They were now near a field-path leading to a small wood which a slender
youth had just left, and was hastily approaching them. As yet, however,
he was so far from them that they were unable to distinguish his
features or his dress, and to discern whether he was an armed soldier or
a peaceable wanderer.
"It is, doubtless, a French soldier, and his comrades are lying in
ambush," murmured Puckler, placing his hand on his sword.
"If he wants to attack us, he had better say his death-prayers," said
Schill, calmly. "There are two of us, and each has one uninjured arm."
The youth had meanwhile drawn nearer, and they saw that he did not wear
any uniform.
"He is very young," said Puckler, "and a civilian. He has apparently not
yet seen us. That bush yonder is concealing us from his eyes. Let us
stoop a little, and, as the path lies beyond, he may pass by without
noticing us."
They knelt down behind the bush, but, while doing so, took their swords,
and prepared for an attack. Then they held their breath and listened.
Profound silence reigned around, and nothing was to be heard but the
quick steps of the wanderer, who drew nearer and nearer. Suddenly this
silence was interrupted by a fresh and youthful voice, singing the air
of a popular song.
"Ah, he sings," murmured Schill. "He who can sing to-day, must be very
harmless, and it is not worth while to kill him."
"Hush! hush! let us listen to his song. He is now singing words to the
melody. Just listen!"
The voice resounded nearer and nearer to the two listeners, and they
could understand the words he was singing:
O Hermann! for thy country's fall
No tears! Where vanquished valor bled
The victor rules, and Slavery's pall,
Upon these hills and vales is spread.
Shame burns within me, for the brave
Lie mouldering in the freeman's grave.
No voice! where sturdy Luther spoke
Fearless for men who dared be free!
O would that Heaven's thunder woke
My people for their liberty!
Must heroes fight and die in vain?--
Ye cowards! grasp your swords again!
Revenge! revenge! a gory shroud
To tyrants, and the slaves that yield'
Eternal honor calls aloud
For courage in the battle-field.
Who loves or fears a conquered land
That bows beneath the despot's hand?
And whither flee? Where Winkelried
And Tell and Ruyter bravely broke
Oppression's power--their country freed--
All--all beneath the usurper's yoke!
From Alpine fountains to the sea
The patriot dead alone are free.
My people! in this sorrowing night,
The clanking of your chains may be
The sign of vengeance, and the fight
Of former times the world may see,
When Hermann in that storied day
As a wild torrent cleft his way.
No idle song, O youth! thy boast.
In self-born virtue be as one
Who is himself a mighty host
By whose sole arm is victory won.
No blazoned monument so grand
As death for the dear Fatherland.
To die! how welcome to the brave!
The tomb awakes no coward fear
Save to the wretched, trembling slave
Who for his country sheds no tear.
To crown me with a fadeless wreath
Be thine, O happy, sacred death!
Come, shining sword! avenge my dead!
Alone canst thou remove this shame.
Proud ornament! with slaughter red
Restore my native land its fame.
By night, by day, in sun or shade,
Be girt around me, trusty blade.
The trumpet on the morning gale!
Arm! forward to the bloody strife!
From loftiest mountain to the vale
Asks dying Freedom for her life.
Our standard raise, to glory given,
And higher still our hearts to Heaven.[4]
[Footnote 4: This is one of Arndt's soul-stirring, patriotic hymns,
published in 1806. It is difficult to render into readable English this
species of German heroic verse so as to preserve its rhythm. All the
thought of the original is however expressed in the translation. The
only change of any importance is the transposition of the seventh
stanza.]
Keine Thrane, Hermann, fur dein Volk?
Keine Thrane, und die Schande brennet,
Und der Feind gebietet, we die Freien
Siegten und fielen?
Keine Stimme laut, wo Luther sprach?
Alle Donner, die der Himmel sendet,
Sollten rufen: Volk erwache! feiges;
Greife zum Schwerte.
Rache! Rache! heissen, blut'gen Tod
Sklavenfursten und dem Knecht der fliehet!
Mannerwort gefurchtet und gepriesen,
Mannliche Tugend!
Ach wohin? wo Winkelried erlag,
Wilhelm schlug, und Ruyter tapfer siegte;
Auf den hochsten Alpen, in den tiefsten
Sumpfen ist Knechtschaft.
Auch du, Hermann's, auch du, kuhnes Volk?
