The _Telegraph_ was a journal founded by a certain
Professor Lange, on the day when the Prussian army left Berlin. In his
prospectus he spoke in the most fulsome terms of the "invincible army of
Frederick the Great," and promised to publish always the latest news
from the seat of war.]
"Yes, yes, let us go to his house and ask him what the _Telegraph_
says!" yelled the crowd. "Where does Professor Lange live? Who can guide
us to him?"
"I can do so," said the same voice that had spoken before. "Professor
Lange lives at 22 Leipsic Street."
"Come, come, let us go to Professor Lange! Let us hear what the
_Telegraph_ says!" shouted the crowd, and hastened across the Opera
Place and Gensdarmes Market down Charlotte Street to the residence of
the journalist.
"The _Telegraph_! the _Telegraph_!" yelled the people. "We want to know
what the _Telegraph_ says! Professor Lange, give us the news from the
seat of war!"
A window on the first floor was hastily opened, and the pale, frightened
face of a gentleman looked out. "What do you want to see me for?" asked
a tremulous and hollow voice. "Why do you mention the _Telegraph_?"
"We want news from the army! We want to know whether it is true that we
have lost a battle!"
"God forbid!" said the gentleman at the window. "I have not received any
news whatever for the last three days; I know only one thing, and that
is, that Cabinet Counsellor Lombard, who was at the headquarters of the
army in Weimar, returned last night to Berlin, and is now at his
residence. Counsellor Lombard, therefore, would be the man to whom you
ought to apply."
"Lombard! Lombard!" shouted the crowd, accompanying the name with bitter
imprecations. When this name was heard, all faces turned gloomy, and
every voice assumed an angry and threatening tone.
"Lombard is to blame for every thing!" grumbled a few here and there,
and "Lombard is to blame for every thing!" was repeated louder and
louder. The excitement was as when a storm, sweeping over the sea,
lashes its waves, until, rising higher and higher, they foam with fury.
"Lombard sides with the French!" reiterated the surging mass. "He has
secretly informed the enemy of all the operations of our army, and if
the Prussians are defeated, he will be glad of it. We will go to
Lombard, and he must tell us all he knows. But woe to him if the news
should be bad!"
And the multitude with savage yells hastened down the street, back to
the Linden, and toward the residence of Cabinet Counsellor Lombard.
All the window-blinds of his house were closed, as they had been for the
last two weeks, since this well-known favorite of Minister von Haugwitz
had repaired to the headquarters of the army at Weimar. But Professor
Lange had stated, perhaps for the sole purpose of diverting the general
attention from himself, and of directing it toward the unpopular cabinet
counsellor, that Lombard had returned, and the people believed him.
"Lombard! Lombard!" shouted hundreds of voices. Eyes which had hitherto
looked only sad and anxious became threatening; many a fist was lifted
up to the closed windows, and many an imprecation uttered.
"If a disaster has taken place, it is Lombard's fault," cried one of the
crowd.
"If it is his fault, he shall and must atone for it," exclaimed another.
"He has no heart for Prussia's honor," said a third. "He is a
German-Frenchman, and would not object if the whole of Prussia should
become a French province. If he knew how to do it, he certainly would
not shrink from it, even should he bring captivity and distress upon the
king and the queen!"
"He has already done much mischief," shouted another. "The Russian army
which was to support ours ought to have been here long ago, but he
detained the dispatches in which the king informed the czar that our
army had advanced against the French. It is his fault that the Russians
have not yet arrived."
"It is his fault that the Russians have not yet arrived!" roared the
wild chorus, and the furious men began to rush toward the house. Many
armed themselves with stones, hurled them at the walls and broke the
windows; others commenced striking with vigorous fists at the closed
door.
"Open the door! open the door! We want to see Lombard! He shall account
for what he has done!" exclaimed the enraged men. "Woe to him if it be
true that we have lost a battle! Woe to him if--"
"Silence! silence!" suddenly thundered a loud, imperious voice. "See,
there is a courier!"
"A courier! A courier!" and all rushed back from the house into the
street; every eye turned toward the horseman, who approached at full
gallop.
As if obeying a military command, the multitude made way for him, but at
every step they closed behind him, and, pressing him on all sides, his
progress was exceedingly slow.
But the courier, with his gloomy mien and pale cheeks, looked like a
bearer of bad news, and when the people had scanned his features, they
murmured, "He brings bad news! A disaster is written on his forehead!"
"Let me pass," he said in an imploring voice; "in the name of the king,
let me pass!" And as he spurred his horse, the bystanders fell back in
alarm.
