to pick them up. Moldavia and Wallachia you will present as new crown
jewels to your empire. They are substantial realities in place of
visionary wishes; solid possessions far more important than
Constantinople."
"That is true," exclaimed Alexander. "I have myself thought so for a
long time, but I dare not avow it, because I was afraid your majesty
would not agree with me."
"France knows no envy," said the emperor, "and Napoleon loves his friend
Alexander; he will gladly grant to him what he desires, and what is
attainable. Take Moldavia and Wallachia, sire!"
"You grant them to me," exclaimed Alexander, "and it is no empty
promise, but a definite and immutable agreement?"
"I say, sire, take them at once, and woe to those who would dare touch
your new possessions!"
"I thank you, sire," Alexander said. "You have given me a proof of your
friendship to-day, and old Romanzoff will have to acknowledge that he is
wrong in thinking that you only intended to amuse us with idle promises.
Ah, he is a hard head, and I believe your Minister Champagny cannot get
along with him very well."
"That is so," exclaimed Napoleon, laughing, and Alexander joined
heartily in his mirth.
"He will now demand guaranties," said Alexander, still laughing. "He is
so distrustful that he believes in no words, though from heaven. My old
Romanzoff believes only in black and white."
"We will so guarantee Moldavia to him," said Napoleon.
"Oh, not for my sake," exclaimed Alexander, carelessly. "Your majesty's
word is amply sufficient for me; let Romanzoff and Champagny quarrel
about the formalities."
"I will come to the assistance of poor Champagny," said Napoleon, "if
your majesty, in return, will be kind enough to make stubborn Romanzoff
somewhat more tractable. You have already occupied these provinces; it
will, therefore, be easy for you to annex them. France will give her
consent by a formal treaty, and not only engage to recognize this
annexation so far as she herself is concerned, but also to compel
Turkey, Austria, and England, to acknowledge it. Your majesty,
therefore, will break the armistice with Turkey, and advance your army
to the foot of the Balkan, then to Adrianople, and, if need be, to
Constantinople, in order to wrest these territories from the Porte. In
case Austria should intervene, we shall both declare war against her. As
for England, we are already at war with her. It will only be necessary
for me to give her a bloody defeat in Spain to render her insensible to
any enterprises we may enter into on the continent. All this we
stipulate not only verbally, but in writing. Will that satisfy your
majesty?"
"Me? I am satisfied with your majesty's word," exclaimed Alexander.
"Well, then," said Napoleon, with a smile, "the question is: Will your
minister be satisfied?"
"Of course, he will; and, moreover, I shall command him to raise no
further objections. Let Champagny and Romanzoff draw up the treaty; it
will then be merely necessary for us to sign it, and the whole matter is
settled. Our friendship will have been rendered more intimate and
lasting by new bonds, which nothing in the world will be able to
break."
"As to our other plans," said Napoleon, "we shall never lose sight of
them. Every day we draw nearer to their fulfilment. There is yet a vast
future before us in which to accomplish our purposes with regard to the
Orient, and to remodel its political affairs. Romanzoff is aged, and
hence, impatient to enjoy what he desires. But you are young: you can
wait."
"Romanzoff is a Russian of the old school," said Alexander, smiling. "He
has passions and inclinations from which I am free. I attach a higher
value to civilizing than enlarging my empire. Hence, I desire the
provinces of the Danube more for my nation than for myself. I shall be
able to wait patiently until our plans can be carried into effect. But
you, my noble friend, you ought to enjoy in tranquillity the great
things which you have accomplished, and no longer expose yourself to the
danger of war. Have you not obtained glory and power enough? Alexander
and Cæsar gained no more laurels than you! Be happy, and let us leave
the execution of our projects to the future."
"Yes, let us do so," replied Napoleon. "I am also longing for repose. I
am tired of conquest; it has charms for me no longer, and battle-fields
seem to me what they are--the graveyards of brave men prematurely taken
from their country and their families. No more war! Peace with the whole
world, made more desirable by the friendship of Alexander!" He offered
his hand with that smile which no one could withstand. "Oh!" he
continued, "I am so happy at having at length arrived at an
understanding with you, and strengthened our alliance, that I wish your
majesty had some desire that I might grant, and which it would be
difficult for me to fulfil. Is there nothing at all that you could
demand of me?"
"Yes, sire, there is," responded Alexander, "and I have both a wish and
a prayer to address your majesty. Sire, my ally, the poor King of
Prussia, and his noble consort, are still living in exile. I saw them,
with your consent, on passing through Königsberg, and confess that I
promised to intercede for them, and procure an alleviation of their
unfortunate condition."
"An alleviation of their unfortunate condition!" exclaimed Napoleon,
frowning. "Do they not owe their present fate entirely to themselves?
Why do they not pay punctually the contributions which I have imposed
upon them?"
"Sire, because they cannot! Prussia, exhausted, and reduced to one-half
of her former territory, is unable to pay war contributions amounting to
one hundred and fifty millions of dollars, in the short space of two
years, and to feed, besides, a French army of forty thousand men. Your
majesty ought to be magnanimous, and restore at least a semblance of
independence to my poor ally, by putting an end to the occupation."
"If I do so, Prussia would think no longer of fulfilling her obligations
to me," exclaimed Napoleon. "Instead of paying the war contributions,
she would be foolish enough to rise in open hostility against me. Queen
Louisa hates me; she will never cease to intrigue against me, and to
instigate her husband to pursue a course hostile to me. She surrounds
herself and her husband by men who share her sentiments, and are
plotting to revolutionize Prussia--nay, all Germany. There is, for
instance, a certain Baron von Stein, whom the king appointed minister at
the request of the queen, and who is nothing but a tool in the hands of
this intriguing woman. That Stein is a bad and dangerous man; he is at
the head of secret societies, and I shall immediately take steps to
render him harmless. He and the queen alone make Prussia oppose me, and
refuse paying the stipulated contributions."
"Sire," said Alexander, almost imploringly, "I repeat to your majesty,
Prussia is unable to pay the enormous amount which has even been
increased after the conclusion of the treaty of Tilsit, and, moreover,
in the short space of two years. Oh, your majesty, the fate of the royal
family of Prussia is truly pitiable and weighs down my soul with
remorse. Do for my sake what you are unwilling to do for the sake of
Prussia. Let me not return without consolation to that mourning royal
family. Let me enjoy the triumph of proving to them that my words and
intercession were able to obtain from your majesty what neither the
queen's letter, nor all the solicitations of Prince William, and of the
Prussian diplomatists, had been able to accomplish! Oh, sire, you see I
am vain, and would like to demonstrate your friendship for me."
Napoleon's countenance grew milder while Alexander was impressively
uttering these words. "Sire," he said, "who could withstand your grace
and magnanimity? I wished a few minutes ago to be allowed to grant you
some request, difficult for me to fulfil, in order to give you a proof
of my regard! Well, your majesty has really asked something very
difficult for me to grant. But I will comply for your sake, sire! I will
deduct twenty millions from the sum to be paid by Prussia, extend the
time in which the contributions are to be paid from two to three years,
and withdraw my troops and officials in the course of six months. Is
your majesty satisfied with this, and will you regard it as a proof of
my friendship?"
"It is a proof of your friendship and generosity, and I thank your
majesty," exclaimed Alexander. "Oh, how happy I shall be when on my
return I announce these glad tidings to the royal couple! Ah, my poor
allies have suffered a great deal, and if your majesty does not object,
I should like to invite King Frederick William and his consort, next
winter, to spend a few weeks at St. Petersburg. Does your majesty
approve?"
Napoleon cast a quick and searching glance at Alexander. "I do not
assume to decide whom your majesty should hospitably receive," he said,
"and I confide in your friendship--you are henceforth my ally. Get the
King of Prussia to join this alliance, as the latter induced you to join
the alliance against me; that would indeed greatly promote the welfare
of Frederick William, and put an end to the intrigues of his queen. But
now, sire, a truce to politics and business! We are agreed and shall be
united in peace as in war. Our business is accomplished, and the days we
still spend here must be exclusively devoted to pleasure and friendly
intercourse. The Duke of Weimar would like to receive us for a few days
at his capital, to arrange a chase and a ball. Suppose we go thither
this afternoon and spend two days? Would it be agreeable to you?"
"I would accompany your majesty anywhere, were it into Orcus," exclaimed
Alexander. "Let us go to Weimar!"
"And if you please, sire, to Jena also. I should like to show the
battle-field to your majesty."
"And I should like to learn from your majesty how to win such laurels. I
follow you as a pupil."
CHAPTER XLII.
NAPOLEON AND GOETHE.
On his return from the early visit he had paid to the Emperor of Russia,
Napoleon immediately went to his cabinet and sent for Minister
Champagny, whom he met with unusual animation; and now, that he deemed
it no longer necessary to mask his countenance, it was beaming with joy.
"Champagny," he said, "it will be no longer necessary for you to send
letters to me. The emperor Alexander has accepted my offers, and
Romanzoff will have to hang up his 'cat's tongue' in the smoke-house.
For the present the appetite of the Russian Emperor for new territories
has been satisfied with the provinces of the Danube, and he will compel
his minister to yield. The stubborn old fellow will have to give way,
but, we are obliged to give him our promises in black and white. I go
this afternoon with the emperor to Weimar to spend a few days. You may
in the mean time carry on the negotiations with Romanzoff and draw up
the treaty. I shall send you further instructions to-night."
"And will not your majesty be kind enough to give me also instructions
as to the course I am to pursue toward the Austrian ambassador, Count
Vincent?" said the minister. "He overwhelms me every day with questions
and demands. He is very anxious to obtain an interview with your
majesty, to learn from your own lips that Austria has nothing to fear
from France, and that your majesty believes in the sincerity of the
friendship and devotedness of his master."
"I believe in the sincerity of Austria!" exclaimed Napoleon, frowning.
"I know her perfidy; I know that she is secretly arming to attack me as
soon as she believes me to be embarrassed by the events in Spain. But I
will unmask these hypocrites, and meet them with open visor. I will wage
war against them, because they disdain to remain at peace with me. Now
that I am sure of Russia, I am no longer afraid of Austria, for Russia
will assist me in the war against her, or at least not prevent me from
attacking and punishing her for her insolence. It was in my power to
overthrow that monarchy as I have overthrown those of Naples and Spain.
I refrained, and Austria is indebted to me for her existence. Now,
however, I am inexorable, and when I once more make my entry into
Vienna, it will be as dictator prescribing laws to the vanquished.
Austria is arming, and France will arm for another Austerlitz. I
authorize you to repeat these words to Count Vincent. I myself will
write to his emperor and intrust my letter to the ambassador. Tell him
so." He dismissed the minister and repaired to the dining-room.
Breakfast was ready, and had been served on a round table in the middle
of the room. Talleyrand, Berthier, Savary, and Daru, received the
emperor, and accompanied him to the table, not to participate in the
repast, but to converse with him, as Napoleon liked to do while he was
eating, and to reply to the questions which he addressed now to one, now
to another.
"Well, Daru," he asked, taking his seat, "you come from Berlin? What
about the payment of the contributions?"
"Ah, sire, the prospects are very discouraging," said Daru, shrugging
his shoulders. "More rigorous measures will probably become necessary to
coerce those stubborn Prussians, and--"
The door opened, and Constant, the _valet de chambre_, entered,
whispering a few words to Marshal Berthier.