Auf! Erwache! Schuttle deine Ketten,
Dass die Schmach die Welt vernehme, bald auch
Blutige Rache!
Lieder helfen hier and Maler nicht.
Maler? Tief im Herzen sei das Denkmal,
An dem Thurm der selbstgebornen Tugend
Hebe dich, Jungling!
Und voran geworfen kuhn die Brust,
Und empor das Auge zu dem Himmel,
Hoch die Fahne! Hoch zum Himmel! Hoher
Flammende Herzen.
Tod, du susser, fur das Vaterland,
Susser als der Brautgruss, als das Lallen
Auf dem Mutterschooss des ersten Kindes,
Sei mir willkommen!
Was das Lied nicht loset, lost das Schwert,
Blinkend Heil, umgurte meine Huften!
Vor der Schande kannst du Tapfre retten,
Zierde der Tapfern!
Just when the youth had sung the last verse in a ringing voice, he had
reached the bush. And now there arose above it two pale heads, wrapped
in white, blood-stained handkerchiefs, and sang in enthusiastic tone the
last verse of the song they had heard:
Was das Lied nicht loset, lost das Schwert!
Blinkend Heil, umgurte meine Huften!
Vor der Schande kannst du Tapfre retten,
Zierde der Tapfern!
CHAPTER III.
THE OATH OF VENGEANCE.
Speechless with surprise, the youth had listened to the song, and fixed
his large eyes steadfastly on the two officers, whose uniforms and
wounds revealed to him the melancholy fate that had befallen them during
the last few days.
When the two were silent, he approached them with an air of profound
respect.
"Bravo, officers of Auerstadt or Jena," he said, with a voice trembling
with emotion, "permit a poor young wanderer to present his respects to
you, and to thank you, in the name of the German fatherland, for the
wounds on your foreheads. Such wounds are also an 'ornament of the
brave.'" [An allusion to the last line of the original song.]
"And such words are an ornament of a noble heart," exclaimed Schill,
offering his hand to the youth.
He took it with a joyful gesture, and, quickly kneeling down, imprinted
a glowing kiss on the feverish hand of the wounded officer.
"My God!" exclaimed Schill, surprised, "what are you doing? How can a
man kiss another's hand and kneel before him? Rise!"
"I am no man," said the youth, deeply moved. "I am but a poor boy, who
has not yet done any thing for his country, and, perhaps, never will be
able to do any thing for it, but who feels the most profound respect for
those who were more fortunate than he. I, therefore, kiss your hand as
Catholics kiss the hands of their saints and martyrs. For are you not at
the present hour a martyr of German liberty? Hence, sir, give me your
hand, too. Let me press my poor lips on it, also. It is the only way for
me to manifest my profound respect for you."
"No," said Count Puckler, feelingly, "you shall not kiss my hand, but my
cheeks and my lips. Let me embrace you, young man, let me embrace you
for the boon you have conferred on us by your words. Come, sir!"
The young man uttered a joyous cry, and, rising quickly, threw himself
with youthful impetuosity into the count's arms.
"I will and must have my share in the embrace," exclaimed Schill,
smiling; "did not you before expressly request me, comrade, to lend you
my left arm for every embrace? Well, then, here it is."
He quickly wound his left arm around the necks of the others, and
pressed them firmly to his heart. When they withdrew their arms again,
tears were glistening in the eyes of the officers as well as in those of
the youth.
"Grief and adversity cause men easily to fraternize," said Schill, "and
therefore we shall be brethren henceforward."
"You will be my brethren?" exclaimed the young man, joyfully. "You will
permit the poor boy to call two heroes brethren?"
"Heroes!" said Puckler, sighing. "Then you do not know, my friends, that
we were disgracefully defeated and trampled under foot in yesterday's
battle?"
"I know that, but know also that the _luck_ of battles is not the true
standard for the bravery of warriors. _You_ at least did not run, and,
like true heroes, you bear your wounds on your foreheads; your mothers,
therefore, will proudly bid you welcome; your betrothed or your wives
will embrace you with rapturous tears, and your friends will be proud of
your valor."
"Does it not seem almost as though he had heard our mournful and
despondent words, and wished to comfort us?" asked Schill, turning to
the count. "His blue eyes apparently do not behold only our physical
wounds, but also those which cause our hearts to bleed, and he wishes to
apply a balm to them by his sweet, flattering words."
