"Let us not wait for this succor," said one of the officers; "let us meet it."

"Every hour of delay increases the danger," exclaimed another. "If we do not now embrace the opportunity—if we do not start without delay, and meet the English squadron in the open sea, or hasten to the Swedish shore, we must inevitably perish."

"It would be foolhardiness to remain here for the enemy's superior force to attack us," said a third. "To struggle against such odds is folly, and prudent men submit to the decrees of fortune, instead of resisting them in a spirit of childish petulance."

"Let us husband our resources for a future day," said a fourth. "It will come when Germany, which is repudiating us now, will stand in need of our assistance, and call us to her side. Let us preserve ourselves for more favorable prospects, and a greater probability of success."

Schill looked angrily on his officers. "Is there no one who will raise his voice against these opinions?" he asked. "Is there no one who will reply to the timid and desponding, in the name of honor, courage, and patriotism?"

All were silent; a murmur of indignation was the only reply. "Well, then," exclaimed Schill, ardently, "I will myself speak against you all; I will tell you that it is cowardly to flee from danger, and to think of defeat instead of victory; that it is perfidious to desert our country when in danger, to save one's own miserable life. Accursed be he who thinks of flight and of forsaking the great cause which we are serving! We must hold Stralsund to the last man. We must make it a German Saragossa, and lie dead beneath the ruins of the city rather than surrender. Let us repair the fortifications, throw up new earthworks, and await the enemy behind the intrenchments. This is my resolution; I will not suffer contradiction, but treat as rebels and mutineers those who dare to act contrary to my orders! The soldiers obey me, and I am their commander. But such of the officers as do not wish to participate longer in the struggle; who, instead of remaining true to their duty, prefer to save their lives by flight, are at liberty to do so. I will not prevent them from making their escape; they may embark on one of the ships in the harbor, and flee whither they desire. Let them remember, however, that they will leave their dishonor here, and will not participate in the glory which posterity may grant as the only conquerors' crown to poor Schill and his faithful men. Let such as desire to flee step forth and receive their discharge." A long pause ensued. No one advanced.

"We agreed to serve under the leadership of Major von Schill," at last said the oldest officer, in a grave, solemn voice; "we have sworn to fight under him against the enemies of our country, to remain with him to the last, and to obey his orders. We shall fulfil our oath, and not faithlessly desert the banner which we have hitherto followed. Let Major von Schill consider, however, that he is responsible for the lives of all those who have united their destiny with his own, and that his conscience, God, and posterity, will judge him, if instead of preserving them he should lead them to an inglorious death or captivity. If Major von Schill is unwilling to listen to prudence—if he refuses to embark and escape with us, we will all remain, and, with him, await our fate. Speak, then, major, will you go with us or remain?"

"I will remain," exclaimed Schill, energetically. "I will await the enemy; I will conquer or die on German soil. Oh, friends, comrades, do not speak to me of flight or submission; Schill does not flee, Schill does not submit! I have tried to arouse my country; I have stretched out my hand toward my countrymen, and said to them, 'I will assist you in shaking the sleep from your half-closed eyes. Rise! and I will lead you in the path of liberty and honor. My arm is strong, and my sword is sharp; unite with me, and let us expel the tyrant!' But Germany did not listen to my appeal; she is still sleeping too soundly, and God did not decree that I should accomplish my task. Perhaps Providence may intend that you and I shall strengthen the cause of liberty by shedding our blood—our death will awaken the sleepers, that they may avenge us. The Germans entertain great admiration for the dead. It is only toward the living that they are cold and reserved. Brethren, let us die for liberty if we cannot live for it. Let us remain united in life and death!"

"Yes, united in life and death!" exclaimed all the officers, and they thronged around Schill to shake hands with him, and to assure him of their fidelity.

Four days of repose and peace followed.—Schill profited by them to repair the decayed intrenchments and fortifications, and made all necessary preparations for an obstinate defence against the approaching enemy.

On the 31st of May, early in the morning, while the major was reviewing his troops in the market-place, wild shouts were heard in the streets. They drew nearer and nearer. Soldiers were rushing toward Schill, and behind them, at some distance, others in red uniforms became visible.

A flash of joy kindled the patriot's face. "The English," he exclaimed, in a loud voice, "see their red coats! The English have landed, and are coming to our assistance!"

"The English are coming!" echoed the exultant soldiers.

"No, no," gasped one of the guards, who had just reached the market-place, "the Dutch are coming—it is the enemy! They surprised us at the Knieper gate, dispersed our infantry, and penetrated into the city. See! their assaulting columns are already advancing! Let every one escape as he can!"

"It is the enemy!" exclaimed Schill, vaulting on his horse.

"Come, brethren, let us meet them. The cavalry will remain here as our reserve. The other troops will follow me to the Triebseer gate!" And he galloped into the narrow street leading to the gate, followed by his men. He was a picture of heroism as he rode at the head of his band, with his hair streaming in the wind, and his countenance beaming with courage. Turning with a smile to Lieutenant Alvensleben, who was riding at his side, "Oh," he said, "it seems to me as though a heavy load had been removed from my breast, and I could breathe freely again. The decisive struggle is at hand, and burdensome life will be resigned with joy. I shall die, my friend, die. Hurrah! forward! liberty is beckoning to me, glorious liberty!"

He spurred his horse and galloped more rapidly, Alvensleben remaining at his side.

"Friend," exclaimed Schill, further on, "when I am no more, defend me against my enemies, and greet my friends! Take my last oath of fealty to the queen, and my last love-greeting to Germany, when she is free. Hurrah! there comes the enemy! Let us sing an inspiring song!" And he sang in a loud voice:

"Tod du suesser, fuer das Vaterland! Suesser als der Brautgruss, als das Lallen Auf dem Mutterschooss des ersten Kindes, Sei mir willkommen!"

"Willkommen!" he cried again, and galloped more rapidly past the Dutch soldiers, who were just emerging from a side-street and cut him off from Alvensleben and his other followers. The enemy, commanded by the Dutch General Carteret, was also approaching from the opposite street. The patriot galloped into the midst of the staff—his sabre flashed, and the general fell from his horse as if struck by lightning. Schill turned when he was unable to penetrate through this body of men obstructing the street. But another battalion had already formed behind him and cut him hopelessly off from assistance. His own men tried to reach him. Shouts, oaths, cries of defiance and fury, with the groans of the dying, rent the air.

Schill saw that he was lost, that he was no longer able to save himself, his faithful men, or his fatherland! There was no escape for him. Death was howling around him on all sides, panting for its prey. Suddenly the column of the enemy opened; he saw the gap, and spurred his horse with a desperate effort, making him leap into the midst of the enemy. The Dutch soldiers fell back in dismay, and Schill galloped by them into Faehr Street. Forward, as on the wings of a tempest, he hastened to the assistance of his men. A bullet hissed past him—another shot was fired. He wavered in the saddle; the bullet had struck him! A detachment of Dutch soldiers were just coming up the street. The man heading them saw the pale Prussian officer, who was scarcely able to retain his seat.

"It is Schill! it is Schill!" he cried out, rushing forward.

"Hurrah, it is Schill!" shouted the others, aiming their muskets at him. Three shots were fired. The brave Prussian still kept the saddle, but his hand dropped the bridle, and the horse stood still. The Dutch chasseurs surrounded and cut him. He lay helpless on the ground—that herculean man. He was still alive; his eyes, that had so beamed with courage, cast their last glance toward heaven, and his lips, that smiled so sweetly, murmured, "Tod du suesser fuer das Vaterland!" A powerful sabre-stroke at last ended his life. His enemies despoiled his body, tearing off his decorations, and robbing him of a small crown of pearls and the memorandum-book, both gifts of the queen whom he loved so well, and for whom he fought so bravely. They seized the corpse and dragged it along the street in order to present it to their general. His hands were besmeared with mire; his uniform torn by the brutal grasp of the conquerors, and his gory head trailed along the pavement. He was at last deposited in the vestibule of the city hall, where the meat-merchants of Stralsund trade on market days.

A butcher's bench was the catafalque of unfortunate Ferdinand von Schill, the martyr of German liberty! There he lay, a horrible spectacle, with broken limbs, a face deformed by bruises and sabre-gashes, and his eyes glaring to heaven as if in accusation of the ignominy of his death and the brutality of his enemies.



CHAPTER XLIX.

THE PARADE AT SCHOeNBRUNN.

Napoleon's great victory at Wagram had put an end to the war with Austria, and destroyed only too speedily the hopes which the battle of Aspern or Esslingen had awakened in the hearts of the Germans.

