"And I hope your majesty will also be able to punish those who prove
treacherous," exclaimed the countess, vehemently.
The queen shook her head. "No," she said, "those who wrong me I will
pardon, and those who are faithless I will leave to their own
conscience. Now, countess, read to me the articles of the _Telegraph_."
"Does your majesty command me?"
"I do!"
The countess took one of the sheets and read in a tremulous voice: "'A
reliable account of the reasons why the queen compelled her husband, in
spite of his reluctance, to conclude an alliance with the Emperor of
Russia, and why she herself entered into a love-affair with Alexander of
Russia--'"
Louisa started, and a deathly pallor covered her face like a veil.
"Oh, my queen!" exclaimed the countess, imploringly, "do not insist on my
reading any further. I have not courage to do so."
"If I have courage enough to listen, you must have courage enough to
read," said the queen, almost harshly, "Read--I command you."
And the countess, in a low and tremulous voice, read the disgraceful
charge preferred by that journal, which accused the queen of loving the
Emperor Alexander in the most passionate manner. "Queen Louisa," said
the editor, "was in favor of the alliance with Russia, because her
heart had concluded an alliance with the handsome emperor, and she met
with her 'fine-looking' friend for the last time in the presence of her
husband at the grave of Frederick the Great. The alliance of their
hearts was sealed there by a glowing kiss, which Alexander imprinted on
the lips of Louisa."
The queen uttered a cry, and sprang up like an angry lioness. "That is
not true--that cannot be in the paper!" she cried, almost beside
herself.
The lady of honor silently handed her the paper. Louisa seized it, but
she trembled so violently that she was hardly able to decipher the
characters. She at last read the slanderous article herself.
Heart-rending groans escaped her, and a strange twitching and quivering
distorted her features. "It is indeed true, I have been wickedly
reviled!" she exclaimed, throwing the paper aside. "My enemies will rob
me of the only thing remaining--my honor--my good name. They desire to
expose me to the scorn of the world. Oh, this disgrace is more shocking
than all my other sufferings. It will kill me!" She covered her face
with her hands and wept piteously. The tears trickled between her
fingers, and fell on her black dress as if adorning it with diamonds.
The Countess von Truchsess was touched by the queen's grief. She softly
gathered up the other papers, and was about to leave the room, but the
noise of her footsteps aroused Louisa from the stupor of her despair.
She quickly dropped her hands from her face and dried her tears. "Stay
here," she said; "read the remainder. I want to hear it all." And as the
lady of honor remonstrated against this order--as she implored the queen
to spare herself, and to close her ears against such slanders, Louisa
said, gravely and imperiously: "I want to know it all! Unknown terrors
are even worse than those which we do know. Read!"
The countess, therefore, was obliged to read. The remaining numbers of
the journal repeated the same charge. They stated, though in different
words, that the queen alone was in favor of the alliance with Russia;
that the king would be quite willing to make peace with France, but that
his wife would never permit it, because she was passionately enamoured
of the emperor of Russia, and maintained a tender _liaison_ with him.
The queen listened as immovable and cold as a statue; her whole vitality
seemed suspended; she then pressed her right hand firmly against her
heart; with her left she clung convulsively to the back of the sofa, on
which she was sitting, as though she wished to prevent herself from
falling. Her eyes stared wildly, as if strange and fearful visions
passed before them. Thus she sat, long after the countess had paused,
an image of grief and horror. The lady of honor dared not interrupt her;
but clasping her hands, and weeping softly, she gazed at the queen, who,
in her grief-stricken beauty, seemed to her a martyr. Nothing was heard
but the monotonous ticking of the clock, and, at times, a low whistling
of the canary-bird, in its gilt cage at the window.
But suddenly Louisa seemed to awake from her stupor; a tremor pervaded
her whole frame; the flash of: life and consciousness returned to her
eyes. "That is his work," she muttered; "this attack comes from
him--from my mortal enemy. It is Napoleon who has aimed this poisoned
arrow at my heart, because he knew that nothing could hurt me and my
husband more fatally than this dreadful calumny." And uttering a loud
cry of despair, and wringing her hands, she exclaimed: "Oh, my God, what
did I do, to deserve so terrible a disgrace! What did my husband do that
he should be thus exposed to the relentless malice of his foe? Was not
the measure of our wretchedness full? Could not that cruel man, who
calls himself Emperor of the French, content himself with hurling us
into the dust, and with robbing my husband of his states? Is the honor
of his wife also to be sacrificed?"
A flood of tears burst from her eyes, and lifting up her arms to heaven,
she cried: "My God, why didst Thou desert me! Have mercy on me, and send
death to me, that I may conceal my reviled head in the grave! I am
accused of an ignominious, sinful love, although I love no one on earth
but my husband and my children! And a German pen was bought to write
that slander--German eyes did not shrink from reading it, and German men
and women permitted it to be repeated in this journal time and again!
