"No," said Napoleon, "I will not go to weeping Poland, shaking her
chains, and only wailing and complaining instead of acting, but I will
go to the men and heroes of Poland, who have thrown off their fetters,
and shed their blood for their country! Go home and tell this to your
countrymen, and ask _them_ when I shall come!"
"Sire, they will say as we say now, 'God save Cæsar! We clash our
swords, and dance the sacred war-dance, that he may come and let us see
his face!'"
"As soon as it is time," said Napoleon, significantly. "Go, my friends,
and tell your countrymen so. The time for weeping is past--that for
action has come. Improve it, and be wise. Return home as fast as you
can, for I should like to be with you before the present year has
expired. Farewell!"
He greeted them in so winning a manner that, charmed with his
affability, they again enthusiastically shouted, "Long live Napoleon the
Great, the liberator of nations!" Amid the cheers of the sanguine Poles,
Napoleon returned to the small reception-room, accompanied by
Talleyrand, whom he had beckoned to follow.
"Well," asked he when they were alone, "what do you think of it? Will
the Poles rise?"
"I am convinced of it, sire! Your words were like the steel striking the
flint, and kindling the tinder of their national ardor. It will burn,
sire--burn so brightly that Russia, Austria, and Prussia, may be badly
injured in their Polish provinces."
"Certainly not Austria," said Napoleon, quickly; "for the rest, we shall
know how to extinguish the fire as soon as it burns too extensively.
Forward your dispatch to our ambassador in Vienna to-day. He is to
assure the Emperor of Austria in the most emphatic manner that I do not
intend permitting the Polish insurrection to spread too far, and that
his Galician provinces, at all events, shall not be endangered.--Well,
Duroc, what do you bring?" continued he, when the door opened, and the
grand marshal entered with a letter in his hand.
"Sire, I bring two messages at the same time. In the first place, a new
envoy of the King of Prussia has just arrived; he is the bearer of this
letter which the king, who is now at Graudenz, has addressed to your
majesty."
"Ah," exclaimed Napoleon, "he is at Graudenz, which is still closer to
the boundary of his states. But I will drive him to the last town on the
frontier. The queen must learn what it is to provoke a war!" He took the
letter, which Duroc handed to him, and opened it hastily.
"Sire," said Duroc, "the bearer of that letter, Major von Rauch, asks
the favor of an audience, in order to lay before your majesty the wishes
and requests of his king, who has orally communicated them to him."
Napoleon turned to Talleyrand. "Receive him first," he said; "then
report to me, and we shall see whether I can grant him an interview.
But, wait a moment! Let us first see what is in the king's letter." He
broke the seal and unfolded the paper. When about to read it, he raised
his eyes toward Duroc.
"Sire, Prince Augustus of Prussia has just arrived as a prisoner of war,
escorted by a detachment of our soldiers. The Grand-duke of Berg sends
him to your majesty as a trophy of your victory. Colonel de Gerard
accompanies him."
"Did the prince behave as a brave soldier?" asked Napoleon.
"Sir, Colonel de Gerard states that even our own men admire his heroism.
The prince had separated himself with a battalion of grenadiers from the
corps of the Prince von Hohenlohe, and was marching along the Uker. Our
dragoons were pursuing him, but he repulsed them repeatedly, and would
have succeeded in escaping, with his soldiers, if the impassable
character of the ground had not detained him. He got into a marshy
country, intersected by many small canals, which greatly impeded him.
The horses sank into the mud, and their riders had to alight and lead
them. The prince also was compelled to wade through on foot. He was
leading his charger by the bridle, and just as he felt firm ground under
him, and was about mounting, the horse broke from him and plunged into
the Uker to save its own life. Our dragoons succeeded then in overtaking
and capturing the prince; and the Prussians, seeing that their leader
was taken, also surrendered. The grand-duke reports this affair at
length to your majesty, because he knows that you honor bravery in an
enemy, and because this living trophy would no doubt assume a higher
value in your eyes."
"Where is the prince?" asked Napoleon, quickly.
"Sire, he is in the anteroom, and awaits whatever disposition your
majesty may make of him. Sire, he humbly requests your majesty to permit
him to repair to his parents, to recover from his wounds."
"I will see him. Admit him at once."
"Sire, would not your majesty graciously permit him to arrange his
toilet a little?" asked Duroc. "The prince is not dressed sufficiently
well to appear before your majesty."
"No matter," said Napoleon. "Bring him in immediately." He waved his
hand to Duroc, and then looked again at the letter which he still held
in his hand.
Talleyrand, who was standing near him, fixed his subtle eyes on the
emperor's face. He saw that it brightened up with proud satisfaction,
and that gradually a cold, disdainful smile played on his lips.
"I shall be able to impose very rigorous conditions upon the new
Prussian envoys," said Talleyrand to himself; "the king seems to submit
very humbly, for the pride of a _triumphator_ is beaming on the
emperor's forehead."
