XXIII. MINISTER THUGUT
The prime minister, Baron Thugut, was in his study. It was yet early in the morning, and the minister had just entered his room in order to begin his political task. On the large green table at which Thugut had just sat down, there lay the dispatches and letters delivered by the couriers who had arrived during the night and early in the morning. There were, besides, unfolded documents and decrees, waiting for the minister’s signature, in order to become valid laws. But the minister took no notice whatever of these papers, but first seized the newspapers and other periodicals, which he commenced reading with great eagerness. While he was perusing them, his stern features assumed a still harsher mien, and a gloomy cloud settled on his brow. Suddenly he uttered a wild oath and violently hurling the paper, in which he had been reading, to the floor, he jumped up from his chair.
“Such impudence is altogether intolerable!” he shouted, angrily. “It is high time for me to teach these newspaper scribblers another lesson, and they shall have it! I--”
Just then, the door of the anteroom opened, and a footman entered. He informed his master that the police minister, Count Saurau, wished to see him.
Baron Thugut ordered him to be admitted at once, and went to meet him as soon as he heard him come in.
“You anticipate my wishes, my dear count,” he said. “I was just going to send for you.”
“Your excellency knows that I am always ready to obey your calls,” replied Count Saurau, politely. “I acknowledge your superiority and submit to you as though you were my lord and master; notwithstanding our position in society and in the state service, which is almost an equal one, I willingly permit you to treat me as your disciple and inferior.”
“And I believe that is the wisest course you can pursue, my dear little count,” said Thugut, laughing sarcastically. “It has been good for you to do so, I should think, and so it has been for the whole Austrian ship of state, that has been intrusted to my guidance. Yes, sir, the son of the ship-builder Thunichtgut has shown to you and your fellow-members of the ancient aristocracy that talents and ability are no exclusive privileges of your class, and that a common ship-builder’s son may become prime minister, and that a low-born Thunichtgut may be transformed into a Baron von Thugut. The great Empress Maria Theresa has performed this miracle, and baptized me, and I believe Austria never found fault with her for doing so. The ship-builder’s son has piloted the ship of state tolerably skilfully through the breakers up to the present time, and he shall do so in future too, in spite of all counts and aristocrats. You see, I do not try to conceal my humble descent; nay, I boast of it, and it is therefore quite unnecessary for you to remind me of what I never want to forget!”
“I see that some late occurrence must have excited your excellency’s just anger,” exclaimed Count Saurau.
“And being police minister, you doubtless know all about that occurrence,” said Thugut, sarcastically.
Count Saurau shrugged his shoulders. “I confess I am unable to divine--”
“Then you have not read the papers this morning?” asked Thugut, scornfully. “You have no idea of the infamous attack which an aristocratic newspaper scribbler has dared to make upon me, nay, upon the emperor himself?”
“I confess that I do not understand what your excellency means,” said Count Saurau, anxiously.
“Well, then, listen to me!” exclaimed Thugut, seizing the paper again. “Listen to what I am going to read to you: ‘At a time when the whole Austrian people are longing for peace, when our august Empress Theresia and our dearly beloved Archduke Charles share these sentiments of the people and give expression to them at the feet of the throne and in opposition to those who would deluge our cherished Austria with the miseries and dangers of war--at such a time we fondly look back into the great history of our country and remember what has been accomplished by great and gifted members of our imperial house in former periods for the welfare and tranquillity of Austria; we remember, for instance, that Austria in 1619, like to-day, was threatened by enemies and on the eve of a terrible war, not because the honor and welfare of Austria rendered such a war necessary, but because the ambitious and arrogant minister, Cardinal Clesel, was obstinately opposed to peace, and utterly unmindful of the wishes of the people. He alone, he, the all-powerful minister, was in favor of war; he overwhelmed the weak Emperor Mathias with his demands; and when the latter, owing to the anxiety he had to undergo, was taken sick, he even pursued him with his clamor for war into his sick-room. But then the archdukes, the emperor’s brothers, boldly determined to interfere. They arrested the rascally minister at the emperor’s bedside, and sent him to Castle Ambrass in the Tyrol, where he suffered long imprisonment, a just punishment for his arrogance and for his attempt to involve the country in a war so distasteful to all classes of the people. About half a century later a similar occurrence took place. There was again a minister advocating war in spite of the whole Austrian people. It was in 1673. The minister to whose suggestions the Emperor Leopold lent a willing ear at that time, was Prince Lobkowitz. But the Empress Claudia had compassion on the people, groaning under the heavy yoke of the minister. She alone prevailed upon the emperor by her eloquence and beauty to deprive Prince Lobkowitz suddenly of all his honors and offices and to send him on a common hay-wagon amidst the contemptuous scoffs and jeers of the populace of Vienna to the fortress of Raudnitz, forbidding him under pain of death to inquire about the cause of his punishment.’” [Footnote: Vide Hormayer, “Lebensbilder aus dem Befreiungskriege,” vol. i., p. 321.]
“Well,” asked Thugut, when he ceased reading, “what do you think of that?”
“I believe the article contains very idle historical reminiscences,” said Count Saurau, shrugging his shoulders; “these reminiscences, according to my opinion, have no bearing whatever upon our own times.”
“That is, you will not admit their bearing upon our own times, my dear little count; you pretend not to perceive that the whole article is directed against myself; that the object is to exasperate the people against me and to encourage my enemies to treat me in the same manner as Clesel and Lobkowitz were treated. The article alludes to the archdukes who overthrew the minister so obstinately opposed to peace, and to the Empress Claudia who profited by her power over the emperor in order to ruin an all-powerful minister, her enemy. And you pretend not to see that all this is merely referred to for the purpose of encouraging Archduke Charles and the Empress Theresia to act as those have acted? Both are at the head of the peace party; both want peace with France, and in their short-sightedness and stupidity, they are enthusiastic admirers of that French general Bonaparte, whom they call ‘the Italian,’ unmindful of the great probability of his designating himself some day by the sobriquet of ‘the Austrian,’ unless we oppose him energetically and set bounds to his thirst after conquest. They want to get rid of me in the same manner as their predecessors got rid of Cardinal Clesel. But I hold the helm as yet, and do not mean to relinquish it.”
“It would be a terrible misfortune for Austria if your excellency should do so,” said Count Saurau, in his soft, bland voice. “I do not believe that either the Empress Theresa or the Archduke Charles will act in a hostile manner toward you.”
“And if they should do so, I would not tolerate it,” exclaimed Thugut. “My adversaries, whosoever they may be, had better beware of my elephant foot not stamping them into the ground. I hate that boastful, revolutionary France, and to remain at peace with her is equivalent to drawing toward us the ideas of the revolution and of a general convulsion. Short-sighted people will not believe it, and they are my enemies because I am a true friend of Austria. But being a true friend of Austria, I must combat all those who dare oppose and impede me, for in my person they oppose and impede Austria. First of all things, it is necessary for me to get rid of those newspaper editors and scribblers; they are arrogant, insolent fellows who imagine they know every thing and are able to criticise every thing, and who feel called upon to give their opinion about all things and on all occasions because they know how to wield a goose-quill. The best thing we could do would be to suppress all newspapers and periodicals. Shaping the course of politics ourselves, we do not need any newspapers, which after all are nothing but ruminating oxen of what we have eaten and digested already; the people do not understand any thing about it, nor is it necessary that they should. The people have to work, to obey, to pay taxes, and, if necessary, to give up their lives for their sovereign; they need not know any thing further about politics, and if they do, it is generally detrimental to their obedience. Let us drive away, then, that noxious crowd of newspaper writers and pamphleteers who dare enlighten the people by their political trash. Ah, I will teach Count Erlach that it is a little dangerous to become a newspaper editor and to serve up entremets of historical reminiscences to the people of Vienna! I will cram them down his own throat in such a manner as to deprive him--”
“Count Erlach is the author of the article your excellency read to me just now?” asked Count Saurau, in great terror.
“There, his name is affixed to it in large letters,” replied Thugut, contemptuously; “he has not even taken pains to conceal it. We have to return thanks to him for his sincerity, and I hope you will take the trouble of expressing our gratitude to him.”
“What does your excellency want me to do?” asked the police minister, anxiously. “I believe it would not be prudent for us to make much ado about it.”
“Of course not,” said Thugut, laughing. “Do I like to make much ado about any thing, which would only give rise to scandal and idle gossip? Just reflect a while, my dear little count. What did we do, for instance, with the Neapolitan Count Montalban, who became a thorn in our side, and endeavored to gain power over the emperor? Did we accuse him of high treason? Did we prefer any charges against him at all? We merely caused him to disappear, and no one know what had become of the interesting and handsome count. People spoke for three or four days about his mysterious disappearance, and then forgot all about it. [Footnote: Lebensbilder, vol. 1., p. 321.] My dear sir, there is nothing like oubliettes and secret prisons. I have often already preached that to you, and you always forget it. Violence! Who will be such a fool as to betray his little secrets by acts of open violence? We happen to stand on the great stage of life, and, like every other stage, there are trap-doors in the floor, through which those will disappear who have performed their parts. Let us, therefore, cause Count Erlach, the political writer, to vanish by means of such a trap-door.”
“I implore your excellency to show indulgence for once,” said Count Saurau, urgently. “Count Erlach is an intimate friend of Archduke Charles, and even the Empress Theresia is attached to him.”
“The greater the necessity for me to get rid of him, and to return my thanks in this manner for the blows they want to deal me by means of their historical reminiscences. This Count Erlach is a very disgusting fellow, at all events; he would like to play the incorruptible Roman and to shine by his virtue. There is nothing more tedious and intolerable than a virtuous man who cannot be got at anywhere. Count Erlach has now given us a chance to get hold of him; let us improve it.” “He has very influential connections, very powerful protectors, your excellency. If he should disappear, they will raise a terrible outcry about it, and make it their special business to seek him, and if they should not find him they will say we had killed him because your excellency was afraid of him.”
“I was afraid of him!” exclaimed Thugut, laughing. “As if I ever had been afraid of any one. Even an earthquake would not be able to frighten me, and, like Fabricius, I should only look around quite slowly for the hidden elephant of Pyrrhus. No, I know no fear, but I want others to feel fear, and for this reason Count Erlach must be disposed of.”
“Very well, let us get rid of him,” replied Count Saurau, “but in a simple manner and before the eyes of the whole public. Believe me for once, your excellency, I know the ground on which we are standing; I know it to be undermined and ready to explode and blow us up. Count Erlach’s disappearance would be the burning match that might bring about the explosion. Let us be cautious, therefore. Let us remove him beyond the frontier, and threaten him with capital punishment in case he ever should dare to reenter Austria, but let us permit him now to leave the country without any injury whatever.”
“Well, be it so. I will let you have your own way, my dear anxious friend. Have Erlach arrested to-day; let two police commissioners transport him beyond the frontier, and threaten him with capital punishment, or with my revenge--which will be the same to him--in case he should return. Let the scribblers and newspapers learn, too, why Count Erlach was exiled. The prudent men among them will be warned by his fate, and hereafter hold their tongues; the stupid and audacious fellows, however, will raise an outcry about the occurrence, and thus give us a chance to get hold of them likewise. The matter is settled, then; the aristocratic newspaper writer will be transported from the country, and that is the end of it. [Footnote: Count Erlach was really transported beyond the Austrian frontier by two police commissioners. Only after Thugut’s overthrow in 1801 was he allowed to return to Austria and Vienna.--Lebensbilder, vol. 1., p. 321.] But I shall seek further satisfaction for these articles in the newspapers. Oh, the new Empress Theresia and the archduke shall find out that I am no Clesel or Lobkowitz to be got rid of by means of an intrigue. I shall try to obtain in the course of to-day an order from the emperor, removing the archduke from the command of the army and causing him to retire into private life. He wants peace and repose in so urgent a manner; let him sleep and dream, then, while we are up and doing. I need a resolute and courageous general at the head of the army, a man who hates the French, and not one who is friendly to them. But as for the empress--”
“Your excellency,” interrupted Count Saurau, with a mysterious air, “I called upon you to-day for the purpose of speaking to you about the empress, and of cautioning you against--”
“Cautioning me?” exclaimed Thugut, with proud disdain. “What is the matter, then?”
“You know assuredly that the Empress Theresia has fully recovered from her confinement, and that she has held levees for a whole week already.”
“As if I had not been the first to obtain an audience and to kiss her hand!” exclaimed Thugut, shrugging his shoulders. “The empress,” continued Saurau, “has received the ambassadors also; she even had two interviews already with the minister of the French Republic, General Bernadotte.”
Thugut suddenly became quite attentive, and fixed his small, piercing eyes upon the police minister with an expression of intense suspense.
“Two interviews?” he asked. “And you know what they conferred about in these two interviews?”
“I should be a very poor police minister, and my secret agents would furnish me very unsatisfactory information, if I did not know it.”
“Well, let us hear all about it, my dear count. What did the empress say to Bernadotte?”
“In the first audience General Bernadotte began by reading his official speech to her majesty, and the empress listened to him with a gloomy air. But then they entered upon a less ceremonious conversation, and Bernadotte assured the empress that France entertained no hostile intentions whatever against Naples, her native country. He said he had been authorized by the Directory of the Republic to assure her majesty officially that she need not feel any apprehensions in relation to Naples, France being animated by the most friendly feelings toward that kingdom. The face of the empress lighted up at once, and she replied to the general in very gracious terms, and gave him permission to renew his visits to her majesty whenever he wished to communicate anything to her. He had asked her to grant him this permission.”
“I knew the particulars of this first interview, except the passage referring to this permission,” said Thugut, quietly.
“But this permission precisely is of the highest importance, your excellency, for the empress thereby gives the French minister free access to her rooms. He is at liberty to see her as often as he wishes, to communicate any thing to her. It seems the general has to make many communications to her majesty, for two days after the first audience, that is yesterday, General Bernadotte again repaired to the Hofburg in order to see the empress.” [Footnote: “Memoires d’un Homme d’Etat,” vol. v., p. 485.]
“And did she admit him?” asked Thugut.
“Yes, she admitted him, your excellency. This time the general did not confine himself to generalities, but fully unbosomed himself to her majesty. He confessed to the empress that France was very anxious to maintain peace with Naples as well as with Austria; adding, however, that this would be much facilitated by friendly advances, especially on the part of Austria. Austria, instead of pursuing such a policy, was actuated by hostile intentions toward France. When the empress asked for an explanation of these words, Bernadotte was bold enough to present to her a memorial directed against the policy of your excellency, and in which the general said he had taken pains, by order of the Directory, to demonstrate that the policy of Baron Thugut was entirely incompatible with a good understanding between Austria and France, and that, without such an understanding, the fate of Naples could not be but very uncertain.”
“What did the empress reply?” asked Thugut, whose mien did not betray a symptom of excitement or anger.
“Her majesty replied she would read the memorial with the greatest attention, and keep it a profound secret from every one. She added, however, she feared lest, even if the memorial should convince herself of the inexpediency of Baron Thugut’s policy, it might be difficult if not impossible to induce the emperor to take a similar view of the matter--his majesty reposing implicit confidence in his prime minister and being perfectly satisfied of your excellency’s fidelity, honesty, and incorruptibility. After this reply, Bernadotte approached the empress somewhat nearer, and cautiously and searchingly glanced around the room in order to satisfy himself that no one but her majesty could overhear his words. Just then--”
“Well, why do you hesitate?” asked Thugut, hastily.
“My tongue refuses to repeat the calumnies which the French minister has dared to utter.” “Compel your tongue to utter them, and let me hear them,” exclaimed Thugut, sarcastically.
“With your excellency’s leave, then. Bernadotte then almost bent down to the ear of the empress and said to her, whisperingly, the Directory of France were in possession of papers that would compromise Minister Thugut and furnish irrefutable proofs that Minister Thugut was by no means a reliable and honest adviser of his majesty, inasmuch as he was in the pay of foreign powers, England and Russia particularly, who paid him millions for always fanning anew the flames of Austria’s hostility against France. Bernadotte added that these papers were on the way and would arrive at Vienna by the next courier. He asked the empress if she would permit him to hand these papers to her for placing them into the hands of the emperor.”
“And the empress?”
“The empress promised it, and granted a third audience to the minister as soon as he should be in possession of the papers and apply for an interview with her.” [Footnote: “Memoires d’un Homme d’Etat,” vol. v., p. 890.]
“Are you through?” asked Thugut, with the greatest composure.
“Not yet, your excellency. It remains for me to tell you that the courier expected by Bemadotte arrived last night at the hotel of the French embassy, and that the minister himself immediately left his couch in order to receive the dispatches in person. Early this morning an extraordinary activity prevailed among the employes of the embassy, and the first attache as well as the secretary of legation left the hotel at a very early hour. The former with a letter from Bernadotte repaired to Laxenburg where the empress, as is well known to your excellency, has been residing with her court for the last few days. After the lapse of an hour, he returned, and brought the general the verbal reply from the empress that her majesty would return to Vienna in order to attend the festival of the volunteers, and would then be ready to grant an immediate audience to the ambassador.”
“And whither did the secretary of legation go?”
“First to one of our most fashionable military tailors, [Footnote: Military tailors are tailors who have the exclusive privilege of furnishing uniforms, etc., to the officers of the army.] and then to a dry-goods store. At the tailor’s he ordered a banner, which is to be ready in the course of this evening, and at the dry-goods store he purchased the material required for this banner--blue, white, and red. Now, your excellency, I am through with my report.”
“I confess, my dear count, that I have listened to you with the most intense pleasure and satisfaction, and that I cannot refrain from expressing to you my liveliest admiration for the vigilance and energy of your police, who do not merely unfathom the past and present, but also the future. In three days, then, the ambassador of France will have an interview with the empress?”
“Yes, your excellency, and he will then deliver to her the above mentioned papers.”
“Provided he has got any such papers, my friend! Papers that might compromise me! As if there were any such papers! As if I ever had been so stupid as to intrust secrets to a scrap of paper and to betray to it what every one must not know. He who wants to keep secrets--and I understand that exceedingly well--will intrust them just as little to paper as to human ear. I should burn my own hair did I believe that it had got wind of the ideas of my head. I would really like to see these papers which Bernadotte--”
The sudden appearance of the valet de chambre interrupted the minister. “Your excellency,” he said, “the ambassador of the French Republic, General Bernadotte, would like to see your excellency immediately concerning a very important and urgent affair.”
Thugut exchanged a rapid, smiling glance with the count. “Take the ambassador to the reception-room and tell him that I shall wait on him at once.”
“Well?” he asked, when the valet had withdrawn. “Do you still believe that Bernadotte has got papers that would compromise me? Would he call on me in that case? He doubtless intends telling me his ridiculous story, too, or he wishes to intimidate me by his interviews with the empress, so as to prevail on me to accede to the desires of France and to become more pliable. But he is entirely mistaken. I am neither afraid of his interviews with the empress, nor of Bernadotte’s papers, and shall immovably pursue my own path. If it please God, this path will soon lead me to a point where the battle against those overbearing French may be begun in a very safe and satisfactory manner. Come, my dear count, accompany me to the adjoining room. I shall leave the door ajar that leads into the reception-room, for I want you to be an invisible witness to my interview with the ambassador. Come!”
XXIV. THE FESTIVAL OF THE VOLUNTEERS
He quietly took the count’s arm and went with him to the adjoining room. Indicating to him a chair standing not far from the other door, he walked rapidly forward and entered the reception-room.
General Bernadotte, quite a young man, approached him with a stiff and dignified bearing, and there was an expression of bold defiance and undisguised hostility plainly visible on his youthful and handsome features.
Thugut, on his side, had called a smile upon his lips, and his eyes were radiant with affability and mildness.
“I am very glad, general, to see you here at so unexpected an hour,” he said, politely. “Truly, this is a distinction that will cause all of our pretty ladies to be jealous of me, and I am afraid, general, you will still more exasperate the fair sex, who never would grant me their favor, against myself, for I am now assuredly to blame if some of our most beautiful ladies now should vainly wait for your arrival.”
“I am always very punctual in my appointments, your excellency, whether they be armed rencounters or such rendezvous as your excellency has mentioned just now, and, therefore, seems to like especially,” said Bernadotte, gravely. “I call upon your excellency, however, in the name of a lady, too--in the name of the French Republic!”
“And she is, indeed, a very exalted and noble lady, to whom the whole world is bowing reverentially,” said Thugut, smiling.
“In the name of the French Republic and of the French Directory; I would like to inquire of your excellency whether or not it is a fact that a popular festival will be held to-morrow here in Vienna?”
“A popular festival! Ah, my dear general, I should not have thought that the French Republic would take so lively an interest in the popular festivals of the Germans! But I must take the liberty of requesting you, general, to apply with this inquiry to Count Saurau. For it is the duty of the police minister to watch over these innocent amusements and harmless festivals of the people.”
“The celebration I refer to is neither an innocent amusement nor a harmless festival,” exclaimed Bernadotte, hastily; “on the contrary, it is a political demonstration.”
“A political demonstration?” repeated Thugut, in surprise. “By whom? And directed against whom?”
“A political demonstration of Austria against the French Republic,” said the general, gravely. “It is true, your excellency pretends not to know any thing about this festival of the thirteenth of April, but--”
“Permit me, sir,” interrupted Thugut, “is to-morrow the thirteenth of April?”
“Yes, your excellency.”
“Then I must say that I know something about this festival, and that I am able to inform you about it. Yes, general, there will be a popular festival to-morrow.”
“May I inquire for what purpose?”
“All, general, that is very simple. It is just a year to-morrow, on the thirteenth of April, that the whole youth of Vienna, believing the country to be endangered and the capital threatened by the enemy, in their noble patriotism voluntarily joined the army and repaired to the seat of war. [Footnote: “Memoires d’un Homme d’Etat,” vol. v., p. 499.] These young volunteers desire to celebrate the anniversary of their enrolment, and the emperor, I believe, has given them permission to do so.”
“I have to beg your excellency to prevail on the emperor to withdraw this permission.”
“A strange request! and why?”
“Because this festival is a demonstration against France, for those warlike preparations last year were directed against France, while Austria has now made peace with our republic. It is easy to comprehend that France will not like this festival of the volunteers.”