The Archduke Charles had gained at Aspern half a victory; and the fact that the Austrians had not been beaten—that Napoleon had been compelled to fall back with his army and to take refuge on the island of Lobau, was regarded as a victory, which was announced in the most boastful manner. But if it was a victory, the Austrians did not know how to profit by it. Instead of uniting their forces and attacking Lobau, where the French army was encamped, huddled together, and exhausted by the long and murderous struggle—where the French grenadiers were weeping over the death of their brave leader, Marshal Lannes, Duke of Montebello—where the wounded and defeated were cursing for the first time the emperor's insatiable thirst for conquest—instead of surrounding the French army, or opening a cannonade upon them, the Archduke Charles fell farther back from the right bank of the Danube, and allowed his exhausted troops to rest and recover from the fatigue of the terrible battle that had lasted two days. While the Austrians were dressing their wounds, the French profited by the delay, and built new bridges, procured barges, left the island that might have been a graveyard for them, and reorganized their shattered forces.

On the 6th of July, Napoleon took revenge at Wagram for the two days of Aspern, and wrested again from the Archduke Charles the laurels won at the latter place. Germany was in ecstasies after the battle of Aspern, but she bowed her head mournfully after that of Wagram.

Napoleon was again the master of Germany; and Austria, like the rest of the country, had to bow humbly to his imperious will. The "first soldier of Aspern," brave Prince John of Lichtenstein, was sent to Napoleon's headquarters at Znaim to request an armistice and the opening of peace negotiations. Napoleon, whose armies were exhausted, whose attention, besides, was absorbed by the war in Spain, and who had found out at his late battles what resistance was now beginning to be made in Germany, granted the request, consented to a cessation of hostilities, and that the envoys of France and Austria should agree upon terms of peace.

These negotiations had already been carried on for months, and no conclusion had yet been arrived at. Vienna was still a French city, and the Viennese had to submit to the rule of a new governor, and to the galling yoke imposed on them by a foreign police, who kept a close surveillance over every action—nay, every expression and look. They had to bow to stern necessity, and to celebrate Napoleon's birthday, the 15th of August, by festivities and an illumination, as though it were the birthday of their own sovereign.

Napoleon was still residing at Schoenbrunn, at the palace which Maria Theresa had built, and where she had signed the marriage-contract of her daughter Marie Antoinette with the Dauphin of France. Marie Antoinette had been guillotined, and the heir of the Revolution and of the French crown was dwelling at her mother's palace.

Every morning the French Emperor reviewed his guards in the large palace-yard, and thousands of the inhabitants of Vienna hastened regularly to Schoenbrunn in order to see him and witness the parade. These morning reviews had become a favorite public amusement, and, when listening to the music of the French bands, and beholding the emperor (in his gray coat, with his broad brow covered with the three-cornered hat) gallop down the ranks of his troops, followed by the brilliant staff of his marshals and generals, amid shouts of "Vive l'Empereur" the kind-hearted citizen sometimes forgot that it was their enemy who was displaying his power, and rejoicing in his ambition; instead of cursing, they admired him and his veterans, whose scars were the signs of many a victory.

Napoleon was but too well aware of the influence which these parades were exerting on the minds of the people; he knew the fascination which his person produced not only on his soldiers, but the public generally, and he wished to profit by it, in order to conquer the civilians after conquering their army. Every one, therefore, had free access, and the subtle invader had always a kind glance and an affable smile with which to win their hearts.

On the 13th of October, as usual, a parade was to be held; and the road leading to Vienna was early covered with carriages, horsemen, and pedestrians, hastening to Schoenbrunn. Among those hurrying along the high-road was a man of whom no one took any notice, with whom no one was conversing, and who, while all around were laughing, and speaking of the parade, was pursuing his way in grave silence. His youthful countenance was sad and pale; long, light hair was waving round his oval face. His eyes seemed on fire, and his thin, half-parted lips were quivering as though he were a prey to intense emotion. He was wrapped in a large black cloak reaching nearly to his feet; a small black velvet cap covered his head. This strange figure looked like an apparition in the midst of the chatting crowd, the elegant carriages, and dashing horsemen. All were too busily engaged with themselves, with the review, which was to be particularly brilliant, and with the emperor, who was not only to be present, but to command the troops.

A few persons referred also to the hopes entertained of a speedy conclusion of peace, and regretted that they had not yet been fulfilled, while others conversed stealthily about the victories of the Tyrolese, and of noble and brave Andrew Hofer, who, with his faithful mountaineers, still dared to resist the French conqueror. The young man listened gravely and silently to all this conversation.

It was yet early when he reached the palace; for the Viennese were anxious to get good places, and to be as near the emperor as possible, and therefore they had set out several hours before the parade was to commence.

The young man glanced with an evident air of disappointment over the large, unoccupied space which lay before him, and on which as yet not a man of the imperial guard was to be seen. "Will there be no parade to-day?" he asked a corpulent citizen of Vienna, who was standing at his side.

"Certainly, sir, there will be one," said the citizen, with a self-important air. "But it is very early yet, and an hour may elapse before the emperor makes his appearance."

"An hour yet!" exclaimed the young stranger, indignantly. "I was told I had to be here early in order to witness the spectacle."

"You were correctly informed, sir. For if you want to see any thing, it is necessary to be here at this hour to secure a good place. Besides, the time you will have to wait will not be very tedious. The various regiments that are to participate in the parade will soon make their appearance; then, come the imperial guards, who form in line, and, finally, the emperor with his marshals. Oh, you ought to hear the shouts, the music of the band, and the roll of the drums when he appears! You will certainly hear the noise, provided it does not make you deaf."

"I think it will not," said the young man, with a mournful smile. "But tell me, shall we be able to see the emperor very near? From which door will he make his appearance, and where does he generally take his position?"

"He comes generally from the large portal yonder; it is there that he mounts on horseback; he then rides down the front of the soldiers, and halts a short time just there, where we are standing. Those who desire to say any thing to him, or to deliver petitions, had better do so on this very spot. But come, let us go a little farther into the palace-yard, that we may see better."

"Very well, lead the way. I will follow," said the young man.

"Come, then, sir." And the kind-hearted citizen of Vienna elbowed himself through the crowd.

The young conspirator followed him a few steps, and then halted. Instead of advancing farther he slipped back to his former place.

"No," he muttered to himself, "I must not stand close to, or converse with any one. I must be alone and an utter stranger, so as to cast suspicion on no one else, and not to endanger the lives of innocent persons. The glory of the deed will belong to me alone, if it should succeed; let the penalty be inflicted on me alone, if it should fail." He withdrew farther from the citizen who had spoken to him so courteously, and when he had entirely lost sight of him, he approached the palace cautiously and from the opposite side. "The blow must be struck at once," he muttered. "Every delay will involve me in fresh dangers, and my fate might be the same as that of the two brethren who drew the black balls last year. I drew the lot this time, and must accomplish what they were unable to perform."

The youthful stranger raised his eyes toward heaven, and a solemn earnestness beamed from his countenance. "Yes, I swear it by the memory of Anna, and the tears she will soon shed for me, that I will not, like those two brethren, shrink from striking the blow. I drew the lot, and the president must repair the fault committed by them. I must destroy the tyrant! Heaven, hear my oath and let my plan succeed!" He elbowed himself quickly through the crowd, and approached closer to the entrance of the palace. Once, in the midst of the surging mass, his cloak was accidentally displaced, and something like a dagger-blade flashed from under it; but hastily arranging his cloak he glanced around with an air of uneasiness. No one paid any attention to him, for all eyes were fixed on the imperial guard marching into line with a proud step, conscious that they were the favorites of the greatest general of the age, and the terror of the battle-field.



CHAPTER L.

NAPOLEON AT SCHOeNBRUNN.

While the regiments were forming in the palace-yard below, and the spectators were thronging about them, Napoleon was still in his cabinet. But he was not alone. Some of his adjutants and marshals were with him, and stood, like the emperor, in front of a table covered with strange articles. There lay a leg encased in a magnificent boot, a hand covered with a white glove, an arm clad in the sleeve of a uniform, by the side of which was a foot cut off close above the ankle, and encased in a neat shoe.

Napoleon contemplated these things with grave glances, and then turned his eyes toward a small man who was standing in humble attire and attitude, and who was no other than the celebrated mechanician and inventor of the metronome, Leonard Maelzl. "You are a genius indeed!" said the emperor, with an air of genuine admiration; "people did not say too much in calling you the most skilful member of your profession. You really suppose that it is possible to walk with such a leg?" And the emperor pointed at that lying on the table.

"Sire, I do not only suppose it, I know it," said M. Maelzl, gravely; "a man may use these limbs and feet as easily and naturally as though he were born with them. Please be so kind, your majesty, as to look at this." M. Maelzl took the article and placed it in front of a chair. "Your majesty sees that it is a foot with about half a leg. It is fastened with these two suspenders, that are thrown over the shoulders, and a man may then walk with it."

"Yes, walk, but he would not be able to sit down."

"Yes, he would, sire; you touch this spring, and—your majesty sees, the knee bends and the upper part drops on the chair."