"'In the name of the king!' the king, then, is still alive?"
"Yes, the king is alive!" replied the courier, sadly. "I have dispatches
from him for the Governor of Berlin and Cabinet Counsellor Lombard."
"And what do these dispatches contain?" asked a thousand voices.
"I do not know, and even though I did, I am not at liberty to tell you.
The governor will communicate the news to the inhabitants of Berlin."
"Tell us the news!" demanded the people.
"I cannot do so; and, moreover, I do not know any thing about it,"
replied the courier, who had now reached Lombard's house, and whose
horse was again so closely surrounded that it was scarcely able to move
its feet.
"Do not detain me, my friends, I beseech you--let me dismount here,"
said the courier. "I must deliver my dispatches to Cabinet Counsellor
Lombard."
"Oh, let him deliver his dispatches. We can afterward compel M. Lombard
to communicate their contents."
"Yes; let him deliver his dispatches," said all; "Lombard shall
presently tell us what they contain."
The crowd stood back on both sides of the door, and busy hands were
ready to assist the rider in dismounting. But before he had been able to
do so, a voice from the rear was heard: "Ask him where the queen is at
present!"
"Yes, yes, where is the queen? where is the queen?"
"The queen?" said he. "I passed her fifteen minutes ago near the city
and delivered dispatches to her, too. The queen? Look there!" And he
pointed to the Brandenburg gate.
A carriage, drawn by six horses, was seen rapidly approaching.
"The queen! It is the queen!" joyfully shouted every one, and the
thousands who had been a moment before so anxious to learn the news, and
to call Lombard to account, rushed toward the carriage. Meantime the
courier, whose presence seemed to be entirely forgotten, dismounted, and
rapped softly at the door. It was at once opened in a cautious manner,
and a voice whispered: "Take your horse into the house. You can
afterward ride through the garden, and out of the back gate to the
governor's residence."
The door was hastily thrown open, and closed as soon as the courier had
entered with his horse. No notice was taken of this movement, for every
one thought only of the queen, and looked anxiously through the closed
coach windows.
"The queen! It is the queen!" exclaimed the people, greeting the beloved
lady in the most rapturous manner. All arms were raised in sign of
respect, and every voice uttered a welcome of "Long live the queen!"
The carriage window was lowered, and Louisa's beautiful face appeared;
but she looked pale and afflicted; her eyes, generally so radiant,
seemed dimmed and tearful; yet she tried to smile, and bowed repeatedly
to her enthusiastic friends, who rushed impetuously toward her, and, in
their exultation, forgetful of the rules of etiquette, seized the reins
and stopped the horses.
"We want to see our queen! Long live our Queen Louisa!" cried thousands
of voices. Those who stood nearest the carriage, and beheld her
countenance, fell on their knees in the fervor of their love, and eyes
that never before had wept were filled with tears; for she seemed as an
angel of sorrow and suffering. She rose, and, leaning out of the coach
door, returned the affectionate greetings of her faithful subjects, and,
weeping, stretched out her arms as if to bless them.
"Long live the queen! Long live Louisa!" they cried, and those who held
the horses, in order to stop the carriage, dropped the reins, rushed
toward the coach door, threw up their hats, and joined in the welcome
cry. The coachman, profiting by this movement, drove onward. The people,
whose desire had been satisfied in having seen their queen, no longer
resisted, and permitted the carriage to roll away.
Louisa closed her coach window, and, sinking back upon the cushions,
exclaimed in a heart-rending tone, "Alas! it is perhaps the last time
that they thus salute me! Soon, perhaps, I shall be no longer Queen of
Prussia!" She buried her face in her hands, and sobbed aloud.
"Do not weep," whispered Madame von Berg, the queen's intimate friend,
who was sitting by her side, "do not weep. It may be a dispensation of
Providence that the crown shall fall from your head for a moment, but He
will replace it more firmly, and one day you will again be happy."
"Oh, it is not for the sake of my own majesty, and for my little worldly
splendor, that I am lamenting at this moment," said the queen, removing
her hands from her face. "I should gladly plunge into obscurity and
death if my husband and my children were exempted from humiliation, and
if these good people, who love me, and are attached to their king,
should not be compelled to recognize a foreigner as their master, and
bow to him!"
"Even though the people should be subjugated at present," said Madame
von Berg, solemnly, "they will rise one day and avenge their disgrace!"
