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For Sceptre and Crown: A Romance of the Present Time. Vol. 1 (of 2)

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Title: For Sceptre and Crown: A Romance of the Present Time. Vol. 1 (of 2)

Author: Gregor Samarow


        
Release date: October 11, 2011 [eBook #37723]
                Most recently updated: May 30, 2015

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37723

Credits: Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive.


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOR SCEPTRE AND CROWN: A ROMANCE OF THE PRESENT TIME. VOL. 1 (OF 2) ***




Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive.







Transcriber's Notes:

   1. Page scan source:
      http://www.archive.org/details/forsceptreandcr00samagoog

   2. Gregor Samarow is pseudonym of Johann Ferdinand Martin Oskar
      Meding.

   3. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].




                         FOR SCEPTRE AND CROWN.






                      NEW NOVELS AT THE LIBRARIES.


MALCOLM: a Scottish Story. By George Macdonald, Author of "Robert
Falconer," "Phantastes," &c. 3 vols. cr. 8vo.


THE NEGLECTED QUESTION. By B. Markewitch.

Translated from the Russian, by the Princesses Ouroussoff. 2 vols.
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RUSSIAN ROMANCE. By Alexander Serguevitch Poushein. Translated from the

Tales of Belkin. By Mrs. J. Buchan Telfer (nee Mouravief). 1 vol. crown
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CIVIL SERVICE. By J. T. Listado, Author of "Maurice Rhynhart." 2 vols.
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"A very charming and amusing story.... The characters are all well
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"A story of Irish life, free from burlesque and partizanship,
yet amusingly national.... There is plenty of 'go' in the
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"A short and pleasant story, told in a bright, fresh, readable
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WAITING FOR TIDINGS. By the Author of "White and Black." 3 vols.

"An interesting novel."--_Vanity Fair_.

"A very lively tale, abounding with amusing incidents."--_John Bull_.

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                           _Second Edition_.

JUDITH GWYNNE. By Lisle Carr. 3 vols. crown 8vo.

"Mr. Carr's novel is certainly amusing.... There is much variety, and
the dialogue and incident never flag to the finish."--_Athenaeum_.

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much varied detail, the extensive play of a great number of differing
actors, tending naturally to the conclusion reached, that the chief
charm of this novel lies."--_Edinburgh Courant_.

                           *   *   *   *   *

                     HENRY S. KING AND CO. LONDON.






                        _FOR SCEPTRE AND CROWN_

                     A ROMANCE OF THE PRESENT TIME.

                     TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF

                            GREGOR SAMAROW.


                         IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. I.




                         HENRY S. KING AND CO.
             65, Cornhill, and 12, Paternoster Row, London.
                                 1875.






                        (_All rights reserved_.)




                         TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.


The success which "Um Szepter und Kronen" has met with on the Continent
justifies an English translation. The author, who writes under the _nom
de plume_ of Gregor Samarow, is, if report speak truly, himself one of
the characters described in his work as the friend and confidant of the
chivalrous and unfortunate sovereign who is its principal hero. This
explains the ease and familiarity with which the various courts and
cabinets are described, the author's personal acquaintance with the
statesmen and diplomatists he has pourtrayed, and it accounts for the
value of the work as a clever and interesting political sketch.
It is as a political sketch, and not as an ordinary novel, that it is
offered to this country.

Although the great events of 1870 and 1871 have almost swept from
memory the history of preceding years, yet the struggle of 1866--the
Seven Weeks' War--must ever be memorable; it was the prelude to the
great Franco-German War, and its immediate result was that immense
increase in the power of Prussia which placed her in her present
position of supreme leader in Germany.




                          CONTENTS OF VOL. I.


  Chapter

       I. Bismark and Manteuffel.

      II. Fair Wendland.

     III. Vienna.

      IV. Napoleon.

       V. George V.

      VI. An Erring Meteor.

     VII. The Duel and the Rose.

    VIII. Francis Joseph II.

      IX. Helena.

       X. Berlin.

      XI. The Last Day at Herrenhausen.

     XII. Campaigning begins.




                         FOR SCEPTRE AND CROWN.




                               CHAPTER I.

                        BISMARCK AND MANTEUFFEL.


About nine o'clock on a dark April evening in the year 1866, a Berlin
cab drove up the Wilhelmsstrasse with the trot peculiar to those
vehicles, and stopped between the two lamps illuminating the door of
No. 76, the house of the Minister for Foreign Affairs. The ground floor
of this long two-storeyed house was well lighted up, and any one who
peeped through the green blinds could see into many office-like rooms,
well-filled with industrious writers, notwithstanding the lateness of
the hour. The windows of the upper storey were only faintly lighted
here and there.

From the cab which drew up before this house stepped a middle-sized
man, dressed in a dark paletot and black hat; he came close to the
gas-lamp to look in his purse for the right coins with which to pay the
fare, and as soon as he had settled with the numbered Automedon he rang
loudly at the door-bell.

The door opened almost immediately, and the person demanding admittance
entered a spacious _porte-cochere_, at the end of which, between two
large sleeping stone lions, ascended the flight of steps leading to the
interior of the house. On one side of the doorway a window opened into
the porter's lodge, and at the window appeared the porter's face,
wearing that peculiarly stolid expression common to the door-keepers of
all great houses.

The porter looked at the new-comer inquisitively through the half-open
window, but he only gave him a hasty glance as he walked on with quiet,
measured tread to the flight of steps.

As he moved forwards, the light fell brightly on his face, and showed
the features of a man of about sixty years of age, of a rather dark and
healthy complexion. The quick, animated dark eyes looked piercing and
bright, even through gold-rimmed spectacles, though they also expressed
calmness and benevolence. His well-chiselled, regular nose was slightly
bowed over the small, firm, beardless mouth, and an energetic up-turned
chin completed a countenance so characteristic, that when once beheld
it was seldom forgotten.

No sooner did the look darted through these gold spectacles reach the
window of the porter's lodge, than the porter's face changed as if by
magic.

The expression of indifference and easy condescension vanished
instantly, the countenance assumed the look befitting a zealous
servant, and its possessor hastened from the door of his lodge leading
to the steps, and at last stood in a precise attitude, proving him to
be an old soldier, before the visitor, who in the meantime had gained
the entrance hall on the ground floor, to which the large stone steps
led.

"Is the minister at home?" he inquired, with simple politeness, which,
equally unlike the over-strained courtesy of the petitioner and the
haughty _nonchalance_ of the _parvenu_, proved him to be a man
accustomed to move with ease in the highest society.

"At your command, your Excellency," replied the porter in his official
manner. "The French Ambassador has just gone, and no one is here. The
minister is now alone."

"And how do you get on? still sound and fit for service?" asked the
visitor, kindly.

"Most humble thanks for your Excellency's gracious inquiries. I still
get about, although somewhat weaker. Everyone does not wear so well as
your Excellency."

"Well, well, we all get older, and draw nearer to the end. Keep a brave
heart, and God be with you!" With these kind words, heartily spoken,
the grave-looking man walked up the broad staircase towards the first
storey, while the old door-keeper watched him with respectful pleasure,
and then returned to his lodge.

In the ante-room on the upper floor "his Excellency" found Herr von
Bismarck's _valet-de-chambre_, Schoenhausen, and was at once conducted
through a large, dimly-lighted apartment to the cabinet of the
minister. The door was thrown open by the servant, who announced for
his master's benefit, "His Excellency von Manteuffel!"

Herr von Bismarck sat at a large writing-table, piled with acts and
papers. It was placed in the middle of the room, and lighted by a tall
lamp with a dark shade. An arm-chair stood on the other side of the
table, in which the minister usually seated his visitors.
Herr von Bismarck rose at his servant's announcement and walked towards
his visitor, whilst Manteuffel took in the whole room with one glance
from his quick eyes; then, with a slight half-melancholy smile, he
seized the president-minister's outstretched hand.

It was a picture of the deepest interest. In the half-second during
which these two men stood opposite each other, the present touched the
past and the future--the old, the new Prussia.

Both the men were sensible of this impression. They stood opposite one
another for a moment in silence.

Herr von Manteuffel we have already described whilst he was entering
the Foreign Office. It is only needful to add that the removal of his
hat showed hair which was grey and thin, and cut very short. He stood
quite still, his right hand clasped in Bismarck's, whilst the slender
white fingers of his left held his hat. His features maintained perfect
calmness; his mouth was firmly closed, and a guarded reserve appeared
to stamp its seal upon the whole being of the man.

Herr von Bismarck, almost a head taller, stood towering above him. The
bearing of his powerful form showed he was accustomed to wear uniform;
his massive, strongly-marked countenance spoke in its decided features
of a vehement, passionate soul; the clear, penetrating grey eyes turned
boldly, with a cold gaze, upon the object they wished to watch; and the
broad, high brow, which from being somewhat bald appeared even higher
than it was, showed immense power of forcing, by an iron will, thoughts
and ideas to logical arrangement.

"I thank you for your kind visit," said Bismarck, after a few moments.

"You preferred coming to me here, instead of receiving me as I
requested."

"It is better so," replied Manteuffel. "Your visit to me would have
excited curiosity. Here, too, we are safe from eavesdroppers; and, I
suppose, an important subject is to be discussed."

"Yes, unhappily, only a grave and extraordinary occasion can procure me
the happiness of hearing the experienced counsels of my old chief. You
know how often I long for your advice, and yet you always avoid every
expression of opinion," said Herr von Bismarck, with a slight accent of
reproach.

"What good would it do?" returned Herr von Manteuffel, politely but
coldly. "To act for myself, to answer for myself, was my rule when I
occupied the position you now fill. If once a leading statesman begins
to ask advice right and left, he loses the power of advancing
resolutely on the path which his reason and his conscience point out to
him as the right one."

"Now, truly, it is not my way to listen to every one, and no want of
resolution prevents my choosing my own path," cried Bismarck, warmly;
"and," he added, with a slight smile, "my friends the members of the
Diet cast it daily in my teeth that I do not sufficiently heed their
good advice; yet you will own that there are moments when the strongest
brain may long to hear the views and the advice of a master mind, who
can look back, my honoured friend, upon such actions as yours."

"And such a moment has now come?" asked Manteuffel, quietly, whilst his
piercing eyes rested on Bismarck's animated face, his own features not
in the least responding to the compliment just paid him.
"If ever there was a time in which the strongest mind must be assailed
by doubt, it is the present moment. You know the position of Germany
and of Europe, and you know that the mighty crisis _must_ come, upon
which the fate of centuries depends," said Herr von Bismarck.

"I believe it _will_ come, whether it _must_ come or not; but," added
Herr von Manteuffel, after a short pause, "our conference will touch
upon subjects of the highest importance, and you know my profound
dislike of officious meddling in things which do not concern me. May I
then ask, does the king know of this conversation, and of its subject?"

"His Majesty knows, and desires I should ask your advice," answered
Bismarck.

"Then it is my duty to express my humble opinion so far as it is formed
in my own mind," said Manteuffel, quietly, as he seated himself in the
arm-chair near the writing-table, while Bismarck took his usual place.

"Before, however, I can speak on the present situation, I must know
what your intentions are, what is the aim of your policy, and by what
means you intend to attain that end. Permit me," he continued, as with
a slight movement of the hand he politely repressed a remark from Herr
von Bismarck--"permit me to state, from my private and remote
observations, what I believe your intentions to be. You must then
honestly tell me if I am right or mistaken."

Herr von Bismarck bowed in silence, and fixed his candid eyes with a
look of the greatest attention upon Herr von Manteuffel.

"Your aim is," continued the latter, quietly, "according to the
conviction I feel from the progress of events, to solve, or rather to
end, the great German question; your aim is to place Prussia at the
head of the political and military power of Germany, and to turn the
edge of the sword against any who shall oppose you. In a word, you wish
to bring that long, chronic sickness, called 'the German Question,' to
an acute crisis, and to cure it for ever by the arcanum of blood and
iron."

"I do," replied Bismarck, without moving or raising his voice; but it
vibrated so strangely that these two words rang through the room like
the clash of arms, and his eyes, which were still fixed on Herr von
Manteuffel, seemed to emit an electric stream. Thus, when Laocoon's
lance touched the horse of Troy, there rang from within, the low, faint
clang of the Grecian arms, the first note of that terrible harmony,
before which the walls of Pergamus were destroyed, and which, echoing
back from the strings of Homer's lyre, for two thousand years has
thrilled the hearts of men.

"You do not deceive yourself as to the strong opposition you will
encounter," continued Herr von Manteuffel; "the crisis is come, and the
struggle will take place, and before long, for unless I am quite
deceived, the other side is equally anxious to bring matters to an
issue."

"I know it," replied Herr von Bismarck.

"Well," added Manteuffel, "we must then consider the means we can
employ in this struggle. There is, to begin with, the Prussian army--a
thing of great preponderance, which will weigh heavily in the balance,
and the importance of which I do not undervalue for a moment. This army
possesses advantages which I do not understand, but which are very
important in a military point of view: the needle-gun, the artillery,
and the general staff. But in this struggle other powers must be taken
into consideration; our allies, and public opinion. Our allies seem to
me doubtful--France? You must know better than I, your position with
the Man of Silence; England will wait for the success of one side or
the other; Russia is safe. As to public opinion----"

"Is there such a thing?" interrupted Bismarck.

Herr von Manteuffel smiled slightly, and continued, "Under ordinary
circumstances, public opinion is the result of an effective bit of
decoration, which makes a lively impression on the crowd, now lighting
up Fiesco's restless sea, now throwing a flood of heavenly glory into
Egmont's dungeon. To those behind the scenes, it is the result of
machinery, and is produced by pulling the right string at the right
moment. I believe _we_ understand both scenes and machinery. But there
is another kind of public opinion that rises like the wind,
incomprehensible, unmanageable, and terrible as the wind when it rouses
itself to a storm. The strife that lies nearest in the lap of Fate is a
strife of German against German, a civil war, and in such a war Public
Opinion claims her right: she is a powerful ally and a terrible foe,
terrible above all to the vanquished, against whom she calls up
relentlessly the _vae victis_. Public opinion, however, is against war,
less perhaps in Germany than in Prussia itself, and honestly
considering the composition of the Prussian army, that is no subject
for indifference."

Herr von Bismarck exclaimed warmly, "Do you believe it possible
that----"

"The Prussian army should forget its duty, and refuse to march?"
concluded Herr von Manteuffel. "No, never; certainly not! Single
instances of irregularity might occur in the Landwehr; they would be
unusual, most unusual. The army will do its duty, it is the incarnation
of a perfect sense of duty, but you will not deny there is an immense
difference between duty performed with heartiness and enthusiasm, or
with ill-will and aversion?"

"Heartiness and enthusiasm will come with success," said Bismarck.

"But until then?"

"Until then the spirit of duty must be kept firm, and the management
must be good."

"Well," said Manteuffel, "I do not doubt it will be so. I only wished
to point out, that in this strife a mighty and important power will be
not _for_, but _against_ you."

"You are right as to the present moment," replied Herr von Bismarck,
after a short pause; "to-day public opinion, which you so aptly
compared to the wind, is against me; but it changes as easily as the
wind itself. And yet I cannot allow you are altogether right. It is
true the superficial world, composed of the shallow liberalism of the
tea-gardens and the ale-houses, prating of a Germany which exists only
in its own brain, speaks of a civil and fratricidal war against
Austria, but believe me, this does not go down with the Prussian
people. The heart of Prussia goes at the head of her army, and through
the army rings the 'Hohenfriedberg March,'--the Prussian people regards
the country of Maria Theresa as the foe of that Prussian spirit which
old Fritz breathed into the nation. And these orators and speechifiers?
Oh, I fear them not, with their public opinion, which will change like
a weather-cock in the wind, at the first breath of success."

"I, too, will own that you are partly right, but not quite," said Herr
von Manteuffel; "but success--is it certain? Is it prepared beforehand?
We have touched upon two powers, let us come to the third, perhaps the
most important--allies. What is your position with France and Napoleon
III.?"

At this direct and sharply-uttered question, which was accompanied by a
look quite as cutting as the tone of voice in which it was asked, Herr
von Bismarck's lips trembled slightly for a moment, and something of
uncertainty, doubt, and mistrust, perhaps a mixture of all three,
appeared in his eyes; but all this quickly vanished, and he answered
calmly, in the same clear, ringing voice as before,

"Good--at least as good as it can be with this mysterious sphinx."

"Have you agreements, treaties,--or, far better than these, have you a
personal promise from Napoleon?" inquired Manteuffel.

"You catechise closely," replied Bismarck, "but I stand before my
master; hear then what has happened in that quarter, and how the
question now stands.

"More than two years ago, in November, 1864, I spoke to the emperor on
the Danish question. He was eager for the restitution of North
Schleswig to Denmark. I spoke on the sad and critical situation of
Prussia, split into two distinct halves; I stated how great an error it
would be to erect a new small state in the north, and how much more
advantageous it would be to Denmark to have a great and powerful
neighbour, than to have on her borders the little court of a prince who
sets up claims to the Danish crown. The emperor listened to everything,
and from the few words he said seemed to agree with me on the need of
better boundaries for Prussia, though as usual it was impossible to
make him say anything clear and decided; but he was evidently much
displeased with Austria, and complained of the great insincerity of the
Court of Vienna."

"And did you promise him North Schleswig if he supported your views?"
asked Manteuffel.

"He may think I did," replied Bismarck, smiling a little; "as he
confined himself to listening and nodding his head, I thought it only
necessary to make vague remarks."

Herr von Manteuffel bowed his head in silence, and Herr von Bismarck
continued.

"At the Gastein conference some explanations took place, but I could
not succeed in obtaining any positive declaration, and in November,
1865, I went to Biarritz; but there, too, it was impossible to draw the
Man of Silence from his resolute reserve. I knew that important
negotiations were going on with Austria for the solution of the Italian
question; perhaps this was the cause of the cold reserve shown to me;
perhaps, too----you know Count Goltz?"

"I know him," said Manteuffel, with a meaning smile.

"You know, too, that at that time a rumour was circulated that Count
Goltz would take my place. What was going on in Paris was not clear to
me; but things did not go as I wished, and as I thought they should. I
acted for myself. On my return from Biarritz I spoke to Prince
Napoleon."

"Seriously?" asked Herr von Manteuffel.

"Quite seriously," answered Bismarck, with a slight smile upon his
lips, "and I saw that Italy was the bait with which the imperial policy
must be caught. Good Prince Napoleon was fire and flame. I got up an
agitation in Florence, and in a short time firm negotiations were
established, the result of which I will lay before you."

Herr von Manteuffel expressed by a movement, his intense interest in
this communication.

Herr von Bismarck turned over a small bundle of papers which lay on the
writing-table close to his hand, and went on.

"Here is the Italian treaty, negotiated with General Govone; it
undertakes to attack Austria on the south, with the sea and land forces
of Italy."

"And France?" asked Manteuffel.

"The emperor concedes," replied Bismarck, "our acquisition of Holstein
and Schleswig, without the province of North Schleswig; he acknowledges
the necessity of connecting the two divided portions of Prussia, to do
which part of Hanover and Hesse Cassel must be obtained; neither will
he oppose the Prussian command of the 10th army corps of the
confederacy."

"And what does _he_ want?" asked Manteuffel.

"Venetia for Italy."

"And for himself, for France?"

"For himself," returned Bismarck, "nothing."

"Nothing?" said Herr von Manteuffel, "nothing? But have you no clue to
his unspoken thoughts? As far as I remember he _wanted_ nothing, when
he took Savoy and Nice after the Italian war."

"As to his thoughts," said Bismarck, "I believe I guess correctly when
I say he regards the possession of Luxemburg as highly desirable, and
in the far horizon the acquisition of Belgium by France seems feasible
to him. You know that in Brussels the wind often blows strongly to
Orleans."

"And what does Napoleon think about you in connection with these
desires?" further inquired Manteuffel.

"What he pleases," returned Bismarck, indifferently. "If he wanted
nothing, I had no occasion to promise him anything, and as to his
wishes,--well,--it certainly was not my business to point out to him
that they were foolish and unattainable."

"I understand," said Manteuffel, with a nod.

"Hanover must receive compensation for what she cedes to us in
Lauenburg and Holstein," added Bismarck.

"Did the Emperor Napoleon require it?" inquired Herr von Manteuffel,
with some surprise.

"Certainly not," replied Bismarck; "after the traditions of his family
he loves not the Guelphs, and, as you see, the basis of the whole
arrangement is Prussian supremacy in North Germany; what goes on there
is to him a matter of complete indifference. No, our own gracious
master is most anxious that Hanover should stand by us in the
approaching struggle, and that the old family ties which exist between
the two houses should be continued in the future."