Just then Napoleon threw the letter impetuously on the table. "Read it,
Talleyrand," he said, carelessly. "It is always instructive to see how
small these men are in adversity, and how overbearing in prosperity. And
such men desire to be sovereign princes, and wear a crown!"
Talleyrand was extending his hand toward the letter when the door
opened, and the grand marshal entered.
"Sire," he exclaimed, "Prince Augustus of Prussia."
"Let him come in," said Napoleon, sitting down slowly and carelessly in
the easy-chair, covered with purple velvet, which, was standing in the
middle of the room. He beckoned Talleyrand to come to him.
At this moment there appeared on the threshold the tall, slender form of
Prince Augustus of Prussia. Duroc was right; the prince was not in very
courtly trim to appear before the emperor. His uniform was torn and
bespattered; he had but one boot, and that covered with mire; the other
had stuck in the marshy ground near Schonermark, and he had replaced it
by a heavy wooden shoe, such as those worn by German peasants; his right
arm was in a linen bandage, flecked with blood, and an oblique wound,
covered with a broad black plaster, was on his forehead. Such was the
miserable condition in which the nephew of Frederick the Great appeared
in the brilliant halls of the royal palace of Prussia before the
conqueror of his country and of his house, who received him, seated, and
scarcely nodded in return to the stiff military salutation of the
prince. Napoleon looked sternly at the prisoner, and his lips betrayed
the anger seething in his breast. The prince, however, apparently did
not notice this, nor feel uneasy and irritated at the singular situation
in which he found himself; his eyes met those of the emperor calmly and
fearlessly; he did not bow his head, but carried it erect; not a trace
of fear or sorrow was to be seen in his youthful countenance; a faint
smile indeed was playing on his red, full lips when he glanced over the
room, and again at Napoleon, behind whom Talleyrand and Duroc were
standing in a most respectful attitude.
"You are a brother of Prince Louis Ferdinand, who was killed at
Saalfeld?" asked the conqueror, in a harsh voice.
"Yes, sire, I am a son of Prince Ferdinand of Prussia," was the grave
reply.
"A nephew of Frederick II.," exclaimed Napoleon. "A nephew of the heroic
king who loved France so well, that his heart and opinions were those of
a Frenchman."
"Sire," said the prince, calmly, "history teaches, however, that the
great king was not always the friend of that country, and that his love
for it did not prevent him from waging war against it. His enmity
against France gained him no less glory than his friendships for its
poets and _savants_.
"Ah, you refer to Rossbach," said Napoleon, shrugging his shoulders. "We
have expunged that name with the names of Jena and Auerstadt, and the
monument that once stood on the battle-field of Rossbach is now on the
way to Paris--a trophy of our victorious army."[24]
[Footnote 24: On the day after the battle of Jena, the emperor said to
General Savary, while riding across the battle-field of Rossbach,
between Halle and Merseburg: "Gallop to the left in this direction;
about half a mile from here you will find the column erected by the
Prussians in memory of that battle." Savary advanced in the direction
indicated, and found the small column in the middle of a corn-field.
Waving his handkerchief, General Savary made a sign that he had
succeeded in discovering the monument, and Napoleon galloped with his
suite across the plain to contemplate it. The storms of half a century
had beaten upon it, and it was difficult to decipher the numerous
inscriptions with which it was covered. The division of General Suchet
just passing the spot, the emperor ordered them to have the monument
removed and sent to Paris. The pieces were put into a caisson, and the
orders executed.--"Memoirs du Duc de Rovigo," vol. ii., p. 293.]
The prince bent his head a little. "It is true," he said, "the goddess
of victory is very fickle. The future therefore consoles those who have
succumbed in the present."
The emperor cast an angry glance on the prince, who met it with a bold,
unflinching air.
"I see you are, both by birth and sentiment, a brother of Prince Louis
Ferdinand," said Napoleon. "Like him, you belonged to the hot-headed
young men who would have war at any price. Hard blows were required to
moderate your war-fever. I hope you are cured of it now. Your brother
has expiated his mad arrogance on the battle-field of Saalfeld. It is
your fate to return as a prisoner of war in the most pitiful plight to
the capital of Prussia, which you left a few weeks since with such
foolish hopes of victory. You ought to have listened in time to reason,
and not to the siren voice of the queen, who, in a manner so disastrous
to Prussia, inveigled all the young men to plunge into the Charybdis of
war, and--"
"Sire," said the prince, interrupting him in an almost threatening
voice--"sire, no reflections on the queen, if you please! Having
conquered us, you are at liberty to humiliate and abuse the vanquished,
if your majesty derive pleasure from such a triumph, but the noble and
unhappy queen should not be dragged into a quarrel of men. We do not
claim the excuse of having been inveigled by her, and her exalted virtue
does not deserve that charge."