"Would you were a true prophetess!" exclaimed Louisa. "I hope the people
will remain faithful to us in adversity, and never forget their love for
their king! Yes, I will hope for that day, and pray that it may come
speedily. I will weep no more; but remember that I am a mother, and
shall see my children again--not to leave them, but to hasten with them
to my husband, who is waiting for me at Kustrin. In half an hour we must
continue our journey."
Just then the carriage drove past the main guard-house. The soldiers
presented arms, and the drums beat.
A melancholy smile overspread the queen's features. "Do you remember
what Prince Louis Ferdinand said to his mother, on the eve of his
departure to the army?" she asked in a low voice.
"No, your majesty, I do not remember, and it is possible that I never
heard of it."
"The princess believed a defeat of our army to be utterly impossible,"
said the queen. "She thought Prussia was so strong a bulwark that the
proud assault of the French empire would be in vain. 'You are mistaken,'
exclaimed Prince Louis Ferdinand; 'you think nothing will change, and
the drums will always be beaten when you ride out at the gate? On the
contrary, I tell you, mamma, one day you will ride out of the gate, and
no drums will be beaten!' The same will happen to us, my dear--we will
often ride out of the gate, and no drums will be beaten. But here is our
house, and I must hide my tears. I will show a smiling face to my
children."
The queen's carriage stopped for the first time at the doorsteps of the
palace without meeting there the ladies and gentlemen of the court, the
high dignitaries and functionaries who had formerly never failed to wait
on her. She had come without being expected, but on this day of anxiety
and terror the announcement of her arrival would have made no
difference; for every one thought only of himself, and was occupied with
his own safety. Only a few faithful servants, therefore, received her,
and bade her welcome with tearful eyes.
"Where are my children?" exclaimed the queen, anxiously. "Why are they
not here to receive their mother?"
"Your majesty," said the palace-steward, in a low voice, "a courier,
sent hither by the king, arrived last night, unfortunately having failed
to meet with your majesty on the road. The royal princes and princesses
set out two hours ago to Stettin, and thence to Grandenz. Such were his
majesty's orders."
The queen suppressed the cry of pain which rose to her lips, but a
deadly pallor overspread her cheeks. "In half an hour I shall set out,"
she said faintly. "Pack up only the most indispensable articles for me;
in half an hour I must be ready to enter my carriage. I shall, perhaps,
overtake my children in Stettin." And she retired to her room,
struggling to conceal the emotions that so violently agitated her.
CHAPTER V.
QUIET IS THE CITIZEN'S FIRST DUTY.
The people in the meantime, gathering in still greater numbers in the
broad street under the Linden, returned to the house of Lombard, and
saw, to their great disappointment, that the courier was no longer
there.
"Now, we want to know the news contained in the dispatches, and
Counsellor Lombard must tell us," shouted one of the men standing in
front of the house; he then commenced hammering the door with his
powerful fists. Others joined him, and to the measure of this
threatening music the crowd yelled, "The dispatches! the dispatches!
Lombard must come out! He must tell us what the dispatches contain! We
want to know whether our army has been defeated, or has won the battle!"
When no voice replied, nor door nor window opened, the mob, whose anger
grew more menacing, seized once more their former weapons, the stones,
and hurled them at the house. "He shall not escape from us! We will stay
here until he makes his appearance, and replies to our questions!" they
cried. "If he do not come to us, we will go to him and compel him to
hear us!"
"Fortunately, you will not find him at home," whispered Lombard, who was
listening at the door. "Every thing is in good order," he added in a low
voice. "The dear enraged people will have to hammer a good while before
breaking these bolts. By that time I shall be far from here, on the road
to Stettin."
The cabinet counsellor glided away with a sarcastic smile to the back
gate. There stood his wife, weeping piteously and wringing her hands.
M. Lombard, who had hitherto only smiled, now laughed outright. "Truly,"
he said, "it is really worth while to make a scene in consequence of
this demonstration of the people! My dear, I should think our family
ought to know how to manage them! Your father has shaved those stupid
fiends enough, and my father pulled the wool over their eyes,[9] and, as
good children of our parents, we ought to do so too."
[Footnote 9: Lombard's father was a hair-dresser, and his wife's father
a barber. Lombard liked to jest about his descent, particularly at the
dinner-table of some prince or minister. He always alluded to his father
in the following terms: "_Feu mon pere de poudreuse memoire!_"]
"Oh, Lombard, just listen," wailed his wife, "they are knocking at the
door with heavy clubs; we must perish if they succeed in forcing it open
and entering the house. They will assassinate you, for you have heard
their imprecations against you."