They did not feel that they were disgraced and reviled in my
person--that all Germany was calumniated! For, in my grief as well as in
my love, I am the representative of Germany, and to insult me is to
insult all German wives and mothers. Woe to you, Napoleon, for stooping
to such an outrage! I pardon your attempts to rob me of my crown, but so
long as I breathe, I will not forgive your attacks upon my honor!"
She rose slowly and proudly, and lifted her arms and eyes as if to utter
a solemn imprecation. "Woe to you, Napoleon!" she cried, in a loud,
ringing voice, "woe to you that you did not respect the innocence of the
wife, and had no mercy on the honor of a mother! The tears which I am
shedding at this hour will one day fall like burning coals on your
heart, and for this torment I am now enduring I shall call you to
account above! You think you are master of the earth, and, like fate
itself, can dispose of empires; but you will be crushed at last--you
will one day feel that you are only a weak creature--only dust, like all
of us. You will yet sink down in your affliction, and cry for mercy. Let
me live to see that day, my God: then my tears will be avenged!"
She paused, her eyes still directed toward heaven, her whole appearance
breathing a sublime enthusiasm. She looked like a prophetess with her
beaming face and uplifted arms. But after a while her arms dropped, her
eyes turned to earth again, and the inspired prophetess was once more
transformed into the unhappy woman, who feared she would die beneath the
burden of her grief. She burst again into tears, and repeated again and
again that terrible accusation, although every word of it struck her
heart like a dagger. Gradually, however, the reviled woman, conscious of
her innocence, became the proud and pure queen! With quiet dignity she
stretched out her hand toward the countess, who rushed to her, pressed
her lips on the royal hand, and sobbing asked to be forgiven.
"I have nothing to forgive," said Louisa, with a faint smile. "I know
your intentions were good. Oh, believe me, during hours of great
affliction the soul sees and comprehends many things that were hitherto
concealed from it. Thus I understood in the outburst of my despair why
all this had occurred, and why I had to undergo all these sufferings.
Napoleon's poisoned arrow might have fallen powerless at my feet, if
your uncle had not instructed you to pick it up and make me feel it.
Hush! Do not utter a word of apology! Your uncle, General von Zastrow,
is a patriot in his way, and intended to teach me by your intervention
how to become a good patriot in his sense--that is to say, to hate
Russia, and to turn away from this alliance, for the sake of which I
have been insulted. It was policy that induced the Emperor Napoleon to
invent these calumnies, and it was policy again that induced your uncle
to have you communicate them to me. This is a consolation; for, as it
is, I am suffering only for the sake of my people, and you made me a
martyr of the German cause. But I will bear all without complaining,
however painful it may be; I do not wish it to cease if the welfare and
happiness of Prussia should be delayed thereby but a single hour. I
shall not ask the king to break off the alliance with Russia. Queen
Louisa yesterday believed an alliance with Russia to be necessary and
advantageous to the welfare and honor of Prussia; she will not change
her mind to-day because Louisa, the woman, is charged with a
dishonorable love for the Emperor of Russia. The woman may die of this
calumny, but dying she will still be a queen, and say, 'I die for my
country, and for my people! May my death be advantageous to Prussia!' Go
to your uncle, countess, and tell him so! And now give me the numbers
of the journal, and the pamphlet too; I will take them to the king. My
fate, as well as that of Prussia, is in his hands. He alone can absolve
me from the charge preferred against me. Give me the papers!"
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE JUSTIFICATION.
The king sat at his desk, assiduously engaged in writing, when the door
opened, and the queen entered. Her whole bearing breathed an unwonted,
solemn earnestness; her head was proudly erect, her cheeks pale, and a
melancholy smile was playing on her lips. In her left hand she held a
roll of papers. The king rose hastily to meet his wife with a kindly
greeting. Louisa gave him her right hand, and laid her head for a moment
on his shoulder. Looking into her husband's face with a sweet, touching
expression, "Do you love me, Frederick?" she asked in so low and gentle
a voice that he scarcely heard it. Frederick William smiled, and,
instead of replying to her, imprinted a kiss on her fair brow.
"Do you believe in me?" said Louisa. "Oh, my lord and king, I implore
you by every thing that is sacred--by the memory of our children--tell
me, sincerely and frankly, as if standing before God, do you believe in
me? Do you believe in my love--in my virtue?"
"Louisa," exclaimed the king, indignantly and almost aghast, "this
question is too grave to be a jest, and too ludicrous to be grave."