"So it does!" exclaimed Napoleon, joyously, but suddenly his brow became dark and his eyes gloomy. "Alas," he said, thoughtfully, "were Lannes still alive, I might have at least offered him a substitute for the limbs he lost." He stared at the ingenious work, and stroking his face quickly said, "You assert, also, sir, that a man may use that hand, and hold any thing with it?" asked Napoleon, lifting up the neatly-gloved hand.

"Sire, it is just as good as one new-grown. The human will controls every limb and moves these artificial fingers just as well as the natural ones. Will your majesty be so kind as to order me to take something from the table with this hand which you see now stretched out?"

The emperor drew a ring, adorned with a large diamond, from his finger, and laid it on the table. "Let the machine pick up this ring," he said.

Maelzl took the hand, and, touching the spring fixed at the wrist, the fingers bent immediately and seized the ring. Napoleon looked humorously at his astonished marshals and generals. "Now, gentlemen," he said, "we need no longer be afraid of bullets, for if we lose the hands and feet that God has given us, we can replace them by those made by Mr. Maelzl."

"Sire," said Mr. Maelzl, smiling, "will you convince yourself that my artificial hand cannot merely pick up, but also retain an object? Will your majesty try to take the ring from it?"

Napoleon seized the ring, but the fingers held it with irresistible tenacity. "Indeed, these are very sensible fingers," exclaimed Napoleon; "they do not give up what they once get hold of."

"Yes, sire, they will. I touch this spring, and the fingers open again."

"No, no," exclaimed the emperor, "let them keep this time what they have, and wear the ring as a memento. I will allow them only to deliver it to their maker, who knows not only how to use his own hands so skilfully, but also to manufacture serviceable ones for others. No thanks, sir! we are greatly indebted to you, and not you to us, and it certainly behooves me to thank you in the name of the brave soldiers whose lost limbs you replace so ingeniously. When the precious day of peace will come, people will be able to do without your invention, but I am afraid we shall not live to see that day. We are, I fear, always exposed to the horrors of war. Hence, your invention is a blessing that cannot be appreciated too highly, for, thanks to you, there will be fewer cripples and unsightly wooden legs. I shall issue orders to select five of the bravest and most deserving invalids from every regiment of my army, and you will restore to them their lost arms, legs and hands, at my expense. Indeed, sir, you imitate the Creator, and the wonder would be complete if you knew also how to replace lost heads."

"Sire, I do know that, too," said Maelzl, smiling.

"Yes, a head of wax or painted wood!"

"No, sire, a head that moves, opens, and closes its eyes, and—thinks."

"A head that thinks?" exclaimed Napoleon, laughing. "Ah, that is a pretty strong assertion, which you could hardly prove."

"Pardon me, your majesty, I engage to furnish the proof."

"How so?"

"If your majesty will acknowledge that one must think in order to play a game of chess, then the artificial man in my possession is able to think."

"Where have you that man with the thinking head?"

"Sire, I have caused my assistants to set it up in the adjoining room. But I must observe that this man was not made by myself; it is the master-piece of the late Mr. Kempeler, a well-known mechanician, of whose son I bought my slave."

"Ah," said Napoleon, laughing, "do you not know that the trade in human chattels is now prohibited in our civilized states? But let us see your slave.—Come, gentlemen," added Napoleon, turning toward his marshals and adjutants, "let us look at the work of this modern Prometheus." He walked toward the door, but, before leaving the cabinet, he turned to the chamberlain. "When the Duke de Cadore comes bring me word immediately." He then stepped into the adjoining room and the marshals and Mr. Maelzl followed him.

In the middle of the room, at a small table, on which was a chess-board, sat a neatly-dressed male figure, looking like a boy fourteen years old.

"That, then, is the celebrated chess-player," remarked Napoleon, advancing quickly. "The face is made of wax, but who will warrant that there is not a human countenance concealed under it, and that this prepossessing and well-proportioned form does not really consist of flesh and blood?"

"Sire, this will convince your majesty that such is not the case," said Maelzl, touching a spring on the neck of the automaton, and taking the head from the trunk.

"You are right," exclaimed Napoleon, laughing, "I am fully convinced. It is true men are walking about without heads, but they are not so honest as to reveal the fact so openly as your automaton does."

"Sire, will your majesty grant the favor of playing a game of chess with him?" asked Maelzl, fastening on again the head of the automaton.

"What! the thing will dare to play a game of chess with me?"

"With your majesty's permission."

"And alone?"

"Yes, sire; your majesty will permit me, however, to take position behind the chair?"

"Certainly. I see the chessmen are already on the board; let us commence." The emperor sat down opposite the automaton, and saluted it with a pleasant nod.

"Well, comrade, let us commence," said Napoleon.

The automaton made a graceful bow, and beckoned to the emperor with its uplifted right hand, as though he wished him to commence.

"Well, I shall commence," said Napoleon, advancing a pawn.

The automaton took the pawn in front of the king and advanced it two squares. The emperor made another move, and so did his opponent. Looking smilingly at the figure, Napoleon played his black bishop as a knight, occupying the oblique white square. The automaton, shaking its head, put the bishop on the square it ought to occupy.

"Ah, it does not like cheating," exclaimed Napoleon, laughing; "it is a very earnest and conscientious player." And the emperor made another move. The automaton continued the game. Another attempt was made to cheat by moving the castle in an oblique direction. His adversary took the castle with an impetuous gesture and placed it aside like a pawn it had won.

"It very properly punishes me," said the emperor. "We must play seriously."

The game proceeded. It became more and more intricate; the chances were soon in favor of the automaton, and the emperor was in danger of losing the game. Forgetting who was his antagonist, he remembered only that he was about to lose a game, and became serious. He played hastily, and for the third time tried to cheat by moving a knight contrary to the rules. The automaton shook its head vehemently, and upset the whole chess-board.

"Ah, it refuses to continue the game," exclaimed Napoleon; "it despises my swindling, and forgets that it is itself a swindle. You may be thankful, M. Maelzl, that we are no longer in the middle ages; formerly they would have burned you at the stake as a sorcerer, attempting to do what God alone is able to do."

"Sire, permit me to repeat that this machine was not made by myself, but by Kempeler. But I hope your majesty will permit me to show you my own automaton, and allow it to indulge in a little music before you."

"Where is it?"

"Here," said Maelzl, opening the closed curtains of one of the windows, and pointing at the handsome figure visible behind them.

"Ah, a postilion!" exclaimed Napoleon, "and it will blow us a tune on the bugle?"

"Sire, it begs leave to play the Marseillaise to your majesty," said Maelzl, moving the figure on rollers into the middle of the room.

"Let it commence," said Napoleon.

The postilion raised its arm, seized the bugle hanging on a silken string around its neck, put it to its mouth and commenced blowing.

At this moment the door of the cabinet opened; the chamberlain entered and approached the emperor. "Sire," he said, the "Duke de Cadore has just arrived and begs to be admitted."

"Conduct him immediately into my cabinet," replied Napoleon, rising hastily. He then beckoned the mechanician to his side. "Let your postilion still play to the marshals. As to your chess-player, I must buy it of you. You may apply to Grand-Marshal Duroc for the money. In order to punish the automaton for nearly beating me at the game, I will buy it, and it is henceforth to be my slave."[47]

[Footnote 47: This chess-player, which Napoleon bought of Maelzl, remained at the Villa Bonaparte, near Milan, until 1812, when it was removed to Paris, where it is at the present time.]

"Sire, that is no punishment, but a reward, for which I beg leave to thank you in the name of my chess-player."

"You have invented a most acceptable substitute for such of my invalids as have lost arms or legs," said the emperor; "now you must invent something else for me, and come to the assistance of the wounded on the battle-field. Make me the model of an ambulance into which the disabled can be placed safely and comfortably, and which is arranged in such a manner that it may be taken asunder and transported on horseback with the train of the army. You are an inventive genius, and I shall expect you with your model in the course of a week. Now let your postilion blow again. Good-by!" He waved his hand kindly to the mechanician, and then hastened back into his cabinet. The Duke de Cadore was there already, and saluted the emperor with a low bow.

"Well, Champagny," exclaimed Napoleon, quickly, "do you not yet bring us peace?"

"No, sire, the ambassadors of Austria refuse peremptorily to accept the terms proposed to them."

"Ah," exclaimed the emperor, menacingly, "those Austrians believe they can bid me defiance. They have not yet been humbled enough, although I have defeated their army, foiled the plans of their commander-in-chief, expelled their emperor from his capital, and am residing at his palace. They wish for further humiliations, and they shall have them. If they do not change their mind very speedily, I shall send for the Grand-duke of Wuerzburg and adorn his head with the imperial crown of Austria."

"Sire, that would be replacing one puppet by another, but not removing the men pulling the wires; and they are all animated by the same spirit. Prince Lichtenstein and Count Bubna are no less inflexible than was Count Metternich. It is true they have already yielded in some points, and declared to-day that the Emperor Francis had authorized them to accept some of the conditions proposed."