“My dear general,” said Thugut, with a sarcastic smile, “does France believe, then, that Austria liked all those festivals celebrated by the French Republic during the last ten years? The festivals of the republican weddings, for instance, or the festival of the Goddess of Reason, or the anniversaries of bloody executions? Or more recently the celebrations of victories, by some of which Austria has lost large tracts of territory? I confess to you that Austria would have greatly liked to see some of those festivals suppressed, but France had not asked our advice, and it would have been arrogant and ridiculous for us to give it without being asked for it, and thus to meddle with the domestic affairs of your country. Hence we silently tolerated your festivals, and pray you to grant us the same toleration.”
“The French Republic will not and must not suffer what is contrary to her interests,” replied Bernadotte, vehemently. “This festival insults us, and I must therefore pray your excellency to prohibit it.” A slight blush mantled the cold, hard features of Baron Thugut, but he quickly suppressed his anger, and seemed again quite careless and unruffled.
“You pray for a thing, general, which it is no longer in our power to grant,” he said, calmly. “The emperor has granted permission for this festival, and how could we refuse the young men of the capital a satisfaction so eagerly sought by them and, besides, so well calculated to nourish and promote the love of the people for their sovereign and for their country? Permit us, like you, to celebrate our patriotic festivals.”
“I must repeat my demand that this festival be prohibited!” said Bernadotte, emphatically.
“Your demand?” asked Thugut, with cutting coldness; “I do not believe that anybody but the emperor and the government has the right in Austria to make demands, and I regret that I am unable to grant your prayer.”
“Your excellency then will really permit this festival of the volunteers to be celebrated to-morrow?”
“Most assuredly. His majesty has given the necessary permission.”
“Well, I beg to inform you that, in case the festival takes place to-morrow, I shall give a festival on my part to-morrow, too.”
“Every one in Austria is at liberty to give festivals, provided they are not contrary to decency, public morals, and good order.”
“Your excellency assumes an insulting tone!” exclaimed Bemadotte, in an excited voice.
“By no means,” said Thugut, quietly. “My words would only be insulting if I wanted to prevent you from giving your festival. I tell you, however, you are welcome to give it. Let your festival compete with ours. We shall see who will be victorious in this competition.”
“So you really want to permit this festival of the volunteers although I tell you that France disapproves of it?”
“Disapproves of it? Then France wants to play the lord and master in those countries, too, which the republican armies have not conquered? Permit me to tell you that Austria does not want to belong to those countries. The festival of the volunteers will take place to-morrow!” “Well, my festival will take place to-morrow, too!”
“Then you doubtless have good reasons, like us, for giving a festival?”
“Of course I have. I shall display to-morrow for the first time at the hotel of the embassy the banner of the French Republic, the tri-color of France, and that event, I believe, deserves being celebrated in a becoming manner.”
“You want to publicly display the French banner?”
“Yes, sir, it will be displayed on my balcony and proudly float in the air, as the tri-color of France is accustomed to do everywhere.”
“I do not know, however, whether or not the Austrian air will accustom itself to the tri-color of France, and I pray you kindly to consider, general, that the enterprise you are going to undertake is something extraordinary and altogether unheard of. No ambassador of any foreign power has ever displayed any mark of distinction on his house, and never has a French minister yet decorated his hotel in such a manner as you now propose to do. That banner of yours would therefore be without any precedent in the history of diplomatic representation.”
“And so would the festival you are going to give before the eyes of the French embassy, and notwithstanding my earnest protest.”
“Let the French embassy close their eyes if they do not want to see our Austrian festivals. How often had we to do so in France and pretend not to see what was highly insulting to us!”
“For the last time, then, you are going to celebrate the festival of the volunteers to-morrow, notwithstanding the protest of France?”
“I do not think that, France ought to protest against matters that do not concern her. You prayed me to prohibit the celebration, and I was unable to grant your prayer; that is all.”
“Very well, your excellency, you may celebrate your festival--I shall celebrate the inauguration of my banner! And now I have the honor to bid your excellency farewell!”
“I hope the inauguration will be a pleasant affair, general. I take the liberty once more to tell you that your banner will create a great sensation. The people of Vienna are stubborn, and I cannot warrant that they will get accustomed to see another banner but the one containing the Austrian colors displayed in the streets of Vienna. Farewell!”
He accompanied the general to the door, and replied to his ceremonious obeisance by a proud, careless nod. He then hastily crossed the reception-room and entered again the adjoining apartment, where the police minister was awaiting him.
“Did you hear it?” asked Thugut, whose features were expressing now the whole anger and rage he had concealed so long. “I have heard every thing,” said Count Saurau. “The impudence of France knows no bounds.”
“But we shall set bounds to it!” exclaimed Thugut, with unusual vehemence. “We will show to this impudent republic that we neither love nor fear her.”
“The festival, then, is really to take place to-morrow?”
“Can you doubt it? It would be incompatible with Austria’s honor to yield now. The youth of Vienna shall have their patriotic festival, and--let the police to-morrow be somewhat more indulgent than usual. Youth sometimes needs a little license. Let the young folks enjoy the utmost liberty all day to-morrow! No supervision to-morrow, no restraints! Let the young people sing their patriotic hymns. He who does not want to hear them may close his ears. Pray let us grant to the good people of Vienna to-morrow a day of entire liberty.”
“But if quarrels and riots should ensue?”
“My dear count, you know very well that no quarrels take place if our police do not interfere; the people love each other and agree perfectly well if we leave them alone and without any supervision. They will be to-morrow too full of patriotism not to be joyful and harmonious. Once more, therefore, no supervision, no restraints! Let the police belong to the people; let all your employes and agents put on civilian’s clothes and mix with the people, not to watch over them, but to share and direct their patriotism.”
“Ah, to direct it!” exclaimed Count Saurau, with the air of a man who just commences guessing a riddle. “But suppose this patriotism in its triumphal march should meet with a stumbling-block or rather with a banner--?”
“Then let it quietly go ahead; genuine patriotism is strong and courageous, and will surmount any obstacle standing in its way. The only question is to inspire it with courage and constantly to fan its enthusiasm. That will be the only task of the police to-morrow.”
“And they will fulfil that task with the utmost cheerfulness. I shall to-morrow--”
“As far as you are concerned,” said Thugut, interrupting him, “it seems to me you will be unfortunately prevented from participating in the patriotic festival to-morrow. You look exceedingly pale and exhausted, my dear count, and if I may take the liberty of giving you a friendly advice, please go to bed and send for your physician.”
“You are right, excellency,” replied Count Saurau, smiling, “I really feel sick and exhausted. It will be best for me, therefore, to keep my bed for a few days, and my well-meaning physician will doubtless give stringent orders not to admit anybody to me and to permit no one to see me on business.”
“As soon as your physician has given such orders,” said Thugut, “send me word and request me to attend temporarily to the duties of your department as long as you are sick.”
“In half an hour you shall receive a letter to that effect. I go in order to send for a physician.”
“One word more, my dear count. What has become of that demagogue, the traitor Wenzel, who headed the riot last year? I then recommended him to your special care.”
“And I let him have it, your excellency. I believe he has entirely lost his fancy for insurrectionary movements; and politics, I trust, are very indifferent to him.”
“I should regret if it were so,” said Thugut, smiling. “I suppose you have got him here in Vienna?”
“Of course; he occupies a splendid half-dark dungeon in our penitentiary.”
“Picking oakum?”
“No; I hear he has often asked for it as a favor. But I had given stringent orders to leave him all alone and without any occupation whatever. That is the best way to silence and punish such political criminals and demagogues.”
“I would like to see this man Wenzel. We shall, perhaps, set him at liberty again,” said Thugut. “Will you order him to be brought here quietly, and without any unnecessary eclat?”
“I shall send him to you, and that shall be my last official business before being taken sick.”
“Be it so, my dear count. Go to bed at once; it is high time.”
They smilingly shook hands, and looked at each other long and significantly.
“It will be a splendid patriotic festival to-morrow,” said Thugut.
“A very patriotic festival, and the inauguration of the banner particularly will be a glorious affair!” exclaimed Count Saurau.
“What a pity that my sickness should prevent me from attending it!”
He saluted the prime minister once more and withdrew. When the door had closed behind him the smile disappeared from Thugut’s features, and a gloomy cloud settled on his brow. Folding his arms on his back, and absorbed in deep thought, he commenced slowly pacing the room. “The interview with the empress must be prevented at all events,” he muttered, after a long pause, “even if all diplomatic relations with France have to be broken off for that purpose. Besides, I must have those papers which he wanted to deliver to the empress; my repose, my safety depends upon it. Oh, I know very well what sort of papers they are with which they are threatening me. They are the letters I had written in cipher to Burton, the English emissary, whom the French Directory a month ago caused to be arrested as a spy and demagogue at Paris, and whose papers were seized at the same time. Those letters, of course, would endanger my position, for there is a receipt among them for a hundred thousand guineas paid to me. What a fool I was to write that receipt! I must get it again, and I am determined to have it!”
A few hours later, an emaciated, pale man was conducted into the room of Prime Minister Baron Thugut. The minister received him with a friendly nod, and looked with a smiling countenance at this sick, downcast, and suffering man, whom he had seen only a year ago so bold and courageous at the head of the misguided rioters.
“You have greatly changed, Mr. Wenzel,” he said, kindly. “The prison air seems not to agree with you.”
Wenzel made no reply, but dropped his head with a profound sigh on his breast.
“Ah, ah, Mr. Wenzel,” said Thugut, smiling, “it seems your eloquence is gone, too.”
“I have formerly spoken too much; hence I am now so taciturn,” muttered the pale man.
“Every thing has its time, speaking as well as silence,” said Thugut. “It is true speaking has rendered you very wretched; it has made you guilty of high treason. Do you know how long you will have to remain in prison?”
“I believe for fifteen years,” said Wenzel, with a shudder.
“Fifteen years! that is half a lifetime. But it does not change such demagogues and politicians as you, sir. As soon as you are released you recommence your seditious work, and you try to make a martyr’s crown of your well-merited punishment. Traitors like you are always incorrigible, and unless they are gagged for life they always cry out anew and stir up insurrection and disorder.”
Wenzel fixed his haggard eyes with a sorrowful expression upon the minister.
“I shall never stir up insurrections again, nor raise my voice in public as I used to do,” he said, gloomily. “I have been cured of it forever, but it was a most sorrowful cure.”
“And it will last a good while yet, Mr. Wenzel.”
“Yes, it will last dreadfully long,” sighed the wretched man.
“Are you married? Have you got any children?”
“Yes, I have a wife and two little girls--two little angels. Ah, if I could only see them once more in my life!”
“Wait yet for fourteen years; you can see them then if they be still alive, and care about having you back.”
“I shall not live fourteen years,” murmured the pale, downcast man. “Well, listen to me, Mr. Wenzel. What would you do if I should set you at liberty?”
“At liberty?” asked the man, almost in terror. “At liberty!” he shouted then, loudly and jubilantly.
“Yes, sir, at liberty! But you must do something in order to deserve it. Will you do so?”
“I will do every thing, every thing I am ordered to do, if I am to be set at liberty, if I am allowed to see my wife and my little girls again!” shouted Wenzel, trembling with delight.
“Suppose I should order you again to become a popular orator and to stir up a nice little riot?”
The gleam of joy disappeared again from Wenzel’s eyes, and he looked almost reproachfully at the minister. “You want to mock me,” he said, mournfully.
“No, my man, I am in good earnest. You shall be a popular orator and leader all day to-morrow. Are you ready for it?”
“No, I have nothing to do with such matters now. I am a good and obedient subject, and only ask to be allowed to live peaceably and quietly.”
Thugut burst into a loud laugh. “Ah, you take me for a tempter, Mr. Wenzel,” he said; “but I am in earnest; and if you will get up for me a splendid riot to-morrow, I will set you at liberty and no one shall interfere with you as long as you render yourself worthy of my indulgence by obedience and an exemplary life. Tell me, therefore, do you want to be released and serve me?”
Wenzel looked inquiringly and with intense suspense at the cold, hard features of the minister, and then, when he had satisfied himself that he had really been in earnest, he rushed forward and kneeling down before Thugut, he shouted, “I will serve you like a slave, like a dog! only set me at liberty, only give me back to my children and my--”
A flood of tears burst from his eyes and choked his voice.
“All right, sir, I believe you,” said Thugut, gravely. “Now rise and listen to what I have to say to you. You will be released tonight. Then go and see your old friends and tell them you had made a journey, and the French had arrested you on the road and kept you imprisoned until you were released in consequence of the measures the Austrian government had taken in your favor. If you dare to utter a single word about your imprisonment here, you are lost, for I hear and learn every thing, and have my spies everywhere, whom I shall instruct to watch you closely.”
“I shall assuredly do whatever you want,” exclaimed Wenzel, trembling.
“You shall complain to your friends about the harsh and cruel treatment you had to suffer at the hands of the French. You shall speak as a good patriot ought to speak.”
“Yes, I shall speak like a good patriot,” said Wenzel, ardently.
“To-morrow you will be with all your friends on the street in order to attend the festival of the volunteers, and to look at the procession. Do you know where the French ambassador lives?”
“Yes, on the Kohlmarkt.”
“You shall do your best to draw the people thither. The French ambassador will display the banner of the French Republic on his balcony to-morrow. Can the people of Vienna tolerate that?”
“No, the people of Vienna cannot tolerate that!” shouted Wenzel.
“You will repeat that to every one--you will exasperate the people against the banner and against the ambassador--you and the crowd will demand loudly and impetuously that the banner be removed.”
“But suppose the ambassador should refuse to remove it?”
“Then you will forcibly enter the house and remove the banner yourselves.”
“But if they shut the doors?”
“Then you will break them open, just as you did here a year ago. And besides, are there no windows--are there no stones, by means of which you may open the windows so nicely?”
“You give us permission to do all that?”
“I order you to do all that. Now listen to your special commission. A few of my agents will always accompany you. As soon as you are in the ambassador’s house, repair at once to his excellency’s study. Pick up all the papers you will find there, and bring them to me. As soon as I see you enter my room with these papers, you will be free forever!”
“I shall bring you the papers,” exclaimed Wenzel, with a radiant face.
“But listen. Betray to a living soul but one single word of what I have said to you, and not only yourself, but your wife and your children will also be lost! My arm is strong enough to catch all of you, and my ear is large enough to hear every thing.”
“I shall be as silent as the grave,” protested Wenzel, eagerly, “I shall only raise my voice in order to speak to the people about our beloved and wise Minister Thugut, and about the miserable, over-bearing French, who dare to hang out publicly the banner of their bloody republic here in our imperial city, in our magnificent Vienna!”
“That is the right talk, my man! Now go and reflect about every thing I have told you, and to-morrow morning call on me again; I shall then give you further instructions. Now go--go to your wife, and keep the whole matter secret.”
“Hurrah! long live our noble prime minister!” shouted Wenzel, jubilantly. “Hurrah, hurrah, I am free!” And he reeled away like a drunken man.
Thugut looked after him with a smile of profound contempt.
“That is the best way to educate the people,” he said. “Truly, if we could only send every Austrian for one year to the penitentiary, we would have none but good and obedient subjects!”
XXV. THE RIOT
The streets of Vienna were densely crowded on the following day. Every house was beautifully decorated with fresh verdure and festoons of flowers; business was entirely suspended, and the people in their holiday dresses were moving through the streets, jubilant, singing patriotic hymns, and waiting in joyous impatience for the moment when the procession of the volunteers would leave the city hall in order to repair to the Burg, where they were to cheer the emperor. Then they would march through the city, and finally conclude the festival with a banquet and ball, to be held in a public hall that had been handsomely decorated for the occasion.
Not only the people, however, but also the educated and aristocratic classes of Vienna wanted to participate in the patriotic festival. In the open windows there were seen high-born ladies, beautifully dressed, and holding splendid bouquets in their hands, which were to be showered down upon the procession of the volunteers; an endless number of the most splendid carriages, surrounded by dense crowds of pedestrians, were slowly moving through the streets, and in these carriages there were seated the ladies and gentlemen of the aristocracy and of the wealthiest financial circles; they witnessed the popular enthusiasm with smiles of satisfaction and delight.
Only the carriages of the ministers were missing in this gorgeous procession, and it was reported everywhere that two of these gentlemen, Prime Minister Baron von Thugut and Police Minister Count Saurau, had been taken sick, and were confined to their beds, while the other ministers were with the emperor at Laxenburg.
Baron Thugut’s prediction had been verified, therefore; the police minister had really been taken so sick that he had to keep his bed, and that he had requested Baron Thugut by letter to take charge of his department for a few days.
But the prime minister himself had suddenly become quite unwell, and was unable to leave his room! Hence he had not accompanied the other ministers to Laxenburg in order to dine at the emperor’s table. Nay--an unheard of occurrence--he had taken his meals all alone in his study. His footman had received stringent orders to admit no one, and to reply to every applicant for an interview with him, “His excellency was confined to his bed by a raging fever, and all business matters had to be deferred until tomorrow.”
The minister’s condition, however, was not near as bad as that. It was true he had the fever, but it was merely the fever of expectation, impatience, and long suspense. The whole day had passed, and not a single dissonance had disturbed the pure joy of the celebration; not a single violent scene had interrupted the patriotic jubilee. The crowds on the streets and public places constantly increased in numbers, but peace and hilarity reigned everywhere, and the people were singing and laughing everywhere.
This was the reason why the minister’s blood was so feverish, why he could find no rest, and why his cold heart for once pulsated so rapidly. He was pacing his study with long steps, murmuring now and then some incoherent words, and then uneasily stepping to the window in order to survey the street cautiously from behind the curtain, and to observe the surging crowd below.
Just then the large clock on the marble mantelpiece commenced striking. Thugut hastily turned toward it. “Six o’clock, and nothing yet,” he murmured. “I shall put that fellow Wenzel into a subterranean dungeon for life, and dismiss every agent of mine, if nothing--”
He paused and listened. It had seemed to him as though he had heard a soft rap at the hidden door leading to the secret staircase. Yes, it was no mistake; somebody was rapping at it, and seemed to be in great haste.
“At last!” exclaimed Thugut, drawing a deep breath, and he approached with hurried steps the large painting, covering the whole wall and reaching down to the floor. He quickly touched one of the artificial roses on the gilt frame. The painting turned round, and the door became visible behind it in the wall.
The rapping was now plainly heard. Thugut pushed the bolt back and unlocked the door. His confidential secretary, Hubschle, immediately rushed in with a glowing face and in breathless haste.
“Your excellency,” he gasped--“your excellency, the fun has just commenced! They are now pursuing the deer like a pack of infuriated blood-hounds. Oh, oh! they will chase him thoroughly, I should think!”
Thugut cast a glance of gloomy indignation on the versatile little man with the bloated face. “You have been drinking again, Hubschle,” he said; “and I have ordered you to remain sober to-day!”
“Your excellency, I am quite sober,” protested Hubschle. “I assure you I have not drunk any more than what was required by my thirst.”
“Ah, yes; your thirst always requires large quantities,” exclaimed Thugut, laughing. “But speak now rapidly, briefly, and plainly. No circumlocution, no tirades! Tell me the naked truth. What fun has just commenced?”
“The inauguration of the banner, your excellency.”
“Then Bernadotte has hung out his banner, after all?”
“Yes, he has done so. We were just going down the street--quite a jolly crowd it was, by the by. Master Wenzel, a splendid fellow, had just loudly intoned the hymn of ‘God save the Emperor Francis,’ and all the thousands and thousands of voices were joining the choir, as if they intended to serenade the French ambassador, when, suddenly, a balcony door opened, and General Bernadotte, in full uniform came out. He was attended by his whole suite; and several footmen brought out an immense banner, which they attached to the balcony. We had paused right in the middle of our beautiful hymn, and the people were looking up to the balcony, from which the gentlemen had disappeared again, with glances full of surprise and curiosity. But the banner remained there! Suddenly a violent gust touched the banner, which, up to this time, had loosely hung down, and unfolded it entirely. Now we saw the French tri-color proudly floating over our German heads, and on it we read, in large letters of gold--Liberte! Egalite! Fraternite!” [Footnote: “Memoires d’un Homme d’Etat,” vol. V. p. 494.]
“What impudence!” muttered Thugut.
“You are right, that was the word,” exclaimed Hubschle.
“‘What impudence!’ roared Master Wenzel; and the whole crowd immediately repeated, ‘What impudence! Down with the foreign banner! We are not so stupid as the people of Milan, Venice, and Rome; we do not jubilantly hail the French color; on the contrary, this banner makes us angry. Down with it! It is an insult offered to the emperor, that a foreign flag with such an abominable inscription is floating here. Down with the banner!’”
“Very good, very good, indeed,” said Thugut, smiling. “This man Wenzel is really a practical fellow. Go on, sir.”
“The crowd constantly assumed larger proportions, and the shouts of ‘Down with the banner!’ became every moment more impetuous and threatening. Suddenly a small detachment of soldiers emerged from the adjoining street. The officer in command kindly urged the people to disperse. But it was in vain; the tumult was constantly on the increase. The crowd commenced tearing up the pavement and throwing stones at the windows and at the banner.”
“And the soldiers?”
“They quietly stood aside. But--somebody is rapping at the opposite door! Shall I open it, your excellency?”
“One moment! I first want to turn back the painting. So! Now open the door, Hubschle!”
The private secretary hastened with tottering steps to the door and unlocked it. Thugut’s second private secretary entered. He held a sealed letter in his band.
“Well, Heinle, what’s the matter?” asked Thugut, quietly.
“Your excellency, the French ambassador, General Bernadotte, has sent this letter to your excellency.”
“And what did you reply to the messenger?”
“That your excellency had a raging fever; that the doctor had forbidden us to disturb you, but that I would deliver it to the minister as soon as he felt a little better.”
“That was right. Now go back to your post and guard the door well in order that no one may penetrate into my room. And you, Hubschle, hasten back to the Kohlmarkt and see what is going on there, and what is occurring at the French embassy. But do not drink any more liquor! As soon as this affair is over, I shall give you three days’ leave of absence, when you may drink as much as you please. Go, now, and return soon to tell me all about it.”
“And now,” said Thugut, when he was alone, “I will see what the French ambassador has written to me.”
