An indignant murmur arose among the attendants of the lady, but she
ordered them to be quiet with a wave of her hand. She then turned once
more to Katharine. "Well, my good woman, look at me," she said, drawing
back her veil.
A pale, wondrously beautiful face was visible, and eyes more lustrous
than the old woman had ever seen before, looked at her gently and
kindly.
"Do you know me now?" asked the lady, with a smile full of touching
melancholy.
"No," said Katharine, "I do not know you, but you are as beautiful as
the angels that sometimes appear to me in my dreams, or as the fairies
of whom my mother used to tell me when I was a little child. Come in,
you as well as the others. There is room at the hearth for all who are
cold."
The strange lady smiled and advanced into the cottage; before doing so,
however, she turned around. "M. von Schladen," she said, in French,
"pray, give orders to all not to betray my incognito. I am here the
Countess von Hohenzieritz; please inform the servants of it."
The gentleman, who had just appeared on the threshold, bowed and stepped
back. She and her companion approached the fire; the two servants, in
their gorgeous liveries, stood in silence at the open door. The lady
took off her fur gloves with a hasty motion, and held her small white
hands toward the fire. A ring with large diamonds was sparkling on her
forefinger. Old Katharine had never before seen any thing like it--she
stood staring at the lady, and dreaming again of the fairy-stories of
her childhood, while Martha sat on her cane chair as if petrified, and
afraid lest the slightest noise should dispel the enchanting apparition.
"Oh, how pleasant this is!" said the lady, drawing a deep breath; "my
hands were quite chilled. Countess Truchsess, come here and follow my
example!"
The young lady, who was standing near in a silent and respectful
attitude, approached the fire, and eagerly stretched her small hands
toward it.
"How comfortable, is it not?" asked the lady who had styled herself
Countess von Hohenzieritz. "Oh, after suffering from the cold a whole
day, we learn to appreciate the boon of the fire which otherwise we fear
as a dangerous element." And thoughtfully looking into the warm glow,
she muttered to herself, "We are now wandering about in the cold, and
are chilled; will no hospitable fire warm our hearts again?" She bent
forward without uttering a complaint, or heaving a sigh.
Katharine could not avert her eyes; she gazed at the lady's sparkling
jewels, and then looked at her face. Suddenly she noticed two diamond
drops roll slowly over her transparent cheeks; but they were no diamonds
like those flashing on her hands--they were tears. She shook them off
with an impetuous motion, and turned to old Katharine, who, clasping her
hands, asked herself wonderingly whether angels could weep.
"My good woman," said the countess, "will you permit us to stay here
until daybreak? We have lost our way in the snow-storm. We thought to
reach Konigsberg before nightfall, but, I suppose, the city is yet quite
distant?"
"Ten hours, at least," said Katharine, timidly. "You have lost your way,
indeed--probably at the cross-roads, two miles from here. Instead of
following the main one, you took the side-road. Well, such things may
happen to the most skilful driver, in a snow-storm, when he cannot see
his hand before him."
"I believe that such things may happen, and do not blame any one for
what has occurred," said the countess, gently. "Tell me now, have you
room and beds for all of us?"
"The two ladies may sleep in my bed, provided they occupy it together.
But I have no others," said Katharine.
"I need no bed," exclaimed the younger lady, quickly; "I shall content
myself with sitting at the fireside."
"And I," said M. von Schiaden, who had just entered, "I beg leave to be
allowed to pass the night in the travelling-coach."
"You will catch cold in the carriage, sir," said Katharine, "and there
is danger, moreover, that, falling asleep, you might never wake again.
But in the hay-loft it is warm and soft; you and the other gentleman may
sleep there, if you please."
The Countess Hohenzieritz smiled. "Well," she said, "a high-chamberlain
in a hay-loft! That is a melancholy adventure, I should think?"
"No, gracious countess, it sounds quite ludicrous," said the
high-chamberlain, "and if only your--if only the gracious countess had a
good bed, I should have no reason whatever for being melancholy. There
are thousands nowadays sleeping on the hard ground, without a bunch of
hay for a pillow!"
"Our dead of Jena and Auerstadt, for instance," said the countess,
sighing. "But they are well: the dead sleep gently! At times I feel
like envying them, for their rest is more peaceful than that of the
living. Let us not murmur, but rejoice at having found shelter for the
night! We shall remain, then, in this room, and the high-chamberlain
will sleep in the hay-loft. But where shall we place our servants, and
what is to become of our horses?"
"How many horses have you?" asked Katharine.