"And you yourself," inquired Herr von Manteuffel, "what do you think
about the 'Hanoverian question?'"

"Simply from a political point of view," replied Bismarck, candidly, "I
certainly wish Hanover did not exist, and I regret that at the Congress
of Vienna our diplomacy was not exerted to persuade the royal family of
England to give up this hereditary possession. I think we might have
succeeded. Hanover is a thorn in our flesh, and even with the best
intentions towards us, cripples us greatly. When she bears us ill-will,
as for some time past has been the case, she is really dangerous. If I
were the complete Machiavelli I am accused of being, I should direct my
whole attention to the acquisition of Hanover. Perhaps it would not be
so difficult as it appears," he added, following, though half
unwillingly, the thoughts which arose in his mind; "neither the English
nation, nor the royal family in England, would trouble themselves much
about it, and--but as you know, our gracious king is highly
conservative, and has a deep respect for the connection between Prussia
and Hanover, embodied in Sophia Charlotte and Queen Louise,--and
I--well--I am not less conservative; this connection is not less sacred
to me, and I follow the ideas of the King from my heart and my head,
and I will endeavour to make the future existence of Hanover possible.
But things cannot go on as they are at present--we must have
guarantees; the more our country enlarges and consolidates its
possessions, the more our commerce increases, so much the less can
Prussia permit, in her body, so near to her heart, a foreign element,
which in any crisis may turn into a hostile element. I can then reply
to you with the greatest truth: I will honestly and earnestly strive to
win over Hanover, and if on her side she stands by her old traditions,
and is true to us, I will endeavour to create her a safe and
honourable, nay, a brilliant position in North Germany. But of a truth
she must cease to make us feel she is an encumbrance."

"And have you any prospect of succeeding in arranging a firm alliance
with Hanover?" asked Herr von Manteuffel.

"I hope so," replied Bismarck, after a moment's pause. "Count Platen
was here; you know him?"

Herr von Manteuffel smiled.

"Well," added Herr von Bismarck, "we spared nothing; we overwhelmed him
with compliments of every kind. He received the Grand Cross of the Red
Eagle."

"Why not of the Black Eagle?" asked Manteuffel.

"Bah! Some powder must always be reserved; he was overjoyed as it was.
I propounded to him the family connection which his Majesty himself
earnestly desires, and through which, perhaps, the whole question may
be settled in the most friendly manner."

"I know of this casually," interrupted Manteuffel; "do you think the
project will succeed?"

"They seem favourable in Hanover," replied Bismarck; "in Norderney as
well as in Marienburg--time will show; for the present, I place more
reliance on our policy."

"And what has Count Platen promised us?"

"Neutrality, as he already promised Count Ysenburg!"

"And is the treaty concluded?"

"Count Platen could not, of course, conclude it himself, and he wished
the whole matter to be a profound secret, that the suspicions of France
and Austria might not be prematurely aroused. He made me the most
distinct promises, and spoke so bitterly of Beust, and of the ministry
of Vienna, that I could not but believe him."

"Forgive me," exclaimed Herr von Manteuffel, "for being on this
Hanoverian question,--I consider it of the greatest importance; in
short, forgive me for being still sceptical. It seems to me
negotiations have been carried on without any definite result, beyond
assurances and promises from Count Platen. Would it not have been
better to take some decided step in Hanover itself? George V. is no
Louis XIII., and Count Platen no Richelieu."

"I thought of that also," remarked Herr von Bismarck. "You know Herr
von Stockhausen, accredited here by Hanover, is related to the
Baudissins. One of the Baudissins, an author and writer in newspapers,
of whom you may have heard, has, through young von Stockhausen, his
father's secretary, formed a great friendship with Keudell; perhaps
through that channel we may influence the King of Hanover. I must,
however, repeat that I sincerely desire friendly relations with
Hanover, and the maintenance of the throne, and that I will do all in
my power to obtain this result, contrary to the opinion of many
Prussians, as you know. Hanover and Hesse Cassel always hang together;
the Prince of Hesse follows in the footsteps of the King of Hanover.
This question causes me little uneasiness, however; their forces are
small, and in any encounter we must be victorious."

"And," added Herr von Manteuffel, "will it be possible to engage
Bavaria and Wurtemberg to remain neutral during a war with Austria?"

"No," replied Herr von Bismarck, "the Austrian party is all-powerful in
Munich; and Prince Reuss writes me word that since a rumour has been
heard of the Italian alliance, all hopes of Bavarian neutrality are
gone. The only thing we may attain is a lukewarm war. The real
difficulty will be with Bohemia. I believe I have now candidly laid
before you the whole of our present position. If you wish any
particular point to be more clearly stated, question me upon it; and
now I beg your opinion _en connaissance de cause_."

Herr von Manteuffel looked for a moment on the ground in silence; then
he raised his eyes to the animated face opposite to him, and began to
speak in the soft melodious voice, and flowing, impressive language
which always, though he was never a great public orator, produced so
powerful an effect in private intercourse.

"I see, certainly, that you have considered every point which will
influence the approaching struggle, and in many respects the chances of
success are in your favour; but only one point is fully prepared,
complete, and sure: this point is the Prussian army. Everything else in
the building is tottering and unsafe. The relations with France are
neither clear nor certain; Germany appears to me hostile; then, to
speak candidly, I do not believe in the neutrality of Hanover; the
king's character makes a safe and prudent policy very improbable, and,
I repeat it, Hanover may be very dangerous. Remember the Kalik brigade
is still in Holstein; remember Hanover and Hesse combined, possess a
tolerably large army, and you would have no troops to spare for
operating against them. Italy? Her alliance is certain, you tell me;
well, I will believe she holds to her promises. Do you think an Italian
army can reckon on success? I do not think so. However miserable
Austria's military organization may be, let Italy be the theatre of war
in the district of those square fortresses, and Austria will always
win; the Austrian general-staff know all that district as well as a
chess-board: they have been educated, so to speak, drilled by it. I
foresee only defeat for Italy."

"But," interrupted Bismarck, with some warmth, "the very fact of
Austria's being compelled to carry on two wars at once will weigh
heavily against her. How many troops will be opposed to us? Austria, I
have been informed, hopes to obtain from the different German States
800,000 men; I know for certain there will not be half that number."

"Well," said Manteuffel, "let us leave off calculating the chances; I
acknowledge they are in your favour, chiefly through the excellence of
the army. But another grave question arises; Is war necessary? Is the
position such, that all the horrors, all the great dangers of a mighty
struggle must be encountered? You know I too desire to see Prussia at
the head of Germany; I desire it as a Prussian, I wish for it from
conviction as a German, and as a minister I laboured for it to the best
of my ability. I believed, however, it would be the result of organic
growth, developed by time, and I dreaded, as the greatest foe to
Prussian leadership, the mistrust of Germany. This mistrust, the
fear of the princes for their sovereignty and the future of their
dynasties--the fear of the different races lest their individuality
should be stamped out by Prussia, has been skilfully used by Austria,
who is secured from this mistrust by her greater complexity. I held it
should be the endeavour of Prussia (for which I worked myself) to
obtain the confidence of the princes and people of Germany. That
gained, the leadership is ours, and Austria's part played out; for were
it not for this mistrust, the German spirit--the spirit of creation and
enlightenment--the spirit of progressive national life, would turn to
us. I have besides my own views about a Prussian war. Our power is
great, but it is peculiar and especial; for when it is fully used it
sends the whole nation to the field of battle, and with one unfortunate
defeat we should be nearer an extreme catastrophe than any other
nation. So long as our power threatens, it is strong; it diminishes
when action commences. Whilst we stand 'on guard,' the world must dread
us. I think," added Herr von Manteuffel, with a shade of satisfaction
in his voice, "the Peace of Paris speaks in favour of my maxim. Where
is the need of destroying this feeling, greatly endangered by the
events with which the century commenced? where is the need of risking
Prussia's powerful position of reserve in the uncertain game of war?
You will perhaps think me a cowardly, narrow-minded pedant; but you
asked my opinion, and I am justified in giving it to you fully."

While Manteuffel spoke, Bismarck's face expressed lively emotion.
Increasing impatience trembled over his features, but he did not
interrupt by word or movement. As Manteuffel ended, he stood up,
approached his guest, and seized his hand, exclaiming:

"Oh, my honoured friend! I know your opinions; I know the noble ideas
which guided you while you held the rudder of the Prussian state; I
know your conscientiousness and wisdom, and believe me, I too am far
from wishing to risk the safety of the Prussian state, which it has
required a century of genius and industry to create. Believe me, it is
not I that provoke this war; I find myself forced to it by necessity,
and if I have not the king's pious horror of measuring myself against
perfidious Austria, yet I would never, unless obliged, drive matters to
extremity. But I know they have resolved on war in Vienna; they will
not allow us to take our rightful position. Yes, they have determined
to entangle and destroy us in the machinery of the Confederation, as
you know from the trouble and anxiety you yourself have experienced.
That Saxon Beust, and his friends in Vienna--the sanguine Meysenbug,
the ambitious pedant Biegeleben, and the fine gentleman Max Gagern,
dream of a new German empire, and of a parliament of their own making,
which is to place the Emperor Francis Joseph upon the imperial throne
of Germany; and the emperor himself lives and moves in these dreams;
they really turned his brain with that comedy at Frankfort. The fools
did not remember," he cried energetically, as he paced the room with
large strides, "that in Frankfort he was not emperor who roasted whole
the _b[oe]uf historique_, to the immense joy of the crowd, and who
roused the unhappy German princes from their beds in the early dawn,"
he added, with a bitter smile, "to listen, at a _matinee politique_, to
Beust's lukewarm-water eloquence. No, truly he was not the emperor.
Another rather, before whose cold refusal and quiet absence the whole
apparition vanished into thin air! And I am to wait quietly until they
perhaps find a more favourable moment for effecting their grand
designs? But, my revered friend," he continued, as he again approached
Herr von Manteuffel, who listened to him with the same calmness as
before, "but are there not moments in which bold resolution, rash
action, is needful to obtain great success and avert impending danger?
Does not the history of Prussia record more than one such moment?
What would have become of Prussia if Frederick the Great had waited
until the plans of Austria and Saxony--greatly resembling those of
to-day--had had time to ripen, if he had not, with the quick bold gripe
of his strong hand, destroyed the web of envy and wickedness they were
spinning around him? Where would Prussia have been without York's bold
decision? Oh! my honoured friend," exclaimed Bismarck, with emotion,
while his form seemed to expand, "my heart tells me, and my reason does
not contradict the feeling, that the spirit of the great Frederick, and
the spirit of 1813, is the breath of life which inspires Prussian
history; that the hand of the world's great time-piece points to an
hour in which this spirit must live again, and again urge Prussia
onwards: not to go onwards now is to turn back--back into unknown
paths. With this conviction in my heart, shall I sit still and let
misfortune come; wait," he added, in a lower voice, "until a hand
perhaps less strong than mine, a heart less courageous than my own, is
called upon to face the danger?"

Herr von Manteuffel, his arm resting on the writing-table, and his eyes
cast on the ground, had until now listened without moving. He rose and
looked straight into the prime minister's eyes, who waited for him to
speak with great excitement and anxiety.

"Herr von Bismarck," he said in his calm voice, in which a warmer tone
was heard than before, "you touch a string which vibrates through every
Prussian's heart. Who can deny that there are moments in which bold
action leads to safety? who can deny that by seizing such moments with
firm resolution, Prussia has become what she is? Whether the present is
such a moment no mortal can say with certainty, and I will not argue
the question with you. To act according to their judgment and their
conscience is the duty of those who stand upon the steps of the throne.
You stand there now, and I thank God that I do not; for what occurs you
must answer to history, your country, and your king. You must decide on
what you ought to do, and for nothing in the world would I throw a
doubt on your decision. Yet one more question; be patient, it shall be
the last, perhaps it is the most important."

Manteuffel came a step nearer to Herr von Bismarck, and in a low tone,
which made even a greater impression on his hearer, said:--

"What if the game of war goes against you? what if the chances are
wrongly reckoned? We are all liable to error; if the victorious foe
gains the power of carrying out the plans so long prepared, embittered
by the strife, and haughty with success, what scheme have you framed,
what preparation have you made to shield Prussia from danger, even from
destruction? You know I have always held the maxim, that a good general
must be prepared for a retreat, you will therefore think my question
natural, and know how important I deem it."

Herr von Bismarck's face, hitherto so animated, assumed an expression
of calm pride; his lips were firmly compressed, and his eyes flashed
like rays of light from naked swords. With the metallic vibration which
at certain moments rang through his voice, he replied,

"If I deemed it possible, or could believe that a Prussian army would
be beaten by Austria, I would not be the Prussian minister."

He uttered these words in a tone of inmost conviction, and Manteuffel
slowly stepped backwards, and gazed with amazement at the prime
minister's enthusiastic face, as though he scarcely understood him.
Then he turned leisurely away, seized his hat, and bowing politely to
Bismarck, he said quite in his ordinary manner:

"I believe our conversation is concluded; we have exhausted the
subject, and I must no longer waste your valuable time."

The excitement faded from Bismarck's countenance, and melancholy took
its place, as he answered, sadly:

"The subject is not exhausted,--say rather, you will discuss it no
longer, since, as I plainly perceive, we move in eccentric circles
which have not a single point in common."

"If such be the case," said Manteuffel, "any further revolutions on our
separate orbits would be useless, but I think," he added, smiling
slightly, "on one point we shall agree; time is too precious to be lost
in useless words."

"Then farewell," said Bismarck gravely, as he pressed Manteuffel's
hand; "you leave me by one hope poorer, by one support weaker."

"You need no support," returned Manteuffel, "and if your convictions
prove true, my most earnest wishes for the increase and development of
Prussia's greatness will be fulfilled."

He bowed slightly, and left the room.

Bismarck accompanied him to the ante-room, and then seated himself at
his writing-table; for some moments he was lost in thought.

"They all, yes, all!" he suddenly cried at last, as he sprang from his
chair and paced the room with hasty stops, "they all sing the same
song; they all talk of the responsibility, of the danger, of the
horrors of war. But do I not feel the responsibility? do I not see the
danger? does not my heart grow cold at the thought of the horrors of
war? But while I see the danger, I cannot withdraw from the necessity,
and while I am convinced of the necessity, I must undertake the
responsibility. I understand why most of them would withhold me from
bold action, the Liberals in the parliament fear the clash of arms;
yes, they dread even victory, and all those weak-minded creatures who
prefer to cling in cowardly submission to the present rather than face
the future, they are always the same through all the centuries of
history: but he--he is a man of courage and action, he knows danger and
does not fear it, yet he warns me back. This is serious; in comparison
to a word from this man, all the privy councillors, diplomatists, and
bureaucratists in the whole world are but a feather weight in the
scale: and he desires me to prepare for a retreat!"

He stood still for a moment and looked thoughtfully on the ground.

"And is he not right?" he said, sadly and gloomily. "If success fails
me, if the enemy is powerful enough to bow down, to break Prussia, what
could I do? walk away, like a careless gambler, judged by all, handed
down in all future history as a jest to the common herd; but then," he
cried, casting a glowing look upwards, "there is the other side, to
draw back, with a conviction of victory in my heart, to lose the
opportunity, perhaps for ever, of accomplishing for Prussia the great
and glorious future, which I see so brilliantly before me--


            'The moment comes, but if it is not seized,
            Not all eternity will bring it back.'"[1]


Again he stood still and gazed before him in deep thought.

"Oh, for light in this darkness!" he cried, "I must have the sky above
me, and the fresh air must cool my blood." He seized his hat and left
the room, descended the stair which led from his house to the
courtyard, walked through the courtyard with long strides and plunged
into the dark walks of a large garden, where trees of ancient growth
shaded the back of the hotel and Office for Foreign Affairs.

                           *   *   *   *   *

The same evening, in the same building, in an elegant and cheerfully
lighted drawing-room sat an elderly and a young lady, busied with
some light feminine work. On one side stood the tea-table, and the
tea-kettle sang that peculiar song, which is thought by the English,
when joined by the chirping of the cricket, to be the music of the
hearth, a greeting from home.

The two ladies were the wife and daughter of the president minister,
and von Keudell the minister of legation, the most intimate friend of
his chief, sat with them.

They spoke of several events in Berlin society, of the theatres, and
various other subjects of interest, but Madame von Bismarck frequently
looked with an expression of uneasiness and anxiety towards the door.
"Do you know if my husband has a visitor?" she asked, turning to von
Keudell; "I am always uneasy lest his excessive work should seriously
injure his health, and I feel quite bitter towards any visitor who
shortens the few moments he spends with us in the evening, to rest his
brain and refresh his nerves."

"I believe," replied Herr von Keudell, "no one is with him, but he has
a few things to conclude."

The door opened, and Bismarck entered. He greeted his wife and daughter
affectionately, shook hands with von Keudell, and seated himself in the
small family circle.

The minister's daughter poured out tea, whilst a servant handed him a
cut-glass of Bavarian beer, which he half emptied at one draught.

"Field Marshal Wrangel came to see me," said Madame von Bismarck; "he
wished to pay you a visit, but I prevented him, I told him you were
extremely busy."

"I thank you," replied her husband, "I certainly had no time to-day for
friendly visits. Affairs become more and more involved, and I need
solitude to arrange my thoughts,--and concentrate my will," he added,
as the preoccupied look, perceptible when he entered the room,
increased.

"The field marshal brought me something very delightful," continued
Madame von Bismarck, as she took up an envelope which lay on a little
table before her; "I had a good laugh with him at this very original
idea."

So saying, she drew out a little card and presented it to her husband.

"Ah!" he cried, "my likeness, with little Lucca--have they published it
already? Well, with all my heart; we are both in excellent company!" He
laughed as he examined the little picture, and added: "I met her lately
Unter den Linden, and walked with her a little way, she complained
bitterly of ennui.


                  "'I know not what there is to do,
                  Unless I'm photographed; do you?'


she cried, impatiently. I offered to join her in this singular
amusement, and the result is this comical little carte--which they will
talk about, no doubt. _Tant mieux_, a case of the dog of Alcibiades."
Madame von Bismarck looked at the funny little picture, and laughed
merrily, but her husband was again lost in gloomy thought.

After a few minutes, during which conversation languished, he raised
his head, turned to Herr von Keudell, and said:--

"Will you give us a little music, dear Keudell?"

Keudell seated himself directly at the open piano, which stood on the
other side of the drawing-room.

He struck a few chords, and then began to play a kind of prelude, with
his wonderfully clear and powerful touch; it progressed irregularly,
sometimes by unexpected dissonances, which seemed to accord with the
minister's feelings.

Bismarck rose and walked slowly up and down the room, stepping lightly
that he might not interrupt the music, nor disturb the impression it
made upon him.

Keudell played on and on, sinking ever deeper into the world of sound.
Suddenly some powerful chords shook themselves free from all
dissonance, and after an easy transition he began to play softly
Beethoven's "Sonata in A major."

He had scarcely began the simple yet affecting air, when Bismarck
paused, and the expression of his eyes and the smile on his lips showed
that Herr von Keudell's choice consoled and solaced him.

He again paced the room during the glorious variations evoked from this
simple air by the immense genius of the poet of sound; as their
wonderful sound pictures were unrolled, the minister's face expressed a
mighty inward struggle. Now he paused for a moment as if undecided,
whispering half-spoken words, then again he walked on rapidly, his eyes
gazing into an unseen distance, oblivious of everything around him.

Madame von Bismarck watched her husband with uneasy sympathy; she saw
his restless, agitated expression, but she did not disturb von
Keudell's playing by a word.

He had now come to that wonderfully beautiful part of the sonata called
by Beethoven, "Marcia funebre sulla morte d'un eroe," and his masterly
execution made the grand chords of the march resound through the room.

Bismarck stood still. His powerful hand grasped the back of a chair,
his eyes were directed upwards, and he looked as if an inspiration
passed through his mind as he listened to the impressive tones.

Then followed a representation of the muffled drums, the blast of the
trumpets resounded, and von Keudell, carried away by the beauty of the
composition, rendered it so as to surpass himself.

Madame von Bismarck had laid down her work and was listening
thoughtfully.

The president minister stood motionless. His chest heaved higher, the
powerful muscles of his arm grew stiffer, his eyes seemed to shoot out
light, as their upward gaze sought in imagination the dark sky bestrewn
with stars.

