The king made no immediate reply. The queen looked at him, and an
expression of anxious suspense and tender solicitude was to be seen in
her features. The Emperor Alexander stood with folded arms at the side
of the king, and glanced with a smile now at the minister, now at the
royal couple.
"Sire," repeated Hardenberg, since the king was still silent, "I request
your majesty to be so gracious as to accept my resignation."
Frederick William started. "You know very well," he said, hastily, and
almost in a harsh voice, "that it gives me pain to do so. I have to
submit to necessity. I have no power to resist the most arrogant
demands--no army to continue the war. Hence, I must accept the only
terms on which I am able to obtain peace, and must also accept the
resignation you tender. You are free, Minister von Hardenberg; I am not
allowed to attach you to my cause. Accept my thanks for your valuable
services, and, believe me, I regret that I shall have to do without
them." He took the minister's hand and added: "I wish you joy of being
no longer in office; it will not now be necessary for you to sign the
peace which Napoleon offers to us."
"Sire," said Hardenberg, proudly, "I should never have signed that
treaty. It is not a treaty of peace, but of servitude. But I forget that
I have now no right to meddle with the policy of Prussia. I thank your
majesty, and beg leave to depart."
"I have to permit you," said the king; "you are more fortunate than I
am; you are a free man."
"Sire, I have, after all, but that freedom which every honorable man
ought to preserve even in misfortune," said Hardenberg, gently--"the
freedom of not bowing to wrong and injustice, and of perishing rather
than enduring disgrace. I intend to depart in the course of an hour."
"Farewell," said Frederick William, hastily; "and when I say farewell, I
mean that we shall meet again. I hope there will be better times. If I
call you, then, will you come, Hardenberg?"
"I shall never close my ear against the call of your majesty and of
Prussia," said Hardenberg, bowing to the king and the queen. He then
turned to the Emperor Alexander. "Sire," he said, "on taking leave of
you, and being, perhaps, for the last time, so fortunate as to see your
majesty, it is a comfort to me to remember the day when I beheld you
first in the spring of the present year. It was at Kydullen, where your
majesty showed to the King of Prussia your lifeguards that accompanied
you from St. Petersburg to participate in the war against France. When
the soldiers marched past you embraced King Frederick William, and
exclaimed with tearful eyes: 'Neither of us shall fall alone; either
both, or neither!' These words are still resounding in my ears, and in
these disastrous days, when Prussia's honor and existence are at stake,
they are my only consolation. Your majesty has not fallen, and hence,
you will not allow Prussia to fall. You will remember your oath, the
fidelity which Prussia has manifested toward you, and never so stain
your glory as to desert her now and suffer her to fall alone! This is my
hope, and, comforted by it, I leave you."
"Ah," said Alexander, sighing, "how unfortunate I am! You spoke at my
right ear, and you know that there I am deaf. Hence, I did not hear much
of what you said. But I believe you wished to take leave of me; I,
therefore, bid you a heart-felt farewell, and wish you a happy journey."
He offered his hand to Hardenberg, but the deep bow the minister made
just then, prevented him, perhaps, from seeing the extended hand of the
emperor; he did not grasp it, but withdrew in silence, walking backward
to the door.
When he was about to go out, the queen rose from the sofa. "Hardenberg,"
she exclaimed, vehemently, "and you forget to bid _me_ farewell?"
"Your majesty," said the minister, respectfully, "I await your
permission to do so."
The queen hastened to him. Tears glistened in her eyes, and she said in
a voice tremulous with emotion: "You know what I suffer in these times
of humiliation, for you know my sentiments, which can never
change--never prove faithless to the objects which we pursued together.
A time of adversity compels us to bow our heads; but let us lift our
hearts to God, and pray for better times. He will instill courage and
patience into the souls of noble and true patriots, and teach them not
to despair. Hardenberg, I believe in you, and so does Prussia. Work for
the cause in private life, as you are unable to do so in public--prepare
for the new era. This is my farewell--this the expression of my
gratitude for your fidelity. May God protect you, that you may be able
again to be useful to our country! Whenever I pray for Prussia, I shall
remember you! Farewell!" She offered him her hand, and as he bent to
kiss it, he could not refrain from tears. He averted his head as if to
conceal his emotion, and left the room.
Louisa looked at the king, who stood musing with folded arms. "Oh, my
husband!" she exclaimed mournfully, "Napoleon robs you not only of your
states, but of your most faithful friends and advisers. God save
Prussia!"
CHAPTER XXX.
QUEEN LOUISA AND NAPOLEON.
The queen had finished her toilet. For the first time during many
months, she had adorned herself, and appeared again in regal pomp. A
white satin dress, embroidered with gold, surrounded her tall and
beautiful form, and fell behind her in a flowing train. A broad necklace
of pearls and diamonds set off her superb neck; bracelets of the same
kind encircled her arms, that might have served as a model for Phidias.