"Six horses and an outrider," said M. von Schiaden.
"What!" exclaimed Katharine, in dismay. "Six horses! How extravagant in
times so wretched as these, when the king himself would be glad to have
two horses to his carriage, and--"
"Silence!" interrupted the high-chamberlain in great excitement.
"You are right, my dear woman," said the countess, smiling. "The king
will certainly be glad to have two horses left, especially if they
always draw him in the right way. But it was no wanton arrogance on our
part to take so many horses; we did so only on account of the bad roads,
and in order to travel as rapidly as possible."
"Well, the horses can stand in the cow-stable and the wood-shed," said
Katharine. "Go, Martha, light the lanterns, and show the coachman to the
stable, and the gentleman to the hay-loft. I will make the bed for the
ladies." And, drawing back the blue-striped linen curtains covering the
large old family-bed, she muttered to herself: "It is very lucky that my
old man has not come home; otherwise I should really be at a loss where
to place my high-born guests."
Half an hour afterward tranquillity again reigned in the cottage. The
horses, the servants, and the high-chamberlain, had been conducted to
their quarters in the cow-stable, wood-shed, and hay-loft. Katharine and
Martha had withdrawn to the servant-girl's small chamber, and on the
lower floor, which served, at the same time, as a kitchen, hall, and
sitting-room, a couch had been prepared for the two ladies. But the
young Countess von Truchsess could not be prevailed upon to occupy
one-half. She placed the cane chair against the high bedstead, and,
sitting on it as on a tabouret at the foot of a throne, she supported
her head on the cushions of the bed, over which the crimson satin
blanket, lined with fur, that the ladies had wrapped around their feet
in the carriage, had been spread. The Countess von Hohenzieritz was
reposing on this, her noble form still wrapped in the fur robe, falling
down to her feet in ample folds; her head was leaning back on the
cushions, and the crimson of the blanket contrasted strikingly with her
white cheeks and light-brown hair. She had clasped her small, slender
hands on her lap; her large eyes looked upward in devotion, and her lips
uttered fervent words, which no one heard and understood but He to whom
they were addressed.
The fire on the hearth, to which large logs of wood had been added,
continued blazing merrily; at times, when the wind came down the chimney
violently, the flames rose high, and the beautiful figure in the
miserable room was illuminated by the red light as by a halo. Her
countenance was as pale and peaceful as that of the blessed dead, and
yet an ardent vitality was beaming in her unclosed eyes. On the wretched
bed in the peasant's cottage she was dreaming of her former
happiness--of the magnificent days which she had seen, and which, she
believed, would never return. But she did not bewail her departed glory,
and her menaced welfare caused her no regret.
"Preserve to me, merciful God! the love of my husband," she whispered;
"let my children grow great in name and in soul. Oh, if I could purchase
happiness for them by sacrificing my life, I would gladly let my heart's
blood ebb away drop by drop--if by my death I could restore to my
husband his former power, how cheerfully I would die! O my God, save and
protect Prussia: but if such should not be Thy will, teach us how to
fall and die with her in an honorable manner! Preserve us from disgrace
and despondency; teach us how to bear great disasters with dignified
resignation, and grant that we may never be so faint-hearted as to sink
beneath petty calamities!"
She paused, and looked upward with radiant eyes; just then the storm
outside was howling with awful violence, and made the cottage tremble.
"Such a storm without, and peace within! Let it always be so, my God,"
she whispered, gently pressing her hand against her breast. "O peace,
sweet peace, when will it descend to us from heaven!" Gradually the
words died away on her lips; her eyelids drooped. Heaven sent to her the
brother of peace--sleep--that it might comfort her weary eyes and
invigorate her after the troubles and exertions of the previous day. The
storm continued all night long, but the beautiful sleeper heard it only
as a lullaby hushing her to sweet repose.
At daybreak there was a stir in the cottage. Katharine came to rekindle
the extinct fire, and the two ladies rose, chilled and shuddering, to
prepare for their journey. The travelling-coach, drawn by the six
horses, rolled up to the door, and High-chamberlain von Schladen rapped
timidly and begged leave to enter. The countess bade him come in, and
replied with a sweet smile to his inquiries as to her night's rest. "I
have slept," she said, "and feel sufficiently invigorated now to
continue the journey."
"In four hours we shall be in Konigsberg," said M. von Schladen. "It is
a clear morning; the storm is over, and the sun will soon burst forth
from behind the clouds."