"Ah," exclaimed Napoleon, scornfully, "like all young men, you seem to
belong to the enthusiastic admirers of the queen."
"Sire, that proves that the young men of Prussia are still imbued with
respect for virtue. It is true we all adore the queen as our tutelary
saint; she is the radiant pattern of our mothers, our wives, and
daughters; she is the ideal of all--and those who have once been so
happy as to have seen and spoken with her, bow to her in love and
admiration."
"Had all of you bowed less to her, Prussia would not now lie humiliated
in the dust," said the emperor, harshly. "Prussia and France are
destined by Nature to be friends, and I, who never have sought war, but
always regarded it only as a deplorable necessity, was greatly inclined
to offer my hand to Prussia in peace and friendship. But your queen and
your officers of the guard were bent on having war, and believed they
would win laurels by waging it. Now you have it with all its terrors.
What has it brought upon you? You have lost a brother by it, and you
yourself had to lay down your arms at Prenzlau."
"Sire," said the prince, in generous pride, "I request your majesty not
to confound me with those who concluded the capitulation of Prenzlau. I
did not capitulate; I was taken prisoner, sword in hand, but I did not
surrender it voluntarily."
"Young man," said Napoleon, in grave, cold calmness, "beware of being
plunged into deeper distress by your haughty spirit. The Prussian
princes are not now in a position to utter high-sounding words. Your
king is fully aware of this. Listen attentively to what I tell you: he
has begged me for peace in the most submissive manner; he is imploring
me to grant him my friendship, and calls himself happy because I am
dwelling in his palaces."
"Sire, that is impossible," exclaimed the prince, carried away by his
impulsive temper. Napoleon shrugged his shoulders, and then turned his
head a little aside toward his minister. "M. Talleyrand, please read to
us the letter," he said; "I merely glanced over it.--Owing to the
portentous events of the last days, you are, prince, without direct news
from the king. You may, then, derive from this letter some information
concerning his situation and sentiments. Read, M. Minister! And you,
prince, take a seat."
He pointed to one of the chairs standing near the door. Prince Augustus,
however, did not accept this gracious invitation. He bowed, and said,
smiling, "Your majesty will permit me to stand, for my costume is hardly
in harmony with gilt chairs, and I believe it behooves a poor vagabond
like myself to stand humbly at the door. Moreover, Prussian etiquette
requires us to stand in listening to the words of our sovereign."
"Read, Talleyrand," said the emperor, and leaning back carelessly, he
tried to discover in the prince's face the impression which the king's
letter would make upon him. Talleyrand read as follows:
"_Monsieur mon Frere_: When I begged your imperial majesty to grant me
peace, I consulted my reason, but I have now consulted my heart. In
spite of the terrible sacrifices which you have imposed on me, sire, I
desire most anxiously that the treaty, which has already been secured by
the approval of the main points, will entitle me soon to resume my
amicable relations with your imperial majesty, which the war interrupted
for a moment. It is an agreeable duty for me, _monsieur mon frere_, to
manifest, by a proof of confidence, my sincere desire to cultivate your
friendship; and I believe I do this by stopping the further advance of
the Russian troops, without waiting for the definitive conclusion of
peace.
"I was anxious that your majesty should be received and treated at my
palaces in a manner agreeable to you. I have zealously taken such steps
as were necessary for that purpose, and, according to my power, in the
situation in which I am now, I hope my endeavors have been successful.
In return, your majesty will permit me to recommend my capital and the
province of Brandenburg to your generosity. This province, so little
favored by Nature, is, as it were, a creation of my immortal ancestor. I
hope, sire, you will regard it as a monument he erected to himself; and
the numerous points in which your majesty resembles that great man, I
trust, will be an additional inducement for you to order his work to be
treated in a magnanimous manner.
"Besides, I should like to request your majesty kindly to exempt the
district of Halberstadt and the duchy of Magdeburg from the cruel losses
you are imposing on me. Such an order I should regard as a precious
guaranty of your personal feelings toward me, and you may depend upon
it, sire, I should zealously strive to reciprocate these feelings in the
most cordial manner. I pray God to take you in his Holy keeping, and
remain, _monsieur mon frere_,
"Your majesty's obedient servant,
"FREDERICK WILLIAM."
While the letter was being read, Napoleon did not avert his eyes for a
single moment from the countenance of the prince. He saw that he blushed
with indignation at first, and that gradually a profound grief
overshadowed his noble features.
"Well, was I not right?" asked Napoleon, when Talleyrand had concluded.
"Does not your king submit to all my conditions? Does he not bid me
welcome to his palaces?"
"Sire," said the prince, mournfully, "it does not behoove me to censure
the words of my king. When he has spoken, I must be silent. I only dare
to observe that your majesty may see from this letter that the queen
does not meddle with government affairs. Had she done so, your majesty,
no doubt, would not have received this letter of Count Haugwitz."
