of Trafalgar by a brilliant victory.” [Footnote: Napoleon’s own words.]
The door behind him opened at this moment, and the chief of the imperial cabinet, M. de Bourrienne, entered.
“Sire,” he said, “the two Austrian envoys, Count de Giulay and Count Stadion, have returned, and beg your majesty to grant them an audience.”
“So late at night!” exclaimed the emperor. “Why did they not come in the daytime?”
“They pretend to have been detained by the impassable state of the roads, but assert to be able to lay before your majesty some highly important intelligence, which would seem entirely calculated to bring about the conclusion of peace so longed for by Austria.”
“Let the gentlemen come in,” said the emperor, after a short reflection, and he placed his foot again on the crumpled paper, as if he wished to choke the secret of its contents, so that it might not betray itself to the Austrians. Bourrienne had gone out, and the two Austrian envoys, Count Giulay and Count Stadion, now appeared on the threshold.
“You return to me,” said the emperor, hastily, to them; “my conditions have been accepted, then? I told you I should not negotiate separately with Austria, but that I should require Russia to participate in the negotiations, and to be included in the treaty of peace on which we might agree. You come, then, in the name of the Emperors of Austria and Russia?”
“No, sire,” said Count Stadion, respectfully, “we come only in the name of Austria.”
“The emperor, our august master,” began Count Giulay–but Napoleon interrupted him quickly.
“I shall listen to you only if you are authorized to speak in the name of the two emperors,” said Napoleon. “I already told you so yesterday, and I do not see what should induce me to-day to change my mind. The state of affairs is precisely the same.”
“Pardon me, sire, it is not,” said Count Giulay, firmly.
The emperor fixed a piercing glance on him, as if he wished to read in the innermost recesses of his heart.
“And why is it not the same?” he asked, while his eye slowly turned toward the foot, under which he concealed the sinister dispatch.
“Your majesty was yesterday pleased to say that Austria, although she might boast of the active support of Russia, could never count on the assistance of Prussia, and that Prussia’s neutrality was as useful to France as Russia’s active support to Austria.”
“Why do you repeat the words I uttered yesterday?” asked the emperor, impetuously.
“Sire, because Prussia is no longer neutral,” said Count Stadion, solemnly.
“Because Prussia is ready to become, like Russia and England, the active ally of Austria,” added Count Giulay.
Napoleon’s flashing, gloomy eyes looked alternately at the two Austrian envoys.
“How did you obtain that information?” he asked at last.
“Sire, from his majesty the Emperor of Russia. He has concluded a treaty with the king at Potsdam, by which Frederick William III. declares his readiness to participate in the campaign and to assist Austria, unless your majesty should condescend to accept the conditions which the King of Prussia is to propose as mediator between the coalition and France.”
“Ah, the King of Prussia is going to propose conditions to me?” exclaimed Napoleon, shrugging his shoulders. “Do you know those conditions?”
“The King of Prussia will propose to your majesty to surrender the crown of Italy, not to disturb the princes of Italy in their possessions and independence, to recognize the independence of the German empire, of Holland, of Switzerland, to–“
“Enough!” said Napoleon, impatiently. “The Emperor Alexander has taken the liberty to tell you a story, and your credulity must have greatly delighted him. Can you seriously believe that the King of Prussia would in his infatuation go so far as to hope that I should accept propositions of so ridiculous a description? Truly, even if I were a vanquished and humiliated emperor, I should stab myself with my own sword rather than submit to such a disgrace. It seems I have not yet engraved my name deeply enough into the marble tablets of history, and I shall prove to these overbearing princes, who believe their legitimacy to be the Gorgon’s head they only need show in order to crush me–I shall prove to them WHO I AM, AND TO WHOM the future belongs, whether to THEM or to ME! However, it is unnecessary to say so much about things which do not exist.”
“Sire, the treaty of Potsdam DOES exist,” said Count Stadion. “The envoy whom the King of Prussia has sent off to lay its stiputions before your majesty would have reached your headquarters already if he had travelled as rapidly as the Emperor Alexander, who left Potsdam simultaneously with him.”
“Well, let him come; I shall see, then, whether you have told me a story or not,” replied Napoleon. “If the King of Prussia has dared to do this, by God, I will pay him for it! [Footnote: Napoleon’s own words.–Vide Hormayer. vol. i., and Hausser’s “History of Germany,” vol. ii., p. 680.] But this does not change my resolutions and plans in any respect. I shall enter into negotiations with Austria only on condition that Russia participates in them. State it to those who have sent you, and now farewell.”
He nodded to the two gentlemen, and turning his back to them, stepped to the window. Only when a slight jarring of the door told him that they had withdrawn, the emperor turned around and commenced again, his hands folded behind his back, slowly pacing the room.
He then stopped before the large table in the middle of the room, and unrolled one of the maps lying on it. It was a map of southern Germany. After spreading it on the table, the emperor commenced marking it with pins, the variously-colored heads of which designated the different armies of the Russians, Austrians, and French.
The emperor was engaged all night in this task, in studying the map, and in measuring and calculating the distances some of his troops would have to march before reaching the field of action. The wax- candles in the silver chandelier burned down, but he did not notice it; the fire in the fireplace had gone out, but he did not feel it; the door of his cabinet was softly opened from time to time, and the pale face of his vale de chambre Constant, who was evidently exhausted with long waking, appeared, but the emperor did not heed it. His soul was concentrated on one idea, on one aim, viz., to pursue the glorious course of his victories, to humiliate Germany as he had humiliated Italy, and to drown the echoes of Trafalgar by a brilliant triumph.
Morning was already dawning, when Napoleon at length rose from the table and commenced again slowly pacing the room.
“Time, time!” he said, “I only need three days for moving up the third corps, which is already on the march from Bohemia. Time! And yet I must gain a great and brilliant victory before Prussia allies herself openly with Austria and Russia against France. If I should not succeed in doing so, the army of my enemies would be increased by one hundred and fifty thousand men. Hence,” he said, after a pause, quite merrily and hopefully, “hence, I must succeed.”
He returned to the map and pointed his finger at it.
“The Austrians are over there at Olmutz,” he said, quickly. “Here, the Russian guards; there, the united corps of Kutusof and Buxhowden; farther on, the vanguard under Prince Bagration. If they should advance now rapidly, resolutely, directly toward my front, the odds would be too overwhelming; if they should tarry, or if I should succeed in causing them to hesitate until I have got my Bohemian corps in line, I should defeat them. Let us try it, therefore; let us feign inactivity and timidity, so that they may not become active. Cunning is the best ally of a general; let us try to deceive them.”
He went to his desk, and taking some gilt-edged paper, commenced writing rapidly.
Fifteen minutes later an orderly requested General Savary to repair to the emperor’s cabinet.
Napoleon received the general with a kindly smile, but he was silent, and looked almost irresolutely at the letter he held in his hand. Suddenly, however, he seemed to come to a firm resolution, and handing the letter to Savary, he said: “Take this letter to Olmutz; deliver it to the Emperor of Russia, and tell him that, having learned that he had arrived at the headquarters of his army, I had sent you to welcome him in my name. If he should converse with you, and put questions to you, you know the replies that should be made under such circumstances. Go.” [Footnote: Napoleon’s own words.– Vide “Memoires du Duc de Rovigo,” vol. ii., p. 171.]
“And now,” said the emperor, when Savary had left him, “now we will sleep a little. Constant!”
The door opened immediately, and the VALET DE CHAMBRE entered.
“Ah, I am afraid you have had a bad night of it,” said the emperor, kindly.
“Sire, your majesty has again been awake all the night long, and–“
“And consequently,” said Napoleon, interrupting him–“consequently you have been awake, too. Well, console yourself; we shall soon have more quiet nights; console yourself, and do not report me to the Empress Josephine when we have returned to Paris. My dear Josephine hates nothing so much as sleepless nights.”
“Sire, the empress is right; she ought to hate them,” said Constant, respectfully. “Your majesty, taking no rest whatever in the daytime, needs repose at least in the night. Your majesty sleeps too little.”
“By doing so I am better off than the sluggards, inasmuch as my life does not only consist of days, but also of nights,” replied Napoleon, good-humoredly. “I shall have lived eighty years then in the space of forty. But be quiet, Constant, I will now comply with your wishes and sleep.”
Constant hastened to open the door leading to the bedroom.
“Oh, no,” said the emperor, “if I say I will sleep, I do not mean that I will go to bed. Beds are, on the whole, only good for old women and gouty old men. When I was second lieutenant, I once made the experiment not to go to bed for six months, but to sleep on the floor or on a chair, and it agreed very well with me. Give me the handkerchief for my head, and my coat, Constant.”
Constant hurried with a sigh to the bedroom in order to fetch the articles Napoleon had ordered; and while he was wrapping the silken handkerchief around the emperor’s head, and assisted him in putting on his gray, well-lined, and comfortable cloth-coat instead of the uniform, the emperor softly whistled and hummed an air.
He then snugly stretched himself in his arm-chair, and kindly nodding to Constant, he said: “As soon as General Savary has returned, let him come in.”
Constant softly glided into the anteroom. He met there some of his acquaintances.
“I have important news for you, gentlemen,” he said. “We shall fight a battle in two or three days.”
“Did the emperor tell you so?”
“No, he is not in the habit of speaking of such things. But during the night-toilet he whistled Marlborough’s air, and he does so only when there is to be a battle.” [Footnote: “Memoires de Constant,” vol. iv., p. 109.]
CHAPTER XLVIII.
BEFORE THE BATTLE.
Five hours later General Savary reentered the emperor’s cabinet; he was still lying on his arm-chair and sleeping; but when the general accosted him in a low voice, Napoleon opened his eyes and asked eagerly: “Well, did you see the czar?”
“Yes, sire, I saw him and conversed with him.” “Ah,” exclaimed Napoleon, quickly, “tell me all about it; do not omit any thing. How did he look when he read my letter?”
“Sire, when I had delivered your letter to the Emperor Alexander, he went with it into an adjoining room, from which he returned only half an hour later, with a reply in his hand.”
“Give me the letter, Savary!”
“Sire, here it is.”
Napoleon took it hastily; but when he fixed his eyes on the address, he frowned.
“Ah, this emperor ‘by the grace of God’ believes he need not address me with the title conferred upon me by the French nation,” he said, hastily. “He does not write to the Emperor of the French, but ‘to the chief of the French government.’ [Footnote: historical.–Vide “Memoires du Due de Rovigo,” vol. ii., p. 187.] Did you read the address, Savary?”
