CHAPTER VIII
Thenext morning, before nine o’clock, a messenger came from the Empress Queen to St. Arnaud, commanding his immediate presence at the imperial palace.
St. Arnaud reappeared at dusk in the evening. Gavin was sitting by the window, listening with amusement to the stories Lady Hamilton was telling, in her soft, pleasant voice, to the two little girls, Freda and Gretchen.
“Make ready,” said St. Arnaud to Gavin as he came in, “to start for Breslau with me to-morrow, at midnight, with a flag of truce to the King of Prussia. I was sent for by the Empress Queen for that purpose. All is settled. I was allowed to choose a brother officer to accompany me, and I chose you.”
“A thousand, thousand thanks,” cried Gavin, who realized the advantages of being sent upon such an expedition.
“I warn you, though,” continued St. Arnaud,warming himself by the fire, as the little girls lighted the candles and Lady Hamilton and Gavin hung breathless upon his words, “our mission will fail. The King of Prussia has never been celebrated for his kindness to the unfortunate, whether prisoners, whom he generally browbeats, no matter how humble or how exalted their station, or officers of his own who do not prove always equal to victory. The Prince of Severn, who was taken prisoner while reconnoitring near Breslau last October, wishes a letter conveyed to the King of Prussia, in winter quarters at Breslau. The Prince, you must know, being an ally of Frederick’s, fully expected steps to be taken at once to secure his release on parole. But so far the King of Prussia has not written him a line, or shown the slightest interest in the fate of one of his best friends and generals. The poor Prince, tired with waiting, declares there must be some misapprehension on the King’s part, and solicited the Empress Queen to allow him to send a letter to the King at Breslau. She at once agreed, for she is as kind to prisoners and considerate of their feelings as Frederick is to the contrary. She, therefore, from the goodness of her heart, consented to transmit the letter, but, as it often is, thereis sound political wisdom as well as generosity in her action; because, if Frederick wishes to befriend his ally, the Prince can be exchanged for a large number of Austrian prisoners, and if his neglect is intentional, it will place Maria Theresa’s conduct in shining contrast to her great enemy’s. The Emperor and Prince Kaunitz saw this when they agreed to her generous proposal. The Prince intimated a wish that I might be the officer sent—I was able to show him a trifling kindness once some years ago—and the Empress Queen assented with the utmost alacrity. Great and magnanimous as she is, she is woman enough to be willing to let the King of Prussia see us, his two prisoners, free and in good case. All arrangements are made. I have letters and money and horses, and we start on the stroke of midnight to-morrow. We shall probably be gone two weeks, but if we are caught by the spring floods, we shall be detained until they subside, for the Empress Queen and the King of Prussia between them have scarcely left a bridge standing in Silesia.”
Gavin was overjoyed at the prospect of an expedition of so much interest; and his mother showed her sympathy with him by at once beginning to talk over preparations. Gavin ran downstairsto Madame Ziska, who was just arranging the lamp and fire, and placing Kalenga with a book for the evening, before going to the opera.
“I am charmed,” she cried, “although we shall be lonely without you and Captain St. Arnaud. But you will have so much to tell us when you get back! We shall be glad to take care of Lady Hamilton while you are away. Luckily, I do not dance to-morrow night, so we can spend the evening together.”
The Empress Queen, with her usual liberality, which sometimes exceeded her means, having provided them with a considerable sum of money, next day they made comfortable arrangements for the journey. Prince Kaunitz offered them a small but excellent travelling chaise, which, being brought to the house, Lady Hamilton and Madame Ziska proceeded to stock with comforts not likely to be found on the road. By eight o’clock their preparations were complete, and they sat down to a merry supper in Madame Ziska’s apartment.
“I shall miss you both more than I can say,” said Lady Hamilton, “and I shall not go to the palace or accept any invitations until you return. But that I will not mind. I shall amuse myself,if Madame Ziska will permit, by teaching Freda and Gretchen English, and so the weeks will pass more quickly.”
