Napoleon and the Queen of Prussia

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NAPOLEON IN GERMANY

NAPOLEON AND THE QUEEN OF PRUSSIA

An Historical Novel

BY L. MUeHLBACH

AUTHOR OF MARIE ANTOINETTE, JOSEPH II. AND HIS COURT,
BERLIN AND SANS-SOUCI, FREDERICK THE GREAT AND HIS FAMILY, ETC.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY F. JORDAN

NEW YORK
1908
COPYRIGHT 1867, 1893,
BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

* * * * *

CONTENTS

BOOK I.

CHAPTER

I. Ferdinand von Schill
II. The German Song
III. The Oath of Vengeance
IV. In Berlin
V. Quiet is the Citizen's First Duty
VI. The Faithful People of Stettin
VII. The Queen's Flight
VIII. Napoleon in Potsdam
IX. Sans-Souci
X. Napoleon's Entry into Berlin
XI. Napoleon and Talleyrand
XII. The Princess von Hatzfeld
XIII. The Suppliant Princes
XIV. Triumph and Defeat
XV. The Victoria of Brandenburg Gate

BOOK II.

XVI. The Treaty of Charlottenburg
XVII. The Secret Council of State
XVIII. Baron von Stein
XIX. The Queen at the Peasant's Cottage
XX. Count Pueckler
XXI. The Patriot's Death
XXII. Peace Negotiations
XXIII. The Slanderous Articles
XXIV. The Justification
XXV. Countess Mary Walewska
XXVI. The Dantzic Chocolate

BOOK III.

XXVII. Tilsit.--Napoleon and Alexander
XXVIII. Queen Louisa
XXIX. Bad Tidings
XXX. Queen Louisa and Napoleon

BOOK IV.

XXXI. Baron von Stein
XXXII. The Patriot
XXXIII. Johannes von Mueller
XXXIV. The Call
XXXV. Financial Calamities
XXXVI. Prince William
XXXVII. The Genius of Prussia
XXXVIII. A Family Dinner

BOOK V.

XXXIX. French Erfurt
XL. The Conspirators
XLI. The Festivities of Erfurt and Weimar
XLII. Napoleon and Goethe
XLIII. The Chase and the Assassins

BOOK VI.

XLIV. The War with Austria
XLV. Josephine's Farewell
XLVI. Ferdinand von Schill
XLVII. Schill takes the Field
XLVIII. Schill's Death
XLIX. The Parade at Schoenbrunn
L. Napoleon at Schoenbrunn
LI. Frederick Staps
LII. An Execution

BOOK VII.

LIII. Homeward Bound
LIV. The Emperor Francis and Metternich
LV. The Archduchess Maria Louisa
LVI. The Queen's Birthday
LVII. Louisa's Death

ILLUSTRATIONS

Portrait of Napoleon
The Oath of Revenge
The Queen in the Peasant's Cottage
Napoleon and the Queen of Prussia
The Emperor Francis and Metternich

NAPOLEON AND QUEEN LOUISA

BOOK I.

CHAPTER I.

FERDINAND VON SCHILL.

Profound silence reigned in the valleys and gorges of Jena and
Auerstadt. The battles were over. The victorious French had marched to
Jena to repose for a few days, while the defeated Prussians had fled to
Weimar, or were wandering across the fields and in the mountains,
anxiously seeking for inaccessible places where they might conceal their
presence from the pursuing enemy.

A panic had seized the whole army. All presence of mind and sense of
honor seemed to be lost. Every one thought only of saving his life, and
of escaping from the conquering arms of the invincible French. Here and
there, it is true, officers succeeded by supplications and remonstrances
in stopping the fugitives, and in forming them into small detachments,
with which the commanders attempted to join the defeated and retreating
main force.

But where was this main army? Whither had the Prince of Hohenlohe
directed his vanquished troops? Neither the officers nor the soldiers
knew. They marched along the high-roads, not knowing whither to direct
their steps. But as soon as their restless eyes seemed to discern French
soldiers at a distance, the Prussians took to their heels, throwing
their muskets away to relieve their flight, and surrendering at
discretion when there was no prospect of escape. In one instance a troop
of one hundred Prussians surrendered to four French dragoons, who
conducted their prisoners to headquarters; and once a large detachment
hailed in a loud voice a few mounted grenadiers, who intended perhaps to
escape from their superior force, and gave the latter to understand, by
signals and laying down their arms, that they only wished to surrender
and deliver themselves to the French.