The marshal approached the emperor, who was engaged with the wing of a
chicken. "Sire," he said, "your majesty ordered M. von Goethe to appear
before you at this hour. He is in the anteroom."
"Ah, M. von Goethe, the great German poet, the author of the 'Sorrows of
Werther,'" exclaimed Napoleon. "Let him come in immediately." A moment
later Constant announced M. von Goethe. Napoleon was still sitting at
the table; Talleyrand was standing at his right; Darn, Savary, and
Berthier, at his left. The eyes of all turned toward the door, where
appeared a gentleman of high, dignified bearing. He was tall and
vigorous, like a German oak; the head of a Jupiter surmounted his broad
shoulders and chest. Time, with its wrinkling hand, had tried in vain to
deform the imperishable beauty of that countenance; age could not touch
the charm and dignity of his features; the grace of youth still played
on his classic lips, and the ardor of a young heart was beaming from his
dark eyes as they looked calmly at the emperor.
Napoleon, continuing to eat, beckoned Goethe, with a careless wave of
his hand, to approach. He complied, and stood in front of the table,
opposite the emperor, who looked up, and, turning with an expression of
surprise to Talleyrand, pointed to Goethe, and exclaimed, "Ah, that is a
man!"[42] An imperceptible smile overspread the poet's countenance, and
he bowed in silence.
[Footnote 42: "_Voilà un homme_!" These words created a great sensation
at the time, and were highly appreciated by the admirers of Goethe, as
well as by the great poet himself. His correspondence with friends
contains numerous allusions to them.--Vide "Riemer's Letters to and from
Goethe," p. 325.]
"How old are you, M. von Goethe?" asked Napoleon.
"Sire, I am in my sixtieth year."
"In your sixtieth year, and yet you have the appearance of a youth! Ah,
it is evident that perpetual intercourse with the muses has imparted
external youth to you."
"Sire, that is true," exclaimed Daru, "the muse of Goethe is that of
youth, beauty, and grace. Germany justly calls him her greatest poet,
and does homage with well-grounded enthusiasm to the author of 'Faust,'
of 'Werther,' and of so many other master-pieces."
"I believe you have also written tragedies?" asked Napoleon.
"Sire, I have made some attempts," replied Goethe, smiling. "But the
applause of my countrymen cannot blind me as to the real value of my
dramas. I believe it is very difficult, if not impossible, for a German
poet to write real tragedies, which fulfil the higher requirements of
art, and withal those of the stage. I must confess that my tragedies are
not so adapted."
"Sire," said Daru, "M. von Goethe has also translated Voltaire's
'Mohammed.'"
"That is not a good tragedy," said Napoleon. "Voltaire has sinned
against history and the human heart. He has prostituted the character of
Mohammed by petty intrigues. He makes a man, who revolutionized the
world, act like an infamous criminal deserving the gallows. Let us
rather speak of Goethe's own work--of the 'Sorrows of Werther.' I have
read it many times, and it has always afforded me the highest enjoyment;
it accompanied me to Egypt, and during my campaigns in Italy, and it is
therefore but just that I should return thanks to the poet for the many
pleasant hours he has afforded me."
"Sire, your majesty, at this moment, amply rewards me," said Goethe,
bowing slightly.
"Your 'Werther' is indeed a work full of the most exalted ideas," added
Napoleon; "it contains noble views of life, and depicts the weariness
and disgust which all high-minded characters must feel on being forced
to leave their sphere and come in contact with the gross world. You have
described the sufferings of your hero with irresistible eloquence, and
never, perhaps, has a poet made a more artistic analysis of love. Let me
tell you, however, that you have not been entirely consistent in the
work. You make your hero die not only of love, but of wounded ambition,
and you mention expressly that the injustice he met with at the hands of
his official superiors was a wound always bleeding, of which he suffered
even in the presence of the lady whom he loved so passionately. That is
not quite natural, and weakens in the mind of the reader the
comprehension of that influence which love exerted on Werther. Why did
you do so?"
Goethe looked almost in astonishment at the emperor; this unexpected
censure, and the quick, categorical question, had equally surprised him,
and momentarily disturbed the calmness of the poet. "Sire," he said,
after a brief pause, "your majesty has found fault with something with
which no one has reproached me heretofore, and I confess that your
criticism has struck me. But it is just, and I deserve it. However, a
poet may be pardoned for using an artifice which cannot easily be
detected, in order to produce a certain effect that he believes he is
unable to bring about in a simple and natural way."
Napoleon nodded assentingly. "Your 'Werther' is a drama of the heart,
and there are none to be compared with it," he said. "After reading it,
I am persuaded that it is your vocation to write in this style; for the
tragic muse is the favorite companion of the greatest poet. Tragedy was
at all times the school of great men. It is the duty of sovereigns to
encourage, patronize, and reward it. In order to appreciate it
correctly, we need not be poets ourselves; we only need knowledge of
human nature, of life, and of a cultivated mind. Tragedy fires the
heart, elevates the soul, and can or rather must create heroes. I am
convinced that France is indebted to the works of Corneille for many of
her greatest men. If he were living I would make a prince of him."
"Your majesty, by your words, has just adorned his memory with the
coronet of a prince," said Goethe. "Corneille would assuredly have
deserved it, for he was a poet in the noblest sense, and imbued with the
ideas and principles of modern civilization. He never makes his heroes
die in consequence of a decree of fate, but they always bear in
themselves the germ of their ruin or death; it is a natural, rational
death, not an artificial one."
"Let us say no more about the ancients and their fatalism," exclaimed
Napoleon; "they belong to a darker age. Political supremacy is our
modern fatalism, and our tragedies must be the school of politicians and
statesmen. That is the highest summit which poets are able to reach.
You, for instance, ought to write the death of Cæsar; it seems to me you
could present a much more exalted view of it than Voltaire did. That
might become the noblest task of your life. It ought to be proved to the
world how happy and prosperous Cæsar would have made it if time had been
given him to carry his comprehensive plans into effect. What do you
think of it, M. von Goethe?"
"Sire," said Goethe, with a polite smile, "I should prefer to write the
life and career of Cæsar, and in doing so I should not be at a loss for
a model." His eyes met those of the emperor, and they well understood
each other. Both of them smiled.
"You ought to go to Paris," exclaimed Napoleon. "I insist on your doing
so. There you will find abundant matter for your muse."
"Your majesty provides the poets of the present time, wherever they may
be, with abundant matter," said Goethe, not in the tone of a courtier,
but with the tranquillity of a prince who confers a favor.
"You must go to Paris," repeated Napoleon. "We shall meet again."
Goethe, who was an experienced courtier, understood the delicate hint,
and stepped back from the table. Napoleon addressed a question to
Marshal Soult, who entered at this moment. The poet withdrew without
further ceremony. The eyes of the emperor followed the tall, proud
figure, and turning to Berthier, he repeated his exclamation, "_Voilà un
homme_!"
CHAPTER XLIII.
THE CHASE AND THE ASSASSINS.
The two emperors made their entry into the decorated city of Weimar
amidst pealing bells, and the cheers of the people. The Duchess of
Weimar, just as she had done two years before, received the French
conqueror at the head of the palace staircase; this time, however, she
was not alone, but her husband, whom the emperor had formerly hated and
reviled so bitterly, stood at her side. Napoleon greeted the ducal
couple with his most winning smile.
The events of those terrible days of the past had been well-nigh
forgotten. A short time had sufficed to veil their memory, and Napoleon
was a welcome and highly-honored guest two years after the battle of
Jena. No vestige of the former distress remained; but the laurels of the
victor had not withered.
A vast number of carriages, horsemen, and pedestrians, filled the
streets. The whole country had sent its representatives to greet the
emperors. All the houses were ornamented with flags, festoons, busts,
and laudatory inscriptions. But no one cared to stay at home. The
inhabitants and strangers hastened to the forest of Ettersburg, to
witness the great chase which the Duke of Weimar had arranged in honor
of the imperial guests.--Several hundred deer had been driven up and
fenced in, close to the large clearing which was to be the scene of this
day's festivities. In the middle rose a huge hunting-pavilion, the roof
of which rested on pillars twined with flowers. Here the two emperors
were to witness the chase, and the two wings of the structure were
assigned to the kings, dukes, and princes. All eyes and thoughts,
therefore, were turned in that direction; and yet no one noticed
particularly two youthful forms, wrapped in cloaks and leaning against
an oak near the gamekeepers. The merry clamor and the bugle-calls of the
hunters drowned the conversation of these young men. No one was
surprised at seeing rifles in their hands; they might be hunters or
gamekeepers--who could tell?
"I believe," said one of them, in a whisper, "we shall accomplish
nothing. My rifle does not carry far enough to hit him, and we are not
allowed to approach nearer."
"It is impossible to take a sure aim from here," replied the other. "My
eye does not reach so far; I could fire only at random into the
pavilion."
"The order says, however, to strike him alone, and not to endanger other
lives," said the first speaker. "The president said, if we kill him, it
would be an act of justice; but if we are so unfortunate as to kill
another, it would be murder."
"Oh, what sophistries to lull the warning voice of conscience!" murmured
the second speaker; "I--"
Loud cheers interrupted him; the notes of bugles and the roll of drums
mingled with the general uproar. The people seemed wild with excitement,
and the deer in the enclosure huddled together in terror. The two
emperors with their suites had just arrived.
"Look at him, brother," whispered the young man to his companion; "look
at the weird contrast of his gloomy countenance with the merry faces
around him. He stands like some incarnate spirit of evil in the midst of
laughing fools."
"Yes, but he is himself merry, brother Alfred, or seems to be," said his
companion.
"The groans of poor Germania are not heard in the flatteries of her
princes, who are fawning around him, and guarding him so well that the
hand of a true German cannot reach him."
"But the sword is hanging over him, brother Conrad," said Alfred, "and
if it do not fall on him to-day, it will to-morrow. Let us wait and
watch for an opportunity."
"Yes, Alfred, let us wait. We know not what favorable chance may aid
us."
The chase commenced; amidst deafening shouts the game were driven from
the enclosure. Whenever a deer passed near the pavilion, the two
emperors fired, and when the noble animal fell at perhaps ten yards'
distance, the spectators cheered, the bugles sounded, and the two
imperial sportsmen congratulated each other on their skill.
"It is in vain to stand here any longer," said Conrad, impatiently. "We
shall be unable to reach him, and it is repugnant to my feelings to
witness this butchery."
"Let us go, brother," whispered Alfred. "We must try to find another
opportunity. Let us reflect. Do you know the programme of the day's
festivities?"
"I do. After the chase there will be a gala-dinner, and the sovereigns
will then ride to the theatre, where the 'Death of Cæsar' will be
performed. After the representation of the tragedy, there will be a
grand supper and ball at the palace."
"The 'Death of Cæsar?'" asked Conrad, musingly. "Does fate intend giving
us a hint thereby? Does it show us where to find him and to strike the
blow? Let us be the actors in a similar play, and perform our part at
the entrance of the theatre! Are you ready, brother?"
"I am ready," replied Alfred, sighing. "We have sworn to do every thing
the league orders us to do--we must obey."