"'The sun will soon burst forth from behind the clouds,'" repeated the
countess, musingly. "Those are cheering words; could they but be
fulfilled for all of us! Let us hasten to reach Konigsberg; for there at
least will be one sunbeam for me--I shall see my children again, and my
husband also will join us on returning from the Russian camp."
M. von Schladen advanced a few steps, and said in a low and hurried
voice: "The king is already in Konigsberg. I have seen a peasant, the
owner of this cottage, who has come from Konigsberg. He walked all
night, and left the city just at the moment when the king with his suite
returned."
"And did the man bring other news?" asked the lady, hastily.
"A rumor was in circulation in Konigsberg that the French were advancing
from Posen, and, the Russian columns being also on the move, it was
generally believed that a battle would soon take place."
The lady walked rapidly to the door. "Let us set out as soon as
possible," she said; suddenly, however, she turned pale and leaned
against the wall to prevent herself from falling.
"Oh," she murmured faintly, "what weak, pitiful beings we are, after
all! The soul is strong enough to bear the heaviest burden, but the body
is so weak that a twelve hours' fast is sufficient to overpower it!"
Just then Katharine entered the room; on seeing the lady looking so
faint, she hastened to her, and asked sympathizingly for the cause of
her pallor and exhaustion.
"I will tell you, my dear woman," whispered the lady, with a sad smile,
"I am hungry!"
"Oh," sighed M. von Schladen, "and we have no refreshments with us!"
"But I have some for the beautiful lady," said Katharine, proudly. "I
was right in thinking that high-born people must eat sometimes, and are
not refreshed merely by their magnificent dresses and the splendor
surrounding them, but are obliged to put something into their mouths,
like us common people. Look, there is Martha with the breakfast!" And,
in truth, Martha was just entering the door, holding in her hand a
pitcher filled with fresh, smoking milk.
Katharine took an earthen cup from the shelf near the hearth, and filled
it to the brim. "Now drink," she said, handing the cup to the countess;
"it will strengthen you; it is splendid goat's milk, so fine and warm
that city folks never get any thing like it; no fire warmed this milk,
but God, who gave life and warmth to my dear goat. Drink, then, in His
name!"
"No refreshment has ever been presented to me in so cordial a manner,"
said the countess, nodding kindly to the old peasant-woman. "I shall
carefully remember your heart-felt words, and drink the milk in the name
of the good Lord, but only provided you, Countess Truchsess, and you,
too, M. von Schiaden, can likewise have a cup of this splendid milk."
"We shall have some," said the Countess von Truchsess; "please your--,
the gracious countess will please drink her milk." The countess placed
the cup on the window-sill without having touched it with her lips. "You
see I am waiting," she said--"make haste!" She herself then hastened to
the cupboard near the hearth, and took from it two small earthen jars,
which she handed to Katharine to fill with milk.
"And have you not something to eat with the milk, my dear woman?" asked
M. von Schladen, in a low voice.
"I have but a loaf of stale brown bread," said Katharine, "but I am
afraid it will be too hard for the fine teeth of the countess."
"Give it to me at all events," said the countess, "my teeth will be able
to manage it."
Old Katharine took a large loaf of bread from the cupboard, cut off a
thick slice, and presented it on the bright pewter plate, the principal
ornament of her house. The countess broke off a piece, and, leaning
against the window, commenced eating her frugal breakfast.
The Countess von Truchsess and the high-chamberlain had retired to the
hearth to partake of the strange and unwonted food. Katharine and Martha
stood at the door, staring admiringly at the lady who was leaning
against the window, and just lifting the stale brown bread to her
mouth. She did not notice that the two were looking at her; she was
gazing thoughtfully at the large bedstead in which she had passed the
night in tears and prayers. Her glance then turned to the piece of bread
which she held in her hand, and from which she had vainly tried to eat.
The bread and the bed reminded her of an hour long past, when she was a
happy queen--an hour when her mental eye descried the future, and the
words of a beautiful and melancholy song aroused in her anxious
forebodings, and seemed to her a prophecy of her own destiny. As she
thought of those golden days, her eyes filled with tears, which rolled
over her cheeks and trickled down on the bread in her hand. "Oh," she
murmured, "now I shall be able to eat it; I am softening it with my
tears!" And to conceal them she averted her head, and looked out at the
forest, whose lofty pines were adorned with snow-wreaths. Her tears
gradually ceased--she drew the large diamond ring from her finger, and,
using the pointed stone as a pen, wrote rapidly on the window-pane.
