"'Princess of Princesses, if you had a handful of gold, what wish would you grant yourself?'
"'I should make happy the poor of Berlin,' answered the birthday child.
"'How large, then, must the handful be, Princess of Princesses?' asked the King with a smile.
"'As big as the heart of the best king in the world,' answered our Crown Princess, her eyes dancing.
"And now we hear that because of this clever answer Berlin is to have a fine new charity.
"Ludwig says it would be much better if our King paid his debts, but I like our King, and so do the people."
Marianne skipped a little.
"Our Crown Prince has gone to Poland. We hear much of a brave man called Kosciusko, but Prussia rejoices that at last we have defeated him.
"To-day seventy-two guns sounding from the palace informed us that our dear Crown Princess has a son. We are glad, indeed, for she lost her first little daughter, who never lived a day.
"For godparents our new Prince has the Queen, the widow of Frederick the Great, the Prince and Princess Henry, Prince and Princess Ferdinand, and the Crown Princess' father. His name is Frederick William, for the King, who held him during the ceremony, when the same clergyman who baptised his father gave him his name.
"Our Crown Princess is more beloved than ever and now all Berlin rejoices over her son.
"As for me, Ludwig will have it that we marry in a year. I will then be sixteen and two years older than mother was when she was a bride. There is much to do. I must fill my wedding chest with linen and all things for my house."
"Our Crown Prince has bought a country home at Paretz. He and our Crown Princess long for a simple life. We hear much talk of what happens there, how they ramble in the woods, seek wild flowers, have supper under the trees and spend their days very happily.
"Our Crown Princess calls herself 'Gnädige Frau von Paretz (the Gracious Lady of Paretz), and takes part in all the village festivities. One evening all the villagers came in costume and announced that they would have a dance on the green. Our Crown Princess led the whole Court to take part. The village fiddler played, the peasants danced, and all was as merry as possible.
"But suddenly the Crown Princess had an idea.
"She ordered the castle thrown open, the Court musicians summoned, and all went in to dance on the fine polished floors.
"When Monsieur de Paillot heard this he shook his head.
"'Marie Antoinette played at being dairymaid, n'est-ce-pas?' and he looked as if we intended to turn revolutionists and cut off the head of our dear Crown Princess just for pleasure.
"Old General Röckeritz, the friend of the Crown Prince, is much at Paretz, and Berlin tells a story of him also.
"He had a way of leaving the table the moment the meal was at an end.
"No one could imagine what he did with himself, and it worried the Gnädige Frau von Paretz to have him leave her.
"'Let him alone,' said her husband, 'he is old and wants his comfort.'
"But our Crown Princess was not satisfied.
"Next day at the end of dinner she appeared with a tray on which were cigars and a lighted taper. The whole company gazed at her in surprise, the general, as usual, trying to escape.
"With a smile the Crown Princess detained him, presenting her tray.
"'No, no, dear Röckeritz,' she said, 'do not go away. To-day you must have your dessert with us.'
"The old general was enchanted. Now he need not sit alone to enjoy his cigar."
Marianne, pausing, began to turn over pages.
"There is so much, children, I can't read it all. Besides, it is sad. The Princess Frederika loses her husband, the widow of Frederick the Great dies, and so does the King. Then the Queen has a second little son. His name is Frederick William Louis, but you know who he is, our Prince William. He was the tiniest little babe, it says here. But you must hear how good our Queen is. 'I am Queen,' she wrote to her grandmother, 'and what rejoices me most is that I need no longer economise in my charities.'
"The citizens of Berlin at once, when she became Queen, waited upon her," read Marianne. "The Queen made them welcome and said: 'It gives me great pleasure to know you. The good will of my Prussian subjects and of you will never be forgotten. It shall be my aim to hold that love, for the love of his subjects is the best crown of a King. With joy I embrace this opportunity to know my citizens better.'
"To Röckeritz the King said:
"'My blessed uncle, Frederick the Great, has said that a treasure is the basis and prop of the Prussian states. We have now nothing but debts. I shall be as economical as possible.'
"Then did he propose to continue, as King, to live upon the income he had made suffice as Crown Prince?
"'The debts of my father,' said he very earnestly, 'must be paid by industry, discipline and economy.'
"Ludwig," wrote Erna, "is much pleased with all this, but he hopes the King will not forget that France is not yet at the end of her troubles. There is talk of a young man named Napoleon Bonaparte, who is the hope now of France. They say he will right everything.
"There are many stories told about our new King and his hatred of ceremony. I will write them to amuse myself. My wedding will not be quite so soon. I am not well and it is best for me now not to work. I do not know what is my trouble, but I cough and do not sleep well at nights and all are very, very kind to me.
"Now for the stories of the King.
"Immediately after the death of the late King, the Chamberlain threw open both folding doors for the entrance of Frederick William. One had been enough for him when he was Crown Prince.
"'Am I,' he asked in his whimsical way, 'in a moment grown so much that one door will not do for me?'
"When the chef added two more dishes to the bill of fare, with a smile he remarked to his wife: 'It is easy to see that they believe that since yesterday I have received a larger stomach.'
"According to a custom established by Frederick the Great, two Lieutenant-Generals always stood at the Royal table, and, with the Court Marshal, waited until the King first should drink.
"When Frederick William saw them standing like posts at his board he waved his hand toward chairs, inviting them to be seated.
"'We cannot be seated, your Majesty,' they answered with great dignity.
"'Why not?'
"'Your Majesty must first drink.'
"'And what must I drink?' inquired William, smiling and gazing at the glasses.
"'It is not stated, your Majesty.'
"The King seized a glass of water and drank it standing.
"'Now sit,' cried he in relief, as if he thought it all foolishness.
