BOOK VI.



CHAPTER XLIV.

THE WAR WITH AUSTRIA.

Napoleon, in ill-humor, was pacing his cabinet, while Minister Champagny was standing at the large desk, covered with papers and maps, where he was engaged in folding and arranging several documents.

"They are bent on having war, those insolent Austrians," said Napoleon, after a pause, "and they want it now, because they believe that I am not prepared for it. What an unheard-of presumption, to arrest my couriers, and take their papers from them! And now that I am taking reprisals—that I on my part have issued orders to arrest their couriers on all highways, and in all cities, and to take their papers from them, the Austrians are raising a hue-and-cry about the violation of international law; and if war should break out, the blame, as usual, will be laid at my door!" He paused, but added immediately:

"I wished to remain at peace with Germany for the present, for I have enough to do with those wretched Spaniards, who are rising against my troops like a vast band of guerillas. But that is just what is giving the Austrians courage. They believe me to be weakened, isolated, and unable to wage war with any other power, and hence the cowards take heart, and think they can obtain spoils from the lion. But, patience! the lion retains his former strength and vigor, and will finally destroy his enemies. Champagny, I suppose you have already sent the Austrian ambassador his passports?"

"Yes, sire, Count Metternich has departed with all the members of his legation."

"Very well; let him go to Vienna and announce my speedy arrival to the Emperor Francis," exclaimed Napoleon, impatiently.

"Sire, Count Metternich will meet the emperor no longer in Vienna," said Champagny calmly.

"No longer in Vienna!" exclaimed Napoleon, laughing scornfully. "Does Francis II. suspect already that I am about to come, and has he taken to his heels even before I have left Paris?"

"No, sire; it seems, on the contrary, that the Emperor Francis intends to put himself at the head of his troops."

Napoleon burst into a loud laugh. "The Austrians, then, believe my soldiers to be sparrows, and think they can drive them out by setting up a scarecrow! If the Emperor Francis himself intends to command, he will command the army only to retreat, for the word 'forward' is not to be found in his dictionary. Have you looked over the dispatches from Germany, and can you report to me what they contain?"

"I am ready, sire," said Champagny, glancing at the papers.

"Then commence," ordered the emperor, sitting down, and taking from the table a penknife, with which he whittled the back of the chair.

"The four corps of the Austrian army, with the two reserve corps, moved on the first of April toward the frontier of Bavaria," said Champagny.

"As soon as they cross the Inn and enter the territory of my ally, war will break out," exclaimed Napoleon. "Proceed!"

"On the evening of the 9th of April, the Archduke Charles and his brother, the emperor, arrived with the army at Linz. Thence he sent one of his adjutants to the King of Bavaria, to whom was to be delivered an autograph letter, in which the archduke announced to the king that he had received orders to advance, and would regard and treat as enemies all that would resist his progress, no matter whether they were German or foreign troops."

"Why, that is a regular declaration of war," said the emperor, piercing the velvet cushion of the chair with his penknife.

"Yes, sire, it is," said Champagny, taking up another paper. "We have received, moreover, a copy of the war manifesto which the Emperor of Austria has published in the Vienna Court Gazette, and which was drawn up by Gentz, the well-known pamphleteer."

"Gentz!" ejaculated Napoleon. "Do not those warlike Austrians see that that is their death-knell, and that it is a bad omen for them that Gentz had to blow the war-trumpet? Is it not the same Gentz who drew up the high-sounding manifesto for the King of Prussia, previous to the battle of Jena?"

"Yes, sire, the same."

"Well, that was in 1806; the six has been transformed into a nine—that is all the difference," exclaimed Napoleon. "Every thing else has remained unchanged. I suppose the same language of self-reliance, of a wounded sense of honor, and of noble patriotism, is to be found in the manifesto of 1809 as in that of 1806? Oh, I know it! Those Germans ever remain the same; they always believe their cause just; they always want peace, and find war, without any fault of theirs. Those Austrians have irritated me for about a year past; they have secretly armed during that time. The busier they believed me to be in Spain, the more energetically they continued their preparations; and whenever I had them questioned about their motives and objects, they made evasive and unsatisfactory replies. The natural consequence of all this was, that I moved my troops toward the German frontier; that Davoust, Lannes, and Massena, with three corps, had to approach Austria, and hold themselves in readiness to cross its boundaries when the Austrians enter Bavarian territory; and that, finally, I issued orders to the princes of the Confederation of the Rhine to place their federal quota on a war-footing, and prepare for the outbreak of hostilities. No sooner had this been done, than the Austrians arrested my courier contrary to international law, and compelled me to retaliate. Nevertheless, I suppose, they are entirely innocent now, and the manifesto of the Emperor Francis proves clearly that France, by her incessant insults and encroachments, by her insatiable thirst after new territories, and by her boundless ambition, compelled Austria to take up arms. Is it not so?"

"Yes, sire, it is so. There are at the conclusion of this manifesto words and ideas that are almost identical with those your majesty uttered just now."

"Read this conclusion," said Napoleon, leaning back in his chair.

Champagny read: "The Emperor Francis will never deem himself authorized to meddle with the domestic affairs of foreign states, or to arrogate to himself a controlling influence on their system of government, on their legislative and administrative affairs, or on the development of their military strength. He demands a just reciprocity. Far from being actuated by motives of ambition or jealousy, the emperor will envy no other sovereign his greatness, his glory, his legitimate influence; the exclusive assumption of such advantages alone is the source of general apprehensions and the germ of everlasting wars. Not France, in the preservation and welfare of which his majesty will always take the liveliest interest, but the uninterrupted extension of a system which, under the name of the French Empire, acknowledges no other law in Europe than its own, has brought about the present confusion; it will be removed, and all the wishes of his majesty will be fulfilled, when that exclusive system will be replaced by one of moderation, self-restraint, the reciprocal independence of all the states, respect for the rights of every power, the sacred observance of treaties, and the supremacy of peace. Then alone can the Austrian monarchy and the whole political fabric of Europe be maintained in a prosperous condition."

"Enough!" exclaimed Napoleon, rising from his chair, and throwing the penknife into a distant corner of the room. "I shall pay Austria for this insolence, and there will be a day when the Emperor Francis and his scribbler Gentz will repent of this miserable pamphlet! I will have to treat the former as I have treated the kings of Naples and Spain. The house of the Hapsburgs must cease to reign. Or, if in my patience, I should allow the imperial throne of Austria to exist further under their rule, it shall not be occupied by this dull and obstinate man, but by his brother, the Elector of Wuerzburg![43] But woe to this M. Gentz, who has dared to irritate me anew! Once already I gave orders to arrest and punish him. He succeeded in making his escape. My police will be more cautious this time. When I have made my entry into Vienna, I shall remember M. Gentz! Ah, somebody is coming!"

[Footnote 43: After Napoleon had made his entry into Vienna, he really requested the Emperor Francis to abdicate in favor of the latter's brother. The battle of Aspern prevented this plan from being carried into effect.]

The door opened, and one of the imperial adjutants entered.

"Sire," he said, handing a sealed letter to Napoleon, "the director of the Paris telegraph-office has just brought this."

"At last!" exclaimed Napoleon, seizing the letter, and then motioning him to leave the room.

"At last!" he repeated, breaking the seal. His eyes passed over the paper with an expression of uncontrollable impatience. His countenance brightened, and a faint blush came to his cheeks. He raised his eyes toward the minister. "Champagny," he said, in a joyful voice, "war has commenced; the Austrians have crossed the Inn and invaded the states of my ally the King of Bavaria. The decisive moment is at hand. I shall set out this very night. To-day is the 12th of April; on the 17th I shall be at Donauwoerth and put myself at the head of my army. Now let us go to work and make our dispositions.—What is the matter now?"

The door opened again, and the court-marshal appeared on the threshold to announce dinner.

Napoleon cast a hasty glance at the clock. "Indeed, it is six o'clock!" he exclaimed. "But I cannot go yet. Have every thing kept in readiness. Tell the empress I wish she would wait for me in the dining-room. I will soon be with her. Send for the Prince de Benevento and the Duke d'Otranto. I want to see them immediately. Now come, Champagny," he said, when the court-marshal had withdrawn; "let us go to work. We have a great many things to attend to, and there is but little time left, for, as I told you before, I will set out this very night."

Fifteen minutes afterward Talleyrand and Fouche entered the cabinet agreeably to the emperor's orders. They found him amid his maps, on which he marched the various armies by means of the colored pins which Champagny handed to him.

"Gentlemen," exclaimed Napoleon, saluting the newcomers, "the Austrians have commenced war; come hither and see!"

In the mean time the empress, according to the wishes of her consort, had repaired with her ladies of honor to the dining-room, and waited for the arrival of Napoleon. The dishes had already been served up; for, owing to the hasty manner in which the emperor liked to dine, the various courses could not successively be brought from the kitchen, but had to be placed on the table before dinner commenced. A number of silver warming-vessels, filled with hot water, always stood on the imperial table. Only the roast chicken, which every day made the last course, and was one of the emperor's favorite dishes, had remained in the kitchen; it was still turning on the spit, and waiting for the moment when it was to be carried up. But this moment was delayed an unusually long time to-day. The first chicken had long ago been replaced by a second, a third, and a fourth, and this one had been roasting so much that it was tough and juiceless. It had not yet been called for. The waiters returned from time to time into the kitchen for boiling water, to fill anew the silver vessels on which the dishes were kept warm.

"If that goes on in the same manner we shall depopulate the whole poultry-yard," grumbled the chief cook, ordering a fresh half-dozen of young chickens to be brought in and prepared for roasting.

The emperor did not come. The clock struck seven, eight, nine, and ten, and Napoleon had not yet made his appearance in the dining-room. But this long delay did not cause the least impatience or anger to appear on the face of the empress; not for a single moment did she lose her temper. Graceful and gay, she conversed with her cavaliers and ladies of honor, and her eyes but occasionally glanced at the door by which Napoleon had to enter.