"He wishes to console the poor defeated, and reconcile them to their
fate," said Puckler, nodding kindly to the youth.
"You have a better and more generous opinion of me than I deserve," he
said, sadly bowing his head so as to shake its exuberant mass of long,
fair hair. "I simply told you what I thought, and what every one who
looks at both of you will and must think."
"Would to God you spoke the truth, young man!" said Count Puckler,
mournfully. "Believe me, however, but few will think like yourself; a
great many will rejoice at seeing us defeated and humiliated."
"Instead of bewailing us, they will deride us," exclaimed Schill;
"instead of weeping with us, they will revile us!"
"Who will dare to do so?" exclaimed the youth, in an outburst of
generous anger. "Do you forget, then, that you are in Germany, and that
you have shed your blood for your country? Your German brethren will not
deride you; they will not rejoice at your sufferings; they will hope
with you for a better and more fortunate day when you will get even with
that insolent and hateful enemy, for the battles of Jena and Auerstadt."
"Pray to God, my young friend, that that day may speedily dawn!" said
Count Puckler, heaving a sigh.
"Pray!" ejaculated the young man, impetuously. "In times like ours it is
not sufficient to pray and to hope for divine assistance; we ought
rather to act and toil, and, instead of folding our hands, arm them
either with the sword or with the dagger."
"With the dagger?" asked Schill. "The dagger is the weapon of
assassins."
"Was Moeros an assassin because he wanted to stab Dionysius the tyrant?"
asked the youth. "Was he not rather a generous and high-minded man, whom
our great Schiller deemed worthy of becoming the hero of one of his
finest poems? When the fatherland is in danger, every weapon is sacred,
and every way lawful which a bold heart desires to pursue, to deliver
the country."
"Well, I see already that your heart will choose the right, and not
shrink back from dangers," said Puckler, kindly. "But, in the first
place, tell us which way you are now going to take, that we may know
whether we shall be allowed to accompany you or not."
"I come from Erfurt, where my parents are living," said the young man;
"last night I was at Weimar, and now I am going to do what I have sworn
a solemn oath to my father to do. I am on my way to Leipsic."
"And may I inquire what you are going to do in Leipsic?"
The young man was silent, and a flaming blush mantled for a moment his
delicate, innocent face. "According to my father's wishes, I shall
become there a merchant's apprentice," he said, in a low and embarrassed
voice.
"What! Feeling so generous an enthusiasm for the fatherland and its
soldiers, you want to become a merchant?" asked Schill, in surprise.
The youth raised his blue eyes to him; they were filled with tears.
"I am ordered to become a merchant," he said in a low voice. "My father
is a pious preacher, and hates and detests warfare; he says it is sinful
for men to raise their weapons against their brethren, as though they
were wild beasts, against which you cannot defend yourself but by
killing them. My mother, in former days, became familiar with the
horrors of war; she fears, therefore, lest her only son should fall prey
to them, and wishes to protect him from such a fate. With bitter tears,
with folded hands, nay, almost on her knees, she implored me to desist
from my purpose of becoming a soldier, and not to break her heart with
grief and anguish. My mother begged and wept, my father scolded and
threatened, and thus I was obliged to yield and be a dutiful son. Three
days ago my father administered the sacrament to me, and I swore an oath
to him at the altar to remain faithful to the avocation he had selected
for me, and never to become a soldier!"
He paused, and the tears which had filled his eyes rolled like pearls
over his cheeks.
"Poor friend!" murmured Puckler.
"Poor brother!" said Schill, indignantly. "To be doomed to wield the
yardstick in place of the sword! How can a father be so cruel as to make
his son take such a pledge at the present time?"
"My father is not cruel," said the youth, gently; "his only aim is my
happiness, but he wishes to bring it about in his own way, and not in
mine. It behooves a son to yield and obey. Accordingly, I shall not
become a soldier, but God knows whether it will be conducive to my
happiness. Many a one has already been driven to commit a crime by his
despair at having chosen an unsuitable avocation. But let us speak no
more of myself," he added, shaking his head indignantly, as if he wanted
to drive the tears from his eyes; "let us speak no more of my petty,
miserable grief, but of your great sorrow, which all Germany shares with
you. You know now every thing concerning my affairs, and it only remains
for me to mention my name. It is Staps; 'Frederick Staps' will be my
firm one day, if I should live to see it."