"Of Count Haugwitz?" asked Napoleon. "Of the king, you mean?"
"Sire, the king lent to this letter only his name and handwriting; Count
Haugwitz furnished the words and the spirit it breathes."
"Then you believe that the queen does not share the views of her
husband?" asked the emperor, hastily. "You believe she would still
insist on the further continuation of the war if her opinion were
consulted?"
"Sire, I only take the liberty to state that she would not have written
such a letter."
"I know it very well!" exclaimed Napoleon. "Your queen hates me; she
would die rather than beg my friendship; she would bury herself under
the ruins of her throne rather than put an end to this war and call me
her brother. But I will bend that haughty soul--I will crush her heart,
and make her repent of what she is doing. I will--but," he suddenly
interrupted himself, "what is the matter with you! You turn pale! You
are tottering, prince!"
The emperor arose and advanced a few steps; but the prince motioned him
back. "It is nothing," he said faintly, "only a momentary weakness--that
is all. I have not taken rest for several days and nights, and loss of
blood has exhausted my strength. Besides--why should I shrink from
confessing it--I am hungry, sire; I have eaten nothing for the last
twenty-four hours."
"Poor young man," said Napoleon, compassionately, as he approached the
prince, "I deplore your misfortunes. Personally you have not deserved
them, for I know you have fought bravely, and are worthy of a better
fate than that of a prisoner of war; but will you give me your word of
honor that you will not attempt to escape or participate again in this
war against me?"
"Sire," said the prince, pointing at his wounded right arm, "sire, I
believe I must give you my word of honor. I am your prisoner, and shall
not attempt to escape."
"Then go to your parents. I permit you to remain at the house of Prince
Ferdinand until you have recovered from your wounds. I will not deprive
your mother any longer of the pleasure of embracing her brave son. Go,
then, to her!" The prince bowed and was about to withdraw.
"Well, prince, have you not a word of thanks for me?" asked Napoleon,
kindly.
The prince smiled mournfully. "Sire," he said, bowing deeply, "sire, I
thank you for treating me so leniently."
CHAPTER XV.
THE VICTORIA OF THE BRANDENBURG GATE.
Without waiting for further permission to withdraw, the prince hastily
opened the door and went out. For a moment he sat down in the anteroom,
for his feet were trembling so as to be scarcely able to support him,
and such a pallor overspread his cheeks that Colonel Gerard, who had
been waiting, hastened to him in dismay, and asked whether he would
permit him to call a physician. Prince Augustus smilingly shook his
head. "The physician of whom I stand in need is in my mother's kitchen,"
he said, "and your emperor has permitted me to seek him." Just then the
grand marshal entered the room, and, making a sign to Gerard, whispered
a few words into his ear.
"Your royal highness is delivered from the burden of my company," said
the colonel to the prince when Duroc had withdrawn. "Permit me, however,
to conduct you to the carriage that is to convey you to the palace of
Prince Ferdinand."
In the court-yard below, an imperial carriage was waiting, and Colonel
Gerard himself hastened to open the door to assist the prince in
entering. But the latter waved his hand deprecatingly, and stepped back.
"I am unworthy of entering the imperial carriage," he said. "See, even
the coachman, in his livery, looks elegant compared with me; and all
Berlin would laugh, if it should see me ride in the emperor's
magnificent coach. Let me, therefore, walk off quite humbly and modestly
and enter the first conveyance I meet. Farewell, colonel, and accept my
thanks for the great attention and kindness you have manifested toward
me."
The prince kindly shook hands with him and then hastily walked across
the court-yard of the palace toward the place in front of it--the
so-called _Lustgarten_. He crossed this place and the wide bridge, built
across an arm of the Spree, without meeting with any vehicle. But the
fresh air, and the sense that he was free, agreed with him so well that
he felt strong enough to proceed on foot to his father's palace.
"No one recognizes me in this miserable costume," he said, smiling--"no
notice will be taken of me, and I will be able to reach my home without
being detained." And he walked vigorously across the Opera Place toward
the Linden. This neighborhood, generally so lively and frequented, was
strangely deserted--no promenaders--none of the contented and happy
faces, formerly to be met with on the Opera Place and under the Linden,
were to be seen to-day. Only a few old women were mournfully creeping
along here and there; and, when the prince passed the guard-house, he
saw French soldiers standing in the front, who looked arrogantly and
scornfully at the Prussian officer, and did not think of saluting him.