At last the emperor appeared. He walked toward the empress with a hasty nod, and offering her his hand to conduct her to the table, he said: "I believe it is a little late. I have kept you waiting, I suppose?"

Josephine laughed. "The question is rather naive, my friend," she said; "I have been waiting ever since six o'clock, and it is now past eleven."

"Ah, that is late, indeed," said the emperor abstractedly. "I thought I had already dined; Champagny, however, reminded me that this was not the case. Well, Josephine, let us eat!" And he commenced eating the soup which the grand-marshal placed before him.

Thanks to the warming-vessels, the dishes had remained palatable; but the chief cook, when the gratifying announcement was made that the emperor had at length made his appearance, had just ordered the twenty-third chicken to be put on the spit for the purpose of having a juicy and freshly-roasted wing in readiness.

The emperor, who was very reticent and abstracted, took his dinner even more rapidly than usual, and no sooner had he finished than he rose impetuously from his chair and left the table. Without addressing a word to the empress, he walked across the room.

Josephine gazed after him with a long and mournful look, and her face was sad. "He is cruel," she muttered to herself. "After waiting so many hours, he has scarcely a word for me, and leaves me without salutation!"

But when Napoleon was near the door, he turned round and walked hastily toward the empress. "Good-night, my dear Josephine," he said, giving his hand to her. "It is already late—near midnight—retire. We shall not meet again to-day; farewell, and au revoir!"

He nodded to her, and then left the room for his cabinet. On arriving there, he bolted the small door leading into the corridor, and thence into the apartments of the empress, calling in a loud voice, "Constant!" The valet de chambre entered immediately. "Constant!" said the emperor, "come hither close to me, and listen. You will quickly set in order my travelling-coach, so that I shall be able to set out in an hour. Roustan and you will accompany me—no one else. But you must not say a word about my departure. I want it to be known at the Tuileries, as well as in Paris, to-morrow only, that I have left the capital, and it is of the highest importance that it should remain a secret until then. Do you understand me? And now make haste! In an hour every thing must be ready!"

Constant bowed in silence and withdrew. "Yes, yes," he murmured, while hastily passing on, "I understood the emperor very well. His departure is to remain a secret; that is to say, especially for the empress. Ah! the poor, good empress! How she will weep when she hears to-morrow that the emperor has again set out without her! Formerly he always took her with him; she had to share the triumphs and troubles of the journey; but now she must stay at home. Poor Josephine! she is so good, and loves him intensely! But I must obey the emperor's order. I cannot tell her any thing! I cannot, but it would be no fault of mine if some one else should! Ah! a good idea strikes me! The empress had the gold travelling-case of the emperor brought to her yesterday in order to have one like it made for the viceroy of Italy. I must go immediately and get it from her maid, and she is fortunately tenderly devoted to the empress!"



CHAPTER XLV.

JOSEPHINE'S FAREWELL.

The empress in the mean time had returned to her rooms, sad and absorbed in her reflections. She had dismissed her ladies of honor; only her mistress of ceremonies, Madame de Remusat, was still with her, and her maids were in the adjoining room to await her orders until she retired.

No sooner had Josephine reached her room than she sat down slowly and abstractedly, and, throwing back her head, fixed her eyes on the ceiling. An expression of profound grief was visible in her features, and darkened the shade with which age was veiling her countenance. When smiling, Josephine was still a graceful and fascinating woman, but when melancholy it was but too plainly to be seen that her charms were fading, and neither the flattering rouge nor the skill of the artist could conceal this fact.

Josephine's brow was now often clouded, and her youthful beauty was fast losing its charms. Gloomy forebodings were constantly passing over her heart; she felt that she was standing as on the brink of a precipice, and that the days of her happiness were numbered. She awoke every morning in terror, for before the evening she might be cast into an abyss of sorrow—removed from the Tuileries and the side of her husband—replaced by another, a younger woman, the daughter of an ancient sovereign house, who was to become the wife of Napoleon and the mother of his sons. Josephine knew that the brothers and sisters of the emperor were constantly importuning him to disown his childless wife, and to secure his throne and dynasty, as well as their own, by choosing another consort giving an heir to his crown. She knew that Talleyrand was representing this to him daily as a political necessity, without which his empire and his greatness would be endangered. She knew also that Napoleon no longer, as formerly, closed his ears against these insinuations, but, eagerly listening, held them in serious consideration.

Josephine was aware of all this, and sat in her room a prey to well-grounded suspicion and sorrowful presentiments.

Madame de Remusat looked at her awhile, sighing and in silence; she now softly approached the empress, and, taking her hand, said in an affectionate voice, "Your majesty ought to retire! You need sleep; it is long past midnight, and your eyes are weary."

"Not from waking—from weeping, my dear Remusat," said the empress, pressing the hand of her confidante. "But you are right, I will retire. In sleep we forget our grief. Remusat, in my dreams I always see Napoleon as affectionate, as loving as he ever was—in my dreams he loves me still and looks at me, not with the stern eyes of the emperor, but of a tender husband. When I awake, Remusat, his fine face still before my mind, and remember that his love is now gone and lost forever—oh, then a sword seems to pierce my heart, and I shed scalding tears in spite of myself! And yet I will retire. He commanded me, and I will obey."

"How discouraged your majesty is again to-day!" said Madame de Remusat, sighing. "Still it seems to me there is less cause than ever. The emperor was more cordial and affectionate than usual. He was evidently abstracted, and occupied with important plans, and yet he returned; his expression was unusually gentle, and his voice trembled when he bade farewell to your majesty."

"But why did he bid me farewell?" exclaimed the empress. "This is what fills me with anxiety. Heretofore he only said to me, 'Good-night!' and, 'we shall meet again to-morrow, Josephine!' But to-day he said. 'Farewell, and au revoir!' Remusat, there was a hidden meaning in these words. Something unusual is to happen, for the emperor never took leave of me in this manner. 'Au revoir!' You never say that to one whom you meet again in the morning. It means assuredly something! But you are right—I need repose, for my limbs are trembling, and my head is burning, as if I had fever! Call my maids!"

Josephine sighed deeply, and rose to be undressed. She was so absorbed in her reflections that she, who always addressed a pleasant word to her servants, did not apparently notice their presence. In silence she allowed her jewels to be removed, which Madame de Remusat carefully put away into their caskets; in silence she suffered herself to be divested of her blue satin dress, embroidered with silver, and her white satin underskirt, without observing that her first maid was absent. When her wrapper was brought by the second maid, she noticed that the first was not present.

"Where is Dufour?" she asked, hesitatingly.

"Your majesty, she has just been called out to attend to something urgently required by his majesty the emperor," said the second maid, approaching the empress.

But Josephine pushed her back. "To attend to something urgently required by the emperor?" she asked, breathlessly. "What does that mean? Ah, there is Dufour! What could have detained her?" And she rushed toward her and grasped her hand.

"Dufour, where have you been? What is the matter?"

"Your majesty, Constant wished to see me. I beg pardon for coming so late, but it was something very urgent."

"Urgent! There is the same word again," exclaimed Josephine. "What was it that was 'urgent?'"

"Your majesty, M. Constant wanted the golden travelling-case of the emperor, which your majesty showed to the jeweller to-day. As it was in my keeping, he applied to me for it."

"Well, could he not wait until to-morrow?" asked the empress.

"No, your majesty, for the emperor needs the travelling-case, and at once."

Josephine uttered a cry. "He is about to depart! Oh, I feel he is going to leave me!" she exclaimed, almost beside herself. And without reflecting and hesitating, regardless of the fact that she was undressed, her shoulders bare, and her feet incased in small slippers of crimson velvet—forgetful of every thing but the distracting thought that the emperor was leaving her, without even a farewell, she ran across the room toward the door.

Vainly did Madame de Remusat try to detain her. Josephine pushed her aside, opened the door, and ran out. Breathless, bathed in tears, her dishevelled locks streaming in the air, she hastened through the rooms and magnificent halls in which she was accustomed to appear in a gorgeous toilet, and receive the homage of princes. On crossing the threshold of the first reception-room she lost one of her slippers; but this modern Atalanta did not know it as she rushed along the corridor and down the stairs. Having reached the palace-yard, she found that she was not mistaken—there stood the emperor's travelling-carriage. Roustan and Constant were waiting in front of it, but she passed them before they knew what had happened. Trembling and weeping, she sat down in the carriage.

The emperor at that moment entered the palace-yard, while the two servants were still standing near, speechless, and as if paralyzed with terror. He took no notice of them, and ascending the steps of the carriage beheld the strange white figure within.

"What is that?" exclaimed the emperor, standing still. "Who is there?"

"It is I," exclaimed the empress, in a suppliant voice. "I, Josephine! You wished to depart again without me, Bonaparte; but I will not suffer you; I will cling to you! I cannot leave you!"

She threw her arms around his neck, but Napoleon pushed her back. "You are a fool, Josephine!" he said, angrily. "This is childish; you ridiculously retard my departure. I do not wish to hear any more! Be kind enough to leave the carriage! It is necessary that I set out immediately."

"But, Bonaparte, you cannot be in earnest," cried Josephine, sobbing aloud. "Have mercy on me! Do not drive me from you! I tell you, you must use violence to remove me! Oh, have pity on me—on my poor, painful heart, and let me go along with you! Remember that you promised me the other day that I should accompany you on your next journey. Oh, Bonaparte, keep your word! Keep your word only this time! Have pity on me, and let me accompany you!" She covered his lips and cheeks with her kisses and tears. Napoleon's heart seemed to be softened, for he involuntarily raised his arms and wound them around Josephine's neck. "How cold you are!" he exclaimed. "And your shoulders are bare! What does this mean?"

"It means," said the empress, half laughing, half weeping, "that I was just about retiring when—when I heard the carriage drive up to the door. My heart told me that you intended to leave me, and that I would not have time to dress if I wished to see you, and therefore I came at once."

"And indeed you were right; if you had come a minute later, I would certainly have been gone."