A diadem of costly gems was glittering on her expansive forehead. It was
a truly royal toilet, and in former days the queen herself would have
rejoiced in it; but to-day no gladness was in her face--her cheeks were
pallid, her lips quivering, and her eyes gloomy.
She contemplated her figure in the mirror with a mournful, listless air,
and, turning to Madame von Berg, who had accompanied her to Puktupohnen,
and who was to be her companion on her trip to Tilsit, she said:
"Caroline, when I look at myself, I cannot help shuddering, and my heart
feels cold. I am adorned as the ancient Germans used to dress their
victims, when they were about to throw them into the flames to pacify
the wrath of their gods. I shall suffer the same fate. I shall die of
the fire burning in my heart, yet I shall not be able to propitiate the
idol that the world is worshipping. It will be all in vain! With a soul
so crushed as mine, I am incapable of accomplishing any thing. But
complaints are useless, I must finish what I have begun; I must--but
hush! is not that the sound of wheels approaching this house?"
"Yes," said Madame von Berg, hastening to the window; "it is a
carriage--a brilliant court-carriage, drawn by eight horses, and
escorted by French dragoons."
Louisa pressed her hands against her heart, and a low cry burst from her
lips. "Oh," she whispered, "the dagger is again piercing my heart. Oh,
how it aches!"
Owing to the noise with which the imperial coach had driven up Madame
von Berg did not hear the last words of the queen. "Oh," she exclaimed
joyfully, "the Emperor Napoleon really seems to be favorably disposed
toward us. He takes pains at least to receive your majesty with the
respect due to a queen. The carriage is magnificent, and the eight
horses wear a harness of gold and purple. The French dragoons have on
their gala-uniforms and are marching into line to present arms when your
majesty appears. I begin to hope that I was mistaken in Napoleon; he
will not humble her whom he receives with the splendor lavished on the
most powerful crowned heads."
Louisa shook her head. "He has learned a lesson from the ancient
Cæsars," she said. "When Zenobia adorned the triumphal procession of
Aurelian, she was clad in robes of purple and gold; she stood on a
gilded car, surrounded by servants, as it was due to a queen. But
manacles were about her arms; she was, after all, but a prisoner, and
the contrast of the chain with the royal pomp rendered only more
striking the imperial triumph and her own humiliation. But, no matter!
We must go through with it. Come, Caroline, give me my cloak." She
wrapped herself in a small cloak of violet velvet, and casting a last
imploring glance toward heaven, she left the room to drive to Tilsit.
At the hotel, where the king was staying, he received his consort and
conducted her up-stairs to the room prepared for her. They said little;
the immense importance of this hour made them taciturn; they spoke to
each other only by glances, by pressing each other's hands, and by a few
whispered words indicative of their profound anxiety and suspense.
Scarcely fifteen minutes had elapsed when one of Napoleon's aides
appeared, to inform her that the emperor was already on his way to see
her. The king kissed his wife's hand. "Farewell, Louisa," he said, "and
may God give you strength to meet your adversary!"
Louisa retained him. "You will not stay with me?" she asked,
breathlessly. "You will leave me at this painful moment?"
"Etiquette requires me to do so," said the king. "You know very well
that I care nothing for these empty forms; but it seems that Napoleon,
to whom they are still new, deems them necessary for upholding the
majesty of the new-fangled empire. The emperor pays a visit to the queen
alone; hence, you must receive him alone. Only your lady of honor is
allowed to remain in the adjoining room, the door of which will be left
open. Napoleon's companion--Talleyrand, I believe--will also remain
there. Farewell, Louisa; I shall come only when the emperor expressly
asks for me. Do you hear the horses in front of the house? Napoleon is
coming! I go." He nodded pleasantly, and left the room.
"Oh, my children!" muttered the queen; "I am doing this for you--for
your sake I will speak and humble my heart!"
She heard the sound of footsteps on the staircase, and Madame von Berg
appeared in the adjoining room to announce that his majesty the Emperor
Napoleon was approaching. Louisa nodded, and, quickly crossing the
anteroom, she went out into the corridor. Napoleon was just ascending
the stairs. His face was illuminated with a triumphant expression, and a
sinister fire was burning in his eyes, which he fixed on the queen with
a strange mixture of curiosity and sympathy. Louisa looked at him
calmly; a touching smile played on her lips; her beautiful face beamed
with energy and courage, and an air of pious solemnity was visible in
her whole appearance. Napoleon felt involuntarily moved in the presence
of a lady so queen-like and yet so gentle, and bowed more respectfully
to her than he had ever done to any other woman.
"Sire," said Louisa, conducting him into the room, "I am sorry that your
majesty had to ascend so miserable a staircase."
"Oh," exclaimed Napoleon, "if the way leading to you was inconvenient,
madame, the reward is so desirable that one would shrink from no trouble
to obtain it."