The Prussians had reached Jena and Auerstadt confident of victory, and
now had left the battle-field to carry the terrible tidings of their
defeat, like a host of ominously croaking ravens, throughout Germany.

The battle-field, on which a few hours previously Death had walked in a
triumphant procession, and felled thousands and thousands of bleeding
victims to the ground, was now entirely deserted. Night had thrown its
pall over the horrors of this Calvary of Prussian glory: the howling
storm alone sang a requiem to the unfortunate soldiers, who, with open
wounds and features distorted with pain, lay in endless rows on the
blood-stained ground.

At length the night of horror is over--the storm dies away--the thick
veil of darkness is rent asunder, and the sun of a new day arises pale
and sad; pale and sad he illuminates the battle-field, reeking with the
blood of so many thousands.

What a spectacle! How many mutilated corpses lie prostrate on the ground
with their dilated eyes staring at the sky--and among them, the happy,
the enviable! how many living, groaning, bleeding men, writhing with
pain, unable to raise their mutilated bodies from the gory bed of
torture and death!

The sun discloses the terrible picture hidden by the pall of night; it
illuminates the faces of the stark dead, but awakens the living and
suffering, the wounded and bleeding, from their benumbed slumber, and
recalls them to consciousness and the dreadful knowledge of their
wretched existence.

With consciousness return groans and wails; and the dreadful conviction
of their wretched existence opens their lips, and wrings from them
shrieks of pain and despair.

How enviable and blissful sleep the dead whose wounds bleed and ache no
longer! How wretched and pitiable are the living as they lie on the
ground, tortured by the wounds which the howling night wind has dried so
that they bleed no more! Those poor deserted ones in the valley and on
the hills the sun has awakened, and the air resounds with their moans
and cries and despairing groans, and heart-rending entreaties for
relief. But no relief comes to them; no cheerful voice replies to their
wails. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, had been placed in the ambulances,
and, during the sudden panic, the surgeons had left the battle-field
with them. But hundreds, nay thousands, remained behind, and with no one
to succor them!

From among the crowds of wounded and dead lying on the battle-field of
Auerstadt, rose up now an officer, severely injured in the head and arm.
The sun, which had aroused him from the apathetic exhaustion into which
he had sunk from loss of blood and hunger, now warmed his stiffened
limbs, and allayed somewhat the racking pain in his wounded right arm,
and the bleeding gash in his forehead. He tried to extricate himself
from under the carcass of his horse, that pressed heavily on him, and
felt delighted as he succeeded in loosing his foot from the stirrup, and
drawing it from under the steed. Holding with his uninjured left arm to
the saddle, he raised himself slowly. The effort caused the blood to
trickle in large drops from the wound in his forehead, which he
disregarded under the joyful feeling that he had risen again from his
death-bed, and that he was still living and breathing. For a moment he
leaned faint and exhausted against the horse as a couch; and feeling a
burning thirst, a devouring hunger, his dark, flaming eyes wandered
around as if seeking for a refreshing drink for his parched palate, or a
piece of bread to appease his hunger.

But his eye everywhere met only stiffened corpses, and the misery and
horror of a deserted battle-field. He knew that no food could be found,
as the soldiers had not, for two days, either bread or liquor in their
knapsacks. Hunger had been the ally that had paved the way for the
French emperor--it had debilitated the Prussians and broken their
courage.

"I must leave the battle-field," murmured the wounded soldier; "I must
save myself while I have sufficient strength; otherwise I shall die of
hunger. Oh, my God, give me strength to escape from so horrible a death!
Strengthen my feet for this terrible walk!"

He cast a single fiery glance toward heaven, one in which his whole soul
was expressed, and then set out on his walk. He moved along slowly and
with tottering steps amid the rows of corpses, some of which were still
quivering and moaning, as death drew near, while others writhed and
wailed with their wounds. Unable to relieve their racking pains, and to
assist them in their boundless misery, it only remained for him to sink
down among them, or to avert his eyes, to close his ears to their
supplications, and escape with hurried steps from this atmosphere of
blood and putrefaction, in order to rescue his own life from the
clutches of death.

He hastened, therefore, but his tearful eyes greeted the poor sufferers
whom he passed on his way, and his quivering lips muttered a prayer for
them.

At length the first and most horrible part of this dreadful field was
passed, and he escaped from the chaos of the dead and wounded. That
part, across which he was walking now, was less saturated with gore, and
the number of corpses scattered over it was much smaller. Here and there
was the wreck of a cannon besmeared with blood and mire, and empty
knapsacks, fragments of broken wagons and muskets, in the utmost
disorder and confusion.