"Soon after the Crown Princess became Queen she went with her husband on a journey through his realm. It was the first time that a King of Prussia had taken his Queen with him so far from Berlin, and Ludwig says the people were delighted.
"Baron von Sternberg comes in now and then to see mother, and he is always full of court gossip. At Stargard, in Pomerania, he says, the King reviewed the troops and then the Queen started towards Custrin. At one of the villages the people surrounded the royal carriage and begged our Queen to alight and have some refreshment they had prepared.
"At once she left the carriage and went right into their houses, seeing their children and talking with the villagers.
"They were delighted, the Baron said.
"At Dantzic there were great ceremonies, and the amber workers gave the Queen a most lovely necklace. We hear that she wore it all the time she was in that city. As the Queen loves the country, she made many excursions. One was to Karlsberg, and now they will always call the spot where she stood 'Louisa's Grove.'
"It would take too long to tell everything, how the Queen stayed a week in the old palace at Königsberg, and the people, to please her Majesty, who always loves to do good, gave a great dinner to the poor, and everywhere she stepped flowers were strewn before her. So in love with our Queen were the people of Königsberg, that a large body of citizens insisted on going with her to Warsaw. As they were going down a steep hill, because of the carelessness of the coachman, our Queen's carriage was overturned. The Countess von Voss, declaring him to be drunk, reproved him very sharply. But our Queen can never stand seeing people unhappy. She touched the Countess on the arm. 'Thank God, we are not hurt,' she said, 'let it pass over quietly, for the accident has frightened our people much more than it has us; let us not add to their troubles.'
"But how delighted Berlin is over the Queen's reception in Warsaw I cannot write. Ludwig has explained to me that the Poles do not love Prussia, who has conquered them, but they forgot all their hatred and received our King and Queen with cheers, flags, and much waving of handkerchiefs. And fifty Polish girls in white, with wreaths on their heads and baskets in their hands, walked before their Majesties, strewing flowers. And at a village sixteen Polish girls greeted her with a song. Everywhere there were processions. For myself, I should tire of so many, but the Baron says that our dear Queen loves gaiety and she loves her people and smiles are always on her face and kind greetings on her lips.
"As she talks she waves a little fan, fast if she is merry, slow if she is thoughtful or sad. Ludwig brought me one of the fans now the fashion in Berlin. They are small and all young ladies have them. There is a picture of the King and Queen on them, and 'Long live Frederick William and Louisa,' as an inscription.
"Mine is blue and the pictures have gold frames about them."
"But I must not forget the Queen's journey. At Breslau there was a great procession of market gardeners and butchers, and there came a young girl with a poem in her hand to welcome our Queen. But, alas, she could not speak for bashfulness. And what did our good Queen do but smile on her and hold out her Royal hand to encourage her?"
"And such presents as our Queen received!"
"There is now a new Princess. Her name is Charlotte, and the people of Breslau gave her all her clothes, most beautifully embroidered."
"As the Queen's carriage passed through the country it had to have fresh horses, and the villagers dressed up their manes with ribbons, put red nets over their ears and adorned their heads with flowers and gold and silver paper, this being the custom among the peasants, and it amused the Queen greatly."
"In June our Queen came home, and now we often see her in the Thiergarten, arm in arm with the King, walking quite simply like every-day people."
"Mother went last week to pay a visit to the Countess von Voss, and she told her something I shall write here.
"The first Queen of Prussia lived in the palace at Charlottenburg, and her portrait hangs there with many others. One is that of the wife of our Great Elector. Her name was Louisa, like our Queen, who feels a great love for her.
"'Her face,' she told the Countess, 'seems to greet me with a heavenly smile.' The Countess wrote it in the journal she keeps and writes in each morning. 'I look upon it until I feel that there must be a living bond of sympathy between us.'
"This Louisa, history tells us, had much trouble, and once with her children was forced to flee before an enemy. All that our Queen discussed with the Countess.
"'But oh!' she exclaimed—I can shut my eyes and picture her as she said it—'what must have been her happiness in finding that she could help and comfort her husband in the hours of his heavy trial!'
"But our Queen is not to flee before an enemy, for our King alone in Europe keeps the peace."
"But she did, Mariechen," interrupted Ilse.
"I met her in the snow," said Bettina, her blue eyes filling.
Marianne nodded.
"Our Aunt Erna could not know that," she said, and continued the reading.
"Our Queen has three children now, and all Berlin says what a good mother she is, very often in her nursery. Every morning she and the King go in and kiss each child, and as they grow old enough our King sends a basket of fruit to each one every morning. And now they begin to give parties for the Crown Prince."
"Yes, indeed," interrupted Marianne, "when we lived in Berlin the Royal children had many entertainments. Once the little daughter of the famous Madame de Staël was there. She is a writer, children, and she has written a fine book about us Germans. Her little girl is not so good as her books," laughed Marianne, "but very spoilt and very rude, and what do you think she did at the Royal party?"
The children shook their heads.
"She boxed the Crown Prince's ears."
"Oh!" Carl's eyes grew round in horror.
"Ja," said Marianne, "she did, and the Crown Prince ran to the Queen and buried his face in her dress, but nothing anyone could say would make little Mademoiselle de Staël apologise. But she was never asked again to even one of the masquerades, balls or plays. At Christmas they had always a tree and our dear Queen decorated and dressed it herself, and there were dances and jugglers, and once at Paretz they had a lottery for all the children. I was there with our father and when a child did not draw a prize, our Queen, with one of her lovely smiles, gave a present herself."
Then she returned to the journal.
"At Paretz, our Queen's country home, all ceremony is laid aside. The King will be called 'Schulze' (magistrate) and they join in all the sports and dances of the people who live there.