The emperor entered the carriage, closed the door, and shouted in a powerful voice out of the window: "Have every thing the empress needs for her toilet sent to the first station, that she may find it on her arrival. Order the mistress of ceremonies to set out immediately with her majesty's ladies of honor. They must be at Strasburg on the 18th. Forward!"

Josephine uttered a joyous cry, and sat down on the emperor's knees, pressing his head with her arms against her bosom. He laughed, and did not resist her. Roustan and Constant ascended, and the carriage started.

"Bonaparte, thanks! a thousand thanks!" whispered the empress. "Never shall I forget this hour, for it proves to me that you still love your poor Josephine, or that at least you pity her!"

"Oh, you know full well, traitress, that I cannot withstand your tears," said Napoleon, half angrily, half smilingly. "But you are almost naked!"

"Yes, I am naked, as it behooves a beggar-woman who begs for love at the palace-gate," said the empress, smiling. "I hope, my emperor and lord will give me something to cover my nakedness."

"Here is what you want, you impulsive beggar!" exclaimed Napoleon, throwing the sable robe, which the Emperor Alexander had presented to him, over her shoulders, and wrapping it carefully around her.

"Accept my thanks!" exclaimed Josephine, laughing; "I will wear it as a token of your kindness."

"You will not," quickly replied Napoleon. "I merely lend it to you until our arrival at the next station, where, I hope, we shall meet a courier with your wardrobe."

"But he will not be able to overtake us there, Bonaparte, and you will have to leave me the robe for some time yet."

"No; he will travel faster on horseback than we in our carriage. I would have no objection to the robe myself, for the night is cold!"

"It is cold; come, I will let you have part of it," wrapping it around the emperor, and clinging closely to him. Napoleon laughed, and winding his arms around the slender waist of Josephine, pressed her to his breast. She laid her wearied head silently on his shoulder. The carriage continued the journey without interruption, and, exhausted by her previous excitement, she closed her eyes and slept.

Suddenly the voice of the emperor aroused her. They had reached the first station; it was already daylight. The municipal officers of the small town were standing in front of the post-office to present their respects. A man, mounted on a horse covered with foam, was near them. It was the courier who had brought the wardrobe of the empress.

"There is your luggage," said the emperor, pointing smilingly at a small leather trunk which had been placed on the back seat. "The empress has set out as a travelling adventurer!"

"Yes, you are right," exclaimed Josephine. "It is just like a fairy-story. Some poor, disowned princess is met on her journey by a handsome son of a king, who takes her in his arms, gives her magnificent dresses, and marries her. I thank you, my friend, and now I will attend to my toilet."

"I hope not here in the carriage?" asked Napoleon, in surprise.

"We shall have the trunk carried into the house; I believe the postmaster has a room where you can dress, and a servant-girl who can assist you."

"But, Bonaparte," exclaimed Josephine, "do you not see that that is impossible? It is daylight; is, then, the carriage to open and the empress to alight with one slipper on her feet, to be triumphantly conducted into the house? Ah, my friend, all Europe would smile at the idyllic empress who accompanied her husband on his journey in such a dishabille."

"It is true," said Napoleon, moodily, "it would be a fine anecdote for the so-called legitimate princes, and they would proudly laugh at the violation of the dehors committed by imperial upstarts. As though it were so difficult to learn the ridiculous rules of their etiquette, if one should deem it worth while!"

Josephine gently patted the emperor's forehead with her white hand. "No clouds must darken my morning sun," she said, "for they would foretell a gloomy day. I wish you could transform yourself into my maid."

"What!" exclaimed the emperor, laughing. "Transform myself into your maid?"

"And why not, Bonaparte?" asked Josephine. "Did not your brother, the great Jove, transform himself into an ox for the sake of Europa? The carriage is moving again! Draw the curtains, and then, my dear maid, we shall commence dressing." She hastily opened the small travelling-trunk, which had carefully been filled with every thing required for her toilet—small velvet gaiters, a comfortable velvet cloak, one of her large cashmere shawls, and a beautiful red satin dress with lace trimmings.

"You will have but little trouble with me," said the empress, busily examining the contents of the trunk. "Dear Madame Remusat has arranged every thing as judiciously as possible, and forgotten nothing. There are warm gloves, embroidered handkerchiefs—in short, all I need. Ah! there is but one thing she has forgotten."

"Well, and what is that?"

"It is a mirror. Bonaparte, you must be my mirror to-day. But come now, my dear maid! enter upon your duties. In the first place, assist me in putting on my gaiters."

"What admirable ones they are!" said the emperor. "Are these tiny things really large enough for your feet?"

"Yes. Did you forget that your Josephine has the smallest and prettiest foot in all France? Formerly, when you were not the all-powerful Napoleon, but the brave and illustrious General Bonaparte, you knew it. Ah, I wish you were still General Bonaparte, and we lived at our small house in the Rue Chantereine!"

"Indeed, I am glad that I am no longer there," said Napoleon. "It seems to me General Bonaparte did not forfeit his glory; he only changed his title and position. That of an emperor is not so bad, and the Tuileries a very pleasant residence. But, Josephine, let me see whether this fairy-shoe is really large enough for human foot!"

"Bonaparte, envy and jealousy prompt you to say so," said Josephine, laughing. "You cannot comprehend how any foot could be even smaller than yours. But just take into consideration that you are the great Bonaparte, and that I am but poor little Josephine—the insignificant creature that derives only from you light and life. Bonaparte, you have the largest foot that man ever had."

"What! I have the largest foot?" exclaimed Napoleon, in surprise. "Why, I have always been told that my foot was very small."

"Oh, that was a mistake," said Josephine, gravely, "for how would it otherwise be possible for you to trample down the whole of Europe as you are doing?"

Napoleon laughed. "Very good," he said, "you are right; I have put my foot on the neck of Europe, and shall crush all who resist me!"

"Bonaparte," exclaimed Josephine, menacingly, "no politics now, no threatening imperial face! Remember that, at the present moment, you are nothing but my maid. There is my foot! Put on my gaiter, and see whether it is large enough!"

Napoleon at once obeyed, his wife's toilet commenced, and the first day of their journey passed in laughter and affectionate chatting. The empress had not enjoyed so happy a day for years. All cares and apprehensions were forgotten. What did light-hearted Josephine care for the future?

But, alas! the second day was different. The smiles of the unfortunate woman met with no reply. The emperor was taciturn and gloomy. Wrapped in his sable robe, he was leaning in a corner of the carriage, and made only stern and brief answers to Josephine's questions. The heart and countenance of the empress grew heavy and anxious.

When they arrived at Strasburg on the evening of the fourth day, each of them sat silent—the empress with tearful eye; the emperor frowning and stern. Napoleon offered his arm to his consort, and conducted her into the palace. "Good-night, Josephine," he said, standing still at the entrance of the rooms destined for her, "good-night!"

"You will not take supper with me?" asked the empress in a low, imploring voice.

"No, I have business to attend to. Good-night!" And he walked away without saluting or even looking at her. Josephine went into her rooms. She refused to partake of refreshment, and avoided the necessity of admitting the officials, who wished to pay their respects to her, by sending them word that she was too fatigued to receive any one. Alone she could weep without being disturbed.

At an unusually early hour on the following morning Napoleon entered her room. Josephine was just about to dress, assisted by her Parisian maids. He motioned them to withdraw, and then commenced pacing the room in his usual manner, when excited.

"Napoleon," said Josephine, in a tremulous voice, "you have come with bad news. My heart tells me so, and I read it on your gloomy brow. Speak, and tell me every thing at once. I am prepared for it."

"Well, then, I must say," replied Napoleon, vehemently,—"you cannot, Josephine, accompany me farther. We must part this hour. I yielded to your wishes in spite of myself, but only thus far! A new campaign is about to begin; days of battles, troubles, and fatigues, are awaiting me. You must not and cannot share them. You must remain here."

Josephine cast a melancholy look on him. "But when you have conquered, when you have made again your triumphant entry into Vienna, will you then call me, Napoleon? Shall I then share your triumphs as I used to do? Bonaparte, do not now make an evasive reply! Tell me the truth, for I can bear it. Tell me, when the fortune of war has favored you—when you have vanquished Austria, as you have hitherto every other enemy—will you then call me to you? The truth, my friend, the truth!"

"Very well, I will tell you the truth," exclaimed Napoleon, after a brief hesitation. "No, Josephine—I will not. You can share my triumphs no more!"

Josephine uttered a cry, and her eyes filled with tears. "I am doomed, then," she said, "and what Fouche told me was true!"

"What did he tell you?" asked the emperor, hastily.

"He told me to prepare for a heavy blow—that you, Napoleon, had secretly applied to the Emperor Alexander for the hand of his sister, and that only the resistance of the dowager prevented you from accomplishing your purpose."

"Yes," exclaimed Napoleon, moodily, and, as if absent-minded, "yes, the proud empress-dowager hates me, and hastened to marry her daughter to a petty German prince rather than let her become the consort of the Emperor of the French.[44] Well, no matter! other princes have daughters, too, and one of them will assuredly be only too happy to become my wife!"

[Footnote 44: Napoleon ordered Talleyrand at Erfurt to inquire of the Emperor Alexander whether he would permit him to marry his sister. Alexander replied that nothing could afford him greater pleasure than that Napoleon should become his brother-in-law, but the matter did not depend on his decision alone. The empress-dowager must also be consulted. No sooner had she heard of Napoleon's wishes than she induced her daughter to marry the Duke of Oldenburg. The notification of the marriage of the grand-duchess to this German prince was the only reply that was ever made to Napoleon's inquiring wish.]

"Napoleon, and you dare tell me so?" exclaimed Josephine, reproachfully. "You admit, then, that you are about to disown me?"

The emperor started. "Pardon me, Josephine," he said, in confusion, "I was absent-minded, I—"

"Yes, you were," interrupted the empress, "and while so, you betrayed your thoughts. It is true, then! Cruel man! You have forgotten every thing, and the whole past has been blotted out. You can seriously think of parting with me, your best friend?"