"And yet I am in earnest," exclaimed the queen, in an outburst of
excitement, which she was no longer able to restrain. "Look at these
papers, Frederick. They contain a terrible charge against your wife--the
mother of your children--the queen of our people. They accuse the wife
of a disgraceful _liaison_, and the queen of the most infamous
selfishness. Frederick, they charge me with loving the Emperor
Alexander, and with having induced you, for the purpose of gratifying
this passion, to enter into the alliance with Russia. Now, you know the
disgrace weighing me down, of which all Germany is aware by this time,
and in which the malicious and evil-disposed will surely believe, even
though the virtuous and compassionate may refuse to credit it. Read
these papers, my husband; read them in my presence, and if your
features express but a shadow of doubt--if you fix your eyes but for a
moment on me with an uncertain expression--let me die, and hide my head
in the grave!"
She offered the papers to the king, but Frederick William only glanced
at them, and then laying them on the table, took from one of its drawers
other papers. "See, Louisa," he said in his blunt, dry manner, "these
are the same numbers of the _Telegraph_; I have already had them for a
week, and read every word of them."
The queen unfolded them. "It is true," she said, shuddering; "they are
the same papers; I read there again the terrible words, 'Queen Louisa
insists on continuing the alliance with Russia, only because her heart
has formed an alliance with the fine-looking Emperor Alexander, and
because she is passionately enamoured of him.' Oh, my husband, these
words have engraved themselves as a stigma on my forehead, and should
your eyes behold it also, let me expunge it by sacrificing my life. Tell
me the truth, Frederick! Have I deserved it--have I ever sinned by a
word--nay, by a look? I have often thought and said, that there is a
vestige of truth at the bottom of every rumor--that it may be greatly
exaggerated, but cannot be entirely false. Is there any foundation
whatever for this slander? Consider well, my husband, and if you should
find that I have sinned by a gesture, by a smile, banish me from your
presence. Tell me that I am unworthy of being called your wife; tear the
bonds of friendship that unite you with the Emperor Alexander, and
oppose him as an enemy, menacing and demanding satisfaction. There must
be no stain on your honor, and if you believe the statements of these
papers, show to the world that you will punish the faithless wife and
spurn the treacherous friend!"
The king put his hands on the glowing cheeks of his wife, and, raising
her head, gazed at her with a long and tender look. "Your friends had no
mercy on you, then?" he asked. "They had to inform you pitilessly of
what I wished so anxiously to conceal from you? I would willingly have
cut off my right hand if I could have expunged with the blood trickling
from the wound those lies from the public mind. But the world has now as
little mercy on us as fate. Affliction has hitherto surrounded your
beauty with the glory of a martyr; but mean men have been instigated to
make you a penitent sinner--a Magdalen of the martyr."
"My beloved Frederick," cried the queen, "you evade my question; you do
not reply to me! Tell me the truth. Do you believe in me? Or do you deem
me guilty?"
At this moment a low rap at the door interrupted them. The king
listened, and then turned smilingly to his wife. "It is Minister von
Zastrow, who comes with General Bertrand," he said. "I have granted an
audience to the Frenchman at this hour, to receive the letter and the
peace offers of Napoleon. He is proposing to me an alliance with France,
and he, as well as his adherents here, I suppose, count on my having
read those papers, knowing in what sense malicious men are interpreting
our alliance with Russia. The reply that I shall make to Napoleon's
envoy will be also a reply to your question; hence you shall hear it,
Louisa. Enter my cabinet; the _portiere_ will conceal you from the eyes
of my visitors while you will hear every thing that is said." He took
the queen's arm and conducted her quickly into the adjoining room;
hastily rolled an easy-chair toward the door, and requested her by a
wave of his hand to sit down on it. He then lowered the thick velvet
_portiere_, and, taking leave of his wife with a smile, returned to his
room.
Louisa gazed after him. "Oh," she whispered, "how could I deceive and
betray him?--him whom I love as the cause of all my happiness, and who
has rendered my life sacred and glorious! Oh, my husband and my
children! my conscience is clear, and accuses me of no guilt! Will you
believe it, Frederick? Will those infamous slanders not leave a vestige
of mistrust in your mind? But hush, hush! the envoy is there already! I
will listen to what the king replies to him." She bent her head closer,
and her large blue eyes with their searching glances seemed to pierce
the heavy velvet, so that she might not only hear but see what was going
on in the room.
In obedience to a sign made by the king, the door of the anteroom had
opened, and General Bertrand, accompanied by General von Zastrow,
entered. The king, standing in the middle of the room, returned the
deep, respectful obeisances of the two gentlemen by a careless nod, and
fixed his quiet eyes searchingly on the French general.
"Sire," said General von Zastrow, in a loud and solemn voice, "General
Bertrand, adjutant of his majesty the Emperor Napoleon, in accordance
with the gracious leave of your majesty, has appeared here in order to
deliver to you an autograph letter from his imperial master."
"I am glad to see General Bertrand, and to make his acquaintance," said
Frederick William, composedly; "I like the brave; and not merely the
French army, but all men, know you to be a brave officer."