"Yes," said Conrad, sighing, "obey or die. Let us take our daggers
to-night, and use them well. Let us place ourselves in front of the
theatre, you on the right, and myself on the left. We must strike at the
same time, when he alights from his carriage. While all are gazing at
him, let us stealthily slip through the crowd. When you hear me shout
'One,' you will shout 'Two!' We will then simultaneously rush forward."
"At what time do we meet?"
"At seven o'clock, and if we escape death and arrest, we shall meet
again at the tavern outside the gate. Farewell, brother Alfred!"
"Farewell, brother Conrad!"
On the same evening, a thousand lights illuminated Weimar. That part of
the city between the palace and the theatre, where the emperors would
pass, was especially brilliant. When after the chase they had withdrawn
to rest a little, and the high dignitaries of the court were waiting in
the large reception-halls, Grand-Marshal Duroc approached General von
Müffling, who had left the Russian service; he was now vice-president in
Weimar, and had been charged by the duke with the supervision of the
court festivities.
"Tell me, sir," said Duroc, in a low voice, "I suppose you have a good
police here?"
"Of course, we have," replied Müffling, smiling, "that is to say, we
have a police to attend to sweeping the chimneys and cleaning the
streets, but as to a _haute police_, we still live in a state of perfect
innocence."
"The emperor, then, is to go to the theatre, and your police have taken
no precautions for his safety?" asked Duroc, anxiously.
"I believe it is so, M. Grand Marshal. If you wish to make any
arrangements, pray do so, and I shall approve them."
"Thank you," said Duroc, bowing. "I have secretly sent for a brigade of
French gendarmes. Will you permit them to guard the doors of the
theatre, and keep the populace from the streets along which the emperors
will ride?"
"Do as you please, M. Grand Marshal," said General von Müffling, with a
slightly sarcastic smile. "A detachment of the imperial guard will be
drawn up in front of the theatre, and hence I deemed any further
precautions entirely superfluous."
"The grenadiers are posted there only as a guard of honor," said Duroc;
"I hasten to send the gendarmes thither."
Fifteen minutes afterward the whole route from the palace to the theatre
was guarded by gendarmes, who pushed back all who tried to cross the
narrow sidewalks, or to step into the street along which the carriages
were rolling. A double line of grenadiers was drawn up in front of the
theatre. An officer walked up and down, gazing anxiously along the
street, in order to command the drummers to beat according to the rank
of the sovereigns arriving. For the emperors they were to roll thrice,
for the kings twice, and but once for the sovereign dukes and princes.
The drummers had just rolled three times, for the Emperor Alexander had
arrived. Another magnificent carriage approached; the coachman on the
box was covered with gold lace, and two runners, entirely clad in gold
brocade, accompanied. Two rolls had already been beaten, a third was
about to commence, when the commanding officer waved his hand angrily,
and shouted, "Silence! It is only a king!" The stout form of the King of
Würtemberg appeared, and hastened into the theatre. Another carriage
approached. The drummers beat louder than before. Once, twice! And then
a third roll. The grenadiers presented arms, and the people rushed
forward. It was the Emperor Napoleon.
At this moment a young man elbowed himself through the crowd. He was
already close to the emperor. Only a single gendarme was in front of
him.
"One!" he shouted in a ringing voice, pushing aside the gendarme. "One!"
he repeated. No voice replied.
"Stand back!" cried the guard.
The emperor walked past. He had heard the shout. At the door he turned
his stern face, while his eyes flashed for a moment searchingly over the
crowd. He then slowly walked on. No accident disturbed the
representation, and the daggers that had been lurking outside for the
modern Cæsar had failed to strike him.
On the same evening the two conspirators met at the place agreed on.
With disappointed faces they seemed to read each other's secret
thoughts.
"Why did you not reply to me, brother?" asked Conrad. "Why were you
silent when I gave the signal?"
"I was unable to get through the crowd," said Alfred. "The gendarmes
refused to let me pass, and it appeared to me they were eying me
suspiciously. It was impossible to penetrate to the spot indicated. I
heard you call, but could not reply; I was too far from you."
"The work, then, must be done to-morrow," said Conrad, gravely and
sadly.
"Remember, brother, that the order of the president was to strike the
blow within a week. To-morrow is the last day!"
"Yes, to-morrow we must desecrate the sacred cause of the fatherland by
an assassination," said Alfred, sighing. "But we have sworn not to
shrink from death if the league requires it, and must obey!"
"We must obey or die," murmured Conrad. "Do you know the programme of
to-morrow?"
"I do, brother. Napoleon wishes to show the battle-field of Jena to the
Emperor Alexander, and to the kings and princes; and the Duke of Weimar,
who participated in the battle at the head of a Prussian division, has
arranged, in harmless self-irony, a hare-hunt. That will be a highly
dignified celebration of the anniversary of that battle."
"Oh, Germania! how thou must suffer!" groaned Conrad. "It is time for us
to place a bloody offering on thy altar! It must be done to-morrow. The
road to Jena crosses the small forest of the Webicht. Let us place
ourselves there close to the road, armed with our muskets. One of their
balls will surely hit him. We must both shoot at the same time."
"To-morrow, then, in the forest of the Webicht!"
On the following day the imperial and royal visitors repaired to Jena,
in order to hunt hares on the battle-field of Napoleon's famous victory.
On the Landgrafenberg, where Napoleon two years ago had spent the night
before the battle at a bivouac-fire, a magnificent tent had been
erected, and the Duke of Weimar begged leave to call it henceforth
"Napoleonsberg." Napoleon granted the request, smilingly, and then asked
the company to take a walk with him across the battle-field, that he
might explain to them the various operations of the great struggle. This
request of course was received with general joy, and the party descended
into the valley. Napoleon led the way; on his right Alexander, on his
left Prince William of Prussia, whom he had taken care to have by his
side. All listened in breathless silence to his words, which were
growing more and more enthusiastic. He disclosed to his audience his own
plans and motives, as well as the disastrous dispositions of his
enemies. Alexander listened to him musingly; the German kings and
princes, in breathless suspense. The French marshals, however, looked
discontented while their sovereign was speaking. Once, when the emperor
was just expatiating in glowing words on the correct mode of warfare,
his eyes happened to meet the countenance of Berthier, Prince of
Neufchatel, and noticed the dissatisfied expression of his features.
When Napoleon repaired to his tent, he ordered Marshal Berthier to
follow him. "Berthier, why did you look so angry?"
"Sire," faltered Berthier, in confusion, "I do not know that I did."
"But I know it. Why were you dissatisfied? Speak! I command you!"
"Well, if your majesty insists, I will speak," exclaimed Berthier. "Your
majesty apparently forgot what you have repeated to us so often: that we
ought always to treat our allies as though they afterward might become
our enemies. Is your majesty not afraid lest the sovereigns should
profit hereafter by the excellent lessons given them to-day?"
The emperor smiled. "Berthier," he said, kindly, "that is truly a bold
rebuke, and hence I like it. I believe you take me for a babbler. You
think, then, Prince of Neufchatel," he added, bending over Berthier and
pulling his ear, "that I have put whips into the hands of the German
princes which they might use against us! Be not alarmed; I do not tell
them every thing." And Napoleon opened the door of the tent with a
laugh, and gave the signal for the hunt to begin.
Not a human voice was to be heard in the forest of Webicht, which was
generally much frequented. It was but a bird's song that broke the deep
silence. Suddenly there was a rustling noise in the autumnal leaves
covering the ground, and quick footsteps approached the road crossing
the middle of the forest.
Two young men, wrapped in cloaks, glided through the woods, and
stationed themselves behind a couple of large beeches. They looked
searchingly along the road; opened their cloaks, and raised their
weapons to examine them, that they might make sure work.
"All right," said Conrad.
"All right," echoed Alfred.
"When I call out 'One,' we must both fire!"
"Yes, but we have been ordered to kill none but him," said Alfred,
hesitatingly. "What if he does not ride alone? If one of the balls
should strike an innocent man?"
"If one of his marshals or adjutants sits beside him he would not be an
innocent man, for he has assisted in making our country unhappy! Let
German soil drink his blood! He must not prevent us from carrying out
our purpose. We cannot shrink from it, because we have sworn obedience
to the league, and this is the last day. We must do or die!"
"Hush! let us listen and watch for him, brother Conrad." Soon the roll
of wheels was heard. The two conspirators raised their muskets as the
carriage approached. It could be seen that it contained two persons.
"It is he," whispered Alfred. "But who is seated by his side?"
"One of his adjutants," said Conrad; "no matter! Let us aim, brother."
The large trunks of the beeches concealed the forms of the conspirators.
"When I command, we fire!" whispered Conrad.
So close were they now that the persons seated in the coach could be
recognized. The man sitting on the right was Napoleon. But who was the
young man with the fine but downcast face?
"Stop," whispered Alfred. "Do not shoot, brother! He is no Frenchman! He
is a German prince, the brother of the King of Prussia! We cannot fire!"
"No, we must not fire at the brother of the unfortunate King of
Prussia!" murmured Conrad, lowering his arm. As the carriage passed by,
the conspirators could distinctly hear the words of Napoleon and his
companion. "A fine, fragrant forest," said the former, in his sonorous
voice, "just the thing for German poets and dreamers. For I suppose,
prince, the Germans like to dream?"
"Sire," said Prince William, mournfully, "I believe your majesty has at
last disturbed them in their visionary musings."
Napoleon burst into laughter, which resounded through the forest, and
startled the pale men standing behind the trees, and gazing gloomily
after him. He chatted gayly beside Prince William, without suspecting
that he, the brother of the King of Prussia, whom Napoleon had humbled
so often and so grievously, had just saved his life.
"We have failed again," said Alfred, when the noise of the wheels was
dying away in the distance. "The last day is nearly gone. What shall we
reply to the brethren when they ask us how we have carried out the order
which our country sent us? What shall we reply when they call us to
account?"
"We shall tell them that Heaven refused to allow the sacred cause of
Germany to be desecrated by murder!" exclaimed Conrad, gravely; "that,
faithful to our obligation, although with reluctant hearts, we tried to
accomplish our mission, but that we were restrained and our strength was
paralyzed. You will tell them so, brother--you alone. Tell them that I
was not forgetful of the oath I took on the day I joined the league.
Having been unable to obey, I die! Farewell, brother!" A shot reëchoed
in the silent forest.
Not long after, a man, with livid cheeks and wild eyes, might have been
seen hastening across the distant heath on the other side of the woods.
As he ran he whispered, "Unhappy Germany!" These were the last words of
his companion Conrad, who lay dead on the fallen leaves.
Two days after their return from Weimar, on the 10th of October, the
emperors signed the treaty about which they had agreed, and in which
Romanzoff had been obliged to acquiesce. France consented in this treaty
that Russia should take possession of Moldavia and Wallachia. Russia
also agreed to whatever changes Napoleon had made, and would hereafter
make, in regard to the government of Spain, and engaged to assist him in
a war against Austria.
On the 14th of October they left Erfurt, and returned to their states.
The object of their meeting had been attained; both had derived benefit
from it. Alexander had gained Moldavia and Wallachia; Napoleon, a
powerful friend and ally. Europe received tremblingly the news of this
alliance of the West and the East. What hopes remained to Germany!--to
that dismembered country, over whose battle-fields Russia and France had
joined hands and concerted measures against the most powerful of its
states--Austria!