"Your name is Frederick, like that of Prussia's great king," said
Schill, comfortingly, "and who knows whether you will not one day become
a great soldier like him?"
"But I have told you already that I have sworn at the altar never to
become a soldier," said Frederick Staps, sighing. "I shall never break
the oath I have sworn to my father, nor the one either which I have
sworn to myself!"
"The oath that you will become a good and honest man, I suppose?" asked
Puckler.
"It is unnecessary to take such an oath, because that is a matter of
course," said Frederick Staps, quickly. "I swore another oath, but
nobody but God must know it. When the time has come, you shall be
informed of it. Do not forget my name, and when you hear from me one
day, remember this hour and the tears you saw me shed for being
compelled to choose an avocation that is repugnant to me."
"And in order to remember us, you must know who we are," exclaimed Count
Puckler, stating his name.
"And my name is Schill," said the lieutenant. "We fought at Auerstadt
and Jena, and are now wandering about, and seeking for a place where we
may spend the coming night."
"You will find it in the village in the rear of the wood," said
Frederick Staps. "Come, I will guide you back to the village and to the
country parson, to whom I have on my way just presented my father's
respects. He is a good and generous man. You will be kindly received and
nursed by him and his wife; and if French soldiers should come to his
house, he would not betray, but conceal you."
"Oh, what delightful words you have just uttered!" exclaimed Schill,
joyously. "Blessed be your lips which have announced to us that we shall
be saved, for, let me tell you, we should prefer death to French
captivity!"
"I understand that," said Frederick Staps, quietly. "Come, I will guide
you thither."
"And we accept your offer, as friends ought to accept that of a friend,"
said Count Puckler. "We do not say: 'We cause you trouble and loss of
time; let us therefore try to find our way alone;' but we say: 'In these
days of affliction we are all brethren, and we must rely on each other's
assistance.' Come, therefore, brother, and be our guide."
They walked slowly toward the small wood from which Staps had issued.
"You stated you had been in Weimar, and spent a night there," asked
Count Puckler. "How does the place look--what do people say, and who is
there?"
"It looks like a pandemonium," replied Staps. "Nothing is to be heard
but curses, shouts, threats, and screams: nothing to be seen but faces
pale with terror, and fleeing from the pursuing soldiers. The streets
are crowded with men, wagons, and horses. The inhabitants want to leave
the city; they know not whither to escape, and are forced back at the
gates by French soldiers making their entry, or by vehicles filled with
wounded."
"And how is it at the palace? The duchess has fled from the wrath of the
conqueror, I suppose?"
"No, the duchess has remained to beg Napoleon to have mercy on her state
and her husband."
"But is Napoleon already in Weimar?"
"Yes; he came over from Jena this morning. The duchess received him at
the foot of the palace staircase, and did not avert her eyes from his
angry and haughty glances, but looked at him with the proud calmness of
a noble German lady. 'You have not fled, then?' asked Napoleon, harshly.
'Then you do not fear my anger at the senseless and hostile conduct of
your husband?' The duchess looked quietly at him. 'You see, sire, I have
remained because I have confided in your generosity, and wished to
intercede for my husband and my people.' Napoleon looked at her during a
long pause, and her quiet dignity seemed to impress him very favorably.
'That was well done,' he said at last, 'and for your sake, and because
you have reposed confidence in me, I will forgive your husband.'[5] I do
not know what occurred afterward, for I left the palace when Napoleon
had retired to the rooms reserved for his personal use. My cousin, who
is lady's maid of the duchess, told me what I have just related to you."
[Footnote 5: Napoleon's own words.--Vide "Memoires de Constant," vol.
iv., and "History of Napoleon," by * * * r, vol. ii., p. 109.]
"And you did not hear any thing about our king and his consort?"
"Both are said to be on the way to Magdeburg, where they will remain, if
the pursuing enemy will permit them. Napoleon's hatred and wrath are not
yet satiated, and his latest bulletin is written in the same vulgar
guard-room style as all the recent manifestoes in which he dares to
revile the noble and beautiful queen."
"Then another bulletin has appeared?"
"It was just distributed among the troops when I left Weimar. A soldier,
whom I asked for his copy, gave it to me. Do you wish to read it?"