General Bertrand blushed. "Ah, sire," he said, "if I have not deserved
this praise hitherto, your royal and kindly words will stimulate me in
the future to strive with unflagging zeal to become worthy of it. I deem
myself happy because my august master the emperor selected me to be the
bearer of his letter and of his proposition, for he thereby enables me
to do homage to the noblest and best of kings--to the exalted sovereign
who bears prosperity and adversity with equal dignity. Your majesty will
permit me to deliver the letter of my emperor into your hands." He
approached the king, and, presenting to him the large letter to which
the imperial seal had been affixed, reverentially bent his knee.
"Oh, no," said Frederick William, quickly, "a brave soldier must not
humble himself in this manner; rise, general!"
General Bertrand rose, holding the imperial letter still in his hands,
for the king had not yet taken it. Looking at him inquiringly, "Sire,"
he said, "may I request your majesty to receive the letter of my
emperor?"
"Ah, I forgot," exclaimed the king. "You are the bearer of a letter the
Emperor Napoleon has addressed to me. Let me confess my want of skill: I
am unable to read your emperor's handwriting very rapidly, and it is
disagreeable slowly to decipher such a letter. Moreover, what the
emperor has to say to me will, doubtless, sound better when uttered by
your lips, than in the black words on the paper. I, therefore, request
you to read it to me."
"Sire," exclaimed General Bertrand, "I shall not dare to break the seal
of a letter addressed to your majesty, and not to me."
"Oh, you may do so," said the king, "I permit you to break the seal.
What the Emperor Napoleon and I have to write to each other need not be
sealed. Everybody may know it. And, I suppose his letters will be only a
sort of continuation of the bulletins he issued in Potsdam and Berlin.
Such bulletins and letters belong to the world and history, which will
judge them."
"Oh," whispered the queen, who had heard every word, "oh, why cannot I
see him in his proud calmness and dignity, and thank him for his noble
words!" She seized the _portiere_ with her slender fingers and pushed it
aside a little, so as to be able to see what was going on in the other
room. The king, perhaps, had noticed the slight rustling, for he;
glanced quickly at the curtain; it opened immediately, the noble and
beautiful face of the queen appeared; she nodded with radiant eyes a
smiling greeting to her husband, and kissed her hand to him; her head
then disappeared from the aperture, and the folds of dark velvet closed
again. General Bertrand and General von Zastrow had seen nothing. Both
stood with their backs toward the door, and respect prevented them from
looking around toward the slight noise that reached their ears for a
moment.
A smile illuminated the king's face. "Well," he asked, almost jestingly,
turning to General Bertrand, "you have not broken the seal yet? Do so,
for you ought to understand that I am anxious to hear the contents of
this letter."
"Sire, inasmuch as you command me, I obey," said Bertrand. With a quick
pressure of his hand he broke the seal and opened the letter.
"Now let me hear it," said the king, gliding slowly and carelessly into
the easy-chair standing at the side of the desk. "There are two chairs;
take seats, gentlemen!"
"Your majesty will permit me to stand. My master the emperor is not
accustomed to have his letters read in another position."
"Yes, he may require his subjects to pay to him the deference of
standing when one of his letters is being read," said the king. "You may
stand, therefore, if you please. General von Zastrow, sit down." The
king said this in so stern and imperious a tone that General von Zastrow
felt resistance impossible, and that he would have to obey the king's
order. He took a chair in silence, inwardly aghast at this disrespectful
breach of etiquette.
"Read," said the king, dryly. General Bertrand unfolded the letter and
read as follows:
"Your majesty will receive this letter at the hands of my
Adjutant-General Bertrand, who enjoys my friendship. I, therefore,
request you to repose entire confidence in every thing that he says, and
I flatter myself that his mission will be agreeable to you.
"Bertrand will communicate to your majesty my views about the present
state of your affairs. I desire to set bounds to the misfortunes of your
family, and to organize, as soon as possible, the Prussian monarchy,
whose mediating power is necessary for the tranquillity of Europe.
"Bertrand will also communicate to you the easiest and quickest way in
which this can be brought about, and I hope your majesty will let me
know that you have taken the step which will accomplish this purpose in
the best manner, and which, at the same time, will agree with the
welfare of your subjects; that is to say, that you accept the peace
which I am offering to you. At all events, I beg your majesty to feel
convinced that I am sincerely disposed to resume our former relations,
and that I also wish to come to an understanding with Russia and
England, provided these powers should be animated with the same desire.
I should detest myself if I were to be the cause of so much bloodshed.
But how can I help it? The conclusion of peace is therefore in the hands
of your majesty, and it would be the happiest day of my life if you
accept my present propositions.
"NAPOLEON."
"You have to make oral explanations to this letter of your emperor?"
asked the king, when Bertrand paused.
"Yes, sire, my master the emperor intrusted me with further
communications to you," said Bertrand. "But, in the first place, I beg
leave of your majesty to deliver the imperial letter into your hands."