“The Emperor Alexander called my attention to it himself, sire. I remember his words distinctly. They were as follows: “The address does not contain the title which your chief has assumed since then. I do not set any great value on such trifles; but it is a rule of etiquette, and I shall alter it with pleasure as soon as he has given me an opportunity for doing so.” [Footnote: Alexander’s own words.–Vide “Memoires du Due de Rovigo,” vol. ii., p. 187.]
“And what did you reply to him?”
“Sire, I replied, ‘Your majesty is right. This can only be a rule of etiquette, and the emperor will not judge it in any other way. When he was general-in-chief of the Italian army he already gave orders and prescribed laws to more than one king; contented with the homage of the French, he only deems it a satisfaction for them to be recognized.'” [Footnote: Historical.–Vide “Memoires du Duc de Rovigo,” vol. ii., p. 167.]
“Your reply was fitting and to the point,” said Napoleon, with a pleasant nod, while he opened the emperor’s letter and glanced over it. “Phrases, empty words,” he then exclaimed, throwing the letter contemptuously on the table. “Talleyrand was right when he said language was given to us for the purpose of concealing our thoughts. Those men use it for that purpose.”
“Sire, the emperor did not conceal his thoughts during our interview,” replied the general. “I conversed with him long and freely, and I may say that he uttered his opinions very frankly. The Emperor Alexander said: ‘Peace was only to be thought of if your majesty should stipulate reasonable terms which would not hurt anybody’s feelings, and which would not be calculated to weaken the power and importance of the other princes and to increase that of France. France was a power already large enough; she needed no aggrandizement, and the other powers could not tolerate such a one.'”
“Ah, I shall teach them to tolerate it nevertheless; I shall prove to all of them that France is at the head of all monarchies, and compel them to recognize the Emperor of France with bowed heads!”
He paced the room hastily with angry eyes and panting breast. His steps, however, became gradually more quiet, and the furrows disappeared from his forehead.
“I need two days more,” he muttered to himself–“two days, and I must have them, Savary.” He then said aloud, turning to the general: “Did you make no further observations? Did you not notice the spirit animating the Russian camp?” “Sire, the whole youth of the highest Russian nobility were at the emperor’s headquarters, and I conversed with many of them; I heard and observed a great many things.”
“Well, and what do they think of us?”
Savary smiled. “Sire,” he said, “those young men did not breathe any thing but war and victory, and they seemed to believe that your majesty wished to avoid active hostilities since the Russians had formed a junction with the Austrians.”
“Ah, did they seem to believe that?” exclaimed Napoleon, joyfully. “Well, we will try to strengthen their belief. General, take a bugler along and return to the headquarters of the emperor. Tell him that I propose to him an interview for to-morrow in the open field between the two armies, the time and hour to be designated by himself, and a cessation of hostilities to take place for the next twenty-four hours. Go!”
“I believe,” said the emperor, when he was alone again, “I believe I have gained my second day also, and I only want a third one, in order to be able to vanquish all my enemies. Those arrogant Russians believe, then, that I wish to avoid a battle, and to remain in my present position? I will try to strengthen this opinion of theirs; earthworks shall be thrown up, and the batteries shall be fortified. Every thing must have the appearance of anxiety and timidity.”
And Napoleon summoned his generals and gave them aloud these new orders, but, in a whisper, he instructed them to begin the retrograde movement, and to let the troops occupy the positions he had selected for them on the extensive ground he had reconnoitered yesterday.
And the night expired, and half the next day, before General Savary returned from his mission. In the mean time Napoleon had changed his quarters. He had repaired to the camp of his army, and a bundle of straw was now his only couch. He had impatiently looked for Savary, and went to meet him with hasty steps.
“Why so late?” he asked.
“Sire, it was almost impossible for me to reach the emperor. He had left Olmutz. All the night long I was conducted from bivouac to bivouac, in order to find Prince Bagration, who could alone take me to the emperor.”
“And you have seen the emperor?” asked Napoleon, impatiently.
“Yes, sire, after overcoming many obstacles and difficulties, I succeeded in penetrating to the emperor. I submitted your majesty’s proposition to him. The emperor replied: ‘It would afford him the greatest pleasure to see and make the acquaintance of your majesty, but time was too short for it now. Moreover, before entering into such negotiations, he would have to consult the Emperor of Austria, and learn your majesty’s views, so as to be able to see whether such an interview would be advisable or not. Hence, he would send one of his confidential advisers with me, and intrust him with a mission to your majesty. The reply which he would bring to him from your majesty would decide the matter.'”
“Ah, and the third day will pass in this manner!” exclaimed Napoleon, joyfully. “Where is the emperor’s envoy? and who is it?”
“Sire, the emperor sent his first aide-de-camp, Prince Dolgorouki, with me.”
“Where is he?”
“Sire, I left him with the grand-guard; he is waiting there for your majesty’s orders.”
Napoleon rose hastily from the straw, on which he had been sitting with folded arms.
“My horse!” he shouted; and when Roustan had brought his charger, he vaulted into the saddle and galloped so rapidly forward that his suite were scarcely able to overtake him. On arriving close to the grand-guard, he halted and alighted, and while he sent off Savary to conduct Prince Dolgorouki to him, he muttered: “Only a third day!”
He received the prince with the calmness and composure of a proud imperator, of a chieftain accustomed to victory. A wave of his hand caused his suite to stand back; and when the officers had withdrawn, he commenced conversing with Prince Dolgorouki, while walking up and down with him.
The emperor suddenly approached the members of his suite, and they heard him say in a loud and angry voice:
“If that is all you wish to say to me, hasten to inform your emperor that I had not thought at all of such conditions when I applied for an interview with him; I should only have shown him my army; and, as to the conditions, relied on his honesty. He wishes a battle; very well, let us fight. I wash my hands of it!” [Footnote: Napoleon’s own words.–Vide “Memoires du Due de Rovigo,” vol. ii., p. 196.]
He turned his back to Prince Dolgorouki with a slight wave of his hand; and fixing his flaming eagle-eyes on his generals, he said, shrugging his shoulders:
“Russia will make peace if France will give up Belgium, and, first of all things, cede the crown of Italy to the King of Sardinia. Oh, those men must be crazy!. They want me to evacuate Italy, and they will find out soon that they cannot even get me out of Vienna. What would have been their terms, and what would they have made of France, if they had beaten? Well, let things turn out as it may, please God, but in less than forty-eight hours I will pay them well for their arrogance!” [Footnote: Ibid, p. 198.]
And instead of mounting again on horseback, he continued walking on the highway, muttering to himself, and with his riding-whip knocking off the small grass-blades he met on the road. He had now reached the first infantry post of his army. The sentinel was an old soldier, who was unconcernedly filling his pipe while holding his musket between his legs.
The gloomy eyes of the emperor turned to him, and pointing over to the position of the enemy, he said, angrily: “Those arrogant fellows believe they can swallow us without further ceremony!”
The old soldier looked smilingly at the emperor with his shrewd eyes, and quietly continued filling his pipe with the small finger of his right hand.
“Oh, oh, they cannot swallow us so fast! We shall lie down, your majesty!–“
The emperor laughed loudly, and his face became radiant. “Yes,” he said, “you are right, we will lie down as soon as they try to swallow us; and then we will choke them!”
He nodded to the soldier, and vaulting into the saddle he returned to headquarters. Night was coming on already, and looking up to the moonlighted sky, the emperor murmured: “Only one more day, and then I shall defeat them!”
And fate gave him that day. It is true, the combined forces of the Austrians and Russians approached his positions, but did not attack them. They drew up in a long line directly in front of the French camp, and so close to it that their movements could be plainly seen.
Napoleon was on horseback all day; he inspected every regiment of his whole army; his eyes beamed with enthusiasm, and a wondrous smile played on his lips.
The Bohemian corps had arrived: the delay of three days had borne fruits; he now felt strong enough to defeat his enemies. He spoke in a merry tone to the soldiers here and there, and they replied to him with enthusiastic shouts. He inspected the artillery parks and light batteries with searching glances, and then gave the necessary instructions to the officers and gunners.
Only after inspecting every thing in person, after visiting the ambulances and wagons for the wounded, he returned to his bivouac in order to take a frugal meal. He then summoned all his marshals and generals, and spoke to them about every thing they would have to do on the following day, and about what the enemy might do. To each of them he gave his instructions and assigned his position; and already on the evening of this day he issued to his soldiers a proclamation, admonishing them to perform deeds of heroism on the following day.
“Soldiers,” he said to them in his proclamation, “the Russian army appears before you to average the Austrian defeat of Ulm. They are the same battalions that you beat at Holabrunn, and, that you have since been constantly pursuing to this spot.”
“The positions which we occupy are formidable; and while they are marching to turn my right, they will present their flank to me.”
“Soldiers, I shall myself direct your battalions. I shall keep out of the fire, if, with your usual bravery, you throw disorder and confusion into the enemy’s ranks. But, if the victory should be for a moment uncertain, you will see your emperor the foremost to expose himself to danger. For victory must not hang doubtful on this day, most particularly, when the honor of the French infantry, which so deeply concerns the honor of the whole nation, is at stake.”
“Let not the ranks be thinned upon pretext of carrying away the wounded; and let every one be thoroughly impressed with this thought, that it behooves us to conquer these hirelings of England, who are animated with such bitter hatred against our nation.”
“This victory will put an end to the campaign, and we shall then be able to return to our winter quarters, where we shall be joined by the new armies which are forming in France, and then the peace which I shall make will be worthy of my people, of you, and of myself.”
The soldiers received this proclamation with jubilant shouts; and when Napoleon, after night had set in, rode once more through the camp, the first soldiers who perceived him, eager to light him on his way, picked up the straw of their bivouac and made it into torches, which they placed blazing on the tops of their muskets. In a few minutes this example was followed by the whole army, and along the vast front of the French position was displayed this singular illumination. The soldiers accompanied the steps of Napoleon with shouts of “Vive l’Empereur!” promising to prove on the morrow that they were worthy of him and of themselves. Enthusiasm pervaded all the ranks. They went as men ought to go into danger, with hearts full of content and confidence.