"Read it to us," said Count Puckler. "Let us rest a little in the shade
of these trees, for I confess I feel greatly exhausted, and my feet
refuse to carry me any farther. And how do you feel, comrade?"
"Do you believe," asked Schill, in a faint voice, "do you believe that I
should not have given vent to my anger at the impudence of that Corsican
who dares to revile our noble queen, if I had had sufficient strength to
speak? Let us sit down and rest. See, there is a splendid old oak. Let
us take breath under its shade."
They walked toward a large oak, which stood at the entrance of the wood,
and the foot of which was overgrown with fragrant green moss. Assisted
by Staps, the two officers seated themselves, and the roots, covered
with soft turf, served as pillows to their wounded heads.
"Oh, how delightful to rest on German soil under a German oak!" sighed
Schill. "I should like to lie here all my lifetime, looking up to the
rustling leaves, and dreaming! Amid the stillness surrounding us, it is
almost impossible to believe that we witnessed yesterday such wild
strife and bloodshed. Is all this reality, or have we had merely an
evil, feverish dream?"
"Touch your forehead; try to raise your right arm, and you will see that
it is reality," said Puckler, laughing bitterly, "and if you should have
any doubt, let our young friend read the latest bulletin issued by our
_triumphator_. But will you promise not to interrupt him, nor to be
angry at what we are going to hear?"
"I promise you to be perfectly calm, for my weakness compels me to be
so. Read, friend Staps. But, pray, let us have the German translation,
for it would be a violation of the peaceful silence of the forest, and
of the sacredness of the German oak, if we should use here the language
of our enemies."
Frederick Staps sat down opposite the officers, on the trunk of a fallen
tree. Drawing a paper from his bosom, he unfolded it, and read as
follows:
"The battle of Jena has effaced the disgrace of Rossbach, and decided a
campaign in seven days. Since the ninth of October we have proceeded
from victory to victory, and the battles of Jena and Auerstadt have
crowned all. The Prussian army is dispersed--almost annihilated. The
king is wandering about without shelter, and the queen will now regret
with bitter tears that she instigated her husband to this senseless and
unjust war. Admirable was the conduct of our whole army, soul-stirring
the enthusiasm of the brave soldiers for their chieftain and emperor.
When there was any momentary difficulty to overcome, the shout of 'Long
live the emperor!' resounded, animating all souls, and carrying away all
hearts. The emperor saw at the most critical moment of the battle that
the enemy's cavalry threatened the flanks of the infantry. He galloped
up to order new manoeuvres, and the front to be transformed into a
square. At every step he was hailed by shouts of 'Long live the
emperor!' The soldiers of the imperial guard were jealous of all the
other corps who participated in the battle, while they alone were
inactive. Several voices were already heard to shout, 'Forward!' The
emperor turned and asked, 'What is that? He must assuredly be a
beardless youth who wishes to anticipate me as to what I ought to do.
Let him wait until he has commanded in twenty battles; then he may claim
to be my adviser.' The whole guard replied to this rebuke by the
unanimous shout of 'Long live the emperor!' and rushed toward the enemy,
when, at length, the order was given to charge. The results of this
battle are from thirty to forty thousand prisoners, three hundred
field-pieces, and thirty standards. Among the prisoners there are more
than twenty generals. The losses of the Prussian army are very heavy,
amounting to more than twenty thousand killed and wounded. Our losses
are estimated at about twelve hundred killed and three thousand
wounded."[6]
[Footnote 6: Fifth bulletin of the Grand Army.]
"Profound silence ensued when Staps had read the bulletin. The two
officers were still lying on the ground, and their dilated eyes gazing
at the roof of foliage above them."
"And we must quietly listen to that," said Schill, after a long pause;
"and our hearts do not break with grief and rage! heaven does not grow
dark, and earth does not open to swallow up the degraded, in order to
save them compassionately from the sense of their humiliation! These
words will be read by the whole of Europe, and all will know that this
insolent conqueror may dare with impunity to speak in insulting terms of
our queen, the purest and best of women!"
"He is the master of the world, and will issue many more bulletins of
this description, and speak in such terms of many more princes and
princesses," said Count Puckler. "He has the power to do so. He needs
only stretch out his hand, and kingdoms fall to ruins--nations are at
his feet, and cry imploringly: 'Let us be your slaves, and lay your hand
on us as our lord and master!' It is useless to resist him. Let us,
therefore, submit."