"It seems there is nothing too inconvenient for your majesty," said the
queen, gently. "Neither the sands of Egypt nor the snows of our north
impede the career of the hero. And yet I should think our cold climate
an obstacle difficult to overcome. Did your majesty not have this
opinion sometimes last winter?"
"It is true," said Napoleon. "Your Prussia is somewhat cold. She is too
close to Russia, and allows herself to be fanned too much by its icy
breezes!"
Louisa feigned not to understand this allusion to the policy of Prussia,
and, turning to the emperor, she requested him to take a seat on the
sofa. Napoleon offered her his hand and conducted her to it. "Let us sit
down," he said, with a tinge of irony. Turning to her, he added: "You
have hated me so long that you ought to give me now a slight token of
the change in your sentiments, and permit me to sit at your side."
Bending over, he looked her full in the face and seemed to wait for her
to renew the conversation.
The queen felt her heart tremble--that the critical moment had come, and
she concentrated her courage and determination that that moment might
not pass unimproved. She raised her eyes slowly, and, with an affecting
expression, she said in a low, tremulous voice, "Will your majesty
permit me to tell you why I have come hither?"
Napoleon nodded, and continued looking steadily at her.
"I have come," added the queen, "to beg your majesty to grant Prussia a
more favorable peace. Sire, I use the word 'beg!' I will not speak of
our rights, of our claims, but only of our misfortunes; I will only
appeal to the generosity of your majesty, imploring you to lessen our
calamities, and have mercy on our people!"
"The misfortunes we suffer are generally the consequences of our own
faults," exclaimed Napoleon, harshly; "hence, we must endure what we
bring upon ourselves. How could you dare to wage war against me?"
The queen raised her head, and her eyes flashed. "Sire," she said,
quickly and proudly, "the glory of the great Frederick induced us to
mistake our strength, if we were mistaken."
"You were mistaken, at least in your hopes that you could vanquish me,"
exclaimed Napoleon, sternly. But, as if struck by a sudden recollection,
and meaning to apologize for his rudeness, he bowed, and added in a
pleasant tone: "I refer to Prussia and not to you, queen. Your majesty
is sure to vanquish every one. I was told that you were beautiful, and I
find that you are the most charming lady in the world!"
"I am neither so vain as to believe that, nor so ambitious as to wish
it," said the queen. "I have come hither as consort of the king, as
mother of my children, and as representative of my people!"
"Ah," exclaimed Napoleon, politely, "Prussia may well be proud of so
noble a representative."
"Sire, Prussia cannot be proud," replied the queen, sighing. "She weeps
over her sons fallen on the fields of battle that brought laurels to
you; to us nothing but defeat. She has lost her prosperity; her fields
are devastated; her supplies consumed. She is looking despondingly
toward the future, and all that remains to her is hope. Sire, let not
this hope be in vain! Pardon us for not having feared your all-powerful
genius and your victorious heroism! It was a terrible misfortune for us
to have mistaken our strength; but we have been humbled for it. Let it
be enough! You have made us feel the conqueror's hand; let us now feel
and acknowledge your magnanimity! Your majesty cannot intend to trample
in the dust those whom fortune has already so humbled. You will not take
revenge for our errors--you will not deride and revile our majesty--for
majesty, sire, is still enthroned on our heads. It is the sacred
inheritance which we must bequeath to our children."
"Ah, your majesty will comprehend that I cannot feel much respect for
such sacred inheritance," said Napoleon, sneeringly.
"But your majesty will respect our misfortunes," exclaimed Louisa.
"Sire, adversity is a majesty, too, and consecrates its innocent
children."
"Prussia has to blame none but herself for her calamities!" said
Napoleon, vehemently.
"Does your majesty say so because we defended our country when we were
attacked?" asked the queen, proudly. "Do you say so because, faithful to
the treaties which we had sworn to observe, we refused to desert our
ally for the sake of our own profit, but courageously drew the sword to
protect his and our frontiers? Heaven decreed that we should not be
victorious in this struggle, and our defeats became a new laurel-wreath
for your brow. But now you will deem your triumphs sufficient, and will
not think of taking advantage of our distress. I am told that your
majesty has asked of the king, as the price of peace, the largest and
best part of his states--that you intend taking from him his fortresses,
cities, and provinces, leaving to him a crown without territory, a title
without meaning--that you wish to distribute his subjects and provinces,
and form of them new nations. But your majesty knows well that we cannot
with impunity rob a people of their inalienable and noblest rights--of
their nationality--give them arbitrary frontiers, and transform them
into new states. Nationality is a sentiment inherent in the human heart,
and our Prussians have proud hearts. They love their king, their
country--"
"And above all their august queen," interrupted Napoleon, who wished to
put an end to this appeal, and direct the conversation into less
impetuous channels. "Oh, I know that all Prussia idolizes her beautiful
queen, and henceforth I shall not wonder at it. Happy those who are
permitted to bear your chains!"