"Which?" asked Napoleon, hastily.

"The emperor is ready to cede to France Dalmatia and Croatia, the territories demanded by your majesty."

"Well!" exclaimed Napoleon, "we obtain thereby the chief point. I shall extend the territory of France to the Save, and become the immediate neighbor of Turkey. Let the Emperor of Russia try then to carry his plans against Constantinople into effect: France will know how to protect her neighbor, and her troops will always be ready to defend the Porte. When I have extended my frontiers into the interior of Dalmatia and Croatia, Russia's influence in the Orient is paralyzed, and France will be all-powerful in Constantinople. What is it that Austria refuses after granting our principal demands?"

"Sire, she consents further to cede to Bavaria part of Upper Austria, namely: Salzburg, Berchtesgaden, and part of the district of the Inn and Hausruck, but she refuses to give up one-half of Upper Austria, which we claimed; she refuses further to cede to Saxony such large territories in Bohemia, and to Russia in Galicia, as was demanded by your majesty."

"We may yield a little as to these points," said Napoleon. "It is always better to make exorbitant demands, because it is easier then to abate, and appear accommodating. I do not attach, moreover, any great value to the enlargement of Bavaria, Saxony, and Russia. Only the aggrandizement of France by the extension of our frontiers to the boundaries of Turkey was to be the object of our ambition. Having attained this, we will yield as to the cession of other territories, and be satisfied with less, provided that Austria accept unreservedly and fully the two other conditions I refer to."

"Your majesty refers to the reduction of the Austrian army, and the war contribution of one hundred millions of francs, which we have demanded."

"Which we have demanded, and which must be paid, unless they wish me to resume hostilities," said Napoleon, menacingly.

"Sire, these are the two points as to which Austria shows the greatest reluctance," said Champagny, shrugging his shoulders. "She contends that a reduction of her army, brought about by the imperious demands of France, is incompatible with the honor and dignity of her emperor; and further, that she is unable to pay a war contribution of one hundred millions of francs."

"She dares then to reject my demands!" exclaimed Napoleon, with a gloomy air. "She will compel me to recommence the war for the sake of a few miserable millions of francs!"

"Sire, Austria makes counter-propositions, and hopes that an understanding will be arrived at. She promises to reduce her army considerably in the course of six months, to disband the militia, and to place the regiments on a peace footing. She further offers one-half of the sum which we have demanded, namely, fifty millions."

"And she believes that I will be satisfied with that?" said Napoleon. "She attempts to beat me down as though I were a British shopkeeper! She dares to offer me one-half, and talks to me about the honor and dignity of her emperor! As if it did not depend on me to trample under foot his honor and dignity, and to cast the imperial crown of Austria into the waves of the Danube, or to place it on my own head, just as I prefer!"

"Sire, I believe the Emperor Francis is fully aware of the danger menacing him, and he is conscious, too, that his dynasty is at stake in these negotiations. I do not believe, therefore, that hostilities will break out again, owing to his reluctance to submit to these two conditions."

"I shall not yield," said Napoleon, "although it seems to me disgraceful to commence another war for the sake of fifty millions, and when I know that my own army is in need of repose. I—" The emperor interrupted himself, and listened to the clock, which struck twelve. "Indeed, it is already twelve o'clock! My guard must have been waiting for me in the palace-yard for some time." He stepped to the window and looked down. "My splendid guard has already formed in line," he said, "and there is a vast crowd of spectators from Vienna to see the parade."

"To see your majesty," corrected Champagny, approaching the window at a sign made by Napoleon.

"Just look at that crowd!" said the emperor, smiling. "There are at least three thousand men who have come hither to see me and my soldiers, and they do not belong exclusively to the lower classes, as is proved by the large number of carriages, the numerous elegant horsemen, and by the windows yonder." He pointed at the windows of the opposite wing of the palace; and when the minister turned his eyes, he beheld a large number of ladies, whose toilet seemed to indicate that they belonged to the higher classes of society.

"See!" said the emperor, "that beautiful lady in the ermine dress; it is the Princess von Fuerstenberg, and the lady at her side is the wife of Field-Marshal von Bellegarde. They requested Bausset to lend them one of his windows, that they might witness the parade. The ladies at their side are all members of the highest aristocracy, and the citizens and the populace generally are in the yard below. You see, these good people regard us no longer as enemies; they love and esteem us, and perhaps it would be wisest and best for me to claim the crown of Austria in order to put an end to all further quarrels. The Austrians, it seems to me, would be content with it. Well, we shall see further about it! I will not make the ladies, the populace, and, above all, my soldiers, wait longer. You may remain here in my cabinet. There is a note on the table which I want you to finish. I shall return soon."

The emperor took his hat, and, opening the door leading into the adjoining room, he called out: "Gentlemen of the staff—to the parade!"



CHAPTER LI.

FREDERICK STAPS.

The bands played, and shouts of "Vive l'Empereur!" burst from the troops. Napoleon had emerged from the palace door, and the welcome was as a sunbeam brightening his cold and emotionless face. He slowly descended the steps of the outside staircase, with his eyes on the soldiers, and he did not notice the young man who stood below, presenting to him a petition with his left hand, while he concealed his right under his cloak.

"Sire," said the young man, loudly and urgently, "sire, here is a petition, and I request your majesty to listen to me for a moment. I—"

Napoleon passed on the other side without having heard these words. The youth, holding the petition still in his hand, was about to follow him, but Marshal Bessieres, who walked behind, kept him back. "If you present a petition to the emperor," he said, "wait here until the parade is over, when he will return this way." The marshal proceeded, but the young man took no notice of his order, and mingled boldly with the emperor's suite.

General Rapp at length laid his hand on the youth's shoulder, and said:

"Sir, you must withdraw. This is no place for you."

"I have to present a petition to the emperor which cannot be delayed," said the young man, in a gentle voice, "pray permit me to give it to him at once."

"I tell you it is out of place here," exclaimed the general, vehemently. Beckoning to one of the second lieutenants, he said: "Conduct this man away from here."

"Come, sir," said the lieutenant; "stand back, soldiers; let this man pass." In spite of himself, he was soon hurried to the rear.

"I must attain my object—I must fulfil my oath," he muttered to himself. "Napoleon must die to-day, and Frederick Staps shall be his executioner. Forward!" He elbowed himself through the crowd that had assembled behind the soldiers, and, standing on tiptoe, tried to descry the emperor and his marshals while walking into the semicircle formed by the troops.

No one noticed that, seeing a passage in the ranks of the soldiers, Staps advanced, cautiously and quickly as a snake, until he was again inside the semicircle. "Fate is favorable to me," he muttered, "and the moment is at hand when I will deliver Germany!" He approached the emperor, who was just coming down the front from the other side. "Sire," he exclaimed, stretching out his paper toward Napoleon, "take my petition, and listen to me a few minutes."

The emperor looked for a moment on the pale countenance of the young man. "I do not understand you," he said; "apply to General Rapp."

Staps apparently had not heard Napoleon's words; he approached still closer, and put his right hand under his cloak. "Sire, listen to me," he exclaimed, "I—" A strong hand grasped his arm and pushed him back.

"Did you not hear that you are to apply to General Rapp?" asked Marshal Bessieres. "Why did you come the second time to a place where you do not belong? Leave immediately, or you will be arrested!"

"I am going," muttered Staps, and turned to pass through the ranks of the soldiers.

At this moment a dark suspicion arose in the mind of Bessieres, for which he was unable to give any good reasons, but which alarmed him. He beckoned to two soldiers, and, pointing at Staps, who was pressing his way outside, he said, "Arrest that man, and bring him hither!" His order was obeyed in a moment, and the soldiers, holding Staps by the arms, dragged him to the marshal, whom the Duke de Rovigo and General Rapp had now joined.

"Why did you have me arrested, general?" asked Staps, in a firm, calm voice.

"Because I distrust you," replied Bessieres. "Take off your cloak!"

Staps hesitated. "Take off your cloak!" repeated Bessieres; and, not obeying, the soldiers violently tore the cloak from his shoulders, and, as they did so, something flashed.

It was the blade of a large knife, in a belt with which he had fastened his black velvet coat.

"He is saved and I am lost!" muttered Staps to himself, and dropped his head on his breast.

"What is the meaning of this knife?" asked General Rapp. "What did you want to do with it?"

Staps slowly raised his head and lifted up his arm to point at the emperor, who was standing but a few steps from them.

"I intended to punish him," he said, solemnly.

"An assassin! an assassin!" cried the marshals, in dismay, thronging around him.

The emperor, perhaps, had heard these cries, for he approached.

"What is going on here?" he asked, as his eyes turned to the pale face of the young man.

"Sire," said Bessieres, with an air of horror, "you see here a criminal who was about to assassinate you! Here is the knife with which he intended to perpetrate the deed."