Old Katharine and Martha stared at her in dismay; the characters
appearing on the glass filled them with astonishment and superstitious
awe, and they thought the handsome lady who knew how to write with a
precious stone might after all be a fairy, who, persecuted by some evil
sorcerer, had fled thither into the dark forest, and was writing some
exorcising words on the window-pane, lest her enemy should pursue and
have power over her.
The lady replaced the ring on her finger, and turned to the young
countess and the high-chamberlain. "Now, I am ready," she said, "let us
set out." She walked to the door, and shaking hands with old Katharine,
thanked her for the hospitable reception she had met with in her
cottage, and then stepped out of the low door for the carriage, at which
the high-chamberlain was awaiting her.
"I beg leave, gracious countess, to take upon myself the functions of
our outrider. The road is broken and full of holes, and as I have a keen
eye, I shall see them in time, and call the attention of the coachman to
them."
The countess thanked him with a kind glance. "I accept your offer," she
said--"may a time come when I shall be able to thank my faithful friends
for the attachment and devotion they manifest toward me during
affliction, and which are engraven in diamond letters on my heart! But
let us thank the good woman who received us so hospitably last night. I
request you to give this to her in my name." She handed her purse filled
with gold-pieces to the high-chamberlain, and entered the carriage. M.
von Schladen stood still until the carriage rolled away. Before mounting
he hastened into the house.
Old Katharine and Martha stood in the room, and were looking in silent
astonishment at the neat characters on the pane, the meaning of which
they were unable to decipher. "Oh, sir," exclaimed Katharine, when the
high-chamberlain entered the room, "tell us the meaning of this--what
did the lady write here?"
M. von Schladen stepped to the window. When he had read the lines, his
eyes filled with tears, and profound emotion was depicted in his
features. "Enviable inmates of this humble cottage," he said, "from this
hour it has become a precious monument, and, when better times arrive,
the Germans will make a pilgrimage to this spot to gaze with devout eyes
at this historical relic of the days of adversity. Preserve the window
carefully, for I tell you it is worth more than gold and diamonds."
"Is it really, then, an exorcism which the beautiful fairy has written
there?" asked Katharine, anxiously.
"Yes, those are magic words," replied M. von Schladen, "and they read as
follows:
'Who never ate his bread with tears--
Who never in the sorrowing hours
Of night lay sunk in gloomy fears--
He knows ye not, O heavenly powers!'"[29]
[Footnote 29:
"Wer nie sein Brot mit Thranen ass,
Wer nie die kummervollen Nachte
Auf seinem Bette weinend sass,
Der kennt euch nicht. Ihr himmlischen Machte."
Gothe.
]
"Ah, she ate her bread with tears to-day. I saw it," murmured Katharine.
"But who is she, and what is her name? Tell us, so that we may pray for
her, sir."
"Her name is Louisa," said M. von Schladen, in a tremulous voice. "At
present she is a poor, afflicted woman, who is fleeing from town to town
from her enemy, and eating her bread with tears, and weeping at night.
But she is still the Queen of Prussia, and will remain so if there be
justice in heaven!"
"The Queen of Prussia!" cried Katharine, holding up her hands in dismay.
"She was here and wrote that?"
"Yes, she wrote that, and sends this to you as a reward for your
trouble," said M. von Schladen, emptying the contents of the purse on
the table. The purse itself he placed in his bosom. Without waiting for
the thanks of the surprised woman, he departed, vaulted into the saddle,
and followed the queen at a full gallop.
CHAPTER XX.
COUNT BUCKLER.
Perfidy and treachery everywhere! Magdeburg, Kustrin, the most important
fortresses of Prussia, had fallen. Not only the hand of the triumphant
conqueror had brought about their downfall, but the timidity and
cowardice prevailing among the Prussians themselves. Magdeburg, although
abundantly supplied with ammunition, and garrisoned by more than ten
thousand men, had surrendered. Kustrin, Hameln, and a large majority of
the other fortresses, had voluntarily capitulated, almost without a show
of resistance, on receiving the first summons to surrender; the first
cities of Prussia were now French; the French were lawgivers everywhere,
and the humiliated Prussians had to bow to the scornful arrogance of the
victors.
Still, there were at this time of sorrow and disgrace shining examples
of courage, of bold energy, and unwavering fidelity--there were
fortresses that had not voluntarily opened their gates to the enemy, and
that, regardless of hunger and privation, were struggling bravely for
honor and victory. As yet Colberg had not fallen; this fortress was
courageously defended by Scharnhorst, the skilful and experienced
colonel, by bold Ferdinand von Schill, and that noble citizen,
Nettelbeck, who by word and deed fired the hearts of the soldiers and
citizens to persist in their patient resistance and in the determined
defence of the place.