“I shall be only too grateful,” quickly replied Madame Ziska, who saw the advantage of her two young daughters having the training of a woman so highly educated and well bred as Lady Hamilton.
“And pray,” she continued, laughing, as they drew up to the table, “to make my most respectful compliments to the King of Prussia, and to tell him that his snuff-box was treated with the highest respect wherever I showed it, and often got me accommodations at inns and post-houses when it would have been otherwise impossible. Likewise say to him, that I think my dancing has improved—the Emperor has been pleased to say that the ballerina of the Queen of the Naiads is the best thing yet done at the opera.”
St. Arnaud and Gavin faithfully promised all.
The evening sped rapidly away, all, even Kalenga, being in the highest spirits. When the clock struck twelve, and the chaise was at the door, Kalenga, raising himself in his wheeled chair, proposed the health of the two departing ones, which was drank with enthusiasm. Then followedaffectionate farewells, Gavin running back from the door for a last embrace from his mother, and soon they were clattering off over the frozen roadway toward the gates of the city.
As soon as they had passed the gates, and got into the open country beyond, St. Arnaud, who was an experienced traveller, settled himself to sleep; but Gavin, who had never made a journey in a chaise before, was too excited to sleep. He compared his lot then—an officer with a recognized position as a gentleman, regular, though small pay, his mother with him, her position recognized, a powerful friend in St. Arnaud, and other true friends in Madame Ziska and her husband, the protection of a great and generous sovereign like Maria Theresa—and the contemplation of these things caused a wave of reverential gratitude to overwhelm his soul. A year before he had been a private soldier, with all the hardships of a private soldier’s lot in those times. He had been ragged and cold and hungry; his fellow-soldiers, brave, honest fellows though they might be, were rude and ignorant men, of coarse manners, and rarely could any of them read or write. He recalled that he had not been really unhappy during the time that he had trudged along, carrying amusket—in fact, it gave him something like a shock to remember that he had begun to like the life, and felt less and less the ambition to rise to something better. Perhaps he would have risen in any event, but, surely, the finding himself alone with St. Arnaud in a freezing desert after Rosbach was the most fortunate circumstance of his whole life. These thoughts crowded upon his mind, but after a while the steady motion of the chaise made him drowsy, and he slept.
Seven days were they on the journey, although they travelled as fast as the state of the country would permit, and at noon on the seventh day they came within sight of the towers and steeples of Breslau, and met the Prussian outposts.
St. Arnaud, tying his white handkerchief to the point of his sword, got out of the chaise, as did Gavin, and advanced toward the Prussian sentinel. The officer of the guard was at once sent for, and after a very short delay they were blindfolded and driven inside the walls and fortifications.
It was a tedious drive to the quarters courteously provided for them, and both St. Arnaud and Gavin suspected that they were being driven in a roundabout manner, to confuse their sense of locality.Arrived at their quarters, the Prussian officer, Lieutenant Bohlen, led them, into a room, and exacting the usual promises from them that they would not leave the house without permission and an escort, removed the handkerchiefs from their eyes. He then left, to report their arrival at headquarters, after ordering dinner to be sent them. The dinner was very good, and they were still at it when Lieutenant Bohlen returned.
“The King will see you to-night after he has supped, and meanwhile desires that you be made comfortable.”
Gavin spent a good part of the afternoon making a toilet for the King of Prussia. He bathed and shaved, and put on clean linen from top to toe, and his handsome white uniform and varnished boots.
“And I think,” he complacently remarked to St. Arnaud, “the King will find me a different person from the great gaby he hauled out of the closet. Oh, I shall never forgive myself for not knocking him down—I could have done it so easily.”
St. Arnaud, too, had made an elaborate toilet, and as he surveyed himself and Gavin, he rather wounded Gavin’s self-love by saying:
“You and I are obliged to dress well. The King of Prussia is shabbier than any captain in his army—but—he is the King of Prussia, and he can afford to be shabby.”
About eight o’clock in the evening, another officer, Major Count von Armfeld, appeared, and politely introducing himself as aide-de-camp to his Majesty, requested them to go with him.