Once more the trumpet blast arose, then the clear sounds died away, and
after a short pause Herr von Keudell went on to the finale of the
sonata.

Bismarck looked around as if waking from a dream. He stood still for a
moment, and then half unconsciously whispered these words:

"And when I go to rest, upon such sounds my soul shall rise. Would a
poet ever have felt at a hero's grave all that those sounds reveal, if
there were not men who dared to banish the doubts that assail the
heart? _Jacta est alea!_"

And without noticing anyone he quietly left the room. Keudell played to
the end of the sonata. Madame von Bismarck put down her work and looked
anxiously after her husband.

When the music had ceased she turned to Keudell, who had left the piano
and had again approached her, and said:

"I am convinced my poor husband is ill, try to find an opportunity of
persuading him to take more care of his health."

"I will do what I can, dear lady," he returned; "but you know he is
difficult to persuade on this point. Besides, I do not believe he is
unwell; thoughts often come to him when he hears music, probably
something has occurred to him now, and he has gone to write it down at
once."

Herr von Bismarck had returned to his cabinet with a firm step, and had
seated himself at his writing table. All trace of indecision and
emotion had left his face, the cold calm of his features was now
lighted up by the clear expression of a firm unbending will.

He seized a pen and wrote, without pause or hesitation, a number of
notes on some foolscap which lay ready on his table.

After writing for about half an hour he rang the hand bell beside him.

The groom of the chambers appeared.

"Is Herr von Keudell still in the house?"

"At your excellency's command."

"Request him to come to me for a moment."

A few minutes later the minister of legation entered.

"Dear Keudell," said Bismarck, "here are some notes of instruction to
the ambassadors in Vienna, Frankfort, and Paris, will you have the
goodness to attend to their immediate transmission? Abeken, with his
usual talent, will complete the composition quite in my style. Usedom
must receive the same instructions, with the additions I have written
on the margin."

"I will take care everything is done immediately," said Keudell,
bowing, "and to-morrow they shall be sent off."

He glanced at the paper he held in his hand.

"Your excellency," he said with horror, "this is war!"

"It is," said Bismarck. "And now good night. Adieu, dear Keudell, until
to-morrow; we must sleep, I am really tired, and my nerves require
rest."

Herr von Keudell withdrew.

Half an hour later, perfect silence prevailed throughout the Foreign
Office; it was as completely shrouded in the darkness of night as the
fate of the future was veiled by the hand of Providence.




                               CHAPTER II.

                             FAIR WENDLAND.


Around the town of Luechow, in Hanover, lies the fertile and peculiar
country, called, without regard to official subdivisions, by the
general name of "Wendland." It is one of the portions of Germany where
the old Wend race have preserved themselves tenaciously from any
admixture of blood, and where their own especial manners and customs
still survive.

This Wendland is a beautiful, rich, and luxuriant country, not
beautiful from picturesque views, where hills and valleys unexpectedly
arrest the eye, but delightful from the peaceful abundance which
clothes its broad plains. Groups of tall and beautiful trees alone vary
the even surface of the fields and pastures, but the trees here are
remarkable for their grand and stately growth, and from amongst them,
gilded by the golden sunlight, here peeps the church of some quiet
village, there the old roof of some nobleman's seat; in the distance
the outline of a little town appears; and the traveller feels how
peaceful it must be to live there, far from the noisy world, the faint
echo of whose turbulent waves can scarcely reach the quiet dwellings of
the peace-loving inhabitants. Sometimes large sandy plains stretch out
with their enormous pine woods; monotonous in colour, and solitary,
they have somewhat of the beauty of the sea; a broad sandy road leads
through them; the wild animals approach with little shyness, an
inquisitive daw accompanies the carriage; the strong horses go on
slowly, but easily; nothing is to be seen but the sky, fir trees, and
sand, unless another carriage appears going in the opposite direction;
it is seen a long way off, the travellers greet one another, exchange a
few words, and are glad of the incident. When the end of the pine
forest is reached, and the shadow of the luxuriant deciduous trees
falls on the head of the traveller wearied with the sun; when the rich
abundance of the cultivated land greets his eye, and he breathes the
mild but invigorating air, he feels the refreshing influences, the
horses shake their heads and begin to trot of their own accord, and the
coachman with the skilful cracks of his whip, brings out all the dogs
from the village inns.

In short, it is a country where travelling still has its troubles and
difficulties, and where its old poetry still exists; in the small towns
the old manners and curious customs survive, and the door of the
nobleman's house is still hospitably opened to the traveller, who seems
to bring with him a breath from the great world, the doings, of which,
with all its pursuits, sound only like sagas to the inhabitants of
these quiet homes.

Such is old Wendland, simple, beautiful, and true. The inhabitants are
like the country--healthy and strong as the nature around them, simple
as the land in which they live; rich, because they have what they want,
and make no wants they cannot satisfy; strong in their affections,
clear in their simple faith, full of natural unexpressed poetry, with
hearts full of warm pure blood.

Through one of these large solitary pine woods, as the sun was setting
on one of the first evenings in April, 1866, there rode along the sandy
way a young officer in the uniform of the Hanoverian Cambridge
dragoons. He left his beautiful thorough-bred horse to find its own
way, which it appeared to know perfectly, whilst he sat carelessly and
dreamily in the saddle. A fair moustache covered the young man's upper
lip, his blue eyes gazed thoughtfully into the distance, as if he
sought in the golden evening clouds surrounding the setting sun, the
pictures which filled and occupied his mind. His light hair, though cut
very short, contrived to curl coquettishly beneath the small military
cap, and his face was rather pale, and though perfectly healthy, showed
the peculiar delicacy which young people who have grown very fast
frequently retain for a few years after they have reached manhood.

For a quarter of an hour the young officer rode on slowly and dreamily
through the pine wood, the shadow of his horse, as it fell behind him,
growing longer and longer, and the voices of the birds telling they
were fluttering to their nests.

Then the road turned, the wood suddenly opened and a venerable castle
appeared at some little distance, surrounded by tall old trees, the
last rays of the sun making its large windows appear to stream with
light.

At the end of the wood the village began; it was built sideways from
the castle, in the form of a semicircle, as is usual in Wendland
villages.

The dogs barked. The young officer awoke from his reverie, and
straightened himself in the saddle. The horse felt the movement and
wanted no other urging; he quitted his walk, and trotted with pointed
ears through the village on the road to the castle.

The houses stood open on the warm beautiful spring evening. On their
gables were seen the characteristic horses' heads, which in all Low
Saxon countries play so important a part; their worship was formerly
accepted by the Wends here, and the figures are still carefully
retained.

Peasant women, both old and young, sat before their doors, occupied
with their needles; inside the open houses the women were seen
finishing their work at the loom, and as they worked, they sang the
strange, melancholy, monotonous songs which are peculiar to the Wend
race.

At every house the young officer was greeted, and he returned the
salutations in a friendly way, speaking to most of the peasants by
name, in a manner that showed he was well known, and near home.

On one side of the semicircular village, not far from the road leading
to the castle, stood a plain old church, and near to it, in a pretty,
well-kept garden, the quiet, cheerful-looking vicarage.

There was a foot-path from the garden to the broad road leading to the
castle, and on this path two persons walked towards the highway.

One was an old gentleman of nearly sixty years of age; his black coat
buttoned up to his throat, his dazzlingly white cravat of fine folded
cambric, as also that remarkable tall square biretta of black velvet,
made on the exact pattern of those handed down to us in portraits of
Luther and Melanchthon, and still preferred by the Hanoverian clergy,
showed at a glance that he was the village pastor.

His full, strongly-marked face, with its healthy colour, expressed,
besides benevolent cheerfulness, a great deal of energetic character,
and a decided, cultivated mind, which, separated from the great stream
of life, had developed wonderfully in seclusion, framing a world of its
own, where it found both peace and happiness.

It was Pastor Berger, who for more than twenty years had lived here
amongst his flock.

Beside him walked his only daughter; for the last ten years, ever since
her mother's death, she alone had shared her father's quiet life, and
he had bestowed upon her education great and loving care; avoiding the
common taste for amusements only to be found in the great world so far
off, and teaching her to enjoy the quiet happiness which so completely
satisfied himself.

The young girl's dark dress had a certain elegance, notwithstanding its
country simplicity. She was not tall, but slender and graceful; her
glossy chestnut hair appeared beneath the black velvet hat which shaded
her delicate oval face, the slightly parted fresh lips smiled as if
they breathed in happiness, whilst the brilliant though soft and
thoughtful eyes, showed depths of intense poetic feeling.

The young officer perceived them, reined in his horse, and raising his
hand to his cap for a military salute, exclaimed, "Good evening, Herr
Pastor; good evening, Miss Helena!"

The clergyman called out "Good evening" loudly and cheerfully, and he
too saluted with his hand; his daughter only slightly bowed her head
without uttering a word, but the smile trembling on her lips, the
joyful look beaming in her eyes, proved her greeting to be as hearty as
her father's.

They both hastened on, and in a few moments they overtook the young man
who awaited them on the high road; he sprang from his horse as the
pastor and his daughter approached, and held out his hand.

"You were expected yesterday, Herr von Wendenstein," said the pastor;
"your brother arrived the day before, and your father began to fear
your leave had been refused."

"I could not come sooner--I was on duty yesterday," replied the young
officer; "but that will enable me to stay two days longer. I can have
some more lessons in natural history from my little mistress," he
added, turning to the girl with a smile; she meanwhile was patting and
caressing the horse's neck and head.

"If you are not more attentive and diligent than you were last time,
you will make very little progress," said the pastor's daughter; "but
give me Roland's bridle, he likes me to lead him best, and make haste
to the castle; we were going there, and we shall be much more welcome
if we bring you with us."

She took the horse's bridle, stepped aside, and followed the two
gentlemen to the castle, leading the horse and speaking a coaxing word
to him from time to time.

The approach to the castle was through a massive gateway leading into a
paved court-yard, surrounded by low walls, which evidently had replaced
the ancient bulwarks.

In the midst of this large enclosure stood a single linden-tree of
great age; to the right and left were stables and domestic offices,
apparently modern, in two large low buildings. On the further side of
the court-yard was the dwelling-house itself, the remains of an edifice
evidently once of immense extent. Without any architectural beauty,
without even belonging to any particular period, the castle made the
impression which a large and ancient mass of stone-work of vast
dimensions, placed in the open country and surrounded with trees,
always produces.

The enormous oaken door of the house stood open; it led into a large
stone hall lighted by two great windows on the right and left of the
doorway. Against the walls of this hall stood many of those immense oak
chests, black with age, in which our forefathers from generation to
generation stored their household treasures of linen, silver plate,
their family papers, and whatever else they considered valuable and
worthy of preservation.

These old coffers tell us almost as much as a family chronicle, or as
some old Saga; they disappear in these modern times--there is no room
for them in our modern tiny drawing-rooms, or in the boudoirs crowded
with knick-knacks of the housewives of the present day. They are no
longer needed; who would now dream of beginning a collection of fine
linen for a daughter's trousseau as soon as she was born? it can be
bought good, cheap, and above all, in the newest style at the shops.
What need is there now for such deep, broad shrines to contain the
silver plate of the house, when electro-plate is so beautiful, and can
be changed with the fashion? However, these venerable old coffers still
stood in the place of honour, and cared nothing about the generation of
console-tables and tiny brackets which had taken the world by storm;
above them hung dark old oil-paintings, hunting pieces with wonderfully
stiff gentlemen riding equally stiff steeds, then came shepherdesses
leading their flocks through very flowery meadows to the shade of
woods, with long straight alleys strongly resembling Versailles; there
were family portraits of old gentlemen in enormous wigs and velvet
coats, in long-forgotten uniforms, and in black robes; there were
smiling ladies with ruffs, fontanges, or sacks. And the old times
seemed to live and breathe here quite naturally, as if it would always
be the same to-day as it was yesterday, and the same to-morrow as it
was to-day.

Right and left of this lofty and spacious hall, old oaken doors led to
the principal sitting-rooms; opposite to the entrance was a large
apartment, which in a modern house would be called the drawing-room,
but here its simple and massive furniture corresponded with the rest of
the castle. The only modern thing in the room was a beautiful piano; it
stood open, and the music lying about it showed it was constantly used.

A large high-backed sofa stood against the wall, behind an enormous
table of dark mahogany supported on column-like legs; a lamp with a
large ground-glass globe and a tall, slender green lacquered stand, was
already lighted, and struggled against the mild twilight which entered
the room through two large windows and an open glass door. Beyond the
glass door was a broad terrace, which extended along the whole length
of the house on the garden side, and ended at the right corner in a
round platform resting on stone foundations, evidently the spot on
which in former times a large round tower must have stood.

High trees enclosed the terrace, but there were well-arranged vistas
allowing the light to enter the windows freely, and opening out distant
glimpses of the rich country extending on every side. Flower-beds edged
with box adorned the well-kept lawn, already gay with variegated
crocuses and snowdrops.

Such was the old castle of Blechow, where for the last eighteen years
the worthy President von Wendenstein had administered the law after the
patriarchal fashion of Hanover, where formerly the large landowners
were also the chief magistrates, and the golden fruit of the tree was
more highly prized than the grey theory of administrative form.

Herr von Wendenstein was not the autocrat his forefathers had been; a
more severe standard had been raised, and the government of the country
was different--more unbending, more bureaucratic; but the old office
had devolved upon him with the castle of Blechow, and a considerable
fortune permitted him to live in the style of former Hanoverian _high
sheriffs_[2] and chief magistrates; his clear understanding and
knowledge of the law enabled him to satisfy the new authorities, while
he maintained the old order of things as much as possible, the personal
respect and esteem he inspired greatly strengthening his authority.

In the large family sitting-room, on the big sofa, before the table,
now brightly lighted by the lamp as the twilight decreased, sat the
mistress of the house, Madame von Wendenstein, the worthy mistress of
this great old echoing castle, with its enormous doors, bewitching
coffers, and venerable portraits. A snow-white tulle cap, with
carefully-plaited frills and silver grey ribbons, surrounded the old
lady's delicate-featured, somewhat pale face, which, although she was
only a few years younger than her husband, still bore traces of great
beauty in the well-formed mouth and the large almond-shaped blue eyes.
The hair, still abundant, though almost white, was smoothly parted, and
hung in carefully-curled locks on either side her face; these the old
lady frequently stroked back with her slender white fingers, and
arranged beneath the borders of her cap. Her features expressed unusual
mildness and gentleness, and at the same time such extreme repose
and unassuming dignity, that no stranger could have seen her, as she
sat in her simple black silk dress, made in no French fashion, either
old or modern, with its exquisitely white collar and cuffs, her hands
resting in her lap with the white embroidery on which they had been
occupied, her eyes fixed upon the evening sky with a look of thankful
happiness,--no stranger could have seen her without feeling that a
spirit of order, gentleness, and hospitality would greet all who
entered the house. No speck of dust, no ill-cooked dish, no deviation
from the regular times and hours would be permitted; but no trouble
could assail a member of the family, no body or heart could suffer
without the quick, true eyes of the mother and wife perceiving it,
without a kind, good word from her mouth endeavouring to alleviate and
console.

Such was the mistress of the old castle of Blechow. Her daughters, two
young girls, sat beside her, pretty, blooming creatures of fifteen and
eighteen, the latter possessing the beauty of the grown-up maiden, the
former the charm of childhood. Their toilettes were very simple, but
their beautifully-embroidered _lingerie_ and tastefully arranged hair,
gave them an appearance of great refinement.

With the ladies sat the auditor von Bergfeld, the assistant granted to
the president, who, according to old-fashioned custom, was received as
a guest in the family.

President von Wendenstein walked up and down the terrace with his
eldest son, who was employed by the Ministry of the Interior in Hanover
as a government assessor and reporter. He had come to Blechow to keep
his father's birthday, which had for some years past always been
observed by the family.

President von Wendenstein had a pleasing and dignified appearance. His
thick close-cut grey hair surrounded a broad forehead, with thick,
arched eyebrows, beneath which were dark grey eyes, so clear, sharp and
severe, yet with such an expression of jovial cheerfulness, such sparks
of fiery animation, it was impossible not to imagine him twenty years
younger than he really was. His long, well-shaped nose, his broad
mouth, with full red lips and excellent teeth, his fresh complexion,
formed altogether a picture of mental power and physical enjoyment of
life commanding sympathy and respect.

He had, according to the old fashion, no beard, and he wore clothes of
a light grey woolens material, with a light cap. His strong right hand
grasped an ivory-handled stick, with which he supported his steps, for
he suffered from gout, the only weakness that appeared in the healthy,
energetic old gentleman.

His eldest son walked by him, in features unmistakeably resembling his
father, in every other respect totally unlike him.

His dress, even to his hat, was that of a dweller in cities--glossy,
simple, and faultless; his face, paler than his father's, expressed
both polite civility and official reserve. His hair was smooth and
carefully parted, his whiskers cut after the newest fashion, and his
movements were quiet, gentle, and studied.

Such had his father never been in his youth--that could be seen at a
glance, but he had grown up in very different times: the father was a
character, the son a type.

"And you may say what you like," cried Herr von Wendenstein with
animation, as he stood still and planted his stick firmly on the
ground, "this new method of administration which is continually
progressing, will not answer, and will lead to nothing good. These
everlasting inquiries compel us to make reports, which take up an
endless time, and seldom give a clear account of the matter; these
orders on every possible subject (they often just miss knocking the
nail on the head) take from the immediate governors of the country all
self-reliance, all responsibility, and turn organization into
machinery. The people and the country, however, continue living flesh
and blood, and will not fit into the machine, hence the government is
estranged from those governed, the magistrates become mere scribes, and
stand helplessly by when an occasion arises requiring decision and
judgment. Ever since the most humble reports to every inquiry and the
most exact compliance with every order emanating from the boards of
green cloth have become essential, human beings, who cannot be shut up
and put away with law acts, have got on as they could, and," he added
with a jovial laugh, "that is the least evil, for folks often get on
best alone. The good old times--well, they had their faults, but in
this they were better. The magistrates knew the people, and lived
amongst them; they acted according to the law and their own
consciences, and the government supported them. The minister travelled
through the country once a year, and knew much better what went on, and
on whom he could depend, than they will ever discover now from the most
lengthy reports. But," he said laughingly, after a moment's pause, "I
have no right to complain. If they require reports they give me an
auditor to write them, and the orders I receive with due respect, but I
give judgment after the old laws, and my subjects are quite contented.
I think they will find everything in my jurisdiction in perfect order,
more so than in many others where the modern method is more fully
established."

His son listened with the respect always shown to his father in this
family, but he could not prevent a half impatient, half compassionate
smile from curling his lip. As his father ceased, he replied in the
measured, half pathetic, half monotonous voice peculiar to the
eloquence of the green board, and known throughout the world wherever
tables covered with green cloth, reports, and acts of parliament exist.

"It is only natural, my dear father, that you should love and defend
old times; but you will agree with me, when I say the developments of
time require alterations in government. The power of the landowners,
the basis of the national economy of former generations, made them
despotic, and divided the country and the people into isolated groups;
individuals and acquaintances composed these almost domestic societies;
they lived their own separate lives, and it was then right and suitable
that the government should be equally individual. Now the national
economy struggles for concentration; the great means of locomotion in
our day, always rapidly increasing, destroys the boundaries of time and
space, those powers which separated different societies. The individual
group now forms part of the comprehensive whole, and it is needful for
the government to follow out this development of life in the people and
the country, by quick changes and rapid concentration; a strong
principle, a pervading system, is required throughout the
administration, or the machine will stand still. Believe me, dear
father, the government does not force a new element into our life, it
is life itself in its irresistible development which obliges the
government to adopt a quicker and more precise form, of administration.
Besides," he added, "I do not believe our views are so very different;
with all your love for the past, you are quite equal to the present.
The minister told me lately the punctuality, order, and quickness in
your jurisdiction were admirable, and always remarked by the
authorities."

The old gentleman smiled, visibly flattered by his son's compliment,
and said good-humouredly:

"Well, I manage to keep pace with the present, but I love the past
best; and notwithstanding all you have said, I think matters might have
been managed with less system, paper, and ink. But we will not argue
about it any more," he said, as he patted his son's shoulder; "I am a
child of my own generation, you live in yours;--men always bear the
stamp of the times in which they live, whether they will or no. It is a
pity the Present takes it so easily, and that all her children are
stamped after the same pattern: they are made at a manufactory, and no
longer bear signs of good home-made work. But let us go in, your mother
is at the door calling us, and my old enemy," pointing to his foot with
his stick, "conspires with the evening air a new attack upon my old
bones."

