Was I not the first man to congratulate your majesty, the indomitable chieftain, on the fresh laurels with which you had wreathed your heroic brow, even in the cold days of winter?”
“It is true,” said Napoleon, “you did so, but your compliment was intended for others; fate, however, had changed its address. [Footnote: The whole conversation is strictly in accordance with history.–Vide “Memoires in edits du Comte de Haugwitz,” 1837.] Of your sincerity I have hitherto had no proofs whatever, but a great many of your duplicity; for, at all events, you have affixed your name to the treaty of Potsdam?”
“I have done so, and boast of it,” said Count Haugwitz, quickly.
“A glance into the heart of Napoleon satisfied me that he who stands at the head of human greatness knew no higher aim than to give peace to mankind, and thus complete the great work which Providence has intrusted to him.”
“Words, words!” said Napoleon. “Let me see actions at last. The instructions that were given to you before leaving Berlin have been annulled by the recent events in Moravia; we are agreed about this point. Now, you are a member of the Prussian cabinet. By sending you to me, the king has intrusted to you alone the welfare of his monarchy. We shall see, therefore, whether you will know how to profit by a rare, perhaps never-recurring opportunity, and to crown the work which Frederick II., notwithstanding his victories, left unfinished. Come hither and see.”
He stepped rapidly to the table with the maps, and in obedience to a wave of his hand, Count Haugwitz glided, with his imperturbable smile, to his side.
“See here,” exclaimed Napoleon, pointing at the map; “this is Silesia, your native country. The king does not rule over the whole of it, the Emperor of Austria still retaining a portion of it; but that splendid province ought to belong exclusively to Prussia. We will see and consider how far your southern frontier ought to be extended. Just follow my finger on the map; it will designate to you the new boundaries of Prussian Silesia.” [Footnote: Napoleon’s own words.–“Memoires inedits,” p. 17.]
And Napoleon’s forefinger passed, flashing like a dagger-point, across the map, and encircled the whole Austrian portion of Silesia, from Teschen to the Saxon frontier, and from the mountains of Yablunka to the point where the Riesengebirge disappears in Lusatia. [Footnote: Ibid., p. 18.] “Well,” he then asked, hastily, “would not such an arrangement round off your Silesian province in the most desirable manner?”
Count Haugwitz did not reply immediately, but continued gazing at the map. Napoleon’s eagle glance rested on him for a moment, and then passed on to the busts of Maria Theresa and Frederick the Great.
“Oh,” he exclaimed, with a triumphant smile, pointing to the bust of Frederick, “that great man would have accepted my proposition without any hesitation whatever.”
“Sire,” said Count Haugwitz, hesitatingly, “but that great woman, Maria Theresa, would not have permitted it so easily.”
“But now,” exclaimed Napoleon, “now there is no Maria Theresa to hinder the King of Prussia; now I am here, and I grant the whole of Silesia to your king if he will conclude a close alliance with me. Consider well; can you be insensible of the glory which awaits you?”
And his eyes again pierced the embarrassed face of the count like two dagger-points.
“Sire,” said Haugwitz, in a low voice, “your proposition is tempting, it is admirable; but as far as I know his majesty the king, I must?”
“Oh,” said Napoleon, impatiently, “do not allude to the king and his person. We have nothing to do with that. You are minister, and it behooves you to fulfil the duties which your position demands from you, and to embrace the opportunity which will never return. One must be powerful, one can never be sufficiently so, believe me, and consider well before replying to me.”
“But, perhaps, sire, it would be better for us to seek for aggrandizement on another side,” said Haugwitz.
“On the side of Poland or France, I suppose?” asked Napoleon, harshly. “You would like to deprive me again of Mentz, Cleves, and the left bank of the Rhine, and you flirt with Russia and Austria because you hope they might assist you one day, after all, in obtaining those territories? But, on the other hand, you would not like to quarrel with me, because there is a possibility that your hopes will not be fulfilled, and because, in such an eventuality, you would fear my enmity. You Prussians want to be the allies of every one; that is impossible, and you must decide for me or for the others. I demand sincerity, or shall break loose from you, for I prefer open enemies to false friends. Your king tolerates in Hanover a corps of thirty thousand men, which, through his states, keeps up a connection with the great Russian army; that is an act of open hostility. As for me, I attack my enemies wherever I may find them. If I wished to do so, I might take a terrible revenge for this dishonesty. I could invade Silesia, cause an insurrection in Poland, and deal Prussia blows from which she would never recover. But I prefer forgetting the past, and pursuing a generous course. I will, therefore, forgive Prussia’s rashness, but only on condition that Prussia should unite with France by indissoluble ties; and as a guaranty of this alliance, I require Prussia to take possession of Hanover.” [Footnote: Napoleon’s own words.? “Memoires ineidits,” p. 20]
“Sire,” exclaimed Haugwitz, joyfully, “this was the desirable aggrandizement which I took the liberty of hinting at before, and I believe it is the only one which the king’s conscience would allow him to accept.”
“Very well, take Hanover, then,” said Napoleon, “I cede my claims on it to Prussia; but in return Prussia cedes to France the principality of Neufchatel and the fortress of Wesel, and to Bavaria the principality of Anspach.”
“But, sire,” exclaimed Haugwitz, anxiously, “Anspach belongs to Prussia by virtue of family treaties which cannot be contested; and Neufchatel?”
“No objections,” interrupted Napoleon, sternly; “my terms must be complied with. Either war or peace. War, that is to say, I crush Prussia, and become her inexorable enemy forever; peace, that is to say, I give you Hanover and receive for it Neufchatel, Wesel, and Anspach. Now, make up your mind quickly; I am tired of the eternal delays and procrastinations. I want you to come at length to a decision, and you will not leave this room until I have received a categorical reply. You have had time enough to take every thing into consideration; hence you must not equivocate any more. Tell me, therefore, quickly and categorically, what do you want, war or peace?”
“Sire, “said Haugwitz, imploringly, “what else can Prussia want than peace with France.”
“Indeed, it is an excellent bargain you make on this occasion,” exclaimed Napoleon. “Neufchatel is for Prussia a doomed position, to which, moreover, she has got but extremely doubtful rights. In return for it, for Wesel and Anspach, with their four hundred thousand inhabitants, you receive Hanover, which is contiguous to Prussia, and contains more than a million inhabitants! I believe Prussia ought to be content with such an aggrandizement.”
“Sire,” said Hangwitz, “she would be especially content if she should obtain the faithful and influential friendship of France, and be able to retain it forever.”
“You may rely on my word,” replied the emperor, “I am always faithful to my enemies as well as to my friends. I crush the former and promote the interests of the latter whenever an opportunity offers. We will, however, prove to each other that we are in earnest about this alliance, and draw up its stipulations even to day. Grandmarshal Duroc has already received my instructions concerning this matter, and he will lay before you the particulars of the offensive and defensive alliance to be concluded between France and Prussia. Be kind enough to go to him and settle every thing with him, so that we may sign the document as soon as possible. Go, my dear count; but first accept my congratulations, for at this hour you have done an important service to Prussia: you have saved her from destruction. I should have crushed her like a toy in my hand if you had rejected my offers of friendship. Go, the grand-marshal is waiting for you.” [Footnote: The offensive and defensive alliance between the Emperor of France and the King of Prussia was concluded agreeably to the demands of Napoleon. Count Haugwitz, without obtaining further instructions from his sovereign, signed it on the 15th of December. The same day, in accordance with the treaty of Potsdam, he was to have delivered to Napoleon Prussia’s declaration of war. Owing to the conclusion of this alliance, the position of Austria became utterly untenable, and she was obliged to accept the humiliating terms of Napoleon, and to sign, on the 26th of December, 1805, the peace of Presburg. This treaty deprived Austria of her best provinces, which were annexed to France, Bavaria, Wurtemberg and Baden. It is true, Prussia obtained the kingdom of Hanover by virtue of the treaty with France, but this was an illusory aggrandizement which Prussia would have to conquer, sword in hand, from England.] He nodded a parting greeting to the confused, almost stunned count, and returned to his maps, thus depriving the Prussian minister of the possibility of entering into further explanations. The latter heaved a profound sigh, and, walking backward, turned slowly to the door.
Napoleon took no further notice of him; he seemed wholly absorbed in his maps and plans; only when the door closed slowly behind the count, he said, in a low voice: “He will sign the treaty, and then Austria’s last hope is gone! Now I shall assume a more decided attitude in Presburg, and Austria will accept all my conditions; she will be obliged to cede to me the Netherlands, Venice, and Tuscany, for now she cannot count any longer on Prussia’s armed intervention.”
CHAPTER LIII
JUDITH AND HOLOFERNES
Napoleon was still engaged in studying his maps and in changing the positions of the pins on it. From time to time he was interrupted in this occupation by couriers bringing fresh dispatches from Presburg or France, but he constantly returned to his maps, and his finger passing over them extinguished kingdoms and boundaries to create new states in their places.
Evening was already drawing near, and the emperor was still in his cabinet. The door had already been opened repeatedly in a cautious manner, and Constant, the valet de chambre, had looked in with prying eyes, but seeing the emperor so busily engaged, he had always withdrawn cautiously and inaudibly. At length, however, he seemed tired of waiting any longer, and instead of withdrawing, again he entered and closed the door noiselessly.
The noise caused the emperor to start up.
“Well, Constant, what is the matter?” he asked.
“Sire,” whispered Constant, in a low voice, as though he were afraid the walls might hear him, “sire, that distinguished lady has been here for an hour; she is waiting for the audience your majesty has granted to her.”
“Ah, the countess or princess,” said Napoleon, carelessly, “the foolish person who asserts that she hated me formerly but loves me now?”
“Sire, she speaks of your majesty in terms of the most unbounded enthusiasm!”
“Ah, bah! Women like to be enthusiastic admirers of somebody, and to worship him with the gushing transports of their tender hearts! Would so many women go into convents and call Christ their bridegroom, if it were not so? But what is the name of this lady who has been pleased to fall in love with me?”
“Sire, I believe, the only condition she stipulated was that your majesty should not ask for her name.”
The emperor frowned. “And you would persuade me to receive this nameless woman? Who knows but she may be a mere intriguer anxious to penetrate to me for some dark purpose?”
“Sire, one of the most faithful adherents and admirers of your majesty, M. von Brandt, formerly major in the Austrian service, pledges his word of honor that she is not, and?”
At this moment the door was opened violently, and Grand-marshal Duroe entered.