BOOK VI.
CHAPTER XLIV.
THE WAR WITH AUSTRIA.
Napoleon, in ill-humor, was pacing his cabinet, while Minister Champagny
was standing at the large desk, covered with papers and maps, where he
was engaged in folding and arranging several documents.
"They are bent on having war, those insolent Austrians," said Napoleon,
after a pause, "and they want it now, because they believe that I am not
prepared for it. What an unheard-of presumption, to arrest my couriers,
and take their papers from them! And now that I am taking
reprisals--that I on my part have issued orders to arrest their couriers
on all highways, and in all cities, and to take their papers from them,
the Austrians are raising a hue-and-cry about the violation of
international law; and if war should break out, the blame, as usual,
will be laid at my door!" He paused, but added immediately:
"I wished to remain at peace with Germany for the present, for I have
enough to do with those wretched Spaniards, who are rising against my
troops like a vast band of guerillas. But that is just what is giving
the Austrians courage. They believe me to be weakened, isolated, and
unable to wage war with any other power, and hence the cowards take
heart, and think they can obtain spoils from the lion. But, patience!
the lion retains his former strength and vigor, and will finally destroy
his enemies. Champagny, I suppose you have already sent the Austrian
ambassador his passports?"
"Yes, sire, Count Metternich has departed with all the members of his
legation."
"Very well; let him go to Vienna and announce my speedy arrival to the
Emperor Francis," exclaimed Napoleon, impatiently.
"Sire, Count Metternich will meet the emperor no longer in Vienna," said
Champagny calmly.
"No longer in Vienna!" exclaimed Napoleon, laughing scornfully. "Does
Francis II. suspect already that I am about to come, and has he taken to
his heels even before I have left Paris?"
"No, sire; it seems, on the contrary, that the Emperor Francis intends
to put himself at the head of his troops."
Napoleon burst into a loud laugh. "The Austrians, then, believe my
soldiers to be sparrows, and think they can drive them out by setting
up a scarecrow! If the Emperor Francis himself intends to command, he
will command the army only to retreat, for the word 'forward' is not to
be found in his dictionary. Have you looked over the dispatches from
Germany, and can you report to me what they contain?"
"I am ready, sire," said Champagny, glancing at the papers.
"Then commence," ordered the emperor, sitting down, and taking from the
table a penknife, with which he whittled the back of the chair.
"The four corps of the Austrian army, with the two reserve corps, moved
on the first of April toward the frontier of Bavaria," said Champagny.
"As soon as they cross the Inn and enter the territory of my ally, war
will break out," exclaimed Napoleon. "Proceed!"
"On the evening of the 9th of April, the Archduke Charles and his
brother, the emperor, arrived with the army at Linz. Thence he sent one
of his adjutants to the King of Bavaria, to whom was to be delivered an
autograph letter, in which the archduke announced to the king that he
had received orders to advance, and would regard and treat as enemies
all that would resist his progress, no matter whether they were German
or foreign troops."
"Why, that is a regular declaration of war," said the emperor, piercing
the velvet cushion of the chair with his penknife.
"Yes, sire, it is," said Champagny, taking up another paper. "We have
received, moreover, a copy of the war manifesto which the Emperor of
Austria has published in the _Vienna Court Gazette_, and which was drawn
up by Gentz, the well-known pamphleteer."
"Gentz!" ejaculated Napoleon. "Do not those warlike Austrians see that
that is their death-knell, and that it is a bad omen for them that Gentz
had to blow the war-trumpet? Is it not the same Gentz who drew up the
high-sounding manifesto for the King of Prussia, previous to the battle
of Jena?"
"Yes, sire, the same."
"Well, that was in 1806; the six has been transformed into a nine--that
is all the difference," exclaimed Napoleon. "Every thing else has
remained unchanged. I suppose the same language of self-reliance, of a
wounded sense of honor, and of noble patriotism, is to be found in the
manifesto of 1809 as in that of 1806? Oh, I know it! Those Germans ever
remain the same; they always believe their cause just; they always want
peace, and find war, without any fault of theirs. Those Austrians have
irritated me for about a year past; they have secretly armed during that
time. The busier they believed me to be in Spain, the more energetically
they continued their preparations; and whenever I had them questioned
about their motives and objects, they made evasive and unsatisfactory
replies. The natural consequence of all this was, that I moved my troops
toward the German frontier; that Davoust, Lannes, and Massena, with
three corps, had to approach Austria, and hold themselves in readiness
to cross its boundaries when the Austrians enter Bavarian territory; and
that, finally, I issued orders to the princes of the Confederation of
the Rhine to place their federal quota on a war-footing, and prepare for
the outbreak of hostilities. No sooner had this been done, than the
Austrians arrested my courier contrary to international law, and
compelled me to retaliate. Nevertheless, I suppose, they are entirely
innocent now, and the manifesto of the Emperor Francis proves clearly
that France, by her incessant insults and encroachments, by her
insatiable thirst after new territories, and by her boundless ambition,
compelled Austria to take up arms. Is it not so?"
"Yes, sire, it is so. There are at the conclusion of this manifesto
words and ideas that are almost identical with those your majesty
uttered just now."
"Read this conclusion," said Napoleon, leaning back in his chair.
Champagny read: "The Emperor Francis will never deem himself authorized
to meddle with the domestic affairs of foreign states, or to arrogate to
himself a controlling influence on their system of government, on their
legislative and administrative affairs, or on the development of their
military strength. He demands a just reciprocity. Far from being
actuated by motives of ambition or jealousy, the emperor will envy no
other sovereign his greatness, his glory, his legitimate influence; the
exclusive assumption of such advantages alone is the source of general
apprehensions and the germ of everlasting wars. Not France, in the
preservation and welfare of which his majesty will always take the
liveliest interest, but the uninterrupted extension of a system which,
under the name of the French Empire, acknowledges no other law in Europe
than its own, has brought about the present confusion; it will be
removed, and all the wishes of his majesty will be fulfilled, when that
exclusive system will be replaced by one of moderation, self-restraint,
the reciprocal independence of all the states, respect for the rights
of every power, the sacred observance of treaties, and the supremacy of
peace. Then alone can the Austrian monarchy and the whole political
fabric of Europe be maintained in a prosperous condition."
"Enough!" exclaimed Napoleon, rising from his chair, and throwing the
penknife into a distant corner of the room. "I shall pay Austria for
this insolence, and there will be a day when the Emperor Francis and his
scribbler Gentz will repent of this miserable pamphlet! I will have to
treat the former as I have treated the kings of Naples and Spain. The
house of the Hapsburgs must cease to reign. Or, if in my patience, I
should allow the imperial throne of Austria to exist further under their
rule, it shall not be occupied by this dull and obstinate man, but by
his brother, the Elector of Würzburg![43] But woe to this M. Gentz, who
has dared to irritate me anew! Once already I gave orders to arrest and
punish him. He succeeded in making his escape. My police will be more
cautious this time. When I have made my entry into Vienna, I shall
remember M. Gentz! Ah, somebody is coming!"
[Footnote 43: After Napoleon had made his entry into Vienna, he really
requested the Emperor Francis to abdicate in favor of the latter's
brother. The battle of Aspern prevented this plan from being carried
into effect.]
The door opened, and one of the imperial adjutants entered.
"Sire," he said, handing a sealed letter to Napoleon, "the director of
the Paris telegraph-office has just brought this."
"At last!" exclaimed Napoleon, seizing the letter, and then motioning
him to leave the room.
"At last!" he repeated, breaking the seal. His eyes passed over the
paper with an expression of uncontrollable impatience. His countenance
brightened, and a faint blush came to his cheeks. He raised his eyes
toward the minister. "Champagny," he said, in a joyful voice, "war has
commenced; the Austrians have crossed the Inn and invaded the states of
my ally the King of Bavaria. The decisive moment is at hand. I shall set
out this very night. To-day is the 12th of April; on the 17th I shall be
at Donauwörth and put myself at the head of my army. Now let us go to
work and make our dispositions.--What is the matter now?"
The door opened again, and the court-marshal appeared on the threshold
to announce dinner.
Napoleon cast a hasty glance at the clock. "Indeed, it is six o'clock!"
he exclaimed. "But I cannot go yet. Have every thing kept in readiness.
Tell the empress I wish she would wait for me in the dining-room. I will
soon be with her. Send for the Prince de Benevento and the Duke
d'Otranto. I want to see them immediately. Now come, Champagny," he
said, when the court-marshal had withdrawn; "let us go to work. We have
a great many things to attend to, and there is but little time left,
for, as I told you before, I will set out this very night."
Fifteen minutes afterward Talleyrand and Fouché entered the cabinet
agreeably to the emperor's orders. They found him amid his maps, on
which he marched the various armies by means of the colored pins which
Champagny handed to him.
"Gentlemen," exclaimed Napoleon, saluting the newcomers, "the Austrians
have commenced war; come hither and see!"
In the mean time the empress, according to the wishes of her consort,
had repaired with her ladies of honor to the dining-room, and waited for
the arrival of Napoleon. The dishes had already been served up; for,
owing to the hasty manner in which the emperor liked to dine, the
various courses could not successively be brought from the kitchen, but
had to be placed on the table before dinner commenced. A number of
silver warming-vessels, filled with hot water, always stood on the
imperial table. Only the roast chicken, which every day made the last
course, and was one of the emperor's favorite dishes, had remained in
the kitchen; it was still turning on the spit, and waiting for the
moment when it was to be carried up. But this moment was delayed an
unusually long time to-day. The first chicken had long ago been replaced
by a second, a third, and a fourth, and this one had been roasting so
much that it was tough and juiceless. It had not yet been called for.
The waiters returned from time to time into the kitchen for boiling
water, to fill anew the silver vessels on which the dishes were kept
warm.
"If that goes on in the same manner we shall depopulate the whole
poultry-yard," grumbled the chief cook, ordering a fresh half-dozen of
young chickens to be brought in and prepared for roasting.
The emperor did not come. The clock struck seven, eight, nine, and ten,
and Napoleon had not yet made his appearance in the dining-room. But
this long delay did not cause the least impatience or anger to appear on
the face of the empress; not for a single moment did she lose her
temper. Graceful and gay, she conversed with her cavaliers and ladies of
honor, and her eyes but occasionally glanced at the door by which
Napoleon had to enter.
At last the emperor appeared. He walked toward the empress with a hasty
nod, and offering her his hand to conduct her to the table, he said: "I
believe it is a little late. I have kept you waiting, I suppose?"
Josephine laughed. "The question is rather _naïve_, my friend," she
said; "I have been waiting ever since six o'clock, and it is now past
eleven."
"Ah, that is late, indeed," said the emperor abstractedly. "I thought I
had already dined; Champagny, however, reminded me that this was not the
case. Well, Josephine, let us eat!" And he commenced eating the soup
which the grand-marshal placed before him.
Thanks to the warming-vessels, the dishes had remained palatable; but
the chief cook, when the gratifying announcement was made that the
emperor had at length made his appearance, had just ordered the
twenty-third chicken to be put on the spit for the purpose of having a
juicy and freshly-roasted wing in readiness.