He turned slowly to the glass door of the drawing-room where his wife
stood looking as if framed, as she gazed after him anxiously.

He had reached her side followed by his son, when the barking of the
dogs in the courtyard was heard, and soon afterwards voices sounded in
the hall.

An old servant in a neat green livery opened the door, and the pastor
Berger with his daughter Helena entered. The president, who had the
greatest esteem for the clergyman, welcomed him warmly, and shook hands
with him most heartily before he had time even to greet the lady of the
house: and his daughters seized on Helena.

"We come," said the pastor, "according to our custom at the close of
another year of your life, to return thanks to you for all the kindness
you have shown us during that period, and we bring the lieutenant with
us; we fell in with him on the road, and like a true cavalry soldier he
has gone first to the stable to look after his horse."

"He has come," said Madame von Wendenstein with joy. "I feared he might
not get leave."

The door opened hastily, and with quick steps and jingling spurs
Lieutenant von Wendenstein hastened to his mother, who embraced him
warmly, whilst he kissed her hand. He then went to his father, who
kissed him on the cheeks and gazed with pride on the handsome young man
as he stood before him with his upright military bearing.

"I am late," said the lieutenant, "because we have so much to do. My
comrades desire me to say they will all come to congratulate you
to-morrow, dear father, if possible, but we have an immense amount of
work of all kinds. The yearly exercises are to take place earlier, the
order has come quite suddenly, and you can imagine how much extra work
this has given us."

After the lieutenant had shaken hands affectionately with his brother,
he turned to his sisters and the pastor's daughter, and began a lively
conversation with the three young girls and the auditor von Bergfeld,
which was frequently interrupted by merry laughter, while the pastor
with the president and his eldest son, joined Madame von Wendenstein at
the large table before the sofa.

"It is very unusual," said the president, "this hastening of the
exercises, of which my son spoke, and which I had before seen in the
newspapers. Foreign affairs are not my province, and I generally
trouble myself little about them, but how this measure can assist in
the present grave crisis I do not understand."

"It is an exceptional means," replied his son, with the air of one of
the initiated, "used to meet a complicated embarrassment. The quarrel
between Prussia and Austria grows sharper every day, and the German
governments desire a mobilization of the confederacy's contingencies.
Prussia on the other hand requires strict neutrality, and the
man[oe]uvres have been hastened to avoid the mobilization, and yet to
have the troops in readiness should war break out."

"With all respect for your ministerial wisdom," replied his father,
jokingly, "I cannot see what good it will do. If Prussia requires
neutrality she will be as much hurt and disquieted by this irregularity
as by mobilization itself, though the military preparations for actual
war are much less complete, and Austria and her allies will see in this
a withdrawal from their common interests. My opinion is, a decision
should be made one way or the other. If war does not break out--as I
still hope--nothing is lost, and if it comes, we have at least on one
side a support and a strong position. What troubles me," he added
thoughtfully and gravely, "I do not love the Prussians; we Hanoverians,
from old wounds, feel little sympathy with Prussia. I regret that our
army has been taken out of the old Hanoverian uniform, and put into a
Prussian-like one; I regret still more that Herr von Beningsen and his
national unionists have so completely brought us under Prussian ideas;
but still I should prefer that we remained on a good footing with our
great and dangerous neighbour, and that we joined in no hare-brained
enterprise with Austria, in whom I have no confidence, and who has
never done us or Germany any good; above all things, I would not that
we, in our dangerously-exposed position, should sit upon two stools,
and yet," he said, pausing, "that is what our rulers are doing. Our
foreign minister, Count Platen, I do not know; I met him once in
Hanover, and he appeared to be an affable and agreeable man, but
Bacmeister I do know, and I know his character and his intellect,--what
does he say to this measure?"

The government assessor cleared his throat and replied, "These things
belong entirely to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and the War Office.
I do not know whether the measure has been discussed in a general
council, certainly I have not heard my chief express his opinion, but
he is always careful not to commit himself on any subject. In Hanover
they quite believe hostilities will not really take place."

"God grant they may be right," cried the pastor with a sigh, "a German
war! what a frightful misfortune, and I know not on which side my
sympathy would lie; however the war ended, one of the two great German
rivals would preponderate. I cannot wish for papist Austria with her
Croatians, Pandurs and Sclaves; my own personal feeling draws me to our
northern brothers, with whom we have so much in common, but that
Prussian influence should be all-powerful in Germany without any
counterpoise, I cannot certainly desire; from Berlin came the
Rationalism now threatening the whole Protestant Church with its
dangerous indifference. May God direct and enlighten our king that he
may choose aright, and preserve the pure Lutheran church in our beloved
Hanover."

"Yes, God grant us peace! for this I pray daily," said Madame von
Wendenstein, looking anxiously at her youngest son, whose merry laugh
had just been heard from the group of young people established in the
window. "What sorrow, what misery war brings to every family, and what
end is to be gained? Greater weight in the political scale for one or
another power: I think if everyone would strive to make his own
household and his own immediate circle better and happier the world
would be more improved than by struggling after things which can give
no true happiness to a single human being."

"There we have my true housewife," laughed the president; "what does
not concern her house, her cellar, and her kitchen, is useless and
pernicious, and according to her views statesmen should turn into a
large family circle, and politics be thrown into the lumber room."

"And is not my honoured friend right?" said the pastor, smiling at
Madame von Wendenstein; "is it not woman's duty to work for peace, and
to cherish the seed we sow in the Lord's temple, that it may flower and
bring forth fruit in the house? God gives to the mighty ones of the
earth the right to draw the sword he has placed in their hand, they
must do their duty and answer for it afterwards; but I believe the
Eternal Father has more joy in the peaceful happiness of a united home
than in the most talented combinations of policy, or the bloody laurels
of the battle-field."

"Well," said the president, "we cannot alter the course of events, so
let us think of nourishing our own bodies; that will, I am sure, do us
all good."

The old servant had thrown open two large folding-doors on one side of
the drawing-room, and the spacious dining-room, with a table ready laid
and lighted with massive silver branches, appeared, whilst a most
appetizing odour of cookery invited everyone to enter and partake.

The president rose. The pastor gave his arm to the lady of the house,
and led her to the dining-room, followed by the rest of the party, who
were soon seated around the table in the plainly-furnished room
ornamented with stags' antlers and deer's heads, enjoying the excellent
dinner provided by the house steward, and the choice specimens of the
treasures in the cellars. There was plenty of cheerful conversation,
but nothing was said about politics.

In the meantime there was great excitement in one of the principal
houses of the semi-circular village, usually so quiet. The large hall,
the door of which was wide open, was brightly lighted and filled with
different groups of young peasant men and maidens in their best Sunday
costumes; the strongly-built young fellows wore jackets and hats
trimmed with fur, the maidens short, close-fitting dresses and white
handkerchiefs, with bright-coloured ribbons in their thick plaits of
hair.

Fresh guests continually arrived and joined the young people already
assembled, while the other inhabitants of the village, the older
peasants and children, walked up and down, and looked in at their young
friends.

Old farmer Deyke, one of the principal farmers of the Blechow estate,
a widower for some years, inhabited the large farm-house with his
only son Fritz. He went from group to group, and his old rigid,
sharply-marked countenance, with its cunning, piercing dark eyes,
beneath bushy eyebrows, showed itself capable of very different
expressions. Now it assumed jocular good nature, as he pressed the hand
of a rich farmer's son and whispered in his ear some tale of his own
youth; now his face expressed benevolent condescension, as he said an
encouraging word to a poorer neighbour; now cold reserve as he returned
the salutation of some young man not quite in good repute in the
neighbourhood, but whom he was too hospitable not to entertain on such
an occasion.

His son Fritz went about amongst his friends with much less dignity. He
was a slight but strong young man, with kind, true blue eyes, and
flaxen hair cut short in the military fashion. He joked with the girls,
and must have said very merry things, for they put their heads
together, and laughed and tittered, until they got red in the face,
long after the old farmer's merry son had left them and gone on to
another group; and then he went up to the young men, and seizing two of
them under the arms, led them to the table at one end of the hall
covered with a white cloth, and crowded with beer-jugs, hams, bread,
and cold beef. It was evident that Fritz was immensely popular.

He was very good-looking, beloved by young and old, and as the only son
and heir of the rich Deyke, the holder of the largest farm in the
neighbourhood, all the pretty girls belonging to the best peasant
families looked after him with beating hearts and unspoken hopes, and
there was no father or mother in the village but would have received
him as a son-in-law with the greatest joy.

But he was unscathed amongst all these pretty peasant girls; he joked
and laughed with them all, danced with them all at country festivities,
gave first one and then another a bouquet from his father's well-kept
garden, or a ribbon or a picture from the store of some travelling
dealer, and these gifts raised the hopes of the pretty Blechow girls;
but he never went any further, or seemed to see the kind looks of the
daughters, or to notice the encouraging hints of the fathers and
mothers. None of the young men felt jealous of him, he was never a
rival, he took every opportunity of treating his young friends, and
spent the thalers, with which his father plentifully supplied him,
quite as much on their pleasures as on his own.

The young people all made way, and left the centre of the hall free as
the village schoolmaster entered, a simple-looking old man, in a black
coat and a black cocked hat.

The elder Deyke greeted him in a manner that showed he respected the
position and character of his guest, but felt himself a person of much
greater importance, but his son hastily seized his old master's hand,
and cried: "We are all ready, Herr Niemeyer, and it is time to go to
the castle; the president sat down to dinner half an hour ago, and it
will be another half hour before we are all there and prepared, so
forwards! forwards!"

He quickly arranged all the young people in couples, first the young
men, then the girls, and to each young man he gave a pine-wood torch
from a large heap which lay ready on one side of the hall, and some
matches for lighting them. He then seized the arm of the schoolmaster,
and with his father they headed the procession, which silently moved
towards the castle, whilst the older villagers looked on with interest,
and then followed, whispering together.

The president's cheerful dinner had come to an end. The old butler
removed the cover of an enormous Saxony china bowl standing on a side
table, from which came the delightful aroma of Scharzhofberger Moselle,
mingled with the perfume of the pine-apple slices floating in the wine.
He uncorked some bottles of Champagne, poured the contents into the
bowl, put in the large silver ladle, and placed it on the table before
the president, who, after tasting and approving the mixture, filled
large glasses for all his guests.

The pastor raised his glass, inhaled the delicious fragrance for a
moment with visible respect, admired the light bright yellow colour,
and then spoke in a way happily combining the clergyman with the old
friend of the family:

"My dear friends! our worthy president, around whose hospitable board
we are now assembled, enters to-morrow upon a new year of his active
and useful life. To-morrow we shall greet the new year; to-day let us
take leave of the past. The cares and troubles it brought our friend
are over, and have only led to good; the happiness he has bestowed on
so many, the cheerful hours he has caused, should be remembered to
strengthen and refresh him in the evil moments the future will bring
even to him, as to all the dwellers on the earth, as long as darkness
and light wrestle together. May the remembrance of the past year urge
us all to continue true to one another in love and friendship. Let us
dedicate this quiet glass to the memory of the past year of our dear
president's life." And putting his glass to his lips, he emptied it to
the dregs.

They all followed his example, the ladies not excepted, for from the
simple, healthy life they led, they did not fear a glass of generous
wine as the more delicate specimens of the fair sex usually do in large
cities.

"God grant, my friends, that at the close of the next year, which looks
so threatening, we may all be sitting here as happy and as cheerful as
we are now," said the president, with emotion in his face and voice;
"and now," he added cheerfully, as he felt general conversation could
not be again resumed, "let us rise and smoke the pipe of peace. John,
bring the bowl, we will have another word with that."

The whole party rose and returned to the drawing-room. They found the
doors leading into the hall set open; the enormous house-door was also
thrown wide open, so that they saw right into the courtyard, with the
old linden-tree in the midst. It was lighted up with dark red flames,
and amidst the masses of smoke which here and there interrupted the
fiery waves, groups of men appeared, their movements looking strangely
fantastic in the reflections of the flames, and from them came the
sound of whispering voices.

The president was amazed and even alarmed, for his first idea was that
a fire had broken out in his stables; but the old servant stepped up to
him and whispered: "The young people from the village wish to serenade
you, sir, the evening before your birthday."

The president, who had been about to hasten into the courtyard, paused,
a look of happy emotion shining in his eyes. The pastor, who was
prepared for the surprise, exchanged a smile with the lady of the
house, and the young people gazed inquisitively into the courtyard.

After the president appeared, there was a moment of deep silence; then
strong, clear voices raised the simple touching chorale, "Oh! God, our
help in ages past."


                "Wer nun den lieben Gott laeszt walten."


The full ringing sounds, and the dark red light of the torches streamed
through the large hall and entered the room where the family stood,
while from the large window on the garden side the full moon shone
brightly in from the dark evening sky, and shed long streams of light
upon the floor.

The president stood still, surrounded by those he loved in his quiet
home, the calm light of the moon falling upon him, as if it were the
farewell greeting of the past year. Was the uncertain, blood-red light
filling the courtyard the picture of the coming year? Yet from the
fiery light came the old pious hymn which has so often strengthened and
comforted men's hearts. Let the Future come; if she brings strife and
sorrow, she will also bring strength and consolation.

Such thoughts as these passed through the mind of the president. His
wife, who had placed herself beside him, had folded her hands together
and slightly bowed her head.


                 "O God, our help in ages past,
                   Our hope in years to come,
                 Our shelter from the stormy blast,
                   And our eternal home,"[3]


resounded. The old lady gazed at her soldier-son, whose eyes shone with
pleasure at the picturesque effect produced by the torchlight on the
groups of peasants, and on the buildings around the court. Her hands
were more tightly clasped, her lips moved in silent prayer, and a tear
ran slowly down her cheek; then she bent her head lower, and listened
without moving to the end of the chorale.

When the sounds had quite died away, a general movement commenced. Old
Deyke and the schoolmaster entered; and the former said, in his most
important and dignified manner, the schoolmaster standing meekly behind
him: "Herr President, the young people have had the honour of welcoming
your approaching birthday by a serenade; the schoolmaster has
instructed them"--(he looked round, and the poor man bowed shyly,
trying not to feel as if all eyes were upon him). "They came and
consulted me, and I saw no objection; for, Herr President, you are well
aware the whole village feels interested in your family festival; yes,
and we know you rejoice that we should show how much we have your
happiness and that of your worthy family at heart. My only anxiety was
lest the sudden commotion before the house might"--and he turned to
Madame von Wendenstein--"alarm your honoured lady; but the schoolmaster
said it must be a surprise, or the whole point would be lost."

"Thank you--thank you all from my whole heart. My good old Deyke!"
exclaimed the president, warmly shaking his hand, "you have given me
the greatest pleasure, and such an alarm as this will never injure my
wife."

"Certainly not," said Madame von Wendenstein, whose face had recovered
all its quiet cheerfulness. She offered the old peasant her small white
hand, which he took with a certain amount of care, and added: "I thank
you heartily for your affection to my husband."

"But where is Fritz?" cried the lieutenant. "I have been surprised not
to see him; eh! old Deyke, where is my old playmate?"

"Here, Herr Lieutenant," cried young Deyke's cheerful voice, as the
handsome young peasant stepped from a dark corner of the hall and
entered the sitting-room. "I am very glad you are here, sir, and that
you remember me."

Whilst the lieutenant warmly greeted the young peasant, his elder
brother shook hands with old Deyke, with a certain stiff politeness,
and the president cried:

"Now, every one must eat and drink in the courtyard. It is the young
people's turn to be pleased. It must never be said that my friends,
after giving me so much pleasure, went away with empty mouths."
Madame von Wendenstein gave her eldest daughter a sign, and soon all
the servants in the house were hastily carrying tables, white cloths,
plates, jugs, and bottles into the courtyard.

The schoolmaster, however, whispered something to old Deyke, who said,
"Herr President, the schoolmaster begs your kind entertainment may be
put off until the other songs are sung, as he fears the voices will not
be in such good order afterwards!"

"Are you going to sing to us again?" cried the president, with
pleasure. "Pray go on then, Herr Niemeyer. Sit down with us, my dear
Deyke, and let us drink a glass to old times!"

He had some arm-chairs rolled into the middle of the room, and made the
old peasant sit with the pastor and himself. The lieutenant fetched
some cigars; the eldest son filled the glasses. The old peasant
moistened his cigar with his lips, and smoked it with carefully
screwed-up mouth. He knocked his glass against the president's and the
pastor's, half emptied it, with a satisfied nod at its contents; then
he sat very upright on his chair, with a look which showed he was
sensible what a high honour it was to sit in such company, as well as
the conviction that he was quite the man on whom such honour should
fall.

The schoolmaster and young Deyke had hastened out again, and soon the
simple but beautiful _volkslied_ of the country commenced.

Madame von Wendenstein returned to her place on the sofa, and listened
thoughtfully to the melodious sounds; her eldest son stepped, with Herr
von Bergfeld, into a window-niche; the president's youngest daughter
had followed her sister; the lieutenant walked up and down the room,
listening to the singing with some impatience; for he longed to go out
to the young peasants, whom he had known from childhood, and joke and
laugh with them.

The pastor's daughter, forsaken by her young friends, stepped out on to
the terrace. She leant against the stone balustrade and looked up at
the moon; its silvery rays fell on her thoughtful, beautiful face, and
lighted up her large clear eyes.

After the lieutenant had paced up and down the room several times, he,
too, went on to the terrace. He breathed in the fresh evening air,
looked at the well-known plain below as it lay in the moonlight, and
then perceived the young girl, whom he hastened to join.

"Are you indulging in romantic dreams in the moonlight, Miss Helena?"
he cried, jokingly. "May I share them, or is it needful to be quite
alone?"

"The moon always makes me come out, whether I will or not," said
Helena, "and the singing sounds even better here. But I was dreaming a
little," she said, laughingly, as she raised herself from the stone
balustrade; "my thoughts were far away from here, up in the clouds,"
and she pointed with her hand to a black bank of clouds, stretching
from the horizon towards the moon, whose light touched their edges with
silver. They looked like a black mantle with a brilliant hem.

"I know your thoughts go far and wide, and I like to hear them, for
they take me to a world I love, but to which I cannot go alone. You
remember the old story of the wonderful garden no one could enter
unless they knew the magic word which opened the door in the rock? you
know this word. Even as a child I was never happier than when listening
to your ideas; they took me so far away from every-day life. Tell me
what you and the clouds have been talking about."

"Do you see," said the young girl, as she looked upwards, "do you see
that black cloud resting so quietly in the moonlight? An image of
peace, you might almost believe it had ever been there, and would ever
remain; yet in a short time the cloud has spread itself far, far over
the country--will it bring blessing and fruitfulness, or will it spread
tempest and destruction over the land, destroying the hopes of the
husbandman? Who can tell? but we know it will move away from the light
now so peacefully shining upon it, though the moon will shine on as it
has ever done. Such is life; such is the fate of man," she added, in a
melancholy tone; "now we are in happy peace; soon we may feel the wild
tempest."

"Your thoughts are always sad," said the lieutenant, with a slight
smile, whilst a reflection of the young girl's enthusiasm appeared in
his face, "always grave, but always beautiful; but I cannot imagine,"
he added, "how such ideas come to you."

"How can I help it?" she returned, "when they talk so much of war, and
the threatening future; how soon our peaceful happiness may vanish like
the moon if the cloud rises higher!"

The young officer looked grave, and was silent for a moment.

"How extraordinary!" he then said. "War is my business, and I have
always wished for a brisk, merry war, instead of our tiresome garrison
life; but what you say makes me sorry. Are we soldiers the black cloud
which is to blot out the moon's peaceful light, to spread tempest and
destruction, and to annihilate so many hopes? And may not the lightning
resting in the cloud's bosom smite even ourselves?"

"Oh! that it were granted to human power to guide the course of clouds
and the fate of men to light and peace," cried the pastor's daughter;
"but as the moonlight silvers the black cloud, so must our hopes and
prayers accompany those whom the storm of fate drives far away; such
comfort will remain for those at home."

The lieutenant was silent. His eyes were fixed with dreamy surprise on
the young girl's excited face, which looked almost inspired in the
moonlight. He slowly approached her; but the singing ceased, loud
voices and clanging glasses were heard in the court. The other young
ladies came on to the terrace, and the lieutenant and Helena hastily
joined them.