She cast on him a glance so contemptuous that Napoleon shrank, and
lowered his eyes. "Sire," she said, "no one who bears chains is happy,
and your majesty--who once said to the Italians, 'You need not fear me,
for I have come to break your chains and to deliver you from degrading
servitude!'--will not now reduce a state to servitude. For to wrest it
from its legitimate sovereign, and to compel it to submit to another
prince is chaining it--to distribute a people like merchandise, is
reducing them to slavery. Sire, I dare beg your majesty to leave us our
nationality and our honor! I dare beg you in the name of my children to
leave them their inheritance and their rights."
"Their rights?" asked Napoleon. "Only he has them who knows how to
maintain them. What do you call the rights of your children?"
"Sire, I refer to their birth, their name, and history. By their birth,
God conferred on them the right to rule over Prussia. And the Prussian
monarchy is rooted in the hearts of the people. Oh, your majesty, do not
overthrow it! Honor in us the crown adorning your own victorious head!
Sovereigns ought to respect each other, that their people may never lose
the respect due to them; sovereigns ought to support and strengthen each
other, to enable them to meet their enemies now carried away by the
insane ideas of a so-called new era--ideas that brought the heads of
Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette to the scaffold. Sire, princes are not
always safe, and harmony among them is indispensable; but it is not
strengthening one's own power to weaken that of others--it is not adding
lustre to one's own crown to tarnish another's. O sire; in the name of
all monarchies--nay, in the name of your own, now shedding so radiant a
light over the whole world, I pray for our crown, our people, and our
frontiers!"
"The Prussians," said Napoleon, rising, "could not have found a more
beautiful and eloquent advocate than your majesty!"
He paced the room several times, his hands folded behind him. The queen
had also risen, but she stood still, and looked in breathless suspense
at Napoleon, whose cold face seemed to warm a little with humane
emotion. He approached, and fixed his eyes in admiration on her sad but
noble countenance. "Your majesty," he said, "I believe you have told me
many things which no one hitherto has ventured to tell me--many things
which might have provoked my anger--some bitter words, and prophetic
threats have fallen from your lips. This proves that you at least
respect my character, and that you believe I will not abuse the position
to which the fortune of war has elevated me. I will not disappoint you,
madame. I will do all I can to mitigate your misfortunes, and to let
Prussia remain as powerful as is compatible with my policy and with my
obligations to my old and new friends. I regret that she refused to
enter into an alliance with me, and that I vainly offered my friendship
to her more than once. It is no fault of mine that your majesty has to
bear the consequences of this refusal, but I will try to ameliorate them
as much as I can. I cannot restore your old frontiers; I cannot deliver
your country entirely from the burdens and calamities of war, and
preserve it from the tribute which the conqueror must impose upon the
vanquished, in order to receive some compensation for the blood that was
shed. I will always remember that the Queen of Prussia is not only the
most fascinating, but also the most high-minded, courageous, and
generous lady in the world, and that one cannot do homage enough to her
magnanimity and intelligence. I promise your majesty that I am quite
willing to comply with all your wishes as far as I can. Inform me,
therefore, of them; it will be best for you to be quite frank with me.
We shall try to become good friends, and, as a token of this friendship,
I take the liberty to offer you this flower, which bears so striking a
resemblance to you." He took a full-blown moss-rose from the porcelain
vase standing on the table, and presented it to her. "Will you accept
this pledge of friendship at my hands?"
The queen hesitated. It was repugnant to her noble and proud heart to
receive so sentimental a gift from him to whom her heart never could
grant true friendship. She slowly raised her eyes and looked almost
timidly into his smiling face. "Sire," she said in a low voice, "add to
this pledge of your friendship still another, that I may accept the
rose."
The smile faded from Napoleon's face, and anger darkened his forehead.
"Remember, madame," he said harshly, "that it is I who command, and that
you have but the choice to decline or to accept. Will you accept this
rose?"
"Sire," said the queen, with quivering lips and tearful eyes, "give it
to me with another pledge of your friendship. Give me Magdeburg for my
children."
Napoleon threw the rose on the table. "Ah, madame," he said, vehemently,
"Magdeburg is no toy for children!" He turned around and paced the room
repeatedly, while Louisa hung her head, and looked resigned as a martyr
ready to suffer death. Napoleon glanced at her as he passed, and the
spectacle exhibited by this aggrieved, and yet so dignified and gentle a
queen, touched him; for it reminded him of Josephine. He stood still in
front of her. "Forgive my impulsiveness," he said; "I cannot give you
Magdeburg, but you may rest assured that I will do all I can to lessen
your calamities, and to fulfil your request. The Emperor Alexander is
aware of my wishes; he knows that I am desirous to serve the King of
Prussia. I should like to repeat this to your husband himself if he were
here."
"He is here," said the queen, hastily; "and with your majesty's
permission he will be with us immediately."
Napoleon bowed in silence. A sign made by Louisa brought the lady of
honor. "Be so kind as to request the king to come to us," said the
queen, quickly.
