Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://www.archive.org/details/forsceptreandcr00samagoog
2. Gregor Samarow is pseudonym of Johann Ferdinand Martin Oskar Meding.
3. Translator of this work is Fanny Wormald. This is per an advertisement for this book given on page xii. in "The Academy and literature, Volume 10," December 16, 1876.

FOR SCEPTRE AND CROWN.

FOR SCEPTRE AND CROWN

A ROMANCE OF THE PRESENT TIME.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF

GREGOR SAMAROW.

IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. I.

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

(All rights reserved.)

TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.

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

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

FOR SCEPTRE AND CROWN.

CHAPTER I.

[BISMARCK AND MANTEUFFEL].

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know it," replied Herr von Bismarck.

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

"Is there such a thing?" interrupted Bismarck.

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

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

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

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

"But until then?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Seriously?" asked Herr von Manteuffel.

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

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

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

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

"And France?" asked Manteuffel.

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

"And what does he want?" asked Manteuffel.

"Venetia for Italy."

"And for himself, for France?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Herr von Manteuffel smiled.

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

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

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

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

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

"And what has Count Platen promised us?"

"Neutrality, as he already promised Count Ysenburg!"

"And is the treaty concluded?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He bowed slightly, and left the room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The groom of the chambers appeared.

"Is Herr von Keudell still in the house?"

"At your excellency's command."

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

A few minutes later the minister of legation entered.

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

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

He glanced at the paper he held in his hand.

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

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

Herr von Keudell withdrew.

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

CHAPTER II.

[FAIR WENDLAND].

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wer nun den lieben Gott läszt walten."

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

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

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

"O God, our help in ages past,

Our hope in years to come,

Our shelter from the stormy blast,

And our eternal home,"[^[3]]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"O God, our help in ages past,

Our hope in years to come,

Our shelter from the stormy blast,

And our eternal home,"

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

CHAPTER III.

[VIENNA].

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The baron replied, with a slight bow to the Princess Obrenowitsch: "I dare hardly hope the princess will listen much longer to an old worldling like myself, especially as nothing happened. Our young Mecklenburg Uhlan passed some time in the Countess Frankenstein's box, talking with great animation to Countess Clara, and thereby enraging one of our friends. I need not tell her name, I saw----"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And have you succeeded?" asked the duke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Both the gentlemen rose.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He opened the portfolio which lay on the table.

Count Mensdorff waved his hand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"To our church?" asked Mensdorff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Both the gentlemen bowed, and left the cabinet.

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

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

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

Again he sank into deep thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He rose and rang a bell.

The attendant entered.

"Does the countess entertain a large party?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It lasted only two minutes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grew very thoughtful.

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

The carriage stopped before a large house in the Ringe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Such must have been Cleopatra, when Antony approached her.

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

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

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

Did she feel this?

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

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

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

CHAPTER IV.

[NAPOLEON].

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"M. Piétri?" said the visitor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hansen followed his example.

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

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

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

He walked slowly, with the heaviness of later years.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do they desire it?"

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

"And that is----?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Napoleon III. listened attentively.

Piétri said:--

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

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

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

Piétri enquired further:--

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

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

"Why not?" asked Piétri, with animation.

"Because he is a soldier."

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

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

There was a short silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"All that she needs, and can keep."

"That is, expressed in names and numbers?"

"The whole of North Germany unconditionally."

Piétri made a movement of incredulity.

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

The emperor stood up.

Piétri and Hansen also rose.

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

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

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

Hansen bowed low, and left the room.

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

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

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

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

Piétri smiled.

"Your majesty loves to jest!"

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

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

A quiet smile played round Piétri's lips.

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

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

"I am not the Great Napoleon!"

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

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

"M. Drouyn de Lhuys requests an audience."

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

"I will come."

The groom of the chambers withdrew.

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

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

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

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

The emperor was silent for a moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Drouyn de Lhuys calmly replied--

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

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

After a few moments Napoleon spoke:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Drouyn de Lhuys bowed.

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

Drouyn de Lhuys again bowed in silence.

The emperor stood up. His minister also rose.

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

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

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

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

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

"Has your majesty any further commands?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Napoleon left the cabinet.

CHAPTER V.

[GEORGE V].

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is his majesty alone?"

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

"Privy Councillor Lex is with his Majesty."

"Will you announce me!"

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

The attendant returned after a few minutes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meding could not help laughing aloud.

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

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

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

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

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

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

At this moment a bell was heard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The privy councillor had arranged his papers and slowly withdrew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The king thought for a moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the king offered his hand to Meding. He rose and pressed his lips on the royal hand.

"Your majesty has always permitted me," he then said, "to express my views and opinions freely and without reserve on all questions of state, whether foreign or domestic, and this right is an unspeakable assistance in the fulfilment of the difficult task which your majesty has given me. I humbly beg your permission in this grave moment freely to express my opinion."

"Speak, speak, my dear Meding, I listen anxiously," said the king, as he leant back in his arm-chair, and supported his head with his hand.

"Your majesty knows that it is a kind of mot d'ordre of German, yes, even of European diplomacy, not to believe in a war between Prussia and Austria. This seems to me like the conduct of the ostrich, who hid his head, hoping to escape danger by not seeing it."

"You believe in war, then?" asked the king, without changing his place.

"I believe in it, your majesty, from the present state of affairs. The disputed questions are on a steep incline, and have rolled down too far to return. The despatches from Berlin and Vienna confirm my views that war is inevitable, as well as the Austrian and Prussian official and unofficial press."

"They speak most peaceably, you told me so yesterday," interrupted the king.