Graudenz had not surrendered to the besieging forces. The commander of
this fortress, M. de Courbieres, had not yielded either to the threats
or the flatteries of the enemy. "If it be true, as you assure me, that
there is no longer a King of Prussia, I am King of Graudenz, and shall
not surrender," he replied to the bearer of the French flag of truce,
who summoned him in the name of the Duke de Rovigo to capitulate.
Silesia also had remained faithful, notwithstanding the action of
Minister Count Hoym, who, in a public manifesto, had called upon the
Silesians to meet the foe in the most amicable manner in case of an
invasion, and to satisfy as much as possible all the demands of the
hostile troops. The Silesians, more courageous and resolute than their
minister, were unwilling to bend their neck voluntarily under the French
yoke; they preferred to struggle for their honor and independence. It is
true, the fortress of Glogau had fallen, but Breslau and Schweidnitz
were still holding out. Twice had Breslau repulsed Jerome Bonaparte with
his besieging troops--twice had the determination of the courageous in
the place triumphed over the anxiety of the timid and of the secret
friends of the French. At the head of these bold defenders of Breslau
was a man whose glorious example in the hour of danger had inspired
all--infused courage into the timid, and brought comfort to the
suffering. This man was Count Frederick von Puckler. He did not take
time to recover from the wounds he had received in Jena. Faithful to his
oath, he devoted his services to his country, that stood so much in need
of its sons. After a short repose on his estate at Gimmel, he repaired
to the headquarters of King Frederick William at Ortelsburg.
It is true, he could not bring him a regiment, or any material help;
still he was able to assist him with his ideas, and to show him the
means of obtaining efficacious help.
Count Frederick von Puckler believed the king might derive assistance
from the military resources of Silesia. He described to him, in ardent
and eloquent words, the extensive means of defence retained by this rich
province; he assured him its inhabitants were faithful and devoted, and
ready to shed their blood for their king. He told his majesty, freely
and honestly, that the old civil and military bureaucracy alone was to
blame--that Silesia had not long an organized effective system of
resistance--that this government had paralyzed the patriotic zeal of the
citizens, instead of stimulating it--nay, that, by means of its
insensate and ridiculous decrees, it had impeded in every way the
development of the military resources of the province. He had not come,
however, merely to find fault and to accuse, but, in spite of his
sickness and his wounds, performed the long journey to the king's
headquarters in order to indicate to his sovereign the remedies by which
the mischief might be counteracted, and the country preserved from utter
subjugation. He communicated a plan by which new forces might be raised,
and be enabled to take the field in a few days. All the old soldiers
were to be recalled into the service; the forest-keepers and their
assistants were to be armed, and from these elements the _landwehr_ was
to be organized, and intrusted with the special task of defending the
fortresses.
The king listened to the ardent and enthusiastic words of the count with
growing interest, and finally Puckler's joyful confidence and hopeful
courage filled him also with hope and consolation.
"You believe then that we could really obtain, by these new levies,
brave troops for the defence of the fortress?" asked he.
"I am convinced of it," replied Count Puckler. "Ardent love for their
fatherland and their king is glowing in the hearts of the Silesians, and
they will be ready when called upon to defend the fortresses. Hitherto,
however, nobody has thought of appealing to the able-bodied men. Count
Hoym has retired to the most remote part of Silesia, and is now
wandering about from city to city. The military governor of Silesia,
General Lindener, visited all the fortresses and told their commanders
that every thing was lost--that it only remained for them to protect
themselves against a _coup de main_, so as to obtain good terms on their
surrender."
The king started up, and an angry blush mantled his face for a moment.
"If he said that, he is an infamous scoundrel, who ought to lose his
head!" he exclaimed, vehemently.
Count Puckler smiled mournfully. "Alas!" he said, "your majesty would
have to sign many death-warrants if you punish in these days of terror
all who are wavering because their faith and hopes are gone. Possibly,
only an admonishing, soul-stirring word may be required to invigorate
the timid, and to encourage the doubtful. Sire, utter such a word! Send
me back with it to Silesia! Order the governor to accept the
propositions which I had the honor to lay before your majesty, and which
I have taken the liberty to write down in this paper, and instruct him,
in accordance with them, to garrison the fortresses with fresh
defenders. Oh, your majesty, all Silesia is yearning for her king; she
is longingly stretching out her hands toward you; permit her to fight
for you!"