The president went into the hall, and again thanked the singers
heartily for the pleasure they had given him, proposing they should now
attack the refreshments. The whole party then mixed with the peasants,
and cheerful talking and merry laughter were heard throughout the
courtyard.

The lieutenant had gone into the drawing-room, and he remained there
for a time grave and thoughtful, though his sister and Helena had gone
to say a few friendly words to all the village maidens.

His elder brother went to the young peasants; he knew quite well what
to say to them, for he had been brought up amongst them, and they
talked to him without reserve: but it was somewhat of a ceremonious
conversation which he carried on in a quiet voice, as he moved from
group to group.

Loud bursts of laughter, however, accompanied the lieutenant, when he
entered the courtyard shortly afterwards. Accompanied by Fritz Deyke,
he spoke to all the young fellows, who, for a joke, arranged themselves
in the stiffest of military attitudes, under the auspices of some old
cavalry soldiers.

All was life and mirth. At last the lieutenant was surrounded by some
young folks, who made Fritz Deyke their spokesman. The lieutenant
laughed when he heard their request, nodded his head, and went up to
his father.

"They want to sing our Hanoverian air, father, but they wish for your
consent: they are not sure if it is quite the thing, they say."

"If it is the thing?" cried the president, cheerfully, "of course it
is; let them begin!"

Fritz Deyke, who had followed the lieutenant, hurried back to his
friends. They formed a semicircle before the door of the house, and the
curious song began, the words of which are scarcely comprehensible, and
often altered _ad libitum_, but which it is the dear delight of every
Hanoverian peasant and soldier to sing on every opportunity.

The president was delighted to hear the national song shouted by the
merry young peasants with all the strength of their lungs. He joined in
the chorus himself, as did the lieutenant, and


            "Our king before us we did see,
            Riding straight on so merrilie;
            And to his brigadier cried he,
            'Roystering Hanover boys are we,'"[4]


was loudly echoed back from the old castle walls to Blechow.
At last the peasants dispersed, and with loud laughter and cheerful
conversation returned to the village. The pastor and his daughter also
took leave, and went back to the quiet vicarage. Soon the whole castle
was hushed in peace and darkness.

Madame von Wendenstein kissed her youngest son affectionately, as she
bid him good-night, and her lips softly murmured,


            "O God, our help in ages past,
              Our hope in years to come,
            Our shelter from the stormy blast,
              And our eternal home."


The lieutenant sat thinking in silence for a long time in an ancient
arm-chair in his room; and when at last he went to bed and to sleep, he
dreamt he was on a black cloud, whirled along by a tempest; the
lightning flashed about him, the thunder groaned, and he was borne
farther and farther from the mild rays of the moon, though she still
pursued him with her peaceful light.




                              CHAPTER III.

                                VIENNA.


A number of carriages rolled rapidly along the Ballhofsplatz behind the
royal castle of Hofburg in Vienna, and drew up one after another before
the brilliantly lighted portal of the Office of State. Fashionable
equipages, with servants in various liveries, arrived; the porter, in
his light blue coat embroidered with gold and with his long staff,
hurried to receive the ladies who alighted in rich evening dress, well
wrapped up in their warm mantles and hoods; they hastened through the
large doorway, mounted the broad staircase to the right and entered
the upper apartments of the splendid palace in which Kaunitz and
Metternich had striven to prove the words true, _Austria est imperatura
orbi universo_. It was now occupied by Lieutenant Field Marshal
Mensdorff-Pouilly, minister of the empire and of foreign affairs.

Amongst the carriages there were a number of _fesche_ (cabs); they are
always used by the gentlemen of Vienna to go about in, in the town,
however extensive their own stables, and the porter received them with
the same alacrity that he bestowed on the occupants of the more
fashionable carriages.

A young officer got out of one of these cabs dressed in the brilliant
variegated Uhlan uniform of green and scarlet glittering with gold. He
threw off his large white cloak, left it in the carriage, and desired
the coachman to wait for him near the Burgplatz.

He gave a last look at his faultless costume, drew his small black
moustache through his fingers, and then mounted the stairs happy and
confident of success, as a young Uhlan officer always is, whether on
the parquet or on horseback, and which this especial young officer had
every reason to expect.

Lieutenant von Stielow, a native of Mecklenburg, had, like many of his
northern compatriots, entered the Austrian service several years
before; about a twelvemonth ago an uncle had died childless, and he had
inherited from him such a considerable fortune, that his yearly income
had excited astonishment even amongst the Austrian nobility, who are
accustomed to enormous revenues; and the extremely handsome and amiable
young man, who had formerly been treated with cold politeness, was now
welcomed by the highest nobility of Vienna as an intimate friend,
especially in those houses where there were daughters of an age to
marry.

It was, then, only natural that the young man before whom life was
opening so brilliantly should be full of joyful confidence as he
mounted the steps of the Office of State. This was on one of the
exclusive evenings, when the Countess Mensdorff, in contradistinction
to her large official receptions, entertained her own especial friends.
These evenings, though of a strictly private nature, were much
frequented by the political world; here it was hoped a corner of the
veil might be raised, in which each diplomatic camp had shrouded its
activity, trusting the world might believe nothing was taking place
which could disturb its happy relations with its neighbours.

Footmen, in the faultlessly elegant Mensdorff livery, opened the doors
leading to the smaller rooms inhabited by the countess, and Lieutenant
von Stielow entered a salon filled with ladies in fresh and varied
toilettes and gentlemen in brilliant uniforms, or in the black civilian
evening dress.

In a smaller room, opening out of the larger apartment, and filled with
the thousand comfortable trifles found in the everyday drawing-room of
a lady of rank, the minister's wife, by birth a Princess Dietrichstein,
sat on a low divan. Her appearance was highly aristocratic, and she
received her guests with the naturally graceful and friendly manner
peculiar to distinguished society in Vienna.

Beside the Countess Mensdorff sat a full, luxuriant form in black, but
the brilliancy of the wearer's priceless jewellery excluded all idea of
mourning.

This lady's pale face, set off by masses of black hair, was of unusual
beauty, though deeply melancholy; her large black eyes, full of fire
and expression, shone with no earthly happiness; their enthusiastic,
thoughtful look recalled rather the old portraits of the high-born
abbesses of some religious order.

She was the Princess Obrenowitsch, wedded to Prince Michael of Servia,
but being separated from her husband, she lived in Vienna with her
young son. This beautiful lady, by birth a Countess Huniady, was
received with open arms by the highest society in Vienna,
notwithstanding her separation from her husband, who took every
opportunity of expressing his great esteem for her; but though she
inherited the warm Hungarian blood, and possessed genius and health,
she led, without entirely renouncing the world, a life of great
seclusion, and devoted all her talents and care to the education of her
young son, the heir of the princely house of Servia. It was always an
event when the beautiful, proud, and pious princess quitted her
seclusion and appeared in one of the salons of Vienna.

Before these ladies stood a somewhat short gentleman, of about sixty
years of age. He wore the close-fitting grey uniform of a lieutenant
field marshal, and was decorated with the Maria Theresa Cross, the
Order of Leopold, and the Maltese Cross. His full red face, set on an
unusually short neck, which looked the more remarkable from his
closely-buttoned uniform, had an expression of inexhaustible fun and
mirth; his dark eyes sparkled with life and good-natured satire; both
his short moustache and thick hair were white as snow, the latter shorn
so closely that the red tint showed through the bristly locks, and
caused society in Vienna to maintain that Field Marshal Reischach's
head looked like a very well-sugared strawberry.

Baron Reischach, one of the bravest officers in the Austrian army, was
now incapable of active service from the many wounds he had received
over his whole body; though they often caused him acute suffering, he
was regarded in Vienna as a most cheerful member of society, to whom it
seemed almost possible to be in two places at once, so completely did
he see all that was to be seen, and know all that was to be known; his
amusing stories and witty observations always banished ennui from every
reunion where he appeared.

During a round of afternoon visits Baron Reischach was sure to be met
with more than once, for he never neglected the old ladies of his
acquaintance, and frequently called on them to inquire after their
health, relate all the news of the day, and to show them all sorts of
small attentions. In the evening he was to be found at the Burg
Theatre, and between the acts he was always to be seen in the boxes of
the older ladies, yet he managed to find time to slip behind the scenes
and to compliment the _prime donne_ on their toilettes or their acting.
After the theatre he was always in some salon, now hurrying through
some large "at home," bandying a _bon-mot_ here, relating a witty
anecdote there, then for a quarter of an hour he might be found at the
tea-table of some small circle, shaking from his inexhaustible
cornucopia the most amusing stories. Later still, he was to be found in
a corner of the dining-room of the Stadt Frankfurt Hotel, beside a
glass of old Hungarian wine, the life and soul of some merry supper,
the body consisting of Counts Wallis, Fuchs, and Wrbna.

Such was Lieutenant Field Marshal Reischach, who now stood before the
ladies, holding his green plumed hat in his hand which rested on his
sword.

He was telling them something very amusing, for Countess Mensdorff
laughed aloud, and a smile passed over even the grave face of the
Servian princess.

"Now you must tell us, Baron Reischach," said the Countess Mensdorff,
"everything you saw last night at the theatre--not how Wolter acted, we
know in your eyes she is always superb, incomparable; but tell us what
you observed in the house and the boxes. I am sure a great deal went
on, or did not go on, that you can relate. You see you have made the
princess smile already, make her laugh outright."

The baron replied, with a slight bow to the Princess Obrenowitsch: "I
dare hardly hope the princess will listen much longer to an old
worldling like myself, especially as _nothing_ happened. Our young
Mecklenburg Uhlan passed some time in the Countess Frankenstein's box,
talking with great animation to Countess Clara, and thereby enraging
one of our friends. I need not tell her name, I saw----"

Here his confidences were interrupted by the arrival of their subject,
the young Uhlan officer, von Stielow, who advanced to pay his respects
to Countess Mensdorff.

She laughed. "We were speaking of you, Baron Stielow; it was easy to
see, this evening, at the theatre, it was not Wolter who engrossed your
attention, which Herr von Reischach regards as a great mistake."

The young officer coloured slightly, saluted the field marshal, and
said: "His excellency is a sharp observer. I was only a very short time
at the Burg Theatre, and I visited some friends in their boxes."

The repartee Herr von Reischach was about to make, was prevented by the
arrival of a tall gentleman in a general's uniform, accompanied by a
slender, graceful lady, and as they came up to speak to the countess,
Herr von Stielow seized the opportunity of escaping further discussion.

It was Count Clam Gallas, with his wife, Countess Mensdorff's younger
sister. The count's tall form had not the perfect ease in uniform
possessed by the great Austrian nobles, his features were completely of
the Hapsburg type, and he was decorated with the Golden Fleece; he
offered his hand to his sister-in-law with simple cordiality; whilst
his wife, whose figure was unusually elegant, and her beauty
extraordinarily preserved, though she was no longer young, sank into an
arm-chair beside Princess Obrenowitsch.

"Where is Mensdorff?" asked Count Clam Gallas, "I do not see him; he is
surely not ill again?"

"He was sent for by the emperor," replied the countess; "and, though he
has come back, he has something to despatch. I have had to offer his
excuses; but we shall not have to wait for him much longer."

"I have heard wonders of your fete in Prague, countess," said the
baron, turning to the Countess Clam Gallas, "they cannot praise it
enough; Countess Waldstein, whom I met to-day, at Princess Lori
Schwarzenberg's, has been quite enchanted."

"Yes, it was quite a success," said the countess, "and gave us all much
pleasure. We had the idea," she continued, turning to Princess
Obrenowitsch, "of performing Wallenstein's 'Camp in Prague;' of course,
it has been so often performed before, there is nothing remarkable
about that. The extraordinary thing was that the actors in this play,
in which Schiller brings Wallenstein's army so wonderfully before us,
were really direct descendants of the great leaders in the Thirty
Years' War. This gave an unusual meaning, and an unusual spirit to the
representation. I assure you we were all inspired by a breath from the
past, both performers and audience felt the same vivid emotion. The
ancient mighty spirit of Austria seemed to rise up before us, clashing
its arms, and a blast from the Swedish horns would have made the whole
company cry 'To horse!' and have sent them to ride forth like their
ancestors."

"Yes," said Count Clam Gallas, "it made a wonderful impression on all
of us--we all felt that the time will come, if it be God's will, when
the Austrian sword must again be drawn, and our emperor restored to his
old position. It looks to me as if the times were stormy, and we should
soon ride forth."

There was a moment's pause. Herr von Reischach looked grave and was
silent; when foreign policy and warlike action were spoken of, it
grieved his true old soldier's heart, that he, with his hacked and
shattered limbs, could no longer take a part.

Countess Mensdorff, whose fine tact always prevented political
discussions in her drawing-room, broke the short silence by observing
to von Reischach with a smile:

"It is a pity you were not there, Baron Reischach, you would have
performed the Capuchin excellently, and preached the moral to the
wicked world."

"Certainly," said he, and added in a tone of comic pathos: "_Contenti
estote_, be satisfied with your ammunition bread."

"Yes, but if a _pate de foie gras_ came first, and a bottle of old
Hungarian wine," laughed the count, "he would leave the ammunition
bread alone."

"_Nullum vinum_," cried Herr von Reischach, stretching out his hand,
and shaking his head, "_nisi Hungaricum!_" he added in a lower tone,
bowing to the Princess Obrenowitsch, who thanked him by a slight smile
for the compliment paid her in her native tongue.

Other guests arrived, the circle of ladies increased, and Count Clam
Gallas and Baron Reischach withdrew, still conversing, into the outer
salon.

Here groups of ladies and gentlemen were talking with much animation;
the younger people busy about their own affairs, the elder ladies
watching the proceedings of their daughters, and the gentlemen casting
searching glances at the different members of the _corps diplomatique_,
who now exchanged a hasty word, now lingered in earnest conversation.

In the middle of the room, beneath the brilliant chandelier, stood the
French ambassador, the Duke de Gramont, a tall man, with a faultless
figure and military bearing, with the white star of the Legion of
Honour upon his black coat, and the broad red ribbon across his breast.
Short black whiskers framed his long, well-chiselled face, of the type
of the old French aristocracy, combining amiable friendliness with
dignified reserve. His small, beautifully-shaped mouth was slightly
shaded by a moustache, the points of which were turned upwards; his
brow was high and broad, but gently rounded rather than boldly arched;
in his dark eyes shone the careless indifference which is always the
heritage of the old French _noblesse_, and which in so many phases of
their history has caused them to treat the gravest and most important
subjects with a lightness and frivolity difficult to understand. The
arrangement of his abundant dark hair gave him a still greater
resemblance to one of those old grand seigneurs who, in the palmy days
of the monarchy, surrounded by pomp and stiff park alleys, led their
careless, graceful lives so easily.

The duke was standing for a moment alone, examining those around, when
he was joined by a gentleman of middle age, who, far from possessing
the French ambassador's careless and distinguished repose, was chiefly
remarkable for the rapid changes of expression seen on his thin,
strongly-marked face. He wore whiskers, and his light hair was cut and
arranged in the way peculiar to the North German soldier. He was
shorter than the duke, his movements were animated, his dress of
faultless simplicity, and across his breast he wore the white and
orange ribbon of the Prussian order of the Red Eagle.

Herr von Werther, the Prussian ambassador, greeted the duke with much
courtesy, but not with the cordiality which expresses personal
friendship.

"At last, duke," said Herr von Werther, in French, "I am able to wish
you good evening. How is the duchess? I do not see her."

"She has a bad cold," replied the ambassador. "And Madame von Werther,
she, too, has to remain in the house from this influenza?"

"She is very unwell, and I should not have come out myself," said Herr
von Werther, with a smile, "if it were not our duty to collect news."

"And have you succeeded?" asked the duke.

"Not yet. Count Mensdorff is still with the emperor, the countess tells
me; and I have heard nothing, except a few _cancans_ from the guests.
But," he added gravely, and in a lower voice, "the air seems to me full
of important events. You are well aware that the general feeling grows
stronger and stronger."

"I regret that it is so," said the Duke de Gramont; "for such sharp
opposition of conflicting views and claims can only lead to war.
Personally, this appears to me very undesirable."

"You know," replied Herr von Werther, "that we certainly do not wish
for war; but can we avoid it, without sacrificing our dignity and our
position? What would you advise?"

"We are completely out of the contention, we can only observe what
takes place," said the duke, in a tone of reserve; "and we can only
wish well to both sides: it would not become us to give advice, unless,
indeed, we were asked to mediate. Do you not see," he added, with a
forced smile, "that we are observed? We are rather isolated just here,
and our harmless conversation may give rise----"

"You are quite right," interrupted Herr von Werther; "let us avoid
these inquisitive eyes."

With a slight bow to the duke, and whispering to himself, "He knows
nothing," he turned to a tall, strongly-built old gentleman, with a
bald forehead, sharp features, and bright brown eyes, who stood a few
paces off, dressed in the uniform of a Hanoverian general.

"Good evening, General Knesebeck," he said, whilst the general politely
returned his greeting; "what news do you hear from Hanover?"

"None at all for some time past," replied the general slowly, with some
reserve. "My brother lives quietly in the country; he writes to me but
seldom, and troubles himself very little about events in Hanover."

"I rejoice," continued Herr von Werther, "that Count Platen has been to
Berlin, as I hear the visit was of a most friendly nature. God grant
that this may continue, and that all the little misunderstandings may
vanish which have arisen between Prussia and Hanover, two states who
really heartily esteem each other, as history and the traditions of the
Seven Years' War amply prove."

"From my heart I regret the misunderstandings which have arisen on both
sides," replied General von Knesebeck. "We in Hanover ardently wish to
live in peace with our neighbours; but, before all things, we must
labour to maintain the integrity of all the German states. Our safety,
both from within and from without, depends on the friendship of the two
great German powers, and on the united strength of the German
confederation. God preserve them!"

A further remark from Herr von Werther was prevented by the approach of
the English ambassador, Lord Bloomfield. He had the regular features
and characteristic countenance of the English aristocracy, with a
healthy complexion and a fresh, genial expression. He was decorated
with the ribbon of the Scotch order of the Thistle; and after he joined
in the conversation, it turned to the every-day events of society in
Vienna.

Thus the soiree in Countess Mensdorff's salons ran its course with its
usual smoothness, for the elegant and smiling guests betrayed none of
the restless anxiety which possessed the minds of many of those
present. On the other side of the Office of State in the meantime, in
the large ante-room of the minister's cabinet, with its furniture of
blue silk and blue window hangings, sat two men in great arm-chairs, by
the large round table near the wall. A small fire flickered in the
large fireplace in the corner, and an enormous lamp with its globe of
ground glass stood on the table, leaving a large part of the spacious
room in half darkness, but lighting up the two men who were close
to it very distinctly, whilst it shed a faint reflected light on the
life-size portrait of the Emperor Francis Joseph, which in a
magnificent gold frame filled up the middle of the wall, and
represented the emperor in the full uniform of a general, with the
youthful beauty of the early age when he ascended the throne.

One of these men sat carelessly leaning back in his arm-chair. He was
apparently half-way between fifty and sixty. His face bore the impress
of considerable talent, with a certain mixture of catholic enthusiasm
and repression, sometimes seen in old portraits of cardinals and
prelates. An apparent love of ease, small soft white hands, a
comfortable and elegant dress, completed the resemblance to the
portraits of the spiritual lords of the Italian school.

Such was the privy councillor and under secretary of state, Baron von
Meysenbug, and beside him sat the ministerial councillor von
Biegeleben, a tall, stiff, dry pedantic looking person, with a very
bilious complexion and bureaucratic manner. He looked half-way between
a professor and the manager of a counting-house, as he sat upright on
his chair with his hat in his hand.

"The count is long in coming," cried Herr von Meysenbug impatiently, as
he tapped with his slender fingers on the dark table-cover. "I am very
anxious--I fear, I fear he may yet play us a trick and persuade the
emperor to yield!"

"I cannot think it," observed Herr von Biegeleben in a slow, quiet
voice; "his majesty is too much penetrated with the idea of the former
position of Hapsburg in Germany to dream of falling in with the desires
of Berlin. In Frankfort he saw the glorious recollections of the empire
live again, and he felt deeply and bitterly the checkmate prepared for
him by Prussian resistance; he will be firm."

"But Count Mensdorff will resign, he will not be answerable for the
consequences of a rupture!" said von Meysenbug, thoughtfully.

"Well, and if he does?" asked Herr von Biegeleben with a stiff smile;
"the emperor will then perhaps proceed with more quickness and
decision."