"But our Queen loves to be grand, also, and there was once in Berlin a fine masquerade in her honour, a play where girls represented cocoons, and at her approach untwisted themselves from their wrappings and danced out butterflies. And once there was a fine play representing the marriage of Queen Mary of England and Philip of Spain. Our Queen was Mary and many people think it a bad omen, for this Queen was so unhappy and lost Calais to the English. The Duke of Sussex was Philip. But there are people who do not love our Queen. Colonel York is one. He came yesterday to pay his respects to mother and he said horrid things, that our Queen's hands are too big and her feet not well made. Ludwig says this is because she has influence over the King and because she will have a well-behaved Court. Colonel York says she does not treat the military with proper respect.
"It is again May, and our Queen has gone on another journey. To-day we visited Peacock Island, where she lives so happily in the château built like a ruined Roman villa. I saw the very rooms of our Queen, and the menagerie, and heard from Ludwig and the Baron, who was with us, how happy our King is when he can throw off affairs of state and come 'home' to Peacock Island."
"Yes," interrupted Marianne, "we used to hear a great deal about Peacock Island when we lived in Berlin before this awful war. Once Bishop Eylert was sitting beneath the trees with our King and Queen and her Majesty inquired of a servant where the children were.
"'Playing in a meadow, Majesty,' said the attendant.
"Our Queen jumped up in the way she does and cried out that she would go to them and surprise them.
"Our King agreed, and they all three got into a boat and the King rowed them up the Havel, which, you know, makes the Island.
"Suddenly the boat appeared before the children. 'Where did you come from, papa?' cried our Crown Prince in surprise.
"'Through the reeds and rushes,' answered our King.
"'Amongst reeds is good whistle cutting,' said our Crown Prince quick as a flash.
"And then our King asked him what that proverb means, and he answered that it means that a wise man knows how to take advantage of circumstances. Then our King wanted to know if he were in the rushes, what whistle he would cut, and the Crown Prince said he wished they could all have tea together there on the meadow."
"And did they?" inquired Carl, who was very fond of picnics.
"Ja," answered Marianne, "and it was lovely, with our Queen helping them and laughing, and their father teasing and telling stories."
"I know a story, too," said Carl. "Mr. Jackson told me."
"Tell it," begged the twins. "Go on, Carlchen."
"Two Englishmen went to Peacock Island," said
Carl, puffing out his words in his eager importance. "They had no right to go and they went. An officer ran them away. But they met a lady and a gentleman. It was our King and Queen. They made them stay and they showed them everything, and the Englishmen did not know that it was our King and Queen. My story is best, ja, Mariechen; isn't it, Bettina?"
Marianne nodded.
"But now, let us read," she said.
"Peacock Island has also a palm house, and there are many peacocks and doves and pigeons, of which our Queen is so fond.
"Our Queen is so good to all children.
"'The children's world is my world,' she says, and she is always being kind to some child, and when she and the King drive out she will salute the people with smiles long after he is tired and stops it.
"Often I think of what our poets have said of her. She is one of four sisters. One is our Princess Louisa; another, Theresa, is the Princess of Thurn and Taxis; and the third, Charlotte, is the Duchess of Sachsen-Hildburghausen. Our great poet, Jean Paul Richter, called them 'the four noble and beautiful sisters on the throne.' And famous Wieland said of our Louisa, 'Were I the King of Fate, she should be Queen of Europe.' And Goethe," Marianne rolled her voice and the twins giggled, "who was with the Duke of Weimar in camp and saw our Queen and her sister, Frederika, when, as princesses, they came to visit their betrothed with their grandmother, from his tent, wrote in his journal that they were visions of loveliness which should never fade from his memory. And she has set the Berlin young girls a fine example in dress. Ludwig is delighted. She wears very simple muslins, and, indeed, why should she waste her time over silks and brocades when white so suits her?"
Marianne here stopped in her reading.
"Go on, Mariechen," said Carl, the other three looking up in surprise.
"That is all, children. Our dear Aunt Erna died the month before she was to marry Cousin Ludwig. But there are stories I can tell you, which have happened since our dear Aunt Erna died.
"Once on a journey she arrived at the place where they were to eat, a long time before her husband. They entreated her to eat, as the meal was ready, but, 'No, I will not eat until my husband comes,' she said. 'It is the duty of every wife to wait for her husband.'
"And once, children, our dear Queen, when she was gay and happy, and not sad as now, came to Memel on a visit, and the Czar was here and they had oh! such feasts. Uncle Joachim has told me about it, and when the next baby came she was called Alexandrina, because of her mother and father's great friendship for Alexander. Uncle told me another story. Once the treasurer told our Queen that she gave too much money to the poor, and said that he must speak to the King.
"'Do so,' said our Queen; 'he will not be angry.' And she was right, for when she opened her writing case she found her purse full of gold, and the King laughed and told her that a fairy had placed it there.
"And once, when the Countess von Voss was angry with a poor woman for making a mistake and sitting in the Royal pew, our dear Queen sent for her and told her how sorry she was. Oh, children, I could talk all night of her, she is so good and so kind to everybody. Once she made a grand lord wait until she could talk with a poor shoemaker who had come first, because, she said, the shoemaker's time was valuable and the lord's was not.
"Once our King came to breakfast with our Queen and saw a new cap lying on the table.
"'What does that cost?' he asked the Queen.
"'It is not good for men to ask the cost of ladies' things,' answered the Queen, with a laugh.
"'But I should like to know,' insisted the King.
"'Only four thalers.'
"'Only! For that thing?'
"Then the King ran to the window and called in an old invalid soldier who was taking his air.
"'The lady who sits on that sofa has much gold,' he said, and pointed to our Queen. 'What do you think, old comrade, she gave for that thing on the table?'
"'Perhaps, sire, a groschen.'
"'You hear that?' asked our King. 'She has paid four thalers. Now, go ask her to give you twice as much!'