“Ah, your majesty is here still!” he exclaimed, joyfully. “Your majesty has not yet received the lady?”
“Well, does that concern you?” asked Napoleon, smiling. “You are jealous, perhaps? This lady is said to be very beautiful.”
“Sire,” said Duroc, solemnly, “even though she were as beautiful as Cleopatra, your majesty ought not to receive her.”
“I ought not?” asked Napoleon, sternly. “What should prevent me from doing so?”
“Sire, the sacred duty to preserve yourself to your people, to your empire. This lady who tries to penetrate with so much passionate violence to your majesty is a dangerous intriguer, a mortal enemy of France and your majesty.”
Napoleon cast a triumphant glance on Constant, who, pale and trembling, was leaning against the wall.
“Well,” he asked, “will you defend her still?”
Without waiting for Constant’s reply, he turned again to the grand- marshal.
“Whence did you obtain this information?”
“Sire, the governor of Vienna, M. de Vincennes, has just arrived here in the utmost haste. His horse fell half dead to the ground when he entered the courtyard. He feared that he might be too late.”
“How too late?”
“Too late to warn your majesty from this lady, who has evidently come to carry out some criminal enterprise.”
“Ah, bah! she was, perhaps, going to assassinate me?”
“Sire, that is what M. de Vincennes asserts.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Napoleon, turning once more toward Constant, “did you not tell me that she was deeply enamoured of me? Is the governor here still?”
“Yes, sire; he wants to know whether he shall not immediately arrest the lady and closely question her.”
Napoleon was silent for a moment, and seemed to reflect.
“Constant,” he then said, “tell M. de Vincennes to come hither. I myself want to speak to him.”
Constant went at once into the anteroom and returned in a minute, to introduce the governor of Vienna, M. de Vincennes.
Napoleon hastily went to meet him. “You have come to warn me,” he said, sternly. “What are your reasons for doing so?”
“Sire, the intentions of this lady are extremely suspicious. Since I have been in Vienna she has been incessantly watched by my agents, because she is the intellectual head of all the dangerous and hostile elements of the city. All the enemies of your majesty, all the so-called German patriots, meet at her house, and by closely watching HER, we could learn all our enemies’ plans and actions. Hence, it was necessary for us to find an agent in her house who would report to me every day what had been going on there, and I was so fortunate as to enlist the services of her mistress of ceremonies.”
“By what means did you bribe her?” asked Napoleon. “By means of love or money?”
“Sire, thank God, money alone was sufficient for the purpose.”
The emperor smiled. “The woman is old and ugly, then?”
“Very ugly, sire.”
“And she hates her mistress because she is beautiful. For, I suppose, she is very beautiful?”
“Extremely so, sire; a most fascinating woman, and consequently the more dangerous as an intriguer.”
Napoleon shrugged his shoulders. “Proceed with your report. You had bribed her mistress of ceremonies, then?”
“Yes, sire; she kept an accurate diary, containing a statement of what her mistress had been doing every hour, and brought it to me every evening. For the last few days the conduct of her mistress has seemed to her particularly suspicious; hence she watched her more closely, and my other agents dogged her steps in disguise whenever she left her mansion. All symptoms appeared suspicious enough, and pointed to the conclusion that she was meditating an attack upon some distinguished person. But I did not guess as yet whom she was aiming at. All at once, two hours ago, her mistress of ceremonies came to bring me her diary, and to report to me that her mistress had just left her mansion with Major von Brandt, and that her last words had indicated that she had gone to see your majesty at Schonbrunn. While I was still considering what ought to be done, another agent of mine made his appearance; I had commissioned him specially to watch M. von Brandt; for, although he seems to be extremely devoted to us, I do not trust him.”
“And you are perfectly right,” said Napoleon, sternly. “Traitors ought never to be trusted, and this M. von Brandt is a traitor, inasmuch as he adheres to us, the enemies of his country. What was the information brought to you by your agent?”
“Sire, my agent caused one of his men, who is a very skilful pickpocket, to steal the major’s memorandum-book just at the moment when he was entering the lady’s house.”
“Indeed,” said Napoleon, laughing. “Your agents are clever fellows. What did you find in the memorandum-book? Love letters and unpaid bills, I suppose?”
“No, sire, I found in it an important document; an agreement, by virtue of which the lady is to pay the major, in case he should obtain for her an interview with your majesty, a gold-piece for every minute of its duration.”
Napoleon laughed. “The lady is as rich as Croesus, then?” he asked.
“Yes, sire, the princess is said to?”
“Princess! What princess?”
“Sire, the lady to whom your majesty has granted an audience is the Princess von Eibenberg.”
“The Princess von Eibenberg,” replied Napoleon, musingly. “Did I not hear that name on some former occasion? Yes, yes, I remember,” he said, in a low voice, after a short pause, as if speaking to himself; “the agent of the Count de Provence, who delivered to me the letter, and whom I then expelled from Paris.”
“Have you got the diary of the mistress of ceremonies and the other papers with you?” he then asked the governor.
“I have, sire, here they are,” replied M. de Vincennes, drawing a few papers from his bosom. “Here is also the singular agreement of the princess.”
“Give them to me,” said Napoleon; and taking the papers, he looked over them and read a few lines here and there. “Indeed,” he then said, “this affair is piquant enough; it begins to excite my curiosity. Constant, where is the lady?”
“Sire, M. de Bausset has taken her to the small reception-room of your majesty; she is waiting there.”
“Well,” said Napoleon, “she has waited long enough, and might become impatient; I will, therefore, go to her.”
“But, sire, you will not see her alone, I hope?” asked Duroc, anxiously. “I trust your majesty will permit me to accompany you?”
“Ah, you are anxious to see the famous belle?” asked Napoleon, laughing. “Another time, M. grand-marshal–but this time I shall go alone. Just remember that the princess is passionately enamoured of me, and that it, therefore, would terribly offend her if I should not come alone to the interview with her.”
He advanced a few steps toward the door. But now Constant rushed toward him, and kneeling before him, exclaimed, in a voice trembling with anguish: “Sire, your majesty must have pity on me. Do not expose your priceless life to such a danger! Do not plunge my poor heart which adores your majesty into everlasting despair! It was I who first dared to request your majesty to receive this lady! Now, sire, I implore your majesty on my knees–do not receive her!”
“Sire, I venture to unite my prayers with those of Constant,” said Duroc, urgently. “Sire, do not receive this lady!”
“Your majesty, permit me rather to arrest her immediately,” exclaimed M. de Vincennes.
Napoleon’s flaming eyes glanced in succession smilingly at the three men. “Truly,” he said, “on hearing you, one might almost believe this beautiful woman to be a mine, and that it was merely necessary to touch her in order to explode and be shattered! Reassure yourselves, I believe we will save our life this time. You have warned me, and I shall be on my guard. Not another word, no more prayers! My resolution is fixed; I will see this beautiful woman, and, moreover, alone!”
“Sire,” exclaimed Constant, anxiously, “suppose this crazy woman should fire a pistol at your head at the moment when your majesty appears before her?”
“In that case the bullets would harmlessly glance off from me, or the pistol would miss fire,” replied Napoleon, in a tone of firm conviction. “Fate did not place me here to fall by the hands of an assassin! Go, gentlemen, and accept my thanks for your zeal and sympathy. M. de Vincennes, return to Vienna; I shall keep your papers here. Is Count Haugwitz still at your rooms, Duroc?”
“Yes, sire, we were just engaged in drawing up the several sections of the treaty, when M. de Vincennes sent for me.”
“Return to the count, and you, Constant, go to M. von Brandt and count with him the minutes which his lady will pass in my company. I should not be surprised if he should earn a great many gold-pieces, for I do not intend dismissing the interesting belle so soon.”
He nodded to them, and hastily crossing the room, passed through the door which Constant opened. With rapid steps, and without any further hesitation, he walked across the two large reception-halls, and then opened the door of the small reception-room where the lady, as Constant had told him, was waiting for him.
He remained for a moment on the threshold, and his burning glances turned toward Marianne, who, as soon as she saw him coming in, had risen from the arm-chair in which she had been sitting.
“It is true,” murmured Napoleon to himself, “she is really beautiful!”
He advanced a few steps; then, as if remembering only at this moment that he had left the door wide open, he turned around and closed it. “I suppose you want to speak to me without witnesses?” he asked, approaching Marianne.
“Sire, the words of love and adoration fail too often in the presence of others,” whispered Marianne, casting a flaming glance on him.
Napoleon smiled. “Well, why did you hesitate, then, just now to write the words of love and adoration between my shoulders?” he asked. “I turned my back to you intentionally; I wished to give you an opportunity for carrying out your heroic deed.”
“What?” exclaimed Marianne, in terror, “has your majesty any doubts of my intentions?”
“No,” said Napoleon, laughing, “I have no doubts whatever of your intentions; on the contrary, I am quite sure of them. I know that you have come hither to translate the Bible, the truth of which has been questioned so often, into reality. You intended to make of the chapter of Judith and Holofernes a tragedy of our times. But although you are as beautiful and seductive as Judith, I am no Holofernes, who allows himself to be ruled by his passion, and forgets the dictates of prudence in the arms of a woman. I never was the slave of my passions, madame, and it is not sufficient for a woman to be beautiful in order to win my heart; I must be able, too, to esteem her, and never should I be able to esteem a woman capable of loving the conqueror of her country. You see, therefore, that I am no Holofernes, and that I should not have opened my arms to you if I should have believed you to be a recreant daughter of your country. But I know that you are a patriot, and that alters the case: I know that I may esteem you; hence, I do not say that I cannot love you, for it is true, you are enchantingly beautiful.”
“Sire,” said Marianne, indignantly, “if you have only received me to insult and mortify me, pray permit me to withdraw!”
“No, I have received you because I wanted to give you good advice,” said Napoleon, gravely; “I, therefore, pray you to remain. You must choose your servants more cautiously, madame; you must confide in them less and watch them better; for slavish souls are easily led astray, and money is a magnet they are unable to withstand. Your mistress of ceremonies is a traitress; beware of her!”
“Then she has slandered me?” asked Marianne, with quivering lips.
“No, she has only betrayed you,” said Napoleon, smiling. “Even the diamond ring which you gave her as a souvenir did not touch her heart. Do you yet remember what you said to her when you handed it to her?”
“Sire, how should I remember it?” asked Marianne.
“Well, I will repeat it to you,” exclaimed Napoleon, unfolding the papers which M. de Vincennes had given to him, and which he had kept all the time rolled up in his hand. “Here it is. You 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 an end to his victorious career.’ Well, was it not so, madame?”