"Perhaps so," said Herr von Meysenbug; "but Count Mensdorff is of a
reliant disposition and requires advice; should we hold the reins so
completely in our hands under his successor?"

"I do not think we could be dispensed with," said von Biegeleben. "Your
excellency stands so firm on the Roman basis it would be impossible to
set you aside; I, for my unimportant self--well, who have we who knows
and can work all the German embarrassments? Herr von Gagern?"

Herr von Meysenbug shrugged his shoulders and made a slight movement
with his hand.

At this moment the door of the ante-room opened and Count Mensdorff
entered.

There was nothing extraordinary in the appearance of this minister,
whose fate it was to guide Austria to such great disaster. He was a man
of middle height, of regular and pleasing features of the French type,
and of a complexion that showed ill-health; his short hair and small
moustache were black. He wore the uniform of a lieutenant field marshal
and the star of the order of Leopold. In consequence of chronic illness
his manner was feeble and uncertain, and he endeavoured to avoid
standing during a conversation, as it fatigued him.

Both the gentlemen rose.

After greeting them Count Mensdorff said: "I regret that I have kept
you waiting, gentlemen; I was detained longer than I expected." He then
walked slowly to his cabinet, inviting von Meysenbug and Biegeleben to
follow him.

The ministerial cabinet was a large apartment, and like the ante-room
it was lighted only by the lamp standing upon the large writing-table.

Count Mensdorff sank exhausted into an arm-chair near the table, and
gave a sigh of relief when he had placed himself comfortably and
supported his arms on the sides of the chair. He had first invited the
two gentlemen, by a movement of the hand, to seat themselves near him
at the writing-table.

The three men sat for a few moments in silence. The faces of the two
privy councillors expressed great anxiety. Mensdorff gazed wearily
before him.

"Well, gentlemen," he said at last, "it seems that your wishes will be
fulfilled. His majesty the emperor will not draw back--he will by no
means consent to the Prussian project for the reform of the
confederacy; in a word, he has decided to go energetically onwards and
to meet the great German question with decision--though the result
should be a breach, and war;" the last word he pronounced in a low
tone, and with a half repressed sigh.

Meysenbug and Biegeleben exchanged looks of lively satisfaction, and
awaited with great anxiety the further communications of Count
Mensdorff.

"I left nothing untried," he proceeded, "to dissuade his majesty from
this dangerous decision and unsafe policy. You know I do not pretend to
understand politics well--I rely upon your superior knowledge; but I am
a soldier, and though I have no right to consider myself a great
general, I know perfectly what is needful for an efficient army. Well,
gentlemen, the policy which we now pursue must lead to war--for
Bismarck is not the man tamely to submit,--but for war an efficient
army is needful, and this our opponents possess, and we have it
not--utterly and entirely we have it not, according to my military
convictions. What then will be our position?" He stopped, exhausted and
sad.

"But your excellency must not look at the black side of things," said
Herr von Meysenbug, "we have 800,000 men, according to the statements
made by the War Department, and----"

"The War Department," interrupted Mensdorff energetically, "may state
what it pleases. I am a practical soldier, and care little for the acts
of the War Department; I know the condition of the army, and if the
half of your 800,000 men can march I shall rejoice. And we shall be
forced to operate in two theatres of war at once," he added; "for you
must see that at the first cannon shot Italy will begin--I am convinced
an alliance has already been formed with Prussia."

Herr von Biegeleben smiled with the air of an experienced picture
dealer who hears a dilettante expressing an opinion, and he remarked in
his measured tone,--"May I remind your excellency that our ambassadors
in Berlin and Florence assure us most positively that there is no
question of an alliance between Prussia and Italy; yes, they even say
that the slight difficulty which has arisen respecting the recognition
of Italy by Prussia still increases. Certainly Italy would not, as the
Duke de Gramont has told me to-day, seek so zealously the French
mediation respecting the ceding of Venetia, if a Prussian alliance
were concluded or likely to be so."

"Yes, yes," said Count Mensdorff thoughtfully, "the ambassadors
maintain there is no alliance, I know that well, and yet I am certain
of the contrary. I am also certain that the first threads of this
treaty were spun in Paris--I feel quite sure of it--though it may not
yet be a treaty placed in the archives."

"But," exclaimed Herr von Meysenbug, "the Duke de Gramont would surely
not----"

"Gramont!" interrupted Count Mensdorff with still greater energy; "and
do you really believe Gramont knows what is going on in Paris? Do you
believe that the Emperor Napoleon has the last word of his labyrinthine
policy written out in an official despatch and sent off to Gramont?
Gramont knows what he is to say, and," he added, speaking more slowly
and in a lower voice, "he is certainly not to say anything which might
prevent war, for this war will be quite for the advantage of France.
Paris has greatly feared lest the Prussian and Austrian arms should be
united in Holstein; rather let Germany clash in a bloody struggle!
Whichever side is defeated in this war, it is Germany which is
defeated, and the conqueror wins for France!"

"Events look blacker and blacker to your excellency," said von
Meysenbug with a slight smile. "I, on the other hand, hope that the
victory of the Austrian arms will again establish German unity beneath
the banners of the empire,--and if Italy moves we shall soon make an
end of that impious kingdom which threatens Church and State with
annihilation!"

"Would to God I could share your faith," said Count Mensdorff,
mournfully; "but I do not believe in the success of the Austrian arms,
and if Benedek knows the army and its construction as well as I do, he
will say the same. I have told the emperor all this," he continued, in
a still lower voice, "and I implored him to take from me the office of
prime minister, as it made me responsible for a policy which must lead
to heavy catastrophe."

"But your excellency!" cried both the gentlemen in alarm.

"No, no," said Count Mensdorff, with a feeble smile, "I am not going
out. His majesty has commanded me to remain at my post, and as a
soldier I obey--as a soldier," he repeated with emphasis, "for were I a
political minister of the modern school, I should not remain. But so it
is. Well, the order is given, and now we must march on. How must we act
to hasten the decision, to bring on the quarrel; for since we are to
act, I am for acting at once; every day will give our opponent fresh
strength."

"The means are simple," said Herr von Biegeleben, sitting very upright
in his chair, and raising his hand as if imparting instruction; "the
Holstein states must be urgently called upon to discuss the position of
their country, and to decide upon the succession; let us assemble them;
this will cross all the Prussian plans and oblige the gentlemen in
Berlin to show their hands; at the same time we shall gain a powerful
support in the sympathy of the Grand Duchies, and the great German
party."

"But our rule is only conjoint in the Grand Duchies." suggested Count
Mensdorff; "by the Treaty of Gastein we only exercise the sovereign
rights in common with Prussia."

"That is the precise point, permit me, your excellency," interrupted
von Biegeleben, "which will bring on the conflict, and it will come
under the favourable circumstances of being in a national cause."

"Well, it does not seem quite right," said Mensdorff, "and I care very
little for the sympathy of the beer-shop orators in the Grand Duchies
and in Germany and for all the singers and rhymers. I would rather we
had an army like the Prussians; but be so good as to make me a small
memorial on the subject with an instruction for Gablenz, and I will lay
it before the emperor."

Herr von Biegeleben bowed, and a slight smile of satisfaction passed
over Herr von Meysenbug's countenance.

"What is the aspect of Germany?" asked Mensdorff; "how do things
progress in Saxony? Are they ready?"

"Perfectly," replied von Biegeleben. "Herr von Beust is very impatient,
and has sent me a memorandum in which he points out the necessity for
immediate action. Also he considers the assembling of the Holstein
states as the best means for letting light into the situation. The
disposition of the people in Saxony is excellent. Would your excellency
like to read Count von Beust's note on the subject?"

He opened the portfolio which lay on the table.

Count Mensdorff waved his hand.

"How can Beust ever find time to write all that?" he said, with a
slight smile and a sigh. "With regard to Hanover," he then continued,
"have we any chance there?"

"A courier has just arrived with a despatch from Count Ingelheim,"
replied Herr von Biegeleben, whilst he drew some papers from a case,
and looked hastily through them; "he is satisfied. Count Platen has
returned from Berlin, and assures him that all the efforts made to win
him and Hanover to the side of Prussia have been unavailing. He has
promised nothing, and he told Count Ingelheim to make known his
inclinations in Vienna."

"Yes, I know him," said Count Mensdorff, slightly shrugging his
shoulders. "And King George?" he asked.

"The king," replied Herr von Biegeleben, "will not hear of war; he
always maintains that a good understanding between Austria and Prussia
is the salvation of Germany; yet, if it comes to a rupture, the king
must stand on our side."

"That does not seem to me certain," said Mensdorff. "King George, in my
opinion, is a German and a Guelph, but he is not an Austrian. The
traditions of the Seven Years' War still live in him."

"It is true," said von Meysenbug, who now took up the conversation,
"that the King of Hanover is not devoted to Austria, and yet I believe
he is safe, notwithstanding the powerful Prussian influence with which
he is surrounded. We must endeavour to offer him something which will
flatter his ideas; the king's hero is the Great Henry the Lion. Count
Ingelheim knows through Doctor Klopp that he has been much engrossed
with the history of his great and unfortunate ancestor."

"Doctor Klopp? Who is he?" asked Count Mensdorff, repressing a slight
yawn.

"A schoolmaster formerly, who compromised himself in the year 1848 as a
democrat and advocate of the rights of the people, but he is
converted."

"To our church?" asked Mensdorff.

"Why--no," replied Herr von Meysenbug, with some hesitation; "but to
our ideas and interests. He shows great talent in composing historical
plays favourable to our side; he has obtained a certain celebrity, and
is appointed editor of the 'Leibnitziana.' He sees a good deal of Count
Platen, and is very useful to us."

"Well, well," said Count Mensdorff, smiling, "I suppose he is under
your secret rule, dear Meysenbug?"

"I interest myself certainly in all rising authors," replied Herr von
Meysenbug, calmly; "but Count Ingelheim especially protects them in
Hanover."

"Well, and the bait for King George?" asked Mensdorff.

"My opinion is," said Herr von Meysenbug, "that a treaty should be made
with Hanover guaranteeing them Prussian Westphalia and Holstein at the
favourable termination of the war. We shall thus create a strong and
irresistible position in the north, and Hanover thus strengthened can
make no friendly alliance with Prussia, but will be entirely devoted to
us in future."

"Dividing the bear's skin whilst he still wears it in the wood," said
Count Mensdorff; "well, make a memorial on the subject; I will lay it
before the emperor. I very much doubt whether for such a bait the King
of Hanover will place his country in grave peril."

"We must give him the means of meeting the danger. The Kalik Brigade is
up there; let us place it at his disposal, and Lieutenant Field Marshal
Gablenz as its general."

"Our best soldier!" exclaimed Mensdorff; "yet the post is most
important,--but if King George will accept nothing of all this?"

"Then events must take their course," said Meysenbug. "The vacillation
of Count Platen in taking no decided step on either side will oblige
Prussia to menace Hanover; this will arouse the pride of the king, and
an important Prussian force will be occupied in the north, without,"
added Herr von Meysenbug with a smile, "our owing any duty to Hanover.
They are taking immense trouble about Hanover in Berlin," he continued,
"and they proposed, when Count Platen was in Berlin, a family union."

"So?" asked Count Mensdorff, attentively; "what then?"

Herr von Meysenbug took a letter from his portfolio, and handed it to
the minister, pointing out the particular passage with his finger.

"Count Platen assured Ingelheim the affair should come to nothing," he
said, rubbing his hands, whilst the minister read; "and in Berlin there
is Stockhausen quite devoted to us, and determined to prevent any
understanding being arrived at."

"Well, gentlemen," said Count Mensdorff, rising and returning von
Meysenbug his paper, "you now know his majesty's intentions, so apply
yourselves to the work. I shall see you when you visit the countess."

Both the gentlemen bowed, and left the cabinet.

Count Mensdorff sat for some time leaning back in his arm-chair. His
features expressed gloomy thought, and his eyes saw nothing that was
around him, but gazed into space.

He raised his head slowly, and looked round the large dimly-lighted
room.

"Oh! ye great men who have watched in this spot over Austria's
greatness, would that ye were in my place! My hand is ready to draw the
sword for my country, but it is unable to guide the vessel of state
through this dangerous sea so full of sunken rocks. I see the abyss on
the brink of which Austria, my beloved Austria, stands. I cannot
restrain her,--I cannot even resign the place which burdens me with the
whole responsibility. I must tarry at my post since I am a soldier, and
yet I cannot serve as a soldier."

Again he sank into deep thought.

A low knock was heard at the inner door of the cabinet, and almost
immediately two boys entered, of the ages of five and eight; they
advanced shyly and cautiously at first, but when they saw the count was
alone, they ran up to him, and climbed on to his chair.

Count Mensdorff awoke from his reverie; his face cleared, and he smiled
as he put his arms around the two boys.

"We have not seen you before to-day, papa," said the youngest, "and we
waited to say good night. Good night, dear papa, we were to go to bed
directly, and we are very tired."

Count Mensdorff gently stroked their hair as he drew the two children
nearer to him, and pressed a kiss on their pure white brows.

"Good night, my children," he said, affectionately; "thank you for
staying up to see me. I hope you have been industrious and good all
day."

"Of course we have, papa," cried both the children with proud
certainty, "or they would not have let us stay up to see you!"

The minister's eyes, before so sad, shone with affection; no one could
have imagined that this man, with his mild face and smiling look,--his
two children in his arms,--that this was the man who was to guide a
great empire through its most dangerous crisis, and to encounter
Germany's mightiest and bloodiest catastrophe.

"Sleep well, my children," said Count Mensdorff. "God bless you!" He
kissed them once more, and made the sign of the cross over their heads.

He looked happy until they left the room, then his eyes grew sad again.
"They are happy," he whispered; "care has not yet robbed them of
sleep."

He rose and rang a bell.

The attendant entered.

"Does the countess entertain a large party?"

"It is a small reception day, but the guests are very numerous."

Count Mensdorff sighed, glanced for a moment at the mirror, and then
left his cabinet, to repair to his wife's drawing-room.

There the crowd had become even larger, and the greatest animation
prevailed. The politicians had extracted all the news, or convinced
themselves there was none to hear, and the whole company was passing
the time in light conversation in various groups, until the minister's
return; the younger gentlemen fluttered round the young ladies, and
Lieutenant von Stielow was seen in animated conversation with a young
beauty of most pleasing and distinguished appearance.

This young lady, the only daughter of the widowed Countess
Frankenstein, was the same who had so occupied him in the theatre when
he had been observed by Baron von Reischach, and now the young officer
seemed extremely absorbed in the apparently light drawing-room
conversation, for he looked down on the young lady with great interest,
and she leant on the arm of her chair and raised her large brown eyes
to his face, whilst her hand played with her white feather fan, which
matched her dress in simplicity; it was entirely white, and only
ornamented with small bouquets of violets.

"Then it is arranged, countess," said Herr von Stielow, "if you go into
Switzerland with your mother you accept me as your travelling
companion. I know all the most beautiful parts, and I will make you an
excellent guide."

"I have not the selection of our travelling companions, Herr von
Stielow," replied the young lady; "but I am sure it will be agreeable
to my mother if we meet you in Switzerland, and if you are kind enough
to show us some of its beauties."

"That is an excessively courteous reply, fair lady," said the
lieutenant, with some displeasure, "but to me it is rather too
courteous. I am quite sure that the countess will welcome me if she
meets me, and that she will not refuse her consent to my joining your
tour among the mountains, but----"

"Well," said the young lady, with a saucy little laugh, "then our
travelling plans are made, and everything is arranged; or did you wish
for an uncourteous answer? You could hardly expect one from me."

"You are unkind, countess," replied von Stielow, biting his lips in the
vain endeavour to gnaw his short moustache; "you know well I am not
making idle conversation, but that I ask an important question. I do
not at all wish to be intrusive, and to owe it to your mother's
politeness that I am not sent away. You see," he added, more warmly,
and with less constraint, "I expect such pleasure from our trip,--I
love the free pure mountain air,--and I am sure that you, too, will
find immense enjoyment in the lovely valleys and high peaks; you will
appreciate their beauty, you must be happier there than here, 'in the
breath of the tomb,' as the poet says."

The young lady listened to him with her upturned eyes glowing brighter
and warmer, but she suddenly cast them down, and said in a mocking
tone, which was, however, softened by the smile on her lips, "And how
do you know that I am not quite in my element in the tomblike breath of
the town?"

"I know it, Countess Clara," said the young officer, with animation;
"and because I know it I wish to guide you to the great poem of
glorious nature, and to read it with you,--but only if you honestly
wish it, and will be really glad to have me with you."

"We make plans for the summer, and the whole world speaks of war. Who
knows," she added, as her brows clouded, "whether all our plans will
not be thrown to the winds, or consumed in the flames?"

"Good heavens!" cried Herr von Stielow, "if war breaks out of course
all will be changed; but that need not prevent our making plans in case
all should keep quiet. So----"

"Here comes Count Mensdorff," said the young lady, rising. "Perhaps we
shall now hear something. Mamma signs to me; forgive me for leaving
you, Herr von Stielow; we shall see you in a day or two; you will tell
me then if we are to have peace or war, and if our imaginary trip has
any chance."

"Then you will take me?" he asked, earnestly; "but I want no courteous
reply, give me a kind and honest answer."

She looked firmly at him for a moment, and then said, as a slight blush
heightened the tender colour in her cheeks, "Yes--if you will find us
piquant enough, and if you can forget Vienna."

And with a light elastic step she glided over the parquet, and joined
her mother and a circle of ladies on the other side of the room.

Herr von Stielow looked after her for a moment with emotion, and then
joined various other groups.

Count Mensdorff, on entering the room, first joined the circle
immediately around the countess, and remained in conversation there
some little time.

The diplomatists all grew uneasy, and broke off with more or less
politeness the indifferent conversations in which they were engaged.

At last the minister entered the second drawing-room alone. The Duke de
Gramont immediately approached him with easy grace, and was warmly
welcomed.

The two personages became the centre of general observation, but no one
ventured near to disturb their earnest conversation, which lasted about
ten minutes.

When Count Mensdorff turned away from the duke he found himself just
opposite Herr von Werther.

He spoke to him with perfect politeness, and immediately all the
anxious side glances were employed in watching their interview.

It lasted only two minutes.

Count Mensdorff turned from the Prussian ambassador with a low bow, and
walked hastily through the room to General von Knesebeck, took his arm,
led him aside, and commenced a most cordial and animated conversation.

The Duke de Gramont had again joined the other guests. Von Meysenbug
and von Biegeleben had appeared, and were surrounded by diplomatists of
the second rank.

In about a quarter of an hour Baron Werther was surrounded by an icy
atmosphere; every attempt he made at conversation fell to the ground,
after the few phrases which politeness demanded; and it required all
his talent to conceal his isolation, until the happy moment came which
permitted him to retreat.

At last the time of departure arrived, and the salons of the palace
grew empty.

Lieutenant von Stielow went down the broad steps and found his cab in
the appointed place.

He gave the coachman an address, got in, and wrapped himself in his
white cloak.

"What did she mean about forgetting Vienna,--can she know? Well, all
Vienna knows it; I make no secret of my life. If _she_ wished it, I
would cast aside every folly, but does she wish it?"

He grew very thoughtful.

"She will wish it," he cried, "and then my life shall follow its true
star,--away with every erring meteor; but how charming they are!" he
whispered to himself.

The carriage stopped before a large house in the Ringe.

Herr von Stielow dismissed the coachman, nodded to the porter as if he
knew him well, and ascended a couple of steps. A pretty lady's-maid
opened the glass door of the entrance hall.

The young officer threw off his mantle, and entered a room elegantly
furnished with dark blue satin; before the fire-place stood a tea-table
lighted by a large Carcel lamp.

Upon a _chaise longue_, on one side of the fire-place, reposed the
slender form of a young and beautiful woman clothed in white.

Her pale features of the noblest Grecian type were partly illumined by
the lamp, partly by the red glow of the fire, and her eyes, of deeper
black than even the smooth ebon tresses of her hair, now shone in soft,
sweet reverie, now sparkled with quick, brilliant rays.

Her slender white arms half concealed by her large open sleeves, lay in
her lap, and her slight fingers played with the clasp of her girdle.

Her whole appearance was of wonderful beauty, with a demoniacal look
heightened by the changing lights which played over her face and the
whole of her figure.

As the young man entered, she sprang up, and her eyes flashed; it were
hard to say whether with love, pride, or triumph.

Such must have been Cleopatra, when Antony approached her.

She flew to meet him, and threw her arms around him, whilst her glowing
looks were fixed upon his eyes.