He opened the letter, and, as if the mere perusal with the eyes were not sufficient for him, he read in a half-loud voice as follows: “The ambassador of the French Republic informs Baron Thugut that at the moment he is penning these lines, a fanatical crowd has been so impudent as to commit a riot in front of his dwelling. The motives that have produced this violent scene cannot be doubtful, inasmuch as several stones already were thrown at the windows of the house occupied by the ambassador. Profoundly offended at so much impudence, he requests Baron Thugut immediately to order an investigation, so that the instigators of the riot may be punished, and that their punishment may teach the others a much-needed lesson. The ambassador of the French Republic has no doubt that his reclamations will meet with the attention which they ought to excite, and that the police, moreover, will be vigilant enough to prevent similar scenes, which could not be renewed without producing the most serious consequences, the ambassador being firmly determined to repel with the utmost energy even the slightest insults, and accordingly much more so, such scandalous attacks. Baron Thugut is further informed that he has reason to complain of the conduct of several agents of the police. Some of them were requested to disperse the rioters, but, instead of fulfilling the ambassador’s orders, they remained cold and idle spectators of the revolting scene.” [Footnote: “Memoires d’un Homme d’Etat,” vol. v., p. 495.]
“What overbearing and insulting language this fellow dares to use!” exclaimed Thugut, when he had finished the letter. “One might almost believe he was our lord and master here, and--ah, somebody raps again at the door! Perhaps Hubschle is back already.”
He quickly touched the frame of the painting again, and the door opened. It was really Hubschle, who entered as hastily as before.
“Your excellency, I have just reascended the staircase as rapidly as though I were a cat,” he gasped. “At the street door I learned some fresh news from one of our men, and I returned at once to tell you all about it.”
“Quick, you idle gossip, no unnecessary preface!”
“Your excellency, things are assuming formidable proportions. The riot is constantly on the increase, and grows every minute more threatening. Count Dietrichstein, and Count Fersen, the director of the police, have repaired to General Bernadotte and implored him to remove the banner.”
“The soft-hearted fools!” muttered Thugut.
“But their prayers were fruitless. They preferred them repeatedly, and always were refused. They even went so far as to assure the ambassador, in case he should yield to their request and give them time to calm the people and induce them to leave the place, that the Austrian government would assuredly give him whatever satisfaction he should demand. But General Bernadotte persisted in his refusal--and replied peremptorily, ‘No, the banner remains!’”
“Proceed, proceed!” exclaimed Thugut, impatiently.
“That is all I know, but I shall hasten to collect further news, and then return to your excellency.”
Hubschle disappeared through the secret door, and Thugut replaced the painting before it. “The banner remains!” he exclaimed, laughing scornfully. “We will see how long it will remain! Ah, Heinle is rapping again at the other door. What is it, Heinle?”
“Another dispatch from the French ambassador,” said Heinle, merely pushing his arm with the letter through the door.
“And you have made the same reply?”
“The same reply.”
“Good! Return to your post.”
The arm disappeared again. Thugut opened the second dispatch, and read as before in a half-loud voice: “The ambassador of the French Republic informs Baron Thugut that the fury of the mob is constantly on the increase; already all the window-panes of the dwelling have been shattered by the stones the rioters are incessantly throwing at them; he informs you that the crowd at the present moment numbers no less than three or four thousand men, and that the soldiers whose assistance was invoked, so far from protecting the house of the French embassy, remain impassive spectators of the doings and fury of the rabble, their inactivity encouraging the latter instead of deterring them. The ambassador cannot but believe that this scandalous scene is not merely tolerated, but fostered by the authorities, for nothing whatever is done to put a stop to it. He sees with as much regret as pain that the dignity of the French people is being violated by the insults heaped on the ambassador, who vainly implored the populace to disperse and go home. At the moment the ambassador is writing these lines, the rage of the crowd is strained to such a pitch that the doors have been broken open by means of stones, while the soldiers were quietly looking on. The furious rabble tore the French colors from the balcony with hooks and long poles. The ambassador, who cannot remain any longer in a country where the most sacred laws are disregarded and solemn treaties trampled under foot, therefore asks Baron Thugut to send him his passports in order that he may repair to France with all the attaches of the embassy, unless Baron Thugut should announce at once that the Austrian government has taken no part whatever in the insults heaped upon the French Republic; that it disavows them, on the contrary, in the most formal manner, and that it orders the ringleaders and their accomplices to be arrested and punished in the most summary manner. On this condition alone, and if the Austrian government agrees to restore the French banner and to cause it to be displayed on the balcony of the French embassy by a staff-officer, the ambassador consents to remain in Vienna. Let Baron Thugut remember that these are precious moments, and that he owes the ambassador an immediate and categorical reply to his inquiries.” [Footnote: “Memoires d’un Homme d’Etat,” vol. v., p. 501.]
“Well, I believe the good people of Vienna will take it upon themselves to make a categorical reply to General Bernadotte, and to silence the overbearing babbler, no matter how it is done,” exclaimed Thugut, laughing scornfully. “I am really anxious to know how this affair is going to end, and how my brave rioters will chastise the ambassador for his insolence. What, another rap already? Why, you are a genuine postillon d’ amour! Do you bring me another letter?”
“A third dispatch from General Bernadotte,” exclaimed Heinle, outside, pushing his arm with the dispatch again through the door.
Thugut took it and rapidly opened it. “It seems matters are growing more pressing,” he said, smilingly. “Let us read it!”
And he read with an air of great satisfaction:
“The ambassador of the French Republic informs Baron Thugut that the riotous proceedings have lasted five hours already; that no agent of the police has come to his assistance; that the furious rioters have taken possession of a portion of the house and are destroying every thing they can lay their hands on.”
“Aha, my friend Wenzel is looking for the papers in the rooms of the French embassy!” exclaimed Thugut, triumphantly. He then read on.
“The ambassador, the secretaries of legation, the French citizens and officers who are with him, were compelled to retire to a room where they are waiting further developments with the undaunted courage characteristic of the republicans. The ambassador repeats his demand that the necessary passports be sent for him and for all the French who desire to accompany him. The transmission of these passports is the more urgent, as the rioters, who were about to rush into the room where the French were awaiting them, only shrank back when some servants of the French embassy discharged the fire-arms with which they had been provided.”
“Ah, a regular battle, then, has taken place!” shouted Thugut, in great glee. “A siege in grand style! Wonder why Hubschle has not come back yet? But stop! I hear him already. He raps! I am coming, sir! I am opening the door already!”
And Thugut hastened to touch the frame of the painting and to open the door.
It was true, Hubschle, the private secretary, was there, but he did not come alone. Wenzel, soiled with blood, his clothes torn and in the wildest disorder, entered with him, supporting himself on Hubschle’s arm.
“Ah, you bring me there a wounded boar!” said Thugut, morosely.
“A boar who splendidly goaded on the hounds and performed the most astonishing exploits,” said Hubschle, enthusiastically. “He received a gunshot wound in the right arm and fainted. I carried him with the assistance of a few friends to a well, and we poured water on him until he recovered his senses and was able again to participate in the general jubilee.”
“Then it was a jubilee? Mr. Wenzel, tell me all about it.”
“It was a very fine affair,” said Wenzel, gasping. “We had penetrated into the house and were working to the best of our power in the magnificent rooms. The furniture, the looking-glasses, the chandeliers, the carriages in the courtyard, every thing was destroyed, while we were singing and shouting, ‘Long live the emperor! God save the Emperor Francis!’”
“What a splendid Marseillaise that dear, kind-hearted Haydn has composed for us in that hymn,” said Thugut, in a low voice, gleefully rubbing his hands. “And the banner? What has become of the banner?”
“The banner we had previously torn to pieces, and with the shreds we had gone to the Schottenplatz and publicly burned them there amidst the jubilant shouts of the people.”
“Very good. And what else was done in the embassy building?”
“We rushed from room to room. Nothing withstood our fury, and finally we arrived at the room in which the ambassador and his suite had barricaded themselves as in a fortress. It was the ambassador’s study,” said Wenzel, slowly and significantly--“the cabinet in which he kept his papers.”
Thugut nodded gently, and said nothing but “Proceed!”
“I rushed toward the door and encouraged the others to follow me. We succeeded in bursting the door open. At the same moment the besieged fired at us. Three of us dropped wounded; the others ran away.”
“Yes, the miserable rascals always run away as soon as they smell gunpowder,” said Thugut, indignantly. “And you, Mr. Wenzel?”
“I was wounded and had fainted. My comrades carried me out of the house.”
“And the papers?” asked Thugut. “You did not take them?”
“Your excellency, General Bernadotte and the whole retinue of the embassy were in the room in which the ambassador keeps his papers. I would have penetrated into it with my friends if the bullet had not shattered my arm and stretched me down senseless.”
“Yes, indeed, you became entirely senseless,” said Thugut, harshly, “for you even forgot that I only promised to release you provided you should bring the papers of the French ambassador.”
“Your excellency,” shouted Wenzel, in dismay, “I--”
“Silence!” commanded Thugut, in a stern tone; “who has allowed you to speak without being asked?”
At this moment another hasty rap at the door was heard, and Heinle’s arm appeared again in the door.
“Another dispatch from the French ambassador?” asked Thugut.
“No, your excellency, a dispatch from his majesty the emperor.”
Thugut hastily seized the small sealed note and opened it. It contained nothing but the following words:
“The ambassador has received a salutary lesson, and his banner has been destroyed. Let us stop the riot now, and avoid extreme measures. Several regiments must be called out to restore order.”
The minister slowly folded the paper and put it into his pocket. He then rang the bell so violently and loudly, that Heinle and the other servants rushed immediately into the room.
“Open every door--call every footman!” commanded Thugut. “Admit every one who wants to see me. Two mounted messengers shall hold themselves in readiness to forward dispatches. Every one may learn that, in spite of my sickness, I have risen from my couch in order to reestablish tranquillity in the capital.”
He stepped to his desk and rapidly wrote a few words, whereupon he handed the paper to Germain, his valet de chambre.
“Here, Germain, hasten with this note to Count Fersen, the director of police, and take this fellow along. Two footmen may accompany you. You will deliver him to the director of the police and tell him that he is one of the rioters whom my agents have arrested. Request the director to have him placed in a safe prison and to admit none to him but the officers of the criminal court. He is a very dangerous criminal; this is the second time that he has been arrested as a rioter. Well, what is the matter with the fellow? He reels like a drunken man! He has probably drunk too much brandy for the purpose of stimulating his courage.”
“Pardon me, your excellency,” said Hubschle, “the man has fainted.”
“Then carry him away, and take him in a carriage to the director of the police,” said Thugut, indifferently, and he looked on coldly and unfeelingly, while the footman hastily seized the pale, unconscious man and dragged him away.
He returned to his desk and rapidly wrote a few words on a sheet of large, gilt-edged paper, which he then enclosed in an envelope, sealed, and directed.
“A dispatch to the emperor!” he said, handing it to Heinle. “Let a mounted messenger take it immediately to his majesty.”
This dispatch contained the reply to the emperor’s laconic note, and it was almost more laconic than the latter, for it contained only the following words:
“Sire, within an hour order will be reestablished.”
“Now, Hubschle, sit down,” said Thugut, all the others having left the room by his orders. “Collect your five senses, and write what I am going to dictate to you.”
Hubschle sat already at the desk, and waited, pen in hand. Baron Thugut, folding his hands behind his back, slowly paced the room and dictated:
“The minister of foreign affairs has heard with regret of the riotous proceedings referred to in the notes which the ambassador of the French Republic has addressed to him this evening. The minister will report the whole affair to his imperial majesty, and entertains no doubt that the emperor will be very indignant at the occurrence. The ambassador may rest assured that nothing will be left undone in order to ferret out the perpetrators of this outrage, and to punish them with the whole severity of the laws, and with the sincere desire which the Austrian government has always entertained to maintain the friendship so happily established between the two countries.” [Footnote: The French ambassador really left Vienna in consequence of this riot. The emperor vainly tried to pacify him. Bernadotte persisted in his demands. He wanted the Austrian Government to restore the banner and to have it displayed on his balcony by a staff officer. In reply to these repeated demands, Thugut sent him his passports, and the legation left Vienna.--Vide Hauser, “German History,” vol II., p. 180. “Memoires d’un Homme d’Etat,” vol. v.]
“Well, why do you dare to laugh, Hubschle?” asked Thugut when he took the pen in order to sign the note.
“Your excellency, I am laughing at the many fine words in which this dispatch says: ‘Mr. Ambassador, ask for your passports; you may depart.’”
Thugut smiled. “When you are drunk, Hubschle, you are exceedingly shrewd, and for that reason, I pardon your impertinence. Your rubicund nose has scented the matter correctly. The ambassador has demanded his passports already. But go now. Take this dispatch to the second courier and tell him to carry it immediately to the French embassy. As for yourself, you must hasten to the commander of Vienna, and take this paper to him. You may say to him, ‘The gates are to be closed in order to prevent the populace of the suburbs from reaching the city. The Preiss regiment shall occupy the house of the ambassador and the adjoining streets, and fire at whosoever offers resistance or wants to raise a disturbance.’ Vienna must be perfectly quiet in the course of an hour. Begone!”
Hubschle rushed out, and Thugut remained alone. He slowly and deliberately sat down in an arm-chair, and pondered serenely over the events of the night.
“It is true I have not wholly accomplished my purpose,” he muttered, “but M. Bernadotte will try no longer to injure me. He shall have his passports to-morrow morning.”
LAST DAYS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.
XXVI. VICTORIA DE POUTET
Nearly a year had elapsed since the departure of the French ambassador from Vienna, but the rupture of the peace with France, so ardently desired by Minister Thugut, had not yet taken place. A strong party in the emperor’s cabinet had declared against Thugut, and this time obtained a victory over the minister who had been believed to be all-powerful. This party was headed by the empress and Archduke Charles. Thugut, therefore, was compelled to suppress his wrath, and defer his revenge to some later time.
But although the dark clouds of the political thunderstorm had been removed for the time being, they were constantly threatening, like a gloomy spectre on the horizon, casting sinister shadows on every day and on every hour.
The merry people of Vienna, owing to the incessant duration of these gloomy shadows, had become very grave, and loudly and softly denounced Minister Thugut as the author and instigator of all the evils that were menacing Austria. In fact, Baron Thugut was still the all-powerful minister; and as the emperor loved and feared him, the whole court, the whole capital, and the whole empire bowed to him. But while bowing, every one hated him; while obeying, every one cursed him.
Thugut knew it and laughed at it. What did he care for the love and hatred of men? Let them curse him, if they only obeyed him.
And they obeyed him. The machine of state willingly followed the pressure of his hand, and he conducted the helm with a vigorous arm. He directed from his cabinet the destinies of Austria; he skilfully and ingeniously wove there the nets with which, according to his purposes, he wanted to surround friend or foe.
To-day, too, he had worked in his cabinet until evening, and he had only just now dismissed his two private secretaries, Heinle and Hubschle. This was the hour at which Thugut was in the habit of repairing either to the emperor or to his gardens in the Wahringer Street. His valet de chambre, therefore, awaited him in the dressing-room, and his carriage was in readiness below in the court-yard. To-day, however, the minister apparently wished to deviate from his custom, and instead of going to the dressing-room, he violently rang the bell.
“Germain,” he said, to the entering valet de chambre, “no uniform to-day, no gala-dress, but my Turkish garments. Light up the Turkish cabinet, kindle amber in the lamps, and place flowers in the vases. In the course of an hour supper for two persons in the Turkish cabinet. Arrange every thing in a becoming manner.”
Germain bowed silently and withdrew, in order soon to return with the ordered Turkish costume. Thugut silently suffered himself to be clad in the costly Turkish dressing-gown, and in the golden slippers, the wonderful Cashmere shawl to be wrapped around his waist, and the Turkish fez to be placed on his head. Germain then brought a Turkish pipe with a splendidly carved amber tip, and handed it to the minister.
“Now open the door,” said Thugut, laconically. Germain touched the frame of the large painting on the wall, and Thugut stepped through the small door into the hall. With rapid steps he hastened down the hall, and soon stood at its end in front of the narrow wall on which a painting of the Virgin, illuminated by a perpetually burning lamp, was hanging. Thugut again touched an artificial rose on the frame, the painting turned around, and a door became visible behind it.
The minister opened this door, and, crossing the threshold, carefully closed it again.
He now was in his Turkish cabinet; all these beautiful gold brocades on the low sofas, these costly hangings covering the walls, these precious carpets on the floor and on the tables, these silver lamps of strange forms, hanging down from the ceiling, and filled with amber, all these richly gilt vessels arranged along the walls, were delightful reminiscences to Thugut--reminiscences of the happiest period of his life, for he had brought all these things from Constantinople, where he had lived for ten years as Austrian ambassador. Thugut, therefore, never entered this cabinet without a pleasant smile lighting up his hard features, and he only went thither when he wished to permit himself an hour of happiness amidst the perplexing occupations and cares of his official position.
On this occasion, too, as soon as he had crossed the threshold, his face had assumed a mild and gentle expression, and the harsh, repulsive stamp had disappeared from his features. He walked across the room with a smile, and quickly touched a golden knob, fixed in the opposite wall. After a few minutes he repeated this four times. He then raised his eyes to a small silver bell hanging above him in the most remote corner of the wall, and looked at it steadfastly. While he was doing so, a small side door had opened, and Germain, in the rich costume of a servant of the harem, had entered. Thugut had not once looked round toward him; he had not once glanced at the silver vases with the most splendid flowers, which Germain had placed on the marble tables; his nose was apparently indifferent to the sweet perfumes of the amber which Germain had kindled in the silver lamps, and which was filling the room with fragrant bluish clouds. He only looked at the small bell, and seemed to expect a signal from it in breathless suspense. But Germain had long since finished the decoration of the room and withdrawn again, and yet the bell was silent. A cloud passed over Thugut’s brow, and the smile disappeared from his lips.
“She was not there, perhaps, and consequently did not hear my signal,” he murmured. “I will ring the bell once more.”
He stretched out his hand toward the golden knob in the wall, when suddenly a clear, pure sound was heard. It was the small bell that had been rung.
Thugut’s countenance lighted up in the sunshine of happiness, and he looked up to the bell again in silent suspense. For a few minutes it hung motionless again, but then it resounded quickly three times in succession. “In thirty minutes she will be here,” whispered Thugut, with a happy smile. “Let us await her, then.”
He approached the small table on which he had laid his pipe, and near which Germain had placed a small silver vessel with burning amber. With the bearing and calmness of a genuine Turk he lighted his pipe and then sat down on the low square sofa. Crossing his legs, supporting his right elbow on the cushions of gold brocade, in a half-reclining attitude, Thugut now abandoned himself to his dreams and to the sweet enjoyment of smoking. He was soon surrounded by a blue cloud from which his black eyes were glistening and glancing up to the large clock on the mantelpiece.
On seeing now that the thirty minutes had elapsed, Thugut rose with youthful vivacity, and laid his pipe aside. He then approached the large and strangely formed arm-chair, standing immediately under the silver bell. When he had vigorously pushed back the arm-chair, a small door became visible behind it. Thugut opened it and placed himself by it in a listening position.
Suddenly it seemed to him as though he heard a slight noise in the distance. It came nearer, and now there appeared in the aperture of the door a lady of wonderful loveliness and surpassing beauty. The eye could behold nothing more charming than this head with its light-brown ringlets, surrounding the face as if by a ring of glory, and contrasting so strangely with the large black eyes, which were sparkling in the fire of youth and passion. Her enchanting lips were of the deepest red, and a delicate blush, like the beautiful tint of the large purple shell, mantled the cheeks. Her nose, of the purest Roman style, was slightly curved, and her expansive forehead imparted a noble and serious air to the charming youthful face. The beholder saw in these eyes, ardor and passion; on this forehead, thought and energetic resolutions; and on this swelling mouth, archness, overflowing spirits, and wit. And the figure of this lovely woman was in full harmony with her ravishing head. She was petite, delicate, and ethereal, like a sylph, and yet her form was well developed and beautiful; if she had been somewhat taller, she might have been compared with Juno.
She remained standing in the door, and with her flaming eyes glanced over the room; then she fixed them on Thugut, and burst into a loud and merry laugh.
“Ah, ah, that is the song of my bulbul, the ringing voice of my oriental nightingale,” exclaimed Thugut, drawing the laughing lady with gentle force into the room and pushing the arm-chair again before the closed door. “Now tell me, my bulbul, why do you laugh?”
“Must I not laugh?” she exclaimed, in a clear and sonorous voice. “Is not this a surprise as if it were a scene from the Arabian Nights? You told me six months ago you were going to have a passage made, by which one might go unseen from my rooms in the Burg to your apartments in the chancery of state. I had no doubt of the truth of what you told me, for fortunately the chancery of state is close to the Burg, and there are enough secret staircases and doors here as well as there. I was, therefore, by no means surprised when one day, in the silence of the night, I heard soft hammering at the wall of my bedroom, and suddenly beheld a hole in the wall, which, in the course of a few hours, had been transformed into a door with an arm-chair before it, just like that one there; in the next night, a locksmith made his appearance and hung up a small silver bell in my room, concealing it behind a lamp; and yesterday you whispered to me: ‘Await the signal to-morrow! I have to talk to you about important affairs.’ I therefore waited with all the impatience of curiosity; at last the bell resounded six times; I answered the signal and hastened through the narrow halls and ascended the never suspected small staircase, perfectly satisfied that I was going to a diplomatic conference. And what do I find? A little Turkish paradise, and in it a pacha--”
“Who was yearning only for his charming houri in order to be entirely in paradise,” said Thugut, interrupting her. “Every thing has its time, my Victoria, state affairs as well as happiness.”
“The question only is, my cold-hearted friend, whether you prefer state affairs or happiness,” she replied, smilingly threatening him with her finger.
“Happiness, if you bring it to me, Victoria!” he exclaimed, pressing the beautiful woman impetuously against his bosom.
She leaned her head on his shoulder and looked up to him with an air of arch enthusiasm. “Are you happy now?” she asked, in a low voice.
He only replied by means of glowing kisses and whispered words of intense passion into her ear. She did not resist him; she listened with smiling satisfaction to his whispers, and a deeper blush mantled her cheeks.
“Ah, I like to hear you talk thus,” she said, when Thugut paused; “it delights me to sip the honey of oriental poetry from the lips of my wild bear. Even the Belvederian Apollo is not as beautiful as you in your genial and wondrous ugliness when you are talking about love.”