"With a smile the Queen paid the money, and then said: 'Now, see that gentleman who stands by the window? He has four times as much gold as I have. All that I have he gives me, and it is much. Go to him, then, and ask for double eight thalers.' So, you see, children," laughed Marianne, "our King got the worst of it.
"I could tell you many other stories, but it is bedtime. I have let you sit up late, very late, and I can only tell one more, and then to bed. Franz, Wolfgang, and I were once in the Christmas Markt. We were choosing our gifts, when the crowd moved back for a gentleman with a lady on his arm. It was our King and Queen, and they came straight to one booth where a poor woman was buying her gifts. At once she tried to get out of the way. But our Queen stopped her with a smile. 'Remain, my good woman,' she cried; 'what shall this merchant say if we drive away his customers?' Then she asked the poor woman all about her family, and when she heard that she had a boy just the age of the Crown Prince she bought a lovely toy for her boy to send to the poor one. Now, wasn't that good in her? And is it not fine that she is here in Memel and we can know her? As for Napoleon, he is wicked to cause her such trouble."
"I hate him," said little Carl, his cheeks puffing and his face becoming quite red.
"Yes, yes," cried the twins; "we hate him."
But Bettina looked eagerly at Marianne.
"Gracious, Fräulein," she said, "when will Frederick Barbarossa awake? I am always telling the ravens."
Before Marianne could reply Carl jumped from his seat, the twins started up in fright.
A sharp knock had sounded on the window.
"What is it, sister?" And the twins ran to Marianne.
At that moment the Professor came in at the door.
"Nonsense," he said; "who could be at our window?"
But the children insisted.
"We heard it, father," they said.
The Professor, crossing the room, opened the sash, the children following.
On the window lay a piece of folded paper.
His face full of amazement, the Professor brought it to the candles.
The writing was in German, and the letters like those of a person who wrote very seldom.
"Your son, the Herr Lieutenant, has escaped and is in hiding. Put money and food on the window to-night and it will be fetched to him. It is not safe to say more."One You Know."
"Your son, the Herr Lieutenant, has escaped and is in hiding. Put money and food on the window to-night and it will be fetched to him. It is not safe to say more.
"One You Know."
"One you know," repeated the Professor. Then his eyes scanned the writing and he shook his head.
"Grandfather writes that way," said Bettina, her eyes all afire.
Before anyone could stop her Elsa cried out in surprise:
"Why, Bettina," she said, "your grandfather can't write. A soldier brought news to the King that he is dead."
When Hans left Memel he went at once to the house where he had stayed the night with Bettina. The woman who had cleaned the dress was standing in the doorway.
"It's a cold day," she said in French to a man who had paused with a bundle to ask her a question.
Hans started.
"Ach Himmel," he said, for the look of her face, the way she pronounced her words told the old man that she was no Prussian.
He turned in at the next house and begged a lodging.
The woman took him very willingly.
"Money is scarce," she said, "and my man will be glad to have me help a little."
She was a large, honest-faced woman, not clever looking, but one Hans felt safe to talk with.
Ja, ja, her neighbour was French. She and her husband had come there a month after Jena. He pretended to be a peddler who was prevented from travel by the war.
"We do not believe a word of it," said the woman, lowering her voice. "Too many strangers come there who do not speak honest German. My man," she shrugged her shoulders, "has his own opinion of what they are here for."
Hans looked at her inquiringly and waited.
"It's Napoleon," said the woman, and she brought Hans his black bread and cheese.
The old man reflected as he drank.
He remembered that a little fellow who looked foreign had sent him to the house that day when they had entered the village with the Queen's party. He knew that all along his way the French had been warned against a messenger bearing a secret letter about the Secretary Lombard, who was suspected of treachery and dealings with the French. There were other matters in the letter, matters the King should have knowledge of, but how to get possession of it again the old man had no idea.
"I shall watch here, however," he concluded. "I may find out things just as useful as the letter."
For three days nothing happened.
On the night of the fourth he could not sleep because of the rattling of his window.
Rising to stop it with paper he was astonished to see a long ray of light across the snow in the garden.
"Himmel," said Hans, "it comes from next door. It must be after midnight. She has visitors."
He threw on his clothes and crept to the garden.
Ja, he was right. The light came from the kitchen of the next house.
"I shall wait," said Hans, "and see what happens."
It was bitterly cold. The wind cut like a knife, the trees and bushes cracked their icy dress; but Hans had a fur cap, and he drew it well over his ears.
He had been in the cold for a half hour when a sound made him start.
It was the creaking of the kitchen door of the next house. The light vanished, and with careful steps a dark figure moved across the snow.
Hans nodded.
"You go, I follow," he thought.
He was a spy himself. The man in the snow, he knew, was another.
The man left the garden. Hans left his.
On he went through the snow, Hans always a good pace behind him, stopping if he stopped, running if he ran, and, two men moving as one, they came to the open country.
Pausing, the man gave a low call.
It was answered with cautious care.
Then a sleigh with high runners and a driver in a fur cap glided from the distant darkness. A figure, not the driver, leaned from the fur rugs.
"You have it?" was asked in French.
"Yes," said the man; "the woman told the truth. It is the one we are in search of."
The man in the sleigh uttered a sound as of congratulation.
"Lombard, you mean?"
"Yes, yes. The woman has had it three days. Here."
Something white was held in the air—his letter. Hans recognised it.
The man moved to spring into the sleigh, but a quick hand caught him, a foot tripped him up, and snow flew everywhere as two bodies rolled in the whiteness.
It was all over in a second.
Paper flew on the wind, torn fiercely in pieces, and then Hans found himself bound fast with handkerchiefs and woollen scarfs, flat in the bottom of the sleigh, four feet upon him.
What matter?
He had seized the letter in the scuffle and only the swift wind of the Baltic knew where were the pieces.