Not a feature of the emperor's countenance changed; not a muscle quivered or betrayed any inward emotion. "Hush," he said, in a low, imperious voice. "Take the man into the palace! I will examine him after the parade is over. Let Savary and Rapp accompany him.—Come, marshals!"

While Savary and Rapp, with the soldiers who surrounded Staps, hastened into the palace, Napoleon, escorted by his marshals, walked slowly down the front. He did not finish the parade a minute earlier than usual. Ascending the staircase, he stood on the landing, and received again the salutations of the military. He then stepped into the lower hall of the palace. But there he accelerated his steps, and, hurrying through the anterooms, entered the apartment contiguous to his cabinet.

An hour had passed since he had admired, in this room, M. Maelzl's chess-player and postilion, and now he looked wonderingly at the young man who had tried to assassinate him. "He is really but a child, and looks very innocent," exclaimed the emperor, shrugging his shoulders; "I do not believe that he is an assassin."

"Sire, here is the knife that was found on his person," said Savary, handing it to the emperor.

"That is, indeed, a strong proof of his intention," replied Napoleon. "But who tells you that this knife was designed for me? I will myself speak to the man. Rapp, are you sufficiently familiar with the German language to be my interpreter?"

"Yes, sire, I speak German."

"Come, then," said the emperor, quickly approaching Staps, whose hands had been tied behind him.

"Whence do you come, and what is your name?"

"I come from Naumburg, and my name is Frederick Staps," was the calm reply.

"What is your father?"

"He is a clergyman."

"A clergyman! and he has taught his son so little religion! For I am told you intended to assassinate me. Is that true?"

"It was the last means that I had resolved upon to save my unfortunate native land," replied Staps, in a gentle voice. "But before doing so, I was determined to try another."

"What?"

"To implore you, in the name of my country, humanity, and your own future, to give peace to the world," responded Staps, enthusiastically. "I hoped that Heaven would impart strength to my words, so that they would be able to move your heart; that your eyes would see the fountains of blood your accursed hand has opened on the peaceful plains of Germany; that the armies of the dead lying in our fields might satisfy your desire for war. Sire, have mercy on Germany and on yourself! There are thousands of unburied corpses accusing Napoleon as their murderer! Our cities and villages are filled with weeping mothers, and widows, and children, arraigning you as the destroyer of their sons, husbands, and fathers. Sire, have mercy on your own conscience, and restore peace to the world!"

"He is assuredly insane," murmured Napoleon to himself. At this moment he cast his eyes on a miniature, fastened to a string, and lying on the table.

"What locket is that?" he asked.

"Sire," replied Rapp, "we took it from the assassin; he wore it on his neck."

Napoleon examined it. It contained the portrait of a beautiful woman. "Whose portrait is it?"

"Sire," said Staps, in a solemn voice, "it is the portrait of my betrothed—my dearly beloved Anna."

"What!" exclaimed the emperor. "You have a sweet-heart—you have a mother and a father—-you are in the flower of your life—and yet you intended to commit so horrible a crime! For you will not deny that murder is a crime."

"Murder in ordinary cases is one of the greatest crimes," said Staps, in his calm, gentle voice. "But to take your life—to rid the world of Napoleon—is no murder and no crime; it is an act of justice—nay, it is a sacred duty! If I had killed you, no one would have called me an assassin; my attempt is criminal because it did not succeed. That is what one of our own great poets says concerning certain actions:

'Conceived and unsuccessful—there's the crime! Accomplished, it becomes a deed immortal. And what succeeds will surely be forgiven, For God's own verdict lies in the result!"'[48]

[Footnote 48:

"Gedacht bloss und missglueckt—ist's nur ein Frevel, Vollbracht, ist's ein unsterblich Unternehmen. Und was nur glueckt, das wird dann auch verziehen, Denn jeder Ausgang—ist ein Gottes-Urtheil!"

SCHILLER.

]

"And God, then, has decided against you," said Napoleon, quickly.

"No, God delays only the execution of the blow, and perhaps I am not the right instrument. He will choose another, and my successors will know better how to find your heart. Believe me, the Germans know how to do their duty; and to rid Germany of her tyrant, and restore peace to her people, is their duty."

"You have read a good deal, I suppose?" asked the emperor. "And it seems books have excited your imagination. What were your favorite works?"

"Sire, historical works," said Staps, calmly. "I derived from them the courage required for my deed."

"You know something of Brutus, then?" asked Napoleon, with a compassionate smile.

"There were two Brutuses. The last Brutus killed the tyrant, and died for liberty. Mankind have not ceased admiring him, as France has not ceased admiring the Maid of Orleans. She delivered her country from its enemies, but she was captured, and perished. I intended to do what that heroic maid did—save my native land from oppression, but God decreed that her destiny, and not her deed, should be mine."

"Does your father know of your folly?"

"Neither he nor my betrothed, nor any one else, knew of my purpose. I came hither alone, and alone I intended to accomplish it. Not until I had succeeded was its revelation to be made. And the news would have come to those I love as a pledge of peace—that the deluge of blood was over, and Germany saved!"

"Your father and your betrothed will now receive bad tidings of you. Are you not afraid of grieving them?"

"Both of them will weep for me—so will many other Germans, and their tears will water the flowers upon my grave."

"You believe, then, that I shall have you executed?"

"I should consider it but natural for you."

"But it may please me to pardon you. Tell me, in that case, what you would do?"

"Accomplish my purpose," replied Staps, calmly. "I have sworn to kill you. I must fulfil my oath or die!"

"Ah, you have either a morbid mind or a morbid body!" exclaimed Napoleon, vehemently.

"No, I have neither one nor the other," replied Staps, composedly; "my mind is healthy, and so is my body."

"Send for Corvisart," ordered the emperor, turning to his suite. "But let no one dare tell him what is transpiring here."

An adjutant hastened out, and Napoleon turned again to Staps. "Are you a freemason or one of the Illuminati?"

"Neither."

"Did you ever hear of Moreau and Pichegru?"

"I did."

"And what do you think of these men, who tried to take my life?"

"I think that they were afraid of death."

"Did you know Schill and Doernberg?"

Staps hesitated a moment, and replied: "I knew Schill. I saw him on the day after the battle of Jena, and we swore to devote our thoughts, our energies, and our lives, to the German fatherland, and never to grow weary in our struggle against the tyrant. There were three of us who took this oath. The first was Count Pueckler, who shot himself; the second was shot, Ferdinand von Schill; the third will also be shot, Frederick Staps!"

"He is insane," repeated Napoleon, shuddering involuntarily at the tranquillity of the prisoner.

The door opened, and the emperor's physician, M. de Corvisart, entered.

"Corvisart, come hither," the emperor said, vehemently. "Examine this young man, and tell me what is the matter with him." The marshals and generals stepped aside, and the physician approached the prisoner, whose hands had been untied a moment previously. "Examine his pulse, Corvisart; examine him carefully and tell me whether he has a fever, or is insane."

Staps quietly stretched out his hand; Corvisart took it and laid his fingers on the pulse. Silence reigned in the room. The marshals and generals in full uniform surrounded the group; in the midst stood the emperor, whose face was sadder to-day than usual; at his side was Staps, with his gentle countenance and radiant look turned toward heaven, his right hand resting in that of the physician, who marked every pulsation with profound attention.

It was a scene worthy an artist's pencil. All were looking at the physician and waited breathlessly for his decision.

"Sire," said Corvisart, after a long pause, "this young man is in perfectly good health; his pulse is regular; there is nothing indicative of insanity in his eyes; his complexion is good, and in fact there is nothing in his appearance to denote the slightest indisposition."

"Ah," exclaimed Staps, with a triumphant smile, "you see that I was right. I am neither insane nor ill."

Napoleon stamped with anger, as his eyes flashed fire. "He is insane, Corvisart!" he exclaimed; "examine him again."

Corvisart, did so, and in a short time said: "Sire, I cannot but repeat my previous statement; I do not find a trace of fever or insanity. His pulse is perfectly regular."

"Well, then," said Napoleon, frowning, "this healthy person just tried to assassinate me!"

"Assassinate you!" ejaculated Corvisart in dismay. "Unfortunate young man, what could induce you to attempt such a crime?"

"The misfortunes and sufferings of my country," replied Staps. "I desired to deliver it from the tyrant who has been bringing misery, disgrace, and degradation on Germany for the last ten years. My attempt was vain, but some one else will succeed in what I have failed to accomplish. I have no actual accomplices, but the heart of every German is my accomplice, and the knife which dropped from my hand to-day will fall into another's. All Germany is in conspiracy. You may kill me, but thousands are ready to do what I failed to accomplish."

The emperor indeed listened to such words, but with a dark and angry countenance. He beckoned the Duke de Rovigo to his side.

"Savary," he said, "take this boy away, and subject him to a close examination. Try to discover his accomplices. If he name them, I will pardon him."

"Sire, you have the right to execute me, but I do not give you the right to despise me," exclaimed Staps.