"No, not now, Josephine," exclaimed Napoleon. "You have nothing to fear. I shall not enter Germany as a wooer, but as a soldier, and I do not desire to seek myrtle-crowns, but laurels!"

"But, my husband, when you have gained fresh laurels and new territories with the blood of your soldiers, then, I suppose, Josephine is to be sacrificed?"

Napoleon did not reply. He paced the room slowly and with a bowed head. Standing still, he looked with sad eyes in his consort's tearful face.

"Josephine," he said, in a grave voice, "you have a noble heart, and it will bear the truth. Yes, there may be a day when we shall have to part, although I love you, and I know well that you are the only faithful friend on whom I can rely! Judge, therefore, what pangs it will cost me when obliged to come to the terrible resolution to separate from you, my guardian angel! But I belong to my people—I belong to my glory! My power has assumed such gigantic proportions that I must support it with foundations that cannot be overthrown. The Emperor Napoleon must have a successor; if you had given birth to one, I should never have parted from you. Now all hope is gone, and I shall, perhaps, be compelled one day to look for a consort among the daughters of kings. I really do not wish to do so, but my duty to my people makes it imperative."

"No, not your duty, but your ambition!" cried Josephine, with streaming eyes. "You have sacrificed every thing for that—your tranquillity, your conscience, the blood of your soldiers, and now your wife!"

"Yes, it is as you say, Josephine," exclaimed Napoleon; "it is my ambition that separates me from you, and compels me to part with her who has been my glory and my life for sixteen years! It is ambition that points its iron arm at my imperial crown, and commands me to look for another empress, that I and my son may enter the ranks of legitimate princes. I have formed vast plans; I shall soon effect new convulsions: I shall vanquish all my enemies, and Europe will have to recognize me as her master. But when nothing remains to wish for—when I have so ascended as to leave no heights above me, then I shall think of securing the happiness and peace of my people and of my empire. To do so, I am in need of a direct heir. For myself, I ask and wish for nothing; but my glory belongs to France. After my death my contemporaries will say of me, 'He was the only one who could strive for universal good, while his individual wishes had been gratified; others thought only of themselves—Bonaparte's wishes and deeds were for his country. There was one thing that was dear to him personally, and that was his wife! But the welfare of his people requiring it, he sacrificed this beloved wife to their interests.'"

"Words!" exclaimed Josephine. "You are vainly trying to conceal your innermost thoughts from me. I know you, Bonaparte, and can read your soul! You wish to connect yourself with the foremost sovereign houses of Europe, because such a union will flatter your pride and your insatiable ambition. When you are the son-in-law of an emperor or a king, you will believe that you are at liberty to do every thing with impunity. You will deem yourself a demi-god, and, accompanied by your victorious legions, you will march to the conquest of the whole world. But that will not be your destiny. You believe you can enslave the nations. Beware lest they one day awake, break their chains, and take a terrible revenge on the tyrant whom they allowed so long to oppress them! Seduced by your illusive ambition, you will disown Josephine? Infatuated man! you will perceive too late that you walk near a volcano. Oh, Bonaparte, I tremble and weep for you! Remember that you have often called me your guardian angel. Believe me, when you disown me, you disown your good fortune. It will forsake the faithless man, and your star will sink in an eternal night! That is what wounds my heart, and drives me to despair. You will be alone in the midst of traitors and false friends. When Josephine is with you no more, no one will have good intentions toward you. No one will dare tell you the truth, when you lose your best friend. Falsehood will flatter you, but only to lead you to the verge of the precipice!" The empress, with quivering limbs and pale features, sank on a chair, and covered her face.

A long pause ensued. Napoleon gloomily continued walking the room. At last he approached Josephine, and gently laid his hand on her shoulder. "Do not weep," he said, imploringly. "We have once more allowed phantoms to frighten us, and quarrelled about things that belong to the future. You are still my wife, and who knows whether you will not always remain mine? Who knows whether you will not soon be my widow? I am about to enter into another war, and it will be a desperate, obstinate struggle, in which old Austria will try to wrest the palm of victory from young France. Victory will perch on my banners. I have no doubt of that, but who knows whether I shall not have to pay for it with my blood! for I must not spare myself—I shall always be at the head of my troops, and, like my private soldiers, with them bare my own breast to the hail of bullets. In so decisive a struggle as will take place now, the emperor will be nothing but a soldier, and do his duty."

"Oh, Bonaparte!" cried Josephine, rising in dismay and clinging to him, "oh, have mercy on my heart! Do not rashly expose yourself to the accidents of battle! Remember that the fate of millions depends on your life! Remember that I should die if an accident befall you! Oh, my dearest husband, be kind and generous—spare yourself, and spare my love!"

"Then you love me in spite of your gloomy forebodings?" asked Napoleon, with a gentle smile. "Oh, I know my Josephine is my most faithful and best friend, and whatever may happen, her heart will always be mine. Let this be our farewell, Josephine! I must go; I must depart this very hour. To-morrow I join my army, and my cannon will soon announce to Germany that the victor of Austerlitz and Jena is demonstrating his right to rule, and at his own pleasure to destroy or create kingdoms."



CHAPTER XLVI.

FERDINAND VON SCHILL.

A travelling carriage stopped in front of the house on Frederick Street in which Major von Schill had established his headquarters since his regiment had been sent to Berlin. The horses were wet with perspiration, and the carriage was covered with mud. Every thing indicated that the young man seated in it had made a long and hurried journey, and his exhausted and anxious face induced the belief that the object could not but be highly important. He alighted hastily, and approached the house, in front of which a crowd of idlers were staring at the windows. Addressing one of them, he asked, "Can you tell me whether Major von Schill lives in this house?"

"Yes," said the man, proudly; "every good citizen of Berlin can tell you that Major Ferdinand von Schill, the favorite of our people and of all patriotic Germans, lives here."

The young man smiled. "And can you tell me whether Major von Schill is at home?"

"Well, what should we stand here for, if Schill were not at home? We are only here to see and salute him when he appears at the window, and to escort him when he leaves the house. He is always surrounded by a guard of honor, composed of citizens of Berlin, and the cheers never cease wherever he may be. I myself have not yet seen him, for I was ill. But yesterday was my birthday, and my wife presented me with a pipe-bowl with Schill's portrait; my daughter says he is the best-looking man in the world, and she has bought a locket with his portrait, which she is wearing on her neck. I have come to see whether the portraits so much in vogue are like him, and whether he is not only the bravest soldier, but, as the girls pretend, the finest-looking man. I will cheer so vigorously as to shake the statues on the arsenal. I suppose you have also come to see him?"

"That is all I have come for," said the young man, and, turning to the postilion, who had just unhitched his horses, he shouted:

"Postilion, when you arrive at the post-office, order immediately some fresh horses for me and send them hither. I shall set out for home in half an hour!"

He then walked toward the house, elbowing himself through the constantly increasing crowd, and reached the door. After rapidly crossing the hall, he went up-stairs. A footman, dressed in a rich livery, who was pacing the corridor on the upper floor, looked inquiringly at the young stranger.

"Does Major von Schill live here?"

"Yes, sir."

"And is he at home?"

"I am not quite sure—I rather believe he has gone out. He is subjected to visits and invitations to such an extent, that I really do not know whether there are persons with him at present, or whether some of his admirers have taken him to another banquet to be given in his honor. The people of Berlin are perfectly infatuated with my master, and if an angel should appear upon earth, they could not pay more deference to him. The fuss they are making about him has positively made him ill. Day and night he must attend parties, listen, and reply to a thousand speeches, and take wine with everybody; and then, again, the ladies are not the least active in demonstrating his popularity. Oh, the people of this city will certainly kill my dear, good master in this way, and I must see to it that he gets occasionally a little rest, and is able to take a peaceful nap on his sofa. I think I must tell you now, sir, that Major von Schill is not at home. He returned only at daybreak from a ball which the city of Berlin gave in his honor; at noon he will have to attend a banquet to which the governor of Berlin, General von Lestocq, has invited him, and which is in fact another testimonial of the public respect for him. Major von Schill must have some repose, or his popularity will be the death of him. Please return some other time. You cannot see him to-day."

"But, my friend, I cannot return," said the stranger. "I am not one of the citizens of Berlin, but I am an enthusiastic admirer of Schill, and have travelled three days and nights without interruption, in order to bring important news to him."

"Ah, that alters the case," said the footman. "If you bring important news for my master, I will go and see whether he is at home."

"Do so, my friend, and tell the major that Referendary von Bothmar has come from Cassel expressly to see him."

The footman nodded, and hastened into the room, the door of which he had hitherto guarded with the affection of a friend and the obstinacy of a faithful sentinel. He returned in a few minutes, opened the door, and exclaimed: "The major requests you to come in!"

M. von Bothmar entered. In obedience to the sign the footman made to him, he crossed the anteroom and opened the door of the one adjoining. A fine-looking man in the uniform of a major, with a fresh, florid countenance, and high forehead adorned with a broad scar, came to meet him. It was Ferdinand von Schill, the lieutenant of the queen's dragoons, who, ever since the disastrous battle of Jena, had given such brilliant proofs of his courage and patriotism at Kolberg (and during the guerilla warfare he had afterward entered into on his own responsibility), that the people hoped he would become the savior of the country. The King of Prussia had promoted him to a majority, and conferred on his regiment the honorary distinction that it should be the first Prussian regiment that was to make its entry into Berlin after the French had evacuated the capital.

"Let me welcome you, my dear sir," said Schill, kindly offering his hand to the young man. "You told my footman you had come from Cassel to bring important news to me. You are, therefore, a good German patriot, and I may greet M. von Bothmar as a friend and brother. But let me hear what you bring—glad tidings, I suppose?"

"No, major, but important," said M. von Bothmar.

Schill became uneasy, and a deep blush crimsoned his cheeks for a moment. "You know Doernberg?" he inquired.

"I know him, and I was also aware of his plan, and of the day and hour when his blow was to be struck."