Marianne made no reply; her cheeks were pale, and her eyes stared at the emperor, who looked at her smilingly.
“A moment before you had concealed a flashing object in your bosom,” continued Napoleon. “That object which your mistress of ceremonies did not see distinctly was a dagger which you had bought this forenoon. Shall I tell you where?”–He glanced again at the papers, and then said: “You bought this dagger in a gun store on the Kohlmarkt, and paid four ducats for it. You have now got this dagger with you; truly, it occupies an enviable hiding-place, and I might be jealous of it. Why do you not draw it forth and carry out your purpose? Do you really believe what so many fools have said about me, viz, that I was in the habit of wearing a coat-of-mail? I pledge you my imperial word, my breast is unprotected, and a dagger will meet with no resistance provided it is able to reach my breast. Just try it!”
Marianne, who, while the emperor was speaking, had dropped on a chair as if stupefied, now rose impetuously. “Sire,” she said, proudly, “it is enough. Your officers doubtless await me in the adjoining room, in order to arrest me like a criminal. Permit me to go thither and surrender to them.”
She was about turning toward the door, but Napoleon seized her hand and kept her back. “Oh, no,” he said, “our interview is not yet over; it has scarcely lasted fifteen minutes, and remember that M. von Brandt would consequently get only fifteen gold-pieces. Ah, you look at me in surprise. You wonder that I should be aware of that, too? I am no magician, however, and have acquired my knowledge of this laughable incident in a very simple manner. Look here, this is the written agreement you gave to M. von Brandt!”
He offered the paper to Marianne; she did not take it, however, but only glanced at it. “Your majesty may see from it how ardently I longed for an interview with you,” she said. “Had M. von Brandt asked half my fortune for this interview with your majesty, I should have joyfully given it to him, for an hour in the presence of your majesty is worth more than all the riches of the world.”
“And yet you were going to leave me just now!” exclaimed Napoleon, reproachfully. “How ingenuous that would have been toward your friend who is standing in the anteroom with Constant, and, watch in hand, calculating the number of his gold-pieces. We will be generous and grant him three hours. Three hours–that is a good time for a rendezvous; when you leave me, then, you will pay M. von Brandt one hundred and eighty louis-d’or, and I shall receive the congratulations of my confidants.”
Marianne’s eyes flashed angrily, and a deep blush mantled her cheeks. “Sire,” she exclaimed almost menacingly, “call your officers–have me arrested like a criminal–take my life if I have deserved it, but let me leave this room!”
“Ah, you would die rather than that people should believe you had granted me a rendezvous of three hours’ duration,” asked Napoleon. “It is true, this rendezvous, if it should result peacefully and without the eclat which you hoped for when you came hither to play the part of Judith, would discredit you with your friends! Your party will distrust you as soon as it learns that, after being three hours with me, you left Schonbrunn in the middle of the night, while I was not found on my couch with a dagger in my heart. I cannot spare you this humiliation; it shall be the only punishment I shall inflict on you. You remain here!”
“Sire, let me go,” exclaimed Marianne, “and I swear to you that I will never dare again to approach you; I swear to you that I will live in some remote corner in the most profound retirement, far from the noise and turmoil of the world.”
“Oh, the world would never forgive me if I should deprive it in this manner of its most beautiful ornament,” said the emperor, smiling. “You are too lovely to live in obscurity and solitude. You will now grant me three hours, and you are free to tell everybody during the whole remainder of your life that you hate me; but it is true, people will hardly believe in the sincerity of your hatred.”
“Then you will not permit me to withdraw?” asked Marianne, with quivering lips. “You want me to stay here?”
“Only three hours, madame; then you may go. Let us improve this time and speak frankly and honestly to each other. Forget where we are; imagine we were the heads of two parties, meeting on neutral ground and telling each other the truth with respectful frankness for the purpose of thereby bringing about peace, if possible. Well, then, tell me honestly: do you really hate me so ardently as to have come hither for the purpose of assassinating me?”
“You ask me to tell you the truth,” exclaimed Marianne, her eyes sparkling with anger, “well, you shall hear it! Yes, I hate you; I swore to you in Paris, at the time when you sent me like a criminal to the frontier, the most ardent and implacable hatred, and in accordance with my oath I came hither to accomplish a work which would be a boon for Germany, nay, for the whole world. Yes, I wanted to assassinate you, I wanted to deliver the world from the tyrant who intends to enslave it. Yes, I had concealed a dagger in my bosom to kill you as Judith killed Holofernes. Had I accomplished my purpose, the world would have blessed me and paid the highest honors to my name; but now that I have failed in carrying out my plan, I shall be laughed and sneered at. Now I have told you the truth, and in order that you may not doubt it, I will show you the dagger which was intended for your breast, and which I shall now hurl down at your feet as the dragon’s feet, from which one day full-grown warriors will spring for our cause in order to combat you.”
She drew the dagger from her bosom, and, with a violent gesture, threw it at Napoleon’s feet. “Sire,” she then asked, in an imploring voice, “will you not yet order me to be arrested?”
“Why?” asked Napoleon, “Words falling from the lips of beautiful women are never insulting, and I do not punish thoughts which have not yet become actions. Your hands are free from guilt, and the only criminal here in this room is that dagger on the floor. I trample it under foot, and it is unable to rise any more against me.”
He placed his foot on the flashing blade, and fixed his piercing eyes on the princess. “Madame,” he said, “when you came to me in Paris, it was the Count de Provence who had sent you. He sent me a letter through you at that time. Tell me, did he send me this dagger to-day?”
“No, I will take the most solemn oath that he knows nothing about it,” replied Marianne. “Nobody knew of my undertaking; I had no confidants and no accomplices.”
“You had only your own hatred, madame,” said Napoleon, musingly. “Why do you hate me so bitterly? What have I done to all of you that you should turn away from me?”
“Why I hate you?” asked Marianne, impetuously. “Because you have come to trample Germany in the dust, to transform her into a French province, and to defraud us of our honor, our good rights, and independence. What have you done, that all honest men should turn away from you? You have broken your most sacred oaths–you are a perjurer!”
“Oh, that goes too far,” cried Napoleon, passionately. “What hinders me, then–“
“To have me arrested?” Marianne interrupted him, defiantly–“please do so.”
“No, I shall not do you that favor. Proceed, proceed! You stand before me as though you were Germania herself rising before me to accuse me. Well, then, accuse me. When have I broken my oaths?”
“From the moment when you raised the banner in the name of the republic which you intended to upset; from the moment when you called the nations to you in the name of liberty, in order to rule over them as their tyrant and oppressor!”
“To those who wanted to keep up the despotism of liberty under which France had bled and groaned so long, I was a tyrant,” said Napoleon, calmly; “to those who entertained the senseless idea of restoring the Bourbons, under whom France had bled and groaned as long and longer, I was an oppressor. The family of the Bourbons has become decrepit; it resembles a squeezed lemon, the peel of which is thrown contemptuously aside, because there is no longer any juice in it. Did you really believe I should have been such a fool as to pick up this empty peel, which France had thrown aside, and to clothe it in a purple cloak and crown? Did you believe I had, like those Bourbons and all legitimate princes, learned nothing from history, and not been taught by the examples it holds up to all those who have eyes to see with? I have learned from history that dynasties dry up like trees, and that it is better to uproot the hollow, withered-up trunk rather than permit it, in its long decay, to suck up the last nourishing strength from the soil on which it stands.”
“Sire, you do not only uproot the decaying trunk, but with the axe of the tyrant you deprived this trunk of its fresh, green branches also,” exclaimed Marianne.
“Ah, you refer to the Duke d’Enghien,” said Napoleon, quietly. “It was an act of policy, which I do not regret. The Bourbons had to understand at length that France wanted to give them up and create a new era for herself. I stood at the head of this new era, and I had to fill in a becoming manner the position Providence had conferred on me. Providence destined me to become the founder of a new dynasty, and there will be a day when my family will occupy the first thrones of the world.” [Footnote: Napoleon’s own words.–Vide “Le Normand,” vol. ii., p. 29.]
“That is to say, you declare war against all princes,” exclaimed Marianne.
“Against the princes, yes,” said Napoleon, “for they are nothing but over-ripe fruits only waiting for the hand that is to shake them off. I shall be this hand, and before me they will fall to the ground, and I shall rise higher and higher above them. You call me a conqueror, but how could I stop now in my work? If I should pause now in my conquests and sheathe my sword, what should I have gained by so many efforts but a little glory, without having approached the goal to which I was aspiring? What should I have gained by setting all Europe in a blaze if I should be contented with having overthrown empires and not hasten to build up MY OWN empire on solid foundations? It is not birth that entitles me to immortality. The man who is possessed of courage, who does good service to his country, and renders himself illustrious by great exploits, that man needs no pedigree, for he is everything by himself.”[Footnote: Napoleon’s own words.–Vide “Le Normand.” vol. ii., p. 49.]
“But in the eyes of the legitimists he is always nothing but an upstart,” said Marianne, shrugging her shoulders.
“In that case he must overthrow and annihilate all legitimists,” said Napoleon, quickly; “so that a new dynasty may arise, of which he will be the founder. I am the man of Destiny, and shall found a new dynasty, and one day the whole of Europe will be but one empire, MY empire! All of you, instead of cursing me, should joyfully hail my coming and welcome me as your liberator sent by Providence to raise you from your degradation and disgrace. Just look around, you Germans, and see what sort of princes and governments you have got. Are you being ruled by noble, high-minded sovereigns; are men of ability and character at the head of your governments? I only behold impotence, infamy, and venality everywhere in the German cabinets. The system of nepotism is everywhere in force; offices are gifts of favor, and not rewards of merit; intrigues and corrupt influences succeed in placing the foremost positions of the state into the hands of incapable men, and great minds, if there be any at all, are utterly ignored. The result of this system is, of course, that men cease cultivating their minds, and that the virtues and talents which are not rewarded with a just tribute of glory, lose their vigor and enthusiasm; nay, often their very existence. When a nation sees none but incapable favorites and venal intriguers at the head of the various departments of its administration and of its armies, how is it to prosper and expand, to increase its wealth, and to win victories! Woe to the nation which allows itself to be governed by such ministers, and to be defended by such generals as I have found everywhere in Germany! As the man of Destiny, I have come to devote to her my hand, my mouth, and my heart for the purpose of liberating her and delivering her from her disgraceful chains.” [Footnote: Ibid., p. 29.]