"Exactly for that reason I believe both sides are determined on hostilities. If they only wished to threaten, and to use their armaments as a weight in the balance, by which they might obtain a diplomatic compromise, all the government newspapers would be clattering the sword. These assurances of peace disquiet me. Each side seeks the best casus belli, and desires to throw the blame of a rupture on the opponent. I am convinced we shall soon be in the midst of war unless a miracle occurs. Count Platen will not believe it."

"The ostrich," said the king.

Meding smiled, and proceeded:--

"This situation is more dangerous for your majesty and for Hanover than for any other state. In the moment of action Prussia will respect nothing."

"I have already declared that under any circumstance I shall remain neutral," said the king.

"Certainly, your majesty; but no treaty is concluded. Count Platen has only expressed your majesty's intention to remain neutral generally to Count Ysenberg; but, from fear of giving offence in Frankfort and Vienna, no negotiations are proceeding and no treaty is concluded."

"Do you regard a formal treaty as needful?" asked the king.

"I regard it as indispensable. Prussia will willingly conclude such a treaty now, and once concluded she will respect it. In the moment of action she will ask more, and after victory, I think a treaty of neutrality will be the guarantee of the independence--yes, even of the existence--of Hanover."

The king sat upright.

"Do you hold it possible that Prussia could think of attacking the existence of Hanover?"

"I would neglect no guarantee to the contrary," replied Meding; "the war about to break out is a war for existence: old Germany will fall in ruins; under such circumstances we must not expect to be particularly respected. A veritable treaty of neutrality, concluded now, not only secures our existence, but perhaps our full independence in a new Germany, for, I must repeat it, I believe if Prussia once signed such a treaty it would under any circumstances be respected."

"But," objected the king, "they are daily telling me how prejudicial a treaty with Prussia will be, supposing Austria is victorious." "I have heard this remarkable logic," replied Meding, "and I cannot understand it. If Austria is the conqueror, will she give Hanover to Prussia? Besides, your Majesty knows I do not believe in Austria's success."

The king was silent.

"It is a difficult position," he said, at last. "Sir Charles Wyke was here yesterday, conjuring me to be firm to Austria and the confederacy. He brought me a letter from Lord Clarendon to the same purport."

The king took a small key and opened a sliding panel in his writing table, and, after feeling in the recess for a minute, he handed Meding a letter across the table.

"Read this."

Meding looked through the paper.

"I quite understand the policy of England, your majesty," he then said: "in London they wish to maintain peace at any price, yet they desire to lecture Prussia on the Danish question. They hope, if your majesty places yourself decidedly and without reserve on the side of Austria and the Saxon party in Frankfort, Prussia will withdraw from the struggle in alarm, and make concessions, perhaps call on England to mediate; by which means the English cabinet might find an opportunity of effecting something in favour of Denmark. I think they are quite out in their reckoning. But be it as it may, your majesty has to guide the policy of Hanover, and not of England. Lord Clarendon's letter is useless, unless he promises the English fleet to back it up. If your majesty should get into danger and difficulty from following the advice here given, not a single English man-of-war would come to your assistance. England undertakes the part of that evil demon, who appeared to Hector under the form of his brother Deiphobus, and who urged him to the combat with Achilles, but who had vanished when the Trojan hero looked round for a fresh spear. I wish," continued Meding, after a short pause, "to tell you of an idea, which if carried out would greatly remove the objections made to the conclusion of a treaty of neutrality."

The king raised himself in his chair, and fixed his eyes with a look of such interest on the speaker it was almost impossible to believe them sightless.

"Your majesty doubtless remembers," said Meding, "the immense advantage derived from your close alliance with Hesse Cassel during the last political crisis, and the strong and beneficial influence it had on the course of events; this alliance alone prevented Herr von Beust's unheard-of Augustenburg policy from being carried out, and the whole confederacy broken up. According to my convictions, your majesty in this dangerous crisis should act entirely in concert with Hesse Cassel, and gain the Grand Duke of Oldenburg to take part in an alliance of neutrality. Your majesty would thus be at the head of a group willing to have you for a leader; you would secure the future safety of Hanover, do Prussia a service, and divide the displeasure of Austria amongst several pairs of shoulders. It is my firm conviction that in concert with Hesse Cassel you should conclude a treaty of neutrality with Prussia. Should this treaty not be respected hereafter--which I own I consider impossible--at least a compact body will be ready to defend it. I believe a firm and energetic step in this direction will do more to prevent war than Lord Clarendon's advice of entire devotion to Austria."

"When Medingceased speaking, the king, who had listened to him with the greatest interest, struck the table with two of the fingers of his right hand.

"You are right," he cried aloud; "you are perfectly right."

He pressed with his left hand upon a knob attached to his writing table. The groom of the chambers entered.

"The privy councillor immediately!" exclaimed the king.

As the attendant withdrew, the king said:--

"Do you think the Prince of Hesse will be inclined to take this step with me?"

"I know that the Minister Abée is quite of my mind," replied Meding; "and I know his Royal Highness the Prince of Hesse has the greatest satisfaction in acting in concert with your majesty."

"I must beg you, my dear Meding," said the king, "to go yourself to Hesse Cassel, and propose this to the prince."

A knock was heard at the outer door. The groom of the chambers opened it, announcing--"The Privy Councillor."

"My dear Lex," said the king, "Meding has given me an idea which I wish to carry out immediately. He thinks that I ought at once, in common with the Prince of Hesse, to conclude a solid treaty of neutrality with Prussia. I will send Meding to Cassel without delay, as I am sure he is the best ambassador for bringing the matter to a happy conclusion."

Meding bowed to the king, and said:

"I must tell your majesty that Count Platen quite approves of this step, and has authorized me to tell your majesty so."

"Tant mieux, tant mieux," said the king; "what do you think of it, my dear Lex?"