He approached the king and presented the paper to him with a respectful
bow.
The king did not take it, but pointed to his desk. "Lay it there," he
said, carelessly. "The purpose of this letter is accomplished; I know
its contents, and that is all I care about. And now, general,
communicate to me as briefly as possible the verbal commissions with
which the emperor has intrusted you."
"Sire, his majesty the emperor authorized me to repeat to you that it
was his liveliest wish to resume his former amicable relations with
Prussia, and that he would shrink from no sacrifice to effect it. The
emperor longs for nothing more ardently than to restore your states to
your majesty, and to conduct you back to your capital."
"As his vassal?" asked the king, smiling sarcastically.
"No, sire, as a free and independent king."
"Not as Napoleon's ally, then?"
"Yes, sire, as the emperor's ally, but as free and independent as he is
himself. It is true, the emperor hopes and wishes that Prussia will be
friendly toward France; he relies on your majesty's assistance in his
struggle with Russia, which, in that case, will soon bow to the united
will of France and Prussia, and be compelled to accept a treaty of
peace. In return, the emperor will surrender to the just wishes of your
majesty seditious Poland, which, as the emperor has become satisfied,
is unable to bear an independent existence. The rebellious provinces of
Prussian Poland shall speedily be compelled to yield unconditional
obedience to the Prussian sceptre, and your country shall occupy once
more the position due to her in the council of European nations. It will
be unnecessary for her to make for this purpose any sacrifices to the
friends and allies of France; all her fortresses and provinces shall be
fully restored, and so soon as the treaty of peace will have been
definitively concluded, the French troops will evacuate the Prussian
territory."
While General Bertrand was speaking, the face of Minister von Zastrow
had brightened, and was now really radiant with joy. Animated by the
cheering words of the Frenchman, he rose from his seat, and looked at
the king with clasped hands and imploring eyes. But the countenance of
Frederick William remained impenetrable and cold; not the slightest
expression of joy or gratification was to be read in it.
"Are you done, general?" asked the king, after a pause.
"Yes, sire. I am waiting for your majesty's reply."
"This reply will be brief and decisive," exclaimed Frederick William,
loudly, rising slowly and with truly royal dignity. "I will not accept
this alliance and this peace!"
"Your majesty," said General von Zastrow, in dismay, forgetful of the
requirements of etiquette, "your majesty, that is impossible! You cannot
be in earnest; I beseech you first to hear the opinion of your
ministers, and to consult a cabinet council."
"Silence!" said the king, indignantly; "the only voices that I ought to
consult with regard to this question are not those of my ministers, but
those of my conscience and honor. It behooves the king alone to decide
upon war or peace. I repeat, therefore, I will not accept this peace nor
enter into the alliance offered under such circumstances. I might
content myself with this declaration, but I shall tell you the reasons
of my refusal that you may repeat them to your emperor. I cannot accept,
for it would be a defeat and disgrace more humiliating than the loss of
a battle. What, sir! I am to receive by the grace and _bon plaisir_ of
your emperor the gift of a position to which I am entitled by my birth!
The Emperor Napoleon condescends to restore my states after forcibly
expelling me from them! If I were to accept this offer, I should thereby
condemn myself; and this war, into which I entered so reluctantly,
because I foresaw its disastrous consequences, would be nothing but a
reckless adventure, abandoned by myself because unsuccessful. If I
allowed Napoleon to reinstate me in my rights, what would I be but his
vassal? Not a king by the grace of God, but a king by the grace of
Napoleon--not the ruler of a free and independent German state, but the
governor of a French province--the despised oppressor of an enslaved
people, robbed of their honor, independence, and nationality. Now, I
commenced this war for the sake of my own honor and that of my people. I
commenced it to set bounds to French cupidity and thirst for conquest;
to preserve to Germany her German and to Prussia her Prussian character,
and to drive back the Confederation of the Rhine beyond the frontier of
the Rhine. The fortune of war has not sustained me in these efforts, and
victory perched upon the eagles of France. But the Prussian eagle is not
yet dead; he may still hope to rise again, and, endowed with renewed
vigor, reconquer what belongs to him. What was taken by the sword can be
reconquered only by the sword. My honor, as well as that of my army and
people, was wounded on the battle-fields of Jena and Auerstadt; it
cannot be healed by the balm of Napoleon's grace; it can only be
redeemed by blood!"
"Sire, I beseech you, do not allow yourself to be carried away by the
ardor of your heroism," exclaimed General Bertrand, feelingly. "Remember
that after the rejection of this peace the Emperor Napoleon will be a
relentless enemy of yours, and leave nothing undone in order to
annihilate Prussia. Your majesty ought also to take into consideration
that you lack an army--that your forces have been dispersed, and that
your fortresses have surrendered."
"Colberg and Graudenz are still holding out," exclaimed the king, "and
so is Dantzic."