“And to load her with even more disgraceful ones,” exclaimed Marianne, her eyes naming with anger; “for there is nothing more disgraceful on earth than a nation submitting to a foreign barbarian and humbly kissing the feet of its oppressor, instead of expelling him by the majesty of its wrath. If you, a modern Attila, go on with your murderous sword, Europe is ruined, and all dignity of the nations, all the centres of scientific eminence, all the hopes of humanity are lost. For nations can only perform great things, and create great things, when they are independent; and freedom itself is of no use to them if they must receive it as a favor at the hands of their conqueror.”
“Earth ought to have but one ruler, as heaven has but one God,” said Napoleon, solemnly. “I have only begun my task; it is not yet accomplished. Hitherto I have subjected only France, Italy, Switzerland, and Holland to my sceptre, but my goal is even more sublime than that. And who will prevent me from seizing Westphalia, the Hanseatic cities, and Rome, and from annexing the Illyrian provinces, Etruria, and Portugal to France? I do not know yet where to fix the boundaries of my empire. Perhaps it will have no other boundaries than the vast space of the two hemispheres; perhaps, like Americus Vespucius and Columbus, I shall obtain the glory of discovering and conquering another unknown world!”[Footnote: Napoleon’s own words. “Le Normand, Memoires,” vol. ii., p. 69.]
“And if you should discover a third world,” exclaimed Marianne, “God may decree, perhaps, that in this new world, an avenger of the two old worlds may arise and tell you in the thundering voice of Jehovah: ‘Here are the boundaries of your empire! So far and no farther!'”
“But I should not shrink back,” said Napoleon, smiling, “but advance to fight for my good right with the avenger sent by Providence, for I was also sent by Providence; I am a chosen son of Heaven, and if there is a misfortune for me, it is that I have come too late. Men are too enlightened or too sober; hence, it is impossible to accomplish great things.”
“Ah, you say so,” exclaimed Marianne, “you, whose fate is so brilliant and exalted? You, who once were a humble officer of artillery, and now are seated as emperor on a mighty throne?”
“Yes,” said Napoleon, in a low voice, as if to himself, “I admit, my career was brilliant enough,–I have pursued a splendid path! But how much difference there is between me and the heroes of antiquity! How much more fortunate was Alexander! After conquering Asia, he declared he was the son of Jove, and the whole Orient believed it, except Olympias, who knew very well what to think of it, and except Aristotle, and a few other pedants of Athens! But if I, who have made more conquests and won greater victories than Alexander,–if I should declare to-day I were the son of God, and offer Him my thanksgiving under this title, there would be no fishwoman that would not laugh at me. The nations are too enlightened and too sober; it is impossible to accomplish great things.”[Footnote: Napoleon’s own words.–Vide “Memoires du Marechal Duc de Raguse,” vol. ii., p. 243.] “There will be a day, sire, when the nations will rise and prove to you that they are able to accomplish great things!”
“And on that day they will trample me in the dust, I suppose?” asked Napoleon, with an almost compassionate smile. “Do not hope too sanguinely for this day, for your hopes might deceive you. I have spoken so freely and frankly to you,” he continued, rising, “because I knew that, by speaking to you, I was speaking, through you, to the most eminent, high-minded, and patriotic men of your nation, and because I wished to be comprehended and appreciated by them. Go, then, and repeat my words to them–repeat them to those, too, who believe that the throne which I have erected belongs to THEM, and that the tri-colored flag would have to disappear one day before the lilies. Go, madame, and tell those enthusiastic Bourbons the lilies were so dreadfully steeped in the misery and blood of France that nobody would recognize them there, and that everybody was shrinking back from their cadaverous smell and putridity. Empires and dynasties, like flowers, have but one day of bloom; the day of the Bourbons is past; they are faded and stripped of their leaves. State it to those who one day sent you CERTAINLY to me, and PERHAPS again to-day. If you relate to them to-day’s scene, they may deplore, perhaps, that fate did not permit you to become a Judith, but they will have to acknowledge at least that I am no Holofernes. For although the most beautiful woman of my enemies came to my couch to visit me, she did not kill me, and her dagger lies at my feet! I shall preserve it as a remembrancer, and Grand-marshal Duroc, M. von Brandt, and Constant, my valet de chambre, who are waiting for you in the anteroom, will believe that dagger to be a souvenir of your love and of a delightful hour of my life. We will not undeceive them! Farewell, madame!”
He gave Marianne no time to answer him, but took the silver bell and rang it so loudly and violently that Constant appeared in evident terror in the door.
“Constant,” said the emperor, “conduct the lady to her carriage; she will return to Vienna; and as for M. von Brandt, tell him the princess had allowed me to be her paymaster, and to pay him in her place for the happy minutes of our interview.”
“Sire,” ejaculated Marianne, in dismay, “you will–“
“Hush,” the emperor interrupted her proudly, “I will pay my tribute to Dame Fortune! Farewell, madame; remember this hour sometimes!”
He waved a parting salutation to her with his hand, and then disappeared through the door leading to his bedroom.
Marianne stared at him until he was gone, as though she had just seen a ghost walking before her, and as though her whole soul were concentrated in this look with which she gazed after him.
“Madame,” said Constant, in a low voice, “if you please!” And he approached the large hall-door which he opened.
Marianne started when she heard his words as if she were awaking from a dream; she left the room silently, and without deigning to glance at Constant, and followed her smiling guide through the halls. In the first anteroom she beheld Grand-marshal Duroc and several generals, who looked at the princess with threatening and sorrowful glances. Marianne felt these glances as if they were daggers piercing her soul, and daggers seemed to strike her ears when she heard Constant say to Major von Brandt: “You will stay here, sir; for the emperor has ordered me to pay you here for the hours his majesty has spent with the princess.”
By a violent effort, Marianne succeeded in overcoming her emotions, and with a proudly erect head, with a cold and immovable face, she walked on across the anterooms and descended the staircase until she reached her carriage.
Only when the carriage rolled along the road toward Vienna through the silent night, the coachman, notwithstanding the noise of the wheels, thought he heard loud lamentations, which seemed to proceed from the interior of the carriage. But he must have certainly been mistaken, for when the carriage stopped in the courtyard in front of her mansion, and the footman hastened to open the coach-door, the princess alighted as proud and calm, as beautiful and radiant as ever, and ascended the staircase coolly and slowly. At the head of the stairs stood Madame Camilla, muttering a few words with trembling lips and pale cheeks. Marianne apparently did not see her at all, and walked coldly and proudly down the corridor leading to her rooms.
She ordered the maids, who received her in her dressing-room, with an imperious wave of her hand, to withdraw, and when they had left the room she locked the door behind them. She then went with rapid steps to the boudoir contiguous to the dressing-room, and here, where she was sure that no one could see or overhear her, she allowed the proud mask to glide from her face, and showed its boundless despair. With a loud shriek of anguish she sank on her knees and raising her folded hands to heaven, cried, in the wailing notes of terrible grief:
“Oh, my God, my God! let me succumb to this disgrace. Have mercy on me, and let me die!”
But after long hours of struggling and despair, of lamentations and curses, Marianne rose again from her knees with defiant pride and calm energy.
“No,” she muttered, “I must not, will not die! Life has still claims on me, and the secret league, of which I have become the first member, imposes on me the duty of living and working in its service. I was unable to strike the tyrant with my dagger; well, then, we must try to kill him gradually by means of pin-pricks. Such a pin- prick is the manuscript which Gentz has intrusted to me in order to have it published and circulated throughout Germany. Somewhere a printing-office will be found to set up this manuscript with its types; I will seek for it, and pay the weight of its types in gold.”
Early next morning the travelling-coach of the princess stood at the door, and Marianne, dressed in a full travelling-costume, prepared for immediate departure. She had spent the whole night in arranging her household affairs. Now every thing was done, every thing was arranged and ready, and when about to descend the staircase, the princess turned around to Madame Camilla, who followed her humbly.
“Madame,” she said, coldly and calmly, “you will be kind enough to leave my house this very hour, in order to write your diary somewhere else. The French governor of Vienna will assign to you, perhaps, a place with his MOUCHARDS; go, therefore, to him, and never dare again to enter my house. My steward has received instructions from me; he will pay you your wages, and see to it that you will leave the house within an hour. Adieu!”
Without vouchsafing to glance at Madame Camilla, she descended the staircase calmly and haughtily, and entered her carriage, which rolled through the lofty portal of the court-yard with thundering noise.
CHAPTER LIV.
THE FALL OF THE GERMAN EMPIRE.
The peace of Presburg had been concluded; it had deprived Austria of her best provinces.
The offensive and defensive alliance between Prussia and France had been signed; it had deprived Prussia of the principalities of Cleves, Berg, and Neufchatel.
Germany, therefore, had reason enough in the beginning of 1806 to mourn and complain, for her princes had been humiliated and disgraced; her people had to bear with their princes the ignominy of degradation and dependence.
Germany, however, seemed to be joyful and happy; festivals were being celebrated everywhere–festivals in honor of the Emperor Napoleon and his family, festivals of love and happiness.
After the victory Napoleon had obtained at Austerlitz over the two emperors, after the conclusion of the treaty of Presburg and the alliance with Prussia, all causes of war with Germany seemed removed, and Napoleon laid his sword aside in order to repose on his laurels in the bosom of his family, and, instead of founding new states, to bring about marriages between his relations and the scions of German sovereigns–marriages which were to draw closer the links of love and friendship uniting France with Germany, and to make all Germany the obedient son-in-law and vassal of the Emperor of France.
In Munich, the wedding-bells which made Napoleon the father-in-law of a German dynasty, were first rung. In Munich, in the beginning of 1806, Eugene Beauharnais, Napoleon’s adopted son, was married to the beautiful and noble Princess Amelia of Bavaria, daughter of Maximilian, Elector of Bavaria, who, by the grace of Napoleon, had become King of Bavaria, as Eugene, by the same grace, had become Viceroy of Italy.
All Bavaria was jubilant with delight at the new and most fortunate ties uniting the German state with France; all Bavaria felt honored and happy when the Emperor Napoleon, with his wife Josephine, came to Munich to take part in the wedding-ceremonies. Festivals followed each other in quick succession in Munich; only happy faces were to be seen there, only jubilant shouts, laughter, and merry jests were to be heard; and whenever Napoleon appeared in the streets or showed himself on the balcony of the palace, the people received him with tremendous cheers, and waved their hats at the emperor, regardless of the blood and tears he had wrung but a few days before from another German state.