The Prussian King would never know if Lombard were guilty, but the French would not possess a drawing of certain frontier fortresses.
The Frenchmen were furious. They vowed Hans should be shot that night like a dog.
The driver brought them a piece or two of the letter, but one was half blank and the other was the address to His Majesty.
"Dantzic!" ordered the man, when the driver declared further search was useless.
Then off they dashed.
After some talk in low tones they changed their direction, but to what place they decided to go Hans could not discover.
One of the men addressed him in French.
"For safety's sake," he muttered to his neighbour.
Hans feigned ignorance.
"I do not understand, monsieur," he said stupidly, in German.
With relief the two raised their voices and talked steadily as they flew over the snow.
Dantzic must fall. It grew daily weaker.
"The Emperor," said one, "will wipe Prussia out of existence."
Then he told how it was believed that Napoleon meant to make a new kingdom.
"His brother, Jerome, has nothing yet," he said, and he laughed at the Prussians and called them pigs and cowards, and made jokes about the generals, and said things that Napoleon had invented about the Queen.
It was hard for Hans to lie still and say nothing, but the first thing in life is to know when to hold one's tongue, and Hans knew it was useful to listen.
Early in the morning they came to a town, through whose gate they entered. The sleigh drew up before a great building. A French soldier came quickly to greet the travellers, one of whom sprang out and entered the house with him.
"Coffee," ordered the other. "We are freezing."
In a few moments several soldiers appeared. They ordered Hans from the sleigh; handcuffs were locked on his wrists, and he was marched away, the second traveller and driver following.
Hans asked the soldier near him in what town he was.
The man laughed mockingly.
"Where you are," said he in bad German, "is none of your business, old man. What you are, you and I know."
He thrust out his under lip and shrugged his shoulders.
"Old man, what you are I can tell you—a spy of the King of Prussia and a prisoner of the Emperor Napoleon!"
Then he held up his hands to imitate a gun, and half closing his eye pretended to take aim at the prisoner.
"To-morrow? Next day? Who knows?" and he led Hans to a cold bare room, when, locking the door, he left him.
"What matter?" muttered Hans. "I am old, and the French will never read the letter."
Very likely he would be shot, and soon. In Magdeburg they had shot down Prussians by dozens. The day he had stopped at the farmhouse he had heard how they had chained a father and son together, marched them through the town and shot them.
"It is war," said Hans; "I took my chances. The good Mademoiselle Clara will take good care of my Bettina."
The next day came, and the next; a week passed and nothing happened.
The truth was, the victory at Eylau was uncertain. Napoleon was checked and all things were waiting. There was hope of peace, and an order came to march all prisoners to another city.
It was the good God, Hans believed, who directed his eye to a field as he was marched to his new prison, a castle the French then were using. The field itself was white and crusted with snow, but Hans' eye noted a large spot where the whiteness had been melted and then had frozen, as if water had flowed upon it. It was near spring now and there were thaws, then more snow, and then fresh melting and freezing.
The spot Hans noticed had nothing to do with this. It was as if a large stream of water had a habit of pouring out there. Yes, he was right, for he saw that the snow was broken and frozen towards a ditch on the boundary of the field.
"It must be a sewer," said Hans, and thought no more about it.
Life in the castle was easy and pleasant. The place was so strong there was no danger of escape, so the commander, being easy-going, permitted the prisoners much liberty, allowing them to walk about for air in the paved courtyard.
Hans enjoyed this, being used to the air and freedom of his Thuringian forest.
His room in the castle had a window, and that also made him happy. One day, gazing out, he discovered that the field he had noticed lay quite near the wall of his prison.
"Ach Himmel!" cried Hans, with a start. "It is the sewer pipe of this castle!"
A thought struck him. He was old, yes, and he had said he did not mind dying; but his heart beat wildly at the thought of escaping from certain death by shooting. Day after day he thought on the sewer. Where was the exit, he wondered, from the castle! He would find it, yes, if it were possible.
To get air he went to the courtyard. New prisoners had arrived in the night. They, too, were walking.
"Ach Himmel! God be praised!" cried Hans, for he came face to face with the Herr Lieutenant.
But what a change!
He was thin, gaunt, and pale, and his face and figure looked wretched and hopeless.
"Hans Lange!" he cried, and then there was much to talk of.
To his ear Hans confided the idea of the sewer, and hope at once began to change the expression of the prisoner.
After the great victory of Friedland there was a truce to discuss peace, so Hans still remained a prisoner; and one day he was ordered to work in the garden of the castle.
"Food is scarce, prisoners are many and idle. We may have some vegetables; why not?" asked the commandant.
"The good God again," thought Hans, for he had his own idea about that sewer. The garden must be drained. The pipe, certainly, must do the labour, and, the good God helping him, he might again see his Bettina.
And one day in the garden he came upon the iron lid of a manhole, overgrown with grass and very rusty.
"The sewer!" thought Hans, with joy. "It is big enough for a man to slip through."
He bent over. He pulled on the bars. Then he glanced up to see if he were observed. The eye of a sentinel seemed on him, so, seizing a weed, he pulled hard, tugged, and then rising with the thing in his hand, flung it aside. Satisfied, the sentinel showed no more curiosity.
Again and again he tried to loosen the lid, but no effort could move it; but though he went about his work, he returned now and then to his prize, and suddenly, while he was in a different part of the garden, an idea struck him. The bar on which the lid was swung was eaten with rust. Could he break it, the lid could be lifted at will.
He returned and examined closely. Yes, he was right; the rust was of ages. Lifting his spade, he pressed with all his might. God be praised! It was easier than he had thought. More pressure and it broke like wood. The other side was more difficult and it occupied days, but at last it was free.
"Now the Herr Lieutenant!" thought Hans in glee.