Napoleon retired, to oblige his soldiers, to take some rest. With a feeling of the most unbounded satisfaction, he threw himself on the straw in his tent, and smilingly rejecting the services of his valets de chambre, Roustan and Constant, who implored him to permit them to wrap him in warmer clothes, he said:
“Kindle a good fire and let me sleep as a soldier who has a hot day before him on the morrow ought to sleep.”
He pressed his head into the straw and fell asleep; and he was still sleeping when the marshals and generals at daybreak came to the emperor’s tent to awaken him as he had ordered them to do.
They surrounded the open tent in respectful silence and looked at the chieftain who was to fight a great battle to-day, and who was now lying on the straw with a calm, serene face, and with the gentle slumber of a child.
But they durst not let him sleep any longer, for the emperor, who had regulated every movement of the present day by the hour and minute, would have been very angry if any delay had occurred. General Savary, therefore, approached the sleeping emperor and bent over him. Then his loud and earnest voice was heard to say: “Sire, the fixed hour has come.”
Napoleon, opened his eyes and jumped up. Sleep had suddenly fallen from him like a thin veil; as soon as he rose to his feet he was once more the great emperor and general. He cast a long, searching look on the gray, moist, and wintry horizon, and the dense mist which shrouded every thing at a distance of ten paces caused his eyes to sparkle with delight,
“That mist is an excellent ally of ours, for it will conceal our movements from the enemy. Issue your orders, gentlemen; let the whole army take up arms as silently as possible.”
The emperor then mounted on horseback and rode through the camp to see the infantry and cavalry form in column.
It was now seven o’clock in the morning. The mist began to rise; the first feeble rays of the December sun pierced it and commenced gradually illuminating the landscape.
The emperor placed himself on a small knoll, where his eye embraced the whole field of battle; his marshals were on horseback at his side, anxiously awaiting his order to commence the combat.
Profound silence reigned everywhere; but suddenly it was interrupted by a very brisk fire of artillery and musketry. A radiant flash seemed to light up the emperor’s face, and proudly raising his head, he said, in an imperious voice:
“To your posts, gentlemen; the battle is about to commence!” [Footnote: The battle of Austerlitz, Dec. 2,1805.]
CHAPTER XLIX.
“GOTT ERHALTE FRANZ DEN KAISER!”
For three days the utmost uneasiness and commotion had reigned in Vienna. Nobody wanted to stay at home. Everybody hastened into the street, as if he hoped there to hear at an earlier moment the great news which the people were looking for, and as if the fresh air which had carried to them three days ago the thundering echoes
of the cannon, would waft to them to-day the tidings of the brilliant victory supposed to be achieved by the Emperors Francis and Alexander.
But these victorious tidings did not come; the roar of the cannon had a quicker tongue than the courier who was to bring the news of the victory. He did not come, and yet the good people of Vienna were waiting for him with impatience and, at the same time, with proud and joyful confidence. It is true no one was able to state positively where the battle had been fought, but the people were able to calculate the spot where the great struggle had probably taken place, for they knew that the allies had occupied the immediate environs of Olmutz, and then advanced toward Brunn and Austerlitz, where the French army had established itself. They calculated the time which the courier would consume in order to reach Vienna from the battle-field, and the obstacles and delays that might have possibly impeded his progress were taken into consideration. But no one felt anxious at his prolonged absence; no one doubted that the allies had obtained a great victory.
For their two armies were by far superior to the French army, and Napoleon himself had not hoped for a victory this time; he had fallen back with his army because he wished to avoid a battle with the superior forces of the enemy; he had even gone so far in his despondency as to write to the Emperor of Russia and to sue for peace.
How could people think, therefore, that Napoleon had won the battle, the thunders of which had filled the Viennese three days ago with the utmost exultation?
No, fate had at length stopped the onward career of the conqueror, and it was on Austrian soil that his eagles were to be struck down and his laurels to wither.
Nobody doubted it; the joyful anticipation of a great victory animated every heart and beamed from every eye. They longed for the arrival of the courier, and were overjoyed to celebrate at length a triumph over those supercilious French, who had latterly humiliated and angered the poor people of Vienna on so many occasions.
It is true the French embassy had not yet left Vienna. But that was only a symptom that it had not yet been reached by a courier from the battle-field; else it would have fled from Vienna in the utmost haste.
But the people did not wish to permit the overbearing French to depart from their city in so quiet and unpretending a manner; they wanted to accompany them at least with loud jeers, with scornful shouts and curses.
Thousands, therefore, surrounded the house of the French embassy, where Talleyrand, Napoleon’s minister of foreign affairs, had been staying for some days, and no longer did they swallow their wrath and hatred, but they gave vent to it loudly; no longer did they threaten only with their glances, but also with their fists, which they raised menacingly toward the windows of the French minister.
And while thousands had gathered around the embassy building, other thousands strolled out toward Mohringen, and stared breathlessly down the road, hoping to behold the longed-for messenger who would announce to them at length the great victory that had been won.
All at once something in the distance commenced stirring on the road; at times glittering objects, resembling twinkling stars, were to be seen, and then motley colors were discerned; it came nearer and nearer. No doubt it must be a column of soldiers; perhaps some of the heroic regiments which had defeated the French army were already on their homeward march.
Ah, the proud and sanguine people of Vienna regretted now exceedingly that there were no longer any French regiments in the capital, and that they had left their city only a week ago and rejoined Napoleon’s army. Now there would have been an opportunity for them to take revenge for the hospitality which they had been compelled for the last two weeks to extend to the French. Now they would have chased the French soldiers in the most ignominious manner through the same streets which they had marched hitherto with so proud and confident a step.
The soldiers drew nearer and nearer; the people hastened to meet them like a huge boa constrictor with thousands and thousands of movable rings, and thousands and thousands of flashing eyes.
But all at once these eyes became fixed and dismayed; the joyful hum, which hitherto had filled the air as though it were a vast multitude of gnats playing in the sun, died away.
Those were not the uniforms of the Austrians, nor of the Russians either! Those were the odious colors of France. The soldiers marching toward Vienna were French regiments.
And couriers appeared too, the longed-for couriers! But they were no Austrian couriers; the tri-colored sash was wrapped around their waists, they did not greet the people with German words and with fraternal German salutations. They galloped past them and shouted “VICTOIRE! VICTOIRE! VIVE L’EMPEREUR NAPOLEON!”
The people were thunderstruck; they did not stir, but stared wildly and pale with horror at the regiments that now approached to the jubilant music of their bands, and treated the Viennese to the notes of the Marseillaise and the air of Va-t-en-guerrier; they stared at the sullen, ragged men who marched in the midst of the soldiers, like the Roman slaves before the car of the Triumphator. These poor, pale men wore no French uniforms, and the tri-colored sash was not wrapped around their waists, nor did they bear arms; their hands were empty, and their eyes were fixed on the ground. They were prisoners, prisoners of the French, and they wore Russian uniforms.
The people saw it with dismay. The good Viennese had suddenly been hurled from their proud hopes of victory into an abyss of despair, and they were stunned by the sudden fall, and unable to speak and to collect their thoughts. They stood on the road, pale and breathless, and witnessed the spectacle of the return of the victorious columns with silent despondency.
All at once the brilliant column, which had filed through the ranks of the people, halted, and the band ceased playing. An officer galloped up and exchanged a few words with the colonel in command. The colonel made a sign and uttered a few hurried words, whereupon four soldiers stepped from the ranks, and forcing a passage through the staring crowd, walked directly toward a small house situated solitary and alone on the road, in the middle of a garden.
Every inhabitant of Vienna knew this house and the man living in it, for it was the residence of Joseph Haydn.
When the four soldiers approached the door of the popular and well- known maestro, the people seemed to awake from their stupefaction, a unanimous cry of rage and horror resounded, and thousands and thousands of voices shouted and screamed, “Father Haydn! They want to arrest Father Haydn!”
But, no. The four soldiers stopped at the door, and remained there as a guard of honor.
And the band of the next regiment, which had just come up, halted on the road too, and, in stirring notes, the French musicians began to play a melody which was well known to everybody, the melody of the great hymn from the “Creation,” “In verdure clad.” [Footnote: Historical.]
It sounded to the poor Viennese like a cruel mockery to hear a band of the victorious French army play this melody composed by a German maestro, and tears of heart-felt shame, of inward rage, filled many an eye which had never wept before, and a bitter pang seized every breast.
The French musicians had not yet finished the tune, when a window in the upper story of the house was opened, and Joseph Haydn’s venerable white-haired head appeared. His cheeks were pale, and his lips trembled, for his footman, who had just returned home, had brought him the news that the French had been victorious again, and that Napoleon had defeated the two emperors at Austerlitz.
Joseph Haydn, the old man, was pale and trembling, but Joseph Haydn, the genius, was courageous, joyful, and defiant, and he was filled with noble anger when he heard that the trumpeters of the French conqueror dared to play his German music.
This anger of the eternally-young and eternally-bold genius now burst forth from Haydn’s eyes, and restored to his whole bearing the vigor and elasticity of youth.
Leaning far out of the window, he beckoned the people with both arms, while they were looking up to him and waving their hats to salute him.
“Sing, people of Vienna!” he shouted, “oh, sing our favorite hymn!”
The music had just ceased, and Joseph Haydn now commenced singing in a loud, ringing voice, “GOTT ERHALTE FRANZ DEN KAISER, UNSERN GUTEN KAISER FRANZ!”
And thousands of voices sang and shouted all at once, “GOTT ERHALTE FRAN DEN KAISER, UNSERN GUTEN KAISER FRANZ!”
Joseph Haydn stood at the window, and moved his arm as though he were standing before his orchestra and leading his choir.
The people sang their favorite hymn louder and more jubilantly, and to the notes of this prayer of a whole people, of this jubilant hymn, by which the Viennese honored their unfortunate, vanquished emperor in the face of the conquering army, the French marched up the road toward the interior of the city.
Joseph Haydn was still at the window; he led the choir no longer; he sang no more. He had folded his hands and listened to the majestic anthem of the people, and the tears, filling his eyes, glistened like diamonds.
The people continued shouting and singing, in spite of the French, the hymn of “GOTT ERHALTE FRANZ DEN KAISER, UNSERN GUTEN KAISER FRANZ!”
And the victorious French marched silently through the opened ranks of the people.
CHAPTER L.
PATRIOTISM.