"No," exclaimed Schill, rising, "no, let us not submit. When a whole
nation arouses itself, and shakes its lion's mane, there is no hand,
even though it were an iron one, that could hold and subdue it."
"But our nation will not rise again--it has been crushed," said Puckler,
mournfully. "It is sleeping the sleep of death."
"No, it has not been crushed. No, it will not die!" exclaimed Schill, in
an outburst of generous rage. "It is only necessary to instill genuine
vitality into its veins, and to awaken it from its lethargy by
soul-stirring exhortations, as our young friend here encouraged and
strengthened us an hour ago by his noble song. Oh, sing again, friend
Staps! Purify the air--which is still infected by the words of the
imperial bulletin--purify it by another German song, and let the native
oak, which has listened to our disgrace, now hear also manly words.
Sing! and may your voice reach our poor soldiers who are closing their
eyes on the battle-field; and may it breathe the consolation into their
ears, 'You die for Germany, but Germany does not die--she lives, and
will rise again!'"
"Yes, I will sing," said Frederick Staps, enthusiastically, "but I wish
that every note issuing from my breast would transform itself into a
sword, and strike around with the storm's resistless fury!"
"In that case all of us, and yourself, too, would be the first victims,"
said Puckler, with a melancholy smile.
"Of what consequence are our lives, if they are given up for the
fatherland?" exclaimed Staps, fervently. "Oh, believe me, I could, like
Mucius Scaevola, lay my hand on the red-hot iron, and not wince, but
sing jubilant hymns, if I thought that my torture would be useful to my
country. Now, I can only sing, only pray, only weep. But who knows
whether I shall not become one day a modern Mucius Scaevola, a modern
Moeros, and deliver the world from its tyrant?"
And suddenly raising his voice, with a radiant face, he began to sing:
Frisch auf! Es ruft das Vaterland
Die Manner in die Schlacht.
Frisch auf! Zu dampfen Trug und Schand!
Heran mit Macht, mit Macht!
Heran und braucht den Mannerleib,
Wozu ihn Gott gebaut:
Zum Schirm der Jungfrau und dem Weib,
Dem Saugling und der Braut!
Denn ein Tyrann mit Lugenwort
Und Strick und Henkerschwert,
Uebt in dem Vaterlande Mord,
Und schandet Thron und Heerd,
Und will, so weit die Sonne scheint
Der einz'ge Konig sein;
Ein Menschenfeind, ein Freiheitsfeind,
Spricht er: die Welt ist mein!
Verhut' es Gott und Hermann's Blut!
Nie werde solches wahr!
Erwache, alter deutscher Muth,
Der Recht und Licht gebar!
Erwache! sonder Rast und Ruh,
Schlag' Jeden der dir droht,
Und ruf' ihm deutsche Losung zu:
"Sieg gelt' es, oder Tod!"[7]
[Footnote 7: "Victory or death!" A very popular hymn of that period.]
"Victory or death!" shouted the two officers, raising their hands and
eyes toward heaven.
"When will the Germans sing and act in this manner?" asked Count
Puckler, sadly.
"When we have awakened them!" exclaimed Schill, joyfully. "For that is
now our only task: to arouse the Germans, and to remind them of their
duty and honor. Every one ought to raise his voice for this purpose, and
toil for it. The time is past when the nation was separated from the
army, and when the civilian hated the soldier. All these separate
interests we buried yesterday on the battle-fields of Jena and
Auerstadt. Heaven permitted our army to be defeated for the purpose of
teaching us that its heart was demoralized and its vitality entirely
gone. But Bonaparte, who believes his successes to be due solely to his
own energy and sagacity, is, after all, nothing but the scourge that God
uses to chastise us. And, after chastising us sufficiently, the scourge
will be cast aside, and lie on the ground, trampled under foot and
despised, while we shall rise and become again a glorious nation. But,
in order to bring about this change, it is necessary to arouse the
Prussians, and fan the flames of their patriotism. Every Prussian must
feel and know that he is a soldier of the grand army which we shall one
day place in the field against the so-called grand army of Napoleon,
and, when the call of 'Rally round the flag!' resounds, he must take up
the sword, and proudly feel that the holy vengeance of the fatherland is
placed in his hands."