"I perfectly approve," he replied, in a clear, somewhat sharp voice; "if your Majesty had concluded a treaty of neutrality at all with Prussia, I should be much happier, but if it is done in common with Hesse Cassel, the guarantees are stronger."

"Will you kindly draw me up a proposal," said the king to Lex, "with Meding's assistance, for him to take with him to the Prince of Hesse, and bring it to me to sign immediately."

"At your command, your majesty," replied Lex.

"How does the affair of the trades-law go on?" asked the king.

"Your majesty," replied Meding, "the guilds are all much excited, and think the removal of all protection will cause their destruction. I do all I can to enlighten them, and by means of the press, I point to England as an example, where the various guilds, without the intervention of government, exercise so great a municipal influence. I hope the horror of innovation may give way here before clearer knowledge; the minister Bacmeister grasps the whole question with so soothing, so prudent, and so skilful a hand, that I have no fear of its success."

"I am sorry," said the king, "that the good people of the guilds should feel injured; but they will soon find out that the removal of all constraint benefits them, and the guilds, from hated and stagnant institutions, will become powerful living organs. Even if otherwise, the greatest freedom of action is needful, in the sphere of national economy. How much I rejoice to find in my minister Bacmeister, a mind so swift and capable in receiving my ideas, and a hand so skilful in executing them."

"Indeed, your majesty," replied Meding, "Bacmeister is the most able and talented man I have ever known; personally, he has great influence with the opposition, and almost every evening he is at a kind of parliamentary club, formed by himself, with the assistance of Miguel and Albrecht. Many things have been discussed there in a friendly spirit, which would otherwise have caused the greatest bitterness and strife in the chambers."

"That is exactly what I have always felt!" exclaimed the king; "they talk so much in Germany of public life, and yet they understand nothing of it, since they are not capable of meeting a political foe on neutral ground, as a gentleman.--Were you at the opera yesterday?" he asked, changing the subject.

"No," replied Meding; "but Schladebach told me he was much dissatisfied, and that he should write a severe criticism."

"He is right," said the king. "I shall be anxious to read his critique; Doctor Schladebach has a fine appreciation of art, and much tact in expressing his opinion. If we could but find an equally good critic for the theatre!"

"I am exerting myself to find such a critic," said Meding; "but I must still beg your Majesty's patience. Talent is not easily found, nor quickly formed."

"True, true," said the king, "chi va piano va sano; but I hope we may find a critic of real talent. It is indispensable for any form of art, if it is really to flourish, and to fulfil its grand mission. And now adieu, my dear Meding, go with God's help, and with much friendship on my part, to the Prince of Hesse. Come back soon!"

"God bless you!"

Meding and Lex left the cabinet.

George V. remained alone.

For a time he sat quietly in his chair, his eyes fixed on the table.

"It is too true--it is too true," he said at last in a low tone; "the great conflict draws near. The German confederacy, which has been so beneficial, and which for fifty years has maintained peace in Germany and in Europe, cracks in all its parts, and will break up in the mighty struggle. The only hand that could have calmed this mighty uproar with a sign rests in the grave. The emperor Nicholas is no longer here to grasp the rolling wheel of fate with his strong hand. And weight on weight is heaped upon me, now by one, then by the other side; where shall I turn? how shall I save the fair, rich, and faithful land which God has entrusted to me, and which has been bound to my ancestors for a thousand years in joy and woe?"

The king remained silent for some time; then he rose, and, supporting his hand on the back of his chair, he turned to the side of the room where the portraits were hung of King Ernest Augustus and Queen Frederica, and he sank slowly on his knees.

"Oh! Thou almighty, triune God!" he said, in a voice low indeed, but so fervent that it filled the room; "Thou seest my heart, Thou knowest how I have wrestled in prayer to Thee in the dark hours of my life; Thou gavest strength to my soul, to bear my heavy fate, never to look upon the face of wife or child; Thou gavest me light and strength in those troublous times when I first governed this land: bless me now, grant me wisdom, enlighten my understanding, that I may know how to save my country, and lead me graciously through the storms of this day! Yet not my will, but Thine be done; and if it is decreed that care and sorrow must be my lot, give me strength to bear, courage to endure!"

The king's prayer ceased, and deep silence prevailed. Suddenly a gust of wind slammed-to the open window, something heavy fell to the ground, and the sound of shattered glass was heard.

The small King Charles spaniel barked.

The king started, rose quickly, and returned to his chair. Then he pressed the knob of his electric bell.

The groom of the chambers entered.

"What fell on the ground near the window?" asked the king quickly.

The attendant hastened to look.

"It is the rose, that her majesty the queen had had forced, and that she placed here."

"Is the flower hurt?"

"The flowers are all broken," replied the groom of the chambers, as he picked up the pieces of the pot, and pushed the scattered earth aside.

The king shuddered slightly.

"The flowers are all broken," he repeated half to himself, lifting his head and raising his enquiring eyes to heaven.

"Who is in the ante-room?" he asked.

"General von Tschirschnitz, Count Platen, General von Brandis, and the minister Bacmeister."

"Call all these gentlemen," commanded the king.

The groom of the chambers placed four chairs near the writing table and withdrew.

After a few moments the four gentlemen entered the cabinet, the attendant announcing them by name.

"Good morning, gentlemen," cried the king as they came in; "seat yourselves."

The Minister for Foreign Affairs, Count Platen zu Hallermund, a descendant of the well-known Count Platen so frequently spoken of in connexion with the Königsmark mystery, took the chair nearest the king.

He was a man of fifty years of age, with regular and agreeable features, the glossy black of his thick hair and moustache seemed hardly to accord with his years, though it did so completely with the youthful and elastic bearing of his slight and elegant figure.