Princess Marianne von Eibenberg had just returned from a party which the British ambassador, Lord Paget, had given in her honor, and which was to celebrate at the same time the victory which the two emperors, the allies of England, were firmly believed to have achieved over the usurper.
Marianne Eibenberg, therefore, wore a brilliant toilet. She was adorned with diamonds and costly jewelry, and looked as beautiful and proud as a queen. She had now reached the acme of her career. She was still lovely, and besides she had become, as it were, the protectress of the most refined society of Vienna and the centre of the intellectual as well as aristocratic circles. She had accomplished her purpose. Marianne Meier, the Jewess, was now a noble lady, to whom everybody was paying deference; and Marianne, princess von Eibenberg, felt so much at home in her new position, that she had herself almost forgotten who and what she had been in former times. Only sometimes she remembered it, only when such recollections secured a triumph to her, and when she met with persons who had formerly, at the best, tolerated her with proud disdain in good society, and who did not deem it now beneath their dignity to solicit an invitation to her reception-room as a favor.
This reception-room was now the only resort of good society in Vienna, the only place where people were sure to meet always amidst the troubles and convulsions of the times with the most refined and patriotic men, and where they might rely on never finding any persons of doubtful patriotism, much less any French.
But, it is true, since the imperial family had fled from Vienna, the reception-room of the Princess von Eibenberg had gradually become deserted, for the members of the aristocracy had retired to their estates and castles, and the ministers and high functionaries had accompanied the emperor and the imperial court to Olmutz.
The ambassadors, too, were about to repair thither; hence, the party given by the British minister, Lord Paget, to his adored friend the Princess von Eibenberg, was to celebrate not only the supposed victory, but also his departure from the capital.
Marianne, as we stated already, had just returned from this party. With rapid steps, absorbed in profound reflections, she was pacing her boudoir, muttering, now and then, inaudible words, and from time to time heaving deep sighs as if feeling violent pain. When she walked past the large Venetian mirror, she stopped and contemplated the brilliant and imposing form it reflected.
“It is true,” she said, mournfully, “the Princess von Eibonberg is a beautiful and charming lady; she has very fine diamonds and a very aristocratic title; she is living in grand style; she has very many admirers; she is adored and beloved on account of her enthusiastic patriotism; she has got whatever is able to beautify and adorn life, and yet I see a cloud on this forehead which artists compare with that of the Ludovisian Juno, and diplomatists with that of Pallas Athene. What does this cloud mean? Reply to this question, you, whom I see there in the mirror; reply to it, proud woman with the precious diadem, how does it come that you look so sad, although the world says that you are happy and highly honored?”
She paused, and looked almost expectantly at her own image in the looking-glass. The clock commenced all at once striking twelve. “Midnight!” whispered Marianne; “midnight, the hour in which ghosts walk! I will also call up a ghost,” she said, after a short pause; “I will call it up and compel it to reply to me.”
And raising her arm toward the glittering, radiant image in the looking-glass, she said in a loud and solemn voice: “Marianne Meier, rise from your grave and come hither to reply to my questions! Marianne Meier, rise and walk; it is the Princess von Eibenberg who is calling you! Ah, I see you–it is you, Marianne; you are looking at me with the melancholy eyes of those days when you had to bear so much contumely and disgrace, and when you were sitting mournfully by the rivers of Babylon and weeping. Yes, I recognize you; you still wear the features of your ancestors of the tribe of Levi; men pretend not to notice them any longer, but I see them. Marianne Meier, now listen to what I am going to tell you, and reply to me: tell me what is the matter with the Princess von Eibenberg? What is the reason she is not happy? Look around in her house, Marianne Meier; you will behold there such opulence and magnificence as you never knew in the days of your childhood. Look at her gilt furniture, her carpets and lustres; look at the beautiful paintings on the walls, and at the splendid solid plate in her chests. Look at her velvet and silk dresses, adorned with gold and silver embroidery; look at her diamonds, her other precious stones and jewelry. Do you know still, Marianne Meier, how often, in the days of your childhood and early youth, you have longed, with scalding tears, for all those things? Do you know still, Marianne Meier, how often you have wrung your hands and wailed, ‘Would to God I were rich! For he who is rich is happy!’ The Princess von Eibenberg is rich, Marianne Meier; why, then, is she not happy? If it had been predicted to you at that time, when you were only sighing for wealth, Marianne Meier, that you would be a princess one day, and carry your Jewish head proudly erect in the most aristocratic society, would you not have believed that this was the acme of happiness, and that your boldest wishes had been fulfilled? Ah, Marianne Meier, I have reached this acme, and yet it seems to me that I am much more remote from happiness than you ever were at that time! You had then something to struggle for; you had a great aim. But what have I got? I have reached my aim, and there is nothing for me to accomplish and to struggle for! That is the secret of my melancholy; I have nothing to struggle for. I have reached the acme of my prosperity, and every step I advance is a step down-hill toward the grave, and when the grave closes over me nothing will remain of me, and my name will be forgotten, while the name of the hateful usurper will resound through all ages like a golden harp! Oh, a little glory, a little immortality on earth; that, Marianne Meier, is what the ambitious heart of the Princess von Eibenberg is longing for; that is the object for which she would willingly sacrifice years of her life. Life is now so boundlessly tedious and empty; it is nothing but a glittering phrase; nothing but a smiling and gorgeous but dull repetition of the same thing! But, hark! What is that?” She suddenly interrupted herself. “It seemed to me as if I heard steps in the small corridor. Yes, I was not mistaken. Somebody is at the door. Oh, it is he, then; it is Gentz.”
She rushed toward the door, and opening it hastily, she said, “Is it you, my beloved friend?”
“If you apply this epithet to me, Marianne, yes, it is I,” replied Gentz, entering the room.
“And to whom else should I apply it, Frederick?” she asked, reproachfully. “Who but you has got a key to my house and to this door? Who but you is allowed to enter my house and my room at any hour of the day or night?”
“Perhaps Lord Paget, my powerful and fine-looking rival,” said Gentz, carelessly, and without the least shade of bitterness, while he sat down on the sofa with evident symptoms of weariness and exhaustion.
“Are you jealous of Lord Paget?” she asked, taking a seat by his side, and placing her hand, sparkling with diamond-rings, on his shoulder. “Remember, my friend, that it was solely in obedience to your advice that I did not reject the attentions of the dear lord and entered into this political liaison.”
“I know, I know,” said Gentz, deprecatingly; “nor have I come to quarrel with you about such trifles. I have not come as a jealous lover who wishes to upbraid his beloved with the attentions she has shown to other men, but as a poor, desponding man who appears before his friend to pour his lamentations, his despair into her bosom, and to ask her for a little sympathy with his rage and grief.”
“My friend, what has occurred?” asked Marianne, in dismay.
“Where have you been during the week, since I have not seen you? You took leave of me in a hurried note, stating that you would set out on an important journey, although you did not tell me whither you were going. Where have you been, Frederick?”
“I was in Olmutz with the emperor and with the ministers,” sighed Gentz. “I hoped to promote there the triumph of the good cause and of Germany; I hoped to witness a brilliant victory, and now–“
“And now?” asked Marianne, breathlessly, when Gentz paused.
“Now I have witnessed a disgraceful defeat,” groaned Gentz.
Marianne uttered a cry, and her eyes flashed angrily. “He has conquered again?” she asked, in a husky voice.
“He has conquered, and we have been beaten,” exclaimed Gentz, in a loud and bitter tone. “The last hope of Germany, nay, of Europe, is gone; the Russians were defeated with us in a terrible battle. The disaster is an irretrievable one, all the armies of Prussia being unable to restore the lost prestige of the coalition! [Footnote: Gentz’s own words.–Vide Gentz’s “Correspondence with Johannes von Muller,” p. 150.] The Russians have already retreated, and the Emperor Alexander has set out to-night in order to return to his dominions.”
“And HE,” muttered Marianne, “HE is celebrating another triumph over us! He is marching onward proudly and victoriously, while we are lying, crushed and humiliated, in the dust of degradation. Is it Thy will that it should be so, God in heaven?” she asked, turning her eyes upward with an angry glance. “Hast Thou no thunderbolt for this Titan who is rebelling against the laws of the world? Wilt Thou permit this upstart to render all countries unhappy, and to enslave all nations?”
“Yes, God permits him to do so,” exclaimed Gentz, laughing scornfully. “God has destined him to be a scourge to chastise us for our own impotence. We do not succumb owing to his greatness, but owing to our weakness. The Austrian cabinet is responsible for our misfortunes! I have long since perceived the utter lack of ability, the contemptible character, nay, the infamy of this cabinet; in former times I used to denounce our Austrian cabinet to the other cabinets of Europe as the real source of the calamities of our period, and to unveil to them the whole terrible truth. Oh, if they had heeded MY warnings, when I wrote last June, and as late as in the beginning of August, to many prominent men, ‘Beware with whom you enter into a coalition! Do not be deceived by an illusory semblance of improvement. They are the same as ever! With them no great undertaking, either in the cabinet or in the field, will succeed; their rejection is the conditio sine qua non of the preservation of Europe. It was all in vain! Finally, I was left alone with my warnings; every one deserted me!” [Footnote: Gentz’s “Correspondence,” etc., p. 144.]
“I did not desert you, Frederick,” said Marianne, reproachfully, “and I compelled Lord Paget, too, to support your views. Thanks to our united efforts, that stupid Count Colloredo, at least, was forced to withdraw from the cabinet.”
“That is a consolation, but no hope,” said Gentz. “So long as the other ministers will retain their positions, every thing will be in vain. Every thing is so diseased and rotten that, unless the whole be thrown away, there is no reasonable hope left. I hoped the Emperor of Russia would boldly denounce the incapacity of the cabinet, and by his powerful influence succeed in cleansing our Augean stable, but he is too gentle for such an undertaking, and has no man of irresistible power and energy at his side. He beheld our misery; he greatly deplored it, but refused to meddle with the domestic affairs of Austria. Thus every thing was lost, and he was himself disgracefully defeated.”
“And now we have submitted altogether?” asked Marianne. “We have made peace with the usurper?”