"Spoils for the marauders," whispered the wounded officer, pressing on.
"It seems they have not been here yet. God have mercy on me, if they
should come now and look on me, too, as their spoil!"

He glanced around anxiously, and in doing so his eye beheld an
unsheathed, blood-stained sabre lying near his feet. He made an effort
to take it up regardless of the blood which, in consequence of the
effort, trickled again in larger drops from his wounds.

"Well," he said, in a loud and menacing voice, "I shall defend my life
at least to the best of my ability; the hateful enemies shall not
capture me as long as I am alive. Forward, then; forward with God! He
will not desert a faithful soldier!"

And supporting himself on his sabre, as if it were a staff, the officer
walked on. Everywhere he met with the same signs of war and destruction;
everywhere he beheld corpses, blood-stained cannon-balls, or muskets,
which the fugitives had thrown away.

"Oh, for a drop of water!" groaned the officer, while slowly crossing
the field; "my lips are parched!"

Tottering and reeling, with the aid of his sabre, and by his firm,
energetic will, and the resolution of his spirit, he succeeded once more
in overcoming the weakness of his body.

He hastened on with quicker steps, and hope now lent wings to his feet,
for yonder, in the rear of the shrubbery, he beheld a house; men were
there, assistance also.

At length, after untold efforts, and a terrible struggle with his pain
and exhaustion, he reached the peasant's house. Looking up with longing
eyes to the windows, he shouted: "Oh, give me a drink of water! Have
mercy on a wounded soldier!"

But no voice responded; no human face appeared behind the small green
windows. Every thing remained silent and deserted.

With a deep sigh, and an air of bitter disappointment depicted on his
features, he murmured:

"My feet cannot carry me any farther. Perhaps my voice was too weak, and
they did not hear me. I will advance closer to the house."

Gathering his strength, with staggering steps he approached and found
the door only ajar; whereupon he opened it and entered.

Within the house every thing was as silent as without; not a human being
was to be seen; not a voice replied to his shouts. The inside of the
dwelling presented a sorry spectacle. All the doors were open; the clay
floor was saturated here and there with blood; the small, low rooms were
almost empty; only some half-destroyed furniture, a few broken jars and
other utensils, were lying about. The inmates either had fled from the
enemy, or he had expelled them from their house.

"There is no help for me," sighed the officer, casting a despairing
glance on this scene of desolation. "Oh, why was it not vouchsafed to me
to die on the battle-field? Why did not a compassionate cannon-ball have
mercy on me, and give me death on the field of honor? Then, at least, I
should have died as a brave soldier, and my name would have been
honorably mentioned; now I am doomed to be named only among the missing!
Oh, it is sad and bitter to die alone, unlamented by my friends, and
with no tear of compassion from the eyes of my queen! Oh, Louisa,
Louisa, you will weep much for your crown, for your country, and for
your people, but you will not have a tear for the poor lieutenant of
your dragoons who is dying here alone uttering a prayer for a blessing
on you! Farewell queen, may God grant you strength, and--"

His words died away; a deadly pallor overspread his features, his head
turned dizzy, and a ringing noise filled his ears.

"Death! death!" he murmured faintly, and, with a sigh, he fell senseless
to the ground.

Every thing had become silent again in the humble house; not a human
sound interrupted the stillness reigning in the desolate room. Only the
hum of a few flies, rushing with their heads against the window-panes,
was heard. Once a rustling noise was heard in a corner, and a mouse
glided across the floor, its piercing, glittering eyes looked
searchingly around, and the sight of the bloody, motionless form, lying
prostrate on the floor, seemed to affright it, for it turned and slipped
away even faster than it had approached, and disappeared in the corner.

The sun rose higher, and shone down on the dimmed windows of the house,
reflecting their yellow outlines on the floor, and illuminated the gold
lace adorning the uniform of the prostrate and motionless officer.

All at once the silence was broken by the approach of hurried steps, and
a loud voice was heard near at hand, shouting:

"Is there anybody in the house?"

Then every thing was still again. The new-comer was evidently waiting
for a reply. After a pause, the steps drew nearer--now they were already
in the hall; and now the tall, slender form of a Prussian officer, with
a bandaged head and arm, appeared on the threshold of the room. When he
beheld the immovable body on the floor, his pale face expressed surprise
and compassion.