On the other side of the king sat the Minister of the Interior, Bacmeister, a man little older than Count Platen, but who bore far more the stamp of his age. His thin fair hair was grey, and his features had an expression of weariness, partly from the fatigue of an overworked mind, partly from sickness and bodily suffering. Only when his attention was aroused did his features start into life, his eyes sparkled with high and unusual intelligence, and an expression of fine irony played round his intellectual mouth.

When he spoke, his words were accompanied by the most animated and expressive action, which implied besides the words he uttered many unspoken thoughts, his clear and well-toned voice, his excellent choice of words, combined with this action, and fluent eloquence, greatly influenced even his political opponents, who could not resist the impression, and who usually fell sous le charme of this, at first sight, uninteresting person.

Both the ministers wore the blue coat of office, with black velvet collars.

The Minister of War, General von Brandis, was a man seventy-one years old; a follower of the iron Duke of Wellington, he had served in Spain and taken part in the campaigns of 1813 and 1815. Jovial cheerfulness beamed from his fresh, healthy face, which was surmounted by a short black wig. His upper lip was concealed by a small black moustache.

He seated himself at the side of the table, opposite the king, as did General Tschirschnitz.

"I have called you together, gentlemen," said the king, "because at this grave moment I wish again to hear your opinions and to express my will. I have called for you, General Brandis, and for you, my Adjutant General, as representatives of the military relations of the kingdom; for you, Count Platen, as my Minister of Foreign Affairs, to whose especial department the most important questions belong; and for you, my dear Bacmeister, because you know so well the interior condition of the country and the opinions of the people; and," he added with a gracious smile, "because I place extreme confidence in your views and advice."

The Minister of the Interior bowed.

"You remember, gentlemen, that a short time ago in the large council which I held here, and at which you were present, the great question arose of what position Hanover must take in the lamentable quarrel which, unhappily, grows sharper and more threatening between the two great powers of Germany. The military gentlemen, especially General von Jacobi, declared unanimously that the army was not in a state of preparation for immediate war--which God forbid! a mobilization and general military preparation is on political grounds highly undesirable: on the other hand it is necessary, from a military point of view, to make some arrangement to prevent our being surprised unprepared. To reconcile these opinions I commanded the yearly exercises to be held at an earlier time, so that the troops may be more ready to march in case of need, and also that the people may not be inconvenienced by having the exercises during the harvest. The difficulties are constantly increasing, and an outbreak of hostilities appears unavoidable. Then arises the serious question for Hanover, whether to take part on one or the other side would be possible or advisable; or whether the strictest neutrality should be maintained. I beg you, Count Platen, first to give us your views."

Count Platen spoke:--

"I do not doubt, your majesty, the gravity of the position, but I do not believe a war will really ensue. We have so often seen great échauffements in the political world, which yet have all cooled down again. I then humbly give my opinion that the moment has not yet come for forming or expressing any decision."

A slight, almost imperceptible, smile passed over the king's face. General von Tschirschnitz shook his head.

"If it were needful to take a definite and positive course," added Count Platen, "it would certainly not be my advice that we should place ourselves decidedly on one or the other side. We have interests on both sides to consider, and we do not know which will be victorious. Neutrality appears to me our natural course."

"You would advise me, then, to conclude a treaty of neutrality?" asked the king.

"A treaty, your majesty!" replied Count Platen, his slender figure seeming to contract; "a treaty is the last step I should recommend; it would give great offence in Vienna, and if a war never broke out we should scarcely be forgiven."

"But how are we to maintain neutrality without a treaty?" asked the king.

"We can conclude it at any moment," said Platen; "they will be only too delighted in Berlin to find we shall not act against them."

"You would then----" asked the king.

"Gain time, your majesty--gain time," said Count Platen; "we are now in request on both sides, and we should lose our favourable position if we decided positively for either. The longer we wait, the more advantageously we can place ourselves."

The king covered his face and eyes with his hand, and remained silent for a moment; then he turned to the other side, and said:--

"And what do you think, Bacmeister?"

He replied in the low voice which always so magically compelled attention:

"It is always my principle, your majesty, to be perfectly clear as to the later consequences of present actions. The position which your majesty now takes will have very important results. Your majesty can join either Austria or Prussia. Should you cast in your lot with Austria,--and should Prussia be as completely beaten as they hope she will be in Vienna,--and as I do not think she will be, perhaps you would gain more extended power and greater influence in Germany; but should the play be adverse, the forfeit is your crown. Such a policy may be bold and great, but it risks all on the game. Should your majesty decide on this course, the decision must be your own: no minister could advise his master to use his crown as the stake in a dangerous game. Should your majesty join with Prussia, you follow the course natural to Hanover, and in case of victory your position will not be so brilliant, neither do you run so great a danger in case of defeat, for Austria, though victorious, cannot weaken Hanover. But your majesty still fortunately possesses the power of maintaining neutrality, which they are willing to accept in Berlin, and in return you preserve the safety of your country and your crown; perhaps you will even partake of the advantages of victory without the sacrifices of war. According to my views the decision cannot be doubtful, and I pronounce unhesitatingly for neutrality. But," continued the minister with greater energy, "neutrality must be sealed at once by the most binding treaty. As events progress, I see with dread the moment approaching when Prussia will no longer be satisfied with neutrality alone, but will demand what your majesty cannot and will not grant. Nothing can be gained by delay and hesitation except mistrust on both sides, and at last the complete isolation of Hanover in a war in which we are not strong enough to stand alone and unprotected. I give my voice therefore for the immediate conclusion of a binding treaty of neutrality."

"General von Brandis?" said the king.