“We have BEGGED him to make peace with us, you mean, and he will dictate the terms in which we shall have to acquiesce. Oh, Marianne, when I think of the events of the last few days, I am seized with rage and grief, and hardly know how I shall be able to live henceforward. Just listen HOW we have begged for peace! Yesterday, two days after the battle, the Emperor Francis sent Prince John of Lichtenstein to Napoleon, who had established his headquarters at Austerlitz, in a mansion belonging to the Kaunitz family, to express to the conqueror his wish to have an interview with him at the advanced posts. Napoleon granted it to him, and the Emperor of Germany went to his conqueror to beg for peace. He was accompanied by none but Lamberti to the meeting, which was to take place in the open field. Bonaparte received him, surrounded by all his generals, chamberlains, and masters of ceremonies, and with the whole pomp of his imperial dignity.” [Footnote: This account of the interview of the two emperors may be found verbatim in a letter from Gentz to Johannes von Muller. Vide “Correspondence,” etc., p. 154.]
“Oh, what a terrible disgrace and humiliation!” exclaimed Marianne, bursting into tears, while she tore the diadem with a wild gesture from her hair and hurled it to the floor. “Who dares to adorn himself after events so utterly ignominious have occurred?” she ejaculated–“who dares to carry his head erect after Germany has been thus trampled under foot! The Emperor of Germany has begged the invader to make peace; he has humbly solicited it like a beggar asking alms! And has the conqueror graciously granted his request? Oh, tell me every thing, Frederick! What took place at that interview? What did they say to each other?”
“I can tell you but little about it,” said Gentz, shrugging his shoulders, “for the two emperors conversed without witnesses. Bonaparte left his suite at the bivouac fire kindled by his soldiers, and Lamberti also went thither. The two emperors then embraced each other like two friends who had not met for years.” [Footnote: Historical.]
“And the Emperor Francis had not sufficient strength to strangle the fiend with his arms?” asked Marianne, trembling with wrath and grief.
“He had neither the strength nor the inclination, I suppose,” said Gentz, shrugging his shoulders. “When Napoleon released the unfortunate Emperor Francis from his arms, he pointed with a proud glance toward heaven and said: ‘Such are the palaces which your majesty has obliged me to inhabit for these three months.'”
“‘The abode in them,’ replied the Austrian monarch, ‘makes you so thriving that you have no right to be angry with me for it.'”
“‘I only ask your majesty,’ said Napoleon, hastily, ‘not to renew the war against France.'”
“‘I pledge you my word as a man and a sovereign that I shall do so no more,’ replied Francis, loudly and unhesitatingly. The conversation then was continued in a lower tone, and neither Lamberti nor the French marshals were able to understand another word.” [Footnote: “Memoires du Duo de Rovigo,” vol. ii., p. 218.]
“The interview lasted two hours, and then the two emperors parted with reiterated demonstrations of cordiality. The Emperor Francis returned silently, and absorbed in his reflections to his headquarters at Austerlitz. Hitherto he had not uttered a word; but when he saw the Prince von Lichtenstein, he beckoned him to approach, and said to him in a low voice, and with suppressed anger, ‘Now that I have seen him, he is more intolerable to me than ever.’ [Footnote: Hausser’s “History of Germany,” vol. ii., p. 690.] That was the only utterance he gave to his rage; as for the rest, he seemed contented with the terms he obtained.”
“And were the terms honorable?” asked Marianne.
“Honorable!” said Gentz, shrugging his shoulders. “Napoleon demanded, above all, that the Russian army should retire speedily from the Austrian territories, and the emperor promised this to him. Hence, the Emperor Alexander has departed; the Russian army is retreating; one part of it is going to Prussia, while the other is returning to Poland. The cabinet of Vienna, therefore, is free; that is to say, it is left to its own peculiar infamy without any bounds whatever, and thus peace will be made soon enough. Those contemptible men will submit to any thing, provided he gives up Vienna. Finance-minister Fichy said to me in Olmutz yesterday, ‘Peace will be cheap, if we have merely to cede the Tyrol, Venice, and a portion of Upper Austria, and we should be content with such terms.’ Ah, if THEY could only be got rid of, what a splendid thing the fall of the monarchy would he! But to lose the provinces, honor, Germany, Europe, and to KEEP Fichy, Ungart, Cobenzl, Collenbach, Lamberti, Dietrichstein–no satisfaction, no revenge?-not a single one of the dogs hung or quartered,–it is impossible to digest THAT!” [Footnote: Gentz’s own words.–Vide his “Correspondence with Johannes von Muller,” p. 155.]
“It is true,” said Marianne, musingly, and in a low voice, “this is a boundless disgrace; and if men will submit to it, and bow their heads, it is time for women to raise theirs, and to become lionesses in order to tear the enemy opposing them! And what do you intend doing now, my friend?” she then asked aloud, forcibly dispelling her painful emotions. “What are your prospects? What plan of battle will you draw up for us?”
“I have no prospects at all, and I have given up drawing plans of battle,” said Gentz, sighing. “After exhausting my last strength for five days during my sojourn in Olmutz, I am done with every thing, and I have withdrawn weary and satiated ad nauseam. Our ministers have gone to Presburg, for the purpose of negotiating there with the plenipotentiaries of Bonaparte about the terms of peace.”
“And where is he at present–where is the proud triumphator?” asked Marianne, hastily.
“He left Austerlitz to-night, and will reside again at Schonbrunn. until peace has been concluded.”
“Ah, in Schonbrunn!” said Marianne, “that is to say, here in Vienna. And you, Frederick, will you remain here, too?”
“After making peace, they will banish me, of course, from Vienna; for Bonaparte knows my hatred against him, and moreover, he knows it to be implacable. Hence, I prefer going voluntarily into exile, and shall repair to Breslau, where I shall find plenty of friends and acquaintances. There I will live, amuse myself, be a man like all of them, that is to say, gratify nothing but my egotism, and take rest after so many annoyances and struggles.”
“That cannot be true–that cannot be possible!” exclaimed Marianne, ardently. “A patriot, a man like you, does not repose and amuse himself, while his country is plunged into misery and disgrace. I repeat to you what Arnauld said to his friend Nicole, when the latter, tired of the struggle for Jansenism, declared to him that he would retire and repose: ‘Vous reposer! Eh! n’avez-vous pas pour vous reposer V’eternite toute enliere?’ If those men were filled with so undying an enthusiasm for an insipid quarrel about mere sophistries, how could you take rest, since eternity itself, whether it be repose or motion, offers nothing more sublime than a struggle for the liberty and dignity of the world?”
“God bless you for these words, Marianne!” exclaimed Gentz, enthusiastically, while he embraced his friend passionately, and imprinted a glowing kiss on her forehead. “Oh, Marianne, I only wished to try you; I wanted to see whether, with the ardor of your love for me, the ardor of the holy cause represented by me, had also left you; I only wanted to know whether, now that you love me no longer–” “And how can you say that I love you no longer?” she interrupted him. “Have I deserved so bitter a reproach?”
“It is no reproach, Marianne,” said Gentz, mournfully; “you have paid your tribute to the vacillating, changeable, and fickle organization peculiar to every living creature; and so have I, perhaps. We are all perishable, and hence our feelings must be perishable also. Above all, love is a most precious, fragrant, and enchanting rose; but its life lasts but a day, and then it withers. Happy are those, therefore, who have improved this day and enjoyed the beauty of the rose, and passionately inhaled its fragrance. We did so, Marianne; and when we now look back to our day of blissful love, we may say, ‘It was delightful and intoxicating, and with its memories it will shed a golden, sunny lustre over our whole life.’ Let us not revile it, therefore, for having passed away, and let us not be angry with ourselves for not being able to prolong it. The rose has faded, but the stem, from which it burst forth, must remain to us; it is our immortal part. That stem is the harmony of our sentiments; it is the consonance of our ideas; in short, the seeds of friendship have ripened in the withered flower of our love. I have not, therefore, come to you, Marianne, to seek for my beloved, but to find my friend? the friend who understands me, who shares my views, my grief, my despair, and my rage, and who is ready to aspire with me to one goal, and to seek with me for it in one way. This goal is the deliverance of Germany from the chains of slavery.”
“Above all, the annihilation of the tyrant who wants to enslave us!” exclaimed Marianne, with flashing eyes. “Tell me the way leading to that goal; I will enter it, even if it should be necessary for me to walk on thorns and pointed swords!”
“The goal lies before us clearly and distinctly,” said Gentz, sadly; “but the way leading to it is still obstructed, and so narrow and low that we are compelled, for the time being, to advance very slowly on our knees. But we must take spades and work, so that the way may become wider and higher, and that we may walk on it one day, not with bowed heads, but drawn up to our full height, our eyes flashing, and sword in hand. Let us prepare for that day; let us work in the dark shaft, and other laborers will join us, and, like us, take spades and dig; and in the dead of night, with curses on our lips and prayers in our hearts, we will dig on, dig like moles, until we have finally reached our goal, and burst forth into the sunshine of the day which will restore liberty to Germany. At the present time, Secret societies may become very useful. I always hated and despised whatever bore that name; but necessity knows no law, and now I am obliged to hail them as the harbingers of a blessed future. [Footnote: Gentz’s own words.–Vide “Correspondence,” etc., p. 163.] Like the first church, the great secret society of Germany ought to be enthusiastic, self-reliant, and thoroughly organized; its aim ought to be the destruction of Bonaparte’s tyranny, reconstruction of the states, restoration of the legitimate sovereigns, introduction of a better system of government, and, last, everlasting resistance to the principles which have brought about our indifference, prostration, and meanness. And now, Marianne, I come to ask you as the worthiest patriot, as the most intrepid and generous man I know and revere– Marianne, will you join this, secret society?”
He gave her his hand with a glance full of the most profound emotion; and she returned his glance with her large, open eyes, warmly grasping his hand.
“I will, so help me God!” she said, solemnly; “I will join your secret society, and I will travel around and win over men to our league. I will seek for catacombs where we may pray, and exhort, and encourage each other to struggle on with unflagging zeal. I will enlist brethren and adherents in all circles, in the highest as well as in the lowest; and the peasant as well as the prince, the countess as well as the citizen’s wife, shall become brethren and sisters of the holy covenant, the aim of which is to be the deliverance of Germany from the tyrant’s yoke. My activity and zeal to promote the good work you have begun shall prove to you, my friend, whether I love you still, and whether my mind has comprehended you.”
“I counted on your mind, Marianne, after I ceased building my hopes on your heart!” exclaimed Gentz, “and I was not mistaken. Your mind has comprehended me; it is the same as mine. Let us, therefore, go to work with joyful courage and make our first steps forward. The time when there was still a hope that the sword might save our cause is past; the sword lies broken at our feet. Now we have two weapons left, but they are no less sharp, cutting, and fatal than the sword.”