"But suppose there is no one to utter the cry of 'Rally round the flag!'
how are the people to appear and take up arms?"
"_We_ are there, and _we_ shall exhort the people to arms!" said Schill,
energetically. "Henceforth, we must not wait until the generals call us;
we ourselves must be generals, and organize armies--every one after his
own fashion--according to his influence. We must travel over the
country, and enlist recruits. As we have no standing army, we must form
independent corps, and, by means of raids, harass and molest the enemy.
The strongest lion succumbs when stung by many bees. Every Prussian must
turn conspirator, and prevail on his neighbor to join the great
conspiracy; secret leagues and clubs must be instituted everywhere, and
work and agitate until we are united like _one_ man, and, with the
resistless power of our holy wrath, expel the tyrant who enslaves us!"
"Yes, you are right; we must not give way to timid despondency, but hope
and dare every thing. Every one must become a general, and enlist
troops, to attack the enemy whenever and wherever he can!"
"I shall also enlist my troops, and lead them against the enemy,"
exclaimed Staps, with sparkling eyes. "But my troops will not be made of
flesh and blood. They will be the songs I sing, and one day I shall
march out with them, and challenge the tyrant to mortal combat! Yes, you
are right in saying, 'Every one must fight after his own fashion, and
according to his power and influence;' let me fight, too, after my
fashion!"
"Go and fight, and may the blessings of all the brave follow you!" said
Schill, placing his hand on the head of the youth. "Let us take here,
under the German oak, a solemn oath that we will devote our fortunes,
our lives, and our sacred honor, to the fatherland!"
"Yes," exclaimed Puckler and Staps, "we will take that oath!"
"Let us," said Schill, "then swear to strive for nothing but to deliver
Germany from the grasp of the tyrant."
"We swear," continued Schill, "to regard ourselves from this hour as
soldiers of the grand army one day to battle for our liberties--to leave
nothing undone in enlisting fresh troops--that our life shall be nothing
but an inexorable and never-flagging struggle against the usurper--that
we will rather die than submit. We vow vengeance against him, and
deliverance to the fatherland!"
When all had repeated this oath, Schill said, solemnly, "The German oak
has heard our words, and they are registered on high; now, my friends,
let us go and enter into a new life--a new future. Let us take care of
the body, in order to impart strength to the mind to carry out its
schemes. Come, let us go!"
They passed on, and soon reached the village, guided by Staps to the
parsonage.
The clergyman joyfully received the officers; his wife prepared her best
rooms for them, and pledged herself, like her husband, to protect them
at the risk of her life, if French soldiers should arrive, and search
the house for wounded Prussians.
"Now you are safe, and I can go," said Frederick Staps, when he was
again alone with his friends, their host having withdrawn to prepare
every thing that was necessary for the comfort of his guests. "I cannot
stay here any longer, for I have promised my father to proceed without
delay to Leipsic, and I must keep my pledge to him, as I shall keep it
to you. Farewell, friends; may God protect you, and may your deeds fill
the world with your glory, so that the poor merchant's apprentice in
Leipsic may also hear of it!"
"The poor merchant's apprentice is also a soldier of our grand army of
the future," said Schill; "we have enlisted him, and he will go and
fulfil his duty to his fatherland."
"Yes, you may depend on it he will do his duty," exclaimed Staps, "and
you will hear of him one day. Farewell, and, please God! we shall meet
again!"
"Yes, we shall meet again," said the two officers, cordially shaking
hands with the youth, and taking leave of him.
Staps left the room hastily. When he turned round once more at the door,
and greeted the friends with a nod, they saw that his eyes were filled
with tears.
The clergyman's wife now entered to serve up the dinner she herself had
prepared, and there was added a bottle of old Hock from the wine-cellar.
"In the first place, however," said the clergyman to Schill, "I must see
and dress your arm, sir; I am quite experienced in dressing wounds,
having taken lessons in surgery in order to assist our poor peasants in
case of injuries, and render it unnecessary for them to pay large
doctors' bills. Let me, therefore, be your surgeon, too."
Schill gratefully accepted his kind offer, and after his wife had
brought every thing necessary for dressing a wound, the clergyman
examined Schill's arm, and removed the coagulated blood from it.
"It is a very deep flesh-wound," he said, "fortunately the bone is
uninjured."
"Then I shall soon be able to use my arm again?" asked Schill, joyfully.