No sooner had the wedding-bells ceased ringing in Munich than they commenced resounding in Carlsruhe; for Napoleon wanted there, too, to become the father-in-law of another German dynasty, and the niece of Josephine, Mademoiselle Stephanie de Beauharnais, married the heir of the Elector of Baden, who now, by the grace of Napoleon, became Grand-duke of Baden.
And to the merry notes of the wedding-bells of Munich and Carlsruhe, were soon added the joyful sound of the bells which announced to Germany the rise of a new sovereign house within her borders, and inaugurated the elevation of the brother-in-law of the Emperor of France to the dignity of a sovereign German prince. Those solemn bells resounded in Cleves and Berg, and did homage to Joachim Murat, who, by the grace of Napoleon, had become Grand-duke of Berg. Prussia and Bavaria had to furnish the material for this new princely cloak; Prussia had given the larger portion of it, the Duchy of Cleves, and Bavaria, grateful for so many favors, had added to it the principality of Berg, so that these two German states together formed a nice grand-duchy for the son of the French innkeeper–for Joachim Murat, for the brother-in-law of the French emperor.
And when the joyful sounds had died away in Munich, Carlsruhe, and the new grand-duchy of Berg, they resounded again in Stuttgart, for in that capital the betrothal of Jerome, youngest brother of Napoleon, and of a daughter of the Elector of Wurtemberg, who now, by the grace of Napoleon, had become King of Wurtemberg, was celebrated. It is true Jerome, the emperor’s brother, wore no crown as yet; it is true this youngest son of the Corsican lawyer had hitherto been nothing but an “imperial prince of France,” but his royal father-in-law of Wurtemberg felt convinced that his august brother, Napoleon, would endow the husband of his daughter in a becoming manner, and place some vacant or newly-to-be-created crown on his head. Napoleon, moreover, had just then endowed his elder brother Joseph in such a manner, and made him King of Naples, after solemnly declaring to Europe in a manifesto, that “the dynasty of Naples had ceased to reign, and that the finest country on earth was to be delivered at length from the yoke of the most perfidious persons.” And in accordance with his word, Napoleon had overthrown the Neapolitan dynasty, expelled King Ferdinand and Queen Caroline from their capital, and placed his brother Joseph on the throne of Naples. [Footnote: Napoleon rewarded his generals and ministers, besides, with duchies, which he created for them in Italy, and the rich revenues of which he assigned to them. Thus Marmont became Duke of Ragusa; Mortier, Duke of Treviso; Bessieres, Duke of Istria; Savary, Duke of Rovigo; Lannes, Duke of Montebello; Bernadotte, Prince of Pontecorvo; Talleyrand, Prince of Benevento; Fouche, Duke of Otranto; Maret, Duke of Bassano; Soult, Duke of Dalmatia; Berthier, Prince of Neufchatel; Duroc, Duke of Frioul, etc.]
Hence, the King of Wurtemberg was not afraid; he was sure that Napoleon would discover somewhere a falling crown for his brother Jerome, and give to the daughter of the most ancient German dynasty a position worthy of the honor of her house.
But the joyful bells were not only rung in Germany; they resounded also from the borders of Holland, which now, by the grace of Napoleon, had become a kingdom, and to which, again by the grace of Napoleon, a king had been given, in the person of Louis, another brother of the Emperor of France. They resounded, too, from Italy, where, in this blessed year of 1806, so productive of new crowns, on one day, March 30, 1806, suddenly twelve duchies sprang from the ground and placed as many ducal crowns on the heads of Napoleon’s friends and comrades.
The year of 1806, therefore, was a blessed and happy year; joy and exultation reigned everywhere, and Napoleon was the author of all this happiness.
Still there was in the German empire a city which, in spite of all these recent festivals and demonstrations of satisfaction, maintained a grave and gloomy aspect, and apparently took no part whatever in the universal joy, but lived in its sullen, dull quiet as it had done for centuries.
This city was Ratisbon, the seat of the German Diet, and now the property and capital of the archchancellor of the German empire, Baron Dalberg.
For centuries Ratisbon had enjoyed the proud honor of having the ambassadors of all the German states meet in its old city-hall, for the purpose of deliberating on the welfare of Germany. From the arched windows of the large session hall the new laws flitted all over Germany, and what the gentlemen at Ratisbon had decided on, had to be submitted to by the princes and people of Germany.
And, just as hundreds and hundreds of years ago, they were still in session at Ratisbon–the ambassadors of the emperor, of the kings, electors, dukes, free cities, counts, and barons of the German empire. There met every day in their old hall the states of Austria, Prussia, Bavaria, Hanover, Wurtemberg, Baden, Hesse-Darmstadt, Mecklenberg, Brunswick, and whatever might be the names of the different members of the great German empire.
They met, but they did not deliberate any longer; they merely guessed what might be the fate of Germany, how long they would sit there in gloomy idleness, and when it might please the new protector of Germany, the Emperor of France, to remember them and say to them: “Go home, gentlemen, for your time has expired. The German Diet has ceased to exist, and I will deliver Germany from this burden.”
But neither the Emperor of France nor the sovereigns of Germany seemed to remember that there was a Diet still in session at the ancient city-hall of Ratisbon, which formerly had to sanction all treaties of peace, all cessions of territory, and all political changes whatever, so that they might be recognized and become valid in the German empire.
Now, the Emperor of Germany had not even deemed it necessary to submit to the Diet at Ratisbon the treaty of peace concluded with Napoleon at Presberg for ratification, but had contented himself with merely notifying the Diet of its conclusion. In the same manner, and on the same day, the ambassadors of Bavaria and Wurtemberg had risen from their seats to announce to the Diet that they were now no longer representatives of electors, but of kings– Bavaria and Wurtemberg, with the consent of the Emperor of France, having assumed the royal title; and when these two gentlemen had resumed their seats, the ambassador of the Elector of Baden rose for the purpose of declaring that he was representing no longer an electorate, but a grand-duchy–the Elector of Baden, with the consent of the Emperor of France, having assumed the grand-ducal title.
The Diet had received these announcements silently and without objection; it had been silent, also, when, a few days later, the French ambassador, M. Bacher, appeared in the session-hall and announced that Murat, as Duke of Cleves, had become a member of the German empire. Every ambassador, however, had asked himself silently how it happened that the new member of the empire did not hasten to avail himself of his rights, and to send an ambassador to take his seat at the Diet of Ratisbon.
The Diet, as we have stated already, received all these announcements in silence, and what good would it have done to it to speak? Who still respected its voice? Who still bowed to its name?
Only for appearance sake, only for the purpose of conversing with each other in a low tone about their own misfortunes, their weakness and impotence, did the ambassadors of the German princes and cities meet still, and instead of giving laws to Germany, as formerly, they only communicated to each other their suppositions concerning the fate that might be in store for Germany and the German Diet at Ratisbon.
The gentlemen were assembled again to-day in the large session-hall, and all the German states, which elsewhere were bitterly quarrelling with each other, were sitting peaceably around the large green table and chatting about the events that had taken place in the German empire, and might occur in the near future.
“Have you read the new pamphlets which are creating so great a sensation at the present time?” said Prussia to Saxony, who was seated by her side.
“No, I never read any pamphlets,” replied Saxony.
“It is worth while, however, to read these pamphlets,” said Prussia, smiling: “for they treat of an absurd idea in a most eloquent and enthusiastic manner. Just think of it, they advocate in dead earnest the idea of placing the German empire, now that the power of Austria has been paralyzed, under the protection of Bavaria, and of appointing the new King of Bavaria chief of Germany.”
“The idea is not so bad, after all,” said Saxony, smiling; “the Bavarian dynasty is one of the most ancient in Germany, and its power is greater than ever, inasmuch as it may boast of the friendship and favor of the Emperor of France. The Emperor Napoleon would, perhaps, raise no objections in case the King of Bavaria should be elected Emperor of Germany.”
“Oh, no,” whispered Brunswick, Saxony’s neighbor on the left; “I received late and authentic news yesterday. The Emperor Napoleon intends completely to restore the German empire of the middle ages, and will himself assume the imperial crown of Germany.” [Footnote: Hausser’s “History of Germany,” vol. ii., p. 721.] “What,” exclaimed Hesse, who had overheard the words, “the Emperor Napoleon wants to make himself Emperor of Germany?”
And Hesse had spoken so loudly in her surprise that the whole Diet had heard her words, and every one repeated them in great astonishment, while every face assumed a grave and solemn air.
“Yes, you may believe that such is the case,” said Bavaria, in an audible tone; “important changes are in store for us, and I know from the best source that Minister Talleyrand said the other day, quite loudly and positively, ‘That the fate of the German empire would be decided on toward the end of this month.'” [Footnote: Ibid., p. 723.]
“And to-day is already the 23d of May,” said Oldenburg, musingly; “we may look, therefore, every hour for a decision.”
“Yes, we may do so,” exclaimed Wurzburg; “I know for certain that they are already engaged in Paris in drawing up a new constitution for Germany.”
“It might be good, perhaps,” said her neighbor, “if we should also commence to draw up a new constitution for Germany, and then send it to Minister Talleyrand, because we are certainly more familiar with the customs and requirements of the German empire than the statesmen of France. We ought to consult with the archchancellor, Baron Dalberg, about this matter. But where is the archchancellor; where is Dalberg?”
“Yes, it is true, the archchancellor has not yet made his appearance,” exclaimed Oldenburg, wonderingly. “Where can he be? Where is Dalberg?”
And the question was whispered from mouth to mouth, “Where is Dalberg?”
Formerly, in the glorious old times of the German empire, it had been the German emperor who, at the commencement of the sessions of the Diet, had always asked in a loud voice, “Is there no Dalberg?” And at his question, the Dalbergs had come forward and placed themselves around the emperor’s throne, always ready to undertake great things and to carry out bold adventures.
Now, it was not the emperor who called for his Dalberg, but the Diet that whispered his name.
And it seemed as if the man who had been called for, had heard these whispers, for the large doors of the old session-hall opened, and the archchancellor of the empire, Baron Dalberg, entered. Clad in his full official costume, he stepped into the hall and approached his seat at the green table. But instead of sitting down on the high-backed, carved arm-chair, he remained standing, and his eyes glided greetingly past all those grave and gloomy faces which were fixed on him.
“I beg the august Diet to permit me to lay a communication before it,” said the archchancellor of the empire, with a bow to the assembly.