"Ah, my brother," muttered Prince Augustus to himself, "your prophecy
has been quickly fulfilled! The drums are no longer beaten when we ride
out of the gate and pass the guard-house. Well, I do not care. I would
gladly do without such honors, if Prussia herself only were
honored--if--" A noise, proceeding from the lower end of the Linden,
interrupted his soliloquy. He advanced more rapidly to see what was
going on. The shouts drew nearer and nearer, and a dark, surging crowd
was hastening from the entrance of the Linden through the Brandenburg
Gate. Soon the prince was able to discern more distinctly the character
of the multitude approaching. They were French soldiers, marching up the
street, and on the sidewalk, as well as in the middle of the Linden; the
people and the citizens belonging to the national guard accompanying
them--the latter in the brilliant uniform which they had put on with the
consent of the French authorities, who, now that there were no Prussian
troops in Berlin, had permitted them to mount guard together with the
French. But the people and the national guard did not accompany the
French soldiers quietly; on the contrary, the bewildered prince
distinctly heard the sneers, the derisive laughter, and jeers of the
crowd; even the boys in the tree-tops were casting down their abusive
epithets. When the procession drew nearer, and the people surrounded the
prince, he discovered the meaning of these outbursts of scorn and
derision.
A strange and mournful procession was moving along in the midst of the
splendidly uniformed French soldiers. It consisted of the captured
officers of the Prussian guard, who had been obliged to walk from
Prenzlau to Berlin, and whom the French grenadiers had received outside
of the city limits and escorted by the walls to the Brandenburg Gate, so
that, in accordance with the emperor's orders, they might make their
entry through that way. Two months before, they had marched out of the
same gate in full uniform, proud and arrogant, looking down
superciliously on the civilians, whose humble greetings they scarcely
condescended to return. Two months before, General von Ruchel had been
able to exclaim: "A Prussian officer never goes on foot." The Prussian
guard had really believed that it would be scarcely worth while to draw
their swords against the French--that it would be sufficient merely to
march against them. But now the disastrous days of Jena had taught the
officers how to walk--now they did not look down scornfully from their
horses on poor civilians, and faith in their own irresistibility had
utterly disappeared. They marched with bowed heads, profoundly
humiliated, and compelled to suppress the grief overflowing their
hearts. Their uniforms were hanging in rags on emaciated forms, and the
colors of the cloth and the gold-lace facings were hidden beneath the
mud that covered them. Their boots were torn, and robbed of the silver
spurs; and, as in the case of Prince Augustus of Hohenzollern, many wore
wooden shoes. But in spite of this miserable and heart-rending
spectacle, the populace had no pity, but accompanied the melancholy
procession with derisive laughter and insulting shouts!
"Just look at those officers," exclaimed a member of the national guard,
approaching the soldiers--"look at those high-born counts! Do you
remember how proud they used to be? How they despised us at the balls,
in the saloons, and everywhere else? How we had always to stand aside in
the most submissive manner, in order not to be run down by them? They
will not do so again for some time to come."
"No," cried the crowd, "they won't hurt anybody now! Their pomp and
circumstance have vanished!"
"Just look at Baron von Klitzing!" exclaimed another. "See how the wet
rim of his hat is hanging down on his face, as though he were a modest
girl wishing to veil herself. Formerly, he used to look so bold and
saucy; seeming to believe the whole world belonged to him, and that he
needed only to stretch out his hand in order to capture ten French
soldiers with each finger."
"Yes, yes, they were tremendous heroes on marching out," shouted
another; "every one of the noble counts and barons had already his
laurel in his pocket, and was taking the field as though it were a
ball-room, in order to put his wreath on his head. Now they have come
back, and the laurels they have won are not even good enough to boil
carps with." A roar of laughter followed this hit, and all eyes turned
again in ridicule toward the poor officers, who were marching along,
mournfully and silently, with downcast yet noble bearing.
Filled with anger and shame, Prince Augustus pressed through the crowd.
He could not bear this disgraceful scene; he had to avert his head in
order not to see the unfortunate Prussian officers; he hurried away,
that he might hear no more the cruel taunts of the populace. The ranks
became less dense, and this terrible procession passed by--the street
was once more unobstructed. The prince rushed onward regardless of the
direction he was taking, crushed as he was by the disgrace and
wretchedness brought upon Prussia. He was again suddenly in front of a
large gathering. He looked about him wonderingly and in dismay. Without
knowing it, he had gone down to the large square in front of the
Brandenburg Gate, where was a dense crowd.
But the thousands here did not utter sneers or praises--they were sad
and silent; there was no malicious sparkle in their eyes as they rushed
in one direction to the Brandenburg Gate.
The prince beheld an inclined scaffold erected near the lofty Grecian
pillars of the gate, and reaching up to the cast-iron goddess of
victory, standing in her triumphal car, and holding the reins of her
horses. He saw the ropes, pulleys, and chains, attached to her form, and
it seemed to him as if they were around his own breast, and choking his
voice. He had to make an effort to utter a word, and, turning to a man
standing by, he asked in a low voice, "What is going on here? What are
they doing up there?"
The man looked at him long and mournfully. "The French are removing the
'Victoria' from the gate," he said, with suppressed anger. "They believe
the state no longer suitable to Berlin, and the emperor is sending it to
Paris, whither he has already forwarded the sword and clock of Frederick
the Great."