"At last you come, sweet friend!" she whispered; "I have waited long!"

When the young man entered the room there had been a certain coldness
on his face, and now there was more politeness than tenderness in the
movement with which he placed his arm around her shoulder.

Did she feel this?

Her eyes dilated and became more glowing, her arms were pressed closer
round his neck, and through her slender form passed a slight shiver.

A magnetic stream seemed to pass from her to her lover. He led her
gently to her seat, knelt down before her, and kissed her left hand as
it hung by her side, whilst with the right she stroked the hair upon
his brow.

The star was veiled with clouds, the baleful meteor glowed in vivid
brightness.




                              CHAPTER IV.

                               NAPOLEON.


The crowd flowing along the Quai Voltaire in Paris, on the shores of
the Seine, changed its varied pictures so quickly that it resembled a
kaleidoscope.

One bright morning about ten o'clock, a man was to be seen pursuing his
way with hasty steps from the Rue Bonaparte across the bridge towards
the Tuileries.

Although he was scarcely of the middle height, and rather shabby
in dress, yet he caused many passengers to look at him for a
moment--certainly only for a moment, but a Parisian seldom looks at
anything much longer--from the unusual swiftness of his step, and the
thoughtfulness with which he hastened on without looking to right or
left, pursuing his way in a manner which proved him to be usually a
dweller in large capitals.

The man thus hurrying to the royal and imperial palace was even meanly
clad; from his dress, and his bent form, he might have been supposed a
master in some elementary school, or a lawyer's clerk; but the changing
expression of his sharply-cut features, his red and white northern
complexion, and the penetrating glances of his light grey eyes, gave to
his appearance a character which belied the impression first formed.

The man gained the other side of the Seine and entered the courtyard
leading to the portal of the Tuileries.

He showed the sentry a paper, and on glancing at it the _voltigeur de
la garde_ stepped back, and with a short "_Bien, Monsieur_," admitted
him into that inner court of the imperial residence, where no profane
foot was permitted to enter, and into which only the court equipages
and the carriages of the grandees of the empire were allowed to drive.

Without slackening his pace the little man hastened on. He passed by
the great imperial entrance--before which, under a wide canopy,
supported by golden lances, stood a group of officers of the household,
and _laquais de palais_, conversing in whispers--to a smaller one,
where he entered with the assurance of one who well knows the locality.
He went up a step and into an anteroom, where in a large arm-chair sat
a _huissier de palais_, performing his duty with quiet dignity.

"M. Pietri?" said the visitor.

"M. Pietri is in his cabinet," replied the huissier, half raising
himself from his chair.

"Ask if he will receive M. Hansen, he has an appointment with me."

The huissier rose at once and entered the cabinet of the emperor's
private secretary; after a moment he opened the door, saying, in a low
tone, "Enter, sir!"

The former Danish advocate, that unwearied agitator on behalf of the
rights of Denmark, entered the cabinet of Napoleon III.'s private
secretary.

This cabinet was a large, light room, full of tables and repositories
for papers, deeds, and maps. At the farther end was a spiral staircase
which led into the apartment above, the entrance to which was closed by
the silken folds of a dark _portiere_.

Pietri sat before a large writing-table. He was still a young man, and
slightly made. His rather long face had a bright, peaceful, spiritual
expression, which gave a charm to any ordinary employment undertaken by
him.

He bowed as Hansen entered, pushed back a packet of letters with which
he was occupied, and politely pointed to an arm-chair which stood at a
little distance from the writing-table.

"Well," said Pietri, commencing the conversation, as he fixed his
bright eyes in expectation upon his visitor, "you have come from
Germany, what have you seen and heard? Are matters ripe? In what mind
are the people? Tell me everything--we must know every detail of what
is occurring there, in order to take up our own position."

"Let me begin with the central point of the position," replied Hansen.
"I was lately in Berlin, and I discovered nothing there, with regard to
the views of statesmen or the national feeling, to make me doubt the
correctness of my impressions."

At this moment a noise was heard at the top of the stairs at the
further end of the cabinet, the heavy folds of the _portiere_ slowly
opened, and a man appeared standing on the top step.

It was Napoleon III. who thus descended into his private secretary's
cabinet.

Pietri rose as soon as he heard the _portiere_ withdrawn and the foot
on the stairs, and remained standing before the writing-table.

Hansen followed his example.

The emperor slowly descended the steps. It was not the form represented
in the life-size portrait; the hand placed commandingly upon the crown
and sceptre of France, proudly draped in the imperial mantle, which
well became the graceful, slender figure.

It was an old man who descended the stairs; _embonpoint_ had destroyed
the elegance of his figure, illness and pain made his carriage feeble
and uncertain, his grey hair no longer thickly surrounded his brow, but
fell in thin locks over his temples, and his eyes, in former times
often veiled though capable of stormy flashes, now looked dull and
wearied.

The emperor, dressed in a plain black morning coat, and smoking a
cigarette, the strong and excellent aroma of which preceded him in a
light blue cloud, carefully descended the stairs, and entered the
cabinet.

He walked slowly, with the heaviness of later years.

He stopped before his secretary, gave him a peculiar look from the
veiled shadows of his eyes, and bowed low to Hansen. He seemed to scan
him completely in a quick momentary examination, and he then turned his
head to Pietri, with a slight expression of inquiry.

"Sire," said Pietri, "Monsieur Hansen, a Dane who is completely devoted
to his country, and who has also done us good service, for as a Dane he
loves France; he has travelled through Germany, seen many personages,
and was about to tell me the result of his observations."

The emperor again bowed to Hansen; the amiable and charming kindness
with which he could at will exercise a magic influence, shed a glow
like sunshine over the weary indifference of his face.

"I know," he said, in his low but clear and penetrating voice, which
expressed in a masterly way the finest shades of feeling, "I know that
all Danes love their country, and for that reason they have warm hearts
for France, their country's friend. Your name is known to me, sir, as
that of a man distinguished for his burning and active patriotism, even
in so patriotic a country as Denmark."

Hansen bowed low, whilst the pleasurable emotion he felt at the
emperor's words caused him to blush.

"Sire," he said, "so gracious a recognition from your majesty's lips
almost makes me forget that my zealous efforts in my country's behalf
have been fruitless. If my humble name is known to your majesty, you
must know, too, how much I love France and revere her emperor, upon
whose mighty will it depends whether Denmark shall win back and
maintain her rightful position amongst the nations of Europe."

The emperor bowed his head slightly. A sudden deeply penetrating glance
shot from his half closed eyes towards the Danish agitator, whose
upturned face expressed only deep veneration.

"My dear Pietri," said Napoleon III., turning to his secretary, "I came
down to look through the morning's correspondence. Is it ready for me?"

"Here it is, sire," said Pietri, taking some papers from the table and
handing them to the emperor.

Napoleon took them, and with a movement recalling his youthful agility,
he rolled a chair close to the window, seated himself, and took from
his _etui_ another cigarette, which he lighted at the end of the one he
had just smoked.

"I will not disturb your conversation," he said with an engaging smile.
"Go on as if no one were here, I will quietly read my letters."

Pietri again seated himself before the writing-table, and signed to
Hansen to do the same.

The emperor looked at the first of the papers he held in his hand very
attentively; it was marked with a blue pencil at the most important
passages.

"So you were lately in Berlin?" asked Pietri, again looking at Hansen
expectantly.

"I was there," he replied, "and I brought away with me the conviction
that a great German conflict is unavoidable."

"Do they desire it?"

"They do not desire the conflict; but they desire what cannot be
obtained without a conflict."

"And that is----?"

"The perfect reform of the German Confederation, the military
ascendency of Prussia to the Main; the complete setting aside of the
traditions of Metternich's Germany. Count Bismarck is recklessly
determined to reach his aim, and I believe he, too is convinced that
this aim cannot be reached without war."

Pietri was silent for a few moments, and his eyes glanced at the
emperor still immersed in his papers, then he looked full at Hansen and
said:

"And would they not be pacified by the sole possession of Holstein and
Schleswig? Provided Austria cedes her conjoint authority in the
Duchies, I thought they intended to settle the boundaries of Silesia to
your advantage."

A slight glow passed over Hansen's face, but he replied with unmoved
voice:--

"No, the conflict cannot thus be avoided. I believe they were inclined
to make great concessions in exchange for the entire possession of the
Duchies; and if France heartily demanded it, Danish North Schleswig
might be restored; but no palliative will prevent the conflict.

"Believe me, sir!" he continued, with animation, "this conflict is no
quarrel about the German Grand Duchies; they know well enough in Berlin
that they must in time fall to Prussia, and they do not fear the
resolutions of the Grand Duke of Augustenburg. The strife arises from
the historical development of Prussia and Germany. Prussia is really
not the second German state, but the first, and the German
Confederation grants her only the second place, and represses her
natural powers of development by a machinery the springs of which are
set in motion in Vienna.

"This is the true cause of the quarrel: Prussia desires the place which
naturally belongs to her, and which Austria held formerly. The quarrel
has lasted years and years, and would perhaps have continued many years
longer in its latent form--for the exercise of the wits of European
diplomatists--if Bismarck had not been at the head of the marvellously
expansive Prussian state. This statesman is an incarnation of the
Prussian spirit, strengthened by an extraordinary and genial
originality. He knows how to develop in the highest degree the rich and
well-knit strength of the country, and he has determined to put an end
to Prussia's present position. He can be led to no second Olmuetz; he
will gain for Prussia her place in Germany, or perish."

The emperor's hand with the papers it held slowly sank into his lap,
and his eyes, suddenly opened widely, and burning with excitement, were
fixed on Hansen's face. His master's attention did not escape Pietri;
he said, with a slight smile:--

"It is indeed wonderful to hear a Dane speak so enthusiastically of the
Prussian minister, here in Paris."

"Why not?" asked Hansen, quietly. "This man who knows what he wants,
and exerts all his powers to gain what he wills, who loves his country
and determines to increase its greatness and power, compels my
respect,--he deserves esteem for his efforts--admiration if he
succeeds. Between Bismarck and myself stands my country, Denmark. The
German part of the Duchies we do not desire and could not make use
of,--but we want what is Danish, and what is necessary to protect the
Danish frontier. If this is yielded we shall have no cause to be the
foe of Prussia or Germany. If this is withheld Prussia may for ever
reckon little Denmark amongst her enemies, for exactly the same reasons
which influence Herr von Bismarck's policy."

Napoleon III. listened attentively.

Pietri said:--

"Have you gained the impression that there is an inclination on the
part of Prussia to meet the wishes of Denmark?"

"I do not think this impossible," replied Hansen, firmly, "especially,"
he continued with great distinctness, "if Prussia, in her difficult
position, might by such an arrangement, gain the support of one of the
great powers. It would then only be necessary to arrange the frontier
line, so as to maintain the interests of both Denmark and Germany."

As he slowly uttered these words he looked at the emperor. Napoleon had
raised the letter in his hand near to his eyes, which were fixed
without any especial expression upon the paper.

Pietri enquired further:--

"Supposing that Bismarck desires war, or more properly, desires objects
only to be obtained by war, will the king proceed to extremities,
rather than dismiss his minister? I speak to you without reserve," he
added, apparently with reckless candour; "you live in the political
world, and know as well as I do what is said in the circles surrounding
the Prussian ambassador. Did you receive the impression in Berlin that
Count Goltz might possibly succeed Bismarck?"

"No," replied Hanson, decidedly. "The King of Prussia shrinks
excessively from war,--that is to say, not from war itself, but from a
war with Austria--a German war. The king dreads such a war and
earnestly wishes to avoid it. If Vienna would meet him in the principal
points, he would probably make many more concessions than Bismarck
would approve. But when once the question is asked the king will not
yield the principle. He has created a new army organization. According
to all judges it is exemplary, and he carried it out in spite of the
opposition of parliament; he will not draw back when the first
opportunity comes of vindicating and enlarging Prussia's powerful
position in Germany. The king will strike with a heavy heart, but he
will strike, and after the first cannon has fired he will be only a
general. I have not conversed with King William myself," continued
Hansen, "but what I have said is the _resume_ of conversations I have
had with those who know intimately both the situation and the
personages concerned. As to Herr von Bismarck's position," he
continued, "it is perfectly firm. Bismarck will never forfeit the
king's confidence."

"Why not?" asked Pietri, with animation.

"Because he is a soldier."

"That is to say, he wears the Landwehr uniform."

"That is only the exterior, but in this case it is not an idle
appearance. Bismarck is a soldier: he is a man of action, of quick and
clear decision; his diplomatic pen does not tremble at the roar of
cannon or the clash of arms; he would be as calm riding over a
battle-field as sitting by a green table. The king feels this; he is
himself a soldier, and he trusts him. I know Count Goltz has many
friends, but these friends deceive themselves, and I can assure them,
that if they have chosen him in Paris, they have not in Berlin."

There was a short silence.

After Pietri had glanced at the emperor, he further enquired:--

"But what is the national feeling? Judging from the press, war is not
popular?"

"Indeed it is not," replied Hansen; "the people dread a defeat, and the
parliamentary opposition believe in their short-sightedness that
Bismarck is commencing a war to get himself out of the blind alley into
which they think they have forced him. They little know the man with
whom they have to do!"

"But," objected Pietri, "will not the Prussian government place itself
in a very dangerous position if it begins a war against Austria and
Germany, whilst its own subjects oppose this war and regard it
unfavourably?"

"I think this danger is apparent, but not real," replied Hansen. "The
army--and this is the main point--will do its duty, and in spite of all
opposition will be ready in full strength; and all who speak and write
against Bismarck now, will fall at his feet after the first victory.
Interior strife will be extinguished when the first battle is won: each
addition to Prussia, each step towards the unity of Germany, will tend
to make the war which procured them more popular."

"Victory!" exclaimed Pietri; "but will Prussia be victorious?"

"It must be so," said Hansen, calmly. "Austria deceives herself both as
to the forces she can, with the help of Germany, place in the field,
and those at the command of Prussia. The strength of the Prussian army
is immense; it is quickly concentrated and homogeneous. The Austrian
army is weak, and cannot be properly bound together, or placed under a
united command. The South German soldiers with whom I have spoken, and
who know the condition of Austria, have no doubt of the success of
Prussia. The conduct of the war on the South German side must be a very
lame affair, for they have not yet even begun their military
preparations. Hanover and Hesse desire to remain neutral, but they have
concluded no treaty, and after all their hesitation they will be
surprised. Austria will find her only energetic support in Saxony,
where Beust, the life and soul of the anti-Prussian movement, has
succeeded in getting the army ready to take the field."

"You believe entirely in victory for Prussia?" asked Pietri, in a tone
that showed he was not inclined to share the belief without demur.

"I do," replied Hansen, "and I think all prudent policy must reckon on
it almost as a certainty."

"You spoke just now," said Pietri, after a short pause, "of additions
to Prussia. What do you think she will demand, or take, if victory is
on her side?"

"All that she needs, and can keep."

"That is, expressed in names and numbers?"

"The whole of North Germany unconditionally."

Pietri made a movement of incredulity.

"Be assured I am not deceived," said Hansen; "the people themselves
will desire conquests when Prussian blood has once flowed: what is to
be gained from Prussia must be gained before the war; after one victory
they will not listen to argument in Berlin."

The emperor stood up.

Pietri and Hansen also rose.

Napoleon placed the packet of papers which his secretary had given him
again on the table.

He bowed his head slightly to Hansen, and said--

"I am very glad, sir, to have made your acquaintance, and I shall
always be happy to be useful to a nation whose every member is so
inspired with patriotism."

Hansen bowed low, and left the room.

As the door closed behind him the emperor rose quickly, his eyes shone,
and he said, as he stepped hastily towards Pietri:--

"Pietri, do you believe that man observes sharply, and is well
informed?"

"I know him to be a sharp observer. As to his information, I know that
Bismarck has received him; that he has had intercourse with various
political personages in Germany, and that he has a talent for
discovering the direction of popular opinion. Nevertheless I think he
over-estimates the power of Prussia. Bismarck impressed him greatly,
and the impression made is mirrored in his report. We have seen the
same before; this Prussian minister well knows how to gain those whom
he wishes to win."

The emperor gazed thoughtfully before him. "I fear," he said, in
a low voice, "that the man is right, and that we have a great and
difficult historical problem before us. Can we support Austria without
wounding Italy, already too strong to be ignored? Can Prussia prevail,
and Germany be reconstituted, without danger to the prestige of
France--yes, even to our frontier! Alsace and Lorraine once were
German."

Pietri smiled.

"Your majesty loves to jest!"

"Ah! Pietri," said the emperor, placing his hand on his secretary's
shoulder, partly to impress his words, partly as if seeking a support,
"you do not know the Germans; I know and understand them, for I have
lived amongst them. The German nation is a lion, which knows not his
own power; a child might lead him with a chain of flowers,--yet in his
claws there is strength to destroy the whole European world, when he
knows his own nature and when he once tastes blood. And in this war he
will taste blood--the old jest, '_l'appetit vient en mangeant_' will
turn to frightful earnest; let this Prussian lion once break his chain,
and he will be a frightfully dangerous neighbour."

The emperor said this half aloud in short broken sentences, while his
eyes, as if following a vision, stared into space.

A quiet smile played round Pietri's lips.

"Your majesty has a dark hour," said he, in the calm encouraging tone
used to one ill and excited; "I believe the strongest element in the
German lion is sleep--should he awake and play the dangerous pranks
your majesty describes, he will find on our frontier our large armies
and the imperial eagle. The impertinent lion will soon be taught his
place."

The emperor let his head sink down on the arm still resting on Pietri's
shoulder; his whole figure seemed to collapse, his eyes glowed wildly
beneath their veil of eyelashes, his breath came with difficulty
through his parted lips, as if it struggled to form words which might
express his gloomy thoughts. The mighty emperor seemed oppressed by the
darkest forebodings; at last, without the least movement in his lips,
he said, in a low tone which filled the quiet room with a trembling
shudder,

"I am not the Great Napoleon!"

The voice was so sad, so chilling, so deeply melancholy that Pietri's
face, before calm and smiling, turned pale as if touched by deadly
cold.

He sought for a reply; but a noise was heard, the _portiere_ was
withdrawn, and on the upper step of the staircase appeared the
emperor's groom of the chambers, who announced:

"M. Drouyn de Lhuys requests an audience."

At the first sound the emperor had withdrawn his arm from Pietri's
shoulder, and his countenance had regained its usual calm, cold
expression. He received the announcement with his ordinary manner, and
replied:

"I will come."

The groom of the chambers withdrew.

"I know what he wants," said Napoleon, "he wishes me to put a spoke in
the rolling wheel, to prevent hostilities. I often wish to do so--but
is it possible? Shall I risk at this moment the great question? for if
I speak and my word is not obeyed, the firebrand is kindled which will
endanger the existence of France and of myself. If I permit things to
go on, time at any rate is gained, and time brings favourable chances,
and the possibility of strengthening the power and influence of France
without a war. Well, let us hear what he wishes."

And he walked slowly towards the stairs. At the first step he paused,
and returned several paces into the cabinet.

"Pietri," said he in a low tone, "what do you think of Drouyn de
Lhuys?"

"Sire," he replied, "I admire his deep and extended information, and I
have a great respect for his character."

The emperor was silent for a moment.

"He is very near the House of Orleans," he said with some hesitation.

"Sire," replied Pietri firmly, "he has given your majesty his oath, and
I know M. Drouyn de Lhuys too well to doubt that his oath is sacred."

The emperor was again silent for a moment, then he made a slight sign
of adieu to Pietri with his hand, and mounted the stairs to the
apartment above.

Pietri returned to his writing-table, and looked through the remainder
of the correspondence.

Napoleon III. entered his plainly furnished cabinet, walked up to the
writing-table and touched a bell. The groom of the chambers appeared.

"M. Drouyn de Lhuys!" said the emperor.

A few moments afterwards the Minister for Foreign Affairs entered his
sovereign's cabinet.

Drouyn de Lhuys at this time was about sixty years of age, tall and
strongly made. His thin grey hair and equally grey whiskers, arranged
in the English fashion, surrounded a healthy looking, fresh-coloured
face, lighted up by an expression of kindliness and affability.

The appearance of this well-known man resembled a well-to-do English
landlord, rather than an experienced statesman who had thrice already,
under circumstances of great difficulty, filled the position of
Minister of Foreign Affairs.

The eyes alone, sharp, clear, and observing, beneath the broad brow,
gave an idea of the talent of this strong, excellent, and distinguished
man, accustomed to unravel and knit together the tangled threads of
European policy.