"Sire, if you reject this peace, the first step of the emperor will be
to take Dantzic by assault," said General Bertrand.
"Your majesty, have mercy on Dantzic," exclaimed General von Zastrow,
imploringly; "have mercy on your blockaded fortresses--on your poor
distressed subjects! So soon as your majesty accepts this peace, the
Emperor Napoleon intends withdrawing all the French troops from Prussian
territory. Oh, pray take into consideration how dreadfully your people
have suffered by the heavy contributions, and the enormous supplies to
the troops! Remember that they are overwhelmed with wretchedness, and
are kneeling and crying to God and to their king to restore peace."
"O my God," murmured the queen, "inspire him with the true decision,
and grant that he may perceive and choose what is right!" She knelt down
behind the curtain as if to hear better the king's words, that to her
were the words of God. The king did not seem to notice his minister's
supplication; his eyes glanced at him coldly and disdainfully, and were
then fixed gravely on the face of the French general.
"I am not quite done with my reply to your propositions," he said. "I
have told you the reasons why I cannot accept peace. It only remains to
explain why, though the terms were honorable, I could and would not be
allowed to enter into this alliance. By virtue of it I should be obliged
to espouse the cause of France against her enemies, and to wage war
against Russia, my ally. I am to violate the only sure compact remaining
to me in order to become a mere cipher in the hands of Napoleon! I am to
betray him who has been faithful to me! The Emperor of Russia is my
personal friend. At the grave of Frederick the Great I swore with him to
maintain the alliance of both our hearts and our states, and no other
voice induced me to take this step but my inclination, my policy, and my
reason. The Emperor of Russia, true to our mutual oath, renewed his
protestations of friendship in the hour of danger, and his army is ready
to uphold our common cause. If, now that France is offering peace to me
at the expense of Russia, I were to accept it, I should commit a
perfidious act, and, as a Prussian soldier, as a friend of the Emperor
Alexander, I must decidedly reject any idea of such a desertion. A
German keeps his word, and does not trifle with treaties he has sworn
to. German fealty has not yet become an empty sound, and France will be
obliged to admit that she is struggling with an adversary who does not
sell his honor for provinces or for money. Now you know all I had to
communicate. Tell Napoleon that intrigues and slanders cannot separate
me from my alliance with the Emperor of Russia any more than adulation
and advantageous offers. My resolution will remain as firm as a rock.
And now, good-by, general!"
He waved his hand to Bertrand, and received with proud calmness the
respectful bows with which the French general withdrew.
No sooner had the door closed than the queen appeared. Her eyes filled
with tears, and stretching out her arms toward her husband, seemed a
picture of beauty, grace, and love. The king hastened to her and pressed
her firmly against his heart. "Are you satisfied with my answer,
Louisa?" he asked. "Do you know now what I think of those wretched
calumnies?"
The queen bent and kissed his hand. "I thank you, my beloved husband,"
she whispered tenderly. "Wise and kind as you always are, you knew how
to comfort my heart, and by your heroic words to fill my soul with
enthusiasm and delight. My husband and king, you have restored my honor.
I care no longer for the abuse of the world, but shall always think of
this sacred hour, for my king believes in me, and my husband still loves
his Louisa; he knows that the mother of his children is innocent, and
may freely raise her eyes to heaven."
"I know more than that," said the king, laying his hand on his wife's
head, as if blessing her; "I know that in these times of adversity you
are the only hope left me; I know that I derive courage and consolation
from you, and that in my misfortunes I still deem myself fortunate,
because you are by my side--the angel of my life!"
"Ah, Frederick," exclaimed the queen, bursting into tears, "Frederick,
how rich and happy you make me! Am I not an enviable wife, possessed as
I am of such a husband!" In passionate tenderness, she threw her arms
about him, and in loving embrace rested long on his breast.
Some one rapped repeatedly and discreetly at the door. Louisa, blushing,
raised her head and dropped her arms. The king ordered the person to
walk in. It was General von Zastrow who entered, pale and gloomy.
Frederick William smilingly beckoned him to approach.
"You are dissatisfied with me, Zastrow?" he said, in a pleasant tone;
"you believe it would be better to make peace?"
"Your majesty, I am afraid you have rejected an advantageous alliance,
and will, perhaps, be compelled soon to accept by far more rigorous
terms."
"You do not know, then, that large Russian forces are advancing, and
that the Emperor Alexander himself probably leads his troops against the
enemy?"
"Pardon me, sire, but I do not believe in the friendship of Russia. Your
majesty uttered words so generous to-day, that my eyes filled with tears
of admiration, and I felt proud as a man and subject, although my heart
as a general and minister was overwhelmed with sorrow. May Russia
deserve your fidelity! may she not disappoint your hopes, and commit as,
you said, a perfidious act, by entering into an alliance with France at
the expense of Prussia! But may your majesty, above all, get an army
courageous and strong enough to brave all your enemies, and restore the
greatness of Prussia!"