The grave faces of the ambassadors nodded assent, and Dalberg continued, in a loud and solemn voice: “I have to inform the Diet that, as I am growing old and feel a sensible decline of my strength, I have deemed it indispensable for the welfare of Germany and myself to choose already a successor and coadjutor. Having long looked around among the noble and worthy men who surround me in so great numbers, I have at length made my selection and come to such a decision as is justified by the present state of affairs. The successor whom I have selected is a worthy and high-minded man, whose ancestors have greatly distinguished themselves in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries in the service of the German empire. It is the Archbishop and Cardinal Fesch, uncle of the Emperor of France.”
A long and painful pause ensued; the members of the Diet looked, as if stupefied with terror and astonishment, at this man who, himself a German prince, dared to inform the German Diet that he had invited a foreigner to share with him the high dignity of a first German elector and of inheriting it after his death.
Dalberg read, perhaps, in the gloomy mien of the gentlemen the thoughts which they dared not utter, for he hastened to communicate to the Diet the motives which had influenced him in making the above named selection. He told them he had acted thus, not in his own interest, but in order to maintain the menaced constitution of the German empire, and to place it under Napoleon’s powerful protection. He then informed them joyfully that the Emperor of the French had already approved of the appointment of his uncle, Cardinal Fesch, and promised, moreover, that he would devote his personal attention to the regeneration of the German empire and always afford it protection.
The members of the Diet had moodily listened to him; their air had become more and more dissatisfied and gloomy; and when the elector paused, not a single voice was heard to propose the vote of thanks which Dalberg, on concluding his remarks, had asked for, but only a profound, ominous stillness followed his speech.
This, however, was the only official demonstration which the German Diet ventured to make against the appointment of Cardinal Fesch, and their silence did not prevent the consummation of this unparalleled measure. A foreigner, not even familiar with the German language, now became coadjutor of the archchancellor of the German empire–a foreigner became the first member of the German electoral college–a foreigner was to have the seals of the empire in his hands, keep the laws of Germany in his archives, and preside at the election of the emperors and at the sessions of the Diet!
And this foreigner was the uncle of the Emperor of the French, of the conqueror of the world. But the German Diet was silent and suffered on.
The horizon of Germany became more and more clouded; the Diet continued its sessions quietly, calmly, and inaudibly in the old city-hall at Ratisbon.
It was reported everywhere that the Emperor of France was about to give a new constitution to the German empire, and that the Emperor of Germany had pledged himself in the treaty of Presburg not to oppose the plans of Napoleon in relation to Germany.
The Diet paid no attention to these rumors; it remained in session, and did not interrupt its silence. It remained in session while the secondary German princes, whose ambassadors were assembled in Ratisbon, hastened in person to Paris, in order to appear there as humble supplicants in the anterooms of the emperor and Talleyrand, and to win the favor of Napoleon and his minister. This favor, they hoped, would gain for them crowns and states, render them powerful and influential, and give them a brilliant position. For Talleyrand had secretly whispered into the ears of all of them: “Those who oppose the emperor’s plans, and refuse to accept his protection, will be mediatized!” [Footnote: Mediatized position of the small German states, when their princes were under an emperor.] Every one of these secondary German princes hoped, therefore, that the others would be mediatized, and that he would receive the possessions of his neighbors.
Every one, therefore, was most jealous in protesting his entire submission to the emperor’s will, and in trying to gain as much as possible by flattery, bribery, and humble supplication. It seemed as though in Paris, in the anterooms of the emperor and his minister Talleyrand, a market-booth had been opened, in which dice were being thrown for German states and German crowns, or where they were sold at auction to the highest bidder! [Footnote: Enormous bribes were paid by the German princes to win the favor of the prominent functionaries of the French empire, in order to be saved by their influence from being mediatized, and to obtain as valuable additions to their territories as possible. Diplomatic gifts were not even secretly distributed, but the business was carried on as publicly as if the persons concerned in it had been on ‘change. Everybody knew that the Prince of Salm-Kyrburg had bought of one of the French ministers two hundred thousand bottles of champagne at an enormous rate; that Labesnardiere, Talleyrand’s first secretary, had received half a million of francs from Hesse Darmstadt; and that the Duke of Mecklenburg had promised him one hundred and twenty thousand Fredericks d’ors if he should retain his sovereignty.–Vide Montgaillard, “Histoire de France,” vol. x., p. 115.]
The Diet heard only rumors, vague rumors, about these proceedings, and remained quietly in session. It met every day and waited.
And at length, on the 1st of August, 1806, the large doors of the hall, in which the ambassadors of the German empire were assembled, opened, and the minister of the French emperor appeared in their midst, and approached in solemn earnest the green table, on which hitherto Germany alone had had the right to depose her notes and declarations, and on which hitherto the German Diet alone had written laws for Germany.
But Bacher, the French minister, came to force a new law upon the German Diet–the law of the French emperor.
The representative of the French emperor addressed the German Diet in a solemn tone, and as the vast session-hall echoed the loud, imperious voice of the foreigner, it seemed as if he called up from their graves the ghosts of past centuries, and as if they then placed themselves like a protecting gray cloud before the menaced Diet.
“The German constitution,” said the minister of France–“the German constitution is now but a shadow; the Diet has ceased to have a will of its own. Hence his majesty, the Emperor of France and Italy, is not obliged to recognize the existence of this German constitution any longer; a new confederation of German princes will be formed under his protection, and his majesty will assume the title of Protector of the Confederation of the Rhine. In order to maintain peace, he declared formerly that he would never extend the boundaries of France beyond the Rhine, and he has faithfully kept his word.” [Footnote: “Memoires d’un Homme d’Etat,” vol. ix., p. 160.]
And after Bacher had uttered these words, sixteen members of the Diet, twelve princes, and four electors, rose from their seats. The first of the German electors, the archchancellor of the empire, Charles Theodore von Dalberg, was their speaker, and he explained to the Diet, in the name of his fifteen colleagues, their intentions and views.
“The last three wars have demonstrated,” he exclaimed, “that the German empire is rotten and virtually destroyed; hence we German princes of the south and west of Germany will sever our connection with a constitution which has ceased to exist, and place ourselves under the protection of the Emperor of the French, who is anxious to secure the welfare and prosperity of Germany. We have formed a confederation among ourselves, and the Emperor of the French will be the head and protector of this league, which will be called the Confederation of the Rhine. Solemnly and forever do we, princes of the German Confederation of the Rhine, renounce the German empire and the German Diet, acknowledging none but the Emperor of the French as our head and protector.”
“Yes, we renounce the German empire and the German Diet,” exclaimed the sixteen princes, in one breath. “We renounce them now and forever!”
And they noisily pushed aside the high-backed arm-chairs, on which the representatives of their states had sat for centuries, and left the session-hall in a solemn procession, headed by the archchancellor of the empire. [Footnote: The members of the Confederation of the Rhine were Bavaria, Wurtemberg, Baden, the archchancellor with his territory, Berg, Hesse-Darmstadt, Nassau- Weilburg, Nassau-Usingen, Hohenzollern-Hechingen, Hohenzollern- Sigmaringen, Salm-Salm, Salm-Kyrberg, Isenburg, Aremberg, Lichtenstein, and Von der Leyen.]
The remaining members of the Diet gazed on them in profound silence, and when the door closed behind the disappearing princes of the Confederation of the Rhine, it seemed as though strange sounds and whisperings filled the old hall, and as though low sighs and lamentations resounded from the walls where the portraits of the emperors were hanging.
The remaining members of the Diet were filled with awe; the sixteen vacant chairs struck terror into their souls; they rose silently from their seats and left the hall with hasty steps.
But on the following day the German Diet met again. It wanted to consult and deliberate as to what ought to be done in relation to the desertion of sixteen of its members.
And it consulted and deliberated for six days without coming to any decision. But on the sixth day a stop was put to the debates.
On the 6th of August a special envoy of the Emperor of Germany appeared at the city-hall of Ratisbon while the Diet was in session. He approached the green table and saluted the small remnant of the great assembly, and producing a large letter bearing the emperor’s privy seal, said in a loud and solemn voice: “In the name of the emperor!”
And the members of the Diet rose from their seats to listen reverentially to the imperial message which his majesty had addressed to the German Diet in an autograph letter. He had commissioned his envoy to read the letter to the Diet, and the minister read as follows:
“Feeling convinced that it is impossible for us to exercise our imperial rights any longer, we deem it our duty to renounce a crown which was of value to us only so long as we enjoyed the confidence of the electors, princes, noblemen, and states of the German empire, and so long as we were able to fulfil the duties they imposed upon us. Hence we are obliged to declare by these presents in the most solemn manner, that, considering the ties which united us with the German empire as broken by the Confederation of the Rhine, we hereby give up the imperial crown of Germany; at the same time we release by these presents the electors, princes, and states, as well as the members of the supreme court and other magistrates from the duties which they owed to us as legal head of the German empire. Given under our own hand and seal. Francis the Second, Emperor of Austria, and ruler of the hereditary states of Austria.” [Footnote: “Memoires d’un Homme d’Etat,” vol. ix., p. 160.]
A long and awful silence greeted the reading of this letter, which put an end to the ancient German empire after an existence of one thousand and six years, from Charlemagne, crowned in 800, to Francis II., dispossessed in 1806.
The members of the German Diet then rose in their seats; they were as silent and shy as night-owls startled from their dark hiding- places by a stray sunbeam. They left the old session-hall at Ratisbon in gloomy silence, and when the door closed behind them, the German Diet had been buried, and the lid on its coffin had been closed.
The last night-owls of the deceased German empire hurried in mournful silence from the session-hall at Ratisbon, where the old portraits henceforth watched alone over the grave of the German empire.
When they stepped out into the market-place, a carriage just rolled past the city-hall, and the gentleman seated in it leaned smilingly out of the coach-door, and saluted kindly and affably the pale, grave, and sad men who came from the city-hall.
This gentleman was Count Clement Metternich, who was going to Paris as special envoy of the Emperor of Austria for the purpose of offering to the Emperor of France on his birthday the congratulations of the Emperor of Austria. [Footnote: Ibid., p. 168.]
On the 6th of August the German empire had died and was buried!
On the 15th of August the Emperor of the French celebrated his birthday; and the princes of the Confederation of the Rhine, the Emperor of Austria, the King of Prussia, and all the sovereigns who had been members of the late German empire, celebrated the great day in the most solemn manner.
Napoleon had a new victory–a victory which laid the whole of Germany at his feet. He had buried the German empire, but stood on the grave of the august corpse as its lord and master.