"Then he has commenced already?" asked Schill.

"Yes, commenced and ended," said Bothmar, mournfully.

"Our noble Doernberg expected too much of the patriotism of the Hessians. He arrived with the legion of his peasants as far as Cassel, and called upon the soldiers to join him in order to expel King Jerome and his French minions. But the soldiers did not listen to him; they obeyed the orders of their officers, and turned their arms against their German brethren, who were soon routed and dispersed."

"This is really dreadful!" ejaculated Schill. "And Doernberg?"

"Doernberg succeeded in making his escape; he will probably go to Prague, where the Elector of Hesse is at present residing."

"Well, I am glad that he is at least safe," exclaimed Schill, breathing more freely. "The defeat is a disastrous blow, to be sure, but the good news that we have just received will afford us consolation for it. The Archduke Charles has gained a glorious victory over the French at Hof."

"Can that be positively true?" exclaimed Bothmar. "During my whole journey I did not hear a word about it. On the contrary, I learned everywhere only the mournful intelligence that Napoleon had put himself at the head of his army, and was advancing victoriously in the direction of Vienna."

"And yet my statement is perfectly true. General Lestocq, governor of Berlin, in joyful commemoration of this victory, issued to-day the countersign of 'Charles and Hof!'"

"Heaven grant that you are correctly informed, and that the general is not mistaken!" said M. von Bothmar, sighing. "Pardon me for not sharing your confidence. The deplorable turn our affairs have taken in Hesse has discouraged me, and then—but I am not through yet with the news which brought me to you."

"Speak, sir,—what else has happened?" exclaimed Schill.

"Excuse me," said M. von Bothmar, "should I assume the semblance of one of your most trusted confidants, and take the liberty of speaking to you about your most secret plans. You intrusted to your faithful friend and follower, Romberg, letters and proclamations to be circulated in Westphalia. Am I right?"

"You are."

"Yon gave to him private letters for Counsellor von Ledebour, at Bielefeld, and for Colonel von Sobbe, who were to head the insurrection in that part of the country?"

"I did, sir; you are right."

"Well, then, major, Romberg was arrested at Magdeburg; all his papers, letters, and proclamations, were seized, and General Michaud sent him under guard to Cassel."

"Romberg imprisoned! My dear, faithful Romberg in danger!" exclaimed Schill, mournfully.

"No," said M. von Bothmar, solemnly, "Romberg is no longer imprisoned; he is not now in danger."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that Romberg, immediately after his arrival at Cassel, was tried by a court-martial, and that sentence of death was at once passed upon him."

"He has been shot?"

"Yes, Schill, Romberg has been shot."

Schill uttered a cry, and covered his face with his hands. "Oh!" he murmured, "I have lost my most faithful friend, and Germany one of her noblest sons. He was an humble peasant, but the heart of a great patriot was throbbing under his blouse. He was the Andrew Hofer of the North, and his death is a terrible disaster! But I will not complain," added Schill—"no, I will not complain. Blessed are the dead, and who knows how soon we ourselves shall have to bid farewell to life? The storm is threatening us on all sides."

"And it is threatening our noble Schill, the hope of Germany," exclaimed M. von Bothmar. "I have told you that all Romberg's papers were seized, and among them the letters which you wrote to your friends Ledebour and Sobbe. Your proclamations were read by the French authorities, and as they thereby became aware of your plans, they will at once take steps to put a stop to your agitation, and, if possible, put you to death. Would Prussia be powerful and courageous enough to protect you, if the King of Westphalia should charge you with being a traitor and demagogue, and if Napoleon should insist on your punishment?"

"It is true," said Schill, "you point out to me an imminent danger, from which I can only escape by striking immediately. If we give our enemies time to mature their plans, all will be lost. We must, therefore, act at once. We must hesitate no longer, but begin even before my comrades here have learned that Romberg did not succeed in his enterprise. We may be more successful, for God will perhaps be merciful to me: He has decreed, perhaps, that Schill shall first of all break the chains imposed on us by the foreign despot."

"Germany hopes in Schill," exclaimed Bothmar, enthusiastically, "and hence I was bold enough to violate the oath of allegiance which I had taken to King Jerome, and disclose to the German hero the danger menacing him. I am a referendary at the department of state in Cassel, and accordingly I soon heard of the danger to which you are exposed. Under the pretext that I intended to enforce tranquillity and obedience among the peasants on my estate, situated a few miles from Cassel, I obtained leave of absence for six days, and hastened hither. I set out from there three days ago, and, thank God! I have found you in time to give you warning."

"Thanks to you," exclaimed Schill, affectionately embracing M. von Bothmar; "you have saved my life, perhaps; at all events, you have rendered an important service to the sacred cause of the fatherland."

"Every one must serve the fatherland in his own way, and according to his ability," said Bothmar, gently; "you are serving it by your heroic arm and soul-stirring example; I am doing so by trying at least to prevent mischief, and to assist my brethren as much as I can. My task now is accomplished! Farewell! and may Heaven grant victory to your patriotic zeal!"

"Where are you going?" said Schill, grasping Bothmar's arm and detaining him. "You must not leave me yet; you must remain here at least to-day, that—but what is the meaning of this bugle-call?"

"It means that the postilion has arrived with horses, and calls me," said M. von Bothmar, smiling.

"What! You have travelled three days and three nights, and are departing so soon?"

"Have I not told you that I obtained leave of absence only for six days? Well, then, three days hence I shall be in Cassel again, and, I believe, I have improved my six days in a highly commendable manner."

"Farewell, noble young man! when we meet again, Germany, if it please God, will be free and happy!"

"Oh, may it be so!" said M. von Bothmar, sighing. "Be prudent, sir, do not endanger your life; remember that it does not belong to you, but to the fatherland, and now farewell! The impatient postilion is sounding his bugle again. Farewell!"

He quickly left the room, but Schill accompanied to the staircase the friend he had gained so suddenly. He returned to his room and hastened to the window, to wave his hand once more to M. von Bothmar. Loud cheers greeted him as soon as his countenance was recognized behind the window-panes; the crowd in front of the house constantly increased, and when he appeared to the longing eyes of the citizens, they could not suppress their loud huzzas.

"They do me too much honor," said Schill to himself, smiling, and stepping back from the window. "But their love and its boisterous demonstrations are not exactly intended for myself individually. These kind people greet in me the first hope dawning to them after a long period of darkness; and, therefore, I will joyfully indulge them, and I will thank them by brave deeds. Yes, by deeds! The time of procrastination is over. I must hesitate no longer: I must act!"

His servant entered and handed him some letters just brought for him. He opened and read them rapidly. The perfume of the first, written on rose-colored note-paper, made him smile. "It is the sixth declaration of love that I have received to-day," he said, in a low voice, "and the sixth request for a rendezvous to-night. Oh, women! how innocent in your enthusiasm for poor Schill! You imagine you love me, and do not know that it is the fatherland that you love in me! I will reconquer your country, and bring back that sweet liberty which the tyrant has taken from us. Until then, no Cupid's love! My heart must belong wholly to Germany!"

He read the second letter. "Another painter asks me to sit to him! Why, have not the people already portraits enough of poor Schill? Has not every old citizen my head on his pipe or his snuff-box? Does not every pretty girl wear my scarred face in her locket? I have no time to spare for painters; I must take the field!"

He opened the third; but while he read it, his eyes were sad. "Again the same admonition which I have so often received. Do they doubt my patriotism? Do they believe that I am a traitor, and will suffer the opportunity to pass by without improving it?"

He looked at the letter again, which contained only the following words: "Brutus, thou sleepest, awake!"[45]

[Footnote 45: Schill received almost daily, from various parts of Germany, letters containing nothing but those words. A secret society, extending throughout Germany, seemed to have made it a special duty to instigate Schill to strike the blow, lest the homage he received in Berlin should render him forgetful of his mission.]

"No," he exclaimed, in a powerful voice, "I do not sleep. I am awake, and behold the golden dawn of freedom! O Germany, my arm and my honor belong to thee! To thee—and to her!" he whispered, almost inaudibly. "Yes, to her—the genius of Prussia! For her I will sacrifice my life!"

The door opened again, and the footman entered. "Major, there is another gentleman who desires to see you on pressing business. I wanted to turn him off, but he said it was indispensable for him to see you. He told me he wished to deliver to the major something that would gladden his heart. His name is High-Chamberlain von Schladen, and he said he had just arrived from Koenigsberg."

"Show him in at once," exclaimed Schill, but, in his impetuosity, he himself led the way and opened the door.

"Come in, Mr. High-Chamberlain, and forgive me for making you wait even a moment," he said, offering his hand to M. von Schladen, and conducting him into his sitting-room. "You come from Koenigsberg?"

"Yes, major, and I bring you greetings from your friends, from the brethren of the great league, and also from the king and the queen."

"She really told you to greet me in her name?" asked Schill. "Oh, do not deceive me; tell me the truth! Did the queen really tell you that?"

"She did more than that, major," said M. von Schladen, smiling; "she intrusted to me a present for you, which I am to deliver to yourself, and which she made for you with her own hands."

At this moment Schill was a truly handsome man. If the ladies and the painters of Berlin had seen him just then, they would have been transported at his noble countenance, as his black eyes sparkled with joy. "The queen sends me a present!" he exclaimed—"a present which she herself has made!"

"Yes, and on which she inscribed your name with her own hand, that it might be to you a plain and undeniable proof of her favor."

"Oh, give it to me, sir!" exclaimed Schill, stretching out his hands.