"And while we are awaiting the king," said Napoleon, calling Talleyrand
from the anteroom, "your majesty will permit me to introduce my
companion. Madame, I have the honor to present my minister of foreign
affairs, M. de Talleyrand, Prince de Benevento."
"And I deem myself happy to make the acquaintance of the greatest
statesman of the age," said the queen, while Talleyrand's short figure
bowed deeply. "Oh, your majesty is indeed to be envied. You have not
only gained great glory, but are also blessed with high-minded and
sagacious advisers and executors of your will. If the king my husband
had always been equally fortunate, a great many things would not have
happened."
"Well, we have induced him to displace at least one bad adviser,"
exclaimed Napoleon. "That man Hardenberg was the evil genius of the
king; he is chiefly to blame for the misfortunes that have befallen
Prussia, and it was necessary to remove him."
"But he was an experienced statesman," said the queen, whose magnanimous
character found it difficult to listen to any charge against Hardenberg
without saying something in his defence; "he is a very skilful
politician, and it will not be easy for the king to fill the place of
Minister von Hardenberg."
"Ah!" said Napoleon, carelessly; "ministers are always to be found. Let
him appoint Baron von Stein; he seems to be a man of understanding."
An expression of joyful surprise overspread the queen's face. The king
entered. Napoleon met him and offered him his hand. "I wished to give
your majesty a proof of my kind disposition in the presence of your
noble and beautiful consort, and, if you have no objection, to assure
you of my friendship," he said. "I have complied as far as possible with
all your wishes. The Emperor Alexander, in whom you have an ardent and
eloquent friend, will confirm it to you. I also communicated to him my
last propositions, and trust that your majesty will acquiesce in them."
"Sire," said the king, coldly, "the Emperor Alexander laid this
ultimatum before me, but it would be very painful to me if I should be
obliged to accept it. It would deprive me of the old hereditary
provinces which form the largest portion of my states."
"I will point out a way to get compensation for these losses," exclaimed
Napoleon. "Apply to the Emperor Alexander; let him sacrifice to you his
relatives, the Princes of Mecklenburg and Oldenburg. He can also give up
to you the King of Sweden, from whom you may take Stralsund and that
portion of Pomerania of which he makes such bad use. Let him consent
that you should have these acquisitions, not indeed equal to the
territories taken from you, but better situated, and, for my part, I
shall make no objection."
"Your majesty proposes to me a system of spoliation, to which I can
never agree," said the king, proudly. "I complain of the menaced loss of
my provinces, not only because it would lessen the extent of my
territories, but because they are the hereditary states of my house, and
are associated with my ancestors by indissoluble ties of love and
fealty."
"You see that these ties are not indissoluble after all," exclaimed
Napoleon, "for we shall break them, and you will be consoled for the
loss by obtaining compensation."
"Possibly others may be more readily consoled for such losses," said the
king: "those who are only anxious for the possession of states, and who
do not know what it is to part with hereditary provinces in which the
most precious reminiscences of our youth have their root, and which we
can no more forget than our cradle."
"Cradle!" exclaimed Napoleon, laughing scornfully. "When the child has
become a man, he has no time to think of his cradle."
"Yes, he has," said the king, with an angry expression. "We cannot
repudiate our childhood, and a man who has a heart must remember the
associations of his youth."
Napoleon, making no reply, looked grave, while Frederick William fixed
his eyes on him with a sullen and defiant expression. The queen felt
that it was time for her to prevent a more violent outburst of
indignation on the part of her husband. "The real cradle is the tender
heart of a mother," she said gently, "and all Europe knows that your
majesty does not forget it; all are aware of the reverential love of the
great conqueror for Madame Letitia, whom France hails as noble _Madame
Mere_."
Napoleon raised his eyes toward her, and his forbidding expression
disappeared. "It is true," he said, "your sons, madame, ought to be
envied such a mother. They will owe you many thanks, for it is you,
madame, who have saved Prussia by your eloquence and noble bearing. I
repeat to you once more that I shall do what I can to fulfil your
wishes. We shall confer further about it. At present, I have the honor
to take leave of your majesty."
He offered his hand to the queen. "Sire," she said, profoundly
affected, "I hope that, after making the acquaintance of the hero of the
century, you will permit me to remember in you the generous conqueror as
well as the man of genius." Napoleon silently kissed her hand, and,
bowing to the king, left the room.
"Oh!" exclaimed the queen, when she was alone with her husband, "perhaps
it was not in vain that I came hither; God may have imparted strength to
my words, and they may have moved the heart of this all-powerful man, so
that he will acknowledge our just demands, and shrink from becoming the
robber of our property."
In the mean time Napoleon returned to his quarters, accompanied by
Talleyrand. But when the minister, on their arrival at the palace, was
about to withdraw, the emperor detained him. "Follow me into my
cabinet," he said, advancing quickly. Talleyrand limped after him, and a
smile, half scornful, half malicious, played on his thin lips.