THE BATTLE OF JENA.
CHAPTER LV.
A GERMAN BOOKSELLER AND MARTYR.
It was long after nightfall; in the narrow, gloomy streets of the ancient free city of Nuremberg all noise had long since died away, and all the windows of the high houses with the gable-ends were dark. Only on the ground-floor of the large house in the rear of St. Sebald’s church a lonely candle was burning, and the watchman, who was just walking past with his long horn and iron pike, looked inquisitively into the window, the shutters of which were not entirely closed.
“H’m!” he said to himself in a low voice, “the poor woman is kneeling and weeping and praying; I am sure it is for her husband. In her grief she did not notice, perhaps, that it is already midnight. I will remind her of it, so that she may go to bed.”
He placed himself on the street in front of the house, blew his horn noisily, and then sang in a ringing voice:
“Hort, Ihr Herren, und lasst euch sagen, Die Glock hat zwolf geschlagen;
Ein Jeder bewahr sein Feuer und Licht, Dass dieser Stadt kein Harm geschicht!”
[Footnote: The ancient song of the German watchman.–“Listen, gentlemen, and let me tell you: the clock has struck twelve; every one must take care of his fire and light, that no harm may befall this city!”]
“So, now she knows it,” muttered the watchman; “now she will go to bed.”
And he sauntered down the long and tortuous street, to repeat his song on the next corner.
He had really accomplished his purpose; his song had interrupted the prayer of the young wife, and she had risen from her knees.
“Midnight already!” she murmured, in a low voice. “Another day of anguish is over, and a new one is beginning. Oh, would to God I could sleep, always sleep, so as to be at least unconscious of the dangers that are menacing HIM! Oh, my God, my God! protect my poor, beloved husband, preserve the father of my children! And now I will go to bed,” she added, after a pause. “God will have mercy on me, perhaps, and grant me a few hours of rest!”
She took the brass candlestick, on which a taper was burning, and went slowly and with bowed head to the adjoining room. When she had entered it, her face became calmer and more joyful, and a gentle smile lighted up her charming features when she now approached the small bed, in which her two little girls lay arm-in-arm, sweetly slumbering with rosy cheeks and half-opened crimson lips.
“God preserve to you your peace and innocence,” whispered the young mother, after contemplating her children long and tenderly. “God, I fondly trust, will cause this cloud to glide past without your hearing the thunder roll, and being shattered by the lightning. Good-night, my children!”
She nodded smilingly to the slumbering girls, and then glided noiselessly to her couch. She commenced undressing–slowly and sighing, but when she was just about to open the silver buckle of her sash, she paused and looked anxiously toward the window.
It seemed to her as though she had heard a soft rapping at this window, which opened upon the garden in the rear of the house, and as though a low voice has uttered her name.
Sure enough, the sound was repeated, and she now heard the voice say quite distinctly: “Open the window, Anna.”
She rushed toward the window and opened it, pale, breathless, and almost out of her wits.
“Is it you, Palm?” she cried.
“It is I,” said a low, male voice; and now an arm became visible, it encircled the crosswork of the window; in the next second the whole form of a gentleman appeared, and vaulted cautiously into the room.
“God be praised, I am with you again!” he said, drawing a deep breath; “it seems to me as if all danger were past when I am again in our quiet house with you and the children.”
“No, my beloved husband, it is just here that dangers are threatening you,” said the young wife, sinking into the open arms of her husband, and reposing her head on his breast. “My God, why did you return?”
“Because I was afraid when I was far from you, while I feel here with you courageous enough to brave the whole world,” said her husband, almost cheerfully, imprinting a glowing kiss on the forehead of his young wife. “Believe me, Anna, a husband always lacks the right kind of courage when he believes his wife and children to be in danger. For six days I have been separated from you; well, in these six days, which I have spent in perfect security at Erlangen, I have not passed a minute without feeling the painful palpitation of my heart, nor have I slept a minute. I always thought of and trembled for you.”
“But we are in no danger, while YOU are, my beloved,” said the young wife, sighing. “Our house is closely watched, you may depend upon it. I have seen French gens-d’armes hidden behind the pillars of the church, and staring for hours at our street-door. Oh, if they knew that you were here, they would arrest you this very night!”
“They would not dare to arrest me!” exclaimed Palm, loudly. “We do not yet belong to France, although the Emperor of France has assumed the right of giving the ancient free city of Nuremberg to Bavaria, as though she were nothing but a toy got up in our factories. We are still Germans, and no French gens-d’armes have any right to penetrate into our German houses. But look, the children are moving; little Sophy is opening her eyes. What a barbarian I am to speak so loudly, and not even to respect the slumber of our little ones!”
He hastened to the small bed, and bending over it, nodded smilingly a greeting to the little girl, who was staring at him, still half asleep. The child whispered, in a low voice: “Dear, dear father!” and fell quietly asleep again.
“Come, Anna,” whispered Palm, “let us go to your room, in order not to disturb the children.”
“But the spying eyes of our enemies might see you there,” said his wife, anxiously. “No, let us stay here, even though we should awaken the little girls. They will not cry, but be happy to see their beloved father, and what we are speaking to each other they cannot understand. Come, let us sit down here on the small sofa, and permit me to place the screen before it; then I am sure nobody will be able to see you.”
She conducted Palm to the small sofa in the corner of the room, and placed the screen as noiselessly as possible before it.
“So,” she said, nestling in his arms, “now we are here as if in a little cell, where only God’s eye can find us. So long as we are in this cell I shall not be afraid.”
“I believe it is unnecessary for you to be afraid at all,” said Palm, smiling. “We carry our apprehensions to too great a length, you may depend upon it, and because we see M. Bonaparte putting whole states into his pocket, we believe it would be easy for him likewise to put a respectable citizen and bookseller of Nuremberg into it. But, be it spoken between us, that is rather a haughty idea, and M. Bonaparte has to attend to other things than to take notice of a bookseller and his publications. Remember, my child, that he has just got up the Confederation of the Rhine, and, moreover, is said to be preparing for a war with Prussia. How should he, therefore, have time to think of a poor bookseller?”
“Do you think, when the lion is going to meet his adversary and to struggle with him, he will leave the wasp which he has met on his way, and which has stung him in the ear, unpunished, because he has more important things to attend to?”
“But I did not sting him at all,” said Palm, smiling. “Let us calmly consider the whole affair, dearest Anna, and you will see that I have in reality noting to fear, and that only the accursed terror which this M. Bonaparte has struck into the souls of all Germans has caused us this whole alarm. A few months ago I received by mail, from a person unknown to me, a large package of books, enclosing a letter, in which the stranger requested me to send the copies of the pamphlet contained in the package immediately to all German booksellers, and to give it as wide a circulation as possible. The letter contained also a draft for one thousand florins, drawn by a banker of Vienna, Baron Franke, on a wealthy banking-house of our city. This sum of one thousand florins, said the letter, was to be a compensation for my trouble and for the zeal with which, the writer stated, he felt convinced I would attend to the circulation of the pamphlet.”
“But the very mystery connected with the whole transaction ought to have aroused your suspicion, my beloved.”
“Why! Are not we Germans now under the unfortunate necessity of keeping secret our most sublime thoughts and our most sacred sentiments? And ought not, therefore, every one of us to take pains to honor and protect this secrecy, instead of suspecting it?”
“But the very title of this pamphlet was dangerous, ‘Germany in her Deepest Degradation.’ You might have guessed whom this accusation was aimed at.”
“At Germany, I thought, at our infamy and cowardice, at the perfidy of our princes, at the torpid, passive indifference of our people. It is high time that Germany, which is now tottering about like a somnambulist, should be aroused by a manful word from her slumber, so as to take heart again and draw the sword. The title told me that the pamphlet contained such words; hence, I was not at liberty to keep it out of circulation. It would have been a robbery perpetrated upon Germany, a theft perpetrated upon him who sent me the money, and to whom I could not return it, because I was not aware of his name.”
“You ought to have thought of your wife and your children,” murmured Anna, sighing.
“I thought of you,” he said, tenderly; “hence, I did not read the pamphlet, in order not to be shaken in what I thought my duty. First, I had to fulfil my duty as a citizen and man of honor; then only I was at liberty to think of you and my personal safety. I sent, therefore, in the first place, a certain number of copies of the pamphlet to M. Stage, the bookseller, and requested him to circulate them an speedily as possible among his customers.”
“And, God knows, he has done so,” sighed Anna, “and, like you, he was not deterred by the title.”
“He did his duty, like myself, and sent the pamphlets to lovers of books. In this manner it reached a preacher in the country, and unfortunately there were two French officers at his house; they understood German, read the pamphlet, and informed their colonel of its character. The latter paid a visit to the preacher, and learned from him that M. Stage, the bookseller of Augsburg, had sent him the pamphlet. The colonel thereupon repaired to Augsburg and saw M. Stage.”
“And Stage was cowardly and perfidious enough to betray your name and to denounce you as being the bookseller who had sent him the pamphlet,” exclaimed Anna, her eyes flashing with indignation. “Your friend, your colleague betrayed you!”
“I had not requested him not to mention my name,” said Palm, gravely; “he had a right to name it, and I do not reproach him with doing so. I was informed that the French minister in Munich had bitterly complained of me and demanded that I should be punished; and as we are Bavarians now, I hastened to Munich in order to defend myself.”
“And while you were there, four strangers came hither,” Anna interrupted him. “They asked for the pamphlet, penetrated in the most outrageous manner, in spite of my remonstrances, into your store, searched it, and left only when they had satisfied themselves that not a copy of the unfortunate pamphlet was there.”
“You wrote this to me while I was in Munich, and at the same time I heard that Stage had been arrested in Augsburg. Impelled by my first terror, I fled from the capital and hastened to Erlangen, which is situated on Prussian soil, and where neither the Bavarian police nor the French gens d’armes could lay hands on me. But in Erlangen I reflected on the matter, and I confess to you I was ashamed of having fled, instead of confronting an examination openly and freely. My love, my yearning attracted me toward you; I, therefore, took carriage last night and rode home to my beloved wife and to my children. This is a plain statement of the whole affair, and now tell me what should I be afraid of?”
“You may fear the worst,” exclaimed Anna, sadly; “for our French tyrants will not shrink from any thing.”
“But fortunately we do not live yet under the French sceptre,” replied Palm, vividly; “we are Germans, and only German laws are valid for us.”
“No,” said Anna, mournfully, “we are not Germans, but Bavarians, that is to say, the allies, the humble vassals of France. Not the King of Bavaria, but the Emperor of France, is ruling over us.”