The emperor, who was very reticent and abstracted, took his dinner even
more rapidly than usual, and no sooner had he finished than he rose
impetuously from his chair and left the table. Without addressing a word
to the empress, he walked across the room.
Josephine gazed after him with a long and mournful look, and her face
was sad. "He is cruel," she muttered to herself. "After waiting so many
hours, he has scarcely a word for me, and leaves me without salutation!"
But when Napoleon was near the door, he turned round and walked hastily
toward the empress. "Good-night, my dear Josephine," he said, giving his
hand to her. "It is already late--near midnight--retire. We shall not
meet again to-day; farewell, and _au revoir_!"
He nodded to her, and then left the room for his cabinet. On arriving
there, he bolted the small door leading into the corridor, and thence
into the apartments of the empress, calling in a loud voice, "Constant!"
The _valet de chambre_ entered immediately. "Constant!" said the
emperor, "come hither close to me, and listen. You will quickly set in
order my travelling-coach, so that I shall be able to set out in an
hour. Roustan and you will accompany me--no one else. But you must not
say a word about my departure. I want it to be known at the Tuileries,
as well as in Paris, to-morrow only, that I have left the capital, and
it is of the highest importance that it should remain a secret until
then. Do you understand me? And now make haste! In an hour every thing
must be ready!"
Constant bowed in silence and withdrew. "Yes, yes," he murmured, while
hastily passing on, "I understood the emperor very well. His departure
is to remain a secret; that is to say, especially for the empress. Ah!
the poor, good empress! How she will weep when she hears to-morrow that
the emperor has again set out without her! Formerly he always took her
with him; she had to share the triumphs and troubles of the journey; but
now she must stay at home. Poor Josephine! she is so good, and loves him
intensely! But I must obey the emperor's order. I cannot tell her any
thing! I cannot, but it would be no fault of mine if some one else
should! Ah! a good idea strikes me! The empress had the gold
travelling-case of the emperor brought to her yesterday in order to have
one like it made for the viceroy of Italy. I must go immediately and get
it from her maid, and she is fortunately tenderly devoted to the
empress!"
CHAPTER XLV.
JOSEPHINE'S FAREWELL.
The empress in the mean time had returned to her rooms, sad and absorbed
in her reflections. She had dismissed her ladies of honor; only her
mistress of ceremonies, Madame de Rémusat, was still with her, and her
maids were in the adjoining room to await her orders until she retired.
No sooner had Josephine reached her room than she sat down slowly and
abstractedly, and, throwing back her head, fixed her eyes on the
ceiling. An expression of profound grief was visible in her features,
and darkened the shade with which age was veiling her countenance. When
smiling, Josephine was still a graceful and fascinating woman, but when
melancholy it was but too plainly to be seen that her charms were
fading, and neither the flattering rouge nor the skill of the artist
could conceal this fact.
Josephine's brow was now often clouded, and her youthful beauty was fast
losing its charms. Gloomy forebodings were constantly passing over her
heart; she felt that she was standing as on the brink of a precipice,
and that the days of her happiness were numbered. She awoke every
morning in terror, for before the evening she might be cast into an
abyss of sorrow--removed from the Tuileries and the side of her
husband--replaced by another, a younger woman, the daughter of an
ancient sovereign house, who was to become the wife of Napoleon and the
mother of his sons. Josephine knew that the brothers and sisters of the
emperor were constantly importuning him to disown his childless wife,
and to secure his throne and dynasty, as well as their own, by choosing
another consort giving an heir to his crown. She knew that Talleyrand
was representing this to him daily as a political necessity, without
which his empire and his greatness would be endangered. She knew also
that Napoleon no longer, as formerly, closed his ears against these
insinuations, but, eagerly listening, held them in serious
consideration.
Josephine was aware of all this, and sat in her room a prey to
well-grounded suspicion and sorrowful presentiments.
Madame de Rémusat looked at her awhile, sighing and in silence; she now
softly approached the empress, and, taking her hand, said in an
affectionate voice, "Your majesty ought to retire! You need sleep; it is
long past midnight, and your eyes are weary."
"Not from waking--from weeping, my dear Rémusat," said the empress,
pressing the hand of her confidante. "But you are right, I will retire.
In sleep we forget our grief. Rémusat, in my dreams I always see
Napoleon as affectionate, as loving as he ever was--in my dreams he
loves me still and looks at me, not with the stern eyes of the emperor,
but of a tender husband. When I awake, Rémusat, his fine face still
before my mind, and remember that his love is now gone and lost
forever--oh, then a sword seems to pierce my heart, and I shed scalding
tears in spite of myself! And yet I will retire. He commanded me, and I
will obey."
"How discouraged your majesty is again to-day!" said Madame de Rémusat,
sighing. "Still it seems to me there is less cause than ever. The
emperor was more cordial and affectionate than usual. He was evidently
abstracted, and occupied with important plans, and yet he returned; his
expression was unusually gentle, and his voice trembled when he bade
farewell to your majesty."
"But why did he bid me farewell?" exclaimed the empress. "This is what
fills me with anxiety. Heretofore he only said to me, 'Good-night!' and,
'we shall meet again to-morrow, Josephine!' But to-day he said.
'Farewell, and _au revoir_!' Rémusat, there was a hidden meaning in
these words. Something unusual is to happen, for the emperor never took
leave of me in this manner. '_Au revoir_!' You never say that to one
whom you meet again in the morning. It means assuredly something! But
you are right--I need repose, for my limbs are trembling, and my head is
burning, as if I had fever! Call my maids!"
Josephine sighed deeply, and rose to be undressed. She was so absorbed
in her reflections that she, who always addressed a pleasant word to her
servants, did not apparently notice their presence. In silence she
allowed her jewels to be removed, which Madame de Rémusat carefully put
away into their caskets; in silence she suffered herself to be divested
of her blue satin dress, embroidered with silver, and her white satin
underskirt, without observing that her first maid was absent. When her
wrapper was brought by the second maid, she noticed that the first was
not present.
"Where is Dufour?" she asked, hesitatingly.
"Your majesty, she has just been called out to attend to something
urgently required by his majesty the emperor," said the second maid,
approaching the empress.
But Josephine pushed her back. "To attend to something urgently required
by the emperor?" she asked, breathlessly. "What does that mean? Ah,
there is Dufour! What could have detained her?" And she rushed toward
her and grasped her hand.
"Dufour, where have you been? What is the matter?"
"Your majesty, Constant wished to see me. I beg pardon for coming so
late, but it was something very urgent."
"Urgent! There is the same word again," exclaimed Josephine. "What was
it that was 'urgent?'"
"Your majesty, M. Constant wanted the golden travelling-case of the
emperor, which your majesty showed to the jeweller to-day. As it was in
my keeping, he applied to me for it."
"Well, could he not wait until to-morrow?" asked the empress.
"No, your majesty, for the emperor needs the travelling-case, and at
once."
Josephine uttered a cry. "He is about to depart! Oh, I feel he is going
to leave me!" she exclaimed, almost beside herself. And without
reflecting and hesitating, regardless of the fact that she was
undressed, her shoulders bare, and her feet incased in small slippers of
crimson velvet--forgetful of every thing but the distracting thought
that the emperor was leaving her, without even a farewell, she ran
across the room toward the door.
Vainly did Madame de Rémusat try to detain her. Josephine pushed her
aside, opened the door, and ran out. Breathless, bathed in tears, her
dishevelled locks streaming in the air, she hastened through the rooms
and magnificent halls in which she was accustomed to appear in a
gorgeous toilet, and receive the homage of princes. On crossing the
threshold of the first reception-room she lost one of her slippers; but
this modern Atalanta did not know it as she rushed along the corridor
and down the stairs. Having reached the palace-yard, she found that she
was not mistaken--there stood the emperor's travelling-carriage. Roustan
and Constant were waiting in front of it, but she passed them before
they knew what had happened. Trembling and weeping, she sat down in the
carriage.
The emperor at that moment entered the palace-yard, while the two
servants were still standing near, speechless, and as if paralyzed with
terror. He took no notice of them, and ascending the steps of the
carriage beheld the strange white figure within.
"What is that?" exclaimed the emperor, standing still. "Who is there?"
"It is I," exclaimed the empress, in a suppliant voice. "I, Josephine!
You wished to depart again without me, Bonaparte; but I will not suffer
you; I will cling to you! I cannot leave you!"
She threw her arms around his neck, but Napoleon pushed her back. "You
are a fool, Josephine!" he said, angrily. "This is childish; you
ridiculously retard my departure. I do not wish to hear any more! Be
kind enough to leave the carriage! It is necessary that I set out
immediately."
"But, Bonaparte, you cannot be in earnest," cried Josephine, sobbing
aloud. "Have mercy on me! Do not drive me from you! I tell you, you must
use violence to remove me! Oh, have pity on me--on my poor, painful
heart, and let me go along with you! Remember that you promised me the
other day that I should accompany you on your next journey. Oh,
Bonaparte, keep your word! Keep your word only this time! Have pity on
me, and let me accompany you!" She covered his lips and cheeks with her
kisses and tears. Napoleon's heart seemed to be softened, for he
involuntarily raised his arms and wound them around Josephine's neck.
"How cold you are!" he exclaimed. "And your shoulders are bare! What
does this mean?"
"It means," said the empress, half laughing, half weeping, "that I was
just about retiring when--when I heard the carriage drive up to the
door. My heart told me that you intended to leave me, and that I would
not have time to dress if I wished to see you, and therefore I came at
once."
"And indeed you were right; if you had come a minute later, I would
certainly have been gone."
The emperor entered the carriage, closed the door, and shouted in a
powerful voice out of the window: "Have every thing the empress needs
for her toilet sent to the first station, that she may find it on her
arrival. Order the mistress of ceremonies to set out immediately with
her majesty's ladies of honor. They must be at Strasburg on the 18th.
Forward!"
Josephine uttered a joyous cry, and sat down on the emperor's knees,
pressing his head with her arms against her bosom. He laughed, and did
not resist her. Roustan and Constant ascended, and the carriage started.
"Bonaparte, thanks! a thousand thanks!" whispered the empress. "Never
shall I forget this hour, for it proves to me that you still love your
poor Josephine, or that at least you pity her!"
"Oh, you know full well, traitress, that I cannot withstand your tears,"
said Napoleon, half angrily, half smilingly. "But you are almost naked!"
"Yes, I am naked, as it behooves a beggar-woman who begs for love at the
palace-gate," said the empress, smiling. "I hope, my emperor and lord
will give me something to cover my nakedness."
"Here is what you want, you impulsive beggar!" exclaimed Napoleon,
throwing the sable robe, which the Emperor Alexander had presented to
him, over her shoulders, and wrapping it carefully around her.
"Accept my thanks!" exclaimed Josephine, laughing; "I will wear it as a
token of your kindness."
"You will not," quickly replied Napoleon. "I merely lend it to you
until our arrival at the next station, where, I hope, we shall meet a
courier with your wardrobe."
"But he will not be able to overtake us there, Bonaparte, and you will
have to leave me the robe for some time yet."
"No; he will travel faster on horseback than we in our carriage. I would
have no objection to the robe myself, for the night is cold!"
"It is cold; come, I will let you have part of it," wrapping it around
the emperor, and clinging closely to him. Napoleon laughed, and winding
his arms around the slender waist of Josephine, pressed her to his
breast. She laid her wearied head silently on his shoulder. The carriage
continued the journey without interruption, and, exhausted by her
previous excitement, she closed her eyes and slept.