The prince uttered a groan of despair. At that moment a loud French
command was heard by the gate, and as if the "Victoria" were conscious,
and obedient to the orders of the emperor, a tremor seemed to seize the
goddess. She rose as the horses began to descend, and her figure bent
forward as if greeting Berlin for the last time. A loud noise resounded
above the heads of the crowd--the "Victoria" had glided safely to the
ground. The prince uttered a cry, and, as if paralyzed, closed his eyes.
When he opened them again the beautiful pillars of the Brandenburg Gate
had been deprived of their ornament, and the "Victoria," with her
triumphal horses, stood deposed from her lofty throne.
Prince Augustus raised his tearful eyes to heaven and whispered, "Oh, my
brother, I envy you your death, for it was not permitted you to behold
the humiliation and sorrow of Prussia!"
BOOK II.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE TREATY OF CHARLOTTENBURG.
Queen Louisa was pacing her room in great excitement. At times she stood
still at the window, and looked anxiously into the street as if
expecting the arrival of some one. But that street--the main one in
Osterode, in which city the royal couple had spent the last few
days--remained silent and deserted. Large snow-flakes were falling from
the cheerless, lead-colored sky, and the November storm was now sweeping
them into little mounds, and again dispersing them in clouds of white
dust. The queen beheld nothing but this winter scene; she sighed and
returned to her room to pace it as rapidly as before.
But she was constantly drawn to the window, gazing into the street and
listening breathlessly to any noise that reached her ears. "If he should
not come," she muttered anxiously, "or if too late, all would be lost,
and the cowards and babblers would be able once more to persuade my
husband to yield to their clamor for peace. Heaven have mercy on our
unhappy country and on ourselves!"
Suddenly she started up, and leaned closer to the window in order to see
better. Yes, she had not been mistaken. In the lower part of the street
a carriage was to be seen. The storm prevented her from hearing the
noise of the wheels, but she saw it--it drew nearer and nearer, and
finally stopped in front of the house. The queen stepped back, and,
drawing a deep breath, she raised her eyes to heaven. "I thank Thee, my
God! Thou hast had mercy on my anguish," she whispered with a gentle
smile. She then walked slowly and faintly across the room toward the
divan and sank down on it. "Ah," she muttered, "this eternal anxiety,
this unrelieved suspense and excitement are consuming my strength--nay,
my life. My feet are trembling; my heart stands entirely still at times,
and then beats again as violently as if it would burst from my breast.
But, no matter! I am quite willing to die if I only live to see the
deliverance of my country and the preservation of my house." She dropped
her head on the cushions and gazed with dilated eyes at the sky. But, on
hearing a low rap at the door, she slowly rose and called out in her
full, sonorous voice, "Come in!" The door opened, and Madame von Berg
entered.
"Well, Caroline, he has arrived, I suppose?" asked the queen.
"No, your majesty," said Madame von Berg, smiling, "_they_ have arrived.
The two ministers, Baron von Stein and Count von Hardenberg request your
majesty to grant them an audience."
"Hardenberg!" exclaimed Louisa joyfully, and her pale face brightened.
"Oh, let them come in--immediately!"
The queen quickly left the divan and walked toward the door. But Madame
von Berg hastened to reach it before her and opened it. "Come in,
gentlemen," she said; "her majesty is waiting for you!"
"Yes, I am waiting for you," exclaimed Louisa, meeting them, and with a
sweet smile extending both her hands.
The ministers bowed and kissed her hand. Madame von Berg had in the mean
time locked the door leading into the small anteroom, and withdrew
softly by the opposite door.
"Then you received the message the king sent you?" asked the queen,
turning toward Baron von Stein. "And you did not hesitate a moment to
come here? And you, count," added she, turning toward Hardenberg, "you
did the same as this faithful friend? Having heard that the decisive
moment had come, you did not hesitate to offer your services to your
king? Oh, I thank you, gentlemen; I thank you in the name of my husband,
of my children, and of our country! In these days of danger and
distress, when all are wavering and fearful, it does my heart good to
meet with unswerving fealty and devotion. Ah, so many have proved
faithless and deserted us!"
"But so many also have remained faithful, your majesty," said
Hardenberg, "so many have proved true and loyal!"
The queen gazed at him long and mournfully. "Few," she said, "alas, very
few! You say so only in your magnanimity, because you do not care to
make your loyalty appear as something extraordinary. But, look around in
Prussia--look at our fortresses! Everywhere treachery and
cowardice--everywhere perfidy! I will not speak to you of Stettin, of
Kustrin, of Spandau, of Anclam, and Erfurt! You know already that we
have lost them. But have you learned the dreadful tidings we received
yesterday? Do you know that Magdeburg has surrendered?"
"Magdeburg!" ejaculated Stein and Hardenberg, at the same time.