“These weapons are the tongue and the pen?” said Marianne, smiling.
“Yes, you have understood me,” said Gentz, joyfully, “these are our weapons. You, my beautiful comrade, will wield one of these weapons, the tongue, and I shall wield the other, the pen. And I have already commenced doing so, and written in the sleepless nights of these last few days a pamphlet which I should like to flit, like a pigeon, over Germany, so that everywhere it may be seen, understood and appreciated. The title of this pamphlet is Germany in her Deepest Degredation. It is an outcry of my grief, by which I intend arousing the German people, so that they may wake up at last from their long torpor, seize the sword and rise in the exuberance of their vigor for the purpose of expelling the tyrant. But, alas! where shall I find one who will dare to print it; a censor who will not expunge its most powerful passages; and, finally, book-sellers who will venture to offer so bold a work to their customers?”
“Give your manuscript to ME!” exclaimed Marianne, enthusiastically; “I will cause it to be printed, and if there should be no booksellers to circulate it, I will travel as your agent throughout the whole of Germany, and in the night-time secretly scatter your pamphlet in the streets of all the German cities, so that their inhabitants may find it in the morning–a manna fallen from heaven to nourish and invigorate them. Give your manuscript to me, Frederick Gentz; let it be the first solemn act of our secret league!”
“Just see how well I understood you, and how entirely I counted on your cooperation, Marianne,” said Gentz, drawing a small package from his side pocket and placing it in her hands. “Here is my manuscript; seek for a printer and for a bookseller to publish it; give it the blessing of your protection, and promote its general circulation to the best of your ability.”
“I shall do so most assuredly,” replied Marianne, placing her hand on the package, as though she were taking an oath. “In less than a month’s time the German people shall read this pamphlet. It shall be only the first comet which the secret league of which we are now members causes to appear on the dark firmament. Count on me; your manuscript will be published.”
Gentz bent over her hand and kissed it. He then rose.
“My purpose is accomplished,” he said; “I came to Vienna only to see you and enlist you as a member of my secret society. My purpose is accomplished, and I shall set out within an hour.”
“And why are you in such a hurry, my friend? Why depart in so stormy and wintry a night?” asked Marianne. “Remain with me for another day.”
“It is impossible, Marianne,” said Gentz, deprecatingly. “Friends like ourselves must have no secrets from each other, and are allowed fearlessly to tell each other every thing. The Countess of Lankoronska is waiting for me; I shall set out with her for Breslau.”
“Ah,” exclaimed Marianne, reproachfully, “Lord Paget, too, is going to leave Vienna, but I do not desert you in order to accompany him; I remain.”
“You are the sun around which the planets are revolving,” said Gentz, smiling; “but I am nothing but a planet. I am revolving around my sun.”
“You love the Countess of Lankoronska, then?”
“She is to me the quintessence of all womanly and of many manly accomplishments!” exclaimed Gentz, enthusiastically.
“And she will also join our secret society?” asked Marianne. “No,” said Gentz, hastily. “My heart adores her, but my mind will never forget that she is a Russian. Next to cold death and the French, I hate nothing so cordially as the Russians.”
“Still you have lived for a month with a Russian lady, of whom you are enamoured.”
“And precisely in this month my hatred has increased to an astonishing extent. I despise the Austrians; I am indignant at their weakness, but still I also pity them; and when I see them, as was the case this time, trampled under foot by the Russian barbarians, my German bowels turn, and I feel that the Austrians are my brethren. During the last few days I have frequently met Constantine, the grand-duke, and the other distinguished Russians; and the blind, stupid, and impudent national pride with which they assailed Austria and Germany generally, calling our country a despicable part of earth, where none but traitors and cowards were to be found, cut me to the quick. I know very well that we are at present scarcely allowed to maintain our dignity as Germans; our government has reduced us to so degrading a position; but when we keep in mind what the Russians are, compared with US; when we have mournfully witnessed for two months that they are unable, in spite of the bravery of their troops, to make any headway against the French, and that they have injured rather than improved our condition; when we see those insulting and scorning us who cannot even claim the merit of having saved us, only then we become fully alive to the consciousness of our present degradation and abject misery!” [Footnote: Gentz’s own words–“Correspondence,” pp. 159, 167.]
“God be praised that such are your thoughts!” exclaimed Marianne, “for now I may hope at least that the Countess of Lankoronska, even though every thing should fail here, will not succeed in enticing you to Russia. I am sure, Gentz, you will not accompany her to the cold, distant north.”
“God forbid!” replied Gentz, shuddering.” If every thing should fail, I shall settle somewhere in the southern provinces of Austria, in Carinthia or in the Tyrol, where one may hear the people speak German, and live there with the plants and stars which I know and love, and with God, in some warm nook, no matter what tyrant or proconsul may rule over me. [Footnote: Ibid., p. 167] And now, Marianne, let us part. I do not promise that our meeting will be a joyful one, for I hardly count on any more joyful days, but I say that we will meet at the right hour. And the right hour will be for us only the hour when we shall have reached the goal of our secret league; when we shall have aroused the German people, and when they will rise like a courageous giant whom no one is able to withstand, and who will expel the invader with his hordes from the soil of Germany! Farewell!”
“Farewell,” said Marianne, feelingly. “My friend will always be welcome, and cordial greetings will be in store for him whenever he comes. Remember that, my friend; I say no more ‘my beloved,’ for the Countess of Lankoronska might be jealous!”
“And she might inform Lord Paget of it,” said Gentz, smiling. He then kissed Marianne’s hand, and took his hat and overcoat. “Farewell, Marianne, and do not forget our league and my manuscript.”
“I shall not forget any thing, for I shall not forget you,” she replied, giving him her hand.
Thus, hand in hand, they walked to the door; then they nodded a last silent greeting to each other, and Gentz left the room.
Marianne listened to his steps until they had died away. She then drew a deep breath, and commenced once more slowly pacing the room.
The tapers on the silver chandeliers had burned down very low, and their liquid wax trickled slowly and lazily on the marble table. Whenever Marianne passed them, the draught fanned them to a blaze; then they shed a lurid light on the tall, queenly form in the magnificent dress, and grew dim again when Marianne stepped back into the darker parts of the long room.
Suddenly she exclaimed in a joyful voice: “Yes, I have found it at last! That is the path leading to the goal; that is the path I have to pursue.” With rapid steps she hastened back to the looking-glass. “Marianne Meier,” she cried aloud?–“Marianne Meier, listen to what I am going to tell you. The Princess von Eibenberg has discovered a remedy to dispel her weariness and dull repose–a remedy that will immortalize her name. Good-night, Marianne Meier, now you may go to sleep, for the Princess von Eibenberg will take care of herself!”
CHAPTER LI.
JUDITH.
Marianne was awakened after a short and calm slumber by the low sound of stealthy steps approaching her couch. She opened her eyes hastily, and beheld her mistress of ceremonies, who stood at her bedside, holding in her hand a golden salver with a letter on it.
“What, Camilla,” she asked, in terror, “you have not yet dispatched the letter which I gave you last night? Did I not instruct you to have it delivered by the footman early in the morning?”
“Yes, your highness, and I have faithfully carried out your orders.”
“Well, and this letter?”
“Is the major’s reply. Your highness ordered me to awaken you as soon as the footman would bring the answer.”
Marianne hastily seized the letter and broke the seal.
“He will come,” she said, loudly and joyfully, after reading the few lines the letter contained. “What o’clock is it, Camilla?”
“Your highness, it is just ten o’clock.”
“And I am looking for visitors already at eleven o’clock. Quick, Madame Camilla, tell my maid to arrange every thing in the dressing- room. Please see to it yourself that I may find there an elegant, rich, and not too matronly, morning costume.”
“Will your highness put on the dress which Lord Paget received the other day for you from Loudon?” asked Madame Camilla. “Your highness has never yet worn it, and his lordship would doubtless rejoice at seeing your highness in this charming costume.”
“I do not expect Lord Paget,” said Marianne, with a stern glance; “besides, you ought to confine your advice to matters relating to my toilet. Do not forget it any more. Now bring me my chocolate, I will take it in bed. In the mean time cause an invigorating, perfumed bath to be prepared, and tell the cook that I wish him to serve up a sumptuous breakfast for two persons in the small dining-room in the course of an hour. Go.”
Madame Camilla withdrew to carry out the various orders her mistress had given her, but she did not do so joyfully and readily as usual, but with a grave face and careworn air.
“There is something going on,” she whispered, slowly gliding down the corridor. “Yes, there is something going on, and at length I shall have an opportunity for spying and reporting what I have discovered. Well, I get my pay from two men, from the French governor of Vienna and from Lord Paget. Would to God I could serve both of them to-day! As for Lord Paget, I have already some news for him, for Mr. von Gentz was with her last night, and remained for two hours; my mistress then wrote a letter to Major von Brandt, which I had to dispatch early in the morning. And this is exactly the point, concerning which I do not know whether it ought to be reported to my French customer or to the English lord. Well, I will consider the matter. I will watch every step of hers, for it is certain that something extraordinary is going on here, and I want to know what it is.”
And, after taking this resolution, Madame Camilla accelerated her steps to deliver the orders of the princess to the cook. An hour later, the lady’s maid had finished the toilet of the princess, who approached the large looking-glass in order to cast a last critical look on her appearance.
A charming smile of satisfaction overspread her fair face when she beheld her enchanting image in the glass, and she said, with a triumphant air, “Yes, it is true, this woman is beautiful enough even to court the favor of an emperor. Do you not think so, too, Madame Camilla?”
Madame Camilla had watched, with a very attentive and grave face, every word her mistress tittered, but now she hastened to smile.
“Your highness,” she said, “if we lived still in the days of the ancient gods, I would not trust any butterfly nor any bird, nay, not even a gold-piece, for, behind every thing, I should suspect Jove disguised, for the purpose of surprising my beautiful mistress.”
Marianne laughed. “Ah, how learned you are,” she said. “You refer even to the disguised bull of poor Europa and to the golden rain of Danae. But fear not; no disguised god will penetrate into my rooms, for unhappily the time of gods and demi-gods is past.”