"_Ma chere_," said Lombard, composedly, "this is not the first time that
I discover that the people despise and persecute me. I knew it long ago.
These blockheads will never forgive me for being a Frenchman, and for
having, consequently, a predilection for France and her heroic emperor.
And not only they, but the so-called educated and high-born classes
also, hate me intensely. Throughout all Europe I have been branded as a
traitor in the pay of Napoleon. Conspiracies were got up everywhere to
bring about my removal. All the princes of the royal house--nay, the
queen herself, united against me.[10] But you see, my dear, that they
did not succeed after all in undermining my position; and the howling
rabble outside will have no better success. Indeed, the fellows seem to
be in earnest. Their blows shake the whole house!"
[Footnote 10: Lombard's own words.--Vide Gentz's Diary in his
"Miscellanies," edited by G. Schlesier, vol. iv.]
"They will succeed in breaking in," said his wife, anxiously; "and then
they will assassinate all of us."
"They will do no such thing, for they do not come for spoils, but only
for news," said Lombard. "And then, my love, they know just as well as I
the German maxim: 'The people of Nuremberg do not hang anybody unless
they have got him!' but they will not get me, for there comes my
faithful Jean across the yard.--Well, Jean, is every thing ready?" he
said to the approaching footman.
"Yes," he replied. "The carriage with four excellent horses is waiting
for you, sir. I ordered it, however, not to stop at the garden gate, but
a little farther down, in front of another house."
"That was well done, my sagacious Jean. But I hope you did not forget
either to place several bottles of Tokay wine and some roast fowl in the
carriage for me? The ill-mannered rabble outside will not permit me
to-day to lunch at home. Hence I must make up my mind to do so on the
road."
"I have not forgotten the wine nor the roast pheasant, your excellency."
"You have packed up a pheasant!" exclaimed Lombard. "If the noisy
gentlemen outside there knew that, they would be sure to assert that the
Emperor Napoleon had sent it to me as a bribe. Now, Jean, come, we will
set out. The street is quiet, I suppose?"
"Perfectly so. All those who have legs have gathered in front of the
house."
"And all those who have fists are hammering at the door," wailed Mde.
Lombard. "Make haste, Lombard--make haste lest it be too late!"
"You are right. I must go," said Lombard, quietly. "Now listen to what I
am going to tell you. So soon as you hear my carriage roll away, be kind
enough to repair to the balcony, of the first floor and address the
people. Their surprise at seeing you will cause them to be silent for a
moment."
"But, good Heaven! what am I to say to them?" asked Mde. Lombard, in
dismay.
"You are to say to them, 'My husband, Cabinet-Counsellor Lombard, is not
at home. He has gone to the governor of Berlin, Count von
Schulenburg-Kehnert, and the bearer of dispatches has accompanied him.'
Your words will have the same effect as though a pistol were discharged
among a number of sparrows--all of them will fly away. You see, my dear,
there is a very impressive and dramatic scene in store for you, and my
father, _de poudreuse memoire_, and your father, the barber, would
rejoice in their graves if they could see you haranguing the people from
the balcony. Farewell, my dear, and manage the affair as skilfully as
possible."
He embraced her hurriedly, and was about to leave the garden, leaning on
his servant's arm, and as fast as his gouty feet would permit it; but
his wife suddenly held him back.
"I cannot go to the parlor," she said in terror, convulsively clinging
to Lombard. "Remember, that they are continually hurling stones at our
house. Suppose a stone should be thrown into the window and strike my
head?"
"My dear," said Lombard, laughing, "I do not believe any stone passing
through the window would be immediately dangerous, for you have a hard
head, as I have found out often enough. Farewell, and do as I have told
you, unless you want the rabble to penetrate into your room. Farewell!"
He disengaged himself rather roughly, and hastened, as fast as his
aching and stiffened feet would permit, to the street contiguous to the
garden.
His wife waited until the departure of the carriage announced to her
that her husband had gone. At the same time the voices outside shouted
with redoubled fury, "Lombard! We want to see Lombard!" And their blows
thundered louder than ever at the door.
Mde. Lombard sighed; and, commending her body and soul to God, she
proceeded to comply with her husband's instructions, and went to the
balcony.
Lombard had prophesied correctly; profound silence ensued when the wife
of the cabinet counsellor appeared; hence, every one was able to
understand her words, and no sooner had she uttered them, than the crowd
dispersed, as her husband had told her.