"You imagine, then, that Schweidnitz, and, above all, Breslau, in that
case, would be able to hold out?" asked the king.
"I do not imagine it, I am convinced of it!" exclaimed the count. "I
pledge my life that it is so; I say that Breslau, permitted to defend
itself, would be impregnable; I am so well satisfied of it that I swear
to your majesty that I will die as a traitor if I should be mistaken.
Sire, send me to Breslau--permit me to participate in the organization
of the new levies, and to arouse the zeal and energy of the authorities,
and I swear to your majesty the Silesian fortresses shall be saved!"
"Well, then, I take you at your word," said the king, nodding kindly to
the count. "I will send you to Breslau. Wait; I will immediately draw up
the necessary orders." The king went to his desk and hastily wrote a few
lines, Count Puckler stood near him, and smilingly said to himself, "I
will defend Breslau as Schill is defending Colberg! Both of us,
therefore, will fulfil the oath we have taken!"
"Read!" said the king, handing him the paper--"read it aloud!" Count
Puckler read:
"The enclosed proposition of Count Puckler to reenforce the garrisons of
the Silesian fortresses deserves the most serious and speedy
consideration. Hence, I order you to carry it out without delay, and to
save no expense in doing so. The fortresses must be defended at any
price, and to the last man, and I shall cause such commanders to be
beheaded as fail to do their duty.
"FREDERICK WILLIAM."
"Are you satisfied?" asked the king, when the count had finished.
"I thank your majesty in the name of Silesia," said the count, solemnly.
"Breslau will not fall into the hands of the enemy. I pledge you my head
that it will not. I now request your majesty to let me withdraw."
"When do you intend to set out?"
"This very hour."
"But you told me you had arrived only an hour ago. You ought to take
rest till to-morrow."
"Your majesty, every day of delay exposes your Silesia to greater
dangers. Permit me, therefore, to set out at once."
"Well, do so, and may God be with you!"
The king gazed after the count with a long, musing glance. "Oh," he
sighed, mournfully, "if _he_ had been commander of Magdeburg, it would
be mine still!"
Count Puckler hastened back to Silesia with the king's written order. He
visited all the fortresses and saw all the commanders. The king, to give
more weight to the count's mission, had instructed the provisional
authorities and the chief executive officers of the districts, in a
special rescript, to gather the old soldiers at the headquarters of the
recruiting stations; he had ordered all the commanders to confer
personally with Count Puckler as to the best steps to be taken for the
defence of the fortresses, by the addition of the new soldiers and
riflemen to the regular garrisons.
Count Puckler, therefore, had accomplished his purpose; he was able to
assist his country and to avenge himself for the disastrous day of Jena.
A proud courage animated his heart; his eye was radiant with joy and
confidence; his face was beaming with heroic energy. All who saw him
were filled with his own courage; all who heard him were carried away by
his enthusiasm, and gladly swore to die rather than prove recreant to
the sacred cause of the country. Every one in Breslau knew Count
Puckler, and confided in him. Always active, joyous, and indefatigable,
he was to be found wherever there was danger; he encouraged the soldiers
by standing at their side on the outworks, by toiling with them, and
exposing himself to the balls which the enemy was hurling into the city.
He maintained the enthusiasm of the citizens by patriotic speeches, so
that they did not despair, but bore their sufferings patiently, and
provided compassionately for the men standing on the ramparts in the
storm and cold, in the face of an uninterrupted artillery-fire. A
generous rivalry sprang up among the citizens and soldiers: the former
contributed all they had to provide the troops with food and comforts of
every description; and the latter vowed in their gratitude to fight as
long as there was a drop of blood in their veins, and not suffer the
inhabitants, in return for the privations they had undergone, and for
the sacrifices they had made, to be surrendered to the tender mercies of
the enemy. But this enthusiasm at last cooled. Every one would have
borne days of privation and suffering courageously and joyously enough,
but long weeks of anxiety and distress deadened the devotion of the
besieged.
"Every thing is going on satisfactorily," said Count Puckler, on coming
to the governor of the fortress, General Thile, on the morning of the
30th of December. "We shall hold out till the Prince von Pless, who has
lately been appointed by the king governor-general of Silesia, arrives
with his troops to succor us and to raise the siege of Breslau."
The governor shrugged his shoulders. "There will be no succor for us,
and every thing will turn out wrong," he said.
"But the soldiers are faithful, and the citizens do not waver as yet."