“Nevertheless, those arrogant French would like to make the world believe that M. Bonaparte had restored that time,” said Madame Camilla, with a contemptuous air; “they would like to persuade us that the son of that Corsican lawyer was a last and belated son of Jove.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Marianne, triumphantly; “the world shall discover soon enough that he is nothing but a miserable son of earth, and that his immortality, too, will find sufficient room between six blackboards. I know, Camilla, you hate the usurper as ardently, as bitterly and vindictively as I do, and this hatred is the sympathetic link uniting me with you. Well, let me tell you that your hatred will speedily be gratified, and that your vindictiveness will be satiated. Pray to God, Camilla, that He may bless the hand about to be raised against the tyrant; pray to God that He may sharpen the dagger which may soon be aimed at his heart! The world has suffered enough; it is time that it should find an avenger of its wrongs!”
“Major von Brandt,” announced a footman, entering the room.
“Conduct the major to the drawing-room,” said Marianne, hastily; “I will join him directly.”
She cast a last triumphant look on the mirror, and then left the room.
Madame Camilla watched her, with a scowl, until the door had closed behind her. “Now I know whom I have to inform of her doings,” she muttered. “They concern the French governor; I have to take pains, however, to find out more about her schemes, so that my report may embrace as much important information as possible. The better the news, the better the pay.”
Marianne had meanwhile gone to the drawing-room. A tall, elderly officer, in Austrian uniform, with the epaulets of a major, came to meet her, and bent down to kiss reverentially the hand which she offered to him.
Marianne saluted him with a fascinating smile. “You have entirely forgotten me, then, major?” she asked. “It was necessary for me to invite you in order to induce you to pay me a visit?”
“I did not know whether I might dare to appear before you, most gracious princess,” said the major, respectfully. “The last time I had the honor of waiting on you, I met your highness in the circle of your distinguished friends who used to be mine, too. But nobody had a word of welcome, a pleasant smile for me, and your highness, it seemed to me, did not notice me during the whole evening. Whenever I intended to approach you, you averted your face and entered into so animated a conversation with one of the bystanders, that I could not venture to interrupt it. Hence I withdrew, my heart filled with grief and despair, for I certainly believed that your highness wished to banish me from your reception-room forever.”
“And you consoled yourself for this banishment in the reception-room of the French governor whom the great Emperor Napoleon had given to the good city of Vienna, I suppose?” asked the princess, with an arch smile. “And you would have never come back to me unless I had taken the bold resolution to invite you to my house?”
“By this invitation you have rendered me the happiest of mortals, most gracious princess,” exclaimed the major, emphatically. “You have reopened to me the gates of Paradise, while, in my despair, I believed them to be closed against me forever.”
“Confess, major,” said Marianne, laughing, “that you did not make the slightest attempt to see whether these gates were merely ajar or really closed. Under the present circumstances we may speak honestly and frankly to each other. You believed me to be an ardent patriot, one of those furious adversaries of the French and their rule, who do not look upon Napoleon as a hero and genius, but only as a tyrant and usurper. Because I was the intimate friend of Lord Paget and M. von Gentz, of the Princesses von Carolath and Clary, of the Countess von Colloredo, and Count Cobenzl, you believed that my political sentiments coincided with theirs?”
“Yes, your highness, indeed that is what I believed,” said Major von Brandt, “and as you want me to tell the truth, I will confess that it was the reason why I did not venture to appear again in your drawing-room. I have never denied that I am an enthusiastic admirer of that great man who is conquering and subjugating the whole world, because God has destined him to be its master. Hence, I never was able to comprehend the audacity of those who instigated our gracious and noble Emperor Francis to wage war against the victorious hero, and as a true and sincere patriot I now bless the dispensations of fate which compels us to make peace with Napoleon the Great, for Austria can regain her former prosperity only by maintaining peace and harmony with France. The war against France has brought the barbarian hordes of Russia to Germany; after the conclusion of peace, France will assist us in expelling these unclean and unwelcome guests from the soil of our fatherland.”
Marianne had listened to him smilingly and with an air of un- qualified assent. Only once a slight blush, as if produced by an ebullition of suppressed anger, had mantled her cheeks–only for a brief moment she had frowned, but she quickly overcame her indignation and appeared as smiling and serene as before.
“I am precisely of your opinion, my dear major,” she said, with a fascinating nod.
“Your highness assents to the views I have just uttered?” exclaimed the major, in joyful surprise.
“Do you doubt it still?” she asked. “Have I followed, then, the example of all my friends, even that of Lord Paget and Gentz? Have I fled from the capital because the Emperor Napoleon, with his army, has turned his victorious steps toward Vienna? No, I have remained, to the dismay of all of them; I have remained, although my prolonged sojourn in Vienna has deprived me of two of my dearest friends, and brought about an everlasting rupture between myself and Lord Paget, as well as Herr von Gentz. I have remained because I was unable to withstand any longer the ardent yearning of my heart–because I wished to get at length a sight of the hero to whom the whole world is bowing. But look, my footman comes to tell me that my breakfast has been served. You must consent to be my guest to-day and breakfast with me.”
She took the major’s arm and went with him to the dining-room. In the middle of it a table had been set, on which splendid pates, luscious tropical fruits, and well-spiced salamis agreeably surprised the major by their appetizing odor, while golden Rhenish wine and dark Tokay in the white decanters seemed to beckon him.
They took seats at the table in elastic, soft arm-chairs, and for a while the conversation was interrupted, for the pastry and the other dainty dishes absorbed their whole attention. The major, who was noted for his epicurism, enjoyed the delicacies served up to him with the profound seriousness and immovable tranquillity of a philosopher. Besides, the princess shared his enjoyment after a while by her conversation, sparkling with wit and humor; she was inexhaustible in telling piquant anecdotes and merry bon-mots; she portrayed her friends and acquaintances in so skilful a manner that the major did not know whether to admire their striking resemblance or the talent with which she rendered their weak traits most conspicuous.
When they had reached the dessert, the princess made a sign to the footman to leave the room, and she remained alone with the major. With her own fair hand she poured fragrant Syracusan wine into his glass, and begged him to drink the health of Napoleon the Great.
“And your highness will not do me the honor to take wine with me?” asked the major, pointing at the empty glass of the princess.
She smiled and shook her head. “I never drink wine,” she said; “wine is a magician who suddenly tears the mask from my face and compels my lips to speak the truth which they would otherwise, perhaps, never have uttered. But I will make an exception this time; this time I will fill my glass, for I must drink the health of the great emperor. Pour some wine into it, and let us cry: ‘Long live Napoleon the Great!'”
She drank some of the fiery southern wine, and her prediction was fulfilled. The wine took the mask from her face, and loosened the fetters of her tongue.
Her eyes beamed now with the fire of enthusiasm, and the rapturous praise of Napoleon flowed from her lips like a torrent of the most glowing poetry.
She was wondrously beautiful in her enthusiastic ardor, with the flaming blush on her cheeks, with her flashing eyes and quivering lips, the sweet smile of which showed two rows of pearly teeth.
“Oh,” exclaimed the major, fascinated by her loveliness, “why is the great emperor not here–why does he not hear your enchanting words– why is he not permitted to admire you in your radiant beauty!”
“Why am I not allowed to hasten to him in order to sink down at his feet and worship him?” exclaimed Marianne, fervently. “Why am I not allowed to lie for a blissful hour before him on my knees in order to beg with scalding tears his pardon for the hatred which formerly filled my soul against him, and to confess to him that my hatred has been transformed into boundless love and ecstatic adoration? Where shall I find the friend who will pity my longing, and open for me the path leading to him? Such a friend I should reward with a gold- piece for every minute of my bliss, for every minute I should be allowed to remain near the great emperor.”
“Do you speak in earnest, your highness?” asked Major von Brandt, gravely and almost solemnly.
“In solemn earnest!” asseverated Marianne. “A gold-piece for every minute of an interview with the Emperor Napoleon.”
“Well, then,” said the major, joyfully, “I shall procure this interview for you, your highness, and your beauty and fascinating loveliness will cause the emperor not to count the minutes, nor the hours either, so that it will be only necessary for me to reduce the hours to minutes.”
“A gold-piece for every minute!” repeated Marianne, whose face was radiant with joy and happiness. “Oh, you look at me doubtingly, you believe that I am only joking, and shall not keep afterward what I am now promising.”
“Most gracious princess, I believe that enthusiasm has carried you away to a promise the acceptance of which would be an abuse of your generosity. Suppose the emperor, fascinated by your wit, your beauty, your charming conversation, should remain four hours with you, that would be a very handsome number of gold pieces for me!”
Instead of replying to him, Marianne took the silver bell and rang it.
“Bring me pen, ink, and paper, a burning candle and sealing-wax,” she said to the footman who entered.
In a few minutes every thing had been brought to her, and Marianne hastily wrote a few lines. She then drew the seal-ring from her finger and affixed her seal to the paper, which she handed to the major.
“Read it aloud,” she said.
The major read:
“I promise to Major von Brandt, in case he should procure me an interview with the Emperor Napoleon, to pay him for every minute of this interview a louis-d’or as a token of my gratitude.”
“MARIANNE, PRINCESS VON EIBENBERG.”
“Are you content and convinced?” asked the princess.
“I am, your highness.”
“And you will and can procure me this interview?”
“I will and can do so.”
“When will you conduct me to Schonbrunn?”
The major reflected some time, and seemed to make a calculation. “I hope to be able to procure for your highness to-morrow evening an interview with the emperor,” he said. “I am quite well acquainted with M. de Bausset, intendant of the palace, and I besides know Constant, his majesty’s valet de chambre. These are the two channels through which the wish of your highness will easily reach the emperor, and as his majesty is a great admirer of female beauty, he will assuredly be ready to grant the audience applied for.”
“Will you bring me word to-day?” asked Marianne.
“Yes, princess, to-day. I will immediately repair to Schonbrunn. The emperor arrived there yesterday.”
“Hasten, then,” said Marianne, rising from her seat–“hasten to Schonbrunn, and remember that I am waiting for your return with trembling impatience and suspense.”
She gave her hand to the major.
“Good Heaven, your highness!” he exclaimed, in terror, “your hand is as cold as marble.”
“All my blood is here,” she said, pointing to her heart. “Hasten to Schonbrunn.”
He imprinted a kiss on her hand and left the room.
Marianne smiled until the door had closed behind him. Then her features underwent a sudden change, and assumed an air of horror and contempt.