"Take him away!" repeated the emperor, "and report to me what he says." Saluting the marshals with a wave of his hand, and, casting a last glance on Staps, he walked by and opened the door of the cabinet, where Minister Champagny was awaiting his return.

"Champagny," said the emperor, wearily sitting down on an easy-chair, "did you not tell me the Prince von Lichtenstein had informed you that frequent propositions to assassinate me had been made to him?"

"Yes, sire," replied Champagny, "and the prince told me he had invariably rejected them with horror."

"Nevertheless, an attempt has been made. A young man, scarcely twenty years old, with the face of a sick girl, came hither to-day to stab me with a kitchen-knife, as he would a goose or a calf."

"Merciful Heaven, that is terrible!" exclaimed Champagny, turning pale. "The life of your majesty was really endangered, then?"

"If the knife which an assassin aims at your breast endangers your life, mine was endangered," said the emperor, with a gloomy smile. "It seems my marshals were somewhat distrustful, and did not believe so confidently in the love and admiration of the spectators as I did, and that saved my life."

"It is, perhaps, only a false suspicion, sire; the knife, it may be, was not intended for your majesty."

"Oh, it was! I personally examined the young man. He confesses his purpose; he boasts of it, and says if I pardoned him he would attempt the same thing."

"Horrible!" exclaimed Champagny.

"Yes, horrible!" repeated the emperor, musingly, "the more so as he assures me with the utmost tranquillity that every German shares his hatred of me; that the whole land is but a hotbed of conspiracy, and that thousands of hands are already armed to pierce my heart. And this young man is in perfect health, bodily and mentally, according to Corvisart, who twice examined him; his pulse is regular, and not in the least feverish. Ah, these Germans have gall in their veins instead of blood! They are fanatics, and of such we ought to beware." He dropped his head on his breast. After some time he turned toward the minister, who was sitting opposite him in respectful silence. "Champagny," he said, hastily, "we must make peace. I am bent on putting an end to the war, and on leaving the country. Return to Vienna, and send immediately for the Austrian plenipotentiaries. You have already agreed as to the chief points; it is the war contribution alone that still prevents both sides from coming to a definite understanding. You ask for fifty millions more than the Austrians offer to pay; well, compromise with them; induce the ambassadors to assent to the payment of seventy-five millions, and make peace. I am satisfied with the stipulations of the last draft of the treaty; add to it whatever you may deem prudent. I rely altogether on you; but, at all events, make peace! Hasten to Vienna. Good-by."

The Duke de Cadore left the emperor's cabinet. Napoleon was still moodily sitting in his easy-chair, when he murmured: "Ah, these Germans! They cannot be trusted! They are dangerous fanatics, capable of perpetrating the foulest and most cowardly crime, and of sanctifying it on the altar of duty."



CHAPTER LII

AN EXECUTION.

Napoleon had passed a sleepless night. The image of this pale youth, with his determined patriotism, who frankly confessed that his object had been assassination, and regretted that the attempt was unsuccessful, stood as a grim sentinel by the emperor's couch, forbidding sleep to his eyes or peace to his mind.

It was scarcely dawn when he rose, sad and weary, and called his valet de chambre to dress him. His lips scarcely touching the cup of chocolate presented to him, he pushed it impatiently aside. Contrary to his usual manner with the servants, he left his bedroom without a pleasant glance or a kind word, and repaired to his cabinet. The candelabras on the mantel-piece were lit, for it was still dark; and a bright fire was burning, but the room was not yet warm.

"Germany is a cold, disagreeable country," exclaimed Napoleon, shuddering, and warming his feet at the fire. "We are only in the early part of October, but it is already like mid-winter. The sun himself seems to put on the sheep-skin which every German pulls over his ears. In truth, it is a wretched country; I wish I could turn my back on it to-morrow, and bid adieu to these wild dreamers. When so slow and cold-blooded a nation gets excited, it resembles a bull in the arena, whose fury is kindled by a red handkerchief. Such is Germany at this time, and I must step out of the way if I do not wish to be pierced or trampled to death. That would be inglorious!"

A low rapping at the door was heard. The emperor started. "Come in!" he shouted, in an imperious voice.

The door opened immediately, and Constant appeared. "Pardon me, sire, but it is so early that none of the chamberlains are yet in the anteroom."

"Well, what is it?" asked Napoleon, impatiently. "Quick, what is the matter?"

"Sire, the Duke de Cadore has just arrived from Vienna and desires to be admitted."

"Show him in immediately," ordered the emperor, who, in his impatience, hurried to the door to receive the minister.

Champagny entered, carrying under his arm a large portfolio.

"Well, Champagny, what brings you hither at so early an hour? What has occurred? What did you do last night?"

"Sire," said Champagny, composedly, "I have made peace."

"What? Peace!" exclaimed Napoleon, and his countenance brightened, as if the morning had suddenly cast on him its earliest golden beams. "Peace! And the treaty has already been signed?"

"Yes, sire, and I bring it to your majesty."

"Signed! But how did you do that?"

"Sire, as soon as I reached Vienna last night, I sent for the Prince von Lichtenstein and Count Bubna, and locked myself with them in my room. We had a long and exciting discussion; but I saw that the plenipotentiaries had received fresh instructions from their emperor, and that he had ordered them to make peace. I extorted million by million from them; at one o'clock in the morning I had already made them consent to the payment of seventy-five millions, the sum demanded by your majesty; but I saw that I could go farther, and I did. At two o'clock I succeeded in a war contribution of eighty-five millions, and with that I was satisfied."

"What!" exclaimed the emperor, gayly; "you have obtained eighty-five millions when I told you I would be content with seventy-five millions! That was well done, Champagny, and I am highly pleased with your conduct. Give me the treaty. I wish to read it."

Champagny handed the emperor the papers, and he read them attentively. "Very well," he said, when he had finished, and with a smile—"we have accomplished, indeed, a very favorable peace. Austria has concluded four treaties with me within the last twelve years, but I must confess that this is the most advantageous to us—more so than the treaties of Campo Formio, Luneville, and Presburg. Austria loses two thousand square leagues, with three millions and a half of inhabitants, and pays us a war contribution of eighty-five millions of francs. I think France may be thankful, for, from this campaign, we bring her territory, money, and glory. We have done with Austria; and the insurgents of the Tyrol, headed by their peasant-prince, Andrew Hofer, will likewise have to submit. Their own emperor will command the insurgents to lay down their arms. But I will make an example, and show the world how such people ought to be chastised. Andrew Hofer must be delivered to me; he must be punished as a demagogue! Come, Champagny, let us lose no time. I will sign the treaty. It is very good. I am content with it." He stepped to his desk and hastily affixed his signature. He then cast the pen aside, and his features assumed an expression of proud scorn. "Henceforth Austria is nothing but a vassal of France, and I can annihilate her whenever I please. Her frontiers are open and unprotected on all sides; she is weakened within and without, and hemmed in everywhere by French territories. She dares no longer breathe freely, or raise her arm against us. If, however, she should, we shall crush her, and reconstruct the throne of Charlemagne on the ruins of Austria. His crown belongs to me already; I have it at Aix-la-Chapelle, and I do not see what should prevent me from placing it on my brow in Vienna."

"Sire," said Champagny, smilingly, "it would, perhaps, be more desirable for your majesty to allow the throne of the Hapsburgs to exist, and to render Austria harmless, not by destroying her, but by attaching the imperial family to your majesty by intimate and sacred ties. A vanquished enemy is always dangerous; but an ally, even though weak, will strengthen your own power, and Austria is able to give to the throne of your majesty the last and only jewel that, to the infinite regret of your subjects, it still lacks."

"Ah!" exclaimed the emperor. "You do not mean to say that Austria, bleeding from a thousand wounds that I have inflicted upon her, could make up her mind to put an end to her hatred by concluding an alliance of love with me?"

"Sire," said Champagny, "I do not believe that your majesty is hated by all the members of the imperial family of the Hapsburgs."

"What do you mean?" asked Napoleon, casting a quick glance on the smiling countenance of the minister.

"I suppose your majesty still remembers that, during the bombardment of Vienna last May, a flag of truce was sent with the request that no more bombshells be fired at the palace, because one of the archduchesses had remained there, having been prevented by sickness from leaving the capital with the imperial family?"

"I remember the incident," said Napoleon. "A few shells had already struck the palace, and I gave orders that it should be spared. One of the little daughters of the emperor, the Archduchess Maria Louisa, then a mere child, had been left there with her nurse."

"Sire, this child is seventeen years old, and, as everybody assures me, she is very beautiful, with light hair, blue eyes, and charming figure. She was deeply moved at the generosity manifested by your majesty; she is filled with admiration for the hero to whom indeed the whole world is doing homage, and before whose power the mightiest princes pass away; she is possessed of sufficient energy and courage to give utterance to her sentiments, even in presence of her father the emperor."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Napoleon, joyfully. "But who told you so, Champagny?"

