disease had recently, however,

assumed a definite character; the news of the disaster of Friedland, and

of the humiliating treaty of Tilsit, had violently shaken his

constitution, and the physician was now able to discern the true

character of the malady and give it a name. It was the tertian fever

which alternately reddened and paled the baron's cheeks, at times

paralyzing his clear, powerful mind, or moving his lips to utter

unmeaning words, the signs of his delirium.

Baron von Stein had just undergone another attack of his dangerous

disease. All night long his devoted wife had watched at his bedside, and

listened despondingly to his groans, his fantastic expressions, his

laughter and lamentations. In the morning the sufferer had grown calmer;

consciousness had returned, and his eyes sparkled again with

intelligence. The fever had left him, but he was utterly prostrated. The

physician had just paid him a visit, and examined his condition in

silence. "Dear doctor," whispered the baroness, as he was departing,

"you find my husband very ill, I suppose? Oh, I read it in your face; I

perceive from your emotion that you have not much hope of his recovery!"

And the tears she knew how to conceal in the sick-room fell without

restraint.

"He is very ill," said the physician, thoughtfully, "but I do not

believe his case to be entirely hopeless; for an unforeseen circumstance

may come to our assistance and give his mind some energy, when it will

favorably influence the body. If the body alone were suffering, science

would suggest ways and means to cure a disease which, in itself, is

easily overcome. The tertain fever belongs neither to the dangerous

acute diseases nor to any graver class. But, in this case, it is only

the external eruption of a disease seated in the patient's mind."

"Whence, then, is recovery to come in these calamitous and depressing

times?" said the baroness, mournfully. "His grief at the misfortunes of

Prussia is gnawing at his heart, and all the mortifications and

misrepresentations he has suffered at the hands of the very men whom he

served with so much fidelity have pierced his soul like poisoned

daggers. Oh, I shall never pardon the king that he could so bitterly

mortify and humble my noble husband, who is enthusiastically devoted to

Prussia--that he could mistake his character so grievously, and prefer

such cruel charges against him. He called him--the best, the most

intelligent and reliable of all his servants--a seditious man; he

charged him with being self-willed, stubborn, and proud, and said he was

mischievous and disobedient to the state. Oh, believe me, that

accusation is what troubles Stein! The King of Prussia has humbled his

pride so deeply and unjustly, that a reconciliation between them is out

of the question. Stein lives, thinks, and grieves only for his country,

and yet the insulting vehemence and unfeeling words of the king have

rendered it impossible for him ever to reenter the Prussian service. He

sees that his country is sinking every day, and that she is ruined not

only by foreign enemies, but by domestic foes preying at the vitals of

her administration. He would like to help her--he feels that he has

stored up the means to do so in his experience--and yet he cannot. I ask

you, therefore, my friend, where is the balm for his wounded soul?"

"I do not know," said the physician, "but we must get it. Germany has

not now so many high-minded and courageous men that she could spare one,

and the best of them all. The genius of Germany will assuredly find a

remedy to save her noble champion, Baron von Stein."