The general replied without the least change in the expression of his cheerful, smiling face:

"Your majesty knows I hate Prussia. As a child I remember the occupation of 1803, and the impression made on me then I never lost. I tell your majesty openly, my dearest wish would be gratified if I might draw my old sword on the side of Austria. But I acknowledge that the Minister of the Interior is perfectly right in his reasoning, and I fully subscribe to his views."

"And you, General von Tschirschnitz?" inquired the king.

"Your majesty," said the general, in his bluff, soldier-like voice, "I must strongly protest against the statement that the army is unfit for an active campaign. According to my opinion the army is ready to march and to do its duty, and to gain honour for the name of Hanover, and in the pages of history. I say this from complete conviction, and I shall never alter my views. As to political considerations and interests, I would rather your majesty did not ask me about them. I own the reasoning of the Minister of the Interior is correct. As a soldier I lament our neutrality, and I would far rather be marching beside you at the head of the brave Hanoverian army. If your majesty has decided on neutrality, I should advise you immediately to make the measure strong and unalterable. I abhor all half measures and uncertain situations, and I have never seen any good result from them."

The king raised himself from the position in which he had been listening, and said:

"You all then, gentlemen, advise the neutrality of Hanover in the deplorable war now, alas! impending between Austria and Prussia. Count Platen, only, believes we ought to gain time, and to put off the conclusion of a treaty, whilst Herr Bacmeister and the generals desire an immediate treaty that we may not lose the favourable moment. For myself, I incline to the views of the Minister of the Interior for the reasons he has so plainly stated. I beg you, my dear count, to act after my views," he said, turning to Count Platen, "and immediately to commence the necessary negotiations with Count Ysenburg."

"If you command it, your majesty," replied Count Platen, with evident reluctance, "yet surely you will wait at least a few days, until the situation is more declared, and we learn what is really taking place in Austria, and their wishes in Vienna. Count Ingelheim imparted to me this morning, that Prince Karl Solms is on his way hither, with an important charge from the emperor."

The king raised his head with an expression of astonishment.

"My brother Karl?" he cried, "what brings him here?"

"I do not know, your majesty," said Count Platen, "and Count Ingelheim did not know, or would not disclose, but we must wait to hear this mission before taking a decided step towards Prussia."

The king considered. Bacmeister shook his head in silence.

A knock was heard at the outer door. The groom of the chambers announced Herr Meding, who entered the cabinet and said:

"His royal highness Prince Karl Solms has just arrived, and requests an audience."

The king rose.

"Where is the prince?"

"He is with her majesty the queen, awaiting your majesty's commands."

The king rang.

"Beg Prince Karl to come," he said to the attendant who appeared; "you, gentlemen," he continued, turning to the ministers, "must kindly remain at Herrenhausen to breakfast, the privy councillor will be your host. My dear general, I thank you, and will no longer detain you. We cannot to-day do our regular work. I beg you to return to-morrow."

The four gentlemen withdrew. Lex walked up to the king's writing-table.

"The letter to the prince of Hesse, your majesty,--a short explanation, that your majesty under any circumstances desires to remain neutral, and confiding the rest to Herr Meding's personal explanation."

"It is quite right, give it me," said the king.

Lex placed the letter on the table, dipped a pen in the ink and gave it to the king, placing his hand on the exact spot on the paper for the signature. The king wrote in large bold characters: "George Rex."

"Is it right?" he inquired.

"Perfectly," replied Lex. He took the paper and withdrew.

Scarcely had he left the cabinet when the groom of the chambers threw open the doors with the words: "His royal highness Prince Karl."

The prince who entered was the king's step-brother, from Queen Frederica's previous marriage with the prince of Solms-Braunfels. He was a man of about fifty, tall and slight, with short grey hair; he resembled the king, though his features were much less regular; his face had the colouring of health, but an expression that told of suffering.

The prince wore the full uniform of an Austrian major general; in his hand he held his hat with its green plume and a sealed letter. On his breast he wore the Hanoverian Guelphic Order, and around his neck the Austrian Order of Leopold.

He hastened to the king who embraced him warmly.

"My dear Karl," cried King George, "what procures me the unexpected happiness of seeing you here? But first tell me how are your people?"

"Thank you for your kind interest," replied the prince, "we are all better at home, and my wife has quite recovered."

"And the Duchess of Ossuna?"

"I have excellent accounts of her."

"And you--how is your health?"

"My nerves plague me at times, otherwise I am well."

"So!" said the king, "and now sit down and tell me what brought you here. I heard a rumour through Count Ingelheim."

The prince seated himself near the king. "I wish I came in less serious times, on a less serious mission," he said sighing; "the emperor sends me to you. Here is his letter."

And he gave the king the note which he held in his hand. The king took it and passed his fingers lightly over the seal, then he laid it on the table before him.

"Do you know the contents; is there anything important in it?" he asked.

"Nothing important; only my credentials. My mission is personal."

"Speak then. I am anxious to hear."

"The emperor has determined," said the prince, "to commence a war, and to carry it on with all his power for the future formation of Germany, since he is convinced that by such a war, and by a decided Austrian victory alone, can lasting peace be procured, and lasting safety and independence for the princes of Germany."

"Then I was not mistaken," said the king, "war is decreed."

"It is," replied the prince, "and the emperor ardently desires to be surrounded in this war by the German princes, as he was at the Fürstentag at Frankfort."

"When they tried to catch me," said the king; "but go on."

"The emperor," added the prince, "prizes the alliance of Hanover above all things. He commanded me to say that he considered the interests of the Houses of Guelph and Hapsburg identical in Germany."

"The Guelphs have always fought against the imperial family," said the king.

"The emperor," proceeded the prince, "hopes that the old and intimate relations between Hanover and Austria may continue during the present crisis. He considers that at the congress of Vienna, Hanover did not receive her proper position in Germany, especially in North Germany. Called upon to be a powerful and independent barrier against Prussia's hegemonistic struggles, Hanover was yet left too weak through the diplomacy of the Vienna congress."