Suddenly the voice of the emperor aroused her. They had reached the
first station; it was already daylight. The municipal officers of the
small town were standing in front of the post-office to present their
respects. A man, mounted on a horse covered with foam, was near them. It
was the courier who had brought the wardrobe of the empress.
"There is your luggage," said the emperor, pointing smilingly at a small
leather trunk which had been placed on the back seat. "The empress has
set out as a travelling adventurer!"
"Yes, you are right," exclaimed Josephine. "It is just like a
fairy-story. Some poor, disowned princess is met on her journey by a
handsome son of a king, who takes her in his arms, gives her magnificent
dresses, and marries her. I thank you, my friend, and now I will attend
to my toilet."
"I hope not here in the carriage?" asked Napoleon, in surprise.
"We shall have the trunk carried into the house; I believe the
postmaster has a room where you can dress, and a servant-girl who can
assist you."
"But, Bonaparte," exclaimed Josephine, "do you not see that that is
impossible? It is daylight; is, then, the carriage to open and the
empress to alight with one slipper on her feet, to be triumphantly
conducted into the house? Ah, my friend, all Europe would smile at the
idyllic empress who accompanied her husband on his journey in such a
dishabille."
"It is true," said Napoleon, moodily, "it would be a fine anecdote for
the so-called legitimate princes, and they would proudly laugh at the
violation of the _dehors_ committed by imperial upstarts. As though it
were so difficult to learn the ridiculous rules of their etiquette, if
one should deem it worth while!"
Josephine gently patted the emperor's forehead with her white hand. "No
clouds must darken my morning sun," she said, "for they would foretell a
gloomy day. I wish you could transform yourself into my maid."
"What!" exclaimed the emperor, laughing. "Transform myself into your
maid?"
"And why not, Bonaparte?" asked Josephine. "Did not your brother, the
great Jove, transform himself into an ox for the sake of Europa? The
carriage is moving again! Draw the curtains, and then, my dear maid, we
shall commence dressing." She hastily opened the small travelling-trunk,
which had carefully been filled with every thing required for her
toilet--small velvet gaiters, a comfortable velvet cloak, one of her
large cashmere shawls, and a beautiful red satin dress with lace
trimmings.
"You will have but little trouble with me," said the empress, busily
examining the contents of the trunk. "Dear Madame Rémusat has arranged
every thing as judiciously as possible, and forgotten nothing. There are
warm gloves, embroidered handkerchiefs--in short, all I need. Ah! there
is but one thing she has forgotten."
"Well, and what is that?"
"It is a mirror. Bonaparte, you must be my mirror to-day. But come now,
my dear maid! enter upon your duties. In the first place, assist me in
putting on my gaiters."
"What admirable ones they are!" said the emperor. "Are these tiny things
really large enough for your feet?"
"Yes. Did you forget that your Josephine has the smallest and prettiest
foot in all France? Formerly, when you were not the all-powerful
Napoleon, but the brave and illustrious General Bonaparte, you knew it.
Ah, I wish you were still General Bonaparte, and we lived at our small
house in the Rue Chantereine!"
"Indeed, I am glad that I am no longer there," said Napoleon. "It seems
to me General Bonaparte did not forfeit his glory; he only changed his
title and position. That of an emperor is not so bad, and the Tuileries
a very pleasant residence. But, Josephine, let me see whether this
fairy-shoe is really large enough for human foot!"
"Bonaparte, envy and jealousy prompt you to say so," said Josephine,
laughing. "You cannot comprehend how any foot could be even smaller than
yours. But just take into consideration that you are the great
Bonaparte, and that I am but poor little Josephine--the insignificant
creature that derives only from you light and life. Bonaparte, you have
the largest foot that man ever had."
"What! I have the largest foot?" exclaimed Napoleon, in surprise. "Why,
I have always been told that my foot was very small."
"Oh, that was a mistake," said Josephine, gravely, "for how would it
otherwise be possible for you to trample down the whole of Europe as you
are doing?"
Napoleon laughed. "Very good," he said, "you are right; I have put my
foot on the neck of Europe, and shall crush all who resist me!"
"Bonaparte," exclaimed Josephine, menacingly, "no politics now, no
threatening imperial face! Remember that, at the present moment, you are
nothing but my maid. There is my foot! Put on my gaiter, and see whether
it is large enough!"
Napoleon at once obeyed, his wife's toilet commenced, and the first day
of their journey passed in laughter and affectionate chatting. The
empress had not enjoyed so happy a day for years. All cares and
apprehensions were forgotten. What did light-hearted Josephine care for
the future?
But, alas! the second day was different. The smiles of the unfortunate
woman met with no reply. The emperor was taciturn and gloomy. Wrapped in
his sable robe, he was leaning in a corner of the carriage, and made
only stern and brief answers to Josephine's questions. The heart and
countenance of the empress grew heavy and anxious.
When they arrived at Strasburg on the evening of the fourth day, each of
them sat silent--the empress with tearful eye; the emperor frowning and
stern. Napoleon offered his arm to his consort, and conducted her into
the palace. "Good-night, Josephine," he said, standing still at the
entrance of the rooms destined for her, "good-night!"
"You will not take supper with me?" asked the empress in a low,
imploring voice.
"No, I have business to attend to. Good-night!" And he walked away
without saluting or even looking at her. Josephine went into her rooms.
She refused to partake of refreshment, and avoided the necessity of
admitting the officials, who wished to pay their respects to her, by
sending them word that she was too fatigued to receive any one. Alone
she could weep without being disturbed.
At an unusually early hour on the following morning Napoleon entered her
room. Josephine was just about to dress, assisted by her Parisian maids.
He motioned them to withdraw, and then commenced pacing the room in his
usual manner, when excited.
"Napoleon," said Josephine, in a tremulous voice, "you have come with
bad news. My heart tells me so, and I read it on your gloomy brow.
Speak, and tell me every thing at once. I am prepared for it."
"Well, then, I must say," replied Napoleon, vehemently,--"you cannot,
Josephine, accompany me farther. We must part this hour. I yielded to
your wishes in spite of myself, but only thus far! A new campaign is
about to begin; days of battles, troubles, and fatigues, are awaiting
me. You must not and cannot share them. You must remain here."
Josephine cast a melancholy look on him. "But when you have conquered,
when you have made again your triumphant entry into Vienna, will you
then call me, Napoleon? Shall I then share your triumphs as I used to
do? Bonaparte, do not now make an evasive reply! Tell me the truth, for
I can bear it. Tell me, when the fortune of war has favored you--when
you have vanquished Austria, as you have hitherto every other
enemy--will you then call me to you? The truth, my friend, the truth!"
"Very well, I will tell you the truth," exclaimed Napoleon, after a
brief hesitation. "No, Josephine--I will not. You can share my triumphs
no more!"
Josephine uttered a cry, and her eyes filled with tears. "I am doomed,
then," she said, "and what Fouché told me was true!"
"What did he tell you?" asked the emperor, hastily.
"He told me to prepare for a heavy blow--that you, Napoleon, had
secretly applied to the Emperor Alexander for the hand of his sister,
and that only the resistance of the dowager prevented you from
accomplishing your purpose."
"Yes," exclaimed Napoleon, moodily, and, as if absent-minded, "yes, the
proud empress-dowager hates me, and hastened to marry her daughter to a
petty German prince rather than let her become the consort of the
Emperor of the French.[44] Well, no matter! other princes have
daughters, too, and one of them will assuredly be only too happy to
become my wife!"
[Footnote 44: Napoleon ordered Talleyrand at Erfurt to inquire of the
Emperor Alexander whether he would permit him to marry his sister.
Alexander replied that nothing could afford him greater pleasure than
that Napoleon should become his brother-in-law, but the matter did not
depend on his decision alone. The empress-dowager must also be
consulted. No sooner had she heard of Napoleon's wishes than she induced
her daughter to marry the Duke of Oldenburg. The notification of the
marriage of the grand-duchess to this German prince was the only reply
that was ever made to Napoleon's inquiring wish.]
"Napoleon, and you dare tell me so?" exclaimed Josephine, reproachfully.
"You admit, then, that you are about to disown me?"
The emperor started. "Pardon me, Josephine," he said, in confusion, "I
was absent-minded, I--"
"Yes, you were," interrupted the empress, "and while so, you betrayed
your thoughts. It is true, then! Cruel man! You have forgotten every
thing, and the whole past has been blotted out. You can seriously think
of parting with me, your best friend?"
"No, not now, Josephine," exclaimed Napoleon. "You have nothing to fear.
I shall not enter Germany as a wooer, but as a soldier, and I do not
desire to seek myrtle-crowns, but laurels!"
"But, my husband, when you have gained fresh laurels and new territories
with the blood of your soldiers, then, I suppose, Josephine is to be
sacrificed?"
Napoleon did not reply. He paced the room slowly and with a bowed head.
Standing still, he looked with sad eyes in his consort's tearful face.
"Josephine," he said, in a grave voice, "you have a noble heart, and it
will bear the truth. Yes, there may be a day when we shall have to part,
although I love you, and I know well that you are the only faithful
friend on whom I can rely! Judge, therefore, what pangs it will cost me
when obliged to come to the terrible resolution to separate from you,
my guardian angel! But I belong to my people--I belong to my glory! My
power has assumed such gigantic proportions that I must support it with
foundations that cannot be overthrown. The Emperor Napoleon must have a
successor; if you had given birth to one, I should never have parted
from you. Now all hope is gone, and I shall, perhaps, be compelled one
day to look for a consort among the daughters of kings. I really do not
wish to do so, but my duty to my people makes it imperative."
"No, not your duty, but your ambition!" cried Josephine, with streaming
eyes. "You have sacrificed every thing for that--your tranquillity, your
conscience, the blood of your soldiers, and now your wife!"
"Yes, it is as you say, Josephine," exclaimed Napoleon; "it is my
ambition that separates me from you, and compels me to part with her who
has been my glory and my life for sixteen years! It is ambition that
points its iron arm at my imperial crown, and commands me to look for
another empress, that I and my son may enter the ranks of legitimate
princes. I have formed vast plans; I shall soon effect new convulsions:
I shall vanquish all my enemies, and Europe will have to recognize me as
her master. But when nothing remains to wish for--when I have so
ascended as to leave no heights above me, then I shall think of securing
the happiness and peace of my people and of my empire. To do so, I am in
need of a direct heir. For myself, I ask and wish for nothing; but my
glory belongs to France. After my death my contemporaries will say of
me, 'He was the only one who could strive for universal good, while his
individual wishes had been gratified; others thought only of
themselves--Bonaparte's wishes and deeds were for his country. There was
one thing that was dear to him personally, and that was his wife! But
the welfare of his people requiring it, he sacrificed this beloved wife
to their interests.'"
"Words!" exclaimed Josephine. "You are vainly trying to conceal your
innermost thoughts from me. I know you, Bonaparte, and can read your
soul! You wish to connect yourself with the foremost sovereign houses of
Europe, because such a union will flatter your pride and your insatiable
ambition. When you are the son-in-law of an emperor or a king, you will
believe that you are at liberty to do every thing with impunity. You
will deem yourself a demi-god, and, accompanied by your victorious
legions, you will march to the conquest of the whole world. But that
will not be your destiny. You believe you can enslave the nations.