Thugut laughed. “Then you think I am very ugly, Victoria?” he asked.
“Yes, so ugly that your ugliness in my eyes is transformed into the most inconceivable beauty,” she said, passing her rosy fingers across his dark and bronzed face. “Sometimes, my friend, when I see you in the imperial halls, with your strange smile and your grave bearing, I believe it is the god of darkness himself whom I behold there, and who has descended upon earth in order to catch in person a few human souls that he is very anxious to have in his power. Ah, I would not have you an iota more handsome, nor a single year younger. I like your demoniacal ugliness; and the infernal ardor, hidden under the snow of your hair, truly delights me. To be beloved by young men with the fickle straw-fire of passion is a very common thing; but when an old man loves as intensely as a youth, when he always illuminates the beloved with the glory of a fire that he has snatched from hell, ah! that is something enchanting and divine! Love me, therefore, in your own way, my beautiful, ugly prince of darkness!”
“I love you in my own way, my charming angel, whom nobody believes to be a demon,” said Thugut, laughing. “I feel precisely like you, my beautiful Victoria; I love you twice as ardently, because I penetrated your true nature; because, when you are smiling upon others, I alone perceive the serpent, while others only behold the roses, and because I alone know this angelic figure to conceal the soul of a demon. Thus we love each other because we belong to each other, Victoria; you call me the prince of darkness, and you are assuredly the crown-princess of hell. After my death you will occupy my throne.”
“Then it is in hell just as in Austria?” asked Victoria. “The women are not excluded from the throne.”
“Well, sometimes it really seems to me as though it were in Austria as it ought to be in hell, and as though the small devils of stupidity, folly, and ignorance, had chosen Austria for their particular play-ground.”
“Let us expel them, then, my friend,” exclaimed Victoria; “I should think that we were powerful enough to accomplish that.”
“Will you assist me in expelling them?” asked Thugut, quickly.
“How can you ask me?” she said, reproachfully. “So you have forgotten every thing? Our whole past is buried under the dust of your ministerial documents?”
“No, I have forgotten nothing!” exclaimed Thugut, almost enthusiastically. “I remember everything. Oh, how often, Victoria, do I see you in my dreams, just as I saw you for the first time! Do you yet remember when it was?”
“It was in the camp in front of Giurgewo.”
“Yes, in the camp in front of Giurgewo, at the time that the Turks surprised our trenches. [Footnote: In 1790.] All of our officers completely lost their senses; the general-in-chief, Prince Coburg, rode off in the most cowardly manner; and Count Thun had been killed, while General Anfsess was dangerously wounded. Oh, it was a terrible day; terror and dismay spread through the whole camp. A wild panic seized the soldiers, they fled in all directions; every one was shouting, howling, and trembling for his own miserable existence. I had just gone to headquarters, and I may say that I was the only one who did not tremble, for nature has not imparted fear to me. I witnessed the growing confusion with dismay, when I suddenly beheld a woman, an angel, who appeared with dishevelled hair, and eyes flashing with anger, addressing the soldiers and admonishing them in glowing words to do their duty. No, what she said were no words, it was a torrent of enthusiasm, bursting from her lips like heavenly flames. And the soldiers listened in amazement; the stragglers rallied round their colors, the cowards were ashamed, and the trembling and downcast took heart again when they heard the ringing, bold words of the beautiful woman. Reason obtained its sway; they were able once more to hear and consider what we said to them, and thanks to you and to myself, the ignominious rout was transformed into an orderly and quiet retreat. Both of us saved every thing that was yet to be saved. Ah, it is a funny thing that all the soldiers in the large camp had lost their wits, and that only a civilian and a woman kept theirs. [Footnote: Vide “Kaiser Franz und Metternich: Ein Fragment,” p. 83.] On that day, in my enthusiasm, I vowed eternal friendship to you.”
“We vowed it to each other!” exclaimed Victoria.
“And we have kept our vows. I sent you to Vienna with a recommendation to my friend, Count Colloredo, and he honored my recommendation. He introduced you to the court; he related your heroic deed to the emperor, and the whole court did homage to the intrepid heroine of Giurgewo. Your bold husband, the handsome captain of hussars, Charles de Poutet, having been killed in Belgium at the assault upon Aldenhoven, I came to you and renewed my vow of eternal fidelity and friendship. Did I keep my word?”
“You did. Thanks to you and to Colloredo, I have become the friend of the empress, and the AJA of her first-born daughter, the Archduchess Maria Louisa. But, on obtaining this position, I renewed to you, too, my vow of eternal friendship and eternal fidelity. Did I not also keep my word?”
“You did. Thanks to you and to Colloredo, I have become prime minister and ruler of Austria!”
“And now, my friend, a question. Did you invent this Turkish cabinet, the secret staircases and halls, and the mysterious language of the bells, for the sole purpose of relating to me here the history of our past feelings toward each other?”
“No, Victoria, in order to build here the edifice of our future. Here, in this secret cabinet, we will lay the foundation of it, and draw up the plans. Victoria, I stand in need of your assistance--will you refuse it to me?”
“Stretch out your hand with the sceptre, my god of darkness, command, and I shall obey!” said Victoria, gliding down on the sofa, crossing her arms on her breast, and looking up to Thugut with languishing eyes.
He sat down by her side, and laid his hand over her eyes.
“Do not look at me so charmingly as to make my blood rush like fire through my veins,” he said. “Let us first speak of business affairs, and then we will forget every thing in draughts of fiery sherbet. So listen to me, Victoria, be a little less of the enchanting angel now, and a little more of the malicious demon.”
“Is there a minister to overthrow, a powerful man to be trampled under foot?” asked Victoria, her black eyes flashing like dagger-points. “Have we got an enemy whom we want to lead across the PONTE DEI SOSPIRI to an eternal prison? Speak quickly, my friend; I am waiting for the music of your words.”
“There are two enemies for you to fathom,” said Thugut, slowly.
“To fathom! Is that all? A little spying, nothing further?”
“But some bloodshed might attend that spying.”
“I like blood, it has such a beautiful purple color,” said Victoria, laughing. “Who are the two enemies I am to fathom?”
“France and Prussia!”
“Oh, you are joking.”
“No, I am in sober earnest. France and Prussia are the two enemies whose innermost thoughts you are to fathom.”
“But France and Prussia are not here in Vienna.”
“No, not here in Vienna, but they are at the fortress of Rastadt.”
“I do not understand you, my friend.”
“Listen to me, and you will understand me. You know that I hate France, and that I abhor the peace we were compelled to conclude with her. France is a hydra, whose head we must cut off, or by whom we must allow ourselves to be devoured. I am in favor of cutting off her head.”
“So am I!” exclaimed Victoria, laughing. “Have you got a sword sharp enough to cut off the hydra’s head? Then give it to me--I will behead her.”
“The hydra believes she has a sword with which she might kill me. Listen to me. I was once in my life foolish enough to sign a paper which might prove dangerous to me in case it should be submitted to the emperor. This paper is in the hands of France.”
“France has got a large hand. Which of her fingers holds the paper?”
“A year ago, the paper was in Bernadotte’s hands, and he had already applied for an interview with the empress, in order to deliver to her the paper, which she had promised to hand to the emperor. I learned it in time, and sent out a few friends to bring the papers out of his own rooms.”
“Ah. I understand. It was on the day of the festival of the volunteers, and of the inauguration of the French banner.”
“Yes, it was on that day. The coup was not entirely successful; we gave Bernadotte a good lesson--we compelled him to leave Vienna, but he took these papers along.”
“And where is Bernadotte?”
“At Rastadt, where he attends the sessions of the congress as the military plenipotentiary of France.”
“I shall go there, too, as your plenipotentiary, my friend!” exclaimed Victoria, smiling. “But, in order to obtain the papers, we shall not make an assault upon his house; we shall only assail his heart, and that I shall open a breach there large enough to let the dangerous papers pass through it, I hope my skill will warrant--”
“Your skill and your beauty,” said Thugut, interrupting her. “But I believe my beautiful Victoria will not have to assail Bernadotte, but another man. Bernadotte took warning from that scene in his house; he understands very well that the possession of those papers is dangerous, and he has, therefore, transferred the danger to other shoulders. He has intrusted another man with the papers.”
“Whom? If it be a man of flesh and blood name him, and I shall make the assault upon him,” said Victoria.
“It is doubtless one of the three ambassadors of the French Republic, and I have reason to believe that it is the haughty and impudent Bonnier. It was he at least who spoke to Count Cobenzl about certain papers that might become dangerous to me, and who inquired stealthily if Cobenzl would feel inclined to deliver them to the emperor.”
“Let me depart, my friend; I must have the papers,” said Victoria, rising.
“Ah, how beautiful you are in your impetuosity!” exclaimed Thugut, smiling; “but we are not through yet with our conference, dear Victoria. For the sole purpose of obtaining those miserable papers, I should not beg my angel to unfold his demon’s wings and to assist me. If my interests alone were at stake, I should allow fate to take its course, and leave every thing to its decision. But the interests of Austria are equally at stake; and I do not say this in the sense in which my great predecessor, Prince Kaunitz, used to say: ‘He who attacks me, attacks Austria, for Austria cannot exist without me. She would fall down if my strong hand did not hold her.’ No, I know very well that no man is indispensable; that we are only machines in the hands of fate, and that, as soon as one of these machines is worn out and unnecessary, fate casts it aside and substitutes a new one. But the state is something more exalted and important than a mere individual; in order to defend it, we must collect our whole energy, our whole ability, and it is a matter of indifference if, by doing so, we endanger some human lives and shed some blood. There is an abundance of human lives in the world, and the blood that has been shed is restored in the course of a few hours. Victoria, you shall not merely assist me; you shall aid the state too, and make an effort for its welfare.”
“Only he who dares wins!” exclaimed Victoria, with a fascinating smile. “Tell me what I am to do, my friend.”
“To be fascinating, to avail yourself of the power of your charms, that is all. To tame a bear, in order to draw his secrets from him.”
“In what forest shall I find this bear?”
“At Rastadt, and his name is Roberjot, or Bonnier, or Debry, for aught I know. Try all three of them. One of them at least will have a heart capable of falling in love, and eyes to admire your beauty. Chain that man to your triumphal car, fathom him, try to become his confidante, and sift his secrets.”
“For a special purpose, or only in general?”
“For a special purpose. I have reason to believe that France is deceiving us, and that, while seeking an alliance with us, and assuring us every day of her friendship, she is secretly plotting against us.”
“Plotting with whom?”
“With Prussia, Austria’s mortal enemy. France has promised us not to grant any further aggrandizement to Prussia. I am satisfied that she has secretly made similar promises to Prussia in relation to us, and that she is trying as eagerly, and by means of as many assurances, to obtain the alliance of Prussia, as that of Austria.”
“It is, however, of the highest importance for us to know what France may have promised to Prussia, and how far the negotiations between the two powers have gone. To fathom this, either by amicable or violent means, by shrewdness or by compulsion, by bribery or by threats, will be your task, my heavenly demon.”
“It is a beautiful task, because it is a difficult one,” said Victoria, proudly. “It is a matter of life and death, this duel I am to fight with one of those French bears.”
“But my beautiful Victoria shall not lack seconds to furnish her weapons, and to do every thing she wants them to do.”
“Who are my seconds?”
“Count Lehrbach and Colonel Barbaczy.”
“Ah, Barbaczy, whose acquaintance we made at Giurgewo?”
“The same. A bold, intrepid man, who is not afraid of anybody--neither of God nor of the devil.”
“Lehrbach and Barbaczy, your two bloodhounds,” said Victoria, musingly. “If they are to be my seconds, I am afraid the duel will not merely remain a spiritual one, and not merely hearts will be wounded. I am afraid real blood will be shed, and there will be carnal wounds.”
“I must have the papers!” exclaimed Thugut, “either by means of cunning or by measures of open violence, do you understand? And as to the wounds and blood, I wish with all my heart to give these impudent republican fellows who are putting on such airs at Rastadt, as though they were masters of Germany, a sound and bloody lesson, and thus give France an unmistakable proof of our opinion.”
“Good, my dear Satan, I shall assist you in performing this little infernal comedy. Two weighty questions, however, remain to be asked. On what pretext shall I ask my imperial mistress to grant me leave of absence?”
“Have you not got a sister, who is married to a rich country gentleman, in the grand-duchy of Baden, and who informed you yesterday that she had been suddenly taken dangerously ill?”
“I have a sister!” exclaimed Victoria, laughing. “I who never knew a paternal roof, or family--I who dropped upon earth like a ripe peach-blossom, and would have been crushed there, if my handsome and generous Charles de Poutet had not accidentally passed by while the wind was driving me along, and if he chivalrously had not picked me up and placed me in his button-hole. I never knew my family--I was an orphan since my earliest childhood. No, my friend, I have no sister.”
“Oh, try to recollect, Victoria; it is your sister who has called you to her death-bed, and for whose sake the empress will give you leave of absence.”
“Ah, vraiment, I recollect now! Of course, I must go and see my sister. The good, dear sister--how she will long to see me again in order to recover from her sickness! Oh, I must repair to my sister--nothing must detain me here. The kind-hearted empress will not refuse me leave of absence, for I have to fulfil a sacred duty. Family ties are more sacred than any other.”
“Ah, you are really a most affectionate sister; the empress will readily grant you leave of absence, and you will set out to-morrow evening. I shall provide fresh horses for you at every station, and I shall send you to-morrow morning a comfortable travelling-coach. Your first question, then, is answered. Now for the second.”
“Yes, my friend, I will briefly state my second question. After accomplishing my task, after chivalrously fighting my duel, and conquering the papers, what will be my reward?”
“Your reward will be the only one I dare offer to a beautiful young widow,” said Thugut, with a diabolical smile. “A husband who will bestow upon you a distinguished name, who will strengthen your position at court, and who will one day bequeath to you a princely inheritance.”
“What!” exclaimed Victoria, joyfully, “you will marry me, my friend?”
“I?” asked Thugut, almost in terror. “Who spoke of me? Am I able to offer you wealth and a distinguished name? My fortune would be too insignificant for your pin-money, and although the ship-builder’s son has acquired quite a distinguished name, he lacks the dust of ten dead ancestors. I am my own ancestor, and my pedigree contains but my own name. No, Victoria, I have something better in store for you. I shall make you the wife of the minister, Count Colloredo. He is a member of the old aristocracy, and his wife will outrank at court all the ladies of the ministers and of the lower nobility. He is, moreover, very wealthy, and a favorite of the emperor. I shall give him to understand that he loves you ardently, and that he would pine away if you should reject him. The dear count does not like to hear people talk about pining away and dying, and he will consider himself saved if you accept him and allow him to grow young again in your arms. To induce him to marry you, and to direct him correctly, let me alone for that. On the day on which you bring me the papers, even if they should be somewhat blood-stained, on that day I shall have the honor to lead you to the altar, and greet you by the name of Countess Colloredo.”
“The scheme is good and feasible,” said Victoria, musingly, “and yet I do not like it altogether. To be frank with you, my friend, if you really believe that I ought to marry again, why will not YOU marry me? What shall I do with the childish, conceited, and proud Count Colloredo, who is already seventy years of age? Why cannot I have my god of darkness? Thugut, I ask you, why do not you want to marry me?”
Thugut replied to the flaming glance of the charming lady by a loud laugh.
“I marry you? Ah, my heavenly demon! that would be very imprudent, for in that case I should have to require you to lead a devout and chaste life, and to keep my name unsullied.”
“Ah, you insult me,” exclaimed Victoria, feelingly. “You want to insinuate that I am unworthy of being your wife.”
“You are worthy of being much more, dearest, for you are a demon of love; but my wife ought only to be a matron of chastity.”
“Oh, how tiresome!” sighed Victoria.
“Yes, how tiresome!” repeated Thugut. “And our own heavenly liaison, the last romantic dream of my life, would it not also be broken off if you were to become my wife? Why would we then stand in need of secrecy--of hidden staircases and doors, and of this Turkish cabinet?--inasmuch as I should have the right to enter your rooms before the eyes of the whole world. Besides, we would be unable to be useful to each other. My wife, of course, would have to side with me and defend me everywhere, while, in case you are married to another man, you are at liberty to act for me and to favor me. I could not promote the interests of my wife at court; I could not speak of her in terms of praise to the empress, and recommend that fresh honors and distinctions be conferred upon her. My wife, therefore, would remain the aja of the little Archduchess Maria Louisa, while my influence will be able to secure to the Countess Victoria Colloredo the position of a first lady of honor of the duchess.”
“First lady of honor!” exclaimed Victoria, joyfully, and with glowing cheeks. “You are right, my friend, it is better for me to marry Count Colloredo. Colloredo has great power over the emperor; I have great power over the empress, and shall have the same power over Colloredo. But I am again under your control, and thus you will rule us all, and rule Austria, for I shall always remain your faithful servant and friend.”
“Women’s oaths are as fitful as the wind, they are as fleeting as the clouds,” said Thugut, shrugging his shoulders. “But I believe you, Victoria, for you are no woman like other women. If I were ever to discover that you had deceived me, I should take a terrible revenge!”
“What sort of revenge, my friend?” asked Victoria, embracing him smilingly and tenderly.
“I know but one punishment for a faithless woman,” said Thugut, “and if I envy any thing, my friend, Sultan Mustapha, is able to do it, it is his power of publicly inflicting this punishment. A faithless woman is drowned in a sack, that is all. She is placed in a sack--gagged, of course, so as to be unable to scream--and in the dead of night she is rowed out into the sea, which silently opens its waves in order to receive the silent victim. I have witnessed this romantic spectacle three times in Constantinople, and it always filled me with delight. It is so noiseless, so simple, and yet so significant! It is true we have no sea here, but we have the Danube, and there is room in it for many faithless women. Beware, therefore, Victoria! But now a truce to business and politics. Now, my demon, unfold your angel wings, and let me pass an hour with you in paradise. Will you do me the honor, Countess Colloredo in spe, to take supper with me here?”
“Here?” said Victoria, looking around wonderingly. “Where is the supper-table?”
“You will see it directly.”
Thugut stooped and vigorously pressed a golden knob, fixed in the floor, close to the sofa. Immediately a creaking and rattling noise was heard; the floor opened, and a large aperture became visible. After a few minutes a table, covered with the most luxurious dishes and sparkling wines, and glittering with silver and crystal, slowly and majestically arose.
“Splendid!” shouted Victoria, dancing like a fairy around the magic table--“splendid! The prince of darkness commands, hell opens, and by the fire, over which the souls of the wicked are roasting, the most savory dishes have been prepared for Satan! But first swear to me, my friend, that this pheasant is filled with truffles, and not with human souls.”
“My dear Victoria,” replied Thugut, laughing, “human souls have only too often the same fate as truffles--hogs discover them! Come, I drink this glass of sherbet to the health of the Countess Colloredo in spe.!”
XXVII. RASTADT
The congress of Rastadt had been in session for nearly two years. For nearly two years the German ambassadors had been quarrelling with France about the ancient boundaries of the empire, and had been quarrelling among each other about a few strips of land, a few privileges which one state demanded, while another would not grant.
It was a sorrowful and humiliating spectacle this congress of Rastadt presented to the world, and all Germany was looking on with feelings of pain and shame, while France pointed at it with scornful laughter, and exclaimed:
“It is not France that destroys and dissolves Germany, but Germany is annihilating herself. She is dissolving away, owing to her own weakness, and the dissensions of her rulers will kill her!”
Yes, indeed, Germany bore the germ of death and dissolution in her sick, lacerated breast, and the first symptoms of putrefaction already made their appearance. These first symptoms were the envy, jealousy, and hatred the rulers of Germany felt toward each other, and the malicious joy with which one saw another die, without pitying his torments, and only mindful of the fact that he would be the dying state’s heir.
The first section of Germany which succumbed under these circumstances, embraced the bishoprics and ecclesiastical states. They exhibited most of all the corruption and putrefaction of German affairs. Hence, such German states as expected to be benefited by their dissolution, voted for secularization, while such as were threatened with losses voted against it. A new apple of discord had been thrown into the German empire; the last spark of German unity was gone, and two hostile parties, bitterly menacing each other, were formed. Austria loudly raised her voice against the secularization of the ecclesiastical possessions, because she could derive no benefit from it; while Prussia declared in favor of secularization, because she believed she would be able to aggrandize her territory in consequence; and the secondary princes demanded the dissolution of the bishoprics even more urgently than Prussia, because they knew that a portion of those dominions would fall to their own share.
Covetousness caused the German princes to overlook all other interests, and to act contrary to all correct principles; covetousness caused them first to shake the decaying ancient German empire; covetousness caused them to destroy the old political organization of the country, and German hands were the first to tear down the edifice of the imperial constitution.
The German ambassadors at Rastadt forgot, therefore, the original object of their mission; they had come thither to secure the continued existence of the German empire, and to protect Germany from the encroachments of France, and now they were threatening the German empire themselves. They had come thither to establish the boundaries of Germany, and now they were attacking the boundaries of the single sections and states of the empire themselves.
No wonder that France sought to profit by these dissensions of the Germans among each other; no wonder that she thought she might seize a piece of Germany, too, seeing, as she did, that the German states were quarrelling among themselves about the division of the spoils. France, therefore, advanced her troops farther on the right bank of the Rhine, and claimed the fortresses of Kehl, Ehrenbreitstein, and Castel.
This fresh and unparalleled exaction silenced the domestic quarrels among the Germans for a moment, and all voices united to protest loudly and solemnly against the new demand of the French Republic.
But the French replied to the solemn protests of the German ambassadors at Rastadt by cold sneers and violent threats. Ehrenbreitstein not being surrendered to them after the first summons, they blockaded the fortress, levied contributions on the right bank of the Rhine, and declared the possessions of the nobility to be forfeited to the French Republic. [Footnote: Vide Hausser’s “History of Germany.” vol. ii., p. 201.] The German ambassadors at Rastadt complaining of these oppressive proceedings, the French declared, “the magnanimity of the French had exceeded all expectations. They were able to take every thing, and they had contented themselves with very little.”