"Because Metternich's efforts were not supported," interrupted the king, half to himself.

"The emperor," continued the prince, "is desirous of repairing the errors of the Vienna congress by a new formation and organization of Germany, and for this purpose he wishes to conclude an offensive and defensive treaty with Hanover."

"On what basis?" asked the king.

"The most important points of the alliance which the emperor has in his mind are these," said the prince. "Hanover shall immediately place her whole army on a war footing, and in common with Austria, and at the same time, shall declare war against Prussia. In return the emperor will place the Kalik Brigade now at Holstein at your disposal, and will offer you General von Gablenz for a time as its commander. He promises his utmost support to Hanover should the war be unfavourable, and in case of victory he guarantees that Holstein and Prussian Westphalia shall be incorporated with your kingdom."

"In case of victory?" said the king; "do you believe in victory?"

The prince was silent for a moment.

"I am an Austrian general," he then said.

"Lay aside the Austrian general for a moment, and answer me as my brother."

"If our forces are properly led, and actively employed," replied the prince, after a short hesitation; "and if Germany supports us strongly and energetically, we must be successful. Our artillery is excellent, and our cavalry very superior to the Prussian."

"Hum!" said the king; "yet let us put aside these considerations, or you will believe me to be swayed entirely by interested motives, and I assure you it is not so. In this crisis there is a higher principle than success, and by this principle alone will I be guided."

"I humbly beg you," said the prince, "to consider the future advantage and greatness to be gained for your country, and not to forget that Prussia, with her power and her present political tendencies, is a dangerous and threatening neighbour to Hanover."

The king remained for some little time silent and thoughtful.

"My dear Karl," he then said, "be assured that everything that comes from the emperor shall receive my gravest consideration and hearty respect, and that, by giving me the happiness of seeing you as his messenger, he has strengthened still more my feelings of regard. I am always ready to show my enduring friendship to Austria and to the house of Hapsburg. But here--I must say it at once--principles enter into the question, which as the ruler of my country and a member of the German confederacy stand higher than all. At this moment I will give you no definite answer. You can remain here a few days?"

"A few days certainly," replied the prince; "the emperor awaits my return with anxiety, and I cannot stay long."

"I will not detain you long, and your proposals shall at once be laid before my ministers."

The king rang, and said to the attendant who appeared,

"If the gentlemen have breakfasted, beg them to come here."

Shortly afterwards Count Platen, General Brandis, and Bacmeister entered the room.

Prince Karl greeted them separately with great heartiness, and they all seated themselves around the king's writing-table.

George V. spoke:

"The situation we have just discussed is somewhat modified. My brother Karl is the bearer of a proposal from his imperial majesty of Austria of a distinct treaty of alliance under certain conditions. I beg you, my dear Karl, to recapitulate the conditions."

The prince repeated the points which he had previously named to the king.

Count Platen rubbed his hands together laughingly.

"Your majesty perceives," he said, in a low voice to the king, "we are wooed by both sides. What a favourable position our policy has secured!"

Bacmeister shook his head slowly, and twisted the thumbs of his folded hands, an expression of amused irony playing around his mouth.

"Your Highness," he said, "speaks of the important acquisitions of Hanover in case of victory. But what will happen--we must consider every side of the question--if Prussia should be the conqueror?"

"Under all circumstances the emperor guarantees to support Hanover," said the prince.

"How would his imperial majesty be able, if Austria were vanquished, to support Hanover against victorious Prussia?" asked Bacmeister.

"No discussion now, I beg, my dear minister," said the king.

"Gentlemen," he added, "you have heard the proposal. On this occasion I will depart from my usual custom, and at once tell you my views. I take up my position on the standing-point that a war between two members of the German confederacy is, according to the laws of that confederacy, impossible. Such a war, alas! can and may come upon us, like a convulsion of nature, or some scourge of God;--to contemplate it beforehand, to conclude treaties on the subject, I hold to be irreconcilable with my duty as a German prince. I should by such a treaty take part in the guilt of a rupture of the confederacy so blessed to Germany and the whole of Europe. Never, with my consent, shall Hanoverian troops fight against German soldiers, except from dire necessity.

"But there is another reason why I cannot subscribe to this treaty. I cannot consent to the eventual enlargement of Hanover; I cannot sign a treaty by which I stretch out my hand for my neighbour's goods. It is my joy and my pride that throughout the country I rule, there is not a foot's breadth of earth that has not descended to me by legitimate inheritance; shall I now sign a treaty for the acquisition of lands that do not belong to me? Westphalia belongs to the King of Prussia, with whom not only do I live in peace, but to whom, as a member of the confederacy, I regard my obligations as sacred. Holstein belongs by right I know not to whom--to the Grand Duke of Oldenburg, to the Duke of Augustenburg, to Prussia,--I cannot enter into the difficult subject,--certainly it does not belong to me. No, gentlemen, I cannot part with the happy knowledge that I hold my kingdom entirely from God's justice, and by God's grace: never," cried the king, striking his right hand upon the table, "will I stretch out this hand to take what is not mine. Hence, according to my views, the treaty proposed is inadmissible. A proposal, however, from his Imperial Majesty of Austria has an undoubted right to our gravest and most earnest consideration. I therefore beg each of you conscientiously to think through this subject, to weigh it deeply, and express all that can be said against my opinions. Not to-day, but to-morrow I will preside at a council of my assembled ministers, including your absent colleagues, in order to decide upon our answer. For to-day I thank you, I will let you know the hour of council for to-morrow."

The king rose.

With grave looks and in silence the ministers left the cabinet.