M. von Schladen drew a small package, wrapped in paper, from his bosom, and handed it to Schill.

"On my knees will I receive this present from my queen!" exclaimed Schill. "Oh, it seems to me as though she were standing before me, looking at me with that sad smile which brings tears into the eyes of all who behold her! When I was at Koenigsberg the other day, it was permitted me to speak to her, and press my lips on her hand. With that kiss I devoted myself to her for my whole life, and she is ever before my eyes, clothed in a sort of divine beauty—as a Madonna holding the Messiah of Freedom in her arms! And the noble queen, to whom I pray every night as to a saint, sends me a present which she has made for me with her own hands? Oh, am I worthy of such kindness; have I done any thing entitling me to such a proof of condescension on her part, and am I thus honored by her who is the guardian angel of Prussia!—whom Napoleon hates, because he fears her zeal and fidelity. As a vestal, she has kept alive the fire of patriotism on the altar of her country. When all despair, she still hopes for the redemption of her people from a victorious but merciless enemy. I will consecrate my life anew to her, though unworthy of the distinguished regard she bestows on me by this present, the work of her own royal hands."

"Yes, but you are worthy of the favor of our noble queen," said M. von Schiaden, solemnly, "for you are the representative hero of Germany, and Heaven has decreed, perhaps, that you should break the first link of the chain with which the usurper has fettered our country. As soon as that link is broken, it will be easy to break the rest. You, Major von Schill, are the hope of Germany—the hope of Queen Louisa. Take, then, the present which she sends you, worthy champion of the cause of her country!"

He handed the package to the major. Schill, kneeling, took it and unfolded the wrapper. It contained a magnificent memorandum-book, embroidered in gold, and closed with a gold pencil. Schill admired the rich art displayed in the book, and, opening it, looked for the autograph of the queen. He uttered a joyful cry. The queen had written these words, in small, neat characters: "For brave Major von Schill. Louisa."

Schill pressed his lips on the words, and then, closing the book, put it into his bosom, and rose from his knees. "It will rest on my heart as long as I live," he said; "its every pulsation belongs to her! And now, M. von Schladen, what is the state of affairs at Koenigsberg? What hopes are entertained there?"

"Hopes!" exclaimed M. von Schladen, with a mournful smile; "none—only apprehensions."

"And they do not yet think of bidding defiance to the tyrant, and of recalling noble Baron von Stein?"

"No, they dare not do so. Stein, proscribed by Napoleon, forsaken by his king, who sacrificed him at the emperor's behest, is living in exile, deprived of his whole property, which Napoleon confiscated; he is without employment, without influence, far from his country, far from his friends. The Emperor of Austria did what the King of Prussia dare not do: he gave an asylum to the proscribed patriot; Baron von Stein is now with his family at Bruenn."

"And the king?" asked Schill. "Does he not feel it as a wound to bow to the tyrant's behest, and dismiss his noblest and ablest servant?"

"He does, perhaps," replied M. von Schladen, hesitatingly; "but he does not say so. The afflictions of the past years have broken his courage, and rendered him irresolute and timid. As soon as he received Napoleon's orders, he dismissed Baron von Stein, without bestowing any token of kindness or gratitude. Every true Prussian deeply felt this treatment; one of the most faithful and upright servants of the king, District-Councillor Scheffner, who has every day interviews with the queen, dared even to write a letter to the king, informing him of the indignation prevailing everywhere. He asked the king to gladden the hearts of all good Prussians, and to give a courageous proof of his royal gratitude toward the eminent minister, by conferring the order of the Black Eagle upon Baron von Stein."

"And what did the king say to him?"

"He replied that he was very sorry that he was unable to comply with this request. Although he entertained the highest respect for Baron von Stein, and would be glad to confer this exalted distinction on him, it would be highly improper at the present time to make so dangerous a demonstration."

"Such is the gratitude of kings toward their faithful servants!" exclaimed Schill, in a tone of bitter reproach; "such is the manner in which they reward those who have sacrificed for them their property and life! But we do not struggle for kings and princes; we are serving the adored fatherland; we are fighting for liberty, and the death which we find on the field of honor is an order of the Black Eagle which the great fatherland confers on us! O Germany, one day I shall also receive this honor at thy hands; free Germany will adorn my corpse with it!"

"Oh, what desponding words you are now uttering!" said M. von Schladen, anxiously. "Who can be courageous and hopeful when Schill talks of death?"

"I am not desponding," exclaimed Schill, smiling, "but I have a foreboding that I am to seal my love for Germany with my heart's blood. I am almost glad of it, for friendships so sealed are said to be eternal, and Germany will, perhaps, revere my memory when I die for her.—And Louisa! What says the queen? How does she bear these days of humiliation?"

"Like a heroine! Like a queen whose kingdom is not of this world. Her cheeks are pale, but a spirit of resignation pervades her countenance, and when she turns her blue eyes upward, there is an expression in them that plainly reveals her yearning for a home in heaven!"

"But her health is good?" inquired Schill, anxiously. "She is not ill?"

"That is to say, she is not positively ill, but her whole life is that of a martyr. Her heart is broken; she suffers mentally, while she is not altogether free from physical pain. But she never complains, and, alas! the physicians know of no remedy. There is but one for our smiling, suffering queen, and that is the deliverance of her country!"

"Germany must and shall be delivered," exclaimed Schill, enthusiastically. "Something must be done! We must arouse the sleepers; we must compel them to act!"

"You are right! The nation must wake and rise. That is the opinion of all patriots, as well as of the queen. And we are looking with trusting hearts toward you; we hope that you will give this impetus to our countrymen. It is out of the question to hesitate longer; we must act. Austria is in the field; her people are exultingly marching to vanquish the tyrant, who, with his proud armies, has again penetrated into Germany. The report that the Archduke Charles has gained a victory is as though it were the first herald announcing to us safety and restoration. Hope fills every heart. As soon as Schill unfurls his banner and calls upon his brethren to commence the holy struggle for the liberation of the fatherland, patriotic men from all the states of Prussia and North Germany will rally around him; the enthusiasm of the people will rush like a torrent carrying away the king and his ministers in spite of themselves; their hesitations, fears, and cowardice, will be overwhelmed by the public determination. The hope of the queen is in Schill's heroic example; it is the hope of Gneisenau, Bluecher, and Scharnhorst; it is the hope of all!"

"And it shall be fulfilled," exclaimed Schill. "Brutus does not sleep. He is awake, and ready for action. I swear it by this precious gift of my queen!" He drew the memorandum-book from his bosom. Solemnly laying his hand on it, and raising his eyes toward heaven, he said: "I swear that I will draw my sword now for the fight of liberty—that I will not sheath it until this sacred cause has been carried to a glorious conclusion, unless forbidden by death longer to serve my queen and country!" He pressed the book against his lips, and then opening it read again Louisa's words. As he turned over the leaves, a scrap of paper fell upon the floor. Picking it up, he saw that it contained a single line written in the same small handwriting: "Der Koenig schwankt; Schill, ziehen sie mit Gott!"[46] "Yes, Heaven is on our side, to fight for Germany and her noble queen!" exclaimed Schill. "I will depart to-morrow!"

[Footnote 46: "The king hesitates; Schill, march with God!"]



CHAPTER XLVII.

SCHILL TAKES THE FIELD.

The following afternoon (March 28, 1809) Major Ferdinand von Schill proceeded with his regiment through the streets of Berlin to the Halle gate. The people saluted him everywhere with loud cheers and waving of hats.

Schill thanked them more gravely than he had hitherto done, and marched his soldiers out of the gate. No one was surprised at this; all supposed that he only intended to-day, as he had often done, to drill his troops and to encamp near the city. His adjutants, Baersch and Luetzow, were, however, aware of his plans, and had secretly made preparations to carry them into effect.

The regiment took the road to Potsdam. Major von Schill and his two adjutants rode at its head, and patriotic songs from the soldiers resounded along their march. About half-way between Berlin and Potsdam, near the village of Steglitz, the major stopped his horse, and, with a wave of his sword, ordered the regiment to halt; then to move from the road into the adjoining field, and form in square. The command was obeyed in a few minutes; and Major von Schill, resting in the centre on his chestnut charger, surveyed his men with evident pleasure.

All eyes were turned toward him—all hearts were beating with affection for that man of indomitable courage towering above them. Addressing them, his sonorous voice rang over the welkin as the first notes of a trumpet summoning to the field of blood.

"Soldiers," he said, "comrades! the moment has come to fight the enemy, against whom all our souls are filled with hatred—the despoiler of thrones, who has plunged our fatherland into such distress; who has trampled under foot all the rights of man; to whom no treaty, no peace is sacred, and who is only waiting for an opportunity utterly to destroy the constitution of our country. The perfidious oppressor thus treated Spain, after she had made numerous sacrifices to him in order to preserve peace. He intends to degrade Prussia in the same manner, and not to rest until he has dethroned our beloved king and prostrated the illustrious dynasty of the Hohenzollerns. But never shall he succeed in carrying out so nefarious a plan! Austria, Germany, every patriotic heart is rising against him, and we Prussians cannot remain behind. It is a sacred obligation to fight for the fatherland, for our beloved king, for the queen whom we all worship, a precious token from whom I am now holding in my hand, and for whom we are ready at any hour to die!"

While uttering these words, Schill waved the embroidered memorandum-book, which flashed in the sunbeams as a trophy and pledge of victory.

Shouts burst from the soldiers. "Hurrah!" they cried, "long live the king and the queen! long live Major von Schill!"

"Boys," exclaimed Schill, "will you follow me, and fight for Germany and our king?"

"Yes, we will, we will!" shouted the hussars, drawing their sabres and waving them over their heads.

"Will you swear to stand by your commander to the last extremity?"

"We swear to stand by you to the last!" was the enthusiastic answer, while the soldiers looked exultantly at each other, and exchanged congratulations at the opening of the campaign. But no one had thought of future dangers or the necessities of a soldier's life. They had nothing but their uniforms; leaving in Berlin all their money and clothing, and, unaware of this sudden movement, they had not even taken leave of their parents, wives, and children. Every thing was forgotten in their partiotism, so soon and unexpectedly tested—in their glowing desire to save their country, and gain a name on the field of honor.