The congress had met at Rastadt in order to conclude peace, but so far the negotiations had produced nothing but exasperation and a strong probability of ultimate war. The arrogance and scornful bearing of France became every day more intolerable, and the desire of Austria became proportionately more evident to punish France for her insolence, and to take revenge for the numerous and galling insults she had heaped upon Germany. Prussia hesitated to join Austria, and to declare in favor of open hostilities against France; she deemed such a war injurious to her particular interests, and desired to maintain peace; the secondary German states, however, allowed themselves to be intimidated by the threats of France to devour all of them, and they were quite willing to expose Germany to further humiliations, provided that their own petty existence should not be endangered.
The work of pacification, therefore, made no progress whatever, but only became a disgrace to Germany, and the congress of Rastadt was nothing but a symptom of the disease of which Germany was soon to perish. Germany seemed destined to die, like an aged and decrepit man, of her own weakness and exhaustion.
This weakness was every day on the increase. In January, 1799, Ehrenbreitstein succumbed, and the French occupied the fortress.
Still the peace commissioners remained in session at Rastadt, and continued their negotiations with the French, who just now had again perfidiously violated the treaties, and appropriated German possessions.
If the German ambassadors, perhaps, were lost to all sense of honor and of their disgraceful position, the representatives of France were fully conscious of their dignity. They treated the ambassadors of Germany in the most scornful manner; they dared haughtily and arrogantly to meddle with the domestic affairs of Germany; they constantly trumped up new claims in the most overbearing attitude, and in their habitual imperious tone, and the representatives of the German empire scarcely dared to refuse their exactions even in the most timid manner.
Only one of the three French ambassadors, for the last few weeks, had been less supercilious than his colleagues; he had participated less than formerly in the affairs of the German congress, and while Roberjot and Jean Debry were raising their arrogant and haughty voices in every session of congress, Bonnier kept aloof. He even held no further intercourse with his own countrymen; and his tall and imposing figure, with the proud and gloomy countenance, was seen no longer every night as heretofore in the drawing-rooms of the wives of Roberjot and Debry. He kept aloof from society as he kept aloof from the congress, and the French ladies smilingly whispered to each other that something strange, something unheard of, had happened to the austere republican. To the man who heretofore had proudly resisted the blandishments of beautiful women, they said he had fallen in love with that wondrously lovely and strange lady who had been at Rastadt for the last few weeks, but who was living in such seclusion that the public had only occasionally got a sight of her. No one knew who this strange lady was, and what she wanted at Rastadt; she had paid visits to no one, and left her card nowhere. She had arrived only attended by a footman and a lady’s maid; but in advance, a brilliant suite of rooms and a box at the theatre had been retained for her. In this box every night the beautiful strange lady was seen closely veiled, and the gloomy pale face of Bonnier had been repeatedly beheld by her side.
Victoria de Poutet, therefore, had accomplished her purpose; she had tamed one of the French bears, and surrounded him with the magic nets of her beauty. She was the mysterious strange lady whose appearance had created so great a sensation in the drawing-rooms of Rastadt for the last few weeks; she was the lady whom Bonnier was following as though he were her shadow.
She had come to him as a refugee, as a persecuted woman, with tears in her eyes. She had told him a tragic story of Thugut’s tyranny and wanton lust. Because she had refused to submit to the voluptuous desires of the Austrian minister, he had sworn to ruin her, and his love had turned into furious hatred. She further stated the minister had threatened her with the confiscation of her property, with imprisonment, death, and disgrace, and she had only succeeded by her courage and cunning in saving herself and in escaping from Austria. Now she came to Bonnier to invoke the protection and assistance of generous France, and to flee from the rude violence of a German minister to the chivalrous aegis of the French Republic.
How beautiful she was in her tears, with the mournful smile on her swelling lips! But how much more beautiful when a deep blush mantled her cheeks, and when her large dark eyes were sparkling in the glow of revenge and anger!
For Victoria de Poutet did not only want protection--she also sought revenge--revenge on that tyrant Thugut, who had dared to threaten her innocence and virtue, and to assail her honor and happiness. She was not only persecuted--she was also insulted, and she wished to chastise the Austrian minister for these insults. Bonnier was to lend her his assistance for this purpose. He was to procure means for her to overthrow Thugut.
How eloquently and enthusiastically did she speak to Bonnier about her misfortunes, her anger, and her thirst of revenge! How much truthfulness there was depicted in her face--what a demoniacal ardor in her eyes; how much energy in her whole bearing, so indicative of bold determination and of an indomitable spirit!
Bonnier gazed at her in wondering delight, in timid awe. He who had hated women because they were so weak, so peevish, and insignificant, now saw before him a woman with the energy of a hatred such as he had scarcely known himself, with the enthusiasm of a revengefulness that shrank back from no dangers and no obstacles. Under this delicate, ethereal female form there was concealed the spirit and firm will of a man; bold thoughts were written on her forehead, and an enchanting smile was playing on her full lips. While Bonnier was listening to the dithyrambics of her hatred and revenge, love glided into his own heart; she had fascinated him by her revengeful hymns as others fascinate by their love-songs.
Victoria was conscious of her triumph; her eagle eye had watched every motion, every step of this innocent lamb she was going to strangle; she had seen him fall into the glittering nets she had spread out for him; she knew that he was a captive in her meshes without being aware of it himself.
Her bearing now underwent a change; she was no longer merely a woman thirsting for revenge, but also a tender, loving woman; she was no longer merely filled with hatred, but she also seemed susceptible of gentler emotions; she lowered her eyes before Bonnier’s ardent glances and blushed. To his timid and faltering protestations of love she replied by subdued sighs, and by a dreamy smile; and when Bonnier at length dared to approach her with a bold confession of his passion--when he was on his knees before her, all aglow with love and enthusiasm, Victoria bent over him with a sweet smile, and whispered: “Give me the papers that are to ruin Thugut; surrender that vile man to my revenge, and my love, my life are yours!”
Bonnier looked up to her with a triumphant smile. “You are mine, then, Victoria,” he said, “for you shall have those papers! I surrender that infamous and treacherous man to your revenge!”
She stretched out her hands toward him with a cry of boundless joy. “Give me the papers,” she exclaimed; “give them to me, and I will thank you as only love is able to thank!”
Bonnier looked a long while at her, and his face, usually so gloomy, was now radiant with happiness and delight.
“To-morrow, my charming fairy,” he said, “to-morrow you shall have the papers which are to open hell to your enemy, and heaven to your enraptured friend. But you must give me also a proof of your confidence and love; you must come to me and call in person for the papers. I give you the highest proof of my love by delivering to you documents that do not belong to me, but to the republic. Then give me likewise the highest proof of your love. Come to me!”
She cast a long and glowing glance on him. “I shall come!” she whispered.
And Victoria kept her word. Early on the following morning a closely-veiled lady was seen to glide into the castle of Rastadt, where the three French ambassadors were living at that time. Bonnier received her in person at the foot of the wide staircase, and gave her his arm in order to conduct her to the rooms occupied by himself. They exchanged not a word with each other, but walked silently through the sumptuous apartments and finally entered Bonnier’s study.
“We are at the goal--here I bid you welcome, my fairy queen!” exclaimed Bonnier. “Remove now these odious veils. Let me now at length see your beautiful features!”
He violently tore off her black veils, and Victoria suffered it smilingly, and looked at him with a wondrous air of joy and happiness.
“Are you content now?” she asked, in her superb, sonorous voice. “Has the proud lord of creation now prepared a new and satisfactory triumph for himself? The poor slave whom he loves must come to him and beg him for love and happiness!”
She had crossed her hands on her breast, and half kneeling down before Bonnier, she looked up to him with a fascinating mixture of archness and passion.
Bonnier lifted her up and wanted to imprint a kiss upon her lips, but she violently pushed him back.
“No,” she said, “let us be sensible as long as we can. First we must attend to our business.”
“Business!” exclaimed Bonnier. “What have we to do with business? Leave business to the diplomatists and their clerks. Why should lips so charming and beautiful pronounce this cold and dismal word?”
“If I spoke of business, I meant revenge,” said Victoria, fervently. “Give me the papers, Bonnier--the papers that are to ruin Thugut!”
Bonnier took her head between his hands and looked at her with flaming eyes.
“Then you hate him still? You still desire to take revenge on him?” he asked.
“Yes, I hate him!” she exclaimed, “and the happiest day of my life will be the one on which I see him hurled down from his proud eminence, and sneaking alone, miserable, and despised into obscurity.”
“One might, indeed, really believe that she is in earnest, and that truth alone could utter such words,” muttered Bonnier, who constantly held her head in his hands, and thus gazed at her. “Swear to me, Victoria, swear to me by what is most sacred to you, that you hate Thugut, and that you desire to ruin him!”
“I swear it by what is most sacred to me,” she said, solemnly; “I swear it by your love!”
“That is the best and most unequivocal oath, and I will believe you,” said Bonnier, laughing.
“Then you will now give me those papers?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said, bluntly, “I will give them to you. Come, my angel, you are right? let us first speak of business matters. There, sit down here at my desk. Oh, henceforth this spot will be sacred to me, for your heavenly person has consecrated it. Let me sit down here by your side, and thus we will lay our dispatches before each other, like two good and conscientious diplomatists. Look here! this portfolio contains your revenge and your satisfaction. This portfolio contains the papers proving that Thugut has received large sums of money from Russia and England for the purpose of instigating the Emperor of Austria against France, and that his pretended patriotic indignation is after all nothing but the paid role of a comedian. I have abstracted this portfolio from the archives of our embassy. Do you understand me, Victoria? I have stolen it for you!”
“Let me see the papers!” exclaimed Victoria, trembling with impatience.
Bonnier opened the portfolio and drew a paper from it. But on looking at it, a dark cloud passed over his face, and he shook his head indignantly.
“What a miserable fool I was to make such a mistake!” he ejaculated angrily. “I have taken the wrong portfolio. This one does not contain the papers you are looking for.”
“That is,” said Victoria, with cutting coldness--“that is, you have intentionally deceived me. You decoyed me hither under false pretences. You told me a story about important papers that were in your possession, and with which you were to intrust me for the purpose of gratifying my revenge. And now when I come to you, nobly trusting your chivalrous word, now it turns out that you have deceived me, and that those important papers do not exist at all.”
“Ah, believe me there are papers here perhaps even more important than the documents you are looking for,” said Bonnier, shrugging his shoulders. “Believe me, Baron Thugut would give many thousands if he could get hold of the papers contained in this portfolio. They are, perhaps, even more important than those other documents.”
A flash burst forth from Victoria’s eyes, and the angry air disappeared at once from her features. She turned to Bonnier with a fascinating smile.
“What sort of papers are those?” she asked.
“Papers that do not interest you, my charming fairy,” he said, smilingly; “for what have love and revenge to do with the negotiations of diplomacy? This portfolio contains only diplomatic documents, only the secret correspondence between ourselves and the Prussian government, and the negotiations concerning an alliance between France and Prussia--that is all. They do not interest you, my beautiful Victoria, but Thugut would gladly purchase these papers for those which you are so anxious to obtain.”
Victoria’s eyes were fixed on the portfolio with a glowing expression, and her hand was involuntarily approaching it. Bonnier saw it, and a peculiar smile overspread his gloomy face for a moment.
“Happy for me,” he said, “that I discovered my mistake before giving you the portfolio. The loss of these papers would have compromised me irretrievably. But you are silent, Victoria--you do not utter a word. Then you do not yet believe in the truthfulness of my words? I swear to you, my fascinating sorceress, it was a mere mistake--I only seized the wrong portfolio.”
“Do not swear, but convince me,” said Victoria. “Go and fetch the other portfolio.”
“And I should leave you here all alone so long?” he asked, tenderly. “I should be such a prodigal as to squander these precious minutes during which I am permitted to be by your side!”
Victoria rose and looked at him with flaming, imperious eyes.
“Fetch the papers,” she shouted, “or I leave you this very moment, and you shall never see me again!”
“That is a word by which you would drive me even into the jaws of hell!” said Bonnier, ardently. “Wait for me here, Victoria--I am going for the papers.”
He greeted her with a rapid nod, and placing the portfolio under his arm, he hastily walked to the door. Here he turned around toward her and his eyes met hers steadfastly fixed upon him. He kissed his hand to her, and while doing so, the portfolio softly glided from under his arm and fell upon the floor. Bonnier took no notice of it; his whole attention was riveted on the beautiful lady. But she saw it, and her eyes sparkled with delight.
“Return as soon as possible,” she said, with an enchanting smile, and Bonnier left the room. She anxiously looked after him until the door had closed, and then she listened to the sound of his footsteps. Now the latter were no longer audible, and every thing about her was silent.
Victoria did not stir; she only swept with her large eyes searchingly over the whole room; she fixed them upon every curtain, upon every piece of furniture. But nothing was there to arouse her suspicions; a profound stillness reigned around her.
Now she rose slowly from her seat and made a few steps forward. The rustling of her heavy silk dress alone interrupted the silence.
She paused again and listened, and her eyes fixed themselves longingly upon the portfolio lying at the door. Why were not her eyes endowed with the power of a loadstone? Why were they not able to attract the portfolio to her?
The portfolio lay there quietly and immovably; Victoria vainly stretched out her hands toward it--she was unable to reach it.
Once more she impetuously glanced round the room; then she bounded forward like a lioness rushing toward her prey.
She grasped the portfolio and raised it with a triumphant smile. Her small hands quickly plunged into it and drew forth the papers. There were but a few letters, and besides several closely written pages. Victoria did not take time to look at them; she rapidly pushed the papers into the pocket of her dress, and arranged the folds of the latter so as to conceal the contents of her pocket. She then closed the portfolio and replaced it on the floor, precisely on the spot where Bonnier had dropped it.
Her purpose was accomplished! How her face was glowing with delight! How deep a blush was burning on her cheeks! How her eyes were sparkling with diabolic exultation!
With light, inaudible steps she now crossed the room again, and resumed her seat at the desk. And it was fortunate that she had done so, for steps were approaching in the adjoining room; the door opened, and Bonnier entered.
XXVIII. THE JUSTIFICATION
Bonnier paused for a moment on the threshold, fixing his eyes on Victoria, who greeted him with a sweet, fascinating smile. But the smile disappeared from her lips when she beheld the threatening angry glance with which he was staring at her, and the air of gloomy indignation depicted on his countenance. She might be mistaken, however, and perhaps it was merely the anguish of her conscience which made her tremble.
“And you bring me the papers, my beloved friend?” asked Victoria, with an air of fascinating kindness.
“Yes,” said Bonnier, still remaining on the threshold, “I bring you the papers. But just look what a fool love has made of me! For your sake, I forgot the portfolio with those other papers, and dropped it on the floor there. Do you now perceive your power over me? For I believe I told you that the loss of those papers would ruin me irretrievably.”
“Yes, you told me so,” said Victoria, smiling.
“And yet I forgot them here!” exclaimed Bonnier, stooping to pick them up. But Victoria immediately rose and hastened to him.
“To punish you for your carelessness, you shall now leave the portfolio on the floor,” she said, smiling; “nor shall you think of it again as long as I am with you. Tell me, will that be too hard for you?”
She bent her beautiful face over him, and with flaming glances looked deeply into his eyes.
Bonnier dropped the portfolio again and smiled.
“It may lie there,” he said; “it has performed its part anyhow. And now, I suppose, we will talk again about our business?”
“Yes, we will,” replied Victoria. “Give me the papers.”
“No, madame; no one gives up such important papers without witnesses,” said Bonnier. “Permit me therefore to call my witnesses.”
He hastily turned to the door and pushed it open.
“Come in, gentlemen!” he shouted, and his two colleagues, Roberjot and Debry, immediately appeared on the threshold. Without greeting Victoria, merely eyeing her with cold, contemptuous glances, the two gentlemen entered and walked directly to the desk. Bonnier locked the door and put the key into his pocket.
Victoria saw it, and a slight pallor overspread her rosy face for a moment.
“Will you tell me, sir, what all this means?” she asked, in a threatening voice.
“You will learn it directly,” said Bonnier. “Please sit down again in your arm-chair, for we are going to resume our diplomatic negotiations. You, gentlemen, take seats on both sides of the lady; I shall sit down opposite her, and at the slightest motion she makes, either to jump out of the window there, or to interrupt us by an exclamation, I shall shoot her as sure as my name is Bonnier!”
He drew a pistol from his bosom and cocked it. “I command you to be silent and not to interrupt us,” he said, turning to Victoria. “The pistol is loaded, and, unless you respect my orders, I will most certainly inflict upon you the punishment you have deserved; I shall take your life like that of any other spy who has been caught in a hostile camp.”
He dropped his right hand with the pistol on the table, and then turned to the two gentlemen, who had listened to him in gloomy silence.
“Yes, my friends,” he said, throwing back his head in order to shake away his long black hair, surrounding his face like a mane--“now, my friends, I beg you to listen to my justification. You have latterly believed me to be a fool, a prodigal son of the republic, who, for the sake of a miserable love-affair with a flirt, neglected the most sacred interests of his country. You shall see and acknowledge now that, while I seemed to be lost, I was only working for the welfare and glory of our great republic, and that this woman with her beautiful mask did not make me forget for a single moment my duties to my country. These papers contain my justification--these papers, madame, with which you hoped to revenge yourself. Pardon me, my fairy queen, I have made another mistake, and again brought a wrong portfolio; these are not the documents either which you would like to obtain. Perhaps they are after all in the portfolio lying on the floor there!”
He looked at Victoria with a scornful smile; she fixed her large eyes steadfastly upon him; not a muscle of her face was twitching--not the slightest anxiety or fear was depicted on her features.
Bonnier opened the portfolio and drew the papers from it.
“I shall only briefly state to you the contents of those papers,” he said, “you may afterward peruse them at leisure. This first paper is a letter I received by a courier from Vienna, without knowing who sent it to me. The letter only contains the following words:”
“‘Be on your guard. A very dangerous spy will be sent to you--a lady who is the most intimate friend of a distinguished statesman. Receive her well, and let no one see these lines. It will promote the welfare of France.’”
“As a matter of course, I said nothing about it, not even to you, my friends; I was silent, and waited for further developments. Two days later I received this second paper. It was a note from a lady, who wrote to me that she had just arrived at Rastadt, and was very anxious to see me, but under the seal of the most profound secrecy. I followed the invitation, and repaired to the designated house. I found there this lady, who introduced herself to me as Madame Victoria de Poutet; and if you now look at her you will comprehend why that refined half-Turk Thugut, as well as the mad rake Count Lehrbach, are both in love with her, for she is more beautiful than the loveliest odalisque and the most fascinating Phryne!”
The three men fixed their eyes upon Victoria, and ogled her with an impudent leer. Victoria sat erect and immovable, and even her eye-lashes did not move; she apparently did not see the glances fixed upon her; nor even heard what Bonnier had said about her, for her countenance remained calm and almost smiling.
Bonnier continued: “The lady told me a very pretty little story, the particulars of which I shall not relate to you. In short, Thugut had attacked her innocence and her honor--her innocence and her honor, do not forget that!--and she wanted to revenge herself upon him. She asked me to lend her my assistance for this purpose. I feigned to believe every thing she told me, and promised to protect her.”
“This third paper here I found on my desk on returning home from my visit to the lady. A stranger had delivered it. It was written by the same man who had addressed the first letter to me. It read as follows: ‘A romance is to be played with you; let them proceed without interfering with their doings. The fascination of beauty is very powerful, and the lady is going to fascinate you, for the purpose of obtaining important papers from you. Pretend to be fascinated, and you will penetrate the intrigue.’”
“The advice was good, and I followed it. I feigned to be fascinated; I played the enthusiastic lover of this lady; and although I doubtless acted my part in a very clumsy manner, she was kind enough to believe me; for she is well aware that no one is able to withstand the power of her beauty. But in order to perform my ROLE in a really truthful manner, not only Madame de Poutet, but also all Rastadt, had to be convinced of my ardent love for her, for Victoria is very shrewd; Thugut has educated a worthy pupil in her. Hence I had to wear the mask of my love everywhere, even before you, my friends. I had to make up my mind to pass for a fool until I was able to prove to you that I was a man of sense; I had to wear MY mask until I was able to tear this woman’s mask from her face. Oh, I assure you, it is not an easy task to be this lady’s lover! She demands a great deal of courting, a great deal of ardor, a great deal of passion; she has got very warm blood herself, and, if I am not mistaken, she is a great-granddaughter of that beautiful Roman lady, Messalina.”
Now, for the first time, a slight tremor pervaded Victoria’s frame, and a deep blush suffused her cheeks. But this lasted only a moment, and then she sat again quite erect and immovable.
“In spite of the difficulty of your task, you have played your part in a masterly manner,” said Jean Debry, in a rude and stern voice. “All of us believed you were in love, and this modern Messalina certainly did not doubt it, either.”
“No, she did not doubt it,” said Bonnier, with a disdainful smile. “She surrounded herself with spies, who had to watch me, but fortunately I knew them, and did not betray myself.”
“How did you know them?” asked Roberjot.
“My unknown correspondent pointed them out to me. He had given up his incognito, and came to me, satisfying me of his identity by writing a few lines, which proved him to be the author of the two previous letters. He offered for a brilliant compensation to assist me in unravelling the intrigue, and I promised him five thousand francs. He was one of our most astute and skilful spies, and he wanted this affair to be his masterpiece, in order to obtain from me a recommendation to General Bonaparte, who has just returned from Egypt. I shall give him to-day the promised sum and the recommendation, for he has honestly earned both, and faithfully assisted me in unmasking this woman. [Footnote: This spy was the famous Schulmeister, afterward Bonaparte’s most adroit and intrepid spy. He boasted of the role he had played at Kastadt, and which had brought him double pay; first from Count Lehrbach, whom he had informed that there were important papers in the hands of the French, and then from the French ambassadors, whom he had cautioned against Count Lehrbach, and given the advice to burn their papers and to be on their guard.] I received every morning a written report from him about every thing Madame Poutet had done during the previous day. All these reports are in this portfolio, and you will examine them, my friends. You will see from them that Madame Victoria, who had come to me in order to revenge herself upon Thugut, nevertheless kept up a good understanding with his most intimate friend, Count Lehrbach, for every night, as soon as I had left Victoria, the noble count repaired to her house and spent several hours with her, although Victoria had assured me Count Lehrbach did not even suspect her presence at Rastadt. However, there was a possibility that my spy was deceiving me just as well as he had deceived Madame de Poutet. In order to ascertain that, I informed Victoria one evening that a courier would set out for Paris in the morning, and forward to the Directory papers of the highest importance, concerning an alliance with Russia. We sent a courier to Paris in the morning, but not far from Rastadt he was arrested by Austrian hussars, robbed of his papers, and taken to the headquarters of the Austrian Colonel Barbaczy, at Gernsbach, although our courier was provided with a French passport and an official badge, enabling him fully to prove that he was in our service.” [Footnote: Historical.]