Prince Solms gazed sorrowfully before him.

"Am I right?" asked the king.

The prince looked at his royal brother with an expression of deep veneration.

"You are right," he said in a low tone, "and yet," he added, his eyes growing sadder and his head sinking down, "yet very, very wrong."

"Now, my dear Karl," said the king cheerfully, "you shall go out with me. I wish to go where you must be my guide."

He pressed on a second knob at the right hand side of his writing-table. The groom of the chambers of the private apartments appeared, from a door leading to the king's bed-room.

"I am going out," said the king, buttoning his uniform.

The attendant handed him his cap and gloves.

"Does your majesty wish for a cigar?"

"No. Inform the equerry on duty that I shall not want him. The prince will accompany me."

The king took the prince's arm and walked through the corridor, passing various bowing lacqueys in their scarlet livery, to the principal entrance. In the hall leading to the door an animated conversation was heard.

"Who is that?" asked the king.

"Count Alfred Wedell and Devrient."

The persons mentioned stood close together in the vestibule engaged in so engrossing a conversation that they did not perceive the king's approach.

Count Alfred Wedell, the king's chamberlain, and governor of the castle, was a tall, strongly-built young man of about thirty years of age, with a healthy complexion, and handsome, though decidedly marked features. He was in undress uniform, a blue coat with a red collar, and he stood opposite the famous Hanoverian actor, Devrient, a man well past sixty, who had taken part in the German wars for freedom, but who felt so little the burden of his years that he still played Hamlet with great success. Neither when off the stage did his animated face, his sparkling eyes, nor his upright figure, show any sign of age.

"Good morning, Devrient," said the king in his clear voice, stopping in the middle of the hall.

The gentlemen broke off their conversation, and Devrient hastened to the king.

"Well, how are you?" said George V. kindly. "Always fresh and active. Devrient is an example to us all," he said, turning to Prince Solms, "he has the secret of eternal youth."

"Your majesty," said Devrient, "the youth you so graciously ascribe to me has a behind the scenes. I am not always before the lamps, the gout is a very poor prompter. I came to beg your commands for the next rehearsal, but I see your majesty is going out."

"I am busy to-day, dear Devrient," said the king, "and to-morrow. Will you come to me the day after to-morrow?"

"At your command, your majesty."

And, with a friendly nod, the king went through the great entrance, both doors of which had been opened by the porter.

As they entered the courtyard of the castle, where the sentries on guard presented arms, Prince Karl asked:--

"Where are you going?"

"To the mausoleum," said the king.

Taking his brother's arm, he walked firmly and quickly through the castle courtyard.

Devrient turned to Count Wedell after he had watched the king for a moment.

"When I see our master walking thus, and when I think of the times in which we live, I could wish to conjure all the good angels of heaven to watch over his dear head. It does not please me," he added, gloomily, "to see him leaning on the arm of an Austrian general. God grant it may be no evil omen."

"You are incorrigible!" cried Count Wedell, "will you again rant on politics, and air your hatred against Austria? All Germany takes the emperor's side; shall the king sacrifice himself for Prussia?"

"I do not love the Austrian uniform," said Devrient, moodily.

"I wish we had thirty thousand of them here," cried Count Wedell; "I will remind you of to-day, Devrient, when the great victory is won, and when grateful Austria----"

"Gratitude from the House of Austria!" cried Devrient, with a theatrical tone and gesture; and without saying another word he put on his hat and rushed through the open door, along the broad alley which led from Herrenhausen to the city.

Count Wedell laughed, and shook his head as he retreated into the interior of the castle.

In a deep wood in the gardens of Herrenhausen is the tomb of King Ernest Augustus and Queen Frederica, similar to the mausoleum at Charlottenburg, where Frederick William III. of Prussia and Queen Louisa rest.

The king and queen lie chiselled in marble by a master's hand upon a sarcophagus, in a building resembling a temple, the light from above falling with wonderful effect upon the beautiful, lifelike figures. The building in its profound stillness and pious simplicity impresses the beholder with the full majesty of death, not to be felt without a shudder, but also with the perfect peace of eternal rest.

A single sentry stood before the entrance.

Four persons were leaving the mausoleum in silence, evidently impressed by the royal tomb. The castellan followed them.

Three of these persons were old acquaintances from Blechow--the pastor Berger, his daughter Helena, and the eldest son of Baron von Wendenstein. Their companion was a young man of about seven or eight and twenty, who was evidently a clergyman, from his plain black dress and white neck-tie; his smooth, fair hair hung low on his temples, and surrounded a round, shiny face, which was neither handsome nor interesting. His small grey eyes, partly concealed by eyelids habitually cast down, were quick and rather hard, and on his thin, firmly closed lips appeared an expression of self-satisfaction and ascetic assumption, which formed a remarkable contrast to the amiability and calm cheerfulness of old pastor Berger, who wore his usual dress--a closely buttoned black coat, and the square berretta of the Lutheran clergy.

The whole party advanced slowly up the wide avenue leading from the mausoleum to the park immediately surrounding the castle.

They had not gone far from the mausoleum, when they heard the sentinel present arms, and the castellan said in a low voice:--

"His majesty the king!"

George V. appeared from a side walk, leaning on the arm of Prince Solms.

The three gentlemen removed their hats, and they all respectfully stood still.

"They are acknowledging you," whispered the prince.

The king touched his cap.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"From his dress, a Lutheran clergyman," replied the prince.

The king stood still and exclaimed:

"Herr pastor!"

Pastor Berger walked up to him and said in a firm, clear voice,

"I salute most respectfully my royal master and supreme bishop!"

The king started when he heard his voice.

"Have I not met you formerly in Wendland?"

"It is too gracious of your majesty to remember it. I am the pastor Berger from Blechow."