The march was continued to Potsdam. There they rested over night, and the servants of the officers joined them in the morning, bringing from the governor of Berlin passports for Schill. The brave little regiment soon after left for an assault on the fortress of Wittenberg. It was not taken, but the commander of Wittenberg concluded an armistice with Schill, and permitted him and his soldiers, with their drums beating, to march under the cannon of the fortress, and to pass the bridge built at that place over the Elbe.

On the 2nd of May the regiment reached Dessau. The duke had fled, but the inhabitants received the Prussian hussars in the most ardent manner, and hailed Schill as the hero who would free the people from the yoke under which they were groaning.

The expedition was no longer a secret. The joyful news spread: "Schill has taken the field against Napoleon; he has called the Germans to arms, and they will rally around his banner!" He himself believed in success, firmly convinced that it was only necessary for him to issue a proclamation, and the people would rise en masse. He resolved to do so from his headquarters at Dessau. No sooner had he reached that city than he hurriedly prepared his call "To the Germans!" The ink was not yet dry, when he took the paper, and, accompanied by his adjutants, went to the house of M. Hormuth, printer to the court, and asked to see him. The printer soon made his appearance, and anxiously asked Schill his business.

"You will please print this proclamation, sir," said Schill, handing him the paper; "it must be ready in an hour."

"Major," said Hormuth, glancing despairingly at the scarcely legible handwriting, "I cannot print it, for I am unable to read it."

"Oh, I will read it to you," exclaimed Schill, and he commenced:

"To THE GERMANS!—Brethren, groaning under the yoke of a foreign nation! the moment has arrived when you are able to break your chains, and to regain the constitution under which you have lived in happiness and prosperity for centuries, until the boundless ambition of a conqueror brought incalculable calamities upon our country. Rise! Be men! Follow me, and we shall again be what we were! Ring the tocsin! Let this signal fan the flame of patriotism in your hearts, and be the death-knell of your oppressors! Take up arms! Scythes and pikes may take the place of muskets. They will soon be replaced by English weapons already arrived. Wielded by strong arms, even the peaceful scythe becomes fatal. Let every one arm himself, and share the glory of the liberators of the fatherland, fighting not only for himself but for the safety and happiness of future generations! He who is cowardly enough to disobey this call, will be consigned to contempt and infamy. No noble German girl will ever bestow her hand upon such a traitor. Courage! God is with us and our just cause. Let the old men pray for us! The armies of Austria are advancing victoriously, notwithstanding the boasts of the French; the brave Tyrolese have already broken their chains; the courageous Hessians have risen, and I am hastening to you at the head of well-tried and skilful soldiers. The just cause will soon conquer, and the ancient glory of our country will be restored. To arms! to arms! SCHILL."

"Now, sir," said Schill, "I suppose you will be able to read my handwriting and to print it?"

"Now that I know the contents," said M. Hormuth, shaking his head, "I know also that he who prints this proclamation endangers his life, and that he may lose it just as soon as Palm. Sir, I have a wife and children; I am happy with my family; hence life is dear to me, and I should not like to lose it like poor Palm. He did much less than you ask me to do. He only circulated a pamphlet hostile to the French, but I am to print a proclamation calling upon all Germans to rise in arms against the Emperor of the French. Major, I risk my life by complying with your order."

"What!" exclaimed Schill, angrily; "you are a German, and refuse to serve the holy cause of your country? You refuse to print this proclamation?"

"No, I will print it," said M. Hormuth, slowly; "I will print it, but only on one condition."

"Well, and that condition is—"

"That you, major, be kind enough to hold a pistol to my breast and threaten to shoot me, in case I refuse. You must do so in the presence of my compositors, and give me a written certificate that I yielded only to violence."

"M. Hormuth, you are a very prudent man, and it will afford me great pleasure to fulfil your wishes," said Schill, smilingly, drawing his pistol and aiming at the printer.

"Pray, major, do not cock it, for the pistol might go off," said Hormuth, anxiously. "Now be kind enough to hold it to my breast, and shout in a loud and menacing voice that you will shoot me like a dog if I refuse to print this paper. Distribute also some insulting epithets—call me a coward, a renegade, any thing you can think of, and as loud and threatening as you can."

"Very well, I will do all that," said Schill, laughing, and his adjutants, as well as M. Hormuth himself, joined in the sport.

"Now, let us go to work," said Schill.

"Will you print this proclamation, you miserable coward? Why, you have not pluck enough to be a German! I ask you, for the last time, will you print the proclamation?"

"Sir, have mercy upon me!" wailed M. Hormuth, in a terrified tone. "I cannot print it. It is impossible, sir; impossible!"

"You villain, I will kill you on the spot if you dare resist me," cried Schill. "I—"

"My compositors will be here presently," said M. Hormuth. "Please go on in the same strain."

"I will shoot you like a dog if you do not obey!"

"Help! help! oh, major, have mercy!"

The doors opened, and there appeared at one door the compositors and pressmen; at the other, Madame Hormuth with her children.

"Will you print my proclamation, you infamous scoundrel?" shouted Schill. "Say no, and I will put a bullet through your cowardly heart!"

"Sir, I cannot; I—"

"Husband, I beseech you!" cried Madame Hormuth, rushing toward him. "Husband, consider what you are doing; think of your children, think of me, and comply with the wishes of the major."

"No! I will die rather than print so seditious a paper!"

"Very well, then, you shall die," said Schill. "You refuse to print, and I will assuredly shoot you."

"M. Hormuth, you may as well yield," said the compositors.

"It is prudent to submit to necessity. Besides, we are somewhat interested, for your death would throw us out of work."

"I will yield," said M. Hormuth, sighing. "Take away your pistol, major. I will print your proclamation; but be so good as to certify that I consent only on account of your threats and violence. My workmen will sign the certificate as witnesses, will you not?"

"Yes, certainly, we will cheerfully witness what is true."

"Very well," said M. Hormuth. "Now quick, boys; go to work! Here is the manuscript. Let four compositors take it. Divide the copy into four parts; the composition must be done in fifteen minutes, and the printing in two hours. How many copies do you want, major?"

"Ten thousand."

"Very well, ten thousand copies to be done in two hours. We must remember my life is at stake; for I suppose you will shoot me, major, if we should disappoint you?"

"You may be sure of that. Now give me the pen and ink that I may draw up that certificate for you."

The ten thousand printed copies arrived exactly two hours afterward at the headquarters of Major von Schill, and M. Hormuth, who refused to take any payment for them, received in return a certificate that he had been forcibly compelled to print them.

The brave regiment left Dessau on the following day, still in the joyful hope that the German people would rise, and that a host of warriors would respond to the call for the deliverance of the fatherland. But alas! this hope was not to be fulfilled. The population of the cities and villages received Schill's hussars and their heroic chieftain in the most gratifying manner. His proclamation was read everywhere with unbounded pleasure, but no one dared to follow him; no scythes or pikes were to be seen in the array of this little band of patriots. There was but one glad day for Schill; that was on the 12th of May, when Lieutenant von Quistorp, from Berlin, joined him with a hundred and sixty men, who had left their colors and came with him to reenforce "brave Schill, the liberator of Germany."

But Quistorp brought at the same time bad news. The report of a victory of the Austrians had proved unfounded. The Archduke Charles had obtained no advantages; on the contrary, after a succession of desperate engagements, he was beaten on the 23rd of April at Ratisbon, and escaped with the remnant of his army into the Boehmerwald. The Emperor Napoleon had advanced with his victorious forces in the direct road to Vienna.

"If Napoleon takes Vienna," said Schill to himself, "then we shall all perish! But we will still hope and trust; the fortune of war may turn yet. The Emperor of Austria is still in Vienna, and the citizens have sworn to be buried under the ruins of their city rather than open its gates again to the enemy. Let us hope, therefore, and fight." Turning to Quistorp, he continued: "Every thing may yet turn out well. My proclamation may find an echo in the hearts of my Prussian comrades, and they may unite with us. To-day, you, Lieutenant von Quistorp, have arrived with one hundred and sixty men; to-morrow another friend may join us with several thousand. Before long we shall have a considerable army, and this will inspire those still hesitating, and make the timid bold. The larger our force, the firmer will be the confidence of the king, and finally he will freely and openly order all the regiments to join us and commence the struggle."

"Do not hope in the king, major," said Lieutenant von Quistorp, sadly. "The failure of Doernberg's rising, the defeat of the Archduke Charles, and the new victories of Napoleon, have made him more resolute than ever; he is afraid of Napoleon's anger and vengeance, and, more indisposed than ever to incur them, he has publicly and solemnly repudiated your bold movement."

"What has the king done?" exclaimed Schill, turning pale; "what do you know?"

"I know that the king has also issued a proclamation, in which he says that he cannot find words sufficiently forcible to express his disapproval of your illegal and criminal conduct; he calls upon the army not to be seduced by your example, and orders you, and all with you, to be tried by a court-martial."

"That is impossible!" cried Schill, in great excitement; "the king cannot forsake me in so shameful a manner! You have been misinformed, Quistorp; certain persons have tried to deter you from joining me by false reports."

"No," said Quistorp, "you are mistaken. I was already on the march to Arneburg, when, a few miles from here, a courier, under instructions from General Chassot, overtook me. In order to warn me, the general sent me the proclamation of the king, and ordered me to face about immediately and return to my regiment. He added that this was the last order he would issue, for he, as well as General Lestocq, governor of Berlin, had been called, by order of the king, to Koenigsberg, where both of them were to be tried by a military commission. Here are the papers, major."

Schill glanced over them, and, while reading, his hands trembled. "This is a terrible blow," he said, sighing. "The king proscribes me, and brands me as a traitor and deserter. It is all in vain! Germany is asleep, and our voice will not awaken her; Germany lies in the dust before the French tyrant, and the King of Prussia will punish as traitors those who act courageously! Oh, my country, thou art lost, for thy own princes betray thee!"

He sank despairingly on a chair, and hid his face with his hands. In this attitude he remained, groaning piteously, a prey to his anguish. The adjutants entered the room, but Schill did not notice them. Absorbed in his reflections and forebodings, his mind, as it were, had passed from the contemplation of the present, and beheld nothing but the awful future.