Louisa nodded sadly, and her eyes filled with tears. "It was our last
bulwark," she said, "and it is gone, too! I have wept much since
yesterday. Now I will be calm, and force my grief back into my heart.
But as Mary, Queen of England, said at the capture of Calais, 'If my
heart were opened, you would find on it the name of _Magdeburg_ in
bloody letters!'"[25]
[Footnote 25: Louisa's own words.--Vide "Queen Louisa," p. 316.]
"It is true," said Hardenberg, gloomily, "it is a great disaster. A
fortress so well supplied with every thing, and a garrison of more than
ten thousand men!"
"If your majesty will permit me, I ask, how did this intelligence
impress the king?" said Baron von Stein.
"He bore it with resignation, and that calm courage which never leaves
him in these days of affliction," said Louisa, quickly. "But his
so-called friends and advisers, Messrs. von Haugwitz, Kockeritz, Voss,
and Kalkreuth, received the heart-rending news with secret satisfaction.
I read it in their faces, notwithstanding the sadness they assumed. They
regard the fall of Magdeburg as an ally of their intentions and schemes.
They desire peace with France--peace at any price--and hope that the
king will now approve their views. Hence, Minister von Stein, Madame von
Berg had to give a letter to the courier yesterday, in which I urged you
to comply with the king's orders, and to come here immediately. Hence,
Count von Hardenberg, I am glad that you have come too. Oh, I know very
well what it must have cost your noble heart to come without being
expressly requested; but you did so for the sake of the crushed and
prostrate fatherland--I know it very well--and not for Prussia, not for
us, but for Germany, on whose neck the tyrant has placed his foot, and
which he will strangle unless the good and the brave unite their whole
strength and hurl him off."
"I came here," said Hardenberg, "because I remembered that hour when
your majesty permitted me to give an oath of unwavering fealty and
devotion--that hour when you condescended to accept my hand for our
league against France, and when you vowed to exert yourself to the best
of your ability to maintain the policy Prussia had entered into, and not
to suffer her king ever to accept the perfidious friendship of France!"
"I have never forgotten that hour," said the queen, gravely. "He who
joined us in taking that pledge at the solemn moment you refer to,
Prince Louis Ferdinand, has sealed his vow with his death: he is
sleeping on the field of honor. But I feel convinced that he is looking
down on us from heaven; and, if it be given to the spirits of the
blessed to influence the affairs of mortals, he will instill his ardor
into our breast, and assist us in reaching the true goal. But what is
that goal? and what the true way? My short-sighted eye is not able to
discern it. When I behold the tremendous successes of the conqueror, I
am perplexed, and ask myself whether it be not evident that God will
make him master of the world, and whether, consequently, it be not in
vain to struggle against him? Oh, my soul is at times engaged in
terrible conflict with itself, and gloomy doubts frighten it. But I feel
now that we are on the eve of the crisis, and that the present day will
decide our whole future. Grand-Marshal Duroc will reach this city
to-day; Colonel von Rauch, who preceded him, has already arrived. He
delivered to the king the treaty of peace, which M. de Zastrow and
Lucchesini concluded with Talleyrand at Charlottenburg. Napoleon has
already signed it. Only the king's signature is wanting, and, as soon as
he affixes it, we are the friends and vassals of the emperor of France,
and must either lay the sword aside, or, if he should command us to do
so, draw it against Russia, our present ally. A stroke of the pen will
determine the future of Prussia and the fate of my children. Now, help
me and all of us!--now, advise me as to what ought to be done! Tell me
your honest opinion as freely and sincerely as though you were standing
before God! Count von Hardenberg, pray, speak first! Do you believe it
to be necessary for the welfare of Prussia, of my children, and, above
all, of my husband, that the king should approve the treaty?"
"Your majesty is aware that I never advised the king to form an alliance
with France," said Hardenberg, "and that my most sacred conviction will
ever prevent me from doing so. But, in order to pass an opinion on the
treaty of Charlottenburg, I ought to know its provisions, and your
majesty is aware that the king has not permitted me of late to take part
in the negotiations. I do not know what the treaty contained."
"Nor I either," said Baron von Stein, when the queen turned toward him
with an inquiring glance. "But I know those who concluded it; I know
that M. de Lucchesini and M. de Zastrow believe no sacrifice, no
humiliation too great, if they can thereby succeed in making peace with
France. I know that Talleyrand is wily enough to profit by their
weakness, their cowardice, and lack of true honor; and I know, finally,
that if Napoleon signs a treaty of peace with Prussia now, it cannot but
be advantageous to him, and humiliating to Prussia."
"I will tell you what the treaty contains," said a grave voice behind
them.
"The king!" exclaimed Louisa, rising quickly and hastening to him.
He greeted her cordially, and gave her his hand. "I wished to see you in
your cabinet," he said, smiling, "and thus overheard the last words of
the secret council which is held here."