“Well, even were it so, I could not see what crime I should be charged with. I neither wrote nor published this pamphlet; I merely circulated it, and cannot, therefore, be held responsible for its contents. Possibly, they may arrest me as they have arrested Stage, and may intend thereby to compel me to mention the name of him who sent me the pamphlet, as Stage mentioned my own name. Fortunately, however, I am able to prove that I know neither the author nor the publisher; for I have got the best proof, of it, viz., the letter which I received with the package. I shall lay this letter before the court, and the judges will then perceive that I am entirely innocent. What will remain for them but to caution me not to circulate henceforth books sent to me anonymously, and then to release me?”
“But if they should not release you, my beloved husband?” asked his wife, anxiously clasping him in her arms; “if in their rage at being unable to lay their hands on the real criminal, they should wreak their vengeance on you for having circulated the pamphlet first of all, and punish you as though you were its author?”
“Oh, you go too far,” exclaimed Palm, laughing; “your imagination calls up before you horrors which belong to the realm of fable. We still live in a well-regulated state, and however great the influence of France may be, German laws are still valid here; and as we live in a state of peace, I can be judged only in accordance with them. Fear not, therefore, dearest wife. The worst that can befall me will be a separation for a few days, at the most for a few weeks, if our authorities should really carry their fawning submission to Bonaparte to such a length as to call a German citizen to account for having, in his business as a bookseller, circulated a pamphlet– understand me well, a German pamphlet, destined only for Germany, and which does not flatter, perhaps, the Emperor of the French quite as much as is being done by our German princes and our German governments.”
“Oh my God, my God,” wailed Anna, in a low voice, “the pamphlet is directly aimed at Napoleon, then?”
“Yes, at him who has placed his heels on the neck of Germany and trampled her in the dust,” exclaimed Palm. “This pamphlet, called ‘Germany in her Deepest Degradation,’ must have been written against him alone. Oh, during the days of my sojourn in Erlangen, I have read this pamphlet, and whatever may befall me, I am glad it was I who circulated it, for a noble German spirit pervades the whole of it, and it is truth that raises the scourge in it to lash the guilty parties. It is a vigorous and glowing description of the condition to which all the German states have been reduced by Bonaparte’s arbitrary proceedings. Just listen to this one passage, and then you may judge whether the pamphlet tells the truth or not.”
He drew a few printed leaves from his side-pocket, and unfolded them.
“You have got a copy of the dreadful pamphlet with you?” asked Anna, in dismay. “Oh, how imprudent! If they should come now to arrest you, they would obtain a new proof of your guilt. I implore you, my friend, my beloved, if you love me, if your children are dear to you, be cautious and prudent! Burn those terrible leaves, so that they may not testify against you. Remember that I should die of grief if your life should be threatened; remember that our poor children then would be helpless orphans.”
“Oh, my poor, timid roe,” said Palm, deeply moved, encircling his weeping young wife with his arms. “How your faithful, innocent heart is fluttering, as if the cruel hunter were already aiming his murderous arm at us, and as if we were irretrievably doomed! Calm yourself, dearest, I pledge you my word that I will comply with your wishes. We will burn the pamphlet; but previously you shall learn, at least, the spirit in which this pamphlet, for which your poor husband will have to suffer, perhaps, a few days’ imprisonment, is written. Just listen to me! The author is speaking here of Bavaria, and of the oppressions to which she is a prey since we have concluded an alliance with France. He says: ‘Since that time the Bavarian states have become the winter quarters, and been treated in a manner unheard of since the Thirty Years’ War. At that time the Austrians, under Tilly and Wallenstein, were pursuing precisely the same course now followed by the French, and if their emperor draws no other lessons from that war, he has closely copied, at least, the system of obtaining supplies for an army which was then in use. Trustworthy men have assured us that the French ruler, when in Munich the most urgent remonstrances concerning the oppressions under which the people of Bavaria were groaning were made to him, replied in cold blood: “My soldiers have not done so. These are times of war–let me alone, and do not disturb my plans.” Already in December last the treaty of Presburg was signed, and from that moment Austria had the prospect of getting rid of her enemies. Had Bavaria not an equal right to enjoy the advantages of this treaty? These advantages could be none other than that the French army left the Bavarian territories and relieved the people from further oppressions. But just the reverse took place. The French withdrew from the states of the German emperor to occupy Bavaria, and celebrate here, by the ruin of all the inhabitants, their victories in orgies and carousals continued for many months. If I refer to the ruin of the inhabitants, the words should be taken in their literal meaning, and not as an expression merely chosen to depict the misery the French have brought upon Bavaria. It is not yet five years since a hostile army of the same nation lorded it over that country. And nobody will venture to assert that the wounds then inflicted upon the inhabitants should have been healed in so short a time. The farmer, deprived of his animals, had scarcely commenced to provide himself again with horses and cattle, when the passage of the French, in every respect equal to an invasion, took from him again this important portion of his personal property. Fraud, cunning, and force were alternately resorted to for this purpose. Tears and the most humble supplications were rejected with sneers, and even blows. The French called themselves “preservers of Bavaria.” Forsooth a preservation similar to the fate of the patient whom one doctor would have sooner sent into the grave, and who is dying more slowly under the hands of another. If friendship ever was a mockery, it was so on this occasion. But it is part of Napoleon’s plans to exhaust Germany to such an extent as to render her incapable of becoming dangerous for him even in the most remote future. He selected several highly effective expedients for this purpose. Dynasties, the ancestors of which date back to the most remote ages, and one of which long since produced emperors and kings, were united with Bonaparte’s family by the closest ties of blood, and thus the ruler of France has already become the relative of the courts of Baden, Bavaria, Sweden, and Russia. Not content with this, he offered royal crowns to Bavaria and Wurtemberg, and the German emperor had to assent to this measure in the treaty of Presburg. Thus Germany has got two new kingdoms, and–‘” [Footnote: From the celebrated pamphlet. “Germany in her Deepest Degradation.”]
“Oh, I implore you, do not read any further,” exclaimed Anna, suddenly interrupting her husband. “It frightens me to hear you repeat those threatening and angry words; they fall upon my heart like a terrible accusation against you! Believe me, my beloved, if that proud and ambitious Emperor Napoleon should hear of this terrible pamphlet–if its contents should be communicated to him, you would be lost: for, having no one else on whom to wreak his vengeance, he would revenge himself on you!”
“But he will not have me either,” said Palm, smiling, “for I shall take good care not to set foot on French territory; I shall not leave Nuremberg, and thank God, that is German territory.”
“But the French frontier is close to us, for wherever there are French troops there is France. Napoleon’s arm reaches far beyond her frontiers, and if he wants to seize you he will do so in spite of all boundary-posts, German laws, and your own citizenship.”
“There is really something so convincing in your fears that it might almost infect me!” said Palm, musingly. “It would have been better, perhaps, after all, for me not to have come back, but to remain in Prussian Erlangen!”
“Return thither,” exclaimed Anna, imploringly; “I beseech you by our love, by our children, and by our happiness, return to Erlangen!”
“To-morrow, dearest Anna!” said Palm, smiling, clasping his young wife in his arms–” to-morrow it will be time enough to think of another separation. Now let me take a few hours’ rest, and enjoy the unutterable happiness of being at home again!–at home with my wife and with my dear little ones!”
CHAPTER LVI.
THE ARREST.
On the following morning the rumor spread all over Nuremberg, that Palm, the bookseller, had returned and was concealed in his house. The cook had stated this in the strictest confidence to some of her friends when she had appeared on the market-place to purchase some vegetables. The friends had communicated the news, of course, likewise in the strictest confidence, to other persons, and thus the whole city became very soon aware of the secret.
The friends of the family now hastened to go to Mrs. Palm for the purpose of ascertaining from herself whether the information were true. Anna denied it, however; she asserted she had received this very morning a letter written by her husband at Erlangen; but when one of the more importunate friends requested her to communicate the contents of the letter to him, or let him see it at least, she became embarrassed and made an evasive reply.
“He is here!” whispered the friends to each other, when they left Mrs. Anna Palm. “He is here, but conceals himself so that the French spies who have been sneaking around here for the last few days may not discover his whereabouts. It is prudent for him to do so, and we will not betray him, but faithfully keep his secret.”
But a secret of which a whole city is aware, and which is being talked of by all the gossips in town, is difficult to keep, and it is useless to make any effort for the purpose of preventing it from being betrayed to the enemy.
Palm did not suspect any thing whatever of what was going on. He deemed himself entirely safe in his wife’s peaceful, silent room, the windows of which, opening upon the garden, were inaccessible to spying eyes, while its only door led to the large store where his two clerks were attending to the business of the firm and waiting on the customers who ordered or purchased books of them.
Anna had just left the room to consult with her servants about the affairs of the household and kitchen; and Palm, who was comfortably stretched out on the sofa, was engaged in reading. The anxiety which had rendered him so restless during the previous days had left him again; he felt perfectly reassured, and smiled at his own fear which had flitted past him like a threatening cloud.
All at once he was startled from his comfortable repose by a loud conversation in the store, and rose from the divan in order to hear what was the matter.
“I tell you I am unable to assist you,” he heard his book-keeper say. “I am poor myself, and Mr. Palm is not at home.”
“Mr. Palm is at home, and I implore you let me see him,” said a strange, supplicating voice. “He has a generous heart and if I tell him of my distress he will pity me and lend me his assistance.”
“Come back in a few days, then,” exclaimed the book-keeper; “Mr. Palm will then be back, perhaps, from his journey.”
“In a few days!” ejaculated the strange voice–“in a few days my wife and child will be starved to death, for unless I am able to procure relief within this hour, my cruel creditor will have me taken to the debtors’ prison, and I shall be unable then to assist my sick wife and baby. Oh, have mercy on my distress! Let me see Mr. Palm, that I may implore his assistance!”
“Mr. Palm is not at home as I told you already,” exclaimed the book- keeper in an angry voice. “How am I to let you see him, then? Come back in a few days–that is the only advice I can give you. Go now, and do not disturb me any longer!”
“No, people shall never say that I turned a despairing man away from my door,” muttered Palm, rapidly crossing the room and opening the door of the store.
“Stay, poor man,” he said to the beggar, who had already turned around and was about to leave the store–“stay.”
The beggar turned around, and, on perceiving Palm, who stood on the threshold of the door, uttered a joyful cry.
“Do you see,” he said, triumphantly to the book-keeper–” do you see