"To the governor! Let us go to the governor!" they cried, as they moved
up the Linden; but they were attracted by a carriage, drawn by six fiery
horses at full gallop. It was the queen, who was about to leave the
capital. She looked even paler and sadder than before, and greeted her
friends on both sides with a heart-rending, melancholy smile. But they
had not time to greet even the queen, or to be surprised at her speedy
departure, as they rushed toward the house of the governor, Count
Schulenburg.
At his residence, also, the windows were covered up, and the gate of the
court-yard closed. But a large white handbill, containing a few lines in
gigantic letters, was posted on the side wall. Thousands of piercing
eyes were fixed on the paper, and an imperious demand was made to the
fortunate man who stood close to the handbill: "Read! Read aloud!"
"I will read it!" answered a loud, powerful voice. "Be quiet, so as to
be able to hear me!"
Profound silence reigned immediately, and every one heard distinctly
the words, which ran as follows:
"_The king has lost a battle. Quiet is the citizen's first duty. I
request all the inhabitants of Berlin to maintain good order. The king
and his brothers are alive_."
The vast multitude burst into a wail of despair; and when silence
ensued, every one seemed paralyzed and stared mournfully at his
neighbor. Suddenly the side-gate of the count's court-yard opened, and a
carriage, followed by a large baggage-wagon, made its appearance.
At first, the people timidly stepped back, and looked on wonderingly.
But no sooner had they recognized in it the governor of Berlin, Count
von Schulenburg-Kehnert--no sooner had they discovered that his carriage
contained a large number of trunks and boxes, and that the wagon was
also filled with baggage, and had satisfied themselves that the governor
intended to leave the capital at this hour of terror, than attempts were
made to prevent him from setting out. The people stopped the horses, and
cried, in tones of exasperation, that it did not behoove the governor to
leave the city while it was in danger, and the inhabitants without
advice and protection.
Count Schulenburg rose in his carriage. Stretching out his arms in an
imperious manner, he demanded silence. When the clamor had ceased, he
said, in a conciliatory tone: "My friends! duty calls me hence, for the
orders of the king must be obeyed. But you shall not say that I have
left the city of Berlin without adequate protection, and that I did not
devote my particular attention to its welfare. I have appointed my
son-in-law, the Prince von Hatzfeld, civil governor, and he will
zealously provide for the security and interests of the people of the
capital. Forward, coachman!"
The coachman was about to comply with his master's orders, but some of
the crowd still dared to resist, and refused to let the horses proceed.
"The governor must stay here!" they shouted; "it is incumbent on him not
to desert the inhabitants of Berlin, but to assist them in the hour of
danger!"
"In the hour of danger?" asked the count, with a wondering air. "Why, I
leave my whole family here--my children and grandchildren! Would I do so
if the enemy threatened the city?"
No one could combat this argument, and reply to the governor's
question. The men, therefore, dropped the reins and fell back, when the
coachman whipped the horses into a gallop.
They gazed after the escaping count, and looked sadly at each other,
asking anxiously: "What shall we do now? What shall we do when the
French come?"
"We will meet them sword in hand and drive them back!" exclaimed a young
man, with a noble face.
"Yes, we will do so," said another. "There are no soldiers here; hence
we ourselves must look out for our own defence. We will form volunteer
companies, occupy the gates, and patrol the streets."
"Our army being defeated, a new one has, of course, to be organized,"
said another. "We must do this; we must hand in our names, and enlist.
Let every one who thinks and feels like myself, follow me to the new
governor. We will apply to him for permission to organize ourselves for
the defence of the city. Come!" Many hastened with ardent impetuosity
from all parts of the crowd to join him. Others, seized with admiration
and respect, opened a passage, through which the quickly-gathered
company of more than three hundred young men marched to the residence of
the Prince von Hatzfeld.
But he did not admit the deputation of these brave men. He sent word to
them, by his adjutant, that they would receive his definite reply at a
later hour. At present he wished them to go home, and avoid, above all,
any riotous proceedings in the streets.
The reply which the Prince von Hatzfeld had promised to the deputation
soon appeared on handbills posted at all the street corners. It was as
follows: "It would be improper to conceal from the inhabitants of Berlin
that French troops may shortly occupy the capital. This unexpected event
cannot fail to produce a most painful impression among all classes. Only
the most implicit confidence in those who take upon themselves the
arduous task of alleviating the inevitable consequences of such an
event, as well as of maintaining order, which has become more desirable
than ever, will be able to avert the terrible fate which the slightest
resistance, or any disorderly conduct, would bring upon the city. The
course recently pursued by the inhabitants of Vienna, under similar
distressing circumstances, must have taught those of Berlin that the
conqueror only respects quiet and manly resignation after such a
defeat. Hence I forbid all gatherings and clamor in the streets, as well
as any public manifestation of sympathy in relation to the rumors from
the seat of war. For quiet submission is our first duty; we should only
think of what is going on within our own walls; it is the highest
interest to which we ought to devote our whole attention."