“This was an unheard-of violation of international law, for which we have vainly sought redress,” said Jean Debry, gloomily.
“These German cowards are not even courageous enough to acknowledge their own acts. They deny having robbed our courier, but they cannot deny having imprisoned him, contrary to international law.”
“Just as little as Victoria can deny that she was the person who had informed Lehrbach and Barbaczy of the courier’s departure,” said Bonnier; “for, fifteen minutes before setting out, the courier himself did not know any thing about his mission; and the dispatches, of course, were of the most harmless description. But my pretty lady-bird there had gone into the trap I had set for her, and I kept her in it without her knowing any thing about it. She was quite unsuspecting, and, thanks to my talents as a comedian, and to my love, I finally found out the real purpose of her visit to Rastadt. Yesterday I promised her to deliver to her to-day the papers that endanger Thugut’s position at the head of the Austrian government, and prove him to be a hireling of England. In the evening Count Lehrbach sent a courier to Vienna; then we retaliated, caused the courier to be arrested and took his papers from him. He had, however, only a small note, addressed to Minister Thugut. Here it is. It contains only the following words:”
‘I shall get the papers to-morrow.’
‘VICTORIA.’
“But these words were written by the beautiful hand of the same lady who latterly had penned so many tender love-letters to myself. I had promised her those papers if she would call for them to-day, and you see, my friends, that she has come. But I desired to know if this really was the only object for which Baron Thugut had sent his most beautiful and sagacious agent to Rastadt, or if there were not some secondary objects at the bottom of this mission. I therefore resolved to ascertain this to-day. My astute spy had told me that Madame de Poutet was also anxious to get hold of some other important papers. I therefore feigned to-day to have abstracted the wrong papers and to have brought here a portfolio containing our correspondence with the Prussian minister and documents in relation to an alliance between France and Prussia. I told my fair friend that the loss of these papers would ruin me irretrievably, and yet I was such a love-sick fool as to drop the portfolio with the papers while engaged in tenderly kissing my hand to my dulcinea. Look, gentlemen, the portfolio is yet lying on the floor, but the papers are no longer in it. They are carefully concealed in Madame Victoria’s pocket. Oh, it was a very pretty scene, when she stole them. I watched her through a small hole which I had bored through the door this morning, and through which I could plainly see every motion of my beautiful Victoria. Yes, my beautiful Victoria stole the papers, although she knew that this loss would seriously embarrass me. However, my friends, it will be unnecessary for the republic to punish me for this theft Madame de Poutet has committed, for the papers she has got in her pocket are nothing but the faithful diary of my daily intercourse with Victoria de Poutet. I have carefully noted in it every conversation I had with her, and every favor she granted to me, and I have no objection whatever to this diary being transmitted to Minister Thugut. If he is not jealous, he will not complain of it. And now I am through with my justification, and I ask you, did I not act as a good and faithful son of the republic should? Have I done my duty? Will the country be content with me?”
“Yes,” said Roberjot, solemnly, “you have acted as a good and faithful son of the republic. You have intrepidly followed the enemy who had approached you on secret paths, into his hiding-places, and you have skilfully exposed the perfidious intrigues he had carried on against France. You have done your duty.”
“Yes, the republic will thank you for your zeal,” exclaimed Jean Debry; “you have run great risks for her sake. For a beautiful, voluptuous, and intriguing woman is even more dangerous than a venomous serpent. Like St. Anthony, you have withstood the temptress by praying to our holy mother, the great French Republic! Yes, the country will be content with you.”
“I thank you, my friends,” said Bonnier, with a happy smile; “I now stand again before you with a clear conscience, and without a blush of shame on my cheeks. You have accepted my atonement. As for this woman, we will inflict no further punishment on her. She was only a tool in Thugut’s hands; that was all. This hour has punished her sufficiently, and our profound contempt shall be the only penalty she will take away with her.”
“Yes, our profound contempt shall be the penalty she will take with her,” exclaimed Roberjot and Jean Debry at the same time.
“There is nothing more disgraceful under the sun than a woman who sells her charms,” said Roberjot.
“There is nothing more dreadful and dishonorable than an ambitious and heartless wanton!” added Jean Debry, in a voice of profound disdain.
“Victoria de Poutet,” said Bonnier, throwing the pistol aside, “every thing between us was a comedy, even this pistol, the pretended bullet of which frightened and silenced you. It was not loaded. The comedy is now at an end, and there remains nothing for you but to go to your stage-manager and to tell him that you utterly failed in performing your part. You may go now; nothing further detains you here.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Victoria, in a perfectly calm and sonorous voice; “you forget that you put the key of the door into your pocket; go, therefore, and unlock it.”
She pointed at the door with an imperious gesture, and Bonnier went to unlock it. Victoria, remaining still erect and calm in her arm-chair, looked at him while he was doing so, and only when Bonnier had opened the door and returned to the table, she rose slowly from her seat.
Now she stood there, drawing herself up to her full height, her face glowing with indignation, a deep blush mantling her cheeks, a disdainful smile playing on the slightly parted lips, the expansive white forehead deeply wrinkled, as cold as marble, and yet concealing under this marble surface a torrent of molten lava, which, as soon as it should burst forth, could not but produce death and destruction. Hers was now a diabolic beauty, and when she turned her eyes toward the three republicans, they glistened like dagger-points.
“I have to make but a brief reply to M. Bonnier’s long speech,” she said, proudly and calmly. “This is my answer: I shall obtain those papers in spite of you, and I shall revenge myself for this hour! To your last high-sounding sentences, I answer by another sentence: there is nothing more dangerous than an irritated and insulted woman, for she will revenge herself and imbrue her hands in the blood of those who have insulted her. Roberjot, Bonnier, and Debry, you have insulted me, and I tell you I shall revenge myself. Before three times three days have passed, you will have atoned with your blood for this hour, and may God have mercy on your poor souls!”
She greeted all of them with a haughty nod, and slowly turning around, she proudly crossed the room. The three men looked at her with pale and gloomy faces, and a slight shudder pervaded for a moment the hearts of the republicans, usually so bold and undaunted.
“She looked like an evil demon predicting our future!” murmured Roberjot.
“She will fulfil her word; she will try to assassinate us,” said Bonnier. “Did you not see it? Her eyes were moist; no tears were glistening in them, however, only the venom she will discharge at us. Let us be on our guard!”
“Yes, let us beware of the serpent’s venom!” exclaimed Jean Debry, with gloomy energy--“let us beware, and most of all, let us be men who cannot be intimidated by the furious threats of a woman.”
But Jean Debry knew neither the energy nor the power of this woman whose threats he despised. He did not know that, her anger once aroused, she would not rest until she had taken her revenge. Late in the evening of that day, when all Rastadt was sleeping, Victoria received in her house her two powerful assistants, Count Lehrbach and Colonel Barbaczy, the latter having been invited by a mounted messenger to come to her from Gernsbach.
A long and portentous conference these three persons held in the course of that night, during which they consulted about the best way to punish the French ambassadors, and to take from them the papers which Thugut wished to obtain. “We must have those papers at any price,” exclaimed Victoria, with flashing eyes.
“Oh, it will only cost a little blood!” shouted Count Lehrbach, in a hollow voice, and laughing hoarsely. “These overbearing French have trampled us under foot for two long years, and tormented us by pricking us with pins. Now we will also trample them under foot and prick them, and if our pins are longer than theirs, who will complain?”
“Thugut wants those papers, and he has forgiven us in advance if they should be a little blood-stained,” said Victoria, looking up smilingly to old Colonel Barbaczy, who, with his hands folded on his back, his large shaggy eyebrows gloomily contracted, was slowly pacing the room.
“Barbaczy! Barbaczy!” he muttered, in a low voice, “what will the world say of your old head?” [Footnote: Barbaczy’s own words.--Vide “Uteransoher Lodiacus.” Edited by Theod. Mundt, 1835. Third number, p. 208]
“The world will not grudge these hot-blooded French a little blood-letting, and it will praise your surgical skill, my dear Barbaczy,” exclaimed Lehrbach, laughing. “The responsibility, besides, does not fall on your shoulders. Who will blame you if your hot-blooded hussars commit some excesses-some highway robberies? You do not order them to assassinate anybody; you only order them to take the papers from the ambassadors, and only to use force if it cannot be helped.”
“I shall send fifty hussars to the city to-morrow,” said Barbaczy, thoughtfully. “They shall encamp in front of the Ettlinger Gate, so that no one, whosoever it may be, will be able to cross the bridges connecting the city with the suburbs without passing through their ranks.”
Victoria approached him, and laying her hands on his shoulders, she looked up to him with a fascinating smile.
“And you will send some of your most intrepid hussars to Lehrbach and to me, that we may tell the brave men what rewards are in store for them if they perform their duly in a satisfactory manner? No, my beautiful god of war, do not shake your silvery locks BO wildly--do not threaten me with your frowning brow! Think of Gurgewo, my friend! Do you remember what you swore to me at that time in the trenches when I dressed with my own hands the wound for which you were indebted to a Turkish sabre? Do you remember that you swore to me at that time you would reciprocate my service as soon as it was in your power?”
“I know it, and I am ready to fulfil my oath,” said Barbaczy, heaving a sigh.
“Well, my friend, all I ask is this: send to-morrow six of your bravest and wildest hussars to my house, and order them faithfully to carry out what Count Lehrbach and I shall tell them.”
“The hussars shall halt at your door to-morrow morning at nine o’clock,” said Barbaczy, resolutely.
“And I will admit them!” exclaimed Victoria, smiling. “You will be here, Count Lehrbach, I suppose?”
“I shall be here in order to listen to the wise lessons which the goddess Victoria will teach the sons of Mars,” replied Lehrbach, fixing his small, squinting eyes with an admiring air on Victoria’s beautiful face. “You will need no other means but your smiles and your beauty in order to inspire those brave soldiers with the most dauntless heroism. Who would not be willing to shed a little French blood, if your lips should promise him a reward?”
“And what reward are you going to promise to the soldier?” asked Barbaczy, turning to Madame de Poutet. “What are you going to ask them to do?”
“Only to seize all the papers of the ambassadors,” said Victoria.
“And to examine their bodies if any papers should be concealed there,” added Count Lehrbach, laughing.
“And their reward shall be that the hussars will be allowed to look for some other spoils,” said Victoria.
“Highway robbery and murder, then,” sighed Barbaczy, “and perpetrated by soldiers of my regiment! Highway robbery and murder!”
“Fie, what ugly words those are! and who thinks of murder?” exclaimed Victoria. “Did we Germans die, then, of the numerous kicks and blows which the French have given us for the last few years? We will only return those kicks and blows, and the French will assuredly not be so thin-skinned as to die of them on the spot.”
“Do as you please,” sighed Barbaczy. “Count Lehrbach has the right to issue orders to myself and to my troops, and I owe you the fulfilment of my oath. My hussars will occupy the city to-morrow, and I shall order the French ambassadors to depart forthwith. What is to be done after their departure you may settle with the hussars I shall send to you. I shall take no notice of it.”
“And that is a very wise resolution of yours, colonel,” said Lehrbach. “‘To know too much gives us the headache,’ says our gracious emperor, whenever he returns the dispatches to Baron Thugut without having read them. Send us, then, your hussars to-morrow, and whatever may happen, colonel, we shall not betray each other.”
“No, we shall not betray each other!” repeated Victoria and Barbaczy, with uplifted hands.
“To-morrow, then!” said Victoria. “Now, good-night, gentlemen!”
XXIX. THE ASSASSINATION
Early on the next day a strange and exciting report pervaded the city of Rastadt. Austrian regiments were encamped all round the city, and Sczekler hussars held all the gates. This was the report which filled with astonishment and terror all those who were not initiated into the secrets of the political situation, and who were not familiar with the condition of the negotiations between France and Germany. For, by surrounding the city with troops, in spite of the presence of the French ambassadors, Austria openly violated the treaty stipulating that, until the congress had adjourned sine die, neither German nor French troops should approach the city within a circuit of three German miles.
It was reported, too--what the ambassadors as yet remaining in Rastadt had carefully concealed up to this time--that the imperial ambassador, Count Metternich, had quietly left the city several days before, and that the peace commissioners of the empire had the day previous suspended their official functions.
Congress had then dissolved; the peace commissioners of France and Germany had been in session for two years without accomplishing their task, and the situation looked as ominous and warlike as ever.
Every one resolved to depart; every trunk was being packed, every carriage drawn forth from its shed. The French actors and ballet-dancers had fled from Rastadt several weeks before at the first rude blast of the approaching storm, like rats leaving a sinking ship. The sounds of joy and mirth had died away, and everywhere only grave and gloomy words were heard, only sorrowful and downcast faces met.
Every one, as we stated above, was preparing to set out, and the French ambassadors, too, were going to leave Rastadt to-day, the twenty-eighth of April. Their carriages were ready for them early in the morning in the courtyard of the castle, when, all at once, some footmen of the embassy, with pale, frightened faces, rushed into the castle and reported that Austrian hussars were posted at the gates and refused to allow any one to leave or enter the city. Even the commander of Rastadt, an officer of the Duke of Baden, had not been permitted by the hussars to ride out of the gate. He had been compelled to return to his headquarters. [Footnote: Historical.--Vide “Geheime Geschichte der Rastatter Friedensverhandlungen in Verbinduog mit den Staatshandeln dieser Zeit.” Von einem Schweizer, part vi.]
“But we will not allow them to prevent us from leaving Rastadt,” said Roberjot, resolutely. “They will not dare to interfere with the departure of the representatives of the French Republic!”
“The republic would take bloody revenge for such an outrage, and these Germans are afraid of the anger of the republic!” exclaimed Jean Debry, haughtily.
Bonnier violently shook his black mane, and a gloomy cloud settled on his brow.
“Barbaczy’s hussars are encamped in front of the gates, and Victoria de Poutet last night had another interview with Lehrbach and Barbaczy,” he said. “If, like both of you, I had a wife and children with me, I should not dare to depart without further guaranties.”
At this moment the door opened, and a footman handed Roberjot a letter that had just arrived from the Prussian ambassador, Count Goertz.
Roberjot opened the letter and glanced over it. “The guaranties you referred to, Bonnier, will soon be here,” he said, smiling. “It seems the German ambassadors are sharing your apprehensions. They have drawn up a joint letter to Colonel Barbaczy, requiring him to give them a written pledge that there would be no interference with the free departure of the French ambassadors, and that the safety of the latter would not be endangered. Count Goertz, therefore, requests us not to set out until a written reply has been made to the letter of the ambassadors. Shall we delay our departure until then?”
“We will,” said Bonnier; “you will not derogate from your republican dignity by consulting the safety of your wives and children. I may say that, inasmuch as I have to take care of no one but myself, and as I know that no care would be of any avail in my case.”
“What do you mean, my friend?” asked Jean Debry.
“I mean that I shall die to-day,” said Bonnier, solemnly.
Roberjot turned pale. “Hush,” he whispered; “let us say nothing about this matter to the women. My wife had a bad dream last night; she saw me weltering in my gore and covered with wounds, and she asserts that her dreams are always fulfilled.”
“Roberjot, Bonnier, and Debry, may God have mercy on your poor souls!” muttered Bonnier, in a low voice.
“I do not believe in dreams!” said Jean Debry, with a loud, forced laugh, “and besides, my wife has had no bad dream whatever, and not been warned by fate. Come, let us go to our ladies who are already clad in their travelling-dresses. Let us tell them that we shall, perhaps, be compelled to wait a few hours.”
But several hours elapsed, and the messenger the German ambassadors had sent to Colonel Barbaczy’s headquarters did not return. Nearly all of the German ambassadors made their appearance at the castle in order to express to the representatives of the French republic their astonishment and profound indignation at this disrespectful delay, and to implore them not to set out until the message had arrived.
The French ambassadors themselves were undecided and gloomy; their ladies were pacing the rooms with sad faces and tearful eyes. Every one was in the most painful and anxious state of mind. The whole day passed in this manner, and night set in when finally the messenger whom the ambassadors had sent to Colonel Barbaczy, returned to Rastadt. But he did not bring the expected written reply of the colonel. In its place, an Austrian officer of hussars made his appearance; he repaired to the Prussian Count Goertz, at whose house the other ambassadors were assembled, and brought him a verbal reply from Count Barbaczy. The colonel excused himself for not sending a written answer, stating that a pressure of business prevented him from so doing. He at the same time assured the count and the ambassadors that the French ministers could safely depart, and that he would give them twenty-four hours for this purpose. [Footnote: Vide Dohm, nach seinem Wollen und Handeln, von Cronau, p. 600.]
The officer brought, however, an autograph letter from Barbaczy to the French ministers, and he repaired to the castle in order to deliver it to them.
This letter from Barbaczy contained the following lines:
“Ministers: You will understand that no French citizens can be tolerated within the positions occupied by the Austrian forces. You will not be surprised, therefore, that I am obliged to request you, ministers, to leave Rastadt within twenty-four hours.”
“Barbaczy, Colonel.”
“Gernsbach, April 28, 1799.” [Footnote: Dohm preserved a copy of this letter.--Ibid.]
“Well, what are we to do?” asked Roberjot, when the officer had left them.
“We will set out,” said Jean Debry, impetuously.
“Yes, we will set out,” exclaimed his beautiful young wife, encircling him with her arms. “The air here, it seems to me, smells of blood and murder; and every minute’s delay redoubles our danger.”
“Poor wife, did they infect you, too, already with their evil forebodings and dreams?” said Jean Debry, tenderly pressing his wife to his heart. “God forbid that they should endanger a single hair of your dear, beautiful head! I am not afraid for myself, but for the sake of my wife and of my two little daughters. For you and for our friends here I would like to choose the best and most prudent course.”
“Let us set out,” said Madame Roberjot; “the terrible dream last night was intended to give us warning. Death threatens us if we remain here any longer. Oh, my husband, I love nothing on earth but you alone; you are my love and my happiness! I would die of a broken heart if I should lose you! But no, no, not lose! We live and die together. He who kills you must also take my life!”
“They shall not kill us, my beloved,” said Roberjot, feelingly; “life, I trust, has many joys yet in store for us, and we will return to our country in order to seek them there. Bonnier, you alone are silent. Do not you believe also that we ought to set out to-night?”
Bonnier started up from his gloomy reverie. “Let us set out,” he said, “we must boldly confront the terrors from which we cannot escape. Let us set out.”
“Be it so!” shouted Roberjot and Jean Debry. “The republic will protect her faithful sons!”
“And may God protect us in His infinite mercy,” exclaimed Madame Roberjot, falling on her knees.
And Jean Debry’s wife knelt down by her side, drawing her little girls down with her.
“Let us pray, my children, for your father, for ourselves, and for our friends,” she said, folding the children’s hands.
While the women were praying, the men issued their last orders to the servants and to the postilions.
At length every thing was in readiness, and if they really wished to set out, it had to be done at once.
Roberjot and Jean Debry approached softly and with deep emotion their wives, who were kneeling and praying still, and raised them tenderly.
“Now be strong and courageous--be wives worthy of your husbands,” they whispered. “Dry your tears and come! The carriages are waiting for us. Come, come, France is waiting for us!”
“Or the grave!” muttered Bonnier, who accompanied the others to the courtyard where the carriages were standing.
The ambassadors with their wives and attendants had finally taken seats in the carriages. Roberjot and his wife occupied the first carriage; Bonnier, the second; Jean Debry with his wife and daughters, the third; in the fourth, fifth, and sixth were the secretaries of legation, the clerks and servants of the ambassadors.
The last coach-door was closed; a profound momentary silence succeeded the noise and turmoil that had prevailed up to this time. Then the loud, ringing voice of Roberjot asked from the first carriage, “All ready?”
“All ready!” was the reply from the other carriages.
“Then let us start,” shouted Roberjot, and his carriage immediately commenced moving. The other five carriages followed slowly and heavily.
The night was chilly and dark. The sky was covered with heavy clouds. Not the faintest trace of the moon, not a star was visible. In order that they might not lose their way, and see the bridge across the Rhine, a man, bearing a torch, had to precede the carriages. But the gale moved the flame so violently that it now seemed near going out, and then again flared up and cast a glare over the long procession of the carriages. Then every thing once more became dark and gloomy and ominously still.
The torch-bearer, preceding the foremost carriage, vigorously marched ahead on the road. All at once it seemed to him as though black figures were emerging from both sides of the highway and softly flitting past him. But assuredly he must have been mistaken; it could not have been any thing but the shadows of the trees standing on both sides of the road.
No, now he saw it again, quite plainly. The shadows were horsemen, softly riding along on both sides of the highway. He raised his torch and looked at the horsemen. There was quite a cavalcade of them. Now they crossed the ditch and took position across the road, thus preventing the carriages from passing on. The torch-bearer stood still and turned around in order to shout to the postilions to halt. But only an inarticulated, shrill cry escaped from his throat, for at the same moment two of the horsemen galloped up and struck at him with their flashing swords. He parried the strokes with his torch, his only weapon, so that one of the swords did not hit him at all, while the other only slightly touched his shoulder.
“What is the matter?” shouted Roberjot, in an angry voice, from the first carriage.
The horsemen seized the arms of the torch-bearer and dragged him toward the carriage. “Light!” they shouted to him, and quite a squad of merry horsemen was now coming up behind them. When they dashed past the torch, the frightened torch-bearer was able to see their wild, bearded faces, their flashing eyes, and the silver lace on their uniforms.
The torch betrayed the secret of the night, and caused the Sczekler hussars of Barbaczy’s regiment to be recognized.
They now surrounded the first carriage, shouting furiously, and shattering the windows with their sabres.
“Minister Roberjot! Are you Minister Roberjot?” asked a dozen wild, howling voices.
Roberjot’s grave and threatening face, illuminated by the glare of the torch, appeared immediately in the aperture of the window. “Yes, I am Roberjot,” he said, loudly; “I am the ambassador of France, and here is the passport furnished me by the ambassador of the Elector of Mentz.”