"You do not believe, then, in this army?" asked the king, gloomily.
"Your majesty, in order to organize an army, money--a great deal of
money--is indispensable."
"And you mean to say we have none?"
"Your majesty, not only your privy purse is entirely exhausted, but
there is also no money in the state and district treasuries. Gold and
silver seem to have wholly disappeared; stocks and commercial paper are
depreciating every day, and the bankruptcy of the state will be
inevitable!"
"Ah!" exclaimed the king, indignantly, "do not utter such a word! Never
shall I permit such distress to be inflicted upon my poor subjects!"
He commenced rapidly pacing the room; suddenly, however, he stood still
in front of the queen, who had softly withdrawn into a window-niche,
where she had watched every movement of the king. "Louisa, will your
repasts be as agreeable to you on porcelain plates as on gold and
silver?"
The queen smiled. "The little Princess of Mecklenburg was accustomed to
take her meals off porcelain," she said, "and I honestly confess that
the Queen of Prussia at times envied her her plain white plates."
The king, turning again to his minister, said: "We are not yet so poor
as you seem to believe; our large golden dinner-set, the heirloom of our
ancestors, was safely removed from Berlin, and is now here at Memel. It
embraces pieces of the highest value, for which millions have been paid.
May my ancestors pardon my giving away what they collected! I am not
doing so in a reckless and extravagant manner, but with profound sorrow
and with a mournful heart. But it cannot be helped! General von Zastrow,
I shall issue the necessary orders to have my large golden dinner-set
either sold or pawned. We shall receive at least a million dollars for
it."
"And the privy purse of your majesty stands greatly in need of this
million," said General von Zastrow, drawing a sigh.
The king shrugged his shoulders. "Not a dollar of it shall be paid into
my privy purse," he said. "The money shall be distributed among the
public treasuries, that the lack of funds may be temporarily relieved,
and that my poor suffering subjects need not fear that the state become
bankrupt."
"But if your majesty should carry out this generous resolution,"
exclaimed the general, "you may soon be in danger yourself of
privations."
The king cast a long, inquiring glance on his wife. Louisa smiled and
nodded kindly to him. "If questions of economy and family matters are to
be considered," she said, "a woman may be permitted to say a word in the
council of men, and to give her opinion as a housewife. I think we are
tolerating a great many superfluous and very expensive things in our
private household, and, if my husband does not object, I should like to
ask for a few changes."
"I shall never dare to contradict you," said Frederick, kindly. "Let me,
therefore, know the changes you wish to make."
"In the first place, I think that we have too many servants, considering
our present circumstances, and the small house in which we are living.
As we do not give dinners, the people attached to the kitchen may be
greatly diminished; most of the cooks, as well as the legion of footmen,
may be discharged. It is necessary, too, to reduce the number of
carriages, and to sell most of the horses standing uselessly in the
stable. A plain vehicle, drawn by two good horses, is sufficient for my
children, and whenever I want a ride, I believe my husband will lend me
his yellow travelling-coach."
"Provided you allow me a seat at your side," said the king, smiling.
"Are there any other suggestions you deem necessary?
"I wish the servants surrounding us to appear in a plain dress, and the
expensive liveries, covered with gold and silver lace, to disappear. A
plain black cloth coat, trimmed with white, is sufficient. It is not,
however, to signify that we are in mourning, but only to represent the
Prussian colors, and on looking at them I shall always feel proud and
happy, while now, on beholding the liveries covered with gold and
silver, I cannot suppress my shame, for I think of the distress of our
subjects, and of the misery of our country. Let us begin, therefore, a
plain, unpretending existence, my husband; let us set an example of
simplicity to our people, and show them that one may be contented,
though deprived of the splendors of wealth and position."
The king took her hand and pressed it against his lips. "I consent to
all your wishes, Louisa," he said; "I will issue to-day the necessary
orders to the steward.--You see, general, our privy purse will not lack
money, for we shall realize a handsome sum by the sale of our horses,
carriages, and the gold and silver lace of the liveries. Moreover, the
war will not last forever, and we may, perhaps, look soon for a final
decision."
"Your majesty, war, then, is absolutely unavoidable?"
"You still ask this question? Yes, the war will be continued. I will
hear nothing further about peace."
"In that case," said General von Zastrow, trembling, "I must humbly
request your majesty to accept my resignation; the continuation of the
war, and the rejection of the peace offered to Prussia, are so contrary
to my conviction, that my conscience does not permit me to assist in
carrying out your plans."
"The first duty of every faithful servant is to comply with his master's
orders," said the king, sternly. "I cannot accept your resignation, for
I know that you are an honest servant, and that only your momentary
anger has misled you. I give you, therefore, time to collect your
thoughts and regain your temper. Work and activity are the best remedies
for that purpose, and possibly there may soon be a favorable turn in our
affairs, proving to you that you were wrong, and causing you to change
your mind. Until further orders, therefore, you will remain my minister
of war, but I shall give you an assistant. I shall appoint Hardenberg
minister without portfolio, and give him a seat and vote in the new
ministerial council which I am about to organize."