Beware lest they one day awake, break their chains, and take a terrible
revenge on the tyrant whom they allowed so long to oppress them!
Seduced by your illusive ambition, you will disown Josephine? Infatuated
man! you will perceive too late that you walk near a volcano. Oh,
Bonaparte, I tremble and weep for you! Remember that you have often
called me your guardian angel. Believe me, when you disown me, you
disown your good fortune. It will forsake the faithless man, and your
star will sink in an eternal night! That is what wounds my heart, and
drives me to despair. You will be alone in the midst of traitors and
false friends. When Josephine is with you no more, no one will have good
intentions toward you. No one will dare tell you the truth, when you
lose your best friend. Falsehood will flatter you, but only to lead you
to the verge of the precipice!" The empress, with quivering limbs and
pale features, sank on a chair, and covered her face.
A long pause ensued. Napoleon gloomily continued walking the room. At
last he approached Josephine, and gently laid his hand on her shoulder.
"Do not weep," he said, imploringly. "We have once more allowed phantoms
to frighten us, and quarrelled about things that belong to the future.
You are still my wife, and who knows whether you will not always remain
mine? Who knows whether you will not soon be my widow? I am about to
enter into another war, and it will be a desperate, obstinate struggle,
in which old Austria will try to wrest the palm of victory from young
France. Victory will perch on my banners. I have no doubt of that, but
who knows whether I shall not have to pay for it with my blood! for I
must not spare myself--I shall always be at the head of my troops, and,
like my private soldiers, with them bare my own breast to the hail of
bullets. In so decisive a struggle as will take place now, the emperor
will be nothing but a soldier, and do his duty."
"Oh, Bonaparte!" cried Josephine, rising in dismay and clinging to him,
"oh, have mercy on my heart! Do not rashly expose yourself to the
accidents of battle! Remember that the fate of millions depends on your
life! Remember that I should die if an accident befall you! Oh, my
dearest husband, be kind and generous--spare yourself, and spare my
love!"
"Then you love me in spite of your gloomy forebodings?" asked Napoleon,
with a gentle smile. "Oh, I know my Josephine is my most faithful and
best friend, and whatever may happen, her heart will always be mine. Let
this be our farewell, Josephine! I must go; I must depart this very
hour. To-morrow I join my army, and my cannon will soon announce to
Germany that the victor of Austerlitz and Jena is demonstrating his
right to rule, and at his own pleasure to destroy or create kingdoms."
CHAPTER XLVI.
FERDINAND VON SCHILL.
A travelling carriage stopped in front of the house on Frederick Street
in which Major von Schill had established his headquarters since his
regiment had been sent to Berlin. The horses were wet with perspiration,
and the carriage was covered with mud. Every thing indicated that the
young man seated in it had made a long and hurried journey, and his
exhausted and anxious face induced the belief that the object could not
but be highly important. He alighted hastily, and approached the house,
in front of which a crowd of idlers were staring at the windows.
Addressing one of them, he asked, "Can you tell me whether Major von
Schill lives in this house?"
"Yes," said the man, proudly; "every good citizen of Berlin can tell you
that Major Ferdinand von Schill, the favorite of our people and of all
patriotic Germans, lives here."
The young man smiled. "And can you tell me whether Major von Schill is
at home?"
"Well, what should we stand here for, if Schill were not at home? We are
only here to see and salute him when he appears at the window, and to
escort him when he leaves the house. He is always surrounded by a guard
of honor, composed of citizens of Berlin, and the cheers never cease
wherever he may be. I myself have not yet seen him, for I was ill. But
yesterday was my birthday, and my wife presented me with a pipe-bowl
with Schill's portrait; my daughter says he is the best-looking man in
the world, and she has bought a locket with his portrait, which she is
wearing on her neck. I have come to see whether the portraits so much in
vogue are like him, and whether he is not only the bravest soldier, but,
as the girls pretend, the finest-looking man. I will cheer so vigorously
as to shake the statues on the arsenal. I suppose you have also come to
see him?"
"That is all I have come for," said the young man, and, turning to the
postilion, who had just unhitched his horses, he shouted:
"Postilion, when you arrive at the post-office, order immediately some
fresh horses for me and send them hither. I shall set out for home in
half an hour!"
He then walked toward the house, elbowing himself through the constantly
increasing crowd, and reached the door. After rapidly crossing the hall,
he went up-stairs. A footman, dressed in a rich livery, who was pacing
the corridor on the upper floor, looked inquiringly at the young
stranger.
"Does Major von Schill live here?"
"Yes, sir."
"And is he at home?"
"I am not quite sure--I rather believe he has gone out. He is subjected
to visits and invitations to such an extent, that I really do not know
whether there are persons with him at present, or whether some of his
admirers have taken him to another banquet to be given in his honor. The
people of Berlin are perfectly infatuated with my master, and if an
angel should appear upon earth, they could not pay more deference to
him. The fuss they are making about him has positively made him ill. Day
and night he must attend parties, listen, and reply to a thousand
speeches, and take wine with everybody; and then, again, the ladies are
not the least active in demonstrating his popularity. Oh, the people of
this city will certainly kill my dear, good master in this way, and I
must see to it that he gets occasionally a little rest, and is able to
take a peaceful nap on his sofa. I think I must tell you now, sir, that
Major von Schill is not at home. He returned only at daybreak from a
ball which the city of Berlin gave in his honor; at noon he will have to
attend a banquet to which the governor of Berlin, General von Lestocq,
has invited him, and which is in fact another testimonial of the public
respect for him. Major von Schill must have some repose, or his
popularity will be the death of him. Please return some other time. You
cannot see him to-day."
"But, my friend, I cannot return," said the stranger. "I am not one of
the citizens of Berlin, but I am an enthusiastic admirer of Schill, and
have travelled three days and nights without interruption, in order to
bring important news to him."
"Ah, that alters the case," said the footman. "If you bring important
news for my master, I will go and see whether he is at home."
"Do so, my friend, and tell the major that Referendary von Bothmar has
come from Cassel expressly to see him."
The footman nodded, and hastened into the room, the door of which he had
hitherto guarded with the affection of a friend and the obstinacy of a
faithful sentinel. He returned in a few minutes, opened the door, and
exclaimed: "The major requests you to come in!"
M. von Bothmar entered. In obedience to the sign the footman made to
him, he crossed the anteroom and opened the door of the one adjoining. A
fine-looking man in the uniform of a major, with a fresh, florid
countenance, and high forehead adorned with a broad scar, came to meet
him. It was Ferdinand von Schill, the lieutenant of the queen's
dragoons, who, ever since the disastrous battle of Jena, had given such
brilliant proofs of his courage and patriotism at Kolberg (and during
the guerilla warfare he had afterward entered into on his own
responsibility), that the people hoped he would become the savior of the
country. The King of Prussia had promoted him to a majority, and
conferred on his regiment the honorary distinction that it should be the
first Prussian regiment that was to make its entry into Berlin after the
French had evacuated the capital.
"Let me welcome you, my dear sir," said Schill, kindly offering his hand
to the young man. "You told my footman you had come from Cassel to bring
important news to me. You are, therefore, a good German patriot, and I
may greet M. von Bothmar as a friend and brother. But let me hear what
you bring--glad tidings, I suppose?"
"No, major, but important," said M. von Bothmar.
Schill became uneasy, and a deep blush crimsoned his cheeks for a
moment. "You know Dörnberg?" he inquired.
"I know him, and I was also aware of his plan, and of the day and hour
when his blow was to be struck."
"Then he has commenced already?" asked Schill.
"Yes, commenced and ended," said Bothmar, mournfully.
"Our noble Dörnberg expected too much of the patriotism of the Hessians.
He arrived with the legion of his peasants as far as Cassel, and called
upon the soldiers to join him in order to expel King Jerome and his
French minions. But the soldiers did not listen to him; they obeyed the
orders of their officers, and turned their arms against their German
brethren, who were soon routed and dispersed."
"This is really dreadful!" ejaculated Schill. "And Dörnberg?"
"Dörnberg succeeded in making his escape; he will probably go to Prague,
where the Elector of Hesse is at present residing."
"Well, I am glad that he is at least safe," exclaimed Schill, breathing
more freely. "The defeat is a disastrous blow, to be sure, but the good
news that we have just received will afford us consolation for it. The
Archduke Charles has gained a glorious victory over the French at Hof."
"Can that be positively true?" exclaimed Bothmar. "During my whole
journey I did not hear a word about it. On the contrary, I learned
everywhere only the mournful intelligence that Napoleon had put himself
at the head of his army, and was advancing victoriously in the direction
of Vienna."
"And yet my statement is perfectly true. General Lestocq, governor of
Berlin, in joyful commemoration of this victory, issued to-day the
countersign of 'Charles and Hof!'"
"Heaven grant that you are correctly informed, and that the general is
not mistaken!" said M. von Bothmar, sighing. "Pardon me for not sharing
your confidence. The deplorable turn our affairs have taken in Hesse has
discouraged me, and then--but I am not through yet with the news which
brought me to you."
"Speak, sir,--what else has happened?" exclaimed Schill.
"Excuse me," said M. von Bothmar, "should I assume the semblance of one
of your most trusted confidants, and take the liberty of speaking to you
about your most secret plans. You intrusted to your faithful friend and
follower, Romberg, letters and proclamations to be circulated in
Westphalia. Am I right?"
"You are."
"Yon gave to him private letters for Counsellor von Ledebour, at
Bielefeld, and for Colonel von Sobbe, who were to head the insurrection
in that part of the country?"
"I did, sir; you are right."
"Well, then, major, Romberg was arrested at Magdeburg; all his papers,
letters, and proclamations, were seized, and General Michaud sent him
under guard to Cassel."
"Romberg imprisoned! My dear, faithful Romberg in danger!" exclaimed
Schill, mournfully.
"No," said M. von Bothmar, solemnly, "Romberg is no longer imprisoned;
he is not now in danger."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that Romberg, immediately after his arrival at Cassel, was tried
by a court-martial, and that sentence of death was at once passed upon
him."
"He has been shot?"
"Yes, Schill, Romberg has been shot."
Schill uttered a cry, and covered his face with his hands. "Oh!" he
murmured, "I have lost my most faithful friend, and Germany one of her
noblest sons. He was an humble peasant, but the heart of a great patriot
was throbbing under his blouse. He was the Andrew Hofer of the North,
and his death is a terrible disaster! But I will not complain," added
Schill--"no, I will not complain. Blessed are the dead, and who knows
how soon we ourselves shall have to bid farewell to life? The storm is
threatening us on all sides."
"And it is threatening our noble Schill, the hope of Germany," exclaimed
M. von Bothmar. "I have told you that all Romberg's papers were seized,
and among them the letters which you wrote to your friends Ledebour and
Sobbe. Your proclamations were read by the French authorities, and as
they thereby became aware of your plans, they will at once take steps to
put a stop to your agitation, and, if possible, put you to death. Would
Prussia be powerful and courageous enough to protect you, if the King of
Westphalia should charge you with being a traitor and demagogue, and if
Napoleon should insist on your punishment?"