He exhibited the paper, but the hussars took no notice of it; four vigorous arms dragged Roberjot from the carriage, and before he had time to stretch out his hand toward his pistols, the sabres of the hussars fell down upon his head and shoulders.
A terrible yell was heard, but it was not Roberjot who had uttered it; it was his wife, who appeared with pale and distorted features in the coach door, hastening to her beloved husband, to save him or to die with him.
But two stout arms kept her back--the arms of the valet de chambre who, perceiving that his master was hopelessly lost, wanted to protect at least his mistress from the murderous sabres of the hussars.
“Let me go, let me go; I will die with him!” she cried; but the faithful servant would not loosen his hold, and, unable to reach her husband, she had to witness his assassination by the hussars, who cut him with their sabres until he lay weltering in his gore.
“He is dead!” shrieked his wife, and her wail aroused Roberjot once more from his stupor. He opened his eyes and looked once more at his wife.
“Sauvez! sauvez!” he shouted, in a voice full of anguish. “Oh!--”
“What! not dead yet?” roared the hussars, and they struck him again.
Now he was dying. That loud, awful death-rattle was his last life-struggle. The valet de chambre in order to prevent her from hearing that awful sound, with his hands closed the ears of his mistress, who, petrified with horror, was looking at her dying husband.
But she did not hear it; she had fainted in the servant’s arms. At this moment a heavy hand was laid on his shoulder, and the wild, bearded face of a hussar stared at him.
“Footman?” asked the hussar, in his broken Hungarian dialect. “Yes, footman!” said the valet de chambre, in broken German.
The hussar smilingly patted his shoulder, and, with his other hand, pulled the watch from his vest-pocket, kindly saying to him, “Footman, stay here. No harm will befall him!” He then bent forward, and with a quick grasp, tore the watch and chain from the neck of Roberjot’s fainting wife.
His task was now accomplished, and he galloped to the second carriage, to which the other hussars had just dragged the torch-bearer, and which they had completely surrounded.
“Bonnier, alight!” howled the hussars, furiously--“Bonnier, alight!”
“Here I am!” said Bonnier, opening the coach door; “here--” They did not give him time to finish the sentence. They dragged him from the carriage, and struck him numerous blows amidst loud laughter and yells. Bonnier did not defend himself; he did not parry a single one of their strokes; without uttering a cry or a groan, he sank to the ground. His dying lips only whispered a single word. That word was, “Victoria!”
The six hussars who crowded around him now stopped in their murderous work. They saw that Bonnier was dead--really dead--and that their task was accomplished. Now commenced the appropriation of the spoils, the reward that had been promised to them. Four of them rushed toward the carriage in order to search it and to take out all papers, valuables, and trunks; the two others searched and undressed the warm corpse of Bonnier with practised hands.
Then the six hussars rushed after their comrades toward the third carriage--toward Jean Debry. But the others had already outstripped them. They had dragged Debry, his wife, and his daughters from the carriage; they were robbing and searching the lady and the children, and cutting Jean Debry with their sabres.
He dropped to the ground; his respiration ceased, and a convulsive shudder passed through the bloody figure, and then it lay cold and motionless in the road.
“Dead! dead!” shouted the hussars, triumphantly. “The three men are killed; now for the spoils! The carriages are ours, with every thing in them! Come, let us search the fourth carriage. We will kill no more; we will only seize the spoils!”
And all were shouting and exulting, “Ho for the spoils! for the spoils! Every thing is ours!” And the wild crowd rushed forward, and Jean Debry lay motionless, a bleeding corpse by the side of the carriage.
Profound darkness enveloped the scene of horror and carnage. The torch had gone out; no human eye beheld the corpses with their gaping wounds. The ladies had been taken into the carriages by their servants; the hussars were engaged in plundering the three remaining carriages, the inmates of which, however, forewarned in time by the shrieks and groans that had reached them from the scene of Roberjot’s assassination, had left and fled across the marshy meadows to the wall of the castle garden. Climbing over it and hastening through the garden, they reached the city and spread everywhere the terrible tidings of the assassination of the ambassadors.
XXX. JEAN DEBRY
As soon as the report of the dreadful occurrence had been circulated, a dense crowd gathered in the streets of Rastadt, and for the first time for two years the ambassadors of all the German powers were animated by one and the same idea, and acting in concord and harmony. They repaired in a solemn procession to the Ettlinger gate, headed by Count Goertz and Baron Dohm; the others followed in pairs, Count Lehrbach, the Austrian ambassador, being the only one who had not joined the procession. But the guard at the gate refused to let them pass, and when they had finally succeeded, after long and tedious negotiations, in being permitted to leave the city, they were met outside of the gate by the Austrian Captain Burkhard and his hussars.
Count Goertz went to meet him with intrepid courage. “Did you hear that an infamous murder has been perpetrated on the French ambassadors not far from the city?”
“I have heard of it,” said the captain, shrugging his shoulders.
“And what steps have you taken in order to save the unfortunate victims, if possible?”
“I have sent an officer and two hussars for the purpose of ascertaining the particulars.”
“That is not sufficient, sir!” exclaimed Count Goertz. “You must do more than that, you must strain every nerve on this occasion, for this is not an ordinary murder, but your honor, sir, is at stake, as well as the honor of your monarch and the honor of the German nation!”
“The honor of the German nation is at stake,” shouted the ambassadors, unanimously. “Our honor has been sullied by the assassination!”
But the captain remained cold and indifferent. “It is a deplorable misunderstanding,” he said. “It is true, the patrols were going the rounds at night, and such things may occur at this time. The French ministers should not have set out by night. The crime has been committed, and who is to blame for it? It was not done by anybody’s order.” [Footnote: The literal reply of Captain Burkhard.--Vide “Report of the German Ambassadors concerning the Assassination of the French Ministers near Rastadt.”]
“Who would deem it possible that such an outrage should have been committed by order of any commanding officer?” exclaimed Count Goertz, indignantly.
“Ah, yes, an outrage indeed!” said Burkhard, shrugging his shoulders. “A few ambassadors have been killed. A few of our generals, too, were killed during the last few years.”[Footnote: Ibid.]
Count Goertz turned to the other ambassadors with an air of profound indignation. “You see,” he said, “we need not hope for much assistance here; let us seek it elsewhere. Let some of us repair in person to Colonel Barbaczy’s headquarters at Gernsbach, while the rest of us will go to the spot where the murders were committed. If the captain here declines giving us an escort for that purpose, we shall repair thither without one; and if we should lose our lives by so doing, Germany will know how to avenge us!”
“I will give you an escort,” said Burkhard, somewhat abashed by the energetic bearing of the count.
While the ambassadors were negotiating with the captain at the Ettlinger gate, the hussars were incessantly engaged in plundering the six carriages. After finishing the first three carriages, they ordered the ladies and servants to reenter them and to await quietly and silently what further would be done in relation to them. No one dared to offer any resistance--no one was strong enough to oppose them. Dismay had perfectly paralyzed and stupefied all of them. Madame Debry lay in her carriage with open, tearless eyes, and neither the lamentations nor the kisses of her daughters were able to arouse her from her stupor. Madame Roberjot was wringing her hands, and amidst heart-rending sobs she was wailing all the time, “They have hacked him to pieces before my eyes!” [Footnote: “I ls l’ont hache devant mes yeux!”--Lodiacus, vol. iii., p. 195.]
No one paid any attention to the corpses lying with their gaping wounds in the adjoining ditch. Night alone covered them with its black pall; night alone saw that Jean Debry all at once commenced stirring slightly, that he opened his eyes and raised his head in order to find out what was going on around him. With the courage of despair he had been playing the role of a motionless corpse as long as the hussars were in his neighborhood; and now that he no longer heard any noise in his vicinity, it was time for him to think of saving himself.
He remained in a sitting position in the ditch and listened. His head was so heavy that he had not sufficient strength to hold it erect, it dropped again upon his breast; from a burning, painful wound the blood was running over his face into his mouth, and it was the only cooling draught for his parched lips. He wanted to raise his arm in order to close this wound and to stanch the blood, but the arm fell down by his side, heavy and lame, and he then felt that it was likewise severely injured.
And yet, bleeding and hacked as he was, he was alive, and it was time for him to think of preserving his life. For over yonder, in the carriage, there resounded the wail of his children, and the lamentations of his servants. His wife’s voice, however, he did not hear. Was she not there? Had she also been assassinated?
He dared not inquire for her at this moment. He had to save himself, and he was determined to do it.
He arose slowly, and heedless of the pain it caused him. Every thing around him remained silent. No one had seen him rise; night with its black pall protected him. It protected him now as he walked a few steps toward the forest, closely adjoining the highway. At length he reached the forest, and the shades of darkness and of the woods covered the tall, black form that now disappeared in the thicket.
But his enemies might be lurking for him in this thicket. Every step forward might involve him in fresh dangers. Exhausted and in despair, Jean Debry supported his tottering body against a tree, the sturdy trunk of which he encircled with his arms. This tree was now his only protector, the only friend on whom he could rely. To this tree alone he determined to intrust his life.
Heedless of his wounded arm and the racking pains of his other injuries, Jean Debry climbed the knotty trunk; seizing a large branch, he raised himself from bough to bough. A few birds, aroused from their slumbers, arose from the foliage and flitted away. Jean Debry followed them with his eyes, and whispered, “You will not betray me!”
On the highest bough, in the densest foliage, he sat down, gasping with exhaustion, and groaning with pain. In his utter prostration after the extraordinary effort he had just made, he leaned his head against the trunk of the tree, the dense branches of which closely enveloped him, and gave a roof to his head and a resting-place to his feet.
“Here I am safe--here no one will look for me!” he muttered, and he fell asleep, prostrated by his sufferings and loss of blood.
Night with its dark mantle covered him up and fanned his feverish brow with its cooling air: the foliage of the tree laid itself soft and fresh around his burning cheeks, and delightful dreams descended from heaven to comfort this poor, tormented human soul.
After several hours of invigorating sleep, Jean Debry was awakened, not, however, by the rude hands of men, but heaven itself aroused him by the torrents of a heavy shower.
Oh, how refreshing were these cold drops for his parched lips! How gently did this soft and tepid water wash the blood and dust from his wounds! How delightfully did it bathe his poor benumbed limbs!
He felt greatly invigorated, and courageously determined to make further efforts for the preservation of his life. He slowly glided down from the tree and stood once more on the ground.
The shower was constantly on the increase, and the rain became now, at daybreak, Jean Debry’s protector. When men forsake their poor, tormented fellow-beings, Nature takes pity on them and encircles them with her saving and protecting maternal arms.
The rain protected Jean Debry; it washed the dust and blood from his garments, and made him resemble the other men who had gathered in a large crowd on the road, not far from where he emerged from the forest. All of them were looking with pale faces and expressions of unbounded horror at some objects lying in their midst. What was it that rendered this crowd, generally so noisy and turbulent, to-day so silent and grave?
Jean Debry penetrated further into their midst, and he discovered now with a shudder what riveted the attention of the vast gathering on the road.
He beheld the bloody and mutilated corpses of his two friends--the dead bodies of Roberjot and Bonnier.
Jean Debry closely compressed his lips in order to keep back the cry that forced itself from his breast; with the whole energy of his will he suppressed the tears that started from his eyes, and he turned away in order to return to Rastadt.
The rain protected Jean Debry. The rain had driven the soldiers at the gate into the guard-room, and the sentinel into the sentry-box. No one took any notice of this wet and dripping man when he entered the gate.
He quietly walked up the street, directly toward the house inhabited by Count Goertz, the Prussian ambassador. He entered the house with firm steps, and hastened into the anteroom which, as he formerly used to do, he wanted to cross in order to walk to the count’s room without sending in his name.
But the footmen kept him back; they refused to admit this pale man with the lacerated face and tattered clothes to their master’s private room.
“Don’t you know me any longer, my friends?” he asked, sadly. “Am I so disfigured that no one of you is able to recognize Jean Debry?”
The footmen now recognized his voice, and the valet de chambre hastened to open the door of the count’s study, and to shout, in a loud voice, “His excellency, the French ambassador Debry!”
Count Goertz uttered a joyful cry, and hastily rose from the sofa on which, exhausted by the efforts of the terrible night, he had sought a little rest.
Jean Debry entered the room. He made a truly lamentable appearance as he approached the count, and fixed his dimmed, bloodshot eyes upon him with an expression of unutterable anguish.
“Are my wife and children safe?” he asked, breathlessly.
“Yes, they are safe!” exclaimed the count.
And Jean Debry, the austere republican, the scoffing infidel, Jean Debry fell upon his knees! Lifting up his arms toward heaven, his eyes filled with tears, he exclaimed: “Divine Providence, if I have hitherto refused to acknowledge thy benefits, oh, forgive me!” [Footnote: He exclaimed: “Divine providence, si j’ai meconnu tes bien faits jusqu’ici, pardonne!”--Lodiacus, iii., p. 195.]
“And punish those who have perpetrated this horrible crime!” added Count Goertz, folding his hands, and uttering a fervent prayer. “O God, reveal the authors of this misdeed; let us find those who have committed this outrage, lest it may remain a bloody stigma on the fame of our country! Have mercy on poor Germany, on whose brow this mark of infamy is now burning, and who will be obliged to pour out rivers of her best blood in order to atone for this crime, and to clear her sullied honor! Have mercy on all of us, and give us courage to bravo the storms which this horrible event will assuredly call down! Have mercy, O God; punish only the assassins, but not our native land!”
This prayer of Count Goertz was not fulfilled. The real instigators of the murder were never detected and punished, although the Austrian court, in a public manifesto to the German nation, promised a searching investigation of the whole affair, and a rigorous chastisement of the assassins. But the investigation was but a very superficial proceeding, and its results were never published. The Sczekler hussars publicly sold, on the following day, the watches, snuff-boxes, and valuables they had stolen from the French ambassadors. Some of them even acknowledged openly that they had perpetrated the murder, at the instigation of their officers. But nobody thought of arresting them, or calling them to account for their crime. It is true, after a while some of them were imprisoned and tried. But the proceedings instituted against them were never published, although the Austrian court had expressly promised to lay the minutes of the commission trying the prisoners, and the results of the whole investigation, before the public. In reality, however, the Austrian authorities tried to hush up the whole affair, so that the world might forget it. And it was forgotten, and remained unpunished. In diplomatic circles, however, the real instigators of the outrage were well known. “It was,” says the author of the “Memoirs of a German Statesman” (Count Schlitz), “it was a man who, owing to his exalted position, played a very prominent part at Rastadt; not a very noble one, however. He was actuated by vindictiveness, and he was determined to seize the most secret papers of the ambassadors at any price. The general archives, however, had been forwarded to Strasburg several days before. He had found willing tools in the brutal hussars. These wretches believed that what a man of high standing asked them to do was agreeable to the will of their imperial master. Baseness is easily able to mislead stupidity, and soldiers thus became the assassins of unarmed men, who stood under the sacred protection of international law.”
The excitement and indignation produced by this horrible crime were general throughout Europe, and every one recognized in it the bloody seeds of a time of horrors and untold evils; every one was satisfied that France would take bloody revenge for the assassination of her ambassadors. In fact, as soon as the tidings from Rastadt penetrated beyond the Rhine, there arose throughout the whole of France a terrible cry of rage and revenge. The intelligence reached Mentz in the evening, when the theatre was densely crowded. The commander ordered the news to be read from the stage, and the furious public shouted, “Vengeance! vengeance! et la mort aux Allemands!” [Footnote: “Vengeance! vengeance! and death to the Germans!”]
In Paris, solemn obsequies were performed for the murdered ambassadors. The seats which Bonnier and Roberjot had formerly occupied in the hall of the Corps Legislatif were covered with their bloody garments. When the roll was called and their names were read, the president rose and replied solemnly: “Assassinated at Rastadt!” The clerks then exclaimed: “May their blood be brought home to the authors of their murder!”
XXXI. THE COALITION
Count Haugwitz, the Prussian minister of foreign affairs, had just returned from a journey he had made with the young king to Westphalia. In his dusty travelling-costume, and notwithstanding his exhaustion after the fatigues of the trip, as soon as he had entered his study, he had hastily written two letters, and then handed them to his footman, ordering him to forward them at once to their address, to the ambassadors of Prussia and England. Only then he had thrown himself on his bed, but issued strict orders to awaken him as soon as the two ambassadors had entered the house.
Scarcely an hour had elapsed when the footman awakened the count, informing him that the two ambassadors had just arrived at the same time, and were waiting for him in the small reception-room.
The minister hastily rose from his couch, and without devoting a single glance to his toilet and to his somewhat dishevelled wig, he crossed his study and entered the reception-room, where Lord Grenville and Count Panin were waiting for him.
“Gentlemen,” said the count after a hurried bow, “be kind enough to look at my toilet, and then I hope you will excuse me for daring to request you to call upon me, instead of coming to you as I ought to have done. But you see I have not even doffed my travelling habit, and it would not have behooved me to call on you in such a costume; but the intelligence I desire to communicate is of such importance that I wished to lose no time in order to lay it before you, and hence I took the liberty of inviting you to see me.”
“As far as I am concerned, I willingly accepted your invitation,” said Lord Grenville, deliberately, “for in times like these we can well afford to disregard the requirements of etiquette.”
“That I was no less eager to follow your call,” said Count Panin, with a courteous smile, “you have seen from the fact that I arrived at the same time with the distinguished ambassador of Great Britain. But now, gentlemen, a truce to compliments; let us come to the point directly, and without any further circumlocution. For the six months that I have been here at Berlin, in order to negotiate with Prussia about the coalition question, I have been so incessantly put off with empty phrases, that I am heartily tired of that diet and long for more substantial food.”
“Your longing will be gratified to-day, Count Panin,” said Count Haugwitz, with a proud smile, inviting the gentlemen, by a polite gesture, to take seats on the sofa, while he sat down in an arm-chair opposite them. “Yes, you will find to-day a good and nourishing diet, and I hope you will be content with the cook who has prepared it for you. I may say that I am that cook, and believe me, gentlemen, the task of preparing that food for you has not been a very easy one.”
“You have induced the King of Prussia at length to join the coalition, and to enter into an alliance with Russia, England, and Austria against the French Republic?” asked Count Panin, joyfully.
“You have told his majesty that England is ready to pay large subsidies as soon as Prussia leads her army into the field against France?” asked Lord Grenville.
“Gentlemen,” said Count Haugwitz, in a slightly sarcastic tone, “I feel greatly flattered by your impetuous inquiries, for they prove to me how highly you value an alliance with Prussia. Permit me, however, to communicate to you quietly and composedly the whole course of negotiations. You know that I had the honor of accompanying my royal master on his trip to our Westphalian possessions, where his majesty was going to review an army of sixty thousand men.”
“It would have been better to send these sixty thousand men directly into the field, instead of losing time by useless parades,” muttered Count Panin.
The minister seemed not to have heard the words, and continued: “His majesty established his headquarters at Peterhagen, and there we were informed that Archduke Charles of Austria was holding the Rhine against Bernadotte and Jourdan, and that the imperial army, under the command of Kray, in Italy, had been victorious, too; it is true, however, the Russian auxiliary army, under Field-Marshal Suwarrow, had greatly facilitated Kray’s successful operations. This intelligence did not fail to make a powerful impression upon my young king, and I confess upon myself too. Hitherto, you know, I had always opposed to a war against France, and I had deemed it most expedient for Prussia to avoid hostilities against the republic. But the brilliant achievements of Russia and Austria in Italy, and the victories of Archduke Charles on the Rhine, seem to prove at length that the lucky star of France is paling, and that it would be advantageous for Prussia openly to join the adversaries of the republic in their attack.”
“A very bold and magnanimous resolution,” said Count Panin, with a sarcastic smile.
“A resolution influenced somewhat by the British subsidies I have promised to Prussia, I suppose?” asked Lord Grenville.
“Let me finish my statement, gentlemen,” said Count Haugwitz, courteously. “The king, undecided as to the course he ought to pursue, assembled at Paterhagen a council of war, our great commander, Ferdinand, duke of Brunswick, of course, having been invited to be present. His majesty requested us to state honestly and sincerely whether we were in favor of war or peace with France. The duke of Brunswick was, of course, the first speaker who replied to the king; he voted for war. He gave his reasons in a fiery and energetic speech, and demonstrated to the king that at a time when England was about to send an army to Holland, an advance into Holland by our own army would be highly successful. For my part, I unconditionally assented to the duke’s opinion, and Baron Kockeritz declaring for it likewise, the king did not hesitate any longer, but took a great and bold resolution. He ordered the Duke of Brunswick to draw up a memorial, stating in extenso why Prussia ought to participate in the war against France, and to send in at the same time a detailed plan of the campaign. He instructed me to return forthwith to Berlin, and while he would continue his journey to Wesel, to hasten to the capital for the purpose of informing you, gentlemen, that the king will join the coalition, and of settling with you the particulars--”
At this moment the door of the reception-room was hastily opened, and the first secretary of the minister made his appearance.
“Pardon me, your excellency, for disturbing you,” he said, handing a sealed letter to the count, “but a courier has just arrived from the king’s headquarters with an autograph letter from his majesty. He had orders to deliver this letter immediately to your excellency, because it contained intelligence of the highest importance.”
“Tell the courier that the orders of his majesty have been carried out,” said Count Haugwitz; “and you, gentlemen, I am sure you will permit me to open this letter from my king in your presence. It may contain some important particulars in relation to our new alliance.”
The two gentlemen assured him of their consent, and Count Haugwitz opened the letter. When he commenced reading it, his face was as unruffled as ever, but his features gradually assumed a graver expression, and the smile disappeared from his lips.
The two ambassadors, who were closely watching the count’s countenance, could not fail to notice this rapid change in his features, and their faces now assumed likewise a gloomier air.
Count Haugwitz, however, seemed unable to master the contents of the royal letter; he constantly read it anew, as though he were seeking in its words for a hidden and mysterious meaning. He was so absorbed in the perusal of the letter that he had apparently become entirely oblivious of the presence of the two gentlemen, until a slight coughing of the English ambassador aroused him from his musing.
“Pardon me, gentlemen,” he said, hastily, and in evident embarrassment; “this letter contains some intelligence which greatly astonishes me.”