The governor looked almost compassionately at the count. "You see none
but the faithful, and hear none but the undaunted," he said. "I will
show you the reverse of your bright medal!" He took a paper from his
desk and beckoned the count to approach. "Just look at this; it is the
morning report. Do you want to know how many soldiers deserted last
night? Over a hundred, and in order to put a stop to further desertions,
the countersign had to be changed three times."
"The deserters are the perfidious, treacherous Poles!" exclaimed
Puckler, angrily.
"Yes, the Poles were the first to desert, and, unfortunately, more than
half the garrison consists of Poles. They are the old soldiers who were
organized in accordance with your proposition, my dear count. They are
yearning for home, and long to obtain, in place of the scanty rations
they receive here, the fleshpots which the Emperor Napoleon has promised
to happy Poland."
"But they need not starve here; they are provided with sufficient food,"
exclaimed Puckler. "Only yesterday I saw a subscription-paper
circulating among the citizens for the purpose of raising money to
furnish the men on duty on the ramparts with meat, whiskey, and hot
beer."
"How many had signed it?"
"More than a hundred, general."
"Well, I will show you another subscription-paper," said the governor,
taking it from his desk. "A deputation of the citizens were here last
night and presented this to me. It contains a request to give them,
amidst so many sufferings, the hope of speedy succor, lest they be
driven to despair. Over two hundred signed this paper. I could not hold
out any hopes, and had to dismiss them without any consolation
whatever."
"But succor will come," exclaimed Puckler.
"It will not come," said the governor, shrugging his shoulders.
At that moment the door opened, and an orderly entered. "Lieutenant
Schorlemmer, in command of the forces at the Schweidnitz Gate, sent me
here," he said. "He instructed me to inform the governor that the firing
of field and siege artillery was to be heard, and the village of Durgoy
was burning!"
"The enemy is manoeuvring, and, no doubt, set the village
unintentionally on fire. Tell Lieutenant Schorlemmer that is my reply."
No sooner had the orderly withdrawn than the officer in command of the
engineers entered the room. "Your excellency," he exclaimed, hastily, "I
have just come from the Ohlau Gate. The enemy is hurrying with his
field-pieces and many troops from the trenches toward the Schweidnitz
road, and the firing that began an hour ago is gradually approaching the
fortress."
"The succoring troops are drawing near," exclaimed Count Puckler,
joyfully. "The Prince von Pless at the head of his regiments has
attacked the enemy!"
The governor cast an angry glance on the rash speaker. "It is true you
know all these things a great deal better than old, experienced
soldiers" he said; "you will permit me, however, to be guided by my own
opinion. Now, I think that the enemy is only manoeuvring for the purpose
of decoying the garrison from the city. We shall not be so foolish,
however, as to be caught in such a manner. But I will go and satisfy
myself about this matter. Come, Mr. Chief-Engineer, and accompany me to
the Ohlau Gate. And you, Count Puckler, go to General Lindener to
ascertain his opinion. He has good eyes and ears, and if he view the
matter in the same light as I do, I shall be convinced that we are
right."
Count Puckler hastened away, and while the governor, with the
chief-engineer, was walking very leisurely to the Ohlau Gate, Puckler
rushed into the house of General Lindener, determined to make the utmost
efforts to induce the governor to order a sally of the garrison. But
General Lindener had already left his palace and gone to the Taschen
bastion for the purpose of making his observations. Count Puckler
followed him; he could make but slow headway, for the streets were
densely crowded; every one was inquiring why the enemy had suddenly
ceased shelling the city.
Count Puckler rushed forward toward the Taschen bastion, and the
constantly increasing multitude followed him. General Lindener stood
amidst the superior officers on the rampart of the Taschenberg. He was
scanning the horizon with scrutinizing glances. The officers now looked
at him in great suspense, and now at the open field extending in front
of them. Count Puckler approached, while the people, who had almost
forcibly obtained admission, advanced to the brink and surveyed the
enemy's position. The crowd, however, did not consist of vagabond
idlers, but of respectable citizens--merchants and mechanics--who wished
for the consolation the governor had refused them--the hope of succor!
Gradually their care-worn faces lighted up. They saw distinctly that the
enemy had left the trenches. Here and there they descried straggling
French soldiers running in the direction of the fight in front of the
fortress. They heard the booming of artillery and the rattling of
musketry, and they beheld the shells exchanged between the opposing
troops, exploding in the air. Keen eyes discovered Prussian cavalry in
the neighborhood of the Jewish burial-ground, near the Schweidnitz
suburb, and at this sight tremendous cheers burst from the citizens.