General von Zastrow started, and his face became paler. "Your majesty,"
he faltered in a low voice, "I--"
"The matter is settled," said the king, calmly. "I do not wish to hear
further objection, general. We shall hold a meeting of the ministerial
council to-morrow, and Hardenberg must be present. Good-by!"
General von Zastrow dared not contradict; he bowed in silence to the
royal couple and tottered to the door.
When he had retired, the queen, turning to her husband, exclaimed, "You
touched his sorest spot. He hates Hardenberg, and it will greatly
torment him to have him at his side."
"He deserved some punishment," said the king, gravely. "For it was
certainly owing to him that you were informed of those infamous
slanders. Who laid the papers before you?"
"The Countess von Truchsess, my reader."
"Zastrow's niece! My supposition was right. It was a deep-laid intrigue,
designed to drive us into the meshes of the peace party, and induce us
to give up the Russian alliance."
"Do not be angry with them," said the queen, "their intentions were
good."
"I know the good intentions of those so-called friends," exclaimed the
king, vehemently, "They drive a dagger slowly into our breast, and when
they see the wound bleeding, they excuse themselves with the pretext
that their intentions were good! But he who has really honest intentions
tries to spare his friend every pain. My 'intentions' were also good
when I concluded to place Hardenberg in company with Zastrow. I do not
like change; but if Zastrow, in the course of a few weeks, should not
accustom himself to the presence of Hardenberg, he must withdraw, and
Hardenberg remain."[31]
[Footnote 31: The united efforts of the peace party, headed by General
Zastrow and Cabinet-counsellor Beyme, did not succeed this time in
keeping Hardenberg out of the cabinet. The king reposed confidence in
him, and when, a few weeks later, the Emperor Alexander paid a visit to
the royal couple at Memel, he distinguished Hardenberg, and ignored
General von Zastrow so completely, that the latter was deeply offended.
His mortification was still augmented by the fact that Hardenberg was
selected to accompany the king to the camp of the united Prussian and
Russian troops. General von Zastrow then sent in his resignation, for
the second time, and it was accepted. Hardenberg became minister of
foreign affairs in his place.]
CHAPTER XXV.
COUNTESS MARY WALEWSKA.
News of the highest importance reached Castle Finkenstein, where
Napoleon had been residing since the battle of Eylau. Dantzic had
fallen. It had been compelled to surrender, with its immense _materiel_
and supplies. In vain had been the heroic defence of the garrison, the
energy of General Kalkreuth, commander of the fortress, the ardor and
courage of the soldiers, the unflagging self-abnegation of the citizens;
in vain, the bloodshed, the mutilated limbs, the destruction of
property! Lefebvre, the French general, had drawn the circle of his
besieging forces closer around the devoted city, and fresh troops poured
into his ranks, while every day the garrison was becoming weaker. Only
the most vigorous succor could have saved Dantzic. General Kalkreuth had
long hoped for it. England, now the ally of Russia and Prussia, had
promised aid, and equipped a sloop-of-war of twenty-two guns, to force
the blockade, convey ammunition into the city, and destroy the
pontoon-bridge of the French; but the sloop stranded, and had to
surrender. The Russians, too, had promised assistance to the city. Seven
thousand embarked at Pillau, and landed at Weichselmunde; but there they
were attacked by Oudinot, who captured nearly one-half, and dispersed
the rest.
The last hopes of Dantzic were gone; there was no relief. Lefebvre
ordered a bombardment, and then sent a flag of truce to General
Kalkreuth, informing him that he would take the city by assault if the
fortress did not surrender. General Kalkreuth gazed mournfully at the
stranded British sloop-of-war, and, pointing it out to his officers, who
surrounded him in gloomy silence, said, "That is the tombstone of
Dantzic!" He then sent for the bearer of the flag of truce, and the
negotiations commenced. In the mean time, shells and red-hot shot were
poured into the city, killing alike the soldiers on the ramparts and the
citizens in their dwellings. Lamentations and shrieks, the roar of
artillery, the uninterrupted peals of the tocsin, calling out the
inhabitants, mingled with the crash of the falling houses, and the wails
of the wounded and dying.
General Kalkreuth pitied the city; he was unwilling to add the horrors
of an assault to the agony it had already undergone. He signed the
capitulation, but claimed for the garrison liberty to march out without
being made prisoners of war, and the surrender of their arms. Lefebvre
granted these conditions, but insisted that the Prussian troops should
not engage to serve against France before the expiration of a year.
General Kalkreuth accepted this clause, and the gates of Dantzic opened
to the French conqueror on the 24th of May, 1807. |
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