“I hope it will not interfere with the accession of Prussia to the coalition?” said Panin, fixing his eyes upon the countenance of the minister.
“Not at all,” said Count Haugwitz, quickly and smilingly. “The extraordinary news is this: his majesty the king will reach Berlin within this hour, and orders me to repair to him at once.”
“The king returns to Berlin!” exclaimed Count Panin.
“And did not your excellency tell us just now that the king had set out for Wesel?” asked Lord Grenville, with his usual stoical equanimity.
“I informed you, gentlemen, of what occurred two weeks ago,” said Count Haugwitz, shrugging his shoulders.
“What! Two weeks ago? Nevertheless, your excellency has just arrived at Berlin, and are wearing yet your travelling-habit?”
“That is very true. I left Minden two weeks ago, but the impassable condition of the roads compelled me to travel with snail-like slowness. My carriage every day stuck in an ocean of mire, so that I had to send for men from the adjoining villages in order to set it going again. The axle-tree broke twice, and I was obliged to remain several day in the most forsaken little country towns until I succeeded in getting my carriage repaired.”
“The king seems to have found better roads,” said Count Panin, with a lurking glance. “The journey to Wesel has been a very rapid one, at all events.”
“The king, it seems, has given up that journey and concluded on the road to return to the capital,” said Count Haugwitz, in an embarrassed manner.
“It would be very deplorable if the king should as rapidly change his mind in relation to his other resolutions!” exclaimed Lord Grenville.
“Your excellency does not fear, then, lest this sudden return of the king should have any connection with our plans?” asked Panin. “The king has authorized you to negotiate with the English ambassador, Sir Thomas Grenville, and with myself, the representative of the Emperor Paul, of Russia, about forming an alliance for the purpose of driving the rapacious, revolutionary, and bloodthirsty French Republic beyond the Rhine, and restoring tranquillity to menaced Europe?”
“It is true the king gave me such authority two weeks ago,” said Count Haugwitz, uneasily, “and I doubt not for a single moment that his majesty is now adhering to this opinion. But you comprehend, gentlemen, that I must now hasten to wait on the returning king, in order to receive further instructions from him.”
“That means, Count Haugwitz, that you have invited us to call on you in order to tell us that we may go again?” asked Panin, frowning.
“I am in despair, gentlemen, at this unfortunate coincidence,” said Count Haugwitz, anxiously. “It is, however, impossible for me now to enter into further explanations. I must repair immediately to the palace, and I humbly beg your pardon for this unexpected interruption of our conference.”
“I accept your apology as sincerely as it was offered, and have the honor to bid you farewell,” said Panin, bowing and turning toward the door.
Count Haugwitz hastened to accompany him. When he arrived at the door, and was about to leave the room, Count Panin turned around once more.
“Count Haugwitz,” he said, in a blunt voice, “be kind enough to call the attention of the king to the fact that my imperial master, who is very fond of resolute men and measures, prefers an open and resolute enemy to a neutral and irresolute friend. He who wants to be no one’s enemy and everybody’s friend, will soon find out that he has no friends whatever, and that no one thanks him for not committing himself in any direction. It is better after all to have a neighbor with whom we are living in open enmity, than one on whose assistance we are never able to depend, and who, whenever we are at war with a third power, contents himself with doing nothing at all and assisting no one. Be kind enough to say that to his majesty.”
He bowed haughtily, and entered the anteroom with a sullen face.
Count Haugwitz turned around and met the stern, cold glance of the English ambassador, who was also approaching the door with slow and measured steps.
“Count Haugwitz,” said Lord Grenville quietly, “I have the honor to tell you that, in case the King of Prussia will not now, distinctly and unmistakably, declare his intention of joining the coalition between Russia, Austria, and England, we shall use the subsidies we had promised to pay to Prussia for an army of twenty-five thousand men, in some other way. Besides, I beg you to remind his majesty of the words of his great ancestor, the Elector Frederick William. That brave and great sovereign said: ‘I have learned already what it means to be neutral. One may have obtained the best terms, and, in spite of them, will be badly treated. Hence I have sworn never to be neutral again, and it would hurt my conscience to act in a different manner.’ [Footnote: Hausser’s “History of Germany,” vol. ii., p. 281.] I have the honor, count, to bid you farewell.”
And Lord Grenville passed the count with a stiff bow, and disappeared in the door of the anteroom.
Count Haugwitz heaved a profound sigh, and wiped off the perspiration pearling in large drops on his brow. He then took the king’s letter from his side-pocket and perused it once more. “It is the king’s handwriting,” he said, shaking his head, “and it is also his peculiar laconic style.” And, as if to satisfy himself by hearing the contents of the letter, he read aloud:
“Do not enter into any negotiations with the ambassadors of Russia and Great Britain. We will hold another council of war. I am on my way to Berlin. Within an hour after receipt of these lines, I shall expect to see you in my cabinet. Yours, affectionately,”
“Frederick William.”
“Yes, yes, the king has written that,” said Haugwitz, folding the letter; “I must hastily dress, therefore, and repair to the palace. I am anxious to know whence this new wind is blowing, and who has succeeded in persuading the king to change his mind. Should my old friend, Kockeritz, after all, be favorable to France? It would have been better for him to inform me confidentially, and we might have easily agreed; for I am by no means hostile to France, and I am quite ready to vote for peace, if there be a chance to maintain it. Or should the young king really have come to this conclusion without being influenced by anybody? Why, that would be a dangerous innovation! We should take quick and decisive steps against it. Well, we will see! I will go and dress.”
XXXII. THE FRIEND OF PEACE
The king, with his wonted punctuality, had reached Berlin precisely at the specified time, and when Count Haugwitz arrived at the palace he was immediately conducted to the king, who was waiting for him in his cabinet.
Count Haugwitz exchanged a rapid glance with Baron Kockeritz, who was standing in a bay window, and then approached the king, who was pacing the room with slow steps and a gloomy air.
He nodded to the minister, and silently continued his promenade across the room for some time after his arrival. He then stepped to his desk, which was covered with papers and documents, and sitting down on a plain cane chair in front of it, he invited the gentlemen to take seats by his side.
“The courier reached you in time, I suppose?” he said, turning to Count Haugwitz.
“Your majesty, your royal letter reached me while holding a conference with the ambassadors of Russia and Great Britain, and just when I was about to inform them of your majesty’s resolution to join the coalition.”
“You had not done so, then?” asked the king, hastily. “It was your first conference, then?”
“Yes, your majesty, it was our first conference. I invited the ambassadors immediately after my return to call on me.”
“It took you, then, two weeks to travel from Minden to Berlin!”
“Yes, your majesty, two weeks.”
“And yet these gentlemen are in favor of an advance of the army!” exclaimed the king, vehemently. “Yes, if all of my soldiers were encamped directly on the frontier of Holland and had their base of supplies there! But in order to send a sufficient army to Holland, I should have to withdraw a portion of my soldiers from the provinces of Silesia and Prussia. They would have to march across Westphalia, across the same Westphalia where it took you with your carriage two weeks to travel from Minden to Berlin. And my soldiers have no other carriages but their feet. They would stick in that dreadful mire by hundreds and thousands; they would perish there of hunger, and that march would cost me more men than a great, decisive battle. I had given you my word that I would join the coalition, Count Haugwitz; I had even authorized you to negotiate with the ambassadors of Russia and Great Britain, but on the road to Wesel I was obliged to change my mind. Ask Baron Kockeritz what we had to suffer on the first day of our journey, and how far we had got after twelve hours’ travelling.”
“Yes, indeed, it was a terrible trip,” said General von Kockeritz, heaving a sigh. “In spite of the precautions of the coachman, his majesty’s carriage was upset five times in a single day, and finally it stuck so firmly in the mud that we had to send for assistance to the neighboring villages in order to set it going once more. We were twelve hours on the road, and made only three German miles during that time.”
“And we had to stop over night in a miserable village, where we scarcely found a bed to rest our bruised and worn-out limbs,” said the king, indignantly. “And I should expose my army to such fatigues and sufferings! I should, heedless of all consideration of humanity, and solely in obedience to political expediency, suffer them to perish in those endless marshes, that would destroy the artillery and the horses of the cavalry. And all that for what purpose? In order to drag Prussia violently into a war which might be avoided by prudence and by a sagacious reserve; in order to hasten to the assistance of other powers not even threatened by France, and only in return to draw upon ourselves her wrath and enmity!”
“But at the same time the sympathies of all Europe,” said General von Kockeritz, eagerly. “Your majesty has permitted me to speak my mind at all times openly and honestly, and I must therefore persist in what I previously said to you. Now or never is the time for Prussia to give up her neutrality, and to assume a decided attitude. France has placed herself in antagonism with all law and order, and with all treaties consecrated by centuries of faithful observance; she is threatening all monarchies and dynasties, and is trying to win over the nations to her republican ideas. And at the head of this French Republic there is a young general, whose glory is filling the whole world, who has attached victory to his colors, and who intoxicates the nations by his republican phrases of liberty and fraternity, so that, in their mad joy, they overturn thrones, expel their sovereigns, and awake them from their ecstasy under the republican yoke of France. Your majesty, I believe it to be the duty of every prince to preserve his people from such errors, and, jointly with his people, to raise a bulwark against the evil designs of France. Austria and Russia have already begun this holy task; their heroic armies have driven back on all sides the hosts of the overbearing French, who have been compelled to abandon their conquests in Italy and Switzerland. If your majesty should join England, occupy Holland, restore that country to its legitimate sovereign, and menace the northern frontier of France, while Austria is menacing her southern frontier, the arrogance of the republic would be tamed, the overflowing torrent would be forced back into its natural bed, and Europe would have at last peace and tranquillity.”
“First of all, every one ought to think of himself,” said the king, sharply. “Prussia has hitherto enjoyed peace and tranquillity, and I believe it to be my principal task to preserve these blessings to my country. I am no ruler hankering after glory and honors; I do not want to make any conquests, nor to acquire any new territory, but I will content myself with the humble renown of having fulfilled my duties as a ruler to the best of my ability, and according to the dictates of my conviction, as the father and friend of my people. Hence I have not dared to identify my name with that of my great ancestor, Frederick the Second, and call myself Frederick the Third, for a name imposes obligations, and I know very well that I am no hero and genius, like Frederick the Great. I assumed, therefore, the name of Frederick William, as the successor of my peaceable father, Frederick William the Second. It is true, Frederick William the Second has waged a war against France, but precisely that war has satisfied me that a war with France may involve Prussia in the greatest dangers and calamities. I participated in the campaign of 1792, gentlemen, and I must honestly confess that I feel little inclination to resume a war which, at best, will only produce sacrifices for us, and no reward whatever.”
“There is a reward, however, your majesty,” said Count Haugwitz, solemnly. “It is the preservation of the thrones, and of monarchical principles. We cannot fail to perceive that the thrones are being menaced, and those republics of America, France, and Italy are teaching the nations very dangerous lessons--the lessons of self-government and popular sovereignty. That insatiable General Bonaparte has attached these two words to his colors, and if the princes do not combat him with united strength, and try to take those colors from him, he will soon carry them into the midst of all nations, who will rapturously hail him, and desire to follow the example of France.”
“I have no fears for myself,” said the king, calmly; “but even if I should be so unfortunate as to be obliged to doubt the love and fidelity of my people, the thought of my personal safety and of the fate of my dynasty ought not to exert a decisive influence upon my resolutions concerning the welfare of my country. I told you before, I want to be the father of my country; a good father always thinks first of the welfare of his children, and tries to promote it; only when he has succeeded in doing so he thinks of himself.”
“A good father ought to strive, first of all, to preserve himself to his children,” exclaimed Count Haugwitz. “An orphan people is as unfortunate as are orphan children. Your people need you, sire; they need a wise and gentle hand to direct them.”
“And yet you want to put the sword in my hand, and that I should lead my people to war and carnage,” said the king.
“In order to make peace bloom forth from war and carnage,” said Count Haugwitz, gravely. “The bloody monster of war is stalking now through the whole world, and, as it cannot be avoided, it is better to attack it, and to confront it in a bold manner. Russia, Austria, and England are ready to do so, and they stretch out their hands toward you. Refuse to grasp them, and, for the doubtful and dangerous friendship of France, you will have gained three powerful enemies.”
“And if I grasp their hands I shall not advance the interests of Prussia by shedding the blood of my people, but only those of Austria and Russia,” replied the king. “If France should be greatly weakened, or even entirely annihilated, serious dangers would arise for Prussia, for Austria and Russia would unite in that case, for the purpose of menacing our own security. They would easily and quickly find compensations for themselves, and Austria especially would profit by the losses of France; for she would recover the Netherlands, which Prussia is to conquer now by the blood of her soldiers, and acquire, perhaps, even Bavaria. But what compensation would fall to the share of Prussia? Or do you believe, perhaps, Austria, from a feeling of gratitude toward us, would cede to Prussia a portion of her former hereditary possessions in the Netherlands? No, no--no war with France! Let Russia and Austria fight alone; they are strong enough for it. I say all this after mature deliberation, and this is not only my opinion, but also that of distinguished and experienced generals. General von Tempelhof, too, is of my opinion, and confirmed it in a memorial which I asked him to draw up for me.”
“Your majesty requested the Duke of Brunswick, also, to write a memorial on the intended coalition against France,” said General von Kockeritz, hastily. “On our arrival I received this memorial and read it, according to your majesty’s orders. The duke persists in the opinion that it is necessary for the honor, glory, and safety of Prussia to join the coalition, and to oppose France in a determined manner. Your majesty, I must confess that I share the view maintained by the duke.”
“So do I!” exclaimed Count Haugwitz, “and so do all your subjects. Sire, your whole people ardently desire to chastise this arrogant France, and to sweep these hosts of Jacobins from the soil of Germany. Oh, my king and lord, only make a trial, only raise your voice and call upon the people to rally around your standards, and to wage war against France! You will see them rally enthusiastically around the Prussian eagles and fervently bless their courageous king. And when you begin this struggle, sire, you and your army will have a formidable, an invincible ally. That ally is PUBLIC OPINION, sire! Public opinion requires this war, and public opinion is no longer something dumb and creeping in the dark, but something that has a voice, and that raises it in ringing, thundering notes in the newspaper and magazine. One of these voices spoke a few weeks ago in the Political Journal, as follows: ‘Can our monarch abandon the German empire? Can he look on quietly while France is making preparations for attacking Prussia as soon as her turn shall come? It is only necessary for us to think of Italy, Switzerland, and Holland in order to appreciate the friendship of France.’ [Footnote: “Political Journal.” Berlin, 1798.] This voice has re-echoed throughout Prussia, and everyone is looking up to the throne of your majesty anxiously and hopefully; every one is satisfied that you will draw the sword for the honor and rights of Germany. Sire, at this moment I am nothing but the voice of your people, and therefore I implore your majesty to take a bold and manful resolution. Draw the sword for Prussia’s honor and Germany’s safety.”
“I implore your majesty likewise to do so,” exclaimed General von Kockeritz. “I dare to implore your majesty, in the name of your people. Oh, sire, take a bold and manly resolution! Draw the sword for Prussia’s honor and Germany’s safety.”
The king had risen and paced the room with violent steps. His features, usually so quiet and gentle, were not uneasy and agitated; a gloomy cloud covered his brow, and a painful expression trembled on his lips. He seemed to carry on a violent and desperate inward struggle, and his breath issued painfully and gaspingly from his breast. Finally, after a long pause, he approached the two gentlemen who had risen and were looking at him with evident anxiety.
“I am unable to refute all these reasons,” said the king, sighing, “but an inward voice tells me that I ought not to break my word, and commence hostilities. If the welfare of the state requires it, however, I shall join the coalition, but only on condition that the Austrians attack Mentz in force, take the fortress by assault, and thereby cover the left flank of my base of operations. [Footnote: The king’s own words.--Vide “Memoiren zur Geschichte des Preuss. Staats.” By Col. Massenbach. Vol iii., p. 88.] And now we will close our consultation for to-day. Go, Count Haugwitz, and resume your negotiations with the ambassadors of Russia and Great Britain. As for you, General von Kockeritz, I beg you to bring me the memorial of the Duke of Brunswick, and then you may return to your house and take some rest, of which you doubtless stand greatly in need after the fatigues you have undergone.”
He greeted the gentlemen with a hasty nod and turned his back to them, without paying any attention to the deep and reverential bows with which the minister and the general withdrew toward the door.
When the two gentlemen had reached the anteroom, they satisfied themselves by a rapid glance that they were alone, and that nobody was able to hear them.
“He was quite angry,” whispered General von Kockeritz; “he only yielded with the utmost reluctance; and, believe me, my friend, the king will never forgive us this victory we have obtained over him; it may produce the worst results and endanger our whole position.”
“It is true,” said Count Haugwitz, sighing, “the king dismissed us in a more abrupt and harsh manner than ever before. It would have been better for us to yield, and let the king have his own way. Who knows but he is right, and an alliance with France, perhaps, would be more advantageous than this coalition with Austria and Russia? It startles me somewhat that Austria should be so anxious to obtain the accession of Prussia to the coalition, for Austria certainly would feel no inclination to propose any alliance that might prove profitable to Prussia. It may be best for Prussia, after all, to side with France.”
“But public opinion would execrate such an alliance,” said General von Kockeritz, sighing. “Public opinion--”
“My dear friend,” interrupted Count Haugwitz, angrily, “public opinion is like the wind, changing its direction every day. Success alone influences and decides public opinion, and if France should vanquish the three powers, the same public opinion which now urges us to join the coalition would condemn us. Public opinion should not induce us to endanger our position and our power over the king for its sake. And I tell you, I am uneasy about this matter. The king was greatly irritated; he seemed angry with us, because he felt that he is not entirely free and independent, and that he has granted us some power over his decisions.”
“We should yield even now,” said General von Kockeritz, anxiously. “We should confess to the king that his reasons have convinced us, that we have been mistaken--”
“So that he would feel with twofold force that not his own free will, but our altered opinion, decided his action?” asked the minister. “No, we must give the king a chance to decide the whole question by his own untrammelled authority, and to prove that he alone is the ruler of Prussia’s destinies. You can give him the best opportunity for so doing, for you have a pretext to return to him at once. Did not the king order you to bring him the memorial of the Duke of Brunswick?”
“Good Heaven! that is true; the king is waiting for the memorial!” exclaimed the general, in terror. “In my anxiety, I even forgot his orders.”
“Hasten, my friend, to bring it at once to him,” said Count Haugwitz, “and with your leave I shall take a little rest in the room which the king has been kind enough to assign to you here in the palace. He will perhaps countermand the instructions he has just given me.”
A few minutes afterward General von Kockeritz, with the memorial in his hands, reentered the cabinet of the king, who was still slowly pacing the room, without noticing the arrival of his adviser.
“Your majesty,” said the general, timidly, “here is the memorial of Ferdinand, duke of Brunswick.”
“Just lay it on my desk there,” said the king, continuing his promenade.
General von Kockeritz stepped to the desk and placed the memorial on it. Just at that moment the king had arrived at the desk too, and paused in front of the general. He fixed a long and mournful glance upon him and slowly shook his head.
“You have deserted me also,” said the king, sighing. “You may be right, gentlemen. I have yielded to your more profound sagacity for the time being, but an inward voice tells me that it is wrong to break the peace because France at the present time is being threatened on all sides, and because her armies have been defeated.”
“Your majesty alone has to decide the whole question,” said Kockeritz, solemnly. “Your conviction is our law, and we submit in dutiful obedience to your majesty’s more profound sagacity. It is for you to command, and for us to obey.”
A sudden gleam beamed in the eyes of the king, and a deeper blush mantled his cheeks. The general saw it, and comprehended it very well.
“Moreover,” he added, with downcast eyes and with an air of confusion, “moreover, I have to make a confession to your majesty in my own name and in that of Count Haugwitz. While trying to win your majesty by our arguments for the war and for the coalition, it has happened to us that we were converted by the arguments your majesty adduced against the war and against the coalition, and that your majesty convinced us of the fallacy of our opinion. It is, perhaps, very humiliating to admit that our conviction has veered around so suddenly, but your majesty’s convincing eloquence--”
“No, not my poor eloquence, but the truth has convinced you,” exclaimed the king, joyfully, “and I thank you for having the truly manly and noble courage to admit that you were mistaken and have changed your mind. I am grateful to Count Haugwitz, too, and I shall never forget this generous and highly honorable confession of yours. It is a new proof for me that you are faithful and reliable friends and servants of mine, men who are not ashamed of acknowledging an error, and who care more for the welfare of the state than for carrying their own point. I therefore withdraw my previous instructions. I shall not join the coalition. Hasten to Haugwitz, my friend. Tell him to go forthwith to the Russian ambassador and inform him that my army will not assist the forces of the coalition, and that I shall take no part whatever in the war against France. Haugwitz is to say the same to the English ambassador, and to inform him that I shall not claim the subsidy of six million dollars, which England offered to pay me for my auxiliary army. Six million dollars! I believe General Tempelhof was right when he said the siege of a second-rate fortress would cost a million dollars, and in Holland we should have to take more than ten fortresses from the stubborn and intrepid French. This would cost as more than ten million dollars, and, moreover, we should have to use up the powder and ammunition destined for our own defence. Those six million dollars that England would pay me would not cover our outlay; I should be obliged to add four million dollars more, and to shed the blood of my brave and excellent soldiers without obtaining, perhaps, even the slightest advantage for Prussia. Hasten, general, to communicate my fixed and irrevocable resolution to Count Haugwitz. Prussia remains neutral, and takes no part whatever in the war against France!”
“I hasten to carry out your majesty’s orders,” exclaimed General von Kockeritz, walking toward the door, “and I know that Count Haugwitz will submit to the royal decision with the same joyful humility and obedience as myself.”
The king’s eyes followed him with an expression of genuine emotion.
“He is a faithful and honest friend,” he said, “and that is, indeed, a rare boon for a king. Ah, I have succeeded, then, in averting this bloody thunder-cloud, once more from Prussia, and I shall preserve the blessings of peace to my people. And now, I believe, I may claim some credit for the manner in which I have managed this delicate affair, and repose a little from the cares of government. I will go to Louisa--her sight and the smiles of my children will reward me for having done my duty as a king.”