"Sire, the Prince von Lichtenstein, during our confidential interview yesterday; and he added that the Emperor Francis, notwithstanding the short time that has elapsed since the conclusion of the recent bloody war, and the many fresh humiliations he has had to undergo, seemed himself to be an admirer of your majesty, for he listened to the eulogy of the archduchess with smiling tranquillity."

"That is strange," said Napoleon, slowly pacing the room; "but the Austrian marriages were always pernicious to France."

"Sire, it was, however, an Austrian princess, Queen Anne, who gave to France one of her greatest kings, Louis XIV."

"That is true," said Napoleon; "and I should be happy if my son resembled the great Louis."

"Sire, he will resemble his great father," said Champagny.

"A son—an heir to my throne," said the emperor, passionately—"a legitimate inheritor of my glory, and a descendant of an ancient and imperial house, who would dare doubt the purity of his blood, and his right to reign? His throne I would have established; and he would confirm by the highest title the fourth dynasty of France. Champagny, I must have such a son, and—poor Josephine!"

He paced the apartment with rapid steps, and, halting in front of his minister, he said: "I shall set out to-morrow; this air is oppressive. I can hardly breathe it; and besides I have no longer any business here. You will remain for the purpose of exchanging the treaties of peace. Immediately after the arrival of the Austrian plenipotentiary, bringing the copy of the treaty signed by the Emperor Francis, you will attend to the exchange of the ratifications, and inform me that it has been carried into effect. I shall go from here to Munich, and reach Fontainebleau in the course of a week. You may tell the Prince von Lichtenstein, in the same confidential manner in which he spoke to you of the archduchess, that I am now firmly determined to separate from the Empress Josephine; that a divorce from her had been irrevocably resolved upon, and that it would be publicly proclaimed in the course of the present year. That is all that you will tell him for the present. Champagny, I am determined to make this sacrifice for the sake of France, however painful it may be to my heart. The welfare of my country and the stability of my throne render it incumbent. After the divorce has taken place, I shall demand a final and categorical reply from Russia, and if Alexander is unable to give it—if his mother still refuse to place her daughter on the most powerful throne in the world—well, then, I shall break off the negotiations, and remember that the Archduchess Maria Louisa has some respect and sympathy for me. For the present we may be content with Austria, and I think the treaty of Vienna is a work of which we may well be proud. The genius of France will give it a glorious place on the tablets of history!"

Two days afterward the emperor's travelling-carriage was in front of the palace gate of Schoenbrunn. Every thing was in readiness for his departure, and he was about to leave his cabinet. He only wished to see Grand-Marshal Duroc, who had just arrived from Vienna.

The door opened, and Duroc entered. Napoleon quickly met him. "Well, Duroc," he asked, "did you see him? Did he name his companions in this crime?"

"Sire, I have, and conversed with him," said Duroc, gravely. "He refuses to confess any thing, and talks like a madman."

"What does he say?" exclaimed Napoleon. "Conceal nothing from me. This young man interests me. I desire to know all."

"Sire, he affirms that your majesty is his only accomplice; the misery brought by you on Germany, he contends, instigated him to attempt the deed, and you ought to blame none but yourself."

"He does not repent, then? He does not ask for mercy?"

"He regrets only that he did not succeed, and he asks merely the favor of being permitted to keep the portrait of his Anna, which he contemplates continually; and he implores her in touching words to forgive him the grief he has brought upon her."

"What a strange mixture of ferocity and gentleness!" said the emperor, thoughtfully. "Has he been closely watched during these two days?"

"Two gendarmes were locked up with him all the time, and they speak with astonishment of the unruffled tranquillity of the young man. For the most part he paces the cell with slow steps; at times he kneels down and prays in silence. Not a word of despair has escaped his lips, not a tear dropped from his eyes. Yesterday, when his dinner was brought, he took the knife and looked at it musingly. One of the gendarmes intended to take it from him, but Staps handed it at once, and said, smilingly, 'Fear nothing, I will not hurt myself with it; I will not waste my blood; it is reserved for the altar of my country, and must be shed by my enemies.'"

"Did he take any food?" asked the emperor.

"No, sire, he has not eaten or drunk any thing these two days. He says he has done with life, and will have strength enough left to meet his death with a firm step."

"He knows, then, that he is to be shot?"

"Yes, sire, he knows that the court-martial passed sentence of death upon him last night."

"But I hope you told him, Duroc, that I had sent you to him, and that I wished to pardon him, as soon as he repents of his deeds, implores my forgiveness, and takes an oath to give up his evil designs? Did you tell him all that, Duroc?"

"I did, sire."

"And what did he reply? Tell me every thing!"

"Sire, he replied, that if he could repent of the deed, he would not have attempted it; that if he accepted pardon, all Germany would curse him, while he now descends into the grave, accompanied by the blessings and tears of his country; in fine, that his death will arouse the Germans, and urge them to renewed efforts for liberty."

The emperor made no reply. His whole frame shuddered, and if Corvisart had felt his pulse then, he would not have said that it was quite regular. The large drops of perspiration on the emperor's brow might have alarmed the physician.

"I am sure he is insane," said Napoleon, after a pause. "I want him to be looked upon as a lunatic. I hope that the whole affair will remain a secret, and that the world will hear nothing of it; but if it should be talked about, we must insist that the man was insane."

Duroc bowed in silence.

"When is Staps to be shot?" asked the emperor, after a pause.

"Sire, this morning, at seven o'clock."

Napoleon glanced at the clock. "It is half-past six," he said; "I will set out. Well, the Viennese will not hear the report of the muskets, for the cannon that is to announce to them the conclusion of peace will render inaudible the volley at the execution. Come, Duroc! I am tired of this fantastic Germany! Let us return to France!"

Quickly crossing the room and approaching the door, he stood on the threshold and glanced again at the clock. "It is a quarter to seven," he said; "in fifteen minutes there will be one lunatic less in Germany!" A few minutes afterward a carriage rolled down the avenue of the palace of Schoenbrunn. The emperor had departed.

At the same time the room opened in which Staps had been confined for three days, under the close surveillance of two gendarmes. An officer entered; eight soldiers, shouldering their muskets, drew up in front of the door. Frederick Staps met the officer with a serene smile. He still wore the short black velvet coat, fastened around his slender waist by a broad leather belt, his neck surrounded by a white collar, on which his long hair fell in dense masses. During the three days of his captivity he had not undressed, taken no food, and even abstained from sleep. His time was occupied in preparing for death, and in writing letters to his beloved Anna and his old father. These letters, folded and carefully directed, he placed in the belt which the fatal knife had adorned three days before.

"Sir," said Staps, offering his hand to the officer, "I suppose you come for me?"

"It will soon be seven o'clock," replied the officer, in a sad, compassionate tone.

"Oh, sir," exclaimed Staps, "do not pity me! I shall die joyfully. But I have a favor to ask of you. I should like to send my last love-greetings to my father, and the young lady to whom I was engaged. Will you be kind enough to send my letters to them? You hesitate? Reply to me, and consider that a dying man always should be told the truth."

"Well, sir," replied the officer, "I am not permitted to forward these letters to them. Not a word is to be said about your fate; it must remain a secret."

"Ah, the tyrant is afraid lest my destiny should become generally known. He wishes to hide it in obscurity; but my name, and that for which I die, will not sink into oblivion. The day of freedom will dawn yet on my native land, and my grave will be known and visited by my German brethren. You will not forward my letters?"

"I am not allowed to do so, sir."

"Well, then I will forward them myself," exclaimed Staps, drawing the letters from his belt and tearing them into small pieces, which he threw away. "Go! my greetings and adieus!" he said; "let the winds bear ye into the quiet parsonage of my old father, and the chamber of my faithful Anna! Tell my countrymen of poor Frederick Staps, who wished to save Germany, and could only die for it!—Now come, sir, let us go!"

"You have no other wish?" asked the officer. "There is nothing that you desire, and that I could grant you?"

"Yes, sir, there is. I do not wish to be tied like a wild beast, but conducted to the place of execution with my arms free; I do not wish to be blindfolded. I would like to see the soil and the sky of my country in the last moment!"

"That wish will be granted. You shall be executed with your eyes open, and your arms unfettered."

"Thank you," said Staps, cordially grasping the officer's hand. "I suppose it is time for us to go?"

"Yes," said the officer, mournfully, "we must go!"

"I am ready," responded Staps, and he walked with firm steps toward the door.

The soldiers stepped aside, and then surrounded him and the officer. The procession moved slowly and silently through the long and gloomy corridors. Emerging into the open air, they came to a square inside the bastions. High ramparts surrounded it on three sides; on the fourth rose the rear wall of the barracks in which the condemned had spent the three days of his imprisonment. A few French soldiers were standing here and there at the open windows, gazing with indifferent face on the young stranger led to execution, and of whose crime they knew nothing. He was conducted across the square to the opposite rampart, and placed in front of the newly-dug grave which was to receive his body.