CHAPTER VI.
THE FAITHFUL PEOPLE OF STETTIN.
The hope of the queen had not been fulfilled. Her children had left
Stettin an hour before she reached the city.
"I shall immediately continue my journey," said she, resolutely.
"Your majesty, I beseech you to remain here," said Madame von Berg. "You
have scarcely had any sleep for the last three nights; last night you
did not leave the carriage at all, and hardly took any food. Oh, think
of the king, of your children, and economize your strength! Take some
rest."
"Rest!" repeated the queen, with a melancholy smile. "There will be,
perhaps, no more rest for me on earth! My heart is filled with
grief--how, then, can I sleep? But you have reminded me of my husband,
of my children, and you are right; I must live for them. Therefore, I
will stop here for an hour and take some refreshment, in order not to
give way under the heavy burden weighing down my mind. Come, we will
alight and go into the house."
Madame von Berg made a sign to the footman to open the coach door, and
followed Louisa into the royal villa, to the rooms usually occupied by
their majesties during their visits to Stettin. "When I was last in this
room," whispered the queen, "the king and the crown prince were with me.
There was nothing but joy in my heart. I was a happy wife, a happy
mother, and a happy queen! And, to-day, what am I?" She heaved a
profound sigh, and, sinking down on the sofa, pressed her face upon the
cushions. "Into what an abyss I have been hurled from my heaven!" she
murmured in a low voice. "Once a happy sovereign--now a poor, fleeing
woman, who can excite only pity. Oh, mother, mother, God be praised that
you do not behold my distress!" She clasped her hands, and her trembling
lips whispered prayers to heaven. Her large blue eyes were raised with
an expression of fervent supplication, and tears rolled like pearls over
her cheeks. She sat a long while pondering over her misfortunes, and
shuddering at the prospects of the future.
Finally, Madame von Berg ventured to approach and arouse her from her
meditation.
"Your majesty," she said, in an imploring voice, "you promised to take
rest, for the sake of the king and of your children. Remember the burden
of care weighing down the heart of his majesty. Remember that his grief
would be more intense if he should see your eyes reddened with weeping,
and find you prostrated in your distress."
"He shall not see it," said Louisa. "In his presence I will conceal my
tears, and seem hopeful and courageous. Let me, therefore, now at least,
pour out my overwhelming sorrow, for tears are the only consolation of
the afflicted. When I am with my husband once more, I shall try to
smile, and only weep in secret. Are you now satisfied, my faithful
friend?"
"Your majesty had graciously promised me to take some refreshment, but
the footman has long since announced that dinner is ready."
"Come, Caroline, we will eat," said the queen, rising hastily, and
laying her hand on her friend's shoulder.
She kept her word, and did eat a little, trying to become more cheerful
by conversing with Madame von Berg about her children and her
approaching reunion with her husband.
"Believe me, Caroline," she then said gravely, "it is not vanity and
longing for worldly splendor that causes me to bewail our present
trouble. For my part, I would gladly lead a private life, and be
contented in retirement and obscurity, if I could only see my husband
and my children happy at my side. But the king is not allowed to be as
other men are--merely a husband and father; he must think of his people,
of his state, and of his royal duties. He is not at liberty to lay down
his crown any more than we to destroy voluntarily the life we have
received from God. 'With it or on it,' said the heroic mothers of Sparta
to their sons, when delivering to them the shield with which they went
into battle. And thus the king's ancestors, who have bequeathed the
crown to him, call from their graves: 'With it, or buried under it!' It
is the inheritance of his fathers, which he must leave to his children;
he must fight for it, and either triumph or perish with it. That is the
reason why I weep, and see nothing but years of disaster and bloodshed
in store for me. Prussia must not make peace with Napoleon; she must
not, in hypocritical friendship, give her hand to him who is her mortal
enemy. She must remain faithful to the alliance which her king has sworn
on the coffin of Frederick the Great to maintain; and France will resent
this constancy as though it were a crime. But, in spite of her anger, we
must not recede; we must advance on our path if we do not wish to lose
also our honor, and if history is not to mention the name of Frederick
William III. in terms of reproach. Germany hopes that Prussia will save
her--the whole of Europe expects us to do our duty to the fatherland,
and this duty is to wage war against the tyrant who wants to subjugate
Germany, and transform her into a French province--to resist him as long
as we have an inch of territory or a drop of blood in our veins! See, my
friends, such are the thoughts that move my heart so profoundly, and
cause me to weep. I clearly foresee the great misfortunes that will
crush us in case we should proceed on the path which we have entered,
but I am not allowed to wish that Prussia should turn back, for we may
be permitted to be unfortunate, but never to act dishonorably. And I
know these to be the king's views, too--he--but hark, what is that?" she
interrupted herself. "Did it not sound as if a noisy crowd were
approaching? The tumult draws nearer and nearer! If they are French
soldiers, I am lost!" She rushed to the window, and looked anxiously
down on the street. A vast multitude approached, yelling with rage, and
threatening with their hands a pale, trembling man walking between two
others who had seized him, and whose eyes closely watched every motion
he made. That man was Cabinet-Counsellor Lombard, who, on his escape
from Berlin, had safely reached Stettin.