"Not for a few weeks yet, unless you wish to run the risk of losing it
entirely. Mortification might set in after the wound has commenced
ulcerating. Hence, you must be very cautious, and live as quietly as
possible. Your hands are now already burning, and your fever will be
very severe. Unfortunately, I have brought up my wine in vain. Both of
you, gentlemen, will not be able to drink it to-day, nor to-morrow, nor
the day after to-morrow either. For the first three days your fever, as
I stated already, will be very serious."
This prediction was fulfilled. For three days the officers were unable
to rise from their couch. They were delirious, and unaware of the danger
menacing them. A French regiment had come to the village to spend the
night, and four of its officers established their headquarters at the
parsonage.
But as soon as the French troops had been descried in the neighborhood
of the village, the clergyman, assisted by his wife and servants, had
removed the wounded, and prepared a safe refuge for them in the hay-loft
of his barn, far from the dwelling-house. He himself remained with them,
and, while his wife received the French officers, and informed them that
her husband was not at home, the good old man was sitting in the
hay-loft beside his guests, nursing them with the kindness of a father
and the skill of an experienced physician. He had locked the door of his
asylum, and a loaded gun and unsheathed sword were within his reach, in
order forcibly to drive back the French, in case they should try to
penetrate into this hiding-place.
But the danger passed, and the fever abated. Four days afterward the two
Prussians were strong enough to continue their journey. The clergyman
himself drove them in his carriage to the neighboring town, where they
bought two horses and departed--not together, however, but by different
routes. Count Puckler took the road to Breslau; Ferdinand von Schill
turned toward Kolberg.
Before parting, they cordially shook hands once more.
"Let us remember the oath under the German oak," said Schill.
"Yes," replied Puckler. "We shall not desert the fatherland, but serve
it with our whole strength, and after that is exhausted, we know how to
die."
CHAPTER IV.
IN BERLIN.
The utmost uneasiness and suspense prevailed in Berlin. Several rumors
had already reached the capital. It was reported that, on the 14th of
October, a battle had taken place between the Prussians and French
forces. To-day was the 18th, and no news had been received; nothing
definite was known about the result of the battle. But the people said,
if it had been favorable to the Prussians, the couriers, to whom joy
would have lent wings, would have reached the capital long since; and
this continued silence and incertitude seemed to the inhabitants of
Berlin more discouraging than any positive intelligence, however
disastrous it might be.
No one had the heart to work longer--no one could be prevailed upon to
follow his usual avocation; all felt paralyzed by a secret terror; and
hastened into the street, as though they hoped some decisive news would
fly through the air and put an end to this dreadful suspense.
All Berlin seemed to have met in the streets on the morning of this 18th
October, and the people hastened in vast crowds toward the house of the
governor of the capital; they consisted to-day not only of the lower
classes of society but the noblest and best had united with them. Men of
mind and education, the representatives of art and science, were to be
seen among them. There was no distinction of rank or position--every one
felt that he was united with his fellow-citizens by the same care,
anxiety, and affection; every one knew that all the thousands
surrounding him entertained the same wishes and apprehensions, and thus
social distinctions were unnoticed. The high-born and the rich, the poor
and the lowly, all felt only that they were Prussians--that they were
Germans; all were animated by one desire; to learn what had been the
result of the battle, and whether the Prussians, faithful to their
ancient military glory, had defeated the enemy, or, like the other
nations, succumbed to Napoleon.
Thousands hastened, therefore, to the residence of the governor of
Berlin, Count von Schulenburg, and called vociferously for him. When the
count appeared on the balcony and asked what the crowd wanted, hundreds
of voices shouted in thundering chorus: "We want to know whether the
army has fought a battle, and whether it was defeated!"
Count Schulenburg shrugged his shoulders, and amid the silence that
ensued his ringing voice was heard to say: "I have not yet received any
definite intelligence; but so soon as I have it, I shall deem it
incumbent upon me to communicate it to the citizens of Berlin."
The governor returned with tottering steps into his house. For a moment
the people remained silent, and seemed still to listen to the words they
had just heard; but suddenly a loud, powerful voice shouted: "If the
governor does not know any thing, perhaps Professor Lange does. He has
established a newspaper for the special purpose of communicating to us
the latest news from the seat of war; let us go to his house and ask him
what the _Telegraph_ says."[8] |
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