A detachment of French soldiers marched from the gate of the barracks and formed in line, just as the sun cast his first rays over the rampart, and shone upon the head of the pale youth. At this moment the earth seemed to tremble as beneath a peal of thunder.

"What is that?" asked Staps of the officer who was standing by his side.

"It is the salute announcing that peace has been concluded."

"Peace!" exclaimed the dying youth, joyfully. "Oh, tell me the truth, sir, do not deceive me? Has peace really been concluded?"

"Yes, a treaty has been signed. The Emperor Napoleon leaves Schoenbrunn this very day to return to France. Three months hence there will not be a single French soldier to be seen in all Austria."

"Peace restored to Germany!" cried Staps, and, sinking on his knees, he raised his arms toward heaven; joy beamed from his countenance, and his eyes filled with tears. "I thank Thee, my God, I thank Thee!" he exclaimed aloud.

"Thou allowest me to depart amid the booming of cannon proclaiming peace to Germany! I die happy!"

"Attention! Aim!" ordered the officer.

The young man rose from his knees. "Give me another minute," he cried; "let me sing my death-hymn!"

The officer nodded assent. Staps, stretching his arms upward, sang in a joyous voice:

"Tod du suesser fuer das Vaterland, Suesser als der Brautgruss, als das Lallen Auf dem Mutterschooss des ersten Kindes, Sei mir willkommen! Was das Lied nicht loeset, loest—-"

"Fire!" said the commanding officer, and twelve soldiers discharged their muskets.

Frederick Staps immediately fell dead, and the blood streaming from his breast reddened his native soil. While Napoleon's cannon was proclaiming the conclusion of peace, this youthful martyr breathed his last sigh!



BOOK VII.



CHAPTER LIII.

HOMEWARD BOUND.

The 15th of December, 1809, was dawning. Queen Louisa had long looked for this day with a throbbing heart, and now that it had come, she felt embarrassed and anxious. It was the day when the royal family were to leave Koenigsberg and return to Berlin, where the court was again to reside. Since the 3rd of October the French troops and authorities had left the capital, and Berlin was once more a Prussian city, yearning for the return of its king and queen.

The carriages were at the door; the princesses, wrapped in fur robes, were in the anteroom and awaited the queen, whose toilet had long since been finished. But Louisa had not yet left her sitting-room. The king made his appearance, ready to set out, and was somewhat surprised at not finding her with her daughters.

"The queen does not know, perhaps, that the carriages are at the door," said the king. "I will inform her that it is time for us to start." He walked rapidly through the adjoining rooms and noiselessly opened the door of the queen's sitting-room.

Louisa, wrapped in her travelling-robe, sat on the sofa, her hands folded, her face bathed in tears, and her eyes uplifted with an imploring expression. She did not immediately notice the king, who, as if in profound reverence, stood at the door. The queen was praying—how could he dare to disturb her!

At last she lowered her eyes, and suddenly saw that her husband was present. "Oh, my friend," she exclaimed, rising hastily, "my thoughts were with you, and on taking leave of these rooms where, owing to your love, I have enjoyed, these last years, so much calm and sacred happiness, I prayed that God cause it to accompany us to our future residence."

"But while praying you wept, Louisa?" asked the king. "I hoped that the days of tears were past, and that my Louisa would become again as merry and light-hearted as she used to be. Do you not like to return to Berlin?"

The queen looked down musingly. "I cannot tell you," she said, thoughtfully. "When I think that I shall soon be in Berlin, and meet again the faithful people, my heart is joyful, and then again I shed many tears when I consider that, while I may find every thing there as formerly, there may in reality be sad changes, and I do not know how I may be affected. Dismal forebodings are troubling me; I should like best to sit always alone, behind my little lamp, and indulge in my reflections. I am longing for Berlin, and yet I am almost afraid to go there."

"What are you afraid of?" asked the king, pressing his wife tenderly against his breast.

"I believe I am afraid of prosperity," she said, with a gentle smile. "I had become entirely resigned, and forever bidden farewell to outward splendor, so that its return surprises and almost alarms me. Oh, my beloved friend, will it not destroy the humbled, inward repose, which, during the time of privation, was our support, and the only source of our happiness?"

"It is true," said the king, smiling, "during these quiet years here at Koenigsberg, I was so happy as to have my wife, the charming consoler of my afflictions, always at my side; henceforth, the queen will often take my wife from me, and thousands of hearts which will welcome you so rapturously, will separate me often enough from my ideal. But I am not jealous, and the more my beautiful queen is honored, the greater will be my happiness. Come, my Louisa, let us go! the carriages are in readiness, and the children are waiting for us; but, before we leave this quiet room, accept again my thanks for the fidelity and kindness you have manifested toward me during my misfortunes. I am indebted to you for many alleviations of the sorrows which weighed me down. I am not a man of many words and cannot make fine phrases, but here in my soul I feel fervently that God has placed you at my side as an angel of consolation for the days of adversity, and of happiness for those of prosperity. Because I love you, I gave your name to our youngest daughter, born here at Koenigsberg. May she become a Louisa!"

"And may our sons inherit the noble spirit and the faithful and devout heart of their father!" exclaimed the queen, deeply moved. "May they bear adversity like him, without despondency, and enjoy prosperity without haughtiness! Oh, my friend, why will we say, then, that we are returning to Berlin poorer and less powerful than when we left the city three years ago? No, we return richer and more powerful: for we left with five children, and we return with seven—seven hearts that love us, and belong to us. Do they not constitute wealth and power? Come, my husband, let us hasten to our children! and with what a mother's pride shall I show our treasures to the good people of Berlin!" She smiled and drew the king along; her eyes, from which the tears had long since disappeared, were now radiant with love and joy—not a shade of melancholy was to be seen in her countenance when she embraced her children.

The journey to Berlin could be performed but slowly and in short stages. The snow-clad roads were almost impassable. Besides, every city and village through which the royal family journeyed, would have its share of congratulation. They were greeted with triumphal arches, and hymns and addresses of welcome. No one had escaped the miseries of war; mourning mothers and wives, amid the ruins of a former prosperity, were everywhere to be seen; but all this was forgotten during those happy hours when the people, delivered at length from foreign oppression, rejoiced again in the presence of the sovereigns who had endured the same afflictions. The whole journey resembled a triumphal procession—everywhere enthusiastic receptions and love-offerings!

On the eighth day at noon they arrived at the village of Weissensee, a league from Berlin. The shouts of thousands of happy people received them. The whole population had gathered at the roadside in order to greet the returning king and his family, and at the entrance of the village were halting fifty young citizens of Berlin mounted on fine horses. They had been commissioned by the inhabitants of the capital to escort the carriage in which Louisa was to make her entry, and which the citizens desired to present to her. It was a splendid gift, richly decorated with silver, and lined with violet velvet, the favorite color of the queen. The eight magnificent horses attached to the carriage wore violet harness, adorned with silver rings and buckles. The queen entered it with her daughter Charlotte and her third son, Prince Charles; the king and the two oldest princes mounted on horseback.

"Now, Louisa," said the king, riding up, "we have nearly reached our destination. There are the spires of Berlin; in half an hour we shall be there. But how pale you are, and your lips quiver! Are you unwell? Are you suffering?"

"No," she said; "I live only in my heart, which is throbbing as though it were ready to burst. Oh, I believe that one may die of joy. But such a death must be very happy!"

"But you shall live in joy," said the king, smiling. "Farewell now, Louisa; I must leave you. According to the ceremonial, I must be with the princes at the head of the procession. Au revoir at our house in Berlin!"

"Au revoir," said the queen, leaning back on the cushions of the carriage. "Charlotte," she said to the princess sitting at her side, "when we are near the gate, tell me. I want to be surprised, and, until I have reached the dear city, I will look at the sky, and remember that it is the same sky that was over us at Memel in the days of our deepest affliction." She threw back her head. Her eyes, blue and pure as heaven itself, were looking up, and the bright firmament seemed to inspire her with devout and grateful thoughts. Prayers were in her heart, and the memories of other days mingled with her prayers. It was exactly sixteen years since she made her entry into Berlin as a happy young bride. At that time, life was as the flowery spring, and she saw before her in her hopeful dreams only a world of happiness, love, and glory. She was then a bride, beautiful, loving, and beloved by her young husband, the inheritor of a kingdom. Now, at her second entry, she was sixteen years older, a matron of thirty-four, and a mother of seven children. The storms of life had passed over her, destroying many of her hopes. Her heart had been shaken as well as the throne of her husband. The ills of common mortals had befallen the king and his consort, and it was not their innate dignity and majesty that had enabled them to bear up, but their warm human feeling; it was not their self-reliance that had consoled them, but the faith that God, the Father of all, would be merciful to them, if, conscious of their impotence, they recognized His providence and believed in His wisdom and goodness.