"The thing for me," cried Franz, his face alight with new hope, "is to feign illness, entreat for some labour and beg to be allowed to help in the garden."
Hans did not believe this would be possible.
"You, an officer!" he said, and shook his old head.
"I can try," said Franz, and presented himself before the proper person.
"Inaction is killing me," he announced. And, indeed, he looked most dreadful, pale, bloodless, and a ghost of the brave young officer of Jena.
The French were always good-natured with the German prisoners until the time came to shoot them, and that, after all, was Napoleon's affair, not theirs, and so the Herr Lieutenant was permitted to dig.
"A strange occupation for an officer," and the commandant shrugged his shoulders. But the Germans, at best, he thought, were only pigs, so if this one wanted to root, let him. The walls of the castle were high. Escape was impossible.
"Now," said Hans, "now, may the good God help us with the rest!"
"Amen," said the Herr Lieutenant.
And it seemed that He did, for on the second day of Franz's digging a quick, pelting June rain hid them entirely from the view of the castle.
The rain came down in sheets; all were safe in the castle, not a soul could see them. The rain changed suddenly into hail. All the better, and the good God be thanked!
"Now," cried Hans; "now or never!"
He jerked the lid off the hole.
Down went the Herr Lieutenant, his feet landing in the sewer, his head still in view.
"Good," he said, "good! There is space enough below."
Then down he went, and Hans saw him no more.
The old man had kept for himself the hard task. He must cover the drain after him with the lid. Down he went, holding the cover in his hand above him, for the drain was too narrow for him to lift his arm once in.
"Ach Himmel," he thought, "the rain is ceasing."
Then he lowered the lid, balanced on his palm, and as he struggled into the sewer proper it fell into its place with a crash.
"Ach Himmel," said the old soldier, for he was sure the noise would tell the story. But he pushed forward eagerly.
Only the thought of liberty could make such an awful journey possible.
The Herr Lieutenant, being ahead, kept out the air from one end, and water came pouring in at the other. But fortunately the way was short, and the Herr Lieutenant was soon in the field, and the water coming suddenly with a rush bore Hans like a straw, landing him almost drowned in the ditch near the Herr Lieutenant.
For a few moments he could not breathe, but the voice of the Herr Lieutenant recalled him.
"Come," said the young man, "come!"
"Ja, ja," and off they started.
For an hour they crawled in the ditch, which seemed to be interminable. Once or twice they heard guns, but who shot them they had no idea, and then presently the ditch ended.
"Come; we are safe now," said the Herr Lieutenant, and he raised himself up from the bushes, Hans following his example.
"Gott im Himmel!" he cried.
On the road before them came soldiers in French uniform.
"Back!" cried the old man, "back; lie flat, or they will see you!"
It was while the children were in charge of Marianne that something very important happened at the town of Tilsit, on the river Niemen.
On that twenty-fifth day of June, in the dreadful year of 1807, all the people of the place were gathered on the river banks in high excitement. Actually their faces looked joyful, a thing which had not happened since Napoleon had entered Prussia.
"Now we shall have peace. Congratulations!" they exclaimed one to the other, gazing at a raft gay with flags, anchored midway between the shores of the river.
"They have bought every bright rag in Tilsit," said a fat, jolly-faced merchant, nodding in congratulation.
"Ach ja," returned a friend, "God be praised! It is many a day since there has been selling in Prussia."
Then, "Look! look! Napoleon! Napoleon!" as a man, heavy now to fatness, stepped into a boat most gorgeously decorated.
"The monster! the upstart!" muttered the people. But that was of no concern to the conqueror, whose eyes wandered restlessly from shore to shore and whose mouth pressed its lips to cruel firmness. Behind him followed marshals and generals, gay in scarlet, gold, and white, and blue.
A boat decorated with the colours of France awaited their coming.
"The Czar!" cried the people, as a second cavalcade approached. "Our ally, Alexander!"
There was no handsomer man in Europe. Tall, majestic in appearance, in every way a contrast to Napoleon, the ruler of Russia approached a second boat, opposite Napoleon's, and brilliant with yellow and black. The monarch was followed by his brother, Grand Duke Constantine, by his generals and many Russian lords.
At a signal and amid the cries of the people, off pushed the boats.
The first to arrive was Napoleon, who sprang to the raft, and with his own hands opened the door of the pavilion and turned to welcome his guest.
Cannon announced the arrival of the Czar, and the two monarchs stood hand in hand in full view of the allied and French armies, lined up on both banks, and of the people of Tilsit, who stared at each other in surprise.
"Where is our King?" they asked. "Is he to have no voice in the making of peace?" And their eyes searched everywhere.
Alone, on his horse, his face troubled and anxious, they saw the one they sought. There was no boat to bear him to the raft. Prussia's colours appeared nowhere. The two emperors were to settle the affairs of Europe. The King of Prussia was conquered and not wanted. Joy faded from the East Prussian faces.
"Our King is a good man," they said. "We do not find it good that he is so neglected."
The King himself looked neither to the left nor the right. He rode forward, his splendid figure outlined now against the sky, now hid by the soldiers. At a certain point he turned. Back he rode, and then turned again.
"Our poor King!" said the people, and while cannon roared and soldiers cheered, their hearts began to beat fiercely against both Alexander and Bonaparte.
For an hour the two emperors conferred, the generals waiting in their boats, Frederick William pacing back and forth on his horse.
Then presently it began to rain, at first lightly, and then suddenly in torrents, as if Heaven itself was weeping over blood-stained Europe.
The King of Prussia rode to and fro, not minding the downfall, but thinking only of the cruelty of the man who had shut him out of the conference.
Everything was against him; he had lost his kingdom, his friend the Czar was deserting him, and yet, as his wife the Queen wrote her father, he was "the best man in the world," a King who lived only to help his subjects; a King who loved right and hated wrong, who believed in good and tried to do it.