It was a beautiful moonlight night as the party emerged into one of the quaintest and oldest streets of Breslau. They were near a splendid bridge across the Oder, and the moon shone brightly on the placid bosom of the river. Everywhere were the signs of military occupation. Churches had been turned into barracks, public buildings into arsenals, and nearly every house had officers billeted in it.
After crossing the bridge, they entered a handsome street, at the end of which was a large and splendid mansion. A couple of sentinels were pacing before the door.
“That is where his Majesty lives,” said Von Armfeld. “It is called the King’s House. It has a garden to it, in which the King takes exercise.”
Von Armfeld giving the countersign, they enteredthe mansion, and ascended a handsome staircase. The house seemed to be buzzing like a beehive, all the rooms being lighted up, and officers at work in them. At the end of a long corridor was a small door, before which they stopped. Von Armfeld gave four peculiar raps on the door; a voice said, “Come”—and St. Arnaud and Gavin found themselves in the presence of the great Frederick. He was sitting by the fire and was wrapped in an old military cape. His face was cadaverous, his eyes sunken, and his whole appearance so changed by ill health, that St. Arnaud and Gavin would have had difficulty in recognizing him. But if they found recognition of the King difficult, the King found recognition of them impossible. He looked at them as if he had never seen them before, and motioning them to sit, consulted a little memorandum before him.
“Captain St. Arnaud of Major-General Loudon’s corps and companion, Sublieutenant Hamilton. I knew General Loudon. I might have had his services when he returned from Russia, but I frankly admit I saw not the man of genius under his unpromising exterior. At the blockade of Prague, his patent as Major-General, sent him by the Empress Queen, fell into the hands of some ofmy hussars. I had it returned to him, and was pleased to serve so gallant an officer.”
St. Arnaud bowed at these praises of his commander, and after a pause Frederick said negligently:
“Have you the Prince of Bevern’s letter?”
St. Arnaud rose, and taking the Prince of Bevern’s letter from his breast, handed it to Frederick, with another bow. It was a long letter, and both St. Arnaud and Gavin watched the King closely as he read. He had a speaking face, and as he read page after page of the letter his countenance grew more sinister. St. Arnaud gave Gavin a slight glance, which said plainly: “The Prince will get no help.”
After reading it over carefully, Frederick laid it down, and began to speak on the topic, apparently, the farthest off, in more ways than one, from Bevern’s letter that could be imagined.
“Did you ever study astronomy, Captain St. Arnaud?”
“Considerably, your Majesty. When I was at the College of St. Omer’s in France—for I had some education before I joined the army—I was much interested in it, and spent many nights at the telescope.”
“I confess, I knew very little about the science. There is a garden communicating with the one we have here, and in it is an observatory with a fine telescope. I have been troubled with sleeplessness this winter, and I have spent many hours, in consequence, studying the planets. I have found it singularly soothing. Nothing so reconciles one to the chances and changes of this life as looking through a telescope. There one sees the infinite smallness of triumphs; the utter nothingness of misfortunes.”
“True, your Majesty,” replied St. Arnaud, as composedly as if he had come all the way from Vienna to discuss astronomy. “Of course, the uppermost thought in every mind is whether those infinite worlds are inhabited or not.”
“It is a thought too staggering to pursue very far. The first conception of space is noble and exhilarating beyond expression. But I believe that the strongest mind, fixed perpetually on the vast possibilities of the solar system, would become unbalanced. Astronomers do not become so, because they pursue the science with exactness, and do not let imagination into the matter at all. But for persons like you and me, who look at the myriads of worlds with the eye of speculation,it soon ceases to be exhilarating; it becomes overwhelming, and I, for one, dare not dwell too long upon it. The night is clear. Will you go with me to the observatory?”
“Certainly,” replied St. Arnaud, without showing the faintest surprise.