Just as he was about entering his carriage, in order to leave the latter
city, a few of the bystanders recognized and detained him. Those who
were in the streets soon gathered around and curiously looked on during
his altercation with the men who had stopped him.
Suddenly one of them turned to the crowd and exclaimed in a loud voice:
"Do not permit this fellow to depart. It is Lombard, the Frenchman, the
traitor; he has assuredly come to Stettin in order to prevent the queen
from continuing her journey, or to inform the enemy whither she is
going. Let us arrest him, that he may not betray her!"
"Yes, yes, arrest him; do not release him until long after the queen's
departure," cried the people. Threatening men surrounded the traitor on
all sides, and anxiously scanned his pale, cowardly face.
"Let me go, kind friends, let me go!" begged Lombard, and now all his
arrogance and haughtiness had disappeared. "You do me the greatest
injustice; I am a faithful servant of the king, and have come to Stettin
in order to wait on her majesty, and to offer my services to her."
"He lies! he lies!" said those who had recognized him. "Let us go with
him to the royal villa; the queen is there. If she wants to see him, she
will order him to be admitted; if not, he shall witness her departure."
"Yes, he shall witness her departure," exclaimed the rest approvingly;
"let us go to the royal villa!"
Dragged, pushed, and carried along, Lombard arrived, followed by
thousands, at the royal residence, which was situated at the lower end
of Broad Street, near the parade-grounds.
The carriage and horses stood in front of the house, and every thing was
ready for the queen's departure. But Louisa was still at the window, and
looked from behind the curtains down on the vast mass which filled the
whole street. Suddenly she uttered a low cry; and hastily placing her
hand on her friend's shoulder, she pointed to the street. "Look," she
whispered, trembling, "look! there is the evil demon who has done so
much to bring about the present calamities of our country; it is
Lombard, my most dangerous, nay, I must say, my only enemy! He hates me,
because he knows that I distrusted him, and asked the king for his
dismission. He has dealt treacherously with Prussia--I know and feel it,
and felt convinced of it long before this time. The presence of this man
proves that some new calamity is menacing me, for he is plotting my
ruin. I wonder what brought him here?"
"Let me go!" cried Lombard just then, in a loud and ringing voice. "Let
me go! I will and must see the queen!"
"See me?" said Louisa, in terror. "No, I will not see him; I have
nothing to do with him."
In her excitement, and anxious to see what would occur, she came forth
from behind the curtain, and appeared in full view at the window. The
people greeted her with loud cheers, and then turned their eyes again
toward Lombard. He had also seen her, and now raised his hands in a
suppliant manner, saying: "Oh, I beseech your majesty, call me up to
your room! I have come to offer my services and to communicate important
news. Grant me an audience!"
But she did not stir; she had apparently not heard his words, and her
eyes, usually so gentle, now looked gloomy and angry.
"The queen does not call him!" exclaimed hundreds of voices on the
street. "She does not want to have any thing to do with him! He is a
traitor."
"What have I done, then, kind friends, that you should call me a
traitor?" asked Lombard. "State the crimes you charge me with, so that I
may justify myself!"
"We will state them to you!" said the men who had detained him and who
were wealthy and highly-esteemed merchants of Stettin.
"Yes, yes, Mr. Grunert, and Mr. Pufahl, state his crimes to him, and
prove to him that he is a traitor!"
"We will; be quiet and listen!" replied Mr. Grunert.
"The people are going to sit in solemn judgment over him," whispered the
queen; "they will ferret out his crimes and punish him for them!"