"The hero who wants to rule over the world," said Talleyrand to himself,
"is now seized with a very human passion, and I am sure we shall have a
highly sentimental scene." He entered the room softly, and lurkingly
watched every movement of Napoleon. The emperor threw his small hat on
one chair, his gloves and sword on another, and then paced the room
repeatedly. Suddenly he stood still in front of Talleyrand and looked
him full in the face.
"Were you able to overhear my conversation with the queen?" he asked.
"I was, sire!" said Talleyrand, laconically, "I was able to overhear
every word."
"You know, then, for what purpose she came hither," exclaimed Napoleon,
and commenced again pacing the apartment.
"Talleyrand," he said, after a pause, "I have wronged this lady. She is
an angel of goodness and purity, she is a true woman and a true queen.
It was a crime for me to persecute her. Yes, I confess that I was wrong
in offending her. On merely hearing the sound of her voice I felt
vanquished, and was as confused and embarrassed as the most timid of
men. My hand trembled when I offered her the rose. I have slandered her,
but I will make compensation!" He resumed his walk rapidly; a delicate
blush mantled his cheeks, and all his features indicated profound
emotion. Talleyrand, looking as cold and calm as usual, still stood at
the door, and seemed to watch the emperor with the scrutinizing eye of a
physician observing the crisis of a disease.
"Yes," added Napoleon, "I ought certainly to compensate her for what I
have done. She shall weep no more on my account; she shall no more hate
and detest me as a heartless conqueror. I will show her that I can be
magnanimous, and compel her to admit that she was mistaken in me. I will
raise Prussia from the dust. I will render her more powerful than ever,
and enlarge her frontiers instead of narrowing them. And then, when her
enchanting eyes are filled with gladness, I will offer my hand to her
husband and say to him: 'You were wrong; you were insincere toward me,
and I punished you for it. Now let us forget your defeats and my
victories; instead of weakening your power, I will increase it that you
may become my ally, and remain so forever!' Talleyrand, destroy the
conditions I dictated to you; send for Count Goltz; confer with him
again, and grant his demands!"
"Sire," exclaimed Talleyrand, apparently in dismay, "sire, shall
posterity say that you failed to profit by your most splendid conquest,
owing to the impression a beautiful woman made upon you?" The emperor
started, and Talleyrand added: "Sire, has the blood of your soldiers who
fell at Jena, at Eylau, and at Friedland, been shed in vain, and is it
to be washed away by the tears of a lady who now appears to be as
inoffensive as a lamb, but who is to blame for this whole war? Your
majesty ought not to forget that the Queen of Prussia instigated her
husband to begin it--that, at the royal palace of Berlin, you took a
solemn oath to punish her, and to take revenge for her warlike spirit,
and for the oath over the tomb of Frederick the Great! Ah, the queen,
with Frederick William and the Emperor Alexander, would exult at your
tender-heartedness; the world would wonder at the weakness of the great
captain who allowed himself to be duped by the sighs and seeming
humility of the vanquished, and--"
"Enough!" interrupted Napoleon, in a powerful voice--"enough, I say!" He
walked several times up and down, and then stood still again in front of
Talleyrand. "Send immediately for Count Goltz," he said imperiously,
"and inform him of our ultimatum! Tell him in plain words that all I
said to the queen were but polite phrases, binding me in no manner, and
that I am as firmly determined as ever to fix the Elbe as the future
frontier of Prussia--that there was no question of further
negotiations--that I had already agreed with the Emperor Alexander as to
the various stipulations, and that the king owed his lenient treatment
solely to the chivalrous attachment of this monarch, inasmuch as,
without his interference, my brother Jerome would have become King of
Prussia, while the present dynasty would have been dethroned. You know
my resolutions now; proceed in accordance with them, and hasten the
conclusion of the whole affair, that I may be annoyed no more. I demand
that the treaty be signed to-morrow."
Prussia's fate was therefore decided. The great sacrifice which the
queen had made, and with so much reluctance, had been in vain. On the
9th of June, 1807, the treaty of Tilsit was signed by the
representatives of France and Prussia.
By virtue of it King Frederick William lost one-half of his territories,
consisting of all his possessions beyond the Elbe: Old Prussia,
Magdeburg, Hildesheim, Westphalia, Friesland, Erfurt, Eichsfeld, and
Baireuth. The Polish provinces were taken from him, as well as a portion
of West Prussia, the district of Kulm, including the city of Thorn, half
of the district of the Netze, and Dantzic, which was transformed into a
free city. Besides, the king acknowledged the Confederation of the
Rhine, the Kings of Holland and Westphalia, Napoleon's brothers, and
engaged to close his ports against England. And, as was expressly stated
in the document, these terms were obtained only "_in consideration of
the Emperor of Russia_, and owing to Napoleon's sincere desire to attach
both nations to each other by indissoluble bonds of confidence and
friendship."