“Oh, these miserable men, these venal souls!” she muttered. “They measure every thing by their own standard, and cannot comprehend the longings and schemes of a great soul. Accursed be all those who turn traitors to their country and adhere to its enemies! May the wrath of God and the contempt of their fellow-creatures punish them! But I will use the traitors as tools for the purpose of accomplishing the sacred task which the misfortunes of Germany have obliged me to undertake. I will put my house in order, that I may be ready when the hour has come.”
Madame Camilla was right, indeed; something was going on, and she was able to collect important news for the French governor.
The Princess von Eibenberg, since her interview with the major, had been a prey to a feverish agitation and impatience which caused her to wander restlessly through the various rooms of her mansion. At length, toward evening, the major returned, and the news he had brought must have been highly welcome, for the countenance of the princess had been ever since radiant with joy, and a wondrous smile was constantly playing on her lips.
During the following night she was incessantly engaged in writing, and Madame Camilla as well as the maid were waiting in vain for their mistress to call them; the princess did not leave her cabinet, and did not go to bed at all. Early next morning she took a ride in her carriage, and Madame Camilla, who had heretofore invariably accompanied the princess on her rides, was ordered to stay at home. When Marianne returned after several hours, she was pale and exhausted, and her eyes showed that she had wept. Then officers of the city courts made their appearance, and asked to see the princess, stating that she had sent for them. The princess locked her room while conferring with them, and the officers withdrew only after several hours. At the dinner-table, to which, by her express orders, no guests had been admitted to-day, she scarcely touched any food, and seemed absorbed in deep reflections.
Soon after dinner she repaired to her dressing-room, and never before had she been so particular and careful in choosing the various articles of her costume; never before had she watched her toilet with so much attention and anxiety. At last the work was finished, and the princess looked radiantly beautiful in her crimson velvet dress, floating behind her in a long train, and fastened under her bosom, only half veiled by a clear lace collar, by means of a wide, golden sash. Her hair, framing her expansive brow in a few black ringlets a la Josephine, was tied up in a Greek knot, adorned with pearls and diamonds. Similar jewels surrounded her queenly neck and the splendidly-shaped snow-white arms. Her cheeks were transparently pale to-day, and a gloomy, sinister fire was burning in her large black eyes.
She looked beautiful, proud, and menacing, like Judith, who has adorned herself for the purpose of going to the tent of Holofernes. Madame Camilla could not help thinking of it when she now saw the princess walk across the room in her proud beauty, and with her stern, solemn air. Madame Camilla could not help thinking of it when she saw the princess draw an oblong, flashing object from a case which the mistress of ceremonies had never beheld before, and hastily concealed it in her bosom.
Was it, perhaps, a dagger, and was the princess a modern Judith, going to kill a modern Holofernes in her voluptuous arms?
The footman now announced that Major von Brandt was waiting for the princess in the reception-room, and that the carriage was at the door. A slight shudder shook the whole frame of the princess, and her cheeks turned even paler than before. She ordered the foot-man to withdraw, and then made a sign to Madame Camilla to give her her cloak and bonnet. Camilla obeyed silently. When the princess was ready to depart, she turned to Camilla, and, drawing a valuable diamond ring from her finger, she handed it to her.
“Take this ring as a souvenir from me,” she said. “I know you are a good and enthusiastic Austrian; like myself, you hate the tyrant who wants to subjugate us, and you will bless the hand which will order him to stop, and put au end to his victorious career. Farewell”
She nodded once more to her and left her cabinet to go to the reception-room, where Major von Brandt was waiting for her.
“Come,” she said, hastily, “it is high time. I hope you have got a watch with you, so as to be able to count the minutes.”
“Yes, your highness,” said Major von Brandt, smiling, “I have got my watch with me, and I shall have the honor of showing it to you before you enter the imperial cabinet.”
Marianne made no reply, but rapidly crossed the room to go down- stairs to the carriage waiting at the door. Major von Brandt hastened after her and offered his arm to her.
Madame Camilla, who had not lost a single word of her short conversation with Major von Brandt, followed the princess downstairs, and remained standing humbly at the foot of it till the princess and her companion had entered the carriage and the coach door had been closed.
But no sooner had the brilliant carriage of the princess rolled out of the court-yard in front of her mansion, than Madame Camilla hastened into the street, entered a hack, and ordered the coachman to drive her to the residence of the French governor as fast as his horses could run.
CHAPTER LII.
NAPOLEON AND THE PRUSSIAN MINISTER.
Napoleon had left Austerlitz, and had, for some days, again resided at Schonbrunn. The country palace of the great empress Maria Theresa was now the abode of him who had driven her grandson from his capital, defeated his army, and was just about to dictate a peace to him, the terms of which would be equivalent to a fresh defeat of Austria and a fresh victory for France. The plenipotentiaries of Austria and France were already assembled at Presburg to conclude this treaty, and every hour couriers reached Schonbrunn, who reported to the emperor the progress of the negotiations and obtained further instructions from him.
But while Austria now, after the disastrous battle of the 2d of December, was treating with Napoleon about the best terms of peace, the Prussian envoy, Count Haugwitz, who was to deliver to Napoleon the menacing declaration of Prussia, was still on the road, or, at least, had not been able to lay his dispatch before the emperor.
Prussia demanded, in this dispatch, which had been approved by Russia, that Napoleon should give up Italy and Holland, and recognize the independence of both countries, as well as that of Germany. Prussia gave France a month’s time to take this proposition into consideration; and if it should be declined, then Prussia would declare war against the Emperor Napoleon.
This month had expired on the 15th of December, and, as previously stated, Count Haugwitz had not yet succeeded in delivering his dispatch to the Emperor Napoleon.
It is true, he had set out from Berlin on the 6th of November; but the noble count liked to travel as comfortably as possible, and to repose often from the hardships of the journey. He had, therefore, travelled every day but a few miles, and stopped several days in every large city through which he had passed. Vainly had Minister von Hardenberg and the Russian and Austrian ministers in Berlin sent courier upon courier after him, in order to induce him to accelerate his journey.
Count Haugwitz declared himself unable to travel any faster, because he was afraid of stating that he was unwilling to do so.
Now, he was unwilling to travel any faster, because the message, of which he was the bearer, was a most oppressive burden to him, and because he felt convinced that the energetic genius, by some rapid and crushing victory, would upset all treaties, change all standpoints, and thereby render it unnecessary for him to deliver to him a dispatch of so harsh and hostile a description.
Thanks to his system of delay, Count Haugwitz had succeeded in obtaining a first interview with Napoleon on the day before the battle of Austerlitz. But instead of presenting the ominous note to the emperor, he had contented himself, after the fashion of a genuine courtier, with offering incense to the great conqueror, and Napoleon had prevented him from transacting any business by putting off all negotiations with him until after the great battle.
After the battle of Austerlitz, the emperor had received the envoy of the King of Prussia at Schonbrunn, and granted him the longed-for audience. Napoleon greeted him in an angry voice, and reproached him violently for having affixed his name to the treaty of Potsdam. But Haugwitz had managed, by his skilful politeness, to appease the emperor’s wrath, and to regain his favor. Since then Count Haugwitz had been at Schonbrunn every day, and Napoleon had always received him with especial kindness and affability. For the emperor, who knew very well that Austria was still hoping for an armed intervention by Prussia, wished to delay his decision, as to the fate of Prussia at least, until he had made peace with Austria. Only when he had trampled Austria under foot, he would think of chastising Prussia for her recent arrogance, and to humiliate her as he had hitherto humiliated all his enemies. Hence he had received Count Haugwitz every day, and succeeded gradually and insensibly in winning him for his plans. Today, on the 13th of December, Count Haugwitz had repaired to Schonbrunn to negotiate with Napoleon. He wore his full court-costume, and was adorned with the grand cordon of the Legion of Honor, which he had received a year ago, and which the Prussian minister seemed to wear with especial predilection.
Napoleon received the count in the former drawing-room of Maria Theresa, which had now become Napoleon’s study. On a large round table in the centre of the room, there lay maps, dotted with variously colored pins; the green pins designated the route fixed by Napoleon for the retreat of the Russian army; the dark-yellow pins surrounded the extreme boundaries of Austria, and according to the news which Napoleon received from Presburg, and which informed him of constantly new concessions made by the Austrian plenipotentiaries, who declared their willingness to cede several provinces, he changed the position of these pins, which embraced every day a more contracted space; while the blue pins, designating the boundaries of Bavaria, advanced farther and farther, and the red pins, representing the armies of France, seemed to multiply on the map.
Napoleon, however, was not engaged in studying his maps when Count Haugwitz entered his room, but he was seated at the desk placed close to the table with the maps, and seemed to write assiduously. On the raised back part of this desk the busts of Frederick the Great and Maria Theresa had been placed. Napoleon sometimes, when he ceased writing, raised his gloomy eyes to them, and then it seemed as though these three heads, the two marble busts and the marble head of Napoleon, bent threateningly toward each other, as though the flashes bursting from Napoleon’s eyes kindled the fire of life and anger in the marble eyes of the empress and the great king; their frowning brows seemed to ask him then, by virtue of what right the son of the Corsican lawyer had taken a seat between their two crowned heads, and driven the legitimate Emperor of Austria from the house of his fathers.
When Count Haugwitz entered, Napoleon cast the pen impetuously aside and rose. He saluted the count, who bowed to him deeply and respectfully, with a pleasant nod.
“You are there,” said the emperor, kindly, “and it is very lucky. I was extremely impatient to see you.”
“Lucky?” asked Count Haugwitz, with the inimitable smile of a well- bred courtier. “Lucky, sire? It seems to me as though there were neither luck nor ill-luck in the world, nay; I am now more than ever convinced of it. Have not I heard men say more than a hundred times, ‘He is lucky! he is lucky!’ Since I have made the acquaintance of the great man who owes every thing to himself, I have become convinced that luck should not be taken into consideration, and that it is of no consequence.”
Napoleon smiled. “You are a most adroit and well-bred cavalier and courtier,” he said, “but it is a rule of wisdom for princes not to repose any confidence in the words of courtiers and flatterers, but always to translate them into the opposite sense. Therefore, I translate your words, too, into the contrary, and then they signify, ‘It seems, unfortunately, as though luck had deserted us, and particularly the third coalition, forever, but still sticks to the colors of France.'”
“Oh, sire,” exclaimed Count Haugwitz, in a tone of grievous reproach, “can your majesty really doubt my devotion and admiration?