The minister wore a black morning coat, with the large rosette of the
Legion of Honour in the button-hole.

The emperor advanced to meet him and held out his hand.

"I am delighted to see you, my dear minister," he said, with an
engaging smile, "what have you to tell me? how does Europe get on?"

"Sire," replied Drouyn de Lhuys with his peculiarly slow, and
pedantic-sounding sharpness of pronunciation, "Europe is sick, and will
soon have a dangerous paroxysm if your Majesty does not employ soothing
measures."

"Do you not over-estimate my power," said the emperor, smiling, "by
thinking that I can? But," he added seriously, "speaking without
metaphor, you wish to tell me that hostilities in Germany are about to
break out--is it not so?" and sinking into an easy chair, he signed to
his minister also to seat himself.

"It is true, sire," said Drouyn de Lhuys, as he seated himself, opened
his portfolio and drew from it some papers, "that this is what I wished
to say to your Majesty. Here is a despatch from Vienna stating,
that--in incredible blindness--they have determined to commence
hostilities and to urge matters to an immediate rupture. They are about
to summon the States in the duchies without the consent of Prussia, and
Count Mensdorff has forwarded a despatch to Berlin, which is really an
ultimatum, as it requires in a high tone the immediate suspension of
all military preparations."

The minister handed the emperor the despatch; he looked through it
hastily, and placed it on the table.

"Here," added Drouyn de Lhuys, "is a despatch from Benedetti, stating
most positively that Herr von Bismarck is determined to take the most
decided measures to obtain for Prussia her proper position in Germany.
The project of reform which he brought before the assembly of the
German Confederacy in Frankfort, was a moral declaration of war against
the preponderance of Austria, and the position bestowed on her by the
treaty of Vienna. Count Mensdorff's despatch, which I have had the
honour of naming to your Majesty, has already arrived in Berlin, and
been presented by Count Karolyi. It has given great offence. Benedetti
describes it as one of those compositions which in former times the
German Emperor addressed to the Margrave of Brandenburg, and it has
served greatly to diminish the King of Prussia's repugnance to war.
Thus on both sides matters are hastening towards war, and, in a few
weeks perhaps, the armies will be opposed to each other, and the whole
of Europe will take part in the quarrel, if your Majesty does not
command a halt."

The minister stopped, and looked at the emperor inquiringly. Napoleon
leant dreamily on the arm of his chair.

"And what do you advise me to do, my dear minister?" he asked after a
short pause, as he raised himself a little and looked anxiously at
Drouyn de Lhuys' calm and open countenance.

"Your Majesty knows my opinion on this subject," he replied, "though I
fear you do not share it. A German war must be prevented for the sake
of France, for the sake of the peace of Europe. I think I do not
deceive myself," he continued, "when I express my conviction that
Prussia will emerge from such a war more powerful and more to be
dreaded, for I cannot believe in the military success of weak and
decaying Austria; and as to the remainder of Germany, it is not worth
speaking of, with its isolated little armies without military or
political connexion. To permit Prussia to become more powerful--to
become the supreme leader in Germany--is completely against the
interest of France. Your Majesty must allow me to say that the
France of to-day--the France of Napoleon," he added, slightly
bowing,--"should, according to my views, pursue the same course of
policy towards Prussia and the House of Hohenzollern as Bourbon France
formerly pursued towards Austria and the House of Hapsburg. Then
Austria's endeavour was the union of the military and political
strength of the German nation, and France, wherever she turned, found
herself opposed by the House of Hapsburg. Prussia now holds the same
place, and continually thwarts our lawful ambition, and if in this war
she succeeds in uniting in her own hands the military power of Germany,
our plans will all be crossed, and the influence which we justly
exercise on the affairs of Europe greatly diminished."

"But if Prussia is beaten?" asked the emperor.

"I do not believe in such a result," replied Drouyn de Lhuys, "but
grant it is so, what do we gain? Austria, with unbounded power, would
place herself at the head of Germany, and the old enmity of the House
of Hapsburg, strengthened by the Italian war, would be exercised with
new energy to our disadvantage. There is but one policy for France,
that is, to uphold the present position in Germany--to nourish, to
sharpen the antagonism between Prussia and Austria, but never let it
come to a war, to a decision; and to make use of the fear felt for both
these powerful rivals in the smaller courts of Germany to extend our
own influence. Thus, in an imperceptible way, we shall easily obtain
what the Emperor Napoleon I. obtained from the confederacy of the
Rhine--the power of using federal Germany against the two great states.
I cannot believe there is any other policy for France to pursue with
regard to Germany. Prussian or even Austrian Germany must always be our
foe, and a very dangerous foe: let us oppose the two great powers, and
drive in between them the wedge of the German kingdoms and dukedoms
jealous of their sovereignty; then, if we act prudently and carefully,
and require nothing to hurt the national feeling, Germany will be
completely subservient to our will."

"You think then--?" said the emperor inquiringly.

"That your Majesty must prevent the outbreak of war in Germany with all
your energy, or the position of France in Europe will be much
imperilled."

The emperor was silent for a time, and tapped with his fingers upon the
arm of his chair, then he said:

"Do you believe that I can prevent war; do you believe I am strong
enough to force back the half-drawn sword into the scabbard? Yes, if
Palmerston still lived," he said, thoughtfully; "with him it would have
been possible; but with the England of to-day, who has great words, but
deeds no longer!----Do you believe my single voice will be heard? And
if I am not heard? Must I not fear that, as in the story of Jason, the
two foes about to fall on each other will quickly unite against him who
would have thrust himself between them? Bismarck would soon see such a
game. Oh! I have let this man become too great!"

Drouyn de Lhuys calmly replied--

"I do not share the fears and difficulties your Majesty has so
graciously pointed out. A single word from you would prevent the war. I
must impart to your Majesty a conversation I had with Bismarck, the
last time I saw him. He explained to me with the greatest openness and
freedom from all reserve, the position he desired Prussia should hold
in Germany. A war with Austria he declared was an absolute necessity
for the historical development of Germany, since Austria would never
freely allow Prussia to take the place due to her. 'But though this war
is necessary,' said the Prussian minister, 'and though I, and every
Prussian government, must regard it as a certain logical event, yet the
exact moment in which it must commence depends upon the will and
statesmanship of the government. I should certainly not be so foolish
as to undertake two great wars at once, and to strike France and
Austria at the same time. If you are in earnest in desiring the delay
of the outbreak required by the chronic German question, say so plainly
and openly. I can wait.' So said Herr von Bismarck. I implore your
Majesty," continued Drouyn de Lhuys, "to authorise me to make the
declaration he thus invited, and to say plainly that France will not
permit a German war, and that in case hostilities commence, her armies
will at once start for the frontier."

The minister looked anxiously into the emperor's face. He still gazed
thoughtfully before him.

After a few moments Napoleon spoke:

"I cannot entirely share your views, my dear minister. Like yourself I
see the danger that may accrue to France from a German war; I also
acknowledge the truth of your opinion that the relations of the old
confederacy enabled us to exert considerable influence in Germany in a
comfortable and easy manner. But," he added thoughtfully, "could such
relations continue? A movement is passing through the world, urging
national union, and I think it highly dangerous to endeavour to oppose
the spirit of the times. I know you are dissatisfied with what I have
done in Italy, with what I must perhaps still do; and yet I think I am
right. The pulses in the life of the people now beat so strongly, that
the balance of the world can no longer be maintained by those little
weights which old politicians threw now into one, now into the other
scale. National agglomerations must take place, and we must endeavour
to place such a weight in the balance as shall prevent its kicking the
beam. Besides, Germany will not be so dangerous as you fear. The German
races have no craving for foreign conquest; they are not offensive, and
only struggle for a federal formation. I regard, too, the result of the
war differently. I do not think that either of the two opponents will
be completely and absolutely victorious; they will weaken each other:
we will, to a certain extent, harass the victor, and I believe in the
end Germany will be divided into three parts: Prussia with North
Germany, Austria, and South Germany. Then," he continued with a smile,
"you will have an excellent opportunity, my dear minister, of proving
your favourite proverb--_Divide et impera_, and your work will be less
in detail than heretofore."

"Then your majesty will not forbid the German war?" asked Drouyn de
Lhuys.

"I believe I neither can, nor ought," replied the emperor; "Italy too,
presses me to fulfil my promise. Free to the Adriatic!"

"A promise your majesty ought never to have given," said the minister,
firmly.

"Perhaps," said Napoleon; "but it is given, and I cannot leave every
question open. Mexico weighs heavily upon me."

Napoleon sighed deeply. After a pause he added:--

"I will make an effort to reconcile your views with my own. Let us ask
in Vienna if they are willing to yield me Venice to restore to Italy.
It would form the basis of a possible alliance with Austria, which
would enable us to interfere with real power and a prospect of success
in the complicated German question. Then, even if the negotiation were
successful, it would leave us free."

"I do not believe the measure would be successful," said Drouyn de
Lhuys; "the House of Hapsburg prizes Venice highly, although it has
always been a burden and a drawback; but I do wish to obtain this apple
of discord, for without it an alliance may one day be formed against us
between Austria and Italy. I doubt, too, whether a free choice will
hereafter be left to us. The roles are distributed before a performance
is begun, and those who dally may be set aside. Nevertheless, I can say
nothing against the principle of the step your Majesty proposes, and if
you wish it, it shall be carried out immediately."

The emperor seized a letter which lay on his writing-table, and said,
as he looked through it hastily, "I am urgently requested by Saxony to
grant no support to the Prussian claims. I cannot give any distinct
response; but will you instruct the ambassador in Dresden,
confidentially, that he may discreetly insinuate, that it depends upon
the cabinet in Vienna whether the wishes here expressed are fully
complied with, and that they completely meet my own views."

Drouyn de Lhuys bowed.

"It will also be needful," continued the emperor, "to talk
confidentially in Berlin of the guarantees which Bismarck might be
inclined to give us, provided his plans in Germany succeed. You know
how evasive and dilatory they are in Berlin on this point. They wish to
hear my demands, and I cannot and will not express them definitely."

Drouyn de Lhuys again bowed in silence.

The emperor stood up. His minister also rose.

Napoleon stepped up to him and said with the fascinating smile which
lighted up his face with an irresistible charm:

"You are not satisfied, my dear minister; but believe me this policy is
the best. We shall gain time, and in political life time is a power
which gives everything to those who use it aright."

"I know the value of time," replied the minister, "but perhaps in
gaining time we may lose the right moment."

"True," said the emperor, drawing himself up with a movement recalling
his earlier years, "yet trust in my star, and in that of France."

"These stars are too bright not to inspire confidence," replied Drouyn
de Lhuys, but without any enthusiasm. He took up his portfolio, and
said:

"Has your majesty any further commands?"

"I will not detain you," said Napoleon, and shaking his minister
heartily by the hand, he dismissed him.

After he had left the room the emperor remained for some time lost in
thought.

"I cannot directly force events," he said half to himself, "I must
allow them to take their course. If my veto were not heard, I should be
obliged to undertake a frightful war, and then? I must endeavour by the
careful and prudent study of events to turn them to our advantage."

He placed himself before a marble bust of Caesar which stood on a black
pedestal in his cabinet, and he gazed for some time on the beautifully
chiselled features of the Roman conqueror of the world.

"Thou great antetype of my house," he said, while an electric
brightness beamed from his upturned eyes. "At this moment I too must
say, _Jacta est alea!_ But," he added gloomily, "thy dice were thrown
by thyself, and forced by thy mighty hand to fall according to thy
will. The pitiless iron hand of fate throws my dice, and I must take
them as they fall!"

An attendant entered and announced:--"The emperor's breakfast is
served."

Napoleon left the cabinet.




                               CHAPTER V.

                               GEORGE V.


One morning, when the trees on either side of the long avenue leading
from Hanover to the royal residence were still clad in their brightest,
freshest green, a carriage rolled rapidly along, and approached the
gilded iron gate which shuts off the outer entrance to the castle.

The carriage drew up before the entrance to the inner courtyard.

A slight man, somewhat under the middle height, alighted; he was about
thirty-six years of age, very fair, with a long drooping moustache upon
the upper lip, and he was dressed in black with a grey overcoat.

This man walked in at the side gateway in the corner of the principal
building of the old electoral and royal palace, built by the renowned
Le Notre, and resembling a miniature of Versailles; he passed through a
long passage which led directly to King George V.'s Cabinet.

Before the door of this cabinet, which was on the ground floor, with a
small entrance from the park and garden, sat the king's groom of the
chambers. Close to the entrance of the royal apartments was the waiting
room for the gentlemen summoned by the king, chiefly adorned by the
portraits of celebrated Prussians. There were represented in life-size
Bluecher and Ziethen, and there was an exquisite painting of Prince
Louis Ferdinand of Prussia, who fell at Saalfeld.

The gentleman who had left the carriage, and reached the entrance to
the royal apartments, asked the groom of the chambers:

"Is his majesty alone?"

He had risen and taken the visitor's overcoat, and he replied in broken
German with a strong English accent:

"Privy Councillor Lex is with his Majesty."

"Will you announce me!"

The groom of the chambers knocked loudly at the king's door, and the
clear voice of George V. was heard. He cried--"Come in!" in English.

The attendant returned after a few minutes.

"The king begs M. Meding to wait a moment."

And he opened the door of the waiting-room, which Meding the councillor
of state entered.

The room was empty. Meding took up a position on a large sofa.

After about five minutes the door opened, and a gentleman, somewhat
bent with age, entered. His hair and moustache were as white as snow,
and he wore the uniform of a Hanoverian lieutenant-general, with the
golden epaulettes of an adjutant-general. His breast was decorated with
the Grand Cross of the Guelphic Order, and with the medals of 1813, and
Waterloo. It was General Tschirschnitz, the king's right hand in
military affairs, the medium of every appointment in the army.

Meding rose with the words, "Good morning, your excellency."

"Good morning!" replied the general, in a curt military tone, whilst he
laid a large closed portfolio on the table. "Are you here so early?
Shall we have long to wait? I hope you have not much to do."

"The king is working with his cabinet councillor, and apparently
writing letters; how long that will last, it is difficult to tell. As
far as I am concerned I have only a little to do, and my audience will
not take long."

The general threw himself back in his chair with a loud groan.

"Do you know, my dear Meding," he said after a pause, "how long I have
waited already, during the course of my life?" and he raised himself a
little and looked inquiringly at his friend.

Meding by slightly shrugging his shoulders implied that it was
impossible to reply to the question.

"Eight years, seven months, three weeks, and four days!" cried the
general in a loud voice, and with great disgust.

Meding could not help laughing aloud.

"Your excellency has certainly suffered to the utmost, and your
patience has stood the proof!"

"I have a book," said the general dismally, with a sort of grim humour,
"in which I have written down every day since I first received my
commission from my late lamented master, the length of time I have
passed in this waiting room. It now amounts to eight years, seven
months, three weeks, and four days. What do you say to that? They say,"
he continued, "that I am sixty-eight years old. It is not true; I have
_lived_ but fifty-nine years, five months, one week, and three days.
The rest of the time I have _waited!_"

And the general threw himself back in the arm-chair with a look of
resignation.

"I must say, your excellency," said Meding, "it would never have
occurred to me to make a statement of the hours fruitlessly passed in
the ante-chamber. I should prefer for them to remain uncertain, and to
allow the dark moments passed in this _salle des pas perdus_, to fall
into oblivion."

"You are still young, and inclined to dawdle away your time," replied
the general, "but I----"

"Your excellency's time is much more valuable than mine," said Meding,
politely.

At this moment a bell was heard.

A few minutes afterwards the groom of the chambers appeared, and
called--"M. Meding."

He bowed to the general and walked to the royal apartments. He passed
through the ante-room, the doors of which were set wide open, and
entered the king's cabinet.

In this cabinet, filled with many different flowering plants, and
with windows wide open to the garden, sat the king at a square
writing-table. George V. was at this time forty-six years of age, a
handsome man in perfect health. The regular and classic features of his
race were seen in their purest lines in a face beaming with
cheerfulness and amiability; but which also expressed much royal
dignity. A slightly upturned fair moustache covered the upper lip, and
few of those who for the first time saw the king's free movements, and
the rapid changes of his expressive face, discovered the fact that he
was totally blind. The king wore the uniform of the Jaeger guard
regiment, comfortably unbuttoned. Across his breast, beneath his
uniform, ran the dark blue ribbon of the Order of the Garter. He also
wore the small crosses of the Orders of Guelph and Ernest Augustus.
Near the king, stood the privy councillor, Dr. Lex, a small, dried-up
looking man with thick grey hair, sharp, intelligent features, and a
modest, almost bashful manner. He was in the act of arranging his
papers.

A small King Charles spaniel lay at the king's feet.

"Good morning! my dear Meding!" cried the king in his clear voice, "I
am delighted to see you. Seat yourself and tell me the news. What says
public opinion in my kingdom?"

"Good morning, your majesty," replied Meding with a low bow, as he took
a chair opposite the king.

The privy councillor had arranged his papers and slowly withdrew.

"I must impart to your majesty," said Meding, "that public opinion is
much excited, and is making every effort to urge on a war; it desires
your majesty to unite with Austria, and at once take a decided step
against Prussia."

"Why so?" asked the king, "the amiable newspapers of the opposition
often sigh for a Prussian head."

"Why, your majesty," replied Meding, "it is difficult to say why--so
many and such different influences are at work; but the fact
remains--all public opinion in the kingdom of Hanover craves to unite
in common cause with Austria."

"Extraordinary," said George V.; "Count Decken spoke just in the same
tone when he was here yesterday; he was furiously Austrian!"

"Count Decken, your majesty, speaks from the heart of the German union
he created. He is also a violent admirer of Herr von Beust----"

"I know! I know!" exclaimed the king, "but is he quite right in
saying that the whole world--the army, especially the younger
officers,--predict a war with Prussia?"

"He is right, your majesty," replied Meding.

The king thought for a moment.

"And what do you do to stem this flood?" he then asked.

"I seek to calm, to guide, and to enlighten as far as my influence
extends by means of the press, for I consider this flood pernicious; it
tends to war, the greatest misfortune which could fall upon Germany,
and such a war would place Hanover in a most dangerous position."

"Right! quite right!" cried the king, with animation, "every thing must
be done to allay this warlike and anti-Prussian excitement. You know
how strong is my conviction that a good understanding between the two
first powers of the confederacy is the only sure foundation for the
welfare of Germany, and what efforts I have made to maintain this. You
know, too, how highly I prize the friendship of Prussia. They call me,"
added the king, "the enemy of Prussia, but indeed I am not. I defend my
right of perfect independence and sovereignty, but I most ardently
desire to live in peace and unity with Prussia. Those who would
interrupt this peace are ignorant of the true interests of both states.
They talk in Berlin of the policy of Frederick the Great; how little
they understand his policy! How highly did Frederick II. esteem the
alliance of Hanover, from whence he obtained the Duke of Brunswick, his
best general! And how great and beneficial were the results of this
alliance, though it was directed against Austria. Oh! that it were
possible to unite the two powers in a real and lasting friendship, and
that it might be granted me to be the dot over the _i_ in this
alliance! But should a rupture--which God forbid!--actually occur, I
will take no part in so deplorable a war on either side."

The king said all this with the clearness and decision with which he
always spoke to those completely in his confidence, for he loved to
express his views to them on every question with great distinctness,
that they might be able fully to carry out his plans and wishes.

"You are very right," he added, "in doing all you can to oppose this
warlike and anti-Prussian propaganda."

"I am rejoiced," exclaimed Meding, "to hear your Majesty's views so
plainly stated. My position, from being by birth a Prussian, is in this
crisis extremely painful. What I regard as most desirable for the
interest of Hanover and your majesty, purely from my own conviction,
may easily be imputed to other motives, and will by some be so imputed.
It is therefore doubly necessary that I should always be completely
informed what your majesty's views really are, that I may act
accordingly."

"Do not trouble yourself to fight against foolish notions," said the
king, with his peculiarly engaging and gracious smile. "I am sure, my
dear Meding, you will always have my interests and the interests of
Hanover at heart. You know I regard public opinion as the sixth great
power of Europe--perhaps as the first--and the press, the organ of this
great power, I wish to use as a mainspring of royalty. I desire to hear
what the people say and think, and, in the organs of the government
alone, to see my wishes and intentions expressed. I wish to know the
real thoughts and opinions of the people, whether they are right or
wrong, and I wish the people to know my views and desires. Thus perfect
openness exists between my subjects and myself, and the int

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