Russia, which had signed the treaty on the preceding day, gained a large
portion of Eastern Prussia, the frontier district of Bialystock, and
thus enriched herself with the spoils taken from her own ally.
Thus Frederick William concluded peace, losing his most important
territories, and having his ten millions of subjects reduced to five
millions. The genius of Prussia, Queen Louisa, veiled her head and wept!
BOOK IV.
CHAPTER XXXI.
BARON VON STEIN.
Profound sadness reigned for several weeks at the house of Baron Charles
von Stein. Tears were in the eyes of his children, and whenever their
mother came from her husband's room and joined them for a moment, they
seemed in her only to seek comfort and hope. But the anxious face of the
baroness became more sorrowful, and the family physician, who visited
the house several times a day, was more taciturn and grave. Baron von
Stein was ill, and his disease was one of those which baffle the skill
of the physician, because their seat is to be sought less in the body
than in the mind. Prussia's misfortunes had prostrated Stein. Sick at
heart, and utterly broken down, at the commencement of 1807, after the
violent scene with King Frederick William, he left Konigsberg, and
travelled slowly toward Nassau. There he met his family, and ever since
lived in retirement. Never in his grief had he uttered a complaint, or
manifested any loss of temper, but his face had become paler, his gait
slower, and indicative of increasing weakness and exhaustion. He yielded
at last to the tears of his wife, and the repeated remonstrances of his
physician, to submit to medical treatment.
But medicine did not restore him; his strength decreased, and the fever
wrecking his body grew more violent. The disease had recently, however,
assumed a definite character; the news of the disaster of Friedland, and
of the humiliating treaty of Tilsit, had violently shaken his
constitution, and the physician was now able to discern the true
character of the malady and give it a name. It was the tertian fever
which alternately reddened and paled the baron's cheeks, at times
paralyzing his clear, powerful mind, or moving his lips to utter
unmeaning words, the signs of his delirium.
Baron von Stein had just undergone another attack of his dangerous
disease. All night long his devoted wife had watched at his bedside, and
listened despondingly to his groans, his fantastic expressions, his
laughter and lamentations. In the morning the sufferer had grown calmer;
consciousness had returned, and his eyes sparkled again with
intelligence. The fever had left him, but he was utterly prostrated. The
physician had just paid him a visit, and examined his condition in
silence. "Dear doctor," whispered the baroness, as he was departing,
"you find my husband very ill, I suppose? Oh, I read it in your face; I
perceive from your emotion that you have not much hope of his recovery!"
And the tears she knew how to conceal in the sick-room fell without
restraint.
"He is very ill," said the physician, thoughtfully, "but I do not
believe his case to be entirely hopeless; for an unforeseen circumstance
may come to our assistance and give his mind some energy, when it will
favorably influence the body. If the body alone were suffering, science
would suggest ways and means to cure a disease which, in itself, is
easily overcome. The tertain fever belongs neither to the dangerous
acute diseases nor to any graver class. But, in this case, it is only
the external eruption of a disease seated in the patient's mind."
"Whence, then, is recovery to come in these calamitous and depressing
times?" said the baroness, mournfully. "His grief at the misfortunes of
Prussia is gnawing at his heart, and all the mortifications and
misrepresentations he has suffered at the hands of the very men whom he
served with so much fidelity have pierced his soul like poisoned
daggers. Oh, I shall never pardon the king that he could so bitterly
mortify and humble my noble husband, who is enthusiastically devoted to
Prussia--that he could mistake his character so grievously, and prefer
such cruel charges against him. He called him--the best, the most
intelligent and reliable of all his servants--a seditious man; he
charged him with being self-willed, stubborn, and proud, and said he was
mischievous and disobedient to the state. Oh, believe me, that
accusation is what troubles Stein! The King of Prussia has humbled his
pride so deeply and unjustly, that a reconciliation between them is out
of the question. Stein lives, thinks, and grieves only for his country,
and yet the insulting vehemence and unfeeling words of the king have
rendered it impossible for him ever to reenter the Prussian service. He
sees that his country is sinking every day, and that she is ruined not
only by foreign enemies, but by domestic foes preying at the vitals of
her administration. He would like to help her--he feels that he has
stored up the means to do so in his experience--and yet he cannot. I ask
you, therefore, my friend, where is the balm for his wounded soul?"
"I do not know," said the physician, "but we must get it. Germany has
not now so many high-minded and courageous men that she could spare one,
and the best of them all. The genius of Germany will assuredly find a
remedy to save her noble champion, Baron von Stein."
"Ah, you believe still in the genius of Germany?" asked the baroness,
mournfully. "You see all the horrors, the shame, the degradation that
Germany, and especially Prussia, have to suffer! The calamities of our
country, then, my friend, have transformed you into a believer, and made
of the rationalist a mystic, believing in miracles? You know I was
hitherto pious, and a faithful believer, but now I begin to doubt. Now I
ask myself anxiously whether there really is a God in heaven, who
directs and ordains every thing, and yet permits us to be thus trampled
in the dust."