"An officer of the queen's dragoons!" he ejaculated, and in the next
moment he was by his side. He knelt down, and placed his hand
inquiringly on the heart and forehead of the prostrate officer.

"He is warm still," he murmured, "and it seems to me his heart is yet
beating. Perhaps, perhaps he only fainted from loss of blood, just as I
did before my wounds had been dressed. Let us see."

He hastily drew a flask from his bosom, and pouring some of its contents
into his hand, he washed with it the forehead and temples of his poor
comrade.

A slight shudder now pervaded his whole frame, and he looked with a
half-unconscious, dreamy glance into the face of the stranger, who had
bent over him with an air of heart-felt sympathy.

"Where am I?" he asked, in a low, tremulous voice.

"With a comrade," said the other, kindly. "With a companion in
misfortune who is wounded, and a fugitive like you. I am an officer of
the Hohenlohe regiment, and fought at Jena. Since last night I have been
wandering about, constantly exposed to the danger of falling into the
hands of the enemy. My name is Pueckler--it is a good Prussian name. You
see, therefore, it is a friend who is assisting his poor comrade, and
you need not fear any thing. Now, tell me what I can do for you?"

"Water, water!" groaned the wounded officer, "water!"

"You had better take some of my wine here," said the other; "it will
quench your thirst, and invigorate you at the same time."

He held the flask to the lips of his comrade, and made him sip a little
of his wine.

"Now it is enough," he said, withdrawing the flask from his lips. "Since
you have quenched your thirst, comrade, would you not like to eat a
piece of bread and some meat? Ah, you smile; you are surprised because I
guess your wishes and know your sufferings. You need not wonder at it,
however, comrade, for I have undergone just the same torture as you.
Above all, you must eat something."

While speaking, he had produced from his knapsack a loaf of bread and a
piece of roast chicken, and cutting a few slices from both, placed them
tenderly in the mouth of the sufferer, looking on with smiling joy while
the other moved his jaws, slowly at first, but soon more rapidly and
eagerly.

"Now another draught of wine, comrade," he said, "and then, I may dare
to give you some more food. Hush! do not say a word--it is a sacred work
you are doing now, a work by which you are just about to save a human
life. You must not, therefore, interrupt it by any superfluous
protestations of gratitude. Moreover, your words are written in your
eyes, and you cannot tell me any thing better and more beautiful than
what I am reading therein. Drink! So! And here is a piece of bread and a
wing of the chicken. While you are eating, I will look around in the
yard and garden to find there some water to wash your wounds."

Without waiting for a reply, he hastily left the officer alone with the
piece of bread, the wing of the chicken, and the flask. When he
returned, about fifteen minutes later, with a jar filled with water, the
bread and meat had disappeared; but instead of the pale, immovable, and
cadaverous being, he found seated on the floor a young man with flashing
eyes, a faint blush on his cheeks, and a gentle smile on his lips.

"You have saved me," he said, extending his hand toward his returning
comrade. "I should have died of hunger and exhaustion, if you had not
relieved me so mercifully."

"Comrade," said the officer, smiling, "you have just repeated the same
words which I addressed two hours ago to another comrade whom I met on
the retreat; or, to speak more correctly, who found me lying in the
ditch. The lucky fellow had got a horse; he offered me a seat behind
him. But I saw that the animal was too weak to carry both of us; hence I
did not accept his offer, but I took the refreshments which he gave to
me, and with which he not only saved my life, but yours too. You are,
therefore, under no obligations to me, but to him alone."

"You are as kind as you are generous," said the other, gently,
involuntarily raising his hand toward his forehead.

"And I see that you are in pain," exclaimed the officer, "and that the
wound in your head is burning. Mine has been dressed already, and my
shattered arm bandaged--for I received both wounds yesterday in the
early part of the battle, and the surgeon attended to them while the
bullets were hissing around us."

"I was wounded only when every thing was lost," sighed the other. "A
member of the accursed imperial guard struck me down."

"I hope you gave him a receipt in full for your wounds?" asked the
officer, while tenderly washing the wound with the water he had brought
along in the broken jar.

The other officer looked up to him with flashing eyes.

"I gave him a receipt which he has already shown to God Himself," he
said, "provided there is a God for these accursed French. My sword cleft
his skull, but I fell together with him."

"Your wound here in the forehead is of no consequence," said the
officer; "the stroke only cut the skin. Let us put this moistened
handkerchief on it."