Breathless silence reigned now. A chair was brought from one of the
adjoining houses, and Lombard compelled to mount on it, so that every
one might be able to see him. It was a strange sight, that of his
tottering, feeble form, with a pale and terror-stricken face, rising
above the crowd, whose eyes were all turned toward him, and who cast
glances like daggers at him.
"He is a traitor, and I will prove it to him," repeated Mr. Grunert,
closely approaching Lombard. "In 1803, when the king sent him to
Brussels to negotiate with Bonaparte, about an honorable peace between
Prussia and France, he allowed himself to be bribed. He exercised an
influence humiliating and disadvantageous to us; but Bonaparte bribed
him by paying him the sum of six thousand _Napoleons d'or_. Deny it if
you can!"
"I deny it," replied Lombard. "It is true, I suffered myself to be duped
by that monster for a moment. When I saw Bonaparte in 1803 in Brussels,
he managed to inspire me with confidence in his magnanimity and
greatness of character. But the deception did not last long, and soon I
perceived that this incarnate fiend would not stop in his career until
he had destroyed all existing thrones and states.[11] But I deny ever
having received money from him--I deny ever having accepted any
presents from him. And the best proof of it is that I have not any
property whatever, but I am as poor as a church mouse. My wife has
scarcely a decent parlor for the reception of her friends; and as for
myself, a plain arm-chair and a tobacco-pipe were always the goal of my
wishes."
[Footnote 11: Lombard's own words.--Vide Gentz's "Miscellanies," vol.
ii., p. 194.]
"You are poor, because you squander at the gaming-table and in secret
orgies what you obtain by your intrigues," said Grunert, sternly. "Your
poverty does not absolve you, for it is the direct consequence of your
dissipated life. You are a traitor. It was owing to your machinations in
the interest of Napoleon that our army, last year, when it ought to have
taken the field with the Austrian and Russian forces against France, was
placed so late on the war-footing, and finally returned to its garrisons
without having drawn the sword. You are to blame for the disgraceful
treaty of Vienna, for Count Haugwitz is merely a tool in your hands. You
rule over him. You laughed and rejoiced when the treaty of Vienna had
been concluded, for you are a descendant of the French colony of Berlin,
and you have no heart for the honor of Germany and Prussia."
"He is a traitor!" cried the people; "do not let him go! Detain him! He
shall not betray the queen!"
The crowd approached Lombard in the most menacing manner, and were about
to drag him from his chair, but Grunert and Pufahl warded them off, and
protected him with their broad and vigorous bodies.
"You do not yet know all he has done," exclaimed Mr. Pufahl, in a
powerful voice. "I will tell you about the last and most infamous
instance of his treachery. It is his fault that we lost the battle of
Jena--his fault alone."
"What am I to hear?" whispered Louisa.
Perfectly beside herself, she approached closer to the window, and
listened in breathless suspense to every word that was uttered.
"Well, let me tell you what Lombard has done," added Mr. Pufahl. "In the
middle of last month our king sent Lieutenant-Colonel von Krusemark with
an autograph letter to St. Petersburg, in which he informed the czar
that he intended to declare war against France, and requested the latter
to send him the assistance that had been agreed upon between them.
Lieutenant-Colonel von Krusemark was accompanied by a single footman
only, whom he had taken into his service for this special purpose, and
who had been warmly recommended to him. During the whole journey the
colonel kept the dispatches on his bare breast. It was only when he had
arrived at St. Petersburg that he laid them for a little while upon the
table, in order to change his dress, and deliver them immediately to the
czar. The servant was engaged in arranging his clothes. M. von Krusemark
went for a minute into an adjoining room, and when he returned, the
footman had disappeared with the dispatches. All the efforts made by
Krusemark and the police to recover the important papers were fruitless.
They found neither them nor the servant. Krusemark, therefore, had to
send a courier to Berlin, and ask for new instructions. This caused a
delay of several weeks, in consequence of which the Russian army was
unable to be here in time to join our troops and assist them in
attacking the French. We would not have lost the battle of Jena, if the
king's dispatches had been delivered to the Emperor of Russia at an
earlier moment, and if his army had set out in time for the seat of war.
We would not have lost the battle, if the dispatches had not been
stolen. Now listen to what I am going to tell you: _That footman had
been recommended by Lombard to Lieutenant-Colonel von Krusemark, and was
a near relative of the former_!"
"He is a traitor!" cried the people, "it is his fault that we lost the
battle of Jena! But he shall atone for it! Woe to the traitor!" |
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