But, like the Queen, he trusted in God, and even as he rode up and down, shut out in the rain from the conference, he knew that Napoleon and wrong could not always have their day, that right and justice always conquer. But Frederick William, good as he was, had a foe worse even than Napoleon. At no time in his life could he decide a thing quickly, or at just the right moment. He must think things over, he must look at both sides, and while he wavered in came the enemy and took the prize.
When an hour had passed there came a change. Napoleon summoned all the generals and counsellors, who, drenched and dripping, entered the door of the pavilion.
For two hours more they talked, the King still riding in the rain.
Surely, he thought, the peace which they were making must be favourable to poor Prussia. His friend, the Czar, must see to it. He himself had stood by Alexander; now let Alexander be true to him.
Had they not sworn an eternal friendship; was not his little daughter named Alexandrina, and was not the Czar also the friend of the Queen and the old Countess, to whom he had promised many things?
When Alexander of Russia entered the pavilion in the Niemen he had at heart the welfare of Prussia only. In one hour Napoleon did much. Always he studied citadels, or men, and discovered what we call the weak point. On it he turned his battery.
"We all know," he said to Alexander, "that no monarch in Europe has such thoughts as your Majesty for the welfare of mankind."
Alexander's face softened. He was truly a philanthropist.
After a few moments' talk along this line Napoleon mentioned the word "England."
The Czar's eyes flashed.
Napoleon abused that country with vigour.
Alexander drew nearer.
"I dislike the English as much as you do," he said, "and am ready to second you in all your enterprises against them."
"In that case," said Napoleon, taking note of Alexander's fine head and the weak lines in his handsome face, and remembering how, when he had been First Consul, the Emperor of Russia had been his most ardent admirer, "everything will be easily arranged, and peace already is made. You and I," he added, with an emphasis very flattering, "understand each other. It will be better if we do without our ministers, who often deceive us, or misunderstand us. We shall do more in an hour than our negotiators would in several days."
Then he talked as if the Czar and he were Atlases of the world and that all the earth rested upon their shoulders.
Alexander, listening, began to think that after all his allies had been no good. Prussia had dragged him to defeat; England had done nothing to help either of them. Surely a monarch must consider his own welfare.
When at last the conference ended and the two mighty emperors came forth into the sight of the people of Tilsit and their waiting soldiers, their faces were glowing. Waving their hands again and again, each was rowed to his own bank of the Niemen. They had formed a friendship—Russia and France, Alexander and Napoleon—and the whole world was to profit.
When Napoleon stepped on shore the people of Tilsit were deafened by the cheers of his soldiers.
As for Alexander, he gazed up into the gloomy face of the King of Prussia and a cloud passed over the sun of his joy.
"The Emperor desires to meet your Majesty to-morrow," said he, and his eyes fell. "We can go together," he added, and then hastily deserting the subject, he proposed that they arrange about lodgings, as for the time they must remain in Tilsit.
"Very well," said Frederick William, and his heart sank.
Next day the King of Prussia was admitted to a second and very different conference, and his noble dignity under his misfortune so struck Napoleon that he spoke of it.
"I have nothing to reproach myself with," said the King very simply.
Napoleon's eyes fell, but only for a moment.
He answered with a shrug.
"Nor have I."
The King was silent.
"I warned you," Napoleon looked entirely innocent, "against England. It is she who has caused your troubles. But France," his tones became most grandiloquent, "can afford to be generous. In a few days all will be arranged."
Never was any man treated more cruelly than poor, good, unhappy King Frederick William. Yet there has never been a King who behaved better in time of trouble. In peace he had been irresolute and sluggish. In trouble his figure stands out against a background of woe in outlines of dignity and nobility.
Napoleon made him feel absolutely alone, taking away his friend as he had taken away his kingdom. Though he asked him to dinner, when the last morsel was eaten, the last wine drunk, he bore off the Czar to his private apartment, excusing both to Frederick William. When they were abroad the French soldiers called "Vive Napoleon!" "Vive Alexandre!" but never a cry from the Imperial Guard for the King of Prussia.
"It is better for me to be friendly with Napoleon," said the Czar in excuse. The King was silent.
As for Napoleon, he utterly refused to have the King near him, unless absolutely necessary.
"I can't stand his gloomy face," he told Alexander.
The Czar and Napoleon embraced in public. The French and Russian soldiers became like brothers, leaving the Prussians to humiliation and solitude. The King, who had always suffered from shyness, felt more and more uncomfortable, being made always an unwelcome third. He had no opinion of himself, the Queen was not there to cheer him, and each day he grew more gloomy and sad.
One day the people of Tilsit saw the three monarchs riding together, the Czar and Napoleon entirely ignoring the King, who let his horse drop behind and rode alone.
"Has not our good King been true to the Czar?" they cried, and in their hearts the fire against Napoleon and Alexander burned fiercer. "In January," they said to each other, "we could have made peace if our King had promised to desert Russia. And now the Czar deserts our King."
But in spite of his friendship with Napoleon, the Czar truly loved his friend and wished to help him. His brother Constantine forced him to many things, threatening him with the fate of his father, who had been assassinated, if he did not save Russia at the cost of Prussia.
In the midst of all the great worry an idea entered his head and at once pleased him.
Of all living women he most admired Queen Louisa, not only for her wonderful beauty and lovely ways, but for her goodness and her love for her husband and her people.
"Send to Memel for the Queen," he proposed to Frederick William, for he knew things which were to come to pass that the King did not. "Napoleon now is very anxious to see her. Who can tell what good she may do for Prussia? One so beautiful, so spiritual, so unhappy, may soften his heart and awaken his noblest feelings."