Louisa blushed slightly; the king noticed it, and shook his head a
little. "It is quite agreeable to me," he said, turning toward the two
ministers, "that the queen informs herself of the state of our affairs
and of politics generally, consulting men in whose loyalty and devotion
she reposes confidence. We must know our fate accurately and thoroughly,
in order to look it courageously in the face, and decide on such
measures as are most conducive to our welfare. Moreover, the queen has
hitherto bravely shared all our dangers and hardships; it is, therefore,
but just that she should take part in our consultations."
"Oh, my king and husband," exclaimed Louisa pressing his hand against
her bosom, "I thank you for your kindness and generosity. I thank you
for not sending me back into the narrow sphere of woman; for permitting
me to look beyond the threshold of my apartments, and to have a heart
for the calamities of our country."
The king nodded kindly to her, and then turned to the two ministers, who
had respectfully withdrawn toward the door. "I invited you to come here,
M. Minister von Stein," he said, "that you might participate in a
meeting of the cabinet, at which our course in regard to the treaty of
Charlottenburg is to be decided. I am glad that you have come. And,"
added he, addressing Hardenberg, "I am glad also that you are here. I
like men who, conscious of their worth, are not irritated at being
seemingly neglected. I know how to appreciate the fact that you are
standing by us in these times of adversity, and not looking out only for
your own quiet and comfort. I am fully aware that you are not pursuing
this course from selfish motives, and that you are rich enough to live
without any public position--richer, perhaps, than your king! Well, the
queen requested you to give her your opinion about the treaty of
Charlottenburg, and I came in and interrupted you."
"Your majesty heard that these gentlemen assured me they were ignorant
of the contents of the treaty," said the queen, fixing her beaming eyes
on the calm, grave face of her husband; "your majesty, on entering the
room, were kind enough to say you would communicate the contents to us."
"I will do so, to keep the gentlemen posted," said the king--"not,
however, as king, but as a friend, whom you, Louisa, will authorize to
take part in the deliberations of this secret council of state. Hence,
let us proceed without any regard to etiquette. I did not want to
preside over, but merely to attend your consultation, and to tell you
what you are ignorant of. Resume your seats, therefore."
"And you, dear husband!" asked the queen, sitting down again on the
divan, "will you be so kind as to take a seat by my side?"
The king nodded, and sat down by her side, while the ministers took
seats opposite. "Listen, then, to the terms of peace," said the king.
"The Emperor Napoleon demands the whole territory situated on the right
bank of the Vistula, from the point where the river enters the Prussian
states, to its mouth. Besides, he demands the surrender of the
fortresses of Kolberg, Hameln, Nienburg, Glogau, and Breslau; the
cession of the whole of Silesia, on the right bank of the Oder, with the
greater part of the section of this province lying on the left bank of
that river. He, moreover, demands the city and fortress of Graudenz; he
requires all the Prussian forces to withdraw to Konigsberg and its
environs, and that the Russian troops shall evacuate our states
immediately. After all these conditions have been complied with in the
most scrupulous manner, either side is to be at liberty to resume
hostilities ten days after giving due notice thereof."[26]
[Footnote 26: Vide "Prussia in the Years 1806 and 1807"--a Diary, by
H.V. Schladen, p. 57.]
The queen, no longer able to suppress her agitation, uttered a cry, and
turned toward her husband with glowing cheeks and flashing eyes. "And
what does he offer us in return for all these humiliations?" she asked.
"How is he going to reward us for selling to him our provinces, our
fortresses, and our honor?"
"In return," said the king, slowly, laying stress on every word--"in
return, he holds out to us the prospect of marching soon as his ally
against Russia, and of supporting the Ottoman Porte. A second note,
which Talleyrand drew up in the name of his master, and communicated to
our envoy, was added. This note stated that, inasmuch as France, owing
to constantly renewed wars, as well as her allies, Spain and Holland,
had lost their most flourishing colonies in Asia and in the West Indies,
and were compelled, for the fourth time, to fight in their own defence,
justice and reason authorized the emperor to seek compensations on this
side of the seas for the losses he and his allies had suffered, and to
look for these compensations in those countries which, by virtue of his
victories, he had the power to dispose of in such a manner as he deemed
best. The greatest evil which Prussia had brought about by the last war,
for which she alone was responsible, was the fact that the Ottoman Porte
had been deprived thereby of its independence; for, owing to the
insulting and threatening demands of the Emperor of Russia, two princes,
who had been justly banished from the possessions of the Sultan, had
been placed at the head of the government of the Danubian
principalities, so that Moldavia and Wallachia were at present nothing
else than Russian provinces. 'Accordingly,' concludes Talleyrand's note,
'so long as the Sultan should not have recovered the legitimate
sovereignty over these provinces, the emperor would not consent to give up any countries which the fortune of war had placed in his hands, or which he might conquer hereafter.'"[27] |
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