Frederick rose, and as he did so he fell into a violent paroxysm of coughing. When it was over he sank into his seat, too overcome with weakness to stand. Annoyance was pictured on his face at this exhibition of illness before the officers of the Empress Queen, and also a spirit of iron determination. His soul was ever stronger than his body, and in this case he triumphed over illness and exhaustion. After a few moments he rose, and going toward the door, St. Arnaud respectfully opened it, and he passed out. He held his hat in his hand, but had omitted to take his cloak, which hung over the back of his chair. St. Arnaud had not noticed the omission, but Gavin had, and picking the cloak up, he ran after the King, saying, “Your Majesty would do well to take this; the night air is sharp.”
Frederick, with the ghost of a smile, proceeded to wrap himself up in the cloak, and then said: “You may come also.”
Nothing loath, Gavin followed. Crossing a large garden, they ascended the stairs of a moderately tall observatory. The effort made Frederick gasp and tremble, but his step never faltered as he climbed up. Reaching the top, he struck his flint and steel, and with St. Arnaud’s assistance he lighted a large lamp, saying, “That is visible from every part of the house, and signifies I am in the observatory, and I am not to be disturbed.”
The telescope was soon arranged, and the King and St. Arnaud were deep in astronomical surveys and discussions. St. Arnaud was singularly well versed in astronomy, and Frederick seemed to be fascinated by his intelligent conversation. Gavin, a mute listener, sat near by, and longed unspeakably for a glimpse through the telescope.
An hour passed, and at the end of that time, while St. Arnaud was giving his views in his clear and musical voice on certain aspects of the planet Saturn, Frederick’s head sunk back in his chair, his head rested against the wall, and he slept peacefully.
Neither St. Arnaud nor Gavin could restrain a feeling of pity for him then. His face, thin and drawn, was a picture of sadness. He looked notonly ill, but frightfully worn, and his sleep was the sleep of exhaustion.
St. Arnaud raised his hand as a sign to Gavin to keep perfectly still. He remembered the King’s remark, that he had not slept well of late, and thought this sudden drowsiness probably a blessed relief. So, indeed, it was. Gradually, as he slept more soundly, his face lost its look of pain. Soon it was plain there was no danger of his awaking. It grew chill in the room, and Gavin, softly taking off his own cloak, laid it over Frederick’s knees. The warmth appeared to soothe him still more; he sighed profoundly, settled himself more comfortably in his chair, and slept like a child.
Hours passed. No one came to disturb them, for the light shining through the window was a warning that no one must enter. The town grew still as the night advanced, and in the deep silence nothing was heard but the faint tramp of sentries and the quiet flow of the river. But after midnight this changed. The wind rose, clouds of inky blackness scurried across the face of the moon, and presently it began to rain furiously. The heavy drops battered down like thunder upon the roof of the observatory, but no sound awakened Frederick, who slumbered peacefully on.
Not so Gavin and St. Arnaud, both of whom sat up, wide-awake. There was so little chance of awaking the King that they conversed together in whispers.
“What did you see through the telescope?” asked Gavin.
“That the King has no mind to help the Prince of Bevern. I saw it as plainly as I saw the moon.”
“It is strange he did not recognize us.”
At which St. Arnaud made a gesture which indicated that Frederick knew them quite as well as they knew him, but for reasons known only to himself did not choose to admit it.
About two o’clock the storm increased in severity. The sound of the rushing river was distinctly heard over the wild swirl of wind and rain. Presently there was a roar of waters, and looking out of the window into the garden, forty feet below, they saw it was flooded several feet. A culvert had given way, and the swollen river poured itself into the garden.
In the house lights were moving about. The King’s household had determined, in spite of his rigid prohibition, to come to the observatory after him. But it was a question how they could getthere, as the water was already four feet deep and rising rapidly.
Just at this moment Frederick stirred in his sleep and waked. Like a true soldier, he had his memory and all his wits about him the instant he opened his eyes. He rose at once, and hearing the noise of the storm, said:
“I must have slept many hours—more than I have slept in a week. I feel much better for it.”
“Look, your Majesty,” said St. Arnaud, opening the window.
Frederick looked out, and as he looked he laughed. The running about in the house was plainly visible by the moving and flashing lights.