"Succor has come!" they shouted. "The Prince von Pless is coming to
deliver us!"
All now looked to the general, expecting he would utter the decisive
word, and order the garrison to make a sortie. But this order was not
given.
General Lindener turned with the utmost composure to his officers. "I
have no doubt," he said, "that the enemy Is merely manoeuvring for the
purpose of drawing us out of the fortress. It is an ambush in which we
should not allow ourselves to be caught."
"Your excellency," exclaimed Puckler, in dismay, "it is impossible that
you can be in earnest. That is no manoeuvre; it is a combat. The
long-hoped-for succor has come at last, and we must profit by it!"
"Ah," said the general, shrugging his shoulders, "you think because his
majesty permitted you to participate in organizing the defence of the
city, and to confer with the commander in regard to it, you ought to
advise everywhere and to decide every thing!"
"No; I only think that the time for action has come," exclaimed Puckler.
"Opinions and suppositions are out of the question here, for we can
distinctly see what is going on in the front of Breslau. I beg the other
officers to state whether they do not share my opinion--whether it is
not a regular cannonade that we hear, and a real fight between hostile
troops that we behold?"
"Yes," said one of the officers, loudly and emphatically--"yes, I am of
the same opinion as Count Puckler; there is a combat going on; the
Prince von Pless is approaching in order to raise the siege."
"That is my opinion too!" exclaimed each of the officers, in succession;
"the succoring troops have come; the enemy has left the trenches in
order to attack them."
"And as such is the case," exclaimed Count Puckler, joyfully, "we must
make a sortie; prudence not only justifies, but commands it."
"Yes, we must do so!" exclaimed the officers. The citizens standing at
some distance from them heard their words, and shouted joyously: "A
sortie, a sortie! Succor has come! Breslau is saved!"
General Lindener glanced angrily at the officers. "Who dares advise the
commanding general without being asked?" he said, sharply. "None of you
must meddle with these matters; they concern myself alone, and I am
possessed of sufficient judgment not to need any one's advice, but to
make my own decisions!" With a last angry glance at Count Puckler, he
left the bastion to return to his palace. Governor Thile was awaiting
him there, and the two ascended to the roof of the building to survey
the environs. The fog, which had covered the whole landscape until now,
had risen a little, and even the dim eyes of the general and of the
governor could not deny the truth any more. A combat was really going
on. The smoke rising from the ground, and the flashes of powder from
field-pieces, were distinctly to be seen. It was a fact: succor was at
hand: a Prussian corps was approaching the city. The two generals left
the roof, arm-in-arm, in silence, absorbed in their reflections, and
descended to the ground-floor, where a luncheon had been served up for
them. An hour later, they assembled the garrison, in order to make an
attack, "in case the enemy should be defeated!"
But it seemed as if the enemy had not been defeated. The firing in front
gradually died away; the sally did not take place, and in the evening
the French recommenced throwing red-hot shot into the city.
"We have been betrayed," murmured the citizens, as they despondingly
returned to their homes.
"The general did not want to make a sortie--he had no intention to save
Breslau," groaned Count Puckler, when he was alone in his room. "All is
lost, all is in vain! The wish of the timid sacrifices our honor and our
lives! Oh, my unhappy country, my beloved Prussia, thou wilt
irretrievably perish, for thy own sons are betraying thee! Thy
independence and ancient glory are gone; conquered and chained, thou
wilt prostrate thyself at the feet of the victor, and with scorn he will
place his foot upon thy neck, and trample thy crown in the dust! I shall
not live to see that disgrace! I will fulfil my oath, and, not being
able to save my country, I must die with it! But not yet! I will wait
patiently, for there is a faint glimmer of hope left. The Prince von
Pless may make another attempt to raise the siege, and the citizens and
soldiers may compel General Lindener to order an attack, and not to
surrender. That is my last hope."
CHAPTER XXI.
THE PATRIOT'S DEATH.
Great excitement reigned in the streets of Breslau on the following day.
The people were standing in dense groups, and each of them was addressed
by speakers, who recapitulated the sufferings that had already been
undergone, and the agony in store for them if the city should persist in
its resistance.
"Who will dare to resist the Emperor Napoleon and his army?" exclaimed
one. "We were audacious enough to do so, and what has become of us! Our
houses have been demolished--our money is gone--our sons, brothers, and
fathers, have been crippled or killed! When Napoleon once stretches out
his hand toward a country, and says, 'I will have it!' it is useless to resist him, for he always accomplishes what he intends. God or the devil has given him the power to do so!" |
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