"It is true," said Schill, "you point out to me an imminent danger, from
which I can only escape by striking immediately. If we give our enemies
time to mature their plans, all will be lost. We must, therefore, act at
once. We must hesitate no longer, but begin even before my comrades here
have learned that Romberg did not succeed in his enterprise. We may be
more successful, for God will perhaps be merciful to me: He has decreed,
perhaps, that Schill shall first of all break the chains imposed on us
by the foreign despot."
"Germany hopes in Schill," exclaimed Bothmar, enthusiastically, "and
hence I was bold enough to violate the oath of allegiance which I had
taken to King Jerome, and disclose to the German hero the danger
menacing him. I am a referendary at the department of state in Cassel,
and accordingly I soon heard of the danger to which you are exposed.
Under the pretext that I intended to enforce tranquillity and obedience
among the peasants on my estate, situated a few miles from Cassel, I
obtained leave of absence for six days, and hastened hither. I set out
from there three days ago, and, thank God! I have found you in time to
give you warning."
"Thanks to you," exclaimed Schill, affectionately embracing M. von
Bothmar; "you have saved my life, perhaps; at all events, you have
rendered an important service to the sacred cause of the fatherland."
"Every one must serve the fatherland in his own way, and according to
his ability," said Bothmar, gently; "you are serving it by your heroic
arm and soul-stirring example; I am doing so by trying at least to
prevent mischief, and to assist my brethren as much as I can. My task
now is accomplished! Farewell! and may Heaven grant victory to your
patriotic zeal!"
"Where are you going?" said Schill, grasping Bothmar's arm and detaining
him. "You must not leave me yet; you must remain here at least to-day,
that--but what is the meaning of this bugle-call?"
"It means that the postilion has arrived with horses, and calls me,"
said M. von Bothmar, smiling.
"What! You have travelled three days and three nights, and are departing
so soon?"
"Have I not told you that I obtained leave of absence only for six days?
Well, then, three days hence I shall be in Cassel again, and, I believe,
I have improved my six days in a highly commendable manner."
"Farewell, noble young man! when we meet again, Germany, if it please
God, will be free and happy!"
"Oh, may it be so!" said M. von Bothmar, sighing. "Be prudent, sir, do
not endanger your life; remember that it does not belong to you, but to
the fatherland, and now farewell! The impatient postilion is sounding
his bugle again. Farewell!"
He quickly left the room, but Schill accompanied to the staircase the
friend he had gained so suddenly. He returned to his room and hastened
to the window, to wave his hand once more to M. von Bothmar. Loud cheers
greeted him as soon as his countenance was recognized behind the
window-panes; the crowd in front of the house constantly increased, and
when he appeared to the longing eyes of the citizens, they could not
suppress their loud huzzas.
"They do me too much honor," said Schill to himself, smiling, and
stepping back from the window. "But their love and its boisterous
demonstrations are not exactly intended for myself individually. These
kind people greet in me the first hope dawning to them after a long
period of darkness; and, therefore, I will joyfully indulge them, and I
will thank them by brave deeds. Yes, by deeds! The time of
procrastination is over. I must hesitate no longer: I must act!"
His servant entered and handed him some letters just brought for him. He
opened and read them rapidly. The perfume of the first, written on
rose-colored note-paper, made him smile. "It is the sixth declaration of
love that I have received to-day," he said, in a low voice, "and the
sixth request for a rendezvous to-night. Oh, women! how innocent in your
enthusiasm for poor Schill! You imagine you love me, and do not know
that it is the fatherland that you love in me! I will reconquer your
country, and bring back that sweet liberty which the tyrant has taken
from us. Until then, no Cupid's love! My heart must belong wholly to
Germany!"
He read the second letter. "Another painter asks me to sit to him! Why,
have not the people already portraits enough of poor Schill? Has not
every old citizen my head on his pipe or his snuff-box? Does not every
pretty girl wear my scarred face in her locket? I have no time to spare
for painters; I must take the field!"
He opened the third; but while he read it, his eyes were sad. "Again the
same admonition which I have so often received. Do they doubt my
patriotism? Do they believe that I am a traitor, and will suffer the
opportunity to pass by without improving it?"
He looked at the letter again, which contained only the following words:
"Brutus, thou sleepest, awake!"[45]
[Footnote 45: Schill received almost daily, from various parts of
Germany, letters containing nothing but those words. A secret society,
extending throughout Germany, seemed to have made it a special duty to
instigate Schill to strike the blow, lest the homage he received in
Berlin should render him forgetful of his mission.]
"No," he exclaimed, in a powerful voice, "I do not sleep. I am awake,
and behold the golden dawn of freedom! O Germany, my arm and my honor
belong to thee! To thee--and to her!" he whispered, almost inaudibly.
"Yes, to her--the genius of Prussia! For her I will sacrifice my life!"
The door opened again, and the footman entered. "Major, there is another
gentleman who desires to see you on pressing business. I wanted to turn
him off, but he said it was indispensable for him to see you. He told me
he wished to deliver to the major something that would gladden his
heart. His name is High-Chamberlain von Schladen, and he said he had
just arrived from Königsberg."
"Show him in at once," exclaimed Schill, but, in his impetuosity, he
himself led the way and opened the door.
"Come in, Mr. High-Chamberlain, and forgive me for making you wait even
a moment," he said, offering his hand to M. von Schladen, and conducting
him into his sitting-room. "You come from Königsberg?"
"Yes, major, and I bring you greetings from your friends, from the
brethren of the great league, and also from the king and the queen."
"She really told you to greet me in her name?" asked Schill. "Oh, do not
deceive me; tell me the truth! Did the queen really tell you that?"
"She did more than that, major," said M. von Schladen, smiling; "she
intrusted to me a present for you, which I am to deliver to yourself,
and which she made for you with her own hands."
At this moment Schill was a truly handsome man. If the ladies and the
painters of Berlin had seen him just then, they would have been
transported at his noble countenance, as his black eyes sparkled with
joy. "The queen sends me a present!" he exclaimed--"a present which she
herself has made!"
"Yes, and on which she inscribed your name with her own hand, that it
might be to you a plain and undeniable proof of her favor."
"Oh, give it to me, sir!" exclaimed Schill, stretching out his hands.
M. von Schladen drew a small package, wrapped in paper, from his bosom,
and handed it to Schill.
"On my knees will I receive this present from my queen!" exclaimed
Schill. "Oh, it seems to me as though she were standing before me,
looking at me with that sad smile which brings tears into the eyes of
all who behold her! When I was at Königsberg the other day, it was
permitted me to speak to her, and press my lips on her hand. With that
kiss I devoted myself to her for my whole life, and she is ever before
my eyes, clothed in a sort of divine beauty--as a Madonna holding the
Messiah of Freedom in her arms! And the noble queen, to whom I pray
every night as to a saint, sends me a present which she has made for me
with her own hands? Oh, am I worthy of such kindness; have I done any
thing entitling me to such a proof of condescension on her part, and am
I thus honored by her who is the guardian angel of Prussia!--whom
Napoleon hates, because he fears her zeal and fidelity. As a vestal, she
has kept alive the fire of patriotism on the altar of her country. When
all despair, she still hopes for the redemption of her people from a
victorious but merciless enemy. I will consecrate my life anew to her,
though unworthy of the distinguished regard she bestows on me by this
present, the work of her own royal hands."
"Yes, but you are worthy of the favor of our noble queen," said M. von
Schiaden, solemnly, "for you are the representative hero of Germany, and
Heaven has decreed, perhaps, that you should break the first link of the
chain with which the usurper has fettered our country. As soon as that
link is broken, it will be easy to break the rest. You, Major von
Schill, are the hope of Germany--the hope of Queen Louisa. Take, then,
the present which she sends you, worthy champion of the cause of her
country!"
He handed the package to the major. Schill, kneeling, took it and
unfolded the wrapper. It contained a magnificent memorandum-book,
embroidered in gold, and closed with a gold pencil. Schill admired the
rich art displayed in the book, and, opening it, looked for the
autograph of the queen. He uttered a joyful cry. The queen had written
these words, in small, neat characters: "For brave Major von Schill.
Louisa."
Schill pressed his lips on the words, and then, closing the book, put it
into his bosom, and rose from his knees. "It will rest on my heart as
long as I live," he said; "its every pulsation belongs to her! And now,
M. von Schladen, what is the state of affairs at Königsberg? What hopes
are entertained there?"
"Hopes!" exclaimed M. von Schladen, with a mournful smile; "none--only
apprehensions."
"And they do not yet think of bidding defiance to the tyrant, and of
recalling noble Baron von Stein?"
"No, they dare not do so. Stein, proscribed by Napoleon, forsaken by his
king, who sacrificed him at the emperor's behest, is living in exile,
deprived of his whole property, which Napoleon confiscated; he is
without employment, without influence, far from his country, far from
his friends. The Emperor of Austria did what the King of Prussia dare
not do: he gave an asylum to the proscribed patriot; Baron von Stein is
now with his family at Brünn."
"And the king?" asked Schill. "Does he not feel it as a wound to bow to
the tyrant's behest, and dismiss his noblest and ablest servant?"
"He does, perhaps," replied M. von Schladen, hesitatingly; "but he does
not say so. The afflictions of the past years have broken his courage,
and rendered him irresolute and timid. As soon as he received Napoleon's
orders, he dismissed Baron von Stein, without bestowing any token of
kindness or gratitude. Every true Prussian deeply felt this treatment;
one of the most faithful and upright servants of the king,
District-Councillor Scheffner, who has every day interviews with the
queen, dared even to write a letter to the king, informing him of the
indignation prevailing everywhere. He asked the king to gladden the
hearts of all good Prussians, and to give a courageous proof of his
royal gratitude toward the eminent minister, by conferring the order of
the Black Eagle upon Baron von Stein."
"And what did the king say to him?"
"He replied that he was very sorry that he was unable to comply with
this request. Although he entertained the highest respect for Baron von
Stein, and would be glad to confer this exalted distinction on him, it
would be highly improper at the present time to make so dangerous a
demonstration."
"Such is the gratitude of kings toward their faithful servants!"
exclaimed Schill, in a tone of bitter reproach; "such is the manner in
which they reward those who have sacrificed for them their property and
life! But we do not struggle for kings and princes; we are serving the
adored fatherland; we are fighting for liberty, and the death which we
find on the field of honor is an order of the Black Eagle which the
great fatherland confers on us! O Germany, one day I shall also receive
this honor at thy hands; free Germany will adorn my corpse with it!"
"Oh, what desponding words you are now uttering!" said M. von Schladen,
anxiously. "Who can be courageous and hopeful when Schill talks of
death?"
"I am not desponding," exclaimed Schill, smiling, "but I have a
foreboding that I am to seal my love for Germany with my heart's blood.
I am almost glad of it, for friendships so sealed are said to be
eternal, and Germany will, perhaps, revere my memory when I die for
her.--And Louisa! What says the queen? How does she bear these days of
humiliation?"
"Like a heroine! Like a queen whose kingdom is not of this world. Her
cheeks are pale, but a spirit of resignation pervades her countenance,
and when she turns her blue eyes upward, there is an expression in them
that plainly reveals her yearning for a home in heaven!"
"But her health is good?" inquired Schill, anxiously. "She is not ill?"