“They are all in a panic over there. I suppose they will be sending after me in a boat. It will take time to find me.”
“Pardon me, sire,” said Gavin. “If your Majesty will trust yourself on my back, I can get you over safely. The water is not yet up to my waist, and the distance is short.”
“Yes,” cried Frederick, laughing again. “While my staff are racing about like frightened chickens in a barnyard I will walk in on them.” He stooped and picked up Gavin’s cloak, which lay on the floor.
“I remember your laying this over my knees, although you thought I was sleeping too soundly to know anything; but come, the water rises every moment.”
He went rapidly down the stairs, followed closely by Gavin and St. Arnaud. Gavin stepped boldly into the flood, which was up to his waist, and cried to the King:
“Your Majesty must make yourself very small, for my honour is engaged to get you across without wetting you. And you must also wear my cloak over your own.”
Frederick sprang up on Gavin’s back with great agility, drawing his heels up under Gavin’s arms. St. Arnaud covered him up well with the two cloaks, and Gavin stepped lightly forward into the flood. His young strength enabled him to withstand the flow of the waters with considerable steadiness, and it was plain he could get the King over without difficulty. About midway, however, he came to a dead stop.
“Your Majesty,” he asked, “do you remember us, and that night at the country house in Silesia, and Madame Ziska?”
“Certainly I do,” coolly responded Frederick, “and had you not lost your senses, it would havebeen by no means impossible for you to have made your escape by a rush, when I broke the door in.”
“So I have often thought, your Majesty, if only I had had the wit to knock your Majesty down. We declined to accept your parole, but you see we got away from Glatz just the same.”
“I know it. That ridiculous old Kollnitz and his ‘system.’ But I have a better man there than Kollnitz. You could not do it so easily now.”
“Sire, the Empress Queen gave me a sword for that escape, and both of us got promotion.”
“Very naturally. Women are always taken with those showy things, which count, however, for little in the long run. Your Empress Queen is like the rest of her sex.”
“Sire, I do not know if you mean that disrespectfully or not, but if you say one disparaging word about my sovereign I will drop you into the water if I am shot for it to-morrow morning.”
“Then I shall certainly speak of the Empress Queen with the highest respect, and feel it, too, until I am safe on dry land. Oh, the devil! Go on!”
GAVIN CARRIES THE KING ACROSS THE FLOODED GARDEN
GAVIN CARRIES THE KING ACROSS THE FLOODED GARDEN
“With pleasure, sire, since you have so handsomely respected my wishes,” replied Gavin, and a few more strides brought him to the house.The steps were submerged, but a window on the ground floor was yet a few inches above the water. A general in epaulets and a cook with a paper cap on his head heard the sound as the King rapped loudly on the panes. The window was raised by them, and with their help Frederick stepped inside. When he threw off his outer cloak he was as dry as a bone. Gavin, who had climbed in after him, was like a river god, water streaming from every part of him. Frederick, who disliked to be questioned, said to the officer:
“Take this gentleman and provide him with dry clothes. He is Lieutenant Gavin Hamilton of the Imperialist army, as you know. His companion, Captain St. Arnaud, is still at the observatory. Let a boat be sent for Captain St. Arnaud as soon as possible.”
While Frederick was speaking, he had turned to a table near by, and was writing a few words rapidly. He handed the sheet of paper to Gavin. On it was scrawled in the King’s peculiar handwriting: “On the night of the first of March, 1758, Lieutenant Gavin Hamilton brought me on his back through my flooded garden at Breslau, with the water four feet deep. Midway he stopped and we conversed. The name of the EmpressQueen being mentioned, Lieutenant Hamilton told me if I should speak disrespectfully of her Majesty he would drop me in the water if he were shot next morning for it. I had no thought of speaking disrespectfully of her Majesty, but if I had done so, I have no doubt Lieutenant Hamilton would have instantly carried out his threat. Frédéric.”
Gavin’s mouth came open in a tremendous grin as he read this, the more so when Frederick good-humouredly added:
“That ought to be good for one step in promotion at least.”