"Our duty is, perhaps, to strengthen ourselves by misfortunes," said
the physician. "Germany was sleeping so profoundly that she could only
be aroused by calamity, and become fully alive to her degrading
position. But, believe me, she is opening her eyes, and seeking for
those who can help her. She cannot forget Baron von Stein; but must feel
that she stands in need of him."
"May you be a true prophet!" said the baroness, sighing, "and that your
words--but hark!" she interrupted herself, "some one is violently
ringing the door-bell! He must be a stranger, for none of the citizens
would announce a visit in so noisy a manner. The inhabitants manifest
sympathy for us; many come every morning to inquire about my husband.
Without solicitation our neighbors have spread a layer of straw in front
of the house, and along the street, that no noise may disturb the
beloved sufferer, and--"
Just then the door opened, and a footman stated that a stranger desired
to see the baroness concerning a matter of great importance.
"Me?" she asked, wonderingly.
"He asked first for Baron von Stein," replied the footman, "and when I
told him that my master was very ill, he seemed alarmed. But he bade me
announce his visit to the baroness, and tell her that he had made a long
journey, and was the bearer of important news."
"Admit him, baroness," said the physician; "he brings, perhaps, news
that may be good for our patient. As for me, permit me to withdraw."
"No, my dear doctor, you must stay," she said. "You are an intimate
friend of my husband and of my family, and this person cannot have any
thing to say to me that you may not hear. Besides, your advice and
assistance may be necessary; and if the news should be important for my
husband, you ought not to be absent."
"Well, if you wish me to stay, I will," said the physician; "who knows
whether my hopes may not be presently realized?"
"Admit the stranger," said the baroness; and he entered a few minutes
afterward.
"High-Chamberlain von Schladen!" she exclaimed, meeting him.
"You recognize me, then, madame?" asked M. von Schladen. "The memories
of past times have not altogether vanished in this house, and one may
hope--" At this moment his eyes met the physician, and he paused.
"Doctor von Waldau," said the baroness, "a faithful friend of my
husband, and at present his indefatigable physician. He is one of us,
and you may speak freely in his presence, Mr. Chamberlain."
"Permit me, then, to apply to you directly, and to ask you whether Baron
von Stein is so ill that I cannot see him about grave and important
business?"
"The baron is very ill," said the physician, "but there is no immediate
danger; and, as the fever has left him to-day, he will be able to
converse about serious matters--that is to say, if they are not of a
very sad and disheartening character."
"Grief for Prussia's misfortunes is my husband's disease," said the
baroness; "consider well, therefore, if what you intend telling him will
aggravate it, or bring him relief. If a change for the better has taken
place--if you bring him the news that that disgraceful treaty of Tilsit
has been repudiated, and that the war will continue, it will be a
salutary medicine, and, in spite of the warlike character of your news,
you will appear as an angel of peace at his bedside. But if you come
only to confirm the disastrous tidings that have prostrated him, it may
cause his death."
"I do not bring any warlike tidings," said M. von Schladen, sadly; "I do
not bring intelligence that the treaty of Tilsit has been repudiated!
Hence, I cannot, as you say, appear as an angel of peace. Nevertheless,
I do not come croaking of our disasters. I come in the name of, and
commissioned by Prussia, to remind Baron von Stein of the words he
uttered to the queen when he took leave of her. You, sir, being his
physician, are alone able to decide whether I may see him, and lay my
communication before him. For this reason I must tell you more
explicitly why I have come. You permit me to do so, I suppose,
baroness?"
"Oh, speak! my heart is yearning for your words!" exclaimed the
baroness.
"I come to see Baron von Stein, not merely because I long to speak to
the man for whom I entertain so much love and respect," said M. von
Schladen, "but I come in the name of the king and queen. I bring him
letters from Minister von Hardenberg, from the Princess Louisa von
Radziwill, and from General Blucher, and verbal communications from the
queen. I have travelled without taking a moment's rest in order to
deliver my letters as soon as possible, and to inform the baron of the
wishes of their majesties. And now that I have arrived at my
destination, I find the man sick in bed who is the only hope of Prussia.
You will, perhaps, even shut his door against me, and all the greetings
of love, the solicitations and supplications which I bring, will not
reach him! It would be a heavy misfortune for Prussia and for the
deeply-afflicted king, who is looking hopefully toward Baron von Stein!"
"He is looking hopefully toward my husband," exclaimed the baroness,
reproachfully, "and yet it was he who insulted the baron in so grievous
a manner!"
"But the king repents of it, and desires to indemnify him for it," said
M. von Schladen. "I come to request Baron von Stein to return to
Prussia, and to become once more the king's minister and adviser."
"Oh," exclaimed the physician, joyfully, "you see now that I am a true
prophet. The genius of Germany has found a remedy to cure our noble
sufferer."
"You permit me, then, to speak to him?" asked M. von Schiaden. |
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