"Quite right, quite right," exclaimed the king with satisfaction; "I remember the great pleasure your loyal reception gave me, and all the interesting things you told me of the customs of your people. How glad I am to meet you here! What brings you to Hanover?"

"Your majesty, my strength is not what it used to be, and I am obliged to think of procuring some assistance that my flock may not suffer from my increasing age. The service must not grow old and feeble. I therefore greatly wish my sister's son, the candidate Behrman, to be appointed as my adjunct, and, if God wills, my successor in my holy office. I came hither to make my request to the consistory."

"It is granted, my dear pastor," cried the king; "the qualifications of your nephew are doubtless correct, or you would not make the request. Your nephew is your adjunct. How happy I am to fulfil your wishes here and at once."

Touched and surprised, the pastor could only say: "I thank your majesty from my heart."

"And now, my dear pastor, I must take care that you are shown everything worth seeing in Hanover. Make yourself quite at home at the castle. To-morrow I shall expect you to dinner; come an hour beforehand. You must tell me much about my dear, faithful Wendland. Have you seen the park and the hot-houses?"

"We were on our way, your majesty. I have just left the mausoleum, and I am still deeply impressed. I lifted up my soul to God there, and prayed fervently that he would protect your majesty in these difficult and dangerous times."

The king looked very grave.

"Yes," he then said, "the days are dark and difficult, and we need God's blessing. I will do what you have done. I will pray at the grave of my parents for strength and wisdom. Farewell; we meet to-morrow."

And with a soldier's salute he turned away and walked towards the mausoleum.

Pastor Berger looked after him with great emotion; he raised his hand as if impelled by some unseen power, and he said in a clear voice, which resounded strangely through the wooded solitude:

"The Lord bless thee and keep thee! The Lord lift up the light of His countenance and be gracious unto thee! The Lord lift up the light of His countenance upon thee, and give thee peace! Amen!"

At the first words of this blessing, King George stood still and removed his cap. A deep feeling of devotion appeared in his face.

As the pastor's words ceased, he covered his head, greeted him by a silent movement of the hand, and slowly entered the quiet, simple building, which protected the last rest of his parents.

CHAPTER VI.

[AN ERRING METEOR].

In the boudoir of the house in the Ringstrasse, where Lieutenant von Stielow had repaired after Count Mensdorff's soirée, the same wonderfully beautiful woman who had received him with such glowing passion lay stretched upon a couch.

She wore a pearl-grey morning dress with light rose-coloured ribbons, and a white lace handkerchief surrounded the fine oval of her face, and nearly concealed her glossy hair.

The morning sun streamed through the window hangings of her very elegantly furnished room. The reflections that played over her face at every movement were most becoming to the young lady's extreme loveliness, and apparently she knew it, for she glanced from time to time at a round mirror, which was so placed on the opposite wall as to show nearly the whole of her form, and she was careful not to withdraw the dark red cushion on which her head lightly rested, from the softened sunbeams.

Her features did not wear the enchanting expression of softness and enthusiasm with which she had received Lieutenant von Stielow; an icy coldness rested on her face, and a look of scorn played round the beautiful lips, which were slightly parted and showed her white teeth to be firmly closed.

Before her stood a man of about thirty, dressed with a much greater adherence to fashion than is usual amongst persons of real distinction. His features were not ugly, but they were common, and his appearance betokened a dissipated man of the second or perhaps third rank of society.

This man, who accorded so ill with the really elegant arrangements of the boudoir, and still less with the graceful and æsthetic beauty of the young lady installed there, was her husband, the merchant and exchange agent, Balzer.

The conjugal tête-à-tête did not appear to be of an agreeable nature, for the husband's face bore evident traces of anger and scornful irony.

"You know me," he said, in a rough voice, which betrayed too great an indulgence in stimulants, and nightly dissipation, and in the rude manner only found amongst uneducated persons, destitute of good breeding. "You know me and you know I will have my wishes attended to. I must have twelve hundred gulden, and have them by to-morrow," he cried, stamping with his foot on the ground.

The young lady played with a bow on her dress; its rosy colour was not softer nor brighter than her small finger tips, and she replied without altering her position or looking at her husband, in an almost hissing voice:--

"Then gamble luckily, or cheat some of the people who trust you with their business on the Bourse."

"Your sneers are lost upon me," he said, with feigned indifference; "I believe we may both spare ourselves the trouble of displaying our wit. I am practical, and above all things a man of business," he added, with a cruel laugh; "you know our compact, and you know under what conditions I, your rightful lord and master, shut my eyes to proceedings to which I might strongly object--if some day it should please me to do so."

She did not move a muscle, but the slight blush which passed over her beautiful white brow, showed some inward emotion.

Without in the least modifying her tone, she said coldly:--

"You also know how easy it would be for me to free myself from the chains with which you threaten me. You must know me well enough to feel sure that my conversion to Protestantism would not give me a moment's uneasiness, if I wished to obtain a separation."

"I do not think religious compunctions would ever trouble you," he said, scornfully.

"Well, then," she said, calmly, without looking up, "I only continue to endure this heavy chain, because I wish to avoid scandal, and because I do not wish a creature"--and this she said with unbounded contempt--"whose name I bear, to fall into the lowest depths of vulgar crime. These are my only reasons for enduring and maintaining you. Take care of making the chain heavier than it is. As to what you are pleased to term our compact, on my side it has been punctually fulfilled. Have you not regularly received what I promised you?"

"I am not talking about that," replied Herr Balzer, rudely; "I am saying what I want, to meet unavoidable debts, and I must have twelve hundred gulden and you must get them for me,--you can do it easily. Your little Uhlan lieutenant is an inexhaustible gold-mine," he continued, with a low laugh.