"Oh, now I am better," said the other; "now that the wound burns less
painfully, I feel that life is circulating again through all my veins."

"And what about your arm?"

"A lancer pierced it. I hope he was kind enough not to touch the bone,
so that the arm need not be amputated. It is true, it pains severely;
but, you see, I can move it a little, which proves that it is not
shattered. Now, comrade, do me still another favor--assist me in
rising."

"Here, lean firmly on me. There! I will lift you up--now you are on your
legs again. Lean on me still, for you might become dizzy."

"No, I shall not. I feel again well and strong enough to take the burden
of life on my shoulders. Thank God! I am able to stand again. For,
however crushed and trampled under foot we may be, we will submit to our
fate manfully, and stand erect. The conqueror and tyrant shall not
succeed in bending our heads, although he has broken our hearts. Ah,
comrade, that was a terrible day when all Prussia sank in ruins!"

"You were in the thickest of the fray? The regiment of the queen's
dragoons fought at Auerstadt, I believe?"

"Yes, it fought at Auerstadt, or rather it did the same as all the other
regiments--it deserted. Only a few squadrons complied with the urgent
exhortations of the king, who led us against the squares of the enemy
near Hassenhausen. His own horse was shot; we officers stood our ground,
but the dragoons ran away.[Historical] Ah, I wept with rage, and if my
tears could have been transformed into bullets, they would not have been
directed against the enemy, but against our own cowardly dragoons. The
battle would have been won if our soldiers had not disgracefully taken
to their heels. All shouts, orders, supplications, were in vain; the
soldiers were running, although no enemy pursued them; the panic had
rendered them perfectly crazy."

"And do you really believe, comrade, that we owe the loss of the battle
exclusively to the cowardice of the soldiers?" asked the officer. "Did
our generals do their duty? Ah, you look gloomy, and do not reply. Then
you agree with me? Let us, however, speak of all these things afterward,
but first of ourselves."

"Yes, first of ourselves!" exclaimed the other, starting from his gloomy
reflections. "Count Pueckler, you were kind enough to tell me your name,
when you relieved an unknown sufferer in so humane a manner, and thereby
saved his life. Now permit me to tell you my name, too, so that you may
know at least who will always revere your memory with affection and
gratitude. I am Second-Lieutenant Ferdinand von Schill. You see, it is a
very humble name; still I had solemnly vowed that it should not be
unknown in the battles that were to be fought."

"And I see it written on your brow, comrade, that you will at some
future time make up for what fate has now prevented you from
accomplishing," said Count Pueckler, kindly offering his hand to
Lieutenant von Schill. "Yet now let us not think of the future, but of
the present. We are disabled, and will be helpless as soon as the
wound-fever sets in; and we may be sure that that will be to-night. We
must, therefore, find a place of refuge; for, if we remain here, without
assistance, and without food, we shall surely be lost."

"You are right; we must leave this house," said Schill; "we must try to
reach a city or village. Come, let us go. You are armed, and I have got
a sabre, too. Let us go, but previously let us swear that we will not
surrender to the French, but rather die, even should it be necessary to
commit suicide! You have a knife, and when you cut some bread for me, I
saw that it was very sharp. Will you give it to me?"

"What for?"

"I want to stab myself, as soon as I see that I cannot escape from the
enemy!"

"And I? What is to become of me?"

"Before killing myself, I will stab you with my sabre. Will that content
you?"

"It will. Be careful, however, to hit my heart; do not merely wound, but
kill me."

"Ah, I see that we understand each other, and that the same heart is
pulsating in our breast!" exclaimed Schill, joyfully. "Let us die,
rather than be captured by the enemy and depend on the mercy of the
Corsican tyrant! Now, comrade, let us go! For you are right; the
wound-fever will set in toward evening, and without assistance we shall
be lost."

"Come," said Pueckler, "place your uninjured arm in mine. It seems fate
has destined us for each other, for it has ruined your right arm and my
left arm; thus we can walk at least side by side, mutually supporting
ourselves. I shall be your right hand, and you will lend me your left
arm when I have to embrace anybody. But, it is true, no one will now
care for our embrace; every one will mock and deride us, and try to read
in the bloody handwriting on our foreheads: 'He is also one of the
vanquished Prussians!'"

"Comrade, did you not tell me a little while ago, that it would be
better for us to attend to our own affairs, before talking about other
matters?"

"It is true; let us go!"

And, leaning on each other, the two officers left the house.