The three young officers, Luetzow, Quistorp, and Baersch, well known for their intrepidity, stood sad and dejected before their brave major.

Suddenly rising from his chair, he said: "I thank you, Lieutenant von Quistorp, for having joined me with your faithful men. Germany will see at least that there are still brave men who do not forsake their country, and if we sacrifice our lives for her, she will at least engrave our names on the tablets of her martyrs. We cannot retrace our steps, my friends; we must advance, though death stare us in the face. This very night we leave Arneburg, and continue our march. We may still succeed in what Doernberg and Charles have been unable to accomplish. We shall appeal again to the patriotism of the Germans. Perhaps their hearts will practically respond—they may hear our voice and follow us. But if fortune have decided against us, if we succumb without delivering our country, very well! 'An end with terror is better than terror without end!' Before us is honor, and at the worst, a glorious death; behind us, contumely and disgrace. Therefore, forward!"



CHAPTER XLVIII.

SCHILL'S DEATH.

Schill was sitting, sad and deserted, at his lonely quarters in Rostock, where, after many adventures, he arrived on the 20th of May. He had succeeded in nothing; fortune had not once been favorable to him. He had intended to turn toward Magdeburg, in hope that its garrison of Westphalian troops would joyously open the gates of the fortress, and declare against King Jerome, who had been forced upon them. But, at a distance of a German mile from the city the columns of the enemy had met him, and an engagement had taken place at Dodendorf. It was in vain that Schill had sent a flag of truce to his German brethren to request them to join him, imploring them not to betray the fatherland for the sake of a French king.

The Westphalians shot the bearer of the flag of truce, and a murderous fire was their only reply. Now began the desperate struggle of brethren against brethren—of Germans against Germans!

Schill was victorious in this battle. He mortally wounded the French commander of the Westphalians, Colonel Vautier; his hussars fought like lions and dispersed the enemy; a hundred and sixty prisoners, several stands of colors, and a large number of small-arms, were the trophies of this brilliant affair. But he was unable to derive any benefit from the Dodendorf victory; fearing lest a larger corps should leave Magdeburg and attack him, he retreated, overwhelmed with grief, for he at last understood that the German soldiers were deaf to his appeals, and that the Westphalians, faithful to their French king, refused to desert him.

Nor had Schill's second victory, the occupation of Doenritz, been advantageous to him. Moreover, dissensions had arisen among the officers themselves; the regiment, so enthusiastic at first, commenced gradually to lose faith in his ability to succeed in his bold enterprise; the officers insisted on being consulted as to future operations. They refused to yield obedience, and demanded that he should listen to their advice and remonstrances. But resistance rendered him only more determined, and in his obstinacy he frequently rejected prudent counsel, that he might accomplish his own plans. His mind was confused by disappointment, and at length by despair. He was, in fact, unequal to the dangers surrounding him.

Schill was sitting, sad and deserted, at his lonely quarters in Rostock, absorbed in discouraging thoughts, and sighing at the frustration of his hopes. In his hand he held the memorandum-book the queen had presented to him, and read again and again the words she had written: "To brave Major von Schill." Suddenly the door behind him opened, and Lieutenant von Luetzow, with his uniform covered with dust, entered the room.

Schill slowly turned his head. "Well, Luetzow, have you returned?" he asked. "Were you at Doberan? Did you see the duke?"

"Yes, I was at Doberan."

"And what news do you bring? Bad news, of course! Did you see the Duke of Mecklenburg?"

"No, the duke had given orders to admit neither you nor any of your delegates. He says he will have nothing to do with insurgents and rebels."

"Of course," exclaimed Schill, laughing scornfully, "he is a German prince, and, therefore, cannot adhere to the cause of Germany, but must side with France! Oh, I ought to have known it before. Well, it is all right. What other news do you bring, Luetzow?"

"Here, major, is a paper issued by King Jerome of Westphalia. His majesty does you the honor to call you in this proclamation a chief of robbers, a pirate, and a deserter, and commands the military and civil authorities to hunt you down. He also offers a reward of ten thousand francs to him who will bring you dead or alive to Cassel."

"Is that so?" exclaimed Schill, laughing. "Well, M. Jerome attaches a tolerably high value to my head. I am sorry that I am unable to return the compliment. I shall reply this very day to Jerome's proclamation by issuing one to the Germans, and by promising a reward of five dollars for his delivery, living or dead.—What else, lieutenant?"

"The Emperor Napoleon has also issued an edict against Schill and his men. He says in this document: 'A certain Schill, a sort of highway robber, who committed crime upon crime during the last campaign in Prussia, and was rewarded with a captaincy, has deserted with his whole regiment from Berlin, marched to Wittenberg, and surrounded that place. General Lestocq, governor of Berlin, has declared Schill a deserter, and the King of Prussia has given orders to arrest him wherever he can be found, and to put the insurgent on trial before a court-martial.'"

"Yes," murmured Schill, musingly, "the German patriot has become an insurgent, and is to be punished for what he attempted in the salvation of his country. It was quite unnecessary for the emperor to abuse and revile him who boldly opposed his tyranny; the King of Prussia and the governor of Berlin had already done so. And what else does Napoleon say?"

"He orders a corps of observation to be formed on the Elbe, to be commanded by the marshal, Duke of Valmy, and to be sixty thousand strong."

"Sixty thousand men!" exclaimed Schill. "Ah! it seems M. Napoleon has a pretty good opinion of 'that deserter Schill,' inasmuch as he considers him dangerous enough to oppose to him an army of sixty thousand men. Thank you, M. Bonaparte, thank you for this acknowledgment. It is a delightful balm to the tortured heart of the poor Prussian deserter; it restores his courage. Let us advance undauntedly—we may conquer yet. The Germans may awake and rally round the standard of liberty!"

"Alas, Schill, I am afraid your hopes are in vain," said Luetzow, sadly. "I am not yet done with my bad news."

"Not yet?" asked Schill, mournfully. "Proceed!"

"Vienna has fallen!"

"Vienna fallen!" cried Schill, in dismay. "Is that really true?"

"It is. The Emperor Francis and his family have fled to Hungary, and the Emperor of the French has again made his triumphant entry."

"And the Viennese did not even try to defend their city?"

"They did try, but soon laid down their arms and submitted quietly to the conqueror. Napoleon has established his headquarters at Schoenbrunn, and issued a proclamation to the Austrians. He calls upon them to be faithful and obedient to him, and disbands the militia of Vienna. A general amnesty is granted to those who surrender their arms."

"A general amnesty," exclaimed Schill, "for the crime they committed in complying with the request of their sovereign to take up arms and defend their country! And what is to be done with those who do not surrender?"

"The houses of both officers and privates of the militia who do not return home within a specified time, are to be burned down, their property confiscated, and themselves tried and punished as rebels."

"Oh," exclaimed Schill, raising his hands, "is there still justice in heaven, or is it also asleep! Is there no ear for our wails, no compassion for our disgrace? What is natural, grows unnatural; honor becomes dishonor; patriotism, rebellion—and Heaven seems to permit it!"

"Yes," said Luetzow, with a melancholy smile. "What Ovid said of Cato now becomes true of you: 'The victorious cause pleases the gods, but the vanquished one pleases you!'"

"Yes," murmured Schill, "the vanquished cause pleased Cato! and it shall also please Schill as long as he breathes. It shall please him though his king call him a deserter, and a court-martial pass sentence of death upon him. 'The people of Nuremberg hang none but those they have in custody,' is a proverb often repeated, and I think the people of Koenigsberg will not shoot a man they cannot catch! I would rather be trampled to death by the horses of the enemy, than pierced by the bullets of my German brethren. The matter is settled, Luetzow; let us continue the struggle."

"Continue the struggle?" asked Luetzow. "I beseech you, take my advice and do not follow the dictates of courage alone; listen also to those of prudence. It will be utterly useless, Schill; we should husband our strength for better times. We are threatened either by military force, or the rigor of the law. Prussia has drawn up a corps on her frontier to repulse us, if need be, should we come armed; and, if unarmed, she would have us tried by a court-martial. Napoleon's corps of observation is stationed on the boundaries of Saxony and Westphalia, and even the King of Denmark has ordered General von Ewald to march against us."

"The stag has been surrounded, but not yet captured," exclaimed Schill. "There is still a place where he may escape. The King of Sweden has not yet a corps in the field against us, and Stralsund is occupied only by a garrison of scarcely three hundred men, commanded by General Candras. Let us march thither and surprise the fortress. When Stralsund is ours, we are on the sea-shore, and in communication with the British; we have ships in the harbor, on which, if every thing else should fail, we could find an asylum, and hasten to England."

"But suppose we should not take Stralsund?" asked Luetzow. "How could we escape? I beseech you, listen to reason, consider our hopeless situation; save yourself—save the poor soldiers who have reposed confidence and hope in you! Let us embark for England. There are well-nigh thirty ships in the harbor of Warnemuende; if they refuse to take us on board, we can compel them."

"No," exclaimed Schill, vehemently. "We shall do just as I said—march to Stralsund and take the fortress. But Lieutenant Baersch is to seize twenty of the ships at Warnemuende and embark on them our baggage, the sick, and the military chest, and convey them to the island of Ruegen. We start to-morrow and take Stralsund. That is my plan, and it must be accomplished!"

And Schill's plan was accomplished. He marched his hussars to Stralsund, and for a moment fortune smiled on him. The French commander, General Candras, preferred to meet the enemy in the open field instead of awaiting him behind the half-decayed fortifications. He marched against Schill with the whole garrison and a battery of light artillery; but the Prussian hussars, with a shout attacked the enemy, and dispersed them, took six hundred prisoners, and made their triumphant entry into Stralsund.

"And here let us conquer or die," said Schill to his officers, who were standing around him. "Friends, brethren! the day of success is at hand, and Stralsund is the first taken. Let us remain here; throw up intrenchments against the enemy, and wait for the succor which England has so often promised."