For a moment or two Frederick William did not answer. Above all things on earth he loved Queen Louisa. Napoleon had mistreated her. She was very delicate, like a flower, "the beautiful rose of the King," a poet called her, and was it right that he ask her to beg favours of her foe? Of the man who hated her?
"Do, Majesty, do." General Kalreuth pressed near and gazed pleadingly at the King.
"Perhaps," suggested the Czar, "the Queen may bend the iron will of Napoleon, may she not?" And he looked flatteringly at her husband.
Frederick William sought pen and ink and wrote Queen Louisa a hasty letter.
"I will go to Memel, also," proposed General Kalreuth, as the King delivered the letter to a messenger.
Frederick William nodded.
"Act as escort to the Queen," he commanded, having not a doubt of his wife's answer.
The Herr Lieutenant obeyed Hans quickly.
In breathless silence they lay hid in the bushes.
For some time they could hear the soldiers, and then all was silent.
"God be praised!" whispered Hans, "now let us seek the road." And out they cautiously scrambled.
All night they walked steadily, meeting no one, but now and then catching sight of some village burning against the sky. Where they were they had no idea, but somewhere, they knew, in East Prussia. Everywhere was desolation. Houses had been burned, fences had fallen, and once they came upon the blackened remains of a village. For two days and nights they kept in the fields and woods, Hans going but once to a house to beg for food and some coffee.
On the third evening they came upon a farm at some distance from the road.
"We might venture there," said Hans, "for it is out of the line of soldiers. I am sure that, Herr Lieutenant, all is deserted."
But when he reached the window of the house he returned in a scamper, motioning the Herr Lieutenant away with his hand.
"There are French officers eating there," he announced. "Forward, march," he added, and on they trudged.
The Herr Lieutenant grew whiter and whiter.
"I can go no farther," he gasped, and sank on the grass at the side of the road.
His old wound had broken out afresh, and for a moment or two he looked as if he were dying.
What to do Hans had no idea. While he was perplexing, his brain he heard the sound of a slow, discouraged step, and presently an old peasant, with long, unkempt gray hair and a tired, hopeless face, approached from the wood.
When Hans told him their trouble he hesitated. Kindness and bitterness seemed to struggle hard in his wrinkled face.
"The French have left me almost nothing," he said. Then he hesitated. He looked at Hans, then at the suffering man on the grass.
"My house is near here," he said at last, reluctantly. Then he called, "Heinrich! Heinrich!"
A stupid-looking boy of thirteen or fourteen was quickly at his side.
"Help," he commanded, and the three bore Franz to a small peasant house behind the wood.
Hans promised to find money at once.
"You say we are near Tilsit?" he asked.
The peasant nodded.
"Can your boy carry a letter to Memel?"
The man hesitated.
"There are the French," he said, and went on to explain that if his boy were seen going into Memel houses he would perhaps be shot as a spy, their home burned, and then where were they?
"But at night," urged Hans, "let him lay a note on the window of the house I mean and they will put out money and provisions."
After much talk the old man agreed, and Hans, with great difficulty, for he had little education, wrote the letter that the Professor had found on his window.
For days Franz was unconscious, but when he came to himself again Hans, with a smile, handed him a letter from his father.
"And we have money now," said the old man with a laugh, "and all the good food you'll be wanting."
He did not tell the Herr Lieutenant, however, that since they had found refuge with the peasant the French army had advanced and they were surrounded by the enemy. Instead, he announced that he had heard from the peasant that there was talk of peace.
Now, all might have gone well had Hans been content to be quiet. But he was a restless old fellow and he could not bear sitting still doing nothing.
"I will go out," he announced next day, "and discover the whereabouts of the enemy."
In an hour he returned his face full of excitement, his legs shaking.
"The soldiers saw me," he cried. "They are coming this way. Ach Himmel, if I had been quiet!"
Then he ran for the peasant and told him that they must hide the Herr Lieutenant.
The peasant, whose face grew dark with dread, nodded, shrugging his shoulders.
"There is a loft," he said, "but hurry."
In his small barn was this loft, and opening from it and well concealed by wood, a tiny closet.
There was just room for Franz, who almost fainted from excitement as they hurriedly moved him.
"And you?" he gasped, looking at Hans.
The old man shrugged his shoulders.
"What comes, comes," he said. "Auf wiedersehen, and we will bring you supper, Herr Lieutenant."
For hours Franz lay in the stuffy darkness. He heard the arrival of the soldiers, loud voices, the sound of many feet and then it seemed to him that for an hour he would die of a sudden hotness. There was a smell of burning, too, which lasted long after it was cool again.
What had happened? His heart stood still. Would they burn the barn? The smell of charred wood seemed stronger.
By and by hunger told him that it was supper time, but all continued silent. He fell at last into a sleep which lasted until what he thought must be morning. The closet was quite dark, the only air coming in from the loft, and he felt suffocated. He must have light and air. Where was Hans? What had happened? At last he felt that he could stand the suspense no longer.
Putting out one foot he kicked open the door, which, kept in place by a log, went down with a crash like thunder. Franz was in terror, but, nothing happening, he dragged himself forward to the loft. Then he could rise, and standing erect he waited until the dizziness in his head had settled.
Then seeking the ladder he stepped below. Instead of the neat barn of the day before, he saw disorder everywhere. Hay was tossed here, horses had trampled there, and not a sound of a chicken was heard. The day before he had seen at least a dozen.
He dragged himself to the door.
There was now no peasant's house. Only a scene of blackened ruins met his eye.
The barn, too, was scorched; but perhaps the wind had blown in an opposite direction, for it had not burned.
Franz trembled like a poplar leaf when he thought of what might have been his fate.
"Thank God, thank God!" he murmured, and then, before he could reach out his hand for support, he fell on the floor in a dead faint, and there he lay while they were making peace at Tilsit.